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hanaaishi · 2 days ago

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PAIRING: Quinn Hughes x Fem! Reader

SUMMARY: The reader spends Hanukkah with Quinn after an ACL tear forces him to spend the holiday in Michigan.

WORDS: 6.4K

WARNINGS: None

I dedicate this story to @pucks-goals-penalties as part of @wyattjohnston's 2K25 Winter Fic Exchange. Thank you so much to both of you for the opportunity to write this. I had a lot of fun learning about Judaism and Hanukkah.

@kurlyteuvo @callsign-denmark @aqueersouthofthemasondixonline @ice-and-fields @avengedearth

"What is the name of the chocolate coin given at Hanukkah?" your best friend asked over the phone speaker.

You pulled your brush away from your hair and studied your reflection in the mirror, trying to name those blasted things. The word was maddeningly close, dancing at the forefront of your consciousness. Visions of digging your thumbnail under the reeding of the golden foil and lifting the metal leaf to reveal the milk chocolate inside flashed before your eyes. But the answer continued to elude you as you desperately tried to force it past your lips.

Suddenly, memory fragments began to come together to form a new picture, almost like a puzzle—perhaps a clue to solving this vexatious mystery.

It was the Mosher-Jordan study room; Mosher-Jordan—or Mojo, as the student called it—was Quinn's freshman door at the University of Michigan, you recalled. An entryway constructed from brown derby wainscoting gave way to an open room with unsightly barf yellow walls. In the center stood several rows of large wooden slab tables surrounded by matching musty wooden chairs and decorated with banker's lamps. The room was silent except for the howling Michigander winds outside, giving the area a chilling feeling.

Hanukkah had fallen on the last day of final exams that year. However, Quinn had a marketing and algebra final on the morning of the second night, meaning he would have to spend the first night in Ann Arbor. As a result, the two of you decided to meet for dinner and light a Havdalah candle as a symbolic shamash. Black plastic takeout containers from a local Kosher deli with remanents of Hannukah staples—latkes, brisket, knishes, kugel, and sufganiyot—sat neatly assembled at the end of the table.

The table had one of its banker's lamps turned on, illuminating a pile of those coins and a stunning robin's egg dreidel in the center. An artisan painted the Hebrew letters of nun, gimel, hey, and shin in navy blue, framed by white olive branches and marked with gold circles in the center. Gimel stared back at you from under its spotlight, meaning you had won the entire pot of coins. You remember scooping the pile towards you as Quinn wore an awkward smile on his face.

Quinn looked rather handsome that day. His attire was simple: a white button-up dress shirt and black slacks, almost as if he were preparing for the synagogue. He brushed back his fluffy deep chestnut hair under a white and blue yarmulke wove together by a talented craftsperson. According to Quinn, his grandmother made the caps for him and his brothers when they were born, and their mother asked them to wear them whenever they celebrated Jewish holidays. Even though he was 20 years old and away in the Midwest, he still put it on out of respect.

As you gently lifted the metal foil, Quinn explained that it's believed that they represented the coins printed by the Jewish priests to commemorate the rededication of the Temple at Jerusalem after the Israelites repelled the invading Greeks. But that kind of went out of style with the invention of modern machinery. Now, they're made from milk chocolate and used to teach children the importance of money and giving to charity—or making a young Division I hockey player happy.

You still ate the confection out of respect, but it wasn't that flavorful. The chocolate was relatively thin and only had a hint of sweetness, not nearly as succulent as the rush of dulcet caramel when you broke open a Lindor truffle. No offense to the Maccabees, but they still had a long way to go before they could compete with the Swiss chocolatiers. As your taste buds recalled the taste of the chlorate, you remembered his adorable pink lips moving.

You watched as his mouth pulled wide and his tongue hit his perfect teeth for a dental consonant, but what was he saying? Gold? Felt? Gelt?

That was it: gelt. The mysterious coins are called gelt.

"Are you alright?" your best friend asked after a few moments of silence.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I think they're called gelt," you replied as you resumed brushing your hair. Your heart swelled with pride at remembering something about Quinn and not being a total failure tonight.

"That's right! See, I knew you could do it. I'm sure everything will be fine."

A soft sigh fell from your lips. as the butterflies in your stomach began to flutter around. Fine would be one way to put it. Then again, most people wouldn't agree to spend one of the winter holidays with their ex-boyfriend they haven't seen in five years. You had only dated for about a year, but Quinn was a bad boyfriend. He was one of the sweetest boys you've ever met. He would much rather spend a date picking out books for each other at the campus bookstore than partying with the rest of the Wolverines, the complete opposite of how you think a jock would behave.

He texted you good morning every day, taught you how to skate at the Yost Ice Arena, and took you on picnics at the Botanical Gardens. Hell, he ever shared a part of his religion with you. If there was any question whether you loved each other, you already answered it. And that's part of the reason you let him go, as people say. Quinn would have stayed in Michigan and completed his degree, forfeiting his chance to play with the Canucks. But you couldn't do that; you couldn't ask him to give up his possible one chance to play in one of the most prestigious hockey leagues in the world.

That's why you drove him to Detro Metro early one summer morning when the stars still twinkled brightly in the sky. The two of you stuffed his hockey gear in the back of your car next to your textbooks for the upcoming semester. Quinn had the charming bags under his eyes that he always got when he was stressed or tired, having woken up at 3:00 A.M. for a 12-hour flight to the Western seaboard. However, despite his exhaustion, he did his best to keep your spirits up. He told you jokes with his dry humor and listed all the wonderful things you two could do together when you visit him despite the sorrowful atmosphere in the car.

Even after all this time, your heart still stung at the image of giving him a final goodbye kiss and watching him work with the gate agent to check his equipment to British Columbia. He had promised you that your separation wouldn't change anything and that he would still text you good morning every day, even if he must get up at two. But a pit in your stomach told you that it was a lie. He was going off to become a big hockey star, making millions of dollars with the National Hockey League—and you were just some student at the University of Michigan.

As you predicted, he slowly stopped texting you in the morning. Quinn still tried to text or call during the day, but your little ritual had fallen apart. A storm of thoughts thundered in your head as you attempted to decipher what his subtle behavior change could mean, destroying a two-year ritual. Yes, there was a possibility that perhaps he was just tired from the amount of work Travis Green and the team put him through. However, you couldn't shake the feeling that he had met some pretty blonde girl in Vancouver, like all of the other girlfriends you see on a hockey player's Instagram account.

If she did exist, she was nowhere on Quinn's page. All he had was posts on hockey and his family, like the shy boy he always was, which somehow assuaged the worry in your heart. He still tried to check up on you in Michigan even though he couldn't text first thing in the morning. Fuck, he even left you two tickets for his first game against the Red Wings at Little Caesars' will call. There was no bombshell blonde in Vancouver, was there?

Why did navigating an adult relationship have to be so complicated?

After some more silence, realizing your thoughts had consumed you, your best friend finally said, "Alright, I should probably let you finish getting ready. Let me know how the date goes!" She disconnected the call with a click.

You placed your brush on the grey marble countertop of your apartment bathroom and tossed your hair, searching for the perfect style. It didn't need to be perfect—it never needed to be—but you still wanted to tell Quinn that you were interested. You settled on a simple outfit: a sweater, jeans, and boots to accomplish your mission. Once everything looked perfect, you set about cleaning up a little bit. Your hairbrush returned to a small mug that Quinn had sent from the team store, while several skin care bottles found their place in a small basket on a freestanding shelf in the corner.

A smile appeared as you looked over your cleaning and felt satisfied with your work. You unplugged your phone, turned off the light, and wandered into the hallway. Your apartment was a cozy one-bedroom, one-bathroom unit with a white and maple theme, about an eleven-minute walk from the University of Michigan. It was a little high at $2700, and you considered moving after graduation. But for right now, it worked for where you were in life.

You grabbed your keys and a few miscellaneous items and tossed them into your purse, sitting on a sectional sofa tucked away in the corner. On the kitchen's white marble island sat a jar of Vlasic pickles. The iconic pelican mascot and his plump, briny vegetable gave you a thumbs up, almost as if to say, "You got this."

You felt silly bringing Quinn something banal as a jar of pickles for Hanukkah dinner. Your imagination came to life with the the colors of a gorgeously decorated home with a joyous mirth from relatives sharing a cocktail and discussing their hopes for the new year as dinner was cooked in the kitchen, permeating a delectable aroma into the air. But you and Quinn had the good old pickle. Ironically, it was more sentimental in this way. You two could eat an entire jar together while watching bad films until you could hardly breathe on the common room television. Now, eating a whole jar of those little suckers may not be part of a professional hockey player's diet. But they still held a significance in Jewish culture, and you'd thought it would be a nice dinner gift.

You grabbed your belongings and slipped on your shoes, stepped into the hallway, and went to call the lift. One of the benefits of your $2700 rent was an elevator that headed straight down to the parking garage. However, you had hoped it would get stuck so you could call Quinn and tell him you couldn't make it. As the floor display continued to climb down to P level, you resigned yourself to the fact that fortune had not smiled upon you that day.

The elevator dinged and opened its doors, allowing you to step outside. As you took your first step onto the garage's asphalt, you bundled your coat as the abrasive Michigander wind dashed in from the open entryways and assaulted your cheeks. Perhaps if everything went well, you could spend next year's holidays in Orlando with Quinn, where you didn't have to wear half of your closet to make a 40-minute drive to the northern part of Detroit. You followed the faded yellow arrows deeper into the structure where your car awaited.

You hopped into the driver's seat and turned on the ignition, guiding the vehicle to the exit, where a line of cars from a nearby red light blocked your path. As you waited for the trying to move, your hands tightened around the steering wheel, trying to steel your resolve for what was about to come. This was your last and final chance to get out of this; if you entered the roadway, there was no going back. You had no one behind you, meaning you still had the opportunity to back up your vehicle and maneuver back into your designated parking space. Perhaps you could call Quinn and tell him that you had a sudden cold and didn't want to infect him. Surely, he would understand!

But your brain vetoed your anxious heart, screaming, "You can't do that to Quinn, you idiot!"

And it was right. Never mind that you were almost, not really, a little in love with him, but he specifically asked you to come and spend the first Hanukkah night with him. He had to return to Michigan to receive surgery on his leg for an ACL tear, but Ellen couldn't come and care for him for another few days, so he called you — not an old friend or teammate, but you. You were the first person he thought of when he needed healing, a home, and family, and you couldn't leave him to sing the Hanukkah prayer over the menorah.

"Let's do this!" you said to yourself, putting pressure on your gas pedal as traffic began to move. But a blaring car horn from a passing motorist caused you to jolt as if you had been struck by lightning and slam on the breaks. When you opened your eyes, you realized that two of you had nearly crashed your headlights into each other. Were they going too fast for a residential Ann Arbor street? Probably, who hasn't. But they still had the right-of-way, meaning that you would be liable for the damages no matter how paltry they were. "Sorry! Sorry!" you said, gesturing for the other driver to proceed. If they were glaring daggers at you, you couldn't see it.

A possible reconciliation with your ex-boyfriend and a near fender-bender — what a marvelous way to start the holidays!

The Hughes brothers had always been known for their humbleness and modesty, but you would have never known that based on the house they purchased on Orchard Lake. It wasn't like the sprawling 14-bedroom mansions in Los Angeles hills, made from limestone with those large circular stone driveways you could see on MTV's Cribs. But it was still impressive for its $2.79 million price tag.

Quinn had sent you some pictures of when the brothers first bought the home. It had an assuming exterior made from brown brick, accompanied by three spacious garages and a facade with three large triangle accents made from matching shiplap. The interior had five bedrooms—enough for the three brothers, their parents, and a guest—and seven bathrooms with grey-blue walls and white accents. Sitting on Cass Lake's southern banks, the property also boasted an expansive, verdant backyard with direct access to the calming blue waters and two boat lifts. Oh, yeah—and if that wasn't good enough, it had an indoor pool and a dry sauna to sweat out any residual hatred for the Flames.

