#its like two steps forward two steps back three steps forward two steps back two steps forward three steps back etc

[lsunstreakerl]

part ten of the maxiel corporate au! (do I need to change the name? things are getting complicated here. the day I write a clearly monogamist fic that's not the real sunny anymore)

heads up: both explicit content and violence in this one. the violence is somewhat mild, but it's still there.

it's the daniel and rico section, obviously, which is how this ended up being 3k. whoops. Max POV, Daniel POV.

Max double checks the list in his hand, waving behind him as he steps into the elevator. He's been doing good today- focused on his work, somewhat put his foot down with Daniel, and he's been exchanging messages with Rico during his brief breaks.

He leans against the wall as the elevator starts its ascent. He knows what he's actually going up here for- it'd be difficult not to.

He's trying not the think about last time, the way he'd been shoved down onto the desk, Daniel's hand pinning him. It'd be embarrassing to already be hard coming into the office, but he's rapidly headed that direction, hot under his shirt collar.

He's worrying at the paper in his hands, fingertips running across the folds and creases. He'd taken a picture of it, because he doesn't want to lose it or drop it anywhere.

There's the now-familiar pleasant chime of the elevator doors sliding open, and then Max is making his way down the hallway- a left, a left, and a right- to Daniel's office door. He knocks, rolling back onto his heels as he waits.

"Come in."

Max slides the door open, slipping inside. Daniel's staying late as well, and his curls are messy, like he's been running his hand through them. He looks about as tired as Max and the rest of the finance department feels.

And apparently also how they look, because Daniel raises an eyebrow at him and whistles, low and long.

"Damn, there a war going on downstairs? I didn't realize I'd be dragging you from the frontlines, babe."

Max makes a so-so motion with his hand, shrugging. He's too tired to feel flustered, not quite up for the normal cat and mouse game talking to Daniel always feels like.

"Might as well be, sir. I don't think anyone's a fan of Netco at the moment."

Daniel scowls, capping a pen with more force than necessary.

"Tell me about it, christ."

Max takes a few steps forward. There's an open space on the desk, and Daniel hasn't gestured for Max to come over, but-

Everyone is tired. Max doesn't mind sticking to routine.

The pleasantly surprised expression on Daniel's face when Max deftly steps around his knee and hops onto the desk is more satisfying than Max anticipated.

Daniel's shoulders relax, hands coming down to spread his fingers across Max's thighs.

"Taking initiative, Maxy?"

Max tilts his head to the side, leaning back on his hands.

"We have performance evaluations coming up, sir."

Daniel laughs- a real one, which Max is learning is different from the ones he'll give over the phone.

"Glowing marks for you babe, I've only heard good things."

He reaches up, tapping lightly at Max's jaw.

"Real pretty face too."

Max isn't sure if it's the sleep deprivation, the pleasant feeling he's had all day, the pent up horniness, or a combination of the three- but he's feeling bold, twisting his head to capture two of Daniel's fingers in his mouth, running his tongue over them.

Daniel makes a surprised noise, pressing them against the inside of Max's cheek.

"Yeah?"

Max hums, spreading his thighs on the desk. He wants.

Daniel presses down on his tongue before withdrawing his fingers, pushing his thumb into Max's bottom lip.

Max makes a soft noise, waiting for an instruction, but Daniel seems mildly captivated. He's not doing anything.

If Daniel wants Max pent up and horny all the time, he's going to have to deal with the consequences. Max slides off the desk, folding down onto his knees between Daniel's legs, looking up at him.

Daniel's eyes are wide and entranced, hand gently falling into Max's hair.

"Maxy, what's gotten into you?"

Max rests his cheek on Daniel's thigh, his own hands held neatly in his lap. He's not sure how to answer- just knows he feels more settled in his own skin about everything, feels less like he's in free fall than he did before.

The knowledge that he'll be calling Rico after helps. Even if he does feel weird when he's done with Daniel- and he usually does- Rico will make it better.

Max doesn't really want to answer though. He knows what he's up here for, and so does Daniel, even if the energy is different this time.

Daniel laughs softly, fingers absentmindedly carding through Max's hair.

"Okay babe, we can do that. But I've got to actually get some things handled, and you really do need to go back to work after- so how about we try something different, yeah?"

Max blinks, waiting.

"I need that list, sweetheart."

Oh, right.

Max carefully pulls it out of his pocket, handing it up to Daniel. There's a moment where Daniel's fingers brush over the back of Max's hand, heat shooting through him.

"Thank you."

His other hand pulls Max's head up a bit, forcing their eyes to meet.

"Can you be good if I give you something to keep your mouth occupied?"

Max is confused for a moment before realizing, cheeks flushing as he nods. Daniel pats the top of his head.

"Good."

He rolls forward, and Max has to scoot further underneath the desk to accommodate. It's darker, noise muffled through the thick wood- his head is spinning.

Daniel's fingers nimbly unclasp his belt, and then he's pulling his cock out, letting Max wrap his fingers around the base.

Max gives a few experimental licks at the tip, but Daniel's hand tightens in his hair, tugging.

"I said be good, babe."

Max makes a soft noise, sinks a few inches down. Daniel's fingers tighten again before relaxing, smoothing gently over his hair in a way that almost feels apologetic.

Max can feel his shoulders sinking down, muscles relaxing as he takes Daniel further down his throat. His mind is starting to float away from him, blurring at the edges of his consciousness in a way that Max is learning he really likes.

Daniel's hand is heavy on his head, and Max can faintly hear him speaking above him, but it's not at him, so he doesn't think too hard about it.

At some point- Max isn't sure how long it's been- he can feel drool starting to pool at the bottom of his mouth, and he doesn't even think before he swallows.

Daniel's voice hitches above him, fingers squeezing. Max winces, because he hadn't really meant to do that.

He does his best to behave after that, letting Daniel's voice wash over him from above, eyes drifting closed. It's not quite like sleeping- but it's relaxing.

He doesn't even realize that Daniel has stopped talking, lazily blinking his eyes open when Daniel's thumb brushes across his hairline.

"Maxy, how you doing down there?"

Max makes a soft hum. Daniel's half-hard, and Max is only duly aware of his own arousal.

He leans his face into Daniel's hand. It's surprisingly nice, being like this with him. So far most of Max's time with Daniel has been overwhelming, a blur of embarrassment and pleasure, but this is different- he feels like putty, resting between Daniel's legs, holding his cock in his mouth.

It's slowed his brain down, eased the tension out of his shoulders and spine.

Daniel's fingers slide back into his hair, and then he's pulling back, his other hand reaching down to support Max's head.

"C'mere babe."

Max goes easily, blinking against the bright light as he shuffles out from the desk. His legs are asleep, buckling under him when he tries to stand.

Daniel's quick- gets his hands around Max's waist, bringing him back up and into the air, settling him on the desk again.

Max feels boneless, eyes hazily watching Daniel's. His face softens, one hand coming back to Max's thigh.

"Yeah, I think that's enough for today."

Max isn't sure how long he sits there- he feels like he's been out in space, and he's trying to come back down to Earth. Daniel keeps one hand curled around his hip, but he's rolled closer to the desk, still navigating around on his monitor.

Max finally starts to shift, rolling his ankles carefully as feeling comes back to them. Daniel's eyes flick up to his from where he's been intently reading an email, the edge of his pen caught between his teeth.

Daniel grins, squeezing his hip.

"Feeling good?"

Max thinks about it for a moment- he is. He really is- more than he thought was possible, considering they didn't really do anything.

"Yes sir."

Daniel's smile is softer than Max is used to, not quite as sharp as it's been before.

"Catering is just about here, if you're ready to head back downstairs."

Max feels his eyebrows furrow.

"But sir, you didn't-"

Daniel cuts him off with a soft squeeze.

"It was what I needed, babe. Good job."

The praise flickers at the pit of Max's stomach, turns into something warm and gooey inside of him. He wants more of it.

Daniel's hands still hover by his waist as Max slips off the desk, but his legs are more stable now, supporting his weight.

"Thank you, sir."

Daniel tilts his head, looking like there's something else he wants to say- but he just shakes it softly.

"I appreciate you bringing the list up."

Max nods, and then he's leaving Daniel's office. He doesn't go back down to the fourth floor- gets out at the 5th instead, where everyone has gone home for the night.

He steps into one of the employee bathrooms, pulling his phone out of his pocket.

"Max?"

"Hi, Rico."

There's a low noise from Rico on the other end of the line, and then the background chatter on his end fades away as Max hears a door shut.

"You sound good."

Max feels good- better than he ever has after Daniel before. He hums, eyes drifting shut as he pins the phone between his ear and his shoulder.

"It was gentle today. He didn't actually fuck me though, which was weird."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah, I just kind of stayed under the desk for a little bit. I feel like I took a power nap, honestly."

"That's good. Sounds like he took care of you for once. You feeling good too?"

Max nods before he remembers Rico can't see that.

"Yes, I'm very relaxed. But it's nice, being able to talk to you."

Rico makes a soft approving noise, voice dropping lower.

"Glad to hear it. You did such a good job for us both, being good for Daniel like that. I'm proud of you."

Max leans his head back against the wall, letting the praise smolder low in his gut, seeping warmth into him. First Daniel, now Rico- Max is going to develop an ego if they keep this up.

"He's catered us dinner for the department, since we're all having to stay late tonight."

"Yeah, that's nice of him. I have a match tonight, so I won't be home, but you're more than welcome to stay at my place, okay?"

"Oh- thank you. I might do that, it depends on how the rest of the night goes."

"Always available, Max. I'm never going to be upset if I come home and you're there."

Max hums. He needs to go back downstairs- his brain is starting to kick back up, running smoother than it had before. There's a couple reports he wants to go over again.

"It'll just be a surprise then. Have a good match, Rico. Take 'em for all their worth."

"Hell yeah."

------

It's dark out when Daniel finally logs out, scrubbing his hands down his face. He's not worried-

He's a little worried.

The official VIP invitation to a local match had caught him by surprise until he saw who it was from, and now he's moderately concerned for his life.

Or his teeth, at the very least. It's inspired him to get an appointment set up with his dentist, but if he loses a few he's not going to be happy.

He shakes out his hands, standing from the desk. It'd been a surprising change of pace with Max earlier- Daniel really had intended to be less... tender, about the whole thing. It's a strictly sex based arrangement, so it's entirely inconvenient that he's suddenly started noticing the freckle on Max's lip, or his stupid little slack emoticons, or the way he'd looked so trustingly up at Daniel from under the desk.

Max isn't interested in anything from Daniel beyond that, and Daniel shouldn't be interested in anything from Max. He has a feeling that Rico is about to beat that message into his skull.

Literally.

------

Daniel... sort of forgets about the looming threat above his head. He gets caught up in the lights, in the showmanship- he's always been a fan of fights, and being in such a good seat really is exciting for him.

He remembers the moment they announce Rico. His blood ices over, sweat beading at the back of his neck. Rico is huge, and he's exactly as jacked as Daniel expected him to be.

He gets a bit lightheaded- hears the match start, watches with blurry vision as Rico tears through his opponent like butter.

There's a moment where Rico turns, eyes catching Daniel's for a brief moment- right before he hits the other man so hard Daniel feels sympathy whiplash in his neck.

There's a ding of the bell, and then Rico is definitely looking at him- blood smeared on his teeth, lips stretched into a grin.

Daniel feels a shiver run down his spine- maybe it's the last of his self preservation finally deciding he's a lost cause and jumping ship. If Daniel was street smart, he'd be hightailing it out right now- wouldn't even give Rico the opportunity.

Unfortunately, he's not. It's a well known personal failing- he's got a good eye for business, but sometimes common sense likes to skip him.

So he follows Karim back down the hallways to the setup rooms, waiting patiently after Karim leaves. Part of him wants to ask him to wait with him, protect him from getting beat to a fucking pulp, but-

Karim is part of Rico's team, and that would probably just end with two people hitting him instead of one.

------

Daniel's fiddling with the rings on his fingers when the door swings back open again, and then Rico is stepping in.

There's a wet towel around his neck, pink spots on it from where he's been wiping blood off of his split lip. He kicks the door back shut behind him, eyeing Daniel. His eyes drag across him slowly, and Daniel shifts where he's sitting on the counter, uncomfortable.

Rico huffs a laugh, tossing the towel onto one of the counters as he leans back against the door with his arms crossed, blocking the only exit.

"What, don't like being looked at like a piece of meat?"

Oh.

Daniel has a feeling that charisma isn't going to serve him well here- he averts his eyes.

"Look at me."

Rico's voice is low and dangerous, and Daniel's looking back at him immediately, heart pounding. There's adrenaline hot in his veins, but nowhere for it to go.

Rico steps forward off the door, moves right up into Daniel's space. His back is flat against the wall, large fingers coming up to grip his jaw tightly. Rico is a burning line of heat in front of him- Daniel feels tiny in his shadow. If someone opened the door, they probably wouldn't even be able to see him- it makes him feel like a prey animal, like he wants to roll over and show his belly, hoping and praying that it's enough.

He lets Rico move his chin up, meeting his eyes.

His heart has never gone this fast in his life.

"You are one lucky bastard, that Max likes what the two of you have going on. If it was up to me, I'd fucking leave you here in a trash bag."

Daniel swallows, afraid to move. Rico sneers down at him, split lip glistening with fresh blood.

"But I don't like how you're doing it, so here's what's going to happen, yeah? You're going to step it up-"

His fingers grip tighter for emphasis, jerking Daniel's head slightly.

"-and do it right. If you keep using him and tossing him away, I'll leave you in so many pieces they'll give up looking for you. Got it?"

Daniel nods, eyes wide. He can do that- of course he can do that, he's realized that he wants to do that.

Rico tilts his head, eyeing him appraisingly, and then suddenly there's a thick thumb in Daniel's mouth, pressing down meanly on his tongue-

Daniel whines.

Rico scoffs.

"Yeah, that's what I thought. You're going to be a good boy now when you fuck Max, yes? Treat him nice, take care of him after. He tries so hard to behave for you-"

His thumb curls behind Daniel's bottom teeth, yanking him forward into his chest so that Rico can look down at him.

"I think it's time for you to put in a bit of effort as well."

Daniel breathes shallow through his nose, nodding. He can do that, he can-

Rico pulls his thumb out, pushing Daniel back against the wall as he turns away.

"I don't want to have to have this conversation again Ricciardo- I won't be as nice the second time."

Daniel slumps back against the cool concrete behind him, face flushed. His heart feels like it's going to beat out of his chest, and his eyes are wide as he tracks Rico moving around the room, pulling a hoodie over his head.

Rico looks back over at him, impassive.

"Handle yourself, and get the fuck out of my building."

Daniel has never listened to someone quicker.

[yoursinisforgiven]

GUNS & ROSES ──

pairing: vic x reader (pickel/housekeeper)

cw: age gap relationships (vic is in his late 50s/early 60s, reader is at least 18), issac and pickel don’t have romantic feelings for eachother(maybe), mentions of violence, guns, mentions of war(?), reader is practically “sold”.

you are responsible for your own media consumption.

Surely—he’d seen through you.

Deeming you a threat had begun to make you feel quite guilty for something you hadn't even done. Guilt was a strange thing that way, wasn’t it? It clung to you even in innocence, curling its fingers around your throat, tightening, whispering that maybe—just maybe—you had done something wrong, even if you couldn’t name what.

The man—Vic, as you’d learned from Isaac—had delivered what could only be considered a warning. No, perhaps a threat. And it had shaken you in a way you weren’t prepared for.

You tried to bite it back, to push it down, but it was there—slithering beneath your skin, pooling like ice water in your stomach. You could still feel the weight of his gaze, calculating, dissecting, as if peeling back your layers one by one to see what was underneath.

Your fingers tightened around the empty silver platter in your grasp. The same platter you had used earlier to serve Isaac and Vic their whiskey. Isaac had taken his with ice, the cubes clinking against the glass as he swirled them absentmindedly. Vic, however, had requested his neat—straight from the bottle, no dilution, no compromise. The request had struck you as odd at the time, but now, standing in the suffocating presence of this man, it made perfect sense.

Vic didn’t seem like the kind of man who tolerated dilution of any kind.

You swallowed thickly, your throat clicking, breath shuddering through your nose. He loomed over you, casting a long shadow, his presence oppressive in the way a storm cloud blocks out the sun.

Don’t panic. Focus, focus, focus.

You latched onto the tiny details around you, desperate to ground yourself. The faint tapping of raindrops against the window—ghosts of the earlier downpour. The cool weight of the silver platter against your trembling fingers. The heavy, heady scent of sandalwood that clung to Vic’s skin like an aura, filling the air between you. It was intoxicating in a way you didn’t want to admit—woodsy, dark, commanding. The kind of scent that lingered long after its owner had gone.

Your head felt light. Your pulse was erratic. Dear god, were you going to pass out?

“Sit down, Vic.”

Isaac’s voice cut through the tension, sharp and commanding, like the snap of a taut wire finally breaking.

You flinched.

Not from fear—no, not exactly—but from the sheer force of it. The way Isaac’s presence alone seemed to shift the air, the balance of power in the room tipping. And yet, despite the unease curling in your gut, you felt an overwhelming sense of relief at his return.

Your heart, which had been racing moments ago, began to slow, the adrenaline receding like a wave.

But Vic did not move.

Not immediately.

He lingered, his dark eyes locked onto you, unblinking, unrelenting. A predator studying its prey. His expression was unreadable, though something flickered behind his gaze—something close to amusement, but laced with something colder, something cruel.

Then, after a long pause, he exhaled a quiet chuckle and turned away, moving with the slow, deliberate ease of a man who knew he owned the room. He sank into one of the leather chairs by the fireplace, stretching out as if settling into a throne. The firelight flickered against his sharp features, casting deep shadows across his face.

His long fingers drummed lazily against the armrest. A measured, rhythmic sound. One-two-three. One-two-three. A heartbeat. Or perhaps a countdown.

Isaac stepped forward, his movements unhurried, but there was purpose in them. He positioned himself between you and Vic—not an overt act of protection, but an unspoken barrier nonetheless.

"You’re making them nervous," Isaac remarked, voice steady, unreadable.

Vic’s smirk widened, slow and deliberate, his eyes still trained on you even as he leaned back into the chair. "Am I?"

There was something insidious in the way he said it. He already knew the answer. He was enjoying it.

Silence stretched between them, thick and heavy. The only sounds were the rain against the windows and the distant crackle of the fireplace.

You shifted slightly, fingers flexing around the edge of the platter. You weren’t sure if you should leave or stay, if your presence here was necessary or if you had simply become an unwilling spectator to something far beyond you.

Vic and Isaac continued their conversation, the air heavy with unspoken tension. Isaac had returned to his chair, sinking into the familiar leather with the ease of someone who knew how to command space. Your feet, almost instinctively, carried you closer to him, as if drawn by some invisible thread, the weight of the moment pressing in on you like the oppressive silence after a storm.

You weren’t listening. Not entirely.

Your attention flitted between the conversation, not so much out of interest but out of a need to make sense of the strange dance unfolding between these two men. At times, Isaac’s voice would cut through, sharp and sure, as he discussed troubling details you had no intention of remembering—a woman found dead by a tree, buried in shallow earth, her identity another forgotten casualty of a city’s decay. Gang violence. The rise of drug use in Stockton. The familiar hum of bleak reality that wrapped itself around the conversation like a shroud. You hadn’t asked to hear it, but the words were inescapable, lingering in the air, suffocating you with their weight.

And then Vic spoke again. His words, casual as ever, but heavy with something more—something subtle but sinister.

“When you’re done needing a housekeeper, I’d love to have them as my own.”

The words hit you like a slap in the face.

You froze, your breath catching in your throat, and in that moment, time seemed to stretch, thick and unyielding. You didn’t know whether to react or keep quiet, to shrink back or confront it head-on. The notion of being owned—a mere object to be traded, borrowed, exchanged—it twisted something deep within you, a gnawing sense of indignity and disgust. Your eyes snapped from Vic to Isaac, hoping, praying that Isaac would dismiss the comment, that he would laugh it off, or even challenge it. But Isaac’s face was unreadable, his gaze fixed on the flames flickering lazily in the hearth.

You could feel your pulse quicken, your stomach twisting into tight knots. Vic, it seemed, had no concept of boundaries, no awareness of the humanity standing in front of him. He saw you not as a person, but as a possession to be bartered for—something to be acquired with the flick of a coin, the exchange of favors. Your hand gripped the silver platter so tightly that the cool metal began to bite into your skin, your knuckles white with the effort.

Isaac’s voice broke the silence, low and steady.

“That won’t be necessary.”

But there was something in his tone that wasn’t quite final, wasn’t quite the sharp rebuke you expected. It was something softer—more resigned, as though he had already made peace with the fact that a man like Vic didn’t simply let go of a proposition once it had been thrown out there.

Vic, unfazed, tilted his head with that all-too-familiar smirk. He took another slow sip of his whiskey, letting the silence drag on before speaking again, his voice like velvet slipping through a crack in the door.

"Information isn’t free, Isaac," Vic said, his tone carefully measured, but underlined with the quiet certainty of a man who knew exactly how to play his cards. “You’ve been very generous with your time, your resources. But we both know that we live in a world where nothing comes without a price. You of all people should understand that.”

Isaac didn’t flinch. His gaze remained steady, though you saw his fingers tighten around his glass, just a little. Vic’s words, it seemed, were digging beneath the surface. It was a reminder that everything—everything—had its cost.

“Vic,” Isaac began, but the words came out slow, deliberate, as if he was weighing each one. “I didn’t ask for this.”

Vic’s lips curled into a smile, his eyes narrowing slightly, the look of a man who relished the tension. “I know you didn’t. But now you’re in it. You want information? It’s not just going to fall into your lap. You want to move your little investigation along, have access to what I know? We both know how this works. A favor for a favor.”

Isaac’s gaze flickered briefly to you, then back to Vic. His face was unreadable, but the tension in his jaw betrayed his annoyance. You felt a prickle of unease crawl down your spine, the weight of what was being asked—a silent exchange you were not a part of, but inextricably bound to.

Vic leaned forward, his fingers lightly tapping the rim of his glass. His eyes never left Isaac’s as he continued, his voice dropping lower, more persuasive. “Let me make this simple for you, Isaac. You give me them, and in return, I’ll share what I know. You don’t need to be a hero. Just a businessman. A simple transaction. And at the end of it, you’ll have what you came for.”

The words them hit you like a cold, wet stone. You couldn’t breathe. The room seemed to shrink, and for a moment, you thought you might choke on your own words. You wanted to speak, to tell Vic where he could shove his offer, to scream at Isaac for even considering it. But you couldn’t move, couldn’t say anything.

Isaac’s fingers twitched on his glass again, his knuckles flexing as if fighting the urge to crush it. His silence seemed to stretch, the weight of his decision sitting heavy in the air.

And then, in the space between breaths, the tension broke. Isaac spoke, his voice calm, too calm.

“One year,” he said, the words measured but final. “You can have them for exactly one year.”

Vic’s smile widened, but this time, there was something darker in it—a predator securing its prey. “One year. I can work with that.” His eyes gleamed with quiet satisfaction. “A year, and we’ll call it even. A year, Isaac. Let’s see what they’re made of.”

Your heart pounded in your chest as Vic’s words sank in. A year. A full year, where your body, your autonomy, would be traded as part of some grotesque deal. For what? For information? For favors? You didn’t know, but it hardly seemed to matter. Your fate had been decided in a conversation you hadn’t even truly been part of.

──

Maybe a little paper hanging around your neck with the word SOLD scrawled in thick, bold ink would’ve been less demeaning. At least then the humiliation would have been blatant, an undeniable mark of your new reality, rather than something lurking between the lines of a deal struck without your consent.

You’d like to say it didn’t hurt—not really. That it was nothing more than a passing moment, a brief arrangement in the grand scheme of things. And yet, despite your best attempts to rationalize it, a dull ache sat heavy in your chest, pressing against your ribs like an unwelcome guest.

You barely knew Isaac, after all. Your stay had been short, your role insignificant in the grand scope of his life. A housekeeper, a presence in the background, a moving part in a machine that would continue running whether you were there or not. You couldn’t blame him entirely. Looking back, it was never about you. It was about business.

Everything was.

Your presence in Isaac’s home.

Vic’s visit.

Your departure.

Just another transaction, another favor exchanged.

You hadn’t argued at first, not in front of Vic. It wasn’t fear, exactly, but something close. A quiet awareness of the way he carried himself, the sharp, calculating way his eyes moved as if peeling back the layers of everyone he encountered. You could feel his gaze even when he wasn’t looking at you directly, a weight pressing against your skin.

So you’d kept quiet, stiffened your spine, and held your breath, willing yourself to be nothing more than a shadow in the corner.

But the moment Vic left the room, stepping away to take a call, something inside you snapped.

The breath you’d been holding came out in a rush, and before you knew it, you were turning on Isaac, the words tumbling from your lips before you could think better of them.

“He was bluffing.”

Isaac didn’t look at you right away. He was still seated in his chair, long fingers resting lightly against the rim of his glass, the amber liquid inside catching the light. His expression remained unreadable, as if he hadn’t just traded you away for information.

“He still would have given you what you wanted,” you pressed, your voice rising slightly, desperate to make him understand. “He just wanted to see if he could push you. That’s what men like him do, isn’t it? You know that. You knew that, and you still—”

You stopped yourself before the words could spill out, your throat tightening.

Isaac finally turned his gaze toward you then, and something about the way he looked at you made your stomach twist. He wasn’t angry. He wasn’t even indifferent. It was worse than that. He looked as though he had expected this. As though he had anticipated every single thing you were going to say and had already made peace with it.

“Perhaps,” he said simply, his voice as calm as ever. “But I couldn’t risk it.”

“Risk what?” You took a step forward, your hands curling into fists at your sides. “You—” You exhaled sharply, shaking your head. “You don’t even care, do you?”

Isaac’s brows lifted slightly, as if the question amused him. “Would you rather I lied to you?”

You hesitated, unsure of what answer you even wanted.

“Would it make you feel better,” he continued, his voice taking on that measured, almost philosophical tone, “if I told you I agonized over the decision? That it kept me up at night?” He tilted his head slightly, watching you. “Or would it be worse to know that it was a simple choice? A logical one.”

You hated him in that moment.

Not because he had done this, but because he had made peace with it so easily.

Because he was right.

Because in his world, this was logical.

Because people like you, people without power, without leverage, were nothing more than chess pieces on a board men like Isaac and Vic played on. And whether you had been traded away through manipulation or not didn’t change the outcome.

“You’ll survive,” Isaac said, leaning back in his chair, as if that was enough.

You swallowed down the sharp, bitter retort that rose to your tongue.

Because he was right about that, too.

You would survive.

But survival wasn’t the same as being free.

And you had just been handed over to a man who had yet to show you whether he preferred his toys broken or intact.

So, you couldn’t complain—you had nothing to complain about, one owner to the next.

Except for the fact that Vic had turned on his heated seat without a second thought and hadn’t even bothered to ask if you wanted yours on. Had he expected you to ask? Was this some unspoken test, one of those subtle power plays where silence was a currency and the person who spoke first lost?

It hadn’t taken much to get you into the car. You had no bags to pack, no belongings to gather. Nothing tethered you to Isaac’s home except for the fading warmth of the space you used to occupy. It was a strange thing, leaving a place without leaving a trace. You weren’t sure if that made it easier or worse.

The interior of Vic’s car was excessive, suffocating in its wealth. The red leather of the seat beneath you was cold at first, but as the vehicle hummed forward, it began to warm, molding against your skin. You hated the way it felt—not because it was uncomfortable, but because it was designed to be the opposite. It was luxury, meant to be indulged in. You, however, were not here to indulge.

Nothing about Vic surprised you—not really. He was the kind of man you thought you could understand at a glance. Expensive tastes, a voice that rarely wavered, a presence that occupied space with the ease of someone who had never been denied anything.

And yet.

He drove himself.

That detail gnawed at you, not because it was particularly important, but because it was something you hadn’t predicted. Men like him had drivers, didn’t they? They had people to open doors, to ferry them around like kings in their own little kingdoms.

You thought about asking why.

You didn’t.

You didn’t care to.

The city moved past in a blur, neon lights smearing against the wet pavement as the car sliced through the streets. Rain from earlier had left everything slick, the reflections in the puddles distorted, like a world slightly out of sync with itself.

At a red light, Vic finally spoke.

“Quiet, aren’t we?”

You felt his gaze before you heard his voice, the weight of it pressing against you, expectant.

You kept your eyes fixed on the windshield, watching as the traffic light cast a dull red glow across the hood of the car. There was no reason to answer. There was nothing to say that he didn’t already know.

But the silence stretched, and you felt the moment turning into something else—something pointed.

So you spoke.

“Would you prefer me to entertain you?”

Your voice was steady, though you weren’t sure if that was due to defiance or resignation.

Vic chuckled—low, almost thoughtful. “Now, that depends.”

You finally turned your head slightly, just enough to catch the edge of his profile in the dim light. “On what?”

“On whether or not you’re any good at it.”

The way he said it, light but deliberate, made it clear he wasn’t talking about casual conversation.

You exhaled sharply through your nose, turning your gaze back forward. “I doubt I’d meet your standards.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” he mused, resting one hand casually against the wheel. “Isaac seemed fond of you.”

You stiffened.

Vic caught it.

“That bothers you?” he asked, tilting his head slightly. “Interesting.”

You clenched your jaw, refusing to give him anything more.

The light turned green.

The car lurched forward, smooth and controlled.

Vic didn’t press the topic, at least not immediately. Instead, he let the silence settle again, stretching the tension like a taut string. You wondered how long he would let it sit before he plucked at it again.

It didn’t take long.

“You know,” he said, conversational as ever, “I could’ve asked for more.”

You frowned, turning to him fully this time. “More?”

“Mm.” He nodded, fingers tapping idly against the wheel. “Information isn’t free. Isaac knows that.” He shot you a glance, something unreadable lurking beneath his expression. “But he offered you.”

The way he said it sent a chill down your spine.

“He didn’t offer me,” you corrected sharply. “You took advantage of the situation.”

Vic smirked. “Did I?”

You hated that he made you second-guess it.

“I could have asked for more,” he continued, voice measured, as if he were thinking aloud rather than speaking to you. “A steeper price, a trade less… temporary.”

Your hands curled into fists in your lap. “Temporary?”

Vic hummed, pleased that you caught that part. “A year,” he said, casual, final. “That was our agreement.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

Exactly a year.

A time limit. A sentence. A countdown you had no say in.

Isaac had chosen that.

Why?

Your stomach twisted, but you forced yourself to keep your expression neutral, to let the words settle over you without revealing how they made your pulse race.

Vic, ever observant, glanced at you out of the corner of his eye. “Now, don’t look so distraught,” he chided, amusement lacing his tone. “It’s not a lifetime. And who knows?” He smirked, tilting his head. “Maybe you’ll even enjoy it.”

The car sped forward, cutting through the city, taking you further and further away from the place you once belonged.

Your eyes drop to the floor of the car, the rich carpet beneath you absorbing the dim glow of passing streetlights. Vic was lying. He had to be.

Isaac—though you never truly knew him—wasn’t like that.

Was he?

The thought made your chest tighten, the question gnawing at you with sharp, unwelcome teeth. You had spent enough time in Isaac’s home to pick up on the kind of man he was—or at least the kind of man he wanted you to believe he was.

He was distant, methodical, a man who thought in terms of strategy rather than sentiment. But he wasn’t cruel.

…Was he?

Your throat felt dry.

You focused instead on the floor, on the shifting shadows cast by the city lights filtering through the tinted windows. A faint glint of something caught your eye—a flicker of reflected light, dull and muted against the dark fabric beneath your feet.

You tilted your head slightly, shifting your shoe to nudge at it, flipping it upright.

A dog tag.

Your shoe nudges the dog tag, flipping it upright, and the metal catches the glow of the dashboard lights. You stare at it, brow furrowing. The edges are worn, the engraving softened by time and touch. It has been held often, maybe thumbed over absentmindedly in thought.

