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luv-lock · 8 hours ago

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ㅤֹㅤ⊹ㅤ #ㅤA GENTLEMANㅤ.ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☆⁠ PAIRING : Robin Damian Wayne x Fem Reader

☆⁠ HEADCANON : When he have a puppy crush (obsession).

☆⁠ NOTES : Teenagers in love. English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

Damian had always been certain of one thing: he was superior to everyone around him. But when it came to you, something shifted in him. He didn’t understand it at first—it was something unfamiliar, something that made his heart race in ways that made him deeply uncomfortable. He would never admit it, of course, but there was no denying the way his eyes lingered on you when you weren’t looking.

From the moment he noticed you in class, you were a source of obsession. Not just because you were incredibly intelligent—far more than most people gave you credit for—but because you were different. You weren’t intimidated by him like everyone else. You didn’t flinch when he looked at you with his piercing eyes, and worst of all, you were kind to him. You smiled at him, genuinely, and asked him how his day was when no one else did.

At first, Damian didn't know how to process it. He hated how much he cared about what you thought. He hated how his chest tightened whenever he saw you laughing with friends or when your eyes briefly met his from across the room. He couldn't help but become... protective. Territorial, even.

His obsession grew, but it wasn’t obvious to you. To you, he was just the enigmatic, brooding boy who sat at the back of the class and barely spoke. To everyone else, he was the unsmiling prodigy who made the rest of Gotham's elite children seem inferior. But to him, you were different. You weren't afraid to speak to him, to challenge him, even when you didn't know his full story.

He’d sneak glances at you when you weren’t paying attention, his gaze lingering for just a second too long. When you walked into a room, his eyes would immediately track your every movement. He didn’t mean for it to happen, but every time you laughed—whether it was at something funny or just something absurd—his heart would pound. Every soft word you spoke, every time you brushed your hair behind your ear, or when you studied so intently in class, it drove him wild. He felt... protective. Possessive, even. But mostly, he felt a desperate need to be the one you relied on, the one you turned to.

He never had a normal crush before. His emotions were all twisted up, almost like he was terrified of it, yet drawn to it. His pride kept him from ever admitting how much he cared, but his actions always betrayed him. If anyone made the mistake of speaking to you for too long, or worse, making you laugh too much, they’d feel the weight of his glare. He didn’t trust anyone around you, didn’t trust that they wouldn’t hurt you, use you, break you like so many others had tried with him.

If you ever had a problem, Damian would be the first to solve it. He didn’t need to be asked. He noticed the little things about you—the way you tapped your pencil when you were nervous, the way you’d tug at your sleeves when you were stressed. He memorized them all, cataloging each detail like an obsessed detective, all while maintaining that cold, stoic expression. But if you ever needed help, even just to ask for notes from a missed class, his voice would become so soft, so eager to please, that it would catch you off guard.

But he was never obvious. If you ever mentioned something in passing, a book you liked or a subject you were interested in, Damian would get it for you. It wasn’t that he thought you needed him—it was that he needed you to need him. He wanted to be the one you thought of when you needed something, even if he didn’t let you know just how far he would go for you.

He’d never say it out loud, but when you laughed at one of his rare jokes or smiled when he helped you with something, it felt like the whole world was aligned. The idea of you wanting him, of you seeing him as something more than just the brooding, serious boy who sat in the back of class, became his driving force. He’d stalk your social media in the dead of night, not to look for anything inappropriate, but just to see you—see your face, your thoughts, the things you liked.

Sometimes he’d catch himself imagining what it would be like to kiss you, to be the one who could make you smile when no one else could. He’d catch himself thinking about how he would protect you—how, in his mind, no one else was worthy of you. You were his. He’d never let anyone else take you from him.

If you ever caught him staring at you—caught him in one of his moments of weakness—he’d look away, almost defensively, as though nothing had ever happened. But deep down, Damian couldn’t hide the feeling that grew every time you were around. A feeling that, for the first time, made him question what it meant to be truly vulnerable.

You were his weakness. But that was something he could never let anyone see.

As time passed, Damian’s obsession with you only deepened, but so did his longing for your attention. His pride and sense of superiority might’ve prevented him from being straightforward, but that didn’t stop him from showing his affection in subtle ways. Every once in a while, when you weren’t looking, he’d steal a quick glance at you, his eyes softening, as if savoring the moments when you were close.

It was the small things that made his heart race—like when you’d accidentally brush his hand as you passed him a pencil or when you’d ask him for help on a particularly difficult assignment. The way your voice sounded when you said his name, the way your eyes sparkled when you were excited about something—Damian didn’t even realize how much it was affecting him until it was too late.

One day, during lunch, you walked up to him at his usual spot by the wall, the one he always sat at, trying to be as unnoticed as possible. “Hey, Damian,” you said, a little shy, “can I borrow your notes from last week’s class?”

Damian looked up at you, and for a moment, his breath caught in his throat. The way your hair fell over your shoulder, the way your eyes sparkled under the soft glow of the cafeteria lights—it was almost too much for him to handle. He had to force himself not to let his emotions show.

Without a word, he handed you his notebook, his fingers brushing against yours for just a second. He didn’t pull away, though—he lingered, just a little longer than necessary. His eyes met yours, and for the first time in ages, a flicker of warmth passed across his usual cold, calculating gaze. He couldn’t help the small, almost imperceptible smile that tugged at the corner of his lips.

“You… You’re welcome,” he muttered, trying to sound aloof. But there was an underlying softness in his tone, something you hadn’t heard before. It was the way he said it—like he was pleased to help you, like you mattered to him more than anyone else in that moment.

You smiled at him, making his heart stutter in his chest. It wasn’t a big smile, just a small, genuine curve of your lips, but to Damian, it was everything. It felt like the world had shifted into place.

“Thanks, Damian. You’re a lifesaver,” you said, eyes lighting up with appreciation.

His chest tightened. “It’s nothing,” he replied quickly, not wanting to sound too eager, but his voice faltered just a bit.

You turned to leave, and as you walked away, you glanced back once, catching his eyes before he quickly looked away, face flushed. The moment he was sure you couldn’t see, he exhaled, the softest, happiest sigh escaping his lips. You’d never know it, but he had a soft spot for you—a part of him that didn’t want to be so cold and distant. A part of him that wanted to just be… normal for once.

From then on, he found himself watching you more than he should. Sometimes, he’d catch you looking at him, and he’d quickly avert his eyes, pretending like he hadn’t been staring. His heart would beat faster in his chest, and it almost made him angry that you could have this effect on him. But then, just as quickly, he’d find himself grinning, not able to help it. It was you—you made him feel things he hadn’t felt before.

It became a little routine: he’d see you in the halls, and sometimes, if you needed help with something, he’d find a way to be there. He’d stand a little too close to you when you talked, but it was never in a way that made you uncomfortable—it was more like he just wanted to be near you. He never told you why, of course.

One afternoon, while you were studying in the library, he walked in, glancing around until he spotted you, sitting by the window, scribbling away in your notebook. His heart skipped a beat when he saw you like that—so focused, so determined. You looked so… cute.

He hesitated for a second before walking up to you, his usual confident stride faltering just slightly. “Do you need any help?” he asked, trying to sound casual, though the nervous energy was palpable in his voice.

You looked up, surprised to see him standing there. “Oh, Damian! Um… yeah, I could use some help with this math problem,” you said, motioning to the page in front of you.

Damian sat down next to you, closer than necessary. His heart pounded as he explained the problem to you, his hand occasionally brushing yours as he pointed to different equations. He tried not to notice how his skin tingled each time it happened, or how every time you smiled and thanked him, it felt like the entire world brightened. He wasn’t used to feeling this way, this vulnerable, but somehow, he didn’t mind it when it was you.

“Got it?” he asked, his voice a little softer than usual as he watched you carefully.

You nodded, a soft smile spreading across your face. “Yeah, I think I do. You make it sound so easy.”

Damian’s eyes softened, and for the briefest of moments, he allowed himself to smile back at you—genuinely, without any pretenses. It was a rare moment for him, but when it came to you, he didn’t feel the need to hide everything.

“Good. I’m glad,” he said, his voice almost tender.

You packed up your things, still smiling. As you stood, you gave him one last look, your eyes meeting his, and for a second, Damian felt like the entire world had come to a stop. There was something in your gaze—something that made him feel like maybe, just maybe, he didn’t have to hide how he felt.

“Thanks again, Damian,” you said as you turned to leave, a soft wave following behind you.

And as you walked away, Damian stood there, watching you, a small, secret smile tugging at his lips. Maybe one day he’d tell you how he felt, but for now, he was content with these little moments. He was content with the idea that, for once in his life, someone saw him for who he truly was—not the perfect heir, not the deadly assassin, but the boy who was hopelessly in love with you.

For weeks, Damian wrestled with the idea of asking you out. It wasn’t like he was afraid of rejection—he was Damian Wayne. Fear was beneath him. No, this was different. This was you. The thought of putting his feelings into words, of making himself vulnerable to you, made his stomach twist in ways he didn’t like to acknowledge.

But at the same time… the thought of anyone else asking you out, of anyone else standing beside you, laughing with you, touching you—it was unbearable. The mere idea of it set his blood on fire. He had to make a move. You were his, even if you didn’t know it yet.

So, like everything else in his life, Damian devised a plan. It had to be perfect. He would not fail.

The first thing he did was eliminate all competition. Subtly, of course. Any boy who looked at you for too long? Suddenly, they found themselves tripping over conveniently placed obstacles. Anyone who flirted with you? They’d mysteriously lose their confidence after a single, bone-chilling glare from Damian. He made sure that by the time he approached you, no one else would dare think they had a chance.

Next, he had to find the right moment. Timing was everything. He refused to make a fool of himself by asking you out in a setting that wasn’t optimal. He studied your habits—when you were most relaxed, most receptive. He knew you liked to sit by the windows in the library during study hall. You liked the way the sunlight hit the pages of your books. That would be the perfect place.

The day of, he was completely composed—or at least, that’s what he told himself. He approached your table with his usual confident stride, pulling out the chair across from you without asking, as he often did.

You glanced up, surprised but not unwelcome to his presence. “Oh, hey, Damian.” You smiled at him, and his heart stuttered.

“Hello,” he replied, voice smooth, but slightly more clipped than usual. He was trying to keep his emotions in check. “I require your time this Saturday.”

You blinked. “Uh, what?”

Damian inhaled slowly. He could feel heat rising to his ears. His grip tightened on the book he brought, knuckles white. This was not how it was supposed to go. He had rehearsed this in his head a hundred times, but now, sitting in front of you, he felt like an idiot.

He quickly corrected himself. “What I mean is… I have taken the liberty of arranging a date for us this Saturday. I will pick you up at noon. Wear something suitable for the occasion.”

There. Perfect. No room for rejection. No awkward stammering. Tt. Why was he nervous in the first place?

You blinked again, then tilted your head, processing his words. “A date?”

“Yes,” Damian confirmed, keeping his tone even, as if this was the most logical thing in the world. Because to him, it was.

Your lips parted slightly in surprise, but then—then you smiled. And not just any smile. It was soft, warm, genuine. And it was for him.

“You’re asking me out on a date?” you clarified, amusement lacing your tone.

He bristled slightly at your wording. “Obviously.”

You chuckled, and for a moment, he thought his heart might actually explode. He had never wanted anything more than to be the reason you smiled like that every day.

“Well,” you said, propping your chin on your hand, watching him with something unreadable in your eyes, “you sure don’t waste time with subtlety, huh?”

“Subtlety is for those who lack certainty,” Damian replied smoothly, lifting his chin. “And I am certain.”

Your cheeks warmed, and that small reaction sent a rush of satisfaction through him. “Alright, Damian,” you finally said, “I’d love to go on a date with you.”

For the first time in his life, Damian stopped thinking. He just… felt. A warmth spread through his chest, foreign yet addicting. He nodded once, as if sealing an unspoken pact.

“Good,” he said, voice steady, though his pulse was anything but. “I will text you the details.”

Then, without another word, he stood up and left. Just like that. Because if he stayed a second longer, he knew he would either start grinning like a fool or do something completely irrational, like kiss you right there in the middle of the library.

As soon as he rounded the corner, out of your sight, Damian exhaled, pressing a hand over his chest. His heart was hammering. Ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous.

But he didn’t care. Because you said yes.

And he will make sure it was a date you’d never forget.

The day of the date arrived. Damian had meticulously planned every detail, not leaving anything to chance. No, this wouldn’t be a “let’s grab coffee and see where things go” type of outing. This was his date with you.

He arrived at your house right on time. He didn’t need to check his watch—his internal sense of timing was precise, down to the minute. He knocked firmly on your door, his hand steady, even though he had spent the last few hours agonizing over the finer points of the evening in his mind. When you opened the door, his breath caught for a fraction of a second.

You stood there in a simple, yet elegant dress that was both understated and beautiful—just like you. The soft fabric clung to your figure just enough to highlight your natural grace, and the way your hair framed your face made his pulse quicken.

“Ready?” he asked, his voice steady, though his gaze softened as he took in your appearance.

You smiled, your eyes bright, and for a moment, he thought his heart might beat out of his chest. "I’m ready."

As you stepped out of the door and joined him, Damian offered his arm with a small, confident smile that was so different from his usual intense expression. He had plans for this evening, and he was determined to follow them through.

The car ride was smooth, quiet, but not uncomfortable. He drove with precision, each movement calculated and controlled, but there was something different in the air tonight. Something lighter. Every time he glanced over at you, you caught his eye, and he had to resist the urge to smile. It felt almost surreal—this quiet, sweet moment between the two of you. You’d spent time together before, but never like this.

You asked him where you were going, but he only gave you a cryptic smile. “You’ll see,” was all he said. You didn’t push him, curious to see where he had decided to take you.

Eventually, he pulled up to a small, secluded restaurant, one of Gotham’s more refined and hidden gems. It was quaint but elegant, with outdoor seating overlooking a picturesque garden. The soft light of lanterns danced around the patio, giving the place a warm, intimate atmosphere.

He opened the door for you as you stepped out, and offered his hand to you. You took it without hesitation, feeling the warmth of his touch seep through your skin. There was a kind of unspoken respect in the way he treated you. It wasn’t rushed or impatient—just an easy calmness that made you feel like you were the only one in the world to him.

Damian led you to your table, which was set for two, tucked away in a private corner, draped with ivy and soft fairy lights. It was the kind of place where the world around you seemed to fade away. As you sat down, he carefully pulled out your chair, ensuring you were comfortable, before taking his own seat across from you.

There was something so different about Damian tonight—something that made you realize, in that moment, just how special this date really was. He wasn’t like the other boys your age, with their offhand jokes or their self-absorbed chatter. No, Damian Wayne was something entirely different. He had this quiet intensity, but underneath that, a care that he wasn’t always quick to show.

The waiter came and Damian ordered for both of you with an air of confidence, speaking in fluent French, making you chuckle softly at how effortlessly he handled everything. But what made you laugh more was the glint of satisfaction in his eyes when he said, “The wine selection here is impeccable. I trust you’ll enjoy it.” It was like he was proud to share his tastes with you.

As you ate, the conversation flowed naturally. Damian asked about your interests, your thoughts on various books you had been reading, and he listened so intently, as though every word you spoke was a treasure to him. It wasn’t just idle talk—there was genuine curiosity in his voice. And when he did speak, it was always with purpose, never just to fill the silence.

You were beginning to see another side of him. A side that was almost... gentle.

You told him about your love for horses and how you dreamed of riding across the open fields someday. Damian’s eyes softened, a quiet smile tugging at his lips. “I can take you to the stables at Wayne Manor sometime,” he said with an easy confidence. “There’s a ranch not far from the estate. You’d like it.”

You blinked, a little surprised. “You have horses?”

“Yes. I do,” he replied, his smile more sincere now, like the idea of sharing something personal with you had softened him further. “Perhaps you could teach me a thing or two. I’ve never been particularly good at it.”

That was the thing about Damian. He wasn’t afraid to show his flaws when it came to you. In fact, he seemed to crave your approval, though he’d never openly admit it. But it wasn’t desperate. It wasn’t needy. It was simply him, wanting you to know who he really was.

As the evening wore on, the conversation became more relaxed. You found yourself laughing more freely, your initial nerves completely gone, replaced by an easy comfort that felt like you had known him forever. Damian was still Damian—intense, sharp, but there was a tenderness to him tonight that made him seem... normal. Human. Not just the son of Bruce Wayne, not just the little assassin.

Finally, after dessert, the night began to wind down. Damian stood and offered his hand once more. You placed your hand in his, and together, you walked out into the garden. The soft hum of the night air and the occasional chirp of a cricket filled the silence between you.

As you approached his car, Damian paused. He turned to face you, and for the first time that evening, his expression was serious—not cold, but thoughtful, as if he were gathering his thoughts for something important.

“You’re...” He cleared his throat, looking down at his shoes for just a brief moment before meeting your eyes again. “I have enjoyed tonight... more than I anticipated.”

You raised an eyebrow, a teasing smile pulling at your lips. “More than you anticipated? So you did expect it to be bad?”

He stiffened for a second, realizing the unintended implication. “No. That is not what I meant.” He hesitated, looking at you for a long, quiet moment. Then, in a voice quieter than before, almost soft, he added, “You’re... different. In a way I didn’t expect.”

You blinked, feeling the weight of his words settle in the air. “Damian…” you started, but before you could finish, he reached out and gently took your hand in his.

His thumb brushed over the back of your hand in a way that felt intimate, but not in a rushed or inappropriate way—more like he was savoring the moment.

“I would like to do this again,” he said, his voice earnest, but not without the usual confidence. “Whenever you’re ready.”

And with that, he took your hand and, with a deep breath, lowered his head and kissed the back of it. The touch of his lips was soft, respectful—gentle, and for a moment, the world around you seemed to blur into the background.

When he pulled back, his gaze remained locked with yours, almost searching, as if to make sure you understood just how much that small gesture meant to him.

“I’ll walk you to the door,” he said quietly, straightening up and offering his arm again, as if nothing had changed—except, of course, that now you both knew something had. Something deeper than either of you had expected when you started this evening.

You smiled, heart fluttering in your chest as you took his arm. “I’d like that.”

From the moment you officially became Damian’s girlfriend, your life changed—not in the dramatic way people might expect when dating the son of Bruce Wayne, but in the way that everything suddenly felt different. Like the world had shifted slightly, aligning perfectly in a way it hadn’t before.

Damian wasn’t like other boys your age. He didn’t do the whole awkward teenage romance thing. He wasn’t overly flirty, nor did he stumble through his words or second-guess himself. If he wanted to hold your hand, he did. If he wanted to tell you he liked the way you looked in a certain outfit, he said it, blunt and without hesitation.

His affection wasn’t loud or showy, but it was constant—always there, woven into everything he did.

Damian is, above all else, a gentleman. He treats you with the kind of respect that most guys your age wouldn’t even think about. Holding doors open for you? Always. Walking on the side of the street closest to traffic to “protect” you? A given.

If you ever carried anything heavier than a book, it was suddenly his burden. He didn’t even ask—he just took it from you with a simple, “Tt. You shouldn’t be straining yourself.”

He makes sure you never have to worry about anything. If you so much as mention feeling cold? His jacket is around your shoulders before you can finish your sentence. If you’re tired? He’s finding the closest place for you to sit, even if it means him physically leading you there by the small of your back.

But most of all, he listens. He pays attention in a way no one else does. If you casually mention something you like—your favorite flowers, a book you’ve been dying to read, a little café you want to try—Damian remembers. And soon enough, you’ll find a bouquet of those flowers waiting in your locker, that book sitting on your desk, or him showing up outside your house on a Saturday morning, saying, “Get in. We’re going to that café you won’t stop talking about.”

Because to Damian, caring means action.

Damian isn’t very verbal with his affection at first. He won’t say sweet, flowery words or write you poetry (even though you swear he has the soul of an old poet somewhere deep inside him). Instead, he shows his love through actions.

He’s always near you. Always. If you’re walking through the halls at school, his hand is resting against your lower back, gently guiding you. If you’re studying together, his knee is touching yours beneath the table. If you’re out somewhere, he positions himself slightly in front of you, instinctively shielding you from the crowd.

And while he doesn’t do PDA in public (besides holding your hand or the occasional brush of his fingers along your arm), when you’re alone? That’s when he lets his guard down.

Soft touches. He’s always touching you in some way—running his fingers over the back of your hand, tucking a stray hair behind your ear, resting a hand on your knee when you sit next to him.

Forehead touches. Whenever he’s feeling particularly soft (which he would never admit out loud), he leans in, pressing his forehead against yours. It’s a silent way of saying I’m here. You’re mine. We belong to each other.

Hand kisses. He does this a lot. If you ever feel sad? He takes your hand, kisses your knuckles, and simply says, “You have me.” And that’s enough.

Damian is not someone who tolerates threats to what’s his.

He’s not loud about it, not the type to start fights over jealousy, but his presence alone is enough to keep people in check. If another guy even thinks about flirting with you, Damian is already there, standing a little too close, his green eyes sharp and possessive as he stares the poor guy down.

His hand will tighten on your waist, and his voice will drop an octave as he says something like, “I assume you have nothing important to say. If so, leave.”

And just like that, the threat is gone.

If you ever tease him about being jealous, he just crosses his arms and scoffs, Tt. “I am simply ensuring that no one wastes your time with their nonsense.”

But the way his hand subtly tightens around yours says otherwise.

At first, Damian struggles with vulnerability. He’s used to being the strong one, the one who handles everything without needing help. But with you? You see past that.

There are nights when he sneaks into your room through your window, not as Robin, but just as Damian. Those are the moments when he talks to you about things he’d never say to anyone else.

About his mother. About his father. About the weight of his family name and how, sometimes, he feels like he has to be perfect to live up to it.

And you listen. You always listen. You don’t try to fix him, don’t tell him that he’s wrong for feeling this way. You just hold his hand, stroke his hair, and whisper, “You’re already enough, Damian.”

And those words stay with him longer than he’ll ever admit.

Bruce: At first? He’s skeptical. Protective. But when he sees how much Damian genuinely cares for you—how you make him softer, more grounded—Bruce actually starts to approve.

“You keep him... balanced,” Bruce admits to you one evening. “That’s not an easy thing to do.”

(Which, coming from Bruce Wayne, is probably the highest compliment you’ll ever receive.)

Dick: “Oh my god. Damian has a girlfriend.” He’s so smug about it. Constantly teasing Damian, constantly referring to you as his soft spot.

He also makes sure you know that if Damian ever hurts you (which he won’t), you can definitely call Dick to handle it.

Alfred: Alfred adores you. Treats you like family from the moment he realizes you make Damian happy. Always makes extra tea and snacks whenever you visit Wayne Manor.

“You keep Master Damian in check, Miss. I quite appreciate it.”

Dating Damian isn’t easy. He’s intense, overprotective, sometimes way too serious for his age. But at the same time?

He loves deeply.

Once you’re his, you’re his forever. There’s no in-between, no uncertainty. Damian loves you with the same ferocity that he does everything else in his life.

And one day? When he’s older, stronger, even more sure of himself—he won’t hesitate to tell you:

“You are mine. And I am yours. Always.”

And that is what loving Damian is like.

— MASTERLIST ☆

— © luv-lock. Don't copy, repost or translate any of my works here or any other websites ☆

345 notes · View notes

gf2bellamy · 2 days ago

Note

Hi i was wondering if you could write a fic where bau!reader is cheering spencer on at his baseball game?

softball — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: mention of a guy throwing sort of rude remarks at spence ( just like in the scene ) a/n: i rewatched the scene to write this and omg i forgot how silly it is i love them all so bad theyre literally family ( also i miss blake ) i had so much fun writing this i hope you like it !! <3 ( also i literally know nothing about softball so if anything is wrong i'm vv sorry </3 )

The warm afternoon sun bathed the softball field in golden light. You walked beside the bleachers, your sneakers crunching against the gravel path, with JJ at your side. Her son Henry skipped ahead, his tiny hand clutching hers, his excitement obvious as he pointed at the players warming up on the field.

Ahead, Spencer stood by the chain- link fence, deep in conversation with Derek, who was already dressed in his baseball uniform, adjusting his grip on his glove.

Spencer, in contrast, looked hesitant and nervous.

His eyes darted toward the field, where players were tossing balls and stretching, and you could see the uncertainty written all over his face.

“Hey!” JJ called, drawing their attention.

Spencer turned, his brows furrowing slightly before his expression shifted into surprise. Practically the entire BAU team was gathered behind you—Hotch, Rossi, Garcia, Alex and even little Jack standing beside Henry.

