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ateezscupid · 3 days ago

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─── FEB FILTH FEST: Swim - ROUGH ♡

SUMMARY / Your husband comes home angry, so you let him take it out on you.

warnings ✩ SMUT, DOM/SUB dynamics, established relationship (you're married with kids), hard!dom seonghwa, fem!reader, sub!reader, light masochism & sadism, degradation, daddy kink, choking, hair pulling, unprotected sex, reader is left with bruises, SAFEWORDS!!

word count ✩ 2,64k

tags ✩ @desirehorizon @tangerineastronaut @felixs-voice-makes-me-wanna @starillusion13 @mingitheskzstan @bbdeongi @dawn-iscozy @xh01bri @mallielovssyou @clxssy1997 @soreberry @nopension @kitten4sannie @faeriehwas @kitten4sannie

ATEEZ MASTERLIST / REQUEST / FEB FILTH FEST

The door slammed shut with a bang, the sound echoing through the otherwise quiet house. You paused, your hand hovering over the half-folded laundry. The vibration of the slam traveled through the wooden floorboards and up your spine, setting your nerves on edge. You knew that tone.

"Hwa? Is that you?" you put the laundry into the basket in front of you and carry it out of the bedroom, the scent of fresh fabric softener a stark contrast to the tension in the air.

"Mhm." he answered dryly, slamming his bag on the ground. You could see his shoulders tense from the kitchen doorway. The light from the setting sun cast an orange glow over him, highlighting his furrowed brow and clenched fists.

"Oh," you sit the basket on the ground and push it toward the wall, walking over and running a hand along his chest. "What happened, baby?"

He sighs, his body language speaking volumes. "It was a bad day at work. The boss was on my back, deadlines everywhere. I couldn't catch a break."

"I'm sorry." you caress his cheek, feeling the stubble scrape against your palm. His eyes, usually a soft brown, were now cold and distant. "Do you want to talk about it?"

He shook his head. "No, talking about it won't change a thing." His jaw was set in a firm line, his voice laced with frustration. You knew this wasn't just about work. It was about feeling powerless, about the weight of the world pressing down on him. You stepped closer, wrapping your arms around his waist, hoping to offer some comfort, but he remained stiff.

"Well," you sigh. "Is there anything else you think could help?"

He turns to face you, his eyes searching your own. For a moment, you hold your breath, waiting for his response. His hand comes up to rest on your shoulder, and his grip tightens. "I just need to let it out," he says, his voice low and gruff. You can see the storm clouds gathering in his gaze, and you know what he means.

You tilt your head. "Yeah?" you pull at the buttons on his shirt. "How do you want to do that?"

His eyes drop to your neck, his gaze intense. "I want to take it out on you."

You bite your lip. This wasn't new, but it still made your heart race. "You can,"

He smirked and gently ran his fingers through your hair, tilting your face up to meet his. "But you have to be a good girl and do exactly as I say, okay?"

You nodded, feeling a mix of fear and excitement. This was the dynamic you'd agreed to, the one that gave him relief and you a sense of purpose. It had started out as a way to ease his stress, but over time, it had grown into something more, a part of your lives you kept hidden from the outside world.

He leaned in, his breath hot against your ear. "Take your shirt off." His voice was firm but not harsh, and you obeyed, letting the fabric fall to the floor. His eyes roved over your body, and you felt a shiver run down your spine as his gaze grew hungry. You knew he wasn't seeing you as his wife anymore, but as a canvas for his anger and frustration.

You stepped closer, pressing yourself against him. His hands slid down your back, and his fingers dug into your skin, the pain sending a thrill through your body. You liked this side of him, liked the way he took control when he needed to. You craved it, even though you knew it wasn't healthy.

"Wait-" you squeak out. "The bed. We should go to the bedroom." You didn't want the neighbors to hear, and the last thing you needed was your kids walking in on this scene.

He nodded, his eyes never leaving yours. You both knew the routine by heart. The living room was off-limits, the bedroom was the only place where this part of your relationship unfolded. He took your hand, leading you down the hallway, his grip tight enough to leave an imprint.

He walked into the bedroom and threw you onto the bed, kicking the door closed behind him. The mattress bounced under your weight, and you landed with a gasp. He towered over you, his eyes dark with the need to dominate. You felt the heat between your legs, the anticipation building. This was what he needed, what you both needed.

Without a word, he started to unbuckle his belt. The sound was like a gun cocking in the quiet room, and your heart hammered in your chest. You lay there, your eyes locked on his, as he slid the leather through the loops. The belt came free with a snap, and he held it up, the metal gleaming in the soft light.

"You remember what I said before?" His voice was a low growl, the kind that made your knees tremble. You nodded, your eyes never leaving the belt. "Then what did I say."

"You said I should do exactly as you tell me." You whispered, your voice shaking slightly.

He nodded, a smirk playing on his lips. "Good girl." He approached the bed, the belt swinging from his hand. "Take off the rest of your clothes."

You complied, your hands shaking as you unzipped your jeans and slid them off, along with your panties. He watched with a mix of anger and desire, his eyes raking over your naked body. The cool air of the room made your skin pebble with goosebumps, but the heat of his gaze kept you warm. You felt exposed and vulnerable, but also incredibly turned on.

He steps closer angrily, his breathing heavy, and you can see the rage in his eyes, but also the arousal. He's looking at you like he wants to devour you whole. You lie there, trembling slightly, your eyes on the belt. You know it's going to sting, but you also know that the pain will bring him the release he craves, and with it, the peace that follows.

He grabs you by the neck and lifts you off the bed, his grip tight but not choking. You stand before him, naked and trembling, as he takes a moment to appreciate the sight of your body. His hand slides down your throat to your chest, squeezing a breast, his thumb circling your hardened nipple. You gasp, your eyes fluttering closed.

"The prettiest little whore," he murmured, his voice a mix of anger and desire. He threw you back onto the bed, the mattress squeaking in protest. You bounced and landed with a gasp, your body ready for his wrath.

"Spread your legs," he commands, and you obey, feeling the coldness of the sheets against your thighs. He climbs onto the bed, straddling you, the belt now lying on the bedside table. His weight pins you down, and you can feel his erection pressing against your stomach. He runs his hand down your body, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. His touch is rough, but it doesn't scare you. You know he won't go too far.

He reaches between your legs, his fingers sliding through your wetness. You moan, arching your back. His eyes narrow, and he smirks. "So eager," he says, his voice thick with lust. He withdraws his hand and brings it up to his mouth, tasting you. The sight sends a bolt of arousal straight to your core.

"H-Hwa, just-" he immediately pressed his hand against your neck, his other slapping you across the cheek.

"What's my name?" he growled, his hand tightening around your throat. The pressure was just enough to cut off your breath, but not enough to make you pass out. You knew the rules, knew the power dynamics at play. You swallowed hard.

"Daddy," you whispered, your voice hoarse. It was the trigger word, the one that flipped the switch in him from your husband to the dominant figure you both needed in these moments. His eyes darkened further, his hand moving from your neck to squeeze your breast, his thumb pinching the nipple until you gasped.

Suddenly, he flipped you over and grabbed your arms, pinning them to your back. You felt the mattress shift beneath you as he straddled your hips, the weight of him pressing down on you. You could feel your heart racing, the anticipation making you wetter. He brought his hand down in a sharp crack across your ass, and you yelped, your body jolting. The pain was immediate, a searing heat that radiated from the point of impact.

"My bitch," he pushes his boxers down. "Treating you like a fucking cumdump and yet you're soaking wet for it," His coarse words sting but the pain is quickly overshadowed by the thrill of his touch as he enters you, hard and fast, without any preamble. You bite the pillow to muffle your cries, your body adjusting to the sudden intrusion. Each thrust is a punishment for your earlier transgression, each one driving the tension deeper into your soul.

He grabs a handful of your hair and pushes your face into the pillow, keeping your hips raised. His thrusts are punishing, his anger and frustration manifesting in the power behind each stroke. You can feel him taking his anger out on you, using your body as an outlet for the rage that's been festering inside him all day. And despite the pain, you find yourself craving more, needing the release that only comes with his dominance.

His hand connected with your ass once again, the sound echoing in the room. You moaned into the pillow, the sting mixing with the pleasure of his rough penetration. Each slap sent waves of heat through your body, heightening your arousal.

"Fucking bitch," he muttered, his hair sticking to his sweat covered forehead. "God, your pussy feels so good. Fits me just perfectly." His words were a mix of anger and lust, and they only served to make you wetter. You pushed back against him, meeting his punishing strokes with your own desperation.

He reached down and slapped your ass again, the sound ringing through the room. You gasped, the pain a sweet symphony that only served to fuel your desire. His grip tightened in your hair, and he pulled your head back, forcing you to look at him. "You like that, don't you?" His eyes searched yours, looking for the truth. You nodded, unable to form words around the pillow.

"When I ask you something, answer me." he growled. He let go of your hair and grabbed your neck, squeezing just hard enough to make your eyes water. "Do you like it when Daddy punishes you?"

"Y-Yes-!" you gasp, your voice muffled by the pillow. The pressure on your neck sends a fresh wave of arousal through your body, and you push back against him, your ass meeting his thighs with a smack. He grunts in approval, his strokes becoming more erratic, more intense. You can feel him losing control, his movements growing sloppier as his anger turns to passion.

"Yeah, baby. You're such a fucking whore," he chuckles, groaning after. "Letting me take your pretty little pussy like this. Like you're made just for me to use." He slaps your ass again, the sound of flesh meeting flesh echoing in the room. You moan louder, your body begging for more.

He slams into you harder, the sound of his hips smacking against your skin filling the space between your cries. The pain is a sweet release for both of you, a dance of dominance and submission that you've both come to crave. You feel his cock stretching you, filling you completely, the friction of each thrust sending sparks of pleasure through your core.

He lifted your head by the neck once again, forcing you to look at him as he thrust into you. "You're going to take all of it, aren't you?" His voice was strained, the veins in his neck standing out as he neared his climax. You nodded, your eyes glazed over with desire. The pain in your ass from the belt and the pressure on your throat melded with the fullness inside you, creating a symphony of sensations that had you on the edge.

"You're going to come with me, baby, okay?" His voice was a mix of a question and a command. You nodded again, your eyes pleading. He reached around and began to rub your clit, the pressure building. You could feel his orgasm approaching, his grip on your neck tightening.

With a final slap to your ass, he releases your throat. You gulp in air, the oxygen rushing to your head. "Now," he grunts, his hand moving faster. You can feel yourself climbing towards the edge, your muscles tensing. He slaps your ass once more, the sting pushing you over. You scream into the pillow, your body convulsing as your orgasm rips through you.

"Yeah, let it out, bitch." His voice was a harsh whisper, his breath hot and ragged against your ear. His hand on your neck tightened, his other hand still rubbing your clit in a relentless rhythm. You felt his cock swell inside you, the head of it hitting your g-spot with each punishing thrust. The pressure grew unbearable, your orgasm building like a volcano ready to erupt.

"D-Daddy, I'm-" You gasped out, your body tightening around him.

"Come for Daddy," he growled, his hips slamming into yours. "Come now."

You felt your orgasm crest, your pussy clenching around his thick cock. A scream tore from your throat, muffled by the pillow. Your body arched off the bed, your toes curling as waves of pleasure washed over you. His hand squeezed your neck, and you felt his cock pulse inside you, hot cum filling you up. He grunted, his muscles tensing as he emptied himself into you, the warmth of his release mixing with the sticky wetness of your own climax.

"Yeah…" he panted, grabbing a handful of your hair with his other hand still rubbing small circles over your clit.

"V-Vanilla…" you whispered your safe word, the word that signaled the end of the scene. It was the only time you ever used it, when it was all too much, when the pain overwhelmed the pleasure. His movements stopped abruptly, his body tensing for a moment before he rolled off of you, his eyes searching your face for any sign of distress.

"It's okay, you're okay." he pushes your hair out of your face, his eyes softening from their earlier ferocity. You take deep breaths, feeling your body slowly come down from the intense high. The sting in your neck and ass starts to fade, leaving behind a warm glow of satisfaction. You roll over onto your side, curling up into a ball.

"Jesus, I bruised you." he mumbled. You glanced at the bruises on your skin and giggle slightly. It's part of the deal. You liked the marks, the evidence of his power over you. "You okay?" he asks, his voice filled with concern.

You nod, still panting. "Yeah. That was… intense," you murmur, your voice still shaky. You felt a mix of relief and exhaustion wash over you. The anger that had been brewing inside him was now gone, replaced by a gentle tenderness as he brushed your hair out of your face and kissed your forehead.

"I'll start your bath," he said softly, getting off the bed and walking towards the en suite bathroom. You watched his naked form as he disappeared into the steam, his footsteps heavy on the wooden floorboards. The sound of running water filled the room, the scent of your favorite lavender bath salts soon mingling with the sweat and sex in the air.

#february filth fest #ateez #ateez hard hours #ateez smut #ateez fanfic #ateez fic #ateez x reader #seonghwa smut #seonghwa ateez #seonghwa x reader #seonghwa hard thoughts #seonghwa hard hours #dom!seonghwa #dom seonghwa #Spotify

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godmadeaterribleerror · 2 days ago

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Where Do You End Pt. 1

Main Masterlist

Read on A03! - Pt. 2

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, light angst, body swap, mentions of smut, humor, horniness, very weird

Summary/Warnings: You and Dean have found yourself in a body swap situation, but your bodies don't seem to be aware of that. They keep trying to do what they always do.

And what they always do isn't really something either of you what the other to know about.

Author's Note: Request from an anon! On god I made it as weird as it could get. I'm proud of me. Also, we're once again looking at multiple parts. Enjoy!

Word Count: 4.5k

This was fucking weird.

Dean knew wasn’t exactly worth saying—it might be the most obvious statement in history—but this was so fucking weird. Weird in a way that made his brain feel a little fuzzy, that made his skin itch because there was no way this was real.

But there was certainly a way this was real.

And it wasn’t Dean’s skin that was itchy.

She had nice skin. It was soft and comfortable to be inside of, the callouses on Her hands felt better placed than the ones on Dean’s, and there were scars that he’d sometimes touch on accident that felt more like art than stains. Her hair felt right whenever he’d brush his fingers through it. Her waist was perfect to hold whenever he’d brace his hands on his hips. And when Dean would reach up to rub his jaw, he’d be slammed with another reminder that this wasn’t his jaw. It was too smooth, at a different angle, and far too good.

This was the jaw he’d dreamt of holding and angling back. Of kissing a soft line across, sucking a small, dark mark on, or nipping at until everyone could see that Dean had been here. That his hand had wrapped around Her neck because she trusted him there, and he’d been holding Her chin up so She could look him in the eyes as they grinned at each other.

She had the prettiest smile. Her lips would curve up at the perfect angle, her eyes would shine like small stars, and every little line on Her face would serve as evidence that She was happy.

Dean hadn’t seen Her smile in a while. Not at him. Not like She used to.

And he certainly wouldn’t see it now. He couldn’t.

All he could see was himself, across the room, rolling on the balls of his feet and sucking on his teeth as he thought.

As She thought.

This was so weird.

“I don’t like this.” She muttered, and Dean frowned. His voice sounded rougher, deeper, and heavier from outside. He wasn’t sure how he felt about it, or how to interpret the small shivers up his spine and over his skin.

“C’mon,” Dean said Her name, in her sweet and musical voice, and he liked how it sounded. He’d always loved how She said her own name, like it was an answer to something or the only lesson Dean would ever need to learn. “Is it really that bad to be stuck in my body-“

“Yes.” She snapped, raising Her chin and glaring down at him, and now his heart was beating faster. “This feels weird, and I don’t like seeing you be me. You’re doing it wrong.”

Dean frowned, and Her hair fell over his eyes. “How the hell am I doing it-“

“You’re sitting wrong. Your legs are too wide, I don’t lean like that, and when I frown it’d not supposed to look like I’m trying to murder someone.”

Dean disagreed with that last one. Shit, for months the only expression he’d gotten from Her was a frown that told him She wanted him dead.

He didn’t blame Her. He wasn’t all too happy with himself either, but it had been the only option. She wanted him. She said She wanted him, and she hadn’t been lying, and that had been the worst thing in the world.

If She hadn’t really wanted him, Dean could’ve offered himself in all his broken, foul glory and She would’ve walked away all by herself. Dean never would’ve needed to worry about losing Her, because he wouldn’t have had Her to begin with. But She’d said Dean Winchester, I want you, and he’d fucking believed Her. He never believed people when they said that.

And him believing Her meant Dean could lose Her. Could truly let Her down and get her hurt.

So he’d said no. He’d lied with practiced ease—through his teeth and with a flat expression—and told Her he didn’t see her like that. That She was his best friend, and he’d just never felt that for Her.

She nodded, and backed off. Smiling less and frowning more and still joking with him but never bumping their feet together under a table or leaning Her head on his shoulder.

It was what he’d wanted. She was safer, and still within Dean’s reach to just see Her, to know she was okay. But he’d never expected to touch Her again. He’d made his peace with the fact that She’d always be just a stretch away, but never his to hold.

And now he could only hold Her. Only rub Her thighs when he was thinking, only touch her face when he tried to brush Her hair away, only feel Her everywhere, every second, until he drove himself mad.

He didn’t know if he wanted to thank the witch that had done this, or kill them again.

Right now he was leaning towards the later, if only because he really didn’t like seeing Her in his body. It wasn’t just weird. It was wrong.

“You’re not exactly acting like me either, sweetheart.” Dean raised his brows, and watched his own face drop into a further glower. “You’re standing too much like a girl.”

She scoffed. “What the fuck does that even mean-“

“You’re too relaxed-“

“Relaxed?”

“Yeah.” He tried to raise his chin, but Her hair fell in his face again. He didn’t know how the hell he was suppose to do anything when he had to keep it out of his face. “And you gotta walk slower. We’re not in a rush-“

“I’m in a rush! I told you, Dean, I don’t like this-“

“I’m not a big fan either!” He snapped. “But what the hell are we suppose to do about it? Every time we’ve tried to tell Sammy he hasn’t heard us-“

She rolled Her eyes. And they were Dean’s eyes, but that was Her eye roll. “That’s the curse, dumbass. We have to break it-“

“I got that, sweetheart, but I’m not seeing how you plan to do that without help-“

“I have you, Dean.” Her voice—his voice—was louder. Firmer. Commanding. It made his gut warm, and his body—Her body—sit a little taller of his own accord. “You’re on research duty, buddy. Let’s go.”

Dean scowled. He hated it when She called him buddy. He wasn’t Her buddy, he was supposed to be Her-

Nothing. Dean was Her nothing, because he’d been so very careful to make and keep it that way.

And that knowledge never stopped him from wanting Her. Wanting Her so bad that, when he’d glance down at her hands, now in his control, he couldn’t stop wondering if he’d ever get to feel them like this again. Rubbing against skin and tracing over the curve of his lips and trailing nails on his legs.

It didn’t really count. That wasn’t Dean’s body that he was feeling. But the touch felt real, and he didn’t really want to let it go yet, not if this was the closest to holding Her he’d ever get. Just a small, torturous reparation for his sacrifice of never really having her, where he got to memorize Her body and keep it in his head forever.

“C’mon,” Dean said Her name, because he wanted a little more time. A longer chance to exist in this purgatory, because he’d never get the chance to fully enter heaven. “You don’t need my help-“

“Yes, I do.” She snapped, grabbing Her jacket from the bed and marching to the door. “Get up. We’re going.”

Dean didn’t want to get up, but Her body didn’t seem to agree with him. He pushed off the bed and gained an unsteady balance, because Her knees were oddly weak. She wasn’t weak—She hunted like an animal and had used this very body to knock Dean flat on his ass—but something was making him lightheaded and dizzy.

He was probably just hungry. They hadn’t eaten since the curse hit.

“If we’re doing this,” he grumbled, shuffling to put on Her shoes. “We’re doing it with food.”

“Deal.” She tried to shrug on Her jacket, froze when it didn’t fit around Dean’s body, and chucked it right at his face. “Wear that. I don’t want you getting me a cold.”

Dean rolled his eyes, but put on the jacket. She was already pissed, and this wasn’t worth fighting about.

“This is so weird,” She mumbled, shaking Dean’s head. “C’mon, Winchester, we’re fixing this-“

“Wait,” Dean frowned, patting his pockets—Her pockets—and scanning around the motel room. “Where are my keys-“

“You mean these keys?”

He turned to see Her holding up the Impala’s keys, a shit-eating grin on Her face.

Dean narrowed his eyes, holding out his hand. “Gimme my keys.”

“No.” She shrugged, Her grin growing. “I think I’m good.”

“I’m not asking, sweetheart-“

“Okay. You take them, they’re yours.”

She walked out of the motel room, and Dean’s eyes widened. There was no fucking way She was driving his car.

“They are mine!” He shouted, sprinting after Her. “Just cause you’re in my damn body-“

Her body was faster than Dean was used to. He almost slammed right into Her back—His back—and an undignified sound left his when Her arms wrapped around his waist, catching him from a fall and holding him right to Her chest.

He’d never realized he was that broad. Or that strong. She was holding Dean like he was paper, and looking at him with shining eyes—he could see the real Her almost glowing in his body—and grinning with Her whole face. Dean’s whole face, with crinkles near his eyes he hadn’t known he had, and stubble on his jaw he’d meant to shave today.

Her hands were rubbing his waist. It was the small, careful circles he always dreamt of leaving on Her hips and arms.

He wasn’t sure She knew she was doing it.

“Uh,” Dean cleared his throat, because She needed to let go now. Her touch was burning on his body, and they hadn’t really touched since the curse hit, so maybe they weren’t allowed to. “Keys.”

She shook Her head. “This is my one chance to drive, Dean-“

“It’s my freakin’ car-“

“And I’m you.” She raised Her brows, still holding him, and the fiery feeling got worse. “I’m driving.”

He should’ve fought more. But Her hand squeezed him lightly, and his whole body grew molten.

She needed to let go of him now.

He tried to grunt Her name, but it just came out breathy and soft. “You crash it-“

“I pay for the repairs.”

Dean scowled, but gave in. Right now She was stronger and taller than he was, and Dean didn’t really want to lose any dignity trying to physically take the keys.

And She didn’t crash it. Dean watched Her drive with careful attention—grumbling about what She was doing wrong until She shot him the deadliest glare he’d ever seen—and She never even came close to crashing. Her hands were big and firm and broad on Baby’s wheel, and Her arms would flex when she shifted the wheel, and there was a set look of determination on Her face that made her jaw look shaper-

That was not Her jaw. That was his jaw. And his arms, and his hands, and he wasn’t sure why the hell his eyes had been wandering over himself like that. He didn’t know why the hell he could feel his heartbeat in his throat and stomach.

He wasn’t in full control. When they parked, his body didn’t want to move until She helped him out of his seat, and Dean didn’t miss the look of confusion on Her face, like she wasn’t entirely certain why She’d done that. It was the same expression she had when She guided him inside, or when She opened the door for him.

Those were things Dean always did for Her. He wasn’t used to a hand on his back, or how nice it felt there. Secure, like a tether that told him he’d be alright. He didn’t understand why his body leaned closer to Her’s as they walked, or why his stomach kept doing little flips when Her eyes would fall from scanning over the diner and land on his.

He felt so unbelievably safe and calm. Hell, he’d never felt like this. Like the sky could fall and it would be fine, because the body across from his in the booth would catch it.

This was a really weird curse.

“You’re going to take notes,” She said, pushing a stack of books across the table that She must have pulled out of her ass. “I’ll look for something online.”

Dean frowned, shaking his head. The fucking hair was in his face again. “Why do I have to do the notes-“

“Because I have better handwriting, and you have my hands.” She handed him a notebook and pencil, and their fingers brushed, sending small sparks of electricity through Dean’s blood. “Tell me if you find something.”

“Nah, sweetheart. I think I’ll have some pie and do the online research-”

Dean had started to push everything back across the table, but he froze at the glare on Her face. It was downright domineering, and did weird things to his brain. He felt fuzzy.

“You’re doing notes.” She grunted, and Dean definitely felt at least a little dizzy. “That’s it.”

His voice was high and almost bratty in his own ears. He didn’t like it. “But-“

“Don’t test me, Winchester. I swear to god I’ll eat a salad.” Her eyes narrowed. “I’ll take you for a run.”

Dean tensed. “You wouldn’t fuckin’ dare-“

“You wanna bet?”

She’d won the argument again. Those were the arguments Dean was supposed to win. He was supposed to be able to talk his way out of anything with Her. To smirk and wink and tease Her until she broke rank from Sam’s side, and Dean didn’t have to do the stupid parts of the cases anymore. He hadn’t taken notes in years. He hated taking notes, and he wanted to keep pushing until order was restored and She was doing the notes—she usually loved doing the notes—but Her body had other ideas.

His mouth couldn’t figure out how to open and snap at Her. His body was molded and frozen into the seat whenever She’d look at him, and something kept humming in his chest whenever She’d talk. He was taking notes because he couldn’t remember how not to—how to grab the laptop or point at Her with a stern finger—and Dean’s was writing fast and neat, and his hand wasn’t cramping.

His foot kept aching to inch forward and press on Her calf. His fingers kept wanting to reach out and trace Her jaw. Dean wanted to sit on Her lap—he could never say that one aloud—because his body seemed to think it would be comfortable.

This curse was insane. He didn’t need to try and act like Her anymore, because his body—Her body—still seemed to remember how She was supposed to move. He found his hands spinning the pen between Her fingers like he’d seen her do a million times. His legs were crossed on the booth instead of spread under the table. He ordered a burger, but he couldn’t eat it. It was too greasy and heavy, and he already felt a little sick from just one bite.

She’d ordered chicken nuggets, and put Her usual disgusting amount of ketchup on the plate, but barely touched them.

They smelled really good. Dean was starving, his mouth watering as he couldn’t stop staring at them—or Her, in his body, but he didn’t really want to dwell on that—and when She glanced up at him, Her eyes flicked to the burger in front of him.

They traded plates without a word. And Dean had never seen himself eat before, but he finally understood why Sam was always so annoyed with him. She inhaled that thing, chewing loudly and wiping Her mouth with the back of her hand, licking her fingers clean and making disgusting smacking sounds-

The sounds should’ve been disgusting. Instead they settled in Dean’s gut, lighting a small fire he didn’t know how to stop feeding. He couldn’t figure out how to not stare at Her, arms braced on the table and brow furrowed as she read something on the laptop screen.

He had to excuse himself to go get more drinks.

“One beer.” He muttered, then immediately cringed. Beer sounded foul to his mouth. “Actually, make it a milkshake.”

“Hey, darlin’.”

Some poor chick at the bar war probably getting hit on. The lady behind the counter seemed motherly. She’d handle it if it got out of hand, and Dean had bigger problems to deal with anyway. Problems like how if he didn’t have a milkshake right now, he might actually die.

“What flavor, sweetheart?” The server asked, and Dean frowned. Being called sweetheart was weird.

He responded with Her usual order—hopefully that would satisfy his unwelcome craving—and someone off the side cleared the throat.

“You gonna answer me?”

A hand landed on Dean’s arm, and he flinched. It felt clammy and wrong on his body. Like a weight that settled into his bones and sent a creeping, itchy feeling over his skin.

He turned to see a fairly tall, well-built man grinning at him with an almost predatory smile. It made his body go rigid, almost shrinking in on itself.

“Are you, uh,” he frowned. “You talking to me?”

The man laughed. It was too loud, with not warmth, and echoed like a gunshot in his skull. “Course I am, sweetheart. I don’t see any other pretty girls ‘round.”

Oh.

Dean was the poor chick being hit on.

And he hated it. His body hated it. Not only was this man’s touch wrong, his voice was wrong. It slithered over Dean’s gut and chest, making everything in him recoiled and balk, because that was not how he was supposed to be called sweetheart.

“I, um,” he glanced back to the booth, frowning when he realized She was gone. “Listen, dude, I’m not-“

“Dude?” The man laughed. “We can do better than that, baby-“

Dean might have visibly recoiled. He hated baby, only one voice felt like it was supposed to call him baby, even if it never had-

He didn’t know what was happening, or why he was having such a visceral reaction to something that should’ve been passive and boring. Dean knew She got hit on all the time, because she was a fucking knockout, and his usual reaction to it was a possessive anger he had no right to feel. Not disgust, or a weird desire to retreat and hide-

“What’s going on?”

