#waiting for the day you start dressing like this

[idyllic-ghost]

Title: Boyfriend Privileges Pairing: Mingyu x gn(femme presenting)!reader Genre: fluff, suggestive, established relationship Wordcount: 9.9k Rating: 18+

Synopsis: The ten times Mingyu has shown off his "boyfriend privileges"

Warnings: suggestive content not suitable for anyone under the age of 18, food mention, pet names, reader presents as feminine at one point (wearing a dress) but it still reads as gender neutral, slight angst, bathing together

Disclaimer: The scenarios and depictions in my works are fictional and do not represent real-life situations. They do not aim to reflect the complexities of any culture, city, or individual. All characters are entirely fictional, regardless of names or descriptions.

A/N: this fic was created before i decided to leave this blog permanently, and put on queue to be posted now. this blog is still not active. read here to find out why

MDNI: Adults only. Minors are not allowed. Any minors found will be blocked.

Masterlists

You're not sure exactly when it began or what prompted it, but a few months into your relationship, Mingyu started asking you to do little tasks for him. They're always small, often tedious things. Whenever you hesitate, he flashes a charming smile and invokes "boyfriend privileges." Maybe it's the playful way he says it or the endearing look in his eyes, but you always end up giving in.

Mingyu, ever perceptive, has noticed this and teeters on the brink of abusing his "powers." But it doesn't bother you. You'd happily indulge your boyfriend's privileges.

ଘ(੭◌ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ♡‧₊˚ 1. Overgrown puppy cuddles

Mingyu is a large puppy that just doesn’t understand how big he is. At least, that's how you see him. Whenever your boyfriend comes home from an especially rough day at work, he wants cuddles. It doesn't matter what you're doing, he'll pout and beg until you sit down on the couch and let him cuddle up in your lap.

"You're crushing me," you mutter.

You're sitting with your legs over the couch cushions, your back against the armrest. Mingyu's laying over your body like a human blanket—one of those electrical blankets that people use in winter. The man is warm.

"Boyfriend privileges," he mumbles, his voice muffled against your skin.

You sigh because you know he's right, you'd let him do this even if he's crushing your bones. Letting your fingers tangle in his hair, Mingyu let's out a sound of approval and nuzzles his head deeper into the crook of your neck. His arms are around your torso, making sure that you don't even try to move. Not that you would.

"Did you have a long day?" you ask softly and he hums. "My poor baby..."

You coo at him, and he whines—he's relishing in being doted on. Mingyu's arms squeeze you a little, a silent sign that he wants you to continue.

"You work so hard, don't you?" You wait for Mingyu to nod before you coo again, "My hardworking Gyu, you're doing such a good job. People love you, you know that? They appreciate your work. So do I."

Mingyu tilts his head up, his eyebrows raised as he silently asks for confirmation. "I really do," you add.

"Thank you..." He puts his forehead against your chest and sighs. "I needed this... needed you."

"I know, puppy." You smile and ruffle his hair.

Mingyu groans and lifts his upper body off of you, his arms resting on the armrest behind you. "Oh, finally! I can breathe!" you exclaim dramatically.

"Sorry," he mutters.

You cup his face in your hands. "I was kidding. I don't mind." You lean in and press a kiss on his pouty lips. "You're like my blanket... or like a Saint Bernard who's forgotten he's not a puppy anymore."

Mingyu smiles at that, before leaning in to litter your face with pecks that have you giggling and squealing.

ଘ(੭◌ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ♡‧₊˚ 2. Random massages

You're in line for a ride at an amusement park when Mingyu suddenly turns to you. It's been at least five minutes since you started waiting, and you can tell he's getting impatient. His foot taps rhythmically on the ground, and he keeps glancing at his watch.

"Can you give me a massage? My shoulder's stiff," he huffs, rubbing the offending spot for emphasis.

"Again?" Your eyebrows furrow with concern. "Gyu, you should really go see a specialist..."

Mingyu pretends to ponder this suggestion, then shakes his head with a playful grin. "I don't need a specialist if I have you."

You sigh and roll your eyes, but can't help smiling at his pleading expression. His big, puppy-like eyes, the way his smile showcases his adorable canines, and his hands clasped together in a mockery of prayer make it impossible to refuse. "Sure," you mutter, already resigning yourself to his request.

The line moves a little, and you both shuffle forward a few steps. You're momentarily distracted by the imposing structure of the rollercoaster ahead, watching as the cart sends passengers hurtling through loops and dips at breakneck speed. Your reverie is interrupted by Mingyu poking your side.

"What?" you ask, looking back at him.

"Please?" he repeats, his tone even more imploring.

"Now?" You glance around at the crowd surrounding you—though no one seems to be paying attention, you feel self-conscious.

"Now," Mingyu insists, nodding earnestly.

"Babe, I can't massage you here. You know you shouldn't take off your shirt in public, right? Even if we do find somewhere private, I don't have any oils—"

"Not a big one." He interrupts, holding up his hand with his index finger and thumb inches apart. "A small one. Just on the spot on my shoulder."

"Gyu—"

"Boyfriend privileges," he pleads quietly, eyes wide and hopeful.

You can't say no to him when he gets like this. With a resigned sigh, you motion for him to turn around. He does so eagerly, bending his knees slightly to give you better access to his shoulder. Placing one hand on his neck and the other on his shoulder, you begin to work your thumb into the knot you find there.

Mingyu lets out a soft, contented sigh, only audible to your ears, as he relaxes almost immediately under your touch. The tension in his shoulder melts away, and his head drops forward slightly, eyes closing in relief. The gentle hum of the amusement park, the chatter of the crowd, and the distant screams from the rollercoaster all fade into the background as you focus on easing his discomfort.

Despite the oddity of the situation, there's something intimate and endearing about the moment. The world around you blurs, leaving just the two of you in a bubble of your own making. And as you massage Mingyu's shoulder, you can't help but feel a warm rush of affection for him and his silly, endearing ways.

ଘ(੭◌ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ♡‧₊˚ 3. Sharing food

The restaurant is alive with the hum of conversations, the clinking of cutlery, and the occasional burst of laughter. However, all of this fades into a distant background as you focus intently on Chan's story. It's a rare opportunity to meet the members in person, despite your boyfriend working so closely with them, so you want to make the most of every second.

Mingyu, on the other hand, is lost in his own world. Ever since he finished his meal, he’s been zoned out—leaning back in his chair with a distant look in his eyes. You can't decide if he's impatiently waiting for Chan to finish or if he's just succumbed to a food coma. But when he casually reaches over and steals a fry from your plate, your doubts about the food coma vanish. You glance at him, and he meets your gaze with a small, mischievous smile before grabbing another fry. You let him.

A sudden gasp beside you snaps you back, and you turn to see Jun staring at you with mock jealousy from across the table. You smile and tilt your head questioningly.

"What?" you ask, bemused.

"You hit my hand when I tried to borrow a fry from you," Jun accuses, his eyes narrowed at you.

"First of all, I gently slapped it," you correct him. "Second of all, you were stealing, not borrowing. Don't try to make your crime sound better."

Jun huffs dramatically, and you can't help but grin. Meanwhile, Mingyu, taking advantage of the distraction, nabs another fry from your plate. There are almost none left now. As Jun reaches out to make another attempt, you slap his hand away with a swift motion.

"But he—" Jun starts to protest.

"Boyfriend privileges," Mingyu interjects smoothly, popping the last two fries into his mouth with a triumphant grin.

You hear a collective groan from the others at the table, but you just chuckle at Mingyu’s proud expression. "Mhm, boyfriend privileges," you repeat softly, unable to suppress a smile.

You lift a hand to gently brush the hair out of Mingyu's face, and he looks at you with a loving smile that makes your heart flutter. The warm feeling in your stomach is more than just the satisfaction from the delicious food you've eaten.

"Can I finish telling my story now?" Chan interrupts, a hint of exasperation in his voice.

You pull your gaze away from Mingyu and refocus on Chan, giving him your full attention once again. "Go on," you say, eager to hear the rest of his tale.

ଘ(੭◌ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ♡‧₊˚ 4. Seeing you first thing in the morning

The feeling of someone's soft breaths feathering against your face makes you scrunch your nose in sleepy annoyance. Mingyu's warm hands travel to your waist with the familiarity of someone who’s done it a million times before. And he has. His touch is intimate and assured, sliding over your skin with practiced ease. He knows you're awake now, evident by the low hum you let out, so he presses a few tender kisses on the bare skin of your clavicle, each one like a gentle spark of warmth.

"G'morning," you mutter, your voice still heavy with sleep, the words blending into a sigh.

"Good morning," he whispers softly, his breath tickling your skin.

You recognize his morning voice—his "I just woke up" voice—so you can tell he’s been up for a while. His voice sounds clearer, more alert, like he’s had time to turn around and take a sip of the water he always leaves on his bedside table.

"Have you been awake for long?" you ask, your words barely above a whisper as his lips continue their gentle exploration, each kiss a tender reminder of his affection.

"Since eight-thirty," he answers between kisses, each one a delicate attempt to keep you as close as possible.

You glance at the clock, seeing that it's almost nine already. "Babe, you've been awake for half an hour... why didn’t you wake me up?"

Mingyu pauses his kisses to look up at you, his expression soft and affectionate, his eyebrows slightly furrowed in confusion. Turning his head slightly, he looks over at the clock and hums thoughtfully.

"I was busy," he says with a playful glint in his eyes. He nestles his head back in the crook of your neck, his warmth enveloping you, but doesn’t resume his kisses, much to your dismay.

"Busy doing what?" you murmur, curiosity piqued, your fingers tracing idle patterns on his back.

"Looking at you," he admits with a giggle, lifting his head to meet your eyes. His gaze is filled with affection, his eyes sparkling with sincerity, and he's trying his best to hold back a big grin. "It's my boyfriend privilege. Only I get to see you like this."

"It's a privilege to see my bed head?" You snort, but Mingyu stays serious, his eyes unwavering, his hand gently stroking your cheek.

"Everyday," he replies softly, his voice a tender caress.

You feel a rush of warmth at his words, and you can't help but smile. You reach up to run your fingers through his hair, pulling him closer for a soft, lingering kiss. His lips are warm and inviting, the kiss deepening with the love and tenderness that has grown between you over the months. The world outside fades away, leaving just the two of you in this quiet, intimate moment.

When you finally pull back, Mingyu's eyes are half-lidded, his expression content and serene. He gently tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering on your cheek, his touch light and loving. "I love these quiet mornings with you," he murmurs, his voice a soothing balm to your soul.

"Me too," you whisper back, your heart swelling with affection, your eyes locked with his.

You snuggle closer, your bodies fitting together perfectly. The world outside can wait a little longer as you bask in the warmth of each other's presence, the quiet intimacy of the morning making everything else fade away. Mingyu's hands continue their gentle caresses, his fingers tracing soft lines over your skin. You feel utterly cherished, each touch and kiss a testament to the love you share. The gentle rise and fall of his chest beneath your hand, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, and the warmth of his body against yours create a cocoon of contentment that you never want to leave.

ଘ(੭◌ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ♡‧₊˚ 5. Showing you off

"Gyu!" you shout from the bathroom, "What time is it?"

The sound of his long steps come closer and closer until the bathroom door pushes open. Mingyu's head peeks through the gap in the door, and smiles as soon as he sees you. You're wearing the new dress he bought you, the cute sundress that couldn't help himself from buying when he saw you looking at it.

"You're pretty," he murmurs and slinks into the bathroom.

He wraps his arms around you, your back relaxing into his chest. "Mingyu," you repeat.

"What?" He pulls his eyes away from the dress to meet your eyes.

"What time is it?" you ask again with a teasing smile.

"Oh, it's around three-thirty." His hands find your waist. "We should leave in half an hour."

You nod and start packing up your make up. "Good, I think I'm done anyway... do you think I look okay?"

Mingyu lets go of you, spinning you around to face him. You can only grin while he studies you carefully with his lips pursed and his eyebrows furrowed in focus. After a few seconds, he nods—satisfied with what he's seen.

"Perfect." He puts his hand right below your jaw, careful not to disturb the make up on your face. "You look perfect, baby."

His smile remains radiant as you arrive at his family's get-together, a constant beam of joy that lights up the entire evening. Mingyu keeps you close, his arm possessively yet gently wrapped around you, presenting you to the members of his family you haven't yet met. Every introduction is accompanied by a glowing remark about you, his voice brimming with pride. You feel like a movie star at a film premiere—the constant pampering, the way his eyes sparkle every time he looks at you, and the sneaky photos he snaps when he thinks you're not looking.

Mingyu can't seem to stop showering you with compliments. "This is my partner," he says, beaming, as he introduces you to yet another relative. "They're incredible, you know. Smart, kind, and absolutely stunning." He turns his head to you, trying to contain his big smile by biting down on his bottom lip.

You blush, murmuring polite responses, but his praise never ceases. It's in the way he looks at you, eyes full of adoration, and the way he never lets go of your hand, his thumb occasionally brushing against your skin in a soothing gesture.

Throughout the evening, Mingyu is a constant presence by your side, his touch grounding you amidst the whirlwind of social interactions. His family is warm and welcoming, their smiles genuine as they embrace you into their fold. The air is filled with laughter and conversation, the smell of delicious food wafting through the house, creating an atmosphere of warmth and togetherness.

Mingyu’s playful nature shines through as he snaps candid photos of you, his grin widening each time you catch him in the act. "You’re just too beautiful not to capture," he explains with a cheeky smile, earning a soft laugh from you.

As the night progresses, you find yourself growing more and more flustered under the weight of his unending compliments. Yet, there's a thrill in it—a heady mixture of embarrassment and joy at being the center of his universe. His family notices, and they tease him gently about his lovesick behavior, but it only makes him hold you closer, whispering sweet nothings in your ear that make your heart flutter.

By the time the evening winds down, you’re overwhelmed with affection, feeling cherished and adored in a way that leaves you breathless. The warmth of Mingyu’s family, combined with his constant praise and tender glances, has wrapped you in a cocoon of love and contentment. As you prepare to leave, Mingyu wraps his arm around your shoulders, pulling you close for a tender kiss on your temple, his lips lingering just enough to send a shiver down your spine.

"Thank you for coming with me tonight," he murmurs, his voice soft and filled with genuine gratitude. "You made everything perfect."

You smile, leaning into his embrace, feeling the steady beat of his heart against your own. "Thank you for taking me along... I don't think I've seen you like this before," you admit, your voice a gentle whisper in the quiet of the night.

"What do you mean?" He cocks his head, his eyes curious and endearing, making you laugh softly at his obliviousness.

"You were trying to show me off all night," you explain, a playful note in your voice. Seeing his slightly worried expression, you quickly add, "It was sweet, Gyu. Really, it was."

Relief floods his features, and he leans in to press a kiss on your lips. The kiss is soft, lingering a second longer than it should, filling you with a warmth that spreads through your entire body. "It's my boyfriend privilege to get to show you off," he says, his eyes sparkling with mischief and affection.

You groan playfully, rolling your eyes at his words as he starts giggling, the sound infectious and heartwarming. Taking your hand in his, he leads you to the cab he's ordered to take you home. The night air is cool and refreshing, a gentle breeze rustling through the trees, but Mingyu's hand in yours keeps you warm.

As you approach the cab, he pauses for a moment, turning to look at you with a tenderness that makes your heart swell. "You know," he says softly, brushing a stray hair from your face, "You should wear that dress more often."

"Oh yeah?"

Your breath catches in your throat at his words as he pulls you into a tight embrace. "Yeah," he whispers.

With one last lingering kiss, you both get into the cab, his arm never leaving your shoulders. As the city lights blur past the window, you lean into Mingyu, feeling his warmth envelop you.

ଘ(੭◌ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ♡‧₊˚ 6. A shoulder to cry on

When you enter the apartment, none of the lights are turned on. You worked late that day, but not so late that Mingyu would've gone to sleep already. The apartment is eerily quiet, devoid of the usual warmth and liveliness. Toeing off your shoes and putting away your outerwear in their rightful places, you start to wonder if he's not home. He usually texts you when he gets home, but you haven't received any messages.

Concern etches between your brows as you walk further into the apartment. The kitchen is spotless, with no pots or pans on the stove—not that you always expect Mingyu to cook, but he had told you earlier today that he'd have something ready for you when you got home. You open the fridge, finding it just as you left it this morning. The absence of any signs of recent activity deepens your worry.

As you pass the bathroom by the guest room, you flick on the lights, casting a warm glow to see the path to your shared bedroom. By the ajar door, you notice a piece of fabric slumped together on the floor. Picking it up, you realize it's Mingyu's jacket. You drape it over your arm and continue to the bedroom, your heart pounding with unease.

He's not there, but you see that the light in your bathroom is on, a soft glow seeping through the cracks in the door. You place his jacket on the edge of the bed before approaching the bathroom door, only to find it locked.

You knock softly, pressing your ear against the door. "Mingyu, I'm home... are you okay?"

"I'm okay, baby," he replies, but his voice is thick with tears. "Sorry, I didn't have time to make you dinner... I think there's some leftovers from yesterday."

"Please, open the door." Ignoring his suggestion about dinner, you grab the door handle. "I can hear that you're not okay."

You hear him sigh, and his footsteps approach the door. Stepping back, you wait as the door swings open. The first thing you see is his bloodshot eyes and red nose. He sniffles and looks away, trying to hide his vulnerability.

"I'm..." He hesitates, torn between lying and being honest.

Before he can decide, you engulf him in a hug, wrapping your arms tightly around his torso. "Oh, baby..."

The dam breaks as a sob bubbles up Mingyu's throat, a raw, heart-wrenching sound that shatters the silence. He buries his face into the crook of your neck, his hot tears streaming down his cheeks and soaking into your shirt. You can feel the wet warmth of his tears spreading, a tangible sign of his anguish.

You rub his back soothingly, your hand moving in slow, comforting circles. Each sob wracks his body, causing his shoulders to tremble violently. His fingers clutch at your shirt, holding on as if he might drown without this anchor.

Minutes pass, each one heavy with his sorrow, until finally, his sobs begin to subside. His shoulders stop shaking, and his breathing slowly evens out, though occasional hiccups still break through. Only then do you loosen your embrace, though you don't fully let go. Instead, you gently take his face in your hands, your thumbs brushing away the tears that cling to his skin. His eyes are red and swollen, filled with a mixture of lingering sadness and gratitude.

"Do you want to talk about it?" you ask softly.

"...can I tell you later? I'll start crying again if I tell you now." He lets out a choked laugh, trying to relieve the tension, but your frown remains.

"Okay. Let's get you cleaned up."

You gently wipe away Mingyu’s tears, your thumb brushing over his cheeks with tender care. His skin is warm and damp, his eyes still glistening with the remnants of his sorrow. Your touch is gentle and reassuring as you guide him to change into more comfortable clothes. You help him out of his work attire, unbuttoning his shirt with careful fingers, and replacing it with a soft, worn-in t-shirt that brings him comfort. Each movement is deliberate, designed to soothe and calm him. You then help him into a pair of loose, cozy sweatpants, ensuring he's enveloped in softness and warmth.

Once he’s settled, you guide him to the couch in the living room, your arm around his waist, supporting his slow and heavy movements. The weight of his exhaustion is impossible to miss, his shoulders slumped and his steps dragging. He collapses onto the couch with a weary sigh, sinking into the cushions as if they might absorb some of his burden.

You start to leave for the kitchen, intending to get him something to eat or drink, but he grabs your hand. His grip is firm yet desperate, his fingers curling around yours with a silent plea for you to stay.

You turn back to him, your heart aching at the sight of his vulnerable expression. Mingyu looks up at you, his eyes wide and filled with a mixture of fear and need. "Don't leave," he whispers.

"I'm going to heat up some leftovers," you explain. "You haven't eaten yet, have you?"

Mingyu shakes his head no and lets go of your hand. You feel his eyes on you as you walk around the kitchen, quickly putting something together. It's not fancy, and it's nothing like what he usually makes you, but it's enough for the two of you right now.

When you return to his side, you give him his bowl before settling down next to him. You eat in silence, letting Mingyu sit as close to you as he pleases. When you're done, you take the dishes to the kitchen. Although you want him to sit still and rest, he follows you—his arms wrapped around your waist the entire time.

It's hard to move around, but you don't complain. Soon enough, the dishes are done and you're back on the couch. Mingyu has his arms wrapped tightly around you as you lay on top of him.

"Thank you," he mutters.

"You don't have to thank me." You lean up to look him in the eye. "Me taking care of you is your boyfriend privilege."

He smiles and presses a chaste kiss on your lips before closing his eyes. The two of you end up falling asleep on the couch on accident. But your stiff body is worth it when you get to see Mingyu smiling at you the next morning.

ଘ(੭◌ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ♡‧₊˚ 7. A shoulder to nap on

On the flight back home from a much-needed vacation, Mingyu booked the two of you first-class seats. It was partly because he loves spoiling you, but also so you could sleep comfortably on the way home. The plush seats and extra legroom were a perfect idea, promising a restful journey, but right now, that comfort feels like a far-off dream.

The flight was delayed by a few hours, leaving you and Mingyu stuck at the gate. The airport buzzes with the quiet hum of late-night travelers, the occasional announcement crackling over the PA system. The two of you sit in the lounge, surrounded by weary passengers slumped in their chairs, eyes glazed with fatigue. The smell of coffee and cleaning agents lingers in the air, mingling with the soft rustle of newspapers and the muted clatter of luggage wheels.

Mingyu tries to make the best of the situation, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling you close. His warmth seeps into you, a soothing balm against the weariness. "Just a little longer," he whispers, his breath warm against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. Despite the delay, his presence is a comforting anchor in the sea of exhaustion, his voice a soft murmur that calms your racing thoughts.

You glance at the clock, the minutes ticking by slowly. The soft lighting of the lounge casts a warm glow, but it does little to chase away the tiredness settling into your bones. Mingyu's fingers trace soothing patterns on your arm, his touch gentle and reassuring, each stroke a silent promise of love and comfort.

"I can't wait to be home in my bed," you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper, heavy with exhaustion.

Mingyu leans his head on your shoulder, his soft hair brushing against your cheek as he closes his eyes with a contented sigh. The weight and warmth of his head against your shoulder provide an unexpected comfort, grounding you in the moment. "This is enough for me," he says softly, his breath warm and reassuring against your skin.

"My shoulder?" you ask, a teasing lilt in your voice, feeling the vibration of his chuckle through the closeness.

"Yes," he replies, his tone earnest and affectionate. His closeness feels intimate and safe, a bubble of tranquility amidst the chaos of the airport.

"And why should I let you have my shoulder?" you tease, a smile tugging at your lips as you relish the closeness.

"Boyfriend privileges," he replies matter-of-factly, his lips brushing against your neck as he speaks. The slight pressure of his lips against your skin sends a wave of warmth through you.

You sigh, a mixture of amusement and tenderness filling your heart. The playful banter and the sincere love in his voice make your heart swell. You tilt your head to rest against his, feeling the gentle rise and fall of his breathing. The world around you fades into a comforting blur, the distant chatter of the airport and the mechanical hum of the environment becoming mere background noise.

For a moment, it's just the two of you, wrapped in each other's warmth and love. His presence is a cocoon of safety and affection, and you close your eyes, allowing yourself to relax fully in his embrace. The gentle rhythm of his breathing, the steady beat of his heart, and the soft, warm pressure of his head against yours create a symphony of comfort that lulls you into a peaceful state.

Your peace is soon interrupted, however. Finally, the boarding announcement crackles through the speakers, breaking the heavy silence of anticipation and sparking a collective sigh of relief that ripples through the gate area. The weariness of the long wait begins to lift as passengers gather their belongings. Mingyu helps you gather your things, his hand never leaving yours as you make your way to the boarding line. His touch is a reassuring anchor, grounding you amidst the bustling crowd.

"Almost there," Mingyu whispers, giving your hand a gentle squeeze.

"Thank goodness," you reply, offering him a tired smile.

The atmosphere shifts as you step onto the jet bridge, a mix of excitement and fatigue hanging in the air. The cool, conditioned air of the plane greets you as you board, offering a welcome contrast to the stuffy terminal. The flight attendants greet you with warm smiles, guiding you toward the plush sanctuary of first class.

Settling into your spacious seats, the world outside begins to fade away. The soft cushions envelop you in comfort, and the generous legroom allows you to stretch out and relax. Mingyu stows your carry-ons in the overhead compartment with ease, his movements fluid and practiced.

As he sits down beside you, the overhead lights cast a gentle glow. "This is so much better," you murmur.

Mingyu smiles, reaching over to adjust your blanket, tucking it around you with a tenderness that melts your heart. "I told you it would be worth the wait," he says softly, his eyes filled with affection.

You can't help but smile at the thought of curling up next to him, the hum of the plane's engines a soothing backdrop. "You always know how to spoil me," you whisper, leaning into his touch.

"It's my favorite thing to do," he replies, brushing a strand of hair from your face. "Besides, you deserve it."

As the plane takes off, you lean into him, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest. The world outside the window shrinks to a distant blur, and you close your eyes, surrendering to the warmth of his embrace.

"Thank you, Gyu," you murmur, your voice heavy with exhaustion.

"For what?" he asks, his lips brushing against your forehead.

"For everything. For this. For you," you whisper, your words trailing off as sleep begins to claim you.

"Always," he replies softly, his fingers tracing gentle patterns on your arm. "Sleep well, my love."

Wrapped in the comfort of his love and care, you drift off, the promise of restful sleep finally within reach. The gentle touch of his fingers lulls you into a peaceful slumber

ଘ(੭◌ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ♡‧₊˚ 8. Lunch boxes

When someone called out for lunchtime, the members collectively let out a big sigh of relief. With tired limbs, they make their way to the cafeteria. While everyone else lines up to buy something, Mingyu heads straight to the fridge and retrieves a carefully prepared meal. He sits down at a table, placing the metal box with a wooden lid in front of him. A pink, stretchy band adorned with tiny red strawberries holds the spoon in place. His face lights up with a smile as he spots the small note on the lid.

Hope practice is going well! I know you're working hard, so please enjoy your lunch and eat well! Can't wait for you to come home♡(>��•)

Mingyu carefully folds the pink post-it and tucks it into his phone case, a cherished reminder of your thoughtfulness. By then, people have started sitting down beside him, their eyes subtly glancing at the box in front of him. Nobody says anything—they already know what it is—until he opens it.

Inside the box is a beautifully arranged Korean lunchbox. The main compartment holds perfectly steamed white rice, topped with a sprinkling of black sesame seeds. Nestled beside it is a portion of crispy fried chicken, golden brown and glistening with a light coating of sweet and spicy sauce. The other sections are filled with a variety of colorful banchan: neatly sliced kimchi, lightly seasoned spinach, sweet and tangy pickled radish, and tender strips of stir-fried beef bulgogi. There’s even a small section of rolled omelette, its yellow hue bright and inviting.

The delicious aroma wafts up, drawing envious glances from his fellow members. The savory scent of fried chicken and the tangy hint of kimchi fill the air, making everyone's mouths water.

"Did Y/N make you another lunchbox?" Seokmin asks, his eyes wide with curiosity.

"Yeah, they were working from home yesterday, so they had some extra time on their hands," Mingyu replies, a small smile playing on his lips as he inspects the beautifully arranged food.

"It's not fair that only you get homemade lunches from Y/N!" Seungkwan whines, his tone a mix of genuine envy and playful teasing.

Mingyu responds by sticking his tongue out at Seungkwan, making the younger man groan in exasperation. "Boyfriend privileges," Mingyu states proudly, his grin widening.

As he digs in, Mingyu lets out a contented sigh, savoring the flavors and the love that went into preparing his meal. The meat is perfectly seasoned, the rice fluffy, and the banchan vibrant and flavorful. Each bite is a reminder of your care and effort, making the meal taste even better. The members watch with a mix of admiration and envy as Mingyu enjoys his lunch.

ଘ(੭◌ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ♡‧₊˚ 9. Bath buddy

As you walk the last bit to the door of your apartment building, you notice a figure in the distance. A tall man, vaguely boyfriend-shaped, waving both of his arms over his head with enthusiasm. Your heart skips a beat, and your smile matches Mingyu's as you break into a run, closing the gap between you. He’s sweaty from the gym, his skin glistening in the fading light, but you don’t mind. You launch yourself into his embrace, pressing yourself as close as possible, feeling the familiar warmth and comfort of his body.

"Are you trying to squeeze me to death?" he asks jokingly, his voice vibrating against your ear.

You loosen your grip slightly, looking up at him with a soft smile. "You have no idea how much I've missed you today."

Instead of teasing you, Mingyu gently pats your head, his fingers threading through your hair with a comforting touch. He sees the weariness in your eyes and the way your hair seems to stick out in all the wrong places, evidence of a long, hard day. "Bad day, hun?" he asks, his voice filled with concern.

The moment he speaks, you feel your guard drop completely. Your lips naturally fall into a pout, and your hands grip the material of his shirt a little tighter. You nod, unable to find the words to describe the exhaustion you feel. Mingyu coos at you softly, pressing a tender kiss to your cheek, his lips lingering for a moment, offering silent comfort. He then guides you to the door, his hand resting on the small of your back, a steadying presence.

"Do you want to take a bath with me?" he asks as he opens the door for you, his voice gentle and soothing.

"Okay," you murmur.

Once inside, the apartment feels like a sanctuary, the chaos of the outside world fading away as the door clicks shut behind you. The familiar scent of home, mingled with Mingyu's comforting presence, immediately begins to soothe your frazzled nerves. He leads you to the bathroom, his touch a constant, reassuring anchor as he guides you down the softly lit hallway. The gentle hum of the apartment envelops you, creating a cocoon of tranquility.

In the bathroom, Mingyu starts running the bath, the sound of water filling the room like a calming symphony. You watch as he carefully adds your favorite bath salts, the granules dissolving into the warm water and releasing a soothing aroma. The scent of lavender and chamomile fills the air, creating a spa-like atmosphere that begins to unwind the knots of tension coiled within you.

Mingyu helps you undress with tender, loving movements, his touch feather-light yet filled with purpose. His fingers trace the contours of your body with a delicate touch, each gesture a silent reassurance of his love and care. The way his hands glide over your skin, unhurried and gentle, sends a wave of warmth through you, dispelling the day’s weariness.

He sheds his own clothes with practiced ease, the fabric slipping off his toned frame effortlessly. The sight of his familiar form, strong and comforting, brings a sense of security and warmth. His skin, slightly glistening from the exertion of the day, catches the soft light, highlighting the lines of his muscles and the contours of his body. There's a serene beauty in the way he moves, each action unhurried and filled with quiet confidence.

Stepping into the bath first, Mingyu eases himself into the steaming water with a sigh of contentment, the sound mingling with the gentle lapping of the water. He settles into the tub, the water enveloping him like a warm embrace. His eyes, inviting and filled with affection, lock onto yours as he extends his hand towards you. The look in his eyes speaks volumes, a silent invitation wrapped in love and intimacy.

You take his hand, feeling the warmth and strength in his grip as he helps you into the tub. The water envelops you in a gentle embrace, its warmth soothing your tired muscles. You settle between his legs, leaning back against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat a comforting lullaby against your back.

As you relax into his embrace, Mingyu's arms wrap around you, holding you close. His hands begin to gently massage your shoulders, his fingers working out the knots of tension with skillful precision. The sensation is both relaxing and intimate, his touch a balm to your weary soul. You close your eyes, surrendering to the moment, feeling the stress of the day melt away under his tender ministrations.

The soft glow of the bathroom light casts a golden hue over everything, enhancing the sense of intimacy and warmth. Shadows dance along the walls, creating a serene and almost magical ambiance. The only sounds are the gentle sloshing of water and the occasional sigh of contentment from both of you.

"I love you," you whisper, your voice soft and content.

"I love you too," he replies, his lips brushing against your ear.

You stay like that for a while, the water lapping gently around you, the only sounds the occasional drip from the faucet and the steady rhythm of Mingyu's breathing. It’s a perfect moment of peace and connection, wrapped in the comfort and love that only he can provide.

After a few minutes, Mingyu shifts slightly behind you, his movements gentle yet purposeful. "Can you wash my hair?" he asks softly, his voice laced with a boyish charm that makes your heart flutter.

You smile, turning slightly to look at him, your eyes meeting his. "Of course," you reply, your voice warm and affectionate.

He hands you the shampoo, and you pour a generous amount into your palm. Mingyu dips his head back into the water, wetting his hair thoroughly before leaning forward to give you better access. The rich, lathering scent of his shampoo fills the air, mingling with the soothing aromas of the bath salts, creating a calming symphony of fragrances.

Your fingers work through his hair, massaging his scalp with gentle, circular motions. The silky strands slip through your fingers, and you take your time, ensuring each section of his hair is coated with the fragrant lather. Mingyu lets out a contented sigh, his eyes closing as he leans into your touch, his body visibly relaxing under your ministrations.

"This feels amazing," he murmurs, his voice a low, relaxed hum that sends shivers down your spine.

You smile, continuing your careful work. "You deserve it," you say softly. "It's your boyfriend privilege, isn't it?"

Mingyu chuckles, the sound a soft, comforting vibration against your chest. Before he can respond, you pick up the shower head, adjusting the temperature before gently rinsing out the shampoo. Tilting his head back with a gentle hand, you let the warm water cascade through his hair, washing away the suds and leaving his hair clean and soft.

He leans back against you once more, his hair damp and silky against your skin. His eyes are half-lidded with contentment, a serene smile playing on his lips. "Thank you," he whispers, his voice filled with gratitude and affection.

"Anytime," you reply, wrapping your arms around him and holding him close. The warmth of the water and the intimacy of the moment create a cocoon around you, shutting out the rest of the world. You can feel his heartbeat against your back, a steady, reassuring rhythm that syncs with your own. Mingyu's hands rest gently on your arms, his fingers tracing idle patterns on your skin as you both bask in the tranquility of the bath.

The two of you stay like that, cocooned in warmth, the soft glow of the bathroom light casting a golden hue over everything. The sounds of the water and your synchronized breathing create a peaceful ambiance.

ଘ(੭◌ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ♡‧₊˚ 10. Tie-fixer

You were already in your pajamas, nestled comfortably in bed with your book, when Mingyu walked in, still dressed in his suit but without his tie. The crisp white shirt accentuated his broad shoulders, and the slight dishevelment of his attire made him look irresistibly charming. His hair was slightly tousled, a few strands falling over his forehead, adding to his effortlessly handsome appearance. He didn't have to say anything; the moment your eyes met his, you were already putting your book to the side and swinging your legs out of bed, the anticipation of helping him a welcome routine.

"Where's your tie?" you ask, a hint of amusement in your voice, tilting your head slightly.

Mingyu pulls the piece of fabric from his pocket and hands it to you, a weary yet appreciative smile playing on his lips. The tie is cool and smooth in your hands, its silk gliding between your fingers. Rising to your feet, you step close to him, your fingers deftly slipping the tie around his neck. The familiar action feels intimate, almost like a ritual between the two of you, a small moment of connection in your busy lives.

As you slowly begin to tie it, your fingers working methodically, you glance up at him. "How long is the event?" you ask, your voice soft and caring, eyes meeting his with genuine concern.

"I probably won't be home until after two," he says with a sigh, his shoulders slumping slightly as the weight of his long night ahead settles in. The lines of fatigue on his face tug at your heart.

"It's okay. I want you to have fun," you murmur, focusing on the tie but feeling the sincerity of your words. "I'll be busy with dinner and my book anyway."

Mingyu watches you, his eyes softening as he takes in your familiar, comforting presence. "I wish you could come with me," he says quietly, his hands gently resting on your hips as you finish tying the knot. His touch is warm and grounding, a silent promise of his affection.

You tighten the tie and smooth it down, patting his chest gently. "You know I'd love to, but someone's got to hold down the fort here," you reply jokingly, your smile warm and reassuring.

He chuckles, the sound deep and rich, resonating in the quiet of the room. He leans down to press a soft kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering against your skin. "What would I do without you?" he murmurs, his voice filled with a mix of gratitude and love.

You smile, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him into a warm embrace. "Let's not find out," you whisper, your cheek pressed against his, feeling the steady beat of his heart against yours.

Mingyu hugs you tightly, savoring the closeness, the scent of his cologne mingling with the comforting smell of home. When he finally pulls back, he looks down at you with a mix of love and reluctance. "I really should go," he says, though he doesn't make a move to leave just yet.

"I know," you reply, your fingers brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead, tucking it back into place. "You'll be amazing, as always."

"Mm, especially with such a well-tied tie," he smiles playfully at you, his eyes twinkling with affection. "I'm so lucky for my boyfriend privilege."

You chuckle softly, resting your hands on his chest. "Yes, you're very privileged," you tease. "Just remember that when you're out there charming everyone."

Mingyu grins, leaning down to press another kiss to your forehead. "How could I forget? My number one fan is waiting for me at home."

You roll your eyes, but your smile is fond. "Just don't let it go to your head."