“What are you all doing here?” Spencer asked, his voice laced with disbelief. His eyes flickered over each of you.

You stepped forward, grinning up at him as you held out a black cap. “Came to support you, of course.”

He turned it over in his hands, examining it, before slowly placing it on his head. The cap sat awkwardly over his curls at first, but he adjusted it carefully, pulling it down until it fit snugly.

“There,” you said, tilting your head as you studied him, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “Now you look the part.”

Spencer huffed out a small, amused breath but didn’t argue.

Ten minutes later, the game was in full swing. Derek was already at bat, sending the ball flying across the field with a powerful hit. The crowd erupted in cheers as he sprinted toward first base.

You clapped from your seat on the bleachers, sharing an excited glance with JJ.

You watched as he stepped up to the plate, his movements hesitant as he selected a bat from the rack. He gripped it tightly, his knuckles whitening as he took his position. His stance was awkward, his feet too close together, and he shifted his weight nervously from one foot to the other.

Just before the pitcher threw the ball, Spencer turned his head, searching for something—someone.

His eyes found you.

You gave him an encouraging look, your lips curving into a soft, reassuring smile as you nodded.

Spencer swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he tightened his grip on the bat. He squared his shoulders as he turned back toward the pitcher.

The opposing player wound up and threw the ball.

Spencer swung—and missed.

You bit your lip, fingers curling around the edge of the bleacher.

It was okay. He just needed to get a feel for it.

The second pitch came. Spencer adjusted his grip, focused his gaze, and swung.

Missed again.

The sound of the bat slicing through empty air was met with a few sympathetic murmurs from the crowd.

You exhaled softly through your nose, feeling a twinge of nervousness for him. You could see the frustration creeping into his posture, the way his shoulders tensed and his jaw tightened.

Rossi, stood up from the bleachers as he clapped his hands together. “It’s all right, kid. You got this. Just keep your eye on the ball.”

Spencer rolled his shoulders before repositioning himself. The third pitch came. He swung—and missed once more.

A sharp whistle blew, signaling the end of his turn. Spencer sighed, pushing his hair back under the cap as he stepped away from the plate.

Time passed, and the game continued. The team erupted in cheers when Derek hit a line drive into the outfield, sprinting around the bases with that signature confidence of his.

You clapped along with everyone else, letting out a light laugh when he slid into home base, grinning like he owned the field.

Your attention drifted back to Spencer. He stood off to the side, a bat in his hand, tossing it lightly into the air as if trying to distract himself.

Except, instead of landing smoothly in his grip, it fumbled and hit the dirt with a dull thud.

You had to bite your cheek to suppress a laugh, not wanting to embarrass him further. He bent down quickly, picking it up like nothing had happened, his cheeks tinged with pink as he went back into position.

You couldn’t help but smile at the sight. There was something so endearing about Spencer Reid—genius, FBI profiler, and yet utterly out of his element on a softball field.

You stood up from the bleachers, brushing off your jeans as you made your way over to the chain-link fence that separated the stands from the field. Leaning against it, you called out to him, your voice light and teasing.

“Need a hand with that bat, or are you just practicing your juggling skills?”

Spencer’s head snapped up, his eyes widening slightly as he realized you were watching him. He straightened, brushing a stray curl out of his face as he walked closer to the fence, the bat dangling loosely in his hand.

“I, uh, didn’t realize anyone was paying attention,” he admitted, his voice tinged with embarrassment.

“Oh, I’m paying attention,” you said with a grin, resting your arms on the top of the fence. “And I have to say, your juggling could use a little work. Maybe stick to profiling for now.”

He let out a small, self-conscious laugh, his gaze dropping to the ground for a moment before meeting yours again. “I’m not exactly cut out for this,” he said, gesturing vaguely to the field. “I mean, I can calculate the trajectory of a ball in my head, but actually hitting it? That’s a whole different story.”

You tilted your head, your smile softening. “Hey, you’re doing better than you think. It’s just a game, Spencer.”

He glanced over at Derek, who was currently showing off with a series of exaggerated practice swings, much to the amusement of the rest of the team. “Yeah, well, Morgan makes it look easy,” Spencer muttered.

“Derek’s had years of practice,” you pointed out. “You’re just starting. Cut yourself some slack.”

Spencer sighed, leaning against the fence on his side so that you were face to face, only the metal links separating you.

Your heart softened. “You don’t have to be good at everything, Spencer. It'’s okay to just have fun.”

He looked at you for a long moment, his brown eyes searching yours as if trying to find some kind of reassurance. Finally, he nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Fun, huh? I guess I can try that.”

“That’s the spirit,” you said, reaching through the fence to give his arm a playful nudge. “And hey, if nothing else, you’ve got the best cheering section here. We’re all rooting for you.”

Spencer’s smile widened, and for the first time since the game started, he looked genuinely relaxed. “Thanks,” he said, his voice warm. “That… means a lot.”

Just then, Derek’s voice boomed across the field. “Reid! You’re up again! Stop flirting and get over here!”

Spencer’s cheeks flushed a deeper shade of pink, and he quickly straightened, adjusting his cap. “I, uh, should probably go,” he said, glancing back at you.

You laughed, waving him off. “Go on. Show them what you’ve got.”

Smiling you went back to your seat. When he stepped up to bat, he glanced over at you one more time, and you gave him an exaggerated thumbs-up, earning a small chuckle from him.

JJ, Penelope, and Alex all exchanged knowing glances.

When Spencer turned his back to get into position, you caught them looking and furrowed your brows. “What?”

JJ smirked, leaning in slightly. “Oh, nothing.”

“Absolutely nothing at all,” Penelope added, eyes twinkling.

Alex just shook her head, biting back a small, amused smile.

You rolled your eyes, but the warmth blooming in your chest was undeniable.

And when Spencer stepped up to bat once more, he stole one last glance at you before squaring his stance. His eyes lingered for just a moment, and you could see the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

But then, from the opposing team’s dugout, someone called out, “This guy can’t hit.”

You frowned, your expression twisting in annoyance.

That was unnecessary.

Apparently, you weren’t the only one who noticed.

Derek, standing near home plate, lifted a hand and called for a time-out. He turned on his heel and strode toward Spencer, clapping a hand on his shoulder as he leaned in to say something.

You let out a small breath of relief.

Rossi, seated just below you on the bleachers, leaned back slightly and smirked. “Shoot him another one of your good luck smiles. Maybe he won’t miss this time.”

Your eyes narrowed, heat creeping up your neck. “Funny,” you muttered, crossing your arms in an attempt to keep yourself composed.

Rossi chuckled, clearly enjoying himself, and the rest of the team exchanged knowing glances.

Derek finally walked back to his position, and Spencer turned around once more—his eyes searching for you almost instinctively. You met his gaze, and despite the slight nervousness still lingering in his stance, you smiled at him, giving him an encouraging nod.

“There you go,” Rossi muttered under his breath, and you shot him a glare, though it held no real heat.

You ignored him, keeping your eyes on Spencer as he adjusted his grip on the bat, exhaled, and squared his stance once more.

The pitcher wound up.

The ball came flying toward him.

Spencer swung.

And missed.

You bit your lip, fingers curling slightly as you watched him adjust.

The second pitch came.

Another miss.

You swallowed hard. You could tell he was getting in his own head.

And then, just as the pitcher lined up for the third throw, that same player from earlier muttered loud enough for everyone to hear, “This guy’s got nothing.”

Your head snapped toward him, irritation bubbling up in your chest. Oh, shut up, you thought, resisting the urge to march over there yourself. You shot the player a glare, but he didn’t seem to notice—or care.

Then, the third pitch came.

For a split second, time seemed to slow.

Spencer swung—

Crack!

The unmistakable sound of the bat making solid contact echoed across the field.

The ball shot into the air, soaring far past the infield.

For a second, Spencer just stood there, wide-eyed, almost as if he couldn’t believe it himself. He blinked at the bat in his hands, then at the ball still sailing through the air, as if trying to process what had just happened.

He didn’t move an inch.

“Spencer, run!”

Everyone was shouting now—Derek, Rossi, JJ, Penelope,Alex even Hotch. But it was your voice that seemed to snap him out of it. His head jerked in your direction, and when he saw you standing, hands cupped around your mouth as you cheered, something seemed to click.

He ran.

Derek was smacking his hands against his knees. “C’mon, kid, move it!”

Spencer rounded first, then second. The outfielders were still scrambling to recover, and the team’s cheers only grew louder.

By the time he made it to third, you could see the determination set on his face. His cap had slipped slightly, his curls bouncing with every stride, and his cheeks were flushed from the effort.

“Go, Spencer!” you yelled, clapping wildly.

The second the opposing team threw the ball toward home plate, Spencer took one final, desperate sprint—

And then slid.

It wasn’t the smoothest slide, and judging by the way he grimaced as he skidded across the dirt, it definitely wasn’t something he had ever practiced before. But when the referee threw his arms out and called, “Safe!” the entire BAU team erupted.

Derek was the first to reach him, pulling Spencer to his feet and clapping him on the back so hard it nearly knocked the wind out of him. “That’s what I’m talking about, kid!” he shouted, his grin wide and proud.

JJ and Penelope were cheering loudly, their voices carrying across the field, while Rossi let out a low whistle, clearly impressed. Even Hotch, who was usually so stoic, was cheering.

But your eyes were on Spencer. He was breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling as he tried to catch his breath, but there was a look of pure triumph on his face.

His cap was crooked, his shirt was covered in dirt, and his hair was a complete mess, but he looked happier than you’d seen him in a long time.

When his eyes found yours, he smiled—a real, genuine smile that lit up his entire face. You grinned back at him, giving him a thumbs-up, and he shook his head, laughing softly as he adjusted his cap.

After a few moments, as the team’s cheers began to subside, Spencer finally managed to wiggle free from Derek’s grip, stepping away from the celebratory pit.

His teammates continued to pat him on the back, offering congratulations and words of encouragement, but Spencer’s attention was already drifting.

His eyes scanned the crowd, searching for you.

When he finally spotted you, his expression softened, and a small, almost shy smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

You walked up to him, your smile growing wider with every step.

Spencer was still slightly breathless, his chest rising and falling with adrenaline , but all he could focus on was you.

The noise of the cheering team, the occasional slap on his back from his teammates—it all faded into the background the moment your arms wrapped around his neck.

His fingers instinctively tightened around your waist, his grip warm.

“You did great,” you said, your voice full of excitement, as you pulled back slightly, your smile so wide it felt like it could light up the entire field.

Spencer’s lips parted slightly, his mind struggling to catch up with what was happening. You were so close.

He could see the way your cheeks were slightly flushed—whether from the excitement of the game or something else, he wasn’t sure.

“Yeah?” he asked, his voice quieter now.

You nodded, smiling brightly. “Yeah.”

His heart stuttered at the confirmation, at the way you were looking at him like he had genuinely impressed you.

It wasn’t often that Spencer Reid felt cool, but right now, standing here with you, he kind of did.

The way you were looking at him, your arms still loosely draped around his neck, made him feel like he’d just accomplished something extraordinary—even if it was just a lucky hit in a casual softball game.

“See, pretty boy? Told you you had it in you,” Derek called, clapping him on the shoulder as he walked past, effectively snapping Spencer out of his daze.

You giggled, finally stepping back, though Spencer hesitated before letting you go.

Garcia practically skipped over, phone in hand. “Oh, don’t mind me, just capturing all these adorable moments,” she teased, wiggling her fingers at her screen.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the warmth creeping up your neck. “Garcia…”

“What? This is gold,” she argued, waving her phone. “The genius hits a home run, and his biggest fan is the first one to congratulate him? I live for this.”

Spencer, still trying to recover from all of this, rubbed the back of his neck, cheeks burning.

You reached up, gently adjusting his cap.

Your fingers brushed against his forehead, and for a moment, Spencer froze, his breath catching as he looked down at you.

“There,” you said softly, smoothing the brim of the cap. “Now you look like a proper MVP.”

Spencer’s lips parted, but no words came out. He just stared at you, his mind racing as he tried to process the way your touch made him feel.

Rossi, who had been watching from the bleachers with an amused smirk, leaned toward Hotch and muttered, “I give it two months.”

Hotch merely sighed, shaking his head. “They’ll be the last to realize it.”

#criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds x you #spencer reid x you #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds fic

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hottiesforhockey · 2 days ago

Text

may the best brother win pt 3 ⏐ h.brothers

pairings: jack hughes x afab!reader ⎜ luke hughes x afab!reader ⎜quinn hughes x afab!reader ⎜ genre: romance ⎜angst ⎜friends-to-lovers ⎜smut? ⎜ warnings: starts off nice and sweet ⎜ luke is giving possessive ⎜ oral (f!recieving) ⎜ more of jack saying dumb things ⎜ prepare for tense brotherly relationships moving forwards ⎜ synopsis: you had spent every summer with the hughes brothers since you were ten years old ... why does this summer feel so different? word count: 10.7k authors note: this is luke's chapter - it's a little steamier then the original so I hope you all enjoy.

part 1 ⎜ part 2 ⎜ part 3 ⎜

(unedited)

“He’s been out there for twenty minutes now.” Luke grumbles as he pauses the movie on your laptop, the sudden silence making the air feel heavier, more suffocating. He shifts, placing the laptop off to the side before rolling onto his side, elbow digging into the mattress as he glares at the shadow pacing back and forth in front of your bedroom door.

The two of you had bundled up in your bedroom for movie night - Quinn down stairs with a few of his friends and neither of you wanting to interrupt the oldest Hughes ‘chill’ time. You had extended an invitation to Jack not wanting to cut him out of your weekly hangouts but honestly you didn’t even expect him to show up.

You held your chin in your hands as you glance over at Luke, his position casual as he lounges on your mattress, the two of you had been lying on your stomach watching Happy Gilmore for what seems like the hundredth time this summer, but neither of you could ignore the slow shuffle outside your door any longer.

You don’t move. You try not to look. You just stare blankly at the frozen screen, eyes unfocused, fingers curling against the blanket as your pulse thuds steadily beneath your ribs. Loud. Unrelenting.

Because you knew. You felt it.

The weight of Jack’s presence had been pressing against the door for the last twenty minutes, stretching the space between you into something unbearable. A quiet plea. An unspoken question.

And you hated that you could hear it.

Luke exhales sharply, flopping onto his back with a theatrical groan, arms folding behind his head as he stares at the ceiling. "He either needs to come in or leave, because this? This is pathetic."

Your throat tightens, words tangling behind your teeth. "Luke—"

"No, seriously." He shifts again, this time propping himself up on one elbow, his sharp gaze flicking toward yours with a knowing smirk. "This is the guy you’ve been stressing over? The guy who doesn’t even have the balls to knock?" The tension between the two brothers had become more obvious since your last proper conversation with Jack, aside from the average two word responses you’d get out of him when you asked him a question.

Luke despite being over friendly and welcoming to all, was loyal to a fault, even if it meant being mad at his own brother.

His voice is light, teasing, but there’s an edge beneath it—a challenge. A test. A quiet prove me wrong. You inhale slowly, resisting the urge to pull your blanket higher, to shield yourself from the truth that Luke, as always, is so quick to dig up.

Jack wasn’t like Luke.

He wasn’t the type to barrel into a room, crack a joke, demand attention just to see you react. Jack hesitated. Jack overthought. Jack pulled away when he should have leaned in.

But he was still here.

Still pacing.

Still trying to figure out what to say.

And for some reason, that was almost worse.

Luke clicks his tongue, tapping his fingers against his stomach before sighing dramatically. "Alright, Princess." He turns his head just enough to look at you, his smirk fading into something more thoughtful. "Your call. You gonna put him out of his misery, or should I go out there and give him a reason to leave?"

Your stomach twists.

Because deep down, you already know your answer, and you think Luke did too, which is why you weren’t surprised when he gave you a rough shove, your body hitting the floor with a thud as he flicks his head towards the door.

“Get it over with.” Your palms press flat against the carpet, breath caught in your throat as you shoot a glare up at Luke, who only grins in response, completely unrepentant.

"You're the worst," you mutter, though there’s no real heat behind it. Your pulse is pounding now, a steady drumbeat in your ears as you push yourself upright, shaking out the sting from your elbows. Luke just shrugs, tossing an arm behind his head once more, settling back into the pillows with an infuriating smirk.

"Yeah, yeah. Just open the damn door." You hesitate for a second too long, nerves a tight knot in your stomach. Because once you open that door, once you let Jack in—what then? But he’s still out there. Still waiting.

With a sharp exhale, you shove yourself to your feet, swiping your hands against your pyjama pants before gripping the doorknob. It’s cold beneath your fingers.

One last breath. Then, you twist it open. Jack freezes mid-step, his sock-clad feet nearly colliding with yours. His head jerks up, wide eyes locking onto yours, and for a moment, neither of you say anything. The hallway light casts soft shadows against his face, the sharp angles of his jaw softened by hesitation, by uncertainty. His hair is a mess, ruffled like he’s been running his hands through it over and over again.

Your heart clenches.

"Hey," you say, barely above a whisper.

Jack exhales sharply, like he’d been holding his breath this entire time. "Hey."

Behind you, Luke snorts. "Oh my God. This is going to be painful."

Jack’s eyes dart over your shoulder, expression shifting instantly. "Luke, shut up."

"Make me." You shoot Luke a warning look, but he just grins, completely content with his role as the instigator. Jack sighs, scrubbing a hand down his face before dropping his arms to his sides. His fingers flex like he wants to do something—reach out, maybe—but he doesn’t. He just stands there, jaw tight, shoulders drawn.

You bite your lip. "You wanna come in?"

Jack hesitates for only a second before nodding. You step back, making room as he crosses the threshold, shoulders tense as he slips past you. His presence fills the room instantly, the air shifting with something heavy, something unspoken. You shut the door softly behind him, leaning against it for a second longer than necessary before turning back to find Jack standing awkwardly near the foot of your bed, hands stuffed into the pockets of his hoodie.

"Wait, I told you to talk to him, not invite him to crash our movie night." Luke whines from the bed, your eyes rolling before you shoot him a glare.

"Luke, shut up." You hiss, mimicking jacks earlier frustrations. Luke watches you with a lazy kind of amusement, still sprawled across your mattress, arms folded behind his head like he’s watching a sitcom unfold in real-time.

"Well," Luke drawls. "This is cozy."

Jack shoots him a glare. "You don’t have to be here."

Luke’s grin is all teeth. "Yeah, but I want to be." You sigh as you move back to perch on the end of the bed, Luke’s hand automatically smoothing across the mattress and tangling in the hem of your loose t-shirt, a show of silent support.

A promise.

“Someone has to make sure you don’t accost her again.”

“I didn’t acco— how do you even know what that word means?” Jack faces his attention towards his little brother, not noticing the way Luke’s fingers slide under your shirt, the cold tips brushing against the burning heat of your skin, a lazy smile on his face as he just shrugs as his brothers question.

“Some of us are just naturally smart, Jack.” Luke teases and you can see the irritation bubbling under Jack’s skin - Luke always had a way of frustrating his brothers, and while Quinn usually just found it amusing, Jack was known to get caught up in the antagonising chides.

Jack exhales through his nose, clearly biting back a retort, his jaw tight. His fingers twitch at his sides again, like he’s still fighting the urge to reach out, to do something, anything other than just stand there and let Luke get under his skin. But he doesn’t take the bait—not this time. Instead, he looks at you, his expression shifting, something uncertain flickering across his face.

You swallow hard. "Jack, what did you—"

He shakes his head before you can finish, one hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck. "I don’t know," he mutters. "I just—I didn’t wanna leave things weird."

Luke snorts. "Buddy, you’ve been making it weird for weeks."

"Luke," you say sharply, shooting him another glare. He only shrugs, fingers still idly playing with the hem of your shirt like he has all the time in the world, like he doesn’t realise—or maybe he does—that every second Jack stands there, looking like that, makes your stomach twist tighter and tighter. Jack sighs again. His hands dangle between his knees, shoulders curled inward as he stares at the floor.

"I didn’t mean to ignore you." Your breath catches in your throat. Jack’s voice is quieter now, rough around the edges. "I didn’t know what to say. And every time I tried, I just—" He cuts himself off, shaking his head. "I dunno. I guess I thought if I gave it time, it’d get easier. But it didn’t." Something in your chest clenches painfully. Because you understand. Because you’ve felt the weight of that silence too, pressing in from every angle, thick with things left unsaid. And now that it’s finally breaking, the pieces falling between you like scattered glass, you’re not sure how to pick them up.

Luke hums from beside you, tilting his head. "So, just to clarify," he says, tone deceptively light, "your genius solution to dealing with your wrong doings was to avoid her completely?"

Jack groans, tipping his head back. "Luke—"

"No, no, I’m just making sure I’ve got this right." Luke’s smirk is sharp, eyes glinting with amusement. "Like, instead of actually talking to her, and explain why you kissed her and then ditched her not once but twice, you decided the best move was to pace outside her door like a stray dog and hope that she’d do the hard part for you?"

Luke, shut the fuck up," Jack snaps, frustration spilling over.

"Or what?" Luke challenges, lifting a brow. "You gonna throw a punch? C’mon, man, can you even reach that high?" Jack’s hands curl into fists, but he doesn’t move. You see the moment his anger flares, the moment he almost rises to it—but then his shoulders sag, exhale sharp as he forces himself to let it go. You shift, your hand shooting behind your back, taking hold of Luke's pausing his fiddling as you give his fingers a squeeze before moving them away from you.

"Enough." you say softly.

He glances at you, then back at Jack, before finally relenting with a dramatic sigh, flopping back against your pillows again. "Fine, fine. I’ll be good."

Jack mutters something under his breath, something suspiciously close to "doubt that," but he doesn’t push it. Instead, he turns his attention back to you, his expression guarded, hesitant. "Can we talk..." he hesitates, "privately?"

Luke groans. "Oh my God, just say what you need to say and go so we can go back to enjoying our night." You swat at him blindly before nodding at Jack, trying to steady your pulse. Luke makes a big show of sitting up, stretching his arms overhead before throwing his legs over the side of the bed. "Well fine, if you two are gonna get all serious, I’m out."

You blink. "Wait, really?"

Luke grins, already halfway to the door. "What? You want me to stay?"

"No!" you and Jack say at the same time, and Luke barks out a laugh, hands up in mock surrender.

Jack exhales, rubbing at his jaw. "He’s such a dick."

"Yeah," you murmur, a smile tugging at the corner of your lips despite everything. "But he’s not wrong."

Jack looks at you then, really looks at you, and for the first time in weeks, it doesn’t feel like there’s a wall between you. Just hesitation. Just uncertainty. Just Jack, finally willing to stop running. "I fucked up," he says quietly. "I know that. And I know I probably don’t deserve to fix it, but—"

"Jack." You swallow hard, heart hammering.

“I just want to be friends again.” Jack says quickly, “Go back to how things were before I fucked everything up by kissing you.” Your stomach twists, frustration bubbling hot in your chest. Your fingers clench into the fabric of your pyjama pants as you take a slow breath, trying to steady yourself. "It wasn’t the kiss, Jack," you say, voice tight, controlled. "It was how you reacted."

Jack blinks, caught off guard. "What—"

“ I can’t believe we’re having this conversation again.” You whisper under your breath, “You kissed me, and then you acted like- " The words are sharper than you intend, and you pause for a minute, taking a deep breath before continuing "You pulled away like I was something you regretted. You avoided me for days. You made me feel like I was the only one who cared about what happened and wanted to fix things. And now, you just want to hit rewind like none of it mattered?"

Jack’s jaw tightens, his shoulders stiff. "That’s not—"

"That’s exactly what you’re doing," you interrupt, shaking your head. "You want things to go back to the way they were, but they can’t. Not when you keep pretending like nothing happened. Like there is nothing going on.” Jack’s mouth opens, but no words come out. He looks away, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. The silence stretches between you, thick, heavy. You don’t know what you’re expecting him to say.

Maybe an apology. Maybe an admission. Maybe just something real for once. But instead, Jack just stands there, like he’s waiting for you to tell him how to fix this. And you realise, maybe for the first time, that you can’t be the one to do that for him.

"Jack, I appreciate you trying to come and apologise, and maybe that means that a little bit of what I said last week sunk in, but you're still missing the point." The reminder of your argument with Jack last week was still fresh in your mind, the same way the feeling of his lips searing against yours still keep you awake in your bed some nights.

"We can still be friends - we will always be friends, but we can't go back to how things were before, because you can't change what happened." Jack nods slowly, his body deflating as he takes in your words.

"I really am sorry." He sighs and you nod, your own shoulder slouching forwards as you try to shoot him a reassuring smile.

