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[yaekiss]

𝑶𝒏𝒆 𝑴𝒐𝒓𝒆?

꩜ Room Content: GN! Dom! Reader x Male! Sub! Sydney the Faithful, no gendered terms for reader, no mention of reader's anatomy, prostate milking (Sydney receiving), fingering and use of sex toy (Sydney receiving), lmk if I missed out anything ! ꩜ A/N: def tried making this smut fic a lot more lovely-dovey than my usual ones as per the donator's req! hopefully it doesn't come across as too cringy/cheesy >< !! and thank you to the donator for being so niceys and understanding <33 once again, "800-1500 words" qi says. harharhar (2.5k words orz...) ANYWAYS hope you like the fic and thank you so much for donating !!!!!!! ꩜ This was written as part of my Care for a Fic fundraising event for Gaza! If you would to request a fic of your own, do check out the linked event post above ^^

Sydney supposes that there are stranger things than working in a sex toy shop (that's owned by your parent) with your partner. However, these things aren't really coming to mind when there's a patron who's definitely oversharing about their Friday night plans while he's trying to check out their items at the cash register. 

“I've read rave reviews about this model online from people who've bought it before. I can't wait to try it out and y'know, see how many it can wring outta me,” they continue to ramble on cheerily as Sydney tries to key in another product code manually for the umpteenth time today. (Curse you broken barcode scanner.)

“Maybe I'd even beat my personal best of-” The grating sound of the receipt printer working cuts the patron off. 

“Oh oops, my bad, feel free to forget everything I said!” The patron quips with a hearty laugh. “I really do overshare too much sometimes. Thanks for not cutting me off, huh. And for ringing me up.”

Whistling as they leave, the patron finally heads out of the shop, leaving a poor Sydney to stew in silence alone with everything he's heard for the past few minutes.

Unfortunately for him, Sydney does more than stew in silence for the rest of his shift. He finds himself staring off into space while daydreaming about certain activities more often than not, causing the diligent blond you know to make some rather uncharacteristic fumbles. Namely, bumping into your back whenever he follows behind you into the inventory room to restock merchandise. Or accidentally mistyping product codes repeatedly at the cash register.

Concerned about your lover's distracted state today, you pull him into the privacy of the inventory room when the both of you go for a quick break.

“You alright out there? You seem pretty out of it today Syd,” you start off, voice tinged with worry.

“Huh?” Sydney tilts his head before his brain catches up and he processes your question. 

“If you're tired, I could cover for you today while you rest up,” you offer.

You really are too sweet, he thinks. Worried that he might be tired when, in actual fact, he's been too busy thinking about you wringing out orgasm after orgasm from him until he's milked within an inch of his life. 

Heat rushes to his face when he realises that he should probably confess the truth to you in order to reassure you that nothing's wrong. Sucking in a deep breath, he starts rattling off the whole story a mile a minute, eyes trained anywhere except on you.

“...So that's why I've been so distracted and it's because all I can think about is you. Or your hands on me. Or your fingers in me! Whichever works! Ah I've said too much!” 

The silence that drags on after his near incoherent rambling is unbearable. When he finally hazards a glance back up at you to gauge your reaction, he certainly didn't expect you to look this interested.

“Let's ask if Sirris will let me stay over in your room tonight.” 

The remainder of the shift passes by in a blur with the prospect of what's about to happen later on. When the both of you clamber into the back seat of Sirris' car after closing up shop, you politely broach the topic of a sleepover with Sydney. And when they agree, you feel Sydney reach over and give your hand a light squeeze, a shy grin on his face.

“Why don't you shower first and get ready while I prepare?” Shooting him a reassuring look, he kisses you on the cheek before heading off to the bathroom. 

After getting everything ready and establishing a safeword, you instruct your lover to lie on the bed.

“Let me know if anything gets uncomfortable, yeah?” Reaching over to his bedside table, he hears you open a container of lube. Sydney waits with bated breath as you spread the thick substance around on your fingers, simultaneously warming it up. Once you've made sure that the lube isn't too cold, you also apply a generous amount to his entrance.

“Relax for me Syd.” He nods, inhaling before exhaling slowly. Your other clean hand goes to hold his as you massage the surrounding area for a bit. Eyes trained on his expression to monitor for any discomfort, you gingerly breach past his rim with a singular finger. Carefully, you slip more of your finger in, occasionally wiggling it and prodding around to loosen him up more. Each little movement causes Sydney to suck in a short breath, his gaze peering down at where you’ve entered him. Before long, you’re knuckle deep in him.

“Feels kind of strange,” he murmurs to you after you paused to let him adjust to the sensation, “but you can keep going.”

Your second finger enters without too much trouble and once more, you take it slow. After it's fully in, you start with some scissoring motions with both your fingers. This time, you get a bigger reaction out of him. You’re rewarded with the cutest breathy gasps and pants, and when you look back up at him, Sydney’s pupils are dilated whilst he sports a lovely light blush on the apples of his cheek. It’s a good look on him, one you’re keen to see unravel even more as the night progresses.

Belatedly, a thought occurs to him as it rises through the growing pleasing buzz in his brain, He dazedly realises that you’re probing around for something, the pads of your fingers dragging and tracing along his walls. It’s at that second, it hits him, in every sense of the phrase. Something akin to electricity shoots straight through him when your fingers find his prostate. Sydney gasps and jolts beneath you, eyes flying open at the foreign feeling, and that's when he notes how your eyes light up with a devious glint.

Wasting no time, you get to work, honing in on that spot. Immediately, you have your lover’s back arching off the bed as you rub and bully his prostate. Pitchy keening and moaning fills the room as you watch him begin to fall apart on your fingers. 

“Feeling good?”

“U-Uh huh…!” He nods dumbly, words suddenly starting to become too hard to string together.

The filthy squelching noises have him flushing all the way to the tips of his ears. When he squeezes down on your fingers, it's like everything feels too full, too good, too sinful. In the far back end of Sydney's brain, where he hasn't yet lost himself to the throes of pleasure, he realises that he's been grinding down on your fingers, chasing his own high mindlessly. For him to already be reduced to such a state this early on, he wonders how fast it'd take for you to completely ruin him tonight.

He feels the heat building up in him at the thought of placing himself wholly in your hands. Yours to wreck, yours to love. Only you could see this side of him. Sydney's pulse thunders in his ears, with every strategic movement of your fingers threatening to make him spill over at any moment now.

You know your lover well enough to spot the telltale signs that he's going to cum soon. The jagged, raspy groans, eyes rolling back before shutting tight, soft pants of please, please, please. Picking up the pace, you alternate between hitting his prostate dead on and rubbing circles into it. And when Sydney's whole body goes taut, his cock bobbing as white splatters onto his belly, a long, drawn-out moan ripped from his throat, you know you're done with your first round.

You’re gracious enough to let him recover for a bit, pulling your fingers out briefly to reapply another glob of lube onto them. During this downtime, Sydney manages to sluggishly peel open his eyes to peer up at you. Sweat causes his hair to stick to his forehead, but it doesn’t stop you from shifting over and leaning down to press a chaste kiss onto his flushed skin.

“You still with me?” Your clean hand goes to pet the crown of his head. He swears that if he could purr right now, he would.

“Yeah,” he says between languid lazy blinks, “I’m good. Thank you.”

With this confirmation, your two fingers return inside, drawing a breathy gasp from him at the sensation of being filled again. Additionally, you gradually try to fit one more finger in him to stretch him out even more, bringing the number up to three. Once you’ve made sure that he’s adjusted to the extra digit, you instantly resume the brutal pace you had earlier. Still sensitive from before, your dear blond blubbers and pleads for mercy, his head thrown back as he’s plunged back into pure ecstasy again without warning. 

“C'mon, you can give me another one Syd,” you coo out sweetly. The smile on your face is gentle. However, your ministrations are anything but. 

“Ungh! Ah, ah-!” You give him no respite from the growing pressure in him, working him just the way he likes. Always so attentive, eyes constantly watching all of him, learning what things makes him lose his mind. His thighs tense and he clenches tight around your fingers, losing himself to the euphoria clouding his mind.

He's shaking as another orgasm racks through him, eyes rolling into the back of his skull at the onslaught of pleasure. You're ruthless, he thinks, and that's exactly what he wanted.

Heavy panting fills the room as your dear Sydney tries to catch his breath but you don't give him a chance to. You pull your fingers out of him, eliciting a pitchy whine at the sudden loss, before it's quickly replaced by something else prodding at his rim.

Blearily, he looks down and sees that it's the toy that the patron had bought earlier, the exact brand and model they were rambling about. Turns out you swiped it from the inventory room while the both of you were closing up the shop. (“I'll just say we were testing out the shop's products. See if it was good enough to be stocked on the shelves,” you explain to Sydney the next morning.)

Slowly, you ease the toy into his hole after you applied a good amount of lube to it. It's just slightly thicker than the three fingers you had in him earlier, but the stretch doesn't hurt judging by how he's already subconsciously trying to fuck himself on it.

My, such an impatient lover you have here on your hands. But you suppose that this simply makes it easier to give him just what he wants. 

You continue pushing the toy in and angle it directly at the spot that he's trying to hit. His fingers grasp at the sheets underneath him as it ventures deeper within him. Sydney feels it all, the slow drag of the ribbed shaft against his walls, your thumb rubbing circles where you hold him at his waist.

When the tip of it bumps up against his prostate and starts vibrating? Sydney swears he sees heaven.

The effect that the toy has on him is immediate. As soon as you switched on the vibration function, all the breath was punched out of his chest. And the best thing was: It wasn't even on the highest setting yet.

“Ack! Too muh- hnn -much! No more!” Tears prick the corners of his eyes as he begs pitifully.

“You know the word to say to get me to stop Syd,” you say cupping his cheek gingerly. All he does is lean into your touch, nuzzling into your hand as if all he wants to do is to melt into you.  He cracks his eyes open, gazing at you with nothing but trust and adoration.

“Want me to keep going?” Your voice is impossibly tender and Sydney's heart pounds at the intimacy and affection of it all.

“Keep goin’, hah! Please!” He hears you laugh at his pleas and he doesn’t think he’s heard anything else more beautiful.

With his heightened sensitivity from all the previous rounds, it's not long before he's squirming, his mind melting into goo as the familiar heat within him is growing yet again. Instinctively, one of his hands shoots out and goes to find your unoccupied one, lacing your fingers together.

“Kiss me, p-please, please, ah! Needddd you!” Sydney's unintelligible babbling mixed with the whirring noises of the toy in him. Unshed tears glitter on his lower lashline, beautiful strawberry blond hair splayed out around him like some sort of divine angelic halo. How could you not want him, not need him?

Diving in for a kiss, he meets you halfway, his arms going to wrap around you tight as your lips crash together. He can’t believe he’s so lucky to be able to be yours. After holding back for so long, you’ve managed to coax out this side of him, introducing him to things he’s never even dared to want for. Perhaps, you truly were some sort of angel. One that, by chance, crash-landed into his life. One that’s loving enough to promise themselves to him, one that he can’t help but promise himself to.

“Hng! Love you! Looove y-you!” He all but slurs as he quickly approaches his peak. Burying his face into the crook of your neck, a string of unrestrained moans and muffled “Thank you! Love you!”s escape from your lover, punctuated by sharp hitches of airy gasps. It doesn’t take too long before his body is drawn taut as a bowstring, tongue lolling out from his mouth as he tips over the edge. As he rides out his high, Sydney grasps onto you like a lifeline, like he needs you to breathe. 

Turning the toy off, you let Sydney lay back down onto the bed before removing it from him and setting it aside. You give him a once over before smothering his face in kisses.

“You did really well, Syd,” a quick kiss pressed to his lips, “You with me? How’re you feeling?”

The hazy fog in his brain clears a bit and allows him to answer, “Mmm… Tired.” Lazily, he sits up, leaning against the headboard of the bed. You nudge a bottle of water into his hands, one which he very gratefully takes.

He downs half of the water, then bumps against your shoulder lightly, “You drink some too. Are you also feeling alright?” Sydney’s hand laces with yours.

“I’ll be better after a shower,” chuckling, you point at the terribly messy state of him, “and I think you could use one too.” Pulling him off the bed, you lead him to the bathroom for the both of you to wash up. (You definitely did not laugh when you saw how wobbly Sydney was on his legs after all that.)

Once dried off and the both of you are tucked into his bed, cuddling without leaving any space between you two, you see Sydney’s eyes threatening to close.

“Go to sleep, Syd, g’night.”

“Good night beloved,” a yawn, “Do you think we could beat our personal best we set today?”

“What?” Sydney’s question snaps you out of your drowsiness and you open your mouth to ask him how many rounds exactly he wants to try going for next time but it’s too late. He’s already snoring lightly against your shoulder.

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If you'd like to request a fic of your own, do consider checking out my event post!

[ekybrini]

slipping through my fingers| JACK HUGHES

— ⟡ summary | in which y/n and Jake childhood best friends who've always had something there for each other. But once jack gets drafted everything changed for both of them.

— ⟡ warnings | none (that I know of)

— ⟡ word count | 17.8k (GUYS IM SORRY)

— ⟡ gabs note | hiii!!! im so excited to finally start writing again! I apologizer if this seems rushed. also this is EXTREMELY INACCURATE!!! please don't think this is literal, I don't know how some of these things work. also i apologize if this is cringe bc I CANNOT write romance for the life of me. I'm currently on spring break so I'll be trying to take advantage of being able to write a few things! if anyone wants to request or suggest anything don't hesitate to go into my inbox . i'll try to get to it and write it as soon as I can :) after spring break I may be a little inactive as i'm trying to lock in, in some of my classes before the semesters is over (ap econ and living earth are actually kicking my ass)

⟡ slipping through your fingers | jack hughes (jacks pov)

Part two

You've known Jack since you were kids. Backyard games of street hockey, summer nights spent on the lake, and watching him skate around with his brothers. you were always there. best friends through and through. 

The first time you met Jack, you were about 10 years old. You had just moved into the neighborhood and the first thing you noticed was the street hockey that was happening right outside of your house. The kids from the neighborhood were scattered in every direction, sticks raised, yelling at each other. The one who caught your attention right away was the kid with the wild hair, darting around the group with such speed that it was almost impossible to keep up. He made it look effortless. He, of course, was jack. 

You were lonely at first, standing awkwardly by the curb or watching the game through your bedroom window . Jack, always the curious one, had spotted you one day as you were sitting on the curb and skated over with a big grin.

"You gonna watch all day, or do you wanna join us?" he’d asked, not missing a beat, despite being out of breath. his eyes were full of that contagious energy.

You'd hesitated, feeling unsure. “I don’t know. I’m not really good at this... I’ve never really played before.”

"Come on! I’ll teach you," Jack insisted. "It’s easy, you just gotta push the puck this way, and then..." He demonstrated, sending the puck flying past you. "See? Just like that!"

It wasn’t perfect, but you tried. And Jack, always encouraging, cheered you on even as you missed the puck completely a few times. "Don’t worry. You’ll get it. It’s all about having fun."

From that moment on, you and Jack were inseparable. Summer after summer, it was the same routine. Jack, with his scruffy hair and infectious smile, would be the one to drag you out onto the street, even if you were just coming off a bad day at school or feeling a little down.

One of your favorite memories came when you were both about 12 years old. It was a hot, sticky summer afternoon. Jack, as usual, had the game already set up, calling the shots while the other neighborhood kids were pretending to be superstars in a game that felt far more like a chaotic free for all than a real match.

"You in or what?" Jack shouted, holding out a stick. “This game’s going nowhere without you.”

You rolled your eyes, already seeing the sweat dripping from his forehead, his shirt clinging to his back. "You know, I was just thinking about going inside and having a popsicle."

"Are you really gonna let me down like this?" Jack raised an eyebrow, grinning from ear to ear. “you promised you'd play after school." 

"Fine," you said with a laugh, grabbing the stick. "But this time, I’m definitely winning."

You didn't win, at least not that day, but you had so much fun trying. Jack was so fast, his little tricks and turns keeping you on your toes, but every time he made a move, you were there to give it your best shot. You kept pushing him, running after the puck until the sun dipped below the horizon, and both of you were covered in dirt and sweat, laughing until your stomachs hurt.

That night, you sat side by side on the dock by the lake, feet dangling in the cool water as you two ate ice cream bars. The night was quiet except for the distant croak of frogs. 

“You were so close to getting me,” Jack said between breaths, a playful edge to his voice. He tilted his head back to look at the sky. “You’ll get me next time. Just wait.”

You chuckled, watching him with a teasing smile. "Yeah, sure, Jack. Maybe when I’m 18 and you’ve forgotten how to skate."

Jack laughed loudly, nudging you with his elbow. “Not a chance. I’ll always be better. But hey, I can teach you some moves if you want.”

“Oh, I bet you would,” you said, rolling your eyes. “Teach me how to win, too?”

"Obviously," he said with a grin, though there was a genuine warmth in his eyes. “I’ll make you into a skating legend if that's what you want.”

You didn't know it then, but those summers spent with Jack would become some of the best memories of your life. Even when the seasons changed and the street hockey games moved indoors. Jack’s determination never left. You spent every Saturday watching him at the rink, your nose pressed against the cold glass as he glided across the ice, his stick flashing, eyes full of focus. He was good. Too good, in fact. And with every game, the crowd cheered louder with his dreams growing bigger.

⟡

By the time you and Jack hit your early teens, things start to feel different. It’s not obvious at first just a lingering glance here, a nervous laugh there. Jack’s still Jack competitive, loud, always pulling you into whatever chaos he’s creating. But sometimes, when his hand brushes against yours, or when he looks at you a second too long after you’ve made a joke, it feels like something is shifting beneath the surface. You notice it, even if you don’t understand it yet.

The way he seems to notice you more, how he’s always trying to catch your eye in a group conversation, how his voice drops just a little when he says your name. It’s subtle, and you try to ignore it. He’s your best friend, right? Nothing has changed between you two. You’re still the same, pulling pranks on each other, laughing at dumb things, challenging each other to stupid games on long summer afternoons.

But the moments keep building like when he reaches across the table to grab something and his fingers graze the back of your hand, leaving a warmth that lingers far longer than it should. Or when you catch him staring at you when you’re talking, and his expression shifts just a fraction of something unreadable there for a brief second before he masks it with a grin.

And then there are those times when the air feels too quiet. Like when you’re lying next to each other on the grass, watching the stars, and the silence stretches between you two in a way it never has before. It’s not comfortable anymore, this space. It’s heavy.

You’re 14 when you notice it for real. You’re both sitting on the dock, summer sun dipping low behind the trees, casting everything in a golden haze. Jack’s freshly showered from practice, hair still damp, the scent of soap and fresh air clinging to him. You’re half listening to him ramble on about a play he’s been trying to perfect, his words weaving in and out of the soft, distant hum of the lake’s waves against the dock.

But something in the air is different. It feels thicker. The kind of tension you get when you can’t tell whether the storm is coming, or if it’s already here and you’re just waiting for it to break. You can feel the weight of the evening sun on your skin, but your heart feels heavy, like it’s pounding against your ribs, a rhythm you’re trying to ignore.

“You’re not even listening,” he accuses, nudging you with his knee, and you startle, realizing you haven’t heard a word he’s said for the last few minutes.

“I’m listening,” you argue, even though you weren’t.

Jack raises an eyebrow, the smallest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “No, you’re not. You’ve been all quiet. What's up with you?”

You scoff, trying to brush it off. “Me? You’re the one who’s weird,” you tease, attempting to lighten the mood, but your words feel hollow, even to you.

He doesn’t laugh. Instead, he studies you, his expression more serious than usual. His gaze shifts from your face to your hands, and then back to your eyes like he’s trying to figure something out that you aren’t even aware of.

“Yeah, maybe.” He shrugs, leaning back on his elbows, staring out across the lake with a far-off look in his eyes. “Or maybe it’s just us.”

The words hang in the air heavy with meaning you don’t fully understand. You freeze trying to process what he’s said. It isn’t just the words, it's the way he said them. The tone in his voice is softer than usual almost uncertain. There’s something fragile in his eyes, like he’s letting a piece of himself slip past you hoping you’ll catch it, but not quite trusting you to. You don’t know how to respond.

You try to shake off the discomfort. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Jack glances at you, his lips quivering at the edges, but there’s a heaviness in his gaze now. “I don’t know,” he mutters. “Just growing up.” He pauses, his voice quieter now almost too soft for the space between you two. He looks at you then, really looks at you his eyes searching for something in yours like he’s asking a question that doesn’t have an easy answer. Something you’re not ready to answer not sure you even can.

You want to say something to reach out and close that space but you can’t find the words. Everything that’s been building between you two feels like it’s teetering on the edge of something unspoken. And the closer Jack gets to this new world he’s creating for himself this future that’s already starting to pull him away from you the more it feels like you’re both standing on the precipice of it.

You don’t have an answer, so you reach over and grab his hand. It’s instinctual, a reflex more than anything else. His fingers slide easily between yours, like they’ve always belonged there. It’s familiar, comforting even. But there’s something different in the way he holds your hand this time. He doesn’t let go immediately like he always does. He holds on for just a moment longer, and in that brief pause, the weight of it hits you.

His gaze drops to your joined hands, and you see a flicker in his eyes something unreadable, maybe even a little vulnerable before he looks back up at you. The quiet between you two stretches longer than it should, and you’re not sure if it’s because of the summer air, or because of the uncertainty that’s silently wrapping itself around both of you.

“I think we’ll figure it out,” you say softly, trying to anchor this moment, even though the ground beneath you feels like it’s shifting.

Jack’s smile is small, unsure. It’s not his usual confident grin, but it’s there. Barely, but it’s there. He doesn’t let go of your hand. Not yet. 

You don’t know what “figuring it out” means, or if you even can figure it out. All you know is that in this moment, with the sun setting behind the trees and the sound of water lapping against the dock beneath you, everything feels poised on the edge of something you don’t understand.

But you’re scared that the moment you try to reach for it, Jack might pull away.

⟡

It’s late, the fire has burned down to a few glowing embers, and the crickets are the only sound beside the occasional splash of water against the dock. You’re sitting with Jack, your legs hanging over the side, toes brushing the cool surface of the lake. The night is quiet, almost too quiet, and for the first time in a long time, there’s a distance between you that wasn’t there before.

Jack’s usually carefree, his humor quick, his energy contagious. But tonight, he’s different. He’s quieter, eyes lost somewhere beyond the horizon. You’ve known him long enough to know when something’s off.

"Jack, you okay?" you ask, not pushing, just asking.

"Do you ever feel like things are changing?" His voice is low, almost hesitant, and you turn to look at him, your heart skipping a beat.

You nod slowly, sensing that this conversation is heading somewhere you’ve both been avoiding for too long. "Yeah, I’ve been feeling it." You pause, meeting his eyes, and for the first time, you really see him. His face, the way his eyes linger on you, the way his lips part like he’s about to say something more. It’s all so familiar, and yet, everything feels new. "It’s been hard to ignore."

Jack exhales sharply, as if he’s been holding his breath. He leans back, letting his head rest against the wood of the dock, looking up at the stars above. "I’ve been trying to figure it out. For a while now. What’s going on between us."

You swallow, the weight of his words settling in your chest. Your voice is barely a whisper when you respond. "What do you mean?"

Jack doesn’t look at you right away, but you see his jaw tense, like he’s trying to gather his thoughts. Finally, he glances over at you, his gaze intense. "I think I’ve been avoiding it. The way things have felt. I’ve always known you meant a lot to me. But it’s more than that now. And I can’t keep pretending I don’t feel it."

Your heart races. This isn’t just a fleeting moment, this is him, telling you exactly what you’ve been feeling. Your stomach flips as the words finally hit you.

"I’ve been feeling it too," you admit, your voice steady but your pulse thundering in your ears. "It’s different now, Jack. And I can’t pretend it’s not."

There’s a long silence between you two as the words settle in the space around you. You both know it’s out there now the truth that neither of you could avoid forever. The air feels thick, charged with everything you’ve been holding back.

