#patting down people and scanning people over and over again

[johiahdumerepetitefille]

When Joey finally arrived at the Scamander's cottage, Luna's smiling face was welcome sight. The older witch gathered Johiah into her arms, minding the kit of course, and pressed a kiss to the brunet's head. Joey sighed and held on tighter, not letting Luna go until Lys was flooing in behind her with the bags. She watched with a smile, stroking the kit's head absent mindedly as Luna all but threw herself around Lys, ecstatic to see her son again after so long apart.

She moved fluidly between the pair of young adults, Luna's attention shifting back to Johiah and the kit. Joey gave up the kit willingly, a soft smile on her face as she handed over the small fury creature.

"He probably needs to go out, it was a long trip." Joey mentioned softly before the topic shifted again. Fluid and moving as always.

Naturally it came to Lily and Lorcan and in Joey's chest she felt the rise of that same complicated knot of feelings that had existed there since she first learned of the pregnancy. Excitement for her dearest friends, anticipation of the future, love already existing for those two precious babies not yet born and, shamefully, a bit of jealousy that made her feel full of self-loathing and worthlessness for feeling anything of the sort. Lily loved babies, and Lorcan loved anything Lily loved. They were a devoted, attentive sort of people. They'd be perfect parents.

"Oh yes, we're quite excited as well." Johiah enthused, forcing her smile to stay fixed on her face. It wasn't that hard to pretend anymore, and forcing a smile at for others was a skill she had mastered long ago anyways.

"Lys was the first to notice it was twins, when we got the first sonogram." Joey noted, reaching out to pat a hand on Lys' arm, pride shining in her eyes.

"I'll put our bags away, love." Johiah said, grabbing at the bags, wanting to step away to just have a single moment to breathe by herself. "But after, I'd love to see those pictures, Luna."

Johiah hefted the bags across the small living room and down the hall to what had been Lorcan and Lys' childhood bedroom growing up. Entering it, was like entering a time capsule of sorts. It looked exactly as it had the last time she was in it, shortly before her and lys left. Paintings on the walls, foil stars and celestial bodies handing from the veiling on string. Art supplied were still covering every surface, a thorough mix of sketch pads and paint brushes along side several books collections that had long outgrown the small wooden book case the twins had shared growing up. Joey dropped the bags and reached out, running a hand along the brown wood of Lys' dresser. It was still soft and worn like she remembered.

Like Luna had said, she'd pushed the beds together, and that alone was the sole sign any time had passed at all in the room. It was still set up like at any moment a teenaged Lys would come running in barefoot with a new specimen he wanted to sketch at his desk, or a still baby faced Lorcan would be slamming the door in frustration after his latest tantrum. Everything felt the same.

So why did it offer no comfort?

Johiah's eyes scanned the room, waiting for something to click, for some relief to sweep through her and unwind the knot in her chest. She had always loved being here growing up. The cottage was small and cozy and warm in a way her own childhood home never was. But she felt instead like a piece of a puzzle that had been bent out of shape. Like she no longer fit into something she used to. Maybe this is just what it felt like to grow up, the witch mused.

She gave herself another moment to look around the room, appreciating the silence and nostalgia before she moved back out into the rest of the cottage, rejoining Lys and Luna in the kitchen. This time Rolf was there, his arms tight around his son and fighting tears which was par for the course with the former Gryffindor.

"Joey!" Rold exclaimed with a smile once the young woman came into view through the arch that lead into the kitchen. She smiled and waved, but that just wouldn't due. Rolf reached out a long arm and brought her into a tight hug as well, smooshing her against Lys.

"I've missed you both terribly, haven't I dear?" Rolf said with a sniffle. Luna nodded solemnly from his side.

"Yes, you have. Terribly." She echoed. "But you've been very strong about it." Rolf choked back a sob and nodded.

"I only allowed myself to cry once a day in the evening before bed." Rolf detailed, "It was quite therapeutic."

"Yes, quite therapeutic." Luna agreed. There was a ding from the oven however, that had Rolf finally releasing Joey and Lys and turning around. He pulled on a pair of pink floral oven mits and pulled out a tray of banana nut muffins from the oven his wife had set to warm.

"Do sit down," Luna insisted, placing a palm on Joey shoulder. She still had the fox kit tucked securely under her right arm. "When one drinks plenty of tea and eats plenty of muffins and has plenty of stories to tell, its much easier to enjoy oneself while sat at a kitchen table. Don't you agree?" She questioned, smiling gently.

"Certainly." Joey agreed, taking a seat next to wear Lys was already pulling out a chair.

"Honey and milk?" Luna asked as she turned to pour tea from a steaming kettle into mis matched tea cups.

"Please, heavy on the honey." Johiah answered. She folded her hands neatly on the table in front of her, fingers clasped together.

"Help yourselves." Rolf encouraged once he was placing a platter of warm muffins down on the center of the table beside the butter dish.

"I want to hear all about South America. Have you two encountered any Spasming Chilean Blasting Crabs?" Rolf asked, sitting down across from the pair.

Aftermath

In the distance, a macaw gave it’s distinct clicking caw. It rang out across the immediate jungle, causing Johiah to look up from where she kneeled at a river’s edge. The day’s washing sat at her side in a bucket as her dark eyes caught just in time, the scarlet streak of a macaw glide through the canopy of dark leafy trees overhead. It broke up the golden light beams that crawled in through the dense forest, throwing shadows across the witches face. Her eyes, golden from the sunlight, were cast in dark for a moment, before finding the light again. She smiled at the sight.

It had been a year since Joey and Lys had left the United Kingdom. They had everything there. Family, friends, responsibilities. They both needed to still take their OWLs, and things had never been fixed completely with her siblings. She was unsure if it ever could…But surely, she knew, just as Sable’s Lamb, those things would be there waiting for the two when they returned. Lys and Joey, they had needed this, to be away and in nature on their own if only for a little while. Their hearts and minds, and bodies had been through so much… They had been through so much, but the jungle had a way about it. It could crawl into you with it’s never ending roots and vines and greenery and fill in the empty spots with new life.

That was what Joey loved most about the Amazon, what her and Lysander both did, it was full of so much life. Plants, and bugs, and animals, even bacteria. All of it thrived here, all of it was connected. And it felt good to Joey to be part of something so vast and powerful. It made her feel small in the best of ways, like her broken parts were insignificant, like she was insignificant in the grand scheme, but all the same had a part to play. Joey looked back down to where the water at the river’s edge bubbled over smoothed dark rocks and clay and ran past, carrying away down stream. She liked that too, how everything was constantly moving here. Lys and Joey did a lot of that, moving with the creatures they wanted to study, or just with their fancy. They hadn’t a proper house really, just a charmed tent and some supplies. They lived off the land when it came to food, of which their seemed to be an abundance of in such a secluded part of the amazon. 

Joey doubted she’d ever feel like who she was before, but over time, she was becoming okay with the witch she was becoming instead.

The screech of a horned owl, had Joey picking her head up once more. It was a distinct and familiar call, but not one native to the amazon. She looked up to confirm her thoughts and held out her arm as her Lily and Lorcan’s elderly best of an owl took to her. It wrapped it’s great claws around it’s flesh perch and heaved a sigh finally happy to rest. Joey stood and fished out a few owl friendly snacks from the satchel on her hip for Henry who gobbled them up fiercely. She would take him in for a bit, what a long flight he must have had.

“You must have had quite the adventure Henry,” Joey said pleasantly to the bird, “You must tell me all about it over tea.” It wasn’t until she was breezing in through the fabric door of their tent that Johiah finally reached for the letter at Henry’s foot. She set him down upon a perch reserved especially for the owls that brought them their correspondence, a luxurious piece of mahogany suspended over a bed of cushiony Cocoa leaves put together by Lys, before taking the envelope. She would have recognized the letter to be form Lily even if Henry were not the one bringing it, if only for the floral stationary. 

“Lys, Darling.” Joey called as she moved further into their humble dwelling. She swept past the small unfinished wood kitchen, through the hanging beads, to where in their bedroom, Lys sat nursing in injured grey fox kit. He had been working with him for the past few days, and things were starting to look up for the poor thing.

“Look a letter from Lily,” Joey said excitedly, smiling a bright smile as she waved the floral envelope in front of her. She turned then, to sit at the wobbly old desk and it’s mix matched pink chair. 

On it sat correspondence from their other friends and family. Not all of it responded to or welcome, but their none the less. Many letters from her mother that Johiah hadn’t the heart to even read yet, but much more correspondence from her sisters and favorite cousin Jacob. Pictures of babies, were growing more and more the norm, but set apart sat one photo in particular, Julien and Jill’s wedding photo. They were both grim faced in it and dressed in their finest robes, a pretty white veil upon Jill’s head. Joey knew this was not a love match, but one born out of responsibility for their disgraced family. Julien had allowed his sisters freedom in exchange for his own. The sins of their father were his to bear now, and that came in the form of being the family head.

Joey pushed those things aside now in order to open Lily’s letter. Familiar flowery scrip greeted Joey, putting a smile on her face. How she very much missed her dearest companion, she hadn’t seen her favorite redhead since their wedding back in December. It had been a happy tearful thing, a final good memory made at Potter Manor before all four of them parted. Hungrily, Joey’s dark eyes ate up the contents of the letter, widening in surprise before she let out an exited screech.

“She’s pregnant!” Joey cheered, turning to face Lys, the letter being waved dramatically overhead. It said to keep things a secret, but Joey knew Lily certainly did not mean from Lys. The two had no secrets between each other at this point, but she didn’t doubt Lys perhaps already knowing. The twins had remained close despite the distance and they had that mystifying twin connection that let them know the contents of each other’s head.

“Lily and Lorcan are having a baby!” Joey cheered again, happy and full of excitement for her dear mates. Despite this however, tears began to dribble from the corners of her eyes. She wiped at them, continuing to smile, and pulled the letter back to her chest, hugging it.

“A child.” Joey exhaled, the corners of her mouth aching from smiling. But her heart ached too in a strange, bittersweet way. Possibilities and what if’s tangled ghostly cobwebs through her happiness. She fell to her and Lys’ bed in a huff, still hugging the letter.

“Oh what a blessing.” Joey sniffed, “What a dear, dear blessing. I sh-shouldn’t imagine two better, more loving parents for a child.” She looked at Lys finally with a quivering smile. “You’re to be an uncle, my love, congratulations.”

[ceasarslegion]

Talking about the inner politics of my workplace has me thinking about how they literally tell us that the only time we're allowed to take a breather from randomly picking people is if every single person in the line has been picked

And they just tripled our minimun quota on that on the basis that we "steal too much time by taking breathers after every passenger"

[ari-ana-bel-la]

Heyy! Could you maybe write for Oscar, his 2 year old babygirl being very cuddly and clingy? She doesn’t want to be separated from him or her mom. Just very fluffy and sweet

Little Miss Clingy

The moment Oscar and Lily laid eyes on their baby girl two years ago, their world shifted. They had thought they understood love before, but seeing their daughter for the first time, tiny and perfect, was something else entirely. They adored every part of her—the way her little fingers curled around theirs, the sleepy sighs she made when she rested on their chests, and now, at two years old, the way she toddled around their home, her chubby arms always reaching for them.

Yn was the center of their universe, and she knew it.

So, when Oscar suggested bringing her to a race for the first time, Lily had been hesitant. "She’s never been around so many people before, Osc," she had said, running her fingers through Yn’s soft curls as the little girl played with her stuffed rabbit. "She might get overwhelmed."

Oscar, ever the optimist, had grinned. "She’ll be fine, love. She’s got us."

And now, standing in the middle of the paddock with Yn perched on Oscar’s hip, her little fists gripping his shirt tightly, Lily wasn’t so sure about that.

Yn’s big eyes darted around, scanning the sea of unfamiliar faces. People were everywhere—talking, laughing, pointing cameras in their direction. Some even called out to her daddy, waving excitedly.

Yn didn’t like it.

She turned her head, burying her face into Oscar’s shoulder. He let out a small chuckle, rubbing her back. "Not a fan of the crowd, huh, sweetheart?"

Yn only gripped him tighter.

"She’s definitely overwhelmed," Lily murmured, adjusting the pink bucket hat on Yn’s head. She had fought hard for that hat. Everyone in the team had wanted to dress their daughter in orange, but Yn had refused. The second Lily showed her the pink one, she had clapped her hands and declared, "Pinky!"

So pink it was.

Oscar pressed a kiss to Yn’s hair. "It’s a lot to take in, isn’t it, bub?"

Yn peeked up at him with wide eyes, then at Lily, before reaching for her. "Mama," she mumbled, her little voice barely audible over the noise of the paddock.

Lily took her immediately, smoothing a hand over her curls. "I’ve got you, baby."

They made their way toward the hospitality area, where a few drivers were gathered, chatting casually. When they spotted Oscar, their faces lit up.

"Ah, so this is the famous Yn!" Lando was the first to approach, grinning wide. "Hey there, little one."

Yn stared at him for a long moment, then turned her face into Lily’s neck.

Lando gasped dramatically. "Rejected. That one stings, not gonna lie."

Alex snorted, leaning over to get a peek at Yn. "She’s shy, mate. Give her a second."

Oscar reached out, stroking Yn’s back. "You okay, bub? These are my friends."

Yn peeked up, glancing at the group again before curling back into her mom’s arms.

Lily chuckled. "She’s in a clingy mood today."

Carlos, standing nearby, tilted his head. "She doesn’t like crowds?"

"She’s just confused," Oscar explained. "This is her first race, and she has no idea what’s going on."

Max, who had been quiet, suddenly crouched down to Yn’s eye level. "Do you like racing, little one?"

Yn blinked at him, then shook her head. "No."

A beat of silence. Then, Lando burst into laughter. "Oh, Oscar, you’re in trouble."

Oscar let out a dramatic sigh. "Come on, bub, you’re breaking my heart here."

Yn just nestled deeper into Lily’s arms.

"You’re not into racing?" Lando tried again. "But your dad is really good at it!"

Yn furrowed her brows. "Where Daddy go?"

Oscar chuckled. "I’m right here, bub."

She shook her head, patting his chest. "No. Later."

It took them a moment to understand what she meant.

"She’s asking where you go during the race," Lily realized, rubbing Yn’s back.

"Ohhh," Oscar grinned. "Daddy goes in the car, sweetheart."

Yn looked unimpressed.

"To drive really fast," Oscar added.

Still unimpressed.

"You don’t think that’s cool?"

Yn shook her head.

Alex doubled over laughing. "She’s killing me!"

Oscar pouted dramatically. "Alright, bub, what do you think is cool?"

Yn thought for a moment, then lifted her hat. "Pinky."

Lily smirked. "Pink is her favorite color. She wasn’t having any of the orange merch."

Carlos hummed. "You have taste, pequeña. Pink is a great color."

Yn finally pulled her face away from Lily’s neck, her big eyes looking at Carlos. "Pink good."

"See?" Carlos beamed. "Smart girl."

Just as she was starting to relax, a crew member approached, handing Oscar his helmet.

"It’s time?" Oscar asked.

"Yeah, you’re needed in the garage."

Oscar turned back to his wife and daughter, taking Yn into his arms and running a soothing hand down Yn’s back. "Alright, bub, Daddy has to go drive now, okay?"

Yn’s little brows furrowed.

"Daddy will be back soon," he promised. "You stay with Mama."

Then, before she could protest, he gently transferred her into Lily’s arms.

Yn made a confused noise, blinking as if trying to process what just happened. Then—

"Daddy!"

Oscar turned just in time to see his little girl reaching for him, her lower lip wobbling.

"Oh, sweetheart," Lily cooed, bouncing her slightly. "It’s okay, baby. Daddy will be back."

But Yn wasn’t having it.

She let out a frustrated whine, her small hands grasping at the air in Oscar’s direction. "Daddy!"

Oscar winced. "Oh man, this is gonna hurt."

"You need to go," Lily said, though she was clearly struggling not to cave at the sight of their daughter’s distress.

"Yeah, but—"

"Daddy!"

It took everything in Oscar not to take her back. But he knew if he did, he’d never leave.

"I love you, bub," he said softly, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "I’ll be back before you know it."

Yn whined again, but this time, she slumped against Lily’s shoulder, defeated.

Oscar gave her one last look, blowing her a kiss, before heading off, feeling a pang in his chest at the sound of her little sniffles.

Lily sighed, adjusting Yn in her arms. "It’s okay, baby. I’ve got you."

Still, Yn was clearly not happy.

And when Lily started talking to a man called Zak Brown, the two-year-old had had enough.

She curled into her mother, pressing her face into Lily’s neck.

Zak chuckled. "She’s not much of a people person, huh?"

Lily smiled, rubbing small circles on Yn’s back. "She’s usually very social. But today is a lot for her."

Zak nodded understandingly. "First race?"

"Yeah. She doesn’t get why people keep wanting Oscar’s attention or where he goes. She just wants her parents."

Yn clung tighter.

"Well," Zak said, giving the little girl a warm smile, "I think she’s got a great support system."

Lily pressed a kiss to her daughter’s head. "That she does."

Yn didn’t understand racing, or why people were so interested in her dad, or why they kept trying to put her in orange when pink was clearly superior.

But she knew one thing for sure.

As long as she was with her mommy and daddy, everything would be okay.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♥︎♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Authors Note: Hey loves! I hope you enjoyed reading this story. My requests are always open for you.

-🩷🎀

[g1rld1ary]

school spirit! - conrad fisher x reader

wc: 1782 summary: you see conrad on the field and are entranced. kind of fix it AU where conrad plays for stanford and it's happy!connie :-) warnings: kissing and alcohol me: my first conrad fic! pls lmk if you have any criticism coz im not super confident with the characterisation, but i rlly wanted to write a happy con fic coz i've been rewatching szn 1 and its hurting my heart

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

The first time you saw Conrad Fisher, he was on the field. Decked out in red and white, Stanford’s colours, the game looked easy for him. You didn’t see his face at first, covered by the helmet, but you knew he was going to be cute from the way he moved. There was an ease to it, a fluidity that a lot of the other players didn’t have.

The game was given to Stanford by a landslide, the players jumping on top of each other as they celebrated, their cheering drowned out by the yells from the stands, you enthusiastically participating. It was one of the first games of the season, and as a freshman, it was one of the most exciting nights of college so far. You cheered, jumping up and down in place as friends and strangers alike celebrated around you.

The players did their victory rounds, removing their helmets to receive praise from adoring fans. As Conrad unbuckled the strap beneath his chin, the moment seemed to proceed in slow motion. He ran a hand through his hair, sweat flicking as he shook it out. If you didn’t know any better, you would have thought you were watching one of the stupidly hot cologne models that commercials employ to distract from the fact that they can’t advertise a smell on television.

“Who is that?” You asked your friend, a sophomore who’d taken you under her wing.

“Conrad Fisher,” She replied, busy taking photos of her boyfriend in his football uniform, “Apparently, he’s a freshman. Smart, too, real boy next door type.”

You observed him carefully, noting the way he interacted with his teammates and the cheerleaders; bright, bubbly. Then you watched him take in the glory that comes with college football, the screaming students begging for his attention. He smiled, a pretty thing, eyes scanning across the huge stand, a sea of red and white and excited movement.

Then, all of a sudden, his eyes locked onto yours, time slowing to feel like a thousand years passing as you stared at each other. Finally, he smiled, crooked and sweet, and you couldn’t help but return it, holding up your hand in a small wave.

The moment passed as soon as it began, and Conrad was looking at the rest of the stands, stars visibly in his eyes. You watched him for one more second before snapping out of it, returning to your friends celebrating around you.

You were dragged to a frat party that night, floor sticky with spilled alcohol beneath your feet. The music blared as you got closer to the living room, college kids pushing and shoving as they danced or drank.

You were still decked out in your school colours, red and white face paint on your cheeks and ribbons in your tied-up hair. A few girls from your classes called you over, making you a drink with more alcohol than mixer.

You danced with them to Kesha, running your hands down your body as the bass pumped through your bones. The vodka mix was making everything seem nicer, colours more vivid, even in the dark room.