You reach down, hesitant, wrapping your fingers around the cool metal. It’s warm where it had been pressed against the carpet, as if it still carried traces of the body heat from the last person who touched it. Turning it over in your palm, you squint at the name. The letters are faded but still legible.

‘Victor’

The realization settles in your stomach like a weight. You glance toward him, but he hasn’t moved. His gaze remains fixed on the road ahead, the neon city lights reflecting faintly in his eyes.

“That doesn’t belong to you,” he says, finally breaking the silence. His tone is unreadable, lacking his usual amusement or mockery.

You don’t immediately let go. “You were military?”

His fingers tighten on the steering wheel, the only sign of tension.

“A long time ago.”

His voice is quieter now, missing the usual sharp edge. It isn’t shame or regret—just distance, like he’s speaking of someone else entirely. Someone who no longer exists.

You turn the tag over again, brushing your thumb over the etched letters. It’s old but well-kept. Something he still carries, even if he never talks about it.

“You don’t strike me as the type,” you say, testing the waters.

He exhales sharply, not quite a laugh, not quite a sigh. “And what type do I strike you as?”

A bastard. A businessman. Someone who buys and trades people like chess pieces. Someone who wears expensive cologne and doesn’t turn on the heated seat for his passenger.

You don’t say any of that.

Instead, you just shrug.

Vic glances at you briefly before returning his focus to the road. “I was eighteen,” he says, after a long pause. “Figured I had two choices—join up or let life run me over. Thought the uniform would make me something.”

His fingers tap against the steering wheel, a slow, thoughtful rhythm. “Turns out, life runs you over either way.”

You stare at him, waiting for more, but he doesn’t elaborate. Maybe he thinks that’s enough. Maybe, to him, it is.

You could press, ask what happened, why he left, if he lost anyone. But you’re not sure you want to know.

Not from him.

The tag feels heavier in your hand now, weighted with something unspoken. You debate setting it back where you found it, pretending you never saw it.

But you don’t.

Instead, you tighten your grip and keep it.

──

When Vic—Victor, the name etched into the worn metal tag now burning a hole in your palm—pulled into the driveway, you found yourself staring at the house before you.

Expensive.

That was the only way to describe it. Not necessarily grand or ornate, not ostentatious in the way the ultra-rich sometimes made their homes, but expensive. The kind of house built for function first, style second, and comfort maybe a distant third. Large windows, dark wood paneling, a driveway paved so smoothly it looked untouched by the weight of time. It felt calculated, purposeful, much like the man sitting beside you.

You heard the jingle of keys as Vic pulled them from the ignition, then the sound of his door opening and closing. You reached for your own handle—only to pause when, in the next moment, your door swung open for you.

Vic stood there, one hand braced against the roof of the car, the other resting casually at his side. The low glow of the porch light illuminated his face, casting sharp lines across his features. There was no smirk, no teasing remark—just a silent expectation.

You swallowed down the scoff threatening to rise in your throat. Did he expect you to be impressed? To be charmed?

You stepped out, ignoring the way the night air clung to your skin. His cologne—sandalwood and something subtly bitter—hit you again. It was the kind of scent that lingered, that embedded itself in fabric, in memory.

“You always this much of a gentleman?” you muttered, brushing past him.

A low hum of amusement followed you. “Only when it suits me.”

Of course.

You followed him up the short set of stone steps, your gaze flickering to the windows. The house was dark inside, save for the faintest glow seeping out from what you assumed was the living room. No movement, no signs of anyone else.

“Live alone?” you asked.

Vic unlocked the door with an ease that spoke of muscle memory. “Would that make you feel better or worse?”

You frowned. “Not sure yet.”

He pushed open the door and stepped aside, gesturing for you to enter first. You hesitated, not out of fear but… something else. A deep, unsettling awareness that stepping through this threshold was a line you couldn’t uncross.

Still, you did.

The inside was just as you expected—clean, precise, devoid of any real warmth. Dark wood floors, minimalist furniture, everything meticulously arranged. A house lived in, but not home.

Vic locked the door behind him with a quiet click. You turned slightly, watching him as he shrugged off his coat and draped it over a nearby chair.

“So,” you started, forcing your voice to stay even, “what now? You pour yourself a drink, kick your feet up, and pretend you didn’t just borrow another person for a year?”

His lips curled into something that wasn’t quite a smile.

“Something like that.”

You crossed your arms. “Isaac will come for me.”

Vic met your gaze, unbothered. “If he does, he’ll do it on my terms.”

The certainty in his voice made your stomach twist. Not in fear, not yet.

But in understanding.

Vic wasn’t the type to make deals he couldn’t control.

You stood there for a moment, the weight of the house pressing in on you. The faint hum of the city outside was distant, as if the world had faded just enough for this room—this moment—to feel like the only reality. You felt the tension between you and Victor, thick and unavoidable, pulling at the edges of your thoughts.

It was his name that hung in the air now, the word slipping from your lips almost before you could stop it. “Victor,” you said, your voice steady, but there was something in the way you said it that felt new. It was a challenge, a soft push against the way things were between you.

His eyes flickered to you for the briefest second, and you caught the shift in his expression. It was subtle, but it was there—a moment of recognition, of something unspoken.

“Is that what you call me now?” he asked, his voice low and contemplative. The words were neutral, but you could hear the underlying tension. As if by calling him Victor, you had just crossed some invisible line.

You stood your ground, refusing to back down. “It’s your name, isn’t it?” The words felt like a soft defiance, but they were also a question, and you weren’t sure which was more dangerous—your curiosity or his silence.

He tilted his head slightly, as though considering your words carefully. For a moment, the air between you both seemed to still, thick with something that neither of you acknowledged.

“Call me what you want,” he said finally, his tone even, but there was something flickering beneath the surface, something you couldn’t quite grasp. “But don’t mistake familiarity for understanding.”

His words hung in the air like a warning. He had no interest in you getting too close—too comfortable. But you weren’t sure if it was because he didn’t want you to know him, or because he didn’t want you to get too close to the power he wielded without even trying.

Victor moved then, his steps calm and deliberate as he walked past you to the bar. You could feel his presence shift, but he didn’t say another word. The silence between you was a strange, unsettling thing, an unspoken agreement that this was how things would be—quiet, controlled, measured.

You watched him, your thoughts racing. You had tried to push him, tried to challenge him with his real name, but he didn’t flinch. And the silence he left in his wake was just as much of a statement as anything he could have said.

Your breath felt tight in your chest. It wasn’t that you feared him—not yet—but there was something about him, about the way he moved through the world with quiet authority, that made you question everything you thought you knew about control.

And as you stood there, in the fading light of the room, the last thing you heard from him was the soft clink of ice in a glass—his drink, prepared as meticulously as everything else about him. He wasn’t offering anything else.

So you took the space between you, the unspoken distance, and let it stretch, let it grow.

Because you knew, deep down, that in the end, it would be the distance that defined everything. The quiet, the calm, the way he held himself apart from everything—that was the game you’d be playing.

And you had no choice but to play along.

The door shut behind him, and the sound echoed in the room, filling the space with finality.

──

author’s note: i might make this a series if enough people want it!

ps: i’ve been running out of title ideas, most of them just have been lana titles 😭

tag list:

@ysawdalawa @rain-soaked-sun @tanksbigtiddiedgf @sdfivhnjrjmcdsn @lil-binuu @colombina-s-arle @xxminxrq @souvlia @meraki-kiera

[speedlimit15]

guys you wont believe this but ive accidentally messed up the exact same part of my doily twice this week and just got back to where i was and realized i'd messed it up in yet another, even worse way which requires undoing all of my rework. so i've made negative progress on it in the last five days

[pseudowho]

"So, you go against the hairs...that's right...and then with the hairs..."

"...is-- is this right?"

"Mmm. Now, clean your blade..."

You pretended to tidy the bedroom, sneaking glances up to Kento, and Yuuji, stood shirtless at the bathroom sink. Both had thickly lathered faces, and sharp razors, examining their faces in the mirror with absolute precision.

Sshhhhick. Swshswshswsh. Shhhhick-ck-ck. Swshswshswsh.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

Peach fuzz.

"...and so anyway, I said to Fushiguro, shadows are great but sometimes you gotta just hit a guy..."

Kento listened, quiet, his mind always calculating several threads while mentoring Yuuji; yet, he was distracted. The old school corridor bathed in orange evening light, setting Yuuji's hair aflame, to coral in rocks. With Yuuji's nattering profile illuminated, the edges of his cheeks blurred from their usual sharp relief.

Fuzzy.

"...like, Kugisaki gets it, but she's like, just a bit feral and..."

Kento wondered if Yuuji had noticed. Kento recalled he only noticed, when his grandfather brushed his jaw with one clawed-over old hand, softly mocking Kento's furry scowl in lilting Danish. Kento's eyes lowered to the floor, counting his own steps and thinking in one, two, three and thoughtful on four, five, six.

"...Gojo's great but it's hard to learn from a guy who's that far out of my league, y'know? So--"

"Itadori-kun."

Kento had stopped, straightening his glasses, looking out onto suburban skyline. Yuuji stopped with him, inquisitive. A train rattled through, distant, splitting through the sunset. Kento looked back to Yuuji.

"It's important to look tidy, at work. Professional."

Yuuji raised his eyebrows, elbows rounded as he held his arms out, looking down at himself. He shot Kento a bashful smile, rubbing the back of his head.

Fuzzy peach.

"...ah-- yeah...guess I've always been a bit scruffy, huh? My grandad used to tell me I'd never get a job with hair like this."

Kento hummed. He stepped forwards, and raised one long-fingered, broad hand to gently grasp Yuuji's jaw, tilting it back and forth in the amber glow. Yuuji's bottom lip drew up, his eyes wide in surprise.

"...Nanamin?"

"Has anyone taught you how to shave, Yuuji?"

Yuuji blushed, his eyes flicking away from Kento in a mortified little scowl, his jaw still clasped. Kento released him, clearing his throat and checking his watch.

"I think we're finished up, here. Do you have any evening plans, Itadori-kun?"

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

"If you need to go over an area again, get more shaving foam-- not that much-- and repeat the steps..."

"...this is...tricky..."

"With regular practice, you can improve any skill, Itadori-kun. Unless you'd like a beard, which still needs management, you'll be shaving every few days, or more."

"...you always...look so tidy..." swshswshswsh.

"It takes effort." Shhhick. Swsh.

"Yeah right. I bet you wake up like that. Tie and all."

A deep, rumbling laugh. Yuuji's foamy, surprised face, looking so boyish.

You slid past the bathroom. You pulled your phone out, surreptitiously clicking a photo. Kento and Yuuji, leaning over the sink while Kento steadfastly instructed him, became your new phone background, and stayed as such for a full year.

+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+

"Took a lot of portions to send him to bed with a full tummy."

Kento chuckled at you, his hair mussed and soft. Legs crossed in bed, with a book on his lap, he read to the sound of soft snores in the guest bedroom next door. The lamplight, low and warm, illuminated Kento's face in the gloom.

Stubbly.

You reached a hand out, brushing across his jaw, feeling its sandpaper rasp across your fingers.

"I think you were so busy teaching Yuuji," you whispered, scratching Kento's chin as he crumpled his lower lip up, "that you missed some patches yourself. C'mere."

You stood, walking to the bathroom and sitting on the counter, grabbing a razor and shaving foam. Kento's eyes twinkled at you, feigning annoyance. He walked to you at the sink, looking straight into the bones of you. He grasped your thighs, pushing them apart before settling between them, chuckling again as you lathered his face.

Shhhhick. Swshswshswsh. Shhhick-ck-ck. Swshswshswsh.

You felt a growing pressure between your legs as you focused on shaving Kento's jaw. Kento fidgeted, pyjamas tight and tenting. You bit your lip, smirking.

"...Mr.Nanami. I am trying to concentrate."

"Mmm, so am I, but it's...hard."

"Yes. I can feel that."

Another deep rumble of a laugh. Kento grasped your thighs tighter, pressing forwards into you. You gasped, taking the razor from his face as Kento nuzzled shaving foam into your giggling neck.

"Don't stop." He whispered, a crooked smile on his lathered face. "Concentrate, please, Mrs.Nanami."

[be4chywritez]

red red wine | quinn hughes

quinn hughes x fem!reader

the week leading up to Quinn proposing to you, and the chaos that follows him.

recs are open + prompt list

beachy’s masterlist🐚

One Week Before

You stand in the kitchen of the lake house, absently scrolling through your phone while Jim and Ellen sit at the table, chatting over their morning coffee. Quinn is perched on a stool at the kitchen island, Jack and Luke beside him, all three listening in as you think out loud.

“I think I’m gonna get my nails done,” you say, mostly to yourself, glancing up from your screen. “I found this cute place nearby on Instagram. Might go check it out.”

Quinn freezes. Luke and Jack do the same, exchanging quick glances before all three of them force identical, strained smiles.

“Here?” Quinn asks, a little too casually.

You nod and turn your phone to show Ellen the pictures. “Yeah, thought it’d be nice to get a little pampered. Ellen, want to come with?”

For a split second, her eyes flick to Jim before she shakes her head with a warm—if slightly nervous—smile. “Oh, no, sweetheart. I think I’ll stay back, got a few things to tidy up around the house.”

You frown slightly, glancing between them. “I mean, I don’t have to go either. I could just hang—”

“NO!”

The entire Hughes family responds in unison, voices overlapping in a loud, comically panicked outburst. Even Jim, who’s been silent all morning, leans forward, wide-eyed like you just suggested setting the house on fire.

Quinn is the first to recover. He clears his throat and plasters on a quick, reassuring smile. “No, honey, you should definitely go. Treat yourself.” He waves a hand toward the door, trying—and failing—to sound nonchalant. “Have a nice day out.”

Your eyes narrow. “Okay…?” You drag the word out, suspicious, but slide your phone into your bag anyway. Grabbing your keys, you head for the door, throwing one last curious glance over your shoulder before stepping out.

As soon as the door clicks shut, Luke lets out a long breath. “Close call.”

Jim shakes his head, grinning. “She almost caught on already. We need to be more careful, boys.”

Downtown is quiet, the main street lined with flower boxes and little local shops. Lakeside Nails sits nestled between a café and an old bookstore, its windows decorated with delicate white lettering.

A nail tech waves you over with a friendly smile. “Hi! You must be my one o’clock.”

“That’s me.” You settle into the chair as she sets up.

“I’m Maya. What are we doing today?”

You pull up a photo. “Something like this? Just a clean, neutral look.”

Maya nods approvingly. “Pretty! So, just a little solo pampering trip?”

“Sort of. I’m staying at the lake house with my boyfriend and his family. Thought I’d take a little break and explore.”

Maya hums, focusing on your nails. “How’d you two meet?”

You smile, thinking back. “Through mutual friends. He was quiet at first, but then he made me laugh when I wasn’t expecting it. I don’t know… I just felt comfortable with him.”

“Those are the best ones,” she says with a grin. “Sounds like a good guy.”

“Yeah,” you say softly, warmth blooming in your chest. “He really is.”

When you walk back into the lake house, Quinn is stretched out on the couch, scrolling through his phone. He glances up as you come in, a lazy smile spreading across his face.

“Hey,” he says, sitting up. “Let’s see the nails.”

You plop down beside him, holding out your hand. He takes it, running his thumb lightly over your fingers. “Looks good,” he says, approving.

“Glad you think so.” You lean into him as his arm wraps around you, the warmth of his touch settling you into an easy quiet.

The rest of the evening is simple—pasta and salad for dinner, laughter when Quinn drops a handful of cherry tomatoes and watches them roll across the counter. Later, you curl up under a blanket with an old movie on, his fingers absentmindedly running through your hair. The house is peaceful, filled with the soft flicker of the TV and the steady rhythm of his breathing.

You don’t notice the way he looks at you. The way his gaze lingers, like he’s memorizing everything. Like he’s counting down.

Five Days Before

You wake slowly, the warmth of morning light filtering through the curtains. Quinn’s arm is draped over your waist, his hand resting lightly on your hip, his breathing steady and close. He stirs, his nose brushing against the back of your neck as he pulls you closer.

“Morning,” he mumbles, voice thick with sleep.

You smile, rolling over to face him. His eyes are still half-closed, messy hair falling over his forehead. You trace your fingers along his cheek, feeling the scratch of stubble. He leans into your touch, eyes fluttering shut for a moment.

“Good morning,” you whisper.

He catches your hand, lacing his fingers through yours before bringing it to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

You don’t realize how he looks at you—like you might disappear if he blinks.

“Honey, we’re on breakfast duty,” you remind him.

Quinn groans, shoving his face into your collarbone, stubble tickling your skin. He mumbles something, voice muffled.

You laugh. “No, we can’t let your brothers do it. Unless you want the house to burn down.”

Another grunt, but this time, he shifts, reluctantly getting up. You follow, falling into your usual morning routine.

As you pull on a sweater, he watches from the bathroom mirror, hoping you don’t dig too far into his sock drawer.

Hoping you don’t find the velvet box.

You don’t, thanks to a the higher power, but it only puts more pressure on Quinn to pop the damn question.

Four Days Before 

The lake house hums with its usual morning energy—Jack and Luke bickering over who gets the last pancake, Ellen moving around the kitchen with effortless ease, and Jim sipping his coffee while reading the newspaper like he’s immune to the chaos around him.

Quinn, however, is focused on one thing.

He leans against the counter, arms crossed, watching as you sit at the kitchen table, scrolling absently through your phone. Every few seconds, you look up to add something to the conversation, laughing as Luke launches a grape at Jack’s head. Quinn should be listening, should be jumping in with a comment of his own, but instead, his mind is caught on a single thought: How do I get her to buy the dress?

The dress—the one he wants to see you in when he finally asks the biggest question of his life. He saw it a few days ago when you were flipping through your phone, showing Ellen some boutique you wanted to check out. You hadn’t bought anything yet, just admired a few pieces before getting distracted by something else.

Now, with only four days to go, he needs to make sure you pick the one.

Quinn exhales through his nose and glances toward his brothers. Perfect.

Jack notices first, eyebrows furrowing as he watches Quinn silently glare at him. What? he mouths.

Quinn jerks his head toward the living room, signaling them to follow. Jack and Luke exchange a glance but don’t argue, trudging after him as he disappears down the hallway.

Once they’re out of earshot, Quinn turns to them, hands on his hips like he’s about to give them the most important assignment of their lives.

“Alright, I need you two to do something for me.”

Jack immediately groans. “Oh my god, what now?”

“It’s important,” Quinn says, leveling them with a look.

Luke raises an eyebrow. “Like, life-or-death important? Or are we talking Quinn-important, which means it’s about the love of your life?”

Jack snorts. “Yeah, do we need to prepare a eulogy?”

Quinn ignores them. “I need you guys to get her to buy a dress.”

Both of them stare at him.

“A dress,” Jack repeats flatly. “You dragged us away from breakfast for that?”

“Not just any dress,” Quinn says, rubbing the back of his neck. He feels stupid saying it out loud, but if there’s anyone who can pull this off without making it suspicious, it’s these two. “She was looking at this one the other day. It’s perfect for when I—” He stops himself before finishing the sentence, clearing his throat.

Luke catches on first. His eyes widen slightly before he grins. “Ohhh. You mean the dress.”

Jack still looks lost. “What—Oh. Ohhh.”

Quinn nods.

“Okay, so you want us to, what? Trick her into buying it?” Jack asks, crossing his arms.

“Not trick her,” Quinn corrects. “Just… steer her in the right direction.”

Luke grins. “You want us to gaslight her into thinking she needs it.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You basically did,” Jack says.

Quinn sighs. “Can you two just do it?”

Luke claps a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry, Q, we got this. She’ll be buying that dress by the end of the day.”

Jack cracks his knuckles. “Time to be annoying.”

“Just don’t make it obvious,” Quinn warns.

Luke grins. “No promises.”

–

You hadn’t really planned on buying anything today.

The town’s little boutique district is charming, with its cobblestone paths and flower boxes hanging from the windows, but you were mostly browsing—taking in the sights, enjoying the crisp summer air, and, apparently, getting bombarded with very strong opinions from Jack and Luke.

“I’m just saying,” Jack starts, walking beside you with his hands in his pockets, “you’ve been talking about wanting a nice dress for a while.”

“Have I?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

Luke, walking on your other side, nods solemnly. “Oh yeah. All the time. Constantly.”

You snort. “I’m pretty sure I haven’t.”

Jack ignores you. “And look at this!” He gestures dramatically toward one of the boutique windows. “A whole store dedicated to dresses! What are the odds?”

“Crazy,” Luke deadpans.

You give them a suspicious look. “Are you guys okay?”

“We’re great,” Jack says. “But you’d be even better if you had a new dress.”

Luke nods. “The best version of yourself, really.”

You shake your head with a laugh. “What is wrong with you two?”

“Nothing,” Jack says quickly. “We just care about you. And your wardrobe.”

“Especially that one dress you liked the other day,” Luke adds casually. “That was a good one.”

You narrow your eyes. “How do you even know about that?”

Jack elbows Luke. 

He gives you a pained smile, “intuition?” 

Luke sighs dramatically, turning toward you. “Look,, all I’m saying is that you should try it on. No pressure. No commitment. Just try it on and see how you feel.”

“Yeah,” Jack agrees. “Worst case? You hate it, and we all move on with our lives. Best case? You look amazing, and you thank us forever.”

You roll your eyes but, against your better judgment, let them lead you inside. The boutique is small but elegant, with soft lighting and carefully arranged racks of clothing. A sales associate greets you warmly, and before you know it, Luke and Jack are pushing you toward the exact dress they’ve clearly been scheming about.

You sigh, running your fingers over the fabric. It is beautiful.

“Just try it,” Luke urges. “For science.”

“For science,” Jack echoes.

You huff a laugh. “Fine. But if I don’t like it, you both owe me coffee.”

“Deal,” they say in unison.

Ten minutes later, you step out of the dressing room, smoothing your hands over the fabric. The dress fits perfectly, hugging in all the right places, flowing just enough to feel effortless. You glance at your reflection in the boutique mirror, tilting your head slightly.

“Well?” Jack asks, leaning forward eagerly.

Luke grins. “Yup. That’s the one.”

You shake your head, but you can’t help the small smile that tugs at your lips. “You guys are the worst.”

“And yet, we just helped you find your new favorite dress,” Jack points out.

You sigh. “Fine. But you’re still buying me coffee.”

Luke claps his hands. “Worth it.”

Meanwhile, back at the lake house, Quinn gets a text.

Luke: Mission accomplished.

He exhales, a slow smile spreading across his face.

Three more days.

Three Days Before

The morning sun spills through the windows of the lake house, casting warm golden hues over the kitchen. You hum softly to yourself as you pour a cup of coffee, the scent of roasted beans filling the air. Ellen is at the stove flipping pancakes while Jim reads the newspaper at the table, occasionally sipping his coffee. Jack and Luke sit across from him, bickering over who gets the last piece of toast.

Quinn stands by the fridge, looking unusually tense as he scrolls through his phone. You don’t think much of it—he’s always been the quiet, deep-in-thought type—but there’s something about the way he keeps glancing at you that makes you pause.

"Morning," you say, leaning against the counter as you take a slow sip of coffee. "What's up?"

Quinn's head snaps up like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t. His fingers tighten around his phone, and for a second, he looks almost guilty.

"Uh—nothing. Just checking something." His voice is too quick, too casual, and you narrow your eyes.

Before you can push him further, Ellen calls over her shoulder, "Sweetheart, could you grab the syrup?"

You nod and step toward the pantry, but just as you do, Quinn leans closer to Ellen and whispers something.

You freeze mid-step.

It’s barely audible, just the faintest murmur of his voice, but you catch it. Ellen’s eyes widen for a fraction of a second before she quickly schools her expression into something neutral.

Jim, who’s been mostly uninvolved in the morning chaos, suddenly folds his newspaper with a snap and clears his throat. Jack and Luke immediately stop arguing and sit up straighter, the air shifting ever so slightly.

You narrow your eyes. "Okay, what was that?"

Quinn immediately shakes his head. "What was what?"

"The whispering. The weird glances. Why do you all look like you just got caught committing a crime?"

Jack lets out a bark of nervous laughter. "Pfft, what? No crime here."

Luke elbows him, and he winces. "We were just—uh, talking about, um—"

"The weather," Jim supplies, nodding sagely.

"The weather?" you repeat flatly.

"Yup," Quinn says, grabbing a banana from the fruit bowl and peeling it aggressively like that’ll somehow sell the lie.

You cross your arms, skeptical. "And what, exactly, about the weather required a top-secret family meeting?"

Ellen waves a hand dismissively. "Oh, just—just how lovely it's supposed to be this weekend! Perfect for, um, outdoor activities."

Jack nods. "Yeah, so perfect. Like, suspiciously perfect."

Luke elbows him again.

You squint at them, taking a slow sip of your coffee, watching as they all sit a little too still, looking a little too casual.

Something is definitely going on.

But before you can press further, Quinn suddenly steps forward, wraps an arm around your waist, and presses a kiss to your temple.

"Hey, didn’t you want to go into town today?" His voice is soft, his thumb rubbing soothing circles against your hip.

You blink up at him. "I mean, yeah, but—"

"Perfect," he says quickly. "You should go. Take your time. Enjoy yourself."

Jack and Luke nod in unison. "Yes. Enjoy. Take hours if you need."

Your eyes dart between them. They are terrible liars. But you sigh, deciding to let it go—for now.

"Fine," you say slowly, grabbing your bag. "But if I find out you guys are hiding something from me—"

"You won’t!" they all chorus at once.

You stare for another long beat before shaking your head and heading for the door.

As soon as it closes behind you, Quinn lets out a breath, running a hand through his hair.

Luke whistles. "That was way too close."

Jim chuckles. "You boys need to step up your game. She's sharp."

Quinn groans, rubbing his face. "I know. And we still have two more days of this."

Jack claps a hand on his shoulder. "Good luck, bud. You're gonna need it.

Two Days Before 

The lake stretches out before you, calm and glassy under the moonlight. It’s late—too late to still be outside, but the warmth of summer lingers in the air, and neither of you wants to go in just yet.

You sit beside Quinn on the dock, your legs dangling over the edge, bare feet skimming the cool water. The night is quiet, save for the occasional chirp of crickets and the distant rustling of trees.

Quinn hasn’t said much in the last few minutes.

He sits close—so close that your shoulders press together, his warmth seeping into you. His hand is resting between you, his fingers twitching like he wants to reach for you but is too lost in thought to do it.

You nudge him gently. "Penny for your thoughts?"

He exhales, a soft, slow sound. "Just thinking."

You tilt your head, watching him. His profile is illuminated by the glow of the moon, sharp angles softened by the night. His jaw flexes, and his fingers tighten slightly against the dock.

"About what?"

He hesitates, then turns to you. "The future."

Your chest tightens, a warmth blooming there. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." His voice is quiet, thoughtful. "I was just thinking about... where we'll be, years from now." He swallows, his throat bobbing. "What it'll look like."

You smile, leaning into him. "And? What does it look like?"

He glances down at his hands. "Us," he says simply. "Still together. Maybe a house. Maybe a dog." His lips twitch. "You always talk about wanting a golden retriever."

Your heart stutters.

"You actually listen when I say that?"

His brow furrows. "Of course I do."

There’s something so earnest about the way he says it—so completely sure.

You take his hand in yours, threading your fingers together. "I like that version of the future," you say softly.

Quinn looks at you then, his eyes dark and unreadable, something heavy sitting behind them. For a second, you think he’s about to say something—something big.

But instead, he squeezes your hand.

"Me too."

He presses a lingering kiss to your knuckles, then rests his forehead against yours.

You close your eyes, breathing him in, feeling the steady thump-thump-thump of his heart.

Neither of you says anything else.

But Quinn’s already made up his mind.

Tomorrow, he finds the perfect spot.

And in two days, he asks you to be his forever.

One Day Before 

The lake stretches endlessly before you, a shimmering expanse of deep blue beneath the warmth of the afternoon sun. A gentle breeze tugs at your hair, and the rhythmic rocking of the boat lulls you into a peaceful state. The water is calm, only disturbed by the occasional ripple from a passing jet ski or the soft lapping against the side of the boat.

You inhale deeply, letting the fresh air fill your lungs as you lean back against the cushioned seat. The warmth of the sun kisses your skin, and for the first time in a long while, you feel like time has slowed down.

Jim sits at the helm, hands steady on the wheel as he navigates through the open water. His expression is relaxed, a rare sight considering the chaos that usually follows whenever all three of his boys are together.

Ellen sits beside you, sunglasses perched on her nose, a soft smile on her lips as she watches the water shimmer.

“This is nice, isn’t it?” she muses, her voice light with contentment.

You nod, shifting slightly to soak in more of the sun. “Yeah, it really is.”

It’s not often that you get moments like this—just the three of you. Usually, Jack and Luke are wreaking havoc, Quinn is rolling his eyes fondly at their antics, and everything is a blur of chirps and laughter. But today is quiet. Peaceful.

You glance around the boat, taking in the emptiness where Quinn should be.

Your chest tightens slightly.

This morning, when you asked him if he was coming, he had been vague—mumbling something about needing to run an errand and promising he’d see you later. You hadn’t pushed, but now, with the afternoon stretching on without him, you can’t shake the feeling that something is off.

“You okay, sweetheart?” Ellen asks gently, tilting her head toward you.

You blink, realizing you had been staring at the empty seat beside you. Forcing a smile, you nod. “Yeah, just thinking.”

Ellen hums knowingly. “Quinn will be back soon, don’t worry. He’s probably just making sure whatever he’s doing is absolutely perfect.”

Jim chuckles from the driver’s seat. “Sounds about right.”

You frown slightly, narrowing your eyes. “Do you guys know something I don’t?”

Ellen and Jim exchange a quick glance, but Ellen’s smile doesn’t waver.

“Oh, honey,” she says, reaching over to pat your hand. “We always know something you don’t.”

You roll your eyes, laughing despite yourself.

The rest of the afternoon passes in a blur of warmth and comfort. You soak up every moment—the way the sun reflects off the water like scattered diamonds, the sound of Jim’s easy laughter, the way Ellen insists on reapplying sunscreen to your shoulders even though you swear you’re fine.

And for a little while, you let yourself forget the strange feeling in your chest.

Meanwhile, deep in the woods, Quinn is on a mission.

Your absence is a weight he feels in his chest, but he knows this is worth it.

His boots crunch against the forest floor as he makes his way through the secluded clearing he stumbled upon earlier. The air smells like pine and fresh earth, the quiet only disturbed by the rustling of leaves in the wind.

It’s perfect. Tucked away from the main trails, surrounded by towering trees, with a small opening where the lake peeks through.

This is it.

Carefully, he unrolls the string of photos he printed last week, each one capturing a frozen moment in time—the two of you at your first hockey game together, laughing with noses pressed close; a blurry snapshot of you mid-laugh, taken when you weren’t looking; a quiet moment in bed, tangled in the sheets with sunlight painting your skin.

Every single one tells your story.

His hands shake slightly as he fastens them to the branches, adjusting them until they drape just right.

“Dude, this is insanely romantic,” Jack mutters behind him.

Quinn steps back, hands on his hips as he surveys the clearing. The photos sway gently in the breeze, catching the fading sunlight. Everything is almost perfect.

Except for Jack, who is standing in the middle of the setup like he’d rather be anywhere else.

“This is so weird,” Jack complains, shifting uncomfortably. “I don’t know why I have to be her.”

Quinn sighs, rubbing his temples. “Because I need to make sure everything looks right, and you’re the closest to her height.”

“That’s actually so offensive,” Jack deadpans. “I don’t even know how, but it is.”

Luke snorts from behind the camera. “Just shut up and stand there, man. You’re ruining the vision.”

Jack groans dramatically but doesn’t move. “You owe me for this, dude. Big time.”

Quinn ignores him, stepping closer to adjust the positioning. He takes a deep breath, trying to picture you standing there instead of his little brother, who is doing a horrible job of being still.