Jack’s gaze softens as he turns fully toward you. He reaches out, his hand brushing against yours. "I’ve tried not to think about it, but it’s impossible," he admits, his thumb tracing along the back of your hand. "I don’t know when it happened, but somewhere along the way, I stopped thinking of you as just my best friend. And now I don’t know how to go back."

You feel your breath catch in your throat. This is it. The thing you’ve both been dancing around for so long, the thing neither of you knew how to say. But now, here it is, raw and real.

"I don’t want to go back," you say, your voice soft but certain. "I’ve felt the same way, Jack. For a while now."

"You know, I keep thinking back to when we were kids," he says quietly, almost as if he’s talking to himself. "Back when things were simpler. We used to hang out, play hockey, talk about everything and nothing. I always thought that was enough."

You smile, remembering those simpler times. "It was enough. It still is."

Jack laughs under his breath, but there’s something different in it. "Yeah. But now... I don’t know. I can’t stop thinking about how things feel between us lately. And I don’t know how to handle it."

Your heart picks up a little pace, and you look at him, feeling a shift in the air between you two. It’s subtle, but it's there. His eyes are locked on you now, and the usual teasing glint is gone.

"I think I’ve known for a while," you admit, voice barely above a whisper. "That things have changed. That maybe… we’ve changed."

Jack’s gaze softens, and for a second, everything feels like it’s falling into place, like the puzzle pieces are finally lining up. "I’ve been thinking about it too," he says, his voice low. "And I don’t know if I’m ready for this to be weird between us. I don’t want it to be weird."

Your stomach flips at the vulnerability in his voice. "I don’t think it has to be. It doesn’t have to be weird, Jack."

He looks at you for a long moment, and you can tell he’s weighing his next words carefully. He reaches over, brushing a strand of hair from your face, and that simple touch feels like the universe’s nudge, reminding you that things have always been easy with him. There’s no pretending with Jack. There’s never been any pretending.

"I guess we’ve always been able to figure things out," Jack says, his voice steady now. "And maybe this is just… one of those times."

You nod, your chest tight as you try to put into words what you’ve been feeling for so long. But nothing really needs to be said. This moment, this quiet understanding between you two, is enough.

Jack leans in just a little, close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from him, but not enough to cross the final line. His gaze flickers between your eyes, lingering on your lips before returning to your eyes again, as if he’s waiting for something. The space between you both seems impossibly small, charged with everything that’s unsaid.

You can’t deny it anymore the way your heart races in your chest, the way your breath feels shallow, as if you’ve been holding it in all this time. This moment, this change between you, feels like it could either break everything or put it all back together.

His hand hovers just inches from yours, like he’s unsure whether to close the distance, like he’s waiting for you to decide. The air is thick with the weight of it. You’ve both danced around this for so long, carefully, quietly, but now it feels like everything is teetering on the edge. One move, one step, and it’ll change everything.

“You’re not nervous, are you?” Jack’s voice is almost a whisper, his usual teasing gone. There’s something softer in the way he says it, like he’s genuinely asking, genuinely uncertain for the first time.

You laugh quietly, but it doesn’t feel like the teasing kind of laugh you’re used to. It’s shaky, full of nerves. “No... Just a little confused, I guess. Not sure if this is all too much.”

Jack shifts closer, and his hand brushes against yours, the lightest touch that sends a jolt through you. It’s a simple gesture, but it speaks volumes. He doesn’t look away now, and neither do you. His breath is slow, steady, and in the stillness, you hear his heart beating in time with yours.

“I’m not sure either,” he admits, his voice low. “But I think I’ve known for a while… I don’t think we can keep pretending things are the same. I can’t. And I’m not sure what will happen next, but I know I don’t want to screw it up.”

You swallow, your own uncertainty mirrored in his eyes. Everything that’s been left unsaid finally hangs in the air between you two, heavy and undeniable. The fear of what could change, of what could be lost, and the quiet hope that maybe just maybe it could work.

"Jack…” You start to say something, anything, but the words stick in your throat. You want to say that you’ve been feeling it too, that you’re terrified of losing this, of messing it all up. But the weight of it all is too much. So instead, you just shake your head, a small smile tugging at your lips despite the uncertainty in your chest. “I don’t know what happens next either.”

You hold his gaze for a beat longer, everything inside you pulling toward him, wanting to close the space between you both. And with that final breath, that quiet understanding, you realize it doesn’t have to be perfect. It doesn’t have to be figured out right now.

You lean in the rest of the way, tilting your head slightly, and then Jack’s lips meet yours.

It’s nothing like you expected. It’s soft, hesitant at first, like you both are testing the waters. But it’s real. And for the first time in a long time, you feel like you’re finally on the same page. It’s not about the future or the fear of change it’s just about right now, and the way everything feels when it’s just the two of you.

When you pull away, there’s a breathless pause, but it’s not awkward. It’s not forced. It’s just you, and him, and everything that’s been building between you finally making sense.

Jack’s forehead rests gently against yours. His eyes are still closed, and there’s a quiet smile playing on his lips. “I think I could get used to this,” he says, voice low, almost like he’s speaking to himself.

You let out a soft laugh, the tension between you both easing, and for the first time, it feels like you don’t need to say anything more. You both know. It’s not perfect, it’s not figured out yet but it’s real, and maybe that’s enough for now.

⟡

It’s almost midnight when your phone buzzes on your nightstand. You’re half asleep, barely registering the sound until it buzzes again. You squint at the screen, the glow too harsh in the dark room. It’s a text from Jack. “are you up?” 

You rub your eyes and sit up the sleepiness fading as you type back. “yeah, what’s up? Are you okay?its midnight.” The dots appear and disappear. Then nothing. You frown, already knowing where this is going. “ want me to come over?” This time, the dots stay. “You don’t have too, just want to talk to you.”

You slip out of bed, grabbing a sweatshirt and slipping on your shoes without even thinking about it. Your house is quiet as you head out the back door and cut across the yard. Jack’s house is familiar, the kind of place you could walk to blindfolded. The back door is unlocked like it always is.

You find him on the couch, the TV on low, playing some old hockey highlights. His head is tipped back against the cushion but his eyes are open dark circles shadowing his face. He looks up when he hears you, his expression softening in a way that makes your heart ache a little.

“You didn’t have to come,” Jack says, sitting up.

“You knew I would,” you reply, kicking off your shoes and sitting down beside him. Your knee bumps against his. He’s in sweats and an old usa hockey hoodie, and his hair’s still damp from a shower. He looks tired.

Jack doesn’t say anything for a long time. His eyes stay on the screen, but you can tell he’s not really watching. The hum of the commentary blends into the background. You wait, not pushing you’ve always known how to give him space when he needs it.

“I can’t sleep,” he says finally, voice low. His knee bounces restlessly. “I keep thinking about the combine.”

You lean back against the couch, watching the screen as a highlight reel of some playoff game flickers by. “What about it?”

Jack sighs. “Everything. The tests. The interviews. The scouts. If I screw up, it’s going to be everywhere.” His hand runs through his hair, leaving it messy. “I mean, I’ve trained for this my whole life, right? But now that it’s actually here I don’t know.”

“You’re not going to screw up,” you say softly.

Jack lets out a hollow laugh. “Yeah? What if I do?”

You nudge his leg with your foot. “You won’t. But even if you did it wouldn’t change anything. Not with me.”

Jack’s eyes flick toward you, guarded but searching. He’s quiet for a beat. Then, so quietly you almost don’t catch it, “It’d change everything else.”

You shift toward him, turning so your knee presses more firmly against his. “Jack, you’ve worked your ass off for this. One bad day at the combine isn’t going to erase years of training and games and scouts already knowing you’re good enough.”

Jack’s jaw tightens, his eyes falling to his hands. His thumb rubs absently along the inside of his palm. “Yeah, but what if I’m not enough?”

You don’t hesitate. You reach over, lacing your fingers through his. His hand is warm, his skin rough from years of hockey sticks and gloves. He tenses for half a second, then relaxes into the touch.

“You’re enough,” you say, quiet but steady. “You’ve always been enough, Jack. Even if you didn’t have hockey.”

Jack’s eyes lift to meet yours, wide and a little raw. His thumb grazes the side of your hand, slow and deliberate.

“You really believe that?”

“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

Jack’s mouth curves into the smallest smile. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes, but it’s something. His gaze drops back to the screen, though his hand stays in yours, his thumb running over your knuckles.

For a while, neither of you speak. The silence isn’t uncomfortable it’s the kind of quiet that feels like home. Jack’s breathing evens out, his knee resting against yours. The highlights on the screen blur together.

“Stay?” Jack asks after a long moment. His voice is quiet, almost hesitant.

You squeeze his hand. “Yeah.”

Jack shifts, leaning back against the couch. You lean into him, letting your head rest against his shoulder. His hand stays tangled with yours, his thumb brushing back and forth along your knuckles in a steady rhythm. Slowly, the tension in his body eases.

“Thanks,” Jack murmurs. His head tips toward yours, his breath warm against your hair.

“You don’t have to thank me,” you say, eyes drifting shut. “Just remember this. When it gets hard, when the pressure’s too much, remember you don’t have to do it alone.”

Jack’s hand tightens around yours, his breath catching for half a second. Then he relaxes.

“I’ll remember,” he promises, voice low and sure.

You smile, your heart steady now as you let the sound of his breathing and the flicker of the TV lull you toward sleep. You know there’s still a long road ahead, the combine, the draft, Jack’s rookie year  but for now, this is enough.

It’s late afternoon when you find Jack on the ice, alone.

The rink is almost empty and quite the kind of quiet that makes the sound of skates cutting into the ice seem louder. Jack’s in a plain grey hoodie, a puck sliding back and forth between his stick blade as he moves through the neutral zone. His head is down, shoulders tense, and even from the stands, you can tell he’s overthinking it. His movements are sharp, almost mechanical like he’s trying too hard to be perfect.

You sit down on the bleachers, the cold from the rink seeping through your jeans. Jack’s been like this all week quiet, short answers, disappearing for extra hours at the rink. You didn’t have to ask why. The NHL Combine is in two weeks. The pressure’s been building, and Jack’s not the type to admit when it’s too much.

A sharp slap of the puck against the glass pulls you from your thoughts. Jack’s skating toward the blue line, his stick dragging behind him as he breathes heavily, a little unsteady. He circles back toward center ice, but his stride falters slightly just enough for you to notice.

“You’re overthinking it,” you call out, standing.

Jack glances up, his expression closed off but his eyes soften when he sees you. He coasts toward the boards, resting his forearms against the top. His breath comes out in sharp clouds of condensation.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” he says but there’s no bite to his words.

You shrug. “Figured you’d need moral support.”

Jack huffs a soft laugh but it doesn’t reach his eyes. His gaze drops to the ice. “Not really playing like someone who deserves it.”

You step closer, your hands resting on the edge of the boards. “Jack, you’re allowed to have a bad practice.”

Jack shakes his head. “Not now. Not this close.” His hands flex around his stick. “I can’t screw this up.”

“You won’t.”

Jack’s eyes flick toward you. There’s something guarded in his expression the same look he gets when he’s trying not to show how much it’s getting to him. His eyes are dark under the shadows of his helmet.

“You don’t know that,” he says quietly.

You swallow, searching for the right words. “Yeah, I do.”

Jack exhales sharply, his gaze drifting to the ice. He’s quiet for a long time before he speaks again, his voice low. “What if I’m not good enough?”

Your chest tightens at the vulnerability in his voice. He’s always been confident, cocky, even but this is different. This is the fear he doesn’t let other people see.

You rest your hand over his where it grips the top of the boards. His fingers twitch beneath yours, but he doesn’t pull away. “Jack” Your voice softens. “You’ve been working for this since you were a kid. One bad practice isn’t going to change the fact that you belong there.”

Jack’s mouth pulls into a thin line. His eyes stay locked on the ice.

“You know that, right?” you press.

Jack’s jaw tenses. He exhales through his nose and finally meets your eyes. “Yeah. I know.” But his voice is tight, like he’s still trying to convince himself.

You squeeze his hand lightly. “Come on. Take the helmet off. Let’s reset.”

Jack hesitates for a second before unbuckling his chin strap. His hair falls into messy waves as he pulls the helmet off, and you smile despite yourself.

“There’s the Jack I know,” you say softly.

Jack’s mouth tugs at the corner, the smallest hint of a smile breaking through the tension in his face. He sets the helmet down on the boards and rests his forehead against the glass, his eyes closed for a long moment. His breath fogs up the glass in front of him.

“Why are you so calm about this?” Jack murmurs.

You smile, even though he can’t see it. “Because I know you. And I know you’re going to be fine.”

Jack’s eyes open. He tilts his head toward you, his cheek pressed against the glass. His gaze lingers on you longer than it probably should. His expression softens, his mouth curving into something more familiar less guarded.

“You always know what to say,” Jack says quietly.

You shrug. “It’s part of the job description.”

Jack’s mouth tugs at the corner. He leans back from the glass, turning toward you. “And what job is that?”

“girlfriend” you say lightly, even though the words feel heavier than they should.

Jack’s gaze drops to your mouth for half a second before he catches himself. shaking his head slightly. “You’ve been overpaid.”

You laugh. “I don’t know. Pretty sure I’ve earned it.”

Jack’s hand slides from the boards, brushing against yours as he steps back onto the ice. The contact is brief a split second  but it’s enough to make your breath hitch.

He skates backward, his eyes never leaving yours. “Stay?”

You smile. “Always.”

Jack nods, his jaw unclenching slightly. His shoulders relax as he turns and skates toward the far side of the ice. He moves differently now, smoother, looser. It’s not perfect, but it’s him.

⟡

Jack’s in Buffalo for the Combine. He’d been gone for almost a week now, thrown into a blur of interviews, medical tests, and physical evaluations. You’d been following the coverage clips of him flashing across social media, a quick shot of him stepping into the arena or walking down a hallway with other top prospects. He looked calm on the surface, but you knew better.  The absence of him is starting to feel like a hollow ache beneath your ribs. You’ve talked to him every day, quick texts in the morning, rushed calls at night  but it’s not the same as having him there next to you. He’s exhausted you can tell even through the phone but he’s not the type to admit when it’s too much.

You’re half asleep when your phone buzzes on the nightstand. It takes you a second to realize what’s happening, the glow from the screen sharp against the dark. You blink, rubbing your eyes as you reach for it for the sixth time this week knowing it was a text from Jack “are you awake?”

You sit up, sleep slipping away as you type back. “yeah. What's wrong? it’s late.” The typing bubbles appear, then disappear. Then nothing. You frown, already feeling the tightness in your chest. “want me to call?” A pause. “I just need to hear your voice.” Jack replied. 

You hit the call button without even looking at his message. Jack answers on the second ring. “Hey,” you say softly. “Hey,” Jack’s voice is rough, low. He sounds tired.

“Did you just finish?”

“Yeah.” He exhales sharply. “Got back to my room like five minutes ago.”

“What happened?”

Jack lets out a humorless laugh. “Where do I start?” His voice is tight, and you picture the way he probably looks right now sprawled out on the hotel bed, arm draped over his eyes. “The bike test was brutal. My legs were shaking so bad I thought I was going to fall off.”

You wince. “That bad?”

“They crank up the resistance until you physically can’t pedal anymore,” Jack says. “I could barely stand afterward.” Your chest tightens. “Jack” he cuts you off. “And the VO2 max test?” Jack groans. “I thought I was gonna puke. I was seeing spots by the end.” You frown. “Did anyone else struggle that much?”

“Yeah, but I’m supposed to be better than that.” His voice sharpens. “I can’t afford to screw this up.”

“You didn’t,” you say quickly. “You weren’t there,” Jack says, his tone edged with something close to frustration. But then his breath catches, and his voice softens. “Sorry. I didn’t mean”

“It’s okay,” you interrupt gently. “What else happened?” Jack sighs. “Wingate test. They make you sprint all out on the bike for 30 seconds. My legs were already toast, so I tanked it.”

“Jack” you say once again, getting cut off “And the long jump?” He laughs under his breath, but there’s no humor in it. “I swear I’ve never jumped that short in my life.”

“Did Quinn do better?” you ask carefully. “Of course he did,” Jack mutters. “The scouts loved him.” Your heart aches at the sharpness in his tone. You know how much Jack admires Quinn, but that admiration is tangled up with the constant pressure to keep up.

“And then,” Jack’s voice lowers, frustration leaking through, “they threw me into interviews while I could barely breathe. One scout asked if I thought I deserved to go first overall.” Your mouth tightens. “Seriously?”

“Yeah. Another one asked if I think I’m better than Quinn.” You sit up straighter. “What the hell?” Jack mutters “I didn’t even know what to say,” His voice is low and tight. “I think I screwed it up.”

“You didn’t,” you say firmly. Jack doesn’t respond right away. You hear the rustling of sheets, the muffled sound of the TV in the background probably an old hockey game. “I don’t know,” Jack murmurs. “I need to be better.”

“Jack.” Your voice softens. “You’ve done enough. You’ve been working for this since you were a kid. You’re too hard on yourself” Jack’s quiet for a moment. Then, so soft you almost miss it “What if it’s not enough?” Your chest tightens. This is the fear he doesn’t let other people see.

“Hey,” you say softly. “Close your eyes.” Jack’s quiet for a second. “What?” 

“Just trust me.” 

A long breath. “Okay.”

“You’re on the ice,” you say. “Just you. The rink’s empty.” Jack’s breath steadies. “You’ve got the puck,” you continue. “Skating down center ice. No pressure, no scouts, no cameras. Just you.”Jack hums quietly, like he can almost see it.“You make the shot,” you say. “Bar down. Clean.” Jack exhales. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you say. “And you don’t even need to look, because you already know it’s in.”There’s a long stretch of quiet on the other end of the line. Then, so soft you almost miss it “I wish you were here.”

“I know,” you whisper, throat tightening. “Me too.” Jack sighs, and you hear the rustling of sheets as he shifts. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You’re not going to find out,” you say, trying to sound light, but it comes out more fragile than you mean it to. Jack’s quiet for a long time. You think he might have fallen asleep until you hear him murmur, “You’re the only thing keeping me sane right now.” You press the phone closer to your ear, even though it won’t bring him any closer. “You’ve got this,” you whisper. “You’re going to be fine.”

Jack breathes out, low and even. “Stay on the phone with me?”

“Yeah,” you say, curling into your pillow. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Jack’s quiet for a while after that, but you don’t hang up. You stay there, listening to the sound of his breathing as it evens out, until the line finally goes quiet and you know he’s asleep. You don’t hang up. Not yet.

⟡

Jack’s been quiet all morning. His usual easy smile is nowhere to be found, replaced by a tight line of tension in his jaw. He’s been bouncing his knee relentlessly, his leg jittering under the table during breakfast at the hotel. He barely touched his food, pushing scrambled eggs around his plate until Quinn took it away and told him to stop torturing it. Now, he’s sitting next to you on the edge of the bed, his head tipped back against the wall, his fingers tapping absently against his knee. The hotel room is bright from the mid-morning sun filtering through the sheer curtains, but it feels too quiet  too still  like the entire day is holding its breath.

Jack’s name has been everywhere since the Combine. Every hockey account, every sports network, every mock draft all saying the same thing. First overall. Franchise player. Generational talent. He should be used to it by now, but it feels different this time. Closer. Like the weight of it all is pressing down on his chest. And you feel it too, even from miles away. You saw it during the Combine  the way he tensed when people mentioned the draft, how he downplayed his scores and his interviews even when you knew he’d crushed them. Jack’s always been good at brushing things off, but this feels different. Bigger. Like it’s not just about hockey anymore. It’s about living up to something.

The draft isn’t until later tonight, but the weight of it is already pressing down. Jack’s been working toward this moment his whole life, the moment his name is called, the moment his future in the NHL becomes real and now that it’s finally here, it’s like he can’t figure out how to breathe through it.

You shift closer until your knee bumps his. “You’re thinking too hard.”

Jack’s eyes slide toward you, dark under the shadows of his lashes. He huffs out a breath. “How am I supposed to not think about it?” His voice is quiet, frayed at the edges.

You reach for his hand, your fingers slipping between his. He’s warm always is, but his hand is stiff, tense. “I don’t know. Maybe stop overthinking it.”

Jack lets out a shaky breath, his thumb brushing along your knuckles. His gaze drifts toward the window, but you can tell he’s not really seeing it. His mind is already at Rogers Arena, already running through every possible outcome. He’s been carrying the weight of this for months the expectations, the pressure, the comparisons to Quinn, to his dad and you know it’s only gotten heavier.

“Jack.” You squeeze his hand. He doesn’t look at you right away, but when he does, his eyes are wide, a little raw around the edges. You offer him a small smile. “You’ve got this.”

Jack’s mouth twitches like he wants to smile back, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “And what if I don’t?”

“You will.” You don’t hesitate, don’t even think about it. You just know. Jack’s been skating since before he could walk. He’s trained for this put in the work, put in the hours. He’s ready. Even if he can’t see it right now.

Jack’s gaze stays on you, his brow furrowing slightly. His hand tightens around yours. “I’m scared,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper.

You shift closer until your shoulder presses against his. “That’s normal.”

Jack’s eyes darken. “What if I’m not good enough?”

“You are.”

Jack swallows hard, his jaw working. He looks away, his throat bobbing as he tries to steady his breathing. You can feel the tension radiating off of him, the way his chest rises and falls too quickly. His thumb rubs absently against the back of your hand.

You lean into him, resting your head against his shoulder. “It’s going to be okay,” you say softly. “Even if you don’t go first. Even if it doesn’t go the way you expect  you’ll still have hockey. You’ll still have me.”

Jack’s breath stutters. He turns his head slightly, his cheek brushing against your hair. “You mean that?”

You lift your head and meet his gaze. “Of course I do.”

Jack’s hand slides from your hand to your knee, his fingers curling around it like he’s grounding himself there. His eyes search yours, and for a moment, it feels like the weight of the room shifts. The nerves are still there, the pressure, the uncertainty but some of the tension in his face softens. His eyes flick toward your mouth, then back to your eyes. He exhales slowly. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You’ll never have to find out,” you say, just as softly.

Jack’s mouth tugs at the corner. He leans in, pressing his forehead against yours. “Promise?”

You smile, your hand lifting to his jaw. “Promise.”

Jack lets out a shaky breath and closes his eyes for a moment, his hand tightening on your knee. The quiet settles around you both, not the heavy kind, not the tense kind  just quiet.

“Jack?” Quinn’s voice breaks the silence, followed by a knock at the door. “We’ve gotta go soon.”

Jack sighs. He lifts his head, his eyes lingering on you for a second longer before he pulls away. “Yeah, okay.”

Jack stands, adjusting his shirt and brushing his hands down his pants. His gaze flicks toward you, hesitant. “You’re coming with us, right?”

You stand too, straightening his collar. “Obviously.”

Jack’s mouth curves into something close to a real smile, small but genuine. He takes your hand again, linking your fingers as he leads you toward the door.

The car ride to Rogers Arena is quiet. Jack sits next to you in the backseat, his knee bouncing, his fingers tapping against his thigh. He’s wearing a fitted suit, his hair styled but still a little messy at the top. You can tell he’s trying not to overthink it, but the tension in his jaw gives him away.

Quinn and Luke sit in the back of the car, phone in their hand, scrolling through Twitter. The whole car feels charged, the anticipation building the closer you get to the arena. When you pull up, Jack hesitates for half a second before stepping out. His hand brushes against yours as you follow him out of the car.

Inside, the energy is palpable. The arena is packed with media, fans, scouts, the low hum of conversations mixing with the occasional burst of camera flashes. Jack tugs at the cuff of his jacket, his mouth pulling into a thin line. His eyes flick toward you.

You slip your hand into his, squeezing gently. “Deep breath,” you say.

Jack’s jaw relaxes slightly. He squeezes your hand back. His eyes linger on you for a beat before he nods. “Yeah. Okay.”

