#like it feels impossible to keep friendships up when i’m the only one expected to iniate the convos

[stellamarielu]

blurred lines II

joel miller x female reader

read part one here

summary: after the little stunt you pulled last night, joel can't bring himself to be in the same room as you. he's canceling his weekly plans to join your dad for sunday night football, and you're fed up with the awkward tension which leads you marching right over to his place determined to fix the problem.

content: nswf, 18+, dbf!joel, age gap, a sprinkle of angst, pet names [duh its joel], lots of praise, fingering, penetration, riding that man like a mechanical bull, unprotected sex, joel finishing in reader without explicit permission, basically just smut with very little plot let's go!

author's note: i need joel miller circa 2003 like i need air in my lungs, so of course i had to write a part 2 for this one

“What're you doin' here?”

Joel hadn’t expected to see you standing directly in front of him holding a Tupperware bowl when he opened his front door.

“Brought you some Chili.” You were stating nonchalantly as if he should’ve been expecting your company.

He had flaked on your dad tonight. Of course he had. 

After what happened last night, you didn’t expect him to show his face at your house like he normally did every Sunday, but it didn’t stop his excuse of feeling “under the weather” from pissing you off.

You made things complicated when you decided to call him last night. Why couldn’t you have kept it together and just called an uber instead?

You spent the entire day feeling guilty and embarrassed and even though you tried to blame your inappropriate advances on the alcohol you’d consumed, you knew it wasn’t the real reason you crossed a line in the backseat of his truck.

After he got out of coming over for the game, you watched the empty seat on your couch that he usually occupied and let the guilt eat you alive. Him and your dad should have been drinking beers and yelling at TV together, but instead your dad just sat in silence.

You couldn’t handle it— you needed to talk to Joel. You weren’t sure what you would even say to him, but before you knew it, you were packaging up leftovers and telling your dad you were taking dinner to Joel and Sarah during halftime.

“Is Sarah home?”

You were asking and looking over Joel’s shoulder, the leftovers still warm in your hands.

“No-“ 

He’d hardly responded when you pushed past him and into the familiar territory of his living room, cutting straight to the chase.

“Why didn’t you come over tonight?” 

“I think we both know the answer to that.” His voice was laced with annoyance at your question.

He was standing a few feet away, still by the front door. Watching as you angrily stormed into his house, setting the Tupperware down on the coffee table.

“Okay, but you didn’t have to lie to my dad.” 

You were coming in hot. You needed this to be over so you could stop feeling so embarrassed and remorseful about the whole thing. 

“Oh, your right, I should’ve just told him I almost fucked his daughter so it’d be kinda weird for me to come over.” Joel was scoffing as he leaned against a nearby wall, folding his arms over his chest. Your skin was burning at his words.

“Look I’m sorry for making things weird, but can we just move on? I don’t want to be the reason you don’t come around anymore. You’re like my dad’s only friend.”

“Then why’d you do it?” His voice was rough, almost like he was angry with you, but his eyes told a different story. They were gentle— carefully watching your expression as you wracked your brain for an answer. 

“Because…” You were trying to avoid his eyes but it was nearly impossible given the way he was staring so intently at you from across the room.

You started out so firm but now you were crumbling. His tender gaze picking away at you, wildling you down into a pile of nerves. 

“I don’t know Joel, let’s just drop it. I’ll keep to myself from now on and we can just pretend like nothing happened. Just please don’t let this effect your friendship with my dad.”

Joel chuckled at your words, an amused smile forming on his lips— Like this is something that could be easily forgotten. 

“Why’d you ask me to pick you up.” The smile disappeared from his face as quickly as it had formed. His demeanor was serious again as he revisited the objective of the conversation. The memory of you touching yourself in his car standing between you like an undeniable presence the room.

“What do you mean? I was out drinking and needed a ride.” You were trying to keep it together but there was a hint of hesitation in your words. 

“Yeah, but anyone could’ve given you a ride. Why’d you call me at 2am.” 

His eyes were locked on yours, heavy and sincere. 

“What do you want me to say Joel?"

here you go.

"Do you just want me to keep embarrassing myself? I didn’t want anyone else to pick me up. I wanted it to be you. I wanted an excuse to see you.” You were huffing out the words in a quiet voice, too mortified to speak above a whisper. 

“Thought that was pretty obvious when I had my hand between my legs in the backseat of your truck.” 

Your words were left ringing in the silent room as Joel just stared, his expression stuck in concentration. 

“Happy now?” You were deadpanning with a wave of your hands. Why wasn't he saying anything? You couldn’t read his expression and it was infuriating. 

“Very.” 

One word was all he said as he pushed himself off the wall, his arms still loosely crossed over his chest. He was taking small steps in your direction and your entire body froze. 

“I’ve been tryin’ to convince myself all day that you were just drunk last night. That the only reason you did such a filthy fuckin’ thing was because you were horny off one too many vodka sodas.”

His eyes didn’t leave yours as he spoke, his body now within reach. 

“I needed to tell myself it wasn’t because you like me.” His eyes were glued to you.

“Needed to convince myself that ya weren’t bein’ all sweet touchin' yourself like that because ya wanted me to fuck you.”

He was taking another step, the gap between you dwindling down with every word he spoke.

“Because if that was the case, if ya did do it on purpose...” He paused, letting his eyes rake down your body. Taking his time before he continued, his stare lingering on your lips.

“Do ya know how hard it was for me to keep my fuckin’ hands to myself?” He was so close, you could see his chest rising and falling with each shallow breath he took.

His stare was dense and all you could think about was how you’d never been this close to him before.

“Joel…” You meant to whisper his name as a warning but instead it came out as a pathetic whimper; only encouraging another inevitable step over the blurred line of your relationship. 

He was leaning in, and you weren’t stopping him.

“This is such a bad fuckin’ idea.” He avoided your lips and ducked his head into your neck, his whisper landing right below your ear and you could feel his breath on your skin. 

“I don’t care.” The words were a rushed hum as your fingers found the nape of his neck. You suddenly felt desperate to have his lips on you. 

“Please.”

That word had Joel spiraling. God, hearing you beg for him like that, he needed to hear it again. Wanted to hear it fall from your lips over and over again while he had you sitting on his cock.

“You said you think about me when you touch yourself.” Joel’s voice was a hum against your skin as his lips finally connected with your neck. He was placing a long drawn-out kiss right beneath your jaw before pulling away just enough for more words to make their way from his mouth.  

“Tell me what you think about.” His breathless whisper on your body made you dizzy, sending your fingertips clutching into this hair- desperate to find something to tether you back to earth. 

“I think about the way it’d feel- when you touch me.” Another pitiful whine. 

“Touch you where?” His words were barely audible as he continued placing gentle kisses down the side of your neck. 

“Joel…”

“C’mon sweetheart, you were so brave tellin’ me what ya wanted last night. Don’t get all shy on me now.” His voice was low and rough- intoxicating. 

“Think about your fingers in me. How they’re so much bigger than mine. How good they’d feel filling me up.” 

You were reaching for one of his hands as you spoke, holding it in front of you and tracing his palm before you pressed your hands together, his was so big and rough compared to yours. 

Then he was intertwining your fingers together and using the hold to pull you into him, your bodies flushed together. A groan left his mouth sending a sweet vibration into your skin.

“There she is.” He was murmuring into the crook of your neck, his hands finding your waist and gripping tight, pulling your hips closer. He absorbed your frame in his own, the muscle of his body solid and sturdy against yours. 

Joel felt like he was dreaming.

After he got home from dropping you off last night, he barely made it to his room before he was yanking down his jeans and wrapping his hand around his dick. The images of your fingers pushed deep inside of you were pulled from his memory, making him finish in record time. He thought about you all night. He couldn’t even sleep as visions of you filled his mind; you curling your fingers into his hair with his head between your legs, you on your knees for him, you with your head buried into his pillow and your perfect ass pushed back while he railed into you from behind. He thought about nearly every sexual scenario possible and now you were here, your soft body like putty in his hands.

“Let’s see then.” His voice was low as he kissed your neck one last time, pulling away just enough to look you in the eyes. 

“See if I can make ya come on my fingers yeah?” 

There was a soft smile on his lips conflicting with his sinful heavy-lidded stare. His hands were unruly as he explored your figure, dipping beneath the material of your shirt to feel the warmth of your skin on his fingertips.

“Wanted to see it last night, could barely hold myself back from pushin’ your pretty little hand out of my way so I could be the one makin’ ya feel good.”

One of his hands remained on the skin just above the waistband of your jeans while the other trailed up your body until it was on your face.

Joel’s hand was carefully caressing your cheek, rubbing his thumb back and forth over your skin. The act was reminiscent of the way he was rubbing your thigh not even 24 hours ago, and the recollection had you clenching your thighs together. You let your mind wonder back to the dirty things Joel said to you last night; the way he watched with a predatory glare as you fingered yourself in front of him. You were lost in the echo of it all until Joel caught you off guard, crashing his lips into yours. 

His kiss was heavy. The weight of unspoken feelings and undeniable tension fueling the way his lips molded into yours. Your shared desire was finally being dealt with and the relief was almost palpable in the liberation of his mouth on yours.

Your lips were tangled in a messy embrace as Joel ushered you backwards until you felt the back of your legs hit the couch.

His lips were following as you flopped down on the cushions, his body leaning forward between your legs. The kiss didn’t lose any momentum as his hands pulled at your jeans. You were arching off the couch assisting Joel as he slid the denim down your legs, breaking the kiss to watch you kick them off your body completely. 

He had been aching to see you like this again. Legs spread and chest heaving. Only this time he didn’t have to hold back. He could touch you; see what you looked like with his fingers knuckles deep in your sweet little cunt.

At that reminder Joel was reaching a hand down to feel you through your panties, his fingertips tracing the outline of your swollen lips, already wet beneath your underwear. 

“Fuck sweetheart you’re soaked.” 

The hot sticky evidence of your arousal was seeping through the cotton material, causing Joel to let out an animalistic groan. He hadn’t even touched you yet and he was losing all sense of control. 

He continued running his fingers over the ruined material, circling your clit over the clothing.

You were already writhing under his touch, which you normally would’ve considered pathetic, but not now. Not when you had been waiting for this exact moment. Now that it was really unfolding, you were proud of yourself for not taking his hand in your own and shoving his fingers where you really needed them.

He kept circling slowly and intricately, still leaning over you— his face inches from yours.

“That feel good?” His voice was a sweet murmur as you moaned in response. 

He was pleased by your answer, pushing your panties to the side and dipping a single finger into your entrance. His digit was gently pressing into you as he watched your face contort in pleasure.

Letting you bathe in satisfaction for only a second, he was retreating. Pulling his thick finger from your core before pushing it back between your wet folds, only this time adding a second along with it.

You were immediately reaching for his forearm, grabbing it instinctively, looking for something to hold onto while you went braindead with pleasure. You were biting down on your lip as he leisurely pumped his fingers in and out of you, scared of the obscene noises you would make if you didn’t.

“Let me hear ya baby.” Joel was smiling down at you with a devious grin. He could see the way you were suppressing your moans. He wanted to hear you; wanted to know how good he was making you feel, wanted to hear the pretty sounds you made when you came around his fingers.  

You let your mouth fall open. The whimper that fell out upon hearing his words prompted Joel to push his fingers further into you, curling when he felt the spongey warmth of your walls tightening. 

He could tell by the moan rolling off your tongue that he had found a favorable spot deep in your core. He kept his fingers bending in the perfect position as he peered down at you. 

The sight beneath him had his hips bucking into nothing. You with your head thrown back on his couch; eyes shut, brows furrowed and jaw slack. After last night he thought he’d never see something so glorious again, but now you were proving him wrong. You looked so beautiful like this— all fucked-out with his hand between your legs. 

The deliberate curl of his fingers with each plunge was sending you reeling as you let profanities bubble up in your throat. Just as you felt yourself teetering on the brink of release Joel added the pressure of his thumb on your clit.

“You gonna come already?” His words were sprinkled with amusement as he felt you clenching around his fingers. 

“Joel…” His name was a moan on your lips, and you were digging your fingers into his forearm, desperate to hold yourself steady as your body tensed.

“Fuck- you’re gonna come.” He was grunting as his fingers kept their pace. You were mewling out his name and nodding your head in desperation as you felt the coil inside you pulling tighter, ready to snap.

“Let me have it baby.” Joel was nearly begging you to let go. His tone as he growled out the words pushed you right over the edge, sending you into an abyss of pleasure. 

Your body was trembling as you whined out Joel’s name. He could feel your pussy squeezing his fingers as he continued to push them into you gently, relishing in the feeling of your warm embrace. 

“There ya go.” His grunts and groans were replaced with a calm voice as he worked you through your orgasm. 

“Good job sweetheart.”

His praises only added to the sensory overload running rampant through your body. 

“So beautiful baby.”

You were finally opening your eyes, looking up at him with a lust clouded gaze.

He couldn’t stop himself from kissing you again, only this time deeper. It was laced with passion and had you pulling him down onto the couch next to you.

Your mind and body were still buzzing from your climax, making it easier to gain dominance over him. You were pushing Joel back against the pillows and climbing onto his lap, straddling his waist. Your kiss had become sloppy and hungry as your lips worked in tandem to relieve the thick tension. 

“Off.” You were mumbling against his mouth and fumbling with the button of his jeans.

He got your message loud and clear as his own hands flew to the waistband of his pants. He was lifting his hips off the couch to free his body of the jeans but in doing so he was thrusting up into you, his erection grinding into your unclothed core. You were bringing your hands to his chest to stabilize yourself as he pushed his pants and underwear to the floor. 

You couldn’t stop your eyes from wandering down to his member now on full display. He was big. You knew he would be, but this, this was more than you'd imagined. 

In awe you brought a hand between you, encasing him gently with your touch and ever so slowly letting your fingers follow up and down his length.

You looked to his face to see his eyes fluttering closed in pure delight from finally feeling some sort of relief. The pressure that had been building inside him since he watched you finger fuck yourself last night was slowly dissipating with every pump of your hand around his cock.

You stroked him a few times, your touch soft and cautious; driving Joel insane. He was groaning with every flick of your wrist.

“Need to be inside ya.” A longing yet primal gaze took over his expression as he muttered the words; confessing his need to feel you, all of you.

They were the magic words, the ones that had you lifting your hips and guiding the head of his cock to your slicked entrance. You lingered there, with his tip filling you just enough, soaking in the final tension filled moments before you both completely gave in to your mutual desire.

Your eyes were locked on his, the two of you exchanging one last look of approval before you were sinking further onto him. 

You both let out hums of relief as you felt him stretching you inch by inch.

You were moving slowly, letting yourself adjust to his size as you relaxed onto him. His fingers were gripping onto your hips, holding you steady but careful not to guide you further. He wanted to let you set the pace. 

You sunk down until you were met the base of his cock rubbing against your clit. You were sat completely on him, taking a moment to savor the way he felt pushing deep inside of you. 

“That’s it baby.” He was whispering another praise as his hands traced up your body, taking your shirt with them and tossing it to the floor. Then his touch was on your face, holding your jaw in his fingertips and bringing your gaze down to meet his. 

“That okay? Feel good?” His questions were genuine, but they were spiked with such a immoral tone you might’ve thought he was mocking you. 

“So good.” Your voice was breathless as you affirmed him.

You decisively rocked your hips over his and an unconscious moan slipped from your lips at feeling him move inside you.

He brought his hands back to your hips as you started to move. Gripping onto your skin and guiding your body onto his as you began to bounce up and down on his cock.

“Oh honey- fuck.” He was moaning out as you picked up your pace, relentlessly taking him as deep as you could with every rebound. 

“That’s its baby.” His words were tumbling out of his mouth with every movement of your hips. You were riding him with such precision his mind was going numb, rendering him uncapable of piecing together coherent sentences.

Your palms were flat against his chest and your head thrown back in pleasure as he rubbed against you at just the right angle. You were using him to your full advantage as you shamelessly fucked yourself on his cock.

“Take what ya need baby.” He was encouraging your lewd movements, the sounds leaving his mouth were borderline pathetic as he tried to keep himself together long enough to feel you coming around him.  

He was letting his hands wander further, gripping the flesh of your ass with his palms and using the hold to pull you harder into him with each thrust. 

The desperation in his grasp had you seeing stars. You were bracing yourself on the rigid surface of his chest as you felt the familiar crawl of a second release sneaking up on you.

“Joel I’m gonna…” Your announcement was cut short by a surprised whine as Joel moved his hips along with yours, pushing himself even deeper into you. The way he was stretching, filling and holding onto you had your body straining and your vision blurring.

“Let me have it sweetheart.” 

The carnal grunt off Joel’s tongue as he coaxed you into another orgasm brought you to your finish. You were clutching at his chest, your body melting into his. The pleasure surging through your body caused you to lose all balance, making you slump forward until your forehead found his.

Joel reached for you, placing a hand carefully at the nape of your neck, holding you against him. 

“God you’re fuckin’ perfect.” Another groan was leaving his throat as he pushed his lips onto yours. You were still coming down from your high, pussy squeezing and clasping around him as he muffled your moans with his mouth. 

“So perfect baby.” He was mumbling as he used both of his hands to hold you firm, slowly bringing his hips up to meet yours. His pace was unhurried as he took pleasure in the way you fluttered around him. Then he got caught up in the moment, his tempo quickening. He was thrusting into you persistently, mercilessly rutting as breathless whimpers fell from his tongue. He was holding you still with his fingers curling into your hips as he drove into you— hard and fast.

He was groaning and greedily fucking up into you as his hips began to stutter. With a low guttural sound his movements ceased and you were met with the warmth of his release spreading into you.

He was frozen in place for a few seconds, catching his breath and gathering a sense of composure. You could feel him throbbing in you as his hands kept their hold on your hips. 

“That was so fuckin’ stupid.” He was muttering under his breath, and you immediately felt insecure. He was still inside you and he was already regretting hooking up with you?

“We don’t have to do it again Joel, it was just-“ You were beginning to defend yourself before Joel cut you off. 

”No sweetheart, comin’ in ya.” Joel looked at you with a sympathetic grin on his face.

“I can’t be doin’ that.” He was shaking his head at the poor decision of burying his spend deep inside you. 

“I’m on birth control, it’s okay.” You felt relieved to know his shame wasn’t about having sex with you, but rather his panic of potentially knocking you up. Understandable. 

“Don’t care it’s not smart.” He was reaffirming and leaning up to place a kiss on your forehead; a simple gesture but it had butterflies swarming your stomach.

“How ya gonna explain to your dad why it took so long to drop off leftovers?” Joel was releasing his clutch on your hips and letting his hands rest lightly on your thighs as he spoke. 

“Oh my god, please don’t talk about my dad right now.”

You were mortified. You couldn’t think about your dad. Not while you were straddling his best friend’s lap who’s come was fighting not to leak out between you. 

“Looks like I’m really gonna need to move out soon.” You were groaning and bringing your fingers to your temples, hiding your face in your hands. 

“Oh, without a doubt.” Joel was laughing at your predicament, but he’d be damned if he couldn’t keep having you like this. Now that he’d gotten a taste, he wouldn’t be letting you out of his sight any time soon.

my masterlist

[professionaljester]

trying to cope with my crazy amounts of social isolation

[kazumist]

THROUGH THICK AND THIN .ᐟ

✩ — in which soshiro had forgotten the lengths of your love for him.

✩ — request: hi, can i pls request an argument with hoshina and how u resolve everything 🥹🥹🥹

✩ — includes: hoshina soshiro x gn!reader. hurt/comfort, angst if u squint. cw: arguments, implications of soshiro being injured but thats just it, soshiro is kinda mean Uhm, ooc!hoshina this is another experimental fic help me. wc: 1440. reblogs and feedback are much appreciated !!

if there was one thing sharper than the blades hoshina soshiro wielded, it would be the words that escaped his lips.

hoshina knows how to sugarcoat his words. he considers himself a good talker—negiotiator, if you would. however, when it comes to more sensitive topics, that’s when it all starts to crumble down. 

he never expected for him to catch feelings, especially with the line of work he takes. it’s too risky. dangerous. worrying. but he fell as deep as the ocean could get for you. you accepted it. him and his line of work. him as a whole.

yet soshiro seems to forget that sometimes.

getting out of a mission unscathed was impossible. he would always have at least one injury planted on him. it was a repetitive game of russian roulette where either his injuries would be severe or light. and unfortunately for him, today was sadly the former. 

a knock was heard at the door of the hospital room he’s staying in. a mission had recently just finished—about three days had passed, and soshiro was unconscious for the first two due to how he overexerted himself. “come in,” he says. and to his surprise, he saw you opening the door.

soshiro hasn’t told you about him being hospitalized yet—so how?

“captain ashiro told me.” oh. so that’s how. well, he was aware that you had also built a friendship with his commander. and that was completely fine with him. it was awkward when you walked over to the bed, pulling out the chair for you to sit on. you refused to make eye contact with him while soshiro just stared at you.

neither of you has an idea of what to say.

“i wish you told me as soon as you woke up. i was worried sick when i heard the news about the kaiju attack and all.” you said, keeping your gaze focused on your fingers as they played with each other. he flinches slightly as guilt starts to bubble up inside of him. it was already five in the afternoon and he’s been awake since ten in the morning. he wishes that he told you as soon as he woke up as well.

however, there’s one thing that has started to creep onto soshiro lately—fear. insecurity, perhaps. he gets haunted by the thought that you would definitely be happier in someone else’s arms and that you would be more happy being bathed in someone else’s affection. being with a man like hoshina soshiro was dangerous, as if it were a gamble to play.

because you never know if you’ll still wake up to him being alive the next day. and believe it or not: hoshina was scared—terrified of that possibility. he doesn’t want you to be sad, he crumbles at the thought of you crying in the first place. so he made it a task for him to push you away. to be distant.

to be someone you would hate.

that’s the only way he could keep you safe.

“sorry. i didn’t want to disturb you.” bullshit.

“why…” you trailed off. soshiro noticed that you werent playing with your fingers anymore and that you were now clenching your fists. “why would you think that? soshiro, your health matters to me.” his heart also clenched when he heard the slight crack in your voice. “why would it matter to you? i could die any day.”

“are you being serious right now?” he hates it. he hates the way that the first time he saw your eyes today, they were filled with such negative emotions. anger. hurt. confusion. “do i look like i’m kidding?”

“soshiro, why are you acting like this? did i do something wrong? i know we haven’t seen each other a lot because we’ve been both busy.” no, you didn���t. this is my fault, but this is also for the best. is what he wanted to say—but he just swallows up his words. “it’s nothing.”

“no, it’s not just ‘nothing.’ tell me what’s wrong, please? so we can fix it. it pains me when we’re like this.” it pains him too—it pains him so fucking bad. but hoshina soshiro is stubborn. so he will find himself accomplishing his task, whether it pains him or not.

because all he wants is the best for you, even if he wouldn’t be able to provide that.

— — — — — — — — 

he doesn’t know how things got so heated between the two of you. and he’s sure that you both might disturb the other patients who are confined in the room next to his.

“why won’t you just tell me what’s wrong? i feel like an idiot, soshiro! what am i?! some fucking mind reader on what goes on inside your head?!”

“like i told you, it’s nothing for you to worry about! what can’t you understand with that?!”

“what can’t you understand with me saying it’s not just nothing?!”

“and what can’t you understand with me implying that you shouldn’t care anymore?! dp i have to spell it out for you?”

you weren’t sitting down anymore, and hoshina doesn’t dare to speak anymore. fighting with you was the worst. and this time, he fucked up real bad. “i… it’s getting late. i should get going.” you say, and soshiro could feel a part of him shattering when he heard you hold back a sob.

the next time soshiro saw you, he was on his day off (a day off he didn’t really want to take but captain ashiro forced him otherwise since the doctors told him he shouldn’t be making his body engage in strenuous activities just yet). and the first thing he did? he visited you. he knew you get off work early on fridays, making you free for the rest of the weekend earlier.

he knocks on your door, although hesitantly. he’s nervous as he waits for you to open the door.

and he’s grateful that you still opened the door for him in spite of your last conversation with each other. you didn’t say anything as you opened the door further, inviting him in. the awkwardness gave hoshina a rush of deja vu about the awkwardness in the hospital room.

“i’m sorry.” although these two words don’t just cut it so easily, he thinks.

“do you really mean it? what you said in the hospital?”

his breath hitched as he found the right words to say. if hoshina was going to be honest, he hasn’t thought much about what to do at this point. surely, he had achieved his goal that night, right? “yeah.”

