#might just drop the game and play it once a month and a half for the update

[jungwnies]

TIKTOK TREND WITH YOUR F1 BOYFRIEND | "we listen and we don't judge"

୨ৎ : featuring : max verstappen, lewis hamilton, george russell, carlos sainz, charles leclerc, lando norris, oscar piastri ୨ৎ : synopsis : "we listen and we don't judge" trend

୨ৎ : genre : humor, angsty only if you squint ୨ৎ : tws : light teasing, SLIGHTLY suggestive for lewis and charles ୨ৎ : word count : 3255

୨ masterlist ৎ

ᡣ𐭩 a/n : race weekend !! can't believe lewis is finally breaking up with mercedes :'(

ʚ・max verstappen

you and max were sprawled on the couch after dinner, scrolling through your phone, you came across the "we listen and we don’t judge" trend and turned to max with a mischievous grin.

“max, we’re doing something,” you announced, setting your phone down.

he raised an eyebrow. “what now?”

“it’s this trend. i’ll say ‘we listen and we don’t judge,’ and you have to confess something funny or random you’ve kept from me. then it’s my turn. we go back and forth, no getting mad. deal?”

he smirked, clearly intrigued. “sounds dangerous. but alright, i’m in.”

you grinned. “okay. we listen, and we don’t judge.”

max leaned back, rubbing his chin like he was deep in thought. “alright... sometimes, when you’re not around, i watch rom-coms. and yes, i cry a little.”

your jaw dropped, and you smacked his arm lightly. “you cry? you don’t even tear up during sad movies with me!”

“no judging!” he reminded you, laughing. “your turn.”

you sighed, biting back a smile. “okay. we listen, and we don’t judge… sometimes when i say i’m folding laundry, i’m actually just lying on the bed scrolling on my phone.”

max blinked, a laugh bubbling out of him. “seriously? i knew it took you way too long to fold a few shirts!”

“no judging!” you shot back, grinning. “your turn.”

he grinned, leaning in a little. “we listen, and we don’t judge… i told you i’d stop eating stroopwafels late at night, but i have a secret stash in the garage.”

you gasped dramatically. “the garage? max!”

“you said no judging,” he said smugly. “your turn.”

you rolled your eyes, stifling a laugh. “okay. we listen, and we don’t judge… remember when your favorite hoodie ‘got lost’? i actually stole it, and it’s hidden in my closet.”

his eyes narrowed, though he couldn’t hide his grin. “so that’s where it went! i’ve been looking for it for months!”

“it’s comfy!” you defended. “last one, your turn.”

max smirked. “we listen, and we don’t judge… when i say i’m working late at the simulator, half the time i’m just watching motorsport documentaries.”

you stared at him, stunned. “max!”

he laughed, throwing an arm around you. “hey, at least i’m consistent. no judging, remember?”

“fine,” you muttered, shaking your head but smiling. “you’re lucky you’re cute.”

ʚ・lewis hamilton

it was a rare, lazy afternoon at home with lewis, the two of you stretched out on the couch with no obligations for the day. you were scrolling through your phone when a trending couples game caught your attention. immediately, you knew lewis would make this hilarious.

“lewis,” you said, nudging his arm.

he turned to you, smirking. “what is it now?”

“we’re playing a game. it’s called ‘we listen and we don’t judge.’ i’ll say that, and you have to confess something funny or random you’ve been hiding. then it’s my turn. but no getting mad.”

his smirk deepened, clearly intrigued. “no getting mad? sounds like this might end in trouble.”

“just go with it,” you said, grinning. “you’re up first. we listen, and we don’t judge.”

he leaned back, tapping his chin like he was debating the perfect confession. “alright… we listen, and we don’t judge. i once borrowed your face cream, and now i’m low-key addicted to your skincare routine.”

you blinked at him, your jaw dropping. “you’re the reason i keep running out so fast?”

he grinned sheepishly. “your stuff’s top tier. what can i say?”

“unbelievable.” you shook your head, but you couldn’t stop laughing. “fine, my turn. we listen, and we don’t judge... i sometimes hide the remote under the couch cushion when you won’t stop flipping channels.”

his mouth fell open in mock shock. “that’s why i can never find it?!”

“no judging!” you reminded him, biting back a laugh.

“alright, alright,” he said, sitting up straighter. “we listen, and we don’t judge... when i say i’m texting toto, sometimes i’m actually looking at old pictures of roscoe.”

you couldn’t help but burst out laughing. “roscoe’s been getting all the attention while i’ve been sitting here, huh?”

“he’s my boy,” lewis said with a shrug, a proud grin on his face. “your turn.”

you smirked, thinking for a moment. “we listen, and we don’t judge... i may or may not have eaten the last slice of cake and blamed it on you forgetting it in the fridge.”

he pointed at you, his eyes wide. “you did that? i thought i was losing my mind!”

“no judging!” you said, giggling.

“fine,” he said, shaking his head but laughing. “last one. we listen, and we don’t judge... i keep your voice notes on my phone and listen to them when—”

before he could finish, you grabbed a pillow and smacked him with it. “lewis!”

he was already cracking up, raising his hands in surrender. “you said no judging!”

“and you’re breaking the rules of decency!” you shot back, hitting him again as he laughed harder.

he eventually grabbed the pillow from you, pulling you into his lap. “you’re lucky i love you. even if you ate my cake.”

“you’re lucky i love you,” you teased back, resting your forehead against his. “even if roscoe gets all your attention.”

ʚ・george russell

it was one of those chill evenings at home, where neither of you had any pressing plans. george was scrolling through his phone, half paying attention to whatever was on tv, when you suddenly sat up with a mischievous grin.

“george,” you started, already giggling.

he glanced over, instantly suspicious. “what have i done now?”

“nothing… yet. but we’re playing a game,” you said. “it’s called ‘we listen and we don’t judge.’ we take turns confessing random, stupid things, and the other person can’t get mad or judge.”

he narrowed his eyes, clearly trying not to laugh. “this sounds like a trap.”

“it’s not a trap!” you promised. “come on, i’ll start. we listen, and we don’t judge… sometimes, when you’re out, i play f1 23 just so i can crash your car and watch it fly into the barriers.”

his jaw dropped. “my car?! my poor car! how could you?”

“no judging!” you reminded him, grinning. “your turn.”

he sighed dramatically, shaking his head. “alright, fine. we listen, and we don’t judge… once, when you were in the shower, i tried on your slippers, and honestly? i get why you love them so much. they’re so soft.”

you stared at him, stunned, before bursting into laughter. “you mean to tell me you’ve been walking around in my fluffy bunny slippers?”

“not walking,” he said defensively. “just… trying them on.”

“sure,” you said, still laughing. “okay, my turn. we listen, and we don’t judge… one time, i accidentally shrunk your favorite sweater in the wash and blamed it on the dryer.”

george’s eyes went wide. “that was you?! i thought i’d bulked up!”

“no judging!” you said quickly, holding back another laugh. “your turn.”

he leaned back, a mischievous grin on his face. “we listen, and we don’t judge… sometimes, when you’re asleep, i watch those weird, satisfying carpet-cleaning videos on youtube.”

you blinked at him, trying not to laugh. “you’re telling me you’re out here binge-watching carpet scrubbing at 2 a.m.?”

“they’re oddly relaxing!” he said with mock indignation. “your turn.”

you smirked. “we listen, and we don’t judge… i stole one of your racing socks once because i couldn’t find mine, and i still have it.”

“oh, so that’s why i’ve been missing one sock this whole time!” he said, pointing at you dramatically.

“you weren’t supposed to notice!”

george laughed, pulling you into his arms. “this game is wild, but now i’m going to look at my socks, slippers, and sweaters very differently. also, we’re getting you your own racing socks.”

ʚ・carlos sainz

it was one of those laid-back evenings, the two of you lounging on the couch, tiktok videos filling the quiet air between laughs. carlos had his phone propped up on the armrest, both of you scrolling through videos. when you came across one of those “we listen and we don’t judge” videos, your eyes lit up.

“we should do that,” you said, grinning at him.

carlos raised an eyebrow, leaning closer. “tú y yo? (you and me?) i don’t know… are you sure you’re ready for my confessions?”

you crossed your arms and smirked. “oh, please. i bet you have nothing on me.”

“alright then,” he said, locking his phone and turning fully toward you. “we listen, and we don’t judge… sometimes, when you ask me to fix something around the house, i pretend i don’t know how so you’ll do it.”

you stared at him, wide-eyed. “carlos! you’ve been faking it?”

“no judging!” he said, smirking back at you, completely unfazed. “your turn.”

you shook your head in disbelief but couldn’t help but laugh. “fine. we listen, and we don’t judge… i once took a picture of your car keys just so i could send it to you and pretend i had your keys when i’d lost mine.”

his eyes widened. “wait, so you’ve been using my keys to trick me into thinking you didn’t lose yours?!”

“yeah, well… no judging!” you said, grinning.

carlos leaned back, shaking his head with a soft laugh. “okay, we listen, and we don’t judge… sometimes, when you get me to help you clean, i do half the work and then take a break to watch racing highlights on my phone.”

you stared at him for a moment before bursting out laughing. “you’re literally cleaning with one hand and watching f1 with the other?”

“isn’t that multitasking?” he said, shrugging with a teasing grin. “your turn.”

you rolled your eyes, but your lips couldn’t stop smiling. “we listen, and we don’t judge… i’ve been secretly eating your chocolate stash. and no, i don’t plan to stop.”

carlos leaned toward you, pretending to be shocked. “¿qué? (what?) you’ve been stealing my chocolate? that’s it, i’m hiding it next time!”

you giggled, shrugging innocently. “no judging!”

carlos pulled you closer, laughing softly. “alright, alright. you’ve won this round, but next time, i’m keeping my keys—and my chocolate—locked up.”

you smirked, resting your head on his shoulder. “no judgment, remember?”

ʚ・charles leclerc

charles was sitting at the piano, playing casually, while you were scrolling through tiktok. you stumbled across the "we listen and we don’t judge" trend and couldn't resist showing him.

“amour, look at this. we should try it.”

he looked up from the keys, a playful grin on his face. “what is it? another tiktok trend i’ll regret?”

you showed him the video. “it’s a confession game. we take turns sharing things we’ve kept secret, and the other person can’t judge. we listen and we don’t judge.”

he raised an eyebrow. “you know i’m already regretting this, right mon amour?”

you laughed. “don’t be dramatic. we listen and we don’t judge.”

“alright, alright,” he said, stretching. “i'll go first…we listen, and we don’t judge… i used all your shampoo in the shower once, and when i realized it was nearly empty, i just told you it was already like that, so i threw it out while i was cleaning.”

you blinked, looking surprised. “charles! and you didn't even buy more!”

charles laughed. “at least i put it in the recycling, right?”

“no judgment…i guess." you chuckled, shaking your head. "alright, your my. but i’m keeping track of this, and i'm checking how much shampoo is left every time i get in the shower!”

you take a deep breath before giving him a cheeky grin, “okay, we listen, and we don’t judge… when i told you i knew how to cook that fancy dinner, i was actually watching youtube tutorials the whole time. i burnt it twice, so i just pretended i forgot and ordered something instead.”

charles burst out laughing. “i knew it! it tasted too good to be true. so, you’ve been secretly lying to me this whole time?”

you shrugged innocently. “we listen, we don’t judge.”

he raised his hands in surrender. “fine, no judgment.”

then, he leaned in a little closer, his grin turning slightly mischievous. “okay, last one, but don’t judge, alright amour? i… sometimes fantasize about you in that dress you wore the other night… and how it’d look when you—”

“shut up, charles!” you cut him off, quickly throwing a pillow at him. “don’t say that out loud!”

charles just laughed harder, hands up in defense. “what? you said we listen and we don’t judge!”

“i didn’t say you could be that honest!” you shot back, laughing as you tried to grab the pillow back.

he grabbed it first, pulling you closer and holding you in his arms. “you’re lucky i love you, even when you’re stealing my shampoo.”

you grinned, leaning your forehead against his. “you’re lucky i love you, even when you make me blush with your terrible flirting.”

charles winked. “i’ll take that as a compliment.”

ʚ・lando norris

you and lando were sprawled on the couch, both scrolling through tiktok when you came across the “we listen and we don’t judge” trend. you smirked, nudging him.

“hey, this looks fun. we should do it,” you said.

lando glanced at the screen, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. “oh, i’m so in. i’ve got a few things i’ve been meaning to get off my chest.”

you laughed, knowing this could get interesting. “alright, we listen, and we don’t judge.”

lando immediately sat up straighter, ready to spill. “okay, okay. i’ve got one. we listen, and we don’t judge… i’ve been telling you i’m really good at making spaghetti, but the truth is, i just pour sauce over it and hope for the best. i don’t actually know how to cook it properly.”

you stared at him. “wait, you’ve been lying about being a chef this whole time?”

lando shrugs, looking way too proud of himself. “hey, it works. you still like it, don’t you?”

you couldn’t help but laugh. “i don’t even know what to say to that. you’re like a pasta fraud.”

he leaned back, looking smug. “i’ve never been caught, so it’s all good.”

“alright, my turn,” you said, smirking. “we listen, and we don’t judge… i once accidentally ate all your leftover pizza and just left the box in the fridge like nothing happened. i thought you wouldn’t notice.”

lando’s eyes widened. “noooooo, you didn’t! you ate the pizza and didn’t even say anything?”

you nodded, trying not to laugh. “yep. i was hungry.”

he rubbed his temples. “this is worse than the spaghetti. at least i knew what i was doing with that!”

“hey, we don’t judge,” you shot back.

lando paused, looking like he was trying to think of something equally embarrassing to share. “alright, alright. this one’s a good one. we listen, and we don’t judge… sometimes when i’m on facetime with you, i don’t really pay attention. i just let you talk while i’m scrolling through instagram or playing games. but i’m good at pretending like i’m listening.”

you stared at him, wide-eyed. “what? no way. so all those times i thought you were listening to me, you were just—what? ignoring me?”

he winced, shrugging. “i mean, yeah. but i still love you, i promise! i’m just multitasking.”

“lando!” you threw a pillow at him. “i can’t believe you! that’s a whole new level of rude.”

he ducked, still laughing. “we listen, and we don’t judge!”

you rolled your eyes. “yeah, well, i’m judging. big time.”

then you paused, smirking. “fine. one more. we listen, and we don’t judge… i once tried to sneakily eat all your chocolate bars, but i was so obvious about it that you caught me before i even finished.”

lando couldn’t help but laugh. “what?! you didn’t even hide it well?”

you shrugged. “i panicked, okay? i thought i could get away with it.”

“i can’t with you,” he said, shaking his head in disbelief. “you’re lucky i love you, even though you’re a snack thief and a liar.”

you grinned. “i’m lucky you love me, even though you can’t even cook spaghetti properly.”

he smirked. “you’re lucky i still cook for you, pizza thief.”

ʚ・oscar piastri

you and oscar were curled up on the sofa in your shared apartment, mindlessly scrolling through tiktok. a video popped up showcasing the "we listen and we don't judge" trend, and you nudged oscar with your elbow.

"hey, this looks fun," you said, grinning. "we should do it."

oscar, his eyes still glued to his phone, shrugged. "sure, why not?" he replied, a hint of amusement in his voice. "though i can't imagine having any confessions that are that scandalous."

"oh, you'd be surprised," you teased, raising an eyebrow. "everyone has secrets, oscar."

he chuckled, finally tearing his gaze away from the screen. "alright, let's do it. we listen, and we don't judge."

you took a deep breath, a mischievous glint in your eye. "okay, here goes. we listen, and we don't judge… i may have 'accidentally' shrunk your favorite mclaren hoodie in the wash. like, significantly."

oscar's eyes widened in horror. "you what?!" he exclaimed, leaping off the couch to inspect the damage. "not the hoodie with the papaya stripe! that was vintage!"

you winced, trying to hide your amusement. "it was an accident! i swear! i must have mixed up the settings on the washing machine."

he held up the shrunken garment, now more suitable for a toddler than a formula 1 driver. "y/n, this looks like something a chihuahua would wear!"

you burst out laughing. "okay, okay, i messed up. but hey, maybe it'll make a comeback as a crop top?" you joked, trying to lighten the mood.

oscar sighed, but a smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "alright, alright. my turn. we listen, and we don't judge… i may have accidentally reversed your car into the mailbox last week."

your jaw dropped. "what?! the mailbox that's now leaning at a 45-degree angle? that was you?!"

he cringed. "yeah, about that… i was in a bit of a rush, and i may have misjudged the distance."

"misjudged the distance?" you repeated incredulously. "oscar, you're a formula 1 driver! you judge distances for a living!"

he shrugged sheepishly. "everyone makes mistakes, okay? besides, it's not like i crashed an actual race car."

you shook your head, still in disbelief. "this is unbelievable. what's next, are you going to admit you can't actually cook?"

oscar's eyes widened, and he quickly changed the subject. "okay, your turn! let's hear another confession."

you smirked, knowing you had him on the ropes. "alright, fine. we listen, and we don't judge… i may have pretended to like your favorite band just to impress you when we first started dating."

he gasped dramatically. "you mean you don't actually enjoy listening to that obscure australian rock band?"

you cringed. "okay, maybe 'enjoy' is a strong word. but i've grown to appreciate them… sort of."

oscar burst out laughing. "this is too good! i can't believe you've been faking it this whole time!"

you playfully punched his arm. "hey, at least i tried! besides, it's not like you haven't exaggerated your cooking skills."

he grinned, pulling you closer. "touché. well, i guess we're both full of surprises."

you snuggled into his side, still chuckling. "yeah, i guess we are. but hey, at least we can be honest with each other, right?"

"absolutely," he agreed, kissing your forehead. "we listen, and we don't judge… mostly."

© 2024 jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate

[distantdarlings]

TAUNTING // e. berkshire

RATING: R / 3.5K WORDS

Lorenzo Berkshire x Fem Reader Insert

+ SUMMARY - *Requested, based on this and this* After hearing some rumors traveling about that Enzo Berkshire might have a thing for you, you decide to make him as jealous as you can.

+ WARNINGS - SMUT! PIV, Oral sex (m!receiving), Dom!Enzo, Sub!Reader, slight degradation, praise, (1) slap, language, brief mention of alcohol, brief mention of drugs, brief mention of masturbation Fem Reader Insert, not fully proof-read (if I left anything out, please lmk!!!)

+ MUSIC (listened to while writing) -

Who Do You Want? - Ex Habit

You were being mean. You knew you were. But you couldn’t help it.

Every tick of his jaw, every twitch of his eyes, every snarl of his lips…it was intoxicating. You couldn’t believe you’d never noticed it before.

Enzo…his jealousy, his desire to touch you, to feel you, to be yours… His lust radiated off of him like heat waves, blistering your skin like radiation.

The sweat beading over your lips and across your forehead slid over the sides of your face, slicing down your flesh like knives. The hands on your waist tightened against your bones, clutching their fingers possessively into your body.

Despite the beat of the music threatening to vibrate your heart out of your chest, you could see his envy so clearly.

Through the haze and the sweat and the bodies, you could see his eyes harden and his knuckles bleed white. You just hoped that the little game you were playing with him wouldn’t lead to Theo getting hurt.

Precious Theo… Though the two of you had broken up over six months ago, it had been mutual and you both craved each other from time-to-time. You’d only slept together once since you’d broken up but you were getting antsy.

It had started with Pansy Parkinson telling you that she’d heard a rumor being spread around. A particularly dirty rumor that threatened to ruin a gorgeous boy’s social ego. You thought back to what she’d said.

“A couple girls from Ravenclaw that sit behind us in Potions swear Enzo gets a hard-on every time you slip your robe off.” Pansy giggled and slapped a hand over her lips to cover up any raucous laughter that threatened to slip out.

“Pansy! That’s such a lie!” you’d shrieked, giggling along with her. “Lorenzo Berkshire does not like me, let alone get a hard-on every time I take my robe off.” You’d whispered that last part, not wanting any walkers-by to hear your dirty conversation.

“It’s at least worth a check, just to see if it’s true.”

And that evening, during the last class of the day, you’d let your robe slide down your arms and land against the back of your chair. You’d turned back to glance at Enzo and, sure enough, his eyes were already on yours. When you made contact with him, he quickly glanced away and dropped his hand into his lap. You refrained from an evil smirk.

And now, here you were, dancing against Theo, your ex, trying your hardest to elicit a response from the boy eyeing you from across the room.

It was an end of semester party, just before the big exams and the end of the school year. You didn’t want to wait to see him again. Between exams and packing, you wouldn’t get another chance to do anything with him for a couple months.

You turned back toward Theo, letting your hair slide over your shoulder and brush across the back of your neck.

“Teddy, baby, will you do me a favor?” You pulled yourself close against him, whispering into his ear. The music and the amount of firewhisky in his system probably had half of your words drowned out.

“Of course,” he slurred. “What is it, darling?” Everytime he was drunk, his accent popped out tenfold. There was a time when he was absolutely irresistible to you, but now, you had your sights set on another.

“I’ll explain later, but—” you paused, hands on Theo’s face, his hands on your waist, and glanced back at Enzo to make sure he was watching— “I need you to kiss me hard.”

He pulled away and looked at you with a bit of shock. “Is this for me or someone else?”

“Someone else…is that okay?”

“I suppose,” he joked, rolling his eyes. “I’ll probably get someone else tonight anyway.”

“Ew, you whore.” The two of you laughed.

“You’re one to fucking talk, bella,” he teased, scraping his teeth gently against your jaw. You giggled and slapped him away quickly before refocusing.

Theo locked in and tangled a tight grip in your hair, yanking your face towards his. His lips found yours in a rough heat, claiming what used to be his. His lips tasted like firewhisky and his hands were dominating. It was almost enough to make you forget about poor little Enzo waiting across the hall for you like a kicked puppy.

You slowly pulled away from Theo, whispered a small thanks, and turned back to Enzo. Or, rather, the lack thereof. The space that was once occupied by the brooding boy was completely empty. Fuck. Maybe you’d gone too far.

You pushed your hair out of your face and moved away from the lanky boy you’d just been grinding on for the last half-hour. He’d busy himself elsewhere.

Swallowing thickly, you pushed through the bustling crowd, weaving in and around hot, sweating bodies reenacting what Theo and you had been doing, and what you and Enzo should be doing.

Once you came to a clearing where only a few stragglers stood around, and the dim light from the hallway torches contrasted against the cool-toned strobes above, you found him.

The hazy clouds of herbal smoke clouded your vision and senses; the second-hand inhales nearly made you light-headed.

Enzo stood with his back toward you, broad shoulder leaned against the doorframe, head tilted toward the sky, fingers clutching a messily-rolled joint.

His dark hair was shoved away from his face with a light gel that allowed his natural curl to peak out just a bit. Two silvery studs decorated his ears and matched the chain around his neck, that framed the slit of bare chest that was revealed by the black button-up he wore only half-buttoned. You nearly dragged him to your dorm right then and there.

You stalked over to him, moving briskly past your intoxicated peers, ignoring any call that came from any of them.

“Hey, En—”

Your voice was cut off by one of the random people standing behind you.

“Enzo! Where were you at practice tonight, man?”

One of his fellow Quidditch team members jogged up to him from behind you. Enzo turned to see who had called his name and, whilst finding his friend’s attention, he caught yours as well. You smiled just a bit, watching him closely.

As his friend ranted about what a great practice Enzo had missed, you watched as your dark-haired target of the night barely paid any mind to the boy in front of him, and looked you up and down slowly. You felt as if he was devouring every inch of your body with his eyes.

You smirked at his reaction to seeing you, but he didn’t return the smile. His jaw clenched tightly and he seemed almost angry. You wondered if you had pushed him too far.

“Yeah, yeah, man, I’ll talk to you later,” Enzo finally interrupted the boy and gave him a dismissive pat on the shoulder. Understanding that Enzo was done with the conversation, the boy broke away and wandered back into the bouncing crowd.

When the boy was gone, he took a long drag from the joint, and turned away from you. He was mad.

You rolled your eyes at how your plan seemed to have backfired and closed the distance between the two of you.

With a slow start, you slid around to the front of him, catching his eyes seductively. He stared at you but said nothing.

“En, I was wondering if I could speak with you?”

He took another long drag, tilted his chiseled jaw upwards, and blew the smoke toward the sky.

“I’m surprised you still have a voice, considering you just had Theo’s entire tongue shoved down your throat.” You blushed, embarrassed, and glanced towards the floor. You placed your hands innocently behind your back and glanced up at him.

“I was trying to make you jealous,” you whispered.

“What was that?” he dropped his head toward yours to try and meet your eyes. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t hear you. Speak up.” He was demanding and stern but it only intrigued you more.

“I said I was trying to make you jealous.” You finally looked at him. He took another drag and glanced around, once behind him, then once farther into the party, before turning back around. He placed his hand onto the wall above your head, caging you completely against his broad body.

“Can I?” you asked, glancing down. Your eyes refused to leave his.

With his free hand, he gently but firmly pressed your chin between his thumb and forefinger. He tilted your head up and placed the joint between your lips, his smoky fingers brushing across them in the process. He watched as you took a deep inhale and your eyes fluttered as the drug filled your system. You knew you would feel it soon enough.

“That’s it,” he whispered, his voice low and dark. “Good girl.”

Even after you exhaled, he refused to remove his hand from your face as he took another inhale, dropped the joint to the stone ground, and stamped it out with his shoe.

“So, you were trying to make me jealous by rubbing your ass all over your ex and kissing him in front of me?” he asked.

You nodded. “Did it work?”

The peace in his eyes drained, leaving deep, angry voids. “Yes.”

His fingers drifted from your chin down to your throat where they wrapped stiffly around you. The light pressure he applied made it feel as though the drug was seeping into your system faster.

He pressed his face between your head and shoulder, lips brushing up against your skin.

“Every day in class you’d let that fucking robe slide down your body, you’d let your hair fall across your back, and you’d glance back at me with that fucking look on your face. Were you trying to get a rise out of me? Is this what you wanted?” he growled.

His hands were rough on you and his words were mean but he pressed a gentle kiss on your neck to soften the whole situation.

“Mmhmm,” you sighed to the air, your eyes fluttering closed once more.

“And then in there with Theo?” he growled. “What's your game?”

When you didn’t answer, he wrapped his fingers tightly into your hair and held your head against the wall behind you, keeping you tightly in place. His eyes found yours once more, then your lips.

“Answer me,” he demanded.

“You, En…” you gasped. “I want you to fall in love with me so I thought I’d make you jealous.”

“Why did you think that would work?” he whispered, his voice menacing and cruel. “I don’t want to fall in love with you now, sweet girl…now I want Theo to watch me fuck you.”

His words made your knees buckle pathetically. Surely he didn’t mean what he said, but the thought of Enzo touching himself at night to voyeuristic fantasies of you and him made you want him even more. You nodded your head.

“Yeah? You want that, baby?” he cooed against your skin, eliciting chills across your chest and shoulders. His free hand trailed a gentle fingertip down your throat, then your collarbone, then between the split of fabric that pressed your cleavage together. The touch of his warm, rough fingers against your breasts made your breath stutter in your throat.

“Well, that’s too fucking bad.”

He pulled away suddenly, grabbed your hand, and roughly pulled you into the direction of the dungeon’s lavatories. You weren’t sure what he had in mind with the two of you going in there, but you were sure it couldn’t be anything good. Though at this point, your desire outweighed any threat of punishment from any form of authority. All you wanted was him.

He slammed the male lavatory door open and shoved you through, his movements rough and dominant. You stumbled over the threshold, the tiles slipping beneath your shoes.

In an attempt to catch your balance, you placed yourself against one of the small porcelain sinks lined against the western wall. Taking advantage of your current position, Enzo placed a wandless locking charm on the door and crossed over to you in milliseconds.

His head dropped below yours as his arms wrapped around the swell of your ass. He propped you up onto the sink behind you, careful to block the faucet from poking into your back.

With little regard for the increasing issue between your legs, he placed rough hands around your waist and ground your hips into his, allowing you to feel every inch of the issue he was also having.

You stifled a moan, your lips parting just a bit. He smirked meanly, his dazzlingly sharp teeth showcasing themselves between the slivers of moonlight sliding through the windows above.

“En, please…” you begged, your arms wrapping around his neck, trying to urge his lips towards yours.

“Ah, you can dole out the teasing, but you can’t take it, right?” he smirked. “Can you take it, baby?”

At his words, a single hand slid down briefly and skirted over the core of your body through the material of your dress. You gasped at the sensation.

“Please, baby, I’ll do anything!” you whined, pathetically reaching your hips back towards his.

“You’ll do anything?” he asked, quirking an eyebrow. You nodded quickly.

“Okay, baby,” he said, yanking you off the edge of the sink. Your feet hit the floor with a jolt that shot up your entire body.

“On your knees.” His voice was demanding and his eyes were cold. The lust that blossomed beneath his waist did little to melt the ice pooled in his pupils. You swallowed thickly, briefly wondering what you’d gotten yourself into. Whatever it was, you liked it.

You promptly obeyed and dropped to your knees, the thin flesh there bruising quickly. He wrapped your hair into a makeshift ponytail and tilted your head up to make eye contact.

“Suck.”

A shiver ran through your body as you quickly got to work sliding the button of his pants apart, and ripping the zipper down to the ground. Despite the layer of his briefs still between him and your mouth, you marveled at how big he was. You were slightly concerned you weren’t going to be able to fit him anywhere after having not been with anyone since Theo.

Nevertheless, you dropped his pants and briefs to the floor, his belt clinking on the way down. He was enormous but you refused to back down from any challenge handed to you. With a deep, shuddering breath, you wrapped your hands around the base of him and replaced the negative space with your mouth.

At the sensation of your tongue laying across him, the grip in your hair tightened significantly and Enzo groaned roughly. His free hand grasped the edge of the sink where you once sat in an effort to keep his stuttering knees afloat. The effect you appeared to be having on him made you all the more desperate for him.

“Good job, baby,” he groaned. “That’s so good.”

His words made the wetness pool between your legs more and more by the minute. If you didn’t have him within the next few minutes, you were going to have to give yourself something.

You pushed your head back against the hand holding you in place. He released his hold on your hair and looked down at you, a single bead of sweat dripping down the side of his jaw.

“What is it?” he panted.

“I want you,” you whined.

“No, I think you got enough from Theo.” His eyes were serious and biting. Blood drained from your face at the thought of not getting to feel him.

“No, please,” you begged, placing your hands against the edge of his stomach. “Please give me something…anything. I need you so bad.”

He seemed to be contemplating your words for a moment before he clicked his tongue and pulled you up by your hair. The slight burn on your scalp pulled a whimper from your lips as he directed your body right into the space he had just been occupying.