Quinn steps up behind him, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “You’ve got this”

Jack’s mouth twitches. He looks toward the draft stage, toward the rows of seats, the cameras, the scouts and then back at you. His hand tightens around yours.

“You’re with me, right?” Jack asks quietly.

You smile. “Always.”

Jack breathes out. And this time, when he looks toward the stage, the tension in his jaw fades just a little.

Jack’s heart is hammering. It’s too loud in here the buzz of conversation, the hum of the arena speakers, the occasional burst of laughter from a family. His suit jacket feels too tight across his shoulders, his tie choking him a little more with each second that passes. His name has been circling the draft floor for months, repeated on every broadcast and in every article first overall, franchise player, generational talent  but none of it feels real right now. It feels heavy. Like the weight of the entire league is resting on his chest, squeezing the air from his lungs.

He shifts in his seat, his hand resting against his thigh, and feels your fingers slip between his. His head turns toward you automatically. You’re sitting beside him, close enough that your knee is pressed against his. Your hand is steady, your thumb brushing lightly over his knuckles. He doesn’t realize how hard he’s gripping you until you adjust your hand slightly, your grip soft but certain.

“You’re okay,” you whisper, low enough that only he can hear. Jack breathes out shakily. “Am I?” You smile soft, sure. “Yeah. You are.”

Jack’s gaze drops to the floor, his thumb smoothing over the inside of your wrist. He can feel the pulse there, steady beneath his touch. His heart’s not steady. It’s racing. He doesn’t know if it’ll settle until this is over until he hears his name.

Quinn is watching him. He’s sitting straight in his chair, hands resting on his thighs, but his eyes are soft when they meet Jack’s. “You’ve got this,” Quinn says quietly. Jack’s mouth twitches. He starts to nod, but then Luke leans across from Quinn. 

“Yeah,” Luke adds, his grin lopsided, a little nervous but bright. “And if you don’t, you can always blame it on Quinn.”

Quinn rolls his eyes. 

Jack huffs a soft laugh, but it fades quickly. His gaze shifts toward the stage, where the Devils’ management team is already gathering. The nerves coil tighter in his chest. His hand tightens around yours.

“You’re with me, right?” Jack asks quietly. 

You don’t even hesitate. “Always.”

Jack’s eyes soften, some of the tension fading from his expression. He breathes out and shifts closer, his knee pressing into yours beneath the table. He doesn’t have time to say anything else before the commissioner steps up to the microphone.

Jack’s stomach drops. The noise in the arena swells as the camera swings toward the Devils’ table. The commissioner is still talking, but Jack barely hears it over the blood rushing in his ears. His legs feel locked beneath the table. His chest is tight.

“And with the first overall pick, the New Jersey Devils are proud to select from the US National Team Development Program… Jack Hughes.”

Your hand squeezes his.

Jack exhales. He stands on shaky legs as Quinn claps him on the back, Luke grinning wide as he jumps up to hug him. “Dude!” Luke laughs, his arms tight around Jack’s waist. Quinn pulls them both in, his head knocking against Jack’s shoulder. Jack’s laugh comes out a little breathless.

“Go get your jersey,” Quinn says, his voice thick with pride.

Jack’s hand is still locked with yours as he turns toward you. His expression is soft, his eyes dark and bright all at once. “You’re coming with me after this, right?”

You smile. “Try and stop me.”

Jack hesitates for half a second, then leans in. He kisses you quickly  just a press of his lips against your cheek  but it’s enough to make your breath hitch. His thumb brushes over your knuckles once more before he finally lets go and steps away.

Jack walks toward the stage, his heart still pounding but his legs moving steady beneath him. He can feel Quinn and Luke’s eyes on him, your smile burned into the back of his mind. He shakes hands with the commissioner, pulls on the Devils jersey, and lifts the hat onto his head. Cameras flash. The noise swells. His chest is tight again  but this time, it’s not nerves. It’s something else. Something warmer.

He looks back toward the floor, toward the row of seats where Quinn, Luke, and you are sitting. You’re still watching him. Your hand rests against your heart. Quinn’s arms are crossed, smiling like he knew this would happen all along. Luke is grinning wide, already pointing toward the Devils logo on Jack’s chest.

Jack breathes out. And this time, he smiles.

After the photos and the handshakes, Jack ushered toward the media pit. Questions are thrown at him from every angle about expectations, about his future with the Devils, about being a franchise player. He answers them as best as he can, his gaze flicking toward the crowd every so often, searching for you. When it’s over, the team staff directs him toward the tunnel, and he barely makes it a few steps before he hears someone yell his name.

“Jack!”

He turns just in time to see you barreling toward him, arms outstretched. Jack’s barely able to brace himself before you crash into his chest, wrapping your arms around his neck. His arms come up automatically, locking around your waist. You’re laughing and crying at the same time, your face buried in his shoulder. Jack breathes out, his chin resting on top of your head.

“You did it,” you whisper.

Jack’s arms tighten around you. “Couldn’t have done it without you.”

“You could’ve,” you mumble, pulling back enough to look at him. “But I’m glad you didn’t.”

Jack’s gaze drops to your mouth. His hands settle at your waist, his thumbs brushing lightly over the hem of your sweater. His chest is still pounding, but this feels steadier somehow. Grounding.

“Hey,” Quinn’s voice cuts in. Jack glances up to see Quinn and Luke standing nearby, Luke practically vibrating with excitement. Quinn’s got that proud but pretending to be casual look on his face.

Luke steps forward first, grinning. “Dude! First overall!” He throws his arms around Jack’s waist, nearly knocking him over. Jack laughs, ruffling Luke’s hair.

“Couldn’t have done it without you either,” Jack says.

Luke pulls back, his smile wide. Quinn rolls his eyes, but his smile doesn’t fade. “Congrats, Jack.” He steps in, pulling Jack into a one armed hug and clapping him on the back. “Knew you had it in you.”

Jack’s throat feels tight. He pulls back and looks between Quinn, Luke, and you. His family. His people. His hand finds yours again, his fingers threading through yours like it’s instinct. Your gaze softens, and Jack feels his heartbeat finally settle.

“Come on,” Quinn says, nodding toward the tunnel. “Let’s go celebrate.”

“Yeah,” Jack says. “Let’s go.”

⟡

It’s been a whirlwind since the draft. Jack signed his contract with the Devils two weeks ago, and now he’s leaving to New Jersey for rookie camp. Jack’s flight to New Jersey is early. Too early. You’re still wrapped in blankets on the couch when he stands in the doorway, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder. His Devils hat is pulled low over his eyes, casting a shadow across his face. His mouth pulls into a thin line as he looks at you, hesitation flickering in his eyes.

“I should get going,” Jack says quietly.

You push yourself up, rubbing the sleep from your eyes as you cross the room toward him. “Are you sure you have everything?”

Jack nods, but his gaze stays on the floor. His hand tightens around the strap of his bag. “Yeah.”

You hesitate for half a second before stepping closer. Your arms wrap around his waist, and Jack exhales sharply as he melts into you. His chin rests on top of your head, and his heartbeat thrums against your cheek.

“I’m gonna miss you,” you murmur.

Jack’s hand slides up your back. “It’s not like we’ve never done long distance before.”

“Yeah, but” You trail off, the words sticking in your throat. It feels different this time. You pull back, your hands lingering on the hem of his hoodie. “Just don’t forget about me when you’re a big NHL star.”

Jack’s mouth twitches. “That’s not gonna happen.”

“You don’t know that.”

Jack’s eyes soften. He leans down, brushing his nose against yours. “I do.”

You smile, even though your chest feels tight. Jack kisses you softly with a lingering brush of lips  and then pulls back too soon. His hand stays on your waist for an extra second before he steps away, his expression shifting into something steadier, more composed.

“Call me when you land?” you ask.

Jack’s mouth tugs at the corner. “Always.”

You walk him to the door, watching as he disappears down the driveway and into the early morning light. Your chest feels hollow by the time his car pulls away. The silence that follows is heavier than you expect.

You try to keep busy over the next week  spending time with friends, picking up extra shifts but it’s hard to ignore how quiet it feels without Jack around. He calls every night, though, and you fall into a familiar rhythm. Jack fills you in on the details of rookie camp, the fitness tests, the long practices, and the media. He tells you about the other guys, how Nico seems nice, how Bratt’s already chirping at him like they’ve known each other for years. He tells you how much faster the game feels, how much stronger the guys are. You can hear it in his voice, the strain beneath his usual confidence.

“Hard day?” you ask one night, curled up in bed with your phone pressed to your ear.

Jack sighs. “Yeah.”

“Wanna talk about it?” Jack’s quiet for a long moment. “I just don't know. I feel like I’m playing catch up. Like everyone’s two steps ahead.”

“You’ve barely been there for a few days, Jack.”

“I know,” Jack says. “But it’s not supposed to feel this hard.”

“You put too much pressure on yourself.” Jack huffs a soft laugh, but there’s no real humor in it. “It’s kinda hard not to.” You’re quiet for a beat. Then, “You’re not gonna figure it out overnight.”

“I know.”

“But you’ll figure it out. You always do.” Jack doesn’t say anything for a second. Then, quietly, “I hope you’re right.” You close your eyes. “I always am.” Jack’s breath crackles over the line. “Can I call you tomorrow?”

“You don’t have to ask.”

Jack’s quiet for another moment. “I love you and I miss you .”

Your heart clenches. “I miss and love you too.”

Jack sighs softly. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Jack.”

You keep the phone pressed to your ear until the line goes quiet.

Jack calls you after his full day of rookie camp, his voice low and tired through the phone. He sounds exhausted, more than you expected. You’re sitting on the floor of your bedroom, your knees pulled to your chest, the phone pressed to your ear. 

“Hey,” Jack says, his voice scratchy. “Hey,” you say softly. “How was it?” Jack exhales a sharp breath. “Brutal.”  

“What happened?”  

“Fitness testing.” Jack huffs a soft, humorless laugh. “Like the Combine but worse.”  You sit up a little straighter. “Worse?”  

“Longer. Harder.” Jack’s voice dips lower. “I thought I was ready for it, but I don’t know.” He sounds frustrated, and that’s what gets you. Jack rarely admits when something’s hard. 

“You’re gonna be fine,” you say quietly.  “I don’t know,” Jack says again. “It’s not just the testing. The practices everyone’s so fast. So strong. I’m trying to keep up, but it feels like I’m a step behind.”  

You can almost picture him  sprawled across his bed, running a hand through his hair the way he does when he’s stressed. Your chest tightens. “You’ve been there for what five days?”  

“ a week.”  

“A week” you repeat. “Jack, you need to give yourself some time.”  

“I don’t have time,” Jack says. His voice sharpens, the frustration cracking through. “This is the NHL. Everyone’s watching.” 

You know that’s true you’ve seen the articles, the highlight reels on social media. It’s a lot for anyone especially for Jack, who’s always carried the weight of expectation like it’s part of his DNA.  

“Hey,” you say softly. “You don’t have to figure everything out right away. This isn’t going to be easy it’s not supposed to be. But you wouldn’t be there if you couldn’t handle it.”  

Jack’s quiet for a long moment. Then, barely above a whisper: “I don’t know if I can.” You close your eyes, your heart tightening. “Jack.” 

“I’m serious,” Jack says. His voice cracks a little at the edges. “What if I’m not as good as everyone thinks I am?”  

“You are,” you say immediately. “Jack, you’ve been working toward this your whole life. You belong there.”  

“Do I?” 

“Yes,” you say. “And if you can’t believe that yet let me believe it for you.”  Jack doesn’t answer right away. His breath crackles over the line. “What would I do without you?”  You smile faintly, even though your chest aches. “You’d figure it out.”  

“Maybe,” Jack says. “But I’m glad I don’t have to.”  

Jack starts texting you more after that. Sometimes it’s a quick message in the morning on the ice or a random photo of his new locker with his nameplate above it. Sometimes it’s a rant about drills, or a chirp about one of the guys. Jesper seems to be his favorite target. 

Bratt tripped me in practice today. little rat  

What'd you do? you text back.  

chirped him about his hair  

You can’t help but smile. But there are harder messages too.  

Bag skate this morning. Thought I was going to pass out.  

Coach isn’t happy with me.  

Everyone’s so much stronger. 

You know Jack doesn’t say these things to anyone else. With the media, with his teammates he’s steady. Confident. But with you he lets the cracks show. And when he calls you late at night, his voice low and rough, you know that’s when he’s feeling it the most.  

One night, it’s past midnight when your phone buzzes on your nightstand. You’re half asleep, barely registering the sound until it buzzes again. You squint at the screen. Jack.  

“Hey,” you answer, your voice thick with sleep.  “Did I wake you?” Jack asks. “No,” you lie. “What’s wrong?”  

Jack sighs, and you can hear the tension in it. “Nothing.”  You wait. Jack’s quiet for so long you think maybe he’s about to hang up. Then he says, “I just needed to hear your voice.”  

You sit up, rubbing at your eyes. “Rough day?”  

Jack’s breath catches. “Yeah.” 

“What happened?”  

Jack’s quiet for another long moment. “Coach ripped into me.”  

You frown. “Why?”  

“Made a bad play during the scrimmage,” Jack says. “Got caught flat footed on the backcheck. Then I missed the net on a breakaway.” 

“That doesn’t sound like you.”  

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” Jack says. His voice drops lower, almost shaky. “I’m trying. It’s just everything’s so much faster than I expected. I feel like I’m drowning.”  

“You’re not,” you say quietly. “You’re adjusting.”  

Jack’s breath hitches. “What if I don’t?”  

“You will.”  

Jack doesn’t answer for a long time. You hear rustling on the other end of the line, like he’s lying down. “I miss you,” he says finally.  

Your chest tightens. “I miss you too.”  

Jack’s voice gets softer. “Will you stay on the phone with me? Just for a little while?”  

You slide down beneath the covers, resting your head against the pillow. “Of course.”  

Jack breathes out. “Thanks.”  

You don’t say anything after that. Jack’s breathing evens out eventually, and you think he’s starting to fall asleep when you hear him murmur, barely audible “Love you.”  

You don’t know if he’s even awake enough to remember saying it. But your heart thuds painfully against your ribs.  

“I love you too,” you whisper.

⟡

Jack’s first game in the NHL is at home, and the crowd is louder than he expected. He steps onto the ice at Prudential Center, the Devils logo bright under the lights. The noise is deafening, the kind of sound that hits you square in the chest  and for a second it’s hard to breathe. His legs feel shaky as he skates through warmups, the ice cutting beneath his skates with every push. The energy is electric, but it’s not enough to drown out the knot in his chest. He knows everyone’s watching him, the first overall pick, the franchise’s future. He tries not to think about it but it’s impossible to ignore the weight of it.

You’re watching from Michigan. The game’s on TV in your room, your laptop balanced on your knees. Jack looks smaller on the screen somehow swallowed up by the bright lights and the size of the arena. He’s wearing number 86, and it still feels surreal seeing it on an NHL jersey. He’s buzzing with nerves  you can tell by the way he’s gripping his stick too tightly during warmups. He’s always done that when he’s nervous.

Jack texts you after warmups while the Zamboni is still clearing the ice. “Starting on the second line. My hands are shaking.”

You smile, already typing back. “You’ve got this. Just play your game.”

Jack’s response comes quickly. “I feel like I’m going to throw up.”

“You won’t.” You pause before adding, “But maybe don’t sit next to Nico if you do.”

A minute passes before the dots appear again. “Not funny.”

“A little funny.”

Jack doesn’t respond, but the small, shaky smile he gives the camera when it passes by his bench tells you he saw it.

The game itself is rough. Jack looks fast, quick on his feet, but the Devils’ offense struggles to keep up. He gets knocked down hard in the first period, bouncing off the boards and coming up wincing. He pushes through it, but you can tell he’s frustrated the way he shakes his head after a shift, the way he skates to the bench with his head down. The Devils lose 4-1, and Jack finishes with a minus-two rating. His line gets hemmed in the defensive zone more than once, and even though it’s just one game, the postgame interviews are already talking about whether he can handle the league’s size and speed.

He calls you after the game, his voice flat. “That sucked.”

“You knew it wasn’t going to be easy,” you say softly.

“I didn’t think it would be this bad,” Jack mutters. He sighs, and you can hear the exhaustion in his voice. “I was minus-two. Do you know how bad that is?”

“Jack”

“Everyone’s already talking about it,” he cuts you off. His voice tightens, the frustration bubbling to the surface. “I can’t screw this up” He trails off, his breath shaky.

“You’re not screwing anything up,” you say firmly. “It’s one game.”

“It’s not just one game.” Jack exhales through his nose, and you can hear the tension in it. “This is what I’ve been working toward my whole life. And what if I’m not good enough?”

You close your eyes, pressing your forehead to your hand. “Jack. You are good enough. You belong here.”

Jack’s quiet for a moment. “Yeah,” he says eventually. But he doesn’t sound like he believes it.

The first few weeks are more of the same. Jack gets pushed around a lot, the physicality wearing on him. He’s getting hit hard, knocked off the puck more than he’s used to. He’s fast, but the guys he’s playing against are bigger, more experienced. He’s trying, you can see it but it’s not coming together the way he wants it to.

Your phone buzzes constantly after games. Jack’s name lights up the screen with texts “Minus-three. Fucking embarrassing.” “I can’t score.” “I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.”

You try to reassure him, but the losses are piling up. The Devils are 0-4-2 to start the season, and Jack’s still scoreless. The media’s already running with it  headlines about whether he was overhyped, if he’s too small for the league. Jack tries to brush it off, but you know it’s getting to him.

It’s late one night when he calls you, his voice quiet. “I don’t know how to fix this.” You sit up in bed, clutching the phone to your ear. “You will.” 

Jack doesn’t say anything for a while. “I just” He sighs. “I miss you.”

Your chest tightens. “I miss you too.”

Jack’s breath hitches. “I hate it here,” he says quietly.

Your eyes burn. “I know.”

“I don’t know how to do this without you.”

“You’re not doing this without me,” you whisper.

Jack’s quiet for a long time. His breathing is steady in your ear. Eventually, he says, “I just want to come home.”

You close your eyes, swallowing down the ache in your chest. “I know,” you say softly. “But you can’t.”

Jack doesn’t answer, but you know he’s still there. After a while, his breathing evens out, and you realize he’s fallen asleep on the line. You stay there for a while, the phone pressed to your ear, listening to his quiet breathing.

Jack finally scores his first goal two weeks into the season, a breakaway against Vancouver. Quinn’s on the ice when it happens, and you see the way Quinn hugs him against the glass after the puck crosses the line. Jack looks lighter for a moment, his smile big and bright, but it fades quickly after the game ends. The Devils still lost 5-2.

He calls you that night, and he sounds more tired than happy. “It doesn’t matter if we keep losing,” Jack mutters.

“Yes, it does,” you say. “Jack, you scored. That’s huge.”

Jack sighs. “Yeah.” He’s quiet for a second before adding, “Quinn said you screamed when it went in.”

You laugh. “Maybe.”

Jack’s breath softens. “I miss you.”

Your heart squeezes. “I miss you too.”

Jack’s quiet for a long time before he says, “I don’t know how long I can keep doing this.”

You don’t know how to answer that. So you don’t.

⟡

Jack’s rookie season should’ve been exciting. It should’ve been everything he’s worked for. Instead, it’s November, and the Devils are on a six-game losing streak. Jack’s gone nine games without a goal, and the media’s not holding back. Every headline is brutal. Every post game interview is worse. He’s not smiling as much anymore. He’s quiet when you call, sometimes too tired to even talk. And when you visit, it feels like he’s somewhere else entirely.

The last time you saw him in person was two weeks ago. You’d flown from Michigan to see him play in Newark the first time you’d been able to since the season started. Jack had barely looked at you when you met him outside the locker room. His face was tight, his eyes tired. He’d hugged you, but it was quick. Impersonal. And when you sat with his family during the game, you saw the tension in his shoulders, the way he carried himself on the ice like the weight of it all was pressing down too hard. He’d been the last one off the ice after the loss, his head down, his mouth pulled tight.

He called you that night late, when you were already back at the hotel and apologized. “I just I’m sorry I couldn’t see you more,” Jack had said, his voice low. He’d sounded exhausted. “I’m just tired.”

Now, it’s almost midnight again, and you’re staring at your phone, waiting for him to call. He hasn’t. You’ve texted twice with no answer. You know he’s probably at home by now, maybe asleep. Or maybe not. He’s started turning his phone off after games. Less noise, he’d said. Less pressure. But you don’t know if it’s helping.

It’s hard to know what to say when you do talk to him. When he tells you he’s doing fine, even though you can hear it in his voice that he isn’t. When he tells you, “I’ll figure it out,” even though you can see him unraveling.

The next morning, you call him before class. He answers on the third ring, his voice rough with sleep. “Hey,” he says.

“Hey,” you say softly. “You okay?”

Jack sighs. You can hear the sound of him rubbing a hand over his face. “Yeah. Just tired.”

“You’ve been saying that a lot.”

Jack’s quiet for a long time. “Yeah.”

You sit down on the edge of your bed, clutching the phone a little tighter. “Jack”

“I’m fine,” he says quickly. Too quickly.

“You’re not,” you say gently. “You don’t have to-”

“I said I’m fine,” Jack cuts in. His tone is sharper than you’ve ever heard it.

You go quiet. Jack exhales. “Sorry,” he mutters. “I just don't know.”

“It’s okay,” you say softly.

Jack doesn’t say anything for a while. You can hear his breathing over the line, steady but heavy. Finally, he speaks again, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know how to fix this.”

You swallow the lump in your throat. “You don’t have to fix it alone.”

Jack doesn’t answer. And after a while, the line goes quiet.

The next time you talk to Jack, it’s after another loss. This time to Toronto. Another night of him leaving the rink without a point. Another night of reporters asking him what’s wrong, why he isn’t producing.

“I’m trying,” Jack says, his voice tight. “I’m trying and it’s not, it's not working.”

“I know,” you say softly. “But it’s not your fault. It’s a team-”

“I don’t care if it’s a team thing,” Jack snaps. “I’m the first pick. I’m supposed to be the one fixing it.”

“Jack-”

“I have to be better.” His voice cracks. “I just I don’t know how.”

Your heart aches. You want to reach through the phone and pull him into you. Hold him until the tension melts away. But you can’t. You’re too far away. And Jack’s already starting to pull back.

“You’re not alone im with you,” you say quietly.

Jack doesn’t answer.

You hear him breathe out. Then the call ends.

The worst part is that you don’t know how to help him. Jack’s not letting you in the way he used to. And you can feel it the distance growing between you, like something fraying at the edges. You want to fix it. You want to be enough to hold him together.But Jack’s starting to slip through your fingers.

⟡

After a while, you notice that not only jack started to drift from you, but also your relationship with him. It starts with the little things.

The missed calls. The delayed replies. The way Jack’s voice sounds a little too thin over the phone, his laugh not quite reaching the places it usually does. He’s tired you can hear it even when he tries to hide it.

At first, you don’t think much of it. Jack’s schedule is brutal, and it’s not like he’s never missed a call before. But then it starts happening more often. You’ll text him after a game Proud of you, call me when you can? and it’ll sit there for hours. Sometimes until the next day. Or he’ll call you late, hours after he said he would, with a rushed apology and a tired “I’m sorry, babe. I just passed out after practice.”

You get it. You do.  He’s in the middle of his rookie season, grinding through the hardest stretch of hockey he’s ever played, and he’s under more pressure than he’ll ever admit. But that doesn’t make it sting any less when you see his name light up your phone after midnight and realize you’ve already given up hope of hearing from him that night. 

Or when you do pick up, and it’s not the Jack you’re used to hearing.

“Hey,” you say softly, curling up under the covers. “You okay?”

Jack’s voice is thin over the line. “Yeah. Just tired.”

He always says that. Just tired. Even when it sounds like more than that.

“You played well tonight,” you offer. “Had that sick pass in the second.”

Jack’s breath crackles faintly through the speaker. “Didn’t matter. We still lost.”

“It’s not on you.”