That was Dean’s own voice. And there was a large presence behind him that felt reliable. That his body wanted to lean back into.

When Dean turned, She was right there with narrowed eyes.

He didn’t love how he immediately felt better, and softer, and a little light-headed.

“Hey, man, you gotta wait your turn-“

“My turn?” She snorted. “Walk away from hi- her, buddy, or I’ll kick your ass. I can do that now.”

She puffed Her chest, and—as soon as his brain remembered how to not be static warmth—Dean would have to talk to Her about not abusing his body for unapproved bar fights.

The man scoffed. “Bro, there ain’t no way this is your girl-“

“She is.” Her voice was dry, her face flat. “In more ways than you can imagine. Go.”

Dean was starting to like this curse less. To start, he didn’t appreciate the speed at which the idea of Her being his girl had been dismissed. He also wasn’t a huge fan of how She’d called him his girl, and he’d liked it. She’d been talking about how Dean was in Her body, and she probably didn’t want a random creep trying to get in her pants.

Dean’s body—Her body—loved the sound of Her agreement in his voice. It made him feel tingly.

It didn’t help how She was touching him—holding his arms as She glared at the man over his head—and it kicked the feeling from a soft, warm hum to fireworks. Dean wanted Her hand to meld there and never let go. When the man walked away and She started talking, he never wanted Her to shut up.

“You-“ She swallowed, shaking Her head slightly. “Never mind. I found it.”

Dean blinked at Her. “It?”

“How to tell Sam.

“Oh.” He paused, mostly staring at her as the words sank in, and letting out a long breath of relief escape him when they did. “Awesome.”

She raised Her brows. “You’re pro switching back now?”

“I’ve always been pro switching back-“

“You said it wasn’t that urgent.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “I changed my mind, sweetheart. What’d you find.”

She gave him an odd look—Dean couldn’t tell if it was hurt, annoyance, or absolute indifference—but continued. “We have to work around the curse.”

“What the hell does-“

“We can’t tell Sam that I’m you and you’re me. Every time we have the call gets dropped, or something loud has drowned us out, Sam’s literally fucking hangs up-“

“I know,” Dean drawled Her name, giving Her a flat look. “I was there for all of that-“

“Shut up. My point is every time we’ve tried to explicitly tell him, he hasn’t heard us. So what if we just don’t?”

Dean frowned at Her. “Your solution is to just freakin’… give up? Like we’re a kiddie soccer team that lost one to many matches, and we’re gonna quit and cry about it?”

“No, Dean. My goal is to not say it, but let Sam figure it out himself.”

“How-“

“Think of something only you and Sam know about. Something you’d never disclose to anyone else.” A wide, broad grin was stretching over Her face. Dean’s face.

He couldn’t keep living like this.

“We’ve got a few of those kinds of secrets, but I’m not-“

“You don’t have to tell me. You have to tell Sam, in my voice. Just like I’m going to say one of our secrets in your voice.”

It was a smart plan, and it would probably work. Sam knew She and Dean were being so annoying and weird about each other, so they wouldn’t be spilling deep, dark secrets anytime soon. Sam would hear them, and he was smart, so he’d figure them out.

But Dean was mostly stuck on the last part of that sentence.

“You and Sammy have secrets?”

She rolled Her eyes. “We’re friends. Of course we have secrets.”

“About what?”

“It’s not a secret if I tell you.”

She crossed Her arms—Dean’s arms—and he wanted them to wrap around him and keep him warm and safe, maybe choke him a little or carry him around everywhere like he was the only thing She was meant to hold-

Jesus.

“Whatever.” Dean muttered. He needed to get away from Her now. “I’m going to the bathroom.”

She frowned. “Can you hold it?”

“Yeah, but why the hell would I-“

“I don’t want you peeing in my body.”

Dean snorted. “Are you freakin’ serious-“

“Yes! You’ll have to wipe-“

“I know how to wipe, sweetheart. And you’re gonna need to take me to piss eventually-“

Dean could swear She blushed. He blushed. Goddamnit.

“I’d hold it.” She snapped, standing a little taller. “You can go back at the motel, where I can go with you.”

“Why would you need to go with me-“

“I don’t want you touching me there, Dean!” Her voice was a low, hushed shout. “It’s- You don’t get to- I’d need to wipe, and make sure you didn’t look!”

“It’s just a pussy,” he said Her name slowly, and She looked like she was going to kill him.

His horrible body—Her body—wanted to either give in or push harder, until She snapped him in half.

It seemed to like the idea of Her giving him anything at all.

Dean could work with that.

“Dean, I’m fucking serious-“

“So am I! It’s just a body, ” He sneered, and really wished She was taller. It was hard to be firm and authoritative when She was bigger.

When this was over, he’d probably respect Her a little more. She shouted and him and Sammy all the time without ever flinching.

“Look, I get that this is weird as hell, but it’s nothing I haven’t seen before-”

“You haven’t seen it before. It’s my vagina, Dean, and you don’t get to see it now. Hold your piss.”

Suddenly, it clicked. She cared that Dean would be touching Her. If it was Sam, She wouldn’t give a shit.

But Dean had lost the right to touch Her there when he’d decided he could never hold Her.

It had felt like a good idea at the time. Past Dean had understood that She deserved better, and She shouldn’t have to live Her whole life with a target on Her back. Past Dean had known that She’d find better, and he’d be forgotten in a few years, and it was better for his to have another good thing slip through his fingers rather than hold it and break it. Past Dean just wanted Her to be happy and safe, and She’d never be both as long as She was attached to him.

Past Dean had been an idiot. That son of a bitch hadn’t needed to pee this bad, and he hadn’t spent months with Her just in reach.

Dean opened his mouth to say something—not an apology, because he’d make that choice in every life to keep Her safe—but before he could, She was moving. Grabbing the hook of Dean’s arm and pulling him out of the diner.

“That’s my body, Dean.” She snapped. “You’re peeing at the motel.”

Dean grumbled an agreement, and didn’t fight all that hard. He had bigger worries. She was pulling him through the parking lot, and he was letting Her. Shit, he was trying to jog a little to keep up with Her, maybe fall into her side. Just fall into Her. She opened the Impala door and he scowled, but let Her help him inside. Her hand touched his lower back again, and it set off fireworks around his ribs and through his intestines.

He felt weirdly warm and gooey, his skin was tingling again, and when he shifted slightly in his seat he could feet something wet between his legs-

Son of a bitch.

She’d been manhandling him, and he was turned on by it. Her body was turned on by it. She wanted to Dean to jump in his own body and climb it like a tree, and Jesus, that ache between his legs was unbearable, and he wanted his own cock inside off him-

They needed to fix this right fucking now.

End Note: Brace for incoming smut and silliness and angst. Brewing a perfect storm over here.

If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

Taglist

@artemys-ackles @ambiguous-avery @nightxcreature @sthefferrete @lyarr24

@deansbbyx @bakugotypecrashout @foolinthera1n @globetrotter28 @lordofthunderthr

@youdontknowe @nyrtopia @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @panicking-outside-the-disco @elle14-blog1

@impala67rollingthroughtown @dumb--blonde @itsdearapril @apobangpo-0613 @alwaystiredandconfused

@arcticwisteria @generalmoonpolice @foxyjwls007 @jackles010378 @godhelpthisbtch

@ilovedeanwinchester4 @sleepykittycx @immastealurkneecaps @star-yawnznn @maddie0101

@chi-raz @lori19 @wynnthewynnderful @redwinexsupernova @tiana-kh

@woaheasytig3r @canibeyourghoulfriend @lovelywebber @salemslostwitch @winchester-whiskey

@and-i-wish @jsudsgf

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markleessodalite · 2 days ago

Text

They Can Hear Us...: n.jm

content: bf!jaemin drags you to an event you don't really want to attend, so you try to devise an escape plan... but he's not one to be fooled.

warnings: fem!reader, lots and lots of kisses, maybe a tiny bit suggestive(?) but mostly just fluff, nothing else to warn about afaik

word count: 0.5k

a/n: i had a mini hoard of drabbles that i was saving to post later, but i've read over them so much to the point where now i hate every single one :/ but n e waiz i got some extra days off work this upcoming week and i'm hoping to do NOTHING but write the whole time :3 (also if you're one of the anons who sent in requests i promise i'm gonna get to those asap!!!)

“Jaemin! Stop. I mean it!” you half-heartedly scold your boyfriend, although your soft tone and light giggles clearly indicate a message that’s opposite to the words leaving your lips.

Jaemin plants another teasing kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Hmm, are you sure?” He kisses the tip of your nose, then your cheek, making his way down your jaw and to your exposed shoulder as he laces his fingers with yours. “Seems like you kinda like it, huh? Love this dress, by the way.” His free hand rubs gentle lines along your back, with only just enough restraint to not mess up the delicate fabric of your one-shoulder gown.

You knew he loved this dress, particularly how you look in this dress, which is exactly why you wore it to this gala. You weren’t especially excited to be here, but Jaemin was over the moon eager to take you, show you off to everyone else there, his girlfriend who looks like an absolute princess under ballroom lights with her arm linked in his. Of course, you knew that after about 5 minutes of you in this dress, he wouldn’t be able to focus on whatever charity event is going on around you two– which is how you’ve found yourself hidden in an offshoot hallway, Jaemin cornering you against the wall, planting light and playful (but very obviously needy) kisses anywhere his lips can reach.

Hey, it got you out of sitting at that boring table with those boring people listening to that boring speaker, right? All part of your coy little plan.

The only sound filling your ears now is your own soft giggles against Jaemin’s low chuckles and whispers, with him now developing a game to entertain himself with: trying to find that one particular spot that will drive you crazy.

“Here?” He plants a kiss behind your ear.

“Nope.” You bite down on your lip to stifle any noise that could possibly slip through. You may be vaguely hidden, but you’re definitely still within earshot of the rest of the gala.

“Mmm. Then… here?” He hovers around the middle of your neck before leaving another kiss.

“No…” You can’t help the giggle that slips through your teeth.

“Okay… what about… here?” He leaves a kiss in the nook between the bottom of your neck and your collarbone, before biting down teasingly, drawing a squeal from you before you can catch it.

“Jaemin!” You can’t help but laugh, amused at Jaemin’s quick victory in his own game.

“Shh! Y/n, you know they can hear us…” Jaemin buries his face further in your neck, and you look over him to see the silhouettes of the other guests, turning their attention from the monotone speaker to figure out what direction the hushed giggles are coming from.

Here it is. Exactly the opportunity you need to convince him to go home.

“Then why don’t we go somewhere they can’t hear us, Jaem?”

He lifts his head from your shoulder to look in your eyes, and you know right away he sees through your little escape plan. And he’s not falling for it.

“No. I kinda like this little game. Round two? Let’s see if you can keep quiet, babe.” He smirks proudly at your shocked face before his lips crash into your neck again, and you realize he’ll play this game he’s made up for as long as this gala lasts. Can you handle Jaemin teasing you for several more hours without making a sound?

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leonastarry · 3 days ago

Text

{ 13 } Mine. ✧. ┊ ⁭ ⁭ ⁭ ⁭s.jinwoo x fem!reader

Sung Jinwoo wasn’t the type to get jealous.

At least, that’s what he told himself.

He had fought god-like beings, commanded entire armies of darkness, and held the power to crush the world.

And yet—

None of that mattered anymore when he saw another man getting so close to you.

The scene played out like a terrible cliché: a guy in a suit at a party, smiling charmingly at you, standing a little too close. Jinwoo watched as the man leaned in, his hand casually placed on the bar counter next to you, practically trapping you inside.

Jinwoo saw red.

This was supposed to be a normal night out—a simple gala, some socializing, nothing more.

But that was before.

Your laugh rang out over the music, but Jinwoo knew that laugh. It was your polite, I-don’t-want-to-be-rude laugh. The kind you used when you didn’t want to cause a scene.

The guy leaned in even closer, and that was it.

Jinwoo moved.

Silent, precise. Shadows followed in his wake, curling around the floor like they, too, were eager to stake their claim. Within seconds, he was behind you, his presence washing over you like a wave of heat.

Then—his hands were on you.

One on your waist, the other sliding up to rest against your bare shoulder, fingers pressing into your skin just enough to remind you who you belonged to.

You stiffened briefly before relaxing into his touch because you knew.

You knew exactly who it was.

Jinwoo didn’t even glance at the man in front of you. He didn’t need to. His presence alone was enough to suffocate him.

Instead, his lips brushed the shell of your ear as he murmured, voice smooth but dangerously low—

“Are you having fun, sweetheart?”

You swallowed, turning slightly in his grip, but his hand on your waist only tightened.

“Jin—”

His eyes flickered, dark and possessive as they locked onto yours. He wasn’t angry at you—but he was something else entirely.

“You didn’t answer me,” he said softly, but there was an unmistakable edge beneath the words.

The man finally seemed to realize his mistake. He cleared his throat, attempting to step back. “I didn’t know you were with someone,” he muttered.

Jinwoo laughed.

But it wasn’t friendly.

It was low, dark, warning.

“She’s not just ‘with someone,’” he said smoothly, tilting his head. “She’s with me.”

The man swallowed hard, hands raised in surrender. “I—I was just talking to her—”

Jinwoo’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “And now, you’re done.”

That was it.

The guy mumbled an awkward excuse and practically bolted in the other direction.

Jinwoo didn’t even watch him leave.

His attention was all on you.

You exhaled, giving him a look. “Jinwoo…”

His grip on your waist didn’t loosen. If anything, he pulled you in even closer, his other hand sliding to tilt your chin up.

His dark eyes flickered, searching your expression. “I don’t like it,” he admitted. “I don’t like it when someone else looks at you like that.”

You softened, fingers grazing over his chest. “Jinwoo, you don’t have to be jealous. You’re the only one I—”

“I don’t want to hear it,” he cut you off.

You blinked.

He exhaled, then leaned in until his lips were just barely brushing against yours. “I want you to show me.”

Your breath hitched.

Because that wasn’t a request.

That was a challenge.

And you had never, ever been one to back down from Jinwoo.

You exhaled softly.

Then—

You kissed him.

Slow, deep, certain.

Jinwoo inhaled sharply, but the moment he processed it, he melted into you. His hands slid to your waist, fingers gripping you just tight enough to keep you close. His lips moved against yours, slow but desperate, as if he was drinking in your reassurance, as if he needed this to believe you were his.

You pulled back just enough to whisper, “You’re the only one, Jin.”

His breath hitched.

Then, without a word, he kissed you again—fiercer this time, tilting your head up, claiming you completely.

He didn’t need to say it.

You already knew.

You were his.

And he was yours.

#dream.✧˖*°࿐#leona.star #solo leveling #sung jin woo #sung jinwoo #sungjinwoo #solo leveling x reader #sung jinwoo x reader #sung jinwoo x y/n #sung jinwoo x you #jinwoo sung x reader #jinwoo sung #jinwoo sung x you

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i-dared-myself · 2 days ago

Text

Sick Day

Stray Kids x reader

Requested by anonymous: can u do a ninth member one where she’s feeling sick but is forced to go on stage but is like coughing and not giving it her all or something like that? I don’t know just I love your writing and I would really love if u could do that :)

You throw your legs over the side of your bed and pad over to the door. You push it open and sniffle as you go down the stairs, throat aching.

“You look pale,” Changbin remarks once you throw yourself onto the couch with a groan.

“Don’t feel good,” you mumble back. You toss an arm over your face. “I feel so gross.”

“Who’s ready for this?” Jisung screams as he rushes into the living room. You cover your face and bite back a whine at the headache he causes. “Big performance today!”

Changbin hushes him, motioning to you. “She’s sick.”

Jisung freezes, eyes widening. “That’s not good. We’re supposed to have that-“

You cut him off. “I know! You think I wanted to be sick?”

He throws his hands up and slowly backs out of the room. “I’ll go find some medicine.”

Changbin presses his hand to your forehead. “You feel warm.”

Felix walks by, frowning. “What are you doing?”

“Does she feel warm to you?” Changbin asks.

“Is this a trick?” Felix suspiciously questions. He narrows his eyes at you. “You’re… smoking hot. Sexy.”

“No!” Changbin snaps. “Does she have a fever?”

Felix’s mouth forms an ‘O’ as he approaches. He puts the back of his hand to your forehead before nodding. “Yeah, kinda.”

Hyunjin scoffs, leaning on the doorframe. “You just have cold hands. Let me see.” Hyunjin checks, before recoiling. “That’s a fever! Someone put a mask on her!”

“Has anyone used an actual thermometer yet?” Seungmin demands, hovering in the doorway. “Idiots.”

“Do we even have one?” Changbin asks. “Is it in the cabinet or…?”

Seungmin holds it up. “I heard you all shouting and grabbed it.”

Hyunjin winces. “Is it… an ass one?”

You duck behind Changbin. “It better not be!”

“It’s not! It goes under the tongue!” Seungmin rolls his eyes. “Come here.”

You reluctantly walk over, opening your mouth. He sticks it under your tongue, eyebrows pulling together when it beeps and flashes red.

“Fever,” Seungmin confirms.

Jisung sprints inside, juggling bottles of medicine. “What are your symptoms? We need to find the one that matches exactly with it.”

Felix peers at the bottles before taking one and inspecting the label. “This one is just vodka.”

Minho shuffles in, rubbing at his eyes. He yawns before noticing everyone. “Whats going on?”

“She’s sick,” Changbin announces. “Don’t tell Chan.”

You perk up. “Why not?”

“He’ll worry the whole time,” Hyunjin chimes in. “If you take some medicine you’ll be fine. Okay, maybe not fine, but he’ll worry himself sick if he hears.”

“And we don’t need two sick members,” you agree. “Okay, no one tell him.”

Minho clicks his tongue disapprovingly. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“Nonsense,” Jisung says as he pours some medicine for you. “Now take these drugs.”

“Don’t say it like that!” Felix pinches the bridge of his nose. “That’s so- Just don’t do that.”

Jeongin wanders into the living room. “Who’s making breakfast? We leave in an hour and I’m hungry. I could eat a horse. Or Hyunjin would work. Pretty much the same thing.”

Hyunjin smacks the back of Jeongin’s head. “Careful. I haven’t had my coffee yet and am not in a good mood.”

Chan tugs at the strings of his hoodie. “What’s going on?”

You force a smile and push away the pounding headache. “Nothing.” You turn around and take the cup of medicine from Jisung, downing it like a shot.

Chan scratches the back of his neck. “Okay then… Is everyone ready for today?”

You nod confidently, although it’s definitely not how you feel inside. “Yes. Very.”

Chan smiles softly. “Good. You’ll be great.”

Your stomach tumbles at his words. You really don’t need another reminder. This is your first time taking such a main spot. You’ll be in the front for the majority, being main vocalist.

And you’re sick.

Chan rolls up his sleeves. “I guess I’ll cook breakfast, then. You all be ready to go when it’s time.”

Felix grins, freckles scrunching up. “Sir yes sir.”

Chan points a finger at him. “You. You’ll be my kitchen helper for that.”

Felix sighs and his shoulders slump, but he obediently trails after Chan into the kitchen. “Sir yes sir.”

“Stay strong,” Jeongin whispers to you. He clenches a fist. “Fight the patriarchy!”

You bury your face in your hands. “Jeongin… No…”

Changbin grins, seemingly intent on making you suffer. “Down with the patriarchy!”

Seungmin pumps his fists, eyes glinting with mischief. “Up with the matriarchy!”

Jisung eagerly joins in. “Mommies rise up!”

Everyone stared at him.

Minho breaks the silence. “What?”

Jisung laughs nervously. “I was just… doing what everyone else was.”

“You really weren’t.” Hyunjin shakes his head.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You grip your microphone tightly. You’re fairly certain that the medicine has worn off by now. You keep flashing between too hot, and too cold. Your head is pounding and your throat burns.

You adjust your belt before stepping out onto stage. The rest of your group follows shortly behind, waving enthusiastically to the crowd.

You take your place at the front, listening to the introductions. When they come to an end and the music begins, you raise your microphone to your lips.

And your voice rasps.

You quickly push it aside, continuing with the song. Your voice thankfully clears, but your head is growing light.

Chan shoots you a worried look a you stumble over a step. You ignore him and push through the movements.

Felix and Hyunjin rush past you, using dramatic hand gestures. Hyunjin had designed that part of the dance and was very proud of it and you’re so tired and-

You twirl in the wrong direction and Jeongin barely manages to slide around you. He plays it off with an extra movement that’s honestly impressive.

You hold off a cough long enough for Jisung’s lines to come up. You dart behind Changbin to cough, grimacing when it tastes like mucus.

Seungmin’s upper lip curls and he offers you a sympathetic look.

The rest of the group parts so you can make your way to the front. You sashay as the choreography expects, only to crumple as soon as you reach the front.

Minho falls to his knees next to you and loops his arms under yours. He drags you off the stage as the others continue with what little remains. You distantly hear Seungmin take over for you, too busy blinking to really pay attention.

Minho props you up, stroking your face gently. “Come on. Deep breaths and I’ll get you some water.”

You take a sip from your bottle when it’s offered to you. “I don’t feel good. I wanna go home.”

Minho hums and presses the heel of his hand to your forehead. “I think you have a fever.”

Chan springs backstage, eyes wide with panic. “What happened? Are you okay? Do I need to take you to the hospital?”

You cough into your elbow. “I’m fine. Just sick.” Your voice is nasally and you can’t possibly imagine how bad you just sounded on stage.

Chan’s expression shifts. “You’re sick? Why didn’t you tell me? Do you have any idea how worried I was?”

“Told you,” Minho whispers as he glides away.

“It was their idea!” Your voice is gesture to the others. “They made me! I’m just sick and you should take pity on me!”

Chan crosses his arms. “That’s no excuse. You need to tell me these things so stuff like this doesn’t happen again. Got it?”

You nod. “I got it. Totally understand.”

Chan sighs and holds out his arms. “Come here.”

You bound towards him and bury yourself in his arms. He squeezes you once before releasing you.

“Now let’s go home.” Chan takes your hand in his and guides you out the doors. “The public and press are being dealt with now. You have nothing to worry about.”

You can barely keep your eyes open by the time you reach the company van. You fall asleep on Changbin, and he carries you inside the dorms.

“Wake up,” Chan softly says. “You need medicine.”

“Drugs,” Seungmin pipes up to make you laugh. “She needs drugs.”

“Mm,” Jisung wiggles his eyebrows, “I love drugs.”

Felix spins around and marches off. “I’ll go get some juice boxes.”

Jisung cheers and runs after him. You sit up to take the medicine you’re given. It’s disgusting and you gag.

Hyunjin jumps away. “Don’t vomit on me!”

You shoot him a dirty look. “Thanks, Hyunjin.”

Jeongin pats the top of your head. “You’ll be okay. Just don’t think about how no one thinks they’re going to die because of a cold, then bam they’re dead.”

“Let’s not talk like that.” Chan swoops in to place a hand on the small of your back. “Go up to bed and get some rest. When you come down we’ll have your juice boxes and maybe even some takeout.”

You cough into the crook of your arm. “I don’t wanna sleep by myself.”

“Ew.” Hyunjin curls away from you. “Don’t infect the rest of us! You’re a walking biohazard!”

“Here.” Changbin hands you a Dwaekki. “Just throw it in the wash when you’re done covering it in disease.”

Minho clears his throat. “Or we could just burn it.”

“Did someone say bonfire?” Jisung pokes his head into the room, a crazed look in his eyes.

Taglist:

@velvetmoonlght @jinnie-ret

#skz x reader #stray kids x reader #stray kids #fluff #sickfic #they burnt down JYP’s building and all lived happily ever after

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daeniradraconis · 12 hours ago

Note

I just read age is just a number and I loved it! I would love to see more with them as y/n meets Luke’s parents and friends and the anxiety that can come with that.

Also seeing y/n in the wag life as she seemed to not know they were NHL players!

❤️

Age Is Just a Number… Right? - Part 2.

Summary: Luke Hughes, 6 years younger, seems like the perfect match—effortless and sweet. But when the reality of family, friends, and public attention creeps in, the simplicity starts to fade, and things get more complicated than expected. Welcome to Part 2 of Age Is Just a Number...Right? Warnings: Implied sexual situations, age gap (6 years), online harassment, bullying Note: Hey Lovelies! So here’s Part 2, and I’m so excited you asked for it! Thank you for requesting! Honestly, writing this was a total blast. This one’s a bit different though—it dives deeper into the challenges of the age gap and all the NHL pressure. It’s definitely not all smooth sailing, but I hope you still enjoy the drama!

Also, I swear I wanted to keep it short... and somehow ended up with 20,056 words. I just can’t do short, can I? 😂

For more fun: masterlist❤️

Six months. It’s almost impossible to believe how quickly time has passed since you first stumbled into Luke’s kitchen, skeptical, unsure of what would come next. Now, here you are—half a year into a relationship with him, and yet, some days, you still can't believe it's real.

Luke is perfect. Maybe too perfect, sometimes. He’s mature beyond his years, grounded in a way you’ve always admired but feared was too good to be true. When you first met, that six-year age gap felt like a huge mountain between you—something that might trip you up before you even got started. You worried there would be moments when he'd act too young, too impulsive, and you'd find yourself questioning whether you had made a mistake or whether he was ready for something serious.

But Luke? He’s proven you wrong over and over again.

His calmness, his commitment, and his quiet strength—it all made you realize that maybe age really is just a number. With him, you’ve never felt rushed, never pressured. It’s like he understands the pace you need to move at. He’s steady and unwavering, always ready to meet you where you are, to take it one step at a time. And that’s exactly what you needed. You weren’t ready to dive headfirst into something this serious until you knew it was real.

So you’ve taken things slow. Six months in, you’re still navigating the early stages of your relationship. You haven’t met his parents yet. You haven’t gone to one of his games—though you’d love to, just to see him in that element, doing what he loves. But you’ve both agreed that when those things happen, when you step into those parts of his world, it will be because you’re both sure of what you have. You’re building something strong and lasting.

And it hasn’t been all easy. There’s Jack, of course. He found out about you and Luke pretty much the moment you tried to sneak out after your first date. The cat was out of the bag before you even had a chance to process it. And naturally, that meant Quinn knew too, because Jack was worse than a tabloid. That boy couldn’t keep a secret if his life depended on it. Though you only saw Quinn a handful of times—mostly through FaceTime when you would pop into the background of Luke’s calls—you could always feel his eyes on you, sizing you up, assessing whether you were really what Luke needed.

You never blamed Quinn. You understood the brotherly protectiveness. It was clear from the start that Luke meant a lot to him, and anyone who stepped into his life had to be worth it. But still, you felt that unspoken judgment. That quiet skepticism that weighed on you, even if it was never voiced aloud. Jack reassured you, though. "He’s just protective," he’d say with a grin. "He’ll warm up to you. Trust me." And sure enough, as the months passed, the tension started to melt away.

It took five months before Quinn finally invited you to dinner. Just a simple gathering—Luke, Jack, you, and Quinn—while Quinn was in the city playing with the Rangers. At first, you weren’t sure how it would go. You knew it wasn’t just a dinner; it was a test. A chance for Quinn to see if what you and Luke shared was the real thing.

The moment you sat down at the table, you felt it: Quinn was watching you. Not like Jack did, with his easy humor and teasing grin, but in that calculating, watchful way that only a protective older brother could. You could almost feel his doubts lingering in the air. Was this just a phase for Luke? Something fleeting? Or was it something real?

You didn’t take it personally. It was hard, but you understood. You knew what came with being in Luke’s life. You’d heard enough stories from Jack and Luke to understand the whirlwind of the NHL lifestyle—the crazy girlfriends, the fleeting connections, the messiness. But you were different. You weren’t here for the money, the fame, or the excitement of it all. You saw Luke for who he really was—the person, the man he was becoming. You knew it wouldn’t be easy, but you were willing to take it slow, to fight for something real.

You held your ground during that dinner. You laughed, you talked, and despite the nerves, you found yourself connecting with Quinn more than you expected. Before long, you were exchanging book recommendations and recipes with him, finding that you shared more in common than you thought. For a moment, the tension eased. You realized you weren’t just some outsider in their world. You were part of it, in your own way.