"I know."

Luke had noticed Jack’s arrival to movie night in your bedroom, well before you did — the currently annoying shuffle of his older brother outside the door distracting him from paying attention to the way your face lights up when Adam Sandler does something funny.

Luke notices when you notice Jack - your shoulders tense, your head flicking towards the door with a frown, Luke’s eyes rolling as he watches the shadow pause for a moment, almost as if his brother has finally worked up the courage to come inside before the pacing restarts.

“He’s been out there for twenty minutes now.” Luke notes, pausing the movie as sliding the laptop across your bed so it’s out of the way, your body still frozen as he rolls on his side, propping himself up on his elbow. You silence in the room was suffocating, the image of you tensed on the bed, your chin in your hands as you refuse to tear your eyes away from the still shot no the screen of his laptop, his head tilting as he takes you in.

Luke wishes that you’d go back to ignoring his brother, and refuse to play into Jack’s mind games, restarting the movie and going back to laughing with him over the hilarity that is ‘Happy Gilmore’ but Luke’s knows you better than anyone and he knows you can’t let things go.

He knows he’s being a little harsh as he spits soft insults to you about his brother, your tone chastising as you frown at him, but he can’t help it. As much as Luke loves his brothers, he’s never been afraid to tell them when they’re in the wrong, and Jack is so in the wrong right now. Luke shoots you a quick look before he’s putting a light expression on his face, your body automatically relaxing a little as he does.

He watches as your eyebrows raise, your mouth letting a small squeak of surprise slip as he shoves your off the mattress and onto the floor, shooting you an amused look as you glare up at him. “Get it over with.” He grumbles with a shrug, pretending to not notice the way you dream of his gruesome murder as you push yourself off the floor and over to the door.

Luke knows he’s antagonising his brother as you both step back into the room, your body quickly shuffling back over to the bed as you perch on the edge, Luke’s body shifting a little bit closer.

"Well," Luke drawls. "This is cozy."

Jack shoots him a glare. "You don’t have to be here."

Luke’s grin is all teeth. "Yeah, but I want to be." Luke watches as you let out a small shiver as his cold fingers fiddle with the hem of your shirt, the cold skin on his finger tips just grazing the hot skin of your back. Luke’s not sure why he’s touching you, grazing his fingers up and down the bare skin against your spine, still spitting harsh words at his brother as he watches the way you subconsciously relax into his hand, your skin pressing more and more into his own as he hurls another insult at his brother, your hand twisting around your back to get hold of his fingers.

He stops his movements waiting for you to shove him away — which you do — but not before giving his fingers a tight squeeze, releasing them slowly, hesitantly as you softly hiss at him over your shoulder, “enough.” The word has him nodding, pulling his hand ever so slightly away from you.

He glances at you, then back at Jack, before finally relenting with a dramatic sigh, flopping back against your pillows again. "Fine, fine. I’ll be good."

Jack mutters something under his breath, something suspiciously close to "doubt that," but Luke doesn’t push anymore — he doesn’t want to upset you. Instead, he watches as Jack turns his focus back to you, a soft simmer of rage bubbling under Luke’s skin “Can we talk..." Jack hesitates, glancing briefly over at his brother, "privately?"

Luke groans. "Oh my God, just say what you need to say and go so we can go back to enjoying our night." His lips tilt upwards as you swat at him blindly before nodding at Jack. Luke makes a big show of sitting up, stretching his arms overhead before throwing his legs over the side of the bed. "Well fine, if you two are gonna get all serious, I’m out."

Luke watches as you turn to blink at him. "Wait, really?"

Luke grins, already halfway to the door. "What? You want me to stay?"

"No!" you and Jack say at the same time, and Luke barks out a laugh, hands up in mock surrender — but he can see the small way your expression falters, your confidence shrinking as he walks to the door way, his eyes shooting Jack a silent warning.

"Alright, alright. I’ll be in my room if you need me. Try not to kill each other. Or make out...for the third time" He winks at you, then at Jack, before ducking out the door, closing it behind him with an exaggerated click. He lets out a long breath, heading down the hallway to his bedroom, keeping the door open as he waits for any signs that he needs to return to your side, to protect you from his idiot brother.

Luke had barely settled into his chair when he heard your door creak open again. His eyes shot to the hallway, his hand hovering over the remote control, fingers itching to turn the volume up on the TV and drown out whatever was happening. The sound of footsteps, light but steady, signalled that Jack had already made his exit.

He didn't expect the weight of the quiet in the room to hit him like a truck. He stood and took a few quick steps down the hallway, his heart quickening when he reached your door. The soft click of the door as it pushed open was followed by a sigh that told him exactly what he needed to know. "Luke," your voice broke through the stillness, so quiet, but there was a palpable tension there. "I—I'm fine."

You weren’t, and Luke knew that. He could hear it in the way your words trembled, in the way your breathing had gotten just a little more shallow. His brother had left you upset again, and though Luke had done everything to push his presence between you both, Jack still managed to worm his way into your thoughts.

Luke stood there for a moment, staring at the door that still hung slightly ajar but not fully opened, his sight of you still sitting on the edge of your bed slightly blocked. He knew you didn’t want him to witness the aftermath, but he also knew you weren’t going to shut him out.

Not now.

Not after everything.

Without knocking, he pushed the door open. You didn’t look up at first.

"You didn’t have to come back,” you said, the words coming out a little flat. Luke didn't respond immediately. He just took a step inside, his eyes scanning the room for any hint of what you might need. When he found none, he sighed and crossed the room toward the bed, sitting down beside you without waiting for permission.

"Of course I did,” he muttered, though there was no malice in his voice, just a quiet understanding. "You think I’m going to let you sit here alone.” His eyes softened as he turned to you, and he let his gaze linger, watching the small frown tug at your lips.

"I didn’t want to make it worse," you whispered, your voice strained. "I didn’t want to cause more trouble." Luke’s lips twisted into a small, knowing smile as he reached forward, brushing a lock of hair away from your face, his thumb briefly grazing the skin along your cheek.

"You’re not the one causing trouble. He is." His voice was steady now, more protective, almost possessive, as he leaned back, his arms folding behind him on the bed to settle in. “Look, you’ve been through enough. Jack doesn’t get to leave you in pieces like that. Not when I’m around.”

You raised an eyebrow, glancing at him. “What are you going to do?”

Luke’s smirk widened as he shifted to a more comfortable position on the bed. "What do you think? I’m staying." He grinned, stretching out lazily, and without hesitation, threw an arm behind you on the mattress, just a little too close, but close enough to make sure you felt the weight of his presence. “You need to calm down, right? I’m not going anywhere movie night is becoming an all night event.” For a moment, the tension in the room seemed to settle. His proximity, the quiet assurance in his voice, started to have the desired effect. Your shoulders loosened, just a little, and the frown on your lips softened as you leaned back against the pillows.

Luke didn’t move, still keeping a watchful eye on you, ready to fight anyone who dared to upset you again. “Jack’s been an idiot for a while and he’s my brother,” he added, his voice growing more serious. “But that doesn’t mean I’m going to let you deal with his crap alone.” You didn’t reply right away. Instead, you let out a small sigh, your body inching just a little closer to him, instinctively seeking his comfort, you hands sitting besides each other on the bed between you both, Luke using his other hand to pull his computer back onto his lap.

Luke smiled as he stretched his hand, his fingers brushing against yours in an almost absent touch, not expecting a reaction from you.

He didn’t need one anyway.

He wasn’t going anywhere.

The sound of “Eye of the Tiger” blaring in your dark bedroom and the heavy arm draped over your waist makes you groan softly, stirring against the warmth pressed into your back. Your eyes crack open just enough to confirm that you are, in fact, still in your own bedroom. But something feels... off. Your brows furrow as your gaze drifts downward, landing on the unfamiliar sight of a larger hand entwined with yours, resting against the comforter. Your fingers shift slightly, testing the grasp, and the movement earns you a sleepy squeeze in return.

You blink, momentarily confused, until the deep, steady breathing behind you registers.

Luke.

His arm is still heavy around you, his long fingers loosely tangled with yours as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “No wonder my hand is so sweaty,” you mumble, attempting to shift without disturbing him.

“Mm, what?” Luke’s voice is thick with sleep, his grip on your hand slackening as he turns onto his back with a deep exhale. His other hand fumbles blindly across the mattress, smacking at his phone until the blaring music cuts off. He groans and stretches before turning his head to look at you, a sleepy grin tugging at his lips.

“Nine AM, sugar cookie. Rise and shine.” His voice is low and rough, the last remnants of sleep clinging to his words.

“Sugar cookie?” You arch an eyebrow, shifting onto your side to face him.

“I know, it’s just not right, is it?” He hums, rubbing at his face before sitting up, his curls an absolute mess from sleep. His T-shirt is rumpled, the fabric sticking to one side of his shoulder in a way that makes him look impossibly endearing. He turns to you with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“We gotta get up, though. Can’t let date day go to waste.”

Date day. The words settle between you, and your stomach twists with something uncertain. Excitement? Nervousness? You’re not sure. What you do know is that Luke is grinning at you like he’s been waiting for this all week.

“Time for us to get our game faces on,” he teases, reaching out to flick your forehead gently. “The bet’s not gonna win itself.”

You roll your eyes, finally pushing yourself up into a sitting position. “This is ridiculous. I don’t even know why you’re this invested.”

Luke scoffs, rolling off the bed in one fluid motion. “You’re just mad ‘cause Jacky made a boo boo.” He shoots you a knowing look before sauntering toward the window, grabbing onto the curtains.

“Luke, don’t you dare—” He dares. He rips them open, flooding the room with blinding sunlight. You groan dramatically, flopping backward onto the mattress as he chuckles, arms crossing over his broad chest.

“You don’t think I’m gonna let jack just coast to forgiveness, do you?” His tone is playful, but there’s an edge to it. A spark of something deeper. “He thinks he can just kiss you out of nowhere and act like it’s nothing?”

You swallow hard, caught off guard by the shift in his voice. There’s something unreadable in his expression, his gaze sharp and unwavering. But before you can even think of a response, he’s grinning again, the weight of the moment vanishing as quickly as it came. “Pfft, not on my watch,” he declares, placing a hand over his chest dramatically. “I’m gonna make this the most fun you’ll ever have on a date.” You snort, shaking your head.

“Actually, scratch that,” he continues, leaning in slightly. “You’re never going to go on another date ever again because you’ll be so enamoured by me.” You laugh despite yourself, shoving at his chest. He barely moves, his grin widening as he winks.

“Very funny. Now get out so I can get ready for whatever you’re going to enamour me with.”

“As you wish, m’lady,” he says with an exaggerated bow, turning toward the door. The second he pulls it open, Jack is standing there, his expression unreadable as his eyes flick between you and Luke.

Luke doesn’t miss a beat. “Oh, and wear something comfy,” he adds, nodding in greeting to his older brother before ruffling his already messy curls and strolling down the hall. Jack steps inside, leaning against your doorframe, his gaze steady.

“He has a lot of energy,” Jack notes, his voice quieter than usual.

“He’s excited,” you reply, smoothing down your pyjamas as you stand.

Jack hesitates, then exhales. “Listen, I think about last night...” Something in his tone sends a shiver down your spine. You chance a glance at his face, expecting a smirk, but his expression is blank.

“Can we do it later?” you ask, forcing a light tone. “I have a feeling if I’m not ready in fifteen minutes, Luke is gonna drag me out in my pyjamas.” Jack lingers for a second before clearing his throat.

“Yeah,” he says quickly. “Yeah, whenever suits you.” He shoots you a small smile before clapping his hand against the doorframe and walking away. You watch him disappear down the hall, the soft click of his door sending a ripple of unease through you. Maybe Luke was right.

“Fifteen minutes, princess!” Luke’s voice rings out, and you huff, rolling your eyes. Right now, you had a date to focus on.

You dress quickly, tugging a soft, thin white sweater over your head before slipping into your muted green overalls. The fabric is comfortably worn, the straps adjusted to the perfect fit after countless wears. Your favorite pair of white Converse—scuffed, broken in, and softened with time—find their place on your feet as you sling a small crossbody bag over your shoulder, making sure it holds only the essentials: phone, wallet, chapstick, and a few stray hair ties.

A sharp knock echoes against your door. “I’m coming,” you hiss, hurriedly pulling your hair into a ponytail. A few loose strands stubbornly slip free, framing your face no matter how much you try to tuck them away.

Luke stands just outside your room, his arms crossed as he pointedly glances down at his watch, exaggerating his impatience. He’s dressed in black athletic shorts and a faded blue concert tee, the fabric worn thin from years of washes. His dark hair is freshly showered, air-dried and—shockingly—brushed, a rare effort on his part. He wears his own white Converse, just as battered as yours, and as soon as his eyes land on your feet, a smirk creeps across his face.

“Look at us, twinning,” he announces, stretching his arms out dramatically. “We’d make the cutest couple, wouldn’t we?” He sing-songs, casting a playful glance at Quinn.

Quinn, unfazed, simply slides a plate of freshly cut fruit toward you as you settle onto a barstool at the kitchen counter. “Here.”

“Thanks.” You spear a slice of crisp red apple with your fork, savouring the juicy crunch as Luke plops into the seat beside you, reaching for a piece of fruit with his bare hands.

Quinn watches as his younger brother rummages through a small black backpack, stuffing it with Gatorade bottles and assorted snack packs. “He’s got a lot of energy,” he comments dryly.

You hum in agreement, déjà vu washing over you as the moment mirrors your earlier encounter with Jack. “He’s excited.”

“So what’s your plan for today?” Quinn asks, leaning against the counter, arms crossed as he observes Luke with mild curiosity. Luke zips up his bag with a mischievous glint in his eye.

“Why? Trying to keep your enemies close?” He slings the bag over one shoulder, though it looks almost comically small against his broad back.

Quinn barely reacts. “I just like knowing what disaster I’ll have to deal with later.”

Luke ignores the jab, turning toward you with an impish grin. “We may or may not be going to one of your favourite places.”

Your brows knit together as you tilt your head. “There’s a fair nearby?”

Luke nods, swiping an apple from the fruit bowl and taking a large, unceremonious bite.

“Since when? How did I not know about this?” You exclaim, more excited than offended.

Quinn smirks knowingly. “Didn’t your friends from Umich invite you to hang out with them there?”

Your excitement falters, a frown creeping onto your lips. “Wait... so you’re using this date as an excuse to see your friends?” Luke immediately shakes his head, bending down slightly so his breath tickles the shell of your ear.

“No, I’m using it as an excuse to show you off to my friends.” You roll your eyes, but the warmth in his tone and the shameless grin on his face make it impossible not to smile.

He nudges your shoulder. “Now, come on, we’ve got an hour drive ahead of us.” He’s already ushering you toward the front door, offering Quinn a casual wave over his shoulder. “See you later tonight!” Before Quinn can respond, the door slams shut behind you.

The one-hour drive melts away into laughter and lazy conversation. The windows are rolled down just enough to let in the warm breeze, ruffling the ends of your hair as you absentmindedly flip through Luke’s playlist. The car smells faintly of pine air freshener and the remnants of fast food fries, and every few minutes, Luke sneaks a glance at you from the driver’s seat, his hand resting comfortably between the two of you on the centre console.

Before you know it, you’re pulling into a grassy lot beside the fairgrounds, the vibrant atmosphere already seeping into your senses. The scent of fried dough, caramel popcorn, and freshly cut grass lingers in the warm evening air, interwoven with the distant hum of carnival music. Strings of golden lights illuminate the fairgrounds, flickering like fireflies as the sun begins to dip below the horizon.

Luke parks the car and is out the door in an instant, jogging around the hood before you even unbuckle your seatbelt. He swings the door open with a flourish, grinning down at you.

“What a gentleman,” you tease, stepping out and adjusting the strap of your bag.

“Only the best for my date,” he shoots back, punctuating his words with a wink as his fingers wrap around yours, lacing them together like it’s second nature. The fair is already alive with movement—kids dashing past, their sticky fingers gripping oversized stuffed animals, couples strolling hand-in-hand, the glow of neon lights reflecting off their smiling faces. The sounds of carnival games, the distant rumble of roller coasters, and the occasional shriek from the drop tower all blend into the air, a symphony of excitement and nostalgia.

Luke doesn’t hesitate as he pulls you into the crowd, his grip firm but gentle, ensuring you never stray too far. “Alright,” he says, turning to you with a smirk, “where to first?”

You nudge Luke with your shoulder, a teasing smile playing on your lips. “I don’t know... you’re the one who planned this, remember?” He grins, hands stuffed in his pockets as he scans the fairgrounds.

“Right, but it’s all about what you want.” He gestures dramatically to the sea of colourful booths and flashing rides. “Games? Rides? Food? Name it.”

Your gaze drifts over the chaos until it lands on the Ferris wheel towering above it all, its lights twinkling even in the bright midday sun. There’s something about it—the way it stands apart from the noise, offering a brief escape into the sky.

“That,” you say, pointing.

“The Ferris wheel? Starting strong, I like it.” Luke’s grin widens as he starts leading you toward it, but he suddenly halts, tugging gently on your hand.

“Hold up,” he says, eyes locking onto a ring-toss booth lined with giant stuffed animals. His expression turns mischievous. “I’ve got to win you something first. It’s tradition.”

You arch a brow. “Tradition?”

“Obviously.” He gestures toward the rows of oversized plush toys. “No fair date is complete without a ridiculously large stuffed animal you have no idea where to put later.”

Before you can protest, he hands a few bills to the booth operator, rolling his shoulders like an athlete about to perform. You bite your lip to keep from laughing as he lines up his first shot, brows furrowed in concentration.

The first two tosses miss. Barely.

“Oh, laugh it up,” he says, cutting you a sideways glare as you try to stifle your giggles behind your hand. “I’m just warming up.” The third ring lands perfectly around the bottle, and Luke lets out a triumphant shout, throwing his arms up. The booth operator sighs in defeat and hands over an enormous stuffed bear, almost as big as you are. Luke turns to you with a proud smirk, holding it out like an offering.

“For you,” he declares dramatically.

You can’t help but laugh as you take it, hugging the soft toy close. “This is completely impractical, but thank you.”

“Impractical?” Luke scoffs. “No way. It’s the ultimate prize.” He leans in slightly, voice dipping lower. “Besides, it’s my excuse to get people going 'wow he must be a great date'.”

You roll your eyes, but your grin betrays you. “Smooth.” As you near the Ferris wheel, your hand brushes against his. It’s accidental at first—a fleeting touch in the shifting crowd—but then Luke makes the choice for you, slipping his fingers through yours again like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Your heart stutters slightly, but you don’t pull away.

When you step into the carriage, the world below begins to shrink, stretching out in bright, sunlit hues as the fairgrounds sprawl beneath you. Luke settles beside you, his knee grazing yours as the seat rocks gently. You can feel the warmth of him, even with the summer breeze drifting through the bars on the carriage.

He exhales slowly, taking in the view. “Okay, you were right,” he murmurs. “This was the perfect first stop.” You glance at him, catching the way the sunlight softens his features, highlighting the curve of his jaw and the flecks of gold in his eyes. He’s not looking at you, too distracted by the endless stretch of blue sky, and it gives you a moment to simply... admire him.

He must feel your gaze because he turns, catching you staring. A slow, teasing grin tugs at his lips. “What? Do I have something on my face?”

Your heart jumps, and you quickly look away. “No,” you mumble, a little too fast. “I just—yeah, it’s a good view.”

Luke chuckles, shaking his head. “Busted.”

You groan, covering your face with your hands. “Just enjoy the view, Hughes.”

"Oh trust me, I am." The ride slows as you reach the very top, pausing briefly to let the passengers below unload. The world feels quiet up here, separate from the lively fairgrounds below. Your knees brushing against his as you sit on opposite sides, both looking over the growing crowds in awe, and this time, neither of you moves away. When you finally step off the Ferris wheel, the fair is in full swing, and Luke’s hand finds yours again, grounding you.

“Alright, most important part of the fair: food,” he announces.

“Corn dogs and lemonade?” you guess.

“Obviously.” He feigns offence. “But also, giant pretzels. And deep-fried everything.” Luke insists on ordering for both of you, and soon, your hands are full of hot, sugary funnel cake and an absurdly large lemonade. You find a spot near the carousel, sharing bites of the warm, sticky dessert. At one point, Luke gestures vaguely toward your chin.

“You’ve got some—”

“Where?” You swipe at your face with a napkin.

“Nope, missed it.” He reaches out, brushing the powdered sugar away with his thumb. The touch is fleeting, but it lingers, sending a warm flutter through your chest. His fingers stay just a second too long before he pulls back, clearing his throat. You open your mouth to say something, but before you can, his phone buzzes in his pocket. He checks it, then tucks it away with a sigh.

“Your friends?” you ask.

Luke nods. “Yeah. They’re somewhere around here.”

You tilt your head. “I thought you wanted to meet up with them?”

His fingers drum against the table. “I did,” he says, but there’s something hesitant in his voice. Then, under his breath, he mutters something too quiet to catch.

“What was that?” you tease, leaning closer.

He exhales, finally looking at you. “I said, I’d rather spend today with you.” Your breath catches. There’s a flicker of vulnerability in his expression, like he’s not quite sure what you’ll say.

“Okay,” you reply softly.

“Okay?” His lips twitch like he’s trying to suppress a grin.

“I like spending time with you too, Luke.”

His grin breaks free, warm and unguarded. “That’s good.” He pauses.

“Yeah, you’re like my best guy friend.” You tease, watching Luke’s face drop a little, the infamous Hughes pout spreading across his lips.

“Great, this is great.” He groans, running a hand down his face in despair before dramatically slumping against the table. His head drops forward, forehead nearly hitting the surface, as a muffled groan of defeat escapes him. You let out a snort of laughter, unable to help yourself at his exaggerated misery. Shaking your head, you slide out from your seat, grabbing the oversized bear that’s become your new companion and making your way over to his side. He stays put, unmoving, still wallowing in self-pity. You bite your lip, fighting the grin threatening to take over your face as you set the bear down, perching one knee on the bench beside him.

“I’m kidding, Luke.” Your voice is soft, laced with amusement, as you lean forward and press a featherlight kiss against his cheek. The warmth of his skin lingers against your lips for a fraction of a second before you pull back, barely dodging as he jerks upright, eyes wide.

“Oh, now you’re just messing with me,” he accuses, squinting at you, though his mouth twitches at the corners. You can tell he’s fighting a smile.

“Are we gonna continue this date or not?” You challenge, tilting your head.

Luke stares at you for a beat before exhaling through his nose, shaking his head in mock exasperation. “You’re gonna be the death of me.” Still, he stands, sliding out of the booth with ease, and reaches a hand behind him without hesitation. His fingers curl, expectant, waiting. You don’t make him wait long. As soon as your palm slides against his, he squeezes, firm and warm, grounding. The rest of the day seems to blur together, the heat of the sun beating down as the hours slip by. The fair is still alive with colour and noise, but the crowds begin to thin, the air cooling as the afternoon fades into early evening. Your arms are now filled with both your giant bear and a more reasonably sized unicorn—Luke’s hard-earned prize after six frustrating attempts at the basketball game.

“I still say that hoop was rigged,” Luke mutters, eyeing the unicorn with an air of resentment.

You laugh. “You just don’t want to admit you’re bad at basketball.”

Luke gasps, pressing a hand to his chest like you’ve wounded him. “Excuse me?”

“I mean, I’ve seen better.” You shrug, struggling not to laugh at the utter betrayal on his face.

“You take that back right now.”

“I take nothing back.” Luke groans dramatically but doesn’t press it further. Instead, he glances over at you, his expression shifting slightly.

“You’re looking a little tired.”

You sigh, rolling your shoulders. “A little. I just need to use the bathroom before we head out.”

He nods, immediately reaching for the stuffed animals in your arms, pulling them into his own with ease. “I’ll wait right here.”

You shoot him a grateful smile before making your way toward the restroom sign. It takes longer than expected—the line stretching farther than you’d hoped—but eventually, you finish up, carefully manoeuvring your way out without touching the questionably grimy walls.

When you step back into the fairground, Luke is exactly where you left him, but now he’s not alone. A small group has gathered around him, and it only takes a second for you to recognise them—his friends. The ones he’d pointedly avoided meeting up with all day, the ones he had chosen you over. You hesitate, slowing your steps, not wanting to intrude. Instead, you pull out your phone, finally checking the notifications you’d ignored throughout the day.

least favourite hughes : Let me know when you guys are heading home.

least favourite hughes 😈: I hope you had a lot of fun on your date.

least favourite hughes 😈: I’m sorry if I made things weird between us.

favourite hughes 😇: I think you broke my brother.

