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yua0ra · 3 months ago

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𝐕𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐢𝐬 𝐐𝐮𝐨

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3

WARNINGS: stalker!mattheo x slytherin!fem!reader, creepy mattheo, stealing, invasion of space, slightly dark, obsessed mattheo, SFW, not proofread, english is not my first language. miscellaneous ☆

SUMMARY: Mattheo just can’t help it… he aches for you, he feels for you, he wants you. However, the only way to be able to tame those feelings is by getting a hold of you, whether thats physically or mentally, he doesn’t care.

WC: 3.1K AN: I would love to turn this into a series, what do you think?

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

It’s wrong. So wrong. He knows it deep down, but his obsession overrides his logic. He wants to know everything about you—what makes you laugh, what keeps you up at night, what scents you love most.

The moment his fingers graze the cool, worn wood of your dormitory door, his heart pounds so loudly he swears someone must hear it. He pauses, forehead resting against the door for a brief second, his chest heaving as he struggles to calm his racing breath. That faint trace of your scent lingers in the air—soft, warm, and unmistakably you—and it pulls him in, headfirst, deeper than ever.

He tells himself, like he does every time, that this is the last time. Mattheo convinces himself that he’ll walk away, forget the weight of your presence, the pull of his obsession. But the darkness inside him whispers otherwise. His fingers tighten around the handle, and before he can stop himself, the door clicks open.

Stepping inside, Mattheo freezes, letting the stillness of your private room settle over him like a cloak. It’s quiet here, safe, untouched by the chaos of the castle beyond. Everything about this space is yours.

Intoxicating.

His eyes scan the room, drinking in every detail.

Your desk catches his attention first, a small chaotic corner that somehow still feels meticulously yours. A half-written essay sits beneath an open inkpot, surrounded by scattered quills and parchment. Books, their spines cracked from use, are piled carelessly to the side. He steps closer, his fingers trailing along the edge of the desk. The faint scent of parchment and ink mingles with the soft, citric notes of your perfume, and his breath increases uncontrollably, letting it settle inside him like a drug.

He stands, his jaw tight as he clenches his fists to stop himself from doing something even worse than curiously examine—something he couldn’t come back from. He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t even think like this. But your existence has thrown him into chaos, and he’s never been one to walk away from destruction.

I mean, he’s crossing boundaries that would shatter any trust you had in him if you found out. But he’s far past the point of caring.

Your wardrobe catches his attention next. He hesitates, his hand hovering over the handle as his breath quickens. He knows he shouldn’t. He knows this is a line he can’t uncross, but the temptation is suffocating. Slowly, he pulls it open.

Inside, your clothes hang neatly in a row, each piece carrying your personality. His eyes roam over them, lingering too long. His fingers ghost over the fabric of your favorite jumper, the one he’s seen you wear on lazy mornings in the common room. He takes it off the hanger, holds it to his face, and inhales deeply, his jaw clenching as the scent overwhelms him. It’s intoxicating, and for a moment, he closes his eyes, letting himself imagine you wearing it, imagine you here, just inches away.

Moving to the drawers his hands make it over the more delicate tops. The ones you wear strictly with straight-leg jeans. The ones that you wear without a bra, because it makes you uncomfortable. The ones where every time he looks at you, he feels dizzy and restless, wishing you would wear them only for him.

A glint of something on your nightstand catches his eye, pulling him out of the haze. He sets the tops down carefully, almost reverently, and crosses the room. There, resting beside a half-finished book, is a small vial of your perfume. His fingers wrap around it, and he brings it to his nose, pressing the glass against his lips before admiring the delicate bottle. He feels like a thief, stealing pieces of you, but the thrill of it—the wrongness of it—makes his pulse race.

Mattheo gives up on the compulsion.

His fingers trail over the smooth surface, brushing against a stray quill and a crumpled scrap of parchment. The parchment bears faint traces of your delicate strokes, loops and lines that seem as intimate as a whisper. He picks it up and smooths it between his fingers, turning it over as if it will reveal some hidden secret about you. It doesn’t—it’s just a small sketch of a thestral, but that doesn’t stop him from folding it neatly and slipping it into the pocket of his blazer.

He turns to your bed, the final corner of your private sanctuary. The sheets are slightly rumpled, as if you’d been curled up there not long ago, and the thought sends a jolt of something crazy through him. He kneels beside the bed, his breathing shallow, as his fingers trail over the edge of the blanket, feeling the softness.

The air around the bed feels heavier somehow, like it holds the lingering warmth of you. His hand tightens on the fabric as he imagines you here—how you must curl up, how your head must rest against the pillow, the way you must look when you drift off to sleep, completely unaware of the thoughts racing through his mind right now.

Mattheo leans forward, his forehead nearly brushing the mattress, his dark curls falling into his eyes. The faintest trace of you clings to the fabric, subtle but unmistakable. It’s enough to make his pulse quicken, his chest rising and falling with shallow, unsteady breaths. He can’t stop himself from pressing his face into the blanket, letting the scent fill his senses. It’s maddeningly intimate, a glimpse into a world he knows he shouldn’t have access to, and yet here he is.

He stays like that for a moment, his hands clutching the blanket, his body rigid with the weight of his obsession. The logical part of him—the part that knows this is crossing every line imaginable—is drowned out by the darker part, the part that craves this closeness.

Sitting back on his heels, Mattheo’s eyes drift to the pillow, slightly indented where your head must have rested. His throat tightens, and before he knows it, he reaches out, his fingers brushing the edge of the pillowcase. It feels like touching a piece of you, a physical connection to the person who consumes his every waking thought.

Then he feels it.

The small leather-bound book lies partially hidden beneath loose parchment and messy sheets as if you’d meant to keep it safe but couldn’t bring yourself to tuck it too far away. Mattheo stops breathing for a moment, his gaze locked on it. He knows what it is. He’s seen you writing in it before, your brow furrowed in concentration, your quill moving furiously as though the words were spilling out faster than you could capture them.

Your poetry book.

Mattheo swallows hard, his hands trembling slightly as he reaches for it. His fingers brush against the cover, the leather soft and worn beneath his touch. He knows this is wrong—this is the most personal thing you own, a piece of your soul laid bare on paper—but the thought only fuels the fire burning inside him. He can’t stop himself.

Sliding the book out from under the parchment, he sinks further into your bed, cradling it in his hands. The cover creaks softly as he opens it, his eyes scanning the first page. Your handwriting is familiar—messy, rushed in places, but beautiful. The words feel alive, raw, like they’ve been ripped straight from your heart.

The first poem stops him in his tracks. It’s about longing—aching for something you can’t have, feeling isolated in a world that doesn’t quite fit. It’s so vulnerable, so real, that it makes his chest tighten painfully. His thumb grazes the corner of the page as he reads it again, slower this time, savoring every word.

Mattheo’s breathing is shallow now, his mind spinning as he turns to the next page, then the next. Every poem is a window into your soul, revealing pieces of you no one else gets to see. He feels like a thief, but that darker part of him—the part that craves you so desperately—feels something else entirely. Possession.

This is more than just words on a page. This is you. Your dreams, your fears, your quiet moments of joy and despair. Every line draws him deeper into your world, and he knows he’s crossing a line he can never come back from.

He forces himself to stop, his fingers tightening around the edges of the book. He shouldn’t be doing this. He shouldn’t even be here. But the thought of leaving it behind, of walking away from this piece of you, is unbearable.

Standing abruptly, Mattheo clutches the book to his chest, his jaw clenched as he makes his decision. He can’t leave it. Not now. Not after this.

For a moment, he wonders what you’d do if you walked in right now. Would you scream? Would you demand answers? Would you even begin to understand the depths of his need for you? The thought makes him shiver, a twisted combination of fear and desire coursing through him.

He pushes himself up from the welcoming mattress, the room spinning slightly as he forces himself to step back from the bed. His gaze lingers on it for a moment longer, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. It’s too much. This room, this space, this proximity to you—it’s all too much.

But as he glances down at the poetry book clutched in his hand, he feels the smallest flicker of satisfaction. He has this. He has a piece of you. And as he slips out of your room, the blanket’s softness and your scent still imprinted in his mind, he knows he’ll return.

He always does.

Mattheo’s heart pounds as he walks down the quiet corridors, each step feeling heavier than the last. His mind races with the memory of your room, can’t wait to get to his own.

When he reaches his dorm, he pauses at the door, taking a deep breath, trying to steady himself. He’s alone now—completely alone, save for the things he’s brought with him.

The door creaks open slowly, and Mattheo steps inside. The room is dimly lit, shadows curling in the corners. His gaze falls on the small desk by the window, cluttered with papers and books.

His hands tremble as he reaches into his pocket, pulling out the scrap of parchment you’d drawn on. He unfolds it slowly, as though it’s fragile, precious, a window into your world that he can’t let go of. His eyes scan the animal, though e meaning is incomprehensible to him now—he’s too caught up in the sensation of touching something that’s been close to you.

He sits at the edge of the bed, staring down at the bottle once again, his fingers dancing over it as if it’s a lifeline. He lifts it, unscrewing the cap carefully, and holds it to his nose, inhaling deeply. Your scent wraps around him, pulls him deeper into the haze.

His body feels too hot, too tight, like he’s on the edge of something he can’t undo. He pulls a curl of hair to his lips, thinking, feeling the strange thrill of it all—of possessing something that isn’t his. He thinks of what it would be like to see you walk into this very room, to watch you notice the way the room feels different, like it’s already been touched by you, even if you haven’t stepped foot inside. He shudders at the thought, his mind unraveling as he pictures your face, the way you would look at him if you knew what he was doing.

His hand grips the bottle tighter, his breath shallow. The craving gnaws at him, an ache he can’t soothe. With a shaking hand, he presses the nozzle and sprays your scent across his bed. A mist of it settles over the sheets, sinking into the fabric, clinging to his pillows. He moves to his blanket, his motions erratic but deliberate, until the air around him is saturated with you.

The scent invades his senses, filling the room, wrapping around him like an invisible tether. It isn’t enough, though. It never is. He sprays more, this time over his pajamas, soaking the thin fabric until he’s enveloped in the faint, exiting trace of you.

Mattheo lowers the bottle, his chest heaving as he takes it all in. His room feels different now, transformed. It’s no longer just his space—it’s yours, or at least, a warped imitation of it. He falls onto the bed, burying his face in the silky pillow. His hands clutch at the sheets, his fingers curling into the fabric as though they’re grasping for something tangible, something real.

He closes his eyes, his mind painting vivid images of you. He imagines you lying here instead of him, the scent wrapping around you as naturally as it clings to him now. He imagines how your hair would splay across the pillow, how your breathing would slow as you drifted to sleep. The image is so vivid it almost feels real, but the emptiness beside him quickly shatters the illusion.

The need claws at him, relentless and unyielding. He presses his face deeper into the pillow, inhaling again, the scent triggering that dark, possessive part of him. It soothes him and drives him mad all at once, fueling his obsession.

“I need you,” he whispers into the stillness, his voice raw, barely audible. The words hang in the air, unanswered.

Mattheo lies there for hours, unable to move, unwilling to let go of this fragile, stolen piece of you. The scent is fading now, sinking into the room, becoming part of it, part of him. And though he knows this moment won’t last, he clings to it, desperate to keep this connection alive, no matter how twisted it may be.

- ★、

Meanwhile, you make your way back to your dorm, all you can think about is sinking into your bed and letting the quiet of your private space wash over you. The familiar creak of the stairs under your feet is oddly comforting, a reminder that you’re almost there.

When you reach your door, you pause, hand hovering over the handle. For a moment, an inexplicable unease settles over you, like a faint whisper brushing the back of your mind. You glance around the corridor, but it’s empty—just as it always is this time of day. Shaking off the strange feeling, you twist the handle and step inside.

The room greets you like it always does, with the same quiet stillness you’ve come to cherish. Your desk is cluttered but familiar, your bed slightly unmade, your books and trinkets scattered in the way only you understand. Everything seems… normal.

And yet, something feels off.

You stand there for a moment, your bag still slung over your shoulder, scanning the room without really knowing why. The air feels heavier, thicker somehow, as if the walls themselves are holding their breath. You brush the thought aside and step further in, dropping your bag onto the chair by the desk.

The scent of your perfume lingers faintly in the air, but it’s stronger than usual, as if you’d just sprayed it moments ago. You chalk it up to your imagination, or maybe you’d applied a bit too much this morning. Either way, it’s not enough to hold your attention for long.

Still, as you move through the room, that strange unease lingers, gnawing at the edges of your mind. You shake your head, trying to laugh it off. “Relax babe… you’re just tired,” you mutter to yourself, the sound of your voice oddly reassuring in the quiet space.

You quickly change into your pijamas sinking onto your bed, letting out a sigh as you get comfortable. But as you lay back, staring up at the ceiling, a strange thought crosses your mind, unbidden and unsettling.

It feels like someone’s been here.

You try to dismiss it, closing your eyes and letting out a slow breath. It’s just the exhaustion talking, you tell yourself. Just your mind playing tricks on you after a long day.

And then—something catches your eye.

Your nightstand. It’s just across the room, simple and familiar, the little lamp on top casting soft shadows across the wood. But now, something feels different about it. The surface seems emptier than it should be.

You blink, leaning forward slightly. Your bottle of perfume—the one you’ve had for months, the expensive one, the one you treat like a small treasure—isn’t there.

The realization hits you in a jolt. You sit up quickly, a cold shiver running down your spine as you stare at the empty spot where the bottle should be. No, you didn’t misplace it. You remember exactly where you left it, right there, beside your lamp, the last thing you’d seen before heading out this morning.

Your mind races, a swirl of disbelief and confusion. Did I move it? No. You’re certain you didn’t.

You get up, your legs feeling heavy as you approach the nightstand, your pulse quickening. You touch the spot where the bottle used to sit, half-expecting to feel the familiar glass beneath your fingers, but there’s nothing. It’s as if it vanished into thin air.

The more you think about it, the more impossible it seems. The perfume isn’t just any bottle—it was a gift, something ridiculously expensive that you’d saved up for months to buy. It’s not the kind of thing you’d lose or forget. And yet, there it is—gone.

A cold lump forms in your throat as the unease from earlier comes flooding back, stronger now, twisting into something darker, more pressing. Your heart beats faster as your gaze flits to the rest of the room. The sense that something is out of place, something you can’t quite put your finger on, tightens around you like a vice.

You stand there, frozen, unsure of what to do. The silence of the room feels suffocating now, your breath coming in quick, shallow gasps. Every part of you wants to believe you’re just imagining things, that it’s all in your head. But the missing perfume—that’s real.

Suddenly, a thought strikes you like a punch to the gut. Did someone take it?

The thought is absurd, impossible, but the longer you stand there, the more real it feels. Someone’s been in your room. Someone’s touched your things. And the creeping feeling that something—someone—is watching you tightens its grip.

You step back, the weight of the room closing in on you. You don’t know who or why, but one thing is clear: this isn’t just a weird feeling anymore. Something’s happening. Something that makes you feel, for the first time, truly unsafe in your own space.

Your eyes flick to the door, but it feels miles away. Every nerve in your body screams at you to do something—to search, to leave, to figure out what’s happening. But you stand there, rooted to the spot, as the unsettling truth sinks in: someone has been here, and it’s not just the perfume they’ve taken.

It’s you. Your privacy. Your space. Your peace. And now, it’s all slipping through your fingers.

#⋆. 𐙚 ˚ yua0ra’s works #slytherin #slytherin boys #hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry #wizarding world #harry potter #hp fanfic #mattheo x you #mattheoxreader #mattheo x y/n #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo riddle imagine #mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle oneshot #mattheo riddle drabble #stalker!matt #stalker!mattheo

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dreamersworldduh · 5 months ago

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HIS HOME

• CLARK KENT x MALE!READER

SUMMARY — To the world, Clark Kent is Superman—the invincible hero, Earth’s mightiest protector, and a symbol of hope and strength. He’s the one who soars through the skies, battles formidable enemies, and saves countless lives without a second thought. But to you, he’s simply Clark—the shy, kind-hearted farm boy from Smallville you’ve loved since high school.

WARNING! FLUFF. Suggestive Langauge.

WORDS! 10k

AUTHOR’S NOTE! - Here's a little fluff for my favorite farm boy, I recently watched the Superman teaser and got a little inspired.

The early morning sun began its slow, graceful ascent over the towering skyline of Metropolis, sending soft, golden rays spilling through the sheer, cream-colored curtains of Clark Kent’s cozy apartment. The delicate fabric diffused the light, casting a warm, ethereal glow across the room. The gentle illumination danced over the simple but thoughtfully chosen furnishings: a well-loved leather armchair tucked into the corner, a sturdy wooden bookshelf overflowing with novels and framed photos, and a vintage record player resting on a low cabinet—small tokens of a life built together.

Beneath a thick, plush comforter in the center of the room’s focal point—a spacious, inviting bed—Clark and his longtime boyfriend, Y/N, lay entwined in peaceful slumber. Their breaths rose and fell in a quiet, harmonious rhythm, filling the serene space with a sense of intimacy only shared by two souls deeply connected. The soft weight of the comforter enveloped them, shielding them from the crisp morning air that lingered just beyond the windowpane.

Though Y/N remained fast asleep, his chest rising and falling in a steady, calming rhythm, Clark was already awake. His piercing blue eyes, usually sharp with focus and responsibility, now gleamed with tenderness as he quietly admired the man sleeping beside him. For a few precious moments, the weight of the world slipped away—no urgent headlines to chase, no distant cries for help demanding Superman’s strength—just the quiet stillness of their shared sanctuary.

Clark’s gaze lingered, tracing every familiar line and curve of Y/N’s face. His fingertips, rough from years of fighting battles no one else could, hovered just above Y/N’s skin, hesitant to disturb the peaceful spell. He followed the delicate slope of his jaw, the curve of his lips—soft and slightly upturned, as though he were dreaming of something sweet—and the dark, feathery lashes that rested gently against his cheeks. How many times had he memorized these details? How many mornings like this had he silently counted himself lucky?

Here, in this stolen moment before the world woke up, Clark was simply Clark—the man who had fallen in love with his best friend back in high school and never stopped. His heart swelled with the same overwhelming emotion he felt every time he realized he got to spend another day with the person who grounded him, made him laugh, and saw past the cape to the man beneath.

As the sun’s rays grew bolder, stretching farther into the room, the stillness was broken by the sudden, jarring beep of the alarm clock on the bedside table. Its sharp sound shattered the tranquility like glass meeting stone.

“Morning,” Clark whispered, his deep voice warm and soothing, rich with a love that couldn’t be contained. His hand gently brushed a stray lock of hair from Y/N’s forehead, his touch as tender as the sunlight now spilling across the bed.

Y/N blinked slowly, his eyelashes fluttering. He shifted slightly beneath the thick, plush comforter, its weight a soothing barrier against the crisp morning air. He could feel the solid, steady warmth radiating from Clark’s body beside him, grounding him before he even opened his eyes fully. His fingers twitched reflexively, seeking out the comforting presence he knew was there.

When Y/N’s half-lidded gaze finally focused, the first thing he saw was Clark, lying on his side, already awake. His piercing blue eyes gleamed softly, filled with a quiet intensity that made Y/N’s heart ache in the best possible way. Clark’s expression was open, vulnerable, and utterly disarming—like he was seeing something precious he still couldn’t quite believe was real, even after all these years.

A sleepy, instinctive smile tugged at the corners of Y/N’s lips. He stretched slowly, luxuriating in the warmth of the bed and the quiet stillness that lingered in the room, allowing the peaceful moment to settle over him like a familiar melody. His fingers reached up lazily, brushing away a stray lock of hair from his face before his hand drifted down to rest gently on Clark’s chest.

The steady, reassuring thrum of Clark’s heartbeat pulsed beneath Y/N’s fingertips, calm and unwavering, like the rhythm of the earth itself. He let out a contented sigh, his body relaxing further as he nestled closer, resting his head against Clark’s broad shoulder. The fabric of Clark’s soft, well-worn T-shirt felt cool against his cheek, contrasting with the warmth radiating from his skin.

“Good morning,” Y/N murmured, his voice rough with sleep but laced with tenderness. His words were barely above a whisper, soft and warm like the first light of dawn filtering through the window. His hand idly traced slow, lazy patterns across Clark’s chest—small, unconscious shapes made in quiet affection.

Clark smiled, his hand moving with gentle certainty to rest on Y/N’s lower back, his fingertips drawing soothing circles through the thin fabric of his sleep shirt. His touch was familiar yet reverent, a silent promise etched into every small caress.

Y/N’s eyes flickered toward the faint glow spilling through the window, signaling the start of another day. The world outside slowly stirred to life, but inside their shared haven, time seemed suspended—just the two of them in a bubble of warmth and love that felt untouched by the outside world.

“What time is it?” Y/N asked softly, his voice still tinged with sleep and curiosity, though there was no urgency behind the question. His fingers continued their gentle, aimless tracing, not yet ready to break the fragile stillness of the moment.

With a reluctant glance, Clark shifted his eyes toward the worn alarm clock on the nightstand. Its glowing red numbers silently ticked forward, marking the steady march of time. A soft chuckle escaped his lips as he registered the hour. “It’s 7:15,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing, like a quiet breeze through the still room.

Y/N groaned playfully at the answer, dragging one hand down his face in mock exasperation before propping himself up on one elbow. His hair was delightfully tousled, a few stubborn strands falling across his forehead despite his half-hearted attempt to smooth them down. “We really need to get up,” he said, though the lack of conviction in his voice betrayed him. His fingers brushed lightly against Clark’s arm, lingering there as though reluctant to break the warmth of their embrace.

Before Y/N could move any further, Clark’s strong arms tightened around his waist with effortless ease, pulling him back down into the secure circle of his embrace. His hold was firm yet tender, a perfect blend of strength and comfort, silently promising that he wasn’t ready to let Y/N go just yet.

“Not yet,” Clark whispered, his voice soft but resolute, filled with quiet intensity. His piercing blue eyes met Y/N’s with such tenderness that it made Y/N’s breath hitch for a moment. There was something profound in that gaze, something unspoken yet unmistakably clear—love, deep and unyielding.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, his lips quirking upward in mild amusement despite the way his heart seemed to swell in his chest. “Clark, we really should—”

“Do you know what today is?” Clark interrupted gently, his tone playful but tinged with something deeper—something meaningful. A small, knowing smile tugged at the corners of his lips, his expression equal parts teasing and expectant.

Y/N blinked, momentarily thrown by the sudden change in conversation, before a quiet laugh bubbled up from his chest. He let his forehead rest gently against Clark’s for a moment, savoring the warmth of their closeness, before pulling back just far enough to meet his eyes again.

“Of course I know,” Y/N replied softly, his voice steady but colored with affection. “It’s our anniversary.”

Clark’s smile widened, his eyes shimmering with something unmistakably radiant, though there was still a spark of playfulness there. He shook his head slightly, brushing his thumb tenderly over Y/N’s cheek, letting his fingers trail gently down to his jawline. His touch was reverent, as if the moment itself were fragile and precious.

“Not just any anniversary,” Clark corrected, his voice dipping lower, resonant with emotion. “It’s our ten-year anniversary.” His expression shifted into something more serious, almost reverent, as though the weight of a decade spent together was something sacred—something he still couldn’t quite believe he was lucky enough to have.

Y/N’s eyes widened briefly, a flicker of surprise softening into something far deeper, warmer. His lips parted as if to respond, but instead, he simply cupped Clark’s face with both hands, his thumbs tracing gentle, familiar lines along his jaw. His touch was slow, deliberate—a silent answer filled with love and devotion.

“Ten years,” Y/N echoed, letting the words hang between them like a whispered vow. His voice was quiet but steady, thick with emotion. “I can’t believe it’s been that long.”

Clark’s expression softened further, his smile turning just a little more playful as he leaned forward, pressing a lingering, feather-light kiss to Y/N’s forehead. His lips lingered there, warm and reassuring, before pulling back just enough to meet Y/N’s gaze again.

“And I’m not letting you out of this bed until we properly celebrate…” Clark whispered, his voice low and teasing but laced with unmistakable sincerity. His arms tightened just a fraction, drawing Y/N even closer. “…Starting right now.”

Y/N laughed softly, his eyes sparkling with both affection and amusement. “Is that so?” he asked, his voice light but affectionate, fingers still tracing slow, loving patterns across Clark’s chest.

Clark only smiled, leaning in to press another kiss—this time soft and lingering—against Y/N’s lips, sealing the promise between them with quiet certainty.

Y/N pulled away, letting out a soft breathy laugh, his lips curving into a playful smirk as he rested his hand gently on Clark’s chest. Beneath his fingertips, he could feel the steady, familiar rhythm of Clark’s heartbeat—strong, unyielding, and comforting in a way that felt like home. His fingers absently traced small, lazy circles over the fabric of Clark’s worn T-shirt, savoring the warmth radiating from his skin.

His eyes sparkled with affection, though there was a teasing edge in his voice as he arched an eyebrow. “Clark,” he murmured, his tone light but laced with mock sternness, “if we celebrate right now, neither one of us is going to make it to work on time.”

Clark chuckled, his deep, resonant laugh filling the room like a warm embrace. It was the kind of laugh that made Y/N’s heart swell, as familiar and comforting as the dawn’s first light. His smile widened into that boyish, slightly mischievous grin Y/N had fallen in love with all those years ago—a grin that still made his knees weak even after a decade together.

“You make a compelling point,” Clark admitted with mock seriousness, though the mischievous glint in his eyes betrayed him. His gaze softened as he took in every beloved detail of Y/N’s face—the curve of his cheek, the sparkle in his eyes, the way his lips quirked in that teasing smile that always left Clark feeling utterly captivated.

Before Y/N could fire back with a witty retort, Clark moved with effortless grace, gently shifting his weight as he rolled over, pinning Y/N beneath him in one fluid motion. His strong arms braced on either side of Y/N’s head, caging him in—but his touch was tender, protective, filled with nothing but love. Y/N gasped softly in surprise, though his eyes gleamed with amusement and affection.

Clark leaned down until their faces were mere inches apart, his breath warm against Y/N’s skin. His gaze never wavered, tracing every familiar feature with reverence, as though memorizing them all over again.

“I guess I could try to be responsible…” Clark whispered, his voice dropping into that low, velvety tone that always sent a shiver down Y/N’s spine, “…but where’s the fun in that?”

Before Y/N could respond—or even fully process the words—Clark dipped his head and captured his lips in a slow, lingering kiss. His mouth moved with unhurried purpose, savoring the connection as though time itself had ceased to matter. The kiss was deep but tender, filled with emotion that words could never quite capture.

Y/N’s breath hitched as Clark’s warm lips trailed away from his, leaving a path of feather-light kisses along his jawline. Clark’s mouth lingered just below Y/N’s ear—his most sensitive spot—his breath sending pleasant tingles down his spine. His lips brushed gently against Y/N’s neck, pressing soft, deliberate kisses that ignited a warmth deep within him.

A quiet, breathless laugh escaped Y/N’s lips as he arched into Clark’s touch, threading his fingers through Clark’s thick, dark hair. He tugged gently, earning a soft, pleased hum from Clark that resonated against his skin. “You’re impossible,” Y/N whispered, though his voice trembled with love, his words holding no real bite.

Clark pulled back just enough to meet Y/N’s gaze, his expression soft but still tinged with playful defiance. His piercing blue eyes sparkled with warmth, love, and something far deeper—something timeless. “Ten years,” he murmured, brushing his thumb gently across Y/N’s cheek, his touch reverent and tender. “I think we’ve earned a little celebration… even if we’re a bit late.”

Y/N laughed again, shaking his head in mock exasperation, though he made no effort to move away—he never could when Clark held him like this, when he looked at him like he was the most precious thing in the world. His heart swelled with overwhelming affection, threatening to burst from the sheer intensity of it all.

“You’re lucky I love you,” Y/N whispered softly, his voice thick with emotion as he tugged Clark down into another kiss—slow, deep, and full of all the love and devotion he couldn’t put into words.

Clark’s grin widened against Y/N’s lips, his expression radiating pure joy. “I know,” he whispered playfully, echoing the familiar words that had been exchanged between them countless times—but now, they held a deeper, more profound meaning.

In that moment, nothing else existed—no alarms, no deadlines, no responsibilities. Just the quiet, steady rhythm of their shared breath, the warmth of their intertwined bodies, and a love that had endured a decade and promised to last a lifetime.

By 8:15 a.m., the quiet intimacy of the early morning had dissolved into the familiar rhythm of Clark and Y/N’s weekday routine. The warmth of their shared bed now felt like a distant memory as they moved through their cozy apartment with practiced ease, the comfortable chaos of a typical workday morning unfolding around them.

The scent of freshly brewed coffee filled the air, mingling with the crisp aroma of toasted bread and the faint trace of Clark’s cologne lingering in the hallway. The kitchen was alive with quiet energy—drawers opening, shoes being slipped on, phones buzzing with notifications. The distant hum of Metropolis traffic outside was a constant, blending into the comforting sounds of home.

Clark stood at the kitchen counter, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, tie still undone around his neck. He poured steaming coffee into two familiar mugs—one emblazoned with the bold “Daily Planet” logo, and the other featuring a playful “World’s Best Partner” design, a sentimental gift from Y/N on their fifth anniversary. His hands moved with practiced efficiency, steady and sure, as though even the smallest tasks carried a quiet significance in their shared life.

“Babe, have you seen my laptop charger?” Y/N’s voice called from the bedroom, tinged with mild urgency. His words were punctuated by the sound of drawers sliding open and the soft rustle of clothes being shifted around.

Clark couldn’t help but chuckle, shaking his head fondly as he set the coffee mugs on the kitchen table. “Check the shelf by the desk!” he called back, his voice warm and familiar. In one smooth motion, he looped his tie into a perfect Windsor knot, fingers moving with expert precision—years of balancing superhero duties and tight Daily Planet deadlines had honed his multitasking skills to near perfection.

Moments later, Y/N emerged from the bedroom, holding his laptop charger triumphantly like a prize. His collar was only half-buttoned, his sleeves still unrolled, but he already looked every bit the driven professional Clark had admired from the moment they’d worked side by side as young interns. His hair was slightly tousled, still settling after a rushed comb-through, making him impossibly endearing.

