#it’s just. back in high school they needed more people in that section and so that was where i went and since then i’ve lost confidence | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

lee-laurent · 2 months ago

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Romeo and Juliet - Jack Hughes

Summary: Jack falls for the new owner of the Devils' daughter

content: reverse of a slowburn (they move really fast)

wc: 14k

notes: requested!! i'm sorry this took sooooo long! school is kicking my ass :(( but i really liked writing this! i rewrote it like twelve times until i finally found an angle i liked and i hope you guys enjoy it too! keep on sending in requests :))

Remi Bouchard stood awkwardly behind her dad, arms crossed and weight shifting from one foot to the other, as he talked to his new team, droning on and on about his expectations. She'd heard this speech before--different team, same lines. Discipline. Effort. Respect. Her dad always delivered it like he was audtioning for a role in a sports movie, with the same rehearsed authority and clipped tone.

Behind his back, she rolled her eyes. This time, though, she wasn't sitting in the bleachers or tucked away in the family section. No, this time, he'd insisted she stand behind him, a silent reminder to everyone in the room that he was not only their new coach, but also her father. Like she needed that.

Her gaze drifted lazily across the room. Players filled the chairs, leaning back like they'd heard their fair share of speeches too. A few were older, veterans whose faces she vaguely recognized from highlight reels. The rest were younger--fresh-faced rookies and players just hitting their stride.

Her eyes landed on a guy near the back, sitting with one ankle propped on his knee. His light brown hair was messy in a way that looked accidental but wasn't, and a lopsided grin tugged at the corner of his mouth as he whispered something to the guy beside him. Whatever it was must've been funny, because the other guy was fighting to keep a straight face.

Interesting.

Remi tilted her head, letting her gaze linger a second longer than she should have. She'd always been good at reading people--better than her dad, anyway--and something about him stood out. He didn't look nervous or overly respectful like some of the others. He looked... comfortable. Like he knew exactly who he was and didn't feel the need to apologize for it.

Her dad's voice snapped her back to reality.

"And remember, gentlemen, this season isn't just about talent--it's about discipline. Off the ice as well as on. That's what wins cups."

She fought the urge to groan. Discipline was her dad's favourite word, and he'd wielded it like a weapon her entire life. No late nights. No parties. No distractions. Her curfew in high school had been earlier than the local diner closed. Even now, at 19, he still acted like he needed his permission to make a decision.

But that was the thing about being 19. She didn't need anyone's permission--not anymore.

When her dad finally wrapped up his speech, he turned to her with a rare, tight-lipped smile. "Remi, why don't you introduce yourself?"

Her stomach twisted. She'd spent most of her life being introduced as "Phil Bouchard's daughter," and it didn't look like that was changing anytime soon. Still, she managed a polite smile, the one she'd perfected after years of playing nice for her dad's sake.

"Hi," she said, her voice cutting through the murmurs in the room. "I'm Remi. My dad's the coach--obviously. But don't let him fool you; he's not that scary."

There was a ripple of polite laughter, but her eyes were fixed on the guy in the back. His lopsided grin had widened into a full-on smirk now, and for the first time, she felt her own smile shift into a real one.

The players were filing out, some offering polite nods to her dad as they passed. Remi stayed in the corner, checking her phone out of habit, when a voice grabbed her attention.

"So, Coach's not that scary?"

She looked up to find the guy from earlier standing a few feet away, hands shoved in the pocket of his Devils branded sweatpants, the same smirk on his face. Up close, he was even more annoyingly attractive.

"Not unless you cross him," she shot back, raising an eyebrow.

"Good to know." He extended a hand. "Jack Hughes."

"Remi Bouchard," she replied, shaking it. His grip was confident and lingered long enough to make her heart skip.

"I figured," Jack said. "Your dad's been saying 'my daughter' every five minutes."

She laughed despite herself. "Yeah, he's good at that."

"Is he good at coaching too, or should I be worried?"

Remi hesitated for a beat, then leaned in slightly, her voice dropping low enough to make him lean in too. "Let's just say... don't expect to sleep in."

Jack's laugh was genuine, bright, and made her stomach flutter.

"Noted," he stood up straight. "Guess I'll see you around, Bouchard."

And with that, he was gone, leaving her standing there, slightly breathless and entirely annoyed at how much she'd enjoyed that.

The locker room emptied quickly after that. Remi stayed put, scrolling aimlessly through her phone as her dad exchanged a few last words with his assistant coaches. She didn't need to look up to know he was shooting her occasional glances, making sure she wasn't doing anything embarrassing.

When the other coaches finally left the room, her dad turned to her, his expression shifting into something softer, but no less authoritative.

"Thanks for sticking around today, kid," he placed his hand on her shoulder.

"Didn't really have a choice, did I?" she replied, her tone just sharp enough to sting.

Phil frowned, his grip tightening slightly before he let go. "I just want you to understand what's at stake here. This team is a fresh start for me--and for us. I'm counting on you to make a good impression. That means no antics, Remi. No sneaking around, no hanging out with the players, no late nights."

Her jaw tightened. The rules. Always the rules. No matter where they moved or how many teams he coached, her dad never let up. She was 19 years old, a legal adult, and he still talked to her like she was a teenager that couldn't be trusted.

"Got it," she said flatly, shoving her phone into her pocket. "Are we done?"

Phil's frown deepened, but he nodded. "Go home. I'll meet you there after meetings."

Without another word, she turned on her heel and walked out, her heart pounding with anger. The hallway leading out of the arena was dimly lit, her footsteps echoing loudly in the empty space. Her dad's words replayed in her mind, each one sharpening her resentment like a knife.

No antics. No hanging out with players.

The absurdity of it made her laugh under her breath. Like she couldn't handle herself. Like she wasn't already smarter, sharper, and more aware of the world than he gave her credit for.

The truth was, she'd been good for too long. For years, she'd followed his rules, played the perfect daughter, sat quietly by the sidelines of his career. And what had it gotten her? A suffocating shadow she couldn't escape.

She paused at the edge of the parking lot, looking back at the arena. Most of the players were gone by now, but a few stragglers were still lingering by their cars. Her eyes scanned the lot until they landed on him. Jack Hughes.

He was leaning against the driver's side door of his car, his stupid smirk still on his face. His posture was relaxed, lazy, like he had all the time in the world.

He's exactly the kind of guy Dad would hate me hanging out with.

The thought struck her with startling clarity. Jack wasn't just charming and attractive--he was off-limits. A walking, talking rebellion waiting to happen. And the best part? Her dad had basically handed her the idea on a silver platter.

She could hear the protests in his voice already. Stay away from him, Remi. You're going to embarrass me. You don't know what you're doing.

A slow, wicked grin spread across her face. Maybe she didn't know exactly what she was doing yet, but she knew enough. She wasn't going to sit around and let her dad dictate her life any longer. If he wanted her to stay away from Jack Hughes, well, that was exactly who she'd be spending her time with.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket, pulling her attention. Her best friend, Talia, was texting her.

Talia: how's hockey prison? are you surviving?

Remi smirked, fingers flying across the screen.

Remi: barely. but i've got a plannnn. stay tuned

She glanced at Jack again. This wasn't just about pissing off her dad--it was about proving, to herself and to him, that she was in control of her own life. And Jack Hughes? He was going to help her do exactly that.

She walked over to him, smoothing down her hair and tugging at the hem of her jacket, wanting to look like she wasn't psyching herself up to do this.

Jack didn't notice her approach until she was a few feet away. He glanced up, his face shifting to surprise, then to a lazy grin that had her weak in the knees.

"Didn't think I'd see you again tonight," he said.

She shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "Figured I'd say hi before you forgot about me."

"Not a chance. Coach's daughter isn't exactly forgettable."

Her laugh came easily, and she stepped closer, leaning against the car beside him. "Well, that's reassuring. So, what's the team's golden boy still doing here? Everyone else has cleared the fuck out."

Jack tilted his head. "Golden boy? That's a stretch."

"Come on," she teased, bumping her shoulder against his. "Don't play humble with me. I saw you back there, all comfortable and confident. You're not like the others."

"Is that a good thing?" he smirked.

"That depends. Do you live up to the hype?"

Jack chuckled, the sound warm and low. "Guess you'll have to stick around and find out."

For a split second, her resolve wavered. It would be so easy to fall into this, to let herself believe this wasn't just a game she was playing. But she couldn't afford that--not now. She had a point to prove, and he was the perfect way to do it.

"So," she said, smoothly changing the subject, "is this how you always spend your Friday nights? Hanging out in parking lots and scrolling through Instagram?"

Jack leaned back, crossing his arms. "Only when I'm waiting for someone interesting to show up."

"Oh?" she arched a brow. "And did they?"

"Yeah," he held her gaze. "They did."

The flutter in her chest was stronger this time, and she quickly buried it beneath a playful grin. "Well, I hate to disappoint, but I'm not that interesting."

"Not buying it," he shook his head. "I've got a feeling you're full of surprises."

"Maybe you'll find out."

Jack pushed off his car, standing just a little closer than before. "Guess I'll have to stick around, then," he teased.

Remi glanced up at him, her heart pounding. This is working. She didn't need to push too hard--just enough to keep him hooked, to let him think this was real. It almost felt real. And that was the dangerous part.

"Well," she stepped back just far enough to break the moment, "don't let me keep you here all night."

Jack hesitated, then pulled his car keys from his pocket. "Alright, Bouchard. But don't be a stranger, okay?"

"Wouldn't dream of it," she replied, her voice light and breezy as she turned and walked away.

When she reached her car, her phone buzzed with another text from Talia.

Talia: details. now.

Remi: step 1: complete. he's hooked

As she hit send, she glanced in the rearview mirror, catching a glimpse of Jack's car pulling out of the lot. This was just the beginning.

Remi leaned against the railing of the bleachers in the practice rink, her legs crossed casually as she scrolled through Instagram to see what her friends back in Toronto were up to. The team was midway through drills, her dad barking instructions from the bench, his voice echoing through the room.

But when she was looking up, her attention wasn't on her dad. It was on him.

Jack was mid-drill, skating backward as he tracked a pass, his stick carrying the puck across the ice. He made it look so easy--like he was born to do this. The precision in his movements was almost hypnotic.

When the whistle blew, signaling a break, Jack skated toward the bench for water. He looked upward--just for a second--and locked eyes with her. Remi played it cool, offering him a small wave and a teasing smirk.

Jack raised an eyebrow, his lips curving into a grin that was equal parts amused and intrigued. He didn't break their eye contact as he lifted the water bottle, taking a long sip like he was trying to show off to her in the oddest way.

She rolled her eyes but couldn't help the laugh that bubbled up. Subtlety clearly wasn't his strong suit.

As the players began to scatter for the next drill, Jack skated over to the boards near where she stood. Leaning his forearms casually on top of the plastic, he tilted his head up at her.

"Didn't realize this practice was open to spectators," he teased.

"It's not," she replied, moving down a couple rows. "I'm special."

"Special, huh?" He smirked. "Is that why you're standing up there, judging my every move?"

"Who says I was judging?" she shot back. "Maybe I was admiring."

Jack blinked, momentarily caught off guard, but quickly recovered. "Careful, Bouchard. Keep talking like that and I'll start thinking you're here just to see me."

She grinned, "Maybe I am."

The whistle blew again, cutting through their moment. Jack glanced back at the ice, where the rest of the team was already setting up for the next drill.

"Duty calls," he said, skating backward to keep his eyes on her. "But don't go anywhere. I'll be looking for you when we're done."

"I'll think about it," she sassed, turning to leave.

The smell of sweat hit her as the players filtered into the locker room, chatting as they pulled off their gear. Remi stood near the wall, pretending not to notice the attention her presence was drawing.

Jack was one of the last to come off the ice, his jersey slung over one jersey and his sweat damp with sweat. When he spotted her, his pace slowed, his grin widening as he veered her way.

"You know," he said, stopping just a little to close, "if you keep showing up like this, people are going to start talking."

"Talking about what?" she asked innocently, batting her eyelashes.

"About how the coach's daughter has a thing for the team's centre," he replied, his voice low enough that only she could hear.

Remi raised an eyebrow, her lips curving into a smirk. "Who says I don't?"

Jack blinked, his confidence faltering for a fraction of a second before he let out a soft laugh. "You're dangerous, you know that?"

"Am I?" she deliberately took a step closer.

"Definitely," his voice dropped even lower.

Before he could say more, the sound of her dad's voice calling her name echoed down the hall. Jack immediately straightened, stepping back like a kid caught his hand in the cookie jar.

"Don't worry," she whispered, brushing past him. "I won't tell."

As she walked away, she glanced back over her shoulder just in time to catch the look on his face--amusement and exasperation. It sent a thrill racing through her, and for the first time, she realized how much she was enjoying this.

Remi wandered through the small crowd, her dad occupied with his assistant coaches on the other side of the lounge. Her eyes scanned the room until they landed on Jack, who was standing by the snack table with a few teammates.

When their eyes met, his face lit up, and he excused himself, weaving through the crowd to meet her halfway.

"Hey," he said, his voice soft and warm. "You didn't come down to congratulate me?"

"Oh, I'm sorry," she teased, crossing her arms. "Do you require special acknowledgment for doing your job?"

Jack laughed, shaking his head. "I thought you might be impressed."

She tilted her head, pretending to consider. "I guess you were okay."

"Okay?" he repeated, placing a hand over his heart like he'd been mortally wounded. "Tough crowd."

"Don't worry," she said, her smile turning mischievous. "I'll be sure to send you a participation ribbon."

Jack leaned in slightly, his grin becoming more genuine. "How about dinner instead?"

His tone, his expression--there was nothing calculated about it. He was just... sincere. And that made her next move feel all the more like a game.

"Maybe," she took a step back. "If you're lucky."

She walked away, leaving Jack standing there, shaking his head with a smile that said he was already hooked.

Remi laughed softly as she collapsed onto Jack's couch, kicking off her sneakers and tucking her legs under herself. His apartment was a reflection of him--casual, but inviting, with a lingering smell of cologne that was distinctly Jack.

She'd finally taken him up on his dinner offer and it had been the most fun she'd had in a long time.

"You're way too good at losing track of time," Jack said, joining her with two beers in hand. He offered her one, his knee brushing against hers as he settled beside her.

"Time's a construct," she quipped, taking the bottle, glad he had already removed the cap. She leaned back, letting her head rest against the cushion. "And I was having fun."

Jack gave her a crooked smile. "Fun, huh? Is that all I am to you?"

"Oh, don't fish for compliments," she teased, knocking his shoulder with hers. "You're more than fun. You're..." She pretended to think, her smile widening as his expression grew mock-serious. "Moderately entertaining."

Jack rolled his eyes, setting his beer down on the coffee table. "Moderately entertaining? Guess I'll have to up my game."

Before she could reply, he leaned in, his hand sliding along her jaw as his lips found hers. The kiss was warm and confident, tasting of beer and italian food, deepening quickly as he tilted her head back. Remi melted into him, her hands tangling in his hair as he pressed closer, his weight shifting to pin her against the couch.

The outside world melted away, leaving only the heat of his hands as they pulled her shirt up and the intoxicating way he kissed her--like she was the only thing that mattered. His hands roamed over her waist, her thighs, pulling her against him with a hunger that made her heart beat faster. They quickly stripped down to their underwear, shifting to lay on the couch.

She pulled back just enough to catch her breath, her lips brushing against his as she whispered, "I'm gonna ruin you, Hughes."

He laughed softly, his forehead resting against hers. "Pretty sure it's the other way around."

Remi reached into the pocket of her discarded jeans, pulling out a case containing a neatly rolled blunt. She held it up between them, her lip pulled between her teeth. "Wanna test that theory?"

Jack raised an eyebrow, but propped himself up on his elbows, watching as she lit the blunt with practiced ease. She took a slow drag, blowing the smoke out in a lazy swirl before handing it to him.

"D'you always carry these around?" he asked, taking it from her and mimicking her movements.

"Only when I'm feeling inspired," she replied, slipping out from under him and onto the floor, patting the space beside her. "Come on. The couch is overrated."

Jack joined her, body sprawling out beside hers as they passed the blunt back and forth. The room filled with the soft haze of smoke, and the tension that had been simmering between them shifted into something more intimate.

"What's your biggest secret?" she asked suddenly, her head turned to look at him.

Jack exhaled a puff of smoke, his brows furrowing as he thought. "Biggest secret? Probably that I suck at cooking."

Remi laughed, elbowing his side. "Come on, Hughes. You can do better than that."

"Alright... I hate how much I care about what people think of me. On the ice, off the ice. It's exhausting sometimes."

Remi blinked, surprised by the raw honesty in his voice. She handed him the blunt, her tone gentler. "Well, for what it's worth, I think you're doing just fine."

Jack smiled, taking a drag. "Your turn. Biggest secret."

"I don't think I've ever really been myself," she admitted. "Not around my dad, not around anyone. It's like... I'm always trying to be what people expect."

Jack reached over, his fingers brushing hers. "You're pretty damn great as you are."

The sincerity in his voice made her chest ache, and for the first time, she wondered if she'd underestimated him.

Jack hovered nervously by the back door, his hoodie pulled low over his head, scanning the dark backyard like they were in a spy movie. "I still think this is a terrible idea."

"That's because you're boring," Remi whispered back, pulling her house key from her pocket. The lock clicked softly, and she pushed the door wide with a grin. "See? Easy."

Jack stepped inside hesitantly, wincing when the hinges creaked. "If he catches me--"

"He won't," she cut, turning to grab his hand. Her fingers were warm, steady, and the quick squeeze she gave his palm sent a shiver up his arm. "He's been passed out for hours. I'd know--I checked."

"That's reassuring," he muttered, letting her pull him forward.

The house was dark and still, the only sound the faint hum of the refridgerator in the kitchen. Jack couldn't help but glance around as they moved through the house, his grip on her hand tightening every time the floorboards creaked under their weight.

"This is ridiculous," he hissed when they reached the staircase. "Your dad's not just anyone, Remi. He's my coach. My fucking boss."

She paused mid-step, turning to look at him with a smirk that made his pulse quicken. "And yet you're the one who keeps following me."

He opened his mouth to argue but snapped it shut when she tugged on his hand again, pulling him up the stairs. His heart hammered as they passed the closed door to what he could only assume was her dad's bedroom, the faint sound of snoring filtering through the wood.

When they finally reached her bedroom, Remi pushed him inside, locking the door behind them. Jack leaned back against it, exhaling hard as he ran a hand through his hair. "You're gonna get me benched."

She rolled her eyes, stepping closer until her body was pressed against his. "You're too good. He'd never bench you."

"You sure about that?" he mumbled, his voice dropping as his hands slid instinctively to her hips.

"Positive," she replied, tipping her head back to meet his gaze. "Besides, you'll be worth it."

His breath caught, her confidence making him forget how bad of an idea this was. She was dangerous, magnetic, and impossible to resist.

"God, you're reckless," his voice was rough as he leaned down to kiss her.

Her reply was lost against his mouth, her fingers tangling in his hoodie as they stumbled toward the bed.

The room was quiet now, save for the sound of their heavy breathing. Remi lay sprawled across the sheets, her bare skin still warm from Jack's touch. His arm was draped lazily across her waist, his fingers tracing idle patterns along her ribs as he stared up at the ceiling.

"You okay?" he asked almost hesitantly.

She turned her head to look at him, her lips curving into a satisfied smile. "Better than okay."

Jack laughed under his breath, pulling her closer. "Good. 'Cause I don't think I'll survive your dad murdering me."

She shook her head, leaning up to press a kiss to the faint red marks she'd left along his collarbone. "Relax. He doesn't need to know."

But as her hand slid across his chest, his fingers gently caught her wrist. His gaze turned serious, searching hers. "You're sure about this? About us?"

For a split second, she hesitated. The way he looked at her--like she was something precious, something worth risking everything for--made her chest tighten in a way she wasn't used to. But she pushed the thought aside, flashing him a toothy grin. "I'm sure."

Jack smiled, leaning down to kiss her again, and the warmth of his hand on her waist made her forget everything else.

Remi slipped into the kitchen the next morning, a slight ache in her muscles and a satisifed smirk on her lips. She was pouring a cup of coffee when her dad walked in, his expression already tense.

"Morning," she said lightly, leaning against the counter.

Phil frowned, eyes narrowing as he studied her. "What's on your neck?"

She instinctively lifted a hand to cover the faint bruise Jack had left just above her collarbone. "Nothing," she lied, turning to grab her mug.

"Don't 'nothing' me," he snapped, stepping closer. "That's a hickey. Who were you with?"

"I don't think that's any of your business," she said, her tone sharper than she intended.

Phil's jaw clenched, his frustration spilling over. "It is my fucking business, Remi. I know boys. Most of them are players who don't care about anything but themselves. I'm not letting you ruin your life for some--"

"I'm not ruining anything!" she snapped, slamming her mug onto the counter, coffee sloshing over the side. "God, Dad, I'm not a kid anymore! You can't control who I spend my time with."

The parking lot was empty except for a few scattered cars. Jack leaned against the driver's side door of his car, his hockey bag tossed in the backseat.

"You waiting for me again?" Remi asked, stopping a few feet away.

"Maybe. Can you blame me?"

She stepped closer, her fingers brushing the edge of his jacket. "Not really."

The space between them disappeared as he pulled her in, his lips finding hers in a kiss that was hungry, insistent. Her hands slid up his chest, tangling in the collar of his coat as she pressed herself against him.

Jack groaned softly, his hands gripping her waist as he slid his tongue into her mouth. The cool night air was forgotten, replaced by the warmth of her body and the breathy sounds she made against his mouth.

But the sound of footsteps nearby made them both freeze. Jack pulled back, his heart hammering as he glanced over his shoulder. A security guard was walking along the far side of the lot, his flashlight swinging lazily across the pavement.

"Shit," Jack whispered, running a hand through his tangled hair. "We need to be more careful."

Remi smirked. "Scared, Hughesy?"

He shook his head, exhaling a shaky laugh. "No, just trying not to get caught."

She leaned in, lips brushing his ear. "Where's the fun in that?"

Jack adjusted the collar of his jacket as he led Remi down the familiar hallway to his apartment. He'd suggested they grab dinner at his place after practice--a casual way for her to meet someone close to him. Remi had agreed, though the idea of meeting Luke like this had left a gnawing pit in her stomach.

"Relax," Jack said, glancing back at her as they stopped outside the door. "Luke's chill. He'll be excited to meet you."

"Oh, I'm sure," Remi replied, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Your teammate-slash-brother who's seen me sulking around the rink for weeks? I bet he'll have no questions."

Jack smirked, unlocking the door. "You're overthinking it."

The door swung open, revealing Luke in a Devils hoodie and sweats, his hair damp like he'd just showered. His eyes flickered between Jack and Remi, surprise flashing across his face before he smiled.

"Hey. You actually did bring someone."

"Funny," Jack said, clapping his brother on the shoulder as he walked past. "Remi, this is Luke. Luke, Remi."

Remi extended a hand. "Nice to finally meet you outside of the rink."

Luke shook her hand. "You too. I, uh, I've seen you around a lot. Heard even more."

"Good things, I hope," she replied, shooting Jack a pointed look.

"All good," Luke said quickly, though his smile was tight. She could tell he was connecting the dots in his head.

Remi Bouchard. Coach's daughter. And now... whatever she was to Jack.

They moved into the living room, Jack dropping onto the couch and gesturing for Remi to join him. Luke disappeared into the kitchen, returning with beers. He handed one to Jack and set one on the table in front of Remi.

"So, how'd this happen?" he asked, sitting in the chair opposite them. His tone was casual, but his were sharp, darting between the two of them.

"What, you think I can't pull someone like her?" Jack teased.

"I didn't say that," Luke said quickly. "Just... isn't it... complicated?"

Remi stiffened slightly, but Jack just laughed, taking a swig of his beer. "Not as complicated as you'd think."

Luke's expression didn't change, and the weight of it made Remi shift uncomfortably. She could tell he wanted to ask more--probably about her dad, about how much he knew--but he held back, choosing to make small talk instead.

The evening passed with relative ease, though there was a tension lingering below the surface. Luke was polite, funny, but Remi couldn't shake the feeling that he was analyzing her every word. When they finally left, she let out a sigh she hadn't even realized she was holding.

On the car ride back to her place, Jack was unusually quiet, his fingers drumming lightly on the steering wheel. Remi glanced at him, the city lights casting soft shadows across his face.

"You okay?" she asked., s

He nodded. "Yeah. Just... I'm glad you properly met Luke."

"Why?" she asked, her voice light, though the question felt heavier than she intended.

Jack's grip on the steering wheel tightened. "Because I really like you. And if this... if we're gonna be something, I want the people I care about to know you."

Guilt prickled at the edges of her thoughts. She forced a smile, reaching over to rest her hand on his thigh. "You're sweet, Hughes. You know that?"

He laughed softly, his shoulders relaxing as he placed a hand over hers. "Don't let it get around. Gotta protect my image."

Her smile didn't waver, but her stomach churned. She wasn't sure if it was guilt, the thrill of rebellion, or something else entirely. All she knew was that Jack Hughes was nothing like she'd expected--and that scared her more than she wanted to admit.

Jack sat in his stall, sipping water as he wiped the sweat from his face with a towel. Across the room, Nico and Luke were talking about dinner plans, their voices blending into background noise.

The sound of Phil's sharp whistle cut through the chatter, snapping everyone to attention. Jack tensed, his eyes flickering to the entry where Phil stood, arms crossed, his expression unreadable.

"Alright, listen up," Phil began, his voice carrying the kind of authority that demanded silence. "I've been watching you guys these past few weeks, and while I'm mostly happy with what I've seen on the ice, I need to remind you all of something."

The room was silent, every pair of eyes fixed on the coach. Jack shifted uncomfortably, a prickle of unease crawling up his spine.

"This team has one goal: to win," Phil continued, pacing slowly in front of the group. "And that means focus. Discipline. No distractions--on the ice or off."

Jack's stomach twisted. Phil's tone was calm, measured, but the words hit like a warning shot. He couldn't help but glance toward Nico, who raised an eyebrow in silent confusion.

"I've been in this game a long time," Phil said, stopping to look directly at the group. "I know what happens when players lose sight of what's important. You think one bad decision won't cost you? Think again. Whether it's partying too much, chasing the wrong kind of attention, or getting involved with the wrong people--it will catch up with you."

Jack swallowed hard, forcing himself to keep a neutral expression. He told himself that Phil didn't know anything, that the speech was just a coincidence. But the way his coach's eyes swept over the room, lingering on him longer than anyone else, made his chest tight.

"That's all," Phil said finally. "Think about what kind of player you want to be--and act like it. See you tomorrow."

The room remained silent as Phil walked out, the door swinging shut behind him. It wasn't until he was gone that the players began to murmur, exchanging confused glances.

"What the hell was that about?" Dawson muttered, leaning toward Jack.

"No idea," he replied quickly. He stood up, grabbing his bag. "I'll catch you later."

As he left the locker room, Jack couldn't shake the feeling that Phil's warning had been aimed directly at him.

Remi stood in front of the bathroom mirror, carefully brushing her hair into place when she heard her dad's voice call her name from the hallway. She sighed, setting the brush down as she turned to face the door.

"Yeah?" she called back, already bracing herself for whatever lecture was coming.

Phil appeared in the doorway, arms crossed, his expression as story as she'd expected. His eyes flickered briefly to her neck, where the faint shadow of a hickey still lingered despite her best efforts to cover it with makeup.

"Who's the guy?" he asked bluntly, his tone clipped.

Remi's heart skipped a beat, but she kept her face neutral, crossing her arms to mirrow his stance. "What guy?"

"Don't play games with me, Remi," Phil snapped, stepping further into the room. "I'm not blind. You've been sneaking around, coming home late, and you've got another..." He gestured vaguely toward her neck. "You think I don't know what's going on?"

Remi arched an eyebrow, her lips curving into a defiant smirk. "Maybe you don't."

Phil's jaw clenched, his hands balling into fists at his sides. "I don't have time for this, Remi. You're my daughter, and I'm trying to protect you."

"From what?" she shot back. "Living my life? Making my own decisions? God forbid I do anything you don't approve of."

"This isn't about approval!" he barked. "It's about respect--for yourself and for this family. You're running around with some guy who clearly doesn't care about you--"

"How would you know?" Remi interuppted, stepping closer. Her eyes flashed with anger. "You don't even know who he is."

Phil's face darkened. "And I don't want to know! Whoever he is, he's not worth it. Guys like that only think about themselves."

Remi laughed, the sound sharp and bitter. "Wow, Dad. You're so sure you're right about everything, aren't you? Maybe the problem isn't who I'm seeing. Maybe the problem is you."

Phil stared at her, stunned into silence. For a moment, the only sound was the ticking of the grandfather clock in the hallway.