You blink at the last message, the edges of your lips twitching as you glance up. Luke is still deep in conversation, laughing at something one of his friends said, but as if sensing your gaze, he suddenly turns.

His eyes find yours immediately, and his face lights up. “Hey, what are you doing over there?” Your head pops up at his voice, catching the attention of the whole group. Your eyes widen slightly at the sudden spotlight.

“Just catching up on my messages,” you reply quickly, awkwardly holding up your phone as if to prove your point. The gesture earns a few polite nods from his friends before they turn back to their hushed conversation, though whatever they’re whispering about clearly pleases Luke, if the smug, boyish grin on his face is anything to go by.

Then, without hesitation, he lifts his hand and motions for you to come closer. When you don’t immediately move, he starts making exaggerated grabby motions, fingers curling impatiently, like a toddler. You roll your eyes but step forward, slipping your hand into his. Luke exhales softly, his grip tightening around yours as he pulls you close to his side. Then, with a slowness that makes your breath hitch, he lifts your joined hands and presses a kiss to your knuckles—soft, lingering, like he’s savouring the moment. Your heart stumbles, beating an erratic rhythm against your ribs as you glance up at him in surprise.

He only grins. “It was good seeing you guys,” he says, effortlessly redirecting the conversation. “We need to do a lake trip soon.”

His friends nod, offering their own goodbyes and promises to catch up soon, and then, just like that, Luke is steering you away, his strides slow and unhurried as if he has no desire to rush the moment. By the time you settle into the car, the day’s warmth still clinging to your skin, Luke glances over at you, his expression softer now, a little hesitant.

“So...” he begins, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel. “Was this a good first date?”

You smile, leaning your head against the window. “It was perfect.” Luke’s grin is instant, wide and unguarded. He reaches over, placing a hand against your thigh, his touch featherlight. He doesn’t move it, doesn’t let go. Instead, his thumb begins tracing soft, absentminded circles against your skin, a quiet, unconscious motion that makes warmth bloom in your chest.

His hand stays there the entire ride home.

Luke parks the car and turns off the engine, but neither of you moves. The air between you hums with an unspoken energy, a quiet intensity settling in the small space of the vehicle. His hand remains on your thigh, his thumb tracing slow, absentminded circles against your skin. The simple touch is grounding, yet it sends a shiver up your spine, making you acutely aware of every nerve in your body. He finally looks over at you, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “You’re not going to make me walk you to the door like a proper gentleman, are you?” His voice is low, teasing, but there’s an undercurrent of something deeper, something simmering just beneath the surface.

You chuckle, un-clicking your seatbelt with a soft click. “Well, you did earn some serious points tonight. But sure, let’s see just how gentlemanly you can be.” He exhales dramatically, shaking his head as if put upon, but he’s out of the car in an instant. You barely have time to gather yourself before he jogs around to your side, opening the door with an exaggerated flourish.

“M’lady,” he quips, offering his hand. Laughing, you take it, his fingers curling around yours as he helps you from the car. The night air is crisp against your flushed skin, and without thinking, you step in closer to his warmth. His arm finds your waist with an ease that feels effortless, pulling you in as you make your way to the door. His presence is intoxicating, the scent of his cologne mixed with the lingering sweetness of cotton candy from earlier at the fair.

But when you reach your doorstep, Luke doesn’t stop. He presses forward, hand still entwined with yours, his pace unhurried but deliberate.

“Where are you going?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper, watching as he steps inside, only to glance back at you with a devilish smirk.

“This is the door, but not your door.” His meaning is crystal clear, your pulse quickening as he keeps walking, guiding you upstairs until you stop outside your bedroom. The air shifts, the teasing edge fading into something heavier, something charged. His boyish grin softens, a flicker of nervousness dancing in his eyes as he rubs the back of his neck.

“So… I had a really good time today,” he murmurs, his voice rougher now, more vulnerable.

“Me too,” you say, matching his tone, your breath catching as he lifts a hand, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. His touch is featherlight, yet it leaves a trail of heat in its wake.

“I wanted it to be perfect,” he admits, fingers grazing along your jawline, his eyes locked on yours.

“It was.” Luke exhales, something shifting in his gaze as his fingers slide to cup your cheek. There’s a brief hesitation, like he’s waiting for you to pull away, to stop this before it goes too far. But you don’t. Instead, you tilt your chin up, wordlessly giving him permission.

That’s all he needs. His lips find yours, firm yet reverent, like he’s memorising the way you taste. Your fingers tighten around his shirt, gripping onto him as you rise onto your tiptoes, pulling him closer, deeper. He grunts softly against your lips, the sound sending a delicious shiver through your body.

With a deft movement, his hand finds your door handle, twisting it open as he carefully guides you inside. The door clicks shut behind you, and suddenly, the air feels thicker, heavier. His hands remain gentle as they cradle your face, but there’s an urgency in the way his lips move against yours, a hunger that neither of you can ignore.

You pull back just enough to whisper, “Is this too much?” The question barely makes it past your lips before he shakes his head, thumbs stroking along your cheeks.

“Not unless you think it is.” His voice is rough with restraint, his breathing uneven. Your lips part, hesitation flickering in your eyes as a thought crosses your mind.

“Is this not kinda crossing the line? I mean, this didn't work out well for me last time.” You let out a nervous laugh.

"You're comparing me to Jack?" He asks softly, your head quickly shaking, your eyes widening in surprise as he looks down at you with one brow raised. Instead, he leans in, his breath warm against your lips.

“Do you want to kiss me?” he asks, his voice husky, deliberate. You swallow, nodding slowly. A smirk tugs at his lips. “Then fuck the line.” And with that, he claims your mouth again, his grip firm as he walks you backward toward the bed. He sinks down onto the edge, pulling you into his lap with ease. The moment your legs straddle him, he exhales sharply, his hands gripping your waist like he never wants to let go.

Luke only pulls away long enough to yank his shirt over his head, his toned chest rising and falling with deep breaths. His fingers grip your hips, encouraging you to press closer, his lips latching onto your neck, leaving trails of heat in their wake. Your hands slide up his arms, feeling the muscles tense beneath your touch before threading into his hair, tugging slightly. He lets out a quiet groan, his grip tightening in response.

“Why did you have to wear fucking overalls?” he grumbles, voice rough with frustration, his hands fumbling at the buttons. You laugh breathlessly, reaching up to undo them yourself, letting the top fall from your shoulders.

He watches you with darkened eyes, his fingers twitching as they trace the bare skin of your sides, his thumbs brushing just beneath the hem of your sports bra. He hesitates, waiting for your nod before pulling the fabric up and over your head.

“I wasn’t really going for aesthetic this morning,” you murmur, glancing down at yourself.

Luke shakes his head, a lazy grin spreading across his face. “I’ve never been one for aesthetics,” he murmurs, his hands slipping around your back, trailing warmth wherever he touches. He pauses just as his fingers find the clasp of your bra—

Knock, knock.

“Are you in there?” Jack’s voice cuts through the thick haze in the room, your head snapping toward the door. Shadows shift beneath the crack, and your stomach drops.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Luke growls, his grip on your hips tightening briefly before he lets out a sigh. His forehead presses against yours, a chuckle escaping his lips. “Just ignore him, maybe he'll go away,” he murmurs. You huff, burying your face in his shoulder as he places another kiss to your jaw, then another, before reluctantly shifting to help you back onto your feet - knowing his brother wasn't going to just go away if his pacing last night was anything to go by. He hands you your sweater, pressing one final kiss to your nose before pulling his own shirt over his head.

When Luke finally yanks the door open, his curls are a mess, his lips are red and swollen, and his chest rises and falls like he’s barely caught his breath. Jack’s eyes widen slightly before narrowing, suspicion flaring in his gaze as he glances between you both. “I have a feeling I interrupted something,” Jack mutters, his voice edged with amusement, but there’s something sharper underneath.

Luke rolls his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. “You did.” His voice is clipped, edged with irritation, but he doesn’t back down.

Jack’s smirk is slow, mean. “Going after my sloppy seconds, huh?” The words land like a slap, the air in the room turning suffocatingly thick. Your mouth parts in a sharp inhale, a soft gasp slipping out before you can stop it. Luke’s whole body tenses, his shoulders snapping back, muscles coiling tight with barely restrained fury. His jaw locks, nostrils flaring, and when he takes a single step forward, Jack barely has time to react before Luke’s palm slams against his chest, pushing him back a step.

“The fuck did you just say?” Luke’s voice is low, lethal.

Jack scoffs, recovering quickly. “Come on, man. You don’t think this is a little pathetic?” Your stomach twists, heat crawling up your neck—not from desire this time, but from humiliation, anger.

Luke shakes his head, letting out a humourless laugh. “You think she’s some kind of leftovers?” He takes another step forward, voice dropping to something razor-sharp and dangerous. “That just proves you never deserved her in the first place.” Jack’s lips press into a thin line, jaw ticking.

“I’m just saying, she’s kissed two of us now, you don’t think she’s going to go for the whole colle—” Luke doesn’t let him finish. The door slams in Jack’s face with enough force to shake the walls. The echo of it rings in the silence that follows, the tension between you a live wire, snapping and crackling with raw emotion.

For a long moment, neither of you speak. Your breath comes fast, heart hammering against your ribs. Luke stands still, his fingers flexing at his sides like he’s still itching to throw a punch. Then, finally, he turns to you, his expression shifting, something unreadable flickering in his darkened gaze.

Luke exhales sharply, dragging a hand down his face, his chest still rising and falling in controlled, shallow breaths. His jaw tightens, a flicker of frustration crossing his features before he speaks.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, his voice lower, rougher, edged with something dangerous. “He’s a fucking idiot.”

You swallow hard, a lump forming in your throat as you nod. “Yeah. He is.” Luke studies you for a long moment, his gaze intent, searching. He’s looking for the damage Jack might have caused, for any sign that his words have seeped under your skin, leaving wounds that can’t be seen. And then, as if making the decision for both of you, he exhales slowly and shakes his head.

“Forget him. Forget all of it.”

And then he’s on you.

The kiss is different this time. It isn’t just heat or need—it’s desperation, possession, an unspoken plea to erase every single doubt Jack tried to plant in your mind. His hands find your waist, fingers pressing in like he’s terrified you might slip away. His lips move against yours with a slow, intoxicating hunger, coaxing, taking, reclaiming. When his tongue brushes against yours, a soft, needy whimper escapes you, and he groans into your mouth like he’s been starving for this, for you.

He walks you back, step by step, his grip unyielding, until your knees hit the bed. For a moment, he hesitates, like he’s giving you one last chance to stop him, to tell him this is too much, too fast. But you don’t. You don’t want to.

His grip tightens, and he lowers you down, his body following without hesitation. His weight presses into you, solid muscle and warmth, grounding you, reminding you that you’re here, that you’re his. The world outside ceases to exist; there is only this, only him.

“Tell me he’s wrong,” Luke murmurs, his lips ghosting over your jaw, down the column of your throat. His breath is warm against your skin, his voice rough with something raw, something unshakable. "Tell me you won't believe a single thing he said." His teeth scrape over your pulse point, and you shudder, your fingers threading into his curls, tugging him back just enough to meet his gaze. His eyes are dark, stormy, filled with hunger that has nothing to do with anger anymore.

“He’s wrong,” you whisper.

A low sound rumbles from his chest, pleased, satisfied. “Good.”

His lips crash against yours again, deeper this time, a slow, consuming burn that steals every thought from your head. His hands roam your body, tracing, exploring, memorising. He touches you like he’s trying to rewrite every terrible thing Jack ever made you feel, like he’s replacing them with something sacred, something unshakable.

“You need to tell me to slow down, ” he whispers, his breath hot against your skin, sending shivers down your spine. "Because I can't do it myself." His lips skim over your collarbone, his hands sliding down your sides, his fingers making slow, reverent work of every layer of clothing on you, till you lay bare beneath him, goosebumps prickling along your skin at the cool summer air. “You deserve to be worshiped.”

The words steal the breath from your lungs. Your body burns under his touch, anticipation curling tight in your stomach as he maps a path lower, each kiss leaving a trail of fire in its wake.

When his hands part your thighs, his gaze flicks up, holding yours as he murmurs, “Will you let me?” Your answer is a breathless, desperate nod. And then he’s there, his mouth on you, his tongue tracing slow, deliberate strokes that send a sharp jolt of heat through you. A gasp breaks from your lips, fingers twisting into the sheets as pleasure crashes over you in waves. Luke hums against you, the vibration sending another spark of pleasure through your core. He’s relentless, thorough, savouring every shudder, every tremor, like he has all the time in the world.

“You taste so fucking good,” he groans, his voice ragged, needy. His arms wrap around your thighs, pulling you tighter against him, like he never wants to let go. “I could die a happy man down here.”

You barely have time to catch your breath before he dives back in, his tongue moving with slow, devastating precision. His name spills from your lips in breathless, desperate whispers, your body arching against him, losing yourself in the pleasure he gives so willingly.

When you finally break apart beneath him, your body trembling, his hands smooth over your thighs in soothing strokes. His lips press soft, lingering kisses against your skin, his touch reverent, grounding.

He moves back up, his lips glistening, his eyes dark and satisfied. He grins against your stomach, then higher, trailing heat all the way back to your lips.

“Told you,” he murmurs, voice rough, pressing a final, lingering kiss against your parted lips. “The bare fucking minimum.” His gaze never leaves yours as he shifts above you, a silent promise lingering in the air, heavy and unspoken. His hands gently push your hair back from your face, fingertips tracing the outline of your jaw, his expression softening as if you're the only thing that matters in the world. The moment stretches, drawing you both into a space where nothing else exists.

You meet his gaze, a flood of emotions rushing through you, some familiar and some new. There’s comfort in the way he looks at you, in the way he holds you like he’s willing to erase every shred of hurt and doubt.

And in that quiet intimacy, you find a peace that Jack’s words had threatened to steal. You breathe in deeply, pressing your lips to his again, slower this time, savouring the quiet, the warmth between you. Luke’s hand slips over your side, the touch gentle now, a stark contrast to the fire that burned between you moments ago. His lips curl in a half-smile, and he presses a final kiss to your forehead, his body still pressed against yours, as if grounding you both in this moment, in this time where the world is nothing but the two of you.

Well for a little while.

“You two better not be fucking while I’m in the house.” Quinn’s voice cuts through the silence as Luke reaches over his head pulling his shirt off before handing it over to you, a mischievous smile on his face, as you glance towards the door in panic.

“Not fucking.” Luke confirms, “Just eating a snack.” He adds, a laugh bubbling out of his throat as he hears his older brother grunt before his heavy footsteps trail down the hallway, your hand smacking over his shoulder as he throws his hands up in defence.

“What it’s not like I’m lying.”

“You really are insufferable.”

#nhl #nhl fanfiction #nhl fic #nhl x reader #quinn hughes #luke hughes #jack hughes #quinn hughes smut #luke hughes smut #jack hughes smut #jack hughes x reader #luke hughes x reader #quinn hughes x reader #may the best brother win #mtbbw

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isaadore · 2 days ago

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ATTACHED CONNOR BEDARD

‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎pairing connor bedard x reader

SUMMARY connor isn’t the type to say outright how much he loves you. but you didn’t need him to, not when he showed it in every little thing he did. whether it was following you around the apartment, pulling you into his arms the second you sat down, or finding excuses to keep you close, one thing was clear. he was completely, hopelessly attached to you. word count 0.6k

warnings fluff, established relationship, connor being soft and clingy, minor teasing

note not a part of my 1k celebration but i thought we all needed this with how connor’s season is going on rn 😕

CB98 MASTERLIST MAIN MASTERLIST

IT ALWAYS STARTED small.

You woke up first, rolling onto your side to grab your phone. But before you could even reach for it, a strong arm tightened around your waist, pulling you back into the warmth of the bed.

Connor buried his face in the crook of your neck, sighing sleepily against your skin. “No.”

You stifled a laugh. “No?”

“Stay.”

His voice was muffled and low, still heavy with sleep, but there was no room for argument. You were stuck, wrapped up in him. His grip was just firm enough to keep you from slipping away.

You exhaled through your nose, amused, and brushed your fingers through his hair. “You’re clingy in the mornings.”

“Not clingy,” he corrected, though the way he tugged you closer said otherwise. “Just comfortable.”

You shook your head, but your chest felt warm, your heart softening at how much he didn’t want you to leave yet.

Still, after a few more minutes, you finally manage to wiggle free, much to Connor’s displeasure. He groaned dramatically, rolling onto his stomach as you sat up.

“I’ll be back in, like, five minutes,” you promised, pressing a quick kiss to the top of his head before slipping out of bed.

You thought that was the end of it.

But then, twenty minutes later, you were standing in the kitchen making coffee when you felt it. A familiar presence lingered behind you, followed by the quiet shuffle of socked feet.

You glanced over your shoulder, and sure enough, Connor was there. His hoodie was wrinkled, his hair was a mess, and his eyes were still half-lidded with sleep.

“You good?” you asked, sipping from your mug.

He grunted in response, stepping forward and wrapping his arms around you from behind, chin resting on your shoulder.

You huffed a laugh. “Connor.”

“What?” he mumbled against your hoodie.

“I thought you were sleeping.”

“I was.” He paused. “Then I woke up, and you weren’t there.”

You blinked, realizing he had gotten up just to follow you. “So you came all the way to the kitchen?”

He nodded against your shoulder like it was the most logical thing in the world.

“You’re impossible.”

“Mm.” He hummed, unbothered, and just tightened his arms around you.

And really, what could you say? That was just how he was. He was never too obvious about it, but he always found reasons to be close.

It happened again when you were sitting on the couch later that afternoon. You had your laptop balanced on your knees, fully focused on whatever you were watching, when Connor came in from the other room and wordlessly flopped down beside you.

You barely had a chance to react before he shifted closer, his arm draping over the back of the couch, his knee knocking against yours.

You glanced over. “Comfortable?”

“Not yet.”

Before you could question it, he moved again, pulling you into his side, letting you settle against his chest like it was the most natural thing in the world.

You paused for a second, then shook your head, amused. “You do realize you’ve been practically glued to me all day, right?”

Connor exhaled, long and dramatic, like he was thinking about it. Then, after a beat, he said, “So?”

You snorted. “So, is there a reason, or are you just really attached to me all of a sudden?”

He shrugged, playing with the hem of your hoodie. “Dunno. Just like having you close.”

Your heart clenched, and maybe you were a little obsessed with him too.

“Well, lucky for you,” you said, reaching up to ruffle his hair, “I’m not going anywhere.”

Connor hummed, satisfied, and pressed a quick kiss to your temple before relaxing against you completely.

Yeah. He was definitely attached.

But honestly, you didn’t mind one bit.

‎‎‎‎‎ ‎‎‎‎‎ CB98 MASTERLIST ✷ MAIN MASTERLIST

#connor bedard x reader #connor bedard #nhl x reader #nhl fanfic #nhl imagine #connor bedard x you #connor bedard imagine #connor bedard fluff #connor bedard angst #nhl x you #nhl fic #nhl #hockey #✷ isaadore

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rafes-slut · 2 days ago

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Suck baby

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Female Reader

Warnings: Explicit content, public humiliation, non-consensual behavior, manipulation, power dynamics, adult content

Summary: rafe dragged you to boring party you were bored and once he noticed so he made you suck on his fingers in middle of the party

----

The noise of the birthday party echoed around you, the bass of the music thumping in your chest as you found yourself nestled in the corner of the room. Rafe had insisted you come, a frown forming on your face as you glanced around. It wasn’t like you hated the people at the party, but the conversations felt distant, surface-level. Rafe was always talking to someone else, leaving you alone in your corner.

You sighed, your fingers resting on his large hand, which was carelessly draped across your lap. The weight of his hand grounded you in a strange way, but it wasn’t the weight that captured your attention—it was the way his veins popped under the surface of his skin. His fingers were long, veiny, covered in rings that gleamed under the dim lighting of the party. You couldn’t stop yourself from tracing the lines of his veins, feeling your mouth go dry as you followed the path of the ringed metal with your fingertips.

Rafe was a force of nature, a constant presence, always in control, no matter the situation. Even in the midst of the party, surrounded by people, he never let go of your attention. His hand never left your lap, and his fingers flexed every now and then as if he was aware of your quiet fascination.

You weren’t sure if he noticed or if he was just that good at reading you, but you caught his eyes a few times, and each time, his smirk grew wider. He was watching you, enjoying your fascination with his hand, knowing full well what was running through your head.

Rafe, always the possessive one, never shied away from the hold he had over you, even when others were around. The casual touches, the unspoken power, all of it drove you crazy. His hand shifted slightly, his thumb gently grazing the side of your lips before lingering there, the warmth of it making your skin burn. He continued his conversation with one of his friends, not acknowledging what he was doing to you, but it was obvious he knew the effect he was having.

You caught his gaze again, and this time, there was something darker in his eyes. His thumb moved slowly, tracing your lips for a moment, as if savoring the way you reacted. You couldn’t help but let out a soft breath, your lips parting just slightly under his touch.

And then, without warning, his thumb slipped past your lips, pressing against the inside of your mouth. You froze for a moment, heart hammering in your chest as you realized what was happening, but you didn’t pull away. You never could when it came to him.

His fingers slipped further, two of them now inside your mouth, as his thumb continued to tease your lips. He never broke eye contact with you, his face still calm as he spoke to his friend, as if this was all part of the plan. You were entirely at his mercy, his control tightening with every passing second.

You had no choice but to obey, to let him use your mouth however he pleased. His fingers slid deeper, forcing you to suck on them, the taste of his skin overwhelming you. You could feel the eyes of the crowd on you, but Rafe didn’t care. You didn’t either. All that mattered was him, and the way he manipulated you, making you obey without a word.

The pressure built, the need to please him, to obey his every command. His eyes never left yours, watching you with a mixture of pride and satisfaction. He was proud of you for listening, for doing exactly what he wanted, even in front of everyone.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Rafe pulled his fingers out of your mouth, his hand now cupping your chin as he leaned in close. His voice was low, only for you to hear.

“Good girl,” he whispered, the words sending a shiver down your spine.

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comflexxed · 10 hours ago

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june huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he leaned back against the counter again. hans wasn’t wrong — he had already made up his mind, but it was a little too satisfying to watch him try to convince him anyway. he liked the way hans watched him, the way he read into every little movement, every glance, every shrug, as if june’s decision carried weight. as if he mattered. and maybe that was what made it so easy to say yes without even needing to think about it.

he tilted his head slightly, catching that secretive smile hans wore, and something in his chest tightened, a warmth spreading through him that he wasn’t entirely ready to acknowledge. that same smile had been there last night too, right before they kissed, right before everything between them shifted in a way that felt both inevitable and earth-shattering. and now, it was here again, tucked between teasing words and the rhythmic sizzle of oil in the pan.

his gaze flickered to sunny, still fully immersed in whatever mess she was making, oblivious to the way hans and june seemed to move around each other like planets caught in each other’s orbit. the thought made june swallow, made him push down the feeling that was creeping up, the one telling him that this familiarity was something he didn’t want to let go of.

he exhaled through his nose, forcing himself to smirk instead of letting himself get lost in thoughts he wasn’t ready to say out loud. “oh, yeah?” he drawled, rolling his eyes playfully at hans’ ridiculous attempt at blackmail. “so you’re gonna emotionally manipulate me with pictures of you two looking upset and alone over a deck of uno cards?” he scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest.

the truth was, he already knew he wouldn’t need to be convinced. if hans sent him even one picture of sunny sitting cross-legged on the floor, pouting at a half-finished game without him, june would be over here so fast he wouldn’t even have time to argue. but he wasn’t going to let hans know that. not yet.

instead, he pushed himself off the counter again, slow and deliberate, closing the space between them just enough to make it obvious that he was enjoying dragging this out. “you’ll have to get a little more creative than that,” he murmured, voice lower, playful but lined with something quieter, something softer before he stepped back again, slipping his hands into his pockets.

then, just as easily, he tilted his head toward sunny, as if the last few seconds hadn’t happened at all. “how’s it feel, champ?” he asked, nodding toward her little victory. “taking him down in uno?” he wasn’t fooling anyone. not hans, at least. but maybe, for a little longer, he could pretend like he still had the upper hand.

june let out a contented sigh as he leaned against the counter, watching hans work. the warmth of the kitchen, the rhythmic sound of chopping, and sunny’s playful grumbles about vegetables she refused to acknowledge made it easy to feel like this was just any other night. like this was something they had done a hundred times before, something they would do a hundred times more. and june— june let himself believe it.

he smirked at hans’ question, rolling his shoulders as if considering it. “convince me?” he echoed, pretending to mull it over. he glanced down at sunny, who was already perfecting a dramatic pout, her big eyes practically glistening with determination. he let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “i don’t know. you’re both pretty persuasive, but i’m not that easy to sway.” a lie.

because the truth was, june already knew he’d be sitting in the living room again, dealing another hand of cards, pretending to take losses just to watch sunny’s victorious grin spread across her face. he knew that no matter how much he claimed he wasn’t the type for game nights, he’d still end up right here, laughing at hans’ half-hearted attempts to keep up, listening to the teasing banter that made the whole evening feel alive. but it was fun to make hans work for it.

he pushed off the counter, stepping closer until he could rest a hand lightly against hans’ back, fingers pressing just enough to let him feel it through his shirt. “what else have you got?” he challenged, voice dipping just slightly, just enough to make it obvious he was enjoying this. “because i’ve got to say, the food is a strong argument, but i’m going to need a little more.”

he stepped back before he let the thought settle too deep, before it became something he couldn’t shake off. his hands found his way into his pockets, shoulders rolling in a lazy shrug. ”i’m kidding. you two are entertaining enough. i guess i wouldn’t mind another round sometime.” he conceded, glancing back toward the living room as if he were truly debating it.

though he already knew he’d be back. he already knew there was nowhere else he’d rather be.