“This is where I’ll kneel,” Quinn murmurs, mostly to himself. He drops down, testing the angle, the feel of the moment. His heart races, imagining the way you’ll look—eyes wide, lips parted in surprise, the way your breath will hitch right before you say yes.

Jack stares down at him, unimpressed. “I feel like I should be flattered, but mostly I feel like an idiot.”

Quinn huffs, looking up at him. “Can you at least pretend to be in love with me?”

Jack stares blankly for a second before bursting out laughing. “Dude. Dude. I cannot take this seriously.” He turns to Luke, who’s adjusting the camera settings. “Are you getting this? The absolute desperation in his eyes?”

Luke barely glances up. “You’re making it worse.”

“I’m making this worse?” Jack gestures at the setup. “Quinn is professing his undying love to me right now, and I’M the problem?”

Quinn groans, running a hand over his face. “Just shut up and look moved or something.”

Jack schools his expression into something vaguely serious and stares dramatically into the distance. “I can’t believe this is happening,” he says, voice overly soft. “We’ve been through so much together.”

Luke nearly drops the camera laughing. “Oh my god,” he wheezes.

Quinn pinches the bridge of his nose. “I hate both of you.”

Jack smirks, but he does settle down a little, standing a bit more still as Quinn makes the final adjustments.

After a few minutes of adjusting the lighting and the placement of the photos, Luke finally lifts the camera. “Alright, let’s get a test shot.”

Jack sighs dramatically but stays put. Quinn watches as Luke moves around, snapping photos from different angles. He frowns slightly, tilting the camera to check the preview.

“It looks good,” Luke says slowly, adjusting the focus. “But I think we need—Jack, stop standing like that.”

Jack scoffs. “Like what?”

“Like a dude who is about to ask another dude to prom,” Luke deadpans. “You look so uncomfortable.”

Jack throws his arms out. “Because I am uncomfortable! I am literally standing in the middle of a fake proposal, playing the role of my brother’s girlfriend.”

Quinn shakes his head. “Fine. Just—stand normal.”

Jack exhales sharply but follows instructions, his posture finally settling into something less stiff.

Luke snaps a few more photos before nodding. “Okay, that’s it. That’s the shot.”

Quinn steps back, taking in the clearing one last time. The photos, the lighting, the atmosphere—it’s all exactly how he pictured it. His heart pounds as he exhales, the reality of it hitting him all at once.

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow, you will be standing here.

Tomorrow, you will be the one in front of him when he kneels.

And tomorrow, you will say yes.

Jack claps him on the back, snapping him out of his thoughts. “Alright, Romeo. Can we go now? I have literally never felt more single in my life.”

Quinn rolls his eyes, but there’s a fondness behind it. “Yeah, we’re done.”

Luke stretches, shoving the camera back into his bag. “You better make this the best proposal of all time, bro. Because if we went through all of this for nothing—”

Quinn grins, confidence settling in his chest. “She’s gonna love it.”

Jack sighs dramatically. “You owe us.”

Quinn just laughs, already imagining how perfect tomorrow will be.

That night, you’re curled up in bed when Quinn finally slips into the room. The warmth of his body presses against yours as he slides beneath the covers, pulling you into his arms.

“You have fun today?” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your shoulder.

“Mmm,” you hum, half-asleep. “Missed you.”

His chest tightens.

He buries his face in your hair, arms tightening around you. “Missed you too.”

You sigh softly, relaxing into him.

Quinn stays awake long after you drift off, heart thudding with anticipation.

One more night.

Tomorrow, everything changes.

Proposal Day

The morning sun filters through the kitchen windows, casting a golden glow over the lake house. The scent of fresh coffee lingers in the air as you lean against the counter, watching the Hughes family settle into their usual breakfast chaos.

Jack is the first to steal the last piece of toast off Luke’s plate, and Luke retaliates by flicking a grape at his forehead. Quinn sighs, stirring his coffee like he’s debating whether it’s worth intervening. Ellen is at the stove, flipping pancakes with practiced ease, while Jim nurses his coffee at the table, reading something on his phone.

Ellen turns toward you with a smile. “I was thinking,” she starts, “since everyone’s here, we should do a nice family dinner tonight.”

Luke perks up. “Ooh, like a fancy dinner? Do I have to wear a button-up?”

“Yes,” Ellen says firmly.

Jack groans dramatically. “Can I at least wear my nice hoodie?”

Jim barely looks up. “No.”

You laugh, shaking your head as you sip your coffee. “A dinner sounds nice.”

Ellen nods. “Good, because I already bought all the stuff.”

Quinn finally speaks, glancing at you. “You should wear that dress you got.”

You arch an eyebrow. “The one you definitely weren’t scheming to get me to buy?”

Jack and Luke both snicker, and Quinn glares at them before turning back to you, feigning innocence. “What? I just think you’d look really nice in it.”

Luke leans in conspiratorially. “You should do it. Mostly because if you don’t, Quinn will spend the entire dinner sulking and staring at you like a sad puppy.”

You roll your eyes, but a smile tugs at your lips. “Well, we wouldn’t want that, would we?”

Jack smirks. “Nope. That’s how we end up with emo Quinn, and nobody wants that.”

Quinn groans. “I hate all of you.”

Ellen hides a smile as she flips another pancake. “You love them,” she corrects.

Quinn sighs, shooting you a hopeful glance. “So, the dress?”

You shake your head, amused. “Fine. But if I do, Luke and Jack owe me dessert.”

Luke claps a hand over his heart. “Done.”

Jack nods. “Easiest deal of my life.”

Quinn smiles to himself, satisfied. One step closer.

Dinner starts out promising enough. The table is set, the food looks amazing, and the sunset paints the lake in warm hues. It should be perfect.

And then… things start to go sideways.

First, Luke—being Luke—tries to help bring the dishes to the table and nearly drops the salad bowl. In his panic to save it, he elbows Jack, who’s carrying a basket of rolls. The bread goes flying, one roll landing directly in Jim’s drink.

“Nice,” Jim mutters, plucking it out with a sigh.

Ellen shakes her head, clearly unimpressed but used to this kind of chaos. “Can we go one meal without something ending up on the floor?”

Jack, unfazed, shrugs. “Technically, it landed in Dad’s glass.”

You try to hold back a laugh as Quinn pulls out a chair for you, but the moment you sit, you realize something is… off. The seat wobbles, just enough to be noticeable, and before you can react, one of the legs gives way entirely.

“Shit—”

You barely manage to catch yourself before fully hitting the ground. Quinn moves fast, steadying you before you can completely fall, but the damage is done. Luke is doubled over laughing, and Jack is wheezing so hard he can’t breathe.

“I—” Jack tries, but he’s laughing too hard to finish. “I swear—we didn’t—touch—that chair—”

Quinn glares at them before looking at you. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you say, face burning as you straighten up. “Just my pride taking a hit.”

Ellen sighs. “That chair was wobbly this morning. I told you boys to fix it.”

Jack wipes a tear from his eye. “Well, now we know it was definitely broken.”

Dinner resumes, and for a few blessed minutes, everything is normal. The conversation flows, the food is delicious, and you almost forget about the earlier chaos.

Until Luke, in all his wisdom, decides he needs more steak sauce. He reaches across the table, miscalculating just how close his elbow is to your glass of wine.

The second the glass tips, it’s over.

Red wine splashes everywhere—your dress, the table, Quinn’s sleeve.

“Oh my God,” you exclaim, pushing back from the table as the cold liquid soaks into the fabric.

Luke freezes. “Oh—oh, shit. Oh, no—”

Ellen is already up, grabbing napkins. “Luke.” Her voice is the kind of exasperated that only comes from years of dealing with sons who can’t sit still. “Seriously?”

“I didn’t mean to!” Luke looks at you with pure panic. “I—I can fix this—”

Jack leans back, shaking his head. “Man, you just ruined her dress.”

“I know!” Luke groans, looking like he genuinely feels terrible. “I’ll—uh—I’ll pay for the dry cleaning.”

Quinn, who’s been silent through all of this, takes one look at you and then turns to Luke with the calmest voice imaginable.

“Get up.”

Luke blinks. “What?”

“Get. Up.”

There’s a long pause before Luke, sensing the very real possibility of Quinn throwing him into the lake, slowly pushes his chair back and stands.

Quinn doesn’t hesitate—he grabs Luke’s napkin and dabs at your dress, his brows furrowed in frustration. “I told you not to sit next to her.”

Luke throws his hands up. “How is this my fault?!”

Ellen sighs again. “Alright, alright, it’s just a little wine.” She turns to you. “Honey, let’s go see if we can salvage your dress.”

You follow her inside, but despite her best efforts, the stain refuses to come out.

You sigh, looking at Ellen through the mirror. “Ellen, I think it’s unsalvageable.”

She looks up at you, guilt evident on her face. “I’m so sorry, honey.”

You shake your head with a small smile. “It’s fine, really.”

When you return downstairs, Luke looks like a kicked puppy, eyes glued to the floor. Quinn scans your dress, his jaw tightening.

“Goddammit, Luke,” Quinn mutters.

You step beside him, nudging Luke lightly with your foot. “It’s fine, really,” you say softly.

Quinn exhales, rubbing his jaw before looking at you. “Come on. Let’s go for a walk.”

You blink at him. “Right now?”

“Yeah,” he says, his voice quieter now, more certain. “Right now.”

You hesitate, then nod. “Okay.”

The night air is crisp, carrying the scent of pine and the lingering warmth of the lake. The sound of crickets hums in the background as you and Quinn walk in comfortable silence, his fingers laced through yours. The chaos of dinner fades into the background, replaced by the rhythmic crunch of gravel beneath your feet.

“You okay?” you ask softly, glancing up at him.

Quinn exhales through his nose, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah. Just… today didn’t go exactly how I planned.”

You squeeze his hand. “You had a plan?”

His smile grows slightly. “Believe it or not, yeah. Kind of.”

You smirk. “Well, that was your first mistake.”

He huffs a quiet laugh. “Tell me about it.”

You keep walking, but the farther you go, the more familiar the path becomes. It’s only when the trees thin, revealing a quiet clearing, that you realize where he’s leading you. Your steps slow as you take it in.

Strung between the branches, illuminated by the soft glow of the moon and the fairy lights Quinn must have set up earlier, are dozens of photos—memories captured and preserved in time.

Your breath catches as you step forward, reaching out to gently touch one of them. It’s a picture from your first hockey game together, noses nearly pressed together as you grinned at the camera. Another of you mid-laugh, eyes crinkled with joy. One from a lazy morning in bed, sunlight spilling across your tangled limbs.

Every single one tells your story.

You turn back to Quinn, your chest tight with emotion. “You did all this?”

He nods, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. I—I wanted you to see what I see. Every time I look at you, it’s just… it’s all of this. Every moment, every memory, everything that makes us, us.”

Your eyes burn with unshed tears.

“I wanted everything to be perfect,” he continues, voice quiet but steady. “I had this whole idea in my head—this big, perfect moment. The dinner, the dress, the way tonight was supposed to go.” He shakes his head, laughing under his breath. “And then Luke knocked wine all over you, and Jack wouldn’t stop chirping, and everything kind of fell apart.”

You smile, tilting your head. “Sounds about right.”

Quinn looks at you, his blue eyes searching yours. “Yeah. But then I realized… this is perfect.” He lets out a small, breathy laugh, almost like he’s realizing it in real time. “The chaos, the interruptions, the fact that nothing ever goes exactly how we plan it. That’s us. That’s our life.”

Your breath catches slightly.

He takes a deep breath, then lets go of one of your hands, reaching into his pocket. And suddenly, he’s kneeling before you, a small velvet box in his palm, slightly illuminated by the moonlight.

“I don’t need the perfect moment,” he says, looking up at you. “I just need you.”

Your heart pounds, your vision blurring as you try to take in everything at once—the way he’s looking at you, the way his fingers tremble just slightly around the box, the way the entire world feels like it’s tilting on its axis.

“Marry me?” he asks, voice soft but sure.

You let out a shaky breath, a laugh breaking through the tears already forming in your eyes. “Quinn, of course I’ll marry you.”

A breath of relief escapes him before he grins—grins in that rare, open way he only does when he’s truly happy. He stands quickly, slipping the ring onto your finger before wrapping his arms around you, holding you close.

You bury your face in his shoulder, laughing through your tears. “God, I love you.”

His grip tightens around you, his voice warm against your ear. “Love you more.”

By the time you and Quinn make it back, hand in hand, the Hughes family is waiting—Jack and Luke perched on the couch, Jim leaning against the counter, and Ellen practically bouncing in place.

Jack spots the ring first. “Oh my god—”

Ellen claps her hands together, her eyes shining. “You said yes?”

You hold up your hand, and the room erupts.

Jack groans dramatically, flopping back onto the couch. “I can’t believe this. Quinn won at life.”

Jim claps Quinn on the shoulder with a proud nod, and Ellen pulls you into a tight hug, murmuring how happy she is for you both.

Luke hangs back, hands shoved in his pockets, his eyes darting toward you before dropping to the floor. His face is tight, like he’s been debating something in his head.

You don’t give him the chance to overthink it. Without a word, you step toward him and wrap your arms around his shoulders, pulling him into a hug.

Luke stiffens in surprise before slowly relaxing, exhaling a breath. “I—I really didn’t mean to ruin your dress,” he mumbles, voice small.

You smile against his shoulder. “I know, Luke. It’s just a dress.”

He hesitates before hugging you back, his grip a little tight, like he’s still worried about the whole thing. “I felt really bad.”

You pull back just enough to look at him. “Well, you can make it up to me by giving a really good speech at the wedding.”

His eyes widen. “Wait—I can do a speech?”

Quinn sighs, but there’s no real annoyance behind it. “I never said that.”

Luke smirks. “You didn’t have to.”

Jack groans. “Oh god, this is gonna be unbearable.”

Quinn shakes his head, pulling you back to his side. “I should’ve proposed in private,” he mutters under his breath.

You laugh, squeezing his hand. “Nah. This is perfect.”

And as the Hughes family falls into their usual rhythm of chirps and laughter, as Quinn’s hand tightens around yours, you know that nothing—no chaos, no spilled wine, no wobbly chairs—could have made this moment any better.

beachy’s notes: hello babes please please, please send me fic requests

[mintmatcha]

Continuation.

Bakugo Katsuki swore that he would die before he let you have Izuku's number.

And yet, somehow, the three of you have ended up together for drinks.

He thinks it's a fair compromise; Izuku can ask his million questions, Bakugo can kill the rumors that the two of you are together, you can-

He's not sure what your goal is, but he can see it shining in your eyes.

Izuku is still in his teaching clothes, a pristine button up rolled up to the elbows and a pressed pair of pants. There's an extra shine and coil to his curly hair, and it smells like sandalwood; he put effort into his appearance and Bakugo knows it isn't for him.

Your words echo in the back of his mind: people always want what they can't have.

"You worked for the commission? As a hero?" Izuku asks you.

You never give direct answers- just these convenient truths delivered with a pretty smile.

"I'm retired."

Lipstick clings to the rim of your drink. It makes your lips looks soft and round, even when you run your tongue across your teeth.

"Retired?" Izuku asks. "Wow, I'm kind of jealous."

"She's my social media manager." Bakugo cuts in. "And a tiktok person."

Not his girlfriend, he wants to add, but he refrains.

"Kacchan says you have a cool quirk." Izuku talks without pause, rambling mostly to himself in that way Katsuku has taught himself to find endearing. His attention never wanes away from you, but you don't blush or squirm. You sit and endure with that damn smile on your face. "What is it called? How does it work? I tried to Google it, but nothing comes up. You are so young to be retired, I just-"

You lean forward and place a hand on Izuku's upper thigh, cutting him off midsentence.

"You have very beautiful eyes," you say, slow, stepping gently over every word. "Wide, wet: like a rabbit's."

Izuku snaps silent. Each one of your nails taps against his thigh, one by one. Bakugo watches how your thumb swipes side to side, how your lips part with your exhale, how your smile creeps up all on its own as you lean even closer-

"You twitch like one too."

"Oh, wow, uh-" Izuku stutters, his whole face flushing a dark pink, so strong it eats his freckles. Finally, someone else understands your goddammit issues. Bakugo swallows down the strange feeling in his chest with the last dregs of his beer.

"I'm going to get a drink, I think." Izuku stands, pulling away from your touch.

"Grab me a beer?" Katsuki shakes his empty can. Izuku nods, then looks at you.

"Soda water with lime."

"No alcohol?"

"I like to keep my wits about me."

The man nods, then practically scurries off to the bar. You huff, content, like a dog that's bought it's master their hunt.

"You scared the fuck outta him."

"He liked it." You pick a piece of lint off of your skirt. "They always do. Watch: he'll come back and sit even closer to me."

Bakugo throws himself back into his seat, arms crossed. "You're so damn cocky."

"Look who's talking, Kacchan." You tilt your head, pouting your lips with fake sincerity. "I can call you that, right? As your girlfriend?"

He sinks even lower in his chair. "You aren't my girlfriend."

"I could be." You mimic him. You lean back and let your knees spread just a bit, just enough that he could see what under if he tried- "The sex would be phenomenal."

That hits him like a shot. It's not that he wants to have sex with you, but he can't deny that the thought crosses his mind every now and again. He thinks about it when he's alone, when the bed feels too big, when he's-

"You don't fucking know that!" He's too angry already, especially compared to your nonplussed response.

"I do.'

"You don't even fucking know me." He points a finger back at you. "And I don't know anything about you."

"It's better if you don't know."

Bakugo sneers. Another nonanswer. He looks back towards Izuku, who's locked in conversation with the bartender. Why would you even bother with him? Someone like you would rip through him like tissue paper. You're right- he is a rabbit, and you're a dog, waiting with your sharp teeth to-

A hand cups his ear. Bakugo watches as you lean in over the table, bringing your lips to his ear.

"I grew up in the commission. One of their little project kids," you whisper. Sometimes, your lips make contact with cartilage and his skin sparks with heat. "I did things for them. Bad things. Illegal things."

"You kill people?" he whispers back.

"You know the answer to that." With every word, you creep closer, until your hands are on his thighs now. "They forced me to retire when Hawks took over. No more need for girls with bloody hands."

It's the truth. Your voice is painfully sincere for once, a strange change from your usual composed self. You're just giving him what he wants, but it's working. It's working. He almost puts his hand around your waist.

If Izuku is a rabbit, he's a fox, and you've lured him out of his fucking burrow. At this point, he'd welcome your teeth in his neck.

"What else should I tell you? My favorite color's red, I love the beach. You're not allowed to pull my hair, I never sleep over after sex," you continue. "I have a scar on my chest. So, you're not surprised when you see it later."

"Stop assuming that I'm going to fuck you."

"Oh, you're going to." You slink back over to your seat. Hands folded over your lap- a snake ready to strike. "I'm going to flirt with Izuku until you break-"

You turn your attention away from him, waving towards the approaching Izuku. "And then you're gonna fuck my brains out, Kacchan."

There's no time to respond before Izuku teeters back, blaming three drinks with a little difficulty. He hands then out, then sits back down-

So close to you that his thigh brushes yours.

"Thank you, little rabbit," you tease, eyes flicking back to Bakugo with a knowing, smug smile.

Fuck, Bakugo thinks. Fuck.

[wileys-russo]

Alessia, "I didn't cheat on you, it was just a dream babe!", mad alessia at training

disloyal dreams II a.russo

"-are you going to be like this all day?" you sighed as you tried to start a conversation with the blonde beside you who shrugged, again refusing to give you any sort of verbal response.

"alessia. the silent treatment, really?" you repeated, eyes burning into the side of her head as she shrugged and you dragged your hands down your face exhaling heavily.

"i thought we were good at communication. we've been together for a year and a half!" you reminded, alessia dead silent as her fingers drummed against the steering wheel and she came to a stop at a red light.

"less, babe will you just tell me what i've done wrong? i can't fix it if i don't know what i did!" you groaned frustrated, the blonde only leaning forward and turning up the stereo louder making you wince.

"fine, be like this then." you grumbled with a shake of your head, crossing your arms and staring out the window, knowing her well enough that the striker when warranted could be incredibly stubborn.

though the problem you were having today is you weren't even sure where this grudge she had against you was coming from. you'd gone to bed and things were all fine and normal, the pair of you ordering in and falling asleep cuddled up together watching a movie in the living room as you often did.

you'd woken up first, slowly shaking the taller girl on top of you until she did too and the two of you had stumbled tiredly to bed. her long limbs entrapping you in her hold the moment your backs hit the mattress, eyes heavy and a few sleepy kisses exchanged, all seemed fine.

but then this morning you'd woken up to an empty bed, frowning right away as alessia was almost never the first one awake between you.

in fact over the time you'd been together even before you'd moved in with her whenever you slept over at alessia's you'd learned to set your alarm a half an hour earlier than either of you had to be up because it took that long to coax the sleepy blonde to actually get up.

your confusion only grew further when a quick search of the house showed it to be empty, your calls out for your girlfriend going unanswered both vocal and on the phone, a sense of worry beginning to settle in.

however right before it really hit its peak you heard keys in the front door, racing down the stairs and breathing out in relief when she stepped inside, body coated in a thin sheen of sweat and hair pulled back into a bun.

you tried to speak to her and draw her into a hug, mumbling ut you'd been worried sick and asking why she hadn't at least left a note or sent a text but all you got was a shrug and a grumble she needed a shower.

ever since then the most your girlfriend had said was maybe three words, the rest of her responses all grunts or hums as at first you thought maybe she hadn't slept well and was just tired.

though then it started to feel a lot more personal and as much as you'd asked and asked and asked, she wouldn't tell you just why she was so seemingly upset with you or what you'd done to earn such a stubborn silence.

pulling into the training grounds you tried again to ask if the two of you could talk, trying to angle that it wasn't healthy to go into training if she was in a bad head space but all that resulted in was a door closed in your face and a rap of her knuckles against your window a moment later, wordlessly telling you to hurry up.

despite the fact alessia could be one of the most sweet, kind and downright lovely human beings you'd ever had the pleasure to know let alone fall in love with, she still had her share of off day but normally she was quite good at hiding them from your teammates.

today however she didn't seem to care in the slightest, making no move to disguise the fact she wasn't talking to you and clearly was in a mood, the tension thick and uncomfortable as you stared at her longingly across the change rooms.

"mate. what did you do to that poor girl?" leah flopped herself down in her own cubby beside you as you sighed, alessia not even sparing you a glance as she laced her boots up and stormed out, ignoring both emily and lotte who tried to stop and speak with her clearly sensing she wasn't okay.

"nothing! well at least not that i can work out? i've been given the silent treatment all morning." you huffed with a roll of your eyes, wrestling to undo the tight knots in your boots and sending kyra a venemous glare across the room who was clearly the culprit.

but sensing maybe today was not the day to have pushed your buttons the australian was quick to shrink beneath your murderous stare, taking off out of the room within seconds flat.

"give it here." leah chuckled, having already undone your other boot as you shoved it at her and sunk down into your seat, stroppy look on your face and mouth turned downward into a sour pout.

"did you have an argument?" "no." "did you not do something you said you would?" "I don't think so?" "did you forget an anniversary? birthday? special date?" "definitely not." "did you..." leah trailed off, clearly trying to think of something to say.

"nah i've got nothing. good luck sunshine!" the blonde shrugged, pinching your cheek and handing you the now untangled boot. "leah!" you groaned, hoping for the older girl to at least have had perhaps some wisdom to offer.

throughout the day your confusion only grew when the stony silence continued, the two of you at least kept mostly separate for the majority of training, having grown embarrassed now by your shut down attempts to talk to alessia.

thankfully bar a few ill timed comments from some of your younger peers who hadn't yet learnt how to read a room everyone backed off the teasing you'd been worried about, most of them just as confused as you by the air of frustration and irritation radiating off the blonde striker.

"fucking hell less!" leah swore, barely able to duck out of the way of a poorly timed but incredibly powerful strike which rocketed past her ear and swooshed into the back of the goal.

you however were not so lucky, admittedly quite out of it most of the session as your brain ticked over and you overthought every little action and interaction you'd had with the blonde in the last twenty four hours.

it was this distraction which caused you to have zoned out on the sidelines, staring off into space and triple checking in your head every significant event and date to try and work out just why your girlfriend was so clearly off with you.

but you were grounded right back into reality when suddenly something hit you very hard and very fast right in the face, the unexpected ball knocking you on your ass as you felt something wet drip down your face and you started to feel a little woozy.

you watched as both your teammates and some of the staff crowded around you, seeing their mouths moving but unable to decipher what was being said due to the obnoxious ringing in your head.

the medics eventually arrived, shooing everyone away to give you some space and a collective slightly disgusted groan sounded as suddenly you lurched forward and emptied the contents of your breakfast onto the grass beside you.

you winced as a bright light was shone right in your eyes, trying to bat away the hand responsible as someone else grabbed your wrists and stopped you.

blinking a few times as finally the light went away and your hearing returned right in time to hear one word before you were helped to your feet and walked off the pitch.

concussion.

you sighed heavily but nodded as you laid down on one of the padded benches in the medic office, the lights dim and one of the trainee's running you through the concussion protocol you knew like the back of your hand.

with a heavy sigh you felt him squeeze your knee in a silent apology before ducking out to grab some paperwork, an incident report needing to be done as you covered your face with your hands and felt your heartbeat thump in your ears.

when you heard the door open again you assumed he'd returned and you might be cleared to leave, but to your surprise when you looked up there was a different person now looking down on you, your bag slung over her shoulder and car keys in hand.

you didn't expect her to say anything and you didn't have it in you for an argument, so with a grunt you pulled yourself into a seated position, her hands quick to steady you and you hated how good it felt to feel her touch even in such a minimal way.

"you cheated on me."

your head snapped up so fast you felt your neck throb and the headache settling behind your eyes pulse as you sat in a state of shock, sure you'd just heard her incorrectly.

"i-what?" you managed to croak out, the blonde fiddling with the strap of the bag as she nodded. "you cheated on me." she repeated and just like earlier you felt a horrendous sense of nausea settle in.

"i think i'm going to be sick." you began to panic, bile rising in your throat as you looked around desperately for a sick bag of some sort as alessia's hands settled on your cheeks and you tensed up.

"you cheated on me last night." she repeated in a tone so soft you almost didn't hear her, incredibly confused and now wondering just how hard you'd hit your head as you blinked.

"alessia. what? i-baby i would never ever chea-" you couldn't even get the words out until the blonde shook her head, one of her hands coming to cover your mouth, an odd look of guilt now present on her face which had you even more confused.

"in my dream, last night. you cheated on me in my dream, that's why i've been so off with you today..." the blonde bit her bottom lip with a wince as you paused, slowly moving her hands off of you as she shifted nervously.

"i didn't cheat on you." "no." "but you thought i did?" "kind of? i know it was a dream, but it felt really real!"

"alessia..." you trailed off in disbelief, the trainee from earlier taking one step inside as the pair of you looked at him and clearly sensing he might have been interrupting he quickly ducked back out of the room with a mumble you were free to go.

"i still think you should say sorry." the blonde seemed to regain her confidence as your jaw dropped and you looked at her in bewilderment. "for what?" you squeaked out, alessia sighing and shaking her head.

"for cheating on me." "i didn't cheat on you? it was just a dream babe!" you threw your hands up with a scoff and hissed, your head throbbing as your eyes squeezed shut.

"okay. well since you have a concussion, i'll forgive you anyway." alessia decided, stepping forward to stand in between your legs and giving you a smile as if she'd just done you a favour.

"you'll forgive me?" "yes. now baby we should really get you home, i've got your concussion plan and you have to come in tomorrow for a re-assessment." alessia nodded, patting your bag and holding our a hand to help you up as you stared at her with narrowed eyes.

"you'll forgive me. for ignoring me all day and making me feel like i've done the wrong thing? like i'm the the crazy one?" you stuttered out still in shock that this was the reason for her cold shoulder and off put behavior.

"hey! you can't use that." alessia snatched your phone out of your hand and slid it into your bag with a tut. "i need it." you held your hand out expectantly and rolled your eyes as your girlfriend had the audacity to laugh.

"for what?" she questioned as you smacked away her attempted helping hands and she frowned.

"because i need to write a note." "a note?" "yes alessia. a note that when my head isn't absolutely throbbing i am going to yell at you and then give you the silent treatment all day!"

"what! baby why? you cheated on me, and i forgave you?" "i cannot control my actions in a dream alessia, and so i didn't cheat on you!" "baby you shouldn't get so worked up, you'll make your headache worse." "dating you is a headache russo." "...so is now a bad time to ask for that apology?" "it was a dream alessia!"

[lightwing-s]

𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐓 𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐍

pairing: simon "ghost" riley x reader

It must’ve been early when the knocking woke you up. Rolling in the warmth of the bed, you struggled to get up and once you did, you walked towards the door on pure muscle memory, still too tired to proceed with any coherent thoughts.

You opened it automatically, rubbing your heavy eyes and letting out a yawn.

“Ghost, Price and I were thinking that maybe…” you heard a voice you faintly remembered blurt out words you vaguely put together. “Yn? What are you doing in Simon's room?”

Freezing at the spot, your eyes dart open, as wide as they could possibly be, and a burst of energy runs through your body, making your mind jolt alight, finally deciding to work.

“Fuck.” you whisper, as you could hear the sound of objects falling and stumbling steps rushing to your side. Simon, still shirtless, holding up his loose sweatpants and whose mask had been clumsy put on, only one of his eyes properly fitting through it’s proper hole, arrived beside you breathlessly, pulling Gaz into the room and closing the door immediately thereafter.

Pushing the Sergeant onto the unmade bed, it took him a moment to catch his breath, spinning around on the same spot on the floor. He had fixed his mask, and the moment his eyes caught yours you could clearly understand his message.

We’re fucked.

Your eyes were restless, moving from Simon and Gaz so quickly it was making you dizzy. Your hands tugged at Simon’s shirt, dressing you like a dress, but barely covering your legs, ones you were not used to exposing in front of your comrades.

It was awkward, this whole situation an awkward mess you had put you all in.

I’m sorry, you mouthed and pleaded with your eyes as Simon stopped in front of you, his hands reaching for your arm, rubbing it warm, consoling you as much as he could as you two sulked in unwanted company.

“Can you two explain what’s going on?” asked your “guest”. Exchanging glances once more, you two fought over who would break him the news. “Or am I supposed to make my own conclusions?”

“‘S pretty obvious, innit?” Simon replied, dryly.

“I wanted to hear it from you, it looks too surreal.” he said, leaning back and straightening his position, a smirk spreading on his face, amusement evident in his eyes. “The Lt and Yn shagging.”

You looked back at Simon once more, his arms crossed on his chest making his biceps look twice their size, and his clear crunched jawline, probably planning three hundred different ways to murder his teammate. Touching his shoulder, you asked for allowance, watching as he considered the options before nodding in return.

“Gaz.” you called, catching his attention. “We’re married.”

Gaz’s head bobbed forward as his eyes almost jumped out of its socket, questioning the shocking news and his own reality. To confirm your words, showed him your hands, more specifically your ring finger, where a pair of letters, ‘SR’, were tattooed secretly on its side. The Lieutenant followed suit, uncrossing his arms to expose your initials drawn on the same spot in his ring finger. 

You two were married. Married, and no one in the base knew it. Hell, they didn’t even know you two had a thing for each other, was going through Gaz’s mind.

“Married?” he repeated, more an affirmation than a question, trying to process it in his head. “I can’t wait till Johnny knows it.”

“Johnny can’t know it.” you immediately cut him. “Please, Gaz. I-it’s…” private, you wanted to add, our lives. But a lump in your throat caught you, feeling everything you’d build crumbling down. 

You’d been so careful. You and Simon had taken every possible precaution since the first night you hooked up, not wanting anyone to find out your silly “mistake”, to the day of your wedding two years ago, the most important day in your entire life. And now the secret was done for, days counted even if Gaz were kind enough to keep it to himself.

