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llamagoddessofficial · 2 days ago

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Thank you @cari-canes for this delightful commission. I'm so sorry I went so overboard... but I just could not resist the opportunity to write the bad guys in the cafe au. Cafe au has got everything!!!

---

You unlocked the glass door and stepped through, out of the bitter cold, watching to make sure the little ‘closed’ sign didn’t flip itself over as you shut and re-locked it behind you. Though some dim morning ambience made its way in through the big front window, it was still pretty gloomy with all the lights off.

Honestly, though? You didn’t mind. 6:30am was a relatively late start for you. You used to get to your old bakery for 4 so you had all the time in the world to bake everything for the displays. A 6:30 start was a walk in the park.

First day nerves are normal. Just take a deep breath.

You put your coat on an antique wooden hanger by the door, and headed deeper into the still-closed cafe. It was a relatively quaint establishment, a medium sized room with about six tables of varying sizes. A nice oak counter, a glass case with room for sandwiches and pastries, a blackboard with coffee types lined up alongside chalked prices. A big pretty coffee machine with a shiny top. A sign on the wall behind the countertop declaring that they reserved the right to ‘remove anyone from the premises’. The only abnormal thing wasn’t even all that abnormal; most of the back wall was a continuous bookshelf, full of books of all different sizes and genres. The sort of thing that’d definitely give this spot enough charm to make it some people’s cafe of choice.

By all means, a perfectly normal, perfectly ordinary looking place.

... Nothing at all like its owners.

You moved behind the counter, floorboards ever-so-slightly creaky underfoot. The kitchen lights were on, you could see through the little round windows in the tops of the doors; someone was already in. The first day nerves kicked into high gear, butterflies making a racket in your stomach and throat... you kept telling yourself that you didn’t need to be as worried as you were, you wouldn’t have gotten hired if you made a bad impression on the staff. But nothing seemed to ease the anxiety that’d firmly lodged itself in your stomach.

You’d had other plans for the week. Nothing major - nothing that couldn’t be cancelled. But you had plans. Who wouldn’t? You lost your previous baking job with absolutely no notice, through no fault of your own. You’d been expecting to suddenly have a lot of free time you didn’t know what to do with. But here you were, plans cancelled, and little more than three days spent unemployed.

The hiring process had been.... Well. For lack of a better word, weird. Not anticipating any responses or interest but eager to reduce your chances of not being able to pay rent, you’d printed out your hastily-updated CV, taken your out-of-touch uncle’s advice and tried walking around town handing out copies to any place that let you breathlessly approached the counter. When you got to this cafe, a place you’d admittedly never even been inside, you had an experience that stuck with you for the rest of the day.

“Are you hiring?” you asked.

The server at the counter was a skeleton monster. You’d never seen a skeleton monster before. He had his hood up, but you could see sharp red eyelights shining out from underneath - they looked bored. By this point in the day, you had just about gotten over the jitters that had followed you from shop to shop. But this guy was bringing them back.

He didn’t say anything.

“Uhm. Can I give you a copy of my resume?”

...

He clearly wasn’t interested. You’d definitely had some half-assed responses, but no one had outright IGNORED you yet. It was pretty disheartening.

“... Nevermind,” you said, small. “Sorry for bothering you - ”

A delighted voice right behind you. “we’re hiring.”

Startled, you spun around. Wait - another skeleton monster? This one was the polar opposite of the guy at the counter, he was grinning from nonexistent ear to nonexistent ear, a smile full of pearly white teeth. He had a dark serving tray tucked under one arm. Somewhat alarmingly, there were large black lines running down from his empty sockets to his jaw, but living in Ebbott city meant you’d seen more than enough strange monsters. There were far scarier looking (but completely harmless) monsters out there.

“O-oh. You are?” you replied, flustered by his enthusiasm after a long day of little more than side-eyes. “I didn’t see a sign,”

“ain’t had time to put one up yet. your timing couldn’t be better.” He held a gloved hand out. He was so friendly - he looked so happy you were here. “i’m killer. that’s dust. ignore him, he’s a dickhead with everyone. can i have two copies? i’ll pass one on to my boss.”

“S-sure!” you said. Wow, what a positive response! You were suddenly riding a little high. You made a mental note to remember this particular place.

“we’ll be in touch,” Killer said, beaming. “promise.”

He wasn’t lying about being ‘in touch’. Literally the next morning, you had an email in your inbox, asking when you were free for an interview; when you politely responded that you were available as soon as possible the response came in asking you to be there later that day after the cafe had closed. You were pretty sure that by the time you walked into that building for the interview, most places hadn’t even read your resume yet.

And the interview itself...

You bit the inside of your cheek. That was a story for another day. You did your best to bring yourself back to the present. You took a breath, shifting your bag around on your shoulder, then stepping through into the light of the kitchen.

... Horror was the one already in the kitchen. Of course he was, he was the chef. He had his back to you, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows; he was kneading dough on a heavily floured work surface. Batch making bread?

He was a huge guy. That had been clear during the interview, but he had been seated for most of that. Now, with him standing? You got to see his full size and height. He must’ve been almost seven feet tall, his back alone was twice the size of you. You couldn’t help but wonder if he got his shirts tailored specifically for him... where was a guy that big realistically going to get reasonably sized clothing, other than someone making it for him?

You were going to be spending hours in the kitchen alone with him.

At the sound of the door, he looked over his shoulder at you. His big red eye took up most of his socket. The iris widened, just a fraction, at the sight of you.

“... you’re... early,” he said. His voice was very deep. He spoke each word like he was measuring it syllable by syllable.

“Y-yeah.” You fiddled with your bag strap. “I know I was told to come in at seven, but I thought I’d just get in a bit earlier. Get a feel for the place.”

...

“... experience?” he asked.

You tried very hard to keep you voice light. Perhaps too hard. “Lots. I’ve worked in plenty of bakeries and cafes before. What about you?”

He shook his head. His bony hands were covered in flour, up to the wrist.

You did a quick visual sweep around the room - the shelves full of perfectly organised and dated ingredients, equipment clean and sorted, shiny countertops, ovens you wouldn’t mind cooking your personal food in. The place would pass its health inspection with flying colours.

“This room looks... really good,” you said, honestly. “I’ve seen kitchens full of seasoned pros that look much worse than this. You won’t believe the state of some of the kitchens I’ve worked in. It’d make you never want to eat out again.”

Horror made a sound in the back of his throat. Then went back to kneading the bread, back to you.

...

“Hey, I... I know Nightmare hired me to be ‘in charge’ of baking back here.” Your voice was shaky. “But this was your kitchen first. I don’t want you to think I’m coming in here to move all your things around and steal your job. I’m just baking brownies and pastries, and stuff. You’re the chef.”

... He paused, turning fractionally, red iris catching you again.

Your employer was... well, you weren’t wrong about there being scarier monsters out there than Killer. Nightmare was a perfect example. You shuddered, remembering his cyan eye staring at you during the interview, flanked by the other three skeletons. That had felt less like an interview and more like an exercise in not displaying fear in front of predators.

“Honestly, I thought I blew the interview when I asked him if he only hired skeletons. But I guess not, since I’m here.”

Horror...

... Chuckled.

Phew. The sound visibly relieved you. You put your bag down. “Sorry. I know I talk too much. I’ll look around, give you some peace.”

...

“... i... like... when you talk.” He looked back to his bread. “... nice voice. fills quiet.”

You blinked.

... You got the overwhelming feeling you’d completely misjudged him. He suddenly didn’t seem quite so tall. Horror was clearly trying really hard; talking, laughing at your bad humour attempts, trying to make you feel more comfortable.

Was he just... shy?

... The smile you gained must’ve really been something, because you could’ve sworn there was a little hint of red on the high edge of his cheekbone.

“When you’re done with the bread, do you mind showing me where things are kept?”

This time, his smile was higher, and nod was much more resolute.

Just like that, you didn’t mind being alone in the kitchen with him. Not at all.

---

You and Horror worked like a well-oiled machine. Not a word needed to be spoken - you weren’t sure what it was, but Horror just seemed completely in tune to everything you, he knew where you were going and what you were reaching for and why you needed it. His huge physique translated into incredible strength, he single-handedly managed tasks that would’ve taken your old kitchen three people. When the ingredient delivery car came, it took all your strength to carry just one box. Horror carried four.

By the time you and Horror were done prepping, you emerged from the kitchen in a flour-dusted apron that was a little too big for you, really craving coffee. You were a tad more confident, glad to have made a friend, and you were determined to figure out how to use that lovely big machine. Maybe you could offer Horror something to drink?

... Dust was there. You hadn’t heard him come in. He was leaning against the counter, reading a book whose title you couldn’t see - sunlight was coming in through the cafe’s front windows, catching the edge of his hood and lighting up what looked like some specks of dust he hadn’t brushed off; it must’ve been late morning now, getting closer to opening time. You somewhat admired his commitment to dressing casual. He was wearing his barista apron over top a white shirt and hoodie, he was absolutely dedicated to dressing like he didn’t want to be there.

You paused just outside the kitchen door. Had you not just spent an hour with Horror, you definitely would’ve considered Dust an intimidating figure - now, though? He didn’t look like much. You hadn’t forgotten your first encounter with him, nor the dismissive way he’d treated you. But he didn’t cause the same pit in your stomach as he had when you first walked into the cafe.

You fixed a polite smile onto your face.

“Hey,” you said softly, taking one or two steps closer but still giving him room. You awkwardly put one hand on the counter. “Morning. You know how to use the coffee machine, right?”

His dark, crimson eyelights flickered up to you from his book. You opened your mouth, about to ask him if he minded showing you how it worked.

... Then he rolled his eyelights at you.

You bristled, a hundred different insults sprang to mind, but your ‘years of working with assholes’ instincts kicked in and your teeth clamped together. You couldn’t help the way your brows twitched, though. What the fuck?

His expression shifted, slightly. But you didn’t really care to stay around long enough to figure out how, or why. If he wanted to be like that, you weren’t going to put up with it, you’d had more than enough experience dealing with terrible coworkers and you weren’t about to waste a moment more with him. You just turned around to head back into the kitchen. After such a pleasant time with Horror, it was whiplash to be treated so badly. You didn’t even want a coffee anymore.

“told you he’s a dick.”

You almost jumped out of your fucking skin. It was Killer. Right behind you, in front of the kitchen door, where you had just come from. How did he get behind the counter? Flustered from being frightened, you put a hand to your chest and let out a few small shocked laughs. “H-holy crap. I didn’t hear... How did you...?”

Killer beamed at your laughter. He leant back against the inside of the counter, folding his arms over his chest. He was remarkably well-dressed, wearing a spotless dark turtleneck underneath his apron and a few silver rings on his phalanges, he stood in stark contrast to Dust. You could definitely imagine him being popular with customers.

“don’t take dust’s needlin’ personally,” he said, tone light and playful. “he’s like that with everyone. works at the coffee machine all day, an’ he point-blank refuses to ever make me or horror any coffee. we just gotta band together and ignore him.”

You couldn’t help but smile at him, letting out a breath through your nose, lowering the proverbial hackles that Dust had made you raise. Killer’s aura was... infectious, really, it was brightening and easygoing. You know what? Two out of three coworkers being nice was great. Better than some people had.

You turned around, glancing over your shoulder, to get a look at the guy who was being such an asshole to you.

... Dust was gone.

“Eh?” Your back straightened in surprise, and your head swiveled back and forth. You couldn’t see him anywhere in the cafe.

“he’s on a smoke break, probably.” Killer clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. Wait - did he? He made a sound that resembled the action, for sure. But he didn’t have a tongue, right? He was a skeleton. You looked back at him.

“But we haven’t even opened yet?” you said, bewildered.

“toldja. he’s just the worst. don’t ask him for anything, he’ll make you feel dumb for askin’.” He shifted his weight onto one foot, bending his knee slightly. “if you wanna know where anything is, just ask me.”

“... Ah. Okay.” You smiled again, appreciative. “Thank you, Killer.”

He grinned anew, corners of his sockets lifting.

“you’re cute. i’m real ‘excited to be workin’ with you.”

... Your mouth opened slightly, taken aback. What? Did you hear that right?

“Yeah, excited to be working with you too,” you blurted, absolutely no idea how to respond. Did he mean cute like adorable? Or cute like... “But I’ll be in the kitchen most of the time, right?”

“course. but it’s a quiet cafe. nice.” He tilted his skull, talking so casually and warmly, like he didn’t literally just call you cute. “we’ll get lots of chances to chat. lots of time to get to know each other better.”

“Sure.” Your head was spinning, heart starting to thud. You were glad your voice came out so much calmer than you actually felt. Was this just his personality? That had to be it. He had to just be the kind of guy that sounded flirty. Your hands twisted in your apron. “That... that sounds great,”

Killed leaned, resting his elbow on the counter and putting his chin on his hand.

“i’d love to get to know you better,” he purred.

Okay, no, you were definitely being flirted with. A flush of heat prickled your cheeks. Oh my stars, he probably wanted you to respond. How were you supposed to respond?

Fwump! A blue cloth landed on Killer’s skull, then flopped onto the counter. It made you jump, but Killer’s only reaction was a slight annoyed downturn in his smile. You looked over your shoulder - Dust was walking away, toward the back of the cafe, probably to put his book away.

“I-I should get baking then, huh?” Taking advantage of the lull you quickly darted past Killer, turning around and using your back to push the kitchen door open. “I’ve got, uh... dough. That needs... attending to,”

You kept backing up. Killer advanced, still smiling. “mind if i come see? not much of a baker, myself.”

“I-I don’t know if...”

A massive shape moved into your field of view. Suddenly, Horror’s hand slammed into the door frame. He had moved with a startling amount of speed for such a large guy. With just that move, he body blocked the doorway entirely, sending Killer reeling back.

“kitchen staff only.” Horror didn’t sound happy.

“since when was that a rule?” Killer didn’t sound happy either. “stop getting so possessive.”

... You couldn’t see anything. Only Horror’s back. But you caught the way Killer’s face twisted, smile falling.

“fuckin’ hell. message received. don’t have to get so weird about it.”

You didn’t wait to find out what happened next. Flustered and confused and just grateful to be back in the kitchen (clearly a safe zone), you turned away from the mess happening in the doorway.

... Something on the counter caught your eye.

A fresh coffee. In a pretty stoneware mug. It was on your side of the kitchen, but you definitely hadn’t put it there.

Just from a glance, you could tell it was your usual. And it was clearly new, made within a few minutes, there were still gentle wisps of steam rising from its surface.

... Cautiously, you picked it up. There was only one person who had been at the counter the whole time Killer was flirting and Horror was baking.

You took a sip.

...

You were getting some pretty mixed signals from Dust.

But damn. He knew how to make a good coffee.

---

When you envisioned the sort of person that ran a cute little independent cafe like this, you definitely pictured someone that matched the decorations. Someone friendly, bookish, tasteful. Perhaps an owl monster, or a plant monster with big monstera leaves, or even a human (specifically one who wore dungarees). Someone who looked like they probably had a beautiful private Instagram.

... The person behind the counter shifted, at the sight of you entering the cafe once again. It looked like he had been cleaning the coffee machine until you walked in, a small rag in one giant clawed hand.

“ah. thank you for coming in after closing,” he said. His voice, soft and deep and satiny. His smile, ice white.

When you envisioned this cafe’s owner, you didn’t picture Nightmare.

You shuffled over to the counter. There was a stool pulled up to it, but you didn’t sit down, too nervous to. “No problem,” you said, tiny. “I was going to come back and prep some stuff anyway.”

Horror may have been taller. Killer’s tears may have been more visually striking, Dust’s face may have been ‘spookier’. But there was no one with an aura like Nightmare’s. By all appearances, he was just a skeleton monster with pitch black and tarry bones - considering there were monsters that were ten-foot springs on fire and giant carnivorous fish with teeth the length of your forearm, a skeleton with tarred bones was nothing. He didn’t appear particularly out of the ordinary. He was wearing a well fitted black button-up shirt, and a silver watch on one skeletal wrist... a perfectly average humanoid monster.

But there was just something about him. You felt it, the moment you walked into the interview. Something about the way he held himself, something about his air, the slightest tilt of his chin. That sharp, brilliantly cyan eyelight - whoever could’ve guessed that cyan could be such a powerful colour? Something about him set off an instinctual nervousness deep inside you, a flighty feeling that told you to pay close attention to every move he made.

You swallowed.

... It was very attractive.

You could never, ever say it aloud. Especially since he was your boss. But everything that made Nightmare intimidating to you just made you blush. You felt it the moment you walked into the interview, and you felt it now; his overwhelming energy made your breath catch in your throat. He was handsome. Strong jaw, defined cheekbones, but not too sharp or angular. Just... nice to look at.

There were some papers, and a pen, on his side of the counter. He slid them over to you. You didn’t know why, but you expected the tips of his claws to leave black marks on the white paper - they didn’t.

“just some documents for you to sign,” he said. His voice wasn’t as deep as Horror’s, but nevertheless, it reverberated inside your chest. “had to be in-person. then you’re all on board.”

“Oh, okay.” You picked up the pen.

“i wanted to check how your first day was, too.” He set aside the rag he’d been holding, and leant on the counter. Both elbows. There was still almost a metre between you, but it felt as if he was pressing into your personal space bubble. You could smell something; a cologne, maybe? It was really good. “how was it?”

“Good,” you replied, shakily, completely unable to concentrate on the words actually on the paper. “Everyone was nice. Horror, especially.”

“i’m glad to hear it.”

“Killer... did flirt with me, though.”

Nightmare’s brows raised. “did it make you uncomfortable?”

“N-not really. Just confused.” Why did you blurt words out like that around him? You’d done the exact same in the interview, just saying whatever came to mind. You needed to get a hold of yourself.

He cared whether or not you were uncomfortable... that was sweet.

Nightmare tsked. “he’s like that with everyone. but he shouldn’t be. i will have a word. tell me if it happens again, i’ll beat some sense into him.”

Not expecting that last line, you coughed out a little laugh. Nightmare was clearly pleased, grin inching up his face.

“let me make you something to drink.” He shifted off his elbows, hands flat on the counter.

You stood up straighter. “O-oh, it’s fine. I wouldn’t - ”

“you aren’t imposing,” he said, turning around and pushing his sleeves up his arms. “sit down.”

Your butt was on the seat. Huh? You’d sat down before you’d even thought about whether or not you wanted to obey. You swallowed again, glad he had turned around and couldn’t see your face. He possessed an incredible gift for sounding commanding, without sounding aggressive.

He took the kettle, bringing it over to the sink and starting to fill it with water.

“I... what’re you making?” you asked, flustered at how easily he was able to make you do as he said.

“it’s a surprise.” He pulled out a mug. “don’t look.”

Well... you had no trouble not looking at what he was making. You couldn’t help the way your eyes were drawn to his arms; the bones that made up his forearm were large and thick, almost as thick as your wrist.

“You’re sure?”

“my treat,” he hummed.

You turned your eyes down, finally actually focusing on the paperwork. It was the usual... bank details, confirming you’d read the employee code of conduct, right-to-work, all of that. Honestly, you skim-read most of it. You tapped the pen gently against the edge of the paper, rather than on the wood, so you could fiddle without making too much of a noise.

As your gaze trailed up and down the pages, signing and dating whichever ones asked for it, you couldn’t help but note how nice this felt. Sitting at the counter, after closing, listening to the sound of Nightmare making something. The kettle boiling, cutlery and equipment clinking, the gentle hiss of the milk steamer. It all felt very... safe. Cosy.

“here,” he said.

You looked up. He was holding the drink out to you. It was a nice dark blue mug you hadn’t seen on the shelf yet. Was it reserved for him?

“Thank you,” you said, softly, reaching out. It smelled incredible. It was clearly hot, and frothy, he’d sprinkled a tiny pinch of dry tea leaves on the top for effect.

As you took the drink from him... his fingertips brushed your hand. You could’ve sworn it was deliberate, like he had shifted his hand specifically to allow the tips of his claws to trace over the top of your palm as you took the drink.

Your cheeks and neck prickled. It must’ve just been an accident. Right? You were looking into it too deeply because you liked him. You cleared your throat, a tiny sound, and sipped the drink.

... It was sweet, hot, comforting. It was creamy and fluffy - yet somehow floral and sophisticated. It felt deep, but layered, it was an absolute treat.

“Woah,” Was all you were able to breathe out.

He rested his forearms on the counter this time. More casual than just the elbows, perhaps. To your relief, he’d made himself one as well, you would’ve felt much too awkward drinking something on your own.

His gaze was relaxed, socket lidded. But at the same time, there was something indecipherable about the way he looked at you. “i’ll take that as a good response...?”

“What is this?” you asked, right before taking another sip.

“lavender london fog. one of my favourites.”

“I’ve always been fond of lavender,”

His eyelight became a fraction wider, and the cyan glow a touch stronger. “... you have good taste,”

“I think I’m done with all the paperwork,”

He tilted his head. “i intimidate you. don’t i?”

...

You made a little surprised, confronted sound, where did that come from?!

“I-I’m so sorry,” you squeaked. “It’s not you, I promise,”

He chuckled. What a lovely sound. “don’t be silly. of course it’s me. i have that effect on people, i always have.”

You were spluttering. You couldn’t deny you were a bit relieved that he knew the whole time, but you still didn’t like that you’d been so obvious. “I feel terrible, though! You’ve been nothing but nice to me,”

“you’ve been nothing but nice, too.” He swirled his drink. You could hear the foam sizzling against the sides of the cup. “despite how obviously unpleasant myself and my employees are, you’ve treated us all very well. don’t think it’s gone unnoticed.”