“liar.”

he turns to you immediately, and you were already looking at him to begin with. “you’re lying, and i could tell that because you’re nibbling on your lip. you always do that when you lie. just tell me the truth, soshiro, please.”

why should he? would you accept his reason? would you accept the insecurities that haunt his every waking thought? would you accept him even though he said such mean things to you the last time you saw each other?

would you still love him despite it all?

you would. you always would. 

and so he explains from the very start—when and where these thoughts started in the first place. and you listen to him intently, absorbing every single detail he says. once he was done, you took a deep breath. 

“god, you’re so stupid. did you know that?” soshiro lets out a weak chuckle at that, avoiding your gaze. you cup his face with your hands, making him face you. “look at me,” he refuses. “soshiro, look at me.” he then complies, slowly trailing his eyes across your features before resting them on your gaze.

“you don’t get to decide what’s best for me when it comes to this type of thing, okay? i love who i want to love. you don’t get to decide that i’d be happier with someone else. because i love you. i love you more than you could ever imagine, more than you could ever feel. remember that. engrave that inside your mind so you can never forget. you are the one i am helplessly in love with, soshiro.”

i love you. i love you. i love you. it repeats inside his mind. you are the one i am helplessly in love with. it echoes. soshiro feels stupid for attempting to become someone you hated in the first place. there was no way he could ever bear the possibility of you actually hating him.

how could he forget? you had already accepted him as a whole. through thick and thin, you will stand by his side.

[0omillo0]

— hyunjin x reader ;༊๋࣭

: g. angst/fluff :

a/n : drunk confession (in the rain), mentions of wine, shouting, happy ending

♡‧₊˚🌧️

The night had started out well enough. You were at a cozy dinner with friends, laughter and conversation filling the room, the gentle clink of glasses punctuating the easy chatter. You’d been looking forward to it all week—a chance to unwind, enjoy good food, and maybe even relax enough to let go of the way you felt your heart race every time Hyunjin looked your way.

You had asked him to drive you, feeling it was easier than arriving alone and dealing with your friends’ teasing questions about your friendship. Just friends, you’d remind yourself, repeating it like a mantra as the evening wore on.

But “just friends” was hard to remember when Hyunjin was sitting so close to you, his shoulder brushing against yours, his laughter warm and easy as it washed over you. It was impossible not to feel that spark every time your eyes met across the table, even when you tried to ignore it, drowning your nerves in a glass—or maybe two—of wine.

By the time the dinner ended, you were both a little tipsy, laughing at some joke that probably wasn’t even funny as you stumbled out of the restaurant together. The rain had just started to fall in light, misty droplets, and Hyunjin held the car door open for you, flashing a smile that felt almost too intimate in the dim light of the street.

The car ride was quiet at first, the steady rhythm of the rain filling the silence between you. But as the miles passed, the silence grew heavier, charged with something unspoken that neither of you could ignore anymore. You were too aware of him beside you, his hand gripping the wheel, his face lit up by passing streetlights, each glance at him making your heart race.

Finally, you couldn’t take it. The warmth from the evening, mixed with the alcohol still buzzing in your system, pushed you over the edge. You broke the silence, your voice soft but full of something you’d been holding back for too long. “Hyunjin… do you ever feel like we’re pretending?”

He glanced over at you, caught off guard. “Pretending?” His brow furrowed in confusion, but there was something else in his eyes, something hesitant, like he knew exactly what you meant but didn’t want to acknowledge it.

You sighed, looking out the window as the rain started to fall harder. “Like… we’re pretending to be just friends.” The words slipped out before you could stop them, and immediately, you felt a pang of regret, of fear that maybe you’d gone too far.

He didn’t respond right away. Instead, he kept his eyes on the road, his jaw tense, his hands gripping the wheel tighter. The silence stretched, thick with tension, and you felt your heart pounding in your chest, each second that passed filling you with more doubt.

Just when you thought he might ignore you, he pulled over to the side of the road, the car coming to a sudden stop. The rain was pounding down now, drumming against the roof, echoing the frantic beat of your heart.

He turned to you, eyes dark, his voice laced with frustration. “Why would you ask me that?” he demanded, his tone sharper than you expected. “Why now, after all this time?”

You felt a surge of anger rise up, fueled by his evasiveness, by the way he always acted like there was nothing between you, like he didn’t notice the tension simmering beneath the surface every time you were alone. “Because I can’t keep pretending like it doesn’t matter, Hyunjin!” you shot back, your voice trembling with emotion. “I can’t keep acting like I’m okay with being ‘just friends’ when… when I feel like this!”

“You think you’re the only one who’s been afraid of this?” he said, voice rough with emotion. “You think I haven’t thought about what it would mean if we crossed that line? If I told you… if I admitted that…” He trailed off, his words swallowed by the rain, but you understood.

Suddenly, the distance between you felt unbearable, the space charged with the weight of unspoken feelings. Before you could think, before you could let doubt creep in, you closed the gap, standing so close you could feel his breath, warm against the chill of the rain.

The confession hung between you, filling the small space of the car with an intensity that was almost overwhelming. For a moment, you both just sat there, breathing hard, staring at each other as the rain hammered down around you, trapping you in this moment.

“You act like it’s nothing,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the rain. “You act like… like you don’t even care.”

His gaze softened, but there was still a fire in his eyes. “I act like that because I didn’t think I had a choice. Because I thought… I thought you didn’t want this.”

The vulnerability in his voice, in his expression, took you by surprise. It was like a dam breaking, the flood of emotions you’d both been holding back finally spilling over. Before you knew it, you were both shouting, voices raw, the frustration and longing and fear spilling out, untamed.

“I’ve been afraid,” you admitted, feeling the tears sting your eyes, mixing with the rain that had somehow managed to find its way inside the car. “Afraid that if I said something, you’d just brush it off, like always.”

Hyunjin’s face softened, his anger fading as he reached out, his fingers brushing against your cheek, gentle even in his frustration. “I could never brush you off,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “Not when you mean this much to me.”

And then, in the midst of the rain and the silence that followed, he leaned in, his forehead resting against yours, the confession hanging in the air, unspoken but understood. The rain was relentless, blurring the world outside, leaving only the two of you, finally stripped of all pretense.

And that was when the silence fell, and his eyes held yours, and the anger faded, replaced by something deeper. And in that moment, all the walls you’d built around your heart crumbled, leaving only the certainty that this—this feeling, this moment—was real.

The world outside seemed to vanish, swallowed up by the rain that drummed relentlessly against the car roof. All you could see, all you could feel, was him—Hyunjin, his face close enough that you could see the raindrops clinging to his lashes, his eyes flickering with uncertainty, hope, and something far deeper.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The fight had drained you both, left you raw and vulnerable, stripped of all the defenses you’d clung to for so long. And yet, in the silence, there was a peace you hadn’t expected—a sense of inevitability, as if this was where you were meant to be all along.

Hyunjin’s hand came up, fingers trembling slightly as they brushed a damp strand of hair from your face. His touch was gentle, reverent, like he was afraid you might disappear if he held on too tightly. His eyes searched yours, a silent question hanging in the air, and you knew that if you pulled away now, he would let you go.

But you didn’t want to pull away. Not anymore.

“Say it,” you whispered, the words barely audible over the rain, but you knew he heard them. “If you feel the same… just say it.”

For a moment, you thought he might hesitate, that he might hide behind the wall he’d built around himself. But then his expression softened, and you saw the resolve settle in his gaze, a quiet determination that sent a shiver down your spine.

“I love you,” he breathed, the words falling from his lips like a promise, soft and unguarded. “I’ve tried to keep it in, tried to pretend that we could stay ‘just friends,’ but… I can’t anymore.” His voice broke slightly, and he let out a shaky laugh, his hand still resting gently against your cheek. “I love you, and I don’t want to pretend anymore.”

Hearing those words—words you’d dreamed of but never let yourself believe—felt like a weight lifting off your chest. You let out a shaky breath, the relief and joy flooding through you, filling every corner of your heart until it felt like you might burst.

You didn’t need to say anything in response. Instead, you closed the distance between you, your lips finding his in a kiss that felt both familiar and brand new, like coming home and stepping into the unknown all at once.

The world around you melted away, the rain fading to a distant hum as his arms wrapped around you, pulling you close. His lips were soft, warm, and you could feel the tenderness in every touch, every gentle brush of his fingers against your skin. It was a kiss that spoke of all the things you’d both been too afraid to say, a silent confession that went beyond words.

When you finally broke apart, breathless and dazed, he rested his forehead against yours, his eyes closed, as if savoring the moment. His fingers traced gentle patterns along your jaw, his breath warm against your skin.

“I don’t know where we go from here,” he whispered, his voice laced with vulnerability, “but I know that I want it to be with you.”

You smiled, feeling the last remnants of your fears slip away, replaced by a quiet certainty. “Me too,” you replied, your voice barely more than a breath, but he heard it. “As long as it’s with you.”

For a while, you just sat there together in the car, wrapped up in each other as the rain continued to fall outside, washing away all the doubts, all the hesitation. In that moment, there was no need for words, no need for explanations—just the feeling of his hand in yours, steady and sure, a promise that you would face whatever came next together.

And as the storm began to pass, you knew that, for the first time, everything was exactly as it should be.

; tags ;

@intartaruginha @hannamoon143

[gay-dorito-dust]

Heyyy

So I really liked the Damian Wayne x reader platonic friend thingy your wrote. I really feel like there should be more of those.

Anyways, k cam where to respect something similar. Can u maybe write hc on what it'd be like to be friends w him? Like bantering n stuff and maybe u can focus a bit on how Bruce feels abt it? Oh and bonus points if the reader is awkward.

Toodles!

Being friends with Damian isn’t easy in the slightest, mainly because he doesn’t make it easy for anyone to befriend him in the first place. So the fact that you managed to accomplish that was a major achievement already.

However that didn’t mean anything afterwards was made any easier for you just because you managed to make the impossible become possible. No. Why? Damian is one hell of a dry conversationalist if Titus or animals in general weren’t involved.

He’s basically an extroverts worst nightmare given a human form. For no matter how hard you tried to bait him into giving more then a one word answer out of him, it always ends with Damian not taking the bait and allowing a air of awkward silence to befall you both while everyone else was having a better time then you.

You: hey Damian.

Him: hello l/n.

You: how have you been?

Him: in peak condition, why?

You: it’s because I don’t see you that much outside of school, it’s almost as if your allergic to social interaction.

Him: Tt. why should I go out of my way to do such a thing? I have you as an acquaintance don’t I?

You: I mean yeah I guess-

Him: then I have no need to expand my friend group, for they’ll only disappoint me. Now is that all?

You: I mean there’s not much else to talk about at this point.

Him: good.

*cue to the pair of you sitting in utter, awkward silence*

When Damian says one friend is all he needs, he genuinely means it. One is enough for him. He doesn’t need anymore because he knows that he doesn’t have the time for them. Plus he might not say it out loud but he does appreciate your friendship, even if your both awkward individuals within most social situations, but he is happy that someone finally gave him a chance to be a friend.

So even if you were to ever ask why you were friends it’ll probably go something a bit like this;

You: why are you friends with me?

Him: you aren’t an idiot, plus you’re the only one who isn’t insufferable.

You: is that meant to be taken as a compliment or…

Him: take it as you see fit.

You: okay…

Damian as a friend would be protective i’d like to think? I mean you are literally the first friend he’s made so naturally he’s going to feel something when he sees you being friends with anyone else that wasn’t him.

Was it insecurity that you not day might not want to be his friend anymore? Possibly.

Will he ever admit to it though? No. This is Damian we’re talking about, of course he won’t.

Also being friends with Damian would best summed up as being two people who shouldn’t work but ultimately do either way, kind of like an ‘against all their differences they’re the best of friends’ type of duo because nobody and I mean nobody saw a friendship between you two ever happening. Ever.

Not even the great Bruce Wayne.

Speaking about him. If you ever got to visit the Wayne Manor and meet his father aka THE Bruce Wayne. Take it as a sign as you’ve made it as Damian’s best friend.

Would you shit yourself upon meeting quite possibly the most powerful man in Gotham? Yes and your sweating buckets on top of that, all the while Damian would be stood next to you completely unfazed as he introduced you to his father as his best mate.

Damian: father.

Bruce: Damian.

Damian: *points to you* this is my best friend and I expect that they get treated with respect during their visit here.

You: hi- hello it’s an honour to meet you M-Mr Wayne sir.

Bruce: tell me how you’ve come to befriend my son?

You: we were in the same art class and I noticed that he had no one to sit next to, and so I offered for him to sit with me, keep in mind I’m not that well liked and practically had a whole table to myself, and I’d like to think our friendship started with that small act of kindness Mr Wayne sir.

Bruce: and had Damian been kind to you?

You: in his own unique way sir but I wouldn’t want it any other way.

Bruce: *smiled* you’re a good kid l/n and you can go ahead and drop the formalities and call me Bruce instead. I shall go and tell Alfred to add another plate at the dinner table tonight.

Bruce, upon hearing that Damian had made a friend, wanted to meet you within immediate effect and see whether or not his son made for a good judge of character and he wasn’t disappointed.

Given the fact that you were awkward aside, you were defiantly what Damian needed for a friend, and Bruce was happy to see his son finally get to be normal for once as he watched from the window as Damian practically dragged you out to the spacious backyard with an excitable Titus on your heels as the Great Dane tried to get up and personal with you.

Alfred: they are certainly a pair, aren’t they master Bruce.

Bruce: an odd pair they may seem but they even out the other perfectly. Besides when was the last time Damian looked genuinely happy?

Alfred; can’t say that I recall sir.

Bruce: neither can I. At first I was sceptical but I’m glad being wrong. I can only hope that a friendship like theirs will stand the test of time because there will be times that will test their limits with one another. But if they’re as good a pair as I think they are then they’ll be perfectly fine.

Alfred: couldn’t have put it better myself sir *smiles alongside Bruce as they watched you and Damian act on your own within the others presence while in comfortable silence as Titus fell asleep at both of your feet.*

Yeah you’ll both be alright. You’ve got each other after all and that’s what matters at the end of the day.

[tkwrites]

It Doesn't Matter - Part III - Nico Hischier x ofc

Gif from offside-the-lines

Title: It Doesn’t Matter - Part III

It Doesn't Matter Masterlist | Playlist

Author: Tory / @tkwrites 

Relationship: Nico Hischier x Original female character 

Summary: Though they’ve finally confessed their feelings for one another, a 7 day road trip stands between Nico and Lena finally beginning their relationship. When Lena sends a photo of herself Nico never expected to receive, it springboards them into new territory. Upon arriving home, he and Lena are finally able to be together in ways they’ve only dreamed of. 

Warnings: Lots of fluff, followed by lots of smut (18+ only): oral (f and m receiving), unprotected p in v (wrap it up unless you’re in a consenting relationship!), talks of feeling singled out and a really dick ex-boyfriend.

Word count: 13,400

Comments: Phew! We made it. Just barely.

I gave myself a deadline for this series, liking the idea that I’d publish each installment on the last day of the the month, and I’m really proud that I was able to stick to that goal. 

This piece is LONG, so strap in. It was so much fun to write and string together, though. Writing Nico and Lena finally getting together has been such a joy for me. I really hope you enjoy it, too! If there's anything you'd like to see in their universe, please let me know!

If you do enjoy it, please consider letting me know by commenting, reblogging, or sending in an ask. Your encouragement and comments truly inspire me to keep writing. 

It Doesn’t Matter - Part III

Two days into the road trip, Nico was feeling restless and unsure. He wanted to call Lena and tell her he missed her. He wanted to talk to her about everything and nothing. Hear about her day in class and tell her about practice. Now that they’d crossed that initial physical barrier, he wanted to have phone sex and listen to her getting herself off. He wanted… he wanted so many things, but he wasn’t really sure where they stood. Could he just call her up and initiate a conversation that spanned both their friendship and their newfound sexual connection? Even when they were just friends and roommates, he hardly ever called her to just say hi. That felt too much like something he would do if they were dating, and he couldn't take the disappointment that came with not having that part be true. 

Except maybe now it was true?

Staring at her contact photo, he wondered how people did this. 

For Lena’s part, she was pacing the apartment, wondering if she should go through with it. Earlier in the day, in a fit of missing Nico so much it ached, she put on the lingerie set she bought the first week she’d moved in, set up her phone and took some photos to send to him. There was one in particular she liked, and she even had it queued up in a message. Now that she had someone to wear it for, and it, amazingly, turned out to be the guy she’d always hoped it would be, she couldn’t get the idea of wearing it for him out of her mind. And why wait until he was home when she could send a picture now?

He was off this afternoon, which meant he was likely napping. She could send it during the game, but there was more of a chance someone else might see it if she did that. And this was for his eyes only. 

She thought about prefacing it with a Don’t open this until you’re alone, message, but wouldn’t that ruin the surprise?

Finally deciding it’d be better to send it now, while he was more likely to be alone than after the game, she hit the blue arrow. The whooshing sound let her know it was delivered, and her heart immediately jumped into her throat. 

It was too late to take back now, and trying to explain her reasoning over text seemed impossible. She’d just have to wait for him to respond. 

Walking to her easel, she decided she needed to distract herself until he did. If she didn’t, she knew she would obsess powerfully and end up sending him something written from pure anxiety, and those messages never turned out well. For all she knew, he could be asleep and wouldn’t see it for another few hours. 

The thing was that Lena had never done this before. She'd never sent a picture of herself that hadn't been requested first, and she’d never wanted to. 

Past boyfriends wanted to ‘see her when they were apart,’ but that really translated to ‘I want something to show off to my friends.’ She'd been shocked to find Milo showing one of his buddies a picture she’d sent him while they were at a party. Together. He wasn’t even trying to hide it. The picture showed Lena in nothing but her underwear, one arm wrapped around her chest for some semblance of modesty when she didn’t really want to send the picture in the first place. The fact that he had it pulled up and was showing it off so casually made her feel objectified and cheap. 

That night, she did the sneakiest thing she'd ever done in a relationship and used his sleeping face to unlock his phone so she could delete all the pictures she'd sent him before breaking up with him the next morning. She even told him what she did. He complained that she was an uptight bitch who didn’t understand he was showing her off, and shouldn’t she be flattered. 

Nico would never do something like that. She knew him too well. He would know and had told her that photos like that were for the recipient only and shouldn’t be shared with anyone else. He told her once that one of the guys on the Mooseheads tried to show him a picture of his girlfriend, and the rest of the boys teased him for turning away. 

“She’s not my girlfriend,” he complained to Lena later that day, “I don’t want to see that.” It was one of the first times she knew he was different, and her rule about not dating hockey players was going to be broken.

It was because of that. Because she knew he wouldn’t show anyone else, and because she had the suspicion he would never ask for something like this that she’d sent it. 

The whole time she’d known him, Nico had been the nicest cute boy on the team. Always easy going and quick with a smile, even when he didn't understand what anyone was saying. He never treated her like a piece of meat like some of the guys did, always seeing and celebrating her humanity before anything else. He was genuinely interested in her art, and not just as a means of getting into her pants. 

When she met him, and they began hanging out with mutual friends, she remembered thinking, I'm going to tell people I met the love of my life in my senior year. 

Setting her phone face down on the end table, she picked up her palette and brush and turned her focus to the mountain sunset she’d been working on all week. 

When Nico's phone buzzed with a text from Lena, he opened it right away, anxious to hear from her. He didn't think anything of the preview that told him it was a photo. She often sent memes or funny photos of Cookie around the apartment or progress on her latest painting. 

Had he thought this might be anything close to possibility, he would have opened it in the bathroom. 

An embarrassing noise, overflowing with longing, crawled up his throat. 

Jonas shot him a confused look, and Nico had to act like everything was normal. Like he wasn’t taken completely off guard. Like he didn’t have a hard on in their hotel room. Like Lena hadn’t just sent him a picture of herself in pink lingerie, winking cheekily at the camera.

He wanted to bury his head in a pillow and groan. He wanted to call her and tell her how beautiful she was. He wanted to detail each and every way he was going to make her come when he got home. 

“I’m —” Nico coughed, “I’m gonna go on a walk,” he told Jonas, bolting out of bed and into the hallway. Maybe this was worse. Now, he had a boner in public. He needed a place where he could talk to her alone. 

There was a conference room the coaches were using this morning, wasn’t there? He ran down the hall and found the room empty and blissfully unlocked. 

The whole wall facing the hallway was glass, but it’s not like he was going to do anything indecent. 

The call went to voicemail. 

Frowning, Nico pulled the phone away from his ear. Certainly, in the time it took him to run down the hall, she hadn’t gone away from her phone. And she didn’t send that thinking he wouldn’t respond, right? That would be crazy. No woman would send a picture of herself like that if she didn’t want a response. 

The device buzzed in his hand, and he felt a sigh let go in his chest. “Hey,” he greeted, bringing it back to his ear. 

“I’m sorry,” she said, sounding a little breathless, “I didn’t want to drop my palette all over your living room.” 

“Thanks,” he said, laughter in his tone. He was amazed she could just go back to painting after sending a message like that. He’d be a nervous wreck.

The awkwardness that passed over the phone line between them made Lena’s heart race with indecision. How was she supposed to broach this subject? Did you get the photo I sent? Do you want to talk about it? Are you calling me because it had the desired affect? 

Finally, she decided to go into neutral territory, “so, how are you?” 

How was he supposed to answer that question? 

“I got your message,” he said, wincing at the accusing tone in his voice. He didn’t even answer her question.

“Did you…” she felt suddenly self-conscious, “I mean, did you like it?” 

Did she think he was blind? “Yeah, I wouldn’t have minded some warning, though,” he admitted. The sound that had come out of his mouth when he opened it rang in his head, and he felt himself flush out of embarrassment. 

“Sorry,” she said, voice sheepish. “I was debating about telling you to open it alone, but I just kind of freaked out and sent it.”

Laughter rumbled from his chest, “you don’t need to apologize. I really liked it.”

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah. I don’t know a man alive who wouldn’t like getting a picture like that from the woman he loves.” 

The casual way he said he loved her made her heart pitter-patter. 

“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, Lena,” he said.

She liked that he used the word seen. Not the most beautiful woman he’d ever met, the most beautiful he’d ever seen. Heat raced into her cheeks, “really?”

“Yes.” It almost came out a groan. Just thinking about it got him worked up, but now that they were on the phone, he didn’t think it was the time to broach phone sex. Maybe that was her intention in sending it, but their conversation was too sweet and awkward to steer in that direction. He didn’t want to ruin it, or for her to think he only wanted her physically. He wanted every part of her.

His simple answer turned her insides to goo. 

She sniffed, and panic spiked in his chest. “Are you crying?” 

“A little.” 

“Why? What’s wrong?” 

“Nothings wrong,” her voice was wobbly, “I just…I can’t really believe this is my life, you know?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean that I spent six years pining after you, thinking you didn’t like me, and now you’re telling me I’m the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen. It almost doesn’t feel real.” 

“Yeah,” he swung his legs up onto the sofa under the windows and lay back. “The whole time we were kissing, I kept thinking I needed to pinch myself.” 

She giggled, knowing the feeling all too well. 

“I wish I told you sooner,” he said quietly.

“Tell me about it,” she groaned. 

He knew he would beat himself up about this, and his siblings would hold how they were right about Lena over his head for the rest of time. 

“I can’t believe you sent me a picture of yourself in lingerie,” he said, voice full of wonder and longing. “I don’t think I ever even let myself imagine that.” The reality of it was too much. It made their relationship more tangible somehow. 

“I missed you, and I just kept thinking about how I finally had someone to wear it for other than myself, and I don’t know, I just…I wanted you to see it.”

Her admission made his insides feel gooier than a raclette. “I miss you too,” he said, glad he hadn't steered the conversation to sex. That would come, he knew, but he was glad for this reassurance. 

They fell into a comfortable silence, and Nico pulled in a calming breath. 

“How was class on Friday?” 

“Good. Professor Brown really likes my sketches.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah, she said I really turned a corner and understood what she was trying to get us to do.” 

“That’s great.” 

Posing for her would have never been in vain when it brought them together, but he was glad the art wasn’t going unnoticed by her teachers. 

“She wants to put them in the student showcase for this semester.” 

His mouth went dry. “What?” 

“She said they’re such a cohesive story and series, she’d like to put them in the showcase. It’s a huge honor. I told her I had to talk to you before I could say yes, though.”

Mind racing, Nico wondered what on earth he’d gotten himself into. 

“I…” he paused. “How —” his voice squeaked over the word, and he had to clear his throat, “how long would they be up?” 