#[ 04 ] ─ * teacher verse { you light my way }

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bjwmastermind-writes · 1 day ago

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shared desk - bucky barnes x reader

A/N: This just came up while I was looking for a place to work, I mainly go to coffee shops but I’ve been meaning to go to one of these spaces. Hope you enjoy reading!!

no warnings here! (at least for now)

Dividers by @cafekitsune

Your job demanded a lot of time, and while the pay was excellent and the stress levels were bearable, it was very lonely. Yes, you worked with a team, but that team was scattered across the world—Igor was in Warsaw, Pam was in Miami, Héctor was in Puerto Rico, and Steven was five states away.

Working from home had its perks. If you were sick or had your period, you could just stay curled up in bed and work from there. But on days when the sky was clear and the sun was warm, you were stuck inside, staring at screens. Podcasts and radio shows became your companions, voices filling the silence as you typed away at lines of code or designed whatever the clients needed. But it had been a while since you worked alongside actual people.

You had heard about coworking spaces—coffee shops or shared offices where people in your situation could work without feeling so isolated. Maybe, just maybe, you could even make a friend or two.

That’s how you found yourself in a coworking space on a Tuesday morning, clutching your overpriced coffee like a lifeline…It had taken weeks of deliberation—Googling “coworking near me,” checking out reviews, debating whether it was worth putting on real pants. But the silence of your apartment had become too loud, so here you were.

The place was warm, buzzing with quiet productivity. People sat in clusters, laptops open, occasional murmurs passing between them. It felt... alive. And maybe, just maybe, you needed that.

You picked a seat near the window, set down your laptop, and exhaled. Okay. This wasn’t so bad.

And then, someone took the seat across from you.

You noticed him peripherally first—broad shoulders, dark hair falling slightly over his forehead, black Henley hugging his arms in a way that made her brain short-circuit. His presence was quiet but not unnoticeable, something about him was both composed and intense. He dropped his bag on the chair beside him and pulled out a notebook, flipping it open before glancing at you.

“First time here?”

His voice was low, rough—like he didn’t use it often.

You blinked, surprised that he’d even spoken to you. “Uh, yeah. Is it that obvious?”

He smirked slightly, tapping his pen against the page. “A little. You look like you’re waiting for someone to tell you what to do.”

You huffed a small laugh. “It’s been a while since I worked around people.”

He nodded as if he understood that more than you knew. “You get used to it. Just gotta pretend no one’s here after a while.”

You weren’t sure that was possible, not when he was sitting right across from you. But you nodded, pretending you were unaffected, opening your laptop and trying to focus on the screen instead of the way his fingers tapped absently against the table.

For a while, you two worked in silence.

Then, your laptop froze.

You sighed, tapping at the trackpad in frustration. When that failed, you let your forehead drop against the table with a dramatic groan.

A chuckle rumbled from across you. “That bad?”

“I think my laptop is testing my patience.”

“Here,” he said, getting up and walking around the table. “Let me take a look.”

You were about to tell him it wasn’t necessary, but before you could, he leaned down, close enough that you caught the scent of something clean and slightly woody. He pressed a few keys, fingers moving with practiced ease, and within seconds, the screen unfroze.

You gawked at him. “How did you—?”

His smirk deepened. “Secret.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, unimpressed by the mystery. “You’re one of those IT geniuses, aren’t you?”

He huffed a laugh, retreating back to his seat. “Not exactly. Just good with tech.”

You tilted your head, studying him now. “And what do you do? Or is that a secret, too?”

He looked at you for a moment, then—almost reluctantly—said, “Freelance security consulting.”

Your brows lifted. “That sounds... intense.”

A shadow of something flickered across his expression before he shrugged. “It can be.”

He didn’t elaborate, and for some reason, you didn’t push. Instead, you gave him a nod. “Well, thanks for saving my laptop’s life. I owe you one.”

He smirked. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

And just like that, the air shifted. Less intimidating. Less unfamiliar.

Maybe this coworking thing wasn’t so bad after all.

The hours seem to pass quicker than usual. Maybe it’s the feeling of company.

You steal glances at each other during that time—sometimes catching him watching you while you’re working, other times your gaze lingers on him, completely focused on his laptop or writing in his notebook. His brow furrows when he’s deep in thought, pen tapping absently against the page, and there’s something oddly mesmerizing about it.

Neither of you speaks much, but the silence feels... comfortable. Like an understanding, neither of you had to say out loud.

Time slipped by unnoticed. The gentle murmur of voices and the rhythmic clacking of keyboards faded as the sun dipped below the horizon. You hadn’t realized how late it was until you looked up and found the place nearly empty.

Nearly.

He was still there.

Stretching your arms over your head, you sighed quietly and started packing up. The sound must have caught his attention because he glanced over.

"Heading out?"

"Yeah, I think I’ve done enough damage for the day," you said with a small smile. "Do you always stay this late?"

"Sometimes." He leaned back in his chair, stretching in a way that only made him look unfairly good. "I work better when it’s quiet."

You nodded, slinging your bag over your shoulder. "Makes sense."

As you made your way toward the door, you hesitated—just for a second—before glancing back at him. "See you around?"

His smirk was lazy and confident. "I’m here most days."

You nodded, ignoring the way your heart did something weird in your chest before stepping outside into the night.

The next day

The coworking space felt different today. Maybe it was because you had a reason to look forward to it.

You told yourself it was just the change of scenery. That’s why you left your apartment early, grabbed your usual overpriced coffee, and took the same spot by the window. It definitely wasn’t because you were wondering if he would show up.

But then—he did.

Same black Henley, same effortless presence. He spotted you instantly, and instead of taking the seat across from you, he surprised you by sitting right next to you.

"You’re back," he said, voice just low enough that it sent a small shiver down your spine.

You tilted your head, meeting his gaze. "So are you."

He smirked. "Guess we’re both creatures of habit."

A while later, he stretched, rolling his shoulders before leaning toward you slightly. “Lunch break soon?”

You blinked at him. “I—uh, I guess?”

That smirk again, like he could see the hesitation in your eyes, like he expected it. "Good. You owe me one, remember?"

You narrowed your eyes playfully. "Oh, this is your way of collecting payback?"

He shrugged, feigning innocence. "Figured I’d cash in while I can."

You bit back a smile.

“Fine,” you said, pretending to be reluctant. “But if I buy you lunch, that means we’re even.”

“We’ll see about that,” he murmured, standing up and waiting for you to follow.

You rolled your eyes, but deep down, you knew you’d already lost.

Hope you enjoyed this one-shot! 💻☕✨ I had so much fun writing this!

What do you think happens next? Does their “totally casual” lunch turn into something more?

If you’d like a part two, let me know! I’d love to explore this further (and maybe add some tension outside of the coworking space… 👀🔥).

Thanks for reading! 💛 Reblogs, likes and comments help a lot! Please don’t steal my work or post it without credit.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fic #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #winter soldier #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky fanfic #bucky fluff #one shot fanfic #bucky one shot #sebastian stan #sebastian stan fanfiction

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dinoandguitar · 2 days ago

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"..Coffee?"

Idol!KwonSoonyoung x Staff!Reader

The first time Hoshi saw her, he nearly ran into a wall. It wasn’t dramatic like a slow-motion movie moment, but it sure felt like one.

She was standing near the practice room, listening intently to one of the senior staff members. Her clipboard was tucked under one arm, her head tilted slightly as she nodded along. Then she smiled, small but bright, like it came naturally to her.

Hoshi, mid-step, completely lost focus. One second, he was walking out of the practice room, and the next... BAM!

He smacked right into the doorframe.

"Hyung!" Dino yelped, catching his arm before he could stumble too hard. "Are you okay?" Hoshi barely heard him. His ears were ringing, and not just from the impact. He glanced up quickly, praying that she hadn’t seen..

She had.

Her eyebrows furrowed in concern, her lips parting like she was about to ask if he was alright. Hoshi panicked. He spun on his heel and speed-walked back inside, slamming the door behind him.

Dino blinked at the now-closed door before turning to the staff members. "Uh… he's fine... I think.."

♡

Over the next few days, Hoshi became painfully aware of her presence. She wasn’t around all the time, but when she was, he turned into a full-on puppy-eager, flustered, and ridiculously obvious about his crush.

"Hyung, you're staring again," Joshua said, nudging him as they sat on the practice room floor.

"I'm not!" Hoshi hissed, even though he absolutely was.

She was across the room, checking something on her clipboard while chatting with another staff member. She looked so calm and professional, and here he was, sweating over her mere existence.

Jeonghan smirked. "You're wagging your tail."

Hoshi shot him a glare. "I do not have a tail."

"You might as well with how excited you get whenever she's near."

Hoshi groaned, dropping his head onto his knees. This was ridiculous. He was Kwon Soonyoung, SEVENTEEN’s performance leader, the energetic one, the confident one. Why was he turning into a shy mess every time she was in the same room?

♡

His crush only got worse when he actually interacted with her. One day, she was passing out water bottles after a long practice session. Hoshi was mid-conversation with Mingyu when she walked up, holding one out to him with a soft smile.

"Here, you looked like you needed this," she said.

Hoshi forgot how to speak.

He stared at the bottle. Then at her. Then back at the bottle.

"Hyung, take it," Mingyu muttered.

Hoshi finally snapped out of it, grabbing the bottle way too quickly. "Thank you!" he blurted out, his voice a little too enthusiastic. She laughed—a soft, amused sound that made his heart go haywire. "No problem," she said before moving on.

Hoshi turned to Mingyu, gripping his arm. "Mingyu-yah. Did you hear that? She laughed at something I said!"

Mingyu looked unimpressed. "She laughed because you were weird."

"Doesn't matter," Hoshi whispered, clutching the water bottle to his chest. "She laughed."

Mingyu sighed. "You're hopeless."

♡

The teasing only got worse when the other members caught on. One evening, Hoshi was lingering near the break room, psyching himself up to talk to her. "Be cool," he told himself under his breath. "Just go in, say hi, and act normal—"

The moment he stepped inside, she turned and smiled. "Oh, hey Hoshi!"

He froze.

His brain blanked.

"Uh-hi! Coffee!" he blurted out. "I mean...you’re drinking coffee. Nice. That’s… great."

She blinked. Then, to his horror, she giggled."Yeah," she said, looking amused. "Do you want some?"

"No!" Hoshi yelped, then immediately regretted it. "I mean, no, I just-I was gonna- um…"

She tilted her head, waiting. Hoshi took a deep breath. Okay, just say it.

"I was wondering if...maybe...you’d like to get coffee with me? Not like this coffee but like outside coffee. With me. Together. If you want."

A long pause.

Then, she smiled. "Are you asking me out?"

Hoshi swallowed. "Yes?"

She laughed, soft and genuine. "I’d love to."

Hoshi blinked. "Wait, really?"

"Really."

He barely managed to hold back a victorious cheer. Instead, he gave a very enthusiastic nod, his grin stretching from ear to ear. "Cool! Great! Uh, I’ll text you!" he said, practically vibrating with excitement.

As she walked away, Hoshi turned the corner and immediately collapsed against the wall. His heart was racing. His hands were shaking. His entire body felt like it was on fire.

And as he entered the practice room, he knew he was in for some good teasing by his members. And as embarrassing it will be, Hoshi didn’t even care. Because he had a date with her.

And that was all that mattered.

#svt #seventeen #svt fluff #svt dino #hoshi #horanghae #hoshi fluff #kwon soonyoung #svt x reader #svt fanfic #hoshi x reader #kwon soonyoung x reader #seventeen x reader #say the name seventeen

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goodkushnalchohol · 12 hours ago

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OVERLY ENTHUSIASTIC ‧₊˚ੈ joaquin torres x fem!reader. fluff / suggestive? / you’re an avenger / after endgame / sam and bucky trio / intentional use of lowercase / not proofread

the blip wasn’t good for anyone really, except joaquin torres. yeah, of course he lost some friends and family but the outcome of it was pretty good for him. he became lieutenant in the air force, befriended sam wilson, and got awfully close to being the falcon - yet sam wouldn’t admit it.

even since before the snap, he had deeply admired the avengers, which included sam, bucky, and you, but he would never tell his friends which person he admired more.

you briefly met once in the compound for sam’s birthday party and he was surprisingly shocked at your skill in playing poker. that evening he left with an ache in his stomach and a yearn in his heart for a woman he didn’t even talk to. he threw silent curses at wanda in his head for keeping you at her side the whole night.

and though he kept silent about it to avoid getting laughed at by sam, his friend could tell he had taken a liking towards you - his stares were quite obvious.

the second time he saw you was at your very own promotion ceremony, you had been given the spot of being the presidents first man in the air, meaning you were sent on high risk air missions at the presidents command. which took a lot of work to accomplish, and was one of the many reasons why joaquin took an interest in you.

in his head you were the perfect pair. two highly trained pilots both at high ranks in the air force, you were practically made for each other. and when sam called you in to help with a mission that seemed too big for just captain america and the falcon, he realised there was so much more to you beneath your skin.

it was eight am on the dot when you arrived in the compound, the sun was shining brightly down on you as you walked, the sound of your boots hitting the pavement echoed with each step. right now, in your eyes, this was a simple mission sam needed help on - nothing extraordinary.

but you were blissfully unaware of who watched you take your strides from the upper levels of the building.

‘oh my god there she is! she’s getting so close i’m so nerv-‘

joaquin’s face was pressed to the glass wall of the common area, where he eagerly watched as you neared the entrance of the building. ‘she’s gonna see you if you keep staring like that, and that won’t be a good real first impression.’ sam spoke with humour in his tone, clearly teasing the boy.

‘how is she gonna see me if im all the way up here huh?’

‘you do know she was an avenger right? she can more than likely sense someone staring at her, that someone being you.” sam poked a finger in the tan man’s chest, who had finally pulled away from the window and approached sam.

he scoffed at sam, and felt a pang of anxiety in his chest when his friend uttered those words. ‘well jokes on you, because i was a stealth pilot!’ he said, gesturing to the air force logo on his shirt with a smirk

‘so was she.’

sam patted his friend on the back, laughing as he did so. ‘for someone so skilled in tech, you are so dumb with words.’

the door to the room buzzed as it opened, allowing your entrances to be known. your eyes immediately found sam’s, the two of you breaking into giddy grins after in so long.

‘good morning cap.’ your voice was dangerously sly, sarcasm lacing your lips as you joked.

‘now don’t you dare start talking to me like a 1960s war veteran.’

you both laughed, bringing each other into tight hugs once you finally reached one another. you pulled away, eyes meeting with another young man behind sam. you smiled cheekily, watching as the he stumbled over his introduction.

‘good morning lieutenant or um - ma’am - y/n, it’s uh, nice to meet you officially.’ he gave an awkward grin as he shook your hand, glancing at sam briefly with embarrassment in his eyes.

‘ugh don’t start with that official bullshit, call me y/n.’

sam chuckled at his teammate, finding his new behaviour funny. ‘y/n i want you to meet my newest recruit, joaquin torres.’ he couldn’t have been much younger than you, maybe a year or so behind you in flight training.

you smiled at the fondness in his eyes, remembering how he once introduced you to bucky and steve the same way before the blip, back then you were the new recruit, who received all the snarky jokes and comments.

‘looks like you’ve finally passed on the bird suit, i am so not gonna miss red wing.

the two men shook their heads laughing, well aware of your feelings around the drone. ‘uh no way, i still got him on my new suit, you’re never getting rid of him. i never understood why you and nat don’t like him.’

you raised your hands in mock defence, chucking to yourself. ‘it’s like an insect following you around in fights, it’s annoying.’ joaquin and sam exchanged glances, tutting at your words. ‘hey i love red wing, just so you know.’ joaquin butted in, that boy really wanted you like him, but he can’t stand red wing slander.

‘suck up.’

his head spun to face you, a hurt expression etched on his features. ‘alright alright, why don’t we go to my office and review the mission.’ sam waved his hand dismissively, brushing off your comment towards joaquin.

‘can’t have you two having a brawl before we even get started.’

after you gathered in sam’s office to discuss the missions rules, actions and procedures, you eventually noticed how skilled joaquin was in his work, and how he looked more than happy to obey sam’s orders. he seemed to be the perfect fit for sam since bucky went askew to become congressman, maybe - just maybe, you could stick around to fill the space you were previously in.

you were currently laid on the large leather couch in the room, and was researching more about adamantium when sam suddenly left, claimed he had samples he needed to check on, leaving you and joaquin alone in his office.

the silence was peaceful, and you were content to work alone, joaquin on the other hand, was not. the poor man who was given the task of getting more information on the buyer was clawing his eyeballs out as he stared at his computer screen. he wanted to talk to you so badly, but he was just so nervous of seeming uncool that he didn’t know what to say.

luckily for him, you were the one who broke the silence.

‘i saw you staring at me from the window by the way, i couldn’t tell if you wanted me to notice or not.’ he groaned into his hands with embarrassment, sam was right. as always.

you peered at him from the top of your computer, laughing at his weird antics. ‘i’m sorry, i didn’t want to come off as annoying and i think your really cool - because you were an avenger and stuff -‘ not for any other reason. ‘and i was eager to meet you.’

a small smile broke out on your face from his sheepish confession, and you put your computer to the side. you soon found yourself in a deep conversation about the avengers, talking about who you thought was the strongest or funniest or overall best.

‘no way you think tony was the coolest! it’s obviously steve!’

‘absolutely not. you’re only saying that because you’re captain americas sidekick, iron man is way cooler than cap and tony is also cooler than steve. there’s no denying it!’

your efforts to defend tony went through deaf ears as joaquin explained why steve was the best choice. ‘let’s just agree to disagree, alright?’ the man finally stopped his endless rant about steve rogers and eventually agreed to finish.

he sighed softly, pondering more questions to ask you. ‘oh! who actually makes the best jokes. 3..2..1..go!’

‘thor.’

you jumped up in joy as you finally agreed on something, the both of you laughing as you simultaneously said your answers. the atmosphere was radiant now, with the two of you comfortably talking about this random topic.

‘y’know you’re actually a pretty funny guy, even though i’ve only known you a couple hours.’ you said quietly, as you stared as his side profile. he was also pretty handsome too, but you weren’t gonna tell him that. not yet anyway.

joaquin felt his ego inflate at your words, and the tips of his ears redden, and he only prayed you didn’t notice it. he left his spot at the desk a while ago and was now sat beside you on the couch, with your laptop forgotten about on the coffee table.

you two had also gotten closer with all the jumping and moving about you did, so now you’re placed directly infront of him with your hands on his knees which were almost tucked to his chest.

‘well you’re actually better than what everyone made you out to be.’ he admitted yet still in a taunting tone.

you raised a brow at his comment, curious about how others talk about you. ‘oh? how so?’ your response came out slowly, questioning his words.

he shook his head bashfully, while thinking about what to say. ‘i don’t know how to say it, i guess you’re just.. perfect.’ you laughed at his wording, trying to bring your hopes back down because there was no way he thought that highly of you.

‘you really think so?’

he hadn’t realised the true meaning behind his sentence until you said that, but he did infact mean it. he really did think you were perfect. his breath caught in his throat as he looked in your eyes, nodding as a reply. he really hoped you didn’t notice his face heating up.

‘yeah.’

he reached out to push a strand of your hair behind your ear, lightly caressing your jaw as he did so. the two of you leaned in, getting closer as you nearly met in the middle. he was right there, if either of you moved an inch you would -

‘cmon guys, we gotta head to this base to get some samples and away from all distractions’ sam bursted through the door, gathering his bag and suit as he walked in. he was loud and authoritative, and real glad he put a stop to whatever you were about to do.

you leapt from your seat on the couch, slightly embarrassed at what you were doing. ‘i’ll get my gear from my car and meet you guys in the parking lot.’

once you left the room and left the two men in silence, they both stared at each other in annoyance and disbelief.

‘man i cannot believe you did that.’

‘i can’t believe you did that! i was so close!’ joaquin threw his hands in the air, bothered by his friend’s interruption. sam shook his head at the dark haired man, acting like a single father trying to parent his teenager.

‘is this why you were overly enthusiastic about her joining us?’

©veluques - pls do not copy/post my works on any other platforms!!

#joaquin torres #joaquin torres x reader #joaquin torres x you #x reader #the falcon and the winter soldier #the falcon x reader #the falcon #captain america #captain america brave new world #brave new world #marvel #sam wilson #bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #steve rogers #tony stark #wanda maximoff #veluques #danny ramirez

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cinnashuas · 3 days ago

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Guess WHO! - boynextdoor smau

𓂃۶ৎ SYNOPSIS : When multiple leaked photos ignite a wildfire of speculation, the world is certain—BOYNEXTDOOR'S Y/N is secretly dating one of the members. But who? No one knows, and you refuse to clear the air. Instead, you turn the chaos into a game, scattering cryptic clues and half-truths while every member plays along, deepening the mystery. Every glance, every post, every moment is a riddle waiting to be solved. Is the answer hidden in plain sight, or are you leading everyone in circles? How far can a secret stretch before it unravels? And when it does—will anyone be ready for the truth?

CHAPTER 04 : Thomas the Train

When you arrived at the dorm’s front entrance, Jaehyun was already there—leaning casually against the door like he was the lead in some K-drama. His dark hair fell perfectly over his forehead as he tilted his head slightly when he saw you approaching, an infuriatingly smug smile curling his lips.

“You’re late,” he said, even though you had arrived exactly on time.

You blinked at him, unimpressed. “I’m leaving,” you deadpanned, pivoting on your heel without another word.

Before you could take a full step, Jaehyun reached out and caught your wrist, laughing softly under his breath. His touch was warm against your skin, and you hated how easily he managed to stop you without any real effort.

“Relax—it’s a joke,” he said, his voice low and smooth. “Manager-hyung dumped an errand on me, and I need someone to help pick up the stage outfits. Congratulations, you’re the lucky winner.”

You exhaled through your nose, already regretting showing up. “And why exactly did it have to be me?”

Jaehyun shrugged like it was obvious. “Because you love spending time with me. And because everyone else is busy with their other totally 'important' errands.”

“Smart of them,” You muttered, already imagining the mountain of bags and boxes you’d have to lug back.

He grinned, unfazed by your lack of enthusiasm. “Come on, think of it as quality bonding time.” Then, as if that wasn’t enough of a bribe, he added, “I’ll buy you a drink after.”

“A drink? I want a whole bakery after this,” You huffed, though your feet were already moving to follow him.

“Greedy,” Jaehyun teased, falling into step beside you. “I like it.”

The trip to the stylist’s studio was surprisingly smooth—no missing pieces, no arguments about who should carry what. The only real disruption was Jaehyun’s insistence on flexing his biceps every time he picked up a heavy box, as though he were starring in a personal gym commercial.

“You are not the Hulk. Calm down,” You muttered, adjusting your grip on a much lighter box while watching Jaehyun pose unnecessarily in the mirror.

“Can the Hulk pull off this fit?” he shot back, striking a dramatic pose that highlighted the curve of his jaw and the broad line of his shoulders.

“I’m literally praying for your downfall,” You said dryly, shifting the box higher to hide the small smile tugging at your lips.

By the time the both of you were finished, your arms were sore, and your patience was running thin. You were halfway back to the dorm when Jaehyun suddenly gasped and froze in place, causing you to bump into him with a soft “oof.”