“Private.” Gaz completed your words after a brief minute of silence, and the hope in your chest grew. “I get it. You know I’m not a snitch.” Standing up, he continued. “Your secret is safe with me.” and extending his hand towards your husband he wished. “Congratulations, Simon.”

Your husband, after second thoughts, shook Gaz’s hand in his, evident force used to make sure a warning was heard: you say anything, you’re dead. However, knowing him like no one else, you notice signs no one would, and the slight drop in his shoulder lets you know he trusted his Sergeant.

“Congratulations you too, Yn.” he turned to you, giving you a tight hug instead, lifting you off your feet for a brief moment before returning you to the floor. “Does this make me the best man over Johnny?”

Fishing for a pillow, Simon threw it straight into Gaz’s head as he rushed out of your room, giggles heading out with him. You too stood laughing, enjoying knowing your secret paradise wasn’t done for yet, and trying to calm down your sulking and annoyed husband.

.

a/n: short drabble to announce i'm now taking simon and other cod men requests ♡

[heich0e]

"can i call you later?"

the wind bites at your cheeks, but the sting you feel is as much from the smile on your face as it is from the chill.

"dunno," you muse, pursing your lips as though you're contemplating the question deeply. "can you?"

rintarou groans, but the sound isn't half as plaintive as it ought to be. you watch as his head hangs down defeatedly where his frame is folded over the railing that lines the front of the train station, his body pitched forward over the barrier like he's trying to reach you on the other side.

you've been saying goodbye for the past twenty minutes—or, you've been trying to. sort of. maybe. the train you'd planned to catch has already come and gone, and the next is set to soon arrive. one more and it will be the last of the night, but not even knowing that fact seems to be moving you closer towards the door to the station—content to stay here, like this, as the wind of the late fall night nips at your cheeks and the two of you muddle through your goodbye with the inelegance of two people who couldn't be less committed to it if they tried.

rintarou lifts his head to meet your gaze.

"i mean it, though." he says. "can i call you tonight?"

your stomach flips when he looks at you this way. when he keeps looking at you this way.

"we just spent hours together," you remind him, but your words are too breathy to make impact. too elated to be reproachful.

you've been on three dates with rintarou now. you think they're dates anyway, though it's never explicitly been stated. his invitations are always casual, sandwiched in between all the other texts he sends to you these days, so you might be reading into things too closely for your own good. but dinner doesn't just feel like dinner when rintarou has this way of looking at you like you're the only person he's ever laid his eyes on.

"i know," he answers. it's not an explanation, or an excuse, or even an apology. it's plain acceptance. a shamelessness you find wretchedly endearing.

you glance back at the station behind you, biting the inside of your cheek to temper your delight.

"my train is coming," you say.

he looks a bit crestfallen. laughably glum, considering the circumstances.

you drag the heel of your shoe back ever so slightly, not quite a step—at least not in any meaningful way—but inching in the direction of the doors at a glacial pace. continental drift seems positively hasty in comparison to your retreat.

"bye," he calls, his tone dejected. you watch as he lifts his hand weakly, still slumped over the railing, and waves at you with only a few fingers raised.

you want to laugh, but your chest is so full of something else—something syrupy and fluttering and good—that it's like there's no space for it underneath your ribs.

you call back to him just before you step into the station.

"rintarou—"

there are other people around, stepping between and around you both—rushing into the station to escape the cold, or moving briskly as they brace themselves and step out into it—but you hardly notice them when your eyes meet.

you smile.

"—call me later."

he calls you almost every night after that.

even as the cool autumn winds change with the seasons; carrying flakes of snow as winter blankets nagano, warming with the spring, turning heavy with humidity in summer, and then repeating the cycle anew.

even as your reluctant goodbyes turn from late nights outside of train stations to early morning words whispered under blankets as rintarou leaves for practice or away games.

even as the uncertainty of whether or not you're getting your hopes up—of whether those meetings were even really dates at all—melts away into nothing more than a memory.

you're not even sure what the two of you manage to spend so much time talking about on the phone. nothing, really. everything in its own right. rintarou's phone calls are something you come to look forward to at the end of a long day. something you anticipate when you have exciting news to share. a comfort when you're missing him and a relief when you need him most.

"is that the last one?" you ask, turning just in time to see your boyfriend—your live-in boyfriend now, officially—flop back on the sofa after he drops the last moving box atop the stack piled near the balcony door.

"yeah," he wheezes, evidently winded from the exertion—from the exhaustion—of moving house. you laugh a bit to yourself as you shuffle over to the sofa, leaning over the back so you can peer down at him where he lays sprawled against the cushions.

"aren't you a professional athlete?" you tease him. "shouldn't you have better stamina?"

rintarou cocks a brow, something sly swimming behind his gaze.

"i need better stamina?" he drawls. "you're usually complaining about the opposite."

you roll your eyes in the wake of his remark, grabbing a throw pillow from beneath his head and yanking it from under him unceremoniously, only to press it lightly against his face.

you shuffle back towards the kitchen where you'd left the box you were unpacking abandoned. you grab a plate from inside the cardboard and turn to place it on the shelf you'd decided would house your dinnerware.

"it's late," you tell him, reaching for the next plate in the box. "you should go wash up first."

you don't get a reply, and that surprises you. you creep over to the sofa again, only to find rintarou staring up at the ceiling, lost in thought.

"hey," you laugh a little, leaning on your elbows against the back of the couch. "where'd you go?"

rintarou's gaze snaps back to yours. he still looks at you like he did on your first date. like he did outside the train station on your third. he smiles, bit it's a bit sheepish.

"sorry, was just thinking," he answers quietly. he reaches up from where he's lying on his back, brushing his thumb against your cheek. his smile turns a little bit giddy, then. boyishly charming. "can't believe we finally got a place together."

you lean into his touch, huffing a little breath through your nose—halfway to a laugh.

"guess you won't have to call me anymore," you joke, and rintarou's expression changes—falls slightly—but only for a moment. you realize what you've said, or at least think about the implications more, and you sort of understand the shift.

you fell in love through those phone calls.

you'll miss them—the ritual, the familiarity, the comfort—even though you know they've been replaced by something better.

you turn your face, pressing a fleeting kiss to rintarou's palm. "go wash up," you tell him again, heading back towards the kitchen and your (now twice abandoned) box of plates.

he seems to heed your advice this time, peeling himself up off the sofa and shuffling off in the direction of the washroom.

"don't use all the hot water!" you call after his retreating frame, and you hear him reply noncommittally under his breath before the door clicks closed behind him.

you've only got three dishes left to unpack before your box is emptied, but the shelf you'd been organizing doesn't seem to want to accommodate all of your bowls in the way you wanted, so you're left arranging and rearranging them as you try to find a way to get them to fit.

in the back pocket of your jeans, your phone begins to ring. with three plates balanced in one hand, you reach for it with the other—the movement muscle memory now, instinct more than volition, after all this time. you answer the call without even looking at the screen, holding the phone between your ear and your shoulder as you continue juggling the dishes in front of you.

"oop—hello?"

you pause after you answer the call, realizing for the first time that you shouldn't be getting a call at all. not at this time of night. not in this apartment.

the line is quiet, just the sound of breathing that you could recognize anywhere to be heard from the other end of the call.

"why are you calling me?" you ask rintarou, but the words are light. too fond to be reproachful.

you hear rintarou laugh—from the other end of the call and from the other side of the bathroom door.

"just wanted to hear your voice," he answers you (the same way he has a thousand nights before when you've asked him that same question.)

"you're ridiculous," you tell him, completely enamoured.

"i know," he replies.

it's quiet for a moment as the two of you stand on opposite sides of your apartment. on opposite ends of your call.

you shift a stack of bowls a little to the left. it all fits now. just the way you wanted it to.

"y'know, the hot water won't run out as fast if we shower together—"

you hear the bathroom door open, and when you look over your shoulder, rintarou is peeking at you from around the edge of the door—his phone held to his ear, a smile on his face you know is mirrored on your own, and a look in his eye that's never once wavered.

he tilts his head.

"—wanna join me?"

[bueckets]

The Hit List | 02.5

Pairing: fuckgirl!Paige x Mechi Student!reader

Masterlist (TBA) | Part One | Part Two (READ BEFORE 2.5)

Genre: romance, slow burn, enemies to lovers, kinda funny?, they fuck, n its hot n sweaty, cat n mouse

Description: What starts as a game of avoidance turns into something far more dangerous when old grudges and unfinished business crash headfirst into a truth neither of them are ready to face. Armed with a stubborn streak, a boyfriend you're trying too hard to believe in, and a simmering resentment that burns just as hot as desire, you swear you won’t let Paige win.

But when history keeps rewriting itself in glances, in touches, in words that cut too close—you start to wonder if you've had control of the game at all.

wc: 24k, yes, 24k

Authors Note: sorry this took forever, too many words so this is split into two parts (THIS IS part 2 chap 2)

Three Weeks Later

Midterms came and went, dragging you through hell and back. The sleepless nights, the cramming, the fucking Systems Engineering project that nearly made you throw your laptop out a window. It’s over. You survived.

And somewhere in between all of it—Paige Bueckers became just a name again.

Not a person. Not a presence. Not someone orbiting your every waking moment.

Just a name you see online.

A headline when UConn wins another game.

A clip someone reposts on Twitter, her pulling up from three like it’s muscle memory, making it look so goddamn easy.

Her life moves forward at full speed.

The season’s in full swing, meaning the team’s constantly gone—traveling for games, disappearing for days at a time, too busy to be anything but motion.

It’s weird.

Because after that night—after the fucking laundry room, after the way she felt against you, the way her breath tangled with yours—you thought she’d stick. Thought the weight of her would still be there, pressing into your ribs, twisting your stomach every time you caught a glimpse of her across campus. But she’s gone.

Not in the literal sense. You still hear her name, see her in passing, watch her run drills on the court like she owns it. But she’s not here. Not in the way that matters. She’s everywhere else—on screens, in headlines, living a life that no longer overlaps with yours.

And you hate that the only way you see her now is through a fucking phone. A video of her laughing on the sideline, hair damp with sweat, head thrown back like she doesn’t have a care in the world. A post-game interview where she’s loose, confident, rattling off the same media-trained answers like she’s never lost control of anything in her life. She’s fine. She’s thriving.

And the worst part? She probably doesn’t think about you at all.

So you adjust. You fall back into routine. Class. Studying. Work. You go to parties, sometimes. You drink. You dance. You make out with people whose names you don’t bother remembering. You kiss Eli again—once, just to see if it sparks something, if it fills the void she left behind. It doesn’t. It never does.

And then, just as fast as she disappeared—

She’s back.

It happens out of nowhere. One second, you’re dragging yourself through campus, brain fogged with sleep, the winter air biting at your skin, coffee scalding the tip of your tongue. And then—her. Right there. Like she never left. Like she hasn’t spent the last few weeks bouncing between cities, arenas, flashing cameras. Like she isn’t something bigger than all of this.

She’s standing outside the training facility, hoodie pulled over her head, joggers slung low on her hips, a duffel bag hanging off her shoulder. She’s talking to someone—one of her coaches, maybe—but she’s different. Not in the way she looks. No, she’s exactly the same, infuriatingly so. It’s something else, something in the way she carries herself, like she’s spent so much time away from this part of her life that she almost forgot it existed.

Like she almost forgot about you.

Your breath stutters. Your steps slow.

She’s close enough to touch. Close enough to reach out and prove she’s real.

And yet, she might as well be a ghost.

Because when she finally turns, finally glances up—she sees you. You know she does. But there’s nothing. No reaction. No flicker of recognition. No teasing smirk. No raised brow, no knowing glance, nothing. Just a passing look, empty and indifferent, before she turns away.

Like you’re nobody.

Like that night never happened.

Like you never fucking existed.

And it wrecks you. Because for the first time since this whole fucked-up, tangled thing started—

It feels like you lost.

Two Months Later

Dating Eli is easy. That’s the problem.

There’s no push and pull, no fire curling under your ribs, no moments where your pulse spikes so fast you think you might actually combust. There’s no game. No tension. Just quiet, steady comfort. He’s sweet—thoughtful, even. Picks you up for class sometimes, walks you to your dorm even when it’s out of his way, texts you good morning despite seeing you every day. A good boyfriend. The kind you’re supposed to want.

And you? You go through the motions. You hold his hand. Let him kiss you. Let him slip an arm around your shoulders as you walk across campus, even though it still feels foreign. Even though it still feels wrong. But you let it happen because it’s safe. Because he doesn’t make your stomach drop. Because he doesn’t wreck you.

Because he’s not her.

And that’s exactly what you need. Because Paige Bueckers doesn’t know you exist anymore.

She came back from the season like she shed you—like you were just something she outgrew. Whatever happened between you was nothing. A passing thought. A mistake so inconsequential she didn’t even have to acknowledge it. And if she doesn’t care? Then neither do you.

So you lean into Eli.

And when he invites you to a UConn game—something casual, something low-stakes, something he’s excited to take you to—you say yes. You say yes because it makes sense. Because this is your life now. Because Paige Bueckers is just another player on the court.

And that’s all she’s ever going to be.

The stadium is packed, the early spring air crisp, cutting through the warmth of the sun. You follow Eli up the steps, scanning for open seats, the scent of popcorn and hot dogs thick in the air. It’s different from the last time you were at a game. Not indoors, not under the blinding arena lights. The energy is looser, more relaxed, fans chatting easily, kids waving oversized foam fingers.

You take a breath, steadying yourself. It’s fine. It’s just a game. And you’re here with your boyfriend.

Eli finds seats near the middle, pulling you down beside him, arm draping lazily over your shoulders. You lean in, let yourself sink into the warmth of his body, let yourself pretend like this is all normal.

On the court, the team is warming up. Players jog across the pavement, stretching, shaking out their limbs. Your gaze drifts over them, detached, unfocused, not looking for anything in particular—

And then—her.

It shouldn’t feel like a fucking collision, but it does.

Your breath catches, body locking up as if it knew before your brain did. As if some deep, unshakable instinct recognized her presence before you could stop it. Paige jogs across the court, her shorts hanging loose around her thighs, her hoodie still on, dribbling lazily like she doesn’t have a single care in the world. Like she’s untouchable.

Your chest tightens. She still looks the same. Still is the same. And yet—something’s different. Maybe it’s the way she seems even more unreachable now, like she exists in a space just beyond your grasp.

You exhale sharply, force your gaze away.

You’re here with Eli.

You’re fine.

This means nothing.

Eli nudges you. “You good?”

You blink, nodding too quickly. “Yeah. Just thinking.”

He smiles, presses a kiss to the side of your head. “Get ready. She’s gonna put on a show.”

You force a laugh.

And when you chance another glance at the court—Paige is already looking at you.

But this time, she reacts.

Just slightly. Just enough.

A shift in her eyes. A flicker of something.

And then—she smiles.

Not big. Not obvious. Just the barest curve of her lips, like she knows. Like she sees you sitting there, tucked under Eli’s arm, playing house, pretending like you’ve moved on. And for the first time in months, you know—

She hasn’t forgotten you at all.

You don’t watch the game. Not really.

You hear it—the sharp squeak of sneakers against pavement, the shrill whistle of fouls, the deafening roar of the crowd when UConn scores. You see it—the blur of white and navy jerseys cutting across the court.

But your focus is off.

Because all you can feel is the weight of her presence.

And the fact that she knows you’re here.

It fucks with you.

Because it had been easy to believe she forgot. That she let it go, left you in the past, moved on like you were nothing. But now—now she’s looking at you between plays. Not constantly. Not obviously. Just enough.

A glance while she’s standing at the free-throw line, hands on her hips, chest rising and falling. A flicker of her eyes when she jogs back on defense, scanning the crowd, skimming right past Eli like he doesn’t even exist.

And that fucking smirk when she sinks a three-pointer, lets it hang in the air for just a second before she turns, wiping the sweat off her brow with the hem of her jersey.

It’s deliberate. Calculated.

And it’s working.

Heat curls up your spine, a suffocating mix of frustration and something you won’t name. Your arms lock tight across your stomach, fingers curled into your sleeves. Beside you, Eli cheers, completely oblivious.

You wish you could be.

You wish you could tune her out. Pretend she’s just another player on the court. Pretend she doesn’t get under your skin.

But she’s in your head again. She won’t leave.

And worse—she knows it.

The game stretches on, endless. Every second is another reminder that she’s still there. That she’s not just some passing thought, some unfinished mistake. She’s real. She’s here. And she’s still in this fucking thing with you, even if neither of you are saying it out loud.

By the time the final buzzer sounds, you feel like you’ve been through a war.

Eli’s arm tightens around your shoulders, shaking you lightly. “See? Told you she’d put on a show.”

You nod, force a tight smile, but your chest feels hollow, your stomach twisted into something you don’t know how to untangle.

Because the game might be over—

But this?

This is just getting started.

The crowd filters out in waves, a slow, steady stream of bodies stretching stiff limbs, shaking off the lingering chill, still thrumming with energy from the win. Eli stands, his hand warm around yours as he pulls you up with him, his voice easy, unbothered, spilling into the space between you with post-game analysis—stats, highlights, a play he wants to rewatch later.

You nod when you’re supposed to, hum responses that sound just engaged enough, but none of it sticks. Your mind is elsewhere.

Because she’s still here.

Not with the team. Not caught up in post-game celebrations or media duties. No cameras, no noise, no excuses. Just lingering.

Sweat still clings to the curve of her neck, damp strands of blonde hair curling against her skin. Her hoodie is pulled over her head, water bottle hanging loose from her fingers, body relaxed like she has nowhere to be. But she’s not just standing there.

She’s watching.

Not outright. Not obvious. Just enough.

And Eli? He doesn’t notice.

Because why would he? He’s here with his girlfriend, celebrating a win, caught up in the moment, assuming she’s just watching the team clear out, thinking nothing of it.

You, on the other hand—

You can’t fucking breathe.

Every nerve is stretched too tight, buzzing under your skin, prickling like static, like she’s marking you without even touching you. Like she’s still fucking with you, seeing how much space she can take up in your head before you break.

And the worst part?

She looks fine.

Completely untouched. Unshaken. Not like she’s been thinking about you. Not like this has cost her anything.

And that—that is what undoes you.

Because this was supposed to be over.

You were supposed to be fine.

But here you are. Crumbling.

Eli tugs on your sleeve, easy, unaware. “Come on, let’s head out before traffic gets bad.”

You blink, drag yourself back into the present, nodding too quickly. “Yeah. Yeah, let’s go.”

One step.

Then two.

And then—

You don’t mean to look.

But you do.

Just for a second.

And she’s still there.

And she smiles.

Not big. Not obvious. Just that same, slow, knowing curve of her lips.

Like she sees right through you.

Like she knows you’re unraveling.

Like she’s won.

It’s three days after the game when the email comes in.

You don’t think much of it at first, just another facilities request forwarded to you through the engineering department—something about a faulty vent system in the women’s basketball locker room. Nothing urgent, nothing particularly exciting, just another task to check off your list between classes and whatever project is currently draining your soul. You’re barely skimming the details as you type out a confirmation reply, promising to stop by that afternoon, when it hits you.

Women’s basketball locker room.

Your stomach tightens.

For a second, you debate forwarding it off to someone else. Someone more qualified, someone with less history hanging in that space. But that’s fucking ridiculous, isn’t it? It’s been three months. Three months since the laundry room, since she pretended you didn’t exist, since you started playing house with Eli like it was supposed to fix everything. Three months of routine, of pretending you don’t track her name through game highlights and Twitter clips, of pretending you don’t feel her presence like a ghost in the back of your head.

You should be fine.

This shouldn’t be a thing.

It’s a fucking vent. You’re going to walk in, tighten some screws, maybe clean out a filter, and walk right back out. No big deal.

And yet, as you step into the building later that afternoon, tool bag slung over your shoulder, the cold press of the metal door handle beneath your palm, you feel something coil tight in your chest, something uneasy and electric, something that tells you this won’t be as easy as you want it to be.

The locker room is quiet when you step inside, the kind of silence that feels thick, like it’s waiting to be broken. The scent of sweat and body wash lingers in the air, fresh from practice, steam still clinging faintly from the showers in the back. Rows of lockers stretch across the room, some still open, jerseys draped lazily over the benches, sneakers kicked off in pairs on the floor.

You exhale slowly, adjusting the strap of your bag as you move toward the vent panel along the far wall. The faster you do this, the faster you can leave. You crouch, fingers working quickly to loosen the first few screws, trying to focus on the movement, the mechanics, anything but the slight tremble in your hands, anything but—

“Didn’t think I’d see you in here.”

The voice is unmistakable.

That low, casual drawl, edged in something sharper, something teasing, something that shouldn’t still make your breath catch the way it does.

You don’t turn immediately.

You keep working, keep your gaze locked on the vent, pretend like your pulse hasn’t just doubled. “Just fixing a maintenance issue,” you say, voice as even as you can manage. “Won’t be here long.”

There’s a pause, a shift of movement, the unmistakable sound of sneakers against tile. She’s coming closer.

“Shame,” Paige murmurs, and fuck, you feel it.

The weight of her gaze. The presence of her body somewhere behind you, close enough to make the air feel different, charged, suffocating.

You grip the screwdriver tighter.

She shouldn’t be here. Not now, not after all this time, not when you’ve spent months convincing yourself she doesn’t matter.

But she is.

And she’s talking to you.

You swallow, working another screw loose, forcing yourself to focus. “Shouldn’t you be at practice?”

She hums, and you hear the smile in it before you see it. “Finished early.” A pause, and then, “Didn’t know you were doing this kind of work.”

Your jaw tightens.

Of course, she didn’t. Because you don’t exist in her world anymore, do you? Not unless she decides you do.

You finally turn, slowly, pushing up from your crouch, letting yourself look at her.

And fuck, that was a mistake.

Because she looks good, better than you remember, the months of training and travel and games only sharpening her in ways that make your stomach twist. She’s standing there in sweatpants and a UConn tee, hair damp from a post-practice shower, arms crossed over her chest, watching you like she’s curious, like she’s interested, like she hasn’t spent three months pretending you were just another passing face in the crowd.

And it pisses you off.

You force a shrug, tilting your head slightly. “Didn’t know you cared what I was doing.”

Her smirk twitches. Just barely. Just enough.

“Didn’t say I did,” she replies smoothly, but the way she’s watching you says otherwise.

There it is.

The push and pull. The old game slipping back into place like it never left, like three months of avoidance didn’t mean shit.

And you should walk away. You should finish the job and leave, act like you don’t feel this, act like she’s just another person in another room.

But you don’t.

Because something deep in you, something bitter and unresolved and desperate, needs to know if this still means something.

So you take a step closer, watching the flicker in her eyes as you do.

“Then why are you standing here?” you ask, voice low, steady, challenging.

Paige doesn’t move. Doesn’t step back, doesn’t flinch, just holds your gaze, her mouth curving slightly, like she’s enjoying this, like she knows she’s getting to you.

“Maybe I’m just curious,” she says, tilting her head. “Been a while, hasn’t it?”

Three months.

Three months of silence. Three months of pretending. Three months of you thinking you were the only one who remembered, the only one who cared, the only one still feeling it.

And now?

Now she’s standing here, looking at you like she never forgot at all.

You don’t answer.

Because what is there to say? That, yeah, it’s been a while, and yet somehow it still feels like she never left your fucking head? That you’ve spent the past three months trying to scrub the memory of her hands off your skin, only to have them crawl back the second you laid eyes on her again? That seeing her at the game did something to you—something ugly, something desperate, something you don’t want to name?

No.

You won’t give her that.

So instead, you just lift a brow, forcing something casual onto your face, like her presence isn’t making your chest feel too tight. “Yeah. Guess it has.”

Paige watches you for a second longer, and you can see it happening—her weighing the moment, deciding how she wants to play this. Because that’s what she does, isn’t it? She plays. Gives you something, just a taste, just enough to make your stomach flip, before she rips it away.

And you should know better by now.

You do know better.

But then she shifts, weight rolling back onto one foot, arms still folded, her mouth quirking into that slow, almost lazy smirk—the one that’s never meant nothing.

“So,” she says, tilting her head, “are you gonna keep ignoring me, or are we past that now?”

Your pulse stutters.

Your fingers tighten around the screwdriver in your hand.

You weren’t expecting that.

For her to just say it. To acknowledge it, to drag it into the light, the weight of your silence, the way you spent months dodging her like it might actually fix you.

You scoff, shaking your head, turning back to the vent, to anything that isn’t her mouth forming words that fuck you up. “I haven’t been ignoring you.”

It’s a lie.

Paige knows it’s a lie.

She steps closer—just enough that you can feel the shift of air between you, just enough that you catch the faint scent of her shampoo, something fresh, something clean, something too close.

“You sure?” she murmurs. “Because it kinda seemed like you were.”

Your teeth clench.

She’s doing it again.

The push and pull. The little tug, just enough to make you stumble, to throw you off balance, to remind you exactly who you’re dealing with.

You exhale slowly through your nose, focus on the screw you’re twisting into place, force your voice to stay neutral. “You seemed fine with it.”

There’s a pause. Just for a beat. Just long enough that you think maybe—maybe—you landed something.

Then—soft, amused—Paige says, “You think that?”

And it’s not fair.

The way she says it, the way it slides under your skin, the way it makes your chest squeeze, makes you feel fucking stupid for believing, even for a second, that maybe she really had forgotten you.

Your fingers tighten around the screwdriver.

She’s playing with you.

And the worst part?

You let her.

You don’t turn. Don’t face her. Don’t give her the satisfaction.

But your voice is quieter when you say, “Why do you even care?”

Another pause.

Then—

“Maybe I don’t.”

Your stomach drops.

It’s so fucking typical. Just when you think she’s giving you something, just when she pulls you an inch closer, she yanks it away.

You clench your jaw, inhale sharply, force yourself to stay still.

And then—because you refuse to let her win this—you huff a soft laugh, shaking your head. “Right. Of course.”

You finish tightening the last screw, closing the panel, standing up. You finally turn to her, tilting your head slightly, forcing something light onto your face, like you’re fine, like she isn’t doing what she always fucking does.

“Well,” you say, slipping the screwdriver back into your bag. “It’s been great catching up, but I have shit to do.”

You move to step past her.

But she shifts, blocking your path.

Not aggressively. Not obviously.

Just enough.

Just enough that you have to stop.

Just enough that you have to look at her.

Paige licks her lips, considering you, and her voice is quieter this time, almost thoughtful. “You don’t like when I do that, do you?”

Your stomach tightens.

You keep your face neutral. “Do what?”

She tilts her head slightly. “Give you something, then take it away.”

You swallow.

Because the fact that she’s saying it out loud—naming it, acknowledging it—makes your chest squeeze so hard it’s almost painful.

You force a shrug. “You do whatever you want, Paige.”

You step around her, adjusting the strap of your bag like the conversation hasn’t just sunk claws into your spine, like you aren’t already burning up from the inside out. You throw one last casual glance over your shoulder, just to make a point, just to show her this doesn’t fucking matter.

And then—

“Is he your boyfriend?”

It’s smooth, deliberate, cutting through the silence with the ease of a well-placed knife.

Your body goes rigid.

Not enough to be noticeable. Not enough to give her the satisfaction. But she notices.

You school your face into something neutral before turning back to her. “Yeah.”

The second the word leaves your mouth, Paige scoffs. Then—slow, quiet, like she’s really thinking about it—she laughs.

It’s not loud. It’s not obvious. But it hits.

It slides under your skin, needles into your chest, presses against something raw and unsettled.

You know exactly what she’s laughing at.

Not at Eli, not really.

She’s laughing at you.

At the fact that you’re standing here, pretending like that word doesn’t feel foreign in your mouth, like it doesn’t taste like something you don’t quite believe.

At the fact that you’ve spent months throwing yourself into a version of reality where he is the answer.

At the fact that she knows—she fucking knows—that if he really was, you wouldn’t be here.

Your throat tightens.

You square your shoulders. “Something funny?”

Paige shakes her head, smirk barely there, but sharp. “Nah.” A pause, her gaze flicking over you like she’s amused, like she’s bored. “Just wasn’t expecting that.”

Your fingers curl around the strap of your bag, tight enough to sting.

She tilts her head slightly. “Does he know you’re here?”

You force your jaw not to clench. “Why would it matter?”

Paige hums, the sound lazy, almost dismissive. “It wouldn’t.”

You don’t know why that lands deeper than it should, why it hits like something solid in your chest.

She doesn’t fucking care.

You exhale sharply, roll your shoulders, force yourself to act like you don’t feel like she just pressed a finger right against something bruised inside you.

“Well,” you say, tone light, detached, like this whole conversation hasn’t just put a fucking stone in your stomach, “great catching up.”

And this time, when you walk out—when you force your feet to move, when you push through the door into the cooler hallway air—you don’t look back.

You don’t have to.

Because you can still feel her there.

Still hear the low echo of her laugh.

Still fucking feel her.

And you hate that it still makes your chest tighten.

The locker room door swings shut behind you, but the conversation doesn’t leave with it.

It sticks.

It clings to your skin, coils in your stomach, presses into your ribs like something sharp and unshakable.

You walk down the hallway fast, like you can outrun the weight of her laugh in your ears, like you can erase the way she looked at you when she said that’s your boyfriend?—like the words weren’t just words, like they were something else, something heavier, something soaked in disbelief and mockery.

You should be over her by now.

But then why does your skin still burn? Why does your pulse still hammer against the inside of your wrist? Why does the way she said it—casual, unbothered, like it didn’t even fucking matter—make something in you want to break?

The night stretches out after that, long and restless. You try to study, but you can’t focus. You try to sleep, but every time you close your eyes, she’s there. Her smirk. Her scoff. The way she laughed like you were a joke. Like he was a joke.

You spend the next week avoiding places where you might run into her, avoiding anywhere that makes you feel like a live wire, avoiding thinking about her—

And it works.

Until it doesn’t.

Because the thing about Paige Bueckers is that she has a way of creeping back in, of making herself known, of pulling you back into her orbit whether you want to be there or not.

It happens at another party.

A packed house, music pulsing through the walls, the kind of night where people are drinking like they’re trying to forget something, where everything feels just a little too loud, a little too bright, a little too much.

You’re standing in the kitchen, fingers curled around a red cup, Eli close behind you, talking to someone you don’t know. His hand is warm where it rests on your hip, an absentminded touch, a casual claim.

It’s fine.

You’re fine.

Until you’re not.

Until your eyes flicker past the crowd, past the shifting bodies and pulsing bass, past the open doorway—

And land right on her.

Paige is in the next room, leaning against the wall, head tilted, that lazy, practiced ease draped over her like armor. She’s watching something—someone. A girl. Pretty. Brunette. Standing too close, laughter spilling past glossy lips as she hangs on whatever Paige just said.

Paige isn’t even touching her. Doesn’t need to. Just standing there, looking, smirking, waiting. And the worst part? You know exactly what she’s doing.

Like she could have her if she wanted.

Like it’s not even a fucking question.

Your stomach knots, tight and hot. Not with jealousy—no, it’s worse than that. It’s recognition.

Because you know what it’s like to be on the other side of that look.

You know what it’s like to be wanted by her.

The ghost of it slams into you like a fist to the ribs—how it felt to have those eyes locked on you, sharp and knowing, pinning you down like a game she was already winning. How it felt when she had you right there and she knew it.

Your grip tightens around your cup, fingers digging in like it’s the only thing holding you together. Your breath stutters, the air too thick, the room suddenly too small.

She hasn’t seen you yet.

She’s too caught up in her game, too wrapped up in not caring.

So you do the same.

You force yourself to turn back to Eli, to play your part. You smile, lean into his touch, let him press his lips to your temple like it’s easy, like it’s nothing. Like it means something.

And maybe it works.

Maybe it doesn’t.

Because when you chance another glance—just for a second—

Paige is already looking at you.

And this time—

She smirks.

Slow. Deliberate. Like she’s been waiting for you to look. Like she knows exactly what she’s doing. Like she knows exactly how much space she still takes up in your fucking head.

And that’s when you snap.

You don’t think.

You move.