By the end of the night, Quinn wasn’t just the overprotective older brother anymore. He was someone you could see yourself getting along with, someone you could trust. And he realized it too. What you had with Luke was more than just a passing fling. It was real.

As you looked across the table at Luke during that dinner, his smile so full of pride and warmth, you knew the slow burn of the past months had been worth it. Every carefully measured step, every moment of uncertainty had led to this. The connection you were building with Luke was undeniable, and you were ready for what came next.

With him. For the long haul.

—

The apartment is quiet, save for the soft rustle of pages turning.

You’re curled up on one end of the couch, a book in your hands. At least, it looks like you’re reading, but not a single word has registered in the last fifteen minutes. Across from you, Quinn is stretched out in the armchair, legs casually crossed at the ankle, his own book open in his lap. He’s in town for a game—the Canucks played the Devils last night—but instead of heading straight home for the short break in the season, he decided to stay an extra night. It made sense, with the Michigan trip tomorrow. The four of you—Quinn, Luke, Jack, and you—would be flying out together to celebrate Ellen’s birthday. And since he doesn’t get to see his brothers often, he’s crashing at the apartment for the night.

Unlike you, Quinn actually seems to be reading, his face neutral, focused, like he’s in his own world. Meanwhile, you’re pretty sure you’ve bounced your knee up and down at least twenty times in the last half hour.

Quinn doesn’t even look up when he says, “You’re fidgeting.”

You blink, caught off guard. “What?”

He finally glances at you, raising an eyebrow. “You keep moving. And you’ve been staring at the same page for about ten minutes now.”

You sigh, closing your book with a little more force than necessary. “Didn’t realize you were keeping track.”

Quinn shrugs without breaking his gaze from the page. “Hard not to when you’re sighing like someone just called you for a penalty in overtime.”

You can’t help but laugh softly, but it doesn’t last long. Instead, you stare down at your book again, running your fingers over the creased edges. “I’m just… nervous about tomorrow.”

Quinn doesn’t react immediately, but you can tell he’s listening.

You take a deep breath and exhale slowly. “Meeting Ellen and Jim, the whole Michigan trip. Luke’s friends. It’s a lot.”

“They already know about you,” Quinn points out. “Jack made sure of that.”

You roll your eyes, dragging a hand over your face. "Yeah, because Jack never shuts up. Honestly, I'm surprised it took him seven months to blurt it out on FaceTime."

Quinn chuckles, the sound soft and amused. “Yeah, he’s not exactly the type to keep things to himself.”

You smile faintly but shake your head. Jack could be annoying as hell sometimes, but you'd grown to appreciate his cheeky style—though you’d never let him know that. Giving him the satisfaction would only make him worse.

"Still," you continue, "knowing about me is different from actually meeting me. I don’t know... I guess I just feel like I have to prove myself. Like, I need to show your parents I’m good enough for Luke."

At that, Quinn tilts his head, his expression softening with something you didn’t expect—understanding.

“I get that,” he says quietly.

You glance at him, surprised. “You do?”

You blink, taken aback. Quinn always came across as confident, wise—sometimes quiet, but never unsure.

You’re about to ask him to elaborate when he continues, his voice slower now, more reflective.

"Jack’s always been the effortless one, you know?" he starts, a hint of admiration in his voice. "He walks into a room, and people are just drawn to him—like it’s second nature. That charm, that ease… he’s always had it."

There’s no bitterness in his voice—just truth. And you get it. Even though Jack can be a lot at times, Quinn’s right. He’s got that natural charm that makes it impossible not to like him, even when he’s being the most annoying person on the planet.

“And Luke…” Quinn’s voice falters for a second, but he recovers quickly."Luke’s a phenomenal player—and the kindest person you’ll ever meet. I can still hear Dad saying, ‘Look at him, Quinn. He’s only eight, and he’s already better than you were at that age.’"

You frown, your heart tightening slightly, but Quinn keeps going, his words surprisingly soft.

"I had to work my ass off just to keep up," he admits, his gaze dropping to his lap. "Growing up with brothers like mine... it was impossible not to notice the difference. Jack walks into a room, and people light up—he doesn’t even have to try. Luke picks up a stick, and it’s like the game was made for him. They were special. Everyone saw it. Everyone told them. And me? I was good, but never in the way they were. Never effortless. Never undeniable…So I pushed myself. Skated longer, trained harder, did everything I could to close the gap. Because if I wasn’t a prodigy like Luke or magnetic like Jack, I had to be something. I had to earn my place. Prove I belonged. Not just to everyone else, but to myself."

A tightness settles in your chest as his words sink in, striking a little too close to home. You loved being with Luke—he was the best thing that had ever happened to you. But sometimes, the weight of not feeling special enough to be with him was suffocating.

“It’s easy to get caught up in that,” Quinn adds, looking at you now. “Thinking you have to earn your place, like if you don’t, people will start to see you for what you ‘really’ are—not enough.” He gives you a sharp look, and his voice drops a little, more serious. “It’s good to have that drive in sports, but if you start believing you only deserve love and kindness if you prove it every day, it’ll eat you alive.”

Your throat tightens as you meet his eyes. There’s something in Quinn’s expression that feels like he’s not just talking about you—but about himself, too.

“But it’s bullshit,” Quinn continues, the gentleness in his tone surprising you. “People who matter will love you for who you are. You don’t have to prove yourself. Not to Luke, not to anyone. If they don’t see you for what you’re worth—what you bring to the table—it’s their loss.”

You let his words sink in, the knot in your stomach loosening just a little. You want to believe him.

But before you can say anything, the front door swings open with the usual creak, and Jack’s voice fills the apartment.

The familiar sound of Jack and Luke bickering fills the apartment. You steal a quick glance at Quinn, trying to pack everything you feel into one look. You want to thank him for opening up, for comforting you. You want to say something that might ease whatever’s been weighing on him too—tell him you’re sorry he had to go through all of that, and that if he ever needs someone to talk to, you’ll listen.

Quinn meets your gaze, and for a moment, he just nods, a small but genuine smile crossing his face—one that says more than words ever could. Then, without a word, he turns back to his book, flipping the page as if nothing happened..

“Dude, you definitely ate half of my roll!” Jack complains, his voice sharp with outrage as he and Luke walk in.

“I didn’t eat half your roll,” Luke counters, rolling his eyes as he kicks the door shut behind him. “I paid for the sushi, Jack. That means I can eat whatever I want.”

Jack huffs dramatically, holding up the takeout bags as if they’re the most precious thing in the world. “You hear that, Quinn? Our baby brother is robbing me blind. I’m practically starving over here.”

Quinn, still curled up in the armchair, doesn’t even glance up from his book. “Sounds like a you problem.”

Luke grins, completely unfazed by Jack’s theatrics. “Yeah, because that makes total sense. I’m here plotting to steal all of your sushi.”

Jack dramatically sighs, but there’s a grin tugging at his lips despite his best efforts. “Whatever, dude. You owe me a roll. Just keep track of it.”

Luke shrugs, tossing the sushi bags onto the counter as if it’s all water under the bridge. “I’ll pay you back next time. Maybe.”

With that, Luke crosses the room and heads straight for the couch where you're sitting. You glance up just as he sits down next to you, his body naturally leaning into yours. Before you can even process it, his lips brush softly against your temple, the gentle touch making your heart skip a beat.

“Miss me?” Luke asks, his voice light, teasing, but there’s something warm behind his words.

You smile, leaning into him slightly. “You were gone for like five minutes.”

Luke gasps, pretending to be hurt. “Five minutes is a lifetime! You should’ve missed me way more.”

You laugh, nudging him with your elbow. “You’re so dramatic.”

“Maybe. But I’m dramatic because I love you,” he says, his voice turning soft as he tucks a loose strand of your hair behind your ear. “I’ll never apologize for that.”

You feel your heart soften, the quiet between you settling in. It’s easy with Luke. Too easy, like you’ve always been meant to share moments like this.

Meanwhile, Quinn is still immersed in his book, but you can hear the soft chuckle in his voice when he finally looks up. “You two are ridiculous.”

Luke grins, glancing over at him with a playful spark in his eyes. “I’m sorry, Captain. Did we interrupt your important reading time?”

Quinn rolls his eyes, but there’s a smile tugging at his lips. “You’re lucky I have important things to do.”

Luke nudges you gently. “Guess we’ll leave you to your important work then.”

Just as you’re about to respond, the bathroom door flies open, and Jack steps in, fixing Luke with a sharp look. "I swear, you took half my roll, but I’ll let it go—just so you can appreciate what an amazing brother I am."

Luke doesn’t miss a beat, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, thanks for your endless generosity, Jack.”

Jack shakes his head,“You’re impossible. But whatever, I’ll live.” He glances at Quinn. “You guys hungry?”

Quinn looks up from his book and shrugs, a small smirk on his face. “Yeah, alright. Let’s eat.”

Luke’s arm stays comfortably around your shoulders, pulling you in a little closer as Jack starts unpacking the sushi. He hands you a roll, and without hesitation, you take it, offering a piece to Luke, who grins at you.

“You sure you want to give me that? I might eat it all,” he teases, leaning in to take the piece from your fingers.

You roll your eyes but laugh. “It’s yours, baby. I’m just being nice.”

He takes it anyway, his lips brushing your hand for just a moment. “I’ll always accept nice,” he says, his voice warm and low.

Meanwhile, Quinn and Jack are fully engaged in their own conversation across the room.

“Wait, seriously? You're not hooking up with anyone?!” Jack asks, biting into his roll and glancing over at Quinn. His tone is a mix of playful curiosity and teasing challenge.

Quinn furrows his brow, unsure where this is headed. “Jack…I’ve got other things on my mind right now,” he replies, trying to sound casual but ending up a little too defensive.

Jack raises an eyebrow, his lips curling into a smirk. “Other things, huh? Like you are too busy brooding about your love life?”

Quinn shoots him a look—part amusement, part mild annoyance—but it’s clear there’s no real heat behind it. “I’m not brooding, Jack.”

Jack leans in, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Sure about that? You’re the type who could use a little fun, y’know. Just a little something to shake things up.”

Quinn sighs, pushing his sushi aside and leaning back slightly. “I’m having fun, Jack. But I don’t need drama or... random hook-ups like you.”

“Oh, come on,” Jack waves a dismissive hand, grinning. “Hook-ups aren’t drama. They’re just... passing moments. You should try it.”

You glance at Luke, stifling a grin as the brothers bicker. Luke notices and leans in, his breath warm against your ear. “Bet you ten bucks Quinn secretly thinks Jack needs a relationship.”

You chuckle softly, meeting his gaze. “You’re probably right.”

Luke shrugs, his grin sly. “He’s a good big brother, always looking out for Jack. But Jack’s more about living in the moment. Quinn doesn’t get that.”

As Jack continues —now full-on teasing about a girl he’s seeing—Quinn leans back, his patience clearly wearing thin but he’s trying to remain composed. “It’s not just about fun, Jack,” he says, his voice steady but earnest. “You need stability. You can’t just hop from one person to the next and think it’s gonna mean anything.”

Jack leans forward, his grin not faltering. “Who said anything about it ‘meaning’ anything? I’m just here for the ride, bro. You should try living in the moment sometime.”

Quinn shakes his head, voice calm but resolute. “Living in the moment is fine, but you can’t run from what really matters forever.”

Jack shrugs again, his smirk widening. “The ‘real thing’? Overrated.”

Luke leans in closer to you, his voice dropping to a soft whisper. “I’ll never be ‘overrated,’ right?”

You laugh, nudging him playfully. “Never,” you reply, your voice light with amusement.

Luke’s fingers brush yours as he takes another piece of sushi, then presses a quick kiss to your cheeks, his breath warm against your skin. “Good. Because you know, you’re my real thing,” he says, so quietly that only you can hear.

Your heart flutters as you look up at him, the familiar comfort of his presence pulling you away from the noise around you. Jack and Quinn’s voices fade into the background. Everything feels easy and relaxed, like you could just stay in this moment.

You lean back against Luke, resting your hand on his thigh, your fingers moving in soft, slow circles. You let his words sink in, the quiet meaning behind them making you feel warm, sparking something inside you.

Luke’s voice drops again, near a whisper in your ear. “You’re not listening, are you?”

You shake your head, a soft smile playing on your lips. “Too distracted.”

Luke’s grin widens, his arms tightening around you. “I’m distracting, huh?”

“Definitely,” you reply, the heat of his touch quickening your pulse just a little.

In the background, Jack’s voice rises in exaggerated complaint. “You really need to get a life, Quinn. I’m starting to think you’re allergic to fun.”

Quinn chuckles under his breath, the familiar rhythm of their sibling banter carrying on.

You close your eyes for a brief moment, listening to their back-and-forth, the warmth of Luke’s body beside you, the comfort of silence between you two that feels more intimate than words ever could. This moment—this quiet, easy, perfect moment—feels like something you never want to let go of.

—

Quinn was wrong. Ellen didn’t just dislike you—she made it clear from the start that you weren’t welcome. You still couldn’t figure out why.

You’d arrived in Michigan just a day ago with the boys. Jim, their dad, picked you all up from the airport, and he couldn’t have been kinder. He gave you a big, welcoming hug and even cracked a funny joke about his son. He said he’d always known Luke would end up with an older woman because he was the smartest and most mature of the bunch. Jack and Quinn didn’t seem too thrilled with the comment, but you couldn’t help but feel relieved by Jim’s warmth. He reminded you a lot of Luke—witty, laid-back, and effortlessly easy to talk to.

But when it came to Ellen, it was a completely different story. From the moment she saw you, she made sure you knew you weren’t welcome. Her “kindness” was stiff and calculated. She didn’t ask a single question, didn’t accept your offer to help clean up after dinner, and every time you spoke, she responded with nothing more than the bare minimum. It was so painfully obvious that, by the end of the night, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. The boys didn’t seem to notice at first, but the tension between you and Ellen only grew, and it soon became obvious to everyone.

After everyone had gone to rest, you sat down on Luke’s childhood bed, the weight of the evening settling heavily on you. Your chest tightened, and you almost couldn’t hold back the tears.

"Hey," Luke said, his voice gentle as he cupped your face. He sat beside you, pulling you into his lap. "I’m so sorry, darling," he murmured, his voice soft with concern. "I don’t get it. I’ve talked about you with her, and she never said anything. I thought this would be easy... but I’ll talk to her. I promise."

You let out a shaky breath, leaning into him as his warmth surrounded you.

You nestle into Luke’s chest, letting his warmth pull you in. His arms tighten around you, offering comfort, but a familiar knot forms in your stomach—one you hadn’t expected to feel again. The way Ellen had treated you, the coldness in her eyes—it hit you harder than you wanted to admit. The doubt that had been lurking in the back of your mind since the beginning, started to creep back in. The same insecurity, the same fear you’d been trying to shake off for months.

You swallow hard, but you don’t let your voice shake as you speak. “It’s not your fault, Luke,” you say, your words soft, almost too soft. “It’s just... she made it feel like I don’t belong here, you know? Like I don’t fit with your family.”

Luke brushes his fingers through your hair, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head. “You do belong here. I want you here, always,” he murmurs, his voice steady, but you can hear the underlying concern in it.

You nod, but deep down, you’re questioning everything. Am I really good enough for him? That age gap—the thing that had once seemed so insignificant now feels like an undeniable wall, one you can’t climb over. And if Ellen can see it, if she can feel it, maybe it’s a sign that you don’t truly fit into his world after all.

“Maybe... maybe I’m just not what you need,” you whisper, the thought slipping out before you can catch it. “Maybe it’s just harder for me than I thought.”

Luke freezes for a moment, his breath catching as he pulls back slightly to look at you. His eyes are soft, searching, and he lifts your chin with his fingers so you’re forced to meet his gaze.

“What do you mean by that?” His voice is low, gentle, but there’s an edge of worry in it.

You take a shaky breath, fighting back the wave of emotion threatening to overwhelm you. You can’t explain it without sounding ridiculous, so instead, you focus on the doubt tormenting you. “I just... I don’t know. I keep wondering if I’m enough for you. If the age gap will always be something that... that people notice. Or if your family will ever accept me for who I am, not just because I’m with you.”

Luke’s expression softens even more, and he pulls you close again, this time more firmly. “Listen to me,” he says, his voice serious but full of tenderness. “I don’t care about the age gap. I don’t care about what people think or what my family thinks. All that matters is us—what we have together. And if they can’t see that, it’s their problem, not ours.”

You close your eyes for a moment, trying to absorb his words, but the uncertainty still lingers, tucked into the corners of your mind. Luke’s arms tighten around you again, and you feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against yours. He doesn’t say anything more, just lets the silence settle around you, and you let yourself lean into him completely, allowing the weight of everything to fall away—if only for a little while.

“I just want you to know that I’m here,” he adds quietly, his voice almost a whisper now. “No matter what, I’m here. And I’m not letting you go.”

—

The next morning, as the birthday party for Ellen kicks off, the energy in the house is a bit brighter, but your nerves are still on edge. The situation with Ellen hasn’t improved, and you're doing your best to push the unease to the back of your mind. Guests begin to trickle in—family, friends, everyone buzzing around and chatting—but you feel like you're still on the outside, quietly observing.

As soon as Luke’s friends walk in—Ethan, Mark, and Dylan—the room instantly fills with their loud, boisterous energy. You feel a flutter of nerves, but Luke catches your eye, offering you a warm smile and a reassuring squeeze on your shoulder. You stand a little taller.

Ethan is the first to notice you, his gaze flickering between you and Luke.Luke gives a quick, casual introduction, but before you can even get a word in, Ethan’s brow arches, and a kind smile spreads across his face.

"Well, look at this," he says, his voice teasing but laced with curiosity. "Didn't think you'd go for someone a little... more seasoned."

Mark grins and nudges Luke’s shoulders playfully. "Of course he would, Ethan! Luke’s always been Mister Serious when it comes to love. But man, you really hit the jackpot here. Didn’t think you had it in you."

You can’t help but blush a little at their teasing, your cheeks warming. “What can I say? He’s got great taste,” you reply with a playful smile, then turn to Luke, your gaze warm. “And sure, he’s younger—but trust me, he’s all man. And he deserves someone who sees that.”

For a moment, the teasing fades. There’s a brief pause as the words settle in. Luke’s expression shifts, his eyes lighting up with something close to pride. A slow, knowing smile spreads across his face. Without hesitation, he pulls you a little closer, his arm resting around your waist—not for show, not to prove a point, just because it feels right.

Ethan lets out a small laugh, shaking his head. “Alright, alright. I get it. Guess Luke’s not the only one serious about this. You finally found someone who’s in it for real.”

Mark nods, his usual joking tone giving way to something more genuine. “Yeah. Honestly, I wish you could’ve heard all the whining before you two got together.”

“Oh, it was painful,” Dylan adds, shaking his head dramatically. He drops his voice lower, mimicking Luke in an exaggerated, desperate tone. “‘Oh, guys, I just want someone who actually wants something real…’”

Ethan clutches his forehead like he’s in distress. “‘Yeah, all the hot girls only want situationships. It’s terrible. I don’t know how I’ll survive…’”

The group bursts into laughter, and Luke, instead of arguing, just grins wider. He shrugs, completely unfazed. “Laugh all you want,” he says, voice steady. Then he turns to you, his smile softening just a little. “But all the work I put into finding the right person? It was worth it. She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

His words land like a gentle touch against your heart, a warmth spreading deep in your chest.

The next hour passes in a blur of laughter and easy conversation. You find yourself caught up in wild university stories, each one more ridiculous than the last. The guys tease you, you fire back just as quickly, and before long, you’re all grinning like old friends. You’re relieved they don’t take the whole situation too seriously—it’s a welcome break from the weight of everything else on your mind. And right now, you could use a little lightness.

But after a while, Luke reaches for your wrist, his touch gentle but firm. “Alright, I’m stealing her for a bit,” he announces, giving the guys a pointed look. “Gotta introduce her to some family members.”

Mark groans dramatically. “Ah, yes. The official tour. Good luck.”

"Don’t let Aunt Carol talk your ear off," Dylan smirks before taking a long sip of his beer.

Ethan leans back with a knowing grin. “And watch out for the cousins—there’s like a hundred of them.”

You laugh, but as Luke leads you away, you quickly realize they weren’t exaggerating. The Hughes family is much bigger than you expected.

For the next forty minutes, you meet what feels like an endless stream of aunts, uncles, and cousins, each one greeting you with warmth and curiosity. But what surprises you most isn’t the size of his family—it’s how effortless Luke makes it all feel.

He guides you seamlessly from one introduction to the next, never once leaving your side. He carries the conversations with ease, knowing exactly when to jump in, when to steer the small talk, and when to give you space to speak. Any moment you start to feel overwhelmed, he’s there—a reassuring glance, a hand resting lightly on your back, a quiet squeeze of your fingers. It’s not just about introducing you to them. It’s about making sure you feel comfortable.

And that’s when it truly hits you.

Luke isn’t just proving something to his family and friends. He’s proving it to you.

Every touch, every word, every small moment—it’s all a reminder. A reminder that this isn’t temporary, that you’re not some passing phase in his life. You belong here, with him, in his world, and he wants everyone to know it.

More than that—he wants you to know it.

And as you watch the way he looks at you, the way he proudly keeps you close, the way he makes sure you feel seen, heard, and respected—it’s undeniable.

Luke isn’t just proud to be with you.

He’s protecting this.

Protecting you.

—

After what feels like the hundredth introduction in a row, you realize you need a break. The constant smiling, small talk, and endless new faces are starting to wear on you. Luke has been incredible—steady, attentive, making everything easier—but even with him at your side, you need a moment to breathe.

“I’m just gonna grab some water,” you tell him softly, squeezing his hand.

He studies you for a second, like he knows you’re feeling overwhelmed, but he nods. “Take your time. I’ll be right here.”

Slipping away, you make your way to the kitchen, relieved to find it empty. You lean against the counter, inhaling deeply, trying to shake the exhaustion creeping in. Just a few seconds of quiet. That’s all you need.

But then, voices drift in from the hallway.

Ellen’s voice.

And she doesn’t sound happy.

“I just don’t understand it,” she says, frustration dripping from every word. “What does she even want with him?”

There’s a pause, then another voice—her friend, quieter, hesitant. “Maybe she really does care about him?”

Ellen lets out a bitter laugh. “Oh, I’m sure she cares. Why wouldn’t she? He’s young, successful, and comes from a good family. But let’s be real—she’s not stupid. She knows exactly what she’s doing.”

Your stomach tightens.

“What do you mean?” her friend asks cautiously.

Ellen huffs. “She’s older. She knows time isn’t on her side. She’s probably already thinking about ways to lock him down before he wakes up and realizes what a mistake this is.”

Your breath catches in your throat.

“Oh, come on,” her friend murmurs. “That’s a little extreme, don’t you think?”

“Is it?” Ellen’s voice sharpens. “You know how these things go. Maybe she’s already hinting at the next step—moving in, getting engaged. And then what? A baby? Accidents happen all the time, don’t they?”

Your heart pounds.

No.

She wouldn’t—she couldn’t think that.

"That’s just the natural progression of a relationship, Ellen," her friend says, though there’s a hint of hesitation in her voice. "And she doesn’t seem like the type who would do that."

Ellen doesn’t hesitate. “Maybe not now. But give it time. She’ll make sure she’s set, one way or another. And then what? Luke’s stuck. Tied down before he’s even had the chance to live his life. He’s too young for this—he should be focused on hockey, his future, not playing house with some woman who’s way older than him.”

Your hands tremble against the counter.

She thinks you’re trapping him. That you’re manipulating him, clinging to him for his money, his name, his future. That you’re selfish enough to take away everything he’s worked for just so you can have stability.

Every ugly thought you’ve ever had about yourself, every insecurity you thought you’d buried, slams into you all at once.

You’re too old for him. He’s too young to know what he really wants. You are holding him back. Maybe one day, he will regret this.

You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to shove the thoughts away, but they keep coming. The weight of them sits heavy on your chest, suffocating.

It’s unfair. It’s cruel.

Because you know the truth.

You never wanted anything from Luke but him. His love, his presence, the way he makes you feel like you finally belong somewhere. He’s the one who pulled you in, who made you believe this could work.

And yet, here you are, listening to his own mother rip you apart like you’re nothing more than an opportunist.

Tears sting at the back of your eyes, but you refuse to let them fall.

No.

You will not let her do this to you.

You take a shaky breath, lifting your chin.

You could walk out there right now. Confront her. Demand to know how she can say these things when everyone else can see how much you and Luke love each other.

But you won’t. Not yet.

This isn’t the time, and you won’t make a scene—not at Luke’s family gathering, not when he’s worked so hard to make this day special.

Instead, you straighten your shoulders, press your palms against the counter, and take one last deep breath.

You’ll go back to Luke.

Because he is the only thing that matters right now.

But later—when the party is over, when it’s just the two of you—you will talk to Ellen.

One way or another, this conversation is happening.

Because no matter what she thinks, no matter what doubts she tries to plant in your head, there’s one thing you know for sure.

You love Luke, and you're not going anywhere. You won’t let the dark thoughts take over.

—

When the party winds down and the last of the guests have left, the house settles into a peaceful quiet, a soft hum lingering in the air. The only sounds coming from outside are the occasional bursts of laughter from the porch, where Luke and his brothers sit with Jim, sipping their drinks and listening to some old country music.

You were out there with them for a while, curled up next to Luke, letting the warmth of his presence chase away the lingering sting of what you’d overheard. But no matter how much you tried to push it down, it’s still there—Ellen’s words, the accusations, the way she spoke about you like you were some kind of threat to her son’s future.

You can’t let it go.

So you slip inside, your pulse quickening with every step through the quiet house. You find Ellen in the kitchen, wiping down the counters, her expression calm—like she hasn’t just spent the evening making you feel like a complete fraud.

She doesn’t even glance your way, let alone acknowledge you with a hi. So, you’re the one who finally breaks the silence.

“I heard what you said earlier,” you say, your voice quieter this time, but no less firm. “About me. About why you don’t think I belong with Luke.”

Ellen tenses but doesn’t look at you. Not yet. “I assume you didn’t like what you heard.”

You let out a soft, humorless laugh. “No. But I think I get it.” You hesitate for a second before continuing, forcing yourself to push past the knot in your throat. “The truth is, Ellen, I’ve had all of those same fears. Maybe even worse ones.”

That gets her attention. She looks up, eyes narrowing slightly. “What do you mean?”

You exhale, gripping the back of a chair as you gather your thoughts.

“When I met Luke, I didn’t even know who he was. I didn’t know he was in the NHL, I didn’t know he was 21. Hell, I didn’t even know his last name the first time we talked.” You shake your head, a bitter smile tugging at your lips. “If I had known? I probably wouldn’t have let myself get close to him. Because I never intended for any of this to happen.”

Ellen watches you carefully, arms crossed, but she doesn’t interrupt.

“I fought it,” you admit, voice barely above a whisper. “You have no idea how much convincing it took for me to even give this a chance. Luke… he saw something in me from the start, something I didn’t even see in myself. He was patient. He never pushed, never made me feel like I had to be anything other than who I was. And when I told him I wasn’t sure? That I was scared? He just waited. He let me take my time.”

You swallow hard, your fingers tightening around the back of the chair you’re standing behind. “That’s why we kept it quiet. For seven months, Ellen. Not because we were hiding, but because I needed to be sure. Because I needed to know that this wasn’t just some fleeting thing for him. That it wasn’t just… a phase, or a rebellion, or some naive fantasy. I needed to know that what we had was real before I let myself believe in it.”

Ellen’s expression shifts for the first time, and you catch a flicker of something—uncertainty, maybe understanding—but you still can’t read it completely.

But you’re not done yet.

“I never wanted to be some scandal. Some headline. Some… joke to people who think they know our relationship just because they know his name.” Your throat tightens, but you push through it. “I’ve never even been to one of his games. Not once. Because I’m terrified of what people will say about me. About us. About how I’m ‘too old for him’ or ‘using him’ or—” Your voice breaks slightly, but you shake your head, forcing yourself to continue.

“You think I don’t lie awake at night wondering if I’m what’s best for him? If I should just—walk away before the world does everything it can to tear us apart?” You let out a shaky breath. “Because I do.”

Ellen looks at you then, really looks at you. For the first time, she doesn’t seem like an overprotective mother searching for someone to blame.

She just looks like a mother who’s scared.