“You’re not unpleasant,” you stressed, embarrassed and avoiding the compliments.

“it sounds unprofessional,” Nightmare said. “but i mostly hired you for that. your pleasant aura, despite it all.”

“Aura?” you parroted.

“metaphorically speaking.” He finally drew the paperwork back across the counter to him, eyeing your signature. “my boys are... difficult. don’t tell them i called them my boys. hiring has been incredibly troublesome, because until now, they’ve never liked anyone who applied. they’ve chased off three other potential hires already. finding someone they all like has been hard work.”

“Pft.” Your cheeks could not catch a break. They were about as hot as the mug you were squeezing in both your hands. You had no idea you were so desirable, nor so easy to get along with. It was very flattering. “How did they chase them off?”

Nightmare raised his brows. “dear, i would like to keep you around. i don’t think i’ll tell you that.”

You laughed. The pet name flew over your head. Nightmare’s smile wasn’t getting any wider, but... it was getting softer.

“I-I should get to work. I wanted to make some batters now, so they can rest overnight.”

“could i lend a hand?” Nightmare tilted his head. “my baking knowledge is not... extensive. but i’m happy to assist.”

Unlike Killer’s ‘offer’ to help, this one, you were delighted to accept. “Of course. If you don’t mind being told what to do.”

He chuckled.

“if it’s you, i don’t mind one bit.”

#commissions #bad sanses

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ijustmissyouraccenths · 2 days ago

Text

A Real Good Doctor (Part 2)

Doctor Harry

Part One

Where Y/N and Harry run into each other and one thing leads to the next.

Word Count: 8,273

Content Warning: Mentions of blood, falling, surgery, and light smut.

Harry pulls open the door to the café, stepping aside to let Y/N walk out first before following close behind. The air is crisp, carrying the scent of muffins from the bakery next door. They walk side by side in a comfortable silence for a moment, sipping their coffees as the city moves around them.

Then, without any hesitation, Harry speaks. “Why didn’t you text me?”

Y/N glances up at him, caught off guard by how straightforward he is. He is not teasing, not smirking just asking. She shifts her coffee cup between her hands, looking down at the sidewalk as they walk.

“I didn’t think I was supposed to,” she says honestly. “I figured the number was just for medical stuff. Like if something went wrong with the stitches.”

Harry nods slowly, considering that. “That’s fair,” he says. “But you could’ve texted anyway.”

She exhales, still looking ahead. “I just didn’t want to bother you,” she admits. “You’re a doctor. You have way more important things to deal with.”

Harry stops walking for a moment, and she pauses too, turning to face him. He studies her for a second, then shakes his head. “I wouldn’t have given you my number if I didn’t mean it.”

Y/N presses her lips together, feeling a small pang of regret. She had not considered that. She had assumed it was just a polite gesture, nothing more.

She nods, shifting slightly on her feet. “I guess I didn’t think about it that way.”

Harry gives a small shrug. “Well. Now you know.”

There is no pressure in his tone, no expectation—just a simple statement. And somehow, that makes it feel even more significant.

Harry takes another sip of his coffee, his gaze flicking toward Y/N before he speaks again. “It’s not every day you rescue a cute girl off the sidewalk.”

Y/N lets out a short laugh, shaking her head. “Is that in the medical textbooks? Proper procedure for stumbling across injured pedestrians?”

He smirks slightly. “Something like that.”

The conversation settles between them as they continue walking, the cold air biting just a little more now that they are no longer inside the café. Y/N tucks one hand into her coat pocket, shifting her coffee cup to the other as they pass a row of shop windows, each one glowing softly with warm light. The displays are decorated for the upcoming holidays, twinkling string lights casting a golden hue onto the sidewalk.

Harry glances at one of the windows, where an array of books is stacked beneath a sign that reads Winter Reads to Get Lost In. Y/N follows his gaze, her lips twitching slightly.

“You a big reader?” she asks.

He hums, considering. “Not as much as I’d like to be. Work keeps me busy.”

She nods, taking another sip of her drink before tilting her head slightly. “Speaking of work, what kind of doctor are you?”

“Trauma surgeon,” he answers easily.

Her eyebrows raise slightly. “That sounds… intense.”

He gives a small shrug. “It can be.”

She studies him for a moment. “So my knee was probably the least exciting thing you’ve had to deal with.”

He huffs a quiet laugh. “I wouldn’t say that. At least you were conscious. That’s more than I can say for a lot of my patients.”

Y/N winces slightly at that, imagining the kind of high-stakes situations he must deal with on a daily basis. “And you still had the energy to stop for coffee and go on a run?”

“I try,” he says. “Some days are easier than others.”

She watches him as they walk, noting the way his shoulders sit slightly tense, like he is used to carrying more weight than just his own.

“So when you’re not patching people up, running, and drinking overpriced coffee, what do you do?” she asks, shifting the conversation to something lighter.

Harry glances at her, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly. “You make it sound like I have no life.”

She grins. “Do you?”

He laughs under his breath. “I guess you’ll have to stick around and find out.”

Y/N rolls her eyes but feels herself smiling as they continue walking, the city stretching out ahead of them.

As they walk, their conversation flows effortlessly, jumping from books to coffee preferences to the best running routes in the city. The air is crisp, but the warmth of their drinks and the easy conversation makes it feel less biting.

After a brief lull, Harry glances at Y/N, his expression thoughtful. “What are you doing this weekend?”

Y/N hums, taking a sip of her coffee. “Not much, I think. Why?”

He hesitates for only a second before saying, “I was thinking… maybe we could get dinner?”

She slows her steps slightly, looking up at him. There is no teasing in his expression, no smugness—just a simple, casual invitation.

“Oh,” she says, a little caught off guard, though pleasantly so. “Like a ‘thank you for stitching me up’ dinner or…?”

Harry smirks. “I mean, if that’s what you want to call it.”

Y/N bites her lip, suppressing a smile. “I think I could be convinced.”

“Good,” he says with a nod. “Any place in mind?”

She thinks for a moment before her eyes light up. “There’s this Thai place I love, but it’s kind of a hole in the wall.”

Harry raises a brow. “You’re not talking about Saap Thai, are you?”

Y/N’s jaw drops slightly. “Wait—you know it?”

“Know it?” He scoffs. “I’ve been going there for years. Best pad see ew in the city.”

She laughs, shaking her head. “I don’t know whether to be impressed or concerned that we both love the same obscure Thai place.”

Harry grins. “I’d say it’s a good sign.”

Y/N pretends to consider. “Fine. I guess I can meet you there this weekend.”

“Looking forward to it,” he says, his voice warm.

As they continue walking, Y/N feels a quiet excitement settle in her chest. A few weeks ago, she never would have imagined any of this happening. But now, here she was—planning dinner with the doctor who quite literally picked her up off the sidewalk.

Their walk naturally loops back around to the coffee shop, the familiar scent of espresso and baked goods greeting them once more. Through the window, Y/N spots Poppy sitting at a small table near the front, scrolling on her phone, but not-so-subtly glancing up every few seconds as if to check on her progress.

Harry follows her gaze and nods. “Looks like your friend is waiting.”

Y/N exhales, part of her wishing she had a little more time before they had to part ways. “Yeah, I should probably get back before she starts interrogating me.”

Harry smirks, shifting his coffee cup between his hands. “I should let you go, then.” He tilts his head slightly. “But I’ll see you this weekend?”

Y/N nods, feeling an unfamiliar flutter in her stomach. “Yeah. Looking forward to it.”

There is a brief pause before Harry steps closer, wrapping one arm around her in an easy, natural hug. For a second, she freezes, caught off guard, but then she relaxes into it, letting her arms wrap around him in return.

He is warm, solid, and his scent—clean, fresh, with a hint of something woodsy—lingers in the air between them. It is the same scent she noticed in his car, the same one that clung to his hoodie when he had wrapped her knee. Now, pressed against him, she can tell it is just him, and something about that makes her heart pick up slightly.

Harry pulls back first, his expression unreadable but not unkind. “Take care of yourself, alright?”

Y/N nods, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as she steps back toward the door. “You too, Doctor.”

He huffs out a quiet laugh before turning and walking down the street, disappearing into the flow of city traffic.

Taking a deep breath, Y/N steps back inside the café, bracing herself for the inevitable interrogation waiting at Poppy’s table.

The moment Y/N steps inside, Poppy looks up from her phone, her eyes already wide with excitement. She doesn’t even try to hide her smirk as she leans forward on the table, both hands wrapped around her coffee cup like she has been waiting for this moment all her life.

“Well?” Poppy says, dragging out the word. “Are you going to tell me, or do I have to start guessing?”

Y/N sighs, setting her coffee down before sliding into the chair across from her. “Nothing happened,” she says, though the warmth in her face betrays her.

Poppy scoffs. “Nothing happened? Babe, I watched you walk off with a literal doctor who carried you through the streets of New York. And then you come back forty minutes later looking all—” She gestures vaguely at Y/N. “Like that.”

Y/N raises a brow. “Like what?”

“Like someone who just got asked on a date,” Poppy says, eyes sparkling.

Y/N groans, covering her face for a second before peeking through her fingers. “Okay. Fine. Maybe he asked me to dinner this weekend.”

Poppy gasps dramatically, nearly knocking over her coffee. “I KNEW IT!” She slaps the table, drawing the attention of the barista behind the counter. “I knew there was something there! Oh my god, tell me everything. Where? When? What did he say?”

Y/N sighs, unable to fight back a small smile as she leans back in her chair. “We’re going to that little Thai place we love.”

Poppy gasps again, clutching her chest like she has just received the best news of her life. “Oh, this is fate. This is a rom-com. He just happens to love the same restaurant? Babe, this is how love stories start.”

Y/N rolls her eyes, but the truth is, a small part of her is thinking the same thing.

“It’s just dinner,” she says, though even she does not sound convinced.

Poppy grins knowingly, stirring her coffee. “Mmmhmm. Sure. And next week, I’ll be helping you pick out an outfit for date number two.”

Y/N shakes her head, laughing, but she does not deny it.

On the weekend, Y/N stands in front of her closet, scanning through her options with a mix of excitement and nerves. It had been a while since she had gone on a proper date, and despite telling herself that this was just dinner, she could not ignore the way her stomach fluttered at the thought of seeing Harry again.

She pulls out a nice top, something flattering but not too dressy, and pairs it with high-waisted pants that hug her just right. She slips on a pair of flats, knowing she wants to be comfortable but still put together. The outfit is simple, effortless, exactly the balance she wants to strike.

Stepping in front of the mirror, she smooths her hands over the fabric and exhales. Her hair falls just right, and her makeup is light but enough to make her feel confident. She wants to look nice without feeling like she is trying too hard.

Checking the time, she grabs her purse and phone before heading toward the door. Her heart beats a little faster as she steps out, the anticipation settling in as she makes her way to the Thai restaurant where Harry is waiting.

Y/N arrives at the Thai restaurant just a few minutes early, the familiar scent of spices and sizzling dishes drifting through the air as she approaches the entrance. The small, tucked-away spot is just as cozy as she remembers, warm light spilling from the windows onto the sidewalk. She pulls open the door, stepping inside, her pulse quickening slightly as she glances around.

Harry is already there. He stands near the entrance, scanning the room before his eyes land on her. His expression shifts instantly, a small, genuine smile appearing as he takes her in. He looks effortlessly put together in a dark button-up with the sleeves casually rolled to his forearms, paired with well-fitted trousers. He looks good—really good.

“Hey,” he greets, stepping forward slightly. “You made it.”

She laughs softly. “Would’ve been awkward if I didn’t.”

He smirks, then gestures toward the host stand. “I got us a table. Ready to eat?”

“Absolutely,” she says, feeling the warmth of anticipation settle in her chest.

The host leads them to a small table near the window, tucked away just enough for them to have some privacy. The restaurant hums with quiet conversations and the clinking of plates, the atmosphere intimate but relaxed. They sit across from each other, the flickering candle on the table casting a soft glow over their faces.

Harry leans back slightly, resting his forearm on the table as he glances over the menu. “So, do you already know what you’re getting, or are you one of those people who has to read through the whole thing every time?”

Y/N tilts her head playfully. “I like to consider all my options.”

He huffs a quiet laugh. “I already know what I’m getting.”

“Let me guess. Pad see ew?”

Harry raises a brow, impressed. “Good memory.”

She shrugs, smirking slightly. “You said it was the best in the city.”

He nods, then gestures to her. “What about you?”

“I always go for the green curry,” she says, setting the menu down.

“Solid choice,” he acknowledges, closing his own menu just as their server approaches. They place their orders, and once the server leaves, Harry leans in slightly, his gaze settling on her with quiet curiosity.

“So,” he says, “is this the part where we ask all the typical first-date questions?”

Y/N arches a brow. “Is that what this is?”

He tilts his head slightly, considering. “Would you be here if it wasn’t?”

She exhales a soft laugh, shaking her head. “No, I wouldn’t.”

His lips twitch with amusement. “Good to know.”

She sips her water, meeting his gaze. “Alright, then. Typical first-date questions. What made you want to be a doctor?”

Harry thinks for a moment, his fingers tapping idly against the table. “I guess I’ve always liked the idea of being able to help people. My mum was a nurse, so I grew up around it. Seeing the way she cared for people, how she made a difference in their lives—I wanted to be able to do the same.”

Y/N listens intently, watching the way his expression softens slightly when he talks about it. There is no arrogance in his voice, no sense of self-importance. Just sincerity.

“That’s a good reason,” she says, nodding.

He shrugs lightly. “What about you? What do you do?”

“I work in publishing,” she says. “Mostly editing manuscripts before they go to print. It’s not quite as life-saving as your job, but it has its moments.”

“Don’t sell yourself short,” he says. “Books have probably saved more lives than I have.”

She smiles at that, tilting her head. “That might be the nicest thing anyone has said about my job.”

Their conversation flows easily, moving from work to travel, to childhood memories, to the small quirks that make them who they are. Time seems to slip away as the food arrives, the dishes filling the space between them as they eat and talk, neither of them feeling the need to check the time.

At some point, Y/N realizes how natural this feels—how easy it is to be here with him, to talk to him like they have known each other longer than just a few weeks. It is effortless, but not in a way that feels fleeting. It feels like something that could last.

And judging by the way Harry looks at her, like he is just as caught up in the moment as she is, she thinks he might feel the same way.

They were caught up in the moment, lost in the conversation, in the warmth of good food and easy laughter, until the sudden vibration of Harry’s phone cut through it. He barely noticed it at first, but when it rang again, more insistent this time, he sighed and pulled it from his pocket.

His eyes flicked to the screen, and immediately, his expression shifted. His relaxed demeanor tensed, his jaw setting as he read the caller ID.

“Sorry,” he murmured, glancing at Y/N before standing. “I have to take this.”

She nodded, watching as he stepped away from the table, pressing the phone to his ear. She could not hear much, just the low hum of his voice as he spoke in short, clipped sentences. His hand raked through his hair at one point, his posture stiff as he listened to whatever was being said on the other end.

When he finally returned, his expression was tight, his lips pressed together in a way that told her the night was about to change.

“I have to go,” he said, exhaling through his nose. “There was an accident. I need to scrub in.”

Y/N immediately sat up, nodding in understanding. “Of course. Go.”

He hesitated, glancing at the half-finished plates in front of them. “I feel bad cutting this short.”

She smiled softly. “You don’t have to. This is your job. People need you.”

His brows furrowed slightly, like he wanted to say something else, but he did not have time to linger.

“I’ll pay for it,” she added, waving a hand. “Consider it repayment for saving my leg.”

Harry shook his head, clearly not liking the idea. “I should at least—”

“Harry,” she interrupted gently, tilting her head toward the door. “Go.”

He sighed, but there was a flicker of appreciation in his eyes. Without another word, he stepped forward and wrapped her in a quick hug. It was warm, firm, and over too soon.

“Rain check?” he asked as he pulled back.

She smiled. “Absolutely.”

He lingered for only a second before nodding and rushing out the door, disappearing into the night.

Y/N watched him go, the space he left behind feeling oddly empty. With a quiet breath, she sat back down, staring at the table before shaking her head with a small smile.

So much for a typical first date.

When Y/N got home, she kicked off her flats, set her purse down, and immediately pulled out her phone. She already knew Poppy was waiting for an update, probably pacing her apartment in anticipation.

Y/N: So… the date was going great.

It took less than five seconds for Poppy to reply.

Poppy: WAS??? Babe, what happened???

Y/N: His job called. There was an accident, and he had to go into surgery.

Poppy: NOOOO. You’re telling me your date got interrupted because he had to go save lives?? That’s both tragic and ridiculously hot.

Y/N: I mean… yeah, basically.

Poppy: Ugh. What a man. Okay, but how was it before he had to go be a hero?

Y/N: Honestly? It was really nice. We talked, laughed, and we even like the same Thai place. It was just easy.

Poppy: So you like him.

Y/N stared at the message for a second before sighing.

Y/N: Yeah. I do.

Poppy: I KNEW IT.

Y/N: But what if his schedule is always like this? What if this happens all the time?

Poppy: That’s something you’ll figure out if it turns into something serious. Right now? It’s one date. And judging by the way you’re texting me, I don’t think it’s going to be the last.

Y/N chewed on her lip, thinking about the way Harry had hugged her before leaving, the way he had asked for a rain check like he wanted to see her again.

Y/N: Yeah… maybe not.

Poppy: Oh, babe. You’re done for.

Y/N laughed, shaking her head before tossing her phone onto the couch. Maybe Poppy was right. Maybe she was done for. But strangely enough, she did not mind the thought.

Later that night, as Y/N sat curled up on her couch, half-watching a show she had no real interest in, her phone lit up with an incoming call. The name on the screen made her heart stutter for a second.

Harry.

She hesitated, unsure if he had meant to call her or if it was some kind of mistake. But after a moment, she swiped to answer, bringing the phone to her ear.

“Hello?” she said cautiously.

“Hey,” Harry’s voice came through, low and warm, a little more tired than it had been earlier. “I hope it’s okay that I called.”

Y/N sat up slightly, tucking her legs beneath her. “Yeah, of course. I just… wasn’t sure if you meant to.”

He let out a quiet chuckle. “I did. Texts felt too informal. I felt bad about leaving so abruptly and—” He paused for a second. “I don’t know. I wanted to hear your voice.”

Her stomach flipped slightly at that. She swallowed, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “You really didn’t have to feel bad, you know. You were literally saving lives.”

“Still,” he murmured, then exhaled. “How was the rest of your night?”

“Uneventful,” she admitted. “Poppy demanded a full debrief, obviously.”

Harry huffed a quiet laugh. “I can only imagine.”

Y/N smiled before tilting her head slightly. “How did surgery go?”

There was a brief pause, then a sigh on the other end. “It was rough,” he admitted. “Multiple injuries, a lot of moving pieces. But we managed. Patient’s stable now, which is what matters.”

Y/N could hear the exhaustion in his voice, the weight of whatever he had dealt with tonight still lingering. She could not even begin to imagine the kind of pressure that came with his job.

“You must be exhausted,” she said softly.

“Yeah,” he admitted, “but I wanted to check in.”

A warmth spread through her chest at that. “Well,” she said, smiling slightly, “I appreciate it.”

There was a quiet hum on the other end, followed by a brief silence that felt comfortable rather than awkward.

“Rain check still on?” he asked eventually.

Y/N’s smile widened. “Yeah. It is.”

“Good,” he murmured. “I’ll let you get some sleep, then. Just wanted to call.”

“Thanks for calling, Harry.”

“Night, Y/N.”

As she hung up, she stared at her phone for a long moment, unable to shake the small, ridiculous smile that had settled on her face.

The next morning, Y/N woke up to a text from Harry. She had not been expecting it so soon, but seeing his name pop up on her screen brought an immediate warmth to her chest.

Harry: Morning. Hope you slept well.

She smiled, rubbing the sleep from her eyes before responding.

Y/N: Morning. I did, surprisingly. You?

A few minutes passed before her phone buzzed again.

Harry: As well as I could after a long shift. But I’ve got the evening off. I was thinking… if you feel comfortable, maybe we could have dinner at mine instead of a restaurant.

Y/N sat up a little straighter, rereading the message.

Harry: A proper date this time. No stitches involved.

She huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking her head.

Y/N: That does sound like an upgrade.

Harry: I promise I won’t make you run this time either.

Y/N: You’re really selling this.

Harry: So is that a yes?

She hesitated for only a second, not because she was unsure, but because the idea of going to hisplace made this feel a little more personal, a little more real. But she wanted that.

Y/N: Yeah. I’d like that.

Harry: Perfect. I’ll cook. Do you like red or white wine?

Y/N: Red. But now I feel bad that you’re doing all the work.

Harry: You can bring dessert if it’ll make you feel better.

Y/N: Deal.

Harry: See you at seven?

Y/N: See you then.

She set her phone down, feeling an unfamiliar flutter in her stomach. This was different from meeting at a restaurant. This was stepping into his world, seeing him outside of work, outside of the rushed moments they had shared so far.

Y/N stood in front of Harry’s door, balancing a sheet of homemade brownies in one hand while smoothing down her sweater with the other. She took a deep breath, trying to shake off the last bit of nerves before pressing the doorbell.

Within seconds, the door swung open, and there he was. Harry, in a dark knit sweater and fitted jeans, his hair slightly tousled, looking far more relaxed than he had the last time she was here.

