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chaotic-mystery · 1 year ago

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Pairing: dbf!Joel miller x f!reader (no outbreak)

Summary: You kissed Joel after you had that terrible fight with your dad and you have no idea what Joel’s thinking now. Did you just ruin everything or will he finally admit he likes you just as much as you do him? What about Michelle?

Content warnings: my blog is 18+ so mdni! Eventual smut, age gap (readers in her twenties and Joel is in his 40s) dads best friend, enemies to lovers, slow burn, infidelity, family issues and daddy issues, talks about emotionally absent parent and effects it has, reader not feeling good enough for someone to love them, talks of healthy father daughter relationships, as well as a brief mention of being drunk. Let me know if I’ve missed anything!

|| wc: 4.2k || notif blog @chaoticnotifs || I love u ||

Within a few short moments, Joel was pushing you off him, his breaths shallow and the look on his face was already telling you something before his words did. “Darlin’, I-” He started, and he sighs deeply, great.

“Baby, I think you’re a little drunk. We can talk about this tomorrow, okay? Cmon, let’s getcha inside and get some sleep, lord knows you need it after all that cryin’. His hand smooths down his jeans over his thigh while his other hand takes yours gently, giving it a slight shake. You were sober as one could be but there was no more fight in you to argue, especially not with him.

“Yeah, probably right. Thanks for today, Joel. I appreciate it, more than you’ll ever know.” A soft smile grew on your lips before climbing out of his truck, walking to your front door. You wanted to turn around so badly and follow him into his house to his room, climb into his bed and just be held by him. Instead, you were faced with your cold, empty bed you dreaded laying in because Joel wasn’t there. It didn’t even dawn on you about Michelle until you noticed the last clean shirt you had with the bar logo on it that was hanging in your closet. The last you knew he wasn’t really with Michelle, more so on a break after everything at White Pony.

All night you tossed and turned, constantly looking out your window to Joel’s bedroom window who had a lamp on each time you glanced over. Your dreams were flooded with him, he suddenly consumed your every thought, awake or asleep. He was haunting you, the ghost of his fingertips on your skin, the way his soft lips felt on yours before he pushed you away. To be in the truck again and do it over, to kiss him longer and touch him, feel his skin and how his strong hands felt around your waist, to sit on his lap and just have him hold you right against his chest until he was content.

–

“Sarah cmon, you’re gonna be late, girl!” Joel shouts from the porch and you're awake, eyes fluttering open slowly to look at the ceiling. Sarah climbed out of who you assumed was her mother’s car and shut the passenger side door, running up the sidewalk.

Dad, stop! I’m coming, don’t eat all the pancakes!” Her giggle echoes between your houses and up your window, causing you to smile subconsciously.

Joel went inside before she made it to the porch, and her laugh got quieter as she shut the front door behind her. Soon enough it was quiet once more and you were left alone with yourself. Before you left to come back to Texas, one of your good friends mentioned to you about journaling and how healing it can be for you. With every intention of making it work, you started to dig through your drawers to find the little dyed green leather journal you got from the book store. It’s been through a lot, the way the pages are wrinkled from when it fell in the bathtub one night, some of the corners burnt from sitting next to an open candle flame for too long. Everything on its pages are things from being a kid you’re trying to process, doodles, everything you wish you could say to your dad. Journaling was sometimes helpful but most of the time it left you feeling empty.

If you didn’t harbor the feelings inside and constantly think about it, what were you supposed to feel? Is it normal to feel this empty on a day to day basis and was that something you really looked forward to? You sighed and tugged on your hoodie and pants, walking out into the hall to go downstairs and start your day with a cup of coffee. Ever since Joel watched you make coffee once at work, he hasn’t let up since. Every time he sees you with a travel cup he asks if it's hot or iced, knowing what the answer will be and he’s disappointed every single time.

With your glass almost empty by now and four pages scribbled on, you finally felt comfortable to stop. It was almost like you blacked out writing, not really sure what exactly you wrote down but it brought you that same empty feeling once more so that must’ve meant you were done for the day. A knock on your door takes you from zoning out and you’re met with Joel’s face, a plate of pancakes, and a glass of orange juice.

“Before you start, the orange juice was Sarah’s idea. I know you hate eating breakfast when you first wake up so I figured you’d nibble on these until you’re hungry enough to eat them normally.” His small smile makes your heart skip a beat and you reach out to grab the plate from him, along with the orange juice and you take a small sip, tipping the glass to him with a nod.

“Give Sarah my thanks, yeah?” The awkward silence was killing you and you were hoping he’d bring up last night. He just shoves his hand in his pocket and clears his throat, looking around at the neighbors homes as Joel racks his brain on what to say.

“Joel I-” you start but he cuts you off.

“Darlin’ it’s fine, you were drunk. We’ve all been there before.”

You groaned in annoyance and walked to the kitchen island with the front door wide open, signaling him to follow.

You leaned your ass against the counter top and folded your arms across your chest, glancing out the window above the sink to the left of you. “I wasn’t drunk, okay? I was perfectly sober. I wanted to kiss you, I’ve thought about it a lot and it was something I wanted. I’m sorry if you didn’t feel the same way. I know you’re with Michelle and I know she doesn’t trust me around you and I just gave her all the proof she needs to keep thinking that.” You were rambling out of nervousness and he just stood there and listened, his hands were on his hips while he looked at the floor. The bundle of anxiety was growing in the pit of your stomach and you were worried you just fucked everything up even more by bringing up Michelle.

“I-I just…I needed to know what it’s like to kiss you, Joel. I’m sor-”

“Honey, jus’ stop,...’kay? First of all, Michelle not trusting you isn’t because of you, it’s because she caught me one too many times checkin’ on you at work and she didn’t like it. You are a smart, funny, sarcastic woman and you’re beautiful but baby, you’re so much younger than me, not to mention my best buddy's daughter. This would never work, you and I.” Joel barely whispers the last part of his sentence and his shoulders drop, eyes finally meeting yours. The same rejected feeling crept up and bit you in the ass once more, a common feeling for you from almost every person you’ve met in your life.

“Not to mention you slept with Tommy, couldn’t do that to him.”

You roll your eyes and scoff, shaking your head at Joel. “Oh suddenly you and Tommy care who you share and pass around between the two of you? That’s really rich, Joel, considering he dropped that little nugget about you two tag teaming a girl while his drunk ass had to come get yanked out of my bed?”

Joel’s jaw clenched together and his nostrils flared slightly, the anger in him rising the more you called him out.

“Be careful if you’re gonna run your mouth about shit you don’t know.” The look on his face gave you a slight jumpstart to your heart and excitement in your tummy. He’s sexy when he’s angry but telling him that right now would only make him even more upset.

“So are you saying if I didn’t sleep with Tommy, wasn’t my dad’s daughter, and about twelve years older, I’d have a shot with you?” You wiggle your eyebrows at him and walk over to him slowly with your arms behind your back, trying to look innocent.

Joel however, sees right through your bullshit and chuckles at your attempts to get more answers from him. “Did I say that?” He cocks his head to one side and watches you get close until you stop right in front of him.

“I might be reading between the lines, but oh well. Was I at least a good kisser?” You smirk at him and see the sparkle in his eye, Joel tries to fight back the corners of his lips from curling upwards.

“Why is it so easy for you to piss me off and then you wanna be sweet? You’re a damn sour patch kid.” The annoyance in his tone was only masking the laugh he was containing.

“That doesn’t tell me if I was a good kisser or not, Mr.Miller.” You grab the collar of his flannel and fix it so it laid flat and Joel’s breath hitched when you brushed against his skin.

Joel cracks his fingers in nervousness and hesitates before answering quietly, “I don’t remember, honestly. It was short.”

“Aw, is the age catching up to you, old man?” You tease, batting your eyelashes up at him.

Gently but firm enough to feel it, Joel’s hands meet your hips and squeeze firmly as he leans in, lips ghosting over yours. Now it’s your turn to have your breath hitch and the nervousness bubbled in your stomach.

His eyes close for just a moment before he grumbles,”Yeah I bet you wanna kiss me again. Does it get you all excited, baby? Kissin an older man like me when you’re not ‘sposed to?” He pulls back, standing up straight this time with the evilest grin on his face.

Joel could see you panicking to find an answer, an excuse, something. Without waiting for your answer, he turns on the heel of his boot and heads for the door, leaving you speechless and heart racing in the middle of your kitchen.

“What’s wrong sweet girl, cat got your tongue?” The door was shut before you could come up with a smart ass response to retort. Even worse than a cat having your tongue, Joel Miller had your tongue. If he wants to play this game with you, he’d soon be figuring out how much better at it you were than him. With the warm plate of pancakes calling your name from the marble counter behind you, you pulled back foil and watched the small amount of steam roll up into thin air.

Tearing into the fluffy pancakes, you rip a piece off and put it in your mouth, the butter soaked into the layers but still present. It was good at first and it had been a long time since you had a homemade breakfast. Before you can understand what’s happening, your fingers grip quickly and pull apart piece after piece and shove it in your cheeks as you close your eyes and feel the tears sting. To be cared for by a man who’s old enough to be your dad but isn’t your dad will always be hard for you. Why was it so easy for them to do kind things for you without a second thought but it was like pulling teeth for your own blood? For just a second you felt the jealousy of never having what Sarah and Joel have, that connection and inseparableness of father and daughter. The hot tears fall down your cheeks as your arms drop, no more soft pancake shoved in between your teeth as your brows furrowed in sorrow… anger, confusion…jealousy. It was almost as if a switch flipped and you were yanked out of your dark mindset over a kind gesture from your neighbor.

You grab a napkin from the holder in the middle of the counter and quickly spit out the mush, your vision so blurry and fuzzy from the tears. Your home was quiet with only the fridge buzzing softly and your runny nose sniffling subconsciously. Cold fingers wrap around the orange juice and you bring it to your slightly puffy post-cry lips, taking a small sip and letting the tangy liquid roll down your esophagus. You try to swallow your feelings and bury them deep inside once more to hide away the things you don’t dare talk about with anyone.

What little bit of jealousy still inside you causes you to push the plate away from the end of the counter, groaning in frustration at the meltdown you thought you had controlled.

Weeks go by and you haven’t heard much from Joel. His truck was gone when you got up early in the mornings trying to find a new job and his driveway was still empty by the time you were going to bed. Not a single phone call returned to you from him, your red landline phone he made fun of you for buying at a garage sale hardly rang unless it was someone trying to sell fake insurance. Thanksgiving came and went and it was like nothing happened between you and your dad, or at least no one brought it up when you gathered with the rest of your family at his house. They were all surprised to see you since you left years ago with your mother and never visited for the holidays but no one wanted to ruin the day of pretending you were a big happy family. The only people you called while you were away were your grandparents. They were like your best friends, always knew what was going on with you and they wanted better than what you got, they even knew their son made many mistakes when it came to the way he parented you. Even at your age now you still need them how you did as a little girl, clinging to their side when you felt overwhelmed by all the people swarming you asking millions of questions while you’re trying to get a plate of food. You sat in the corner in an uncomfortable chair while you ate your food but all you could seem to think about was Joel, where he was or who he was with, was he even celebrating today? He was probably with Michelle and her family, talking away about how great she is to her parents while the reality was that she was still upset with him over Halloween. They were just like your family, everyone pretending to be something they weren’t. Luckily it went okay without anything bad happening this time but there was still Christmas to come.

With the holiday just passing a couple days ago and still no sign of Joel, you decide to call him just to check up on him. Three rings into the call and you were praying to the universe he didn’t answer, not because you didn’t want him to be okay but you didn’t even know what to say if he did pick up. Just as the fourth ring starts, Joel’s deep voice fills your ear canals.

“H-hello?” He sounds confused at first but then it fades to irritation quickly.

“Joel..? Hey..” You stutter out as you shove the red handset into the crook of your shoulder and ear while you fiddle with the cord.

“What do ya want, kid? Somethin’ wrong?” You can hear muffled voices behind him but all you can focus on is Joel and the way his voice sounds like velvet over the phone.

“N-no, no nothing wrong I just..” your voice wavers for a moment and something inside your mind tells you to be honest with him even if it’ll blow up in your face. “...I miss you..and you left without saying a word…was it something I did-” You stop yourself from babbling on and cut the risk of looking even more dumb to him. Joel’s end was consumed by the muffled voices and laughter, a door being shut silenced the noise and it was just you and Joel.

“It’s kinda hard to talk right now, honey. I went with Michelle to her parents in Kansas for Thanksgiving. You didn’t do anything wrong. I'm just trying to get all of this sorted out, okay? You gotta remember I’ve been with her for a long time and it’s not just somethin’ I can just leave out of the blue.” Joel sighs deeply and your heart starts to get heavy inside your body, the phone cord tangled in your fingers.

“Okay, sorry for bothering you. Have fun and have a safe drive back, guess I’ll still be here waiting for you.” It wasn’t your goal to get annoyed with him but this was how you coped. You’d shut down as soon as something bad was happening and acted like it didn’t hurt. Like it didn’t make you want to curl into a ball of embarrassment when he didn’t say he missed you back. Before he could respond you hung up on him and unplugged the phone line from the handset so he couldn’t call back, not that he even would.

With the kitchen clock reading almost nine o'clock at night and your head in a mess, you figured it was more than needed for you to go to bed. Your bedroom window seemed so incomplete with the safe sight of Joel’s lamp lighting up the window it sat in. Before getting into bed you thought you’d feel better if you put on the Wizard of Oz, your favorite childhood movie. Tucking yourself right between your pile of blankets and pillows, you laid there watching the house spin and spin in the tornado but you couldn’t resist not looking over at Joel’s house every two minutes like he’d suddenly be back and throwing rocks at your window like those corny rom coms. Even imagining it seemed too crazy, you and Joel could never be like that. The ruby shoes were sparkling on your eyes as your lids got heavy and you were asleep within seconds, dreaming of Joel once again.

You wake up hours later to the DVD menu on loop and your front door being pounded on. With your heart racing you look out your window and see Joel’s truck in the driveway with the engine still running, driver's side door wide open. You wrap the throw blanket around your shoulders and practically run down the stairs to look through the peephole. A messy haired, sweaty, disheveled Joel was leaning against the door waiting on you to answer. Swinging open the front door, he yanks back the screen door that was separating you two and stepped inside, grabbing your face and walking you backwards.

“What the hell do you think you’re doin’? You unplug your phone after throwin’ a tantrum and I can’t call you back, don’t know what’s goin’ on with you?!” Joel’s voice rattled you even though it was caring, it was still coated in frustration.

“I’m sorry I went to bed, I meant to plug it back in I’m- I’m sorry..” You look at his face and it dawns on you just how freaked out he was. He drove ten hours straight just to come see if you were okay.

“What did you think I was gonna do? Hang up and just go about my time in Kansas not knowing what happened to you? Bein’ a goddamn brat making’ it hard for me to get in touch with you.” Joel’s jaw clenches as his hands tighten on your face. His eyes haven’t relaxed yet and it’s almost like he’s searching in yours to find some truth to your actions, to find some reason.

You were speechless at him. Every time he did something it surprised you even more that someone cares about you that much to go the mile for you.

“Did you really drive all night to come back and check on me?” The hint of excitement in your voice makes Joel roll his eyes and a small smirk grow on his face. His face finally softens and he pulls you against him with his hands rubbing your back.

“Of course you wanna hear me say I drove ten hours just for you, crazy brat. Don’t ever do that to me again, understood?” Joels scruff softly brushes against your ear and you finally feel safe again, even if your relationship was up in the air.

“Would you maybe wanna stay with me, just until I fall asleep?” It kind of came out of your mouth before you thought about it but there was no more hesitating.

“I can, yeah. Let me go shut off my truck and I’ll be back in a second.” He kisses your forehead softly and walks back outside to his driveway, pulling his keys out of the ignition and locking the door. His black suitcase rolls against the pavement behind him on the walk back to your house. The sun would soon be up and shining through the tree branches but you had a hard time accepting this wasn’t a dream. He leaves his suitcase by the door and sits on the couch, sighing as he gets comfortable. Joel’s eyes watch you closely as you walk back to him with a water bottle directed to him to grab.