Jack hums. You can picture the way he’s probably lying there  head buried in the pillow, hand resting over his face, the line of his jaw tight. He’s always been hard on himself. But lately, it's gotten worse.

The games aren’t going well. The media’s been tearing into him —first overall pick and only four goals? The disappointment in the headlines is almost palpable. You’ve stopped reading the articles, but you know Jack hasn’t. He doesn’t talk about it, but you can tell from the way he’s quieter now. The way his texts have dwindled from paragraphs to one word answers. 

The last time you FaceTimed, Jack barely looked at you. He was lying in bed, hair damp from his post-game shower, and you could see the crease between his brows even when he wasn’t talking. You tried to make him smile made a dumb joke about how you’d start training to become the Devils' new enforcer but all you got was a faint chuckle and, “Sorry, I’m just-”

“Tired,” you’d finished for him, and Jack had sighed, rubbing his hand over his face.

It’s been like this for a while now. He’s slipping  or maybe you’re the one slipping away. You don’t know how to fix it when Jack’s over 600 miles away, and every conversation feels like trying to grasp sand in your hands the harder you try to hold on, the faster it slips through your fingers.  

You’re curled up in bed now, phone pressed to your ear as Jack’s voice filters through the speaker. 

“It was bad,” Jack says. His voice is quiet. Defeated. “I just I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

You sit up a little, pushing back the tight feeling in your chest. “Jack, it’s not you. The whole team’s struggling right now.”

“Yeah, but” He cuts himself off. You can hear the frustrated exhale on the other end. “I should be better. I was the first overall pick  I’m supposed to make a difference.”

“You are making a difference,” you say gently. “It’s your rookie year. No one expects you to carry the team.”

Jack’s silent for a beat too long. 

You squeeze your eyes shut. “Jack?”

“Yeah,” he says, but his voice sounds distant. “I know.”

You hesitate. “Do you, though?”

His breath hitches. “I just I don’t know. Feels like I’m trying, but nothing’s working. And people are starting to talk, you know? About how maybe I wasn’t ready, maybe I’m not”

“Jack,” you cut in. “Stop.”

He doesn’t respond.

“You’re not a mistake,” you say, because you know that’s what he’s thinking. “You deserve to be there. You worked your ass off for this.”

“I guess.”

“Not ‘I guess,’” you press. “Jack, you”

“I know,” he snaps, and the sharpness of it cuts through the space between you. You freeze, swallowing the knot in your throat. Jack exhales shakily. His voice softens. “Sorry. I’m just tired.”

You force a small smile even though he can’t see it. “You’re allowed to be tired.”

“Yeah,” Jack says, but it doesn’t sound like he believes it.

Another stretch of silence presses down between you. You wait for Jack to fill it, but he doesn’t.

“You want me to stay on the phone with you?” you ask quietly.

Jack’s quiet for a second. “No its okay”

“I’ll stay” 

“Okay.”

So you stay. Jack doesn’t say much after that. You can hear the rustle of his comforter as he shifts around, settling into bed. His breathing starts to even out. You stay awake longer than you probably should, listening to the soft sound of him breathing on the other end of the line, wondering how much longer you’ll be able to reach him like this.

Because lately, even when he’s right there, yet he feels so far away.

⟡

It’s been months of missed calls, delayed texts, and half-hearted conversations. Jack’s always tired. Or busy. Or distracted. And when you do talk, it’s like he’s only halfway there like some part of him is already pulling away. You’ve tried not to read into it, tried to convince yourself it’s just the pressure of his rookie season, that things will settle once he finds his rhythm. But deep down, you know better. It’s not just hockey. It’s him. It’s you. It’s the quiet space growing between you, the way it stretches wider with every unanswered text and every empty conversation.

So you book a flight to New Jersey because you need to know if this is still something you can save or if you lost him completely

DAY ONE  

The cab ride from the airport to Jack’s apartment is quiet. Too quiet. The city outside the window passes in a blur of gray and headlights, but you don’t really see it. Your phone sits heavy in your lap, the screen dark except for the faint reflection of the passing streetlights. You tap your thumb against the side of it like you're expecting a message that you know isn’t coming. Jack texted you earlier to confirm he’d be home when you arrived, but that was three hours ago. No follow-up. No “Can’t wait to see you.” No little heart emoji like he used to send.  

It’s not that he’s ignoring you  at least, not outright. He’s busy, you’ve told yourself a hundred times over the last few weeks. Rookie season is demanding. New city, new team, new pressure. He’s adjusting. You should understand that. And you do. You swear you do. But understanding it doesn’t make the silence feel any less heavy.  

When the cab pulls up in front of Jack’s building, you hesitate for a second before stepping out. You’re not sure why  it’s not like you’ve never been here before but the weight sitting low in your stomach makes it hard to breathe. The driver sets your bag on the curb, and you force yourself to pick it up, shoulders tensing under the weight of it as you walk toward the entrance.  

Jack opens the door when you knock. He’s in a plain Devils hoodie and sweatpants, his hair damp like he just showered. He smiles, but it’s thin, barely reaching his eyes. 

“Hey,” he says. His voice is soft, like he's already tired.  

You smile, forcing brightness into your voice. “Hey.”  

Jack leans down to kiss you, but it’s brief. Quick. Like he’s already pulling away before it starts. His hand finds the small of your back and guides you into the apartment, but it drops as soon as the door closes behind you.  

The apartment looks the same cleaner than you expected, probably because Ellen came to visit last week but it feels off. Like someone came through and rearranged all the furniture just enough to make you notice. Jack’s shoes are in a neat row by the door. There’s a half empty coffee mug sitting on the counter. His phone is face down on the couch.  

Jack sits down on the couch, leaving a noticeable gap beside him. You sit too, trying to close it, but he doesn’t shift toward you.  

“So,” you start, your voice too bright, too forced, “how was practice today?”  

“Fine.”  

Your stomach twists. “Just fine?”  

Jack shrugs, eyes fixed on the muted TV. “Yeah.”  

You watch him for a second, the sharp line of his jaw and the way his hand rests against his knee. Normally, he'd have his arm around you by now. Normally, you’d be tangled together and he’d be rambling about plays and drills and how Nico wouldn’t stop chirping him today.  

But he’s quiet. Detached.  

And you’re hyper aware of the space between you.  

Jack reaches for the remote and starts flipping through channels. His brows furrowed in concentration, but he’s not really watching anything. It’s like his body is here, but the rest of him is somewhere else.  

“Hungry?” he asks after a minute.  

“Yeah, I could eat.”  

“Cool.” He stands. “I’ll order something.”  

And that’s it. He disappears into the kitchen without asking what you want. A minute later, you hear the soft murmur of his voice on the phone.   

You sit there, your heart beating loud in your ears, and wonder why it feels like you’ve already lost him.  

Jack comes back a few minutes later and drops onto the couch, his knee brushing against yours for half a second before he shifts away.  

“Food should be here in, like, twenty minutes,” he says.  

You nod. “okay”  

More silence. The TV hums in the background, the flicker of light reflecting off Jack’s face. You glance at him, hoping he’ll look over at you, but his gaze stays fixed on the screen. His hand is resting between his knees, his fingers pulling at a loose thread in the fabric of his sweatpants.  

You clear your throat. “Did you, um talk to Quinn today he was asking me about you?”  

Jack’s mouth tightens. “Yeah.”  

“And?”  

“He’s good.”  

You wait for him to elaborate, but he doesn’t. The seconds stretch out between you, long and tense and uncomfortable.  

“Jack.” You lean toward him, lowering your voice. “What’s going on?” Jack’s jaw twitches. “Nothing.”  

“It doesn’t feel like nothing.”  

Jack sighs, running a hand through his hair. “It’s just been a long week.”  

You search his face, the dark circles under his eyes, the faint crease in his forehead and you know he’s not lying. But you also know he’s not telling you the whole truth.   

“You know you can talk to me, right?” you say, your voice soft.  

Jack’s gaze flickers toward you, and for a second, you see it  the familiar warmth, the quiet vulnerability you’ve always known how to reach. His eyes soften, and he looks like he might actually say something.  

But then the buzzer for the front door sounds, and the moment evaporates.  

Jack stands quickly. “That’s the food.”  

You watch him cross the room, feeling the distance stretch wider with every step.  

He comes back with a brown takeout bag, setting it on the coffee table before sitting down. He opens the bag and pulls out containers of food  sushi, not your favorite  and hands you a pair of chopsticks without looking at you. 

You stare down at the food. “Did you know what I wanted?”  

Jack hesitates. “I just ordered something quick.”  

Your chest tightens. Jack always knows what you want. He knows you like avocado rolls, not spicy tuna. He knows you like extra soy sauce on the side and that you don’t like wasabi. But tonight, it’s like he didn’t even think about it.  

You pick at the sushi, appetite gone. Jack eats quietly, his eyes back on the TV. The sound of the game commentator fills the air, too loud, pressing into your skull.  

After a few minutes, Jack stands and starts cleaning up. He takes your barely touched container and tosses it in the trash without a word.  

“I’m gonna shower,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck.  

“Oh. Okay.”  

Jack hesitates in the doorway. His eyes flick toward you, and for a second, you think he might come back, sit down, pull you into his arms, tell you he’s just tired and that everything is fine.  

But he doesn’t. He disappears down the hall, and a minute later, you hear the sound of the shower running.  

You sit there, hands clasped in your lap, listening to the water hit the tile. Your heart feels too big and too small at the same time, pressing against the walls of your chest.   

Jack’s phone buzzes on the table, and you glance at it. A text from Nico lights up the screen:  

Good skate today. 

 You stare at the message for a long time. 

The shower runs in the background, and you sit alone on the couch, feeling the emptiness stretch out around you.

DAY TWO

Jack sleeps with his back to you.  

It’s not the first time, but it feels different tonight. Final. His side of the bed feels miles away, the sheets cool and untouched where his body should be. You lie there for a long time, staring at the ceiling, listening to the sound of his breathing. It’s shallow, restless. Every few minutes, he shifts, the mattress dipping under his weight.  

You think about reaching for him, curling up into his side like you always do. Your hand twitches under the blanket, fingers itching to brush over his back, to anchor yourself to the steady rhythm of his breathing. But something stops you. Fear, maybe or just the quiet certainty that if you reach for him, he’ll pull away.  

So you stay still, the space between you cold and unforgiving.  

You wake up sometime in the middle of the night to find him half hanging off the edge of the bed, his face turned toward the wall. His arm is curled beneath his head, his breathing uneven. You watch the rise and fall of his back, the way his shoulders tense even in sleep. He’s not resting, not really.   

You swallow hard and sit up slightly, brushing your hair away from your face. For a second, you think about touching him, coaxing him back toward you. But you don’t. You can’t.   

In the morning, Jack wakes up first. You know this because you hear him moving around the apartment while you lie there, eyes closed, hoping he’ll come back to bed. He doesn’t.  

Instead, you hear the distant sound of water running in the bathroom, the clink of glass in the kitchen. The low hum of the TV. You press your face into the pillow and try to breathe through the tightness in your chest.  

When you finally get up, Jack’s sitting at the kitchen counter with a protein shake. He’s already dressed in workout gear Devils issued shorts and a long-sleeve shirt that fits snug around his arms. His hair is damp, curling slightly at the ends. He glances up when you enter the room.  

“Morning,” you say, your voice coming out softer than you meant.  

“Hey.”  

You sit across from him, pulling your knees up and wrapping your arms around them. Jack’s gaze flickers toward you briefly, then drops back down to his protein shake. He spins the cup slowly in his hands, condensation trailing down the side.  

You try to find his eyes. “Sleep okay?”  

Jack nods, distracted. He taps his thumb against the edge of the cup. “Yeah.”  

“You sure?”  

“Mmhmm.” His gaze darts toward the window.  

You glance at the clock on the microwave. “What time’s practice?”  

“Ten.”  

“You want to grab coffee after?”  

Jack hesitates. His shoulders tighten. “I don’t know. We’ve got media stuff later.”  

“Oh.”  

You feel stupid for asking.  

Jack stands and rinses out his cup in the sink. His back is to you, but you see the tension in his shoulders. He’s holding it all in  the pressure, the frustration, the weight of everything this year has asked of him. Normally, he’d tell you about it. He’d talk through it, let you hold it with him for a little while.  

But now it feels like he’s trying to keep the distance intact.  

“You okay?” you ask quietly.  

“Yeah.”  

“Jack.”  

He sighs and rubs a hand over his face. When he speaks, his voice is tight. “It’s just a lot right now.”  

You nod, even though he’s not looking at you.  

Jack’s hand curls over the edge of the counter. His knuckles turn white for half a second before he exhales and grabs his keys from the hook by the door.  

“I’ll see you later, okay?” His tone is light  too light. Like he’s trying to make this feel normal.  

You sit up straighter. “We could go out tonight. Dinner or something.”  

Jack pauses with his hand on the handle. His eyes flick toward you, guarded. “Yeah. We’ll figure something out.”  

Then he’s gone.  

The door clicks shut behind him, and the quiet of the apartment closes in around you.  

You sit there for a long time, staring at the spot where he stood. The sunlight spills in through the thin curtains, cutting pale lines across the hardwood floor. You think about the way he used to kiss you in the mornings, sleepy and warm, his hand curled over the back of your neck. You think about the way he used to tug you into his chest after a restless night, murmuring sleepy nonsense into your hair.  

And then you think about last night about the empty side of the bed and the quiet wall of his back facing you.  

Your phone buzzes on the table. You grab it quickly, your heart leaping in your chest. But it’s not Jack. It’s a text from quinn  

"Hope you’re having a good time! How’s Jack?" 

You stare at the message for a long moment before typing back:  

"Good. Everything’s good." 

The lie tastes bitter on your tongue.   

You sit there for a while longer, the phone still in your hand, before pushing yourself to your feet. You grab the half-empty protein shake Jack left on the counter and dump it down the sink. The hum of the refrigerator fills the silence.  

It’s only nine o’clock, but it feels later. Your eyes drift toward the bedroom  the sheets still rumpled from sleep and you wonder if you should crawl back into bed and wait for him to come home.  

But you know better.  

Instead, you curl up on the couch and pull the blanket over your legs. Jack’s sweatshirt is draped over the arm of the couch, and you pull it onto your lap, bunching the sleeves in your hands. It smells like his laundry detergent and something warmer, more familiar.  

you press your face into the fabric and close your eyes, trying to remember the last time he held you like he meant it.  

You think about how he used to look at you and really look at you like you were the only thing in the room that mattered.  

But that was months ago. Now, when Jack looks at you, it’s like he’s looking through you. Or worse like he’s already decided what happens next.  

Your phone buzzes again. This time, it’s Jack.  

“Practice ran long. Gonna be late.” 

You type out a quick response  "Okay."  but don’t hit send right away.  

Instead, you sit there with the message glowing on the screen, wondering when it started feeling like this. Like you’re holding onto something that’s already slipping away.

DAY THREE

It was worse the next day. The air felt thicker, like it was weighing down every conversation. Jack seemed distracted, his gaze always drifting toward his phone or the TV. When you asked if he wanted to grab lunch, he hesitated for a second before saying, "Yeah, sure," like he was doing you a favor.

At lunch, he kept glancing around, not meeting your eyes. You watched him scroll through his phone between bites of his sandwich. You tapped your nails against the table.

"Jack."

"Hmm?" His eyes didn’t lift from his phone.

"Can you put that down?"

He sighed but set the phone face down. "Okay."

You wanted to ask if he even wanted you here. You wanted to ask why he wasn’t looking at you like he used to, why you felt like a ghost in his apartment. But you swallowed it all down and smiled when Jack forced another conversation about hockey that you could barely focus on.

That night, he sat at the edge of the bed, scrolling on his phone again while you sat behind him. You reached out, resting a hand on his back. He tensed.

"Are you okay?" you asked.

"Yeah," he said quickly.

"You don’t seem like it."

"I’m fine, okay?" His tone was sharp. He stood up and walked toward the bathroom without looking back.

You stared at the empty space he left behind.

DAY FOUR

You woke up before Jack.  

He was lying on his stomach, face half-buried in the pillow, hair sticking up in every direction. You watched him for a moment, chest rising and falling steadily. He looked peaceful like this like the Jack you used to know. The Jack who used to roll over and pull you into his arms the second he woke up.  

You shifted closer, brushing your hand over his back. His skin was warm under your fingertips. He stirred, groaning softly into the pillow.  

"Morning," you whispered.  

Jack’s eyes fluttered open. He blinked at you sleepily, then rubbed a hand over his face. "Morning."  

You smiled, leaning down to press a kiss to his bare shoulder. He didn’t react. Just sat up and ran a hand through his hair.  

"What time is it?"  

"Almost nine."  

Jack nodded, already swinging his legs over the side of the bed. "I should get going soon."  

"Going where?I thought you had today off"  

Jack stood, stretching. "I do, I'm just going to go workout with some of the guys."  

"Oh." You sat up, the sheets pooling around your waist. "Can I come?"  

Jack paused, looking at you over his shoulder. "I mean it’s just going to be boring."  

"I don’t care."  

Jack hesitated. "I think we’re just gonna grab lunch after. Probably end up hanging out at Nico’s."  

You bit the inside of your cheek. "So you don’t want me there?"  

Jack’s gaze darted to the floor. "It’s not that."  

"Then what is it?"  

Jack sighed. "I don’t know. Just feels like a guys' thing, you know?"  

You swallowed. "Right."  

Jack’s phone buzzed on the nightstand. He grabbed it, checking the screen. A faint smile tugged at his mouth.  

"Who is it?" you asked.  

“Nico," Jack said, texting back quickly. He tossed his phone onto the bed, already moving toward the bathroom.  

You sat there for a moment, heart sinking.  

"I’ll be back later," Jack called over his shoulder.  

"Cool," you murmured. But Jack had already closed the door behind him.  

You sat there for a long time, listening to the shower running.  

When Jack got back that afternoon, you were curled up on the couch, knees pulled to your chest. He walked in, tossed his keys onto the counter, and sat down across from you. He scrolled through his phone without saying anything.  

You watched him for a moment.  

"How was it?" you asked.  

"Hmm?"  

"Your workout."  

Jack shrugged. "Good."  

"Anything else?"  

Jack didn’t look up. "Nope."  

Your jaw tightened.  

You shifted closer, resting a hand on his arm. "Jack."  

He tensed. "What?"  

You hated how sharp his voice sounded. Like you were annoying him.  

"Do you want to do something tonight?" you asked quietly.  

Jack sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "I don’t know. I’m kind of tired."  

"Oh."  

Jack’s gaze flicked toward you. "What?"  

"Nothing," you said quickly, even though it wasn’t nothing.  

Jack’s phone buzzed again. He picked it up without hesitation. You sat there, heart sinking as he smiled at the screen. He didn’t even notice the way your hand fell away from his arm.  

And that’s when it hit you.  

You weren’t the person he wanted to talk to anymore.  

You weren’t the person who made him smile like that anymore.  

You took a breath, swallowing hard. "Jack."  

"Hmm?"  

You sat up straighter, heart hammering painfully against your ribs. "Do you even want me here?"  

Jack’s head jerked toward you, brows furrowing. "What kind of question is that?"  

"You’re barely looking at me." Your voice cracked. "You don’t talk to me. When you do, it feels like you’re trying to get through it so you can go back to your phone. Just say it if you don’t want me here."  

Jack’s jaw tightened. "Jesus, you’re making this a bigger deal than it is."  

"A bigger deal?" you echoed. Your voice sharpened. "Jack, I flew to new jersey to see you. I’m trying so hard to hold this together, but you’re not even meeting me halfway. If you don’t want this anymore, just"  

"I didn’t ask you to come."  

You froze.  

Jack’s eyes widened, but the words were already out there.  

Your heart hammered in your chest. "What?"  

"I didn’t ask you to come," he repeated, softer this time. His gaze fell to the floor. "You decided to."  

You blinked hard, your throat tightening painfully. "Wow."  

Jack ran a hand through his hair, exhaling hard. "I didn’t mean it like that"  

"You did."  

Jack’s mouth opened, but no words came out.  

You stood up, shaking. "I can't, I can't do this anymore."  

Jack’s head snapped toward you. "What does that mean?"  

"It means I’m done." Your voice broke, but you kept going. "I’m tired of feeling like I’m the only one fighting for this. If you’re not going to try, then why am I even here?"  

Jack’s eyes darkened. "So that’s it? You’re giving up?"  

You laughed bitterly. "You gave up first."  

Jack’s mouth twisted. "Right. So now it’s my fault?"  

"You know what?" you said, your breath shaking. "Yeah. It is."  

Jack stood up, his eyes hard now. "Fine. If you want to go, then go."  

"That’s it?" You took a step toward him, tears blurring your vision. "You’re not even going to try to stop me?"  

Jack’s eyes flashed. "What do you want me to say? That I miss you? That I love you? You already know that, but it’s not enough, is it?"  

"It’s not enough if you’re not going to show it!" you shot back. "You say you love me, but you act like I’m just here. Like I don’t matter."  

Jack’s expression darkened. "Yeah? Well, maybe you don’t."  

You sucked in a sharp breath.  

Jack’s face paled instantly. "I—"  

"No." You shook your head, tears spilling down your cheeks. "You said it. And you know what? Maybe you’re right."  

"Don’t twist this"  

"I’m not twisting anything! I’m done!" Your voice cracked, but you held your ground. "I’m not going to sit here and beg for you to care about me. I deserve better than that."  

Jack’s jaw flexed.  

Your breath hitched. You waited for him to take it back to tell you to stay. But Jack just stood there, eyes stormy, hands clenched into fists at his sides.  

You nodded slowly. "Okay."  

You grabbed your bag from the floor. Jack didn’t say anything as you walked toward the door. Your hand trembled as you opened it.  

You hesitated. Just for a second.  

"Bye, Jack," you whispered.  

Jack didn’t reply.  

You closed the door behind you.  

The flight home feels like a blur. You don’t cry at least not yet  but the numbness sets in as soon as the plane takes off. Jack didn’t text you before you boarded. He didn’t call. He didn’t say anything after the door shut behind you.   

You stare out the window, watching the clouds blur beneath you, but your chest feels hollow. Four years. Gone in a single weekend. Your friendship since you were 10 of growing up together, of loving each other through every awkward phase and milestone  shattered in one conversation.  

You scroll through your phone without really seeing it. His contact sits at the top of your recent messages, the last one marked as read. I’m sorry. He hasn’t sent anything since.   

And honestly, you don’t expect him to.  

Your phone vibrates, and for half a second your heart leaps. But it’s just your mom, checking in. You let the message sit unopened and slide your phone facedown on the tray table.  

When you get home, everything feels wrong. Your room looks the same, but it’s too quiet. No FaceTime calls from Jack lighting up your phone. No goodnight texts. No “Miss you” or “Wish you were here.” The absence is deafening.   

You lie in bed that night, scrolling through old pictures, ones from Vancouver, from Michigan, from all those summers at the lake house. Jack’s smile frozen in time. Your hand in his. Quinn and Luke in the background, laughing at something Jack had said.   

Your chest tightens.  

You think about how easy it used to be how you could sit in silence for hours and still feel connected. How you could tell what Jack was thinking just from a look. How his hand would instinctively find yours without either of you thinking about it.   

But somewhere along the way, you both stopped reaching for each other. Mostly him. 

Your phone buzzes again. This time, it’s Quinn.  

“You okay?” 

Your thumbs hover over the keyboard, but you don’t know how to answer that.

“Yeah. Just tired.”  

Quinn’s reply comes quickly. “Jack didn’t mean it.”   

Your breath catches. A hollow feeling sinks deeper into your chest.   

You don’t answer.  

Because the worst part is maybe he did.

[servicpop]

Deliquent oc Adrien hcs + visuals!

— contains one nsfw hc!

Adrien who works out with how much you weigh. Anything involving weights he'll adjust them to your weight or higher because he wants to be able to hold and carry you with ease.

Adrien who has a rocky relationship with his parents but always talks about you to them in a good light — his parents love you because you're a good influence.