The music quietened for a moment, and the players burst into the frat house, jumping on top of each other and taking in the praise showered over them.

You watched them with your friends, smiling at their unadulterated excitement. Your eyes found Conrad again quickly, his presence having an explicable draw. A smile crept its way onto your lips as you observed him, clearly the baby of the team. He grinned as older teammates ruffled his hair and patted him on the back, accepting drinks from the myriad of people surrounding him.

For the second time that day, Conrad’s eyes fell on you. Across the room, you stared at each other, frozen in the midst of chaos. Then, shyly, you smiled, repeating the same little wave from earlier, just in case he didn’t recognise you. He laughed. You couldn’t hear it over the music and chatter, but you could tell from the way his eyes lit up and his shoulders stuttered. He copied the gesture, wiggling his fingers in the way you did.

You knew you were flushing red, heat creeping up your neck. You bit your lip to try and conceal the embarrassed, giddy smile, but you didn’t think you were doing a very good job of it. Luckily, he was your spitting image, both of you torn between wanting to look away in humiliation and needing to keep looking at each other.

The song changed, and your friend grabbed you harshly, ending the moment abruptly. You didn’t mourn it, though, getting lost in the music blaring from huge speakers.

If you had been looking in his direction, you would have seen Conrad pull one of his teammates over, pointing you out through the crowd of sweaty dancers. The teammate called to his girlfriend, your sophomore friend, who squealed as Conrad asked about your identity.

The third time you saw Conrad Fisher, you were sitting on the staircase leading up to the frat boys’ bedrooms. Your friends had all found hookups and had long since disappeared, leaving you to scroll through your phone as you waited for them to message you back and confirm you could leave.

“Hi,” A voice said above you, causing you to lock your phone and look up.

“Hi.” You smiled, almost breathless. Conrad Fisher was standing above you, extending a drink towards you. You looked at it cautiously, and Conrad stumbled over his words.

“Don’t worry, it hasn’t been opened, obviously. That’s why I chose a can. But you looked like you could use a pick-me-up.”

“Thank you,” You said earnestly, “Do you want to sit?” You gestured to the space next to you on the staircase. He didn’t hesitate, joining you in the tight space until his knee brushed yours lightly.

“I’m Conrad, by the way.” He finally introduced himself, cheers-ing his drink with yours when you offered it.

“I know,” You replied, not missing the twitch of his lips. You told him your name back after a moment, laughing when he held his hand out for you to shake.

“I know,” He mimicked you, “But it’s really nice to meet you.”

“Congrats on the win.” You said, turning your phone in your hands absentmindedly, a little awkward but trying desperately to push through and talk to Conrad.

“Thanks!” His tone was bright, clearly proud of himself.

“You’re really good, how long have you been playing for?”

“Forever. My Dad played, so he got me and my little brother into it as soon as we could walk, basically. Guess it paid off.”

“Yeah, I mean playing for Stanford as a freshman is no small feat,” You giggled, angling yourself so you could look more directly at him rather than the party playing out in front of you. He copied you, your knees touching as the apex point between you.

“It’s not that impressive,” He looked at the ground, “But it means I’m here. I got to meet you. That’s gotta count for something, right?”

You both wore matching blushes, staring at anything but each other.

“So, um, what are you studying?” You asked to change the topic, playing with the bracelet around your wrist. He told you he was pre-med, which shocked you again. “Star athlete and pre-med? God, what a golden child.”

Conrad shook his head, running a hand through his hair.

“I don’t know about that… what are you studying?”

You told him your major, waving it off with a bashful smile when he called you smart.

“So what’s a pretty girl like you doing sitting on your own at a party?” It was somewhere between teasing and flirting, and you bit your lip, rolling your eyes though you were giddy with his attention.

“Well, my friends are all off hooking up with frat guys, so I’m left waiting ‘til they tell me whether they’re staying the night here or not.”

“You’re not into frat guys?” Conrad ran his hand through his hair again; you could tell it was a nervous habit.

“I mean, not not into them… I just have a different type on my mind right now.”

“Yeah?” He asked, a teasing lilt in his tone, “What type would that be?”

You pretended to think, pursing your lips.

“I don’t know,” You sighed dramatically, “I love football players, smart boys, you know… sweethearts with nice smiles.” Maybe you were laying it on a bit thick, but Conrad was blushing, and it was maybe the best thing you’d seen all day.

“Alright, alright, I get it.” He smiled, eyes flickering down to your lips. You weren’t ashamed to do the same, noticing how particularly kissable Conrad’s lips were. In the back of your mind, you wondered if he wore lip balm or something to make them so plush, or if it was just natural.

His hand found its way to your cheek, caressing your cheekbone lightly with his thumb.

“Can I…” He trailed off, staring at your lips.

“Please,” You confirmed.

Suddenly, you were kissing, leaning into each other until you were definitely blocking the staircase. His lips were soft; softer than any of the other boys you’d ever kissed. The lip balm question was pointing towards yes, which was very endearing to you.

As the kiss got more heated, Conrad gently manoeuvred you so your head was tilted, kissing you harder and deeper. You felt him smile against your mouth as your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling you impossibly closer to him.

“Do you wanna go somewhere quiet?” He murmured against your lips, and you nodded, giggling as he took your hand and led you through the party.

You saw your sophomore friend dancing with her boyfriend, pointing at Conrad with your mouth open in a dramatic ‘o’, as if you couldn’t believe you were sneaking off to hook up with him (because honestly, you couldn’t). She sent you a double thumbs up, bringing her boyfriend’s attention to the two of you. You laughed at his face, knowing that the whole team would likely know by the morning, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

As Conrad pressed you against the wall, stealing the breath from your lungs, you couldn’t care less about finding a room or making your way back to his dorm, as long as he never stopped kissing you.

[lilhughesy]

Falling Into You | Matthew Knies x Fem!Reader

warnings! slow burn ish, mainly fluff, mentions of weed, slightly suggestive, and secret dating

word count: 7.1k

summary: You love your job as the athletic therapist for the Toronto Maple Leafs but you also seem to start falling for one of the players on said team. You swore to not catch feelings for him since it puts your job at risk but what if the risk is worth it?

a/n: first kniesy fic for my beloved @lovesickhughes !! I enjoyed writing this so I hope you guys enjoy reading it! (ps the title actually doesn't have any correlation to the fic itself lol)

You were the few rare people who could say that they loved their job. You loved every aspect of your job as the athletic therapist for the Toronto Maple Leafs. Since the start of your career, where your professor during your graduate studies somehow made a few calls to get you your job, you’ve been so thrilled to go to work every day. Your colleagues were a pleasure to work with, your job had you on your feet — a feature which you loved, and the players you worked with were always very nice.

A part of you adored the part where you got to wear your Toronto blue scrubs with a team logo clad zip up fleece and your fun sneakers every shift. The other part loved being able to meet so many different people while you worked. And obviously, being an athletic therapist in itself was a joy.

You walked in the brisk November breeze in Toronto, with a thin down jacket protecting you from the cold that’d been building up lately. You clutched the straps of your work purse closer to your body as you crossed the street towards the arena. It was nearly 6:45 AM and the city was already waking up with the occasional car horns and the shouts from down the street.

The warmth of Scotiabank Arena greeted you as you carefully closed the door behind you. You scanned your ID to enter down the long hallway where you said a quick ‘good morning’ to others who were also just starting work. You turned the corner to the large blue-painted double doors, you fished out the keys to unlock them and pushed the two open.

Your foot kicked the door stop to wedge at the bottom to keep them open before settling your purse on the nearby table. The bright fluorescent lights flickered on as you peeled off your coat, your scarf, and your purse to shove into your small designated locker. You started to get the small clinic ready for the long day ahead of you, first by checking the stock of supplies currently in the room. You mumbled to yourself a list of things to grab from storage,

“Okay, need white tape, pre-wrap,” You sighed, rubbing your temple in slight annoyance that your colleagues hadn’t stocked up the night before, “And maybe some extra electrodes and gel-”

“Hope I’m not bothering you,” A voice spoke up from behind you and you jumped slightly from being startled, your hand was pressed against your chest to soothe your racing heart when you spun around,

“Good morning,” You chuckled with a low shake of your head, “You scared me.”

He laughed lightly before offering you a to-go cup, “Sorry sweetheart, just thought I’d drop off a coffee for you since I know you’re in for a long day.”

You smiled as you took the drink from him, “Thank you Auston, that’s very sweet of you.”

Auston shrugged, “Working the game too right?”

You nodded as you sipped at the hot liquid, feeling the bitter taste run over your tastebuds and down your throat, “Yeah, going to be needing a few more of these later on.”

He chuckled as he patted your shoulder, “I’ll see you later, I think something’s up with my wrist again that I need you to check out.”

You hummed while he pulled away to head down the hallway, “I’ll see you later then.”

You watched the captain walk away before turning your attention back to your mental list. You braced yourself for another day of treating hamstring pain, sore wrists, ankle taping, and telling each player to stop training themselves to the point of injury. They never listened to you, only a nod and uh-huh yeah got it, before they got off the treatment bed and to their next stop.

The coffee from Auston was saving you, whether it was from keeping you warm in the chilly hallways to and from the supply stock or just keeping you awake in general. You worked through your several emails and the stack of paperwork that’d been sitting on your desk in the corner of the treatment room. The paperwork was definitely your least favourite part of the job, along with updating your notes on each player. You liked to keep track of small things they’ve mentioned in sessions, just so you could monitor them even when they say that everything feels fine. It was excessive, but it was important to you.

You hummed to yourself quietly as you opened the hydrocollator heat unit, to be greeted by a wall of steam — indicating that the heat packs were ready for the day.

“Morning!” You turned around to see Mitch Marner and Auston Matthews both entering the treatment room in their athletic wear. You checked the time to see that their morning skate must’ve ended, meaning the flood of hockey players was just beginning.

“Good morning, gentlemen. How’s that quad feeling, Matthews?” You asked the team captain as he sat down on one of the beds.

You continued to have your typical conversations with the different hockey players as you treated them. Often giving them a heat pack to help with blood circulation and muscle recovery, or providing them with deep tissue therapy with electrodes being placed on their point of injury. They often told you about their weekend plans or their most recent trip, all which you enjoyed hearing since a part of you lived through them as you never really left the city.

However, there was one hockey player who never seemed to make conversation with you — not that you would force them to, but rather because the rest were always social. Matthew Knies, one of the younger guys on the team, was always quiet when receiving treatment from you. 

Every time he comes in ten minutes early, always — he’s got his AirPods jammed in and that distracted, somewhere-else look in his eyes. He lowers himself onto the treatment table like he’s thinking about the next game or the one after that, gaze fixed on some point just beyond your shoulder. He gives a flat, “Morning,” if he remembers, and holds out his ankle like it’s a business transaction.

You tape him in silence. Efficient, practiced movements. Over, under, pull, press. He thanks you in a tone that might as well be pre-recorded. Then he’s gone.

You never pressured the guys to talk, if they didn’t want to then they didn’t have to. You don’t take it personally. Some players are chatty, some aren’t. Some want to talk about recovery protocols and shoulder mobility; others just want to get in and out. He’s young, focused, intense in that way rookies often are. You just did your job and what you’re being paid to do, which is treating them and assisting their recovery since their job as professional athletes takes a toll on their bodies physically. Although you noticed it was odd since you’d seen Knies outside of the treatment centre where he was loud, rowdy, and constantly joking around with his teammates. But then again, he could just be one of those people who open up to people that they’re comfortable with. You didn’t blame him, besides it wasn’t your job to psychoanalyze him.

So you continued to work the way you typically did, never minding the quiet when Knies was on the bed, “This okay?” You asked him as you attached the final electrode to his lateral ankle while your other hand started the IFC machine, “Not too high? I can adjust it if it’s uncomfortable.”

He shook his head, not looking up from his phone as his thumbs typed away, “No, you’re good.”

You nodded as you pulled away and started to clean up some of your supplies that were left on the table. You kept track of the time on your Apple Watch for Knies’ electrode treatment as you dropped some white towels into the used bin and reorganized the tape into their designated spot.

“Hey,” Mitch said to you as he poked his head in, “Just wanted to say that those stretched your prescribed for my wrist last week have been working wonders! It’s been feeling great and I didn’t notice any pain during practice today.”

You smiled at him, “I’m glad! I still want to check up on it later though.”

He nodded as he leaned against the doorframe, “Also, that Italian restaurant on Bloor St is fantastic — Steph and I stopped by to get a bite and the food was amazing.”

“The place you’ve been meaning to try?” You asked, to which he hummed an agreeing response, “I’ll definitely check it out with a few of my girls sometime soon.”

“Yeah, for sure,” Mitch chuckled before noticing the younger player on the bed, “Is he always this quiet?”

You glanced over to Knies, seeing him still focused on his phone, “Yeah, he’s typically like this but I don’t mind.”

Mitch shrugged, “He’s always a big yapper so I’m surprised Kniesy can actually shut up for once. Anyway, I’m heading out for a bit before the game, catch you later.”

“Bye Mitch,” You laughed to yourself as he waltzed away.

The guys were playing some sewer ball before their game with some music playing off of one of their blue tooth speakers. It echoed the concrete walls and floors along with their laughter and occasional chirps. Matthew was chatting with Willy while clutching onto his plastic water bottle,

“Yeah man, I dunno,” Matthew shrugged, “Just hoping they’d stop calling me about it, it’s just a pain in the ass.”

Willy barked a laugh before looking past Matthew’s shoulder to wave a small hello to whoever was behind him. He didn’t care to check, assuming it was another one of the guys or something. It wasn’t until Willy pulled away from their makeshift circle to grab the extra iced coffee that stood on a box and jogged in that same direction.

Matthew turned around to see Willy handing the drink to you, and watched as a large smile drew upon your face as you took the drink from him. He assumed you were thanking Willy as your hand placed onto his forearm before you pulled away and disappeared down the hall.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” Willy said to Matthew as he returned, “What were you saying?”

Matthew furrowed his brows as he also tried to recall the conversation between the two of them, “Fuck, I can’t remember- Who was that?”

His eyes widened, “You joking right?”

Matthew only rolled his eyes, “No dude, who is she?”

“No fucking way, man!” Mitch laughed from the other side of Matthew, “Are you for real, Kniesy?”

“That’s Y/N, our AT,” Auston told Matthew with a mocking smile on his face, “I thought you went to get treated for that ankle pain today”

Mitch lowly shook his head in somewhat disbelief, “He did, I saw him there but he was so focused on his phone the entire time. Didn’t realize he didn’t even know who our AT was.”

A chorus of laughter filled the area as Matthew scoffed, “Alright, alright knock it off. So what if I don’t know Y/N, I’m sure Joey doesn’t know her either.”

“They’re actually really tight,” Willy told Matthew, “They grab coffee and chat pretty often outside of here.”

“So, you’re saying that I’m seriously the only one who didn’t know her name?” Matthew repeated as he watched all his teammates nod their heads and stifle their laughter, “She’s so quiet, it’s legit not even my fault.”

Auston rolled his eyes in amusement, “She’s the opposite, that girl is so chatty. You just ignore her when you’re getting treated.”

₊˚ˑ༄ؘ

It was before their game and you were preparing for the multiple tape jobs that you need to do for each of the players. You noticed it immediately, the no AirPods. It’s the first thing you clocked when Knies stepped into the room. He paused just inside the door, glancing around like he’s not quite sure where to stand. You’re restocking the tape tower, kneeling beside a cart with a roll of white in one hand and your clipboard in the other.

“Hey,” He said with his voice low.

You looked up at him, noting his voice, the direct eye contact, and no earbuds.

“Hi,” You replied with your friendly tone as always.

He walked over and sat on the treatment table. You rose to your feet and grabbed the pre-wrap, keeping an eye on him as you approached. 

“Same ankle?” You asked as you crouched down.

“Yeah.”

You start wrapping, muscle memory taking over. It’s quiet for a beat, a little too quiet. He’s not scrolling his phone nor zoning out, he was just watching you work.

“This song’s new,” He spoke up, catching your attention away from his ankle.

You glanced up with a confused expression written across your face, “Sorry?”

“The playlist,” He clarified, “I haven’t heard this one before.”

You arched a brow, “You’ve been coming in here with your AirPods in for three months and now you’re commenting on my music?”

He flushed as he looked away, “I was… focused.”

“Uh-huh,” You said with the corner of your mouth twitching, “Well, thanks for noticing. It’s a new mix.”

He nodded like he’s not sure what to say next while you finish taping and pat his ankle lightly.

“All set.”

Knies doesn’t move right away, “You, uh… ever go out with the team after games?”

Your eyes narrowed just a little, “Not usually.”

He nodded again as he pushed himself off the table, “Cool, just wondering.”

You blinked as he left the room, leaving you confused as ever with his change of behaviour. But you didn’t let it bother you too much since you still had to treat all the other players before their game against the Kings, as you heard Mitch’s loud voice from down the hallway that snapped you out of your trance. 

₊˚ˑ༄ؘ

The next few days brought more of the same. Knies kept showing up without his AirPods. You caught him hovering a bit longer after his treatments. He asked if your sneakers were new. Another time, he pointed at your coffee mug and said, “That quote’s funny,” even though it wasn’t particularly as it was just another cheesy mug you had grabbed in the check out line at Winners a few weeks ago. It was like watching a large dog try to act like a cat — awkward but kind of endearing.

He still didn’t talk much, but he was trying and you could tell. He'd meet your eye more often. Occasionally he'd mirror your small talk with asking if you had plans for the weekend, if you liked Italian food, if you’d ever tried paddleboarding of all things. Each time, it felt like he was pushing himself just a centimetre or two out of his comfort zone.

“You don’t have to make conversation, you know,” You said to him one morning while wrapping his wrist, “I’m not taking attendance.”

He gave you a small sheepish smile, “I know, I just feel like I should’ve learned your name from you and not from the guys.”

“You’re only the last one to do it, no big deal,” You teased with eyes twinkling in amusement.

He groaned, “You’re never gonna let me live that down, are you?”

“Absolutely not.”

A few weeks later, it was a back-to-back game weekend. You were exhausted, your lower back aching from leaning over treatment tables for too long. You had just finished setting up post-game recovery stations when you felt a tap on your shoulder.

You turned, and there was Knies and he was holding a smoothie.

“You looked dead on your feet,” He said awkwardly, holding out the drink towards you, “This one’s supposed to help with muscle soreness. I think… or maybe it’s gut health. Either way, it’s not poisoned.”

You blinked, as you slowly reached out for the plastic cup, “Did you get this for me?”

He shrugged, “Figured it was the least I could do.”

You took it slowly, unsure if this was a prank, “Thanks, that’s really thoughtful.”

He shoved his hands into his hoodie, “You uh, do a lot for us. Most of the guys don’t really say it, but I noticed.”

Something about his tone caught you off guard. It wasn’t smooth or rehearsed. It was genuine.

“Thanks, Knies,” You said to him with a warm smile, trying not to stare too hard at his dark lashes or the faint pink on his cheeks, “I’ll take gut health over muscle soreness any day.”

He chuckled, “You’re welcome, and you can call me Matthew by the way.” 

₊˚ˑ༄ؘ

You started to notice his presence around you more when you were hauling a bulky crate of foam rollers and resistance bands from the storage room. The wheels on the crate had been jammed for weeks, and dragging it across the hallway carpet was like shovelling the March time sludge off of the longest driveway. You were bracing yourself for the familiar strain in your shoulders when a quiet voice piped up behind you.

“Need a hand?”

You turned, eyebrows already lifting in surprise.

Matthew stood there and out of his training jersey, fresh from a shower, curls still damp and sticking to his forehead as he held a protein shake and eyeing the crate. You’d almost said no, but instead you stepped aside.

He grabbed the other end with ease, hauling it down the hall like it weighed nothing, and didn’t say another word until you both reached the clinic treatment room and dropped it with a dull thud by the back shelf.

“Thanks,” You said to him, still slightly bewildered.