“Just try to be quiet when you leave, okay?” You mutter as you lay your head on his lap while tugging the blanket over you as you curl into a ball like a cat. Joel chuckles and rubs his chin slightly as he adjusts and gets comfortable with the pillow behind his head. It came as no surprise to yourself that you were already preparing for the heartbreak you’d eventually have to feel when he left while you’re fast asleep no matter how much you tried to enjoy Joel being there in the moment.

“I’ll try my hardest, baby girl.” He teases, softly running his fingernails against your scalp. Joel’s breathing slows to soft snores that fill the living room, the only sound that was audible as the sun came up and soon drowned the room in warm rays.

Joel’s watch on his left hand read just a little after eleven and the house was still, your light snores getting his attention as he rubs his eyes of sleepiness. You looked so peaceful to him and he didn’t want to leave you just yet.

He grabs onto your shoulder and shakes you awake gently, brushing the hair out of your face that fell during your nap.

“I’m starving and I know you don’t have enough food here to feed the both of us. Cmon, let’s go eat…I’ll buy.” Joel was trying to bribe you and you hated that it was working. You sit up and look at him with barely opened eyes.

“Really?”

Joel stands up to stretch and his midriff is exposed by his shirt, causing your eyes to glance at the skin you hadn’t seen until now.

“My offer is good for another thirty seconds, clock is tickin’.” The playfulness in his voice makes you grin and you grab your house keys from the bowl of clutter near the front door. Your head nods towards his truck and he strolls outside, shaking his head at your outfit.

“You really gonna wear that? Don’t think the waitress would take too kindly to a shirt that says, “Cougars” with a heart…” His fingers pinch the fabric and he lets go, a small indent left on the shoulder piece.

While you both buckle in, Joel looks around for anything you could use to cover what he thought was a god awful shirt. He tosses a black hoodie at you to wear and you begrudgingly tug it on when you notice his company’s logo on the back.

“There’s nothing wrong with showing cougars love, Joel. Would you rather it say dad’s best friend?” You can see his eyebrow raise as he cocks his head slightly to glance over at you.

“Don’t push it.” He mutters and starts to head to the diner.

You both decide on a booth and look over the menu before ordering and Joel sips his coffee, taking in the strong notes of the blend to prepare clearing his throat.

“So uh- think it’s pretty obvious I can’t leave you alone no matter how hard I try. I need to get some stuff sorted out but I’m really not trying to string you along, kid.” His brown eyes flick up to meet yours and he extends out his hand to grab your arm across the worn table.

“I know I just…I hate not knowing if you’re with Michelle or not. We need to be careful around everyone, ya know- pretend that we still hate each other..” You lead on and cough slightly at the hand laying on your arm.

Joel nods understandingly, knowing exactly where you’re coming from.

“No, I’m not with-“

“Michelle, hi!” You finish his sentence as your eyes meet her piercing stare as she stands behind Joel. Her arms were crossed and nostrils flared, not understanding entirely what she walked in on.

“Michelle..”

fuck.

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hellshire-harlot · 24 days ago

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You’re Supposed to Bleed the First Time | New God!Albert Wesker x Goddess!Reader

They all lied, lied, lied

Why didn’t anyone tell me

Love is like

Being fucked with a knife

————

Reader is a young goddess in a pantheon. Never before has a mortal ascended to divinity.

Until him.

Also available on AO3 here.

Taglist: @gothghostiie @adrianrainesfangs @weskie @destinationtrekk @nomansgunssmoke

A pulsating wave of sickness, of agonizing fire shooting through your body, startles you from sleep. Barely conscious, you tumble out of bed and rush to your bathing room and heave violently into the toilet, your bile stained gold with Ichor. The fluid that is meant to remain in your veins.

As you finish throwing up and take a deep breath, you have your first concrete, conscious thought this morning. Young you may be for a goddess, you are not helpless, or stupid. Something is very, earth-shakingly wrong.

You look out the window, then, and realize it’s not even morning at all- only blackness greets you from outside, stars and moon shrouded in a blanket of clouds. Your Domain, your realm and home, is unnaturally still and twice as silent. Like the forest suddenly going mute before a tornado, the ominous atmosphere does nothing to soothe your nerves. You know you should get back to sleep- the other gods will surely chastise you if they see you with bags under your eyes -but you can’t. It’s like your body was jump-started, all cylinders firing at once, strung tight like a bow in dreadful anticipation of… something. You have no idea what the source of your sudden illness is, or why it’s now just gone. You don’t know why you’ve woken in the middle of the night. You don’t know why this dread, heavy like solid gold, pulls your body downwards. But you have no time to wonder, as your door bursts open.

You yelp in shock as a small group of other deities flood into your room, already attending to various tasks. One helps you to stand up and flushes the toilet, not even mentioning the godly blood you just expelled. One throws open your closet, while another raids your jewelry box like a burglar. Everything moves so fast around you, your head begins to spin.

“What’s going on?” You warble, unsure of anything. You’ve never seen the elder deities this frazzled, and it puts you on edge.

“It finally happened,” one goddess chokes out, face wan with terror as she helps you into a long white dress extracted from your closet, “Just now, the sickness, did you feel it?” Her hands shake as you step into the garment, tying the long sash around your waist while you try not to panic.

“No,” you breathe, your body suddenly feeling very cold. You think you know what she’s talking about, but you’re too terrified to believe it. “No. You’re wrong. Tell her, tell her she’s wrong,” you plead, beseeching another god who runs a brush quickly through your hair.

His face is grim. Pale. Afraid. Your heart sinks. “She’s not wrong, child. Albert Wesker has achieved his goal.”

Albert Wesker. A name you and all the other gods know all too well. Your eyes have been on him since the Arklay incident years ago, when he defied death and became inhuman. Immortal, like you. But not like you, because you are kind and your hands touch with softness, and Wesker is the most wicked man to walk the mortal world. He keeps his hands within gloves so that he doesn’t have to touch the lesser mortals, not even gracing them with the dignity of direct contact when he murders them. He twists everything he touches to fit his own needs. He turned a woman into a puppet.

You feel suddenly very lightheaded.

“What’re we going to do, then?” You ask, words clipped with panic while the gods in your room finish dressing you. You don’t resist them, frozen like a mannequin as they fix your hair and fasten a choker around your neck. You feel like the ground itself has vanished beneath you, leaving you adrift in the void, darker than the blackest night, the same obsidian Wesker covers himself in. The association makes you shudder with dread. “The man hates the divine, you’ve heard him say how much he wants us dead-“

Another god places his hands on your shoulders to calm you, and on instinct, your mouth closes. “He wanted the gods the world prays to dead,” he says, stern and steadfast, “Not us. There is a distinction. If we meet him on equal ground we may gain-“

“Gain what?” You interrupt, shoving him away, hysterical tears in your eyes as the procession begins guiding you out of your safe, dark home and into the terror of the unknown night. Not even the confines of your personal pocket of reality can protect you now. Is this how newborn humans feel, you wonder, taking in the Domain around you with new, frightened eyes, is this what it’s like to be ripped from the warmth of the womb? You suddenly understand why human babies cry when they’re born. You’re crying, too. “Wesker can’t be reasoned with, he goes against everything you’ve taught me! You can’t possibly expect him to honor any sort of agreement or bargain!” Your ranting goes mostly unnoticed as the other gods hustle you to the edge of your Domain. One goddess grips your hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze, and the liquid warmth of divine teleportation envelops you.

You blink, and suddenly the warmth intensifies. You’re here.

The caldera of the volcano is scorching hot, writhing with molten lava and the residual energy of the horror that transpired here just moments ago. The rising sun does nothing to assuage your racing heart, furiously pounding in your chest like the dull beats of the helicopter currently flying away. You envy its passengers- Chris and Sheva, strong and brave; Jill, finally freed from her servitude; even the Captain flying the chopper. All of them are ignorant to the truth. They rest their weary heads, thinking that Wesker has been eliminated once and for all. How would they react, you wonder halfheartedly, if they knew their rockets had turned their nemesis into a deity?

It’s not their strength you envy; you are divine. Strength is something not in short supply. It is their blissful ignorance. You would give up every drop of Ichor in your body if it would save you from the looming consequences of their victory.

The rest of the pantheon, gods and goddesses alike, surround the mouth of Kijuju in a rough circle. Some stand just inches from the magma; it wouldn’t matter if you touched it. You are immortal, after all. But the seething presence of something lying in wait just below the surface makes you flutter back, gossamer dress billowing in the heated wind.

You cling to the hand of the goddess at your side, curling into her. She places herself slightly before you, as if to offer protection you both know she cannot provide. You look at her rounded face, eyes wary. “What happens now?” You ask, voice small and almost inaudible under the burbling of superheated rock.

She looks pained, turning away from your pleading gaze. “I don’t know,” she admits weakly, “None of us do. We can only wait now, little one.”

And wait you do. The anticipation hangs over the volcano, heavier even than the clouds of pyroclastic ash that threaten to stain your dress irreparably. You can’t tear your eyes away from the shifting magma. The liquid stone turning over and in on itself, flowing like water but a hundred thousand times more deadly, moves and dances in mesmerizing patterns. You are suddenly captivated by it. Though your body quakes with anxiety, your mind becomes clear and lucid.

It is these mesmerizing patterns, swirls and whorls of magma, that you blame for the sudden voice echoing in your head.

Come closer, it orders you, stern and masculine, leaving no room for argument. Your breath hitches, unsure of the voice’s origin but knowing that it doesn’t belong in your head. He doesn’t belong in your head, whoever he is. Come closer, now. I won’t ask again.

Against your better judgment, fear makes your bare feet shift. One foot in front of the other, you pull away from the goddess you once clung to. You are afraid of what lies beneath the lava, what lies lurking in your mind. And this is why you approach. Some of the gods notice you, but you can’t care, not with the strange voice overpowering your will with cold, all-encompassing dread. Good girl. You shudder, electric sparks of ice running up and down your spine despite the overwhelming heat. Stop. Kneel, right where you are. You overcome your paralysis just enough to defy him. A rumble of disapproval echoes in your skull, though you try to pretend it’s the volcano. It doesn’t work.

I don’t want to do that, you tell yourself, even mouthing the words to make them real. Maybe if you concentrate, you can resist the pull this entity has on you.

Of course you don’t, the voice sneers, uncaring of your terror. Your lip trembles. What you want is irrelevant right now. Kneel.

The flippant dismissal of your desires is familiar. The other gods are often quick to wave you off and shut you down, too busy or too distracted with their own activities to humor you, and being the youngest of the pantheon, you have precious little leeway to stand your ground. You take a hint of comfort in the familiarity of submission as you slowly fall to your knees against the igneous rock. “You talk to me just like the others do,” you whisper sorrowfully.

At that, the voice is unusually silent. You shift, uncomfortable on your knees. The magma before you burbles and you clench your hands into fists to calm yourself. Once again, the magnetic patterns of the lava captivate you, providing some refuge from your fear. The molten rock folding over and in on itself like rising dough is tantalizing to you, and on instinct, you reach out.

To touch it? To feel the heat scorching against your delicate hands? Even you don’t know why you do this. But you don’t have a chance to retract your hand, because another suddenly bursts from the magma and grabs onto your arm with bruising force.

A scream dies in your throat. The other gods are all watching now, rooted to their spots with anticipation and fear. A choked sound escapes you as you attempt to pull yourself away from the grasp, only to have it pull back. More of the arm emerges from the lava, revealing a shoulder. The second arm shoots out of the fire and finds purchase on the solid rock, only further aiding its owner’s climb to freedom. You try again to free yourself, a scream of confused terror echoing through the caldera, prompting some of the gods to rush to your aid. Hands wrap about your waist, pulling you away, but the stranger’s grasp is far too strong.

With five other gods helping to pull you back, and your own strength and that of the stranger, the task is accomplished. As he is exhumed from the magma, he lets go of you, and for a moment, you are frozen where you lay on the rocky ground.

Standing before you, clad in the same ebon leather that defines him so deeply, is Albert Wesker.

For that agonizing moment, you are held in place by his gaze alone. Though you’ve seen his eyes before, the stark identicality they bear to the lava he was just birthed from makes your heart drop. His pupils are perfect slits of vantablack, dilating ever so slightly as he looks you up and down. While the other gods scramble away, you remain a heartbeat longer. He looks upon you critically, assessing you from head to toe. His eyes rake over your body, your soot-stained dress, the collar hugging your heaving throat; they seem to linger just a little too long in some places. It stirs an odd, uncomfortable feeling in you, but you don’t know why. It’s something you’re used to, as some of the older gods look at you this way frequently. Like they’re hungry.

Wesker looks hungry, in this moment. For some reason it makes you want to cover your body with your arms, like your dress has been burned away entirely, all of you laid bare before him. The moment passes, the suffocating spell is broken, and you let out a horrified cry as you throw yourself backwards. The other gods, the ones who helped you pull him from the lava, catch you, shielding your body with their own. Between limbs, you peek out at the new, vicious god. His eyes have never left you, and they meet yours again easily, even through the forest of gods between you. You squeak like a frightened mouse, ducking your head and squeezing your eyes shut. You dart into the burrow of your mind, hoping that he cannot follow you there.

But you know it’s pointless. You know the voice in your head was his. His fiery eyes finally leave you and assess the pantheon that surrounds him, and his brow furrows. You can practically feel the disdain, the anger, radiating off of him. You hold your breath in anticipation as he begins to speak, his cold, seductive baritone reverberating through the volcanic dawn and into your bones.

“It seems I was correct after all,” he begins, a thin smile on his lips, “look at you- Cowering, backing away, terrified. Weak. The eldest of you, shying away while your youngest is in danger.” He’s referring to me, you realize with a start. You are the youngest god in this pantheon (though in terms of earthly years you eclipse the age of any living human easily, among the divine you are barely a stripling). He knows you are the most vulnerable being here. You don’t like that he knows this.

The shield of gods around you has somewhat dissipated; where once the barrier was three bodies thick, now only one layer of gods protects you from Wesker’s scorching presence. Finally, you have the strength to stand again, swaying like a willow. You feel completely adrift, tossed overboard and into the churning sea with no hope of rescue. The world spins around you like never before, but then again, never before have you been in such acute danger.

Finally, one of the eldest deities among you finds their voice. “We want no trouble from you,” they call, voice proud and courageous despite their obvious fear, “but what do you want from us?”

Wesker’s head snaps around to face the speaker, who doesn’t back down. His face twists into a furious grin, incredulous at the audacity to speak out against him so blatantly. “What do I want?” He echoes, a dark chuckle following. A surge of electric power crackles, invisible, through the air all around you, and it’s not coming from the ash cloud overhead. The other gods seem to notice it too, looking wary. Your entire being is quaking.

Wesker throws his arm in the direction of the gods shielding you from him. In the time it takes you to flinch and recover, five members of your pantheon are ensorcelled in shining black tendrils that rip into their bodies without mercy. In the time it takes you to scream, those five deities are dead. The Ichor spills over the basalt ground, splatters your face and your dress, warm and sticky and horrifying. The other gods scream too, backing away desperately as Wesker retracts the tentacles, and they return to his arm from whence they came.

You know this power of his, another of his twisted creations. Uroboros.

Haloed by the glow of the lava behind him, Wesker looks even more imposing, divinity defined. One of the murdered gods lays, strewn in a contorted position, barely a foot from you, her lifeless eyes staring straight through your own. The very same goddess who held your hand minutes ago. A being who, like all the others, had stood among the divine for time immemorial, killed in an instant by a vicious usurper.

I’m going to die here, you realize with a cold, heavy heart. I’m going to die and Wesker is going to kill me. You desperately want to pretend this is all some sort of nightmare but you know better. The infernal glare of Wesker’s eyes is too potent to be an illusion. His voice, deep and filled with rage, is too loud and too real to be anything but the truth. “What I want is to understand why exactly beings as weak as these-” he shouts, cruelly kicking at one of the dead gods and sending the body rolling several yards from the sheer force of it, “deserve to call themselves divine. Because from where I’m standing, you bleed and die just as easily as any human.

“In fact,” he continues, turning back to you and grinning with sharp teeth and hellfire eyes, “what’s stopping me from killing the rest of you pathetic creatures?” Terrified cries erupt all around you, one of them your own. Wesker tilts his head as he stares down your trembling form, as if daring you to speak up. But it is not you that cries out next.

“No,” shrieks another of the most aged deities, eyes wild and frantic, “Gods cannot fight amongst themselves, the mortal world will be torn apart! You must leave us be!”