Your cup clatters onto the counter, liquid sloshing over the rim, but you don’t care. You slip out of Eli’s reach, push through the crowd—away, anywhere, somewhere with air that doesn’t taste like her.

Your pulse is a riot, hammering against your ribs, deafening in your ears as you shove past people pressed against walls, past laughter and voices swallowed by the music, past the tight, choking heat in your chest.

Your hands are shaking. Your breath is uneven. You need a second.

Just one fucking second to breathe—

And then—

A door swings open, and suddenly—

She’s right there.

Paige.

Still smirking.

Still looking like she has all the time in the world.

Still making your stomach feel like it’s caving in on itself.

Your chest rises and falls too fast, heat crawling up your neck, pooling low in your stomach, everywhere.

She leans against the doorway, casual as ever, the light behind her casting long shadows over the sharp angles of her face. She looks obnoxiously good, like she knows exactly how lethal she is.

She tilts her head. “What’s wrong?” she murmurs, voice low, teasing, like she already knows the answer.

And fuck her.

Fuck her for this.

For knowing you this well.

For still knowing you this well.

You shove past her, shoulder knocking against hers, but she moves at the last second, stepping just enough to block you—

And then—her hand.

Fingers curling around your wrist. Not hard. Not pulling. Just there.

You suck in a sharp breath.

She’s not holding you here. Not keeping you against your will.

But she doesn’t let go.

And neither do you.

The air between you crackles, thick, heavy, dangerous. The weight of something unsaid presses into your ribs, clinging to your skin, wrapping around you like a fucking chokehold.

Paige watches you.

And this time—

She doesn’t laugh.

She doesn’t smirk.

She waits.

And maybe—just maybe—

This time, you’re the one who moves first.

The space between you is electric, charged, something twisting tight in your chest like a live wire ready to snap. The hallway is dim, shadows stretching long against the walls, muffling the noise of the party outside, trapping you in this thing you’ve been running from for months.

Paige’s fingers are still around your wrist, not tight, not forcing—just there, anchoring you, keeping you from bolting like you probably should. Her eyes flicker over your face, searching, waiting, and fuck, you hate how easily she does this, how effortlessly she pulls you back into her gravity like you were never gone at all.

Your breath is uneven. Your pulse is pounding in your throat, but your voice is steady when you say, “What game are you playing at?”

She blinks, just once, slow and measured. Then the corner of her mouth curves, something smug, something dangerous. “Don’t you have a boyfriend?”

Your stomach drops, rage curling up into your throat so fast it makes your vision go sharp.

You shove her.

Harder than you should, more than just frustration, more than just anger. It’s months of this—of her pushing, pulling, giving you something and then acting like it never fucking happened. It’s her laugh in the locker room, her smirk at the game, the way she looked at you through the crowd like she was daring you to react, to feel. It’s all of it—the way she still owns you and acts like she doesn’t even care.

Paige stumbles back a step, but her hand never leaves you.

Instead, she grabs your other arm, fingers tight around your biceps, steadying herself, steadying you. Her grip is firm, strong, the heat of her palms burning through your sleeves.

Her smirk is gone.

And when she speaks again, her voice is different. Lower. Rougher.

“I’m not playing at a game.”

Your breath catches.

Because it’s not cocky. It’s not teasing. It’s real.

Her hands flex slightly on your arms, like she’s bracing herself, like she needs you to hear this.

And you do.

It sinks under your skin, gets lodged somewhere between your ribs, breaks something open inside of you that you’ve been trying to keep sealed shut.

Your heart is hammering. Your whole body is buzzing, tight, waiting.

Paige is still holding you.

And she’s so fucking close.

You can feel her breath against your lips, can see the flicker in her eyes, the way her chest is rising and falling just as fast as yours.

You don’t know who moves first.

Maybe it’s her. Maybe it’s you. Maybe it’s both of you at the same fucking time, colliding like you were never meant to be anything but this.

Your mouths crash together, hot and desperate, months of tension unraveling all at once, burning through every nerve in your body.

Paige exhales sharply against you, hands tightening around your arms before sliding up, up, framing your face, pulling you deeper into it, like she’s afraid you might disappear again.

You fist the fabric of her hoodie, dragging her into you, needing her closer, needing more.

Her body presses against yours, her lips insistent, rough, a little reckless, like she’s been waiting for this just as long as you have.

The hallway feels too small, the walls too close, your hands too desperate where they roam—her waist, her shoulders, the sharp edge of her jaw.

Paige groans softly against your mouth, and it wrecks you.

It fucking destroys you.

Because it’s real.

Because she wants this.

Because for the first time, she’s not taking it away.

You don’t stop.

Neither does she.

It’s all heat, all breath, all want. Paige’s mouth is rough, greedy, like she’s making up for every second you’ve spent apart, every time she pretended she didn’t see you, every time she smirked at you like this was just a game. Her hands are everywhere—your waist, your back, gripping the fabric of your shirt like she’d die if she let go.

You’re no better.

Your fingers fist in her hoodie, tugging her closer, dragging her against you, needing her body against yours, needing her to feel what she’s doing to you. The hallway barely exists anymore—the party, the noise, Eli—none of it fucking matters. Just her. Just her mouth, her hands, the way she kisses you like she’s starving for it.

Then, between kisses, between desperate little gasps, she murmurs it.

“I need you, baby.”

It wrecks you.

Fucking destroys you.

The word slips out easy, unthinking, raw. Not teasing, not smug, not calculated. Just real.

Your breath catches.

Paige must feel the way your body reacts, the way your nails dig into her arms, the way your hips press forward into hers, because she groans against your mouth and drags her teeth over your bottom lip.

You’re moving before you can think.

Paige is pushing you, guiding you back, back, until your shoulder blades hit a door, until she’s fumbling with the handle, barely breaking the kiss long enough to shove it open.

The room is dark, empty. Some random spare bedroom, barely furnished, barely even fucking registered because the second the door slams shut, Paige is on you again.

Her hands slide under your shirt, rough palms dragging up your ribs, fingertips pressing hard, desperate. Your breath is uneven, your body thrumming with something electric, something you can’t stop, something you don’t want to stop.

You don’t think.

You don’t need to think.

You just pull her hoodie up over her head, fingers tangling in the fabric for a second before it’s gone, discarded somewhere on the floor. Paige exhales sharply as you press into her, as your mouth moves against her jaw, down her throat, tasting, taking.

Her fingers slip into your hair, tugging just enough to make you feel it, enough to make you moan against her skin.

“Fuck,” she mutters, voice rough, breathless, like she’s unraveling, like you’re doing this to her.

You are.

And she fucking loves it.

Her hands move lower, sliding over your hips, gripping tight, like she’s anchoring herself, like she can’t stop touching you, like she’s making sure you’re real.

You kiss her again, harder, messier, pushing her back until her legs hit the edge of the bed, until you’re both toppling onto it, tangled together, all mouths and hands and heat.

Paige knows she’s winning.

You can see it in her eyes, the slow drag of them over your body, the way she takes her time, drinking in every reaction like she’s cataloging them, memorizing what makes you shiver, what makes you squirm, what makes your breath hitch in your throat.

She still likes the game.

She still likes to play.

But this time, she isn’t letting you pull away.

This time, she’s going to take everything.

Her fingers skim over your stomach, slow, teasing, just enough to make you feel it but not enough to satisfy anything. Her mouth follows, lips pressing soft, lingering kisses down, down, down, like she has all the time in the world.

Your head tilts back against the pillows, eyes fluttering shut, but then she stops.

She stops completely.

The heat of her, the weight of her, everything—just gone.

Your eyes snap open, and she’s just looking at you, smug, comfortable, settled between your legs like she owns this moment, like she knows she has you right where she wants you.

Her fingers trail up your thigh, featherlight, barely there.

“You want this?”

Your stomach clenches.

She knows the answer.

She fucking knows.

You glare at her, shifting under her touch, frustrated, dizzy, so strung out you can barely think. “Paige—”

She smiles. Slow. Wicked.

And then, just as easily, “Say it.”

Your breath shudders out of you.

Because this?

This is her game.

She wants to hear you admit it. She wants to make you admit it.

She wants you to lose.

Your fingers dig into the sheets, your pulse a steady riot in your throat, in your wrists, between your legs where she still hasn’t fucking touched you.

But you can’t play this game forever.

Not when she already owns you.

Not when she already knows.

Your voice is thin when you say it.

“I want you.”

And the second the words leave your mouth—

She moves.

Paige grins, low and satisfied, and then she finally stops playing.

She knows she has you, like she’s been waiting for this moment, dragging it out, savoring every second of watching you come undone beneath her. She doesn’t rush. She doesn’t give you everything all at once. No, she takes her time, letting her fingers trace the curve of your hip, pressing light, teasing kisses down your stomach, exhaling slow like she’s enjoying this, like this is just as much for her as it is for you.

You’re burning alive.

Your breath is uneven, your hands twisting in the sheets, thighs already trembling with the anticipation of her next move. But she doesn’t move—not in the way you need her to.

Instead, she just looks at you.

From between your legs, eyes dark, lips parted, expression unreadable, like she’s still deciding how she wants to do this.

Your stomach clenches.

“Paige—”

She presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh, slow, deliberate, her nails digging in just slightly when she grips your hips, holding you in place.

“Shh, baby,” she murmurs, and fuck, there it is again.

That word.

Casual, unthinking, sliding out of her mouth like she doesn’t even realize she’s saying it. Like she means it.

You shudder.

Paige notices. Of course, she does.

Her smirk curves against your skin, and then—

She finally stops playing.

The first press of her mouth sends a raw, electric jolt through you, your hips jerking up on instinct, fingers clawing into her hair like you’ll die if you let go. But she’s already moving—already fucking dragging this out like she wants you begging, like she’s savoring every second of your desperation. Her tongue flickers, slow and teasing, pressing, stroking, curling, soaking you with her hunger, her need.

She moans against your cunt like she’s been fucking starving for it. Like she’s been waiting, aching, dreaming of this moment for weeks, and now that she’s got you open beneath her, there’s no way she’s letting you go easy.

She drags it out.

Like she wants to ruin you.

Like she wants to tear you apart and put you back together with her tongue.

Your nails scrape against her scalp, hard enough to hurt, but she only groans, only pushes deeper, her tongue slipping, flicking, thrusting into the dripping heat of you. You’re gasping now, thighs trembling, back arching, breath catching in desperate, broken moans you can’t even bite back. You can feel her smirk, the way she’s reveling in it, the way she’s enjoying every single fucking sound you make for her.

Her fingers press in, spreading you, holding you open, her tongue working, her lips sucking, teasing, devouring—like she’s trying to drink every last drop of you. The obscene, wet sounds of her mouth on you make you whimper, make you grind down against her, make you clutch her hair so tight she groans into your slick heat.

Your body is shaking.

Paige tightens her grip, keeps you there, keeps you spread for her, keeps you exactly where she wants you—helpless, ruined, fucking wrecked on her tongue.

And just when you think you can’t take it anymore—just when the pleasure coils so tight in your stomach it’s about to snap—she fucking speeds up.

And you’re gone.

You don’t know if you scream her name. You don’t know if you sob it. But the pleasure detonates inside you like a fucking bomb, ripping through your body, setting every nerve on fire, leaving you shaking, gasping, falling apart beneath her mouth.

When you finally come back down—breathless, wrecked, soaked and still trembling—Paige is looking up at you from between your legs, her lips swollen, her chin glistening, her eyes dark and wicked.

Paige’s brow quirks up and she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, slow and deliberate, her eyes never leaving yours. You’re still gasping, still trembling, your body melted into the mattress, legs spread, thighs twitching from the aftershocks of what she just did to you. But she doesn’t move away. Doesn’t crawl up to lie beside you, doesn’t give you a second to catch your breath.

She licks her lips, smirks, and says, “I’m not done with you.”

And then she’s moving.

Crawling back up onto the bed, her body sliding over yours, her hands gripping your thighs, spreading you wider before she finally lets her weight press down. Her skin is hot, slick, her breath heavy and sweet, her thigh slotting between yours as she pins you there beneath her.

Then she grabs your tits.

No teasing, no hesitation—she palms them, squeezes, kneads, rolling the soft flesh in her hands like she owns you, like she’s claiming every inch of you all over again. Her thumbs flick over your nipples, once, twice, before she leans down and takes one into her mouth.

The heat of her tongue, the wet pull of her lips—it makes you cry out, makes you arch into her, makes your hands fly up to grip her head as she sucks, hard, her teeth scraping just enough to make your whole body jolt.

“Fuck,” you whimper, thighs clenching around her, but she just chuckles against your skin, her mouth latching onto your other nipple, her fingers tweaking and rolling the one she just left wet and swollen.

Then her hand moves up.

She grabs your chin, tilts your face up, and before you can even process it—

She shoves her fingers into your mouth.

Her fingers, still wet from you, slip past your lips, pressing against your tongue, forcing you to taste yourself as she pushes them deeper. Your lips part around them, your tongue curling against the salty-slick heat of her touch, a soft, helpless whimper slipping from your throat.

Paige groans at the sight, eyes dark, lips parted, her fingers flexing inside your mouth before she pulls them out—

And spits.

Right into your mouth.

A hot, wet drop onto your waiting tongue, mixing with your taste, with the slickness she just forced you to swallow.

“Swallow it,” she breathes, her voice thick, rough, her fingers trailing down your throat as you do exactly what she fucking tells you.

And then her hand is between your legs again, fingers slipping through your soaked, throbbing heat, pressing in, pushing deep—

Fucking you all over again.

Paige’s fingers drive deep, knuckles sinking into the wet heat of you, her palm grinding against your swollen clit as you gasp, as you choke on the pleasure, your body arching into her touch like you can’t help it. Like you’re made for this. Made for her.

"Fuck—yeah," she groans, watching you, watching the way your body reacts to her. "You feel that? Feel how fucking good I make you take it?"

Your breath stutters, your hips rolling down against her hand, your mouth falling open, nothing but desperate little whimpers spilling from your lips.

Paige smirks, dark and wicked, pressing in deeper, curling her fingers just right, just enough to have you fucking shaking. "Bet he never got you this wet, huh?" she taunts, her voice thick with heat, with possession. "Bet he never made you moan like this."

Your fingers clutch at her shoulders, nails digging in, your head tilting back against the pillows as she fucks into you, slow but deep, deliberate, like she’s making a point. Like she’s proving something.

"You wanna lie to me?" she murmurs, lips brushing your ear, her breath hot against your skin. "Wanna tell me he’s ever made you come like this? That he’s ever had you dripping down his fingers like a desperate little slut?"

You whimper, shaking your head, unable to speak, unable to do anything but take it.

"That’s what I thought," she breathes, grinning against your throat, her teeth scraping over your pulse before she drags her tongue along your skin. "That little boyfriend of yours wouldn’t know what to do with this pussy if it fucking begged him."

She pulls her fingers out, slow and teasing, leaving you empty, aching—only to shove them back in, hard, deep, her palm slapping against your soaked skin as you sob, as you fucking fall apart.

"He ever make you scream?" she growls, fucking you rougher, faster, her fingers pressing against that spot inside you that makes your whole body jolt. "He ever make you soak the sheets like this?"

Your back bows, pleasure slamming through you, your nails raking down her back.

"You’re fucking mine," Paige groans, her mouth on your jaw, your throat, her tongue tasting the sweat on your skin. "This pussy? It’s mine now. Say it."

You barely manage to breathe out the words—"It’s yours"—before she presses her palm against your clit, her fingers curling just right, and you break.

Pleasure rips through you, white-hot and shattering, your whole body shaking, your vision going hazy as you come, as Paige fucks you through it, as she watches you, revels in it, grins like she just fucking ruined you.

And she did.

She fucking did.

——-

You wake slowly, the kind of slow that doesn’t feel like rest. The kind that feels like being pulled from something deep and heavy, like your body’s been wrung out and put back together all wrong. The sheets are soft, warm, unfamiliar, and there’s a weight draped over your hip—solid, steady, too much. Your breath stutters before your brain even catches up.

Paige.

She’s there.

Heat ghosts against the back of your neck, steady and unhurried, the rhythm of her breathing lulling, like sleep still has a hold on her. Her arm is slung around your waist, fingers curled lazily against your stomach, like she belongs there. Like she’s never left before.

And that—that is what makes your chest tighten.

Because this isn’t just some drunken mistake. This isn’t heat or tension or something you can chalk up to unresolved bullshit. This is her in your space, in your bed, in the quiet after. And she’s never stayed before.

Your pulse kicks up, your fingers twitch against the sheets. Last night slams into you all at once—the scrape of her teeth, the press of her hands, the way she looked at you, like she was done playing. Like she wasn’t giving you a choice anymore.

Your stomach clenches.

You don’t know what to do with this.

With her.

So you move, slow, careful, trying not to wake her as you shift out from under her arm. But the second you pull away, Paige stirs, her breath hitching, her grip tightening for just a fraction of a second before her eyes flutter open.

She blinks at you, still groggy, still soft, and for one, dangerous moment, she doesn’t say anything.

She just looks at you.

And you can’t breathe.

Then, just as quickly as it came, the softness vanishes.

Paige stretches, rolls onto her back, runs a hand through her hair, like she does this all the time, like she’s just woken up from any other night, not this one.

“Morning,” she mutters, voice rough with sleep.

You swallow, force yourself to move, force yourself to sit up and swing your legs off the bed. You don’t look at her.

“Yeah,” you say, clearing your throat. “Morning.”

You feel her watching you.

Feel her waiting.

For what, you don’t know.

But when you stand, reaching for your clothes, Paige finally speaks again.

“You leaving?”

Your fingers curl into the fabric of your shirt.

You could stay. You could let this morning linger, let whatever this is stretch out just a little longer.

But the longer you stay, the harder it’ll be to pretend like this isn’t something.

So you nod, still not looking at her. “Yeah.”

Paige exhales through her nose, shifts behind you, and you expect her to let it go, to brush it off like she always does.

Instead—

“You gonna tell him?”

Your stomach drops.

You don’t need to ask who she means.

Eli.

The name rings in your head like a warning, like something cold and sharp, and you hate that she’s the one who brought it up, that she’s the one forcing you to look at it when you were this close to just leaving without dealing with the weight of it.

You squeeze your eyes shut for half a second before turning to face her.

Paige is propped up on one elbow now, watching you with something unreadable in her expression, like she’s testing you, like she’s seeing if you’ll break first.

You lick your lips, pulse hammering. “That’s none of your business.”

Paige’s lips twitch, and for a second, you think she’s going to let it go.

But then—

She scoffs. Shakes her head. Leans back against the headboard with a lazy, almost bored kind of smirk.

“Right. Forgot you’re still playing house with him.”

Your whole body goes rigid.

She’s doing it again.

Tugging at you, pushing you, seeing what you’ll do.

Your jaw clenches, fingers fisting into the hem of your shirt. “I’m not playing anything.”

Paige hums, unconvinced. “Sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

Something inside you snaps.

Because how dare she?

How dare she act like you’re the one playing games when she’s the one who ignored you for three months? When she’s the one who smirked at you across a fucking stadium like she knew she had you? When she’s the one who—

You exhale sharply, shaking your head, forcing yourself to breathe.

This is exactly what she wants.

So you don’t give it to her.

You pull your shirt over your head, reach for your shoes, straighten up.

Then, voice even, you say, “This didn’t mean anything, right?”

It’s a test.

You can see the flicker in her eyes, the quick way her throat bobs as she swallows.

But it’s gone in an instant.

Paige shrugs, casual, careless, like she’s already over it.

“Right,” she echoes. “Just a good time.”

Your chest tightens.

You don’t know what answer you wanted, but that—

That wasn’t it.

You nod once, sharp, then turn for the door.

And this time, you don’t fucking stop.

The door slams behind you, the force of it rattling down your spine, but you don’t stop moving.

You storm down the hallway, your breath sharp, hands curled into fists, every nerve in your body buzzing like a live wire. You don’t let yourself think. Thinking would mean feeling, and you can’t—won’t—give her that.

Not after what she just said.

Not after this didn’t mean anything, right?

Not after she agreed with you.

Just a good time.

That’s all it was. That’s all she wants.

You push through the front door, stepping into the cold air outside, your breath coming fast, too shallow, like you just ran ten miles. You shove your hands into the front pocket of your hoodie, fingers curling against the fabric, trying to ground yourself, trying to—

Your phone rings.

Or at least, you think it’s your phone.

The vibration against your palm jolts you, and you pull it out, ready to decline the call, ready to shut the entire fucking world out.

But then—

You see the name.

Taylor.

Your breath catches.

Your chest tightens.

The cold bites at your skin, but suddenly, it’s like everything else stops.

Because this isn’t your phone.

This isn’t your hoodie.

You look down at yourself, the oversized sleeves, the familiar weight of the fabric, the scent clinging to it—her scent.

Paige’s hoodie.

Paige’s fucking phone.

And Taylor is calling.

Your stomach lurches.

Right back where you started.

The phone keeps ringing, vibrating steadily in your hand, demanding something from you that you can’t give.

You stare at the screen, at the name that shouldn’t be your problem, at the proof of what Paige just walked away from.

And something inside you snaps.

You spin on your heel, shoving back through the front door, retracing your steps, moving fast, fueled by something you don’t even have a name for.

You don’t knock.

You don’t hesitate.

You shove the door open, expecting her to be there, expecting her to still be sitting on that bed with her legs spread and that fucking look on her face, smug and satisfied and untouchable.

But she’s gone.

Just fucking gone.

Like she was never here at all.

The phone stops ringing.

Silence.

You stand there, chest heaving, hoodie too big on you, your fingers still curled around a phone that doesn’t belong to you.

The phone is still warm in your hand.

It shouldn’t matter. It’s just a piece of plastic, just a screen with a name that shouldn’t be your problem. But it is. The weight of it presses against your palm, solid and damning, the name Taylor burned into your retinas, a fucking mockery of everything that just happened.

Paige left.

Vanished like this was nothing, like she didn’t just dig her fingers into you and pull you under, like she didn’t just whisper your name against your skin, like she didn’t just look you in the eye and say just a good time before slipping away like a fucking ghost.

Like she didn’t just ruin you.

And if she thinks she gets to walk away from this untouched—

She’s wrong.

Your feet move before your brain even catches up, before you can think about how reckless this is, before you can stop yourself from doing exactly what she wants. Because you already know where she is.

Where she always is.

The athletic facility is quieter than usual this late at night, the halls dimly lit, silent except for the distant hum of vending machines and the soft squeak of your shoes against the polished floors. But the second you push through the doors to the locker room—

The silence shatters.

Laughter.

Voices overlapping, casual, easy, still thrumming from practice, still buzzing with energy. The kind of normalcy that makes your blood boil, because your world is fucking spinning and yet—

She’s here.

Paige is here.

Leaning against the lockers, towel draped around her neck, a lazy grin curling at her lips as she listens to something one of the girls is saying. Loose. Relaxed. Unbothered.

Like she didn’t just leave you standing in the wreckage she made.

Heat slams into your ribs, a pulse of something violent and ugly crackling under your skin. Your fingers tighten around the phone, nails digging in, breath sharp and unsteady. And before you even fully register what you’re doing—

You move.

The door swings shut behind you with a slam, the force of it cutting through the noise, making heads turn, making conversation die mid-sentence.

Paige doesn’t move.

Doesn’t flinch.

But her shoulders go rigid for half a second before she shifts—casual, calm, fucking unhurried.

Like she already knows it’s you.

Like she felt you coming before she even looked.

And when she finally does—

The smirk is already forming.

Already settling into place like armor. Like a mask. Like she thinks she still has control of this.

But she doesn’t.

You stop in front of her, too close, way too close, enough to make the other girls shift where they stand, enough to make the laughter fully die out, enough to make the air feel thick.

Paige stays leaned against the lockers, pretending, but her eyes flicker over you, sharp and calculating.

Assessing.

Waiting.

So you don’t make her wait long.

You lift the phone, hold it up between you. Let her see it. Let her know why you’re here.

And then—voice low, rough, barely steady under the weight of your fucking anger—

“You think you can just fuck me and play me while your girlfriend still calls?”

The reaction is instant.

The shift in the room is immediate.

Someone swears under their breath. One of the girls lets out a quiet oh, shit. Another shifts awkwardly, eyes darting between you and Paige like they just walked into a fucking war zone.

But you don’t look at any of them.

You only see her.

And Paige—

For the first time, she doesn’t have a comeback.

Her lips part slightly. Her throat bobs as she swallows. Her fingers twitch just slightly around the towel slung over her shoulder.

It’s subtle.

Barely there.

But you see it.

The hesitation.

The way she’s trying to catch up to you, trying to find the right move, trying to figure out how to pull back control.

But there isn’t one.

Because this time, you’re the one leading.

This time, she’s the one who doesn’t know what to say.

The silence stretches, thick and suffocating, pressing into your ribs, into your throat, into her.

Then—slowly—Paige exhales through her nose, shifts against the lockers, expression smoothing into something blank, something unreadable.

She tilts her head slightly, eyes flickering over your face, voice deceptively soft when she says—

“You done?”

Your stomach twists.

Not with pain. Not with embarrassment.

With rage.

Because she isn’t sorry.

She isn’t guilty.

She’s just pissed that you called her out in front of them.

Your grip tightens around the phone, your pulse hammering in your ears, and for a second, you think about throwing it at her.

Then, just as quickly, you step forward—lean in close, so only she can hear—

And whisper, voice like a knife—

“You’re a fucking coward.”

Paige’s jaw locks.

Her whole body tenses.

And that—

That’s how you know you landed a hit.

You hold her gaze a second longer, long enough to make sure she felt it, long enough to see the way her breath catches, the way her fingers twitch, the way she’s fighting to stay still.

Then—

Without waiting for a response—

You shove the phone against her chest.

She catches it automatically, fingers closing around it, but she doesn’t look down.

She just looks at you.

Expression unreadable.

Eyes sharp, dark, burning.

You should look away first.

You should be the one to turn and walk out.

But you don’t.

You hold her gaze.

Daring her.

Challenging her.

Waiting.

For what, you don’t fucking know.

But you can feel it.

Feel something shifting, feel something breaking, feel something coming.

And for the first time—

You think Paige might feel it, too.

But then—

She swallows.

Nods once.

Slips the phone into her pocket like it doesn’t matter.

Then—voice low, smooth, too fucking even—

She says, “See you around.”

Like this was nothing.

Like she didn’t just lose.

Like she’s already planning how to fucking win.

This is war.

[oneoftheextras]

lockjaw | j.t four

masterlist | help me fund my top-surgery?

paring: hybrid puppy!jayce talis x f!reader

summary: after a recent breakup you find yourself adopting a hybrid to keep you company, but he's more feral than you can handle

series warnings: 18+, hybrid jayce (ears and tail), slight a/b/o traits (could argue alpha jayce), eventual smut, protective jayce, size difference

words: 4.4k

chapter warnings: blood, violence, and angst (trauma), not a lot for this one but its got nuggets if you can find them

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five |

want a handwritten letter from a character? / join the discord

Droplets of scarlet hit the wet pavement under his hands in trickles. The rain tried it’s best to wash away the blood seeping out of the abrasions on his knuckles but it was failing. 

He lifted his hand to wipe away the metallic-tasing liquid that filled his mouth from the split in his lip, and pushed himself back on his knees. 

“Get up, puppy!” the man who’d hit him shouted the pet name with the intent to cause offence. He spat a ball of saliva at him, clearly meaning for it to land on his person, but his inebriated state affected his aim as well as his decision making skills.

Jayce tilted his head diagonally but kept his eyeline to the floor; lips parted as an attempt to inhale the fresh rain-chilled air and calm his growing frustration. It would’ve been refreshing if not for the lingering flavour of iron.

The man, with his companions in tow, continued their approach, “Are you deaf, mutt?” he kicked up a puddle, splashing his already dirty t-shirt with filth, “What’s the point in those ridiculous ears if they don’t work?”.

Jayce shook his head, letting little beads of water fly from his hair, and got to his feet. He noticed how the three pairs of steps faltered for a moment when he’d fully straightened his spine, before they advanced. 

He didn’t want this. All he was trying to do was find somewhere safe and dry to rest for the night and avoid the storm.

“Freak!” one of the men yelled as he lunged forward, a metal pole moved with him like an extra limb, swinging through the air. 

Jayce leaned backwards to avoid it, and the end of the metal skimmed his cheekbone, but didn’t make contact. He used the man’s momentum to push him into the wall of the alley. His head collided with the brick and he slumped to the ground with a groan.

Hold back, don’t hurt them.

Upon seeing their friend get so easily manoeuvred, the other two charged like angry bulls. One tackled his middle section and the other jumped and grabbed him by the roots of his hair.

“You fucking animal!” the one on his torso cursed as he repeatedly punched him in the stomach, while the other shifted his grip to be on his sensitive ears, pulling them until he was hunched over.

He could’ve fought them off, he was physically stronger, but when he saw the crimson streak running down the man’s face - the one who he’d pushed - he knew he shouldn’t.

Hold back, don’t hurt them!

He closed his eyes and inhaled with every strike, it would be over soon. They dragged him to the ground and pushed his face into the dirty puddle that had stained his clothes, the murky water attaching itself to his skin and hair like a fungus.

“Monster!” they spat as they got their last jabs in and left him on the ground to collect their friend, satisfied that he was no longer moving.

Maybe he was a monster, but what else was he supposed to be?

A loud thud shook you awake, your body was on red alert as you jolted from your bed. The room was steeped in darkness, the illuminating glow of the street light leaking through the crack in your curtains was your only source of light.

Blindly you reached for your phone and clicked the button to light up the screen, the eye that was more awake than the other focused on the time; 4:22am.

You rubbed your face and put your phone back on the side, it was too early to be awake yet, so you started to lay back down with an attempt to go back to sleep. However, before your head could fully touch the pillow you heard footsteps from the living room.

For a moment it startled you, the sensation of living alone still second nature, but you settled once you realised it must have been Jayce.

Adrenaline still flowed through you, so there was no chance that you’d be getting back to sleep any time soon. Throwing your blanket off of your body, you stretched and wandered to the living room.

The small reading lamp gave the room a slight orange tint, not enough to hurt your tired eyes but enough to radiate the room with a soft glow. 

“Hey,” you called out to him gently, your voice cracking from the first use of the day. He stopped his pacing when he heard you, and turned to your direction - his hair was ruffled with strands sticking up in places, even the fur on his ears was unkempt.

You glanced down at the couch where the brown fluffy blanket was scrunched up to one side and the pillows slightly torn, their white polyester innards across the couch and some fallen to the ground.

“Couldn’t sleep?” you asked cautiously, trying to ignore how deep the gashes in the fabric were.

He averted your gaze and slowly moved towards the window to observe the street below, his jaw was clenched from gritted teeth hiding behind pursed lips, and his amber eyes were hard and unmoving.

It didn’t take a genius to figure out that something had rattled him. It was unsurprising considering he was in a strange place with new smells and sounds; a lot of the forums said sleepless nights were common for the first few days.

“Do you want some tea or coffee?” you stretched again with a groan and started toward the kitchen but waited for his response before fully exiting the room. The ear closest to you twitched and you saw him briefly look at you out of the corner of his eye.

His body language shifted to indicate he wanted to follow, but something was holding him back. “Well, I’m going to make a coffee, you’re welcome to join me if you want,” you left the door open and decided not to push him any further.

You got two mugs out of the cupboard and set them down on the counter, rubbing your eyes with your free hand - the glare of the kitchen light stung - when you heard footsteps getting closer to you.

Glancing over your shoulder and towards the doorway, you watched Jayce enter slowly. He was cold and somewhat unreadable but you could see the uncertainty in his eyes, so you pulled out one of the stools from the island and tapped it for him to sit.

“Come, keep me company while I wait for this to boil,” you gestured to the kettle, “And…” you extended the word and held it until you found what you were looking for. “I got you these-” you placed a wooden box in front of him and lifted the lid, “-just choose one and let me know, okay?”.

The box contained different packets of tea, each divided into their own section and labelled, you’d bought it specifically for him. 