“Basically through December. I think the show goes up that first weekend.” 

That was only a few weeks away. 

“And they take it down when we come back after the break, so mid-January, I think.”

“I just…” he gulped, “I — what if someone recognizes me?” It was highly unlikely people who attended art shows at the New York Institute of Art would know him on site, but the thought of a fan seeing the sketches and recognizing him posing nude still made his stomach turn. 

“Well, they won’t be up for sale, so no one will be taking them home but me,” she assured. 

That was a relief.

“I could try to take out your tattoo, make you a little less recognizable.” 

He didn’t respond. 

“You don’t have to decide now. You can take time to think about it.”

The hesitation in her voice made his mind up for him. He wouldn’t be the thing holding her back. He’d figure it out. 

“You should show them,” he found himself saying. 

He’d have to tell the teams PR about it in case someone posted them on social media. 

“Only if you’re sure.” 

“I’m sure. I’m…” Why hadn’t he led out with this? “I’m really proud of you.” 

Her insides turned to pudding again, “thank you, Nico.” 

He would figure it out. It would be fine. The most important thing was that she was getting the recognition she deserved. “We can go see it together?” he asked. 

“They have a gallery opening I’ll have to attend. I’ll have to make sure, but I think it’s on the 6th.” 

He pulled up the team calendar. They were, thankfully, in town and didn’t have a game that Friday. “I can come.” 

“I would love that.” 

“I want to be there to support you.” She supported him through so many things, he was glad he could return the favor. “I can invite some of the guys?” 

“Only if you want,” she said, feeling a little taken aback. “If you’re okay with them seeing the drawings.”

“It’s nothing they haven’t seen before,” he said with a laugh, “and I want them to know how talented my girlfriend is.” 

“Oh, am I your girlfriend now?” she asked, teasing.

If it were up to him, she’d be his wife before too long. “Yes. Finally.” 

She giggled, “I never thought I’d actually get to call you my boyfriend.” 

The excitement in her voice pulled a giddy feeling in his stomach. 

Someone knocked on the window above him, and Nico sat up, startled. Jack was on the other side of the glass, exaggeratedly asking him if he wanted to go into the city.

“Hey, I’m sorry, I have to go,” he said, nodding at Jack. 

“Okay, I’ll talk to you soon?” she said it like a question. 

“Yeah. I’ll call you tomorrow?” 

“That sounds great.” 

He could hear the smile in her voice, and it filled his chest with a warm, buoyant feeling. Turning away from the window, he said, “I love you.” 

“I love you too, Nico. Good luck tonight. I’ll be watching.”

Lena hung up the phone, shaking her head. She'd gone into that call expecting phone sex, and instead, she got emotional reassurance. How was he even real?

He hung up the phone, grinning.

“What’s got you all cheery? Who was on the phone?”

“Lena,” he said, slipping the device into his pocket. 

“Dude, you’ve got to make a move.” 

Nico smiled to himself. He’d tell Jack and the guys eventually, but for now, he was just reveling in the fact that he had, and it turned out better than he ever imagined. 

The photo haunted him for the rest of the road trip. It wasn't even the picture itself, which did live in his mind rent free, and he'd jerked off to at least three times. No, the thing that really haunted him was the fact that she sent it in the first place, that she felt comfortable enough to send it, that she wanted him thinking about and desperate for her. And he was desperate, in a way he'd never experienced before. 

He wanted her to feel the same way, but knew from experience that she didn't like dick pics. 

In a fit of indignation after receiving one on a dating app, she'd handed him her phone to unmatch the guy as she told him, “I don’t know why men think everyone wants to see their dick. I can promise you, no one wants to see your dick. Unless a woman tells you, ‘send me a picture of your penis,’ she doesn't want to see it. Even if she sent you a picture to get off to, she doesn’t want to watch you do it unless she asks for it.” 

He'd asked her what a woman did want. 

“Send her a picture of your hands or your forearm while you’re doing something. Men's forearms are sexy.”

So he'd done just that. A video, actually, strategically cropped to show the flex of his forearm and wrist as he got himself off in their next hotel while her name fell from his lips over and over again. He didn't even need to look at his phone anymore. The photo was burned into his brain and etched onto his eyelids. 

She responded within minutes of him sending it. That's the sexiest thing a man has ever sent me, Nico. I can't believe you remembered. 

The video popped into her mind all the time. She couldn't stop thinking about his big hands and the veins winding up his forearm, standing out under his skin. She couldn’t stop hearing the hushed, breathy way he moaned her name.

It even happened in school if she let her mind wander, which resulted in her creaming her underwear and having to clench her legs together until the feeling eased off.

Touché, Mr. Hishier. Touché.

Four days later, Nico walked into the apartment, surprised to find lights still on. It was Friday night, but still, Lena usually went to bed early. No matter the day, her biological clock kept a rigid schedule. 

Perhaps she left the lights on when she went to sleep, not wanting him to come home to a dark house. As he walked through the living room, however, he found her on the couch, asleep with Cookie tucked against her like a little spoon. 

“Lena?” he asked, squatting in front of her.  

She didn’t even stir. 

“Lena,” he repeated, gently brushing a lock of hair off her forehead.

He loved this simple version of her - the peaceful, soft lines of her face and the gentle curve of her mouth. Her nose ring was slightly off center with her on her side, but it still fit on her face like it was a permanent feature that had always been there. When she showed up in Bern, having had it done just a few weeks previous, it had taken him a full half hour to realize what was different. It fit her and her personality so well, it didn’t stand out as a major change in his mind. 

He hadn’t thought it was possible he could think about kissing her more than he already did. 

“Nico?” she asked in the most adorable sleepy voice he’d ever heard. The visions he had of waking up next to her were suddenly much more real and much sweeter than he originally imagined. 

“What are you doing out here, hase?”

Her eyes finally fluttered open, and her stomach clenched when they met his. His hair had flopped into his eyes, but she could still clearly see the soft care in them. He was in a gray Devils hoodie that looked supremely soft.

Cookie stretched, yawned, and slinked out from under her arm as she reached forward to trace her fingers through his hair, pushing it back. “You’re so handsome, Nico.”

The dimple in his left cheek deepened with his bashful smile. He wasn’t used to her complimenting him so openly. “Danke, hase. What are you doing out here?” 

“Waiting up for you,” she said with a chagrined smile, “or trying to at least.” 

“Lets get you to bed,” he said, standing before he worked an arm under her legs, the other under her shoulders, and lifted her off the couch.

Lena snuggled into him with a contented little noise. She hadn't been carried like this since she was a little kid. 

He lay her on her bed, then pulled the covers out from under her body before settling them over her. 

“Will you stay?” she asked, quietly.

Something behind his sternum fractured a little. “Natürlich,” he murmured, brushing a kiss over her hair. “Let me go get ready, ja?”

She nodded. 

Nico thought for sure she would be asleep when he got back after washing his face and changing into some pajama pants, but though she was still in the same position he left her in, her eyes were open and she gave him an adorably sleepy smile. 

In some sort of dream came true, he walked around the bed to slip in behind her. 

Except Cookie was laying there, pressed against her back, blinking at him slowly as if to ask why Nico was there and what he thought he was about to do. 

“Uh,” he began, not sure what to do. 

“Just move him over here.”

So Nico took the cat around the middle and lifted him over Lena. He squirmed and made a grumbling noise but didn’t swipe. Before he could jump off the bed in a fit of indignation, Lena gathered him against her chest and kissed his head. 

Cookie grumbled again. It was apparently all for show, though, because he settled in her arms almost at once and began purring and nuzzling her chin. 

Now that that was settled, he lifted the covers and slid under them.

Lena felt a contented little sigh escape her as he fitted his body against hers. The oxymoron that was Nico Hischier hit her again. He was big and strong, but he was so gentle and warm as he wrapped his arm around her waist over the blanket. She felt cocooned and protected. 

Cookie turned around and nuzzled his head under Nico’s hand. Chuckling, Nico scratched behind his ears and heard the purring start up again. 

“I’m glad you're home,” Lena said in that slow way people do while they’re falling asleep. 

“Me too,” he responded, tucking his nose into her hair and settling in for the night. 

Though he’d lived the past week, it still felt a little like he didn’t know how he ended up here, or like he should be dreaming. Yes, he dreamed of making love to Lena, but more often than that, he dreamed of these things: of not going to bed alone, of taking care of her, and being taken care of. Not only was he not going to bed alone, she asked him to stay. He felt comfortable holding her, and she felt comfortable enough to lean against him, letting him support her. More than anything else, it felt incredible to be genuine about his feelings and to have them lead to this moment. 

It was the best thing he could have asked for. 

The fatigue that always came with coming home from a road trip caught up with him abruptly, and before he could think about anything else, he was falling asleep. 

Lena woke before Nico did. Which wasn’t unusual. She almost always woke before anyone else in the house. No matter when she’d gone to bed, or what she’d done the day before, she was almost always up before 6:30. It’s why she’d been so shocked to find it was already 9 the morning after their portraiture session. 

Her watch told her it was twenty-two minutes past six. 

Sensing movement, Cookie stretched and put his face in hers, brushing his whiskers over her cheeks. 

She wrinkled her nose at the tickling sensation. “Okay,” she whispered as he put his wet nose to her brow and licked with the tip of his tongue, “okay.” 

Nico’s arm was still heavy around her waist, but he only stirred a little when she lifted it so she could slide out of bed. 

She fed the cat, drank a glass of water, and went back to the bedroom. 

Nico was still asleep, now sprawled on his back, legs and arms spread wide to take up as much room as possible.

The blankets only covered part of his naked torso. Allowing herself a moment, she admired him, the steady rise and fall of his chest, the relaxed set of his fingers, his slightly open mouth. He was a beautiful man. the fact he was in her bed, that he'd held her all night, made her feel as giddy as a school girl.

Sneaking back into bed was always harder than leaving it. 

She’d just managed to tuck herself into his side, resting her head on his chest, when his arm curled around her back. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,” she said quietly. 

His lips smacked softly. “S’okay,” he mumbled. 

“Do you have practice this morning?” 

She felt him shake his head, chin tracing over the top of her hair at the movement. 

“No practice and no game?” she asked, tracing a finger up the valley between his pecs through the course hair that had been getting thicker through the years. “What are you going to do with yourself?” 

Tightening his arm around her, he nudged Lena on top. She went willingly, draping herself over him. 

“Can think of a few things.” His voice was low and sleepy, and when she looked into his face, she found his eyes were still closed.  

Wonder at how comfortable they were filled her. Of course they were — they’d known each other for more than half a decade. But all these milestones, like waking up in the same bed, were new. She’d never experienced this in a relationship before. There were no nerves eating at her stomach, and no worries about how she looked in the morning plaguing her. He’d seen her in much worse morning states before and never said a thing. It was just Nico, comfortable as always. 

Lying her head on the front of his shoulder, she listened to the steady beat of his heart and the strong rhythm of his breathing. 

That music was lulling her back to sleep when his hand slid up her back, under her sleep shirt. She didn’t know if that part was intentional or not. She supposed it didn’t matter. She still savored the feel of his calloused fingers. 

“Your skin is so soft,” he mumbled as his fingers splayed wide over her spine. 

“So is yours,” she said, adjusting a bit so she could tuck her nose into the base of his neck. He smelled the same as usual, soap and sweat, and that something cedar-y, plus a musky smell she somehow knew only came with sleep.

He chuckled and said something in German. 

“Come again?” she asked, lifting her head. 

One half of his mouth lifted in a smile, dimpling his cheek, but he didn’t offer any other explanation. 

Shaking her head, Lena rested her ear against his shoulder again, sighing when his fingers traced lazily up and down her spine.

Nico couldn’t believe this was his life. Waking up next to Lena was so good. Having her comfortable weight on top of him on a lazy morning? It was such a dream. Even the very fact that he got to touch her like this now felt like a miracle. 

Before he could think it over, his sleepy brain was running his mouth, “I can’t…” 

“You can’t?” she repeated. Her other hand came up to trace the straight line of his collar bone. 

“I can’t believe I get to touch you like this,” he said. 

She smiled and turned her face just enough to press her lips to his skin. It sent an explosion of fizzy, giddy bubbles racing through his stomach. 

“I should have told you sooner.” 

“Me too.” 

Each of them had said some variation of these same sentences each time they’d talked on the phone over the past five days.

“But we’re here now,” she said, fingers trailing over the round musculature of his shoulder and back. She felt a little amazed that she could touch him, too. She’d wanted to for so long, and now, she could. There was nothing holding her back. It felt a little like she’d dropped into a dream.

He took in a deep breath, and she loved feeling his muscles move and shift beneath her. 

“What do you have today?” he asked. 

“Nothing.” 

“Nothing?” he repeated. 

“Nothing but you,” she said, pushing herself up so she could look into his face. 

The smile he gave her was lazy and tired, but it still sent butterflies into flight in her stomach. 

Because she could, because that’s where they were now, she leaned down and kissed him. 

His other hand came up to cradle the back of her head.  

She was kissing him. In the morning. After sleeping next to her all night. Feeling his brain come to life while her sweet mouth was on his? There was nothing better. Nico wouldn't mind waking up like this every morning.

They spent a long while in a sweet, lazy exploration of each other. 

Lena worked one of her hands into his hair as she tipped to the left to deepen the kiss. 

When Nico caught her tongue, sucking gently, a soft moan fell from her mouth into his.  She'd never had someone do that before, and now couldn't imagine kissing without it. 

“I love that sound,” he mumbled, lips whispering over hers. 

She hmm’d and silenced him again with her mouth.

Though they still remained soft, their kisses grew more urgent, as did Nico’s growing erection, which pressed insistently against her thigh. 

The deep desire purring in her belly shifted into a higher gear. 

“Can I use my mouth on you?”

She'd been thinking about it for so long, imagining the pleasured noises she could pull out of him. She’d thought about it so many times while he was gone, she couldn’t wait to bring it to fruition.  The memory of the way he groaned her name when she was touching him had been the fuel for many lonely night sessions with her vibrator.

“Was?” he breathed, certain he hadn't heard her correctly. 

“Can I use my mouth on you?” She repeated, trailing kisses along his jaw for good measure.

Fuck. 

FUCK. 

Was this his real life? He pinched his side and flinched from the pain. He wasn't dreaming, then. Not that he’d really thought that. When he dreamed of her going down on him, it usually started with her lips wrapping around him, not with her asking permission. 

His eyes fluttered open to meet hers. “Has anyone ever said no?”

Her cheeks flushed. “I don't know. This is the first time I've asked. Every other guy I’ve been with requested before I could offer.”

“Did you think I would say no?”

“Maybe? Sometimes, I'm just not in the mood for stuff, you know? I don't want to just start in on something you're not ready for. That's not fair to you.”

He'd never had someone ask before, and the sweet thoughtfulness of it broke him open a little more to her. 

“Only if you want to,” he whispered, leaning up to brush his lips over hers, “and only if I can return the favor.”

Her breath hitched, and her wide eyes darted to his. 

“I’ve been thinking about how you taste since last week,” he confessed, voice gone gravely with the memory of cleaning her release off his fingers.

“Nico,” she whispered as heat pooled between her legs.

“When you sent that picture, I couldn’t stop thinking about what I wanted to do to you.”

“Oh yeah?” 

He nodded, hands sliding up her sides. Her shirt bunched atop his wrists. 

She leaned down so her lips were a breath away from his ear, “and what do you want to do to me?”

Though she had him practically panting, his voice somehow still came out a low tambour. “I want to lick you over that lace before I take it off and make you come on my tongue.”

“Oh my god,” she whispered, core throbbing at the mere thought of it. “I…” 

If someone told her, even just five days ago, that Nico Hischier had such a dirty mouth, Lena wouldn’t have believed them. He was usually so polite. She’d never even imagined him saying something like that.  

She liked this filthy-mouthed side of him she’d never seen before. Why had she waited so damn long to tell him?

Rolling them onto their sides, he pressed his lips to her neck, unable to keep his mouth off of her anymore.

“Do you want me —” her voice dropped into a moan as he pushed her onto her back, licking and sucking along the column of her throat. 

“Yes,” he growled into her skin, “so damn much.” 

“Do you want me to put it on?” she finally managed to ask, gasping the words out before he could steal her breath again.

Lifting his head, his brown eyes met hers. He had that same wide open, loving look in them. “Put what on?” 

Why would she put anything on? He was far more interested in shedding her clothes.

“The lingerie.” 

Oh. 

Well. 

That was a bit different. 

Lena watched his eyes go dark with lust. 

“You’d do that?” he whispered, touched and incredibly turned on.

Nodding, she bit her lip before deciding she could just blurt it out, “I want you to do what you wanted to, and I want to see your reaction.” 

Now that he’d brought up the idea of licking her over her underwear which, what the hell, sounded so hot she could hardly stand it, she needed to feel it. She wanted THAT to be her first experience with his mouth. 

Nico was such an excellent kisser, she knew he would be good at oral. Plus, the idea of wrapping her fingers in his hair as he went down on her? That fantasy had been in regular rotation for years. 

He paused, seemingly caught between saying yes and just continuing as they were. 

Maybe he needed a little more incentive. “What if I put it on to suck you off?” she asked, voice seductive and low in his ear. 

With a soft groan, he buried his face in her neck. He had to admit, fulfilling the initial fantasy that had flooded his mind when she sent that picture was incredibly tempting, and if it included her wearing it to go down on him? That was a fantasy in and of itself. He couldn't find his voice, but he nodded all the same. 

“Meet you in your room in five minutes?” she suggested. 

Five minutes felt like an eternity when she was under him now, but he knew they would be worth it. 

“Okay,”

A few minutes later, she knocked on his doorframe, and he spun. She had a soft looking robe on. Green with matching lace trim. 

He looked almost instantly disappointed. 

“I thought you might want to take it off,” she offered quietly, taking a few steps toward him.

He was still just in his pajama pants, the band of his boxers peeking above the waistband. God, why was that always so sexy? 

Though he appreciated the gesture, Nico shook his head. 

Stopping abruptly, Lena confirmed, “no?” 

Shaking his head again, Nico managed to clear his throat and tell her, “want you to.”

Fingers trembling with excitement, she pulled one end of the tie, slipping it from the bow. 

This was an exercise in a kind of vulnerability Lena had never experienced before. Yes, Nico was her best friend, and she trusted him with her life, but she’d never undressed in front of someone like this. This wasn’t just about seduction. This was about bearing herself to a man she loved and who she knew loved her. There was anticipation, but no nervousness, longing, but no worry. There was love and more love and more love under that. She’d never felt like that before.

This wasn’t some kind of strip tease meant to thrill. No, she was bearing a piece of her soul.

Nico found he was holding his breath and made himself pull air into his lungs. 

Lena grasped the two sides of the robe and pulled them apart until they slipped over her shoulders. The fabric puddled to the floor around her feet. 

 A noise he couldn’t control flew out of his mouth. God, if he thought she looked beautiful in the picture, it was nothing compared to this. To the reality of her standing in front of him. She was real — supple skin and hazel eyes and curves he wanted to spend his entire life traversing — right down to her hands, which were splayed over the flesh of her hips as if she didn’t know what else to do with them. 

She was…she was a goddess. He would worship her every day of the week. “You’re so beautiful, Lena,” he croaked.

“Thank you,” she said, a blush pinking her cheeks. 

“Can you —” he had to pause to clear his throat. 

She nodded encouragingly. 

“Can I see the back?” 

She let out a little giggle and turned for him, looking back over her shoulder.

The back of the bra was fairly standard - straps and a band that was secured by a row of hooks. The underwear were anything but. They cut high on her cheeks and perfectly accentuated the curvature of her hips. His jaw went slack. 

This was a better response than she could have asked for. When she’d bought this set, one of the selling points was how good the panties made her ass look. Having Nico appreciate it to the point of open mouthed silence, sent a delighted thrill through her. 

“Now you?” she said, turning back around and nodding at his pants.

Taking a deep breath, he worked his thumbs under the waistband of his pajamas. Pushing the elastic over his hips, the cotton fell down, and he stepped out of it. 

Lena let out a thick sigh, eyes roaming over him, from the bob of his Adam’s apple and flex of his stomach to the dark hair trailing from his belly button into the elastic band of his briefs and the lighter hair that crept up his thighs. She'd seen all these things before as an artist, but now, she was seeing them as a woman. She didn't have to stuff down her desire or try to channel it through her pencil. She got to admire him as a woman who wanted him. 

When their eyes met again, his were nervous, as if waiting for a verdict. Instead of saying anything, she took the few steps forward, slid her hand to the back of his neck, and nudged him down as she raised herself on tiptoe. 

Their lips met, and that feeling of rightness filled Lena again. As her tongue swept into his waiting mouth, she pressed herself against him. 

Taking the time to savor the feel of the lace beneath his palms, Nico caressed her hips slowly before sliding them around to cradle her rump. 

She broke the kiss, and his hands were suddenly sliding up her body as she lowered onto her knees in front of him. “Shit, Lena,” he breathed. 

A coy, sexy smile took over her face, and Lena leaned in to press her lips to his right thigh. The muscle jumped beneath his skin.

“Wait.” 

Pulling back to sit on her haunches, Lena looked up at him, surprised. No man had ever told her to stop when she was setting up to suck him off. 

Half of Nico’s brain was in his dick, but he needed to get this right. “I went first last time,” he said.

“It’s not like we have to take turns.” 

“I know, but I want to give first.” When she didn’t move, he added on a slightly desperate, “please.” 

She nodded, and he took her hands to pull her to her feet. They turned so her back was facing the bed, and he smiled indulgently at the way she had to do a little hop to sit on the mattress. 

“Lay back,” he said. 

She scooted up to the pillows and did as he instructed.

She was a fantasy in his dark sheets. 

Biting his lip, he paused to admire her for a moment before climbing onto the bed and covering her body with his. As their mouths met in a passionate, desperate kiss, he settled between her legs. He rutted his hips into her, and she moaned. The sound made him heady, and he did it again just to hear it. If they kept that up, he would be begging her to let him fuck her right then. But he knew from fingering her the week before that she would need to be relaxed and stretched a bit before she could take him comfortably. Plus, now that she was in his bed in this lingerie, he had to bring his desires to life. And he really fucking wanted his mouth on her. 

He broke from the kiss and trailed his lips over her chin and down her neck and chest. Too impatient to wait, his mouth found her pebbled nipple, teasing it through the fabric of her bra. 

Lena had never felt anything so hot in her life. Her hands wove into his hair, and she moaned. “Nico. Oh my god.”

He moved on too quickly, but before she could complain, his lips were skimming over her stomach, down to the band of her panties. The memory of his confession crashed into her mind. 

I want to lick you over that lace before I take it off and make you come on my tongue.

She writhed beneath him.

He nosed her mound gently, playfully, and glanced up to her face. “This is still okay?” 

“Yes!” she hissed, voice pulled tight. “Please, Nico.”

Who was he to deny what she wanted? 

Spreading her thighs with his hands, he leaned in and trailed his nose up the gusset of her underwear. His mouth started to water. Shit, she smelled so good. 

He couldn’t hold back any longer. His tongue met the lace, licking a slow stripe up the center. He could almost taste her through the fabric. The sweet, tangy flavor he'd been craving for a week was so close. 

Lena could almost feel him. There was pressure, and the heat from his breath was there, but the full stimulation of his tongue wasn't. Experiencing him like this was so hot, the anticipation of feeling him built and built until it felt like she may just explode. She let out a wanton moan of his name.

He teased her until her hips were grinding up, and her breathing was coming out in hot puffs. He teased her until he couldn’t take it anymore. 

She whined when he pulled back but cut the noise off when his fingers slipped into the band of her underwear and started pulling it down. Desperate to please, she lifted her hips, allowing him to peel them from her body more easily.

He took his time, running his hands down her legs, and when the fabric was free, he brought it to his nose just to work himself up a little more. His dick twitched.

“Fuck,” she whispered. Who knew her polite, cheerful Nico had this side to him? 

He almost wished he was still wearing pants so he could slip her panties into his pocket. Instead, he tossed them over the side of the bed. He’d pick them up later. 

Settling between her legs again, he looked up to meet her gaze over the expanse of her body. Propped up on her elbows, her chest rose and fell, testing the limits of her bra with every inhale. He could hardly stand it.

“You’re so fucking beautiful.”

She blushed. How did he know exactly what to say? Could he read her thoughts or something? 

“You’ll tell me if you don’t like something,” he verified, “or if you want something else?” 

Only after she nodded did he get to work, plunging his face between her thighs like he’d been dreaming of for years. 

A sense of deep satisfaction rumbled in his chest when she cried out.