The blonde man barks out a laugh. “I don’t recall saying I cared about the mortal world. Were none of you paying attention when I explained this to Chris?”

Another goddess finds her voice. “Whatever it is you want from us, we’ll give it to you! We will not fight you!” Though some of the others look at her incredulously, the consensus is that she speaks true for all of you. Even you find yourself agreeing. Whatever it takes to keep Wesker from slaughtering you on the spot, you will gladly do or give.

“Whatever I want, hmm?” Wesker hums, smiling in cold satisfaction. You almost miss the shades he always wore; at least then you wouldn’t have to suffer the inferno of his gaze. “Fine.

“You, little goddess. Come here.” He addresses you directly. His gloved finger curls in a beckoning motion, and once again his tone lets you know he won’t be asking you twice. But you won’t obey him. You can’t. He can’t be asking what you think he’s asking-

You blink, and before you can so much as shake your head, suddenly he stands directly over you. Your subsequent scream is cut off by a gloved hand gripping your choker and dragging you up until your face is inches from his. Your pupils shrink to the size of pinpricks, your heart pounding like a fleeing rabbit. Everything in you is begging you to get away, but you cannot. Wesker’s grip is steadfast as he appraises you. With the ash and Ichor across your face, staining your once-pristine dress, and desperation blatant in your every cell, you must look a mess. He doesn’t look angry at your infraction, rather mildly irritated.

“I’m sure this is new to you, so I’ll be lenient this once. Disobey me again and I won’t hesitate to discipline you. Do you understand me?” Wesker murmurs to you, hot breath caressing the soft flesh of your ear. His eyes do not leave your face for a moment as he speaks. It’s terrifying, to see such obviously-inhuman features on a man, and yet…

And yet, some part of you stirs. A part you know very little about. Your belly begins to grow warm. It’s confusing and a little frightening, because you’ve never been in this much danger, but for some reason, the heat feels good. You whine, unable to make sense of yourself, trembling before Wesker’s fiery eyes. “Wh- what are you doing?” You stammer softly, referring both to his intentions and the spell he’s seemingly cast on you.

His responding smile is cold and cruel, drinking in your terror and uncertainty with avaricious zeal. “What do you think I’m doing, dearheart?” he retorts, a sound deep and dark in his chest and it resonates in your marrow (the heat in your belly only deepens, drops to your crotch, makes your cheeks flush and warm). The term of endearment makes you feel utterly unsafe, but at the same time, sends sparks racing down your spine. You shudder with unknown, unwanted sensation. You want to run, to get far away from the man pressing you against himself, but there is nowhere you could go. “You’re going to be still and silent for me until I say otherwise. Let your better do the talking.” The anger, terror, and frustration coil within you, and all you can do is weakly nod your head.

The resulting rumble of satisfaction, dark and deep, has you swooning. “Good girl.”

Between the speed with which he maneuvers you to press firmly against his side and the coiling serpent of unknown emotion making its home in your being, your head has begun to spin. His hand moves from your choker to keep you held to his hip, pressing into the divot of your waist with such force you wonder if it will leave a bruise behind, a brand of Wesker’s cruelty. Nothing makes sense. What is wrong with me, you ask yourself, what’s happening to my body?

Frustrated and confused, betrayed and conflicted, your eyes shine with unshed tears. In so little time, your world has been completely upended. Wesker raises his voice once again to address the other, cowering gods, and the increased volume combined with his vitriolic tone makes you flinch and whimper. Inadvertently, you wind up curling further into his hold, which tightens as if to keep you this close. “This goddess belongs to me. Give her to me, and I’ll spare the rest of you. That is my only offer; I’d suggest taking it.”

The outcry of the other gods at this is expected. You’re their youngest, the most precious among them- you know they’ll protect you, as they always have. Against Wesker’s command, you wiggle in his grip, anxious to get away from him, if only to stop the infuriating heat in your core. He seems to be the one causing it- is that one of his powers? You wonder silently. Whatever it is, the growing warmth and unnatural need within you is alien, and you want it to stop.

While you continue to squirm, Wesker’s hold only tightens, making you hiss in pain. It hurts, the bruising force with which he restrains you, but you have to get away from him. He has to be the one causing this reaction in your body. But the pain is more unbearable than the heat, and you have no choice but to cease your struggles. You go still in his hold, and blessedly, his grip loosens to a far more comfortable pressure. The satisfied hum he gives you at your capitulation only makes the heat worse- so it is him!

Focused on something other than pain, you’re able to listen in on the deliberation of the gods. It’s an unpleasant surprise- you’d expected this to be no difficult decision, that they’d refuse Wesker instantly. Evidently, you’re wrong. “We can’t,” one deity insists, “she’s the most vulnerable among us, you know what he’ll do to her. How can we in good conscience sacrifice her, or any of us?” You pray the final movement is in your favor.

“What choice do we have?” Hisses another, far older god, crossing his arms, “He’ll kill all of us if we refuse, including her! We have to prioritize the greater good!”

“What use is the greater good if we lose more of our own to perpetuate it?” Yet another speaks up, “He’s already taken five of us, plus the countless mortals! It’s our duty to protect her!”

On and on the argument continues, but the heated tone dies down. They seem to be reaching an agreement, and your mouth goes dry as you see that it isn’t the one you want. “He won’t keep his word,” one goddess reminds the group, stern face pained and angry.

“Of course not,” dismisses an elder god easily, “but her sacrifice will buy us time to make a plan. This is what we must do.”

You expect to feel angry. You expect to feel rage the likes of which you didn’t think possible, sadness, bitter fury, betrayal at this condemnation of you at the hands of those you love. But instead you only feel hollow. Every interaction you’ve had with one of the other gods plays through your head, stained cold and bleak with the knowledge that when push came to shove, it took them less than five minutes to trade your life for theirs. Five minutes of debate, and not particularly intense debate at that, is all you are worth to them, when they once looked you in the eyes and told you that the wonders of the universe were yours by birthright.

Was all of it a lie? Did none of them ever love you? You think you wouldn’t be so wounded if they had been truthful about how little you meant to them. Maybe then you would have seen this coming. Maybe then you wouldn’t feel like your heart has been ripped from your chest.

You’re unsure of what exactly to express, how to react to this. The gods look at you, their scapegoat, their sacrificial lamb, and you see in their eyes your own judgment of death. “No,” you choke out, and you just now realize you’re crying. Your throat feels tight and hot and your vision grows watery. “You can’t do this to me! You swore you’d protect me, you promised! You promised!” You’re shouting, hysterics making your body quake even with Wesker’s steadfast grip on you. The man you’ve just been handed to tightens his hold just a bit, but you can’t bring yourself to care. You refuse to walk to the gallows without a fight. “I was your daughter,” you continue, great heaving sobs ripping from your throat as you see that some of the gods look upon you with sympathy, with pity, and yet make no move to save you. Their apologetic stares only make you more angry; how dare they look at you that way when they’re complicit in this madness all the same? “You were my family!”

The eldest of the gods surrounding the caldera furrows his brow. “Gods have no family,” he says, only stone-cold firmness to be found in his eyes, and then turns to address Wesker with the same grim tone, “She is yours. We expect you to hold up your end of the bargain.”

Your final cry of no peters off into a desperate sob, though it has no time to echo throughout the volcano, as your body is engulfed once more in the liquid, warm sensation of teleportation. But unlike the natural, seamless transition of the one that brought you to Kijuju, this feels like a violation, hot and uncomfortable, the magic sticking to your skin unpleasantly and itching as if you’ve been burned. Like Wesker forcibly displaced your being. In a way, you realize, he did- you subconsciously resisted his pull, but your power is nothing compared to his.

Why me, you wonder mournfully, why not anyone else? You are his opposite in every regard- in human years, you’re older than him by more than a century, yet by human standards he’s far older than you both in mind and body. The other gods often called you radiant, pure, full of light and soft warmth, though in hindsight you wonder if they meant a single syllable.

Wesker has killed more humans than possibly anyone else ever has, and has done the unthinkable; a human becoming divine, spilling divine blood. Every touch he gives you is harsh, unyielding, and cruel. He is a void into which you have no choice but to fall. Maybe, you think, that’s why he chose you over any of the others, deities far older, more beautiful, more powerful than you.

In any case, escape is not a possibility. If you have any hope of a quick death, resistance will snuff it instantly. Not that you could resist, not in this state. You feel lightheaded, lopsided, like you’d faint if not for the girding support of Wesker’s grip. Gone now are the high walls of the volcano, replaced by a vast, ominous sanctum. The transition gives you pause, and your wailing ceases for a moment as you take in this strange new place. Wesker, too, looks curiously at the location he has dragged you to, obviously unaware of where exactly he is.

It’s his Domain, and like all Domains, it is a reflection of its master. Wesker’s section of reality fits him perfectly, you admit; it is grandiose, elegant, sinister, and yet fascinatingly complex. Supporting the high, vaulted ceiling are a series of carved onyx pillars, sprouting from the ebony floor and engraved with intricate depictions of serpents coiling into themselves. It is a room far too grand for any one man. But Wesker is not just any one man, and once the shock wears off, he seems to realize how befitting a Domain he has been granted.

Suddenly, the man turns to you, expression stern. “What is this place? Tell me, little Endling.” As ever, it is not a request, but a demand, one your sense of self-preservation forces you to oblige.

Somehow, you force your throat to produce a weak, hoarse response. “Y-your Domain,” you answer, trembling under his gaze, “your- your home.” You can’t provide more than that, your remaining courage finally exhausted. Please don’t ask something else, please don’t ask something else, please don’t ask something else-

Wesker hums, satisfied with your timid response. “A Domain, hm?” He muses aloud, “I can work with this.” Your entire body sags with relief at his acceptance, this tiny sliver of mercy, though dread begins to creep in as you ask what exactly that ‘work’ is. Your lip wobbles, and you hold your tongue while fighting back tears. Speaking would do nothing for you now, except maybe anger him.

When he begins walking again, you stumble, and he doesn’t waste a moment before a mass of Uroboros coils around you, pulling you back to him. The slimy, unnatural sensation is horrific, and you bite your lip until you taste your own Ichor. This time, he pulls you fully into his arms, bracing them against your upper thighs and pressing your body into his shoulder and torso. He is warm, feverish, even, and the radiating heat has you instinctively curling into him. The position, as oddly uncomfortable as it is, gives you the little blessing of being able to hide your face from him, one you make full use of. Silent tears travel from the edges of your eyes down to the tip of your nose, falling to the polished floor below with each staccato breath you take. A disconnection between your mind and your body sinks its claws into you, dulling the sharp edge of your sorrow into something of an unpleasant ache.

You pass from the entry sanctum into a more reasonably-sized room, with a floor made of dark basalt and walls with inset shelves holding opaque, geometric bottles of who-knows-what. You finally gain the strength to look around again, letting out a soft gasp as you take in the mist-filled chamber Wesker has carried you to. It’s a bathing room, lit with floating candle-flames that hover around a large, rectangular tub connected to the far wall. The sound of gently-running water soothes your frightened mind, an aperture above the tub filling it with steaming water while decorative aqueducts carry runoff back into the walls, rills traveling through niches carved into the tub.

Wesker huffs, a simple sound that nonetheless has you shrinking back into yourself with a startled peep. Once he’s done taking in the room, he lowers you to the ground, allowing you to finally put distance between yourself and him. Immediately, you stumble backwards until your legs collide with the tub, bracing your hands against it so that you don’t fall in. Your eyes, filled with fear and uncertainty, flicker up to meet his, glowing with disappointment. They pulse with magmatic fire, absolutely inhuman but beautiful in a way that you cannot describe.

Breaking the short moment of silence, he gives you an order. “Strip.”

Purely on impulse, your hands dart across your bust, clinging to the soiled fabric of your dress. Your Ichor runs cold at the thought of taking it off. “…What?” You murmur dumbly, unsure if you’ve even heard him correctly.

A blur across your vision, and he stands inches away from you, just like before in the caldera. Another frightened noise escapes you as he boxes you in between the tub and his own immovable body. “Take. Your clothes. Off,” he repeats, voice lowered and patience obviously running thin. You tremble, arms clinging tighter to yourself, attempting to turn your head away to escape his burning gaze. A firm, gloved hand grips your chin with bruising force, dragging you back to face him. He leans in, his face close enough that his breath warms your nose. “Or do I have to tear them off you?”

Your response is immediate and frantic. You shake your head, a choked no leaving your mouth, and your leaden arms fumble with the dress keeping you hidden from his prying eyes. After barely a second that feels like a year, you manage to yank the dirtied white fabric over your head. As you pull it off, you undo the clasp on your choker, removing it from your neck and bundling it with your dress. You can’t help but hold the bunched-up fabric tightly to your body, though, keeping your breasts hidden, at the same time as your thighs press together to hide your crotch from his view. You’ve never been naked in front of another before. It feels dirty, vulnerable, and tense, and you understand now why the other gods always insisted upon you wearing clothes and keeping your chest & crotch hidden. How can anyone enjoy this?

At your shyness, Wesker tuts, taking hold of the dress and pulling it from your unresisting arms. “Ah ah, none of that,” he chides, “you can’t hide from me, little one. I’ve already seen you at your lowest. Let me see my prize.” You’re unsure what exactly he means, but you’re too shaky to ask and for some reason the way he speaks makes you want to sob. You allow him to toss away your filthy dress and you force your arms to rest at your sides, quaking in place as you feel him taking you in. Again, he hums, a long and pleased sound deep in his chest, and it makes you shudder in something that definitely isn’t fear. “There we are,” he croons, “oh, you’re filthy, pet. In the water, now.”

Without waiting to ensure your obedience, the man turns on his heel and gives you space, presumably to enter the bath. Though the rising wisps of steam entice you, you’re far too on edge to risk submerging yourself in his presence. But he’s correct; your face is splattered in ash, Ichor and dirt from the caldera. The Ichor, particularly, makes you sick. The knowledge that the proof of the weakness of the gods, of your own weakness, paints your face is enough to have you cupping the warm water in your hands. You raise your dripping hands to your face, rinsing away the day’s violent events. The sight of the luciferant golden Ichor blossoming as it drips into the tub, exploring outside the veins of its former host, makes you swallow. Though it is gone from your flesh, the echo it left will never truly fade.

Against your better judgment, you look over your shoulder, watching as Wesker shucks off his long coat and gloves, tossing them aside as he did your own raiment. He doesn’t spare you a glance, only striding to one of the shelves in the wall and picking up a couple of containers. When he turns to walk towards you and notices your staring (and your being outside the water), he says nothing of it, only placing the containers on the flat rim of the tub and bracing his hands on either side of you, pressing against you, his own crotch flush with the small of your back. You shudder.

His closeness, his aura, his persistent and greedy gaze- whatever it is about him that is making your body react this way, you need him to stop. It’s too much, too unknown, and the tension curling in your belly is too scary for you to stay silent any longer. “Please, stop.” The words leave you in a shaky whisper, and even that has you bracing for a punishment for speaking out of turn. But when nothing happens and you look behind you, you find only Wesker looking at you in what you could only describe as confusion.

“Stop what?” He echoes, almost seeming genuine, “I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific, little Endling.”

Your frustration finally shows on your face, and you glare up at him, pouting in despair. “My body,” you plead, “whatever you’re doing to me, I- I can’t take it, please…”

One of his sculpted eyebrows raises. “Your body?” he trails off, taking hold of your chin with forefinger and thumb to force you to look him in the face. You wither beneath his studious eyes, the way he gazes right into your soul, burning through everything else until he reaches your very marrow and feasts upon it. “Hmm. Tell me, dearheart, what am I doing to your body?”

The inquisitive question throws you off. You assumed he would know, that he would have some inkling of his divine powers over others despite his recent apotheosis. Your tongue darts out to wet your trembling lips, and you don’t miss the hungry way he takes it in. But maybe if you say the words aloud, it will break the spell. It’s worth a try, so you summon your self awareness and beg it to tell you what’s happening. “…Feels hot,” you finally say, shivering as you unveil even more of yourself to the man that will undo you entirely, “and tight. I’ve never felt it before. My Ichor feels like- like I’m sprinting.”

Wesker nods thoughtfully, never once taking his eyes off your heated face. He hums, and you can feel it resonate within you from where you are pressed to him. “What else?” He prompts, “do you feel nervous? Anticipatory, perhaps?”