"You don't get it, do you?" he said finally, his voice lower but no less tense. "This isn't just about you. The choices you make reflect on me--and on this team. I won't let you ruin what we've worked for."

Remi's anger gave away to something colder. "You mean what you've worked for. God forbid I do anything for myself."

Without waiting for a reply, she pushed past him, her steps echoing down the hall as she headed for her room. She slammed the door shut behind her, leaning against it as her heart pounded in her chest.

Her dad didn't know. He couldn't know. But the weight of his words still lingered, settling like a stone in her stomach.

The room was quiet, Jack lay sprawled across the bed, his body still covered in a sheen of sweat. The sheets were a tangled mess beneath him, and the scent of sex and Remi's perfume lingered in the air.

Remi had slipped into the bathroom a few minutes ago, the sound of running water muffled by the door. Jack stared at the ceiling, a smile tugging at his lips as he replayed the way she looked down at him--wild and unguarded, like he was the only person in the world that mattered.

His reverie was interrupted by the sharp buzz of her phone on the nighstand. It vibrated again, and again, lighting up the screen with notifications.

Jack hesitated, glancing toward the bathroom door. Don't man. Just leave it.

But the buzzing didn't stop, and before he could talk himself out of it, he reached over, turning the phone toward him. The messages were from a group labeled "Bad Bitches Only," the preview showing snippets of texts that made his brow furrow.

Talia: did you see him tonight?

Carmen: yeah, she's got him wrapped around her finger

Talia: rem is a mastermind. her dad's gonna lose it when he finds out

The words hit Jack like a slap to the face. He knew he shouldn't--but his curiosity was like an itch he couldn't ignore.

His thumb hovered over the screen, and then he guessed. Her passcode was simple--her birthday. His pulse quickened when the phone unlocked, revealing the full thread.

Talia: how's it feel to be breaking all daddy's rules?

Remi: better than i thought. he has noooo idea

Carmen: does jack know you're just using him or does he actually think you're like into him?

Remi: oh, he thinks it's real. poor guy's falling HARD

Talia: and when phil finds out?

Remi: that's the best part. let him stew

His chest felt like it had caved in, the air sucked from the room. The words blurred, but their meaning was crystal clear.

The bathroom door opened, and Remi walked out, wrapped in a towel, her damp hair framing her face. She stopped short when she saw him sitting up on the bed, her phone clutched in his hand.

"What are you doing with my phone?" she asked, her tone sharp, but there was a flicker of something else--panic--in her eyes.

Jack stood, his grip on the device tightening as he turned to face her. "What the hell is this, Remi?" His voice was low, dangerously quiet.

"What are you talking about?"

"This," he snapped, holding up the phone. "This whole... game you're playing. Using me to get back at your dad? To prove some point? Is that what all this was?"

Her eyes widened, and she stepped forward, hands raised. "Jack, it's not like that--"

"Don't," he interrupted, his voice cracking. "Don't even try to lie. I read the messages."

Remi's mouth opened, then closed like a fish, her face pale. "You shouldn't have done that," her voice trembled.

Jack let out a hollow laugh, shaking his head. "That's what you're worried about? That I invaded your privacy? Jesus Christ, Remi. I thought you actually cared about me."

"I do!" she blurted out. "Jack, I--"

"Don't," he cut her off again, backing away. "You don't get to say that. Not after this."

She reached for him, but he jerked his arm away. "Jack, please. Just let me explain."

"Explain what?" he snapped, his eyes blazing. "How you pretended to give a shit about me? How every kiss, every touch, was part of some sick plan to piss off your dad? Do you even know what you've done? How I--" His voice broke, and he turned away, running a hand through his hair.

"Jack," she whispered, her voice thick with desperation. "I never meant to hurt you."

"Bullshit," he spat, spinning to face her. "That's all this was. Hurting me, hurting him. None of it was real, was it?"

She opened her mouth, but no words came out. The truth was written all over her face.

Jack exhaled sharply, his shoulders sagging. He tossed the phone onto the bed and grabbed his shirt, pulling it on with shaking hands. "You know what? You're just like him."

Her breath hitched. "What?"

"You manipulate people to get what you want," he said, his voice hollow. "You don't care about anyone but yourself."

Remi flinched like he'd slapped her, her eyes glassy. "That's not fair."

Jack's jaw clenched, but he didn't reply. He grabbed his keys and headed for the door, his steps heavy with anger and heartbreak.

"Jack, wait!" she called, her voice breaking. "Please, just--"

The door slammed behind him, cutting her off. The sound echoed through the silence, leaving Remi standing in the middle of her room, her chest heaving as tears spilled down her cheeks.

For the first time, the weight of what she'd done hit her with full force. She sank onto the bed, staring at her phone like it was a bomb that had just gone off.

The silence in the room was deafening. Remi sat on the edge of her bed, her legs curled up to her chest as she stared at her phone lying on the crumpled sheets. The screen was dark, but the words Jack had read were burned into her mind. Her chest felt hollow, her breath shallow as her thoughts raced, tears spilling from her eyes.

I thought you actually cared about me.

His voice haunted her, raw and broken, the weight of his anger hitting her like a punch to the gut. She wrapped her arms around herself, the sting of his words cutting deeper and deeper. For someone who'd always prided herself on control, on being untouchable, she felt exposed--like every carefully constructed wall she'd built had come crashing down in an instant.

Her phone buzzed on the bed beside her, and she grabbed it, hoping--praying--it was Jack. But it was just a text from Talia.

Talia: what happened? you okay??

Remi's fingers hovered over the keyboard, but she couldn't bring herself to reply. Instead, she set the phone down again, her gaze drifting to the messy sheets, the imprint of where Jack had been laying not even half an hour before. She reached out, her fingers brushing the fabric, and a fresh wave of regret crashed over her.

None of it was real, was it?

The question hung in her mind, heavy and suffocating. And for the first time, she realized the answer wasn't as simple as she'd thought. At first, she'd convinced herself it was all part of the plan--a way to rebel, to defy her dad in the most calculated way possible. But somewhere along the line, something had shifted.

Her favourite moments with Jack began playing in her mind, uninvited.

They'd sprawled on the floor of his apartment, the faint haze of smoke curling in the air between them. Jack had been tracing patterns on the rug with his finger, his voice soft as he opened up about his fears--about letting people down, about never living up to expectations.

"You know," he'd said, glancing at her with a shy smile, "I don't think I've ever been this honest with anyone before."

Her chest had tightened at the vulnerability in his voice. "Maybe that's because you don't let people in."

He'd laughed, shaking his head. "And yet, here I am. Letting you in."

At the time, she'd brushed it off, teasing him about being sappy. But now the memory hit her differently, the weight of his trust making her throat feel raw.

Jack had taken her to a quiet overlook just outside the city, the twinkling lights stretching out before them like a sea of stars. He'd sat beside her on the hood of his car, their shoulders touching as they took in the scene in front of them.

"This is where I go when I need to clear my head," he'd said, his voice low. "Figured you might like it."

She'd turned to look at him, surprised by his soft expression. "Why'd you bring me here?"

He'd shrugged, but his eyes had been earnest. "Because you're different. You get me."

Then, she'd smiled, but now the memory felt bittersweet. You're different. His words had meant something then--something she'd ignored.

She'd always loved the way he looked at her, like she was the only person in the room. Whether they were stealing kisses in a quiet corner, or sharing laughs over takeout, his gaze had been steady, warm, and full of something she hadn't wanted to name.

But now, as she replayed those moments, she realized what it was. He'd looked at her like he loved her.

And the truth hit her like a freight train: She'd fallen for him, too.

She sucked in a shaky breath, pressing her palms to her eyes as tears spilled over. How had she let it get this far? How had she been so blind? The very thing she'd been trying to avoid--caring too much, being vulnerable--had happened anyway. And now she'd lost him.

The regret sat on her chest, suffocating her. She grabbed her phone, unlocking it with trembling hands, and opened her messages.

jack, i'm so sorry. please, let me explain

She stared at the screen, the cursor blinking accusingly. She hit send, her heart pounding, and followed it with another.

i never meant to hurt you. you mean more to me than you know

The texts went unanswered. She tried again, dialing his number. It rang once, twice, three times before going to voicemail.

"Jack," she said, her voice cracking as she struggled to hold back tears. "Please. Just... call me back. I know I screwed up, but I need you to know that I--" She stopped, biting her lip to keep from sobbing. "I care about you. I care about you so much, and I-- I'm sorry. I'll explain everything. Just... please."

She ended the call, staring at the screen like it might magically light up with a reply. But nothing came.

The days passed into agonizing silence. Jack didn't respond to her texts or her voicemails, and each unanswered message felt like another nail in the coffin.

She barely slept, barely ate, her mind consumed with guilt and the aching emptiness he'd left behind. Her friends' attempts to cheer her up fell flat, and even her usual rebellious streak lost its spark.

She felt truly alone.

Jack didn't feel like himself. Not on the ice, not in the locker room, not even at home.

The hurt and anger churned inside him like a storm he couldn't shake. He'd barely slept since the night at Remi's, and when he did, he woke up angry all over again. Her words, her actions, her texts--they played on a loop in his mind, taunting him.

You don't care about anyone but yourself.

His own voice echoed in his head, laced with the same bitterness that had been clawing at him ever since he stormed out of her room. He hated that he'd said it. But more than that, he hated that she'd made him feel that way.

The buzzer sounded, snapping him back to the present. He was at practice, the familiar hum of the arena doing little to calm the chaos in his mind. Jack skated hard, pushing himself past the point of exhaustion, but the frustration remained, clawing at him like a weight he couldn't shake.

During a drill, he lost the puck to Nico, who darted past him with ease. Normally, Jack would've shrugged it off, but today it felt like salt in the wound. He slammed his stick against the boards, muttering a curse loud enough for Nico to glance back in confusion.

"You good, man?" Nico skated closer.

Jack waved him off, not trusting himself to answer. The rest of practice passed in a blur of misplaced passes and uncharacteristic mistakes. He felt every set of eyes on him, but he didn't care.

By the time the puck dropped for their next game, Jack's head was still far from clear. His anger simmered just beneath the surface, ready to boil over.

He started the game strong, channeling his frustration into speed and aggression. But as the minutes ticked by, his emotions got the better of him.

A harmless shove from an opposing player turned into a cross-check, earning him two minutes in the box.

When he returned to the ice, it happened again--a poorly timed hit that left his teammates scrambling to recover. This time, the refs weren't as forgiving.

"Two for boarding!" the ref barked, gesturing him off the ice.

Jack skated to the penalty box, his jaw clenched so tight it hurt. Luke caught his eye from the bench, his expression confused and concerned.

The final straw came in the third period. An opponent chirped him during a faceoff, something innocuous, but it set Jack off. Before he knew it, he was swinging, his gloves hitting the ice as he grabbed the guy by his jersey.

The refs blew the whistle, chaos breaking out around them. Jack barely felt the punches before they were pulling him away, ejecting him from the game.

He sat alone in the locker room, his head in his hands. His knuckles throbbed, his chest heaving as he replayed the fight in his mind.

The door swung open, and Luke stepped in, his skates still on, his eyebrows furrowed.

"What the hell was that, Jack?" Luke demanded, dropping onto the bench across from him.

"Not now, Luke," Jack muttered, not looking up.

"No, now," Luke snapped, his voice uncharacteristically sharp. "What's going on with you? You're acting like a complete idiot out there. First penalities, now getting tossed from a game? You're better than this."

Jack's jaw tightened, but he didn't respond.

"Talk to me, Jack. Is it about Remi?"

The mention of her name felt like another insult to injury. Jack's head snapped up, his eyes blazing. "Stay out of it, Luke."

"Jack--"

"I said stay out of it!" Jack barked, slamming his fist against the bench. The sound echoed through the room, but Luke didn't flinch.

"I'll take that as a yes," Luke said quietly. "What happened?"

Jack stood abruptly, pacing the room like a caged animal. "Nothing. Just drop it."

"You're full of shit," Luke shot back, standing now too. "You haven't been yourself for like a week now. You're angry all the time, you're screwing up on the ice, and you can't even look me in the eye."

"Luke--"

"And you know what else?" the youngest Hughes interrupted. "I haven't seen her around the rink lately. She used to be here all the time, hanging out, waiting for you. But now? Nothing. So either you tell me what's going on, or I'm going to have to go Phil and tell him about whatever the hell's been going on between you two."

Jack froze. "You wouldn't."

"Try," Luke said, crossing his arms. "I'm not gonna let you self-destruct over some girl. So tell me the truth."

Jack exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. For a moment, he said nothing, letting the weight of Luke's words settle over him. Finally, he sank back onto the bench, his head in his hands.

"She was using me," he said quietly, his voice strained. "It was all some stupid plan to piss off Phil. I was just a pawn."

"Jack..."

"I thought she cared about me," Jack continued, his voice breaking. "But it was all fake. Every kiss, every--" He stopped, shaking his head. "God, I'm so fucking stupid."

"You're not stupid," Luke said firmly, getting up to sit beside him. "You just... cared about the wrong person."

Jack laughed bitterly. "Yeah. Well, it doesn't matter now."

Luke placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezing lightly. "You don't have to deal with this alone, you know. Whatever happens, I've got your back."

Jack nodded, though the ache in his chest remained.

Every word that Remi texted Jack felt inadequate, like she was trying to patch up a sinking ship with duct tape. She knew she'd screwed up--more than screwed up. She'd hurt someone who didn't deserve it, someone who'd been nothing but good to her.

Her dad was downstairs on the phone, talking loudly about hockey. Probably complaining about something that had happened at the game that night. She hated hearing him talk about hockey even more now--it just made her think of Jack.

She opened her phone, scrolling through Instagram for any content that could help distract her. But it was useless, the Devils account was the first one that came up. It was a picture of the guys hugging after the win. She clicked on the comments and her heart stopped.

Jack had been ejected from the game. She had to find the clip. She turned to Twitter, scrolling until she found it. She watched as he started a pointless fight, throwing his gloves to the ice. The refs blew the whistle and a beyond pissed Jack was escorted off the ice.

"Damn it, Jack," she whispered, wiping the single tear that had fallen onto her phone screen.

"Remi, you have to stop," Talia said through the phone, sitting criss-cross on her bed.

"I can't," Remi replied, pacing her room. "I can't just leave it like this. He--he means too much to me."

"Does he, though?" Talia raised a brow. "Because last time I checked, this was all about pissing your dad off."

Remi stopped, turning to glare at her friend through the screen. "That's how it started. It's not what it is now."

"Really?" Talia challenged, crossing her arms. "Because from where I'm sitting, it looks like you're just upset because you got caught."

"That's not true," Remi snapped, her voice rising. "You don't understand. He's--" She stopped, pulling at the roots of her hair. "I care about him, Talia. I--"

"You what?" Talia interrupted, her eyes wide.

Remi hesitated. The words felt too big, too raw, but they were there, clawing their way out.

"I love him," she admitted, her voice barely a whisper.

Talia just blinked, her mouth falling open.

"I didn't mean to," Remi continued, her eyes glassy with unshed tears. "But I do. And now he hates me, and it's all my fault."

"Ugh, girl. I wish I could give you the biggest hug... but you really screwed this up, huh?"

"Yeah. Big time."

She stood outside the apartment door, her hands trembling as she knocked. She'd rehearsed what she was going to say with Talia at least a dozen times, but now, standing there, her chest felt tight and her mind went blank.

It had been two weeks since she'd seen Jack, and the silence had been unbearable. She couldn't take it anymore. She had to talk to him, even if it meant facing his anger head-on.

The door opened after a few moments, and Luke appeared, his expression shifting from mild curiosity to immediate hostility when he saw her.

"Hell no," Luke said, his tone flat and unwavering. "He doesn't want to see you."

"Luke, please," Remi begged. "I just need five minutes. That's all I'm asking."

"No," Luke said firmly, stepping back like he intended to close the door in her face. "You've done enough. Go home, Remi."

"What's going on?" Jack's voice came from inside the apartment, faint but growing louder as he approached.

"It's nobody," Luke called back, throwing a glare in the girl's direction. "They've got the wrong place."

Remi's heart sank, but before she could say anything, Jack appeared behind his brother, his brow furrowing as he looked past Luke.

The moment their eyes met, Jack's face hardened, his jaw clenching. "You've got be fucking kidding me," he muttered, stepping past Luke to block the doorway.

"Jack," Remi said, her voice trembling. "Please. Just let me explain. I need to talk to you."

"There's nothing to talk about," Jack replied coldly, crossing his arms. "You made it pretty clear how you feel."

"Jack, come on," Luke interjected, his tone softer but still protective. "You don't have to do this."

Jack held up a hand to silence his brother, his eyes never leaving Remi's. "What could you possibly have to say that I'd want to hear?"

She swallowed hard, shrinking under the weight of his anger. "I know I hurt you," she said quietly. "I know I screwed up. But I need you to hear me out. Please."

Jack stared at her for what felt like hours, his expression unreadable. Finally, he stepped back, his voice sharp as he turned to Luke. "It's fine. I've got this."

Luke hesitated, his face screwing up as he looked between the two of them. "I'll be in my room," he said finally, walking off but not before shooting Remi one more death stare.

Jack stepped aside, gesturing for her to come in. The door clicked shut behind her, the sound impossibly loud in the heavy silence that followed.

He crossed his arms, leaning against the counter with a posture that screamed frustration. "You've got five minutes," he said curtly.

Remi took a deep breath, searching her head to find the right words. "I don't even know where to start," she admitted, her voice shaking.

Jack let out a hollow laugh, shaking his head. "That's a great sign."

"Jack, please," she said. "I know I don't deserve it, but you have to know that I never meant for things to end up like this."

He raised an eyebrow, his anger simmering just below the surface. "Oh, so you accidentally used me to piss off your dad? Is that what you're saying?"

Remi winced. "That's how it started. But it's not what it became. I swear to you, Jack, I didn't mean to hurt you."

"Didn't mean to?" he repeated. "Do you even hear yourself? You played me, Remi. You lied to me, over and over again. And for what? To prove a point?"

Tears pricked her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. "You're right. I lied. I was selfish. I was awful. But somewhere along the way, it stopped being about my dad and started being about you."

Jack scoffed, turning away from her. "Yeah? And when exactly did that happen? Before or after you told your friends I was just a pawn?"

"I don't know!" she cried. "I don't know when it happened. But it did, Jack. I care about you. I--" She stopped, her throat closing up. "I love you."

Jack froze, his back still turned to her. The silence that followed was deafening, and Remi's chest heaved as she took deep breaths to calm herself.

"You don't get to say that," Jack said finally, his voice low and filled with pain. He turned to face her, his eyes now also glossy. "You don't get to use me, break me, then tell me you love me like it makes it all okay."

Remi took a shaky step forward, her hands clasped like she was begging. "I know it doesn't fix anything," she said. "But it's the truth. I love you, Jack. And I'll do whatever it takes to make this right."

He stared at her, his jaw ticking as he tried to process her words. Finally, he let out a long sigh.

"I can't do this right now."

Remi's heart sank, but she nodded, tears streaming down her face. "I'm so sorry," she whispered.

Jack turned away again, walking toward the hallway without another word. She stod there for a moment, her chest heaving with sobs, before letting herself out.

She'd said what she needed to say, but the bottomless pit in her stomach told her that it wasn't enough.

Remi felt like she was at a school dance with the glittering lights, clinking glasses, and people huddled in groups. Players mingled with donors and fans, their tuxedos adding to the air of sosphistication surrounding the event. Remi stood near the edge of the room, her strapless black dress hugging her figure perfectly. She'd only come because her dad had insisted--demanded, really--after their most recent fight.

"Try not to embarrass me for once," he said, his words like a harsh slap.

So, there she was, a forced smile on her face, a flute of champagne in her hand. She didn't bother hiding her trips to the bar. No one noticed, and even if they did, they wouldn't dare say anything to Phil Bouchard's daughter.

The alcohol warmed her from the inside out, dulling the sharpness of her dad's disapproval. But even with the champagne flowing, she couldn't stop her gaze from darting across the room, searching for him.

She spotted Jack near the far corner, his dark suit fitting him perfectly, his tie slightly loosened as he laughed at something Nico said. Her chest tightened at the sight of him, her fingers gripping the stem of her glass.

She should leave him alone. But the pull was magnetic.

Jack noticed her before she reached him, his smile fading as their eyes met. His posture stiffened, but he didn't move, watching as she approached.

"Hey," she said softly, stopping a few feet away.

"Hey," he replied, his voice guarded.

"What are you drinking?" she gestured to his glass.

"Does it matter?" He looked down at the whiskey in his hand.

Remi winced at the edge in his tone but pressed on. "I didn't know you'd be here."

"Yeah, well," he said, looking at her champagne flute, "I work for the team. I didn't know you'd be here."

She swallowed hard, her confidence faltering under his cool demeanor. But then she noticed the slight flush on his cheeks, the faint glassiness in his eyes. He wasn't completely sober either.

"I miss you," she blurted out before she could stop herself.

Jack's grip on his glass visibly tightened. "Don't."

"I mean it," she insisted. "Jack, I--"

"I'm serious, Remi," he interrupted. "You don't get to prance over here, say you miss me, and expect everything to be okay."

Her chest ached, but the alcohol flowing through her veins made her bold. "I don't expect everything to be okay," she said. "I just--I needed to see you."

Jack sighed. "You think a few words are gonna fix what you did? We've already had this conversation. You think I'm just gonna forget--"

"I love you."

He stared at her, his lips pursed, letting her words hang in the air.

"Say something," she whispered.

Jack shook his head. "You're impossible."

And then he looked around to make sure nobody was watching... and he kissed her.

Their kiss was fiery, weeks of unresolved tension compressed into a single moment. Jack's hands gripped her waist, pulling her tight against him as she squeezed his forearms.

"Come with me," he mumbled against her lips, his voice rough.

The stumbled down a hallway, their steps hurried and uneven. Jack pushed open the door to the bathroom, pulling her inside before locking it behind them.

"Jack," she breathed, her back hitting the counter as his lips found her neck.

"Shut up," he muttered, hands roaming her body as he tried to make up for lost time.

Her dress slipped down her body, his pants hitting the floor as their kisses grew more frantic. All the hurt, all the anger, dissolved into urgency, their bodies together as if they'd been starved of each other.

Remi woke up in her room, her head pounding from the champagne. She sat up, memories of the night flooding back in vivid detail. Her cheeks flushed at the thought of her bathroom rendezvous with Jack. She reached for her phone, and there was already a text waiting for her.

Jack: We need to talk. Call me when you're up

He'd never been one for small talk, and the tone of his text felt heavy, deliberate.

Her fingers hovered over the call button. He answered after two rings.

"Hey."

"About last night--"

"We need to have a serious conversation," he cut her off.

"Oh, um, okay."

"Is your dad home this afternoon? I'll come by later." Before she could even respond, the line went dead.

Whatever Jack had to say, she knew it wasn't going to be easy.

Remi sat on the couch, staring at the clock on the wall. Jack had said he'd come by, and now every passing second felt like an eternity. Her mind raced with what he might say. As soon as there was a knock at the door, she bolted up, straightening her shirt as she walked to the door.

Jack was standing there, hands shoved in the pockets of his sweats, his expression serious. He walked past her into the living room, standing near the coffee table, his posture tense.

"About last night... I'm sorry if--"

"Don't," Jack held up his hand. "Don't start with sorry. I've heard that before."

Remi flinched, but she nodded. "Okay. Then... what do you want to say?"

"Last night... it happened so fast. And I don't regret it. But we can't just go back to how things were."

"I don't want that either. I want to fix this. Fix us."

Jack's eyes flashed with hope, but he kept his tone firm. "If we're going to do this, things have to change, Remi. You have to change."

"I know."

"No, I don't think you do. This isn't just about what happened. It's about everything. The games, the rebellion, the lying. You can't keep doing things just to piss off your dad or to prove a point."

Remi opened her mouth to respond, but he kept going. "Do you even know what that did to me? Knowing I was just some pawn in whatever battle you're fighting with him?"

"That's not what you are to me. Not anymore."

"Then prove it."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean show me that you're serious. Show me that this isn't another game for you. Because I can't go through this again, Remi. I can't keep wondering if I'm enough or if you're just going to throw me under the bus when it's convenient."

Her chest ached at the pain in his voice, the vulnerability he was letting her see. "I'll do whatever it takes, Jack. I swear."

"Then start with being honest. Not just with me, but with your dad. Stop sneaking around, stop playing these games. If you want this to work, it has to be real--all of it."

The idea of facing her dad, of owning up to everything, sent a jolt of fear through her. But as she stared at the man she loved, the weight of his words sank in. If she didn't do this--if she didn't prove she was serious--she'd lose him for good.

"Okay... I'll tell him."

"And no more lies," he added. "No more excuses. If I'm in this, I need to know that you are too."

"I am. Jack, I am."

"Then we'll see."

Remi nodded, tears streaking her cheeks. "I'll prove it to you. I promise."

For the first time since he'd walked in, Jack smiled. "You better."

As he turned to leave, he paused at the door, glancing back at her. "One step at a time, Remi. We'll figure it out."

Phil sat at the kitchen table, a cup of coffee in hand as he scrolled through his tablet, his posture rigid as ever. Remi stood in the doorway, her palms clammy as she steeled herself. Her nerves felt like they were on fire, her hands shaking.

"Dad."

"Hm?"

"Dad."

"What is it, Remi?"

She took a deep breath, gripping the back of a chair for support. "I need to tell you something. And I need you to actually listen to me."

He frowned, setting down his tablet. "Go on."

"I'm seeing someone. And before you say anything, I know you're going to be mad, but--"

"Who?" Phil interrupted.

She hesitated, but there was no point in lying. "Jack."

Phil gripped his mug so tightly that Remi thought it might crack from the pressure. "Jack who?"

"You know who."

He stood abruptly, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. "You're joking."

"I'm not!" she stood up straight. "I love him."

"Love him? You've lost your goddamn mind, Remi. Do you have any idea what you've done?"

"I haven't done anything wrong," she retorted. "I'm not a kid, Dad. You don't get to control who I have feelings for."

"This isn't about control," he began to pace the kitchen. "This is about respect--something you clearly don't have for me or my job."

"This has nothing to do with your job!" she threw her hands up.

"It has everything to do with my job!" Phil barked, slamming his hand down on the table. "I trusted Jack. I treated him like a professional, and he goes behind my back to... to--"

"To care about your daughter? Yeah, real betrayal there."

Phil pointed a finger at her, his voice deadly calm now. "This ends today. You're done seeing him."

"You can't stop me," she said defiantly, though her voice wavered.

"Watch me. You're banned from games, practices, and anything to do with this team. And Jack--he's going to learn what happens when you cross a line."

Her stomach dropped. "You can't punish him for this," she panicked.

"Like hell I can't! If he wants to act like an amateur, he can work twice as hard to prove he still deserves his spot."

Tears burned in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. "You're being unfair."

"I'm being a father. And you're too young to understand what that means."

"I'm not a child," she whispered.

"Then stop acting like one."

True to his word, Phil enforced his ban swiftly. The next morning, security at the rink had a list with her name on it, and when she tried to text Jack about meeting him after practice, he replied curtly.

Jack: Can't

Remi: why not? :(

Jack: Your dad's got us running drills nonstop. I'm wiped

Remi: i'm sorry, j. this is all my fault

The three little bubbles appeared, then disappeared. No reply came.

Remi felt trapped, helpless. Her dad's wrath was affecting not just, but Jack as well. And that hurt almost as much as not being able to see him.

Jack stood on the ice, his legs burning as Phil barked orders from the bench. It was their third round of line rushes, and he wasn't sure he had it in him to finish.

"Move faster, Hughes!" Phil yelled. "You think you're tired? You think the other team's gonna care? Again!"

Jack bit down hard on his tongue, forcing his body to keep moving. He could feel his teammates' eyes on him, some confused, others sympathetic. But none of them dared to ask what was happening.

"Want to tell me what that was about?" Luke asked, collapsing onto the bench next to his brother.

Jack shook his head, wiping sweat from his brow. "It's nothing."

"It's not nothing. Why's Phil riding you harder than anyone else? What's going on?"

Jack didn't answer, staring at his shaking hands.

"It's about her, isn't it?"

Jack still didn't speak.

"Jack, I get it. You really like her. She's stunning and super sweet. But this thing with her and Phil? It's a disaster waiting to happen."

"You think I don't know that?" Jack snapped, finally looking up at him. "You think I'm not already dealing with it?"

Luke held up his hands in surrender. "Alright. Just... don't let him break you over her, okay?"

Silence.

Phil had always been a disciplinarian, but lately, his need to control his daughter felt suffocating. She felt it in the way he scrutinized her every move, every conversation.

The final straw came one evening when he caught her lingering outside the rink after practice, talking to Luke.

"Hand it over," he demanded when they arrived home, his hand outstretched.

Remi frowned. "What are you talking about?"