She tasted the same, like he remembered, and better: sweet and tangy and fresh. He couldn't get enough. He licked and kissed and teased and tasted.

Falling back against his pillows, Lena moaned his name. 

Her left hand found its way into his hair again, weaving the long, soft strands through her fingers. The reality of this fantasy coming true made her shake as much as his clever tongue did. 

He moved to lap at her entrance, which was not where she wanted him at all.

“Nico, I –” her voice cut off with a moan as his nose nudged her clit. 

Fuck it. Tightening her fingers into a fist, she tugged on his hair, guiding his mouth where she needed it.

He grunted into her as his lips surrounded her throbbing pearl, so eager for his attention.

“There,” her voice was a breathy pant that made his heart race, “right there, Nico.” 

Hands tightening on her thighs, he feasted. 

Her hips shifted, and even though it made it near impossible for him to breathe, he kept on, intent on his mission. 

“Suck.” 

It took half a second for his brain to understand her word as a command. He obeyed, and the groan she let out made him light headed. Or maybe that was the lack of oxygen. It didn’t matter. There was no way he was stopping until she was falling apart beneath him. 

He thought briefly about using his fingers, but no. He wanted to make her come like this first. 

His lips and tongue continued working their magic on her. Pressure built and tingled in her pelvis until it spread, shooting down her legs and making her toes curl. 

“Nico,” she gasped. 

When he glanced up, he found her right hand cupping her breast, thumb and forefinger teasing the peak of her nipple through the lace of her bra. The sight of it — of her adding to her own pleasure — made his eyes roll back. 

The vibration of his groan lit her on fire. It was the final push she needed to tip over the edge. 

She crashed in an explosion of color and sound as his eager mouth kept working, sending wave after wave of ecstasy rushing through her body.

The pleasured noises she chanted were the most beautiful music he’d ever heard. She pulsed under his mouth, and he lapped at her release. He wanted to drink from her fountain for the rest of his life. 

Coming back to herself, Lena pushed him away from her core before the overstimulation could turn into pain. 

The sight of him — eyes hooded with desire, mouth and chin wet with her orgasm — made her moan again as he pushed himself up. 

Nico felt drunk. Drunk on her pleasure and the fact that he’d been the one to pull it out of her. 

He licked his lips, pulling more of her release into his mouth before wiping his face with the back of his hand.

He lay next to her and slid his hand over her stomach, letting it come to rest comfortably cupping her breast.

Lena was flat on her back, trying to get her breathing back to a normal rhythm. 

“Oh my god,” she finally managed to gasp. 

“It was good?” he asked. 

“Yes!” she smacked his chest when she said it. “I don’t… I mean…” 

He smiled as she tried to find the words. 

Turning her head, she met his gaze. “I never knew you were so nasty.” 

“I wasn’t mean,” he defended, hurt that she was accusing him. 

“No, like kinky.” 

He hated this part of speaking English. Why did so many words have so many different meanings that they already had words for?

“It’s kinky that I like the way you smell and taste?” 

“I’ve never — I mean no one has ever…”

“It was my first time with you,” he said, nuzzling his nose into her neck. “I wanted to savor it.”

“Speaking of, I think it’s your turn,” she said coyly, pressing a hand to his shoulder. She shoved, and he flopped onto his back without protest. 

She climbed over him, straddling his torso. 

Finally feeling the weight of her on top of him was heaven. She was tethering him down to earth. 

Her hot wetness against his skin made him twitch. He couldn't wait to bury himself inside her. Just imagining how tight and wet she'd feel around him made him moan.  

“I haven't even touched you yet,” she smirked. 

“I want you so bad.” The words slipped out in German. He started to translate, but she cut him off. 

“I got the idea,” she said seductively as she leaned down to kiss him. She could taste herself on his lips and tongue as she did her best to work him up with her mouth alone.  

The way he moaned sent a bolt of desire through her. Unable to stop herself, she rutted her hips against the hard wall of his stomach. 

He choked out a curse, head tipping back into the pillows. 

Taking advantage, she connected her mouth to his throat, feeling his Adams apple move under her lips as he swallowed hard. 

“Lena.” 

She moved to the other side of his neck. 

His hands slipped to her hips, desperate to touch her. 

As she slid down his body, her core passed over his, causing gentle pressure on his cock through the confining material of his boxers. His hips thrust up, desperate for more. 

Bracing on his chest, Lena pushed herself up and ground her hips down on his. 

Lashes fluttering, his eyes rolled back, and he gripped her hips with more ferocity. 

She’d never had this kind of power over a man before. It made her heady with the want to tease him until he begged.

“Lena,” he groaned, almost as if in pain. 

“Hmm?”

“I’m —” he gasped as she reached around, unclasped her bra, and took it off. She threw it across the room.

“I’m gonna come if you keep doing that,” he warned as she rocked against him.

“Is that so bad?” she asked, her voice thrown into mock innocence. 

“I — fuck.” She was riling him up and he loved it. “Want to feel your mouth,” he finally managed to say. 

“What if I want to hear you beg?”

His eyes shot open, pupils blown wide. Her tone was playful, as were her eyes, and mirth dripped from her smile. He knew if he said he didn’t like it, she’d stop right away. Except, with her on top of him, he found he was ready to do whatever she wanted. 

“Lena.” 

“Hmm?” 

“Fuck, Lena. Please.” If she wanted him to beg, he’d beg. 

“Please what?” she asked innocently, lowering her mouth over his nipple. He twitched against her as her tongue circled the small peak before flicking over the top of it. 

His breath practically huffed out of his lungs. 

“I want your mouth,” he groaned. “Please.”

“You do have very good manners,” she complimented, pushing herself up again. 

They were going to go out the window if she didn't do something soon. “Please.”

If he didn’t know her sliding further down his body likely meant he would feel her mouth soon, he would have whined at the loss of stimulation. 

Once she found herself over his legs, Lena leaned down to kiss that trail of dark hair that wound its way down the center of his abs and dipped into the waistband of his boxer briefs. 

“Can I take these off?” she asked as her fingers tucked under the elastic. 

“Please,” bracing on his heels, he thrust his hips up so she could remove them, breathing a sigh of relief when his cock sprung free of the confining material. 

“How do you like it?” she asked, hands caressing up his thighs. 

He gulped. “I —” 

“Or do you just want me to start, and you can tell me if you don’t like something?” 

He nodded vigorously. The thing he wanted most was for her to just put her mouth on him. He’d dreamed of it so many times, and now, here she was, leaning over him. 

The guttural groan that tore from his chest as Lena wrapped her lips around the head of his cock surprised them both. Her eyes shot up to look at his face, making sure he wasn’t in pain. His eyes were glued to her, wide with adoration and lust. The sight of her with her lips around him — he could die a happy man. 

“You feel so good,” he groaned. 

She loved that when he got worked up, his accent thickened.

 One of her hands was braced on his thigh, while the other swept up to cradle his balls, stroking the sensitive skin with her thumb.

The only thing Nico could do was chant her name. Every time he tried to say something else, she did something new, hollowing her cheeks, or sensuously licking the tip, or moving her mouth to the underside of his cock so her open lips traced the vein there, the tip of her tongue whispering between them. 

When her lips wrapped around him again, he was gone. “Gonna –-”  he only managed to get that one word out before he was exploding into her hot, heavenly mouth.

She squeaked in surprise but relished sucking his release off and feeling it slide down her throat. 

She lay beside him, watching Nico gasping in breaths, contented to have brought out this side of him. 

“Holy shit,” he said. 

“It was good?” she asked, repeating his earlier question and trying not to giggle. 

Turning his head, he glanced at her, one eyebrow raised. 

Before either of them could respond, her stomach grumbled loudly. 

Her eyes widened, and her hand flew to cover it, “Sorry, I’ve usually eaten by this time.”

“You don't need to apologize,” he said, laughing. 

“Why aren’t you all grumbly?” she asked. 

“I…ate a protein bar while you were getting changed,” he admitted. 

“You – what? And you didn't even think to share?” she demanded, playfully shoving away from him. “Some boyfriend you are.”

He smiled at being called her boyfriend,  even through the insult. 

“Sharing your food is like boyfriend 101.”

“I did order breakfast,” he offered. 

“When?”  

“Last night. It should be here in,” he glanced at the clock on his nightstand, “fifteen minutes. I kind of forgot how early you wake up.”

“Nico Hischier,” she said, voice full of teasing admonition as she crawled over him, “did you plan to seduce me this morning?”

He grinned, and she laughed as he pulled her down. She bounced on his chest. “Maybe I did. Aren't you glad I at least planned ahead?”

Pulling back to look into his face, her smile was soft and full of love. “Yes,” she said, leaning down to kiss him. “Yes, I am.” 

While waiting for breakfast to arrive, they made out, slowly and passionately, hands tracing each others bodies with a reverent tenderness Lena had always dreamed of. 

He was starting to stiffen up against her thigh again. It seemed impossible he could be nearly ready to go so soon after coming. He really did have the body of a God. 

His phone buzzed on the nightstand, and he pulled away reluctantly. 

“That’s breakfast,” he said. 

“Guess we should go get it,” she said, though she didn’t make any moves to get off of him. 

“I’ll go,” he said, pressing a quick kiss to her pouty, over-kissed mouth, “you stay here.” 

She watched as he threw on a new pair of boxers, some joggers, and a t-shirt before strolling out of the apartment. 

“Have you seen my underwear?” she asked when he came back through the door, a bag from her favorite bagel shop in one hand, and two coffees in a carrier in the other. 

“Hu?” he asked, slipping the coffees onto the table. 

“My underwear,” she said. “I couldn’t find them in your room.” 

“Weird,” he said, hoping she wouldn’t pick up on the hot flush of his cheeks. 

“Do you have them?” she asked. When all he responded with was a non-committal grunt, she surmised, “they’re in your pocket, aren’t they?”

He couldn’t keep the little smile off of his face. 

She rolled her eyes and took the iced coffee. “It’s a good thing I love you.” 

His smile grew brighter, and he handed her her sandwich. 

“No one’s ever made me feel like you do, Nico.”

 He’d just been telling her he felt like he won the lottery, and she wanted to assure him she felt the same. 

“Like no ones made you come?” he asked, licking ketchup off his thumb.

“No. Well, I mean, yes. You’re better because you listen —”

A smug smile took over his face. 

“I mean that you accept me. Like all of me. That hadn’t really happened in my life before you.” 

His brows shot up.

“I don’t think my family really knew what to do with me,” she said, picking up the other half of her ham and egg sandwich. 

“What do you mean?” 

“They’re all sporty, you know, and I’m…not. I’ve always been this creative free spirit, and I think my parents were at a bit of a loss when I was so bad at skating and said I wanted to take drawing lessons instead.”

“They love your art, though.” Nico had met her parents, and both of them seemed extremely proud of her. 

“They’re better now, but when I was in primary school, and even up to the point that you came in, it always felt a bit like they resented that I had these talents.” 

“Resented?” he asked. 

“Yeah, like they wished I was more like the rest of the family.”

His brows drew together. 

“And don’t get me started on the boys on the team.” 

“Everyone really liked you. I think every guy on the team had a crush on you.” All the more reason to feel contented he had her now.

“Listen, you don’t get it.”

“Don’t I?” 

“No. You were always good at sport and popular, right?” 

He made a non-commital noise. Popularity in North America was very different from how he grew up. There was much more comparison than he ever experienced. 

“I was always the artsy girl in a place that worships sports.”

“But you came to sports?”

“Yeah,” one of her shoulders shrugged up, “I came to support my friends, but they hardly ever came to things to support me. I remember Robbie told me once, ‘I don’t have enough culture for that,’ when I invited him to an art show I had some pieces in.” 

Robbie had been their goalie, who had brought Lena into the friend group. He and Jessica were now married and had several children. 

Nico’s heart broke a little. 

“And then you came in and not only did you not treat me like the only thing I was good for was being looked at, you knew some things about art, and you actually talked to me about it.”

In fact, She still vividly remembered her first encounter with Nico. 

She’d been sitting on the refreshments counter at the rink, drawing in her ever-present sketchbook while Jessica puttered around the tiny kitchen. He’d walked up to her, asked if he could see, and said, “that’s very good,” when she showed him.

She’d blushed and thanked him, and he asked where she learned to draw. 

Jessica had interjected then, bragging about Lena’s painting skills, and telling him he should come see them at the school the next time he was there.

He’d then given Lena his trademark dimpled smile and said he would. 

She was used to this. Boys said this all the time, but then would never actually show. 

Lo and behold, three days later, she was shocked to find Nico outside the art classroom after school, studying one of her paintings Mr. Jacobsen had hung in the hallway. 

“Hey Nico.”

He startled a little, “hi, Lena. You did this, right?” 

She nodded. 

“It’s very good. I like the shape,” he said, then frowned, shaking his head slightly, “not the shape. The,” he gestured with his hands as if dividing the three sections of the painting, the sky, forrest and field. “What’s the word for this?” he asked, repeating the gesture. 

“The composition?” she guessed. 

“Yes, the composition,” he said, relieved that she understood what he was trying to say. “I like that the sky is bigger. It feels like that here.” 

“Thank you.” It was exactly what she’d been aiming for. 

“You’re very talented,” he said, turning to look at her. He met her eyes and smiled. 

“Thank you,” she said again, wishing she had some other way to respond to his compliments. She didn’t have much experience with the nice, cute boy in school talking to her about art and pulling out words like composition and knowing how to use them properly in a sentence. 

It had started their friendship. It was amazing how that simple interaction of him following through made her feel. Not only seen in so many ways, but also that it kicked the budding crush she had on him into hyperdrive. She’d never met another man like him. 

Pink splotches rose high on his cheeks, and he gave her a chagrined smile. 

“What?” she asked, laughing. 

“I didn’t know much about art,” he said. “I went home and looked it up so I could talk to you about it.”

His confession made her heart burst, “really?” 

He nodded, “you were passionate about it, and I wanted to know you, so I had to learn so we could talk.”

“Nico, I can’t believe you did that for me.” 

He blushed and smiled some more. 

“How are you even real?” she asked, reaching out to run her fingers through his hair. 

It called up memories of not that long ago when she had her fingers tangled in his hair for a different reason. “Real?” he asked. 

“You’re like a dream,” she said, hand slipping to cup his jaw. “Kind and thoughtful and dedicated, and handsome to boot. It’s like you’re too perfect to be real.” 

He laughed, loud and open. He couldn’t think of anyone further from perfect than himself. 

After their meal and brushing their teeth, Nico spent some more time between her legs, eating a second and third breakfast, using his beautiful hands to aid in bringing her to a crest twice more. 

“Fuck,” she breathed as he lay next to her, “how did you get so good at that?” 

He laughed, wiping his face with his hand. “I don’t know. I listen.” 

“You listen?” she repeated. 

“Yeah, you make this little ‘uh,’” he imitated a high pitched grunt, “noise when you feel good, so I do whatever I just did again when you make it.” 

Rolling onto her side, she looked at him, “I do?” 

He nodded. 

“When did you notice that?” 

“Last week. You told me what to do and then made that noise when I did it. So I tired it again,” he said with a shrug and a secret little smile.

She knew Nico was used to noticing things other people didn’t. It’s what made him a good hockey player. He noticed and noted things about players and teams and used them to put together his best game possible. He even noticed things about her - like the fact that she liked pistachio flavored things, and liked to paint on the right side of the living room and that she liked a margarita. She couldn't remember ever telling him these things, but he had pistachio creamer in his fridge, moved the living room furniture around, and brought her a margarita whenever they went out together. 

“You’re something else, Nico Hischier,” Lena said, bringing her hand up to the side of his face. 

He smiled, nuzzling his cheek into her palm. 

“What do you want?” he asked. He wanted her, but if she wanted more foreplay, he would give it to her. He just wanted her to be happy. 

Scooting closer, she slung a leg over his hip. She held eye contact as she said, “I want you to make love to me, Nico.” 

His hand slid onto her thigh, up to her hip, and over the curve of her waist in a reverent exploration. “How do you want it? Like, what position?” he asked. 

“Missionary,” she said, her fingers tracing over his collar bone and onto his chest. “I want to see you.” 

It struck him as a tender thing for her to request, and he was glad for it. He wanted to see her, too. They could try more intense positions later. For now, that was how it needed to be. 

“Where are you going?” she asked when he rolled away from her. 

He glanced back at her with a cheeky smile. “Eager,” he teased with a lingering scan of her body as he reached into the drawer of his bedside table. 

She snorted. 

“I’m getting a condom,” he said, holding up the foil wrapped package once he’d dug one out. 

“Oh,” she said. “I have an IUD if you don’t want to.” 

His next breath came shallow. 

“I mean, unless you’re not clean. I haven’t had unprotected sex since I was last tested.”

He didn’t like to think of her having any sex at all unless it was with him. “We get tested at the start of every season,” he said. “All clear. I haven’t had sex since then.” 

“Then,” she reached forward to pluck the condom from his fingers, relieved she hadn’t been the only celibate one for the last three months, “I don’t think we need to use one.” She tossed it behind him. It landed on the nightstand, skidded across the surface, and fell somewhere they could find later. “I don’t want anything between us.”

Her eyes were dark with desire, and he felt it through his whole body. 

“You’re incredible,” he said reverently, bringing his body next to hers again. 

She reached between them to stroke his erection and his eyes fluttered closed. Feeling her hand reminded him how quickly he’d come in her mouth. “I’m scared I won’t last,” he admitted. 

He’d dreamed of being inside her for so long, gotten himself off to the thought of it so many times, he might just explode the second it became real. Reality shortening his fuze to next to nothing.

“Nico.” 

He met her gaze. 

“I don’t care how long you last.” Lena was struck once again with how handsome he was. Those big, brown doe eyes and pouty mouth. How was this her life? 

He scoffed. 

“I’m serious,” she said, giving him a look that told the truth. “I just want to feel you.” 

He looked almost as if he might cry. 

“And I know if you do come too fast, you’ll make it up to me. You’ve already given me four orgasms and it’s not even ten in the morning.” 

He chuckled, glad for her reassurance and humor. 

“Is this helping?” she asked, continuing at the same, gentle pace, “or no?” 

He nodded. It probably was helping - getting him used to the feel of her.

“Do you want me to keep going?”��

He shook his head, finally getting up the strength to pull her hand away. They’d waited long enough. 

Lena rolled onto her back, and he followed, bracing himself on his forearms above her. 

As he reached down go guide himself, Nico pulled in a deep breath. Slow. They were going to take this slow, and everything was going to be fine.

Even nestling his tip against her entrance sent sparks pinging through his system. 

He tore his eyes from where their bodies would soon be joined and looked into her face, “this is okay?”

She nodded.

“You’ll tell me if —” 

She leaned up to cut him off with a kiss. “Make love to me, Nico,” she whispered as she settled back against the pillows. 

And so, he eased forward. 

Her hips tipped to his, a pleasured sigh escaping her lips. There was a stretch, but he’d prepped her so well, there was no pain. 

She met his gaze as his hips settled against hers. He was looking at her with all this love and adoration. No one had ever looked at her like that but him. Reaching up, she swept some of his hair out of his eyes, only to have it fall right back. 

A laugh chuffed out of him as if to agree that was a losing battle.  

“You can move,” she said after a few more moments of his trembling stillness. 

He swallowed and shifted his hips back. 

She took in a sharp breath. “Oh.”

“Feels good?” his voice was tight with restraint. 

The fullness of him was good, but feeling him move inside her was better. “Yes,” she moaned. 

A thousand little dreams came true.  

The sight of her beneath him was a replay of so many fantasies, his resolve was unraveling too fast. He knew she meant what she said about him coming too soon, but he wanted to be good for her, and, dammit, he wanted to feel her fall apart around him. He slammed his eyes closed. 

“How does it,” she gasped as he withdrew to the tip, “feel?” 

“You feel so good, Lena,” he panted. “You’re so tight.”

“Or you’re so thick,” she countered, back arching as he thrust back onto her, a little harder.

That’s when she heard it, that little grunt. It was something her body seemed to do naturally. She would never have noticed it if Nico hadn’t pointed it out. And he’d picked up on it almost immediately, filing the information in his beautiful brain to help bring her pleasure. What had she ever done to deserve this man?

Nico risked looking at her. She was beautiful every time he saw her, but this took the cake.

“What do you need? What will make you come?” 

Of course Nico was mature enough to communicate and know he needed her help to get her there.

“Keep going,” she panted as her hand slipped between them in search of her clit. Nico felt so good. So incredible inside her, but she'd never been able to get off by penetration alone. 

His jaw dropped as her walls fluttered around him. “Fuck can't do that,” he groaned. 

“Need it,” she whispered, pressing purposeful circles over the sensitive bundle. 

He moaned her name and buried his face in her neck. She felt so much better than he'd even fantasized. 

She made a noise that made his hair stand on end. God, how was he going to get through this without embarrassing himself when she sounded like that? Like more than all of his dreams combined?

“Nico,” she moaned his name the same way, and he felt his resolve crumble a little bit more. 

Pulling from every self discipline lesson he'd learned in hockey and beyond, he stilled, reminding his body his mind was more powerful. 

Once he had some semblance of control back, his competitive determination snapped into place, and his desire to please her took the drivers seat. He needed to see her come beneath him.

“Can you…” she trailed off before demanding, “Nico, harder.”

He braced lifted himself higher and drove his cock into her with more ferocity, grunting with each show of strength. 

“Oh my god. Nico, yes!” Feeling his strong hips drive into her over and over again made her back bow.

Sweat broke out along his hairline just as much from exertion as the restraint he was clinging to. 

“I’m almost there.”

“Let go,” he growled. 

Her mouth dropped open. She never expected to hear Nico order her around at all, but hearing the gruff command in SwissGerman sent her body into a frenzy. She had no idea what he said, but it was the hottest fucking thing she'd ever heard. 

Her hips rose to meet his, and he could still feel her fingers between them, working for her own high. 

He watched pleasure roll across her face and continued on.  “Lena,” his resolve was slipping, and he heard desperation creep into his voice. “Come.”  

That one word order — she knew it had to be — tipped her over the precipice, and her body seized.

Feeling her walls clench around him pulled a shout from his gut. Fuck, she felt so good. As he continued, the rapid pulsating began. 

“Lena,” it came out a desperate moan.

This was…she was… “Lena.”

Careening over the edge with a shouted, “Fuck!” he flooded her in a haze of bliss. 

Afterglow turned his limbs to jelly, and he collapsed atop her. 

Walking to his locker the next morning, Nico tried his best to be as inconspicuous as possible. If he didn’t draw attention to the hickeys on his neck and chest, no one would notice. He’d just change with his chest facing the stall. 

“Ooh!” Dawson called out as soon as he’d stripped off his shirt, “Cap finally got laid!”

He went rigid. The memory of Lena’s nails raking over his back as she unraveled beneath him for the fourth - or maybe it was the fifth - time flew into his mind. 

He'd nearly howled like a wolf when she'd done it. The pain, together with the pleasure of her walls constricting around him – not to mention the very reality that he was the one making her come so hard – made him see stars. 

“Whose the lucky lady?” Jack asked, sauntering over, “was it that blonde from the bar? I bet it was the blonde.” 

He felt himself snort. “No,” he said, voice louder than he expected. Of course it wasn’t the blonde from the bar. Some girl he’d just met could never compare.

“Who was it then? We all know it wasn’t Lena.” 

Nico couldn’t help the smug little smile that spread over his lips. 

Jonas picked up on it right away. “it was Lena wasn’t it?” he asked, eyes going wide. 

Feeling himself blush, Nico tried and failed to keep the grin off his face.

“It was!” Jack exclaimed. “You finally got the balls!” he clapped a hand on Nicos shoulder and spun him around, taking in the marks on his chest and neck. “Looks like she enjoyed herself at least!” he said with a laugh.

“Aw man,” Dawson moaned, sinking onto the bench at his stall. “Why are all the hot girls taken?” 

“You didn’t seriously think you had a chance with Lena, did you?” Curtis chirped, one sarcastic eyebrow raised. 

Dawson shrugged, feeling his face and neck get hot. 

“Didn’t you see the way she and Nico have been eye fucking each other the past four months? Neeks was practically on his knees at Halloween.” 

“I was not,” Nico defended. 

“No,” Jack broke in, “you were. You were practically drooling, to be honest.” 

Coming home after practice, the apartment smelled heavenly. Like spicy sausage and something creamy. Lena was cooking. 

He followed his nose to the kitchen and found her at the stove in a pair of running shorts and a gray Devils t-shirt, stirring whatever she had in the sauce pot. 