Somehow, he’s describing exactly what it feels like. Your stomach drops out, a heavy, hot stone weighing it down in your body until it feels like you’re burning from the inside out. You nod. “Y-yes. But it feels almost… good.”

At your final admission, Wesker’s lips curl into a warm, satisfied smirk. His pupils dilate, expanding into black holes that threaten to drown you in their vantablack depths. He tilts your chin to the side, leans in closer just to hear your breath hitch. “I think I know what you’re feeling, little one,” he murmurs, dark and deep, and it only makes the burning in you that much more intense and hungry, “It’s called arousal. And I’m not doing anything. It’s all you.”

Arousal. You finally have a word for this hot, insatiable feeling curling in your core. But contrary to your hopes, the arousal doesn’t fade. The knowledge that Wesker is not directly responsible for this curling, scorching serpent in your belly makes you even more mortified. You feel shameful, disgusting. Your hands tremble. Part of you is thankful that he continues, sparing you the need to force your tongue to break the silence. “You’re a strange little thing, aren’t you, dearheart?” His gaze is softer now, almost pitying. He is no longer disappointed in you, now merely inquisitive. “Tell me, how much did the gods teach you about this?”

The feeling of his bare hand groping the apex between your legs, fingers resting atop the soft, velveteen flesh of the little slit lying there, has you freezing. All at once, your thoughts come to a screeching halt beyond the sensation of his deft fingertips idly kneading the meat of your pelvis. The arousal intensifies, and you finally pinpoint where the heat is strongest. It’s there, in the unassuming flesh of your crotch, pulsing and pleading for something you cannot name. It’s the same place your heart and stomach drop to whenever Wesker’s voice drops to that particular dulcet octave. His touch feels at once wrong, like a violation of the highest order, and so unfathomably right. Never before has another touched your crotch in this way- you have, for grooming and cleaning, of course, but you’re fairly certain none of the other gods have ever even seen it. And yet the intoxicating warmth of his palm against the vulnerable flesh has you melting, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Somehow, the answer slides from your tongue without meaning to. “N-nothing,” you keen, resisting the subconscious urge to grind your crotch into Wesker’s wicked hand, “They only told- told me that it’s bad, to touch here. But why-“ you pause to hitch in a breath as his pointer finger slowly passes along the folds of your slit, making you shudder “why does it feel- feel-“

“Good?” Wesker finishes for you, humming knowingly as his finger pets over the delicate flesh. Somehow, he knows what he’s doing to you, what this hot arousal in your core truly means. You need to know, you need to understand why your body is doing this, why something supposedly bad has your mind melting in pleasure.

“Yes,” you moan, the word stretching as his finger presses deeper, gliding through the slick folds of flesh. Why would the other gods keep you from exploring this part of yourself? You realize, in this heated moment, that their motivations must have been selfish- they’ve already demonstrated how little they truly cared for you. Why would this be any different?

Wesker groans, a soft, low sound deep in his core that intensifies the pulsing in your own. “I didn’t anticipate you to be so innocent,” he says, his hand’s movements never pausing, “you really don’t know anything, do you, little Endling? Do you even know what this part of you is called?”

You can only shake your head. In your mind, and in your studies, it has only been obliquely referred to. It’s your crotch, your pelvic area, the place where urine (and Ichor, roughly once every two months) comes from. That’s all it’s ever been to you, and nothing more. But the way Wesker speaks of it, like it’s some grand, delicious secret he’s about to let you in on, makes you desperate to know. Desperate for him to tell you what this soft flesh, wet and pulsing with pleasure and desire, truly is.

His deep chuckle, satisfied and anticipatory, only makes the soft skin of your slit pulse further. “Oh, you’re too delicious, pet. This,” he grips the meat of your crotch again, making you let out a sound of painful need, “is a cunt. Your cunt. Plenty of humans have one, too. And it’s probably my favorite part of human anatomy.”

Cunt. Another new word, short and simple to describe what has been hidden from you. Hearing Wesker speak, hearing him praise your cunt so highly, makes it swell with warmth. Everything he’s doing feels entirely too good, dare you say even sinful. Part of you wants him to stop, but another part, one much larger and more convincing, hungers to know more. You are bare before him, vulnerable and weak. He could kill you with no effort. But the thought of his hand wrapped around your throat, holding you in place while he devours you with his eyes, only makes your arousal worse.

So lost are you in the moment and the overwhelming sensations racing across your skin that you don’t notice the uncanny sensation of him teleporting the both of you out of the bathing room. Sleek, cool fabric meets your bare back as he lays you down horizontally, and you realize you’re on a bed. His bed. The silk underneath you is a relief to your feverish skin and you arch into it, basking in the sensory delight of both the sheets and Wesker’s hand still groping your cunt. His fingers work through the soaked folds, exploring you until they find one particularly sensitive spot.

You jolt as two fingertips massage that very spot, rubbing it back and forth, sending shockwaves of pleasure across your body. Your legs spasm uncontrollably in time with his ministrations, and thankfully you don’t have to ask him what exactly this new part of you is, because he beats you to it. “And this is your clit. Feel that, dear? Like a little button beneath my fingers?” He gathers the swollen bud between thumb and forefinger and pinches just so, but even that relatively gentle touch is enough to have your mind whiting out with undiluted pleasure. He takes your ensuing silent scream as an answer. “Another favorite of mine. With just a bit of attention to such a small bit of tissue, your body becomes putty in my hands. So pliant, just how I like my playthings.” While one finger remains to fondle your clit, two dart down and begin pressing into you, finding the same hole the Ichor spills from every two months and delving inside it.

It’s unlike anything you’ve ever felt. It’s sublime, blissful agony and agonizing bliss. You need more, but just those two fingers, barely inserted, fill you and stretch your cunt to an uncomfortable degree. You want it deeper, though you don’t know why, but what if your little body breaks under his? What if you can’t satisfy his curiosity, and he discards you like he did with the other gods?

Self-preservation becomes the new catalyst to your need, knowing that if Wesker is angered, it could spell your end. And besides- your hole pulsing around his fingers as they slowly inch deeper within you, clenching on them while he plays with your clit, is too delicious of a feeling to lose. You try to buck your hips up, try to take more of him into you, but he retracts with a chuckle. “Look at you. I bet you don’t even know what you’re so desperate for, what your body needs. But I’m not a heartless man, pet. I know what you need. All you have to do is answer one more question for me.

“Can you do that? Hm?” His enthralling voice, dripping with confidence and seduction, is the single most addictive thing you know of. You’re so caught up in the heated glamor he has you in that you nearly miss the words themselves. But you’re not entirely lost, not yet, and you manage to frantically nod your head. Whatever he wants from you, you’ll do, a mixture of fear for your survival and desperation to ride this mounting pleasure for as long as you can driving your obedience. You manage to hiss out a verbal response, to which he chuckles, satisfied. “So eager for something you can’t even name. Now, tell me- did the gods ever teach you about how humans reproduce?”

That shakes some clarity back into your muddled mind, and your eyes fly open, body going somewhat stiff atop the gossamer sheets. “What?” You breathe, taken aback. It’s not something you know much of, to be honest- you’ve heard it referred to as lovemaking, but the other gods always obscured the details to you. The end result, however, you’re familiar with; the bloody visual of a mother pushing a baby from her shattered body haunted you for countless nights after you saw it. Why on earth would Wesker summon that sobering memory to your mind now, in the throes of pleasure, with his fingers still digging slowly but surely into your cunt? “I- Is that what you…? I don’t understand,” you stammer, backing up across the plane of the soft bed.

The feeling of Wesker’s delicious touch leaving your core as you move away from him is agonizing, and the pleasure that once bloomed in your cunt now begins to wilt. You shrink under his infernal eyes, watching his brow furrow infinitesimally. He moves as well, coming closer as you move away, matching your motions. His fingers are shiny, glistening with the shimmering slickness of your cunt. He looks down at them briefly before bringing them to his mouth and allowing his deft, long tongue to clean away the remnants of you. He lets out a shuddering, pleased groan at the taste, and you find yourself unable to look away as he devours your slickness until his fingers are clean. When he looks back to you, his pale face is smattered with a relatively faint (but noticeable) blush.

“Your body craves what all other mortal bodies do, little Endling. Don’t deny it. I can sate that hunger if you just submit.” His temptations are ever more powerful against your weakened resolve, but you hold fast, bringing your legs closer to yourself. You simply can’t fathom it. Wesker wants to reproduce with you? To make love with you? It’s impossible, it has to be. The man is incapable of love (even as you form the thought you know it’s false. You’ve seen the way he’s looked at other mortals before, you’ve seen the unmistakable desire in his eyes when he gazed upon Chris). To think he wants that from you, to teach you how humans reproduce in the most personal possible way, makes you shudder in disbelief. Eventually, your back hits the wall, and you can flee from him no further. He returns to his place over your smaller body, bathing you in his shadow, forcing you to breathe him in.

But you can’t. Whatever he means to do, you can’t. “I- I’m not ready,” you plead, eyes wild, “I can’t, we can’t! Gods don’t- we don’t-“ you can hardly bring itself to say it, your face feeling aflame with humiliation. Gods do not reproduce, you and the others all simply are. You fell from the stars exactly as you are now, physically speaking. You are not born, and you do not die.

Or, at least, you didn’t.

But with his apotheosis, Wesker has shaken everything you thought you knew about godhood. He did not fall from the heavens, he clawed himself from the molten earth. He murdered gods, something you presumed impossible. He was born, and he made gods die. So what, you wonder frightfully, is really true about divinity? What does it mean? Can you truly produce an infant in your belly the same way mortal women can?

Do you even have a choice in finding out?

Wesker’s murmur, face inches from yours, snaps you from your racing thoughts. “Gods don’t what?”

Your eyes dart away, unable to maintain contact with his as you finish your sentence. Your voice is barely a whisper, tongue hesitant. “We don’t… make love…” saying the words aloud, you feel almost dirty. Guilty. Silently, you yearn for the blind pleasure he offered just moments ago.

To your surprise, Wesker begins to laugh. It sounds both warm and cold, both endeared and cruel. He looks at you with a condescending glint in his burning eyes, smiling, baring his inhuman teeth. “Oh, my precious little Endling,” he sighs, chest still shaking with laughter, “Is that what you think this is? I’m not going to ‘make love’ to you.” His words should bring you relief, but his merciless eyes and the fingers prodding once more at the entrance to your cunt only make you more nervous. “I’m going to fuck you. And you will learn everything that was kept from you.”

Another new word. Your vocabulary becomes more complete, more vulgar, by the moment in his presence. Cunt. Clit. Fuck. The last one sounds like the opposite of lovemaking- it sounds brutal, cruel, and wicked. Like a gnarled bramble bush compared to a flowering lilac. Part of you wonders, frightfully, if the analogy is a little too spot on, and you’ll feel the pain of those brambles as he fucks you.

A breathless noise escapes you as Wesker once more coaxes two fingers into your clenching cunt, your body eagerly welcoming him back. That coiling pleasure begins to build once more, dulling the edges of your terrified musings. His face ducks down, buries itself in your neck, and he takes a shuddering breath, drinking in your scent as he deftly thrusts his fingers in and out, in and out. “See? It feels good, doesn’t it? You want more,” He whispers, a heated promise against the shell of your ear, amplifying your growing pleasure. Your body sings at his words, reacting just as it did back in the caldera, cunt clenching and drawing him further in. You don’t know just what it is about his voice that has such an effect on you. All you know is the pleasure pulses, heavy and warm, every time he murmurs in that dark baritone.

Your mind is not gone just yet. You’re fraying at the seams, but you haven’t completely unraveled. You grit your teeth against the building, burning pleasure inside you and force your eyes open. His mouth is latching onto your skin, nipping the delicate flesh with his canines until Ichor is drawn and then lapping it up like a starving man. You can’t help but cry out at each attack, keening against his mouth as he presses his lips to the now-bruised skin, treating the wound with smothering kisses. You feel so helpless, a slave to your body’s alien desires, unprepared for the onslaught Wesker forces upon you. Not for the first time today, you lament the other gods and their lack of transparency. What reason could they have to leave me this vulnerable?

You force yourself to put aside your anger and fear for the moment. Biting back a moan as Wesker attacks a particular spot at your neck, you attempt to speak up. “Are-“ as if he’d timed it, the man laves his tongue over the weeping flesh of your collar, forcing you to taper off into a desperate, pathetic noise halfway. He chuckles, deep rumbling laughter that reminds you of how much he enjoys pulling you apart, piece by piece. It carries the sinister promise of more to come, and so you attempt to continue. “You- are you going to- to hurt me?” You’re terrified of what the answer may be. What he’s doing right now feels good, yes, but will it always feel good? Is the night doomed to end with you curled in on yourself in agony, or spread out on Wesker’s bed while he drowns your mind in euphoria? You’re almost as scared of the answer as you are of the question itself. But the words have already left your mouth, so you brace for the response, whatever it may be.

Wesker hums neutrally, a sound that answers none of your questions and only serves to make you more nervous. His body, pressed firmly over yours, prevents you from shrinking away. After a moment of contemplation, he finally speaks. “Not intentionally,” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to the shell of your ear (an unexpected action that makes your breath hitch and your heart flutter), “It will hurt, of course. Not unbearably, and not for long. But it will.” Languidly, he scissors his fingers inside you, stretching you open with an expert ease that tells you he’s done this before. You don’t know whether the knowledge that he has experience in this area makes you feel humiliated, or relieved. He may not keep his word, obviously, but all that matters to you is that you aren’t doomed to a night of pain. As long as you are pliant and obedient, you will survive. You suppose that’s the best you could have hoped for. “You’re thinking awfully loud, little one,” he clicks his tongue, tapping your forehead somewhat roughly with his free hand, “stop it. There’s nothing of use to either of us in that sweet little head of yours.”

You whine, your face growing hot and eyes growing teary at his degradation. It settles unpleasantly in your belly, but against all odds, the humiliation mingles with the arousal he fills you with. The two sensations, equal and opposite, suddenly clash and become one, something unspeakable and stronger than both on their own. Involuntarily, you clench hard around him, drawing a strangled breath from Wesker and a strained cry from you. Your traitorous tongue, perhaps hoping to cut off whatever belittling he intends on next, takes the opportunity to make itself useful. “I was- I was scared,” you admit weakly, wincing in pain as a third finger joins the two already inside, and pleasure claws its way up your body, “I thought you’d- you would hurt me, or- or kill me.” After that, you purse your lips shut with a humiliated whine to keep yourself from digging your grave any further. But the damage has been done, and another condescending laugh rolls over you like thunder from his chest.

“Poor, dumb little thing,” Wesker coos, and your eyes fly open at the insult, tears overflowing, “for all you know I am hurting you. You don’t even know what it is I’m doing, just that it feels good. Isn’t that right?” He leans in closer, his reptilian eyes burning you with their mocking glare. It’s true, though- aside from the words he’s given to name these sensations, you have no idea what he’s doing. It is one thing to read the word ‘dog’ in a dictionary, and another thing to see the creature apart from its name, and yet another entirely to understand that the word and beast are one and the same. You may have the words to name his actions, but you don’t have the context to understand or comprehend them, and it frightens you to the core.

Said core is currently being violated, three deft fingers pressing deeper and deeper into your cunt, rubbing against a particularly spongy and sensitive spot just behind your clit that makes your brain short circuit. Wesker continues to strike down your ego, each wicked word chipping away at your mind. “That’s all you are, dear. A dumb little Endling, daring to call herself a god. Innocent, precious. And all. Fucking. Mine.” Each hissed word is punctuated by a deep thrust of his fingers against that spot inside you, and you’re only just now noticing but the pleasure is in your lungs and it’s suddenly hard to breathe, and you writhe against him, grinding your clit on the heel of his hand as his heated gaze melts your resolve completely-

Suddenly, an unspeakable ecstasy crashes through your body. More potent than anything he’s done so far, it ricochets across your soul until you can barely see. You’ve never experienced something like this, this profound euphoria ripping through your veins like floodwater after a typhoon. All you can do is arch your back up into Wesker’s waiting embrace with a loud, lewd moan, your head pressing back into the soft bed beneath. It’s so intense that it’s almost frightening, but as the aftershocks wash through you, you find that all the tension you’d previously harbored is completely gone. Whatever just happened, whatever Wesker just did to you, it’s left you utterly boneless. You sob in between gasps for air, barely registering Wesker’s satisfied chuckle above you. His voice drops to a delicious whisper that only enhances the dregs of ecstasy flowing across your body.