“No problem,” He replied casually, like he did this kind of thing every day.

Except he didn’t, not until recently.

After that, it became a pattern. He was suddenly everywhere but not in an annoying way, not in a suffocating way, just present. One morning you caught him restocking the tape tower while you were juggling a phone call and trying to log a player’s treatment report. He didn’t ask, he just saw you struggling and silently stepped in, peeling the shrink wrap off the white rolls and sliding them into place, one after another like how you always had them shelved. 

You had paused, still cradling your phone between your cheek and shoulder, to glance at him.

“You volunteering as an intern now?” You joked as you entered the treatment report into the system on your laptop.

He smiled without looking at you, rolling his sleeves up to his elbows, “Figured I’d start pulling my weight.”

Professional boundaries, you reminded yourself. You weren’t here to flirt or banter or let one of your clients, no matter how good his jawline looked under the soft lights of the clinic or how his compression shirts made his shoulders and biceps look delicious, get too close.

But he, Matthew Knies, made it so damn hard.

₊˚ˑ༄ؘ

It became even harder after the coffee.

One morning, your name was called from the hallway just as you were rubbing the sleep out of your eyes in the supply room. You stepped out, brows raised, only to find Matthew standing awkwardly with a cardboard drink tray in hand.

“I uh, this one’s yours. No cream, just one sugar, oat milk, extra hot, right?”

You blinked twice, trying to understand the situation in front of you, “That’s… yes.”

He looked visibly proud of himself as he handed it over with a smile growing on his face.

“I saw the look you gave Auston last week when he brought you a hazelnut latte thing with soy milk,” He admitted with a slight grin, “Figured I’d pay more attention.”

You were too stunned to answer right away. Your heart did this little somersault in your chest, a gentle flutter of surprise that threw your entire day off-balance. You wrapped your hands around the warm cup, letting the steam hit your nose.

“Thanks, Matthew,” You mumbled with a small smile tugging at your lips.

And maybe he noticed because the next time, it was banana bread and then a small paper bag of roasted almonds, then a Tupperware container of pasta salad which he responded with a sheepish, “My sister makes too much and makes me take leftovers,”

You told yourself it was just friendly. A rookie trying to be nice. A player making an effort. How it was no different from you and Joey grabbing a coffee on Thursday mornings at the local coffee shop, or how Mitch would ask for your input when he was buying a gift for Steph, or how you would go shopping with Auston because he liked hearing your take on his fashion style. Even then, something about Matthew felt much more different than any of that.

It had been a long double-practice day and your feet were sore even with your new orthopaedic approved sneakers. Your hair was shoved into a claw clip that you only ever used when you were too tired to bother styling it. Your voice was dry and hoarse from repeating the same instructions to four different defensemen who didn’t know how to foam roll properly. You were exhausted beyond belief, and it didn’t help that Toronto was getting so cold with winter settling into the city.

The final lights in the arena clicked off behind you, and you wrapped your fleece jacket tighter around yourself as you stepped out into the early night. The snow fell softly down, glazing the sidewalk in a thin layer of white. You adjusted your toque and scarf and turned toward the TTC stop when you heard a car honk.

A sleek black SUV idled near the curb as the driver’s side window rolled down, and there he was, yet again.

“You’re not seriously walking to the subway in this,” Matthew called out to you, noticing how your nose was turning red from the windchill.

You tilted your head at him, amusement threading into your voice, “What, worried I’ll freeze into an ice cube? Don’t worry the station is just another block away,”

He shrugged, clearly not hearing you out,  “I’m not letting you take the train, Y/N, get in.”

You hesitated then stepped off the curb and headed to his luxury vehicle.

Inside the SUV, it smelled faintly of eucalyptus and leather and the faint residue of a vanilla air freshener clipped to the vent. Warmth blasted from the heater vents, fogging the windows slightly.

He didn’t make a move, didn’t say anything cocky or smug. Just kept his eyes on the road, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel to the rhythm of the indie playlist you’d always had on in the clinic.

You turned your head slowly to look at him, the city lights passing in golden streaks outside the passenger window.

“You really pay attention to things, huh?”

He glanced at you, then smiled, “Only the important ones.”

Your stomach flipped, goddamn it.

₊˚ˑ༄ؘ

And you don’t know when it started. Not really.

There wasn’t a single moment, there was no sudden cinematic shift where everything changed at once. It was slow and gradual. A soft, barely noticeable tilt. Like the way shadows stretch longer as the sun sinks lower — inevitable but subtle, until suddenly the whole world looks different.

Late-night texts that used to be about injury updates or recovery times quietly shifted into something else. “Let me know you got home safe” turned into “Wish I was driving with you again.” Quick check-ins became inside jokes. He started lingering after treatments, offering to help you close up by reorganizing the Theraband drawer, restocking the massage oil cabinet, just anything to stay a little longer.

Sometimes, he didn’t even say anything and he’d just be there. Sitting on the edge of the treatment table, head tilted, a lazy smile on his face while you moved around the room like a storm on legs. Watching you, he was always watching.

You told yourself it didn’t mean anything more than being friends, that he was just friendly and that it was harmless – until the one night where you let him kiss you.

It was after an away game and the team was exhausted, the bus ride quiet, the locker room half-empty. You were restocking bandages behind the clinic curtain when he found you — just appeared, like he had a radar for when you were alone. Matthew said your name softly, and when you turned around, his eyes were warm and uncertain.

“Don’t yell at me,” He murmured, “I know I’m pushing my luck.”

You didn’t yell, you actually didn’t say anything at all. You let him take a step closer and let his hands hover near your waist, you let your forehead press against his chest for a heartbeat. You felt his heart speed up at the close proximities of your bodies, and then you let him kiss you — soft and slow, like he had been planning for this moment, and you kissed him back.

Now it’s a secret because it has to be.

You have rules, both personal and professional, and this breaks nearly all of them. He gets it and he understood where you were coming from. It was against the policies at work for both of you. You talked about it once, when you were curled up in the back of his car at 1 AM, headlights from passing traffic slipping like ghosts across the ceiling. You told him you weren’t ready to risk everything you worked for.

He nodded, “Then we don’t risk it.”

You’re not dating, not officially but the lines blur anyway.

There are late-night drives and kisses stolen in utility closets and locker room back corridors. His hoodie smells like cedarwood and worn leather, and you start keeping it in your office, telling yourself it’s for emergencies but wearing it when you stay too late. He picks up your coffee order without being asked. He knows the way your eyes dart when you’re overstimulated, how you braid your hair tighter when you’re stressed. He doesn’t say much, just appears when you need him — with food, or a smoothie, or his knuckles gently brushing yours like an unspoken “I see you.”

You think you’re being subtle when in reality you’re not.

Auston Matthews noticed, of course he did.

It starts innocently enough, during post-practice cooldowns, when guys are distracted and the room is buzzing but he sees the way Matthew’s eyes flickered over to you as you entered the space with various resistance bands. 

One day, he side-eyed Matthew during stretches and mutters, “Someone’s chipper today, you finally get a new mattress or what?”

Matthew just grunted, brushing off his captain, “Maybe I’m just in a good mood.”

“Mmhmm,” Auston hummed as he grinned, “Weird. You’ve just been very smiley lately.”

Matthew doesn’t respond and doesn’t even look at him, but you saw the way he tightened his grip on the resistance band in his hands.

Then Auston turns his attention to you, it was slow, at first. Barely-there comments dropped into casual conversation.

“Is it just me or do you look extra glowy today?” He asked as you passed by during the gear check.

You snorted with a shake of your head, “It’s sweat, Auston.”

“Still works for you,” He told you with a wink.

Matthew was across the room, watching and you could feel it. That simmering weight of his gaze, the way it darkened and sharpened, as Auston continued his not-so-subtle comments on you.

The next time Auston made a cheeky comment was with a, “You ever think about being a model instead of a therapist?” Followed by a knowing look, “Because you’d kill it.”

You nearly dropped the ice pack in your hands and your face immediately heated up and flushed pink, “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m serious,” Auston grinned, folding his arms behind his head as he laid on the table, “You’re wasted in this job, too pretty to be patching up sweaty hockey players all day.”

The room got too warm and too quickly, you cleared your throat and turned away, fumbling with your clipboard.

Later, when you slip into the staff hallway, you feel a presence behind you, big and familiar and silent. Then a hand slides along your wrist and tugs you into a quiet alcove between two supply closets. A familiar scent of cedar, winter air, and his warmth.

He’s already kissing you before you can say a word. It’s rougher this time. A little desperate. His hands bracket your hips and his mouth is all heat and frustration, stealing the breath from your lungs.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead dropped to yours.

“You okay?” You whispered out as your hands landed on his broad muscular shoulders.

He doesn’t answer right away and his breath fanned across your cheek.

“You’re mine,” He told you quietly yet possessively, “Even if no one knows it.”

Your heart stuttered, warmth filling your chest and abdomen at his tone and his words.

“Someone’s jealous,” You said with a half-teasing voice.

“I’m not jealous,” He mumbled, though the heat in his voice betrayed him, “I just don’t like hearing someone else flirt with you.”

You look up at him, “Technically, I’m not yours.”

His jaw clenched as he leaned in, brushing his nose against yours, “We both know that you’re lying right now.”

The words hang in the air between you, unspoken and dangerous and too, too tempting.

₊˚ˑ༄ؘ

It’s nearly midnight in New Jersey.

The hotel hallway is hushed, the kind of quiet that hummed with sleeping bodies and the occasional distant whirr of the elevator. A storm rolled through earlier, leaving a cushion of snow on the ground. You should be in your room, replying to emails or icing the bruised winger who swore he didn’t need treatment but would absolutely complain tomorrow morning.

But your feet moved before logic could catch up. Down the carpeted corridor, past the ice machine still rumbling in the corner room. Your hoodie was zipped up to your chin and you didn’t bother brushing your hair. You clutched a bag of ice packs against your chest like some excuse to be here.

Room 427.

You hesitated just outside the door, heart beating too loud in your chest.

Then you knock softly, just once.

The door opens almost instantly as if he’d been standing on the other side, waiting for you.

Matthew looked like he hadn't slept either. His hair is tousled, damp around the edges like he just ran his hands through it under the sink. He wore grey sweatpants that hung low on his hips and no shirt, a lazy crease down the middle of his chest where he must’ve been lying down. The lamp on the nightstand behind him casted a low golden glow across the room, warm and sleepy and intimate.

You don’t say anything and neither does he. He just stepped back, letting you in.

You move on instinct both quietly and cautiously — as if even the walls might be listening. The door clicks shut behind you with a finality that settled like a stone in your stomach.

“This is a bad idea,” You murmured, still not looking at him.

“Probably,” He agreed, with his voice just as soft, “But you’re here anyway.”

You glanced up.

He’s watching you the way he always does like you’re something fragile, something sacred, something he’s scared to touch too much for fear of breaking it.

The bed is unmade with the blankets scrunched up. The television is off. There’s a protein bar wrapper on the desk and his phone charging by the lamp. It’s all painfully ordinary, except for the tension stringing between your bodies, pulled so tight it might snap at the slightest move.

You dropped the ice pack bag on the chair, “I couldn’t sleep.”

“Me neither.”

He takes a slow step toward you, by the time he’s close enough to touch, your breath has already hitched in your throat.

“You can still go,” He said almost like he meant it, “I won’t stop you.”

But when you don’t move and you don’t even blink, his hand rises, curling gently around your wrist. You feel the anchor of him, the warmth and steadiness that he always seemed to provide.

Then he kissed you.

It’s not urgent, not this time. It’s slow and meaningful. Like he’s memorizing the feel of your mouth, your breath, the curve of your jaw under his fingertips. 

You end up on the bed, tangled limbs and quiet sighs, your hoodie halfway off, your body pressed to his like you’ve been waiting your whole life to breathe in this exact air. He pulled you against him afterward, arms wrapped around your back, his chest warm and flushed against yours. There’s no words being exchanged, just the rhythmic lull of his heartbeat against yours.

You're curled up against him with your fingers grazing the soft line of his ribs,

A knock.

You jolted, immediately sitting up with his strong arms still across your thighs.

Then a voice, “Yo Knies? You up?”

Your body goes rigid as every nerve in your body catches fire.

It was Auston.

Knies sits up, already grabbing a hoodie from the chair to pull over his naked torso.

You’re flying off the bed before he can say anything, grabbing your melted ice bag, heart hammering.

“Bathroom,” He whispered, “Now.”

You darted across the room and slipped inside just as the lock clicked open. The bathroom is cold and silent. You press your back to the door, hands shaking. Your breath comes in quick, clipped bursts.

You can hear them on the other side of the door.

“Didn’t mean to barge in,” Auston said, his voice casual and slightly amused, “Saw your light was on. Got anything to eat?”

You imagined Matthew plastering on that half-lazy smile he wears when he’s trying to look unbothered.

“I dunno. Check the desk.”

There’s a pause before the unmistakable rustle of wrappers, then,

“Your room smells like vanilla,” Auston commented.

Your eyes squeezed shut.

“And... is that menthol?” Another pause, “You hiding your favourite therapist in here or what?”

The silence after that stretched for long, too long.

Then Matthew laughed low and easy, like it was all a joke, “You high or something?”

Another pause, then the shuffles of feet.

“Whatever, I’m taking your last protein bar.”

The door shuts again and you don’t move. At least not until Matthew opened the bathroom door, his face pale with adrenaline, hair a mess from dragging his hand through it a hundred times.

“I’m so sorry,” You said to him instantly, the words cracking out of you, “That was so fucking stupid, I shouldn’t have-”

“Stop,” He told you, gentler this time.

You meet his eyes. He’s still looking at you like you matter. Like you didn’t almost ruin everything and like you’re worth the risk.

But suddenly all the guilt, all the pressure, all the hiding — it swells up inside you like a flood.

“I don’t think I can keep doing this,” You mumbled quietly, “This sneaking around, it’s not just about me anymore, Matt. If anyone finds out, it’s your career too. Your team. I’ve worked too hard to be respected here. And now I’m scared every time someone looks at me too long.”

He nodded and he didn't interrupt, he just let you talk.

“I told myself I could handle it and that whatever this is would be temporary. But then you do shit like text me when I haven’t eaten, or notice how I wear my hair when I’m stressed, or memorize my coffee order like it matters,” Your voice cracked, “And suddenly I’m not just scared of getting caught. I’m scared of what it’ll feel like when this ends.”

His hand finds yours, squeezing it reassuringly.

“You think this is temporary?”

You opened your mouth, but the lie died before it could even take shape, so you closed your eyes instead.

“I don’t want it to be,” You admitted to the hockey player, “I think I’ve been pretending I don’t care because if I say it out loud, it becomes real. And if it’s real... I don’t know how to protect myself anymore.”

Matthew took a breath before he took a step closer, “You don’t have to protect yourself from me.”

And something inside you finally comes loose. You fall into him, arms around his neck, face pressed to his chest, and you let yourself believe it. You want more. Not just the touches in the dark. Not just the late-night kisses and whispered hellos in empty hallways.

You want him fully, loudly, and messily – and maybe it’s time to stop hiding that.

The next evening, the air in the practice facility feels thick but not with humidity, but with tension you couldn’t shake. You kept your head down, hyper-focused on stretching routines and inventory counts, acting like you didn't notice the way Matthew kept orbiting near you. Like you can’t feel his eyes grazing your skin like a touch he’s not allowed to give.

But you feel it, every time. The looks, the brushes, and the silent pleas hidden in those ocean-blue eyes when he caught you biting the inside of your cheek or fiddling with the lanyard hanging around your neck.

And worst of all, you feel Auston watching everything with a smirk he’s not even trying to hide.

You're helping Willy with a resistance band when you hear it.

Low. Casual. Razor-sharp.

"Didn’t know you were so hands-on with the team,” Auston said from across the room, his voice just loud enough to carry, "Guess I should fake an injury, see what I get."

Your throat tightened and you glanced up, and he's looking right at you, wearing that boyish grin that means trouble.

Next to him, Matthew stiffened – it was subtle, but unmistakable. He was leaning against the treatment table, arms crossed, jaw clenched. The flicker in his eyes wasn't amusement, it contained fury.

“Knock it off,” He said to his captain through gritted teeth.

Auston raised his brows, amused, “What? I’m just saying she’s good at her job.”

You cleared your throat, “I’m right here, you know.”

“Oh, I know,” Auston grinned even wider, “Trust me.”

You feel the heat rise in your face before you can stop it and that’s the worst part – that your body always reacts before your brain does, and that Auston and Matthew both saw it.

He turned away abruptly, you could practically feel the anger rolling off him in waves.

You fled to the supply room, with heart pounding in your ears, and hands shaking as you started reorganizing the tape shelf for the fourth time today. It was stupid, and you knew it, but it’s easier than facing the fact that maybe you’ve lost control of this. Of yourself.

The door opened behind you, softly with no knock. You don’t need to turn around to know who it is.

“You can’t keep doing that,” You said, without looking up from the various rolls in front of you.

“Doing what?”

“Letting it show. You think no one notices, but they do. Auston definitely does.” You explained with a slight scoff in your voice.

“He’s a jackass.”

“He’s perceptive.”

You hear him exhale – low, frustrated, and then the room gets smaller and warmer. You felt him step closer, and then he's there, behind you, not touching, just existing too loudly in your space.

You turned, and his eyes locked on yours immediately.

“You’re shaking,” He told you softly.

“No, I’m not.”

He reached down and gently pressed his fingers against your hand. You hate how steady he feels, and how steady he makes you.

“You don’t have to keep pretending,” He mumbled out, “Not with me.”

Your laugh comes out brittle, “Matt, you don’t get it. I can’t afford to mess this up. If anyone higher up finds out-”

“So let them, let them find out.”

Your chest tightened, “You don’t mean that.”

“I do. I’ve never meant anything more.”

There’s silence for a moment. You could hear the hum of the vending machine outside the room, the dull thud of a puck dropping to the floor in the hall.

“I’m so tired of hiding,” He confessed with his voice low and almost hoarse, “I’m tired of pretending that you’re not the only thing I think about every fucking day. That I don’t look for you in every room. That I don’t get pissed off when I see someone else making you smile.���

You blinked and your breath caught in your throat.

“I want to show you off,” Matthew continued, stepping closer, “I want to take you out. Sit next to you on the plane and not pretend it’s a coincidence. I want people to look at us and know, I want them to know you’re mine.”

The door opened behind him before you could speak.

Mitch.

He stopped mid-step, Gatorade bottle in hand. His eyes instantly widened, comically wide, as he took in the scene – your flushed cheeks, Matthew standing too close, both of you frozen like teenagers caught by a parent.

Auston appeared right behind him now also seeing the same thing, and grinned like a devil who just won a bet.

“Well, well, well,” Mitch said slowly as he dragged the words out like he’s savoring them, “That explains helluva a lot.”

Matthew doesn’t flinch. He turns his body halfway, planting himself in front of you protectively like it’s instinct, like shielding you is second nature.

Without hesitation, he said, “Yeah. She’s with me.”

You inhaled sharply.

Mitch blinked twice while Auston looked like Christmas came early for him, 

“Okay, okay, Kniesy. Didn’t think you had it in you.”

“No shit,” Mitch told Matthew while shaking his head, “Okay, I owe Willy fifty bucks.”

Auston cackled, clapping Mitch on the back as they walked away allowing the door to shut again.

Silence.

You couldn’t speak and you couldn’t move. You just stared at Matthew, who looked more grounded now than he had in weeks. Like the dam finally broke and it didn’t ruin him, rather it freed him.

“I didn’t mean for it to come out like that,” He admitted, eyes softer now as they searched yours, “But I don’t regret it.”

You swallowed hard, “Matt…”

“You don’t have to say anything. Just please, stop pretending you don’t feel it too.”

He looked at you like he already knew the answer. Like he’s not afraid of the risks anymore and in that moment, neither were you.

Your lips met his immediately, as if they sealed the deal to the question he was asking. He melted into you, his arms pulling you by your waist closer to his chest as he felt your body relax at his touch.