“Found it!” Y/N announced with mock triumph, flashing Clark a cheeky grin as he hurried toward the kitchen. He grabbed his “World’s Best Partner” mug from the table and took a long, appreciative sip, savoring the warmth that seeped into his fingertips. A contented sigh escaped his lips. “You’re a lifesaver,” he said with sincere gratitude, the corners of his eyes crinkling with affection.

Clark smirked, leaning casually against the counter, arms folded across his chest. “I try,” he teased lightly, though his gaze softened as he watched Y/N sip his coffee, soaking in the familiar comfort of their shared morning ritual. It was in these small, ordinary moments that Clark felt the fullness of their life together—steady, warm, real.

Y/N gave a quick glance at the microwave clock—8:17 a.m. They were cutting it close but still technically on time if they hustled. He grabbed his well-worn messenger bag from the back of a kitchen chair and slung it over his shoulder with practiced ease. “Let’s roll,” he said with determined resolve, already mentally running through the day’s to-do list.

Just as Y/N reached for the door, Clark’s fingers gently brushed against his wrist, halting him with a soft touch. “Hey,” Clark murmured, his voice lower now, edged with something deeper.

Y/N turned, brow raised in curious question. His expression softened as he met Clark’s gaze, recognizing the quiet emotion shimmering in those piercing blue eyes.

Clark’s smile shifted into something far more tender, his earlier playfulness replaced by sincerity. “Happy ten-year anniversary,” he whispered, his voice rich with meaning, as though he still couldn’t quite believe how lucky he was to be standing there, sharing this life with the person he loved.

Y/N’s expression melted instantly, the rush of the morning forgotten. He leaned in, cradling Clark’s face gently in his hands, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to his lips. The world outside seemed to pause, leaving only the warmth of their shared breath and the quiet rhythm of their hearts beating in sync.

“Happy anniversary,” Y/N whispered back, his tone filled with unwavering love. His fingers lingered against Clark’s jaw for just a moment longer, as though reluctant to let the moment end.

With one last shared smile—intimate, knowing—they turned toward the door, ready to face whatever challenges the bustling city had in store. Whatever the day might bring, they would face it together—just as they always had, and always would.

Clark stepped through the revolving doors of the bustling Daily Planet building, adjusting his signature glasses out of habit as he took in the familiar symphony of the newsroom’s organized chaos. The air buzzed with the electric energy of a new workday—phones ringing, keyboards clacking, and conversations overlapping as reporters exchanged leads and debated headlines. The faint scent of fresh ink and brewed coffee lingered in the air, a constant reminder of the newsroom’s relentless pace.

A small, contented smile tugged at Clark’s lips as he strode across the polished marble floor, his polished shoes clicking softly against the tile. He felt right at home here, even after years of balancing the double life of award-winning journalist and Earth’s greatest protector. Still, even amid the familiar hustle, his mind lingered on the peaceful morning he’d shared with Y/N—the warmth of their shared coffee, the lingering kiss at the door, the whispered “Happy anniversary” that still echoed softly in his heart.

He was halfway to his desk when he found his path blocked—ambushed, really—by two familiar figures: Lois Lane and Jimmy Olsen, his closest friends and trusted partners in journalistic crime. Lois stood with her arms crossed, eyebrows raised in playful expectation, while Jimmy hovered just behind her, his ever-present camera slung over his shoulder like he was ready to document something groundbreaking.

“Alright, Kent,” Lois announced with a sly smirk, tilting her head in that knowing way she always did when she was on the verge of uncovering something. “What’s the plan?”

Clark blinked, momentarily thrown off by her question. He adjusted his glasses again, a reflex whenever he felt caught off guard. “Plan? What plan?” he asked, brow furrowing in genuine confusion.

Jimmy let out an exaggerated scoff, stepping forward with wide-eyed disbelief. “The plan, Clark!” he urged dramatically. “Don’t tell me you forgot! It’s your ten-year anniversary with Y/N today!”

Clark’s eyes widened ever so slightly, though he quickly schooled his expression into one of practiced calm. “Wait—how do you two know about that?” he asked, his voice tinged with mild suspicion but tempered by curiosity.

Lois rolled her eyes, her smirk widening. “Please,” she said with mock disdain. “I’m a journalist, Clark. It’s literally my job to know things.”

Jimmy nodded enthusiastically, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. “And I’m, like, super observant. You’ve had that goofy, ‘I’m-so-in-love’ look plastered all over your face for days.” He gestured dramatically around the newsroom. “It’s practically headline news at this point.”

Clark couldn’t help but chuckle despite himself, shaking his head. “You two are unbelievable.”

Lois stepped closer, her sharp eyes softening just a fraction, though the spark of mischief never left. “Seriously, though,” she said with a bit more warmth, “you do have something special planned, right? Ten years isn’t just any anniversary.”

For a brief moment, Clark’s mind drifted to the small velvet box tucked securely in the inner pocket of his coat—the one he’d been carefully keeping out of sight all morning. The memory of its weight was reassuring, grounding him in the quiet certainty of what the evening would bring.

“Let’s just say…” Clark began slowly, his lips curving into a knowing smile, “…I might have a few surprises up my sleeve.”

Jimmy let out a dramatic gasp, clearly intrigued, while Lois arched an approving eyebrow. “Now this is a story I’m dying to see unfold,” she quipped, already imagining the possibilities.

Clark chuckled, brushing past them toward his desk. “You’ll just have to wait and see,” he called over his shoulder. “No spoilers… even for journalists.”

Lois smirked knowingly while Jimmy fist-pumped in silent excitement, already speculating wildly about what Clark’s “surprise” might be. The newsroom’s steady hum continued around them, deadlines and breaking news still demanding attention—but for a brief moment, Clark allowed himself to savor the quiet anticipation bubbling within him.

Tonight would be more than just a milestone—it would be the start of something even greater. He couldn’t wait to see the look on Y/N’s face when he finally revealed what he’d been planning for weeks… and slipped that ring onto his finger.

The day carried on as usual—but for Clark, the countdown to that perfect, long-awaited moment had already begun.

The streets of Metropolis teemed with life far below as Superman soared effortlessly through the crisp morning sky, his iconic red cape billowing behind him like a banner of hope. The sharp edges of the city’s glass-and-steel skyline glinted in the morning sun, casting streaks of light across the bustling streets below. His keen eyes swept across the familiar cityscape, ever watchful, always ready.

The city pulsed with its usual symphony—honking car horns, hurried conversations, the rhythmic clang of construction equipment, and the distant chatter of morning radio shows drifting from open windows. The steady thrum of Metropolis’ indomitable spirit surrounded him, grounding him even as he hovered hundreds of feet above. To anyone else, it might have been overwhelming—chaotic—but to Clark, it was the heartbeat of home.

He had just finished assisting the Metropolis Fire Department with a hazardous warehouse fire down by the docks. The acrid scent of smoke still clung faintly to his uniform, though the crisis was long resolved. He allowed himself a rare moment of pause, suspended in the sky, arms crossed, his cape trailing like a protective shield over the city he’d sworn to protect.

Then something familiar tugged at his senses.

Cutting through the tangled web of urban noise, a voice—distinct, beloved—filtered clearly into his super-sensitive hearing.

Y/N’s voice.

Clark’s breath hitched as he stilled mid-air, hanging weightless against the wind. His sharp focus zeroed in instantly, his hearing filtering out the static of the city until only that familiar voice remained. His heart clenched with longing and quiet relief.

He traced the sound to the upper floors of a gleaming high-rise in the heart of downtown—the unmistakable, foreboding silhouette of LexCorp Tower, its sharp edges and mirrored surface reflecting the cold morning light. The sight alone made his jaw tighten, tension rippling through his frame. No matter how many years passed, Lex Luthor’s presence in Metropolis remained a constant thorn in his side.

But then Y/N spoke again, and Clark’s protective instincts flared.

“Yes, Mr. Luthor… I’ll have that report on your desk by noon,” Y/N said, his voice steady and professional, though Clark detected the faintest trace of exhaustion beneath his practiced tone. “I’ve already confirmed the logistics team’s data… Yes, sir, I’m double-checking it now.”

Clark exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, his shoulders relaxing just slightly. He could see Y/N in his mind’s eye—sitting at his immaculately organized desk, surrounded by gleaming tech and cool, polished steel decor, the harsh blue glow of holographic displays casting soft light over his face. His back would be straight, his sharp, tailored blazer fitting perfectly across his shoulders—a detail Y/N always insisted was necessary to “look the part.”

Clark’s chest warmed with quiet pride. Despite his unease about LexCorp—a company built on moral ambiguity and dangerous ambition—he knew Y/N. Driven, capable, relentless in his pursuit of success, yet unfailingly kind. He trusted Y/N implicitly.

Lex Luthor, on the other hand…

Clark frowned, his protective instincts prickling. Even now, he couldn’t entirely banish the concern that came with knowing Y/N worked within arm’s reach of one of the world’s most dangerous men. He strained to listen for anything out of place—any shift in Y/N’s voice, any hint of tension—but all he heard was focused professionalism.

Then, suddenly, Y/N’s voice softened—barely above a murmur—as though he believed himself to be completely alone. His tone turned warmer, more personal.

“…And maybe after work, I can figure out how to surprise you for once, Clark…”

Clark’s breath caught.

There was the faint rustling of papers, followed by a quiet, almost wistful chuckle that tugged at his heart.

“Ten years… Can you believe it?” Y/N whispered, almost as though speaking only to himself.

Clark’s expression melted into something achingly tender, a quiet warmth blooming in his chest that even the cold steel of LexCorp couldn’t diminish. For just a moment, he allowed himself this stolen glimpse into Y/N’s day—a reminder of the life they’d built together, of love that had endured through battles, secrets, and the challenges of his double life.

He hovered there, suspended in the stillness of the morning sky, wrapped in the memory of Y/N’s voice and the unspoken promise threaded through those words.

Then, from several blocks away, a sudden wail of police sirens split the air, snapping him back to reality. His gaze hardened instantly, his senses shifting back into sharp focus. The city needed him again.

But before he shot off into the wind, he cast one final, lingering glance toward the gleaming spire of LexCorp Tower, his voice a whispered promise meant only for the wind to carry:

“I love you, too.”

And then, in a streak of red and blue, he vanished into the sky—ready to protect the city he called home, and the man he loved more than anything.

The familiar creak of the front door closing echoed softly through the stillness of the cozy apartment. Clark Kent stepped inside, his broad shoulders relaxing as he shrugged off his thick, charcoal-gray overcoat. He smoothed out its fabric with practiced care before hanging it on the brass hook by the entryway, a small detail Y/N had insisted on installing when they first moved in together. The air smelled faintly of lavender and vanilla from a gently flickering candle on the bookshelf, mixing with the warm, inviting scent of home-cooked meals from memories past.

The apartment was bathed in a soft, golden glow from the dimmed overhead lights and the warm sparkle of fairy lights strung along the window. Framed photographs of shared adventures lined the walls—a snapshot from their first vacation, candid moments from friends’ weddings, and even a picture of Clark holding a grinning Y/N on his shoulders at a summer fair.

But tonight wasn’t just another ordinary evening. It was their ten-year anniversary, a milestone woven with laughter, challenges, and countless moments of quiet, steadfast love. Tonight, Clark intended to mark that journey in a way neither of them would ever forget.

With steady deliberation, he reached into the inner pocket of his suit jacket and carefully retrieved a small, velvet-covered box. He set it down gently on the cool marble countertop, as though the magnitude of what it held weighed heavier than any feat he had ever accomplished as Superman. His thumb brushed over the soft fabric of the box, tracing its edges with reverence. Inside rested a simple, timeless ring—delicate yet strong, much like the bond he shared with Y/N. He had spent months searching for the perfect piece, envisioning the way it would look on Y/N’s finger every step of the way.

Drawing a deep breath, he squared his shoulders and gently closed the box. The evening wasn’t going to prepare itself. He rolled up the sleeves of his crisp white shirt, exposing his strong forearms, and turned toward the kitchen. Fresh ingredients were laid out precisely as he had planned—Y/N’s favorite meal, every detail considered down to the garnish.

Moments later, Clark turned his attention to the living room, the heart of their shared memories. It was a space shaped by comfort and familiarity, where countless evenings had been spent wrapped in warmth and laughter. He moved with quiet purpose, selecting a small stack of their favorite movies from the shelf—classic comedies that never failed to make them laugh, heartfelt dramas that always left them holding each other a little tighter, and those feel-good romances they could recite line for line. He placed the DVDs neatly on the rustic wooden coffee table, arranging them just so, knowing Y/N would smile the moment they saw them.

Draped over the back of their well-loved couch was a thick, cozy blanket—soft, worn, and infused with memories of lazy Sundays and late-night cuddles. He smoothed out its folds, making sure it was within easy reach for when the night wound down, when dinner was just a memory, and only the quiet comfort of each other remained. A few plump, overstuffed pillows rested at each end of the couch, inviting and familiar.

The soft glow of the fairy lights strung along the window added a magical warmth to the room, their tiny bulbs twinkling like distant stars. On the coffee table, he placed a wooden tray holding two mugs—one ready for hot cocoa, the other for Y/N’s favorite tea, complete with a small jar of honey. A delicate ceramic bowl filled with chocolate-covered almonds—Y/N’s guilty pleasure—completed the thoughtful setup. Every detail was intentional, a reflection of the countless quiet nights they had shared in this very space.

But even as the living room felt ready, Clark couldn’t shake the sense that something was still missing.

He stepped back into the kitchen, enveloped once more by the inviting aroma of the special meal he’d worked so carefully to prepare. The rich scent of seared steak lingered in the air, mingling with the creamy, garlicky aroma of the mashed potatoes he’d whipped until they were impossibly smooth and buttery. The sautéed vegetables—green beans with a light char, caramelized baby carrots glistening with honey, and earthy mushrooms kissed with rosemary—were arranged in a serving dish, their vibrant colors promising comfort and warmth with every bite.

On the stovetop, the red wine sauce had reduced to perfection, its velvety richness gleaming as Clark gave it one last stir. The deep, complex fragrance of simmering shallots, garlic, and wine filled the room, tempting him to taste—but he resisted. This was for Y/N.

His gaze drifted to the marble countertop, where the decadent chocolate mousse cake he had picked up from their favorite bakery waited like the final act of a perfect evening. Its glossy, dark chocolate surface shimmered under the soft kitchen lights, adorned with delicate curls of bittersweet chocolate and a light dusting of powdered sugar. Plump, jewel-toned raspberries rested artfully around the edges, a splash of vibrant red against the dark richness of the cake.

Satisfied with the meal, Clark moved to the small dining table near the bay window. He tugged at the edges of the crisp white tablecloth, ensuring it lay perfectly smooth. Their best dinnerware gleamed in the soft light, paired with sparkling wine glasses and polished silverware arranged with precision. He folded two linen napkins into elegant triangles, placing them neatly by each plate.

At the center of the table sat a modest yet beautiful bouquet—soft blush roses, delicate white lilies, and fragrant sprigs of eucalyptus bound together with natural twine. Their gentle scent mingled with the meal’s intoxicating aromas, adding a romantic, timeless touch. Clark adjusted the bouquet slightly, ensuring it looked effortlessly perfect.

Finally, he lit three slender ivory candles in sleek, minimalist holders. Their warm, flickering flames cast a soft, golden glow across the table, their light shimmering off the delicate crystal and creating an atmosphere of quiet elegance.

With everything in place, Clark allowed himself a moment to pause. The apartment felt magical, transformed by love and intention. Yet his eyes inevitably returned to the small velvet-covered box still resting on the counter, its deep navy surface catching the candlelight like a secret waiting to be shared.

He stepped closer, brushing his thumb once again over its soft, textured fabric. Inside lay the ring—simple yet exquisitely crafted, timeless yet personal. He could still remember the moment he had found it, knowing instantly it was the one. Strong but delicate. Elegant yet enduring. Just like what they had built together.

He imagined Y/N’s face when he saw it—his wide-eyed surprise, the way his breath might hitch, the unmistakable light that would fill his eyes when he understood what Clark was asking. The thought made Clark usually steady hands tremble just a little.

It wasn’t about the meal, the setting, or even the ring.

It was about the ten years of shared memories, of challenges faced side by side, of whispered promises in the dark, and quiet mornings filled with warmth and love. It was about their story—one already filled with so much life and meaning—but with so much more yet to be written.

And tonight, Clark Kent was ready to ask Y/N to write the rest of that story with him—forever.

With dinner prepared, the apartment glowing with warmth, and every thoughtful detail in place, Clark found himself standing in front of the hallway mirror, tugging at the collar of his white dress shirt for what felt like the tenth time. His fingers smoothed the fabric, adjusting the top button, then pausing as he reconsidered, ultimately leaving it undone for a more relaxed look.

He straightened his tie, only to frown and pull it loose again. His reflection stared back, resolute but edged with vulnerability, a flicker of nerves in his usually steady blue eyes.

With a slow, measured breath, he adjusted his glasses—pointless, really, but the familiar motion gave his restless hands something to do. The thin frames rested perfectly on the bridge of his nose, though he still fiddled with them out of habit. He braced his palms against the edge of the dresser, leaning forward, forehead nearly touching the cool surface of the mirror.

“This is fine,” he murmured, voice low but firm, as though willing himself to believe it. “You’ve faced supervillains, alien invasions… even world-ending threats.” He let out a soft, self-deprecating chuckle. “This is just… one question.”

But this question mattered more than anything else he’d ever done.

He exhaled slowly, centering himself, and straightened his posture, rolling his shoulders back as if preparing for battle. His reflection stared back, still strong but undeniably human—vulnerable in a way he rarely allowed himself to be.

“He’s already said yes… a thousand different ways over the past ten years,” Clark whispered, almost as though speaking the words aloud would steady his heart. “This is just… making it official.”

He ran a hand through his dark, slightly tousled hair, pushing it back in a way he knew Y/N liked. His fingers lingered for a moment, brushing against his temple as he let out another breath, more controlled this time. He reached into the pocket of his dress pants and pulled out the small velvet box once again.

Flipping it open, he let his eyes rest on the ring inside—simple but elegant, timeless yet meaningful. He had chosen it with absolute certainty, picturing Y/N’s hand wearing it, imagining how it would feel to place it there himself. The thought made his chest tighten—not with fear, but with overwhelming love.

For a brief moment, the rest of the world faded away. There were no distant cries for help, no looming threats or urgent responsibilities. In this quiet space, there was only the promise of forever, contained in the small, glinting circle of gold resting in the velvet folds.

A soft, affectionate smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, chasing away the last traces of doubt. His voice, low but steady, broke the silence.

“You’ve got this, Kent.”

Just then, the familiar click of the front door unlocking echoed softly through the quiet apartment. His head snapped up, heart pounding with a mix of anticipation and joy.

Y/N was home.

Clark gently closed the ring box, slipping it back into his pocket with practiced care. His pulse quickened, but his hands were steady now. He smoothed his shirt one last time, inhaling deeply, letting the love he felt ground him.

This was the moment. The beginning of something new, built on ten years of shared memories, quiet mornings, and promises unspoken but always understood.

Y/N stepped inside of the apartment, already shrugging off his coat after a long, tiring day at work. He reached out automatically to flip the light switch, expecting the familiar glow of the overhead light—but paused, his fingers hovering in midair.

Something was different.

The apartment was already softly illuminated—not by the usual bright lights, but by the gentle, flickering glow of candles scattered throughout the living room and dining area. A delicate floral fragrance, light and fresh, mingled with the mouthwatering aroma of something savory and richly seasoned wafting from the kitchen. Y/N blinked, his eyes widening as he slowly took in the transformed space before him.

The usually simple, everyday dining table was unrecognizable—draped in a pristine white tablecloth that gleamed softly under the warm candlelight. Two polished wine glasses stood side by side, catching the soft light like tiny prisms, while their best silverware lay neatly arranged on elegant dinner plates. In the center of the table sat a beautifully arranged bouquet of fresh flowers—roses, lilies, and eucalyptus sprigs woven together with thoughtful care. Their delicate petals glowed softly in the candlelight, their fragrance blending seamlessly with the warm, inviting smells of home-cooked food.

Y/N’s gaze drifted toward the kitchen, where a small serving tray waited, holding a carefully plated dinner beneath a gleaming silver cover. Steam still gently wafted from beneath the lid, hinting at something savory and delicious inside. The mouthwatering scent of garlic, herbs, and seared meat hung in the air, making his stomach growl despite the emotional tightness building in his chest.

He took a tentative step forward, feeling his breath hitch as he noticed the living room. There, on the rustic coffee table, was a familiar stack of their favorite movies—the ones they always watched on cozy nights in, when they just needed to be close. A thick, cozy blanket was neatly folded over the back of the couch, inviting and familiar, ready for when the night wound down. Everything was arranged with such intention, such thoughtfulness… such love.

Y/N pressed a trembling hand over his mouth, overwhelmed by the sheer care and intimacy behind every detail. His heart thudded against his ribs, pounding with disbelief and something deeper, something warmer. Was this really happening? Did Clark… do all of this?

Before he could fully process the scene, a quiet creak of the kitchen floorboards caught his attention. He turned slowly, his breath still uneven, and his gaze landed on Clark standing just a few steps away.

Clark’s hands rested loosely at his sides, fidgeting slightly—a rare crack in his usually steady composure—but his expression was soft, warm, and impossibly tender. His deep blue eyes held an intensity that stole Y/N’s breath—not the intensity of a hero prepared for battle, but of a man utterly, irrevocably in love.

“Clark… what is all this?” Y/N whispered, voice trembling with emotion.

Clark’s lips curved into a gentle, familiar smile—the kind that had always felt like home. His eyes shimmered with warmth, reflecting ten years of shared memories, quiet mornings, and late-night talks. “Happy anniversary,” he murmured, taking a slow, measured step closer.

Y/N let out a shaky breath, his gaze flickering from the candlelit table to the familiar stack of movies—and finally back to the man who had done all of this. The man he loved with every fiber of his being. “You… you did all this… for me?” His voice cracked, disbelief and affection tangling in his throat.

Clark’s smile widened just a fraction, his eyes softening even further. “For us,” he corrected gently, his voice steady but filled with quiet vulnerability.

Y/N felt tears pricking at the corners of his eyes, his heart swelling so much it almost hurt. Every detail—the flowers, the meal, the movies, the candles—felt like a physical manifestation of the life they had built together. A life filled with love, warmth, and quiet, shared moments that meant everything.

His hands trembled as he reached for Clark, closing the space between them in a heartbeat. His arms wrapped tightly around Clark’s strong frame, pulling him into an embrace filled with every unspoken word he couldn’t seem to say. Clark held him just as fiercely, his face burying into Y/N’s shoulder, breathing him in like he was the only thing that mattered.

Y/N’s breath hitched against Clark’s neck, a soft, broken sound of love and wonder. Neither of them moved for a long moment, wrapped in each other’s arms, grounded in the familiarity and promise of what they shared.

In that moment, there was no world outside, no responsibilities, no distant cries for help—only them. Two hearts, intertwined and steady, standing at the edge of something new, something even deeper than what had come before.

Surrounded by the gentle glow of candlelight and the quiet warmth of home, Clark held Y/N tighter, silently promising that this—they—would always be his greatest adventure.

And tonight, their forever was just beginning.

The warm glow of candlelight flickered softly across the cozy apartment, casting gentle, golden light over every familiar surface. Y/N and Clark sat comfortably on the well-worn couch, plates balanced carefully on their laps while the familiar sounds of their favorite movie played quietly in the background. The soft crackle of the candles still burning on the dining table blended with the movie’s soundtrack, creating an atmosphere of warmth, intimacy, and quiet joy.

Clark had insisted on serving the meal himself, carrying each perfectly plated dish with the care of someone offering up something precious. The garlic-herb steak, creamy mashed potatoes, and perfectly sautéed vegetables looked like something from a five-star restaurant—but tasted even better. Each bite was rich, savory, and cooked exactly the way Y/N liked it.

“This is so good,” Y/N mumbled around another bite, eyes widening with genuine delight. “Seriously… did you take a secret cooking class or something? How do you always nail this?”

Clark chuckled, a faint blush rising in his cheeks. He rubbed the back of his neck, sheepish but clearly pleased. “I might’ve… practiced a little,” he admitted, his voice low and warm. “I just wanted tonight to be perfect.”

Y/N’s heart swelled at the quiet sincerity in Clark’s words. The love behind every carefully considered detail of the evening hit him all at once—the flowers, the candles, the dinner, the movies—all thoughtfully chosen, all crafted with so much care. He set his plate down on the coffee table, suddenly unable to focus on the food when something far more important was sitting right beside him.

Without a word, Y/N reached out and gently placed his hand over Clark’s, his fingertips tracing slow, familiar patterns across the back of Clark’s strong, calloused hand. The warmth of his skin was grounding, comforting, home.

“You are perfect,” Y/N whispered, his voice trembling slightly with emotion. “This whole night… the dinner, the movies, the candles… everything. It’s perfect.”

Clark’s breath caught, his eyes softening as he gently turned his hand to entwine their fingers together. His thumb traced slow, reassuring circles over Y/N’s knuckles, a quiet gesture that spoke volumes.

“You didn’t have to go through all this trouble,” Y/N continued, his gaze never leaving Clark’s. “But you did. You always do… You always find a way to make me feel so loved.”

Clark’s breath hitched slightly, his fingers tightening just a little around Y/N’s hand. His voice was low but steady, full of quiet intensity. “You are loved… more than anything… more than I could ever say.”

Y/N’s eyes shimmered with unshed tears, his heart pounding with affection so deep it felt impossible to contain. Slowly, he leaned in, resting his forehead gently against Clark’s, savoring the quiet, shared connection. In that small, still moment, surrounded by the warm glow of flickering candles and the familiar hum of their shared life, nothing else existed—only them.

“Thank you… for all of this,” Y/N whispered, his voice breaking just slightly. “For everything.”

Clark smiled softly, tilting his head just enough to brush his lips gently against Y/N’s in a tender, lingering kiss. It was slow, filled with all the love and devotion words could never fully express. His hand cupped Y/N’s cheek, fingers sliding into his hair as he deepened the kiss just enough to make the world fall away.

When they finally parted, their foreheads still resting together, Clark’s voice was barely above a whisper—but steady and sure.

“There’s still… one more thing.”

Y/N blinked, momentarily caught off guard, curiosity sparking in his expression. “What do you mean?”

Clark’s hands trembled ever so slightly as he reached for Y/N’s, threading their fingers together with practiced ease, grounding himself in the familiar warmth of that touch. His heart pounded with a mixture of nerves and anticipation, but the feel of Y/N’s hand in his steadied him, like it always had.

“Come with me,” Clark whispered softly, his voice low but sure.

Y/N blinked in surprise but let Clark gently guide him off the couch and into the softly glowing living room. The flickering candlelight cast a warm halo around them, creating a setting that felt timeless, intimate, and entirely their own. Y/N’s expression shifted from curious to something deeper, something tender, as he felt the subtle tension in Clark’s usually steady grip.

Clark exhaled slowly, forcing himself to breathe, to be fully present in this moment he’d imagined countless times. His thumb traced slow, deliberate circles over Y/N’s knuckles—a silent reassurance for both of them. When he finally met Y/N’s gaze, his deep blue eyes shimmered with emotion—vulnerable but unwavering, filled with love so profound it left no room for doubt.

“Y/N…” Clark began, his voice trembling just enough to reveal how much this meant to him. “There’s something I’ve been wanting to say… something I’ve been thinking about for a long time.”

Y/N’s breath hitched, his lips parting slightly in surprise, but he stayed quiet, his gaze steady, urging Clark to continue.

Clark tightened his hold ever so slightly, his hands enveloping Y/N’s like a protective barrier, keeping them both anchored in this moment. His voice grew steadier, though still thick with emotion.

“From the very first moment I saw you… back in high school… I knew,” Clark said softly, his eyes shining with memory and meaning. “I didn’t know exactly what ‘forever’ looked like back then… but I knew you were going to be someone important. The someone.”

Y/N’s eyes shimmered, already brimming with unshed tears as the weight of Clark’s words settled over him.

“We’ve built this incredible life together,” Clark continued, his voice deepening with quiet intensity. “Through moves, jobs… everything life’s thrown at us. And through it all… I’ve known one thing with absolute certainty.” He swallowed hard, his lips quirking into the faintest, most affectionate smile. “I want to spend every day, every moment… with you.”

Y/N’s breath shuddered as a tear slipped free, trailing slowly down his cheek.

Clark’s eyes softened even further as he gently wiped the tear away with his thumb. “I thought about this night so many times… about what I’d say… but I kept coming back to something you said once.”

Y/N blinked, his brow furrowing faintly as he tried to recall.

“It was a long time ago… back when we first talked about marriage,” Clark murmured, his deep voice softening into something reverent, as if he were holding a fragile, cherished memory in his hands. His gaze lowered for a brief moment, lost in the weight of what he was about to say. When he looked back up, his eyes gleamed with something raw and unguarded—love, hope, and nostalgia woven together.

“‘Don’t marry me just because we’ve been together forever…’” he repeated, his voice trembling ever so slightly as he spoke the familiar words. “You said that to me.”

The memory hit Y/N like a crashing wave—vivid, intimate, and achingly familiar. It had been during one of those long, late-night talks when the world outside didn’t matter, and the future felt like a distant, untouchable dream. Y/N remembered the quiet stillness of that night, the soft glow of the bedside lamp illuminating Clark’s thoughtful expression as they both lay tangled together, speaking from the heart without hesitation.

Clark’s warm fingers brushed gently over Y/N’s, grounding him in the present even as his words pulled him back to that deeply personal moment. His touch was familiar, steady, and reassuring—the same touch Y/N trusted through every joy, every storm, every uncertain tomorrow.

His voice softened even further, dipping into something more intimate, more earnest, as though he were speaking directly to your soul. “‘Marry me because you want to,’” he continued, his thumbs tracing slow, tender circles over the backs of Y/N’s hands. “‘Because you can’t see yourself with anyone else. Marry me… because you love me.’”