“And just like that, there you go.” His breath is warm, soothing, against your face, and the incomprehensible urge to kiss him makes itself known to you. His lips have already graced your neck, your ear, and felt so good, you know they’d feel utterly sublime on your own. Kissing is something you’re familiar with, though you’ve never done it yourself- the other gods did it sometimes, and you’ve seen humans clash lips more times than you can count. You always wanted to try it, and if you are to die at Wesker’s hand, you suppose this is your last chance. But his pleased smile, the crow’s feet it gives his eyes, has you too enthralled to act on that urge. “You’re going to cum many more times for me, pet. That is what your body craves. That’s what I’m going to do to you, what I’m going to give you. And you will beg for more.” You’re struck by the realization that either he knows what his voice (like ebony silk and thick, rich wine) is doing to you, or he simply enjoys hearing himself speak. Whichever is the truth, you don’t care. You can’t care, not with the way each word drags you further into the decadent oblivion he offers.

The hand that wasn’t buried in your cunt rubs soothing warmth into your side, up and down, relishing in the softness of your skin and the layers of plushness beneath. Your chest heaves, diaphragm rising and falling as you attempt to come down from the height of cumming. Your eyes, hazy and wet, blink slowly in response to Wesker’s voice. His lips, thin and smooth, are so utterly enticing. Against your will, you voice your innermost thoughts. “I want to kiss you,” you breathe softly, barely a whisper on the heated air. But, of course, he hears it very well.

He raises a sculpted brow and tilts his head. “Is that so? How bold of you, pet. Ask properly, and I’ll consider it.” In response, you whine in frustration, left wanting and needy for his affections. How are you supposed to know what asking him properly even means?

“Please,” you beg, fixing him with your best doe eyes, “please let me kiss you, I- I’ve never-“

A finger, still coated in the evidence of your release, drives itself into your open mouth, cutting you off. You nearly choke on it, face heating up even more at the taste of yourself, and you nearly bite him in your confusion. “Try again,” Wesker orders sternly, “address me correctly.”

A charm of resistance, buried deep within, awakens at his cruelty, and you respond in kind. Your teeth come down onto his finger, though not enough to hurt; merely a warning that you can bite harder if you choose. You glare up at him, indignant at being denied what you know you’ve earned, what you deserve. He’s taken you prisoner, unraveled your entire world, and covered you in the blood of your fellow deities. The least you’re owed is one small request. Denial is an unfamiliar, unpleasant sensation. Very rarely were you ever refused a request, especially if it was for lessons or material comforts. The other gods were always eager to shower you in beautiful gifts and teach you the secrets of divinity. The few times you were shot down in your requests stung, making you angry and indignant. Once, you even threw something in your frustration.

Here and now, though, the denial feels even worse. You feel like you’ll die if he doesn’t at least give you this one thing. It’s never been so profound, this yearning in your core. You want to grab him by the hair and pull him down, force your lips onto his and take what you’re owed, but you push that thought away. If I did that, you remind yourself, I would be no better than him.

Despite the gentleness of your bite, Wesker’s temper flares, and he bares his sharp teeth down at you. “Spoilt little slut,” he growls, a dangerous edge to his tone. You hope the anger in your expression hides your burgeoning terror, but in all likelihood, it doesn’t do much. You can’t help but whine lowly in the back of your throat, and your jaw drops open in an attempt to appease him. Immediately, he pulls his finger away and his hand lays a cruel slap to your cheek. It’s not as harsh as you expected, and the site of the blow merely tingles instead of burning. A warning, just like your bite. Still, it makes you yelp, and you try to cradle your cheek with your palm, only for Wesker to pin both your wrists beside your head. His hands dwarf yours, a terrifying reminder of the difference in power between you. His pupils are dilated, eclipsing his irises in vantablack, belying just how much he’s enjoying this. You don’t know whether to be flattered, terrified, or enraged, and so you settle for a healthy mix of the three.

“You want me so badly, hm? Fine. I’ll indulge just this once,” Wesker sneers, and you barely have time to register his words in your brain before his mouth comes crashing down onto yours and he’s ripping the breath right out of your lungs. It’s utterly unlike any kiss you’ve ever witnessed, any kiss you’ve ever fantasized about having. It’s cruel, all teeth and tongue, as he forces his way into your mouth and claims it as his own. And yet, his lips are still as soft as you pictured, though it’s hard to focus on them when he laves his tongue across every inch of your mouth and presses your own tongue down flat into submission.

The sensations are overwhelming, and more than a little frightening. But still, you’ve gotten what you asked for, what you begged for. You try, hesitantly, to return the kiss, whining into his mouth when he forces his weight down onto you, keeping you prone and still. He groans, a deep-throated sound that makes you swoon, but the pleasure of his voice is ripped from you when he sinks his sharp teeth into your tender lip. You cry out in pain, attempting to pull away, but his hold on you is steadfast. He full-on moans as he tastes your Ichor, sucking at the bite with vicious purpose. Pain, like denial, is an unfamiliar sensation, and you don’t know how to cope other than through the tears that stream down your temples.

Finally, blessedly, he pulls away, leaving a long thread of Ichor-stained saliva connecting the two of you. He nips at it, cutting it out of the air, and you flinch at the close snap of his fangs. Face flushed, his tongue darts out to the corner of his mouth to lick up a trace of your Ichor, savoring the taste. His eyes never leave your shuddering form, and you hate the deep, sharp pang of arousal that echoes through you. His hand grips your chin, forcing your attention to him. “That’s enough. Now apologize.”

His grasp loosens, just a little, but it’s enough for you to find your voice. “‘M sorry, I’m sorry,” you croak desperately, “Please, I- I only wanted-“

“What you want is irrelevant, Endling,” he reminds you coldly, hips thrusting slightly against yours as he hisses the epithet, and you feel something firm and warm rub against your cunt, something that has your mouth going dry for a reason you can’t name. You squeeze your eyes shut, allowing more tears to fall, wishing desperately that this is all simply a nightmare that you’ll wake from any minute. “You. Belong. To me,” he says, free hand punctuating each pause with a light slap to your cheek, drawing pathetic whines from the base of your throat, “You will take what I give you and nothing more, am I understood?”

Once again, Wesker’s hand loosens around your jaw, allowing you to speak. “Yes,” you rush out, pleading for his cruelty to end, “yes, I- I understand, I’m so sorry, I-“

“Master.”

“Wh- What…?” You whisper dumbly, caught off guard by his interruption.

“Call me Master,” he orders, leaving no room for argument.

A dull, heavy stone of despair roots in your chest. He’s never going to let me go, you realize with a lull of sorrow, not even after he’s fucked me. Though he only became a God a short while ago, his power far outclasses your own. It will be many years before you’ll be able to escape him, if ever. You’re no longer a goddess; you’re his prisoner. With no other option, you close your eyes against the fresh wave of tears that threaten to escape. You inhale a shaky, weak breath. “…Yes, Master.” And suddenly you hate yourself far more than you hate Wesker, because as you say the word aloud, the pulsating pleasure in your core only deepens.

Your self-hatred thickens even further at the way you keen under his response. “Good girl.”

You can’t bear to open your eyes. But you nearly do when you register Wesker’s wicked tongue lapping against your cheek, languidly licking up your tears before moving to your other cheek and doing the same. It feels strange, unnatural, and almost pleasant. It leaves a tacky, uncomfortable trail of his saliva on your face, but the warmth of the non-violent touch is too addictive. One moment, he is cruel and unyielding, the next he touches you with such deliberate tenderness that your heart flutters like a swarm of butterflies. And somehow, neither sensation makes your body recoil; your cunt only aches with need, regardless of if Wesker is caressing your face or slapping it. But at least the (relative) softness is easier to allow yourself to enjoy.

His hand has left your face, though the phantom memory of his grip haunts the tender skin. “You’re not ready yet,” Wesker murmurs to himself, appraising your hapless body underneath him. The same hand that slapped you now gently tilts your head from side to side, and you force your eyes open to see him studying the mess he’s made of you. “Normally, I would prepare you with my mouth. But you already had my mouth, didn’t you?” You ignore the rhetorical question in favor of opening your mouth to ask him what exactly he’s preparing you for, but he cuts you off before you can start. “So instead, you’ll have this.”

From his wrist, coiling around his hand, come the tendrils of Uroboros. The very same horrible creation that allowed him to slaughter five of your fellow gods right in front of you. You don’t have time to protest the idea of those things going anywhere near you, as one thick tendril darts down to your cunt and pushes inside without preamble. The stretch is difficult to bear, plenty thicker than his fingers, but Wesker gives you no time to adjust. The tentacle is slippery, coated in a thin layer of something you don’t even want to imagine, allowing it to slide into your cunt with relative ease. A choked cry escapes your throat, and on instinct, your hands press to his chest in an attempt to push him off you. Wesker clicks his tongue condescendingly, shaking his head as another set of tendrils slither across your arms and force them down to the bed. “Behave,” he orders as the Uroboros pins your hands to either side of your head, keeping you pressed down firmly. Helpless against him.

As much as you remind yourself how vile, how terrible, the thing inside you is, you can’t prevent your body from reacting to it. Each languid thrust pushes the rounded tip of the appendage a little deeper into your cunt, its smooth surface caressing your inner walls and sending waves of pleasure through you. Already, you feel the sublime ecstasy of before mounting deep inside, your peak fast approaching. The dregs of the last time you came still haven’t left your bloodstream, and the thought of even more rushing through you makes you uneasy. It’s too much, too fast, but with your hands pinned and body helpless, you can’t do anything to stop it from creeping closer.

“No,” you blurt, gasping for air against the serpent of euphoria constricting your lungs, “it’s- it’s too much, too much, I can’t- I can’t cum again, please-“ you hesitate before saying the dreaded word but if you don’t, you know things will only get worse “-M-Master, Master please, I can’t, please stop!” Your wide eyes stare up at him, while his are fixated on the tendril pounding further into your cunt with each passing second.

He doesn’t look at your face when he responds, humming in satisfaction. “Yes, you can,” he tells you casually, flexing his wrist and making the tendrils pulse, both squeezing your wrists and whiting out your vision with pleasure, “Go on. Cum for me, my little Endling.”

And with a resounding sob of pleasure, you do, a stray tendril flicking over your clit finishing you off. It burns, like the sun itself is caressing you, but even through the agony of overstimulation it feels so supremely good. A piece of your soul bursts, leaving you writhing in your living binds, hips bucking in an attempt to escape the onslaught. Self-loathing buries itself in your core just as the tendril retracts, allowing you to release a breath you didn’t know you were holding. Euphoria washes through you, drowning you in liquor and honey until all you can breathe is sin. And it is sinful, this- you know for certain if any of the other gods could see you now, they’d call you vile, a useless creature, a broken thing. You try to rationalize it, try to remind yourself that the word of the other gods means nothing to you anymore, but it’s easier said than done. You’ve had your whole life to live under their thumbs, and only a few hours to adjust to their abandonment. It may take time for you to accept that they never cared for you, but until then, you can’t help but envision their disappointment as your soul pulses with the aftershocks of pleasure.

The Uroboros is slow to retract from you, familiarizing itself with every inch of your cunt. It drags against your sensitive inner flesh, taking an agonizingly long time to finally pop out completely. You let out a shuddering sigh of relief, hole clenching down on nothing and wrists finally free. You wipe the tears from your bleary eyes, gazing up at the divine man whose body presses yours to the bed.

Wesker watches the slick tendrils of Uroboros slide back into place, concealed within his flesh, before his eyes flicker back to you. The aggression is gone, and you feel a bit of your fear fall away. He chuckles softly, taking in the ruined expression on your face. “Look at you, dearheart,” he coos, hand cupping your cheek in mock tenderness, “what a dumb little mess you are. I think you’re more than ready.”

You wrap your arms around yourself in a makeshift hug, desperate for any scrap of comfort to cling to. Your entire body feels sapped, broken, like Wesker has drained everything you have from you. You’re shaking, trembling softly with fear and the remains of your climax. “Ready for what?” You whisper, voice choked, “what more are you going to do to me?”

He closes his burning eyes as he removes his shirt, his belt, and finally his sleek pants. The more of himself he bares to you, the more your mouth goes dry.

Wesker reminds you of the many statues placed around the Domains of the other gods, of the paintings of baroque heroes in the nude. His torso is finely carved as if from marble, muscles rippling with untold strength just beneath the skin. You can’t take your eyes off his arms once they are revealed to you- the same hands that murdered millions, including gods, have brought you to mind-shattering ecstasy, and will do so again. He pauses in his disrobing, noticing your rapt attention, and a slow smile comes to his face.

“Enjoying the view?” He hums, pupils blown wide with lust as he surrounds you with himself. You are. The sight of him makes your mouth water and your cunt leak with desire.

But you’ll die before you admit it, and so you bite out a retort. “Answer the question,” you demand, shrinking into the bed away from him.

“I already told you, pet. I’m going to fuck you. Now you tell me- do you know what this is?” The question, hissed through gritted teeth, is punctuated with a harsh thrust of his hips against your own. That tantalizing hardness in his pants throbs against you, and your mouth goes dry. It feels like a dark promise, like the executioner letting you caress the edge of the axe doomed to separate your neck from your body. Somehow, twin ropes of dread and excitement spindle their way up your spine. You shake your head, tongue useless and limp. You don’t know what that thing is that he conceals, but you’re terrified of it, and of what it represents. Your unmaking at Wesker’s hands.

He laughs darkly at your innocence, lowering his body until you can feel the warmth he radiates just above you. “I didn’t think so. This is how I’m going to fuck you, dearheart. Now watch.”

Slowly, teasingly, he pulls away his pants, revealing his strong, bare legs- and a long length of flesh standing at attention just between them. The sight of it makes your throat close up, and your stomach drops out as you realize he intends to put that thing inside of you. Your eyes meet his, beseeching him to see reason. “That won’t fit,” you rush out, closing your legs to hide your cunt from him, “whatever that is, it won’t fit inside me, you- you can’t-!”

Wesker merely laughs, shaking his head, condescension radiating from him. “Keep telling yourself that, little Endling. Now, relax your body for me- it will hurt less.” He looms over you like a predator cornering his prey. And you lay before him, helpless, a doe left to bleed out and gasp her last breath around sharp teeth in her throat. You try to follow his advice, you do, but it’s far easier said than done. Despite your best efforts your body continues to tense and tremble, little whimpers escaping your parted lips.

He takes notice of your failed efforts to lay limp, it seems, because he sighs. His hand, so much larger than yours, takes your wrist and brings it to the thing he intends to force into you. You gasp at the sudden contact, but it’s such a new, foreign sensation- warm, velvety, and firm in your palm. He pulses in your grasp and lets out a hitched breath at your touch. “That’s it,” he groans, clearly pleasured, and lowers his head to rest in the crook of your neck, “familiarize yourself with my cock. Worship it. Worship me.” Wesker’s breath is hot against your throat, and everything begins to blur into a haze of intoxicating sensation.

You move your hand carefully around his cock, clumsy and unsure of yourself, but certain that such a sensitive part of him could be very easily hurt. Briefly, the thought of taking advantage of that arises, but you push it away. Attacking him, especially like this, would only make things worse. And besides, knowing that you hold his most delicate component in your hand, bringing him the same pleasure he soaked you in, makes your heart flutter. The flared head calls to you, a bead of opaque liquid forming atop it, and you carefully rub a fingertip against the smooth skin. The resulting moan, baritone and delicious, makes your cunt pulse in turn. His pleasure, you realize, is as addictive and terrifying as your own.

Your hand falters in its movements as you feel Wesker’s mouth against your heated skin again. This time, his touch is deviously soft, sensual. He laves his tongue over the sensitive parts of your neck, presses hot kisses to your sternum, tastes your flesh with deliberate tenderness. He hums in satisfaction at your taste, making you squeeze your thighs together, chasing any hint of pleasure. “You taste divine, my dear, has anyone told you? Maybe if you’re good, I’ll sample your cunt directly. Mmm, I can only imagine how delicious it is.” His murmurs are seared into your tender skin, praise that makes your soul feel full and needy for more. With each kiss, each warm press of his body against yours and each buck of his hips into your hand, you fall further and further into submission. Your body begins to relax, tension sapped from your bones and distilled into pure serenity. You try to remind yourself of the pain he brings, the ways he has hurt you, but it seems so trivial in comparison to the hazy almost-bliss he lets you fall into. Lazily, you move your hand up and down across his cock, gentle strokes that make him hum long and low in the base of his throat.