As he watched, she brought the spoon to her mouth, tipped her head to the side as she tasted, then reached for the salt. She shook some in before stirring and repeating the process.

She must have deemed it done because she set the spoon down and flipped off the burner. She grabbed some hot pads and lifted the pot off the stove. 

A yelp escaped her mouth when Lena turned to find Nico in the doorway, looking at her. She nearly dropped the whole pot of sauce. 

 “Oh my God! Why do you do that?” she demanded, managing to set the pot back on the stove. 

An amused smile lifted his mouth, dimpling one cheek more than the other. “Do what?” 

“You keep just showing up in the kitchen without any warning!” she said, flapping a hot pad in his direction, “and it scares the hell out of me when I turn around.” 

“I just get too distracted to say hello,” he admitted. 

“Distracted?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“Yeah, you’re…” he paused, gesturing to her as he tried to find the right words. “You’re so pretty it steals my thoughts sometimes.”

She blushed. 

“That time I came in when you had that pink underwear on, I thought I might faint.”

She rolled her eyes. 

“I’m serious, Lena,” he said, finally stepping in so he could put his hands on her waist. The fact that he could touch her like this now was still banging pots and pans around his brain each time he did it.

“You thought you might faint?” she repeated. “that seems a little dramatic, Nico.” 

He shrugged, “it was like this stolen moment.”

“What?” 

He paused, working his thumbs under the shirt hanging loose on her petite frame. He loved that she’d started wearing his shirts.

“I loved you for so long, and it was like this little, secret gift.” His thumbs drew circles on her skin as he thought through the words, “it was like I was seeing you like I might if we were together, and I just couldn’t…I couldn’t bear to say anything because it would break it.”

“I thought you were shocked at my thighs,” she blurted, effectively running the moment. What he was saying was so incredibly sweet, but him bringing up that moment brought her straight back. 

He laughed quietly. “I was shocked at your thighs. I don’t think I’d ever seen you in your underwear.” 

“I mean…I thought you didn’t like them,” she said quietly, hoping he didn’t think she was fishing for compliments. The way he’d tenderly kissed her there the night before told her she’d been wrong. 

His gaze grew soft, “you’re so beautiful, Lena. How could you think that?” 

One of her shoulders shrugged up. “I’ve never really liked them.”

His hand slid down over her hip to tenderly grip the flesh, “I love them,” he said, leaning in closer to nuzzle his nose against hers. “I especially like what’s between them.” 

“You’re insatiable,” she teased, even as her heart fluttered. It was a strange thing to have her insecurities turned inside out so easily. 

“Can you blame me?” he asked, lips whispering over hers, “when I’ve wanted you for so long, and now,” he slid his other hand to her other thigh, and tightened his fingers, nudging her to jump. She did, and he moved to cup her rear to hold her up as her ankles hooked around his waist. “Now I have you?” The truth in his statement, along with the feel of her body pressed against his, made him a little breathless.

The steps they’d taken to get here were clear, and she followed them again and again in her mind, but in moments like this, it still felt like a dream. Instead of answering, she kissed him.

They’d kissed a lot now, but it still felt so new that each time she initiated, each time she caught his mouth, and especially each time her tongue brushed against his, his knees went a little weak. 

Stumbling just slightly, he backed up and ran into the fridge. The bottles in the door clinked and rattled in protest. 

The sauce and baked potatoes were long forgotten as he carried her to the bedroom.

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[kathlare]

a quiet farewell

Lando Norris x Amelie Dayman

Summary: Amelie is in the process of leaving her London apartment, reflecting on her time spent in the city, her experiences filming Wicked, and the complex emotions tied to her past, especially regarding Lando. As she prepares to move back to New York, she encounters Max Fewtrell, an old friend who offers support.

Wordcount: 1.8 k

Warnings: none

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December 12th, 2022 - London, United Kingdom

The sky outside was dull and overcast, typical of London’s December weather. A soft drizzle kissed the windows of the apartment as Amelie packed the last few of her things into cardboard boxes. The place, once filled with the bustling energy of her life in the midst of filming Wicked, now felt eerily empty. It had only been a few days since she’d wrapped her part in the musical, but the transition from being on set every day to leaving the city felt abrupt, like she was shedding an entire chapter of her life.

She wasn’t exactly sad to be leaving. London had been a stop on the way to something bigger—something new. But still, this apartment held memories of long nights spent rehearsing, of quiet dinners alone, and of course, the occasional visits from friends. And then there was Lando.

It was impossible to think of this apartment without remembering the time they had spent here together in 2021. The endless hours gaming, the spontaneous trips to get food in the middle of the night, and the strange, unspoken chemistry that had built between them, even when they both pretended it was nothing. The friendship that had slowly evolved into something more—a situation ship, as Lando had called it. But that was before it all came crashing down.

Amelie paused for a moment, leaning against the stack of boxes. She hadn’t spoken to Lando in over a year. The last time they had seen each other was at the Abu Dhabi Grand Prix a few weeks ago, and she had barely acknowledged his presence. She couldn’t even remember what had happened, but she had made her choice to keep her distance, focusing on the relationships that mattered now.

Amelie sighed and shook her head, trying to shake off the memories that seemed to hover around her like a cloud. The past year had been a whirlwind of emotions, both good and bad, and now she was moving on. There was nothing more to do here in London. It was time to return to New York, where everything felt a little more like home. As much as she had enjoyed her time here, the city had become a place of memories she didn’t need to revisit any longer.

The soft sound of footsteps echoed in the hallway, and Amelie turned her head, expecting to see one of the building’s tenants or maybe the landlord checking in. Instead, she froze. Standing at the end of the hallway, looking up at her with a slight frown, was Max Fewtrell.

Max leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, his face soft with curiosity and concern. His trademark casualness was present, but there was a hint of surprise in his eyes.

—You’re moving out?— he asked, raising an eyebrow. His voice, though warm, carried a touch of disbelief, as if he hadn’t expected to see her leaving so soon.

Amelie hesitated, the box in her hands suddenly feeling heavier. She hadn’t seen Max in a while. Their friendship, though not as close as it had once been, still lingered in the odd, quiet way that time and distance did. But seeing him now, standing in the hallway of the building they’d both shared, she felt a twinge of familiarity.

—Yeah,— she replied, trying to keep her tone light. —I’m heading back to New York. Finally done with the filming, and there’s not much for me here anymore. Just... need to get out of this place, I guess.—

Max nodded slowly, stepping forward, his gaze flickering over the boxes stacked by the door.

—If you need a hand...— he started, his voice casual, but with the underlying sincerity that Max always had when he offered help.

Amelie gave a soft chuckle, looking up at him.

—You don’t have to do that, Max. It’s just a couple of boxes.—

Max smirked, shrugging nonchalantly.

—Yeah, well, I’m sure you’ve got everything under control, but it’s not like I’ve got anything else to do today.— He paused for a moment, as if weighing his words. —Besides, I haven’t seen you in forever. Thought I’d at least offer. You know, in case you’re planning to tackle this mountain of stuff alone.—

There was a hint of awkwardness in his smile, but it was genuine. They hadn’t been as close after everything had unfolded, but there was still a comfort in his presence. She nodded, setting down the box with a sigh.

—Alright, alright. I’ll take the help.—

Max’s face softened as he moved to grab one of the larger boxes. They made their way down the stairs, the quiet buzz of the building’s usual hum filling the space between them.

After a few moments, Amelie couldn’t help but break the silence.

—How’s everything going with you? I mean... I know it’s been a while, but you look... good. Busy?— She glanced over at him, half-grinning. Max had always been someone she could talk to, even when everything else felt complicated.

Max looked over at her, raising an eyebrow.

—Yeah, you know, same old. Busy as always, I guess. Not much new on my end. Been mostly trying to dodge the craziness around the F1 scene. You, though? Looks like you’ve been living your best life.—

Amelie snorted softly, running a hand through her hair.

—Yeah, I guess. Filming “Wicked” was... well, it was a lot. But it’s over now. And with all that, I kinda lost touch with everything else. Which... maybe wasn’t the best idea.—

She could feel the words hanging between them, the unspoken tension, the reminder of what had happened back in 2021, between her and Lando. The last time she and Max had truly spoken, everything had been different—before she’d wrapped herself in the whirlwind of her film career and before things had soured with Lando.

Max tilted his head, eyes softening as he glanced over at her.

—You know... I’ve always said this, but... sometimes you need to get lost in the chaos to figure stuff out. Even if it’s just for a while.—

Amelie nodded slowly, grateful for the kindness in his voice.

—Yeah, I guess that’s what I did. Got lost. It was easier that way, you know?— She paused, her voice trailing off. —I needed to figure things out on my own, without distractions, without... well, without things that reminded me of everything I was trying to leave behind.—

Max didn’t push her, but he nodded, as if he understood exactly what she meant. Their friendship, even though it wasn’t as strong as it once had been, still carried that unspoken connection. They didn’t need to dive into every detail to understand where the other was coming from.

—Yeah, I get it. Sometimes stepping away is the only way to make sense of things, even if it takes a while to come back to it.— Max’s voice was steady, like he was trying to ease her through whatever mental hurdles she was running into.

They reached the lobby, and Amelie set the box down near the door to the outside. Max followed her, setting down his own box with a grunt.

—So, New York, huh?— Max asked, casually resting his hands on his hips. —Back to the big city after all this time. Must be a strange feeling, leaving London behind. You were here for a while.—

Amelie let out a quiet sigh, rubbing her hand over her forehead. —It is. But... it’s time. Things here were never the same after... everything that happened. And besides, New York is where it all started for me. It’s home. I can’t stay here forever.—

There was a slight pause between them. Amelie looked up, seeing Max's expression soften, though his gaze was distant, like he wasn’t just talking about New York anymore. She knew what he was thinking, or at least, she thought she did.

Max shifted his weight, eyes narrowing slightly as if weighing something in his mind. He tilted his head, his expression thoughtful.

—You went to Abu Dhabi, didn’t you?— he said casually, the question hanging in the air. It was an observation, not a question for confirmation, but Amelie knew exactly what he meant. It wasn’t just about the Grand Prix; it was about everything that had happened before.

Amelie froze for a moment, the weight of his words sinking in. She didn’t answer immediately, instead staring at the ground for a brief second before meeting his eyes. She could feel the familiar tension rising in her chest, the same knot that had formed every time she’d crossed paths with Lando or had to confront something she had buried away.

—So, he told you, huh?— she said, her voice quieter than usual. She let the question linger in the air as she met Max's gaze with a mixture of resignation and something else, something more vulnerable, maybe. It wasn’t just about her going to Abu Dhabi. It was about what had transpired since then, about the unspoken things that had been left in the air after that weekend.

Max didn’t flinch, and he didn’t look away. He gave her a slow nod, his eyes soft but still carrying that knowing look that had become a part of him.

—Yeah... he told me. I didn’t know you were back in the mix after all this time. Honestly, I thought you’d cut ties with the whole F1 circus for good.— He shrugged, his tone not judgmental, but still full of curiosity.

Amelie swallowed, leaning against the doorframe for support, her fingers still pressed lightly against the cardboard of the box she had been holding.

—Well, I guess I had a few things I needed to work out on my own, you know? Lando’s... Lando. And I don’t have to explain myself to him, or anyone else, really.— Her voice was steady now, though there was a sharpness to it she hadn’t intended. The mention of Lando always made her emotions twist into knots. It was hard not to think of him when everything they had shared felt so recent, even though it had been a year since everything ended. She didn’t want to admit how much it still affected her, how much she still carried from that time.

Max could sense the tension in her voice, the way her body stiffened as soon as Lando’s name slipped into the conversation. He knew better than to push her further, especially when it was clear that Amelie wasn’t ready to dive into the past.

He shifted his weight, looking down at the boxes stacked outside her apartment. The weight of the moment hung in the air, but Max wasn’t one to let things drag on in uncomfortable silence for too long.

—Fair enough. I get it. You’ve got your reasons. But just so you know, he wasn’t exactly... thrilled to see you ignoring him at the Grand Prix.— Max’s voice had an edge to it now, just a hint of teasing.

Amelie’s eyes snapped to him, and she could tell that Max was well aware of how touchy the topic was. His tone wasn’t judgmental, more like an offhand remark that hinted at the unspoken understanding between them—an understanding that had survived even after all the weirdness and distance.

—Right, well... I’m sure he’s had plenty of things to occupy his time since then.— Amelie’s voice was almost too calm, the words slipping out before she could stop herself. She couldn’t help it. She had spent so long trying to move on, but there was always a part of her that felt tied to Lando, even after everything.

Max met her gaze with a knowing look, his eyebrows furrowing slightly.

—Yeah, well, you know how it goes. Lando’s got his distractions. But I think he’s still got a bit of a soft spot for you, you know? Doesn’t help that he’s been with a string of girls who... kinda remind him of you.— He didn’t say it to be cruel. In fact, there was something almost sympathetic in the way he said it, like he understood the mess that had been their situation.

Amelie’s stomach twisted at his words. It was always like this with Lando—his way of moving on without truly letting go. The girls he dated were nothing more than placeholders, distractions from the real thing.

—Jesus, Max, I don’t need to hear that right now, okay?— Her voice cracked just slightly as she tried to keep her emotions in check. The last thing she wanted was for her complicated feelings to spill out in front of him.

—Alright, I’ll shut up about him. I’m just here to help you with your boxes. No need to dive into that drama.—

Amelie appreciated that, more than Max could probably understand. They hadn’t talked about Lando much since their falling out, and it was clear to her that Max was trying to navigate the delicate space between them. He wasn’t intruding, but he was still offering her the connection and understanding that had once been a pillar of their friendship.

They finished unloading the boxes into the bus, the last of Amelie’s things being packed up and ready for the move. There was still a bit of awkwardness hanging between them, but it was different now. The tension from before had softened, and they were back to that easy, familiar rhythm that had always existed between them—quiet conversations, small gestures of support, and a sense of understanding that needed no explanation.

As they finished, Amelie turned to face him, taking a deep breath before speaking. Her voice was quiet but urgent.

—Max... can you... please not tell Lando about today? About me leaving? I just... I don’t want him to know. Not right now.—

Max looked at her for a long moment, his expression serious. He was quiet for a second, his gaze flickering to the ground before meeting her eyes again.

—I won’t say anything. You have my word, Amelie.—

Relief washed over her, though she tried not to show too much of it. She nodded once, the weight on her chest lifting just a little.

—Thanks. I... I just can’t deal with him right now, you know? It’s... complicated. It’s always been complicated. And I just need a clean break, without anyone telling him what’s going on. Please.—

Max gave a simple nod, his lips curling into a soft smile.

—I get it. You don’t need to explain. You’ve got enough on your plate.—

Amelie smiled, her eyes softening as she finally relaxed, feeling the last of her defenses slip away. For a brief moment, it felt like things were back to a place where they could just be friends again—no pressure, no hidden meanings.

She glanced over at the bus, the large vehicle waiting to take her back to New York. It was a new chapter, a fresh start.

As she picked up the last of her things, Max helped her with the final box, and they exchanged a few more quiet words. It was strange, this feeling of moving on, of letting go. But in the end, it was for the best.

When she was finally ready to leave, Max turned to her, giving her one last casual salute.

—Take care, Amelie. You’ll do great out there. Don’t be a stranger.—

Amelie nodded, her voice quieter now.

—I won’t. Thanks, Max. And... I’ll see you around, alright?—

With that, she climbed into the bus and closed the door behind her, the last of her ties to London slipping away with a soft hum of the engine. She sat back in her seat, closing her eyes for a moment as the city began to fade in the distance.

For the first time in a long time, Amelie felt like she was finally free.

[httpsdana]

100-"I can't. I don't want to get hurt again." Please for Xavi 😭

Taking The Risk~Xavi Simons

*Pictures are from Pinterest*

enjoy <3

request from here

master list -> part 2

players/drivers i write for

100-"I can't. I don't want to get hurt again."

y/n had been friends with Xavi for a while, a friendship that was easy and natural at first. They’d laugh at each other’s jokes, spend hours talking about nothing and everything, and it was always fun. But somewhere along the way, the lines blurred. The way his hand would brush against hers, or how his eyes lingered on her a little longer, made her heart race. It terrified her. She could feel herself getting too close, letting her guard down in a way she hadn’t done in a long time.

It was happening again—the slow, inevitable fall.

It had been a while since she allowed herself to feel something for anyone, and now that it was happening, all she wanted to do was run. She knew what it was like to be hurt, to give herself over to someone only to have her heart shattered. It wasn’t something she was ready to experience again.

So, she began to pull away. She stopped replying to his messages as quickly, cancelled plans with vague excuses, and when she did see him, the air was heavy with the weight of the distance between you. Xavi noticed it. He always noticed everything when it came to her.

It wasn’t long before he called her out on it. One evening, after she canceled meeting up again, he showed up at her door, concern etched in his features.

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on?” His voice was softer than she expected, but there was an edge to it, a hurt he was trying to hide.

y/n hesitated, swallowing the lump in her throat. “Nothing’s wrong, Xavi. I’ve just been... busy.” she said, her voice low and weak

He frowned, not buying it for a second. “Busy? Or avoiding me?” he questioned

She took a deep breath, trying to keep her walls intact. But the weight of his gaze made it impossible to lie any further. He deserved the truth, even if it scared her to admit it. “I just... I can’t.” she whispered

His brows furrowed, confusion clouding his expression. “What do you mean?”

“I can’t let myself get close to you. I just-I can't. I don't want to get hurt again” The words tumbled out before she could stop them, raw and vulnerable. She didn’t dare look at him, instead staring at the ground like it could somehow swallow the awkwardness.

He was silent for a moment, and she could feel him processing her words. Then, softly, he asked, “Who hurt you?”

y/n bit her lip, the memories of past heartbreaks flashing through her mind. The betrayal, the lies, the emptiness it left her with.

“It doesn’t matter who. I just... I can’t go through that again, Xavi. I don’t want to get hurt. Not by you.” she said, playing with her fingers to avoid his eyes

He stepped closer, his voice low and steady. “I would never hurt you. You know that, right?” he said softly

She finally met his eyes, and the sincerity there made her chest tighten. “You say that now. But what happens when things get hard? When it’s not easy anymore?” she asked, the vulnerability evident in her voice

Xavi shook his head, his gaze never leaving hers. “I’m not saying things will always be easy. But I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

She wanted to believe him. She wanted to trust the promise in his words, but the fear was too strong, the scars too deep. “I don’t know if I can take that risk.” she shook her head

He took another step closer, so close now that she could feel the warmth of his presence, the steady calmness that was uniquely him.

“I like you, Y/N. I’ve liked you for a while now. And I’ve been waiting for the right moment to tell you. But I need you to meet me halfway. I need you to believe me when I say that I’m not like them.” he confessed, sounding genuine and sincere

Her breath hitched at his words, her heart pounding in her chest. She had never allowed herself to even think about him feeling the same way. But now, hearing him say it, hearing the quiet plea in his voice, it stirred something inside her.

“I don’t want to lose you,” she whispered, the fear still lingering.

He shook his head, his eyes softening. “You won’t lose me. You’ll never lose me.”

The vulnerability in his voice, in the way he looked at her, was her undoing. Slowly, she let herself soften, let the fear that had gripped her so tightly begin to loosen. She wanted to believe him, and maybe that was enough for now.

“I’m scared,” she admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

“I know,” he replied gently. “And that’s okay. But I’m scared too. Scared of losing you before we even have a chance.”

y/n felt a tear slip down her cheek, quickly brushing it away, but Xavi was faster, his hand reaching out to gently wipe it away. The touch was soft, delicate, and it sent a warmth through her chest that she hadn’t felt in a long time.

“Just... give us a chance,” he said softly. “We don’t have to rush. But don’t shut me out. Please.”

She stared at him, heart pounding, every part of her torn between running and staying. But then she realized that maybe, just maybe, Xavi was worth the risk.

With a deep breath, she nodded. “Okay.”

The relief that washed over his face was immediate. He stepped even closer, wrapping his arms around her in a hug that felt like home. For the first time in a long time, she allowed herself to lean into it, to let the walls she’d built around her heart crumble just a little.

They didn’t know what the future held, but in that moment, with Xavi holding her close, she decided to take the risk.

[thefeastandthefast]

So talking with @elderflowergin a few days ago got me thinking about the theme of debt in this show... In Chinese, the language of indebtedness is often used to characterize interpersonal relationships- one of my favorite examples is describing a difficult child as their parents' unpaid creditor from a past life!

The language reflects the accepted moral expectation of both kindness and treachery requiring repayment in kind. I'll leave it to someone with more expertise than me to dissect how the origins of these linguistic conventions arose from a culture shaped by both Confucian philosophy (which emphasizes the social obligations of individuals within their family, community, and country) and Buddhism (particularly the part about karmic debt).

Anyway, the way indebtedness plays out within the relationships of Mudan and Jiang Changyang compared to Mudan and Shengyi is so interesting (and in the latter case, totally heartbreaking) to me.

I’m a little obsessed with how Jiang Changyang and Mudan are increasingly playful and casual in the way they talk about their debtor/creditor relationship and all the big and small ways they owe each other. There’s a relaxed sort of intimacy in the giving and taking and a sense of stability and safety in the owing. To these two, the owing means continued opportunity for reciprocity and mutual indebtedness.

They are taking their sweet time with the accounting. To fully clear the balance would end the nominal reason for further entanglement. The indebtedness allows them cover to discover each other as two people on equitable footing.

It also allows Jiang Changyang to show Mudan over and over again that he will never bargain or scheme to take her autonomy. Mudan will happily owe that which can be calculated in cash and paid in full. But she will not be induced to take on the emotional and psychological debt used to trap women with the creditors patriarchal feudal Chinese society has designated for them. That kind of intangible debt can never be cleared, forever remaining a burden.

She refused that debt to her father, when she left behind without a backward glance the dowry she took from his house into her marriage. She refused that debt to her male cousin, turning away from the soft landing of his protection in Chang’an.

It’s only possible for Mudan to find pleasure and delight in her emotional entanglement and no fear in her indebtedness to JCY because she is not at the mercy of his generosity, in the way Liu Chang is with the County Princess and the Prince of Ning. As fucked up as it is that she had to ask him to literally buy her to get her out of the military camp, she, and we viewers, feel only relief and not discomfort when we find that he had already done so.

But in Mudan and Shengyi's relationship, we see that Shengyi was never able to see herself as being on equitable footing with Mudan. Shengyi's deep chasm of insecurity and self loathing made it so that every moment of real warmth and love and success felt bestowed upon her out of charity, not something she was an equal partner in creating.

She couldn't see her friendship with Mudan as continued opportunity for the pleasure of reciprocity and mutual indebtedness. Instead she saw it as a growing pile of debt exchanged for the illusion of happiness and safety. She tried her best to keep up her end of this deal she thought she was making- redeeming Mudan's mother's necklace as soon as she was financially able, buying her new clothes, guarding her from what seemed like the threat of the flower guild's spy, etc. But when Mudan lost almost everything because of Shengyi's vulnerability to Wang Qing's deception, in Shengyi's mind that debt became crushingly impossible to ever repay.

That's why she refused to return, even after Mudan made it clear she was still a beloved friend and valued partner. That's why she collapsed in broken sobs when Mudan asked if the price for seeing the truth wasn't too costly. My heart ached watching that scene knowing Shengyi would never go home after that. Shengyi's first big decision that she made on her own after a lifetime of coerced transactions was a terrible deal that figuratively speaking bankrupted herself and her dearest friend.

What is bleakest about Shengyi's end is that I think she killed Wang Qing more as a way to resolve her and Mudan's unfinished business, rather than as justice for herself. She stayed and took the abuse as a form of penance, until she figured out a way to clear her balance and her conscience.

Her last words were, more fully translated than what was on Viki: 无法选择如何生，却可以选择干干净净得走 (Though I can't choose how to live, I can choose to go, clean and tidy.) Of course clean and tidy can mean the manner of her suicide, but I feel it refers more to Shengyi finally feeling like she's able to fully repay Mudan for her kindness and compensate her for her pain, owing nothing. The tragedy is that Mudan never wanted such clean and meticulous accounting- she only wanted Shengyi to live well and be free.

[dovesdreaming]

In the quiet halls

A/N: I only recently discovered people write for him so if his character doesn’t seem right please give me tips! I also didn’t know who was the more popular fancast so I just stuck with David tenant because I think he’s hot 🤭

Summary: when Barty finds you in the empty halls crying his fist reaction is anger at who made you feel like this but it melts away when you look at him with tear rimmed eyes. Barty comforts you the best he can.