"Your phone. I'm not an idiot, Remi. You think I don't know you're still talking to him? You're done. Give it to me."

"Dad, this is ridiculous--"

"Now!"

Reluctantly, she handed him her phone, her stomach sinking as he walked away with it.

Deprived of her usual means of communication, Remi turned to one of the few people who could help her: Luke.

It started with a simple note slipped into his car window, written hastily on a scrap of notebook paper.

Luke,

Please get this to Jack. I need him to know I'm not ghosting him.

Luke, initially hesitant, agreed after some convincing from Jack, who pleaded with his younger brother to help them stay in touch.

From then on, he became their unofficial carrier pigeon.

He delivered folded notes in his hockey bag. He passed them off casually after practice, muttering "You dropped this" to avoid suspicion. Once, he even hid a letter in a water bottle, smuggling it onto the bench during a game.

The notes became their lifeline, filled with promises, apologies, and small updates:

Remi, I miss you. Today was brutal. Your dad's riding me harder than ever, but thinking about your little notes makes it bearable.

Jack, I miss you too. I wish I could be there to make things easier. This is such bullshit.

One evening, Phil barged into Remi's room unannounced, his expression stormy. "Why've you been talking to Luke?"

She barely had time to react before he noticed the small stack of papers peeking out from beneath her pillow.

"What's this?" he snatched them before she could stop him.

"Dad, don't--"

But it was too late. His face turned bright red as he read the letters, steam practically coming from his ears.

"Unbelievable! You've been sneaking around still! And using one of my other players to do it? Do you have any idea how fucking stupid this is?"

"It's not stupid! I care about him."

He held up one of the letters. "You care about him? Enough to sleep with him, apparently."

Her face flushed, her heart pounding.

"You didn't think I'd find out? I continue to give Jack a shot because I thought he had potential. That he's professional. Turns out, he's just as reckless as you are!"

The next practice was brutal. Jack knew something was wrong the moment he stepped onto the ice. Phil barely looked at him, but his commands were clipped, his critiques harsher than ever.

When the starting lineup was announced, Jack's name was glaringly absent.

"Coach," he said after practice, jogging to catch up with Phil in the hallway. "What's going on? Why am I not playing?"

Phil turned to him, his expression cold. "Disciplinary reasons," he said like it was the simplest thing ever.

"I... I haven't done anything wrong."

"Oh, haven't you? I trusted you, Jack. You're an alternate captain. I'm here to help you, and this is how you repay me? By crosing every line I've set?"

"With all due respect, sir, my personal life doesn't affect my performance on the ice."

"It does when it distracts you and causes chaos within the team. You're lucky I haven't gone to the GM."

That night, Remi was lying in her bed, when a faint tapping sound drew her attention. She frowned, pulling off her warm covers and walking to the window.

Jack was standing in the backyard, his hands cupped around his mouth. "Remi!" he hissed.

Her heart leapt to her throat, and she quickly opened the window. "What are you doing here?"

"Let me in," he said, gesturing toward the tree by her window.

She hesitated for a second before nodding. Jack climbed up with surprising ease, swinging himself onto the ledge before stepping into her room.

He was breathless, his hair a mess. "Your dad's lost his fucking mind. He's cutting my ice time, and he's blaming me for everything."

"Jack, I'm so sorry--"

"I don't care about me," his eyes searched hers. "I care about us. I don't know how much longer I can do this, Rem. He's making my life a living hell."

"We'll figure it out. I promise."

"Remi! Is there someone in there?"

She froze, the voice coming from the other side of her bedroom door, heavy with suspicion.

"Remi?" he asked again. "What's going on in there?"

"Under the bed," she whispered urgently, shoving him toward the narrow space.

"Seriously?" he hissed, his voice incredulous.

"Do you have a better idea?" she asked, already grabbing the edge of the duvet to shield the gap.

Jack didn't argue any further, dropping to his knees and sliding under the bed just as her doorknob jiggled.

The door creaked open, and her dad did a quick sweep of the room. "What's going on in here? Is everything okay?"

"Nothing," her voice was too quick, too high-pitched. "Why are you even in here?"

"I... I thought I heard voices."

"From the TV," she nodded to her laptop on her bed, where Netflix played quietly. She gestured toward it dramatically. "See? I couldn't sleep, so I turned something on."

Phil pulled her into a hug, smoothing down her messy bed hair. "You've been sneaking around, Remi. If you're hiding something--"

She pulled away. "I'm not. I'm trying to relax. You can't just barge in every time you get paranoid."

"Keep it down," he pinched the bridge of his nose. "And don't test me, kid. You're already on thin, thin ice."

The moment his footsteps retreated back down the hallway, she bent down to lift the duvet.

"Jack," she whispered. "You okay?"

"Yeah," he mumbled, sliding out from under the bed. His face was flushed and his hair even messier than before. "That was fun."

She giggled. "Sorry, babe."

"You're good under pressure, I'll give you that."

"Not bad yourself," she scrunched up her face as he pressed a kiss to her nose.

"So..."

"What do we do next? Run away? Get me a burner phone and live off the grid?"

Jack laughed despite himself. "I don't know. I just... I'm not gonna lose you, Rem."

"You won't. I love you, Jack."

"I love you more."

"We've got this."

"I hope you're right."

Another fight with Phil had left Remi rattled, and she'd stormed out of the house to clear her head. A walk through the neigbourhood usually helped, but the slippery sidewalk--coated with frost--proved to be dangerous when walking as fast as she was.

Her foot slipped from under her as she turned the corner, her arms flailing as she tried to keep her balance. Instead, she went down hard, her ankle twisting painfully beneath her as she hit the pavement.

"Shit," she hissed, clutching her leg. The sharp, stabbing pain told her something was wrong, and she felt like puking at the sight of her already swelling ankle.

She fumbled for her phone, but of course, it wasn't there. Her dad still had it, leaving her with no way to call for help.

The sound of a car engine approaching made her look up, and relief flooded her when she recognized Jack's car pulling to a stop.

"Remi?" his face screwed up as he cut the engine.

"Jack," she gasped, tears falling as he crouched beside her.

"What happened?" he asked, examining her ankle.

"I slipped. I think it's sprained? I'm... I'm not really sure."

Jack didn't hesitate. He slid one arm under her knees and the other behind her back, lifting her effortlessly. "I've got you, baby."

He stayed by her side the entire time, his hand never leaving hers as they waited for a doctor in the ER. He helped fill out paperwork, fetched water when she needed it, and even cracked a few horrible jokes to distract her from the pain.

When the doctor confirmed it was a pretty bad sprain, Jack insisted on picking up her medication and made sure she had crutches before they left. By the time they got back to her house, night had fallen. He helped her inside, careful with every step as he guided her to the couch.

"You don't have to say," she mumbled sleepily, though she didn't mean it.

"I'm not going anywhere," he replied firmly, adjusting the ice pack on her foot.

Their peace was broken by the door slamming shut. Phil's heavy footsteps entered the living room, his face scrunched up as soon as he saw Jack sitting there.

"What the hell is going on here?"

Remi winced, trying to push herself up straighter. "Dad, I--"

"You have some nerve," Phil snapped, his glare fixed on Jack. "I told you to stay away from her."

Jack stood, hands clenched at his sides. "She was hurt. She needed help."

"And that gave you the right to defy me? You've disrespected me and the team time and time again, Hughes."

"Dad, stop! He didn't do anything wrong! I fell, and he was there. If it wasn't for Jack, I'd probably still be sitting on the sidewalk."

Phil's gaze flickered to her, his face softening slightly, before he turned back to Jack. "You're off the team. Effective immediately."

"Dad, no!"

"Wait. You can bench me, cut my ice time, try to kick me off the team... but that's not going to change how I feel about her."

Phil narrowed his eyes, but Jack didn't falter.

"I care about her. More than anything. And I know you hate this, but I'm not going to walk away just because it's inconvenient for you. I love her too much for that."

Phil sighed, running a hand over his face. "You're not going anywhere tonight."

Jack blinked, caught completely off guard. "Sir?"

"She's injured," he said gruffly. "Someone has to keep an eye on her. You're already here--might as well make yourself useful."

"Dad--"

"I'm not saying I approve," he held up a hand. "But... maybe I've been a bit too harsh."

Jack's days became a balancing act. Mornings were for practices, where he pushed himself harder than ever, determined to prove to Phil--and himself--that he could handle the demands of both his hockey career and his personal life. Evenings were for Remi, where he'd show up at the house with groceries, helping her navigate her life on crutches.

Phi, ever watchful, made his presence known whenever Jack was around.

"Door stays open," he'd said the second night Jack came to help. He leaned against the doorframe, looking between the two young adults. "And no funny business."

"Yes sir," Jack replied, biting back a smile as he helped Remi prop up her injured leg on a pillow.

"And I meant it. No going into the bathroom together, no sneaking around, no--"

"Dad, we get it," Remi rolled her eyes. "We're not thirteen."

Phil shot her a look, but didn't say anything more.

Jack leaned in with a grin. "Well, that went better than expected."

She laughed, shaking her head. "Don't get too comfortable. He's probably listening right now."

Jack chuckled but kept his hands firmly on the heating pad he was adjusting on her ankle.

Phil observed them quietly for the next week or so. One evening, he sat in the living room, pretending to read a book while Jack and Remi played cards at the kitchen table. He glanced up occasionally, watching as they laughed and teased each other, the room filled with an ease he hadn't seen in his daughter in... years.

"Jack," she giggled. "You're terrible at this game."

"I'm letting you win because you're injured," Jack shot back with a smirk.

"Oh please," she scoffed, re-shuffling the deck. "You're just bad."

Phil watched as Jack leaned in, whispering something that made Remi burst into laughter, her cheeks glowing.

It hit him then--how much Jack truly scared for her. The way he looked at her, like she was the most important thing in the room. The way he balanced his career and her injury without a single complaint. The way Remi never stopped smiling around him.

He sighed, setting down his book. "Jack," he called, drawing their attention.

"Yes, sir?"

Phil cleared his throat, the words getting stuck halfway. "You... you've been good to her."

Jack's eyes widened, but he nodded. "Thank you, sir."

"Don't make me regret saying that."

His acceptance just grew from there, marked by small moments of trust and understanding. Though he kept his rules in place--like the open door policy and no PDA--he began to soften, joining them for dinner occasionally or offering Jack advice after games.

One day, after a particularly good win, Phil even clapped Jack on the back, a rare gesture of approval. "You played well out there," he said, his tone almost warm.

Jack grinned. "Thanks, Coach."

And while it wasn't a happily-ever-after, it was a start.

#nhl imagine #nhl fic #hockey imagine #hockey fic #jack hughes #jack hughes imagine

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bitchface24-7 · 11 days ago

Note

Oops my hand slipped and I’m back again (for the 3rd day in a row (I think I have a problem))

So following the trend of me seeing too many fanfics of smthn I don’t vibe with, I’ve noticed that a lot of Jayce and/or Viktor x reader fics have the reader as a scientist (makes sense writing-wise, provides a lot of opportunity for characters to interact and bond)

Problem is, I am dogshit at science. I was good at most subjects in high school, but science? Nearly failed. I was good at math and word problems too which made it even more confusing to me but it is what it is ig. So I was hoping for another JayVik x reader where this time, the reader is an artist

Now I primarily draw OCs and people (usually digital or w/ marker) so I’d like smthn leaning towards that but frankly you can do whatever

I just think it’s be funny if, while Jayce n Viktor do their cool nerd shit, the reader is fully unhelpful and doodling in their sketchbook. Quality time except I’m drawing sexualized men (gender equality) and my hot boyfriends are solving global trade or whatever

(Mayhaps also drawing them for studies and anatomy practice and showing them because I like forcing ppl to look at my art >:)) )

Again, take as long as you need to write this, hope you’re doing good :))

MY MUSES - JAYVIK X READER

synopsis: after escaping Noxus with your best friend Mel, you've cherished the peace of Piltover compared to the wartime of Noxus. You were able to flourish in the city of progress with your artistry. It was the way you and Mel found solace in your old home. Now, you've been commissioned by the council to paint a portrait of the Hextech duo.

warnings: talks of wartime, insecurities, awkward talk, becoming friends with J + V, anatomy practice, complimenting your two boys, fluff, Grammarly is my beta

genre: m/m/f or m/m/m

p.s. I understand your frustration, even I've fallen into “make reader a scientist to make life a little easier.” I hope y'all enjoy artist reader!

You're painting in your studio at the Academy when the door is opened, and you smell the delicious fragrance of vanilla, cardamom, and sandalwood, it’s Mel.

You put your paintbrush down and turn to look at your best friend, a smile beaming on your face. You get up and go for a hug before stopping yourself, your clothes are stained with paint and you don’t want to ruin Mel’s pretty white dress.

She fondly rolls her eyes and pulls you into a hug anyway. Mel’s not a very touchy person. It was seen as a weakness is Noxus. She’s only really touchy with you, you’ve been her friend for as long as you can remember. She wholeheartedly trusts you.

And you know how rare that is.

“Hello dove. How’re you today?”

You scrunch your nose at the nickname, it was a nickname given to you when you were much younger. “It’s because you don’t see the glory of war. You’re gentle. Something I desperately need in my life.” Mel had explained, her Medarda Mask no where in sight.

“I’m good. I’m almost done the landscape you commissioned for the council room.”

Mel’s smile widens the tiniest bit, but her gaze is downcast. This isn’t a social call. She’s been tasked to ask you something.

“Mel, I understand. Just, tell me what you need from me.”

A sigh escapes the gorgeous woman, “The council has requested a portrait to be made of the two Hextech innovators, Viktor and Jayce Talis.”

You raise your brows in confusion, “Okay… why is that a bad thing?”

Mel leans on a clean section of your work station, a hand coming up to rub her forehead, “They’re constantly working. They don’t see the prospect of taking a break. If you were to paint them, you’d have to paint them in the lab; as they do dangerous experiments. I don’t want you getting hurt.”

You place your hand over top Mel’s hand that’s braced against the desk, “I’ll be okay. I can’t imagine they’d let anyone get hurt.”

Mel nods sagely, the hand that was rubbing her forehead is now placed over your hand. She’s now cupping your one hand and rubbing her thumb over your knuckles.

“I’ll tell them what the council has demanded. When will you be free to paint them?”

You look over to the almost finished landscape painting sitting on your easel, “Give me a week.”

Mel nods, gives you one last hug, and leaves your studio to break the news to Viktor and Jayce.

You just hope they’re nice to you.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

The week passed by in a flash, and here you are. Standing in front of two very large doors that make you feel like your heart is going to beat out of your chest.

You don’t understand why you’re so nervous. You’ve painted portraits of the top-class in Piltover. The cream of the crop. The top one percent, and you were fine. You were mentally rolling your eyes every few minutes, but you were fine.

You’re now asked to paint two scientists and you feel like you’re going to have a stroke.

At least Mel gave you some advice in regards to both men, “Jayce is quite kind, easy-going, and easy to talk to. You’ll make quick friends with him as you are. His partner Viktor on the other hand… is a different story. He’s cordial, but stubborn. He’s quite witty with a sass that almost matches mine. He’d prefer it if you skipped the flowery talk and just got straight to the point. He’s not a fan of the mind numbing politics of Piltover. Say what you mean or don’t say anything at all.”

With that mantra repeating in your head, you knock on the doors to their lab.

“Come in!” A voice exclaims, “We cannot leave our stations, the gems may become volatile if we do.” Another voice adds, this time with an unfamiliar accent.

You lightly push open the doors and are stunned by the state of the lab. Papers everywhere, equations on a blackboard you don’t even want to attempt to understand, ink stains, scraps of metal.

You suppose this is their version of an art studio.

“Oh!” The first voice you heard exclaims, “You must be Mel’s friend, the one who’s been commissioned to paint us. I’m Jayce. The one brooding over there with goggles on his face is Viktor.”

A scoff, “I am not brooding. I simply do not see the purpose of a portrait being made of us. It takes time away from our research!”

You cut in, reminding yourself of Mel’s advice, “The council has ordered it. Besides, I need to study you two for a little bit. Understand your anatomy and proportions. Then when I have a clear understanding, we’ll take one day out of your schedule to get the painting done.”

Viktor raises his goggles, putting them into is hair and the most beautiful pair of eyes you’ve ever seen narrows onto you, “You’ll only need one day to paint us?”

“The weather is constantly changing. That means so is my light source, my shadows, my colours.” You explain easily, “If we spend the whole day together, I’ll be able to easily get the portrait done and you two can go back to work. Sound good?”

Viktor purses his lips before nodding, Jayce just looks between the two of you with a small smile. He thought that would’ve taken a lot longer.

Guess you’re pretty special.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

One Week Later.

Their work is fascinating. You don’t understand quite a bit of it, but their enthusiasm and passion make up for your lack of knowledge.

Here they are trying to solve most of the worlds problems and you’re sketching them in your sketchbook with hearts in your eyes.

You focus on their bodies, how they bend, contort, their planes and shadows. How light glows onto them.

You focus on their unique features. Jayce’s sharp canines, Viktor’s cheekbones and moles. Jayce’s broad chest and Viktor’s cane and brace.

Those two points are especially important. They’re so detailed. And they’re a part of Viktor, you’re not going to erase something so vital to him as a human being to make the portrait “nicer to look at” according to the upper echelon of Piltover.

You’re so lost in your thoughts you don’t feel a presence come up behind you, “Whatcha doing?”

You jolt, putting a hand to your heart as your pencil drops to the ground, “By Janna Jayce! You scared me!”

A boisterous laugh permeates the lab, “You we’re so focused, I couldn’t help but wonder what you were doing.”

“We’ll… I was drawing my two very beautiful muses.”

There’s a small silence in the lab.

“Your—“ Viktor starts, then clears his throat as Jayce stands there, stunned, “Your beautiful muses?”

You nod, not realizing their disbelief, “Of course. The two of you have such beautiful features. Jayce is quite tall, with broad shoulders, a tiny waist, and strong legs. A nice hair cut, strong brows, big eyes, and pink lips. You, Viktor on the other hand—“

You’re cut off by said man, “Are not as conventional—“

You cut him off this time, “Are also tall, lean, lithe, with long beautiful legs. You have a face carved out of marble, messy hair, eyes that look like liquid gold, beauty marks, and a nice pale complexion that compliments Jayce’s tan. You’re both quite handsome, just is different ways.”

The two men are stunned into silence, and it takes a few minutes before you realize what you said. You feel your face heat up as you try to hide behind your sketch book. Viktor lightly smiles at that as Jayce laughs and forces your sketch book back down onto your lap.

“You know, I’ve never heard such an honest compliment before.”

“Neither have I.”

You feel like killing yourself. Maybe jumping out of one of the lab windows will do the trick.

“So,” Viktor’s interrupts your dark humorous thoughts, “Do you feel prepared to paint the portrait?”

You look the two men dead in the eye, even as embarrassment consumes you.

“Yes.”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

A day is set and you bring all your art supplies that you need into the lab. You even set up a place for the portrait to be.

The setting will be in front of their main work station, the hexcore and hexgems glittering in the background. You brought a comfortable armchair for Viktor to sit on, you know these paintings can take some time and you don’t want to over-exert his leg. You assume Jayce can stand for a few hours, placed right next to Viktor.

As you explain your thought process to them, the more excited they seem. And to think, they didn’t want to do this originally.

“Ok, get comfortable. Viktor you can put your cane to rest against one of the arms of the chair. Jayce, can you place your hand on the top of the headrest? Perfect. You two comfortable?”

You get nods and yes’ as your answer.

With that, you start to paints them.

You ensure to be as diligent as possible. You start with the boys, adding bits and pieces to the background as you go. You make sure to her the green in Jayce’s eyes, the beauty marks on Viktor’s face. The house Talis emblem on Jayce’s jacket; the intricacies of Viktor’s cane and leg brace. The purple and blue glows of the Hextech give the painting an almost magical feeling.

You have to say, this may be your best portrait yet.

A couple hours pass and you deem the painting complete. The two boys sigh, Jayce cracks his back as Viktor cracks his neck. Most of the painting was done is silence, a few tiny conversations sprinkled throughout the process.

You didn’t want them to move.

The two come to where you’re sitting and gaze at the portrait in awe. It’s… them. It looks so life like, as good as a picture. But it’s softer, it looks beautiful.

And they look phenomenal.

“Are you sure that’s us?” Viktor jokes, pointing at the painting, “Those men are incredibly handsome.”

You cock an eyebrow at him, “Now you know what to say when you look in a mirror. That’s how you look, and it’s how you’ll be remembered.”

Jayce smiles and puts a hand on both your and Viktor’s shoulders. Viktor looks touched at the sentiment.

“You should move your art stuff to be here. Permanently.” Jayce states easily.

You almost choke on your own spit, “Pardon? Why would I do that?”

“Because we'd miss you,” Viktor replies a cocky look on his face.

You huff out a laugh, “Ill be of no help to you. I'm not a science brain. I'd just be in the lab drawing you two constantly.”

“We’d pose for you.” Jayce jokes

“Even if I wanted to practice nude anatomy?”

Viktor hums, “Not in the lab obviously, but yes even then.”

You smile at them, “It’s a deal then.”

And to think you were scared they wouldn't be nice to you. You just obtained two pretty muses (hopefully for the rest of your life.)

TADA!!! This was such a cute request. I hope y'all enjoy reading this as much as I did writing it. Pebble, you keep those requests coming (and everyone else who requests too 🫵😏)

I have like four requests now in my inbox and I squealed when I saw it. I've never had so many requests before. Usually my inbox has like… spam and fishing schemes. So this is amazing to me!!

#arcane #viktor arcane #jayce arcane #jayce talis #arcane imagine #arcane x reader #viktor imagine #viktor x reader #jayce imagine #jayce x reader #jayvik x reader #fem!reader #male!reader #gender neutral reader #banners by cafekitsune

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capslocked · 1 year ago

Text

KINKVEMBER DAY: 9

[prompt: problematic relationships]

male reader x nana

10k words

"Do you have any idea how long I've thought about it?" Nana slips a finger between the buttons of your shirt. "You, me - us?"

And here, you actually, truthfully do not want to know.

So, go ahead, cue up the sound of a mental rolodex spinning out while you start to list the very real, very valid, very adult reasons you should never, ever put your hands on her. (1) She's too young for you, (2) you're kind of a community figure, or at least someone who has to appear to be one, and more pertinently (3) she was your student not long enough ago - in your ethics class, the irony of which is not lost on you - and that makes it the kind of dirty, low thing you'd feel guilty for even masturbating to. Let alone actually attempt to live through, no matter how insistent some parts of you might be to the contrary, a point emphasized by the pressure of her finger against the dip just below your sternum.

"These... oh, how should I call them." Nana hums softly just before easing a bit of distance between the two of you, head tilting like she's in a trailer for this summer's romcom, and not, you know, trying to drag you into hell. "Filthy little fantasies?"

You're a high school teacher, interdisciplinary. Sometimes history, other times philosophy, you've also taught math - and once, egregiously, home economics when the faculty member whose usual duties consisted of teaching the class was out on a very sudden and scandalous maternity leave. But it's your love of literature that finds you in a bookstore near enough to the high school to sell more used copies of intro textbooks than actual novels.

You're paging through a book you'd say you're considering buying - if any of the store staff were to push the question onto you - when she appears at the other end of the fiction aisle.

You catch the look first of her dyed hair, this perfect shade of chocolate, to the edges, the fade-to-brown, cascading over where a more formal shirt would ostensibly have shoulders.

She smiles; it's pretty.

Then, you make the mistake of glancing down and seeing the modest rise of her chest beneath a crisp-collared sleeveless top; all your typical college-age tells but for the red flannel, rolled back down around her waist. Her fingers, long and thin, dangle from where a uniform button-down would taper off around her wrist, thumb rubbing lazily at her forearm. The briefest glimpse of her nails, all done up in acrylic - perhaps the most potent way to show contempt for an old dress-code.

You have, admittedly, also noticed the length (appropriately, the lack thereof) of her pleated skirt and those frilly stockings that ride so far up the creamy curves of her thighs that it has your stomach rolling and tightening when she shuts closed the book in her hands and says -

"Isn't it weird how most of the novels in the romance section are written by women?”

- she speaks with a slow deliberateness, like she'd only ever hoped to find one of her old teachers alone and slightly vulnerable in a used bookstore -

“Like, how do you think a man would even go about writing those kinds of stories?" She grins, because maybe this isn't really a question at all - not one meant for you, certainly. And for one wild moment, the rush of relief (she's not actually talking to you), then panic (she's actually talking to you.) surges through you.

But then the girl pushes another couple books along the shelf and continues.

"Because I'll tell you what, Professor - all this stuff," a flip-flip-flip of her fingertips against a leathery dustjacket, "about just feeling it, not being able to control it. It's all women, always women." Another wave of her hand to set another row of spines a-shuddering. "Do you ever think maybe people will get tired of listening to girls talking about feelings when what they really need to see is what guys would do?"

There are so many reasons you should turn and run.

So many little flags, flickering wildly in your mind. This is one of your students. Was it this fall? Maybe the last; she had sat front-center. Never slept in, was one of your best by several measures - not simply in regards to the simple repetition of classroom work, but by her insistence on getting in the kind of heated discussion where one might dig their fingers through the innards of your lectures. Not just good - fantastic.

"Nayeon," you end up saying, flat as your suddenly paper-dry mouth can make it - with just the tiniest hint of unease. "It's been a while, hasn't it?"

And almost as if she knows that you're trying not to let your eyes dip any lower than the collar of her shirt, her shoulders do that lilting little move (hiking up and away just so), the one that your girls tend to learn a long, long time before your boys ever manage to figure out. She laughs out this pleasant sound, adds: "not that long, sir."

"Well," you're clearing your throat, looking around the bookstore like it might contain a way out, and eventually landing somewhere on her skirt, "you know how fast it all goes."

"Nana, by the way."

“I’m sorry?”

“Nana,” She gently corrects you again with this mischievous slant to her smile, and you start remembering: all the gossip and rumors, how she was being courted by these talent-scouts and labels. A prodigy, or as close to it as anyone from this town could ever get.

Your eyes are starting to sting again when she, this perfect-fit model of your worst impulses, runs her hand through her hair, tugging at the roots a little bit, a silver wristwatch falling slightly down the perfect length of her forearm. It almost hurts not to reach out and steady her. And it definitely shouldn't, but it has you breathing a bit faster. The rationalization: you are a man, and there is a perfectly ordinary part of you that might be aroused by any amount of smooth, inviting skin. That's fine. You're fine.

"Just for the record," Nana starts, still looking like she wants to put a hand forward and hook one long fingernail into the buttons of your shirt. "You were, like, absolutely one of my favorite teachers."

"I guess it's nice to hear I'm not a complete lost cause," you say.

She snorts. "Oh, definitely not." And maybe because, after all of the years you have been teaching these soon-to-be lawyers, politicians, and doctors, you've come to not look down on them for saying the wrong things so much. Though you do envy their absolute ability to say the wrongest of things - just so - just on purpose.

"Are you," you nod at the thick stack of paperback novels that she is still holding, and with which, suddenly, she's bashful and flustered - this perfect shade of pink blossoming through her cheeks. "Actually here to buy those?"

The response: a demure little shrug. A drawl. "We all have our vices, professor."

"I'm not your teacher anymore," and remembering at the last moment, "Nana, you can drop the honorifics, please."

She holds a book out, cover turned toward you, and your mind stalls - even your fingers slip a little where they are resting on the spine of your own paperback purchase. The title is an affront to literacy, and the art on the cover seems to have been produced only with stock photos, gaudy.

"Have you heard of it?"

"Can't say that I have."

"Well," she laughs and has the courtesy not to lay it at your expense, "it is so good." Then, without missing a beat, she twists her lips together, and finds the book flush against your chest. "I'm sure it beats reading textbooks and essays about the merits of Locke and Hobbes' life-after-death stuff all day, anyway. An hour if you can spare the time? I'd love to hear your thoughts on it"

And - ah, there it is. The push.

There is a zero percent chance that, after any of this, things will end neatly for either of you.

You still wonder, slightly, how long Nana will keep up the charade before breaking character - because there's no way in hell she doesn't see what she's doing: wrapping you around her pretty fingers, her shiny, manicured nails, twisting every chance you get to reject her into an excuse to linger that little bit longer.

But it's well over an hour spent at the cafe-end of the bookstore, where she orders an iced-coffee and fills you in on the details you don't really need to hear, what she's been up to these last couple semesters - playing twenty questions; questions about other faculty members, the school, if the school newspaper is still anything like it used to be (for the record: no), then coming back to if you've been seeing anyone lately. That last one slips in so naturally you can't stop yourself from taking a slow drag off of the straw in your drink and answering: "not recently."

Because no honest deed goes unpunished, or however the saying goes.

"Hey," her hands splay out over the tabletop, pushing the cold, condensing water of her glass, smudging where a finger drags a line through the pool.