You saw some of the serious injuries the Wolverines suffered while Quinn and Luke played at Michigan, and that was just NCAA Division I ice hockey. The last thing you could ever want is a league of 700 6-foot-tall, 200-pound men on literal knives chasing you up and down the ice like a pack of hungry wolves. Not to mention all the mental stress and fatigue from having to fly from coast to coast and speaking to the media every night. However, there was none of that here; there was no Devils or Canucks. There was just Quinn, Jack, Luke, Ellen, Jim, and their guests. Maybe one day, you would be occupying that extra bedroom you saw in the house listing, holding hands with Quinn, and having lakeside picnics just like you did all those years ago in the botanical gardens.

After 40 minutes, you pulled up to the Hughes' house, a bare star magnolia tree sitting on the front lawn. Only the family's Toyota minivan sat in front of one of the garages. A smirk appeared as you pulled in next to the grey vehicle, picturing the humorous image of three large professional athletes smushed in the back of the van as they took a family drive. You turned off the engine and took a deep breath. You were finally here; all you needed was for the night to go halfway decent, and you'd be back in Ann Arbor in your apartment. Grabbing your belongings and crisp pickles, you exited your car and followed the cobblestone path to the black double front doors.

A press of the doorbell caused its little chime to play, and the doors had an even pair of four small glass windows, giving you a glimpse into the house. From your limited field of view, your eyes caught glimpses of Quinn hobbling from the open kitchen on his crutches. You gave him a short wave, hoping he would see it as he approached the entrance. He had cut the mane of locks that you saw him sporting on SportsNet back into a neat quiff, and it was a sensible decision. Based on his tests and MRI, Dr. Regan diagnosed a partial ACL tear—a blessing because it meant Quinn wouldn't need surgery. He would, however, miss the rest of the season while he worked to regain strength in his knee.

If there was ever a good time to cut his hair, it might as well have been now.

Quinn took a bit to open the door, given that he had a pair of crutches. But after some time, he finally maneuvered the door open—and froze. His grey-blue eyes looked you up and down as Quinn formed a soft smile on his lips. You couldn't blame him because this was the first time he saw you in person in five years. Plus, you would be lying if you said you didn't do the same thing to him. If it weren't for his beard, it was almost as if Chronos had reached through time and plucked him out of that night in Mosher-Jordan. He didn't have his yarmulke but still wore a white button-up and black pants. Quinn never changed, yet he did in so many ways.

"Wow!" Quinn muttered after a few moments, causing you to giggle. It took a few seconds, but the soft expression of admiration contorted into wide-eyed embarrassment as his brain registered what it had just said. "I mean, I ... uh ... I'm sorry. Hello. Shalom. It's good to see you again."

"It's good to see you, too," you replied. "Thank you for inviting me."

"It's not a problem. I was in the neighborhood and thought that maybe we could catch up. Come out out of the cold." He shambled away, granting you entrance to the home.

As you stepped over the threshold and into the foyer, you couldn't help but stare at the beauty of the place. The pictures that Quinn sent you didn't show the property justice. Underneath your shoes, you could feel the softness of a medium oval rug with a blue Paisley pattern. Its white negative space gave it an airy, delicate feel that contrasted nicely against the light blue foyer table. A small plant made from a collection of flowers and greenery sat in a beige ceramic planter in the center, and a more leafy plant rested adjacently on the floor. It was probably fake, so no one would have to water them while everyone was away. A misshapen cream bowl was between the two, proudly displaying its ugly, uneven edges and nonsensical paint splotches. According to Quinn, it was a pottery project that had gone wrong when he was in elementary school. He had begged Ellen to throw it away, but she held onto it and converted it to a catch-all tray as any proud mother would.

"There's a shoe rack in the closet if you want to use it," Quinn said, motioning to the white sliding doors on your left and breaking your reverie. "But you can just leave them anywhere. We're hockey players, not surgeons in an operating room." Doing his best, Quinn hopped down the hall into the kitchen, his crutches clicking with each impact.

Your eyes shifted away from the closet to Quinn's disappearing form, a slight frown on your face. Anyone who had spent enough time around Quinn knew there were two flavors of Quinn's sarcasm—playful and frustrated. It was sometimes hard to distinguish it based on his monotonous baritone voice, but his intonation suggested he was frustrated. However, you had the feeling that it wasn't against you. The source of his anger was more general and fleeting, like the bitterness one would have when losing a hard-fought game. There wasn't specifically anyone to blame; all you could do was accept that you lost sometimes and move on.

We're hockey players, not surgeons in an operating room.

Looking around, you acquired a sense of what Quinn hinted at. A lingering sense of linen in the air suggested that he had sprayed Febreeze or another air freshener to clean up the place. But despite his best efforts, the place remained in a still state of disarray. Hockey sticks and gloves were thrown haphazardly around in the living room beyond, along with discarded shoes, jackets, and video game controllers. A black trash bag with elastic stretched to the limit with what you imagined to be takeout containers and other garbage rested against the white square molding of the kitchen's archway. Quinn couldn't have taken that down to the bottom of the driveway with his busted knee. It was probably waiting for a friend to come and take it.

He was sour because, with his crutches, he couldn't thoroughly clean the place. But why would he need to make the home pristine? It wasn't like Quinn was inviting the President or anything. No, he was inviting someone far more important: you. He was frustrated because it wouldn't be perfect for you. Okay, there was another sign he was still in love with you.

Not wanting to contribute to his exasperation, you quickly found the white wooden shoe rack on the closet floor and placed your shoes in a free space on the top shelf. As you wandered deeper toward the living room and kitchen, the home didn't look too bad. Yes, it looked like a trio of 20-year-old bachelors lived there. However, it wasn't something that an hour or two could fix. In fact, you found the mess slightly endearing because it was candid; it was Quinn. A tiny scribe in your brain furiously wrote down a reminder to return here in the next few days to help Quinn clean—and any supplies he may need. Ellen would be here, but she probably wouldn't mind an extra pair of hands.

"Do you want water or soda or anything?" Quinn asked as you neared the marble island.

"Water would be lovely. Where are the cups?"

"They're in the left cabinet across from the sink - top shelf."

Quinn grimaced from his stool as you turned to open the cupboard door. The only glasses left hid in the back of the upper shelf, with most of them awaiting a wash in the sink. Thanks to your height, you could easily reach two—one for you and one for him. Still, it must have been distressing to be a host who couldn't care for his guest, let alone the girl you wanted to impress. "I'm sorry for the mess. I did my best to clean before you arrived, but I have my hands full," he finally said after a few seconds, solemnly gesturing to his crutches.

"It's not your fault," you replied as you filled the cups with ice and water from the fridge's dispenser and placed a glass before him. "Although you may want to have a word with your knee."

"My knee is quite popular nowadays," Quinn said as he sipped his water, your badinage causing him to smile.

"How is everything going so far?"

The two of you looked down at the ROM brace fastened around his left knee. With its many straps and hinge mechanism, it almost resembled a medieval torture device used to incapacitate someone by taking out their knee joint. Someone checked Quinn into the boards last month, causing him to land awkwardly on his knee. Thankfully, he was able to get up on his own accord. However, even through the television in your apartment, you could see the pain etched into as Boeser and Pettersen assisted him into the locker room.

"The pain and swelling have gone down, but it's still not stable enough to put weight on. I've been going to HealthQuest in town for PT, and they've been in touch with Dr. Regan back west—said I was a good student. He wants me to return for another MRI in two months to see how the injury is healing."

"Do you have anyone to take you to the appointment?"

"Mom should be here by then so she can take me." At that moment, Quinn paused, a spark of contemplation flashing on his face. If he had the same idea you had, which you hoped, this would be an excellent way for you to strengthen your friendship. After all, plenty of work was necessary to get Quinn back on his feet—pun not intended. If Ellen had the appointments covered, maybe you could help in other ways. "I do, however, have at-home stretches from my therapist. Perhaps you could help me do them; make sure I remember to do them daily."

"Like a drill sergeant?" you chuckled.

Quinn let out an audible laugh. It was different from the awkward little puff of breath that you would hear in post-game interviews whenever a reporter would ask Quinn a humorous question, and all Quinn wanted to do was go home. This laugh had more buoyancy and glee, a laugh you only heard with his family and friends. The last time you heard it was in his dorm during your movie nights. Your eyes would be fixated on the TV screen when you suddenly heard the laugh in your ear. He would be grinning from ear to ear as you turned to look him before he explained something demonstrably ridiculous he picked up in the film. Most of the time, you two would break into boisterous laughter as you tried to rationalize the director's artistic choice. It was good to hear that sound again; it made you smile.

"No, not like that," he responded. "I get enough of that in Vancouver. I meant kind of like a cheerleader or something."

"Alright, I will be your cheerleader. Go, Team Quinn!" you cheered, eliciting more of his laughter.

The two of you talked until the sun had set, transforming its idyllic masterpiece into a sea of shimmering stars. Nothing was off the table—ice hockey, work, hobbies, and off-season travel plans; you had five years of catching up. After you covered every topic you could think of, you helped Quinn set the table. You were comfortable eating on the island, but Quinn insisted that you put two places at the table for a proper holiday dinner—or a date. At Quinn's direction, you found two polished white china plates in an unassuming corner cabinet and some of the last silverware sets in their drawer.

On the other hand, Quinn struggled to remove the Tupperware from the fridge while also balancing on one leg. After teamwork, you two finally extracted the containers and placed them on the counter. Through the plastic, you could see the meal: Hanukkah staples—latkes, brisket, knishes, kugel, and sufganiyot—the same foods you ate all those years ago. However, his food was more vibrant, particularly for a meal stored in the fridge. It wasn't grab-and-place-in-a-to-go-container food from a deli, the best a college student could afford. Every layer and ingredient looked like someone assembled it carefully, similar to when da Vinci painted the Mona Lisa or Michangelo sculpted David. The culinarian made these dishes for Quinn, and your heart swelled with gratitude at the thought that a guardian angel was looking out for your stubborn invalid.

"Where did you get this food? Unless you're vying for a career change as a chef?" you asked him.

"Oh, please! If I started my restaurant, the health department would probably shut it down before it opened for being a fire hazard," riposted Quinn as he took off the top of what appeared to be the world's strangest lasagna, which you recalled as kugel. "No, my grandmother sent me this. She does this every year—a package to Newark and Vancouver. It holds up surprisingly well after all of the flying. But she discovered I would be in Michigan this year, so she sent some to our lake house."

"Well, compliments to your grandmother!"

Quinn let out a little chuckle as he pre-heated the oven. "It shouldn't take too long to warm everything up."

"I have something to hold us over while we wait," you stated as you strode out of the kitchen. Caught up in seeing Quinn again, you forgot you left your pickles next to his quirky elementary art project in the foyer.

"The humble pickle!" Quinn proclaimed as you returned and showed him the jar. "You know, a sandwich shop down the road from Rogers has the best pickles I've ever had—one with every sandwich. I'm going to bring you there when you visit the city."

You pursed your lips as you attempted to unscrew the jar top. There was always one in every batch that seemed to have its top stuck together with cement, and of course, you had to pick that one from the grocery store. It's okay—shake off the cramp and try again. Try again; you did, but the lid remained frozen like Bettman during a league scandal. Quinn slightly smiled during your embarrassing ordeal but respectfully didn't comment. Instead, he gave you a few tries before extending his hand, a silent plea to hand over the pickle jar. He twisted, and with a click, the lid came apart with a single try. It must have been those strong, muscular arms of his.

"All hail Quinn Hughes, the opener of pickle jars!" you deadpanned.

"I couldn't have done it without your contribution of loosening the jar. Here, have a pickle. You look like you could use one."

You smirked at him as you pulled a plump, juicy vegetable out of its brine. Quinn did the same, and with a raise of his pickle, he toasted, "Cheers!"

As Quinn predicted, it didn't take long for the food to heat the food back up. You two assembled a decent amount of food before sitting at the table. There seemed to be endless topics of conversation as you chattered together through not only seconds but thirds as well. You took a bite of sufganiyot, studying Quinn's features as the sweet strawberry jam and powdered sugar filled your mouth. You loved how his eyes always felt tired, even when he was smiling; you loved how he spaced out on the bench; you loved how his hair, when long, curled at the end like little angel wings.