“I don’t know if I remembered all the ones you had back at the sa-” you paused to correct yourself, “-the other place, but I got a few that I thought you might like,” you rambled as you filled the coffee machine with a pod and put your mug under the nozzle, pressing the button for it to start.

He inspected the box; picking up a packet, reading it, sniffing the outside and putting it back into the box. After the sixth sniff test you were starting to worry if you’d remembered incorrectly.

He inhaled one light-blue coloured one and scrunched his face up with disgust - he doesn’t like chamomile, okay, noted.

“Did you know that-” he lifted his attention from the box to the back of your head while you watched the coffee pump out into your mug and spoke, “-No one knows where chamomile tea originally came from?”.

You twisted the mug on it’s podium so the hand was on the right and let the brown liquid slowly fill it, “Well,” you interrupted yourself, “That’s technically a lie,” you chuckled.

“The first documented use of it is in Ancient Egypt for religious ceremonies, you know, the whole embalming the body so it’s preserved for when they meet the gods type of deal,”.

At one point when you were speaking you’d turned to lean against the counter, but your eye line was still watching your mug. He didn’t know why, but you knew it was because the coffee machine would sometimes cut out while pouring and you didn’t want chunks of granules in your drink.

He observed the side of your face, watching your jaw move as you continued, “It was the Romans who started to actually drink it, and then unsurprisingly, so did the Greeks-”.

The machine stopped pouring and gently beeped to notify you that it was done, so you lifted the cup from its platform and continued making your drink.

“-And they largely documented it as being medicinal- Oh!” you exclaimed as you remembered another fun fact, “Did you also know that the word chamomile comes from the Greek word ‘khamaimēlon’, I’m definitely pronouncing that wrong, but it means ‘earth apple’, isn’t that funny?” you stopped rambling when you turned to him to collect whichever tea sachet he’d picked but realised he was staring at you with a blank expression.

You pulled down the sleeves on your shirt to cover your knuckles when you finally acknowledged his gaze. He noted the gesture and wondered why you did it so much.

“Did you choose one?” you timidly asked, trying to act as if you hadn’t just spewed all your thoughts out at once. Noticing that he had a packet in his hand, pinched between two fingers, you extended your palm to him.

However, instead of giving it to you, he stood from his seated position and ripped open the paper with his teeth, wrapping his hand around the empty mug and placing it in front of him.

“I don’t mind doing it for you,” you stepped closer to him, expecting him to move out of the way so you could take over. As if you were both south poles of a magnet and your proximity repelled him; the closer you got to him the further he leaned away - taking the mug with him, and paper still clenched between his canines.

You recoiled your hand and stepped away, a soft “Okay,” was all you could manage before you returned to your cup and gave him space.

He was more isolated than yesterday. His shoulder muscles tensed when you moved too quickly or closely to him, so perhaps it was best to keep your distance until he approached you.

He trickled the boiling water into the mug and bounced the teabag, submerging it under the water and letting it rise again with delicate precision until he was happy with the colour it had changed to.

“When it’s a more reasonable hour-,” the two of you had made your way back to the living room, “-I can show you around town, what’s nearby and stuff, if you want?” you tucked your legs under yourself as you got comfortable on the couch.

The semi-destoryed pillow puffed out more white innards when you leaned back on it, “We should probably get you some new pillows too, but I don’t know if they do indestructible ones,” you chuckled, trying to make light of the situation.

The whole time you spoke Jayce stood by the large window, staring down at the barren streets below. He held the mug with both hands, the only visible part being the handle hooked over two of his fingers, maybe you should look for some larger cups for him too?

“Or we can stay inside, I’m not working again until Monday, so I’m all yours for two days!”, he glanced at you out of the corner of your eye and you suddenly felt very small again, “Well,” you cleared your throat, “I have chores I need to do, but you get what I mean,”.

A car revved its engine outside and his attention darted back to the intrusive sound, the hairs on his arms standing to attention, leaving goosebumps across his skin. 

The grip he had on the mug was intense, causing his knuckles to start to lose their colour, “Come sit down,” you suggested, trying to hold some authority in your voice but largely failing.

He regarded you again but didn’t move from his post, instead sipping his drink and keeping his eyes on the street.

He reminded you of a sentinel, ever watching and ever on guard duty.

You turned the TV on and quickly muted until you were able to put on some relaxing meditation music which finally made him turn away from the window and towards the TV.

The muscles in his nose scrunched lightly as the wrinkle between his eyebrows deepened, his eyeline switching between you and the TV, “It’s cheesy, I know, but it genuinely does help,”.

There was a moment of stillness, neither of you moved, just the sound of the music filled the air but the atmosphere was anything but calm.

You pointed towards the bag you’d handed to him yesterday which had been placed next to the TV, “Did you take a look inside?”, he shook his head softly and eyed the bag, “Oh! Go get it!” you shuffled with excitement, picking up your coffee cup and cradling it in your hands.

He hesitated but eventually put his cup down atop one of the coasters on the table and retrieved the bag, “Sit, sit, sit!” you tapped the couch next to you like a child about to open presents on Christmas day, but he opted for the armchair adjacent to you.

Maybe you shouldn’t have told him to sit? It slipped out so naturally, but perhaps it came across that you were treating him like an actual dog? You shook your head, trying to ignore your thoughts and instead focus on him.

He put his hand into the bag and slid the first box out, Clue. He turned the box over with confusion and inspected the back, his eyes sliding from side to side - at least that answered a question about whether he could read.

“Have you played Clue before?” you asked. He gently placed the box on the coffee table and shook his head again whilst revealing more board games; Catan, Monopoly, Battleship, and of course, a chess set.

Every box he studied with acute interest, taking in every picture and word on the print like it was the first time he’d seen it. He glanced up to you from the last one, his amber eyes slightly softer and calmer than before, and the corner of his mouth upturned into a subtle smile.

“We can play now if you want?” you placed your coffee to the side and started to clear the table, he shuffled forward to the edge of the armchair cushion and helped you, “You choose, I'm happy to play whatever,” you encouraged him.

He immediately picked up Clue, seeing as it was the one that you'd asked about and seemed the most excited for. When you smiled, he knew he'd picked correctly.

He ran the nail of his pinky along the seam where the lid met the rest of the box, and sliced through the thin plastic wrapping, pulling it off whilst you moved the last few things off of the table. 

Jayce placed the box on the surface and slowly lifted the lid until it popped off, but let you set up the board and shuffle the cards.

You explained how the game worked whilst he picked up each of the small coloured cones and their respective character cards, deciding which one he wanted to play as.

He eventually decided on Colonel Mustard, and chose Professor Plum for you. 

It took him a few rounds to fully understand the mechanics of the game; roll the dice, enter a room and make a guess. He’d write his three words down on a notepad you’d found for him, and the first thing you noticed was how neat his handwriting was.

It was bigger than yours and slightly slanted as if it were in italics, but almost like something you’d expect to find on a fancy sign.

You won the first few games, "Unfair advantage," you'd commented to reassure him, but as you'd expected, he started to pick up your tactics quickly.

“Rope, Library, and Reverent Green?” you recited what he’d written as his next guess and inspected your hand, none of those cards were between your fingers, “I think you’ve got it,” you smiled at him and picked up the envelope in the middle of the board to hand it to him.

He slipped one of his fingers into the sleeve, the paper bending to the outline of his digit and he pulled the three cards out to see if he was right.

He grinned as he turned each of the cards over, revealing one by one.

Reverend Green. He turned the second card over on the board, Rope. He narrowed his eyes at the last card smiling, his canines poking out from under his top lip; as he pinched the card between his middle and index finger to slowly turn it towards you, Library.

He’d won, again. “Damn,” you looked at the spread of cards, the regal yet smug expression on the Reverend's face, sandwiched between the darker tones of the Rope and Library, “Not a bad way to go,” you muttered to yourself with a giggle. 

Your tone wasn’t lost on him. He side eyed you with a raised brow, his expression unreadable but somewhat judgemental. “Sorry, I’m tired,” you said as you fought the rising heat in your cheeks, and rubbed your face with your hand.

The coffee in your cup had long since emptied, as was Jayce’s tea, but he picked up the cards and started to shuffle them again.

You glanced up to the clock on the wall, 6:53am. The two of you had been playing for over two hours, but Jayce didn’t seem the least bit tired.

He organised the cards, reset the pieces and slipped the three winning cards back into the envelope and started to mix the rest together.

His hands moved quickly, like a man who’d spent his whole life shuffling these cards, but your vision was starting to defocus like a faulty camera. Progressively throughout the night you’d slumped further and further into the side of the couch until you were laying down with your arm propping your head up to see the board.

Jayce handed you your pile of cards and rolled the dice, taking his turn first as the winner of almost all of the previous games, but your one eye that remained open couldn’t make out what number he’d rolled.

The last thing you remember was the clicking of his plastic yellow piece tapping gently against the board, signalling every step his character took. He must’ve rolled a five because you heard five taps, or was it four? It was hard to keep count.

When you awoke for the second time that Saturday, although eclipsed by the dark grey curtains that covered the windows, the sun shone brightly alongside the light trickling of rain. 

You stretched your limbs, hearing a few pops and cracks as your joints woke up slower than your brain; and the brown blanket that you’d left at the end of the couch for Jayce slid off of your torso as you sat up.

A groan left your lips as your spine fully extended and the muscles in your arms and legs relaxed from the tension. You peered towards the armchair but found it surprisingly empty, the large figure that had occupied it mere hours prior nowhere to be found. Even the cushion that normally sat there was missing.

With sleepiness still haunting your vision, you stood from the couch and went to pick up the mugs left on the coffee table. The right hand connected with your cup, which was strangely full with luke-warm coffee, and the left hand found nothing.

As if on autopilot, you shuffled towards the kitchen to empty your mug, rubbing your eyes with the back of your hand when you almost tripped on a leg.

Luckily, some part of your occipital lobe was awake enough to notice the limb before you stepped on him.

Jayce was sat on the floor and using the side of the couch as a backrest; one leg bent so he could rest his arm on it and the other - the one you’d nearly stumbled over - had fallen carelessly to the ground and extended in front of him. Becoming the perfect hazard for your clumsy feet.

His head was tilted back and sideways against the arm of the couch, and his eyelids closed with his lashes delicately resting against his skin. His chest rising and falling with every inhale and exhale of deep breath. 

He appeared so peaceful when he was like this, a picture of contrast to his agitated 4am demeanour, but you were confused as to why he was on the floor. Was it because you’d accidentally taken the couch?

You tiptoed over his leg, successfully passing him without disturbance and continuing your journey to the kitchen, when there was a knock at the door. 

The sudden unexpected noise made you jump out of your skin; you were surprised that you didn’t spill the contents of the mug onto the light grey carpet. Thankfully, it stayed inside it’s ceramic container. Coffee stains were a pain to get out of the cheap yarn that the landlords had chosen as flooring.

When you opened the front door you were greeted by the friendly face of your neighbour, “Morning!” you whispered to him as an attempt to maintain whatever tranquillity Jayce had found in your apartment.

“Afternoon?” he laughed back, “Wait, what time is it?” you whipped your head around as if it was even possible to see the living room clock from where you were standing. Instead of ticking hands, you were met with piercing golden eyes staring back at you from the ground. The door was in the direct line of his sight. 

It was hard to break away from his gaze as he got to his feet, “It’s almost 1pm,” your neighbour confirmed, bringing your attention back to the man at the door, “Anyway, I was getting my mail and thought I’d grab yours too,” he extended a handful of envelopes to you.

“Oh, that’s kind, thank you!” you took the letters and smiled at him as if he didn’t do this on a weekly basis, “Not a problem, how have you been?” He put his hands in his pockets and made no gesture to indicate that he was leaving any time soon.

You turned your head back inside the apartment at the sound of a creaking floorboard to see that Jayce was walking towards you and the door whilst stretching his arms above his head.

“I, uh-” you stuttered as you stepped closer to the doorframe and pulled the door with you, trying to hide as much of the interior from him as you could.

“-I can’t really talk right now, sorry, I have company,” you tried to give him the hint to leave. After an already rough first night, you didn’t know how Jayce would react to another stranger within his proximity, and you hadn’t exactly cleared Jayce moving in with your landlord.

“Oh?” your neighbour quirked an eyebrow and smiled at you in a suggestive manner. Whilst you wanted to correct him and explain that it wasn’t like that, you could hear the footsteps behind you getting closer.

You chuckled to him and shrugged your shoulders, “Yeah, can’t keep him waiting,” you played into whatever narrative he had running through his head if it meant he would leave. 

He gave you a toothy smirk and looked you up and down, “Well, at least you’ve moved on,” his comment wasn’t supposed to come across as an insult but the implications stabbed you in the gut.

“Thank you for the mail!” you gave him the falsest smile you could muster after being so brutally and bluntly reminded of your loneliness, “We’ll go get brunch soon and you can tell me all about it,” he whispered to you with a wink before you finally managed to shut the door.

You inhaled deeply and leaned against the back of the door, happy to not be forced into a social situation you didn’t want. 

Jayce had stopped his approach when the door had closed, his nose crinkled up in distaste and his eyes boring into the door as if he could still see your neighbour through it. By that reaction alone, you knew you’d made the right call of not introducing them.

“Mail,” you waved the letters in a circular motion and put them on the table by the door. “I’m sorry I slept in so late,” you apologised, despite being the one that woke up first.

“I propose-” you started as you walked into the kitchen, finally completing your mission of emptying your mug and putting it in the sink to be washed up later, “-We go get you some better pillows, and I can show you what’s nearby, and we can get some lunch while we’re out,” you raised your voice slightly so he could still hear you in the other room.

“What do you think?” you popped your head around the doorframe and found him standing in the hallway as he was before. He opened his mouth widely to yawn; even though he covered his mouth with his hand, you could still see the sharp canines that lined his gums.

He rattled his head as if he was trying to shake away any remaining sleepiness in his body, but eventually nodded in answer to your question.

“Great!” you beamed, almost skipping with joy past him and towards the bathroom, “I’m going to have a quick shower, I’ll let you know when I’m done so you can use it, then we’ll head out,” you tapped the door frame as if you were a judge and your hand was the gavel making the final decision.

You had exactly the lunch spot in mind to take him.

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[aealzx]

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Phantom Rogues (Prequel)

Next

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“Would yOU PEOPLE JUST LISTEN!”

Danny’s exasperated anger was punctuated by a sharp ecto shotgun blast into the nearest tank the GIW had amassed. They were still trying to destroy the Infinite Realms, new agents having convinced the older ones that the Infinite Realms being connected to their realm was a hoax to keep them from following through. Jazz, Sam, and Tucker were all barricaded behind what remained of their equipment, so it was only Danny and Danielle who remained amidst this reality ripped in between the two realms that GIW’s stupid equipment had created. Yet once again Danny wasn’t able to continue his attack, getting cut off by a mostly startled scream from Danielle as they once again focused their fire on her. First it had been the humans of the team, now it was Danielle, and it was really starting to piss Danny off.

“Stop targeting her you sick bastards! She’s fourteen!” Danny belted, flying yet again between their weapons and Danielle, and blasting the cannon with a prolonged stream of ectoplasm to bend its course. They would soon shift it back to pointing at them, but at least that took a few seconds.

“So you claim. Yet the only thing it means for us is that she’s a liability for you. You’re the stronger one, but you’ll let your guard down for her. A pathetic imitation of humanity that may have won over the Fentons, but not us. We know you’re nothing but an imitation of humans made by nothing more than destructive residue.” That was Operative N, the new blood that had worked up the ranks. Danny liked to call him Nimrod.

“We’re not faking it!” Danny shouted back, feeling his voice crack with the desperate protest. “SOME ghosts are residue, but others are just as sentient and full of good emotions as humans are.” If only he could turn this stupid human into a ghost so he could see it too. But life, even stupid life, was too precious to waste just to prove a point.

“....Test run the experiment,” Operative N directed, unfazed by Danny’s outburst. The Operative next to him stepped forward as others to the sides of them started firing a barrage of ectoblasts their way. It was a distraction to keep their attention, Danny knew that. But Danielle still wasn’t as good as he was, and he didn’t miss the way the experimental blaster pulsed red instead of green. He couldn’t let Danielle get hit by that, so when she let out another yelped scream, getting hit by three ectoblasts, Danny flung himself into her when the other Operative took that as an opening.

The experimental blaster was faster than the originals, and Danny didn’t have time to bring up a shield after body slamming Danielle away. He could only tense in preparation for the damage, knowing he could handle more than Danielle could when it came to a beating.

He wasn’t ready for this.

The bloody red blast of energy wasn’t ectoplasm, and when it slammed into Danny’s chest his voice ripped from him in a startled scream of agony as he realized what they had done. The barbed wire poison splitting his ghostly skin held a familiar scorching dry flame feeling that he’d only experienced once before, a hand flying to his ribs as he crashed to the ground and couldn’t help curling into a ball, deaf to his friends’ and family’s cries for him.

Those freaks had weaponized blood blossoms.

It was worse than being trapped in a barrier of them, the poison now sank into his flesh instead of caressing it with noxious fumes. The fight wasn’t over though, so he willed his twitching limbs to work as he wanted them to, shoving them underneath himself to push himself upright, never mind the green blood dripping from his side.

“There we go,” Operative N commented emotionlessly, motioning with his hand to another Operative. “Use him now.”

That was the only warning Danny had before a clamp half his size snapped down on top of him, binding him in its case and pulling him from the broken ground. Danny let out a strangled noise as his arm was smashed against his injured ribs, legs scrambling to try and remain connected to the soil and feeling the anti ghost barrier keeping him trapped in the prickly bindings. It was only when he heard a slight click, and the fat needles poking into his skin started ripping energy from him that he vaguely remembered something about them using him as a battery for their machine. They obviously didn’t care how it treated him either, for Danny could swear getting electrocuted hurt less.

“Scream all you want, Phantom. Not even you could break out of there now that we’ve worn you down,” Operative N commented, having the audacity to sound bored.

Danny barely registered Danielle repeatedly sinking what power she could into the clamp that had a hold of him, but it didn’t seem effective. He hadn’t wanted to resort to blowing everything up, not sure what the machines would do to the realms they were connected to if they burst from overload.

But at this point he didn’t see any other option. If the realms were going to blow up, then he’d rather they blow up because he tried to save them.

If you want to hear me scream, then I’ll scream.

Danny’s defiant thought was accompanied by him forcing his mouth to snap shut, struggling with half stifled gasps to fill his lungs with as much air as they could hold. It took a minute too long, but as soon as he maxed out the air he could hold Danny forced it out again in a drawn out wail.

Jazz had expressed before that she hated hearing Danny’s ghostly wail. She’d even commented that the name itself seemed like a pathetic attempt to calm the fears of children when stories were told about it. As Danny’s abilities had advanced the wail became less of a B movie imitation of ghosts and more of a source of nightmares. A distorted sound of burst eardrum silence smothered by shrieking similar to subtle tinnitus, but with the undertone of the voices of those who had died screaming.

Jazz always heard her brother’s voice over the others.

This was the first time Danny had fully figured out how to make his wail non directional. An orb of earth shattering sound rippling in waves from his form, crushing the machines around them like sealed cans dropped in liquid nitrogen. The only reason his allies weren’t hurt was because the waves were strangely more gentle in their direction, just enough that Danielle could hold a barrier over them while they pressed their palms to their ears, collapsing to their knees.

The wailing only lasted slightly less than two minutes, but the chain reaction explosions continued for several more. As soon as the device holding him was broken Danny let out a ripple of ectoplasm to shatter it. Then soft coils snapped out and wrapped around his allies, dragging them closer to his floating form where he could raise a shield around all of them.

Sam took charge of shielding Tucker and Danielle with her own body as realm rending explosions thrashed their tiny bubble to and fro. Danny was able to keep them from being thrown against the sides of the barrier, but none of them could even attempt to stand with all the vibrations of varying intensities. Jazz stole as long of a look at Danny as she could since she couldn’t do anything else, feeling her heart skip a beat when she saw the hole punched into the left side of his chest, blast marks searing out from it to cover his shoulder and nick his cheek. All of the wounds were oozing the green blood Danny had as Phantom, but he didn’t seem to be paying them any mind.

Another sharp, shuddering jerk signaled the end of their whirlwind ride, and suddenly the group had perfectly still, solid ground under them and silence ringing in their ears. It was deafening, in a good way compared to the wail from before, and Jazz heard the others mimic her shuddering breaths. But before she could visually check on her brother she heard him fall. Nothing like the exhausted drops he did when he couldn’t quite make it to the ground before letting gravity take hold of him again. It was the heavy crumple of a human body being dumped. And as Jazz snapped her head up Danny’s face fell into her view, his eyes closed and figure completely limp. Jazz watched his cheeks drain from color as a new spot of red bloomed across his white shirt, and her voice refused to speak.

Scrambling to her baby brother, Jazz cupped a hand to his cheek, horrified at the rapidly dropping temperature of his skin and using her other hand to shake his shoulder as roughly as she dared. Her voice found itself in moments to scream what had been repeating in her head.

“DANNY!”

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IIiiii am not immune to brain rot |D If you’re confused, good, I am too

Today my brain chose violence, and gave me some of the details of what led to the DP team getting ported to DC verse. So I wrote them while spamming the same 6 songs X’D And then I drew 2 pictures because I wanted both vibes.

This is getting way more attention that I even guessed might happen * wheeze *, so just a few disclaimers just so people are aware:

the DP crew are 2 years older than in the cartoon. because I can

Jack and Maddie are becoming really good parents. Because I’m tired of the “omg I’m a teenager and my parents suck” trope. They know Danny and Danielle are halfas, and it took them about a year to fully accept that. Now they’re rewriting studies to support sentient ghosts and more humane ways to deal with the violent ones.

It’s only in the recent months that they’ve started to actually study ways to help ghosts/halfas. So a lot of medical stuff for them is still unknown, but Jazz knows a bit more first aid than the average teen.

I’m not going to have romance at all. I find pushing the platonic boundaries way more fun and interesting. If you think it's romance, it's not.

I’m also more interested in Danny and Jazz’s sibling relationship than whatever either of them have going on with Sam and Tucker.

No update schedule. I follow the whims of my not normal brain.

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Tag list: @galaxy-sharks-and-bottled-ships, @starscreamlover, @nerdynonnativenarnian, @dragongoblet, @zeestarfishalien, @bellathecatastrophe, @cj-ghostemoji-destielpie, @asexual-insomniac, @wolfeyedwitch

[rosenclaws]

Jinx (or 5 times you mess things up in front of Logan and 1 time you don't) || Logan Howlett x Reader

summary: You bring bad luck and have all your life and when you meet Logan you expect him to react the same way everyone has. To your shock he doesn't. That doesn't stop you from making a fool of yourself in front of him though. Many. Many times.

warnings: flirty logan, swearing, reader has mutant fire powers, fighting, logan has ptsd in water, he lashes out bc of it, possible ooc but idc, fighting, injury, comfort, blood, explosions

wc: 5k

a/n: Okay so I fucking LOVE arcane and I thought about a fic where the reader is like Jinx in the sense of she just has really bad luck all the time. She also has fire powers because I think they're cool and after that one drabble I wanted to do more with it. This is my longest fic so I hope you like it!!!

The First meeting

You might be the first mutant with a nickname that is more of an insult than a call sign. It started when you arrived here. Just a teenager looking for a place to call home. The mansion was that home and you loved every second of it. Your fire wielding powers were dangerous but exciting and with the help of the teachers you sort of learned how to train them.

But for some reason you didn't get some cool fire nickname you got stuck with Jinx. It's not your fault that bad things just happen around you. Really. You don't do anything to cause them on purpose but the bad luck seems to just follow you where ever you go.

You got the nickname after you managed to break the fountain. Seriously though how can that be so fragile. All you did was kick a soccer ball and you might have taken its head off.

Bad things just seemed to happen over and over again. You might have set fire to some curtains. Or the carpet. Or smashed a vase or two.

Even when you graduated and became a teacher things just happened. Missing papers, breaking pencils, the ceiling caves in because a family of fat racoons decided to make their home there. Things that were out of your control just happened.

So they called you Jinx. Was it lovingly? Maybe.

No one has kicked you out yet so that's a good sign. They do tend to avoid standing too close to you though. Which honestly is for the best.

It was a commotion in the main lobby that catches your attention today. The sound of a gruff voice peaks your interest. Peering into the room you see Rogue and Storm talking to a man.

"It's good to see you Logan." Oh! Wolverine.

You missed his first stop by the mansion. You were off doing something else for Charles when he was brought here originally and you were supposed to fly back to help as usual. You flight got canceled due to weather. So by the time you came back he had already gone.

You heard Rouge gossiping with the other students about him. She mentioned he was handsome but fuck he was even better than you thought.

You lean forward a little more and end up losing your balance and falling flat on your face. The three of them look at you and you wave, trying to save yourself some embarrassment. You can see Logan looking at you with a raised eyebrow.

"Jinx! Come meet Logan." Rogue calls you over and you stand up. Brushing yourself off as you walk over.

"Nice to meet you Logan." You hold out your hand but he just looks at it.

"Jinx?" He says instead. A smirk on his face as he speaks.

"It's a nickname, don't you have one too Wolverine?" He chuckles and you have hope that you're charming enough. Most of the time something really unlucky happens when you meet someone for the first time.

"Will I see you around Jinx?" If you didn't know better you'd say he was flirting.

He steps closer to you and you stumble back in surprise. He's intimidating with his broad shoulders and animal like grin. You let out a small scream as you trip on your feet and fall backwards. Right into Scott. Scott falls like a domino and you hear a crack.

"Scott! Are you okay?!" You rush to his side but suddenly a beam of energy shoots through his eyes.

You feel someone grab your arm and pull you away from him. Ducking your head as the beam shoots into the door. Scott closes his eyes but the damage is already done. The front doors of the beautiful mansion were destroyed. Everyone waits in silence as Charles appears from his office holding an extra pair of glasses for Scott.

"I'm so so sorry. I didn't mean to bump into you." Apologies tumble out of your mouth as Scott fixes his new glasses.

"Don't worry about it, It was an accident Jinx." He places a hand on your shoulder and smiles but you can tell you fucked up. Again. You smile back but it falls once he leaves.

"I'm sorry about your door Professor." You mumble as you look at the destruction.

"It's alright, we'll get it fixed." You slowly walk off, letting people asses the damage.

You pass by Logan who watches you as you slink back to your room. You had hoped that maybe you could have gotten to know Logan before he found out how you got your nickname.

So much for first impressions.

2. In the kitchen

The next time you encounter Logan is in the kitchen. Despite your inherent unluckiness you still loved to cook. Sure you had cuts and burns from all your attempts but your dishes ended up pretty good. You're making a stew this time. Band aids are already on some of your fingers as you stir the pot.

"Smells good." You let out a scream as you drop the spoon into the soup. The fridge opens up and you see Logan rummaging through the shelves.

"Beer's behind the peas." You mumble as you try and fish out the spoon.

"Ow!" You hiss as you burn yourself again.

The hot metal spoon burned your hand. Logan watches as you put your hand under the sink and put some cold water on it.

"Ironic I know, the mutant with fire powers burns herself when cooking." You mutter catching his amused look.

He walks over and takes your hand, pressing his cold beer to the small burn. You sigh as the cold drink sends relief through your hand. You get a better look at Logan like this.

He's just dressed in jeans and a tank top. His muscles are practically bulging through the already stretchy fabric. He's got this dangerous aura around him that makes you hesitant at first. Not to mention the whispers about him. How violent he could be, the things he’s done. Everything he’s been through. But you didn’t care.

"So is Jinx because your clumsy?" He asks as he checks on your burn.

"Kind of, more like unlucky things just seem to happen to me I guess." Your eyes are focused on where Logan's hand is holding your wrist.

His hands are rough but his touch feels so nice. His grip is firm but not enough to hurt you. The fact that he's even helping you is bizarre. Anyone else would just chalk it up to you and let you deal with it yourself.

"I'm surprised you haven't run for the hills yet. You know, the first day you meet me I end up destroying the door." To your surprise Logan laughs.

"Technically Scott destroyed the door." He counters.

"Yeah well I broke his glasses." You take your hand away from his beer and turn your attention back to the soup.

For some reason Logan doesn't leave. He watches you as you cook and you like the company. You tense as you feel him get closer to you. His chest almost against your back as he peers over your shoulder. He's so close. You take a wooden spoon this time and stir the soup. Lifting a little bit to your lips.

"Can I have a taste?" Logan asks.

You turn your head to find his face incredibly close to yours. Really close. So close that you can barely focus on anything other than his lips. You don't notice the burner getting more intense as all your focus is on Logan.

"Shit!" Logan hisses as the soup practically explodes all over the kitchen. Soup splatters every possible place including your clothes. Making a massive mess.

"Dammit!" You turn down the burner and see if there's anything left you can salvage but there's nothing. You must have caused the burner to go haywire.

"I'm sorry Logan." You say defeatedly as you wipe soup from your forehead. Logan takes his thumb and wipes the soup off your cheek.

"Tasty." He says as he licks his thumb. He doesn’t break eye contact. Enjoying the effect he’s having on you.

You stand with your mouth open as he walks off like he didn't just do that. The flames on the burner get bigger once again and you turn it off. You grab the roll of paper towels and start to clean.

The faint touch of Logan's thumb still on your mind.

3. In the garage

After your kitchen disaster you found yourself wandering the mansion instead. It had been a couple weeks but you decided to avoid the kitchen for now. Now you had too much free time on your hands. That's how you ended up here, in the garage. Except this time it was you who found Logan. He was working on his motorcycle. Shirtless. Okay that's totally normal right? You think to yourself as you sit and watch.

"When did you learn how to ride?" You ask as you watch him screw in something to somewhere, you don't know too much about motorcycles.

"Long time ago." He answers gruffly as he wipes his forehead with a rag.

"Like ten, twenty, a million years ago?" Logan chuckles and stands up. Your eyes trace the veins on his arms as he puts his hands on his hips.

"More like a hundred." He sits on his bike and turns it on. He's double checking everything and notices you looking in awe.

"You ever ridden before?" He asks and you shake your head.

"Alright then come here." He gestures for you to get on and you perk up. He gets off and holds the handle bars, letting you get on. You're extra careful. This bike looked expensive and Logan had just spent hours working on it. The last thing you wanted to do was jinx things. Again.

"Woah." You giggle as you run your hands along the smooth metal.

"So you put one foot here and the other stays on the floor." He guides you gently and you do as he says. You place your hands next to his on the handlebars.

"When I was a kid I this bike. It was purple with a basket in the front." You tell him. You loved that bike. Rode it whenever you could. You had the bruises to prove it from the amount of times you fell off.

"I rode it into a bush once. Got these bumps all over my skin." Logan takes his hands off the bike leaving just you holding it up.

"Well it's no purple bike, but I can take you on a ride one day. There's this diner about twenty minute away if you’re interested.” He offers. You grin and tighten your grip on the handles.

"Sounds like you're asking me on a date." You say boldly.

Before Logan could say anything there's a loud bang. Backfire from something but it scares the hell out of you. Without thinking you heat up the bike and jump off of it. Logan tries to grab it but the handles burn his hand. You watch in horror as it falls on its side. You try to stop it but it only ends up landing on your foot.

"Fuck!" You grab your foot as pain shoots through your body. That thing is heavy. Logan clutches his hand for a second before the burn heals. He picks up the bike and kicks the stand open so it can stay up on its own. Your eyes brim with tears when you see the dirty and scratches that have ruined the newly cleaned shiny metal.

"Logan I'm so sorry." He sighs and walks over to you.

"Your foot okay?" It hurts but it's not broken. You try to set it down but you can't. The pain is too much. You try to hide it but he sees right through you.

"Let's get you to the lab." You try to protest but he doesn't listen. Helping you out of the garage and to the lab. Ignoring the fact that you just caused him even more trouble. As you get patched up he leaves. You hang your head low as you think of a way to make it up to him.