Maybe she knows. How you're already caught, and there's no going back, which is to say you're perfectly free to watch, hungrily, where her throat moves, and then where her lips part.

"I’ve got the perfect thing for that," and for one unhinged, hysterical moment you picture it, Nana: lying back against a counter or maybe in the cushions of a sofa, panties thrown carelessly over her shoulder; heaving out this soft, heady gasp. You: pushing inside of her for the very first time, both of your legs bracing, the heel of her foot pressed into the small of your back - but before you can convince yourself that she can't be talking about that, and just barely before the air gets stuck in the back of your throat and you realize that you might be so thoroughly, tragically fucked -

"Read this." A snap back into the here and now. She is looking at you very pointedly, not naked - but beautiful and perfect as she leans a bit into the table and crosses those lovely, lovely legs of hers, and tilts the copy of that awful, awful filth at you.

"Nana, respectfully, this is drivel," you say, immediately and plainly, listening to Nana laugh out loud as you glean more than you need to know from the info on the inside cover. "They've crossed like five major genre boundaries for a hook-up. Why should anyone bother?"

"Come on." She waves it off with a careless gesture of her hands. "There's plenty of things to like. Maybe you should give it a chance - broaden your horizons, teach. Besides - the sex scenes?" She rolls her shoulders with the same shrug you remember watching so carefully all those times she made her way, out of the hallways and back into that front-and-center-seat she was always occupying whenever the bell rang. "So filthy. I can show you one of my favorites."

"Doesn't really seem like appropriate reading material for -"

"You said it yourself," her voice has a bright, saccharine tone, just on the right side of strained. And between sips of that straw stuck in the purse of her pert, little mouth, she draws that next sentence - the ice cracking, thinning under your feet -

"Not my teacher anymore."

Nana smiles; this brash, cock-sure thing that reminds you, as you try to clear your throat of the nerves making a bed there: you are actually so, so fucking gone on her. So far gone it hurts, when, with a flourish and a bounce and a complete, reckless lack of discretion, she starts paging through the first chapters.

"Who says you can't study these kinds of stories on an academic level? Think about it: sex sells. Whoever ends up writing, it's a whole lot easier and a hell of a lot cheaper than trying to do it all yourself." She looks up, this mischievous twinkle in her eyes, as she angles her fingertips down on the book and opens it - page after page of very obviously poorly-written sex. You look, not even consciously.

But of course, her fingertips drift lower and lower along the pages until it's evident: she doesn't have an exact page in mind, but only a particular passage -

"Here. Let me show you, just one."

"Alright, fine," you start - trying for an effect of exasperation, something to mitigate this god awful throbbing, "whatever - you get one, one sample paragraph and I'll, you know, whatever."

"Yeah, you'll definitely see. Just trust me. Just the one."

She drums her long, gorgeous nails against the table, then eases back with a finger highlighting the text.

You're screening and scanning the words as she tells you about the heroine in the story: a pretty girl who comes down with a bad case of infatuation for her teacher - unrequited, of course. And then, into a passionate affair, of course; all the most raucous, explicit details laid out over the table for everyone else to hear. She says it is about as nonchalantly as though she had been reading you the daily weather forecast and not an elaborate metaphor for - and here, you stop her.

"He cums on her desk?"

"Fucking hot, right?" She nearly snorts and gestures you onward, her eyebrows jumping - go on, go on.

So, you skim along: a heavy rush of nausea (alongside another) pulsing down around your gut at the thought of actually doing such a thing, your ears going hot and your legs crossing on instinct. There's not so much a breath of hesitation as Nana, cool, unfazed, and utterly unaware of the uncomfortable churning of your stomach and the simultaneous thrumming in your cock, takes another deep swig of coffee.

She hums, thoughtful. "Honestly? Kinda wished it happened to me like that. You were a good, good teacher, professor. I wouldn't have minded your hands all over me." You hear her laugh, and the entire universe collapses like the end-days. You are struck down with feverish conviction: this girl is the worst.

"Anytime you wanted," she adds, so carelessly.

There's a clunking sound, of glass on wood; a half a second where you almost lose control over yourself.

“Nayeon,” you let slip, the old name - a mistake of an invitation she grasps like a weapon. All coming to a glint in her eye that says she knows how you see it, how you can still picture her sitting with her hands folded over the skirt of her uniform, chest rising and falling beneath her cotton shirt. Studious, taking notes, acting every bit the naive sweetheart everyone believed her to be.

You shudder out some pretense of composure and settle back a few inches as she continues to coax a reaction out of you, prodding: "how many girls did you make confess back then, hm? Did it ever do them any good?"

"Dial it back, Nana."

Her expression is all feigned, gentle surprise. "But sir," she looks at you so innocently, "you said I should drop the honorific."

You want to argue that, you also want to tell her off for being such a brat - to demand that, instead, she cut the shit, sit back, and remember who you both are, but when, with a wink and a smirk, she's getting up out of her seat, Nana sets a gentle, reassuring hand on your shoulder as she pushes her chair back beneath the table. You get onto your feet, and when the two of you are stood close together like this - she's really and truly that much smaller than you remember. Waist so tiny you think you could almost, almost wrap two hands all the way around her; skirt rising all too easily when she tosses her weight between her heels.

"I hope you know what you’re doing," you tell her, sternly - the voice of a teacher whose patience is running thin.

But no matter where you look, the consequences are dire and immediate: an abject fascination, a kind of debilitating greed; the absolute fucking loss of ability to look her directly in her eyes. Not like Nana isn't staring right through you. There's no doubt some part of her relishes the feeling.

"Hey, what do I know?" This sweet, demure-like chuckle follows. "It's just porn, right?”

Eventually, Nana says to call it a night because the sun's long set into the horizon and the chill starts getting at the both of you.

She tells you while you're packing up your belongings to come by again sometime, her voice teasing as she explains that you should pick out a new novel to read for your benefit.

Which is possibly the ideal outcome, all things considered, if it wasn't for the way she found herself in your hands just a few paces into the parking lot - no one around to catch you, where you're gripping fast onto her wrist and pressing the lines of her body into door of your car, looming and ready to give a piece of your mind.

You know what you ought to say - things like don't bother, you've enjoyed her company, she's fun and sweet, and in a dozen different ways: be a good girl, and go home. You had your fun, didn't you? But she's practically begging, those huge, wide doe eyes that stare straight up into your soul.

"C'mon,” her voice lilts into a deeper, more purposeful register, “you wouldn't turn down a student on her way home, would you?

(This fucking girl.)

She speaks of propriety, like you aren't a man of your own principles - like you aren't reaching down to press a kiss to the swell of her lips like she undoubtedly deserves. To lick into her mouth and pull and kiss and bite until she's trembling, teeth caught in a delicate whimper. Or, that you aren't running your hands down her sides to find the backs of her knees and draw them upward, hooking your hips flush against hers.

She's all too breathless, watching you draw off her lips, fingers fast in your shirt, your hair - holding you close.

Then finally, a true, honest reflection of your heart. Nothing less than sheer and utter capitulation: "let me take you home."

Nana just nods before wrapping her arms around your neck and kissing you again.

It's definitely on you for expecting anything different, but Nana fucks like she talks.

Conceited. Brash. A little selfish.

The girl's sitting there on her kitchen counter with one leg hooked over your shoulder. She's stripped herself down to near nothing save for those fuck-off ridiculous panties: slick, shiny with a thick strip of satin between her lips, complete with white lace frills and all; the same ridiculous pattern as the thigh-high stockings clinging tight around the soft-gentle fat of her legs and the lace top of her garter. Her pussy - all tight and pink and soaked - has left this shimmering, shiny mess that's trailing down the insides of her thighs.

Your fingers are in the elastic of her panties, near bruising the curve in her waist where she's rocking, flushed and keening against your grip.

You tell her, "take these off."

"Off?" She repeats it back to you with the same little grin: playing dumb, the smart, charming ass she's been all night.

"I'd tell you what I really want to do to you," you start, pushing your fingers in a little harder, eliciting another pretty moan. "But I'm really, really sure you can fill in the blanks yourself.

"I hope you're not planning on being rough with me," she teases, running her hands all through your hair as she pulls herself against you - and of course, it's her audacity to insist, "no marks." She drops a chaste little kiss along the underside of your jaw. "At least, nothing that might show up on a camera."

Someone with a little less baggage might have done just that. Might have jerked her panties down a couple inches further - ripped the cloth, exposed her even more. You might have followed the waistline further along the perfect round of her ass, found those dips and dimples that, maybe, no one else has ever gotten to explore. You may have grasped at the ends of her hair and gotten your fingers in her pussy without ceremony - driven Nana to the very brink of her climax just before palming two greedy handfuls of that ass - shoving yourself right there between her lips and, lost to shame, put a fucking kid in her.

All the things she must be dying for you to do.

"Something the matter?" She pushes her mouth into yours for a kiss that has all the urgency of a lazy Sunday morning. Your tongue against hers, languid and gentle at first; wet-sloppy, kissing and sucking on her bottom lip. You can feel her smirking when she says, "don't tell me you've forgotten how."

It's a lot, the effort you're putting in not to crumble - to crack at her taunts, snap your restraint, the temptation. You just wanna grab her pretty tits in both hands, shake her, and say: "shut the fuck up." But no - even in your wildest fantasy, you want to hear her first - beg you to make a wreck of her. So you force the words between your lips, dry and cracking:

"Not a fucking chance."

A laugh. "Guess I'm in good hands, then. Have to admit," Nana slides her hands down to hook under your own, bringing them lower. She grinds your fingers in slow circles over that one, aching, perfect little bud - a shock that has her curling tight inward until she's whining, clutching at her waist. "Not the - not the situation I had in mind."

Nana shifts her weight a bit more on one hip, guiding you through rubbing along the entrance to her slit - sloppy with precum, silky and aching - and when you place just the lightest pressure over all that hot skin, she opens her mouth:

"Ah."

Her eyes, her hair, her fucking mouth - you can’t look away - she’s so gorgeous it hurts.

Even the way she pants; the perfect furrow between her brows. And then, you dip a finger inside her, just to the first knuckle. It’s enough to make her whine, all shaky and high.

"Go on then, with how you’d pictured it," you press, already easing your digit in and out; slow, slick pumps that she is growing hotter, needier around. "I'm sure you've touched yourself to it more than a few times. The details and - stuff - must have been vivid."

"You haven't the slightest clue."

A brief kiss. You coax another shy sound from her, drawing a long sigh against her mouth -

"Try me, Nayeon."

"This is a lot closer to the truth than you’d think, professor." This time, no correction, she just smiles wide and tosses her head back, asking, sweetly, as if to absolve you of the responsibility. "Do you have any idea how long I've thought about it? You, me - us?"

Nana slips a finger between the buttons of your shirt and starts to pull.

On that detail, you actually, truthfully do not want to know.

"These... oh, how should I even call them." She hums softly just before easing a bit of distance between the two of you, head tilting like she's in a trailer for this summer's romcom, and not, you know, trying to drag you into hell. "Filthy little fantasies?"

"You know," you start. And by this point, her cunt's that much tighter. You've managed two fingers now, but no further, and she's making these desperate, punched-out gasps. Her clit's a swollen pink nub, jutting out from its soft hood. "I really had you pegged all wrong."

"Not - not at all. You can fuck me just fine, trust me - ah. Please, you can fuck me anyway you want."

And here, you grab a little higher on her hips, pinching her on the outside of a thigh, and begin working your fingers fast. You've never cared much for teasing, not really, but something about the way she squirms in your grip, tries to lean up and grasp onto your shoulders with shaking hands, it gets you smiling. It gets you grinning, even, especially the way she makes these pretty noises: a long, desperate little, "ah," at each press and thrust, her breath going high and uneven.

"Listen, Nana -" She squeals out loud when you push your fingers just a little deeper, a little bit harder. "I'm not going to talk about what a slut you've been today or how badly I want to spread you wide open," you can already tell it's affecting her: the sudden change, the subtle hitch in her breathing, the tremor where her thighs press together. "Tell me about you, about your little ideas. Let me help."

"Wouldn't be fair." Her pussy's getting tighter, urgent with want. And still:

"C'mon now. Humor me a little. There was probably-" you say, sliding down that ridiculous pair of underwear along her ass, tugging them over the curves of her legs - so slow and easy, all while you're not bothering with easing off. Nana moans again; voice pitched. "Lots. Lots and lots of dirty things - and, I'm willing to bet my career that they made you a hot, mess - an awful, soaking fucking wreck. Who could've guessed? You, of all people, with just the right kind of teacher's-pet-appeal, hm?"

And you meant it to be a joke, just some ribbing. But the question has her immediately tensing, looking at you very intently, no trace of shame as she snaps back -

"Your mouth." She rocks forward. "Your fucking mouth."

You shouldn't keep touching her, you shouldn't keep staring, you shouldn't push her flat on her back and shove your face right into her cunt, you should pull away before this goes too far - it shouldn't be your fingers drawing out sopping-wet gasps out of her pussy, nor should you press your tongue to her cunt, your mouth to all that delicate flesh and, at your first taste, shiver.

Nana laughs: shaky, nervous. Then, your fingers sink back into her pussy alongside your tongue, your lips, the way even your hot breath against her aching pussy has her all stunned, breathless - and -

"Please."

- right before she breaks off into a beautiful sound that catches her hard in the chest.

(A sound like you’re all she could ever want in this life, maybe the next; it’s this wordless plea.)

"Hah, I had - ah, had so much - hah - dirt on you, used to masturbate thinking - ah," and there, she arches her spine, forcing a sigh out, "thinking about how you might punish me." She laughs - nearly choking. "How you might break down all your veneer of being a good, moral man and fuck me raw and rough and - ah - fuck. Oh god, fuck."

You twist your fingertips up just so, right against this perfect spot in her, and all the sudden the entire line of her body seizes - stiffens up, the muscles in her thighs twitch as you both moan through the moment, the spasms reverberating in your own ears, loud and unashamed, right against her wet, wet clit. Your fingers are fucking and fucking and fucking away in her cunt, harder and faster and sloppier, every word, every groan, every gasped breath only making it easier to forget. To give in. And with every heavy slap and squelch of your fingertips digging in as deep as her body allows - you're sending her that much closer.

You pull back long enough to bite out: "cum whenever you want, Nana.”

She can’t, she can’t, she can’t, is what she’s trying to say, bracing against how your tongue moves around her clit, and she knows, there’s no use fighting it.

A kiss against her swollen mound and she writhes. “There you go sweetheart, cum for me.”

Nana comes undone. Gradually at first, then vaulting over that edge all at once. She lifts and lowers her hips - pushing your fingers into the smooth, velvety muscles of her cunt; rocking up and up again. It's a torturously slow kind of grinding, and her feet find purchase on either side of you as her toes curl, one heel digging into your shoulder. An assurance; a promise; a lifeline; that she might tremble and shake through it, moaning.

“Fuck,” and, “god,” and, “you’re gonna make me-” slip past her lips alongside all the assured gasped-out cries for relief - the orgasm sweeping through her, tearing her apart.

Back pitching, shoulders narrowing, face twisting, cinching tighter and tighter -

Until she collapses.

Until it’s over.

As she lays there, chest heaving, arm draped carelessly across her forehead and half over a kitchen cutting board - her thighs splayed open, fucked and spent - she's so, so beautiful.

And it’s in that sort of fucked-up-noodly-state where she just slides right into your arms - those long, slender legs wrapping tight around your middle. "Here's the deal," you say, grabbing hold of her hips and steadying her, as best as either of you can.

"Hm." This lazy, sated look, the way her tongue's dragged out - slow and slick - across the top of her teeth and bottom of her lips. "Go ahead, sir. I'm listening."

The lip service - that coy little appeal to authority that maybe you’re actually plenty fond of - it makes you stop for the barest of moments. This girl, she's unreal. How hard could you ever be asked to resist her?

She lifts a brow. "Professor."

So you continue:

"I'm going to get out of these clothes, and we are going to see what happens after that - if you have a preference for the bed or the sofa, now's your chance to pipe up. Or else -"

"Or else-" She repeats, shifting her weight around again. You can feel how she adjusts her heels to hang higher up your ribs, rocking her weight against your abdomen, against your cock - and the instinctual twitch that runs through your spine is turgid and rough. Like a shot. If it had a smell, it'd probably remind you of gasoline.

And then, maybe just to rile you up even more: "the dining room table makes a good impression of a teacher's desk, no?"

You slide your hand along the backs of her thighs until you have a good, tight, high hold on them and pick her up, leaving the panties, the stockings, all of it down where they can gather dust or whatever - she giggles, and tightens her hold around you like she doesn't need to worry about falling.

"I'd rather fuck you into a mattress to be perfectly candid."

Nana throws back her head and laughs - this real, honest-to-goodness peal of laughter, a hint of playfulness where there was usually just a practiced ease. "Oh. So forward."

(In all likelihood, you're both going to hell, and on the off chance you meet down there, you figure you'll fuck her then, too.

You've read the myths, the Greek tragedies, the ones that have these gods descending from the heavens on human women, for pleasure and nothing but, you've read those stories and plenty more - the details don't matter: it's always a bad, bad end for everybody involved.)

She takes you upstairs. And the two of you fall through the doorway to her bedroom, stumbling all the way.

Her apartment is simple and clean in the way all young adults try to emulate, all white countertops, but with pictures hanging in little, neat rows on the walls and the space void of anything with some sort of character or history.

You know because you're fumbling toward a dresser or desk or bookshelf in an attempt to orient yourselves, bumping and tussling, half-blind, on your path forward and all of a sudden there's a goddamn framed photo in your hand - not of her family, thank god. Though just about every other person in the picture is familiar to you, you remember every single one - but all you're capable of focusing on is Nana, Nayeon: not quite the same. The same glint in her eyes, the way her smile has a timeless kind of quality, the faint dimples in her cheeks.

And some wicked part of you is all too willing to ignore the whole timeline of events that has led up to you, Nana, like this: you want to pull her hair. You want to shove her around like she doesn't matter - is in any way disposable or replaceable; the most selfish parts of you wishing you could keep her pinned down by her slender neck; pressing a palm, bruising, into her collarbone as you start to work at your belt buckle and slacks with your other hand.

It's hard, getting a grip on yourself as Nana, sliding onto her bed and rolling across the sheets, pulls her stockings down the length of her legs - only stopping herself long enough to meet your eyes. Her throat bobbing.

“Of course,” she says, because your cock is hanging out by that point, straining and a little pent-up. "I fucking knew you would have a perfect cock."

"Flattery or sincerity?"

"Um, let's say both." She shifts around the pillow - that sweet little pout on her lips. Her gaze dropping from your mouth and running all along the length of your torso, lower and lower. Like her hands. And when her eyes flick up to meet yours, just when you're stroking at your cock, base and shaft, teasing yourself, well past the point of pretense, a devious smile spreads wide across her pretty, beautiful face. The implication: you aren't leaving here until you're cumming inside her.

And with a glimmer in her eyes, the sheer audacity, her fingertips ghost the underside of your cock as she draws up toward the head, "you're going to ruin me with this thing. You know that right?"

"A bit dramatic."

Nana moves to rest with the tops of her knees at the edge, her chin resting against the insides of her wrists, elbows propped up - poised, playful, everything she should be as the both of you regard each other a moment longer. "Can you blame me? It's not just that it's huge, I mean - I've barely even gotten a hold of it, and yet... god," she snorts. Her eyelids are heavy, mouth curved, almost a snarl as she drags her bottom lip through the grip of her teeth and sinks down onto the mattress.

"Say something filthy again," and this is a test, this is Nana testing you to see what exactly you'll get away with.

(Hint: it's a whole lot.)

She sighs. The image of indigence, innocence, everything pure and good you couldn't hope for. "Should I suck it or not? Or maybe, I don't know. Would you prefer me to beg for it first, ask if you'll put it in? Like, I think if you ordered me to put it in my mouth, right now, I wouldn't be able to say no."

"Really," the most sarcastic answer.

"Really," she continues. "For instance. If you came over here right now and guided me up and onto your dick and told me, specifically, that you were going to face-fuck me? I couldn't say no. No sir."

You could have her any damn way. You could have her, and you both know it.

"So tempting," you tease, mostly in earnest, "maybe another time, when my self-control isn't quite so lacking."

Nana hums a low, flippant sort of noise - like: whenever you're ready - and just how much trouble it gets you in, the mere suggestion, is what she is banking on.

"Hey," is her invitation, "I won't beg yet. You still want me to put my mouth all over it," and to emphasize, she slips her fingers between the plump pillows of her lips, smiling at how that makes you reach over the nightstand, accidentally pulling open a drawer, possibly reaching for the first aid kit, "or would you rather watch me stuff all these fingers in my wet, little hole."

A sharp inhale: it really would be fun, probably, but you can't take it.

"Nana," this voice, gravelly-ragged and harsh, "if you're planning to make me snap, you are, without question, on the right track."

"Then before that happens," she says, pulling you down into the bedsheets beside her. Your body flush against hers, the beat of her heart loud against your own; this gorgeous, pristine girl, so nakedly giving - this is an honor and a curse all rolled up together, no doubt.

And after a hot, wet kiss: "fuck me like I always thought you would."

(She was made to be like this; it's the only explanation.

Made for wanting. Made for fucking. Made to be loved and made to have her cunt fucked full - ruined by your fingers, your tongue, your cock. This absolutely perfect body, and all the delicious parts of her; this thing of desire, bashful and coy and that deserves all the world and, having none of the grace or courtesy to actually beg, orders, like she always knew she could:

"Like, right fucking now."

Or else.)

Then you're there - her hot mouth, her cunt, your fingers digging in bruising-tight all along the curve of her thighs where they meet her ass, hips, thighs, waist. She's pumping her soft palm and delicate fingers, slick with her spit and yours around the length of you and this isn't going to last long; not that there's any doubt you're going to leave her sore. But still, you drag the head of your cock across the swollen lips of her pussy, down through the plump swell of her clit until it rests where the ridge just begins and every slide, every pressure along every inch of your cock, the thought of being enveloped entirely in all that silky warmth is nearly the end of you.

A whimper, "professor."

You wrap your hands tighter around the smooth, firm muscles in her thighs; dragging your fingers back and forth across the supple skin there - just firm enough to elicit a reaction from the tension in her legs, until you have her flipped over on her stomach. Because if you're going to fuck her properly, it's going to be with her face buried deep into a pillowcase and you perched above her, holding her down against the sheets.

You watch her get her elbows underneath her, laying almost flat. Watch her trace the shape of her own jaw, her nose, her neck - the smooth expanse of her chest - as you straddle her thighs. With her ass pointed right up at you and the heel of her ankle gently grinding into the underside of your leg, you groan, placing both hands just above her ass. And once you're gripping the whole shape of her, you push your cock into her, just an inch, listening to the shift in her breathing.

She shudders, "don't tease - oh, please, sir-"

"Is this what you expected, Nana?" You grab onto her hair. Then again, when she tries to get her hands on herself. Her shoulders are high, tight. You just don't give her a chance; pushing yourself another inch, a couple. The pace, so gradual she starts making these soft, little breathless sounds as you stretch her tight pussy open. A few moments when she stops trying to bury her noises, her gasps - stops trying to angle her hips or squeeze or resist the thick shape of your cock where it is so, so hot and full inside of her - and there you stop. "What is it you had in mind, hm?"

"Ngh - oh."

Her cunt's clamping tight around just the first few inches of you. The tightness, the wet heat is staggering; how it pulls and begs with the words she seems reluctant to spill out.

So - you lift a hand, bringing it back down again onto the pale, rounded flesh of her ass with a smack, a gasp, and this wet sound from the sopping heat of her pussy, all aching and sobbing, "don't, fuck, stick it - fuck, put it - just. Just fucking get on top of me and pin me down - make it hard for me to breathe - do it, just. Like I, fuck, like I always wanted, sir, please-"

And you sink all the way in.

"Fuck." She bites into those consonants, a whole-body motion that pulls at the tension in her spine, the muscles in her legs. But her hips angle right up, and she presses her ass into the hollow of your abdomen and says, "thank you. Thank you. God."

"Don't get lazy on me," you say, grinding the tip of your cock in little circles; pulling it out and angling it down until it's prodding at all the right places to make her arch and shiver.

"Please," she says again, louder this time, almost a moan. "That. Fuck. Yes. It's."

"Yes, yes, I know. Nana, you-"

"Just use me. Whatever you like," she pants; then, once you've pulled yourself out to the tip, slowly filling her again, "use me like a fucktoy, alright. Because - fuck," Nana shivers, pushing her hips into yours. Her shoulders lower, as if by degrees, "please. Use me. Make it rough. Please, professor - use me however you want, I don't care - anything's fine with me - use me, as long and as much as you need, I. Please."

The real difference here, beyond anything else, is that this is no longer the game it was; the very instant she was sprawled across the mattress with a line of drool dripping into the sheets, all her bright, polished glory has vanished, leaving this bare edge of her exposed - the girl who lives solely to be fucked and used by your cock, her cunt leaking, begging for more. Reduced to the basics and nothing else.

"Your fucking cunt, Nana, the goddamn clench - you feel - it's-" (So fucking good, is what you can’t quite say, because she’s tight and wet and her tiny pussy is quivering like mad every time you bathe your cock in its scorching heat. Over and over.) It’s hard to think; you’re truly - truly - fucking her, but you can’t ignore the tautness in her spine either, bent below you. There are probably tears beading down her cheeks, but there's no helping the raw instinct screaming through the core of her being, pleading with you to pull yourself free, before sinking hilt-deep into her again, again, again - to a chorus of sloppy, loud, nasty, fucking whimpers and moans.

Like music.

It's easy after all, how her pussy gives way to you. How she molds around you - sleeves onto you like a glove - like there was only one cunt in the world you should ever be fucking up and fucking apart.

"It's incredible. Fuck. Just that perfect."

Nana, as best as she can, trying to stay steady, braced against her hands and knees, is raising her hips.

But it's clear with the way she's slipping all over, slicking the sweat off her palms and rocking her ass back into your thrusts, a cry falling out of her, unbidden, when she speaks and not.

"Please," she pants, through tears probably, this breathy-shivering. A renewed enthusiasm for your grip on her - where, in another place, you'd worry about leaving marks behind - for the feeling of your weight slamming down into her, driving the air from her lungs.

The sheets are a crumpled mess, pillows knocked from the mattress, where the two of you are shaking it apart.

You're pulling her apart, slowly, thrust by thrust into her sopping cunt, and in a promise of how you'll put her back together, you get your mouth on her shoulders, her neck, kisses in her hair, behind her ear - Nana just whimpers, curling her toes and ankles along the backs of your knees, her face against the pillow and gasping, "thank you - thank - thank-"

And when your palm smacks against the generous swell of her ass, again, she keens so perfectly for you.

It's a breathtaking sight, so good, so perfect: her flawless ass pitched high, round and flushed pink. The flutter of her eyelashes and the tears and drool. The outlines of her pale white cheeks sent into ripple after ripple, and then the way you can slide one hand forward between her shoulder blades and slip it into her hair, nails raking her scalp, grabbing a handful of hair in your fist and tilting her face - to the side, enough for her cheek against the pillow and the way her hips try to press against yours; try to chase the pleasure; this brash, gorgeous, slim-waisted, well-curved, exquisite young woman - like everything.

"Please," is all she says as you fit your chest up tight to her back and mouth at her neck - lick all along the sweat. "Please."

You can't take it anymore, can't keep watching this masterpiece, can't stand the molten heat wrapped around your cock every time the drag in and out of her pussy pulls sets every nerve on fire. Right in her ear: "I'm cumming, Nana, I'm cumming inside this tight, little pussy."

A short gasp, "yeah."

"Yeah. Inside, Nana. Cum inside, you -" You twist your fingers against her scalp and find purchase, an excuse - a means to yank her head around and lean into her, teeth against skin, that familiar coiling in your gut and the burning sensation that flows right alongside every slap and smack of her hips on your skin.

"Fuck me." You watch her bite down, swallow a sound, try to say: "fuck your load so deep inside me it’ll be all I think about for weeks, let me feel it, all that hot, all that sticky, fucking cum"

And you drag your hips, these final, punishing drags through her drenched cunt. Her fingers are white knuckled and fisting the sheets, until the very second you've pressed every ounce of your own body's worth into her own, when you're collapsing her spine and pushing her face into the bedspread, this wave rushes through your ears like the buzz and hum of insects and waves and things out of sync - the high, the peak -

And then:

Sobering, subjugating silence.

In fact, you're shuddering; You're cumming, spilling pools of thick cum deep inside of her. It's all in that warm, filthy sensation, a heady, hazy, desperate thrill when her own cunt seizes in its climax around you, trembling, throbbing, quivering, clenching; drawing everything out and taking your cock deeper - even while the whole of her is thrashing and bucking, all of this messy with her pleasure and her voice caught up, writhing and breathless.