You were pressed back against the sink with his hips pressed into the back of you. A shudder passed across your lips as he turned your head to the mirror before you and demanded a single word: “Watch.”

Your lips parted in a gasp of disbelief as he flipped your dress over your back and roughly yanked your bottoms down around your ankles.

“Fuck, baby,” he whispered, his fingers ghosting over every part of where you needed him most. Your eyes fell shut as you reveled in the feeling of him touching you.

“Eyes open,” he asserted, bumping you into the sink a bit with his hips. You could feel the hot length of him against you.

When he decided he was ready to start with you, he placed hot fingers over your waist and guided you back and onto him.

At the stretch of him inside you, breath escaped you. Your heart pounded up and out of your chest, through your throat, and out onto the mirror before you. You felt as though you might collapse if it weren’t for the boy behind you holding you up.

You watched as his eyes fluttered shut behind you and a silent moan pierced his face. The expression of his pleasure, the size of him, and the fact you hadn’t been touched in months was almost enough to push you right over the edge.

His pace was set rather quickly. It was brutal and demanding, just like his personality. Your fingers wrapped tightly around the porcelain sink, begging for purchase on anything.

You watched him beat into you from behind, lathering in the feeling of him taking full and utter control of you. He was mean now, and he knew it as well.

A melody of moans and gasps escaped you as he hit everything he was supposed to with raging ferocity. His jaw clenched and his eyes opened a bit wider.

“Can Nott do this? Huh? He ever fuck you like this, baby?” he growled, fingernails clutching into your soft flesh. You whined at the feeling.

At the lack of your ability to reply, he grunted in frustration and laid a sharp slap to your ass. You gasped at the biting sensation and felt your pleasure begin to push itself over the edge.

“Answer me.”

“No! Nobody but you, baby. Nobody makes me feel this good.” You choked on your words, sweat dribbling across your throat.

The tail of your dress was clutched in his free hand and he used it as a kind of leverage to slam himself into you at record pace. You wouldn’t last for much longer if he continued his brutalization of your body. You felt delicate and helpless in his arms.

His form of fucking was so much different than Theo’s. Where Theo was long and thin and softer and let you take control from time-to-time, Enzo was thick and rough and kept you pinned down. Merlin, help.

As you quickly approached your end, your eyes rolled far back into your skull, demanding release from the inside-out. Your body couldn’t withstand anymore of Enzo’s cruelty—you were going to shamelessly finish against him, of which you breathlessly warned him.

“That’s it, baby,” he whispered. “Come for me.”

He leaned against you, forcing himself into you even deeper, and pressed his lips against the shell of your ear.

“Say my name—not his… mine.”

“Enzo, baby…,” you whispered, his words against your skin dropping chills down your spine.

“Say it again,” he groaned, his pace becoming more desperate and his voice more strained.

“Enzo…”

“Again,” he moaned, his fingers tightening against you.

“I’m fucking close, Enzo,” you whined. His speed quickened.

“Oh, I’ve touched myself to the thought of you saying that to me, baby,” he groaned, breath fanning against your cheek.

At his sinful words, you could feel your body be shoved over the edge.

You came with a breathless scream, the sensation hitting you harder than Enzo’s hips pounding against you.

Seconds after you’d rode out the edge of your finish, Enzo released a high-pitched moan against your ear—one so beautifully contrasting to his deep, demanding voice from earlier.

When the two of you had finally finished and come back to your senses, breaths heaving and lips swollen, you laughed hysterically.

Despite the weight of the situation only moments before, the two of you could feel the glee just from being able to finally touch the other.

The pent-up desire Enzo harbored for you and the newfound lust planted in your heart had created a heat-fueled rush that caught you both off guard. But neither of you could lie, it was far better than anything you’d felt in a while. No offense, Theo.

Tag List: @lilymurphy03 , @mypolicemanharryyy , @clairesjointshurt , @bunbunbl0gs , @acornacreacure, @niktwazny303 , @thestarlithideout , @sarahskakskskskajakwwnwjw , @yhiiil, @ravenclawprincess33, @xxrougefangxx , @thatblackthorn, @robinyx , @starsval , @jolly4holly , @blvebanisters , @chgrch

[missmaymay13]

home is with you - j.hughes

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

j.hughes x fem!oc | 13k

summary: jack was a patient person, and he was willing to wait as long as everlyn briar needed to realize that he was there for her.

masterlist

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

Quinn Hughes knew a lot about hockey.

Ask him about any game in the last decade—NHL or juniors—and he could give you a detailed play-by-play, rattle off stats like they were embedded in his DNA, and even tell you the name of the ref who made that terrible call in the second period. Hockey ran through his blood. It was his language, his rhythm, his safe place.

Academics, though? That was a different story.

It wasn't that he wasn't smart. He was just... uninterested. Unmotivated. The kind of kid who could get through most classes on charm and bare-minimum effort, skating by (pun intended) with a shrug and a smile. But junior year hit different. The coursework was harder, his travel schedule was crazier, and even Ellen—his endlessly patient, fiercely supportive mom—was starting to worry.

So she did what any mom would do: she found him help. Enter Everlyn Briar.

She was a sophomore, which at first felt weird to Quinn. A younger student tutoring him? But it took less than five minutes into their first session for him to realize Everlyn wasn't just smart—she was brilliant. The kind of person who didn't just know the answers, but understood them. Who explained things like it was no big deal, casually dropping SAT vocab like it was regular slang. She was taking AP classes in everything and somehow managing to be the captain of the school's volleyball team.

And not just on the volleyball team—she ran it. Confident, poised, competitive as hell.

Quinn didn't know people like her existed in real life.

He also didn't expect to like her.

At first, he resented the whole tutoring setup. It made him feel dumb, and if there was one thing Quinn Hughes hated, it was feeling dumb. But Everlyn had this way of making you feel like you were capable. Like you could be just as smart as her if you tried. She had an addicting personality—effortlessly cool, quick-witted, with a sense of humor that caught him off guard more than once.

And then there was her smile.

God, that smile. Bright and full of mischief, like she was constantly in on a secret she might let you in on if you were lucky enough. It was the kind of smile you couldn't forget, even if you tried.

Their tutoring sessions slowly evolved into something else. Something casual, something natural. They'd meet in the library or the back corner of the local coffee shop, but more often than not, their study sessions would end with them laughing over inside jokes, sharing stories about their teammates, or mock-roasting each other over their wildly different Spotify playlists.

Within a few months, they were inseparable.

It wasn't long before their social circles started to blur. Everlyn met Quinn's friends from the team, and he got introduced to her volleyball crew. Weekend hangouts became group events—bonfires, house parties, late-night diner runs. It was all fun and games until people started dating each other and everything got predictably messy.

Typical high school chaos.

There were breakups that forced the group to awkwardly take sides, dramatic friend group rifts, and one infamous party where someone tried to stage an "intervention" for a relationship that wasn't even official. Through it all, though, Quinn and Everlyn stayed solid. He'd show up to her games, she'd come to his. They were always seen together—heads tilted close in conversation, sharing drinks, stealing fries off each other's plates without asking.

Years would pass before either of them realized just how much those years mattered—how foundational they were. Before either of them would understand that what they built back then, in classrooms and crowded kitchens and half-lit basements, was going to follow them far beyond high school.

Because this isn't just Quinn's story.

It's Jack's too.

And for Jack Hughes, Everlyn Briar wasn't just some girl his brother used to hang out with.

She was the girl.

The one he was never supposed to fall for.

⸻ It started small.

At first, Everlyn would stay a few minutes after her tutoring sessions—just long enough to chat with Quinn before he got dragged off to practice or dinner. Then she'd linger a little longer, helping him pack up his notes, maybe sneaking in a few teasing jabs about his handwriting or his inability to remember historical dates. Eventually, Quinn started inviting her over for actual study sessions at his house.

And then, like it was the most natural thing in the world, Everlyn Briar became a regular fixture at the Hughes household.

It was Ellen's idea, really. She was over the moon about Quinn's sudden improvement in school—how he seemed lighter, less tense. His grades had gone up, but more importantly, so had his confidence. And she noticed it wasn't just the academics. Her son was happier. There was a spark in him again.

So of course, Ellen wanted to meet the girl responsible for that.

That first invitation came wrapped in the form of a casual offer: "Why don't you just stay for supper, sweetheart?" And Everlyn, who had only meant to drop off a study guide, hesitated just long enough for Ellen to smile and wave her into the kitchen like she'd already been part of the family for years.

It was so simple. So easy. So warm.

Everlyn didn't realize how much she needed that warmth until she felt it.

The Hughes house was nestled at the top of a long driveway, the kind of home that looked like it had history—scuffed baseboards, picture frames lining the hall, cleats piled by the door. It smelled like home-cooked meals and dryer sheets, and the moment she stepped inside, she could feel something shift in her chest.

There was life here. Real life.

Trophies filled the shelves—some polished and gleaming, others dusty with age. Framed photos covered the walls, capturing every phase of childhood: first goals, missing teeth, family vacations. Hockey sticks leaned against corners. A dog barked from the backyard. Laughter echoed from upstairs.

It was messy in the way that made your chest ache with comfort.

She could've cried.

Because back at her own house, it wasn't like this. Not anymore. The silence there was deafening, broken only by the sound of raised voices behind closed doors or the slam of a front door that never quite shut all the way. Her parents were in the middle of what could only be described as a war disguised as a divorce—ugly, drawn-out, venomous. And lately, Everlyn had become the easiest target.

It wasn't physical. Not exactly. But the emotional toll? That was harder to explain.

The tension followed her like smoke. Her mom was sharp with her words, her dad cold with his distance. The house was split in invisible lines—rooms she couldn't go into without a fight, conversations that ended in tears, meals that were eaten in silence. And she, caught in the middle, found herself suffocating more and more with each passing day.

So she escaped. Any chance she got.

Practice. Study halls. Library sessions that lasted until closing. Couch cushions at friends' houses. Empty locker rooms. Anywhere but home.

Which made the Hughes' house feel like a gift from the universe. An oasis.

The first person to greet her that day—besides Quinn—was a thirteen-year-old Luke Hughes, peeking cautiously from behind his older brother's shoulder. He had that awkward middle-school lankiness, all limbs and big eyes, his dark hair a little messy like he'd been running around all day. Shy but clearly curious, he gave her a wary glance, unsure of what to make of the girl standing at his front door with a backpack and a too-kind smile.

"Hey," Everlyn said softly, crouching down just a little to his height. "You must be the famous Luke. I've heard you've got a killer slapshot."

Luke blinked, then gave the tiniest, bashful nod—cheeks already a bit pink. And just like that, she'd won him over.

From then on, he was her shadow anytime she visited. Offering her cookies, showing off his hockey cards, even once letting her watch him play NHL on the Xbox. Luke Hughes was a soft, sweet soul—and he, like the rest of the family, made space for Everlyn without asking for anything in return.

Next came Ellen and Jim.

They met her with hugs, no hesitation, like she was already part of something. Ellen's warmth was maternal and immediate—offering her water, asking if she was hungry, complimenting her necklace. Jim's was quieter but genuine, his handshake firm, his smile kind. And both of them went on and on about how grateful they were to her for helping Quinn—not just with school, but with his peace of mind.

"You've brought such a light to him," Ellen had said, eyes crinkling. "I don't know what we'd do without you."

Everlyn had smiled and said thank you, but the words clung to her like armor. A light. She didn't feel like a light lately. Not with everything going on at home. But maybe, just maybe, here... she could be.

She was still soaking it all in—memorizing the faces in the photos on the walls, the way the floor creaked in certain spots, the steady hum of a home that felt alive—when the front door opened again.

And in walked Jack Hughes.

He was fifteen then. Already taller than most of the guys at school, with dark, boyish hair that curled a little at the ends and those unmistakable Hughes eyes—sharp, expressive, like they could see straight through you if he wanted to. His backpack was slung lazily over one shoulder, cheeks a bit flushed from biking home, and there was a faint scowl on his face until he rounded the corner and saw her.

Everlyn.

His brother's friend.

The one he wasn't expecting to look like that.

Jack froze for half a second, and it was only noticeable if you were really paying attention. His mouth opened just slightly, like he was about to say something and forgot the words. His eyes did a quick sweep—face, hair, eyes, outfit. And then he recovered, tossing on that signature smirk he wore like a badge.

"Hey," he said coolly. "You must be Everlyn."

She looked up from the couch, smile blooming. "And you must be Jack. I've heard a lot about you."

"Only the good stuff, I hope."

"That depends on your definition of 'good.'"

Quinn snorted from the kitchen, and Jack rolled his eyes. But his gaze didn't leave her. Something about her pulled at him—a softness behind her confidence, something that made his usual smoothness falter just a little.

And when she smiled at him—really smiled, all teeth and light—Jack Hughes, the confident, cocky middle brother, felt his heartbeat do something stupid.

Like skip.

He'd seen her before, sure. In the hallways at school. At volleyball games he'd gone to half-heartedly with Quinn, back when she was just a name he'd heard in passing. But seeing her now, in his home, on his couch, laughing with his brothers?

She wasn't just a name anymore.

And he didn't know it yet—but this girl, this friend of his brother's with the soft voice and the sharp mind, was about to change everything.

⸻

It was subtle at first.

A lingering glance here. A too-long laugh there. The way Jack's eyes would flick toward her in a crowded room, like his brain was hardwired to track her presence no matter what else was happening.

Jack Hughes had a crush.

A real one. The kind that made your chest tighten and your thoughts trip over themselves. But this wasn't just any girl. This was Everlyn Briar. The girl who tutored his older brother. The girl who had somehow woven herself into the fabric of the Hughes home like she'd always belonged there. The girl who showed up with a smile and stayed with a purpose.

And Jack—who usually had no trouble flirting, who could talk circles around most girls his age—suddenly found himself stammering or going completely silent anytime she looked at him for too long.

He hated it.

Well, no. He didn't hate her. God, no. He hated the situation.

Because she was Quinn's friend. His tutor. His person. And there were unspoken rules about that kind of thing—lines that brothers just didn't cross. So Jack kept it cool. He played the role of younger brother, occasional background comic relief, the charming but harmless kid who just so happened to stare a little too long when she wasn't looking.

But all of that restraint unraveled a little the night Quinn decided to throw a party.

Their parents were out of town for the weekend—a rare escape for Ellen and Jim to have a weekend to themselves—and Quinn, being a senior with a newly found sense of confidence and freedom, took full advantage.

The guest list was mostly hockey friends and volleyball players, a mix of athletes and classmates that made the house feel loud and alive by 9 p.m. Jack got the nod to invite some of his own people too, a gesture from Quinn that meant more than it seemed.

Jack wasn't exactly part of the "cool" senior crowd yet, but he could hold his own. And when he found out Everlyn would be there—of course she'd be there—he felt this strange mix of nerves and excitement hum beneath his skin all day.

He played it off well. Showed up in a backwards hat and his best hoodie, dapped up his friends, cracked jokes in the kitchen while snagging handfuls of chips. But all of it—every last bit—was background noise.

Because the second Everlyn walked through the door, it was like gravity shifted.

She was wearing a soft, oversized crewneck and jeans with a rip in the knee, nothing overly flashy or dramatic. Her hair was half up, half down, effortlessly undone, and she wore that familiar look of ease and lightheartedness that made her glow in every room.

Jack could barely breathe.

She looked beautiful. Not in the "done-up for a party" way, but in the "this is just who I am" way. She laughed with her whole body, tossing her head back when one of her friends made a joke, squealing when she missed her last cup in beer pong by a half inch. Every reaction was real—genuine, unfiltered, and full of life.

And Jack?

Jack was down bad.

He nursed a red solo cup and watched her from across the room, his gaze drifting back to her like a reflex. He tried to distract himself—mingled, played a game of flip cup, even tried talking to a girl from his grade who'd clearly been waiting for him to notice her. But none of it landed.

His attention was elsewhere. Always.

And then, at some point in the night—around 1:30 a.m., when the music had dipped into mellow territory and some people had already started crashing on couches—he realized he hadn't seen Everlyn in a while.

Like, a while.

It wasn't like her to just disappear without a word, especially not from a party like this. And something about that silence scratched at the back of his brain.

So Jack set his cup down and started looking.

He did a quick sweep of the main floor—kitchen, basement, backyard. Nothing. He passed by groups of people talking, laughing, someone snoring softly under a blanket on the recliner, but no sign of her. His steps grew quieter as he crept upstairs, the noise from below fading into a dull hum.

And that's when he found her.

The door to Luke's room was cracked slightly, soft light filtering out into the hallway. Jack pushed it open just enough to peek inside—and his heart stilled.

Everlyn was curled up on the far side of Luke's twin bed, one arm tucked beneath her head, the other resting gently across Luke's chest. The youngest Hughes was sound asleep, face relaxed in that vulnerable way only kids have when they're completely safe. A "Fast and the Furious" movie played quietly on the TV, Vin Diesel's voice barely audible over the low rumble of cars on screen.

Jack stood frozen in the doorway.

There she was. Not at the center of the party, not surrounded by friends or attention or lights—but here. With Luke. Tucked into a quiet room, keeping him company, protecting him in the smallest, softest way.

His throat tightened.

Behind him, he heard quiet footsteps and turned to find Quinn standing there, eyes a little glassy from a few drinks but still focused.

"She's been checking on him all night," Quinn said, voice low. "Kept sneaking upstairs just to make sure he was okay. I think he was a little overwhelmed with all the noise, and she didn't want him to feel left out. Ended up tucking him in about half an hour ago, I guess."

Jack didn't say anything at first. He just watched her for a moment longer, taking in the way her brow was slightly furrowed in sleep, how her fingers were still gently curled around the blanket like she didn't even realize she'd nodded off.

"She's got a big heart," Quinn added, clapping Jack softly on the back before heading downstairs again. "We're lucky to have her around."

Yeah, Jack thought, his pulse thudding. He really was.

Because in that moment, standing in the hallway with the light from Luke's room casting a soft glow over Everlyn's sleeping face, Jack Hughes fell just a little deeper into something he couldn't name.

It wasn't just the way she looked tonight. It was the way she was. The way she made herself small to protect others. The way she made herself present when no one else remembered to be.

The way she already cared for his family like it was her own.

And for Jack Hughes, there was nothing more important than family.

So yeah. His crush? It wasn't going anywhere.

Not now.

Not ever.

⸻

If Everlyn Briar had to make a list of the best days of her life, two moments would sit at the very top: Quinn's high school graduation, and the day he got drafted to the NHL.

Both days were drenched in joy, but for different reasons. Graduation felt like the end of a chapter, the beautiful culmination of everything they'd built together—study sessions, long nights, practice runs, pep talks in the hallway, inside jokes exchanged during fire drills. Draft day, though? That felt like the beginning of something. The launch of a dream.

And she was there for all of it.

She still remembered Quinn's graduation day like it was etched in sun. The weather was perfect—clear skies, a breeze just strong enough to ruffle the sea of navy blue gowns lined up in rows on the football field. Ellen was crying before the ceremony even started. Jim pretended not to be emotional, but she caught him wiping at his eyes with his sleeve more than once. Luke was the only one trying to play it cool, muttering about how boring the speeches were while secretly filming every second on his phone.

Everlyn sat with the Hughes family, sandwiched between Ellen and Luke, and beamed like it was her son crossing the stage. Her hands were sore from clapping, her cheeks aching from smiling, but she didn't care. Seeing Quinn walk across that stage, cap tilted slightly, grinning ear to ear as his name was called? That was her best friend. And she couldn't have been more proud.

That night, they went to prom together.

It wasn't romantic—not exactly. It was one of those things they'd decided months in advance, a casual promise made in between chemistry notes and late-night FaceTimes. But when the day came, and Everlyn stepped out of her car in a pastel yellow silk dress that caught the light like liquid sunshine, Jack had nearly dropped the bowl of cereal he was holding.

She was glowing. Absolutely glowing.

Quinn, to his credit, played it cool. He met her at the top of the driveway in a navy suit that matched her dress perfectly, his tie just slightly crooked, which she fixed with a teasing smile and a soft touch. Ellen took so many photos, shouting at them to get "just one more!" while Jim muttered something about missing the days when prom meant sitting on the couch with cartoons and juice boxes.

At prom, Everlyn and Quinn were the couple everyone pointed to—even if they weren't a couple at all. They danced to every song, even the slow ones. They laughed until their sides hurt, took blurry selfies, and snuck out early to get milkshakes at the diner down the street. Somewhere in the middle of it all, Quinn managed to snag a make-out session with a senior volleyball player (thanks to a little not-so-subtle wingwoman energy from Everlyn), and he spent the rest of the night grinning like he'd just scored the game-winning goal.

But the real crown jewel came a few weeks later: draft day.

Everlyn still remembered how tightly Quinn had gripped her hand that morning. They'd flown out west with the whole Hughes crew—Ellen, Jim, Jack, and Luke—and even though the energy was pure chaos, it felt like magic. The kind of day you knew would change everything.

The venue buzzed with anticipation. Reporters hovered like hawks, camera flashes strobing across the crowd. Families in tailored suits and perfectly curled hair. Players fiddling with their ties, bouncing their knees, checking their phones every five seconds.

But Quinn? He was steady. Calm. Like he'd been waiting for this moment his whole life.

Because he had.

And when Vancouver called his name—Quinn Hughes, selected seventh overall by the Vancouver Canucks—the room erupted. Ellen gasped. Jim clapped hard enough to sting. Jack yelled something indistinct, probably profane, over the roar of applause.

Everlyn?

She stood up so fast she knocked over her chair.

She threw her arms around him, and the hug they shared was the kind of thing you felt in your soul. Tight. Breathless. The kind of hug that said, we did it. That all the long nights and frustrations and growing pains were worth it. She buried her face in his shoulder and whispered, "I'm so proud of you," more times than she could count.

He hugged her back just as fiercely. "Couldn't have done it without you, Eve."

He meant it.

The hours that followed were a blur of interviews, handshakes, smiles, and congratulations. Quinn was passed around from one media outlet to the next, pulled into rooms with cameras and sponsors and flashbulbs. And in the swirl of it all, Everlyn found herself drifting toward the one person who felt just as out of place as she did.

Luke.

He was quieter than usual, maybe overwhelmed by the spotlight or just missing the familiarity of home. Either way, he stuck close to Everlyn's side, and she didn't mind one bit.

They wandered the venue together, sipping soda from plastic cups, taking photos with cardboard cutouts, watching the draft board update in real time. At one point, she let him lean his head on her shoulder, his hair slightly messy from his button-down shirt collar.

"You okay, bud?" she asked gently.

"Yeah," he mumbled. "Just... a lot."

She nodded. "I get it."

They didn't need to say much after that. Sometimes, comfort was just existing beside someone who didn't need you to explain how you were feeling. And Luke, in many ways, felt like the little brother she never had.

He'd called her "Evie" for the first time that day. Just once, slipping it in casually when she handed him a packet of Skittles from her purse.

It stuck.

And she didn't realize it then—but Jack had noticed.

He'd been across the room, getting a bottle of water, and he'd looked up just in time to see her crouched next to Luke, laughing at something he said. Her hand resting on his shoulder, eyes soft, her entire posture folded into care.

Jack hadn't said a word. Just watched.

And felt that same tight pull in his chest that had started months ago. The one that always showed up when she was near.

Because Everlyn wasn't just a part of their lives anymore.

She was their life.

And Jack Hughes was starting to wonder if he'd ever be able to untangle his heart from hers.

⸻

When Quinn left for Michigan, everything shifted.

It wasn't abrupt. More like the slow fade of background music when a scene ends. His absence was a quiet hum in the Hughes house, a space that felt too big without his voice filling it. His name was still spoken daily—on calls, in casual conversation, mentioned when Luke would repeat something funny his oldest brother used to say—but the energy had changed.

And with Quinn gone, so too was Everlyn's usual reason to be around.

She didn't disappear, not completely. Luke wouldn't let her. He texted her almost every day, sent her TikToks and memes, even guilt-tripped her with sad selfies captioned "you abandoned me" until she agreed to come by. Saturday mornings and Sunday afternoons became their thing—quick visits that turned into full-day hangouts, movies on the couch, post-practice runs to the smoothie shop.

But it wasn't the same. Not like it used to be.

Until Jack had an idea.

Jack Hughes had always been the sharpest of the three brothers. His brain worked fast, calculated odds like a chess master on a sugar high. And when he realized Everlyn's visits were becoming fewer and farther between, he knew he had to do something.

So, naturally, he tanked a math exam.

Not completely—just enough to raise a few parental eyebrows. He followed it up with a lazy English quiz and a conveniently "forgotten" science worksheet. By the end of the week, Ellen was concerned, Luke was suspicious, and Jack was already plotting his next move.

"I think I need help," he told his mom with carefully rehearsed sincerity. "Like... tutoring help."

Ellen blinked. "You? You've had straight A's since third grade."

"Yeah, well," he shrugged, biting the inside of his cheek to stop himself from smiling. "Maybe I peaked early."

Ellen didn't question it further. Within an hour, she was on the phone with Everlyn, practically begging her to step in.

And when she agreed? Jack almost jumped out of his seat in joy. Almost.

The first tutoring session was a masterclass in subtlety.

He showed up with his notebook wide open, pencil twirling between his fingers, and an expression that screamed I'm totally lost. Everlyn raised a brow the moment she saw his notes—color-coded, flawlessly organized, every assignment completed with precision.

"Okay, Einstein," she said, smirking as she slid into the chair across from him. "What exactly do you need help with?"

Jack scratched the back of his neck, doing his best impression of a sheepish student. "Literally everything."

But Everlyn wasn't just smart—she was Everlyn. She saw through him within the first ten minutes.

Especially when he started "accidentally" getting easy questions wrong, or pretending to mix up formulas he clearly had memorized. At one point, she gave him a pop quiz on vocabulary and he aced it in under a minute. His face turned the lightest shade of pink when she smiled at him afterward, tilting her head like she was onto something.

She never called him out.

Not once.

She just played along. Grinned when he fumbled a fake answer. Rolled her eyes when he exaggerated his confusion. And when the session ended, she leaned in with that same mischievous spark in her eyes and said, "By the way... we've got a home game Friday. You should come."

Jack blinked. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," she said, grabbing her bag. "I'll save you a seat."

He went.

And he didn't stop going after that.

Watching her play was... something else. She was electric on the court. All 5'6 of her moving with fire and finesse, jumping higher than anyone expected, hitting balls with a precision that made the crowd gasp. Jack sat in the stands with Luke, hands stuffed in his hoodie pocket, trying to look nonchalant while fighting the urge to stand every time she scored.

She was fierce. Fearless. Unstoppable.

It did things to him.

After her games, she'd find him outside the gym, sweaty and glowing and absolutely radiant. Sometimes she'd toss him a teasing smile, asking, "Did I impress?" like she didn't already know the answer. And he'd say something dumb like, "You were okay," just to make her roll her eyes.

He loved when she rolled her eyes at him.

In return, she started showing up to his games. Sometimes she'd sit beside Luke, sometimes she'd bring one of her friends. Once, she even wore his NTDP jersey over her sweatshirt—completely nonchalant, like it meant nothing.

It meant everything. Seeing her in the stands with his name and number on her back sent shivers down his spine. 

Jack played like he had something to prove when she was in the crowd. Moved faster. Sharper. Pushed harder. His coaches noticed, his teammates noticed. He noticed.

And God, she was really starting to know his world too. She could match Trevor's chaotic energy beat for beat, holding her own against his wildest banter. Cole Caufield called her "the team MVP" after she roasted three of them during a team dinner. They adored her. Everyone adored her.

Jack wasn't even jealous. Just in awe.

He watched her laugh with his friends, toss popcorn at Luke, joke with his mom, and still somehow make time for him—quiet moments in the car, shared glances across the room, inside jokes exchanged through nothing but a look.

They were becoming close. Real friends.

And maybe that should've been enough.

But it wasn't.

Because somewhere between the tutoring sessions and the post-game fries, Jack's feelings had spiraled into something he couldn't hide anymore. Not from himself. Not from the way his stomach flipped when she touched his arm. Not from the way his pulse picked up when she said his name a little too softly.

He was falling for her. Fast.

And it scared the hell out of him.

Because she was leaving soon. Graduation was around the corner. College applications were already in, and she'd been talking about campuses in other states. Other coasts. Her life was about to expand in ways his couldn't touch yet.

And Jack?

He was just starting to feel like she saw him as more than Quinn's little brother.

So now, every laugh they shared felt a little too short. Every hug a little too brief. Every goodbye a little too heavy.

He knew the clock was ticking.

But God, if he could just freeze time for a little while longer... just a few more "tutoring"sessions, a few more late-night texts, a few more games where she wore his name on her back...

Maybe he could find the courage to tell her how he felt.

Before it was too late.

⸻

She was gone now.

Off chasing sunshine in California, trading small-town hallways for sprawling palm trees and crowded lecture halls. UCLA looked good on Everlyn—of course it did. Top volleyball program. Dream business school. A campus that buzzed with potential. It was everything she had worked for, everything she deserved.

But for Jack Hughes?

It felt like something had been hollowed out of him the moment she left.

He didn't say goodbye like he should have. Not really. He gave her one last hug, half-sincere, half-guarded, a little too quick. He told her to have fun. She promised to keep in touch. She didn't look back when she got in the car.

And then she was gone.

Jack tried to pretend it didn't affect him. He threw himself into hockey, training harder than ever in preparation for his draft year. He focused on speed, strength, footwork—anything to keep his mind off the ache that curled around his ribs every time he caught a glimpse of her old volleyball hoodie in the laundry room.

But autopilot only lasted so long.

Luke was quieter too. Less sunshine, more shadow. He didn't say it out loud, but Jack could feel it—Everlyn's absence hung in the Hughes house like a missing puzzle piece. Meals were quieter. Weekend movie nights didn't feel the same. Even Ellen had made a comment once, half-joking, "I miss our fourth child."

Jack missed her in ways he didn't have words for. Missed the way she used to steal fries off his plate. The way her laugh bounced down the stairs before she did. The way she made everything—everyone—feel lighter.

And then came Thanksgiving.

Quinn was coming home from Michigan. That was expected. The house had been buzzing with preparations all week—Ellen bustling through the kitchen, Jim dusting off the leaf for the dining room table, Luke threatening to eat the pie before it was even baked. Jack was looking forward to it, sure. But even the idea of a full Hughes reunion couldn't quite lift the haze that had settled in his chest since September.

Until the door opened.

And everything stopped.

It was Quinn standing there, his suitcase by his side, a trimmed beard on his jaw that made him look more like a man than a teenager. He grinned wide, stepping into the warmth of the house, pulling Luke into a one-armed hug.

But Jack barely registered his brother's return.

Because behind Quinn, suitcase in hand, stood Everlyn.