You exhale, your voice barely above a whisper as you speak, “You’re not the only one scared of me hurting him, Ellen. I’m terrified of it, too.”

Ellen listens, her eyes focused, waiting for you to continue. You swallow hard, your chest tightening as you try to steady your nerves.

“I know the fans don’t even know about me yet, but I can already see it. Once they do, it’ll blow up. All over social media, rumors flying, and people judging him—judging us—just because I’m older. I don’t want him to have to deal with that kind of pressure. Not when he’s already got so much on his plate.”

You run a hand through your hair, the weight of it all sinking in like a stone in your stomach. “And his teammates... What if it makes things weird for him? He’s worked his whole life for this. The last thing I want is to be the thing that complicates his career, or makes him feel like he has to choose between me and them.”

Your eyes meet Ellen’s, filled with doubt, uncertainty. “I just don’t know if he’s ready for all that... for everything this could mean.”

A heavy silence settles between you, not suffocating, but thick with the gravity of your words. Ellen’s gaze drops for a moment, her hands gripping the edge of the counter like she’s trying to hold herself steady, as if your fears have somehow shifted something in her.

Finally, she speaks.

“I—” She stops herself, exhales sharply. When she looks at you again, there’s something different in her eyes. Not quite acceptance, but maybe the beginning of understanding.

“I didn’t know any of that,” she admits with a flat voice.

“No,” you say softly. “You didn’t.”

She presses her lips together, glancing out the window at Luke, who’s still outside with his brothers, laughing, completely unaware of the storm brewing inside. When she turns back to you, her expression is unreadable. “You drink?” she asks, tone even.

You nod without a second thought. “I do now.”

For the first time since you walked in, the corner of her mouth twitches—just a hint of amusement, barely there but enough to notice.

—

The tension in the kitchen finally eases, and for the first time tonight, the air feels lighter. Ellen, usually so cold, is now leaning against the counter, sipping her gin and laughing with you. The sharpness in her gaze has softened, replaced with a warmth you never expected to see.

“I’ll tell you something,” she says, her words slightly slurred, “I didn’t expect this to be my night.” She chuckles, a soft, genuine laugh that catches you off guard. “But it’s good to let the walls come down every once in a while, huh?”

You nod, amused by how effortlessly she’s transformed. “Yeah, it’s surprising,” you admit, feeling genuinely relaxed now. “But I think we’re getting somewhere.”

“Oh, we definitely are,” Ellen agrees, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “But you wanna hear something really fun? Luke… oh boy, Luke was a mess with his first crush.”

Your eyebrows shoot up. “Luke? Mr. Charismatic?”

“Oh, yes,” Ellen says, practically grinning. She lowers her voice, leaning in like she’s about to share the juiciest secret. “I remember this girl. He practiced for days in front of the mirror, building up the courage to ask her to the school dance. I’m standing in the hallway, praying for him, and he goes up to her and says, ‘Hi… um… so… would you maybe… like, want to… uh, go with me to the event?’” She mimics his awkward tone, twisting her face in that exact “I’m-so-embarrassed” expression. “The poor kid froze. It was so bad, I had to leave the room because I couldn’t stop laughing.”

You try to stifle your laughter, but it escapes in a burst. “No way, Luke? He really did that?”

“Oh, yes,” Ellen confirms, shaking her head with a grin. “That’s my boy. The ‘charismatic’ one.” She takes another sip of her drink, voice dropping even lower. “But wait. There’s more.”

Your eyes widen, knowing you’re in for something worse.

“Oh yeah,” she smirks, clearly loving the moment. “Let’s talk about Luke’s first real kiss. He was about 15, hanging out at a friend’s party. He finally found the courage to kiss this girl he’d been eyeing all night, and everything was going fine. They’re talking, laughing, and then—he goes in for the kiss. And completely misses. Right past her lips, straight into her nose.” She pauses, relishing the buildup. “She’s standing there, totally confused, and Luke? He freaked out and bolted. Literally ran out of the party like a man on fire.”

You burst into laughter, barely able to catch your breath. “No way! He missed the whole thing?”

“Oh, yeah,” Ellen says, not missing a beat. “And then he spent the next hour Googling ‘how to kiss a girl.’ I had to give him a whole lesson on lip placement.” She shakes her head, still grinning. “I thought I was going to die of second-hand embarrassment.”

Just as you think you can’t laugh any harder, the door creaks open.

Jack steps into the kitchen, eyes widening at the sight of the empty bottles and the two of you clearly well into your cups.

“What the hell is going on in here?” Jack asks, a mix of confusion and amusement on his face, though his grin is practically splitting his face in two. You can tell without a doubt that he overheard your conversation with Elle. His eyes flick to Luke, who’s right behind him, his face already bright red. “Wait, you’re telling me that’s actually true? You missed your first kiss?”

Luke freezes, his eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights. “I—look, it wasn’t a big deal. I was nervous, alright? Cut me some slack.”

Jack’s grin widens, clearly delighted. “Oh man, this is perfect. Finally, something else embarrassing about Luke I can hold over his head.” He laughs to himself before adding, “I thought I knew all the stories. This one’s gold.”

Before Luke can recover, Ellen jumps in, her voice rising as she relishes the moment. “Oh, we’re not done yet, Jack. Remember when I found Luke’s ‘dating handbook’ when he was 16? A whole book, filled with tips like ‘how to avoid awkward silences’ and ‘perfect first date questions.’” She practically slams her glass down, savoring every second of Luke’s embarrassment.

Luke looks like he’s about to vanish into thin air. His hands are buried in his face, but it’s no use—his brothers are on a roll.

Quinn walks in, laughing, with Jim right behind him, grinning widely. “Wait, what? A book? Oh man, I’m dead.”

Luke tries to defend himself. “Guys, please. I was just… figuring things out.”

Jim gives Luke a dramatic pat on the back, his voice dripping with exaggerated sympathy. “Don’t worry, son. We’ve all been there. I remember when Jack asked me—at 18—how to know when it’s the right time to hold hands.” He pauses for effect, letting the silence hang. “At 18!”

You burst into uncontrollable laughter, practically gasping for air. “Oh my god, Jack?! Mr. ‘I’m your Prince Charming, Flirt King’ himself?”

Jack’s face goes pale, and his expression shifts to pure horror. It’s his turn to turn bright red now. “Dad! You promised it was gonna stay between us!”

The kitchen is filled with laughter, and your cheeks start to hurt from smiling so much.

Ellen takes another sip of her drink, a mischievous glint in her eye as she winks at you. “You think that’s bad? Just wait until I tell you about the time I caught Quinn on his computer, searching for… let’s say, questionable content. I almost had a heart attack. I thought he was watching a documentary on the history of hockey… but nope. Wrong side of the internet.” She smirks, clearly enjoying herself. “And, for the record, I learned something that day. Quinn’s type is definitely Latinas.”

Quinn, who’d been casually sipping his beer while leaning against the kitchen arch, nearly chokes on the drink. His face turns bright red as well. “MOM, STOP!”

The whole room bursts into laughter again.

Ellen, a little tipsy but clearly loving the chaos, glances at you with a softer, more genuine smile. Her voice, though still playful, carries a hint of warmth. “But Luke’s a good kid, you know. A little awkward, a little goofy, but…” She pauses, her eyes softening as she looks at Luke, then back to you. “…but he’s got a heart of gold.”

You take a deep breath, wiping away tears of laughter. “Oh, I know, Ellen. I’m one lucky woman to have him in my life.”

Luke looks at you with so much love in his eyes, his gaze shifting between you and his mother, a soft smile on his face. You can see the relief wash over him.

You wink at him, giving him a silent sign that everything is going to be alright.

Ellen takes another sip, her tone shifting into something more sincere. “I’m sorry for all the tension earlier. Luke is lucky to have you as well.”

Luke meets her eyes and sends a warm, loving smile to his mother. He steps over to you, wrapping his arm around you and planting a short, warm kiss on your forehead. “Thanks for sticking around for this disaster,” he says quietly, whispering in your ear, his voice full of meaning.

“Of course, honey! You can’t get rid of me that easily!”

—

You never imagined you’d miss Michigan that much. But back in Jersey, the difference hit you hard. Life here was faster, louder, and more chaotic. The NHL season was in full swing, and the Devils were struggling. With every loss, the pressure on Luke grew, and so did the distance between you two. His mind was consumed by the game, leaving little room for anything else. You could feel the weight of his career slowly pushing you apart. The whole situation felt like it was constantly testing your ability to balance everything, but you knew you had to figure it out.

So, without thinking too much, you made the decision to move in with Luke and Jack. You didn’t want things to feel so difficult. Luke had already sacrificed so much, supporting you through everything. Now, it was your turn to make the sacrifice—to make it easier for him.

The adjustment wasn’t instant. Between Luke’s demanding schedule and the pressure from the season, there were days when it felt like everything was pulling in different directions. But you found a way to make it work. You took a new job with more flexible hours, something that would allow you to be there for him more consistently. It wasn’t just about giving him space—it was about creating the kind of life together where you could both feel secure and steady, no matter how busy or intense his career became.

Living with Luke and Jack brought its own challenges, but it also gave you the chance to help shoulder some of the burden. You worked from home most days, only going into the office once a week. You kept the apartment tidy, cooked meals, and made sure they always had something warm to come home to. Even Jack, who kept up his usual tough-guy act, showed signs of how much the season was getting to him. You could tell the losses were affecting him too. And though Luke remained a rock for everyone around him, the weight of the season was clearly taking its toll.

Luke insisted on covering everything—rent, utilities, groceries. He wanted to spoil you, but you couldn’t just let that happen. You needed to contribute, to show that you were just as invested in making this work. You wanted to take care of him, take care of them, and make sure they all felt supported during this time of stress. The more you learned about the pressures of his life, the more you were ready to do whatever it took to ease his burden, even if it meant adjusting your own life to make it easier for him.

One evening, not long after you’d moved in, you and Luke were curled up on the couch, watching a game. You didn’t fully understand hockey, but the Leafs were playing, and if you were being honest, they were the other team you secretly enjoyed watching. In fact, if you weren’t so loyal to Luke, you might have even liked them better—something that always made him laugh. You’d deny it every time, swearing your heart belonged to the Devils, but he always saw right through you.

Between plays, Luke glanced at you, his expression turning serious. “I know you want to take things slow and everything,” he started, his fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns along your thigh. “But I was thinking… maybe you could come to my game this weekend.”

Your breath hitched slightly, and he must have noticed because he quickly added, “The guys already know about you, so it wouldn’t be a big deal or anything. We don’t have to post anything online, but I don’t want to hide you.” His voice was firm, certain. “I want the world to know you’re mine.”

You hesitated, nerves flickering in your stomach.

“The Devils are playing the Leafs,” he continued, knowing that might tip the scales in his favor. “So, technically, you’ll be seeing both of your favorite teams.”

You laughed, rolling your eyes. “You act like I’m a Leafs fan.”

He smirked. “You are a Leafs fan. You just refuse to admit it.”

A few months ago, the very thought of agreeing to this would have terrified you. The idea of stepping into the spotlight, facing criticism, and becoming visible would have been enough to send you into a spiral. But after everything you had been through with Luke, you knew one thing for sure: you trusted his love.

A slow smile spread across your lips as you nodded. “Okay. Let’s do this.”

Luke blinked, caught off guard. “Wait—that’s it?”

You laughed at his shock. “Yep, that’s it.” You leaned in, pressing your forehead against his. “Because I love you, Lukey. You stood by me when I was scared, when I didn’t trust this, when I wasn’t sure I could handle it. You were patient, you fought for us—even when your family made it hard. I want to be there for you too. I want to be the girlfriend in the stands, screaming my lungs out for you.”

His grin was instant, boyish and bright. “God, I love you,” he murmured before pulling you into a deep kiss.

You smirked as you pulled back, your fingers playing with the curls at the nape of his neck. “I can’t wait for the weekend,” you teased, watching his lips twitch in amusement as you both turned back to the game. The Leafs were destroying Montreal, and you grinned. “Do you think I can meet Woll?”

Luke groaned, shaking his head. “You’re insane,” he said, but there was nothing but fondness in his tone. “But if that’s what you want, I’ll make it happen.”

You giggled, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. “I’m just teasing. But you really are the best, honey. Thanks for offering.”

Luke’s large palm slipped under your pajama top, fingers trailing slow, teasing patterns against your skin. His touch sent a shiver through you, the warmth of his palm settling just below your ribs, dangerously close to your breast. A slow, knowing smirk tugged at his lips.

“Of course, baby,” he murmured, dipping his head to press open-mouthed kisses along your jaw. “I love seeing you happy.”

His tongue traced light, deliberate circles on the sensitive spot beneath your ear, and a soft whimper slipped from your lips.Your fingers trailed down his chest, moving lower, before wrapping around his cock in a slow, languid stroke. He tensed beneath your touch, a deep groan rumbling from his chest as his head fell against your shoulder.

"If I knew you’d be this grateful just for the chance to meet Woll," he rasped, voice thick with amusement and something darker, "maybe I should set up a whole meet-and-greet."

You chuckled, your touch slow and purposeful. “Oh, let me give you a real taste of my gratitude…”

And just like that, all thoughts of hockey, public appearances, and game-day nerves melted away.

—

The hum of the arena is deafening as you step inside, the rush of energy from the crowd crashing over you like a wave. The lights pulse overhead, casting a bright glow over the ice below. You’re here for Luke, to support him, to cheer him on the way a girlfriend should, but there’s something about this place—the cold air, the flashing cameras, the subtle glances—that makes your nerves spike.

You knew this was going to be hard.

Dating someone like Luke—someone young, rising, and constantly in the public eye—was never going to be easy. The moment your relationship became public, you knew the scrutiny would follow. You had braced yourself for it, told yourself that the people who mattered—Luke, his family, his friends—knew your heart. But now, standing in the heart of it all, the weight of their eyes on you, the quiet whispers just loud enough to hear, it felt real.

Luke had reassured you before you left. He had watched you fuss over your outfit for way too long, smoothing out invisible wrinkles, reapplying your lip gloss three times, making sure everything was just right. He had only smiled, stepping behind you in the mirror, wrapping his arms around your waist as he pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder.

“Babe, you look amazing,” he had murmured. “But none of this matters. Just enjoy the night, okay? That’s all I care about.”

You had nodded, comforted by his words, but now? Now, under the luminous glow of the arena, your stomach was twisting.

The energy inside the arena was electric, the kind of buzz that sent chills up your spine. Fans decked out in red and blue roared with excitement as the players hit the ice, their sticks tapping against the boards, the sharp sound cutting through the deafening noise. You should’ve been excited—this was Luke’s big game, your first official game as his girlfriend.

But all you felt was nerves.

You sat with the WAGs, hands folded tightly in your lap as you tried to shake off the anxiety bubbling in your chest. Some of the women were nice—really nice, actually. Reanne, Curtis Lazar’s wife, was a breath of fresh air. From the moment you sat down, she had gone out of her way to make you feel welcome, chatting with you like you’d been friends for years. She had this warmth about her, something easy and kind, and it helped, a little.

But then there were the others.

The ones who barely acknowledged your existence. The ones who offered tight, forced smiles when you caught their eye, then turned away just as quickly. And then there were the ones who didn’t bother hiding their disdain at all.

You tried not to let it get to you. You focused on the game, let Reanne fill in the gaps whenever you looked lost, and even managed to enjoy yourself. For a while, it almost felt normal.

Until you heard them.

“She’s way too old for him... And what’s with those thighs? She could crush him with those things.”

The words were whispered but loud enough to make your stomach sink.

“I know, right? She looks like she’s been spending all her time in the gym, but not in a good way. It’s like, too much muscle, too little femininity.” Another voice scoffed, clearly enjoying the cruelty.

You clenched your fists, refusing to look at them, keeping your focus locked on the ice.

You knew you were strong, and you had worked hard for the body you had. You’d been a big runner—the kind of runner who had thick thighs and a solid ass from hours on the pavement.

You used to take pride in it. It was why you crossed the finish line of that half marathon when no one thought you could.

But now, their words—those cutting comments—had you questioning everything you’d once felt proud of.

Reanne’s body stiffened beside you, her hand gripping her drink so hard you thought it might shatter. You could feel her holding back, ready to snap. But before she could, another voice joined in, the laugh sharp and cruel.

“Seriously, she has to be in it for the money. Why else would someone her age be with a kid fresh out of college?”

Laughter. Actual laughter.

Your hands clenched into fists, nails digging into your palms.

You shouldn’t care. You knew this would happen. You knew people would judge. But knowing didn’t make it easier.

And then you saw it.

A few rows ahead, a girl had her phone out, camera angled just right.

She was recording.

Your breath caught in your throat.

She wasn’t recording the game.

She was recording them. Recording their words. Recording you.

Your chest felt tight, your pulse hammering in your ears. You wanted to look away, to pretend it wasn’t happening, but you couldn’t. You were frozen, caught in this horrible moment, trapped between humiliation and the overwhelming desire to disappear.

The rest of the game passed in a blur. You barely saw Luke on the ice. You barely heard the cheers, the commentary, the final buzzer signaling the end of the third period. By the time you snapped out of it, everyone around you was standing, gathering their things, filing out toward the exits.

Reanne touched your arm gently. “Hey,” she murmured, her voice filled with concern. “Are you okay?”

You forced a smile and nodded. “Yeah, just tired.” It was a lie, but you said it anyway.

She didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t push. Instead, she gave your arm a reassuring squeeze. “Don’t let their words get to you. Luke loves you, and that’s all that matters.”

You walked out of the arena, blending into the sea of fans, trying not to let it show—trying not to let the weight of their words sink too deep.

And you almost made it.

But then, later that night, the video surfaced.

You saw it before Luke did. Before anyone did.

A clip, grainy but clear enough. Voices sneering, words like knives. The comments were already rolling in, tearing you apart.

"Imagine being this insecure 💀"

"She looks so uncomfortable, lol. Like she knows she doesn’t belong."

"Luke deserves WAY better than this. Yikes."

"She’s literally just a glorified babysitter at this point 😂"

"Does she think having a nose that big makes her look sophisticated? Girl, it’s giving witch vibes."

"Her thighs look like they belong in a bodybuilding competition, not on a woman supposedly ‘dating’ someone half her age. 🚩"

"She’s trying so hard to act unbothered, but it’s actually embarrassing to watch."

"Granny’s out here desperately trying to keep up with the younger crowd. It’s kinda sad, tbh. 👵"

"What does Luke even see in her? It’s definitely not her looks. 😬"

"Her whole vibe is just ‘clinging to relevance.’ She’s obviously using him for attention."

These were the milder ones. The others were worse—full of venom, wishing harm on you, calling you a slut, and throwing out every vile insult they could think of.

The comments made you feel sick, a weight settling in your chest that you didn’t know how to shake. You’d never felt this insecure before—not like this. You’d had your struggles when you were younger, moments of doubt about your body, but you grew past them. You were strong, healthy, confident. But now? Now, their words crawled under your skin, making you question everything. And worst of all, you didn’t know how to make it stop.

But you didn’t tell Luke.

You couldn’t bring yourself to. He was always so strong for you, always there when you needed him. You wanted to do the same for him—be there on his game day, support him, and not add to the weight he was already carrying.

So you swallowed it down.

You went home with him, pretended everything was fine, let him kiss you, let him hold you. And only when he grabbed his book and started reading, you slipped into the shower.

You strip off your clothes, the chill of the bathroom air prickling your skin. As you step into the shower, the scalding water rushes over you, its heat wrapping around you, though it does little to quiet the chaos inside. The cold porcelain presses against your back, a sharp contrast that should bring you back to the present—but even that isn’t enough. You feel trapped. The cruel words from earlier echo in your mind, the judgment, the harshness, circling you like a storm you can’t outrun.

You’re ashamed of yourself for feeling weak. For letting it get to you. But despite your best efforts to keep it together, the tears come. And this time, you don’t fight them.

They fall freely, hot and relentless, and for the first time tonight, you allow yourself to feel the weight of it all. You spend what feels like hours under the running water, each tear that falls stripping away a little more of the armor you’ve been wearing all day.

Luke knocks gently on the door after a while. His voice is soft, just outside the bathroom. “Hey, are you okay in there?”

You swallow the lump in your throat and force a shaky breath, brushing the wet strands of your hair away from your face. “Yeah, I’m fine,” you say, your voice betraying you. “Just wanted to wash my hair.”

Eventually, you rinse the last of the tears away, the water now lukewarm against your skin. You take a shaky breath, forcing yourself to steady your hands as you turn off the shower. The silence in the bathroom is almost suffocating, but it’s better than the weight of the words still lingering in your mind.

You wrap a towel around yourself, trying to gather your thoughts. You take a moment to compose yourself before stepping out, the cold air hitting you once more. You stare at your reflection in the mirror, not recognizing the person looking back.

With a final, shaky breath, you step out of the bathroom, the cool air hitting your damp skin. Your heart feels heavy, the weight of the night still pressing down, but with each step toward the bedroom, the tightness in your chest loosens—just a little.

You force a smile onto your face, though it feels more like a mask than anything real.

Luke is lying on the bed in just his boxers, scrolling through his phone. Your heart skips a beat as you take in his tall, athletic frame. His hair is still damp from his post-game shower.

"Luke, I’m so proud of you tonight," you say, sitting down beside him and pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. "The whole team was amazing. I can’t believe you guys beat the Leafs! You really played your hearts out."

He smiles at you, but there’s a flicker of concern in his eyes. You try to ignore it.

“I’m gonna make us some hot chocolate to celebrate,” you add, standing up. “I know how much you love it after a game.” You try to sound upbeat, like everything is fine, but as you turn toward the door, you feel his hand gently catch yours.

“Hey,” Luke says softly, pulling you back toward the bed. “Why didn’t you talk to me about the video?”

You freeze.

He’s holding you close now, his gaze steady, but there’s a quiet hurt in his eyes. “I saw it online. And I saw the comments as well. I… I don’t want to push you, but I need to know why you didn’t tell me.”

You bite your lip, your heart hammering in your chest. This is the moment you’ve been avoiding. You feel all your walls start to crumble.

“I didn’t want to bother you,” you confess, your voice barely above a whisper. “I know you have so much on your plate—your career, the pressure from the team. And I—I didn’t want to be another thing weighing you down. But when I saw those comments, when I heard what they said tonight… I just—I felt like I didn’t belong. Like I’m too old, too ugly, not thin enough… like…I just—”

Your voice wavers, thick with emotion, but Luke doesn’t rush you. He just waits, patient and steady, his eyes soft with understanding as he gives you the space to let it out.

“I think this was my breaking point,” you admit, your voice trembling slightly. “I’ve been fighting from the start—trying to prove myself to everyone. And I know you’ve been fighting too—don’t get me wrong, I know you’ve had my back every step of the way. But first, it was Quinn, questioning if I was really with you for the right reasons. Then your mom, who hated me from the beginning. I know they all love me now, but it wasn’t easy. It’s been so stressful, Lukey.”

You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. “And then today at your game... what those girls said about me—it hit hard. I tried to brush it off, but then someone recorded it and posted it online. I felt humiliated, Luke. And when I checked the comments... they were brutal. Nasty, hurtful things. It’s messing with my head, and I don’t know how to ignore it anymore. I’ve never been this insecure. But ever since we’ve been together, all I hear is that I’m not enough. Not pretty enough, not young enough, not enough to be your partner.”

Your voice catches, a quiet sob slipping through before you can stop it. The moment it does, Luke moves. He doesn’t hesitate—he just pulls you into his chest, his arms wrapping around you like a shield. His hand finds the back of your head, fingers threading gently through your damp hair as he holds you close.

"I just… I wanted today to be about you, not about me." A shaky breath escapes you as you drop your gaze, fingers twisting nervously in your lap. "You played so well tonight, and all I wanted was to celebrate you. But instead, I let this—let them—get to me. And I hate that."

Luke exhales softly, his lips pressing a lingering kiss to your temple. When he speaks, his voice is quiet but sure, full of something unshakable.

“You are more than enough,” he murmurs, the words sinking into you like warmth on a cold night. “You always have been. You always will be. You’re everything to me.”

Luke doesn’t let go. His arms stay wrapped around you, his hand resting against the back of your head like he’s trying to shield you from the weight of the world. You don’t realize how tightly you’re clinging to him until he pulls back slightly, just enough to look at you, his thumb brushing away a stray tear from your cheek.

For a moment, he just studies you, his gaze searching, like he’s trying to memorize every inch of your face. Then, without a word, he reaches over to his nightstand, pulling open the drawer. You watch as he hesitates for just a second before pulling something out, something small, something that glints under the soft glow of the bedside lamp.

A ring with a stunning, oversized diamond that catches the light with every movement.

Your breath faltered.

“I need you to listen to me,” Luke says, his voice steady but laced with something deeper—something raw, something real. He holds the ring between his fingers, turning it slightly so the light bounces off the metal. “I’m not asking you anything right now, okay? So don’t freak out.”

You blink, heart hammering in your chest.

He exhales, a quiet laugh escaping, but there’s no nervousness in his expression—only certainty. “I bought this after our first date.” His eyes flicker up to yours, searching for your reaction. “After you left my apartment that night… I just knew. I knew what I wanted. What I wanted with you.”

Your lips part, but no words come out.

Luke swallows hard, his fingers tightening around the ring like it holds the weight of everything he feels for you. His eyes never leave yours, soft yet unwavering, full of a love so deep it steals the breath from your lungs.

“I didn’t buy this because I thought we’d rush into anything,” he murmurs, voice thick with emotion. “I bought it because from the moment you walked out of my apartment after our first date, I knew.” He pauses, his thumb brushing gently over your knuckles, tracing invisible patterns on your skin. “I knew that someday, this is where we’d end up. That no matter how much time passed, no matter what life threw at us, it was always going to be you.”

Your throat tightens, tears pooling in your eyes, but they don’t fall—not yet.

Your breath catches, and Luke lifts your hand, pressing the ring into your palm, letting you feel the solid weight of it.

“You are my safe place,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing over your skin, warm and reassuring. “No matter what happens in my career—if I have the best season of my life or if I screw up every game—I know I get to come home to you. And that means more to me than anything.”

Your fingers tremble as they curl around the ring, feeling the cool metal press into your skin.

Luke’s lips twitch into a soft, knowing smile, his dimples peeking through. “I’m not asking you to marry me right now. I know you’d think it’s too soon, and I want to do this right—when you're ready. But I need you to know… this is my plan. You are my plan.” His voice drops lower, thick with love, with certainty. “I want to spend my life with you. I want to wake up next to you every morning and fall asleep with you every night. I want a house filled with love and warmth. And laughter—so much laughter.” His grin widens, eyes sparkling. “Kids' laughter. A lot of kids, running around, driving us crazy, making our house a home.”

A tear slips down your cheek, but you’re smiling, your heart so full it feels like it might burst.

Luke lifts a hand, gently wiping away the tear with his thumb before cupping your face. “I just needed you to know that no matter what anyone says, no matter what doubts creep into your head… you are everything I have ever wanted. And one day, when the time is right, I’m going to put this ring on your finger for real.” Luke’s thumb traces slow, soothing circles against your cheek, his gaze still locked onto yours. “Just promise me one thing,” he murmurs. “Be honest with me. Always. No more hiding when you’re hurting, no more keeping things in because you think you have to protect me. We’re a team, okay? You and me.”

Your heart swells at his words, the sincerity in his eyes making it impossible to look away. You nod, swallowing past the lump in your throat. “Okay,” you whisper. “I promise.”

And then, the words just spill out—because how could you not say them?

“I love you, Luke.” Your voice is full of emotion, thick with everything you feel for him. “I love you so much it scares me sometimes.” A watery laugh escapes as you shake your head. “And I know it sounds ridiculous, but I want this too. The house, the laughter, the kids running around and driving us insane. I want all of it. With you.”

Luke’s smile is so wide, so full of love, that it nearly knocks the breath from your lungs. But you’re not done. Because it’s not just the big things—it’s the little things too.

“I love how you have to eat the same exact snack after every game because you’re convinced it’s good luck, even though you definitely don’t need it,” you tease, nudging him playfully. “I love the way you belt out the wrong lyrics to every song in the shower like you’re performing at Madison Square Garden.”

Luke lets out a laugh, shaking his head, but you can see the way his ears turn red.