Suddenly, he pulls away from your heated skin. “Stop,” he orders, and on instinct, you do. You pull your hand away, cradling it to your chest like he burned it. “I’d much rather cum inside you. Now breathe deeply, little Endling. In and out.”

Your traitorous body, relaxed and warm beneath him, is all too eager for him to enter you. Wesker moves slowly, surely, aligning the tip of his cock with your fluttering hole. You whine as he taps it against the sensitive flesh, hips twitching in want. Anticipatory nerves flare through you, but your desperation for pleasure wins out over them. To brace yourself for him, you grip the sheets beneath you in tight, trembling fists and take a deep breath.

Your exhalation is cut short, morphing into a strangled gasp as Wesker’s cock pushes its way into you in one smooth thrust.

In perfect synergy, pain and euphoria fill your body like two streams confluencing into a pond. Your core sings at being filled, stuffed to the brim and then some- but at what cost? Wesker lets out a choked moan as he sheathes himself fully in your heat, pressing his hips flush to yours. As he does, you feel something within your cunt stretch, and then snap. It’s a sensation that overpowers everything else with cold terror, as more sharp agony tears through you, radiating from your cunt.

Something must be wrong, something must be broken. You attempt to pull yourself together, to push away from the man on top of you, but his weight is too much. He snarls at your apparent refusal, a hand around your throat forcing you to lay back down. “Be still,” he orders, gritting his teeth against the pleasure your fluttering walls inflict, “don’t make me discipline you again.”

Helpless beneath him, you can only let the excruciating pain wash over you in fiery waves, clenching down around Wesker’s cock as you heave. He remains still, thankfully, allowing you to adjust to the sensation; a small shard of mercy you take gladly. After a few moments (stretched by the pain into lifetimes), the discomfort becomes familiar, and something in you changes. Lodged deep inside you, his cock prods against your innermost flesh, taunting your wanton core. You need more from him, you realize as the pain becomes bearable, you need him to move.

No sooner do you think that than Wesker decides to move, languidly pulling out and smoothly thrusting in again. The fluid movement punches the air from you again, and you let out a choked moan as something eases his reentry. Peeking down, a stream of gold catches your eye, radiant and bright against his hips. Ichor.

You are split in two, now. One half of you feels sick, just like you did when you first woke up to his apotheosis, horrified by the knowledge that he’s drawn your Ichor, and from such a delicate place. And the other half somehow curls in desire as your lifeblood lubricates his cock, allowing him to spear you even more easily. Every act of violence only draws you closer to him and the forbidden euphoria he brings. A long, drawn-out oh escapes you, choked with hiccuping cries as pleasure is punched into you. Evidently, your turmoil shows on your tear-streaked face, because between smooth, experienced thrusts, Wesker leans down so that he’s nearly kissing you again.

“Stop. Thinking,” he orders, punctuating each word with a particularly-deep thrust of his hips. His cock slams into that spongy spot just behind your clit, flooding your nervous system with pleasure, so much so that you barely register that he’s spoken. You let out a pitiful cry, a moan like an animal, and he laughs in cruel pleasure at the mess he’s made of you. “That’s it. Think about this instead, hm?” He hisses, sending a tendril of Uroboros down to assault your throbbing clit, “You know why I call you an Endling? Go on, answer your Master.”

The question comes out of left field and you can’t do much but let out a confused whine in response. You shake your head fervently, unsure if you trust yourself to do anything but moan out a stream of Please and Wesker and any number of incomprehensible sounds. But he has other ideas. “You have a tongue. Use it,” he demands, petering off into a deep moan as he humps your helpless body.

After much effort, and at the threatening way Wesker’s hips suddenly slow down, you force your mouth to work. “N-no, I don’t- please -I don’t know why,” you keen, tacking on a weak Master at the end in response to the expectant look he gives you. It’s somewhat a lie- you can hedge a bet. But you don’t want to entertain the thought until you have to. It makes you sick just considering it.

Your worst fears are confirmed when his lips curl into a wicked grin, full of malice and bloodlust. “It’s because I’m going to slaughter them- every last one,” he promises, his eyes burning, “until only you and I remain.” His vow made, the dark god once again forces his mouth down onto yours, swallowing your cry of horrified ecstasy.

He’s much gentler this time, and you sob into the kiss as he passionately entwines his tongue with yours. You throw yourself into the decadent sensations, desperate to ignore the terrible fate he’s condemned the ones you once called family to. Most of all, you’re desperate to ignore the vicious, angry part of you that can’t wait for their demise. Maybe they deserve it, that part screeches like a mournful eagle, maybe they should all burn for abandoning me. That dark part of you is unfamiliar and horrifying, and you weep harder against it and the pleasure Wesker fills you with.

The two sensations- euphoria and horror -should be completely antithetical, completely separate. But somehow, they entwine like his tongue with yours, like two snakes wrapped around a Caduceus. The intensity doubles as the emotions mix, battling for dominance in your mind and your body. Ultimately, inevitably, it’s pleasure that wins, and you abandon any fear in the face of that all-consuming heat.

As Wesker steals every breath you take, smothering your mouth and punching the air from your body with each deliberate thrust, your impending climax only grows in scope. Between kisses, you cry out to him in desperation. “Please,” you sob, “please, Master, I want- I want it, I want to- to cum, please make me cum-“ you trail off into a scream of pleasure as the tendril fondles your clit just right, sending you hurtling closer to the edge. He chuckles in response, devouring your submission with eager hunger, drowning you in himself.

With each heated press of his lips to yours, all your thoughts cease to exist. With each moment you spend being lavished and ravished, you drift further and further into the depths of submission from which there is no return. But then again, what do you have to return to? The answer, of course, is nothing. The gods cast you aside, gave you to Wesker like a war prize, and ignored your pleas for mercy. You have no place among them. For better or for worse, your new life begins here. With Wesker.

It’s with this reluctant conclusion that the stars align. Pulling just a hair’s breadth away from your kiss-swollen lips, his voice is like liquid fire. “Then scream my name, little Endling.”

And you do. By your own name and by the names of every god who abandoned you, you do. It feels like true apotheosis, like you’re only now being truly born and everything before was merely a hollow imitation. On instinct, you wrap your legs around Wesker’s waist, pushing him further into you and keeping him locked deep inside your core. He seems to have no complaints, giving a glorious moan into your mouth as his cock twitches and his thrusts begin to halt. His hips stutter, his voice even breaks, and he refuses to pull away. Between the eden of his touch and the ambrosial afterglow of your orgasm, you squirm in confusion as you feel something fill you from the inside. His cock pulsates, shooting a warm liquid deep into your cunt, and it feels strange but at the same time so profoundly right. Like this is merely how it’s meant to be.

For a while, everything is still. There are no sounds except your racing heart and your shared panting. As the tide of pleasure draws back, you start to feel a bitter self-loathing creep in. You try to cling to the warmth of before, but that crawling thought of what have I done what have I done what have I done coils around you like a snake. Your breathing picks up and you feel you’re about to cry again.

Seemingly, Wesker notices your deteriorating state, pulling away languidly from your body and looking upon you with sated eyes. His breathing is still deep, still winded from finding his release in you. “Perfect. My little plaything, broken and bred, all for me. You and I will start a new era of divinity; our bloodline will reign supreme.”

Your voice is wet when you speak up. Your vision is misty. “Our- our bloodline?” You croak, hiccuping as you try to hold back the tears.

His gaze softens, as does his voice, as he takes in your wrecked body. “Yes. You’ll bear my children. That’s what this-“ he gives one lazy thrust, forcing his spend deeper inside and making you yelp “-is for.” He watches your lip tremble for a moment and sighs softly, a sort of pity on his face. “Go on, little one. Cry if you need to.”

You don’t know what it is about him giving you permission that sets you off, but it does, and you do. You squeeze your eyes shut, letting out a weak sob, which only grows louder at the endeared chuckle Wesker makes at the sight of you. You feel utterly wretched, like the pleasure of before has taken a terrible price in return. Against your better judgment, you wrap your arms around your captor and pull him closer, desperate for any sort of comfort, even if it comes from him. Mercifully, he obliges, one broad palm cradling the back of your skull and allowing the embrace. You shudder, weeping softly but no less forcefully in your exhaustion. All the while, his softening cock remains lodged within you, keeping his seed safely inside. You want to go home. You want to travel back in time to before this day, to before Wesker was even born, when you were happy and pampered and accepted among the pantheon. You wonder if you’ll ever even see your Domain again, with its comforting familiarity and soft light, and the thought of never sleeping in your own bed again makes you wail into Wesker’s warm chest.

Blessedly, he offers no platitudes- no false notions of everything being alright. He merely allows you to find solace in his arms and cry yourself out. You don’t know how long it takes you to calm down, but by the time that hot metal ball in your throat has dissipated, your eyes are dry. Once your cries have finally abated, Wesker gathers you further into his arms and gradually slips his cock out of you, an awkward sensation that makes you cringe. Your lips part to ask what he’s doing, but a tendril of Uroboros presses softly against them. “Hush, pet. I’m going to clean you up.” That’s all the warning you get before that same syrupy feeling of teleportation overtakes you, and suddenly, you’re both in the bathing room again.

The sensation of hot water on your tender skin is unexpected, and you seize up in caution until you realize he teleported the two of you directly into the tub, your head the only part of your body not submerged. After getting your bearings, you let out a deep sigh, relaxing into Wesker’s hold. The heat of the water feels utterly heavenly, seeping into your bones and chasing away the awful drop you just experienced. He, too, relaxes, letting out a deep groan of relief as the bath soothes his body. You can’t bring yourself to move even a little. He has ripped away all your strength and left you boneless, pliant. He encounters no resistance as he sits you up in his lap and begins slowly washing your hair.

The peaceful, pregnant silence is broken only by the gentle sound of flowing water. Occasionally, Wesker will extend an arm, and Uroboros will retrieve a container from the far shelves for him. You say nothing as he massages some kind of shampoo into your hair, his fingers pressing against your scalp. As he cups his hands to wash away the soap, he sighs. “There’s something on your mind, isn’t there,” he murmurs, brushing your locks with his fingers, “You can ask whatever questions you want- but I might not answer them.”

Slowly, you blink, emerging from the warm pool of beeswax your mind was within. You don’t turn. Your voice is soft, sated, and sleepy. “You’re really going to kill them?” You whisper, almost terrified of the answer.

You can almost hear the soft smile on his face. “I am. Do you object to that, dearheart?”

Your silence, choked and shameful, is his answer. You don’t object. Or, more accurately, you can’t. You are too broken down to deny that vengeful little part of yourself any further. You grow teary-eyed again at the realization that even if you could, it wouldn’t make any difference. You are, as always, powerless in the face of divinity far superior to you.

Wesker senses your inner despair, pulling you back into his chest. His body radiates a comforting warmth, pulsating into your own. “Hush. No more tears, now,” he says, hands rising from the water to wipe away your sorrow. Even this banal touch is electrifying upon your delicate skin. He leans forward to whisper in your ear, lips caressing the shell. “If you behave,” he promises, “I’ll teach you everything they neglected to. I’ll give you the answers you need.”

It’s a promise you’ll hold him to. You want the words to explain to yourself what he’s doing to you. You want to know how to articulate the agony (and the ecstasy) of this day. If he can give you that much… well. The thought of captivity doesn’t sit well with you, but in the end, have you not just traded one cage for another? At least, with him, you can see the bars for what they are. At least, with Wesker, you know where you stand.

As you fade, exhausted, into sleep, you take comfort in knowing this much for certain: there is one good thing that separates your captor from the gods you once called family. With the way he holds you to his chest and reminds you that you are his, you know that he would rip the earth asunder to ensure you stay with him.

It’s enough to almost make you smile as you close your eyes.

#Albert Wesker #Albert Wesker x reader #smut #resident evil #resident evil smut #resident evil x reader #my writing #writers on tumblr #writers on AO3 #Nsft #Rebhfun #Mine #from the desk of Lovelace #I AM SO GLAD TO BE DONE WITH THIS WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO #ask to tag #tw hard kinks

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writingonleaves · 2 months ago

Text

write me into your thoughts (i'll be safe with the words on the page) - jack hughes

pairing: jack hughes x amelie fishel (reckless driving au)

warnings: swearing, not proofread nearly enough lol, not much else i can think of!

inspired by + title: "on the page" by maggie rogers

word count: 15k

author's note: hi everyone! thank you for your patience. i had a wonderful time writing this one - it's always fun digging into jack and amelie's relationship. this is a part two, so if you haven't already, please read part one here! please let me know what you think and flood my inbox with all your thoughts!! worlds like this only come alive with you all, so any feedback you have, i'd love to hear it. i hope you enjoy❤️

taglist: @ru-kru, @bunbunbl0gs (lmk if you wanna be added)

amelie

Their first official date happens later than both Amelie and Jack would’ve liked.

They have to postpone it twice. The first is because Amelie is assigned to cover an Islanders pre-season game last minute. The second is because Jack forgets that he has a thing with Hockey in New Jersey until the night before. Both of them wanted to get away in Prague with just each other for a few hours but it proved to be too complicated, both with the actual scheduling and wanting to keep it on the down low from the team, especially because they’re not really anything yet and she just started the job and he respects that.

The Devils had asked her to tag along with some of the guys even on their off day to compile some sort of photo collage. They didn’t really give her many instructions, so she took that as an invitation to be creative. She switched between disposable, digital and film and had a lot of fun doing it, tagging along as they did touristy things and enjoyed each other’s company during meals.

At first, she was a bit intimidated at inserting herself into a group of guys who had just met. It took her the first full season of covering Michigan hockey before she even felt comfortable. But Curtis Lazar specifically took her in, introducing his family to her and treating her like an uncle would. Amelie just let the guys riff off each other while she snapped pictures whenever it felt right. Whatever she did, the team seemed to like, and that’s more than okay with her.

(She got some awesome pictures of a few of them on film that she didn’t necessarily think are the best to put out to the public but she thinks they or their families might appreciate them. She saves those, and vows to herself to try to do that as much as she can, making sure that her love of photography doesn’t just boil down to her job.

She has more than a few pictures of Jack, whether purposefully or not. They’ll be of use someday.)

The time they got to really let loose was the night after the second game, with everyone in high spirits after winning both games against Buffalo. Amelie had squeezed Seamus for an extra long time when she first saw him after the game and everyone was dressed to go out.

Both of them being rookies as Wolverine alums. It’s kinda touching. At least, everyone else thinks it does. Amelie does too, really, but she’s just trying not to fuck up at her very new and very cool job. The sentimentality of it all hasn’t quite hit her yet.

She’s trying to ignore Jack’s eyes that seem to always be on her. Right now, she just needs to focus on Prague and then deal with whatever that is when they get back to Jersey.

The day after the Devils home opener, she gets a text from Jack.

Jack Hughes

is today finally the day?

Amelie Fishel

i’m free! are you?

Jack Hughes

;)

just got out of morning skate

lunch? and we can walk around after?

or would you rather do dinner?

Amelie Fishel

lunch sounds good

you want me to pick a place?

Jack Hughes

i got it

11:30 okay? i’ll pick you up

Amelie Fishel

that’s perfect

see you soon!!

Amelie swallows as she looks into her closet. It doesn’t really matter. Jack’s seen her going-out outfits as well as her lounging at home fits. But she wants to feel good and comfortable because she doesn’t really know what to expect.

She’s surprised Jack has seemed to be so receptive, even though she’s the one who messed it all up that July night.

With a white sweater and black leggings on, she ties a black ribbon into her hair and takes a deep breath, just as her phone buzzes.

Jack Hughes

what’s your apt #

Amelie Fishel

She spritzes her perfume on just as she hears a knock on her door. She grabs her bag, slips on her boots and goes to open the front door.

Amelie swallows as she opens the door. Jack looks up from his phone, quickly slips it into his pocket, and smiles sweetly. He’s wearing an olive green jacket over a white shirt, tucked into blue jeans. His curls look good and she takes a deep breath.