"You already know what I'm going to say to that," You teased before pecking his lips lightly to which he responded with a large boyish grin.

[slut4christopherr]

dealer!chris x innocent!reader.

—save a cowboy, ride a man.

warnings for this story: mention of drug dealing, smut, unprotected p in v (wrap it before you tap it!), fingering, dirty talk, riding, pet names(baby, ma, etc), pure filth.

—————————————————

authors note: i haven’t wrote for so so long but hello again guys, hope you enjoy the story. <3 and also if you have any fic requests or if you want to ask me anything don’t be afraid to hop into my inbox, anon or not:)

Chris feels like he’s going insane. Never in his life have his thoughts been consumed this much by someone, especially not by an innocent girl at that.

Chris doesn’t typically do sweet girls, doesn’t find himself drawn to the all too people pleasing demeanours they present but you’re different — there’s just something about you which he simply can’t stay away from, can’t find himself wanting to steer from your alluring persona.

Quite frankly, the way you originally met doesn’t even make sense to him, at a party which he was sure he could bet his entire life you were dragged to.

What confuses him even more though, is the fact that you chose to befriend. You’re polar opposites yet you seem to get along as though you share all the common casualties in the world. It’s honestly both amusing as well curious.

Still he finds himself drawn to you regardless of the questions circling his mind and when he finds himself in your neighbourhood dealing, he’d be a fool to pass up the opportunity to see you.

“Was passing by doing some deals and i couldn’t not visit,” he says once you open your front door.

A surprised look flickering in your eyes as you register the sight of him before a soft smile breaks on your face, allowing him into your humble abode.

"You got anything to drink? M’gnna die from thirst." his voice carries a smooth, almost joking tone.

As he sits down comfortably on your couch, getting as comfortable as if he lived there. His eyes scan your place casually, taking in details, noting how clean and neat it is.

“Yeah, i’ll grab you a water.”

He watches you walk to the kitchen, his gaze lingering on your back. He can't help but feel a sense of familiarity and comfort in your home, even though he's never been here before.

When you return with a glass of water, he takes it from your hand, his fingers brushing against yours briefly.

“Thanks.”

As he drinks the water, he can't help but notice how your house smells - like vanilla and something uniquely you.

He sets the glass down and stands up, walking over to where you are standing in the kitchen. Without thinking, he reaches out and gently pulls a strand of hair behind your ear.

His hand lingers by your face for a moment, his thumb lightly caressing your cheek. He looks into your eyes, seeing the surprise and slight blush that appears on your face. He smirks slightly,

"You look really pretty today," he says, his voice low and gentle.

You blush slightly deeper at his compliment, caught off guard by how genuine it sounds coming from someone known for their tough exterior.

"Don't say things like that, Chris," you teasingly scold, but your eyes betray your amusement. "You'll make me think you actually have some manners."

He chuckles, his hand falling from your face as he steps back, amused by your response.

"Shut up, you know I got manners when I want," he retorts playfully, moving back to the couch.

He sits down but his eyes remain locked on you as you stand in the kitchen.

"Mhm, 'when you want'. That's real romantic," you joke, leaning against the counter with a small smile playing on your lips.

"Though honestly, I think you've shown more manners today than you usually do around your... 'business associates'.'" you give him a knowing look.

He laughs heartily at your comment, shaking his head slightly as he watches you. "Well, I'm not around my associates right now," he says, his voice dropping slightly lower. He pats the couch cushion beside him invitingly, gesturing for you join him.

"Come here," he says softly.

"You want me to just sit next to you like some obedient puppy?" you teasingly reply, but your feet slowly carry you towards the couch anyway.

You deliberately take your time, making him wait. "Though I gotta say," you say, leaning against the arm of the couch rather than right beside him

"You're being really annoying right now," he comments, his lips curling up slightly in a smirk as he watches you lean against the arm of the couch. But instead of being irritated, he finds himself enjoying the playful banter between you two. "Come sit next to me like a normal person."

You sigh dramatically, rolling your eyes at his demand. "Fine, fine," you say, caving and sitting down next to him on the couch. But you make sure to leave a small distance between you two, not wanting to get too close just yet. "Happy now?" you ask, looking at him with a small smile.

As you sit there, the distance between you two starts to feel a bit too much for Chris. Without thinking, he reaches out and gently pulls you closer, closing the gap between you two.

His arm wraps loosely around your waist, pulling you close enough that your shoulders are almost touching. A slight smirk plays on his lips as he catches your surprised expression "Nope. Not that happy," he says, his voice Purposefully casual "You're way too far away over there."

"So?" you respond, trying to sound nonchalant but feeling a slight flutter in your chest at his proximity. “I'm comfortable here."

You try to maintain a small distance between you two, your hands folded in your lap as you keep your gaze fixed on the TV screen.

His smirk widens slightly, clearly amused by your attempts to keep some distance between you. Without warning, he suddenly shifts, turning his body towards you and lifting his other arm to rest on the back of the couch, effectively caging you in with his arms. "Comfortable, huh?"

Your heart beats a little faster, and you try to play it cool. "Very."

You maintain eye contact, trying not to show how his presence is affecting you. "Shouldn't you be watching the game?" asking casually, despite being fully aware of how close he is.

He chuckles lowly, the sound vibrating slightly against you since he's so close. His arms remain firmly placed, one around your waist and the other behind you on the couch. "Nah, the game can wait."

His gaze drops briefly to your lips before meeting your eyes again.

You feel your breath hitch slightly as he looks at your lips. You try to keep your composure but can feel your cheeks starting to flush. "Oh yeah? What can't wait then?" you ask playfully, trying not let him see how much he affects you.

He leans in a little closer, his face now only inches away from yours. His voice drops to a low, husky tone. "This." Before you can respond, he closes the gap between you and presses his lips against yours in a soft, gentle kiss.

The kiss catches you off guard, but you find yourself melting into it almost immediately. His lips move against yours with surprising gentleness, coaxing a soft sigh from you as you part your lips slightly. He deepens the kiss briefly before pulling back, his forehead resting against yours. “Much better."

"You..." your voice comes out slightly breathless as you touch your fingers to your lips "You cheated." you try to say it with mock indignation, but your voice is too soft to be truly annoyed. “Shouldn't have kissed me when I wasn't expecting it."

He smiles against your lips before kissing you again, this time more confidently. “I'm a dealer," he murmurs between kisses, “I always cheat when I can." His hand moves from your waist to cup your cheek gently.

You laugh softly into the kiss, your hands coming up to rest on his chest. As the kiss breaks this time, you're both smiling. "Asshole," you whisper affectionately.

He chuckles lowly, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip. “Language." He teases lightly.

He grins, his arms tightening around you as he pulls you closer. “Shut up and kiss me again." His tone is playful but commanding, all traces of the smooth dealer gone as he acts on instinct.

He kisses you deeply, passionately, his hands roaming over your body as he presses you back against the couch. His lips trail down your neck, sucking and biting gently as his hands unbutton your shirt slowly. He breaks the kiss to whisper, "I'm going to fuck you right here on this couch."

Heat grows inbetween your legs just by his words. How does he have this effect on you by 10 words? “Oh really Christopher?”

"Mmm...” He smirks against your skin as your reply encourages him. "Dirty mouth..." His hands push your shirt open roughly while he captures your mouth again with a dominating kiss. He lifts you suddenly so that you're straddling him on the couch.

"Fuck, you're wet." He groans against your mouth as his fingers find your soaking wet pussy through your underwear. “You're already dripping for me." He bites lower your lip hard and pulls your lacy underwear to the side, sliding two of his thick, long fingers inside you. “Look at that..."

Your breath increases, his fingers curling to hit your g-spot. Perfectly every single time. You squirm around him. “O-ooh chris—“

"So tight and wet..." He pumps his fingers in and out of you slowly, watching as your juices coat his hand. “I bet you'd feel incredible around my cock." He leans in to whisper in your ear, "Why don't you show me how well you can ride a man?"

Chris quickly pulls down his grey sweats, followed by his boxers and lets them both pool by his ankles. You’re now hovering over his length, precum making the tip shiny.

He watches as you slowly lower yourself onto his thick, hard cock. He groans loudly at the feeling of your tight pussy enveloping him. "F-fuck yeees... just like that, jus’- mmm..." He grabs your hips and starts to thrust up into you as you ride him on the couch. Your jaw falls slack, not even needing to move as the intensity of chris’ thrusts makes your body jolt every time.

"Damn ma.." He mutters as you bounce on his dick, your breasts jumping with each movement. "Where did you learn to move like that?" He slaps your ass hard making you moan and ride him harder. "You're like a damn porn star..." He growls.

The familiar knot builds up in your stomach, your movements going slower. Your chest rising and falling rapidly, you never knew this is how today would have went. “mmmph- chris- m’gnna-“ his name falls from your mouth like a string of prayers.

His eyes flash with intensity as he feels you start to lose control and your pace slows. "Shit, you're gonna cum already? Fuck, that's hot." He pulls you down harder onto his cock, hitting that spot deep inside you as he reaches up to pinch and twist your hardened nipples.

"Come on my cock, baby. I want to feel that tight pussy squeeze me as you cum." He thrusts up into you with all his strength, his knot beginning to swell inside you. The sensation is overwhelming and you can't hold back any longer. You scream his name as you cum hard, milking his cock.

He watches your face as you cum, your eyes rolling back and your mouth open in a silent scream. He pulls you down hard onto his cock one last time and holds you there as he starts to knot inside you. "Fuck... fuck..."

His knot swells inside you, locking you together as he releases his hot seed deep inside your pussy. He wraps his arms around you and pulls you down for a rough kiss, his hips still jerking slightly as he fills you up. “Goddamn... that was good...why haven’t we done that before?”

He keeps you flush to his chest for what feels like hours, his hands roaming your body possessively as you both come down from your highs. Eventually, his knot starts to shrink enough for him to pull out slowly. "Fucking hell..." He lies back panting, “Come here..."

You slowly come down from your high, still panting and sweating. You can’t even comprehend his words. Your fucked out of your mind.

He pulls you down onto his chest, wrapping his arms around you tightly as he kisses the top of your head. "You're a mess... look at you... all fucked out and full of my cum." He laughs softly,

"And I think I'm in love with your pussy already."

authors note: i enjoyed writing this sm 😭 i started it ages ago and decided to finish it, enjoy sturntumblr!!!!

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[sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth]

There's Sam girls and Dean girls

(Sam Winchester x female reader x Dean Winchester)

Summary A case leads you to a Supernatural convention. You can't help but tease Sam and Dean about their notoriety, but then it turns out you are in the books, too. And there's some stuff in there you don't want the brothers to know about. CWs Sexy thoughts but no sexy actions. Supernatural book series. Conventions. Awkwardness. Cheesy book covers. Secret crushes. Rated Teen. 3.7k words.

Sam x reader x Dean masterlist ⏐ SPN masterlist

“It’s so… lifelike,” you say, moving your head a little so you can see better through the reflection of the glass.

“Very funny,” Sam says, and his voice tells you that he doesn’t think it’s funny in the slightest.

“I mean the hair, the shoulders, the ripped jeans, blood-dripping axe, the…”

You narrow your eyes, trying to see. “Is that a harmonica?” you ask. Sam leans over you, so close you can smell his aftershave.

“I think it’s supposed to be a knife?” he says, but he doesn’t sound sure.

“I think it’s a harmonica,” you say, turning around and he leans back, while he looks at the glass case behind you with pain in his eyes. “I mean you’re famous for your mouth organ skills,” you conclude, grinning proudly at making that sound as dirty as it does.

Sam doesn’t appreciate the joke, his face full of horror while he does the cutest little pout.

“I hate this,” he says, still looking at the book in the case behind you. Supernatural, by Carver Edlund. Whichever volume this is, it has Sam and Dean on the cover in worrying and completely impractical states of undress, fighting hordes of what are meant to be demons but look more like gremlins.

It has been your utmost pleasure in the last fifteen minutes to torture Sam with how he is portrayed on these covers. They’re ludicrous and over-the-top but if anyone could pull off the no shirt, ripped jeans, harmonica playing look it would be Sam. Or Dean.

Speaking of, he walks up in just that moment. “I hate this,” he says, echoing his brother. You don’t. You actually love this.

Sam looks at Dean. “Anything?” he asks. Dean shakes his head.

“I guess Chuck isn’t here so he can’t help us,” the older Winchester replies, and then asks immediately, voice annoyed: “How in the world is this happening again? The second time people are getting attacked by ghosts at a Supernatural convention? How?”

Sam nods, then scans the crowd moving around you in the lobby-turned-fan-shop of the hotel you’re in.

“At least Becky’s not here this time,” he mutters.

“Guys, guys, guys,” you say, raising your hands, “you are looking at this completely the wrong way.”

Both brothers look at you, Sam still like he is about to panic, Dean like he is about to punch someone in the face.

“You guys are legends here,” you tell them. “Rockstars. WWE champions.” The last one you direct at Dean, but the angry look doesn’t leave his face.

“Except nobody knows that we are real,” Sam says, “and no one can know.” You shrug.

“But still,” you say, “don’t you think it’s kind of cool? That all the people here adore you?” Another shrug, and then you add: “At least in theory.”

Sam gives a deep sigh and Dean looks at the book on display behind you.

“Alright,” he says finally, slapping his hands together. “I say we go with journalists. We’re here to cover the convention for a local paper.” Sam nods.

“Sounds good, let’s get going,” he says and starts walking.

Dean hangs back just a second, turns to you. He points at the book cover.

“My hair doesn’t look like this, does it?” he asks, voice lowered. You suppress a grin.

“No, of course not,” you say, giving an assuring nod as you pat him on the shoulder. Dean doesn’t look convinced and then you follow Sam.

Several guests in the hotel have reported sighting of people in their rooms at night, some saying they were flickering, like on an old TV. There’s been cold spots and things moving, but no one’s gotten hurt yet, except for one guy who got freaked out and fell down a few stairs, spraining his ankle.

The only reason you’re even checking it out is because you were just a few towns over, finishing up a case.

When you pulled into the hotel parking lot and saw the banners, Dean nearly turned the Impala around on the spot. It was only after you told him that innocent people might be getting hurt that he begrudgingly parked the car. Sam meanwhile had gone quiet and a little pale.

So often, they’re so similar but so often they’re not.

“It’s easy for you, you know,” Dean is saying to you while you are walking through the lobby, “it’s not like your every thought and private life is just put on display, for everyone to read.”

“Hey!” you say, sounding a little offended. “I must be in there somewhere, right? I’m your trusty sidekick, I don’t at least get a mention?” Sam chuckles a little.

“Probably,” he says, pushing his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Would be weird if you weren’t.” You nod.

“Damn right it would be,” you reply. “It would be downright—”

“Oh my God, you guys look great!” you hear a voice close behind you. All three of you turn around.

There’s a couple standing behind you. He’s got his arm around her shoulder and she has a hand on his chest and is grinning at you, eyes wide. They’re not in costume like the majority of the other convention goers are, but they are merched the hell out. His t-shirt has one of the book covers on it and hers the words Winchester Family Business. It’s actually kind of nice.

“Thanks,” you say instinctively, although you’re not sure why. The guy points at Sam, and goes: “Let me guess, you’re Sam, right?”

You think duh before you understand what he means. He thinks he’s cosplaying as Sam.

Sam takes a second to get it as well. “Uh yeah,” he says. “Sure.”

“Makes sense because of the height,” the girlfriend says, “but I think you’d be a better Castiel, looks-wise.”

You look at Sam just to see an entire identity crisis go over his face.

“And you,” she says, looking at Dean now. “You look great!” Her boyfriend nods. “Real strong on the whole Dean vibe.”

Dean actually looks flattered and you make sure you remember to tease him about that later.

“But,” the girlfriend says, and then her eyes land on you and you panic for a second. She shakes her head appreciatively. “You know a lot of people don’t manage to pull it off, but you’re rocking it.”

“Rocking…it?” you ask, feeling your mouth go dry.

“Yeah!” she says, her face excited and she says your name. When she sees that you’re not picking up what she’s putting down, she waves her hand, gesticulating towards you. “I mean you got her down perfectly. The hair, the outfit, the devil-may-care attitude while still being a little cutie.”

And yeah, okay, it is flattering, so you can’t really blame Dean, especially not when the guy says: “Like Faith and Buffy had a kick-ass baby! Basically the perfect woman!”

His girlfriend pokes her finger into his side, but she’s laughing. You shrug, the comparison definitely getting to you.

“I’ve often thought so,” you say. The girlfriend squeals. “That’s totally something she would say!” Looks like your character work is on point.

Of course Sam has to ruin the rainfall of compliments. “We’re actually here from a local paper,” he’s saying, and if there was a subtle way to throw him an annoyed look you would do it. “Anything… unusual happen since you guys have gotten here?” The couple look at each other.

“Not really,” she says, “but we only got here this morning. We couldn’t get time off work earlier.” So they probably can’t tell you anything regarding the sightings.

“Thanks anyway,” Dean says, and you’re about to turn away, when the woman says: “It’s a fun idea, by the way, going as the love triangle. Just makes sense.”

You freeze and you’re pretty sure so do Sam and Dean.

“The love what now?” you say after a second.

“Love triangle?” she confirms, looking at you. When she sees the clueless look on your face, she puts her hand over her mouth.

“Oh crap,” she says, “are you not that far in the books?” Then she’s motioning towards her boyfriend’s shirt. He pulls the strap of his bag away so that you can see better as you take a step closer to him.

Like you already saw earlier it’s one of the book covers, the number telling you it’s a recent one. It has Sam and Dean on it, again, half-naked, looking like they work for Rent-a-Highlander. But there’s a third figure on the cover. You step even closer to see.

It’s a woman. She’s wearing a red, skin-tight dress that’s flayed in places and has a sword in her hand. She’s also leaning her back against one of the guys, the one who’s supposed to be Sam, long hair blowing in the wind, his hand on her hip and his sculpted chest pressed against her back, while the other guy, who’s supposed to be Dean, ripped shirt barely covering anything, is facing her, cupping her chin.

Your eyes go wide. “Oh. My. God.”  

“Oh my God,” you say, again.

You can’t stop saying it, as the three of you weave your way through the crowd, Sam leading since he can see best where you’re going.

You say it again because what you just saw isn’t sinking in.

“What’s the matter?” Dean says behind you, snarkiness in his voice. “Isn't it nice to be adored?”

You whip around to throw him an angry look and promptly walk into Sam’s back, since he’s stopped. You almost jump back. Any kind of physical contact seems loaded right now.

“Let’s go over here,” Sam says, pointing to a seating group in a quiet corner. When you reach it, you plop down in one of the chairs. You’re tempted to say oh my God again but luckily Sam starts talking first. “Okay, we gotta find some people who have encountered the ghosts, assuming it is ghosts.”

He’s purposefully not looking at you, instead scanning the room. “Maybe we should split up, meet up again in an hour and see what we found.”

Okay, so he is just completely ignoring this. Very Sam. Dean, on the other hand, is not.

“That dress would just be so unpractical,” he says, apropos of nothing. “But damn, it was ripped in all the right places.” You look at him, eyes wide as saucers.

“Seriously?” you hiss at him.

“What?” he says, raising his hands. “You’ve been making fun of us from the moment we got here. I can’t do the same?”

You’re lost for words because as uncomfortable as it is, he’s not totally wrong. You’re kind of reaping what you sowed. You make a secret vow to yourself to never, ever do any sowing again.

“Guys!” Sam says, making you and Dean look at him. “Focus?” You shake your head. “Yes, you’re right. Ghosts. Hauntings. Work.” Then you take a deep breath.

You can’t get that cover out of your head. It’s so cheesy, over the top. Silly. But damn it if the idea of being between Sam and Dean like that isn’t making you feel some things. Clearing your throat, you bring yourself back to reality.

“Maybe splitting up is a good idea. And like you said, we meet back here in an hour and compare notes,” you say. Sam nods.