“And I love that you send me the dumbest texts—even when we’re literally in the same apartment,” you add with a grin. “Like, do you really need to text me just to ask if we have ice cream when you could just open the freezer?”

His laugh is full and unguarded, his arms tightening around you as he buries his face in your neck. “Okay, that one’s fair,” he admits, voice muffled against your skin.

You tilt your head back, looking at him, feeling completely at home in his arms. “I love all of you, Luke. The good, the bad, the absolutely ridiculous.” Your voice softens as your fingers trace along his jaw. “And no matter what happens—no matter what anyone says—you’ll always be my favorite thing.”

Luke exhales, his forehead resting against yours, his hands holding you like he never wants to let go. “You have no idea how much I love you,” he whispers.

You smile, tilting your chin up just enough to brush your lips against his. “I think I do.”And when he kisses you, slow and deep, you know without a doubt—this is it. This is home. He is home.

#luke hughes fic #luke hughes x reader #luke hughes fanfic #luke hughes x you #luke hughes x y/n #luke hughes x oc #luke hughes imagine #luke hughes #lh43 #jack hughes fic #jack hughes imagine #quinn hughes imagine #quinn hughes fic #jack hughes #quinn hughes #nhl fanfic #nhl fic #nhl imagine #hughes brothers

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sinnabarmoth · 3 days ago

Text

A Pair of Plushies

Pairing: Sylus x Fem|Reader

Summary: I got this cute interaction playing the claw machine and it just screamed Sylus wanting to make two of MC. AKA, Sylus wants to be a girl dad.

Content warnings: Adult language. Breeding kink. P in v. Porn with feelings. Pregnancy fic. Tooth rotting fluff!

Length: 9500

It is strange how such profound changes in your life can come from the most mundane of instances. You were having a pretty normal day, you had just gotten off of work and were relaxing with your boyfriend at the arcade. Sylus was braving the afternoon to come out and see you. Your schedules were pretty different since he was awake almost exclusively during the night and you worked during the day.

But you were together today and were at one of the claw machines trying to get even more plushies. You had accumulated an impressive collection but there were always more that you wanted. Today you were at the machine giving Sylus directions to help him get the hearty hearts plushie.

The plushie fell into the bin and you clapped happily as he retrieved it and handed it to you.

“Two little cuties together are definitely twice as adorable!” you said, holding the little heart plushie to your chest.

Sylus shook his head. “Aren’t you tired of seeing something that looks exactly the same?”

“Never! That’s what makes it cute. Just imagine waking up to two little plushies right beside you--” You paused, noticing the way Sylus’s gaze focused. “Why are you suddenly staring at me?”

He smirked. “I’m looking at the mirror behind you. Having two of you wouldn’t be too bad, actually.”

You rolled your eyes, thinking that he had meant that in some salacious way and turned back to the machine. The rest of your afternoon passed, after you left the arcade you stopped by a cafe for drinks and you noticed Sylus was still staring at you much in the same way he was back at the arcade.

You were used to Sylus staring at you but there was something off about it. Usually when he stared it was because he had something dirty on his mind. It usually meant the second you were alone he would be crowding you against the nearest flat surface. But you didn’t get that from him today. He looked almost wistful, a small serene smile on his face.

You gave his leg a tap under the table. “What are you so smiley about?” you asked. “Do I have something on my face?”

“No. Just thinking about something.” he leaned back in his chair, giving you one more complete glance over and nodded. “Yes. I think that will do very well.”

“What are you talking about? Do I get to know?”

He only smiled. “Remember when you told me to imagine waking up to two of the same plushies every morning?”

“Yeah…I think I see where this is going.” Either this was going to be a sex in front of a mirror request or possibly a desire for more plushies. You had a feeling you knew which one he was referring to though. “And I will say I am open to it.”

His eyes widened slightly. “Really? I only just decided to ask and you’re already on board?”

“It’s not like it’s that big a request. I feel like I’ve done far stranger things, especially with you.” you shrugged.

“Not a big request? And what exactly have you done that is stranger?”

“Well I’m not going to talk about that in a cafe.” you said. “Isn’t this something that should wait to be discussed at home?”

“We can, of course. If that would make you most comfortable.” he was grinning even wider, “There is a lot more to discuss about it that we are going to need to get into.”

“How much more could there possibly be?” He was being very intense about a mirror kink.

“A lot more. Like when you want to start trying, what kind of doctor do you want to go to, how is living arrangements going to work? Are you moving in or were you going to be adamant about keeping your own apartment? Do you want us to get married first--”

“Whoa! Whoa! WHOA!” you held up your hands. “What in the world are you talking about? What does any of that have to do with this?”

Sylus paused, his brow furrowing. “Sweetie, what do you think I’m talking about?”

“I mean, I thought you were talking about--you know--” you leaned in closer, your voice a whisper so not to be overheard by anyone else “having sex in front of a mirror? Two of me. That kind of thing.”

Sylus snorted, his shoulders shaking slightly as he held in a laugh. “What? What’s so funny? What were you actually talking about?”

“Oh my beloved,” he sighed, taking your hand over the table. “When I said two of you I meant a mini-you.”

“A mini-me? Like a doll? Why would you--” it finally dawned on you what he meant. Your face heated as embarrassment flooded in. “Oh. I see. A mini-me.”

“Finally get there, did you?” he cocked his head at you. “So, what do you think?”

“I mean…” you didn’t know how to respond. “Just to make sure I’m not misinterpreting again. You are talking about…”

“Getting you pregnant and starting a family. Yes.” Sylus nodded.

“Got it.”

“Now that you know what I was asking you don’t seemed at all enthused about it.”

“I mean, I don’t know how to respond to that out of the blue. It came on so suddenly and while I would like to be a mother one day I guess I didn’t expect it to get brought up quite like this. Usually when people decide to have kids it’s something they do after they get married. We’ve only been dating for a little over a year now. Are you sure you want to have a kid with me? God forbid we break up one day we’re still going to have an entire person connecting us.”

“Bold of you to assume I’d ever let us break up.” Sylus said. “I’m afraid you are stuck with me, sweetie.”

“And bold of you to say we’re stuck together when you haven’t put a ring on it.”

“Do you want me to? I will. We can go down to the jewelry store and buy a ring right now. Depending on how big of a ceremony you want we can be married by the end of the day. Then again, if we do get married I’d like to make a spectacle out of it complete with you in a pretty white dress I get to tear off after the reception.”

“Sylus!” you hissed, hiding your face behind your hands. He always talked so brazenly with you about his desires. It flustered you to no end when they were just carnal desires but this sudden need of his to marry and impregnate you was a thousand times worse. You could barely look at him. Everything he said was too open. Too honest. It made you self conscious thinking about how sincere and direct he was being.

“What? Is it embarrassing to love you? Is it embarrassing to let you know exactly what I picture for us? Since meeting you, this has been what I’ve dreamt of one day having. And today, when you mentioned two of something I realized I didn’t want to wait any longer. I want that life with you. Say you want that life with me too.”

“I…I…” everything screamed in you that this was moving too fast. You did love him but marriage? A child? You didn’t even live together and he was proposing things with a much bigger commitment right now!

Sylus could see you fumbling for an answer and sighed, the light in his eyes dimming a bit. “It’s a lot to ask all at once. I see that. Take all the time you need to respond.”

Wow. Okay.

You finished at the cafe and you started making your way back to your apartment with Sylus. The ride back was quiet. You were thinking about a lot. You knew that you definitely loved Sylus and the idea of marrying him and having a family with him one day was something you wanted. His offer didn’t scare you for that reason. You were in this relationship for the long haul. It was the fact that it all just got put out there so quickly.

Usually when girls get proposed to they can sometimes see it coming. Their partner tells them to go get their nails done, they plan a really romantic date out of nowhere, you get to dress up in something super pretty and nice. All of it to make sure the moment is a picturesque as possible. Sylus dropping that he wants to get you pregnant and then basically proposing in the middle of a cafe after you confused his wants for mirror sex was not how you would have ever imagined this happening!

It was a lot to take in. And maybe you should have been more scared by the idea. But the longer you sat with the question you realized you already knew the answer. You wanted to spend your life with Sylus. You wanted to create a life with him, both metaphorically and literally. It was daunting to think about but it didn’t scare you.

You pulled up to your apartment and you invited Sylus up. Once you got inside you kicked off your shoes and pulled Sylus closer, pushing yourself to your toes to loop your arms around his neck and kiss him. He didn’t miss a beat and kissed you back softly.

“Yes.” you said when you pulled back.

“Yes?” he repeated. Eyes searching your face, “Tell me what you are saying yes to, sweetie.” his grip on you got a little tighter.

“I want to marry you.” you smiled brightly, “And I want to start a family with you.”

A small breath of relief left him and he rested his forehead against yours. “You had better mean that.”

“I do.”

“Perfect.” he closed the distance to kiss you. You melted into his embrace as he kissed you over and over. The moment you ran out of breath and pulled back to breathe he was pulling you in again. Your knees were losing their ability to keep you standing and Sylus placed his hands on your ass and hauled you off the ground, wrapping your legs around his waist.

“Care to start trying now?” he asked. You were still standing in the living room but he was waiting to point you towards the bedroom.

“You want to start right now?” you asked, breathless.

“Why not?”

Maybe it was the emotion of the afternoon or maybe you were hormonal but you ended up nodding. “Okay.”

He started turning towards the bedroom. “Say it, sweetie. What do you want?”

Your face heated again. “I want to start a family with you. I want you to put a baby in me, Sylus. And I want to do it now.”

He carried you back to the bedroom and laid you down on the bed. Considering everything you knew about Sylus and past experience in the bedroom you expected something hard and feral. You had just told him to put a baby in you. You thought that he was going to tear your clothes off and bend you into a mating press for the rest of the night. You were surprised when he stepped back and slowly started peeling out of his clothes.

You started to take off your own clothes but Sylus stopped you. “Let me do that, sweetie.” he pulled the shirt off over your head. You watched as he carefully helped strip you out of your clothes, pressing small kisses to each new inch of skin that was revealed.

“You’re so beautiful.” he whispered, staring at your naked form. “I can’t wait to see you pregnant. Can’t wait to see you swell up with our kid.” he ran a hand along your stomach. “You have no idea how happy you’ve made me today, sweetie. Happiest I’ve ever been in my life.”

“Sylus…” you reached out to cup his face. “I love you. I love you so much.”

He bent closer to kiss you again. “I love you too.”

While maintaining the kiss his hand slid between your legs and started playing with your pussy. He teased your clit, rubbing it in slow circles. He swallowed your moans the moment they left your lips. Instinctually your hips moved up into his touch. He used the heel of his hand to hold your hips down.

“Stay slow, kitten. I want to savor this.” he murmured against your lips.

He pushed a finger into your heat, drawing more sweet moans out of you as he began to help stretch and prepare your body.

Knowing that you were currently having sex with the intention of getting pregnant was surreal. It felt like any other encounter you had but pleasure was not the only goal. You were going to create a life together. A whole new person, one made up of a little of you and a little of him was going to be in the world. And then you just had that new person for the rest of your lives. You’d be parents. You were going to be in charge of raising a kid.

How was raising a kid even going to work with your lives? Sylus was the leader of Onychinus and lived in the N109 zone. He wasn’t going to leave but you also didn’t want your kid to be deprived of Linkon blue skies and a normal life. There was so much more for you to think about that you hadn’t considered.

“I would love to know where your mind has gone when I have a hand between your legs, kitten.” Sylus said, breaking you out of your thoughts.

“Sorry. I was just thinking about how we are going to raise this kid once they’re born.” you said.

“We haven’t even attempted to get you pregnant and you’re worrying about that already?” Sylus scoffed. “At least I know you’re not thinking of backing out if you’re thinking about all of that.”

“I can’t help it. I want our kid to have the best life but also a normal one. Do you think they can have that in the N109 zone?” you asked.

“For our child, I’ll make anything possible.” he cupped your cheek. “Now, do you want to start?”

You nodded. “Yes. Please.”

Sylus smiled and kissed you again. He withdrew his hand and lined himself up with your pussy before slowly pushing in. Twin breaths of satisfaction left you as he sunk in. He stayed close to you, his body pressed on top of yours as his hips rolled against yours. It was such an even and steady unhurried pace. You couldn’t believe it took you till now to realize that he wasn’t just having sex with the intention of getting you pregnant, he was making love to you.

He wanted this first act of you two coming together to make a baby to be done with love, not just lust. No matter what interaction past this got you pregnant, this was your first honest attempt and it was done with nothing short of unending love and adoration.

“Can’t wait to get you pregnant,” Sylus panted as he steadily drove into you. “I’m going to lock us away and fuck you every day until I know you’re knocked up. Fuck, I want to put a baby in you. I want to knock you up so damn bad, kitten.” his pace got a little faster as the need for release drew closer.

“Sylus! Please!” your nails scratched into his back. “I want you to. I want you to knock me up. Please!”

“Fuck kitten!” he groaned, biting into your shoulder. “You’re gonna be so damn pretty all big with my kid. Gonna fuck a baby into you and then I’m gonna put another one in you and another. I want to have as many babies with you as I can get!”

Good god above. How many kids did this man expect you to pop out?

“You’re gonna be such a good mom to our kids.” he lathered hot wet kisses along your throat. “And I’m gonna make you my wife. Our whole lives are ahead of us, and we’re gonna spend them together just like this. Happy, in love, and fucking each other senseless.”

“Yes! Please Sylus! I want it! I want it all!” your legs were locked tight around his hips, wanting to keep him as close to you as humanly possible.

“Come for me, sweetie. I want you to come when I get you pregnant.” he pressed a finger to your clit, rubbing it furiously to help get you there.

“Sylus!” you moaned, nails digging into his back as you came. Blinding little white dots danced before your vision as you came. A buzzing warmth vibrated from the tips of your toes to the ends of your hair. Sylus gave one final thrust into you and stilled as he came inside you, breathing heavily and moaning your name.

You loosened your grip on him and rubbed your hands along his back. “Sylus…” your head was foggy in the aftermath.

“Right here, sweetie.” he pressed a kiss to your temple. “How do you feel?”

You smiled, pulling him down for a proper kiss. “Amazing. I think we actually made a baby today.”

“I hope so.” he touched your stomach. “But, it can never hurt to be thorough.”

“You are insatiable.” you rolled your eyes.

“Only because it is you, beloved.” He pulled out and laid down next to you, one of his hands still resting on your stomach. “I already can’t wait to meet our little one.”

~~~

The next month was filled with nothing but you and Sylus having sex so you could get pregnant. It didn’t really matter that you were sure you had gotten pregnant that first day you started trying, Sylus wanted to make sure your pregnancy was a certainty. He also loved the excuse of locking you up all for himself.

You hadn’t told anyone about your plans yet. No one outside of you and Sylus even knew that you were trying to have a kid. Except maybe Luke and Keiran but that was because Sylus had already set them on the task of baby proofing the mansion. He never said baby proof but suddenly telling the twins to do stuff like sand down table edges to not be sharp and put covers on unused electric outlets was a bit of a tip off.

After a month of constant sex though you decided to go out and buy a pregnancy test. You weren’t feeling any symptoms yet but you were too impatient to find out if it had happened yet or not. You had bought an assortment and took them home. After a long time in the bathroom and what felt like an even longer wait you had the results.

Positive. All of the tests in their own way said the same thing. You were pregnant.

You were pregnant!

Oh god you were pregnant. It was actually happening. It wasn’t just a fun little roleplay in the bedroom. It was real. There was an actual life growing inside of you.

You immediately grabbed your phone to tell Sylus then put it away. This was an in-person announcement. You sped over to the N109 zone as fast as you could and pulled up to the mansion. You knew at this early an hour Sylus would still be asleep but you couldn’t wait.

Luke and Kieran were in the living room moving a bunch of breakable objects to higher shelves. “Hey there, what are you doing here so early? Boss man is still asleep.” they said.

“I know but I have something important to tell him.”

“Oh thank god,” Luke sighed, “Does this mean we can hang out here when you both are here again? We don’t have to keep ourselves busy outside while you’re going at it?”

“I knew you two knew what was going on.”

“It was fairly obvious. Do you think boss man would be having us redecorate like this just for the fun of it?” Kieran said. “Congratulations though.”

“Thanks. But remember, if Sylus asks you two don’t know a damn thing. I told him first, got it?”

“Yes ma’am.” they gave little salutes and you skipped down the hall to Sylus’s room.

You opened his door and found him asleep as the twins had said. There was too much excitement in your body. You closed the door behind you and sprinted for the bed, throwing yourself across Sylus’s lap. He woke with a start, automatically grabbing you before realizing that it was you and not any kind of threat. He let out a sigh and rested his head back against the headboard.

“Sweetie, I was sleeping.”

“I know. But I figured you would want to know that I was pregnant as soon as possible.”

His eyes snapped open again, staring at you. “Repeat that for me.”

“I’m pregnant. I took a bunch of tests and they all came up positive.” you took his hand and placed it over your stomach. “We’re having a baby.”

He rolled you under him and kissed you then pulled up your shirt and kissed your stomach. “Sylus!” you laughed, his kiss tickling you slightly.

“It’s actually happening,” he murmured, resting his head on your stomach. “We’re actually going to have a child in a few months.”

“Yep.” you ran your hands through his hair. “I’m a little scared but mostly excited.”

“I cannot wait to meet you, little one.” he spoke to your stomach. “Don’t worry, you have a wonderful mama who’s going to make sure you grow into a healthy baby and daddy is going to be here to make sure she has anything she wants.”

“Anything I want? Really?”

“You’re doing something incredible. Of course I would do anything for you.” he looked up at you. “I just have one favor to ask in return.”

“A bigger favor than grow an entire human?”

“Move in.” he said. “I don’t want to miss a moment of this. Move in with me, please.”

“But what about all my stuff and my apartment? I can’t just break my lease.”

“I’ll take care of your apartment and we have more than enough room for all of your stuff.” Sylus assured you. “What do you say?”

“I mean, it had to happen sometime.” you shrugged with a smile.

And so you moved in with Sylus. He sent the twins to your house to pack up and move your things out. It was strange to just pick up and move but it was also strange to just in an instant decide you were going to become a wife and mother with the leader of Onychinus as your husband and father of your child.

Moving in when you did turned out to be a good move because soon after everything had been moved over the pregnancy symptoms started up in earnest. You were tired, your boobs hurt, you learned morning sickness was something that hit at every hour of the damn day and not just mornings as the name suggested. In a word, it was miserable.

Thankfully Sylus was very attentive to your needs, rubbing your back and making sure you had water to drink after you threw up, making sure you wouldn’t be disturbed whenever you needed a nap, and massaging the aches out of your body. He had told you to go on maternity leave but considering you were only in the first trimester of your pregnancy you didn’t see the need to take off of work just yet. However, you did need to let them know that you were now expecting.

That brought on a lot of questions from your co-workers as to how far along you were and who the father was. At this point everyone kind of knew that you had something going on with Sylus, or they knew him as “Skye” the fruit seller. Some were shocked but others were excited and looked forward to being able to throw you a baby shower.

It was a lot going on. Your body was changing, you moved, everyone at work was looking at you differently now, it felt like a lot to navigate and the stress was tarting to get to you. One day you had called off of work because you were just too damn tired to do anything. Your body ached all over, you woke up crying because you missed hearing birds in the morning, Sylus’s shampoo smell was making you gag, and you had a sudden craving for the most artery clogging cheesy corn dogs you could find.

You were lying in bed, curled in a tight ball quietly sniffling. Sylus had tried to comfort you but you snapped at him and now he was gone. You missed him even if he smelled bad. You wanted him back. You rolled to your other side and stared at the bedroom door. “Sylus?” you called out. “Are you out there?”

The door opened but you were disappointed to see the twins and not Sylus. “Hi, boss man stepped out a while ago to pick something up. He’ll be back soon.”

“He didn’t tell me he was leaving.” you muttered, fresh tears brimming in your eyes. “Why didn’t he tell me? He always tells me when he needs to go.”

“Uh…” the twins looked at each other, not knowing what to do. “Can we get you anything? Boss man told us to get you anything you needed.”

“I want Sylus.” you shimmied under the covers, hiding yourself from view so they couldn’t see you break down.

You could still hear the twins outside talking. “You have to call him.”

“Me? Why do I have to be the one to call him and tell him his baby mama is having an emotional breakdown cause he left?”

“You think I want to do that?”

“Rock paper scissors for it.”

“No. Just call him.”

“You call him!”

“Both of you get the fuck out!” you snapped from under the covers.

“Sorry!” they shut the door and disappeared. You felt a little peck at your head and groaned, rolling away from Mephisto. You had forgotten that damn bird was still here. He landed on your shoulder and pecked you again.

“Go away! Leave me alone!” you tried to swat him away.

“He’s just trying to get your attention, sweetie.” You heard Sylus’s voice. You bolted upright, scaring Mephisto off of you. You looked around but saw no sign of Sylus. That’s when you realized his voice was coming out of Mephisto.

“Mephisto can take calls now?”

“Think of him more like a baby monitor.” Sylus said. “He alerted me that you weren’t doing well and wanted me home. Don’t worry, I’m pulling back up to the house now.”

“Where did you go?”

“I went to pick up some food for my tired and hungry girlfriend.” he said. “Be with you in a second.”

You waited a minute and sure enough Sylus walked in with a large take out bag in his hands. It smelled heavenly. “Miss me?”

You nodded, holding out your arms. He set the food down and collected you in a hug. “Sorry I didn’t mention I was leaving. You didn’t seem keen to see me and I thought I’d be back before you wanted me again.”

“I was fine…” you muttered, embarrassed by how needy you were being.

“It’s fine that you weren’t. I like that you want me around.” he kissed the top of your head. “Do you still want cheesy corn dogs? I bought a lot from that one food truck you love.”

“Oh my god, yes!” you were salivating already.

Sylus handed you the bag full of hot and fresh cheesy corn dogs. You scarfed down three in record time, the cheese and carbs hitting in a way that made you moan as you ate. “Can I eat just these for the rest of my life?”

“Oh, I think you may end up craving something new in a week so we’ll see how long it lasts. But for now you can have whatever it is you want.”

You wiped some of the grease from your mouth. “I’m sorry for snapping at you earlier.”

“It’s alright.” he bent his head closer. “Is this a better shampoo? I showered again to wash it out.”

“You didn’t need to do that.”

“You didn’t like the smell of the last one so I got unscented shampoo and used that instead. I also put in an order for some birds that we can keep nearby so you can hear them sing in the mornings like you’re used to.”

“Oh my god, Sylus.” you rolled your eyes. “You didn’t need to buy an entire aviary of birds. You could have just put bird songs as an alarm or something. Buying actual birds to keep in the house is crazy.”

“I like to think they can also keep Mephisto company.” Sylus shrugged. “The house could use some more cheer anyway.”

“My collection of plushies didn’t already do that?”

“This is your home now as well as mine. Whatever you want it to be, we will have it made. Gut the entire house and remake it as your own if you wish. I’ll only ask that I keep the vault as it is now.”

“I’m not gonna gut the entire house.” you leaned against him. “Well, maybe one room. We still need to figure out where we’re going to put the nursery.”

“Ah, I’ve actually already thought of that.” he stood up. “Care to come take a look?”

You took his hand and he led you a little bit down the hall. One of the rooms that you knew had just been a guest room had been cleared out of everything and the walls repainted to a blank white. “I was waiting for you to mention the nursery so you could pick out whatever furniture you wanted to decorate it with. I also didn’t know if you wanted to wait until we knew the gender to go shopping so I’ve been putting it off. But we have this room and it’s not too far from us so we’ll always be close by when they need tending.”

You looked around the blank room, “It’s perfect.”

Soon enough it was time for your first ultrasound. You were excited and a little nervous. This was the first time you were going to actually see your baby. And despite Sylus saying that the doctor’s in the N109 zone were just as good as any Linkon doctor you insisted on going to Linkon for your appointments.

You laid back on the exam bed and rolled up your shirt to expose your stomach. At this point in your pregnancy they said you’d be able to see the baby, hear their heartbeat, but gender would still be a few weeks away. The cold jelly was applied and the technician moved the wand around for a moment before finding the baby.

“And there they are.” the technician turned the screen to you to see. On the screen was a blurry little blob in the shape of a bean. Your baby.

You gripped Sylus’s hand tighter, tears gathering in your eyes. “That’s our baby.” you said breathlessly. “Oh wow, there really is a baby in there.”

“Yes there is.” the technician laughed. “Feels a lot more real now, huh?”

“Yeah.” you let Sylus wipe the tears from your eyes. “Oh wow. I didn’t think I’d get this emotional.”

“It’s perfectly normal, especially for first time moms.” the technician said. “How are we feeling, dad?”

“They’re perfect.” Sylus said.

“About as perfectly healthy as an eight week old bean could be--oh.” the technician paused and moved the wand around some more. “Well then, hello to you too.”

“What? What is it?” you asked.

“Your baby has a roommate in there.” the technician pointed out on the screen. “Baby one, and just over here, baby two.”

“Baby two?” your mouth dropped open. “I’m having twins?”

“Looks like it. Congratulations! Since you are carrying twins there are some more details to go over for multiple fetus pregnancies.”

“Uh huh…” you turned to Sylus. “Twins. We’re having twins.”

Sylus’s smile threatened to split his face in half. “This is amazing.”

“Of course you’re excited, you don’t have to push out two babies at once.” you continued to stare at the screen. “Oh my god.”

After the initial shock wore off the technician found the heartbeat for you and that was when the emotions of the day started to bubble over. You started sobbing hearing those steady little thumps over the monitor. Two strong healthy heartbeats for two tiny little beans. When you looked over at Sylus you saw that he was crying too. You hadn’t expected him to get so emotional over this as well but it was comforting in a way. He was just as excited for this as you, probably more excited honestly.

You got your due date from the doctor and your follow up appointment made and a copy of the ultrasound picture before leaving. In about seven more months you were going to have not one but two babies. Sylus was over the moon. The second you returned home he had put the pictures in a scrapbook he had bought to catalog your pregnancy and happily announced to the twins that they were not going to be the only twins in your life anymore. Luke and Keiran were ecstatic hearing the news that you were having twins and gave you huge hugs.

Time kept moving ever forward and you were growing larger and larger as the babies grew with you. You were officially into the second trimester and you looked it. Carrying twins made what would have already been a big pregnancy belly even bigger. It was also at this time that you learned what exactly you were carrying. You had debated keeping the gender of the babies a surprise but knew you were too impatient for that.

Girls. You were carrying twin baby girls.

“Guess you really are getting a mini-me, huh?” you said when the doctor announced the gender to you.

“Not just a mini-you. A pair of mini-yous.” Sylus said, his smile brighter than the sun as he stared at the screen. “What was it you had said a couple months ago at the arcade? ‘Two little cuties together are definitely twice as adorable.’ I believe it was.”

“Yeah, I think that was it.” you sighed. “I didn’t think when I said that it would lead to us actually having two little cuties though.”

“Winning that plushie was the best thing that could have happened that day. It led to all this.” he kissed you soundly. “

Sylus had already been a little over protective of you when you were just carrying one baby but now that he knew you were growing twins he was getting to be a little overbearing. He wanted you to rest as much as you could and to just focus on growing the twins but you were getting bored just sitting around all day.

Eventually you were able to convince Sylus to let you go out shopping for furniture for the nursery. He was more than happy to take you to the most expensive baby store in the city and told you to ignore price on everything and just get whatever you wanted. You rolled your eyes but didn’t try to fight him on it. You wanted the best for your babies after all. You certainly weren’t going to say no to a very nice but stupidly expensive recliner to put in the nursery either. You had a feeling you were going to be in it a lot and you wanted it to be as comfy as possible.

It was as you were looking at cradles, debating whether to get connecting ones for the twins or not that you felt something in your stomach. It was strange and you weren’t sure what you felt until it happened again. It was little and fluttery and you realized with a start that the babies were moving! You could feel them moving!

You paused, a hand over your swollen stomach as you let yourself focus on the fluttering inside.

Sylus noticed you stop and immediately concern etched into his face. “Something wrong? Are you feeling sick? Do we need to go home?”

“No. Nothing’s wrong.” you assured him with an easy smile. “I just felt the babies move for the first time and it caught me off guard.”

“They’re moving?” Sylus gasped, touching a hand to your stomach.

“I don’t know if you can feel them from the outside yet.” you told him. “But they are definitely kicking around a lot in there from what I can feel. It feels really fluttery, like I have actual butterflies in my tummy.”

“Our little butterflies growing in their cocoon.” he said, rubbing your stomach affectionately. “Make sure you grow even stronger girls, daddy wants to be able to feel you kick too.”

“Not too strong, I don’t want them bruising my insides or each other.”

“A little sibling rivalry is good but yes, keep in mind not to hurt your mother when you move around my little butterflies.” he said.

You smiled, your eye catching a spinning mobile. The charms on the mobile were colorful butterflies that spun around while a soft lullaby played. “I think I have an idea on what kind of theme to make the nursery now.”

By the end of the week Sylus had the nursery walls painted to resemble a beautiful flowering garden. The furniture you had picked out was being assembled by the twins and arranged around the room per your instructions. You had even gotten the ceiling painted to resemble a brilliant blue sky with fluffy white clouds in various fun shapes. It didn’t matter if the N109 zone wasn’t like Linkon, your kids could have a beautiful blue sky and garden from the comfort of their room.

It was all coming together so perfectly. With each passing day the house was looking more like a home safe for babies to crawl around in and you were one day closer to being parents.

You were lying in beed one evening as you entered your third trimester. Sylus was next to you talking to the twins since they decided to stay awake all evening and not let you get any sleep. Seems they were taking after their father’s nocturnal habits.

“And remember girls, your mother is going to say that I can’t sing but you need to know that she is wrong. I am a perfectly capable singer and she’s just jealous, that’s why she doesn’t take me out to karaoke anymore.”

“Don’t listen to him girls, he is actually tone deaf.”

“Stop contradicting me in front of the children.”

“Stop lying to them then.”

“I’m not lying.”

“You are tone deaf though. It’s actually kind of amazing.”

Sylus frowned, whisper conspiratorially with your stomach. “I’m going to let her think she’s won but in truth you two know the truth. Daddy can sing.”

You gave Sylus a nudge with your foot. “Be glad it takes too much energy to sit up so I can’t properly chastise you.”

“If it keeps you here in bed where I know I can keep an eye on you and the kids then I will plenty glad of it.” Sylus scooted back up the bed next to you. “Getting close now, how are you feeling?”

“I’m feeling like I’m about ready to pop. I think if I plug my nose and you blow into my mouth the girls will just pop out of me. Can we test it?”

“I think it’s best to let them pass organically but I can accommodate part of your request.” he leaned forward and kissed you.

“Sylus, can I ask you something?”

“Anything?”

“If my body doesn’t snap back to what it was like from before the twins, will you still think I’m beautiful?”

His brow furrowed. “How dare you think I would think you were less beautiful for anything. I don’t care what your body looks like, kitten. Right now you are the most beautiful I have ever seen you. Your body is swollen with our children. You practically glow from the inside out. And after you have the kids you will still be the most gorgeous woman in all of creation. Never doubt that. In fact,” he whistled to Mephisto and the mechanical bird flew off to grab something out of a drawer and came back to deposit it in Sylus’s hand. “I think now is the perfect time to give you this.”

He held out a small velvet box to you. You opened it to find the most beautiful ring you had ever seen inside. “Is this…?”

“I meant what I said, beloved. You are the most beautiful and amazing woman that has ever been. You fill every day of my life with joy and light and music. From the moment I met you I knew that I wanted you to not only be my wife but the mother of my children. Now that our kids are nearly born I think it is about time I make this official as well.” he took the ring out, “Will you marry me and be my wife?”

“Yes. Of course I will!” you nodded, tears in your eyes.

He slipped the ring on your finger and kissed you again. “You make me the happiest I have ever been every single day.” he murmured against your lips. “After the girls are born we can start wedding planning?”

“You don’t want to get married before they come?” you asked.

“We can, but I’d like it if we could have them in the wedding pictures. Not that I wouldn’t love to see you as a pregnant bride but I think having them dressed as little flower girls would be far cuter. What do you think?”

“I think I like that idea.” you looked down at your stomach. “Hear that girls? After you’re born you get to be flower girls in mommy and daddy’s wedding.”

The girls had finally stopped kicking around for the night so you didn’t get any kind of answer back. But at least you could go to bed now. You looked at the ring on your finger and looked back at Sylus. “I love you, my fiance.”

“Fiance,” he tested the word on his tongue, “I like the sound of that. And in a couple months after the girls are born and we’ve had time to settle into parent life I’ll be able to call you wife.”

“Fiance. Wife. Mother. I’m collecting a lot of new names.”

“That reminds me,” Sylus said, “We still haven’t talked about what we are going to name the twins.”

“Oh fucking hell…”