"God-" is the last thing out of her mouth before you can kiss it quiet, tug on her lower lip and open her up like a present - messy and breathy, crying out, you're making this mess inside, this beautiful fucking mess - as the whisper you feel against your lips:

"Inside me, like that."

As you groan, deep and hot, "filthy fucking cumslut-"

Right on the verge, riding out every twitch of your cock and each flex of your hands at the skin around her ass, her waist, back and shoulder blades; even after you've caught your breath, you keep pumping more and more inside of her, you don't stop, won't, and even when you manage it, pulling out the head of your cock - you can feel every slick detail - just the slit and rim, resting the throbbing head of your cock at her swollen little mound, feeling the length of her fucked-out pussy spasm at the emptiness and trying to grasp around nothing - empty, tight and aching, sopping.

There's her hips, just this, right there; the line, the silhouette. Her thin waist and the curvy swell of her ass, jutting out straight - the cream-colored flesh dusted pink. The lithe, soft line of her stomach and the insides of her thighs a little farther along, sweaty and inviting.

She's so pliant in your grip, even though she's trying her best to curl herself backward - to angle your spent cock back into the ready, welcoming warmth of her slick, wet pussy - and once the afterglow has begun to wear away, that same greed and yearning takes its rightful place. A glimmer in her eyes. The unmistakable need and drive.

"One more," she says, wiggling her hips back into your stomach. "For me."

(The truth: you can't refuse her, not as she bites her lip and twists, all that soft hair splayed across her face, stuck to her tear-damp skin.

One more, because you both still want it. One more, because in the dim glow and evening air of her bedroom, everything that happens now matters just as much as anything that happened before.

One more, because you need her again.)

When she wakes in the dark, you figure her bed will be empty.

Nana will realize that you're gone. Of course you’ll be - it was never going to go differently; the sex had to end at some point. After all, if you stayed, eventually she'd start saying something you'd find a fault in or your skin would be so sensitive she couldn't stand not running a finger up your spine and maybe kissing your hip.

The reasons to go always outnumbered the reasons to stay.

The world would catch up and someone would find out and that's the sort of gossip that might leave both of your careers in shambles. Or else, you'd do something you couldn't come back from, the moment the heat of the sex left your body and her cunt, god, her perfect little cunt was spent - slackening - and the moments-after-haze, her legs locked up and her arms a bit sore, would clear up. Then you'd look at her, or else the shame would win out - the guilt and you'd call it quits. She won’t blame you. She can't.

But then again,

Her heart won't fall completely to pieces, because:

You've stayed. And it isn't an easy position, even if she is easy.

Here she is, though: sleeping on her side with her wrists crossed in front of her face - peaceful and quiet, probably tired enough to sleep without dreams. The dark has long since settled across her bedroom, save the pinpricks of stars in the sky out her window and a sliver of moonlight. You can see her, or you could reach out and run your hands all along her calves and thighs, but you don't.

Nana's shoulders slump forward in the faintest of sighs, and there it is - the slow, gentle swell and fall of her chest.

Here's how you got here:

In this scandal-in-waiting of a relationship. Here's the stupidest possible path, where a bright-eyed student with a crush fucks her older professor just once, and somehow you both find yourselves coming back for more, like maybe your very, very bodies belong together - a maddening compulsion.

Even once you've managed to work through the idea of your cum all inside of her, a seedy, twisted corner of your mind murmurs how it makes the most sense. To stick your cock inside of her again.

Where she can show you the way it can look; the mess and the texture of the slick, white spill - dribbling out of her pussy in the afterglow, onto her palm, and down the crevice in her ass and lower.

It's the phone calls probably - and not just the phone sex - late-night talking, conversation and every once in awhile, the kind of hot, hard fucking that gets you in trouble, but also a reason to be with each other again. Not just the quick fucks but the nice ones - the days, the late nights and mornings and what have you: all the casual intimacy of it. All the sweet nothings exchanged.

The after-sex cuddling, with her straddling your lap;

The sensation of her thighs sliding into place around the tops of your legs, her arms tucked around your neck;

The kisses you don't take and kisses you'd be okay with, all the promises made to love you as many times as necessary, however necessary, wherever.

That's all here too.

Again:

She is young. But, who the fuck are you to say? Who the hell can tell you she doesn't deserve the least rotten, least painful, most promising love she can find in this particularly fucked-up world?

Who else is going to keep the both of you safe and hidden?

And who else, despite everything, seems to like having a secret that they're sure only you know; every glance or accidental touch with her eyes brimming, alive, and the whole of her bent like a bow-string - all held back and wound-up tight.

To the point her spine will shiver and shake; you know how it can be.

"Are you actually going to buy those?" Nana asks one day, dangling on her toes, chin rested comfortably in the sweep of your shoulder.

When she crowds the swell of her hip and her breasts and her entire body into your back and snakes her arms around your shoulders, you think there's nothing else in the world you need.

"You called them drivel," she adds, almost pouting - which is a look you're slowly trying to inoculate yourself against because the moment it comes up, you have a knee-jerk reaction to drop anything and everything and carry her off someplace else. To have a place where she could, could, could -

"Hah," you roll your eyes, not taking the bait. There's a shelf-full of campy, smutty romance novels in the dollar bin. "It is. The story was less than complicated, but I couldn't figure out what the hell two or three characters' plotlines had to do with one another, and sometimes you just want a little guilty pleasure, you know?"

"Ooh. So," Nana smiles, the devious sort. "I guess there is some honesty in you after all."

"Come on, this one at least has an original story," and it is a shameless attempt, "plus-"

"I know, I know. Fine. And if it is so terribly bad, well, I suppose I can use your chest as a pillow to take a nap," she says, before throwing this particular glance over her shoulder.

The cashier doesn't need to ask if the two of you want your copies of 'Wild West of the Heart' or whatever-the-fuck this one is titled, scanned separately.

All of that, those paperback-cover love stories and TV drama plots, these are the sorts of things you do just for Nana; as the two of you wait in long lines, get carried along, get bumped and pushed, like every other ordinary-person thing you've done for her ever since.

("Honestly, this isn't my kind of thing either," you tell her in the aisle of a grocery store once. The fluorescent lighting only accentuates the blush high on her cheeks. "don't make me fuss over something like this."

"Have a little sympathy," she insists, nudging the handle of the shopping cart against the inside of your shins. "A girl like me isn't good for much else.")

It's not romance, really, that's such a fucked up way to go about describing any of it, but then there's Nana, bouncing on her heels and prattling on, this girl in the spring of her life who is full to the brim and bursting with the most chaotic and eclectic sorts of thoughts and passions -

So, what.

"Really," she adds - another side, another angle on an issue the two of you had an hour ago while cooking breakfast. "Just, think about it. Would you honestly put all this effort into somebody who doesn't make you laugh at least as much as they irritate you? Because like, you would never tolerate some self-obsessed jerk long enough to eat their burnt, terrible pancakes every day of the week."

"Fine. Maybe." You sit across the table. "You're right."

Nana blinks and this look of wonder crosses her face as she grins. A moment of triumph for her and that was more than the honest truth. It's still strange, admitting defeat in any argument here or there, or that the two of you make an actual decent couple - together. The kinds of things that come naturally to other people.

"Any more caveats to all of this, professor?"

"You’re gonna end up bent over that counter again if you keep pushing it, kid."

The both of you break out laughing and then you finish your coffee, or she stabs the last few pieces of cantaloupe on her plate, or you kiss her neck, and just -

Everything.

#wooah smut #nana smut #kwon nayeon smut #el7z up smut #kpop smut #male reader #capslocked kinkvember #woo ah smut #woo ah nana smut

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bruhstation · 1 month ago

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hello tumbled er

greetings and salutation. it is I, senja heterocaine, speaking to you through your favorite home screens. now you might be wondering: where on earth has senja heterocaine disappeared to these past 5 months? well the answer is as simple as it gets

I focused on my studies.

well yes that is the main reason. but that's like the nerd "obvious" answer. there’s other reasons too. some of which includes me getting into new interests, revisiting my old, hibernating interests, getting involved in university organizations and events, getting more involved in big family stuff since I'm the oldest and the only of-age grandchild of grandma from mom's side.... lots of stuff

so I just finished the third semester of premed school right. honestly speaking, with how I was losing motivation on drawing, the art block post-art fight, and lack of time, I decided to well, take a break. and it’s pretty convenient too since it was early on in the third semester. during the entirety of it I was feeling pretty proud of myself like "oh I've been studying a lot. I've taken a break from drawing and blog stuff. surely things will get better" and it did! not immensely but it's significant enough that for once I don't feel an indescribable sense of terror after the semester ends. the focus of this semester was about reproduction systems and growth and development which is pretty fun? we get to use models and medical phantoms hands-on and poke them with needles and other rube goldberg contraptions. I did miss breeding bacterias in petri dishes and seeing my friends burn the microbiology lab’s ceiling like last semester though. my grades are also improving… slowly but surely

(aftermath not pictured: me lounging on the couch scrolling through quora to see if there are people currently in college wanting to drop out)

maybe I was aiming too high. at least my grades are better than the previous two semesters and my social life is much better than it was back in high school. speaking of exams -- I went through my first osce exam around a week ago (practical exam to see if you can actually perform the skills labs lessons from the entire semester like you're a real physician). it was the most terrifying day of the month. my dentist said I have a big tongue and that’s why I can’t speak properly if I’m being too fast. ntm I WAS NERVOUS!!! MY FIRST OSCE!!! with how I memorized everything I needed, I was pretty confident that I'd pass, though. I didn't and retook the exam the next day. the prelude was the worst crash out ever

ah ptooey. I'll just take it like a champ. my tutor who's 3 years older than me and currently in the anesthetic rotation of co-ass told me that things will get easier but that's very subjective. he's a medical olympiad student after all. my parents are pretty happy though with how my academic life is becoming better so that's that

LETS MOVE ON TO SOMETHING LIGHTER. section B: what I've been getting into ever since bruhstation was put on cryostasis

you know Transformers One (2024)? the transformers movie directed by josh cooley? based on the Transformers(tm) franchise by Takara Tomy and Hasbro? most tragic break up movie of the decade? I watched it twice, squealed once, and left me broken and inconsolable for weeks on end. it made me revisit my dormant transformers interest after 5 years. I've reread the idw comics (mtmte, LL, taao, main transformers comic), and is currently checking out more (reading the wreckers saga right now). god it made me miss rodimus and friends' zany space opera adventures. I've always envisioned casa tidmouth to have the same tone as mtmte... the oftentimes dark humor, fridge horror stuff, weird magic/science, the roller coaster of emotions, confronting the past... its crazy good.

stories where misfits and knuckleheads band together in a confined space while having crazy doctor who-like adventures am I right. like I want casa tidmouth to be like that. remind me to thank 14 year old me for this trip down memory lane. and as usual, I tend to make self-indulgent crossovers of any interest I'm thinking about at the moment with casa tidmouth

a terrifying sneak peak on what's to come.

I've been working on my oc projects too. you may have seen some of them on artfight (graciela, saudade, altair, etc) but I've been focusing the most on graciela and saudade's universe, children's heterotopia. it has the largest amount of characters in any story I've created (not counting casa tidmouth), the most effort put into planning the stories and weaving in its themes about capitalism, patriarchy, period-typical bigotry, etc. there's human experimentation and they're given powers that range from punching super hard to time and space displacement. I also inserted whatever I wanted into the story. sure, yes, there's a lesbians-only organization of which its members are named off the knights of the round table, theres a mafia that focuses more on the family drama and attempted parricide from all angles, and tragic assassin maids of which their names are wuthering heights references. also if you've been following my main tumblr hajimedics for a while, you might've seen my three fairly oddparents ocs. well I've given them the tezuka star system treatment and inserted them into children's heterotopia as well.

I've also gotten into UTAU production! I've made a number of UTAU covers but haven't uploaded them to youtube. only shared them around with my friends on priv twitter. a good friend of mine assisted in the creation of my own UTAU voicebank! their name is TORKA (like "torque"), their voice bank has a slight accent when singing in japanese (because I'm their voice lol) and CV-only, their in-universe lore is that they're an intergalactic train conductor picking up wayfarers and outcasts trying to find a place in the vast universe, and I love them dearly

moving on! this is a thomas the engine and company blog THIS IS A LIFE UPDATE POST

I'd rather not discuss about how I'm doing mentally in deep detail BUT what I'll say is that I can't confidently say "I'm doing better" or "I'm doing worse" because it always depends on the days. things are okay-ish nowadays. some days are scary. some days are boring. I still experience delusions, (ironically) worried about my anhedonia, and believe that certain bouts of confidence will trigger a jinx, but I think I've been controlling myself well? at least? I keep internalizing the belief that I'm an adult. 20 years old. I have to act accordingly and my life in real life is ten times more important than the internet. things are going to change more and more once I graduate premed and began the co-ass program. I have to think 10 steps into the future. building successful connections before you turn 30. sigma grindset and all that. sorry that was my father using my body as a spirit medium

AND ALSO. ALSO. BACK TO THE BLOG DO YOU GUYS REMEMBER THAT ONE TIME I PROMISED TO MAKE A COMIC BASED ON THE RESULTS OF THE 1000 FOLLOWERS POLL AND NEVER DID UNTIL NOW. I'm terribly sorry. I promise I will get into it I SWEAR procrastination is kicking my ass. I have to plan the dialogue and script and stuff AND DRAW BUT

BUT HERE’S THE FUNNY THING

THE BLOG REACHED 2000+ FOLLOWERS A FEW MONTHS AGO

NOW WHAT DO I DO TO CELEBRATE?

I don’t know honestly. I haven’t done the 1000+ followers celebratory comic, and NOW I HAVE 2000+ FOLLOWERS. THERES 2000+ OF YOU NOW!!!!! THAT’S CRAZY (IN A GOOD WAY)!!!! I thank you all for sticking with bruhstation through thick and thin for around 2 and a half years. I’m glad for all your support, fanarts, asks, and such truly. like wow. 2k. in such a short time too! thanks guys. admittedly, I feel kind of guilty to leave everyone hanging for months with nothing to give, especially with such a high follower number. and realistically? I don’t think I’ll be able to draw as much as I used to. like I’ve said earlier, I’ve been busy with my personal life and oc projects. it’s not like I’m abandoning this blog any time soon? I’m just speaking from a logical perspective, given my status as a student and (possibly, hopefully) future doctor too. I don't want to burn myself out posting like thrice a week, answering asks daily, I want to take things slow. at my own pace. maybe I'll focus on designing side characters as well and thinking about their roles in the story! but that's for another day. I’m just glad everyone’s still sticking around and enjoying my silly stuff

I do want to draw more for this blog! I want to put thomas and co. in more situations. make them dance for all our entertainments. but when you’re an adult, you realize that you have your own priorities. you can’t always do the things you wanna do. you can’t just drop something you don’t like out of the blue. sometimes you have to sigh, scratch the back of your neck, and brave it while saying “I sure am getting old”

oh and also I'm a butch lesbian now. still he/they (heavy preference on he/him), still preferring masculine terms like "mr", "sir", "guy", still as crazy as ever. still aroace too and not interested in dating, something that's been a constant in my identity ever since I'm in early high school. little have changed I can assure you this. I am still senja. senja heterocaine from the net.

and thus concludes senja’s life update post! what will the next post after this be about? something gordon-centric again? serious colored art? old men yaoi? silent hill UK localization? place your bets. everyone loves a good laugh

#life update post: now with illustrations #zin.txt #thomas the tank engine #ttte gordon #ttte james #judea (oc)#casa tidmouth #tugs zip #tugs ten cents #fortezza bigg city #very long post #senjart

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darling-i-read-it · 1 year ago

Text

Burns

Charlie Swan x fem!reader, Carlisle Cullen x fem!reader

Word Count: 3.7k

Warnings: age gap (for both men, both are legal but carlisle is like 223297493 years old so do with that what you’d like lol), burns (second and first degree), doctors office, me knowing too much about twilight

Author’s Note: IM WRITING A PART 2 RN BUT WANTED TO SEE IF YOU GUYS LIKED THIS <3 I literally randomly had a burst of inspo to write this and i lowkey love it…

Summary: You’re a waitress at the local diner to pay off tuition in the summer. You have a small crush on the chief of police who comes in to get his coffee from you. You thought that was all it was until you met the resident doctor when you have a mishap and now you’re stuck between two incredibly charming men that both have a little crush on you.

I don’t own these characters. They belong to author/director/creator

(not my gif)

Forks, Washington was under a near constant cover of rain. You were aware of it when you woke up in the morning, prepared to see the dreary weather that greeted you through the window. You could smell the rain on the pavement before it came, see it in the clouds as they hovered above. You were always prepared for it, always ready for it.

Today, the sun was out. Summer usually calls for something more temperate. You found that those days weren’t necessarily unwelcome, but never your favorite. Everyone went outside when it was sunny. You could see people you hadn’t seen in ages. You never made an effort to see them in the first place for a reason. There was an uncharacteristic amount of skin showing. It may only be mid 70s but everyone suddenly acted like the ocean water was a relief to their burning skin.

You sweat easily, especially in the diner. The Lodge had little to no air conditioning and the sun brought people in droves. Everyone wanted a bite to eat. They all remembered the diner had milkshakes. It was never a great mix for a waitress.

You turned the corner on your heel, giving a quaint smile to Cora, your coworker. She looked like she was going to melt away.

“Do you think anyones gonna leave early today?” she asked quietly behind the counter. You shook your head. She had the coffee pot in her hand and was holding it tightly so it didn’t spill. You looked around the packed diner, laughter bubbling from sections where it normally was silent. You shook your head, giving her a sad look.

“We’re in for one.”

“I should’ve called out,” she muttered. “You should’ve called out. This place needs us.” You shook your head.

“You’ve gotta put food on the table,” you reminded her. She had a kid who was going into middle school. You had met her when Cora brought her in, her headphones stuck in her ears and reading some trashy teen novel.

“Always the voice of reason,” she muttered. “Plus, you gotta pay tuition.”

“Don’t remind me.”

You were going to college in Seattle but always worked the summers back in Forks. You loved the little town despite its insanity. You found that most of it was quiet, even on louder days. Plus, it was always easy to find a job back home. You were practically shoved the waitress apron when you returned this summer. You had been doing it since you graduated high school, always trying to find something to keep yourself occupied. You were coming upon your senior year in college and the extra money helped immensely.

“Hey, your boyfriends here,” Cora teased. She pushed herself off the counter to refill someone’s coffee cup. You furrowed your brows in confusion even though you knew exactly who she meant.

You watched as chief of police Charlie Swan walked through the doors with a clink of the bell above his head. He met your eyes and gave you an awkward half wave, which you returned slightly more enthusiastically. He walked up to the counter, squeezing between the people sitting there. Someone said hello to him and he gave them a nod in acknowledgment.

“You guys are busy today huh?” he questioned, scoffing.

“Just a bit,” you admitted. His presence never ceased to bring butterflies to your stomach. Maybe you were harboring a small/not so small crush on the sheriff but you tried your best not to show it. You assured Cora it was just something silly for you to feel as you passed through your work day. Still, her eyes lingered on yours as she went around the counter to greet someone else because she knew you were busy. “It’s the sun.”

“Brings out all the loonies,” he said.

“I imagine you’re busy out there too.” He was always scanning around to make sure no one was doing anything wrong. His eyes flicked from you to the people beside him, then back to you.

“Taking my 15.”

“Just to see lil ol me?” you teased. Even as the words left your mouth you felt self conscious of them. This time though, he gave a half smile.

“You make the best coffee I’ve ever had,” he promised. You tried not to get flustered.

“Well, it looks like you need a double today, Sheriff.”

“Charlie, how many times do I have to tell you?” You rolled your eyes. He leaned against the diner counter even though there were no seats. You turned around, every other table lost in your mind. Cora would help you out until he left.

“Well Charlie, it might be too hot for a hot coffee. You could’ve gone to one of those fancy coffee shops,” you offered, grabbing a coffee pot.

“Yeah, can you imagine me ordering there? I have a hard enough time with you.”

“I think I get what you mean by now,” you joked. You poured him a cup and grabbed three sugars and two creams. “Anything else?”

“You always this quick with your service?” he questioned, looking at the people down the line who hadn’t gotten their food.

“I’m just the coffee girl with a pretty smile. I don’t control the food orders.” You handed him a stirring stick as he opened his sugar packets. “Plus, you’re the chief of police Charlie. I don’t wanna get arrested.” He chuckled, a real genuine laugh.

“I think I’ll let you off for this one.” You smiled at your success. The laugh was guaranteed to be the highlight of your shift.

“Thanks Charlie.” You turned back to the kitchen which was starting to call things out. “Anything else?”

“No ma’am.” He grabbed some cash out of his wallet. “Keep the change.”

“You’re my favorite customer Charlie,” you joked at his more than generous tip of 100%. He did a little salute with his finger and raised the cup to you.

“Go do your job otherwise you’re bound to get more angry customers than I am.”

You nodded once and bowed out of the conversation gracefully. You grabbed the food from behind you and started to bring it out. Cora gave you a look as you passed her, the smile plastered on your face a clear tell of your conversation.

“Peach cobbler,” you said to one of your regulars. She was a small old lady who always came in on Saturdays, at exactly the same time. You enjoyed talking with her and catching up on her life. She got the same thing each time and the consistency was something you appreciated. “Sorry it’s been slower today Miss. Heidi. The heat has the whole of Forks out!” She shook her head, brushing you off.

“No worries at all,” she assured you. “It’s not like I’m not gonna come back.” You shared in her shaky laughter. She picked up her fork just as you were about to leave and pointed it at Charlie. “You making heart eyes at the chief over there sweetheart?” You flushed immediately. Maybe you weren’t so great at hiding it.

“Maybe. But keep your mouth shut Heidi,” you whispered with a smile. She chuckled. Her eyes lingered on Charlie who was finishing his coffee already. He had started a conversation with the man beside him. Charlie seemed to know everyone in town.

“Aren’t you a little young for him?” You rolled your eyes.

“It’s perfectly constenting and legal,” you assured her. “I’m plenty older than his daughter if that’s what you’re gonna say.”

“I was gonna mention.” Her eyes wrinkled at the edges, shaking her head. Her movements didn’t feel like she was disagreeing with you. More so that she was gossiping with a friend, just girls being girls. “He had his heart broken by her mother, you know. He’s a good man.”

“Is that your consent Heidi? Because I don’t even know if he feels the same way.” Your voice was lighthearted. She grabbed your hand, her saggy skin feeling comforting.

“I wouldn’t worry too much sweetheart.” You scrunched your face a little and shook off her words. You were still on the clock.

“Enjoy your peach cobbler Heidi.”

You brushed your hair out of your face. The sun had finally subsided for the evening, giving way for the clouds. You embraced their presence, appreciating the way that the cool air felt on your overworked skin. Cora was still hanging around after her shift, waiting for her husband to come pick her up. You sat on the back steps of The Lodge, watching the trees sway.

“The air feels so crisp,” you muttered.

“You say the weirdest things,” she grumbled, laughing. She was leaning against the building. “It’s the trees.”

“I know.” You were going to leave right after work and finally drive back home but you needed a moment to sit and enjoy the day. It had been a long shift. Cora and you were officially trauma bonded.

“How was the chief?”

“Good,” you promised. “Sweet.”

“A guy can be sweet and catch criminals?”

“He’s assertive,” you argued. When Cora laughed she did it with her whole chest.

“Honey, you’re down bad.” You rolled your eyes and stood up. Cora’s eyes followed you as you did so, turning back to the door inside the diner. “You’re goin back into that hellhole?”

“Forgot my phone,” you said. “Also, I am not. It’s a work crush. I’m entitled to one! Just like you like the produce guy!”

“I do not like the produce guy. I think he’s hot. Big difference!” You rolled your eyes as you opened the door back inside. The heat hit you again, unpleasantly. You had to weave through the cooks to get back to the front. You couldn’t remember when you had put your phone down. You were making a phone call during your break. Maybe you had left it on hte steps outside after all?

“Hey Jerry?!” you called to the cook in the back.

“What?!”

“You seen my phone?”

“No! All I’ve seen are burgers!” You rolled your eyes harder this time and dipped underneath the counter to see if you had put it with the sugars and stuff. You let out an annoyed groan when it wasn’t there.

You turned too quick and ran right into the closing waitress. She was holding a hot pot of coffee and effectively spilled it all over you. You gasped involuntarily, the feeling of scorching coffee seeping through your clothes. The gasp turned into a seethe as you packed up. You could hear her speaking, the high pitched, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” reverberating off your eardrums. You had dropped coffee on yourself before. All you could think of was that you needed a towel and some cold water.

You turned on a dime and walked back to the kitchen. You turned on the sink back there and fumbled your hand around for a towel to use.

“Jerry, towel,” you mumbled, the burning skin now setting into a tingle. He turned his head around and saw you. He started to fumble around. You walked in front of him to grab the towel and just barely lost your balance, causing your hand to fly up onto the table.

Right onto the stove.

This time you yelped. The coffee was already forgotten as there was now more of an issue at hand.

“Woah dollface!” Jerry exclaimed. He grabbed your wrist because you were just staring at your red hand. You had put your entire palm down. You looked up at him, tears staining your eyes from pain, and he brought you over to the sink.

“Oh fuck,” you groaned as he put it under the cold water. It didn’t subside any pain, just added another sensation. “Jerry that hurts!”

“Hey Y/N, I have your phone in my apron.” Cora came through the door to witness you breathing heavily next to the sink, Jerry the cook practically holding you down.

“She burned her hand on the stove,” he explained.

“She spilled coffee on me,” you blubbered childishly. You could feel all your body parts at once, like you were on fire. You had no brain power to say anything else.

“Oh Jesus,” Cora muttered. She rushed forward, grabbing your wrist to look at it. “You gotta get this checked out honey.” You gave her a somber looking face. “I know, I know. I’ll take you. Where’s your car keys?” You reached in your apron with your non burnt hand. It was soaking wet from the coffee.

“Is she okay?” the waitress asked, sticking her head through the window.

“She burned her hand on the stove,” Jerry said.

“She what?!”

Cora put her hand on your back, leading you out the door. You took deep breaths, in through your nose and out through your mouth. You were fine. You were gonna be fine.

“I’ll be okay,” you whispered. “You have to g-”

“I’ll have Steven do it,” she said. Her husband. You gave her a look of pure thankfulness as she helped you into the passenger seat of her car.

“I really don’t have to go to the hospital over this,” you tried to say.

“I know you don’t. But I think it’s safer than waiting.” You put your head against your headrest.

Cora dragged you by your free arm to the front desk. She was the one who gave your name and your information as you stood beside her, holding your hand. You looked like a mess, given the coffee all over you. You were sure this could all just be fixed by some water and ointment from the store but Cora insisted.

She rambled on about how a family member hadn’t gone in for a burn and it ended up being more severe then they thought, damaging below the skin. Her words were not comforting.

Eventually they called you back to be looked at. You sat on an exam table with a thin paper on top. A nurse had come in to check on you and give you something for your hand while you waited for the doctor.

You were in a row of beds. Cora pulled the curtains aside to give you privacy.

“I really don’t think that’s necessary,” you said.

“They don't get to know all your business. HIPAA or whatever.” You squinted.

“I don’t think-”

“Ladies.” Carlisle Cullen stepped through the curtain at the open side. He was holding a clipboard, a charming smile plastered on his face. Your breath hitched at the sight of him. He was gorgeous. “Y/N, I hear you burned your hand.” You nodded.

“And her chest,” Cora muttered. She must have noticed Carlisle’s looks as well. Or maybe she just noticed your reaction to him. You cleared your throat.

“I had coffee spilled on me.”

“No, you should check it out. It’s bad.” You gave a look. Carlisle’s smile remained, shaking his head. You had heard of him but never had a reason to come out and see him. You wouldn’t even call this a valid reason.

“Sounds like an awful case of bad luck.” You nodded. “Can I take a look?” He sat on a spinny chair and pulled it towards you. You extended your hand to him.

“I’m gonna go call Steven,” she said to you. You nodded. She patted your back, her eyes lingering on your doctor even as she left. Carlisle held your hand in his, gently looking it over. You looked down at him.

“A stove did this?”

“Yeah. It was dumb,” you promised. “I lost my balance looking for a rag for the coffee burn.”

“And that’s okay?” You nodded.

“I think. I mean, my hand feels way worse,” you assured him.

“Your friend seems to think otherwise.”

“Cora’s dramatic by nature.” He laughed gently.

“Well the stove fought back.” He wheeled backwards towards the table beside your bed. “It looks like second degree burns on your hand. I’ll send you home with some ointment for it and you’ll wanna wrap it up so that you don’t get it caught on your clothes or anything.” You nodded. “I’ll wrap it for you first, show you how to do it.”

“Thank you.”