Y/N’s breath hitched as those words echoed through him, every syllable steeped in memory and meaning. They weren’t just words from the past—they were a promise him had once made without realizing how much they would come to define his future.

Tears welled in Y/N’s eyes, blurring the sight of Clark’s face, but Y/N could still see the love etched into every line, every tender curve of his expression. His gaze held Y/N’s with such fierce intensity that it felt like nothing else in the world existed—just the two of them, tethered by a shared history and an undeniable, enduring love.

Clark’s hands tightened around Y/N’s just slightly—not possessive, but grounding—anchoring them both in the weight of the present. His breath hitched as he whispered, “I never forgot those words… not for a second.”

His voice cracked, just faintly, but he pressed on, his expression resolute and filled with quiet determination. “I don’t want to marry you because of how long we’ve been together… or because it’s ‘what comes next.’ I want to marry you because there’s no one else I could ever imagine standing beside me. No one else I want to build a future with… grow old with.”

He let out a shaky breath, his eyes glistening as he whispered, “I want to marry you… because I love you.”

Y/N let out a soft, broken laugh, tears spilling freely now as he clung to Clark’s every word.

Clark’s breath hitched, his chest tightening with emotion. Slowly, deliberately, he lowered himself onto one knee, his gaze never wavering, his hands still cradling Y/N’s as though letting go was unthinkable. With quiet reverence, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the small velvet box he’d carried close to him all night. His fingers trembled only slightly as he opened it, revealing the simple yet elegant ring—a perfect symbol of the love they had built: enduring, strong, timeless.

“I do, Y/N,” Clark whispered, his voice raw with unguarded emotion. “I love you… endlessly. I see my forever… and it’s you. It’s always been you.”

His gaze softened further, shimmering with hope, love, and absolute certainty. “Will you… will you marry me?”

The room seemed suspended in breathless stillness—time stretching endlessly in the space between the question and the answer. Tears streamed down Y/N’s face as a choked, tearful laugh escaped his lips. He covered his mouth for just a second, overcome, before reaching down and pulling Clark up into his arms with a fierce, unrestrained embrace.

“Yes,” Y/N whispered, voice trembling but resolute. “Yes. A thousand times… yes.”

Clark let out a shaky, relieved laugh, wrapping his arms around Y/N like he never intended to let go. Their foreheads pressed together, tears mingling as they clung to the enormity of the moment—the life they had already built and the future they were now promising.

Time seemed to stop the moment Clark gently slid the ring onto Y/N’s finger. His large, warm hands trembled just enough for you to notice, though his grip remained steady and sure—like he was grounding himself in the reality of this moment. Clark’s ocean-blue eyes glistened with unshed tears, swirling with relief, joy, and an overwhelming depth of love that stole Y/N’s breath away. His expression softened as though the weight of anticipation he’d been carrying for weeks had finally lifted.

For a moment, all Y/N could do was stare at the ring sparkling brilliantly in the soft candlelight. Its elegance and meaning were undeniable, but even its beauty couldn’t compare to the way Clark was looking at Y/N—like he were the most precious, extraordinary person in the world, the very center of his universe.

Emotion swelled in Y/N’s chest, leaving him speechless. Tears blurred his vision, but through the shimmering haze, he could still see Clark—standing there, still holding his hand like he couldn’t bear to let go, his breath uneven as he searched your face for reassurance that this was real.

With every ounce of love, joy, and unspoken promise between them, Y/N closed the distance and pulled Clark into the most heartfelt, soul-deep kiss they had ever shared. It wasn’t rushed or urgent—it was steady, certain, and profound, like the turning of the earth, like something that had always been meant to happen.

Their lips met with a softness that carried ten years of shared history—nights spent laughing until their sides hurt, quiet mornings tangled in sheets as sunlight streamed through the windows, whispered promises exchanged in the dark when the world felt too heavy. This kiss held all of that—and more. It was the culmination of a thousand moments, big and small, that had built the life they shared.

Clark’s hands came up slowly, almost reverently, cradling Y/N’s face with a tenderness that spoke of how deeply he cherished this moment. His fingers brushed against Y/N’s jaw, his touch light but grounding, as if he couldn’t quite believe this was real. His lips moved against Y/N’s with aching sincerity, pouring his heart into the connection, into the unspoken vow that they would never have to let go.

Y/N’s arms wrapped securely around Clark’s broad shoulders, pulling him closer until there was no space left between them—only warmth, only love, only them. He felt Clark’s breath hitch ever so slightly against his mouth, felt the way his shoulders relaxed as though the weight of the world had finally fallen away, leaving only this perfect, timeless moment.

The soft glow of the candles flickered gently around them, casting dancing shadows across the familiar walls of their home. The delicate scent of roses and eucalyptus lingered faintly in the air, mingling with the comforting warmth still radiating from the hearth of the kitchen. The world outside seemed to hold its breath, quiet and still, as though honoring something sacred unfolding in that small, candle-lit apartment.

But the only warmth they truly felt was the steady, enduring fire they had always kindled in each other—the kind of warmth built over years of shared dreams, quiet comforts, and unconditional love.

When they finally pulled away, their foreheads rested together, breath mingling as they lingered in the quiet intimacy of the moment. Y/N’s fingers gently traced the edge of Clark’s jaw, his touch still trembling from the overwhelming rush of emotion. Clark’s eyes opened slowly, his deep blue gaze shining with love, awe, and absolute certainty.

“I love you,” Clark whispered, voice thick with emotion, as though the words weren’t nearly enough but still everything he needed to say.

Y/N smiled through tears that still shimmered in his eyes, his own voice breaking. “I love you… so much.”

Their fingers entwined again, holding on as though they never intended to let go—and they didn’t. They wouldn’t. This was forever.

Their story—already filled with so much life, so many memories and shared adventures—was only just beginning.

And in the soft, golden glow of their home, surrounded by the quiet beauty they had built together, they stood hand in hand—ready to write the next chapter, together.

#dc x male reader #dc #superman #superman x male reader #clark kent x male reader #henry cavill x male reader #x male reader #fluff #clark kent #henry cavill

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missmaymay13 · 2 months ago

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close to you - w. eklund

12k | w.eklund x fem!oc | w.smith & m.celebrini x oc platonic

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

Summary: the sharks have a new social media intern and immediately the two young rookies stake their claim on her as their "adopted older sister". the three were always attached at the hip. when william eklund meets the new girl, hes immediately smitten by her. the only issue? he's too shy to do anything about it.

masterlist | series masterlist

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

If June Johnson had any illusions about starting a calm, professional internship with the San Jose Sharks, they were completely shattered the moment she stepped into the dressing room. She wasn't new to social media—she had spent years running accounts for small businesses, university sports teams, and even a short stint with a junior hockey club. But this? This was different.

This was the NHL.

And the NHL, apparently, came with an unspoken initiation involving two overly energetic rookies and a locker room full of chaos. She had barely set foot inside before she was noticed.

"Wait, you're new." Macklin Celebrini, the Sharks' golden boy, stood in front of her with a curious expression, his practice jersey half on, his skates still untied. Before she could respond, another voice piped up.

"Yeah, dude, she literally just walked in," said Will Smith, his grin wide, blonde hair slightly damp from morning skate. June barely had time to introduce herself before Will and Macklin had already formed a huddle, whispering loudly enough for the entire room to hear.

"Alright, what's the bet?" Will muttered dramatically. "How long do we think before she quits?"

"Oh my god." June rolled her eyes. "I'm literally standing right here." Macklin hummed, rubbing his chin as if he were deep in thought. "I give her three weeks."

"Three weeks?" Will scoffed. "Nah, she looks tough. I say she lasts a month." June crossed her arms. "You guys do realize I control the social media accounts, right? I can absolutely mute you both from existence."

Macklin's eyes widened. "You wouldn't." Will gasped. "That's... I didn't think of that." June smirked. "Try me."

For a moment, there was silence. Then, as if she had passed some unspoken test, Macklin and Will immediately abandoned their "bet" and turned their attention to grilling her instead. "Alright, but for real," Macklin leaned against his stall, arms crossed. "You actually want to work here?"

June shot him a look. "Yes? Why, should I be concerned?" Will grinned. "Let's just say... we're a little much." June snorted. "Oh, I've noticed." That was when Mario Ferraro, one of the veteran defensemen, wandered over with a laugh. "You'll get used to them."

"Will I?" Mario patted her shoulder. "Probably not."

Despite Macklin and Will's warnings, June quickly settled into her role. Her first few days were a whirlwind of learning the ropes, familiarizing herself with the Sharks' social media strategy, and—most importantly—figuring out how to handle the absolute disaster that was the team's young core. It didn't take long for Macklin and Will to adopt her as one of their own. At some point, she had unknowingly become their unofficial babysitter. They followed her around like lost puppies, insisted on helping her gather content, and were constantly dragging her into their antics. By day three, she had already been roped into filming a TikTok where the two of them attempted a viral dance trend.

Spoiler: it did not go well.

"I swear, we had it perfect before you hit record," Will complained, shaking out his hands as Macklin groaned beside him. June snorted. "Sure you did." Macklin narrowed his eyes at her. "Are you going to be this sassy all season?"

"Oh, absolutely." Will grinned. "I like her."

But June quickly realized that handling these two was only part of the challenge—because the rest of the team wasn't any better. She had planned to ease into things, maybe take a few weeks before jumping headfirst into recording the "random question of the day" segment.

Yeah. That plan lasted all of five minutes.

The second Logan Couture spotted her with the team's media camera, he nudged Tomas Hertl. "Bet she asks something ridiculous." Tomas, grinning, turned to her. "First question, let's go."

June hesitated, flipping through her mental list of backup prompts before blurting out, "Would you rather fight one horse-sized duck or a hundred duck-sized horses?" The room erupted.

"Oh, that's a good one."

"Wait, do we get weapons?"

"What kind of question is that?"

"Absolutely taking the duck-sized horses."

"Are you crazy? The horse-sized duck would kill you."

June blinked as chaos ensued. "...So I take it this is a success?" Mario nodded solemnly. "You're going to fit in just fine."

By the end of her first week, June had established herself as more than just the new intern—she was officially part of the team's day-to-day chaos. She had already lost count of how many times Macklin and Will had dragged her into some ridiculous argument (the most recent one being about whether or not cereal counted as soup). She had also learned that Henry Thrun would agree to any TikTok challenge if you dared him, and that Noah Gregor was terrifyingly good at coming up with completely random, borderline unhinged facts about obscure animals.

Most importantly, she learned that despite their antics, these guys weren't just a team—they were a family. And as much as she had expected to feel like an outsider, June realized something as she sat in the locker room, laughing at yet another one of Will's dumb ideas: She was already part of it.

⸻By the time June's second week rolled around, she had fully accepted her fate. She wasn't just the Sharks' new social media intern. She was now the official (unofficial) babysitter of two NHL rookies who had way too much energy and way too little supervision. Her schedule? Completely dictated by Macklin and Will. Her daily tasks? Constantly interrupted by their antics. Her peace and sanity? Gone.

And the worst part? She didn't even mind.

June had just walked into the practice facility when she heard it. "Junie! HELP!"

She barely had time to process before Macklin came barreling toward her. She dodged out of the way just in time to see Will chasing after him, waving what looked like—was that a half-eaten protein bar?

"You're a menace to society!" Will shouted. "How do you not like peanut butter?!"

"It's disgusting!" Macklin yelled back, jumping behind June for cover. June, half-awake, pinched the bridge of her nose. "It's literally eight in the morning."

"He called peanut butter MID!" Will exclaimed, shoving the evidence (a protein bar wrapper) in her face. "This is a CRIME, June. A CRIME." Macklin peeked out from behind her. "Are you seriously telling me peanut butter is top-tier? Grow up."

"GROW UP?!" And just like that, they were arguing again. June sighed, stepping around them to grab her morning coffee from the media lounge. "I'm too tired for this." She had barely taken her first sip when Logan Couture walked by, shaking his head. "Still want the job?"

June took a long, dramatic sip of her coffee before deadpanning, "I've made my peace with it." Logan smirked. "Good answer."

The thing about Macklin and Will was that they had absolutely no chill. If June thought they had been bad the first week, she completely underestimated just how much worse it could get. They followed her everywhere. They never let her work in peace. They somehow managed to turn every single day into some kind of ridiculous event.

Exhibit A: June had been setting up a behind-the-scenes TikTok, casually filming players walking into practice, when Macklin and Will sprinted into the frame—dramatically sliding in on their socks like they were action movie stars. She barely had time to react before they started posing. "Mack, hit 'em with the Zoolander." Macklin turned to the camera and gave his best Blue Steel impression.

"Oh my god," June muttered. "We're naturals," Will declared, tossing an arm over Macklin's shoulder. "Should we be influencers?" June deadpanned. "Absolutely not."

"Okay, rude."

Exhibit B: June was setting up a mic for a player interview when she felt something land on her head. She immediately knew who was responsible. "Will," she said slowly, reaching up to remove the hockey tape ball that had just been thrown at her. Will, sitting across the room, looked way too innocent. "What?" he said, blinking at her. "That could've been anyone."

June narrowed her eyes. "Really?"

"Really." From beside him, Macklin was struggling not to laugh. "You're lucky I like my job," June muttered, tossing the paper back at him. Will caught it easily, grinning. "You love us." June rolled her eyes, fighting a smile. "Debatable."

It took approximately zero days for the rest of the team to notice just how much time Macklin and Will spent following June around. "They have imprinted on her," Henry Thrun declared during a team meeting. Mario Ferraro nodded solemnly. "She's like their pack leader now."

"I give it a week before she starts bringing them snacks like a hockey mom," Tyler Toffoli joked. The worst part was that June heard all of this.

"You guys are talking like I'm not right here," she pointed out, arms crossed. "Oh, we know," Logan said, smirking. "We just think it's funny." June rolled her eyes. "They're not that bad." That was when Macklin and Will—who had been wrestling over a Gatorade bottle like literal children—accidentally knocked over an entire stack of towels. Everyone turned to her.

June sighed. "Okay, fine, they're a little bad."

By the time practice ended, June was exhausted. Not from the work—no, she could handle that. She was exhausted from babysitting two grown hockey players. As she sat in the lounge, sipping on what had to be her third coffee of the day, she suddenly felt two shadows looming over her.

"Junie." She sighed. "What do you want now?"

Macklin plopped down beside her, grinning. "Just saying hi." Will flopped into the chair on her other side. "We missed you." June gave them a look. "I literally saw you guys an hour ago." Will shrugged. "Yeah, but still." June groaned, dramatically dropping her head onto the table. "I give up." Macklin patted her shoulder. "It's okay. We love you too."

And that's when it hit her. Somehow, without even trying, she had become one of them.

⸻June Johnson was used to chaos by now. She had accepted that working for the San Jose Sharks meant zero peace and infinite amounts of babysitting two overgrown children (Macklin and Will) on a daily basis. But what she hadn't accounted for?

William Eklund.

She had heard his name before—obviously. He was one of the team's top young players, constantly hyped up by the media, and apparently the "responsible" one out of all the rookies. That was a lie. Because when she finally met him? He was the opposite of put-together. In fact, he completely malfunctioned.

June was minding her own business, setting up a camera for a post-practice TikTok, when she felt it. The weirdest, most intense stare from across the room. At first, she ignored it, assuming it was just one of the guys zoning out. But then she heard a very distinct choking noise. She turned—only to find William Eklund standing a few feet away, frozen, wide-eyed, and looking like he had just forgotten how to breathe.

"...Uh," June blinked. "Are you okay?"

William made a sound that was definitely not human. Then, instead of speaking like a normal person, he just kept staring. Like, full-on deer-in-the-headlights staring. It was so bad that even Macklin noticed.

"Yo, Eky," Macklin called, waving a hand in front of his face. "Earth to Eky?"

William didn't respond. He just continued looking at June like she was a mythical creature. Macklin and Will exchanged glances. Then Will, ever the troublemaker, grinned.

"Oh my god," he whispered. "He's starstruck." Macklin's eyes widened. "No way."

June, completely lost, looked between them. "What?" Will beamed. "Oh, this is amazing." At that moment, William finally snapped out of his trance—only to immediately panic.

"Vad i helvete," he blurted out. June frowned. "What?" William visibly cringed. Then, because his brain was apparently not functioning, he started nervously rambling.

"Uh—I—hi," he stuttered. "You're—you're—um."

"Oh my god," Will whispered. "He's broken." Macklin gasped. "Did we just witness love at first sight?"

William immediately turned bright red. "Nej! Sluta!" June tilted her head. "I don't speak Swedish, but that sounded defensive." That only made him more flustered.

Macklin doubled over laughing. "He's panicking! He's literally panicking!" William looked so done. June, still completely out of the loop, crossed her arms. "Okay, can someone explain what's happening?" Will grinned. "Oh, nothing."

"Except that Eky," Macklin added, "is down bad." June raised an eyebrow. "Down bad?"

William groaned, burying his face in his hands. "Jag hatar det här." The second William left the room, Macklin and Will lost their minds.

"This is the best day of my life," Will announced. "I have never seen Eky lose his cool like that."

June, still confused, took a sip of her coffee. "So what you're telling me is..." She pointed toward the door William had just fled through. "That guy just had a meltdown because of me?"

"Oh, absolutely."

"A hundred percent."

June frowned. "But why?" Will grinned. "Because he's so in love with you." June choked on her coffee. "EXCUSE ME?"

Macklin nodded seriously. "It's true." Will gestured toward the hallway. "I mean, did you see that? You literally broke him Junie."

"That was not normal behavior," Macklin agreed. "Oh," Macklin said, clapping a hand on her shoulder. "This is gonna be fun."

⸻William was dying.

He had locked himself in the players' lounge, pacing back and forth like a man on the verge of a crisis. Which, to be fair, he was. He had completely embarrassed himself. He had made a fool of himself in front of June. He was never going to live this down. And the worst part? He still hadn't said an actual sentence to her. Instead, he had just... malfunctioned. Because apparently, his brain stopped working whenever June was around. This was a disaster. A complete, total disaster. And William had no idea how he was going to survive the rest of the season.

⸻June Johnson wasn't the type to take things personally. She had thick skin, a sharp sense of humour, and enough patience to deal with Macklin and Will on a daily basis. But even she had her limits. And right now? She was absolutely convinced that William Eklund hated her. It started immediately after their first meeting. At first, she chalked it up to coincidence. Maybe he was just busy. Maybe he had a lot on his mind.

But by the third day? She noticed. Because every time she set up her camera for a TikTok, William suddenly disappeared. And it wasn't subtle. It was full-on, "I see June and immediately turn and walk in the opposite direction" avoidance.

Like today. She had just finished setting up her phone for a new round of "Question of the Day" when she spotted William across the room. She raised a hand to wave. His eyes went wide. And then? He turned and booked it. Like, actual Olympic-level sprinting.

June blinked. "...Did he just run away from me?" Will, standing beside her, cackled. "Oh yeah," he said, grinning. "He totally did." June frowned. "Okay, what is his deal?" Macklin, sitting nearby, hummed in amusement. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," June gestured vaguely toward the door William had just escaped through, "he keeps avoiding me." Will snorted. "Yeah. And?"

"And—!" June huffed. "What did I do?" Macklin and Will exchanged glances. Then they grinned. "Oh," Macklin said innocently. "I'm sure it's nothing."

It wasn't just the dodging. No, because apparently whenever William couldn't escape in time, he had another reaction. He turned bright red. It happened constantly.

The first time, June had genuinely thought he was overheating. She had run into him near the locker room, and the second they made eye contact, his entire face flushed. She had even been concerned for a second.

"Are you okay?" she had asked.

William, visibly struggling, had muttered something under his breath and immediately turned on his heel and left. At first, June didn't think much of it. But then it happened again.

And again.

And AGAIN.

Any time their eyes met? Boom. Red. And yet, somehow, she was the only one confused about it. Macklin and Will? They were having the time of their lives.

"Oh my god, this is so funny," Will had whispered after William once again fled the scene. Macklin nodded. "He's actually suffering."

June, arms crossed, frowned. "Do you guys know something I don't?" Will just smirked. "Maybe." June narrowed her eyes. "I don't trust you." Will patted her shoulder. "That's fair."

By the time a full week had passed, June was convinced she had done something wrong. Because who avoids someone this hard if they don't hate them? She finally snapped during morning skate. She had been setting up her camera when William walked into the room—only to immediately turn around and leave.

June had had enough.

"Okay," she said, turning to Macklin and Will. "Be honest. Does he hate me?" Macklin choked on his water. "What?" Will, looking way too entertained, laughed. "Oh, June." June crossed her arms. "No, seriously. Did I do something?"

Macklin wiped his mouth, still grinning. "You really think Eky hates you?"

"Yes?" June threw up her hands. "He literally refuses to be in the same room as me!" Will, barely containing his laughter, shook his head. "Oh, Junie. You're so, so wrong." June frowned. "Then what is it?" Macklin grinned. "Oh, he doesn't hate you," he said. "Not at all." Will smirked. "If anything, it's the opposite." June blinked. "What?"

Macklin leaned back in his seat, looking way too smug. "June," he said slowly, like he was explaining something obvious. "The guy has a huge crush on you."

June froze.

She stared at them. "What? Absolutely not. You're lying." Will nodded. "Oh yeah." Macklin shrugged. "It's actually kind of pathetic."

"...Wait." She shook her head. "You're telling me that he's been avoiding me because he likes me?" Will beamed. "Exactly." June frowned. "That makes no sense." Macklin snorted. "No, it makes perfect sense."

Will nudged her. "Think about it. He literally panicked when he first met you." Macklin nodded. "And he turns bright red whenever you look at him." Will wiggled his eyebrows. "He's smitten."

June, suddenly replaying every single interaction she had with William, felt her stomach drop. No. That can't be it. This is just Mack and Will pulling on her leg. Shoving Macklin and Will away, she walked away, mumbling about how they're a bunch of idiots that don't know what they're talking about. ⸻William Eklund had one goal today. Survive.

Media day was supposed to be easy. It was literally just a few hours of posing for headshots, recording promo videos, and answering basic questions for the Sharks' social team. Simple. Routine. No stress. Except for one problem.

June was there. And not just there. She was practically running the entire thing. Which meant William was now trapped in a room with her for hours, forced to interact, unable to escape like he usually did. He was so screwed.

The media room was buzzing with activity. Bright studio lights were set up along the far wall, cameras positioned at different angles, with a backdrop featuring the Sharks logo. A handful of team staff were already filtering through, prepping the players for their photos and coordinating the shoot schedule.

And in the center of it all?

June.

She was checking over the camera setup, giving quick instructions to the photographer, her clipboard tucked under one arm. Completely in her element. William watched from a safe distance, praying she wouldn't notice him. He had almost convinced himself that he could get through this without incident—until he made the mistake of glancing toward the schedule board.

PLAYER ORDER: 1. Logan Couture 2. Henry Thrun 3. Mario Ferraro 4. William Eklund

William Eklund.

FOURTH? NO TIME TO PREPARE. His stomach dropped. "William!"

His head snapped up just in time to see June waving him over. Oh.

Oh no.

She was smiling at him. Why was she smiling at him? Why did she have to be so effortlessly cool and put-together and—

"Come on," June said, gesturing toward the backdrop. "You're up next."

William's feet refused to move. He was frozen—fully paralyzed—as his brain scrambled for an escape plan that didn't exist. June tilted her head, confused. "You good?" He nodded way too fast.

"Y-yeah! Yes! Of course! I am—good. Very good." Oh my god. What was that? What kind of response was that? He sounded like a robot. June blinked, her brow furrowing slightly. "Okay... cool. Just step into the frame, and we'll get started."

William swallowed hard. This was a nightmare. He forced himself forward, his legs moving stiffly as he positioned himself in front of the camera. "Alright," June said, adjusting the lighting. "Just look straight ahead."

William tried. He really did. But the problem? June was standing right next to the camera. Which meant that every time he looked forward, he was also looking directly at her. And holy shit. That was not helping.

He could feel it happening. The dreaded blush. It started creeping up his neck, warming his face, and no matter how hard he tried to fight it, it just kept getting worse.

He was going to die.

Meanwhile, June—completely unaware of his suffering—was focused on her job. "Alright, now turn a little to your left," she instructed. William nodded too fast again. "Okay. Yes. Left. I can do that."

Stop talking. Stop talking. Stop talking.

He adjusted his pose, feeling like an actual idiot. "Perfect," June said, tapping something on the screen. "Now just relax your shoulders a bit."

Relax? Relax?!

How was he supposed to relax when she was literally standing right there, looking at him, analyzing him, judging his every movement— "Eklund," June interrupted, giving him a look. "Breathe."

Oh.

Right.

Breathing.

That was a thing he should probably do.

He forced himself to inhale, feeling like a malfunctioning robot. After what felt like years, the photographer finally finished. William was seconds away from sprinting out of the room when June held up a hand. "Wait," she said. "One more thing."

He froze. "What?" She handed him a mic. "You need to record a quick intro for the season promo."

...Oh no.

Oh no.

Talking? In front of June?! This was worse. This was so much worse. But he had no choice. So he took the mic, cleared his throat, and—

"Hi. I mean—hello. I'm William Eklund. And you're watching—" He stuttered. "No. Wait. That's Disney Channel. That's not right."

OH MY GOD.

A beat of silence.

Then—

June snorted. Like, actually snorted.

"Dude," she said, trying (and failing) to hold back laughter. "Are you okay?"

William felt himself combusting. "I—uh—I don't know?"

And then, because his embarrassment reached an all-time high, he did the worst thing possible. He cursed in Swedish.

Loudly.

June immediately caught it. "That was Swedish," she said, grinning. "What did you just say?"

William's soul left his body. "Nothing!" he blurted. "It was nothing! I—uh—I should go." And before she could stop him, he turned and speed-walked out of the room. The second he escaped, he slumped against the nearest wall, running a hand through his hair.

That was a disaster.

An absolute disaster.

He could not handle this girl.

Not her smile. Not her teasing. Not the way she effortlessly made him look like an idiot. He was so doomed.

And the worst part? He still had to see her every single day. There was no way he was making it through the season in one piece.

⸻ June Johnson had watched NHL games before. She had grown up watching them on TV, sometimes in the stands, cheering alongside packed crowds. But standing on the ice, just feet away from the players, camera in hand, feeling the energy of the arena before puck drop?

This was different.

This was insane.

And, for the first time since starting this job, she fully grasped the magnitude of what she had walked into.

The arena was electric. The SAP was packed, fans decked out in teal and black, waving rally towels as the pre-game light show illuminated the ice. The music boomed through the speakers, matching the pulse of the anticipation hanging in the air. From ice level, it felt ten times louder.

June had her phone in one hand, her camera in the other, capturing clips for TikTok and Instagram. Players skated by, locked in, the sound of their blades carving through the ice mixing with the deep bass of the arena soundtrack. She turned, scanning the crowd through her lens, before shifting her focus back to the bench.

And that's when she saw them. Macklin and Will.

They were standing by the boards, both trying (and failing) to act like they weren't completely freaking out.

It was their first NHL game.

The real deal.

And June, despite all her focus on capturing the perfect shot, could see the nerves written all over them. She lowered her camera and walked over, nudging Will's shoulder. "You good?"

Will grinned way too fast. "Yeah! Totally! Super fine! Not nervous at all!" Macklin, standing beside him, snorted. "He's lying." Will shot him a look. "Dude, you're literally shaking."

"I am not."

"You so are."

June rolled her eyes. "Okay, both of you need to chill." Macklin exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "I mean... it's a lot, right? The lights, the crowd, the pressure." Will nodded. "Kinda feels like I might throw up." Macklin grimaced. "Yeah, please don't do that."

June, watching them closely, softened. She had been so focused on the media side of things, she had almost forgotten that this was just as much a huge moment for them as it was for the fans.

Their first NHL game. Their first time skating out to their names being announced in front of thousands. Their first real taste of the league they had dreamed of playing in since they were kids.

And the fact that they got to do it together? That made it even more special.

June shifted, nudging Macklin first, then Will. "You guys know you belong here, right?"

Will blinked. "Huh?"

"I mean it," she said, looking between them. "You guys worked your asses off to get here. And yeah, it's scary, but you're not alone. You've got each other. And," she added with a smirk, "you've got me."

Macklin snorted. "Oh, lucky us." Will grinned. "Yeah, what would we do without you?" June crossed her arms. "Exactly. Now stop freaking out and just play. You'll be fine."

They didn't say anything for a moment, just exchanged a glance—one of those silent, best friend conversations where nothing needed to be said.

Then Macklin smirked. "Alright. Let's do this."

Will nodded. "Yeah. Let's go."

Before heading toward the ice, they both turned back at the same time and, without warning, pulled June into a quick hug. It was so fast she barely had time to react before they let go and skated off, leaving her standing there, completely caught off guard.

She blinked, watching them go. Then, with a small smile, she raised her camera and hit record.

This?

This was going to be a hell of a season.

⸻ June Johnson was not prepared for how emotional this game was going to make her. She had spent the past few weeks fully settling into her role with the Sharks, getting used to the chaos, the media responsibilities, and—most of all—her new dynamic with Macklin and Will. She knew how much this night meant to them. But standing here, watching it all unfold in real time, she realized she had drastically underestimated just how much it meant to her too.

The hug wasn't planned. It had been impulsive, a quick, wordless exchange that lasted no more than a few seconds before Macklin and Will skated off, leaving June stunned on the bench.

But apparently? Everyone noticed. Not even five minutes later, her phone buzzed with a notification.

@/SharksMedia: A special moment between our three "rookies" before puck drop. 🦈💙

She clicked the video, watching the moment play back in real-time. The clip wasn't even high quality—just a quick, shaky recording taken by a the other social media crew. But that almost made it better. The three of them huddled together, Will grinning, Macklin looking focused but excited, June laughing as she nudged them before they pulled her in for a fast, almost instinctive hug.

It was so small, so simple—but it had everyone melting. The replies were already flooded with comments.

@/freshprinceofchestnuthill02: STOP THIS IS TOO CUTE 😭 @/miami101: not the sharks making me emotional before the game even starts @/willmack7102: the way they just pulled her in like it was nothing 🥺

June groaned. "Oh my god." Then, it was time. The lights dimmed. The music swelled. The energy in the arena built to a fever pitch.