He laughs, the sound warm and rich. "No promises... I'll miss you," he says, his voice softening as he cups your face in his hands.

"I'll miss you too," you reply, covering his hands with yours.

He gives you one last lingering kiss, his lips warm and tender against yours, a promise of his return. "I'll try to be back as soon as I can," he promises, his voice filled with genuine affection, his hand squeezing yours gently.

"I'll be waiting," you say softly, watching as he finally turns to leave, the door clicking shut behind him. The room feels a little emptier without him, but you return to bed, your book waiting patiently. For a moment, you just sit there, feeling the lingering warmth of his presence and the subtle ache of his absence, already looking forward to his return.

ଘ(੭◌ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ♡‧₊˚ ... 11?

The winter chill had settled in, but the warmth of Valentine's Day wrapped the city in a blanket of love and excitement. The air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of snow, mingling with the fragrance of roses that seemed to bloom on every corner. Everywhere you looked, couples were bundled up in cozy scarves and gloves, holding hands, sharing tender smiles, and exchanging sweet nothings. The city streets were transformed into a romantic wonderland, with heart-shaped lights casting a soft, warm glow on the cobblestone paths, creating a dreamy ambiance that made everything feel just a little more magical.

Mingyu had planned the entire day with meticulous care, wanting to make every moment special for you. The day began with the gentle sound of his voice waking you, and when you opened your eyes, there he was, holding a tray with breakfast in bed—fluffy pancakes drizzled with syrup, topped with fresh berries, and a steaming cup of your favorite coffee. The sweet aroma filled the room, and as you shared the meal, you couldn't help but smile at how perfectly the day had started.

The afternoon was spent strolling through the city, the two of you arm in arm as you visited all your favorite spots. The streets were alive with the hustle and bustle of the holiday, but for you, time seemed to slow down, every moment stretching into something memorable. You laughed over shared memories, pointing out familiar landmarks and reliving inside jokes that only the two of you understood. The cold air bit at your cheeks, but it was no match for the warmth of Mingyu's hand holding yours, or the way his laughter seemed to melt the chill away.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a soft, golden light over the city, Mingyu surprised you with dinner at the restaurant where you’d had your first date. The sight of the familiar entrance made your heart skip a beat, and when you stepped inside, the ambiance was perfect—low lights that cast a gentle glow over the intimate setting, soft music playing in the background, and a table tucked away in a quiet corner just for the two of you. Mingyu looked absolutely perfect, the flickering candlelight highlighting his features, making his eyes sparkle with a warmth that mirrored the love in your heart.

He was wearing the turtleneck you had gotten him last December, the deep burgundy color standing out beautifully under his sleek black coat. The sight of him, so effortlessly handsome, made you fall in love with him all over again.

The dinner was delicious, every bite savored as you reminisced about that first date and how far you'd come since then. But as the evening went on, you noticed a certain tension in Mingyu—a subtle shift in his demeanor. He was attentive as always, but his hand gripped yours just a little tighter, and his eyes, though filled with affection, seemed to hold something more—an emotion he hadn’t yet put into words.

When dessert was finished and the check was paid, Mingyu suggested a walk through the park. The idea seemed simple, but there was something in his tone that made your heart flutter with anticipation. The park was beautifully decorated for the holiday, with twinkling fairy lights wrapped around the trees and heart-shaped lanterns swaying gently from the branches. The path was dusted with a light layer of snow, which crunched softly underfoot as you walked side by side, the sound mingling with the distant laughter of other couples enjoying the night.

The cold nipped at your nose, but Mingyu’s presence kept you warm. He walked close to you, his shoulder brushing against yours with every step, and as you made your way deeper into the park, you couldn’t help but notice how quiet he had become. His hand, warm and reassuring in yours, was steady, but there was a nervous energy beneath the surface, a sense of something important hanging in the air between you.

The two of you walked in comfortable silence, the world around you gradually fading into the background as you simply enjoyed being together. The park was peaceful, the night air crisp and clear, with the soft crunch of snow underfoot being the only sound between you. The distant twinkle of lights reflected off the lake's surface, casting a serene, almost magical glow over the scene. The sky above was an expanse of deep navy, dotted with stars that peeked out from behind the clouds, adding to the romantic atmosphere.

As you approached a secluded bench near the lake, Mingyu began to slow down, his footsteps becoming more deliberate. His breath was visible in the cold air, curling upward in soft, white puffs. The quietude around you seemed to intensify, amplifying the sound of your heartbeat in your ears. Mingyu stopped walking and turned to face you, his eyes reflecting the soft glow of the lights strung up in the trees, making them look like they were sparkling with unshed emotions.

"Are you cold?" he asked, his voice gentle, almost tender, as he pulled you closer. Without waiting for your response, he wrapped his coat around you, his touch protective and warm.

"Not with you here," you replied with a smile, leaning into his embrace, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest against yours. But as you looked up at him, you noticed something different, a subtle tension in his expression. "... you're unusually quiet tonight. Is everything okay?"

Mingyu smiled, though there was a trace of nervousness in his eyes, a flicker of vulnerability that made your heart skip a beat. "There's something I've been wanting to say all day," he began, his tone serious but laced with affection, each word carefully chosen. "Valentine's Day is all about celebrating love, right?"

You nodded, curiosity piqued, your gaze never leaving his. "Right..."

He took a deep breath, the cold air filling his lungs before he released it slowly, his hands still holding yours, their warmth grounding you both. His expression softened, and the affection in his eyes deepened, becoming almost palpable. "Well, I wanted to celebrate us... You know how I've always said I'm lucky to have boyfriend privileges?" His lips curled into a small, playful smile, the familiar phrase bringing a rush of warmth to your chest. It was an inside joke that had grown between you, a phrase that had come to symbolize the depth of his love.

You laughed lightly, nodding, your heart fluttering. "You've mentioned it a time or two."

"Well," he continued, the playful edge in his voice giving way to something more serious, more profound. His grip on your hands tightened slightly, as if anchoring himself for what he was about to say. "I've been thinking a lot about what that really means. About how much I love you, and how my life has been so much better with you in it. I don't just want boyfriend privileges anymore. I want... something more."

The air around you seemed to still, the world shrinking down to just the two of you. Mingyu's words hung in the air, heavy with meaning, and you found yourself holding your breath, your heart pounding in anticipation.

"Mingyu... what are you saying?" you whispered, your voice trembling slightly as you searched his eyes, hoping for confirmation of what you suspected.

"... I want husband privileges," he said softly, his voice thick with emotion. The words tumbled out like a secret he had been holding close to his heart, and as they settled between you, the weight of them was almost overwhelming.

Your heart skipped a beat as his words sank in, sending a rush of emotion through your entire being. Before you could fully process what was happening, Mingyu reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small velvet box. The deep burgundy of the box stood out against the black fabric of his coat, catching the faint light from the lanterns around you. Your breath caught in your throat as he dropped to one knee, the world around you dissolving into a blur. The soft glow of the lights reflected in his eyes, making them shine with a love so intense it took your breath away.

"Will you marry me?" he asked, his voice trembling slightly, each word laced with raw emotion. "Will you let me spend the rest of my life loving you, taking care of you, and being your forever? I want to be your husband, not just today, not just tomorrow, but every day for the rest of our lives."

The sincerity in his voice, the way his hands trembled ever so slightly as he held the ring, and the sheer vulnerability in his gaze made tears well up in your eyes. Your hand flew to your mouth in disbelief, your heart pounding in your chest as the magnitude of the moment hit you. The world seemed to stop, the night holding its breath as you looked down at him, his expression filled with hope, love, and adoration.

"Mingyu," you whispered, your voice shaking with emotion, each word carrying the weight of your love for him. "Yes. Of course, I'll marry you!"

The tension in his shoulders melted away as his face broke into the widest smile, relief and joy flooding his features. His eyes sparkled with happiness as he carefully slipped the ring onto your finger, his touch gentle and reverent. The ring was perfect—simple, elegant, and exactly what you would have chosen. It glimmered softly in the light, a tangible symbol of the promise you had just made to each other.

Without hesitation, Mingyu stood up, wrapping you in his arms and lifting you off your feet. He spun you around in a joyful whirl, the cold air forgotten as you both laughed, the sound echoing through the quiet park. The night seemed to come alive with your happiness, the trees around you swaying gently as if to share in your joy.

When he finally set you down, his arms remained around you, pulling you into a kiss. His hands cradled your face, his thumbs gently brushing against your cheeks, his touch warm and steady. The tenderness in his grip made your heart swell, and as he leaned in, you could feel his breath mingling with yours, a soft, shared anticipation hanging in the air. When his lips finally met yours, it was as if time itself slowed. The kiss was soft at first, a delicate, reverent connection that conveyed everything words couldn’t.

But then, it deepened, his lips moving against yours with a slow, purposeful intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. Each movement was deliberate, filled with a passion that burned through you, igniting every nerve. His kiss wasn’t just an expression of love—it was a promise, a vow sealed with every ounce of emotion he had been holding back. You could feel his love in the way his hands held you, not too tight, but firm enough that you knew he never wanted to let go.

As his lips molded perfectly against yours, the rest of the world faded into oblivion. The cold night air, the distant sounds of the city, even the twinkling lights around you—all of it dissolved into the background, leaving only the warmth of his kiss, the rapid beat of your heart, and the overwhelming flood of emotion between you. It was as if the two of you existed in your own universe, a moment suspended in time where nothing else mattered.

"I love you," he whispered against your lips, his voice filled with reverence and devotion, as if the words were sacred.

Tears still glistening in your eyes, you smiled up at him, your heart bursting with happiness. "I love you too, Mingyu. I hope you're ready for all the husband privileges."

He laughed, the sound rich and full of joy, resonating with the happiness that radiated from him. It was a laugh that spoke of a future filled with love, laughter, and countless more moments like this. He pulled you into another embrace, his arms holding you close as if he never wanted to let go. "This is the best Valentine’s Day of my life," he murmured into your hair, his voice thick with emotion.

"It’s just the beginning, baby," you whispered back, your fingers tracing the outline of his jaw as you looked up at him, memorizing every detail of his face, every line that spoke of his love for you.

The two of you stood there in the park, wrapped in each other’s arms as the lights twinkled around you, the cold air nipping at your cheeks but failing to penetrate the warmth that enveloped you both. The world seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you in a moment that felt like it would last forever.

As you walked back home, hand in hand, the silence between you was filled with contentment and the unspoken promises of what was to come. You couldn’t help but glance down at the ring on your finger. The excitement of what lay ahead filled you with warmth, and as you leaned into Mingyu, you knew that your life together would be filled with endless love, laughter, and, of course, husband privileges.

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[777bae]

FALLING INTO PLACE LUKE HUGHES

Summary :: You’ve always been best friends with Jack, but it’s his quieter, more patient brother Luke who’s been there all along. As you grow older, the bond between you and Luke transforms into something deeper, forcing you to finally see him in a new light.

Warnings :: reader is literally blind, small age gap (reader is the same age as Jack), unrequited love (+ a small amount of heartbreak), angst with eventual fluff, childhood friends(ish) to lovers, kissing, mini arguments, brief description of minor injuries, pining

Word count :: 22.3k

The Hughes family had always been a part of your life.

From the moment you were born, they were there—just next door, just across the lawn, just within reach. Your parents had moved into the neighborhood the same year you and Jack were born, and from the time you were old enough to crawl, your lives had been tangled together like the overgrown vines on the fences separating your yards.

There was never a time when Jack Hughes wasn’t in your world. He was there for every scraped knee, every birthday candle, every summer afternoon spent chasing fireflies. The moment you took your first wobbly steps, Jack had been beside you, already running, already pulling you along with that infectious, boundless energy of his. He wasn’t just your neighbor; he was your person.

It was inevitable, really. Your parents had been close from the start, the kind of friendship that formed effortlessly when two young families found themselves living side by side, both navigating sleepless nights with newborns. Your mothers had bonded over shared exhaustion—late-night feedings, first words, first steps—and before long, you and Jack had become an extension of that bond.

He was the first friend you ever made. And for the longest time, he was the only one that mattered.

Your days had a rhythm, an unspoken routine that started long before either of you were old enough to understand what routine even meant.

Every morning—without fail—there was a knock on your bedroom window. Not a polite tap, not a soft greeting, but a loud, impatient thud thud thud that had your parents groaning in the next room, already knowing exactly who it was.

“Jack, sweetheart, use the front door like a normal person,” your mother had called out once, exasperated.

“But it’s faster this way!” Jack had shot back, as if that explained everything.

And so, every morning, you would shuffle to the window, still half-asleep, and push it open. Jack’s face—grinning, eager, already bursting with energy—would be waiting for you.

“Come on,” he’d say, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “We’re racing bikes today.” Or “Quinn says we can use his hockey net!” Or “Mom made waffles. You have to come over.”

It didn’t matter what the plan was. You always went. Because Jack always made everything sound like the most exciting thing in the world.

Some mornings, he barely gave you time to get dressed before dragging you outside. There were days when you stumbled out of your house still in your pajamas, only half-awake, your hair a tangled mess, while Jack was already running down the driveway, laughing over his shoulder, challenging you to catch up.

Other days, he climbed right into your room through the window, ignoring every possible protest, flopping onto your bed as if it was his own, acting like there was nothing unusual about breaking into his best friend’s house before 8 AM.

“Jack, you can’t just—”

“Hurry up, Y/N!” he’d groan dramatically, burying his face in your pillow. “We’re wasting daylight!”

You had long since stopped trying to argue with him.

The Hughes’ house wasn’t just Jack’s home—it was yours, too. It had been for as long as you could remember.

You knew that house like the back of your hand. You knew exactly which steps on the staircase creaked the loudest—the third from the bottom and the second from the top—making it impossible to sneak around undetected. You knew where Ellen kept the extra blankets in the hall closet, the ones you always pulled out when you inevitably fell asleep on their couch after a long day of playing outside. You knew that Jim liked his coffee strong and black, and that Jack—despite his endless energy—could never function properly before noon without something sweet to eat.

Their fridge might as well have been yours. You never thought twice about opening it and grabbing a snack, just as Jack never hesitated to raid your pantry for whatever chips or cookies your mom had bought that week. If the Hughes were ordering pizza, there was always an unspoken assumption that you were staying for dinner.

There were no formalities in their home. No knocking on doors, no need for permission. You walked in and out as freely as if it was your own house.

Ellen treated you like one of her own, scolding you and Jack equally when you got into trouble (which was often). Quinn, the responsible older brother, always made sure you were safe, always keeping an eye on you when Jack got too carried away. And Luke… well, Luke had always been there, too.

The Hughes house was warmth and laughter, noise and chaos. It was yelling over video games in the basement, the sound of skates scraping against the driveway, the echo of Jack’s voice calling your name as he ran up to your door, never bothering to knock before barging in.

It was home.

You fit there. As if you had always belonged.

But Jack wasn’t the only Hughes brother in your life.

From the very beginning, Quinn had taken on the role of your unofficial older brother.

He was only a few years older than you and Jack, but at that age, those few years felt like a lifetime. He was bigger, stronger, wiser, as you and Jack had once believed. In a world where Jack was all reckless enthusiasm and boundless energy, Quinn was the counterbalance—the quiet, steady presence who made sure neither of you got into too much trouble.

It wasn’t that Quinn didn’t join in on the chaos—he did, when it suited him—but he was always the one who knew better. The one who thought things through. And, more often than not, the one who had to clean up whatever mess you and Jack inevitably got yourselves into.

If Jack came up with a stupid idea, it was Quinn who sighed, crossed his arms, and shook his head.

“You’re going to break something.”

“No, we’re not!” Jack would insist, already halfway through convincing you to do whatever dangerous, poorly thought-out scheme he had concocted that day.

Quinn would roll his eyes, mumbling something about how he was too young to be dealing with this, but he never truly left you to your own devices. Because when—not if, but when—Jack’s plan went sideways, Quinn was always the one to step in and make sure neither of you got too hurt.

When you were five, Jack decided he was going to make you a hockey player.

It was a rainy afternoon, and the three of you were stuck inside, boredom settling in like an itch that neither you nor Jack could stand for long. You had spent the last hour sitting in the Hughes’ living room, fidgeting, when Jack suddenly bolted upright, eyes lighting up with excitement.

“Let’s play mini sticks!” he had declared, already sprinting toward the basement.

You had barely even known what mini sticks were at the time, but you followed anyway, because that was just how things worked—Jack decided something, and you went along with it.

The moment you got downstairs, Jack shoved a tiny plastic stick into your hands and pointed at the net they had set up against the far wall.

“Okay, you have to score on me,” he said, crouching down in front of the goal, holding a goalie stick that was nearly as big as he was.

You looked down at the mini stick, then back at Jack.

“How?”

Jack groaned dramatically, as if your question physically pained him.

“Just hit the ball into the net! It’s not that hard!”

But it was hard. You didn’t know how to hold the stick properly, didn’t know how to control the ball, and every time you tried to take a shot, it rolled harmlessly to Jack’s feet.

Jack, to his credit, lasted all of three minutes before he got frustrated.

“No, no, no!” he huffed, marching over to you. “You’re doing it all wrong!”

“Well, I don’t know how to do it right!” you shot back, annoyed.

Jack groaned again, clearly ready to give up, but before he could, another voice chimed in.

“Here—like this.”

You looked up to see Quinn kneeling beside you, his own mini stick in hand. Unlike Jack, he was patient. He adjusted your grip, gently moving your hands into the right position. He showed you how to angle your stick, how to follow through on a shot.

“It’s all about control,” he explained, demonstrating with an easy flick of his wrist. The ball soared cleanly into the top corner of the net.

Your eyes widened. That was how you were supposed to do it?

“Try again,” Quinn encouraged, nudging the ball toward you.

You did. And this time, the shot actually had some power behind it. Not much—but enough.

Quinn smiled.

Jack groaned.

“Okay, fine, she’s kinda good,” Jack admitted.

But even after that, whenever you struggled with something—hockey or otherwise—it was always Quinn you turned to. Because where Jack would get frustrated and impatient, Quinn would always take the time to help.

Jack’s impulsive nature meant that you got into a lot of trouble growing up.

One summer, when you were seven, Jack had come up with what he insisted was a foolproof plan—jumping off the swing at its highest point to see who could land the farthest.

“It’s so easy,” Jack had said, already climbing onto the seat. “You just have to time it right.”

You had been hesitant.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, obviously.”

Quinn, standing a few feet away with his arms crossed, had sighed heavily.

“You’re going to break your arm, idiot.”

Jack ignored him.

And, predictably, about five seconds later, Jack launched himself off the swing, flailed wildly in the air, and landed in an ungraceful heap on the grass.

To his credit, he hadn’t broken his arm. But he had managed to knock the wind out of himself so badly that he lay there gasping like a fish while Quinn stood over him, unimpressed.

“I told you,” Quinn muttered, before turning to you. “Do not listen to him.”

You listened. Mostly.

But there were still plenty of times when Jack managed to drag you into his ridiculous plans. And, inevitably, there were times when you got hurt.

There had been one particular summer afternoon when Jack had dared you to race him down the street on your bikes.

“I bet I can beat you by so much,” he had taunted, grinning as he climbed onto his bike.

“You wish,” you had shot back, determined to win.

The race had started off fine—pedaling furiously, wind rushing past your face, Jack laughing beside you—but then you hit a pothole.

The bike jolted violently. You lost control.

And the next thing you knew, you were flying over the handlebars.

Pain exploded across your knees and palms as you skidded across the pavement, the impact knocking the breath from your lungs.

Jack had screeched to a stop, his face a mask of horror.

“Oh my God. Oh my God—are you okay?!”

Your knees were scraped raw, blood trickling down your shins, and your palms stung so badly you thought they might be on fire. You wanted to be tough, wanted to brush it off, but your throat was tight, and tears were already pricking at your eyes.

And then, before you even had time to process what had happened, Quinn was there.

“Jesus, you guys,” he muttered, crouching beside you.

You sniffled, still trying to hold back tears, but Quinn didn’t make a big deal about it. He just scooped you up into his arms, lifting you effortlessly, and started walking you home.

“You’re okay,” he said, voice calm and steady. “We’ll get you cleaned up.”

Jack trailed behind, looking guilty as hell.

“I—I didn’t think she’d actually fall,” he mumbled.

Quinn shot him a look.

“Of course she fell, Jack. You two don’t think before you do anything.”

Jack had no argument for that.

But even as Quinn sighed, even as he grumbled about “having to babysit two disasters,” you knew he cared.

Because Quinn never let anything happen to you.

And he never would.

Then there was Luke.

Luke had been there from the almost start, having arrived two years late to the world you and Jack had already built together.

It wasn’t that he was unwelcome—not at all. But in the early years, he had been younger—just enough behind you and Jack that the gap felt significant. When you were five, he was three. When you and Jack were racing bikes down the street, Luke was still on training wheels. When you were climbing trees and dangling from the highest branches, Luke was stuck at the bottom, his small hands barely able to reach the first grip.

And no matter how much he wanted to be included, the truth was, there were just some things he was too little for.

Where Jack dragged you into every wild idea that popped into his head, Luke was the one who stood on the sidelines, watching. His wide, eager eyes followed your every move, his tiny fists clenched with determination, his whole body buzzing with the desperate hope that this time—this time—you and Jack might let him in.

“Can I play?” he would ask, gripping his little hockey stick so tightly his knuckles turned white, his gaze flicking between you and Jack.

Jack, more often than not, would groan. “Luke, you’re too little.”

And because Jack was your best friend—the leader of every game, the one who decided what was and wasn’t fun—you had gone along with it.

“Maybe next time, Lukey,” you had said, ruffling his hair before turning to chase after Jack, never noticing the way Luke’s shoulders slumped as he watched you run away.

Luke always wanted to be part of your world.

But back then, you had only seen him as Jack’s little brother.

That didn’t stop Luke from following you both everywhere.

If you and Jack were playing knee hockey in the basement, Luke was there, sitting on the sidelines, cross-legged on the carpet, watching intently. If Jack scored, Luke cheered. If you fell, Luke was the one scrambling up to check if you were okay before Jack even noticed.

If you and Jack were racing across the backyard, Luke was trailing behind, his little legs working furiously to keep up, his breath coming in short, determined puffs.

“Wait for me!”

“Luke, hurry up!” Jack would yell, already halfway across the lawn.

And Luke would hurry. He always hurried, always pushed himself to the limit just to try and close the distance, just to prove that he could keep up with you and Jack.

But more often than not, by the time he caught up, the game had already changed. Jack had already moved on to something bigger, something better.

And Luke—still catching his breath, still trying to process the game that had just ended—would be left standing there, watching as you and Jack disappeared into the next adventure without him.

But Luke never left.

Even when he wasn’t included, even when Jack brushed him off or you followed Jack’s lead without a second thought, Luke stayed.

Because if he couldn’t play, then he would watch.

And when Jack inevitably got bored and abandoned a game to chase after something else—when his attention flitted from knee hockey to soccer to wrestling to something entirely new—Luke was the one who stayed behind.

If Jack left the net in the basement empty, Luke picked up a stick and asked you to shoot on him instead.

If Jack abandoned a game of tag to go inside for a snack, Luke asked you to keep playing.

He never demanded your attention the way Jack did. Never insisted that you pick him first, never threw tantrums when he was left out.

He just waited.

Waited for the moments Jack wasn’t around.

Waited for the moments you finally turned to him.

And you? You never really thought much of it.

Not then.

To you, Luke was just there.

Just part of the background of your life—always orbiting close by, always tagging along if it meant he could be newr you.

It was the summer you were seven, a time when everything still felt simple and innocent. The world was filled with endless possibilities, and your days were spent on adventures with your best friend, Jack. You both had a rhythm—an unspoken understanding that no matter what, you would always be together, running, playing, dreaming. The world had no limits when Jack was by your side. And that evening, in particular, was no different. Or so you thought.

The sun was beginning to set, casting a warm, golden glow over the park, the colors in the sky blending into soft hues of orange and pink. The kind of evening that made everything look surreal, like the entire world was pausing to admire the beauty of the moment. You and Jack were sitting on your usual bench—the wooden one that creaked under the weight of years of memories, positioned perfectly to overlook the expansive field that stretched out before you. The warm summer breeze rustled the leaves of the nearby trees, and the sweet scent of freshly cut grass mixed with the distant hum of crickets chirping in the cooling air.

Jack was sitting beside you, legs dangling off the edge of the bench, his sneakers brushing against the ground as he swung his feet back and forth. He was talking, as he always did, hands gesturing wildly as he described yet another hockey game he’d watched on TV with his dad or something that had happened on the ice at practice. His voice was animated, full of the kind of energy that made it impossible not to pay attention. His dark brown eyes were wide with enthusiasm as he recounted the details—who scored the most goals, what move one of the players had pulled off, how he couldn’t wait to try it himself in his next game. It wasn’t surprising to you; hockey was everything to Jack. He lived and breathed it, and you could tell by the way he spoke, by the way his hands moved in the air to illustrate what he was saying, that this game, this sport, was a piece of his very identity.

You smiled at him, your head tilted back against the cool wood of the bench as you half-listened, half-watched the way his face lit up. Jack had always been a little bit wild in his energy. There was something so captivating about the way he threw himself into everything. Whether it was talking about hockey, creating new games to play, or just dragging you along on some new adventure, Jack’s passion was infectious.

But tonight—tonight something felt different. It wasn’t that Jack was any less enthusiastic about hockey, but there was a subtle shift in the air between the two of you. As he spoke, his words becoming more animated, you couldn’t help but feel a flutter of something unfamiliar. It was a strange sensation that started somewhere in the pit of your stomach and spread out, slowly working its way into your chest. Maybe it was just the energy of the evening—the warm glow of the setting sun, the peacefulness of the park, or maybe it was something else, something you didn’t fully understand yet. But as Jack’s words flowed around you, you found yourself caught in a strange mix of emotions that you couldn’t name.

You were used to listening to him talk about hockey, about his dreams and his wild plans, but tonight, for the first time, you weren’t just hearing the words. You were feeling them.

You turned to look at him, still speaking at full speed, his words coming faster now, his enthusiasm growing with every sentence. He didn’t even notice you watching him in that way, the way you were suddenly hyper-aware of every little movement—how his hands were moving as he spoke, how the sun reflected off his hair, how his voice had a different cadence tonight, more alive, more… intimate, for lack of a better word. It wasn’t anything tangible. There was no clear reason for why it felt different, but the air between you seemed to hum with a silent understanding that had never been there before.

But then, in the midst of his animated storytelling, Jack turned to you with that familiar mischievous grin, the one that always made your heart flutter a little. You had known that grin for as long as you could remember. It was the kind of grin that meant Jack was about to do or say something unexpected, something that would probably make you laugh or roll your eyes, depending on the day. But tonight, something about it felt different.

Jack was always a whirlwind of energy, the kind of kid who could never sit still for more than five seconds. He had an incredible ability to make anything sound like the best idea in the world. And when he spoke, it was with an infectious excitement, like the entire world was waiting for him to tell it what to do. He could make even the simplest things feel like the start of some grand adventure. And, for the most part, you always followed him. He was your best friend, your partner in crime, and his ideas were always bigger than yours, always more fun.

“We should get married when we’re older,” he said, completely casually, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

You blinked, your mind briefly stalling as you processed the words. Your head turned toward him in confusion, trying to make sense of what he’d just said. You weren’t sure whether he was joking, serious, or if it was just another one of his wild ideas. It had to be a joke, right?

“What?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, like you weren’t sure if you’d heard him correctly. You tilted your head, looking up at him with a puzzled expression.

Jack didn’t seem to notice the sudden tension in the air. He just smiled wider, clearly pleased with himself for getting your attention. His eyes sparkled as he leaned back, still sitting on the bench beside you, looking out at the sunset like it was the most natural thing in the world. He always had a way of making everything sound so simple, so easy. Like the world was just a place where everything worked out the way it was supposed to. And this—this idea—was no different.

“You can’t just decide that,” you said with a playful shove, trying to brush it off. You wanted to laugh, to keep things light, because it felt like a joke, right? Jack was your best friend, and this was just another one of his offhand remarks. You nudged his shoulder gently, trying to play along, but deep down, you felt a strange fluttering sensation in your chest that you didn’t fully understand.

Jack, however, didn’t back down. His smile didn’t waver for a second. In fact, he seemed to lean into it, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. He was so sure of himself, his confidence radiating in the way he sat there, relaxed and unfazed by the unexpected question he had just tossed into the air. It was as if he had always known this was where the conversation would lead.

“Why not?” he said with a shrug, as though it was an entirely reasonable suggestion. “You’re my best friend. And married people are best friends, right?”

The words hit you differently than you’d expected. You’d heard about marriage before, sure, but it was always in fairy tales, with knights and princesses and happily-ever-afters. You didn’t really know what marriage meant in a deep, meaningful way, but you understood one thing—Jack was asking you to be with him forever. And though you didn’t know exactly what that looked like, the idea of it felt warm, like the gentle glow of the setting sun.

You laughed, trying to push down the feeling welling up inside you. It was absurd. It was just Jack being Jack, always saying the first thing that popped into his head. Of course, it didn’t mean anything serious. You weren’t even sure he understood what he was really saying.

But still… something about the way he said it—so casually, so confidently—made your heart beat just a little bit faster. The idea of always being with him, of never being apart, settled somewhere deep in your chest. And for the first time, the word “marriage” didn’t feel like a fairy tale. It felt like a real possibility.

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words caught in your throat. The playful, teasing tone you wanted to use felt wrong all of a sudden. Jack’s grin hadn’t faltered, and his eyes were sparkling with the kind of certainty that only he could have. But you weren’t sure anymore whether you were laughing because it was funny, or because it felt real. Too real.

“Yeah, but…” you trailed off, staring at the ground for a moment, unsure of how to explain the confusion that was building inside of you. “We’re just kids. You can’t just decide to get married.”

Jack didn’t seem to think it was a big deal. He shrugged again, unbothered by your hesitation. “Why not? You’re my best friend. We’ve always done everything together. It just makes sense.”

His words lingered in the air, carrying a strange weight you hadn’t expected. His logic was simple, almost childishly so, but it struck something inside of you that made your chest tighten. You looked at him, really looked at him, for what felt like the first time in ages. Jack wasn’t just your best friend. He was something else, something more. And suddenly, you were hyper-aware of everything—the way his hand rested just inches from yours, the way the sun hit his hair, casting a golden halo around him. His words echoed in your mind. It just makes sense.

You felt a sudden rush of warmth flood your chest, spreading outward like the soft heat of the sun sinking lower on the horizon. You wanted to brush it off, to laugh it off, to keep things the way they always had been between the two of you. But deep down, you knew something had shifted.

You hadn’t asked for it, hadn’t expected it, but suddenly you couldn’t imagine a world where Jack wasn’t your best friend, where he wasn’t the person you shared every adventure with. And the thought of being by his side, of being his in a way that was more than just friends, settled over you in a way that made your heart race.

But it didn’t make sense, right? Not now. You were just seven. You didn’t know what marriage was supposed to mean. You didn’t know what love was. It was silly, wasn’t it? Just a passing thought.

Still, something inside you—something deep and soft—wanted it to be real. Wanted Jack to be that person. Always.

Behind you, just a few feet away, Luke had been quietly swinging, his tiny legs kicking rhythmically, the chains of the swing creaking softly with each motion. It had been a peaceful moment for him, one of those simple, innocent afternoons where he felt content in his small world. But now, in the middle of your conversation with Jack, something shifted for him.

Luke had always been content in his little world, his world of swings and sunsets, of quiet afternoons that stretched on forever. There was something peaceful about the way he lived, the simplicity of his routine, and the certainty that his big brother, Jack, would always be there beside him. And you—you had always been a steady presence in that world too, a familiar face in the background, someone who would push him on the swing when he asked or cheer him on when he kicked the ball to the other side of the yard.

But today, something was different. The moment he stopped swinging—dragging his feet against the ground, the sudden halt so jarring that the swing swayed a little before coming to a stop—it was like the entire air around him had shifted. He didn’t quite understand why, but something in his chest felt tight, something unsettled bubbled up from deep inside him. His feet dragged through the dirt, and his small body seemed to freeze mid-motion. The world around him, so familiar and safe just moments ago, now felt too big, too loud, too heavy.

He didn’t quite know what it was that had made him stop, but he couldn’t seem to pull himself away from it. Something in the way you and Jack were talking made him feel like he didn’t quite fit anymore. At first, he hadn’t understood the words—you were talking about things he didn’t know about, like the future and marriage, things that didn’t make sense to him at all. But it wasn’t the words themselves that caught his attention. It was the way you were both acting, the way you were standing there, so close to each other, like there was something that didn’t include him. Like there was a secret between you two, something that made him feel like he was no longer part of the picture.

His hands, which had once been gripping the swing chains tightly, now hung limp at his sides. He could feel the stillness in his body, a strange weight settling in his chest. He looked at you both, his little body small in comparison, trying to make sense of the way you were standing together, the way your attention was so entirely focused on Jack’s words, as though he was no longer someone who mattered in the conversation. You were his world too. You had always been his world. But now… now he wasn’t so sure.

Luke didn’t understand what was happening. Not really. He didn’t know what it meant when Jack said, “We should get married when we’re older.” All he knew was that something had shifted in the air, something unspoken, and it made him feel small. He wasn’t sure why, but the words left an ache in his chest that didn’t quite make sense. The way Jack spoke about it—so casually, so easily—made Luke feel like he was standing in the middle of something big, something important that he couldn’t be a part of. And for the first time, he felt like an outsider in a world he had once felt so safe in.

His feet shuffled in the dirt, but he didn’t move. He just stood there, feeling the uncomfortable tension settle deeper in his little heart. His big eyes, full of curiosity and innocence, were fixed on you both. But there was no joy in them, no spark of the usual childlike wonder. Instead, there was a quiet sadness, an intensity that seemed far too old for a seven-year-old. He wasn’t sure what to do with himself. He didn’t understand why he felt left out, why his world suddenly felt off-balance.

The truth was, he had always looked up to Jack. Jack had been his hero, his older brother, the one who showed him the ropes, made him laugh, and taught him how to throw a ball. But now, in this moment, Luke could sense a shift—a shift that was happening between you and Jack, one that made him feel like there was a new kind of connection between you two that he wasn’t part of. Something unspoken, something important. And that feeling of not being included, not being part of whatever was happening, felt too big for him to carry.

His little shoulders hunched, trying to make himself smaller, trying to avoid the strange feelings crawling up his spine. His feet dragged a little more as he turned away, walking back toward the swings, but he didn’t swing this time. He didn’t know if he could swing anymore, not with the weight in his chest, not with the way his mind felt heavy and confused. So, instead, he just stood there, watching the two of you, trying to make sense of it all.

From his vantage point, everything seemed too complicated. The way you and Jack laughed, how you exchanged looks, the way your attention was so fully on him—it was all so much. It wasn’t like it had been before. It wasn’t like the afternoons where you would smile at him and push him on the swing, where everything felt simple and clear. Now, there was a distance that seemed impossible to bridge, even though he had no idea what it was. All he knew was that he wanted to be a part of it again. He wanted to be included in that world, but he didn’t know how to get back to it.

He glanced over his shoulder at you once more, his eyes full of that quiet sadness, and in that moment, it felt like you were so far away. As if you had crossed some invisible line, and now there was a space between you that couldn’t be closed. His heart hurt. It didn’t make sense. He didn’t even understand marriage, but he understood the feeling—the feeling of not being enough, of not being included in something that had once been his.

But then, just as quietly, he turned back toward the swing. It was all he could do, this small child with no words for the ache in his chest, with no way to express the confusion that was crawling through his mind. He started to push the swing gently with his foot, the creaking chains barely audible over the stillness that hung in the air. But even as he moved, there was a heaviness in him, a quiet realization that something had changed. And that change—whatever it was—made him feel like he was standing on the outside looking in.

He couldn’t understand everything, not yet. But he could feel it. He could feel the change. And that was enough to make him pause, to make him stop swinging, to make him turn away. Because even without the words, he knew that whatever was happening between you and Jack was something that didn’t quite fit with the world he had always known. And in that small, quiet moment, he realized something that made his chest ache all the more: he was no longer the center of that world.

The lake house had always felt like a second home to you. It wasn’t just the lake that made it special, or the house itself, but the feeling of being away from everything familiar, yet somehow closer to everyone that mattered. That first summer you were invited to spend there when you were eight was a turning point in your childhood, a mark in time where everything seemed to shift, like the beginning of a chapter in a story that you didn’t know was going to be so important.

It was the first day, when the sun was still high and the smell of fresh pine and saltwater clung to the air, that you felt the magic of it all. You and Jack had already wasted no time in rushing to the water, shoes abandoned on the dock as you dove in, laughing, splashing, racing to see who could swim the fastest to the floating platform in the middle of the lake.

“I’m going to beat you!” Jack called, swimming ahead, his strokes cutting through the water with ease.