“Of course.” He stood up and fumbled in the desks drawer. “Are you sure you don’t want me to check on the coffee burns?” He glanced back at you. You looked down at your shirt. It had mostly gotten your stomach. You could still feel pain there, probably driven by the fact you never got to clean it off.

“If you think it’ll help?”

“Stomach burns are interesting just because of their placement. It’s harder to wrap them. I think it would be beneficial for me to make sure they’re only first degree, if anything.” You nodded. You would listen to him read the phone book.

“Okay.” He walked back over. Before even touching your shirt he made eye contact with you.

“Only if you’re comfortable. I can wait till your friend comes back if you want me to.” You shook your head.

“I’m okay!” you promised. You cleared your throat and grabbed the hem of your shirt. You carefully lifted it up over your torso, holding it just above the wet spot. Carlisle’s eyes went down to your body.

“You said the hand hurt more?”

“By far.”

“Can I touch you?” Please. You cleared your throat again.

“Sure.” He put an icy hand on your hip, lightly brushing your burn with his thumb.

“How much does that hurt? Scale one to ten?”

“Five.” He applied more pressure.

“Now?”

“Seven. Your hands are really cold, which could be worsening the effects,” you joked. He chuckled, his lips turning up a bit.

“Sorry about that.” He backed up a bit. You put your shirt back down. “Those are first degree burns. It only hit in some spots. Should feel numb or touchy for a couple days. You can put the ointment there too but you shouldn’t have to wrap it up.”

“The hand needs it.”

“The hand needs it,” he agreed. He had put some stuff on the counter, which he now took in his hands. He squeezed something out a bottle and put a bit of it on his finger, taking your hand back in his. “Let me know if the pressure is too much.”

You watched him, your free hands fingers curled under the bed you were sitting on. He gently covered your hand, using such a light touch that it was like he was barely there.

“You’re good at this.”

“It’s my job,” he said, smiling. “Are you from out of town? I don’t think I’ve had you in here before.”

“Just lucky,” you quipped. “I go to college in Seattle too so I’m usually out there.” He nodded slowly.

“Fancy.”

“The drive back is beautiful.” He nodded slowly. His hand lingered on yours as he examined his work. “So is this town.”

“Do you work at the diner?”

“Yeah! That’s where I got this beauty.” He scooted back, grabbing the bandages.

“I think my son’s seen you there. He’s graduating high school in a year and likes his seclusion,” he explained.

“Son?” you asked.

“Edward.”

“No, I’m just stunned you have a child. You look far too young,” you said, laughing incredibly. He grinned sheepishly. You tried not to think of him being married or the lack of ring on his finger.

“He’s technically my foster son,” he described.

“I see. Do you do it all on your own?” You winced. That was aggressive. “I don’t mean to pry.” “It’s alright,” he said, shaking his head, completely cool. “Yes, they’re all under my care. I haven’t found the right one quite yet. Plus, she’d have to take on more than a couple stragglers with me.” His eyes flicked up to yours. They met for a moment longer than they should have. You had to look away.

“Sounds like a task.”

“It’s definitely not for everyone.” He tightened your bandage. “There. I’ll send you home with some of this, it’ll be sent to wherever you get your prescriptions.” He stepped back from you. “Try to be careful around stoves next time.”

“Yes sir.” He gave you one more look, a kind hearted smile and then was on his way. You followed him until he was gone out of view. You were glad he hadn’t checked your pulse because you were sure it was beating out of your chest. Cora came around the corner.

“He’s too old for you too,” she said. You laughed dryly, shaking your head. You could practically still feel his touch on your hand. So gentle.

“You’ll learn to get used to it,” you teased her. She rolled her eyes. “Were you waiting out there the whole time?”

“Wanted to give you and Doctor Dreamy some alone time.”

“You’re such a wingwoman!”

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell the Sheriff.”

Part 2

#carlisle cullen x reader #carlisle cullen x fem!reader #charlie swan x reader #charlie swan x fem!reader #carlisle cullen x reader x charlie swan #charlie swan x fem!reader x carlisle cullen #twilight imagines #twilight fanfiction

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crappymixtape · 1 year ago

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because of you • part two

PART I • PART III • PART VI • PART V • EPILOGUE // REQ -> @sattlersquarry ❝ an enemies to lovers fic with Steve? 💙 maybe they have to put aside their differences to fight upside down stuff and realize they actually have a lot in common 👀 • 18+ | ( 3.3k – little bit of king!steve, mostly angst with a dash of fluff, enemies to idiots in love, steve x reader )

B E C A U S E O F Y O U • P A R T T W O 🎶 theatre, etta marcus

❝ IS IT EASIER WHEN YOU DON’T HAVE TO START AGAIN? WHEN YOU DON’T WANNA MAKE AMENDS? ❞

‘Stealing a Winnebago’ had been easier than you’d assumed, but the getaway execution went exactly like you thought it would. Absolute disorganized chaos and the way Steve peeled out of the trailer park dumped you into Robin’s lap for the first mile. Made you even more skeptical of whatever half-assed plan these people had frankensteined together and now? You found yourself browsing the clothing section of The War Zone.

What in the hell were they thinking coming here anyway? From Eddie’s retelling of what happened under Lover’s Lake it sounded like not one of them knew anything about hand-to-hand combat, let alone guns. Couldn’t even land a punch, but thought they could handle this? Walls of rifles on display, rounders full of bulletproof gear and cases upon cases of bullets and god, you wanted to leave.

“Hey,” Nancy’s voice pulled your attention away from the tactical vests you were staring at, her eyes wide and earnest as she looked over at you. “If I go over to the counter, you gonna be okay?”

“Oh, totally,” you lied. “Yeah, was gonna go look over here anyway,” and you thumbed over your shoulder at more vests.

“Okay, good.”

She gave you a small Nancy-Wheeler-smile and left you there alone in a sea of camouflage. In the middle of a store you’d never have set foot in before all this and making you second guess yourself. Second guess what was seemingly more and more a stupid decision to go along with all of this and you huffed a sigh in frustration.

“Should’ve stayed in the trailer,” you grumbled under your breath, fighting the urge to just walk out, but apparently you weren’t the only one wandering around all the puke green clothing.

“Huh, didn’t know you had good ideas.”

The sound of Steve’s voice made your hands ball into fists, nails pressing half moons into your palms.

“Do you ever have anything nice to say?” you sneered and he had the audacity to be so causal. Didn’t even look up from the tactical vests he was flipping through and tossed one into his cart.

“Not to you I don’t.”

Anger rose in your chest like a pot boiling over, so hot it made your cheeks burn as you glowered over at him.

“What’s your problem?”

“Don’t have one.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yep,” and still he didn’t look at you. Picked a bomber jacket off the rack and piled it on top of his vest and it was the last straw.

Stalking over to his side of the rounder you got right up in his face, dug a finger into his chest and said, “Liar.”

His eyes flickered at your accusation, sardonic smile pulling at the corners of his mouth as he looked down at you and warned, “Don’t say things you can’t prove, Princess.” And he leaned into your finger. Waited for you to fold. Tsked at your attitude and the sound of it triggered a memory so strong you felt like you’d been sucker punched.

Your second ever interaction with Steve Harrington happened the week before summer break.

You heard it while you were walking back to school from grabbing lunch at the diner. A high, sharp whistle followed by car horn and then—

“Owwww, damn baby!”

And you recognized the voice right away.

Tommy Hagan. Leaning out the passenger window of Steve’s BMW. Wolf-whistling at you and being a dick and you tried to ignore them, but then they were pulling up next to you and slowing way down.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Tommy purred at your back, your mouth twisting into a scowl at the sound of Eddie’s nickname on his tongue. “You need a rid–” he started to ask, but his question cut short when you turned around.

Mouth dropped open in shock for a split second as he realized who you were, Tommy quickly recovered and started to laugh. That obnoxious, hyena-like laugh that made you want to punch him and he smiled and whistled again.

“Shit, Stevie! Who knew the freak had an ass on her!”

“You kiss Carol with that mouth, Tommy?” you shot back, Steve stifling a snicker from the driver’s seat.

“Bet you could do for a kiss, baby,” Tommy tsked, pouted his lips at you and grinned, “Always so damn sour.”

“Yeah? Wanna find out why?” you threatened and it made Tommy grin even wider. Shark-like. Predatory.

“Park it, Stevie,” Tommy didn’t bother looking at his friend, eyes locked on you as he opened the passenger door and jumped out of the car while it was still moving. Walked right up and crowded over you, eyes narrowing as he leaned in, “And what if I do?”

Your stomach lurched, heart leaping into your throat as you stood your ground. You didn’t think he’d take the bait, but you also didn’t shy away. God, you wished Eddie was there. Tilting your chin up in defiance you glared him down.

“Tommy, c’mon man. Just leave it,” you heard Steve’s voice from over Tommy’s shoulder, tinged at the edges with desperation as he ran up on the two of you, but Tommy couldn’t have cared less.

“Well? What’re you gonna do about it, toots?” Tommy pushed again, toes of his shoes knocking against yours as he stepped even closer, towering over you and it hit you like a ton of bricks how in over your head you were.

“Tommy, just leave–”

“I didn’t ask you, Harrington!” Tommy snapped and you took the opportunity.

Grabbing a fistful of his shirt in your hands, you yanked Tommy down into you and drove your knee into his crotch as hard as you could.

“Oh, fuuuuck,” he choked out, folded in half and hands covering his junk as he dry heaved and you took a big step back.

“Coward,” you turned and hurled the word at Steve and watched it land heavy as his face shifted. Brows pinching together and mouth dropped open, but nothing came out as he struggled to say those two little words. I’m sorry. To tell you he wasn’t like his friend, but his silence betrayed him.

“You bitch,” Tommy grunted at you as he tried to straighten up, one hand still over his crotch.

“Don’t move! I’ll–I’ll get you expelled!” you threatened and it made him laugh. A mean, mirthless thing.

“No fuckin’ way. My mom’s on the school board, who’s gonna take your side?”

And you looked back at Steve for a split second, silently asking him to step in and do something, but he stood frozen in place. Still unable to go against his ‘best friend’ and what little belief you had left in him was shattered.

You were done with Steve Harrington.

Shaking your head, you fought back the tears burning at the corners of your eyes and ran up the path to the cafeteria doors. Disappeared behind them with a loud, metallic slam! and left Steve alone to drown in the deafening silence.

Don’t say things you can’t prove, Princess.

It was like no time had passed, like you were still there in that parking lot with Tommy towering over you and tsking at you just like Steve was doing now, but this time you didn't run away.

“Don’t call me that!” you shoved at his chest and he stumbled back a step.

“Don’t call me a liar!”

“All you do is lie, Harrington! Your entire life was built on lies,” you could see his pulse fluttering against his neck. Watched his jaw tick as he clenched down on the words he wanted so badly to throw at you, but you didn’t give him a chance. “Why are you even here? You don’t give a shit about Eddie. You don’t give a shit about anyone, you’re–”

“Enough!” you flinched as his shout drew the attention of a couple older guys looking at the hunting gear. “You don’t know anything about me, okay? Not a god damn thing,” and the second part was quieter, but they way he held your gaze after punctuated it heavy.

He turned away from you, hastily pushing his cart back toward the cashier counter and walked out the double doors, but you weren’t about to let him have the last word.

“Hey, I’m not done!” you shouted after him across the parking lot. Sharp and biting and it made him spin back around, arms flung out at his sides in exasperation.

“Oh, yeah? Fine. What else you got?”

“Well, for one, I’m not going to sit here while you lord around like King Steve. This isn’t high school. No one here gives a shit about any of that.”

He squeezed his eyes shut at his old nickname. Sucked in a breath and let it out slow to try and steady himself.

“I’m not like that anymore.”

“Seriously? Do you hear yourself? You’ve been a dick to me since I set foot in Max’s trailer! And honestly? I’m not surprised! You think I don’t remember all the shit you put me through, put us through in school?” you shot back and he opened his eyes to glare over at you.

“Like I said, Princess–”

“I said don’t call me that!”

“–you don’t have any idea what this is. What we’re up against. None. You’re in over your head.”

“Okay? And what, I’m supposed to sit here on my hands and say, ‘It’s fine! Steve Harrington and all his little friends will fix this’?? You’re out of your mind!”

“And you think you can?” he shot back and your heart rate thrummed heavy in your ears.

“You know, Eddie says he trusts you now, but hell if I will. No fucking way,” and as you turned and cut past him back to the Winnebago he had to jog to keep up.

“Hey! Eddie almost killed me! With a fucking beer bottle!”

You huffed a laugh and kept walking, shaking your head at the accusation and incredulous at the lengths he was going to prove his point.

“Why should I believe you?” you called over your shoulder, “You’re probably just gunning for a headline: Steve Harrington, Hero of Hawkins!”

“Headline?? I–are you kidding me? You think I’d do all this for a headline??”

And finally you stopped at the bottom step of the Winnebago and Steve seized his chance.

“You really think I’m that superficial?” he shot at your back, but you didn’t turn around. Didn’t even acknowledge him and he spent what little patience he had left. “Hey! I’m talking to you!”

But you were already gone. Frozen in place with the world growing dark. Tree line ahead of you blurring. Unfocused and liquid like water and the ground swam under you as a voice echoed in your mind.

I see you.

The sound of Steve still talking behind you turned to fuzz, crackled like radio static and faded away into ear-splitting silence. Deafening and swallowing you whole and then you felt it. The ground falling out from underneath you and you were drowning in the dark and the voice that echoed in your mind pulled you even deeper.

Resisting will only make it worse.

❝ AND I NEVER HAD A TASTE FOR LIARS OR THE UNIQUELY UNINSPIRED ‘CAUSE I DON’T NEED TO BE DESIRED ❞

Steve glared daggers at your back. Anger hot and fuming and fueled by the fact that you had the nerve to ignore him and god, he wanted to prove you wrong.

“Are you trying to piss me off? Cos its work–” but the words died in his throat as he came around to face you. “Oh. Oh, shit,” with a quick glance over your shoulder he saw everyone else finally coming out of the store and he didn’t wait to call for help.

“Munson!! Eddie!” Steve yelled over your shoulder at your best friend before grabbing your shoulders in his hands and squeezed at them. Leaned down to try and meet your unfocused, far away gaze and when none of it worked he felt his chest grow tight.

Not again.

“Hey, hey! Look at me!" panic clawed its way up his throat as he shook your shoulders, "Stay with me! Munson–hurry up!”

Your eyes were glazed over, tears gathering at the corners as your whole body started to tremble. Breathing stuttered and caught in your throat. Lips parted and trying to pull air in, but it wasn’t enough and Steve felt his hand twitch. Wanted to press it to your cheek to try and ground you, reach you and bring you back, but then Eddie was finally at your side and shoving Steve out of the way.

“Sweetheart! Can you hear me? Shit, shit, shit. What happened?? Honey? Look at me!” Eddie cradled your face in his hands. Did what Steve couldn’t. Voice ratcheted up, his usual low timbre a high pitched thing driven by fear and hearing it doused any remaining anger that had settled into Steve’s chest and replaced it with something else.

With helplessness. Regret. Remorse.

With the slow realization that everything he’d just said to you wasn’t worth it. Remembered how Nancy had yelled at him, just like you, outside of the gym. You’re bullshit! And his throat squeezed with guilt for messing it all up again because he was bullshit. He was a liar and you were right. Had he learned nothing?

He looked at you, your face contorted with fear, and he felt something new flicker within him. A feeling blooming at the pit of his stomach. One he was so certain couldn’t possibly exist when it came to you, but as he stood there watching Eddie try to shake you back from the dark he wasn’t so sure anymore.

“Steve, help me!” tears cut down Eddie’s cheeks as he called to him and pulled him hurtling back to Earth. Desperate. Pleading. Begging him to do something and it shook Steve back into action.

Heart pounding in his chest, adrenaline coursed through Steve's body and fought off the fear that had threatened to trap him in choke hold.

“Max, gimme your Walkman!” he shouted over your shoulder.

The rest of the group had started running back to the Winnebago as soon as they’d heard yelling and when Steve asked for the cassette player, Max knew time was running out.

“Shit,” she hissed under her breath and broke into a sprint, scrambling to untangle the headphones from around her neck as she hurried to get to you. “Here! It’s still Kate Bush, is that–”

“Doesn’t matter–Munson get these on, hurry!” Steve, snatched the Walkman from Max and crammed it into Eddie’s outstretched hands.

“Please, please, please,” fell from Eddie’s lips, desperate, praying that this would work as he fitted the headphones on and pressed them against your ears, “Please.”

Blinking heavy, you strained your eyes against the black. Against the suffocating dark you suddenly found yourself in. The stand of vivid, green ash trees lining the parking lot replaced by gnarled branches, dark and leafless. Bright yellow buttercups snuffed out by thick, wet vines that snaked their way across the ground under your feet.

You weren’t in the parking lot of the War Zone anymore, not really, and as you breathed in the sickly, ashen air your heart stopped in your chest.

The Upside Down.

“Eddie? Eddie!” you shouted into the dark, red lightening cracking the sky in two, and when no one answered you knew you were utterly alone.

Panic gripped you like a vice as you thought of Chrissy. Of Fred and Patrick and dread filled your stomach. Utter hopelessness and grief and when you whipped around to run you felt something tangle around your leg. Wrapping up, up, up and pulling you down, down, down.

You braced for it, ready to break your fall with your hands, but you never hit and instead found yourself lifting into the air. Unhinged laughter filling your ears as more vines snaked around your arms and legs and you swore you were going to be sick.

It was

Him.

“Why isn’t it working?? God dammit, work!” Eddie was yelling at the Walkman, his composure unravelling as Chrissy’s last moments flooded his mind. “Is she gonna die? She can’t die!” he pleaded and his voice cracked, a sob caught in his throat, “Please don’t let her die!”

“Hey hey, hey! Get a hold of yourself. That’s not gonna happen, okay? It’s gonna work,” Steve gripped Eddie’s shoulders, looked him in the eye and tried to reassure him, but when he glanced over at you he knew he couldn’t make that promise. “Please work,” he whispered, “I’m sorry.”

Where are you going? You can’t leave. Not yet.

Vecna’s voice was everywhere. Flooding every part of you and you feared you would never feel joy again. Would never escape this. Would be stuck here forever screaming into the void, hanging on Vecna’s every whim.

I would like very much to show you where I’m going. Please, take a seat.

And the vines yanked you down, squeezed tight around your wrists and legs and held you fast against the ground, rocks digging painfully into your back.

“Please, let me go!” you pleaded into the dark. “Please, I–” but your mouth went dry as a shadowy figure appeared through the ash. Coming closer and closer in the dark with each heavy step and when it finally stopped, feet at your head, your blood ran cold.

Wet, sinewy skin. Muscles exposed and stretched taut. Eyes that pierced your mind and knew every single one your thoughts. Knew all the dark things spiraling there and made them worse. Clawed at you with spindly, protruding hands and long, dagger-like claws and suffocated you with the smell of something rotten.

Of decay.

Of death.

Reaching a hand down, Vecna held it over your face, inches away from touching you as you struggled against your restraints, but they constricted tighter with your every move.

“Please,” you were crying openly now, tears cutting paths through the ash that had settled on your cheeks, but he ignored you.

I want you to tell your friends, I want you to tell them everything you see. Everything I show you.

“No, please!”

Tell them!

“No, I can’t–”

Tell them everything!

And then your head felt like was being cleaved in two. White hot light fracturing the black sky into thick shards and your screams were the only thing you could hear as Vecna pried open your mind and poured into you his vision for the future...

Hawkins in ruin.

Four gashes in the earth. Cavernous. Hot and angry and full of fire.

Your family. Lying scattered across your lawn. Motionless and still and limbs bent wrong.

Tell them!

Your friends hanging in the air just like Chrissy, Fred, Patrick.

Eyes empty, slack-jawed and lifeless, bones snapped like twigs.

Tell them!

Eddie and Robin and Nancy and Steve and–

“NO!” you screamed, the sound pulled painfully from your lungs as you felt your legs give way and collapsed into yourself.

“Whoa! Whoa, whoa, whoa–”

Steve scrambled to grab hold of your shoulder and barely caught you before your bare knees hit the pavement.

You heard birds chirping. Sunlight filtering through the backs of your eyelids as you kept them squeezed shut, but the air was clean. Smelled fresh and as you slowly opened your eyes you realized you weren’t choking on ash anymore.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Steve was still holding onto you, your hands pressed into his thighs as you braced yourself, the feeling of nausea overwhelming.

“I saw him,” you whispered, only Steve could hear you and you started to cry.

“Him?” Steve asked unnecessarily, glancing up at Eddie. Hoping, no praying, if he asked maybe you’d give a different answer. One that wouldn’t involve death and the end of the world and everything hinging on this stupid fucking plan, but he knew.

Everyone knew.

Eyes glued on their feet. Arms folded over their chests and uneasy with the weight that had settled over the group.

“Vecna.”

[ NOTE: THIS IS PART TWO OF A – POSSIBLY – FIVE PART SERIES, PART FOUR AND FIVE TO COME SOON ]

crappymixtape™ • steve harrington masterlist // stranger things masterlist ♥️ reblogs and comments keep me going, friends! ily! ♥️

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winwintea · 4 months ago

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winwintea's super SEXY and COOL rec-list

author’s note ↬ i really need to start saving and liking half of the fics i read bc i end up not being able to find them again... a lot of these are smut (bc i am a whore sometimes) so mdni with those tagged with s!

last updated ↬ september 11th, 2024

𝐊𝐄𝐘 ↬

f — 𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟

a — 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭

h — 𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐞/𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐫

s— 𝗌𝗆𝗎𝗍/𝗆𝖺𝗍𝗎𝗋𝖾

𝖭𝖢𝖳 𝖣𝖱𝖤𝖠𝖬

𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐋𝐄𝐄 ↬

𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐩𝐢𝐱𝐢𝐞 𝐝𝐮𝐬𝐭 by @sehunniepotwrites ↳ disneyland au | f | 11.9k words

There are so many ways your friend group could have chosen to celebrate your graduation from university but they chose the one way that fit their childlike antics most of all–going to Disneyland. With all the screams of joy and laughter filing the atmosphere, you see why people call it The Happiest Place on Earth. It’s where magic comes alive, hearts soar to the skies, and where dreams come true. With your dream job already lined up for you once you get back from this vacation, you wonder if your last and wildest fantasy–the one that carries Mark Lee endearingly close to your heart–will take flight. (But don’t worry; your best friends, with a little help of pixie dust, are determined to make it come alive by the end of night.)

perfection like literally. i love disney. so so so much.

𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐛𝐚𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐞 by @yojeongin ↳ husband au | s | 19.5k words

all mark ever does is use weaponized incompetence to get out of small tasks you ask of him. when he finally realizes you resort to his close friends to do what he can’t— nothing can prepare him for what’s in your pandora box; now karma is set in motion.

toxic as hell... i didn't know what to think of myself after this. but it's extremely well written.

𝐠𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐨 by @hazyhae ↳ plug + stoner au | a, f, s | 14.4k words

a high slip up cost you mark lee years ago, and you’ve spent years burying your memories of him ever since. the universe has other plans for you when your old friend starts a new career, smoking his way back into your life.

love love their work, even has a whole post dedicated to explaining weed basics 101 which i appreciate. A LOT

𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 by @spiderm444rk↳ smau | f | ongoing

you, as the promising journalism student of NCUT, were more than willing to join the school magazine when you got offered. to your disappointment, the only section they let you have is the anonymous confessions one - which is mostly really, really boring. i mean, who even posts any cool confessions nowadays ? especially in a damn college magazine ? they only offered you the job no one else wanted. on the other hand, mark, a business student, was never more annoyed with the choice of his major. sure, business is cool and hopefully it’ll earn him money, but it’s not something he could really get into. he always wanted to do music. but after long considering, he chose business instead, to make sure he gets a real job in the future. and he doubts that choice was correct more and more every day. once the school band announces they’re looking for a new guitarist, he’s absolutely ready to apply until he reads the ‘music students only’ part. pissed off, he starts typing a message to the gc, but it ends up going to a different number - and you finally get to help some poor random stranger who confessed with something interesting.

sucker for mark lee and bands 😋😋

𝐥𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐞𝐛𝐬 by @https-lvesick ↳ spiderman smau | a, f | ongoing

toronto has never been so chaotic, but things are working out since the spiders appeared to save the citizens. spiderman and silk are the city's biggest saviours and they count on them to keep them safe, even the police. but, aside from their big responsibilities, they’re just teenagers, trying to be themselves and keep their grades good, trying to have a social life and maybe a love life as successful as their superhero life. but… what’s easier to tell? that you have a crush on your best friend or that you’re a mutant superhero?

so so so so hyped for this since it started and excited for it still... a spiderman smau is just so good especially for mark <33

𝐇𝐔𝐀𝐍𝐆 𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐉𝐔𝐍 ↬

𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥 𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 by @strrykais ↳ fantasy au + smau | f, a | ongoing

did you know that angels walk the earth before they get accepted into heaven, being tasked to watch over a human and complete their assignment. renjun was excited to finally have the chance to earn his wings, until he finds out his task is getting you to love life. a very depressed girl meets a very desperate boy, can they learn that maybe staying on earth isn't such a bad thing after all.

so hyped for this one actually even though it's the newest one on this list i think.

𝐨𝐧𝐞. 𝐭𝐰𝐨. 𝐭𝐞𝐧. by @zchl ↳ angsty little drabble | a | 1k words

(doesnt have a summary) renjun in the hospital, you're waiting for news.

literally broke me.

𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 by @hwanchaesong ↳ exes to lovers | a, f | 1.1k words

[part of the after hours series] Y'all bring gravity to shame because even with its constant pull of 9.81 m/s^2, it still can't put your drunken pieces back together.

the series is so good check it out. this one is my fav though, it's just honestly a scenario i've never thought about before.

𝐋𝐄𝐄 𝐉𝐄𝐍𝐎 ↬

𝐢 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐲𝐨𝐮 by @hazyhae ↳ fwb to lovers + plug!jeno | f, a, s | 4.7k words

jeno doesn't think he's ever felt this restless in his life. maybe he's been smoking a bad batch of flower, or maybe it's the fact that you haven't knocked on his door in over a month.

oh god. jeno isn't even one of my ults or wreckers but damn this hits the spot actually?

8 𝐥𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 by @nanaxwii ↳ friends to lovers | f, a, | 1.3k words

Why do all good stories come to an end? Why don’t we try to make it work? It just takes 8 letters to fix it all, or does it…?

loving this one... it's filled with tooth rotting fluff that's so cute omg... i love them.

𝐋𝐄𝐄 𝐃𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐇𝐘𝐔𝐂𝐊 ↬

𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐫 by @lyvhie ↳ established relationship | f | 2k words

you just want to show your boyfriend how important he is to you.

like the title it's literally so sweet... tooth-rotting fluff

𝐩𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐞 by @lqfiles ↳ smau | f | ongoing

after getting evicted out of your old place, you're left with no other choice but to look for a cheaper alternative. which is how you end up becoming neighbors with lee haechan, who has a passion for music and disturbing whatever peace and quiet there is. or in which you found yourself a very nice apartment, the only issue? your neighbor is your friend's somewhat ex-situationship who won't stop playing his guitar at 2 am in the night.

you will absolutely shit yourself reading this (in a good way dare i say?)

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐰𝐚𝐧 by @diorcities ↳ ballet au | s, h | 20.9k words

docile bodies loaded with lethal venom and betrayals are commonplace in the prestigious academy, and you happen to be their new prey when you're given the starring role with the smooth seducer with the devil's carved grin that everyone desperately desires: haechan

probably the filthiest one on this list? read the tags before reading, might be too much. it's just extremely poetic...

𝐍𝐀 𝐉𝐀𝐄𝐌𝐈𝐍 ↬

𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 by @polarisjisung ↳ fighter au | a, f | 2.7k words

it's routine— you patch up his wounds and watch them heal, he salts your wounds but doesn't stick around long enough to watch them grow.

i hate you for this hua (esp part 2) but i also love to drown in angst

𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐟𝐚𝐬𝐭 by @markiemelon ↳ friends to lovers(?) au | f | idk lol

going over to jaem's house to crash a couple of times leads to something...

this was so sweet omg

𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐭 by @polarisjisung ↳ enemies to lovers smau | f, a | ongoing

going ovevery college student has their struggles, but raising her younger brother has Y/N top of the list, struggling her way through college whilst balancing her academics and basketball captaincy is difficult no doubt and with Jaemin, her ex best friend and captain of the guys basketball team, and his growing one sided hatred towards her, it doesn't seem to be getting any easierer to jaem's house to crash a couple of times leads to something...

unfortunately i cannot put cherry flavored, but this is just as good. check it out!!!

𝐙𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐍𝐋𝐄 ↬

𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐢𝐧 by @lowkeychenle ↳ friends to lovers(?) au | s, f, a | 9k words

Chenle is everything you want--everything you need. Somehow, the thought of him manages to pull you back in even after you were free. Messy kisses, late night trysts, and him tracing the word 'mine' on your thigh--barely anything, so how could you possibly be guilty as sin? (based on Guilty As Sin? by Taylor Swift)

fucked me over so badly.

𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭! by @wonbin-truther ↳ idol smau | f | smau

idol chenle x idol reader try to avoid dating rumors

this was SOO FUNNY

𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐭 𝐢𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝 by @lyvhie ↳ established relationship | s | 2.5k words

a stupid little game seems to be enough to make you speak with recklessness and throw reason out of the window in the heat of the moment. but since you were unwilling to be so easily placated, chenle was decided to talk some sense into you.

i fully choked the day i read this. had to take a breather omg 😵😵

𝐚𝐮𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞𝐫𝐞 by @mins-fins ↳ royalty au | f, a | 22.7k words

where crown prince zhong chenle, forced into a marriage with a woman he doesn't like and riddled with complicated feelings, finds solace in the palace's very own medic, you.

actually such a sucker for royalty fics... and chenle is so prince coded

𝐝𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲 𝐨𝐧 𝐝𝐮𝐭𝐲 by @aehyei ↳ parallel universe + time traveling au | f, a | 6.4k words

After a long day of stressful practice, Chenle finds himself in deep sleep on his bed and wakes up when a strange child that came from nowhere jumped on him—scaring him in the progress. To add to everything, the young idol learns that he just traveled to the future and is able to meet his future daughter. But will Chenle be able to be that great husband and father when he doesn’t even have a single clue on what’s going on?

one of my ABSOLUTE FAVORITES I HAVE EVER READ. if you're gonna read any of these read this.

𝐒𝐄𝐑Á 𝐔𝐍𝐀 𝐍𝐎𝐂𝐇𝐄 𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐋𝐕𝐈𝐃𝐀𝐁𝐋𝐄 by @galacticseonghwa ↳ biker smau | f, a, s | ongoing

your friends were all you needed, they were your brothers from another mother they loved to say. but that all went to shit after ricky dragged you to one of his motorbike sprints. who are you to say no when ricky's opponent claws his way into your inner circle and present himself as your dream man?

really really good and underrated... i love chenle can you tell...

𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫 by @chenlesfavorite ↳ motorcyclist smau | f, a | ongoing

working night shifts 24/7 at the convenience store while also supporting your boyfriend’s obsession with watching motorcyclists race is not easy, but little did you know that one of the bikers that he loves soon gets involved with you.

wdym this is ending soon... no way.... im gonna cry wtf

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐉𝐈𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐆 ↬

𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐮𝐫 𝐮𝐬𝐮��𝐥 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 by @aehyei ↳ high school au | f | 7.2k words

You love stories. If anyone would ask, you’d rather live in it then wake up another day in a world where everyone’s having the love story you’ve been daydreaming about. Of course falling in love with your best friend never came across your mind so it was a bit of a mess when you realized Jisung didn’t only view you as a ‘friend’.

so so so so sos sos cute omfghsdjsah

𝐝𝐫𝐮𝐦 𝐦𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐩𝐢𝐝 by @jirsungs ↳ college smau | f | completed

a story about a college student enjoying her life in school perfectly fine, until one of her friends drags the group along to watch their school's band perform. little did she know that day would be marked as the day her whole world turned upside down because of a particular, nonchalant, and difficult drummer boy. a drummer boy who spilled his entire drink on her brand new outfit at a party and never came back.

i actually binged this in a day bc it was so good

𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐨𝐫𝐝 by @babbymochiiii ↳ discord call au (if you know where this is going...) | s | ??? words

you and jisung have discord date night, where things take a turn.

sorry guys im.. a little shameless sometimes...

𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐉𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐒𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐆 ↬

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐮𝐭𝐞 𝐜𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐡 by @jaysng ↳ friends to lovers | f | idk lol

jay and mute reader both seem to like each other, just when he thinks that his confession was a pure failure the reader does something surprising.

this was just so sweet i literally fell in love with him all over again

𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐜𝐤 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐦𝐞 by @yeonzzzn ↳ zombie apocalypse au | f, h, a, s | 26.2k words

in the middle of the apocalypse, you and jay find each other in a situation of life and death, using the protection of each other to get to the next safe zone. unfortunately for the both of you, things take a turn once secrets get revealed and the fight for survival becomes greater.

probably one of my personal favorites on this list teehee. i love jay park.

𝐖𝐄𝐍 𝐉𝐔𝐍𝐇𝐔𝐈 ↬

𝐩𝐬𝐲𝐜𝐡𝐨 by @wheeboo ↳ dark + psychiatric facility au | f, a, h | 12.8k words

in which a new patient is assigned for treatment under your care, and you begin to put the puzzles and pieces together to a past case that you thought to have ceased away from your mind.

literally had me gripping the edge of my seat as i read this

𝐋𝐄𝐄 𝐒𝐎𝐇𝐄𝐄 ↬

𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐲 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐰𝐨 by @wonbin-truther ↳ influencers smau | f, a | ongoing

sohee was a well known streamer, having grown his fanbase over covid with the game minecraft and slowly branched into other games along with sponsorships and modeling offers. he was also well known for being your number one twitter fanboy, never missing one of your posts even if fashion wasn't his greatest interest. what happens when a modeling gig brings him face to face with you?

this was a really sweet smau omfg... and sohee streamer just makes so much sense...

𝐉𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐉𝐀𝐄𝐇𝐘𝐔𝐍 ↬

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐜, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 by @sehunniepot ↳ disneyland cast member au | f, a, h | 12.8k words

in which a new patient is assigned for treatment under your care, and you begin to put the puzzles and pieces together to a past case that you thought to have ceased away from your mind.

if y'all have anything disney related send my way cause i'll literally eat it all up. JUST LIKE THIS ONE.

𝐌𝐀𝐄𝐃𝐀 𝐑𝐈𝐊𝐔 ↬

𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐝 by @slytherinshua ↳ established relationship | f | ~500 words

jealous riku over seiji from whisper of the heart

i need more riku content omfg. ALSO THIS IS PERFECT? ITS JUST A DRABBLE BUT I LOVE IT SO MUCH?

SEND ME UR FICS SO I CAN READ THEM BTW !!!! i'll try to update this as often as i can... or maybe make more depending on the amount on here, but thank you all so much for the wonderful stories <33

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wirewitchviolet · 1 year ago

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How a Computer Works - Part 1 (Components)

I am about to teach you on a real fundamental, connecting up electronic components level, how a computer actually works. Before I get into the meat of this though (you can just skip down below the fold if you don't care), here's the reasons I'm sitting doing so in this format:

Like a decade or two ago, companies Facebook pushed this whole "pivot to video" idea on the whole internet with some completely faked data, convincing everyone that everything had to be a video, and we need to start pushing back against that. Especially for stuff like complex explanations of things or instructions, it's much more efficient to just explain things clearly in text, maybe with some visual aids, so people can easily search, scan, and skip around between sections. It's also a hell of a lot easier to host things long term, and you can even print out a text based explainer and not need a computer to read it, keep it on a desk, highlight it, etc.

People are so clueless about how computers actually work that they start really thinking like it's all magical. Even programmers. Aside from how proper knowledge lets you get more out of them, this leads to people spouting off total nonsense about "teaching sand to think" or "everything is just 1s and 0s" or "this 'AI' a con artist who was trying to sell me NFTs a month ago probably really is an amazing creative thinking machine that can do everything he says!"

We used to have this cultural value going where it was expected that if you owned something and used it day to day, you'd have enough basic knowledge of how it worked that if it stopped working you could open it up, see what was wrong, and maybe fix it on your own, or maybe even put one together again from scratch, and that's obviously worth bringing back.

I'm personally working on a totally bonkers DIY project and I'd like to hype up like-minded people for when it gets farther along.

So all that said, have a standard reminder that I am completely reliant on Patreon donations to survive, keep updating this blog, and ideally start getting some PCBs and chips and a nice oscilloscope to get that mystery project off the ground.

Electricity probably doesn't work like how you were taught (and my explanation shouldn't be trusted too far either).

I remember, growing up, hearing all sorts of things about electricity having this sort of magical ability to always find the shortest possible path to where it needs to get, flowing like water, and a bunch of other things that are kind of useful for explaining how a Faraday cage or a lightning rod works, and not conflicting with how simple electronics will have a battery and then a single line of wire going through like a switch and a light bulb or whatever back to the other end of the battery.

If you had this idea drilled into your head hard enough, you might end up thinking that if we have a wire hooked to the negative end of a battery stretching off to the east, and another wire stretching off to the east from the positive end, and we bridge between the two in several places with an LED or something soldered to both ends, only the westernmost one is going to light up, because hey, the shortest path is the one that turns off as quickly as possible to connect to the other side, right? Well turns out no, all three are going to light up, because that "shortest path" thing is a total misunderstanding.

Here's how it actually works, roughly. If you took basic high school chemistry, you learned about how the periodic table is set up, right? A given atom, normally, has whatever number of protons in the core, and the same number of electrons, whipping all over around it, being attracted to those protons but repelled by each other, and there's particular counts of electrons which are super chill with that arrangement so we put those elements in the same column as each other, and then as you count up from those, you get the elements between those either have some electrons that don't fit all tight packed in the tight orbit and just kinda hang out all wide and lonely and "want to" buddy up with another atom that has more room, up to the half full column that can kinda go either way, then as we approach the next happy number they "want to" have a little more company to get right to that cozy tight packed number, and when you have "extra" electrons and "missing" electrons other atoms kinda cozy up and share so they hit those good noble gas counts.

I'm sure real experts want to scream at me for both that and this, but this is basically how electricity works. You have a big pile of something at the "positive" end that's "missing electrons" (for the above reason or maybe actually ionized so they really aren't there), and a "negative" end that's got spares. Then you make wires out of stuff from those middle of the road elements that have awkward electron counts and don't mind buddying up (and also high melting points and some other handy qualities) and you hook those in there. And the electron clouds on all the atoms in the wire get kinda pulled towards the positive side because there's more room over there, but if they full on leave their nucleus needs more electron pals, so yeah neighbors get pulled over, and the whole wire connected to the positive bit ends up with a positive charge to it, and the whole wire on the negative bit is negatively charged, and so yeah, anywhere you bridge the gap between the two, the electrons are pretty stoked about balancing out these two big awkward compromises and they'll start conga lining over to balance things out, and while they're at it they'll light up lights or shake speakers or spin motors or activate electromagnets or whatever other rad things you've worked out how to make happen with a live electric current.

Insulators, Resistors, Waves, and Capacitors

Oh and we typically surround these wires made of things that are super happy about sharing electrons around with materials that are very much "I'm good, thanks," but this isn't an all or nothing system and there's stuff you can connect between the positive and negative ends of things that still pass the current along, but only so much so fast. We use those to make resistors, and those are handy because sometimes you don't want to put all the juice you have through something because it would damage it, and having a resistor anywhere along a path you're putting current through puts a cap on that flow, and also sometimes you might want a wire connected to positive or negative with a really strong resistor so it'll have SOME sort of default charge, but if we get a free(r) flowing connection attached to that wire somewhere else that opens sometimes, screw that little trickle going one way, we're leaning everyone the other way for now.

The other thing with electricity is is that the flow here isn't a basic yes/no thing. How enthusiastically those electrons are getting pulled depends on the difference in charge at the positive and negative ends, and also if you're running super long wires then even if they conduct real good, having all that space to spread along is going to kinda slow things to a trickle, AND the whole thing is kinda going to have some inherent bounciness to it both because we're dealing with electrons whipping and spinning all over and because, since it's a property that's actually useful for a lot of things we do with electricity, the power coming out of the wall has this intentional wobbly nature because we've actually got this ridiculous spinny thing going on that's constantly flip flopping which prong of the socket is positive and which is negative and point is we get these sine waves of strength by default, and they kinda flop over if we're going really far.

Of course there's also a lot of times when you really want to not have your current flow flickering on and off all the time, but hey fortunately one of the first neat little electronic components we ever worked out are capacitors... and look, I'm going to be straight with you. I don't really get capacitors, but the basic idea is you've got two wires that go to big wide plates, and between those you have something that doesn't conduct the electricity normally, but they're so close the electromagnetic fields are like vibing, and then if you disconnect them from the flow they were almost conducting and/or they get charged to their limit, they just can't deal with being so charged up and they'll bridge their own gap and let it out. So basically you give them electricity to hold onto for a bit then pass along, and various sizes of them are super handy if you want to have a delay between throwing a switch and having things start doing their thing, or keeping stuff going after you break a connection, or you make a little branching path where one branch connects all regular and the other goes through a capacitor, and the electricity which is coming in in little pulses effectively comes out as a relatively steady stream because every time it'd cut out the capacity lets its charge go.

We don't just have switches, we have potentiometers.

OK, so... all of the above is just sort of about having a current and maybe worrying about how strong it is, but other than explaining how you can just kinda have main power rails running all over, and just hook stuff across them all willy-nilly rather than being forced to put everything in one big line, but still, all you can do with that is turn the whole thing on and off by breaking the circuit. Incidentally, switches, buttons, keys, and anything else you use to control the behavior of any electronic device really are just physically touching loose wires together or pulling them apart... well wait no, not all, this is a good bit to know.

None of this is actually pass/fail, really, there's wave amplitudes and how big a difference we have between the all. So when you have like, a volume knob, that's a potentiometer, which is a simple little thing where you've got your wire, it's going through a resistor, and then we have another wire we're scraping back and forth along the resistor, using a knob, usually, and the idea is the current only has to go through X percent of the resistor to get to the wire you're moving, which proportionately reduces the resistance. So you have like a 20 volt current, you've got a resistor that'll drop that down to 5 or so, but then you move this other wire down along and you've got this whole dynamic range and you can fine tune it to 15 or 10 or whatever coming down that wire. And what's nice about this again, what's actually coming down the wire is this wobbily wave of current, it's not really just "on" or "off, and as you add resistance, the wobble stays the same, it's just the peaks and valleys get closer to being just flat. Which is great if you're making, say, a knob to control volume, or brightness, or anything you want variable intensity in really.

Hey hey, it's a relay!

Again, a lot of the earliest stuff people did with electronics was really dependent on that analog wobbly waveform angle. Particularly for reproducing sound, and particularly the signals of a telegraph. Those had to travel down wires for absurd distances, and as previously stated, when you do that the signal is going to eventually decay to nothing. But then someone came up with this really basic idea where every so often along those super long wires, you set something up that takes the old signal and uses it to start a new one. They called them relays, because you know, it's like a relay race.

If you know how an electromagnet works (something about the field generated when you coil a bunch of copper wire around an iron core and run an electric current through it), a relay is super simple. You've got an electromagnet in the first circuit you're running, presumably right by where it's going to hit the big charged endpoint, and that magnetically pulls a tab of metal that's acting as a switch on a new circuit. As long as you've got enough juice left to activate the magnet, you slam that switch and voom you've got all the voltage you can generate on the new line.

Relays don't get used too much in other stuff, being unpopular at the time for not being all analog and wobbily (slamming that switch back and forth IS going to be a very binary on or off sorta thing), and they make this loud clacking noise that's actually just super cool to hear in devices that do use them (pinball machines are one of the main surviving use cases I believe) but could be annoying in some cases. What's also neat is that they're a logical AND gate. That is, if you have current flowing into the magnet, AND you have current flowing into the new wire up to the switch, you have it flowing out through the far side of the switch, but if either of those isn't true, nothing happens. Logic gates, to get ahead of myself a bit, are kinda the whole thing with computers, but we still need the rest of them. So for these purposes, relays re only neat if it's the most power and space efficient AND gate you have access to.

Oh and come to think of it, there's no reason we need to have that magnet closing the circuit when it's doing its thing. We could have it closed by default and yank it open by the magnet. Hey, now we're inverting whatever we're getting on the first wire! Neat!

Relay computers clack too loud! Gimme vacuum tubes!

So... let's take a look at the other main thing people used electricity for before coming up with the whole computer thing, our old friend the light bulb! Now I already touched a bit on the whole wacky alternating current thing, and I think this is actually one of the cases that eventually lead to it being adopted so widely, but the earliest light bulbs tended to just use normal direct current, where again, you've got the positive end and the negative end, and we just take a little filament of whatever we have handy that glows when you run enough of a current through it, and we put that in a big glass bulb and pump out all the air we can, because if we don't, the oxygen in there is probably going to change that from glowing a bit to straight up catching on fire and burning immediately.

But, we have a new weird little problem, because of the physics behind that glowing. Making something hot, on a molecular level, is just kinda adding energy to the system so everything jitters around more violently, and if you get something hot enough that it glows, you're getting it all twitchy enough for tinier particles to just fly the hell off it. Specifically photons, that's the light bit, but also hey, remember, electrons are just kinda free moving and whipping all over looking for their naked proton pals... and hey, inside this big glass bulb, we've got that other end of the wire with the more positive charge to it. Why bother wandering up this whole coily filament when we're in a vacuum and there's nothing to get in the way if we just leap straight over that gap? So... they do that, and they're coming in fast and on elliptical approaches and all, so a bunch of electrons overshoot and smack into the glass on the far side, and now one side of every light bulb is getting all gross and burnt from that and turning all brown and we can't have that.

So again, part of the fix is we switched to alternating current so it's at least splitting those wild jumps up to either side, but before that, someone tried to solve this by just... kinda putting a backboard in there. Stick a big metal plate on the end of another wire in the bulb connected to a positive charge, and now OK, all those maverick electrons smack into here and aren't messing up the glass, but also hey, this is a neat little thing. Those electrons are making that hop because they're all hot and bothered. If we're not heating up the plate they're jumping to, and there's no real reason we'd want to, then if we had a negative signal over on that side... nothing would happen. Electrons aren't getting all antsy and jumping back.

So now we have a diode! The name comes because we have two (di-) electrodes (-ode) we care about in the bulb (we're just kind of ignoring the negative one), and it's a one way street for our circuit. That's useful for a lot of stuff, like not having electricity flow backwards through complex systems and mess things up, converting AC to DC (when it flips, current won't flow through the diode so we lop off the bottom of the wave, and hey, we can do that thing with capacitors to release their current during those cutoffs, and if we're clever we can get a pretty steady high).

More electrodes! More electrodes!

So a bit after someone worked out this whole vacuum tube diode thing, someone went hey, what if it was a triode? So, let's stick another electrode in there, and this one just kinda curves around in the middle, just kinda making a grate or a mesh grid, between our hot always flowing filament and that catch plate we're keeping positively charged when it's doing stuff. Well this works in a neat way. If there's a negative charge on it, it's going to be pushing back on those electrons jumping over, and if there's a positive charge on it, it's going to help pull those electrons over (it's all thin, so they're going to shoot right past it, especially if there's way more of a positive charge over on the plate... and here's the super cool part- This is an analog thing. If we have a relatively big negative charge, it's going to repel everything, if it's a relatively big positive, it's going to pull a ton across, if it's right in the middle, it's like it wasn't even in there, and you can have tiny charges for all the gradients in between.

We don't need a huge charge for any of this though, because we're just helping or hindering the big jump from the high voltage stuff, and huh, weren't we doing this whole weak current controlling a strong current thing before with the relay? We were! And this is doing the same thing! Except now we're doing it all analog style, not slapping switch with a magnet, and we can make those wavy currents peak higher or lower and cool, now we can have phone lines boost over long distances too, and make volume knobs, and all that good stuff.

The relay version of this had that cool trick though where you could flip the output. Can we still flip the output? We sure can, we just need some other toys in the mix. See we keep talking about positive charges and negative charges at the ends of our circuits, but these are relative things. I mentioned way back when how you can use resistors to throttle how much of a current we've got, so you can run two wires to that grid in the triode. One connects to a negative charge and the other positive, with resistors on both those lines, and a switch that can break the connection on the positive end. If the positive is disconnected, we've got a negative charge on the grid, since it's all we've got, but if we connect it, and the resistor to the negative end really limits flow, we're positive in the section the grid's in. And over on the side with the collecting plate, we branch off with another resistor setup so the negative charge on that side is normally the only viable connection for a positive, but when we flip the grid to positive, we're jumping across the gap in the vacuum tube, and that's a big open flow so we'll just take those electrons instead of the ones that have to squeeze through a tight resistor to get there.

That explanation is probably a bit hard to follow because I'm over here trying to explain it based on how the electrons are actually getting pulled around. In the world of electronics everyone decided to just pretend the flow is going the other way because it makes stuff easier to follow. So pretend we have magical positrons that go the other way and if they have nothing better to do they go down the path where we have all the fun stuff further down the circuit lighting lights and all that even though it's a tight squeeze through a resistor, because there's a yucky double negative in the triode and that's worse, but we have the switch rigged up to make that a nice positive go signal to the resistance free promised land with a bonus booster to cut across, so we're just gonna go that way when the grid signal's connected.

Oh and you can make other sorts of logic circuits or double up on them in a single tube if you add more grids and such, which we did for a while, but not really relevant these days.

Cool history lesson but I know there's no relays or vacuum tubes in my computer.

Right, so the above things are how we used to make computers, but they were super bulky, and you'd have to deal with how relays are super loud and kinda slow, and vacuum tubes need a big power draw and get hot. What we use instead of either of those these days are transistors. See after spending a good number of years working out all this circuit flow stuff with vacuum tubes we eventually focused on how the real important thing in all of this is how with the right materials you can make a little juncture where current flows between a positive and negative charge if a third wire going in there is also positively charged, but if it's negatively charged we're pulling over. And turns out there is a WAY more efficient way of doing that if you take a chunk of good ol' middle of the electron road silicon, and just kinda lightly paint the side of it with just the tiniest amount of positive leaning and negative leaning elements on the sides.

Really transistors don't require understanding anything new past the large number of topics already covered here, they're just more compact about it. Positive leaning bit, negative leaning bit, wildcard in the middle, like a vacuum tube. Based on the concepts of pulling electrons around from chemistry, like a circuit in general. The control wire in the middle kinda works in just a pass-fail sort of way, like a relay. They're just really nice compared to the older alternatives because they don't make noise or have moving parts to wear down, you don't have to run enough current through them for metal to start glowing and the whole room to heat up, and you can make them small. Absurdly small. Like... need an electron microscope to see them small.

And of course you can also make an inverter super tiny like that, and a diode (while you're at it you can use special materials or phosphors to make them light emitting, go LEDs!) and resistors can get pretty damn small if you just use less of a more resistant material, capacitors I think have a limit to how tiny you can get, practically, but yeah, you now know enough of the basic fundamentals of how computers work to throw some logic gates together. We've covered how a relay, triode, or transistor function as an AND gate. An OR gate is super easy, you just stick diodes on two wires so you don't have messy backflow then connect them together and lead off there. If you can get your head around wiring up an inverter (AKA NOT), hey, stick one after an AND to get a NAND, or an OR to get a NOR. You can work out XOR and XNOR from there right? Just build 4 NANDs, pass input A into gates 1 and 2, B into 2 and 3, 2's output into 1 and 3, 1 and 3's output into 4 for a XOR, use NORs instead for a XNOR. That's all of them right? So now just build a ton of those and arrange them into a computer. It's all logic and math from there.

Oh right. It's... an absurd amount of logic and math, and I can only fit so many words in a blog post. So we'll have to go all...

CONTINUED IN PART 2!

Meanwhile, again, if you can spare some cash I'd really appreciate it.

#computers #computer science #history #electronics #education #relays #transistors #vacuum tubes

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simp-ly-writes · 4 months ago

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Here With Me

─────── · · A Smosh Fanfic

Pairing: Ian Hecox x gn!childhood-friend!Reader

─ · · SUMMARY: you could confidently say that you were a fan since practically day one, growing up alongside Anthony and Ian before life has you changing schools, states, and relationships only to come back together and for what? a company that is falling a part as soon as it had grown legs? but maybe there is something or someone that allows you to stand above it all... and you the same for them...

─ · · TAGS: gender-neutral pronouns, light swearing, mutual pining, heartache, friends/lovers, play fighting, possible cringe, angst and fluff.

─ · · MASTERLIST | TAGLIST REQUEST | WORDCOUNT: 2,609

─ · · A/N: sorry, no update for the comments section just yet, university and college have me running laps to keep up but i offer this instead! hope you enjoy! 😊

─────── · ·

You had lived in the same neighbourhood as Ian; rode the same bus in the morning as him, sat through the same repetitive morning math classes and shared notes (but if anyone took a closer look, you both were drawing imaginary cartoons in the corners). Hell, he was even your first "date" to the sixth grade halloween dance, you both dressed up as ghosts, Anthony the ghostbuster chasing you around the gym before being told off by the English teacher.

Ian never failed to make you laugh, you thought him to be one of your greatest friends with his blunt and increasingly dark humour as you both aged and went off to different school districts. Those days of laying in the grass of his backyard as he ranted out various video ideas you failed to understand but choose to actively listen, appreciating his enthusiasm and his mom would come outside warning you to make it back home for in time for dinner. Sitting in his room, watching them scream jokes at one another at the top of their lungs as you did your best to muffle your laughs. Or dipping out of the way as Anthony ran by with a camera to riding your bikes to the corner store to sit on the curb, popsicles dripping down your forearms were soon long gone as you both grew into different people.

You remember missing Ian, Anthony, all your friends you had grown up with dearly. Looking back, you hated to admit how much you felt the need to forget your old self in the new environment... Moving to a new neighbourhood and trying to fit in among the established friend groups. Changing your style, your phone number, your hair, and interests to try and desperately fit in and go out with that one friend you had a crush on.

You fell into that new person, those check in emails you would send over to the boys now long forgotten as the years went by. And by the time graduation came around, that friend you had been dating those past four years, the person you thought to be that high school sweetheart you would somehow spend the rest of your life with became the biggest asshole you had ever met. Dropping your ass just before you walked the stage and into the summer sun.

When you would come home to start packing your bags to university in another state, a familiar voice was echoing down the hall. You swore it to be just in your grief of a failed relationship you spent so much time in rather than discovering who you truly wanted to be. But as you opened your younger siblings door just a creak, you saw Ian and Anthony playing in video across their desktop screen.

The brown cardboard box you were holding dropped on your feet as you cursed out in pain, the door slamming in on your face as you asked for the link only to receive no answer. You cursed, looking down at your phone, cursed at all your decisions as your once friends started blocking your number, and all you wanted in that moment was to be a kid once more...

─────── · ·

Was bringing flowers too cliche, the wrong message, did I remember the house number wrong? You anxious stream of consciousness flooded any sane thoughts as you tapped your foot against the concrete paver and stared into the chipped red-painted door. You could faintly hear footsteps moving behind, a woman yelling and another series of footsteps trailing behind and soon you were met with glasses, a striped shirt, and wide eyes.

"WHAT THE FUCK," Ian ever-so graciously greeted you before stepping aside and letting you in. His mother waved at you from down the hall, her rollers in before the bathroom door closed just as the front door did behind you.

Ian held out his hand as you started to reach out to shake it awkwardly before remembering the flowers in your hand and shoving them into his palm instead. "Here!"

"uh, thank you?" He took them in his hand, eyes shifting around your face before walking out of the entryway and into the kitchen, silently expecting you to follow along as you slowly took the pictures in from along the walls. A small smile with hazy eyes crossing your features in a subtle display as you bump into his front, flowers in water, sat on the counter behind himself.

He holds out his hand once again as you look down at it and against your better judgement, you loop your arms over his shoulders and pull him in for a hug. His brown hair tickles your nose as you let out a soft breath, barely hearing Ians identical response as his arms raise, hands spraying out across your back. "Its good to see you again, Ian... I-I really missed you, so fucking much," you choke out, raising your head slightly to blink away the hot tears as he pulls you in that much tighter before stilling by the sound of a new voice.

"IAN! I have a new idea what if we- how shit, you never told me- oh fuck, well- hi! good to see you again," Anthony staggers to a complete sentence as you and Ian drop each other in an instant and turn to face your other old friend coming in from the screen-door.

You smile, hands extending up and outwards as he rushes over to give you a short hug. You all take that moment to stare at one another before Ian suddenly starts laughing and you and Anthony can't help but do the same in disbelief of the situation.

"Fuck, where did all the time go?" you blurt out and after some pizza order in with a six pack of soda. You were all crowded around the television super mario on the screen as you all sat on top of one another getting noise complaints from the neighbours for hogging the controller.

─────── · ·

You hated how fast summer came and went between being the cameraperson to film their videos to helping Anthony manage the website and to listen to Ians endless stream of ideas while also telling him off of the completely outrageous ones all the which Anthony was forever grateful to have another person to agree with him and have Ian actually listen.

And as you were loading the last boxes into your trunk before slamming the door closed. You felt the cold glass against your palms as warm tears threatened to spill from your tear ducts. A hand was placed gently on your shoulder, twisting you into their front as you gripped the plaid shirt Ian wore.

You looked at him, laughing internally at his foggy glasses for to only come out as sobs. "I'm sorry for having to leave again... i'm sorry Ian that this keep happening, fuck I am a really shitty friend and things were just starting to feel... normal again."