Adrien who always refers to you as his boyfriend even if you aren't actually dating him. Yet.

Adrien who overhears people talking behind your back and he has to resist doing something about it because he couldn't let anyone know about your "relationship" with him. So he stalks that person after class and makes sure to teach them a lesson.

Adrien who purposefully comes over to your house without an invitation just so he can breathe in your scent when he goes into your room. That explains why he always sleeps in your bed when he's over.

NSFW : Adrien who is in the middle of relieving his stress through masturbation, sees your text pop up on his phone, and now all he can think about is pounding into you. He can't even last a second when your face flashes in his head before he's a groaning mess. One day he'll send a video to you.

Visuals

I imagined him to be definitely bulky, tattoos, and slightly tan! I collected some photos through pintrest that I was like "that could be adrien" they aren't real images, if you don't like drawn face claims(?) then i'm sorry, feel free to find your own image that suits him, he's fictional after all!

Im not too sure though! If you guys have some photos you wanna share with me my inbox is open w/ images ♡

Some texts I thought gave off Adrien:

notes ,, this is a little filler post while i tackle my current Adrien fic

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

hey murphy!! i saw that you’re still accepting or going forth with your 3k celebration, so curiosity struck me…

could i order a rum with bucky barnes?

(i wanna hear some headcannons you got for this man. i can’t help but ask! but ofc if you’re too busy with honey girl chapter 5 i totally get it, i hope all is well and take care of yourself darling ❤️)

Bucky Barnes Headcanons.

warnings - sexual content.

my love, thank you for this!! if anyone agrees/disagrees or has any thoughts on these, please feel free to discuss/send them to my inbox. <3

3k celebration post here. 3k masterlist here.

- I think Bucky wants a simple life. Definitely appreciates the little things. I think he'd thrive in a 'regular' job - working weekdays, weekends off, probably something physical/manual. Maybe a small town, away from the city. The man needs a break.

- The most observant lover/partner. Because he's always kind of 'on guard', he notices everything. Can and will read you like a book.

- Would definitely use/benefit from therapy eventually. I know he didn't like it in TFATWS, but I think after those events, his eyes open a little. Learns the importance of communication and tries his best.

- Doesn't want children. Between the whole super soldier age thing and the trauma, I don't believe he's ever going to want kids. Marriage is definitely on the cards, though. He'd look handsome in a tux.

- He'd definitely benefit from a pet of some kind. I know he has Alpine in the comics, but I do think a dog would benefit him. Not a puppy, but a rescue. Something he can focus his attention on, it offers comfort, gets him out the house a couple of times a day.

- It'd take some time, but once he lets his guard down again, his love language is touch. Touches you all the damn time. His hand on your back, your hips, in your back pocket. Linking his fingers with yours whenever you're close enough. Fiddling with your hair. Kissing your temple, your cheek, the corner of your mouth whenever you give him the chance.

and now onto the sexy stuff...

- I have a firm belief that this man is filthy. Fucks like he's feral. Sweaty, dirty, we're-definitely-going-to-hell type sex.

- I think after he's worked through some of his trauma, he's using that metal arm. The temperature play? He's into it. He likes to watch you gasp. Shiver. Shake.

- He's a grabber. He's so strong, he's leaving bruises wherever he's got a hold of you. Hips, ass, wrists. He'll apologise, at first. Later, he won't.

- Likes his hair pulled. Hard. Likes to toe the line between pain and pleasure. He likes that edge. Likes it when you bite him. Loves when you scratch your nails down his skin.

- Thrives on intimacy. Loves to be skin to skin with you. Wants every part of himself to be plastered to every part of you. Presses your foreheads together, swallows your moans straight into his mouth. Puts his mouth next to your ear so you get a front row seat to the delicious sounds he makes.

in conclusion, he's perfect, your honour.

please feel free to send me any opinions on these!! agree, disagree, expand.. if you send me a thought (feel free to get dirty ;)) I'll always expand and maybe write a little for it... <3

[goldsainz]

❝ IN MY HEAD, WE BELONG ❞

MASTERLIST!

pairing . . . art donaldson x reader

◦∘｡ﾟ. warnings . . . smut (riding, protected sex), cheating, reader’s kinda delusional, toxic behaviour, not proofread.

◦∘｡ﾟ. summary . . . all it takes is a text and a lonely hotel room.

◦∘｡ﾟ. note . . . first art fic i am beyond excited 🤭 many more to come and my requests are open so if you have any ideas feel free to leave them in my inbox!!!!!! forgot how fun writing smut was, kinda crazy to have my first art fic be smut but i hope you guys enjoy it nonetheless 💙

[ word count: 1,7k ]

You know it is wrong to long for Art Donaldson. To not have moved on, but your life is incomplete without him. You tried to find someone else, someone who can compare to him, yet there is no one like him.

He’s not yours, no, in fact he’s married now. He has managed to move on from you, he has created a life for himself and he doesn't need you. Not like you need him, anyway.

You tune in for his matches, watch him beat his opponents and then run to his beautiful wife to celebrate. They actually looked good together, seemed like a proper couple and were the perfect faces of tennis. You could not be that for Art, you're too much of a mess to even dare to be as idyllic as Tashi Duncan.

Maybe that's why it feels so good that he’s currently under you, that it's your name he's moaning and your kisses he’s searching for. Maybe that’s the reason why you feel so unbothered by wrecking a home, because if he cheats, is there even much of a home to begin with? You don't think so. 

He’s like a vice you cannot seem to quit. Even when you first broke up, it took less than two days for him to hit you up and for you to be outside his house. Nobody knows you like Art, and nobody knows Art like you. You wonder if his wife is aware of how much he dreams of you, that when he’s with her, he’s thinking about you.

All it takes is for one of you to reach out, and you both throw all dignity out the window. The measly barriers you both created collapse in a second, no words need to be said to know what the other wants. It is quite simple between you two, perhaps in a way that is too carnal and not emotional enough. 

That is why, for some reason you don’t care enough to think about, he’s in your hotel room. 

You’re in New York City, alone in a hotel room that feels too big for just one person. You tried to go to a bar, tried to mingle with people in hopes of making your life less lonely. For just one night, at least.

It is not intentional that Art is also in New York, in fact, you’ve tried to steer clear of him and his overbearing presence in your life. It has been months since your last conversation, which consisted of him saying “Happy birthday” and you answering “Thanks”. 

You go back to your hotel room after your attempts at not being alone fail miserably. It is partly your fault, because you always end up in the same vicious cycle of comparing the men you meet to Art. No one can compare to him, and you damn your heart for taking over and not letting you have some enjoyment. 

You’re sprawled out on the bed, wearing your pajamas and scrolling mindlessly through your phone. You consider going to sleep, but something inside you tells you to stay awake and you receive your answer in the form of an imessage notification.

Art (Do NOT contact)

Hey, I heard you’re in NYC.

You

Yeah.

Art (Do NOT contact)

Wanna meet up?

You

Why?

Art (Do NOT contact)

Don’t know. 

Just missed you.

You

You can’t just say that.

Art (Do NOT contact)

I know. 

Are you free right now?

You

It’s 11pm, Art.

Art (Do NOT contact)

So? 

Send me your location.

You

[Location] 

Room 904.

Art (Do NOT contact)

Be there in 20. 

You’re thrust back into reality when he moves beneath you, hitting a spot that makes you arch your back and has you mewling. Guilt doesn’t even make its way through your mind, if anything, the scandalous nature of what you’re doing makes you wetter than you care to admit. 

Art looks up at you like you’re a goddess, a siren that he fell prey to, his eyes shine when he takes in the sight above him. Your tits are bouncing in front of his face, and he has to resist the urge to attach his mouth to one of them, but he’s too concentrated on the faces you make. 

You whine when he grabs your hips and moves you up and down quicker than before. Your hands are planted on his chest, grabbing onto whatever semblance of support you can get. You know how much he likes for you to be on top, loves it when you take control but today he’s antsier and needs to take some control back. So, he settles for tightly gripping your hips and deciding the pace of your movements.

You lean down and connect your lips with his. The kiss is sloppy, teeths clashing and your mouths open to let out a moan when the other does something that makes your toes curl. 

“Please,” he breathes out against your mouth, “Please, let me come.”

“Do you deserve it?” you ask, rearing back to look at him but you don't slow your movements either. 

“Yes, yes I do,” he pants, brows furrowing when he feels the heat in his core bubbling up.

“Only if I come first,” you say, taking one of his hands and placing it on your sensitive nub. 

Art moans at your response and his moves are hasty, rubbing you like his life depends on it. You let out short breaths at his touch, the heat inside you creeping up and ready to set off like fireworks.

He looks at your blissed out expression, how your bottom lip is between your teeth in an attempt to conceal the beautiful sounds you make. He’s tempted to use the other hand that’s on your hip to take your lip away from your teeth, but his thoughts are cut short when you clench tightly around him.

“I’m close, Art,” The blonde doesnt need to hear you say it, he knows your body like the back of his hand. 

It is no surprise when you come around him, a high-pitched moan escapes your mouth when your body shakes from pleasure. Like clockwork, Art spills inside his condom almost instantly after your release washes over you. 

He gives a few sloppy thrusts after he comes, feeling you collapse onto his chest, tired out from your orgasm. Art kisses the side of your head, heavily breathing and trying to form a coherent thought. Though it is quite hard when he is so fucked out. 

You separate yourself from his chest and press another kiss to his lips. Relishing on the closeness between you, he places his hand on the nape of your neck and keeps you in place.

After a few seconds he slips himself out of you. You whine at the loss of the fullness you felt, but he quickly shushes you with a simple kiss. It’s softer this time, sweeter than you deserve and more romantic than you’d like. 

You remove yourself from being on top of him, and lay down beside him. The pillow is soft and comforting, you keep your gaze trained on the ceiling and try to calm your harsh breathing down. You hear the rustle of the bed sheets and then feel yourself being covered by them, the soft touch of Art’s hand when he handles the sheets and brushes his knuckles against your chest makes you shiver

“This was fun,” he lets out, like he just got off an amusement park attraction. 

You can only hum in response, slightly turning your head to look at him. That is your mistake, because once you take in his beauty you cannot stop doing so. It makes you want to do things you shouldn’t, say things that would ruin whatever’s going on between you two.

“How long are you staying here for?” the question takes you aback, do you want him to know you schedule? A small part of you, the rational one, tells you to lie and put this little rendezvous behind you. But the part that makes most of the decision, the one that you damn each day, makes you tell him the truth.

“Until friday,” you respond, playing with the corner of the bedsheets between your fingers.

“Okay, cool,” he says back, it’s tuesday and that leaves you with just a couple days to see the other. How badly you wish that this wasn't what your relationship was now, but you have to make do with what you have. At least until you're pulled back into reality. 

You’re not sure why but the idea of him seeking you out once more, feels your tummy with a fuzzy feeling akin to butterflies.

“Yeah,”

Time seems to stand still for a few minutes, with his hands behind his head and yours resting just below your chest. It’s as if neither of you want to break the moment that’s happening, one that has a close expiration date.

After a moment of quiet, he finally breaks the silence, “I’m glad I’m here,”

You don't know how to respond so you settle for a simple, “Me too,”

For a moment, you both just look at each other, the weight of unspoken words hanging in the air. It's a fleeting connection, intense yet fragile, and you know that despite it neither of you belong to the other.

“I should get going,” he tells you, sitting up from his laid down position in bed and searching for his sprawled around clothes.

“Sure,” you answer as you watch him clothe himself, intently keeping your eyes trained on his figure.

“I’ll text you,” he says when he’s done clothing himself, “We could hang out again,”

“Okay,”

He looks at you once more, and you swear you see him hesitate when he reaches for the door handle. Something inside you aches for him to kiss you goodbye, to give you that intimacy that youre no longer privy to.

But as quick as that thought crosses your mind, he’s out the door.

Art doesn't text you as he said he would. You want to be mad at him, but you know you’ll be waiting for the day he messages you, and you can tally another clandestine meeting to your board. After all, you belong eternally to him and he to you. 

[storiesofsvu]

Decadent Desires Ch 21

Emily Prentiss x reader Warnings; language, minor alcohol, minor anxiety/worry but it's all fluff otherwise. 3k. Wow. We're finally here. It lowkey feels super surreal. The passage of time is wild and I don't remember when I started writing this fic, though I know I had a lot of it written before I started posting so that likely makes it seem longer. When it all comes down to it, this is one of my favourite fics that I've written. I'm proud of it. I'm incredibly thankful to everyone who's been reading it, reblogging and commenting, you are all wonderful and amazing. Stay tuned for plenty more one shots and lots of fun with our favourite characters in the future! Don't wanna miss a fic? Sign up for taglist here! Liked the story? Send me a ko-fi!

Now that you’ve finished the fic please feel free to head into my inbox & leave a legit honest review!! It helps me know what y’all like, what you didn’t like & how to improve future writing both here & elsewhere! 😘🩷

To say that Emily’s mind was not focused over the next twenty four hours would have been an understatement. She knew that dinner was occupying her thoughts, trying to think of the best way to get her words out without fumbling all over them or saying the wrong thing. She almost considered practicing by writing them down, having a speech ready to go if she forgot what she was supposed to be saying. She started to wonder if that alone was enough, if words would be strong enough to win you over or if she needed to stop for flowers, dessert or even something fancier on the way over to your place.

She thought she was doing a decent job of keeping it under wraps while at work until Tara asked what break in the case her and DiNozzo had discovered. When Emily’s brow furrowed the other woman pointed out Tony had been in her office for nearly an hour, the two of them involved in a deep conversation and she could only assume they’d discovered something. Emily’s cheeks burned as she bluffed the best reasoning she could think of before excusing herself back to her office. While the case had been the original reason Tony popped into her office, she’d roped him in to staying, saying he was the king of all movies and tropes, wondering if maybe now was the time for some grand gesture.

He'd shot that idea down, which is why she was pulling up to your place empty handed except for a bottle of wine. The biggest grand gesture she was planning was to greet you with a kiss neither of you would be able to forget. Her heart thudded against her rib cage as she waited for the elevator, letting out a breath in an attempt to relax herself the best she could, a kiss was a kiss, the worst thing that could happen was that you wouldn’t read into it the way she did.

You swung the door open, a soft smile on your cheeks as you stepped back to let her into your apartment. Her hand quickly found your waist but any and all plans she had immediately fell out the window at the hesitancy and anxiety wafting off you and vibrating through the air. She could tell your shoulders were tensed, and you didn’t melt into her embrace the way you normally did, so she settled for a kiss on the cheek as per your usual greeting, following you into the kitchen as she passed off the bottle of wine.

“I’ve got a white open if you want to start with that?” You offered, tucking the bottle she’d brought into the fridge and she nodded.

“Yeah, that’s perfect.” She smiled softly at you, watching you pull down a glass to fill for her, adding in a couple of ice cubes just as she liked it.

“How’s the case?” You asked, picking up your own wine as you leant against the island across from her, “Tony mentioned it was still pretty dead ended, I was kinda surprised you had time to make it tonight.”

“It’s a case.” She shrugged, “there’s only so much we can do right now. Figured it was best to let everyone have the night off, come back clear headed tomorrow.”

As her eyes swept through the kitchen she felt her own anxiety beginning to settle into her bones, her heart still strumming faster than usual in her chest. You had made the plan to stay in for dinner, so she wasn’t confused over your very casual attire of pyjama shorts and a cardigan, but aside from the wine bottle, there was no sign of intending to host tonight.

“Bummer.” You let out a sigh as you took a sip of wine, catching the way Emily nearly jumped at the sound of your voice, her jaw tightening and you were quick to finish you sentence, “about the case! Not that you had time to come over. That’s good, I’m glad. I just uh..” you let out an awkward laugh she wasn’t used to hearing, “didn’t want to make it sound like I was happy there was some psycho killer still out there.”

It was Emily’s turn to chuckle, taking another large sip of her drink, “no, I get it, it’s a tricky line to walk…”

Her accidentally chosen words hung heavily in the air, weighing down on both of you as you let out a quiet hum, staring over her shoulder, your wine glass in front of your face. You could feel your heart hammering in your chest so heavily you were almost certain Emily could hear it or at least could see the way the pulse point in your neck was jumping. It was part of the reason you’d pulled away so quickly at the front door, you didn’t want her to be able to feel it, or your clammy hands, she didn’t need to know you were nervous.

“Hey…” you were almost certain your voice cracked, “I uh, wanted to talk to you about something.”

Her face shot up, trying to control the expression written across it when she finally caught your eye, “oh, yeah. Me too, but you first.”

You downed the rest of your wine, your glass likely hitting the island with a little too much velocity as the words tumbled out of your mouth before you could take a second thought. “I think we should end the arrangement.”

Emily felt her heart drop into her stomach, the butterflies that were once there crushed into a churning of bile as she swallowed. This certainly wasn’t what she had expected, she thought she’d read the situation right, followed Tony’s advice that was supposed to lead her in the right direction. Then she felt incredibly stupid, she read body language and people for a living when she’d known them for all of two seconds. Yet she’d spent incredibly intimate and personal hours with you and still didn’t manage to get the right vibe.

“Oh…I, okay.” She placed the half full glass of wine, her eyes not totally focused on anything before she scooped up her bag, “I’ll uh… get out of your hair then.”

You’d caught the way her face fell ever so briefly before she managed to mask it, your heart squeezing in your chest as you darted around the island, managing to catch her wrist in your hand.

“No! Emily, please, no.” You tugged her back to you and when she finally did focus on you there was an evident shimmer of tears threatening to spill into her eyes, “I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant.” You let out a shaky laugh, tripping over your words you were speaking so quickly, “well, I guess it is what I meant, but not how I meant it.”

“You… want to rewrite the contract?” She asked hesitantly and you felt the heat creeping up your cheeks.

“More like I was thinking about ripping up the contract…”

There was a moment of relief washing through Emily that you could feel sparking through your body as she let out a breath. Her gaze was still pouring into you and the entire room suddenly felt too hot, causing you to shove up the sleeves of your cardigan, making sure they were settled above your elbows before undoing a couple of buttons to give you a little cool room to breathe. Emily’s eyes darted over your body as her mind continued to race.

“Listen, I.. god…” you shook your head with a laugh. Despite reciting what you wanted to say for hours, you were still totally flustered when it came to saying it to her face. It didn’t help that you suddenly noticed the way her eyes were flitting between your arms and your thighs. “What?”

She looked up, a curious expression on her face, “no blood drawn?”

“Huh?” Your brow furrowed, head titling in the adorable way Emily loved when you were utterly confused. When she was done shooting you heart eyes she suddenly realized her mistake, her tongue swiping out the corner of her mouth as she began to stutter over her words.

“Uh, just… last time you went out of town you had blood drawn.” She shrugged, “I guess I thought it was some kind of travel, germaphobe, don’t want to pick up a flu or something…” She trailed off, kicking herself for letting it slip out in the first place. Her eyes darted down to your thighs again before flicking up to your collarbone, tracing the line up your neck.

Your face relaxed, lips curving up into a small smile when you caught on to what she was doing, and what she really meant. “No…” You shook your head softly, reaching out to squeeze at her hand, “no blood drawn.”

You felt your chest swell, and Emily wanted nothing more than to kiss you to high heaven in that moment, never wanting to drop your hand no matter what the cost. Instead of getting her chance you spoke again, which, honestly, was probably for the best.

“God…” you laughed again, running a hand through your hair, “I really don’t know how to do this, I’ve never done it before.”

“Wait, what?” Her head tilted, “I thought you like, made a side hustle out of sugar babying.”

“No!” You laughed, “Oh my god I’ve done it once and that was like twenty years ago. We had a very specific end date written into the contract and knew nothing was ever going to come of it aside from my tuition.”

“But you’re so knowledgeable about the subject.” She pointed out, thinking back to how confidently you’d flown through the first few months of your relationship, how you always seemed to be a step or two ahead of her when it came to navigating your way through it.

“I’ve done my research?” You shrugged, “seen a lot of examples with Heather. Hell, with a good chunk of other politicians. Listen,” you squeezed at her hand again, pulling the focus back to the topic at hand, “I don’t know how to navigate it like this.” You gestured between the two of you, “I’m not good at it, I guess it’s another reason I’ve stayed so committed to the job… being committed to a person just kind of scares me. I’ve never felt safe enough to open up the way I needed to, never been relaxed around another person to just… let them into my life so comfortably. I don’t know why things happened so differently with you, so incredibly easily and I think that kinda freaks me out too, but I think that fear is more than worth it if it gives me the chance to be with you…really be with you. Because that’s all I really want.”

When she looked up from your joined hands Emily could hear her heart hammering between her ears, the butterflies from her stomach slowly creeping into her chest. You were fully opening yourself up to her, no matter how much it scared you and behind the hesitancy in your eyes she could see something else pouring out, something that she’d been seeing for weeks but was never ballsy enough to say something about.

“I’m hearing everything your saying and believe me I want to respond and I will, but can I do something first?” She asked.

“Uh… yeah, sure.” Your brow furrowed for a second, thinking that she had to take a call, that over your racing heartbeat you hadn’t been able to hear her phone vibrate.

Instead you were letting out a little squeak in surprise when Emily stepped toward you, her hands gently cupping your face as she brought her lips to yours. Your arms easily wound around her shoulders, pulling her body directly into yours so you could absolutely melt against her. You were instantly lost into the kiss, feeling like everything inside of you was exploding in the best way possible. Somehow the thundering in Emily’s chest was calming down as her lips moved against yours with ease, as if that was exactly where they were meant to be. The sweet smell of your shampoo invaded her nose, you invaded every single one of her senses and there was absolutely nothing else that she could ever possibly want.

Her tongue traced the seam of your lips and you easily parted them, wanting nothing more than to be able to fully taste her. Your had crept up the back of her neck, fingers gently toying with the roots of her hair, your thumb stroking at her skin. Her tongue explored your mouth, rolling against your own and she couldn’t help but let out a small groan into the kiss. When your fingers ever so slightly tugged on her hair she retaliated by nipping at your lower lip while her own curved up into a grin. A small laugh broke free from your mouth, neither of you pulling away as you relaxed deeper into each other, giggles and smiles prevalent through a series of smaller kisses until you couldn’t stop them.

Emily’s forehead rested against your own as she stole one more kiss, her hand cupping your chin, thumb tracing your lower lip and you couldn’t help but press a tender kiss to it.

“I know it can be scary…” she started, “it scares me too and honestly I’m not sure if I’m particularly great at it either. I’ve been trying to untangle my thoughts and emotions for weeks, maybe even longer and it’s been driving me insane. All that I really know is that I love spending time with you, I’m happier when you’re around, you make me laugh, you encourage me to be my best, I even sleep better with you next to me and I want so much more of all of that in my life. So…maybe we can figure it out together?”

“Yeah.” You nodded, a bright smile on your cheeks and a sparkle in your eye that absolutely made her weak in the knees, “I’d really like that.”

With another adorable giggle you surged closer to her, kissing her again, your hands tugging at the fabric of her shirt, pulling her impossibly close. You couldn’t get enough of each other and it made Emily laugh again between the kisses.

“Jeeze,” she shook her head, “I can’t believe DiNozzo was right.”

“DiNozzo?” You murmured; head full of butterflies as you stole another kiss. Though once his name was on your lips you were crashed back down to earth and you leant your torso away from her, “were you talking to Tony about our love life?!”

“Uh, maybe?” She winced, her cheeks tinging as she laughed, “I mean, it turned out he did give some pretty good advice.”

“Oh god.” You hung your head, “I am never going to hear the end of this.”

“At least it was worth it?” She suggested and you smiled across at her, pressing your lips to hers.

“It definitely was.”

Her hand caressed your cheek again as she leant in to kiss you, unable to help herself at this point and you weren’t about to deny her. Right as your lips met you jumped at the sound of the doorbell.

“You expecting someone?” She asked, her arm almost tightening around your waist as you laughed, swatting at her arm.

“It’s dinner.” You grabbed your wallet from the island, “did you really think I was going to cook after such a long day?”