“Okay,” he says and then he is walking away. No see you later, no good luck. He is just walking off. What the hell?

You look back at Dean and you are about 99% sure you catch him looking at your boobs.

“I really hope you’re not imagining that dress on me, Dean Winchester,” you say, and Dean makes a face that tells you that is exactly what he was doing.

You huff, then get up and walk away too.

Love triangle is ridiculous.

For a love triangle to happen, there would need to be flirting. Maybe kissing. There hasn’t been.

Well, that’s not entirely true.

Flirting with Dean is easy and you slip into it all the time. Sometimes it’s just teasing, but other times…

Other times it takes on a different quality. Dean looks into your eyes a second longer than he needs to, until you feel your breathing getting a little heavier. He checks you out and compliments you but some of his compliments are so specific, so genuine that it flusters you.

Sam, on the other hand, doesn’t flirt with you at all, but then you don’t know what it would look like for Sam to flirt. Instead, he does small things he doesn’t need to do, pays attention to things that would escape anyone else's notice. He helps you take off your jacket when you’re hurt and can’t move your arms or shoulders so well, his fingers grazing your skin lightly, making it feel like they’re shooting off electricity. He stands close to you, closer than he needs to, so that you brush up against him when you move.

But love triangle? you think, as you’re talking to the third group of people that hasn’t seen anything out of the ordinary. Love triangle is just ridiculous.

The group you’re talking to is two young women and a guy. They’re nice and are happy to talk to you, but no ghost sightings.

Ironically, one of them is dressed as a ghost. “Old Halloween costume,” she grins when you complimented her on it.

You’re chatting about the convention and that everyone’s waiting for a new book to come out, while you hold a little pad and a pen in your hands, to look all journalist-y. They’re talking passionately amongst themselves about where the story is going. You can’t help yourself – you have to ask.

“So what do you guys think about the love triangle?” you ask, trying to act as unaffected as possibly.

“I know some people don’t like it,” the girl dressed as a ghost says, “but I love it.”

The guy, dark hair and glasses, nods. “Yeah,” he says, “I think she’s a great addition to the story. I mean, no offense, I like the old books too, but geez, I think we all had enough of that sausage fest.”

The second girl, short bob and freckles, laughs. “There’s only so many scenes you can have with the brothers miscommunicating while they are in emotional turmoil. These books need some sex!”

You all laugh. The books aren’t the only ones, you think.

“Plus,” ghost girl says, pointedly looking at you, “she is super hot. Have you seen those covers?”

You remember the cover, of course, remember the way Sam was grabbing your hip and Dean tilting up your face. Well, not your face, not your hip.

Whatever. This is confusing.

“But isn’t it awkward?” you ask, still not able to stop yourself. “I mean someone’s bound to get hurt, right?”

Freckles shrugs. “Maybe,” she says, “I just hope she ends up with Sam. I mean, Jesus, he’s so controlled and then there’s that scene where he thinks about what he wants to do to her? How he just wants to let his control slip, press her against the wall and make her his?”

You swallow, just as Freckles makes a head-exploding-sound. “Too hot.”

“I don’t know,” Glasses says. “I like her with Dean.”

“Dean’s too much of a playboy,” Freckles interrupts him. “He’ll never settle down.”

“That’s what makes it so romantic,” Glasses responds, leaning forward. “He’s never been in love and then he meets her and he can’t have her? Duuude.”

He sighs, then grins, before he adds: “Plus you know he must be a beast in bed.”

Laughs all around again while you pretend that you are totally fine and not turning into molten lava. To distract, you turn to ghost girl.

“Who do you think she should end up with?” you ask. Ghost girl shrugs.

“Why pick one?” she says. “She should just take both. She fantasizes about it, after all.”

You just have enough time to think holy crap, your spank bank material is in these books, when you hear Dean behind you: “Who fantasizes about what?”

You whip around, and Sam and Dean are standing right behind you.

“Nothing,” you say immediately. You turn back to the group.

“Thank you,” you say, raising your note pad that you have written absolutely nothing into. “I appreciate you talking to me.” The wave at you and then you get up.

“Anything?” you ask Sam and Dean in a low voice, hoping they won’t ask what you were talking about.

“I think I got something,” Sam says. He fills you both in: the people who have notices the cold spots are all on the same floor. So that’s where you go.

The hallways of the hotel are abandoned since everyone is downstairs at the convention. There’s no sign of any ghostly activity, at least not until you walk ahead, scanning the hallway in front of you, and suddenly Sam says your name and you feel his hand wrap around your arm.

He pulls you back and you just see a presence appear in the exact spot where you were standing a second ago. It shrieks and then disappears.

It would be scary but you are very much distracted by the fact that when Sam pulled you back he pulled you towards the wall and you are now between it and him, his heaving chest at the surprise right in front of you.

How he just wants to let his control slip, press her against the wall and make her his.

You need to take a deep breath. Sam looks down at you, his big hand still around your arm.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Mmh hmm,” you reply, since words are hard.

“That wasn’t a ghost,” Dean says, stepping closer to you two. Sam turns to him and lets go of your arm.

“What are you thinking?” he asks.

“Death echo,” you just manage to mutter. They both look at you.

“It was quick but I think I saw a gunshot wound,” you add, sort of proud of how steady your voice sounds now that you're saying more than two syllables. “If it was a ghost it would have attacked me. I mean, I basically walked through it.” Sam nods, thinking.

“Yeah, that makes sense.” Dean nods as well, looks at you. “Smart. That’s our girl.”

He must be a beast in bed.

And yeah, your voice probably wouldn’t be so steady after he says that, so you decide to just smile and nod.

“Death echoes are harmless, right?” Dean asks, turning to Sam. His little brother nods. “They are. They can be reminded that they’re dead, but it usually just works if someone they have a connection to does it.” You swallow to steady yourself.

“I think I might have an idea,” you say.

It's a minor spell that you learned years ago. The ingredients are basic and easy to get, and Sam says the incantation while Dean draws the pentagram on the wallpaper in the hallway.

“They’ll just think it was some fans,” he shrugs at you.

The death echo makes another appearance and the spell helps to remind it of its death. The spirit passes on, the cold spots disappear and it’s another day of work well done.

You’re almost sad to leave because the people you were talking to were nicer than the folk you run into on your normal cases.

But you’re also glad to be getting out of there. You don’t need anymore reminders of how hopeless and complicated your crushes on the two brothers are, and you certainly don’t need any more sexy ideas put in your head.

You climb into the back of the Impala, sitting in the middle, while Sam and Dean get into the front. A big sigh leaves you involuntarily.

You gotta put this behind you. Nothing good lies that way.

You notice then that Dean hasn’t started the car, so you look up, and you see both of them looking back at you.

“What?” you ask, already defensive.

“Look,” Sam says, sounding a little uncomfortable, “do we need to talk?” At your wide eyed stare, he adds: “About the love triangle thing?”

Oh God, you cannot even express how much you do not want to talk about that. So you decide to just lie.

“It’s just part of the book,” you say, doing your best to sound convincing. “I mean I know Chuck’s a prophet and all, but come on, he must have made some stuff up, you know? Besides, sex sells! Everyone knows that.”

Sam nods, but Dean doesn’t drop it.

“Right,” he says, and then sort of looks down, you don’t know at what, “so you’ve never dreamed of two pairs of strong, calloused hands running over your body, exploring every inch of you, making you feel small and desired?”

Your eyes go even wider, if such a thing is possible, because, yes, absolutely you have, but how in the world does Dean know that?

“Or,” Sam adds, suddenly not so awkward-looking anymore. He reaches his hand and Dean hands him whatever he’s been holding. Sam brings it up over the seat where you can see it, and it’s an edition of the book that has the three of you on the cover.

Sam reads from it, eyebrows raised. “Or lying between two big, solid bodies while their practiced mouths make you shudder in ecstacy, screaming your lust to the heavens as their manhoods undo you again and again?”

Dean guffaws.

“Damn,” he says, “you have a dirty mind.”

He turns and starts the engine, music blaring from the stereo.

You slip lower in your seat, your hands going over your face, hoping the earth will simply open up and swallow you down as the car starts moving.

“This can’t be happening,” you mutter.

You peek between your fingers and Dean is drumming on the steering wheel, while Sam grins at you.

“Pretty hot,” he says, and then turns forward as well.

You can’t help but grin a little.   

[novacorpsrecruit]

It’s lonely at the top

Part 1 | here | part 3

Read on Ao3

wc 1,368 | Steddie | angst

Eddie’s never been popular. He’s never wanted to be popular. He loved being the freak who stood out. He’s not going to conform to anyone’s standards just to fit in.

He was never invited to house parties until they moved to Chicago. His coworker Trick told him about a house off of South Giles that threw parties almost every night. He swore up and down that the party rocked and that everyone would love him.

“Can I bring a friend?” Eddie asked.

“Sure,” Trick said. “As long as they’re cool.”

“So cool,” Eddie nodded. “He’s my best friend.”

Eddie doesn’t know where they went wrong. Steve was excited to go. He was excited to meet Eddie’s coworkers and his new friends.

And Eddie made a lot of new friends at these parties.

Every room he entered people were excited to see him. They gave him shots or a fresh beer. Patted him on the shoulder as they praised him. Eddie felt like he was on stage at a music festival.

This is where he was meant to be.

Everyone here matched his energy. His style. They were his community. He wasn’t an outcast anymore. They were freaks together.

And sure, sometimes he lost sight of Steve. But he always found him at the end of the night.

So he doesn’t understand where it went wrong.

Steve fell into Eddie. Eddie’s beer spilled on Steve. And Steve was in tears. They were just having fun… what happened?

Then there was the fight. Steve was going home.

“You get home safe?” Eddie asked, taking a step back towards the house.

“Not like you care,” Steve said. “We’re over, Eddie.”

“Steve —“

“No, go be the single guy you’ve been telling everyone you are. I’ll be okay.”

And Steve turned and walked away.

Eddie should’ve went after him. Should’ve made sure he got home safe.

But the bus stop was less than half a mile away. He would be fine.

So he went back inside.

It’s not like he wanted to tell everyone he was “single.” Sure, they like him, but that doesn’t mean that they would accept him for being gay.

He guessed he didn’t push the girls away when he should, but Steve never had an issue before.

Eddie was mad. So he drank more than he usually does. He agrees to go out for food afterwards, knowing Steve will be waiting for him when he gets home.

The lights were off when Eddie unlocked the apartment door. He slipped out of his boots, leaving them by Steve’s Nikes. He quietly made his way to the bedroom, slipping out of his jeans and into the bed next to Steve.

“I’m sorry about tonight,” Eddie whispered into the dark. “I know you’re mad. We’ll talk in the morning, okay?”

Eddie knew he wasn’t going to answer. They’ve gone to bed angry more times than he’d like. They’ll make up in the morning, just like they always do.

But this time was different.

When Eddie woke up, he woke up alone. The bed cold where Steve would’ve slept. He climbed out of the bed and slowly entered the living room. It was as quiet as last night.

Steve’s shoes weren’t by Eddie’s boots.

A quick scan of the room made Eddie’s heart drop. Steve’s textbooks were missing. His bookbag. His jacket.

Quick on his feet, Eddie ran into the bedroom and opened the closet. It looked bare, the empty hangers mocking Eddie of his mistake. Steve’s voice echoing in his head. “We’re over, Eddie.“

“Shit — shit!” Eddie ran back to the kitchen, grabbing the phone off the handle. He had to look at the list of numbers on the fridge. He doesn’t talk to Robin as much as Steve did. He dialed the number, tapping his foot on the ground anxiously as it rang.

“Jones Hall,” the page answered.

“Hi, uh, I need to talk to Robin Buckley, please,” Eddie said. “Room 305.”

“Please hold,” the page said, switching the call to the third floor’s phone. It rang and rang, and Eddie grew more and more anxious.

Then the phone clicked.

“Hello?” A high pitched voice answered. Not Robin.

“Hi — uh — I need to speak to Robin,” Eddie said again. “Buckley. She’s in room 305.”

“Uh, okay, yeah,” the girl said. “Hold on a second.”

There was a soft thud as the girl laid the phone on the desk. Eddie hoped Robin was in her room. That she knew where Steve was. That there was an ounce of hope left.

He could hear a voice as the phone was picked up. “Thanks Becky,” Robin said to the girl, away from the receiver. Her voice became clearer as she turned her attention to Eddie. “Hello?”

“Birdie, is Steve —“

She hung up with a click.

Eddie listened to the dial tone, feeling his heart sank.

She knew.

Steve was safe.

Ideally, that meant she was harboring Steve in her dorm room. What if she goes back to her room and tells Steve, and he comes out and tries to call Eddie?

Eddie hung up the phone.

He stood there waiting for a call. He leaned against the fridge, sliding down as the minutes turned into an hour, then into hours.

The longer he waited, Eddie wasn’t sure why he was even going to apologize. Sure, he probably should’ve walked Steve home. It’s late. It could’ve been dangerous, but they’ve seen monsters. He would’ve been fine.

Was Steve really that mad that Eddie’s found a community? That Eddie was actually liked for once? That Eddie was the center of attention at a party and not King Steve?

By dark, Eddie’s anger flushed the worry out of his system. He went into his room and threw on a fresh pair of jeans and a shirt, then made his way back to the South Giles house.

He was greeted with cheers, instantly fixing his mood. Soon, the shots were flowing and the beers kept coming.

“Surprised to see you alone,” Trick said, handing a lit joint over to Eddie. “You get rid of that loser roommate once and for all?”

Eddie’s brow furrowed. “What?”

“That loser you were with,” Trick said, leaning against the wall. “With the dumb polos that followed you like a lost dog. Thought you said he was cool.”

“He is cool,” Eddie said slowly, handing the joint back to Trick. “That’s my best friend.”

“Don’t know why,” Trick shrugged. “Seemed like a total dumbass. Don’t know how you put up with that loser —“

Eddie didn’t realize he swung until he saw Trick stumble backwards.

“What the fuck, Munson?” Trick snapped.

“That’s my fucking boyfriend you’re shit talking,” Eddie gritted. He felt someone’s hand push against his chest, trying to keep him back from Trick. “Say something again. I dare you.”

“So what?” Trick said, wiping his nose with the back of his hand, smearing blood against his skin. “You ditched him for us? Some boyfriend you are.”

“Yeah,” Eddie huffed, stepping back. “I’m figuring that out.”

Eddie ran his hand through his hair as he pushed through the crowd. The rest of the evening felt like a blur as he walked to the bus stop, rode the 3 until he arrived home He took the phone off the hook, dialing the dorm’s number again.

“Jones Hall,” the page answered.

“Can I speak to Robin Buckley,” Eddie said. “Room 305.”

“Hold, please.”

The phone rang a few times before some giggly girl answered. “Hello?”

“Hi, can you leave a message for Robin in 305?” Eddie asked.

“Uh — I can see if she’s in —“

“No, I just need to leave a message,” Eddie said. “She’s got a whiteboard on her door if you can —“

“Yeah, sure,” the girl said. “What’s the message?”

“I’m sorry’ from Eddie,” Eddie said. “He — She will know what I mean.”

There was a pause. “Okay,” the girl said. “You sure you don’t want to talk to her?”

“I’m hoping I can say it in person,” Eddie said. “Just need her to answer me first.”

“Sure. Good luck, Eddie.” The phone clicked as she hung up.

God. Eddie was gonna need it.

[baigepueckers]

Caitlin Clark X Reader

Under the Spotlight

You weren’t just anyone walking into Gainbridge Fieldhouse that night.

You were you…Y/N. Hollywood’s favorite new face. The girl the internet had decided was too pretty to be that talented and too charming to be real. You’d been on magazine covers, walked red carpets, hosted SNL.

And yet, tonight, none of that mattered.

Because tonight, you weren’t the star of a hit movie. You weren’t there to be seen.

You were there to see her.

You and Caitlin had met months ago…mutual friends at a crossover event, something casual. You’d exchanged numbers after ten minutes. Not for anything romantic. Not yet. Just a shared love for competition, for the way attention followed you both, whether you asked for it or not. You started with dumb memes and sarcastic texts. You bonded over the weird loneliness of being so known all the time.

She sent you a video once at 1:42 a.m., whispering courtside at an empty practice gym. “I’m supposed to be asleep. I just wanted to shoot for a bit.”

You sent back a voice note. “I’d stay up to watch you shoot.”

And after that, it stopped being casual.

She never called you her girlfriend. You never called her yours. But the silence between you? It was anything but platonic.

So when you showed up that night…wearing a custom black Fever jacket with her number stitched discreetly inside the sleeve…it was a choice. A quiet kind of confession.

You didn’t need cameras. You just needed her to see you.

You slipped into your courtside seat with that practiced kind of elegance, all poise and purpose. Fans started whispering before you even sat down. Phones lifted. Tweets fired. People didn’t miss a thing when it came to you…not who you followed, not who liked your photo at 2 a.m., not where you showed up on a Friday night in Indiana.

And Caitlin?

Caitlin noticed you the second she stepped onto the court.

You watched her freeze mid jog as her eyes landed on you. One blink. Then a smile…big and completely unguarded, the kind she only ever gave you in private. Her shoulders shifted like she had to physically reset herself to keep walking.

She bent to tie her shoe. You smirked.

God, she was trying to play it cool.

Warmups were a mess. She missed two open threes. Got hounded by her teammates. You saw Aliyah pat her on the back and mouth something…probably teasing her about you being there. Caitlin didn’t even argue. Just flushed and tried to hide her grin with her towel.

You couldn’t stop watching her. The way she moved, focused but constantly scanning for you. And when her eyes found yours again?

You mouthed “Focus, superstar.”

She exhaled a breathless laugh, shook her head and adjusted her ponytail like it would somehow settle her pulse.

But you knew better.

When the game started, she lit up. Dropped back to back threes like it was nothing. You could see her fire from your seat. But every made shot was followed by a glance your way. Like she needed to see your reaction. Like your approval meant more than any stat line ever could.

And when she took a hard foul in the second quarter and landed on her back, you shot halfway out of your seat, heart climbing into your throat. She got up fine, brushing it off. But she looked at you as she did it.

You pointed to your lips. “Careful.”

She grinned again. And missed the free throw.

You leaned toward the court and whispered, “Slipping.”

She laughed. Full, real, chest deep laughter. The whole arena felt it.

And apparently, so did the broadcast.

“There’s a certain energy from Clark tonight,” the announcer said. “Maybe something…or someone…giving her an extra reason to show off.”

The camera cut to you. Center frame. Steady. Glowing.

You didn’t flinch. You just tilted your head, smiled slowly and looked right at Caitlin.

Like a challenge.

She kept playing like she had something to prove. And she did. You knew it. She wanted to prove that this…you…wasn’t just some fleeting crush. That she could be Caitlin Clark and still be yours. Even if no one else knew it yet.

They won by four. She finished with twenty eight, six assists, and a defense that looked like a highlight reel. But when the buzzer sounded, she didn’t even glance at the scoreboard.

She looked for you.

And your seat was empty.

Her eyes darted. Jaw clenched. She looked around like maybe you’d disappeared. Like maybe she’d imagined the whole thing.

But then someone in a staff polo leaned in and said something, and her entire body relaxed.

She ran. Not walked…ran…down the tunnel.

You were waiting just past the edge of the noise, tucked in a hallway behind the press zone and watching the doorway like your whole body had been on pause.

The second she saw you, she stopped. Just stopped.

“You left,” she said, breathing hard.

“I didn’t want to steal your moment.”

She stared at you like she couldn’t believe you were real. “I’ve been thinking about this for weeks. You. Here.”

You stepped closer, close enough to feel the heat of her skin. “So have I.”

Caitlin’s mouth parted, and she glanced toward the corner, toward the last of the security team walking away.

You could tell she was asking herself: Can I? Should I?

So you answered for her.

You leaned in and brushed your forehead against hers. “You don’t have to be subtle with me.”

Her hand slid up your arm, fingers curling gently at your jaw. Her eyes were wide, shining. “I don’t want to hide.”

“Then don’t.”