And then—

"Starting at center, making his NHL debut... MACKLIN CELEBRINI!" The crowd exploded.

June felt her chest tighten with pride as Macklin took the ice, his first NHL solo lap, carving through the rink with ease, the lights reflecting off his jersey.

Then came—

"Starting at forward, making his NHL debut... WILL SMITH!"

Another huge roar from the crowd. Will skated out, grinning ear to ear, pumping his fist as he took his lap. And June? She was so damn proud.

Her boys. Her stupid, chaotic, lovable little brothers were in the NHL.

She held up her phone, capturing every second. She wanted to remember this. She wanted them to remember this. The game itself was a blur of fast-paced action, adrenaline, and a ridiculous amount of yelling from the bench. But the moment that would live in her brain forever?

Macklin's first goal.

She had barely processed what happened.

One second, the puck was dropped. The next? Macklin had it. And before anyone could react—

HE SCORED.

On his first shot. The puck hit the back of the net, and the entire arena erupted. The goal horn blared. The bench exploded. Macklin threw his arms up in disbelief, eyes wide before he was immediately swarmed by his teammates.

June? June was losing her entire mind. She practically shoved her phone into the air, recording as she jumped up and down, screaming.

"Oh my god! OH MY GOD! MACKLIN!" She didn't even care if it was professional or not—she was screaming her lungs out. The guys on the bench were laughing at her, but she didn't care.

She could feel her eyes watering, could barely hold the camera steady, but she kept recording, capturing the pure, unfiltered joy on Macklin's face as he skated past the bench. When he spotted her?

He pointed.

Directly at her.

Like he knew she was freaking out. Like he knew this meant just as much to her as it did to him. She covered her mouth, grinning like an idiot, heart bursting with pride.

June barely remembered the final buzzer, too wrapped up in the chaos of celebration, but the moment the game ended, she was already on the move. She didn't care about decorum, didn't care about looking professional—she just sprinted down the tunnel, camera forgotten, shoving past staff and players until she finally found them.

"MACKLIN!"

Macklin barely had time to turn before June crashed into him, throwing her arms around him in the biggest hug imaginable. Will, laughing, barely had time to react before she grabbed him too.She held onto both of them way too tight, face buried in Macklin's shoulder, because she was so proud she didn't even have words.

"You guys," she choked out, voice muffled. "You guys are—ugh! I'm so proud of you!" Macklin laughed, squeezing her back. "June, you're literally crying." She pulled back just enough to wipe at her eyes, sniffling. "Shut up, I'm not."

Will smirked. "Oh, she totally is." Macklin nodded. "Big time." June groaned. "I hate you both." Will grinned. "Love you too."

Macklin slung an arm around her shoulder, still smiling. "Thanks for being here, Junie." June sniffed, rolling her eyes. "Where else would I be?"

Because honestly?

There was nowhere else she'd rather be.

⸻ William Eklund was already down bad. But after tonight?

It was getting worse.

William was still coming down from the high of their first win when he took a moment to breathe, slumping back against the bench as the final cheers from the crowd echoed through the arena. That's when he saw her. June.

She was still in the tunnel, grinning like an idiot, her arms wrapped around Macklin and Will like they had just won the Stanley Cup. The way she smothered them, pulling them in, eyes bright with pride—it was so genuine, so soft, so full of love that it actually made his chest ache.

And the worst part? The look on their faces.

Macklin and Will—who normally acted like two little menaces—completely melted.

Macklin let himself be squeezed half to death, grinning through it. Will actually laughed into her shoulder, nudging her playfully but not pulling away.

They just... let her love them.

And William? William realized he wanted that too.

He wanted her looking at him like that. He wanted her throwing her arms around him, laughing, telling him she was proud.

God, he was so screwed.

Later, in the locker room, Macklin leaned against his stall, arms crossed. "Okay," he said, tilting his head toward William. "We need to do something." Will, peeling off his tape, raised an eyebrow. "About what?" Macklin scoffed. "Are you serious?"

Will followed his gaze toward where William was sitting, fully staring at June from across the room, looking like a lovesick puppy. Will smirked. "Oh. That."

Macklin rolled his eyes. "Dude, it's getting embarrassing." William was barely trying to be subtle. June was just talking to Ferraro, completely oblivious, but William was staring at her, practically drooling.

"I mean, come on," Macklin continued, nudging Will. "Look at him. He's helpless." Will snorted. "I bet if she even looked in his direction right now, he'd combust."

Macklin smirked. "Wanna test that theory?" Will grinned. "Oh, absolutely."

"Okay, hear me out," Will said, leaning in. "We make him jealous." Macklin raised an eyebrow. "You think that'll work?" Will nodded. "Dude. He's already in the deep end. We just gotta make him feel like he's actually losing her."

Macklin hummed, considering. "And how do we do that?" Will grinned. "I'll flirt with her."

Macklin immediately started laughing. "Oh, that's evil."

Will shrugged. "Gotta do what we gotta do." Macklin smirked. "Alright, let's see if this works." _

The next morning, June was walking through the facility, minding her business, when Will suddenly appeared beside her.

"Good morning, gorgeous," he said smoothly.

June almost tripped. "...What." Will grinned. "Just appreciating beauty when I see it."

June narrowed her eyes. "What do you want?"

"Nothing," Will said way too innocently. "Can't a guy just compliment his favorite person?"

Okay.

Weird.

But this was Will. So instead of overthinking it, June just rolled her eyes. "Right. Sure."

Will patted her shoulder. "Looking forward to spending the day with you, sweetheart."

And then he just... walked off.

June blinked.

What.

The.

Hell.

William witnessed the entire thing. And immediately malfunctioned. Will had barely touched her, had just thrown a few dumb compliments, and yet William felt actual, physical heat crawling up his neck.

Why was Will talking to her like that? Why was June smiling at him like it was normal? WHAT WAS HAPPENING?

He was so busy panicking that he didn't even realize Macklin had been watching him the whole time.

Macklin smirked. "Something wrong, Eky?" William blinked, still staring after June and Will. "Huh?"

Macklin grinned. "You look... distracted." William scowled. "Shut up."

Macklin snorted. Oh yeah. This was gonna be fun. If William Eklund thought things couldn't get worse, he was very, very wrong. Because Will Smith was escalating.

And William? William was losing his mind.

It started the second June walked into the practice facility. She had barely taken two steps before Will was right there, flashing his biggest, most ridiculous grin.

"Junie," he greeted smoothly. "You're glowing today."

June, already skeptical, blinked. "I... what?"

Will placed a hand over his heart. "It's true. You brighten this entire place."

Okay. What the hell was going on? June narrowed her eyes. "Alright. What do you want?" Will gasped, offended. "I'm just being nice!"

"You're being weird."

"I'm being appreciative." June sighed. "Of what?" Will smirked. "Of you, obviously." June stared at him for a solid five seconds.

Then?

She just shook her head and walked away.

Weird. But again—this was Will. So she didn't think much of it.

William, however? William was dying. He had been right there, watching the whole thing, and holy shit. Will was so obvious.

The way he tilted his head just right, the stupid smooth tone of his voice, the way he just kept smiling at her like she was the best thing in the world— William was going to explode.

And the worst part? June didn't even seem fazed. She just rolled her eyes and kept moving, like Will flirting with her was normal. Like she was used to it.

William hated that. Macklin, standing beside him, smirked. "You good, bud?" William gritted his teeth. "I'm fine."

Macklin snorted. "Right. Totally believe that." Macklin just patted his shoulder. "Whenever you're ready to, you know, actually do something about this, let us know."

William groaned, running a hand through his hair. Yeah. That wasn't happening anytime soon. If William thought Will was done for the day, he was so wrong. Because later, when they were in the gym, stretching before practice, Will decided to take things a step further.

June was standing by the benches, scrolling through her phone, completely minding her own business.

And Will? Will casually walked over, plucked her phone out of her hand, and sat beside her. "Hey," he said, grinning. "You look a little tense." June frowned. "What—"

And then? Will reached out and started massaging her shoulders.

William almost had a stroke. June froze. Then, slowly, painfully, turned her head to look at him.

"...What are you doing." Will, completely unbothered, kept massaging. "Just helping you relax."

June stared at him. "Dude."

"What?"

"This is weird."

Will sighed dramatically. "See? You never let yourself be taken care of." June pinched the bridge of her nose. "Oh my god."

But she didn't immediately push him away, just let out a long, exhausted sigh before finally grabbing his wrists and prying his hands off.

"Okay. Enough." Will smirked. "You love me."

"I tolerate you." Will winked. "Close enough."

William Eklund needed help. William had been watching all of this from across the room, barely holding it together. He felt like his brain was on fire.

What was Will doing?! Why was June letting him?! WHY WAS THIS HAPPENING IN FRONT OF HIM?!

His jaw was so tight he thought his teeth might crack. He didn't even realize how tense he looked until Ferraro passed by and gave him a knowing look.

"Something wrong, Eky?" he asked, amused.

William, glaring at Will, muttered, "Jag ska döda honom." Ferraro snorted. "Don't need to speak Swedish to know what that means."

William groaned, dropping his head back against the bench. He was never going to survive this.

⸻June Johnson had way too much in her hands.

She had one camera bag slung over her shoulder, a stack of memory cards tucked in her arm, and an iced coffee balancing precariously in her grasp.

She was one wrong move away from disaster. And, of course, that's exactly what happened.

She had been power-walking down the hallway toward the media room, fully convinced she could make it without incident. And then?

She bumped into someone. Her elbow knocked against them just hard enough, and—

One of the memory cards slipped from her grip, tumbling toward the floor. She cursed under her breath and immediately went to grab it. What she didn't realize was that the person she had bumped into—William Eklund—had done the exact same thing.

And just like that—

Their hands collided.

It was barely anything.

Just a quick brush of fingertips, warm skin against warm skin, but it lingered for just a fraction of a second longer than necessary. June barely had time to process it before William yanked his hand back like he'd been electrocuted.

Her brow furrowed. "Woah." William, visibly flustered, refused to look at her. "Sorry."

June grabbed the memory card and straightened, eyeing him. "It's fine. You okay?"

William cleared his throat, still avoiding eye contact. "Yes. Fine. Totally fine."

June narrowed her eyes.

Weird.

So weird.

But before she could push it further, William mumbled another quick apology and walked away. She watched him go, shifting the equipment in her arms.

"...Alright."

She had no idea what just happened. But one thing was becoming very clear.

William Eklund was acting really, really weird around her. And for the first time, she actually wanted to figure out why.

⸻ William Eklund had a problem.

And that problem?

June Johnson.

Because somehow, without realizing it, he had spent the entire night keeping an eye on her. The night had started like any other team outing. The Sharks were in Canada, celebrating a win in one of the liveliest bars in the city. The place was packed, the music loud, drinks flowing, and the energy electric.

June had arrived with Macklin and Will, just like always, falling into her usual spot between them like they were an inseparable trio. And William? William shouldn't have cared. He should have been focused on his own night, drinking, laughing with the guys, letting loose after a good game.

Instead?

His gaze kept drifting. Not intentionally—at least, not at first. But every time she laughed at something, every time she leaned against Macklin's shoulder, every time she flashed that stupid, perfect smile, his brain short-circuited. And then, when Macklin and Will got distracted, when she was off talking to someone else, he found himself checking on her.

Was she okay? Was she having fun?

Who was she talking to?

He had no reason to be watching her this much. No reason at all. And yet, there he was.

Sitting at the table, barely hearing what Ferraro was saying, because he was too busy making sure June was good.

And that? That's how he noticed.

He had been watching her—not intentionally, just subconsciously, scanning the bar like always—when he saw it.

A guy.

Too close.

June tense.

William sat up, spine snapping straight. At first, it was just mild concern.

Maybe she knew him. Maybe she was fine.

Then—

The guy reached for her.

Something in William's chest snapped. Before he even thought about it—before he even processed what he was doing—he was moving. It was pure instinct.

One second, he was at the table. The next?

He was right there.

His hand landed on June's wrist, and in a flash, he pulled her behind him. The second he did it—the second he put himself between her and the guy—his brain switched off.

No nerves. No hesitation. No overthinking.

Just pure, protective instinct. And for the first time ever, he wasn't flustered around her.

Because right now? She needed him. And that? That was the only thing that mattered.

"Back off." His voice was low, sharp, and dangerously calm.

The guy, clearly drunk, scoffed. "Relax, man. We're just talking."

William didn't move.

Didn't blink.

Didn't budge an inch.

"She's not interested," he said coolly. "Walk away."

The guy rolled his eyes, muttering something under his breath, but after a moment, he made the right choice and left.

It wasn't until the guy was gone that William's brain started functioning again. And that's when he realized—

He still had his hand on June.

Oh.

Oh no.

The protective instinct that had taken over? Gone.

Now?

All that was left was panic.

He turned to check on her, his heartbeat still racing, and the moment their eyes met, it hit him all at once.

How close they were. How his hand was still gripping her wrist. How she was looking up at him with wide, unreadable eyes.

His brain completely melted.

Before he could let go, apologize, or run away forever, June suddenly smiled.

Soft.

Grateful.

And then?

She kissed his cheek.

William stopped breathing.

It was so fast—barely a second, just a light press of her lips to his skin—but it destroyed him.

The warmth. The softness. The casual, effortless way she did it—

William was dead.

Actually, physically deceased. And then? She just patted his chest, smiled like nothing happened, and said—

"Thanks, Eky." Then she walked back to the table like it was nothing. He stood there, completely frozen, hand still hovering in midair like an idiot.

His face was on fire. His brain was empty.

And then—

"Ohhh my god."

A voice.

A voice that sent pure fear down his spine.

William turned, and—

Macklin and Will. Watching the whole thing. And losing their minds.

Will was gasping for air. Macklin was halfway to the floor, wheezing. "Oh my god," Will repeated. "DID SHE JUST—"

"Oh, he's so gone," Macklin choked out. "Look at him. LOOK AT HIM."

William's ears were ringing.

He needed to leave.

Right now.

Immediately.

But he couldn't.

Because he was still standing there, still feeling the ghost of her lips on his cheek, still trying to process that June Johnson had just kissed him.

And worst of all?

He had no idea what it meant.

⸻ June Johnson had made one mistake tonight. And that mistake? Thinking she could get through the rest of the night without being interrogated.

By now, it was common knowledge around the team that Will, Macklin, and June always shared a hotel room.

It was ridiculous—they were literal NHL rookies, not kids at summer camp. But somehow, every single road trip, they managed to convince the team staff to let them bunk together.

Why? Because they couldn't function without each other. (Also because Will and Macklin were man-children who needed supervision, but June wouldn't admit that out loud.)

So when they got back to the hotel after the bar, she should have known what was coming.

The moment June walked in, Will threw himself onto the bed, dramatically sprawling out like he had just run a marathon. Macklin, meanwhile, plopped onto the couch, cracking open a water bottle.

And then—at the exact same time—they both turned to her. And grinned.

June froze. "What." Will wiggled his eyebrows. "Sooo..." Macklin smirked. "How's Eky?"

June's stomach dropped.

Oh, god.

They knew.

She forced herself to act casual, dropping her bag by the dresser. "Uh... fine?"

Will snorted. "That's all you're gonna say?"

June narrowed her eyes. "What are you two getting at?"

Macklin leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

"Oh, I don't know," he said casually. "Maybe the fact that you kissed him."

June instantly turned red. "It wasn't a kiss."

Will gasped, clutching his chest. "IT WAS A KISS."

June groaned. "It was barely anything. It was on the cheek."

Macklin smirked. "Did your lips touch his skin?"

June hesitated. "...Yes?"

Will sat up straight. "DID HE TURN BRIGHT RED AFTER?"

She huffed. "Obviously."

Macklin grinned. "Then it counts."

June covered her face. "Oh my god, you guys are so annoying." Will kicked his feet like an excited child. "So, tell us everything. How was it? How did it feel? Was it soft? Did he smell good? Did he—"

"STOP," June groaned. "It wasn't a big deal."

Macklin scoffed. "Oh, it was a huge deal."

Will nodded aggressively. "Eky's probably still in shock. You fried his entire brain."

June sighed, throwing herself onto the bed. "You guys are making this so much bigger than it was."

Macklin raised an eyebrow. "Oh, so you just go around kissing people on the cheek all the time?"

June glared. "I WAS THANKING HIM."

Will grinned. "Sure. Sure."

Macklin smirked. "You know he's in love with you, right?"

June froze. Her stomach did something weird. She sat up quickly. "He is not."

Macklin and Will exchanged a look. "Oh, she's in denial," Will whispered.

Macklin nodded. "Big time."

June crossed her arms. "He doesn't like me like that. He's just... shy."

Will snorted. "Junie. He literally worships the ground you walk on."

June's face heated up.

Macklin shrugged. "Honestly, I'm kinda impressed with you." She frowned. "What?"

Macklin smirked. "You broke him. I've never seen Eky that flustered before. He might actually be in a coma right now."

June groaned. "You guys are the worst."

Will flopped back onto the pillows, grinning. "Face it, Junie," he said. "You're in trouble."

And, for the first time, June was starting to think he might be right.

⸻ Tyler Toffoli had played in the NHL for a long time. He had seen a lot. He had been on championship teams, endured chaotic locker rooms, and witnessed some of the most ridiculous bets ever made between teammates.

But somehow?

Somehow, this might be the dumbest one yet.

They were on the road, heading into Buffalo for the next game on their trip. The usual post-practice bus chatter filled the air—guys talking about dinner plans, chirping each other about bad drills, and overall just keeping the mood light. Tyler was sitting near the middle, scrolling through his phone, when a voice from behind him made him pause.

"Alright," Will Smith said, loud enough for half the bus to hear. "Let's make things interesting."

Tyler sighed. It was never good when Will started sentences like that. Henry Thrun, sitting near the front, barely turned around. "This ought to be good."

Will grinned. "If Mack, Toff, and I all score against Buffalo, then Toff has to—" He turned dramatically. "Join our legendary sleepover."

Tyler blinked. "...Your what?"

Macklin Celebrini smirked. "Oh, he doesn't know." Mario Ferraro snorted. "Dude, they have a whole routine."

Tyler, confused, looked between them. "You guys still do sleepovers?"

Will grinned proudly. "Hell yeah, we do."

"I—" Tyler shook his head. "Why?"

June, sitting two rows ahead, barely glanced up from her phone. "They're codependent." Will ignored her. "It's tradition. And you can't really talk, you're a part of it."

Tyler rubbed his temples. "Okay, but why me?"

Macklin smirked. "Because we need to test your loyalty." Tyler scoffed. "And what are the chances all three of us actually score?"

Will shrugged. "Low."

Macklin nodded. "But if it happens, you're in."

Tyler rolled his eyes. "Fine. Whatever. Not gonna happen anyway."

It did, in fact, happen. Will scored in the first period, skating past the bench with a cocky grin, pointing at Tyler. Then Macklin tipped one in on the power play. And then, because the universe hated him, Tyler sniped one in the third.

The bench erupted.

But instead of normal goal celebrations, Tyler was met with immediate chirping. "Ohhh, Toff," Thrun teased. "You're in trouble now."

Will and Macklin bounced on the bench screaming "Sleepover! Sleepover!!" Tyler groaned. "Oh my god."

By the time they got back to the hotel, Tyler was praying everyone had forgotten.

They did not. Because the coaching staff got involved.

David Quinn, standing in the hallway post-game, grinned when he saw Tyler. "So, Toffoli," he smirked. "You ready for your sleepover?"

Tyler stared. "Coach, please." Mario Ferraro walked by, dying of laughter. "Gotta follow through, bud."

And just like that?

Tyler had no way out.

When Tyler finally showed up to their hotel room, dragging a stupid rollaway cot behind him, he had one thought.

What the hell did I just get myself into?

Because what he expected was a normal setup.

What he got was a full-fledged system. • Will and June were in one bed. • Macklin was in the other. • There was a plate of cookies and two glasses of milk on the bedside table. • And a stupid spot was set up at the foot of both beds for his cot.

Tyler blinked. "You guys are unreal."

Will beamed. "Welcome to the fam, Toff."

Macklin smirked. "Did you actually think we were joking?"

Tyler exhaled. "I was hoping."

June, casually scrolling on her phone, snorted. "Well, you're here now."

"Okay," Will said, pulling out his phone. "Photo time."

Tyler groaned. "Is this really necessary?"

Macklin grinned. "Oh, 100%."

They took the stupidest, most ridiculous photo possible—Tyler lying stiff on his cot, looking miserable, June and Will grinning like gremlins, and Macklin flashing a peace sign from his bed.

June shook her head. "This is absurd."

Will grinned. "It's tradition."

At first, Tyler thought, Okay. Fine. We'll go to sleep now. It was 3am, what else were you supposed to do.

Wrong.

Because Macklin and Will would. Not. Shut. Up.

They talked about everything. The game. The best goal celebrations. Some random inside joke that made zero sense.

June?

She just sat there on her phone, occasionally chiming in like this was completely normal. Tyler turned to her. "How are you just... ignoring this?"

June shrugged. "You get used to it."

Tyler sighed. "I don't think I will."

And then—

Mid-sentence, Will just stopped talking. Tyler frowned. "What the—"

He looked up—Will was just... asleep. Out. Like a light.

Macklin didn't even react.

June, without missing a beat, just sat up, pulled the covers over Will, then rolled over and fell asleep too.

Tyler stared. "What," he whispered. "The hell just happened?"

Macklin yawned. "It's just how it is."

Tyler frowned. "What do you mean?"

Macklin shrugged. "Will has a hard time sleeping alone. He started bunking with June because it helped. And somewhere along the way, I joined too."

Tyler stared.

Slowly, it started to make sense. It wasn't just some dumb rookie sleepover.

It was... routine. A weird, chaotic, ridiculously wholesome routine. And June? She wasn't just their friend. She was their person. Their family. Their everything.

The one who made everything easier, lighter, better.

Tyler shook his head, a small smile tugging at his lips.

This was insane.

But also?

Kind of perfect.

Before turning over to sleep, Tyler pulled out his phone. He stared at the stupid photo they had taken earlier. Then, before he could overthink it, he posted it to his Instagram.

Caption: "Reporting for duty 🫡"

He tossed his phone on the nightstand and settled in.

Yeah.

This team?

This team was something special.

⸻ William Eklund had survived a lot in his career.

Gruelling practices. Hard-fought games. The relentless chirping of his teammates.

But this? This was worse than all of that combined. Because June Johnson was flirting with him.

And she was doing it on purpose.

William had been suffering in silence for months, convinced that June saw him as nothing more than a teammate, a coworker, a friend of a friend.

He had resigned himself to his quiet, torturous little crush. And then, out of nowhere, everything changed. It was like a switch flipped. Because suddenly, overnight, June started acting... different.

Not in a way anyone else would notice.

But he noticed.

At first, he thought he was imagining it. The way she started standing closer to him in conversations. The way her fingers would brush his wrist when she handed him something. The way she'd lean in, just slightly, when they were talking, like she was completely comfortable in his space.

And then came the comments. The too-casual, too-smooth compliments that made his entire brain malfunction.

"Looking good today, Eky," she had tossed out casually, winking as she walked past.

Or worse—after practice, when she'd toss him a water bottle and say, "Stay hydrated, pretty boy."

PRETTY BOY.

William had fully choked on his own spit.

Ferraro had had to thump him on the back to save him.

June?

She had just grinned and walked away. She was doing this on purpose. He was sure of it now. And it was killing him.

Unfortunately, William was not subtle.

The team picked up on it immediately. They watched as June slowly turned up the heat, adding more teasing, more touches, more deliberate moments that left William looking completely fried.

And the guys?

They were thriving off his suffering.

"Eky, man," Hertl grinned one day. "You look stressed."

"Yeah," Ferraro added. "Everything okay? You seem a little... distracted."

William, completely red, grumbled, "I'm fine."

The worst part?

June had heard the whole thing. And instead of saving him, she had just smirked. Like she knew exactly what she was doing.

It finally reached critical levels one afternoon after practice. William had spent the entire day dodging her, avoiding eye contact, trying to survive.

And then—

She cornered him.

It was just the two of them in the media room, the door clicking shut behind them.

William's heart was already racing, just from being alone with her.

And then—

She leaned against the table, crossed her arms, and smirked.

"So," she said casually. "When are you going to ask me out on a date?"

He stopped breathing.

His brain shut down.

She just— She actually—

WHAT.

She was looking at him, waiting for an answer, and oh my god.

She knew.

She had known this whole time.

And now?

Now she was messing with him.

William opened his mouth. Nothing came out.

He tried again.

Still nothing.

His face was so red, he could actually feel the heat in his skin.

June tilted her head, amused. "Eky?" she teased. "You good?"

No.

No, he was absolutely not good.

He was broken.

And June was loving it.

⸻ William Eklund had been barely holding himself together for weeks.

But this?

This was a new level of suffering. And it all started with a movie night ambush.

William had no idea what he was walking into. Will and Macklin had texted him earlier:

Will: Movie night at ours. Get here ASAP. Macklin: We got snacks.

William, thinking it was just the three of them, didn't hesitate. But when he walked in, he realized immediately—

He had been set up.

Because sitting on the couch, curled up in the coziest, most unfairly cute outfit imaginable, was June.

William was done for.

She wasn't in her usual media attire. She wasn't wearing her Sharks press pass, or running around with cameras, or giving him heart attacks by casually calling him "pretty boy."

No.

She was wearing sweats, an oversized Sharks hoodie (probably Will or Macklin's), huge glasses, and a messy bun.

And William?

William short-circuited on the spot.

She looked so soft. So effortless. So perfect. She looked so different from the sharp, witty, always-in-control June he was used to. And somehow, that made it so much worse.

She looked like she belonged here.

William could not stop staring.

"Eky," June greeted, smiling up at him. "Didn't know you were coming." William forgot how to speak.

Because her voice was so soft. And she was hugging a pillow to her chest. And she was wearing glasses.

And oh god.

He was in so much trouble. Will and Macklin, of course, noticed immediately. Will barely suppressed a grin. "Yeah, we... forgot to mention June was here."

Macklin smirked. "Hope that's cool."

William, still completely malfunctioning, just nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, totally. Cool. Fine."

Will snorted. "You sure, bud?"

William forced himself to sit down, taking the safest possible spot—the chair across from the couch, as far from June as possible.

Macklin and Will exchanged a look.

Oh, this was gonna be fun.

The next night, the team had a bonding event planned. Bowling. Which should have been normal, fun, low-stress. But of course, that was before June decided to completely ruin William's life.

"Alright," Couture called out. "Pair up, let's get the teams set."

Before William could even think about what was happening, June appeared right next to him. She looped her arm through his, looked up at him with a sweet, innocent smile, and said,

"Me and Eky are a team." William's brain immediately malfunctioned. The guys immediately noticed.

"Ohhh," Toff grinned. "Interesting choice."

Will, barely containing his excitement, leaned over to Macklin. "This is gonna be so good."

Macklin nodded. "Eky's gonna combust."

And honestly?

They weren't wrong.

It started small.

She made little touches—brushing her fingers against his when she grabbed the bowling ball, nudging him when she laughed.

Then, it got worse.

She fixed the collar of his hoodie, totally casual, completely unaware of how William's soul left his body.

And then, when he went up to take his turn—

She stood way too close behind him. She leaned in and whispered, "No pressure, but I expect a strike."

And William?

William bowled the worst shot of his life.

The ball went straight into the gutter.

And the team?

Lost their minds.

"Oh my god," Will howled, actually falling onto the seats.

"Eky," Mario teased. "What the hell was that?"

William had no words. He just turned, fully red, looking at June. She was smirking. Like she knew exactly what she was doing.

And then, like she hadn't just completely ruined his night—

She patted his back and said, "You'll get 'em next time, pretty boy."

William wanted to scream.

At this point, William was barely hanging on. And Macklin and Will? Decided to help. Which, of course, made it so much worse.

They started pushing William toward June at random moments. They wingmanned him so hard it was embarrassing.

"Oh, you guys look good together," Macklin said loudly.

"Right?" Will grinned. "Power couple."

William wanted to die.

June?

June just laughed and played along.

"Oh, totally," she smirked. "We make a great team." William was one second away from actually combusting.

⸻William Eklund had reached his breaking point. For weeks, he had been tortured. June had been flirting relentlessly, finding every possible excuse to touch him, tease him, ruin his entire existence.

And worst of all? She knew exactly what she was doing.

Then, the other night, she had straight-up asked him when he was going to ask her out.

And William?

William had said nothing. He had just stood there buffering like a broken computer.

Pathetic.

Which is why, today, he was done. "What if I mess up?" William asked, pacing back and forth in the locker room.

Zetterlund leaned against his stall, arms crossed. "Eky, buddy, you've already messed up."

William groaned. "Okay, but—"

"No. No more 'but,'" Zetterlund cut in. "You're asking her out today."

William ran a hand through his hair. "I had a plan." Zetterlund raised an eyebrow. "Yeah?" William nodded. "I was going to wait for the perfect moment."

Zetterlund sighed. "Dude, you had the perfect moment. She literally asked you when you were going to do it."

William groaned again, covering his face. "I KNOW."

Zetterlund clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Listen to me, okay? Just keep it simple. 'June, go out with me.' That's it."

William took a deep breath. He could do that.

Right?

The plan was simple. June did her "Question of the Day" segments every morning. All he had to do was wait until she finished, walk up, and ask her out.

He had it all rehearsed—every word planned out perfectly in his head.

But then...

He saw her.

She was standing in the hallway, smiling, laughing, looking unfairly beautiful, and—

His brain turned to static.

Before he even knew what was happening, he was walking toward her.

And then—

Words started falling out of his mouth.

"H—hey, um, I was wondering if, uh—well, you see—what I meant was—um—if you, like—wanted, um—go, uh, eat—dinner? With—me? Or something? At some point. Maybe. I don't know. No—I mean, I do know. I mean—I want to. Do you want to?"

Silence.

Absolute.

Painful.

Silence.

June just stared at him.

William wanted to jump into the nearest trash can.

Then—

She smiled.

And oh god.

She was blushing.

"Are you asking me out, Eky?" she asked, tilting her head. William, fully malfunctioning, just nodded.

June's smile grew.

"Then yes," she said softly.