Later that night Logan can't sleep. The nightmares don’t let him. So he makes his way back down to the garage. He needs to start over on fixing his bike anyways. As he approaches the door be notices the lights already on. To his surprise he finds you there. Fast asleep with your head on a chair.

You're body is uncomfortably kneeling on the ground. Your foot is wrapped and there's crutches leaning against the wall. There's rags and wax sitting by your side and his bike looks brand new. He kneels down and shakes you awake.

"Hey there sweetheart." He says as you open your eyes.

You mumble something incoherent and shut your eyes. Logan bends down and picks you up in his arms. He carries you back to your bed laying a blanket over you as you melt into your pillows. He elevates your foot before he leaves. People may call you a Jinx but you've got a heart of gold. He goes back to the garage and cleans up everything, making a mental note to take you on that date when you're foot is better.

4. Ice Skating

It took a month for your foot to finally heal up. Broken no, fractured, yes. It was a pain trying to get around on crutches but Logan ended being your own personal transportation. He would help you get down the stairs, reach the high shelf, drive you to the store. Whatever you needed he was there.

He even took you to that diner. Sharing a milkshake and cheese fries. He looked past your nickname, sure he called you Jinx but when he did it felt sweeter. He had seen your unluckiness first hand and yet he still chooses to be by your side. It was all you ever wanted.

Sure you had friends at the mansion but you could tell they thought of you as a small burden, a nuisance. They were still kind to you but you always saw their faces when something went wrong. With Logan there was none of that. He embraced every part of you. Now with your foot all healed and the winter starting to settle over the mansion you were all clear for winter activities.

Your favorite one being ice skating. A large pond was the perfect place for you and some of the kids to go. Logan had tagged along but only did so because you begged him to go. Pretty please with a cherry on top was enough to get him to chaperone.

You skated along with some of the kids. Others had set up an ice hockey game. It was pure childhood joy. Something that these kids didn't get all the time. Logan was sitting on a bench by the edge of the pond just watching. You skated over and put your hands on your hips.

"Come on Logan, you can't just come to the lake and not skate." You whine. He raises an eyebrow and stays put on that bench.

"I don't do skating sweetheart, or lakes."

"Ten minutes, just ten minutes and I'll leave you alone." You pout and clasp your hands together. He stares at you for a moment before relenting.

"Fine." You let out a happy cheer as he laces up the pair of skates you got for him. You hold out your hands as Logan struggles to balance on the skates.

"See, you're a natural." Logan wobbles and lets out a string of curses as he tries to walk on ice.

"Shut up." He says with no bite in his voice.

Your fingers interlock with his hand as you start slow. This was hell for Logan but seeing your smile made it worth it. You skate around the lake with him, laughing when he glares at the kids who laugh at him. Seeing him so out of his element was funny.

"Okay that's it I'm done." He grunts out as you come to a stop near the middle of the lake.

"Thank you for trying." You know he's not really having fun but it meant a lot he was willing to even get on the ice for you.

"Teacher! Jinx!" A loud cry comes from the kids. You gasp as you notice the ice starting to crack. You made sure the ice was thick enough. You triple checked how could this be happening. You see Logan start to panic so you take action.

"Everyone stay calm!" You yell out.

"If you can make it off now then do it. If you're too far away then I need you to get on your stomach and spread your legs out. Then slowly crawl to the edge. Anyone who is off the lake help pull others to safety." You stay as calm as you can as you make sure everyone is safe. To your relief the ice stays intact as the kids make it off. Now it's just you and Logan. There's fear in his eyes as the cracking gets louder.

"We need to do the same thing Logan. It's going to be okay." The two of you get onto your stomachs and army crawl towards the edge. A student with super speed has already gone to get help thank goodness.

"Fuck." Logan panics as the ice starts to give way. You grab his hand as he starts to freeze.

"It's okay it's okay." You're close to the edge but not close enough.

You yelp as the ice breaks and both of you plunge into the water. You try to keep your grip onto Logan but he's sinking fast. The water is bringing back horrible, horrible memories as he struggles to breathe. Your head barely bobs above the surface as you see familiar faces running towards you.

Water fills your lungs as you scream when Logan's claws nick your arm. He plunges them into the dirt. Trying to pull himself up and out. Your body is becoming numb and every movement hurts. A pair of hands drag you out of the water. You cough violently as you grip onto the frozen grass. Trying to catch your breath. Logan's eyes are wide as he does the same.

"Are you okay?" You reach out to him but he snaps.

"Don't touch me!" He snarls and your heart plummets. His eyes are unfamiliar as his teeth bare like an animal. For the first time since you've met him he's angry with you. Really fucking angry.

"I'm sorry I..."

"I'm sorry Logan, I didn't mean to scratch your bike, I didn't mean to explode the fucking soup. Is that all you can say?!" He shoves off the people trying to help and stands up. His face cold and unforgiving as he looks down on your shivering body.

"You really are a fucking Jinx." You let out a sob as Logan walks away.

A fluffy blanket feels like ice against your skin as you're ushered back to the mansion. You hear Storm trying to talk to you but everything sounds like white noise. Your heart is stomped and crushed right in front of your eyes and you can't even blame him.

You're nothing but bad luck.

5. On a mission

There's no more accidents around the mansion anymore. Probably because you've locked yourself away since the ice skating incident. With the school on a break you didn't need to teach so all you did was stay in your room. Only leaving in the dead of night.

You just couldn't face the mansion anymore. You were embarrassed, upset, and heartbroken. Logan was supposed to be different. You wanted things to be different with him but apparently the universe decided you can have nothing good. It was only a matter of time before he saw the truth. His words repeat in your head over and over.

The anger, the fear. You caused that. Students and teachers alike would stop by your door but no one could get you out of your room. Sometimes you swear you hear the sound of his boots outside of your door. But he just stands there and then he leaves.

You can't cause any more problems if you stay here. Only issues for yourself and that's okay. Professor Xavier would pop into your head every now and then just to check up on you but this time what he needed was urgent.

The moment you walked through his office doors you could feel everyone's eyes on you. Especially a certain someone's who’s brooding in the corner of the room. Even with everyone here he's just overwhelming. You keep yours forward, not sparing a glance to him or to anyone.

"Thank you for joining us." Charles smiles warmly.

Apparently there's a mission and they need your help. Why they would send you out there you don't know. The targets had a fire mutant too and the best way to fight fire is with, well with more fire. The moment you stepped on the jet you could feel the nerves.

Everyone was worried something would go wrong with you around. Keeping your eyes glued to the ground you take a seat as far away from everyone as possible. Counting your fingers over and over as you wait to land. Someone makes there way over to you, their boots are oh so familiar.

"Hey." You look up to see Logan. He's holding onto the seat next to you for dear life.

"Don't worry I'm not gonna touch anything." You mumble as you try and somehow make yourself smaller.

"Listen I just wanted to talk." The plane jolts and Logan slams his fist against the wall. He freezes up again, fear creeping up onto his face. Just like on that frozen lake.

"We're hitting some turbulence. Logan you need to sit down." Scott commands.

Logan's lips turn into a growl but he sits down anyway. His hands clutching the armrests of the chair. Apart of you wants to go and comfort him but you would probably just make things worse. So you close your eyes and wait for it to be over. The turbulence calms and eventually the jet lands with everything and everyone unharmed.

The goal was to shutdown a group of mutant hunters and rescue their victims. The worst part was they had mutants on their side too. Good money you guessed. It shouldn't be too hard of a mission but knowing yourself anything could go wrong. You followed the team in, fighting with everything you had.

Logan had stuck by your side since you got here. Keeping his distance but always watching you. His super senses and metal claws made him their number one target. Suppress the Wolverine. They were no match for him though. But Logan's focus seemed to wane as they sent more people after him. A mutant who could make copies of himself did their best to confuse and take Logan down.

"Watch out!" You shout and Logan dodges another attack.

However you get shoved to the ground before you can say anything else. You send a blast of fire at your attacker but they wave it off. So this is the other mutant. The two of you become locked in combat. Fire meeting fire with no clear winner. It isn't until Jean’s voice shouts through your comms that you find the upper hand. They had found the kids and were bringing them back to the ship. It was a losing battle and you think the hunters were staring to realize that. Calling for a retreat.

You can't let them get away. If they get away then all of this is for nothing. They'll rebuild, they'll hurt more people. You notice a gas tank nearby by their vehicle. You were always good at making things explode. Usually on accident but fuck it, might as well try on purpose now.

"Get to safety and get out of here!" You run past the team as you chase after the retreating foes.

"Where the hell are you going?!" Logan calls as he helps a kid get onto the jet.

You ignore him, running as fast as you can. Just one big blast should get that thing exploding. God this was so stupid but its the only thing you can think of. You fucked up the door, you made a mess of the kitchen, you hurt Logan. All you do is ruin things. You're a Jinx and for once you can try and do something good. Even if it kills you.

As the car starts to drive past you channel all your power and launch it at the gas tank. For a second its like everything is in slow motion. You hear Logan roar, turning back only to see him running towards you. Suddenly everything gets really hot and then.

Nothing.

In the medbay

The first thing you feel when you can finally feel things again was how uncomfortable you were. An itchy blanket, itchy arms. Your back hurt and your head was killing you. When you opened your eyes all you see are the bandages wrapped around your arms and legs.

There were cards and flowers sitting on your bedside table and to your left was Logan. He's got his feet up on your bed and he was squished into a chair. His head bowed and his arms crossed. You try to sit up but start to wheeze. The heart monitor starts to beep wildly and Logan jolts awake.

"Sit back down." He pushes you back onto the bed and you try and breathe. After a little bit your heart rate steadies and Logan seems to calm down.

"What happened?" You ask and Logan clenches his jaw.

"You blew yourself up that's what fucking happened." Your memories were slowly getting pieced together.

"I blew up the gas tank. I wanted to stop them from escaping." You say as you recount what led you to the hospital bed.

"Well you stopped them and then almost killed yourself in the process. You had severe burns, a concussion, you were bleeding everywhere. I picked you up in my arms and you were coated in blood." He growls.

The words I'm sorry almost fall out of your mouth but you remember what Logan said that day on the lake. If you're being honest you aren't sorry either. You did what you thought you had to do.

"I'm a Jinx Logan. You said it yourself. I used my destruction to help this time." Logan winces when you remind him of his harsh words.

He wasn't in the right state of mind when he said them. Flashbacks of drowning, of the pain he went through. Being submerged in water and sinking were usually the scenes of his nightmares and for it to happen in real life. It was awful. But that doesn't change the fact he lashed out, he hurt you.

"I was wrong. I shouldn't have said that." Logan gently brushes the bandages on your arms. The scar from when he cut your arm in the lake peeks out from your bandages. He let his fear get the best of him in the water.

"I've hurt a lot of people, sometimes on purpose. Sometimes on accident.” His eyes never leaving your scar. “You’re not a Jinx. You’re perfect.”

"I still make a mess." Logan cups your face and studies a stitched up wound on your forehead.

God when that gas tank exploded. Even he was blown back by the force. He ran to your still body. Ash and pieces of metal were scattered across the field. You're lucky you didn't get fucking impaled. Your body was limp. Dirt and blood caked your face so much that he couldn't tell where you were hurt.

He carried you back to the jet, your blood staining his suit as he laid you down. He listened for your heartbeat for a second he swore it stopped. The longest second of his life as he waited to hear that soft beating.

"Why are you still here?" You just don't understand. How he can be sitting here after everything you've done. All the problems you caused.

"A little mess isn't gonna scare me sweetheart, I like your mess. I like you." He tilts your chin up and kisses you. You're taken by surprise but it's certainly welcome as your eyes flutter closed.

The heart rate monitor starts to beep faster as Logan leans over you. Your fingers rake through his hair as you pull him closer. Logan's grip tightens on the hospital bed railing. He's too lost in the taste of your lips to notice. You tug on his hair and his claws shoot out, cutting one of your IV wires.

A loud beeping blares through the room as Logan jumps back from you. You cover your mouth and laugh. Not even in your sweetest moments can you catch a break. Logan sheaths his claws and shakes his head in disbelief, joining in your laughter.

Jean rushes in with a panicked look on your face. It morphs into confusion when she sees the two of you laughing as your IV drips to the ground. She quickly fixes your IV and gives both of you a scolding for not letting anyone know you were awake.

"Keep your hands and claws to yourself. I'll be back later Jinx." She eyes Logan who puts his hands up. Smirking at you as she leaves.

"You know we could call you something else." Logan suggests. You think for a while before shaking your head.

"I think I like it." It reminds you of your faults yes but this has something that's followed you for the longest time.

You supposedly bring bad luck but you can try and counteract it every day by doing something nice. Plus maybe with Logan your luck might turn around. Maybe. As long as you steer clear of any lakes.

"Alright, but I think sweetheart has a nice ring to it." He says with a grin.

"Oh you want everyone to call me sweetheart?" You tease. Logan leans over and kisses you again.

"No. Only I get to call you that." Bad luck you may bring but Logan doesn't care.

You're a Jinx but you're his jinx and he loves every part of you. The good and the bad. So what's a little bad luck? If it means he gets to be yours then he'd happily be your lucky charm for the rest of your lives.

[bbrissonn]

𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐞 - 𝐥𝐮𝐤𝐞 𝐡𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐞𝐬

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ in which luke has some plans for the two of you during the 4 nations tournament break

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ pairing: luke hughes x fem!reader

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ wc: 3.1k

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ warnings: reader is a nail tech !!! slight swearing,nsfw content read at your own risk, not proofread

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ started listening to old money by lana del rey about half way through writing this, im sure you'll be able to figure out what part...

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ reader's instagram is public !!!

"so, you talked to mom for next week?" jack asked luke from besides him on the plane. the team was currently on their way back from pittsburgh after a short two game roadtrip. the 4 nations tournament was less than a week away, meaning luke had 2 weeks where he could finally get his mind off of hockey for a while.

more importantly, he got two spend 2 whole weeks with you and only you. he had been looking forward to february since the announcement of the tournament, having a feeling he wouldn't get picked for team usa because it was only his second year in the league. meaning he had had almost a whole year to plan these two weeks he'd get with you.

luke had almost forced to take your two weeks of vacation off during those specific weeks, and you were quick to alert your boss about it. the two of you had been together for a year and a half now, having met during luke's short stay in new jersey at the end of the 2022-2023 season. you had decided not to go to university, opting to attending cosmetology school. you eventually focused nails, your parents letting set up a small salon in their garage. you had met luke when you were shopping for supplies, the boy looking lost as he looked around himself and down at his phone constantly.

as a native new yorker, it pained you to see someone looking as clueless as he did. most people covered it up well, walking with confidence but having no clue where they were going. him on the other hand, he looked like a lost puppy. you decided to approach him, hoping you could help him.

𓇢𓆸

"lost?" you asked as you approached the stranger, a couple of bags in your hands. the stranger turned his head slightly, looking down at his phone quickly, before his head snapped up towards you. his eyes stared into your for a moment, his jaw dropping slightly before snapping back to reality.

"y-yeah, a bit." he mumbled, suddenly finding himself pushing his shoulders back, fixing his posture slightly. you tried your best to hold in a giggle as he then ran his hand through his hair a couple of times.

"where you going?" you asked, stepping a little closer trying to take a peak at his phone. luke leaned his hand towards you, letting you get a better view, but all he could focus on was you.

"meeting some friends... and my brother."

"visiting?"

"uh... just moved. i actually live in new jersey, we all do, but they insisted we come here so..." he explained, his soft gentle as his eyes stayed glued on you. you looked up at him as you figured out mentally where to send the boy. you hadn't noticed just how much taller than you he was.

"work?"

"something like that, yeah."

"head up that way, about three streets down turn left, you'll see it right away. its got a bright neon sign, hard to miss." you instructed him with a smile.

"you'd think phones would be better at directions by now." he joked awkwardly, making you smile slightly. you finally took a good look at his face. he was cute, a lot cuter than any boys you had seen in a while. "i'm luke, by the way."

"y/n." you smiled at him.

𓇢𓆸

luke had kindly asked for your number before making his way to meet his friends. the two of soon started talking almost everyday, luke had been glued to his phone all summer, making everyone around him a little curious by his sudden change. his brothers eventually figured that he had been talking to you the whole time, but failed to convince him to let them meet you.

when luke had gotten back in new jersey in september, he was quick to asked you to be his girlfriend. you didn't have to think twice as the word "yes" slipped from your mouth before your brain even registered what he had said. you were now nearing your year and a half mark, and luke couldn't be anymore in love with you than he already was.

"oh, uhm. i made plans with y/n/n." luke answered his brother, making jack looking over him.

"she can come too, you know. ma would love for her to be there too."

"the uh, plans, their not plans in new jersey."

"make a detour to montreal?"

"i mean, we'll be there for the games in boston, but we're uh, going away before." jack was now very confused as to what luke was saying. never had his brother, or you, mentioned the two of you taking a trip. for all he knew, you had been talking about how excited you were to explore montreal.

"what do you mean?"

"just, i planned a little something special for her, that's all. non-refundable and all."

"where you guys going?"

"i'm not telling you." luke scoffed, making jack look at him with a fake hurt expression.

"why not?"

"'cause your shit a keeping a secret. and she doesn't know yet, so i'm not telling you." luke explained, making jack scoff slightly before putting in his headphones. luke shook his head at his older brother's childish behaviour before texting you. the two of you had agreed to meet up for lunch between two of your clients, and he wanted to make sure there was no delay within your schedule.

𓇢𓆸

"so, baby, i know you're excited and all about montreal-"

"oh, luke, it's gonna be amazing! we're gonna shop, we're gonna explore. go to that cool thing cole keeps talking about." you said with a smile before taking another bit of your plate. you had met cole the previous summer, when you had flew to michigan to visit luke and his family for a couple of weeks. thankfully you had met his brothers and parents, so the only knew people were their friends.

"about that... we're not going to montreal, babe." luke watched as your smile dropped, and he cursed himself for his words.

"what do you mean? what about jack, and quinn, and all your family?"

"we'll go see them, in boston. i was, uh, hoping you'd wanna take a trip with me. get away from everyone, just you and me. and i'm really hoping you say because it's not refundable, so..." he muttered, scratching the back of his neck slightly.

"o-okay, yeah, that's... that's fine. where are we going?" you were glad you had decided not to schedule any clients during luke's two week break, seeing as he had been talking about this moment since the beginning of the season.

"a lot of places, places you're gonna like. took of everything, housing, transport, it's gonna be amazing, love." the boy said with a grin on his face.

"where?"

"europe."

𓇢𓆸

"oh, my gosh, this place is amazing!" you gasped as you walked the streets of london. your plane had arrived early in the morning, and the two of you waisted no time explore the city. your hand was holding on tightly to luke's, his smile matching yours.

"i'm glad your enjoying this, love." the boy spoke as your eyes looked over at him. you bit your bottom lip as luke softly smiled down at you.

"you're amazing, you know that?" you asked the boy as he threw his arm over your shoulders, bringing you close to his side. he chuckled slightly as he pressed a kiss to your temple before answering your question.

"i try." he whispered sweetly before the two of you entered a shop. you spent the rest of day walking around london, getting snacks from almost every food place luke's eyes landed on, eventually sitting down for dinner, and finally making your way to your hotel room.

"we got an early morning tomorrow, babe, get some sleep." the boy mumbled as your mouth trailed down his neck. luke was laying on his back, with you snuggled to his side.

"what are we doing?"

"we're getting on a train." his answer made you look up at him, your mouth leaving his skin as you gave him a weird look.

"a... train?"

"yes, y/n/n, a train." he giggled.

"where to?"

"france." he shrugged with a proud grin as a gasp left your mouth.

"we're going to paris?" you exclaimed, fully pushing yourself so you were straddling luke's lap.

"we are."

"oh my god, luke!" you said before throwing your arms around him. you had been dying to visit paris since you were a little kid, and the want grew even stronger over the summer as you watched the olympics.

16 hours later, you found yourself sitting in a restaurant near the eiffel tower. the night had set, the tower lighted up, people roaming the busy streets of the city, people were talking, laughing, yelling, so much was going. but all you could focus and think about was the boy in front of you.

"you're starring."

"i am." you answered with a smile. luke flashed you his lopsided grin before taking another bit of his food.

"your food's gonna get cold."

"i don't care." you answered, making luke sigh slightly before placing his fork down.

"alright, what is it?"

"nothing... nothing i just, i love you, you know. a lot. this trip... it means a lot." you stuttered, suddenly feeling like a school girl again. luke's hand reached for yours across the table, rubbing you skin softly with his thumb.

"i know, and i love you." he answered, making you blush as you looked down at your lap. you nodded slightly before finally starting to eat your dinner. the two of you ended your night by the eiffel tower, your camera roll getting filled with pictures of the tower itself, you in front of it, luke in front of it, selfies taken together, and pictures a kind stranger took for the two of you. you then made your way back to a hotel near by, the two being seen from your window.

"baby... baby, slow down." luke mumbled as your hands attacked his button up the second the door closed behind the two of you. your lips quickly connected with his neck, making him throw his head back with a groan. luke's hand found their way to your waist, before pushing you up against the wall. you pulled away slightly, looking up at him with a grin as you arched your back, pressing yourself into him.

"no." you answered sweetly before connecting your lips together. luke felt like he was floating up in the clouds at this moment, your hands pushing his button up off of his body before you hands started touching every single part of his upper body.

"you drive me crazy, you know." the boy stated as your hands squeezed his biceps, which were flexed from his grasp on your waist. they quickly moved to find the hem of your shirt, pulling it off in one swift motion, leaving you topless in your lace bra. another groan left his mouth as his lips attached themselves to your neck.

"i know." you said, smirking as your hands now found luke's belt. another groan. just as you were about to undo his belt, you felt luke's strong arms pick you up, and suddenly you were over his shoulder. your giggle echoed through the room as luke dropped you softly on the bed, before crawling over to you.

"i'm so in love with you." he mumbled as he approached you slowly. you were resting on your forearms barely holding yourself up as luke's large figure towered over you. his hands were resting right next to your arms, his forehead inches away from you.

"i'm crazy in love with you, lukey." you mumbled before the boy quickly reached down and connected your lips together, the two of you smiling into the kiss as luke softly pushed you down on the bed.

"luke..." you whispered as his lips slowly trailed down your neck to your chest, his hands locking with yours next to your head.

"yeah, baby?"

"please." you begged as luke pulled your bra down, his lips quickly attacking your boobs as you bit your lips. it had been so long, too long, since the two of you had been completely alone without jack being in the room next to you. it had been so long since the two of you had been able to take your time and truly enjoy yourselves.

"i got you, m'love. don't worry, just wanna take my time with you, show you how much i love you." he whispered as his lips moved further down your body. as he approached your waist, his hands found your skirt, pulling it down along with your panties. you were now fully bare underneath him.

luke pushed himself back on his knees. his eyes admiring your body as he rid himself of his belt and pants, leaving him in only his underwear. "you're so perfect, y/n/n." he whispered as he kneeled back down, his lips kissing your inner thighs softly as he came closer and closer to where you needed him the most.

the rest of the night was filled with soft i love yous, passionate kisses, intense eye contact, your bodies tangled as one, the night was filled of love. luke had fallen asleep first, his arms holding you close to his chest as his chin rested on your head. your face was stuffed into his neck, his cologne being the only thing you could focus on.

it had taken you almost an hour to fall asleep, not because you weren't tired, but because your brain couldn't stop thinking. thinking about how lucky you were, how happy you were, and how grateful you were to have luke in your life. he was the man of your dream.

you still couldn't wrap your head around the fact that you were currently laying in a hotel bed in the middle of the city you had been wanting to visit since you were a kid. that you were laying next you the man who made your dream come true, laying the man who had completely stolen your heart.

and you honestly could not believe this was your life. never in a million years did you think that approaching who stranger who looked completely lost in the middle of new york lead to you laying in his arms in the city of love. it felt like a dream, one that you never wanted to wake up from. luke was everything you ever wanted in a man. he was caring, always want out of his way to make you happy, even if it meant just stopping by your salon to give you coffee in the morning, or just to see you for a short 10 minute before your client came. he was perfect. you never had to worry about if he was out cheating, simply because he could never stop texting you and sending you pictures of his teammates blackout drunk when he was out. you were all he could think about, and he was all you could think about.

it was almost like you were scared you'd fall asleep, and wake up all alone in your bed back in new york, and there was no way you wanted that. but the loud snore coming from luke quickly brought you back to reality. this was real, this was your life now, and you couldn't be happier about it.

𓇢𓆸

it was now wednesday, you had taken a flight to barcelona, where you arrived in the early afternoon. you spent your day exploring the city, it wasn't the hottest, but compared to the weather you were having back home, this was way better. the two of you had decided to stop by a couple of local shops, finding the objects perfect to bring back as souvenirs. after your dinner, the two of you had taken a walk on the beach, after you begged luke for the whole dinner to go. he was going to say yes, of course he was, but the way you would always pass pity comments about it always made him laugh. so, he pretended to be hesitant the whole time, but he knew even before you landed in the city this how your night would end.

then early on thursday morning, the two of you flew to rome. you repeated the same process as always, spend the day exploring the city. only this time the two of you got onto another flight that evening, landing in split in croatia. you knew this city. you had been seeing tons of videos on tiktok about it lately. sadly, it wasn't exactly peak beach season, but luke had promised you that you'd eventually come back the summer.

the two had gone to bed right when you arrived to the hotel, the clock nearing morning hours. and when you woke up the next morning, you were all alone in bed. your eyes wondered around the room, only to land on luke standing at the small round table in your room. you let out a groan as you stretched your arms, making your boyfriend look over at you.

"good morning, baby." the boy mumbled as he walked over to you with a smile. he was wearing a robe, and his hair was slightly damped, and you could only guess he had taken a shower recently. he sat down on the bed next to you, his hand reaching for you.

"hi." you smiled, your eyes struggling to stay open. this was probably one of the comfiest bed you had ever slept on, and you did not want to get up right now.

"how'd you sleep?"

"amazing!" you exclaimed, trying to shove yourself deeper into the mattress. luke smiled at you before leaning down and pecking your lips.

"breakfast." he whispered, his head nodding over to the table. his words quickly made you sit up, wrapping your arms around his neck as you pressed a kiss to his cheek. just as you were about to pull aways, luke's hands, which were laying on your back, made their way to your thighs and picked you up, standing up from the bed. you squealed as he walked over to the table before placing you down, but keeping his arms around you.

"happy valentine's day, my love." he whispered before kissing your lips. you had completely forgotten that was today. all you had been thinking about was this trip, and the days started just blending one into the other. you smiled as you pulled the boy down, kissing him harder.

"you're amazing!" you exclaimed, bringing the boy into a thigh hug as your lips parted, luke chuckled as he let his head rest on yours.

"when i saw that we had a break this week, knew i had to make it the best valentine's day ever."

"you're amazing!" you repeated, and luke took it as an answer that you loved it. "this is amazing, luke!"

"i'm glad you like it-

"i love it! almost as much as i love you."

"sap."

"shut up." you whispered before connecting your lips again. "i don't ever wanna stop loving you."

"good, 'cause i plan on loving you forever."

𓇢𓆸

- feb 11, 2025 -

youruser

📍 london, uk

liked by lhughes_06, jackhughes and other

youruser yesterday💗💗

👥 lhughes_06

view all 273 comments

lhughes_06 🩵

lhughes_06 obsessed with you

user485 he brought her to london omg 🥹🥹

jackhughes so this is where you two snuck off to

friendsuser so so cute

user5459 may a love like this find me

user234 the booth photos omg

_quinnhughes where was my invite?

youruser @/_quinnhughes lukey said no :( lhughes_06 @/youruser woah now don't make me the bad guy

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- feb 12, 2025 -

youruser

📍 paris, france

liked by _quinnhughes, friendsuser and others

youruser dream come true 🩵

👥 lhughes_06

view all 403 comments

lhughes_06 anything for you 🩵

jackhughes @/lhughes_06 oh ew 🤣

user869 WERE THEY NOT IN LONDON YESTERDAY??

user927 @/user869 man said "i got a week and im making the most of it"

_quinnhughes still no invite?

youruser @/_quinnhughes lukey is still saying no :( lhughes_06 @/youruser do you really want him here after last night 🤣 jackhughes @/lhughes_06 OKAY THAT'S JUST GROSS

load more...

- feb 14, 2025 -

youruser

🎵 call it what you want - taylor swift

liked by lhughes_06, _quinnhughes and others

youruser so in love with you 🩵

view all 649 comments

lhughes_06 my girl 🩵

lhughes_06 i love youuuu

jackhughes GROSS GROSS GROSS

friendsuser im so obsessed with you guys

user0194 oh.my.gaush. 😭

user847 she won the lottery frfr

_quinnhughes i would've lovedddd to go to europe to

youruser @/_quinnhughes no.

_quinnhughes so much kissing 🙄

user6749 when is it my turn...

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[shinebyeoli]

STICKY SITUATIONS

✶PAIRING: Spiderman! Yunho x Fem! reader

✶WARNINGS: superhero au, spiderman! yunho, Best friends! wooyoung and san, fighting (spiderman), smut, pet names, cursing, wooyoungs a fangirl over spiderman.

✶A/N: I want to do Ateez fanfiction as them as superheroes, and so, obviously Yunho is Spiderman.

✶WORD-COUNT: 5.8k

The city always felt different at night. The once-bustling streets had quieted down, save for the occasional honking of taxis and the distant chatter of late-night wanderers. The streetlights buzzed softly, casting a warm glow over the pavement as you, Wooyoung, and San walked along the sidewalk, the three of you lost in conversation.

"You’re crazy if you think that’s the best Marvel movie," Wooyoung argued, waving his hands in the air dramatically.

San scoffed, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "I’m just saying, the storyline actually made sense. Unlike the mess of a plot twist your favorite one had."

You laughed, watching the two bicker for what felt like the hundredth time that night. It was always like this—Wooyoung and San found the most random things to argue about, and you somehow always got stuck in the middle.

"Alright, alright, let’s call a truce before one of your heads explodes," you teased, nudging Wooyoung’s shoulder.

He huffed but grinned. "Fine. But only because I’m too hungry to keep fighting."

"Didn’t you just eat?" San raised a brow.

Wooyoung clutched his stomach dramatically. "That was, like, two hours ago! Do you know how long that is in Wooyoung time?" He says pointing to himself with two fingers.

You rolled your eyes as San shook his head with a laugh. The three of you turned the corner onto a dimly lit street, the atmosphere shifting slightly. The sidewalks weren’t as lively here, and the sound of distant sirens echoed faintly through the air.

Something about the silence felt off.

You felt it first—a strange uneasiness creeping up your spine. The hairs on the back of your neck stood up as your gut twisted, an instinct screaming at you that something wasn’t right.

"Hey, does this street feel…weird to you?" you asked, slowing your steps.

San glanced around, his playful demeanor dimming as he too seemed to sense the shift in the air. Wooyoung, usually oblivious to danger, actually frowned.

"Yeah… we should probably—"

Before he could finish, a loud crash shattered the silence.

A black van skidded to a stop in the middle of the road, its tires screeching against the pavement. The doors were thrown open, and within seconds, several masked figures jumped out, their movements quick and calculated. They were armed with guns.

Your breath caught in your throat.

"That’s bad," Wooyoung whispered, stepping back.

"Very bad," You muttered.

"Fuck," San cursed, grabbing your wrist instinctively. "Run."

But it was too late.

One of the men barked an order, and suddenly, the air was filled with chaos. A shot rang out—probably not meant to hit, just to scare—and screams erupted from the few people still lingering in the area. The three of you turned on your heels, sprinting in the opposite direction, but they were fast. Too fast.

The night erupted into chaos behind you—yelling, footsteps pounding against pavement. A gunshot rang out, shattering the silence. Your breath caught, your pulse hammering against your ribs as you sprinted down the street, barely processing what was happening.

"Shit, shit, shit!" Wooyoung cursed as the three of you ducked into an alleyway, your backs hitting the cold brick wall. But before Wooyoung could make it, a strong hand grabbed him by the arm, yanking him backward. He let out a sharp yelp as he struggled, twisting and kicking in their grasp.