You kicked harder, determined not to let him win. “You wish!” you shouted back, splashing water in his direction.

“Last one there is a rotten egg!” Jack laughed, kicking his legs to build speed, his eyes bright with excitement.

But you could feel the burn in your muscles, the fatigue setting in as the floating platform grew closer. Jack was always faster, always the one who would win the challenges you came up with, but that didn’t matter. He made it fun—he always did. Every game felt like a race, and every race felt like it was the most important thing in the world. You were in it together, the two of you, as if nothing else mattered.

You finally reached the platform, gasping for breath, and Jack was already standing there, grinning with triumph. “You’re getting slow,” he teased, splashing water in your face.

You wiped your eyes and smirked. “I let you win,” you said, playfully sticking your tongue out at him.

“Yeah, sure,” Jack laughed, rolling his eyes. “But next time, I’m not going to make it so easy for you.”

You both floated there, letting the water gently rock you, eyes squinting up at the bright sky above. The feeling of the cool water against your skin was enough to make the heat of the summer day feel far away. But then, just as you were catching your breath, you noticed him.

Luke.

He was standing on the edge of the dock, his small frame barely noticeable as he gripped the edge tightly, watching you and Jack with wide eyes. He wasn’t in the water like you, wasn’t playing along with the games. He was just there, standing a little off to the side, as always.

You were so used to Jack’s loud presence, his infectious energy that drew everyone in, that it took a moment for you to really see Luke. He wasn’t as loud, wasn’t as reckless. He wasn’t the one making every day an adventure like Jack did. But there was something about the way he looked at you—something quiet and unspoken—that made your heart twinge. You were used to Luke tagging along, used to him always watching from the sidelines, but in that moment, it felt like something more. It felt like he was waiting for something that you couldn’t give him, at least not in the same way you gave Jack.

“Luke!” you called, waving at him from the water. “Come in, it’s awesome!”

Luke hesitated, his small fingers tightening on the dock as he glanced at Jack, who was still lounging on the platform. “I don’t know…” Luke mumbled, his voice quiet, unsure.

Jack perked up at the sound of his brother’s voice. “What’s the matter, Lukey? You scared?” He flashed a teasing grin, but there was a hint of challenge in his words.

Luke’s face scrunched, his little brows furrowing. “No,” he muttered, though there was no conviction behind it.

“Come on, Luke!” you called again, trying to sound enthusiastic. “It’s not that deep, and we’re having so much fun! You’ll love it!”

He bit his lip, clearly torn, before his shoulders sagged in defeat. “Okay. Fine.” He pulled off his sneakers and set them beside the dock, dipping one foot into the water cautiously.

You and Jack watched him for a moment, both of you already knowing that Luke wasn’t as confident as you were in the water. But after a few more encouraging shouts, Luke finally stepped in, wading slowly, his head barely above the water. You swam over to him, grinning.

“I knew you could do it!” you said, reaching out and offering him your hand. “Come on, we’re gonna race back to the dock.”

Luke took your hand, his grip tight but still tentative. He glanced at Jack, who had already started swimming back toward the shore. “I don’t think I can beat you two.”

“You don’t have to beat us,” you said with a shrug, smiling warmly. “Just swim with us. It’s more fun that way.”

He seemed to relax a little at your words, and for a few moments, the three of you swam together, splashing and laughing, the water cool against your skin. But even as you swam and played, you couldn’t shake the feeling that Luke wasn’t quite part of the same world as you and Jack. He was there, yes, but it wasn’t the same. He wasn’t as comfortable in the water, wasn’t as reckless in the way he approached everything. He seemed to linger at the edges of every game, a little hesitant to jump in fully, waiting for the perfect moment.

The sun soon set, leading the group of you to settle around the fire pit. As the flames crackled, casting their warm orange glow against the night, Luke couldn’t help but feel a sense of unease settling into his chest. He sat on the edge of the fire, a little further away from everyone else, trying to blend into the background. Jack’s ghost stories were always a source of amusement for everyone, but for Luke, they felt different. It wasn’t the ghosts themselves—he wasn’t afraid of that—but the way his older brother’s voice seemed to pull all the attention, to draw everyone in so effortlessly. And the way you—you—would laugh and play along, giving Jack that familiar, easy smile that made Luke’s heart flutter in a way he couldn’t ignore.

Luke had always been quiet, content with simple games and easy fun, where he didn’t have to think too much about anything. But lately, something had been shifting, and it seemed to revolve around you. It was as though something had clicked that afternoon a few weeks back—something small, but unmistakable—and now, as he sat on the edge of the firelight, his eyes kept drifting to you. Your laughter rang out as Jack continued with his stories. Every time Jack made a dramatic gesture or spoke in his spooky voice, you would laugh, your eyes lighting up with amusement, and Luke’s chest tightened with something he didn’t understand.

There was something in the way you looked at Jack—a warmth, a familiarity—that made Luke feel as though he was standing on the outside of a world he wasn’t allowed to be a part of. He wasn’t angry, exactly, just… distant. A seed of something had been planted in his chest, and it made him feel like he was growing up too fast, like everything around him was changing in ways he couldn’t keep up with.

As Jack’s voice dropped into that familiar eerie tone, Luke tried to focus on the flames. But the words Jack spoke carried a weight that Luke couldn’t shake.

“…and they say the ghost of the old man still haunts the lake,” Jack was saying, his voice dropping to an almost whisper, “waiting for someone to come too close to the water. They say if you stand on the dock at midnight, you can hear his footsteps behind you, dragging along the wood…”

You let out a little laugh and elbowed Jack in the side. “Jack, come on, that’s the oldest story in the book! You’re just trying to scare us.”

Jack grinned, clearly enjoying the reaction. “You don’t know that!” He leaned in closer, his voice lowering even further. “They say if you get too close to the edge, he’ll grab your ankle and pull you in, dragging you down into the depths of the lake, never to be seen again…”

You made a face, clearly pretending to be spooked. “Okay, okay, I’ll bite. But I’m still not scared.”

Luke found himself watching you intently as Jack wove his tale, his words spinning a web of eerie suspense. There was something in the way you played along—how you looked at Jack with that warm, teasing affection—that made something stir inside of him. But it was the way you glanced over at him in that moment, your eyes briefly catching his, that made his heart leap in his chest.

When you reached out and grabbed Luke’s arm during the spookiest part of the story, he froze. For a moment, he thought maybe it was just his imagination, but then he felt your fingers—warm and firm—wrap around his wrist. The touch was small, but it sent a rush of heat through him, making his heart race in his chest. He clenched his fingers instinctively, as if afraid the moment would slip away too quickly if he didn’t hold on. It felt like the whole world paused, and Luke couldn’t stop the flush that crept up his neck.

His fingers felt large and awkward beneath yours, but you didn’t pull away. And for that one brief moment, the ghost story, Jack’s teasing, everything else seemed to fade into the background. He was lost in the quiet of the space between you, the warmth of your hand on his wrist.

But then, just as quickly, you let go, laughing again, your fingers slipping from his. The moment passed so easily, so quickly, as if it had never happened at all. And Luke was left staring at his own hand, the lingering warmth still there, the ache in his chest growing.

Jack’s voice brought him back to the present. “And that’s when they say you’ll hear the screams of the old man, echoing across the water…”

Luke barely heard the rest. He didn’t want to hear it. Instead, he found himself once more focusing on you, sitting next to Jack, your laughter mixing with the sounds of the night.

The group moved down to the dock, and Luke stayed behind, slipping his feet into the cool water. The night was beautiful—deep and vast, the stars scattered above like jewels—but the beauty did little to soothe the tightness in his chest. He glanced over at you again, now lying on the dock next to Jack, both of you staring up at the stars. Jack was rambling on about his plans for the future, his voice excited, and you were listening so intently, leaning toward him. The way you looked at Jack, the way you gave him your full attention, made Luke feel even more distant.

Jack’s enthusiasm was too loud. His laughter rang too sharp against the silence, and Luke found himself retreating further into the stillness of the water, where he didn’t have to fight for attention. Where he could be just there, unnoticed, and just try to understand the confusion that swirled inside him.

It was Quinn who broke the silence, standing at the edge of the dock, his eyes catching Luke’s. The older boy had a way of knowing things without needing to be told. Quinn’s gaze softened, his expression unreadable, but Luke could sense the shift in him. The quiet understanding.

Luke quickly turned his eyes back to the water, not wanting Quinn to see, not wanting anyone to know how much he was changing inside. But Quinn had already seen it.

A small, almost knowing smile curled at Quinn’s lips. He nodded once, just a slight tilt of his head, as if acknowledging the unspoken shift that had started to settle in Luke’s heart.

Quinn didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. And in that moment, Luke felt something settle in his chest—something lighter, something like reassurance. He wasn’t sure if Quinn understood everything, but he felt a little less alone in it all.

But the night carried on, and Luke stayed at the edge of the world, staring at the stars, waiting for something to change, waiting for the gap between him and the rest of the world to close. He didn’t want to be left behind. Not anymore. But the ache inside him—stronger than before—was something he wasn’t sure how to share. He wasn’t sure how to bridge the gap between the feeling he had and the words he couldn’t find.

For now, though, he stayed silent. He stayed at the edge of the dock, watching the night pass by, hoping that one day, it would all come together. That the ache in his chest would make sense, and maybe, just maybe, he wouldn’t have to carry it alone anymore.

The summers always stretched on endlessly, the lake house becoming more familiar with each passing day, and yet every time you and Jack rushed down the dock or leapt off the platform, the excitement felt new. It was a rhythm you had come to depend on, like the pulse of the water beneath you, the steady pattern of life that had taken root here by the lake.

But despite the constant flow of games and adventures, there were moments when the world seemed to slow, when the noise of the days fell away, leaving only the stars, the soft rustle of the trees, and the quiet company of Luke.

One of those nights had arrived by the end of the week, when the air had turned cool, and the sky stretched out above you like an endless canvas. You and Jack had spent the entire day competing—arguing over who could jump from the highest point on the dock, who could hold their breath underwater the longest, who could run from the house to the dock in the shortest time. It was the same thing every summer, the same challenges, the same breathless laughter. But as the sun disappeared beyond the horizon, fatigue settled into your limbs, and for once, you and Jack let yourselves slow down.

Jack had gone inside to grab some snacks, leaving you alone with Luke.

Luke had been sitting quietly at the edge of the dock, his legs crossed, his hands braced behind him as he leaned back to stare at the night sky. He wasn’t as loud as Jack, never the first one to dive into the chaos, but there was something about the way he existed in these moments—so quietly, so fully—that made it feel like he belonged here just as much as anyone else.

You stretched out beside him, letting your legs dangle off the dock, the cool wood pressing against your bare skin. The air smelled like pine and lake water, thick with the warmth of the day fading into the crispness of the evening. The kind of night that felt so still, like everything in the world had paused just to let you breathe.

Luke shifted slightly beside you, and you noticed how he always sat a little closer than usual, how his knee brushed against yours every now and then as if he couldn’t quite figure out the space between you. But he didn’t say anything, and neither did you.

Instead, you both just watched the stars, the quiet of the night wrapping around you like a blanket.

From Luke’s perspective, everything felt like it was slowing down.

The stars were so big tonight. They seemed to stretch on forever, like they were waiting for him to notice. He didn’t often sit this still, didn’t usually spend his time just watching the sky. There were rocks to skip and trees to climb, adventures to go on. But tonight, it felt different. Maybe it was the way the night air cooled his skin, the way the breeze felt like a promise, or the way you were beside him, the only sound your soft breaths mixing with the rustle of leaves in the trees.

He glanced at you. You looked so comfortable, so at ease, like the world was something you understood in a way he couldn’t quite grasp. Luke had always been quieter than Jack. He didn’t speak as easily, didn’t have the same kind of loud energy that Jack did. But in these moments with you, he didn’t feel like he needed to be anyone else. He didn’t need to act like Jack, didn’t have to say anything clever or jump into a race to prove himself.

Your quiet presence was enough.

But it was also something else. Something that made his stomach twist a little, made his thoughts turn into a confusing jumble. It was the way your knee brushed against his, how you never pulled away, how it felt like you had no problem being near him. You hadn’t noticed, of course. But Luke was aware. More aware than he should have been. His thoughts, his heart, they didn’t make sense. He had never been good at understanding what he was feeling.

He looked at the stars, trying to keep his mind occupied with something else. But there was a part of him that wanted to ask you questions. Wanted to talk to you, share something with you. But what could he say? What did he even feel?

“What’s that one?” he asked suddenly, pointing at a cluster of stars near the horizon.

You turned your head slightly, following his finger. “That’s Orion’s Belt,” you said, shifting to sit up a little. “Those three stars in a line. You can find them every year, and it’s said that they’re the hunter.”

Luke furrowed his brow. He wasn’t sure what the hunter meant. He didn’t know if he even understood the stars the way you did, but he wanted to know. Wanted to understand the world like you seemed to. “Why is he a hunter?” Luke asked, feeling the weight of the question in his chest, “What’s he hunting?”

You paused, and for a second, Luke thought maybe you hadn’t heard him, but then you responded, your voice soft, “I don’t know. I think it’s just something from old stories. Maybe he’s hunting for adventure or something big. He probably had dreams like we do.”

Luke stayed quiet for a moment, digesting your words. He watched the stars again, his mind turning over the idea. He wasn’t sure what adventure meant, but the idea of it—the feeling of searching for something more—caught his attention. He looked at you, your face lit by the soft glow of starlight, and he felt a sudden urge to ask another question. Not about stars this time, but something bigger.

“Do you think we’ll have adventures like that when we’re older?”

It was a question that felt too big, like a thought that had been floating in his chest for a while, and now it had finally found its way out. He wasn’t sure what made him ask, but as soon as the words left his mouth, he felt like he was standing on the edge of something—something he couldn’t quite see, but that made his heart beat faster. His voice was soft, quieter than usual. Almost uncertain. He wanted to know the answer, but he was also afraid of hearing it.

Luke’s question took you by surprise.

It was a simple question, really. But you could hear the quiet weight behind it, the way it lingered in the air, like Luke was asking for something more than just an answer about adventures. He was asking about the future. About his future. What kind of life he would have when things weren’t just about running around and having fun at the lake. What kind of person he would be when the world wasn’t as simple anymore.

You didn’t know. You hadn’t figured that out for yourself. You had spent so many summers here, growing up with Jack, and yet you couldn’t predict the next few years, let alone the kind of future Luke would have.

“I don’t know,” you said honestly, your voice soft as you turned back to the stars. “I think everyone has their own adventure. Maybe they’re different, but they’re all important. Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out.”

Luke didn’t say anything at first, but you could feel the way his eyes lingered on you. You didn’t know exactly what was going on inside him, but you could tell that something had shifted in him tonight. Something you hadn’t seen before. There was a stillness to him now, a quiet understanding, and it felt like it was building up inside him, like he had caught a glimpse of something bigger, and it was all tangled up in that simple question.

And when you glanced at him, he wasn’t just looking at you. He was hearing you, too. His gaze was intense, thoughtful, and for a moment, it made your heart beat a little faster. You didn’t know what it meant. But it felt important.

After a while, Jack came back with a bag of chips, shoving the screen door open with a loud bang, breaking the quiet spell between you and Luke. The night faded back into its usual rhythm—Jack talking too loud, the crinkle of plastic as he ripped open the bag, the familiar chaos of another summer night at the lake.

But you couldn’t help noticing how Luke stayed close to you after that.

How he sat just a little closer than before, how he lingered beside you when Jack wasn’t looking, how he seemed to seek out your presence in little, unspoken ways. You didn’t know what it meant, but it felt different.

And even though you didn’t understand it yet, something about it felt like a beginning. Something you couldn’t quite name, but something you were starting to notice more each day.

For now, the night would go on, and Jack would fill it with his usual boisterous energy. But there was a shift, a quiet shift in Luke, that made you feel like the summer was moving forward in a way you hadn’t expected. The lake, the stars, the nights spent in quiet company—this was all part of it, part of the change that was unfolding slowly, one conversation, one glance at a time.

The next day dawned bright and cloudless, the kind of summer morning where the air was already thick with warmth, the sun glittering off the water like a thousand tiny diamonds. The lake was calm, barely a ripple disturbing its glassy surface, and the excitement buzzing between you and the boys was almost tangible.

Jack, as expected, was already hyped up, practically bouncing on the dock as he grabbed his paddle. His energy was endless, like he was constantly running on some invisible fuel that no one else could match. He turned to you and Luke, his grin wide and mischievous. “Alright,” he announced, puffing out his chest like a true competitor, “first one to the floating platform and back wins. No cheating.”

You rolled your eyes playfully. “You’re just saying that because you’re the biggest cheater here.”

Jack gasped in mock offense. “Me? A cheater? Please. I’m just naturally faster than you.”

Luke, who had been kneeling beside his canoe, adjusting his paddle, snorted. “You always cheat, Jack. You just call it strategy.”

Jack waggled his eyebrows. “It’s not my fault I’m smarter than you.”

“You’re not smarter,” Luke shot back. “You’re just reckless.”

Jack only grinned wider, already lowering himself into his canoe. “Same thing.”

With that, he was off, shoving away from the dock with an exaggerated push, his paddle slicing through the water in wild, hurried strokes. You barely had time to climb into your own canoe before Jack was halfway across the lake, moving with all the grace of a bull charging forward.

“Unbelievable,” you muttered, grabbing your paddle and pushing off.

Luke, still on the dock, rolled his eyes before easing himself into his canoe, far less rushed than either of you. You could see the difference instantly—where Jack was all force and chaos, Luke moved carefully, steadily. His strokes were slower but more controlled, his canoe gliding through the water rather than thrashing against it.

You tried to catch up with Jack, pushing yourself forward, your arms already burning from the effort. The lake was bigger than it seemed from the shore, and the floating platform in the middle felt impossibly far away. Water splashed against your arms as you paddled harder, your breath coming in short, determined huffs. Jack was still ahead, but he wasn’t as smooth as he thought—his frantic paddling caused his canoe to veer slightly off course every now and then, forcing him to correct himself.

“You’re wasting energy!” you called out, laughing as you gained on him.

Jack only grinned over his shoulder. “Yeah, but I’m still winning!”

It wasn’t until you reached the platform that you let yourself rest, your canoe bumping gently against the side of the wooden float. Jack was already there, panting slightly but triumphant. He smacked his hand against the platform dramatically, as if claiming victory. “Boom. Winner.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Race isn’t over yet.”

Jack laughed, already pushing his canoe back toward the shore. “Better hurry up then!”

You were about to follow when you glanced back, realizing that Luke was still a little ways behind. He wasn’t struggling—far from it—but he wasn’t racing either. His strokes remained patient, steady, as if he wasn’t concerned about beating anyone. He was simply moving, letting the water carry him as much as he carried himself.

Something about that made you pause. Jack had already disappeared ahead, but suddenly, winning didn’t seem as important anymore. Instead of rushing after him, you turned your canoe slightly, slowing your strokes to match Luke’s pace.

He glanced up at you, surprised. “You don’t have to wait for me.”

You shrugged, resting your paddle across your lap for a moment. “I don’t mind.”

A small, almost shy smile tugged at the corner of his lips. He didn’t say anything right away, but you could tell he appreciated it. The two of you paddled side by side, the sounds of the water lapping gently against the canoes filling the quiet between you.

Luke hesitated, then spoke, his voice softer than before. “Jack always makes everything a competition.”

“Yeah,” you agreed with a laugh, shaking your head. “He doesn’t really know how to do things any other way.”

Luke glanced at you, thoughtful. “Do you like that?”

You blinked, caught off guard by the question. “What do you mean?”

Luke’s paddle skimmed the surface of the water, creating small ripples. “Always having to race. Having everything be about winning.”

You exhaled, considering. With Jack, it had always been like that—fast-paced, wild, a constant need to prove something. And it was fun, most of the time. But there was something different about the way you were moving now, next to Luke, with no urgency, no need to rush.

“I don’t know,” you admitted, glancing toward the shore where Jack was already climbing onto the dock, victorious. “I guess sometimes it’s nice to just—be.”

Luke nodded, his gaze fixed on the water. “Yeah.”

Neither of you spoke for a while after that, just paddling together in a comfortable silence. The sun was higher in the sky now, reflecting golden streaks onto the lake’s surface. You let yourself get lost in the rhythm of it, the slow, unhurried way Luke moved, how it felt like he wasn’t trying to chase anything—just experiencing it as it came.

By the time you finally reached the shore, Jack was waiting, arms crossed, tapping his foot impatiently. “What took you guys so long?”

You shrugged, stepping out of the canoe and stretching your arms. “We were enjoying the view.”

Jack scoffed, but Luke just smiled knowingly. You caught the small look he gave you—like he understood something you hadn’t fully realized yet. And in that moment, standing there on the dock with the water dripping from your fingertips and the summer sun warming your skin, you realized that maybe, just maybe, Luke had the right idea all along.

The rainy days at the lake house had a magic of their own. They brought with them the soft patter of raindrops against the windows, the smell of damp earth rising from the porch, and the hum of restless energy that filled the house as you all searched for ways to entertain yourselves. The moment the first drops fell, signaling that you’d be stuck inside for the day, Jack would immediately declare, “Knee hockey tournament. Living room. Right now.”

It was a tradition. The coffee table was shoved to the side, pillows lined the edges of the room as makeshift boards, and everyone knew the stakes were high. Jack, naturally, was the most competitive, his grin practically splitting his face as he grabbed a mini stick and tossed you another. “Dream team, back again,” he announced, bumping his shoulder against yours. You caught the stick easily, already grinning. You and Jack were always the duo to beat, your quick reflexes and synchronized movement making you nearly unstoppable.

Quinn, ever the strategist, took his time choosing his teammate, tapping his chin dramatically before slinging an arm around Luke’s shoulders. “I’ll take Luke,” he said, grinning as if he knew something you didn’t.

Luke shifted beside him, his expression unreadable at first, but there was something in his eyes—something determined, something that almost looked like anticipation. He didn’t protest.

Jack just scoffed. “Good luck,” he teased, twirling his stick between his fingers. “You’ll need it.”

The first game was fast-paced, the sound of the plastic ball slapping against the hardwood floor echoing through the house. Jack and you worked in tandem, passing quickly, faking each other out, weaving through the small space with an ease that only came from years of playing together. Every goal you scored, Jack celebrated like it was a Stanley Cup game, yelling dramatically and sliding across the floor on his knees.

But Luke and Quinn weren’t easy to beat.

Luke wasn’t as fast as Jack, and he didn’t have Quinn’s sharp strategic mind, but he had something else—a quiet patience, a precision in the way he moved. He watched the plays unfold, predicting your movements, using his body and stick to block your best shots. He wasn’t reckless like Jack, wasn’t rushing headfirst into every play. Instead, he was steady, deliberate, thinking two steps ahead.

At first, you barely noticed. You were too caught up in the thrill of the game, too focused on scoring. But then, every time you tried to cut around him, he was just… there. Anticipating. Blocking. Smirking a little when he managed to steal the ball from you.

You narrowed your eyes at him playfully. “You’re getting good at this, Lukey.”

He shrugged, but there was something teasing in the tilt of his lips. “Maybe I’ve always been good. You just never noticed.”

That threw you off more than it should have.

Jack groaned dramatically, cutting between you. “Stop flirting and play the game!”

You blinked, heat rushing to your face. “We’re not—”

But Luke just grinned, turning back to the game as if nothing had happened. As if he hadn’t just sent your mind into a tailspin.

As the summers passed, knee hockey remained a staple of the rainy days, but something about those moments with Luke started to shift. It wasn’t just the way he played anymore—it was the way he was. The way he carried himself. He was taller now, his movements more confident. He didn’t hesitate as much, didn’t linger in Jack’s shadow like he used to.

And then there were the moments—small, fleeting, but impossible to ignore.

Like when you had just swum back to the dock one afternoon, breathless from racing Jack across the lake, your arms aching from the effort. Jack had already hoisted himself up, shaking out his wet hair like a dog before flopping onto his back. You reached for the dock’s edge, ready to pull yourself up when suddenly, there was Luke.

He was crouched at the edge, one hand outstretched toward you. His fingers curled slightly in a silent offer.

You hesitated for just a second before reaching up. His hand was warm despite the coolness of the water, his grip firm but gentle as he pulled you up. For a moment, your fingers lingered together, your skin slick with water, your breath caught in your throat for reasons you didn’t quite understand.

And then, just as quickly as it had happened, Luke cleared his throat, dropping his gaze as he let go, rubbing the back of his neck like he wasn’t sure what to do with himself.

You swallowed, trying to shake off whatever that had been.

Jack, oblivious as always, sat up, running a hand through his damp hair. “C’mon, let’s go again. Best two out of three.”

But Luke was still looking at you—like he knew something had shifted.

And maybe… maybe you did too.

Some nights, after the chaos of the day had settled and the others had gone inside, you and Luke found yourselves lying on the dock, staring up at the stars. It was never planned, never something you spoke about beforehand—it just happened.

Jack was usually the one who exhausted himself first, retreating inside after a long day of swimming and competing. Quinn would follow soon after, leaving you and Luke behind in the quiet lull of the night, the water gently lapping against the dock.

Luke lay beside you, arms folded behind his head, his gaze fixed on the sky. “Do you think it’s weird that everything looks so big at night?” he asked suddenly, his voice low.

You turned your head slightly to look at him. “Big?”

“Yeah,” he continued, his brows knitting together in thought. “Like, during the day, everything feels… normal. But at night, when you look up, it’s like—you realize how small you are.”

You stared up at the stars, the vast, endless expanse of them. “I guess so,” you murmured. “But I think that’s kind of nice. Like, it makes everything else—everything that feels too big—seem smaller.”

Luke was quiet for a moment, as if letting your words settle. Then, softly, “Yeah. I like that.”

The silence stretched between you, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was peaceful, a quiet understanding that didn’t need words.

Then, in a softer voice, Luke asked, “Do you ever think about what happens after this?”

You turned your head to look at him again, surprised by the question. “After what?”

“After all this,” he said, gesturing vaguely at the lake, at the sky. “After we grow up.”

You exhaled, staring up at the stars again. “Sometimes. But I try not to think about it too much. I like it here. I like now.”

Luke nodded slowly, as if he understood. And maybe he did. Maybe he felt the same.

The summers were changing. You were changing. And Luke wasn’t just Jack’s little brother anymore. He was something else—someone else. Though your heart still truly belonged to his older brother, no matter how hard Luke tried.

At sixteen, Jack told you after practice one afternoon, back home, when summer was still weeks away.

You had stayed late at the rink, the way you always did, dragging out the minutes after his practice because neither of you were ever in a hurry to leave. The ice had already been cleaned, the faint smell of Zamboni fumes still lingering in the air, and most of his teammates had already headed out. But Jack had slung an arm around your shoulders and said, “One more round,” and you never could say no to him.

So you skated circles around each other for another twenty minutes, taking lazy shots on goal, passing the puck back and forth without speaking. It was comfortable, easy. The way it had always been.

And then, after you finally dragged yourselves off the ice, you sat together outside the rink, letting the cool spring breeze dry the sweat still clinging to your skin. His hockey bag was tossed carelessly beside him, skates still half-laced like he hadn’t quite decided if he was done for the day. The sun was warm against your face, the kind of warmth that made the air feel electric, buzzing with the quiet anticipation of summer.

Jack leaned back on his elbows, stretching his legs out in front of him, and kicked absently at a dandelion sprouting between the cracks in the pavement. His voice was casual, easy, when he said it.

“Oh, by the way, I’ve got a girlfriend now.”

It took a second for the words to sink in.

You had been in the middle of reaching for your water bottle, fingers curling around the plastic, when the sentence hit you like a slap.

“What?”

Jack turned his head toward you, squinting against the sun, his mouth curling into that familiar lopsided grin. “Yeah. Alyssa. You know her, right? She’s in our chem class.”

You did know her.

She was blonde, pretty, and effortlessly cool—the kind of girl who seemed to float through life with an ease you had never quite mastered. The kind of girl who made sense for Jack, in a way you suddenly felt like you didn’t.

“Oh,” you said, forcing your expression into something neutral, something that wouldn’t betray the way your stomach had twisted into a knot. “That’s… cool.”

Jack’s grin widened, oblivious to the way your voice had faltered. “Yeah, she’s awesome. You’ll love her.”

You nodded, pretending to be interested, pretending that the sudden ache in your chest was nothing more than an odd reaction to the heat.

And then, as if the news itself hadn’t been enough, he added, “She’s coming to the lake house this summer.”

You felt like the ground had been yanked out from under you.

The lake house.

Your lake house.

The place that had always been yours—yours and Jack’s, yours and the Hughes’, yours and the memories you had built there for nearly a decade.

You swallowed, forcing your expression to stay neutral. “Oh. Yeah, that makes sense.”

Jack didn’t seem to notice your hesitation. He just stretched his arms over his head, looking out at the parking lot like this was just another conversation, just another day. “It’s gonna be great. She’s never been, so I’ll need you to help me show her around.”

You wanted to tell him no.

You wanted to tell him she didn’t belong there, that the lake house wasn’t just some place—it was home. It was the sound of Jack’s laughter echoing off the water, the endless knee hockey battles on rainy days, the constellations you used to trace in the sky when the two of you were kids, whispering dreams about the future.

It wasn’t supposed to change.

But instead, you just nodded.

“Yeah,” you said, the word barely making it past the lump in your throat. “It’ll be fun.”

Jack grinned, already moving on, already pulling out his phone to check his messages, like he hadn’t just turned your entire world upside down.

And just like that, everything shifted.

The first night at the lake house, you couldn’t breathe.

It wasn’t Alyssa’s fault. Not really.

She was nice in the effortless way that pretty girls always seemed to be. She laughed at Jack’s jokes, tucked herself easily into the spaces that had once been yours, fit in with the family like she had always belonged. She had only been here for a few hours, and yet somehow, she already knew which cabinet the cereal was in, already had Quinn rolling his eyes at one of Jack’s ridiculous stories, already knew exactly how to lean into Jack’s side at the dinner table like she had always been the one sitting next to him.

Like that seat had never been yours to begin with.

Maybe it never was.

Maybe you were the one who had been holding onto something that had never really belonged to you.

So you smiled. You nodded when she spoke to you, laughed when you were supposed to, played the role of best friend because that’s all you had ever been. And if your fingers curled a little too tightly around the edge of the table, if your stomach twisted every time Jack whispered something into her ear, if the food on your plate went mostly untouched—no one noticed.

Or at least, you thought they didn’t.

The house settled into a comfortable quiet as the night stretched on, the familiar creaks of the wooden floors, the distant hum of crickets beyond the porch screens. Jack and Alyssa had disappeared upstairs together after dinner, their laughter trailing up the staircase, and you had felt something inside of you unravel.

So you had slipped out onto the porch, closing the door quietly behind you, needing air, needing space, needing something to dull the ache in your chest.

The lake stretched out before you, dark and endless, the water lapping gently against the dock. It should have been comforting. It always had been before. But tonight, it felt hollow.

You wrapped your arms around yourself, pressing your fingers into your ribs as if that would somehow keep the hurt from spilling out.

The door creaked open behind you.

You didn’t turn, but you knew who it was before he even spoke.

Luke.

He was always the one who lingered. The one who noticed things even when you tried to hide them.

He didn’t say anything at first. He just sat beside you, close enough that his shoulder brushed against yours, his body warm against the cool night air. He didn’t try to fill the silence, didn’t try to force words where they didn’t belong.

And for some reason, that was what undid you.

The tears came before you could stop them, silent at first, then harder, faster, your shoulders shaking as you tried to hold it in, tried to pretend you weren’t breaking apart right there on the porch.

Luke let out a quiet breath, barely audible over the sound of the water. And then, without hesitation, he reached out, pulling you into him.

You didn’t resist.

You buried your face against his chest, gripping fistfuls of his sweatshirt like it was the only thing keeping you from shattering completely.

He was warm. Solid. Safe.

His arms tightened around you, his chin resting lightly against the top of your head as he let you sob into him, let you break apart without saying a word.

You didn’t know how long you stayed like that—curled into Luke’s chest, the fabric of his sweatshirt damp beneath your cheek, your fingers still twisted into the material like you were afraid to let go. But Luke never moved. Never let go. He just held you like he had been waiting to, like he had always known this moment would come.

And maybe it was because you were crying too hard, or maybe it was because your mind was too clouded with grief for something you had never really had—but you didn’t hear it.

You didn’t hear the way Luke exhaled shakily, like he was holding back something too big to say aloud.

You didn’t hear the quiet, broken words he finally let slip.

“If only I were him.”

But Quinn did.

He had been walking past on his way to the kitchen, pausing at the doorway when he saw the two of you.

His expression was unreadable as he stood there, watching the way Luke held you, the way his fingers curled ever so slightly into the fabric of your sweatshirt, the way he looked at you.

And then, without a word, Quinn turned and walked away.

You had eventually left him there.

Slipped out of his arms, whispered a quiet ‘thank you’, and disappeared back into the house before he could stop you. Before he could say anything—before he could ask you to stay.

Luke had let you go, even though everything in him had wanted to hold on just a little longer. Just long enough to keep you close, to keep you from slipping through his fingers like water, like you always did.

Now, the dock was empty except for him.

But the ghost of you remained.

The warmth of you still clung to his sweatshirt, the scent of lake water and the faintest hint of whatever soap you used lingering in the fabric. The weight of you had pressed into his side, curled into his chest as you cried, and even though you were gone, he still felt you there.

Luke sat motionless, staring out at the water, his breath slow and uneven. The lake stretched out in front of him, vast and endless, its surface dark except for where the moonlight painted streaks of silver. It was quiet now—no laughter, no voices drifting from the house, just the steady lapping of the water against the dock, the occasional rustling of the trees in the breeze.

He should have gone inside.

Should have shaken it off, pretended like nothing had happened. Like holding you, feeling you tremble against him, hadn’t carved something deep into his chest. Like it hadn’t made him ache in a way he wasn’t sure he’d ever recover from.

But he couldn’t move.

Because the truth sat too heavy in his bones, pressing down on him like a weight he couldn’t shake.

Because the words had already slipped past his lips.

Soft, quiet, spoken to no one but the night itself.

‘If only I were him.’

Luke squeezed his eyes shut, dragging a hand down his face, as if he could erase the thought from his mind, as if he could shove it back down into the part of himself that he had spent years trying to ignore.

But it was too late.

Because the words were out there now, hanging in the cool night air, impossible to take back.

He wished he were Jack.

He wished, just for a second, that he had been born in a different place, with a different name, with a different place in your heart.

Because then maybe—just maybe—you would have seen him.

Not as Jack’s little brother.

Not as a second choice.

Not as the boy who was always just a little too young, a little too quiet, a little too easy to overlook.

But as someone.

As yours.

Luke let out a slow breath, staring down at his hands. His fingers curled into his sweatshirt—your sweatshirt now, because he knew you’d probably stolen it from Jack’s room at some point. His grip tightened, like if he held on tight enough, he could still feel you there.

But it didn’t matter.

Because you hadn’t heard him.

You hadn’t heard the quiet confession, the words that had been sitting in his chest for longer than he wanted to admit.

And even if you had…

You still wouldn’t have understood what they meant.

But Quinn had heard.

Luke heard the footsteps before he saw him.

The quiet creak of the old wooden boards, the familiar rhythm of Quinn’s stride—it was enough to tell him he wasn’t alone anymore. But he didn’t look up. He just kept his gaze locked on the water, his elbows resting on his knees, hands clasped together like he could wring the frustration from his bones.

Quinn didn’t speak as he lowered himself onto the dock beside him, stretching his legs out in front of him, their shoulders barely brushing. For a moment, neither of them said anything.

The night was still, the lake stretching out before them, dark and endless. The moon carved a silver path across its surface, shimmering in the gentle ripple of the waves. It should have been peaceful. It had always been peaceful before. But now, the silence only seemed to amplify the storm raging in Luke’s chest.

He stared at the water, trying to steady himself, trying to ignore the way his pulse still hadn’t settled since you had been in his arms, since your tears had soaked into his sweatshirt, since you had disappeared inside without ever hearing what he had said, the words still sitting bitter on his tongue.

Quinn exhaled beside him, breaking the quiet with a sigh that felt heavier than it should have. And then, finally, he spoke.

“You love her.”

Not a question. Just fact.

Luke let out a quiet, humorless laugh, shaking his head. His grip on his hands tightened, knuckles white in the moonlight. “Doesn’t matter.”

“It does.” Quinn’s voice was softer this time, but there was something firm underneath it, something unyielding. “You should tell her.”

Luke scoffed, shaking his head. His throat burned, the weight of it all pressing down on him. “She loves Jack.”

The words came out sharp, clipped. He hadn’t meant them to. But saying them aloud made them feel heavier, like they held more truth than they should.

Quinn didn’t say anything for a long time.