You loved him.

Correction: You never stopped loving him. You had prepared your heart for him to move on when he first set foot in Vancouver, but it doesn't seem like he did. You definitely didn't. Memories of that fateful day at Denver Metro returned, as did that familiar heaviness in your heart. You wished you had stopped him and interrupted his conversation with the ticketing agent. The two of you did your best to stay in contact after that point, but you missed out on so much. Then again, there was no telling what could have happened if Quinn remained a Wolverine. The two of you could have broken up and gone your separate ways instead of the situatuionship you have going on.

You could be living in another state—maybe single or maybe dating another guy—with nothing but the memories of Quinn. They say that everything happens for a reason, right? So perhaps, it was a blessing in disguise that he had left Michigan in the middle of his sophomore year. The critical thing was that he was still here, and there was still a chance for you to fan the lingering embers of your love. As you placed the last of your sufganiyot in your mouth, Quinn put a menorah in front of you. It was rather plain, made from polished pewter, which gave it a faint gold color, but in a tastefully modern way. You imagined that the Hugheses must have a much more ornate one back home in Orlando, but the candelabrum would suffice for Quinn, his mom, and now you.

"Amazon?" you asked, shifting your gaze from the ornament to Quinn.

"Amazon," he replied with a grin.

He placed a pack of long, colorful candles and a black electric lighter adjacent to the menorah before reassuming his seat beside you. "Are you ready?"

You nodded as Quinn opened the pack and pulled out eight candles, inserting them right to the left like reading Hebrew. One candle stood on a peak above the rest: the shamash—an actual shamash, not the substitution you used all those years ago. Quinn lit the flame and then used it as a helper to light the leftmost candle of the first night. As the wick ignited, a prayer fell from Quinn's lips:

Baruch atah Adonai, Eloheinu Melech haolam, asher kid'shanu b'mitzvotav v'tsivanu l'hadlik ner shel Hanukkah.

Baruch atah, Adonai, Eloheinu Melech haolam, she-asah nisim la’avoteinu bayamim hahem bazman hazeh.

Baruch atah Adonai, elohenu melech ha’olam, shehecheyanu, v’kiyimanu, v’higiyanu lazman hazeh.

As you listened to his words, your eyes studied the flames, dancing and flickering in the air. You remembered Quinn's story when he invited you to Mosher-Jordan five years ago. Hanukkah celebrates the rededication of the Temple in Jerusalem after the Jews had defended against the invading Seleucid army. When the Maccabees—your chocolate minters, if you will—entered the Temple, they discovered only a tiny amount of oil to light their menorah. Somehow, the oil lasted eight nights, enough time to produce more. That is why there are eight candles, and they're lit yearly: to commemorate the miracle G-d gifted to the Israelites.

Some force, Aphrodite or G-d—take your pick, forced you to take Quinn's hand silently. He didn't flinch but welcomed the gesture by rubbing his thumb over your hand, almost as if a secret wish had come true. The two of you sat in silent reverence as you watched the lights, unmoving. Quinn would have to return to Vancouver at some point, and you would be alone in Michigan again. However, this time, the thought of losing him didn't sting. In fact, your heart felt more resilient than it had in years. Yes, it would take some time for you two to figure out how to make your long-distance relationship work. But if the Maccabees didn't give up, neither would you.

That was the greatest Hanukkah gift either of you could have received, even better than pickles.

"Don't tell anyone, but that's as far as my Hebrew goes," Quinn finally said, breaking the tender moment.

You stifled a laugh. "I can see the headlines now: 'Quinn Hughes, Jewish Conundrum: Half-Jewish superstar only knows enough Hebrew to bless the menorah!'"

"Ha, ha!" he deadpanned as his eyes shifted to your conjoined hands. He then let out a sigh, that sigh. You know, the one when someone is about to have a difficult conversation. It was time to break the ice, to defrost your relationship. "You know, I'm glad you came."

"I'm glad I came, too. I know I've probably said this before. But I miss having you in my life, like physically here in the Midwest. Are you sure you don't have any interest in transferring to the Red Wings?" you replied.

"With all due respect to you and the Red Wings, I have two more years on my contact with the Red Wings, and I don't think Rutherford or Allvin plan on letting me go anytime soon. But when 2027 is up, I will consider it. For now, let's take it a day at a time. I will be here for a few months with my talented trainer." Quinn gave your clasped hands a shake—a gesture to signify you—causing you to smile. "I will say that I'm looking forward to what the future holds for us."

"Me too!"

"Also, I have the goods."

"The goods?"

Quinn walked to a nearby junk drawer and pulled out a blue package. As he approached, you realized that the package he was holding was the gelt—the very same gelt. He tore open the pouch and handed you a piece.

"I don't have to win it this time?" you asked.

"No, you already won my affection. I don't think the dreidel is necessary."

You dug your thumbnail under the gold foil and lifted the metal leaf to reveal the succulent chocolate inside. Ordinarily, the idea of eating a piece of gelt again wouldn't be that thrilling due to its lack of taste. This piece was sweeter, however. It would definitely knock the Swiss chocolatiers at Lindt on their asses, like Foreman knocking out Frazier, because it was a gift from your boyfriend.

As you savored the confectionary, Quinn gently kissed your cheek. They rouged in embarrassment and shock as you turned your attention to him. Quinn had a soft smile and a similar tinge on his cheeks, almost as if to gauge your reaction. After a while, realizing you didn't object to the gesture, his smile grew as he said, "Hanukkah Sameach!"

"Hanukkah Sameach!" you tried to repeat as you swallowed.

"You're cute for a Gentile," Quinn laughed. "Try again. Hanukkah Sameach!" He enunciated each consonant, leading you through the pronunciation.

"Hanukkah Sameach!" you said. This time, you purposefully butchered the word to tease him.

"We'll get there ... eventually. Hanukkah—"

As Quinn led you through an impromptu Hebrew lesson, the flames from the menorah watched, still undulating. The fear of the Maccabees was reasonable, not because of the oil scarcity but also because of the unpredictability of fire. It's a fickle thing; prepared to go out with a simple gust of wind. There's no telling what Hanukkah would have been like if the flames of the first menorah had gone out. But they didn't. They remained firm, passing down their wisdom and resilience with each generation of Jews that lit their shamash.

If fire could do it, so could you and Quinn.

#x reader #quinn hughes x reader #ice hockey #nhl #canucks #quinn hughes

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ladelinee · 13 hours ago

Text

Authors note: I had so much fun writing this that I finished quickly. Maybe I will take longer with the next episode, as the next two weeks are very intense for me 🥲 Enjoy!!

Word count: 3,5K

Warnings: angst, innocent, a bit aggresive E, fluff.

Dontcha’ think It’s time

Part 2 (Part 1 here)

Before you reached the stairs, you could listen already the clinking silverware, lively chatter, and Elvis’s booming laughter. The smell of bacon, toast, and coffee pulled you toward the dining room.

Inside, chairs scraped, voices overlapped, and the Memphis Mafia crowded around the table, plates piled high.

At the center, little Lisa Marie sat in her high chair, happily making a mess spilling cereals.

Lisa spotted you right away. Her face lit up with a big, messy grin.

“You sittin’ by me?” she asked fascinated, her voice slightly muffled by the cereal in her mouth.

“Good morning, Yisa. Of course!” you replied with a warm smile while sliding into the seat next to her.

Lisa giggled, she was excited to enjoy breakfast with you.

Elvis, seated at the head of the table, glanced up. He noticed the interaction, the way Lisa beamed at you, and that put a smile on his face.

Leaning forward slightly, his eyes softened as he said “Mornin’, sugar” his voice smooth and welcoming. “How’d ya sleep?”

You looked over at him, your nerves easing at his kind tone. “Good, thanks. The bed is really comfortable.”

“Well, that’s good to hear” he replied, leaning back in his chair, coffee in hand. “Graceland ain’t that bad, is it?”

“No, it’s really nice” you answered honestly, feeling a bit more at ease.

Elvis nodded, pleased.

Across the table, Joe piped up, breaking the short moment of calm. “Hey, E, the tailor has been waiting for you to confirm a date. Them jumpsuits of yours are about ready to give up.”

“Yeah” Red added, cutting into his pancakes with a grin. “Keep movin’ like you do on stage, and those seams ain’t got a prayer.”

The table roared with laughter as Elvis rolled his eyes, though his grin betrayed his amusement.

“You boys got jokes this mornin’, huh?” he answered back between laughs. “Tell the tailor to come by tomorrow. And careful now, you’re talkin’ to the man who makes sure y’all get breakfast every day.”

Red grinned back. “That’s true, E. But maybe if you laid off the damn bacon those seams wouldn’t be screamin’ for help.”

Elvis shot him a mock glare as the room erupted in laughter again. But before he could retort, Lisa’s little voice piped up, clear as a bell.

“Damn bacon” she let out, nodding as if she agreed with Red.

Everyone laughed at the joke except Elvis, who sighed playfully. He wasn't impressed because Lisa was at that age of repeating everything.

Setting his coffee cup down slowly, Elvis licked his lips, stretched his arms, and cracked his neck like a man about to deliver the final blow. Then, with a smirk so lethal it could knock a man flat, he pointed his fork straight at Red.

“Listen here, I ain’t eatin’ all this bacon for me, man. I’m carb-loadin’ for later… gotta keep my energy up for your mama.”

The guys detonated.

Jerry fell against Charlie, grabbing his chest like he’d been shot. Charlie was howling, pounding the table so hard the syrup bottle tipped over.

Elvis took another bite of bacon, chewed slowly, and winked.

Red threw his hands up. “Man, what the hell, E?! I ain’t even say nothin’ that bad!”

Elvis just shrugged, taking a long sip of coffee. “Well, maybe next time you’ll think twice before talkin’ about me and my jumpsuits. ’Cause trust me, man, ain’t nothin’ burstin’ at the seams but your mama’s breathin’ when I walk through the door.”

“I’m done. I’m done.” Red slammed his napkin on the table.

Elvis grinned, popping another piece of bacon in his mouth. “Yeah, well… your mama ain’t.”

You sat calmly, hands resting on the table, taking it all in. You were watching and listening, completely absorbed. You didn’t understand every jab being thrown, but still. The way he shot back, so quick, so clever… it was something to admire. You fixed your eyes on him, wide with quiet awe, captivated by the effortless way he turned every joke in his favor.

You had no idea what was happening. But one thing was clear: Uncle Elvis was winning.

Elvis looked at you and instantly felt the weight of all his sins.

Red looked between you and Elvis and smirked. “Yeah, E… now you can’t say anything, huh?”

He shot Red a warning glare. “Oh, you dirty son of a…”

After few seconds Elvis swallowed real slow, suddenly feeling about ten degrees hotter. He glanced around: Charlie nudged Jerry. Jerry looked up, saw your sweet little face, and immediately covered his mouth, trying to hold in his laughter. Joe was staring directly at Elvis, mouthing, “Don’t. You. Do. It.”

Elvis cleared his throat, straightened his back, and gave you his most innocent, charming smile.

“Well now, sugar” he started smoothly, looking you dead in the eye. “Let’s just say… your ol’ Uncle does a lotta charity work”

The table lost it.

Joe was laughing quietly, struggling to catch his breath and kicking his legs. Jerry was nearly in tears. Red's face was all red, and he was mumbling something about how the Lord was testing him.

Wiping the tears from his eyes, Jerry added, “E, you’re going straight to hell, man.”

The playful teasing helped you unwind, and soon enough, you were laughing along with the jokes, a sense of belonging settling in.

Noticing you loosening up, Red smirked and leaned toward you. “See? Give it a year, and you’ll be just as wild as the rest of us.”

“Yeah, but for now, take it easy, Red. She’s just a little girl.” Jerry swallowed a piece of toast, smirking.