"Let him go!" you shouted, instinctively lunging forward.

Another man grabbed you before you could reach him, his grip bruising as he pulled you back. You thrashed against him, panic surging through your veins, but he was stronger. San tried to fight off one of the others, managing to land a solid punch before getting overpowered.

This wasn’t just a mugging. They were organized. They were looking for something—or someone. And you were trapped.

Then, just as your captor tightened his grip, something—or rather, someone—dropped from the sky.

A red and blue blur crashed onto the scene, landing with a force that cracked the pavement slightly.

Spider-Man.

For a moment, everything stilled.

"Hey, fellas. Now, I know we’re all having fun here," the masked hero quipped, standing to his full height. "But I have a strict policy against terrifying innocent civilians. Superbad look, guys."

The men froze in place.

And then all hell broke loose.

The first guy barely had time to react before Spider-Man shot a web, yanking the gun straight out of his hands. Another moved to attack, but the hero was faster—ducking, twisting, landing a solid kick that sent the man sprawling.

"Tsk, tsk." Spider-Man shook his head. "Guns? Really? That’s just lazy."

The scene erupted into chaos.

Spider-Man moved fast—faster than you could keep up with. He flipped and twisted through the air, his webbing shooting out in rapid succession as he took down the masked men one by one. Wooyoung managed to break free in the commotion, stumbling toward you to break you free. You both ran to San as the three of you watched the fight unfold in stunned silence.

Wooyoung let out a breathless laugh. "Holy shit, that’s so cool."

San nudged him. "Now is not the time to fangirl."

It didn’t take long. Within minutes, the assailants were either webbed to the walls or unconscious on the pavement.

Spider-Man landed a few feet in front of you, tilting his head. "Everyone okay?"

Wooyoung, still breathless, gave a thumbs-up. "That was the coolest thing I’ve ever seen."

San nodded, still shaken but managing to find his voice. "Yeah… yeah, we’re good."

The casualness of his tone made you blink. He had just taken down multiple armed men in a matter of minutes, and he was talking like he had just finished a workout.

San let out a low whistle, still catching his breath. "That was… a lot."

Wooyoung, on the other hand, was practically buzzing with excitement. "Dude. You. Are. Freaking. Amazing." He gestured wildly at the unconscious men. "Do you even realize how freaking cool that was? I mean, you—" He mimicked web-shooting with his hands, making whooshing noises. "—and then you did that insane flip, and—"

Spider-Man chuckled and patted Wooyoungs shoulder. "Glad you enjoyed the show."

Spider-Man turned to you then, and for a moment, you swore he lingered. Even through the mask, you could feel the weight of his gaze.

"You good?" His voice was softer now.

You swallowed, still feeling the remnants of adrenaline in your bloodstream. You couldn't help but feel a rush of heat go up to your cheeks. "Yeah. Thanks to you."

There was a small pause. Something about the way he was looking at you—studying you—sent a strange warmth through your chest. But then, as quickly as the moment had come, he stepped back.

"Alright then," he said, clapping his hands together. "My job here is done." And just like that, he shot a web to the nearest building, leaped up, and vanished into the night.

Leaving you standing there, heart still pounding. For a second, none of you spoke.

Then Wooyoung let out a breath, shaking his head in disbelief. "That was—holy hell."

San ran a hand through his hair. "Yeah. Holy shit sums it up pretty well." He let out a deep sigh.

You exhaled slowly, trying to ground yourself. "Let’s just go home."

They both nodded, and together, the three of you started walking.

At the next intersection, Wooyoung and San turned toward their own apartments, each of them giving you one last look.

"You sure you’re okay?" San asked. "I mean, that was a lot to process..."

"I'm fine San." You managed a small smile. "Yeah. I’ll see you guys tomorrow."

Wooyoung gave you a playful salute before they disappeared down their street.

And then it was just you.

The city was quieter now. The excitement of the night had dulled into a hum of distant traffic, the occasional flicker of headlights passing by.

You pulled your hoodie tighter around you as you walked, your steps steady but your mind still racing.

Everything felt surreal, like a fantasy dream. One second, you were hanging out with your best friends. The next, you were running for your life. And then Spider-Man swooped in, saved you like it was nothing, and disappeared into the dead of night.

Your fingers twitched at your sides and you could still feel the ghost of his touch—the way he had held you when he pulled you away from danger.

Shaking the thought away, you turned down a quieter street. It wasn’t too far to your apartment now. Just a few more minutes. But then there was a noise...

Tick. Tick. Tick.

You stopped. You cocked an eyebrow. The sound was faint, almost drowned out by the night and the noise of wind. It was coming from the building beside you.

Slowly, you turned your head. The alley next to the building was dimly lit, shadows stretching across the pavement. But the sound—that sound—was definitely coming from there.

A slow, rhythmic ticking. Like a countdown.

Your stomach twisted. Your instincts screamed at you to move. But you couldn't. it was like your legs were paralyzed and—

BOOM.

The explosion shattered the quiet night. The force of the blast hit like a shockwave, sending a fiery burst of heat through the air. The impact knocked you off your feet, throwing you backward before you even had time to scream.

For a split second, you were weightless—falling, the world tilting...

But before you hit the ground, something caught you.

No, not something... Someone

A strong arm wrapped around your waist just as a web shot out, pulling you up seconds before debris rained down onto the street below. Your breath hitched.

Your mind barely had time to process what had just happened before you were soaring—high above the city, away from the destruction.

The wind roared past your ears as you clung to the one person who had just saved your life again.

And then, just as quickly as you were pulled away, you landed on a rooftop. You gasped, heart hammering as your feet touched solid ground.

Spider-Man was still holding you, his grip strong, steady—protective.

For a long second, neither of you spoke. The distant wail of sirens echoed below. The glow of the city lights cast long shadows across the rooftop.

His chest rose and fell with controlled breaths. "You okay?" he asked, voice quieter this time.

You swallowed, trying to steady yourself. "I—yeah. I think so."

His hold on you didn’t loosen immediately. It was as if he was making sure—like if he let go too soon, you might slip away again.

The realization made something in your chest tighten.

Slowly, he pulled back just enough to look at you. Even through the mask, you could feel the intensity of his gaze.

"You shouldn’t have been there," he murmured, almost to himself.

"I wasn’t exactly planning on walking past a random explosion," you said, attempting to lighten the mood. Your voice came out more breathless than you intended.

His jaw tensed slightly. "You could’ve died."

You weren’t sure why, but the way he said it—low, edged with something almost like frustration—made your breath catch.

His fingers twitched against your waist before he finally let go. The absence of his touch left the night air colder.

"Thank you though," You breathe out as you look at him. You wondered what he looked like under the mask. "For saving me... again."

"You're welcome."

He then exhaled sharply as if debating something. Then, reaching into his suit, he pulled out a small, folded piece of paper.

Wordlessly, he took your hand and pressed it into your palm.

Your fingers curled around it automatically. "What is this?"

His voice was quieter now. More certain. "A lifeline," he said. "Just in case."

Your pulse jumped. You looked up at him, searching for something—anything—in his masked expression. But before you could say anything, he stepped back.

"Stay safe, Y/N..."

He winked at you and then, in one swift motion, he shot a web and disappeared into the night. leaving you standing there, gripping the note, your heart still racing.

Far below, the city continued on, unaware of what had just happened. But you knew this wasn’t the last time you’d see him.

Your phone buzzed violently in your pocket, snapping you out of your daze.

Still gripping the note, you fumbled to pull it out, your hands shaking slightly as you answered.

“Y/N!” Wooyoung’s voice practically exploded through the speaker causing you to flinch a little. “Did you hear that?!”

San’s voice followed, equally frantic. “Forget hearing it, we felt it! That explosion was huge—where are you? Are you okay?”

You swallowed, your heartbeat still uneven, and a tiny bit of sweat dripped down your forehead. “Yeah… yeah, I’m okay.” You glanced down at the note in your hand, the small folded paper feeling heavier than it should. “Spider-Man—he… he saved me.”

A pause. Then Wooyoung, in complete disbelief: “Wait- again?”

San exhaled sharply. “Holy shit, you have got to stop getting into life-threatening situations.”

You let out a shaky breath, your fingers tightening around the note. “Yeah, well… at least this time, he gave me something.”

Wooyoung gasped dramatically. “Oh my god, a gift?, a love letter?”

You scoff and roll your eyes. “Not exactly.”

Carefully, you unfolded the paper, the streetlights casting just enough of a glow for you to see what was scribbled inside.

A phone number.

Your breath hitched slightly. “He gave me his number,” you murmured, more to yourself than to them.

Dead silence.

“WHAT?!” Wooyoung shrieked so loudly you had to pull the phone away from your ear.

San sounded equally stunned. “Hold on, he just gave you his number? Like—"here call me sometime." type of shit?”

You swallowed, staring down at the digits. “I… guess?”

Wooyoung was losing his mind. “ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! THIS IS LIKE A ROMANCE MOVIE BUT IN REAL LIFE. YOU HAVE TO CALL HIM.”

San groaned. “Give her a second to process, dude.”

Your fingers traced over the numbers absently, your heart still hammering in your chest. “Yeah,” you muttered, barely registering their bickering. “I think I will.”

Because something told you this wasn’t just a random exchange. This was the beginning of something else. Something big.

And for the first time tonight, despite everything, a small smile found its way to your lips.

Three months had passed since that night. Since the explosion. Since the moment Spider-Man slipped you his number and changed your life forever.

Because Spider-Man was Jeong Yunho.

And now, he was your boyfriend.

The warm glow of your bedside lamp flickered gently against the walls, the soft scent of candles filling the dimly lit room. You sat cross-legged on your bed, your laptop balanced on your thighs as you mindlessly scrolled through your work. The night was calm, the city humming faintly in the background through your slightly open window.

Then there was a familiar thud. You barely had time to glance up before the window swung open, and a tall, breathless figure climbed inside.

Yunho.

His suit was slightly dirty, the red and blue fabric stretched taut over his muscular, tall frame. His chest rose and fell heavily as he pulled his mask off, tousled dark hair falling over his forehead. He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his damp hair before looking at you., panting a bit.

You smirked, resting your chin in your palm. "Rough day, Yun?"

He let out a dry chuckle, tossing his mask onto your desk as he padded toward you. "You have no idea."

You shut your laptop, scooting over as he all but collapsed onto your bed with a dramatic sigh. He stretched out beside you, one arm draped lazily over his face. His eyes closed briefly as he relaxed beside you. The air between you both felt thick with something more than just the comfort of being together. He had been gone all night, and it had become routine for him to come to you like this—exhausted, a little broken, and yet still somehow whole in your presence.

You watched him, his chest rising and falling in time with his breathing. There was something about him tonight—something that felt different.

He turned his head to face you, his brown eyes meeting yours in the dim light. "I missed you," he muttered, his voice quiet but carrying the weight of a thousand unspoken words.

Your heart skipped a beat. It wasn’t the first time he had said that, but tonight, it felt heavier, more real.

"I missed you too," you replied softly, your breath catching as you leaned closer, just barely brushing his arm with your fingers.

He smiled then, a slow, almost lazy smile that had a way of making your heartbeat quicken. Without a word, he shifted, moving until he was hovering above you, his body pressing down gently against yours. The familiar warmth of his chest, the scent of him—like cologne and sweat, and the faint hint of something stronger—surrounded you.

His hands, large and sure, braced on either side of your head as he looked down at you. His gaze softened for a moment, a flicker of vulnerability passing through his eyes before it was replaced with something darker—something that made your breath catch in your throat.

"Is it okay if I..." he trailed off, his voice barely a whisper, his face inches from yours.

You swallowed, nodding. "Yeah, Yunho. It’s okay."

And with that, he closed the distance between you, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was soft at first but quickly grew more desperate, more urgent. His hands slid to your sides, fingers tracing the curve of your waist before pulling you closer as if he couldn't get enough of the feeling of you beneath him.

The kiss deepened, his body moving against yours in slow, deliberate motions that made your heart race, and your senses heighten. Every part of you burned for him, and he could feel it in the way your body responded to his gentle touch.

His lips left yours, trailing hot kisses along your jaw, down your neck, the soft exhale of his breath making your skin tingle. You ran your fingers through his hair, tugging him back to meet your lips again, pulling him closer as if you never wanted to let him go.

Yunho groaned against your lips, his hands sliding beneath your shirt, fingertips grazing the soft skin of your stomach. The touch sent a shockwave of heat through you, and you couldn’t stop the small gasp that escaped your mouth.

"You drive me crazy, y'know that?" he murmured, his breath hot against your ear as he nipped lightly at your earlobe.

You couldn’t help the small, breathless giggle that escaped your lips. "I could say the same about you."

His hands moved lower, tracing the curve of your body, and for a brief moment, there was a sense of hesitation in his movements. But only for a moment.

"I want you," he whispered, his voice raw with desire.

Your heart skipped again. You could feel the tension building between you both, the anticipation crackling in the air as you gazed up at him.

“I want you too,” you breathed, your hands sliding up to pull him closer, your body arching instinctively toward his.

The world outside, the city, the noise, the chaos, faded away, leaving only the two of you, tangled in each other. The kiss deepened once again, more desperate this time as if you were both starved for each other, needing this moment more than anything else.

The dark-haired boy's hands were everywhere now—on your back, your waist, your legs. His fingers finding the hem of your shirt and pulling it off, desperate to feel more of you. you groaned as he did, your body shuddering slightly at the contact, and for a moment, you lost yourself in the sensation of being this close to him, of having him like this.

But before things could escalate further, Yunho pulled back just slightly, his forehead resting against yours, his chest heaving as he tried to regain control of his breath.

“I don’t want to rush this,” he said softly, his voice low and filled with a tenderness that only seemed to make everything more intense.

You nodded, your hands still tangled in his hair as you gazed up at him. “We don’t have to. I just want to be with you, Yunho.”

He smiled, his lips pressing against yours one last time—slow, gentle, a kiss that spoke volumes. And in that moment, it wasn’t just about the passion. It was about connection. About how, no matter what, you both had each other.

Yunho’s body pressed against yours, the weight of him both thrilling and intoxicating as he kissed you deeply, his lips claiming yours with an urgency that made your heart race. You felt the cool air of the room against your bare skin, every inch of you alive with anticipation. His suit was still intact, but the tension between you was palpable, and you could sense his desperation.

With a mischievous glint in your eye, you pushed your hands down to the fabric of his suit, feeling the smooth material beneath your fingertips. “Yun,” you whispered, your voice low and teasing. “What if we take this off?”

He paused, his breath hitching as he looked down at you, a mix of desire and amusement in his gaze. “And ruin it? I just got this suit,” he replied, trying to maintain his composure, but you could see the hunger in his eyes.

“Who cares?” you challenged, your fingers gripping the fabric tighter. “You’ve got more important things to focus on right now.”

With a swift motion, you tugged at the fabric, your determination making you bold. The sound of tearing fabric echoed in the room, and you felt a thrill rush through you as you ripped a hole in the crotch area of his suit, revealing the toned skin beneath. His already hard cock sprung out and hit his covered stomach.

Yunho’s eyes widened in shock, and then he blushed, the tension breaking momentarily. “This is the second suit I’ve been through with you” he exclaimed, his voice a mixture of disbelief and amusement.

You couldn’t help but laugh too, the sound ringing through the air as you looked up at him, your heart racing. “What can I say? You make it too easy to get carried away,” you teased, your fingers brushing against his exposed skin, feeling the heat radiate from him.

He shook his head, a grin spreading across his face as he leaned down, capturing your lips again in a heated kiss. “You’re insatiable,” he murmured against your mouth, his hands gripping your hips as he pressed his body harder against yours.

“I learned from the best,” you shot back, the playful banter only heightening the tension between you. The sound of fabric tearing had only fueled the fire inside you, and you could feel the need building again, stronger than before. You ran your finger over his leaking tip.

Yunho pulled back slightly, glancing down at his ruined suit with mock seriousness. “I- I might need to start keeping a spare suit at y- your place,” he breathed, his tone teasing but laced with genuine desire as he panted a bit.

“Or maybe just skip the suit altogether next time,” you suggested with a smirk, your fingers trailing down his chest, feeling the muscles flex beneath your touch.

He chuckled, leaning down to kiss you again, the urgency returning as he pressed his body against yours, the remnants of his suit only adding to the thrill of the moment. “If you keep this up, I might not be able to hold back,” he warned, his voice low and filled with promise.

“Then don’t hold back,” you challenged, your heart racing as you met his gaze, your body aching for him. “Such a pretty cock, hm?” You coo.

With a growl, Yunho wasted no time. He closed the distance again, kissing you fiercely, the remnants of his suit only serving to heighten the tension between you. His hands roamed your body, exploring every inch as you surrendered to the moment, the laughter and playful teasing giving way to something deeper, more primal.

In that heated exchange, the world outside faded away, leaving only the two of you—lost in each other, tangled up in passion, and utterly consumed by desire.

As Yunho kissed you deeply, the rip in his suit widened, and you could feel his hard member rub against you, throbbing. The thrill of the moment sent a shiver down your spine, and you couldn’t help but smile against his lips, the laughter still lingering from your earlier banter.

But then, as if the tension of the night had reached its peak, you felt the unmistakable sensation of his arousal pushing through the tear in his suit. Your breath hitched at the intensity of it, and Yunho’s gaze darkened as he pulled back slightly, his eyes locking onto yours.

“Guess I’m not the only one who’s a little too eager,” he murmured, his voice low and husky with need.

With a swift motion, you pushed him back just enough to sit up, and before he could react, you tore at your own bottoms, fabric ripping away with a satisfying sound. The sudden exposure made your pulse race, and you reveled in the way his eyes widened at the sight of you.

“Now we’re both ready,” you teased, your voice sultry as you leaned closer, your body radiating heat as you pressed against him, skin to skin.

Yunho growled low in his throat, the sound sending a thrill through you. “You’re going to be the death of me,” he said, his fingers curling around your waist as he pulled you closer, his body flush against yours.

He quickly shifted, his hands gripping your thighs as he positioned you, and you could feel the undeniable heat of his desire against you. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” he confessed, his voice thick with lust as he pressed his body against yours, the remnants of his torn suit hanging around his hips.

“Then don’t hold back,” you urged, your breath hitching as you felt the weight of him pressing down, the heat radiating between you both. You needed him, needed to feel him fill the void that had been growing inside you.

With a fierce determination, Yunho pushed forward, capturing your lips in another searing kiss. The taste of him, the urgency of his movements, sent waves of pleasure coursing through you as he nestled deeper between your thighs. You gasped at the sensation, the heat building as he ground against you, seeking more, wanting to lose himself in you completely.

“God, you drive me crazy,” he murmured against your lips, his breath hot and heavy as he moved to kiss down your neck, trailing hot kisses along your collarbone, down to your chest, igniting every nerve ending in your body.

“Yunho, please...” you begged, your voice a breathless whisper as you tangled your fingers in his hair, urging him closer, craving more of him.

With a growl, he positioned himself, the moment stretching between you as anticipation crackled in the air. “Are you ready?” he asked, his eyes searching yours, filled with a mix of lust and tenderness.

You nodded, your heart racing as you whispered, “More than ready.”

In one swift motion, he thrust forward, the heat of him enveloping you completely. The sensation was overwhelming, and you gasped, the pleasure coursing through you as his long and veiny cock filled you, stretching you in the best way. You could feel him deep inside, and everything else faded away—the world outside, the chaos of life—until it was just the two of you, lost in each other.

“Yunho,” you moaned, your body arching instinctively against him, urging him on as he began to move, his rhythm steady and intoxicating. Each thrust sent waves of pleasure crashing over you, and you felt yourself spiraling, surrendering completely to the sensations. He kept hitting your G-spot causing you to whine and moan.

He matched your movements, his breath ragged as he lost himself in you. “Y- you feel so good, tiny” he groaned, his voice filled with raw desire, his hands gripping your hips as he pulled you closer, wanting every inch of you.

The room was filled with the sound of skin hitting against skin, the heat between you rising with each passing moment. You could feel the tension coiling tighter, the world around you fading into nothing as you lost yourself in the rhythm of your bodies.

“Yu- Yunho, don’t stop-” you gasped, each thrust igniting a fire within you, pushing you closer to the edge. You could feel the heat building, the pleasure reaching a peak as you clung to him, urging him on, wanting nothing more than to feel him completely.

Yunho filled you completely, a gasp escaped your lips, the sensation overwhelming in the best possible way. He held you close, his breath hot against your neck as he began to move, his thrusts deep and deliberate, each one sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your body.

“God, you feel amazing,” he groaned, his voice thick with desire. His hands gripped your hips, guiding you to meet his every thrust, the rhythm building between you as passion grew.

With each movement, his thrust grew more sloppy and hard, whines and moans filled the room. The taller boy grunted as he gripped onto your hips. You could feel the heat pooling deep within you, the tension building with every thrust, every stroke. Yunho’s eyes were locked onto yours, filled with a mix of lust and something deeper, something that made your heart race even more.

“Yunho,” you gasped, your fingers gripping the sheets as you surrendered completely to the pleasure he was giving you. “I- f— fuck.”

He responded with a low growl, his thrusts becoming more urgent, more demanding. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the air, the primal rhythm echoing in the room as you lost yourself in the intensity of your connection. You could feel every inch of him, every powerful thrust igniting a fire within you that threatened to consume you whole.

Suddenly, with a wicked glint in his eyes, Yunho shifted his grip and pulled your hands above your head. “Let’s make this even more interesting,” he murmured, shooting out a silky web from his his hands—a playful reference to his alter ego. In one swift motion, he tied your wrists together, securing them above your head.

A thrill raced through you at the sensation of being restrained, the vulnerability heightening the intensity of everything you were feeling. “Yunho, what are you—” you started, but he silenced you with a fierce kiss, his body pressing down against yours, pinning you to the bed.

“Just trust me,” he said, his voice low and teasing. The possessiveness in his tone sent another wave of heat through you, and you nodded, surrendering completely to him.

With your hands tied, Yunho resumed his movements, his thrusts becoming more powerful, more demanding. The sensation of being held down while he drove into you was exhilarating, and you could feel the tension building higher and higher with each powerful stroke.

“Yunho, yes,” you cried out, the pleasure overwhelming as he hit all the right spots, the intimacy of the moment enveloping you completely. You could feel every single inch of him, the way he filled you, stretched you, driving you closer to the edge.

“You like that?” he asked, a smirk on his lips, his eyes dark with desire as he watched your reactions. “I want to hear you.”

“More,” you begged, your voice breathless as you writhed beneath him, the pleasure coiling tighter within you. He was relentless, and the way he took control was intoxicating. Each thrust was a reminder of his power, his desire to consume you completely.

“More, huh?” he teased, his thrusts deepening as he leaned down, capturing your lips in a heated kiss, swallowing your moans. The connection between you sparked with electricity, and you felt yourself spiraling, losing track of everything except the way he was making you feel.

Yunho picked up the pace, his movements becoming more frantic, His length hit the spot, making you whimper from it. the sound of your bodies colliding filling the room. You could feel the pressure building, a delicious tension pulling tight within you, and you knew you were getting close.

“Yunho, I’m—” you gasped, your body arching against him, desperately seeking that release.

“Let go for me,” he urged, his voice a husky whisper in your ear. “I’ve got you.”

With a final thrust, the world exploded around you. Waves of pleasure crashed over you, your body trembling as you cried out his name, the sound echoing in the air as you let go completely, surrendering to the intense ecstasy that washed over you.

You open your mouth as you came on him. squeezing his member, making his grip on your waist tighten.

Yunho followed closely behind, his thrusts becoming erratic as he reached his own peak, the sound of his groan filling your ears as he buried himself deep inside you, riding the waves of pleasure together. He painted your walls with his cum, groaning as he does so.

As the intensity faded and you both collapsed against each other, he quickly untied your hands, pulling you close. The warmth of his body enveloped you, and you could feel his heart racing against yours.

“Now that was something,” he said, a satisfied grin on his face as he brushed a strand of hair away from your face.

You laughed softly, the exhilaration of the moment still lingering in the air. “You definitely know how to make an impression.”

s the waves of pleasure subsided, you found yourselves tangled together, hearts racing, breaths mingling in the aftermath of sex. Yunho collapsed beside you, pulling you close, and you could feel the warmth radiating from him, the remnants of your shared intensity lingering in the air.

“Guess I’ll have to invest in some sturdier suits,” he chuckled, glancing down at the remnants of his attire, and you couldn’t help but laugh, the sound echoing in the dim light of the room.

“Or just come to me without one next time,” you suggested a playful grin on your face.

“Now that sounds like a plan,” he replied, his eyes sparkling with mischief as he pulled you closer, the warmth of his body wrapping around you like a protective cocoon.

And in that moment, as you lay together, you knew that this was just the beginning of many more adventures to come.

Yunho chuckled, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Just wait until next time. I have plenty more tricks up my sleeve.”

With a playful smile, you snuggled closer to him, knowing this was just the beginning of many more unforgettable moments together.

[pricegouge]

shovel talk

it's not even six in the morning and yet the shovel grates across the walkway, grit of pebbles beneath its steel edge scraping and catching. it balks in unsteady hands, tries again with another drawn out rasp before meeting the wall of the bank. trembling as it rises, it spills a portion its spare load back across the pavers before being tipped meticulously atop the mountain of snow that runs parallel the walk. she lets the shovel fall carelessly ahead of her and grits her teeth, rises an inch and scoots forward minutely, dragging the cheap lawn chair she's been perched on along by a hand shoved between her knees, gripping the seat. it scrapes just as much as the shovel, heavy with implication. she's not even wearing a proper jacket, just a flannel over a zip up hoodie, the wool weave of her button up already beaded with melted snow.

she looks ornery and mulish, but so are you and you can't just keep walking past.

clear blue eyes turn on you when you call to her, ask if you can help. her hands might shake but her gaze is level, taking you in from head to toe before scooting herself along another inch. "shouldn't be doin' that," she advises, voice croaky in her old age.

"neither should you," you counter, nodding at her makeshift mobility aid. it teeters when she turns to chuckle at you, though she hides it in a cough. stubborn old bat, you can already tell.

"anyway my son will be here soon."

pursing your lips, you look the walk over properly. the poor woman's already done over half of it - how late is the son exactly? but you don't comment on it, step closer when her shovel catches on a shelf of ice instead. "give it here, please," you offer rather diplomatically. she frowns apprehensively but does as told, shuffling her seat back a smidge to give you room to work. it takes a couple tries but you catch the bottom edge of the ice, ply it back and huck it over the bank easily enough. it thunks as it sinks through the snow, a real ice breaker.

"and here i'd pegged you for some soft, sweet thing," she laughs, sheepish.

"must've loosened it for me," you shrug, and turn to finish the walk while she's distracted, laughing herself into a minor coughing fit. "should you go inside?" you offer, unsure if it's a good suggestion seeing as that would leave some strange woman alone on her front lawn.

thankfully she just waves you off as she calms herself down, heavy breaths clouding around her like the smoke that's probably catching up to her. "can't. gotta take credit for your work when my son gets here."

"oh, i see how it is," you snark, and purposefully leave a good quarter inch on the paver, a base level that will freeze solid soon enough and create another sheet of ice for her to struggle with in the future.

she just eyes you, thin eyebrow pulled low on a once-heavy brow. she may be old and frail but it's a sort of sternness that doesn't dull with age and you can only smile to yourself as you fix it. no wonder her son still comes by to help. "he running late?" you ask conversationally, nod up the path where she's already done most of the work by way of explanation when she hmm's at you.

"oh, no. he'll be two hours early, probably. which is why i'm out here three hours early. a woman's got to have her pride, after all."

you nod along as if that's reasonable. "well what's he gonna do when he gets here, then?"

"fix my water heater," she gripes. "say, you wouldn't happen to know anything about that, would you?"

it earns an unladylike snort from you, but you don't think she's the type to mind. "'fraid not."

the stoop is easy enough, just a quick swipe to clean the steps. you note the name above the door with some interest, a misplaced desire to keep tags on her, come back and check maybe. "got any salt, mrs. price?"

she motions you toward the open garage behind her but sticks a hand out for help as you pass. her grip is surprisingly strong on your forearm, the fingers of her other hand digging into your tricep almost cruelly when she uses you to drag herself up. you snatch the lawn chair up before she can even try it, nod toward the garage questioningly.

"next to the overhead, please," she agrees, and you find the bucket of salt right beside it, an empty coffee can already filled and ready for dispensing. when you emerge from the garage, there's a truck parked out front.

"give me that," mrs. price hisses and you jump to find her so close, already snatching the can from your fingers. old bat can still move.

the driver's door creaks when it closes. you can only see the top of a blue beanie from over the roof of it but mrs. price doesn't wait to see him before hollering at her son. "i thought you wouldn't be here until nine!?"

tall and burly with his mother's same stern brow, price junior rounds the corner of his truck and frowns between the two of you."and i thought you didn't like when other people shoveled for you," he counters before tacking on a quick hi pet towards you.

"hi -."

"who's shoveled for me?" she demands, motioning up the walk with another spray of salt. "did this all on my own."

he hums as he comes closer, boots crunching over the thin dusting of snow that still coats the driveway. you sincerely hope mrs. price didn't shovel all that, but judging by the banks that line the drive you suspect a service was likely hired. why they couldn't take an extra two minutes to clear an old lady's walkway you'd never know. you think maybe the son is wondering the same, the way he's inspecting the short stretch critically, but when he opens his mouth it's not at all meant to insult the snow removal service. "you're losing your touch, woman."

you're unsure who's more offended, yourself or his mother. "what's wrong with it?" you blurt, unheeding of the way mrs. price elbows you again.

"i've done a fine job," she supplies, trying to save face.

he just tilts his head at her patronizingly, rocks up onto his toes to appear unnecessarily bigger. "you've forgotten we're expecting more snowfall soon. you'll want to widen the walk to push the banks back, make it easier to shovel out the next storm."

this ass. "well if you'd wanted it done right, you should have shown up on time," you huff, unreasonably defensive of the quick job you'd done.

he's still got that insufferable expression on when he turns to you, but you think you see an edge of something playful glimmering in his clear blue eyes, that same expression his mother had worn when she'd asked if you could perhaps also take his job fixing her water heater. "'on time' would be hours from now," he reminds you. "would you have had this all fixed by then?"

the worst part is, calling him out on the insult would mean admitting you'd done it, and you're suddenly very aligned with this man's mother re: his versus her pride. instead you turn his own words back on him, leaning close to your new friend to ask her if she's going to take that.

she chuckles. "oh, don't mind him. john here's just scared because he knows his job is at risk."

you watch john frown between the two of you, the furrow between his brows deepening in a way which brings you too much pleasure. part of you wants to stay, keep carving away at his pride, but you're now running late for work and you still have a few blocks to walk. "well, it was lovely to meet you, mrs. price," you say with an overly formal shake of her hand.

"pleasure doing business," she agrees with a wry smile. "see you again bright and early next snow storm."

john doesn't budge to let you pass, instead squints down at you in open assessment. you note his cheeks are rosy with the cold and you briefly hope he gets stuck outside fixing the damn walk, cold wind stinging the chapped apples of cheeks which his ridiculous beard doesn't quite cover. they scrunch up when he affects a smile, lend a sort of disarmingly childish quality to the patronizing tone he still can't quite drop. it just pisses you off even more. "didn't actually catch your name," he prompts, gloved hand extended, as if attempting to continue the ruse.

"that's because i didn't give it," you chirp in your best customer service voice. you brush past him when he can only blink in confusion, the contrast between your words and your tone evidently too much for him to process so early in the morning.

"she usually pays me with breakfast if you want to stick around!" he calls after you, far too late to start acting sweet.

you nearly slip in your haste to spin around and fix him with an overly saccharine smile. "oh, i already ate. got here at five," you lie, just to watch his face crumble into genuine concern.

behind him, his mother's thin mouth twists into a cheshire grin and you stumble away before she can solidify any real plans.

too bad she's just as stubborn and ornery as you.

too bad john's worse than both of you.