The air between them was thick with something unspoken, something impossible to name. Luke could hear everything—the soft rustling of the trees, the distant hum of crickets, the steady lapping of the lake against the dock. It all felt too loud, too sharp against the quiet ache settling in his chest.

And then, finally, Quinn broke the silence.

“She thinks she does.” His voice was careful, measured. “But she’s never even thought about you as an option.”

The words hit Luke harder than he expected.

Because they were true.

You had never looked at him the way you looked at Jack. Never let your gaze linger. Never let your fingers brush his just to feel the contact. Never let yourself wonder if maybe—just maybe—he could be someone to you.

Because to you, there was only ever Jack.

Luke clenched his jaw, his chest tight, his stomach twisting itself into knots. His fists curled against his knees, nails biting into his palms.

“Because I was born in the wrong place,” he muttered, voice barely above a whisper. “If I were Jack…”

But Quinn cut him off before he could finish.

“But you’re not Jack.” His voice was quiet, steady, but there was something firm beneath it, something final. “And maybe that’s a good thing.”

Luke swallowed hard, staring out at the water, at the reflection of the stars shimmering in the dark.

But he wasn’t sure Quinn was right.

Because if being himself meant always being second, always being the afterthought, always sitting alone on this damn dock while you smiled at someone else—then he wasn’t sure he wanted to be Luke at all.

Luke never brought it up. And neither did you.

The night you had cried into his chest, the way his arms had wrapped around you so tightly—like he could somehow hold you together—it was never mentioned again. It became one of those moments that lived in the quiet spaces between you, something fragile and unspoken.

But it lingered.

He felt it every time you sat at the dinner table, smiling when you were supposed to, nodding along as Alyssa laughed at something Jack said. Every time your fingers curled around the edge of your glass just a little too tightly. Every time your eyes drifted toward them—toward Jack and the girl at his side—and took on that faraway look, glassy and unreadable.

Luke knew you were hurting.

And God, he hated it.

But there was nothing he could do.

Because even though he wanted to reach across the space between you, to shake you, to tell you that Jack wasn’t the only person in the world worth loving—you didn’t see it.

You didn’t see him.

And Luke didn’t know which was worse: the fact that you were in love with Jack or the fact that you didn’t even realize how much Luke loved you.

So he stayed quiet.

He watched as the summer stretched on, as you smiled when you were supposed to, as you forced yourself to be okay. And maybe to everyone else, it worked. Maybe Jack and Alyssa and even Quinn believed the act.

But Luke didn’t.

He saw how your hands clenched in your lap every time Jack threw an arm around Alyssa’s shoulders. He saw the way your throat tightened when she pressed a kiss to his cheek. He saw the way you looked away, always just a second too late, always after the damage had already been done.

And it killed him.

Because you deserved more than this—more than spending the summer pretending you were fine, pretending your heart wasn’t breaking every time Jack smiled at someone who wasn’t you.

Luke wanted to tell you that.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he just kept sitting beside you on the dock, kept making quiet jokes when the house got too loud, kept handing you a marshmallow before you even had to ask for one by the fire. Kept being there, in the only way you would let him be.

And maybe that wasn’t enough.

But it was all he had.

The first time you missed the trip to the lake house, it seemed trivial. Just a weekend, right? You could make up some reason—something simple that wouldn’t raise suspicions. Family obligations, work commitments, even the classic “I’ve got a lot of homework” excuse would be enough. After all, you’d been going to the lake house for as long as you could remember. It had become a part of you, woven into the fabric of your summers, a backdrop to countless memories with Jack, Luke, and Quinn. A weekend away wouldn’t change anything, right?

But it did.

You could feel it the moment you hung up the phone with Jack. The weight in your chest, heavy and undeniable. You thought you could escape the feeling, put it out of your mind, but it lingered in the corners of your thoughts. The lake house wasn’t just a place; it was a memory, a comfort, and now it was a reminder of everything you were trying to avoid.

You told yourself it would just be one weekend. That you were just taking a break. You convinced yourself it was temporary. You were busy, that’s all. There would be another time. But deep down, you knew it wasn’t that simple. There was something more, something unspoken between you and the others that you didn’t know how to confront. It had been brewing for weeks now, something under the surface, something you couldn’t put into words.

When Jack called, you almost dreaded hearing his voice. It was familiar, comforting, but also the thing that felt like a weight around your neck. The guilt hit you all over again, curling deep in your stomach.

“Hey, are you coming this weekend?” Jack’s voice was casual, but there was an edge of expectation underneath it. “We’ll be at the lake house, like always.”

You could hear the unspoken promise in his tone—this is what we always do. And you hated yourself for it. Hated that you couldn’t just say yes, that you couldn’t be there like you always were. Your hand gripped the edge of the counter, your knuckles white, as your mind raced for an answer.

You wanted to say yes. You wanted to slip back into that familiar rhythm, to fall into the comfort of the lake house and the people who filled it. You wanted to be with Jack and Quinn, and especially Luke, but the thought of seeing them all together made your chest tighten. You weren’t ready. Not yet. You didn’t know how to face them, how to face yourself in that space. You couldn’t bear to see their faces, not when you had so much left unsaid, so much you hadn’t dealt with.

“I… I can’t, Jack,” you said, your voice faltering just slightly as you tried to keep the lie steady. “I’ve got work.” The words sounded hollow, even to your own ears, and the guilt twisted in your gut. “Maybe next time.”

There was a long silence on the other end of the line. You could almost hear him processing, trying to understand, but the confusion lingered there in the quiet. You hated that it was so easy to lie, that the words came so naturally. You hadn’t been ready to deal with what was really going on inside you, and so you just pushed it all down.

Jack sighed, a sound that carried a touch of disappointment, but also something more—something patient. He always knew how to give you space when you needed it, even when it hurt him. “Alright,” he said softly, his tone still holding that hint of sadness. “Well, we’ll miss you. But I get it. Just… don’t stay away too long, okay?”

You promised him you wouldn’t, but deep down, you knew you were lying. You didn’t know when you’d go back, or if you would. And as soon as you hung up the phone, you knew the distance between you and the lake house, between you and them, was widening.

The next weekend came, and you stayed home again. And the one after that. And then it became easier—slipping out of the routine, making new excuses, burying yourself in other things so that you wouldn’t have to think about it. It was easier to hide behind a wall of work and other commitments than to face the truth.

And what was the truth? That you weren’t ready. Not for the lake house, not for Jack and Alyssa, not for Luke. It was easier this way, wasn’t it? To stay away. To pretend like everything was fine, like you didn’t feel the aching pull between what was and what could never be again.

The absence didn’t go unnoticed, though. Not by Jack, and certainly not by Luke.

Jack didn’t say much. Maybe he didn’t want to push you too hard. You were always good at deflecting, at making light of things, and maybe that’s what Jack saw in you—a person who was always willing to pull herself together, even when it didn’t make sense. But Luke? Luke noticed everything. Every little shift, every subtle change. And when you weren’t there, when you stopped showing up, it was like a part of him was missing too.

You hadn’t seen him in weeks, and you knew it. The last time you’d crossed paths had been so fleeting—just a few minutes at the grocery store, the briefest exchange of glances. He’d smiled at you, but it wasn’t the smile you remembered. It was distant, guarded, like he was afraid to get too close. And maybe he was. You were afraid too.

It wasn’t just that Luke noticed your absence—it was the weight of what was left unsaid between you, the quiet space that had grown larger with every missed trip. Every time you saw him from a distance, there was something in his eyes that pulled at you, something unspoken that you couldn’t ignore, but also couldn’t face. You had known him longer than anyone else, and yet now, he was the one you couldn’t quite reach.

The weeks stretched on, and the distance between you and the lake house deepened. It wasn’t just the physical distance—it was the emotional gap that had started to separate you from Jack, from Luke, from everything you had once known.

And Luke? Luke was the hardest part of all. Because no matter how hard you tried to keep your distance, no matter how many excuses you made, you couldn’t escape the way your heart twisted whenever you thought of him. You couldn’t escape the way you missed him—missed the way he’d been there for you, the way his presence had felt like home. It was easier to pretend, to tell yourself that you were just busy, but you knew the truth: you were avoiding him. You were avoiding everything, and truly you didn’t understand why.

The silence between you and the lake house grew louder with each passing day. And somehow, you felt yourself drifting further away—not just from the lake house, but from everyone you once considered family. But you couldn’t bring yourself to stop. Because if you did, if you allowed yourself to face them, then you’d have to face everything you were running from. And that was the hardest part of all.

The week after the summer had ended and you missed yet another lake house trip, Quinn found you. He hadn’t been looking for you exactly. He wasn’t sure what had driven him to come, but the truth was he knew something was wrong. You’d stopped coming, and it was starting to weigh on him. The silence between your absence and Luke’s growing frustration wasn’t something Quinn could ignore, even though Luke never said a word about it. But Quinn could feel it—could feel how the absence of you was slowly becoming too heavy for all of them to carry.

Quinn had no clear plan as he stood outside your door, his knuckles hovering just above the wood, unsure of whether he should knock or simply leave. The house had always been a place of comfort, a home that felt like his, but today, it seemed different. Quiet in a way that made his chest tighten, the sounds of your laughter no longer filling the corners. The soft shuffle of your footsteps, the casual conversations you’d had over the years—those sounds were missing, and in their place was a hollow emptiness that Quinn could almost taste.

You answered the door slowly, and for a moment, he wondered if you had been expecting someone else. Your eyes were too tired, too distant, and there was something about the way you stood there, half hiding behind the door, that made him feel as though you were trying to shield yourself from something—or maybe from him. He couldn’t quite tell.

He didn’t want to make things worse. He wasn’t sure how much to push, how much you’d be willing to share. The hesitation in his step betrayed his uncertainty, but when you met his gaze, he saw something that twisted in his chest: something sad and lost.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice softer than usual, the words hanging in the air between you.

You gave a small smile, but it was strained, and Quinn could see right through it. He didn’t believe you for a second.

“Yeah, just… busy with school and everything. You know how it is.” You shrugged, but the motion felt hollow, and your eyes never quite met his.

Quinn nodded, but he knew it wasn’t the whole story. He could feel it—could feel how your words didn’t match what was in your eyes.

“You haven’t been around the lake house much, though,” Quinn ventured, his voice calm but holding a trace of concern that you couldn’t miss.

You shifted slightly, the space between you both feeling thicker than it should. “I’ve just got a lot going on.”

Quinn raised an eyebrow. That wasn’t the real reason, not by a long shot. “Really? Because Jack misses you. We all miss you.”

At that, he saw it—the brief flicker in your eyes. It was almost imperceptible, but it was enough. Hurt. Regret. Whatever it was, it made Quinn’s chest ache, his heartbeat a little heavier. There was something more to this than you were letting on, something that made him wonder if you even saw how much everyone else was hurting.

A long silence stretched out between you both, a quiet that felt like it would swallow him whole. The distance was painful. It had always been easy between you and him—friendly, easygoing. But this, this was something different. Something that Quinn didn’t know how to fix, but something he couldn’t leave unresolved either.

Finally, you spoke, your voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know, Quinn. It just doesn’t feel the same anymore.”

The words cut through the air, sharp and heavy, and Quinn’s heart sank. He had always known you as part of the rhythm of the lake house, the one constant they could count on. And now, you were drifting away, and he had no idea how to pull you back in.

“What do you mean?” Quinn asked, trying to keep his voice steady. It wasn’t like you to avoid questions like this, to shy away from the truth.

You closed your eyes for a brief moment, a flicker of pain passing over your features before you spoke again. “Everything’s changed. And I don’t know how to fix it.”

“Maybe it’s not about fixing it,” Quinn said, his voice gentle but firm. “Maybe you don’t need to fix anything. Just… come back. Come back to the lake house. We miss you.”

You shook your head slightly, stepping back from the door, as if you were trying to distance yourself from him, from everyone else. “I can’t. It’s too hard.”

Quinn’s stomach twisted with the weight of your words. It wasn’t just that you were avoiding the lake house—it was that you had withdrawn from everything. From everyone. And that scared him more than he let on.

“It’s not about being perfect,” Quinn said, his voice quiet now. “We’re all just… trying to figure things out.” He took a step closer, his eyes softening as he met your gaze. “We just need you to be there. We all do.”

You didn’t say anything for a long time, but Quinn could feel how your breath quickened, how the weight of what he was saying started to sink in.

“I don’t belong there anymore,” you murmured, your voice cracking on the last word.

The words hit him like a punch to the gut, a sharp twist of realization. It wasn’t just about the lake house. It was about you, about how you had come to see yourself outside of all of them, outside of the family you’d once been a part of. And that hurt. It hurt more than he was prepared for.

“Of course, you belong there,” Quinn said, his voice breaking a little. “You always have.”

But you didn’t believe it, did you? Quinn could see it in your eyes—the sadness that seemed to swirl just below the surface, a darkness he couldn’t reach. He felt helpless in a way he never had before. He didn’t know how to make it right, how to bring you back to them.

“I miss you at the lake house,” he admitted, his voice softer now, raw with emotion. “We all do. Jack misses you. Luke misses you more than you know.”

Your chest tightened at that, the truth of his words cutting through your defenses. You knew Luke missed you. In fact, it was one of the hardest things to face—that the one person you didn’t know how to deal with, the one person you couldn’t bring yourself to confront, was the one who missed you most.

“Maybe,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, “but it doesn’t matter. Things are different now.”

Quinn studied you for a long time, his gaze intense and unwavering. You wanted to look away, to shut him out, but his eyes held you captive. You saw it then—the rawness, the vulnerability, the care that Quinn had never been one to show so openly.

“I know you think it’s different,” Quinn said quietly, “but you’re wrong. Things haven’t changed as much as you think. You’re still part of this family. You always will be.”

And in that moment, with those words hanging in the air between you both, you could feel something shifting. You didn’t know if it would be enough to bring you back to the lake house, back to them, but you could feel it in your bones: the connection, the love, the deep-rooted truth that no matter how far you pulled away, they would always be there, waiting.

The next few weeks were a blur. Jack kept calling, trying to bridge the gap, and you kept finding reasons to avoid his calls. Work. Homework. Other commitments. It never seemed to stop, and every time you answered with another excuse, the guilt only piled higher.

But Luke… you hadn’t seen Luke in weeks. And that absence? That ache in your chest that you just couldn’t explain when you thought about him? It was always there, quietly gnawing at you, reminding you of what you were running from.

Then, one afternoon, Jack showed up at your door.

His presence was like a weight, a storm that had been gathering, ready to break. Standing there, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his hoodie, his usual easygoing demeanor was replaced by something quieter, more serious. The frustration in his eyes was unmistakable, and his voice, when he spoke, was softer than it had ever been.

“I don’t get it,” Jack said, his words hanging between you both. “What happened? Why are you pulling away?”

You swallowed hard, a lump rising in your throat. There was no easy way to answer, no simple excuse you could give to make it go away. “I don’t know,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “I just… need space.”

Jack’s expression softened, and though he didn’t say it, you could tell how deeply he felt the distance. “You don’t need to do this alone, you know? We’re all here for you.”

You nodded, but even the words felt hollow. “I know. I just… I’m not sure how to fit back in.”

Jack took a step forward, his gaze intense as it locked with yours. “Don’t shut us out. We’re your family.”

And just like that, the weight of it all hit you—the weight of the lake house, of Jack, of Luke. You couldn’t keep running away, not anymore. But you weren’t sure how to face the truth. The truth that Luke was still there, waiting, somewhere in the shadows, and the hardest part of it all was knowing that, maybe, you hadn’t been able to face him yet.

The air was beginning to shift as the first hints of fall whispered across the trees, rustling the leaves in the distance. It had been another summer of avoidance—weeks stretching into months, each one slipping by as you found more and more reasons to stay away from the lake house, from Jack, from Luke. The reasons weren’t as simple as school or work or family, but they were the excuses you told yourself to make it easier. To convince yourself that pulling away didn’t matter. But as you sat behind the wheel of your car, driving down the familiar road leading to the lake, you couldn’t deny the knot in your stomach.

You didn’t know how you’d gotten here, but you could feel the weight of it in your bones—the guilt, the emptiness. You couldn’t remember the last time you had felt truly connected to any of it. To the people, to the place that had once been everything. It was as if, over the course of a summer, the distance between you and them had grown to a point where it felt too difficult to cross back.

You could see the lake house in the distance, the same wooden structure that had once felt like home, but now it was just a shadow of itself. Everything about it felt different, hollow in a way you couldn’t quite explain.

As you stepped out of your car and made your way down the familiar path that led to the dock, you wondered why you were here. You had avoided coming for so long—avoided the people, avoided Luke. And now, walking in the direction of the place you had always felt safest, you couldn’t help but feel like a stranger.

Your eyes scanned the area as you approached the dock, the soft sound of water lapping against the shore mixing with the gentle rustling of the trees in the breeze. It felt peaceful, serene even, but there was an ache in your chest you couldn’t ignore. A heaviness that made your steps feel uncertain, as if you weren’t quite sure you were supposed to be here.

And then you saw him.

Luke was sitting on the edge of the dock by the water, his back stiff, his hands resting on the wooden panels beneath him. He hadn’t noticed you yet, his gaze fixed out toward the horizon, where the golden light from the setting sun danced across the surface of the lake. His hat was pulled low over his face, casting a shadow that made his expression unreadable, but there was something about the stillness of his figure that made your chest tighten.

It was like time had paused in that moment. The world around you faded as you watched him, your eyes tracing the outline of his silhouette, the familiar shape of him that you hadn’t seen in weeks. There was a distance between you now, one that seemed to stretch out endlessly, a chasm that you had been too afraid to face.

You hadn’t meant to avoid him, not really. But with Jack and Alyssa together, everything had changed. And with every day that passed, the more it seemed impossible to go back to how it was before. You missed Luke. You missed the way he’d been there for you, the way he had always been in the background, supportive and understanding in a way that was easy to take for granted. And yet, when you thought about him, you always found yourself circling back to the same thought: It’s too late now.

The wind picked up, and the leaves in the trees swayed gently, their movement in rhythm with the pulse in your chest. You stood still for a long moment, just watching him, unsure of what to do next. The quiet between you felt suffocating, a reminder of the unspoken words that had been left unsaid for so long. You wanted to call out to him, to ask how he had been, to break the silence and bridge the gap that had been growing between you. But you stayed silent, not knowing what to say, what right you had to speak when you had stayed away for so long.

Then, as if sensing your presence, Luke shifted slightly. His body tensed for a moment before he turned, his eyes lifting slowly from the horizon to meet yours.

In that instant, everything in you seemed to stop. His gaze was heavy, intense, as if he had been waiting for this moment—waiting for you to come back. But there was something more in his eyes, something deeper. His expression was unreadable, but there was an undeniable pull in the way he looked at you, like he was seeing through all the walls you’d built up, all the excuses you’d made.

“Y/N,” Luke said quietly, his voice carrying across the distance between you. He didn’t stand up, didn’t move. He just stayed there, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. As if you hadn’t been avoiding him for months.

You couldn’t find the words. You wanted to say something, anything to break the silence, but nothing came. Instead, you just took a step closer, stopping a few feet away from him. You both stared at each other for a long time, the quiet stretching out longer than either of you was comfortable with.

Finally, Luke broke the silence. “Why do you keep running away?” His voice wasn’t angry, but there was a rawness to it that you hadn’t expected.

You froze, the question hitting you harder than you thought it would. “I’m not running,” you said quickly, trying to sound calm, but even you could hear the lie in your voice.

“Yes, you are,” Luke replied, his words sharp now, like they had been building up for a long time. “From the lake house, from me.”

The words stung more than you wanted to admit. You opened your mouth to speak, but nothing came out. You just stood there, unable to process what he had said, what he was implying. You felt something inside you snap, but you couldn’t bring yourself to admit it.

“Luke, what are you talking about?” you finally asked, your voice coming out softer than you had intended.

Luke let out a sharp breath, like the weight of everything he had been holding in was finally too much. He stood up then, but didn’t come closer. Instead, he looked at you like he was seeing you for the first time in a long while, like he was waiting for you to really see him, to understand what he had been carrying.

“I love you, Y/N,” he said, the words slipping out of his mouth like a confession he had been holding onto for years. “I’ve loved you since before I even knew what love was.”

The world around you seemed to stop. The trees, the water, even the air itself seemed to freeze in place, leaving you standing there, staring at him in stunned silence. You opened your mouth to say something, but no words came.

Luke took a step closer, his voice growing quieter now, but more intense. “But you never saw me, did you? I was just Jack’s little brother to you. I was always just there. In the background. You never noticed me for anything else.”

His words hit you like a freight train, shattering everything you thought you knew about yourself, about him, about what had been right in front of you all along. You stood there, frozen, as if the world around you had suddenly slowed down. His confession wasn’t just a declaration—it was a breaking point, a revelation that you couldn’t escape. You had always thought you knew who Luke was, always thought you understood the quiet, steady presence he had been in your life. But you had been blind.

The memories flooded back all at once—those small, seemingly insignificant moments you had brushed aside without a second thought. The way Luke’s gaze would linger on you when you laughed, how he would stay behind after everyone else had gone home to help clean up, how his voice had always been a little softer, a little more patient whenever he spoke to you. The way he had stood in the background, never demanding anything from you, never asking for more, but always there. Always just a little too quiet, a little too distant, a little too kind for you to notice. And now, as the weight of what he had just said hung heavy in the air, you understood. All those moments weren’t coincidences. They had been his way of loving you without you ever realizing it.

You opened your mouth to speak, to process it all, but the words were stuck in your throat. I never knew. The thought echoed relentlessly in your mind, but you couldn’t say it aloud. You couldn’t bring yourself to voice the truth, not yet. It was too overwhelming, too raw, and yet, as much as you wanted to deny it, you felt the heavy sting of regret curling up from somewhere deep within you. You had missed it. You had missed him.

You took a small step forward, the movement feeling more like a leap into an unknown space, like walking on the edge of something fragile and delicate. Every part of you felt exposed, the rawness of the moment too intense for your usual walls to hold up. Your heart was hammering in your chest, each beat louder than the last, thumping in your ears as if to remind you how real this was.

Luke was still watching you, his expression unreadable, but his eyes—those familiar eyes—spoke everything. There was a softness in them now, a quiet vulnerability that you had never seen before. He didn’t look angry. He didn’t look bitter. He didn’t look like he had been holding onto this for years just to lash out. No, instead, he was just standing there—quiet, patient, waiting. Waiting for you to see him. Waiting for you to finally look at him the way he had always looked at you.

You took another step closer, the words that had been building in your chest finally spilling out. “Luke…” Your voice trembled, barely a whisper, but it was enough for him to hear. Enough for the world to hear the weight of it all. “I never knew.”

There was no sudden shift in him—no dramatic reaction, no sigh of relief. He didn’t move. He didn’t take a step toward you or away from you. Instead, his expression softened even further, and for the first time in years, you saw Luke as he truly was—vulnerable, raw, and, in that moment, completely open to you. He wasn’t holding back anymore. He wasn’t hiding his feelings, wasn’t waiting for you to come to him. He had already given everything he could, and now it was up to you to decide what came next.

“I know,” he whispered back, his voice so soft that you almost couldn’t hear it over the pounding of your heart. It was a simple response, but it felt like it contained the weight of everything he had carried, everything he had hoped for. “But I needed you to.”

The words hung in the air, a delicate thread between you both, and you felt the weight of them settle in your chest. He needed you to see him. He needed you to stop running, to stop avoiding the truth that had always been there, hiding behind the easy smiles and the comfort of friendship. He needed you to finally understand that, all this time, he had been right there. Right in front of you. And you had missed him.

It wasn’t just about the lake house, or Jack, or the old memories of summers past. It was about you and Luke. About everything that had been unsaid, everything that had been quietly building up in the background while you had been so caught up in your own confusion, your own feelings for Jack. You had never allowed yourself to see what was standing right there in front of you—what had been waiting for you all along.

A sudden ache pierced through your chest, a mix of regret, guilt, and something else—something you couldn’t quite name. You had been running from him. You had been running from his love, from the possibility of something deeper, something real. And now, standing there, with him just a few feet away, you realized just how much you had lost by not seeing him sooner.

Luke was still standing there, waiting. He wasn’t pushing you, wasn’t asking for anything. He had already given you everything. His love. His time. His patience. He had been there for you in ways you hadn’t even understood until now. And for the first time, you felt the full weight of it.

You took a deep breath, the air around you thick with emotion, and you felt something shift inside you. You had been running for so long, but now, in this moment, you didn’t want to run anymore. You didn’t want to hide from the truth. You wanted to stop pretending that everything was fine, that you had everything figured out when, in reality, you had been avoiding the one thing that could make everything right.

The silence hung in the air, but this time it felt different. It wasn’t a chasm between you that needed to be filled with words, but a soft space of understanding, a quiet kind of anticipation. It was as though everything that had once been said, and everything that had been left unsaid, was coming together in this one moment. The weight of what Luke had shared with you, the rawness of his confession, it wasn’t a burden anymore—it was a bridge between you, and you could feel it stretching out before you.

You stood there, a few feet away, and your mind raced, scrambling to find a way to process what had just happened. But no matter how hard you tried to make sense of it, you kept coming back to one thing—Luke. Luke, standing there, his eyes soft, his expression vulnerable in a way you had never seen before. He was no longer just Jack’s younger brother. He was Luke—the boy who had been there for you in every way, without ever asking for anything in return.

It was almost as if, in that moment, you could feel the shift deep inside of you. Everything you had been running from, everything you had been hiding from, came rushing to the surface. You realized, with a sharp clarity, that you had been avoiding him, yes—but you had also been avoiding yourself. Avoiding the truth that had always been right in front of you.

And then, without thinking, without hesitating, you closed the space between you. One step. Then another. The sound of your heartbeat was the loudest thing you could hear, each beat reverberating in your chest, urging you closer. You had no plan, no idea what you were doing, but somehow, in that moment, you knew. You knew you had to stop running.

Your breath caught as you stopped just inches from him, the world narrowing down to the two of you. His presence seemed to envelop you, a warmth that you had once only felt in his friendship, but now… it felt different. It felt like it was pulling you in, like gravity itself had shifted, and the only place you could go was to him.

You raised your hand instinctively, your fingers brushing against his sleeve, and then, without saying a word, your lips met his.

It wasn’t urgent. It wasn’t the wild, impetuous kiss of a first love or an overwhelming rush of emotion. It was something softer, quieter—a hesitant question that had never been asked. You could feel the uncertainty between you both, as if neither of you was sure what this meant, but you both knew you needed it. You needed to close the gap, to answer the question that had hung between you for so long. It was a kiss that felt like the very beginning of something, not a culmination.

But then, as the seconds stretched, as the warmth of his lips against yours seemed to sink deeper into your skin, something shifted. The hesitation melted away. It was like the dam inside you had finally broken, letting all the emotions that had been bottled up for years flow out in one sweeping wave. The kiss deepened, soft and slow, but urgent now—as if you were both finally allowing yourselves to feel everything you had kept locked away. His hand gently cupped the back of your neck, pulling you closer, as if he couldn’t get close enough. And you—your hands found their place on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your fingertips. The rhythm matched your own, and it felt like you were syncing with him in a way that was more intimate than anything you had ever known.

In that moment, you felt like you were being seen—not just as the girl who loved Jack, but as yourself. As you—the person Luke had always seen and loved in his quiet, steady way, even when you had been blind to it. It wasn’t just the touch of his lips on yours. It was everything—his patience, his understanding, his willingness to wait for you to finally see him for who he truly was.

When you pulled away, your breath came in short, shaky bursts. You couldn’t remember the last time you felt so exposed, so utterly vulnerable. But at the same time, it felt like everything had fallen into place. All the fear, all the doubt—it had evaporated in the warmth of the kiss, leaving only the quiet certainty that this, whatever this was, was real.

You rested your forehead against his, your breaths mingling together as you both tried to catch your breath, to come back to reality. His eyes were closed, his brow furrowed slightly, as if he couldn’t quite believe this was happening either. The two of you, standing there in the quiet of the evening, under the pale light of the setting sun, it felt surreal, but it was also exactly where you were meant to be.

Luke’s thumb brushed over your cheek, the motion tender and slow, like he was memorizing the feel of you beneath his touch. He opened his eyes then, looking at you with a depth that made your heart skip a beat. There was no anger in his gaze, no resentment for the years you had spent blind to him. There was only something softer—something more powerful. Something that told you he had always known you would come back to him, even if you didn’t know it yourself.

He let out a shaky breath, the words escaping him quietly, as if he were confessing something deeply private. “I’ve waited so long for you to see me like this. To see me for me.”

The weight of his words landed on you like a soft wave, gentle but impossible to ignore. You hadn’t seen him—not truly. Not until now. But now, in this moment, you could see everything. Every little piece of him that had been hidden in the quiet corners of your heart, waiting for you to wake up.

You leaned into his touch, closing your eyes for a second, savoring the feeling of being held, of finally being seen. His words echoed in your mind, and you felt an overwhelming ache in your chest, a deep sense of longing that had always been there but had been buried under years of hesitation, confusion, and missed opportunities.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice breaking as the truth finally tumbled from your lips. “I didn’t know. I should’ve seen you. I should’ve been there. I didn’t…”

He shook his head softly, interrupting you with a quiet smile, the kind that made your heart ache with tenderness. “You’re here now,” he said, his voice full of warmth, of understanding, of everything he had been waiting for. “That’s all that matters.”

And in that moment, you realized that he was right. The past didn’t matter anymore. The things you had missed, the time you had wasted—it didn’t matter, because you were here now. Together.

You took a deep breath, pulling away slightly to look at him. The future was still uncertain—still unknown. But standing here, in the quiet, the world around you seemed to fade. The wind ruffling the trees, the soft murmur of the lake—it all became background noise, insignificant compared to the pull between the two of you.

And when you looked at Luke, you didn’t see Jack’s younger brother anymore. You didn’t see the boy who had been stuck in the shadows of his older brother’s life. You saw Luke—the boy who had always been there, waiting, loving, patient. And for the first time, you were able to see him for who he truly was.

And that was enough. That was more than enough.

The next summer at the lake house felt like a new chapter, a fresh breeze sweeping through the familiar spaces. The house, though unchanged in its appearance, felt different to you—like it had grown, expanded, become something more than it had ever been. The old rhythms were still there. Jack’s easy laugh echoed in the kitchen, Alyssa’s chatter floated through the air, and Quinn’s voice was a steady undercurrent, always with that knowing smile. But there was something new now. Something you couldn’t put into words, something that had shifted in the space between you and Luke, something that made the house feel like a home.

As you walked through the front door, your heart fluttered slightly in your chest, a mixture of excitement and nerves. The familiar scent of the lake, the wood of the house, and the salty air filled your senses. You had missed it all, but it felt different now. You had avoided this place for so long, spent so many months running from it, running from him. And now, standing here, you felt a mix of both vulnerability and relief. You knew what had changed—it was the way you saw Luke now, not just a background figure in your life. He was Luke. And he was everything you had needed and didn’t know you had been waiting for.

When you walked into the living room, your eyes immediately found him. Luke was standing by the window, his broad shoulders relaxed, and that warm smile of his lighting up his face. It was the same smile you had seen a thousand times, but now it felt like it was meant for you, and you couldn’t help but return it. His gaze flickered over to you, and his smile deepened—no longer the shy, almost hesitant grin you had seen before, but a confident, knowing one. He waved, his eyes playful, but there was no longer any hesitation between you. No more distance. No more of the quiet longing that had once been there. Just Luke. Just the two of you.

You found yourself walking toward him, almost instinctively, like you were following some unseen thread that had always been pulling you closer. As you approached, he reached for your hand, slipping his fingers into yours with an ease that felt completely natural. The touch felt right, as though the universe had always intended for you two to be this way.

Jack was sitting on the couch, his arm around Alyssa, and Quinn was leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed but with a small, knowing smile on his face. It was as if Quinn could see something in you and Luke that no one else could, like he had been waiting for this moment for years. His smile was subtle, but there was a quiet pride in it, a quiet satisfaction. He knew what this meant. He had watched his younger brother love you from the sidelines, and now, as he looked at the way you and Luke stood together, there was a peace in his eyes. It was as if he had been holding his breath for so long, waiting for Luke’s feelings to be reciprocated, and now, finally, they were.

The evening passed like it always did, with laughter and familiar chatter filling the space. But there was a new dynamic now—one that everyone could feel. Jack, ever the easygoing older brother, noticed the subtle but undeniable shift between you and Luke. He didn’t say anything, but you could see it in his eyes when he caught your gaze—acknowledgment, understanding, and maybe even a little relief. Jack had never been the type to need to understand everything, but he could see what had always been there between you and Luke, and now, seeing the way Luke’s eyes lit up when he looked at you, seeing the way you seemed to belong by his side—it was clear. There was no need for words. The change had come, and it was undeniable.

When the evening wore on and the sun began to dip low over the lake, painting the sky in warm golden hues, you and Luke found yourselves outside. The air had cooled, the breeze soft and comforting, and you both gravitated to the old bench by the water. It was the same bench where so much had unfolded between you in the past, where you had first realized the depth of your feelings, where you had started to see Luke in a new light. It felt almost like fate that you would return here, as if this spot, this place by the water, was the point where everything had started to change.

Luke sat down first, his hand still holding yours, and you followed suit, settling beside him. His arm brushed against yours, and for a moment, the two of you just sat there, letting the quiet wash over you. The soft rustling of the trees, the gentle lapping of the water, the distant call of birds settling in for the night—it was all so familiar, yet now it felt new. The air between you and Luke was filled with an unspoken understanding, a peace that neither of you had ever experienced before. You didn’t need to say anything. You didn’t need to explain the emotions swirling between you, because you both felt them. You were here. Together. And that was enough.

Luke’s hand gently slid into yours, his fingers entwining with yours like it was the most natural thing in the world. You looked over at him, your heart swelling as you realized how far you had come. The awkwardness, the uncertainty, the hesitation—they were all gone now, replaced with something deep and sure. You finally felt like you had arrived, not just at the lake house, but at a place where you could truly be yourself, where you could finally see Luke for who he was and love him the way he had always loved you.

The stars began to twinkle overhead, the sky darkening as the night crept in. The silence between you wasn’t uncomfortable anymore. It was peaceful. And when you looked over at Luke, you saw him looking up at the sky too, a soft smile on his lips, the glow from the stars reflecting in his eyes.

“I never thought this would happen,” you said softly, your voice almost drowned out by the peaceful sounds of the night. “I didn’t know I was running from the one thing that was right in front of me all along.”

Luke’s eyes met yours then, and he gave your hand a gentle squeeze. “You’re here now,” he said, his voice steady and full of warmth. “And that’s all that matters.”

The words were simple, but they held so much weight. You had been running, yes, but you had stopped now. And in stopping, you had found something more beautiful than you had ever imagined. You had found him. And that was enough.

As you sat there, side by side, under the stars, you realized that everything had come full circle. All the years of missed moments, all the moments of doubt and confusion—they were behind you now. You were finally here, with Luke, where you both belonged. And as the cool breeze ruffled your hair and the distant hum of the night surrounded you, you felt like the world was finally right again.

And from where you sat, you could see Quinn watching from the porch, that small but knowing smile still on his face, as if he knew this moment was a long time coming. Luke had always deserved this. And now, finally, he had it. He had you. And you had him.

In that moment, there was nothing left to do but lean into him, feeling the steady beat of his heart beside you. The world might have been uncertain, but here, with him, you felt more certain than you ever had before. And you knew that, for once, you wouldn’t run anymore. You were right where you were meant to be.

[verstappenverse]

Just Another Valentine

Pairing: Lando Norris x Reader

Summary: Every year you and Lando spend Valentine’s Day together as part of an unspoken tradition, but this year something feels different, something that is impossible for you to ignore.

1.8k words / Masterlist

Valentine’s Day always had a way of making you feel like a spectator in your own life.

The smell of chocolate and overpriced roses was thick in the air, reminding you of the one day of the year you could always count on to make you feel at least a little pathetic.

It wasn’t that you hated it. It was cute in theory, love, grand gestures, all of that. But when you were single, the whole thing felt a bit like a slap in the face. And unfortunately, this year was no different.

But at least you had one constant.

Lando had a habit of making sure neither of you ever spent this day alone. Every year, if you were both single (which, more often than not, you were), he’d take you out, making sure the day didn’t pass unnoticed. It started as a joke years ago and then, it happened again. And again. Until it was basically tradition.

So when your phone lit up that morning with a text from him saying, Pick you up at seven. Wear something nice 😉 you knew exactly what it meant.

And for some reason, you spent the whole day trying not to overthink it.

By the time 7:00 p.m. rolled around you had already changed twice, first into something dressy, then into something a little more casual, only to second-guess yourself and switch again. Which was ridiculous because it was just Lando.

The same Lando who raided your fridge without asking, who stole your blankets during movie nights without a hint of remorse, who had seen you half-asleep and drooling on the couch more times than you cared to admit. The Lando who teased you endlessly, who could read your mood with a single glance. Lando who had seen you at your absolute worst, stressed over exams, hungover from nights you barely remembered, even the times when you’d just been a mess of emotions, and he never once flinched.