Her hair was longer now, sun-kissed and wavy in a way that only California could do. She wore an oversized hoodie with her school's logo on the sleeve and that same soft expression she always had when she was trying not to cry from happiness.

Time froze.

And then it crashed into motion.

Quinn stepped aside just in time for Everlyn to drop her bag and launch herself into Jack's arms.

"You're here," he whispered into her shoulder, voice rougher than he meant it to be.

"Of course I'm here," she murmured back. "Where else would I be?"

She smelled like vanilla and travel and something achingly familiar. Jack didn't let himself hold her for more than a second too long—but God, did he want to.

Then came Luke, barreling down the stairs like he'd been summoned by fate itself. "EVE!"

She barely had time to turn before he was lifting her off the ground, arms wrapped tight around her waist.

"Missed you so much," he blurted, voice muffled against her hoodie. "You're not allowed to leave again. I'm serious. I'll hide your passport. I'll chain your suitcase to the water heater."

She laughed, and something in the house shifted back into place.

Home.

That's what she was. What she had always been.

Jack stood back and watched her with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. She still looked at him the same way—fond, soft, maybe a little amused. And he'd gotten better at hiding how her gaze lit a fire under his skin. Better at swallowing the lump that rose in his throat when she was near.

She knew, of course.

Of course she knew.

She was Everlyn Briar. Too observant. Too intuitive. She could solve calculus in her head and read body language like a second language. Jack's not-so-subtle stares. The way he hovered near her but never quite reached. The way he smiled too hard when she was around.

And Quinn? He knew too. Jack could feel it in the sideways glances, the way his older brother's smirk would twitch upward anytime Jack so much as offered to get Eve a drink.

But no one said anything.

Because Jack never said anything.

And maybe that's why nothing ever happened.

The weekend was a blur of traditions and warmth. They ran the annual turkey trot that morning—Jack and Luke sprinting ahead like maniacs, Everlyn laughing breathlessly as she tried to keep up. They came home to Ellen's legendary spread: turkey so tender it fell apart, stuffing soaked in butter, mashed potatoes Jack would defend with his life.

It was loud. It was chaotic. It was perfect.

And when the night wound down, it felt almost scripted.

Just like old times, Everlyn slipped upstairs after dessert, claiming she was "just checking on Luke." And just like always, no one questioned it. She found him curled up in bed with the newest Fast and Furious playing, already half-asleep.

She climbed in beside him without a second thought.

Jack found them later, lights dimmed, movie credits rolling. Luke snoring softly. Everlyn curled against him, one hand draped protectively over her like Luke was afraid she would disappear if he let go. 

It made his heart ache in ways he didn't know how to name.

Because for the first time in months, everyone was home.

Everyone.

And still, something about her felt impossibly far away.

⸻

Time had a strange way of looping in on itself.

One minute, she was cheering for Quinn on his draft day, wiping away tears in between interviews and snapshots, her dress wrinkled from hugging everyone in sight. And then—just like that—it was years later, and she was back in that familiar whirlwind. Only this time, it wasn't Quinn's name echoing through the arena.

It was Luke's.

She had promised herself she wouldn't cry. Really, she had. She made it halfway through the morning with dry eyes and a steady smile. But the second his name was called—Luke Hughes, drafted to the New Jersey Devils—it was over.

A mess. A disaster, honestly.

Tears streaming down her cheeks, breath catching in her throat, trying desperately not to smudge the mascara she'd put on with care. Josh Norris had leaned over halfway through the ceremony, gently tapping her shoulder with a tissue and whispering, "Don't worry, he's the last Hughes to be drafted so you won't have to do this all over again next year."

She laughed through her tears.

Because this moment—this—was sacred.

Luke was beaming next to his buzzing brothers up front, his hands shaking just slightly as he held up his new jersey. And her heart swelled with something fierce and maternal, the same way it had when he was thirteen and scared to come downstairs to a party, when she tucked him in during Fast & Furious marathons, when he looked at her like she hung the stars just for him.

He was grown now. Taller. Broader. More confident. He was mature. Luke Hughes was no longer the little boy she once met. 

He was a man now.

But he'd still held her hand before the draft started.

Still leaned into her shoulder when the nerves kicked in.

Still whispered, "I'm glad you're here," like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

She had always been a safe space for him. And she always would be.

⸻

Jack had changed too.

Not overnight. Not all at once. But the slow kind of change that creeps in between seasons. Years had passed. His name had been called. His life had launched in ways most people only dreamed about.

And with every new city, every new headline, every new spotlight—he still thought about her.

They stayed in touch. Little messages. Summer meet-ups. Inside jokes exchanged over text. But distance made it easier to push those feelings away. He had flings, distractions, moments of temporary interest. He convinced himself it had passed.

That what he felt for her was just nostalgia.

Until she came back.

She graduated from UCLA in 2022—business degree, communications minor, a resumé that practically glittered. And then, in the kind of twist only the universe could write, she landed her first job in New Jersey. A start-up company. PR and account management. Fast-paced. Groundbreaking. Local.

Jack didn't find out until a week after she moved in.

He meant to message her first. He really did. But time slipped, and she was adjusting, and he didn't want to seem overeager.

Until she received a package at her new apartment. No note. No message. Just a red New Jersey Devils jersey—his jersey—and two tickets to their home opener.

He knew she'd understand.

And she did.

⸻

That night, she walked into the Prudential Center and it felt like the world had hit rewind. Only this time, the crowd was bigger. Louder. Older. And Jack? Jack wasn't a boy anymore.

He was Jack Hughes now.

Franchise face. Highlight reel superstar.

And the second she saw him skate out onto the ice, she felt her heart stop for a beat.

Because he wasn't the lanky, backwards-hat-wearing teenager who used to fake bad grades just to sit beside her. He was taller now. Broader. His movements were sharp, calculated. Every stride held purpose. The crowd roared and chanted his name when he touched the puck. He didn't just play hockey. He commanded it.

She couldn't take her eyes off him.

And he?

He felt her the second she stepped into the arena.

Didn't see her at first. But he felt her. Like gravity.

After the win, he found her in the tunnel. Same smile. Same soft eyes. But different now. Grown. Glowing.

"Hey, stranger," she said, tugging lightly at the jersey he'd sent.

He laughed, that same dopey grin breaking across his face. "Looks better on you."

They hugged—longer than they should have. He smelled like ice and sweat and home. And when they pulled back, something unspoken lingered in the air between them. A pause. A beat. Something that had never quite gone away.

They went out for drinks after, just the two of them. A quiet bar, warm lights, quiet music humming in the background. He looked different here too. Not just older—steadier. The way he carried himself, the way he ordered her drink without asking, the way he leaned back and watched her talk like he was cataloging every word.

He wasn't cocky. Just... sure of himself.

It was attractive. She wouldn't lie.

And Jack? Jack felt like he had been punched in the chest.

Because she was even more beautiful now. Effortlessly radiant. Still that same warmth, still that same grace. But there was something new too—something confident, something grown.

He kept staring at her. In the flicker of candlelight, with her hand curled around her glass and her lips curved in that same soft smile, Jack felt like he was sixteen all over again.

Breathless.

Totally wrecked.

Totally in love.

And it scared the hell out of him.

⸻

They made it a tradition—weekly coffee runs, dinner or drinks after games, late-night walks through the city. She fit into his world like she always had. Seamlessly.

She met the team. Jesper pulled her into a bear hug like they hadn't missed a day. Dawson was polite and immediately impressed. And Nico? Nico looked like he was about to make a move—until he caught Jack watching her.

Just one look.

That's all it took.

No one made a move after that. No one had to.

Because it was obvious.

She was Jack's girl.

Maybe not officially.

Maybe not yet.

But everyone knew.

Especially him.

⸻

It started the way it always did—with a ticket.

Every home game, like clockwork, Jack left two tickets for Everlyn at will call. No message. No pressure. Just a quiet gesture, a ritual of theirs that said you're welcome here. Always. And she'd used the first one nearly every time.

But the second?

She never had. Until now.

Jack's world tilted the second he saw her walk through the tunnel with someone else by her side.

He was tall. Blonde. Crisp linen shirt. One of those designer watches that practically screamed my dad plays golf with your CEO. The kind of guy you'd expect to see ordering a $19 martini and not blinking. His name was Jordan, and he shook Jack's hand with the kind of over-firm grip that tried too hard to say something.

Jack didn't flinch, but God, he wanted to.

Jordan asked questions like he was running an interview—"How's the ice this season? Do you ever get recognized on the street?"—and Jack answered through clenched teeth, polite but cold. He watched as Jordan rested a hand on Everlyn's back, too casual, too familiar. She smiled, but it didn't quite reach her eyes.

Still, Jack put on the happy face.

Because that's what he did. He wasn't going to ruin anything for her—not now, not ever. She looked happy. And if that was real... well, then Jack could deal with it. He'd spent years pushing those feelings to the back of his mind. What was a few more months?

But it was a few more months.

And Jordan didn't go anywhere.

He became a fixture. At games. At dinners. Tagging along to post-game drinks, always ordering for the table like he knew what everyone wanted. Everlyn still made time for Jack, but it was different now. Tighter. More filtered. Coffee dates became his favorite part of the week—not because they were exciting, but because they were just her. No Jordan. No compromise.

Just them.

Just how he liked it.

⸻

The lake house in Michigan was supposed to be a sanctuary.

It always had been. A safe haven carved into the summers. A place where the Hughes brothers could take a breath, train hard, play harder, and be surrounded by the people who made the noise feel quiet.

It was Quinn's idea to bring everyone together that summer—an annual tradition, their own off-season camp that just so happened to include boats, beers, and more competitive tubing than anyone should legally survive.

The house buzzed with energy. Quinn had his old teammates in town—Josh and Dalton Norris, all heart and chaos. Luke brought his crew from Michigan—Dylan Duke, Mark Estapa, Ethan Edwards, each of them slipping seamlessly into the rhythm of the house. Jack, of course, had Trevor and Turcs, whose personalities were basically caffeine personified.

And Everlyn?

She brought Jordan.

The mood shifted the second they arrived. Jordan barely greeted anyone before making a beeline for the deck, muttering something about needing to "take it easy" after the drive. The Hughes boys watched Eve with subtle worry, noting the way her shoulders tensed, the way she scanned the room like she was looking for permission to be herself again.

They tried to bring her in. Quinn cracked a beer and started loading up the boat. Jack blasted a playlist of her favorite cheesy country songs. Luke ran to get the rope for tubing.

"Come on," Quinn called out, tossing her a life jacket with a grin. "Let's get out there."

She smiled—small, tight—but before she could step forward, Jordan touched her wrist.

"You don't have to go, babe. I was hoping we could chill here, have a drink or two. You've been talking about relaxing all week."

The way he said it wasn't cruel. Just expectant.

And Everlyn, as always, folded.

"Yeah," she said, her voice barely above the waves. "That sounds nice."

She took the jacket off. Handed it back to Quinn. Her smile didn't reach her eyes.

The brothers all exchanged a look.

Jordan hadn't just dimmed her light—he was stomping it out, slowly.

⸻

Quinn didn't wait long.

As soon as Jordan disappeared back to Jersey, he pulled Everlyn aside. They slipped down the dock together, away from the buzz of the house and the music, until it was just the lapping of the water and the heaviness of unspoken words.

He didn't sugarcoat it.

"You're not okay," he said.

She froze. "Quinn..."

"You don't laugh the same. You don't light up the way you used to. I watched you talk yourself out of joining the boat like you were doing him a favor for existing."

She blinked hard. "It's complicated."

"No, it's not. He's not your partner, Eve. He's your leash."

That broke her.

Her lip trembled. She turned away for a second like she could hide it, but Quinn stepped forward, pulled her into a hug, and the truth spilled out like water over a dam.

It was like this in Jersey. Jordan always had a reason why she shouldn't go out. Why she should stay in. He didn't trust the hockey scene. Didn't like her independence. The lake house made him uncomfortable. Her made him uncomfortable.

Quinn listened, jaw clenched.

"You don't deserve this," he said firmly. "You never did. You're allowed to be loved out loud, Everlyn. Not hidden. Not controlled."

She cried. God, she cried.

But when she went to bed that night, her decision was already made.

⸻

The next morning, she called Jordan.

She ended it. Direct. No stalling. No soft exit.

He didn't take it well.

He accused her—accused her of having feelings for one of the Hughes boys. "It's always been one of them, hasn't it? I should've known the second you made me come to this dumb lake house."

He hung up before she could say anything back.

And it hurt. It did. She was human, after all.

But she walked out onto the dock not five minutes later, barefoot, hoodie over her bikini, and looked out at the water where Jack and Trevor were laughing on the boat. The sun was shining. The breeze was warm. Luke waved at her from the deck, and Quinn handed her a beer with a proud smirk.

She was home.

And this time, there was no one telling her she couldn't enjoy it.

⸻

Jack couldn't stand it anymore.

Everlyn was smiling again, sure—but not the way she used to. Her laugh was a little quieter, her jokes a little softer, like she was afraid to take up too much space. She still had that spark, but it flickered instead of burned, like someone had dimmed her and walked away.

And Jack? Jack wanted to reignite her.

So he made it his mission to bring her back to life—one small act at a time.

He started with breakfast.

She always loved pancakes. He remembered that. Waffles were fine, but pancakes? Pancakes made her eyes light up. So every morning, when someone inevitably asked what to make for the house, Jack was the first to say it:

"Pancakes. Definitely."

He'd sneak her the last piece of bacon when no one was looking, tucking it onto her plate with a smirk. He'd always save her a seat next to him. And when the kitchen got too loud or crowded, he'd silently pass her the syrup like it was their secret language.

He got up early now, before the sun even stretched across the lake, because he knew she liked her morning runs. He'd tie his shoes and jog beside her, matching her pace, letting her pick the music. They didn't talk much—didn't need to. Just ran side by side, feet hitting the dirt road in quiet rhythm, breaths syncing up like clockwork.

He volunteered for errands now too. Grocery runs. Beer pick-ups. Ice refills.

"I'll go," he'd say casually. "Eve, wanna come?"

She always did.

They'd play music too loud in the car. Race to find the weirdest flavor of chips in the store. Argue over the right ratio of peanut butter to chocolate. He'd lean into her cart, throw in random things just to make her laugh. Her smile was starting to come back, slowly, piece by piece.

And Jack? Jack was falling all over again.

⸻

The fire crackled as the night crept in.

They'd spent all day out on the boat—tubing, flipping off docks, laughing until their stomachs hurt. By the time the sun dipped below the trees, everyone was sun-drenched, half-tipsy, and high on that unbeatable summer haze.

So naturally, they circled the fire pit.

Everyone gathered on the chairs or sprawled out on blankets, drinks in hand, cheeks still flushed from the sun. The playlist was low in the background, country twang giving way to soft indie beats. Someone tossed another log onto the fire, and the stories began.

First came the classics—Quinn's worst playoff beard attempts, Trevor's infamous grocery store prank, Jack's rookie year mishaps. Then came Luke's awkward high school phase, complete with dramatic reenactments of him failing to talk to girls at school dances.

Luke rolled his eyes and grumbled, "Yeah? Well you did the exact same thing when you first met Eve."

Everyone paused.

"You couldn't even sit next to her at dinner for months," Luke went on, completely unbothered. "Because you had such a massive crush on her."

Jack felt the color drain from his face, then immediately return with a vengeance.

The fire masked most of it, but the way his ears burned gave him away.

"OHHHH," Turc and Zegras chorused at the same time. "NO WAY."

Jack laughed a little too hard, trying to brush it off. "That's such a lie, Luke. C'mon."

But then Eve turned toward him, eyes soft, a smile creeping onto her lips. She looked at Quinn first—he gave a knowing nod—and then gently placed her hand on Jack's back.

"It's okay, Jack," she said sweetly. "I thought it was cute. But you were really bad at hiding it."

Dead. He was dead.

"You knew?" Jack asked, face frozen in panic.

"Of course I knew," she said with a small laugh. "I've always known."

And as if that wasn't enough to end him entirely, Ellen strolled out of the house with a tray of cookies and chimed in with perfect timing:

"Oh, Jack. Everyone knew."

The chorus of "OOOOHHHHH!" exploded around the fire.

Trevor nearly fell off his chair. Quinn tossed a marshmallow at Jack's head. Luke looked smug as hell. Jack buried his face in his hands, muttering something about never showing his face again.

It was harmless. All in good fun.

But the second the teasing died down and the yawns started, people began peeling off into bedrooms, one by one. The lake grew quieter, the fire dimming to embers.

And Jack stayed behind.

⸻

He sat there alone, elbows on knees, head tilted back to watch the stars. The air was still warm, but the night felt heavy in a way that pressed on his chest.

She knew. This whole time. He'd spent years hiding feelings he thought would ruin everything—only to find out that she'd seen them from the start.

And she hadn't run. She hadn't pushed him away.

She thought it was cute.

"God," he muttered, dragging a hand through his hair. "I'm such an idiot."

Then came the soft sound of feet on grass.

A blanket settled across his shoulders. A familiar head rested gently against his own.

He looked down and saw her—Everlyn, curled into his side, wrapped in the same blanket, her cheek against his shoulder. Barefaced, makeup long gone, hoodie pulled over her knees.

"Don't worry about it, Jacky," she whispered. "I thought it was adorable. I thought you were adorable."

His heart flat-out stopped.

She thought he was cute too.

He blinked, eyes wide, trying to process what those words meant. What this meant. Her voice was low and sleepy, but there was no mistaking the sincerity in it.

She hadn't said it to tease him. She meant it.

Without thinking, he wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her closer, letting her warmth melt into his side. She didn't flinch. Didn't move. Just sighed and settled in.

His hand rested at the small of her back, thumb brushing the fabric of her hoodie. His heart was racing.

She always took care of them—of everyone. Always made sure Luke had what he needed, that Quinn had someone to ground him, that Jack didn't feel invisible. She was the glue, the safety net, the one who never let herself fall until she knew they were all okay.

And the thought that she had spent so long dimming herself for someone who couldn't see her? Who wouldn't see her?

It made Jack's jaw clench.

He'd been there. Right there. And he hadn't stepped in. Hadn't spoken up. He'd let her walk through that alone because he was too scared of what it would mean for him.

Never again.

Not after this.

⸻

Things had found their rhythm again.

Back in Jersey, back in their bubble, back in that comfortable hum of familiarity that made every day feel like a deep breath. But this time, there was something more. Something better.

Because now Luke was here too.

Everlyn had 2 out of 3 Hughes boys back under one roof, and it was like someone had finally returned the missing pieces of her soul. She hadn't realized how lonely she'd been until her days were filled again—trips to the rink, late-night Mario Kart tournaments, homemade pasta nights where Jack burned the garlic bread and Luke put entirely too much cheese in the sauce.

It was chaos. It was home.

They shared a three-bedroom apartment in Hoboken with a view of the skyline and a couch that had seen more naps than conversations. When they signed the lease, Luke had casually mentioned the third room being for "hockey gear or guests," but they all knew the truth.

That room was hers.

She didn't officially live there. Not on paper. But she might as well have. Her stuff was in the drawers. Her favorite cereal was on the shelf. Her slippers were by the door. Half her wardrobe was draped across the back of the desk chair. She came and went freely, sometimes staying a night, sometimes staying a week, no one ever asking when she'd be back—because they already knew.

That room would always be waiting.

It was one of the few places in the world where she never had to ask if she belonged.

⸻

One night, she was actually home in her own apartment—a rare occurrence, considering how often she found herself curled up on the Hughes' couch with a blanket and a mug of something warm. She had just gotten out of the shower, wrapped in her comfiest robe, hair twisted up in a towel, when her phone rang.

Quinn.

It started with the usual—how was your day, did you eat, how's the new campaign going, tell Luke to call his mother. But somewhere between casual updates and light teasing, the conversation shifted. Deepened. As it always did with Quinn, eventually.

"I've been thinking about... Jordan," she admitted quietly, eyes focused on the ceiling.

Quinn didn't interrupt. Just waited.

"I just—I feel stupid," she said. "I let him control so much. I let him talk me out of things I loved. I let him make me feel small. And I knew better. I always knew better."

"Evie."

His voice was soft. Steady.

"You're not stupid. You're human. And you left. That's the hard part. You did it."

She swallowed. "It still makes me feel like I lost a year of myself."

"You didn't lose it," he said. "You reclaimed it. One day at a time."

There was a long silence.

Then, like it was nothing at all, Quinn added: "It was nice of Jack to make you smiling his top priority this summer."

Her heart paused.

She sat up a little straighter, eyebrows tugging together. "What?"

"Jack," Quinn repeated. "It was nice of him. To make sure you smiled again."

She opened her mouth, but no words came. Her thoughts were caught in a whirl—memories of pancakes, early morning runs, gas station trips, firelight laughter. The way Jack always showed up in exactly the way she needed.

Quinn continued, voice low and casual.

"He's a nice guy."

Everlyn narrowed her eyes. "I know that, Quinn. I grew up with him."

"No," Quinn said, and this time, his voice had a different weight to it. A quiet emphasis.

"I mean... he's nice."

She stilled.

It was such a simple word. But the way he said it—the subtle dip in tone, the almost affectionate cadence—shifted the meaning entirely.

It wasn't just about kindness. It was about care. The kind of nice that went deeper than polite gestures and well-mannered smiles. It was the kind that showed up when you needed it. The kind that held space without asking for anything in return.

Jack was nice.

He was thoughtful in a way most people weren't. Protective without being possessive. Gentle in a way that made you feel safe. He was the kind of man who made sure everyone else had what they needed before taking anything for himself. He remembered your favorite things and brought them home without saying a word. He loved quietly—but completely.

And suddenly, it hit her:

Jack had always been like that.

With her.

She hung up the call shortly after, claiming she was tired. But sleep never came easy that night.

She laid in bed, staring at the ceiling, Quinn's words echoing like ripples in her chest.

He's nice.

Jack, who always made sure her coffee was right.

Jack, who checked her tires when it snowed.

Jack, who gave her space when she needed it, and warmth when she didn't know she did.

Jack, who never stopped showing up.

She turned her head, looking at the empty side of her bed.

And she thought: Am I crazy?

Was she insane for even considering it? For letting her thoughts wander into dangerous territory? For entertaining the possibility that maybe—just maybe—the boy she'd grown up with, the one who had waited and waited without ever saying it out loud, could be the one she was supposed to see all along?

She rolled onto her side, clutching the pillow to her chest, eyes heavy with questions.

What if she ruined it?

What if she broke the family that saved her?

And worse... what if he didn't feel the same anymore?

What if she had waited too long?

⸻

The annual charity gala had always been part of the routine.

One of those must-attend events on the Devils' calendar. Glitz, glam, donors, handshakes, perfectly staged photo ops—and beneath all that, a chance to raise money for good causes. Jack had done a few now. Eve had come with him to the last one, and the arrangement had always been easy. Casual. Fun.

This year? Different.

She could feel it. In her chest. In her stomach. In the way she stood a little too long in front of the mirror trying to decide between earrings. It had started subtly—just a thought, a whisper of a feeling—but after that conversation with Quinn, it was like a switch had flipped.

She was aware now. Hyper-aware. Of how Jack looked at her. Of how he always waited for her to walk through the door first. Of how he always held her things, brought her snacks, fixed her laces when she wore shoes with ties. Things he'd always done... but things that now screamed louder.

He was nice. But not just that. Not anymore.

He was steady. Thoughtful. Quietly romantic in ways that weren't about flowers or fanfare—but about presence. Constant, unwavering presence.

And for the first time, she wondered what it meant that he never expected anything in return.

⸻

They were supposed to go as a trio—her, Jack, and Luke. But then Luke had the audacity to fall in love and get himself a girlfriend, leaving Everlyn to go solo with Jack. She'd teased him about it for a full week, but truthfully... it made her nervous.

This wasn't just another event. Not this time.

The lead-up felt different. More intimate. Jack had taken her shopping, trailing behind her in boutiques, giving honest feedback with that same crooked grin. He didn't complain once, even when she tried on twelve different dresses and only narrowed it down to two. He just watched. Waited. Carried her purse and snacks and made sure she didn't talk herself out of something she loved.

They picked her gown together.

A maroon silk number that hugged her curves and dipped just low enough to be elegant without being too much. It made her skin glow. It made his mouth go dry.

She said yes to it when he whispered, "That's the one," with a look in his eyes that stayed with her all night.

⸻

The day of the gala, Everlyn turned their shared space into her own personal glam studio. She spread her makeup across the bathroom counter, curled her hair in sections, and took deep, grounding breaths every few minutes to keep from spiraling into full-on nerves.

It didn't help that Jack was being Jack.

Bringing her little snacks every hour like clockwork.

A granola bar. A handful of grapes. A pack of those crackers she loved from the bodega.

He kept her water bottle full, placing it within reach like it was part of the process. "Drink," he'd remind her with a little tap on the shoulder. "No dehydration meltdowns today."

She couldn't help but smile at him. He was in sweats and a hoodie, hair tousled, lounging on the couch while she transformed herself into someone worthy of red carpets.

She didn't know it, but Jack was suffering.

He kept stealing glances through the half-open door, catching flashes of her bare shoulders, the soft shape of her face under golden bathroom light. She was already stunning, and she wasn't even done yet.

When she finally stepped out—hair swept into a soft updo, makeup glowing, maroon gown clinging in all the right places—Jack stopped breathing.

No exaggeration.

She walked into the living room and time froze.

Luke was the first to recover, standing up with a big smile. "Whoa. You look incredible, Eve."

She smiled, smoothing her dress down nervously. "Thanks, Lukey."

Jack?

He was just standing there, mouth slightly open, staring like he'd never seen a woman before.

Because he hadn't. Not like this.

This wasn't just Everlyn, his best friend, the girl who made pancakes and knew how he liked his coffee. This was Everlyn, the woman. Powerful. Elegant. Ethereal.

Maroon and gold and glowing from the inside out.

He stepped forward slowly, all black tux hugging him perfectly—hair freshly cut and styled, thanks to her insistence, and now gelled into something polished but still him.

"You..." he finally managed, voice rough. "You look unreal."

Her cheeks flushed, and for a moment they just stood there, looking at each other, the noise of the apartment fading into silence.

"I had help," she said softly, nodding toward him. "You picked the dress, remember?"

"Still," he murmured. "Doesn't feel real."

And the way he looked at her then?

It was reverent.

Not hungry. Not lustful. Just... soft. In awe.

Like she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

And maybe she was.

⸻

The gala started the same as every other year.

Bright lights. Sparkling gowns. Clinking glasses. Jack and Everlyn moved through the crowd like they always had—effortlessly side by side. He guided her gently through the sea of donors and sponsors, a hand resting on the small of her back like he'd always belonged there.

But this time... that simple touch felt different.

It was warm. Steady. Firm in a way that made her feel held—not just escorted. Not just shown off.

Protected.

And Everlyn couldn't stop thinking about it.

Jack chatted easily, charming everyone as usual, but her body was attuned to him. The whisper of his palm. The careful way he shifted her gently toward conversations. The pride in his voice when he introduced her as his date—even if it was unspoken, unofficial.

She didn't say anything. Couldn't.

Because every time she looked at him tonight, all she could hear was Quinn's voice in her head.

He's nice.

Not just nice. Jack Hughes nice. The kind of nice that meant pancakes in the morning and water bottles filled without asking. The kind that stood beside you silently until you were ready to speak.

And right now, he was looking at her like he was seeing her for the first time—even though he'd always seen her.

⸻

The DJ opened the floor for slow dances, and Jack didn't hesitate.

He turned to her with a soft, crooked smile. "Come on."

They'd danced together before. Plenty of times. It had never meant anything before. But now? As they found their spot on the dance floor, facing each other, hands tentatively finding their place—it meant everything.

The music hummed low, a soft melody that wrapped around them like a secret. Her hand slipped into his, the other resting on his shoulder. Jack's free arm slid around her waist with quiet confidence.

And then... stillness.

They were swaying. They were dancing. But all Jack could focus on was the way Everlyn was looking at him.

Intensely. Softly. Like she was searching for something and finding it in his face.

He studied her—tried to decode it. Her eyes were locked on his like she couldn't look away. And for the first time in all the years he'd known her, he realized she was finally seeing him back.

"What's on your mind, Evie?" he asked, voice just above a whisper.

She didn't answer.

She just kept looking at him. Drinking him in. Her mind was running wild—flashing through every moment that had led them here.

The shy dinners when he couldn't look her in the eye. The fake bad grades. The way he always showed up. Every summer spent putting her first. Every little thing she'd brushed off as "just Jack being Jack."

But now she understood.

He'd been in love with her this whole time.

And she'd missed it.

She swallowed, breath hitching. "You," she said softly.

Jack blinked. "Me?"

"I can't stop thinking about you."

He stared, stunned. Heart leaping. Breath catching. He scanned her face again and again, like he needed confirmation that this was real—that she was real.

And then it hit him.

The look in her eyes.

The one he'd been wearing for years.

She had it now. That open, unfiltered, aching gaze that he used to hide behind smirks and excuses. She was seeing him—really, truly seeing him—and God, it made his chest burn.

The song ended, but Jack didn't hear the music stop. The room disappeared. His grip on her hand tightened as the MC's voice faded into the background.

They returned to their table, but Jack couldn't focus. Couldn't breathe.

He was spinning.

Eve sat beside him, her hand resting on top of his. It wasn't new. Not really. But tonight, it was loaded. Charged. Different.

Jack needed air.

⸻

He slipped out without a word and found himself on the rooftop.

The city stretched beneath him, lights flickering, the hum of cars far below. He paced, hand tugging at the collar of his tux, heart pounding out of rhythm.

He was scared. Not of her—but of hope.

Because this was everything he wanted.

And that's when he heard it.

The door opened with a soft click.

He turned—and there she was.

Glistening in moonlight. Her maroon gown catching the breeze. Her updo slightly loosened from the night. Her eyes... locked on his.

They didn't speak.

Didn't need to.

The air between them was thick with unsaid things. It wasn't silence. It was a conversation without words. A thousand unspoken truths floating between them like stars.

Jack looked at her like she held the answers to questions he hadn't dared ask. And Everlyn looked at him like she finally, finally understood what was right in front of her.

And then—they ran.

No hesitation. No overthinking. Just gravity.

They met in the middle. Arms around each other. Breathless. Shaking.

Their foreheads pressed together. Their hands clung tight.

"Jack..." she whispered, barely breathing.

He closed his eyes, voice cracking. "I know, Everlyn... I know."

And then—he kissed her.

Years of waiting, of wondering, of almosts and maybes—gone.

It wasn't perfect. It wasn't polished. But it was everything. His hands clung to her waist like she was the only thing keeping him grounded. Her hands framed his face, thumbs brushing over his cheeks like she was memorizing the feel of him.