~~~

Sylus was away. He had a business deal that he needed to go see and no matter how much he tried to get them to do it remotely the seller refused adamantly that it could only be done in person. This was a problem for Sylus in many ways, the first and biggest being that you were now three days past your due date and he was very anxious about being apart from you.

He was about to cancel the whole thing but you had assured him that if the twins hadn’t popped out already the chances they were going to come during the twenty four hours he wasn’t home wasn’t going to happen. So with much nagging from your part, and a little honesty about needing some time alone to relax without his hovering, he left.

That was the first mistake. The second mistake was deciding to take a trip over to Linkon without anyone there to assist you. You were in the supermarket looking at snacks when you felt a powerful and painful cramp that made you drop the bag of chips you were holding.

“Oh no. Oh no no no no no no no no no!” Was that a contraction? Please no! You couldn’t go into labor while Sylus was gone!

Maybe it was just Braxton Hicks contractions. There was no way the babies were coming right after you assured Sylus that there was no way it was going to happen while he was gone. No way!

You tried to bend over and pick up the chips but your belly wouldn’t let you so you just kinda left them there on the ground and grabbed a fresh bag from the shelf. You were standing in the checkout line when another contraction hit, just as intense as the last. Shit!

“Ma’am, are you alright?” the friendly cashier asked.

“Oh, I’m fine. I think.” you breathed through the pain. “But I may be having contractions.”

“Oh dear, do you need us to call an ambulance?”

“No. No, I’m sure it’s fine. Thank you though.” you grabbed your groceries and took them out to the car.

You sat down inside the car and cursed. These were not Braxton Hicks. They were too powerful to be fake. You were actually going into labor. You were going to give birth today. And Sylus wasn’t fucking here!

“Oh he is going to kill me.” you started the car. You were only a short distance from the hospital so it didn’t make sense to call for an ambulance or anything like that.

As you were driving over you got another contraction. The time between them felt like they got a lot shorter. You cursed and hit the call button on the car. “Call Sylus.” you said.

There was a single ring before Sylus picked up. “Hello sweetie, what are--”

“The babies are coming.” you cut him off.

“Are you serious?” his light tone immediately sobered up.

“Yes. I started having contractions and I’m on my way to the hospital now.”

“Okay. I’m leaving now I’ll be there as soon as possible.” you heard someone in the background say something followed by a single gun shot. “Tell Luke and Kieran to get you there safely and--”

“Actually I’m driving myself. I left Luke and Keiran back at the mansion.” you winced.

“You--” he sighed. “Right. Fine. Be careful. I’ll be there soon. Try not to give birth until I get there.”

“I’ll do my best. Sorry for making you leave. If I hadn’t insisted--”

“You thought you had more time before the babies were coming. It’s alright, kitten. I’ll see you soon, I love you.”

“Love you too.” you hung up as you pulled into the hospital.

You were immediately taken back to a room and changed into a hospital gown. Thankfully the doctor said that you were still a ways off from being ready to deliver so Sylus had time to get over but it didn’t make the experience any less frustrating. You were in pain, you were alone, and you were also really hungry but the doctor said you couldn’t have anything other than like ice chips since you were birthing twins.

You were laid up in bed, your water had broken an hour ago and your body was getting steadily closer to being ready to deliver. The doctor had just checked how far you were dilated and you were still not at the ten centimeters you needed to be but you were getting close.

“Girls, you gotta listen to mommy.” you told your stomach, “You have to wait until your dad gets here to come out, alright? Please just hold on until your dad gets here. Please. He’ll be heartbroken if he misses this.”

Just as you were saying that the door to your room burst open and Sylus scanned the room before his eyes landed on you. “It hasn’t happened yet, has it? I didn’t miss it.” he asked.

“No. You’re just in time.” relieved tears started streaming down your face. Sylus came up and kissed you.

“Sorry for taking so long, I got here as fast as I could. Are you alright?”

“Outside of the fact that my body is preparing to push two babies out of my vagina, I’m doing pretty good now that you’re here.” you pressed your sweaty face to his arm. “Can you clean up first though? You’re kinda covered in blood.”

“Shit.” he cursed and went to the bathroom to wash the spatter of blood off of him.

The labor was long and painful but with Sylus by your side it made the pain bearable. You were glad he was so strong considering anyone lesser may have had their hand broken by how hard you were squeezing. It was the greatest joy and relief when the screams of babies filled the air in the delivery room.

“And there they are, two perfectly healthy baby girls.” the doctor and nurses wiped them off and Sylus cut the umbilical cords. Once the babies were clean they handed them off to you. Their cries quieted down in your arms.

“Hi babies,” you sniffed, trying to catch your breath. “You are the most precious things in all of creation.”

“They are absolutely perfect.” Sylus stroked one of their downy heads. Tears were falling from his eyes. You rarely ever saw Sylus cry but the birth of your daughters was a more than worthwhile excuse to let go. You yourself had been crying since you started pushing.

“The new little loves of my life,” Sylus said, bending closer to kiss the babies and you on top of your heads. “You will want for nothing.”

“Don’t go spoiling them rotten already, they literally just came out of me.”

“I can’t help it. They are my little princesses, they deserve to be treated as such.” he turned to you, “And you did such a good job, sweetie. How are you feeling?”

“Exhausted, but happy.” you nuzzled your face against one of the twin’s heads. “We’re parents now.”

“That we are. Now we can plan the wedding and get started on having even more kids.”

“For goodness sake, the babies aren’t even an hour old yet and you’re already talking about pumping me full of more? Give me some time to breathe at least.”

“Right. I know.” he sighed, taking one of the twins into his arms. “This has been the best day of my life and all I want is for it to keep going on forever.”

“But now the best part comes, taking them home.”

~~~

The first couple of weeks were the most chaotic with the new babies in the house. The day you brought them home you introduced them to Luke and Kieran who started bawling over them. It was actually really sweet. Sylus had even introduced Mephisto to the babies.

“These two are your number one priority from now on, Mephisto.” he had told the bird. “Watch them like a hawk.”

Mephisto squawked indignantly at being compared to another bird but followed diligently when you took the twins back to the nursery.

One evening you woke up in the middle of the night. Ever since the twins had been born your sleep schedule had been messed up and getting through the entire night in one go was hard. You sat up and noticed that Sylus wasn’t in bed. That wasn’t so strange since he did a lot of business at night but he had said he was refraining from deals and auctions until the babies were a bit older.

So where was he?

You got up and shuffled down the hall. Sure enough, he was in the nursery laid back in the recliner, both the babies fast asleep on his chest.

You waved at him and he gave a small nod of his head to show he saw you. You crept closer, careful not to make any noise. “Were they fussing?” you whispered as quietly as you could, not wanting to wake the girls.

“A little.” he whispered back. “But I sang them a lullaby and they went right back to sleep.”

The fact that Sylus’s tone deaf lullabies actually worked to soothe the girls back to sleep was baffling and infuriating. “You need some help getting them back in the crib?”

“No. They’re fine just like this. I’ll move them back to the crib when I’m sure they’re not going to wake up again.” he said.

“Meaning you just want to stay cuddling with them.”

“Also yes.”

“Well, I’m going to go abc to bed. Don’t stay in here all night, okay?”

“I won’t.” he said but you knew it was a lie. He’d move in here just to be that much closer to them every hour of the day.

~~~

As time passed and the twins grew life evened out. There were many late nights soothing their cries and days spent changing dirty diapers and teaching them how to sit up and crawl. Sylus spent as much time with them as he possibly could. It almost made you jealous seeing how absolutely obsessed he was with your daughters. But seeing him taking care of and playing with them only made your heart swell with affection. He was such a good dad.

Right now Sylus wasn’t around though. Right now, the girls sat with you in your bridal suite, dressed in their little flower girl dresses while you got dressed in your wedding gown.

“So, girls, how do I look?” you turned to the twins who burbled and tugged on their little tulle skirts. “Lyra, Opal, please. Can you look at mommy?” Typical of six month old babies, they continued to ignore you.

“Alright, time for first look with daddy. You girls ready?” you asked the twins. They kinda just looked around, not really understanding anything you were saying but they weren’t fussing or crying so you took it as a win. “Great! Let’s go show him how pretty we all look.”

You placed the twins in the little wagon that had been decorated to match the wedding decor and pulled them behind you out of the suite.

The photographer was going to do your first look first and then bring in the girls. You saw Sylus at the end of the hallway, haloed by afternoon light and wearing a crisp handsome suit. His hands were behind his back, fidgeting slightly as he waited. You could see him tense up when he heard you approaching.

You deliberately slowed your steps just to tease him a little more before tapping his shoulder. He turned around, tears already misting his eyes as he took you in. “You look…breathtaking. I actually get to marry this angelic woman?”

“You look very handsome as well. The suit is crisp.” you smoothed out his tie.

“Can I kiss you or would that ruin your makeup?”

“If it smudges I’ll fix it.” you wrapped your arms around him as he kissed you passionately. You pulled back with wide matching smiles. “You want to see the girls?”

“Yes. Where are our little princesses?” his eyes lighted even more.

You turned around and motioned for the staff to wheel your babies over. “Oh there are the rest of my girls.” Sylus said, stooping down and hoisting either child on his hips. “You look so pretty in your little dresses. My precious little flowers.”

“Look at the little booties they have on. Isn’t that the most precious thing you’ve ever seen?” you wiggled one of their feet to their tiny sparkly shoes.

“They look every bit as beautiful and perfect as their mother.” he kissed both their heads. “To think, that after today I not only get to wake up to these two every morning but next to my wife as well.”

You stood there, watching your soon to be husband coo and fawn over your daughters as they giggled and tugged on their father’s expensive new suit. This was everything you had ever dreamt of having. It wasn’t a dream though. It was real. This beautiful life you were living was all yours. You glanced down in the wagon and saw a pair of hearts plushie that you had won at a claw machine over a year ago nestled inside. It had been wore down by the twins in recent months but seeing it, even with its stains and slightly misshapen stuffing filled you with joy.

You looked back at Sylus and the girls. Even all this time later you could remember what brought on this beautiful life. Two little cuties together are definitely twice as adorable. And you knew it was true.

“Ready to go get married?” you asked Sylus, taking one of the girls from him.

He smiled, taking your free hand. “As ready as I have ever been.”

#love and deepspace #lads sylus #lads mc #sylus x reader #sylus x mc #this is my most self indulgent fic ever!#I literally had to force myself to write an ending and not just let it continue on forever

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andy-15-07 · 17 hours ago

Text

Infinite Horizons

PAIRING: Reed Richards x reader

WORD COUNT: 1159 | requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

Pedro Pascal Masterlist

The Baxter Building hummed with the quiet energy of invention. Fluorescent lights cast a cool glow over the laboratory, where papers, holograms, and whiteboards filled with intricate equations surrounded a single figure.

Reed Richards stood before a towering chalkboard, writing with swift, precise strokes, his mind working at a speed no ordinary person could match. His sleeves were rolled up, revealing forearms dusted with chalk. His dark curls were slightly tousled, and his eyes burned with concentration as he scrawled symbols in a methodical yet fluid rhythm.

You leaned against the doorway, watching him. Admiring him.

There was something about seeing his mind at work that left you breathless. The way his brow furrowed, the way he whispered numbers under his breath, the way his fingers absentmindedly tapped against his chin when he hit a snag in his calculations—it was mesmerizing.

And he hadn’t even noticed you yet.

Smirking, you finally spoke. “You know, Reed, most people don’t spend their Friday nights romancing a chalkboard.”

His hand stilled mid-equation. He turned, his sharp eyes softening the moment they landed on you. “Y/N,” he said, and just like that, the tension in his shoulders eased. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

You stepped forward, arms crossed, head tilted in playful scrutiny. “You were too busy proving the meaning of the universe to notice, Professor Richards.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Not quite. Just solving a little problem in quantum instability.”

You raised a brow. “A little problem?”

He turned back to the board and gestured at the dizzying array of symbols. “I’m attempting to stabilize the quantum field distortions in our multiversal gate. Right now, the energy fluctuations are unpredictable. If I can refine the equation, I might be able to prevent spontaneous breaches.”

You stared at the equations, pretending to consider them seriously. “Mmm, yes. Of course. Looks like... numbers.”

Reed laughed—a warm, low sound that made your heart flutter.

“You’re impossible,” he murmured, his fingers brushing over your wrist as he pulled you closer.

“And yet, here you are, madly in love with me,” you teased.

His lips quirked. “Madly.”

Your heart did an embarrassingly giddy flip, but you disguised it with another playful remark. “So, what happens if you don’t solve this equation?”

Reed sighed, running a hand through his curls. “Worst case scenario? Unstable dimensional rifts. Possibly reality imploding. Best case scenario? I get a headache and need coffee.”

You gasped dramatically. “A headache? We’re doomed.”

His eyes twinkled. “Not if you stay here and keep distracting me.”

You smirked but didn’t move away. Instead, you stepped behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist, pressing your cheek against his back. You felt him exhale, his muscles relaxing under your touch.

“Your brain is my favorite thing,” you murmured. “Well, one of my favorite things.”

His hand covered yours, fingers lacing together. “That’s comforting.”

“What’s the other worst-case scenario?” you asked, tracing lazy circles on the fabric of his shirt.

Reed hesitated, then sighed. “The math isn’t adding up. If I don’t find the missing variable, I can’t stabilize the distortions. Which means—”

“—which means no experimental travel through the multiverse anytime soon,” you finished.

He turned in your arms, facing you fully. “Exactly.”

You studied him for a long moment. “How long have you been at this?”

His silence was telling.

You groaned. “Reed. Have you even eaten today?”

He pressed his lips together in thought. “I had coffee.”

You placed your hands on your hips. “That’s not food.”

He exhaled through his nose, amused. “I was in the zone.”

“You always say that.”

“And it’s always true.”

You rolled your eyes and grabbed his hand. “Come on, genius. You’re taking a break.”

He resisted for half a second before relenting. “Fine,” he murmured. “But only because you’re bossy.”

You smirked. “And because you love me.”

He squeezed your hand. “That too.”

You sat cross-legged on the couch in the lounge, watching Reed as he leaned against the counter, sipping his coffee. The kitchen was bathed in warm, golden light, making him look impossibly soft despite the sharpness of his intellect.

“So,” you started, “what’s the missing variable?”

Reed sighed, rubbing his forehead. “That’s the problem—I don’t know. The math should work, but there’s a fluctuation that keeps throwing it off.”

You tapped your chin. “Couldn’t it be an external factor? Something you haven’t accounted for yet?”

He hummed in thought. “Possibly.”

“Have you considered... I don’t know, the energy signature of whoever’s opening the breaches? Maybe the anomaly isn’t in the math but in the source itself.”

Reed’s eyes widened slightly. “You might be onto something.”

You grinned. “Of course I am. I’m brilliant.”

He smirked, setting his mug down before walking over and placing his hands on either side of your head, trapping you in. “You are. And now, I’m going to need your help.”

Your brows lifted. “My help? In quantum physics?”

Reed grinned. “I need a second set of eyes. Even if they’re skeptical ones.”

You sighed dramatically. “I suppose I could lend my expertise.”

He chuckled and kissed your forehead. “Then let’s get back to work.”

Hours passed as you sat together in the lab, Reed scribbling equations while you sat beside him, offering insights where you could. It was a strange dance—you weren’t a scientist, but Reed valued your perspective. He thrived on discussion, on the challenge of explaining concepts in ways you could understand.

And you? You just loved watching him work. Eventually, after what felt like an eternity, Reed froze.

Your head shot up from where you’d been resting it on your hand. “What? What is it?”

His eyes flickered with realization. “You were right.”

You blinked. “Obviously. But about what?”

He grabbed your shoulders, excitement radiating off him. “The anomaly wasn’t in the equation itself—it was an external force! If I adjust for the unique energy signature of the breaches, the entire system stabilizes!”

You grinned. “I mean, I did suggest that hours ago.”

He shook his head, grinning. “You did. And I was too busy overcomplicating it to listen.”

You leaned closer, whispering, “Say it.

He narrowed his eyes. “Say what?"

“That I was right.”

He sighed dramatically. “Y/N was right.”

You smirked. “And?”

His lips twitched. “And Reed Richards was wrong.”

You gasped. “A historical moment. I need this on record.”

He kissed you before you could gloat further, his lips warm and insistent. You melted into him, savoring the quiet triumph in his touch. When he pulled away, his voice was soft.

“You’re my favorite variable.”

Your heart clenched in the best way. “And you’re my favorite genius.”

Reed exhaled, resting his forehead against yours. “Thank you for keeping me grounded.”

You smiled, fingers brushing through his curls. “And thank you for reaching for the stars.”

And in that moment, with the weight of the universe pressing against him, Reed Richards knew—no equation, no discovery, no multiverse could ever mean more than you.

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maretinelli · 3 days ago

Text

FAVORITE AUNT

Oscar Piastri X fem!reader

Summary: When Y/n needs to buy a birthday present for her niece, she doesn't know how to do it because she's never been that good with children. But Oscar sees at dinner how much the children love her.

Words: 2.8K+

Warnings: Cute, funny, Oscar being very affectionate (oh how cute😭) And I think that's it

Author: English is not my first language, so apologies for any spelling, grammar and slang mistakes that may be in the story. You can request stories on my profile. ❤️🇧🇷

MASTERLIST

The Australian sun seemed warmer that afternoon, painting the sky with golden hues as the sea breeze tried to alleviate the heat. The air carried a faint smell of salt mixed with the sweet aroma coming from the coffee shops scattered along Melbourne's busy streets.

Y/n and Oscar walked hand in hand through the shopping center, passing illuminated storefronts and listening to the lively buzz of people enjoying the end of the holiday season.

Oscar, who was on vacation after the end of the championship, liked the light energy that the city transmitted. He was used to the fast pace of the races, but there, next to Y/n, everything seemed to slow down in a good way.

They had already passed by several stores—bookstores, children's clothing stores, and even an educational toy section—but Y/n still didn't seem satisfied with any of the options. Oscar, on the other hand, was already starting to find her indecision amusing.

"I think we've already walked halfway across the city," he commented, squeezing her hand lightly. "What exactly do you want to give as a gift?"

Y/n sighed, stopping in front of a large, colorful toy store. "I have no idea" She admitted, biting her lower lip.

Oscar arched an eyebrow, gently pulling her into the store. The atmosphere was vibrant, filled with children running between aisles filled with stuffed animals, dolls, cars, and board games.

"What do you mean?" He asked, watching Y/n look at the toys with a confused expression.

"I've never been very good with children," Y/n confessed, crossing her arms. "I don't know, I don't have that natural instinct to know what they like."

Oscar laughed, picking up a dinosaur doll that roared as he squeezed his belly. "Are you serious? You seem to be great with everyone." He asked a little in disbelief.

Y/n smiled, picking up a teddy bear and examining it uncertainly. "The kids don't really seem to like me," she confessed, pouting a little.

Oscar frowned, still a little skeptical. "You sound like you have a curse that keeps children away."

"Looks like I do," Y/n rolled her eyes. "One day, I was at the salon getting my nails done with Mackenzie, and the manicurist's daughter came in all excited, smiling at her and saying, "Cinderella Moana!"

Oscar frowned. "Cinderella Moana?"

"Yes! She was wearing a Cinderella costume over a Moana one, it looked like a Disney crossover." Y/n laughed lightly. "And I tried to be nice, didn't I? I asked smiling what that meant..."

"And what did she say?"

Y/n huffed and threw her hands up. She turned to me with the most sullen face in the world and said, "I'm not talking to you, I'm talking to my mother."

Oscar held back his laughter, not wanting to disappoint his girlfriend with a laugh, and then handed her another toy to examine.

"Okay, that was a good one."

"And there's more!" Y/n continued, picking up a stuffed toy without much enthusiasm. "Once, my neighbor asked me to take care of her son for half an hour because she needed to take care of something quickly. I accepted, I thought it would be easy." Oscar was already looking at her expectantly. "But the boy cried non-stop because he said I looked at him the wrong way."

Oscar almost choked, allowing himself to laugh now. "What do you mean?!"

"I wanted to know too! I asked him what he meant by that, and he just cried harder and screamed 'I don't like this!'" She puts on a high-pitched voice.

Oscar was still laughing when Y/n sighed and began walking slowly towards a hallway full of teddy bears. He could tell her frustration was genuine and, without thinking much, he placed a light hand on her back, offering comfort.

"But Mary really likes you," he said softly. "And not just her, but the others too. Whenever I go to family gatherings with you, you can see how much they love having you around."

Y/n sighed, putting one hand in the back pocket of her jeans. Her eyes wandered over the shelf full of colorful teddy bears. "They probably just like me because I'm family," she muttered. "Because I'm their mother's sister."

Oscar smiled slightly and turned his body a little to face her better. "That's not true," he said, picking up a small stuffed rabbit and placing it in her hand. "Mary would love anything you gave her. If you gave her a rock, she would scream with joy and say it was the coolest gift in the world."

Y/n couldn't help but smile shyly, looking up and running her hand through Oscar's hair briefly, in an affectionate gesture.

In fact, her nephews really enjoyed spending time with her. They liked to play games, ask random questions, ask for help with schoolwork, and even tell secrets that not even his parents knew. But still, an insecurity insisted on staying there, hammering in his mind.

"But sometimes I think..." She hesitated, biting her lower lip. "What if one day I become a mother and my children hate having me as a mother?"

Oscar paused. The lightness in his eyes faded a little, and he pressed his lips together, feeling his chest heave. "Y/n..."

"I mean it," she sighed. "What if I'm not good with kids? What if they think I'm boring, or weird, or... I don't know, what if I'm just not good enough?"

Oscar turned to her completely and gently cupped her face, forcing her to look at him. "You have no idea how lucky our children will be to have you as a mother," he said, his voice firm but sweet. "And honestly, I bet they'll love you more than they love me."

Y/n smiled weakly, feeling a cozy warmth spread through her chest. She wrapped Oscar in a brief hug, resting her face on his shoulder.

"Thank you for always being here."

Oscar smiled, placing a soft kiss on her cheek. "Always," he replied, before pulling away slightly and clapping his hands once. "Now, let's find a really cool gift for Mary."

Y/n laughed, finally feeling that maybe this whole kid thing wasn't that hard after all. After all, with Oscar by her side, everything seemed a little easier.

••••••••••••••••••••

The warm Australian night air brought a comfortable breeze, making it the perfect weather for an outdoor party. The sky was clear, dotted with stars, and the streets were quiet, lit by yellow streetlights.

Oscar parked the car in front of Meredith's house—Y/n's older sister and mother of her nephews. He turned off the engine before turning to Y/n, who was holding tightly the wrapped gifts in her arm, almost as if her life depended on it.

He raised an eyebrow, a playful smile playing on his lips. "You're more nervous about delivering this gift than you were when we first went out together years ago."

Y/n let out a sigh, adjusting the package in her arm. "Because I am! What if she doesn't like it? What if..."

Oscar chuckled, leaning down to kiss her cheek softly. "She's going to love it, love." He said sweetly, getting out of the car and opening the door for his girlfriend to get out as well.

With a suspicious look, Y/n took a deep breath and walked to the door, knocking a few times. A few seconds later, Meredith appeared, opening the door with a warm smile.

"Y/n! I'm glad you came!" She hugged her sister briefly before looking at Oscar. "And Oscar! It's been a while. It's good to see you again."

Oscar smiled, greeting her with a wave. "Time flies, doesn't it? But I'm glad to be here."

Meredith made room for the two to enter, and Oscar took the opportunity to place a comforting hand on his girlfriend's shoulder.

"Breathe, everything will be okay."

Meredith, not noticing the brief moment between them, turned back into the house and called out excitedly, "Mary! Aunt Y/n and Uncle Oscar are here!"