So why were your hands shaking a little when you opened the door?

Lando leaned against the frame, dressed in something a little nicer than his usual hoodie and joggers, a fitted black sweater and dark tailored trousers, smelling like something expensive. His signature grin was in place, dimples and all, as his gaze ran over you slowly, eyes darkening slightly, though he covered it with a smirk.

“Damn,” he said, cocking his head. “You really listened to me.”

You rolled your eyes. “You said ‘wear something nice.’ I figured you’d complain if I showed up in pyjamas.”

He put a hand over his heart in mock offense “I would never complain about anything you wore,” he teased.

You rolled your eyes, grabbing your coat. “Yeah, yeah. You want a gold star or something?”

“I’ll take a kiss on the cheek.”

You snorted. “In your dreams Norris.”

“You have no idea.”

You lightly smacked his arm as he led you out. The cool February air nipped at your skin as you got into his car, but it was warm inside, the radio playing quietly.

“So,” you said, glancing over. “What’s the plan?”

“You’ll see.”

Ten minutes later, you were standing in front of a little restaurant you’d never been to before. Intimate, dimly lit, tucked away in a quiet part of town. Fairy lights lined the outdoor seating area, and through the windows, you could see tables set with candles, couples leaning in close over their meals.

The hostess led you to a table by the window, and Lando pulled out your chair, waiting until you sat before taking his own seat across from you. You raised an eyebrow at his oddly formal behavior, but he just smiled, picking up the menu like this was all completely normal.

“You really planned this?” you asked.

Lando leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. “Why do you sound so surprised?”

You eyed him, tapping the menu. “I don’t know. It’s suspicious.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “Remind me how you’re single again?”

You exhaled a laugh, running a finger along the edge of your glass. “Probably the same reason you are.”

HIs expression flickered, something unreadable passing over his face before he leaned back, exhaling through his nose with a laugh.

“Has it ever occurred to you,” you asked, “that we’ve spent more Valentine’s Days with each other than with people we’ve actually dated?”

Lando looked up. “Huh. Now that you mention it… yeah.”

You shook your head with a laugh. “Kinda sad, isn’t it?”

He laughed. “Or maybe we just have shit taste in partners.”

You hummed, swirling the wine in your glass. “Speak for yourself.”

“Oh, trust me, I am.” He shrugged. “Or maybe it just means we have good taste.”

“In each other?”

“Obviously.” He grinned. “C’mon, like I need an excuse to spend time with you.”

You paused for a second, something warm settling in your stomach.

The two of you had always been like this, flirting without thinking, teasing each other like it was second nature. But tonight, something felt different. The way his eyes lingered longer on you when you spoke. The way his fingers brushed yours when he handed you a drink. The way your knees touched under the table, neither of you moving away.

Then, as the waiter cleared the table, Lando reached under his seat and pulled out an elegantly wrapped box, sliding it across to you.

You blinked at it. “What’s this?”

“Open it.”

Inside was a Lego Bouquet set, a build-your-own floral arrangement, colorful and intricate.

You let out a surprised laugh, shaking your head. “You got me Lego flowers?”

“They won’t die,” he said, “and we could you know…build them together, it could be fun.”

You bit your lip, warmth spreading through your chest. “You really didn’t have to.”

“I know,” he said, softer this time. “But I wanted to.”

You ran your fingers over the box, heart pounding a little harder than it should’ve been.

Lando rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly looking unsure. “Is it weird?”

You shook your head. “No. It’s… really sweet.”

His lips twitched. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You didn’t know why your voice was so quiet.

You let yourself relax as the evening passed, enjoying the food, the conversation, the way Lando somehow always knew how to make you laugh, and by the time dinner was over, the restaurant was starting to empty.

Lando leaned back in his chair, watching you. “So, did I do a good job?”

You smirked. “It was okay.”

He gasped dramatically. “Just okay?”

“Always fishing,” you laughed, nudging his foot under the table. “Fine. It was great. Thanks for making today a little less depressing.”

He scoffed with a laugh. “Wow. That’s the gratitude I get?”

You rolled your eyes but softened. “Alright, alright. You really didn’t have to do all this, you know.”

Lando tilted his head. “Yeah, I did.”

There was something in the way he said it that made your breath catch for a second. But before you could process it, he was standing up and paying the bill.

“C’mon,” he said, holding out a hand. “One more stop.”

You recognised where you were the second he parked up.

“The beach?”

He shrugged, killing the engine. “Yeah.”

You turned to him, raising an eyebrow. “In February? You hate the cold.”

He shot you a sideways glance, “I also hate traffic, but that would never stop me from picking you up.”

It was quiet this time of night, the sound of the waves filling the space between you as you walked along the sand. The air was cool, but Lando had given you his jacket somewhere along the way, and you pulled it tighter around yourself.

After a while, he stopped, hands stuffed in his pockets as he looked out at the water.

You stood next to him, stealing a glance at his profile. The soft glow of the city lights reflecting from the water caught the edges of his face, the sharp line of his jaw, the slight furrow in his brow.

After a moment, he sighed. “You okay?”

You blinked, glancing over. “Yeah. Why?”

“You’ve been quiet.”

You shrugged, toeing at the sand. “Just thinking.”

Lando hummed. “About?”

And then, without thinking, you said it. “I can’t help but think that this is a little more effort than someone would normally put in for their friend.”

Lando turned to you, eyes searching yours.

For a second, neither of you said anything.

Then—

“Guess I’m not as subtle as as I thought.”

You swallowed. “Lando—”

“I know,” he cut in, running a hand through his hair. “Bad timing, right? But I just… I don’t know how to keep pretending that I only do things like this because we’re friends.”

Your heart was hammering. “So, all of this—”

“Was me trying to tell you without actually telling you.” He scratched the back of his neck, looking almost shy.

You stared at him, the weight of his words settling over you.

And then, suddenly, it all made sense.

The way he always put you first. The way he looked at you when he thought you weren’t paying attention. The way he showed up, year after year, on this day of all days. The way you never questioned it, because, well, deep down, you had always wanted it.

You took a step closer. “Lando.”

His eyes flickered to your lips before meeting your gaze again. “Yeah?”

You smiled. “You really didn’t need all this effort.”

His brows furrowed. “What do you—”

You kissed him before he could finish.

For a second, he froze. Then, his hands found your waist, pulling you in as he kissed you back.

You pulled back. “Say it.”

Lando swallowed, his jaw tightening. “What?”

“Say it,” you repeated, voice softer this time.

His fingers twitched around your waist.

Then, low and rough, “I want you.”

Your stomach flipped.

When you finally pulled back you were both breathing hard, the air between you charged. Lando's hands lingered on your waist, his thumb tracing absent circles against your hip, like he wasn’t ready to let go just yet.

He let out a shaky laugh, exhaling slowly. “Fuck.”

You swallowed, your fingers still curled into the fabric of his sweater. “Yeah.”

His eyes flickered between yours, searching, like he was making sure he hadn’t just imagined it. Then, his lips curved into a smirk, soft, almost disbelieving.

“So… that wasn’t just a ‘thanks for dinner’ kind of kiss, was it?”

You huffed a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “No, Lando. It wasn’t.”

His smirk deepened. “Good. Cause I was really gonna struggle pretending otherwise.”

You rolled your eyes, but the smile tugging at your lips betrayed you.

He nudged your chin up with a knuckle. “You’re sure about this?”

You looked at him, really looked at him, the way his eyes held yours, the way his grip on you hadn’t loosened, the way this had always been inevitable.

“Yeah,” you murmured. “I’m sure.”

Lando grinned, eyes bright with something you weren’t sure you’d ever seen before.

“Finally,” he muttered, pulling you in again.

[hotwife-larissa-returns]

That was so fucking naughty… hubby and I were in the States for vacation and we ran into an old friend of mine. As I hugged him, he whispered some compliments in my ear… hubby didn’t hear it and I tried to hide my smile.

Nevertheless, we were in a hurry, so I just got his phone number and I called him to arrange to meet and have dinner the next day. But I couldn’t get him out of my head, I remembered how he made love to me. I got wet… and horny… for him.

So I stealed away from my hubby, telling him I forgot to get something, that I needed right now. You know, honest conversations are important in our relationship and I wasn’t lying. Of course, I left out some details, but that didn’t matter right now. I had a burning desire, I called my friend and drove to his hotel.

As I knocked on his door, he opened it, he was wearing a towel… he knew, why I was here and had just showered to be fresh and ready for me. I stripped out of my clothes in no time and the towel dropped on the floor, giving me a close view of why I had missed him so badly. He‘s really hung, easy twice the size of my hubbies dick and he also knows how to use this thing.

He didn’t need to seduce me, we skipped foreplay and started to fuck like wild animals… for two hours. We‘d completely lost track of time and we had that reservation at the restaurant in half an hour. We’re already late… so I called hubby that we‘ll meet there, telling him I got stuck in traffic.

There wasn’t any time left to shower or freshen myself up. We just dressed up and hurried to my car. Hubby already waited for us as we arrived, hand in hand… and that glow in my face together with my messy hair already told him the story. I hugged and kissed my cuckold, whispering to him, how much I love him.

He knew exactly, what I had done. And it got him excited. Still hugging him, I told him, hat he could taste him, if he‘ll let his finger run up my inner thighs. He did as unsuspicious as possible and pick up some drops, licking them up. „Tell him he‘s delicious.“ Gosh, my hubby is so great, he really did tell my old friend, how good his cum tasted.

We went inside and enjoyed dinner. I sat next to my friend, while hubby sat across the table. He clearly could noticed, that my friends hand were doing something under the table… he fingered me gently, while I had slipped out of one of my shoes and rubbed my hubbies bulge through his pants.

We told our story of how I had met my friend, that we had an affair years ago and that he’s always a great companion in bed… adding an „even today“ to add a little spice for my hubby. My friend smirked at my hubby, I had already told him about our lifestyle and he couldn’t have been happier with that. Turns out, that he got divorced a while ago and haven’t found a new woman yet.

We had finished the main course and I said to hubby, „We weren’t finished before we got here and I think we‘ll take dessert somewhere else.“ We let hubby pay the bill and I took my car to give my friend a lift. Hubby couldn’t follow us fast enough and he called me. As I were in my friends hotel room again, I just texted my cuckold „have a good night, sweetie, I‘m safe and sound in his room taking care of my friend, see you tomorrow.“

He fucked me all night long till dawn… giving me multiple shaking orgasms that night, fucking my brains out and screwing me like he hadn’t had a woman in months… I could barely move the next day and just managed to drive home to my hubby, who eagerly waited for my return and couldn’t stop himself from caring for my manhandled and sore pussy.

👩🏻🤗😘💋🥰🔥💍😈💕💦🍆🤷🏻‍♀️

[papayacinnabun]

my valentine - oscar piastri

oscar piastri x fem!reader

word count - 1.8k

summary - your boyfriend takes you on a special date, and a special ride...

warnings - 18+ mdni, smut, oral f receiving, p in v, unprotected sex, car sex

a/n - happy valentines day! oh god i wish i had a rich boyfriend who loved me 😮‍💨 masterlist

sweet.

that's how the bouquet of roses oscar brought you smelled. satisfyingly sweet.

he presented them to you when he picked you up from your apartment, standing dorkily in front of his sleek mclaren 720S. oscar was grinning like a kid in a candy store as he handed them to you, placing a tender kiss on your cheek to not mess up your fresh lipstick. 

“you look so beautiful my love.” his praise always made you blush, warm and well-timed.

“thank you baby, you look very dashing yourself.” you stepped back for a moment to admire your boyfriend in his suit, he obviously went all out for the occasion.

“i had to dress up for my valentine of course,” he said as he took your hand to help you into the car. that made you laugh. it sounded so dumb and lovesick that you both treasured valentines day so much, but oscar was someone you wanted to celebrate with all the time if you could. 

everyday with him was bliss, and it felt like a dream you never wanted to wake up from. its a rare thing to find someone who understands you completely and expresses themselves without farce, but you truly found that with oscar.

and now almost a year in, you sat across from each other in the candlelight of a swanky monaco restaurant deliberating over what to order. 

you looked up from the menu to admire oscar. his brows were knitted together in a thoughtful expression, eyes scanning over the myriad of entree options. he was clearly torn about what to order, making you giggle at his seriousness. 

“what are you getting?” oscar asked as he looked up, eager for some help. 

“having a bit of trouble there osc?” you croon teasingly, reaching out to rub his hand. he gives you a look that screams ‘hey don’t make fun of me’, and envelopes your small hand in his. “fine, i think i’ll get the salmon. it sounds very good.”

he makes a noise of confirmation and nods his head, bringing his attention back down to the menu. “i’ll get the same, i trust your judgement.”

and that’s how it worked between you. even for the smallest, most trivial things, you just trusted each other. 

two hours and some glasses of expensive wine later, you walked out of the restaurant hand in hand. 

“that was lovely baby, thank you so much” you mused, squeezing his hand a bit tighter.

“i’m glad you enjoyed it, love. i’m thinking we head back to mine and have some cake and watch a movie, how’s that sound?” his hand left yours to rest at your waist, pulling you closer to him. his hand smoothed over the thin fabric of your dress, sending goosebumps all over your skin. 

your eyes lit up at the mention of cake, oscar knew it was your favorite dessert. but the tension between you two was even more delicious, oscar’s hand starting a chain reaction of desire in your body. 

“sure you don’t want a different type of dessert first?” you wiggled your eyebrows suggestively at him, causing a wide grin to break out on his face. 

“are you offering?” he asks jokingly, his hand gripping a little tighter at your waist. 

you blushed and tugged your bottom lip into your mouth, shrugging playfully as you finally approached the car. it was parked on the street because oscar knew you wouldn’t want to wait for the valet and waste the night. 

he opened the door for you, hand only leaving your waist at the last minute to help you in. your dress rode up a bit as you got in the car, the long slit in the fabric exposing the soft skin of your hip a bit. oscar’s eyes darkened, glinting with something new. desire?

he gets in the driver’s seat and starts the engine, his gaze wandering back over to your thigh. 

oscar abruptly turns the engine off. 

“oh are we not goi-” you start, a bit confused. 

“get in the back.” he interrupts, voice low. 

“osc you’re out of your mind.” you shake your head, adrenaline steadily coursing through you now. 

“i need you now baby, you’re driving me crazy.” he leaned over to look at you, his large hand coming up to rub the inside of your thigh. the feeling made your brain go numb. 

“we’re in public!” you whine out, getting a bit frustrated as his hand traveled closer and closer to the lacy edge of your panties. 

“don’t worry, the windows are tinted. i’m gonna take care of you beautiful, just need to have you right now.” he whispers, breath sending shivers down your spine. a whimper escapes your throat involuntarily. 

you finally nod, lust overshadowing your rational thinking. you unzip your dress, shrugging it off to reveal your dark red lace lingerie. oscar’s eyes got wider, unblinking as he looked you over. kicking off your louboutins, you climbed over to the backseat, his needy hands on your waist assisting you.

he looks at you like a wolf does its prey, determined and hungry. 

his suit jacket and tie are quickly torn off and abandoned in the driver’s seat as he raced to join you. 

immediately his hands were all over you, caressing and groping every inch of your skin like it was the first time he was seeing you. 

“hiding this from me? naughty girl. would’ve left the restaurant sooner if i knew. always so pretty for me.” he praised as his lips ghost over your neck, leaving the lightest kisses as he traveled down to your collarbones and over the lacy material of your bra. in one movement he undid the clasp and pulled it off, revealing your supple tits. 

oscar moaned at the sight of your perky nipples, running his thumbs back and forth over the peaks. your eyes fluttered closed in bliss, savoring the warmth of his large hands massaging your breasts. 

“kiss me, please” you practically begged him, needing to feel his mouth against yours. he didn’t hesitate to capture your lips with his, soft and gentle at first, but steadily becoming more hurried and messy. he couldn’t get enough of you. 

you kissed each other so fiercely, teeth clashing together. your hands reached up to pull at the hair at the nape of his neck, making him groan into your mouth. 

“fuck- need- to- taste- you,” he said in between open mouthed kisses to your neck as you squirmed under him. finally his fingers wander down between your legs, rubbing your aching clit over the red lace. you gasp as he pushes the fabric aside and dips into your wetness, collecting it with his fingers. he stares into your eyes as he lewdly sucks his digits clean of your juices. 

oscar gives you no time to react, leaning down to lick a stripe up your folds. your mouth falls open in bliss as he wraps his lips around your sensitive clit, sucking lightly.

he expertly maneuvers his tongue, eating your pussy like a man starved. he hooks his arms under your thighs to pull them over his shoulders, pulling you closer to him. “sweetest little pussy all for me,” he breathes out quickly, barely wasting a moment before diving back into your slicked folds. 

your back arches off the leather seats, feeling the familiar buildup of your release. his hold on your hips tightens as his tongue circles tantalizingly over your puffy clit, before closing his lips around the bud. 

“please… wanna cum,” you whimper out as his tongue delves inside you, nose bumping up against your sensitive bundle of nerves. you shamelessly rock your hips up against his face for more friction, earning a groan from oscar that reverberates through your core. 

“give it to me baby” oscar encourages, speeding up his movements. a choked sob travels up your throat, your orgasm ripping through you harshly. your pussy clenches around nothing as oscar greedily laps at your release, finishing by pressing small kisses to your thigh. 

“gonna let me fuck your pretty cunt now? make you cum all over my cock too baby?” you were already flustered from your orgasm, but his words made you blush even more. brain too fuzzy to speak, you just gave him a desperate nod and reached up to fumble with his belt. 

oscar chuckles as he helps you unbuckle it, all while keeping your legs hoisted over his broad shoulders. finally he frees himself from his boxers, his hard cock smacking against your stomach. he guided his tip to your entrance, toying with your puffy clit before slipping inside. rubbing your hip reassuringly as he pressed in inch by inch. oscar was big. he filled you up completely, your tight cunt struggling to accommodate all of him. 

“you can move osc, feels good” you practically cry out, pussy fluttering around his length. he leans down to kiss you passionately, beginning to thrust his hips at a steady pace. curses fall from his lips, squeezing his eyes shut as your warmth envelopes him completely over and over again.

“i love you so much baby,” he professes, hands digging into the soft flesh of your tits. you bring your hands up to his face, stroking his cheeks softly with your thumbs. 

“i love you more,” you gasp as he picks up his pace, the sound of slapping skin filling the car. he fucked you harder, practically bending you in half as he drills into your perfect cunt. his cock hit the deepest parts inside of you, your orgasm slowly building up again. 

“oh god i’m almost there,” you cry out as you approach your peak, hands grasping his strong biceps for support. every inch of your body was on fire, pure pleasure coursing through your veins. only oscar could make you feel this way, so loved and filthy at the same time. it was uninhibited ecstasy. 

you scream his name as your orgasm sends waves of shock through your body, your cunt pulsing as oscar thrusts into you deeper through the high. 

“so beautiful baby i’m almost there. shit, you take me so perfectly, gonna cum inside your pretty pussy.” he slurs, drunk on pleasure. just seeing you fall apart brought him even closer to the edge, his restraint falling apart. 

“fill me up osc, wanna feel you” you urge breathlessly, whining as your overstimulated clit brushes against his skin. his movements grow ragged, slowing down as he thrusts one final time and releases inside you. your name falls from his lips as his hot cum paints your walls, filling your needy cunt. his cock throbs as he pulls out, hissing at the sensitivity. 

“you alright love? that was unreal” he praises as he kisses your forehead gently. 

“mhm” you nod tiredly, watching as cum leaks out from your hole, “shit we made such a mess on these nice seats.”

oscar lets out a laugh and guides you to sit up leaning against him for stability, “definitely worth it love.”

“it was amazing, but i still want my cake you promised.” you pout, rubbing his face tenderly. 

“of course, my valentine. but lets take a breather before we drive back, you took everything out of me.” 

[cinnamqnx]

virtually yours ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆

pairing. seishiro nagi x f!reader

summary. you’re not a usually a gamer girl, occasionally playing the sims or roblox, so imagine your surprise when a clip of you & your best friend goes viral for talking shit to who you imagined was a 12 year old kid, but actually a popular streamer with a territorial fan base and of all place, on dress to impress.

warnings. basically just crack & fluff, nagi is a lil toxic at the start, swearing

15 | virtually yours

☁︎. one week later

your heart was beating out your chest, your palms sweaty as you stood in the hallway, waiting for seishiro nagi. he had just finished his football game, and to no one’s surprise, winning the match.

you would be lying if you said you weren’t nervous to meet the rest of his friends, but you couldn’t help if you and nagi wouldn’t click like you had online.

“y/n?”, you whip around, seeing nagi, his hair messy and disheveled after clearly having a shower. and damn, was 10x more attractive in person.

“hi.”, you say breathlessly, not expecting him to literally come up behind you, “where are your friends?”,, you ask, nervously.

he gives you a small smile, “are you more excited to see them than me?”

you raise your brows, “what? no. sorry, i’m just-“, you breathe, “i’m just really nervous.”

“i’ve been nervous all day, too.”, he mutters, running his hand through the side of his hair, “i was worried i wasn’t gonna perform well.”

“are you kidding? you did so well, sei. i’ve never been so invested in football.”, you laugh.

“really?”, he smiles.

you nod, looking up at him. hearing everything you did about nagi, you assumed he might come across more nonchalant, maybe even a bit quiet. that was your main worry when it came to meeting him and thinking your relationship might be different in person.

but, looking up and seeing the pure adoration in his eyes and the nervous expression he had on his face, you knew you never had a thing to worry about.

“so yeah, i don’t really know why i was so worried.”, you say to nagi, sitting across from him on a bench table at the fair, biting into a greasy hotdog he had just bought you.

you didn’t get a reply, looking over to see him staring at you, his hand on his cheek, “what?”

“hm?”, he asks.

“you’re just staring at me, is my rambling boring you?” you smile.

“no, you just look really pretty right now.”, he states as a matter of fact.

“i look pretty stuffing my face with this hotdog?@, you laugh.

“mhmm, you do.”, he smiles.

“shut up.”, you roll your eyes, smiling.

“i was really worried too. i’ve not really ever spoken to a girl like this before.”

“like, at all?”, you ask, surprised. he was a good looking boy, and he’s had no experience?

he shakes his head, “never been interested in anyone, and it always seemed like a hassle when i saw it.”

“and what do you think now?”, you smile, tilting your head at him.

“i still think it’s a hassle.”, he pauses, “but in a good way.”

“a hassle in a good way, hm.”, you repeat, finishing off the rest of your hotdog.

“what do you wanna do next?”, he asks, looking at you intently.

“i wanna go on the rides, obviously.”

“but they make me feel nauseous.”, he whines.

“uh huh, and who asked who to a fun fair?”, you smile at his whiny expression.

he simply sighs, looking back at you. how could he deny you when you’re smiling at him like that?

“now, cmon.”, you stress, getting up and grabbing nagi’s hand, “i don’t wanna wait around in the lines.”, you say, looking up at him with an eager glint in your eye, pulling him with you.

nagi couldn’t help but smile to himself, a month ago he would have never thought he’d be spending valentines with a gorgeous girl who he met on roblox, talking shit to him.

and while it may have caused him a great amount of hassle, he couldn’t be more grateful for it.

navigation. virtually yours

author’s note. i can’t believe this series is finished 😭 i’ve had so much fun writing this and seeing ur comments even if i didn’t get chance to reply :) ur all so funny and have me in hysterics 😭 if you enjoyed this series im hoping you’ll enjoy more fics i have coming in the future!!

taglist: @nensi @yuiearyi @mi2ukiss @pookalicious-hq @shumeow-h @solaqes @jellychannie @kermitbbg69 @pctterheadd @mizuwki @simpingmyassoff @karasu4life @crispynutella @stwberri @lilwx @suksatoru @rwura @ibyobi @renchai @nuhahani @digitaltrippers @natsukicookies @meekydeeks @ursafehaven @tamimemo @yukari1k @chaoslibra @mochiii-sama @cookielovesbook-akie @ningninjas @wallflowerdowned @hannimissesherbackbone @dinnersyummy @appalost @mbyy00 @asteraslvrr @kaz-0e @kascar-chronicle @arwawawa2 @rwbie @haruhi269 @lovessen @kaiserlvr @azharyy @hwaassaa @mikaru0 @sobbangchan @thenightsflower @chuurinnie @appl3-0rchard (closed)

[55sturn]

in which valentine’s day with matt doesn’t go as planned…

idk what inspired this LMFAO but if this idea has been done, i apologize [ i haven’t read any matt fics in so long ] but if you’d like inspo tags or creds of any sort, just send me a dm and i’ll tag you!

you knew. you absolutely knew that you shouldn’t have expected much more than a horny “u up?” text from matt on valentine’s day. after all you were two best friends that had a tendency to fuck every other week.

but the reoccurring sweet, albeit bare minimum, but somewhat romantic gestures from matt had fed you false hope. again and again. he always made promises of more, he was always calling you his special girl, or his number one girl, putting you before almost anything.

and you had secretly hoped that he had something planned, even if it was just softer, slower, and slightly more passionate sex. but you were let down. and it broke your heart a little bit more than you wanted to let on.

he had hinted at getting together for valentine’s day earlier in the week, giving you a vague time to be ready by, and that was more than enough for you to take the idea and run. you had always been a little naive, but this time, it seemed to reach a new level, especially as his replies from monday and today seemed to grow from slim to almost nonexistent. but still, you held onto that hope.

dinner time had finally come around, and you felt ridiculous, and honestly, a little helpless, waiting on a sign, any sign possible, that matt was thinking about you. but as you checked your phone for the millionth time, you were met with radio silence. the pathetic sting of being forgotten about started to roll in as you took in your appearance. you had done your makeup, put on a cute dress to hide the delicate blue lingerie set you had on underneath.

you felt tears start to sting the back of your eyes as you stood and made your way to your room, starting to break down all the work you put into looking pretty and delicate, only for the one man you wanted to pretend you didn’t exist. after your shower, not complete without you berating yourself and crying silently as the water fell down in a heavy a stream, and a post sob session nap, your phone finally pinged, waking you from your sleep.

matthew.sturniolo posted a new story!

upon clicking the notification, you were met with a blurry and almost impossible to figure out picture of matt with a film camera covering his face, and a girl tucked into his side. and you were forced to swallow a bitter pill.

matt had chosen another girl over you. he had picked someone else to spend the day with. the one day quite literally marketed to spending time with the ones you loved deeply, marketed to embracing all sorts of love and connections. and he didn’t pick you. he wasn’t beside you, teasing you about the way you blush every time he called you “his darling girl” and he wasn’t kissing you so hard that you felt like you couldn’t breathe. but rather, he was on the other side of the city, tangled up in someone else’s bed.

and he had the nerve to text you days later, making up some lame excuse that he had gotten over worked and busy filming videos ahead of time with his brothers to post while on tour. and you wanted to ignore the texts, letting him stare at the tiny, bolded “delivered” taunting him beneath each text he sent. but you couldn’t, not when his apologies seemed so genuine, sickeningly sweet, and so convincing, even when you knew the truth.

and you couldn’t help but fall back into his embrace, but it felt different this time. it was ruined by something a bit more solemn than usual, it was a sweet and comforting reunion, tainted by the bitter taste that lingered in your mouth every time he kissed you. and matt couldn’t ignore that you weren’t fully present, no matter how hard he tried. despite him initially only showing up to get in a quick nut, he still cared deeply for you, after all he was your friend, first and foremost.

you didn’t cave when he first asked, surprisingly, you stood your ground and acted as if you were unbothered, but you slowly started to crumble the softer and more desperate his voice grew. and as he pleaded during the final ask, with his eyes softening around the edges, and his hands cradling you so gently, as if you were made of glass, and sometimes you felt like you were with how sensitive you could be, you bared your soul. you told him how much him ignoring you on that stupid holiday made you feel, tears pricking your eyes as he scoffed.

he was quick to remind that he didn’t owe you anything romantic and domestic, especially not on a holiday meant to celebrate couples and love, when he didn’t love you, at least not the way you wanted him to. and he was quick to deflect his shitty behaviour and the way he left you hanging, waiting on him, by calling you naive, questioning how you could genuinely believe that he would do something like that. he was cold, mean, and so very cruel, blaming his own empty promises on your feelings and emotions. and he left without so much as another word upon seeing your hurt written all over your face, feeling far too guilty for playing with such a delicate heart, but he was damned if he’d ever admit that he hurt you.

he had too much pride in his soul to acknowledge that what he was doing was cruel, there was something so wrong that felt so right in having you wrapped around his finger, waiting on his every beck and call because you were too blindly in love with him to see he was only using you for something physical.

and once again, you were left feeling small and minuscule after he had broken your heart again, and you couldn’t fathom why he hurt you so much when he was meant to be your friend before and above anything else. and so you found yourself stuck in that same helpless and utterly pathetic cycle of waiting for him to return with his tail between his legs, spewing nothing but bullshit, with half-hearted apologies and promises of things you knew he’d never deliver, begging you to forgive him.

and you knew you would. because that was the difference between you and matt, you would forgive and believe anything to have him in your life, while he would lie to you just to get back into your bed.

[linoxpudding]

Not A Date - Lee Know

summary: a valentine’s hangout turns accidentally romantic when SKZ meddles—forcing you and minho to rethink your friendship

pairing: lee know x reader, skz squad

genre: fluff, humor

fic type: written + text

a/n: wrote this on a rush, I just got this cute request few hours ago but I really wanted to upload this on valentines day bc of the theme, happy valentines day my cuties 💜

Masterlist

~°~

7th February, 7:15 pm:

It all started with a simple hangout plan between you and your friend, Minho.

12th February, 5:25 pm at SKZ Dorm:

The dorm was unusually loud, which was never a good sign. Minho sat on the couch, scrolling through his phone while eating chips. Hyunjin plopped down beside him, stretching dramatically.

"Yo, you doing anything for Valentine’s?" Hyunjin asked, eyes still glued to the TV.

"What?" Minho asked, not even looking at him.

"This Friday? Got any plans?" Hyunjin asked again.

Minho barely looked up. "Yeah, I’m going somewhere with Y/N."

Silence.

Hyunjin blinked. "Wait. What?"

Minho raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"You're spending Valentine’s with Y/N?"

"Not Valentine's, just a Friday hangout? Why are you being weird?"

Hyunjin’s jaw dropped. "LEE FELIX! HAN JISUNG! COME HERE RIGHT NOW."

Within seconds, the entire dorm was in chaos.

Then the news travelled to the rest of the members who were in the studio.

The realisation between you both.

The endless teasings of your friends.

14th February, 11 am the morning of "Non-Date":

14th February, 2:50 pm at the "Non-Date":

Somehow, neither of you could manage to stop the chaos. Now, you stood outside the cat café, staring at Minho, who was—against his will—dressed suspiciously well.

“…Did they force you to dress up?” you asked, eyeing his button-up.

Minho sighed. "Chan hyung literally ironed this shirt himself. I had no choice."

You laughed, taking in the scene. There were people everywhere—couples holding hands, roses being exchanged, soft music playing from the café speakers. It was undeniably romantic.

"You do realize this actually looks like a date now, right?" you said, crossing your arms.

Minho rolled his eyes. "Thanks to those idiots, yes."

You both walked inside, greeted by the warm scent of coffee and the sight of fluffy cats lounging around. The moment you sat down, a waiter came over with a knowing smile.

"Happy Valentine’s! Your special couple’s drinks are on the house."

You choked. "Sorry, we're not—"

"We’ll take it," Minho interrupted.

You turned to him, scandalized. "Minho!"

He shrugged. "What? Free drinks."

The rest of the afternoon was surprisingly… nice. The cats were adorable, the drinks were actually good, and after the initial awkwardness faded, it felt like your usual hangouts.

But something was different.

It wasn’t the setting or the day itself—it was the way he kept stealing glances at you when he thought you weren’t looking, but you could feel his eyes on you. Or the way you noticed how soft his voice got when he spoke to you. Your heart fluttered in those miniscule moments.

Soon it was time to leave, you both exited the cafe and began walking.

The night air was crisp, just cold enough for you to pull your jacket tighter around yourself as you walked side by side with him.

Minho was quiet, but not in an awkward way—just comfortable. The kind of silence that didn’t need to be filled. The only sounds were the soft rhythm of your footsteps against the pavement and the distant hum of city life around you.

Your hands brushed.

Barely, just for a second. A whisper of warmth against the cool air.

You ignored the way your breath hitched.

It happened again. A fleeting touch, his fingers grazing against yours before pulling away.

You peeked up at him. He was looking straight ahead, jaw relaxed, expression unreadable—except for the way the corner of his lips twitched. Like he knew but wasn’t saying anything.

You swallowed, suddenly hyperaware of the space between the two of you.

Minho tilted his head slightly, his voice low. “Cold?”

You shook your head, a little too quickly. “Nope.”

He hummed, unconvinced, taking your hand gently and intertwining, then shoving your hands into his pockets. “Hmm. Could’ve fooled me.”

You bit back a smile, glancing away. Heart racing.

The streetlights cast a soft glow over his face, highlighting the sharp line of his jaw, the curve of his nose, the quiet amusement dancing in his eyes.

He looked… good.

Too good.

Dangerously good.

You exhaled, trying to shake the thought away. This wasn’t a date.

…Right?

As if reading your mind, Minho’s voice cut through the quiet. “So,” he mused, “are you gonna admit it yet?”

You blinked up at him. “Admit what?”

“That you had fun,” he said simply, turning to meet your gaze. “That maybe this wasn’t the worst way to spend Valentine’s.”

You scoffed, “maybe.”

He stopped walking for a second, just enough for you to nervously take your hands out of his pocket and take a step ahead before he caught up again.

Then, quietly, he murmured, “Maybe I should take you out again.”

Your breath hitched, but before you could respond, he nudged your shoulder lightly, the teasing glint back in his eyes. “You know. Accidentally.”

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t stop the tiny smile tugging at your lips.

Minho noticed.

He definitely noticed.

But he didn’t say anything—just smirked to himself, eyes flickering forward as you two kept walking.

Hands brushing. Shy smiles lingering.

And somewhere in the back of your mind, a tiny, traitorous thought whispered:

This felt a lot like the beginning of something.

Later that night....

The SKZ Family

the end.

----

another SKZ meddling fic: READ HERE

[agreeeeeeeeeee]

Easy to Love | G.W. 🩷

feat George Weasley x bsf!reader

SUMMARY: You get stood up by your boyfriend on Valentine's Day. Thankfully, your best friend George is ready to give you the Valentine's you deserve.

CW: MDNI 18+, smut, hurt/comfort, cheating on shitty boyfriends, idiots to lovers, petty!George, dirty talk, oral, piv, dom!George, all the Valentine's fluff

AN: happy valentines day!!!! you all have my heart 🫶

masterlist

Your hurried footsteps echoed along the empty corridor, dampened by the screaming rain pouring from the thick blanket of clouds over the castle.

Fucking perfect, you thought, bitterly wiping tears and splattered rain from your cheeks. It was like the universe was taunting you.

Stood up by your boyfriend on Valentine's Day? Forced to walk back to Hogwarts in shame? Here, have some torrential downpour to really set the mood.

You still couldn't believe Jack stood you up. Left you looking like an idiot in the Three Broomsticks, alone and glowering into your fruity red drink, surrounded by pink streamers and heart balloons larger than your head. Completely humiliating.

Of all the shitty things he'd done to you over the last six months, this took the cake. And bizarrely, you felt like you deserved it for putting up with his bullshit for so long. You should have seen this coming from a mile away.

But you were too native, too stupid to see the red flags right under your nose. Well, that wasn't true. You saw them. You were just too scared to do anything about it.

Too scared to be alone. Too proud to admit you were wrong about him.

Merlin, George was going to be so fucking smug.

Your best friend, George Weasley, hated Jack. He hated Jack more than you'd ever seen him hate anyone. George had never had a problem with your past partners, albeit there was only two. But something about Jack brought out a side of George you’d never seen: vindictive, petty, mean.

Never directed towards you, of course, Jack and his friends bore the brunt of his wrath. It was enough that Jack steered clear of both George and his twin, who always matched his energy.

You knew George was just looking out for you, trying to protect you from, well, this. What you were feeling now. But you'd be damned if you gave him the satisfaction of being right.

Finally, the Fat Lady greeted you with a warm smile as you reached the top of the stairs. “Not out celebrating, lovey? Look at you, you're soaked!”

You sighed, looking down at your new dress, a babydoll in your favorite shade of pink, the fabric mottled with water and clinging to your skin. “Men suck*,*” you said.

The Fat Lady laughed. “They certainly do! What's the password, dear?”

You have it to her, and she swung open, a wadt of thumping music and the week of alcohol washed over you.