Hearing Jerry’s words stirred something inside you. Since the atmosphere they created was making you feel comfortable, you decided to bring this up. Excitement began to shine in your eyes as you declared with a smile, “Well, not for long. Uncle Elvis is gonna make me a woman.”

The room fell into an instant, stunned silence. Forks hovered midair, coffee cups stopped halfway to lips, not a single breathing, and wide-eyed glances darted across the table.

Elvis paused mid-sip, his coffee cup still hovering close to his mouth. He froze, staring at the scene blankly. Slowly, he lowered his hand, the cup dangling from his fingers as he looked around to see how everyone was reacting.

Red made the mistake of looking at Elvis, saw the absolute panic on his face, and lost the battle. His chest jerked with a barely contained snort.

Charlie’s face turned toward the ceiling, eyes shut tight, fighting for composure, while Joe shifted uncomfortably, glancing at Elvis like he was waiting for him to say something.

But the real problem, the reason the laughter was strained, the reason no one could quite look Elvis in the eye, was that the idea wasn’t actually impossible.

By experience, they all knew better.

Before Elvis could even pronounce a word, you continued innocently, completely unaware of the tension. “He said he’d teach me about what men like and how to be more confident, so I figured…”

Lisa, completely oblivious, grinned up at you, swinging her legs.

“Darlin’, I told y-“

Elvis didn’t even get to finish before Jerry leaned in, his voice low but urgent. “You might wanna hit the brakes before this train goes completely off the rails.”

In return, Elvis shot him a glare. “You think I don’t know that?”

Turning back to you, he forced a strained smile. “Now, sugar, what I meant was-“

“But you said-“

“I know what I said” Elvis cut in quickly, his voice tightening up with irritation.

Charlie decided to pour gasoline on the fire. “She’s got a point, E. You’re always braggin’ about how you know what women want.”

Elvis’s patience snapped. “Charlie, I swear to God…”

But you weren’t done. “And it makes sense, right? You said you know what men want, and if anyone can make me a woman, it’s you, Uncle Elvis!”

That was the final straw. The room went nuts, their laughter transforming into a strange mix of hiccuping, snorting, and wheezing. It sounded like a bunch of chickens getting spooked and a pack of turkeys doing their gobble thing, creating a total circus.

Elvis, however, didn’t find it funny.

“Alright, that’s enough!” he shouted. He slammed his hand on the table, making everyone jump. His face was bright red, and his eyes blazed with frustration. Every time he tried to speak, someone cut him off. His patience was gone.

The room quieted suddenly, giggles dying out in an instant. Lisa's attention snapped to her father, her eyes wide and glued to his face.

You shrank in your seat, your face red with embarrassment. “I didn’t mean anything bad” you whispered, your voice breaking.

Elvis sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I know you didn’t, sugar” he said, his voice softer but still firm. “But you can’t…you just can’t say things like that. Not like that. Not here.”

Tears welled up in your eyes, and you pushed your chair back. “I’m sorry” you said quickly, bolting from the room before anyone could stop you.

No one spoke. No one dared.

Elvis exhaled heavily, dragging a hand down his face. The men exchanged uneasy glances until Jerry finally broke the silence. “Well…that went south fast.”

Elvis shot him a warning look but remained silent.

Red smirked softly “E, this is just a taste of what’s comin’. Wait till Lisa’s her age. You ain’t seen nothin’ yet.”

Elvis glanced at Lisa, who had returned to her cereal as if nothing had happened.

“Lisa” he said tiredly, “finish your breakfast. And behave when you get older, ya hear me?”

Lisa looked up at him, confused but obedient. “Okay, Daddy” she replied, taking another bite.

As soon as breakfast was over, Elvis let out a quiet curse before standing abruptly and leaving the table.

He made his way upstairs, pausing outside your door to knock softly.

“Darlin’? You in there?”

No response. He hesitated, then turned the doorknob.

The room was empty.

Elvis’s stomach sank as he scanned the hallway, his worry mounting.

“Jerry!” he called with sharp voice. “Get everyone. She’s gone.”

You ran down the driveway of Graceland, your feet pounding on the hot pavement. As you neared the end, the city of Memphis sprawled out before you, alive with activity, a sea of unknown but filled with the promise of answers.

You didn’t stop. Not when the air burned your lungs, not when the weight of this morning’s turmoil pressed against your chest. You weaved through pedestrians.

Finally, the library stood before you.

You pushed open the doors, stepping into the cool, hushed space. “If no one’s gonna help me” you muttered under your breath, determination settling in your bones. “I’ll find out myself.”

Some time later, Elvis was behind the wheel of his Cadillac, the engine roaring as it crawled down the streets of Memphis. His knuckles were tight on the steering wheel. Jerry sat in the passenger seat, glancing anxiously between Elvis and the road ahead.

“E, you’ve been drivin’ in circles for an hour”

Elvis ignored him, his sharp blue eyes inspecting the sidewalks. “She couldn’t have gone far” he muttered.

Jerry sighed. “Look, maybe she just needed some air. She’s not gonna do anything crazy.”

“You didn’t see the way she looked when she left that table, Jerry. I snapped at her, and she ran off feelin’ like she’s got no one to talk to. Hell, I wouldn’t stick around after that, either.”

Jerry leaned back, crossing his arms. “She doesn’t know what she’s doin’. She just needs to cool off, and so do you.”

Elvis didn’t answer. He slowed the car as they passed the library, something catching his eye. He squinted at the front doors.

“There” he said suddenly, pulling over to the curb with a screech.

Jerry craned his neck. “You think she’s in there?”

Elvis didn’t reply. He threw the car into park, climbed out, and strode toward the library doors, his pace quick but steady. Jerry hesitated for a moment, then let out a sigh, shoved his hands into his pockets, and leaned against the car, eyes fixed on the library doors.

You were still flipping through books, growing more and more stressed. Your fingers trembled as you picked up another, then another, the words on the pages blurring together in your frustration.

“What’s all this about?”

The deep, familiar voice made you freeze. You looked up to see Elvis standing at the end of the aisle, his hands on his hips, his sharp blue eyes fixed on you.

You sighed, guilt and relief flooding your face.

Elvis walked closer, crouching down so he was eye level with you. His gaze softened when he saw the pile of books around you, and the frustration written all over your face. “What are you doin’ in here, honey? You had us all worried.”

You glanced down at the book in your hands, fidgeting with the corner of the page. “I just…I thought maybe the library would help. My parents always said books have the answers, but none of these books explain anything about…”

“About what?” Elvis asked gently, his tone calm and patient now.

You hesitated, then blurted out, “About how to be a woman. I thought if no one was gonna help me, I’d figure it out myself. But these books don’t make sense!”

He glanced at the titles around you, understanding dawning on his face. “Sugar,” he said softly, “you don’t need no books for that.”

You looked up at him, your eyes glossy with tears. “Then how am I supposed to learn? I just…I want to understand what I’m supposed to do, what I’m supposed to be.”

Elvis let out a long breath, sitting down on the floor beside you, leaning his back against the bookshelf. For a moment, he didn’t say anything, just stared down at the books scattered around you.

“Listen to me, darlin’” he said finally, his voice low and steady. “There ain’t no book out there that’s gonna tell you how to be a woman. That’s somethin’ you figure out on your own, little by little.”

“But I don’t even know where to start” you said, your voice small.

Elvis reached out, resting a gentle hand on your shoulder, making you look at him. “I’ll help ya, honey, as best as I can. But don’t go running off thinking you’re on your own.”

Tears slipped down your cheeks, and you sniffled, nodding. “I didn’t mean to make you mad.”

“I know you didn’t” he said, his voice soft. “And I didn’t mean to snap at you. That’s on me, sugar. M’sorry.”

You nodded again, the tension in your chest starting to ease. Elvis stood, brushing off his pants, and extended a hand to you.

“C’mon” he said with a small smile. “Let’s get you back home. You got the whole house worried about ya.”

The rest of the day, you felt a little more at ease.

For the first time in a long while, you felt supported. Like maybe… you weren’t so alone after all.

Even so, when night fell, sleep wouldn’t come.

You tossed and turned, kicking off the blanket, pulling it back on again, but nothing helped. Your mind wouldn’t settle.

Finally, with a sigh, you pushed back the covers and slipped out of bed. You hesitated at the doorway.

You still felt a little uncomfortable moving around on your own in a house that wasn’t yours. Everything felt too big, too unfamiliar, too grand. But waking someone up? That felt even worse.

So, you forced yourself forward.

Graceland was different at night. The house was silent, dimly lit, wrapped in shadows. The soft white carpet felt cool under your bare feet.

When you reached the kitchen, you traced your fingers along the cabinets, finding the fridge by touch alone. The soft glow illuminated the space as you pulled it open.

Carefully, you poured the milk and warmed it up the way your mother used to.

The moment the warmth hit your fingertips, you sighed, finally feeling something familiar. Something that felt safe.

You were ready to take that first, much-needed sip, and then you realized you weren’t alone.

Leaning against the counter, watching you, stood Elvis. His robe was hanging loosely, and his hair was messy, making him look different.

Finally, he spoke.

“Couldn’t sleep?” His voice was low, rough from the lateness of the hour.

You shook your head, “You either?” still gripping your glass.

Elvis let out a quiet huff, lifting the drink in his hand slightly. “I don’t do much of that these days.”

You hesitated, shifting slightly before finally stepping toward the counter, perching on one of the stools. You suddenly felt small in the space, small in his presence.

Elvis’s gaze flickered over you, noticing something, thinking, but keeping it to himself. He took a slow sip of his drink before exhaling through his nose.

“I told you I’d teach you a few tips, and I meant that” he murmured, his voice steady. “But I think you already learned the first lesson on your own.”

You frowned slightly. “What lesson?”

Elvis leaned forward, resting his forearms on the counter.

“You had initiative to do what your heart wanted” he said. “You made a decision for yourself, without anyone tellin’ you what to do.” A small smirk touched his lips. “And… you’re willin’ to change. That’s admirable, sugar.”

A warm feeling curled in your chest.

Elvis wasn’t the kind of man who gave compliments easily, not the ones that mattered.

But just as the moment started to feel too heavy, too serious.

He suddenly leaned back, stretching slightly.

“Ah, and also” he added, pointing at you, “you’re grounded for escapin’.”

You nearly choked on your milk. “What?!”

Elvis smirked, taking another sip of his drink. “Yeah. Sorry, young lady, but I gotta stick to it.”

“You don’t even ground people!”

“I do now” he said, chuckling. “First time for everything.”

You huffed, crossing your arms. “This is so unfair.”

Elvis just shook his head, his laughter soft but real.

The moment softened, and for a second, it almost felt normal again.

Then, you studied him a little closer. His face wasn’t guarded like it usually was. He seemed… different.

“You look different at night,” you said out of nowhere, tilting your head.

Elvis raised a brow, smirking slightly. “That so?”

You nodded, taking a sip of your milk. “Yeah. You seem… I don’t know. Less like ‘Elvis Presley’ and more like… just you.”

Elvis exhaled a short laugh, shaking his head. “Darlin’, I don’t even know what ‘just me’ is anymore.”

You frowned, watching him carefully. “Well… I think you’re the best person I know.”

That made him stop.

His fingers tensed subtly around his glass. His lips parted slightly, as if he was about to speak, but then he hesitated. He had spent years battling to separate the man from the artist, struggling for people to see the difference between who he was and who they expected him to be. But you were too young to understand the weight of that fight, and he wasn’t about to launch into a speech. Instead, he swallowed the thought, keeping it to himself.

You didn’t know why, but you wanted him to believe you. So you continued.

“I…I think you’re kind, and funny, and you make everyone feel safe. And I don’t think people tell you that enough.”

Elvis stared at you, his tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek.

His blue eyes flickered in the dim light, studying your face. Then, before you could think, his hand lifted, fingers grazing along your cheek.

“Appreciate it, darlin’”he said, his smile warm and sincere.

The touch was light, barely there, but it sent a strange feeling through you.

It was warm. It was soft. It made something deep in your stomach flutter in a way you didn’t understand.

You looked up at him, your breath hitching slightly. He was so tall, and his hand seemed enormous compared to your face.