"Nothing is normal with us three," Anthony retorts, walking up the driveway a tray of coffee's in hand as you all cringe and then manage a laugh. You and Ian still hold each other in a side hug as you grab your drinks, your parents stand to the side, observing the moment as you glare at the sudden flash from your peripheral vision.

"You'll thank me in the future," you parent yells from the grass as you shake your head. "Yeah, right!" you retort with a roll of your eyes before smiling at Ian already finding him doing the same. "I'm going to miss you too," Ian speaks softly, giving your side one last squeeze before dropping his arm, allowing you and Anthony you share a moment together.

Anthony placed his drink on the roof of your car as you do the same. Your eyes go wide as he turns you away so that you can no longer see anyone and pulls you into a hug. "I think we almost have something, don't you dare miss out on it this time but also like- have fun or whatever. Just make sure to not loose any of our numbers."

"Never again," you state with conviction as you pull away before walking up to the drivers door and taking your seat. Putting your hands at the top of the wheel, your head on top your flash through images of popsicles, scrapped knees and bikes with soda cans before backing out and onto the road.

A series of curses are thrown as you begin to slowdown and look through the rearview mirror, your back window now hard to see through the brown sludge making its way down from the... roof. Ah fuck.

─────── · ·

You made sure not to make the same mistakes as your younger self and kept in contact with the boys, this time around you were one thousand times more grateful of it too as they offered you a portion of the channel as soon as you graduated from your media studies and production degree.

You moved back to California without a second thought. Sure, you had truly made some good friends and connections but just the thought of roller blading down another hallway, camera in hand had that childhood excitement you had missed ever-so dearly coming back and you just had to follow it.

It made you smile seeing your name return to the credits alongside Ian and Anthonys... in reality you were the only names on that list but it was the sentiment nonetheless. Yet it would only be a matter of time that would change...

─────── · ·

You were now a somewhat figure head to your own... department somehow. You were still unsure of the complete deal as the boys walked you through the new space the company you all had worked together to build as kids and it was a surreal experience touching all that expensive equipment you thought to have left behind at university and to have actual track across the floors and not your roller blade marks was a bittersweet feeling.

You and Ian left Anthony to take a call as you introduced yourselves to the new employees, failing to notice their curious gazes and hushed whispers about the two of you.

The crew loved watching the two of you interact (and soon the fans loved any glimpse of you, it would be the only thing mentioned). You fixing his hair and glasses as he floated a hand on your hip before going in front of camera. Him sending you winks and personalized jokes before going on air. You grabbing and waiting to eat lunch with him in the cafeteria. Always ensuring a seat beside the other or sitting on the same chair.

Yet as HR had once came in and asked, the office becoming silent as you both laughed and waved it off as old friends would before returning to work and as you worked you were more than surprised to learn that people actually recognized you from frames you failed to get out of in old skits and your name at the bottom of descriptions.

─────── · ·

Adulthood had once again touched that childlike innocence you were protecting as you came into your first of a hundred or more meetings sat between Ian and Anthony sharing notes with of course doodles and cartoons before being told off like kids once again by corporate. That word itself left a bitter taste in your mouth as you stared down at your hands wondering just what else did the universe have out for me, for us?

(And you did right to question).

─────── · ·

The channels, yes channels, you would laugh at your past self for not comprehending the sheer scale Smosh was operating at now as you physically ran between sets and stages that hosted dozens of cast and crew alike.

In the energy of it all, you, Ian, and Anthony barely saw one another besides the boardroom or as you watched them in front of camera. It was moments like this as you handled a small handheld camera in the corner that you felt a draft of the old come in from up the floor planks and greet you with a immovable smile upon your face.

You loved all the creatives you worked with, and even dated a few guests on the show. Yet you hated to admit to yourself when dining with them, how much you thought of Ian... and Anthony. You could not remember the last time you spoke in a room alone, went out together, had a drink or even had a sleepover.

You also failed to remember at what point you had started to grow jealous over Anthony for being able to spend so much time with Ian outside of work as they lived and worked alongside one another. You felt stupid for feeling left out but then again, you could not help the way you feel and silently let your emotions brew beneath the surface as months dragged into years only for things all to come to a staggering halt.

─────── · ·

Anthony was leaving was the first bump into what would be a cliff dive face first into a deep unknown for Smosh as you were mercilessly trapped to the wheel, Ian not forced to your passengers side as you observed everything happening for you.

Next was the bankruptcy and that dark little wish you had within you soon became a sickening truth as you allowed Ian and some of your friends, the cast and crew into your two bedroom apartment with cracked ceilings and moldy faucets.

Ian and you shared a room like you had in the past, it was your sleepovers all over again but your backs faced one another. "I... I will understand if you leave too... I don't want to hold you back when you have a degree and your partner to take care of-" Ian begins to speak in a corse tone, his voice strained from the long day as you blink yourself away and catch onto his words with an equally heavy heart.

"I-I promised not to leave again, I can't just leave you here with this Ian. We will find a way... we did it every other time, didn't we?" you reassure in an unsure tone as Ian laughs earnestly onto to let out a pained sigh by the end.

You can hear the bedding shuffle as he turns to face your back, you feel his gaze run over your shoulder before you twist your neck to connect eyes and then your body as you roll into his side, letting out a sigh.

"Thank you... for staying, I really need you in more ways than one, always," Ian's voice now barely above a whisper as you hear the hall bathroom light hum on as you both groan out in frustration to the light peaking out from underneath the door.

"I'll always need you too, Ian. You ain't ever getting rid of me," you joke. Head now tucked underneath his arm.

"Oh fuck, well I guess I'll have to kill you and hire a necromancer later..." Ian mumbles with a yawn, his ankles intertwining with your own.

"Oh shut up, you-" you begin, hand now playing with the loose threads of his shirt.

"Hey! thats my line," Ian closes his eyes as he holds a delicate smile, you are already asleep and fail to reply. Somehow you both knew in that moment that things would be just alright and you both were just fine with that.

─────── · ·

─ · · A/N: opinions, thoughts? 😇

─ · · TAGLIST: @lisiliely

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m-y-fandoms · 1 year ago

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Commission: DRV3 Boys x Female Reader - Seven Minutes in Heaven

Details: Takes place during the killing game, timeline switched around, creative license taken to imply everyone is alive and has known each other for at least a few weeks and has had time to get to know each other a bit. The threat of the killing game is still there though. Monokuma has announced it, just nobody has been killed yet. It’s also implied that the reader has a crush on the boy in each section however whether or not the boy is oblivious to that fact or feels the same varies.

Word Count: 5K Words

Warnings: SFW - fluff, maybe mild angst, possible V3 spoilers

Everyone needed something to divert their attention and obsessive thoughts away from the killing game. Though nothing had happened yet, the group of Ultimates got more and more antsy by the day. Every dark corner or empty stairwell seemed like a threat, and mistrust grew and loomed over them all like a black mold growing on the walls.

No one seemed to feel safe, though it had been weeks since the menacing-looking monochrome bear informed them that they were to kill each other for sport so they could return home to their regular school life and families. There was no concrete proof that this wasn't an extensive, well-planned practical joke or social experiment, some prank that would result in cameramen and producers springing out of the woodwork once all was said and done, and that was the only thing holding them together mentally. This could all be fake.

Nevertheless, something needed to change. They all had their little subgroups, individual trusted cliques or closest allies, but there was no denying the entire group needed to come together, to get to know each other a bit better and let off some steam. Unity meant potential lasting peace and no fatalities.

Someone suggested they play a frivolous little game that could keep everyone's attention for a while. Even though most of the group hadn't played it since middle school and some never at all, the rules were straightforward and simple enough. In addition to passing the time, it might even spark a little drama or romance. Any emotion was preferable to the fear of death and the sense of impending disaster.

Seven Minutes in Heaven: a game where two people go into a small room or cramped closet alone and have seven minutes to do anything they want to each other. Usually, the goal was the get handsy, to kiss or hug, to confess to someone, to make each other nervous, or to engage in casual romantic activities. It was supposed to be steamy and awkward, to put pressure on the two people. They would all randomly pick straws, and the two people who got the shortest straws would have to go in together while everyone else sat outside and timed their seven minutes. Knowing your peers were mere feet away outside the door only added to the tension.

The location was set: a small, cramped closet on the first floor next to the spare classroom and just before the steps down to the basement. It was dimly lit by an ancient overhead lightbulb hanging on by a thread and had just enough room for two people once the abandoned supplies, tools, and cobwebs were scooted to the edges. The Hotel Kumasutra was suggested first, but was shot down for being perhaps a little too intense, dramatic, and high-pressure for such a simple game. Nobody felt comfortable enough to enter the daunting building as of yet, despite its proximity to the popular casino.

And so, the game began.

Rantarou Amami

Waiting anxiously to see who you'll be paired up with, you pace the meager few steps you can manage in the tiny closet - back and forth, back and forth - working up a sweat that's more nerves than physical exertion. When the door swings casually open and you immediately see a fluffy full head of green hair, a shiver runs down your spine. It's a shiver that is half excitement and half humiliation. Of all fifteen other classmates, of course your crush, Rantarou Amami, was the one destined to draw the other straw and be trapped in here with you for seven excruciating minutes. Anyone else, literally anyone else, and you could've stalled, talked your way through those seven minutes, felt indifferent, and at most a little awkward. Rantarou made your heart flutter, froze you in place nearly every time he interacted with you. You stuttered, felt like you never said the right thing. He was just so handsome, with a smooth voice and a mysterious yet kind personality. You were quite sure, even with the memory loss you'd all suffered, that you hadn't had a crush this intense in quite a while. Certainly not one that turned you into a foolish mess.

Rantarou entered with his head bowed, shoulders shrugged forward. You'd never seen him - a dude who was usually quite confident and smooth - looking so uncomfortable. When he spun to look at you, the door now shutting you two in alone, he was almost wincing, facial expression squeezed into wrinkles and furrowed brows. It was as if his face was trying to say: "I'm sorry about this..."

"Heeeeey, (Y/N)," Rantarou spoke in a sing-songy voice that, again, was out of character for him, yet you felt your body stiffen up all the same. You hugged your body instinctively, feeling vulnerable as your heart beat wildly in your chest. You took a step back to create more space between you and the object of your infatuation and nearly tripped over a cardboard box on the ground behind you. "Yeah, this is about what I expected," he chuckled, his eyes wrinkling closed into kind little lines. He held his hands out in a sign of passive surrender. "So sorry about this, (Y/N). I swear, there was nothing I could do! It was all random." He rubbed the back of his neck, a small dust of pink over his cheeks. You felt your stomach drop. Did he think you disliked him? Was he perceiving your involuntary reaction as disgust rather than flustered? You suddenly felt super guilty. You were just now realizing he probably had taken note of this same adverse reaction every single time you were in the room with him. The logical thought process would probably be that your body language showed disdain.

"Oh, oh no, I hope you don't think I'm upset about being paired with you! I didn't realize my-" you tried to relax your shoulders, not wanting to let your own feelings affect him negatively.

"No, I don't think that at all, actually..." he cut you off, not wanting to let you get too far into this incorrect notion. He paused, thinking over how to word things delicately. "It's quite the opposite. I'm not as dense as you might think, actually. I pick up on things pretty well," he chuckled again, trying to ease the tense atmosphere, "and I... I kinda know you like me. You always get like this... when I talk to you. I'm... a bit more perceptive and empathetic than people think. I just wanted you to know, it's okay! You don't have to feel that way! I was worried about your reaction when I stepped in here. I knew you'd freak out." So subtly - almost seeming practiced and experienced - he gently clasped his rough hands into yours. They felt calloused, perhaps from the travels and adventures he'd vaguely mentioned when you sat there like a statue listening to him talk around the academy. The many bracelets settling on his wrists shook you back to reality, and your face heated up at the skin-to-skin contact. "I mean, I'm not trying to boast because I really don't think I'm such a catch, but I see the way you look at me, I've heard Miu talking about you having a crush as well..."

"I... I don't know what to say," you release a breath you didn't know you'd been holding, "This is a bit embarrassing..." you grumble, looking at the ground.

"You don't need to feel embarrassed. Honestly, I think you're a really cool person as well. I would love to get to know you more, but you always seem to run away after we talk for a little. The others are always around. It would be cool to spend some time hanging out alone, now that... I'm kinda confessing that I'm interested in you too?" He gives you a crooked smile. "Woah... your hands are like shaking."

Was this a dream? Was Monokuma replacing your classmates with clones to prank and humiliate you? There's no way Rantarou, the most attractive and fascinating guy here, was into you...

"I... I would really like that. Yeah, I'm sorry about my... less than pleasant reaction. I really didn't mean to come off as weird or make you uncomfortable."

"Hey, no worries. Well, you know, I played this game a ton in middle school. It was always silly, and stupid, but I have no issue playing it again, especially with you. What do you say? After all, I've played games way worse than this."

Ryoma Hoshi

The athlete strolled leisurely into the closet, hands in his pockets and the stick of a lollipop hanging carelessly out of his mouth. He always had something hanging out his lip, be it a candy cigarette, a toothpick, or something in between. You wondered if it soothed him. You'd gathered from conversations with him that his life had been pretty traumatic, at least in your opinion. His eyes were half-lidded as always, lazy and donning dark bags underneath. He sighed, stepping into the dim lighting provided by the single, dingy bulb above.

"Yeah, so I didn't really have anything better to do. Everyone else was sayin' they'd play and I was in the room at the time so I got roped in. Can't be much worse than anything else I've been through. Figured it might be good for morale, for these people to loosen up and play a game or two together. Lotta mistrust brewing." He looked around, seemingly disinterested and boasting an incredibly calm demeanor. You were wondering how someone could feel not even a little bit nervous playing a game with a premise like this.

"You don't have to stay if you don't want to!" You smiled softly, offering him an out. You liked Ryoma a lot. His chill attitude, mysterious and interesting past, deep voice, and cute face intrigued you enough to even form a little crush, but you didn't want him here out of coercion or peer pressure.

“It’s whatever. I’m down to play. It’s fine. However, I’m sure I wasn’t who you expected or were hoping for.” He shrugs, less self-deprecating and more as if stating a plain fact. It didn’t seem to bother him either way if you did in fact wish it was someone else who was chosen to be with you for this dumb little game.

“Nah, I’m not disappointed,” you smirk a bit deviously, trying to hide the excitement you truly felt. You see his eyebrows raise a tad, which is more expression than you usually get from him. “Someone like you is kind of an interesting partner for this game. I’m betting you have more life experience overall than me. In fact, I know you do, after listening to some of your stories. You probably have more experience in everything: street smarts, common sense, even romance.”

“Uh, let me stop you right there.” He lets out a tiny, brief, dry chuckle, something skeptical in his tone. “Actually, not true at all, that last part. Not much romance in my life. Funny, you and I actually talk more often than I do with the others… I thought you would’ve picked up on that.”

“Oh?” You challenge him playfully, trying to flirt him into a more open mood.

"Yeah, I'd think that would be obvious. Who wants to take a chance on a no-good criminal with a clouded, ominous past? I don't really tell people all the details, and I'm not going to, but then I can't be surprised if people don't want to get to know me or trust me. Also, I'm aware I'm not the ideal, looks-wise. Never bothered me, but-" Once again, you can tell he's not looking for sympathy, but just honestly sharing his thoughts about himself. Before he can talk himself down further, however, you cut him off.

Stopping his words in their tracks, you leaned down to his height, bending at the waist sensually. Without skipping a beat, you casually took the lollipop from his mouth, coaxing it out without much resistance on his part. Smiling impishly, you popped it into your own mouth.

You'd never seen Ryoma Hoshi blush before this moment. It seemed like something he was incapable of.

Korekiyo Shinguuji

The lean, dangerously mysterious anthropologist stood across from you, tall enough and so close that he blotted out the dim light from the single bulb above in the cramped closet. He appeared like a silhouette, like some spooky demon or spirit from the cultural legends he often told you about. He seemed to be giggling behind his mask, amused at your flustered reaction to his closeness before he began to speak in that mystifying voice of his that was like smoke hissing past your ear and tickling the outer shell:

"You know, (Y/N), I almost said no to playing... This seems like such a childish little game, maybe even a waste of my precious time when I could be studying up on literally any other topic. But... then I thought: I've done far more promiscuous things than this before, games and rituals alike, so what's the harm in some little kid’s game? Why not? After all, there's something to be learned from every experience, and this game seemed integral to the middle school lives of our classmates, therefore making it culturally significant... if I... broaden my definitions a little." He rolled his eyes up to the ceiling, making you sweat as he moved even closer during his little monologue.

"I see you're being v-very open-minded," you chuckled nervously, trying to hide the loud pumping of your heart. "Yes, I would've thought you were far too mature for this game!" You were now flat against the wall, nearly caged in by his lithe form hovering over you.

"I thought it might even be exciting," his tone adopted a more predatory note, "to see who I get and explore the essence of who they are, find their inner beauty for myself, one-on-one and in private. When nobody else can hear or see, they might let down some walls, and expose a side of themselves in this killing game that nobody has seen yet. It could be a fascinating study of human behavior. I didn't really care who I got matched with, as everyone here - with such varied personalities and talents - could be an extremely interesting subject!"

"Subject?" Now he was starting to worry you. You had to admit, though, the way he was passionately speaking, the way he pinned you into the corner of this enclosed space... it was rather exciting.

"You seem nervous..." he tilts his head innocently. "There's nothing to be afraid of, little (Y/N). This game, as I take it from the rules, is to start a romantic or flirty interaction, to cause feelings to bubble up in each other - excitement, arousal. These emotions are so wonderfully and beautifully human. Is that what you want, to try this in earnest?" You see one of his hands reach over to its opposite and begin to unravel the layers of gauze bandaging. You nod enthusiastically, almost entranced by his words. He takes this consent as his opportunity to take control, and something in his golden eyes turns animalistic.

"Good." He purrs.

Gonta Gokuhara

Almost comically shoved into this tiny closet and leaving little to no room for you was your chosen-at-random partner: Gonta Gokuhara, the gentle giant. He was desperately trying not to hit his head on the ceiling while also trying to remember to be considerate of you and your personal space. It was the gentlemanly thing to do, after all.

"Gonta wanted to play, because all of his friends were playing too! This game... sounds fun, but Gonta never played it before. Gonta a bit confused. Gonta love everyone here as a good friend, swear to protect them all, so why we not all play game together, in bigger, more comfortable place?" He asked genuine, thoughtful questions, and it appeared to you that he in fact did not know what he was getting himself into. You'd make sure he understood clearly before playing, as someone had obviously shoved him in here without a clear description of the rules or goals.

"Well, Gonta, this is a game where you're supposed to come in with one other person only and do flirty, cute, romantic stuff. Why did you agree to play without knowing what's going on?" You shook your head, snickering under your breath. You'd always found Gonta's endless positivity and determination to make others feel happy and protected adorable. He probably just wanted to be included, to make sure everyone had fun. And you had no doubt he was intelligent enough to understand the simple rules of this game, it was just very likely someone more mischievous - like Kokichi or Miu - purposely kept him out of the loop.

"Oh! O-okay!" He begins to blush, his mouth pressing into an uncomfortable, pursed line. "Gonta never done anything like that!" He was beginning to perspire on his brow.

"Well, do you want to try? You don't have to, keep that in mind! It's your choice, Gonta." You smiled in encouragement, making sure your body language wasn't applying any pressure to him even subconsciously.

"Ummm... Gonta would like to try if everyone else playing. Also!... Gonta trust (Y/N)." His words are shaking, and you decide you'll do the bare minimum, just a warm-up to see if he truly means his words. Him putting his trust in you was melting your heart.

Gently, as if you were approaching a bird that might fly away at any moment, you took a step closer to him and began to unbutton the tight brown suit jacket from his abs and waist.

Kokichi Ouma

Immediately upon being trapped in the closet with this gremlin, he started teasing you, trying to make you crack, or cry, whichever came first. All reactions were good reactions to him.

"Of all people, you got stuck in here with me. Sucks for you, don't it, (Y/N), you prude!" He swirls a finger in the air and presses it firmly into your chest, taunting you.

He spends the next few agonizingly drawn-out moments poking fun at you, at your flustered reactions, at the way your body responds to both his words and small touches.

"Oh, come on, (Y/N), this is baby shit! I barely even touched you! With my title as Supreme Leader, I've had to seduce hundreds of marks into giving up information or giving me what I want, and you can't even handle this? You wouldn't last two minutes in an interrogation by my organization, let alone seven. Pathetic!" He starts laughing, amused by your humiliation so much that his eyes begin to water.

You're sure his claims of seducing and interrogating victims before are lies, but regardless, your heart was beating out of your chest. Why did he have this effect on you? He had you right where he wanted you, and you were falling into his trap. Every time he ran his chilled fingers up your exposed arm or touched your chest and collarbones, you felt a shiver of desire and fright, a shockwave of panic and delight in tandem.

In truth, the others were worried about you. Most of them, the kinder portion of the group, felt bad about sending you in there alone with Kokichi. They didn't think such a kind, unassuming person deserved this kind of treatment.

With an underlying gentleness that almost betrayed his performative vitriol for you, he pushed your shoulders back, like a bully on a playground. He took note of your clumsiness, of the lack of coordination you must have if such a petite young man like him could nearly topple you over. He seemed to be taking into account his lack of time. Seven minutes wasn't much to work with. He'd had his fun, and was ready for the climax.

You stumble back against the wall, and instantly he pounced on you, cornering you in. Before you had time to adjust, to correct yourself to an upright position, he grabbed both sides of your face, pulling you in for a sloppy, deep kiss that lacked any care or gentleness. Your eyelids flew open as the taste of sweet candies and grape sodas flooded your mouth.

Kaito Momota

Kaito stood with his arms crossed defiantly in the middle of the closet. His taller frame and masculine figure took up most of the space as he stood firm, stubbornly biting the inside of his cheek. His brow was furrowed angrily, but not with an anger directed at you. After all, you must've been a victim in this just as much as he.

"Now, I didn't really wanna do this... it's beneath someone who sees fit to call themselves the Luminary of the Stars. I didn't earn this title through kiddy games after all, but..." he looked frustrated, maybe even with himself, "but they tried to say I'm too scared to play! As if!" He paced once in a circle in the tight confines, then huffed. "I'm realizing just now that I probably fell for it and this was their plan all along." He sighed deeply. "I gotta stop letting these assholes get to me." He conceded, his pride hurt. You had to admit, his reaction to the game was disappointing you, as you couldn't think of a better person to get stuck in here with. You smiled sheepishly, letting the uncomfortable silence mellow out in the air. You only had seven minutes, after all. "Man, it's cold and awkward in here..." Ah, yes. Kaito wasn't the type to let things just be silent. You decided it was your turn to speak now.

"So... you don't want to play with me, at all?" You speak shyly, a bit embarrassed at your own words.

"What, you do?" He counters, a single brow raised as you piqued his curiosity,

"Well... I mean, haha," you thought through how to word this so as to not weird him out or scare him off, or really just embarrass yourself in the process, "I felt really lucky to get stuck in here with you, out of everyone. If I may speak openly and honestly, I've been crushing on you for a while..." You felt your blood running hot.

"You have?" He's flushed pink, pulling his jacket in closer for security.

"Yeah, of course! You're handsome, charismatic, and you make me laugh when we are just hanging out casually. I think your determined spirit is admirable... but if you don't feel the same-"

"No!" He cut you off a little too eagerly before he could remind himself he was supposed to be playing it cool. He cleared his throat, calming down his tone a bit, "No, I mean I think you're great, too. And you're beautiful! Out of all these idiots, I'm glad it's you, too." Your heart swells. "Not that... not that I've been dwelling on this thought for too long." Though it feels like your heart is pumping fast enough to warm the entire room, Kaito was right, it was quite drafty in there. Seeing you shiver at the temperature, Kaito removes his large galaxy jacket and wraps it around your shoulders. It smells of him, of hair products and fresh deodorant. Simple and subtle. "We should hang out some more on our own, when we want to, not when these assholes force us into some stupid game with expectations and shit." He shows you a beaming, celebrity-like grin. "I would be an idiot to not want to get to know you more, especially with your talent!"

Shuichi Saihara

Poor Shuichi. The reserved, introverted detective had found himself shoved into this closet against his will. He'd merely come to observe the game from the farthest corner of the room - bored, and too wary of the threat of the killing game to be alone. Being alone was just the worst option right now: either his own thoughts would consume him or a potential killer might.

So now here he was, paying the consequences of wanting to hang out with a group of his peers. They'd put his name into the lottery without his permission, thinking it a cute and funny little prank, and when he was chosen, it only took two or three of them to shove him inside while he attempted to jump and claw his way out. Now he was a sweating, blushing mess, pawing at the door like a cat trapped in a bedroom. The same students that pushed him in snickered and howled in laughter on the other side, leaning their weight into the door so he couldn't escape. After a while, someone as smart as him knows when an effort becomes futile. He sighs, turning to face you with a warm flush of red over his entire body that contrasts wildly with the blues and blacks of his hair and uniform tones.

"Ugh, I'm so sorry, (Y/N)," he groans, his voice cracking under his nerves. "I told them I didn't wanna play, but..." were you really that bad to be stuck in here with? His reaction seemed... over the top. Your shoulders sank downward, humbled by his response to your existence in the same space as him. He sees your crestfallen expression and panics, guilt overcoming him. "Please, no it's not you! I mean no offense. I didn't wanna come in here with anyone." He takes note of how your mood doesn't pick up in the slightest, and lets his head fall into his hands. "This is so embarrassing. I actually do really like you, this is just so awkward."

"You do?" Your ears perk up at that. Maybe you were mistaken in your earlier judgment.

"Yeah! You've always been kind to me, and you're quite interesting and fun to hang out with in this hellhole. Talking to you... really gets my mind off things..." he admits, clearly self-conscious. "I... well sometimes, I hear you talking about how you think you'll be the first victim of the killing game, talking down about yourself. I don’t think you should count yourself out... we all have our own strengths, though I know I ought to take my own advice sometime." He chuckles in such a gentle, exhausted way that it might as well have been merely an exhale.

Neither of you even noticed that during his little speech of praise toward you, he'd reached out and taken your hands gently in his own. It was a reflexive, instinctive, and intimate move. Rather than pull away, now feeling a bit more stable, and comfortable in sharing his thoughts as you hadn't reacted adversely, he pushes a bit further. He rubs his thumb across the back of your hand, and for seven minutes, that's enough for him.

Kiibo / K1-B0

The almost-human robot is standing across from you, arms flat by his side. He looks far more relaxed than you were, passive and maybe in some kind of rest mode, if he had one.

"Now what?" He asks plainly.

"Nobody told you what to do?" You replied, a bit stunned and wondering why he was even here.

"Vaguely. It sounded like a complete waste of time, though. If it's what humans do, it's certainly not in my programming. Therefore, I might as well learn from this experience as not to be embarrassed later on should the topic come up again." He sounded so practical, so... bored with the current situation.

"Well... I don't know how much you were told but this game is about emotions, feelings... touching and flirting, making the other person nervous and flustered, seeing how far you two are willing to go with each other… in a romantic kind of way. It's uniquely human... it may not be productive for you if you can't comprehend-"

"I have plenty of emotions and feelings! I can understand it perfectly fine!" He retorted, offended and seemingly embarrassed. You didn't know he could get embarrassed. Maybe he could in fact enjoy this game to its fullest. You intended to get something out of this experience. This could be fun. You had to admit, you'd been curious about the extent of Kiibo's understanding of human interactions and emotions for a while now. You wondered how much he could feel, emotionally and physically. If you pulled his hair, would he cry out? If you scratched his thigh, would it bleed simulated blood? There could be a lot of room for exciting discovery that awaited you.

"Well then, I'm curious..." you reach a single, cautious hand outward and stroke his hair. It's stunningly soft. It feels shockingly real, not like some cheap synthetic wig or some type of rubber or metal shaped to mimic hair. Kiibo did something like a vibration or shudder, a chill running down his spine. You wondered if this was a programmed response, all artificial and planned, or if Kiibo's free will really extended that far. How real did his creator intend for him to be? For what purpose was he truly built? What did a scientist stand to gain from making a feeling, loving, human-like young man? You could see a war machine or an endless knowledge bank easily being worth the time, but Kiibo didn't seem to excel in pretty much... anything. "How does that feel?"

"I... I don't know. It's making me... relax? I think that's how you'd describe it. I feel like I am running on low power and sluggish, but in a good way? On purpose..." he speaks softly.

"And this?" You run a hand down his pale cheek, and it's warmer than expected, though below a real human’s body temperature for sure. You're so focused on touching the simulated, soft, supple skin, that you don't even notice Kiibo's eyes blown wide open as if scanning you, entranced and staring almost through you. It was safe to say he might have been touched-starved, unused to the sensation.

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