“Hi,” he breathes out.

“Hey.” She looks down at the singular pink tulip in his hand.

He clears his throat. “I, uh, walked past the floral shop like, a block away from here? And I just..thought of you.”

“Oh,” she mutters softly. “Thank you. Let me put it in a vase and then we’ll head out.”

“Yeah, of course,” he says. “Take your time.”

Amelie fetches a mason jar and cuts the stem so that it’s proportionate. After admiring it for a second as it sits on her kitchen table, she walks back to the door, making sure she has her keys. She debates reaching for his hand, but she doesn’t, as they walk towards the elevator.

She notices that he leaves some distance between them as he leans his back against the wall. She must be giving him a look without realizing, because he lets out a nervous laugh. “What?”

“What?”

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You’re making me nervous.”

“How?”

“I don’t know!” She vaguely gestures. “Why are you so…quiet?”

He laughs, and she smiles at the sound. “Sorry,” he says genuinely. “I’m not trying to be…I just don’t wanna mess this up again.”

All humor washes away from Amelie’s face as her stomach churns, watching Jack fidget. “I’m the one that lied to you, Jack,” she says softly. “You have nothing to make up for.”

“Maybe,” he admits. “But that doesn’t mean I didn’t do things wrong either. I wanna do it right this time. I’m sorry if I’m being weird.”

She can’t take it anymore, scooting herself closer to him and intertwining their hands together. Immediately, he squeezes them.

This might be their first official date. But she thinks she’s been his for awhile now, Even when they weren’t talking.

In hindsight, Amelie knew that lying to Jack, even if it was only for a few days, was the wrong move the second she did it. It took talking to her sisters, some friends and fucking Ethan Edwards for her to stop beating herself up about it so much and focus on moving forward and making it better (“if that’s something you want to do,” Ethan had added over the phone when she was close to hyperventilating. “You have endless chances to make up for lying. It’s obvious he still cares about you. You just need to do something about it. He’d forgive you in a heartbeat, Ami.”)

She had convinced herself that Jack wouldn’t want to hear her out, and that working adjacent with his team would just be filled with polite exchanges and nothing more. But then they locked eyes at Media Day and he caught her trying to get herself together and told her that he’d always say yes to her, whatever the fuck that means.

They’re walking out to the parking lot when Jack tugs their hands to a light stop in front of his car. He opens the passenger seat door, but pauses. She turns to him in confusion.

“You okay?” He asks, eyebrows pinched in concern. “I lost you for a bit.”

She tries to smile convincingly. “Yeah. Sorry.”

“Amelie, we don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” he swallows. “If you-”

“No,” she says firmly, slipping into the seat. She’s not gonna let misunderstandings come between them again. “I want to do this. I’m just…freaking out a bit?”

He starts the engine before turning towards her. “Yeah, yeah. I get that. It’s just me though.”

She huffs. Because that’s partially the problem. She changes the subject. “Where are we going?”

“Clee likes this place called Elysian Cafe? I think it’s French.”

Amelie hums. “Sounds good.” She looks over to him. “Who knows this is happening?”

“The date?”

“Yeah.”

“Luke and Clee, obviously. Quinn. Probably Nico through Clee. Or me. I probably mentioned it to him. Why?”

She shrugs. “Just want to know what I’m working with.”

“Who knows on your end?”

“Just Col and Char,” she chuckles slightly at the memory. “They’re the ones who convinced me to try again in the first place.”

“Then I know who I have to thank,” Jack smiles. “You-I hope that’s okay that I told them?”

She shrugs. “They’re your siblings. Or dating one of them. I wouldn’t have any right to feel upset, especially because I did the same thing.”

“But you work with two of them.”

Right. Yeah. Part of the reason they had their whole misunderstanding in the summer. She takes a deep breath. “Yeah. I’m trying to get over that hump for myself. But it’s not something neither of us can control, I guess.”

He becomes quiet, before, “I’m sorry I didn’t understand that before, like, why that mattered so much to you.”

She blinks as they wait at a light, the turn signal flicking being their only soundtrack. “That’s okay. I lied to you, so we were both in the wrong.”

“But you did it for good reason and I didn’t see that at the time,” he runs a hand through his hair.

Amelie swallows down any doubt and leans over to kiss Jack lightly on the cheek. “I appreciate that. Thank you.”

One side of his lips quirk up into his signature smirk. Amelie doesn’t even roll her eyes. “So how’s the start of the job been? Busy?”

“Very,” she settles back in the seat. “But good. Media day was nuts, as you saw. Prague was really fun. Pre-season was good but crazy. I’m sure I’ll get used to it soon.”

“Have you been able to explore Jersey much? Or go into Manhattan?”

“Not really,” she admits. “When I do have free time I’ve been unpacking and sleeping. I’m on duty for the Rangers when you guys are on the road trip though so maybe I’ll have more time to explore the city then if I’m not too tired.”

He pouts slightly. “What am I supposed to be telling everyone? That my girlfriend works for the enemy?”

“I work for your team too, loser,” she shoots back, before hesitating. “Girlfriend’s a bit presumptuous, no?”

“It is,” he admits. “But I’m hoping by the end of this date and however many more that I can make it an easier decision for you.”

Amelie’s half stunned at his boldness. But then she remembers that they have kissed multiple times. It just feels different without the fragility of summer and Michigan. It feels different in New Jersey. Almost forbidden. But she knows those are just boundaries she’s put up all on her own.

She tries to push that down. She can’t keep getting lost in her own head. Jack’s right here. “How about you? Season starting out okay? Is that a stupid question?”

He chuckles. “Season’s good, I think. Prague was definitely very fun. I don’t know. You don’t wanna look too ahead, you know? Just focus on the next few games. Work on what you need to work on.”

Amelie can’t help but snort. “Very diplomatic of you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Did you spit that out to a journalist earlier?”

He sputters, “You asked!”

She chuckles. “I know.”

When they reach the restaurant, they’re not even sitting down at their table yet when Amelie’s skin prickles up. She can feel someone watching them. She’s proven right when a young teenager politely asks for a picture right after they get seated. The interaction takes all of 30 seconds but Jack looks so apologetic afterwards.

“I’m sorry,” he says after the boy walks away.

“It’s all good,” she replies sincerely before grinning with a light shrug. “I know you’re a big deal.”

“Still. I don’t-”

“Jack,” he shuts up immediately, looking at her like she’s the only person in the world. “It’s fine. I promise.” They both thank the waiter as he fills up their glasses. “How is everyone? Luke and Quinn and Clementine and all them.”

“They’re good,” he says, automatically more at ease talking about his family. “I mean, you see Luke so you know. Quinn seems to be doing well up there with the Canucks. Just start of the season stuff. And Clee’s good. Really busy at the hospital so I’ve barely seen her, to be honest.”

“Do you like living with them?”

“I love it,” he replies honestly. “Living with both of them is like, I don’t know. It feels like childhood again. But we’re all grown up and not as stupid as before. Well, me and Luke. Clee’s always been smart. But no, it’s fun living with them. I’m not sure how long it’ll be until Clee moves out so I’ll take what I can get.”

“She’s moving out?”

Jack shrugs. They both order — mussels to share for an appetizer, a burger for him and fish tacos for her. He waits until the waiter walks away. “She hasn’t said anything yet. But her and Nico are getting pretty serious. I mean, I guess they’ve only been dating for, like, 6 months, but I could see her moving in with him sooner rather than later.”

She hums. “How do you feel about that? Like, them being together. It has to be a bit weird, right?”

“It can be,” he drums his fingers on the table. “Last season, I joked a lot about it. But then it actually happened and it was like, woah, my older sister is now dating my captain and two parts of my life are combining in a way that it hasn’t before. But they’re pretty good at like, the separation I guess. Not that-I really like them together. I think they’re actually really good for each other. He calms her down and she knocks some sense into his head.” He chuckles and Amelie realizes how much she loves that sound. “I would’ve introduced them earlier if I’d known how good they would be together.”

“I can’t imagine living with either of my sisters, to be honest, even if I love them.”

“Why is that?”

“I think I need my own space.”

He hums, and before she can overthink about how that may come across, he switches topics. “So what did you get up to the rest of the summer?”

Overthinking about how I left things with you is the honest answer, but they don’t need to get into that. “Not much, I guess. Packed. Hung around. Saw some friends. Went to a concert.”

“Who did you see?”

“I don’t know if you know her. Lizzy McAlpine?”

“I don’t. Text me some of your favorite songs from her later. I’ll listen to them.”

She chuckles. “I don’t really think it’s your type of music.”

“What’s your favorite song by her?”

“Uh uh,” she teases with a wry smile. “You don’t get to have that information yet.”

“I’ll earn it,” he says, a bit too seriously for their topic of conversation. “So, concerts. You know, everyone usually comes by to New York City. I’m sure you’ll be able to catch some people there.”

“You an expert on NYC?”

Jack shrugs. “Not really, considering, you know, all this. But when we have a few days off I like to go in. I have some spots I enjoy a lot.”

“We should go in sometime and you can show me your spots.”

His lips spread slowly into a grin. “Yeah?”

She nods, looking down at her lap. “Yeah. Whenever I get my feet under me.”

“It seems like you’re handling everything just fine,” he says.

Amelie lets out a laugh as she leans back. “I’m really good at faking it.”

“Luke misses you.”

“I just saw him yesterday.”

“No, I know, but like, just hanging out with you. He’s started bugging me about the three of us hanging out like we did in Michigan.”

“We’re not in Michigan anymore.”

“Sure, but what’s the difference?”

She’s saved from answering as their food comes.

Lunch is delicious and fun and light and Jack is exactly how she remembers from the summer, even if the October chill is settling in and they’re not in the MIchigan sunshine anymore. Seeing Jack against the windows of a cafe in Hoboken, looking at ease, at her, nothing has changed between them. But also, so many things have.

She wishes she could fully enjoy and let go of … whatever has been in her gut since she hid her sobs in her hand at her grandparents’ house. Jack has been doing everything right and she’s trying to enjoy herself.

(She’s scared)

They decide to walk around for a bit after they eat, not wanting to leave each other’s company quite yet. They’re walking through a park and admiring the empty fountain when Jack laughs.

“Uh oh.”

She’s confused. “What?”

Jack chuckles, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I don’t know. You look like you’re about to say something that you don’t think I’m gonna like.”

She blinks. Fuck. “Am I that obvious?”

“No,” he admits. “Lucky guess. Or maybe I just know you. Spill. What’s going on in that pretty head?”

She stares at her shoes. Be brave, she tells herself. “Can you-can we take this slow? I-I know that we aren’t really starting from step one but I-I,” she trails off, trying to steady her voice.

“Hey,” he mutters softly, pulling her to the side of the path so they don’t block people. “I was kidding earlier about the girlfriend stuff. I don’t care about that. I care about you and whatever pace you want to go at. Or no pace if that’s something you also want to do.”

“And you’d be okay with no pace at all?”

She stares at his adam's apple bopping up and down. “If that’s what you wanted. I’m obviously not, not gonna force you into anything you don’t want to be in. I’m not that much of an asshole.” He chuckles weakly.

She realizes suddenly that Jack actually thinks there’s a chance of her turning him down. A chance of her saying she doesn’t want anything to do with him, which is definitely not the case. She knows she wants him. She just doesn’t know what that looks like yet, which is why:

“We can take it slow?” She asks.

“Whatever pace you want,” he assures. “Whatever you want.”

“And the team?”

“What about the team?”

“Well, they’ll have to know, right? I might not work for the Devils directly but there’s a conflict of interest there.”

“They don’t have to know anything,” he assures. “Definitely not yet. Once they do, we’ll figure it out together.”

She bites her lip, because yeah, that sounds nice, but he’s untouchable in the grand scheme of things. She’s much more disposable in comparison. “Jack.”

“We’ll figure it out together,” he repeats. “I promise.”

And promises have never really meant much to Amelie. But the look in Jack’s eyes is so comforting and insistent that she can’t do anything but believe him.

*****

jack

It’s getting colder now, as it does in early to mid October in Jersey. Jack rubs his hands together as he locks his car. He has the day off today after playing the Caps last night and Amelie also has the day off. The plan is to spend a day in New York City. He hasn’t heard from her this morning, which is a bit unusual, but that doesn’t phase him as he enters the elevator and then stops in front of Amelie’s apartment.

Three crisp knocks and he’s shoving his hands in his coat pockets and rocking back and forth. It takes upwards to a minute before the door is cracked open. The automatic smile on his face quickly drops into a concerned frown when he sees her.

“Are you okay?”

Amelie, hair messed up, in a Michigan t-shirt and flannel pajama bottoms, responds with three consecutive sneezes. “Shit,” she sniffles. “I thought I texted you.”

He closes the door behind him and lets himself in her apartment. “What happened?”

“Woke up feeling like crap,” she coughs into her elbow. “Coughing, sneezing, a bit of a sore throat. I think it’s a bad cold.”

“So no frolicking to the city, I assume?” He jokes lightly.

Her shoulders deflate. “I’m sorry. I was really looking forward to it..”

“No stress,” he assures gently. He untangles her crossed arms and squeezes her fingers gently. “Go lay down on the couch.”

Her eyebrows furrow. “Huh?”

“Do you have things in the kitchen to make soup?”

“No?” She blinks. “I was supposed to go grocery shopping tomorrow.”

He hums. “Okay. I’ll run to the store. Do you have medicine?”

She blinks again, her brain catching up. “You don’t have to stay. You’ll get sick.”

“I’m staying. Do you have medicine?” He repeats. She nods. He presses a kiss on her forehead, another wave of concern washing over him as he notes how clammy it is. “Hang tight, baby. I’ll be back soon.”

“You really don’t have to stay.”

“I want to,” Jack swallows. “If you really want me to go, I will. But you’re not feeling well, and I’d like to help out.”

A few seconds of silence before Amelie nods, rubbing her nose. “Okay. Thank you.”

“Anytime. I’ll be quick.”

It takes 30 minutes for Jack to grab ingredients from the note on his Notes app for a basic chicken noodle soup recipe that his mom sent him way back in his rookie year, some cough drops, extra cold medicine, and call Clementine in a panic to check that he isn’t forgetting anything (“She probably just needs to sleep it off,” Clementine says, traces of Nico’s voice in the background). Jack had grabbed Amelie’s keys from her counter when he left so he lets himself back in quietly, finding Amelie laying down on the couch.

“Hey,” he announces himself with a soft voice. Amelie just lets out something between a groan and a sigh. “That bad?”

“No. I’m just being dramatic,” she pouts, scrolling through Netflix. “I wanna watch something but I know what. Do you have a preference?”

Jack starts unpacking the bag in her kitchen. “You’re the one who’s sick. I’m fine with whatever.”

“Have you ever seen La La Land?”

“I have not.”

“Of course you haven’t. We’re watching it. It’s my comfort movie.”

“Gimme, like, 15 minutes?” He asks. “I need to prepare the soup.”

“Sure,” she yawns. “I should probably take a shower.”

“You’ll definitely feel better.”

She lets her hair out of her hair tie. “Just tell me I look like shit next time.”

He gives her a look, shaking his head. “You never look like shit.”

Amelie scoffs lightly with a small smile, getting off the couch. “Sure, Jack.”

“Shoo,” he flicks his hand. “Delicious chicken noodle soup coming to you soon.”

17 minutes later, the soup is simmering on the stove and Amelie walks back out with damp hair. She coughs heartily and winces, coming to the kitchen and pouring herself a glass of water. “It smells good.”

Jack almost beams. “Thanks. An Ellen Weinberg-Hughes specialty.”

She hums. “Movie time?”

“Well, it’s one of your favorites. So we have to.”

When they get to the couch and Amelie presses play, he hesitates. He wants to put an arm around her and let her snuggle against his side, but he doesn’t want her to be uncomfortable. As the opening number starts, he doesn’t have to overthink it any longer, because she pulls the blanket over both of them and leans the side of her head against his shoulder. He swears she can feel the smile on his face when he kisses her temple.

Two hours later, two empty bowls are on the table in front of them, there are tear streaks on Amelie’s face and Jack is a bit confused. “That’s your comfort movie?”

“Yeah. Don’t pretend you didn’t like it.”

“That’s not what I’m saying,” he blinks. “I’m just saying that it seems pretty sad to be a movie that comforts you.”