“You actually baked?” he asked, glancing down at the brownies with a small smirk.

She scoffed. “Excuse me, I happily took on the responsibility of dessert.” She lifted the tray slightly. “And these are homemade, by the way. Not store-bought.”

Harry placed a hand over his heart dramatically. “I’m honored.”

She rolled her eyes, laughing, as he stepped aside to let her in. The warmth of his home greeted her instantly, the scent of something rich and savory filling the air. He reached for her coat, sliding it off her shoulders before hanging it by the door.

“Make yourself at home,” he said, gesturing toward the living room as he took the brownies from her.

Y/N stepped further inside, taking in the space properly for the first time. The last time she had been here, her focus had been entirely on her bleeding knee, on not ruining his furniture with her mess. Now, she could actually look.

His home was beautiful, but not in a showroom kind of way. It was warm and lived-in, filled with small details that made it feel personal. A large bookshelf lined one of the walls, stacked with an impressive mix of medical journals, classic literature, and a few well-worn novels that she suspected were old favorites. A record player sat near the corner, a small stack of vinyls beside it. The couch looked plush and inviting, a cozy knit blanket draped over the armrest.

“This place is beautiful,” she said, turning back to him. “I can actually appreciate it now that I’m not panicking about getting blood everywhere.”

Harry chuckled, setting the brownies on the counter before leaning against it. “Yeah, you were a little preoccupied last time.”

She smirked. “Just a bit.”

He crossed his arms, watching her as she took everything in. “Wine?”

She turned toward him, nodding. “Please.”

As he grabbed the bottle and two glasses, she let herself settle into his space, feeling more at ease than she had expected. This already felt different from their rushed encounters before. This was slower, intentional, and as Harry poured the wine, she realized just how much she was looking forward to the night ahead.

Harry poured the wine, handing her a glass before raising his own slightly. “To a proper date,” he said with a small smirk.

Y/N clinked her glass against his. “No injuries this time,” she added before taking a sip. The deep red was smooth and rich, warming her instantly.

Harry leaned against the counter, watching her with an amused expression. “So, homemade brownies, huh?”

She arched a brow. “Surprised?”

“A little,” he admitted, tilting his head. “Didn’t peg you for the baking type.”

Y/N scoffed, feigning offense. “Excuse me, I am a woman of many talents.”

He smirked. “Oh yeah? Like what?”

She tapped her fingers against her glass, pretending to think. “Well, I can run—most of the time, without falling. I can read an entire novel in a day. And I make a mean grilled cheese.”

Harry laughed, taking a sip of his wine. “Impressive resume. But I’m gonna need to try one of these brownies before I believe the baking claim.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “You’ll be thanking me later.”

He nodded toward the living room. “Come sit while dinner finishes up.”

She followed him to the couch, sinking into the plush cushions as he took the spot next to her. The warmth of his home, mixed with the lingering scent of whatever he had cooking, made everything feel comfortable. Easy.

“So,” she said, turning toward him slightly, “is this how you usually spend your nights off? Cooking elaborate meals and drinking expensive wine?”

Harry huffed a quiet laugh. “Not exactly. My nights off are pretty rare, so when they do happen, I try to enjoy them. Sometimes that means cooking, sometimes it means catching up on sleep.”

Y/N took another sip of wine. “Well, I feel honored that I made the cut.”

“You should,” he teased, smirking over the rim of his glass.

She nudged his knee with hers. “And here I was thinking you were this super serious doctor with no time for fun.”

Harry raised a brow. “You think I’m serious?”

“At work? Absolutely,” she said. “You were all business when you stitched me up.”

“To be fair, you were bleeding all over my floor,” he pointed out.

She laughed, shaking her head. “True. But you did joke about battle scars, so maybe I should’ve known you weren’t completely serious all the time.”

Harry shrugged, the corner of his mouth lifting. “I have my moments.”

Their eyes met, and for a second, the playful teasing faded into something quieter. Warmer. Y/N felt it settle in her chest, the realization that she liked sitting here with him, talking with him like this.

Before she could say anything else, a soft chime sounded from the kitchen. Harry glanced toward it, then back at her. “That would be dinner.”

She smiled, leaning back against the couch. “Alright, Doctor. Show me what you’ve got.”

Harry chuckled, standing up. “Prepare to be impressed.”

Harry made his way to the kitchen, rolling up his sleeves as he moved with practiced ease. Y/N watched him for a moment, sipping her wine, enjoying the sight of him in his element. There was something effortless about the way he moved—graceful, confident, like he belonged in any space he stepped into.

“You need any help?” she called out.

He glanced over his shoulder, smirking. “I’ve got it under control.”

She grinned, setting her glass down before getting up anyway. “I don’t mind playing sous-chef.”

He shook his head but didn’t argue as she wandered over, leaning against the counter beside him. The warm, savory scent of spices and herbs filled the air, and she peeked over his shoulder at the dish he had been preparing.

“That smells amazing,” she said, genuinely impressed.

Harry gave a modest shrug. “It’s a simple dish. Just takes a little time to get the flavors right.”

Y/N raised a brow. “So you can stitch people up and cook? Overachiever.”

He chuckled. “I try.” He glanced at her, a playful glint in his eyes. “What about you? Besides baking world-class brownies, what’s your specialty in the kitchen?”

She exhaled dramatically. “Grilled cheese, remember? I do it really well.”

“Ah, right,” he said, nodding seriously. “That’s a tough one to master.”

She smirked. “Don’t mock me, Styles. You haven’t tried it.”

He held up his hands in surrender. “You’re right. Maybe next time, I’ll let you cook.”

Something about the casual way he said next time made her stomach flip. She busied herself by grabbing a couple of plates from the counter, trying not to read too much into it.

A few minutes later, Harry was plating the food, and Y/N helped set the table. Once everything was ready, they sat across from each other, the dim lighting adding an unexpected intimacy to the moment.

Y/N took her first bite, humming in approval. “Okay, yeah. This is incredible.”

Harry smirked, taking a bite of his own. “I’m glad you approve.”

They ate and talked, falling into the same easy rhythm they had earlier. Y/N learned more about his life outside of work—his love for music, the way he sometimes played the guitar to unwind, his favorite places to travel when he had the rare chance. He asked about her job, about the books she had worked on, about the things she wanted to do outside of publishing.

Time passed quickly, their plates empty before they even realized it.

Harry leaned back in his chair, sipping his wine. “Alright. I think I’m ready to try these famous brownies now.”

Y/N grinned, standing to grab the tray. “Prepare to have your expectations blown.”

She set the brownies down between them, cutting a piece for each of them. Harry took a bite first, pausing as he chewed.

Y/N narrowed her eyes. “If you say anything less than amazing, I’m walking out that door.”

He swallowed, setting his fork down before nodding. “Alright. I won’t say it.”

Her jaw dropped. “Harry.”

His lips twitched, and finally, he gave in. “Fine. They’re amazing.”

She let out a satisfied hum, leaning back in her chair. “That’s what I thought.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re very competitive.”

“Only when I know I’m right,” she said, flashing him a teasing smile.

Harry took another bite, shaking his head fondly. “Noted.”

The night continued, conversation flowing effortlessly between them. At some point, they had both abandoned the dining table, moving back to the couch with their wine. The music from the record player hummed softly in the background, adding a warmth to the space that Y/N found herself completely at ease in.

Harry motioned toward the couch, nodding for her to join him. “Come sit. I’ll clean up later.”

Y/N hesitated for only a second before giving in, grabbing her wine glass and settling onto the couch beside him. Maybe it was the warmth of the room, the soft music playing in the background, or maybe it was the wine, but she felt drawn to him in a way that was impossible to ignore.

He sat close, not enough to cross any lines, but enough that she could feel the heat radiating from him. He took a slow sip of his wine, his gaze flickering toward her before he smirked.

“You know,” he said, setting his glass down on the coffee table, “for someone who nearly took themselves out with a sidewalk crack, you carry yourself pretty confidently.”

Y/N let out an incredulous laugh, lightly nudging his arm. “Are you ever going to let that go?”

He grinned, tilting his head slightly. “I mean, I did quite literally save your leg. You might owe me a little good-natured teasing.”

She rolled her eyes but could not help the smile tugging at her lips. “Fine. I’ll allow it. But if you ever trip over something, I will be keeping score.”

Harry hummed, pretending to consider. “Fair enough.”

She took another sip of her wine, setting the glass aside before shifting slightly to face him. “So, is this your signature move? Luring women in with wine and homemade meals?”

He raised a brow, smirking. “If it was, do you think it’s working?”

Y/N’s breath hitched slightly, caught off guard by how effortlessly he turned the teasing back on her. She bit her lip, narrowing her eyes. “I think I’m going to need more evidence before I make a final judgment.”

His smirk deepened, his green eyes flickering over her face. “Guess I’ll just have to prove myself, then.”

Something shifted in the air between them, a quiet tension settling in, thick and unspoken. Y/N could feel her heartbeat pick up slightly, her stomach flipping at the way he looked at her—not in a way that was rushed or expectant, but like he was simply waiting. Giving her the space to decide what happened next.

She exhaled, shaking her head with a soft laugh. “You really are annoyingly charming.”

Harry grinned, resting his arm over the back of the couch, his fingers just inches from her shoulder. “I try.”

Harry tilted his head slightly, his smirk softening into something more genuine. “How’s the knee?” he asked, nodding toward her leg.

Y/N glanced down, instinctively reaching for the fabric of her pants before looking back at him. “You want to see your handiwork?”

He chuckled, setting his wine down. “Of course. I take pride in my work.”

Rolling her eyes but smiling, she shifted slightly, pulling up the leg of her pants just enough to reveal the faint scar where his stitches had been. The skin had healed beautifully, barely a trace of the injury left behind.

Harry leaned in slightly, his fingers brushing over her shin just above the scar. “Not bad,” he murmured, tilting his head as he studied it. “Looks like I know what I’m doing.”

She laughed. “I’ll give you credit where it’s due.”

His thumb traced lightly over the skin for just a second before he looked up at her. “You said this one healed better than most?”

Y/N nodded, exhaling through her nose. “Yeah. I’m kind of clumsy. I have a few more from… various unfortunate incidents.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Care to share?”

Smirking slightly, she pulled up the sleeve of her sweater, revealing a faint, thin scar along her forearm. “Kitchen accident. I may or may not have grabbed a baking sheet straight out of the oven without a mitt.”

Harry let out a deep chuckle, shaking his head. “Impressive.”

She moved her hand to her knee, pointing at a faint scar along the side. “This one was from when I fell off my bike as a kid.”

He nodded, his gaze flickering over her skin, his fingers still resting against her shin. “Seems like you’ve been keeping me in business for years without even knowing it.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but before she could respond, Harry’s voice dropped slightly, his smirk returning.

“Well,” he murmured, his thumb grazing over the edge of her knee, “if you ever need a more thoroughcheck-up…”

Her breath caught as his words sank in. She looked up at him, finding his green eyes already locked on hers, dark with suggestion. His hand rested lightly against her thigh now, the warmth of it seeping through the fabric of her pants.

Her gaze flickered over him—the sharp lines of his jaw, the way his tongue flicked briefly over his bottom lip, the tattoos that curled up his forearm, disappearing beneath the sleeve of his sweater. Everything about him in that moment felt intentional, his presence heavy in the best way possible.

She swallowed, tilting her head slightly. “Is that part of your medical expertise?”

Harry’s smirk deepened, his fingers pressing slightly into her thigh. “Only for special patients.”

Y/N exhaled slowly, her heart hammering against her ribs. She had known there was something between them since the moment he had knelt in front of her on the sidewalk, but now—sitting here, with his hands on her, his voice low and smooth, his eyes watching her like he was waiting for her next move—she realized just how much she wanted to find out where this could go.

Y/N barely had time to process before Harry's hands tightened around her waist, his grip firm but gentle as he pulled her flush against him. The heat from his body engulfed her, the air between them humming with a palpable desire.

His eyes scanned her face intently, gauging her reaction. "Is this okay?" he asked in a hushed tone, his voice hoarse with anticipation.

She nodded, a gasp escaping her lips. It wasn't enough. She nodded once more, this time with urgency, her fingers clutching onto his sweater as if to pull him even closer herself.

That was all the permission he needed.

Harry's lips found hers, tentative at first, seeking permission as their mouths explored each other. But when she responded eagerly, he deepened the kiss with fervor. One of his hands trailed up her back, his fingertips dancing along her spine, while the other hand remained on her thigh, pressing her firmly against him.

His taste was intoxicating – reminiscent of rich red wine that warmed her in a way that made her head swim. It was how he kissed her that left her breathless – unhurried yet confident as if he'd been longing for this moment.

Y/N's hands wandered up to Harry's broad shoulders, feeling the tense muscles beneath her fingers. Her heart raced as he tilted his head, their noses brushing against one another before their tongues tangled in an intimate dance that sent shivers down her spine.

When they finally broke apart just enough to catch their breaths, Harry's forehead rested against Y/N's as they shared a hot exhalation.

"Well," he breathed out, a thumb caressing circles on her hip. "That escalated."

Y/N released a shaky laugh, keeping her eyes closed. "Yeah. Not complaining though."

Harry chuckled softly, tightening his hold momentarily before relaxing again – as if still unsure whether or not to let go. "Me neither."

She opened her eyes, finding his already locked on hers, the green of them dark with desire. He scrutinized her for a moment, and for the first time since this began, he appeared hesitant.

"I don't want to rush anything," he confessed in a gentle whisper. "Tell me if this is too much."

Y/N smiled softly, shaking her head. "It's not."

His lips curved at the corners as his hand moved from her back to cradle her cheek, his thumb stroking softly along her jawline. "Good."

And then, as if that was the reassurance he needed, their mouths fused once again – an explicit display of unspoken yearning.

Y/N barely had time to catch her breath before Harry kissed her again, deeper this time, like he had been holding back. His hand cradled her face, fingers threading through her hair as he pulled her even closer. The warmth of his body, the way his lips moved against hers—it was overwhelming in the best way.

She felt herself sinking into him, her hands exploring the solid planes of his shoulders, the way his muscles tensed beneath her fingertips. Harry let out a quiet sound against her lips, his grip tightening at her waist before he shifted, guiding her back against the couch.

“Tell me if you want to stop,” he murmured between kisses, his voice rough with restraint.

“I don’t,” she whispered, her breath hitching as his lips trailed along her jaw, down to her neck. “I really don’t.”

Harry exhaled sharply, pressing his forehead against hers for just a moment before nodding. “Come with me,” he said, his voice lower now, edged with something deeper.

He stood, pulling her up with him effortlessly, his hands never leaving her as he guided her toward his bedroom. The moment they stepped inside, the energy shifted—more intimate, more charged. The dim light cast soft shadows across the space, the faint scent of him lingering in the air.

Harry’s hands found her waist again, but this time, they moved slower, more deliberate. His lips hovered just over hers, waiting for her to close the distance. She did.

Their movements became unhurried, hands exploring, lips seeking. Harry took his time, his touch reverent, like he wanted to memorize every part of her. He guided her gently onto the bed, his body pressing against hers, his kisses deepening, his breath growing uneven.

“Are you sure?” he asked one last time, his green eyes searching hers, his thumb stroking slow circles against her hip.

Y/N swallowed, her heart pounding, but there was no hesitation when she whispered, “Yes.”

Harry exhaled like he had been waiting for that, then kissed her again, slow and consuming, as the rest of the world faded away.

The night unfolded slowly, each moment stretching with quiet intensity. Harry took his time, his touch gentle yet sure, as if he was memorizing her, learning her in a way that felt deeply personal. There was something unspoken in the way he moved—no rush, no urgency, just deliberate care, like he wanted her to feel everything, every thrust, to know this was not just a fleeting moment.

Y/N responded in kind, matching his pace, her hands mapping the lines of his body, tracing the tattoos inked into his skin. She felt the strength in him as he moved within her, the way his muscles tensed beneath her touch, the way his breath hitched when she explored the places he liked most, like the spot where his shoulder met his neck. It was intoxicating, feeling him unravel beneath her hands just as much as she was beneath his.

The room was warm, wrapped in the soft glow of the bedside lamp. The faint sound of the city outside was distant, muted by the heavy presence of him—the weight of his body, the heat of his breath, the way he murmured her name against her skin, and the way he moaned with pleasure.

He kissed her deeply, lingering as he pulled back just enough to look at her. “You okay?” he asked softly, his thumb brushing against her cheek, his voice quieter now, rough with emotion.

She nodded, her lips parting as she exhaled, still catching her breath. “Yeah,” she whispered. “More than okay.”

A slow, satisfied smile pulled at his lips before he kissed her again, sealing whatever words might have come next.

Everything about him was careful, intentional. The way he moved, the way he held her, the way he whispered her name like it meant something more. And maybe it did.

By the time they finally settled, tangled in each other beneath the sheets, the night had stretched into early morning. Y/N felt the rise and fall of Harry’s chest beneath her cheek, his arm draped lazily around her, fingers tracing light patterns against her skin.

Neither of them spoke for a while, content in the silence, in the warmth of the moment.

Then, after a long breath, Harry murmured, “That was worth the wait.”

Y/N huffed a quiet laugh against his skin, tilting her head up slightly. “Yeah?”

He looked down at her, his expression softer now. “Yeah.”

She smiled, letting her fingers trail along his arm, tracing one of the tattoos there. “So… do I get to keep my status as your favorite patient?”

Harry chuckled, shaking his head as he tightened his hold around her. “You were always my favorite.”

Y/N felt warmth bloom in her chest at his words, though she knew he was teasing. Mostly.

She sighed, her eyes growing heavy as sleep started to pull at her. “Hope you don’t have an early shift.”

Harry hummed, pressing a slow kiss to her forehead. “Don’t worry about that,” he murmured. “I’m exactly where I want to be.”

And with that, Y/N let herself drift off, safe in the warmth of him.

Y/N woke to the feeling of warmth surrounding her, the faint scent of something woodsy lingering in the sheets. The room was dim, early morning light barely filtering through the curtains. It took her a moment to remember where she was, why she felt so comfortable, why the bed beneath her wasn’t her own.

Then, she felt movement beside her.

Harry.

She turned her head slightly, blinking the sleep from her eyes as she found him still lying beside her. His arm was draped over his pillow, hair slightly tousled, his breathing slow and steady. He looked completely at peace, his features soft in the early morning light.

A small smile tugged at her lips. She had not expected to wake up like this, wrapped in his sheets, in hisspace, but it felt… nice.

She shifted slightly, stretching out her sore muscles. Harry stirred at the movement, inhaling deeply before his eyes fluttered open.

His gaze met hers, and for a second, he just looked at her, like he was still processing where he was, too. Then, a slow, sleepy smile spread across his face.

“Morning,” he murmured, his voice thick with sleep.

“Morning,” she echoed, her voice quieter now, almost hesitant.

Harry let out a low hum, stretching his arms above his head before rolling onto his side to face her. He reached out, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. “Sleep okay?”

She nodded, her smile growing. “Yeah. Better than I expected.”

His smirk was lazy, teasing. “Better than your own bed?”

She scoffed, nudging him lightly with her foot beneath the sheets. “Don’t push it.”

He chuckled, letting his hand rest on her hip, his thumb tracing absentminded circles against her skin. The weight of his touch was grounding, making it hard to focus on anything but him.

“Stay for breakfast?” he asked after a moment, his voice quieter now.

Y/N hesitated, not because she didn’t want to, but because she hadn’t expected the night to bleed into the morning like this. She thought maybe she would slip out before he woke up, before they had to talk about what this meant. But now, with him looking at her like that, like he wanted her to stay, she felt the hesitation fade.

“What’s on the menu?” she asked, raising a brow.

Harry grinned. “That depends. Do you trust me in the kitchen?”

Y/N bit her lip, pretending to consider. “I suppose you did impress me with dinner last night.”

He rolled his eyes, tugging her closer playfully. “You’re impossible.”

She laughed, but the sound was cut off when he leaned in, pressing a slow, lingering kiss against her lips. It was different from last night—less urgent, more lazy, like he had all the time in the world to do this.

When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against hers. “So… breakfast?”

Y/N sighed dramatically, pretending to give in. “Fine. But only because I want to see if you’re as good at pancakes as you are at stitches.”

Harry smirked, his fingers grazing over her bare skin beneath the sheets. “Guess you’ll have to stick around and find out.”

She laughed softly, knowing full well that she had no plans of leaving just yet.

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daeniradraconis · 1 day ago

Text

Faceoff with Love - Jack Hughes

Summary: Jack Hughes. The NHL’s ultimate manwhore. King of confidence. Untouchable… or at least, that’s what he thought. Until he falls hard.

Warning: Implied sexual situations, mature language, nothing too wild or serious

Hey, lovelies! 💕 This is Jack's story, the next installment in what I’ve officially named The Hughes Effect Saga—because let’s be real, every brother deserves their own story. I couldn’t resist giving the main characters names since this universe is growing, and honestly, trying to write it without them would’ve been mission impossible. So, just a heads-up: Thea is Luke’s love interest! (Though if you’ve read Age Is Just a Number…Right?, you won’t see her mentioned there, since that one started as a standalone one-shot.) You can read this without reading Age Is Just a Number, but it definitely gives you more background on Jack's story if you do!