Oscar couldn't help but smile a little when he heard that, Uncle Oscar. He has sisters, but he didn't have any nephews yet. It was sweet that Y/n's family made a point of including him like that.

They followed Meredith into the backyard, which was beautifully decorated with balloons, confetti, and red and silver ornaments.

It was then that Mary spotted Y/n. Her eyes lit up and, without hesitation, she dropped what she was doing and ran towards her.

"AUNT Y/N!!!"

Y/n bent down just in time to receive the little girl in her arms, laughing as she spun her around slightly in the air before hugging her tightly.

Oscar, taking advantage of the scene, began to greet Y/n's parents, Meredith's husband and her other sisters, but his eyes always returned to his girlfriend and niece, a slight smile on his face.

Mary pulled away from the hug a little, her eyes shining with excitement. "I missed you!"

"Me too, sweetie!" Y/n smiled, holding out the gift to her niece. "Here's your present, little one. I hope you like it... Uncle Oscar helped me choose."

Mary grabbed the package with excitement and quickly tore the paper open. When she saw what was inside—a huge unicorn plush toy, a painting kit, and a Barbie doll—her eyes widened with pure happiness.

At the store, Y/n had been at a loss as to which gift to choose. Afraid of making a mistake, she ended up picking all three, which made Oscar laugh at the time and say that she was exaggerating. But now, seeing Mary's reaction, he knew that she had made the right choice.

"I LOVED IT!!!" Mary squealed, jumping into her aunt's arms again, hugging her tightly. "Thank you, Aunt Y/n!"

Y/n laughed, caressing the little girl's back. "I'm glad you liked it, princess."

Mary pulled back a little, looking at Yin with a pure smile. "Anything you give me will be nice. Because I love you."

Y/n felt some tears wanting to come out, but then she smiled and hugged her five-year-old niece once more. "Oh love, I love you too!"

Oscar, who was very close, leaned over and whispered in his girlfriend's ear: "Did I tell you? If you gave her a rock, she would be happy too."

Y/n laughed, rolling her eyes before finally approaching her parents and other family members to greet them with hugs and smiles.

Oscar stood beside her, placing a hand on his girlfriend's waist while her father and brothers-in-law brought up the subject of racing, asking about the season. Meanwhile, Y/n's mother and sisters talked about random subjects, laughing among themselves.

Suddenly, an excited scream echoed through the yard, coming from inside. "AUNT Y/N!!!"

Before Y/n could turn around, three little 7-year-old hurricanes—the triplets, her nephews too—ran up to her and wrapped her in a tight hug, almost knocking her backwards.

She laughed out loud, trying to balance herself, but it was Oscar who, in a quick gesture, held her back so she wouldn't fall. Making everyone laugh.

"Okay, okay, boys, I missed you too!" Yin said between laughs, kissing each of their heads.

The triplets had moved away a little, but now their focus was on Oscar, who was watching them with amusement. With the seriousness of growing boys, they each reached out to shake his hand firmly.

Oscar bit back a smile and returned the handshakes as if they were closing a big deal. "Hey, boys? How's it going?"

"Well, Uncle Oscar!" they replied together.

Y/n looked at her boyfriend and smiled. He was already part of that family, and every day that became clearer.

After the lively greetings with the triplets, Y/n's father, who was chatting happily with his family, suddenly remembered a funny moment from his daughter's childhood and, with a nostalgic smile, asked:

"Y/n, do you remember that time you tried to run away from home because I wouldn't let you eat cake before dinner?"

Y/n widened her eyes, already feeling the heat rise to her cheeks. She laughed nervously, hiding her face in her hands.

Her father turned to Oscar, eager to tell the story. "She was about six years old and decided she was going to run away. She took a little backpack, put two stuffed animals, a Barbie and... a piece of bread in it. She said she could take care of herself and that she would never come back."

Oscar laughed out loud, shaking his head in pure amusement. "Four years of dating and you still haven't told me that, Y/n?"

She laughed, embarrassed, and hid in his chest, making the family burst into laughter.

Before he could respond, Meredith and her husband appeared, calling everyone to dinner. The large table in the house was filled with excited voices, silverware clinking against plates and constant laughter.

The triplets and Mary were curious about Y/n's travels with Oscar. "Don't you get sick from flying so much, Aunt Y/n?" one of the boys asked, drawing laughter from the table before she could answer.

Oscar exchanged glances with Y/n during dinner, a discreet smile always present on his lips, as if to say that she did very well with the children.

After the congratulations and the cake being cut with Mary insisting that the first piece should go to Y/n, the night continued pleasantly. Y/n was chatting animatedly with the adults on the balcony when she felt a light tug on her dress.

She looked down and saw Mary, who was staring at her with bright eyes. "What's wrong, love?" Y/n asked, smiling.

The little girl fidgeted her fingers nervously before asking softly, "Can you and Uncle Oscar play with us? We have a cool game, but we're missing two people..."

Before Y/n could even respond, Oscar leaned over and said, laughing, "Sure, me and Aunt Y/n are going!"

He placed the glass of wine on the table and, in a natural gesture, took Y/n's hand, guiding her to the backyard, where the children were waiting anxiously.

The conversations on the porch died down when the adults noticed the couple approaching the group of children.

Y/n looked at her nephews curiously. "Okay, what's the joke?"

One of the triplets held up a plastic crown and placed it on her head. “It’s a wedding!” Mary announced excitedly.

Y/n and Oscar laughed out loud as they saw the kids putting on makeshift costumes. Mary clapped her hands to get their attention.

"Now everyone pay attention, because Aunt Y/n and Uncle Oscar are getting married!"

The game unfolded amidst laughter. The children improvised a speech, pretended to be priests and threw plastic flower petals.

Until Mary crossed her arms and looked at them seriously. "Now you need to kiss."

Y/n's eyes widened and she opened her mouth to respond, but Oscar just smiled at the corner of his mouth and, before she could think about running away from the situation, he gently held Y/n's back and waist and leaned her back, sealing their lips in a sweet and long kiss, respectful, but passionate enough to draw excited screams from the children.

The adults on the balcony whistled and clapped excitedly. When Oscar lifted her back up, Y/n buried her face against his shoulder, giggling shyly.

The night passed at a light and happy pace. Soon, Oscar and Y/n were at the front door saying goodbye to the family.

The children were the ones who took the longest to hug, holding Y/n tightly, and she ran her hand through each of their hair, promising that she would come back for them to play more often.

Oscar then held her hand as they walked to the car. He opened the door for Y/n and walked around to get into the driver's seat.

When he started the car, he gave her a long look before getting out.

Y/n frowned, laughing. "What is it?"

Oscar smiled. "Nothing... I was just thinking about how much the kids love you." He paused and joked, "I guess kids who don't like you are born with defects." Y/n laughed and pulled Oscar into a quick kiss, feeling his smile against her lips.

As they pulled away, he sighed, still smiling. "You're going to be a great mother, you know that?"

Y/n blinked, feeling her heart race. Before she could answer, Oscar continued, his voice full of affection: "I can imagine you going for walks with them, teaching them how to ride a bike, encouraging them in sports, cooking and reading stories before bed..." He chuckled softly. "And I'm there, by your side, watching it all happen."

Y/n bit her lip, feeling a warm warmth in her chest. "That sounds like a perfect plan." She smiled.

Oscar squeezed her hand gently before finally leaving with the car, guiding them back home, his heart light and full of love. Y/n knowing that now she knew that the children loved her.

#fanfiction #y/n #romance #imagines #one shot #formula 1 #formula one #fem reader #imagines oscar piastri #oscar piastri #oscar piastri x reader #lovers

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adieutristana · 1 day ago

Text

ribbons and lace; jinx x fem!reader

first smut fic let's go... part 2 to pins and needles since it got a positive reception. if this sucks don't kill me

since writing this i will have a new section in my rules post specifically for nsfw. feel free to send in any nsfw requests, but please read through before doing so!

characters included; jinx

summary; jinx getting worked up after volunteering to be a dress form for her girlfriend. her girlfriend notices, and helps her.

tags/warnings; seamstress!reader, dom!reader, sub!jinx, foreplay, semi-public, fingering, dirty talk, sliiiiight degredation, squirting, crying, explicit consent, beginning of aftercare

men and minors dni.

she's flushed, and she swears she's okay, but you know better than that. you know that jinx has always been the last person to ask for and especially accept help. but what could have her in such a state? flushed, breathless, sweaty, even. you step forward to jinx's chair, brushing your lips against her forehead in an effort to gauge her temperature. that's the only other explanation you can think of at this moment.

another shiver runs down jinx's spine. yet, she feels completely normal. the way your girlfriend looks, you'd swear that she'd be burning up.

"come on, baby. talk to me. something's wrong."

you whisper, pulling your lips from jinx's forehead. the girl can't muster up a response to you, rather she won't. your face is mere centimeters from jinx's, close enough that you can feel her hot breath against your skin. her breathing is labored and her eyes have this look in them that you've seen before- several times.

oh. that's what this is about.

you let out a huff, before striding over to the clear door of your studio. flipping the sign so that it reads 'CLOSED,' and closing the dark curtains usually reserved for off-hours.

you walk back over to jinx, still sat ever so unceremoniously in one of your chairs. probably soaking the cushion as you observe her. you cross your arms over your chest, cocking your head to the side in a faux-annoyed manner.

"i have a deadline, jinx. i can't be doing things like this," you mutter, tutting as you slowly shake your head. her rosy eyes are blown wide, looking at you as if you're her lifeline. her one and only sanctuary, the only thing that can give her exactly what she needs.

"i know, i'm sorry- i just.." she breathes out, raspy voice barely above a whisper. "i need you, toots. please."

you let out a heavy sigh, bringing your forefinger and thumb to jinx's chin. you simply look for a moment, observing the sheen of jinx's skin, the slight furrow of dark brows, the way her plump lips press into a pout. you haven't done a damn thing, yet she's already this worked up.

"you're really this helpless?"

you mutter, though it's clear you're not looking for an answer. you claim your girlfriends lips in a hungry kiss, soft lips moving against her own. your tongue swipes along her bottom lip as a silent plea for entrance, and she immediately grants it to you. one hand comes to tangle in your hair, a desperate effort to press you closer to her as if your tongue isn't already inside her mouth. you'd laugh if you weren't so busy right now.

you swallow up soft whimpers, jinx's breathing labored and her sharp fingernails now digging into your scalp. you continue to explore her mouth with your tongue as both of your hands begin to run along jinx's bare, slim waist. you pull away with a gasp as one of your hands finds the hemline of jinx's leather top, your middle finger hooking underneath.

"you're sure this is what you want?"

you ask, your eyes boring into the girl's. she frantically nods, almost as if this is the most important question she's been asked in her life. maybe in this moment, it feels like that for her.

"yes, yes- i need it. please, please-"

she's cut off by the feeling of you quickly grabbing one of her perky tits beneath her top and squeezing, a sharp whine being drawn from the girl. ever so reactive, ever so sensitive. you run the pad of your thumb over her hardened nipple, your other hand working to quickly push up her shirt up above her tits. you almost swear that you can feel yourself salivate at the mere sight. this has always been one of your favorite features of your girlfriend.

"didn't take much to shut you up, huh?"

you murmur, still teasing the pert bud beneath your fingers. you're looming over her as if you're some malevolent presence, here to take your prey and do whatever you please with her. oh, how she wishes you would.

"mm, shut up," she manages to breathe out. "i'm just.. sensitive,"

"i know, baby."

you whisper, your free hand trailing back down her waist to make its way closer to your destination. you can feel her abs tensing beneath your touch as cold fingers run over her obliques, you can feel exactly where her hip bone juts out. goosebumps littered across the pale expanse of her stomach. pale blue clouds littered across her skin, each one its own separate masterpiece on the most beautiful canvas possible. it's a sight to behold- one you've seen times prior, yet one you know will never grow old.

"i've always loved your tits," you rumble, your hand coming back to her now-neglected breast. you pinch the erect nipple, rolling it between your fingers as jinx squeals and squirms.

"so small, so perky, so perfect, and just for me."

without another word, you drop to your knees in front of jinx's chair.

you're now eye-level with her knees. you'd been here just a few moments prior, pinning fabrics onto her and trying to get her to stop squirming so damn much. now it made sense, why she couldn't keep still. your hands braced on either knee, you gently coax them apart. jinx's chest is heaving, perky tits on full display as her breaths come in shorter and shorter. it's a good thing you pulled that curtain.

"dirty girl. i'm trying to do a job here," you chastise as your fingers fly to unfasten her belt, a quick and practiced movement. you pull it off of her, whilst your fingers hook into the waistband of her striped pants. "but you just couldn't wait. this client is gonna be pissed, you know. maybe you should go explain yourself to them. tell them why there was a hold-up."

the fabric is battered and torn from countless battles, cuts and holes strewn across the garment and the legs of her pants impossibly frayed. you'd offered more times than you could count to fix them, hell, even make new pants for her, but she'd always insisted on wearing these old things. said they had 'character.' you sigh, shaking your head as you pull the article from her ankles.

jinx is left nearly bare before you, save for a manipulated top and a pair of baby blue panties. your eyes dart beneath her thighs, directly towards the wet patch on her underwear. soaked through. good gods, she was insatiable. you let out a low chuckle while you moved up on your knees, bringing your dominant hand toward her pussy. pressing your middle finger down right over her clothed clit, eliciting a sharp cry from her.

"fuck!"

"come on. this wet already, and i haven't even touched you properly."

you tut, though you can't bring yourself to be truly angry. it's kind of endearing, how desperate she is. her body taut as each muscle coils with pure, unabashed need. fingers dancing along the edge of her panties, before swiftly pulling them down and off of her. you spread jinx's thighs just the slightest bit wider, then glance back up to jinx. her big eyes are still fixed on you, following your every move and whim. your fingernails drag along jinx's inner thigh. a tantalizing tease, remining jinx of what she wants, but she can't have. not yet, anyways.

"s-stop teasing," she whines, her voice low. you snicker lightly, before pressing your middle finger back over her needy clit. jinx's body nearly stutters with the sensation, the feeling of you rubbing slow, borderline torturous circles into her. her lips are already parted while she looks down at you, before you sink your middle finger into her.

"shiiiit," she breathes out, feeling the steady movement of your finger. slowly pumping in and out of her, stretching her ever so gently.

"you like that?" you whisper, adding your ring finger as well. there's a bit of resistance, though jinx is quickly able to accommodate to the new addition. lewd sounds of wet squelching fill your studio, jinx's increasingly loud moans bouncing off the walls like some perverted medley. your fingers begin to pound into jinx, drawing nearly pornographic noise from those beautiful parted lips.

"hnggh- oh! don't stop, right there-" she grunts, your fingers making contact with the spongy spot that always makes jinx see stars. you brace your free hand on her opposite thigh, grabbing both to hold her in place and ground her. a low laugh escapes you. nothing about this is amusing necessarily, but it's just too damn perfect.

"look at this pussy," you murmur, your voice a low husk. "swallowing me up. nice and wet f'me." watching your fingers disappear again and again into jinx's sopping hole, ever so eager. as if she was made to take you.

"ah, aaah- you- ngh!" the girl pauses, head falling backward. "you like it?"

"oh, i love it," you affirm, your fingers continuing their delirious assault on jinx. "i love this pussy so fuckin' much. you have no idea."

"mmph... show me, show me," she pleads, her voice a weak rasp. her tits are bouncing the slightest bit whilst you finger-fuck her, the pale skin of her neck exposed and her braids dragging on the ground beneath her. "show me how much you love it."

you don't need to be told twice. your thumb comes to press into jinx's throbbing clit, which forces a guttural moan from the depths of her chest. that shut her up. your fingers continue to pound in and out of jinx, going at break-neck speed. you might break your fingers for all you know, but you also can't be bothered to care at this point. jinx is taking everything you're giving her so well, her chest and face flushed pink as her breath comes to her in short pants. she's nearly shaking under your touch; exactly how you like her.

your fingers continue to curl inside her just right, your thumb playing with that pretty clit in the way you know drives jinx mad. she's starting to grind her hips down onto your hand, seeking any bit of extra friction that she can get. her abs and thigh muscles clench amidst the pleasure. maybe another time jinx would bite down on her bottom lip in an effort to stifle the noises, but not today. she's entirely unashamed.

"so damn loud, too." you remark, accentuated by another sharp thrust. "the whole of zaun is gonna hear you at this point. is that what you want, hm? want everyone to know i'm fucking their symbol?"

the words draw a high-pitched whine from jinx, though she doesn't seem to respond to them.

"hnng.." she grunts." i need- hmph,"

"you need...?" you urge, your voice barely audible over the wet sounds you're drawing from her cunt. you know what she needs, you can feel it in the way her gummy walls are clenching around your digits. the way her body is heaving, her chest in an interrupted rhythm of up, down, up down. she needs to cum is what she needs, but frankly, you want to draw this out a bit.

you know jinx's mind is growing fuzzy, that it's difficult for her to string together a coherent sentence, let alone say it right now. she'd gotten herself into this, really. getting so turned on by just a few innocent touches, when she had been the one to offer herself up as a dress form. her little whines and moans fill your ears, a rhythmic 'ah, ah, ah.'

and still, part of you can't help but take pity on her. head tossed back, blue bang partially sticking to her face while moans spill from her lips. she looks a damn mess, yet divine. curse jinx for being so beautiful, for being able to make you fold so easily.

"please," she cuts through. hot tears are beginning to well in her eyes, a testament to just how good you're making her feel. how desperately she needs this. "please, i need to-"

"shh," you interrupt, shifting on your knees to rise slightly. peppering light kisses on the expanse of jinx's neck. "cum for me, jinx."

jinx is teetering on the precipice of climax, so damn close. you continue your relentless rhythm, and it's as if a dam breaks. light pink liquid squirts onto your hand and forearm, a strangled cry of your name escaping jinx. she writhes in the chair, thrashing back and forth against your hand while her hips stutter, trying to ride out the high. her face falls forward, tears running down pale cheeks and dark mascara staining her under eyes.

she looks a damn wreck, but gods is she beautiful.

"shh, shh," you offer, sliding your soaked hand out of jinx's cunt. "i'm here."

taking to your feet, you gently scoop jinx into your arms and settle into her chair, situating jinx on your lap. her breathing is still shallow, coming to her in pants, but the lovestruck look in those half-lidded eyes is all of the reassurance that you need to prove your girlfriend is okay.

she almost immediately wraps her toned arms around your shoulders, pressing her cheek against your chest in an effort to anchor herself back to reality. your clean hand brushes her bang from her face, then brushes underneath an eye to wipe her tears as your lips brush against her forehead. a gentle reminder of your love, yet a stark contrast to how you were handling her just a moment ago.

"i'm sorry," she breathes out, voice weak. "i interrupted your work..."

you chuckle lowly, shaking your head. jinx isn't actually sorry, she never is about this kind of thing. maybe it's some effort to please you, but no matter.

"i don't mind. you were so good for me."

you whisper, before claiming her lips in a soft kiss. plump lips move against yours slow and steady.

"i love you."

"i love you too," you hum. "let's get you cleaned up, yeah?"

#jinx x reader #jinx smut #arcane x reader #reader insert #arcane x you #jinx x you #sapphic

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00valentina-writes00 · 1 day ago

Note

Street racing reader x mechanic Ellie??

(I just got done binge watching the fast and thefurious movies)

Reader street races to make some extra cash on the side, Ellie works on the cars and also details them for other racers.

RAHAHHAHHHH IVE had this stuck in my head since you made the request five hours ago bby-

And I have delivered.

✞⛧ Racing Hearts ✞⛧

warnings: language, sexual tension, suggestive themes, reckless driving, bickering, teasing, angst, smut towards the end (as always)

Word count: 7.9k

The garage smells like oil, burnt rubber, and metal—sharp, heavy, and lingering in the back of your throat. The flickering fluorescent lights overhead cast a dim, yellowish glow on the concrete floor, stained with years of grease and engine spills. The space is cluttered but organized, the kind of chaos that only someone who knows exactly where everything is can navigate.

You lean against the hood of your car, arms crossed, eyes scanning the place. Word on the street is that this mechanic—Ellie—knows her shit. Works fast, doesn't overcharge, and can squeeze power out of an engine like nobody else. You're skeptical. Too many mechanics see street racers as cash cows, overpricing labor and tacking on fees like you're some rich kid playing pretend. You're not. You race to make extra cash, to keep your car running, to survive.

A loud clang echoes from the far side of the garage. Then—

"Yo, if you're just gonna stand there looking pretty, at least make yourself useful and hand me that wrench."

The voice is rough, low, tinged with something lazy and self-assured. You turn toward it

Ellie Williams.

She's half under a lifted car, only her legs and torso visible, grease-smudged jeans hugging lean, wiry muscle. When she slides out, dragging a rag over her oil-streaked hands, you get your first real look at her.

Maybe 5'5", lean but strong, built like someone who doesn't just lift tools but knows how to throw a punch. Her forearms are defined, her hands rough, calloused from years of work. A faded band tee clings to her frame, the sleeves haphazardly rolled up, revealing a fern tattoo winding down her arm, the dark ink stark against tanned skin. A streak of oil smudges across her cheekbone, and a faint scar cuts through one of her eyebrows. Her green eyes are sharp, glinting with a mix of amusement and mild impatience.

You arch a brow. "I don't work here."

Ellie snorts, tossing the rag onto a nearby tool chest. "No shit. You've got 'racer' written all over you." She eyes your car, then you. "That why you're here? What, engine light came on and now you're freaking out?"

You grit your teeth. "I need a tune-up. You free?"

Ellie sighs like you just asked her to rebuild the whole damn car from scratch. She jerks her chin toward the hood. "Pop it."

You reach in, pull the latch, and step back as she moves in. The way she moves is confident, easy—like this is second nature. She leans over, hands braced against the frame, eyes scanning the engine like she's reading a book only she understands.

She whistles low. "Damn. You push this thing way too hard," she mutters, hands already working, brushing over wires, testing the tension on belts. "Might as well start digging your own grave."

You cross your arms. "I win races. Winning means pushing limits."

Ellie huffs a laugh, shaking her head as she reaches for a wrench. "Winning also means knowing when your car's about to shit the bed."

She gets to work, sleeves pushed up past her elbows, the muscles in her forearms flexing with each movement. You watch as she moves efficiently—checking, adjusting, tightening. There's a rhythm to it, like muscle memory. The music blasting from an old radio in the corner doesn't distract her. In fact, she taps her foot to it while she works, muttering under her breath every now and then.

"You talk to cars a lot?" you ask.

Ellie shrugs, not looking up. "Only the ones with owners dumb enough to burn through their engines."

You smirk. "You flirting with my car?"

Ellie pauses just long enough to glance at you, lips curling. "Jealous?"

You roll your eyes but don't fight the grin tugging at your mouth.

She works fast. Every adjustment is precise, every flick of her wrist practiced. She knows what she's doing, and for the first time in a long time, you don't feel like someone's trying to hustle you.

After a while, she straightens, wiping her hands on the rag. "You're all set. Try not to kill yourself out there."

You slide into the driver's seat, start the engine, and immediately notice the difference. The hum is smoother, the response sharper. She fine-tuned it perfectly. You glance up at her.

"How much?"

Ellie leans against the door, tapping her fingers against the frame. "Two hundred."

You scoff. "That's it?"

She shrugs. "Could've charged you more. Might, next time, if you keep acting like a dick."

You can't tell if she's serious, but there's something about the way she says it that makes you smirk. You pull out a couple of bills, hand them over, and she tucks them into her pocket without counting.

As you shift into gear, Ellie knocks her knuckles against the window. "Hey."

You pause.

"If you win, bring it back," she says, her voice casual but firm. "I wanna see what I'm working with."

You meet her gaze, searching for the catch. There isn't one. Just a mechanic who gives a shit, even if she pretends not to.

You nod once. "Yeah. Alright."

And with that, you pull out of the garage, the tune-up carrying you toward the starting line.

——-

The first time you come back to Ellie's garage after a race, she looks up from under the hood of an old Chevy, eyes narrowing like she's already regretting seeing your face again.

"You back so soon?" she says, wiping grease off her hands with a rag. "What'd you do this time, blow a gasket?"

You smirk, leaning against the doorway. "Nah. Just figured you'd miss me."

Ellie snorts. "Yeah, like a hole in the head." But she still jerks her chin toward your car. "Pop the hood. Might as well check if you haven't completely fucked it since last time."

That's how it starts. One visit turns into two, then three. You come back after every race, whether you need work done or not. Ellie complains, rolls her eyes, mutters about "needy racers," but she never actually tells you to leave. And despite her grumbling, she always takes a minute to check under the hood, wiping sweat off her forehead with the back of her wrist, leaving a faint streak of oil along her temple.

She's all rough hands and sharp edges, but there's something about the way she moves—focused, deliberate—that makes it hard to look away. The way the overhead lights catch on the sheen of sweat along her collarbone, the way her forearms flex when she tightens a bolt, the way she bites the inside of her cheek when she's concentrating.

"You gonna keep staring, or are you actually gonna help?" she mutters one night, not looking up from where she's bent over your engine.

You shrug. "Just making sure you know what you're doing."

Ellie scoffs, tossing a wrench at your chest—not hard, just enough to make a point. You catch it, grinning. "Real funny."

It becomes a routine.

The races run late, sometimes past midnight, and more often than not, you find yourself back at Ellie's shop, the neon sign buzzing faintly in the darkness. Some nights, you're actually there for repairs. Other nights, you just lean against the hood of your car, watching her work.

Ellie pretends to hate it.

"You got nothing better to do?" she grumbles one night, wiping sweat from her forehead with her forearm.

“Not really."

She exhales through her nose, shaking her head, but you don't miss the way her lips twitch like she's fighting a smirk.

Your presence is easy now—familiar, even. She doesn't ask why you keep coming back, and you don't explain. But sometimes, when she's bent under the hood, sleeves shoved up past her elbows, you catch the slight pink on her cheeks when she realizes you've been watching.

"Seriously," she mutters, throwing a look over her shoulder. "What's with you?"

You shrug. "You're kinda cute when you're pissed off."

Ellie scoffs, turning back to the car, but you see the way her ears turn red.

One night, you show up with takeout.

Ellie raises a brow as you set the bag on the workbench. "The hell is this?"

"Food," you say. "Mechanics gotta eat, too."

Ellie hesitates, like she doesn't know what to do with the gesture. She's used to grease, to engine parts, to long hours with nothing but black coffee and maybe a gas station snack if she remembers. She's not used to people taking care of her.

Still, she grabs the bag, peeking inside. She mutters a quiet, almost reluctant, "Thanks," before digging in, perching on the edge of the workbench, one boot resting against the stool beneath her.

You sit across from her, eating in comfortable silence. The radio hums low in the background, some old rock song, and for a moment, the night doesn't feel so heavy.

After that, you bring food more often. Sometimes it's just coffee. Sometimes it's a burger or something she can eat with one hand while working. She never asks for it, but she never turns it down, either.

Another night, she leans against the counter, sipping the drink you brought her, eyes flicking over to you. "You keep doing this, people are gonna start thinking you like me."

You tilt your head, grinning. "Yeah? And what would you think?"

Ellie rolls her eyes, but you don't miss the way she licks her lips before looking away.

——

The dim light in the garage flickers overhead, casting long shadows that stretch across the concrete floor, mixing with the hum of the fan spinning lazily in the corner. The air is thick with the smell of motor oil, sweat, and something faintly metallic. It's the kind of scent that makes you think of late nights and a kind of gritty work you've come to associate with Ellie—who's currently hunched over the engine of your car, her body angled just so as she works. Her movements are fluid, practiced, confident. Each shift of her body reveals the lean, toned muscles of her back, flexing beneath her worn-out sports bra.

You lean against the hood of your car, arms crossed loosely over your chest. Your gaze, despite your best efforts, keeps wandering back to her. There's something magnetic about the way she works. It's like watching a well-rehearsed dance, only instead of a stage, it's a greasy engine bay and a pile of worn-out tools scattered around her.

You can't help but notice the way the sports bra clings to her back, the lines of her spine visible as she bends over to tighten something under the hood. It's a small thing—something fleeting—but it catches your attention in a way you don't want it to. The soft curve of her spine as she moves, the way her muscles contract and relax with each movement—it's mesmerizing.