Emily shook her head at the look in your eyes as you disappeared around the corner. Choosing to take the time you were dealing with the driver to collect your wine glasses from the island, refilling both before selecting cutlery and setting things up on the coffee table.

“Hope you’re okay with Indian,” you started, setting the bag down on the table as you tucked a leg under yourself on the couch, “I had a craving.”

“Cuisine doesn’t matter as long as I’m sharing it with you.” She replied and you felt your heart thud in your chest, your body melting at the look in her eyes as she gazed over at you.

“You fucking sap.” You teased, choosing to distract her from the misting of happy tears in your eyes by jumping into her lap, your lips meeting hers for another kiss.

Emily’s hands ghosted up your sides as yours settled on her face, thumbs stroking at her cheeks while your tongue explored her mouth. You let out a happy sigh into the kiss that she eagerly swallowed down, her entire being relaxing at the way you were melting into the embrace.

“What?” She asked softly, a smile on her face as she nudged your nose with hers.

“Nothing.” You shook your head, unable to control your own bright smile.

“Oh c’mon.” She prodded at your sides, earning a squeal from you, “don’t pull that crap anymore.”

You laughed, gazing down at her as your thumbs continued to soothe across her cheeks, “I just guess I’ve spent so long avoiding it and being scared that I never realized it could be this easy to fall in love...”

“You’re in love with me?” If it had been even a day earlier the question would have been filled with worry, but right now Emily asked it with a tease in her voice, because she already knew the answer. You didn’t need to say it, she could feel it, the warmth flowing through the room, wrapping itself around the two of you as you perched in her lap. She wasn’t scared to hear anything you had to say and she knew she felt the same way.

“Yeah…yeah I am.”

“Good.” Her hand gently wrapped around the back of your neck, pulling you to her for another kiss, this one deeper and a little longer than the last. One that you could feel her emotion in, joy dancing deep through your veins as your heart began to strum in time with hers, “because I’ve been in love with you for weeks. I never thought we could end up like this when we started… but here we are.”

“Mmm.” You left a kiss on the tip of her nose, “and I wouldn’t have it any either way.”

_____________________

@mickey-gomez @momlifebehard @daddy-heather-dunbar @maybe-a-humanbean @rustyzebra @leftoverenvy @kades95 @dextur @supercriminalbean @emilyprentisssluvr @lex13cm @zizzlekwum @emobabeyy @riveramorylunar @scorpsik @onmykneesformarvel @inlovewithemilyprentiss @regalmilfs4me @ara-a-bird @inlovewithmiddleagewomen @kmc1989 @irishavengersassemble @hopedoesntknow @venromanova @waitaminuteashh @noahrex @imlike-so-gaydude @wittygutsy @cx-emerald-cx cx @momily @nilaues @borinxnovakxprentiss @soverign @v3nusxsky @mccdreamys-writes @l4yne @obsessedwjill @asolitaryrose3 @lisqueen @mrs-prentiss @whitewinewithice @d33pd3sire-blog @daffodil-heart @maximoffcarter @i-lovefandom @chimnlex @moonlightjxuregui @chestnutninny @gamma-rae-bursts @just-moondust @idkifimasub @gaydragonwitch @dowsedwithbleach @divergentalwaysandforever-blog @m1lfsh4ke

[flw3rrr]

Thank you for responding! And honestly, creative freedom! An idea could be y/n (or however you wanna write it) is new to the team and is a little too eager and Tyler has to be that 'in charge' 'voice of reason' when she wants to take too risky of chances(like maybe they're chasing a Tornado and she decided to jump out of the truck way too close, idk) .. But if that doesn't vibe with you, that's totally ok! My fav is when he ends up manhandling y/n or the reader😅

No sense of safety

Tyler owens x gn!reader

Warnings: Reader has no sense of safety keeping tyler on his toes, no description of reader, no mentions of y/n. reader is a little clumsy (mention only) But also saves a cat so it's worth it

A/n: Tysm for this request anon, and thanks for the creative freedom. i based it off the details you gave along with a bit of ideas from me. I really hope you enjoy it and feel free to request more!💖

word count: 2k

Not really proofread but a little is i like wrote this at 1am. sorry for any typos

Have a request? Feel free to send me it in my inbox!

The little diner that basically was in the middle of nowhere almost sounded silent, with the only things heard being the clinging off class plates or mugs. seniors mostly seen, and then in the corner the tornado wranglers sat. It was the happiest day for you today because you were new to the team, and excitement was built up deep within you.

You've known Tyler for some time and gotten close to him; he was the one who brought you to the world of tornado chasing, and you were glad he did. You enjoyed the science behind it and how many different ways someone could tell a tornado was forming, the speed of wind, and a ton more.

But when you become excited for something, you tend to lose all knowledge of safety. getting too eager to start the job and have fun, but of course Tyler knew you and how you got so the night before today he sat you down and told you the rules and not to forget any of them. which you replied to him you wouldn't.

Soon a hand landed on your shoulder, looking up; it was Tyler standing up and looking at everybody. "Alright folks, today's the day we get some tornados!" The table cheered quietly in knowledge of others in the little diner trying to enjoy a meal. "And don't forget our safety rules." Tyler mentioned your name at the end, making sure it kept snug in your memory forever.

You just gave Tyler a nod in return, a little embarrassed since Tyler had obviously told the crew on how you got when too in the moment and excited. Taking one last sip of your water before heading out to the truck and the rest of the vehicles. Taking one of the monitors, you began to calibrate and made sure it was ready for whatever was ahead for today. 

"So you ready to join in the fun and chaos?" Looking over to see Boone approaching with the camera in hand. You'd always liked Boone; his humor was quite enjoyable, and he always made sure to capture the good moments for the viewers to see, but then he also knew what not to show. "Yeah, I am really pumped and ready." Not really having enough words to express, you just kept your response short. 

"It'll be fun, I promise, and the viewers always love new people who join. Perhaps you'll be the new star." He lets out a chuckle from his comment. Within seconds, Tyler appears, "New star? already plannin' for their future boone?" Placing his hands on his hips, his arm muscles clearly showing through the sleeves of his shirt. You'd admit to yourself only that he definitely was good-looking. "Yep, you know me gotta’ plan for everything. I know a star when I see one."

You felt very welcome by everybody and already felt like a star. Perhaps they were just boosting your confidence, but you enjoyed every part. recalling how you told your parents you joined the tornado wranglers with a big smile across your face and your parents held concerned looks. 

"No need to boost me that high, Boone; nobody really knows me, and they'll have to get to know me first before they decide if they even like me." Your parents always taught you growing up that it takes a while for people to get used to someone new, especially if it's something big.

Tyler let out a huff with a smile before turning his head toward you. "Nah, if I like you and the rest does, then they'll like you back. Don't doubt anything." You let out a laugh before speaking up. "Unless they see me do something stupid." Having moments in the past where you almost set off the fireworks in his truck when he showed you them for the first time or accidently set up the monitor the wrong way, causing it to freeze for a whole hour.

"We all do stupid stuff on streams, like one time i-" Boone began to speak once before Tyler cut him off. "Yeah, don't even continue on that." shrugging it off before nodding, you walked away to get more things needed for this chase. Carefully packing it up in the van and truck, making sure each is tucked away safe and not able to fling around from harsh turns that will come up sooner than later.

It was finally time to get out and start driving. Sitting in the back of the truck with all the equipment that you use to track the weather and tornado levels. "Hey, can you hand me the light for the camera back there? I forgot to replace this one," Boone asked. You just gave a smile in return before your arm moved in front of you, handing him the light, just before you could move. Tyler's hand landed on your wrist tightly, startling you in the process.  

Eyes slowly looking down to see why you realized your hand was close to setting off the fireworks almost once again. Quickly handing the light and bringing your arm back to you, "Sorry, I didn't realize." A wave of embarrassment rushes to you, wanting to sink into the seat and disappear. "It's fine. Just be careful this time. Okay,  we don't have a lot of fireworks on hand this time." He began to drive, his face stern before going to excitement for the camera.

His reaction scared you, thinking quickly that he was upset at you and annoyed. But he wasn't; he was just nervous having you on this chase, knowing how you get, and afraid of you doing anything stupid you'd regret. Slowly looking back at the monitor to show the camera and explaining who you were as well as what's on the screen.

Within minutes, there were so far three tornadoes; they were tiny and didn't really do damage, but I made sure to document them for future reference and further study. "So far, guys, we are getting good results, and you are all seeing this live!" Tyler yelled out loud to boost the viewers and likes. As you wrote down more, trying to make the handwriting more clear than messy, when in a moving car you take notice, Boone asked you a question.

"So why don't you tell them what you're doing as we drive down a boring road?" pointing the camera back at you once more. Blushing a little knowing millions were watching live at this very moment made you hesitate before speaking up. "Well, I work for a weather company, not a big one, but I'm getting every bit of data and tracking info I can get on each tornado that forms or tries to form basically so we can use it whenever something like this happens again, which it will." 

"See guys, they are also smart, so Tyler did good letting them join." Slowly turning the camera back to Tyler and letting you do whatever you needed to do. Enjoying the moment and everything, but your eyes missed the monitor at the moment you were writing. Showing high data of something big and dangerous, then it turned off with no signal shown on the screen.

"That's weird." You picked up the monitor to fix it, but nothing would work. The only thing it would do was turn off, and on displaying the "no signal," it was odd for you at least. "What's the matter?" Tyler spoke, taking a quick glance back to look at you. Glancing up at him before shaking the monitor, "It's not working anymore; it says the signal is lost. I can't see anything at all." 

Just as you tried shaking it, trying anything possible to work, the sky got darker, almost as if it were night. "Are you seeing this or?" Boone spoke up, breaking the silence in the truck, his hands holding the camera tightly. A crackle sound came from the radio that sat on the dashboard. Dani spoke up. "Guys, im saying this now we have to get to safety, um, it appears its going to be a big one."

Suddenly, Tyler hits the gas hard, sending you to fly back into the seat with a huff, the air pushing out harshly. Boone just cheers at the fast driving, while you were silently begging in your head for it to quickly come to an end. 

A small town in the distance appears almost quickly as Tyler continues to speed, the rest of the crew following behind. As Tyler slams on the breaks once again, you fly forward, but the thanks of seatbelts, it was cut. basically choking you, and the only time you were glad about choking.

Just as everyone got out, the wind speeds picked up quickly, chairs blowing away, leafs flying everywhere, and people running to safety. Just as you and the rest began to run to the basement of a store, your eye caught a glimpse of a tiny cat. 

Standing still and looking to the basement entrance and back to the cat, you take a step before a strong hand grips onto you. Looking back to be met with Tyler, "What on earth are you doing?! Do you realize you need to get to safety right now? Even I know that better than half of these people who are just running around!" His face looked harsh and desperate.

"I have too. There's a cat, and I'm not letting it fly up in the air, and if I let that happen, I'd cry forever." Losing your grip, you ran to the cat that stood still in fear; its tail stood straight. Tyler watched you as every second passed, a little annoyed, but he never took his eye off you. Within seconds, the wind picked up, and with the cat in your arms, you struggled to walk. Taking action, Tyler ran to you, and before you could speak, he picked you up tightly and back to the basement of the store.

Tyler put you down carefully and looked at you strongly. "That was a dumb move, and never do that unless you say something before. You can't die on your first day; I won't allow that." A breath of relief left him as he glimpsed down at the poor cat that still shook in fear.

"How about in three days then?" You asked with a smile, your hand slowly petting the cat to comfort it to the best of your ability. "I'll have to see." Just then the power went out, harsh winds

were heard loudly, and the cries of children filled the room, but Barely heard. Out of instinct, Tyler takes you into his grasp, holding you close to him. perhaps to comfort you or himself?

Just as your head turned to meet his, barely making it out with only a tiny emergency light lit the room. It felt as if the wind stopped and nobody was there but the both of you. Tyler leaned in first before his lips met yours in a heated kiss. It only lasted a second before the cat shook more as the emergency light began to flicker.

The tornado and storm lasted two hours before it was alright to get out. Trees everywhere, some stores destroyed, and cars, including Toyota's trusted truck. It was sad to look around as police and paramedics showed up to check up on everyone. You gave the cat to one of them to fully check on the cat."I wanted to apologize for acting harsh at the start of today and a few hours ago." 

"It's alright, Tyler; you just were used to everyone knowing how to do things normally and knowing to get to safety quickly." Stepping closer to him with a soft smile. "You didn't realize is my guess?" he suddenly spoke, which confused you. "realize what?" shaking his head with a sigh, he spoke again. "The tornado was like right there when you ran out to get the cat. That's why I was basically screaming at you."

“Oh.”

[v3nusxsky]

GIRLIE I FORGOT THE PW TO MY ACC, but i’m back now lmao!

if you’re still taking requests - can i request a fic with em? where you and her are besties, yk the usu; but you’re absolutely in love with her, and you’re low key unsure she feels the same way (or if that she even likes women too) so you don’t tell her<3 until like, some angsty ass shit happens which makes you confess.

- 🐦

(i fell in love with my irl bsf, this req is basically self-indulgent lmao)

Oblivious

*Authors note ~ girlie your back filling my inbox with genius prompts once more. Another daily gift from me to you all and Emily’s first time appearing this month. Once again sorry it took me so long to get to these guys! I hope you’re enjoying the event this time! Feel free to let me know what you would wanna see*

Trigger warnings~ reader is a hopeless lesbian🫢best friends < lovers usual criminal minds shenanigans love confession

Prompt~ see ask^^^^

Emily Prentiss. Need I say more? The woman was practically a goddess wearing a badge and gun holstered to her hip. All while being effortlessly breathtaking. Yet she’s more than looks. Your best friend, co worker and teammate. Yet something simmered in your heart for her, to be more than those. It started subtly, being invited on girls nights after joining the team, to sending each other book recommendations and bonding over common interests. You and Emily were close, there’s no denying that. Yet you couldn’t tell her you wanted to be more than friends. Hell you didn’t even know if she was gay. Sure there were certain vibes that made you think possibly, maybe but then you saw they the unsubs flirted with her at work and it was like a weight crushing you. Maybe she wasn’t gay. Maybe she was? Either way you were too afraid to ruin what you had already by asking the question.

This recent case was hitting too close to home for you. Women couples being lured by the individual and brutally murdered just for being gay and the recent victims happened to have some of your characteristics. It’s a scary feeling, to know people out there would harm you just because of what your heart wants. Reminding you of your teen age years spent terrifed of anyone at school finding out. The disgust that flickered in your own mother’s eyes the night she found out who you really are.

Emily quickly sensed your distress on the case and quickly became your anchor, guiding you through the darkness just as you did for her when cases got tough. But a few days in with little to no leads on the case was wearing on your nerves and everyone could tell. You just wanted to go to Emily’s place, sit on her sofa and drink wine with her as she fusses over Sergio. Home. Your happy place seemed so far away these days and although Emily was here you couldn’t help but yearn for more. Seeing her near enough all day every day just wasn’t enough when there is an invisible divide between you both.

In the rough moments you couldn’t help but crave her hand in yours, arms wrapped around each other as you sought comfort from her or even the gentle way she’d kiss away your falling tears. You knew Emily was an attentive lover because of her past, you would remain jealous of everyone who had the pleasure to feel her love yet couldn’t muster the courage to even find out if she would be with a woman. To see if you had a chance. Roll the dice and see what it lands on, you would be hers or she wouldn’t want you. And the latter terrifies you. “We need to send you in” rang through your mind. You. Into the unsubs den. Alone? Fuck. “It’s the only way we can lure him out to take him down. We will have a few of us right there in the room with you.”

“It’s okay. I’ll be in there waiting to take him out the moment he gets close enough.” Emily. Emily was going to be there? It was bad enough to put yourself into this situation but now Emily would run the risk of danger too. Obviously danger comes with the job, it’s what you both signed up for but if something was to end wrong? It couldn’t be her who ended up hurt. That’s what made you agree as well as knowing this creep wouldn’t harm anyone else after tonight they’d be safely locked up.

From there it’s all happened so fast, you dolled up wishing it was for just a date with Emily rather than to capture this criminal. The bass seeped into your bones as you entered the club, the dim flashing lights only adding to the atmosphere. The bar was where you first headed, immediately checking your environment where you noted Derek in one corner, JJ blending in with the crowds who were body to body blissfully unaware of what was occurring but no Emily. After a sip of Dutch courage you caught his attention instantly as you flirted with the bartender. She sorta looked like Emily, the dark hair and dark eyes were what drew you to her.

It all happened so fast, one minute you are at the bar next thing you know there’s a hand on the small of your back guiding you out the back entrance of the club. Screaming was no use especially when you felt the tip of a blade in your side, waiting for the time to enter. Wearing heels was a poor choice as he threw you to the filthy ground, spewing hate at you as a justification for his next action. It was all so quick as you instinctively went to protect yourself and escape only to be caught with his hand in your hair and thrown back with a grunt of pain. Pain was radiating from head to toe but your adrenaline was stronger for the time being. You could hear your teams footsteps getting louder as the closed in and clearly so could he.

The knife that was slammed into your abdomen was messy and uncomfortable. Due to the interruption his usual precise cuts were all gone. Instead leaving behind a jagged cut that had blood seeping all over your dress and staining the cold cobbles you lay on. “Stay where you are!” Arron commanded as Emily rushed to your side. “Hey, hey. It’s em. Y/n it’s your Emily can you look at me sweetheart?” Even bleeding to your death her voice is angelic causing you to obey her. Your eyes flickered to her dark ones holding unshed tears as her hands put pressure around the knife. Pulling it out seemed too risky but the way you sobbed at her actions caused guilt to course through her. “Shush sweetheart, I’m sorry I have to do this, just lay still for me okay? Where’s that fuckin medic?”

Your eyes flickered open to florescent lights as you groaned in pain, the heart monitor steadily beat beside you. “You need to tell her em-“ your groan startled the blonde causing her and Emily to shift their gaze to you. “Welcome back” JJ murmured to you causing you to smirk back at her, “can’t get rid of me that easily Jay” each word sounded strained and Emily felt her heart break with each sound. It’s truly unfair how many times each member of the team has been in a hospital bed while the others worried if they’d pull through so after a reassuring pat to Emily’s shoulder and an air kiss blown to you the blonde left to inform everyone you were now awake.

“Emily” you started only to be shut up as she moved to press her lips to yours. Nothing sweet or gentle about this, it’s raw and intimate. “I almost lost you” she mumbled against your lips before stealing another kiss, “and never would’ve been able to do that. I can’t wait anymore sweet girl life’s too short.”

“Am I dreaming? Or have they put me on the good shit?” You muttered dumbly, left finger tips touching your freshly kissed lips as Emily chuckled at your reaction. “No dream but you are on some pretty good meds right now sweetheart however, that was real. I want to be with you, more than friends, and nearly losing you made me realise I can’t wait forever to tell you. I understand if you don’t feel the same. We can forget it ever happened but I need you to know.”

“You. Want. Me?” Your confusion was evident. She wanted you like you wanted her? No way. You had to have died right? “ I want you y/n. And I think you want me? J has been saying you do but why would you want me? So I waited to see if you’d say anything and you never did. I figured friends were better than nothing…” you let a pained chuckle loose at her words. “Kiss me again” you whispered to the brunette as she moved away from you in fear she’d ruined something here.

Heaven. Her lips on yours. A little moan escaped you, could it be pain or desire? You weren’t sure you cared with her this close. “I want you too Emily prentiss. I should get stabbed more often if you keep kissing me like this.” It was then that the team decided to make their entrance. Emily leaning over the hospital bed, lips glued to yours as the team muttered a chorus of cheers and “about damn time.”

Word count~ 1450

[theitgirlnetwork]

Earn It

Ch. 9: Pretty Tired of Talking About Tennis

Note: Well...I'm back. And I have several things to say in this author's note. A.) sorry, it should've been sooner. B.) I can't wait to get back into the swing of this story. Most importantly, C.) thank you so much for the continued love you've shown it. As those who have seen the movie know, we're quite literally still in the beginning. I hope you'll enjoy this chapter and the ones to come. Please remember these characters are all meant to be flawed but none completely evil as you read. They will be toxic and make mistakes. Our good friend Patrick is distinctly missing in this one, but don't worry, his absence is not permanent. Anyways, I love interacting with you all so feel free to send me messages, things in my inbox, and comment. And to those who would like to know who's children those are...well...what do you guys think? I'd love to hear thoughts and guesses. If this sucks let's chalk it up to me being rusty and I'll try to do better next time lol. Love y'all <3

Warnings: Mention of sexual content, strong language, themes of cheating (MDNI)

Taglist (This shit normally doesn't work for me): @spookystitchery@anehkael@fkaams@butterflyybabe@sun2flower @holierthancunt @silkenthusiasts @wolflover384 @liziihorta @summerssover @jackierose902109

“This is some bullshit. Now, they don’t wanna sing.” Heaven shakes her head, flexing her toes against Tashi’s leg on the other side of the couch. “That’s so stupid.”

“They need to get rid of those other two girls, clearly, Chanel and Galleria want it more.” Tashi shrugs, swatting Heaven’s foot away, rolling her eyes when she feels the girl drop them right back into her lap. “I’m Galleria, you’re Chanel.”

“Um, I’m definitely Galleria, what the fuck are you even saying?” 

“Nope,” Tashi says, popping the ‘p’ and reaching across the coffee table to take a sip of her drink, cringing at the bitter taste of alcohol on her tongue. “Okay, this is fucking nasty, we probably should’ve looked up what the fuck we were making.”

“Mm. And have my mom find out we drank when she goes through my computer? Girl.” Heaven shifts in her seat, moving to sit criss-crossed and face Tashi on the couch. “Cheers.” She grins, pushing her mug against Tashi’s, smiling even harder when the taller girl mirrors her position and makes a little ‘tink’ sound as the glasses collide. “You wouldn’t even like having two other girls that hang out with us all the time.”

Tashi’s brows furrow disbelief clear on her face at the accusation. “Me? Why?”

“You’re possessive.”

“I’m not possessive, you just pick dickheads to fuck with.” 

“Oh yeah? And your type is better?” Heaven snorts, leaning to the side, reaching over to the coffee table digging through the makeup bag of nail polishes Tashi had presented her with when they’d started setting up for their little movie night. Heaven produces a sage green polish from the bag, waving the bottle for Tashi’s approval. “Caleb was the cream of the crop then?”

Tashi shrugs, reaching into Heaven’s lap and selecting the baby blue the dancer had selected for herself. “Better than Chance. Try to stay in the lines this time?” 

“Shut the fuck up.” Heaven mumbles, a smile on her face as she takes Tashi’s hand, hunching over, breaking her generally perfect posture to focus in on her friend’s delicate nails. Tashi sits back and watches as Heaven tilts her head in concentration, biting down lightly on her bottom lip as she glides the brush across her fingernails, the cool polish setting in as Heaven lightly blows on each nail as she goes. “Chance was the fucking worst.”

“Yeah and he hated me.”

“All of your boyfriends always hate me.” Heaven hums. “Wonder why that is.”

Tashi smiles, turning her face away for a second, giving herself a break from the thrumming feeling looking at Heaven gives her and watching the scene playing out on tv. It was something of a mutiny. Dorinda and Aqua, talking shit about Galleria to Chanel. Calling her a diva and demanding that her best friend do something. Chanel knowing her friend had gone too far, done too much and loving her anyway. Because their dreams were too important. Their friendship took precedent. “Probably because they know you’re obsessed with me. Look at you, working so hard to paint my nails and make me all pretty.”

“You’re the one who picked out my favorite color.” Heaven purses her lips, closing the polish and placing it back into the bag, holding out Tashi’s hand to admire her own work. “They’re just jealous because I;m a better boyfriend to you than they are. No one meets your expectations like I do.”