William stopped breathing.

Then, as if she hadn't just completely ruined his life, she leaned in—

And pressed a kiss to his cheek.

But not just anywhere. Dangerously close to his lips.

William was dead.

June pulled away, grinning at his stunned expression. "Pick me up at seven?" she asked.

William, still not functioning as a human being, just nodded wordlessly. June gave him one last teasing look before walking away. Leaving William standing there, completely frozen.

That's when he felt two hands clap onto his shoulders. "Ohhh buddy," Macklin wheezed.

Will, barely holding it together, patted his back. "You okay, champ?"

William said nothing. He just stared into the void.

Macklin and Will looked at each other. Then—they burst out laughing. "Oh, this is too good," Will gasped.

Macklin shook his head. "She broke him."

William, still completely stunned, just whispered "What just happened?"

Will grinned. "You got a date, Eky." Macklin smirked. "And a near-kiss." Will waggled his eyebrows. "She's bold, huh?"

William was still buffering. Macklin clapped him on the back. "You're so screwed, dude."

And honestly?

He was.

⸻ William Eklund had never been this nervous in his entire life.

Not for his NHL debut. Not for a shootout attempt. Not even for post-game interviews where he had to answer questions in English instead of Swedish.

This?

This was worse than all of that combined.

Because tonight? He was taking June Johnson on a date.

When William pulled up to June's place, he felt like he was going to be sick. His hands were clammy, his heart was pounding, and he could already feel the team's chirps echoing in his brain.

But then—

She stepped outside.

And William?

William almost forgot how to breathe.

She looked stunning. Her hair was in natural curls, bouncing with every step she took. Her eyes were bright, glowing, filled with excitement. And her smile?

Her smile was going to kill him.

She was wearing something simple—jeans, sneakers, a cozy sweater—but she had never looked prettier.

William actually felt his jaw drop.

"Oh," he blurted before he could stop himself.

June raised an eyebrow, amused. "Oh?"

William, still short-circuiting, cleared his throat aggressively. "You look—uh—really, really, really—"

Stop saying 'really'—

"—really pretty."

June laughed, eyes crinkling. "Thanks, William."

Then—as if she hadn't just melted his entire brain—she stepped forward and hugged him.

And to make things so much worse for him?

She kissed his cheek.

Again.

William fully blacked out.

June pulled away, grinning. "Are we ready?" William, still struggling to recover, just nodded. "Yeah. Uh. Yep."

He quickly thrust the bouquet of daisies toward her. "These are for you."

June's face softened immediately. "Daisies?" she murmured. William rubbed the back of his neck. "They're your favorite, right?"

June blinked.

Then—to his complete horror—her eyes started glistening.

"I can't believe you remembered that," she whispered. William panicked. "Did I do something wrong?" June laughed, blinking away tears. "No, you idiot. You just did something really sweet."

William, already red, opened the car door for her. "You deserve sweet things."

June stared at him. William immediately felt like he said too much. But before he could freak out completely, June smiled, slipping into the car. Then—just as he was about to close the door—she reached out and grabbed his hand.

"William..." He froze.

June squeezed his fingers gently. "You don't have to be so nervous," she said softly. "I like you, okay? A lot. And I'm glad we're going on a date. Let's just focus on that."

William's chest tightened.

How was she so effortless?

How was she so easy to be around?

He swallowed, nodding. "Okay."

She smiled. "Good."

And just like that, he felt himself relax.

⸻ By the time they got to the arcade, William felt significantly less like he was about to throw up. And after about ten minutes, he was actually having fun.

Because June? June was competitive.

"I hope you're ready to lose, Eky," she said, cracking her knuckles as they approached the basketball hoops. William smirked. "I play hockey, not basketball. You should win this one." June grinned. "We'll see."

The timer started.

Balls flew.

And to William's surprise—

June was actually good.

Like, weirdly good.

"Okay, what the hell," he muttered, watching as she sunk shot after shot with perfect form. June laughed. "You didn't know I played in high school?"

"No!" William gawked. "You were actually an athlete?" June smirked. "What, did you just think I was some media nerd?"

William grinned. "Yes." June gasped, feigning offense. "You take that back."

William laughed.

And for the first time all night, he felt like himself.

⸻ The rest of the night was filled with games, teasing, and ridiculous bets. William beat her at air hockey. June destroyed him at Dance Dance Revolution. He got way too competitive during Mario Kart. She giggled every time he muttered Swedish curses under his breath when he lost.

And somewhere along the way?

June realized something.

She was so, so smitten.

Because William Eklund?

Was the absolute sweetest.

He was a gentleman—opening doors, making sure she was warm, letting her pick the games. He was hilarious—constantly chirping her, making her laugh until her stomach hurt. And most of all?

He was so, so easy to be around.

This wasn't just a date. This was fun. June didn't want it to end.

As they left the arcade, June nudged him. "So," she teased. "Was this so bad?"

William grinned. "No." She smiled. "Good."

They reached the car. And then—

Before William could open the door for her, June turned and tugged on his hoodie.

William froze.

"William?" she murmured.

His pulse skyrocketed. "Yeah?"

She looked up at him, eyes soft. "I had fun tonight," she said.

William swallowed. "Me too." June bit her lip. "We should do it again."

William's stomach flipped. "Yeah?" he asked. June smiled. "Yeah."

Then—because she clearly wasn't done torturing him—

She leaned in. And kissed his cheek.

Again.

But this time? It lasted just a second longer. And it was way too close to his lips.

William actually forgot how to breathe. By the time he snapped out of it, June was already grinning at him.

Oh, yeah.

He was so in trouble.

⸻William Eklund had never felt this happy in his entire life.

As he drove home from June's house, his fingers tapped against the steering wheel, his heart still racing, his mind replaying every second of the night.

The laughs. The way she looked at him. The way she kissed his cheek—so close, so soft, like she was waiting for him to do something.

And suddenly—

He couldn't take it anymore. His pulse skyrocketed as a wave of pure confidence rushed through him. Without even thinking, he slammed the brakes, threw the car into reverse, and sped back toward her place.

June had barely made it inside when the doorbell rang. She frowned.

Who the hell—

When she opened the door, she was met with William. Breathless. Wild-eyed. Looking at her like she was the only thing in the entire world.

"William?" she blinked, confused.

He didn't answer.

Didn't hesitate.

Didn't think.

He just moved.

One second, she was standing there, trying to process what was happening.

The next?

His hands were cupping her face, his body was stepping forward, and his lips were crashing into hers.

June was frozen for a second.

But then—

She melted.

The kiss.

It was desperate. All of tension unraveling in a single moment.

His hands were firm, holding her like he was afraid she'd disappear. His lips were soft, warm, urgent against hers. And his body—

God.

His body was pressed so close, she could feel his heartbeat racing as fast as hers. She barely had time to react before she was gripping his hoodie, pulling him closer, kissing him back with everything she had.

Because this?

This was what she had been waiting for. And the way William was kissing her? Like he had been dying to do this. Like he had been waiting just as long. It sent shivers down her spine.

When they finally broke apart, both of them were breathless. June, still gripping his hoodie, stared up at him. William, face flushed, chest heaving, stared back.

Neither of them spoke. Neither of them needed to. Because in that moment? Everything was finally clear.

William exhaled a laugh, still looking at her like she was unreal. "I, uh..." He swallowed. "I couldn't stop thinking about you."

June's lips curled into a soft, dazed smile.

"Good," she whispered, pressing her forehead against his. "Because I couldn't stop thinking about you either."

William closed his eyes, breathing her in.

Relief.

That's what this was. This was finally happening.

And neither of them were running from it anymore.

#will smith hockey #will smith hockey imagine #will smith hockey x reader #macklin celebrini #macklin celebrini imagine #macklin celebrini x reader #william eklund #william eklund imagine #william eklund x reader #san jose sharks #san jose sharks imagine #nhl #hockey #emmywrites!

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bwabys-scenarios · 11 months ago

Text

Jealousy

Illumi x Fem!Reader

warnings: slight dubcon(?), fingering

A/N: I’M BACK FROM HIATUS!! This is just a lil something I came up with, there’s more illumi content coming. Just be patient with me!

HXH NSFW taglist: @lightshowerrr @jungtoast @nenggie @pannacottababy @aliceattheart @atransmuter

Illumi has recently realized that he doesn’t like seeing you around other men.

You wouldn’t think he even cared as an outsider looking in. His demeanor is calm, his eyes dark and unemotional as he watches you from across the room.

Your job for the mission was to temporarily entertain a high ranking member in the local mafia. The man was all up on you, breathing on your neck and keeping your body flush against his as he laughed and sipped at his whiskey.

Illumi didn’t care for you that much, you were just supposed to be a pawn to him, something that helped by using your feminine charm and easygoing personality to further his goals.

But… as blood dropped down his hand after shattering the glass he’d been holding, he realized that perhaps… you weren’t something so simple to him.

Illumi was across the room in a second, pulling you away and towards the bathroom. At first you struggled, but his touch turned… possessive. His grip on your wrist was tight, and you couldn’t pull away.

“Quiet. Just… need you for a moment.”

He stared at you once you were locked in the bathroom, his eyes unreadable. His hand reached out to cup your cheek with as much gentleness as he could muster.

As if testing the waters, he brushed his thumb over your lip, observing you like a cat would a timid mouse.

“W-what are you doing..?”

Illumi stayed quiet for a moment, frowning a little. “Trying to understand why I get so angry when another man touches you…”

This made your face feel hot, but you were unable to turn away when he was holding your face firmly in his hand.

He sighed, narrowing his eyes and tilting your face in several different directions before moving his hands from your face to your shirt.

“I-Illumi-!”

He lifted your shirt, examining your bra before pushing it up to reveal your perky, already hardening nipples.

“Hmm…”

Illumi had never had any interest in the female form before, but something was compelling him to see more, to touch and feel all of you. His body felt strangely warm and his pants tight, it was… uncomfortable.

“What are you doing to me, (Name)? Is it some drug? Some nen curse?” he asked as he pinched and rolled your perky buds between his nimble, pale fingers.

You couldn’t do anything but whimper. It felt… exciting, and even if you wanted him to stop it’s not like you could take a trained assassin on in a fight… so you let him continue.

He was completely concentrated on you, unable to tear his eyes away from your half naked and trembling body.

“Hmm…”

Illumi felt the strangest urge, one he’d never felt once before in his life. Looking down at your hazy eyes and soft, plump lips… he couldn’t help but lean down.

Before he knew it his lips were on yours and his hands were dipping to your hips, tugging your pants down and slipping his fingers into your panties.

As his tongue entered your mouth, his finger penetrated you, making you gasp out. “M-Mmph, Illumi!”

‘This feeling…’

His head felt fuzzy, his body warm and ever so needy. What exactly did he need? Why was he so desperate to get it?

The second he felt your pussy clench around his fingers, things slowly started to fall into place. Why he didn’t like other men around you, what that feeling that pervaded his mind was…

He pulled his mouth away from yours, a strand of saliva connecting your tongues. You felt hot and heavy, already soaking through your panties.

“This… was informative.”

You nearly fell on your face when Illumi licked your essence from his fingers before pulling your pants back up, even being so gracious to button them got you.

“I’ll expect you in my room later tonight to… discuss the mission.” he said softly, turning away to walk out of the bathroom door.

“M-mhm…”

You were still recovering from the shock of his sudden shift in behavior and your orgasm, and he seemed content with what had happened.

Illumi walked out of the bathroom and towards his target, eager to get this mission done with.

After all, he’d get to have you all to himself once it was done.

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katiascraft · 6 months ago

Text

༄“I would set the world on fire for you” | LN4 ⟢

Parings: lando norris x gf!reader.

Summary: after the Brazil GP, lando comes home to the worst week of his year. Also, it was his birthday. So even though the world hates him, you wanna make sure he is loved and he did nothing wrong. And that if you could you would set the world on fire for him.

Word count: +5k.

Warnings: written and smau. angst and fluff at the same time. Anxiety attack. Overthinking. Selfhatred. Language. And that’s it. I’m not a native English speaker so there could be (so many) errors. Not proofread.

Author’s note: lately I NEED to write things to cope with my feelings so here it is. Hope Vegas is good to all of my boys 💌 don’t forget to like, reflow or comment! Ur support its way loved here. and follow me so we can be friends :3 (and drink mate together!)

MASTERLIST

Your heart was completely shattered. Your heart was racing to get out of your car at the airport. In exactly 20 minutes your boyfriend will be back home after the worst weekend ever imagined. You couldn't assist the Brazilian GP because of your work schedule. You had a few meetings after Mexico gp. And you felt so guilty about it. You knew lando would be more protected if you were there. At least in the intimacy of you, emotionally speaking. Having someone there for him to hug and to comfort him. to calm his mind. To stop the self hatred you knew it was playing right now in his head.

Lando is an overthinker and you get him because you were also one. You knew to which scenarios his mind can travel to and how painful it can be for him to live with himself sometimes. You were fighting your tears reading all of the atrocious things people commented online. You knew that wasn't real life. But you also knew he would see all that and how that would weigh in his heart. They can never let him win. And the worst part was only because it was just him. Other drivers could do or say worse things and everybody would laugh and brush it off. But when it came to Lando, he was a monster, a loser, an arrogant son of a bitch. That hurt deeply. Because in reality lando is the sweetest soul you have ever met. And you knew how vulnerable he could be. Tho you always admired him for that. You always thought that the bravest and strongest people in this world are the ones that admit to need help, the ones that are vulnerable and open about it. In a world this cruel, that was no easy task. But he did time and time again.and he did even knowing how shitty people were gonna be to him. Though, he did it for people he knew that counted on him. Lando always talks about how people sometimes come to him saying he has saved their lives and the impact he had on them. It's something beautiful yet that weighted on his shoulders as well, you thought.

You crossed the airport gates. Anxiety shaking your whole body. You wanted to hug him so bad. To tell him everything was gonna be fine.

You opened the flight information he sent you before his plane took off so you looked for the probable gate he was coming out of when landed. Even though you were anxious you were also relieved that he was home with you.

After a few minutes passed by, a lot of people started coming out of the door you were waiting for. You started gazing at everyone just to find him. After a bunch of people got out, there he was. One of the last ones to go through the door. When you saw him your body almost came undone. You were out of air for a moment while the two of you got closer. When he is finally within reach, you give him the strongest hug you could. He melted on you, hugging you by your neck. Not much time passed when you heard him crying hid in your neck. Your heart that was shattered, broke immediately. You tighter your grip unto him. He started to sob and you couldn't hold your own tears at that point. You knew he had the worst time on that flight, alone with his cruel thoughts torturing him for hours. And there was nothing that you could do to protect him. You couldn't say a word. There was nothing that you could say that it would make things better right now.

Lando was sobbing and shaking. His levels of anxiety reached a high when he saw you standing there looking for him desperately with your eyes. He needed you. But life’s a bitch and you couldn't stay with him throughout the whole American leg. He came undone in your arms. He needed to hug you for so long. He was broken. His mind replying to all the mistakes he made. All of his wrong decisions. All of the shit he said. He was embarrassed, angry and defeated. He was ashamed of himself. Disgusted. Frustrated and scared.

Yu rubbed his back trying to comfort him in the hug and trying to not cry so you could be the strong one for him. He needed you, you knew it. And you wanted to fix all of this in a snap of fingers, but you couldn't.

“It’s okay baby. You are gonna be alright, I promise. I love you. You’re home now ", Yu said, to make him feel at least slightly better. When he heard you he started sobbing even harder. You let him take all the time he needed. While doing so, you tried to see where you were and how you could, if someone was recording and taking a picture. Fortunately you were almost alone. It was the last flight arriving for today. You feel relieved knowing this won't be used against him by the cruel internet trolls.

(...)

The drive home was silent. No music, no speaking. He didn't even look at you the whole ride. He was looking through the window avoiding any contact with society you thought while driving your Audi R8 V10 GT RWD through the illuminated Monaco streets. It was around 9pm. You had cooked for him some home made pasta you knew he adored. You just wanted him to feel better.

When you got home, he took his bags to the room with your help. You left his second suitcase next to his wardrobe and saw him lying on the bed.

“I made your fav homemade pasta. Do you want me to bring it here and eat it in bed?” you offered him with a soft voice. He was looking to the ceiling. He did not answer right away, but after a few moments he did.

“I'm not hungry, but thank you. Maybe i'll eat later” he said with a deep cracky voice and turned himself in the bed showing you his back. You frowned a bit.

He couldn't look at you. He hated that you could see him like this. He was ashamed of himself drawing in self pity and self hatred. He felt he let you down.

“Aln, did you eat something during the flight at least?” you asked worriedly, walking forward to the bed so you could get closer to him. You sat on the table next to his back looking at him. You didn't want to touch him just because you didn't know if he would want you to. You didn't want to be invasive. You stayed in silence for a few minutes. You understood he didn't eat, that he didn't want to either or speak. So you stood up and let him have his alone time closing the door gently behind your back.

You ate alone that night.in silence just as if you could hear him from your kitchen aisle. The past was really good. You turned off your phone after washing the dishes and tidied the kitchen and living room up. You didn't want to see what social media was saying about your lover before bed. It was already enough scrolling and reading so many people wishing lando to die. That was the hardest part of it all. You left your phone charging on the kitchen counter and went to your shared room. When you entered he was already showered getting into the bed again. You half smiled at him even though he couldn't see you. You put on your pajamas in silence and climbed up the bed. He looked at you while you were getting comfortable next to him.

Your eyes met. Any of you said anything. Just looked at each other trying to read each other thought as if that was possible. He licked his dry lips. His eyes turned glassy.

“I messed everything up,” he said almost in a whisper. Your heart is breaking again. You shook your head at him getting closer and bringing him into your chest. You hugged him tightly.

“No you didnt baby. Sometimes people are just mean, you know? They will interpret things as the wish” you said softly rubbing his back and arm and caressing his hair gently. He felt a bit better under your frame. He felt protected but as a little kid when missbehaved so now he tries to find comfort. He didn't want to cry.he was trying hard not to let tears stream down his cheeks. You kissed his forehead and made him look at you. “I know you dont wanna talk about it but i love and i am so deeply and entirely proud of you” you whisper close to his face. You saw him pout and the first tears coming down his face. You hugged him tightly. He hid in your neck and eventually fell asleep. You wanted to set the world on fire for this. You wanted to ruin every single person who says awful things about it. The comments, the media. You wanted to destroy everything and everyone just to protect him. He doesn't deserve this. He is an angel and you can't believe the world could only see the devil in him.

Lando tried to sleep but he couldn't. Everytime he closed his eyes, all of the tragic scenes from the race replayed in his mind. How the car felt, the rain, the radio messages, Oscar's voice, comments from his engineer . everything replayed in his head torturing him the worst way possible. He felt like getting down. He felt alone and miserable. He remembered Oscar words replying in his mind over and over again. “You will eventually make it, mate”. It was a positive message but he replayed it like a fucking nightmare.

What if he never makes it? What if he doesn't have what it takes? What if people are right? What if he is actually a monster and deserves to die? What if he did? Would they like him again or figure him out? Would anyone care about his feelings? Why does it have to be him and not someone else? Why are they all so cruel to him?

He couldn't stop thinking about every single detail about the weekend. He didn't want to celebrate his birthday anymore. He had you there but couldn't look at you. He felt disgusted by himself. He can't control it. He wants to go back into go karts and stop the time when he was actually happy and having fun with his friends. Now that line between friends and enemies is so blurry for him. Max didn't talk to him like before when all of this shit started. He knew Max was really competitive, of course he did, everyone knew it since day 1. But what about their friendship? Lando shit talked, max shit talked. He felt so confused even by his own feelings around this whole shitty situation or championship situation. Whatever you want to call it.

(...)

When you woke up the next morning he was gone. You felt kind of confused for a bit. You heard him talking so you guessed he was speaking on the phone. When you got up from bed you walked out the room to find him. When you got closer to the living room you knew he was talking to Max on facetime because you heard his voice.

“Morning, guys” you said, getting into the kitchen for some water to take your thyroid pills. Lando looked at you half-smile.

“Good morning baby” he said as sweetly as he could. You smiled at him. Before coming back to your room to shower and stuff you went and gave him a good morning kiss making Max almost throw up when he saw you in a funny way. You showed him the middle finger and disappeared so he could talk in private with his mate. You respected his place a lot. And i guess that’s why you understand so much each other.

(...)

The following day things got worse. Lando hasn't eaten any meal you prepared for him, didn't even want to have take out or anything. You found him crying in the kitchen and in the garden by the pool of your house. His anxiety was killing him, you knew. The desperation and guilt were eating him alive and you didn't know what to do rather than try to talk and comfort him.

He was sitting on the sofa in the living room. His sight was fixed on the floor without moving. You got alarmed because you knew what was going on. You got close slowly to not trigger him even more. His face was red, his hands sweaty and shaking. You sat on the floor diagonal from him looking at him. Slowly and gently you grabbed his hands trying to capture his brain's attention and get him out of the fog he was in. You were almost sure he was having an anxiety attack and he started because of your touch. You gently rubbed your fingers in his hands. He was out of breath for a moment and you got scared so you tried to do as your therapist told you in case someone you know goes through this.

“Lan, can you hear me? Try to pay attention to my voice okay? I'm here and I'm with you dull be alright” you said really softly trying to make him look at you. You looked for his eyes with your gaze. “It’s not as terrible as you think, baby, I promise. You aren't all of those things people comment” you used your words carefully. His hands caught your strength and so you reassured him. You saw his pout becoming deeper. You hurt to see him like this. It was so unfair. He doesnt deserve this, god. And he broke. He broke down again. His tears streamed down his face. Sobbing in so much pain. You sat next to him to hug him tightly once more. But now you knew it was worse. He was shaking under your arms.you let him go through this. So he can let go of all of this shit inside him. “I promise lando, you aren't all of those things. People are just mean and cruel. You are a good baby and so talented. Gifted. You have it in you I promise, I can see it” you tried to comfort him with your words as well, trying to distract your mind from the tragic thought he was dealing with by himself. A few tears fell down your face. It was a hard time. And you were trying to be strong for him.

“I'm so stupid I'm sorry” he sobbed and you shook your head.

“No, Lando, you aren't. I promise okay? Believe me.i know you and you aren't. And this will pass. All the people that know you for real, we love you and we are so proud of you. You had an amazing year. You are fucking fighting a three time world champion, even sooner than he did with lewis back in 2021. That’s huge my love. Your dream is near, I just know it. Because I know you, and you’ll make it, baby. You didn't let anyone down. You're getting stronger so when you finally make it, all of these moments will make it taste so much better and sweeter” you explained while rubbing his back. Your words made an effect on him. Heslowly calming down. He didn't want to let you go. He wanted to just stay there in your arms. Where he felt safe and sound. Noone could hurt him there. That was what made him fall for you. You saw him. You knew him. And you care about him. He was finally important for someone for being lando, and not lando norris formula one driver. His past lovers left him feeling confused whether they loved him for him or their idea of him. You came outta nowhere and blew him away. You were brutally honest, no filter yet so gentle and caring with your words. He thought his perfect girl didn't exist but then there was you, listening to him for hours if he needed to. Giving him the best advice and clearing his perspective. Always cheering him up. Cracking jokes so he could distract and feel relaxed. Heknew he was in love with you the moment you offered to give him a ride because he was drunk as well at a new years party. It was normal but the fact that a stranger could do that for him blew his mind. He never admitted afraid people would think it’s weird. But it is what it is. Your smile ended him right there and when you started cracking jokes he didn't want to live in that damn car for the rest of his life. So here you are 4 years later,and you still be the greatest person in the world and the one who knew him the most. He felt your lips on his forehead. For a moment he thought about leaving racing. What if his life was better without it in it? He could go back to Bristol and be with his friends. With you. Maybe start a family and have a normal job so you could spend each day together. He started crying again at that thought. He loved racing but this year was the hardest yet amazing one.

He finally calmed down after a few minutes in silence. He looked at you with puppy eyes. You caressed his face gently brushing a few tears falling down still.

“Would you be there with me? Could you?” he asked, making you a bit confused. And he noticed. “To the races. I need you there. Please. To every race and when I become a champion,would you be there with me? You could feel he's scared. You half smiled at him melting as his comment.

“Of course I'll be there, baby. I’ll always be there for and with you. If I could , I would set the whole world on fire just for you. Never doubt it, okay?” he nodded and you pulled him closer to give him so many little kisses around his whole face making him gigle a little.

“I love you, y/n” he said looking at you fondly.

“I love you, lando. Everything’s gonna be alright” you said, assuring him and gave a peck on his lips. “Go have a shower and dress cute im gonna take you out on a date before your birthday” you said more lighful to cheer him up and his face lit up.

“Really?” you noddedat him and send him to shower agin funny. Before going with him so yhou both looked facy, you needed to say something to the world. You couldnt stay crossed arms and do nothing about it.

── .✦

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maxfewtrell: I CHOKED

norrisfan: omg thank u queen for this

user45: ur as dumb as he is. you cant defend him. he sucks and thats it darling. don lie to yourself.

── .✦

You turned off your phone once again. You were already so fed up with it all. Let them talk. You were sure they would choke with their own shit eventually.

but continued with the day. Lando was still a little off but he was looking better so maybe he is actually feeling better. You took out to dinner at a restaurant he always dreamed of going to. He was so happy to be there. The food was delicious. It was near the beach though it is colder here so we looked at it through the glass window. You gossip and talk about anything and everything as if everything was alright. And it was a fact it was. Because this is real life. Not social media. A few people stopped you while eating to ask for pictures and Lando said yes every time you even became a photoshoot photographer. Nice people telling him nice things was what he needed right now. Plus, you would never be pissed off by his fans. You were actually grateful for them. Of course, some can be disrespectful but you knew the real one was it. You really embraced Lando's life even though it’s nothing like the life you’d dreamed of to have one day. But he is the boy of your dreams so why would it be a problem.

November, 13th

When the clock hit midnight, the restaurant made a cake for him so we all sang him happy birthday. You chose his favorite type of cake. He giggled all nervous and shy. His cheeks red while his eyes showed a little sparkle while watching the candles. He blew them. You recorded the whole thing and took so many pictures. He thanked the staff and staff of the restaurant and they let you enjoy the cake in comfort. Your heart was full to see him a little back again.

After The restaurant kicked you out because they needed to close, you decided to do a road trip through the mountains of monaco. You always enjoy a good ride with good music and good company. And you also had sex in the car. You kind of guessed he needed to take his frustrations out somehow because you had the rough sex you really enjoyed. He joked it was his best birthday present making you laugh. He was joking again.

“Thank you” he said while gently rubbing your naked chest. You were seated on him. You smiled and leaned for a soft kiss on his lips. You really loved him. And all you wanted for him was happiness and well being. And you would do anything to make sure he is okay.

You came back home and had another round of sex. Enjoying yourselves in intimacy. Lando finally fell asleep after a terrible few days, in the calm of your body. His face on your bare chest. You clothed him and fell asleep relieved.

── .✦

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yourusername: What can I say about you? There's no words that can describe your greatness. Or my feelings for you. I'm so grateful you were born on November 13th. 25 years ago my best friend and the love of my life was brought to this world. And sometimes what unfair is that, right? A world that is so cruel to you. A world that doesn't deserve your greatness and kindness nor your attention. You are the greatest son, brother, uncle, friend and lover. Anyone who says otherwise doesn't actually know you. We are all so lucky that you choose us to spend your time on this world with. Thank you for being who you care. For caring about the people you love and making sure we are alright and happy. Thank you for being the light that you are for so many lives. Thank you for being vulnerable. I admire you so much, lan. You are the strongest and bravest human I know. so honest and open. Anyone who says otherwise, actually, doesn't know you. I know this is not the best birthday of your life, but I promise you I'll try to make it better. Thank you for being who you are to me. I promise I see you and I care. You're the love of my life. And I'm so lucky you love me over any other human out there. So happy birthday to the prettiest and most genuine, real, fun, kind, warm person I have the chance to call mine everyday. Hope you have the best day you can have right now. That’s the least you deserve. I love you forever bestie. Don’t ever change.

tagged: landonorris

comments on this post have been disabled.

── .✦

So you had a master plan for Lando's birthday. You went to the Hilton hotel for some coffee with Max and Lando of course. We lied and said pietra couldn't make it because she had a meeting and Lando believed. Truth was, you have contacted all of his friends and arregened flights so everyone could make it to Monaco on time. Pietra was the one in your house. You left her a spare key yesterday evening after coffee with alex. You gave her the directions and the idea of what you wanted while you and Max distracted Lando until 7pm, she decorated the house and received all of his friends. Lando had no clue of what was going on but he was so happy it was the second cake you brought to him. You recorded the moment and seeing him smile made your heart melt.

── .✦

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landonorris: I love you greatest girlfriend there to exist. Thank u for everything and specially for making this day so much better. Ur an Angel ❤️‍🩹

⤷ yourusername: I love u more Angel ❤️‍🩹 the least you deserve is to be loved and happy.

User33: 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣

Landostan: THANK U FOR EXISTING AND TAKING SUCH CARE OF HIM UR A QUEEN I LOVE U WE LOVE U

carlossainz55: ur the best 🫶🏻

⤷ yourusername: te extraño hermano we need to double date with Rebecca again asap!

── .✦

When 7pm came around we all “decided” to go to your house and eat pizza for dinner. Lando even said to me that they could do a stream and have fun for a bit. You agreed and all knowing that wasn't gonna happen. The ride home was so much fun. You spent the 20 minute ride screaming a one direction song from the top of your lungs. You sang Lando ‘through the dark’ And he sang ‘You and i’.it was lovely, Max almost threw up when you kissed. Luckily he was driving so he hadn't watched much of your pda.

You got out of the car trying to play it cool though you were so nervous. You saw Max texting Pietra that you were close.the lights were off. And silent. Your nervousness took over you when you tried to open the door but let the keys fall nervously. Thankfully Max and Lando were discussing which type of pizza they would order. Finally you opened the door, lando behind you and so you turned on the lights.

Everyone jumped from everywhere saying happy birthday in unison. Yoursmile was so big but when you saw lando his smile was even bigger.