And that was it.

Caitlin kissed you…slow, aching, like she’d been holding it back since the moment she saw you courtside. You kissed her back like you were done pretending, done waiting.

Somewhere down the hall, a photographer lifted their camera.

Neither of you looked.

Let them guess. Let them post. Let them know.

This wasn’t a rumor.

This was real.

[wileys-russo]

christmas showcase II a.russo

lil christmas fic for the maternal instincts universe christmas showcase II a.russo

"what so the state wide budget gets cut, something entirely out of your hands, and now the school expects teachers to pay for the supplies for christmas crafts for the kids?" your girlfriend scoffed in disbelief as you smiled, dumping another armful of stationary into the trolley you'd tasked her to push.

"yeah thats the reality year round love, did you ever have a pizza party in school? teacher funded." you hummed, alessias eyes widening even further as you squatted down, thumbing through the craft paper for the colours you needed.

"what!" "mhm, we've discussed this before less." "well yeah, but-well-" you stood back up and dropped the packs of craft paper onto your ever growing stack of supplies. "butts are for ashtrays, not conversations." you teased, lightly patting her cheek and striding on ahead.

"ugh please don't teacher talk me." alessia groaned pushing the cart after you. "then don't speak like one of my students." you stuck your tongue out at her as the blonde pulled a face.

"hey where's bella? bell!" alessia called out in realisation, head scanning the aisle and not seeing her anywhere. "probably adding more to her list for santa." you chuckled knowingly, and sure enough moments later the five year old came skidding around the corner.

"what did we say about running off?" alessia warned making you smile, the older girl not always having felt comfortable 'parenting' bella, but the last few months she'd really melted into it and taken it in her stride.

"i didn't run! i walked." bella nodded matter of factly, squealing as alessia mocked her and tugged playfully on her ear. "are you nearly done? the monsters hungry again!" bella sighed, patting her stomach dramatically and sagging into alessia's leg as the two of you shared a grin.

"the monster who just insisted you needed an extra two pieces of toast this morning? and who just had a blueberry muffin?" you teased, placing a few more things into the cart as bella huffed.

"no! the muffin was for me, i'm a growing girl who needs her energy to get big and strong, to stay healthy and match ready." bella parroted as you shot your girlfriend a look, the words may have been coming from your daughters mouth but they weren't hers.

"well ronaldo you don't have football for another two months so i am sure we can help you grow another inch or two by then!" you laughed, tugging her beanie down over her eyes as the three of you headed toward the registers.

"thats not funny! daddy said its your fault im so short." bella scowled stomping on ahead. "yeah well your dad didn't hit his growth spurt until he was sixteen!" you called out with a roll of your eyes, tugging the beanie over her eyes again as she stopped to finger her way through the candy display at the front of the store.

"less!" you protested when your girlfriend grabbed the chocolate bar bella was eagerly pointing to, giving her a look. "what? this is for my monster, he's hungry too!" the blonde pointed at her stomach as bella giggled and you sighed shaking your head and beginning to load things onto the conveyor belt.

"thank you." you smiled kindly to the young boy at the register, who you assumed was a football fan given the wide eyed glances he kept shooting your clueless girlfriend, too busy holding the chocolate out of bellas eager reach.

"she doesn't mind when people ask for photos." you whispered to him as his cheeks flushed and you sent him a wink, tugging the trolley forward and loading the last bag, calling out for your daughter who grabbed your outstretched hand.

sure enough alessia hung behind to take a photo with the young boy whose elated grin stretched ear to ear, the blonde jogging to catch up with the two of you as you made your way across the parking lot to the car.

"so, are you and harvey excited for christmas mutant?" alessia questioned as she buckled bella in and you loaded the bags in the back, poking at the teddy bear securely buckled in with her.

"yeah! mummy did you send my letter to santa? did you? did you?" bella asked once you'd arrived home, bouncing up and down on the driveway as you chuckled at her excitement.

"sure did babe, mailed it on friday and put on 4 stamps just like you asked me to." you confirmed, looking down at her with a smile and pinching her cheeks as she squealed and kicked her leg at you.

"mama did you finish your list for santa yet? mummy and i finished ours!" bella accused as alessia grabbed the bags out of the boot, only half listening.

"mama?" "sorry what was that bell?" "your santa list, did you finish it?"

"my...santa list?" alessia glanced at you curiously as you subtly nodded. "oh, yes! yes i did." alessia clarified with a firm nod, bella sighing in relief and racing off to the front door, you and alessia following after and letting her inside.

"so your mums still fine with us coming for christmas?" you asked a little while later, bella not long having gone to bed as you and alessia laid on the sofa watching a film.

"are you joking?" alessia asked seriously, sitting up a little more with a frown as you blushed.

"well its just-you know this is our first christmas together. and i've not been with someone for a christmas since i had bella, i forget how it works." you mumbled, a little embarrassed, groaning and covering your face with your hands.

"it works the same as any other christmas! except this time my family have a beautiful little girl to spoil rotten and i have a gorgeous girlfriend to sit with at dinner." alessia laughed, wrenching your hands away from your face.

"don't laugh! you know i overthink everything." you sighed, playfully hitting her shoulder as she grabbed your legs, tugging you closer so you were practically in her lap.

"well christmas eve we'll be here, and we'll make cookies and watch christmas films and do all the traditions you and bell have for years, which i feel very honoured to learn and participate in." alessia started, absentmindedly tracing patterns on your forehead.

"and make christmas tree shaped pizzas, just like i promised bella." alessia added before you could chime in as you reached up and squeezed her face in your hand which she batted away with a smile.

"then christmas morning we'll go see your mum and dad for brunch. then we'll go to my parents place in the afternoon, have dinner and mums insisting we all stay the night but i told her i had to check that with the boss first." alessia finished with a curt nod, poking your nose with a wink.

"the boss being me?" "no i meant isabella, obviously?" "ha ha ha."

"yes you!" alessia laughed when you attempted to smack her, catching your hand and kissing it a few times before letting it fall back to your side with a thump.

"if she's prepared for a bossy, chatterbox, sugar hyped five year old running around for hours until she passes out then i think that sounds lovely." you smiled as your girlfriend chuckled and leaned down to press her forehead against yours.

"well then we have a plan baby, nothing to overthink now."

~

"-and you're sure you don't mind if they come?!" alessia asked for the tenth time this morning making you laugh. the school you worked at and bella attended having its annual christmas showcase the end of the week and over half the arsenal girls insistent they attend.

"no babe, i already reserved seats for them and they paid for tickets! bella is very very excited they're coming, usually its just nathan and our parents since i'm backstage helping." you assured, pecking her lips a few times as she tried to argue, softening and pulling you back for a proper kiss.

but that ground to an abrupt halt when gagging noises sounded, bella covering her eyes and very loudly demanding the two of you stop 'swapping spit' as she so eloquently put it, still deep in her kissing is gross phase.

"yuck! have you stopped now?" she questioned, peeking out from her hands as alessia cupped your cheeks and pressed her mouth to yours again making you laugh and bella gag loudly again, covering her face with one hand and her teddys face with the other.

"my eyes are burning!" "oh does that mean you can't see this then?" you questioned, grabbing alessia's face right back as the two of you messily kissed as bella dramatically fell to the floor with a thud and a groan.

"oh she was so young, so full of life!" alessia cried out, scooping your daughter up and carrying her into the kitchen fireman style. "i guess we better go downstairs and bury her in the garden, she did love pulling out the weeds every summer." you sighed, moving to open the front door as bella shot up in your girlfriends arms.

"don't bury me the dirt will go up my nose!" "oh my god she lives!" you yelled out, closing the door and throwing your hands into the air. "almost. i think we might have a zombie on our hands!" alessia hummed, skeptically poking at bellas face who giggled.

"i made something at school!" bella wiggled as alessia put her down and she shot off to her room, giving you just enough time to steal a few more kisses before she returned.

"paper chains for the tree and a star!" bella started, waving you and alessia into the living room and practically pushing you both to sit down as she rummaged around in her bag, only having a few more days left before she was done for the year.

"oh very nice mutant, i like that you used a lot of colours." alessia complimented as the two of you shared a look of amusement, everything draped in enough glitter for two pride parades.

"okay now cover your eyes, and no peeking mama!" bella warned as alessia scoffed with offence. "why did you only warn me?" the striker huffed as you grinned. "because you would peek." bella explained patting the girls knee who rolled her eyes but covered her eyes.

you felt something drop into your lap and heard some shuffling before it was announced the two of you could look. you glanced down to see an ornament in your lap, a bright red bauble with mummy scrawled on it in hot pink glitter glue.

"oh bella." you looked to your side to see alessia had one as well, but you couldn't quite make out what it said but it appeared to have more writing on it than yours.

"do you like it? i chose red for arsenal!" bella beamed, puffing her chest out proudly as alessia turned it a little so you could read.

mama's first christmas.

"oh bell, they're beautiful." you smiled softly, picking her up into a tight hug, squeezing your girlfriends knee who seemed lost for words.

"cause its your first one with us! my teacher had to help me with the writing." bella explained, head resting on your shoulder as she reached her other arm out for alessia to join the hug.

"oh less!" you groaned as the blonde practically tackled the pair of you to the sofa in a tight bear hug making bella giggle as alessia kissed all over both of your faces.

"best christmas ever."

~

"does every parent tell their kid they can sing even when they're this horrible?" leah whispered skeptically as alessia shot her a look and lia rammed an elbow in her other side making her wheeze.

"what! just a question." leah grumbled, alessia smiling apologetically to the sharp shush which sounded from a man in the row in front of them. "i think it is sweet." lia defended, the choir finishing their rendetion of santa clause is coming to town as everyone errupted into applause.

"i think leah should shut up." kyra shrugged once they'd sat back down, the blonde shooting her a glare and reaching over alessia to try and smack the young australian.

"stop it! the pair of you." steph chimed in from kyras other side, smacking the blonde as alessia shoved leah and both girls settled back in their seats with a mutter.

"oh this is bell's class!" alessia perked up as K3 was announced and slowly the very nervous looking kindergartens were ushered onto the stage by a few of the year six kids who were helping out.

you peeked out from the curtain and snickered, catching thirteen phones all up and filming before the song had even started, alessia wiggling her fingers at you with a face eating grin.

"you got this!" you gave the kids on stage a thumbs up, moving out of the way so their teacher could stand in the wings, also doing the dance in case anyone forgot as the opening bars of the song began.

"lessi your face is gonna crack in half if you smile any wider." kyra teased, alessia shushing her as she zoomed in on bella who was easily one of the more enthusiastic of the class as they made their way through their dance.

"now see that? thats real talent." leah nodded, putting her fingers in her mouth and whistling as a womans head whipped around to glare at her and she simply pulled a face making her scoff and turn back around.

"oh my god." you couldn't help but chuckle as right as the song finished the entire row of girls were up on their feet, whistling and clapping like they'd just watched someone score the winning game in extra time, a few other parents giving them strange looks as slowly the kids shuffled off stage and they sat back down.

but judging by the shit eating grin on your daughters face and the pride shining in your girlfriends eyes as bella lingered on stage to wave enthusiastically to her cheer squad before being gently shooed off, it was worth it.

alessia had been right, best christmas ever.

[stargazsblog]

how to lose a girl in 10 days | ch.1 the bet

ryomen sukuna x fem!reader

ʚɞ ryomen sukuna is tall, devastatingly handsome, and the campus heartbreaker. everyone knows his name, and his reputation for leaving girls with broken hearts. but then there's you uninterested and completely unimpressed by him. you're the only girl who couldn't care less about him. when his friends tease him about it, everything changes. they challenge him with a bet to make you, the one person who isn't affected by his charm, fall in love with him in just 10 days, sukuna accepts the challenge, thinking it'll be an easy win. it's just a game, a way to prove he can get any girl he wants. but the more time he spends with you, he finds himself wanting something he never expected.

ʚɞ warning/tags: angst, fluff, romance, use of cigarettes and alcohol, jealousy, asshole sukuna, heartbreak, inspired by how to lose a guy in 10 days, college au, enemies to lovers.

ʚɞ now playing - no. 1 party anthem by arctic monkeys

note: hi guys! this is the first chapter and I'm so excited this is just about how the bet starts nothing crazyyyy YET… i can’t wait to write more! merry christmas!! <3

masterlist

“I still don’t know why I let you talk me into this,” you muttered, pulling your jacket tighter around yourself. The muffled thump of bass from inside the house was enough to make your ears ring, even from a distance. The faint smell of cigarette smoke and cheap beer mixed with the crisp winter breeze, making you wrinkle your nose.

“Because,” Shoko said, throwing an arm around your shoulder. “Deep down, you know you’ll have fun if you let yourself.” she grinned at you.

You side-eye her, “Have fun?, this is a party of drunk idiots I have to pretend I like.”

“Don't be dramatic.” Shoko rolled her eyes, patting your shoulder as she let you go. ”You spend too much time brooding alone in your dorm, anyway.”

“I call it peace,” you shot back, but Shoko was already halfway up the stairs.

The door swung open before either of you could reach it. A group of boys tumbled out, laughing and shouting, nearly knocking you over in the process. You stepped aside just in time, muttering a curse under your breath

The heat of the crowded house hit you immediately. The air was thick, almost suffocating, with the smell of sweat, spilled drinks, and overly sweet perfume. Bodies pressed together as people danced to the relentless beat of the music.

“Come on, let's get a drink,” she said, grabbing your wrist and leading you towards the kitchen. You stuck close to her, pushing past people in the crowd and avoiding eye contact as much as possible.

“This is a disaster,” you muttered as you reached the kitchen, leaning against the counter. Shoko handed you a bottle of water before pouring herself something that smelled suspiciously strong.

“It's just a party,” she replied.

As she took a sip, she leaned against the counter, her eyes scanning the room again. “There he is,” she said, nudging you with her elbow.

“Who?”

“You know who.”

Your gaze followed hers, landing on a familiar figure sprawled out on the couch in the corner of the living room. Ryomen Sukuna.

He was sitting on the couch like he owned the place, his long legs stretched out, one arm casually draped over the back of the sofa. He was wearing a white shirt, the fabric clinging just enough to hint at the toned muscles underneath. His eyes scanned the room with practiced boredom, like none of it was worth his time.

A girl was sitting on his lap, twirling her hair around her finger and giggling as if he’d just told her the funniest joke in the world. She leaned closer, whispering something in his ear, but he didn’t seem to be paying attention. Instead, his gaze drifted and then locked onto yours.

He grinned, a slow, cocky smirk that made something in your chest tighten not with attraction, but with irritation. It was the kind of grin that said he knew exactly the effect he had on people and loved to watch them crumble under it. He tilted his head slightly, as if to say, Caught you staring

As you looked away, you could feel the weight of his gaze on you. But you didn’t turn back. You weren’t interested.

“Great,” you muttered, taking a long sip from your water bottle. “Now I have to burn this memory from my brain.”

Shoko laughed, clearly enjoying your discomfort. “Oh, come on. You’ve got to admit, he’s hot.”

“He’s insufferable.”

“Hot and insufferable. The best combination.”

“I’ll leave right now.” you turned heel, but Shoko grabbed your arm, stopping you from your track.

“Relax, I’m just teasing you.”

Your jaw tightened, but you stayed put, watching as Sukuna leaned back even further, his eyes still fixed on you. The girl on his lap pouted, clearly annoyed at his lack of attention, but he didn’t seem to care.

“I hate him,” you muttered under your breath. The words came out bitter, but they were true. “Did I mention that before?”

“Yeah, like hundreds of times,” She replied, laughing “You really hate him, huh?”

“I just don’t get how people fall for his act,” you said.

Shoko shrugged. “Like I said, he’s hot. People like hot.”

“Hot doesn’t excuse being an asshole,” you murmured, crossing your arms. “What’s his deal, anyway? Does he just sit there all night waiting for people to grovel at his feet?”

“Pretty much,” Shoko said with a shrug. “But he’s good at it. Watch.”

As if on cue, another girl approached him, drink in hand. She leaned down, her lips close to his ear as she said something you couldn’t hear. Sukuna smirked, his attention finally shifting away from you, and you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

“See? he’s harmless,” Shoko said.

“Harmless,” you repeated, your voice with sarcasm. “Sure.”

“You know, you’re the only one who doesn’t fall for his charm.”

“Good,” you said firmly, crossing your arms. “I’m not about to start. I don’t need someone like him in my life.”

“You gonna keep her there all night?” Suguru asked, nodding towards the girl on Sukuna’s lap.

Sukuna smirked tilting his head back. “why not? She's comfortable here.” the girl giggled again, clearly tipsy, but Sukuna's attention has already wandered. His eyes scanned the room lazily, taking in the usual suspect, drunk athletes, and the occasional out-of-place loner. Until it landed on you.

You stood in the kitchen, keeping your distance from the chaos, leaning against the counter with your arms crossed. Your eyes roamed over the room, observing, until they met his. He caught you looking, and a smirk tugged at his lips. When you quickly looked away, he let out a low chuckle.

His friends noticed this.

“You’ve been staring at her for the last ten minutes, what’s the deal?” Geto voice cut thought Sukuna’s thoughts, and he glanced over at his friend.

“I’m not staring,” Sukuna retorted smoothly, his tone laced with nonchalance as he effortlessly lifted the girl off his lap. She let out an irritated groan, before stalking off in a huff. “Just observing,”

“Oh, don’t give me that,” Geto teased, raising an eyebrow. “I’ve seen the way you're staring at her, that’s not the ‘I’m observing’ look you usually give what’s going on with you.”

Sukuna’s gaze flickered to you once more. “She’s different,” He had noticed you around campus—the way you never spared him a second glance when you passed by, completely unaffected by his presence. Once, he’d even tried to strike up a conversation, but you had brushed past him without so much as acknowledging him, as though he were invisible.

Gojo chuckled “Different? Dude, that girl is the only one who doesn’t drool over you.”

Sukuna’s lip curled into a sly grin. “So what?”

“So,” Suguru continues, crossing his arms, leaning against the couch. “you’ve never met a girl who doesn’t fall for your charm, right? You’ve been with everyone but her? she couldn’t care less.”

Gojo snorted. “And she’s probably the only one on campus. That’s gotta sting.”

Sukuna scoffed, leaning forward slightly. “Please. She is probably playing hard to get.”

Geto exchanged a glance with Gojo, and then a mischievous grunt flashed his eyes. “All alright, how about we make this interesting? We give you ten days.”

Sukuna raised an eyebrow, “Ten days?’

“Yeah,” he said with a sly smile “Ten days you make her fall in love with you.”

Sukana let out a short laugh, but the challenge already sounded fun to him. He never was the type to back down from a game. “You think I need ten days?”

Suguru shrugged, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. “It’d be easier if it were any other girl. But this one… she’s too—what’s the word? Stubborn. Definitely not into guys like you,” he said, “She won’t be an easy win. That’s what makes it interesting, though.”

Satoru chimes in “Yeah, man. You can’t just use your looks and charm this time. You’re gonna have to actually work for it.”

Sukana's eyes flicked back to you for a split second. You were standing there unaware of the conversation that was happening a few feet away from you. “Ten days huh?” he murmured.

“Ten days” Gojo repeated. “And if you fail you lose. It's as simple as that.”

His expression turned darker, the idea of him not winning seemed unthinkable. He wasn’t just going to prove them wrong he was going to show them that no one could resist him.

Gojo leaned back, a grin tugging at his lips. “Oh, and one more thing,” he added, glancing at Sukuna. “You can't be seen with other girls. It’s gotta look real, after all.”

Sukuna’s expression shifted slightly, an eyebrow raised in silent challenge. “You think I need rules to make this work?” he asked.

Geto gave a small nod. “It’s just to make sure no one gets suspicious. You’ll need to actually put in the effort.”

Sukuna smirked, unfazed. “Fine. I’ll play by your rules, but don’t expect me to go easy on her.”

Ten days to make you fall for him. The girl who wouldn’t give him the time of the day. The girl who didn’t care about his reputation. The girl who has no idea what was coming for her.