Not gonna lie, this one took forever to write. It ended up being 16,472 words and 42 pages in my Word doc—so, yeah… buckle up! 😅

Hope you love reading it as much as I loved writing it! ❤️

For more fun: masterlist

—-

Jack Hughes, star of the New Jersey Devils, was enjoying a normal morning—until the noises coming from his little brother Luke’s room hijacked his thoughts. Jack had always been supportive of Luke, and he was genuinely happy for him. After all, Luke and his girlfriend had been through a lot—the pressures of the NHL, the relentless fans, and everything in between had made starting their relationship anything but easy. He knew how much effort they both put in to make it work, and he couldn’t help but admire them for it.

But the sounds from the next room? That was a different story. Jack tried to block it out, but it was impossible. The muffled conversations—and those other noises—had a way of seeping into his mind. It wasn’t just the invasion of privacy that bothered him, though. It was what he’d learned that really threw him off: Luke’s kink.

Some things were best left unsaid, behind closed doors. But there was Luke, sounding way too eager to ask permission for... well, things Jack had no business hearing. It was burned into his brain, and he couldn’t unhear it.

“Yeah, no. Nope. That’s it. I need to get out of here,” Jack muttered, dragging a hand down his face.

With a groan, he kicked off the covers, grabbed a hoodie from the back of the couch, and yanked it over his head. “I need bleach. For my ears. And my soul.”

A coffee shop seemed like the safest escape—loud espresso machines, the comforting scent of fresh beans… anything to erase whatever the hell he’d just overheard.

As he stepped outside, he let out a deep breath, shaking off the lingering ick of the morning. He had morning skates later anyway, so at least this way, he’d be caffeinated and mentally prepared before hitting the ice.

By the time Jack reached the coffee shop, the tension in his shoulders had finally eased, the crisp morning air doing its job in clearing his head. As he pushed open the door, the familiar chime jingled, welcoming him into the warm, cozy space. It wasn’t crowded—just a handful of people tapping away at laptops, a few others lost in their books, the low hum of conversation filling the air.

Jack stepped into line, a slow grin tugging at his lips as he took in the room. He could feel it—the shift in energy, the way conversations quieted just slightly, the not-so-subtle glances thrown his way. He walked in like he owned the place. And in a way, he kind of did. Not literally, of course, but the moment he stepped inside, it was obvious—people noticed.

A couple of girls in the corner glanced up, whispering behind their hands. The old man at the corner table did a double take. A guy in line nudged his friend, a knowing smirk passing between them. Jack thrived on it. The attention, the recognition—it was something he was used to, and he had no problem leaning into it.

His gaze swept over the room, naturally lingering on the women who were stealing glances at him. A cocky smirk curled at the corner of his lips, and just for fun, he threw in a wink. A playful smile for good measure. Yeah, he knew the effect he had. Confidence? Absolutely. Arrogance? Maybe just a little. But it was the kind of charm that turned heads, and really, who could blame him? Jack Hughes wasn’t just another guy in the crowd—he was the one people noticed.

And he loved every second of it.

Jack was used to this. It was familiar. Easy. But then—he saw her.

She wasn’t looking at him. She wasn’t whispering about him, or sneaking glances, or batting her lashes like so many others did. She was behind the counter, focused on her work, crafting drinks with effortless precision, her movements fluid and practiced. There was something about her—a quiet warmth, a presence that made the entire room feel at ease. She wasn’t just beautiful; it was the way she carried herself. Feminine yet self-assured, graceful but never trying too hard.

Jack felt it immediately—the pull. Like gravity.

His heart did this stupid little stutter, and before he even realized it, he was just standing there. Staring. What the hell?

This wasn’t him. Jack Hughes didn’t freeze up over a girl. He’d had flings, fun, no-strings-attached moments. He knew how to flirt, how to charm, how to walk away before things got complicated. But right now? None of that seemed to matter.

Get it together, Hughes, he muttered under his breath, forcing himself to look away.

But then, as if she’d felt his gaze, she looked up. Their eyes met.

And in that instant, something shifted.

It was subtle. Electric. She had this knowing look on her face, like she could see right through him. Like she already had him figured out before he could even open his mouth.

And for the first time in a long time, Jack Hughes wasn’t the one in control.

Jack leaned on the counter, trying to play it cool, but he couldn’t shake the pull he felt toward her. When she finally looked up, their eyes met, and for a second, the usual confidence he wore like a second skin seemed to fade.

She raised an eyebrow as she set her hands on the counter, a half-smirk forming on her lips. "Can I help you?"

Jack blinked, catching himself. "Uh, that depends. You serving coffee... or are you in the business of making guys fall in love too?" he said with a grin, though it came out a little less smooth than he intended.

She didn’t even flinch. "Just coffee. And bad pickup lines? They cost extra."

Jack chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Ouch. Brutal." He leaned in, dropping the cocky act just a little. "Alright, alright. I’ll take a latte. And a blueberry muffin. Gotta keep it classic, you know?"

"Classic? More like predictable," she replied, tossing a glance over her shoulder as she started on his drink.

Jack raised an eyebrow. "You analyzing me now?"

She didn’t even look at him as she spoke. "Not really. Just guessing you’re the type who thinks a smirk and a couple of cheesy lines will get you anything you want."

Jack froze for a moment, a little taken aback. "Whoa, right in the heart," he said, putting his hand over his chest in mock offense.

She didn’t even look at him this time. "You’ll survive. Might even build some character," she added casually as she reached for the milk steamer.

Jack smirked, his confidence flickering back. "Character, huh? I’ve got plenty. Some might even say too much."

She glanced up then, eyes dancing with a mixture of amusement and disbelief. "Yeah? And who exactly are these 'some'?"

He leaned in a little closer, almost leaning on the counter now. "Oh, you know... fans, teammates, my mom... definitely my mom." He winked.

She let out a small laugh, shaking her head, her fingers expertly crafting the latte. "Uh-huh. Sure, sounds legit."

Jack leaned back a bit, watching her. There was something about how she didn’t let him off the hook. It was... refreshing. "So what’s it gonna take?" he asked, trying to play it cool again.

"For what?" She finally met his gaze, eyebrows raised.

"For you to admit you’re already a little bit in love with me," he said with a teasing grin, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

She slid his drink across the counter without a hint of hesitation. "Jack Hughes, right?"

His grin widened. "So you do know me."

"Oh, I know of you," she said, turning away to grab a napkin, clearly unfazed. "You’re a good player."

Jack straightened up, puffing out his chest. "Great player," he corrected her, but his tone was light, playful.

She looked over her shoulder, deadpan. "On the ice."

Jack laughed softly, the sting of her words taking a second to hit. "Damn, alright. Tough crowd."

She smiled, but it wasn’t the soft, flirty smile he expected. It was knowing. Like she already saw right through him. "Seen your type before. You walk in, flash a smile, throw out a line or two, and think the world’s just gonna roll over for you."

Jack leaned in again, his grin slipping into something more genuine. "And yet, here you are... still talking to me. Guess you must like it."

She hummed, considering this, before turning back to the machine. "Or maybe I just like watching a guy slowly realize he’s not as smooth as he thinks he is."

Jack’s smirk returned, and he picked up his drink. "So this is how it’s gonna be, huh?"

She winked, a mischievous gleam in her eye. "Oh, Hughes. You have no idea."

He laughed, shaking his head as he grabbed his muffin. "I’ve got to run. Practice later... but I’ll be back. You’re an interesting one." He winked, letting the last word linger a little longer than usual.

“Do not threaten me, Hughes,” she shot back, her voice dry but that little smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

Jack turned to leave, his mind still buzzing from their conversation. He could feel her eyes on his back as he walked out the door, but this time, it wasn’t the usual adrenaline of a win. It was something else.

Maybe... just maybe, she was right. He was used to being in control, but with her? Yeah, she wasn’t having any of it.

—

The ice cream shop had a laid-back atmosphere, with a few customers scattered across the tables, quietly enjoying their frozen treats. The soft hum of conversation blended with the occasional clink of spoons against bowls and the low buzz of the freezer in the corner. The casual, easygoing vibe was the perfect backdrop for Jack to make his usual, attention-grabbing announcement.

“So, I met a girl,” he said casually, his grin practically glowing with satisfaction.

Luke didn’t even look up, already bracing himself for whatever absurdity was coming. Jack had that look—an announcement, followed by something outlandish. Thea, however, shot him a pointed glance, arching a brow in that skeptical way she did so well.

“Oh, here we go,” she muttered, barely containing her amusement.

Jack scoffed. “Wow, way to be supportive.”

Thea smirked, scooping a spoonful of chocolate ice cream into her mouth. “No, it’s just... every time you drop that line, I know I’m about to hear some delusional story about how she’s already swooning over you.” She shrugged with a grin. “Which, let’s be honest, is usually true. Flash that smile, and bam! Girls are basically tripping over themselves for you.”

Jack leaned back, clearly relishing the attention. “Exactly. It’s a gift.”

Thea rolled her eyes and casually tossed her hair over her shoulder. “No, it’s just an ego boost. You’re like a baby with a bottle—constantly sucking up the attention.”

Jack, looking entirely unbothered, twirled his spoon. “Can you blame me? I mean, why not appreciate what I’ve got?”

Luke looked up now, giving Jack a resigned look. He was ready for the same tired routine. “Jack, have you ever thought that maybe—just maybe—not every girl is going to fall for your whole act?”

Jack shot him a glance like he’d just suggested the most absurd thing. “Why would I think that? It’s never happened.” He paused, then added with a touch of uncertainty, “Okay, she’s a tough one, but she’ll come around. I think she just likes to play hard to get.” He could see the truth in her eyes—she wasn’t interested—but admitting that wasn’t an option. Not with his brother and Thea around.

Thea snorted, clearly amused. “Oh, the delusion’s strong with this one.”

Jack leaned forward slightly, tapping his fingers on the table with a confident smirk. “I’m not delusional, I’m just a realist. And the reality is... I’m me.” He paused for effect. “And I don’t lose.”

Thea let out a dramatic laugh, clearly enjoying herself. “Oh, this is gonna be good.”

Jack frowned, confused. “What’s so funny?”

Thea took another bite of her cone, her grin widening. “You. Thinking you’re untouchable. I love the confidence, but one day, some girl’s going to make you look like a fool.”

Jack scoffed, shaking his head. “Please. Do you have any idea how many girls would kill for a shot with me? I could walk out of here and just point at someone, and they'd be all over me.”

Luke, who had been watching the exchange unfold, finally spoke up. “Yeah, except for this one. I’m guessing she’s got a little more sense than that.”

Jack groaned, dramatically rubbing his face with his hand and shooting Luke an exasperated "you little shit" look. “Oh, come on. You make it sound like I don’t have options. I’m Jack Hughes guys—the same guy who got a date with three different girls at last week’s game.”

Thea rolled her eyes again. “Oh yeah, that’s really a sign of emotional maturity.” She shot Luke a knowing look.

Luke just smiled faintly, shaking his head. “If Jack’s ego ever took a hit, we'd probably need a whole therapy session.”

Jack flashed a smug grin, fully aware they were kind of right. “Ego? What ego? I’m just stating the facts.”

Thea leaned in, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “Sure. State your facts. But you’re missing one thing, Jack.”

Jack raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “And what’s that?”

She tilted her head, clearly loving the moment. “This girl doesn’t want you.”

Jack’s smile faltered just a touch, but he quickly recovered. “Everybody wants me.”

Thea shook her head, the smirk never leaving her face. She opened her mouth to speak, but Jack jumped in before she could.

“Okay, maybe except you!” He threw his hands up in mock frustration. “But that’s not my charm’s fault. You just have a thing for younger guys, so I never stood a chance. You pedo…”

Thea’s cheeks flushed, and she slapped his arm lightly, her voice a mix of disbelief and amusement. “Jack, you can’t call me that, you arrogant prick! Show some respect to your elders!”

Jack smirked, unfazed. “Oh, yes, yes… sorry, Ms. Senior Citizen.”

Luke chuckled softly, shaking his head. He couldn’t help but be impressed with how Thea had grown into herself. At first, their six-year age gap had made her uneasy, but Jack, being Jack, never passed up a chance to remind her of it. Luke knew Jack played this game on purpose—his teasing made Thea realize the age gap wasn’t as big of a deal as she’d thought. And over time, she’d become more confident, even starting to enjoy Jack’s dark humor. Of course, she’d never admit it, and Luke was thankful for that. Jack didn’t need any more ego boosts.

“This is going to be a disaster,” Luke muttered under his breath, as if preparing himself for the inevitable chaos. It wasn’t a prediction—it was a certainty. Jack wasn’t going to let this girl slip away, he new that.

Jack waved him off, though his signature, idiotic grin only grew wider. “Relax, Lukey. I’m unstoppable. She’s going to like me. Trust me.”

Luke sighed, leaning back in his chair, his fingers pressing against his temples as he massaged his forehead. “Ohhh, this is going to be such a disaster.”

Jack finished off his ice cream, still blissfully unaware of the train wreck he was about to walk into. “You two are the worst. But mark my words, she’s going to like me.”

Thea winked at him. “No, we’re just not here to feed your delusion, Jacky. You could use a reality check every once in a while.”

Jack rolled his eyes, the mischievous grin still tugging at his lips. “You know what, Lukey? Maybe you should upgrade her to someone a little younger…”

“JACK!” Luke and Thea shouted in unison, but Jack only laughed, clearly finding his own joke far too hilarious.

—

Jack pushed open the door to the coffee shop, the familiar chime of the bell ringing through the night air, but tonight, it sounded more hollow than usual.

It was late—too late—the kind of late when the world seems to shrink into itself, wrapped in the silence of the night. The air carried the warm scent of coffee and sweet pastries, but Jack barely noticed. His mind was still spinning from the game. The Devils had lost, and his mood mirrored the dark sky outside—heavy, empty, and far too cold. Yet, despite the bitterness of defeat lingering in his chest, there was something else that kept nagging at him.

He wanted to see her.

The girl behind the counter.

It was absurd, he knew. He didn’t even know her name. But ever since the game ended—ever since he’d sat in the locker room, listening to Nico’s half-hearted attempts at positivity—his thoughts kept drifting back to her. Why? It didn’t make sense.

He glanced around, expecting the usual warmth and buzz of conversation that made the place feel so cozy. But tonight was different.

The lights were dim, and the usual chatter had faded—most likely because it was just two minutes to closing, and the last of the customers had trickled out.

Jack’s eyes immediately found her behind the counter. The girl from before.

The moment she saw him, her expression shifted, just slightly—a brief flicker of annoyance before her face went completely neutral. He could tell she wasn’t exactly thrilled to see him, especially not this late.

Jack leaned against the counter, flashing his trademark easy smile. “Hey there.”

She looked up, the briefest flicker of recognition crossing her face before it disappeared. She sighed quietly, clearly not in the mood. "You again," she muttered under her breath, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. "What do you want this time?"

Jack grinned, undeterred by her tone. “Actually, I realized I never got your name last time.”

She blinked, taken aback. “Seriously? You came all the way back just for my name?” She paused, voice dripping with sarcasm. “I must be pretty special, huh?”

Jack shrugged like it was no big deal. “Guess I was too busy trying to charm you last time. But hey, I did promise I’d come back.” He leaned in slightly, his voice lowering. “So now that I’m here… what’s your name?”

She rolled her eyes but grabbed some fresh milk from under the counter. “It’s Anja,” she said flatly.

Jack raised an eyebrow, as if savoring the name. “Anja, huh? Definitely sounds foreign.”

Anja shot him a dry look, hands almost slamming the milk into the fridge. “Yep. My dad’s German, my mom’s from New Jersey. Pretty exotic, right?”

Jack’s grin faltered for a moment, surprised. “Wait—your dad’s from Germany? That’s… interesting.” He paused, then added with a laugh. “That’s one combo I didn’t expect. My buddy Nico’s German too. He was born in Switzerland.”

Anja froze, staring at him. Then blinked slowly. “Wait—what?”

Jack, clearly proud of his random connection, rushed on, oblivious to her confusion. “Yeah, Nico’s our captain, super chill guy. Always telling me I should visit him in Switzerland one summer. We haven’t done it yet, but maybe next year. He’s like a brother to me, honestly. Don’t tell my real brothers, though—they’d flip. They get jealous if I even mention Nico.”

Anja raised an eyebrow, already knowing Jack had a habit of overestimating the significance of himself. She stared at him for a moment, then couldn’t help it—she burst into laughter. “No, Jack… Switzerland’s not in Germany!” She bent forward slightly, clearly enjoying his discomfort.

Jack blinked, feeling a little foolish, but he wasn’t about to back down. “What? It’s a county in Germany, right? Somewhere near... uh, Munich…?”

Anja’s eyes widened, her expression a mix of disbelief and amusement. She let out a laugh, half-pitying, half-astonished. “Oh my God, Hughes. Switzerland and Germany are two completely different countries.” She shook her head slowly, as if he’d just told her the Earth was flat. “You’re telling me your best friend’s from Switzerland, and you have no idea where the hell is that? Seriously, could you be more American?”

Jack winced, but a grin quickly crept back onto his face, clearly unbothered by his own ignorance. “Hey, don’t forget, you’re half American too, so no need to get all high and mighty on me.”

Anja raised an eyebrow, her grin widening as she crossed her arms.��Sweetie, you’re the one who thought Switzerland was a county.”

Jack shrugged with a playful grin, raising his hands in mock surrender, his smile never faltering. “Alright, fine. But I’ll take this as a win. I’ve officially upgraded to the ‘sweetie’ category.”

Anja shook her head, still chuckling at his relentless self-confidence. “A lost cause, Hughes. That’s what you are… a lost cause.” She gave him an exasperated look, but the corner of her mouth quirked up. “Maybe try opening some books next time. Girls like guys with an actual brain.”

Jack waved it off dismissively. “I’ll let you know I do read. But yeh my brother Quinn is the nerd. Seriously bookish. Let me tell you, it’s not helping him. He’s got zero game.”

Anja flashed a playful grin and leaned in closer, the sudden proximity making Jack’s heart skip a beat. Her perfume—a fresh, orange scent that reminded him of a rain-drenched forest—hit him like a bolt of lightning. It was warm, feminine, and intoxicating. He couldn’t help but notice the way the scent seemed to pull him closer, but he did his best to keep it together.

She lowered her voice just enough to make him focus. “Or maybe... he’s just a normal guy who doesn’t want every woman’s panties to drop the second he meets them.”

Jack swallowed, his eyes flicking to her mouth, noticing the way her lips parted just slightly as she spoke. He tried to focus, but the air between them was thick with tension, the heat of her so close to him throwing him off. “Or maybe…” He leaned in, his voice dropping low, his words teasing as his gaze lingered on her lips. “He just overthinks everything. Sometimes you just have to go with the flow in life, you know?”

Anja shook her head with a soft smile, muttering under her breath as she crossed her arms. “As I said, lost cause,” she added, only half-amused, half-exasperated.

Jack laughed, relieved she was still in the game. He gave her a wink, the confidence in his smile almost irresistible. “But a charming, good-looking, lost cause, right?”

Anja rolled her eyes, but the smile tugging at her lips and the amusement in her eyes made it clear she wasn’t really bothered. Her eyes briefly caught his, and for the first time, she noticed how his blue eyes weren’t just any shade—they had this grayish undertone that made them look almost stormy. It was enough to make her pause for a moment, but she snapped back to the banter with a playful glint. “You really should’ve opened a geography book sometime. You can’t disrespect your friend this much. At least learn the basics about the poor guy’s life if you want to be his bestie.”

Jack’s grin widened as he leaned in, his light brown wavy hair falling slightly into his eyes, his expression a mix of challenge and charm. “Hey—I’d happily let you teach me about Switzerland... or anything else. To be fair, I’d let you do anything with me.”

Anja let out a breathless laugh at his boldness, shaking her head, but her eyes softened as she met his gaze. “Yeah, keep dreaming, Jack.”

Jack winked. “Believe me I will. But seriously—just give me a chance. Let me prove myself to you.” Anja rolled her eyes again, but the smile tugging at her lips gave her away. “Whatever, Jack. You can beg, but the answer is still no.”

Jack didn’t hesitate. The thought struck him like a bolt of lightning, and before he could second-guess himself, he dropped to his knees with all the dramatic flair he could muster, looking up at her with wide, pleading eyes.

Anja froze, her eyes wide, the mug she’d been about to place on the shelf still dangling in mid-air. “What the hell are you doing?!” she asked, her voice a mix of confusion and something else—amusement, maybe. It was hard to tell.

Jack tilted his head, a playful glint in his eyes, still kneeling with a grin that stretched wider. “You said I can beg, but I wasn’t really begging yet, was I? Let me show you just how good I can be at it.” He fluttered his lashes and gave her the full-on puppy-dog eyes, cranking up the charm.

Anja stared at him for a solid minute, her brain clearly processing the absurdity of the situation. Then, as if a switch had flipped, she burst out laughing. “You’re insane,” she said, shaking her head, stepping back like she needed to regain some personal space from this level of ridiculousness.

Jack, still on his knees, leaned in a bit closer with dramatic theatrics, his grin widening. He clasped his hands together like he was about to give a TED talk.

"Anja, hear me out," he began, voice dripping with over-the-top sincerity. "I know you think I’m a lost cause, but I’m not just any lost cause. I’m your lost cause. And let me tell you why."

He paused for effect, then continued, ticking off his points like a lawyer making a case. "First off, I’m a party. You want a good time? I’m your guy. I can keep things fun, always ready for an adventure, never a dull moment."

He held up a finger, ready to deliver his second point. "Next, I’m a manwhore. And I know what you’re thinking—‘Jack, that sounds bad!’ But no, hear me out. Being a manwhore means experience. I know how to make people laugh, I know how to charm, I know how to—" He shot her a wink. "Well, I know how to do a lot of things. So... experience? Check."