“Surprise!” you said and lando was still processing it. But when his friend started hugging him he started crying out of joy. He thought his friends weren't coming this year because of their busy schedule.but that was a lie you made them tell so lando wouldn suspect anything. Fortunately, they all kept the secret safe. Lando was so happy.

You all spent the night playing poker, drinking gin and tonics and surrounded by laughter and love. In the moment, around everybody, you felt lucky to be there. Especially to be in landos life. Everyone was so sweet and good just like him. He deserves the world.

Everyone went home around 2 am. You were exhausted and tipsy at the end of the night. So you put your pajamas on and sled straight on the bed. Lando wrapped his arms around your waist.

“Thank you for everything. It was a great birthday. Thank u for always taking care of me always.you make me the happiest” he said under a whisper looking at you. He looked so gorgeous with that little smile and tired eyes. You stroked his cheek gently, smiling.

“You deserve to be happy darling. You are unstoppable. Better days at work will come,I know.but im grateful that you have so much love surrounding you. I love you” he smiled widely listening to you and leaned to kiss you with so much feelings and passion. You were the greatest thing that ever happened to him and also the greatest decision he has ever made when he asked you out.

── .✦

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f1gossipofficial: here it is @/yourusername at the McLaren garage ready for fp1 cheering for his 4 year boyfriend @/landonorris! Lando was asked about the whole drama around the Brazil gp and his birthday and her statement and he said ‘I’m lucky to have her. I would set the world on fire for her. So yeah. We are the same that is why we work so well. It was a great birthday though. She brought my whole group of friend to Monaco for a poker night so yeah’ also he said that if it wasn’t for her he would’ve collapsed on his overthinking but thankfully she was there. We love a power couple on the grid!! What do we think about all of this? #LasVegasGP2024

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User1873: they are both the same shit tbh

User23: I LOVE THEM GREATEST COUPLE ON THE GRID

User29873: I don’t like lando but she cute supporting him like that. I saw she gave a kiss to him before getting into the car. They seem in love!

⤷ Usrr988: I KNOW TIGHT I THOUGHT I WAS THE ONLY I CAUGHT THAT KISS IN THE OFFICIAL TRANSMISSION

Yourbff: she is the greatest person you would know!! Let’s go lan!!!

User564: Max will win the dwc and NOTHING would change that or move me so

User90: omg she is so pretty

y/nstan: how lucky lando is to have her. She is always the sweetest to all of his fans. And also funny. Such a queen!

User897: where are the pictures of them arriving together????????! I NEED THEM

⤷ user45: so iconic need to marry asap

── .✦

It was the day. The day you were back to media duties. Back to being a target for social media. Back supporting your boyfriend no matter what. You even went on media day to be there for him if he needed it. You chatted with everyone around to entertain yourself while he was doing interviews.

Oscar helped a lot and the whole McLaren team to make Lando feel safe and actually enjoy the weekend. You Were grateful for it. At least they decided not to be dicks in front of his face.

Fp1 was about to start and you were proudly there in the garage to cheer on him. You were also anxious because you felt things almost like him and this competition is rather never racking. You kissed him gently but shortly. A good luck kiss before getting into the car. He smiled widely.

“Go be the best you can be. You’re great” you told him sweetly.

“I'll try my best to impress you,” he replied, letting go of your hand.

“You already do everyday babe” you said smiling making him grin before walking into the car to start the first session of the weekend.

You watched from there how fp1 unfolded hoping this would be a great weekend.

── .✦ FIN

Hope you liked it 💌 if you have any ideas my inbox is open so send your requests!

#lando x reader #lando #lando x y/n #lando x you #lando norris x you #lando norris fanfic #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #lando norris #ln4 x reader #ln4 #f1 x reader #f1 fic #f1 x female reader #f1 x you #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #f1

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rowdydevs · 5 months ago

Text

𝓻𝓪𝓯𝓮𝔂𝓼𝓬𝓾𝓻𝓽𝓪𝓲𝓷𝓫𝓪𝓷𝓰𝓼

𝙽𝚊𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚢 𝙻𝚒𝚜𝚝 | 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐦𝐚𝐬 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐬

𝔻𝕒𝕪 𝔽𝕠𝕦𝕣𝕥𝕖𝕖𝕟: 𝔸𝕝𝕨𝕒𝕪𝕤 𝕄𝕚𝕟𝕖

𝙽𝙷𝙻!𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚎 𝚡 𝙹𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚗𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

❕Warnings Contain Spoilers ❕

warnings: rafe’s pov, reader’s pov, dark!rafe, possessive!rafe, obsessed!rafe, graphic violence, mentions of blood, rafe considers kidnapping the reader, rafe beats up his co-captain and ties him up, oral (male + female receiving), dark!reader, ownership kink, pet names, swearing, dirty talk, kissing, unprotected p in v, praise, rough sex, cum tasting

This is an ask from my baby starkeysbabygirl for dark NHL!Rafe 💋 thank you for your ask, hun!!! The premise is reporter!reader, Rafe’s ex, interviews him and the other captain ahead of Friday night's big game. Rafe can't help but see the spark between them, and he wants to let her know who she belongs to

Rafe’s POV:

The camera light flashes; a typical pre-game interview, but my heart is beating out of my chest. I lean back slightly, relaxing on my leather couch. My co-captain Nate laughs, elbowing me playfully, joking about something, but honestly, I can’t fuckin’ hear it.

My girl… Well, at least she was.

She’s stunning, polished, and professional. She glances at Nate, then me, her face unchanging, calm, and collected, completely detached as I’m losing my goddamn mind at the sight of her so close to me.

She adjusts the microphone clipped to her blouse… red. My favorite color, especially on her, and I can’t help but wonder if she remembers that.

It’s been six months since we broke up. Six long months, but each passing day only made my obsession worse. She had a jealous streak that drove me insane, questioning every woman I so much as glanced at from the ice. Blowing up my phone to the point of exhaustion on away games just in case I found someone else. I tried to reassure her I was loyal, but it was never enough. And that exhaustion I felt didn’t even begin to cover it. I was over it completely.

Eventually, I snapped. I told her I was over her and the drama, the fighting; I was done trying to convince her she was all I wanted. That day, I broke her—shattered her heart completely—and when she walked out the door, I told myself it was for the best.

Or, so I thought.

But the truth was she never really left… I started following her career from afar, curiosity getting the better of me. I selfishly wondered if she was as affected by our breakup as I was, but she wasn’t. That curiosity turned into something darker—something I didn’t even recognize myself.

She'd landed the gig at ESPN she’d been working for, climbing the ladder from short vlogs to TV interviews. Every interview, every appearance, every event—I consumed it all, taking what crumbs I could get. I even started showing up where I knew she would be, affairs I would have skipped before, all in an attempt to catch her eye, but I never did.

All I want is her. All I want is to be close to her. Tonight’s my fuckin’ night.

To her, it’s just some informal interview—a change from her regular rinkside report or studio sit down. But to me, it’s one step closer to getting her back; she’s sitting in my place, on my couch, sipping a glass of water from my cupboard. It’s like she’s coming home.

“Alright, gentleman,” y/n smiles, pulling me out of my mind. Her voice was honeyed and dripping with confidence. I shut my eyes, hanging my head momentarily, trying to collect myself as she continued. “The Winter Classic is one of the season's biggest games; the match-up is electric on its own. Fans are buzzing about the drama between you and the Kings. How are you both feeling tonight?”

My lips curl into a smile as she asks me a question; well, us—regardless, the attention had me feeling like I just snorted a line. Riding high off the attention I had been craving for for months. My fix finally met. “Excited,” I blurt out, feeling the heat rise in my cheeks as she cocks her eyebrow at me. “Focused… This is the kinda hockey you look forward to playin’.”

“Absolutely,” Nate adds, cutting in, stealing her focus from me in the process. Her gaze flickers to him, the corners of her perfect lips curling into a slight smile that I didn’t get. A sharp sting of jealousy stabs through my heart. My blunt fingernails dig into the armrests of my chair, trying to stay composed.

”And you, Rafe,” she sings as she looks back at me. Fuck… My pulse spikes as my name passes her lips for the first time in months. She hasn’t mentioned my name once in any interview, podcast, or vlog. "As one of the league's top performers, do you feel the pressure to lead your team tomorrow?”

I draw a deep breath, thankful that I hung on to her every word instead of focusing on the sound of her voice alone—like music to my fuckin’ ears. “Pressure is part of the gig. I’ve always thrived on it.”

She nods, living in my words for a moment. “Spoken like a true captain,” she praises. Her compliment hits me harder than it should’ve, but I can’t help but blush at her words.

The interview presses on as the tension between her and me simmers beneath the surface. Even Nate can tell, his eyes moving between us when her gaze hangs a little heavier on me.

And then, something shifts.

Her attention pivots to Nate; the scales of her focus weighing in his favor. My heart breaks with each smile, each glimmer in his and her eyes. I watch her fall through my finger again, right into his hands.

And Nate—that motherfucker—he’s eating it up, flirting shamelessly, and worse, she doesn't seem to mind in the slightest.

By the end of the interview, I had all but fallen apart. Nate stands up, rolling up the sleeves of his button-down shirt as he looks at her from across the room, no doubt eye-fuckin’ the shit out of my girl. I sip my coffee, observing her from across the room as she packs up her equipment, leaving my place with a little wave, nothing more, nothing less.

“Fuck, she’s stunning,” Nate hums. “Do you have her number?”

“No,” I press the word past my lips. Drawing a deep breath, I roll out my neck, trying to let his comments go.

"It’s alright. She probably has an IG account or somethin’. I'll just slide into her DMs. Probably safer that way anyway," he says with a smug smile, looking over with a wink like he’s talking to a friend, but that ship has fuckin’ sailed.

My jaw clenches tight, and every muscle in my body twists tight. I can’t let him see how much he’s getting to me… His words make me feel like I could lose my last shred of sanity.

Nate walks toward the door, slipping on his jacket. He digs his phone out of his pocket, sliding his finger across the screen before looking up at me again. “How do you spell her first name again?”

She’s probably gone by now. My hear’s racing. What the fuck am I doing? My mind pinballs between a dozen possibilities. What if it’s too late? What if she doesn’t want to talk to me? Do I take her? Take her, Rafe… What the fuck am I thinking? No… No. Talk to her? Yeah—Yeah, just talk. For now.

SCREECH.

She slams on the brakes as I stop her in the parking lot— thankful she parked in valet and not on the street, giving me a little extra time to get to her.

"Rafe?" She asks, her voice gentle and uneasy. “Are you ok-“

"Can we talk?" I cut her off with a breathless request, trying to sound calmer than I am as my heart pounds in my head.

She looks around the lot before turning her attention back to me. “… Sure.” She bends around, returning to the valet, before handing him her keys.

She walks toward me, doing nothing for my nerves as her jacket blows slightly with the breeze, the winter wind whipping her hair, making her look like a goddamn angel. My eyes stay locked on her, unblinking, not wanting to miss a moment as she clears the gap between us.

“What did you wanna talk about?”

"Upstairs…” I choke out. "Just for a drink."

We walk toward the elevator. The ride up is silent; tension between us, thick with unsaid words.

She walks into my apartment, stopping dead in her tracks.

The living room is wrecked. A lamp knocked onto the floor—glass shattered. Decorations are strewn and thrown to the floor. Sitting in the far corner of the room is Nate: tied to a chair, beaten face smeared with blood, his head hanging low.

She turns around, her trembling hand covering her lips, her wide eyes glistening with unshed tears.

Her gaze darts from mine to my hands. Shit… I look down, catching the blood; my knuckles split and broken.

“Y/n,” I start, and just as I do, her hand falls—from her smile.

She walks toward me, slow and deliberate, as my heart swells. Her heels click against the marble floor as she gets closer and closer. "Rafe," she hums, looking up at me through her lashes. "You did this for me?"

I draw a deep breath, looking down at her before me, completely overwhelmed. I don't know what reaction I was expecting or what thoughts went through my mind when I brought her back here, but a part of me knew this was what she wanted.

“I hated the way he was talkin’ to you,” I whisper.

She looks over her shoulder, taking in the chaos silently. Every piece of broken glass and a crimson streak of blood was just a reminder of how far I’d go, and still, for me, it was not enough. “I can't believe you did this for me,” she says the words weakly as a tear tumbles down her cheek.

“I’d do worse if it meant keeping you.”

She bites her lips, holding back her emotions. My stomach flutters as her hands slip into mine. “I missed you, Rafe. I think about you all the time,” she smiles.

“I can’t tell you how much I missed you… I’m sorry for following you—”

“I wanted you to,” she assures, giving me the answer I was hoping for.

"You started this career to be closer to me," I ask as I wrap my arms around her waist, pulling her into me, my voice slow and steady, “didn't you?" She takes a little breath, looking down at the space between us, smiling before looking back up at me, nodding ‘yes.’

"I was hoping we’d run into each other and I’d get to apologize for how I acted-”

"Stop," I interrupt, my voice hoarse and broken with feelings. "I don't care about that shit. I’ve been messed up since the day you left."

Her eyes blink as she looks up at me lovingly. I cup her cheeks in her hands, brushing away her tears with my thumbs. "You're mine," I whisper. "No one else's. Say it.”

"I'm yours," she breathes. I look out of the corner of my eye, watching Nate struggle against the binds, breaking up our moment, making my blood boil.

“Let me go take care of him. Yeah?” I rasp, and she smiles.

I step toward him slowly as he battles even harder, that cockiness that he had in the interview stripped away. “Rafe—Rafe… I don't know what the fuck is goin’ on, man. Just let me go.”

I kneel beside him, looking him in his eyes, ensuring he hears every word. “Nate… You fucked up, man,” I chide. “You pushed me… And if you do it again, you’ll find out just how far I can go, bitch. This is nothing…”

“I didn’t know, Rafe. Fuck—I didn’t know you were together,” he rambles as blood trickles out of the corner of his lips.

“You couldn’t feel it? Bullshit. I know you saw it. Stop fuckin’ lyin’ to me,” I hiss. “And you… What if Ally found out you were about to slip in my girl's DMs, huh?” I ask, my voice low and lethal. “What if your wife found out about that little Instagram model in Montreal? One word to her, and you’re done.”

Nate shakes his head ‘no’ fast, his bruised eyes pinched shut. “I’m not gonna say shit!” He huffs.

The second I untie him, he’s scrambling toward the door. A wicked smile twists on her lips as she looks back at me, hanging onto every word I said to him, the threats leaving my tongue nothing but foreplay to her. She turns on her heels, beckoning me with her dark gaze.

Y/n smiles at me, biting her lip as she looks down at the floor. My Boston College jersey lies in a pile of glass; the collectible frame knocked off the wall in the fight. She bends down, picking it up, giving it a few shakes before disappearing into my dark room.

I smile to myself, giving her a moment. I know what she’s gonna do. That’s my girl.

Walking toward my bedroom, I follow the trail of discarded clothes: her jacket, skirt, and that satin blouse I wanted to tear off, but this is so much better. I chuckle sleazily as I see her pretty red bra on the floor, my eyes lifting to my bed, seeing her sitting pretty on the edge of the bed, waiting for me.

Before I can even ask, she’s on her knees, crawling slowly toward me. My eyes roll back seeing her like this… Like a goddamn dream. I rip off the buttons of my shirt, tearing it off my shoulders as she kneels before me, pawing for my belt, tugging my pants around my ankles.

I wrap my fist around her hair, pulling after gaze away from my cock to my eyes. “C’mon, pretty… I remember what this mouth can do,” I mumble as my thumb brushes along her bottom lip.

She lays out her tongue, and I slap my tip against it, moaning at the contact. She wraps her lips around me, eyes fluttering shut like it’s all she needs. The vibrations of her pleasured sounds about sends me. I use the hold on her head to pull her into me, watching tears spring in the corners of her eyes again as my fat tip kisses the back of her throat.

Reader’s POV:

“Atta girl,” Rafe hums, his praise only fueling your frenzy. You bob up and down on his long cock as he guides your strokes. “You like that shit?” He breathes a sigh of relief as he watches you work his dick in your mouth.

“Suckin’ my dick with my name on your shoulders, princess… You know how many times I’ve thought about this? Fuckin’ dream girl,” he groans hazily between thrusts.

Rafe blows out a breath as you release his cock with a pop, causing him to let out a grunt for more, almost instantly eased by your fist, jerking him off. You can feel your wetness, trickling from your pussy, seeping down your inner thigh. "I can't wait to fuck you, princess."

You moan, feeling the weight of him on your tongue, Rafe’s precum swirling with your saliva, making your arousal pool in your panties. You lift his jersey slightly, giving him a glimpse of your round ass, a tiny number two embroidered on the back of your thong.

“Fuckkk,” he groans at the sight, tossing his head back; the salty taste of his precum intensifies as he cum in thick ropes, painting your throat. You wrap your hands around his body, nails scratching down his thigh, making his muscles clench.

Rafe’s cock throbs on your tongue, blood pumping in his shaft as you cup his balls in your hands, rolling slowly, not wanting him out of your mouth just yet.

“Co’mere,” he breathes as he helps you to your feet, pulling you to his lips. He kisses you deeply, walking back with you to his large bed, pushing you down before mounting you fast. “These panties… You fuckin’ kidding me,” he mutters against your lips as his thick fingers shove the satin aside, running up your soaked slit.

You start to rock with his thrusts as Rafe swallows your moans. He pulls away, pushing his fingers between his lips, sucking off your wetness, looking down at you underneath him.

“Hands and knees, princess,” he smiles.

Before you can comply, he grips your hips, flipping you over. You arch your back for him, and he grabs your ass, circling his hands before spanking you once, then twice.

He squeezes your curves, pulling you apart slightly, running his tongue from your clit to your entrance. You whimper as his fingers press against your aching pearl, tongue pushing into your soaked hole.

Rafe swirls his tongue and fingers with precision, eating you out from the back, moaning into your cunt as he laps up your arousal. His free hand tugs your panties to the side, using the hold to pull your warmth closer to his face, the man drowning in pussy.

”Rafe… Fuck. I’m close,” you whimper.

"Cum for me," he whispers between tongue flicks. You cum fast and hard, fluttering as your pleasure courses through your veins.

Before you can even come down from your high, he sinks into you, making you cry out, sliding into your sloppy core until his hips nudge your ass. He grabs your body, pushing his cock even further, making you bury your face in the comforter.

“Oh my god. Shittt,” he grunts as he circles his hips, his voice deep and dripping with sin. You lift your head as he pulls almost out, fucking back into your fast. “Tell me whose pussy this is, baby. Fuckin’ tell me…”

“Yours, baby,” you squeal, body shivering at the feeling of him buried to the hilt.

“That’s right…” He mumbles as he pushes the jersey up your back.

He rolls and snaps his hips into you, making the fat of your ass recoil with each thrust. He grabs your curves in his hands, spreading you wider, watching the way his thick dick gets swallowed up, wet, and sticky with your slickness.

He builds up to a punishing pace; the sounds of your wet skin slapping against each other fill his room. His fingers dig into your supple flesh as you start to meet him thrust for thrust, gasping as he hits that special spot, your heart rate frantic—your body desperate to cum around his big cock.

Rafe’s movements get a little rougher, his pace quickening. “Mpfhh… You’re gonna cum?” He groans, desperation clinging to his tone as he tries to hold back his pleasure. “Been thinkin’ about that feelin’ for six fuckin’ months,” he mumbles. “I know you are. Cum on my dick, princess… I need it—Fuck. I need it,” your eyes roll back in your head as your pleasure surges through you, crashing over you like a wave.

“Rafe, fuck-”

“That’s my fuckin’ girl,” Rafe pants, answering your cries as he throws his hips. “I’m gonna fill up this tight cunt. I want you dripping out of me tomorrow.” He reaches for you, pulling you back to his chest, pressing his face against your cheeks. “You’ll always remember who owns this pussy.”

Rafe’s body tightens as he grabs your face, pressing his lips against yours. “You're mine,” he whispers against your mouth as his body shudders, filling you with his heavy load.

His tongue slips between your lips as he rocks his hip, smiling through panting breaths, pushing his cum deeper and deeper. Tears of pleasure and happiness roll down your cheeks as he keeps you standing, your legs feeling like they could give way at any second. Rafe chuckles darkly, letting out a satisfied sigh at his cockdrunk girl. “Say it, baby…”

“I’m yours.”

#rafe #Rafe smut #rafe cameron x reader #my library ᝰ.ᐟ #rafe blurb 𖤐ᝰ.ᐟ𖦹₊⊹#kinkmas event .𖥔 ݁ ˖❄️˚. ᵎᵎ #hockey!rafe ִ ࣪𖤐.ᐟ #older!rafe ִ ࣪𖤐.ᐟ #dark!rafe ִ ࣪𖤐.ᐟ

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spilledartery · 1 year ago

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loveless union . . . ( kunikuzushi )

[ male reader, noble / clan ! au, angst, unrequited love, sex, cheating ( ? ), implied trans kuni, pregnancy – i need to feed my breeding kink, please bare with me. fujoshis, mlm fetishizers, dni. ]

it was an arranged marriage. neither you nor kunikuzushi wanted this, but since your clan was indebted to his clan, your parents had just proposed you to be married to the raiden heir. it was shocking how the heir’s mother, ei, agreed, given how she was the one who casted demise upon your clan.

the wedding ceremony came and went, and so did the past couple of years. kunikuzushi was harsh, he didn’t want this – he was forced to sever his ties with his ( secret ) lover from the kaedehara clan, he was forced to marry someone he never loved; you.

you never loved him, too, but, ever the gentleman you are, you treated him with care and respect. when he was sick, you’d tend to him, you would compliment him, you would never talk bad about him. despite his opposite treatment of you, you understand. neither of you wanted this.

it was easy to fool your families, too. whenever yours and his parents are on the same table, you and kunikuzushi would act the star-crossed lovers, making them believe that you’d learned how to love each other.

the two of you would laugh, stare at each other lovingly, hold each other’s hands, lean closer to whisper something in each other’s ears – even ei couldn’t help but watch fondly; you were taking good care of each other.

“the both of you aren’t getting any younger,” your mother gushed, somehow confident to talk, despite being in the same table of her rival woman. she took a sip of wine, sending you and kunikuzushi knowing looks. “when are you both supposed to bring forth your heirs, hm?”

beside you, kunikuzushi tensed, and you couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. you understand, you always do.

your darling husband masked his true feelings with a seemingly shy smile. “oh,” he said, glancing at you with a soft look. “we... have been trying.”

you saw through those eyes, and you acted along. “my beloved is right, mother.” you took the boy’s hand and pressed a kiss on his knuckles. “it may take a while, but there will surely be little us’ running around the manor soon enough.”

“we will be expecting,” came the unreadable tone of kunikuzushi’s mother.

the next few months came by, and you and your husband are walking around the festivities. there were stalls, bustling vendors calling for the consumers’ attention. you two played the part of a married couple: you held hands, wrapped your arm around his waist, pressed close to each other – no one suspects a thing.

until you and kunikuzushi saw a certain boy with white hair and a red streak, he was staring at your husband. ah, it seems like they still have their affair going on, and you felt your heart shatter, just for a bit. you look down at kunikuzushi, who was in your arms, but looked longingly at his lover, the one he truly loved.

you let go of him. and he just looked up at you with hidden gratefulness, and rushed towards the kaedehara.

kunikuzushi didn’t return to your shared bed that night.

you understand, truly, you do. it was a good thing you stopped yourself on the brink of falling in love with him. you two may be married, but that didn’t mean you were meant for each other. you understand.

even now as you entered his body, after a week of the festival, of him with the kaedehara, you understand that the pleasure placed upon you is nothing but an obligation, a responsibility. it was to appease your families – to create an heir. even as you held kunikuzushi’s hand delicately as you pushed further into him, you knew that this union isn’t genuine.

you merely placed a kiss on his cheek as he reached his orgasm, and while you emptied inside of him, you murmured sweet nothings into his ear to calm him down after his high. and when he fell asleep without so much as a reply to you, you cleaned him and covered his naked body with the covers. you turned your body away from him, after – you know he wouldn’t be happy if he saw himself against your chest in the morning.

it was into six weeks when he began showing symptoms. kunikuzushi was nauseous, he continuously complained that his stomach was aching, and when you both talked to a trusted mage, they confirmed that you and kunikuzushi are expecting an heir.

you took good care of him. whenever something is aching, his shoulders, his feet, you would wordlessly massage him, you would bring him tea, knowing he loves bitterness; you played the part of being his husband, being a to-be father.

it was two months to his pregnancy that he felt his heart skipping a beat whenever you’re near. kunikuzushi told himself that he’d never feel something for you, he swore not to – but he couldn’t help it, not when you were taking such good care of him despite his attitude towards you. you never complained, never voiced out any discontent nor did you scowl at him when he always sent you a piercing glare.

perhaps, now, as your own family is beginning to grow, he could finally return the treatment you deserved from him, as his spouse.

it was strange when he began snuggling with you when you both went to sleep, when he began kissing your cheek, pecking your lips, smiling at you – it sent a small spark in your heart, but you don’t understand. is this because he’s only pregnant? he does not only crave for strange combinations of food, but also company? well, you still played along. you cared for him.

though it was unfortunate that during this time, you had to leave for mondstadt to attend some meeting – about creating allegiance there and whatnot. it was surprising that kunikuzushi kissed you passionately before you board the ship. you kissed him back just as fiercely, but you know it was merely for show because people are around; they wouldn’t want to see a supposed married couple being cold and distant to each other, especially when the spouse is to leave for many nights.

but what kunikuzushi wasn’t prepared for was the change of your demeanor when you came back. it wasn’t a bad change, but one that slowly broke kunikuzushi’s heart.

he was heavily pregnant, and he wore a robe too big to cover the bump in his belly – the bulge was still visible, but not much. kunikuzushi greeted you with a kiss on your cheek when you came home, asking how was your stay, if it was successful... though you answered these questions diligently, something was amiss.

no longer did you gaze warmly at him, but you became more distracted. you still cared for him, yes – but, now, kunikuzushi thinks it’s merely an obligation, nothing more, nothing less. your touches were more genuine then, now, it lacks those. when he kisses you, it was you who would pull away first and just kiss his forehead before turning away from him.

what had happened?

sometimes, he’d watch you write down on a parchment. it became a normal occurrence now. who were you writing for, he never asked. when you receive letters, he’d watch you smile – that smile that was once directed at him, but now it was more honest, like the reason for it was deeper.

he knew he shouldn’t be doing this, invading your privacy. you were asleep, and he walked to the dresser where you kept all the letters you’d been receiving. kunikuzushi subconsciously placed his hand on his baby bump as he unfolded a paper and read.

ah.

it seems you’d found someone who piqued you interest while you were in mondstadt. the way this person wrote to you was far from being friendly. it was as if...

kunikuzushi wiped a tear that fell from his eye. a couple more flowed through his cheeks, though, and he didn’t care wipe them anymore.

had he been too late love you? was it too late for you to love him?

reminiscing of the times when he treated you harshly, when he talked so bad about you, when he disregarded your opinions, when he rolled his eyes at your compliments, when he felt disgusted whenever you kiss his knuckles... perhaps, he does deserve this, and perhaps you’ve finally found someone you loved outside the marriage, as he had been with his affair with the kaedehara before. he deserves this.

kunikuzushi understands.

#[ lost stories . . . ]#top male reader #male reader #dom male reader #sub kunikuzushi #bottom kunikuzushi #sub scaramouche #bottom scaramouche #scaramouche x male reader #kunikuzushi x male reader #angst #unrequited love

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daisymbin · 6 months ago

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have you ever been in love? - choi seungcheol

warnings: none

pairings: choi seungcheol x reader

genre: friends to ???

wc: 900

check out my masterlist! // cheol's m.list

"have you ever been in love?" you ask, your eyes still fixated on the carefree clouds drifting lazily through the night sky, illuminated by the city lights.

seungcheol chuckles softly, the sound getting caught in the cool breeze that surrounds you both. he takes another sip of his beer, masking the way his heart races. how much more obvious could he be? are you really that oblivious?

"i suppose i have," he answers, his voice steady and calm even as his eyes can't help but trace the outline of your face, the way your features soften in the moonlight.

"what's it like?" you turn your head slightly, curiosity written in your expression. he's not sure how he should feel about your question.

seungcheol pauses, thinking about the feeling he’s harbored for you for so long. "it’s... terrifying and exhilarating at the same time," he says, a wistful smile playing at his lips. "it feels like wanting to be someone's everything, wanting to make them smile even when the world feels too heavy for myself. it’s being so scared of losing them that it’s all you think about. but at the same time, it makes everything brighter. love changes the way you see things, you know?"

you take a moment to process his words, letting them sink in, before you say quietly, “i guess..i dont know.”

“have you ever been in love?” he asks carefully, its a past tense question so it shouldnt hurt….right?

"i'm...not sure if i’ve ever been in love before.. but lately, i’ve started feeling things i’ve never felt before, and i wonder if it’s love. that's why im asking you.”

seungcheol’s heart stops, breaking a little at the thought of you loving someone else. his voice comes out smaller, almost vulnerable. "does what you’re feelin…m-match what i said?"

you think for a moment and then nod slowly. "yeah," you admit, a soft blush spreading across your cheeks.

his breath catches & he feels his stomach churning. this isn't a past tense situation, this is present tense, NOW. "who is it?" he asks as his voice trembles. the 4 years he's spent pinning over you seems to have made him timid tonight, he's not usually like this, but still, he braces himself for an answer that he knows will shatter him.

you hesitate, your eyes finding his, sparkling with adoration. "you," you whisper, your voice firm with sincerity.

seungcheol’s eyes widen, and for a moment, the world stills. and then, without thinking, he’s reaching for you, the biggest smile breaking out on his face. "me?" he repeats, as if he can’t quite believe it.

you nod, "you...you like me too right?"

"like?" seungcheol laughs, finding humour in your choice of words, his laugh holds a hint of disbelief, his eyes crinkling with pure joy. "like?" he repeats, his voice still colored with amusement. "i don't just like you," he confesses, his voice growing softer, more sincere. "i've been completely, ridiculously in love with you."

you feel your heart skip a beat, disbelief and hope swirling in your chest. "really?" you whisper, your voice small, almost afraid that this moment could shatter like a delicate glass figurine.

his gaze softens as he reaches for your hand, his warm fingers intertwining with yours. "really," he says, his thumb brushing over your knuckles.