The city roared beneath them.

But up there, on that rooftop, it was silent.

Just two hearts, finally meeting in the middle.

Just two souls, saying what words never could.

⸻

It had been over a year since that night on the rooftop.

Since the city went quiet, and Everlyn stopped running, and Jack finally stopped waiting.

Since the moment their hearts collided in the most certain kind of way—the kind that didn't need promises made with words, because it was all written in the way they looked at each other.

Since then, nothing had been the same.

And yet—everything felt like home.

Every morning, Jack woke up with that same quiet awe he'd had since he was fifteen. The way she hummed while brushing her teeth. The way she'd press her forehead to his before leaving for work. The way she poured her love into everything around her without hesitation or fear.

Every day, he fell harder. Every day, he chose her again.

And Everlyn? She felt like she'd finally exhaled.

Jack Hughes was steady. Warm. Deeply kind in the ways no one else got to see. And he loved her in a way that didn't demand attention—but deserved every bit of it. There was no show, no need for validation. Just him. Quietly hers.

They had made a life together. Not flashy. Not perfect. But theirs.

⸻

It was summer again.

Which meant one thing: the Hughes Lake House was alive.

It was tradition at this point. Offseason hit, and the boys flocked to Michigan like it was a pilgrimage. Quinn was already there, helping Ellen prep bedrooms. Luke had brought a handful of friends from around the league—Macklin Celebrini and Will Smith had become the wide-eyed younger brothers of the group overnight. The Tkachuk brothers had showed up in full chaos mode. And Jack had pulled together the old NTDP gang, making it feel like high school and the NHL were blending into one summer-long sleepover.

The lake house was laughter. Inside jokes. The smell of sunscreen and grilled food and dock water. The soundtrack was country music, clinking beers, and the occasional "WHO let Matthew drive the boat?!"

For the rookies, it was a dream. For the veterans, it was therapy.

And for Everlyn?

It was heaven.

She had her hands full—braiding wet hair, making sure no one left without sunscreen, yelling across the dock to make sure Macklin and Will weren't about to snap their necks trying new wakeboard tricks.

She was the same Eve she'd always been—loving and giving, with open arms and no limit to the space in her heart. She even tucked the rookies in like she had done for Luke all those years ago. Whispering reminders in the dark like,

"You don't have to lose who you are to belong here." "If you can't be yourself with someone, that's not someone worth staying for."

Words she'd once needed herself.

⸻

Jack stood at the door that night, watching her speak to Macklin and Will.

She was seated cross-legged on the living room floor, her maroon hoodie slipping off one shoulder, still in her swimsuit from earlier. Her voice was soft. Reassuring. Patient.

Jack felt his chest ache.

Because God, he loved her.

More than he'd ever loved anything in his life.

She was light. She was grace. And somehow—she was his.

⸻

He found Quinn on the back deck not long after. The moonlight danced across the lake in silver ripples. The sound of crickets filled the quiet. Jack stepped beside him, hands in his pockets, heart full.

Neither of them said anything for a long moment.

Until Jack broke the silence.

"She's... she's really..."

"I know," Quinn interrupted, smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. "I know, Jack."

He turned toward him, eyes warm. "I'm so happy for you two. I always knew. But seeing it? It's different. It's real."

Jack laughed softly, almost shy.

"I have it picked out, you know..."

Quinn blinked. "What?"

Jack looked down. Kicked the toe of his shoe against the deck.

"The ring. I got it. Not for now. I want to wait a little longer, but... I just know. She's it. She's always been it. And I got it early as a promise. A vow. For when I'm ready. For when she's ready."

Quinn just stared at him. Then stepped forward and pulled him into a hug.

It wasn't long. Wasn't loud.

But it was everything.

Two brothers, standing under a sky they grew up beneath, holding the future in their arms.

Inside, Eve stood in the kitchen, sipping from a mug of tea. She looked around at the house filled with laughter, light, and people she loved.

And her eyes found Jack through the window.

He was looking back at her.

And somehow, she knew.

[fairestwriting]

headcannons about idia who’s head over heels in love with yuu ever since the orientation ceremony (he’s such a dork your honor)

Of course they get closer over time as the story progresses ^~^

also I just wanted to say your works r so cute and unique along with how you write them!! You truly do capture the essence of the characters even when the stories r pretty short or even just simply headcannons lol <3

wahh thank you sm 🥹 i really love the characters and writing them in situations…. it makes me happy to hear people think im portraying them well

𐙚 Idia Shroud

It’s not like he’s never had a crush on anyone before, he’d usually recognize the feeling pretty quickly even. But, that pretty much instant feeling of being drawn to this one specific stranger in the crowd, that’s definitely something new. He doesn’t understand why he’s so fixated on you right off the bat, flustered like you’re not multiple feet apart and don’t even know each other’s names. Idia’s heart races even more, being almost too late to realize he was staring at you before you glance towards him. Sure, you’re a cute stranger, but that sort of “crush at first sight” thing only belongs in cheesy dating sims and such, as far as Idia knows.

”Aah, that’s it, this school finally made me lose my mind”, he thinks, once at the ceremony, then again when your face shows up in his thoughts later. He hadn’t even heard you speak, and yet… He finds himself overthinking every bit of that non-interaction, one half of his mind firmly telling him that he’s being a weirdo for doing that at all, near completely drowned out by his worries over whether you caught him staring at you like an idiot. If this was really a crush, and not a really weird case of crossed wires, he’s probably already ruined everything for himself, right? Not that he’d have a chance otherwise—

He almost manages to get over the whole thing when the stars decide to align to laugh at him, and you two end up talking. What exactly led up to it? If you asked him how, he’d hinestly have trouble remembering. Did you end up visiting his dorm, maybe even joining his club? Did you two run into each other in the halls, anime meet-cute style? You introduced yourself, and he somehow managed to respond appropriately. Maybe he was on his phone, looking at something related to a game he likes, and you just so happened to play it too…

And it’s a known fact that the one thing that’ll get Idia to forget his own anxiety for a moment, is being prompted to talk about his interests— Whatever it was that you brought up became the thing that miraculously tied you two together. You end up exchanging contact information, both too invested in feeding each other’s excitement for a second.

…Then, after you walk away from each other, it hits Idia that he has your contact information. Looking back on it, he feels like that must have been insanely lucky of him. Probably months worth of dream cards pulled from limited banners. At this point, there’s no way to deny his feelings to himself, incomprehensible as they might feel. Maybe he could dare to think he has a chance, considering you two have an interest in common… And it’s always much easier for him to talk to people over text.

That’d be getting ahead of himself, though, he thinks, the debate heavy in his mind as he proofreads his text asking if you want to play that game with him anytime soon. He covers his own eyes when he hits send, his hands feeling shaky down to the fingertips. You could send the most unremarkably polite response, he’s still going all crazy over it, even alarming Ortho with the noise he makes when he almost falls off his chair.

You play together, somehow it turns into a routine thing. You start exchanging texts, greeting each other in the halls. Idia has no idea how life just dropped that on his lap, even though he starts to feel more comfortable around you, it’s always still a little surreal. There’s always that persistent fear that he’s going to ruin everything somehow, but as much as his lower moods make him want to withdraw, he never goes through with it, a text from you arriving just in time to snap him out of the trance— Really, you must be magic, or something. So much that even if it all turned out to be a spell, he doesn’t think he’d even mind it.

if you like my work you can support me by commissioning me or tipping me on ko-fi ── ᵎᵎ ✦

[dazzlingjaeyun]

xᴍᴀꜱ ꜱᴘᴇᴄɪᴀʟ – ʀɪᴋɪ ⊹˚꙳⁺⋆₊･*❅

bf!riki x gf!reader

୨୧ genre: fluff | words: 998 | cw: none ୨୧

₊☃️‧₊˚❄️˚₊‧🌨️˚ ⋅

a half-eaten cake sat on riki's desk, its frosting smudged where someone (you) had playfully smeared it on riki’s nose earlier, and the 'happy birthday' balloons you'd carefully taped on the wall now pooled on the floor.

the two of you had spent the day together, grabbing lunch at his favorite ramen shop and playing arcade games (where, of course, his ego refused to let you win and you would not hear the end of it, ever).

now, as the day came to an end, you were standing in front of his bed with an envelope in your hand.

"what's that?" riki asked in confusion as he looked up from his phone.

"open it and find out," you said with a smile, sitting down on the edge of his bed and handing him the envelope.

your heart beat just a little faster when he took the paper and carefully began to open it. he shot you one more glance before slowly pulling out the content, his eyes widening in shock when he processed what he held in his hands.

his eyes snapped back to you, a look of disbelief on his face, almost as if he didn't trust his own eyes.

"you haven't seen your family in months, so... surprise," you said hesitantly when he didn't say a word.

riki wordlessly dropped the envelope and pulled you against his chest, squeezing you so tightly he might as well have suffocated you. "how did you think of this?" he asked, his words muffled by your hair.

you gently pulled away, just enough so you could look at him. "i know you're trying to hide it and act all nonchalant, but sometimes it's obvious you're homesick, love."

you chuckled as riki winced in feigned disgust. "don't call me cute names. you'll make me blush and all that shit," he mumbled.

you just playfully stuck out your tongue before you got up from his bed and stepped on his desk chair to pull down the suitcase that he kept on top of his wardrobe.

"start packing, love," you said, making sure to put special emphasis on the nickname, "we're leaving tomorrow."

while riki started to throw almost his entire closet into the suitcase, you explained to him how you'd gotten in touch with his sister to plan the trip with her. you'd met her before, during the one time she'd come to visit riki abroad. back then, you hadn't been officially dating – you hadn't even really been friends yet. you'd just shared a few dance classes but you rarely spoke outside of them. when konon had come to visit, he'd been giving her a tour of the campus and the dance studio, barging into the practice room with the subtlety of a hurricane just as you were in the middle of rehearsing.

"i think i'm done," riki announced with satisfaction, having added practically half his room into the suitcase that dared to overflow.

the next day, when you arrived to japan, you could see the excitement on your boyfriend's face as soon as the plane landed. he was quick to show you the way to the baggage claim, and just a few minutes later, you were scanning the arrivals hall for his parents.

once riki caught sight of them, he gently took your hand in his and guided you toward where they were standing. you stepped back while he happily hugged his parents, wanting to give him enough time and space to greet them first.

you only saw him from the side but he smiled more than he had in a long time and that alone was enough to know you'd chosen the right birthday gift after all.

after riki introduced you to his parents and you exchanged warm greetings, you made your way to his family home. riki was holding your hand in the middle seat, mindlessly brushing his thumb against your knuckles as he looked outside the window and took in the snowy scenery.

you looked outside too, not through your window but through his so you could catch a glimpse of the sparkle in his eyes whenever you passed a place he probably had made memories in.

when you arrived to his place, you only brought the suitcases inside, before riki gently grabbed your arm and pulled you outside again.

"i wanted to show you so many places, we'll start right away," he announced with excitement, taking your small hand in his bigger one and tucking them both into the pocket of his warm jacket.

you were walking through his neighbourhood while riki told stories about almost every corner, and when he wasn't speaking, the soft crunch of snow underneath your feet filled the silence.

"wait, stay here," riki said suddenly, letting go of your hand and pulling out his phone from the pocket of his pants. he took a few steps back and shot a picture of you smiling into the camera.

"cute," he said with a grin. "now, look over that way," he instructed, motioning toward some distant trees as he adjusted his phone, pretending to find the right angle.

just as you posed, a cold lump of snow hit your shoulder, and you spun around to find riki grinning, the remnants of the snowball still in his hand.

you squinted your eyes. "you little shit," you gasped, quickly crouching down to form your own snowball and throw it at him.

later that day, when he'd shown you his room, you were sitting in his bed, your back resting against his chest. "you look different when you're at home," you said with a soft smile, and though riki couldn't see it, he knew you were smiling.

he wrapped his arms around you a little tighter and placed a quick kiss on the top of your head.

"i feel more like myself here," he replied after a while, his voice just a hint softer than usual, "that was the best surprise i could have asked for."

part four of my xmas special. tap here to get to the other members!

© dazzlingjaeyun, 2024. please do not copy.

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[pjmmania]

If Snow Decides to Fall

1. “I think we could do it, baby.”

Chapter Warnings: Heavy smut, fingering, dominant/submissive motifs, unprotected sex, explicit language, unplanned pregnancy

Back to Chapter Index

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

There was an enthralling tightness in your stomach as you knocked on the door to Jimin’s apartment. It was a Friday night in April, and you were right on time.

The door opened and there he was, clad in some comfy gray sweatpants and a black t-shirt. His dark hair was parted at the middle, some pieces draping near his almond-shaped eyes. He’d been growing it out for the past few months, just to try something new.

The grin that met you was classic and unceasingly alluring, “Oh, it’s you.”

You smirked and rolled your eyes at the teasing, letting yourself in. You brushed past him, “I don’t have to stay long, if you were expecting someone else.”

The man shut the door behind you, licking his lips through a suppressed smile. This game you so often played together amused him - pretending that this affair was far more casual and meaningless than it was.

At first, you were just the new girl in the styling department that caught his eye. Over nearly a year, it evolved into something deeper. You went from a one-night stand, to friends with benefits, to something exclusive. Neither of you would define this stage of your relationship, but both of you were confident in one thing - you only had eyes for each other.

Jimin leaned against the wall and crossed his arms, "I'm not expecting anyone else."

You walked up to him, getting close enough for him to want to lose it. His hands dropped to your hips, "So you wouldn’t mind if I stay a while?"

You let your nose gently graze against his. His chuckle was low and handsome, "I was planning on it, baby."

A giggle escaped you as your lips met. Every time he kissed you, Jimin experienced some form of revival. Your affection had become something he couldn’t go long without, and the very same could be said for you.

His hands slid from your hips to your rear and gave it a small test squeeze. Almost reflexively, you pressed your lower half into him further. He was already semi-hard, but the contact solidified things down there.

Now both of you were hungrier for the thing you’d been anticipating all day. Your lips encased the other’s over and over again, as Jimin began to slowly lead you into his bedroom.

As you started this familiar dance across the vinyl floor of his apartment, you let out a soft moan. Jimin’s fingers traced along the hem of your shirt before pulling it over your head, revealing a bra he hadn’t yet seen on you.

He smiled lustfully, eyes set on the red lacy piece, “Is this new?”

You threw your arms around his neck, aching to feel close to him again, “I might have gone shopping recently.”

The black-haired man kissed you once more, “Have you now?”

“I had to,” you smirked, “You’ve practically torn through my other ones. Lace is delicate, you know.”

Another laugh broke through Jimin’s lips. The next kiss was deep and passionate, stoking the fire. You were absorbing him through all of your senses, enthralled in every ounce of him. You had no idea how this was your real life. Park Jimin, adored by millions, wanted you.

You didn’t know it, but he felt the same. Out of all the people who threw themselves his way, he somehow managed to stumble upon you at the right place, at the right time. Jimin always theorized that the universe had already given him the lucky draw when it came to his career. That his luck had been spent on landing a place in the biggest band in the world. That’s why meeting you baffled him - how could he possibly have gotten more fortunate?

You pulled apart for a moment when you realized that you were standing at the base of his bed. Jimin took this brief instant to gaze into your eyes. They carried more than simple desire. His heart knew what they were spelling out, yet his brain couldn’t compute. And he couldn’t tell you that he desperately felt the same.

He kissed you softer this time. The sentimental nature of it told you how deeply he cared for you. That this was more than just a hook-up for him.

You let your forehead linger against his, “Jimin…”

His arms wrapped around your waist. He was in no hurry, simply enjoying feeling this close to you, “Y/N?”

But you had no idea what you wanted to say, so you made something up on the fly, “I…I didn’t bring a condom with me.”

He kissed your nose before pulling away completely, slightly confused as to why you’d say something like that. You never brought the protection with you when you came over. Heading over to his nightstand, he said, “Doesn’t matter. You know I always keep some here.”

He opened the top drawer of the small wooden table, paused for a second, and then began to rummage through it, “Huh…Well I thought I had some here.”

You felt let down but downplayed your disappointment, “Oh, okay. We don’t have to tonight, then.”

Closing the drawer, Jimin looked back at you with an optimistic, flirty expression, “Or, we could do other things.”

A smile lifted your features. You could have died whenever he looked at you like that - it turned you to mush. Quickly, his hands were on your cheeks as you were pulled into his lips. You moaned softly, feeling his erection still prominent against your femininity.

The making out became fervent again. Jimin sighed as he felt his cock throb, “I want to make you feel amazing, sweetheart.”

There it was. The nickname that absolutely melted away all resolve, and he knew it.

Wanton, you moaned again and let the current take you away, him being pleased by the effect he had on you. Your tongues played nicely together as he gently urged you backwards onto his bed.

Once on top of you, his swollen crotch pressed more firmly against you. He hummed at the tiny spark of pleasure it brought him, grinding his hips back and forth. You moaned as his lips attacked your neck and collarbone and pulled up his t-shirt. Jimin sat back on his heels for a second to whip it off, tossing it aside hastily so he could get back to you.

His lean muscular frame torso, bare and warm, felt like a comfort against you. You felt your face get hot when his kisses trailed down to the valley of your breasts. He always got so turned on by the feeling of your soft breasts on his cheeks.

As he enjoyed his time with your tits, he was mindful not to neglect your now aching core. Jimin’s right hand, the dominant one, drifted down your abdomen and snuck under the hem of your pants. You were in joggers, so he was given easy access. He was satisfied to be met with the feeling of rather thin lace panties.

Knowing that you preferred his fingers to his mouth, he played gently with your clothed clit by tracing over it in a circle. His touch was agonizingly light.

You moaned both with pleasure and frustration, “Why do you always do this?”

Jimin’s smug little grin set you ablaze, “Because you love it.”

You tilted your hips up to gain more friction from his fingers, whining at his truthful words.

“Isn’t that right, sweetheart?” He continued to tease you, “You love feeling like putty in my hands, completely at my mercy. It’s alright to enjoy it.”

Helpless, you nodded, “Fine, I love it. Can you please just touch me?”

He had you right where he wanted you, and it didn’t take anything at all. You would have felt embarrassed, but you knew that soon enough it would be his turn.

Jimin pulled off your pants. Just as he was hoping, your panties matched your bra. You were a feast for his eyes to behold, laying there all hot and bothered in a red set. You were like a fantasy, face flushed and eyes pleading for more. The dim lighting in the room, combined with the moonlight peaking through, danced on your chest as it rose up and down with your breaths.

He then got off the bed momentarily to pull down his own pants, just to save time. He knew that by the end of pleasing you, he’d be dying for relief. His cock sprang free, bobbing up and down with a reddened tip. The sight of him fully naked never failed to impress you. His dancer body was slender yet powerful, trained into this shape by years of performing some of the hardest choreographies in his industry.

Jimin climbed back to you on the bed and slowly guided your panties down your legs.

The brush of his middle two fingers up your core made you gasp softly, eyelids fluttering shut. Feeling your tempting wetness sent a pulse through his member, “Hm…You’ve been waiting for this all day, haven’t you baby? Waiting for me to touch your pretty little clit?”

You agreed as he applied the right amount of pressure, rubbing you faster, “Y-Yes.”

He grinned, “I have too. Every Friday I can’t wait to leave the studio. It’s like clockwork. All I can think about is getting to fuck you.”

As if that gave him an idea, his next move was to insert those two fingers inside your heat, placing his thumb on your sensitive bud instead. He was assertively driving you insane from both places now. As his fingers moved in and out, his thumb skated over you with precision.

You moaned, coating his digits in slick fluids. The sounds produced made the lack of condoms all the more infuriating, filling him with an intense primal desire to take you hard. As the minutes went by, your sounds increased in frequency and volume.

“Jimin!” Your voice was unabashed, “Keep going, just like that.”

“You like this, baby?” He taunted, “Hm?”

You whimpered lewdly, “I’m so close.”

Your words fueled his drive to bring you over the edge. He couldn’t help but let out a low huff as he watched you be in the throes of pure rapture, but it wasn’t enough for him to shake off his teasing demeanor. You looked so beautiful like this, totally caved-in under his touch.

Right as that delicious pit was beginning to form deep in your gut, he pulled away entirely.

Face red and breath slightly labored, you asked, “Why did you stop?”

Jimin prevented you from voicing any more complaints by locking his lips with yours. Then he smiled, “Turn on your side for me, sweetheart.”

You smiled back, knowing exactly where he was going with this. It was one of your favorite positions. You followed his direction and soon felt his chest pressing against your back as he spooned you. His hand slid over your hip and found your clit once more.

You moaned again at the contact, angling yourself towards Jimin so that you could kiss him. This is why you loved this position - it felt so romantic.

His strokes quickened. Your breathing hitched as he began to kiss your neck, “Oh god, Jimin!”

You felt his cock eagerly touching you from behind. On the small of your back you could feel his warm precum, smearing as he instinctively pressed himself further to you with a soft grunt.

Thinking about his readiness accelerated your own pleasure. It was beginning to build now. You were so painfully close that your legs began to quiver.

You threw your head back into the crook of his neck, eyes screwing shut. Jimin’s voice was dangerously low, “That’s right. Cum for me, baby.”

With one last moan, your legs spasmed and you came undone. Jimin continued his motions until you were through. You were left panting now, body limp. Aftershocks washed over you as he explored the result of his efforts. Every tingle inflated his ego. You were so enticingly wet and warm.

You rotated onto your other side so you could face, sealing it all off with a kiss. He grinned into it at first, but his expression changed into one of longing once his cock was given direct contact with your wet folds.

You maneuvered your hips against him, wanting to elicit more of a response. Jimin released a small groan, “Fuck…”

Wantonly, you swung your leg over him and hoisted yourself up into a sitting position on his needy manhood. He licked his lips before pursing them together, gazing up at you with starving eyes.

Testing the waters, you glided your slick, warm cunt over his hardness. He let out another low grunt, gripping your ass roughly. It was taking every ounce of self control not to ram his cock up inside you. All it would take was one thrust, and he wouldn’t be able to stop himself.

You repeated the action, but your movement was stopped by the strength of Jimin’s hold on you. His brows were furrowed together, eyes shut. He looked like he could explode, frustrated and deprived of what he wanted most.

Feeling is bare member against you was something that didn’t happen too often, at least not like this - when you were this soaked and he was dying to be inside you. It made you wonder if, just this once, you could do it anyway, without protection.

Your rational side told you it was too risky. You hadn’t been great with the pill as of late. In fact, you were so inconsistent with it that you had an appointment set to get an IUD in coming weeks.

But then you started to think with your privates.

You gave it a little bounce and moaned, your head falling back. It was torturing Jimin. He knew exactly what you were thinking and found that, much to his dismay, he wasn’t strong enough to put up much of a fight. This felt way too good.

“Y/N, we can’t,” he sighed, “I wish we could but we shouldn’t.”

“I…I know,” you said breathlessly, “It’s just so tempting.”

He chuckled and sat up, guiding your lips into his by holding your chin. You hummed into the kiss, wrapping your legs around him.

Jimin pulled away and tucked your hair behind your ear, “I think if I got to fuck you raw, I’d never want to wear a condom again. It’s a dangerous game.”

You adjusted yourself on his lap, causing both of you to moan again. He dipped his head down so we could kiss your breasts.

His voice was low, his eyes darkened, “Stop, baby.”

But there was something about his tone that told you he didn’t completely mean it. He was telling you to stop, while secretly and stupidly hoping that you wouldn’t. It only emboldened the side of you that wanted to break the rule.

“The chances of anything happening are low.” You said in a near whisper, leaving the door open for him to navigate away from this if he wanted to.

Instead, Jimin continued to love on your body, placing kisses on your collarbone and sternum, “Are they?”

You closed your eyes and enjoyed his adoration of you, “Yeah. My cycle is always regular, so I know when my fertile days are. Today isn’t one of them.”

“Is that so?” He planted his lips on your jawbone.

You hummed, “And you could pull out at the end, to be extra careful.”

Without warning, you were flipped onto your back. Your hair fanned out onto the pillow below as you looked up at a hovering Jimin, who was losing his reluctance. His cock was lined up dangerously close to your entrance, leaking with precum and begging for release.

“Fuck, I want to feel you so bad, sweetheart,” he said, “Would you let me?”

Too eagerly, you nodded and craned your neck up to kiss him. Now that you’d given the green light, he began to intentionally press his tip into you. Your head fell back on the pillow as his dropped to your sternum, both of you releasing sounds of pleasure.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had sex without a condom, but he was certain that it didn’t feel this amazing. The bottoming out was intense for you, so he gave you a few moments to adjust. You could feel so much more of him as opposed to the usual that it was jarring.

Jimin’s eyes screwed shut, “God, you feel incredible. Are you alright?”

You nodded, “I’m okay. Please, move."

He pulled out halfway before giving you a slow yet deep thrust. The breath he let out was jagged and husky. Without a condom masking some of the sensations, he was now able to feel every bit of you. You were so tight, so lubricated and hot.

Settling into a steady rhythm, your moans picked up. He was delivering wave after wave of gratification, "Oh my god...F-Faster, Jimin."

His pace picked up and he threw his head back, "Fuck, baby."

He wasn't holding back anymore. Soon enough he was pistoning into you, letting out unadulterated grunts every few thrusts. He pinned your legs back against your chest, giving him an even deeper access. The tip of his cock was prodding against your cervix. It felt so right this way, especially when he looked directly into your eyes. You were so vulnerable to him, yet completely cared for.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him in for a long kiss, both of you moaning into it. Jimin took a break, feeling his orgasm pending.

"I need," he panted in between kisses, "I need to change positions or I won't last long, sweetheart. I already feel like I could cum any moment."

You giggled a little through your pleasure and rubbed the nape of his neck, "You can have me any way you want me. I just want you to feel good."

"Mm," He kissed you again before pulling out of you, "And I want you to cum on my cock."

You were flipped over again, this time onto all fours.

"Are you gonna be a good girl and cum again for me?" He entered you again, hands cupping your hips perfectly. You were dripping at this point, so he was able to slide in effortlessly. The patting sound of his v-line hitting your ass was almost pornographic, joining the chorus of your heavy breaths and groans.

He slapped your ass, "Answer me."

You loved this filthy side to him. A whimper was your response, "Yes, yes I'm gonna cum!"

It was no exaggeration - his strokes were hitting the right spot without fail. You could only take so much more before you let loose for the second time.

Your vulgar tone sent him into overdrive, battering your pussy in a way you'd only experienced a handful of times before with him.

You practically mewled, "Ah! Jimin, I'm cumming!"

Your walls clenched around him as you released again. His jaw slacked as he moaned at the increased tightness, "Yeah, baby. Fucking cum around my cock. Show me how much you want my load."

Coming down from your high took longer than before, as he kept fucking you unrelentingly.

“Gonna cum soon, sweetheart.”

Jimin’s eyes were screwed shut, his brows cinched inward. His lips parted as he slipped totally past the point of no return.

You were delirious in your afterglow, almost drunk on the sensation of being mounted by him. You bent down and let your cheek rest on the pillow, ass still up.

“J-Jimin?”

“Yeah?”

“Do it inside me.”

He threw his head back and let out what sounded like half moan, half chuckle. You could hear by his tone that he was smirking, “You’re a little daredevil, you know that? Fuck, say it again.”

Your voice shaky from being rocked back and forth so hard, you repeated it, “Cum inside me, Jimin.”

He was so turned on by the phrase. It unlocked some deeply rooted desire that existed within every man. His fingertips were digging into your hips, “God yes, I’m cumming!”

A low growl came out of him at the same time as his seed. His hips slammed into you a final time, the tip of his cock pressed firmly against your womb. Spurts of cum rushed into you, coating your walls.

Jimin gave a few gentle thrusts as he rode out the high, breathing heavily. He then stilled, lingering for another moment. You hummed in satisfaction when he finally pulled out.

He sighed with a grin on his face as he reached over to the nightstand to get a tissue. For whatever reason, he liked to take care of you after sex, taking it upon himself to wipe you clean and make sure you were comfortable.

He wiped away whatever came dripping out of your pussy, threw the tissue in a wastebasket, and then collapsed beside you. He was on his back, while you were your side facing him. Jimin’s tired smile was mirrored by yours.

He rotated onto his side too, “That was amazing.”

"It was." You whispered.

Your hand was limp on the sheets between the two of you. He took it within his and brought it up to his lips, kissing your knuckle. Your heart ached for him in intimate moments like this, both of you naked and completely comfortable in each other's presence. You got lost in his eyes, and he in yours. His expressive ones carried a more doe-like quality now as they drank you in. Countless instances like it were what made you both realize that your relationship was more than just sex.

But what was it called, exactly? The lack of a label was useful, at first. Jimin could escape the commitment of having a girlfriend, and you could keep your job. The company had strict rules about artists' dating lives, but it also outright forbade relationships between co-workers. If they knew about this, you'd be terminated immediately.

However, behind closed doors, it was getting harder to accept the state of your relationship. It was more bountiful than either of you expected, but now you were secretly beginning to wonder if this was all it ever could be.

You spent the night at Jimin's place, as usual. You kept a toothbrush and some of your own toiletries there. You even had some of your clothes there - a couple of pairs of socks, some sneakers, and comfy clothes. Just your typical Saturday gear, for when you inevitably had to leave in the morning and act like it never happened.

*5 weeks later*

Another Friday afternoon. You were still at work, going over the styling concepts for the guys' upcoming album. You were drowning in fabric swatches, trying to piece together seven main looks that would mesh with each other nicely while expressing the music's overall feel.

You'd been locked in your office all day doing this, only letting the world know you were alive when you had to use the restroom or refill your water bottle. It was no wonder that you lost track of time, not knowing how late it was.

Your colleague and friend, a fellow stylist named Chaeyoung, opened your door and ducked her head inside, "Uh, you know it's four o'clock, right? Don't you have that doctor's appointment?"

You looked at her with wide eyes and dropped everything, eyes then darting to the clock, "Shit, I didn't realize."

It was the day you were scheduled to get your new form of birth control, the IUD. Your gynecologist was a fifteen-minute drive and your appointment was at four-twenty, meaning you had to hurry.

You grabbed your jacket and shoved some things into your work bag hastily - laptop, phone charger, and the binder with all the swatches in it.

You hated to leave in such a hurry, but you rushed past your coworker, "Thanks, Chae. I'll see you Monday."

The sound of her amusement behind you was evident, but you had no time to stick around. As you left the Styling Department, you muttered goodbyes to your other colleagues, who were all starting to wrap up their business for the week.

The door to the department let out into a wide hallway. The only other department on this floor was Marketing - the rest of the doors were conference rooms, restrooms, etcetera. One of them was a stairwell. You were on the third floor of the building, and at the speed you were going, taking the stairs would likely get you to your car faster than the elevator.