Unknowingly, you had already been pulled into his game.

“You think his shirt could be any tighter,” Shoko muttered, nodding towards a guy who was flexing across the room.

You snorted. “Pretty sure it's painted on.” leaning against the kitchen counter. Shoko grinned at your words, sipping from her cup.

The kitchen was quieter than the rest of the party, you leaned against the counter sipping on your water. Shoko perched on the edge of the sink, swinging her legs as she talked. You were nodding and listening to the story she was telling you. You hear a group of people walking in the kitchen, their laughter loud and careless. You don’t even need to turn around to know who it is. The weight of his presence pressed into the room like a rebound heartbeat. Ryomen Sukuna.

His graze swept the kitchen, it lingered on you for a moment too long, and a smirk appeared on his face.

“Shoko,” one of his friends called out, his tone playful, but almost teasing. “Come help us with something. It’ll be fun, I promise.”

Shoko raised an eyebrow, glancing between you and them. “Fun, huh? i doubt it.”

“It’s better than being stuck in here,” another white-haired friend chimed in.

She rolled her eyes but slid off the counter anyway, giving you a quick pat on the shoulder. “Don’t get too comfortable,” she said with a wink before following them out of the kitchen. And then, it was just you and him.

Great.

Sukuna didn't say anything, but you could feel the weight of his gaze, as he leaned against the counter across from you.

“Guess it’s just us now,” he said finally his voice low and smooth.

You didn't look up, keeping your focus on your drink “Lucky me,” you replied, your tone dry.

He chuckled softly, the sound rich and deep. “You don’t sound too thrilled.”

When you finally glanced up, he was much closer than you’d expected. His tall frame leaned casually against the counter opposite you. Up close, the details of his features were almost overwhelming—the sharp line of his jaw, the subtle curve of his lips that formed an infuriatingly smug smirk, and the mess of his hair falling carelessly over his forehead. You couldn’t deny it, no matter how much you wanted to. He was hot—like, really hot.

“You’re not exactly the first guy to try this,” you said coolly, taking another sip from your drink, your gaze steady as you met his.

Sukuna tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing in amusement. “Try what?” he asked.

“Whatever you’re doing right now,” you replied, “the whole brooding, mysterious thing. It’s not as original as you think.”

He laughed at that, his head tilting back just enough to expose the line of his throat. It wasn’t often that people spoke to him like this, you realized. Most would have thrown themselves at him.

“You’re sharp,” he said, pushing off the counter and taking a step closer. The scent of him hits you. “I like that,” he added, his voice low, a hint of approval in his tone as his gaze lingered on you.

You arched an eyebrow, unimpressed by him. “And I don’t care.”

He paused not being he was offended, but because he wasn’t used to being dismissed, even by someone who didn't so much flinch under his gaze.

He took another step forward, closing the distance between you. “Most people would kill to be in your position right now,” his tone quieter now, almost intimate, as his eyes locked onto yours.

You smirked, setting your drink on the counter behind you. “Then maybe you should go find ‘most people,’” you replied coolly, not breaking eye contact.”

The silence hung in the air. Sukuna’s eyes lingered on you for a moment, then slowly, his gaze dipped to your lips. The smirk on his face faltered just slightly as if he was plotting something in his mind, before it returned—sharper, more amused.

“You’re different,” he murmured finally, his voice low, the words lingering in the air as his gaze stayed fixed on your lips, the tension between you growing with each passing second.

“Should I take that as a compliment?” you asked.

“Take it however you want,” he said, his voice softer now, almost a whisper, his gaze still lingering on your lips as if he was waiting for your next move.

His gaze made it hard to look away. But you forced yourself to break the connection, turning your focus elsewhere. You weren’t sure what Sukuna was trying to do—charm you, challenge you, or maybe a little of both.

“I’m not interested in you, if that’s what you’re wondering,” you said, your tone firm, making sure he knew you weren’t fazed by his presence.

He tilted his head, his smirk fading for a moment. He just looked at you, his dark eyes searching yours as if he were trying to read you.

“We’ll see about that,” he said, his voice low and confident, before turning and walking out.

You let out a slow breath, the heat of his presence lingering in the air. Sukuna wasn’t used to being ignored, and for him, that only made you more of a challenge.

But you weren’t here to play his game.

At least, that’s what you thought.

taglist: @clp-84 @ssetsuka @lymsfm @monic19 @bol0-de-morang0 @strxberryicecream @r0ckst4rjk @gojocumslut @elliebelliegi @kazuuhali @luna-v-roiya @sussiesushi @nakiich @mourart7 @neuvilletteswife4ever @rusted-dolly @blueyesuguru @lillycore @yourhornysister @bnbaochauuu

[randomusingsofalovesickgirl]

BACK TO FRIENDS: PUB QUIZ

masterlist

disclaimer: ai has been used to proofread my writing

a/n: can be read standalone, or as a blurb prior to the back to friend series! || also not fully proofread lol

🎶 with you by aly & aj 🎶 you are in love by taylor swift

You were already two shots in, but you swore you were losing it already. 

“What do you mean we have to get someone to call us snookums?” You whispered, scandalised at the ridiculous task. Vik, Cole, and Arthur shared the horrified expression, already scheming on how to get someone–anyone–to call you that.

As the only team of four in a room full of trios, you’d been forced to take enough shots to render each of you tipsy enough prior to the game starting. It was “to level the playing field”, Simon claimed. But a secret challenge involving the word snookums? Surely, that was disadvantageous enough. No one ever said that word naturally, not even ironically. 

While the boys huddled over Plan A (which was currently convincing Chip to call Arthur snookums instead of pookie), you scanned the room in search for a Plan B. 

Becky may be down, as an act of female solidarity in a room full of men. Or maybe Harry–he was your first friend in the Sidemen, and he’d jokingly call you “sugarplum” and “babycakes” on  more than one occasion. You thought of–

“What are you thinking about?” George whispered, sliding across the bar sofa until your thighs touched. 

You lifted your chin dramatically, looking the opposite way with a faux scoff. “Sorry, I don’t fraternise with the enemy.” 

He nudged you with his shoulder, a shit-eating grin plastered all over his face. “C’mon.” 

You turned, already feeling the heat creep into your cheeks. You tried not to let your eyes wander to his bare chest and stared him down instead, raising your brows. “You’d like to know, huh?”

“Why would I ask if I didn’t want to know?”

Damn him. He was always so quick witted. It was something you admired so much, but you’ve absolutely hated being on the receiving end of it. 

He glanced at your glass, and then back at you; that same teasing grin softening into something gentler. Your face must’ve given you away; you’re very much gone right now. 

The two of you got locked into a silent and unofficial staring content, until a strand of your hair fell across your face. 

“You okay there?” He laughed, brushing the hair away without thinking. He was so close. All you had to do was lean in. But instead…you giggled. 

Too aware of the cameras around you. 

Too aware that people are watching. 

Too aware that, at this very moment, someone in a scuba suit was dropping random objects into a fish tank to see if they’d float—because this was, technically, still a game night. 

You leaned your head on his shoulder instead. His hand found your hair, patting it softly. He chuckled again, and you could feel his chest shake under you. His warmth was addictive, especially in the London winter—maybe more intoxicating than the alcohol.

“Boo!” Arthur screamed suddenly, calling attention to how close you were. Cole slid in, dragging you off George with exaggerated offense. “Stop trying to cheat, you copycat! You infiltrator!”

George, ever the performer, threw his hands up and donned a thick accent. “Alright, alright, you caught me!”

Still, his eyes lingered on you as he scooted closer to his team. And that wouldn’t be the last time your team had to intercept him. He kept trying to sneak over—whisper a joke, make a snide remark, drop a comment he just had to share. Like magnets, you found yourselves drifting closer and closer—nearly holding hands, but never quite letting ourselves go there.

Eventually, Cole gave up on separating the two of you and swapped seats with you.

An hour in, the alcohol's fog had partially lifted. “I’m going to get another drink. You guys want anything?”

You gathered orders, then slipped out of the booth—stretching with relief.

“I’ll come with,” George said casually, turning to ask his team the same.

While waiting for him, you continued to stretch your sore muscles, before a warm hand rested gently at the small of your back. “Let’s go.”

You expected him to drop his hand once he got your attention. He didn’t.

“Your usual drink?” George asked as you reached the bar.

“Do you even know it?” you teased.

He smirked, winked, and rattled off your go-to to the bartender—along with his own and your team’s. He noticed. 

You pouted. “So I didn’t need to come.”

“But I wanted you to.”

The bar was practically empty—booked out for the shoot—but the two of you were so close, almost as if a real crowd was pressing in.

You deflected. “Looks like your team’s losing.”

George rolled his eyes. “Don’t get cocky now.” He reached up to brush another stray hair from your face. “We’re only a few points behind.”

Your eyes flicked to his lips.

Part of you felt your tipsy self slowly leaning in, but the sober part of you held yourself back. 

“Call me snookums,” you blurted, grounding yourself in the stupid challenge. You leaned back against the counter. “Please.”

George’s brow rose. “Is that your challenge?” He chuckled, remembering how close Chip was to making you lose. 

You shushed him with a finger to your lips. He laughed. 

Drinks in hand, he guided you back with a steadying hand at your back. He didn’t bother sitting far from you—thanks to Cole for not reclaiming the seat closest to the other team.

“Why the fuck is Danny still shirtless?” you asked loudly, slouching onto the sofa, sipping your drink while chaos continued to unfold in the background. The other teams heard what you said, joining in. His teams only defense? “He likes it”. 

George laughed too, equally baffled. “Snookums, he just likes it!” he said, repeating the sentiment. 

Your eyes widened. Your team high-fived under the table. Simon winked at you in acknowledgement of succeeding your secret challenge. 

Once you were sure that Simon’s attention was back on the challenge at the front of the bar, where Danny was trying to get a balloon into a bucket with a spray bottle out for an extra point, you gave George a quick kiss on the cheek. “Thank you.”

“I know how competitive you are,” he said, his voice low, “and I always beat you at everything anyway… so figured I’d give you this one.”

You smiled—soft, helpless. You couldn’t help it.

“How’re you getting home?” he asked, his arm casually draped over the couch behind you.

You groaned. “Probably Uber, or something. Ysa isn’t able to pick me up. She’s at Brad’s. They’re seeing his parents tomorrow.”

“I’ll take you,” George said, like it was obvious.

You leaned into him, your head heavy with alcohol-fuelled tiredness. “Wanna stay over?”

George grinned. “Yeah. But we’re stopping at mine first to get some stuff.”

You shook your head. “Still have the extra toothbrush. Your clothes, too.” Last time he came over, he essentially created a permanent stayover bag that you stored away for safekeeping…although George has caught you borrowing the shirt he left behind a few times.

He beamed. “Movie night?”

Shaking your head, you proposed something else: “Doctor Who marathon.” 

Eventually, the pub quiz ended. People slowly started filtering out; some loudly announcing their departure, while others left without a goodbye. 

You lingered with Becky, Tobi, Ethan, and Harry around the stage. 

“Faith’s calling. I gotta go,” Ethan announced, hugging everyone. “Come by soon. Olive’s missing her godmother. She’s getting too much of her ridiculous asses of godfathers.” He eyed Tobi and Harry, who both threw their hands defensively in the air. 

You smiled, “I’ll come by sometime this next week. Sorry, work has been exhausting.” 

Becky chuckled, “How is work going though? I can’t imagine juggling all that with your content.” 

You shrugged, “Luckily, it’s marketing so my content actually gives the company more exposure.” 

You were one of the few in your group still working a 9-to-5. Your parents always said to keep something stable—and maybe they were right. It’s a contingency plan, for sure. 

“What time are you guys heading?” Tobi clapped his hands, “I think that’s my sign to go home too.” 

Harry and Becky jokingly boo-ed him. “One more drink?” Becky proposed, Harry nodding.

“I’ll stay, but I won’t drink.” Tobi gave in, turning to you to see if you were going to do the same. He secretly wanted you to say no, your ability to stand without support being questionable at the moment. 

“I’m leaving soon.” You answered, shaking your head to let them know you weren’t going to get a drink. 

“Your loss, babygirl.” Harry shrugged, making you cringe, much to his laughter.

You cringed,  “So you would call me babygirl, but not snookums?” 

“George can do that for you.” Harry winked, before Becky and him headed to get another drink. 

Your eyes flicked towards the door where George was saying goodbye to Arthur Hill, likely telling him that he’ll be home tomorrow. You dropped your head onto Tobi’s shoulder, both of you leaning against the pub stage. The two of you stayed in comfortable silence. 

“I think I like him.” You mumbled, saying the words for the second time outloud. The first was to your roommate, who gloated ‘I knew it!’ 

He didn’t say anything at first. He didn’t have to. He saw it. Everyone saw it.

“Uh huh.” 

“Like, really like him.” 

Tobi looked over, debating saying something until he realised George was on his way to you now; Arthur Hill having left with Arthur TV.  He didn’t need to hear George tell him that he liked you; that confession was in his eyes. Every time George looked at you, it was like you put the stars in the sky.

With George next to you now, you stood up to your feet. His arm snaked around your waist like it was where it belonged.

“Tobi, we need to do real trivia with these idiots,” George said. “We’ll crush them.”

“You wish,” you said, stepping back in mock offense, but he pulled you back in again.

Tobi rolled his eyes. “You two better leave now or Becky’s gonna trap you with another drink.”

You and George each gave him a quick hug goodbye before George’s arm found you again—drunk enough to drop his guard, and sober enough to mean every bit of it.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

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[lidiasloca]

despite the hatred, despite the love

part one

azriel x reader

summary: the inner circle atends Helion's party to meet his new second in command, and while she seems to be just a beautiful girl, the hatred that Azriel feels for her and displays for everyone to see isn't bought by his brother, who will soon find out there is something more than hate between them... maybe even love.

Helion’s speech was at its end, and yet… no sight of Y/N.

Azriel shifted on his feet, scanning the party room. Cassian noticed and walked over to his brother, ready to try to break through his enigmatic demeanor—or laugh at him. Both worked for the Illyrian warrior.

“Who are you looking for, Az?” He clasped a hand on his tense shoulder, making him step forward to balance himself, both from the force of the gesture and from the disruption of the bubble he had been isolating himself in.

Azriel coughed. “No one.”

Cassian didn’t buy it—not one bit. But he knew there was no way of getting through Azriel’s thoughts unless it came willingly from him.

So he changed the subject. “Y/N. I’ve heard she’s quite the beauty.” Azriel quickly turned to face him.

“What?”Cass laughed. “If she’s being promoted to second-in-command—Helion’s second-in-command—she must be incredibly beautiful.”

“Maybe it’s not about her beauty. Maybe it’s because she’s simply good at politics,” Azriel explained plainly.

“Azriel,” Cassian snapped between chuckles. “It’s Helion we’re talking about.”

As if summoned, the High Lord of the Day Court appeared, a cocky grin on his face. “I wasn’t aware my favorite Illyrian warriors were fond of gossip.”

“We’re not,” Azriel hissed.

Helion’s smile only grew, eyeing his favorite male in the room. “Someone’s ruder than usual—it turns me on, not going to lie.”

“Is there anything that doesn’t turn you on?” Cassian inquired, making Helion finally detach his eyes from the handsome Shadowsinger.

The Lord of Bloodshed wasn’t a bad sight either. Not at all.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Helion, will you stop looking at me as if I were food? I enjoyed it some years ago, but now, let me tell you… it makes me feel a bit objectified.”

At that, Azriel finally turned his full attention to them, a faint smile playing on his amused face.

The High Lord huffed a laugh. “Well, let me tell you, Commander, I wouldn’t even notice you, had my beautiful second-in-command gifted us with her ethereal presence.”

Cassian’s eyes sought his brother’s, silently saying, I told you so.

But he didn’t find them. The Shadowsinger was looking elsewhere. Looking at someone else.

Cassian’s lips parted in surprise when he found what his brother beheld.

“Exactly,” Helion beamed, following their eyes to the girl walking down the stairs. “Y/N.”

Azriel was the most lost of them all. If anyone asked, he’d justify his piercing stare, his fixated gaze, his slightly parted lips, and the subtle tremor of his jaw as part of his skills—his excruciatingly detailed memory, trained to notice every nuance.

The way her midnight-blue dress flowed.

The graceful curve of her creamy neck, rising and falling with each breath.

Her lips parting. 

Her eyes shifting—watching there, glancing here, and finally meeting his.

Azriel’s gaze locked with hers.

For a moment, it was just the two of them in the room as Y/N walked toward your High Lord, still not looking away.

“Hello, beautiful. Over here,” Helion called, making her look. 

And she was back in reality. At this party. With people all around, not only Azriel.

“Hello,” Y/N smiled, moving to facilitate the kiss Helion placed on her cheek. She caught a glance of Azriel’s dangerous eyes, following every move the High Lord made.

“Congratulations, my darling,” Helion said, patting her shoulder.

She nodded in thanks, now noticing the other male around you.

“I’m Cassian,” he said. “Commander of Rhysand’s armies.” He gestured with his chin to a male talking to some people not too far away—his High Lord.

She met his eyes again. “I’m Y/N, spymast—” She cut herself off, quickly realizing. “Second-in-command of the Day Court.”

“Well, that I know,” Cassian laughed. “That’s what this party is all about.”

Flush rose on her cheeks, and she added, if only to make them forget how stupidly she was behaving, “Didn’t Helion tell you this was just another one of his excuses to have a party?”

At that, Helion placed a gentle hand on your waist, pinching.

He and Cassian laughed. Azriel didn’t, glaring at the hand now falling to Y/N's waist.

“No, he didn’t,” the spymaster cut in. “Maybe he was too busy being under the sheets with his second-in-command.”

Y/N's breath caught, and Helion stilled at the murderous tone.

Her eyes blazed with fire, piercing through the Shadowsinger. Were it not for her learned diplomacy, she might have leaped toward him without hesitation.

“Azriel,” Cassian warned—even he was surprised.

“It’s okay,” Y/N said, venom lacing her words. “He’s probably bitter I got promoted, and he has to continue killing and torturing for a living.”

Then silence. Cassian and Helion stared silently, conscious of the tension.

“Y/N!” The High Lady appeared at her side, linking elbows with her High Lord.

Saved by the bell.

Y/N's eyes still glared at the Shadowsinger as she greeted her back. Now everyone’s eyes were on the two.

“So…” Rhysand gulped, his eyes darting between Y/N and Azriel. “What have we missed?”

“Nothing new,” Helion said.

“Oh,” Cassian breathed, putting the pieces together. “So you already knew each other?”

Azriel was silent, so Y/N made herself speak. “Back from when we both were spymasters. We ran into each other often enough that we started getting to know one another.”

It didn’t go unnoticed—the long glance Y/N aimed at Azriel.

He didn’t meet your eyes, though, and she knew very well why. The guilt in his eyes told you all her needed to know.

Good—let him feel bad.

“I didn’t know,” Rhysand spoke, trying to catch an explanation through Azriel’s face. “It would’ve been useful to know…”

Y/N didn’t have to ask him to finish the sentence to read between the lines.

It would’ve been useful to know that he and Y/N knew each other so he could ask her to handle the mission instead of him.

The mission that Azriel refused to let her take part in, even though Y/N could have completed it more easily, living here as she did.

The mission that he had to complete tomorrow. The true reason why he was here today.

The mission that could get him killed.

Azriel snapped his eyes to hers, hurt and hatred—a thin line his face seemed to confuse.

Y/N sent every bit of your hurt back to him. 

“You surely know by now, High Lord, that Azriel likes to keep a lot of information to himself. Sometimes I even wonder if that’s his actual name… Azriel.”

Azriel met her eyes at last, and the fire that burned in them was nothing short of scary. 

Then, without a word, the spymaster turned and walked away.

Y/N watched each step he took as the others watched her in shock.

One step, another, and another. 

Once she realized he truly wasn’t going to turn back to her, she started walking after him, anger becoming the force that pushed the girl forward. 