"did you really not notice?" he asks, "i almost started to think you knew but just didnt have the heart to reject me."

your cheeks flushes as you think about all the little moments you'd noticed—the small ways he always seemed to look out for you, the way he'd remember the tiniest details about your life, and how his eyes would light up every time you entered a room. "i just... i always thought it was wishful thinking...like the time you carried extra snacks just because you knew i'd forget to eat, or when you'd always find an excuse to walk me home, even when you lived in the opposite direction. or how you’d get so quiet and protective whenever you thought someone was being unfair to me."

seungcheol's eyes widen with a mix of surprise and endearment, a fond smile spreading across his lips. "so you noticed all that?" he asks, his voice warm with a hint of embarrassment.

"i did," you say, a shy smile tugging at your lips. "but it just seemed too good to be true."

he pulls you a little closer, his eyes searching yours, filled with a mixture of adoration and relief. "it wasn’t too good to be true," he whispers, and then, with the most tender of touches, he leans in.

when his lips meet yours, it's everything and more. it's gentle, sweet, and filled with all the love that has been building between you two, unspoken but always there, waiting for the right moment.

when you finally pull away, you're both breathless, cheeks flushed. seungcheol's smile is still there, brighter than ever.

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societyfolklore · 1 month ago

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Closed Door Meetings

Title: Closed Door Meetings

Pairing: Future-Congressman!Bucky Barnes x Media Relations!Female Reader

Summary: When Bucky Barnes loses his cool during a post-interview meltdown, you. As his crisis manager and media handler, you are the only one who can pull him back from the edge. But tonight, the line between crisis management and personal chaos blurs

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: /Explicit Content / 18+, Minors DNI, Rough sex, semi-public (His office, workplace tension, Dom/sub undertone, Language, Emotional repression and release, Mentions of trauma / political pressure / public scrutiny, Bucky being hot, intense, and just a little unhinged

A/N: Finally getting on the Congressman Barnes train.. was holding off... but we’re getting too close to Thunderbolts to not start exploring this part..

The air had been heavy. The interview had ended ten minutes earlier, but Bucky hadn’t spoken since he got into the car, his jaw set like granite, tie tugged half-loose, tension radiating off him in waves. You had scrolled through incoming news alerts on your phone, each headline more damning than the last.

“You can’t keep doing this,” you had said, voice calm, but only barely, each word clipped with the effort of holding back your own frustration.

He hadn’t looked at you. Just stared out the window like it was still that studio with the bright lights and loaded questions, his reflection cast in the glass like a ghost he couldn’t shake.

“Doing what?” His voice had been low, tight, as if each syllable was ground between his teeth.

“The staring thing. Every time someone brings up your past, your eyes go blank and your whole face locks up like you’re bracing for a fight. You think no one notices, but I do."

He had turned his head slowly, eyes cold and sharp like shattered glass. “Did you.”

“Yes. I saw the twitch in your jaw when they brought up Siberia. The pause before you said ‘no comment.’ The way your hand curled like you were about to punch something. I saw you. Because that’s my job! My job to know when you’re about to light the whole press cycle on fire. Again.”

He had huffed a humourless laugh, more like an exhale that didn’t know where to land. “I didn’t say anything.”

“No. But you wanted to. And next time, you might. And next time, it might not be a sit-down interview. It might be a live mic or a campaign stop, and I can’t cover for you if you explode in front of fifty cameras.”

Silence. Thick. Crackling.

“And what?” he had said after a long moment. “You’ll spin it? Call it ‘justified frustration’? Tell them I’m working on my breathing exercises and still trying to be better?”

You had finally let your cool break, just a little. “God, you’re such a brat when you’re pissed off.”

That had done it. He had shifted toward you, slow and dangerous. “Careful.”

“Or what?” you had challenged.

He had leaned in slightly, eyes narrowing, the muscle in his jaw ticking hard enough to betray the restraint in his body. His voice had been low, thick with challenge. "You know what."

“You hired me to help you through this damn circus. When are you going to start taking what I have to say seriously?”

"I’m not some damn puppet- "

"No," you had cut in sharply, "you’re a man with a mic taped to his chest and four cameras angled at his bad side. So calm your ass down, Sergeant Barnes, while I try to save it."

He had stared at you for a long second. No words. Just a muscle ticking in his jaw, the air between you heavy with all the things he wasn’t saying.

Then, with a sigh sharp enough to cut, he had leaned back in his seat, arms crossed tightly over his chest like restraint alone might keep him from unraveling. You had turned away and started making calls; media contacts, your assistant, someone who could begin putting out the flames he seemed hellbent on feeding.

Someone had to save this man from himself.

~#~##~#~#~

You had barely been through his office door before you rounded on him.

"You want to torpedo this campaign, fine. But give me a heads-up next time so I can prep a damage control statement before you growl at CNN."

He had tossed his jacket over a chair and rolled up his sleeves further, hands braced on his hips, watching you with that unreadable expression that made your spine stiffen and your pulse skip.

You turned from him first, needing space, needing motion. You crossed to his desk, pulling the elastic from your ponytail with one hand as you dropped your phone onto the polished wood with the other. The tension had your skin flushed, your whole body buzzing with a charge you didn’t want to name.

He watched you move, tracked you with those sharp blue eyes like you were something dangerous in motion. His gaze swept from your flushed face to the curve of your legs as you paced, heels clicking against the floor with each frustrated pass. You ran a hand through your hair, shook it out, and kept pacing, frustration spilling from your every step.

"You really think you're the one steering the ship here?"

You had stepped closer, refusing to back down. "Well if you have it your way I'm not here to make people like you, Bucky. I’m here to make them trust you remember? There’s a difference. Right now, no one trusts anyone. They want someone real. Someone they can believe in again."

You jabbed a finger toward his chest. "But they can’t believe in the Winter Soldier. That guy? He terrifies them. He's a weapon, a tool. People want James Barnes- the war hero, the man who’s bled for something bigger than himself. Someone who’s walked through hell and still chooses to stand in front of them. They don’t need you to smile, Bucky. They need someone real, they need to see you as a person. Someone who speaks plainly, stands tall, and doesn’t flinch when things get ugly. You’re not a puppet. You’re not polished. But you’ve survived everything, and that makes you honest. It makes you believable. That’s who they’ll follow into the future."

His jaw had worked silently.

"You’re saying I’m fake."

"No. I’m saying you’re complicated. That’s why you're going to make a great legislator. But complicated doesn’t poll well, Bucky. So yeah. I’m in charge of everything... until you learn how to behave."

You hadn’t meant for it to sound like a dare, but it did. His eyes flared, and something in the air shifted, slow and molten. The way he looked at you now wasn’t frustration. It was something far more dangerous.

He stepped in closer, and you didn’t back down. You could feel the heat coming off him, feel the way your breath stuttered in your chest.

"Define 'behave'," he said, voice low and rough.

You tilted your chin up, heartbeat thudding loud in your ears. "Exactly what I tell you it means."

His mouth curved, not quite a smile. "Then maybe you should show me."

Your stomach flipped. The tension between you stretched thin, electric, and then tighter still. You were still flushed, hair loose and wild around your shoulders, and his eyes dropped to your lips; lingering, hungry, then lower. To your throat. Your chest. The subtle rise and fall of your breathing.

"You always this bossy in private?" he asked, voice gravel-soft behind you.

You glared at him. "Only when someone needs handling."

He let out a low, rough sound that might’ve been a laugh or something darker. "Maybe it’s time someone handled you instead. You seem a little... worked up."

You arched a brow. "And whose fault’s that?"

His response was nothing but motion, deliberate, slow. He reached up and loosened the knot of his tie, tugging it free from his collar with one hand. The movement was fluid, casual even, but his eyes never left yours.

"What can I say," he murmured, voice low and thick. "You did call me a brat in the car."

Your breath hitched. That damn tie was still clutched in his hand like it had purpose.

You opened your mouth, maybe to deliver another sharp remark, but you didn’t get the chance.

He crossed the space between you in two strides and grabbed your face with both hands, kissing you like he’d been waiting to do it since the first headline dropped. It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t sweet. It was heat and frustration and every unspoken word between you poured into the space where your mouths met.

You gasped against him, hands fisting in his shirt, and then he was walking you backward toward the desk. His desk.

He broke the kiss long enough to mutter, voice rough and wrecked,

"Still think I need handling?"

You barely had time to smirk before your hips hit the edge of the desk and he was kissing you again, harder this time, like he was punishing you for every word you’d thrown at him earlier. His hands gripped your thighs, squeezing through your skirt as he hoisted you up onto the desk without warning. Papers scattered to the floor. You didn’t care.

"Fuck," he muttered, lips bruising yours. "You always run your mouth like that, or just with me?"

You gasped, dragging him closer by the front of his shirt. "Only when someone’s worth the mess."

His mouth was back on yours, greedy and raw, his teeth dragging over your lower lip just enough to make you gasp again. You pulled at his shirt, needing skin, needing more. The desperation was mutual, Bucky made a sound in his throat when you pushed it off his shoulders, like finally, finally, someone knew what he needed.

He shoved your skirt higher, fingers dragging up your inner thigh as you clung to him, breathless and aching. His mouth trailed fire down your neck, his stubble scraping your skin as he growled against it.

"Been thinking about this, haven’t you?" he growled. "The bossy little mouth. The heels. Acting like you know every damn thought in my fucked up head. But can't tell all I've wanted to do is fuck you since you walked into my office."

You whimpered as he finally pushed your underwear aside and sank two vibranium fingers into you, rough and unrelenting. Your head fell back with a moan as your hips bucked up to meet the motion.

"Jesus," you gasped. "You’ve got a hell of a way of handling stress."

"You think this is stress relief?" he hissed through his teeth. "This is me finally doing what I should’ve done the second you started bossing me around."

You huffed out a breath, your nails pressing into his arms. "And what, you think you’re gonna be the one to finally shut me up?"

"Always so fucking sure," His voice rough as his fingers moved deeper inside you “But I bet no one’s ever fucked you the way you ache for, huh?"

"Then stop talking and do it," you breathed, voice wrecked.

He let out a low, wicked chuckle and pulled his fingers free, dragging them purposefully over your clit on the way out just to hear you gasp. Then he was pressing the thick, aching length of his cock against your soaked entrance, nudging inside with a hiss between his teeth. The stretch burned just enough to make your toes curl in your heels, but it felt so fucking good you couldn’t stop the moan that slipped from your throat.

"That’s it," he growled, watching the way your mouth fell open, the way your legs tightened around him like you needed him deeper already. "Take it. You can take it."

He thrust into you hard, and your cry echoed in the quiet room.

"Fuck- yes- " you gasped, nails digging into his shoulders as your back arched.

"So tight," he gritted. "God, you feel so fucking good. I've been dreaming about this. You. Just like this."

The future congressman set a brutal rhythm, hips slamming into you with punishing force, the desk creaking beneath your ass with every vicious snap of his body against yours. His hands dug into your hips like he could brand his frustration into your skin, using you with an intensity that made your toes curl and your breath catch.

Each thrust dragged a needy sound from your throat, your body rocked mercilessly against the desk. You couldn’t think. Could barely breathe. He fucked you like it was the only thing keeping him from breaking something or someone.

"You hear that?" he growled into your ear, his voice wrecked. "That’s how wet you are for me. So fucking desperate."

"Bucky- " you gasped, but it was all you could manage before he pounded into you again, harder.

Your fingers clawed at his shoulders, nails raking down his back as your thighs quivered, trying to hold him closer, tighter, deeper.

"You like being used, don’t you? All that control," he gritted, breath ragged, "and now look at you. Moaning like a fucking mess."

"I am a mess," you choked out, tears stinging the corners of your eyes from the pressure and pace and how full you felt. "Because of you."

He was still pissed off. Still storming inside. And he was fucking it all into you; raw, relentless, ruinous.

And God, that made it even hotter.

"Harder," you gasped.

"You gonna boss me around now?" he grunted, breath scorching your skin. "Still think you’re the one in charge?"

"Not right now," you moaned, holding onto him like a lifeline. "Fuck- don’t stop- don’t you fucking dare- "

"Say please," he bit out, voice low and wild.

"Please," you whispered, so broken and breathless it barely sounded human.

His mouth crashed back into yours, swallowing every ragged moan, every cry of his name, as he fucked you harder, deeper, until the whole world narrowed to nothing but him and the fire he was tearing through your body.

His name tore from your throat again and again. His rhythm was feral now, uncontrolled, chasing that high like he was willing to drag you there with him, whether you were ready or not.

And you were ready to be wrecked.

"Gonna come for me, sweetheart?" he grunted into your ear, voice wrecked and breathless. "Cum all over my cock like a good girl?"

You couldn’t answer, not with words. Just a desperate, wrecked moan as your legs trembled, the pressure inside you tightening, building to a breaking point.

"That's it," he growled. "You feel that? That’s me- right there. Fucking come for me. I want to feel you lose it."

The tension snapped like a rubber band stretched too far. You shattered around him, crying out as your orgasm ripped through you. Your nails dug into his shoulders, your thighs clamped around his hips, pulling him in deeper, closer, as your walls clenched around him in wave after wave.

He hissed your name through his teeth, pace stuttering. "Fuck- fuck, you're perfect- "

And then he was right behind you, hips jerking as he came hard, buried to the hilt, groaning against your throat. You felt it, felt all of him and the way he held you like he never wanted to let go.

The room echoed with the sound of your breaths, gasping and tangled, bodies trembling, chests heaving. You were a mess, slick, throbbing, utterly spent, but you didn’t move. Neither did he.

He stayed inside you, forehead resting against yours, hand cradling the back of your neck, both of you panting into each other’s open mouths.

Your clothes were twisted and hanging off your body- skirt pushed up to your waist, blouse clinging to sweat-slicked skin. His shirt was open, belt undone, pants halfway down his thighs. You could still feel the wet heat of him pulsing inside you.

Bucky blinked slowly, then leaned back just enough to glance over your shoulder. Reaching behind you, he grabbed the box of tissues off his desk, muttering a rough, "Hold still."

You winced as he slowly pulled out, both of you hissing at the oversensitive drag. The mess between your legs was obscene, slick and hot and unmistakably his. He didn’t hesitate, Bucky just grabbed a wad of tissues and gently started to clean you up, his touch almost tender now, quiet in a way that made your chest ache.

Then he exhaled a sharp little breath and gave you a look, equal parts cocky and wrecked. "That what you meant when you said 'behave'?"

"Not exactly," you murmured, breath still shallow, "but I'm not complaining either." You let out a small huff of a laugh, too drained to be sharp. "That said, if you can make me like you, I'm sure I can convince anyone you're who they should vote for."

That earned a grin. The real kind. The one he never gave to cameras.

Silence settled between you, not heavy this time but warm, like something that might actually last longer than the heat still pulsing between your legs.

Then your phone buzzed.

Once, twice, and again, shattering the moment.

You both stared at your bag.

"Don’t answer it," he murmured, already leaning in again.

You exhaled slowly, pressing a hand against his chest to stop him, barely.

"I still have a job to do," you said, voice rough, threaded with a smirk you couldn't quite contain.

He sighed through his nose, the heat between you lingering as his fingers skimmed down your thigh one last time before pulling away.

"Right," he muttered, adjusting his pants with a grimace and running a hand through his hair. "Your job... which definitely doesn’t include getting fucked over my desk."

You laughed under your breath and hopped off the desk, straightening your skirt and trying to smooth your blouse, which was a lost cause. "Technically, that wasn't in the briefing packet, no."

You reached for your phone and glanced at the screen. Three missed calls. A string of texts already lighting it up.

"Duty calls, circus waits for no one.." you said with a tired sigh.

Bucky leaned against the edge of the desk, eyes still on you, a lingering smirk tugging at his lips. "If anyone asks, you were just... keeping me from another PR meltdown."

You looked at him over your shoulder, one brow arched. "That’s exactly what I’ll say. And they’ll believe me. Because I’m very good at my job. I spin chaos for a living and lucky for you, you’re my favorite crisis."

He chuckled, low and warm, rubbing the back of his neck as he took in the state of you, all flushed cheeks, tousled hair, blouse half-buttoned and hopeless. "Yeah. You are," he said, like it was the most undeniable truth in the room.

You lingered for a beat longer, thumbs brushing over the edge of your phone as if delaying reality might make it go away. "We’ll talk," you said, softer this time. "After I'm done putting out this little fire... and maybe showering." You had started to fix your clothes.

His grin deepened, smug and fond all at once. "Looking forward to both."

He didn’t move, just watched you go with that same half-wrecked expression, already starting to think of excuses to get your rattled again.

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beenbaanbuun · 7 months ago

Text

cupboard door w/ choi san

words - when do i ever know the word count…

genre - smut/fluff

warnings - dom!san, making out, fingering, big cock san, cockwarming (kind of at the end), unprotected sex, i think that’s it 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

——————————————————————————

your eyesight goes blurry, just for a second or two. it makes your head spin and you can’t help but take a few stumbling steps backwards, away from the open cupboard door. the pain of the whole ordeal is pretty slow to kick in, and for just a moment you’re not even sure if it will. but just as quickly as that thought comes to mind, it’s there, splitting and harsh as it shoots through your skull. you groan as your hands fly up to cup at your forehead, catching the attention of the other resident of the flat.

“shit,” you hear movement from the living room; the sound of a game pausing on the playstation followed by someone scrambling to their feet. the thud of his feet hitting the floorboards is loud as he rushes towards you, moving quicker than you think you’ve ever heard the gentle giant move before. “what happened?” he sounds concerned, “what did you do?”

warm hands grab your face and tilt it up until all you can see is him; san. he’s pretty, even when his expression is scrunched up into one of concern. it’s strange, you note, for someone so carefree, it’s hardly taken anything for him to fall into a panic. you’ve seen him calmer than this in much more stressful situations, so why now is he holding you in his hands like some fractured vase that could shatter at any moment? you’re sure it’s nothing; at least that’s what you tell yourself to stop your heart from jumping to any conclusions.

“you left the cupboard door open,” a habit of his that you’ve been trying to work him out of since the first day the two of you moved in with one another, “and i wasn’t paying attention and walked into it,” just like your clumsiness is something that he’s been trying to cure you of. not too long ago you asked him why he cared so much about your susceptibility to bruises; he answered with ‘i worry about you,’ which you could only assume was a joke.

san hums, letting your face slip from his gentle hands. they fall back to his sides and it’s only now that you realise just how close he’s standing. a sigh tumbles from his lips and you feel it on your face, his chest rises as he pulls in a deep breath and it brushes every so slightly against your own. if things were different, you could quite easily lean forward and press your lips to his own. it’s just a silly fantasy, but you can’t help but let the idea echo around your mind like a voice in a cavern.

if things were different, you could kiss him.

you could kiss him.

kiss hi—

“you’re such an idiot,” he purrs with something akin to affection in his voice. it doesn’t help calm your overactive thoughts at all, spurring them on until they’re frenzied and begging you to close the gap between your lips and his. it’s no surprise when you feel your face heat up and a shiver of electricity trail it’s way slowly up your spine. “i’m going to have to wrap you in bubble wrap one day, just to stop me from worrying every time i let you out of my sight.”

there it is again, that cruel joke that has every part of you tingling with glee. you want him to mean it; reminding yourself that he doesn’t hurts your heart far too much. it’s so much effort to recover from your mini-heartbreak quick enough for him to not notice anything wrong, and even more effort to think up some equally flirtatious joke that means so much more to you than it ever will to him. it’s tiring, unrequited love.

“i guess you’ll just have to keep me by your side forever, then,” a fake giggle leaves your lips, just realistic enough to keep him from thinking something is wrong. you want him to laugh too, to bask in this joke with you before going back to whatever he was doing and leaving you to wallow in the heartache of being so painfully close to the man you’ve been in love with since the very day you met him. you want him to rejoice in the thin veil of humour you’ve plastered over the top of your pain. you want him to not care enough to look into your eyes and see exactly what you’re so desperate to hide from him.

but he doesn’t laugh, and the smile that was already there slips from his expression like it wasn’t even supposed to be there in the first place. have you said something wrong?

your own giggles come to a halt, the two of you being thrust into an abrupt silence. you watch his expression nervously, scanning for some sort of sign that everything is actually okay, but the way san holds his face is almost statuesque. if it weren’t for his slow blinks and hard gaze flitting around your face, you’d maybe think he was one.

“san?” you can’t raise your voice above a whisper, scared it might break. the sound still makes him flinch out of whatever trance he’d found himself in, and you’re grateful to see just the tiniest bit of life flicker across his expression once more. “san, have i said something wrong? i’m sorry if i offended you, i didn’t m—”

the words are cut off when a pair of lips come crashing down on your own. the speed of it all pulls a squeak from your throat, your shoulders tensing as san’s large hand snakes around the back of your skull to hold you in place. its not that you don’t want it, it’s just that it’s the very last thing you were expecting to come from hitting your head against an open cupboard door. fate works in mysterious ways, you suppose.

it only takes a moment before san is pulling away again, eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks as he lazily blinks at you. there’s a fog covering his pupils, making him look as though he’s lost in a haze. you feel the very same way; dizzy and full of some sort of fuzzy warmth that now you’ve tasted it, you’re not sure you’ll be able to live without.

“sorry,” he whispers as he slips his hand away from the back of your head. he doesn’t look it, nor is his tone remorseful in any way, shape or form, but you don’t really care. you don’t need an apology, anyway; why would you when he’s just given you everything you never knew you needed? you’re on top of the world, right now, thoughts buzzing through your mind too fast to grab hold of one and focus on it. “i wasn’t thinking,” he adds, just as insincere as his apology.

you don’t really care about the insincerity of it all; you just want more.

“i don’t care,” you murmur as you lean in closer, just enough so that he can see your intentions. a wandering hand finds its way to his bicep, squeezing the oversized muscle once before inching its way up to his shoulder, and then his neck. your fingers tug at the short hairs at the nape of his neck as you stare into his eyes with need. if this doesn’t tell him that you want him to kiss you again then you don’t know what will. “i liked it,” you say for good measure.

a few seconds of silence pass you by, san’s vacant gaze flickering around your face as if to search for signs that you’re lying. that for some reason you’re being untruthful about the fact that you liked it. while yes, ‘liked it’ may be a bit of an understatement, it certainly wasn’t a lie. you’ll be replaying that barely-there kiss in your brain for years to come. it was short and weak, and yet it’s left your lips tingling with a desire for more. you need san’s lips on you more than you need air right now; you need him to kiss you again.

and while it takes a little longer than you would’ve liked, he seems to get the message, lips parting in a small smile before he leans down to close the gap. his lips barely brush against yours when they meet; you can’t help but chase them. the chuckle san lets out goes straight to your core, tightening a knot in your stomach that you didn’t even know had been tied. you need him. mind, body and soul, you need him. it’s not hard to tell him as such with a pleading whine against his lips, to which he responds by conceding—he presses his lips to yours once more.

just like that you’re in heaven, floating on a cloud as san gives you the kiss you crave so badly. it’s slow and meaningful, as if he’s been waiting to do this for almost as long as you’ve been waiting to receive it. if that is the case, you regret not showing him how much you need him sooner. it would’ve been so easy to drop a few hints here and there, to tempt him and tease him until eventually, he’d snap. you guess you got there in the long run, and you suppose the wait has made this kiss even sweeter; it doesn’t help quell the what-if’s that float around your brain like fallen cherry-blossoms atop a lake.

you dive in deeper, hoping that it will silence the questions you can’t help but ask yourself. as your lips move against his, breathless moans falling from them each time you part to suck in a much needed gasp of air, your thoughts shift to silence. a fog settles over your mind, blocking out anything that isn’t the complete and utter desire for san to do more. you want his hands all over you, touching and squeezing at every inch of skin you own. you want his arm around your waist, his tongue down your throat, his fingers in your pussy. your thighs squeeze together of their own accord; a desperate attempt to apply pressure to a clit aching with need.

“san,” you whisper as you pull away briefly. he follows your lips, barely letting his name slip out of them before they’re caught in a desperate whirlwind if want once more. it only last a few seconds before you pull away again, but it’s enough to send you into a dizzy stupor. “san,” you repeat his name, “touch me, please.”

another kiss, just as hot and heavy as the others, and equally as short as the last. before you know it he’s pulling away again so he can slip a hand between you to meet with the waistband of your sweats. your breath hitches in your throat as his warm fingers slip beneath the elasticated fabric, brushing against your stomach so softly that you barely feel it. it sends shivers through your body and you find yourself unable to stop your hips bucking forwards in a search for more. he chuckles again, but the humiliation that you should feel is nowhere to be found.

“you’re needy,” he purrs as he slips his hand south, bypassing the waistband of your panties and heading straight to your leaking core. no time is wasted before he’s tapping a finger against your clit, a high pitched keen echoing through the kitchen as he applies pressure to the bud. “i should’ve known, huh baby? you’ve always been this way,” he gives your clit one last kiss with his fingertip before pulling his hand completely free from your sweats.

“san,” you whine, to which he rolls his eyes in jest.

“give me a second, baby,” he grins as he wraps his hands around your waist and hoists you onto the counter behind you. it seems like it takes almost no effort at all for him; a thought that sends your already clouded mind into a frenzy. it makes you feel so small, so insignificant, like a human at the side of a god. if that’s the case then you’re more than prepared to be the head of his temple. you’ll worship him every day, if he lets you. you’ll give him your everything as an offering if he wants.

“san, please,” you pray. he listens with mercy, parting your legs and stepping between them until his pelvis slots against your own. he’s hard, you note as his cock rubs up against your clothed core—big too, it seems. you wonder how it’ll feel stuffed inside of you, dragging deliciously in and out of your dripping hole. it’s all you can think about as you connect your lips with his once more.

only this time you don’t pull away to say anything, or to take a breather. why would you when san already seems to understand exactly what you want? his hands are on you in seconds, tugging at the waistband of your sweats, lifting you up slightly to drag them under the curve of your ass, groping at your newly exposed flesh with hands heavy enough to bruise. the counter is cold against your skin but you can barely feel it amongst the trails of fire his fingertips leave against your skin. they burn you, etching invisible scars against you. you might not be able to see them, but you’ll know they’re there. you’ll feel san’s touch until the end of time.

“want me to touch you?” he growls against your lips, “want my fingers? i’m gonna need to stretch you out for my cock, sweet thing.”

you don’t answer straight away, simply delving in for another kiss. he’s more than happy to comply, devouring any answers that rest upon your tongue. when you pull away seconds later, he’s already panting like a dog.

“i want your cock,” you sigh, “need it inside of me, sannie.”

he chuckles as he trails his lips against your jawline.

“fingers first,” they shift to your core once more, one of them experimentally delving into your weeping core, “don’t want to hurt you.” he pushes it in to its hilt, bending it slightly in a way that rips every shred of lucidity from your mind for just a few seconds. every thought is just him; choi san, choi san, choi san. it’s louder than the moan you let out, your thoughts blocking it from your ears with ease. it’s only when san whispers, “that feel good?” into your ear that you sink back down to earth, nodding fervently in response. he smiles against your ear, teeth softly nipping at your earlobe before pulling back.

he tests the waters with a second finger, barely dipping the tip in before his eyes meet yours for confirmation. “please, sannie,” you whine, bucking your hips a little, “i want you inside of me.” it’s all it takes for him to finish pushing his fingers in, the stretch making your body melt. you’d never taken notice of how thick his fingers are until now, but as they drag against your walls it’s all you can focus on.

he works diligently, pumping them in and out at a fast pace to get you used to the stretch. every so often he pauses, scissoring them open and pushing them against your gummy walls. your whines become less coherent as he works, but he shushes each of them with a kiss, stealing your pretty sounds for himself.

“so noisy,” he breaks away with a grin as his fingers continue to open you up, “if the neighbours put in a noise complaint, i hope you know i’m not taking the fall for you.” if you weren’t drunk on lust, perhaps you would’ve given a snarky response, but as his fingers hammer away at your most sensitive spot, all you can do is take it.

“shut up,” you mewl as he moves in for another kiss, a mocking giggle on his lips.

“you first, baby.”

he draws his fingers from your pussy, wiping them on his shorts before moving to take hold of his waistband. you hold your breath as he pushes them down, his cock springing free and standing to attention. it looks bigger than it felt, and you almost feel nervous as you watch him give it a few pumps with his fist. the way his fingers only just connect around the circumference is daunting, and you can almost feel the ache of it inside of you already.

“can i?” he purrs as he taps the head gently against your folds. precum smears against them, mixing in with your own slick that drips from you like a faucet. you nod, silently begging for him to hurry up and fill the hole his fingers left within you. he hums disapprovingly, “your words, baby; give me your consent.”

words are hard when you’re so needy. “please, sannie,” comes out as a desperate whimper, and your cry of “i want you inside of me,” sounds utterly pathetic even to your own ears. it doesn’t really matter as long as you get what you want from him, and as he lines himself up with your waiting hole, you relax in the knowledge that are. you tip your head back against the recently closed cabinet door and stare him down with half lidded eyes, watching how his face shifts to pleasure as he slips just the tip in.

even that is thick enough to have your eyes rolling to the back of your head, already feeling fuller than you did with his fingers despite having next to nothing inside of you. a hand flies to his shoulder, nails biting the skin as he slowly pushed forward. it burns a little as his cock bullies it’s way inside of you, stretching you open uncomfortably. it isn’t all pain, a wall of pleasure hiding behind the thin veil of pain; you can’t help but moan a little as his cock drags deliciously along your sensitive walls.

“sannie,” you whimper as his tip brushes up against your cervix and causes you to flinch. part of him is still unsheathed, but he halts before he can even try to fit it in. there’s a look of understanding in his eyes as he leans in to press his lips against your forehead and you know that you’re safe with him.

“is it okay?” he murmurs between pressing small kisses to your face, “does it hurt?” you find yourself whispering an affirmative. san pulls back just enough for him to study your face. “too much?” absolutely not, “i can pull out and make you cum a different way, if that’s what you want?”