Request

Masterlist

-

Barty had never been great with emotions, particularly his own. Growing up in the cold, controlled environment of the Crouch household, feelings were something to be kept under wraps, hidden away where they couldn't make you vulnerable. But you.. you had always been different. You weren’t afraid to feel, to express yourself, to be open and honest in a way that made him question everything he'd ever known about control. Which was why it terrified him just how much he cared about you. What had started as friendship had slowly turned into something more, something he didn’t know how to deal with. He couldn’t stop thinking about you, the way your laugh echoed through the common room, the way you always managed to say the right thing when he was in a bad mood, the way your smile made his heart race. But you were his best friend, and he wasn’t about to ruin that by confessing his feelings. No, it was better to keep things as they were, even if it meant pretending that you didn’t make his heart ache in ways he couldn’t explain.So, he kept it to himself, content to stand by your side and quietly pine after you, knowing that you deserved more than someone like him. You deserved someone who wasn’t constantly wrestling with the darkness inside him, someone who wasn’t constantly trying to live up to impossible expectations.

He was on his way to the library, mentally preparing himself for another late-night study session, when he saw you in one of the empty corridors. His brow furrowed in concern when he noticed the way you were slumped against the wall, arms wrapped tightly around yourself. You looked… small. Defeated. And most importantly you had hidden yourself away in a corridor instead of seeking comfort like you usually do. His stomach twisted as he quickly closed the distance between you, dread curling in his chest. He had seen you upset before, but this was different. You looked like you were barely holding it together. “Hey” he said softly, crouching down in front of you. “What happened?” You didn’t look up, and for a moment, you didn’t answer. Barty’s heart pounded in his chest, and he felt an unfamiliar surge of protectiveness rise in him, the kind that made his hands clench into fists. Who had done this to you? Who had made you feel this way?

“Who upset you?” he asked, his voice tight with barely contained anger. His mind raced with images of every possible person who could’ve upset you. Whoever it was, they’d have to answer to him. But then, you looked up at him, and the anger that had been building inside him evaporated the moment he saw your face. Your eyes were red-rimmed, tears still clinging to your lashes, and your expression was so utterly broken that it made his chest hurt. The fierceness in him melted, replaced by a deep, gnawing ache. His voice softened instantly. “Hey, what’s going on?” he asked, his tone gentle now. “Talk to me”. You sniffed, wiping at your eyes with the back of your hand, trying to compose yourself, but it was clear you were struggling. Barty’s heart broke a little more at the sight of you trying to be strong.

“I-It’s stupid” you said shakily, your voice barely above a whisper. “It’s just… today’s been awful. Everything’s gone wrong, and I-I feel like I can’t do anything right. Like I’m failing at everything”. Barty’s heart ached at your words. He had seen you go through tough days before, but it was rare to see you so broken. Normally, you were the strong one, the one who kept your head held high no matter what. Seeing you like this, seeing you hurt, was unbearable. “Hey, no” he said softly, sitting down beside you, his shoulder pressing against yours in a gesture of quiet support. “You’re not failing. You’re… you’re brilliant. You’re one of the strongest people I know”. You gave him a shaky laugh, but it was clear you didn’t believe him. “I don’t feel strong right now” you whispered. “I feel like I’m falling apart”. Barty swallowed the lump in his throat, his mind racing as he tried to find the right words to comfort you. “You don’t have to be strong all the time, you know” he said quietly. “It’s okay to have bad days. It’s okay to feel like this”.

You shook your head, still struggling to hold back tears. “But it’s more than that. I feel like no matter what I do, it’s not good enough. I try so hard, and I just… I don’t know how much longer I can keep pretending everything’s fine”. Barty felt his chest tighten. He hated seeing you like this. He hated that you were feeling so alone, so lost, and he hated that he hadn’t noticed sooner. He reached out, hesitating for just a moment before gently taking your hand in his. The contact was warm, grounding, and thought he had touched you before in casual ways, brushing arms, light nudges this felt more deliberate, more intimate. “You don’t have to pretend with me” he said softly, his thumb brushing against the back of your hand. “Not ever. I’m here, alright? Whatever’s going on, we’ll get through it together”. You glanced down at your intertwined hands, your fingers curling slightly around his. The small gesture made his heart skip a beat, but he pushed that feeling aside. This wasn’t about him. This was about you, and right now, all that mattered was making sure you knew he was there for you.

“I just.. I don’t know what to do anymore” you admitted, your voice so quiet that he had to strain to hear you. “Everything feels like it’s falling apart”. Barty’s heart ached as he listened to you, every word making him want to pull you closer, to hold you until you felt safe again. But he didn’t want to push you, didn’t want to overstep. He settled for squeezing your hand a little tighter, offering what comfort he could. “You don’t have to figure everything out right now” he said softly. “One step at a time, okay? And you don’t have to do it alone”. You were silent for a moment, your gaze fixed on the ground. Then, slowly, you leaned your head against his shoulder, your body slumping against his in exhaustion. Barty felt his breath catch in his throat, but he didn’t move. He didn’t want to risk breaking the fragile moment. “Thank you” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “I don’t know what I’d do without you”.

His chest tightened at your words, a strange mix of warmth and sadness swelling within him. He wished he could tell you how much you meant to him, how he would do anything to make sure you never felt this way again. But the words got stuck in his throat, and instead, he settled for pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head, his lips lingering there for just a moment longer than necessary. “I’m always here”he said quietly, his voice filled with a sincerity that surprised even him. “No matter what” You didn’t say anything in response, but the way your body relaxed against his, the way your hand tightened around his, told him enough. The two of you sat in silence for a long time, the weight of the day slowly easing off your shoulders as you let yourself lean on him. Barty stayed there with you, his heart racing but steady, determined to be the calm you needed right now. For as long as you needed him, he would be there.

Eventually, you shifted slightly, lifting your head from his shoulder to meet his gaze. Your eyes were still red, but there was a softness there now, a vulnerability that made his breath catch. “I don’t know what I did to deserve a friend like you” you said quietly, a small, tired smile tugging at your lips. Barty felt his heart skip a beat, but he forced a smile in return, trying to keep his emotions in check. “I’m the lucky one” he said softly, and it wasn’t a lie. Every day he spent with you was a gift he didn’t feel he deserved.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The air between you felt charged, like something unspoken hung in the balance. Barty’s eyes flickered to your lips, but he quickly looked away, cursing himself for thinking about that when you were upset. This wasn’t the time. But then, to his surprise, you reached out and gently cupped his face in your hands, your thumbs brushing softly against his cheekbones. His heart stopped as you leaned forward, your forehead resting against his, your breath warm against his skin. “Thank you” you whispered again, and this time, Barty couldn’t help himself. Without thinking, he closed the small gap between you, his lips brushing against yours in the softest, most tentative kiss. It was gentle, filled with the quiet promise of more, of everything that had been building between you for so long. When Barty pulled back, your eyes searched his, a quiet question lingering there.

“I-“ he started, but you beat him to his ramble and quickly pulled him back into your lips by wrapping your hand round the back of his head, hoping it would be enough to answer his questions.

-

Thank you for reading!

[malleux]

performance anxiety.

-> lyney x fem!famous singer!reader

-> warnings: mentions of past bad relationship, anxiety, no use of y/n

-> words: 3.4k

[a/n]: this was not supposed to be this long but. not proofread, idk what universe this is in where all of these characters are friends but shut up. i just started writing, gun to my head i could not tell you what happens in this story

Applause. Roses. Adoration. Entertainment. 

You craved the effervescence of the spotlight. The thrill of being on stage. Millions of eyes are on you and you alone– coming together for the sole purpose of viewing you. 

It seemed a bit voyeuristic, but you couldn’t care less as the final notes of your song rang out across stages all over the country and applause replaced the roaring in your ears. People stood as they clapped, whooping and hollering. All for you. 

You stood before them night after night, baring the roughest edges of yourself on the stage for them all to judge. You were vulnerable to every attack possible– verbal, physical, emotional. Yet none occurred, save for the dozens of flowers that showered you every night as you completed a performance flawlessly once again. 

It was only after you made it backstage to your dressing room that you finally took a breath. A very shaky, very exhausted breath. Stagehands ran back and forth, putting up props and fixing light fixtures for someone else’s performance the next night, but they reassured you that nobody could possibly outshine you after you had christened the Opera Epiclese. 

Your first performance in Fontaine. In your hometown. 

“That was amazing!” Your manager burst through the door, a cup of water in her hands. She passes it to you. “One of your best performances yet– not that the others were bad! Quite the opposite, actually–”

“I get it. Thank you.” You chewed on your lip, gazing at yourself in the mirror. You looked frazzled up close with the stage makeup slightly smeared across your face. Not enough for the audience to notice, though. No, to them, you were perfection. “I hope they thought the same.”

“Are you kidding? You were amazing. I bet you made at least ten men think about leaving their wives for you tonight.” You cut your eyes at her, and she backtracked immediately. “I-I mean! Oh, that was such a bad analogy, wasn’t it? I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.” 

It really wasn’t fine, but you weren’t going to make your friend-turned-manager feel any worse than she already does for bringing up the past. You weren’t married– Archons, no– but you lived a fast life that not many were equipped to handle, especially if they were staying home while you traveled Teyvat on a tour. 

Your ex couldn’t handle you and your lifestyle, so he handled others in bed instead. 

It didn’t sting as bad as you would have expected it to. You couldn’t take the time to grieve, not when there was a performance in Natlan the night you found out. Other performers and those who lived a more nomadic lifestyle had warned you about failed relationships and friendships with those who did not stay close or did not understand the busyness of traveling. You truly believed you were the exception, and now you realize that such relationships are impossible. You chose this life, thus giving up the idea of a simple love. Your friends were your manager and the crew that traveled with you, and that was that. You didn’t stay anywhere long enough to culminate true, meaningful connections with anyone. 

“Are you ready for the encore?” 

You swiped another layer of lipstick on and fluffed your hair in the mirror before turning back to your manager. 

“Born ready.” 

—---

Lyney sat on the edge of his seat for the past hour and a half and continues to do so, staring at the dark stage. 

His sister keeps a hand near his chair, just in case he somehow leans too far forward and falls out of it completely. She’ll never understand his infatuation with such a famous singer– it’s not like he had a shot with you anyway. Nevertheless, she made sure to surprise him with front-row tickets the minute she learned of your performance at Fontaine’s beloved Opera Epiclese. 

Lyney nearly cried in happiness and he’s nearly crying now, praying to every Archon above that you’re going to come out for an encore and that this isn’t the end of your show. The tears almost fall as the spotlight graces the stage once more and music fills the room. 

Everyone in Fontaine tried to get tickets for your performance and the most influential of citizens were sure to attend. Furina sat in the VIP box, leaning on her hand as she watched you step back onstage. She was quiet for once, enraptured by your voice. Clorinde was at her side. Neuvillette sat near the twins, seated but smiling. Charlotte and Navia were a bit further back, Charlotte furiously scribbling on her notepad to review the performance. She stopped writing halfway through, though, unable to stop herself from just enjoying the performance. Wriothesley and Sigewinne showed their faces from outside of the Fortress, the former succumbing to the latter’s pleas for tickets. Even Freminet was there, on the other side of Lyney, just happy to see his brother so happy. 

And yet there he was, sitting in the middle of the row, front and center. A perfect view. And there you were, in that jaw-dropping dress that sparkled perfectly in the lights, reflecting the same way the stars in the sky shined. Lyney was positive there were also stars in his eyes, but he couldn’t help it. 

And when the performance was over, Lyney finally sat back in his seat and exhaled a deep breath– one he had been holding since the minute you appeared onstage. 

Lynette looked him over as if to make sure he was okay and happy. She didn’t need any words to tell that he was over the moon. “Are you ready to go?”

“Just– just give me one minute.”

—---

“How long will you be in Fontaine?”

“Probably a week or two, at most.” You hummed, finally eating a snack left for you by the Hydro Archon herself. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been home. I’d like to stay a bit longer.” 

“Hmm,” Furina’s finger tapped her chin– a clear sign that she was thinking. About what, nobody could tell. “How about another performance before you leave? Many people didn’t get tickets to this first show. You’ve had so many supporters from here since you started. Why not give them a special thanks? Especially me, since I’ve supported you and been your friend for all these years?” 

You squinted at her for a moment, trying to decipher what she could be devising in her head. You weren’t a mind reader, and Furina didn’t necessarily all have it going on in her head, so you opted to just ask her outright. “What could you possibly gain from that?” 

She reeled back, feigning offense. “Nothing! It’s-it’s just that it’s great for business. And we’re having special visitors soon who may want to see. Totally not because I want to watch it again– heh.”

“What special visitors?”

“Why, the Traveler and Paimon, of course!” Furina clapped, “Yes, yes. They’d love to see your performance.”

“Hm.” You continued staring at her, unconvinced that the legendary Traveler wanted to see your performance. But, you did get to perform again and get a part of the profits. You didn’t see why not. “Fine.” 

The squeal that came out of Furina’s mouth was enough to almost break your glass of water– a feat many singers trained to do for years and could not accomplish. Yet, your friend was close to doing it without even trying out of sheer excitement. 

She grabbed your hand once you were done changing clothes and dragged you out of the dressing room. You had no choice but to follow as she led you into the main room, where the audience sat. It looked much different from before with the lights on and the chairs empty. 

Except for two chairs, three people still present in the opera house. 

At the sound of her voice, the three turned around. There was a pair of twins and a younger blonde boy. The twin boy made eye contact with you and seemed to shoot straight up, becoming entranced as he saw you. This was typically a normal reaction for fans, but there was one difference this time. 

You were entranced too. 

Furina looked at the three and huffed. “Isn’t it time for you to go home?”

“Sorry, Lady Furina,” The youngest boy spoke and motioned to the other boy, whose face was bright red. “Lyney just needed to sit for a minute.”

“Is he okay?” You tilted your head, gently shaking free of Furina and walking to them. Furina gasped and crossed her arms, almost angry that she didn’t have your attention anymore as your self-titled “best friend”. “Your face is hot.” 

The twin girl hid her mouth with her hand. “He’ll be okay eventually. I think he got overheated or something. Got all nauseous and dizzy.”

“Oh my Gods, I’m so sorry!” You felt awful– you had told someone that you felt the air was a bit too hot in the audience, but you were brushed off. This just proved that you were right. “You all come with me, there’s fresh water and everything in the guest house I’m staying in tonight.”

You ushered everyone out of Opera Epiclese and into the small building next to it. It was the guesthouse, built solely for performers without a place to stay as they traveled. You were given it for your time in Fontaine and couldn’t be more grateful, especially at a time like this when someone is in need. 

Lyney, Lynette, and Freminet– as you learned their names were– followed you and a pouting Furina into the house. You offered them all a seat on the couches and chairs before running to the kitchen and grabbing a bowl of cool water and a rag. You sat next to Lyney, who was silent the entire time, and neared his face as you put the rag on his forehead. You were a bit confused at Lynette and Furina’s snickering behind you, but you could only worry about the boy in front of you whose face turned even redder at your closeness. 

“Say,” Furina spoke up, “Lyney and Lynette here are performing at the Opera Epiclese tomorrow. Fancy a show?”

“Really?” You looked into Lyney’s eyes, “What do you do?”

He swallowed, and you wondered if he needed a glass of water. “Magic.”

“You’re magicians? No way!” You grinned, “I’ve always wanted to see a magic show live! Furina, I think we should go. I’d love to see more of these two.”

“I do too.” Lynette joined, “We can get you on the reservation list for front and center… unless you’d like to sit VIP with Furina?” 

“We’ll both sit front row. Neuvillette can have front row if he wishes to attend.” Furina grinned at Lynette, and you couldn’t help but feel like you were missing out of something as you cared for Lyney. 

“Wonderful.” Lynette stands up, followed by Freminet. “I think Lyney just needs rest now, but we don’t live far in the Court of Fontaine. We probably need to head out before it gets too late.” 

You nod and hold your hand out to Lyney, who takes a second of staring before taking your hand and hoisting himself up. You both definitely hold on a bit too long to be typical for someone you just met, but exceptions could always be made. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow then, Lynette.” You glance back at the boy at your side. “Lyney.” 

“Y-yes.” He speaks. You like his voice. “Tomorrow evening. I’d love to see you there.” 

After the three left, Furina stayed on your couch and stared. 

You sat across from her, staring back with a puzzled expression. 

This was the longest you’d ever heard her be quiet and it was incredibly unnerving. You couldn’t take much more of this. 

“What?”

Another beat of silence. “What do you mean ‘what’?”

“What do you mean ‘what do you mean’? What did I do?”

“You’ve never done that before.”

“Done what, Furina? I don’t have time for this–”

“Gotten all flustered like that. You don’t even dote on me like that and I’m your best friend.”

“Lynette said that he got overheated during the performance.” You defended, “I had to help him, I felt bad. I told the crew that it was too hot in there but they didn’t listen–”

“You’re stupid.” Before you could retort in offense, Furina leaned forward. “You haven’t been that open and nice since…” 

You’re glad she doesn’t finish that sentence– doesn’t let his name leave her mouth. Furina is right and you know it, but you definitely don’t want to admit that. Especially not to her. 

“I just felt bad.” She doesn’t believe you and you know it. “Fur, you know I can’t. People can’t keep up with my life. He’s cute, but I’m better off alone.” 

Furina looks away for a moment as if to think about what she’s going to say next for the first time ever. “He’s different.” 

“You don’t know that.”

“First, I know him better than you do. I’ve had my fair share of run-ins with that crew, and I’m the Hydro Archon. I know everyone in Fontaine.” She twirls a finger around her hair– a telltale sign that she’s desperate for someone to listen to her. You want to oblige, but your mind won’t let you. “Lyney understands the life of a performer. Has he traveled? No. But I bet he’d be more than willing to travel with you as like– an opening act or something!” She snaps her fingers as if this is some sort of life-changing revelation. 

Your anxiety says otherwise. 

“What about Lynette and Freminet?”

“They can go with you!” She says as if it’s the easiest thing in the world. “Lynette is Lyney’s assistant, so she has to go. Freminet would be good with helping with finances or something. Or if you happen to drop your wedding ring in the ocean, he can get it.”

“Wedding ring?”

“Yeah, for when you marry–”

A knock on the door interrupts her and you’ve never been happier. You give each other confused looks before you get up and open the door a crack. Behind it is a face all-too-familiar, and you open it wider. 

“I-uh, forgot my hat here.” Lyney, cheeks still rosy, rubs the back of his neck in embarrassment. 

“O-oh, of course!” You stammer out, leaving him at the door and finding his hat in one of the other chairs. Furina stares him down in a way that makes him feel like he’s intruding on a very important conversation, but he tries to brush it off as one of her theatrics. 

Lyney’s smile returns when you appear again, his hat in your hands, and tries to ignore the jump of his heart as his fingers accidentally brush yours when he takes it. “Thank you so much.” You watch as his figure begins to retreat from the guesthouse, but he quickly turns around and waves. “And I do hope to see you tomorrow.”

—---

Lyney does, in fact, get to see you tomorrow. 

Peeking through the curtain, he sees you front and center, sitting in the same exact seat that he was in the night before. Furina is at your side, chatting with you happily and ignoring the questioning whispers of her citizens as they question why she’s on the floor instead of in her box. Their questions cease when they see you. 

A bit of jealousy hits him as he sees some citizens ask for your autograph or come up to talk to you, but he can’t dwell on it long before Lynette is behind him. 

“Is she here?”

“Yes.” He lets out a nervous breath. “Everything has to be perfect tonight.” 

“It will be.” She reassures, “And don’t worry about anything else. I have it all covered. She’s come to see you and you alone, so you just focus on being the best you can be.”

Lyney has never been more grateful for his sister than he is at that moment. Sure, it was one thing when she accepted his schoolgirl crush on a famous singer, but when she was actually here, at their show, watching him, she was the best wingman in Teyvat. 

He peeked out of the curtain once more, his breath catching in his throat when he sees you looking directly at him. You wave and send him a soft smile and Lyney can feel his entire body heat up. He’s determined and ready for this show to start. 

And with a short countdown, it does. 

In most performances, Lyney keeps his eyes above the crowd. It’s an illusion many performers learn– don’t look directly at anyone specifically, it’s easier to quell the anxiety of thousands of eyes being on you, judging your every move. He knows you do this tactic as well, getting to witness it firsthand last night as you wowed the crowd from the very stage he was on tonight. He wondered how he could possibly be equal to such a wonderful performance and his mind gets a bit louder as doubts start plaguing him. As quickly as they come, however, they disappear. 

Lyney looks at you. 

You’re dressed beautifully, hair and makeup done simply as if to bare the real you. Oh, how Lyney longs to know the real you. 

You think it’s a funny coincidence when the first rose comes to you. Just a chance that a draft happened to send it directly into your lap after Lyney throws it into the crowd. Same with the second rose, that he passed off to you personally as he walked by after doing his switch trick with the box. You realize it’s not just some happenstance when the performance ends and you are left with a bouquet of roses in your hands, your face hot as Furina teases you. 

“Rainbow roses have special meaning in Fontaine, you know.” She grinned. You swatted her away. 

“I know.” You huff, “He probably uses those in every show to make the little lucky audience girl feel special.”

Furina opens her mouth to speak, but a voice from behind speaks up before she can. “I normally use Romaritime Flowers, and only pull one out of my hat, but I thought tonight I could do something a little different.”

Lyney prays you aren’t uncomfortable when you turn around– the adrenaline of the show is the only thing driving him to speak to you steadily right now, and he didn’t know what he’d do if he got rejected. He’s pleasantly surprised when you do turn around and your mouth is slightly agape, your cheeks darker than usual. He did his job. 

“They’re beautiful. Thank you.”

“Keep them, they’re yours.” Lyney places his hands on yours to push them back when you go to give him back the bouquet, but he doesn’t remove them when you clutch the flowers to your chest. “This is my official offer– let me treat you to dinner.” 

You turn your head to give Furina a look, but she’s long gone. You make a note to curse her out later. 

“Lyney, I want to accept your offer. So badly. But I just know it won’t work.”

Seeing Lyney’s face fall almost makes you want to take it back, but you can’t. You can’t get hurt again. 

“Please,” His voice has gone soft, “How do you know that?”

“It’s happened before. I’m just protecting you. I’m going to be gone soon and you can forget about this little infatuation–”

“No!” Lyney blurts out but quickly composes himself. “You’re not protecting me, you’re protecting yourself. I’m not whatever man hurt you in the past. I’m a performer too, I can handle all the things that entails.” 

“Lyn… This is only my third country on my tour. I have so many more left, I’ll be gone for a very long time. It’s not fair to ask you to wait for me.”

“I think I get to decide what’s fair for me.” You don’t respond, looking away. Lyney takes your chin between his fingers to make you look at him. “And I think that me waiting for you is a fair trade if it means you come back to me in the end. Please, ma chérie. Consider it.” 

You took a breath, weighing the options as seriously as the Oratrice. You think back to your conversations– the ones with your manager, the ones with Furina. Finally, you meet his eyes fully. Lyney hasn’t looked away, a softness in his eyes that you were not expecting.

“Let’s go to dinner. I’ve been thinking of hiring an opening act for the rest of the tour anyways. How do you feel about that?”

[germesthegenie]

Brief Respite At The End Of The World

Little doodle that I imagine takes place some time either during Arc 29 or after Arc 30. Wanted to do a quick drawing of this ship that for some reason lives rent free in my brain (Does it even have, like, a ship name? If there isn’t I think either Gauntlet or Handcuff could work for if I ever need to tag it but idk)

Way Too Much Yapping about a relationship between two tertiary characters below:

Part of the reason I like this ship is because these two were surprise favorites in the latter half of Worm, and I thought the mentions of them getting together in Arc 26 and 29 were cute. Though thinking a lot on the two characters (and probably a good bit of headcanon tbh), I started to appreciate it a lot more.

For Theo’s end of things, he’s always been burdened by expectations. His father tried to mold him into the next leader of the E88 from a young age, but Theo pushed back against that, instead wanting to be a hero. And then he got that, and a lot more than he asked for, accidentally becoming essentially a hero of prophecy thanks to Jack’s promise. Suddenly he wasn’t just a hero, he had to be *the* hero, live up to impossible expectations and save the world. And he was treated based on those expectations. His friendship with Weaver was pretty much based on the fact Taylor had to train him, try to make him the guy who could defeat Jack Slash. And then he failed, just barely missing the mark, and those expectations came crashing down around him. He distances himself from his team, and is mostly sulking in the background for the opening acts of Gold Morning, though one person does make an effort to reach out to him.