Jack then leaned back dramatically, spreading his arms out. "And, let’s not forget, I’m a hockey player. I’m rich, athletic, and—" he gave her a sly grin, flexing his arm slightly, "look at these muscles. I’ve got the athletic build, which means a lot of energy to spare. And when I’m not working out, I’m probably... in the kitchen making all the mistakes with cooking. And that’s actually a good thing! Because you—" he pointed at her, "You can be the queen of the kitchen, living out your baking dreams while I try not to set the stove on fire. My kitchen? Practically untouched, new condition. You can take over anytime."

Anja rolled her eyes, but she wasn’t ready for what came next. Jack, still grinning, suddenly pulled his shirt up slightly to expose a well-defined set of abs. His muscles flexed with a little extra dramatic flair. "See this?" He flexed again, holding the pose for a moment. "Hard work, dedication... and honestly, a whole lot of charm. You can’t argue with that, right?"

Anja froze, her eyes wide with disbelief. She stood there for a moment, trying to process what she was seeing, before rushing to Jack. Kneeling beside him, she reached for his shirt, fingers scrambling to grab the fabric. She shot him a look of shock. “Oh my God, Jack, put it down! This is insane.” She yanked at his shirt, but Jack grabbed her wrist. His grip was unshakable, and he used his position on the ground to keep her from pulling away.

He moved closer, a glint of mischief in his eyes, clearly enjoying every moment of his act. “I’m just proving a point. I’m the full package, Anja—athletic, a manwhore, experienced, and a terrible cook. The perfect guy to have fun!”

Anja gave him a look that was half disbelief, half amusement—as if saying, "Even you don’t believe this." She tried to pull her hand away, but Jack kept his grip tight, holding her wrist steady as his grin grew wider.

Jack shrugged, unfazed by the situation. “Alright, alright, maybe my geography’s a little off. But here’s the deal: You get to be the smart one with all the answers, and I’ll just nod and smile while you school me. It’ll be your show—I’m basically signing up to be your personal cheerleader. You’re the brains, I’ll be the brawn. Need a little backup? I’m your guy.”

Anja shot him a pointed, exasperated look, surprised but slightly amused as he kept his hold on her wrist. “So, Anja, what do you think? I’m the full package—fun, rich, athletic, kind, supportive, and amazing. What more could you possibly want?”

Despite herself, Anja laughed, though she fought to hold her composure. “This is the worst pitch I’ve ever heard in my life, Jack. Seriously, put your shirt down already.”

But Jack didn’t move an inch. "You know you want to. I’m practically giving you the world here. I can be your support, your personal cheerleader. You’ll be the brains of the relationship, and I’ll—"

"—Be the ‘muscles,’ right?" Anja interrupted, raising an eyebrow, her lips twitching into a smirk.

"Exactly! I'll be your biggest fan, always backing you up. And hey, I’m probably the best at making people laugh too.”

Anja couldn’t help but stare at him—this insufferably stubborn, over-the-top guy—and, much to her own surprise, found herself laughing again. “Hughes, you’re a complete idiot. But fine,” she sighed, shaking her head, “I’ll give it to you—you’ve got muscles... and, I guess that counts for something?”

Jack shot her a wink. “Oh, it counts for everything, Anja. Everything. So, what do you say? One coffee, no weirdness?”

Anja hesitated, still gripping his shirt, then let out a long sigh. "Fine. One coffee. But just so we're clear, Hughes—this is strictly a friend thing. No boyfriend talk. I’m not looking for anything, and I definitely can’t handle you as my boyfriend.”

Jack released her wrist, smoothing out his shirt, his grin still in place but with a spark of mischief in his eyes. “Deal. I’ll settle for the friend date. A desperate man takes what he can get.”

Anja rolled her eyes, half amused. "Just... no flexing, alright?"

Jack chuckled, giving her a mock salute. “Alright, alright—I'll behave.”

–

And Jack wasn't lying, about him being on his good behaviour.

He pulled up in his sleek car just as Anja finished her shift a couple days later. The neon lights of the coffee shop flickering behind her. She stepped out into the crisp evening air, shaking off the exhaustion of her shift, her apron swapped for a simple jacket. Jack leaned over from the driver’s seat, his grin wide, like a cat who’d just caught its prey.

“Ready for our coffee date, Anja?”

Anja rolled her eyes dramatically as she slid into the car, amusement flickering across her face.“It’s a friend date, Jack,” she corrected, her voice dripping with mock annoyance. “And what’s the plan? Where are we going?”

Jack’s grin widened. “Well, about that…” He gestured toward the empty streets. “It’s a bit late, and all the normal coffee shops are closed. But don’t worry, I’ve got a backup plan.”

Anja raised an eyebrow.”Yeh that's what I’m afraid of.”

“No, no. You’ll love this. Trust me.”Jack chuckled.

A few minutes later, they pulled up to an old, charming bookstore that looked like it belonged in another era—warm light spilling from its windows, a glowing sign that read Open 24 Hours. It had the kind of inviting presence that made you want to step inside and stay awhile.

Jack parked and motioned for Anja to follow him in.

“This is… a bookstore?” she asked, her tone laced with skepticism but also curiosity. As she stepped through the door, the scent of old pages and freshly brewed coffee wrapped around her like a comforting embrace.

“Not just any bookstore,” he said, his tone teasing. “It’s got a coffee shop inside. And pastries. Perfect place for a late-night coffee date, if you ask me.” Jack flashed a smirk, leading her toward the back. “And you thought I’ve never read a book in my entire life—guess I’ll just have to prove you wrong.”

Anja smiled sweetly, shaking her head as she followed him. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

“Not ridiculous. Creative,” Jack corrected with a grin.

Inside, a barista was still serving warm drinks to a couple of late-night readers, the soft hum of conversation blending seamlessly with the crackling of an old record playing in the background. Cozy armchairs and beanbags were scattered throughout the room, creating an intimate, almost dreamlike atmosphere.

Anja glanced around, taking it all in. The soft lighting, the inviting scent of coffee and something sweet—chocolate, maybe—it all made the space feel like a quiet little world of its own. A place where time didn’t feel so urgent. “Okay… I’ll admit, this is actually kind of nice. Cozy, even.”

Jack flopped onto a nearby beanbag, a self-satisfied grin on his face. “See? You can’t always judge a book by its cover.”

Anja groaned. “You’ve been in prime form tonight, haven’t you?”

“Hey, I’ve got plenty more where that came from,” he shot back, flashing her another confident smile.

He studied her for a moment before speaking again, his tone softer. “What if we swap coffee for hot chocolate instead?” His playful edge had slipped away a little. “Figured something warm and sweet might be better this late.”

Anja raised an eyebrow, surprised by the sudden thoughtfulness. “Hmm, actually, that sounds really good. It is too late for coffee, and I could use a decent night’s sleep for once.”

Jack’s smile deepened, satisfied with her answer. “Good choice,” he said with a wink before heading to the counter.

When he came back, he wasn’t just carrying hot chocolate. Along with the two steaming mugs, he had a plate of warm pastries, their flaky layers golden and crisp. He set everything on the small coffee table between their beanbags, the sweet smell of cocoa and butter filling the air. Something about the simple gesture—just them, the warmth, the food—made the moment feel unexpectedly intimate.

Anja dropped her coat to the floor and sank into her beanbag, letting out a soft sigh as she got comfortable. Everything about this night felt softer, easier than she’d expected.

“I really wasn’t expecting this… but it’s nice.” She reached for her mug, glancing at him. “Just don’t let the compliment go to your head.”

Jack smirked as he leaned back, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “No promises.” He picked up a pastry and held it out to her. "I figured you'd appreciate a little something sweet to go with the moment."

Anja hesitated for only a second before taking the pastry. As she bit into it, the warm layers melted on her tongue, and she let out an involuntary hum of satisfaction.

“Okay,” she admitted, taking another bite. “You’re definitely not wrong about this.”

Jack watched her, the sound of her hum catching him off guard, a hint of something shifting in his chest.

As they sipped their hot chocolate the café around them felt like its own little world—soft lighting, the distant murmur of pages turning, the quiet clinking of mugs against saucers.

Anja curled deeper into her beanbag, fingers wrapped around her mug, letting its warmth seep into her hands. Jack stretched out in his seat, looking just as content, his usual energy softened.

When they finished, Jack set his mug down with a satisfied sigh and shot Anja a look. Then, without warning, he reached for her hand and pulled her up.

“Alright, let’s go,” he said, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

Anja blinked. “Go where?”

He gestured toward the shelves. “You can’t just sit in a bookstore café and not browse. That’s practically a crime.”

She huffed a laugh but let him lead her toward the towering bookshelves. As they wandered through the aisles, Anja ran her fingers over worn spines, occasionally picking up a book to flip through. Jack did the same, moving ahead of her, plucking books off the shelves without much thought.

At first, she didn’t pay much attention to his choices—until she caught a glimpse of the titles in his hands. The Odyssey. Moby Dick. War and Peace.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she said, staring at him like he’d just grown a second head. “War and Peace? Really?”

Jack raised an eyebrow, totally unbothered. “What? I’ve got layers, Anja. I like to read, too. Not geography books, as you already know, but serious stuff. Might surprise you.”

Anja let out a laugh, shaking her head. “You? The manwhore of the hockey world? Reading Tolstoy? I thought you were too busy with girls and hockey to have time for this kind of thing.”

Jack smirked, holding up the book like it was a trophy. “Ha ha, really funny.” He shot her a look, clearly not offended. “I’ll have you know, girls and hockey are not the only things in my brain.”

Anja scoffed, reaching out to snatch the book from his hands. She flipped it open, skimming a few pages before looking back up at him, her expression caught somewhere between amusement and disbelief.

“You actually read this?” she asked, holding up War and Peace like it was a foreign artifact. “Not just for, like, show?”

Jack placed a hand over his heart, feigning offense. “Wow. Zero faith in me.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, flipping through the pages. “Alright, prove it. Who’s your favorite character?”

Without missing a beat, Jack smirked. “Andrei Bolkonsky.”

Anja froze for a second, looking up from the pages, clearly thrown. “Wait, really? You’re an Andrei guy?”

Jack nodded, his expression dead serious. “What? You thought I’d say Pierre?”

“YES,” she said immediately. “Pierre’s the obvious choice. He’s way more... interesting.”

“Interesting? Pierre’s a hot mess for like, 90% of the book. The guy spends half his time getting lost, getting into trouble, and overthinking everything.”

Anja shot him a teasing glance. “Exactly. That’s what makes him interesting! He’s awkward, searching for meaning... vulnerable.”

Jack laughed, leaning closer to her. “Vulnerable? Or just indecisive? The guy can’t make a choice without spiraling.”

“That’s the whole point. He’s human. Complex.” She poked Jack’s chest with a finger, her eyes gleaming with passion as she leaned in just slightly, clearly enjoying the back-and-forth.

Jack moved closer to her, crossing his arms. “I’m sorry, but Pierre’s a disaster. Andrei knows who he is. He’s a leader, a soldier, a guy who gets things done. That’s why I like him.”

“Oh, please,” Anja scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Andrei’s the epitome of a brooding, pretentious sad boy. He spends the entire book sulking, acting like everyone else is beneath him.” She paused, a sly grin spreading across her face as if she’d just had a sudden realization. “Hmm, sounds kind of familiar, actually.”

Jack raised an eyebrow, a wide smile creeping onto his lips. “Are you calling me brooding and pretentious?”

Anja held his gaze for a beat, then shook her head. “Not exactly. But yeah, that sounds like you—at least the pretentious part. You’re not really the brooding type. You’re way too cocky for that. But I can definitely see some Andrei in you.”

Jack chuckled, a small spark flickering in his chest. He couldn’t help but like a woman who had both a strong opinion and a sharp mind. “I’m confident, not pretentious. There’s a difference. Andrei’s got his life together—he knows what he wants, he has standards, and he doesn’t just drift through life hoping things will work out. You can’t say the same about Pierre. That guy spends half the book lost in his own head, making bad decisions, and hoping the universe sorts it out for him. Andrei? He takes charge. If that’s who you’re comparing me to, I’ll take it.”

Anja shook her head, amused. “Not just that. Andrei’s just a ticking time bomb. All that ‘duty’ and ‘honor’... It’s like a mask he hides behind to avoid facing his own mess. You probably like him because, let’s face it, he’s a little bit like you in that sense as well.”

“Me? A mess? I’m hurt.” Jack let out a dramatic gasp.

Anja shrugged, a wicked grin playing on her lips. “Don’t act like it’s not true. You’re just like him. A little too obsessed with being ‘the guy who’s got it all together.’”

Jack smirked, shifting his weight casually as he placed Moby Dick back on the shelf next to them. “Andrei’s confident. I’m confident. So, I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Anja raised her eyebrows. “Sure. Keep telling yourself that. But at least Pierre learns. He grows. Andrei? He just spends the whole book whining until—well, spoiler alert, he dies.”

Jack threw his hands up in mock disbelief, eyes wide. “Ouch. Ruthless. The guy goes through war, heartbreak, and personal tragedy, and you just—” He waved his hand dramatically. “Done. No sympathy?”

Anja grinned, flipping the book shut with a decisive motion. “Not my fault Tolstoy made him insufferable. I stand by Pierre.”

Jack looked at her, laughing in disbelief. “I can’t believe you read War and Peace and took Pierre’s side.”

Anja shot him a playful side-eye. “Oh yeah? You read it and picked Andrei. We’re clearly both making questionable decisions here.”

“I guess we can’t buddy-read Tolstoy together, huh?” Jack chuckled, shaking his head.

Anja crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow. “Good. I’d hate to have to explain everything to you.”

“Unbelievable.” Jack let out an exaggerated sigh, while he tucked War and Peace under his arm again, giving her a teasing look. “Alright, book snob. Since you clearly think you know everything, what’s next? Are you going to try to convince me that Anna Karenina’s actions were justified?”

Anja gasped, eyes widening. “Jack. Don’t even start.”

Shaking her head, Anja grabbed a couple of books from the shelf, and Jack did the same. With their newfound selections in hand, they made their way back to their cozy beanbags. They settled in, the quiet rustle of pages filling the space between them.

For a while, neither of them spoke. Jack flipped through War and Peace, skimming familiar passages, while Anja lost herself in a biography of one of her favorite artists. The playful banter from earlier still lingered in her mind, but as she snuck a glance at Jack, something about the way he was fully immersed in his book made her pause.

She watched him for a moment, her smile softening. There was something oddly sincere about him like this—quiet, focused, different from the cocky, fast-talking guy she was so used to.

“Huh,” she murmured, more to herself than anything. “Guess I underestimated you, Jack.”

Jack didn’t look up immediately, but a slow, lazy smirk spread across his face. “It happens,” he said, finally meeting her gaze. “Don’t worry, I’m used to it.”

Anja rolled her eyes, but there was no real bite to it. She turned her attention back to her book, trying to focus. But every now and then, she found herself glancing up—watching as Jack absentmindedly ran a thumb over the edge of the pages, completely absorbed in his book.

Anja took a deep breath, smiling to herself as she sank deeper into the beanbag. Maybe Jack Hughes wasn’t just a pretty face after all. And maybe, just maybe, this friend date wasn’t so bad after all.

—

Weeks passed, and what started as a single friend date grew into something neither of them had quite expected. Something real and deeper. Jack started showing up at the coffee shop every day after practice, sometimes before games, sometimes after. He’d slip in quietly, pulling his hood up, and find a corner table by the window. And there he’d stay, right where Anja could see him. It was like a routine now, something familiar and comforting.

He’d sit there, watching her work, the steady hum of the café filling the space between them as he lazily flipped through a book. On quieter days, when Anja wasn’t rushing from table to table, Jack would start talking—about hockey, the latest game, or whatever TV show had caught his attention. Their conversations stretched beyond the usual small talk. They argued about politics, books, their childhood, even their biggest fears. Jack was always challenging the way she thought about things, pushing her to question what she believed. And though it sometimes annoyed her, Anja couldn’t deny that she actually enjoyed it.

She began to appreciate the complexity in him, the layers behind the cocky smile and careless attitude. It wasn’t just the light teasing that made her laugh. It was the way he could discuss some silly tv show one minute and then dive into a heated debate about the latest political news the next. And sometimes, when their conversations would die down, Jack would pull out a book, burying himself in it while Anja went about her work. They’d fall into a comfortable silence, the kind only true friends could share.

More and more, Anja found herself looking forward to seeing Jack walk in. There was something about him that made everything feel a little more relaxed.

It wasn’t long before their friendship spilled over into texts. Casual check-ins after games, long messages about something that had made them laugh, or a random book recommendation. Anja, to her own surprise, found herself enjoying it. She’d thought it would be strange, having Jack’s name constantly flashing on her phone, but it wasn’t. It was… nice. She wasn’t sure when the shift happened, but somewhere between the books they’d shared, the heated debates, and the quiet moments spent together, Jack had become a friend in a way she hadn’t expected.

And now, as she glanced over at him, sitting in his usual spot, flipping through pages of Inferno by Dante, she couldn’t help but smile.

Then, as she turned to take an order at the counter, she heard laughter from across the café. She didn’t even need to look to know what was happening. Jack, as usual, had charmed a group of older ladies sitting near the pastry case.

“Oh, come on, Marge,” he said, grinning at one of them as he leaned casually on the counter. “You can’t tell me you weren’t a heartbreaker back in the day. I bet you had all the boys lined up.”

Marge, a widow in her seventies who came in every morning with her two best friends, waved him off with a playful scoff. “Oh, hush, you flirt. You’re just trying to sweet-talk me into buying you a cookie.”

Jack gasped dramatically, but his confident smile was still on his face. “Marge, I would never!”

Anja, overhearing the entire exchange as she filled a coffee cup, tried—and failed—to stifle a laugh. She bit her lip, shaking her head as Jack continued his antics, effortlessly charming the older women like he was born to do it.

But then, when his gaze flickered back to Anja, something changed. The easy, flirtatious grin softened. His shoulders relaxed. He still had that effortless confidence, that natural charm, but when it was just the two of them, it was different. He didn’t need to perform. He let Anja see something deeper—something quieter, more thoughtful.

She walked past his table, setting down a fresh cup of coffee without him even asking. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?” she murmured, shaking her head.

Jack just smirked up at her, his voice dropping into something softer, something just for her. “Yeah, but you like it.”

Anja rolled her eyes, but she didn’t argue. Because maybe, just maybe, he was right.

–

Jack hated these nights.

Another brutal loss. Another night of feeling like the weight of the entire team was sitting on his chest. With Nico out, the pressure had been on him to step up, to push the team to a win. And he tried. He fucking tried. But it wasn’t happening.

And to make matters worse, the apartment wasn’t exactly peaceful.

A muffled whimper filtered through the wall. Then another. Then—Jesus Christ.

Jack clenched his jaw and rolled onto his stomach, shoving his pillow over his head as if that would help. Spoiler: it didn’t.

Luke and Thea were home. And happy. And apparently, they had absolutely no concept of thin walls.

And maybe Jack was just being petty, but it was hard not to feel... left out. Especially when he remembered how he’d been on with Anja these past few weeks.

Jack had never experienced a true friendship with a woman, but Anja was different. From the start, she made it clear that she only saw him as a friend—and that was fine with him. At first, he struggled to accept it, but over time, things shifted. They grew closer, spending hours together, laughing, talking, and sharing moments. Jack found himself explaining the New Jersey Devils to her—a tough task, especially since she was a Bruins fan and knew next to nothing about his team. Patience wasn’t his strong suit, and the fact that she didn’t seem to care made it even harder to keep his cool. Still, he couldn’t help but respect that she wasn’t one of those girls who swooned over him. It was... refreshing.

But still... there were nights, like tonight, when it hit him.

He couldn’t deny it—he was drawn to her. He loved their friendship, no question, but deep down, there was always that something more. That unspoken tension, simmering just beneath the surface, waiting to be acknowledged. He wasn’t ready to face it. Jack didn’t do love. It was just sexual tension, he told himself. It couldn’t be anything more. After all, Anja was a beautiful, young woman, and he was a ridiculously good-looking athlete. Of course, they had chemistry. But that’s all it was.

And then there were nights like this, where his mind wandered off course, and instead of texting her—because that would be weird—he went back to his old habits. Hook-ups. Quick distractions. Just something to get his mind off things.

So, he picked up his phone and fired off a few texts. It was easier this way, he told himself.

It wasn’t like he wanted anything serious with anyone else. He wasn’t looking for that. But sometimes, he just needed a reminder that he could still get attention from people. He still had that pull. Even if Anja didn’t feel the same way.

He knew what he was doing wasn’t exactly healthy. But it was easier than dealing with the things that really mattered.

Five weeks since he’d met her. Four weeks since she had completely turned his world upside down. But that wasn’t her fault. He was the one who couldn’t seem to figure things out.

His phone buzzed almost immediately. But it wasn’t the message he was expecting.

A: Hey, Prince Charming.

Jack smirked, running a hand through his hair as he read the text. The nickname had started after their first friend date, when she’d looked at him with that amused glint in her eye and said he reminded her of a fairytale prince—all looks, maybe not completely dumb, but let’s be honest, not that smart either. He should’ve been offended, but for some reason, he fucking loved it when she called him that.

Another buzz.

A: So, that was a really shitty game. You sucked today.