“no,” you whine, saddened at just the thought of losing that feeling of fullness, “i just need to get used to it. you’re fucking huge, sannie.”

he giggles at that comment, a blush making its way up to his ears. you’ve seen a similar look on his face when the two of you have been drinking, though you suppose right now he’s equally as drunk, just on you as oppose to alcohol. it’s cute, and if it weren’t for the fact that you want to get fucked sometime soon, you’d be more than happy to just sit here and watch him.

“i’ve seen bigger,” he shrugs humbly as his face gets pinker; he looks so pretty with a dusting of salmon across his nose, “but if you need to get used to it then that’s okay. we have all the time in the world, sweetheart. there’s no rush.”

#ateez x reader #ateez fanfic #ateez oneshot #ateez scenarios #ateez fic #ateez smut #san x reader #san smut

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yuzuvrse · 5 months ago

Text

softly, sweetly

daisuke's there for you when you can't sleep.

daisuke (mouthwashing) x fem!reader, comfort/fluff, not exactly canon-compliant

“Daisuke…” You murmur, tapping his shoulder gently, “You awake?” “Hmm…? What is it?” His voice is hoarse, tinged with sleep as he wakes up. “Sorry…” You press your face into his back, his familiar scent washing over you and calming your nerves, but it clearly doesn’t work well enough, because barely a second passes before you’re sniffling. “Hey, hey, hey, what’s wrong?” The man rolls over to face you, his brown eyes flooding with concern. “I…” You look up at him and you don’t even know how to string your jumbled thoughts together into coherent sentences – are you all stuck here forever? Will you ever see your family again? Is this where you're going to die?

You finally settle on a broken “I want to go home…”, your eyes filling with a fresh wave of tears. Now you’re crying freely, desperately burying your face in his chest to muffle your sobs lest you wake the others. “Oh, baby…” The pet name slips past his lips accidentally as he cradles your face in his large hands, thumbs calloused from working under Swansea swiping away at your tears, “Shh… it’s okay, let it out.”

Finally, your sniffles turn to hiccups, and then you fall silent. “We’re going to get home, okay? Swansea’s working on getting the cryopods free, remember? By the time 20 years pass, we’ll be back home!” Daisuke does his best to comfort you, one hand wrapping around your waist to pull you impossibly closer and ground you with his warmth. His lips crack into a playful smile, “By then, you’ll be a granny~” That pulls a laugh out of you, “Shut up, you’re older than me. You’ll be a great-grandpa!” The two of you snicker quietly, shattering the tense silence in the room. The walls are awash in orange and red hues, painting a brilliant sunset on his features – he really is your sun.

Daisuke cups your cheek with one hand, and your eyes flutter shut as you nuzzle into his touch. It makes his breath catch in his throat, the absolute trust you place in him to be this vulnerable even as your life is up in the air – does he even deserve this? His free hand traces the contours of your face, learning every curve and dip and freckle, staring at you as if to commit your visage to memory. “Don’t stare,” you giggle softly as you open your eyes again. “I can’t help it…” His voice is almost breathless, “You’re so pretty.” A soft gasp escapes you, your cheeks heating up at his simple yet genuine compliment. He smiles, and his eyes are filled with adoration as his gaze sweeps over your features; you really are so beautiful. The gentle intimacy makes warmth blossom in your chest, and you envelope his hand with yours, turning your face ever so slightly to press a gentle kiss to his palm.

“A-ah?!” Daisuke's eyes widen, almost bugging out of his head, but then his expression softens into one so incredibly tender it feels criminal to witness this moment while the ship hangs frozen in space. Can it be right to love someone under such circumstances? Or is it love precisely because it persists despite the circumstances? He presses his lips to the top of your head, resting his chin there as you tuck yourself into the crook of his neck. “I’m glad you’re here, Daisuke,” you whisper, savouring the feeling of your body slotted against his, two puzzle pieces fitting together perfectly as the world falls apart around them. “I’m so glad you’re here too,” He kisses the crown of your head once more, drawing circles on your lower back with his free hand, “Now go to sleep, okay? I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“You’ll always be there, won’t you?”

“I will, baby.”

( He lied. )

kira's notes ; first post on this acc yippee! and also first contribution to the mouthwashing fandom... i am so deeply obsessed w this man and this game it is Insane. my writing skills are vv rusty so plz bear with me while i get back into the swing of things,,, anyways i hope u liked this hehe <3

#[ yuzuvrse ]#( mouthwashing )#( daisuke )#mouthwashing x reader #daisuke x reader #mouthwashing #daisuke mouthwashing #daisuke mw #daisuke x you #daisuke x y/n #*reader

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pixiexdusts-world · 3 days ago

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The Edge Of Something Real

Bucky Barnes x thunderbolts!reader

Summary: Bucky Barnes falls for a tough new Thunderbolts* teammate and risks everything to save her when she’s injured on a mission, revealing their growing bond.

Word count: 1,490

Notes: no thunderbolts* spoilers :)

Bucky Barnes wasn’t one for first impressions anymore.

He’d learned long ago that people were complicated, layered, and often disappointing. But the new recruit on the thunderbolts* team? She shattered every expectation from the moment she walked in.

Her name wasn’t important at first. What stood out was how she carried herself—calm, controlled, eyes like fire. She didn’t try to impress anyone. She didn’t talk much. And when Valentina tossed her into a sparring match with Ghost during her first week, she didn’t flinch. She won.

She was fast, brutal, and efficient. Bucky knew killers when he saw them. And she was one.

So maybe it made sense that he couldn’t stop watching her.

⸻

The first time they actually spoke was in the training room.

Bucky was working the punching bag with quiet precision, sweat dripping from his brow. She walked in without a word, unzipped her jacket, and started stretching on the mat beside him.

“Nice work with Taskmaster yesterday,” he offered, not looking at her directly.

She raised an eyebrow. “You saw that?”

“I hear everything.”

She smirked. “You always this chatty, Barnes?”

That made him glance over. “Only when someone impresses me.”

She tilted her head slightly. “Then you’re hard to impress.”

“Exactly.”

She let out a dry laugh, then started wrapping her hands. “Good. Wouldn’t want things to be too easy around here.”

They trained in silence after that, but it was a comfortable one. Bucky couldn’t help glancing over at her form—sharp, purposeful, never wasting energy. She didn’t just fight well. She moved like someone who survived things most people couldn’t imagine.

And that… he understood.

⸻

Weeks passed, and the team started gelling in that broken, violent way the Thunderbolts* were known for. The missions were ugly, high-risk, and rarely clean. But she never hesitated. She kept up with the chaos, stood her ground with Yelena and U.S. Agent, and even earned Taskmaster’s rare nod of respect.

Bucky watched her more than he admitted. Not just in combat, but in the little things. How she patched her gear herself. How she didn’t talk about her past but carried it in her posture. How she always volunteered to scout ahead alone.

She was a lone wolf. Just like he used to be.

So when she got hit—really hit—during a botched extraction in Prague, Bucky’s reaction surprised even himself.

She was bleeding, her shoulder torn open, pinned down by gunfire.

“I got her!” he shouted before anyone else could respond, already breaking formation.

He reached her under heavy fire, shielded her with his body, and hauled her behind a wall.

“You’re an idiot,” she grunted, wincing as he checked the wound.

“Probably,” he muttered. “But I’m your idiot now, so shut up and let me stop the bleeding.”

She blinked at him, stunned—not just by the pain but by him. For once, she didn’t argue.

⸻

Back at base, after stitches and silence, she found him alone, cleaning weapons.

“You didn’t have to do that,” she said softly.

He didn’t look up. “Yeah, I did.”

“Why?”

Finally, he met her gaze. “Because you’re not just another soldier to me.”

She swallowed hard. “Then what am I?”

Bucky set the gun down and stood. There was a storm in his eyes, the kind that carried decades of regret—and something else, something fragile.

“You make me remember I’m still human.”

She didn’t respond right away. She didn’t need to. The look in her eyes said it all.

So did the way she stepped closer, reached for his hand, and didn’t let go.

⸻

They didn’t talk about it much. Not in words. Their connection grew in looks, in quiet touches, in the way Bucky stood a little closer to her in the field. In how she learned to read his silences.

They started sparring more—sometimes as an excuse to be alone, other times because it was the only way they knew how to connect. When she knocked him down one afternoon, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her on top of him.

They stared at each other, breaths shallow.

“Gonna kiss me or keep pretending we’re just teammates?” she whispered.

Bucky chuckled, voice low. “Depends. You gonna let me?”

She didn’t answer. She kissed him instead.

It was sharp and slow and messy in all the ways that made him feel alive again.

⸻

Of course, nothing stayed easy for long.

During a covert mission in Madripoor, she got separated from the team—and vanished.

They searched for hours. Then days.

Valentina declared her MIA. The team prepared to move on.

But Bucky refused.

“She’s not dead,” he snapped. “I know she’s not.”

“You’re letting feelings cloud your judgment,” Taskmaster warned him.

“Good,” he growled. “It means I’m not a damn machine anymore.”

He found her two days later, trapped in a holding cell underground, barely conscious. He broke the lock with his metal arm and carried her out himself.

Her voice was weak. “Took you long enough.”

“You knew I’d come?”

She smiled faintly. “You always do.”

⸻

After that, something shifted. She didn’t push people away as much. She let him in, piece by piece—her real name, the reason she joined the team, the life she lost before this one.

And Bucky? He opened up in return. Told her about the nightmares, the guilt, the weight of being someone the world used and feared in equal measure.

They weren’t perfect. But together, they weren’t alone anymore.

One night, as they lay in bed in some safe house far from war, she whispered, “You think we deserve this?”

“I don’t know,” he replied, fingers tracing lazy circles on her back. “But I want it anyway.”

She closed her eyes and rested her head on his chest.

And for once, neither of them dreamed of blood.

#Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #james bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #thunderbolts*#thunderbolts #thunderbolts x reader #thunderbolts x you #marvel #mcu #marvel x you #marvel x reader #marvel x y/n

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reidmarieprentiss · 8 months ago

Text

Federal Beach Investigation

Summary: You are on spring break in Florida where the BAU is investigating a string of murders.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: fluff, angst

Warnings/Includes: talks of case, danger, slapping, fear, investigation

Word count: 4k

a/n: i can just imagine our poor baby wanting to help but scaring us so bad because he doesn't know how to not be serious

main masterlist

The sun was setting over the Florida beach, casting a warm orange glow over the lively spring break crowd. Music pulsed through the air, the bass thumping in time with the waves crashing against the shore. You had been dancing for what felt like hours, your feet moving instinctively to the beat, your skin glistening with sweat and salt from the ocean breeze. Your friends were still lost in the music, but you decided it was time for a small break. You excused yourself with a laugh and made your way toward the bar, craving something cold and refreshing.

As you waited for the bartender to circle back to you, your eyes drifted over the lively scene. People were dancing, laughing, and soaking in the carefree vibe that only a spring break beach party could offer. The bartender was busy mixing drinks, his hands a blur as he catered to the rowdy crowd. You tapped your fingers on the bar, your thoughts a pleasant buzz from the music and the warm evening air.

Suddenly, you felt it—a hand on your bare waist, gentle but firm, like it belonged there. Your first instinct was to spin around and give whoever it was a piece of your mind. You didn’t need random people touching you, especially not some guy who probably thought he could flirt his way into your night. But just as your irritation started to build, a low voice spoke into your ear, calm but urgent.

“Don’t panic,” the voice said, his breath warm against your skin. “There’s a man who’s been following you. I’m an agent with the FBI. I need you to look and tell me if you know him.”

Your heart skipped a beat, the casual atmosphere of the beach party shattering in an instant. FBI? Following you? This had to be a joke, right? You slowly turned your head, trying to get a look at the person speaking to you. He was tall, with a lean build that seemed out of place amidst the carefree beachgoers. His eyes were serious, and there was a calm authority in his demeanor that made you believe he could be telling the truth. But your stomach churned with nerves, disbelief mingling with fear.

“Who?” you managed to ask, your voice barely above a whisper. You scanned the crowd behind him, your gaze darting over the masses of people dancing, drinking, and enjoying the night. It was a sea of faces, none of them standing out. “There’s so many people.”

The agent kept his hand on your waist, a grounding presence in the chaos. “He’s wearing jeans and a long-sleeve shirt. On the beach.”

You blinked, the description clicking in your mind. Who the hell wears jeans and a long-sleeve to a beach party? Your eyes narrowed as you scanned the crowd more carefully, searching for the oddity in the sea of swimsuits and sundresses. Then you saw him—a man standing a little too still, a little too focused. His dark jeans and long-sleeved shirt made him stick out like a sore thumb among the beachgoers. And his eyes... they were locked on you.

Your stomach dropped. “Oh, I see him,” you said, your voice shaky. “No, I don’t know who that is.”

The agent’s grip on your waist tightened ever so slightly, a subtle reassurance. “Okay,” he said calmly, his tone professional. “Just stay with me. We’re going to move, casually, like nothing’s wrong. We’ll blend in with the crowd.”

You nodded, swallowing hard. The beach that had felt so full of life and fun now seemed filled with shadows and threats. You could feel your pulse quicken, but the agent’s steady presence kept you grounded. Together, you started to move through the crowd, his hand never leaving your waist, guiding you with a quiet confidence that made you believe that everything would be okay.

“Can you tell me what’s going on? Why is the FBI here?” you asked, your voice laced with confusion and a touch of fear as the agent continued to guide you further away from the crowded beach. The music and laughter seemed distant now, replaced by the pounding of your heart and the seriousness of the situation.

The agent glanced at you, his expression unreadable but his tone reassuring. “I’ll tell you everything as soon as I know you’re safe.”

You hesitated but followed him, your mind racing with a million questions. Who was this guy? What was happening? Why did it have to involve you? The warm sand shifted beneath your feet as you walked, the noise of the party growing fainter until you finally reached an SUV parked away from the crowd. The agent moved swiftly, opening the door for you, his demeanor professional yet urgent. But as you looked at the open door, a nagging doubt crept into your mind.

“Um… can you show me your credentials?” you asked, your voice steady despite the rising tension. “I don’t want to just get in your car.”

The agent paused, his expression softening with understanding. “Yeah, sorry, of course.” He reached into his jacket and pulled out a badge, flipping it open to reveal his identification. “I’m Dr. Spencer Reid. I work with the Behavioral Analysis Unit at the FBI.”

You examined the badge, your eyes scanning the information quickly. The name, the title, the official seal—it all seemed legitimate. You nodded, feeling a bit more at ease. “Okay, okay.” You slid into the car, the cool leather of the seat a stark contrast to the warmth of the beach. Spencer closed the door behind you before rounding the SUV to get in on the other side.

Once inside, he took a moment to glance at you, his eyes softening just a bit. “Thank you for coming with me,” he started, his voice gentle. “My team is here investigating a string of murders. I was canvassing the beach when I saw you.”

“Saw me?” you repeated, your confusion deepening. “I thought you said the man was following me.”

“Yeah, yes, he is… was,” Spencer corrected, fumbling slightly with his words. He seemed to take a breath before continuing, his tone more focused. “You fit the victimology of the women who have been kidnapped and assaulted. I was on my way to talk to you when I noticed him watching you.”

Your stomach dropped at his words, a cold shiver running down your spine. “So you just let him go?” you asked, the fear creeping back into your voice.

“Not exactly,” Spencer replied quickly, shaking his head. “My partner went after him.”

You took a deep breath, trying to process everything. Your mind was spinning with all the new information, and you couldn’t quite wrap your head around what had just happened. “Okay… so now what? Are you going to take me back to my hotel?” you asked, hoping for some clarity, some direction.

“I can do that,” Spencer replied, his voice hesitant. “Or really, you could go back to the beach, I—I’m not entirely sure where to go from here.”

You blinked at him, surprised by his uncertainty. “Haven’t you done this before?”

“Well, yes. But I have never taken a potential victim to my car… I guess I got swept up,” he admitted, his cheeks flushing slightly, as if embarrassed by his own confession.

“You said I can leave, right?” you pressed, your wariness growing.

“Yes, of course. Do you want me to check if my partner got the guy?” he asked, his concern evident in his voice.

“No, I’m good, thank you,” you replied quickly, the alarm bells in your mind growing louder.

Without another word, you jumped out of the car, your heart pounding in your chest. You didn’t look back as you sprinted away from the SUV, putting as much distance between you and the agent as possible. His nervous energy, his fumbling words, his uncertainty—it all made you question if he was really who he said he was. What if he was the one after you?

Spencer watched as you bolted from the car, a heavy sigh escaping his lips as he slumped back in his seat. The realization hit him hard: he had been the one to creep you out. Emily always joked that his IQ dropped around pretty girls, but this time, it seemed like his entire common sense had taken a nosedive. Why did he take you to the car? He knew better than that. Now, he was left staring after you, hoping you wouldn’t be putting yourself into trouble by going back to the beach.

Spencer’s phone rang, pulling him from his thoughts. He glanced at the screen before answering, “Spencer Reid.”

“Reid, that wasn’t our guy. He was just your garden variety pervert, creeping on girls in swimsuits,” Derek’s voice came through, casual but with a hint of annoyance.

“Seriously?” Spencer’s heart sank. “So he’s still out there?”

“Yeah, we didn’t have anything on him. What’s up?” Derek asked, sensing something was off.

Spencer hesitated before admitting, “That girl, she just went back to the beach.”

“Why?” Derek’s curiosity was evident.

“I… scared her,” Spencer confessed, feeling a twinge of guilt.

There was a pause, and then Derek chuckled, the amusement clear in his voice. “She thought you were the unsub, didn’t she?” Spencer could practically see Derek’s smirk through the phone.

“Shut up,” Spencer grumbled, feeling his cheeks flush with embarrassment. “...Yes.”

Derek’s laughter echoed through the phone. “Well, maybe you should find her, explain yourself. She did fit the victimology; maybe she knows our unsub.”

Spencer sighed, knowing Derek was right. “Great. Got it.”

“Good luck, pretty boy. Don’t scare her again,” Derek teased before hanging up.

Spencer pocketed his phone, feeling the weight of the situation settle on his shoulders. He had to find you and explain, not just for his sake, but because there was still a dangerous man out there—and you might be closer to him than anyone realized.

—

“You guys, it was so weird!” you exclaimed, your voice a mix of disbelief and lingering fear as you recounted the events to your friends. “He just grabbed me, and then there was this guy watching me, and then the agent or doctor or whoever he was took me to his car! I thought I was going to be kidnapped!”

Lynn’s eyes widened in horror. “That’s so scary! What did the guy look like?”

“He was tall, lanky, had shaggy hair, kind of a pretty boy, and he was wearing a button-up shirt. Like, come on, it’s hot out here!” you said, shaking your head in disbelief at the memory.

Jayce suddenly stiffened, their eyes darting past you. “Uhhh, I swear to God that guy is walking over here right now,” they said, their voice tinged with panic.

“What?” You whipped around, your heart skipping a beat when you saw Spencer approaching. “Oh, hell no. We gotta move.”

Without wasting another second, you and your friends started weaving through the groups of people on the beach, trying to put as much distance between you and the man who had just turned your evening upside down.

“Wait! I’m sorry! I need to talk to you!” Spencer called out, his voice strained as he picked up his pace, trying to catch up to you. But the crowded beach made it difficult for him to move quickly, the sea of partiers barely noticing his attempts to get through. Frustration and desperation colored his tone as he shouted, “FBI! Move!”

You heard him, but the adrenaline pumping through your veins wouldn’t let you stop. You pushed forward, determined to get away. However, Spencer’s long legs finally closed the distance, and you felt his hand grab your wrist, pulling you to a sudden halt.

“Hey! Let me go!” you shouted, spinning around in a flash of panic and anger. Without thinking, you lashed out, your hand connecting with his face in a sharp slap.

Spencer recoiled slightly, his eyes widening in shock, not expecting the slap. But he didn’t let go of your wrist, his grip firm yet gentle. “Please, just listen,” he said, his voice pleading, desperation lacing his words. “I’m not trying to hurt you—I just need to explain.”

But in that moment, all you could think about was getting free, getting away from the man who had scared you more than the potential threat he was supposedly protecting you from.

“Fuck you, let me go, man!” you yelled, twisting and struggling in Spencer’s grip. “This hurts!”

Spencer’s eyes widened, and he immediately loosened his hold, his face a mix of concern and regret. “Okay, okay, what if I have another agent come and talk to you instead? A woman even?” he offered, his voice softening as he tried to calm you down.

“Fine, fine! Just stay away from me,” you demanded, your voice shaky but firm.

Spencer nodded, releasing your wrist and lifting his hands in surrender, showing you he meant no harm. He quickly pulled out his phone and made a call, his voice low as he spoke to someone on the other end. Within minutes, he managed to convince you and your friends to move toward the edge of the beach, away from the crowds, at least until the other agent arrived.

Soon, a blonde woman in a professional yet approachable demeanor approached, her expression warm and reassuring. “Hi, I’m Agent Jareau. I appreciate you speaking with us, and I’m really sorry about Doctor Reid here. He’s completely harmless, I promise. Pretty women and exposed skin tend to make his brain shut down,” she said with a playful smirk, trying to lighten the mood.

“Hey!” Spencer protested, his cheeks turning a deep shade of red.

You couldn’t help but laugh, though it was tinged with nervousness. “What do you guys want, Ms. Jareau?” you asked, your tone cautious but more relaxed now that someone else had taken over.

JJ smiled sympathetically. “Can you come back to the precinct with us? Please? We have some questions regarding the string of murders. You fit the victimology to a T, and we’re curious to know if you might know the unsub.”

You hesitated, the gravity of the situation sinking in. “Okay… I’ll ride with you. But can we drop my friends off at the hotel first?”

“Yes, of course. Thank you,” JJ replied, her tone grateful. She then turned to Spencer, giving him a reassuring nod. “Spence, I got it from here.”

Spencer looked at you one last time, his expression apologetic, before stepping back to let JJ handle the rest. You watched him for a moment, still wary but starting to believe that maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t the bad guy in this scenario.

—

At the precinct, you found yourself seated in a quiet office with JJ and Emily. The atmosphere was serious, but both agents carried a sense of calm that put you slightly at ease. They began asking you questions about the man they were looking for, hoping that something you knew might help them catch the unsub.

As they described what they knew so far, you frowned, a memory stirring in the back of your mind. “Um… that kind of sounds like this guy that was hitting on me. His name was Adam,” you said, your voice tentative.

JJ and Emily exchanged a quick glance before Emily leaned forward. “Where is Adam?” she asked, her tone direct but not harsh.

“I don’t know,” you admitted, shaking your head. “We met at one of the bars on the beachfront. He was weird.”

“Weird how?” JJ prompted gently, her eyes searching yours for any detail that might be important.

“He, um, he kept flirting with me, even though I was really clear that I wasn’t looking for anything. Not even a spring break fling,” you explained, the memory of the encounter making you shudder slightly.

Emily’s eyes narrowed in thought. “Did you get his phone number?”

“Yeah, he put it in my phone,” you replied, feeling a bit uneasy as you remembered how insistent he had been. “He was kind of… opposing. Like he wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

JJ nodded, her expression serious but understanding. “Okay, can you give us his number, please?”

“Of course,” you said, pulling out your phone and finding the contact information. You handed it over, hoping that this small detail could help them find whoever was responsible for the terrifying situation unfolding around you.

“Can you stay here until we find Adam? We want to make sure you’re safe,” Emily suggested, her tone warm but serious.

You nodded, still processing everything. “Uh, yeah.”

JJ’s expression softened with concern. “Are you okay?”

“Mhm… I feel bad about hitting a federal agent,” you admitted, your voice quiet as the guilt settled in.

Emily’s eyes widened in surprise. “Who did you hit?”

JJ, unable to contain herself, snorted. “Did you hit Reid?”

“Is that the doctor?” you asked, unsure if you were following correctly.

“Yes,” JJ confirmed, a hint of amusement in her voice.

“Then yes,” you replied, feeling your cheeks flush with embarrassment.

Both women burst into laughter, the sound filling the office. You couldn’t help but crack a small smile, even if you still felt awkward about the whole situation.

After a moment, Emily, still chuckling, asked, “Why did you hit him?”

You hesitated, then shrugged. “He grabbed my wrist, and I thought… I don’t know, I panicked. He seemed so nervous and awkward, and I was already on edge. I guess I just reacted.”

JJ shook her head, still smiling. “Don’t worry, Reid’s tougher than he looks. He’ll be fine.”

Emily nodded in agreement, a twinkle of humor in her eyes. “Yeah, he’s used to dealing with all sorts of things. I’m sure he’ll understand once we explain everything.”

“Who knows,” JJ said with a playful wiggle of her brows, “maybe he liked it. He couldn’t seem to keep it together around Y/N here.”

Emily burst into genuine laughter, the kind that made heads turn in the precinct. Her amusement was contagious, and you could see a few of the other agents glancing over with curious smiles. Despite still feeling a bit uncomfortable, you found yourself starting to relax, the tension in your shoulders easing as the humor lightened the atmosphere.

“Thank you both,” you said, your voice warm with sincerity. “You’re so nice.”

JJ smiled softly, her earlier teasing tone replaced by one of genuine care. “We’re just glad you’re okay. We’re here to help, and we’ll make sure you’re safe.”

Emily nodded in agreement, still grinning. “You’re in good hands, Y/N. We’ll get this sorted out, don’t worry.”

For the first time that night, you felt a real sense of reassurance. You watched as Emily left the room, her presence comforting, but now it was just you and JJ. As JJ stood up, ready to leave as well, you hesitated for a moment before speaking.

“Um, miss?” you called out, your voice soft but steady.

JJ paused, turning back to you with a raised eyebrow, curiosity evident in her expression. “Yes?”

“Do you think I could apologize to the doctor?” you asked, feeling a small knot of guilt twist in your stomach.

JJ’s expression softened, her gentle smile returning. “Clear the air? I’m sure he would appreciate that. I can stay if you’d like,” she offered, her tone kind and understanding.

You shook your head, giving her a small, grateful smile. “No, you don’t have to stay. Thank you for offering.”

JJ nodded, her smile growing warmer. “Alright, I’ll go get him.”

As she left the room, you took a deep breath, trying to calm the fluttering in your chest. You weren’t sure why it felt so important to apologize, but something about the way Spencer had handled everything, his awkward sincerity, made you want to make things right.

Moments later, the door opened again, and Spencer stepped in, looking a bit timid, his usual confidence tempered by the earlier events. “Hello,” he said quietly, almost hesitantly.

“Hi,” you replied, feeling a mix of awkwardness and relief that this conversation was happening.

Spencer took a deep breath before speaking, his voice sincere. “I’m sorry, for today. Scaring you, grabbing you—I’m really sorry.”

“Oh, um, it’s okay,” you said, waving off the apology with a small, embarrassed smile. “I’m sorry for slapping you.”

A faint smile tugged at Spencer’s lips. “That’s not the worst thing that’s happened to me on a case. I’ll get over it.”

You couldn’t help but giggle a little at that, the tension between you easing with the shared humor.

“It’s nice to see you laughing instead of terrified,” Spencer said, his tone light, but with a genuine warmth.

“You’re a lot nicer to be around when I’m laughing instead of terrified,” you teased back, the playful remark slipping out before you could think twice.

Spencer’s smile grew, and for a moment, the stress of the night seemed to lift. “I know the other agents already asked you everything, but, uh, did you know the unsub?”

“I think so, yeah,” you replied, your tone still light but with a hint of frustration. “Some jerk who wouldn’t take no for an answer at a bar.”

“Does that happen a lot?” Spencer asked, his brow furrowing in concern.

“What? Men being dicks? Yeah,” you laughed, but it was humorless, tinged with the weariness of too many similar experiences.

“I’m sorry to hear that. You don’t deserve that,” Spencer said earnestly, his gaze softening.

You looked at him curiously. “What do I deserve, Doctor?”

“Oh, sorry,” he stammered, realizing how his words might have come across. “Another man telling you what you need, huh?”

You smiled, shaking your head slightly. “Mmm, no. This time, I’m interested to hear what you have to say.”

Spencer blushed, clearly caught off guard. “Well, all women deserve to be treated with respect and kindness.”

“And me?” you pressed, leaning in just a little, curious to see how he’d respond.

“You, uh, I guess you deserve a man who will listen to you?” he suggested, his voice unsure but sincere.

“Smart boy,” you giggled, the compliment rolling off your tongue easily.

Spencer felt a warm rush at your words, enjoying the praise perhaps a little more than he should. “I’d—I’d say I could take you on a proper, gentlemanly date, but we’ll leave Florida as soon as we close the case.”

“Now that’s a bold statement,” you teased, raising an eyebrow. “Are you assuming I would want to go out with you?”

“No, I just—based on your body language and demeanor, not to mention your flirtatious tone and word choice, I suppose, yes, I did assume you would want to go out with me,” Spencer replied, his analytical nature slipping out.

You tilted your head, impressed. “What are you, some kind of genius?”

“Yes, actually. I have an IQ of 187,” he said with a sheepish smile.

“Wow.”

“Hah, yeah,” Spencer chuckled, still a bit shy under your gaze.

“You’re right, by the way. In your assumption,” you said with a playful smile.

“Good to know,” he replied, a touch of satisfaction in his voice.

“Tell me, Doctor, do you happen to work at the FBI bureau in Quantico?” you asked, your tone still teasing.

“I do,” he confirmed, curiosity piqued.

“Well then, in the event that you close this case by, say… next weekend, do you still want to take me out?”

“What? But I won’t be here,” Spencer said, clearly confused.

“I know, neither will I. Do the math, genius.”

Spencer stared at you for a moment, his face adorably concentrated as he processed your words. Then, realization dawned on him, and his eyebrows shot up. “You live in Virginia?”

“I live in Charlottesville, but I’m willing to let you travel two hours to see me,” you said with a teasing grin.

“How kind of you,” he laughed, feeling relief and excitement.

“Well, you did basically kidnap me, and you hurt my wrist,” you pouted playfully.

“Did I really?” Spencer asked, his concern immediate as he took your arm gently in his hands, examining your wrist.

“I still prefer you to the other guy,” you said softly, your voice sincere.

Spencer’s gaze met yours, and for a brief moment, everything else seemed to fade away. Despite the chaotic night, something good had come out of it—a connection neither of you had expected.

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