“What now?” you asked, already bracing for whatever nonsense was about to come out of his mouth.

Jaehyun pointed toward the entrance of a convenience store as if he had just discovered the meaning of life. “OH MY GOD,” he exclaimed, his voice filled with awe.

“What?” You followed his gaze, confused—until your eyes landed on a tiny, coin-operated Thomas the Train kiddie ride sitting just outside the store.

“No,” you said immediately, shaking your head.

“Yes,” Jaehyun insisted, already making his way toward it with far too much excitement for someone his age. “Take a picture of me. For the memories.”

“You’re a grown man—”

“And still the cutest in the group. Now hurry up before someone sees.”

You sighed, placing your box down carefully on the pavement. “I’m not bailing you out if you get stuck.” But despite your complaints, you were already pulling out your phone.

Jaehyun, with absolutely no hesitation, squeezed himself onto the miniature train seat. His long legs dangled awkwardly over the side, but the bright grin on his face made him look more like an overgrown child than the leader of a popular idol group.

“Okay, smile or whatever,” You said, biting back a laugh as you snapped a few photos.

“Wait, wait—get one of me pretending to drive it,” Jaehyun instructed, grabbing the plastic handlebars.

“You are unbelievable.”

By the time he was satisfied, your camera roll was filled with a series of ridiculous photos—Jaehyun pretending to steer the train with intense focus, him doing a dramatic salute, and even one where he attempted a ‘cool guy’ pose that only made the whole scene more absurd.

Still seated on the train, Jaehyun pulled out his phone and scrolled through the photos you sent him. “Okay, these are a masterpiece,” he declared, selecting the most chaotic shot of himself.

“You’re actually going to post that?” you raised a brow.

“Of course.” His fingers moved swiftly across the screen as he typed a caption. Within seconds, the notification popped up on your feed:

@myngjae :

"Errands = done ✅ Quality bonding = achieved ✅ Thomas = conquered ✅"

You snorted. “You’re going to regret this when the fans start making memes.”

Jaehyun, unbothered, stretched his arms above his head. “Memes mean I’m doing my job right. Besides,” he added, flashing you a lazy smile, “now you have proof of our bonding session. You’re welcome.”

“You’re lucky I tolerate you,” You muttered, bending down to grab the box again.

Jaehyun fell into step beside you, chuckling softly. “Admit it—you’d be bored without me.”

And, as much as you hated to admit it, maybe he wasn’t entirely wrong.

previous masterlist next

@cinnashuas ☁️

taglist : @lvlyhiyyih @supi-wupi @tinyelfperson @heeheesang @molensworld @opheliaas-stuff @taesanfav @bbyinni @minfolio @mbella607 @cinnamonshuaa

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phoenixblaze1412 · 2 days ago

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So glad to see a Dottore writer! Can I ask for dottore and the segments with a reader who oversleeps a lot? someone who sleeps like 12-14 hours. sleepiest guy ever.

The first time Dottore realized how much you overslept, he assumed it was a one-time occurrence. A simple exhaustion, nothing more. But as time passed, it became glaringly obvious.

You were, without a doubt, the sleepiest person in all of Snezhnaya.

Twelve to fourteen hours of sleep a day? Completely normal for you.

Nodding off mid-experiment? A weekly event.

Disappearing for "just a quick nap" and waking up the next morning? Routine.

Dottore, of course, found it both fascinating and mildly concerning. As a scientist, he initially considered analyzing your sleep patterns, wondering if some neurological anomaly was at play.

But after repeated tests revealed nothing unusual besides an innate talent for sleeping anywhere, anytime. He resigned himself to the reality that you were simply like this. The segments, however, all had their own ways of dealing with your chronic drowsiness.

Alpha: The Most Responsible (and Slightly Annoyed)

Alpha took it upon himself to try and keep you on schedule. Emphasis on try as Theta would say. He’d knock on your door in the mornings with an exasperated sigh, already expecting no response.

“Wake up. It’s nearly noon.”

Silence.

Alpha knocked again, harder. “I’m not asking.”

Still nothing.

By the third attempt, he simply resorted to dragging your blanket off the bed, knowing it was the only thing that might stir you.

It didn’t.

Sighing, he pinched the bridge of his nose before calling for the others. “We need backup.”

Theta: The Chaos Enabler

Theta found your sleepiness hilarious. Unlike Alpha, he wasn’t interested in fixing your sleep schedule—he was interested in seeing just how deep your slumber truly was.

“How long do you think it’ll take for them to wake up if I draw on their face?” he asked Zeta one morning.

Zeta, ever composed, sighed. “That’s childish.”

Theta grinned. “You’re right. We should stack things on them instead.”

Dottore eventually had to ban “experiments” involving your unconscious body when he walked in to find a precariously balanced tower of books, vials, and a very confused laboratory rat resting on your back while you continued to sleep peacefully.

Zeta: The Quiet Observer

Zeta didn’t interfere much with your sleeping habits, but he did take note of how it affected your well-being. If you had trouble focusing after waking up or if you seemed groggy for too long, he would wordlessly hand you a strong cup of tea and remind you to pace yourself.

“You don’t have to rush,” he’d say whenever you stumbled into the lab, hair still a mess from sleep. “Just be awake enough not to mix volatile chemicals incorrectly.”

That had happened once. Just once. And no one wanted a repeat of it.

Epsilon: The Concerned One

Unlike the others, Epsilon actually worried about your excessive sleeping. “Maybe it’s a deficiency,” he suggested one day. “Or an underlying illness. We should run more tests.”

Dottore hummed in consideration before glancing at you, drooling on your desk in the middle of a meeting. “…Or they could just be lazy.”

Epsilon frowned. “I don’t think laziness explains this level of unconsciousness.”

Dottore chuckled. “No, but watching the others struggle to wake them up is entertaining.”

Dottore: The Only One Who Can Wake You Instantly

Despite all the segments’ attempts, there was only one undeniable fact: when Dottore himself called your name, you woke up immediately.

Whether it was fear, respect, or some kind of Pavlovian response, no one knew.

Theta once tested this theory by mimicking Dottore’s tone and cadence. It failed miserably.

You slept through it.

But the moment the real Dottore leaned over your bed and murmured, “If you don’t wake up in the next ten seconds, I’m increasing your workload,” your eyes snapped open instantly.

Dottore smirked. “Fascinating.”

The others groaned. “That’s not fair.”

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #dottore #dottore x reader #zandik x reader #il dottore #il dottore x reader #gender neutral reader

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melyapperofthecentury · 3 days ago

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HUGE RANT AND SPOILERS ON CH14 OF TOKYO DEBUNKER!!

TKDB Devs when I catch you....

HOOOLLLLLYYYY PEAK JIYURI THIS WAS SOMETHING!!!! GOD. GOOD GOD. You know I downloaded Tokyo Debunker purely for how fine Jiro was but the complexity of Yuri's characters has me in an iron grip dude. He's my fav now my numero one alongside Jiro.

Yuri's fear of failing to treat patients is such a real one. As a doctor you're in control of human lives and in charge of treating them. A single error or misdiagnosis can lead to death like shown in the mystery here. I feel like Mortkranken missions are always going to show that- how even though anomalous substances or beings were involved it's ultimately a human's fault. GODDDHHHH I SWEAR THEY ONLY COOK HARD WITH MORTKRANKEN. It's why they're my fav house.

Putting aside the case.... YURI. YUUUURIII OOHHHH MY SHAYYYLAAAAA MY BAAABBYYYYYGIIIRRRRRLLLLL OHHHHHHHHH

OH I ALWAYS KNEW IT.

JIN WHEN I CATCH YOU!!! WHEN I CATCH YOU JINNY BOY WHEN I CATCH YOU!!!!

OARAAAGAGGAGAGGH HES BEEN AN OPP SINCE THE BEGINNING FUCKING HAAATE FROSTHEIM HOUSE EXCEPT FOR LUCA AND KAITO.

No hate to anyone who likes the characters and houses I hate ofc LMAO BUT STIILLLL JINNNN YOU ASSSSSSSS YOU WHOLE ASSSSS YOU AND YOUR GEN STUDENTS ASSSSSSSS

YURI MY LOVELY LOVELY DOCTOR.... MY SWEET POOKIE PIE...!!! YOU DIDN'T DESERVE THIISSSSSSSSSSSS

ehe crashing out over BUT

I do want to point out Jiro's behaviour since alot of people may take it to be cold and harsh TRUST ME MY BOY JUST DOES NOT KNOW HOW TO COMMUNICATE HIS FEELINGS PROPERLY.

I think here Jiro really just didn't know what to do or how to comfort Yuri. I think he contemplated for a while and tried what he could later on. Also that he didn't show much or any emotion Infront of those frostheim students because he believes giving them a reaction will only make them want to belittle them more.

"do it when we're alone" ok gayass doctor

AHEM BUT YES. This part ohhh this part. The reason Jiro asks Yuri if there's a point in crying that time is because Yuri thinks logically and he doesn't do pointless things he's very diligent and consumed in his work. So don't cry, Yuri. There isn't a point in crying so don't be so sad without a point to it. DONT CRYYYYY I WILL CRY AWUWYUWGWHWGHAGAGGGGGGHHHHH

ehem besides Jiro telling Yuri to cry when they're alone together if he really does need to cry- THE COMFORT AND HEALTH IN THAT RELATIONSHIP DEAR GOD 😭🙏🙏🙏🙏 MY SCIENTIST YAOI!!!!

Jiro calls Yuri pathetic..... Now at first glance when those decibels hit my ears I was like NOOOOO WHAT DO YOU MEEEAAAANNANANANNSHHWHWBBW BUT then I thought and I found out! It's the same reason why Jiro didn't show any emotions to those frostheim germs! Jiro didn't want Yuri to cry out in the open because if someone sees him in that state they'll make fun of him and call him pathetic. Yuri is being weak and vulnerable and Jiro doesn't want that to be taken advantage of especially when he's already been ridiculed by those scummy frostheim germs. So don't cry, Yuri, it looks pathetic and I don't want anyone to ridicule you for that.

god they're so gay THEYRE SO GAY. YURI'S WARDING CARD PROVES THEYRE GAY. THEY ARE YAOI. anyway we also see Jiro mentioning the incubation period which we know what happened with the Oui, C'est Bon and Aizono. This was Jiro revealing a part of the case that didn't make sense and giving a hint to Yuri to solve it. Why was this so urgent? Well besides obvious reasons, It's so Yuri could make a breakthrough and solve the case himself which is something that brings him joy! And we see him cheer up after that.... GODDD I LOVE HIIMM. I LOVE THEEEMMMMMMM.

Jiro smiling like a gayass when realizing Yuri found out the truth of the case.... MY YAOIS.... MY BOYFRIENDS.... Well not MY boyfriends but like they're boyfriends and they're my baby pookie gays I love them so much.

#tokyo debunker #tkdb #yuri isami #jiro kirisaki #jiyuri #mortkranken #jiro x yuri #tkdb spoilers #tdb #tkdb ep 14 #tkdb episode 14

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4zahara · 3 days ago

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02 | Let's Stay Home

←Previous. Masterlist. Next→

Word Count: +4k

A/N: English is not my first language. Please be patient with the grammar. I really tried to finish this chapter earlier. I had it written halfway but things happened and it arrived a week early! I think... my sense of time has left me and this ship.

His sister was weird.

Jason had no idea what, exactly, to pinpoint—other than her general demeanor made him reach the conclusion. It wasn’t just your eyes, which always seemed to search for a face on his head, or hair which looked like it had survived electrocution. Maybe it was your personality.

Whatever had been bothering him seemed to settle the longer he sat on the floor, however, processing his new situation.

He wasn't comfortable. He shifted onto the couch when (Name) returned with towels—actually clean ones. Jason placed a folded one on the cushions under him and sat down again, another draped over his shoulders to warm him up—you looked genuinely worried about him getting sick and needing a hospital visit neither of you could afford—the third was involuntarily forced over his head for good measure. He might as well cross "Halloween costume" off his to-do list. He'd be Casper the Friendly Ghost this year.

Although, he wiped the metallic taste of either blood or hunger with the back of his sleeve to speak again, a yawn won its way out. Swallowing saliva could only do so much for him the longer the night got.

"I have—" a voice called from the kitchen, about five feet from where he sat. "Pizza? There are some leftovers too, but I doubt you'll want that."

Jason's drifting attention focus for once and he perked up immediately.

"You have pizza?" he asked—not exactly excited.

Unlike most kids, Jason didn’t get excited at the mere thought of bread with things on top. Even if beloved for many the dish had long since lost its appeal to him. When had a large pizza not been cheaper than a bag of vegetables around here? Too much of anything was unhealthy—not that he really thought about that. He had eaten enough in a single week to make him want to avoid cheese altogether. Eating healthy was expensive. It didn’t take a genius to figure that out.

"What are the leftovers?" he asked, forcing a strained smile through gritted teeth.

"I'll heat it up for you. It's just rice, chicken, corn—basically a salad."

Jason quickly stood on shaky legs, his eyes never leaving the silhouette of you. Obviously there was lack of trust. Maybe—and just maybe—you reminded him too much of Catherine too.

Weirdly enough, the thought eased his sore chest. Something about seeing you, Jason didn’t want to think too hard about.

He missed his mom.

You looked like her.

Without another word from you, he trailed into the kitchen, dismissing the ache spreading everywhere.

"So... you came because of Mom? What happened?" You hesitated. "Did she and Dad got into another fight? Is that why he's arrested?"

A complicated look crossed his eyes just as he forced the noncommittal response.

"No, it wasn't like that. Willis went away for something else... Mom is—she's not taking it well and... needs you," he leaned against the counter, facing away but still watching you.

Ever since hearing you describe Catherine as unfit to be left alone—even if she not alone with Willis anymore but by herself—Jason’s worry skyrocketed. He kept telling himself she’d be fine without him for one night...

Now keeping his jaw clenched at the thought.

Willis could shove a rusty pipe up his ass.

As the stove flickered to life, heating up the so-called "salad", it was safe to say, a microwave-sized box was too big to hide and too heavy to run with, when you had none.

His sister glanced at him briefly then back to the stove—an action you repeated often. It was obvious you had questions enough for Jason to notice.

Even admitting it would be wishful thinking; to assume it was for his sake you were keeping all of them in.

His gaze flickered around the room to nothing in particular, as if wasn't even made aware of how restless his mind had become—grasping for anything to distract him.

Old bruises and burns on his skin layered with the fresh ones from getting mugged, started to ache. Random memories surfaced, each more unwelcome than the last. And then, the worst thought of all—what else was happening back home?

Dad was gone. But when he realized Jason had up and left, he would’ve been furious.

He’d probably have taken it out on Catherine.

Jason took a shaky breath, trying to suppress the anxiety clawing its way up his throat. He looked at the ceiling, at the stains there, forcing himself to focus. Trying to calm down.

Everything around him seemed to halt—until you placed a plate in front of him. Only then did Jason snap back to himself.

It took him a moment to pull out of his thoughts, and when he did, his eyes widened slightly. He stared down at the plate—rice, chicken, and whatever else you'd thrown in.

You didn’t have anything for yourself, but he caught you eyeing the pizza slices in the fridge.

“…Thanks,” he muttered before shoving a bite into his mouth. It wasn’t poisoned. And, surprisingly, it was good. Then again, maybe that was just the hunger talking.

It took him barely thirty seconds to finish half the plate. He wanted more—needed more—but forced himself to slow down. His body wouldn’t handle too much too soon.

You watched for a moment.

You handed him a glass of water.

Jason glanced at it, then back at you, silently studying your expression, trying to figure you out.

You were… kind. You’d taken him in, given him food—at the very least, you pitied him.

God knows why.

No.

Jason knew why. He knew exactly what he looked like. But he figured you had no business judging him, considering your own appearance.

Not that he was one to judge, either.

He reached out and gently grabbed the glass, taking a sip and letting the cool liquid soothe his dry throat. He would’ve thanked her, but he didn’t.

“What’s with the name on that mug?”

He asked, glancing beside her at a Christmas-themed cup with a name that definitely wasn’t yours.

"Ah. Dunno... I guess it’s the lady who’s supposed to be living here?"

"Someone lives with you?"

"If someone taller than you asks, then yes. Auntie—" She squinted, holding up the mug to read the name. "Gloria... Huh."

Yup. Definitely weird.

Jason knew it wasn’t true the second the name passed her lips because Catherine never mentioned a sister or an aunt. But Willis? That was a different story…

Jason blinked on edge again.

“Auntie Gloria?” he repeats, his eyebrows furrowed together as he tries to think of how to face a possible adult. The idea of an older relative living with you and him not noticing until now was confusing enough on its own, but the name was unfamiliar.

“Wait… she’s related to us?” Carefully adding himself to the mix, but for the sake of his mental health, he indulged for the first of many times to come in not asking about it again when you looked even slightly conflicted.

Ignorance was a blessing and you were underage, so it'll make sense you'll lie to adults about an imaginary aunt.

Jason couldn't risk slipping. You'd be everything he'd had to rely on when he manages to convince you to come with him back home to help with mom.

No doubt that he'll drag you home if he had to.

He had no choice.

He needed your help with Mom and he hated it. Hated how the air felt heavier the longer he stood there. Hated that his sister had chosen *this* place over home.

But mostly, he hated the gnawing fear in his chest—the one that had only grown stronger ever since he walked through that door.

"You need to come back," he said, voice tighter than he meant it to be. He’d practiced what he was going to say on the way here, but now it was all unraveling like the blocks he walked talking to himself under the rain meant nothing. "Mom’s sick, and I—I can’t do this alone, (Name)."

It was a rare admission for him.

You took a seat in front of him and his half eaten plate. Cross-legged under the table but changing your posture as if never truly settled. Probably why you didn’t look up right away. The dim light made your already hard to read face, harder than it was, casting sharp angles where softness used to be.

You exhaled through your nose. "Jason—"

"Please," he cut in, wanting to stand up, heart hammering against his ribs made his legs disobey. "I need you. She needs you."

Something flickered across your face then, quick and uncertain that made you chew on your bottom lip and your fingers tangle absentmindedly, and for a second—a brief, agonizing second—Jason thought you might refuse outright.

He readied himself and picked a counter argument of which he had a lot.

Instead, you sighed.

"Tomorrow," you said. "It’s dark. And it’s raining."

His breath caught. "So… you’ll come back?"

You hesitated. Just for a moment.

Then you nodded. "Tomorrow."

Relief crashed into him like a wave, but it didn’t settle right. There was something about the way you said it—vague, distant, reluctant.

Telling him what he wanted to hear. Just to soothe him.

Jason swallowed hard, pushing that thought down. Tomorrow. You said tomorrow. He'll only calm down once you are at home, but this was enough for now.

Even if something about the way you sat in that dit felt like you were slipping through his fingers.

══════════════ • ✧ • ══════════════

The rain hadn’t let up. If anything, it was getting worse—pounding against the windows, turning the city outside into a smear of dim streetlights and endless shadows.

Jason had refused the bed you so kindly offered him in favor of dozing off curled up awkwardly in the couch, exhaustion pulling him under despite the unease still crawling under his skin.

You sat by the window, knees drawn to your chest, eyes distant, not going to bed yourself because you'll feel guilty for sleeping comfortably while your baby brother struggled to sleep on the couch with a humid towel as a blanket.

And just maybe he thought you were weird for that.

The silence stretched, thick and heavy, until his voice—low from disuse but child-like pitched—broke through it.

"Is it bad to miss someone you can’t even remember?"

For a moment, you didn’t move.

Didn’t even breathe.

Then, slowly, you turned your head.

The words settled deep into your bones, curling around old wounds, reopening stitches sewed with dental floss you have been holding shut with both hands around the stretch marks simulating fingers.

It was not the time for an analogy but your unaware grip tightened slightly against the fabric of your sleeves.

"I missed you," words pushed through softly.

The rain kept falling.

No memory could fill the gap—it had been too long ago, and he had been too young. All he could do was piece together imagined scenarios, trying to soothe himself, only to shudder at the thought of them.

Maybe wanting a real family had been too much to ask for.

A home without a deadbeat dad. A mother who wasn’t drowning in addiction. A sister who never would have left him—never would have left him like you did. And maybe even a family dog.

But that wasn’t the life he got.

And you? You failed.

A bad sister to Jason. A bad daughter to Catherine. You left them with your father, and that truth weighed on you like an unshakable burden. The one absolute you carried on your shoulders.

You felt cold as the monster of your own making clawed at your ribcage from the inside, desperate to break free.

But the real problem—the one you couldn’t afford to face—was how much you missed home.

You couldn't do that to yourself. You couldn't want what you ran from.

Because nothing was more dangerous than the illusion of a family that never really existed.

Jason paused at your words, glancing up.

Normally, your carefree nature would have prompted some teasing remark about staring. But now, the silence stretched between you, heavy and unbroken.

Something he had to say without letting himself stutter.

"You missed… me?"

Almost wanting to brush it off as an empty platitude, something said out of obligation. But deep down, in the twisting knot of his gut, Jason knew you meant every single word. The weight of it had been steeping in years of regret and unspoken sorrow.

And then there was the very idea of you missing him—which was both baffling and, to his surprise, oddly comforting.

"A little weird, out of the blue. I know," you admitted, backpedaling. "I just don’t get why you hardly remember me… I wasn’t gone that long."

Yet weird was putting it lightly.

Jason swallowed hard, his heart clenching painfully under the weight of emotions he couldn’t fully name.

He wanted to remember. God, he wanted to remember you—everything about you. Whatever moments you’d shared, whatever time you'd had together before it all went to hell. He reached for those memories, clawed for them, but nothing surfaced. Nothing real.

His breath wavered as he forced himself to stay steady.

"I… I wish I did. Dammit." His voice was quiet, edged with frustration.

"It 's okay. I'll remember. It’s not enough, but it’s what we get."

Jason nodded slightly, but something about that statement stuck with him.

He couldn’t remember you. And he probably never would.

Other people got their warm family moments, their second chances. But not them.

He took another shaky breath, fighting the lump in his throat, while you turned away, staring blankly out the window.

"It sucks," he murmured, avoiding your gaze. There were no portraits on the walls, just a scattering of trinkets everywhere.

"Like Dad used to say—‘Life’s a bitch, and then you die.’"

Jason scoffed. Of course that was something Dad would say.

"Don’t do that, though..."

He looked up, meeting your tired expression as you side-eyed him.

“Don’t die…?” he echoed, lacing his words with sarcasm. “Yeah, okay… I’ll get right on that.”

"Good boy." You offered a thumbs-up.

Jason snorted in disbelief, rolling his eyes as he crossed his arms.

Still… he appreciated it. Keeping himself alive had been hard, but something about the praise made his chest feel a little warmer. Not that he was about to acknowledge it.

"You talk like some old lady," he teased.

"You eat like a dog."

Jason gasped, feigning offense. "I do not eat like a dog," he argued, his voice dripping with exaggerated indignation. "I eat like a growing boy who’s going through puberty and also hadn’t eaten in days and was basically starving, thank you very much."

"What puberty could you possibly be going through? You're eight."

Jason huffed, rolling his eyes before responding, utterly insulted. "I’m turning eleven next month. Which means I’m almost twelve. And then thirteen."

He sounded genuinely offended.

"And I’ve already started growing," he added, even though it was painfully obvious he hadn’t—still a four-foot ball of snark.

"Oh? Growing roots or…?"

Jason groaned, pouting in annoyance. He clearly hated the teasing.

"I've grown, I’ll have you know," he insisted, trying his best to sound confident. "I can cook now and—and I found my way here alone, too."

"I can tell you did," you said, watching him carefully. "Can’t imagine what that must’ve been like."

It was subtle. A small probe, a quiet way of fishing for details.

Maybe Catherine had known you were here.

The smirk faltered—but Jason covered it with a scoff. Mouth opened to ask how you ended up here. But then he hesitated, remembering the promise you’d made him make earlier. He didn’t want to risk breaking it.

Still, it tugged at him.

He thought about asking anyway. But it could hurt.

“…Why here, anyway?” His voice held a tinge of curiosity. “Do you really live here alone?”

"You met the neighbor," you replied, lips curling into a squinting little smile.

Glasses. That had to be it. You probably needed glasses—that’s why your eyes looked so weird.

Focusing on that theory was a hundred times better than thinking about the kind of people who might live here. The kind that had you so scared before.

Because he’d already decided—he was going to believe you weren’t scary.

His gaze flickered around the abandoned building again. Yeah… still not convinced.

It was subtle, but Jason had a habit of checking his surroundings. Always. And you noticed.

“How bad is your vision?” he asked bluntly.

"My vision?" You raised an eyebrow. "I can see you just fine."