Jack barked out a laugh. Jesus. He loved that this woman didn’t hold back. Everyone else always tried to phrase it in a way that wouldn't bruise his ego. Not Anja. She came at him full force.

J: Wow. Don’t hold back or anything.

A: I don’t do sugarcoating. You were bad. Like, painfully bad.

J: Yeah, yeah. I know. Thanks for the reminder.

A: Anytime, Hughes.

Jack shook his head, still smiling as he stared at the screen. His other texts—the ones he’d sent out looking for a distraction—were sitting there, unread. He didn’t even feel like checking them anymore. Instead, he rolled onto his side, typing out another response.

J: So what, you just text me to roast me, or are you actually gonna make me feel better?

A: Oh, I was getting there. You’re a disaster, but at least you’re a pretty disaster.

J: Pretty disaster, huh? Wow, really boosting my confidence here.

Jack rolled his eyes, but a small smile spread across his face.

A: You’re welcome. It’s the least I can do. You looked so sad out there today, I felt bad for you.

J: I don’t need pity. I need sleep.

He ran a hand through his hair, irritation creeping back in. The game had been brutal, and now he was staring at the ceiling again, the exhaustion weighing on him. Tomorrow’s practice would be hell if he didn’t get some sleep. His body was already aching from the game, and now this.

A: Oh, so now you want sympathy? Make up your mind, Hughes.

J: I’m just saying, I’m exhausted. And I’ve got thin walls here—Luke and Thea are having the time of their life, and I can’t escape it. I’ve tried everything. Nothing works.

A: Ah, poor thing. Just not jealous?

J: Trust me, the last thing I want to do right now is stick my dick in anybody. I don’t even know how Lukey does it. Guess being young helps… Maybe Thea was right about that stamina thing...

A: Jesus Jack! You really don’t have a filter. TMI! But…Well… I mean, if you need a place to crash, my couch is always available.

J: Wait, seriously?

Jack paused, blinking at his phone. He wasn’t sure if she was being sarcastic or serious. But there was a part of him that was already considering it. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a night to himself that didn’t end with him staring at the ceiling.

A: Yeah, I’m serious. We’re friends. Even if this is painful for me to admit. And I live basically 10 minutes from you. Just come over.

J: …Wait, you actually want me to crash at your place?

A: Just don’t make me regret this, Prince Charming!

Jack chuckled. This… this was definitely unexpected.

J: Alright, fine. I’ll take you up on the offer. Thanks, Anja!

—

Jack stepped into Anja’s apartment, every muscle in his body groaning in protest.

His legs ached from the game, his mind was a chaotic mess, but right now, all he could think about was sleep. Real sleep. Not the restless, half-conscious tossing and turning that had been his last few nights. He needed to crash—hard.

And then he saw her.

Anja stood in the soft glow of the apartment, wearing loose, dark pajamas, her hair twisted up in a messy bun. No makeup, no effort—just her. Effortlessly beautiful, untouched by the outside world.

Jack’s brain stalled for a second.

How the hell was she this attractive without even trying?

He shook the thought away. It was exhaustion, right? Had to be. She was just… Anja. He was too damn tired to think straight.

So, Jack did what any man on the brink of collapse would do—he went straight for the bed, flopping face-first onto the mattress without asking.

Behind him, Anja leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, a smirk playing on her lips. “You know the rules. Couch.”

Jack groaned into the pillow. “Anja. Please. My body is broken. My soul is hanging by a thread. And that couch? That couch is where souls go to die.”

Anja snorted. “You’ll survive.”

Jack rolled onto his side, his eyes heavy with tiredness, but he still managed to give her a slow, teasing glance. "You’re seriously gonna make me crash out there when there’s a whole king-sized bed right here?" He patted the mattress like it was the most inviting thing in the world. "Come on, that’s practically a crime against humanity."

Anja lifted an unimpressed eyebrow. “You are humanity’s crime.”

Jack grinned. “Thank you.”

She sighed, rubbing her temple like she was already regretting every life decision that had led to this moment.

Jack pushed himself up onto his elbows. “Alright. Let’s make a deal. I’ll do anything. Literally anything. Name it.”

Anja smirked. “Anything?”

Jack nodded solemnly.

“I want—” she paused for dramatic effect “—a New York Rangers jersey.”

Jack’s face twisted in disbelief. “Okay, that’s just plain evil, darling.”

Anja smirked, knowing full well how much Jack loathed the Rangers. Her hockey knowledge was avarage, but she was well aware of the hostility between Jack’s team and their biggest rival.

Jack exhaled in frustration, rubbing a hand over his face. “Alright, new offer: I’ll make you breakfast.”

Anja let out a short laugh. “You can’t cook, Jacky. That’s basically a threat, not an offer.”

“Incorrect,” Jack said, giving her a playful look as he pointed at her.“I can cook. I just choose not to.”

Anja stared at him, unamused.

“Okay, fine,” Jack groaned, his hands raised in mock surrender. “I can make breakfast. Still counts.”

“That’s just eggs. And even those are awful,” Anja remarked dryly.

Jack shrugged his shoulders. “Hey, still technically breakfast.”

“Anja,” he said, voice grave. “I am a man at his lowest. My body is failing me, my will to live is fading, and you—” he pointed dramatically at her “—have the power to save me.”

Anja blinked at him, unimpressed. “You are so dramatic.”

Jack pressed a hand to his chest. “I prefer passionate.”

She rolled her eyes again, exhaling like this whole act was physically draining her, and for a second, Jack thought she was going to send him to the couch anyway. But then she let out a long, resigned sigh, shaking her head like she already regretted it.

“One night,” she said, pointing at him sharply. “And no funny business.”

Jack shot up like he’d just been given a second lease on life, already pulling off his hoodie as he practically dove under the covers. “You won’t even know I’m here.”

Anja muttered something under her breath about regretting this already, flicking off the light as she climbed into bed beside him.

Jack exhaled as his body sank into the mattress, tension bleeding from his muscles. But just as his brain started to shut down, he caught it—her scent.

That unmistakable mix of orange and peppermint.

It was everywhere. In the sheets, in the pillows, in the air itself, wrapping around him and settling into his skin like a slow, creeping warmth he hadn’t been expecting.

His body relaxed instantly, but his mind? His mind did the opposite.

He wasn’t sure why this felt different. Why she felt different. Why, after all the nights spent in beds that weren’t his, this—lying next to Anja, stealing her blankets, breathing in the scent of orange and peppermint—was the only thing that had ever felt right.

He hated how much he liked it.

Jack turned his head toward her, voice low, teasing. “You know, if you let me stay in this bed again, I’ll compose an original poem just for you.”

Anja groaned. “Shut up, Hughes!”

Jack grinned. “A sonnet, actually. Or maybe a haiku—short and sweet. You know, something like—” He cleared his throat, pretending to get serious before continuing, “Shall I compare thee to—”

Anja rolled over, cutting him off by slapping a hand over his mouth.

“Enough,” she murmured, her voice light but warm, with a hint of something almost... hesitant.

Jack blinked up at her, his lips still pressed against her palm. The room felt different all of a sudden, as if the air had thickened. Maybe it was exhaustion, or maybe something else entirely, but the shift between them was unmistakable.

Neither of them moved for a moment.

Jack could feel the heat of her skin against his face, and saw how her breathing slowed just a fraction, like she had only just realized how close they were. He should say something, crack a joke, break the silence. But for once, he didn’t.

And then—because he was Jack—he wiggled his eyebrows.

Anja blinked at him, like she was snapping out of a daze, and pulled her hand away, rolling onto her side. “You’re such a pain.”

Jack chuckled, stealing half the blanket. “And yet, here I am, still in this bed.”

Anja rolled her eyes, pulling her blanket back. “You’re lucky I’m not making you sleep on the couch. And honestly, how do you know what a haiku is? You didn’t even know that Germany and Switzerland were two different countries.”

Jack groaned, but the smile never left his face. He squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head slightly. “I’m misunderstood,” he muttered, like he was truly burdened by it.

Anja laughed softly, the sound light and warm in the dim room. “Yeah, the real mystery, Jack Hughes. You’re dumb enough to confuse countries, but you’re cultured enough to drop haiku on me.”

“Hey,” Jack said, lifting his head and squinting at her with a playful grin, “I’m a complex man. Who loves literature.”

She rolled her eyes once more, but a smile played at the corners of her lips. “And that’s exactly what makes you so damn annoying.”

Jack smirked, sinking back into the pillows. “Glad to see you recognize my complexity.”

Anja sighed, still facing away, though Jack could feel the faint shake of her shoulders as she tried to stifle a laugh. “You really think you’ve won, don’t you?”

Jack relaxed into the bed, the warmth of her body and the soft sound of her laughter soothing him. “Oh, I know I have.”

Anja scoffed, but Jack could hear the smile in her voice. “Enjoy it while it lasts.”

Jack smirked, his eyes fluttering closed. “Oh, I will.”

—

Jack sat at the kitchen table, staring down at his coffee like it owed him money. His head was pounding, and the goddamn world seemed way too fucking chipper for his liking. His body was sore as hell from practice, but it was nothing compared to the frustration buzzing through his brain.

“You’re a ray of sunshine today, Jacky,” Thea chirped as she walked in, pressing a kiss to Luke’s head. Of course, Luke had to shoot her a goofy grin, like he was a damn golden retriever. Ugh. Disgusting.

“Shut up, pedo,” Jack mumbled, trying to sip his coffee without gagging. He didn’t care if his tone was off. He wasn’t here for their bullshit today.

Luke rolled his eyes, totally unfazed. “What the hell happened to you, man? You were all full of energy this morning—like, bouncing off the walls—and now you're just... this.” He gestured at Jack, who was hunched over the table like he was already dead inside.

Jack snorted, clearly not in the mood for a pep talk. “Maybe I’m just tired of people asking me why I’m an asshole. Get a new hobby.”

Yeah, Luke was right. He knew that. But honestly? He had way bigger problems right now. Like, Anja.

This morning had started off like some cheesy rom-com, and Jack was seriously starting to panic about it. He woke up, and there she was—her small, warm body tangled up in his, all soft and perfect. For a split second, he actually thought about kissing her—maybe snuggling, maybe even making her coffee. What the hell? When had he become the type of guy who fantasized about making coffee for someone? What was next, brunch? Fucking brunch?!

But, of course, it wasn’t until he was changing out of his hockey gear, post-practice, that he realized what a weird thought that was. He wasn’t exactly known for catching on to things quickly. He knew his flaws. But here he was, practically having a meltdown over the idea of wanting to snuggle.

And the worst part? The morning had been way too perfect for his comfort. Like, Anja didn’t even make the cuddling weird. Which, on any other day, would be a blessing. But now? He was thinking about her—and not in a “she’s a cool, funny friend” way. No, this was different. This was “I just woke up in her bed and I’m wondering if we should get matching coffee mugs” levels of insane.

They’d woken up, did the lazy morning cuddle thing—because apparently, Jack had no self-control—then they’d grabbed coffee. He’d cracked a few jokes about the news, she’d laughed like it was just another morning. And, damn it, it felt so normal. Too normal.

And then came the worst part: he kissed her on the cheek when he left. Like, a peck. And she blushed. She fucking blushed and wished him a good day like she was some picture-perfect, Hallmark-movie wife.

Did he just call her a wife? Oh, hell no. That couldn’t be a thing. He wasn’t ready for that.

He gulped down more coffee like it was going to fix this internal meltdown. The burn hit his chest, but the panic was still there. He had to shake it off. This was stupid. Anja was just a friend—no, not just a friend, she was a friend who he happened to share a bed with... and now apparently, his feelings? What the hell was happening to him?

Jack swore under his breath, rubbing his forehead. This wasn’t him. He was the guy who had no problems keeping things casual, no strings, no feelings. But now? Now he was screwing up his own rulebook. Anja is a friend…just a friend!

Jack sighed dramatically, letting his frustration hang in the air like a thick cloud. “Look, I don’t know what the hell is going on, alright? But I feel like a goddamn idiot. I’m not supposed to be thinking about this. I should be pissed about my game, but instead..." He rubbed his forehead, hoping it would somehow stop the mental chaos.

Luke, ever the observant little shit, raised an eyebrow. “So this is about her? Anja, right?”

Jack shot him a look that could’ve melted steel. “Well, no, I’m talking about the weather, Luke. Of course it’s about Anja. Who else would it be?” He paused, then—BAM—his brain hit him with a sudden revelation. Wait a second—this was actually Luke’s fault. “Actually, this is your fault, you know. If you and Thea weren’t busy mating like a pair of rabbits, I wouldn’t have had to leave the house yesterday!”

Luke’s smirk was already five miles wide. “Man, just admit it. You’re into her. You’re all mopey and pissy because you’ve got no idea what to do with it.”

Jack glared at him like he just insulted his entire existence. “Fuck off. I don’t do feelings. And I sure as hell don’t do snuggling.”

He immediately slapped his hand over his mouth, realizing he'd maybe over-shared just a bit.

Thea grabbed an apple from the fridge and plopped herself down on Luke’s lap “Snuggling? Snuggling? Oh, Jack, you are so gone.” She bit into the apple dramatically, her eyes dancing with mischief.

“You sure about that ‘no snuggle’ rule?”Luke teased, clearly enjoying the moment, as he lightly traced circles on Thea's exposed hip.

“Oh, Luke, do you remember what Jack said to Quinn?” Thea tilted her head, changing her voice to mock Jack. “‘Who said anything about it ‘meaning’ anything? I’m just here for the ride, bro.’” She smirked. “I can’t believe I’m hearing this from you.”

Jack groaned. “Oh, God, please, feel free to enjoy my suffering. It’s what you’re best at.”

Thea clutched her chest like she was watching the best drama unfold right in front of her. “Oh, I’m living for this. You know, those moments that are so painfully awkward and secondhand embarrassing that they keep you entertained for weeks? Jack Hughes falling in love—now that’s the kind of content I’ll be replaying in my head forever.”

Jack shot her a glare. He knew exactly what she was referencing. That was his line—the same one he threw at Thea when he caught her sneaking out of Luke’s room. Yeah, maybe he’d been a little too smug about it at the time. And sure, he knew she’d get her revenge eventually.

But honestly? Making his brother and his date uncomfortable had been way too much fun.

Jack would love to say he’d learned his lesson.

But he was way too much of an asshole for that.

“Yeah, yeah, enjoy every moment of this,” Jack grumbled, grabbing the last of his coffee and standing up. “Because this will be short. I’m just gonna figure my shit out. No more cuddling, no more kissing her on the cheek like I’m some goddamn romantic. I’m not built for this.” He slammed his mug down with a little more force than necessary. “I’ll find some random girl tonight, bang her, and get over this. Problem solved.”

Luke just shook his head, his curly hair bouncing with the motion, falling in soft waves across his forehead. “You know you’re not fooling anyone, right?”

Jack shot him an icy glare. “Shut up, Mr. Pedo Lover.” He practically growled as he stomped over to the sink, banging the mug down.

Thea and Luke exchanged a look, their smiles knowing. They didn’t even need to say anything, and it pissed Jack off even more. He muttered under his breath as he turned to leave the kitchen, needing to get away before he said something even dumber. But in the back of his mind, his thoughts kept running. Fuck. What the hell was he even doing?

—

The music pounded through the bar, a steady, brain-numbing beat. Jack Hughes barely noticed, his attention fixed on his beer as he took a slow sip.

He was in trouble.

Not because of the game. Not because of a fight. But because, for the first time in his life, he couldn’t find a single fucking woman he wanted to take home.

And that was a problem.

A huge problem.

This Sunday night was supposed to be easy. A big win finally, a few drinks, a quick fuck. No strings, no thoughts, no mess. That was the routine. That was him. And yet, here he was, staring into his beer like it held the answers to his fucked-up brain.

It was Nico’s slap on his back that snapped him out of it.

“Come on, man! What the hell’s up with you? You’ve turned down, what? Ten girls already?”

“Four,” Jack muttered.

Nico laughed, shaking his head. “That’s not like you, Jacky boy. You sick or something?”

Jack grunted, smacking Nico’s hand away when he pressed it to his forehead. He took another long swig of beer, hoping the alcohol would do something—blur the edges, dull the noise, drown out her.

Because that was the real problem, wasn’t it?

Anja.

The fucking Anja Syndrome.

Every girl, every goddamn girl, he measured against her. And every single one of them came up short.

Too blonde. Too tall. Too high-pitched. Too weird with her fucking drink.

It was bullshit.

Jack never gave a shit before. He didn’t care if they were tall or short, blonde or brunette. If they had a body and were willing, that was enough. And yeah, he knew that made him sound like a dick, but he was 23, a pro athlete, and he’d be an idiot not to enjoy the perks.

So why the fuck was he sitting here, empty-handed, second-guessing his entire goddamn existence?

“Come on, Jack,” Bas nudged him, nodding toward the bar. “That little blonde has been eye-fucking you all night. Give her some mercy.”

Jack glanced over.

Petite. A little too skinny, but she had pretty greenish-brown eyes and a face guys would probably call “cute.” She was fine.

She should be perfect.

But she wasn’t her.

Oh, fuck off.

No more of this shit.

This girl was hot, and she was ready to go. She was exactly what he needed to snap himself out of this bullshit.

“Perfect,” Jack muttered. Ignoring his teammates’ laughter, he downed the rest of his beer and pushed himself to his feet.

With long, confident strides, he crossed the bar, slipping back into the guy he used to be—the one who didn’t overthink, didn’t feel. He flashed his best smirk, the one that melted panties before he even said a word.

“Hey, gorgeous,” he drawled, voice dropping into that low, rough tone that always did the trick.

The girl beamed. “Hey! Took you long enough.” She giggled, the sound high and grating.

Jack forced a smirk. “You know how it is—can’t ditch the team right away.”

He didn’t care about the small talk.

Didn’t want it.

He just needed this to work.

“So… wanna head to the back with me?” He made sure his tone left no room for misinterpretation.

The girl’s eyes sparkled. “Of course.”

That was all he needed.

He took her wrist, weaving through the crowd until they reached the back exit. He’d spotted the terrace earlier—quiet, dim, completely empty. Perfect for what he needed.

And the second the terrace door swung shut behind them, Jack wasted no time.

He grabbed the girl by the waist, pulling her flush against him, his mouth crashing onto hers with a force that had always been enough. His hands slid down her back, gripping, squeezing, searching for that familiar spark—that fire that always ignited the second he got a girl alone.

But nothing came.

Not even a flicker.

The girl moaned into his mouth, her fingers tangling in his hair, pressing herself against him like she wanted to be devoured. It should have been hot. It should have sent a jolt straight to his dick, setting off that automatic chain reaction his body had perfected over the years.

But there was nothing.

Nothing except a creeping, cold frustration curling in his gut.

No. No, this was just in his head. He needed to push through it. He could push through it.

Jack deepened the kiss, tilting her head back as his hands roamed lower, his body pressing her into the brick wall behind them. He rolled his hips forward, desperate for his body to wake the fuck up, desperate for the heat to kick in, for the hunger to return.

Still nothing.

His pulse pounded—not with arousal, but with something dangerously close to panic.

What the fuck was happening to him?

The girl let out a high-pitched giggle, threading her fingers down his chest, her nails scraping against his shirt as she reached for his belt.

"Let me take care of you," she whispered, voice dripping with suggestion.

Jack flinched.

His stomach turned.

It wasn’t her voice.

It wasn’t her hands.

He sucked in a sharp breath, squeezing his eyes shut, willing himself to snap out of it. He could fix this. He just needed to focus.

He dropped his head to the girl's neck, trailing open-mouthed kisses down her throat, hands gripping her hips, fingers digging in. He sucked at her pulse point, dragging his teeth over her skin in the way that usually made a girl melt against him.

She gasped, arching into him, nails raking down his back.

Jack felt nothing.

His body was like a fucking corpse.

Dead.

Unresponsive.

Refusing to play along.

And then, before he could stop it, before he could shove it back down where it belonged—her face flashed in his mind.

Anja.

That smug little smirk she got when she knew she was right. The way she tilted her head when she was listening to him talk, like he was the most interesting person in the world. The fire in her eyes when she called him on his bullshit.

The way her body had felt against his that one night when they slept in the same bed.

The way he’d spent every second since aching to feel it again..

Jack froze.

His entire body locked up, his breathing sharp and erratic.

The girl noticed immediately.

"You okay?" she murmured, pressing a kiss to his jaw, hands still working at his belt. "Just relax, baby."

Jack jerked back like he’d been burned.

Baby.

She wasn’t her.

She would never be her.

And for the first time in his life, that mattered.

"Fuck," Jack breathed, running a shaky hand through his hair.

The girl frowned. "What?"

He swallowed hard, his throat dry as sandpaper. "I— I can't. I— This isn’t gonna happen."

Her expression flickered with confusion, then shifted into irritation. "Oh, come on. You just need a little—"

She reached for him again, her hand slipping down toward his belt, but Jack caught her wrist before she could get any further.

"No." His voice was firm. Sharper than he intended.

She yanked her hand back like he’d slapped her, eyes narrowing. "Seriously?" She let out a harsh laugh, crossing her arms. "What, you bring me out here just to waste my fucking time?"

Jack exhaled heavily, raking both hands through his hair. His chest felt too tight, like his ribs were closing in on his lungs.

"You’re not her," he muttered, his voice raw, barely above a whisper. He shook his head, running a shaky hand through his hair.

"Fuck. You are not her."

And that was the problem.

Her gaze darkened with annoyance. "Oh, so it's me that’s the problem?" She scoffed. "Classic. Maybe next time don’t bite off more than you can chew, Hughes."