Elvis seemed to realize how you were reacting to what he had just done.

His hand lingered just a second too long, his thumb brushing the corner of your jaw, before he suddenly pulled away like if the surface was burning, clearing his throat.

Elvis shifted, suddenly looking tense, uncomfortable. He ran a hand through his hair, reaching for his drink like he needed something to do.

You swallowed, confused by the strange feeling left behind.

The athmosphere in the kitchen felt heavier now. Different.

Elvis downed the rest of his drink in one go and turned his back to you.

“Alright, honey” he said, voice tighter now, forced into something lighter. “Time for bed.”

You hesitated, still feeling the ghost of his touch on your skin.

But finally, you nodded.

“Okay.”

You slid off the stool, heading for the doorway.

Elvis didn’t turn around.

As you walked back to your room, you weren’t sure what had just happened.

You didn’t know why your heart was beating too fast.

You didn’t know why your skin still felt warm.

And you didn’t know why as soon as the door clicked shut behind you…

Elvis let out a long, sharp breath and muttered under his breath, “Shit.”

Tag: @iloveelvisss

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sustainably-du-mortain · 1 year ago

Note

3, 9, and 19 for Jonah for the nsfw asks, if you want to share! I love him haha and I hope you’re having a wonderful day 🥰💙

Hope you're having an amazing day too! <3 answer below the cut in case people don't want to see

3. Quickies vs Planned sex—thoughts?

He's up for both. He loves the spontaneity of quickies but very much likes taking his time, especially with people he's in a relationship with. He's much more likely to go for quickies on one-night stands. When in a relationship though, he likes quickies as a kind of foretaste to planned sex, like the morning/day before.

But he also really likes planned sex, because it gives them the opportunity to discuss trying out new things.

9. What's their favorite way to get in the mood? How do they set the mood?

TEASING!! Jonah is already a touchy person on a daily basis, but when he wants to set the mood, the touch becomes a bit more persistent and carefully placed to tease his partners.

But he also gets more teasing in his behavior. I have this particular headcanon, I don't think I've shared it here before, but when they got out, to a bar or something similar, Jonah sometimes flirts with other guys (it's all consensual with A and N, they've discussed it, Jonah can flirt as long as it does not go further, not that he would want it to go further anyways). So Adam and Nate just let him have fun, because Jonah is a confident flirt and it's kinda hot. It gets a little more interesting when Jonah purposefully makes eye contact with them while flirting with other guys because he knows what they think when he does that. He plays on Adam's jealous side and Nate's overprotectiveness to rile them up a little bit.

So yeah, Jonah becomes an awful tease when he's in the mood.

But the teasing also works on him. How many times did Nate rile him up by teasing him a little too much.

19. When they “dress-up” for sex, what’s their go-to outfit? Lingerie, suit, gown, etc.?

His typical dressing-up outfits is a suit, and it definitely enters the category of 'outfits I hope are going to get me laid' for Jonah. The one difference between dressing-up for an event and dressing-up with sex in mind is that the shirt will be tighter. He's making the buttons work real hard.

Another adjustment he makes to the suit is a vest corset. He knows it brings out his broad shoulders a little more and that it's flattering on him. Although this is 'ot something he does often.

When he's being less subtle about his intentions, he loves to wear really revealing clothes. Crop top, sheer fabric, open back, boob window. Name it, he's probably worn it. Best reference I have for that kind of clothing is Wonho, and particularly his stage outfits (see below).

And underneath it all, there is sometimes a leather harness.

Lastly, as I said above, he's not against trying out new stuff, so he's not above wearing something his partners want to see him in.

A little moodboard of his 'hoping to get laid outfits':

nsfw asks

#thank you so much for the ask I had so much fun answering those!!#this took me a little while but i had many thoughts and little articulated words #oc ask: jonah rafferty #ship: i used to live alone before i knew you #aeruh🦭#ask game

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lolathepeacocklord · 1 year ago

Note

Woe. Poorly drawn blitzbulk be upon ye.

EVERYTHING SCREECHES TO A HALT WITH A LARGE METAL SCRAPING NOISE. THE WORLD STOPS IN MOTION FOR SEVERAL MOMENT. FOR JUST A SPLIT SECOND THIS BECOMES THE CENTER OF TIME AND SPACE AND EXISTENCE ITSELF.

JAW DROPS TO THE FLOOR EYES SHOOT OUT OF SOCKETS MAKING A REALLY LOUD HONKING NOISE I START RUNNING AROUND IN CIRCLES LIKE A REALLY EXCITED DOG AND STARTS SPINNING AROUND AND RAPIDLY ASCENDING AND GLITCHES AND SPAZZES OUT LIKE A MESSED UP GMOD RAGDOLL

#I am so!!! i am so!!!! i am so!!!!!#this is genuinely one of the cutest things I’ve ever seen dude #the specific way you draw them gets me feeling a certain way #bulkhead looks like he has a cute lil kitty nose….. kitty meow meow boy #ALSO RANDOMS FACE IS SOOOO MUCH FUN LIKE I LOVE THOSE TEEFS #and the third one Icy looks really adorable in such a specific way and Bulkhead’s one crazy lil pupil it’s so RAAAAAHHGGH‼️‼️💥💥💥💥💥💥🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈💝#AND HOTHEAD!!!! HOTHEAD GIVIN A LIL KISSY MWA MWAAAA #EEYAAAAGGHHHH!!!!!!!!!#every single illness I would have had in the future have all been cured in advance thanks to this #I had a tummy ache when I got this ask and since then it has gone away #because of you I think #I am sooooo sooo seriously full of joy because of this I really love these dudes so much #I don’t think Ive ever really seen your art before!!!! I really love it!!!#May your fortunes be many and your Ls few…. 💖💖💘💕💕💗💖💖#ask #answer #transformers #maccadam #transformers animated #tfa #bulkhead #blitzwing #tfa bulkhead #tfa blitzwing #blitzbulk

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corrieguards · 2 years ago

Note

Would you rather have your first kiss with Cody or Rex? Also I hope you have a great day ❤️☺️

Oh damnn this is a toughie. It's like asking me to pick between puppies and kittens. They're both so great in their own way-😭

Ok ok, let's give it a go

ramble under the cut

Now I would usually go for Rex, no questions asked I mean c'mon, he's Rex- However, if we're talking in the context of a first kiss...

I'm gonna have to go with Cody :0 betrayal

I know i know, I'm sorry, but I can explain! As a shy and insecure person by nature, I tend to stand back and let the more experienced people take the lead, y'know show me how things are done first, before I feel confident enough to do it myself. And I think Cody would be the best choice for that.

Rex would too, don't get me wrong. But he would probably be more prone to letting my nervousness rub off on him. It might make him feel like he isn't doing good enough, or that I wasn't enjoying it as much as him which wouldn't be true but anyway And, in that case, he could even need some reassurance of his own.

Cody, however. Cody is good and he knows it. He would have no problem taking charge, in fact I think he would thoroughly enjoy it maybe a little too much So it would be a win win for both of us. Also, Cody doesn't hold back, he'll go all in. He'd be the kind of guy to grab your ass while you guys are kissing, even if it is the first time, he doesn't give a fuck.

He's all or nothing and I like that.

#thank you so much for the question!!#I love questions that make me stop and think #and this was one of those <33 #sorry for the ramble tho #i might take this questions a little too seriously #so sorry if this wasn't what you were expecting #i feel like sometimes you guys aren't asking me to pour out my heart and sould to you #but I do it anyway lmao #anyway i'm rambling again #thank you so much!!#it was a great question and I had so much fun answering it <3 #love you babes!!💙💙

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plugnuts · 2 years ago

Note

Ok, unironialy, could you explain/resume to me the basics of homestuck??? I have NO CLUE what is it even about or even WHAT IT IS and I feel like I should know

Also much love ur like one of my favorite people on tumblr <3 🥺💕💕💗

Dnfnnfs yeah ofc! I’ll try to summarise it as best I can!

And thank you so much!! 🥺 dude I wanna hug you rn much love to you too <3 your presence on my dash is always a delight honestly! <3!!

The short and sweet official summary of it is: A tale of a boy and his friends and a game they play together

But if you would like a more detailed, but still summarised, explanation then look under the cut. But beware for it for it is long.

I haven’t read this webcomic in over a year so bear with me lol (I actually went and read a recap of it and. wow)

! Major Story Spoilers Ahead !

Okay so in as simplest terms I can manage is that four kids play a game that ends their world, but them and their homes are transported inside due to certain conditions that were met. They each get planets and if they die on a certain spot on these planets they become gods (aka ascending to god tier). There’s another race that played this game called trolls that also destroyed their world in order to enter, however only one of them became god tier. The trolls playing the game created the kids’ world (they didn’t do it right tho and that lead to one of the ‘npcs’ doing their own thing and.. ruining the course of the game.)

I forget where it happens but there’s an intermission that is super important. (Although it doesn’t appear to be lol it introduces the big bad and all his associates and whatnot)

A lot of shenanigans. We learn about the trolls, about the game and time shenanigans!! Some of the trolls help the kids, most of the trolls die bc they kill each other (and can’t resurrect bc they aren’t god tier). Key part of the killing is that one of the trolls, Vriska (the one god tier troll), is killed due to almost committing a timeline altering act. She doesn’t resurrect as her death was deemed Just. The only ways you can die permanently when god tier is when it’s deemed either Just (justified) or Heroic (being a hero).

(I’m missing a lot but it’s okay lol)

Anyway as the game is nearing its “end” and due to the trolls fucking up the kids’ session they’re forced to do a hard reset. Using their new god given powers they force this reset and the kids split up to escape their session, one group of two going with the trolls and the other two go off on their own together. This split lasts three years, by the way!

In the mean time due to this reset (or scratch as it’s named) the kids’ universe resets itself and basically…. Is reversed. So, instead of the kids we have their ancestors that are now… kids. Oh yeah, forgot to mention, during the shenanigans earlier one of our kids, John, basically made both him and his friends and his nanna and his friends’ guardians in a lab using shenanigans and sent them back in time so that everything can happen. Yeah. So, in this new session we have a new set of kids which I’ll refer to as the Alpha Kids, whereas our set of kids are the Beta Kids. So, we have the alphas now and we see their journey into the game. It’s to note that these kids can’t become god tier traditionally because of their Dream Selves dying beforehand (a needed self in order to become god tier).

So the alphas enter and are met with a dead game, basically. You could say their game is ‘infertile’ as it doesn’t have the means to create a new universe once it’s done. So it’s unwinnable. There’s nothing the alphas can do but wait. There’s some back and forth, we’re met with a new ‘troll’ and get to know her and her ruthless brother who wants to kill everyone his sister loves and stuff. Fun!

We get to know the betas more on their journey and wow one of them is depressed okay back to the alphas who. are high on sugar. Okay. Through their sugar high they get to their Quest Beds (ones that can grant them godhood without having a dream self but it’s buried deep within their planets (iirc)). So. They die on them and become god tier!

Oh yeah and during this we get to know one of the trolls’ dead ancestors called Meenah who works to build an army of the dead to tackle the big bad (Lord English) in the dream bubbles where those who die (either in this timeline or another) go to as a sort of afterlife.

The three years are up (only 6 months for our alphas) and everyone’s now in the alphas’ game. Jade (one of the betas) brings over everything from the Beta’s game so now the Alpha’s game is fertilised! Yippee! John sleeps and dreams and finds a treasure whilst everyone else uh. Suffers, basically. Once the betas arrived two of the kids (one alpha one beta) get possessed by Betty Crocker (one of the alphas’ mother but she’s an evil troll who can mind control). Jade (beta) and Jane (alpha) are now possessed.