Shit. You'd completely forgotten about the Valentine's party tonight. While a drink sounded lovely, a drunken grind-fest was the last thing you wanted to participate in.

You pushed your way through the crowd, trying to make a beeline towards the girls dormitory. The crowd was thick, pushing and shoving, while music thumped loudly in your brain. Red hearts and cupids and streamers, were everywhere, a sheen of pink glitter starting to collect on your still-damp skin. Everywhere you looked, couples were all over each other, making out of dancing to the music, cuddled up on every available surface.

Tears burned behind your eyes again, and you tried pushing through with a little more force.

You popped out into a quieter area by the roaring fire, a circle of chairs occupied by the Quidditch team and a few others, which meant—

“Y/n?”

You looked up from your feet and locked eyes with George, who was hurriedly shifting a girl off his lap, ignoring her whine of protest while she grabbed at his white shirt.

The knife of hurt inexplicably twisted deeper in your gut, and you turned your back to him, pushing the other way through the crowd.

“Hey—wait!”

You made it to the stairs, but there was no outrunning those long legs—a lesson you'd learned countless times.

George snagged your wrist, turning you back towards him. “What happened?” The furrow between his brows deepened when he took in your tearful, soaked form. “Why are you wet? And where's the bilge-rat you call a boyfriend?”

You yanked your hand out of his hold. “Fuck if I know,” you snapped, trudging up the stairs, George on your heels.

“What do you mean? Didn't you have a date?” He asked, his tone getting angrier by the second.

You didn't respond, opening the door to your dorm and trying to slam it in George's face, but he caught it and pushed in behind you.

“Fuck, will you just tell me what happened? Are you okay?” He made an effort to soften his voice, catching your purse when you flung it at him.

“No, I'm not okay!” You cried, finally facing him, tears rolling down your cheeks. “Jack stood me up. He left me at the bar and—” emotion pinched your throat, cutting off your words.

You watched George cycle through the five stages of grief, frozen in the middle of the room. Then—

“Do you want me to find him?” He asked, voice a carefully measured calm.

“And do what?” You wiped at your cheeks, beyond frustrated. You couldn't decide if you wanted him to fuck off, or give you one of those big bears hugs he was so good at.

“Break his teeth in? Throw him in the lake? Set his hair on fire—”

“Stop it, George,” you muttered, sounding more defeated than angry.

He crossed the room to you, taking your trembling hands. “How can I fix it, love?” he asked, peering down at your pitiful, makeup smudged face.

You shook your head, avoiding his perceptive gaze. “Unless you have a time-turner to make me less of an idiot—”

“Hey.” George squeezed your hands, shaking you. “Don't talk about my girl that way. You did nothing wrong.”

You jerked your hands away, pushing past him and stalking over towards you vanity. “Please. You wanted me to leave him before we even got together. You made it abundantly clear how much you hated him.”

“Of course I did. He’s a prick—”

“So, clearly, you think I did something wrong by staying with him.” You angrily tugged your hair out of its style, wet strands tangled and getting frizzy, and started scrubbing off your makeup with a towelette. “Congratu-fucking-lations, you were right. You got what you wanted. Are you happy now?”

George looked like you'd struck him, hovering behind you in the mirror. You hated that he looked so handsome tonight in his white button down and dark wash jeans, his copper hair messy and flecked with glitter and heart-shaped confetti. It made it so much harder to be angry with him.

“You think this is what I wanted?” He asked. “The last thing I want is to see you hurting. Of course I'm not fucking happy that you're heartbroken. Even if it is over some limp-dick weasel.”

You scoffed, though you knew that was true, but it was easier to be angry right now. Easier to push him away than let him in.

George pressed on. “I'd like to hang him by the bollocks from the Whomping Willow for leaving you out in that storm, for all the shit he's done to you—”

“Just—go back to your party, George. I'm sure that doe-eyed girl is still waiting for you,” you hissed. It was a low blow, but you just wanted him gone so you could wallow in self-pity alone.

Suddenly, he was moving. His hands griped your waist, spinning your around and pressing you back into the vanity. His expression was severe. “Don't fucking do that,” he bit. “Don't act like I'm the bad guy when all I've wanted—” his voice caught in his throat, and he turned his head away, like he couldn't look at you.

His hands were burning through the thin fabric of your dress, his grip tight enough to ache, and you felt a long-suppressed heat kindle in your belly. George had manhandled you plenty of times: throwing you over his shoulder, dragging you by the hand through the halls, lifting you to retrieve a book from a high shelf. But this felt…different. Charged in a way you'd spent years trying to ignore for the sake of your friendship.

“What, George?” You asked, gripping the edge of the vanity so you didn't reach out to touch him.

He sighed. “When all I've wanted is to make you happy.” He looked at you again, his dark eyes filled with hurt and something warm, honeyed, that you refused to acknowledge.

Your anger crumbled into guilt. “I-I should have listened,” you croaked, tears rising once again. “I'm sorry, I—”

“No, no. None of that,” he shushed, bundling you into his chest, his arms wrapped tightly around your shoulders. “You have nothing to apologize for.”

“I just feel so…so stupid,” you whimpered, crying into the safety of his chest, enveloped in the spiced, slightly sweet smell of his cologne.

“You aren't stupid, love. Far from it,” he soothed, hand smoothing up and down your spine. “This is on him, not you. You don't deserve to be treated like this.” He rocked you gently while you cried, cooing softly in your ear and keeping you grounded with his touch, until finally, your sobs ebbed to sniffles, and you drew a full, shaky breath. “There you go,” he said. “Take another one—that’s it. I've got you.”

“Thanks, Georgie,” you sniffled into his shirt.

“No need to thank me. I'm sorry that your Valentine's was ruined,” he murmured into your hair.

“I'm sorry yours was ruined too,” you mumbled, your fists tightening in the soft fabric of his shirt, pulling him a fraction closer, unwilling to part just yet.

“Ruined?” He chuckled. “Got my Valentine right here.” He squeezed you a little tighter, the air wheezing for your lungs until you laughed.

“Since when am I your Valentine?” You asked, pulling back to look up at him, a traitorous stab of affection making your heart skip. Shit, you should not be feeling these things for your best friend. It was just your hurt feelings, the holiday—nothing more.

“Since second year when I gave you that heart-shaped box of chocolates,” he said, pretending to be offended that you didn't remember.

“The one that exploded pink powder all over my face?”

George grimaced. “I forgot it did that…sorry, by the way.”

You smiled, pinching his freckled cheek. “You're forgiven.”

He grinned back, glancing down at your wet dress. “C’mon, get out of this wet cupcake and meet me in my dorm, I have something for you.”

“Cupcake?” You rolled your eyes, finally stepping out of his arms, though his hand lingered on your waist until you were fully out of arms reach. “It's a dress!”

“If you say so,” he teased, perusing your legs as you walked away. “I prefer your bunny pajamas, but—”

You chucked your shoe at him. “Fuck off, I'll see you in a second.”

He held his hands up in surrender and slipped out the door, closing it softly behind him.

What on earth could have have for you? Probably his usual box of chocolates, you mused as you peeled off the soggy fabric. Hopefully the non-explosive variety.

You riffled through your trunk, searching for something oversized and comfortable. But to your dismay, nearly everything large enough was your boyfriends, and you absolutely refused to wear something of him.

But at the very bottom of your trunk, something familiar caught your eye. You pulled it out, unveiling an old Quidditch hoodie, the letters faded and fabric soft from countless washes. George had lent it to you before a particularly cold match, and Gryffindor won in a landslide. It became a good luck charm of sorts, one you wore to every game there after.

But when you started dating Jack, he'd gotten pissed at you for wearing it, and you'd hidden it at the bottom of your trunk, never quite ready to give it back to George.

It smelled of green grass and open sky, and you tugged it over your head, letting it's warmth envelop you. Then, you put on a pair of sleep shorts and fuzzy socks, and padded out of the room towards George's, knocking twice before letting yourself in.

Fred and George were standing by the window, arguing in hushed voices, and straightened abruptly when you walked in.

“Hey, gorgeous!” Fred said, crossing the room and pulling you into a back-breaking hug. He reeked of beer. “How are we?”

“Peachy,” you replied tightly, glancing at George over Fred’s shoulder. He was scratching the back of his head, looking sheepish.

“Naughty girl, lying to me.” Fred winked, and you swatted his shoulder. “But don't worry, love. The boys are on it!”

“The boys? Wait—Fred!” But he was already gone, the door swinging shut behind him. You glared at George, and he held his hands up.

“They were worried about you!” He said defensively. “We care about you, y’know…” his voice trailed off when his eyes landed on your hoodie. “You still have that?”

Heat creeped up your neck. “’Course I do.”

“I thought shit-for-brains made you—”

“He tried,” you replied, tension coiling around the two of you once again.

A smirk lifted the corner of his mouth. “My good luck charm,” he chuckled, and your heart leapt into your throat.

“So, what do you have for me?” You asked, sitting on the edge of his bed like you always did. But something in his eyes flashed, making your lower belly heat.

What was going on with him?

He pushed himself from the wall and walked towards his trunk, just to the left of you. He rummaged around, withdrawing a pink gift bag with heart-covered tissue paper sticking out from the top.

“Oh, George…you didn't have to do this,” you said when he sat beside you.

“I wanted to.” He shrugged, setting the bag on your lap.

Heart pounding in your chest, you carefully removed the tissue paper, finding a pile of candy: chocolates and gummy lips and heart-shaped lollipops. There were also a few sachets of your favorite tea, pilfered from the kitchen, you imagined, and a copy of the book you'd been eyeballing your last trip to Hogsmeade with him and Fred.

Your heart was so full you feared it may burst. “Georgie, this is so sweet, thank you—”

“There's one more thing,” he said, gently taking the bag from you. He stuck his hand all the way to the bottom, and withdrew a small, pink-wrapped box with a ribbon tied around it.

The air was sucked from your lungs, ears ringing with shock as you gingerly took the box from him. He fidgeted beside you as you slowly unwrapped the paper, fingers trembling. The energy was taught around you, practically humming with tension.

A velvet box fell into your palm, the most gorgeous shade of burgundy with a delicate golden latch.

You almost didn't want to open it, terrified of what this meant, but so giddy you could sing. George, the poor guy, looked ready to burst out of his skin with impatience.

Carefully, you opened the lid. Inside was a gorgeous chain bracelet, the metal polished to perfection, with two charms resting against the velvet pillow. A tiny heart with your initial etched onto it, and a small fox, George's favorite mischievous, red-haired critter.

You pressed a hand to your mouth, tears pooling on your lower lashes. It was the most thoughtful gift you'd ever received. “George, I—”

“And you can get more charms, there's a shop in Hogsmeade with loads, books and birds and stars--”

You flung your arms around his neck, cutting off his nervous rambling. “I love it, Georgie, thank you,” you murmured into the crook of his neck.

He relaxed, his arms looping around your waist. “Of course,” he replied.

You pulled back, wiping at your cheeks with the back of your hand, inspecting the little fox. It crossed your mind that if Jack saw this, he'd be livid, probably go so far as to threaten George, break off the precious little fox, and your smile fell.

“Hey, what happened?” George asked, shifting to kneel in front of you as you curled inward. “You don't like the fox?”

“No, no—” you tried to suppress the tears forcing their way up. “I love the fox. I just—”

George's expression hardened. “Jack won't like it,” he said, an edge to his voice. “You're not going to stay with him, are you?”

You shook your head. “No, I'm not. But we're technically still together—”

“That's bullshit,” George snarled, pushing to his feet and stalking away from you. “He fucking forfeited his right when he left you alone like that. You could have gotten hurt. He just fucking abandoned you and is probably off with some other bird—”

A sob broke free from your chest, and he halted his tirade, shoulders sagging.

“Do you want him?” George asked, crouching in front of you again.

You shook your head. “No, I don’t,” you admitted.

George reached out to cradle your face, catching your tears with his thumbs. His eyes were so sweet, so sincere, it made your teeth ache. “Do you want me?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper, but the words still felt like a punch through your chest.

Your mind was reeling. Of course, a part of you always wanted more with him, but… “I do, of course I do…but what if that ruins everything?” Your fingers curled into his shirt. “I don't want to lose you—”

“Never,” he said, shaking you so you met his eyes. “Never.”

“Relationships are different, though. What if we don't work like…that?”

His hands moved down to hold your neck, his touch gentle but insistent, your pulse thundering under his fingertips. “I’m still me, and you're still you. Are you going to look me in the eyes and tell me you haven't thought about it? That you haven't felt the pull?”

You don't reply, averting your eyes from his face.

“Not even when you're all alone, and Jack’s left you half-loved, tangled in your sheets…you don't think about me coming in there and taking care of you?”

Heat scorched your cheeks, your thighs clenching at the low purr of his voice, a pitch you hadn't heard before.

“Because I think about it all the time.”

You pussy throbbed and you gasped, shocked by the way your body was reacting to his words alone, your mind scrambling to keep up with this new reality you've stumbled into.

“Knowing I could treat you better, love you better—it keeps me up at night, baby. Imagining all the ways I could take care of you, make you happy, make you mine—”

Unable to stand it any longer, you yanked him forward and connected your mouth with his, cutting him off. He groaned, surging up to tackle you back onto his mattress, his lips hungry and rough against yours. Your whole body felt like it was on fire, his lips, his touch, his heat, burning you from the inside out.

No one has ever kissed you like that before, desperate, ravenous. With an eagerness that was palpable, his heart thundering against yours as he pressed impossibly closer to you.

He pried open your lips with his, his tongue plunging into your mouth with fervid strokes. One of his hands slid under your hoodie, caressing the bare skin of your hip and up your side, leaving tingles in the wake of his calloused palm. His other hand found the crook of your knee, lifting it up to hug his waist, opening your legs so he could press closer, harder…

“George!” You gasped when he rolled his hips against yours, the hard ridge of his cock straining against his jeans, your tiny shorts offering next to no barrier.

“Fuck, I've wanted to hear that for so long,” he panted, burying his face into your neck to kiss and lick at the sensitive skin. “Sound so pretty, baby.” He rolled his hips again, and your whole body arched closer to him, desperate for more as a weak whine spilled from your lips. The seam of his jeans caught your swelling clit just right, making your entire body hum with desire.

“Merlin’s fuck—what are you doing to me?” You keened, fumbling with the buttons of his shirt, starving for the feel of his skin against yours.

“The bare minimum,” he teased, nipping at your earlobe. “You make it so easy to love you.” His hands squeezed at your flesh, his breath hot against your neck as he continued rocking your hips together. “So fucking sexy, so responsive. I knew you'd be perfect—” he grunted when you thrust your hips back up against him.

You finally managed to get his shirt off, pushing it over his shoulders and he tossed it onto the floor. The pale stretch of freckled skin on his chest made your mouth water, but you didn't get to admire him for long. He tugged your hoodie over your head, casting it across the room, and revealing the near see-through lacy red thing you'd selected for the evening and didn't bother changing out of.

A broken sound hissed through his teeth. Jealousy bloomed in his eyes, his jaw feathering with irritation.

You reached up to caress his cheek, drawing his eyes to your face. “He never got to see it,” you cooed, petting the hard line of his jaw and coaxing him to relax. “All yours now, yeah? No one else's.”

His eyes searched your face, anger melting into scalding desire. “Say it again,” he rasped.

“All yours,” you hummed, pecking his lips.

His hand spread across your collarbones, long fingers stretching nearly shoulder to shoulder, and he shoved you roughly back onto the bed. The next moment, his mouth was on your chest, hot and warm through the thin lace as he smeared open-mouthed kisses along your skin. His tongue lashed one peaked nipple, drawing a cry from your lips as he sucked the bud and fabric between his teeth.

Your hands flew into his hair, tugging and guiding his mouth where you wanted him, and he went willingly, eager for any and all contact, quick to repeat the tricks that made your breath hitch.

His hand slid down your stomach, beneath he waist band of your shorts, and he dragged his middle finger through your dripping slit, a high-pitched moaning making him smile against your chest.

“Merlin, you're soaked,” he purred, kissing up your neck and capturing your lips in a messy, top-lip kiss. His finger swirled around your puffy clit, applying just enough pressure to have pleasure radiating through your body. “You get this wet for him, baby?” He whispered, dipping his fingertips into your entrance, once, twice, before sinking down to the knuckle. “Little cunt sucking me right in. She was ready for me, hm?”

“G-George,” his name was a fractured whimper on your tongue, your mind going fuzzy when he curled his finger up, hitting a spot that you'd never felt before.

“Oh, you poor thing,” George cooed, adding a second finger and stroking the same spot again, your whole body hitching up the bed at the intensity of it. But his body weight held you down, his mouth painting gentle kisses along your skin to try and soothe you. “He never touch you like this? Never found that spot—fuck, right there, baby? That's it?”

You bobbled your head like an idiot, grinding your hips back into his hand as he started fucking his fingers into you more deliberately, the lewd, gooey smack of your pussy filling the dorm.

“Good girl,” he praised, propping himself up to peer down at you, eyes blown wide with lust as he took in your trembling, sweat-kissed skin. “How did I get so fucking lucky?” He asked, leaning down to kiss you again, all softness and affection, so different than the relentless way he was dominating your cunt.

You pawed at his jeans, tugging at his belt. “Mmph, please—need you,” you whined against his mouth, and he groaned.

“Fuck, you're killing me, love,” he grated, his hips bucking into your hand. “You want my cock that bad?”

You nodded, still struggling with his belt.

He pushed off of you and undid his belt, removing his jeans and shoes in record time, his flushed cock slapping up against his stomach. He grabbed you by the ankle and tugged you to the edge of the bed.

“You've got a slutty little thong under here, don't you?” He asked, toying with the waistband of your shorts.

“Maybe,” you said, half-distracted by his cock jumping at the sound of your voice, the tip slick with precum.

He glanced down, following your gaze, and chuckled. “My eyes are up here, pretty girl,” he chastised with a light slap to your inner thigh. He pushed your shorts down your legs, followed by the red thong your wore underneath. He tossed the thong onto his bedside table, instead of the floor with the rest of the clothes.

You raised an eyebrow at him, about to make some teasing remark, when he dragged his cockhead through your messy slit, and all thoughts tumbled right out of your brain, dripping from between your legs.

“For later, yeah?” He said, smirking when your eyes rolled back when he tapped your clit with the head. “So next time I see that fucker, I can show him exactly what he lost.”

“George—” you started to chastise him for being cruel when he notched at your entrance, sinking halfway into your willing pussy, and you both cried out. The fullness, the stretch, was mind-melting. Better than anything you'd felt in your life.

George braced his hand beside your head, sagging forward as he hissed a curse under his breath. “Fucking shit, love,” he panted, his muscles locked up so tight he was practically vibrating. “M'done for if you keep squeezin’ me like that.”

You moaned, lifting your hips to take him a little deeper, needing more even though you felt like he was ripping you apart at the seams. “Please, Georgie,” you whimpered, clawing at his skin. “Want all of you.”

“I know, honey. I know. Just give me a second.” He leaned further down, peppering kisses across your cheeks and jaw. “Don't wanna hurt you, gotta relax f’me.”

You took a few breaths, trying to get your muscles to relax as his lips moved over your fevered skin. You felt him slide a bit deeper, the stretch not quite as intense.

“Good girl, that's it. Just a little further,” he praised, his hand gripping the flesh of your hip as he started rocking into you, slow, rolling thrusts that got incrementally longer each time, until his pelvis met yours and you were a moaning mess, writhing beneath him, desperate for more.

George straightened, his hand on the bed shifting to your shoulder, and he snapped his hips forward, forcing a cry from your lips as pleasure struck you like lightning. He set a rough pace, fucking you deep and hard, his grip on your body keeping you locked in place.

You were lost in it, helpless to the pitch and roll of his ocean, completely adrift in the pleasure he was pulling from your body. You tried to fuck back against him, but your body refused to cooperate, dumb and boneless and cockdrunk.

“So fucking pretty like this. Tell me how pretty you are, baby,” he said, his hand leaving your hip to rub tight circles over your clit.

“Mmph—fuck, so pretty,” you managed, voice throttled with lust and desperation.

“Yeah, you are.” He grinned. “My pretty girl takin’ this cock so well. He fuck you like this? Have you a drooling mess for him?”

You shook your head, nails biting into his thighs as your release prowled closer, coiling tight in your belly. “No, never,” you keened, when ratcheted up the pace sensing your looming orgasm.

“That's right, all mine. Who does this pussy belong to? Who has your heart?”

“You, you! Fuck, George, I’m—”

“Go on, love. Come for me, I'm right there with you. Come on.” His thrusts grew rougher and sloppier as his own release approached, and with a final, punishing snap of his hips, you both went flying over the edge and into white hot bliss.

You screamed and he caught the sound with a kiss, fucked you through it as your pussy clamped around him. Wringing every bit of pleasure from you both until he sagged forward, his head falling into the crook of your neck as you both gasped for breath.

He kissed along the damp column of your throat, making his way to your lips, his hands rubbing soothing circles on your trembling thighs. “Did so good,” he murmured between lazy pecks. “I'm proud of you.”

You giggled, feeling almost giddy to have George in your arms, kissing you and praising you so sweetly. “That was amazing,” you breathed, and he smiled, giving one last thrust before withdrawing and using magic to clean you both up.

“You were amazing,” he corrected. “Like I said, you're easy to love.”

Butterflies rioted in your stomach. “So are you.”

He leaned down and pressed a kiss to your forehead before handing you your hoodie and shorts. You both got semi-dressed and snuggled into his bed, his bare chest under your ear, heart thumping steadily.

You grabbed the gift bag and took out the bracelet. “Will you put it on me?”

“Of course,” he beamed, carefully taking the the jewelry and clasping it around your wrist, kissing the tender skin of your pulse before releasing you. “Looks perfect on you,” he said, looking down at your smiling face as you turned your wrist this way and that.

“I love it, Georgie. Thank you.” You snuggled closer into his side.

“Always.” He dropped a kiss on top of your head, then grabbed the gift back from you, pulling out a handful of candy and popping one of the lollipops into his mouth. “Not as sweet as your pussy, but…”

You rolled your eyes and placed a chocolate truffle on your tongue, letting the deliciousness fill your mouth.

Bang! There was a fumbling outside of the door and George quickly yanked the curtain shut, just before what sounded like several people came tumbling into the room.

“Get the fuck off of me, Weasley—” Jack.

“Absolutely not, you're going to apologize,” Fred replied, his voice a little too chipper for the current situation.

George was up in a blink, his chest littered with the marks you gave you him, and pushed through the curtain. “Well, well. Seems you aren't dead, or maimed…so what exactly is your excuse for standing up my girl on Valentine's Day?” George asked.

“I don’t have to explain myself to you, I—your girl?” Jack hissed. “She's mine.”

George chuckled. “Love, would you like to come out here and set the record straight?”

“What?” Jack barked. “She's not here—”

You slipped out of bed and tried to right yourself before stepping out of the curtain and into the room. Fred and Lee had Jack by arms, dressed only in his boxers. Harry and Ron stood off to the side, watching everything unfold with mild amusement.

George was leaning against the bed frame, lollipop in his cheek, a triumphant smirk on his face.

“We're done, Jack,” you said, getting it over with. But strangely, you didn't feel any of the guilt from before. And you shouldn't. Jack was a prick, and didn't deserve your tears or empathy.

“I miss one date and you shack up with fucking Weasley?” Jack spit, and George's eyes darkened. “Fucking whore—”

Fred and Lee shook him roughly, yelling at him to watch his mouth, and you recoiled a bit. George seemed to stay surprisingly calm, until you saw him reach for his Beater bat beside the bed.

“George, wait—”

George jabbed the tip of the bat into Jack's sternum, and the boy went pale. “If I hear you running your fucking mouth about her again, I will smash your jaw to splinters. Clear?”

Your heart lost its rhythm. You'd never seen George like this, and you loved it. Loved being his.

Jack bobbed his head yes, trembling in Fred and Lee's hold.

Lee snickered. “Prick looks like he might piss himself.”

“Now get the fuck out,” George ordered.

“Wait, one more thing,” you said, and the boys all turned their attention to you. You sauntered up to Jack, and you saw a flicker of hope in his eyes.

Fucking idiot.

You thrust your knee up, nailing him right in the bollocks, and he howled so loud the other boys dropped him into a heap on the floor.

“Fuck you,” you spit, turning on your heel and stepping into George's open arms.

“That's my girl,” George cooed, taking the lollipop of his mouth to kiss you properly, the strawberry flavor sweet on his tongue. He waved at the others over your head as he deepened the kiss, and you heard them all file out, laughing and jeering as they dragged Jack behind them, the door swinging shut and locking.

“He deserved it,” you mumbled between kisses, giggling when George lifted you into the air, your legs wrapping around his waist.

“And now it's time you get what you deserve,” he smirked, laying you back down on the mattress and shifting down between your legs. “And I get my reward for absolutely crushing Valentine's Day.”

You burst out laughing, the sound shifting to moan as he licked a stripe through your slit. “You're right, best Valentine's Day ever.”

[mischievousmoony]

𝚛𝚘𝚜𝚎𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚍𝚐𝚎𝚜

⟢ frat boy!james potter x fem!reader ⟢ as president of a fraternity, your boyfriend has pledges at his beck and call. so naturally, he tasks them with handing you valentines roses throughout the day ⊹ 1.1k ⟢ warnings/tags: fluff, american!james (not that it's explicitly stated)

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

It starts with a knock at your door early in the morning. You let your roommate answer it while you continue to enjoy your yogurt and granola at the kitchen counter. You don't think anything of the hushed whispers between your roommate and the visitor until she swings the door wide open, revealing a stranger in a suit and tie.

He's looking right at you, holding out a single red rose in your direction. "M'lady," he says simply.

You hesitantly slide off your stool, wrapping your arms around yourself as you shuffle forward in your fuzzy slippers.

"Thanks," you say, accepting the rose. Just as soon as you do, the boy scurries away.

Your roommate shuts the door as you stand idly by, twirling the flower between your fingertips. "Weird. I wonder what that was about," she muses, but you have an inkling. This has your boyfriend written all over it.

The next well-dressed mystery man finds you in line at your favorite cafe on campus.

He hands you the rose with a slight bow, the same practiced "M'lady" you've heard before, then turns on his heel and walks away without another word.

When one of them shows up in your lecture hall, you sort of want to die on the spot. The sight of a man in a suit at ten in the morning catches almost everyone's attention. Their eyes follow him as he makes his way across the large room and down your row, finally dropping the rose on the desk in front of you with a bow of his head and the familiar greeting.

By lunchtime, you’ve collected a dozen roses. But apparently, that was just the warm-up.

In the dining hall, they come in an endless stream, one after another, only minutes apart. They come while you wait in line to order. While your food is being made. The entire time you eat. Each boy, a stranger. Each one handing you a rose with the same solemn "M'lady" before disappearing.

You try to ask what’s going on, but they never answer. Just a nod, a rose, and then they’re gone.

"Sirius," you huff, placing the bundle of flowers on the desk you share with him in your next class. "What is this?"

If the flower delivery boys won't tell you, you hope your boyfriend's best friend might be kind enough to give you some insight.

Sirius snickers as he plucks up one of the roses, bringing it to his nose to inhale the sweet scent with exaggerated appreciation.

"What pretty flowers you have. Where ever did you get them?" he teases, clearly finding enjoyment in your situation.

"Come on," you complain, swiping the rose from his hands and neatly setting it back with the others.

He chuckles, finding it sweet that you're so careful with the flowers even as you mock annoyance. "What do you think? It's Valentine's Day. Does he need another excuse to shower you with flowers?"

You chew your lip to hide your grin. "They're pledges, aren't they?" you ask, even though you're pretty sure you know the answer.

"Who else would they be?"

By the end of the day, you have an armful of roses. You had to grab a brown paper bag from one of the dining halls just to carry them all, and the flowers are packed in so tightly that the bag barely contains them, the petals peeking over the top and spilling over the edges.

Much to your dismay, a handful of the roses have shed a few petals due to the less than ideal setup. With a determined stride, you make your way to your car, intent on getting the delicate gifts home and into water.

As you near your car, you notice someone leaning against it. He looks just like the others, dressed just as formally as the rest—except this time, there’s a bouquet of flowers in his arm instead of a single rose. And, of course, you recognize him by the back of his head.

You press the button on your key fob, unlocking the car with a beep. James flinches slightly at the sound, then turns quickly—his eyes searching until they find yours. The moment he sees you, his expression softens, a radiant smile spreading across his face.

"Hey, baby," James says, his voice warm with affection.

"James," you greet back with a sparkling smile to match his own.

He holds his arms open for you, and after setting the grocery bag of flowers on the hood of your car, you happily step into his embrace.

"Happy Valentines Day," he murmurs into your hair.

You return the sentiment, giggling as you lean back from the hug to see his face, keeping your arms around him. "It was certainly and interesting one."

"You didn't like my flowers?" he teases. The wind picks up, sending a loose strand of hair into your face, and he gently lifts one of his hands from your waist to tuck it behind your ear. His touch lingers, his hand settling on the side of your neck, his thumb brushing over the curve of your jaw.

"I love them," you say, your voice earnest as you instinctively lean into his touch. "Though I will admit it was a little embarrassing when one of them came into my lecture hall."

"What? When? They were supposed to catch you before you went into any of your classes." James pouts slightly. Even if you are just teasing, he didn't mean to embarrass you with his stunt.

"It's okay." You lean in and give him a quick peck on the lips, an effort to smooth the pout from his face. "I don't want to tattle on any of the pledges."

A quick peck isn’t enough for James, as evidenced by the way he pulls you back in almost immediately, pressing his lips to yours for a real kiss. It's gentle at first, but James can never get enough of you. His arm tightens around you as he deepens the kiss, the cellophane wrapped bouquet in his hand crinkling behind your back.

"Don't crush my flowers," you mumble against his lips. "I only have so many."

James pulls away, a laugh escaping him. "So, you liked them? All the flowers?" he asks, his voice betraying a hint of vulnerability as he asks for reassurance.

"I really love them," you promise. "Although, I'm not sure what I'm going to do with all of them."

"We'll find a vase for most of them." James smirks, his voice carrying a hint of mischief as he continues, "As for the rest... I'm picturing candles and a bed covered in rose petals."

"Oh, are you?" you tease, leaning back in and brushing your lips against his. "I think that can be arranged," you murmur, before locking your lips together again.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

[haihoneys]

Pool Party Fun Times

Summary: San is getting really tired of this cat-and-mouse game he’s been playing with Y/N. Little does he know, she’s fed up too. What’s going to happen when they each decide they’re going to make a move at their mutual friend’s pool party?

Word Count: 3,763

Pairing: Choi San x Fem!Reader

Warnings: smut - reader is a ✨screamer✨, mention of blood (bitten lip), barely proofread (im defs high editing this oops), unprotected sex (pls be smart)

A/N: this is set in the same universe as If The Heavens Ever Did Speak and Afternoon Delight. you don’t have to read those to read this, though!! just thought i would mention it hehe. if you wanna get really specific… it actually happens the same day as Afternoon Delight… its the same party 👀

——

The first time they met, San found himself drawn to her. She just had this magnetism about her that seemed to always keep him in her orbit. From the second Yeosang, a long-time friend of her’s apparently, introduced them to one another at a listening party San was just…enamored. She was all twinkling eyes and bright smiles, fluttering lashes and breathy laughs. 

Since then, she’d been popping up randomly in his world.

Two days after the listening party, they ran into each other at a cafe. A week after that, he was picking up some takeout from his favorite chicken place and all but ran into her as she was leaving the same restaurant. The very next day, as he was leaving the dance practice, he saw her from across the street as she was exiting a cab. 

San smiled, eyes crinkling at the corners as he laughed and called her name. Y/N whipped around, shock coloring her features as she searched for the stranger calling for her. He jogged across the street, huffing another chuckle as he stopped before her. 

“We really need to stop running into each other like this.”

She laughed and nodded her agreement, reaching out a hand to rest on his bicep.  

The gentle touch had him biting down on the inside of his cheeks to keep from sighing and leaning closer to her.

“Yeah, we definitely do,” she smiled up at him, and to his horror, she pulled her hand away to hoist her bag up higher on her shoulder. “I actually have a meeting I need to get to. But, here, let me see your phone?”

San immediately started fumbling for his phone, patting at his pockets until he found the device. He unlocked it before placing it in her waiting palm. Y/n pulled out her own phone, swiping until she open… Snapchat… of all things and opened up her profile to show the qr code. She found the same app on his phone and opened it up, scanning the code to add her as a ‘friend.’ 

She made a satisfied little hmph sound as she locked his phone and handed it back to him. “Ooh, the request came through! Let me accept it before I head to my meeting.”

And they had been dancing around each other ever since, skirting just on the edge of flirting.

A shirtless, post-workout gym selfie from San. A shot of her legs in a bubble bath in response. 

A reply to his story complimenting his new haircut. A little video showing off said haircut as he thanked her.

Nothing too overt, but at the same time… it wasn’t just nothing.

They were both aware of the mutual attraction, of the suggestiveness of some of their photos and messages. But neither of them were making any real moves towards the other.

That is, until they were thrown into a group chat together with all their friends and invited to a pool party to celebrate the start of the summer.

Their phones pinged at the same time from opposite sides of the city: Y/N tucked into her cozy apartment and San in the back of an SUV on his way back to the dorms from the studio.

That was it. That was the opportunity they needed. This party would be the perfect time to make a move.

Of course, both of them choked when the day came. Offering up only shy hellos and timid waves when they saw each other.

In San’s defense though, she just looked too fucking good. When he saw her in the low-cut summer dress, nipples poking through the thin fabric, he had to excuse himself to the bathroom to adjust his semi-hard cock in his jeans.

He spent the rest of the afternoon making eyes at her from across the pool deck, not bothering to hide the fact or even deny it when Wooyoung giggled about it.

And she was sending those looks right back to him! He swore she was fluttering her long eyelashes at him, too. And maybe he started to think about how she would look up at him when she was on her knees for him… about how she’d take him down her throat and - 

A beach ball came soaring across the deck and smacked him on the forehead. He stood there, a bit dazed, as he snapped out of his thoughts.

Wooyoung was doubled over, laughing so hard he was near tears, trying to choke out an apology. San huffed and rolled his eyes, picking the pool toy up and hurling it back at Wooyoung.

San smiled at the dull thwack! as it made contact with the side of his head.

“Ow!” Wooyoung gasped, hand flying to rub at his head. “No way it hit you that hard!” 

“Serves you right, brat,” San shrugged. Honestly, it was probably for the best with the way his thoughts were spiraling just seconds ago. 

San eventually found himself behind the outdoor bar, playing bartender much to the delight of his friends. Yunho and Mingi’s cheering for him caught Y/N’s attention from across the deck, her focus pulling away from the boys’ makeup artist to land on the rowdy trio. 

She excused herself at the first lull in the conversation, claiming she needed another drink despite the nearly full seltzer she was nursing, and seated herself at the far end of the bar. 

San turned toward her, leaning back against the counter behind him as he tossed the towel he was using to dry his hands over his shoulder. He crosses his thick arms and Y/N’s eyes locked in on the corded muscles and she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t thinking about him pinning her down and - 

“What can I getcha miss?”

His question brought her back to reality, her cheeks and ears heating as he stared her down.

‘He knows’ she thought ‘he absolutely, 100% knows that I was just thinking about him pinning me to the bed upstairs.’ 

“Um,” she stuttered, suddenly nervous under the weight of his intense gaze. “Surprise me.” 

The left corner of his mouth tugged into a smirk as he uncrossed his arms and turned away from her. He began pouring various mixers and liquors into a shaker before slapping the top on and shaking the concoction. Y/N watched him and nearly moaned at the way the toned muscles in his shoulders and back flexed and moved under his white t-shirt as he went about the task. 

Yeosang just so happened to pass behind her and reached up to tug on a lock of her hair to get her attention. Y/N hummed, barely acknowledging her friend, and Yeosang chuckled under his breath.

“Close your mouth. You’re starting to drool,” he teased before walking off again. 

Y/N swatted at him as he went, mumbling for him to hush because she was busy watching a ‘show.’ 

San scooped some ice into a glass and poured the mixture over it, making a show of licking the fingers of his right hand as he slid her the drink with his left. He leaned forward onto the bar, and the muscles of his arms shifted again. He noted Y/N’s eyes following his movements, and he smirked.

“Let me know what you think.”

“I’m sure it’ll be great.” She reached for the glass, making sure to just barely brush the tips of her fingers against his forearm as she did. She kept her eyes locked on his as she brought the glass to her lips and took a sip.

“I bet it’ll be the best you’ve ever had.” 

Y/N choked and spluttered on her drink, the heat returning to her cheeks. She looked up at him when she finally caught her breath, ready to spew something about how the drink had just gone down the wrong way. But when her eyes locked on his face again he was giving her the biggest shit eating grin and something clicked into place.

She realized he had been torturing her on purpose. Well, two could play at that game, she supposed. 