And with that, she spun on her heel, shoving open the terrace door and storming back into the bar.

Jack didn’t move.

Couldn’t.

His back hit the brick wall as he slid down, knees bent, head tipped back against the cold surface. His breaths were uneven, his entire body wound too tight, but still—nothing.

He squeezed his eyes shut, his fists clenching uselessly in his lap.

His body had never betrayed him before.

Never failed him.

And now?

Now, it was screaming the truth at him.

The truth he’d been trying to ignore for weeks.

He didn’t just want Anja.

It was worse than that.

She was the only one who fucking existed.

And he was so. Completely. Fucked.

—

“Shit,” he muttered to himself, still trying to make sense of what had just happened. The girl in the back. His body refusing to cooperate. The cold panic that had washed over him like a wave when he realized it wasn’t just that he didn’t want her—he didn’t want anyone. Not unless it was her.

Anja.

That thought hit him again. Like a sucker punch straight to the gut.

He hadn’t realized how deep this shit went until now. He’d spent weeks trying to deny it, trying to make himself believe that it was just a phase. That he could get over it. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t because Anja wasn’t just someone he was into. She was the one. She was it.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, but he ignored it. His mind was too loud. He didn’t want to talk to anyone else. Not right now. Not when his entire body was screaming one thing.

Her.

He reached the street and stood there for a second, trying to get his bearings. The world around him felt off-kilter. Everything looked distant, like he wasn’t actually here, like he was floating in some fucked-up dream.

“Fuck it,” he muttered under his breath, pulling his phone out. He tapped through his contacts and hit the taxi app without a second thought. He needed to get to her. Now.

His finger hovered over the ‘Confirm’ button before he pressed it without hesitation. He didn’t even care if he was drunk—he couldn’t stay here, couldn’t keep sitting with the fucking mess in his head.

He could already feel the buzz from the alcohol, the remnants of the beers he’d downed earlier, swirling in his blood. But it didn’t matter. Nothing else mattered except getting to her.

The ride felt endless. The city lights blurred outside the cab window as he stared at his phone, willing it to stop feeling like it was vibrating in his hand. His mind kept replaying the images of Anja—the way she looked at him when she thought he wasn’t paying attention, the sound of her voice when she laughed at his dumb jokes. God, even the way she bit her lip when she was concentrating made him want to crawl out of his skin.

By the time the taxi pulled up to her building, Jack didn’t know if he was angry, frustrated, or just scared shitless. Probably all of the above.

He handed the driver a few bills without even looking at the change, already pulling the door open and stepping out before the car had even come to a full stop. He jogged up the steps of her building, his hands clammy, stomach twisted in knots.

When he reached her door, he didn’t ring the doorbell. He didn’t wait. He just raised his hand and banged on the wood, the sound echoing in the stillness of the hallway. He felt like he might pass out from the tension in his body, the anticipation clenching his chest tighter with every passing second.

It felt like forever before he heard the sound of footsteps. And then the door creaked open.

After a few seconds, he heard the shuffle of footsteps, and then the door cracked open to reveal a very unimpressed, very sleepy-looking Anja. Fuck she was beautiful.

She blinked at him. “Jack?” Her voice was groggy, her hair a mess. “It’s one in the morning.”

“Yeah, I know,” he said quickly. “I—I needed to talk to you.”

She sighed, rubbing her eyes. “Are you dying?”

“No.”

“Is someone else dying?”

“No.”

She squinted at him. “Are you drunk?”

Jack hesitated. “...A little.”

Anja let out a dramatic sigh and leaned against the doorframe. “Alright, go on then. What’s so important that you had to wake me up in the middle of the night?”

Jack opened his mouth.

Then closed it.

Then ran a hand through his hair because shit, this was harder than he thought.

“Okay, so—” He exhaled sharply. “Something happened tonight, and I think I’m broken.”

Anja raised an eyebrow. “Broken?”

“Like, physically broken.” He gestured vaguely to himself. “Like… I had a girl—a very hot girl, by the way—practically throwing herself at me, and nothing. Not a damn thing.” He pointed at his own chest. “My body just—betrayed me.”

Anja stared at him for a second. Then, to his absolute horror—she burst out laughing.

Like, full-on, body-shaking laughter.

Jack scowled. “Okay, rude.”

“Oh my god.” She clutched the doorframe for support, laughing so hard she nearly lost her balance. “Jack, I swear, if you woke me up just to tell me you couldn’t get it up, I’m slamming this door in your face.”

“It’s not about that!” Jack groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Well, it is, but it’s also not.” He sighed, suddenly feeling exhausted. “Look, I was with this girl, right? And she was perfect—like, objectively, guys would kill to be with her. And I tried, I really tried—”

Anja snorted. “Poor girl.”

“—but the whole time, all I could think about was you.”

That shut her up.

Anja’s smile froze, her laughter dying in her throat.

Jack swallowed hard. “That’s the problem, Anja. It’s you. You’ve ruined me.” He pointed at her like she was some kind of criminal. “I used to be great at this. No thoughts, just vibes. But now? Now, I go out, I find a hot girl, I do my thing—except I can’t do my thing, because all I can think about is how she doesn’t laugh like you, or talk like you, or smell like you, or—fuck, Anja—hell, even the way she breathed just annoyed the hell out of me.”

Anja blinked. “...The way she breathed?”

Jack threw his hands in the air. “Yeah! Stupid, right?! But it mattered! And you wanna know why? Because she wasn’t you.” He let out a frustrated noise, pacing in a small circle before turning back to her. “I fell, Anja. Hard. And I don’t even know what the fuck to do with it, because I’ve never—” He stopped, exhaling shakily. His voice dropped, raw and unguarded. “I’ve never been in love before.”

She stared at him, eyes wide, lips parted slightly like she wasn’t sure if she should laugh again or take him seriously.

Jack exhaled loudly, raking both hands through his hair. “So, yeah. I’m here. I’m standing on your doorstep like a fucking idiot, telling you that I’m gone for you. And I don’t even know what I expect you to do with that information, but I couldn’t not tell you, because keeping it inside was making me lose my goddamn mind.”

Silence stretched between them.

Jack’s pulse thundered in his ears as he watched Anja process everything he just blurted out like an absolute lunatic.

Then, slowly, she started smiling again.

And then—yep, there it was—she was laughing again.

Jack groaned. “Oh my god, Anja, I’m baring my soul here!”

“I know,” she gasped between laughs. “That’s what makes it so funny!” She wiped her eyes. “Jack Hughes, king of hookups, showing up at my door at one in the morning to tell me he’s emotionally constipated and in love with me? This is gold.”

Jack scowled, crossing his arms. “I take it back. I don’t like you anymore.”

Anja just grinned, stepping forward until she was standing right in front of him. “Too late, idiot.”

Jack’s breath hitched.

She was close now. So close that he could see the tiny freckles on her nose, the way her lips curled just slightly at the corners like she was still fighting laughter.

Then, before he could say anything else, she reached up and flicked his forehead.

“Ow,” Jack muttered, rubbing the spot.

Anja smirked. “That’s what you get for waking me up.”

And then—finally—she tugged him down by the collar of his hoodie and kissed him.

Jack froze for half a second before his brain caught up.

Then?

Then, he kissed her back.

This kiss was different. It wasn’t rushed or uncertain. It wasn’t a fleeting thing. This was everything he’d been missing, everything he didn’t know he wanted. The warmth of her lips, the softness of her touch, and the unmistakable scent of oranges that clung to her skin—it was intoxicating. He couldn’t breathe without it. Without her.

When they finally pulled apart, Anja’s smile was wide, like she’d just won something precious.

Jack blinked at her, heart pounding. “So, just to clarify… you like me too, right? This isn’t just, like, a pity kiss?”

Anja rolled her eyes, but the affection in her gaze was clear. “Yes, dumbass. I like you.”

Jack let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, his entire body sagging with relief. “Oh, thank God.”

She laughed again, the sound like music to his ears, shaking her head as she pulled him inside.

And just like that, Jack Hughes—the guy who swore he'd never let anyone in—was completely, hopelessly lost.

—

It took Jack three months to finally introduce Anja to Luke and Thea. Not like he didn’t want to shout it out to the world the very next morning after his drunk love confession that Anja had said yes to be his girlfriend. The thing was, saying those words had felt strange, almost surreal for Jack. He didn’t remember the last time he’d had a real relationship—maybe back in high school? But high school felt like a lifetime ago. And back then, relationships were fleeting, brief. Nothing like what he felt for Anja.

But after meeting Anja, everything started to feel different. Jack couldn’t stop thinking about how he felt when he kissed her, when she smiled at him, when they were together, just the two of them. It wasn’t about sex, and that was the biggest shock to him. Every relationship he’d had before had always been tied up in physicality—chasing the high of the next touch, the next kiss, the next night. But with Anja, things were slower. The chemistry was undeniable, but they didn’t rush into anything. They took their time. And Jack was fine with that.

So when Jack finally brought Anja around Luke and Thea, it felt like a milestone. They immediately clicked with her and both of them could see how well Anja handled Jack’s sometimes overly confident, sassy nature. Anja, in her own calm, collected way, knew how to ground Jack. She didn’t put up with his antics, but she didn’t try to change him either. They balanced each other out perfectly. Jack made Anja more confident, and she made him more humble. The shift in him was noticeable—his arrogance softened when she was around.

Things between Jack and Anja were effortless, natural. They’d fallen into a rhythm—hanging out with Luke and Thea, then slipping into quiet nights together. They’d binge-watch their favorite shows, wander around town grabbing food at random spots. But as their connection deepened, so did the tension—the unspoken feelings Jack wasn’t ready to confront.

Anja had made it clear she wasn’t in any rush, but Jack noticed a flicker of impatience in her over time. And he understood why. But for the first time in his life, he didn’t want to rush things. He didn’t want to mess up what they had by diving into something physical, especially after everything he’d been through. Every other relationship had been based on attraction, and they’d all ended in disappointment. This time, he wanted something real. He wanted something that could last. He cared too much about Anja to risk ruining it.

Then came that night. After a double movie date with Luke and Thea, the evening wrapped up with everyone saying their goodbyes. Anja had laughed with Thea all night—joking and teasing like they’d known each other for years. Jack watched them, captivated by how easy and natural it all was. And more than once, he found himself just staring at Anja, wondering how he’d gotten so lucky to have someone like her in his life.

As Luke and Thea headed off to their room, Anja turned to Jack, her smile soft but knowing. She stepped into his space, her body warm against his as she slid under his chin, leaning into his chest. Jack’s breath caught, his heart rate picking up. The scent of her perfume only made everything more intense.

"Hi," she said, her voice low, playful.

"Hi, baby," Jack responded, his smile matching hers, but there was something more beneath the surface. He brushed a strand of her hair from her face, his fingers grazing her skin, sending a shiver down her spine. She was up to something.

Anja’s fingertip traced small, slow circles on his neck—light, teasing touches that were enough to make his body respond before his mind could catch up. "So, I was thinking..." she said, her voice filled with mischief.

"Dangerous thing to do," Jack teased, his voice rougher than he intended, heat already pooling in his chest. He could feel his body weakening.

Anja giggled, hitting him lightly on the chest. "Shut up, you."

Jack grinned, but his thoughts scattered. Her touch was like fire, and it was hard to think straight with her so close.

"Can I stay the night?" she asked, her voice soft, but there was an edge to it now—something more vulnerable, something Jack couldn’t ignore. "I’ve missed you these last couple of days. Your schedule’s been all over the place, and I’ve been working late shifts... It’d be nice to just snuggle with you. You know, wake up next to you."

Jack’s brain short-circuited. The thought of waking up beside her, of having her close, overwhelmed him. Just the way she said it—her words carrying something deeper—made his heart race. He couldn’t focus on anything else. She knew exactly what she was doing. The sly smile on her lips, the gleam in her eyes—it all made it clear she wasn’t just asking to stay. She was asking for something more.

Jack kissed her temple—soft, quick—before answering, his voice unsteady, without thinking, “Sure, Jaja. That sounds amazing.”

"Thanks, baby," she said lightly, almost singing the words. "I’ll just grab one of your T-shirts for PJs and take a quick shower."

Before Jack could even process it, Anja jumped up from his lap, leaving him sitting there alone, his mind racing. She was leaving him spinning, and he had no idea how to catch up. He tried to steady himself, but his thoughts were already scattered, caught between what he wanted and what he was afraid of.

“Minx,” Jack murmured under his breath, leaning back into the couch, running a hand through his hair. He knew exactly what she was doing, but he wasn’t ready to play along—not yet. Anja deserved more than a rushed moment while his brother and his girlfriend were just down the hall.

Still, the thought of her in his T-shirt, of her curled up beside him, made it hard to resist.

—

He exhaled slowly, forcing himself to think about anything else. Hockey stats. The weather. The existential dread of taxes.

Then the bathroom door clicked open.

Jack’s head snapped up.

Anja stepped out, bathed in the soft, golden glow of the bedside lamp. Her damp hair cascaded over her shoulders, darkened from the water, strands sticking to her collarbone. His breath stalled in his chest as his gaze drifted lower, catching on the oversized white T-shirt she’d chosen.

His T-shirt.

The fabric was old, worn thin from years of washing, clinging just enough to show the shape of her body. It barely covered her thighs, teasing at modesty—but when she moved, the dim light made the cotton damn near see-through. And under that shirt…nothing. Not even a pantie.

Jack’s grip on his phone tightened. Hard.

She knew what she was doing.

Anja smirked, catching the way his dark eyes flickered over her before he forced them back up. The way his chest rose and fell just a little too fast. She crossed the room slowly, stepping onto the bed, crawling toward him with deliberate slowness. Her fingers traced over his bare arm, featherlight, enough to make his breath hitch.

“You know,” she murmured, tilting her head, “I could have brought my own pajamas.” Her smirk widened. “But this just felt… better.”

Jack swallowed hard, his back pressing against the headboard like it could somehow create space between them. He needed to slow this down. He needed to say something—anything—to keep himself in check.

“Anja…” His voice was low, rough, a warning.

She didn’t let him finish.

Curling up beside him, she let her lips graze his jawline, barely a whisper of contact. Jack went still, every muscle in his body wound tight. Her breath was warm against his skin, her presence intoxicating, impossible to ignore.

“Relax, Hughes,” she teased. “I know what I want.”

Jack exhaled sharply, his hands flexing at his sides. He wanted to touch her. Badly. But if he did, there’d be no going back.

Anja’s fingers slid under the hem of his shirt, her nails tracing faint patterns across his stomach, slow, exploratory. “I want you, Jack,” she whispered against his ear. “Not just the careful version of you. I want all of you.”

Jack clenched his jaw, tilting his head back, fighting for control.

“Anja…” he ground out, his voice thick with restraint, “you don’t know what you’re asking for.”

She shifted, straddling his lap, her hands gripping his shoulders, forcing him to look at her. “Don’t I?” she challenged, her gaze locked on his.

Jack knew that look. The same one she’d given him in the bookstore the first night they met—the night they sat there, arguing over War and Peace, the night he’d felt something shift inside him. That knowing, unwavering gaze.

“I saw you, Jack,” she said softly. “Not just the cocky hockey player everyone else sees. Not just the guy who acts like nothing gets to him. I saw You. And I think—no, I know—that we are perfect for each other. So stop fighting. Stop being afraid that being yourself will chase me away. I trust you. With my heart, with everything.”

She leaned in, lips brushing his ear, her voice a breathless whisper.

“So take me, Jack.”

Jack’s restraint snapped like a frayed thread.

His hands found her waist, fingers pressing into her skin, pulling her against him. With a rough growl, he flipped them over, pressing her into the mattress, his body caging hers in.

His lips crashed onto hers, all heat, all desperation. It wasn’t careful. It wasn’t slow. It was every moment he’d held back, every time he’d wanted her and hadn’t let himself have her.

Jack’s hand slid up, fingers curling around her throat, firm enough to make her breath hitch. His grip wasn’t tight—just enough to remind her who was in control. He crushed his mouth to hers, his tongue sweeping inside, swallowing the soft gasp she let out.

Anja rocked her soaked core against his thigh, her fingers threading through his hair, tugging, demanding more.

Jack pulled back just enough to meet her gaze, his breath ragged, lips swollen, self-control slipping fast. “You sure you want this?” His voice was rough, almost a growl. “Luke and Thea are in the other room. And you won’t be quiet if we start, darling.”

His eyes locked onto hers—one last chance to stop him.

Anja arched up, pressing her body flush against his, nails scraping down his back, making him suck in a sharp breath. Her smile was wicked, teasing. “Pretty sure we’ve both heard enough of them to know they’re not exactly holding back.” Her lips brushed his ear, her voice pure sin. “It’s our turn.”

Jack’s smirk was slow, dark—pure fucking trouble. That cocky, self-assured look that had driven her crazy since day one.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmured, his lips ghosting over her throat, making her shiver. “You just opened Pandora’s box.”

#jack hughes #jh86 #jack hughes fanfic #jack hughes fic #jack hughes imagine #jack hughes smut #luke hughes fic #luke hughes fanfic #luke hughes #quinn hughes #nhl fic #nhl imagine

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ladyloveandjustice · 2 days ago

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I mean, Legend of Lattes did have a conflict, her coffee place straight up burned down? It wasn't a major focus for most of the book but it happened.

I've only read a few cozy fantasy things, and didn't find a few of them super memorable myself, but the definition of cozy fantasy is pretty broad from what I've seen. Emily Wilde is categorized as that and it is FULL of conflict and action and has some great and memorable characters.

But people have always liked stuff that's low tension/stakes/fluffy. See coffee shop aus in fanfic, or fanfic tagged fluff. See slice of life anime where characters are just hanging out. It's not a new thing. People have always wanted to watch or read things that just give cozy vibes and allow them to hang out with characters. The book industry realizing there was a market for that was inevitable. If it's not for you, it's not for you, but it's obviously for someone or it wouldn't be doing well.

I also think this is a good example of how condescending we can get when talking about a genre we don't like. Rather than say "it's not for me, I don't find the characters memorable and want better stakes, maybe there should be more variety" (which was more where OP was at) it has to be somehow bad for people to read it and write it. like...

And so sometimes it feels impossibly challenging to write any book except one where nothing bad happens and nothing is in danger and nobody is really bothered or worried about anything and everything is mostly fine and there aren't any major setbacks…..

That is a hell of a condescending assumption to make about those writers. Jesus. I'm a professional author too, but I would not want to make these assumptions about my fellow writers.You don't know if they're doing it because it's easy, or if they're doing it because they felt there was a need for it, or it was just an idea they liked writing. You don't like it, great. That doesn't mean those writers are slacking off or doing something wrong somehow. You don't know that they don't also write books with tension and conflict. I feel like most of them probably have, actually. Assuming they sat down and thought "omg this will be easy I'm so lazy" is just...do you make the same assumption about romance writers? It can get pretty formulaic, but that doesn't mean it's easy to write. Have you tried to write a cozy fantasy and sell it and make it do well? If not, I don't think you should talk about how easy it is.

But that leaves readers cold.

I mean not all readers obviously, since it wouldn't be doing well or selling well?

And frankly, I don't feel like it does much of anything to nourish either our souls or theirs.

It feels like eating a bag of potato chips for dinner instead of going to the effort of even just heating up a frozen dinner that has a vegetable in it.

Why does reading HAVE to "nourish your soul", whatever that means? What's wrong with eating a bag of potato chips? You teach college, so I wonder if you've ever run into a colleague who thinks this way about regular fantasy and sci-fi. Where they think that genre fiction is inherently more disposable and less challenging than literary fiction. I've sure as hell run into those professors, that look down on readers and writers of "commercial fiction", and I've seen the bad impact they have on their students. Do you agree with them? Because you're sounding a lot like them right now. This is the exactly the kind of argument they'd make.

You don't know whether these people don't also read books with more stakes or a variety of genres as well. Low effort reading has it's place, it just maybe shouldn't be the only thing you read if you want to actually experience the breadth of literature.

And I see this a lot in the book community, but dissing the stuff people are into and saying they need to challenge themselves more or they won't be smart like you (I see this with YA a lot too) is not going to convince them. It frames reading as a chore, and people often don't like doing chores in a life full of them, and reading is a hobby for a lot of people. Rather that say "you need to read this to better your mind" say what can be interesting or intriguing about these books that are more challenging, what kind of cool things you can get from them. Sometimes it seems to me like the point of these arguments is to feel superior, rather than actually convince people.

Nothing's wrong with reading low effort books or watch low effort shows--it's when say, a YA reader says books are inherently flawed if they don't spell things out like YA sometimes does or has more challenging themes. Or a cozy fantasy reader acting like all books should be cozy fantasy and books with tension are bad. Those are the people that ruin the discourse. But, doing the inverse isn't any better.

idk, man. I've taught university classes about this shit, but what do I know.

I teach grad school classes on writing, (I don't like to pull that card, since it's not like teachers can't have flawed ideas about their subject but since we're here) and have taught similar lessons. Yet, here's what I think I do know: telling students the genre they write is wrong is not something a teacher should do. Those literary fiction professors love doing that, and I'm not them.

As a teacher with a variety of students in a variety of genres, I have to read genres I don't like all the time--god I hate most 'dark romance' and man do I not get or like omegaverse, but I sure as hell had to read both. But just because I don't like them doesn't mean they're worthless, or there isn't a market for them, or it's wrong to write them. So I put those feelings aside, think about what kind of help the student needs to be successful in their chosen genre, and what the audience would want, because that will help them improve. (though I do try to hint if something seems like, incredibly sexist, that maybe we should reconsider that, or look at it from all angles and decide if it's something the story needs). And at the same time, I do teach them basic lessons on how to structure a story, and what's good about conflict, stakes, etc.