A lot of stuff happens here. Best way I can explain it is that there’s a lot of glitches, death, and bad drawings. John also gains the power to rewrite canon (retcon), if you can believe it. The evil brother plays his game, kills his sis and gains way too much power for his own good. (Remember I might be getting things wrong here). Now, remember Meenah? Well from her group of trolls we have Aranea and she ruins everything. She brings herself back to life using what’s called the life ring and brings everyone to the same planet (except John who’s running from Jade). So. She fucks everything up, gets a lot of people killed (some people dying Justly and Heroically) and basically creates a GAME OVER timeline. Did I mention that when the betas came to the alphas they also brought along their own game’s bad guys? Yeah. Whilst GAME OVER was happening John was out there battling a kid version of the big bad. He teleports back into canon when everything’s already over.

So, now we’re in game over where basically everyone save for some are dead. Terezi, one of the trolls, tells John to fix it bc of his retcon ability. She gives him a list of what to do because of her own game given powers (she’s a Mind player but. yeah I won’t explain that sorry) and John goes and does it, using the keywords she gave him to find those specific points in time to change and fix. This leads to Vriska not dying when she was supposed to. A lot of shenanigans after this, basically everyone who was dead before is okay in this new timeline bc Vriska is here now. Yay? Anyway, they all go through their dramas and stuff, betas mingling with the alphas yada yada they all talk about defeating the bad guys.

Then there’s this whole animation about it!

Anyway that’s Homestuck as best as I can describe it without going into BIG detail. There’s a LOT of stuff I missed, but it’s very overwhelming lol.

TLDR; Kids play game. Time shenanigans. Death and destruction. Godhood. Vriska. Kids play game. Kids play game. Death. Big fight. They create a new universe where they can all live together and whatever have you. :)

I hope that clears SOME things up and if you have any more questions feel free to ask! Or you can read the webcomic but. I wouldn’t read it from the source bc it’s broken. I’ll tell you what to do if you Do want to read it but with over 9000 pages and god knows how many words….. it’s quite the task. But there is games you can play in it! And cool animations!! But some of it.. didn’t age well, let’s say. Anyway if you’re still reading then colour me impressed! I tried to summarise it as best I can but with limited memory and with so much plot it was difficult lol, ik you said the basics but also. Homestuck ain’t basic nfngnrksmnd sorry

#ask it like you mean it #nonoiswearidraw21 #homestuck #ask to tag #if anyone wants to correct what I said feel free I most likely got a lot of it wrong or misplaced or what have you #knowing homestuck and what it’s about probably makes it worse imo #I mean. there’s so much #I need to reread it honestly it’s been so long and it’d be cool to revisit #like. I remember when I was still reading it and I had spare time in college so I read it there lol #it’s one of those interests that get people looking at you weirdly? I think? idk lol #but yeah this took me a while to write so thank you for being patient!! :D #you’re honestly one of my favourite mutuals!! so it’s cool to explain homestuck to you!! (it was a huge fixation of mine until. the horrors)#and if you have any more questions I’m here to answer! :D thank you for the ask and the nice words!! <3 #I finally did the meme #there’s a homestuck meme where it’s like ‘let me tell you about homestuck’ but it’s like. you don’t just tell someone ab hs. you Explain it #it’s a whole thing!#anyway this was fun! :D hehe

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blujayonthewing · 2 years ago

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❤️,🧠,🍀 for the ask meme! Take your pick of whomth, I’m curious about everyone :3

❤️ - What is one of your OC’s best memories?

One of Elyss's best memories was getting to meet and hold her newborn niece for the first time! Elyss has been incredibly isolated for her entire life, with (some of) her family being her strongest (and, until very recently, her only) connections in the world, and her brother Max is her best friend and most beloved person. His wife had their daughter, Emily, when Elyss was out living alone in the woods, but she knew roughly when the baby was due and came home pretty shortly after she was born. Holding her was the most pure distilled moment of joy and love Elyss has ever experienced to date. Em is about five now, and Elyss would do absolutely anything in the world for her.

🧠 - What do you like most about the OC?

Elyss is very intense, bad with people, and sometimes ruthlessly true neutral, but at the core of almost everything about her is overwhelming love, and a largely unfulfilled desire to be loved. It makes her incredibly compelling to me, and is the source of a lot of her conflict both within herself and with the rest of the world. She prefers to think things through very carefully and act logically and rationally, but she's fundamentally ruled by her emotions and they often get the better of her decision-making in ways that confuse and frustrate her. She craves connection with others, but doesn't know how to forge or maintain relationships, and is so used to social rejection that she has a hard time even recognizing affection when it is there. Like... she's probably my most straightforwardly violent OC but JUST under the surface SO much of her story has been about love and acceptance, or lack thereof, and what she's willing to do out of love for others (almost anything) and I'm so incredibly soft about it

🍀 - What originally inspired the OC?

Elyss was my first 5e character; she was only supposed to be a one-shot character at a weekend get-together with friends, and we built our characters that weekend with free resources and without a lot of prep ahead of time. This is relevant for two reasons: one, I always wanted to play a ranger, and I'd envisioned having an animal companion, but I ended up being sick for most of one of those days and didn't have enough time to wanna have to mess with looking up animal stats and mechanics on top of everything else; and two, the app we were using to quickly build characters listed genasi as a race, and when I found out that was the elementally-aligned race I instantly got the mental image of a character whose skin naturally looked like it was underwater with light rippling though and went OH YEP I'M DOING THAT. Otherwise, a lot of her initial characterization was inspired by me being interested in nature and in wilderness survival, and imagining a person who had spent most of their life alone in the woods building their entire personality and philosophy on life by watching the way the natural world works (and, consequently, not having any social skills because they were never around people).

Ask about my OCs?

#parad0xymoron #I had to build her whole backstory retroactively once the DM was like 'okay who wants to keep this rolling'#figure out how 'lived alone in the woods' happened in the first place and why she came out to be in an adventuring party #(the answer was love! it turns out! although I wouldn't have phrased it like that at the time)#GOOD Qs THANK YOU!! I had to limit myself to just one because I was getting overwhelmed trying to think of All Of Them lol #AND ANYWAY I don't talk about Elyss enough anymore... my OG Girl..... I love her so much 🥺💕#there is a quote from frankenstein that's gone around recently about love and rage. that's her #and that campaign just keeps being like. a nightmare slog of bad things happening arbitrarily with little payoff lol so #I just want good things for her... killing a lot to protect those she cares about is fun to play but she deserves to be soft and safe tbh #my OCs #Elyss #ask thing

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liloinkoink · 3 months ago

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do you wanna try your luck at the wild life session 5 trivia questions?

well now you can! i gathered all the questions we came up with into a pair of google forms so that you guys can try your hand at the same trivia questions the CCs did!

quizmaster's questions from session 5

we tried to have a good amount of questions for every player and season. we also tried to include only questions we thought at least one person would remember the answer to, especially things we'd seen them bring up recently in their own videos or streams, or big moments that would appear in fanart/animatics that we thought they'd be more likely to remember from seeing in those. we also aimed to include silly questions/answers, or questions/answers we thought people would find entertaining. we wanted players to be able to go to each other and ask each other for help on questions they didnt know the answer to!

but wait! there's more! we also have a form for all the questions which didn't make the cut!

rejected questions

the rejected questions didn't make it due to either being too difficult/niche or being something we did not think any creators would remember, being about a player we already had too many questions for in order to make room for questions about other players, being "stat" or number questions (i.e., "how many times did X die of Y cause?"), having too many names involved in the question or answer (making it hard for players to know who to ask for help), the questions just being wordy, or not being particularly entertaining. fair warning, the rejected questions also were not all fact checked as well as the actual episode questions were, as they didn't go into the actual session

originally our questions were a bit more difficult (we had a lot of questions we didn't necessarily think anyone would remember the answer to), but we were asked to tone it down and have mercy after the unexpectedly high amount of snail carnage (hence why the forms are jokingly names "easy version" and "hard version")

anyway, huge thanks to the rest of the trivia team, @cherrifire, @xmaruu11, @hopepetal, @applestruda, @ink-ghoul, and @cocoabats !!! working with all of you was super fun! and thanks so much to Grian for trusting us with this! this whole thing was a super cool experience and i'm thrilled with how much everyone likes the questions!

#wild life #wild life smp #trafficblr #if any of the questions are broken let me know #we tested it a few times but just to be sure #life series #life series smp #third life #last life #double life #limited life #secret life #trivia trivia #top hits #posts that make my notes unusable

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gloomwitchwrites · 4 months ago

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141 with a partner who likes to bite

Okay, anon. I'll be honest. When I read this prompt, I immediately thought of "cute aggression." Not sure if that is what you meant or if you meant something else, but that's what I went with. Kinda. There are some more suggestive undertones in a few of these. I had a lot of fun with this one. Thank you so much for sending it in!

Presented in four double drabbles.

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x Reader (can be read as gn!reader)

Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): swearing, biting, cute aggression, established relationship, teasing, flirting, suggestive themes

Word Count: 800

ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

John Price

"Are you teething?” asks John. “Do I need to get you a pacifier?"

John sounds annoyed, but you know that he isn’t. Not really. He happily puts up with your shenanigans.

"Can't help it,” you reply, showing your teeth. “You're too tempting."

The two of you are curled up in bed. He’s trying to read. And you’re trying to annoy him. When John is shirtless and reclined in bed, you have a clear view of his muscles. The temptation is always there, and it’s a pull you can’t resist. The aggression isn’t violent. It’s just overwhelming.

Clearly not liking your answer, John grunts. He tosses his book aside, uncaring of losing his place. One moment you’re next to him, and the next you’re fully on your back, trapped beneath his weight.

Giggling, you playfully shove at him, but there is no intention to escape from him. It’s not like you could break out of his grasp if you tried. He is warm and taut. A weighted blanket. This is what you wanted all along. To be beneath him.

"Stop."

He nips at your throat.

"Fucking."

Then he nips at your shoulder.

"Biting."

Finally, John nips at your upper arm.

"Me."

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

"Someone's going to think you're abusing me."

You grimace, even though Kyle’s tone is teasing and not at all upset. His arm and neck are peppered with small teeth marks. Most of them look like random little indents in the skin while others appear to be in the beginnings of bruising.

“I might have used excessive force,” you murmur, thumbing one of the marks.

Sometimes you can’t help yourself. The need to do it is overwhelming. Most times, you shake it off.

Kyle grins. “I like them. They’re little reminders.”

You laugh. “Oh yeah? Reminders of what?”

Kyle leans in, hand sliding up your back to grasp the nape of your neck. Pulling you close, Kyle lowers his voice. It’s all sultry smoothness.

"Of how many times I can make you come,” he coos.

“Kyle!” You lightly smack his chest, face heating as his gaze softens.

He shrugs. “You also just like to bite me.”

“Can’t help it,” you mutter.

“You’re like one of those small dogs,” he teases.

You roll your eyes. “Don’t you dare,” you scold.

“Adorable. Sweet at first glance.”

“Kyle.”

“Mean bite.”

“I swear to God, Kyle.”

“A—”

You place your hand over his mouth.

John "Soap" MacTavish

With Johnny as your bed, you spread yourself over him, head resting against his right pectoral. A rugby game is on. Johnny’s completely focused on the television as the two teams move about the field like small insects.

Johnny’s large, muscled arms are draped over your back, but his left bicep is dangerously close to your face. Every vein is pronounced. Tempting. You want to trace them with your tongue.

A naughty little urge creeps in. Makes itself known. Slithers around your brain to whisper that you should.

What’s one little bite?

It won’t hurt.

Like an itch that needs to be scratched, you lean forward, lightly chomping down on Johnny’s arm. The urge settles, the neurons in your brain content and happy.

Startled, Johnny jerks. Then, he laughs, arms tightening around you.

One second, you’re in full cuteness aggression. The next, Johnny is rolling you over, trapping you beneath him against the couch. Instead of you biting him, it’s Johnny biting you.

You shriek playfully, but he continues to nibble.

“Let me go,” you laugh. Smacking at him does nothing.

“You little goblin,” he mutters, dragging you off the couch and hauling you toward the bedroom, rugby match forgotten.

Simon "Ghost" Riley

Simon wears only a thin, black shirt, leaving his arms bare. Your mouth waters at the sight of the protruding veins and taut muscles. The urge to touch and taste is overwhelming. It burns bright and hot beneath your skin.