Jason rolled his eyes, smirking. "I’m not saying you’re completely blind. I’m asking if you need glasses."

He didn’t add that the squinting seemed suspicious. Instead, he flashed you an innocent smile before adding,

“You look like an owl when you do that, you know that, right?”

"Do what?"

You tilted your head slightly, just like a bird—clearly on purpose, just to mess with him.

Jason couldn't help the small smile tugging at his lips.

"That." He motioned toward your head. "Stop that."

He wasn’t really annoyed, though. He was amused.

Something about the way you focused on him, how you responded to everything he said, how you kept looking at him—not just hearing him but listening…

It made his chest feel warm.

Jason shifted, reluctant to leave the warmth of the couch. Exhaustion clung to him, but something about the quiet moment pulled him up.

With a sluggish motion, he pushed himself upright, the towels draped over his shoulders slipping slightly. Instinctively he grabbed onto them, pulling as they were his armor against the lingering cold. The one on his head slid forward though, nearly covering his eyes, and he huffed. There had to be a reason why he tugged it back into place before letting out a quiet sigh when he could have just thrown them around.

Bare feet padding softly against the floor, made his way to your side. Towels rustling with every step. The warmth they held was fading, but he kept them wrapped around him anyway.

By the window, he didn’t say anything at first—just gave a little jump to sit on the counter with you, close enough that his shoulder nearly brushed yours, staring out at whatever had your attention.

Jason reached out, one hand wrapping around your arm while the other cupped your cheek, gently but firmly keeping your head still.

His eyes narrowed studying you—staring at you—his expression unreadable.

“Do you need glasses or something?” he asked bluntly.

"What?"

"You keep closing one eye like that. You look like an owl." He repeated.

"An owl? Like... hoot hoot?"

Jason scoffed at your lame attempt at an owl impression.

“Owls don’t even make that sound,” he shot back, his voice dripping with sarcasm—but the amused smirk tugging at his lips betrayed any real annoyance.

"I tried," you defended with a small shrug. "I’ve never seen an owl in my life."

"Me neither. But I know they don't sound like that,"

With a sigh, Jason finally let go of your face and arm, but not before tapping the top of your head in some vague, brotherly gesture.

“Now answer me. Glasses—yes or no?”

"Probably?" You popped the *p* before hesitating, still smiling but uncertain.

"I can see…" Your eyes narrowed, focusing like it required actual effort. Finally, with newfound, almost forced optimism, you pointed.

"The couch," you declared with newfound optimism from somewhere.

Jason didn’t even bother holding back his expression—half unimpressed, half entertained.

You just couldn’t help it. Something about him was so amusing. If not a little annoying.

“You’re nearly blind, then,” Jason said, his eyes widening like he had just stumbled upon a groundbreaking discovery. Somehow, despite being as blunt as ever, he didn’t sound mean—just genuinely baffled.

“So, the door? You can barely see that behind me? And—and when you stared at me outside, it was because you couldn’t see me?"

“Yeaaaah, sure,” you drawled, dragging out the word. “That’s why I stared at you for so long…”

Jason didn’t catch the sarcasm. If anything, the idea only made him more fascinated, his eyes practically glowing with curiosity.

He turned his head away, trying (and failing) to hide the red creeping up his face behind a cough.

“Wait, wait, wait—you mean to tell me that you were just standing there, squinting at me like that because you couldn’t even tell it was me at the door?”

You didn’t have the heart to tell him the truth, not when he looked at you like that—like a kid uncovering some great mystery.

The truth was, you hadn’t recognized him at first. And then, when you did, you had hesitated for too many seconds, unwilling to acknowledge it.

So instead, you just stained your smile onto your face, squinted at him again, and shrugged.

“A bit.”

You’d rather let him think you were blind than admit to the real reason. And, to be fair, it wasn’t entirely a lie—your vision did blur every so often.

Jason let out a short laugh at your answer, shaking his head.

“A bit, you say? You straight up stared at me, and I thought you were just crazy or something.” He laughed again, but after a second, his expression shifted. His gaze flickered over the way your eyes kept narrowing and refocusing, and a small frown tugged at his lips.

“…You can’t see anything far away at all, can you?”

"Hey!”

Jason raised a brow, crossing his arms as he held up two fingers right in front of your face.

“You can see what… how many fingers am I holding up, then?”

Deciding to humor him, you rolled your eyes before deliberately answering wrong.

“Four.”

“Ha! Nope, wrong.” Jason waved the two fingers closer to your face, smirking as if he’d just won a game. “You really got that wrong? C’mon, try again.”

His grin was practically gleeful as he held up the same two fingers, waiting expectantly.

You squinted dramatically, leaning in like a grandma reading the fine print on a receipt.

“Oh! …Two!”

Jason narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Is that an actual answer or a guess, you blind bat?”

Before you could answer, he held up four fingers this time, wiggling them teasingly.

“How about this number?”

“Okay, okay, enough eye testing for tonight,” you dismissed, waving a hand.

Jason snickered, finally lowering his hand, but the playful spark in his eyes remained.

“But I was just getting to the fun part.”

Then, as his laughter faded, he leaned in slightly. His smirk stayed, but his expression turned more serious.

“Seriously, though. You’re basically blind,” he said, shaking his head. “You gotta get glasses.”

You shrugged, giving a half-smile. “Maybe one day.”

And why wouldn't he catch the way your voice dipped slightly? Or how your fingers twitched against the counter? Obviously something about the way you said it—too casual.

Jason was young, not stupid.

Of course you didn’t have glasses. Of course, you couldn't just get them. Just like how dinner was either pizza or leftovers. Just like how there was no microwave.

His stomach twisted uncomfortably.

“…You can’t get them, can you?” he asked, quieter this time.

You blinked at him, “I could if I wanted to.”

Jason stared.

You sighed, finally breaking on that front.

“No, I can’t.”

Surprising even if it shouldn't have been. And for some reason, it made his chest feel tight. He didn’t know why it bothered him so much—just one more thing neither of you could have. Jason nudged you lightly with his elbow, like he wasn’t about to say what he was about to say.

“…Guess I’ll just have to be your seeing-eye dog or something,” he muttered.

You snorted. “Oh, so now you admit you eat like a dog?”

He groaned, rolling his eyes. “Okay, no! That’s not what I meant.”

But when your expression had softened—not in pity, but in something almost grateful, so did he.

And Jason decided right then that until you could afford glasses, he’d just have to be your extra pair of eyes.

#jason todd #batfam #x reader #batfam x batsis #batfam x reader #batsis!reader #batman #bruce wayne #cassandra cain #damian wayne #alfred pennyworth #barbara gordon #stephanie brown #tim drake #duke thomas #dick grayson

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finchyclarkemd · 1 day ago

Text

Between Us

~Angst/Smut~

You had known George since university. He had been your anchor—your best friend through years of exams, late-night study sessions, and questionable life choices. You had been through everything together, no one knew you better than he did. When he introduced you to his friend group after graduation, you didn’t think much of it at first. But then you met Chris.

Chris was the kind of guy who walked into a room and made it feel smaller, like gravity bent toward him. He was confident, always teasing, always flashing that easy smile. You liked him immediately—which was exactly why you had spent the last few months doing everything possible to bury those feelings. There was no way he’d ever feel the same. George, on the other hand, had always been by your side. He was warm, steady, dependable. It never once crossed your mind that he might look at you differently than you looked at him—until lately.

Lately, there had been a shift. A weight in his glances, a hesitation in his words. You couldn’t quite place it, and honestly, you didn’t want to. Not when every time Chris so much as brushed past you, your heart went into cardiac arrest.

It was supposed to be a casual night out—a group hangout at a bar, nothing unusual. But something in the air felt off. George was quieter than usual, and Chris… well, Chris had been watching you. Not in an obvious way, but in a way that made your skin prickle with awareness.

At some point, you slipped away from the group, stepping outside for fresh air. The cool night breeze helped steady your heartbeat. That was, until you heard footsteps behind you.

Chris.

"You okay?" His voice was softer than usual, lacking the teasing edge he so often carried.

You swallowed. "Yeah. Just needed some air."

He nodded, but he didn’t leave. He leaned against the wall next to you, hands in his pockets, his body close.

"You’ve been quiet tonight," he observed.

You laughed nervously. "So have you."

"Yeah, well…" He exhaled, tilting his head slightly. "Maybe I was waiting for you to say something first."

Your breath hitched. "Say what?"

Chris studied you for a long moment. It was the kind of look that made you feel like he could read everything—every hidden thought, every unspoken feeling. And maybe he could. Before he could say anything else, the door swung open behind you.

George.

His eyes flicked between the two of you, and suddenly, the tension thickened into something unbearable.

"Hey," George said, voice carefully even. "You okay?"

You nodded quickly, stepping back from Chris. You weren’t sure why.

Chris let out a low chuckle. "You sent George to come check on me?" you teased, trying to lighten the mood.

George’s lips pressed into a thin line. "I sent myself."

Chris’s jaw twitched, something unreadable passing between them. Oh.

You weren’t imagining it, were you? The way George was standing, the way Chris’s shoulders squared ever so slightly—like two opponents stepping into a ring.

"You should come back inside," George said, but his gaze wasn’t on you. It was on Chris.

And that’s when it hit you. George wasn’t just being protective. Chris wasn’t just acting strange.

They both—

Oh, God.

You felt your stomach drop, realisation slamming into you like a freight train. They both had feelings for you. And you… you only had feelings for one of them.

Chris.

But you had never imagined it would be this complicated.

Chris let out a breath, pushing off the wall. "Yeah, we should go back," he said, but his voice was tight.

George lingered for a second before he reached for your hand—just a small touch on your wrist, the kind that might have gone unnoticed if you weren’t already drowning in the weight of everything unsaid. When you looked at him, there was something in his eyes. Please choose me.

But when you glanced back at Chris, his gaze burned just as fiercely. Please tell me you feel the same. And suddenly, you weren’t sure if you could breathe at all. You could still feel George’s touch on your wrist. Gentle, hesitant. A silent plea. But your heart wasn’t hesitating. It was already pulling in one direction.

Chris.

It always had been. The moment stretched between the three of you, unbearably tense. The unspoken words, the lingering looks, the unacknowledged feelings that had been brewing for months—it was all coming to a head now, whether you were ready for it or not. Chris’s jaw was clenched, his hands stuffed into his pockets like he was restraining himself from doing something reckless. His eyes burned into yours, searching, waiting.

George exhaled sharply. "Let’s go back inside," he repeated, but his voice had lost its steadiness. It was raw now. Vulnerable.

Your chest tightened. You knew what he wasn’t saying. Please don’t do this. Chris must have sensed it too, because he took a step forward—closer to you. Close enough that you could feel the heat of his body, close enough that the air between you felt electric.

"Or," Chris said, voice low, dangerous, "she doesn’t have to."

You swallowed hard.

George stiffened. "What the hell does that mean?"

Chris’s gaze never left yours. "It means if she wants to stay, she stays."

The weight of the moment crushed down on you. This was it. The moment you had to choose. And maybe, deep down, you had already made your decision a long time ago. You took a slow breath, gathering every ounce of courage you had. Then, with your heart pounding, you stepped toward Chris. Not George.

Chris’s eyes widened slightly, like he hadn’t actually expected you to choose him. And George—oh God, George—his breath hitched, pain flickering across his face for the briefest moment before he masked it. But you saw it. You felt it. Chris must have felt it too, because his jaw clenched, his body tensed. But then you reached for his hand. And that was all it took. Chris’s hand tightened around yours—possessive, certain. Like he had been waiting for this. For you.

George let out a soft, bitter laugh, running a hand through his hair. "Right," he murmured. "Got it." His voice was calm, but his eyes—his eyes—were full of something that made your stomach twist.

He nodded, once, then turned and walked away. You almost called out to him. Almost. But then Chris pulled you back to reality. He tugged you closer, until you were right there—his forehead nearly resting against yours, his breath warm against your lips.

"You sure about this?" he murmured. His voice was different now. No teasing. No playfulness. Just real.

You let out a shaky breath. "Yeah."

And then he kissed you. It wasn’t slow, or careful, or hesitant. It was intense. Like he had been holding back for months and just couldn’t anymore. Like he didn’t care that you were standing in the dim glow of a streetlamp outside the bar, or that anyone could walk out and see. Like he was claiming you. And when you kissed him back, you poured every ounce of feeling you had into it. Because finally, finally, you had stopped running from what you wanted. And Chris wasn’t about to let you go.

It wasn’t regret. No, you knew deep down you had made the right choice. But the moment George walked away that night, something inside you fractured. And it hadn’t healed since.

For the next few days, George didn’t answer your texts. Calls went straight to voicemail. It was as if he had vanished. Avoiding you. Avoiding this. Chris, on the other hand, was different. He didn’t talk about what happened. He didn’t say George’s name. But he was there—calling, texting, making sure you were okay. And when you were together, he kissed you like he wanted to erase everything else. Like he wanted you to focus on him, not the pieces of your friendship that were shattering.

But it didn’t work. Because every time you kissed him, you thought of George. Not because you wanted him instead, but because you had hurt him. And the worst part? He hadn’t even fought for you. He had just… walked away.

You finally saw him again two weeks later. It wasn’t planned. You had just left Chris’s place—his scent still lingering on your skin, your lips still swollen from his kiss—when you ran into George at the coffee shop near your apartment. The moment your eyes met, he froze. For a second, you thought he might turn and walk out. But then, with a sigh, he stepped forward and pulled out the chair across from you, sitting down like it was a chore.

You swallowed hard. "George—"

"Don’t." His voice was flat.

The barista set a coffee down in front of him. He didn’t touch it. He just stared at you, eyes unreadable.

"You’ve been ignoring me," you said softly.

His lips twitched into something that wasn’t quite a smile. "Yeah. Funny how that happens."

You winced. "I didn’t mean to hurt you."

"You didn’t mean to choose him either?" He let out a short laugh, shaking his head. "No, wait—don’t answer that. I don’t want to hear it."

Your stomach twisted. "George…"

He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "Look, I get it. It was never me. It was always Chris."

You flinched. Not because he was wrong, but because hearing it like that, so definite, made it feel worse.

"And you know what?" He exhaled sharply, finally meeting your eyes. "That’s fine. I can deal with that. But you could’ve at least told me."

Your breath caught. "What?"

"You knew," he said bitterly. "You had to have known. Maybe not at first, but eventually. You felt it, right?" His voice was quieter now. "You felt the way I looked at you, the way I…" He trailed off, shaking his head. "And if you didn’t, then I was a fucking idiot."

Your throat tightened. "George, I—"

He let out another sharp laugh. "God, I must’ve looked so stupid standing there that night, watching you pick him. Watching you look at him the way I wanted you to look at me."

The words hit like a slap. You had spent so long drowning in your own feelings that you had never stopped to think about what it must have been like for him. Watching you choose someone else. Watching you slip away. You reached out, fingers brushing his hand. He pulled away. That hurt more than anything.

"I don’t hate you," George said after a moment. "I just… I can’t be around you right now." His voice cracked slightly. "Not when you’re with him."

Your stomach dropped. "George, please—"

"Don’t," he said again, shaking his head. "You made your choice. And I’m making mine."

He stood up, coffee untouched, hands shoved deep in his pockets. And then, with one last glance—one final, unreadable look—he walked away. Again. And this time. You weren’t sure if he was ever coming back. You should’ve been happy. You were happy, right?

Chris was everything you had wanted—everything you had spent months trying to deny. And now that he was yours, he made sure you knew it. Every kiss, every touch, every look—he didn’t hold back anymore. But no matter how many times he kissed you breathless, no matter how tightly he held you at night, there was a weight pressing against your chest.

George.

The last time you saw him replayed in your mind like a broken record. The sharpness in his voice. The way he pulled his hand away. The way he left. And the worst part? You hadn’t heard from him since. Until now.

Chris was asleep, his arm slung over your waist, his breaths slow and steady against your neck. The warmth of his body wrapped around you, grounding you. And yet, when your phone buzzed in the darkness, a shiver ran down your spine.

George.

You stared at the screen, your heart hammering. For a second, you thought about ignoring it. But then—you slipped out of bed, careful not to wake Chris, and stepped into the hallway before answering.

“…George?”

A long silence. Then, his voice—low, rough, like he hadn’t slept.

“I need to see you.”

Your stomach twisted. “George, I—”

“Please.”

You closed your eyes. The way he said it—like he was breaking.

“…Where?”

You found him at the park, sitting on the same bench where you used to meet after long days. But this time, there was distance. He barely looked at you when you sat down, staring ahead like he was afraid to face you.

“I wasn’t going to call,” he admitted.

You swallowed. “So why did you?”

George exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “Because I thought I could let you go.” His voice was raw. “I tried. I really fucking tried.”

Your breath hitched.

He turned to you then, eyes dark with something unreadable. “But every time I see you with him, it feels like I’m suffocating.”

You looked away, guilt creeping in. “George—”

“I’m not saying this to make you feel bad,” he interrupted. “I just… I need you to know”

Silence stretched between you. And then—softly, brokenly—

“I love you.”

Your heart stopped. You had known. Of course you had known. But hearing him say it out loud? It was different. Dangerous.

“I don’t expect anything,” he continued, his voice hoarse. “I just couldn’t keep pretending anymore.”

Tears burned at the back of your eyes. “George, I—”

But before you could say anything, a voice cut through the air like a blade. Chris. Standing just a few feet away. Watching. His expression was unreadable, but his fists were clenched. And in that moment, you realised— this wasn’t over. Not even close.

Chris didn’t say a word. Not when his eyes locked onto yours. Not when his jaw clenched so tight you thought it might snap. Not even when George stood up, ready for a fight. But Chris didn’t fight. He didn’t need to. Instead, he looked at you—just you. His expression unreadable, his shoulders tense, like he was waiting to see if you’d follow. And you did.

The silence in the car was thick. Charged. Chris gripped the steering wheel so tight his knuckles were white, his jaw locked, his eyes dark. You wanted to say something, but you didn’t know what. Because the way he was acting? The way his whole body radiated tension? You had never seen him like this before.

The second you walked into his apartment, the door slammed shut behind you. Before you could react, Chris was on you. His hands found your waist, his body pressing you back against the door, his breath hot against your skin.

“You went to him.” His voice was low, rough—dangerous.

Your breath hitched. “Chris, I—”

“Tell me,” he demanded, his lips brushing against your jaw. “Tell me you don’t still think about him.”

Your stomach twisted. “Chris, I chose you.”

He let out a sharp breath—half a laugh, half frustration. “Yeah? Then say it.”

Your heart pounded. “Say what?”

His hands tightened on your waist, pulling you flush against him. “That you’re mine.”

Your breath stalled. Because it wasn’t just a question. It was a challenge. The air between you was electric, charged with everything unsaid. And then—before you could even think—your lips crashed together. It was nothing like the first time. It was raw. Desperate. Possessive.

Chris kissed you like he was trying to erase any trace of George from your mind. Like he needed to remind you exactly who you belonged to. And you let him. You tangled your fingers in his hair, pulling him closer, pressing against him like you’d never get enough. Chris groaned, deep and low, as he lifted you—effortlessly—and carried you straight to his bedroom.

And when he laid you down, his lips never left yours. Because this wasn’t just about desire. This was about claiming. And tonight, Chris was going to make sure you knew exactly who you had chosen. Chris wasn’t gentle.

He wasn’t soft, or slow, or careful. Because this wasn’t about romance. This was about possession. About claiming you. About making damn sure that every thought of George was burned from your body, your mind—until the only name you could say, the only person you could think about, was him. And God, you let him. You let him devour you.

His hands were everywhere—gripping, demanding, sliding over your skin like he had something to prove. Like he needed to mark you, brand you, ruin you for anyone else. Your back arched under him as his lips trailed down your neck, teeth scraping, biting—not enough to hurt, but enough to remind you exactly who was in control.

“You’re mine,” he growled against your skin, his voice thick with need. “Say it.”

Your breath hitched. “Chris—”

But that wasn’t enough.

His hand tightened around your waist, pinning you in place. “Say it.”

A shiver ran through you, your nails digging into his shoulders as you gasped, “I’m yours.”

Chris cursed under his breath, his lips crashing back against yours. And from that moment on, there was no going back. No restraint. No hesitation. Just raw, unfiltered want.

The room was filled with the sound of your ragged breaths, the sharp edge of his name falling from your lips, the deep, guttural sounds he made when you pulled him closer, closer�� and when it was over, when you were left wrecked beneath him, he didn’t let you go. He stayed. His arms wrapped around you, his body pressed against yours like he still wasn’t done. Like he never would be.

Chris brushed his lips against your ear, voice low and dangerous.

“If he ever tries to take you from me again…”

A pause. A slow, dark chuckle.

“He won’t.”

You swallowed hard. Because it wasn’t a threat. It was a promise. Without hesitation, Chris takes your hand, his eyes filled with a burning intensity.

Chris breaks the kiss only to trail his lips down your neck, nuzzling and biting gently. His hands tug at your clothing, desperately trying to remove them. He removes your hoodie and joggers before he eagerly removes his jeans and t-shirt, leaving you both in your underwear. He lifts you up and wraps your legs around your waist.

“Chris…please.” You plead, as desire runs through your veins.

Chris can feel your begging whisper and it drives him mad with desire. “Shh… Shh…” He murmurs as he carries you to the bed and tossing you onto it. He crawls between your legs, looking up at you with lust-glazed eyes.

Chris spreads your legs wider, moving the side of your panties and revealing your wetness. He groans at the sight, and he leans down- burying his face between your legs. His tongue laps at your pussy, tasting your juices and savouring the flavour. He sucks on your clit gently, which makes you arch your back and groan in pleasure.

“Chris…” You moan, as you grab fistfuls of his hair, pulling it tight.

He hears his name leave your lips in a breathy plea, and it sends him over the edge. He pulls back, wiping the wetness from his face as he sits up and stares at you with a fierce desire. “You want my dick inside of you, huh?” He says cockily.

He doesn’t wait for you to reply. He immediately removes your panties and his boxers then aligns himself with your entrance. With one swift thrust, he enters you- earning a loud moan from both of you. He starts moving slowly at first, savouring the feeling of finally being inside you. His best friend. His lover. “Fuck.” He groans.

Chris picks up the pace, diving into you harder with each thrust, his hips slapping against yours. He leans down to capture your lips, kissing you messily as he continues to fill you- his thick cock hitting depths no one else ever has.

His hands grip your ass, squeezing and spreading you. His kiss becomes more urgent, more passionate as you both continue to move in sync. Your bodies press together in a desperate need for contact. He pulls back just enough to look into your eyes, his own filled with love and desire. “I love you.” He groans out.

“I love you too.” You reply between moans. He swallows your reply with another deep kiss, his body covering yours possessively. His movements become uncoordinated and sloppy with love and lust. He pushes your legs higher up, going even deeper and hitting that magical spot inside you that makes you cry out.

You moan loudly as your high washes over you, moaning Chris’ name repeatedly as if it was a prayer. Your legs shake as Chris continues to thrust into you, riding out your high. He growls in satisfaction at your cries, his own release also building. He pushes into you one last time, holding himself deep inside you as he comes hard, filling you with his hot seed. “Mine.” He pants, collapsing on top of you. “Mine, fucking mine.”

The room was silent, except for the sound of your still-unsteady breathing. Chris was lying beside you, his arm draped over your waist, his body still pressed against yours like he couldn’t stand the thought of space between you. But there was no mistaking it—something had shifted. Because even though he had kissed you breathless, even though he had left you wrecked and marked and his, there was something in the air that felt unfinished. Like a storm waiting to break.

You swallowed hard, fingers tracing along the sheets. "Chris…"

His grip on you tightened.

"Don’t," he muttered, his voice rough, still thick with the last remnants of heat.

Your heart clenched. "Don’t what?"

"Don’t say his name."

You froze.

Chris exhaled sharply, finally pulling back just enough to look at you. His gaze was dark, unreadable. But his jaw was clenched, his fingers still gripping your skin like he was afraid to let go.

"You went to him," he said, voice low. "You met up with him, you sat with him, and you listened to him."

You bit your lip, unsure how to respond. Because he wasn’t wrong.

Chris’s jaw tightened. "What did he say?"

Your throat was dry. "Chris, it doesn’t—"

"What did he say?" His voice was sharp now. Demanding.

You hesitated. And that hesitation was enough. Chris cursed under his breath, sitting up, running a hand through his already-messy hair. He was pissed. And not just because of George. Because of you.

"He told you he loves you, didn’t he?" Chris scoffed, shaking his head. "And let me guess—you didn’t tell him to fuck off. You just sat there, feeling sorry for him."