The clacking of your pumps echoed in the stairwell as you focused on trying not to break an ankle, your free hand grazing the top of the rail.

You hustled until you reached the door that would open to the parking garage, which was beneath the building. As you reached for the push handle, the door swung open towards you.

Startled, you maneuvered out of the way in the nick of time, to avoid getting hit in the face. To your surprise, it was none other than Jimin and Jungkook.

You'd gotten fairly acquainted with all of the members of BTS since starting at the company, enough that being in their company was no longer awkward. So, when you were suddenly confronted with the youngest member, you weren't perturbed. Both of them were warm with you, greeting you with kind smiles and apologizing for almost running into you.

Jimin, in addition to being happy to see you, also took notice of how hurried you seemed - bag and jacket strewn carelessly over on one elbow, breath a little weary from running down the stairs.

He raised his brows, "Where are you off to?"

You turned a little pink. If it was just Jimin, you might have been fine, but there was no way you could omit the truth in front of Jungkook.

"Just a doctor's appointment." You blurted.

Well, it wasn't necessarily a lie.

You couldn't sneak anything past Jimin at this point. He could read your expressions effortlessly. Clearly, you were a little frazzled, but his gut told him to let it go for now, for your sake.

Wanting to appear casual, you asked, "How about you guys?"

The younger replied with a pat on his brother's back, "Just coming back from a photoshoot."

You nodded silently. Trying to save you from speculation on the part of Jungkook, Jimin made sure there was nothing on his face that could make him suspicious, "We'll get out of your way, then."

You nodded politely and smiled at them again, "Thanks, sorry guys. H-Have a good weekend!"

They cleared the way for you to move forward, and you did. The door closed behind you as you headed into the garage, digging for your keys.

The two men resumed their walk up the stairs. They were going to the second floor to grab a few things before heading to the eighth for a brief recording session.

Jungkook glanced behind him for a second and then caught up to Jimin, "Jeez, that was weird. And you didn't ask if she was coming over tonight. Everything alright between you two?"

His question came from a good place, but it made the other look all around them to ensure their privacy. He then shook his head and chided the younger in a sharp whisper, "Keep your voice down!"

They proceeded to climb the stairs. Jungkook took it down a notch and whispered in response, "Sorry...But is everything okay?"

Jimin sighed. This really wasn't the time or place for this, "Yes, we're the same as always. And I didn't ask her if she was coming over because it's pretty much a given at this point."

A chuckle came from the heavily-tattooed man, "Must be nice, guaranteed sex every week."

"Shut up," Jimin hissed again, "It's not like that. We do other things too."

"I know, I'm just teasing. Relax," Junkook smirked, "And you're still exclusive, right?"

Now the older was becoming frustrated, "Yes, we are. Your point, please?"

Jungkook's bunny smile appeared as he enjoyed getting a small rise out of him, "Nothing, nothing. It's just, some might call that-"

The conversation was interrupted by the sound of a door above opening and closing. Jimin counted his lucky stars.

"Alright, Y/N," your gynecologist, Doctor Baek, sighed contently as she sat down on a cushioned stool beside the examination table, "I just need to go over a few details again with you before we move forward with the procedure."

You were sitting on the table in a blue gown, ready to get this over with, "Sure."

She went over the things you discussed during your initial consultation for this, just to ensure all of the information was the same. Coming down to the end of the list, she said, "Okay, you experience no chronic headaches or dizzy spells, correct?"

It was correct, although you had one minor dizzy spell earlier in the week. But it was only one, so it couldn't be significant, "Yes."

"Great. And lastly, there's no possibility you could be pregnant, correct?"

You bit your lip, not knowing how to answer that. As annoying as it was, you figured you should err on the side of caution, "I don't believe so, but I did have unprotected sex about a month ago."

Doctor Baek, a kind woman and a true professional, nodded without any sign of judgement, “Any symptoms, like nausea or breast tenderness?”

“My breasts have been tender, but that always happens around my period,” you said little nervously, “But I think got my period last week.”

Doctor Baek seemed confused, “You aren’t sure? I thought your periods were pretty regular.”

“W-Well, they are,” you weren’t sure if you were trying to assure her or yourself, “But it was lighter than normal.”

The doctor hummed, and wheeled over to the little desk in with a computer on it, “I see.”

She logged into the system and began typing away. You swung your feet around each other, beginning to feel a bit anxious, hands folded in your lap.

“I’m ordering a pregnancy test for you, just to rule it out,” she said, making a few clicks on the desktop before swiveling back to you, “It will be a urine test, so we will have the results in a few short minutes. If you’re not pregnant, we will proceed with the implantation, okay?”

Doctor Baek got up to retrieve the test she ordered from the lab. A storm of bewilderment and nerves brewed within you as you nodded along, trying to sell yourself as composed. Meanwhile, you were wracking your brain for any other signs you could have missed. How could these even be possible given your very regular cycle. It was never off. Yes, you and Jimin made a dumb decision in one moment of passion, but you knew it wouldn’t have been possible on that day.

Could the one and only time you had unprotected intercourse, have occurred at the one and only time your cycle was off?

As the panic swirled, you started mentally kicking yourself for being so careless.

A few minutes, the doctor came back with the test in her hand. It looked like anything you could have found at a drug store, plus a cup. For sanitation reasons, you were asked to take the cup into the bathroom and pee into it. From there, Doctor Baek gloved her hands and dipped the stick test into the cup. She then put a lid onto the used cup and sealed it in a biohazard bag for disposal.

Sensing your nerves, your kindhearted care provider set the test aside to do its work, “We’ll give it a few minutes. Try not to worry.”

You nodded silently, but it was all over your face.

Doctor Baek scooted the stool closer to you and patted your knee, smiling at you emphatically, “Don’t let your thoughts spiral just yet, Y/N. Take it one second at a time.”

She was right, you thought. You were getting worked up over nothing. The likelihood was small, and so was the reason to brood. You were able to settle yourself for the remaining minutes, which went by in a flash.

Then your bubble burst.

Doctor Baek went to pick up the test, "Well, you won't be getting the IUD today, I'm afraid."

Your gut fell as you shook your head, "B-But what about the bleeding? I had a period last week, right?”

"Light bleeding is actually an early sign of pregnancy."

The rest of your appointment was fuzzy. You could barely comprehend what she was saying to you, overcome with a harsh squeezing feeling in your stomach. You had Park Jimin's child growing inside you. You might have been upset, but how could you have been? Both of you made a conscious, risky decision that night, and this was the consequence.

The dominant emotion sending you into a freeze response was helplessness. The father of this baby was an international celebrity with so little bandwidth for normal human relationships, let alone parenthood. Would he even want to do this with you, or would he cut ties? Your relationship was a secret to all but a handful of people - nobody would have to know. He could leave you without a trace, and maybe that would be best. After all, if anyone found out that you two had been involved, you would lose your job.

"Y/N," Doctor Baek got your attention again, "Remember, one second at a time. I can see that this is a shock for you."

"Yes, it is." You replied distantly.

"May I ask if the father is known or supportive?"

You closed your eyes and angled your chin downward, letting out a breath through your nose.

The doctor felt for you, "It's going to be alright. Why don't we send you home with some informational pamphlets about different resources? Take a few days to think about the options. If you decide to move forward with the pregnancy, I'd like to book you for an ultrasound within the next few weeks to get the due date and make sure things look healthy."

"O-Okay."

You got dressed back into your work clothes, feeling like a completely different person wearing them. On your way out, you were given the pamphlets. Then, you started a dazed walk back to your car.

You drove away from the medical campus without a sense of direction. You simply let habit take over, and it took you to the same place you wound up every Friday night.

Not knowing if he'd even be home, you parked in the guest lot and went in anyway. You used the spare key card he'd given you to make it into his building and took the elevator up to the apartment.

One thing you appreciated about this living community was that it was extremely private. There were other idols and otherwise confidential people living there who minded their own business.

Once you reached the right floor, you felt a huge knot tie around your ribcage, suffocating you. It was as if you didn't notice where your feet were taking you - it was just second nature. But now here you were, at the door of Jimin's place.

You had to at least tell him.

Taking a breath, you summoned enough courage to knock on the door. No response. You tried again and, almost to your regret, it opened.

Jimin seemed glad yet confused to see you, taking his earbuds out of his ears, "Sorry, I didn't hear you at first. Come in."

The cheeky, handsome smile he was wearing would have melted you on any other day, but you couldn't entertain it right now. He noticed the frozen look on your face - you didn't even greet him back as you went through the doorframe. Jimin closed the door and turned to you, but you weren't facing him. Instead, you were roaming into the living room.

"Y/N? What's up with you?" he asked, "You seem lost."

You dropped your work bag onto the floor and plopped down onto one of the sofas, staring ahead with disorientation written all over your face. Subconsciously, you kicked off your heels.

Then he remembered that you had just been to the doctor, and his concern elevated, "Did everything go alright at your appointment?"

You closed your eyes and shook your head, gulping. When you finally met his gaze, you were holding back tears, "I went to see my gynecologist today to get an IUD put in."

He nodded and sat next to you, making sure that his body was facing yours head-on. Somewhere in his brain was a faint memory of you talking to him about that before, that you wanted to stop the pill and switch to something else, "Okay...So what's wrong? Oh, is it the cramping? I've heard that the procedure can cause bad cramps for a few hours after."

"It can," you said, "But that's not what's happening. In fact, they didn't even do the procedure."

You knew you were leaving him in suspense, but it wasn't intentional. You simply couldn't get the words out, for the fear of upending everything.

Jimin craned his neck forward in an attempt to follow your averting eyes, "Why?"

A tear rolled down your cheek, "Because they couldn't, Jimin. Before going through with it, I was asked all these questions. A-And I answered them all truthfully. I told the doctor that there had been recent unprotected sex and she tested me. And..."

It was so far outside the realm of what he could have foreseen that he didn't get it, "And?"

You didn't say anything, but you looked back at his face. He could see your glistening, tear-filled eyes, and that's when the seed was planted.

His dark brown eyes widened as he realized what you were implying, but he didn't want to believe it, "Y/N, you're not..."

A small sob escaped you as your posture shrunk, "I am."

Now Jimin was the one that was frozen, lips parted slightly. This lasted for a few seconds before he got up from the sofa, running his hands over his face and back through his hair. His back was to you and you heard him mutter a cuss word or two.

When he turned back around, his features weren't quite as soft. He appeared disappointed, maybe even aggravated, "How could this happen? It was just that one time, and you said it couldn't happen that day."

You felt so small, "I-I don't know. I really thought it wasn't possible but evidently, I was wrong. I'm sorry."

He put a hand over his eyes again and let out an anxious huff. Then his hand slid down to his nose, pinching its bridge. The brows that sat above were furrowed, "It doesn't matter anyway. It's not like this is all on you. We both should have known better."

You cleared your throat and wiped away your tears. This had to be an adult conversation, "So what should we do?"

"I don't know," he said, "What do you want to do?"

As emotionally spent as you were, you still had room to protest, "If this isn't all on me, then please don't make this entirely my decision. I can't handle that kind of pressure right now. This is my body, but it's our...our child."

Our child.

Those two simple words struck a cord somewhere inside Jimin. He felt them deep down. It wasn't at all what he planned, and he had no idea how it would work, but maybe it would be alright.

Jimin returned to your side. He brought you into his arms and you accepted the comfort. His lips planted a kiss on your head, "If it's what you want, I'll be there for you. I think we could do it, baby."

You pulled apart from him, "W-What?"

He cupped your cheeks gently and offered a small smile, "Maybe I'm just exhausted from today's work and I'm not thinking straight, but I feel like we could do it. Don't you? I have more than enough resources, and I've built enough rapport with the company that I'm sure I could take off more days."

You were shaking your head, removing his hands from your face and holding them in your lap, "Jimin, think about it. Having a baby doesn't just require money and time. I mean, think about what it would do to your career as a whole, your entire future. Besides, it would mean you and I would be involved with each other forever. We haven't even figured out what we are yet."

"I think we've figured out that we are something pretty damn good," he leaned down to kiss both of your hands, holding your wrists with a loose grip, "Y/N, I'm not saying it wouldn't be hard. All I'm saying is I believe that this, our relationship, is strong enough. I'm terrified too, but when I think about doing it with you, it just makes a little more sense."

You got up and began to pace, "I appreciate that you're trying to be optimistic, but there are real obstacles here. You can't have a secret relationship and a secret child. If we do this, we have to tell the company at some point. I mean, I guess I could lie about who the father is for as long as I can, but what would happen after the baby gets here? Would we keep up the act even then?"

Jimin sat with his elbows propped on his knees and thought about it for a moment, "I understand why you're worried, but I still think we can figure it out. There are lots of celebrities nowadays who don't disclose publicly about their children until after they're born. That gives us plenty of time to plan out an announcement of some sort with the company."

"And even if we did that," you let out a defeated sigh, "I would get fired."

His face fell. That policy never seemed so vapid. He knew how much you loved your job, and how good you were at it, "Maybe there's a loophole somewhere. Or maybe I could persuade them against that."

You sort of laughed at the insanity of it all, "If we were both idols maybe they'd be more willing to bend the rules. They wouldn't denigrate the standard for just another employee, and I have a feeling they'd be pissed. This isn't just an employee dating another employee, Jimin. It's one of their biggest stars with a stylist. That carries scandal with it, especially when you add a pregnancy."

Both of you were silent now. The full weight of the circumstances sank down into your bodies. Jimin rose from his seat, "I need some water. Would you like anything?"

You shrugged, "Water would be good."

As he took his leave to head into the kitchen, you huffed and removed your jacket. Hanging it over the back of his chaise lounge, you glanced at your work tote. Visible from the opening was the tip of one of those pamphlets Doctor Baek gave you.

Lazily, you went and sat back down at your original spot on the sofa, picking up the paper tri-fold between your fingers. It was a general overview of the stages of fetal development, week by week. Opening it, you searched for the five-week mark. It said that at this time, the fetus was just starting to develop a face, heart, brain, and spinal cord.

It was wild to you that your body had been at work all that time without you knowing, slowly building a new person.

You scanned the rest of the pamphlet quickly. If you read it all, you'd be overwhelmed by all the information. On the back cover, there was a photo of a happy couple, both with their hands resting on the woman's belly. When you imagined that being you and Jimin, your heart fluttered. If only neither of you had these careers, you would probably want to go for it.

That's when you started to feel contradicted. You realized you weren't opposed to having a child with this man - your conflict was with outside influences that neither of you could control.

Jimin returned with two glasses of water. His gait slowed when he noticed that you were preoccupied with reading, curious to know what the paper in your hand was.

"Thanks." You said as you took one of the glasses.

"Of course," he replied, though his focus was clearly on the pamphlet, "What's that?"

You gave it to him, "The doctor gave it to me. Just some little thing about pregnancy."

"Ah." He muttered, taking a sip of his water. You scooted over so he could sit next to you again. Then he set the glass down on the coffee table and looked at the material, "Where do you fall on this timeline?"

"Oh," you inched even closer, leaning over the paper to point it out to him, "Right here. Five weeks."

Jimin read the short sentences about that stage and cracked a half smile, which evolved into a chuckle, "It says the baby is the size of a sesame seed."

You couldn't understand him, but for some reason his grin was rubbing off on you, "Why is that so funny?"

His joviality didn't let up, "It's not really, it's just...we eat sesame seeds all the time. It's weird to think that we all start out that tiny."

You concurred, smile growing further, "I guess that is pretty weird."

His collected demeanor eased your nerves, and you started to let it sink in. Your heart gravitated to him more with every moment you had spent with him. He'd be a loving father, there was no doubt about that. There was still the issue of your job being on the line, and a slew of other problems that could arise, but perhaps he was right. Maybe you could do this.

You searched his face again to try to get a read on how he was feeling, but he was too busy soaking in all the information in front of him. Clearing your throat, you pointed to the six-week mark, "Next week it will be a pomegranate seed, see?"

Jimin's eyes found yours, puzzled at your more relaxed cadence. When he saw a certain degree of acceptance in your features, he grinned again, taking your hand in his. Then he went back to the pamphlet, "And look, seven weeks is a grape. There seems to be a pattern of food comparisons."

You giggled, "All the way up to forty weeks, the size of a pumpkin."

He laughed too, his genial presentation fading back into a gentle smile shortly after, "I...I want to do this."

Your gut was pulling you in the same direction now. You needed to hear him say it again, perhaps so that you felt confident enough to voice your agreement, "You do?"

The culmination of his feelings for you and the situation finally made it all so clear. It was the right moment.

"I love you, Y/N."

Your chest thumped, eyes getting rounder, "W-What?"

Neither of you had said it yet, for the mutual trepidation that to be too seriously involved would lead to a mess. But to hell with it - the mess was already here.

Jimin's eyes were beaming, "You walked into the studio that one day and I haven't been the same since. You and I have been so concerned with people finding out about us, and I think it made me forget that it's okay to acknowledge my real feelings for you. It's clear to me now that I've been in love with you for months. I mean, this can't be a big surprise, can it?"

You were smiling through tears, "No, it's not a surprise. I just got so comfortable going the way we were that I let go of the expectation to hear it. But I love you too, Jimin."

He pulled you in for a sweet, long kiss. This moment was something you didn't know you wanted, but you welcomed it as if you'd been starving for it. Finally, some clarity on where you both stood - Park Jimin loved you, and you loved him.

You both drew apart, his right hand falling from your chin to your hip. This wasn't out of the ordinary, for him to casually touch you there, but this time he looked down at his hand. He moved it a few inches to the left, right over your lower abdomen. There was no bump to be seen, but his child was still there, the size of a sesame seed.

His voice sounded so sincere, "And I always knew I wanted a family at some point down the line. Sitting here right now, I couldn't picture it with anyone but you."

A twinkle brightened your face, "Neither could I."

His returned smile reached his eyes, "Does that mean we're going to have a baby?"

You nodded in utter disbelief of yourself, "We're going to have a baby."

A chuckle escaped him as his head dipped down, the grin on his face widening, "Oh my God, I'm going to be a dad."

The assurance brought to you by this small glimmer of excitement made all the difference. You were going to be a parent with the man who made you happier than anyone in the world. You were going to be a little family. Any strife and worries could be dealt with tomorrow. For tonight, you could simply be present with him and focus on the good.

[demie90s]

ᴅɪᴀɴᴀ ᴛᴀᴜʀᴀꜱɪ x ꜰᴇᴍ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

Say Less

MASTERLIST | MORE | Pt.2

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: You weren’t born a prodigy. You were overlooked, counted out, told to try another sport before you even had a chance to believe in yourself. But when you came back, you came back different.

ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: Sports drama, hurt/comfort, slow-burn trust, silent intimacy

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: Childhood emotional trauma, mental burnout, emotional numbness, disordered relationship with food/performance

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: ~4k

ᴠɪʙᴇ: You don’t talk—but your game does. And Diana hears it loud.

I wasn’t supposed to make it. That’s what they told me when I was ten years old, scrawny and wide-eyed, dribbling a ball way too big for my hands. “Not your sport.” “Try soccer.” “You’re fast, but not smart with the ball.” One trainer even shook his head and said, “No.” Just that—no. Like my dream was a request and he was the authority to deny it. And I believed him. For years, I did. I sat on benches, cheered for girls who weren’t better than me—just louder, just more wanted. I stopped playing. Stopped hoping. Until one day I didn’t. Until I looked in the mirror at age fifteen and thought, “Fuck it. I’ve already lost everything. Might as well lose while trying.”

And that’s when everything changed.

I trained in silence. Cried in silence. Lifted in silence. While other girls were going to parties and prom dress fittings, I was lacing up my beat-up trainers, sprinting at midnight, rewatching film until my eyes bled. I clawed my way to the top, record by record. Number one recruit. Drafted first. ROTY. POTY. Headline after headline. And still… they said I wasn’t enough. “She don’t work hard.” “Five months, max, she’s out the league.” “Pretty face. Not real game.” They didn’t see me repping till my shoulders cracked. They didn’t see me fall on the weight room floor and crawl to the wall just to keep going. They didn’t see me replay the same clip ten times—ten!—wondering why the fuck I didn’t pivot, or why my elbow dropped on the release.

My life became a loop. Not a routine. A cycle. Wake up. Train. Shower. Watch my games. Eat half a meal while studying my flaws. Run. Like something’s behind me. Not jogging. Running like hell’s got my name. Lift heavy like my past is strapped to the bar. Eat again, not out of hunger but necessity, chewing while staring at my phone playing footage of what could’ve been done better. Smile at kids. Hype them up. Post for pics. “You’ll be better than me,” I tell them. And I mean it. Don’t idolize me. I’m not your blueprint. You are. Be you, but fearless. Be what I’m trying to become.

And yet… I’m quiet. They drafted me to Phoenix. I barely speak. Not because I don’t want to—but because I don’t know how anymore. My game talks. My stats talk. So I don’t.

And then there’s Diana.

She doesn’t say much. Doesn’t have to. She’s everything I studied. Everything I molded my game around. Cold, poised, calculated. Her legacy is cement. I’m barely carving mine. But she looks at me sometimes like she knows. Like she sees the exhaustion in my shoulders, the twitch in my fingers when I pretend to be still. I feel it when we sit across the locker room—her calm, my chaos.

She doesn’t call me out. Doesn’t ask questions. And that’s worse somehow. I don’t want to talk, but I want her to know. I want her to get it. I want someone to see me unraveling and not look away.

There was one night, post-practice, I sat in the shower long after the water turned cold. My body hurt. My mind was louder than the spray against the tile. I thought about staying there. Just sitting until I disappeared. When I came out, Diana was still there. Everyone else had gone. She was lacing up her shoes, slow and casual, but her eyes flicked up once—right at me. My hair was still dripping. I hadn’t changed. She didn’t say anything. Just nodded. Not a greeting. A knowing.

That did more than any pep talk ever could.

And still—I don’t stop. I can’t stop.

They say I’m “disciplined.” They don’t know I’m punishing myself. They say I’m “humble.” They don’t know I don’t believe in myself. They say I’m “next up.” I say I’m a fraud. I post on socials so they think I’m thriving. But inside? I’m cold. Tired. Burned out. I have no siblings. No parents. Just a godmother and her daughter in another state. My teammates feel like sisters—but they won’t be here forever. None of them will. When the noise dies down, who will still care? Who will stay?

Diana’s the only one who lingers after everyone else is gone. She doesn’t hover. Doesn’t press. She’ll walk past me in the facility, brush her knuckles against mine. A glance. A touch. That’s it. But it makes the ache dull for a second.

I tell myself I don’t need help. That I’m strong. But the truth is, I don’t ask because I’m scared of what I’ll say if I start talking. I’m scared the little girl in me will scream. I’m scared Diana will look at me differently.

So I stay quiet.Train harder. Sleep less. Smile for the cameras, then cry in the car.

And Diana? She keeps watching. Like she’s waiting. Like she knows one day I’ll break. And maybe when I do… she’ll be the one who stays.

She started her morning like always.

Alarm at 5:30. No snoozing. No hesitating. Straight to the gym. The weight room lights still buzzed when she walked in, hoodie up, eyes half-lidded but focused. It wasn’t discipline. It was obsession. She’d carved a routine into her bones—wake up, train, run, analyze, break herself down so no one else had to.

And today was no different.

The treadmill belt groaned beneath her feet as she ran. Not jogged. Not a casual warm-up. Ran. Like she was trying to outrun the younger version of herself, the ten-year-old kid who got laughed at by a trainer. Told to try something else. “You’re not built for this.” “Try soccer, at least you’re fast.” “Not your sport.” That voice still whispered in her ears, even now, with a pro jersey folded in her locker. Even now, after the draft. After the awards.

Her phone sat propped in front of the screen—old game film on loop. Clips of herself, every missed pass, every turnover, every slow rotation. Over. And over. She didn’t even realize three hours passed until her trainer came by, eyes wide.

“You good?”

She blinked. The screen was still playing. She’d restarted it without thinking. Sweat soaked through her tank. Her fingers trembled when she stepped off the treadmill. Her body was screaming for food—but she couldn’t stomach it. Couldn’t afford to be full when she still felt empty.

She skipped breakfast. Again. Went straight to practice.

Didn’t talk. Didn’t look anyone in the eye. During breaks, when the others joked around or played music, she sat against the wall, headphones in, eyes glued to film on her phone. Studying. Critiquing. Dismissing praise in her head before anyone could offer it. And then—after the break—she was off. Bad passes. Hesitation. Missing shots she always made.

And then it happened. Mid-drill, she froze.

Just stood there, the ball loose in her hands, staring at the hardwood like it had answers. She didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe. Her teammates called out to her, confused. Coach called her name. Nothing.

She finally moved, slow, like gravity had thickened around her.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled to the coach. “I—I’ll stay. I’ll make the shot.”

Everyone else left. She didn’t.

She stayed on the court until she made the shot that haunted her. Again. And again. Until her wrist went sore. Until the echo of the ball hitting the rim stopped making her flinch. Until it fell clean through the net.

She still didn’t eat.

Skipped dinner. Ignored the questions. Avoided the looks. She dragged herself to the team common room with a notebook, earbuds, and more game footage. The lights were low, most of the building asleep, but she sat up—3AM, eyes red, fingers scribbling notes to herself in the margins of an old scouting report.

She watched herself mess up. Rewound. Watched again. Rewound. Her face was blank. Just a slow shake of her head. Muttering under her breath. “I’m so stupid. That was easy. You hesitated.” Her pen dug into the page. “Get lower. React faster. You were open. Why didn’t you shoot?”

To her teammates, she was a beast. The hardest worker on the floor. Disciplined. Relentless. Serious. They respected her, praised her grind. But they didn’t see what she saw. They didn’t hear the voices.

She didn’t feel strong. She felt like a fraud.

She felt like she was one mistake away from being exposed. That all it would take was one bad game. One injury. One moment of failure for everyone to say what she’d feared since she was ten: “We knew it. She’s not good. She just worked hard.”

And maybe they’d be right.

That’s why she trained until her legs shook. Lifted for the kid who never believed in herself. Ran like her past was chasing her with a knife to her back. Watched game tape until her eyes blurred because she didn’t know how to rest. Rest felt like laziness. Like failure. Like letting everyone down.

Especially herself.

And when she saw little kids in the stands, waving signs with her name, she smiled. Waved. Gave them everything. Hype, love, encouragement. She wanted them to be great. Better than her. Because she wasn’t someone to look up to. She knew that deep down.

“Don’t be like me,” she thought as she gave them a high five. “Be better.”

“Don’t watch my highlights,” she whispered in her head. “Write your own.”

No one had seen her cry since she was a kid. But that night? In the common room? With nothing but silence and self-doubt keeping her company? Her eyes welled up, just barely, and her breath hitched.

But even then—She didn’t let the tears fall.

She had plays to watch. Mistakes to fix. The next game was coming. And she wasn’t ready. Not yet.

The locker room had cleared an hour ago.

Practice had ended rough—your shot was off, your reads late, and your energy drained like it got siphoned out before warmups even started. You apologized to Coach, stuck around to clean up your mess, then hit the treadmill like it owed you something. Like it was the only place you still had control.

And then the footage started.

Your old game—your worst game. Playing on loop. From your phone, balanced on the treadmill panel. You didn’t notice the hours ticking by. Didn’t feel the hunger creep in or the soreness set into your knees. You ran like you were being hunted. Like that one mistake could kill your entire career.

By the time your trainer found you, you’d been at it for nearly three hours. No water. No meal. Just footage and footwork and the same self-punishing words echoing in your head: not good enough, not again, not again.

You skipped dinner.

Skipped the team hangout.

Made your way into the Mercury’s common area—empty now, just dim lighting and the hum of the screen. You dropped your stuff and sat down in front of the projector. Cross-legged. Silent. And you started writing.

Your notebook, the same one you always carried, filled with phrases scribbled over and over:

Not good enough.

Why’d you hesitate.

Be better.

This isn’t for you.

You should’ve listened.

You rewound the footage. Again. Again. Again. Your hands shaking but steady enough to press play. Then rewind. Then play again. You stared like you were trying to see through yourself.

And eventually…

You passed out.

Right there. Cross-legged. Head dropped, neck limp, hoodie sliding halfway off your shoulder. The screen still played your worst moments. The notebook open in your lap, pages worn and messy. You didn’t even twitch. Your body had gone into shutdown.

The next morning came fast.

Some of the younger players walked in first, still groggy from sleep. They froze at the door, staring like they’d just walked in on a ghost. You, out cold, face slack and empty. The screen flashing every missed shot. Every fumble. Every frame you couldn’t stop obsessing over.

One of them backed out to go get staff.

Another one stayed. Quiet.

Diana showed up before anyone else important. Said she forgot her charger. She didn’t expect this.

You, curled in on yourself like a damn kid, notebook wide open, a tear-streak dried across your cheek, screen still running like a punishment reel. Her whole face changed.

She didn’t ask questions. She didn’t wake you.

She just sat across from you on the floor, elbows on her knees, and watched the same tape you’d been punishing yourself with. Quiet. Focused.

Then she picked up your notebook. Didn’t flinch at the words.

Didn’t sigh or scoff or say some cliché. She flipped through three pages. Four. Five. Her jaw clenched.

Because she knew.

This wasn’t about proving people wrong. This was about a ten-year-old version of you who never healed. The kid who got told she wasn’t good enough, and just kept trying to outrun it. Who turned it into a schedule:

Wake up.

Run.

Lift.

Watch film.

Study every mistake like it’s life or death.

Skip meals.

Skip rest.

Skip joy.

Repeat.

It wasn’t just drive. It was damage. And Diana saw it.

When the staff showed up and tried to speak, she raised her hand without looking at them.

“She needs rest. Not noise.” Her voice was low, firm.

Then, after a moment, she stood, leaned over, and brushed the hair out of your face. You didn’t wake up. Not yet. But she lingered. Let her hand rest at your jaw.

“You’re already good,” she murmured. “You just don’t believe it yet.”

And when you did wake—somewhere between now and noon—she’d be right there. Sitting beside you. Watching with you. Not judging. Not lecturing. Just there.

Like someone who understood. Like someone who once was you.

You woke up when her voice hit the silence like a brick.

“Get up.”

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t soft.

You blinked hard, eyes barely adjusting. “What time is it?”

“You’re done,” she said. “That’s the time. You’re done.”

You sat up, slow and stiff. “D… what?”

She walked over, grabbed your notebook. Flipped through it.

“You think this is what makes you great? Being your own executioner every night? Watching your mistakes on loop until you convince yourself you’re worthless?”

Your throat tightened.

“I’m just—” You looked away. “Trying to fix it.”

“No, you’re feeding it,” she snapped. “You know it’s killing you, and you keep doing it. You know it’s not helping.”