Once Y/N and Azriel were both out of sight, Cassian drew a breath. “Well—that was something.”

“I’ve never seen Azriel… like this,” Feyre said.

Rhysand’s eyes were on Helion, though, trying to figure out what his knowing smile meant. 

“Pray to tell, High Lord.” His tone was command enough for Helion to stare, think, and then chuckle.

“These two,” he breathed, a faint smile on his lips. “I don’t know much. Y/N doesn’t say much. But the other times I’ve seen them together… let me tell you, you never know if they’re going to kiss or kill each other.”

Feyre eyed him in confusion. “What happened between them?”

Helion shrugged his shoulders, daring a look in Cassian’s direction, smirking at him as if there was something else about it.

The general’s smirk was a full sentence in itself.

… 

The night chill welcomed Cassian onto the terrace, along with the nod Helion gave him.

This way, his eyes seemed to say in the dark.

Cassian let him lead, despite the winning grin on the High Lord’s face that set him on edge.

But curiosity overthrew his pride. Azriel and that girl, Y/N… he had to know what exactly that glazed look in Azriel’s eyes meant.

While it may have seemed like hatred at first sight, Cassian knew better about that type of flame in someone’s eyes.

So here he was, silently walking to the wall where Helion had stopped, peeking to see what Cassian finally saw when he approached him.

“Hide,” Helion hissed, but the general was too lost in the scene unfolding in front of him.

Thanks to his faerie senses, Cassian could make out the conversation between his brother and…

Y/N.

“That doesn’t give you any right to insult me,” she told Azriel, and though he was turned away, Cassian could gather enough of his reaction from his dropped shoulders and wings, as if the forever-composed spymaster was about to crumble to the ground.

“I was angry.” Cassian almost didn’t recognize the faint voice that slipped past his brother’s lips. “And you… you were letting him touch you like—”

“Like what?!” Y/N yelled, taking a valiant step toward Azriel, daring him to make the killing blow.

But his brother knew better.

“I’m sorry,” was what he said instead, and Cassian let out a relieved breath—the scene felt oddly familiar to him.

Fighting with the one you loved was the fight a true warrior wasn’t prepared for, Cassian thought.

But was Y/N the one Azriel loved?

His brother had said nothing about it. Cassian had never seen them together. He had never truly heard of her… she couldn’t be. They… hated each other. 

Yet—there was something in the way she looked at him. Hate, one might think.

Longing, Cassian thought.

Completely out of his mind, Cassian took a step toward them, dismissing Helion’s warning.

Careful step after step, the general approached them and only stopped when he saw it. The proof.

Y/N raised a trembling hand to Azriel’s face, angling his head delicately at her will.

Cassian had the feeling that if it were her will, Azriel would even jump off the balcony.

The general stood rigidly, watching as she slowly pulled him down—a command, a permission, and a request all at the same time.

But he quickly noticed a sneaky shadow make its way to his brother’s ear as he leaned down.

The Shadowsinger’s head turned instantly to Cassian, who watched them incredulously. Y/N turned too, her face showing pure shock, but she was looking elsewhere.

Cassian turned behind him to find, not only Helion, but also his High Lord and High Lady—watching the scene with open mouths.

Not even a heartbeat later, quick as a blink, Azriel turned to Y/N, and Cassian could have sworn a wave of understanding washed over her eyes before they pierced angrily at the the Shadowsinger.

Then she slapped him.

next part

-Charcaters by Sarah J Maas

azriel masterlist

BASED ON THIS REQUEST

a/n: i LOVE this idea so much, and i thank you, anon, for requesting it. i had trouble, yet so much fun sorting out this fic, and i am so excited to write the following parts. hope you liked it!!

[clesired]

𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐂𝐀𝐓 | 𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐖𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐘 !

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 ! “can i request a fred x black cat!gf since he’s such a golden retriever!bf?” thank you to the lovely anon who requested this <3

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 ! go christmas shopping with your boyfriend, come back with a cat!?

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 ! no warnings, fluff, fem!reader, golden retriever bf!fred x black cat gf!reader, established relationship, second person pov, 0.8k words!

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Your eyes scan the hustle and bustle of Hogsmeade, mentally mapping out the different shops you need to hit for your Christmas shopping.

Nodding to yourself, you gently release Fred’s hand and look up at him to confirm. “Okay, meet at Three Broomsticks in two hours?”

He looks at you like you’ve just kicked him, as he grabs your hand again and frowns. “No, what? Why are we splitting up?”

He looks so genuinely confused as to why that’s even an option and it makes you feel a little warmer despite the chilly air.

Still, you squeeze his hand softly and shake your head. “You’re one of the people I’m shopping for today, Freddie.”

You see the indignance before he even speaks. “That’s okay, I’ll just pretend like I didn’t see.”

His quick response pulls a laugh out of you before you can stop it and you shake your head in amusement.

“Two hours isn’t even that long, love. We spend more time apart during classes.” You point out gently.

It’s not that you wouldn’t prefer Christmas shopping with your boyfriend—you just prefer that your gifts remain a surprise a bit more.

He pulls you into his chest, uncaring of the surrounding witches and wizards witnessing the public display of affection.

“That’s because I’ll get a howler from mum if I skip too many classes.” He grumbles quietly, and you pout back at him teasingly.

“Oh, the poor baby. The horror!” You coo as you pinch his cheek teasingly, causing him to let out a quiet huff before he suddenly throws you over his shoulder and starts booking it through the village.

You let out a noise of surprise as you pound at his back, your hits doing absolutely nothing to slow him down.

“Put me down this instant, Frederick Gideon Weasley!” You pull out his full name, which causes him to laugh.

“Promise we’re shopping together first!” He calls back, and now it’s your turn to huff.

“Fine, I promise. Now unhand me, you silly man!” You smack his butt for emphasis just as he’s setting you down on your feet.

He smirks mischievously as he stares down at you, hands still holding you by the waist firmly. “Feeling a bit cheeky, are we, love?” His brows wriggle up and down playfully.

You furrow your brows, “What-” and then you groan, realization setting on you. “Oh, you are foul for that joke.”

He leans in closer to you, rubbing the tip of his nose against yours affectionately. “You love it.” He insists softly.

“I love you.” You correct, looking up at him.

He smiles, his eyes shining with happiness as he leans down to press a soft kiss to your lips. “And I love you.” He murmurs softly.

“Even though you drive me crazy sometimes.” You tack on, causing him to step back and clutch at his heart dramatically.

“Really know how to make a bloke feel special, love.” He winces softly, hanging his head as he rubs circles over his heart.

You roll your eyes playfully as you gently pull his hand away from his chest, intertwining your fingers before you begin walking to Tomes and Scrolls.

“C’mon, Mr. Broken Heart. You can walk it off, yeah?” You pat his back consolingly before facing forward and leading the way.

Fred pretends to sniffle softly as he walks, taking one big step forward to even out with you. “My girlfriend stop being mean to me challenge, difficulty level: impossible.”

You turn your head to glare up at him. “I am not mean to-”

You stop short as he raises a pointed brow, and you feel your cheeks heat up in a rare display of embarrassment as you look the other way.

“That doesn’t count. I’m defending my name here.” You mumble quietly, making him chuckle as you feel yourself get pulled into his side yet again.

“Don’t worry, you look cute when you’re all irritated. Like a disgruntled kitten.” He notes with a smile.

“You did not just call me a kitten.” You say, your tone laced with the slightest hint of incredulity.

“You’d look cute as a cat, now that I think about it.” Fred continues playfully. “Think you’d fit as a black cat.”

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.” You grumble quietly, and Fred nods.

“Spoken like a true black cat.” He says matter of fact, and you can’t help but laugh out of sheer confusion.

“My love, what does that even mean?” You raise your brows.

He chuckles with you, “You know, I’m not really sure. But it makes sense to me.”

You side eye him as you two walk past Pets & Familiars. You can already see the gears turning in his head as he peers through the shop window.

“Don’t you even think about it, Freddie.” You warn, and he pouts softly.

And there he goes with his puppy eyes—you’re a sucker for that look and he knows it. “Oh, you are playing so unfair right now.” You grumble quietly.

By the time you’re walking back to the castle hours later, not only does Fred know everything you got him for Christmas and vice versa—but you are both now proud parents of a little black kitten.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 ! wooh, first request done!!! not sure i did the black cat!gf archetype justice, but i tried. i hope you lovelies enjoyed reading this as much as i enjoyed writing it!

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

©clesired - all rights reserved. do not copy, translate or share my work on other media platforms.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

xoxo,

mila! *: ･🐚༄🫧*ੈ✩

[darnell-la]

What about Wade and Logan watching Vanessa and Reader pole dancing together and the boys getting all hot and bothered by watching?

note: overload — that’s all you guys need to know.

———

“Aren’t you excited!? Your long-time, short-time crush is going to dance in front of us tonight with my long-time and short-term fiancé,”

As soon as the two entered the bar, Wade couldn’t stop teasing Logan about the fact that this young lady he’s been crushing on for a while, will be dancing tonight.

“She just started yesterday, why would she already be on stage?” Logan sighed as he leaned back in his chair. “Maybe because she’s the hottest worker, right after my fiancé!?”

Logan glared at Wade, making him put his hands up in a surrendering passion.

“Look, don’t be grumpy all night. I wanna enjoy my butter pecan up there, alright? Good boy,” Wade patted Logan’s head before shouting out Vanessa's name to support her before she came up.

“That’s my girly pop!” Wade yelled out, making Vanessa chuckle as she danced on stage with y/n. Their session was almost done, and Logan felt drained. Watching y/n like this was going to be unforgettable tonight.

At first, he hated the idea of y/n being like this in front of so many men. That’s the reason why he came last second. Now he’s wishing he never did, with how hard and leaky he was from watching.

He couldn’t possibly go up to y/n without her knowing. She’d see the patch instantly. He cursed himself for being a perv.

“Hey, I’ll be right back,” Logan got up and quickly walked away before Wade could speak or anyone could see him cover himself up.

“Logan!? Wade sent me back here to come and get you! He said you’ve been all here for almost an hour,” y/n said as she made her way down the small hallway to the bathrooms.

After the show, it got dead, since people were only there to see the strippers of the night.

“Logan?” Y/n asked again, but he still didn’t hear her. He was too busy trying to focus on his release. “Logan, are you even here?” Y/n opened the men’s bathroom slowly, not really caring if she saw anyone else. She wanted to make sure Logan was alright if he was still here.

“Goddamnit,” y/n heard Logan grunt. She wanted to turn back around and leave, thinking he was having trouble using the bathroom until she saw one hand over the bathroom stall.

She squinted her eyes to take a better look, seeing how tight he was gripping the metal. The stall was bending in from how hard he gripped down.

“F-Fuck, just- Fuck, c’mon,” Logan groaned in annoyance, angry that he’s been going at this for what felt like days. He’s a mutant, so he should be able to last however long he pleased, but he wanted to release now. He’s never been this hard in his life.

“Logan?” Y/n said low, but surprisingly, he heard her this time. “Fuck-“ the man cut himself off and stopped instantly. “Y/n!?” The man panicked as he fixed himself up, but that was going to be hard.

He’s been leaking for who knows how long, and everything had made its way all over his hand. When he went to wipe his hand in his jeans, all it did was make him look worse.

“Yeah, I was just- I was just checking on. Wade told me to,” y/n said as she rubbed her fingers together, a bit embarrassed that she probably witnessed Logan, and an older adult jerking off in a bar bathroom.

“That motherfucker,” Logan mumbled as he began to buckle his pants. “I can, uh, leave if you’d like. I’m technically doing something illegal anyways,” y/n spoke about her being in the men’s bathroom. “No, no!- Just wait a second,”

Y/n stayed silent as she heard Logan groan in frustration and probably break a few things in the stall before he finally came out.

“Hey, Bub, uh, wassup?” Logan asked as he quickly walked over to the sink, not trying to make anything seem too obvious. “Just checking’ on ya,” y/n smiled as she scanned the man.

“Are you sure you’re okay, Logan?” Y/n felt the need to walk over to Logan, but slowly. “Yeah, Bub, just needed to take a leak, that’s all,” Logan lied as he turned around after drying his hands.

“Are you sure? You’re breathing a bit heavy, and-“ Y/n went on until she looked down at his lower body, seeing what his jeans looked like. They were basically drenched in one particular area.

Logan took a deep breath with his eyes closed, knowing he was caught and couldn’t lie his way out. He prayed she’d think he was just some man who needed to rub one out, but she kept asking him the right questions.

“First time watching the new modern women strip?” Y/n chuckled shyly as if wondering if this was even a joking situation. “You’re a funny one,” Logan chuckled as he fixed his shirt he noticed was sitting wrong.

“It’s nothing to be embarrassed. Most men don’t know how to act when they see a pair of tits,” y/n joked, but that slightly bruised Logan’s ego.

“Seen enough tits in my life, Bub,” Logan said, right before he took a look down at her chest. “Oh, you have? Seems like a fun life,” y/n got a bit defensive at his response. She couldn’t believe it at first, but her response was out of jealousy.

“Ain’t too bad — As long as they come with a pretty face,” Logan said as he looked into her eyes with a head tilt. “Yeah,” was all y/n could say as she broke eye contact.

“You know you’re pretty, right?” Logan asked as he moved towards y/n, softly letting his hand rest on her waist. “Really?” Y/n asked, confidence suddenly being thrown out of the window.

“Oh, yeah — So damn pretty,” Logan placed his free hand on her cheek, slightly rubbing it as her eyes widened. “T-Thank you,” y/n stuttered, and all Logan could do was chuckle at how she got around him.

“Got me all worked up out there, hun. Didn’t know you could move like that,” Logan admitted. “That’s why they had me dance on my first day,” Y/n said, reminding Logan about that. “That doesn’t sit right with me, Bub. Don’t want you back here workin’ for a creep,”

“But Vanessa? She works here,” y/n said, but he some care. “That ain’t my girl, so what she does, doesn’t concern me,” Logan said, not wanting to sound rude, but he truly did not care about anyone else, but y/n.

“You, though? You’re my girl, and you didn’t tell me about this job — Wade had to,” Logan said as the hand on her waist tightened. “And, that doesn’t sit right with me,”

Y/n felt the need to apologize, thinking she did something terribly wrong, even though she didn’t. Only in Logan’s eyes, she did do something that would need some consequences.

“Gonna say anything before I do what I’ve been needing for the past two hours?” Y/n wanted to speak, but she couldn’t. She was curious about how far Logan would take this.

“C’mere,” Logan said as he pulled y/n into a bigger bathroom stall than the one he was in. Once he locked the door, he pushed y/n to her knees, making sure to keep eye contact with her soft eyes.

“Gonna need you to look at me just like that until I’m done, okay? Been stuck for the past hour with this shit,” Logan said as he reached into his jeans to pull himself out. He didn’t think about it, but y/n sure did once she saw his length.

He was long, harder than she’d ever seen anyone before, thick, veiny, and leaking more than an average human should be.

“Open up, Bub,” was all Logan said as he pushed at her lips with his tip. Y/n hesitated but soon opened up and took him in. She had stopped after a few inches, but he continued thrusting his hips until she was in as much as he thought she could take.

“Fuck, baby — This is exactly what I needed,” Logan rolled his eyes as he felt instant release. He knew he was close, but he wanted to last. “Stop gaggin, baby — Wanna last a bit longer,” Logan told y/n, but she couldn’t. He was too huge.

“Bub, I said- Oh my god,” Logan grew angry, but soon whined as her throat collapsed around his shaft. “Fuck, I can’t hold it, Bub. So damn wet and warm- Fuck,” was all Logan said before his cock twitched.

Y/n couldn't help but look up at Logan to watch him lose himself in her mouth. The main she let out as he spilled into her mouth, made him groan louder, and tighten his grip on her hair.

“Goddamnit, I’m gonna cum again-“ Logan struggled to say as his legs shook, and a second orgasm ripped from him. Y/n’s eyes widen as more cum filled her mouth, so much that his seed leaked out of her mouth. There was too much to take.

“Nah uh, swollen it all, or I make you walk out with it on your face,”

[syrecjh]

──★🥀་ ̟ !! ִֶָ A Rose for Dynamight

(Another request)

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ || katsuki bakugo x child reader

Part 2 Part 3

It happens on a Tuesday—ordinary, unassuming, the sky painted in shades of gentle dusk as the sun kisses the city goodnight. Katsuki Bakugo walks down the street like a storm in rest mode—brows slightly furrowed, hands deep in his pockets, hero uniform half-zipped from the patrol he just wrapped up. The world shifts around him, people part like water, as they always do. No one dares approach Dynamight unless they have to.

No one... except you.

A little girl, no older than seven, with a bandage on her knee and a rose clutched tight in her small fist.

He notices you too late.

You march up to him like you’ve got a mission blessed by the gods, chin lifted, eyes wide with something dangerously close to admiration. And then, without preamble, without hesitation, you thrust the slightly crumpled rose up toward him and say:

“Hi! I think you’re very handsome. This is for you.”

Bakugo stops in his tracks. Blinks. Stares at you like you’ve just asked him to adopt a dolphin. The city exhales around him, cars humming, people oblivious. But all he can focus on is a tiny human holding out a rose like it’s a medal of honor.

“What the hell…?”

You blink up at him, unfazed. “You can’t say bad words,” you scold, like it’s the most natural thing in the world to lecture a pro hero.

Bakugo’s jaw tics. His ears are going pink.

“I—wasn’t talkin’ to you,” he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck. But when you keep standing there, rose still extended like a sword waiting for a knight’s acceptance, he lets out a breath and—almost awkwardly—takes it.

“Thanks, I guess.”

You beam. Beam.

“And I like your hair,” you add seriously. “It looks like angry cotton candy.”

He chokes. Actually chokes. “Angry—?”

You nod proudly. “Yeah. But in a good way. Like boom! But soft.”

For a moment, Bakugo forgets how to function.

This tiny gremlin just compared his hair to boom-soft cotton candy, and now she’s standing there like she just solved world peace.

And strangely, he doesn’t mind.

He crouches—slowly, carefully—because if there’s one thing he’s learned over time, it’s that kids like you are fragile in ways no villain ever is. “Alright, pipsqueak,” he says, softer now, voice still gruff but not sharp. “Where’s your mom or whoever’s supposed to be watchin’ you?”

You point dramatically toward the tall building across the street. “There! She works there."

Bakugo nods, still crouched there, rose in one hand, brain short-circuiting from being called Boom-Soft Cotton Candy Man, when the tiny menace pipes up again—more casually than should be legal.

“Oh, I snuck out.”

He blinks. “The hell did you just say?”

You shrug, like it's no big deal. “I got bored. They said I could color inside, but I already colored everything. And besides—your hair looked fun.”

“Jesus Christ,” Bakugo mutters, rising to his full height, eyes scanning the building across the street like it’s suddenly grown fangs.

“She told me to wait on the bench,” you add. “But I saw you, and I thought—‘Wow, that guy looks like he eats fire!’ So I brought you the rose. It’s from the flower shop lady, she said to give it to someone who makes you smile.”

Bakugo stares at you, the rose in his hand suddenly feeling heavier than it should. His voice, when it comes, is unusually quiet. “I make you smile?”

You nod. “You looked really grumpy. But now you look better.”

He doesn’t smile—he rarely ever does—but something shifts behind his eyes. Something warm. Like the slow burn of a fuse that doesn’t want to explode. He pats your head—gentle, awkward, but sincere.

“Thanks, brat. You did good.”

You light up again, and for a moment, he wonders what the hell the world did to deserve something as weirdly magical as a kid who gives flowers to scowling heroes.

Then the building doors open, and your mom appears—panic in her eyes until she sees you grinning up at Dynamight like he’s a friend you met on the playground.

Bakugo straightens. You wave.

“Bye, Boom-Soft Cotton Candy Man!”

He nearly combusts.

But the rose stays in his hand, long after you’ve gone.

And that night, for the first time in weeks, it ends up in a glass of water by his windowsill—still blooming. Just like the smile he doesn’t let anyone see.