“Yeah?” Tashi challenges, quirking an eyebrow, her own twin grin matching Heaven’s. “You think you impress me?” Locked in a stalemate, both girls are unflinching, both daring the other to look away, to fold first. That’s how it starts. Their staring contest had begun as a battle of wills. The smell of popcorn and nail polish in the air. The distant noise of the ‘All Around the World’ song from Cheetah Girls playing on the television. The dark hallways leading to the living room threaten to suddenly reveal Heaven’s stepfather or worse mother to discover them and burst their bubble. But what was more pressing was the energy between the two girls. It was nothing they hadn’t felt before. After a heated match, as they rush together to celebrate another victory for Tashi, Heaven’s voice hoarse from how loudly she’d screamed from her. After each show, or recital, when Heaven is still doused in show makeup and glitter, and Tashi can’t help but see a shining star when she’s looking her in the face. But this time, Tashi did something different. Something only Heaven has ever been able to draw out of her in her 16 years of living. 

She concedes.

“Hev, you’re really pretty. Obviously,” she pulls Heaven’s hand into her own lap, toying with her fingers, without breaking eye contact. Her voice dropping to a whisper. “You know that.”

Heaven can appreciate it. Tashi putting herself out there like this, no matter how small the gesture. She got the point. And it was hard for Tashi, for both of them, to be vulnerable. Heaven had spent the past year wrestling with the feelings she’d developed for her friend. She’d just convinced herself she was satisfied just being her favorite person, even if they weren’t romantic a few months ago. Sure she flirted and joked, but she never thought Tashi would initiate something. There wasn’t anything in the world at that moment that could make her leave her hanging. 

“Yeah, but, you’re the only person it really matters to hear it from.” Heaven’s cheeks dimple as she scoots closer, intertwining her fingers with Tashi’s. 

Tashi’s brows furrow as she cocks her head back, creating a little more space as Heaven leans in, causing the other girl to roll her eyes. “And?”

“And,” Heaven’s nose wrinkles playfully as she sits up on her knees, breathing softly against Tashi’s lips before connecting them with hers. “You’re really pretty too.”

2019 (California)

Heaven speed walks down the walkway to the larger waiting room she knew Art would be placed in. A splitting stress headache is already forming in the front of her brain as she makes her way past the busy employees running the event, hiding her face from the flashing lights of fans and photographers. 

As she rounds the corner she sees Tashi pacing back and forth, running her fingers through her bob and biting her lower lip. She pauses in her steps as she sees Heaven making her way toward her. Clapping her hands together and shrugging she fixes Heaven with a disapproving look. “This should be easy. What the fuck is wrong with him?”

“Why? What happened?”

“He’s just,” Tashi huffs out a breath, shaking her head. “He doesn’t give a fuck. I can’t give a fuck for him, Heaven.”

“M’not asking you to. Stop talking to me like that, you’re not my coach, you’re Art’s.” Heaven snaps the gum in her mouth irritably.

“I am his coach.”

“Then coach him.”

“Arthur is a grown man-” Tashi scoffs, laughing humorously.

“I know.” 

“I can’t get him to do anything that he doesn’t want to do.” 

“Be patient with him.”

“Interestingly enough, that’s your job, not mine.” Tashi grimaces, leaning down to mumble as a pair of fans walk by waving at them. Heaven offers them her own smile and nod as they pass.  Team Donaldson is a unit after all. “Look, I’m doing my part. He needs to do his, or this doesn’t work. Then none of us are happy.” Tashi tilts her head in the direction of the door. “Look, he’s asking for you. If you can get him together, that’s great, if not…”

“He’s fine, Tashi. I’m gonna talk to him. Let me talk to him.” Heaven’s tired. She knows Tashi’s tired and it’s obvious Art is. But this has to work. They’ve worked too hard. All of them have worked too hard to not make it to the finish. Heaven reaches out, grabbing Tashi’s hand and squeezing, her own face softening at the exhausted look on Tashi’s pretty face. “Let me fix it.”

Tashi takes another deep breath, eyes slipping closed briefly before flexing her fingers around Heaven’s, twisting the gold band underneath the accent ring on her finger. “He needs to be ready in 7 minutes. I’m giving you 5.”

“That’s all I need.”

The door clicks open and Art’s eyes trail over from the wall to the doorway. 

“Arthur.”

Heaven stands in front of him with her hand on her hip, the other hand wrapped around the knob as the view of a sour Tashi fades from his view as the door closes again, head tilted as if she’s observing him. He shifts under the weight of her gaze, sitting back in the fold out chair, opening his legs and holding out one of his calloused hands he’d just been inspecting. Art holds his breath as she purses her lips, raising a single brow at him as she decides if she feels like bothering with him, if she is mad at him too. 

He releases that breath when she rolls her eyes, taking two large steps before standing between his legs, resting her own soft, unbroken hands on his face, soothing the frown on his lips away with each brush of her thumb. She allows him to explore with his own hands the body he’d wished he’d woken up to that morning. Every morning. He runs his palms up and down her strong, dancer’s legs, taking in her sweet scent as he pushes his face against her stomach and his palms squeeze her ass, pulling her closer. A familiar wave of pride washes over him as he feels the difference in fabric between the rest of her tracksuit and the letters painted across the backside that were similarly spelled out across her chest.

DONALDSON

“What the fuck?” She all but whispers, her rose petal lips set into a confused grimace. “You don’t wanna play today?”

“I never said that.” he mumbles against the fabric. Heaven pushes him by his shoulders so that he settles against the back of the chair and leans down so they’re face to face, sighing as Art pushes their foreheads together. 

“So, why are you sitting here like someone who doesn’t wanna go play some fucking tennis?” She asks. Big brown eyes scan his somber face, her manicured thumb sweeps across the skin of his cheek. “He’s a fucking nobody, Art.”

“I know that.” 

“So what’s the problem?” Heaven squints, brows furrowing, pushing him away again as he rubs his face against hers. She guides him by his chin, forcing him back enough so that can look him in his eyes. “Are you done?”

“Baby-” He starts, only for her to pull him even closer.

“No, seriously. Are you done? Is this all? Let me know now.” 

“I never…I never said that, it’s just-” Art stares up into concerned brown eyes and sees his reflection in them. He can't take it. The look. It’s not the stern look of disapproval or disdain. It’s not even annoyance or agitation. It's disappointment. It’s fear. Fear that he’s tapped out. Fear that he is done. He can see that Heaven is petrified of what that would mean. And Art is too. “I dunno, Hev.” 

She cups his face then, her warm hands contrasted by the cold ring on her finger, her proximity clouding his judgment and overpowering thoughts of exhaustion and disinterest. Heaven seduces him with the love in her eyes. She climbs fully into his lap then, resting her weight on him as they melt together, tension in his body dissipating with each new place their bodies meet. “I want to help you. Tell me how. Tell me what you need. Tell me what you need me to do, Art, and I’ll do it. What do you want, baby?” 

“I want,” He sighs deeply, eyes fluttering shut as he brushes his lips against hers, gripping her waist tighter as they share their air. “I want you to look at me.” His lips capture hers in a heated kiss. Heaven opens her mouth to him, releasing her own sigh as their tongues brush before she tugs his bottom lip into her mouth. A small sound of surprise escapes her as Art steals the gum from her mouth, holding it out of the way in his cheek as he explores her mouth. “Just me.” He murmurs against her lips. 

Heaven pulls back at that, pressing one more kiss on his nose, face softening when he leans into the last little piece of affection desperately, before dropping his own kisses on her nose, forehead and jaw, ending with her palm. “I’m always looking at you, superstar.”

It’s almost like fate wanted to remind him that’s not true. That these little moments in time are just a fantasy. Because just like that the room doors were opening and Tashi was power walking her way in. Suddenly, those brown eyes didn’t belong to him anymore. Neither set of them. Instead, there’s a silent conversation happening over his head. A language he couldn’t understand even if it were spoken out loud. He’s cold under the shadows they cast as they discuss him without him. His mind wanders as his eyes trail back over to the picture of a younger, more enthusiastic him that hangs on the waiting room wall. 

There’s another knock at the door that catches the trio’s attention, a woman with a headset pokes her head in and offers the blond a wide smile, a fan working the event no doubt, damn near gushing as she holds her clipboard to her chest. “Mr. Donaldson, it’s time.”

“Okay.” Tashi answers for him. The woman is shaken then, acknowledging there are two other people in the room. Two other athletes. There always are, with Art. But he’s the star. In everyone else’s eyes. He’s the one that matters. She nods and leaves the room, scurrying away to her hurry and fulfill whatever other responsibilities, no doubt in interest of finishing in time to see the Art Donaldson play.  Heaven doesn’t even wait for them, following the employee out as both Tashi and Art watch her slip from the room to meet them outside. Tashi moves in front of Art, smoothing her hand over his hair as she studies his face. She cups her hand under his mouth glancing down at it expectantly. Breathing out a heavy sigh, Art spits his gum into her open palm, before feeling the other hand hold his other cheek. “Decimate that little bitch.”

Leo Du Marier was a new player. He was the best in his school and eventually made it into the big leagues. Big enough that today, he’d be playing against Art Donaldson today. The kid was fucking shitting his pants. Art Donaldson has basically won, every fucking award a tennis player could win, and was the youngest to do so. All he was missing was the U.S. Open. Du Marier himself had waited in line for an embarrassing amount of time to try and score a pair of Nike x Donaldson sneakers when they’d dropped. The younger player couldn’t decide if he was excited to meet the man he wishes to model his career after or petrified. The man was going to destroy him. Humiliate him. He knows it. 

The only thing that gave him some kind of relief was that Art was known to be kind. While the man was admittedly smug, past opponents do speak of the crooked smile and strong handshake that he offers after he drags them through the fucking mud. He’s seen many pictures that the blond man has taken with people just like Du Marier, wrapping his arm around them on one side, but refusing to let go of whatever trophy he’d wrenched out of their hands with the other. 

At least he’d kick his ass with a kind smile. 

So, when Du Marier’s coach nudges him as they make their way through the player’s tunnel leading to the courts and he sees Art, he stops. He feels larger than life. Not in height, because though he’s pretty tall, it’s not the length of him. It’s the stride. It’s the walk. His gear. It’s pristine, with his name printed on it. His demeanor. It’s not at all what the younger player had expected. It’s cold and unmoving. Nothing like the player he’d seen from the bleachers years ago when he was too young to even enter. Flanking his sides are two beautiful women, walking in unison with him, all of their steps coming off perfectly executed and calculated. Each of them seemingly the exact same distance apart from each other. Du Marier couldn’t help but stare. 

And Art felt it. He turns his head, looking at him. Staring. Almost…glaring. It felt like ice in his veins as he watched the celebrity frown at him, not so much as offering a wave as he made his way past. Du Marier unconsciously holds his breath, waiting, pleading for the moment to pass. He thanks his fucking lucky stars as one of the woman’s hand makes its way to Art’s face, diamond ring glittering against her skin as she guides his face forward before they exit the tunnel, waving to the paparazzi. 

“Did you see that look? He’s going to destroy me, no?”

“Worry about it later, Leo.”

As Du Marier watches the Art Donaldson, send yet another tennis racket sailing against the wall, sweat dripping down his brow he releases his breath. A smile spreads across his face as some of the crowd cheers for him and even more of them boo him for his win. He was cool with being an underdog success story. Especially against that asshole. He could feel the people in the crowd nearly vibrating with disappointment, as the fan favorite lost another match. He used to be one of them. Rooting for the blond asshole across the net. But now? Well, maybe this is why they say don’t meet your fuckin’ heroes. 

He could at least say, to Art’s credit, he didn’t seem to give a fuck about the crowd. As he paced along the court, kicking his chair and swearing under his breath, he only seemed to be looking in one section. To be honest, it’d been the only section he’d bothered looking at the entire match. One might say he’d looked so much that it was what threw him off. Du Marier takes a second to follow Art’s gaze, eyes flicking between the angry tennis player and two empty seats. He couldn’t help but understand why Art was so upset. Leo would be hurt too if his wife and coach left before they even got to matchpoint. 

.

2007 (California: Stanford Campus) 

Heaven’s leg jumps as she sits in the spectator seat, watching the ball go back and forth between Tashi and Art twice before it rolls to a stop on Art’s side. She drops her head back in the chair in annoyance as she hears Tashi huff. 

“Hit the ball.”

She doesn’t even bother opening her eyes as she hears Tashi serve, a severe lack in the sound of footsteps coming from Art’s side. He’s not even trying. It’s just gonna piss her off. It’s not helping us see what she can do. Heaven groans when she hears the ball hit the fence behind him and sits up with a frown on her face.

“What’re you, scared you’re gonna hurt me?” Tashi growls, gripping her racket. Her brows are furrowed as she glares at the blond man who simply opens his mouth and then closes it, glancing at Heaven as if she was supposed to save him from Tashi’s scrutiny. “Pussy.” 

With that, Heaven climbs down from the spectator’s seat, walking irritably over to Art’s side, tugging up her gym shorts and hopping a little from one foot to the other. “Tashi, come on.” She holds her hand out for Art’s racket without sparing him a glance, “move.” she mumbles nudging him out of the way.

Heaven is by no means a tennis player. Recreationally, she could hold her own very well, and she was quick on her feet due to dance, but the real reason she could play decently was because Tashi demanded it. It was for when Tashi was antsy and no one else was unavailable. Or when she was upset and needed to blow off some steam the only way she knew how. 

“Actually try to hit the ball.” The taller girl says grumpily, rounding back into position, sitting into a squat.

And she does. 

Heaven tries very hard. She respects Tashi, and she knows she’s the better player, so she does her best. And it’s good for a few moments. Until she tries to send her down the line, and her knee gives out, sending her down onto the court. 

Art is jumping over the net in a flash trying to get to the girl and help her up. But Heaven just stands behind, twirling the racket in her hand.

“Tashi, get up.” 

“I am. I’m good-” she lightly pushes Art’s helping hands away, leg wobbling as she attempts to stand, pushing off of the rough gravel of the court. “I’m good, I’m fine-”

“Hold on.” Art says softly, holding the girl’s arms, sighing as her knee buckles slightly, causing her to stumble. “Maybe we should take a break for today.”

“She’s fine. We need to keep going.” Heaven walks over to the net, taking Art’s outstretched hand as she swings her legs over, oblivious to Tashi's eyes dropping to their hands. “T, you’re good, right?”

“I’m fine.” the taller girl grits her teeth, trying to regain her balance.

“See?”

Art sucks some air between his teeth, running his hand along Heaven’s arm, pulling her a little closer, speaking softly. “Hev, her knee, c’mon.” 

Tashi feels her skin crawl as Art and Heaven’s eyes drop to her leg. The fucking pity in Art’s voice. The frustration on Heaven’s face. She was so fucking sick of being injured. Her teammates were bad enough, but Art the fucking tennis player who is hellbent on stealing her girlfriend, and said success junkie girlfriend looking at her the way they were was literally too much to fucking bear. She couldn’t handle him feeling bad for her and Heaven looking at her like she was damaged good. She was already irritable because that loser Patrick had been blowing up her goddamn phone with nothing but excuses. Even after she’d made it clear she never wanted to see him again. Then she misses one recital. One goddamn opener and all of a sudden Heaven was ‘navigating’ a new relationship with Art. They weren’t breaking up, but now there are feelings between the two of them. She can understand the appeal of Art. He’s hot, a good player, successful in his own right. And desperate. A lovesick puppy, hearts damn near appearing in his eyes when the object of his affection is in the room. But he’s here and he’s a constant reminder of what her body is screaming it can’t do anymore. They both are. And her choosing him in Tashi’s face only made the pain worse. “Ignore him. Let’s keep going.”

Her voice sounds stronger in her head than it does out loud, leading her girlfriend to pause. “T, maybe Art’s right and you need a break?”

“Jesus fucking christ, fucking forget it.” she hisses, tossing her head back. “If you don’t want to help me you seriously just go.”

“I’m here to fucking help you!”

“You’re here to fuck Art, which is fine, trust me, I don’t fucking care.” Tashi shrugs, laughing humorlessly. 

“Hey, Tashi-” Art starts, standing between them.

“I’m here to help you, Tashi. That’s what I always do, that’s why I’m always here.” 

“Well, I don’t need your help right now. I really don’t need to fuck up my other leg.” Tashi finishes, crossing her arms. Heaven’s mouth drops open, eyes watering as she stares at her girlfriend in shock.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“I mean was it supposed to be helpful finding out you’re cheating on me with our friend and then watching you fight with our boyfriend right before my match?” Tashi smoothes a hand over her messy ponytail, wetting her lips. “It’s fine, I forgive you. You too, thank you, for rubbing that in my face by the way, friend. I forgive you, for white knighting your way into my girlfriend’s pants and taking the time to let me know right before one of the biggest matches of my college career.”

Heaven’s eyes widen, turning to look between Art and Tashi, bottom lip wobbling as she holds back the tears that threaten to flood her eyes. Tashi rolls her own eyes to the sky, looking away as Art wraps his arm around Heaven, tugging her into a hug, murmuring an apology and stammering explanations into her hair. “Tashi, that’s not how it went, alright? All she ever does is try to think of you, and care about you.”

“Fucking kidding me.” the girl murmurs, limping to the other side of the court. Heaven watches as Tashi picks up a stray ball, bouncing it off of the fence and beginning to practice by herself. She shifts in Art’s arms, looking up at him. 

“I’m um, gonna stay with her for a while. Practice with her a bit. Can we…can I talk to you later?”

Blue and brown puppy dog eyes stare into her soul, and involuntary pout forming as Art lets Heaven send him off, chest tight as he feels his own wave of guilt overtake him. 

Art is anxious for the next few hours as he waits to hear from Heaven or Tashi. He’d hope they’d talk and call him back. But as day turned to night, he realized that the girls may have genuinely just needed him out of the way to continue peacefully practicing. 

He wishes he’d said more. Done more. Heaven and Tashi’s relationship is so complex, it feels like a minefield to navigate. Sometimes they’re friends, sometimes they’re girlfriends, sometimes it’s like they believe they’re the only two people in the world. He couldn’t step in and yell at Tashi, he wouldn’t want to, and even if he did, Heaven wouldn’t tolerate it for a second. He couldn’t bring himself to ask Heaven to leave with him. Partially because part of him wonders if what Tashi was starting to say was right. Did he ruin her life? He, Patrick, and Heaven, were walking out of this mess they made relatively unscathed and Tashi’s dreams were likely ruined. Anyone could look at the proud girl and know she’s devastated. Had her life been better without them in it? Had Heaven’s? 

The other reason being he’d feared what he would find out. It was one thing, to gain some confidence and beat Patrick out for something they both wanted. Someone. But his friend was liable to fuck up in some way, to lose the girls and leave room for Art to take his place. But Tashi was nearly flawless. She was so similar and different from Heaven, anyone could see they compliment each other. And Heaven loves her so much. Tashi has years worth of ‘I love you’ from Heaven under her belt. Art had just managed to get two to match his fifty. He didn’t want to know what would happen if he drew a line in the sand, held out his hand for Heaven when Tashi was going in the opposite direction. And so he’s careful. And he waits. He was choosing not to play a game he’s almost certain he would lose. 

It’s no shock to him when Heaven texts him at 1:25 in the morning to let him know she’d gone back to UCLA. He’d already packed a bag to take with him and had begun shoving one shoe on his foot, stumbling around the room as his phone vibrated with her message. He would chase her. Art would always chase her if he had to. Even if someone was pulling her away. 

But not if she didn’t want it. 

No. If Heaven decided she needed space, she didn’t…want him, he’d do what she wanted. Even if it hurts him. She’s worth it.

That’s exactly what he tells himself as he climbs into his twin sized bed, biting down on his own fist, willing himself not to cry when the phone brings him the message he was dreading.

I’ve got to think through some things. I think we need space…we did a bad thing Art.

Well, Tashi did warn him. When it came to Heaven, she’d never really lose.

2019 (California)

“Ouch this is getting to be brutal, you just can’t be missing shots like that.”

Tashi cuts her eyes toward Art, sipping her coffee silently as he meets her eyes, offering her a borderline sarcastic smile. 

“And there goes the racket.”

“He was playing really well.”

Tashi leans forward, placing her drink on the table before crossing her arms. “I’m pulling you out of Cincinnati.” 

“T-”

“Might as well pull you out of the Open too, if this isn’t gonna be your year then why bother?” she shrugs, kicking her feet back up onto the hotel couch. 

“I’m just rusty, it’s a confidence thing.”

“Get your fucking confidence back, I can’t do it for you. Heaven can’t do it for you.”

“No one is asking you to.” He sighs, grabbing his protein shake from the table. 

“When you play like that you are.” The door to the suite clicks open and Heaven comes in wearing a gym set, one headphone covering her ear, the other pushed back on her head. Art’s eyes follow her as she pauses, briefly making eye contact with him before leaning over the counter and typing on her phone. “I would fucking kill for a recovery like yours, a child, an old lady, fucking anybody.” 

“Okay, jesus.” Heaven calls from behind the couch, making her way over. She leans over the back of the couch, resting her forearms and curling her lip. 

Tashi shrugs again, adjusting herself to look at Heaven. “I mean we’re all adults here. Everyone has made decisions, if this is it, if this is all you guys want as your legacy that’s fine. We’ve all made enough money. We can retire, and be rich people, run the foundations.”

“Where are they?”

“In the living room.”

The three adults pause their conversation, all plastering easy looks onto their faces as Aurora comes bounding in, curls still dripping wet from the tub, plopping herself onto the couch between Tashi and Art. Tashi’s mom hovering in the doorway. 

“Hi, baby.” Tashi chirps, adjusting the girl’s Doc McStuffins nightgown. 

“Can we watch Spiderverse?” 

“Of course we can. Course we can, it’s just, we gotta talk about tennis right now.” Tashi pouts, running her hands along the little girl’s hair.

“But you’re always talking about tennis.”

“I know baby,” Tashi sends Art a pointed look, causing him to drag  his own eyes over to Heaven. The shorter woman stands behind the couch, rubbing her temples, eyes closed, refusing to look at either of them. “I know.” 

“Aurora, baby, I’ll watch with you. That’s like, my favorite movie.” Heaven smiles brightly, the grin not meeting her eyes as she walks around the front of the couch, taking Aurora’s hand in hers. “Besides, I’m getting pretty tired of talking about tennis too.”

Tashi picks up her phone, shaking her head as Art watches Heaven leave with Aurora, the separator for the bedroom closing shut behind them. “She likes it here. Aurora.” She snaps her phone shut. “Heaven doesn’t.”

“We could figure something out. Something more permanent. Or, closer to New York.” Art sighs, a pained expression on his face as he stares past Tashi at the doorway. 

“We could. I meant what I said. If this is all you can handle. It ends here.” The blond man swallows, bringing his gaze back to the woman in front of him. He knows it’s not true. It’s not okay if he can’t get them to the finish line. No matter how tired he is. “Or you can keep being a tennis player, which is what you are. What do you want?”

“I can play Cincinnati.”

“No, no you can’t. Not like this. Let me see.” Tashi crosses her legs as she scrolls through her phone, finally finding something she deems reasonable and scooting closer to Art, turning her phone to him. “Phil’s Tire Town, that seems promising.”

Art skims the information on the page and scoffs in disbelief, “That’s a challenger.”

“That, is exactly what you need to get your fuckin’ confidence back. Because in middle of fucking nowhere, Phil’s Tire Town, there will be absolutely nobody on the other side of the net who can shake your fucking confidence. Right?” She doesn’t wait for him to respond before she stands, declaring she was going to make a call to get him a spot.

He feels a wave of embarrassment at the thought of going to butt fuck nowhere to participate in the kind of Challenger he hadn’t participated in since he was 19. He’s fucking humiliated actually. But before the shame can overtake him, he catches sight of the gold band gleaming on his hand that he’d been sure to put back on as soon as his match was over. And any complaints he’d had are suddenly being drowned out by the fear of what would happen if he didn’t finish. 

“Tashi.”

“We had a deal, Art. I upheld my end, you uphold yours.”