You think about how she'd look if she were arching her back, the muscles in her spine stretching, the way her body would ripple beneath your touch. The way her muscles might tense if you shoved your strap- It's a thought that catches you off guard, unexpected and almost too much for your brain to process. You quickly look away, taking a breath, trying to shake the thought out of your head.

But then she shifts again, and you're back at it. She pulls herself out from under the car, brushing a strand of messy hair away from her forehead with the back of her hand. Her face is flushed with the effort, but her eyes—those green eyes—catch yours almost instantly. There's a challenge in her gaze, something you can't quite read, but it's there, lingering.

"You gonna keep staring or are you gonna help?" she grumbles, wiping her hand on a rag. She doesn't look annoyed—if anything, there's a slight smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth, like she's enjoying the attention, even if she won't admit it.

You raise an eyebrow, pushing off the hood of your car. "Maybe I'll just watch you do all the work. You're pretty good at it."

Ellie lets out an exaggerated sigh and stands up straight, stretching her back with a small grunt. The motion pulls your attention once again, the way her muscles ripple, how her spine arches as she stretches. You swallow, shifting your weight from one foot to the other, trying to hide how her physicality affects you. She notices, of course. She always does.

——

Ellie starts teaching you things.

At first, it's just little comments here and there. "If your car starts pulling left, check the tire pressure before assuming it's alignment." "Listen for knocking in the engine—means the timing's off." "Don't rev the shit out of it before a race, you're just burning fuel for no reason."

Eventually, though, she starts pulling you into the work itself. Hands you a tool instead of doing it herself. Makes you tighten a bolt, check a connection.

It's frustrating, at first. She's a tough teacher, blunt and sarcastic, but never careless. If she corrects you, it's because she wants you to get it right.

One night, as you're trying (and failing) to change out a spark plug, Ellie leans over, her arm brushing against yours, the warmth of her skin distracting in a way you refuse to acknowledge.

She smirks, voice low. "Need me to hold your hand?"

You huff, but your fingers slip on the plug, and Ellie laughs. Not mocking, just amused, something softer underneath.

"You're getting better," she admits, nudging your shoulder with hers. "Maybe I won't clown on you forever."

And then, that same evening, you challenge her.

"You ever actually gonna watch me race?" you ask, leaning against the counter as she works.

Ellie glances up. "I hear about it."

"Not the same."

She exhales, tossing the rag aside. "Racing's not really my thing."

You tilt your head. "Then why do you work on race cars?"

Ellie shrugs. "I like the work."

You step closer. "Come watch," you say, quieter this time. "You spend all this time making sure my car doesn't fall apart. Wouldn't hurt to see it in action."

Ellie hesitates. She's used to the garage, to oil and metal and machines she can fix with her hands. But people? Feelings? Those are harder.

Still, after a moment, she sighs, running a hand through her messy auburn hair. "Fine," she mutters. "One race."

You grin. "Try not to fall in love."

Ellie scoffs. "You wish." But her smirk lingers, and for the first time, you think she might actually be looking forward to it.

——-

Ellie's in your passenger seat, and she's already regretting it.

The neon lights of the city streak past, blurring into a rush of color as your tires screech against the asphalt. The engine roars beneath you, a perfect harmony of raw power and precision—the kind of balance only Ellie could've fine-tuned.

She grips the oh shit handle, knuckles white. "Jesus," she mutters. "You drive like a fucking maniac."

You grin, shifting gears as you weave between cars. "Told you to buckle up."

Ellie scoffs, but she yanks the strap tighter across her chest anyway.

The race is chaos—machines tearing through the night, engines screaming, rubber burning against the pavement. You're threading through the pack, cutting close, feeling the pulse of the road in your bones. Ellie's right there beside you, tense but locked in, green eyes darting between the dashboard and the road ahead.

She mutters under her breath—half curses, half prayers—as you take a sharp turn, the back tires kicking out before you correct with practiced ease. You feel the thrill in your veins, the sharp, electric rush of knowing you're inches from disaster but still in control.

Ellie exhales through her nose, stealing a glance at you. Your hands on the wheel, the gleam of sweat at your temple, the way your jaw tightens in focus. Something flickers in her expression, something she won't name.

"You're gonna get me killed," she grumbles.

You smirk. "Not tonight."

A straightaway opens ahead. The last stretch. The lead car is inches away, close enough that you can feel the tension radiating off the driver. You downshift, engine snarling, and Ellie leans forward instinctively, caught up despite herself.

"Come on, come on," she mutters, eyes flicking between the speedometer and the road.

You time it perfectly—cutting inside at the last second, just before the other driver can block. Ellie swears as you squeeze past, inches from scraping metal, the rush of air and neon swallowing you whole.

Then—

You cross the finish line first.

The world slows. The roar of the engine fades under the cheers, the flashing lights, the chaos of celebration. You exhale, chest rising and falling, heart pounding against your ribs.

Ellie is staring at you.

"You actually fucking did it," she says, like she can't quite believe it.

You turn to her, grinning. "Had to make sure you got a good show."

Ellie rolls her eyes, but there's something else there now—something deeper, something charged.

She huffs, shaking her head as she unbuckles her seatbelt. "You're insane."

You lean in, voice lower now, more deliberate. "You like it, though."

Ellie doesn't answer. She just looks at you for a long second, the hum of the engine still between you, the night thick with something neither of you want to name yet.

Then she smirks. "Drive me back to the shop, hotshot."

And just like that, you know this won't be the last time Ellie's in your car.

———

The garage hums with the low buzz of fluorescent lights overhead, the scent of oil and metal thick in the air. Ellie's perched on the edge of your hood, wiping her hands clean with an already-filthy rag. Her coveralls are unzipped and tied around her waist, leaving her in a sweat-stained band tee that clings to her lean frame. There's a streak of grease on her cheek, just below her scarred eyebrow, and her green eyes flick up at you, sharp and knowing.

"You're an idiot," she says flatly.

You sigh, running a hand through your hair. "Good pep talk, Els."

"I'm serious." She tosses the rag onto the workbench behind her, arms crossing over her chest. Her forearms are streaked with oil, veins subtly pronounced beneath her lightly tanned skin. "This race? It's not like the other ones. These guys don't just want to win, they wanna make sure you lose. You think you're fast? They'll make sure speed doesn't matter when they're ramming you into a guardrail."

You lean against the car beside her, feeling the cold metal press into your back. The payout for this race is bigger than anything you've taken on before, the kind of money that could keep you steady for months. But it's not just about the cash. It's the thrill, the proof that you can run with the best.

"I'll be fine," you say. "I know what I'm doing."

Ellie exhales sharply, shaking her head. "Yeah, that's what they all say. Right before they end up in a ditch."

You smirk. "Didn't know you cared so much."

Ellie scoffs, shoving at your shoulder with enough force to make you stumble. "Shut the fuck up. I care about my work, and I just spent weeks making sure your car doesn't explode the second you push it past 100."

"Uh-huh." You watch her, taking in the way her fingers twitch at her sides, the way her jaw clenches just a little too tight. She's pissed, yeah, but there's something else under it—something like worry.

She huffs, hopping off the hood. "You're impossible."

"And you're hot when you're mad," you shoot back, just to see the way she rolls her eyes.

Ellie flips you off as she walks away, but she doesn't argue.

——

The city lights blur past, neon streaks cutting through the darkness. Your grip on the wheel is steady, fingers flexing against the worn leather. The engine hums beneath you, smooth, powerful—Ellie's work, through and through. You can feel it in every shift, every perfect response to your touch.

It starts like every other race. The line-up, the revving engines, the sharp crack of the signal to go. You take off clean, slipping into position, letting muscle memory take over. The world narrows down to asphalt and headlights, to the pulse of adrenaline in your veins.

But halfway through, you feel it.

Something's off.

The car behind you—too close, too deliberate. You know blocking moves, you know how to force an opening, but this? This isn't racing. This is something else.

Then it happens.

A sharp jolt from behind—metal slamming into metal, sending your car skidding sideways. The tires scream against the pavement as you fight for control, hands moving fast, instincts kicking in. You see the guardrail rushing up, see the way they're trying to send you straight into it.

Not happening.

You cut the wheel at the last second, using the momentum to spin out and straighten just before impact. The car shudders but holds. You don't even think before punching the gas, shoving forward with everything you've got.

The finish line is a blur.

You don't even register the cheers at first, only the sharp, exhilarating high of survival, of victory. You won.

But your car? Your car is wrecked.

Smoke curls from under the hood. The side panel is dented in, the alignment's fucked, and you can already hear Ellie's voice in your head, full of exasperation and fury.

And sure enough—

"What the fuck were you thinking?!"

Ellie's storming toward you before you even get out of the car, boots heavy against the pavement. Her hair is a mess, pulled loose from its bun, and her face is flushed with anger. She looks like she ran here, like she couldn't get to you fast enough.

You step out, wincing as pain flares in your ribs. Nothing broken, just bruised. The adrenaline is still riding high, and despite everything, despite the near disaster, you're grinning.

"I told you not to trust those assholes!" Ellie's voice is sharp, but her hands are shaking when she reaches for you. Not the car—you.

"I won," you say, like that makes it better.

Ellie stares at you, eyes burning. Then, suddenly, she shoves you. Hard.

"You could've gotten killed, dumbass." Her voice cracks, just slightly. That's what does it.

Your grin fades. She's scared.

Her hands hover at your sides, like she wants to check you over but doesn't know where to start.

"Ellie—"

"Shut up." She exhales harshly, rubbing a hand over her face. When she looks at you again, her jaw is set, but there's something vulnerable in her expression. Something raw.

You reach out, catching her wrist before she can pull away.

"You care, don't you?"

Ellie scoffs, but she doesn't move. Doesn't yank her hand back, doesn't look away.

"You're a pain in my ass," she mutters.

You squeeze her wrist gently, feeling the rapid pulse beneath her skin. "That's not a no."

Ellie swallows hard. Then, quietly—almost too quiet to hear—

"Yeah. I care."

The words settle between you, heavier than the weight of the race, heavier than anything else.

Ellie shakes her head, exhaling. Then, finally, she does what she's been itching to do—her hands move, checking you over, tracing along your arm, your ribs, making sure you're still in one piece.

Her fingers linger.

You don't stop her.

The wrecked car, the sabotage, the near-disaster—it all fades for a moment. It's just Ellie, frustrated, furious, and more worried than she'll ever admit.

And you, alive, grinning, and feeling something even riskier than the race itself.

———

The garage door rattles shut behind you, sealing in the thick scent of oil, rubber, and something distinctly Ellie—warm skin, faded cologne, the sharp tang of grease. The place is dimly lit, the overhead fluorescents casting long shadows, flickering slightly like they can feel the tension hanging in the air.

Ellie is already pacing. Still pissed.

Actually, pissed doesn't even begin to cover it.

"You are such a fucking dumbass," she snaps, voice sharp enough to cut through the thick air. Her hands are on her hips, fingers flexing like she's trying to resist the urge to throw something. Maybe a wrench. Maybe at your head.

She's pissed. But goddamn, she looks good.

Her white band tee is draped over the workbench, discarded in favor of a black sports bra. It clings to her, sweat-dampened from the heat of the shop, highlighting the toned lines of her stomach and the slight curve of her chest. Her arms—lean, wiry, strong—are still smudged with grease, her hands flexing as she talks, fingers twitching like she's desperate to take something apart just to burn off frustration.

You should be paying attention.

You should be apologizing.

Instead, your gaze drops—just for a second—watching the way her small swells sit perfectly in that sports bra, the subtle way they move when she breathes, the way sweat beads lightly on her collarbone.

"...Are you even fucking listening to me?"

Your head snaps back up immediately. "What?"

Ellie's staring at you now, arms crossed over her chest—which, unfortunately, just makes your problem worse.

She narrows her eyes. "Unbelievable."

You swallow hard, fighting the heat creeping up the back of your neck. "I—uh—what were you saying?"

Ellie scoffs, dragging a hand down her face. Her biceps flex when she does it, lean muscle shifting under grease-streaked skin, and you're absolutely going to hell.

"You almost fucking died," she says, voice lower now, frustration simmering into something quieter, something tighter. "You get that, right? Like, actually died."

You should say something. Should acknowledge the way her voice wavers, the way her fingers twitch at her sides like she wants to hit you or shake you or maybe just grab you and never let go.

But all you can think about is the way a drop of sweat rolls from her throat, down her sternum, disappearing beneath the band of her sports bra.

Jesus fucking Christ.

Ellie catches the way your eyes flicker downward again. Her brows furrow. Then, slowly, something shifts.

"...You're not even fucking listening," she realizes, voice edged with disbelief.

"I am," you lie.

Her gaze drops slightly, just a fraction, then flicks back up.

Ellie takes a step forward.

You don't move.

Her lips part, just slightly, and for a split second, you think she's going to call you out, absolutely tear you apart for checking her out while she's in the middle of being mad at you.

Instead, she tilts her head, voice dropping into something smoother. Something slower.

"...My face is up here, ma'am."

You blink.

Ellie's smirking now—just barely. Just enough to make your stomach flip. Still mad, but now she knows exactly what's going through your head.

You clear your throat, forcing your gaze back up. She doesn't make it easy.

Her green eyes flicker with something dangerous. Not anger. Not entirely.

"I'm still pissed at you," she says, quieter now.

You nod. "I know."

Ellie's arms drop from her chest, hands settling on her hips instead. "And you still need to make this up to me."

You inhale sharply, nodding again. "Yeah. Sure. Whatever you want."

That smirk deepens—just a little. Just enough to make your pulse jump.

"I'll hold you to that," Ellie murmurs.

And fuck.

You're so screwed.

——-

Ellie's been working on your car for hours, refusing to let anyone else even touch it. Her focus has never been more intense, not even during the times when she's been elbow-deep in engine parts or tuning something just right. Tonight, though, it feels different. More personal. You can't put your finger on it, but something's shifted in the way she's working.

You can't help but feel like it's your fault.

She's already told you, in every sharp and frustrated word she's muttered under her breath, that you're reckless. That you take risks without thinking. That you don't even care if you break the damn car—or worse, break yourself. But here she is, sweat-streaked and tired, still refusing to stop. She's determined to get it just right, to make sure everything's in perfect condition before you hit the streets again.

You watch her for a moment before stepping closer to the car. Her back is to you as she tightens a bolt beneath the hood, the faint glow from the overhead light making the edges of her shoulders and back stand out in sharp relief. Her movements are fluid but strained, the exhaustion in her posture showing despite her efforts to stay focused. Her black sports bra is soaked through with sweat, and her skin glistens under the shop's lights, the grease staining her arms and neck a stark contrast to the softness of her skin.

The sight of her, all intensity and grit, makes your chest tighten in a way you can't explain.

You open your mouth to speak, but the words are stuck. You don't know how to phrase it, how to ask for her forgiveness or make her understand just how much you appreciate the fact that she's here, fixing your car even when she has every right to just walk away.

She doesn't turn to look at you, but her voice cuts through the silence. "You're gonna fuck up again, you know that?"

You move around the hood of the car, leaning against the metal, just close enough that you can see the tiredness in her eyes. The deep lines of exhaustion around her eyes. "I don't plan on it."

Ellie scoffs, wiping a hand over her forehead, smearing more grease across her skin. "Yeah, well, your plans suck."

You lean a little closer. "You could always stop me."

She doesn't respond immediately. She's busy twisting a wrench, her brow furrowed in concentration, biting her bottom lip as she works. But when she speaks again, her voice is quieter, lower—like it's something she's only willing to admit to herself, and now to you.

"I can't fix you if you crash," she says softly, her gaze not meeting yours as she sets the wrench down, rubbing her hands against her jeans in frustration. The words hang between you, and for the first time tonight, the weight of what she's saying really hits you. It's not just the car she's worried about. It's you.

You swallow hard. It feels like a punch to the gut, but it's one you didn't realize you needed. You think about what she's said, how much it means, how much you've taken for granted her presence in your life. "Then keep me from crashing."

There's a moment of stillness, the only sound the soft hum of the lights and the faint clink of metal on metal. Ellie's eyes lift to meet yours, her face a mix of something unreadable—anger, concern, frustration, maybe even something deeper. She doesn't look away, and for a long second, you just stare at her. Neither of you says anything.

You step forward, slowly, careful to respect the invisible boundary that's always existed between you. Your hand lifts, fingers brushing gently against her cheek, the touch so soft it feels almost too intimate for the shop. But Ellie doesn't pull away. Instead, she leans into it, just slightly, her breath a little sharper.

Her skin is warm, the grease staining her face still doesn't detract from the softness of her cheek beneath your fingertips. You feel the tension in her, in her entire body, and something in your chest pulls tighter. You want to say something—anything—that will make this moment feel real.

But you don't need to. She beats you to it.

Without warning, her lips crash into yours. It's sudden, but not surprising. The force of it makes your heart stop for a beat, and then it kicks into overdrive. You taste spearmint gum, gasoline, and something deeper. Something that feels like desperation and heat. Her lips are soft, but there's a fierceness in her kiss, an urgency that matches the rapid beat of your heart. The tension that's been building for so long between the two of you finally explodes, and all you can think about is how the hell you haven't kissed her before now.

Your hands find their way to her back, pulling her closer, the warmth of her body pressing into yours. You can feel the way her breath hitches against your mouth as you deepen the kiss, as if she's not quite sure if she should pull away or just let go. But she doesn't pull back. She's there, with you, kissing you like there's no tomorrow, and you let her.

Your fingers dig into the small of her back, feeling the smooth curve of her spine under her sports bra. The heat of her body makes everything around you blur. Ellie's breath is coming faster now, and you can feel the tension in her muscles, the subtle tremor in her hands as she cups your face, like she's trying to ground herself. You can't tell if it's from the kiss or from the exhaustion in her body. Maybe it's both.

The kiss slows, and Ellie pulls back, her lips still just inches from yours, her breath ragged. She's breathing hard, her chest rising and falling quickly, her eyes glassy and intense. She doesn't say anything for a long moment, just looks at you like she's seeing you for the first time. Then, in a voice softer than you've ever heard her use, she says, "Don't make me worry about you."

It's almost a plea. Something fragile. Something human. And you feel it deep in your chest.

You press your forehead against hers, closing your eyes for a moment. "I won't."

Ellie's hand slides from your face to the back of your neck, her fingers threading into your hair, pulling you back down to her lips again. This time, it's gentler, softer, more deliberate. You can feel the warmth of her hands, the way she's holding onto you like you're the only thing keeping her grounded.

You kiss her back, slower this time, with more meaning. More tenderness.

The garage feels small now, even though the space is vast. The soft light overhead hums, flickering as you pull away from Ellie's lips. There's a moment of lingering, of breathing her in, both of you still caught in the tension of the kiss, the rush of adrenaline and desire flooding you like it's the only thing that matters right now. Her hands rest on your chest, fingers flexing against your shirt, and her breath is hot and quick against your skin.

You glance at the car—a mess of metal and grease, the body still a little dented from the race earlier, but it doesn't matter. None of it matters as much as the girl in front of you. You pull back slightly, catching her gaze, and something in her expression shifts—softens, just for a moment.

"Let's go," you mutter, the words thick in your throat, the heat between you almost unbearable now.

She quirks a brow, clearly amused by the sudden urgency. "Where?"

You can't help but smile, but there's a wickedness behind it now, the kind that only Ellie could bring out of you. "To the backseat."

Her eyes narrow, the playful glint there, but she doesn't fight it. She grabs her jacket off the workbench, then turns back to you with a look that holds both challenge and something softer, something that feels real and vulnerable. "You sure the car's up for it?" she asks, her voice low and teasing. "Seems like it's in worse shape than you are."

You flash her a grin, moving toward the car. "It'll hold up. But I'm not sure you can, Red." You tap the roof of the car, your heart pounding harder now, both the adrenaline of the race and the desire to see where this moment leads.

Ellie huffs in mock exasperation, shaking her head as she follows you toward the passenger door. Her eyes flick to the backseat as she slides inside, and she makes a show of eyeing the cramped space before slumping against the worn leather. "This is ridiculous."

"Not if you make it fun." You shut the door behind you, your fingers shaking slightly as you walk around to the other side of the car. But as soon as you slide in, the atmosphere shifts. Ellie's eyes don't leave you for a second, the intensity of her gaze sending a shiver down your spine.

You don't waste time. Not anymore.

You're already leaning across the seat, your hands on her shoulders, guiding her back until she's laying against the cushions. Ellie's eyes flicker with something between anticipation and amusement, but she lets you take control, lets you kiss her again, this time without hesitation.

The kiss is deeper this time. Her lips part easily for you, and you move closer, your body pressing into hers. Her hands find their way to the back of your neck, pulling you in, urging you to be closer, to make her feel everything. Your fingers are tangled in her hair, and you can feel the heat of her skin through the thin layer of her sports bra as you kiss her harder, deeper, like you're both trying to escape whatever exists outside of this moment.

Ellie's breath catches as you kiss her neck, trailing your lips down to the curve of her shoulder, tasting the salt of her skin. She's breathless, her hands roaming to your chest, tugging at your shirt in frustration, like she wants more, needs more.

"Damn, you're a tease," she mutters between breaths, though there's no real anger in her voice—just the kind of raw desire that's infectious. You smile against her skin, trailing your lips lower, hands working at the button of your jeans, just trying to take this to the next level, to see where the fire between the two of you can burn.

She gasps softly as you kiss her again, hands sliding down your chest to find your waistband. You feel the heat of her fingers on your skin, the way she moves with more urgency now, like the car isn't the only thing that's broken between you. It's her, too. She's been holding back all night, hiding beneath her sarcastic remarks and tough demeanor, but now, there's nothing left to hide behind.

You tug her closer, your lips never leaving hers, as she fits perfectly against you, the smell of grease and sweat still on her skin, the scent of spearmint gum lingering in your senses. You push her hair back from her face, brushing it behind her ear, watching her eyes flutter closed in the moment, her lips parted slightly as she exhales.

There's something about her like this—vulnerable, open, real—that takes your breath away.

"Ellie..." you whisper, your voice rougher now, but she stops you with a finger on your lips, a teasing smile on her face.

"Don't talk." Her voice is thick with desire, her hand moving lower to trace the outline of your chest, feeling the beat of your heart beneath her fingers. "Just kiss me."

You don't need to be told twice.

Your lips find hers again, the urgency mounting as you shift your weight, pressing her down into the seat. She groans softly against your lips, the sound driving you insane, and you pull her closer, hands tracing the contours of her body, feeling the heat radiating from her, the tremors in her hands as she tries to keep control. You've never seen her like this—so lost, so caught up in something more than just the moment.

You kiss her deeper, harder now, with everything you have, because you know, in this moment, you can't let go. You can't push her away. Ellie's the kind of girl who makes you lose yourself in the chaos of it all.

And when she pulls back, gasping for air, her hands in your hair, you can see it. The change in her eyes—the vulnerability they hold.

"You've got me wrapped around your finger," she admits quietly, her chest rising and falling with each breath.

You smile, brushing your thumb along her cheek, your heart racing as you look at her. "Yeah, I think I do."

Your hands slide up her sides, pushing the sports bra up and over her head, and then she's bare from the waist up, her small breasts on full display. Her skin is lightly tanned, with a few faint scars here and there—reminders of a lifetime of hard work. Her nipples are already hard, a soft rosy pink that darkens as you run your fingers over them.

"Oh..," she breathes, her head falling back against the seat as you lean down, taking one nipple into your mouth. She's sensitive—you can tell by the way she twitches, the way her hands grip your shoulders like she's trying to hold on. You flick your tongue over the bud, and she lets out a low moan, her hips rolling against yours.

"You like that?" you murmur against her skin, and she huffs out a laugh, even as her breath hitches.

"Shut up," she repeats, but there's no bite to it. Her hands are in your hair, pulling you closer, and you take that as permission to keep going. Your mouth moves to her other nipple, your teeth grazing the sensitive skin, and she lets out a whimper that goes straight to your core.

Her hands are fumbling with the button of her jeans now, her movements clumsy with need. "Help me," she mutters, and you don't need to be told twice. You slide her jeans down her thighs, leaving her in just her boxers, and the sight of her like this—flushed, breathless, and completely exposed—makes your mouth water.

You kneel in front of her, your hands sliding up her thighs, and she watches you with wide eyes as you hook your fingers in the waistband of her boxers, pulling them down to her knees. Her pussy is right there—petite and neat, just like the rest of her. Her outer lips are soft, slightly darker than the rest of her skin, and you can see the faint glisten of arousal already.

"God, Ellie," you breathe, and her cheeks flush even darker. "You're so wet."

"Shut up," she mutters again, but her breath catches as you slide a finger along her slit, feeling how slick she is. Her clit is already swollen, and when you press down gently, she lets out a strangled moan, her hips jerking forward.

You don't wait any longer. You lean in, your tongue flicking over her clit, and she swears under her breath, her hands tangling in your hair. "Fuck, yes," she gasps, her thighs trembling around your shoulders as you lick her in slow, deliberate strokes.

You can feel her pulse beneath your tongue, the way her body tenses with every touch, and you know she's close. So, you slide a finger inside her, and fuck, she's tight—warm and soft and so, so wet. Her walls grip your finger like she never wants to let go, and when you curl it just right, she lets out a noise that's half-moan, half-sob.

"Please," she gasps, her hips rocking against your hand. "Please, don't stop."

You don't. You keep going, your tongue and fingers working in perfect sync, until she's shaking, her thighs clamping around your head as she comes with a cry that echoes through the car.

Her body sags against the seats, her chest rising and falling with each ragged breath. "Holy shit," she mutters, her voice rough, and you can't help but smirk as you stand up, your hands resting on her hips.

"you're so easy to make cu-," you tease, and she huffs out a laugh, swatting at your arm.

"Shut up," she interrupts, but there's no real heat behind it. Her hands are on your waist, pulling you closer, and when she kisses you again, it's softer this time, more tender.

——-

It's a strange thing, becoming official with Ellie. It feels like there should be some big shift, some monumental moment where everything changes, but nothing really does. You're still you, she's still her, and the bickering and teasing that defined your dynamic before continues as it always has.

Except now, it's different. There's a quiet understanding between the two of you, a kind of soft intimacy that hangs in the air every time she grabs your hand or flashes that mischievous grin before dragging you into yet another playful argument. You still argue over the dumbest shit—like whether you're actually good at parallel parking or if you're "absolutely ruining the car's suspension with every sharp turn"—but now there's a deeper undercurrent to it. It's comfortable, easy. It's you and Ellie, in a world where nothing really changes, except maybe for the fact that now you get to kiss her whenever you want.

And you do. A lot.

One of those days, you find yourself in your car again, heading down a familiar stretch of road. Ellie's with you—of course she is. She's always there, usually sitting next to you with that trademark half-smile on her lips, like she knows something you don't. Her hands are resting casually in her lap, still smelling faintly of grease from working on cars all day, her flannel sleeves pushed up to her elbows. It's a simple look, but it suits her—rough around the edges, but effortlessly cool.

You make a sharp turn, your tires screeching slightly as the car swerves, and Ellie's hand shoots out instinctively, grabbing the door handle with a grip that's nearly white-knuckled.

"Jesus Christ, you trying to kill us?" she snaps, but there's a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. She leans back against the seat, half-amused, half-annoyed as she watches you with narrowed eyes.

"You're always so dramatic," you say, grinning, your hands steady on the wheel. "It wasn't that bad."

"It's always 'not that bad' until we end up in a ditch somewhere, your blood on my hands."

You laugh, the sound of it filling the car, and despite the fact that she's still gripping the door handle like she's holding on for dear life, you can't help but enjoy the playful exchange. It's part of who you are now—the two of you together. The banter, the teasing, the way she'll roll her eyes at you but then steal a quick kiss when she thinks you're not paying attention.

"Admit it," you say, glancing at her for a second, "you like it when I drive fast."

Her lips curl into that familiar, knowing grin. "I like to live dangerously, but I also like not dying, so pick a lane, yeah?"

You chuckle, swerving slightly to avoid a pothole, and she groans, but this time, she's not as frantic in her reaction. She's used to you by now—used to the way you drive with that reckless abandon, like the world is a racetrack and the rules don't apply to you. Ellie knows you'll push the car until it can't take any more, but that's part of the thrill, isn't it? She might complain, she might grab the door handle and give you shit for your reckless driving, but deep down, you know she's not really scared.

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