"What are you looking at?" asks Simon without looking away from the menu board on the far wall.

“Nothing,” you reply instantly, glancing away like you weren’t thinking about his muscles.

A few seconds pass, and then you slip an arm between his, clinging to Simon. He doesn’t react. The menu board has his full attention. Simon is more worried about filling his stomach.

Turning your face into his arm, the urge to bite down—to unleash the aggression—wells inside you like a tsunami. At first, you resist, reminding yourself that you are in public and this behavior is inappropriate.

But you lose.

Your mouth starts to open, teeth poised to lightly bite.

“My arm isn’t a chew toy,” says Simon out of the corner of his mouth.

"I didn't bite," you mutter.

Simon slips his arm out of your grasp and then drapes it over your shoulders.

He leans in close. "You can bite me all over later."

taglist:

@glitterypirateduck @km-ffluv @tiredmetalenthusiast @miaraei @cherryofdeath

@ferns-fics @tulipsun-flower @miss-mistinguett @ninman82 @eternallyvenus

@beebeechaos @smileykiddie08 @whisperwispxx @chaostwinsofdestruction @weasleytwins-41

@saoirse06 @unhinged-reader-36 @ravenpoe67 @sageyxbabey @mudisgranapat

@lulurubberduckie @leed-bbg @yawning-grave81 @azkza @nishim

@voids-universe @iloveslasher @talooolaaloolla @sadlonelybagel @haven-1307

@itsberrydreemurstuff @cod-z @keiva1000 @littlemisscriesherselftosleep @blackhawkfanatic

@sammysinger04 @kylies-love-letter @dakotakazansky @suhmie @kadeeesworld

@umno-yeah @daemondoll @jackrabbitem @arrozyfrijoles23 @lovely-ateez

@ash-tarte @enarien @gingergirl06 @certainlygay @greeniegreengreen

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xo100 · 4 months ago

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Coming home - LN4

*:･ﾟ Summary/request: by anon; ‘y/n drunk in a club and calling lando to pick her up 🙈 him being patient and gentle 🫶🏼 thank you!!!’

*:･ﾟ Word count: 2214

୨ৎ

It had been a quiet evening for Lando Norris. The kind of evening he loved, where the house was filled with the gentle hum of the TV, and the warmth of home comforted him after a long day. He’d spent most of his time winding down, his thoughts often drifting to his girlfriend, who had texted him earlier in the day, saying she’d be out with friends tonight.

“You have fun,” he had told her with a smile before she left, his hands gently resting on her hips as he gave her a kiss goodbye.

She never went out too often—mostly a homebody unlike him—so he had encouraged her to enjoy herself, to have a night of fun and laughter, with drinks if she felt like it. He knew she didn’t really drink much, maybe a cocktail here or there, but nothing excessive. She had always been mindful, careful, but tonight seemed a little different.

It was around midnight when Lando's phone buzzed.

At first, he didn’t think much of it. He figured it would be one of those casual updates, maybe a quick check-in to let him know she was alright. But when he glanced at the screen, the sight of her name at the top of the message thread made him pause, and the message itself made him frown slightly in confusion.

“I’msogldmkgoig,” the text read. He blinked, squinting at the screen.

Lando tilted his head, trying to decipher the meaning of the garbled message. Was she typing in some kind of code? Then it hit him—a small smile tugged at his lips. She was drunk. Really drunk.

Shaking his head with a soft chuckle, he swiped open his phone, his thumbs moving quickly over the screen.

“Hey, you okay? Need me to pick you up?”

It took a minute or two for a response to come in, and when it did, it was no clearer than the first.

“nnoOOO immmmperf!!! ssssgood igot this!!! 😊😊😊”

Lando laughed under his breath, a fond smile settling on his face. He could just imagine her sitting at a table with her friends, holding her phone up way too close to her face, squinting at the keyboard as she tried to string a sentence together. She always got flustered when her texts came out wrong, even more so when she had a bit too much to drink.

He tried calling her, but it rang for a moment before she declined it. Another message popped up.

“ssorryyyyy busyy having fun witt gurls!! 🎉🍹”

Lando raised an eyebrow. He knew her friends, and he had no doubt they were looking after her, but it was clear she was teetering on the edge of tipsy and downright hammered.

A part of him wanted to laugh at the situation, but the protective part of him nudged forward. He’d rather her be home and safe than out and struggling to figure out how to text properly.

After sending her another message asking if she needed help, he waited, watching the dots of her typing bubble appear and disappear before another string of incomprehensible words filled the chat.

Then, finally, she called him.

Her name flashed across the screen, and Lando answered quickly.

“Hiiiii,” she sang into the phone, her voice bright but undeniably slurred.

“Hey, love,” Lando said softly, leaning back on the couch, the smile in his voice impossible to miss. “You doing okay over there?”

There was a brief pause on the other end, a bit of shuffling and background noise as her friends laughed and chatted around her. “Mmmm, I think soooo,” she said, dragging out the words. “But Landoooo, guess what?”

“What?” Lando humored her, knowing she probably had no idea where this conversation was going.

“I miss youuuu,” she said with a giggle, her voice softening with an endearing whine. “Like, really, really miss you.”

Lando’s heart did a little flip, warmth spreading in his chest. “I miss you too,” he replied, his voice dropping into that gentle, affectionate tone he used whenever they were being sweet with each other. “How about I come pick you up, hmm? I think it’s time to get you home.”

There was another pause, and he could hear the muffled sound of her friends in the background again, likely checking in on her. Then she whispered into the phone, as if telling him the world’s biggest secret, “Okay… but don’t tell anyone… I’m a little drunk.”

Lando chuckled, shaking his head fondly. “You don’t say.”

“But I’m not… that drunk,” she continued, her words tumbling over each other. “Just… a little.”

“Sure, babe,” Lando said playfully, standing up from the couch and grabbing his keys. “I’ll be there in a bit, alright? Stay with your friends. I’m on my way.”

“‘Kayyy,” she sighed, clearly relieved. “Lando?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re the best,” she whispered, her voice filled with a drunken sincerity that made Lando’s chest tighten in the best way.

He grinned, shaking his head again as he headed out the door. “You’re not too bad yourself, love.”

The drive to the bar wasn’t long. Lando had been there with her and her friends before, and he knew the route by heart. As he pulled up, his eyes immediately scanned the front of the building, and sure enough, he spotted her standing with a few of her friends near the curb, her posture relaxed but a little wobbly. She was laughing at something one of them had said, her phone clutched in one hand, her jacket loosely draped over her shoulders.

Lando parked and stepped out of the car, his eyes softening as they landed on her. She looked up and saw him, her face lighting up in a way that made his heart skip. She immediately broke into a wide, tipsy grin, her eyes sparkling as she waved enthusiastically.

“Landooo!” she called, drawing out his name in that adorable, exaggerated way she always did when she was happy to see him.

He chuckled, making his way over to her, his hands slipping into his pockets as he approached. “Hey, you,” he greeted, his voice warm and teasing.

She stumbled slightly as she moved toward him, but he was quick to catch her, his hands gently wrapping around her waist to steady her. “Careful, love,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head.

Her arms looped around his neck as she looked up at him, her eyes a little glassy but full of affection. “You came,” she said, her voice softer now, as if the reality of him being there had just hit her.

“Of course I did,” he replied, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. “I wasn’t gonna leave you here drunk and texting me gibberish all night.”

She giggled, her cheeks flushing. “I wasn’t texting gibberish!”

Lando raised an eyebrow, pulling out his phone and holding up her messages for her to see. “You sure about that?”

She squinted at the screen, her face scrunching up in concentration before she groaned, burying her face in his chest. “Okay, maybe a little gibberish,” she mumbled.

He laughed softly, wrapping his arms around her a little tighter. “Come on, let’s get you home.”

She let out a dramatic sigh, looking up at him with wide, playful eyes. “But I was having funnn,” she whined, though the smile tugging at her lips told him she was more than happy to go with him.

“I’m sure you were,” Lando said with a smirk. “But you’ll have more fun when you’re not regretting all those drinks tomorrow.”

She pouted up at him for a moment before her expression softened, her hand coming up to gently cup his cheek. “You’re so good to me,” she whispered, her voice carrying that drunken tenderness again.

Lando’s heart melted at her words, and he leaned down to kiss her softly, his lips brushing against hers with all the love and patience in the world. “Only because you’re worth it,” he murmured against her lips before pulling back slightly. “Come on, let’s get you in the car.”

The drive home was quiet, her head resting against the window as the streetlights flickered by. Every now and then, she’d glance over at him, her eyes soft and full of affection. He’d catch her staring and smile, reaching over to squeeze her hand gently, his thumb brushing over her knuckles in soothing circles.

“You’re really cute, you know that?” she said suddenly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Lando laughed softly. “Am I?”

“Mhm,” she hummed, her eyes drifting shut as she leaned back into the seat. “Really, really cute.”

He shook his head, the fondness in his chest swelling as he stole a glance at her. “You’re something else.”

By the time they got home, she was half-asleep, her body heavy with the exhaustion that always seemed to follow a night of drinking. Lando parked the car and got out, walking over to her side and opening the door. She stirred slightly, her eyes blinking open as he reached out a hand to help her up.

“You okay to walk?” he asked gently.

She nodded, though her movements were slow and sleepy. He wrapped an arm around her waist, guiding her out of the car as she leaned into him for support. Her head rested against his shoulder, and a small, content sigh escaped her lips as they made their way toward the house.

Lando unlocked the door and led her inside, his grip gentle but firm. She stumbled a little on her way through the doorway, giggling at her own clumsiness.

“You’re like my knight in shining armor,” she slurred playfully, looking up at him with a soft smile as they stood in the entryway. “Except you drive a McLaren instead of a horse.”

Lando chuckled, rolling his eyes in amusement. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

She nodded, her head resting back on his shoulder as they made their way down the hallway to their bedroom. “It’s totally a compliment,” she mumbled, her voice getting quieter with each word. “You’re perfect.”

They reached the bed, and Lando helped her sit down, carefully slipping off her shoes. “Alright, love,” he said softly, “let's get you into something more comfortable.”

She whined in protest, her arms going limp as she dramatically fell back onto the bed, her legs still dangling off the edge. “But I’m already sooo comfy,” she groaned.

Lando smirked, shaking his head. “You’re ridiculous,” he muttered affectionately as he knelt down to take her shoes off. Then he stood, heading to the closet to grab one of his oversized hoodies—one she always liked to wear—and brought it back to her.

With a bit of gentle coaxing, he helped her change out of her clothes, into the soft hoodie that smelled faintly of him. She sighed in contentment, snuggling into the fabric as soon as it was on.

“There you go,” he whispered, brushing her hair back from her face. “All cozy.”

She smiled sleepily at him, her eyes half-lidded as she gazed up at him. “Lando?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

The words came out soft and vulnerable, almost like a confession. Even though she was drunk, there was a deep sincerity in her voice that made his heart ache in the best way. He leaned down, pressing a kiss to her forehead before resting his own forehead against hers.

“I love you too” he murmured, his voice filled with all the affection he’d been holding onto since the moment she had called him. “So much.”

She smiled, her eyes fluttering closed as she snuggled deeper into the blankets. “You’re the best boyfriend ever,” she mumbled, her words slurring together as sleep started to claim her.

Lando stayed there for a moment, just watching her, his heart swelling with warmth. He could see the way her breathing slowed, her body relaxing completely as she drifted off to sleep. Even in her drunken state, she was still the girl he adored—the one who made him laugh, who always knew how to make him smile, and who filled his life with more joy than he ever thought possible.

He stood up slowly, making sure she was tucked in before he changed into his own clothes for the night. Sliding into bed next to her, he wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her close. She instinctively moved toward him, her body curling into his as she sighed in contentment.

Lando pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head, his fingers gently brushing through her hair as he whispered, “Goodnight, love.”

And as she slept peacefully in his arms, he couldn’t help but smile, his heart full. Because nights like this—where he could be there for her, take care of her, and remind her just how much he loved her—were the ones that made everything worth it.