Aside from maybe Purity (who has her own set of issues), Ava is one of the few people in Theo’s life who likes and cares about who he is, not who he could be. And at his lowest point, where he feels he failed everyone, she’s trying to do what she can to help him recover and see he’s not a failure. And she does succeed eventually, as we see him up to fight a couple chapters later in the arc.

(Also it’s really funny and sweet that the meek girl from Arc 24 was able to almost convince Taylor “You can’t tell me what to do” Hebert to drop everything and talk to Golem, made a doodle of it a while back)

On Ava’s side of things, there’s admittedly not nearly as much to glean from just her characterization in the text alone. Like I said, she’s one of the few who appreciates Theo for who he is, regardless of expectations put on him by others. Their stories aren’t so different, only that her nemesis of sorts (Behemoth) was killed just as she was starting out. And after that fight she’s terrified, choosing not to attend the Khonsu fight. But Theo keeps pushing himself, trains knowing he’ll have to fight things that are arguably worse than the Endbringers when it comes to pain and fates worse than death. I like to think his inspiration is what led to the much more confident Cuff we see after the timeskip (though the Taylor Hebert Bootcamp probably also helped there). The main other thing we know is she had a previous boyfriend who she broke up with due to the pressures Weaver put the Chicago Wards under (which is probably a whole separate post to get into). So maybe their relationship is something that lets them both have a sense of normalcy in the insanity that is late Worm.

Or, you know, maybe I’m reading way too much into my two blorbos whose relationship gets like 5 lines of canon mention and 1 fanfic that I know of (shoutout again to Chartic, Off the Cuff is like a third of the reason I like this ship so much) and this is the best way I could put together why short of writing a fanfic myself (I might ngl but I do not have time atm)

[drunknillawafer]

right down the line: zuko x firebender!reader (part 11)

You grew up close to the Royal Family due to your father's position as a General, but you ran away from home after the agni kai against your best friend, Zuko. Now, you've joined the Gaang and plan on doing your part in ending the 100-year war.

Part 10 Part 12

hi i sat on this one for a bit... i just wanted to make sure it was good... i hope yall like it and also happy new year!! if u like it plz like reblog comment or lmk bc i love feedback hehe <3 we r finally getting into some zuko content

⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

It wasn’t like I didn’t miss him. I did. I do.

I have to constantly remind myself to forget everything I grew accustomed to.

I couldn’t do things like graze his hand with my fingers or go swimming in the early blues of the morning. Those mornings together turned into silent sunrises as he chooses to sleep in now. Sokka doesn’t wake up to the sound of me shuffling around struggling to sleep anymore. Something simple I didn’t even notice was there until it was remarkably absent.

It’s all so weird and complicated now. We can’t even talk directly to each other. We’re only in proximity when we need to be. The only times we speak in each other’s general direction is when everyone else is there.

I try not to let it bother me. I try to push it away and not feel guilty for what I did. I can handle Suki and the way everything was exposed to me. I can handle the fact that I came second, but I can’t handle the hypocrisy. Knowing everything I felt was what I was putting him through.

It didn’t match up with the expectations I set for myself. The invisible guideposts set in my life to make me feel like I’m a better person than my father. My private rules to establish a difference between Zuko and I.

And Zuko. I can’t believe Sokka would just bring him up, as if it’s nothing.

The words keep circulating in my brain.

“It’s complicated because of Zuko.”

Was I choosing between them both? Is that what he felt?

Unanswered questions, things left unsaid because of my impulsive and harsh end to a friendship between us. I wonder what he’s thinking. If he hates me as much as I do, but I don’t think so. He’s simply too nice for that.

Still, where did he stand now that a few days have passed? Now that we’re officially inside the walls of Ba Sing Se, the city of secrets?

Even if he did want to speak to me, I’m making it impossible. Unready to face all the emotions, I was spending as much time away from the house as I could, trying to memorize the arrays of homes and businesses in this place.

Today, I’m passing out flyers about our missing Appa.

It’s a beautiful day out, with blue skies, a mighty sun, and a refreshing wind.

I can almost feel better. I can almost forget I’ll be going home where it’s awkward and different.

As I’m walking down the maze of the lower rings, I turn to a merchant’s strip. The people in the city breeze by me in a blur of emerald and pine colored clothing. This section of Ba Sing Se is always interesting to walk through. It seemed like a place where the King could dump the ‘unimportant’ people. Individuals who didn’t provide precious enough work to offer them a nice home and clean streets. But this was the least of this place’s problems. Jo-dee and the Dai Li climbed to the top of that list.

I paste the last flyer onto a wooden pole, sighing. I stare at the drawing of him. Is any of this working to bring Appa home?

Behind my emotional view, two familiar faces pop out of the emerald blur of workers.

I recognize them instantly, just as fast as my heart drops. Longshot and Smellerbee.

Without thinking, I turn around and hide in an alleyway between two buildings. What are they doing here?

When I left, I forgot all about the boys who saved me. The family we were to each other. Those trees were my home. I don’t even think I’ve thought about them since I joined the boy in blue on his journey to the North Pole.

Between Zuko’s banishment and helping Aang, there was the Freedom Fighters. They let me become the person I am today, and I just abandoned them. I’m not ready to face them, I won’t even pretend.

Exhaustion paints my mind; when will I stop running away? The answer is definitely not today.

They walk right past my hiding spot, stopping a few feet away to ask a merchant a question. Faintly, I can hear it. “Have you seen the boy who attacked the tea shop worker?”

The idea of irrationally fighting someone in Ba Sing Se could only occur to one person. Jet.

Oh my platypus-bear.

Jet’s in Ba Sing Se. Or was, if Longshot and Smellerbee are looking for him.

The merchant shakes his head no and the two kids go on about their way. The coast is clear.

A breath escapes my body before I realize I was holding it in. I’m not capable of facing Jet right now, and with his current whereabouts unknown, anything’s possible.

I walk back to the center of the strip, turning my head around to spot a tea shop. At the very end, I see it. A modest business with customers swooping in and out.

If Smellerbee and Longshot can’t find him, I will. My own little side project that I can have outside of team Avatar, Sokka’s nickname for us. My heart clenches at a positive memory of him. Not right now, I tell myself. I have to make sure Jet’s path does not cross with ours.

Before I raise suspicion towards myself by standing in the middle of the road, I head toward the quaint shop. I try to peek through the window, but I only see a full house. This tea must be good.

When I enter through the doors, I sit by the empty table closest to the exit. The shop was small, a labor of love. Wooden tables and chairs filled the place, but the customers brought it to life.

As I’m looking around, my view is blocked by a white apron. I raise my head and meet face-to-face with no one other than Iroh.

“Y/N! So good to see you.” The sweet man exclaims.

“Hi, Ir—”

“Please, no need to call me that here.” He winks at me. Of course, the brother of the Fire Lord wouldn’t be in Ba Sing Se in some tiny teashop as himself. Especially not him, especially not here.

“Right.” I nod, telling him his secret is safe with me.

“Would you like some tea?” He holds up the warm tea pot in his hand.

He must be the reason for the business this shop is encountering. “Yes, please.” I’d never decline a cup from Iroh. I chew on my inner cheek, has Iroh seen Jet?

“Lee, pour some tea for this table.” The elder instructs and leaves to service the other customers. I assumed he would be pouring the tea out for me, but no— he sneaks up on me.

My heart plummets to my stomach when our eyes meet.

 “Lee?”

“Y/N?” He mirrors my startled expression. Our eyes communicate what we are thinking: What are you doing here?  

His hair has grown a bit more since I last saw him in the desolate dry abandoned town.  I’ve never seen it down like this.

When he’s done pouring the tea into my cup, he stands in silence. It wasn’t a happy reunion, but something was tugging at my heart to continue this moment.  “Thank you for the tea.” The ice between us is too thick. I could almost freeze.

“You’re welcome.”

Iroh, who must have been looking at our poor interaction from the sidelines, walks over to us. “Lee, would you like to take your break?”

“Y-Yeah.” Zuko nods vigorously as he hands the teapot to Iroh, untying his apron and placing it on the table. He takes a seat on the empty chair in front of me.

We’re across from each other and I can feel time moving. It seems like the chatter flies away and the birds stop chirping. All I can feel with my senses is him in my presence.

He’s sitting in front of me.

Three years and a month ago would be the last time I saw Zuko, and we weren’t actively fighting each other. It’s an odd sensation now to sit with no weapons up.  

He looks like he did then, except not. He styles his hair differently, his shoulders carry more weight on them, his jaw has started to sharpen. His eyes don’t have innocence in them anymore, he’s experienced people, places, and objects I couldn’t begin to name. He’s wearing Earth Kindgom green instead of the usual shades of crimson I’m so used to. His voice was deeper, but it still trembled when he got nervous. He still stares when he can’t find out what to say. He still looks at me the same way: with wonder about who I am and how he can be the only one to know such a thing. It was the Zuko I knew and the Zuko I didn’t know, both sitting in front of me.

It’s been 2 minutes since he sat down and neither of us has said a word.

What is there to say especially how we last left it? I see him one day before the agni kai and the next he’s burned me in my ribs. I spend weeks mulling over that and then he doesn’t fight me when he sees me. I guess I understand that one, it was either Azula or me and we both made the decision to fight her instead of each other a long time ago.

“Hi.” Is all he says, first.

“Hey.” I can’t help but smile as I reply. My mind is rationalizing, remember it’s different now. But the cardiovascular system beating inside me is racing. I’m nervous to see him without the distraction of a fight. There is no armor right now, just us. Like before.

“How have you been?” He asks, urging the conversation to go further into a delicate place. I can tell he’s fidgeting with his hands underneath the table.

“Good. You?” Short and sweet, make him ask for more.

“I’m good too, I just moved here—but you know that. Because you’re here. Sitting in front of me.” If Zuko was ever smooth in my memories, it must have been a glitch.

“I am sitting in front of you.” I fight to hold in my laugh. I can’t imagine that’ll make him feel better about the situation. After a few more seconds of silence, I decide to chip away at the ice this time. “Lee?” I tilt my head.

He hangs his head down to laugh at my question. Three years of silence and my first question is about his fake name. “Can’t exactly say my name, can I? I already have this.” He gestures to his scar.

“Right.” He passes the awkward onto me. It’s the first time I’ve been able to capture the healed burn in its entirety. It’s glazed his left eye as a permanent reminder of his shame.

Zuko points to my hands resting on the table. “I haven’t seen those before.” I look at them and he’s right: I have small and medium slashes across my knuckles and hands.  They must have accumulated some time after the agni kai.

“I…” Should I tell him any of this? “didn’t tell people I knew how to bend. So, I relied on my swords a lot.” His eyebrows relax at some information about what I’ve been up to since. Would he want to know about Jet?

“You left home?” He pokes. “Well, duh,” He gestures at my being in Ba Sing Se, “but when?”

“Yeah. A few months after you did.” I can’t seem to keep it all inside the way I do with everyone else— like I did with Sokka.

Zuko’s in full nostalgia mode, eager to hear about my last few years. “Where did you go?”

“I met other lost kids who were also angry. Victims of the Fire Nation.” I take another sip of the tea as Zuko watches intently. I can’t get a read on him, but I should stop trying. I have to remember he’s someone new. “Where did you go?”

“I was at sea trying to look for… I’ve kind of been everywhere.” I try to not let the mention of our mutual… friend show on my face. Zuko can’t know he’s here, that’s for sure. I don’t really know why I’m sitting here, talking to him. I’m supposed to be looking for Jet.

“I saw… at the—”

“Northern Water Tribe.” Zuko interrupts me and continues, “Sorry.”

“It’s okay. I mean, it’s not. But it’s okay.”

A few more minutes of silence pass us by. When I look at him, I see what I liked about him in the first place. His amber eyes and glinting teeth, inviting me in. It’s like I can’t help it anymore. I spent my childhood avoiding what he made me feel and you’d think time would help me stifle myself. But it made it worse. My body aches to savor each moment, because I’ll never know if it’s the last I’ll have.

Is this what Sokka was talking about? My admiring eyes ignore my shameful conscious. Hush, Zuko’s in front of me.

“I thought about you every day, you know.” His confession makes the palpitations in my heart run faster. The butterflies have dusted off their wings and lifted off into spring in my core. “I thought about you too.” I blush.

“Sometimes I’d see a sunrise or a koala-otter and I would want to tell you. So bad. Or this one time, Uncle made me play the tsungi horn in front of the whole crew and I just knew you would have something to say about it.”

“You played your horn in front of people?”

“Yes!”

“You would’ve never done that if I was there!”

“Exactly!” We both laugh at this revelation, instantly warming the conversation up like two fire-benders should be able to do.

The laughter heats up my face and it slowly turns into a smile. We’re staring at each other across this table with awe. How could so much time have passed by, and we didn’t have each other? How did we survive?

Easily, we slip into how we were, into the us I know we can be. It feels exhilarating.

He made me forget all the troubles waiting for me at home.

--------------------------------

tag list: @camilleverreault @staygoldsquatchling02 @yunloyal @lily-ann-b @yahhyla-1 <3

[burplewrites]

saudade | tamarack & qiu

𓆉 | fandom: our life: now & forever

𓆉 | characters: tamarack, qiu, reader

𓆉 | word count: 1,075 words 5,946 characters

𓆉 | a/n: this story is sort of in qiu's pov, and about grief and stuff!! i don't think its too sad, just an experience but you have been warned!

𓆉 | quick summary: y/n passed. the world just needs to learn how to deal.

saudade is an emotional state of melancholic or profoundly nostalgic longing for a beloved yet absent something or someone.

“and you two are gonna grow up someday and i’m gonna grow up too, but that’s never gonna stop us from being the same age. cool.” that’s what they said, eight years ago, when they first met y/n and tamarack for the first time after the duo waltzed their way into their life.

ever since that fateful day, the three were friends, best friends. even with the little break of their friendship from ‘personal problems and moody feelings’ as y/n used to say, y/n brought them together again and reminded them why they were friends in the first place.

their friendship only got better from then on, and they committed to bettering themselves and each other, talking about problems, and about random thoughts that entered their minds. at least, that’s what qiu thought. he thought that they all told each other everything, all their stupid secrets, random thoughts in the middle of the night, things that would be considered too much information for other people. so why didn’t y/n tell them, not tamarack or him, anything about what they were going through? why didn’t they say anything at all?

they never expressed pain, or acted like they were suffering at all. they were always smiling, expressing their positive emotions with not a care in the world. qiu loved them for that. they had been crushing on each other for a while, qiu knew that, y/n knew that, and even tamarack, who had to watch the whole thing unfold in front of her, knew that. they just never got together, and now they would never get the chance to.

it was only a year ago when their life changed. when tamarack yelled in the middle of the night, alarming everyone out of their drowsy state, y/n was having trouble breathing, and was trying to get upstairs to their mother's room without disturbing their best friends on the couch. their limbs started giving out, making them fall to the floor. that whole night was a blur for qiu and tamarack alike. watching their best friend’s mom trying to help y/n take some breaths as they all cried, seeing the tiredness in y/n’s eyes, like they’ve been fighting this for years and was finally starting to give up, and opal’s sobs as she begged her only child to keep trying, to keep breathing. tamarack clutched hard onto qiu that day, the shock causing her to freeze up.

hearing their best friend's last words, being so weak, so quiet, yet so genuine. it was like y/n trying to fully get everything out like they knew this would be the end.

"hey its okay, you're okay… you're okay. i love you guys so much, more than you'll ever know."

that's what they whispered, as the paramedics took them away. a smile never left their face, even with the ventilator on their face and the paramedics checking their vitals on the way out the door. they died on the way to the hospital. even to the end, they were caring for others.

opal changed as a person after that. having to bury your only child, someone who you watched grow up, someone who you experienced their good days and bad days, and was just expected to keep moving. but that was impossible, how could she? her world stopped that day but everyone kept moving, the world kept spinning at the same speed it always did, no faster, no slower.

but y/n was gone.

tamarack put her whole being into her cello practice since y/n always seemed to like it when she played for them. she even played a song she wrote at the funeral; a song that was supposed to be for her best friend. one that they were somewhat writing together. she still tried being normal, helping opal with whatever she needed, but never trying to pressure her. it was tamarack's form of escape. if she could be in the house that y/n was in, surrounded by all the things that made them, them… that would be enough. it had to be enough. qiu simply regressed into themself. it was like they were back to when they were fourteen. they stayed outside sitting by their ‘hideout’; hiding away from the world. tamarack tried to stay with him some days, when qiu wanted the company and couldn’t deal with being alone without someone to talk to, someone who understood, but other times it was too overwhelming and they preferred to be alone.

life changed. golden grove moved on, and people found other things to talk about, but sometimes things brought them back to that day one year ago.

especially today, the one-year anniversary of y/n’s death. three hundred and sixty-five days without them. it was early morning, around five am, and qiu biked to the cemetery to just be with them alone. they knew tamarack would be coming in the morning after she woke up, and opal would be coming in the afternoon, so this was the best option. plus they couldn’t sleep.

qiu never knew they could cry that much. every time they came to visit, to talk about something exciting that happened, or something weird, or anything really, they would end up breaking into sobs each time, gasping for air by the time their tears ran out.

‘why did you even have to come into my life if you were going to leave it partway?’

that was a question that they asked themselves multiple times and always felt bad for thinking about it after. they knew tamarack felt the same. tamarack was the first of the two to mention that thought out loud.

but it was true, wasn’t it? they never regretted having y/n in their life. everyone's life shone so much brighter with them there, like the sun on a summer day, but with the sun gone it gets darker. the sun always comes back, but y/n wouldn't. y/n was dead. they were gone, and they were going to stay gone.

no matter how much opal begged, how much they all hoped and dreamt, y/n was not coming back. they were never coming back. they had been gone for the last three hundred sixty-five days, they would be gone for the next year, and the years after that. and nothing could change that.

so as qiu sat there, laying by their grave while talking about everything and anything, all they could really do was hope y/n was there and listening.

[merbear25]

Hi Mer!! Dropping by for the Valentine's Day event!

Could you possibly do #1 with America/Alfred from Hetalia? He's my favorite dork!

He is such a dork! Thank you for sending something in! I hope you like it 💜💜

You couldn’t remember the last time you got the chance to hangout. So much had changed since then, leaving the perceptions of your newfound identity to regrettably replace the image of you he had, though that couldn’t be further from the truth. Drifting apart proved to do a number on your friendship, but being with him here, like this, it was just what you both needed.

CW: SFW, gn!reader, fluff, friends to lovers, confession, first kiss

Just the way you are (America)

Sitting on the couch watching the last of your movie marathon, the leading actress made the same mistake as all the others in the previous ones.

“Oh, I can’t believe it!” You mocked the trope. “It was you! It was you all along!” You planted your hands over your chest to mimic the cliché lovestruck look they all had.

“Now we can live happily ever after! Or at least until the credits roll.”

You joined in laughing at the predictability. It hadn’t been like this for quite some time—joking and simply enjoying each other’s company. Your new job kept your nose to the grindstone, admittedly turning you into someone you never thought you would be.

As the laughs settled, you played with the fringe of your sweater. Tugging at the loose string gently, you started talking without really thinking. “The endings are kinda cute though, even if they are overdone.”

“Maybe, yeah.” He gripped his jeans at the feeling of tightness in his chest. The silence was deafening. The only sound was the pounding of his heart, making it impossible to be fully present in the conversation.

“If I tell you I love you, can I keep you forever?” The unexpected question left him dumbfounded. For once he was left speechless, and the longer you looked at him, the drier his mouth got. Your face burned as embarrassment set in. The lost expression he was giving you had you quickly back tracking. “Sorry, I don’t know why I said that… It was stupid, just forget it.”

The swelling of tears stung your eyes. Even though you attempted to hold them back, they were relentless. You turned away, fearing you were on the verge of crying in front of him. Your hands tightly gripped at your pant legs as you struggled to pull yourself together.

“Hey… Hey! You didn’t even give me a chance to respond.” The half laugh cracked the tension.

“Silence is also an answer, you know.” You couldn’t help the little sniffle you made.

“Y-Yeah… Yeah, I know.” Hesitantly, he rested his hand on your back. When you side-eyed him, he was prepared for you to tear into him about how inattentive he was, how unserious he was, but you didn’t. You allowed him to comfort you in a way he knew how. Gently rubbing your back, he scooched closer to you. “I just wasn’t expecting you to say something like that to me.”

“What do you mean?”

He thought for a moment, trying to collect his fears on how he believed you saw him. “We’re just different is all.”

Those words sunk in. You turned towards him and asked, “Different, how exactly?” You were expecting him to pull out the immortality card.

He took his hand off of you and twiddled with his thumbs. “I don’t mean like that. I just didn’t think you found my personality attractive.” The wince on his face when he said that gave away his own forms of insecurities, ones which you had been left in the dark about.

“Do you really think I’m so stuck up that I wouldn’t be able to love someone like you?” The half joke got him to crack a smile. 

“You know what I mean!”

“I do and you know what? I don’t care. I don’t care if you think I can’t love you, because I do anyway, and you can’t stop me.” Your matter of fact attitude got him chuckling again.

“You can be such a brat.” He teased, while poking your most ticklish spot. The onset of shared laughter as you got your revenge on him started to settle. With huffs and sincere smiles, he looked at you with acceptance in his eyes. “I love you too.”

That familiar heat returned to your face, but with it the quickening of your heart was from the exciting nerves of a new romance. Your eyes naturally fell to his lips, leading his to do the same. Slowly and tenderly, you leaned in for him to press the first kiss of many.

[chuuwey]

Viola pt. 1

parings: yandere! xiaojun x fem!reader , yangyang x fem! reader, best friend! Ten x fem! reader

genere: angst, thriller, college! au

WARNINGS: 18+!!, stalking, obsessive behavior, manipulation, mentions of alcohol

synopsis : you and your two best friends, Ten and Yangyang, navigate college life in your shared apartment and your shared love for dance. But when the charming and seemingly perfect Xiaojun inserts himself into your world, things take a dark turn. Beneath his warm smile lies an obsessive desire for you. One that grows dangerously intense as your feelings begin shifting toward Yangyang. What you don’t know is that Xiaojun has been watching you all along, and he’s willing to do whatever it takes to keep you close.

You had always loved dancing. It was the one place where you could lose yourself completely, where the stress of college, the expectations, and the constant noise of life faded into the rhythm of music. And you weren’t alone in it. Your best friends, Ten and Yangyang, shared that love with you.

The three of you had been inseparable since freshman year, meeting through your university’s dance club. Living together in a small but cozy apartment near campus, you had spent your days attending classes and your nights practicing choreography. Life was simple, and you liked that.

But lately, you had been feeling something… unsettling. A presence. A weight in the air. Like eyes watching you, following your every move.

One evening, after practice, you finally decided to tell your roommates.

“I feel like someone has been watching me”

Yangyang, who had been scrolling through his phone, looked up instantly. “What? Like a stalker?” His face shifted from playful to serious in seconds.

Ten, sitting cross-legged on the floor stretching his legs, he raised an eyebrow. “You sure? It could just be in your head.”

you sighed. “I don’t know. It just… it feels real. Sometimes I turn around, and I swear I see someone, but then they’re gone. And even when I’m alone, I feel like I’m not.”

Yangyang frowned. “That’s creepy. Do you want me to walk with you to class?”

“I can take care of myself,” you huffed.

Ten leaned back on his hands, thinking. “Maybe someone does have their eyes on you, but that doesn’t mean they have bad intentions. Are you sure it’s not just, like, an admirer?”

you rolled your eyes. “That’s not the point, Ten. It’s making me uncomfortable.”

“Alright, alright,” Ten sighed. “Just… be careful, okay? But if you do see someone sketchy, tell us right away.”

Yangyang nodded in agreement, though you could see he believed you more than Ten did.

Little did they know, you actually were being watched.

By Xiaojun.

—

Xiaojun had first noticed you at the beginning of the semester. You wasn’t just beautiful; you had a presence, a light that made it impossible to look away. He found himself watching you during lectures, in the hallways, and most often, during dance practice.

At first, it was curiosity. Then it became something more.

Possession.

You didn’t know it yet, but you belonged to him.

The only problem? Ten.

Ten was too close to you. Too comfortable, too familiar. Xiaojun had studied your friendship and knew that Ten was the biggest obstacle standing between you and him.

And so, Xiaojun devised a plan.

—

The next week, the dance club held open auditions. Xiaojun joined.