She leaned forward onto the bar, purposefully crossing her arms under her tits so they were pushed up practically in his face. She gave herself an extra point in their little game when she noticed his eyes dip down to her cleavage. He flicked his eyes back up to meet hers, his mouth opening to say something clever, to try to fluster her again. So she beat him to the punch.

“Hmm.. I bet I could top it.”

San cocked an eyebrow and grinned at her. “Is that so?” 

Y/N hummed in affirmation and took another sip of her drink. This time, she had to bite back her cringe as the alcohol actually made contact with her taste buds. It was atrocious; nail polish remover probably would have gone down smoother than the literal poison he had given her.

But she smiled, her best attempt at coy, and slid off the bar stool without another word, making sure to put a little emphasis in the sway of her hips as she made her way to the sliding door that led directly into the sunroom of the house. 

It was one of those cliche-as-fuck moments where San thought “damn I hate to see her go, but I love to watch her leave”. 

He was still leaned over the bar, trying to give her at least a few minutes of a head start so everyone still gathered around the pool and bar wouldn't immediately know what they were about to get up to.

The last shred of his willpower flew out the window, though, when she made it to the door and looked over her shoulder at him. She grinned like she knew she had him in the palm of her hand.

And to be fair, she did. 

San pushed off the bar and, as casually as he could, walked towards the door she’d just disappeared through. He found her in the sunroom leaning against the sideboard that was pressed directly under the window, back to the door as she played on her phone.

He stepped behind her and wrapped an arm around her from behind, one hand splaying across her lower tummy as she discarded her phone. San leaned in and moved the hair from her neck and shoulder before leaning in and pressing a kiss just beneath her ear. 

“You thought you were cute out there, huh?”

She could feel the smirk he pressed into the skin of her neck, and then all of the bravado she had worked up was suddenly gone as she practically melted into his touch.

“Bet you thought you had the upper hand all day…Just flouncing around in this flimsy little dress.”

His hands started to wander, leaving goosebumps in their wake as they slid from her hips, up her abdomen to cup and squeeze at her tits. “Not wearing a fucking bra… bet you aren’t wearing panties either, are you?” San laughs, and it’s a sardonic, almost cruel sound.

He pinched at one of her nipples and involuntarily bucked into her when she whimpered and arched into his touch. He slid a hand up further so he could grasp her neck, turning her head towards him just a bit so he could see her pretty face. 

“What if I’m not?” She was breathless as she said it, the anticipation, the want, evident in her tone.

She was clenching her thighs together, trying for any sort of friction, for any sort of relief. San laughed again and dropped the hand that was still on her chest back to her hip. He started to grab and bunch the fabric there, hiking her dress up just enough to slip his hand under the hem.

Y/N whimpered as his fingers brushed over her thighs, tracing shapes and patterns so close yet so far from where she truly wanted him. She was ready to beg for it, the plea on the tip of her tongue when he finally, blessedly moved his hand between her thighs and slid his fingers through her folds. 

He pulled his hand away and held it up in front of their faces, the setting sun shining through the window and reflecting off the sticky wetness on his fingers. 

“You’re being a tease,” she breathed out, chest heaving. 

San laughed and Y/N was beginning to hate the sound and how it made her pussy clench and ache for him. She turned in his grip and watched as he brought his fingers to his mouth and sucked them clean.

He groaned at the taste of her. He was going to spend a long, long time between her thighs. He wanted to fucking drink her and all she had to give him. 

Then he was kissing her, hands in the hair at the base of her skull and pulling just hard enough to guide her where he wanted her. She could still taste herself on his tongue and it was driving her fucking insane, her head swimming.

The primal urge to tear into each other was palpable. The kiss was all clashing teeth and bitten lips, wet and sticky with spit and a bit of blood from a bite that was just a bit too hard. San pulled away a fraction, his pupils blown wide as he stared her down. 

Y/N zoned in on the drop of blood on his lip and gasped. “Fuck! I’m so sorry…oh my god… I didn’t realize I was going that crazy.”

She was speaking a mile a minute, rambling and apologizing profusely, and San cut her off with another searing kiss. 

“What’s pleasure without a bit of pain?” He walked them backwards as he said it, his hands still tangled in her hair.

He eased them down onto the daybed at the back of the room, pulling her into his lap and rucking her dress back up around her hips so she could straddle him.

“You okay?” He asked, wanting to keep her comfort at the top of his priorities. 

“God, yes,” she breathed out and went back in for another kiss, licking into his mouth like she wanted to imprint the taste of him in her own mouth. Y/N started grinding down onto him, the fly of his jeans and the hardness of his cock providing the most delicious friction against her clit.

He moaned into her mouth, strong hands on her hips, dragging her back and forth over his lap until she was whimpering and whining for him. San kissed at the corner of her mouth and murmured to her, “You gonna cum for me? Gonna cum just from humping me like this, baby?” 

She whined and nodded her head frantically, her voice fully gone, the pressure building and building in her lower belly until her toes were curling and stars were bursting behind her eyelids. San hummed below her, hands still pushing and pulling at her as she started to writhe above him, riding out her high.

San watched her, in rapture, as she lost herself to the pleasure. He wanted to burn the sight into the backs of his eyelids so he could conjure it up the next time he found himself alone and wanting.

“I need you inside me right now or I might fucking die.”

That might be the hottest thing he’d ever heard. 

She lifted herself onto her knees - there was just enough space between them to allow her to fumble with his pants and help him shimmy them down his thick thighs. She almost started salivating at the sight of his cock slapping up against his abdomen, heavy and swollen and already leaking precum. 

“Can’t have that now, can we?” He tried to joke, but his laugh was cut off by a guttural groan as she sank down onto him. The wet, molten heat of her might just be heaven, his own personal nirvana. He honestly thought he could live there, buried to the hilt in her pretty little cunt.

Then she started rocking against him and moaning his name, and San nearly came undone at the sound. He gripped at her hips, fingers pressing marks that would surely turn to bruises, and picked her up just enough to give him room to fuck up into her.

The angle was damn near perfect, she could feel every ridge and vein of him, could feel the tip of his cock kissing against her cervix. Her head fell back as she moaned at a particularly well-placed thrust, leaving her throat exposed to him. And San took full advantage of it.

He leaned forward and attached his lips to the juncture of her neck and shoulder. Biting down until she whined - he was starting to think that high-pitched, needy little noise was going to become one of his favorite sounds - before he laved over the quickly reddening mark with his tongue to soothe the sting of pain. 

She was clawing at his arms and shoulders, nails raking down his skin, and he hissed at the sharp bite of it. But he loved it. Loved that she was marking him up, putting her claim on him in such a visible way. Just as he had done to her. 

Suddenly, he was flipping them, and she squealed, arms flying up to wrap around his neck. San never lost his momentum though, fucking into her with even more force thanks to the new angle and leverage. He buried his face in her neck, kissing and sucking new marks onto the column of her throat.

“Fuckkkk,” he groaned into her, pressing the curse into her skin between the kisses, “you feel so fucking good.” 

Words were lost to her at that point; her eyes rolled back in her head as he slammed into her over and over again. She was whimpering and keening beneath him, her hands tangled in and tugging at his hair as he kept pushing her closer and closer to the edge.

San slipped his own hand between them, effortlessly finding her swollen clit. It was a bit clumsy at first, but he steadied himself quickly, drawing tight little circles over her. He sped up his thrusts, and the force of it had them sliding over the edge of the bed.

He was somehow clear-headed enough to thank god that the daybed was low. Practically just cushions on the floor already, so neither of them ended up hurt when they fully slid to the floor.

Y/N didn’t even seem to notice the shift, pupils blown wide, and cheeks flushed. She looked so fucked out that he thought he might could cum just from the look on her face. From knowing that it was him that put that look there. He set back to rubbing at her clit, determined to make her cum again.

“Can you cum for me again, baby? I need you to cum for me… c’mon and give it to me, yeah?

She didn’t need words to answer him, her body taking over and doing it for her as her pussy clamped down so tight around him that he couldn’t fucking move.

The blinding ecstasy ripped through her, and she screamed his name as her vision fully whited out. She was clinging to him like she might slip away from the earth if he wasn’t there tethering her to it, arms thrown around his shoulders and legs hooked over his hips.

San slapped a hand over her mouth, torn between relishing in the fact that he was the one making her scream like that and being worried about everyone just on the other side of the window being able to hear them. 

He swore to himself that next time, he would make sure they were fully alone. That they had all the privacy they needed so she could be as loud as she wanted. So he would be able to hear all those pretty sounds at full volume.

San knew he wasn’t going to last much longer, the fluttering of her cunt around him and the muffled whines she was making from behind his hand were sending him barreling towards his own climax.

He quickly pulled out, sitting back on his calves, his hand flew over his cock as he gave himself a few pumps. San moaned as he came, hot ropes of cum spilling onto her lower belly. 

She was still trembling through her aftershocks as she hummed and brought her fingers to the mess, swirled them around before bringing them to her lips and licking them clean. The menace made sure to keep her gaze locked on his as she did it, moaning at the taste of him as he watched her slack-jawed.

“Didn’t think it was fair that you got to taste me and I didn’t get to taste you.”

San snorted as he rolled to the side of her, flinging his arm over his face. “Keep looking at me like that and saying shit like that and you’ll definitely be tasting me soon.”

Y/N laughed, and it had him giggling in turn. San wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her into his side, pressing soft kisses to her temple. They gave themselves a few moments to fully catch their breaths before they decided they should clean up and head back out to the party before their friends came looking for them.

He needed to find her something clean to wear and offer to have her dress dry cleaned. He told her as much, but she waved him off, telling him not to worry about it. 

San leaned against the doorframe and watched as she tried her best to tame her hair into something remotely presentable. 

“By the way,” he started, “You’re really loud. I was sure someone was going to come in here thinking I was killing you or something.”

Y/N flushed and looked away from him, embarrassed that he had brought it up after the fact. “Sorry… I get so caught up I can’t really help it…”

San paused, head tilting to the side and grinning softly at her.

“I never said it was a bad thing. Or that I didn’t like it. In fact,” He took a step forward, just close enough to be able to settle a hand on her hip, the other cupping her cheek. “I plan on hearing those sounds again. And seeing just how loud you can get."

——

Tag List:

 @life-is-a-game-of-thrones

[simonskitty]

Hii! Have you watched the movie Babygirl? It has something to do with Boss x Intern. It would totally be such a turn on if you wrote a Boss|Toji x Intern|Reader. Where an innocent intern smoothly flirts with her boss during an interview and it has his pants tightening. He has a family at home, such a dirty man to be getting turned on by this much younger intern. How this new intern would say the most naughtiest things but would act innocent about it. It was a dangerous game when it came to sneaking around and fucking like rabbits. It messed him up when she would start distancing herself from him. She could ruin his life in a second.. and he loved it. He loved being dominated by someone so much younger than him. 🥛

BTW, I loved your story on Toji x College Student. You’re my new favorite writer!! I hope I can request more soon ><

eeeek anon your such a sweetie !! i looked up the movie and now it’s in my watchlist hehe. request any time you like love ᡣ 𓈒⋅ ⩊ ⋅𓈒ྀིა ㅤ and sorry it took awhile, been dealing w/ mental issues lolz ㅤ

cw: mdni, cheating ୨୧

Toji was a perverse man—especially when it came down the way he treated his lower coworkers in the field. Bossing them around became accustomed when they signed they papers that made them under his control. Sure, he’d mess with the men—teasing and giving them a hard time. But, when it came down to the pretty ladies in skirts—boy did he have a time. He enjoyed acting being superior, being the controller in the relationships he had with his inferiors. He liked contorting their little limbs until they broke, running off from the job like scared little animals, wanting the sacred warmth of their mama bear :(.

So, when the last little lady ran off once again—record time this time around. Two weeks on the job. How pathetic. Toji knew he needed some fresh meat to work with—something tastier than the beef jerky he had put a wedding ring on a decade ago.

When you walked in, a young one, full of life—hopes and dreams presented like a bouquet of flowers resting tight in your palms—Toji knew he found himself a prime rib.

“You sure you’re up for the job?” He’s serious. Professional attire neatly ironed—the same suit he wore on his wedding day. Means just about nothing now. In a few years, once he kicks this job to the curb, it’ll be sat nicely on the racks of a thrift store, where it belongs. To be tried on by a group of silly teenagers, goofing off for fun.

Your head nods eagerly. Résumé sat in between the two of you on the conference table—waiting to be accepted. You enjoyed the praise.

“Yes, sir.” There’s a certain grin on your face. Toji likes it. Finds it endearing. Something his wife hasn’t had on her face in months—hell, even years. He doesn’t care enough to look back on the calendar. “What are your priorities?” It’s too sweet. Sweet enough to rot his teeth out.

“That depends what your qualifications are.” He leans forward, thick biceps resting kindly against the new wood. “I don’t just hire a woman because she has a pretty face ya know?”

“So that’s off my list then.” Your tone is kind, welcoming. Toji wants you to place your welcome mat on him. Step on him. He looks to your feet. Dressed in heels—professional. The kind of professional he’s acting. He’s preforming, you’re the nonfiction story.

“And you’re witty.” He’s commenting, and he observes. Toji would like to point out that your blouse is missing a button—but that would give away how he’s been focusing on your cleavage as if he was single. You beat him to it.

“And your shirt is unbuttoned.”

He looks down, suit jacket in perfect condition except for the button that had bursted from his pec size. His wife would call him lazy, unprofessional, would demean him and expect an answer for the mistake he didn’t even do on purpose.

He liked your reaction better. Walking over and bending down just the right amount so your eye to eye. Seriousness overtakes your expression. Toji likes you. Determined. Just to button up his dress shirt.

“Cologne?” Your head is tilted to the side. He knows your game. The little teasing that girls do to rile up a man. To appear innocent—doe like.

“Hm?”

“You are wearing cologne, yes?” The grin is back on your lips. It’s fake. It’s purposeful. It’s to get him on the leash that dogs are meant to walk on. “I recognize the scent.”

Brows are furrowed together in thought. His head titled the opposite of yours. “Fathers scent, I presume?” It’s stated as a statement, yet you answer.

“No. Last hook up.” Small giggles fill his ears. Making jokes during an interview. His dress pants tighten.

“What did you just say?” Face: Stoic. To his surprise, and much enjoyment, your bubbly act doesn’t lent up. All that’s left is a dumb look—you’re faking it. He’s not dumb. You can’t be dumb to be a boss. You can’t be dumb not to get caught cheating on your wife for the last three years. Sly recognizes the sly. Slick recognizes the stealthy.

“I’m very close. Surprised you can’t hear me.” Your eyes betrayed the innocent act that your lips told. Maybe you were both acting. Both in stage to perform for your imaginary audience. “Very nice suit by the way.” Smiling. Too wide.

Toji clears the lump left in his throat. Eyes in yours, sinking himself into the pools. “Thank you, miss.” His tone, different now. Lowering himself on the rank, on his prized pedestal that he had cheated his way up to. “Now let’s get back to the interview.” His hand attempted to adjust his tie—which felt tighter around the thick of his neck—yet again, you beat him to it.

Instead of loosening it, you tightened it. Toji sucked in a breath. Nervousness he felt in his gut? The same feeling he felt the first time he cheated on his wife. Dirty. That’s how he felt. Like he was committing a crime. In a sense he was. The vows he preached now just line of gibberish to him.

“The suit looks older. Get it from the thrift or something?” Your lips are quirked up, you can’t control it. You liked Toji Mr. Fushiguro.

He ignores your question. “How…how old are you, by chance?” He said the words. Like he was holding back a string of curse words that shouldn’t be spoken in the office. “On your…résumé?”

Toji doesn’t wait for an answer. He opens your file. 24. The number goes weighs heavy on his brain for a good while, calculating the age gap between the two of you.

“Sir?” Sweet voice ringing through his head like church bells. “Am I too young for you—I mean the job?” Your eyelashes bat at him. A groan makes its way through his chapped lips, he wets them with his tongue—the tongue that had seen many women’s pussies before yours.

One more can’t hurt? It’s not like anyone is gonna find out.

An almost primal look overtakes him. But your demeanor doesn’t falter. You let him have his fun. Chucking you over the conference table like you where the same weight as a stack of papers.

“Think you’re so fucking cute?” His words cut into your body like knifes, a sharp slap coming down hard on your fat ass. Toji’s eyes moving like googly eyes on his face, watching the skin ripple under his rough touch. “I bet you think you are sooo slick. Acting like a dumb, cheeky bitch. Riling me up.” The cold, office air hitting your bare ass like a slap in the face, Toji lifting up the skirt you bought a size too small, and panties being ripped apart like he was a professional in the sport.

“No, sir! I really didn’t mean any harm!” Lies. He knew better. This is what you wanted. For him to be a bastard to you. To treat you mean. To get under his skin until he broke—not the other way around. “I was—just trying to get the job!”

“Lying is ugly, sweetheart.” Another grunt, a slap to your cold ass cheek, warmed by the palm of his hand—kneading the soft surface. “Be a good girl and you’ll be my new intern, how ‘bout it?” No answer, bottom lip hugged tightly in your canines. Bad choice! Another harsh slap to your aching flesh.

“I expect an immediate response, bitch.” It’s a growl. Like an animal. The sound of his belt unbuckling and pants unzipping speeds your heart up in a delicious way.

And you do. Dick plummeting in your soaking wet walls like it’s your personal medicine. Dirty resolution to sick minded problems. Rutting your gut into the harsh edge of the table, squelching insides ringing throughout the room. Meaty thighs pressed against your own, sticky sweat clinging to your body and connecting your skin to his own.

Huge hands ram down on the table, venom dripping from the defined veins of his forearms. You wonder if the veins on his cock look the same. Sure feels like it.

Blissfully getting fucked, like your poor sopping pussy was begging for it the moment you stepped into the interview. Eyes blurry with tears—unable to make anything out.

Except for the silver band on his ring finger.

─── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ───

You were hired quickly after that. He couldn’t resist hiring a pretty little thing like you; who was able to milk him so nicely without doing a thing but batting your eyelashes at him. And at the moment it was great. You worked professionally under his rule without a second thought—allowing his hands to graze your ass in the break room—or allowing himself to private meetings with you during your lunch break. Enough so that he didn’t need anything for the woman waiting so loyal to him back home.

Until you began to distance yourself.

And Toji did not like that very much.

Though, his wife seemed oblivious to his actions at the work place—you were not as naive as your looks portrayed you to be. You saw the ring. You saw the little family photo that sat on his desk—collecting dust like an heirloom that deserved to be kept in an attic—or in your opinion: sold at a garage sale.

But you weren’t a home wrecker. You had pride, dignity if you will. Which could be debatable due to fucking a man you just met—one who you now knew was married. How could you destroy a seemingly happy home? Happy—to the wife and the little boy, maybe not so much to your boss that had just been so pent up for another taste of you.

─── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ───

So, it ended up with Toji on his bulky knees, grabbing onto your fishnet covered thighs that were just below your skirt. You didn’t feel remorse for denying what he needed—you felt a sense of power over him. The power that usually never fell out of his grip.

Sweaty dark hair sticking to his forehead, creased with so much frustration, cursing himself for getting down—taking himself off that high pedestal—and begging you for just another taste. His cock, pulsing in need, just aching to be dipped into your warm cunt again.

“Come on—why do this to me?” Voice rough and dirty, fed up with whatever was stopping you from giving him the same treatment as you did when you two first met. “No one has to know!” God, what was wrong with him?

“You seriously don’t feel anything—“ Eyes welling up with tears now—regret coursing through his tight muscles. “For your wife? And a kid at home. Dirty little bastard.” A tear falls gently from his left eye, running down his scarred lip.

Toji looks over at the photo of his wife and child—happy as ever sitting on his desk. Yet, he felt nothing close to sadness—but the hot burning pit of want for you in the bottom of his gut.

You grab him by his tie—basically choking him much to his selfish enjoyment. “Too much of a pussy to tell the truth? To finally break off a marriage you didn’t even want?” Pleasure enters his pores when he sees the enjoyment on your smug face. He wanted to chant over and over to be rougher.

Giving a nice good tug on the red plaid tie around his neck—now popping out with blue veins of the stress weighing on him—he drops his hand from the fat of your thighs. The thick fingers drop down on either side of you, on the floor, him now on all fours. A string of whimpers fall from his wet lips, making you laugh.

“God yes.” His breaths are short and uneven, the sound giving you a dose of adrenaline. “I’m so fucking pathetic. Just—just give me this one more time—please baby.”

“I don’t fuck married men.”

“That didn’t seem to be the case two weeks ago.”

The smart remark earning him a harsh slap to his cheek, making him moan like a teenage boy loosing his virginity.

The gracious part left in your heart—decided to give in.

─── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ───

You left the office that day—cunt bare and cold against the wind that lifted under your skirt. Toji kept your panties for a souvenir to remember the first time he ate you out, right next to the framed picture of his family.

Oh, and that beautiful family portrait? It was now thrown out in the dumpster behind the office, which was better than a thrift store or a garage sale in your right opinion. As well as his ring—well the ring he decided to sell at a nearby pawn shop because he’s still filthy as hell—and likes the extra cash in case of emergencies.

© simonskitty

[kiwriteswords]

oh oh i have a fluff v day request! maybe reader is jacks teacher and they have a class valentine’s day party, when hotch picks him up after school, jack is trying to set them up by planting one of those silly cartoon cards in either of their pockets 🤭

Matchmaker, Matchmaker, Make Me a Match [Aaron Hotchner x Teacher!Reader]

Ki2k Masterlist||MainMasterlist (not updated, sorry!)|| Ao3||Word Count: 1k|| AN: Happy Valentine's Day! Thank you for this request, lovely! I had so much fun writing it--I never usually write Jack-related fics, but when I do, I wonder why I don't more often because they're so sweet! ||Requests are still open for Ki2k!!

Tags/Warnings: female reader, Valentine’s Day, non-bau!Reader, teacher!reader, Jack's teacher!Reader, Jack Hotchner is present (for those who do not like kid fics, lol), sadly had to use Y/N Y/L/N :P--sorrry!!!

Summary: Jack comes home beaming about his pretty teacher to Hotch everyday, so when Valentine's comes around, he finds the perfect reason to get the two of them together.

Jack's little feet pounded on the pavement as he bounded towards the car where Hotch was waiting, his face lit up with the day's excitements. Throwing open the car door, he barely waited for the buckle to click before he started.

"Dad! Did I tell you what Miss. Y/L/N did today? She showed us how to make volcanoes with baking soda and vinegar! It was awesome!"

Hotch smiled, driving off as he listened. "Sounds like you had fun. Miss. Y/L/N seems very creative."

"She is!" Jack's voice was earnest, eyes wide. "And she's really pretty, too. She wears these nice dresses, and her hair is always perfect."

Hotch raised an eyebrow, a small chuckle escaping him. "Is that so?"

"Yeah! And she's super smart. She knows everything about science and books and... um, maybe you should ask her about the Civil War? You like that stuff, right?" Jack's attempt at casualness was comically transparent.

"I do," Hotch replied, his interest piqued both by the mention of history and the subtle undertone of matchmaking in his son's voice. "Sounds like you think she'd be good company."

Jack nodded vigorously. "She'd be the best! You always say you want someone smart and kind. And she's the best teacher ever. Everyone thinks so."

As they pulled into their driveway, Hotch ruffled Jack's hair, considering the little seeds his son was planting. "Maybe I'll have to meet Miss. Y/L/N at the next parent-teacher conference."

"Yeah! And maybe you can ask her about her favorite book or something," Jack added, hopeful.

Hotch laughed softly, the corners of his eyes crinkling with amusement at his son's not-so-subtle matchmaking. "Maybe I will, buddy."

Jack grinned, satisfied, his mission for the day accomplished.

The next time Jack came bursting into the car after school, his backpack swinging wildly as he clambered into the passenger seat.

"Dad!" He held up a piece of folded paper, waving it excitedly. "Miss. Y/L/N gave you a note!"

Hotch glanced over as he pulled away from the school parking lot, one hand steady on the wheel. "Oh? What’s it about?"

Jack grinned like he was holding the world's greatest secret. "I think she likes you."

Hotch blinked. "What?"

Jack wiggled in his seat, practically vibrating with excitement. "She sent you a note! Teachers don’t just send notes unless it’s important. And I heard my friend Olivia say that when someone writes you a note, it’s because they like you."

Suppressing a laugh, Hotch reached for the paper at a red light, unfolding it with careful fingers. His eyes skimmed over the words--just a standard, typed letter about an upcoming parent-teacher night and some classroom updates.

"Jack," he said, amusement coloring his voice, "this is just a general note. Every parent got one."

Jack frowned, his enthusiasm faltering for the first time. "Oh." He thought for a second, then brightened again. "But maybe she really wanted you to see it!"

Hotch sighed, shaking his head with a small smile. "I’m sure Miss. Y/L/N is a wonderful teacher, but she’s just doing her job. It’s not a secret message, buddy."

Jack crossed his arms, unconvinced. "I don’t know…she does walk me to pick-up.” 

"Because she walks all the students to parent pick-up," Hotch countered. 

Jack sat in contemplative silence for a few moments before mumbling, "Still think you’d be a good couple."

Hotch chuckled. "Noted."

The school hallways were quieter than usual, the loud bustle of daytime replaced by a hushed, anticipatory energy as parents trickled in for the evening's parent-teacher conferences. Hotch adjusted his tie as he approached your classroom, Jack's enthusiastic endorsements echoing in his mind.

He paused at the doorway, spotting you as you animatedly discussed a student's progress with a couple before him. Even from a distance, your passion was palpable, your gestures animated and your smile bright. When it was finally his turn, you looked up, recognition and warmth lighting up your features.

"Mr. Hotchner, it's great to finally meet you," you greeted, extending a hand. "Jack speaks so highly of you."

"The feeling is mutual," Hotch replied, taking your hand. "He hasn’t stopped talking about you since school started."

As you both sat down, the conversation flowed effortlessly. You shared insights about Jack's strengths and areas for improvement, your words thoughtful and encouraging. Hotch was struck not only by your understanding of his son but also by your genuine care for all your students.

"I strive to create an environment where they can all feel supported and challenged," you explained, your eyes lighting up with a fervor that resonated deeply with Hotch. It was clear teaching was not just a job for you but a calling.

The conversation shifted from academic achievements to personal interests, and Hotch found himself discussing topics he rarely explored with strangers. Your interest in classical literature and your hobbies sparked a shared enthusiasm. Hotch was pleasantly surprised by how much he enjoyed talking about his own rare escapes.

which he seldom shared due to his demanding job.

As the meeting concluded, Hotch stood up, feeling an unexpected reluctance to end the conversation. "Thank you for everything you’re doing for Jack," he said sincerely. "And not just for him--for all the kids."

"It’s truly my pleasure," you replied with a smile. "They make it easy."

There was a brief pause, a moment of shared understanding, and an unspoken acknowledgment of a connection neither expected.

"If you ever need help with any class activities or if you organize any field trips," Hotch added on impulse, "I’d be happy to contribute."

Your smile widened, pleased and surprised. "I'll definitely take you up on that."

As Hotch walked away, he couldn’t shake the warmth that filled his chest. Jack might have had childlike motives for wanting him to meet you, but Hotch couldn’t deny the genuine interest he felt--a spark ignited, perhaps, by the passion and beauty you exuded, both inside and out.

The door clicked shut behind Hotch, and the familiar sound of home was a welcome relief after the draining hours of a difficult case. As he shrugged off his coat, the sight that greeted him was anything but the quiet he had expected. 

Jack was in the midst of chaos, surrounded by a whirlwind of craft supplies--glue sticks, construction paper, crayons--all spread out like a tornado had swept through their living room.

Jack had just begun staying home for short periods of time by himself--something Hotch didn’t take lightly, but this was not a sight that he ever expected to see. 

"Jack, what's going on?" Hotch aske, his tone a mixture of amusement and concern as he stepped carefully over a stray roll of tape.

"Dad!" Jack looked up, his expression frantic but determined. "I need to make the perfect Valentine's card, but nothing looks right!"

Hotch knelt down, picking up a half-finished card that was more glue than paper. "Isn’t tomorrow just the school Valentine's party? What about the box of cartoon Valentines we bought last week?"

Jack shook his head vigorously, sending his hair into disarray. "Those are for my classmates! This one has to be special--it’s for Miss. Y/L/N. I want it to be perfect because I want her to come over for dinner and have a romance like in the movies. Like the Disney ones!" His eyes shone with the earnestness only a child could muster. "And you have the right hair to be like Prince Charming!"

Hotch couldn’t help but laugh softly, touched by his son's intentions yet aware of the need to tread carefully. "Jack, it’s very sweet that you want to do this for Miss. Y/L/N, but inviting her over for dinner and trying to set up a romance--that’s something she and I would have to talk about. It's not on you to worry about."

"But Dad, I just want you to be happy, and Miss. Y/L/N could make you smile," Jack protested, his lower lip trembling just a bit.

Sitting down beside his son, Hotch put an arm around him, pulling him close. "I know, buddy, and that means a lot to me. It’s okay to make her a card, but we should keep it about thanking her for being a great teacher, okay? As for dinner, how about we invite her over as a thank you from both of us, just to enjoy a meal, not as a date? We can see where things go from there."

Jack seemed to consider this for a moment before nodding, a small smile creeping back onto his face. "Can we still make it the best card ever?"

"Absolutely," Hotch agreed, his heart lightening at his son’s quick recovery. "Let’s see what we can create with less glue this time."

Together, they spent the evening crafting a more modest but heartfelt Valentine's card, Hotch guiding Jack’s enthusiastic efforts. As they worked, Hotch couldn’t help but think about your reaction, the warmth of your smile in his mind giving him more hope than he wanted to admit. 

Maybe Jack’s little plan wasn’t so far-fetched after all, just premature. As they set the finished card aside to dry, Hotch found himself looking forward to handing it over, curious and slightly hopeful about where a simple dinner invitation might lead.

Valentine's Day had brought its usual flurry of excitement, and amidst it, Hotch received an email that made him pause. It was from you, thanking him for the generous card and his contributions to the classroom Valentine's Day party. Reading between the lines, Hotch assumed it was also a nod to the dinner invitation Jack had ambitiously included. Buttoning his coat, he headed to the school, curious and admittedly a bit nervous about the meeting.

As he entered the classroom, the scene was vibrant with kids laughing and trading candies and cards. Jack spotted him immediately and with a grin wide enough to split his face, dashed over and grabbed his hand, tugging him through the clusters of giggling children.

"There’s my dad!" Jack announced proudly, pulling Hotch towards you.

You laughed as Jack nearly yanked Hotch off his feet. "Easy there, Jack, don’t break your dad’s arm off!"

Jack paused, gave Hotch a comically exaggerated wink, and said, "I’ll leave the romance to you two--it is Valentine’s Day, after all!"

You chuckled, shaking your head at Jack's antics. "Hotch, you’ve raised quite the little charmer."

Hotch, a bit flushed but smiling, replied, "I’m not sure where he gets that from. I’m currently at a loss for words.

"That’s alright," you said with a gentle smile. "I don’t mind coming up with the words, as long as that dinner is still on the table."

"It definitely is," Hotch assured you, his tone warm and more confident.

From the corner of his eye, Hotch saw Jack giving a not-so-subtle thumbs up before darting off to join his friends, leaving Hotch and you to chat amidst the joyful chaos of the classroom party.

As the children continued their celebrations around you, the two of you discussed logistics for the dinner, the conversation easy and flowing naturally. It was clear that what started as a child’s innocent matchmaking might just turn into something truly special, much to Jack's delight--and perhaps to his credit.

[mejaemin]

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖♡︎˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ ˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖♡︎˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ ˖₊˚♡˚

valentine boy

˚ʚ jeong jaehyun ɞ˚

final day of my valentine’s day countdown!

wc ♡ 1.9k

summary ♡ it may be jaehyun’s birthday, but he still likes to celebrate you, and does so in the form of four love letters.

warnings ♡ suggestive, fluff, SO MUCH LOVE IT’S DISGUSTING, jae is SUCH a sap and SUCH a romantic in this, my heart hurts

lia's note ♡ happy birthday to my love, my light. i miss jaehyun so much, and he’s really so special to me. i couldn’t help but pour my heart into this, and i wouldn’t have it any other way

playlist 🎧 completely - jaehyun, best part - daniel caesar ft. h.e.r. , give you the world - steve lacy, sunny days - wave to earth

congrats to those who guessed jaehyun for day nine! @cigsaftersuh and @jae10velies are two very smart cookies 🌹🫶🏽

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖♡︎˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ ˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖♡︎˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ ˖₊˚♡˚

when you roll over in bed, first thing in the morning, you reach your hand out for your boyfriend, only to be met with nothing. popping one eye open, the bed is empty, the bed made on his side. sighing, you sit up, waking yourself up to go find him, when you finally notice the envelope laying on his pillow.

letter one ♡˚₊‧⁺˖

‘good morning my sweet thing ♡ happy valentine’s day.. if i’m not back by the time you wake up and open this, i went to visit my parents for a little. we’ve got a long day ahead of us, but mom wanted to see me for a little since, her words, “your birthday comes first, yuno! come visit your mom before you spend the day with your girlfriend.” i would’ve brought you, but you looked so pretty and peaceful while sleeping, and it would’ve ruined my plan, so i left you home. on that note, i know you told me not to do anything for you today, but i can’t help it :( spoiling you is my favorite, and it’s how i want to spend mine our day, okay? now, once you’re ready to get up, there’s something waiting for you in the bathroom…’

the ending of the letter is quite ominous, but it leaves a smile on your face nonetheless. you tell him every year to let you do all the gift giving, fully ready to discard valentine’s day and put his day first, especially when the former was made as a way for companies to gain money. still, he insists on celebrating you at the same time.

getting up out of bed, you make your way to the bathroom to get ready. as soon as you walk in, there’s another envelope taped to the sink mirror. pulling it out of the way, you set it aside to get yourself ready. the whole time you’re washing your face, brushing your teeth, you have to stop yourself from smiling at the idea of what’s to come later on in the day. jaehyun’s always been a loverboy, to an almost poetic extent, and upon looking at the letter sitting next to you, you’re sure there’s more to come, and you can’t wait to read all the loving words he’ll say to you. once done, you take the letter and sit back down on the bed to read it.

letter two ♡˚₊‧⁺˖

‘now that you’re opening this letter, i’ll assume you’ve woken up then? good, because i’ll be back in the afternoon to start our day. i wish i could be there to get ready with you, watch you open your first gift, but since i can’t, why don’t you check the closet? i’ve picked something out for you that i know will look perfect on you. i can’t wait to see it on you, and confirm my prediction. i can envision it now, you’d look so beautiful in that dress, it’ll compliment you perfectly.. okay, i have to stop now, or i’ll have a problem. anyway, enjoy your outfit my love ♡‘

with a smile you go over to your shared closed excitedly, pulling the door open and flicking the light on to reveal a beautiful dress in your favorite color right at the front of your clothing rack. pulling it off the hanger you immediately get dressed in it, stepping back to look at it on in the mirror. it’s fits perfectly, complimenting your body shape in all the best ways. when you look back in the closet for shoes to pair with it, there’s another envelope on the floor that you must’ve missed.

letter three ♡˚₊‧⁺˖

‘you’re getting dressed now, aren’t you? i hope you like the outfit. if not, don’t worry, we can get something else when we go out, okay? don’t stress. now, i’ll be wrapping up with mom pretty soon, so why don’t you finish your routine, okay? do yourself up however you like, in whatever way makes you feel prettiest. i’ll love it regardless. when you’re done, there’s something out in the kitchen, okay? i love you so much, baby. enjoy.’

with a soft giggle, you sit down at your vanity and start putting yourself together. even in the letter, jaehyun always reminds you of how much he loves you, in every form that you can take. he always uses the gentlest and most loving language he can, holding your heart with the most care. his love is so strong that when you fix your hair and do your makeup, you don’t feel a need to try too hard, doing the bare minimum, and thanks to him, you feel good about yourself just like that.

with the final touches of your appearance done, you grab your phone off the charger and check it for the first time today before you do anything. without fail, jaehyun’s texted you a string of good morning messages and words of love. you of course send some in return, thanking him for the letters and lightly teasing him for being a sap. you share a laugh before you shut the device off, making your way to the kitchen where your jaw drops.

there’s an entire display on the kitchen counter, rose petals scattered over the granite with a full bouquet in the middle, a bundle of prada gift bags sitting next to it. there’s a teddy bear as well, and one final letter with a card propped open next to it, reading ‘will you be my valentine?’ with the most perfect penmanship. you snap a photo, sending it to him with your reply, an obvious yes, before opening the last letter.

letter four ♡˚₊‧⁺˖

‘again, happy valentine’s day my love! i hope you enjoy all the gifts i put out for you. i know what you’re thinking, by the way. you’re mad that i’m spending money on you when it’s my birthday, aren’t you? if i were to tell you i’m sorry, i’d be lying, and that’s just not something i can ever see myself doing to you. more than anything, today is a day of love, and i’d rather celebrate us than make it all about me. my birthday wish is to keep you by my side and love you forever, every inch of you, and it just so happens that the day of love is at the same time. now, may i tell you why i love you so deeply?

we’ve known each other forever, and i’ve seen you grow into a beautiful, beautiful woman, with a wonderful personality that can warm an entire room. your laugh is more beautiful than any song i’ll hear in my life, and your smile is so bright, blinding in a way that makes me never want to look away. i’d let my eyes burn to nothing if it means i can continue to see it. i love the way you carry yourself as well, so thoughtful and considerate to everyone around you. you have so much love and kindness in your heart, and i’m so lucky to be a recipient of it. i’ve learnt so much from you as well, and i’m so grateful for the person you’ve helped shape me into. you’re truly everything i’ve ever wanted and more. i’ll cherish every piece of you that you give me with my whole being, and i promise to never let it go. my love for you is unconditional, and i’ll trace every ridge, scar, or imperfection in your body with nothing but adoration because it’s all perfect in my eyes.

i’ll save the rest of my sentiments for when i can say it out loud, okay? save you some reading. for now, remember that i love you with everything i have. happy valentine’s day, my love, my sweet, my peach.