But I wouldn't tell any of them they're wrong for writing cozy fantasy even if it's not always my cup of tea, because there is a market for it, and I want them to do well at it and do what they love. What pays the bills pays them, and if you actually like what you do, that's also important. Writers do need to challenge themselves, which is why I encourage students to be open minded about all genres, try out writing them, try writing different POVs, different stuff even if they don't publish it, because that can only help them get better at what they do. But if what they publish is cozy fantasy, hey, it gets them good money and they like doing it, that's more than I can say for most jobs.

Cozy Fantasy and Why It Doesn't Work

I think I am among many who feel like they should love cozy fantasy and have found it an incredibly lacking genre.

This newly branded "cozy fantasy" genre that has taken readers by storm since 2020 and while it is new that books are now marketed as cozy, the genre itself isn't new. Howl's Moving Castle by Diana Wynne Jones is a great example of the genre before it was labeled and also how to make it work.

Cozy fantasy is defined by many as fantasy with low stakes. Fantasy aesthetic but less sword fights. On paper, it sounds great. But the execution has been less than stellar for readers like me. The lack of physical stakes has also impacted the emotional stakes of these books, creating forgettable characters with boring problems. As a romance reader, I find this frustrating. Romance is known for being a predictable and formulaic genre, the now defunct Romance Writers of America defined romances as needing happy endings, a term romances have continued to follow. Yet these romance texts manage to have low physical stakes (how to date your neighbor, how to confront your toxic friends, etc) while still maintaining high personal stakes that keep readers invested and begging for more. So I was initially confused why cozy fantasy authors struggle to write texts that connect to readers like me.

I think I have found the answer which is the genre is just here for vibes. It is all about aesthetic, not even worldbuilding that fantasy is known for as most cozy fantasy I read have so many problems as soon as you ask one question. It is hard to acknowledge that a genre that is pitched to work for readers like me doesn't work for many of us. Especially because occasionally there is one that works beautifully to my taste.

I often say my favorite cozy fantasies that are more contemporary are short and visual, which I plays into the idea of the genre being an aesthetic. The Bakery Dragon by Devin Elle Kurtz is a good example because it is a simple story that is given the perfect amount of pages and gorgeous visuals without dragging on when the message is very clear and easy to understand. Books like The Phoenix Keeper and Legends and Lattes have absolutely nothing for me, their very clear message hitting the reader over and over so the readers don't miss it and focusing on the aesthetic of worldbuilding rather than the reality of the fantastic elements within the world.

I guess my point is. . . I realize this genre isn't for me since I have realized it is more of an aesthetic than anything. .. .but I want it to be. Should I let it go and put my efforts elsewhere? Or should I keep exploring this new trend and find the hidden gems?

#writing #book talk #sorry...sometimes the tone of a thing gets to me even if i also don't care for the subject

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wrttenbyhan · 2 days ago

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geek gets the girl

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 :

popular girl!fem reader x geek/spiderman!han jisung

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 :

hey! my requests are officially open! you can ask me anything too!

you were the popular girl of seoul high school. cheerleader, friends with everyone, you had the whole package. han, on the other hand, was a total geek. he always carried a massive pile of educational books and read them during breaks and lunches. and because he was so nerdy, people would always pick on him.

but he had a secret that nobody knew. by day, he was just your regular nerd, but by night, han was no other than seoul's highly praised hero spiderman. he chose not to tell anyone about his secret persona, and to keep anonymous with his iconic mask.

today, you strutted into class with confidence, and your biology teacher paired you up with han to do a written project. upset that you weren't grouped up with your friends, you sat next to han. he smiles at you and waves. sure, he was a nerd. but this nerd was cute. well, anyhow, you needed to focus on your work.

“so,”

han mumbled, clearly nervous as hell to be working with the it girl of the school,

“we should probably start by planning the work before we write anything down.”

you nod, your bangs falling in front of your eyes, before flashing a smile. he smiled softly, glancing up from his notes to look at you. he seemed so nervous, and your presence was only making him more on edge.

“so i was thinking, since our topic’s on the human brain,”

he questioned, flipping through some pages of his notes to find the right one,

“we could start with writing down the different sections of the brain, and then describe what each section does?”

he offers, already writing down a few ideas with his pen. you were already getting quite bored, not being with your friends and all. you try and hold back a yawn, while replying,

“uh, yeah, sure..”

he looks up at you for a moment, noticing the lack of enthusiasm you had for the topic, and he frowns for a moment. why were you so dismissive? he tried not to let it bother him, and goes back to the task at hand instead.

“should we split the work in half? i’ll do half of the brain, and you do the other half?”

you weren’t really listening, since you were too busy daydreaming about spiderman, so you just nod in response, not really knowing what han said.

he noted at that moment that it was near impossible to get a conversation out of you since you were so dismissive, and it kind of bothered him. but he didn’t want to press on about it, so he just keeps quiet.

“alright. i’ll start with… the cerebrum,”

he says, starting to write down notes. you jolt up, confused as hell on what that was.

“the what now?”

he pauses at your question, his pen hovering midair. he blinks for a moment, a little surprised that you didn’t know what it was.

“...the cerebrum,”

he explained,

“it’s the largest part of the brain.”

you chuckle,

“o-oh, i knew that..!”

han raised his eyebrow slightly at your response, but decided not to question it. he continued jotting down notes instead.

“right…”

he starts writing again,

“anyways, the cerebrum is responsible for processing sensory information, and it controls things like… the central nervous system, motor functions.“

you didn't really want him to blabber on about some random part of the brain, so you swiftly replied,

“okay, well, i’m gonna do the frontal lobe.”

he nods, still a little bit confused at your lack of knowledge in biology. he was well-aware that you weren’t the brightest in academics, but seriously, you don’t know what the cerebrum is? he pushes that thought aside, and continues to take notes for his half.

after a moment, he glances at your notes on the frontal lobe.

“you know the difference between the frontal lobe and the occipital lobe, right?”

“what’s the occipital lobe..?”

he almost facepalmed, but he managed to hold himself back. how don’t you know what any of these are?

he rubs his temples and explains as he takes notes.

“the occipital… it’s the part of the brain responsible for visual processing. the frontal lobe makes decisions, controls voluntary behaviour, and manages emotions.”

you nod, finally remembering (not) what the difference between the two lobes were.

“ah, that thing!”

han almost let out another sigh. he was seriously so confused about why you don’t know this stuff. it’s basic knowledge. he went back to taking notes after that, trying to ignore your lack of intellectuality.

as you wrote, your hand bumped into han’s. his notes screech to a halt the second your hand touched his. he froze in place for a second in surprise, and his gaze drifted to your hand that was so lightly touching his. he almost forgot how to breathe for a moment.

he glanced down at your hand, and then at himself. his face was flushed a light red, now incredibly flustered at the feeling of your hand. he tried to focus on taking notes but with your hand so close to his, it was proving to be a struggle.

after a few moments of awkward tension between the two of you, his notes are still at a stand-still. his hands trembled a bit from the fact he was barely even focusing on his notes. he couldn’t help but constantly steal glances at your hand that was still lightly touching his, trying so hard to keep his composure in check.

eventually, your hand moved away, since you had to move onto the next page of your notebook. han can’t say that he wasn’t disappointed when your hand moved away. he almost wanted to reach out and grab your hand back, but he’s able to hold himself back. taking the deep breath, he tries to focus on his notes again, but that’s proving to be.. difficult.

“han?”

he was snapped out of his thoughts, and he looks up at you upon hearing his name.

“yeah?”

“does this make sense?”

you ask, showing him your work so far. he blinks, and looks over at the notes you took for the frontal lobe. after examining them for a moment, he nods softly.

“yeah, it makes sense. good job.”

hearing him praise you made you feel some sort of accomplishment, so you give him a big smile and keep writing, now in the right mindset to work.

han smiled softly, and he felt his cheeks heating up once more as he looked at your face. just looking at you was enough to leave his heart pounding like crazy. he pushed his notes aside, trying to compose himself.

“…anytime.”

he continues to look at you as you return to your work, admiring your face and your dedication. he could barely focus on his work anymore, his mind completely occupied with you. he lets out a soft sigh, and runs a hand through his hair, not realising that he was still so deeply flustered. he glances at you again, stealing a quick moment to take in all of your facial features. you were so damn cute.

at the end of class, and since it was last period, you decide to ask han,

“hey um.. do you want to come to my house for us to finish our work? or maybe we could go to yours?”

he almost forgot how to take a damn breath at the question. did you really just ask him to come to your house? he nods almost immediately, and replies almost too enthusiastically.

“uh, sure. we can go to my house if you want! my pleasure!”

you nod and he nodded as well, still trying to process the fact that you were going to be coming to his house. he began to pack up his stuff, and once he was done, he glanced over at you.

“ready to go?”

“yep!”

he grinned, and hoisted his bag over his shoulder.

“alright. let's go, then.”

he got up from his desk, and motioned for you to follow him.

as the two of you walked side by side, han struggled to keep his composure at the fact that the pretty and popular girl of the school was next to him right now. he kept stealing glances at you every few seconds, admiring your features. he didn't even realise how much time he was wasting just staring at you.

after what seemed like an excruciatingly long walk to han, the house finally came into view. he paused when they got in front of it and looked at you.

“well, this is my house... you can come in if you want. my parents aren't here, so... yeah.”

“nice house.”

he chuckles at your compliment. he hadn’t expected you of all people to be saying such a thing to him.

“thanks. c’mon, let’s go inside.”

he held the door open for you and he followed in after you, closing the door after him. once the two of you were inside, he turned to you,

“you can take a seat on the couch. i’m just gonna go to my room for a sec and grab something real quick, alright?”

you nodded and settled yourself in, grabbing your backpack and taking out all the things necessary for the project.

once han entered his room, he glanced over to his spiderman suit that was neatly hung up in the wardrobe. he knew he had to hide it so you wouldn’t find it. he was worried you’d find out his identity, so he tried to hide it between his regular-day clothes.

after that, he took a deep breath to try and calm his nerves. he made his way out of the room and into the living room, where you were sitting on the sofa. he smiled when he saw you and walked over to sit next to you.

after a long while of working on the project, you hear a blood-curdling scream. you look at han and he snaps out of his thoughts and frowns in concern, hearing the screams from outside.

“what the..?”

he looks over at the window, trying to see what was causing those noises. you sigh and tap him on the shoulder,

“hey, it’s okay, spiderman will save them.”

he freezes for a second, hearing you mention the name of his alter ego like that. he almost panics for a moment, but he quickly composes himself and looks at you.

“yeah.. right, he can handle it.”

he tries to sound casual, but inside he was absolutely losing his mind, since he was spiderman.

han heard the scream again, and he could tell that whoever was screaming definitely needed help. he looked at you, and internally panicked. what should he do? he couldn’t just leave you here on your own, but he had to go help. he made a split second decision and got up from the sofa.

“uh, i gotta go check on something real quick. i’ll be right back, alright?”

“sure!”

he rushed out the room and into his room, and shut the door.

“oh god, oh god, oh god..”

he muttered to himself, frantically opening the wardrobe to grab his spiderman suit. he changed into the suit as quickly as possible, putting on the mask and everything within a flash.

he rushed out of his room and quickly opened the window in the hallway, slipping out and onto the fire escape. he quickly swung out into the streets, heading toward the location of the screaming.

he swung along the rooftops, desperately trying to find the source of the screaming. the closer he got, the more he could hear the screams becoming more desperate and urgent. panic coursed through him at the thought of what might be happening to whoever needed help.

he finally spotted the scene, and his heart sank when he saw a woman being attacked by a group of men. adrenaline pumping through his veins, he gets down from the rooftop and lands in an alleyway, facing the thugs who were surrounding the poor woman.

he takes down the thugs without breaking a sweat, effortlessly dodging their punches and kicks. the thugs were no match for him, and eventually, they were all unconscious on the ground. he was breathing heavily from the adrenaline, but he could feel a wave a relief wash over him that he saved the woman in time.

“thank you, kind sir,”

the woman mumbles. han, or should i say spiderman, smiled softly behind the mask, and bowed his head to the woman in acknowledgment of her thanks. he made sure that she was alright before he turned away and swung back up to the rooftops once more.

he slipped in through the window and into his room, taking his mask off and letting out a huge sigh of relief. he changed out of his suit and back into his normal clothes, trying to calm his racing heart. that was way too close, way too close.

you were getting extremely worried. what was han doing in there? was he okay? so you called out,

“han? are you okay?”

he paused, and looked up when he hears you call out to him. he takes a moment to compose himself before responding, trying to keep his voice casual.

“y-yeah, i’m fine. why do you ask?”

“you’ve been in there for a while now.”

he rubs the back or his neck awkwardly, trying to come up with a quick excuse. he can’t tell you the fact that he just fought some bad guys in an alleyway..

“ah, yeah. i just needed to… use the bathroom. that’s all. heh..”

“oh, okay.”

he smiled weakly, hoping you’d bought the excuse. he felt a pang of guilt, lying to you so quickly and easily like that. he shook it off though, as he doesn’t have any choice but to keep this a secret from you. he walked back into the living room.

“anyway, sorry about that. let’s get back to work, yeah?”

“hey, can i borrow a pen from your room? mine ran out.”

he nodded at your request, he still felt nervous about what you might potentially find if he lets you go into his room on your own.

“sure, you can go in there and grab a pen. they’re in the first drawer in my desk.”

han watched as you got up and walked over to his room, and he immediately panics. what if you found his suit? that was the one thing he absolutely could not let you see. he tried to stay calm and casually watch you go into his room, internally praying that you wouldn’t look in the wrong places.

as you entered han’s room, the first thing your eyes landed on was the spiderman suit that was not-so neatly spread out over the bed. you freeze in your tracks, confusion and curiosity filling your mind.

“what the hell?”

your reaction had han jolted up from the sofa and rushing into his room to see what you were looking at. his face paled when he sees you looking at the suit, his heart dropping to his stomach at the thought of you discovering his secret.

but to his surprise, you say,

“you like to cosplay?”

he panics, desperately trying to think of an explanation for having a fully functional spiderman suit sitting on his bed.

“u-um, yeah! yeah, i like to cosplay...”

“cool.”

you say, before getting a pen out of han’s drawer. he let out a sigh of relief internally, glad that you seemed to have accepted the explanation so easily. he watched as you grabbed a pen from the drawer, and he slowly relaxed a bit at that fact you didn’t question it any further.

but suddenly, his spidey senses went off right before you even dropped the pen, and immediately he turned his head to you and caught the pen in an instant before it fell to the ground. he hands you the pen and you mumble,

“that was fast..”

he laughed awkwardly, still trying to keep up his composure in front of you. he rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly,

“y-yeah, i just... have good reflexes, i guess.”

he could see the suspicion slowly beginning to form in your expression, and he mentally panicked even more. he was trying so hard to keep his cool and act normal, but it was getting harder with each passing second. he had to think of something quick before you started asking too many questions, but it was too late.

“where’d you buy this costume?”

you ask, crossing your arms, making han feel like he was being interrogated. he was caught off guard by your question, and he stutters for a moment, trying to come up with a plausible answer.

“u-uh, i ordered it online. it was really expensive, but it's... top quality, y’know?”

you pressed on further,

“what store?”

he hesitated momentarily, racking his brain for a possible answer. he couldn’t tell you the truth, that’s for sure. so he blurted out the first retail store name that came to mind at that moment.

“uh, amazon. yeah, i got it on amazon.”

this time, you stay in silence. han let out a soft sigh of relief, internally thankful that you seemed to have accepted his answer without any doubt. he gave you an awkward smile, still trying to act nonchalant.

“yeah, so uh, you got the pen. i guess we should get back to studying, huh?”

“but not even amazon has such good quality like this,”

you say. han’s heart dropped at your reply, and he curses himself internally for picking such a bad lie. he's starting to panic even more now, trying desperately to come up with another excuse.

“uh, well... i, y'know... customized it a bit. yeah, i bought the base costume and then made some adjustments myself.”

as you stared longer, you noticed a few clumps of what seemed like spider webs on the fingers of the so-called costume, just like spiderman’s web.

“is that spider web on the fingers?”

damn. you noticed that little detail. he nodded in response, still trying to sound as casual as possible.

“yeah, i put that on there myself. it makes the costume look more realistic, y’know?”

even more suspicious, you raised your eyebrow. sure, han was always a bit nervous at times, but he was practically sweating at this point.

“are you.. who i think you are?”

his heart stopped, and he felt a wave of panic shoot through him at your question. he knew there was no way he could deny it now, not after everything that just happened. he hesitated for a moment before nodding slowly, his face pale with anxiety.

“y-yeah... i’m..”

he took a deep breath and spoke again, his voice barely above a whisper.

“...i’m spiderman.”

he stood there in silence after confessing his secret, waiting for your reaction. his heart was pounding so hard that he could hear the sound of his own blood rushing in his ears. he was terrified of what you might think of him now that you know the truth.

“you know,”

you say, getting confident now,

“i’ve always had a crush on spiderman, so i guess i have a crush on you now.”

his heart fluttered at your confession, and he blushed heavily as he processed your words. he couldn’t believe that you’re not just accepting his secret, but also admitting to having a crush on him.

“y-you... you’re not joking, right? this isn’t a prank or something?”

“you are so cute~”

his cheeks turned into an even deeper shade of red at your comment, and he felt a rush of emotions coursing through him. no one had ever called him cute before, especially not after knowing he was spiderman.

“you... you think i’m cute? really?”

han’s head snapped towards the sound of a window crashing, and his eyes widened with alarm. he instinctively put a hand on your arm, his expression turning serious.

“stay here. i need to check what that was.”

he quickly slipped into his spiderman suit, his mind focused on the situation at hand. he can’t help but feel worried about leaving you alone, but he shakes off the thought, knowing that he has a job to do.

he rushed out of his room and towards the source of the crash, his senses on high alert. he arrived at the scene in a matter of seconds, seeing that it was the result of a break in. the window was smashed open, glass scattered on the floor.

the intruder was caught off guard, and they turned around to face him. their eyes widened in surprise when they see the sight of spiderman in front of them. they quickly try to compose themselves and raise their hands in a surrendering gesture.

“i just... i was just looking for some money. i don’t want any trouble, i swear.”

han narrowed his eyes, not trusting a word the intruder says. he knew better than to let them off easily.

“yeah, right. i’ve heard that excuse before. what's your real motive here?”

the intruder tries to bolt out of the door, but han's quick reflexes and webbing stops him in his tracks. they look up to see spider-man hanging upside down on the roof, a smirk on his face.

“going somewhere?”

the intruder tries to break free from the webbing, but it's no use. they’re completely trapped.

“shit.. let me go, man! come on!”

han tsked at them, shaking his head in mock disappointment.

“nope, not happening. you’re not going anywhere until the cops get here.”

the intruder panicked when they heard the mention of cops, trying even harder to break free from the webbing.

“no no no, please don’t call the cops, man. i’ll do anything, please!”

he watched as the cops take away the intruder, feeling a sense of satisfaction that justice has been served. he turns his attention back to his surroundings, making sure everything is now safe and secure.

he glanced up towards his bedroom window and sees you standing there, watching him.

he chuckled softly as you came down to the porch, his heart skipping a beat at the sight of you being so close to him. he was still hanging upside down from the webbing, his eyes locked onto yours.

“you know, most people would be scared to approach me while i’m hanging upside down like this.”

you don’t know who or what possessed you to do so, but you kissed him, hard and deep, and full of passion.

han’s eyes widened in surprise as you kissed him, his heart skipping multiple beats at the unexpected action. the feeling of your lips on his was electric, and he completely forgets about being upside down for a moment. he kisses you back, his hand instinctively moving to your waist to pull you closer, the other still gripping the webbing.

he broke away from the kiss, panting slightly as he looked into your eyes. he couldn’t believe what just happened, and his cheeks were flushed with a mix of excitement and surprise.

“gosh... you... you really just did that.”

but you weren’t done with him yet. you tore the mask off of his face and kissed him yet again. he let out a soft gasp as you did so, his heart pounding in his chest. he was completely lost in the moment, his senses overwhelmed by the feeling of your lips on his again. he kissed you back hungrily, landing on the ground with a whoosh before wrapping his arms around you and pulling you even closer to him.

he couldn’t believe that this was happening, that you were actually kissing him like this. his mind was racing with a million thoughts, but none of them matter at the moment. all that mattered was the feeling of your lips on his, the warmth of your body against his.

after a while, han reluctantly pulled away, his and your lips were bruised as hell. han whispers,

"don’t you think it’s weird that i’m spiderman? or.. i don't know, too much to handle?”

“no, it’s cool.”

he let out a sigh of relief, feeling a weight lifted off his shoulders. he was expecting a lot of different reactions, but this was definitely not one of them.

“i’m... i’m glad. i was kinda worried you’d be freaked out, or think i’m a total freak for being spiderman.”

“it’s still kind of strange how you’re completely different at school.”

he chuckled softly, running a hand through his hair nervously.

“yeah, well, sometimes the really hot girl needs to know that the really geeky guy.. isn’t just a geeky guy.”

you chuckled,

“you’re calling me really hot now, huh?”

he blushed slightly at his own words, realizing what he just said.

“m-maybe i did..”