You had no idea why, but the moment he stepped onto the dance floor, something in your stomach twisted a little. He was charming, that was obvious. He introduced himself with a bright smile, his confidence effortless. Even Ten and Yangyang seemed to warm up to him quickly.

And he was good, really good. He moved with a natural ease, his rhythm impeccable. The entire club, including the instructor, was impressed.

You, however, felt unsettled.

But why?

You had seen him around campus before. He had always been in the background, never really someone who stood out to you. But now, he was suddenly everywhere.

—

As weeks passed, Xiaojun ingratiated himself into your friend group seamlessly. He was friendly, funny, and likable. Even Ten, who was usually hard to impress, admitted that Xiaojun was cool.

But Yangyang remained wary.

Yangyang, who was perceptive in ways others weren’t, noticed the way Xiaojun watched you.

And what made Yangyang most uneasy was that Xiaojun had already figured out his secret, his hidden crush on you.

One night, after practice, the two of them were left alone in the studio. Xiaojun leaned against the mirror, watching Yangyang tie his shoes.

“You like her, don’t you?”

Yangyang froze for half a second before forcing a scoff. “What?”

Xiaojun smirked. “Y/N. You like her.”

Yangyang rolled his eyes. “And what if I do?”

“Too bad,” Xiaojun said smoothly. “She’s mine.”

Yangyang scoffed “She’s not anyone’s”

Xiaojun only chuckled, pushing off the mirror. “We’ll see about that.”

—

As the semester went on, you started to let your guard down around Xiaojun. He was always there, supporting you, laughing with you, making you feel seen.

And you hated to admit it, but she liked his attention.

Still, you noticed something strange.

Whenever you were with Ten,Xiaojun would find a way to be there too. He would subtly insert himself into conversations, brush off Ten’s words, and make sure your focus was on him instead.

And then there were the small things.

Like the time you mentioned wanting to try a new café, and Xiaojun just so happened to show up there when you went.

Or the way you felt his gaze on you even when he wasn’t in sight.

Xiaojun hid his true nature well. To you, he was a sweet, reliable friend. To Ten and Yangyang, he was the cool new guy.

But in reality, he was waiting.

Waiting for the perfect moment to make you his.

And if anyone got in his way…

Well, he’d take care of them.

Even if that meant getting rid of your friends.

_

The tension in the apartment was growing thicker by the day, though you didn’t fully realize it.

To you, things seemed fine, normal, even. Classes were the usual mix of stress and exhaustion, dance practice was still the highlight of your day, and your friendship with Xiaojun had only grown stronger.

But to Yangyang, everything was wrong.

Xiaojun was everywhere. Always near you, always charming his way into their group. And worst of all, you seemed to like it.

Yangyang saw the way your eyes lingered on Xiaojun when you thought no one was looking. The way you laughed a little too hard at his jokes, how you leaned just a little closer when he spoke to you.

You liked him.

And it was driving Yangyang insane.

—

Ten, oblivious to the silent war brewing, had the bright idea of hosting a small drinking night at their apartment.

“It’s been forever since we just chilled,” Ten had said, stretching after practice. “We should drink this weekend.”

“I’m down,” you grinned. “It’s been a while.”

Yangyang hesitated for half a second, but then nodded. “Yeah, sure.”

Xiaojun, of course, was the first to agree. “Sounds fun.”

That was how the four of you ended up sitting on the living room floor Saturday night, a half-empty bottle of whisky between you, the air thick with alcohol and laughter.

You were flushed from the drinks, your head light and dizzy, but you were happy. You leaned against Ten’s shoulder, giggling at something he said, completely unaware of the way Xiaojun’s gaze darkened for a split second before returning to its usual warmth.

Yangyang, sitting across from them, took a slow sip of his drink, watching the interaction with narrowed eyes.

“You guys are too close,” Xiaojun suddenly said, tilting his head as he looked at you and Ten.

You blinked. “What? No, we’re not.”

Ten smirked, nudging you playfully. “Yeah, you, maybe we should start acting like strangers.”

You laughed, pushing him back. “Shut up.”

But Xiaojun’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Yangyang noticed.

“Are you jealous or something?” Yangyang asked, leaning back on his palms. His tone was casual, but there was an edge to it.

Xiaojun chuckled, shaking his head. “Not at all. I just think it’s interesting.”

The conversation moved on, but Yangyang didn’t forget the look in Xiaojun’s eyes.

—

As the night stretched on, Ten was the first to call it quits.

“I’m so done,” he groaned, flopping onto the couch. “Wake me up in the morning.”

You snorted. “You didn’t even drink that much.”

Ten waved you off, already half-asleep.

Yangyang wasn’t far behind. “I should sleep too,” he mumbled, rubbing his eyes as he pushed himself up. He glanced at you. “You okay?”

You smiled. “Yeah, I’m good. Go sleep.”

He hesitated for a moment, looking between you and Xiaojun.

Something in his gut told him to stay.

But before he could make an excuse, Xiaojun stretched and yawned. “I should head home soon, too.”

Yangyang narrowed his eyes slightly. He didn’t trust it.

Still, he nodded and disappeared into his room.

That left you and Xiaojun alone.

The apartment was quiet now, save for the hum of the refrigerator and the faint sound of Ten’s breathing from the couch.

You sighed, tilting your head back. “I don’t feel like moving.”

Xiaojun chuckled. “Then don’t.”

You turned to look at him. His eyes were soft, his lips curled in an easy smile.

Your heart skipped a beat.

You were drunk. That had to be it.

Xiaojun tilted his head slightly, watching you. “What are you thinking about?”

“Nothing,” you said quickly.

He smirked. “Liar.”

You rolled your eyes, but the warmth in your chest wouldn’t go away.

After a moment, you sighed. “You can stay the night if you want. It’s late.”

Xiaojun raised a brow. “Where would I sleep?”

“…My bed, I guess.”

Xiaojun didn’t hesitate. “Alright.”

—

You should have felt nervous.

But you didn’t.

Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was the fact that you had started seeing Xiaojun in a different light. Either way, as you lay side by side in your bed, the room dimly lit by your bedside lamp, you found yourself relaxing.

He smelled nice—clean, a little like the cologne he always wore. His presence was warm, steady.

“This is kinda dangerous, you know,” Xiaojun murmured suddenly.

You turned your head to look at him. “What?”

His lips curled into a slow smile. “Letting a guy sleep in your bed.”

You scoffed. “Please. It’s just you.”

His smile didn’t falter, but something flickered in his eyes.

Just me.

You had no idea.

As you drifted off to sleep, Xiaojun lay awake beside you, his gaze fixed on the ceiling.

He had waited so long for this.

—

The next morning, you woke up with a headache and a strange sense of unease.

Xiaojun was still asleep beside you, his face relaxed, his breathing even. It should have been harmless. It was harmless. And yet, something about waking up next to him left you feeling… off.

Carefully, you slipped out of bed, making your way to the kitchen where you found Yangyang already awake, nursing a cup of coffee at the counter.

His eyes flicked up as you walked in.

“You good?” he asked, voice groggy.

You nodded, rubbing your temples. “Just hungover.”

Yangyang hummed, watching you carefully. Then, after a pause, he said, “So… Xiaojun slept in your bed last night.”

You stiffened for a split second before shrugging. “Yeah, it was late, and he had nowhere else to sleep.”

Yangyang scoffed softly, setting his mug down. “He could’ve slept on the couch. Or the floor.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Why do you care?”

Yangyang’s jaw tensed slightly. “I don’t.”

Lie.

You sighed, deciding to let it go. You were too tired to argue, and honestly, you didn’t even know why it mattered.

But Ten noticed the shift in the air the second he woke up.

—

Over the next few days, things only got worse.

Yangyang was irritated. Xiaojun was always around. He was too smooth, too charming, and the worst part? You were falling for it.

Yangyang saw the way you looked at him, the way you laughed at his stupid jokes, how you seemed comfortable around him.

And it drove him insane.

Ten, being the most observant one in their group, picked up on Yangyang’s tension immediately.

“Dude,” Ten muttered one day, pulling Yangyang aside after practice. “You’ve been acting weird.”

Yangyang rolled his eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Ten crossed his arms. “You do know. And I know exactly why.”

Yangyang tensed but didn’t say anything.

Ten smirked. “You’re jealous of Xiaojun.”

Yangyang’s expression darkened. “I’m not jealous.”

“Right.” Ten gave him a knowing look. “You’ve been sulking ever since he got close to you.”

Yangyang scoffed, looking away. “He’s just annoying.”

Ten watched him carefully, his smirk fading into something softer. “You like her.”

Silence.

Yangyang exhaled sharply, rubbing the back of his neck. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Why not?”

“Because she likes him.”

Ten didn’t argue. He could see it, too.

But something about Xiaojun never sat right with him.

—

Then, Xiaojun made his first mistake.

It was a small thing. Something that shouldn’t have even mattered.

But it changed everything.

They were at the dance studio, practicing a new routine. You were struggling with one particular move, getting frustrated every time you messed up.

Xiaojun, ever the perfect guy, walked up behind you and placed his hands on your hips.

“Here, let me help you,” he murmured, guiding your movements.

The moment his hands touched you, you stiffened.

It wasn’t that you were uncomfortable—Xiaojun had always been touchy. But this time, it felt… off.

Forced.

Possessive.

You suddenly became hyperaware of how close he was, of the way his fingers lingered a second too long.

And for the first time since you had started liking him, a bad feeling settled in your stomach.

—

Yangyang saw the shift immediately.

He had been watching the interaction from across the room, arms crossed tightly, jaw clenched. But the moment you pulled away, something inside him settled.

Xiaojun noticed, too.

You laughed it off, making some excuse about needing a break before quickly walking off to the side.

And who was the first person you went to?

Yangyang.

Xiaojun felt his blood boil.

You plopped down beside Yangyang, groaning. “I suck.”

Yangyang raised an eyebrow. “You don’t suck.”

“I can’t get that move right.”

Yangyang nudged your shoulder. “You’ll get it. You always do.”

You glanced at him, a small smile playing on your lips. “Thanks, Yangyang.”

Xiaojun clenched his fists.

He hated the way you looked at Yangyang.

Yangyang, who didn’t deserve your attention. Who was nothing but an annoying little brat in his eyes.

And yet, there you were—leaning into him, laughing at his words, completely forgetting about Xiaojun.

He forced a smile, masking the storm brewing inside him.

For now.

—

That night, you couldn’t shake the weird feeling in your gut.

Something about the way Xiaojun had touched you earlier—it wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t right either.

You had never questioned his intentions before. He was Xiaojun, the guy who had been nothing but sweet to you since the day they met.

And yet, the more you thought about it, the more you realized something.

Xiaojun never really gave you space.

He was always there. Always watching, always waiting.

You shook your head, pushing the thought away.

Maybe you were overthinking.

Maybe you just needed to sleep.

Little did you know, you weren’t the only one awake that night.

Xiaojun sat in his room, staring at his phone, his jaw clenched as he scrolled through pictures of you.

And one thought consumed him.

He wanted to get rid of Yangyang.

—

You weren’t sure when the shift happened, but it was undeniable now. The excitement you had once felt around Xiaojun had dulled.

You still liked him—at least, you thought you did—but there was something gnawing at you. A subtle discomfort that you couldn’t explain.

It had started small. The way he always seemed to know where you were. The way he conveniently showed up whenever you needed something, like he was waiting for the opportunity. And then there was the way he had touched you during practice—too familiar, too firm.

It wasn’t outright wrong, but it wasn’t right either.

And worst of all? Yangyang had noticed.

—

For the past few days, Yangyang had been acting different.

More annoyed. More present.

If Xiaojun was around, Yangyang made sure he was, too. If Xiaojun made you laugh, Yangyang would say something funnier. If Xiaojun tried to help you during practice, Yangyang would offer first.

And Xiaojun hated it.

Ten noticed it, too.

Sitting in their apartment one evening, Ten casually tossed a chip into his mouth and eyed Yangyang. “So, are you gonna admit you hate Xiaojun, or are we just gonna pretend you don’t?”

Yangyang, who had been scrolling through his phone, didn’t even look up. “I don’t hate him.”

Ten snorted. “Right.”

“I don’t,” Yangyang insisted. “I just don’t like him.”

“Uh-huh. And this wouldn’t have anything to do with the fact that y/n and Xiaojun have been getting close, right?”

Yangyang’s jaw tightened, but he stayed silent.

Ten smirked. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

Before Yangyang could respond, the front door opened, and you walked in, looking drained.

“Bad day?” Ten asked.

You groaned, dropping onto the couch. “I don’t know. I just… I feel off.”

Yangyang glanced at you. “Because of Xiaojun?”

You hesitated. “No. Maybe. I don’t know.”

Ten raised an eyebrow. “Did he do something?”

You chewed on your lip. “No, he’s just… I don’t know how to explain it. He hasn’t done anything, but something feels weird.”

Yangyang sat forward, eyes sharpening. “Weird how?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know, Yangyang. Just weird.”

Yangyang exchanged a glance with Ten, who gave him a knowing look.

Ten exhaled and stretched. “You need a distraction. Let’s do something fun tonight.”

You smiled slightly. “Like what?”

Yangyang smirked. “Drinks?”

Ten clapped his hands. “Done.”

—

You should have known Xiaojun would show up.

It was never explicitly said, but somehow, he always found out where you were.

You weren’t even surprised when he walked into the bar later that night, greeting you guys with his usual charming grin.

“What a coincidence,” Xiaojun said smoothly, sliding into the booth beside you.

Yangyang tensed. “Yeah. Crazy coincidence.”

Xiaojun ignored him, turning his attention to you. “You look good tonight.”

You gave him a small smile, but something about the compliment felt off. It felt too practiced.

Xiaojun had a way of making everything feel intentional, like he was following a script only he could see.

As the night went on, the drinks kept flowing, but the tension in the booth was suffocating.

Yangyang and Xiaojun were at each other’s throats in the most polite way possible.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you dance outside of the studio, Yangyang,” Xiaojun mused, twirling his drink in his hand. “Afraid you’ll embarrass yourself?”

Yangyang scoffed. “Please. I don’t need to show off. Unlike some people.”

Xiaojun’s smile was sharp. “Confidence is important in dance. You like confident guys, don’t you?”

You blinked, suddenly pulled into the conversation. “Uh—what?”

Xiaojun leaned closer. “I mean, you like guys who take charge, right? Someone who can lead?”

You hesitated. “I mean… I guess? But—”

“Oh, so that means Yangyang’s out,” Xiaojun teased, smirking.

Yangyang clenched his jaw. “I think she can decide for herself what she likes.”

Xiaojun chuckled, but his fingers tightened around his glass.

Ten, sensing the rising tension, quickly changed the subject, but the damage had been done.

You were paying attention to Yangyang now.

And Xiaojun hated it.

—

Later that night, you all stumbled back to the apartment, still tipsy from the drinks.

Ten crashed onto the couch again, mumbling something about how he was too tired to move.

Xiaojun, as always, lingered.

You stood in the kitchen, drinking a glass of water, when you felt him behind you.

“You should go to bed,” he murmured.

You turned to face him, leaning against the counter. “I will.”

He smiled, stepping closer. “I could stay again, if you want.”

You hesitated.

A few days ago, you wouldn’t have thought twice about it. But now… something felt different.

You forced a small smile. “I think I’ll be okay.”

For the first time, Xiaojun’s mask faltered. It was brief—barely a flicker—but you saw it.

Annoyance.

Possession.

Then, just as quickly, the easy smile returned. “Alright.”

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you had been holding as he stepped back.

But just as you turned to leave, he caught your wrist gently.

“You.”

You looked up at him.

Xiaojun’s eyes were soft, but there was something unreadable behind them. “You know I’d do anything for you, right?”

Your stomach twisted. “…Yeah.”

He smiled. “Good.”

Then he let go.

You walked past him without another word.

But as you disappeared into your room, Xiaojun stood in the dim kitchen, staring at the spot where you had just been.

He could feel you slipping.

And he wasn’t going to let that happen.

—

Xiaojun knew he had made a mistake.

That brief moment of frustration—of letting his mask slip—had been careless. You were perceptive, more than he had given you credit for. If he wasn’t careful, you would start pulling away.

And that was something he wouldn’t allow.

So, he did what he did best.

He adjusted.

—

You weren’t avoiding Xiaojun, but you weren’t as eager to see him either.

You still liked him—or at least, you thought you did—but the unease hadn’t faded. Something about him lingered in your mind, making you second-guess everything.

But Xiaojun was patient.

He didn’t push, didn’t question your slight distance. Instead, he was perfect.

He showed up when you needed him—offering you coffee when you looked tired, making you laugh when you were stressed. He was careful not to overstep, not to touch you too much or invade your space.

He gave you exactly what you needed: space to miss him.

And slowly, it worked.

—

Yangyang noticed.

He saw the way you gradually leaned back into Xiaojun’s presence, how your wariness seemed to dull.

But he didn’t say anything.

He played his part perfectly—unbothered, indifferent, even when it made him sick to his stomach.

What was the point of fighting for something that was already lost?

Besides, if you wanted Xiaojun, that was your choice.

And yet…

He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong.

—

The one person who did say something was Ten.

One night, after dance practice, he pulled you aside while the others packed up.

“Are you sure about Xiaojun?” Ten asked, his voice casual, but his eyes sharp.

You blinked. “What do you mean?”

Ten crossed his arms. “I mean… are you sure he’s who you think he is?”

You frowned. “Ten, what are you trying to say?”

Ten sighed, glancing over at Xiaojun, who was talking to Yangyang. He lowered his voice. “I don’t know, y/n. Something about him doesn’t sit right with me.”

You hesitated.

For a split second, you wanted to tell him. About the weird feeling in your gut, about the way Xiaojun had touched you at practice, the way his presence sometimes felt too calculated.

But then you remembered the way Xiaojun had been so sweet lately. So patient.

You shook your head. “I think you’re overreacting.”

Ten didn’t look convinced. “I just… I don’t want you to regret anything.”

“I won’t.”

You said it more to convince yourself than him.

—

Xiaojun watched the exchange from across the room, keeping his expression neutral.

Ten was becoming a problem.

Unlike Yangyang, who had chosen to stay quiet, Ten was watching.

And Xiaojun didn’t like being watched.

—

The final push came a few nights later.

You, Ten, Yangyang, and Xiaojun were out grabbing food. It was supposed to be a casual night, just them unwinding after a long week.

But Xiaojun had been waiting for this moment.

They had all been talking about relationships when Ten, ever the troublemaker, turned to you with a smirk.

“So, you,” he teased. “Who’s your ideal type?”

You groaned. “Why does it matter?”

“Just curious.” Ten sipped his drink. “Come on, humor us.”

You thought for a moment. “I don’t know… someone kind, funny, makes me feel safe.”

Yangyang, who had been silent most of the night, finally spoke. “Safe, huh?”

You looked at him. “Yeah. Why?”

Yangyang shrugged. “Nothing. Just… that’s important.”

Something in his tone made you pause.

But before you could ask, Xiaojun leaned closer, his voice smooth. “I like that answer.”

You turned to him, slightly flustered. “Yeah?”

He smiled, slow and easy. “Of course. Everyone deserves to feel safe with the person they’re with.”

And just like that, the unease you had felt over the past few days faded.

It was stupid, really.

How could you have doubted Xiaojun? He had always been there for you. He had never given you a real reason to be wary of him.

Maybe you were overthinking things.

Yangyang, watching the exchange, clenched his jaw but said nothing.

He had seen this before.

Xiaojun was too smooth, too intentional. He knew exactly what to say, exactly when to say it.

And the worst part?

It was working.

—

That night, as you lay in bed, you felt warm.

Maybe you had been pushing Xiaojun away for no reason. Maybe you had let your own fears cloud your judgment.

He had done nothing but prove himself to you.

And for the first time in weeks, you didn’t feel uneasy thinking about him.

You smiled to yourself, closing your eyes.

—

It started with a few drinks.

Nothing crazy, just another casual night with all of them at the apartment. The four of them had been drinking more often lately—an excuse to unwind, to let loose, to avoid the rising tension that no one wanted to talk about.

But tonight was different.

Because tonight, you weren’t thinking about your unease.

You weren’t thinking about the way Ten had been watching you closely for the past few days. You weren’t thinking about the way Yangyang had become quieter whenever Xiaojun was around.

No, tonight you were just warm and a little tipsy, and Xiaojun was right there beside you, looking at you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

—

Ten noticed it first.

The way Xiaojun’s hand brushed against your thigh as they sat together on the couch. The way you, just drunk enough to let go of hesitation, leaned into his touch.

Ten exhaled quietly, swirling his drink in his hand.

Yangyang, sitting on the floor with his back against the couch, was staring at the TV, but Ten knew he saw it too.

Xiaojun was smooth.

Too smooth.

But was that really something to be worried about?

Ten wasn’t sure.

He had his doubts—something about Xiaojun felt off, but he couldn’t quite place it.

And maybe it wasn’t his place to say anything.

But still…

He turned to you, keeping his voice casual.

“You sure about this?”

You blinked, looking at him. “What?”

Ten nodded toward Xiaojun. “Him.”

Xiaojun’s smile didn’t falter, but his eyes darkened just slightly.

You frowned. “What kind of question is that?”

Ten hesitated. “Just making sure.”

Yangyang, still staring at the TV, finally spoke. “Not the time, Ten.”

Ten sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. “Yeah. Maybe.”

You, exasperated, stood up. “I’m going to bed.”

Xiaojun gave you a soft smile, standing too. “Want me to stay?”

Yangyang stiffened.

Ten took another sip of his drink, watching your reaction carefully.

You hesitated, just for a second, then nodded. “Yeah.”

And that was that.

—

The next morning, you woke up to the weight of an arm draped over your waist.

Your head was pounding, and for a split second, you didn’t remember—

Then it hit you.

Last night.

Xiaojun.

You swallowed, glancing over your shoulder.

He was still asleep, his face calm, his grip around you loose but firm.

You exhaled slowly, staring up at the ceiling.

It wasn’t that you regretted it.

But something in the back of your mind told you that things had changed.

—

Ten barely spoke to you the next day.

Neither did Yangyang.

It was suffocating, the weight of unspoken tension between all of you.

Xiaojun, as always, was perfect. He didn’t press, didn’t cling. He gave you space while still being there, always effortlessly weaving himself into your day.

And maybe that was why you started to feel normal again.

Until the storm hit.

—

It came out of nowhere.

The snow started light, but by nightfall, it was a full-on blizzard.

The streets were impassable. Roads were shut down. People were warned to stay inside.

You, Ten, and Yangyang were trapped in your apartment.

And Xiaojun was trapped in his.

—

At first, it wasn’t a big deal.

You had food, power, and enough distractions to get through a couple of days.

But it was weird—not having Xiaojun around.

You weren’t sure when you had gotten so used to his presence, but you felt it now, the absence of him.

You texted him that first night.

You: This storm is crazy.

Xiaojun: I know. Wish I was with you.

You stared at the message for a moment before typing back.

You: Me too.

Across the city, in his darkened apartment, Xiaojun smiled at his screen.

But his fingers gripped his phone so tightly his knuckles turned white.

He hated this.

Being away from you.

Knowing you were locked in with Ten and Yangyang.

Knowing that, right now, you were probably laughing at one of Yangyang’s jokes.

Or that Ten was still watching you with quiet caution.

Xiaojun hated them.

But he couldn’t let it show.

Not yet.

Instead, he typed back smoothly.

Xiaojun: Soon.

—

The second day of the storm, Ten finally spoke up.

They were in the kitchen, just the two of them, while Yangyang was passed out in the living room.

Ten leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “So, you and Xiaojun, huh?”

You hesitated. “…Yeah.”

Ten exhaled through his nose. “You really like him?”

You frowned. “Why do you sound skeptical?”

Ten hesitated, choosing his words carefully.

“I just don’t know him that well,” he admitted. “That’s all.”

You studied him, searching his face.

“…You don’t trust him?”

Ten didn’t answer right away.

Instead, he shrugged. “I don’t know. But something about him feels… off.”

You swallowed. “Like what?”

Ten hesitated again.

Finally, he exhaled. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m overthinking it.”

You crossed your arms. “I think you are.”

Ten nodded slowly. He wasn’t convinced, but he also wasn’t going to push you.

Not yet.

Before either of them could say anything else, the lights flickered.

Once.

Twice.

Then, the entire apartment plunged into darkness.

—

Across the city, Xiaojun sat in his darkened apartment, staring out the window at the endless white.

His phone buzzed in his hand.

A message from you.

You: The power just went out.

Xiaojun’s lips curled into a slow smile.