[spookythesillyfella]

Spooky.. I'm BORED and I don't know what to talk about so I'm going to ask YOU personally if you have any song you feel like discussing/dissecting? It can be literally ANYTHING you'd like :D Even if you need to write a whole lot it's truly whatever I'm just super eager to hear about something talk about something HELP I'M SORRY YOU CAN IGNORE THIS ASK COMPLETELY I DON'T MIND!! I love you very much <3 !!!! I FEEL WEIRD SENDING THIS I'M BAD AT APPROACHING INBOXES

AGAIN don't feel forced.. I don't wanna bother you >_< I know I've asked this before and you've delivered I just don't want to keep pestering you about your interests if you don't want it!!

uhmm ... i do have quite a few songz that id REALLY REALLY love to talk about eventually ...

specifically "Farewell Human Relations" – Dobuno Awa with either hv! shrig or brendy . and "Now Our Fates Intertwine" – Dobuno Awa with hv! sketch n tony . but every time id wanted to make a proper analyziz of thoze songz i feel like i just end up falling short ; maybe im getting too dumb to analyze dobuno awa'z songz at thiz point – maybe ive become so stupid that even a simple song analyziz iz hard to write haha

buut . unsurprizingly . i do have a song that id like to talk about unrelated to high voltage – and it would come az no shock in the slightest that itz from the You will never forget me seriez

"An Unfamiliar Successor" – Dobuno Awa [y'know !! the song where itoguchi getz introduced !! :DD]

look . the beginning lyricz of the song literally featurez backwardz text and i . being the idiot of all time . will NOT be racking my brain to try and figure out what it sayz ; im a lazy stupid man but i am free

"Spreading from one sound to another // Let's go to a colorful world" – soo yknow how itoguchi iz kinda sorta the personification of popoz grief [at least from my understanding of it] ? i think thiz iz her inviting popo to go through the process of grieving together – to guide her through it . so to speak

"Born and gone in the blink of an eye // Will such a thing destroy your faith?" – i think "faith" here referez to the faith popo iz to have in herzelf to keep going without michi being by her side anymore ; how popo shouldn't discard it all becauze of thiz traumatic event

"I will never forgive you!" – ill touch up more on thiz line in a bit ; for now . i want u to keep it in mind

"If we stop this right here and now // Then this will be pointless // She was a wonderful child // More so than anyone else" – az someone who doez still struggle a lot with processing their grief . i think thiz iz somewhat true ; if u don't live to remember the people uve lost . ure basically proving their exiztence worthlezz – u live to remember wonderful people . throwing it all away would be a disservice to all that they've done for u [or at least thatz how i see it]

"Now it's time for you to struggle // This is only the beginning // It's cruel // But this is my mission" – itoguchi here iz right again ; overcoming grief and the loss of a beloved perzon can be incredibly hard [and it can still be a long time after they've passed] and . while it iz cruel to make her suffer through all thiz . it iz her mizzion . and one that she mist bring to an end

"I recognized the voice close to my ear. Looking at the delayed video that played back, I instantly realized that it was her voice. Everywhere I looked there was always a screen that became my everyday and brought me color" – thiz iz just a fragment from the wall of text that beginz to rapidly flash on screen but i still think itz very meaningful ; when someone diez . itz like everything suddenly revolvez around them . or rather their absence – u see them everywhere . u hear them everywhere . and the reminder that they aren't anywhere only makez the pain worze . and it makez u search for them in everything all the more

"She was always smiling, and yet that smile always seemed forced. I'm here because she called out to me. I don't know why, but I intuitively understood that she called. I love her, and if it's for her, I could call for anyone" – and when someone diez . especially when they are the onez to terminate their own livez . u start picking up on the signz that led up to it ; u start to think "why . if only i noticed them sooner . i could have stopped all of thiz from happening !!" and . while i believe that iz a nice sentiment – to think ur wordz actually hold a lot of meaning and how support can go a long way . ultimately itz their decizion to go through with their suicide and u can't really do much to deter them from it . no matter what u try

"Even if that was someone who had hurt her. There is only one thing I can do. Hey, murderer, I'm right here. From now on, I'll be nearby, supporting you, since we're both connected to her. But please let me keep on talking about her, okay?" – again . ill get to talk about the symbolizm of thiz in just a tad ; pleaze put a pin in that

"If I can do that she'll never vanish, right? She wants you to never forget her. Though I believe you understand this better than anybody else. It's fine, there's no need to be afraid. Simply don't make any mistakes. Just live forever" – once again . michiz end goal waz that popo would never forget her ; if popo were to die az well . it would've all been for nothing

"But I won't forgive you. I will absolutely never forgive you" – and . with thiz az well stuck to our bulletin board . we can finally move onto my main game theory about thiz song and . more importantly . about itoguchiz character

i think itoguchi iz the perzonification of popoz grief over the loss of michi . just like how madoguchi waz the perzonification of michiz jealouzy towardz popo

i think that itoguchi conztantly calling popo a "murderer" iz popoz own perspective over herzelf – itz her who cauzed michiz suicide . itz her who couldn't save michi . itz her who made michi jealouz to begin with ; popo can never forgive herzelf for the fact michi killed herzelf and now the grief iz going to follow her forever . az long az she livez

and i say that alzo becauze theze two are pretty similar in trying to force the two to face their problemz head-on ; madoguchi tried to get michi to confront herzelf and to realize that her jealouzy over popo iz really just the hatred she holdz for herzelf and how popo haz no fault in thiz whatzoever . and itoguchi makez popo stomach all the memoriez of michi and how she iz never coming back . how shez gone forever and how popo now haz to learn how to cope with the lozz of her best friend

all in all . i think thiz song iz a great portrayal of the grief and guilt that comez with lozing a loved one . especially to suicide ; i really hope popo getz to heal and move on from thiz in future installmentz of the seriez . since i find her relationship with itoguchi to be a very interesting one . and that michiz memory can live on forever

[scorpioriesling]

Prompt Request Masterlist

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

Hello everyone! This isn’t my typical type of post, but I thought it would be fun to try something new and see what interesting prompts / pairings people wanted to see! Reply with a number, a character, and a mood for your fic and I’ll write it as soon as I am able. (: Feel free to combine, mix and match, or send other asks to me too! My asks inbox is always open beyond this list. <3 Strikethrough options are WIPs or have already been chosen!

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

Characters:

Rhysand (ACOTAR)

Azriel (ACOTAR)

Cassian (ACOTAR)

Lucien (ACOTAR)

Eris (ACOTAR)

Tamlin (ACOTAR)

Xaden (Fourth Wing)

Liam (Fourth Wing)

Ridoc (Fourth Wing)

Brennan (Fourth Wing)

Bodhi (Fourth Wing)

Garrick (Fourth Wing)

Dain (Fourth Wing)

Moods:

＊ Angst

┊͙Smut

ꕥ Fluff

Prompt List:

“Were you talking about me?”

Caught Masturbating

“Tempting offer, but I’ll pass.”

Make Up Sex

“If you don’t wanna kiss me, I’ll find someone who does.”

Hate Sex

“Only on one condition. We get plastered first.”

Struggling To Keep Quiet During A Meeting

Jealousy

Threesome

“Actions speak louder than words.”

“Swallow all of it.”

Voyeurism

“If that’s the only reason you came here, just leave.”

“Sit on my face baby.”

“Why did you bring me here?”

“Beg for it.”

“Do you trust me?”

“Eyes on me baby.”

“I can’t wait any longer.”

“Slip your hand between your legs for me.”

“Dance with me?”

“I love the way you taste.”

“I’m so in love with you.”

“Do you fantasize about me?”

“Is that a new tattoo?”

“Do you realize that I can see your bra through that blouse?”

“Stop trying to kiss me while I’m trying to yell at you!”

“Shouldn’t we be watching the movie?”

“I can see you undressing me with your eyes.”

“Stop it, I’m on the phone.”

“I’m never letting you leave this bed again.”

“I’m pregnant.”

“Can I kiss you right now?”

“You’re cute when you’re angry.”

“I’ve liked you for awhile now.”

“We’d make such a cute couple.”

“I want to take care of you.”

“It’s lonely here without you.”

“I can’t stand the thought of loosing you.”

“Shut up and kiss me already.”

“Are you flirting with me?”

“Is that my shirt?”

“You’d be a great dad.”

“Whats the matter?”

“This is why I fell in love with you.”

“They’re going to love you, don’t worry!”

“Of course I remembered.”

“Are you jealous?”

“Do you know how badly I’ve wanted you?”

“I got you something.”

“Will you marry me?”

“May I have this dance?”

“You’re not supposed to see me before the wedding!”

“Does this mean I’m your boyfriend now?”

“You’re my hero.”

“There’s no where else I’d rather be.”

“You did this for me?”

“I want to be yours and only yours.”

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Let me help you with that.”

“How do you expect me to do that?”

“Get lost.”

“What kind of dream?”

“I have a proposition for you.”

“What’s the big deal?! Everyone’s seen a dick.”

“How about we settle this over a mattress?”

“I fail to see how this is a good idea.”

“That’s not what you said last night.”

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”

“There’s nothing wrong with relieving stress.”

“I could really use your help, not your attitude.”

“My eyes are up here.”

“Don’t act so innocent.”

“You’re too good for me.”

[wonderlandhatter]

Aaron Hotchner Snapchats part 2

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Now Im thinking about the time where he knows you like him and you know he likes you but this y/n has been hurt before and his reputation is making her hold her heart very close, you need to be sure he isn't just trying you out.

And ofcourse he's not that man is obsessed with you, he'd wait 20 years to kiss you if that's what you needed. But let's still remember this man would flirt with a chair, he's a flirt just cus but when he is falling for you? It's through the roof.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

He's started getting you flowers, he honestly wanted to do it way before but didn't want to scare you off but now he doesn't care he's being very open about being head over heels for you.

I imagine this being him dropping by your flat and texting you "hey let me in I wanna see youuuu" then sending the picture.

You are very glad for the picture letting your warm cheeks cool down and get the giddyness out as he walks up the steps.

You guys were deff watching something dumb but he put up a show of being nervous about it and needing to hold your hand.

Ofcourse you don't believe it but it's a great excuse for you to hold his hand so you entertain it. A bit into the movie your head makes it to leaning on his shoulder and he has to do everything in him not to have an outward reaction.

He also deff has to pee at some point through the movie but is too scared you'll not lean on him again or hold his hand when he comes back so he stays.

You're one step away from making it official . He's getting boulder, tension is rising and you're so easy to get flustered.

Your Saturday night hangouts have evolved, pyjamas and even fcemasls are involved now. You take turns picking a movie and a lot of the time end up falling asleep on the couch together.

He's being an annoying little sh and trying to make you blush and of course it works because you want him so badddddddd.

He's away at some event and just can't resist.

I do imagine an sngsty scene a bit before this where maybe you admitted your insecurities and that you like him but are scared blah blah blah.

Anyways he is very happy to wait as long as you need and it also comes up that he hasn't touch as looked at another girl since he laid eyes on you and ofcourse to him this means letting you know as much as possible that "he" is waiting for you lol. He's so annoying

If anyone has any ideas for this au please drop into my inbox, it's got anon on.

Or if you have requests about this couple or anything else feel free to request or maybe if you just wanna chat about any fandoms or anything feel free

[seungcheorry]

seungcheorry's commissions - terms, conditions, prices and deadlines.

hello 🍒

my name is cherry (it's not, but that's how i wanna be addressed, please). i'm 25 years old, my pronouns are she/her and i'm from latin america. i started my blog around a year ago and it has been a really good ride. 

usually i don't do requests - i've been writing for fandoms for about 13 years now and i know how hard it can get to have lots of requests in your inbox, how pressured you can feel. so i decided that seungcheorry would be different, and i only take suggestions here.

however, i know some of you may have requests and things you'd like to see me writing. i took that and combined with a certain goal i wanna reach and i thought, "why don't i try doing commissions?". so that's why i'm here. 

so, let's get down to it:

seungcheorry's commissions

rules:

i know it's a commission, but please keep it in mind that i can still refuse to write something;

send me what you want first, and the payment later; 

i'll be accepting commission requests through ko-fi's messages or tumblr asks/messages. feel free to reach me out wherever you prefer;

no refunds, i'll do my best to stick to your request so please, detail it as much as you can;

yes, you can publish the commission i did for you, but please credit me;

i won't tolerate any type of discrimination or whatsoever towards me, my readers, svt members or kpop idols in general.

what i can write:

angst, suggestive, comedy;

fantasy aus;

major character death;

member x reader, member x member;

reader's pov, member's pov;

content inspired by musics, tv shows, films and books;

drabbles/fanfic from 300 to 3k words.

what i can't write:

smut;

angst: cutting, use of substances (moderate alcohol, ciggarettes and weed is fine), suicide, characters being aggressive towards each other;

in general: just please be considerative.

so now, let's talk about prices (all of them in USD, but i can convert to my currency if you'd like) and deadlines:

300 to 500 words: $5 - short drabbles, with not that much details, in the style i always write; i'll deliver it in 1 to 2 business days after the payment.

500 to 800 words: $7 - short drabbles, with a little more details and/or dialogues, in the style i always write; i'll deliver it in 3 to 4 business days after the payment.

800 to 1.2k words: $10 - short fanfics, with more storytelling, in the style i always write; i'll deliver it in 5 to 6 business days after the payment.

1.2k to 2k words: $15 - fanfics, with more storytelling, more details, in the styles i always write; i'll deliver it in 7 to 9 business days after the payment.

2k to 2.5k words: $18 - fanfics, with more storytelling, more details, in the styles i always write; i'll deliver it in 10 to 12 business days after the payment.

2.5k to 3k words: $22 - fanfics, with more storytelling, more details, in the styles i always write; i'll deliver it in 12 to 15 business days after the payment.

anything with more than 3k words: please reach me out, we can talk prices and deadlines.

i'll try to update you as much as i can about your commission.

okay, i think this is it. in case you have any doubts, don't hesitate to reach me out. tips in general are welcome.

thank you, hope to talk to you soon. ❤️🍒

[a-haunting-memory]

| 𝐆𝐮𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐩𝐚𝐠𝐞 |

A/n: Hello!- everybody my name is Markiplier and welcome back to five nights- nah jkjk. Since my account seems to have gathered some attention, it's time to make some official announcements!

On this app I'm trying to impersonate whatever excuse of a writer I am. I will write requests in my free time. If you want to know something more about me, stay right here!- however if you want to skip it all and already go to the rules before you request anything, scroll down a bit. READ THE RULES PLS (they aren't long).

.`'✭ 𝓐𝓫𝓸𝓾𝓽 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝔀𝓻𝓲𝓽𝓮𝓻 ✭`'.

Hey there! Glad you stayed. I won't brag a lot about myself but I just wanted to say I have a lot of hobbies, my fav one is drawing and that's also what I'm best at, I also play the guitar (classic and electric ones), I make edits, animate from time to time, I love listening to music, I roller skate, oh and write, hah. Also I'm a Catholic, no waaay🤯🤯🤯 please be respectful.

Writing is not my main hobby and I don't focus on it much, so it might not be very professional, but whatever I write I try to do it as in character as I can hence sometimes the process might take a while, I struggle a lot to get every detail done.

I'm an INFP-T (⁠•⁠ ⁠▽⁠ ⁠•⁠;⁠)

✭ 𝓦𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓯𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓸𝓶𝓼 𝓪𝓶 𝓘 𝓲𝓷?

Lackadaisy

Hazbin hotel

Fnaf

Fionna and cake/the adventure time

Gravity falls

House m.d.

Helluva boss

Beetlejuice

Murder drones (slightly less involved than other fandoms)

TADC (slightly less involved than other fandoms)

Heathers, Ride the cyclone, the mean girls - just basically into some musicals.

And that would be it for now, I think.

Think I'm cool? Wanna get to know me more? Sure! My inbox is always open for Q&A! You can also dm me if you'd want to get acquainted.

I might update this later if anything comes to my mind. For now, I'm leaving it be.

| ☆ℝ𝕖𝕢𝕦𝕖𝕤𝕥𝕤 & ℝ𝕦𝕝𝕖𝕤☆ |

°꩜ 𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘮𝘴 𝘥𝘰 𝘐 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳? ꩜°

Currently it's Lackadaisy and Hazbin Hotel because I'm most confident at writing these. If you went through the list of fandoms I'm in and saw any fandom you'd like to make a request for, you can send it in but I can't promise that I will manage to write it.

𝓒𝓱𝓪𝓻𝓪𝓬𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓼 𝓘 𝓵𝓲𝓴𝓮 𝓽𝓸 𝔀𝓻𝓲𝓽𝓮 𝓯𝓸𝓻 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓶𝓸𝓼𝓽 :

Dorian "Zib" - Lackadaisy

Husker - HH

"Wick" Sable - Lackadaisy

Lucifer - HH

°꩜ 𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘐 𝘸𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 ꩜°

NSFW - but I might write some mild spice.

Anything too ooc (e.g. character is aromantic/clearly not prone to affection but the request is asking for something completely opposite.)

Anything offensive

MLM - (man loving man) - I'm sorry but I don't feel fully capable of doing that. Might write one from time to time if the request is short and simple, but anything else, no, sorry.

°꩜ 𝘏𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵? ꩜°

If you have any requests, put them in my inbox. You can see if I'm currently taking any by checking the status in my bio.

If you have a specific vision that you want me to write, please tell me all the details, I mean it. I ask of you to not send me requests that are too neutral/not specific enough. (e.g. you want a drabble for XYZ x reader going out on a date - add details like: genre (fluff, angst, etc.), tell me if you want the relationship to be platonic or romantic, tell me where do you want them to go or what do you want to happen at that place, you can even add a line you'd like to hear from them so I can try to include it) Just don't be afraid to be more specific! Let me see your vision so I won't make any mistakes.

°꩜ Anons ꩜°

Yes I do remember the accounts that supports me/sends requests! And yes, I will make list of anons if y'all would like me to! You can call yourself whatever you want or sign yourself as emojis

Current list:

None yet

°꩜ 𝘘𝘶𝘪𝘤𝘬 𝘳𝘶𝘭𝘦𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘱𝘢𝘨𝘦 ꩜°

If you want to request or interact with any further content I make for HH, please be over 16, thank you.

This is supposed to be a safe space, so don't be mean! Be respectful to each other! We need more kind people in this world >:(

If anything changes I'll update this. Have fun! ^^

[weekly-mizurui]

I'll make the pinned post pretty at some point. as the url suggests I post mizurui weekly every saturday:3 i will try to keep it to official art/mvs/merchandise etc, but if you have an edit or fanart or anything you'd like to submit you can absolutely do that! just make sure it's yours or you have permission from the creator

edit: turns out Tumblr won't let me post submissions um. don't know why that is. but anyway you're welcome to send me stuff through dms, askbox or submission page. I'll just save the photo and @ you in the post (and if you don't wanna be tagged send it in the inbox on anon and I'll say it was submitted anonymously)

don't be afraid to send me asks! about headcanons or about how much is in my queue or this or that or the other. i love yapping <3

aside from the daily posting I'll also reblog mizurui stuff :3 my queue is currently set to 2 per day

by the way this blog is most definitely not limited to fanart. any kind of content is allowed and will be posted. fanfics. plushies. memes*. literally anything (rule-abiding!! see below) is fine. feel free to tag me in mizurui content I'll reblog :3

* I probably won't be reblogging memes unless it's a post with only one meme and it's mizurui or if every meme in the post involves mizurui, just for the sake of keeping this blog mostly mizurui aligned. don't let this deter you from submitting them!

Submission rules:

no nsfw i am a minor & so are mizurui!! innuendos are fine but nothing outright dirty

please do not submit anything using Rui's trained card/costume from Revival My Dream ( with the exception of the untrained ). This has less to do with my stance on the controversy and more to do with the fact I don't want people starting discourse on my posts. All curtain call content except for the mv is fine.

edited because after the nuclear response to mzen5 I'm gonna be blunt about this. I use she/her for mizuki. mizuki is a trans girl and if you have issue with that statement block me idgaf as a trans person I do not feel safe around you.

tags below cut

#daily mizurui - daily mizurui

#submission - submissions

#inbox - answered asks

#mizurui reblogs - other reblogged mizurui content

#queued - queued

#not mizurui - posts that are not mizurui

tw tags are formatted #tw [thing]. feel free to ask for something tagged if you need!

[m1ckeyb3rry]

Ok cue my memory loss moment part 5 I can’t tell if I sent this reply in or not before so if this is a dupe I SINCERELY APOLOGIZE hsvshshs but anyways

OMG EVERYONE CHEER!!! Guys the moment is finally upon us…another mira banger about to drop….

LMAOO fwtkac was the gateway…once you start you can’t stop its just how the Karasu rabbit hole works! Bro hollyhock is actually so good…I can’t even put it into words properly but just the whole setting giving a new depth to a diff side of otoyas characters ugh so good

True!!! I’m ngl I’m a little surprised that for marketing sake they didn’t try to throw in some like popular character bait…maybe it’s because most of the actually popular bllkers are already out and as opposed to merch I guess book sales would be a bit diff? Like fans would buy to read even if their absolute faves aren’t in but yeah…the stories were fire though LMAO new appreciation for Barou fr

And IM ON IT o7 very happy to serve the miraverse and honestly it’s good for me too because if I wanna reference something quickly I can just go command f it or if I wanna read something fast I can just read my tl LMAO I also just like having my own TL/interpretations written down just for my reference too…which is part of the reason why I also ended up TLing Hioris too even though there was a TL already out! I remember reading the TLd version that got posted and some wording kinda threw me off so I was like let me just look at this myself…LOL Also I’m kinda a lore nerd so I wanna make sure I get to see any intricacies or in between the line messages that can get lost in translation! So yeah TLDR I will most definitely be here for tabieita LNs!!!

IM CRYING they’re gonna have to scroll through our manifestations and convos just to get to the chapter like imagine the link gets passed around and the first thing people read is us screaming about mariokart in yuki’s novel or anri getting done dirty (I clicked on the links just to see what they’d have to go through and oh my god chapter 2 LMFAOOO there’s like a whole minute of scrolling worth of convo before you even reach the LN part it’s so funny)

We’re truly just built different sorry this is exclusive content gatekept by the insanely long convos we have

-Karasu anon

HAHAH this time you did in fact send this in already 😭 but it’s okay i will delete the copy!! but no worries 😋

FINISHED ROUND ONE OF PROOFREADING!! heading to monaco for my mother’s birthday dinner soon hehe but once i’m back tn i will get on round two and hopefully i’ll be able to post it by tmrw!! lowkey idk how i feel about it but at least it’ll be out in the world after i’ve been talking abt it sm 😭

you came to my inbox and showed me the ways of karasuism and i’ve never looked back since 🙏🏻 jkjk but fr though i love writing him sm now he’s so good at the one sided pining thing which i loveee in a male lead 🤩 like YESSS be absolutely sick over this girl who doesn’t even know she likes you yet YESSS 🤤💖

hollyhock otoya is so fun i love him and i cannot WAIT to write more of him and y/n…idk if you’ve heard that one tik tok sound that’s like “you belong with me” from taylor swift and then it transitions into “you belong to me” from house of balloons / glass table girls from the weeknd but that’s literally hollyhock y/n + karasu’s dynamic vs her dynamic with otoya 😭😭😭 like with karasu it’s all sweet innocent besties (they are platonic soulmates coded eventually like they end up loving each other SOO MUCH but not romantically??) vs with otoya she’s literally like “i want you to belong to me” (exact quote from chapter 2: “you wanted this ninja to belong to you”) FHDKSJSJ man atp free otoya 😰🙏🏻 but he matches y/n’s freak so well he probably doesn’t even WANT to be freed

i feel like the people who would buy light novels would buy them no matter what + they probably thought barou would be popular enough to carry it?? who knows…agreed though the stories were all rlly good (well aryu’s was a little goofy but wtvr)

LMAOOO THAT’S WHAT I WAS THINKING people will be like “why are they freaking out over mario kart??” FJSJDJS but ykw if you want to read you have to go through the trials and tribulations of our massive convos 🤩 we are elite though…carrying the bllk fandom with our translations + fics 😋