You didn’t argue. Because she was right.

You admitted it. Quietly. “Yeah… I know.”

And that’s what scared her the most. The way you knew it. The way you didn’t even flinch admitting it.

“I can’t stop,” you said finally, barely audible. “It feels like if I don’t stay sharp, I’ll lose everything. I’ll go back to being that kid who wasn’t good enough.”

“You’re not that kid anymore.”

“Then why do I feel like her every time I breathe?”

Diana didn’t speak for a long moment.

Then she reached down and snatched your phone. You lunged for it, but she stepped back.

“Hey—!”

“No,” she cut you off. “No film. No notes. No treadmill. No drills. You’re gonna eat, you’re gonna shower, and you’re gonna sleep. You’re not allowed to touch a ball for 48 hours.”

You froze like she slapped you.

“Diana—”

“I’m serious.”

“This is all I have.”

She stepped closer, eyes burning into yours. “Then start building more. Because you’re not surviving like this.”

You looked at her like she was asking you to stop breathing.

“I don’t know how to be okay.”

“I know,” she said. “So I’ll teach you.”

She dragged you—literally—to her apartment. Made you sit on her couch with a bowl of food she microwaved herself. You didn’t touch it for a minute. But she stared until you did.

You took a bite. One. Then another. And suddenly, you were starving.

You ate. In silence. Then fell asleep, unplanned, on her couch. Still in your hoodie. Legs curled under you. The first full sleep in… weeks? Months? You didn’t know.

But Diana covered you with a blanket and shut off the lights.

Then whispered, like she was talking to the scared little version of you that never left:

“You don’t have to earn rest. Not with me.”

You woke up disoriented.

Not just tired—off. Like your body knew it had slept, but your mind didn’t believe it. Like your muscles didn’t trust the stillness. You sat up slow, hoodie bunched at your waist, blanket half off your legs. The room was dim, blinds drawn, and Diana’s living room smelled like strong coffee and quiet.

And silence had never felt louder.

You looked at the microwave clock. 11:52 AM. You blinked. You’d slept over twelve hours.

Panic tightened in your chest.

Practice. Film. Recovery. Lifting. You were off schedule. You reached for your phone—wasn’t on the table. Not in your hoodie pocket. You stood up too fast, heart already racing, eyes scanning.

“Looking for this?”

You turned.

Diana stood in the doorway, arms crossed, holding your phone with that same unreadable expression she wore during press conferences.

You opened your mouth, but she cut you off with a raised brow. “You’ve got twenty missed calls. None from the team. All alarms.”

You didn’t speak.

“Sit,” she said.

You didn’t move.

“Sit.”

So you did.

Like a scolded dog. But not because you were scared of her. It was worse than that. It was because she knew. She knew how to speak in a way that bypassed the noise in your head and cut straight to the part of you you kept buried.

“I should’ve been up,” you said quietly. “I messed it up.”

“You fixed it,” she snapped, tossing the phone onto the couch beside you. “You’re still here, aren’t you? You’re still breathing?”

You looked away.

She sat across from you again, same way she had that first night at team dinner. But her energy was different now. Less curious. More concerned.

“You wanna know what I saw last night?”

You didn’t answer. She kept going anyway.

“I saw a twenty-year-old kid who’s already one of the most disciplined players I’ve ever met. Who trains like she’s got something chasing her. Who hasn’t tasted her own win in years because she’s too busy outrunning ghosts.”

Your eyes stung.

“You think I didn’t see it? The hours? The exhaustion? The fake smiles when cameras are around, and the way you sit just outside the team circle like you don’t belong?”

“I don’t belong,” you whispered. “I was never supposed to be here. I wasn’t the prodigy. I wasn’t the chosen one. I was the ‘maybe she’s good at soccer’ kid. I just worked harder. That’s it.”

“And that’s everything,” she said.

“No, it’s not. They still talk. They still say I’m just a phase. That I’ll break. That I’m a fluke.”

“Then stop trying to prove them wrong,” she said, leaning forward. “Start proving yourself right.”

That stopped you cold. You sat with it. And for the first time—you felt it. The ache.Not from training.

But from being twenty years old and carrying the weight of every ‘no’ you ever got like it was your only fuel source. From starving yourself of joy because you thought pain was the only way to earn greatness. From the fact that deep down, no matter what the cameras showed, no matter what the stats said—you still didn’t think you were enough.

“I’ve tried to fix it,” you whispered. “I know I’m not okay. I know. But when I stop moving… everything catches up. The voices. The doubt. The little girl in me who still hears them say ‘this isn’t your sport.’ She doesn’t shut up. Not unless I run. Not unless I train. She only goes quiet when I drown her in motion.”

Diana looked at you like she’d known that girl, too. She didn’t reach for you this time. She didn’t have to.

“I can’t promise it goes away,” she said softly. “But you don’t have to fight her alone.”

You bit your lip. Hard. “But what if I don’t know how to be anything else? What if I need it?”

Diana leaned back.

Then said, “Then I’ll show you how to need something better.”

That afternoon, you didn’t touch the gym.

Diana made you eat again—this time, a real meal. Chicken, rice, and roasted vegetables. You only hesitated once.

Then, she took you to the beach. Not a workout. Not a drill. Just sun, salt, and sand. You walked barefoot. Diana didn’t say much. But she was there, quiet but present, like a steady heartbeat in your chaos.

And for the first time in weeks… you breathed. Not because you earned it. Not because you broke yourself to deserve it. Just because you could.

The notebook stayed closed that night. The phone didn’t charge.

And when you curled up under Diana’s extra throw blanket again, she said nothing.

But she left the hallway light on.

Just in case that little girl in you still needed someone to run to.

[injvns]

nerf this! - a lee haechan smau

── profiles 1 - the mane six

yn ln has been fighting and clawing to get verified for about 3 months now. streamer mainly, works at a thrift store with jisung part time. while she isn't cursing elon, you can find her streaming games with her friends (mostly overwatch), binging my little pony, or scamming 8 years on adopt me with jisung, but that one stays between them.

ryujin would be the token gay friend if they weren't all a little (lot) gay. agent 1 of yn's secret service + roomate #1. she's been bombarding elon with emails alongside yn and will not stop until they win the war. ryujin's streams usually consist of her shitting on incels in cod, but every once and a while you can find her playing overwatch with yn after a long day. (she's a widowmaker main)

one might be wondering how baddie zhang hao ended up being friends with these unfortunately hot losers, he doesn't know either. agent 2 of yn's secret service + roommate #2. hao's an amazing person, not even to mention amazing friend, but yn is not ashamed to admit even if he sucked she would keep him around just because of how much pr he receives. he's also the only friend that will still watch rewatch mlp with her for the 87th time.

despite not living with her, yangyang is yn's first best friend. they've been by each other's side since elementary school. he was there when she learned to tie her shoes, he was her first kiss, and he was there when she made the jump and dropped out of college to finally pursue streaming. this does not mean they won't gauge each other's eyes out over which villager in animal crossing is cutest.

renjun is yn's second best friend. renjun is also the only one with a respectable job. he is currently serving his residency at a nearby hospital and he hates (loves) it. renjun met yn and yangyang in 4th grade, helping bring yn to the nurses after a shitty jump off the swings. they clicked immediately. he brings balance to them, his mellow being contagious. barely goes out with the group anymore, but yn will always find time to bring the group to him. he's honestly yn's hero. if yn thanks him for anything, he always waxes that 'you being an idiot led me to my dream job, so don't worry about it, okay?'

jisung is well….jisung. he works at a thrift shop down the road from yn's apartment. they met one day when ryujin and her decided to check it out. it was like out of a movie, she locked eyes with jisung and his ridiculously bleached beyond repair hair and fireworks went off in her brain. he was perpetually shy when they first spoke and could barely make conversation but yn just kept coming back until she was basically just hanging out with him his entire shift. it's been about a year and a half now since they met & she has fully indoctrinated him into the friend group.

+ the privs!

mastlerlist - profiles 2

notes: :P

taglist: @sibwol

[diorsluv]

infrunami (lh⁴³)

❝ in which you’ve always been in love with your childhood best friend, but he would always be the right person at the wrong time ❞

wc: 5.8k

warnings: god there’s so much angst, reader is kinda inconsistent, mentions of blood/injury, mutual pining, idiots in love, running away from “rejection”, reader is touchy with jack and besties with quinn, no use of y/n, if i missed any lmk!!

notes ) when i tell you this took me WEEKS and WEEKS just to compile a simple 5k fic.. i think it’s kinda obvious where i stopped and started back up but i tried to blend it in as best i could!! this will be a two parter simply because i was draining myself trying to drag it on, so stay tuned (might take a while)! AND LAST BUT NOT LEAST thank you to my wonderful, amazing, supportive wife @dior-roses for beta reading this (i was terrified)

As a kid, you always moved wherever the Hughes moved—it was something about the bond between your fathers that couldn’t keep your families apart for more than a week. Regardless of how many times you moved, you never felt alone. You and Luke were in the same grade, and Quinn and Jack were always looking out for you two, so isolation was never a concern for you.

Although you were inseparable with Luke, Quinn had always been your best friend. The four-year age difference between the two of you was almost invisible, and throughout your youth, you would always find yourself in his room, staring at the ceiling as you talked about everything. 

You would tell him about your silly school girl crushes, and he would ramble to you about hockey and all the petty drama that happened around him. In fact, he was the reason you learned hockey in the first place. Your father could never keep your attention on the sport for over five minutes, but the way Quinn talked about it so lovingly was what motivated you to step on the ice. 

Your love for hockey spurred your relationship with not only Quinn, but also Luke and Jack, to grow closer than ever. Every day in school, you and Luke would gush about the games you had watched the night prior, and every day after school, all four of you would head off to practice for your respective club teams. If you weren’t already inseparable from the way your families were bound together by an invisible rope, then you were forever connected through hockey. 

You quit after a few years to pursue more academic routes, but the sport never left your spirit. There were many occasions where the boys would refuse to play if you weren’t there, simply because your presence was the only thing to motivate them to get on the ice, especially if they were having a bad week.

Somehow, though, along the way, you caught feelings. Feelings that were far too heavy to have just surfaced from the depths of your heart. No, what you felt for Luke seemed to have always been creeping just between the line of what was certain and what was unknown. There was no other explanation as to why you couldn’t handle being in the same room as him without being on the verge of exploding. There was no other reason as to why you could spend months on end with either of his brothers but couldn’t last one minute sitting beside him. 

As soon as you came to that revelation, you were done for. It was over. You would rather die than acknowledge the feelings you caught for the boy that had been by your side since you were born. Because of that, you spent all your time with your best friend and his younger brother, and both your families sensed the shift as soon as it happened.

Especially Luke.

Oh, the poor boy, his heart dropped into his stomach when he realized you were avoiding him. You held your breath every time he stepped into the same room as you, let alone when he tried to stand remotely close to you. You diverted your attention away from him as much as you could, and the boy you once knew as your other half now seemed to be universes away. 

It was your doing, but in a way, it was his. How dare he make you fall for him? It wasn’t fair. Not to you, and definitely not to him. It wasn’t fair how he could make you fold in seconds with the way he looked at you from the other side of the room but simultaneously have a girl wrapped around his arm trying to take all his attention away from you. He was the only boy on your mind, but he always managed to push you to the darkest parts of his brain, putting you on hold when the more important girls were right in front of him. 

If only you knew. 

Quinn bounded down the stairs of your lake house, which was conveniently right next to the Hughes’, with an old framed photo in his hand. “Hah! I was right!” His exclamations took your attention away from the pasta you were cooking as you now turned to his self-righteous figure. “You would never let go of that stupid plushie.”

The two of you were arguing over what (and who) you were and were not inseparable with just prior to his search for the picture, and he claimed there were multiple photos of you hugging your favorite Elmo plushie. There was a mutual agreement that Luke was one of the things—or rather, people—you couldn’t fathom to be away from, but neither you nor Quinn had to verbally confirm it. There was no need. 

And, to be completely honest, Quinn had barely spoken about his youngest brother throughout the time you’d been spending at the lake houses. A few years back, you had reluctantly told him how you felt about Luke, and ever since then, he’d made it his mission to make you feel the most comfortable you could possibly be whilst sharing a connected lake house with the boy you’ve loved since you were children. The eldest saw the way you tensed up when you recognized his brother’s footsteps creaking down the stairs when it came time to eat breakfast, and he sure as hell saw the way your eyes blew wide whenever you accidentally made contact with him. 

It scared you how much Quinn seemed to notice about you, especially since he and his brothers were all busy with their demanding careers that left little to no time to be tending to some childhood friend who was stuck with a crush on the most recently debuted boy. Yes, he was still your best friend (that much hadn’t changed since your childhood), but all you could do was FaceTime each other, and even then, it was difficult to find time. It was the same with Jack; sometimes, they would be too tired for practice; other times, they would be exhausted from a home game and possibly frustrated had they lost; and most of the time, they weren’t even home, so the time difference, albeit miniscule, was still difficult to navigate considering you were a busy person too. 

That meant that you met up as much as you could and you stuck by each other’s side until you were forced apart by the demands of being a professional hockey player. All that time together when you were younger meant you struggled to be without each other as you got older—maybe your parents should’ve realized that, but then again, it was probably their intention. 

“Okay, I did let go of it. Multiple times, actually,” you refuted with a small frown, the expression on your face practically meaningless as your best friend laughed. It only egged him on further, evoking a complaint from your lips. “Quinn! It’s not funny!” 

“I mean, it kinda is.” He struggled to stifle his laughter as he rounded the kitchen island to stand beside you. Your hand mindlessly dragged the wooden spoon through the soft noodles floating around in the boiling hot water, and he wondered how your skin wasn’t burning. Gently removing your hand from the utensil and replacing it with his own, the eldest Hughes boy continued his teasing once he looked at your still-upset face. “You’re such a kid sometimes, you know that?”

Your eyes practically rolled into the back of your head in annoyance. Quinn always said that to you. Always. He never failed to address you as ‘kid,’ and no matter what you did, he always managed to bring it back to how you ‘were such a kid.’ You huffed, “You’re so fucking annoying, Quinny. I’m gonna go piss off Jack. Keep cooking, and if you burn the house down, you’re paying for all of it.” 

“You’re forgetting I’m a millionaire.” His laughter filled your ears once again, and your only response was the finger you lifted at him over your shoulder.

After walking out of the kitchen of your own lake house, you took a few strides over to the sliding doors that led to the connected portion of your two homes. Your father and Jim had built it together, way back when all four of you were far too young to understand what normal lake houses were supposed to look like. It was essentially a screened-in sunroom overlooking the absolute beauty of a lake out front. They managed to hook up a large, flat-screen television on the wall, throwing a couple bean bag chairs and a rug into the room. The rest of the furnishing was left completely up to you and the Hughes brothers, so the furniture would change up every few visits. 

Oftentimes, you would find Luke there, just sitting against the one wall that had a bit of a bump-out. He liked the way it felt against his back, like it actually supported him compared to the fluffy chairs that laid in the middle of the room. Whether he be on his phone, playing video games, or reading a book that was required for summer class, he would always be in the sunroom. The floor directly before the bump-out was much more worn compared to the rest of the room, the discolored wood showing just how often the youngest Hughes would find himself in the confines of the area.

There were many times when Luke would flee to the sunroom in his times of need, wanting to be alone with his thoughts. If anyone were to try to enter the room and speak to him, he wouldn’t respond. He would only ever talk to you. You were the one and only person to talk him out of his thoughts, the only one who could convince him to leave the room. Those nights were comprised of him refusing to leave your bed and whining if you got up in the middle of the night. 

You missed it. 

But you weren’t kids anymore. And, again, it was your fault you weren’t close anymore. You deliberately distanced yourself from him. 

After pulling yourself away from your own thoughts, you tugged the Hughes’ sliding door open, the smell of freshly grilled shrimp welcoming you into the cozy house.

“Hey, sweetie,” Ellen’s soothing voice called out to you, smiling at you from her place at the kitchen sink. “How’s the pasta going?” The sound of the running water could barely be heard over the hockey game playing on the television, your father entertaining Jim and his youngest son with light chirps towards the losing team. 

You could feel Luke’s eyes set on you. Shrugging, you replied, “I told Quinny to take over and not burn the house down.” 

This was a regular occurrence whenever you came back to the lake for the break. You, your mother and Ellen would split up the food duties so that there was a lot of food but didn’t take too much time to cook everything. Quinn and Jack would help out a bit, but they would only ever take on the physical tasks. Luke used to help out when you were children, but ever since the distance you wedged between the two of you, he stopped helping out as much. 

You looked around for Jack, trying your hardest to avoid Luke’s gaze in your search for his older brother. Ellen had now returned to her cooking, and the fathers were too invested in their conversation for you to intervene. Your eyes were darting everywhere but at your ex-best friend, and as soon as you made eye contact, you couldn’t look away.

It was too difficult.

It was so stupid.

It wasn’t fair. 

His hazel eyes were too pretty. The way he looked at you made it hard to deny him the satisfaction of giving him attention. He looked at you like you hung the stars and the moon, but you couldn’t see that. You were blinded by your abundance of self-deprecating thoughts to notice. 

“Hey,” he mumbled, voice being drowned out due to the other activities occurring throughout the house. You mouthed the same word back, fighting the urge to walk over to him and apologize for avoiding him, apologize for distancing yourself from the one person you know you could never live without. If you allowed yourself to break, you would never forgive yourself. He doesn’t like you back, you told yourself. You can’t embarrass yourself.

So, instead of going with your heart, you went with your brain and made your way upstairs. If Jack wasn’t downstairs, then he had to have been upstairs doing God knows what. 

“Jack?” You called out, running your hand along the railing of the staircase once you neared the top. 

“In here!” His muffled voice came through the door to his bedroom, and you’ve seen him in enough compromising positions to the point where you couldn’t even be bothered to pretend to be cautious. Once you opened the door, you were met with four gazes planted straight on you. You suddenly felt exposed despite your thick pajamas and only felt some sort of reassurance when you found Jack’s eyes. “Look who finally came up here!”

All four boys sat on Jack’s bed with controllers in their hands, the game on the TV now paused as their attention focused solely on you. You knew Trevor, Alex, and Cole, but you hadn’t seen them in so long that it felt awkward. “Oh, uh, hey. Quinn’s probably gonna burn my house down and I didn’t wanna be down there with Lukey, so,” you trailed off, pursing your lips. 

“You’re still on that?” Alex questioned with furrowed eyebrows, placing the controller in his lap. You cocked your head to the side, not quite understanding what the boy was talking about. He continued, “I thought you got over him, like, months ago.”

Right. You had forgotten all about your accidental drunk confession the last time Jack’s friends were over. Last summer, your revelation was fresh on your mind, and you and Luke were still as inseparable as ever. His friends had also visited the lake house at the same time everyone else was staying over, so it made for a ton of chaos and little to no privacy. 

Luke and his friends had left the house to go out, and for the first time, you stayed behind. Trevor and Cole were sitting at the fire pit outside, beers in their hands as they discussed the upcoming camps they were to attend. You were on your fifth drink, and although Jack was keeping an eye on you, he hadn’t noticed how you had accidentally walked into the bathroom while Alex was in the process of throwing up. 

In the midst of your tipsy daze and the fact that it just so happened to be Luke’s bathroom, you called out for him. “Luke? Is that you? You know I’m always telling you not to drink that much, stupid.” You used your foot to shut the door behind you as you placed your drink onto the counter. 

Alex, confused but sobering up, looked up at you with puffy eyes. Only then did he notice how you were much more than tipsy. 

Your gaze was blurry and your words were beginning to slur, “If I didn’t like you so much, maybe I would be more mad at you. I don’t know why I like you, anyway. You’re always being so stupid, ‘cause you can’t see that all those girls are only ever using you for your brother or your body. They’re so mean. And I’m your best friend, not them! You always ditch me when you find another girl, and then they say shit about me behind my back. I don’t like them. What do you even see in them? God, what do I even see in you?

“My stomach hurts. I think I’m thinking about this too much. Or maybe I’m thinking about you too much. I hate you so much, Lukey, but I can’t ever hate you. You’re too pretty. This is so unfair and my head is pounding. Oh, God, I’m gonna throw up. Move over.” After your little monologue, which was definitely not directed towards the person on the receiving end, you were quick to fall to the ground beside the toilet and dip your head past the ceramic seat. 

Alex brought his right hand up to flush the toilet so you didn’t accidentally stuff your face in a load of his vomit, using his other hand to rub soothing circles on your back. “‘m not Luke, but you’re safe with me.” He continued his motions throughout the five-minute duration of your illness, bringing his hand up to massage your head once you were sure you were done.

Your head was pounding and your ears began to ring, but you were visibly more sober compared to how you were a few minutes ago. Barely able to lift your head, you thanked your friend with a weak smile.

He only returned your expression and brought you up to your feet, leading you out of the restroom and towards Jack’s room. It obviously wasn’t the best option to bring you to Luke’s room, albeit being the default room after a long night, so his older brother’s bedroom would have to do. 

Alex laid you down onto the mattress and tucked you in, lightly patting your cheek as you thanked him once more. He only chuckled and squeezed your hand reassuringly, “Anytime.”

And then you were left alone in the confines of Jack’s room.

You chuckled awkwardly at the memory, shaking your head in response. “Nope. Still on it.” Your hands brought themselves up to your thighs, rubbing your palms against your thick pants in an attempt to wipe away the tension in the room.

Trevor and Cole were aware of your feelings as well; you were sure everyone in the house knew. They only shot you sympathetic smiles, their priorities set on finishing the NHL 23 game plastered all over the screen. 

“I’m sure you’ll get over it.”

“We believe in you.”

Their words, no offense, meant nothing to you. They were great people to hang around, but they weren’t the best guys to turn to when you were in a time of need, especially since you weren’t very close to them. They had their own issues that didn’t concern you, and your issues were ever so far from their minds.

After a few beats of silence, the mood of the room began to slowly eat away at you. If you were to open your mouth and bite down, you might as well have taken a chunk out of the thick tension lingering in the room. It was even more awkward knowing that Luke was much closer to them compared to you, and you knew they would let things slip eventually. 

Not that he didn’t already know, though.

The four boys exchanged glances with one another, shrugging in unison before resuming their gameplay. You took it as your cue to stay, seeing as they didn’t seem bothered by your presence, and you were much more comfortable in Jack’s room than you were downstairs. 

Allowing yourself to flop onto the boy’s soft mattress, you fished your phone out from the pocket of your pajama pants, finding solace in the way the friends laughed with each other. You remained like that for about twenty minutes before Jack beckoned you over to the edge of his bed, where he was sitting, to ask you for your opinion on something.

After dishing him your thoughts—which barely seemed to help him—you stayed snug at the foot of the bed, extending your legs out so that they lay atop his. It was one of your more typical positions when spending time with Jack whilst he was playing video games. Whether it be with his friends or with his brothers, you always found yourself comfortably overlapping your limbs with him, and today was no exception. 

You both shuffled around a bit until you found a comfortable position. You sat with your legs resting on his thighs and your head laying on his shoulder; he sat with his forearms resting on your left leg. The others paid no mind to your odd positioning, their minds too preoccupied with the competitiveness flooding through the screen. 

So you stayed like that for a while. For a long while, actually. You only lifted your head when the sound of light knocking echoed against Jack’s door once more, and soon after, you found his youngest brother cracking the door open and peeking through. 

His eyes had yet to land on your figure. “Hey, Mom’s looking for—”

Before he could utter your name, he looked you dead in the eye. 

“Oh.” He went silent for a few seconds, his eyes flickering between you and his brother. Him, of all people, should be the least surprised to see you cuddled up with Jack. “You.”

There was a certain poison in his tone that struck you right where it hurt the most. It was the way he spat through gritted teeth and looked at you with so much indifference. (It was really a façade, but you were too entranced under his gaze to realize that he could never bring himself to hate you.) The whole room seemed to shift uncomfortably with the way the tension flowed between you and Luke. 

No matter how hard you tried to mask your pain and your desperation for him to notice you, you would never be able to hide how you really felt. Not with him. 

“You can tell her I’ll be right down,” you murmured, slowly moving your legs from Jack’s lap, but before you could even finish your sentence, Luke disappeared as quickly as he came. When you looked back in the door frame, all you were met with was a blank wall and the faint image of where the boy stood before.

You could feel Jack lightly pat your thigh, trying his hardest to support you with the little attention he was diverting toward you. With a small sigh, you pushed yourself off the mattress and wiped your palms against the fabric of your pants, reluctantly leaving the room. Alex wished you good luck, but his fleeting words flew straight through one ear and out the other. 

Downstairs, the fathers were still loud as ever, and the sizzling in the kitchen now turned into the delicious aroma of freshly cooked lunch. Quinn’s voice echoed up the staircase, and you could hear how he attempted to entertain his mom as she waited for you to come back down. 

As soon as your feet hit the bottom floor, you could already sense Quinn’s eyes on you. He looked like he was being held hostage, and you could argue that he was begging you for help. He wasn’t the only Hughes boy with his gaze locked on you, but he was the only one you would give attention to.

“Oh, look! Just who you were looking for, Mom,” the eldest boy managed to divert the attention away from him and towards you. You scowled at him just before Ellen turned around, plastering on a smile as you walked towards them.

You gently placed a hand on the woman’s shoulder, “I was just up in Jack’s room. Luke said you were looking for me?”

“Oh, that’s right! Could you grab that fancy set of plates from the cabinet in your house, sweetie? It’s too high to reach for any of us parents, and you know Lukey and Quinn don’t help out with anything anymore,” Ellen spoke, evoking an argument from her oldest son. It only took one glare from her to shut him up, and you couldn’t help but giggle at his complacence. 

You nodded your head with a grin, still fighting more giggles as you swerved past Quinn. He lunged at you, bringing his hands up to your waist as if he was going to tickle you, but you managed to jump just out of his reach before continuing on your journey to grab the plates Ellen wanted. 

Once you made it back into your house, you dragged a chair up to the counter and climbed onto the cushioned seat, opening the cabinet and setting your gaze on the fake fine china. You only grabbed a few at a time, not wanting to break anything in fear of your mother getting mad at you. Eventually, you had gotten down to the last few plates, and once you had them in your hands, you closed the cabinet and stepped down from the chair.

Perhaps you should’ve been more aware of how high you were, because somehow, the bottom plate smashed against the countertop and shattered in your hands, causing you to let out a small scream. The porcelain had broken into small pieces, cutting into your palms, but you managed to place the reset of the plates down before beginning to worry about the amount of cuts you had on your hands. 

“Shit.” You mumbled under your breath, looking at the floor to see how many shards were scattered around the floor. Your only form of protection on the soles of your feet were the fluffy socks you were wearing, and the distance between the pieces was far enough to where you could step past them. 

As soon as you deemed it safe to walk normally, you swiveled on your heel to analyze the messy situation you found yourself in. You definitely should have been more careful, and now you had to clean up all the small plate shards with cuts in your hands. Fuck, your hands were still bleeding, and it hadn’t even occurred to you that it was now dripping down your arms. 

All you could do was stand in place, shock still coursing in your veins. The sink on the island was in the middle of the plate murder, and you didn’t want to risk accidentally stepping on something sharp. Before you could even begin to make your way to the half-bath near the kitchen, you heard footsteps bounding through the sunroom. The glass door slid open far too aggressively—so much so that you thought it would shatter, too—and you assumed it was Quinn coming to check on you.

The plate breaking was loud enough to be heard from the other house, especially with the connected room, but you didn’t think it would be that big of a deal for him. You were usually trustworthy enough to not accidentally hurt yourself, but this was a prime example of how you really weren’t.

You didn’t want any questions to be asked, and because it was Quinn, you knew you would get made fun of before being helped. “Don’t worry—”

“Holy shit, are you okay?” The voice that spoke up was not Quinn. 

Immediately snapping your head around to look at the boy standing there, frozen, your frown contorted into a grimace. “Luke—shit—hey,” you trailed off, unsure of what to say to him. “Uh, yeah, I’m fine, I was just being stupid and—”

“What the fuck happened? You’re gonna bleed out if you don’t wash your hands and wrap them up.” His heavy footsteps inched closer and closer until he was standing right in front of you, taking your forearms into his calloused hands and inspecting how bad your injuries were. “C’mon, we gotta wash this off.” 

Luke led you to the bathroom as if it was his own house, running the tap and allowing the water to get most of the red liquid off your hands before taking a clean towel and gently tapping the rest off. 

He was unbearably gentle with you. You felt ashamed to think of how fast your heart was beating at such a simple gesture; as if him caring about you meant anything except the fact that growing up together meant you both cared for each other when someone was hurt. Sighing to hide your true feelings, you slowly took your hands away from his touch, “Luke, I’m fine. Really. You don’t have to do this.”

His eyebrows furrowed, “What do you mean? Of course I’m going to clean you up if you hurt yourself.” He immediately took your hands back into his and resumed his actions, quickly grabbing ointment from the cabinet above the toilet. Squeezing out a dollop of the cream, he soothingly rubbed it against your wounds with a focused frown adorning his features.

You took the chance to admire him candidly. He was so worried about you, and it was so cute. He wouldn’t even let you take care of yourself because he wanted to do it for you, and he was so serious about it. You had always thought his focused face was adorable, even when you were kids, but as you grew up, it only got cuter and cuter. Fuck, you were so gone for him.

You hadn’t even realized you were staring until he looked up at you and immediately looked back down at your hands. He cleared his throat awkwardly and questioned, “Does it hurt?” 

“Hm?” You snapped yourself out of your trance, your face heating up with the unexpected eye contact. “Oh, uh, no. It doesn’t hurt.” The pain you were feeling came more from your heart than it did from your body. It hurt to be in such close proximity to the boy you longed so deeply for. The awkward silence floating between the two of you pained you even more. 

Luke nodded and rummaged through the drawers until he found gauze, taking great care to wrap it around your hands without causing you too much discomfort. When he finished, all he did was usher you out of the bathroom with a hand on your lower back, turning off the lights without so much as a word. 

Only when you entered the kitchen did a small mumble leave the boy’s lips. “Try to be more careful next time, okay? Can’t have you going around injuring yourself and shit, or you’re gonna make me—us worry too much.” He cleared his throat after his slip-up, hoping you didn’t hear what he said. You did. “Oh, and Jack told me to let you know the guys are throwing a party tonight. He said to invite you so you could buy cups and shit, but you’re kinda . . . banged up right now.”

“It’s fine. I’ll go grab stuff from the store later—”

“No!” Luke exclaimed, his eyes blowing wide once he realized how loud he protested your suggestion. “I mean, no, it’s okay. I’ll go get the stuff. You shouldn’t drive with your hands all cut up like that. They don't care who buys what.”