She might have been a little too drunk tonight, but to Lando, she was perfect in every way. And as they lay there, tangled together in the quiet comfort of their home, he knew he wouldn’t trade a single moment of it for the world.

୨ৎ

*:･ﾟ Notes; Hey anon! I hope you enjoyed it and that this was what you had in mind! If not let me know so I can change things! Enjoy it, love! I’m also currently working on part 3 of baking cookies, coming online soon!

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sustainably-du-mortain · 1 year ago

Note

From the amorous asks, 3, 31 and 37? One question each for Jonah, Madeleine and Côme? Or feel free to answer for multiple of them, if you want to ^^

Thank you so much for the ask Seren!!! Answering for all three of them

3. How much use would your OC be at helping a friend choose their wedding dress (or suit)?

Jonah

FLEE. Do not ask him! He won't be of any help. He'll either pick the most basic suit/dress ever or just say everything his friend tries on looks nice. If it wasn't for Nate, he would have gotten married in a suit he already owned.

Madeleine

Maddie is your best pick if you're shopping for wedding attire. I mean she's been making her own clothes for years now, so it's one of her areas of expertise. She's asking so many questions about what her friend is envisionning and actually giving good advice/options to her friend. Her friend always ends up with their dream dress/suit with her.

Côme

With Côme it's 50/50. They'll either be giving insanely good advice and detailed reviews about the dress/suit their friend tries. Or they'll have their friend trying extravagant dresses/suits that do not match their taste. So, if you want something out of the ordinary, they should be your pick.

31. If your OC is in a relationship then what do they suspect they do that most annoys their partner? Are they correct in this belief? If they are single then what do they worry might annoy a prospective partner?

Jonah

His lego obsession and the fact that he actually puts money aside to fuel it. This very much stems from Bobby telling him it was a childish hobby, but he couldn't be any more wrong about anything. Adam and Nate both find it adorable. Adam appreciates that it's part of his motnhly budget because it shows he's being responsible about this. On the other hand, Nate is fueling his obsession and spoiling him with random trips to the nearest Lego store every now and then.

Madeleine

Ask for alone time. She's always scared Morgan will get pissed anytime she asks to be alone, but what she hasn't understood yet, is that Morgan totally gets it. She understands that Mads might need to recharge her social battery or simply needs some time to pamper. The only times Morgan gets a bit annoyed by it, is when Maddie requires alone time when she's in pain because she doesn't like the idea of Mads suffering on her own.

Côme

Rambling about X topic. They're very much wrong about this though. Felix adores when Côme goes on a tangent about a certain topic because not only is he learning new stuff about the human world, but Côme is also very cute when they start rambling. It has happened multiple times where Felix didn't hear a single word Côme said because he was too busy admiring them and thinking about kissing them.

37. Would your OC ever attempt to cook a romantic meal for a partner or prospective partner? How successful and/or funny would this end up being in reality?

Jonah

He would, but his culinary knowledge is very limited, so the food might not be very fancy but at least it will be good. He's not taking any risks about food on a date.

Madeleine

She's already done it multiple times, and her food is always scrumptious. Mads is a fabulous cook and she always puts all her heart in everything she makes and food is no exception. It actually made her a bit sad that Morgan doesn't eat because it meant she'll never get to try her food, but at least she's got Nat to share delicious meals with.

Côme

They would, but there's very high chances it would not end well. They survive off fast food, and canned/frozen food, and even then, they struggle following the instructions on the packaging. So, although it might end up with them having a good laugh if Côme were to cook, Felix is more likely to cook a romantic dinner for the both of them.

amorous asks

#i haven't seen you rb this but if you have lmk and i'll drop by your ask box #thanks again for the ask #I had so much fun answering those!!#seren☁️#oc ask: jonah rafferty #oc ask: madeleine kingston #oc ask: côme hawthorne #ask game

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surftrips · 1 year ago

Text

ABOUT YOU | LUKE CASTELLAN

pairing: luke castellan x aphrodite!reader

request: luke x reader fluff w like an aphrodite!reader? reader is all sunshine and flowers and makes luke all soft/campers teasing luke abt the way reader changed him 🤭

word count: 1.6k

a/n: this is probably my favorite luke fic that i've written so far thank u so much anon for sending this request in! writing aphrodite!reader is so much fun, i'm such a sucker for the opposites trope. hope you all enjoy 🤍

You were the human embodiment of sunshine, a real life angel. Gentle, kind, and lovely— in other words, the complete and total opposite of Luke Castellan. He was dark and broody, strong and rough, and not totally unfriendly, but definitely intimidating.

But even if you weren’t the daughter of Aphrodite, Luke believed that you would still be just as beautiful. There was something in the way you carried yourself that had made his heart surrender the second he laid eyes on you. You became the one and only exception in his long list of grievances.

So it came as no surprise to anyone at camp when the two of you started dating, just to the dismay of many of your admirers and a few of Luke’s as well. If there was one thing you had in common, it was your beauty. With his puppy dog eyes and curly brown hair, Luke was a sight for sore eyes, almost as much as you were.

One day, you were walking hand in hand when one of the younger campers accidentally bumped into Luke. On any other occasion, Luke might have started an altercation, but today, he simply smiled and said, “Just be careful next time.” The camper stared at him, wide-eyed and shocked into place as you softly giggled.

“What?” he smiled, looking over at you as the kid took it as an opportunity to run away.

“Nothing,” you mused. “Just that I think you’re getting soft, Luke Castellan.” You poked a finger at his chest playfully.

“What?” he shook his head. “No, I’m not.”

Though he attempts to keep a serious face, you could see the amusement in his eyes. He often looked at you like this, ready to go along with anything you said— no matter how silly or whimsical your remarks.

“Okay, lover boy. Whatever you say,” you shrugged, offering him a kiss on his cheek that instantly causes color to rush into his face. Ignoring that he’s just proven your point, he attempts to hide his expression by seeking solace in the crook of your neck. He would never admit it to anyone, but he often thought his favorite place at camp was the spot in between your jaw and collarbone.

Even though most of the campers were still a little frightened by the idea of approaching Luke, his closest friends were not afraid to speak their minds.

“Dude, you’re like, totally whipped for her,” Percy remarked over lunch once.

“And you’re like, totally fourteen years old,” Luke said.

“I think the fourteen year old’s right,” Chris jumped in.

“Dude! I thought you were supposed to have my back,” Luke throws up his arms in mock aggravation.

The two boys snickered, causing Luke to speak up again. “I am not whipped for Y/N.”

“Oh, sure,” Chris began. “So the reason you’re practically skipping around camp and letting whatever team Aphrodite cabin is in win Capture the Flag is because…?”

“Oh, and don’t forget the constant checking his phone to see if she texted back and sharing his blanket with her at the campfire!” Percy pointed out. “Meanwhile, I’m over here freezing…”

“Maybe,” Luke scrambled to come up with an answer. “Maybe, I was just in a really good mood those days. It could have absolutely nothing to do with Y/N.”

He barely believed the words himself, and Chris and Percy were certainly not convinced. Luke wasn’t even sure why he felt the need to defend himself.

“Dude, it’s okay if you are, she’s literally your girlfriend,” Chris said.

“Hey! I have an idea, let’s ask Annabeth!” Percy declared.

“Annabeth? Why her?” Luke furrowed his brow.

“Because, she’s a girl. And she’s known you the longest, she can give us a real answer,” Percy said matter-of-factly.

Luke thought it over. The young boy was technically right, Annabeth was like a little sister to him. If anyone could tell if he had changed since dating you, it would be her. This came as both a good and bad realization to him, because what if he had changed? Gods, was it that obvious?

Before he could agree to asking Annabeth, the young girl was already at their table. Percy must have called her over while Luke was thinking.

“What’s up?” she asked, sitting down across from him with her plate of food.

“Oh, nothing, just talking about how soft Luke has gotten since he started dating Y/N,” Chris explained with a grin on his face.

“Oh?” Annabeth said, seemingly amused.

“Yeah, we actually wanted to get your opinion,” Percy continued. “Would you say you agree or disagree, that you know, Luke is nicer now that he’s with Y/N?”

Annabeth seemed to think it over for a second. “Gods, you guys are such children,” she scoffed.

“Thank you!” Luke cut in.

“I mean, all of you,” she looked at Luke pointedly. “Why do you care what a bunch of kids think about you anyway? And not that it matters, but you, Castellan, are most definitely whipped for Y/N.”

That shut Luke up immediately, and caused cheers to erupt from Chris and Percy, who were clapping each other on their backs as if they had just won Capture the Flag.

Annabeth smiled and shrugged her shoulders, as if to say “Sorry, Luke. It’s true.”

Later that night, Luke snuck over to the Aphrodite Cabin to find you. You were surprised when Luke woke you up, it had been a while since he came seeking your comfort in the middle of the night. He used to have bad nightmares, but you noticed he had gotten better since you started dating. You’d like to think it was because of you, but perhaps that would be thinking too highly of yourself.

In an effort to clear his mind, you suggested to go on a walk together. He agreed, and you climbed out of bed as quietly as you could.

You allowed him a few minutes of silence until his heavy breathing had slowed down and his grip on your hand had loosened.

“What’s on your mind, hon?” you asked softly.

Luke didn’t respond at first, distracting himself by tracing the lines on the palm of your hand. You were happy to give him as much time as he needed, placing your other hand on his back and gently drawing circles.

After a while, he did speak up. “Uhm, do you think that I’m, like, unapproachable?”

Your heart sank and you stopped in your tracks. “What makes you say that?”

“I don’t know, it’s just something that’s been on my mind recently.”

“Luke, is this about what I said to you the other day? Because I didn’t mean it like that—”

“No, baby,” he rushed. The last thing he wanted was for you to think you had done something wrong. He wasn’t sure that you could ever do wrong, not in his eyes. “I was just talking to Percy and Chris at lunch today and they were kind of teasing me.”

You couldn’t help but giggle at the thought of your boyfriend, Mr. Tough Guy, being teased by a few kids younger than him. “I’m sorry, babe. Continue,” you placed a supportive hand on his chest as you regained your composure.

“They said that I’ve changed since we started dating.”

Though you were an expert in human emotion, there were still times you couldn’t read the expression on Luke’s face. You couldn’t tell if he thought of this as a bad thing, or if he was just curious to see what you thought. You decided on the latter. “Changed how so?”

“They think I’m soft now because I’m always in a good mood and stuff…” he trailed off. Even now, in the dark of the night, you could tell he was blushing.

“Well,” you started, trying to find the right words. “You know, I was just teasing you the other day, babe. I think you’ve always been this way.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, I think you’ve always been a giant teddy bear,” you grinned, unable to contain yourself. “Luke, you’re not as bad as everyone thinks you are.”

By now, both of you had stopped walking. Ever since Luke arrived at camp, he had been characterized as the tough, stony, and slightly antagonistic guy. All because of a scar he carried and the stories of what he had gone through with Annabeth and Thalia. Many people were still intimidated by him, despite his position as the counselor in Hermes and his job to welcome newcomers. It had been so long, he wasn’t sure if this was the way he was, or the way that he was made to be.

As if reading his thoughts, you said, “You don’t have to be what they tell you to be. Do you know the words I use to describe you when someone asks me about you?”

Unable to speak, Luke simply shook his head.

“Gentle, kind, and lovely.”

Luke wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but certainly nothing close to the words you had chosen. “You do not,” he objected.

“I'm serious, baby,” you placed your hands on his cheeks and pulled him in until your foreheads were touching. “I think you’re the most wonderful and caring guy I’ve ever met. I think you always have been, you just don’t always show it.”

He stared at you intently before pulling a loose strand of hair out of your face. You kissed the top of his head, “I must be one lucky girl.”

“Hey, if there’s one thing I’m sure about, it’s that I’m the lucky one,” he said, before pulling you in for a kiss.

#luke castellan #luke castellan x reader #percy jackson series #percy jackson #pjo #charlie bushnell #charlie bushnell x reader #luke castellan imagine #percy jackson x reader #pjo x you #luke castellan x you

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