-your forever only, jaehyun ♡’

his words are so beautiful, and you have to get a paper towel to hold to the corners of your eyes to stop the tears from messing up your makeup. he’s always so shy about things like this, getting flushed in the cheeks and ears at even the most simple words of affirmation. you know he’s a romantic at heart, but it still blows your mind every time you see him take a pen to help convey how he feels. he always lets his true feelings out when he has pen and paper, and it makes you cry without fail every single time. he really knows how to touch your heart, his words so sweet and loving.

you’re busy unboxing everything, a pair of sunglasses and a new bag in your hands, still letting his love letter sink in. you’re so stuck in your own world that you don’t even notice that jaehyun returned until his arms wrap around your stomach, his chest pressing into your back. his lips press against your temple, then your nape, and your eyes flutter shut as your body leans into his.

“happy valentine’s day.” he speaks softly, spinning you around in your barstool so you’re facing him.

your arms reach around his neck, pulling him closer so you can leave a sweet kiss on his lips. “thank you, baby.” you give him another one, “and happy birthday to you.”

he thanks you, pulling you flush to his body. you stay there, encased in his strong arms for what could be forever, you don’t know nor do you care, because it’s warm, safe, and comfortable. his head rests on top of yours, one hand gliding up and down the side of your body, the other on the back of your head. he’ll kiss your crown a few times, soaking in your scent, before pulling away.

your hands are intertwined, resting in your lap. “now that we’ve celebrated us, can it be your turn now?” you smile up at him, and his face is full of love.

his cheeks turn rosy, and he nods. you’re immediately up and out of your seat, shuffling your way into your bedroom where you pull out a birthday themed gift bag and box, followed by a valentine’s day basket. he opens them, overjoyed to see a photo album with a collective of polaroids from the past year, along with a new vinyl for his collection. the basket has a bunch of candies and small trinkets, along with a stuffed animal of the animal you’ve always said represents you. his smile reaches his ears as he looks through all his gifts, and a billion kisses are left all over your face as a thank you.

even more happiness fills his eyes when you take his cake out of the fridge, lighting the silly cartoon candles and singing to him. when you finish, he’s very thoughtful as he blows the candles out. you share it together, small enough to have in one sitting before putting all your new items away to finally head out for the day. he continues to treat you the entire time you guys are out, buying nearly everything you touch and complimenting you for even the littlest things. he has so much love to give to you, and it’s not even because of the holiday, or his birthday. he conveyed it to you many times throughout his letters, that he’s constantly thankful for you and your presence in his life, regardless of the date or who’s being celebrated more. the love continues to show even when you go back home, wrapping up the day, when there’s yet another display on the bed that wasn’t there before, which he lays you down on and continues to give you all the love he has.

˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖♡︎˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ ˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖♡︎˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖ ˖₊˚♡˚

perm taglist: @chenlezip @coquettejunnie

[heliosunny]

hear me out: lucky egg argenti 🌹

LUCKY EGG

Yandere!Argenti x Reader

For three days, the egg sat in your care—its crimson shell adorned with golden rose patterns, pulsing faintly with light. Then, on the third day, cracks splintered across its surface. A soft, triumphant hum filled the air, like the echo of a distant fanfare. With a final break, the shell shattered, light pouring from within. And from it, he emerged.

His long, red hair cascaded down his back, two strands framing his face as his vibrant green eyes locked onto yours. His armor gleamed under the light.

“I am Argenti, sworn to your service-”

Panic

Still damp from your bath, you did the only rational thing—shoved him out the door and slammed it shut.

You stood there, breathless, staring at the golden egg shards left behind. Did that really just happen? Of all the right moment, it hatched just now?

Shaking your head, you hurriedly got dressed. You needed answers—now.

Steeling yourself, you stepped outside.

There he was.

Kneeling right in front of your door.

“Ah, you have returned!” he said warmly, as if you hadn’t just kicked him out.

“I… What are you doing?” you finally managed.

Argenti placed a gauntleted hand over his heart, his expression sincere.

“Awaiting your orders, of course, my guiding star.”

You blinked. "Excuse me?"

He lifted his head slightly, his gaze nothing short of reverence. "I have waited for you. I have longed for you. And now that I am here, I shall devote myself to you for eternity."

You stared at him, feeling a strange mix of amusement and concern. You had heard rumors about these so-called "Lucky Eggs" but you never expected something like receiving a man from such egg.

"Uh... okay" you said, rubbing the back of your neck. "Why don’t we... start with breakfast?"

Argenti's expression brightened instantly, as if you had just granted him the greatest gift in the world. "To be nourished by your hands?" he mused, following you eagerly. "Truly, I am the most blessed of men."

At least he's polite.

In the kitchen, Argenti hovered behind you, watching your every move with rapt attention. You grabbed some eggs, bread, and a few simple ingredients, planning to make something easy.

"You are skilled in the art of cooking as well" he praised, his tone filled with admiration. "Of course you would be. There is nothing you do that is not touched by divinity."

You nearly dropped the pan. "It’s just breakfast."

"And yet, I am certain it will be the most exquisite meal I have ever tasted." His gaze softened as he watched you crack an egg into the pan. "You move with such grace… every action you take is mesmerizing."

Was he serious? It was as if he found even the way you scrambled eggs to be a masterpiece.

Once the food was ready, you set the plate in front of him, watching with mild curiosity as he took his first bite. The moment the flavors touched his tongue, his eyes widened in pure bliss.

"This—!" He swallowed, pressing a hand to his chest as if overwhelmed. "This is magnificent! A humble dish, yet crafted with such care—it surpasses the finest delicacies I could have imagined!" His gaze found yours once more, filled with endless adoration. "Everything you create is perfect."

So he’s the type to get emotional over food. At least he wasn’t complaining.

"You’re being dramatic" you muttered, taking a bite of your own food.

"I speak only the truth" he insisted. "You nourish both my body and my soul."

You felt warmth creeping up your face at the way he said that, but you quickly shook it off. "Alright, alright, just eat."

He obeyed, but with every bite, he continued murmuring praises—about the seasoning, the texture, the fact that you made it. It was almost exhausting, but at the same time… it was nice. He was enthusiastic, if nothing else.

As you finished eating, you leaned back in your chair, watching as he savored the last bite. He looked completely satisfied, his expression peaceful yet utterly devoted.

"If every day is to be like this" he said, voice softer now, "then I know I was born into paradise."

You decided the next step was to get Argenti registered. In this world, adventurers needed proper documentation before they could enter dungeons, farm for points, and trade for necessities. It was a simple process—just a bit of paperwork and an entrance test to gauge one’s abilities.

Argenti followed you eagerly, his eyes full of wonder as he took in the bustling city streets. Every now and then, he would stop to admire something—a flower stand, a well-crafted statue, even the way the wind rustled the leaves in the trees. You had to tug his sleeve a few times to keep him moving.

"You find joy in the smallest things" you remarked.

He turned to you, smiling as if you had said something profound. "Everything in this world is precious because it is your world."

There he goes again.

At the registration center, the process went smoothly. You filled out the basic forms for him—name, origin (which you had to vaguely put as "new arrival"), and intended role. He was assigned an evaluation test, a simple combat challenge to determine his ranking.

The moment Argenti stepped into the testing area, however, it became clear this wouldn’t be just a "simple" evaluation.

The instructors presented him with a standard practice weapon, but Argenti scoffed, clearly unimpressed. "I require a spear" he declared. "Only then will I truly demonstrate my strength."

They hesitated but eventually fetched him a training spear. The moment he took it in his grasp, his entire demeanor shifted.

The test began.

With a single, fluid movement, Argenti lunged at the target dummies. His strikes were elegant yet devastating. When they brought out higher-ranked opponents for a sparring match, he dismantled them effortlessly, countering every move.

The spectators were left speechless.

Of course, he’s overpowered.

The evaluation ended quickly. The instructors whispered among themselves before assigning him an exceptionally high ranking—far beyond what a newcomer should have.

That was when the real problem began.

Word spread fast, and soon, people started gathering—particularly the ladies.

Adventurers, merchants who had been passing by took notice of Argenti’s display. Whispers of admiration filled the air.

"Who is he?"

"He's so strong!"

"And handsome too! Look at that hair! That armor!"

Argenti, however, remained utterly oblivious to their attention.

When one particularly bold woman approached, twirling a strand of her hair flirtatiously, Argenti’s expression barely changed. She smiled sweetly, placing a delicate hand on his arm.

"You must be new here" she cooed. "If you ever need someone to show you around, I'd be delighted—"

Argenti immediately took a step back, his face unreadable. Then, with utter finality, he turned away from her and walked straight to you.

He knelt before you, grasping your hand in both of his. "My guiding star," he said, loud enough for everyone to hear, "I have completed my trial. Now, let us leave this place."

The murmurs in the crowd grew louder. People exchanged glances, some giggling, others looking envious.

You sighed, feeling their eyes on you. "You didn’t have to be that dramatic."

Argenti tilted his head, genuinely confused. "But it is simply the truth."

You decided not to argue. Instead, you grabbed his wrist and pulled him up. "Come on, let’s go buy you some supplies before the dungeon."

As you walked away, you felt several stares boring into your back. You knew exactly what they were thinking.

Just who is this person that Argenti is so devoted to?

And honestly? You weren’t sure you had the answer to that either.

The next morning, you and Argenti prepared for your first dungeon run together. You had already bought him proper armor and a real spear—one worthy of his overwhelming strength. As expected, he treated the weapon with great reverence, running his fingers over the polished shaft with something akin to admiration.

"It is a fine weapon" he mused, then turned his gaze to you, green eyes brimming with warmth. "But no blade nor spear shall ever compare to the honor of fighting by your side."

You sighed. "You’re going to get us killed one day if you keep saying embarrassing things mid-battle."

He chuckled, completely unfazed. "Then I shall die speaking the truth."

At the dungeon entrance, you were approached by another adventuring team. A well-balanced group—two warriors, a healer, and a mage, who seemed competent enough. Their leader, a young man with a confident grin, stepped forward.

"Hey, we saw your ranking from yesterday. You are new but insanely strong. Mind if we join forces? Bigger team means better survival rates, right?"

You exchanged a glance with Argenti. It was true that larger teams had better odds, and since this was Argenti’s first real dungeon run, it might be good to have backup.

"Fine" you said with a nod. "Let’s move quickly. I don’t like wasting time."

Argenti remained silent but stood close beside you. His posture was as composed as ever, but there was a certain stiffness to his frame—something almost... displeased. Still, he said nothing, merely following your lead as the group entered the dungeon.

From the very start, it was clear that you and Argenti were carrying the team. Your coordination was flawless—Argenti’s spear danced through the air, tearing through monsters, while you supported him with buffs. The other team members did their best, but there was no denying it: you and Argenti were on a completely different level.

The others were panting by the time you reached the second floor, but you and Argenti were barely breaking a sweat.

"Are you even human?" one of the warriors groaned, wiping sweat from his forehead.

Argenti tilted his head slightly, as if genuinely considering the question. "I am whatever my guiding star wishes me to be."

You shot him a look. "Stop saying weird things."

The warrior chuckled, assuming it was a joke, but the group's mage—a young woman named Elara—giggled softly and stepped closer to Argenti.

"You’re really impressive" she said, brushing her hair over her shoulder. "Have you trained since childhood?"

Argenti didn’t respond.

The dungeon crawl continued, and Elara kept finding excuses to stick close to him. She walked beside him, struck up conversation, and even went as far as to lightly grasp his arm when pretending to lose balance.

You noticed, of course. But you weren’t particularly bothered. Adventurers naturally gravitated toward the strong, and Argenti was both powerful and strikingly beautiful. It was only natural that someone would take an interest in him.

It doesn’t matter. As long as he stayed focused on the mission, you had no reason to intervene.

Argenti, however, had other thoughts.

Each time Elara got too close, his grip on his spear tightened. Whenever she spoke to him, his responses were curt, dismissive. His movements became slightly sharper, his strikes just a fraction more aggressive, as if trying to release some unseen frustration.

Then, when Elara attempted to press even closer, Argenti abruptly moved away, only to step directly behind you.

"My guiding star," he murmured, his voice a whisper against your ear. "Am I permitted to dispose of nuisances?"

You turned your head slightly, raising an eyebrow. "We don’t kill our allies."

He sighed, as if deeply inconvenienced. "A shame."

Before you could say anything else, Elara suddenly reached out again. "Argenti, I—"

Without even looking at her, Argenti smoothly took your hand and pulled you against his side.

"You seem to misunderstand, lady mage" he said, voice perfectly polite, yet as sharp as the tip of his spear. His grip on you was firm, "I have no need for distractions. My only purpose is to serve them."

Elara stiffened. The rest of her team awkwardly looked away. You could feel the tension radiating from Argenti’s frame, like a storm barely contained beneath his composed facade.

You sighed, squeezing his hand slightly in warning. "Enough. Let’s finish the dungeon."

Argenti didn’t argue. But as you continued forward, his fingers remained curled tightly around yours, as if daring anyone to challenge his claim.

After a long but successful dungeon run, your party finally stepped out into the cool night air. The scent of damp stone and moss lingered, but the fresh breeze was a welcome relief after hours in the depths.

"You two are absolute monsters in battle" the team leader laughed, stretching his arms. "We’ve gotta treat you to a meal! No way we’re letting this victory pass without celebration."

You hesitated for a moment, glancing at Argenti. He was still holding your hand from earlier, his grip unwavering even as you stood outside the dungeon.

You saw no harm in accepting. A free meal after a long day? You weren’t going to turn that down.

"Fine" you said with a shrug. "Just don’t pick a place too expensive."

Elara perked up immediately, clasping her hands together. "Oh! I know a great place! It’s got the best drinks and atmosphere in town!"

Argenti’s grip subtly tightened. You ignored it.

The restaurant was lively, filled with the chatter of adventurers, merchants, and travelers alike. Plates of steaming food covered the table, and the other party members eagerly dug in.

Argenti, however, barely touched his food. He sat beside you, his green eyes never straying too far from your form. He did, however, accept anything you placed on his plate—though you noticed he seemed to enjoy it more when you personally handed him a piece.

"Everything tastes better when it is from your hand" he murmured at one point.

You ignored the way your face heated slightly and focused on eating.

Elara, sitting across from Argenti, had been quiet for a while. Then, at some point during the meal, she subtly waved her fingers beneath the table.

A faint shimmer flickered in the air. A spell.

At first, you didn’t notice. But when Argenti suddenly stiffened beside you, his breathing growing uneven, you turned your head sharply.

"Argenti?"

His hand trembled slightly as he reached for his cup but failed to grasp it properly. His vision was unfocused, his usual sharpness dulled.

"I feel…" he exhaled heavily, his voice quieter than usual. "Weary…"

Elara’s lips curled slightly. "Oh my," she feigned concern. "He must’ve overexerted himself in battle today. Poor thing."

That was not exhaustion from battle.

Elara had done something.

Without hesitation, you reached for Argenti, steadying him as he leaned against you. His head rested against your shoulder, warm but unnaturally heavy.

"Let’s get out of here" you muttered.

Elara blinked. "Wait—so soon? The night’s just started!"

You ignored her, wrapping an arm around Argenti to support him. His entire body felt like dead weight, his breathing shallow but steady. He wasn’t in immediate danger, but whatever spell she had used had clearly taken a toll on him.

You weren’t about to leave him like this.

With some effort, you managed to get him up and out of the restaurant. The others barely reacted, assuming he had just had too much to drink.

Elara, however, was less than pleased.

She had expected him to turn his attention toward her, to weaken his ridiculous obsession with you. Instead, all she had done was exhaust him.

By the time you got him to the inn nearby and into your room, Argenti was barely conscious. His head lolled slightly, but he stubbornly clung to you, refusing to let go even as you tried to ease him onto the bed.

"You are…" he murmured, voice slurred, "the only light I see…"

"Yeah, yeah, I get it. Now get some rest."

You reached to pull his gauntlets off, making him more comfortable. But as you did, his hands suddenly shot up, grasping your wrists.

"You will not leave" he whispered. His grip, even in his weakened state, was firm. "Please stay..."

With a sigh, you sat on the edge of the bed. "Fine. But only until you fall asleep."

As you carefully unfastened Argenti’s armor, the weight of his exhaustion became more evident. His usual strength had been drained away, leaving him in an unfamiliar state of weakness. You worked efficiently, making sure he was comfortable as you finally laid him down on the bed.

But as soon as your hands left him, a strange sensation washed over you. Your body tingled, as if something deep inside you had been activated. A pull, an unseen force, began drawing your energy toward him, flowing into him like a tide shifting toward shore.

The connection from the egg, the unseen bond that tethered you and Argenti together, was responding to his weakened state. Without your permission, your energy surged forward, filling the void left in him.

A soft exhale left Argenti’s lips as the faintest color returned to his cheeks. His breathing steadied, and you could see the tension in his body ease slightly. He was getting better.

But you…

Your limbs suddenly felt heavy.

Your eyelids drooped, exhaustion overtaking you in waves.

The warmth of his body beneath your fingertips felt inviting, and before you could stop yourself, you slumped forward.

A quiet gasp left Argenti when your body pressed against his. Even in his weakened state, his arms instinctively wrapped around you, securing you against his chest.

You were too tired to resist.

The steady rise and fall of his breath lulled you further, and soon, everything faded into a peaceful sleep.

Argenti stirred slightly, his fingers twitching as his awareness slowly returned.

The first thing he registered was warmth.

The second was you.

Lying atop him, nestled against his chest, your body soft and warm in his arms. He could feel your energy intertwined with his, as if your very essence had poured into him to heal him.

His grip on you tightened ever so slightly.

Even now, you gave yourself to him.

Even unknowingly, your body, your soul—everything—gravitated toward him.

How beautiful.

His lips curled into a small, pleased smile.

Argenti carefully adjusted your position, lifting you with surprising gentleness despite the exhaustion that had once plagued him. You slept soundly, your body still recovering from the energy you had unknowingly given him.

He took a moment to admire you, his eyes tracing the peaceful expression on your face. Soft breaths, warm skin, the faintest scent of you lingering in the air—it was soothing, so intoxicatingly his.

But there was something that still needed to be taken care of.

With one last lingering touch, he pulled the blanket over you and silently left the room.

A few hours later. He returned. Not a single trace of fatigue lingered in his steps. His posture was as composed as ever, his armor pristine, not a single drop of blood marring his silver gauntlets.

He sat on the edge of the bed, watching you stir slightly.

When your eyes fluttered open, you blinked up at him sleepily.

"You’re back?" you murmured, your voice still drowsy.

He reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair from your face. "Of course" he said smoothly. "Did you sleep well?"

You nodded, stretching a little before sitting up. "Yeah. I think I needed that."

He smiled. There was no trace of the earlier spell’s effects on him. He looked as radiant and composed as always. You stretched again and stood up, rubbing the sleep from your eyes as you both prepared to return home.

The town square was bustling, as always.

But something caught your eye.

A missing poster.

Your steps slowed for a brief moment as you took in the sketch on the parchment.

Elara

She was gone.

Your brows furrowed slightly, but you didn’t dwell on it for long. You never liked her anyway. With a shrug, you kept walking, letting the poster fade into the background of the busy street.

Behind you, Argenti’s expression was unreadable.

But deep down, he was pleased.

You had seen the evidence of his work.

And yet, you chose to ignore it.

You were learning.

Good.

He intertwined his fingers with yours as you continued walking.

This life, the one where he stood by your side, where he belonged to you and you to him, was all he ever wanted.

And as long as you stayed his, he would make sure nothing, and no one, would ever get in the way.

[nerdygirlramblings]

Hear me out:

Romantic evening with our boys. Making pizza, watching a romantic movie, just cuddling all evening long.

Jonny, all the ever horny guy, starts and it ends with smut. Lots of smut but reader started her period without knowing. They're shocked and first but when reader starts crying, they quick to comfort her.

(I need comfort too. And I'm literally this close 🤏 to rip my uterus out my body)

Thank you for the ask, anon! I had to dig deep for this one because while I enjoy reading the spicy I don't usually write the spicy. I hope this is what you were looking for.

cw: bad accents, vaginal fingering, unprotected PIV, menstruation, rainbow kisses (iykyk)

Ever since you started dating the 141, Friday nights were date nights for you and whomever of your boys were home. Whichever soldier isn't out on a mission gets to pick the event, and if more than one of the boys is around, they each plan something for the group. Their thought was they are so often gone they want to woo you right when they're here.

But the Fridays you love best are when all of your boys are home because that's when you get to plan the date. Tonight happens to be one of those Fridays.

The boys are on base while you make preparations for tonight. You planned to finally use the pizza oven on John's grill. You spend the morning making dough, setting aside double portions for your soldiers and their appetites.

As the day wears on, you head to Sainsbury's for the rest of your ingredients. You get the supplies to make red sauce from scratch and a small jar of pesto for Kyle who sometimes likes to experiment. You know if he doesn't use it tonight, you'll simply make pesto pasta another time. A fresh block of soft mozzarella lands in the trolley. You know Johnny will enjoy happily shreds it for you when he gets home. A jar of olives, some green peppers, and a red onion from produce all go in next. Then you're off to find rashers, gammon, bangers, and pepperoni. You know at least one pizza will end up being more meat than anything else.

When you get back to the car park, you don't bother putting the bags in the boot. You lean over and drop them onto the floor of the passenger side as you slide behind the wheel. A quick stop at the florist for a small bouquet, and you're home again.

The house is tidy, but you freshen things up anyway. You need something to keep you busy as you wait for your men to come home. You set out some Yorkshire pudding and kilted soldiers as a pre-dinner snack, but not too much. You're cognizant of how quickly Johnny will stuff his face with whatever's nearby and not save room for supper. You pull down the large popcorn tubs and set aside the oil and kernels to make popcorn after dinner. You slide Love, Rosie into the Blu-Ray player and cue up the main title.

You have just enough time before your men come home to get yourself cleaned up. You'd showered in the morning, so you focus on fixing your hair and makeup. A pink and blue floral skater dress has been hanging the back of your wardrobe for weeks, and tonight's the perfect night to throw it on and show it off. As you're screwing the cap back into your lip gloss, you hear Simon's voice call out for you.

Light feet and a joyful heart carry you down the hall to the foyer. You step into Simon's open arms, cleaving yourself tightly to him. He's only just back from a mission that lasted almost a month. You kiss him softly, and he pulls away far too soon for your liking. If it were anyone else, you'd be embarrassed by the whine that escapes when he pulls back and rests his forehead against yours. Instead, he looks at you and says, "Missed you, luv."

You move from man to man greeting each in turn. From John, who's been back and forth between Hereford and bases in places he can't tell you about, to Johnny, who was on the first part of Simon's mission but came home when Simon was sent elsewhere, to Kyle, who's been behind a desk for the last few weeks as he recovers from nearly falling out of the helicopter. Each gets a hug and a kiss and a whispered welcome home.

You're sure when Kyle is better, Laswell will send them all out somewhere. As it is, you've heard John fielding her calls late in the evening when he tries to hide it from you. For now, you plan to simply savor having your men home.

"Go on, wash up," you chide, shooting them from the foyer to the cloakroom. "Meet me in the kitchen when you're done."

It only takes a few quick strides until you're in the room in question, making sure that all the toppings are ready, that the sauce is cool enough to use, and that each dough ball has its own pizza pan. Each of the men join you in the kitchen mere moments later.

You don't miss the gleam in Johnny's eye as he looks at the flour. He cuts a glance at Kyle, and you clear your throat, crossing your arms as menacingly as you can. "We will not be intentionally making a mess of my kitchen," you state, looking between Johnny and Kyle. "Are we clear sergeants?"

Shock flits across Johnny's face and he looks back at Kyle who simply shrugs. The two men glance at John who, like you, has crossed his arms in front of him and is ready to glare them into submission. "I'm waiting, boys," you remind them.

Kyle responds quickly. "No mess. We heard you'd, doll." To which John adds, "Aye, ma'am. Keeping the kitchen spick and span."

"Excellent," you say. Then you pass out aprons and tell your men, "I'd rather not scrub flower out of anyone's clothes, either, so put these on." There's a chorus of "Yes, ma'am." You can tell at a glance the only one happy about the apron is John, who's got his usual 'License to Kill Grill' apron on. However, the others don't fight you, and soon everyone's ready to make their meal.

You show them all how to turn the dough balls into flat crust and head out into the garden to turn the grill on. The pizza oven is set up according to the directions, and you want to ensure it's ready to go once all the pizzas are prepared.

When you come back into the kitchen, all four men have at least one crust ready, and Simon and Kyle are working on their seconds. You quickly put Johnny to work shredding the cheese into a large bowl and show everyone where the sauces are. Much to your delight, Kyle smiles widely at the jar of pesto on the counter. The cheese is ready once everyone has sauce on their dough, so everyone grabs a heaping handful. You point out where the other toppings are and let the boys design their dinners as you take your pizza out to the oven.

Each man brings you their pan when it's ready and they stand around chatting with you while the food cooks. You pull the first round of pizzas out and send John in to put everything out on plates and slice them. You put Kyle's and Simon's and Johnny's second pizzas in, then head into the kitchen to eat.

You slide into the open seat next to Simon and join the pleasant chatter. John pulls three tumblers and the bottle of Scotch Mrs. MacTavish sent at the holidays out of the cupboard. He pours two fingers for himself, Simon, and Johnny. Kyle pulls the top off a bottle of Carlsbad lager, pulling a long draught before setting it in front of him. Johnny places a glass of rose at your place.

Between bites of pizza, you fill the boys in on the gossip from work and hear some edited stories of Simon and Johnny's ops and John's base visits. Kyle chimes in with complaints about base staff.

You pop out to the grill for the second round of pizzas, bringing everyone but John their food. You and John both opted for one pizza and are both enjoying the meal and the company.

When everyone is full, Simon and Kyle pack up the unused toppings, John clears the table, and Johnny puts the large cast iron skillet on the hob. You stay in the kitchen with Johnny while the others head into the den. He pours a generous helping of oil in the pan and tosses the kernels on when it warms. It doesn't take long for the kernels to pop, and despite knowing what will happen, it still startles you.

Johnny chuckles at you, wrapping an arm around your waist. "Ah got ye," he says, nuzzling your neck. He reaches over, snags a kernel and holds it out. When you lean forward to take it from him, he pulls it back. "Uh-huh," he teased. "Close your eyes."

You obey, but instead of the warm, salty, buttery crunch of popcorn, Johnny's tongue invades your mouth. He swallows your moans, whispering, "Could a laid yerself on the table an' we would'a feasted, lass." He pulls away, an obscene sucking accompanying the motion. Your heart jackhammers in your chest. You're about to suggest skipping the movie when several voices call from the other room.

"Let's... let's, er, go join the others," you pant, quickly dumping the popcorn into tubs to carry in.

By the time you and Johnny make it to the den, Kyle and John are sprawled together on the sofa, and Simon's taking up the recliner. You and Johnny head to the loveseat, and he pulls you down into his lap.

Before the open credits finish, Johnny's nuzzling your neck and whispering more filth in your ear. "Ah cannae wait to fuck ye tonight, hen." "Gonna split ye open on mah cock 'til ye scream." "Yer cunt is the sweetest dessert. When can Ah have a taste?" The longer the film goes on, the wetter you get until you're squirming on Johnny's lap, hoping you aren't obvious to the others.

The heavy weight of Johnny's hand slips from your waist to your hips, and eventually, under your skirt. His fingers slip under the gusset of your panties and you gasp. "Shh," he coos. "Dinnae want to interrupt the film."

He slides one finger along your slit, teasing you before breaching your core. You groan low, and Johnny rumbles, "Yer so wet," into the skin beneath your ear. "Watch the movie, lass. Ye picked it special."

With one long finger in your pussy, Johnny's thumb presses hard on your clit, and you see stars. "Would rather," you pant, "focus on," another panted breath, "those talented fingers."

Johnny lightly bites down on your neck and shoves another finger into your pussy. You clamp down at the unexpected intrusion, and Johnny's thumb ruba little circles on your clit. Between the sucking on your neck, the fingers in your cunt, and the pressure on your clit, you climax quickly, biting your lip to keep from letting the rest of the room know what happened.

But when you glance at your other lovers, they're staring avariciously at you and where Johnny's hand disappears under your dress. Johnny shifts behind you, clearly turning to see the others. "Who wan's a taste?"

Kyle's off the sofa in a shot, kneeling on the floor next to Johnny. Johnny pulls his hand out from under your dress to press his slick-coated fingers into Kyle's waiting mouth. You glance down to watch and notice Johnny's fingers are covered in blood. You suck in a breath and grab his wrist. It hits you immediately what's happened.

"Johnny! Stop!" You look down and see Kyle's gaze land on the blood. He leans back and nearly falls down.

"Doll, wha'..." John and Simon are watching intently, and you want the ground to open under you.

You take a deep breath and cover your face with your hands. You can't bring yourself to look at any of them. "I think I got my period early." You spring off Johnny's lap and hurry down to your bedroom, trying not to cry. In your room, you strip out of your dress and see a small red spot on the seat of the skirt.

Before you can spiral into embarrassment, there's a knock behind you. You're standing stark naked, but there's no heat in his gaze when John looks at you. You bite your lip to stifle a cry, but the tears are welling up. "Aww, shh," John says. "'c'mere." He comes over to you and wraps his arms around your bare middle. "Dove, we're soldiers. We're not scared of a little blood." You don't think he realizes he's gently swaying you as he talks. It's soothing.

"But that's different, John," you whine. "This blood, this is dirty."

"Hush," he snaps. "Nothin' 'bout ya is dirty." He tucks your head under his chin and kisses your hair. "Ya think this makes us wan' ya any less?" He pulls back and taps your chin until you meet his solid blues. "Say the word an' all a' them'd be linin' up to fuck ya." He moans a little. "Can only imagine how good it would feel, yer cunt coated in somethin' even hotter than regular slick. Ya should hear Johnny out their praisin' yer pussy."

You feel heat rush up your neck and into your cheeks. "You really," you take a deep breath, "you don't think it's gross?"

The answer doesn't come from above you but from behind. "Nothin' you do is gross, luv," you hear Simon say. Now you know he's there, he isn't quiet about crossing the room. His large, calloused hands dwarf your hips when he pulls you tight against him. "I'd let ya ride my face for the pleasure of gettin' ya off, blood an' piss an' all."

It should disgust you, but you swoon a bit instead. You turn in his hands. "I can't believe you're okay with this."

"What's there not to be okay with?" Kyle's voice asks from the doorway. You look over Simon's shoulder and see him leaning against the jamb with smudge of blood on his lip.

"Kyle, what happened?" You know you sound panicked, but you can't reign it in. "You have..." You motion to your own mouth.

Kyle ducks his head and rubs his hand over the shorn back of his hair. "I, er, maybe still sucked your slick off Johnny's fingers." He catches your eye. "Any taste of you is worth it."

You're shocked at his admission. Before you can say anything, you hear Johnny's voice in the hallway. "Ye cannae start without me!" He barrels into the room and you notice a sheet of red on his lips.

"What?"

He flushes and admits, "Ah kissed Gaz ta see how ye tasted, since Ah couldnae taste from the source."

You're dumbfounded. Nothing in their demeanor tracks with what you've been told. When you were thirteen, Mum said your period was "a necessary evil." In school, the teachers spoke of biology and creating a space for new live, and while it wasn't disgusting, it wasn't appealing either. All your previous partners found other things to do with other friends when you had your period. But looking around at the faces of your lovers, all you can see is love and desire. There is no disgust, no revulsion, no recoiling.

"Dove?" John's voice breaks you from your reverie. He stands beside you and Simon still again, but now he'd discarded his shirt. The top button of his trousers is undone, and you could see his cloth-covered erection straining the zipper. You understand immediately what he's asking, and you dip your head once.

Arms scoop you up and deposit you in the bed. You're surprised by the scratchy feeling beneath you. You run your hand over it and realize it's a bath towel. A bark of laughter escapes you. "You boys pivoted quick, huh?"

John leans over you, growling in your ear. "We wan' ta enjoy ya. And even more, we wan' ya ta enjoy yerself." His hands ghost up and down your sides, the touch featherlight. "I'm gunna kiss ya now, dove."

"Okay," you reply breathlessly. John's kiss is possessive, tongue sweeping into your mouth to claim you as one beefy hand strokes over your curves. His lips start against yours and slowly drift to your neck, your collarbone, your sternum, your stomach, and finally right above your bush. He looks up and meets your gaze, holding it as he dips further down to like a stripe up your slit.

When he pulls back, you see the bright burst of red on the top of his tongue. Then he plants his face in your cunt, tonguing your hole and sucking on your clit. You start thrashing only to feel the bed dip at your hip. Simon and his big hands are back, one heavy on your hip to keep your bucking down, the other running softly along John's head as he slurps obscenely at your sopping, bloody pussy.

John's pursuit of your pleasure is relentless. There is no edging tonight, no long drawn-out teasing. He is a Captain through and through, and tonight's mission is your orgasm. Before long your muscles clench, and the tension in your core snaps. You're twitching on the bed, breathing slowly to bring your heart rate down, when you look down to see John's beard covered in a milky red mixture of blood and cum.

He rubs a hand down his beard, collecting some of the mixture, then holds his hand to Simon. With his eyes holding yours, Simon leans over and licks the mess on John's hand before Johnny shoves him back to get another, more potent taste of you.

You're so distracted by Simon and Johnny fighting over the remains of your taste on John's skin, John has moved nearer to your hip, and Kyle's slotted himself into the space between your thighs. His long, lithe fingers smooth themselves across your thighs, hips, and stomach. "Can I?" he whispers.

Despite the other men sitting at your hip, you respond with a whispered, "Yes."

Kyle pushes himself to the hilt in one fell swoop. He doesn't hold back how he feels. "Fuck, doll, didn't know you could feel better," he grinds out. He waits a moment for you to adjust until he, like John, chases your pleasure. Each of Kyle's thrust is a long slow retreat before slamming home. He has one hand resting on your mons, thumb just lightly over your overstimulated clit. Every time his hips slam home, Kyle puts a lot more pressure against your clit. Soon he loses his rhythm, thrusts becoming erratic, fingers pulsing against your clit. You climax as he does, and when he pulls out you aren't sure if the liquid that follows us blood or cum, and if the latter, whose.

He flops beside you and throws an arm over his face as you disassociate. You hear Johnny whine and Kyle chuckle, and when you look over, Johnny's on his knees, Kyle's cock in his mouth. There's a lurid ring of red at Kyle's base that Johnny's spit makes messier.

Your eyes slip closed, and you feel the bed continue moving under you. Glancing on your other side you see Simon on his knees, John slamming into him. You catch Simon's eye and shift on the bed to kiss him. John pauses his movements enough to keep Simon from accidentally collapsing on you. After a moment, John grunts. You know he can't keep holding back, so you slide away from Simon to let John continue. Several thrusts later and John's sweaty form is draped against Simon's back.

You hear Kyle's choked moan and know he's close. Johnny has one arm perpendicular to Kyle's hips, pinning him in place while his other is below the edge of the bed. You're sure he's stripping his cock to match his mouth's movements on Kyle. When Kyle cums, Johnny swallows everything down, only a drop beading on his lip. He sees you looking, and instead of licking it away, he leans over to let you lick it off. When you sweep your tongue into his mouth, searching out the taste of him under the flood of Kyle, Johnny slips his cock into your warm, wet cunt. He thrusts half a dozen times before cumming, shouting your name. He's careful not to drop his weight on you, instead falling into the space next to you and tucking you against his larger frame.

You know you need to clean yourself up, especially if you don't want too much blood on the towels or sheets, but you're too blissed out to worry.

Date nights with all your boys are the ones you like best.