You blinked at him. He was acting so weird; it was almost like he cared about you. But it didn’t matter. The others were throwing a party, which meant there were going to be tons of girls all over him, and it wouldn’t be right for you to get mad if you were the one who caused the rift between you two.

With a shrug, you silently agreed to his proposal and turned to grab the remaining set of plates still sitting on the counter. You couldn’t even take two steps before Luke was already sliding ahead of you and taking the ceramic platters into his arms. “Luke, you really don’t have to do all of this. I’m fine, look,” you showed him your hands, front and back, to try and convince him to let you do something. 

“No, you’re hurt. And I wouldn’t be a good best friend if I made you injure yourself more.”

Best friend.

Two very opposing emotions coursed through your veins. On one hand, the term ‘best friend’ still sent a pang through your chest, knowing you would never be more to him than just a best friend. But on the other hand, it relieved you to know that he still considered you close enough to be his best friend. 

God, you were such a mess. You were running away from him in fear of rejection, but then you couldn’t seem to stop thinking about him. What the hell was wrong with you?

Eventually, the two of you made it back into his house, the boy announcing your arrival and placing the plates down onto the dining table. He immediately found his spot back on the couch in between the fathers like before, and you instantly got hounded by both the mothers’ questions being launched at you all at once.

“I’m fine, Mom,” you grimaced. You attempted to pull your hands away from her inspecting gaze, but she brought them right back to her face. “Mom, it doesn’t even hurt anymore! Lukey already put medicine on it and wrapped them up, anyway!” You were growing impatient, and your complaints slowly turned into whines. 

Thankfully, as soon as she heard Luke’s nickname leave your mouth, she dropped your hands back to your sides and grinned widely at you.

“Well, then! I’m sure you’re just fine, aren’t you?”

You sighed begrudgingly. “Yes, Mom.” You were just happy she stopped nagging you.

What you didn’t know was that she and Ellen were in pain watching their two children stay so far away from each other for such a long time. The parents always thought you two would have confessed by the time you graduated high school, but you were in college and Luke was having an amazing rookie season. It clearly didn’t work out the way they thought it would have.

You also didn’t know that Luke’s heart practically exploded out of his chest when he heard you use his nickname so nonchalantly. He always overheard you addressing him as Lukey to his brothers, but you never did it when you knew he was listening. It was almost as if saying it made your mouth run dry. 

And it did.

It finally came time to eat lunch, and your stomach was threatening to growl before you all sat down at the table. Trevor, Alex, and Cole decided to eat at a restaurant instead, encouraging Jack to eat with your families rather than hanging out with them. So he stayed.

There was a specific order in which you sat. There were five members of the Hughes family and three members of your family, meaning there were eight seats total; the rectangular table fit the usual number of people perfectly. The fathers would sit on either end of the table, and the mothers would sit to their right. You and Jack sat next to your mothers, while Luke sat beside you and Quinn beside Jack. 

It was a routine. It never changed. Ever.

Not when Jack kissed you on New Years. He still had to sit opposite to you at the table. Not when you and Luke had the biggest verbal fight in your life, leaving you both with scars on your knees. And especially not when you finally recognized the feelings you had for your best friend.

And as you sat in your spot, with Luke’s thigh pressed against yours, you realized that maybe loving him wasn’t all that bad.

— diorsluv 2024

[kafka-ish]

part 1

Patrick asks Art if he got the stuff and how much to which Art replies: yea just an 8th tho and Patrick texts back:

Dude wtf

Art: No dude. You never told me your dealer was hot!!!

Patrick: Don’t bother. Asked if she’d trade head for half. Wouldn’t budge. Strict business or whatever.

Two seconds later: Still. I’d tap that.

Art decides against telling him about the sample he got. Sticks the joint you rolled in his desk drawer. Does weed have an expiration date? he wonders. He drops by Patrick’s who asks how the deal went. If you gave him a discount for it being his first time and all.

“How much’d she charge?” Patrick wonders aloud, comparing prices in his head, secretly hoping his friend got ripped off.

It takes a minute for Art to settle on a number. He still doesn’t know the price of weed. “Like fifty?”

“For an eighth?” Patrick laughs like okay this chick is insane and Art realizes he said the wrong thing.

“She said it was the good stuff.” Art shrugs, trying to play it off.

“Whatever man, but you need to learn how to negotiate… So we gonna smoke this shit or what?”

Art begins to make appearances more frequently. But he has to be calculated with how he goes about this. Doesn’t want to seem desperate, hooked on fucking weed. How pathetic. He has to pace himself.

At first his visits are periodic. Comes by a few times a month for his regular pick up. But he can’t get enough. Sporadic turns into every other week and every other week turns into Friday after his games or if not a tournament, practice. He’s at your door with takeout in hand. Something different every time; he keeps you on your feet and you like the surprise. Tacos, Thai, Lo Mien. Indian when he wins his matches.

You don’t smoke with him the first time he asks; you have a rule about smoking up with clients.

“Oh,” he says, feeling defeated. Disappointed that’s how you think of him.

“You still want that eighth?” you ask.

“Um, no. Actually I think I’m gonna go.”

“Art,” you say and the sound of your voice calling his name has him frozen in place. His hand is still on the knob before he lets it drop, falling by his side. He wipes it on his pants, a habit he has. "Don't do this."

"What? Change my mind?"

"No—"

"You're not trying to peer pressure me, are you?" You wonder if Art's being serious right now. If he's using your method for paying tuition and groceries against you. It's your turn to freeze.

"Fine then. Leave. But just so you know I wasn't the one hitting up strangers for weed." You're calm when you say this, only making it harder for Art to reach for the door once more.

Of course, he comes crawling back. Ends up blowing up your phone.

Art: Hey

Art: I'm sorry for what i said the other day. I wasn't thinking. Obviously. It just hurt when u called me a customer. Which i guess i technically am. I dont kno.

Art: I think ur really cool

Art: I guess i just wanted to smoke with someone other than patrick

Art: Did i mention i think ur really cool

You roll your eyes at the thread of messages, how they’re still coming in and your phone won’t stop vibrating; you're not finished reading but it keeps pinging. Still, you're smiling. Can't help but read his texts over and over again before responding and you feel a heat on your cheeks when you haven't even lit up to smoke.

You reply just the same as when he texts you after one of his games: My place 9?

"You think I'm cool, huh?" You nudge Art who’s sitting next to you on your couch. His legs are crossed and he’s facing you.

Art blushes at the question, the pressure you put him under. Finally musters up the courage to say, “Yeah. Really cool.” Then leans in, does that thing guys do where they grab your jaw, almost caressing it, and brings you in to kiss your lips. It’s soft. Gentle. Thinks he might hurt you if he’s not careful. And he doesn’t linger long but you can taste his chapstick. Mint. You miss him already when his lips leave yours and your tongue sweeps over where his flesh was, itching for another taste.

He sees this. Locks his lips on yours again. Instinct. It's just as quick and sweet as the first. You feel him grin when his mouth meshes with yours and the sensation of his smile pressing into your cheeks gets you all giddy.

“So does this mean you’ll smoke with me?” His smile doesn’t leave when you pull away. You see his eyebrows are raised and his eyes are blue and bright. A dash of hope shimmers in them and you can see your reflection.

“Yeah,” you say, hushed. Almost a whisper, as if you can’t bring yourself to say it out loud. You’re breaking your rules for him, is what Art’s thinking. And you tell yourself it’s just a one time exception but when he comes over next Friday you find yourself rolling a joint and passing it to him in between kisses.

Now it’s your routine.

He doesn’t need to text you asking for an eighth and you don’t need to tell him what time and place. He just shows up after practice. Of course, you expect him.

“I hope I didn’t get you addicted.”

“Nah.” Art’s lean frame is already hanging on the doorway and he doesn’t come inside immediately when you welcome him in. Instead, he takes you in his arms. They feel stronger each time. Plants a big wet kiss on your lips. And he is addicted. Just not to what you think.

[centaurianthropology]

Things I Will be Obnoxious About: Project Ghostlight

Hi all!  Remember a few years ago (or maybe you don’t; maybe you’re new or maybe you have retrograde amnesia) when I spent a healthy while banging on about a Vampire: The Masquerade live-play series called ‘New York by Night’?

Yeah, I still love that show, but unfortunately for me and for the team that made it, the real world very much happened, and they weren’t able to continue the series as they had planned.  That show is now on a more-or-less indefinite hiatus.  From what I’ve gathered, the will is very much there in both the cast and crew to return to do season 3 (and fingers crossed, maybe more!), but not only are schedules hard to wrangle for four busy players, but the show was initially budgeted to have the first three seasons filmed over the course of a month, something which didn’t happen.  So now spinning it up would necessarily require an increase in funding first just to get it off the ground again.  So, yes, complications.  Unfortunate, unavoidable complications.

Oh, and by the way, how did I know about that tidbit about funding?

I learned it from the very first large drop from ‘Project Ghostlight’.  This is a now-forming new Vampire chronicle (a long-form game for folks who aren’t as up on the terminology specific to this series of TTRPGs) that formed when the cast of season 1 (my beloved) desperately wanted to keep playing together, but didn’t have a venue or the time to do so without making it a more formal thing than a get-together at someone’s house once a month.  Named after the single light always left burning in a theatre when all other lights are out and the building is empty between performances, Ghostlight is four people who ended up being close friends just wanting to keep hanging out and making spooky things together.  And they are bringing in friends!

We don’t know about setting, characters, or much of anything yet, as everything is still early days, but the cast and crew are currently as follows:

Alexander Ward – Storyteller (that’s GM to those folks in the D&D world)

Joey Rassool – Director and Producer (and hopefully also sometimes player??  I thought he was one of the big breakouts of season 1 NYbN, and was hugely impressed with his playstyle)

Aabria Iyengar - Player

Mayanna Berrin – Player

Xander Jeanneret – Player

Gina DeVivo – Player

Luis Carazo – Player

For those in the TTRPG space, I don’t need to tell you that cast is stacked, and it’s stacked with veterans of both NYbN and its predecessor LA by Night.  These are the announced players so far, and it’s not clear (maybe not even to them) if they’ll bring in guests or keep to this main cast, but no matter what this is the sort of cast and crew that made me sit up and notice.  This is a cast and crew made of some of my favorite people in the TTRPG scene, and clearly people selected for their ability to really lean into the terrible choices and darker tone of VtM. 

And even before they’ve fully spooled their new chronicle up, we’re getting treats over on their Patreon.  The first, which I have already watched through several times and makes me so very happy, is essentially a postmortem of season 1 (and a little 2) of New York by Night by all four players, moderated by season 2 player (and Ghostlight player) Xander Jeanneret.  They clearly love the show and their characters, and clearly want to get back to it, but there also seems to be a not-unwarranted concern that season 3 simply might never happen. 

So this panel gives us a LOT of information about their characters, motivations, plans, and behind the scenes peeks at how the players were going about the game in season 1.  There are spoilers for a lot of stuff I had sort of suspected, and plenty of stuff I hadn’t, which was thrilling.  I was definitely wrong about certain character motivations!  What fun!  It’s an hour and a half long, and such a lovely look at how these four met, became friends, made a lightning-in-a-bottle season of a TTRPG show, and never lost the itch to play again.  It’s an immensely satisfying and somewhat bittersweet revisit of one of my favorite TTRPG projects.  It’s so wonderful to see all four of them together again, and how well Xander meshes with the group. 

So, yes, this is a warning that I’m going to very likely be obnoxious about this show once it goes up. This is also encouragement for those of you who enjoyed NYbN, Vampire: the Masquerade, spooks, goth shit, or even just TTRPGs and you’re interested in a new system, to throw a little bit of love toward the Patreon, and if you can’t do that, to stay tuned for Ghostlight and get hyped with me.

And maybe, if you haven’t, to check out New York by Night in the meantime. It may be on indefinite hiaitus, but it’s really fun. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I fully intend to rewatch season 1 of New York by Night with the information I now have about all the characters.  I’m excited to see if I catch nuances I missed the first time through.

[mamaestapa]

Morning Sickness, Baby Bumps, and AFC Championships, oh my!

•pairing: Joe Burrow x reader

•series summary: Y/n Hubbard, the younger sister of Cincinnati Bengals Defensive End Sam Hubbard, finds herself in a difficult situation after a steamy hookup with her brothers best friend, who just so happens to be the quarterback for the Bengals. In just nine months their lives will be changed forever. How will Y/n and Joe manage to to go through parenthood together? more so, how will Sam take the news he is going to be the uncle of his best friends baby?

•chapter summary: It’s AFC championship day!you talk to Joe for the first time since you broke the news to him and you discover a sweet surprise

•word count: 4k

•warnings: Pregnancy, morning sickness, vomiting, mentions of dildos (you’ll see-), language, the usual ;)

series masterlist

——————————————————

January 28-29, 2023 (the actual game is not accurate. I didn't feel like going back and looking at play by play stuff lol)

2 months pregnant

"All right, everyone here?" Zac asked, rubbing his hands together and surveying the crowd full of players. The players, coaches, and other staff including you were all sitting half dead, in the film room of the Kettering Health practice facility, at 4 fucking am. Why were you all there at 4 am you might ask? Well, AFC championship is tomorrow, woo hoo! (Can you hear the sarcasm? You’re excited, just not excited to be here at four in the morning…) You really don't know why Zac needs all of you to be here at four AM if you’re not even leaving until nine? You sat between Sam and Tee, trying to stay awake as Zac was rambling on about the upcoming game. Joe was sitting to your right, next to Sam. Every once in a while, the two of you would glance at one another, your quick, blank glances speaking so many unspoken words. You could tell Joe was still trying to process the news that he was going to be a dad.

You groaned silently and shut your eyes in agony as as Zay pulled down a projector. You leaned over and whispered to Sam, "He made us all come here at four in the morning for this? I don't even need to be watching this shit." It’s true. There is absolutely no reason or benefit for you to watch film for the next four hours.

Sam scoffed, "Tell me about it...I spent all week watching film." Tee leaned over your body, "Diddo." he spoke lowly. Joe’s eyes widened as he looked at Tee. “Did you just say dildo?" he asked, horrified.

You snorted out a laugh. A couple guys turned around and looked at you. Then, Zac stopped talking. Your heart dropped at the sudden attention on you. You could feel your face start to heat up as you spoke, “Sorry coach, I-I felt a sneeze coming."

Zac shook his head, "S’all good. As I was saying..." You turned your attention back to the football players around you. Tee tried to suppress a laugh as he shook his head at his quarterback, “No you dirty minded fuck, I didn't say dildo. I said diddo."

Joe chuckled, “Oh. oops." You just shook your head as the two chuckled. You leaned back in your seat and ignored the childish men next to you, instead trying to focus on staying awake. There really was no reason for you to even be here. You could be in your bed right now, getting enough sleep before your flight to Kansas City, but no. Zac insisted everyone come to the practice facility for film. You shook your head as you heard the guys snicker beside you. You ignored them once again and went back to trying to stay awake.

Your attempts ultimately failed as you felt your head fall onto Tee's shoulder. You suddenly jerked your head up at the contact. "Sorry Tee..." you whispered as you rubbed your heavy, tired eyes. Tee wrapped a muscular arm around your shoulder, pulling you into him, "You're alright, babe. Get some sleep." You smiled softly, cuddling into his side and drowning out the sounds of Zac's voice as he explained the current selection of film.

About an hour later you woke up to a sudden feeling of nausea. This morning sickness thing really gets old quick...but it's so going to be worth it in about seven months. At least, you hope it'll be worth it.

You jolted your head up from Tee's shoulder, swallowing thickly and feeling a sour taste in your mouth as you did so. You brought your hand up to your mouth, covering it discreetly with a few fingers. Tee looked down at you, a look of deep concern appearing on his face, "You alright?" You nodded, "Yeah," you swallowed once again, stomach churning as the bile began to rise u the back of your throat. You didn't have long before you'd be throwing up. "I uh, I just have to go to the bathroom...girl problems." You lied as Tee let go of you and nodded, "Oh okay. I'll keep your spot warm." You winked in return, "Thanks, you're the best."

You discreetly got out of your chair and quietly hurried over to the bathroom, basically throwing yourself into a stall as soon as you got in there. You hovered over the toilet and immediately pulled your hair back as you retched into the toilet. You heard the door open, causing you to raise your head from the porcelain bowl. You wiped your mouth and took a deep breath, waiting to hear who was in the bathroom with you.

"Y/n?" you heard a familiar voice ask, "you in here?" You felt your heart drop as you heard him speak. "Y-yeah. I'm in here, Joe." You said shakily as you held your hand out under the stall for him to see. Suddenly, you felt another wave of nausea consume you. You groaned, "Oh god..." Joe jogged over to the stall and swung the door open. He quickly leaned down and grabbed your hair, holding it back for you and rubbing your back with his free hand as you coughed into the bowl. "There you go," he soothed quietly, "just let it all out."

You were a bit confused as to why Joe was in the bathroom with you. But you were even more confused over the fact that he was helping you, calming you down through your first round of morning sickness. You figured he'd need more time to process the news about the baby, but here he was, helping you out with the sickness caused by that same baby. You hurled once again, groaning into the bowl as the early morning nausea raged on. Joe couldn't help but grimace as he looked down at you. "I'm sorry, I really am." he said, his grimace turning to a frown as you brought your head up from the toilet. You reached up to flush the toilet, wiping your mouth at the same time. "No you're not." you said, taking a deep breath. Morning sickness was absoluetly exhausting. And being up since 3 o'clock in the morning didn't help either.

Joe chuckled and wrapped his arms around your waist. You leaned back into his touch, not even thinking about what you were doing. All that vomiting must have clouded your judgement. The two of you sat in tense silence for a moment before you broke it. "Why are you in here?" you asked softly. You felt Joe shrug beneath you, "You seemed a little frantic getting out of there," he cleared his throat, "plus, I know the first trimester can be rough with the whole morning sickness thing. Figured that's why you ran off..." You just hummed in response.

After a couple minutes of composing yourself, you no longer felt nauseated. You wiped your mouth one last and stood up from Joe's embrace. Joe stood the same time as you and backed out of the stall, so that you could leave. He watched from the stall door with soft eyes as you washed your hands and rinsed your mouth out. You turned to the side to grab a paper towel. Joe couldn't help the faint gasp that left his lips as he saw what was in front of him. You looked up at him through the mirror, confused as to why he was gasping, "Huh?" you asked. You swore you could see his blue eyes begin to well with tears. You turned around and looked at him, concerned, "What!?" "Turn to the side again." Joe instructed, gesturing for you to turn again. You gave him a funny look as you furrowed your brow in confusion, "O-okay?"

You did as Joe said. You looked at him through the mirror, unsure of what he wanted you to look at. He just pointed at the mirror as your eyes surveyed all over the mirror. You couldn't find what he was tearing up over; however, your eyes immediately widened when you finally saw what it was.

"Oh my god..." you breathed out, placing both of your hands on your belly. You flattened your shirt, discovering that there was now a very small bump where your previously flat stomach was. Your heart swelled as you looked at the little bump that was beginning to form. The bump that was only going to grow bigger and bigger as the months flew by. Your baby was finally starting to show and your pregnancy was really starting to feel real now. You looked up at Joe through the mirror once again, smiling widely. Joe had the same smile tugging at his lips.

"Well," he slowly made his way up to the sink, "would you look at that..." he said in awe, which you couldn't help but giggle. "I didn't think i'd show this early." Joe chuckled, looking down at your tummy, "Baby definitely decided to make an appearance today didn't he?" "He?" you inquired, eyebrow raised as you looked at the blonde. "Yeah, I think it's a boy." he shrugged. "Oh really? Are we placing bets already?" you said, smirking at him. Joe chuckled, "Maybe"

You smiled softly, looking down at your small baby bump. You looked back up at Joe, noticing how his blue eyes seemed to light up every time he looked at your belly. You knew you needed to talk to him about the baby and his reaction to your pregnancy. You needed to know what he was going to do and how he was processing the news of becoming a father. It would be easy to bring up since neither of you were really thinking about anything at the moment except for the life inside your womb.

"Joe," you said, your voice just slightly above a whisper, "we need to talk." Joe nodded, "Yeah, we do."

You took a deep breath as you saw his mouth open as if he was going to say something to you. He closed his mouth and just looked at you, neither one of you really knew how to start the conversation. You looked into his eyes and sighed softly. You decided to be the one to rip off the bandaid and get the conversation started.

"How are you doing?" you asked, referring to the baby news bomb you had dropped on him just days ago. Joe shrugged, "I'm OK. Still trying to process things." he said softly as he looked down at you. His blue eyes averted from your eyes and down to your belly. A small smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. "I know I said I wasn't ready to be a dad yet, but," he reached out for your hand and gave it a gentle squeeze, "I won't let you go through this alone, Y/n."

Tears began to well up in your eyes at his words. You blame the hormones, but really, they were tears of relief. You and Joe still needed time to process everything, but it was so good to know he wasn't going to abandon you or his baby.

"I still need some time, and I know neither of us are ready to be parents," he looked into your eyes, his gaze soft, "but we'll get through this together."

You smiled softly at him. Deep down you knew Joe would never make you go through parenthood by yourself, but it was still reassuring to hear him say it himself. There was a still a lot you and Joe needed to discuss regarding your pregnancy and your relationship, but this was a good starting point. And hey, you still have about seven months to figure everything else out.

"Thank you Joe." You spoke softly. Joe nodded and gave you a small smile in return, "Of course, Y/n. We'll talk more after the game, yeah?" You nodded, "Okay," you glanced at your watch, noticing that a lot of time has passed since you first went into the bathroom, "we should probably get back out there before anyone gets suspicious." Joe stood up straight from his leaning position on the bathroom counter, "You're right," he sighed, "we should probably go back out there. I don't feel like getting my ass called out by Taylor." You giggled as you pulled your leggings up higher to try and conceal the slight bump in your lower abdomen. The bump wasn't too big yet, so if someone asked about it, you could hide it by saying it was simply just period bloat.

Joe walked out of the bathroom before you did, so the two of you didn't come out and sit back down in your seats at the same time. You. waited a couple more minutes before exiting the bathroom, and quietly making your way back over to your seat. Tee looked up at you and smiled softly, "You okay? It took you a while in there." You held your hand up, stopping him, "Trust me, you don't want to know." He shuddered as he remembered what you told him when you got up to use the bathroom, "Yeah you're right, I probably don't." You just chuckled and sat back in your seat, listening to the rest of the Zac's film breakdown.

~time skip~

"Okay everyone" Zac said, gesturing out to all of you standing around, "we board the plane in ten. See ya on there!" You sighed, ready to get out of the airport gate and onto the plane.

"Hey Y/n, can I steal you real quick?" Zac asked, walking up behind you. You turned around to took look at the coach, smiling as you said, "Yeah, of course." You got up from your seat and followed him away from the crowd of players. He stopped in front of the coffee bar, you doing the same. "You sure you still want to come?" he asked, crossing his arms. You nodded, "Yes, definitely! Why wouldn't I?" He frowned softly as he lowered his voice, "I saw you get up and go to the bathroom. Morning sickness hitting you hard?"

Your shoulders fell in defeat as you let out a sigh. "Yeah, it is. But I'm fine now," you smiled slightly, "I probably won't be around eleven though, but I'll manage." Zac nodded, "Okay, just wanted to make sure. You don't need to do anything tomorrow except enjoy the game. Kate's got everything covered." You smiled, grateful that Zac handled everything, "Oh okay, great. Thanks coach." He smiled, "yup, thank you. I'll see you on the plane." Zac walked away, leaving you alone to walk back over to the guys.

"You guys ready to be AFC champs again?" you asked, smiling brightly as you got closer to the group. Sam smirked, "Hell yeah." Ja'Marr smiled as he fist bumped Sam, "We're goin' all the way again this season."

The Bengals and Chiefs battled eachother for the AFC champion title just last year, with the Bengals winning. This time however, the Chiefs were ready for their revenge against the boys in orange and black. As time neared to board the plane, you double checked and made sure you had everything you needed before boarding the plane. You had the option to have your own seat up front near the coaches, and coordinators, or you could sit with all the guys. After much whining and pleading from Ja'Marr and Tee, and them earning an eye roll from you in return, you decided to sit with the guys. They cheered as you walked down the aisle of seats, finding Tee with an empty seat next to him. You happily sat down next to him as you looked to see who was around you. In front of you sat Joe and Sam, while Ja'Marr and Evan McPherson sat next to you. As the plane started moving, you pulled out your phone.

"Hey guys, get in." you said, smiling as you held out your phone so it could get all the guys in the frame. You took a selfie with all five of them and posted it to your instagram story, along with the teams story. You shut your phone off, put your AirPods in, and drifted off into a much needed rest.

You woke up about an hour later to surprise, surprise another feeling of nausea. You looked at your watch checking the time, and sure enough, it was eleven AM. You groaned slightly as you felt a sour taste in your mouth, getting up and quietly making your way into the bathroom. Thankfully, almost all the guys had headphones on, and the planes engine was loud enough to drown out the sound of you throwing up. After cleaning yourself up you made your way back to your seat. As you walked down the aisle, you noticed most of the guys were asleep except for Joe, and a few others. You walked by his seat, acknolweding him by reaching out to gently squeeze his shoulder. You smiled softly as he looked up at me. Joe smiled and reached out, letting his hand graze your lower belly for just a couple seconds. You sat back down in your seat, leaning on your hand, and slowly drifting back to sleep for the rest of the flight to Kansas City.

~time skip~

"You guys have worked your asses off all year to get here. Go out there and make all that hard work pay off. Go out there and make me proud guys. But don't just make me proud. Make your family, your friends, your kids, and most importantly, your fans proud! Prove the haters, the doubters, the ones saying you wouldn't get to this moment ever again, prove them wrong! Go out there and kick some ass guys. I know you're all hungry for another AFC championship win, so let's go out there, and play like fucking champions today!" Zac yelled, finishing up his pre-game locker room speech.

Your eyes widened as you heard chanting and clapping break out in the locker room. You made your way out of the locker room tunnel and out to the Bengals sideline of the stadium. As you made your way out there, you waved to some of the fans in the stands. Normally a social media manager wouldn't get the attention of fans, but having Sam Hubbard as your older brother gets you a lot of attention--from fans and other players.

About fifteen minutes later, kickoff rolled around. The Chiefs received the ball first. You stood on the sidelines in your "Hubbard" jersey, black leggings, black boots and orange puffer jacket, watching as the defense went to work. Chiefs quarterback Patrick Mahomes faked a hand off to Pacheco, instead opting to throw to tight end Travis Kelce, who ran it in 15 yards for a Cheifs touchdown. The crowd in Arrowhead went wild, Cheifs fans already celebrating their 6, now 7, point lead. You watched as Joe jogged onto the field, ready to catch up. The Bengals offense took the field, looking flawless the first couple plays, until they got down to the 20 yard line. Joe Mixon took a nasty hit, and his return to the game was questionable. The Bengals took a time out after their lead back got injured. You made eye contact with Joe as he got a drink. You gave him a thumbs up. He smiled slightly before jogging back onto the field. The guys got out of their huddle just by a clap from Joe's hands. By the way the players were set up on the field, you knew that Joe would be throwing the ball.

"Turbo set hut" Joe yelled out his cadence. You stood on your tip toes to watch the scene in front of your. Just as you expected, Joe flawlessly threw the ball to Ja’Marr for a touchdown.

"Touchdown Cincinnati!" The announcer yelled.

"Yes!” You yelled, cheering along with Kate through the commotion in the stands. You high-fived Joe as he walked by taking his helmet off. He sat down on the bench and put his Bengals beanie on as a water boy put a black sideline coat over his body. The rest of the first quarter was pretty boring, as not much was happening. Same with the second quarter, except for the Chiefs making a field goal before half.

At half time, the Chiefs were leading 10-7. You stayed out on the sidelines with Kate as the guys went to the locker room. After halftime, the Bengals received the ball at kickoff. Trent Taylor ran it up to the 30 before getting tackled. Joe and the guys ran onto the field. They ran the ball for a couple of plays, which didn’t get them anywhere. At this point, the Bengals were at 3rd down, and Zac still wanted them to run the ball. You watched as Joe decided it wouldn't be good for them to run it, so he faked a hand off to Perine, and threw the ball instead. You held your breath, watching as Joe lofted the ball into the air. Tee caught the ball and took off running, but he was immediately knocked down. However, the Bengals did successfully get the 1st down. Joe went to throw the ball again, but he got sacked. After a couple plays, the team was at 4th down, with Zac deciding to go for it. Unfortunately, Joe’s pass was tipped and picked. Everyone on the Bengals sideline shoulders slumped, upset with the outcome of the play. The fans in the stadium went wild as a defensive player caught the ball.

Fast forward to the final five minutes of the 4th quarter...both teams were tied. The guys looked great the beginning of the half, but something seemed off toward the end. Joe wasn't throwing as consistently and accurately, and the receivers seemed to be out of sync. Even the defense struggled to keep up with the pressure and intensity of the Chiefs offense.

Sadly, the Bengals made a late hit, giving the Chiefs a brand new set of downs with 10 seconds left. Harrison Butker, kicker for the Chiefs, made the field goal, sending the Kansas City Chiefs to the Super Bowl.

Arrowhead went insane as the players celebrated on the field. Many Bengals players and coaches went out to the field to congratulate their opponents. You looked over at Sam and frowned, mouthing, “I’m so sorry.” He just shrugged and smiled sadly at you.

You could tell this loss wasn’t going to be easy on anyone.

~time skip~

You and Kate sat in the conference room set up in the stadium for post game interviews. The four players that would be getting interviews done from the Bengals were Coach Taylor, Joe, Ja’Marr and Sam.

Zac went first, talking about the outcome of the game and how the off-season would look for the team. You weren’t really listening to what he was saying, you just sat there and tuned out his voice as your thoughts ran wild. It was the off-season now, meaning you and Joe could focus on the more important things in your lives right now. The list too long to even begin naming…

You head perked up as you saw Joe walk up to the podium. You sat up a little straighter and listened carefully as the blonde did his post game interview.

"Hey Joe, we just have a few questions. How are you handling this loss? Joe nodded, "Yeah, we uh, it's tough. It’s tough to lose such a big game like this, but our guys are going to take this as a learning experience, and uh, come back next year better than the last." He finished with a nod, turning to look at the next reporter.

"Joe, after the first half...you threw that interception, got sacked, and your throws didn’t look good out there. Why is that?"

Joe had a slight look of disappointment on his face, but he wouldn’t let the reporters notice. You on the other hand couldn't help but frown at the reporters question.

“Yeah,” he nodded, “I will not be the first to say that I was not playing well the fourth quarter. I was trying to, to make plays out of something that wasn't there, and it ultimately lost us the game."