Your chest tightened. "Chris, it’s not that simple—"

"It is that simple," he snapped, turning to you. His eyes were burning. "You chose me, didn’t you?"

"Of course I did."

"Then why the hell are you still thinking about him?"

Your breath hitched. "I’m not—"

Chris let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. "Don’t lie to me."

The room suffocated with silence. Because he was right. You had chosen Chris. You had let him pull you under, let him claim you in every possible way. And yet, George’s voice still echoed in your mind. I love you.

Chris sighed, his frustration visible, but then—he did something unexpected. He softened. His hand came up to your jaw, his thumb tracing over your lips, his touch gentler than it had been all night.

"You’re mine," he murmured. But this time, it wasn’t a demand. It was a plea.

A raw, vulnerable thing. And that’s when you realised— Chris was afraid. Afraid that no matter how much he had taken from you tonight, there were still pieces of you that weren’t his. And you had to decide if you were going to fix that, or let the cracks grow wider.

Chris’s fingers were still against your jaw, his touch softer now—but his eyes? His eyes were dark, burning with something between frustration and fear. You had never seen him like this before. Chris never doubted himself. Never second-guessed. He was cocky, confident, the kind of guy who never let anything shake him. But right now? He was afraid he was losing you. And you couldn’t let him think that. So you reached up, cupping his face, your thumb brushing against the edge of his jaw. He stilled under your touch, his breath uneven, his muscles still tense.

"It’s you," you murmured, voice softer now. "It’s always been you."

Chris swallowed hard, his lips parting like he wanted to argue. Like he wanted to remind you of the other man’s words. But you didn’t let him. You leaned in, pressing your forehead against his, forcing him to focus on you.

"I chose you," you whispered. "Not him."

Chris’s breath hitched. But you weren’t done.

"I don’t want him," you murmured, each word slow, deliberate. "I want you."

That’s when he finally exhaled. The tension in his shoulders melted just a little, his fingers tightening against your skin—but not like before. Not with anger. With need. Chris shifted, moving so quickly you barely had time to react before he was on top of you again, his lips crashing against yours, his grip desperate, almost fragile.

"Say it again," he demanded against your lips.

You gasped. "I want you.”

His hands slid down your sides, fingers pressing into your skin like he needed to memorise every inch of you.

"Only me," he rasped.

You nodded, breathless. "Only you."

Chris groaned, his grip tightening, his lips trailing down your neck, claiming you all over again. And this time? It wasn’t about possession. It wasn’t about proving something. It was about you and him. Nothing else. No one else. And for once, there was no doubt left between you.

For a little while, things felt… right. Chris wasn’t holding back anymore—not his touches, not his words, not the way he looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered. And for the first time since everything started, you let yourself believe it was over. That George had finally let go.

You should’ve known better.

It was late when it happened. Chris was in the kitchen, shirtless, barefoot, the glow of the fridge light illuminating his sharp features as he poured himself a drink. You were curled up on the couch, wrapped in the scent of him, wearing his hoodie, content in a way you hadn’t been in a long time. And then—

BANG. BANG. BANG.

A sharp, relentless pounding against the door. Chris froze. You sat up, the sudden weight in your chest making it hard to breathe. You knew who it was before you even heard his voice.

"Open the fucking door, Chris."

Chris set his glass down slowly. Deliberately. His entire body went rigid, his jaw clenching so tightly it looked painful.

You swallowed hard. "Chris, maybe we shouldn’t—"

But he was already moving. And when he yanked the door open, George was standing there, rage simmering beneath the surface. His eyes flicked past Chris—to you. And that’s when you knew. This wasn’t just anger. This was a man on the edge. A man who wasn’t done fighting for you.

"You’re fucking kidding me," George laughed bitterly, shaking his head. His hands curled into fists at his sides, his chest rising and falling too quickly.

Chris didn’t react. Not at first. He just stood there, body tense, solid, like he was waiting for George to make a move. But George wasn’t looking at him. He was looking at you.

"You just ran straight to him, huh?" George’s voice was sharp, cutting, but you could hear the hurt beneath it. "No hesitation. No second thoughts."

Your stomach twisted. "George—"

"Do you even fucking care?" His voice cracked, his hands running through his hair in frustration. "Do you even care what this is doing to me?"

You stood up. "Of course I do—"

"Then why are you here?" He stepped forward. Chris immediately blocked his path.

"Back up." Chris’s voice was dangerously low.

George ignored him. His eyes were locked onto you. "Say it."

Your breath hitched. "Say what?"

"That you don’t love me."

Your chest tightened.

George let out a shaky breath, his voice dropping. "Say it, and I’ll walk away. Right now. Forever."

Chris stiffened. You felt the weight of both of them in the room—George, desperate and breaking, and Chris, tense and waiting. And suddenly, you realised— this was the moment. The final line. Whatever you said next would change everything. The room was suffocating. Chris stood between you and George, his entire body coiled like a predator, ready to snap the second George stepped out of line. But George wasn’t looking at him. He was looking at you. And he was waiting.

“Say it, and I’ll walk away. Right now. Forever."

You inhaled sharply, steadying yourself. Because there was no room left for hesitation. No room for second-guessing. So you looked George in the eyes, voice firm—unshakable.

"I don’t love you."

The words cut through the air like a blade. George’s breath stilled. His jaw clenched. His entire body locked up. But you weren’t done.

"I never did."

Chris exhaled. George? George just… froze. Like his brain refused to process what you had just said. Like some part of him had still been holding onto the hope that you’d change your mind. But now? Now, there was nothing left. You watched it happen—the exact moment his hope died. The exact second he realised that no matter how hard he fought, he had already lost. George took a slow step back. Then another. And when he finally spoke, his voice was quiet. Hollow.

"...Right."

He swallowed hard, nodding to himself, eyes flicking between you and Chris one last time. Then—without another word—he turned around and walked away. And this time? He didn’t look back. The door clicked shut. Silence. Chris’s shoulders stayed tense for a long moment, like he was still waiting for the fight to continue.

But when nothing happened—when George was really, truly gone—Chris let out a sharp breath, raking a hand through his hair before turning to face you.

"...You okay?"

Your throat felt dry. "Yeah."

Chris studied you for a second, searching your face.

Then, his hand reached out, his fingers curling around your wrist, his grip steady. Like he was still afraid you might disappear, too.

"You’re mine now," he murmured. Not a question. Not a demand. Just a fact.

Your chest tightened—but not with fear. With certainty. You leaned in, pressing your lips softly against his, letting your fingers tangle in his hair as you whispered against his skin—

"I always was."

And for the first time in a long time, there were no doubts left between you. No ghosts of the past. No unfinished business. Just you and Chris. Exactly how it was always meant to be.

——————————————————————————————————

This took me so long to write but I LOVED it! Also feeding you all with another Chris and George fic. This also feeds one of my friends requests for a Chris smut 👀

I am aiming to get a George one out at some point next week too so look out for that!

Tags-

@themdera

#arthur hill #arthur frederick #george clarke #harrylewis #harry lewis #uk youtubers #james marriott #w2s #willne #wroetoshaw #chris dixon x reader #chris dixon #chrismd #george clarke fics #george clarkey #chrismd x reader

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airandyeah · 2 days ago

Text

Animals (Alpha!Sukuna X Alpha!Toji X Omega!Reader) Pt.4

My Masterlist Series Masterlist Warnings: Obvious A/B/O dynamics, suggestive comments or actions, just generally Minors DNI-just in case. This will be similar to Pink Pony Club and Sins, where I just mark every chapter as 18+ This also has the general warning of Toji and Sukuna both honestly being menaces.

The screen flickered as the call connected, and before you could even greet anyone properly, your mother’s voice rang out—sharp, commanding, impossible to ignore.

“Are you eating well?”

You sighed, already regretting answering. Should’ve let it go to voicemail.

“Hi, Mom,” you deadpanned, but she wasn’t having it.

“Don’t ‘Hi, Mom’ me. Have you been eating properly? You looked thin the last time we saw you.”

You rolled your eyes, shifting on the couch. “I eat fine.”

“And exercising?” she pressed, narrowing her eyes through the screen.

You groaned. “Yes.” A lie. You’d barely been moving from your couch unless absolutely necessary.

Your father was in the background, half-listening, half-distracted, while your three brothers lounged around like oversized wolves, occasionally throwing glances at the screen.

Then, the question you knew was coming.

“So,” your mother drawled, eyes gleaming. “Any boys caught your eye?”

Your entire body stiffened. Nope. Absolutely not. Not doing this.

“No,” you said firmly.

Your brothers perked up immediately. “No one?” the eldest asked, skeptical.

“No,” you repeated, more agitated.

Your mother hummed. “Not even a little?”

Flashes of muscle and smirks crossed your mind—Sukuna’s sharp teeth, Toji’s lazy, knowing grin, their irritatingly smug confidence—

NO.

“No,” you bit out again, too fast, too defensive.

Your brothers definitely noticed.

“Ohhh, shit,” one of them muttered, grinning.

“There is someone,” another accused, leaning in.

“No, there isn’t,” you snapped.

But your mother was already smirking, far too pleased. “Well, you are at that age. If someone has caught your eye, you should bring them home. They’ll need to be evaluated.”

Evaluated. Like a damn threat assessment.

You scowled. “I said there’s no one.”

Your father, silent until now, finally sighed. “Leave her alone,” he muttered, barely looking up from whatever he was doing.

But the damage was done. Your mother knew you were hiding something. And worse? So did your brothers.

If they found out about Toji and Sukuna? You were never going to hear the end of it.

The call had finally settled into something normal—or at least as normal as it ever got with your family. Your mother had moved on from interrogating your love life (thank god), now talking about some new fitness routine she wanted you to try.

Your father chimed in occasionally, offering quiet grunts of agreement, while your brothers bickered in the background over some ridiculous bet. It was comfortable.

Buzz.

Until your phone started vibrating.

You ignored it at first, assuming it was some random notification. But then—

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

A rapid string of messages lit up the screen, the vibrations rattling against the table.

You glanced at it, frowning.

Toji: Hey. Toji: Did you eat yet? Toji: Answer, brat.

Then—

Sukuna: Oi. You alive? Sukuna: Answer before we show up at your door.

You clenched your jaw, glancing at the laptop screen where your mother was still talking.

Another message.

Sukuna: Maybe we should’ve kept you in town, huh? You get lonely out there?

You glared at your phone.

“What’s with that face?” one of your brothers asked, smirking.

“Nothing,” you muttered, flipping the device over.

Your mother narrowed her eyes. “Who’s texting you?”

Your shoulders tensed. “No one.”

A beat of silence.

Then your eldest brother—the worst of them—grinned. “It’s a guy.”

Your mother’s eyes lit up. “Oh? So you do have someone.”

“No, I don’t,” you shot back.

Buzz.

You were going to kill them.

Your brothers started laughing, already sensing blood in the water.

Your mother smirked. “Well, now I have to know. Who is he?”

“No one.”

Your laptop screen was filled with their amused faces, but all you could focus on was your phone—still lighting up with messages from the two Alphas who refused to leave you alone.

You gritted your teeth, forcing yourself to ignore the persistent buzzing of your phone as your family continued their interrogation. Every second felt like a warzone, with your brothers circling like vultures, trying to pull out the most embarrassing details about your nonexistent love life.

You kept your face neutral, answering only when necessary. It wasn’t that you didn’t love your family—it was just that you could already tell what was coming. They never stopped.

You gritted your teeth, trying to tune out the incessant buzzing from your phone as your family continued their usual questioning. Your brothers were relentless, teasing you about every little thing, while your mother turned her attention to your eating habits—as if you were still a teenager.

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

The vibrations from your phone rattled the table, but you resisted the urge to check it. You didn’t want to deal with it right now.

The call was live, your laptop screen filled with the faces of your family, each one pushing for more details about your nonexistent love life. It had been a long day, and your patience was wearing thin.

Then, through the chatter and your mother’s never-ending advice about how you needed to eat better and exercise more, the faint, familiar crunch of gravel echoed through your window. The sound of doors slamming followed, and your heart skipped a beat. You didn’t have to look to know exactly who it was.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

You froze.

It was the unmistakable sound of the two of them. Toji and Sukuna.

“Who’s at the door?” your mother asked, squinting at the screen in confusion.

You didn’t answer right away. No, not now, you thought, panic rising in your chest. The last thing you wanted was to deal with them while you were on a video call with your family.

Another knock.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Your heart pounded. You glanced at the screen—your family was still oblivious, completely unaware of the storm at your door. They didn’t feel the sudden shift in the air, the way you could.

You sighed, defeated, and stood up, walking towards the door as you muttered under your breath. Your family’s voices faded into the background as you made your way toward the door, trying to steady your nerves.

You opened it, and there they were—standing on your doorstep like they owned the place.

Toji grinned, his hands casually tucked in his pockets, looking every bit the smug bastard he was. Sukuna stood beside him, arms crossed, his smirk somehow even more insufferable.

Both of them looked like trouble.

“Hey, brat,” Toji greeted you, his tone a lazy drawl as he looked you up and down.

Sukuna, always the one to push things further, took a step forward, his voice almost too casual. “What’s up?”

Your heart sank as you realized your family was still watching. They hadn’t noticed the shift in your demeanor or your tension, but you knew it was only a matter of time before they did.

“What are you doing here?” you hissed, trying your best to keep your voice steady, though your frustration was clear.

Toji’s grin only widened. “You weren't responding. Figured we’d swing by.”

Sukuna’s eyes flicked to your laptop, where your family’s faces were still visible on the screen, their expressions starting to shift from curiosity to suspicion. “It’s not every day we get to meet the family,” he added, eyes glinting with amusement.

You shot him a death glare, desperate to shut this down before it spiraled further. But of course, it was already too late. The damage had been done.

They were here. And your family had seen them.

Your mother, ever the sharp one, raised an eyebrow through the screen. “Well, well, well,” she said, her voice teasing. “Looks like we have some guests, huh?”

Toji’s grin never faltered, and Sukuna simply leaned back against the doorframe, his smirk growing.

You were trapped.

It was only a matter of time before your family started asking questions you didn’t want to answer.

You felt your face flush with embarrassment as you heard your mother’s voice on the other side of the screen. “Well, it’s nice to meet you both,” she said, far too cheerful, like this was some sort of normal occurrence. You could already feel your brothers’ laughter bubbling up in the background.

Your patience snapped.

You had had enough. You didn’t even hesitate.

You turned on your heel, slamming the door with all your might. The sound echoed, harsh and final.

But of course, Toji wasn’t having it.

You heard the door thud as his hand shot out, catching it before it could close all the way. You barely had time to react before he was pushing it back open, grinning like the devil himself.

“You don’t really think you can just get rid of us that easily, do you?” Toji’s voice was low, playful, but there was no mistaking the challenge in it.

Sukuna leaned in the doorway, his gaze still sharp, still as smug as ever. “We’ll leave when we’re good and ready.”

Your mouth went dry. You had just made everything worse.

Your stomach churned. You wanted to scream at them to leave, to let you have your peace. Instead, you stood there, trying not to let your irritation show too much. The last thing you needed was for them to see your weakness, your frustration.

Without asking, they made their way to the laptop on the table, both of them towering over it, staring down at the screen.

You quickly turned your attention to the video call, half-worried that your family was about to get a show they weren't prepared for. The last thing you wanted was for your mother to ask them questions or for your brothers to make some inappropriate comment.

To your surprise, though, Toji and Sukuna didn’t say anything crude. They didn’t make any obnoxious jokes or flirtatious comments like you expected. They didn’t make a scene.

Instead, both of them leaned in close to the screen, grinning like they’d won some sort of game, but their demeanor was almost… respectful.

“Hello,” Toji said, his voice smooth, with an air of warmth that almost caught you off guard. He was smiling, but it was sincere—nothing at all like his usual teasing tone. His eyes flicked to the screen as he added, “We’re Toji and Sukuna. Nice to meet you.”

Sukuna’s smile was a little more restrained, but the glint in his eye didn’t soften. He nodded politely, just enough to be courteous. “Pleasure,” he said, his voice deep and calm.

You blinked. This wasn’t what you expected.

You could almost hear your mother’s voice crack through the screen, her eyes now focused on the two men standing at your table. “Well, hello,” she said, her tone still a bit skeptical, but undeniably curious. “It’s nice to meet you both. I’m Y/N’s mother.”

The two men straightened up a little at the introduction, both nodding, but neither making a move to get too close to the camera. They were oddly reserved, like they knew the boundaries and were respecting them.

“Thanks for looking out for her,” Toji said casually, but there was an underlying sincerity in his voice. It caught you off guard, and you felt your shoulders tense as you looked between them, trying to keep your composure.

Sukuna’s eyes flicked to yours for a split second before he turned back to the laptop. “She’s been a pain in our ass, but we’re keeping an eye on her,” he added with a small smirk, though his voice lacked the usual taunting bite. It was more like an inside joke—something that was just between the three of you.

Your mother smiled at them, clearly not picking up on the layers of meaning in Sukuna’s words. “You two must be very close,” she commented, her tone light and friendly. “I’m glad my daughter has people like you around.”

You could feel the heat rising in your cheeks. You wanted to snap at them, to tell your family to stop, but you were caught between your growing frustration and the bizarrely polite, almost charming version of Toji and Sukuna you hadn’t seen before.

Toji’s grin returned in full force as he gave a quick nod to your mother. “Of course. She’s a stubborn one, but we’re good at dealing with stubborn people,” he said, his voice warm but still carrying that unmistakable edge of teasing.

You narrowed your eyes at him, but before you could say anything, Sukuna spoke up again, his voice softer than usual. “We’re just making sure she doesn’t get into trouble. She tends to cause it without even trying.”

You tried not to flinch at his words, but deep down, it stung. It wasn’t exactly wrong.

Your mother chuckled, clearly enjoying the conversation. She had no idea how much this conversation was grating on your nerves. “She sure does like to cause a little trouble, doesn’t she?”

You shot them both a glare, but they didn’t even flinch. They had already won this round.

The strangest thing, though, was that as much as you wanted to push them away, this version of Toji and Sukuna—the one who wasn’t pushing you, wasn’t being crude or overwhelming—felt even worse. This respectful, controlled version of them was a whole new kind of frustrating.

As the conversation continued, you silently cursed yourself. How was it that every time they showed up, you were forced to face something new—something you weren’t ready for?

“I’m sorry, I’ve got to go,” you said abruptly, not even giving them a chance to respond. You quickly clicked the ‘end call’ button on your laptop, cutting off the image of your family before they could protest.

You heard the faint buzz of their protest on the other end, but you couldn’t stand it anymore. You needed to get away from this—them. The awkward silence that followed the call seemed to stretch endlessly in your head.

When the screen finally went black, you exhaled a shaky breath, shoulders sagging in relief. You didn't want to hear your mom's nagging or deal with the endless stream of questions from your brothers. Not with them here.

But as soon as the silence settled, you realized—they hadn’t left yet.

Toji and Sukuna were still standing there, smirking, still like they owned the place. They hadn’t moved an inch since the video call ended.

You didn’t know if you should be more frustrated with your family or them.

“So,” Sukuna drawled, breaking the silence with a lazy stretch, “that was fun. Do you want us to stick around? We could’ve stayed longer.”

Your hands balled into fists at your sides, but you tried to stay calm, not wanting to lose it in front of them—again. “No. You’ve done enough. I appreciate the help, but—”

“To be fair,” Toji interrupted, his voice teasing, “you didn’t exactly look thrilled to see us show up, did you?”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “I’m just... I’m tired.”

The last thing you wanted was to get tangled up in another one of their games.

But, damn it, you could feel the pull again—despite everything. Their presence was still so overwhelming. The way they just stood there, watching you, like they were waiting for you to fall in line. Like you were supposed to bend to whatever they wanted.

Sukuna grinned, that sly, knowing smirk creeping up again. “Yeah, I think you are tired. But, you know,” he added, glancing at Toji, “we wouldn’t mind hanging out for a bit. Make sure you're settling in.”

You could see where this was going—again.

“Look, I just need some space.” You said it firmly, stepping toward the door, hand gripping the handle. “Thank you for everything, but I’m fine now. I just need some time alone.”

Toji’s eyes flicked to Sukuna before he shrugged. “Alright, but don’t take too long,” he said, voice heavy with that damn teasing tone. “You’ll need us eventually.”

Sukuna snorted, but said nothing as he followed Toji out of the door.

You closed it behind them, the moment they were out of sight, and leaned against it, breathing in a deep breath. You didn’t know whether you were angry, embarrassed, or just utterly frustrated by the whole situation.

But the feeling that gnawed at you most was the one you couldn’t shake—the one that left your heart pounding in your chest. Even after everything, even after pushing them away, you couldn’t deny the pull they had on you.

And that made you madder than anything else. ~~~ The following days dragged on in a blur of restless waiting. You kept busy around the cabin, trying to distract yourself from the reality that you had to rely on them to fix your car. The constant tension between wanting independence and needing help felt like an endless back-and-forth, and you were starting to lose patience with the entire situation.

But then, finally, the message you’d been waiting for appeared on your phone.

“Car’s fixed. We’ll drop it off tomorrow. I’ll drive it, and Sukuna will bring the truck.”

You stared at the message from Toji, a mix of annoyance and relief bubbling inside you. At least it would be over soon. You’d have your car back, and hopefully, you wouldn’t have to deal with them for a while after that.

The next day, you tried to keep yourself occupied, but every noise outside seemed to send your mind spiraling. The quiet of the woods made the waiting feel even worse, like the world was holding its breath just as you were. You could already feel the pull of them, like gravity, reminding you that you were too close to them for comfort.

By midday, you heard the rumble of engines. You couldn’t help but glance out the window, seeing their truck pulling up to your place—Toji in the driver’s seat of your car, Sukuna at the wheel of the truck.

They stopped in front of the cabin, both of them stepping out with that same smug expression you’d grown to hate and secretly crave. You rolled your eyes, though you could feel the heat creeping up your neck despite yourself.

Toji made his way toward your front door with his usual confident stride, throwing a casual wave as he approached. Sukuna followed behind, taking his time, eyes lingering on you as usual.

“Your car’s good as new,” Toji said with that teasing grin you could never quite figure out. He leaned against your doorframe casually, his eyes raking over you, as if he knew the effect he had on you. “Ready to take it for a spin?”

You folded your arms, standing your ground. “Yeah, thanks.” You could feel the irritation bubbling beneath your cool facade. "I appreciate the help, but I don't need a babysitter."

Sukuna snorted behind you, his deep voice smooth. “Who says we’re babysitting? We’re just making sure you don’t break down on the way back into town, sweetheart.”

“Right,” you said dryly, looking over at them both. “I can handle it. But thanks for fixing it.”

Toji gave a lazy shrug, “Figured we’d make sure it was working properly. No more issues, at least not for a while.”

You hesitated, then stepped outside, locking the door behind you. The air was crisp, and the woods around you felt silent except for their voices. Toji walked to your car and opened the door like it was just another day, while Sukuna lingered by the truck, his eyes never leaving you.

You couldn’t deny the way your heart skipped a beat, but you pushed the feeling aside, telling yourself it was just the tension from being near them too long.

“Let’s go,” Toji said, tapping the roof of your car with a grin. “Sukuna’s getting impatient.”

You glanced at Sukuna, who was leaning on the truck with a smirk, arms crossed over his chest. He raised an eyebrow at you as if daring you to make a move.

“Fine,” you muttered under your breath, finally walking over to your car and sliding into the driver's seat.

Toji climbed into the passenger side of your car, Sukuna following you both to the truck with an almost lazy swagger. You started the engine, and as you pulled out of the driveway, you couldn’t shake the feeling that they were still watching, still pushing you in a way that made your heart race.

The drive into town wasn’t long, but with both Toji and Sukuna by your side, the tension felt unbearable, thick enough to cut through the air between you. The thought of breaking away from them, of getting to a place where you could think clearly, was something you ached for—but they weren’t making it easy.

"How does it feel to finally get your car back?" Toji asked, his voice low, a knowing glint in his eyes. "You were starting to get used to us, huh?"

You bit back the urge to retort, but instead focused on the road ahead. The last thing you needed was to play into their teasing games.

Sukuna, ever the troublemaker, shot you a smirk. "You look like you're about to bite someone's head off. What's wrong, princess? Not enjoying the ride?"

You gritted your teeth, pretending their teasing didn’t affect you. But deep down, you knew the truth—you hated how much it did.

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#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #x reader #sukuna ryomen #jjk sukuna #jjk toji #toji fushiguro #alpha sukuna #alpha toji #omega reader #omegaverse #a/b/o

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