"You feel like you're the reason the team lost?" the reporter questioned. Joe nodded, "I do,” he sighed softly, “And uh, I feel that if I wouldn't have thrown that pick, maybe we would have won, but it's hard to say. They were the better team today, and our guys-,” he hesitated before he said, “we looked good at times, but, we definitely struggled that second half."

You couldn't help but feel a little guilty. Maybe if I would've waited to tell him about the baby after the game, he would've played better. You thought to yourself as you continued to watch Joe.

"Hey Joe,” he looked at the next reporter and nodded, “what do you think caused your team to underperform that second half?”

Joe shrugged, "I can't speak for the other guys, but for myself I can," he glanced at you as he said the following, "I received some very exciting, but also uh, nerve wracking, I guess you could say. Uh news a couple days ago, and I guess I was still focused on that.” He chuckled, making the reporters laugh too.

He composed himself and looked at the reporter as he continued, "but uh, the nerves from, from that and you know just the nerves from this game today really affected my performance. It’s huge to win something like this, and to go out there and perform the way that we did, the way that I did, it, it’s tough. But,” he sighed, “You can't blame just one person, it's a whole team effort. There were things that I could've done better, things our defense could've done better. Everyone could have been better.”

"Thank you Joe.“ A female reporter spoke up, “One last question, Joe.” he looked at her and nodded, setting his lips, “What’s this news you're talking about?"

Joe looked at you sheepishly before answering the question, "Well, I can't say right now, but you'll find out in the off-season for sure.” he winked. He smiled slightly at you as he said, “but I’m not going anywhere. I’m here for the long run,” he looked back at the reporters and continued, “you'll see us here again next year, better than ever.”

"Thank you, Joe."

"Yep." he nodded as thanked the reporters and walked off the stage.

You smiled to yourself, knowing he answered that last question for you. Joe wasn't going anywhere.

~time skip~

"Sam,” you said, laughing at your older brother, “that's my seat."

Sam sat down next to Tee on the plane before you could. “Well not anymore.” He chuckled, smiling smugly as he made a show to snuggle himself into the seat. You rolled your eyes and backed up slightly, "Fine,” you said, “I’ll l sit with Joe." You put your bag in the compartment above the seat, shutting it and looking down at Joe, who was seated in the window seat. “Sorry.” You smiled softly, sitting down in the aisle seat next to him.

Joe looked up at you, "You’re good.” he said, his voice soft. You sat back in the seat, getting comfortable as the plane took off. The plane ride was silent and somber. Almost all of the guys were asleep, except for a couple here and there that were spread out throughout the plane. You, however, were wide awake. You turned around to look behind you. Tee and Sam were sound asleep. You turned back to look at Joe and saw he was looking out the window. You frowned slightly and reached out, gently placing your hand on his knee. He turned his head at the sudden touch, a soft smile on his face as he looked at you.

"Hey Y/n." he said softly. You pulled your hand away, “How you doing?" you asked, your voice low so only he could hear you. Joe shrugged, "Ok I guess. I’m disappointed, I feel like I really cost us that game with that interception." You frowned at his response, “Awe, Joe, don't blame yourself. Seriously, you guys did great. Could you have played better? Yes. But that’s doesn’t mean the Chiefs were perfect. They struggled just as much as you guys did.”

He smiled softly, looking into your eyes as he nodded, “Yeah, I guess you're right."

“I’m proud of you guys either way though.”

“Thanks Y/n.” Joe said softly. The two of you just looked at each other, neither one of you saying anything for a few moments. After a couple minutes of silence, Joe sighed and spoke up, “I’m sorry if I worried you a couple days ago, when you told me about the you know…” he trailed off, “I still need time to process things,” he slowly brought his hand over to hover over your tummy, you gently grabbed his hand and placed it on your lower abdomen. The two of you smiled at each other.

“But I am starting to come around to this.” he said, his tone genuine. You placed your hand over his as you smiled warmly at him, “I am too.” You gently rubbed his hand with your thumb as you sheepishly looked up at him, “I have my first ultrasound in a couple weeks. You’re more than welcome to come.” Joe nodded, his blue eyes shining, “Send me a date and time. I’ll see what I can do.”

The two of you pulled your hands away and wished the other goodnight. Your thoughts wandered to what you had to talk about with Joe.

How would you tell your parents?

How would you tell Sam?

How would you tell his teammates, his friends?

Where will the baby stay?

How will you and Joe raise the baby since you’re not together?

There was so much to talk about these next seven months. But for now, it was comforting to know he wasn’t going anywhere. Even if you weren’t together, you and Joe would be raising this baby together.

hi loves!

some sweet moments in this chapter, and joes starting to come around to the baby…for now😏

i haven’t updated this series in a couple weeks and i apologize for that. i’ve been in a little slump, but i think i’m finally coming out of it :)

i’m hoping to update this again this week, along with the first part of the jealous joe fic that we’re all looking forward to! i cant wait to start that one, i’ve got some good things planned that i think you’ll like ;)

i hope you’re all doing well! thank you for your patience with me as i took a break from updating. i appreciate you all so much🤍🤍

tags: @dandelionwrites8 @joeburreauxsworld @theflawedwriter @mrsshiesty @ann288 @ijustcrypretty @theoneandonlyfanz @wickedfun9 @venus-b @hummusxx @stainednailpolishremover @a-moment-captured @alternativemadchen @erinmartin1987 @sirlewisworld @kkrenae @unhingedfangirl @sublimemusic-rebel @meameagirl @ilovejoeburroww @hallecarey1 @j-worlds-blog @blinkloverx3 @jordyn14 @kristencochefski1125 @emherb10

[toasttt11]

months

August 10, 2020

Mary was lying out on the lawn chair in the backyard of their house in Cape Cod. She was enjoying laying out in the sun reading her book with her headphones on as always playing her Taylor Swift playlist.

She’s been in quarantine with her family for the last few months and it was the longest she has ever went without playing in a hockey game.

The quarantine just got lifted a few days ago meaning Will and Ryan immediately started planning for Ryan and his family to come out to the Smith’s house in Cape Cod.

Ryan and the rest of the Leonard’s were getting here this morning.

Mary flipped over so she was now lying on she stomach letting her back getting tanned as she continued reading.

She was so focused on her book and blocking out the world with her headphones she didn’t hear Will’s excited shouts and hugging Ryan.

Ryan let go of Will and looked over his eyes immediately finding Mary. His eyes widened seeing her for the first time in months besides their facetimes but it wasn’t the same.

He thought she couldn’t get even more beautiful but she has, he spared a glance at Will seeing Will saying hi to his family and he walked over to Mary and stood over her making a shadow appear on her book.

Mary furrowed her brows slipping her headphones off and looking up and she froze slightly seeing Ryan, her eyes glanced to his body before quickly looking away with warm cheeks.

Mary quickly hopped up and smiled softly, “Hi Ry.”

“Hi Ellie Belly.” Ryan grinned brightly and opened one of his arms giving her the option to choose if they hug and his smile widened even more when she leaned into his side giving him a small side hug.

Will bounced over throwing an over both of their shoulders not realizing he broke up their side hug, “We’re all back together!” Will beamed squeezing two of his favorite people making Ryan and Mary share a fond smile.

Will immediately dragged Ryan and Mary out to the water and they spent most of the day swimming around together and all three of them yapping because it has been so long.

Will, Ryan and Mary eventually got out of the water once it was getting close to dinner and they all headed into the house.

Grace was chatting in the den with Ryan’s two sisters Brianna and Alyssa and Ryan’s brother John was chatting with both of the Dad’s while both of the Mom’s were in the kitchen together.

Mary headed to her room to take a shower and Will and Ryan headed to their rooms as well.

Mary winced slightly feeling the distinct feeling of the start of her ear hurting. She is careful when she is in any water knowing that can agitate her ear and she uses a lot of drops before and after she heads into the water and sometimes she will use ear plugs.

She took a quick shower and threw on a pair of comfortable shorts and large t-shirt she stole from Will and put more drops in her ear and decided to rest a bit before dinner so her ear might get better and not be another ear infection.

Mary got under the covers in her bed and put on a show on her iPad before grabbing her blue octopus and snuggled with her stuff animal.

Mary has now had her blue octopus from Will for twelve years now since she was two and lost half of her hearing in one ear. When she was little she would drag the stuff animal with her everywhere and it’s something she always cuddles when her ear is in pain.

Will knocked on the door softly and heard a quiet come in and slowly opened the door seemed Mary cuddling with her octopus and knew her ear was bothering her.

He walked over and sat on the bed and gently rested a hand on her arm rubbing her arm softly, “A bad one yet?” Will asked not thinking her ear is bad yet because she stayed outside for so long.

Mary just shook her head softly no.

“Want me to sit with you?” Will offered sweetly making her nod softly and she moved over letting Will sit next to her.

Ryan walked towards Mary’s room a few minutes later after he couldn’t find either of his best friends and had a feeling they would be in her room, he peeked his head in and smiled slightly seeing them in her bed but frowned seeing Mary cuddling her octopus knowing she only does that when her ear hurts.

He knocked on the door softly and they both looked up in unison looking identical, “Can i join?”

Mary softly nodded making him smile and he walked over to the other side of the bed and climbed in sitting down next to Mary making their elbows brush but Mary just leaned closer at the touch.

“What are we watching?” Ryan leaned over whispering his mouth close to her good ear making her take a deep breath.

“Fast and furious.” Will said knowing it is one of Mary’s favorite comfort movies and he scooted down laying his head down on Mary’s thigh looking at the iPad.

Mary moved slightly getting comfortable and rested her head on her Ryan’s shoulder making him smile to himself and his hand started playing with the ends of her hair, something she only allows Ryan to do.

Grace walked up to Mary’s room a hour later when dinner was ready and none of the three came down she peeked into the room and smiled fondly seeing all three of them cuddled up in some way and all fast asleep.

She raised an eyebrow seeing how much Mary was laying on Ryan and cuddling to him and Ryan’s arm was wrapped around Mary.

Grace shook her head softly, Ryan will always be her two siblings favorite person and she is glad they have him and she closed the door letting the three keep sleeping.

[darkynightphantom]

Time traveler (Vikings)

Warning: Time Travel, mentions and descriptions of violence, insults.

Pairing: Ragnarssons x modern!F!OC

Word count: 567

(English is not my first language, any recommendations will be accepted)

Prologue - What just happened?

Today couldn’t have been a more ordinary day than it already was for Eluney. The young woman had just finished her shift as a naval officer, after spending three months at sea.

She walked in her civilian clothes, her backpack loaded with her belongings, which was quite heavy since it contained her military uniform and a few other things to meet her basic needs.

The hustle and bustle of the city drowned out the murmur of her thoughts, which always seemed to be there. She had never been blank; she was always thinking about many things, almost to the point of exhaustion.

From the moment her feet touched solid ground, a pain made itself known in her head. She decided not to pay much attention to it, thinking it was probably just the early signs of a cold.

She shouldn’t have taken it so lightly.

Her pace quickened; to be honest, she just wanted to get home quickly. She missed the comfort and silence of her small studio apartment. It was all she needed.

She had spent so much time working, and now she just wanted to rest and get away from her coworkers, whom she considered to be great idiots, nothing more. Nobody respected her just for being the only woman on the team, but she knew how to hide her frustration quite well.

She just wanted to get away from everything.

Suddenly, the pain grew stronger and sharper, making her stop, close her eyes, and take a deep breath. Of course, that didn’t help at all. Now it felt as though someone was splitting her skull in half.

She let out a scream of pain, the backpack falling to the ground after being dropped in a desperate attempt to relieve herself from the weight. She placed her hands on her head, trying to ease the pain and pressure there.

Her vision blurred, the noise faded, her mouth dried up, and the pain intensified. Her legs gave out, and she collapsed, unconscious.

When strength returned to her body, she suddenly woke up, propelling herself into a sitting position. She was breathless and disoriented.

She looked around and noticed she wasn’t in the city. In fact, she didn’t recognize this place—it was a forest.

Standing up as quickly as she could, she staggered between the trees, trying to find an explanation for how she had ended up there.

Following the noise of some voices, she found a small village. Upon inspecting it, she realized it looked like a traditional Viking settlement—she would recognize it anywhere, as that part of history had been her favorite to study in school.

But how was this possible? This had happened hundreds of years ago.

She thought it might be some kind of role-playing game, but her doubts vanished when she saw a familiar face. A Viking she recognized as Ragnar Lothbrok, based on the description she had read about him.

She had traveled through time. She didn’t know how or why, but that was the reality.

The pain returned, extremely intense, causing her to scream and catch the attention of the Nordic man, who approached cautiously with an axe in hand, always on the defensive.

“Who are you?” the man asked defensively.

It was a shame that the pain deafened her so much that she couldn’t hear what he said. Once again, the suffering overwhelmed her, and she fainted, this time feeling someone catch her before she hit the ground.

[mastermindmiko]

Rivals

Pairing: James Potter + reader

word count: 2903 (this was actually supposed to be 1k or less, but ig more for you guys)

Summary: You and James are Quidditch rivals. You're Quidditch captain and he's Quidditch captain, it only makes sense, right? But what if there's maybe something else fueling your hatred?

Warnings: Injuries and kissing. Lmk if there's anything else

I wrote this all in one go, 1:30 am so if there's any mistakes please don't mind them, and lmk.

Hey! if you think this didn't completely suck, feel free to check out my masterlist.

"Hey, Diggory! watch out!" I scream as loudly as I can over the shouts of the crowds, while Amos barely registers my warning before he notices a bludger flying his way. His eyes widen and its only a second before he gets knocked off his broom and down to the ground hurtling at a great speed, with how fast he was going no one was going to be able to catch him.

I hear him thud to the ground and I hear madam Hootch call a time out while I zoom to reach him. I throw my broom to ground and drop to my knees. Amos is moaning on the ground in pain. He's got a hand over his chest, and I can only assume that he has at least a few broken ribs.

Several other players are coming off their brooms to check on the injured player. The rest of my teammates, the Hufflepuff team, come down and fuss over Amos. Madam Promfrey enters the field and shoos everyone from around him. I look around and I notice the person who was the cause of all of this.

"What the hell, Jordan?" I shout and the Gryffindor, who's looking guiltily at Amos while a few of my teammates help lift him up. Jordan opens his mouth to reply, but gets interrupted when someone steps in front of him to reply instead, "Calm down, Y/L/N. That's just the way the game works."

"Shut up, Potter." I say, then turning to madam Hootch, "That's an obvious foul, he's not allowed to do that." madam Hootch doesn't get to say anything before, once again Potter interrupts. I swear to Merlin that boy has no manners. He says, "It's not a foul, that's just the game, and if you don't think you can handle it then just quit."

"Why would I quit when I'm the best damn chaser in this school?"

"You're obviously more of an idiot than I thought you were if you think that you're the best chaser." Potter folds his arms and he looks at me with a smirk, the most annoying one I've ever seen in my whole life, if I might add. I lunge at him, but Amelia holds me back.

Potter only smirks more, and I narrow my eyes at him trying not to scowl. I turn back to whisper something to Smith, my team's beater, "Aim for Potter."

"There will be no aiming for anyone, miss Y/L/N. The match will not be continuing." madam Hootch announces, and my mouth drops at the news and I hear Potter gasp. I ask, "Why not?"

I heard another voice saying the words with me, so I turn to Potter to give him a glare. He only gives me a glare back before we turn to madam Hootch. She sighs, "There are only half the players there are supposed to be in the field. Half of each of you're teams are injured. We'll reschedule the game."

I huff, and madam Hootch puts her wand to her throat to announce the news to the crowds, they all groan in disappointment and start clearing out. I grab my broom from the ground and start marching back into the castle on my way to the hospital wing.

What's left of my team follow me to wing to check up on the rest of the team. Amos has already been put on the bed, and madam Pomfrey is pacing around the room going from one injured Quidditch player to another. I head over to Amos, and ask, "Are you okay?"

"I've been better." He groans, as madam Pomfrey hands him a glass of Skelegro. She tuts as Amos gags on the drink, and she frowns. I cautiously ask, "So, what's the damage?"

"You're not going to be able to play for a month." She says, and I gasp. She continues, "For the past year, every time there's a Hufflepuff and Gryffindor match most of the players end up here with me. Now, I'd expect this behavior from Gryffindors, but you, wouldn't have guessed in a million years."

I feel the guilt starting to fill me. I did push the players to take risks, but I never expected this to go this far. Amos finishes the cup and he nearly gags again before madam Pomfrey shoots him a glare. He says, "Maybe it's time, for the sake of team of course, that you forgive him..."

"No, absolutely not. It's one thing to toy with the team when it comes to Quidditch, but it's another when he manipulates my feelings into doing so." I say, and I head over the other players. I'm checking on Boot's broken leg when I hear the sound of it, the sound of his stupid strutting.

He goes to survey his team and no doubt madam Pomfrey is telling him about the whole not playing for a month thing because I hear his loud gasp from all the way across the hospital wing. I roll my eyes, and Boot gives me a look. I mumble, "Shut up, Boot."

He lifts his arms up, surrendering and then I feel an arm wrap around my shoulder. I already know who it is, having done this three times already. I shove his arms off me and he pouts, "What's wrong, love? We're off the pitch, shouldn't we put our claws away?"

"Leave, Potter." I say, irritated obviously, and Amos opens his curtain from beside his bed so he's able to see the interaction. Corner does the same thing from the other side of Boot's bed, and despite the look I give to both of them, they keep watching. Potter says, "Why would I do that when you're here?"

His friends, Lupin and Black enter the hospital wing and he lifts up a finger to me, signaling that he'll be back before he goes off to them. I fold my arms over my chest, and I see Boot looking at me. I huff, "What?"

"I heard he just asked her out to make Amos jealous." Boot says, and Amos flushes. This morning, Potter asked out Evans in front of the Great Hall. Half of Hogwarts' population were looking at her for the reply while the other half was looking at me for a reaction. I pretended like nothing of interest was happening, but Amelia already had a supportive hand on my leg. She said yes, and they'll be going out tomorrow.

"Why would I care about that piece of information? You should be taking to Amos he's the one who's got his crush going out on a date." I say, avoiding my teammates' eyes. Boot replies, "Yes, but your crush is the one that asked her out."

"I don't know what you're talking about." I reply and I feel like I've had enough. I did know what he was talking about. Last year, the day before we left for summer break, I spilled about my crush on Potter to Amelia and the girl can't keep her mouth shut for two seconds, shouted it back out loud in the Great Hall. I thought that everyone would forget by the time that we went back to school last september, and almost everyone did.

However, only two days before Quidditch season started, Potter himself, asked me out. I couldn't believe it at first, knowing how much he used to babble on about Evans all the time. Then out of the corner of my eye, I notice a few certain people from the Gryffindor table looking at us eagerly, I recognize those few people as the Quidditch team. Of course, I said no, but I couldn't say that I wasn't hurt.

Croner's injury was in his shoulder and since he could eavesdrop on us so easily I'd assume that it's fine by now. I head out of the hospital wing, and back to my dorm for a shower.

~~~

Without Quidditch practice, I realize that I have a lot more time on my hands. It made me realize how much I suck at my regular subjects. I wasn't planning on using them anyway, I wanted to be a professional Quidditch player, so acing charms wasn't really on my agenda. I had a quiz tomorrow and when I finally lost hope of passing, I went to my favorite place, the kitchens.

The elves were always so nice and eager to please. The place was just a few steps away from my common room which meant that I could go whenever I want and not having to worry about getting caught by any Prefects.

I was eating a muffin while doodling some plays that might be beneficial for when we get back to playing. The door opens and Wigby rushes to greet whoever came. To my displeasure, Potter enters. He beams when he sees me, and I groan at his horribly disguised acting, as if he'd want to actually see me without an ulterior motive.

"What you've got there?" he asks, looking down at my paper, and I flip it over quickly, remembering that these are the team's plays. I huff, "None of your business, and what are you doing here anyways, it's after curfew."

"I could ask you the same thing." He says, and I roll my eyes when he hops on the counter beside me. I look away from him, but I can feel his gaze burning the side of my neck. He asks, "What would you recommend? You seem to be here a lot."

"I recommend you getting out." I say, and he chuckles at my reply though I don't get what's funny. Wigby comes to me and asks, "Do you need another muffin miss?"

"Yes Wigby that would be great." I smile and she turns to Potter and he says, "I'll have one of the muffins that she's having."

"Shouldn't you go to bed? You must be tired" I say before I can stop myself, as soon as Wigby leaves. He looks confused, and he scrunches up his face the way he always does when he's confused, it's the look he has all throughout potions. He asks, "Why would I be tired?"

"Because you had a date this morning." I reply like it's obvious and finally look at him. He chuckles and then shakes his head. Wigby hands over the muffins in a plate and he grabs one before saying, "Oh no, I didn't. Lily just wanted me to ask her out to make Diggory jealous."

So Boot was right, he's always the one who has all the gossip. I grab a bite swallow slowly, and then say, "Oh, well, I'm sorry."

"Why?"

"Because you like her, it mustn't feel good to help her get another guy." I explain and I look away from him. He gulps down the rest of the muffin and I wonder how he can eat so fast. He clears his throat, "Lily? No, I don't like her, not anymore. I was just trying to get back in her good graces after last year..."

He trails off and I already know what he's talking about. At the end of fifth year, Potter, Black, Lupin and Snape got into a big fight, and Lily got caught in the crossfire. It's all everyone talked about for days.

I don't say anything because I don't know what to say. There's a silence between us that I can't pinpoint if it's heavy or comfortable. He shuffles beside me, before he asks, "Now that we won't be playing for a while, would you like to go out with me?"

My blood goes cold, and I lose my appetite. I place my half eaten muffin back on the plate and I brush off the crumbs from my hands and jeans. I mumble, "I can't believe this."

"What?" He asks, confused again. I hop off of the kitchen island and I thank Widgby. I make my way to the door. He rushes after me and says, "Where are you going?"

"Away from you." I say, and I shut the door behind me, he catches it before it closes and he follows me. Maybe I can reach the common room before he does anything as audacious. He asks, "Why? I just asked a question-well technically two, but-"

"Why couldn't you just drop this?" I stop in my tracks, and turn to him with a glare. He stops as well and looks at me shocked. I have my finger lifted to his chest accusingly and he asks, "Drop what?"

"Acting as if you like me, when you're just trying to use me for Quidditch." I say, and he looks confused again. Merlin, he is not a good actor. I continue, "It's one thing to use your pranks to sabotage the team, but it's another to try and use my feelings as a means to get to that."

"I'm not-"

I scoff, and I don't let him finish before I storm off again. He jogs after me and attaches a hand to my wrist to stop me from going. He reasons, "I would never use anyone's feelings like that. I actually want to go out with you-"

"Please, and those feelings suddenly appeared for the first time two days before Quidditch season." I say, and he has that look in his eye look all the pieces of the puzzle are coming together. He says, "So that's why you said no- I- I didn't even notice that Quidditch season was starting- well I did, but not in a way that correlates to me asking you out."

"It just took me so long to pluck up the courage to ask you out-"

"So I guess that's why you're whole team was looking at us." I say with anger. He stays calm and explains, "They all knew I liked you, that's why they were looking, they wanted to see how it would go."

"You really think I'm that stupid to believe this." I huff, and shove my arm out of his grip. I started walking away, and I feel relief as I see the common room getting closer and closer. He shouts while still walking faster to get to me, "I really do like you."

"Bullshit!" I shout, before he once again, grabs my wrist to hold me close to him. I only get a second to register what's going on before he pulls me close to his chest and crashes his lips to mine. He cups my face and holds me. My hands stay at my sides while my heart races.

He breaks away when he realizes that I wasn't reciprocating the kiss. He puts his arms down. He sighs then says, "I promise I wouldn't ever use your feelings against you like that. I like you."

He looks sincere. I don't say anything, and I see his cheeks turn a tinge of pink. In a way, he looks sort of defeated and maybe that's what makes me believe him. He stutters, "I'm sorry that I kissed you like that-"

I stand up on tip toes and reach up to wrap my arms around his neck. I cut him off by placing my lips on his. He doesn't waste a second in placing both hands on my waist. He pulls me flush against him, and for a split second I feel like I might faint from how fast my heart is going.

A bright light flashing into my eye, causes me to break away from him. Two prefects are looking at us with shocked expressions. I try to move away from James, but he pulls me closer. I acknowledge that this is how it's going to be like from now on. One of them turns to the other and says, "I told you I heard something."

The other one rolls his eyes and lowers his wand that was blinding me. He sighs, "You two have detention tomorrow, now, go to your common rooms."

Bonus:

I sit at the table for breakfast and already start piling food into my plate, I wasn't ready to fail today's quiz at all, and I definitely wasn't ready for my detention. I start munching on some of my eggs and that's when I see my teammates all looking at me with identical smirks.

I swallow my food and look at them all, weirded out by the fact they were watching me. I ask, "What's made me so interesting all of a sudden?"

"Boot said that he heard that you've got detention tonight." Amelia starts, and everyone's grins widen when I nod my head. Boot himself continued this time, "I heard it's because you were out after curfew snogging Potter."

I flush and pick at my food with a fork. Where does Boot get all this information from. Amos points a finger to my face and teases, "Oh, Look! She's blushing."

I wonder if I can kick Amos off the team right now, I'm sure that I'll find a better seeker somewhere else in Hufflepuff. I scowl at him and blush more. I stutter, "You need to find a new way to get information because that's a complete lie. I wouldn't-"

Luck is always on my side because just at that moment someone slides between me and Amelia, wrapping and arm around my shoulder. Making my friends' grins wider. James presses a kiss to my cheek and says, "Good morning, love."

[jiubilant]

Does Shurri get up to visit frozen Winter(hold) wonderland much to see her pa after the two reconcile?

In some particulars, Shiv thinks, she's sipping tea with a stranger. So is he. But some things haven't changed.

"The game," she announces like a bookie, unfolding the pegboard across the page-strewn desk, "is halatafl—"

"Mind my cup," says the Archmage of Winterhold, and whisks it out of the way with one hand. His face cuts peevish through the steam. "We can't just play draughts?"

"—in the vernacular," Shiv continues virtuously, ignoring him, "known as wolf"—she drops one of the two red-painted pegs into its hole, then taps it with a claw—"and sheep."

She places her second wolf with predatory delicacy, then arranges the rest of the pegs on his side of the board: twenty of them, white as lambkins, to her two. Her father, swathed in the sort of sumptuous silk dressing-gown that he'd once eyed wistfully in Taarie's store—and a frumpy fur rug, because silk's not worth a sneeze in his freezing hold—begins to look interested.

"Ah," he says, smiling with one side of his mouth. "Well. If the odds are in my favor."

Shiv grins at him with all her sharpest teeth.

* * *

"Again?" she asks after the third game.

"Ai," says the Archmage. It's the sort of gusty Velothi exclamation she'd heard every day of her childhood—after climbing down from the roof, usually, or coaxing him to buy her a bag of havreflarn. He turns a despairing smile on her. "It hasn't been an hour?"

"Half." She smiles back with just her eyes. "You might win this time."

The old man makes an eloquent face. "Set the board."

It's one of those northern nights best spent, Shiv thinks drily, in the south. Or playing board games. The stone walls of the study, glacial to the touch, muffle the wailing wind. Ice crusts the eye-shaped window behind the Archmage's desk; it rattles in its frame, battered by the blizzard's white fist. But she's stoked the fire bright, and the little room is warm where the firelight spreads.

It glints on two empty teacups and the Archmage's rings, garnet and gold, as he reaches across the board. His fingers twitch above the pegs. They curl, but don't bend. He watches his hand contort itself like a spider for a moment, patiently, then leans forward in his wheelchair and—with his other hand, the steady one—closes the spasming fingers around one of his sheep.

"If only," he murmurs, amused, "one could magic the pieces to move of their own accord."

One could, in a college for wizards. Almost everyone could. Shiv watches him move the peg. He practices with the palsied hand, stretching it, writing, picking things up and putting them down, for at least an hour a day. He's getting better at it. The letter he'd sent her after his latest fit—apoplexy, he'd called it later, and gently explained that it would likely happen again—had been so scrambled and smudged that she hadn't even finished it before throwing herself at the High Queen's feet, like a trophy pelt, to beg leave of her court.

Now, two months later, he's well enough to stay up late and lose at tafl. She can probably bring up things that might distress him. She hasn't.

"I've been thinking more, of late," he's saying, "on that sort of thing. The, ah, the everyday good that magic could do—the great help it could be to those with, with hands that shake, or bones that ache, and suchlike, if it were only more commonplace." His eyes travel, thoughtful and sharp, across the board—navigating his next three moves, as usual. "My cane leaps into my hand when I drop it. Why doesn't everyone's?"

Within a year, Shiv thinks, every walking-stick in Winterhold will be doing somersaults. "Used to be that Rafe would crawl under tables for it."

"You, too," says the Archmage. A smile creases the side of his face that still moves. "Well, not everyone has a Rafe, or a Shurri."

For a moment, looking at him, Shiv forgets the past ten years: the fantastical old hierophant enthroned in the wheelchair, bejeweled on every finger and robed in brocade like a picture in a book, is just Da. Then she blinks, and she sees in his smile the thing that makes him a stranger.

"You're happy," she says gruffly. It sounds like an accusation. She hadn't meant it to. She hadn't meant to speak at all; she listens to her own voice with vague surprise. "You old sharpster."

"It took some doing." Da moves one of his pieces with a soft, contemplative clack. "Are you?"

Something in her face must answer him, because he hesitates, then lays the palsied hand half-open on the desk. She blinks down at it. Then she puts one hard, scarred hand in it and covers it with the other, so that his fingers close.

"Probably I should have just piked," she says, very seriously, "and taken up toll-collecting."

He laughs. She'd hoped he would. "The dread bandit Pushpin?"

"Bodkin."

She wonders how to tell him that the smell of boiled leather makes her sick. That her mail-shirt's rusting to bits in a Haafing chest. That she's stuffed her sword and all the smaller pigstickers under her pallet, and hasn't polished them all month. Her shield-sisters would look at her askance. Her old drillmasters, Terentius and stern Rikke, would clout her on the head.

Da gives her a long, level look. Then he glances down at the board.

"Do you know," he says, surprised, "I think I've won."

Shiv looks down, then snorts. He has. He'd probably rearranged the pegs when she wasn't looking.

"But, yihla," says the Archmage, not ungently, "we play more than one game in this life—"

"Da."

"—and if you don't like the outcome of the last," the Archmage continues, raising the eyebrow that moves, "you can always—"

She wrinkles her nose like she used to do at his arithmetic lessons. He laughs again and relents.

But he does turn the tafl-board, with a calm and pointed look, so that she finds herself playing sheep.