She shrugs. “It’s sad, but it’s also life. And it’s beautiful. And it’s about moments and how sometimes, things just aren’t meant to be. It’s realistic.”

He hums in affirmation. “Not a dreamer, eh?”

“I wish I was more of one,” she admits. “Sometimes I feel like I’m limiting myself because I don’t want to dream too big because I feel like I’ll inevitably be disappointed.”

“I don’t think you could disappoint anyone,” he rushes out.

“It’s not about what other people think,” she says with a light cough, staring ahead at the TV. “It’s about what I think of myself.”

And, well, yeah. Jack knows that feeling all too well.

“You’re doing awesome, you know?” He says, trying to offer some encouragement as they face each other, knees barely touching. “I mean, I’m not going to pretend I understand every aspect of your job, but I’ve heard from Josh and, just from seeing how hard you work and how much you care about it, especially because you’re new…don’t stress out about it. You’re doing great.”

“You think?”

“Of course.”

“Thanks.”

“You don’t sound so sure,” he teases.

One side of her lips quirk up, as she tilts her head to the side in thought. “I guess it wasn’t really my professional life I was talking about with the whole dreamer question.”

“So your personal life?”

“Yeah. I don’t know. La La Land is so heartbreaking but it’s also, at its core, a story about love and dreams and…” She trails off, avoiding eye contact with him.

Jack swallows. Guess he’ll be the brave one. “So you’re a romantic.”

“Is that surprising?”

“A bit. But not in a bad way.”

“I don’t know if I’ve ever let myself really believe that I am one, if that makes sense.” It doesn’t, but she pays him no mind, a furrow in her eyebrow indicating that she’s piecing her thoughts together. “I think for awhile, I just convinced myself it wouldn’t ever amount to anything. So instead of ever, I don’t know, thinking that I would find someone who really just likes me for me in that way, I figured no one ever would. Which sucks, because I’ve always wanted that.”

He wants to say so much, but nothing comes out of his mouth except for an affirming hum. “The movie was great.”

She blinks, a smile spreading on her face. “You think?”

“Yeah. But you should sleep,” he tucks a piece of her hair behind her ear. “I’m surprised you didn’t conk out during.”

Her lips turn into a pout, “I usually would fight you, but I don’t have the strength.”

“Bed or couch?”

She yawns, already leaning her head on a pillow. “I’m not moving.” Before Jack can think about what he’s going to do, she makes grabby hands in his direction. “Nap time.”

“Me too?”

“You have other places to be?” She asks, eyes already closed.

He tucks himself next to her and pulls the blanket over them both. “Nowhere but here.”

(“Thanks for coming today,” Amelie says hours later, leaning her hip against the doorway as Jack’s about to head home. It’s already 10 p.m., and he has practice tomorrow morning.

“Do you feel better?” He asks. She nods. “Then that’s all that matters.”

“But what if you wake up tomorrow and you’re sick? Still gonna like me then?”

And he knows she’s half-teasing, but he ducks down to leave a lingering kiss on her cheek. “Of course.”

She hums, rubbing her eyes. “And thanks for the soup. I’m gonna have enough to last me for days.”

“That was the idea.” He shoves his hands in his pockets. “Am I gonna see you Friday?”

“Unless I get worse, then I should be there,” she nods, before wrapping her arms around his waist. “See you later.”

“Bye, babe.”

“Wait,” he turns back around as she leans her head on the doorway. “‘Staying.’”

“Hm?”

“That’s my favorite Lizzy McAlpine song. Or one of them.”

“‘Staying?’ That’s what it’s called?” She nods. He tucks that into the back of his mind. “Okay. I’ll let you know what I think.”

“Goodnight, Jack.”

“Night.”)

amelie

It’s been a crazy month of ups and downs, but Amelie isn’t lying when she tells her family that she loves her job.

Sometimes she feels a bit out of her element, like when she can’t get a good angle on a shot no matter how hard she tries or when the dynamics of being a part of a professional sports organization (and sometimes, with the teams she covers, it feels like multiple organizations in one) are harder to figure out than usual. But then the familiar sounds of a game flood through her ears and she reaches up to touch the ribbon in her hair — switching between red, orange or blue depending on what team she’s shooting — and she takes a deep breath and feels okay again.

More often than not, if she’s at the Rock, she catches Jack’s eye, or a glimpse of his hair, or even just the 86 and it brings her a sense of calm.

They don’t interact that much at work besides hellos and some stolen short conversations here or there. She’s usually busy running around during pre-game and then he’s playing when they’re actually in the same proximity.

She has a moment after shooting an Islanders game and then getting the notification that Jack had just scored in a game against Colorado in their arena. Before she leaves the parking lot, she clicks on Jack’s contact anyways, waiting to leave a voicemail.

“Hey, uh, congrats on the goal. Unsure if you win since the game is tied as I’m calling, but hope you guys pull it out. I don’t really know why I’m calling, to be honest. I was just thinking about you. I think we both have a day off right when you get back to Jersey, and I was wondering, if maybe you’d wanna go into Manhattan finally? Let me know. I’ll see you when you get back. Okay, bye.”

(She wakes up the next day to see she has a missed call and a voicemail from Jack

“Hey Baby. I guess I could’ve waited to call you in the morning but I didn’t want to wait. We won, by the way. And yeah, I’m totally down to go into the city when we both have a minute. I, uh, we’ll catch up when I get back. But it was really nice to hear your voice, even if just over a voicemail. Have a good day. Bye.”)

They don’t get to go to Manhattan when Jack comes back, because Amelie is asked to fill in last minute for a Flyers game. She feels like she’s more bummed about it than Jack is. Or at least outwardly. In fact, after that voicemail, they don’t really get a chance to talk until four days later, when Jack catches her at The Rock before the game against Washington.

He grabs her arm lightly and leads them to a small alcove. “Hey.”

“Hi,” she can’t help but smile. “Good skate this morning?”

“Good as can be. Bummed we couldn’t go into the city the other day.”

She sighs. “Yeah. I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault,” he hesitates, before: “Hey. What plans do you have after the game tonight?”

“Nothing?”

“Come over to mine after,” she opens her mouth but he barrels on. “Clee’s working late and Luke won’t bother us. I just, I don’t know. I feel like we haven’t been able to see each other. And you have to head over to MSG tomorrow afternoon, right? We can grab breakfast somewhere, then.”

Amelie opens and closes her mouth two times. “You don’t think it’s too soon for me to stay over?”

His eyes widen. “Shit. I didn’t even-I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I didn’t-I wasn’t, like, I don’t expect anything. I can sleep on the couch. I just figured it would make it more convenient because we’ve been missing out on seeing each other lately. I’m gonna be tired after the game anyways and I was thinking we could just put something on TV or-”

“Okay.”

He blinks. “Okay?”

She nods before she can back out. “Yeah. I have an overnight bag in my car in case I ever get stranded somewhere and need to crash.”

“You sure?”

She can’t help but chuckle a bit. “You brought it up first, Jack. You backing out now?”

“No, of course not. But the last thing I want to do is make you uncomfortable.”

“It’s fine,” she says. And it is, really. But now that’s all she’s going to be thinking about for the rest of the day. “Seriously. It’s good. Your bed better be comfortable.”

He barks out a laugh. “It is. Great. I’ll see you later?”

“I’ll be around. Good luck.” With one last smile, he ducks out of alcove. She takes a breath, tugging at her jacket, before making her way out as well.

Kennedy, another photographer that strictly works with the Devils that Amelie’s become fast friends with, chuckles. “You’re not slick.”

Amelie lets out a small scream, before rolling her eyes. “Fuck, Kenny! A warning next time would be nice. And it’s not anything.”

Kennedy snorts as they both walk down the hallway. “Yeah, sure.”

“No, seriously, it’s just…we’re figuring it out.”

The older girl softens. “Hey, I was just making a joke. It’s none of my business. You guys are adults.”

“It’s something,” Amelie admits. “But I just don’t quite know what yet.”

“You’ll figure it out,” Kennedy assures. “I’ve known Jack longer than I’ve known you. I know you’ll figure it out. Now, Candace just brewed a fresh pot of coffee and we need to grab some before everyone comes in.”

They’re almost too late, because Coach Keefe has just poured out his cup and Kennedy rushes over to take the carafe out of his hand as he laughs. One day Amelie will get the confidence to do that.

“How are you settling in?” He asks Amelie kindly as Kennedy hands her a mug.

“Pretty well,” she says. “Still trying to get used to the chaos of the season but it’s been great and everyone’s been awesome.”

“I imagine that’s even more difficult when you have a bunch of schedules to balance.”

“It can get tricky,” she shrugs with a smile. “Keeps the job fresh though.”

“I bet.” A few seconds of comfortable silence sipping their respective coffees before Coach continues. “You went to the University of Michigan, right? I think I’ve seen you wearing that maize M around.”

“I did.”

“My niece is a junior in high school and thinking about doing something with sports, whether it’s business or photography or communications, probably because she’s been surrounded by the ice her whole life,” Coach Keefe laughs. “Earlier this season, Luke was talking to her about Michigan and I think he got her hooked.”

Amelie has to laugh at that. Classic Luke. “Well, I’d be happy talking to her if she wants a perspective from someone who wasn’t an athlete.”

“Would you really? I’m sure she would appreciate that.”

“Yeah, totally,” she fishes out a business card. “She can text me anytime. No promises I’ll respond too quickly, but I will as soon as I can.”

“Thank you, Amelie. Truly.”

“Of course, Coach.”

He turns back to Kennedy and jokes. “You must hate her, huh?”

Kennedy, who went to Ohio State, rolls her eyes. “With her, Shea and Luke, I feel constantly outnumbered here.”

“Don’t forget Jack,” Coach Keefe said.

“Oh, we don’t,” Kennedy chuckles. Amelie simultaneously wants to roll her eyes at her unsubtly and slap her shoulder. Instead, she settles with a look, to which Kennedy pointedly ignores.

After morning skate and editing what she needs to edit, Amelie heads to the grocery store for a quick run before stopping by at home to relax for a bit. She decides at the last minute to grab a bouquet of mums to put in her kitchen. After unloading her groceries, she tries to tidy up around her apartment but ultimately gives up, collapsing down on the couch. She has around an hour to kill before needing to get redressed to head back into the rink.

What does she do with that hour? Lounge around on her couch and pick up the latest book she’s reading. A memoir that AJ, the head of Devils socials, recommended. She hasn’t read as much as she used to, due to everything changing, but snuggling into her couch even just for a little to flip pages in a book calms her down.

When it’s time to go, she’s about to walk out the door before she stops herself, heading to the kitchen to grab a bottle of wine. That seems reasonable to give to Jack who’s inviting her over as a thank you gift, right?

After the game, that’s when she starts getting nervous. She edits the photos she needs to, sends them to Josh, the guy in charge of Devils media, and then lingers. She drove here, but she doesn’t wanna beat Jack to his place. She starts drumming her fingers against her desk, scrolling aimlessly on her phone. She knows he also got tagged for doing media tonight too, which explains why he’s taking a bit longer.

“Hey.”

She practically jumps out of her seat, putting her hand over her heart. “Jesus, Jack.”

“Jumpy,” he comments with a smirk before leaning against the door frame. “You good to go?”

“Yeah. Was just waiting for you.”

He grimaces. “Yeah. I should’ve given you my keys so you could chill at mine instead of here. Sorry.”

She stands up, gathering her things. “It’s fine. Can you send me your address again? I think I know where it is but I wanna make sure.”

They walk out together. People are milling about but no one questions anything. Amelie doesn’t know how she feels about that. Her phone buzzes, indicating Jack texted her his address. She’s parked on the other side of the garage but he walks her to her car anyways with a shrug, but it means a lot to her. She follows him easily to his apartment, the GPS guiding her along the way and when she parks right next to him, he somehow beats her to her own door and opens it for her.

“Thanks,” she says quietly, getting her overnight backpack from her backseat. “Do you mind if I bring my camera bag into yours? I don’t want them to get cold or-”

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” he grins, tie thrown over his shoulder and dress shirt wrinkled. He looks so handsome. “You’re not you without your cameras. You want me to grab something?”

“I’m good, thanks,” she says, locking her car. “Good game.”

“You think?”

“You got two assists and a few shot good attempts at goal,” she says with a furrowed eyebrow. “I’d consider that good, right?”

“Yeah, yeah. I just, I didn’t think you paid attention that much.”

She nudges his hip with hers as the elevator pings for each floor. “It’s kinda part of my job.”

“Is it?” He shoots back. She just rolls her eyes. “Have you eaten yet?” He asks.

“A bit. Have you?”

“A bit,” he echoes. “I was gonna roast some veggies and make some rice. I think I have leftover chicken. Unless you want something else? Clee probably has a bunch of stuff in the fridge that we-”

“That sounds perfect,” she interrupts him. “I’m good with anything. Promise.” She waits for him to unlock his front door. “Do you mind if I jump in the shower first?”

“Not at all,” he swings upon the door. “You can just leave your stuff in the living room. Bathroom is the second door down the hall to the right.”

She quickly rummages through to grab her toiletry bag and her pajamas. “Do you have a towel I could borrow, by chance?”

“Of course. We have a bunch in the closet in there. Take any one you see.” She nods in thanks before heading to the bathroom.

After towling her hair dry and tossing on an UW Madison sweater on she stole at some point from Colette ages ago, she pads out. Jack’s in the kitchen, back towards her, humming as he squats to check on the veggies in the oven. He’s changed out of his suit and has a Devils sweatshirt on now with gray sweatpants. His hair is damp from the shower he must’ve taken at the rink.

He catches her staring, but to her gratitude, doesn’t say anything. She lifts up the bottle of wine she got from her bag. “I don’t know if you’re allowed to have this during the season but…”

“One glass won’t hurt,” he grins. “Thanks. You didn’t have to.”

“You invited me into your home,” she comes over to the kitchen and takes the bottle opener from his hands. “I’m not an animal.”

Dinner is simple, but it’s delicious, and in the last hours of the evening with dim lighting, both their voices are low. At some point, Luke comes out for a glass of water, entering and leaving in a flash with a salute. That should feel weird, but it doesn’t. The not-quite-a-couple-yet couple catch each other up on their days and lives and Amelie feels a ball of warmth in her stomach.

It’s as if the clinking of Jack washing dishes — he literally whacked her hands when she tried to help — brings her out of her reverie. She waits until he’s done and sitting next to her again before:

“Hey Jack?”

In the middle of sipping his wine, Jack raises an eyebrow. He places his glass down and leans his elbows on the counter, giving her his full attention. “What’s up?”

She tries to stop fiddling with her hands, folding them on the counter. “Are-are you seeing anyone else?”

Silence, and then a soft, disbelieving, “What?”

Her mouth starts moving faster than her brain. “It’s not that I don’t trust you. Nor would I blame you, to be honest. I mean, I’m the one who’s been moving so slow and setting the boundaries and the pace and like, I get it. But-”

“I haven’t been seeing anyone else since we met.”

Her mouth snaps shut. “You-”

“I haven’t even been remotely interested in anyone else since I saw you and Suzie at the end of my driveway,” he says, eyes steadily staring into her, unflinchingly honest. “Even when you haven’t been sure about me. Even though you’re still not sure about me. Even when we had our argument. My feelings haven’t changed.”

Amelie suddenly feels ashamed. “Oh.”

One side of his lips quirk up. “Yeah. Have you been seeing anyone else?” Before she can control herself, she snorts. Jack pouts slightly. It’s cute. “What?”

“I barely have time to see you. In what world would I be seeing anyone else?”

“Hey,” he puts his hands up in defense. “I don’t know what you’re doing when I’m on the road.”

She shakes her head, staring down at her nails. “Nope. No one else.”

“Then that settles it.” Something flashes through his eyes and he rounds the corner, hoisting himself to sit on the counter. His leg brushes her side. “I’m sorry for not making that clear.”

“I’m sorry for being psycho and possessive.”

He tuts softly. “You’re not being either of those things.”

Her eyes glaze over, unfocused, as her mind takes her elsewhere. “It took three months for Cooper and I to officially get together because he was still dating around after our first date. Which was fine. It really didn’t bother me at the time. But-”

“You don’t have to explain yourself,” Jack assures. “But no. There’s been no one else for me.”

She swallows, busying herself by pouring herself out a glass of water before coming to stand inbetween his legs. She leans her forehead on his chest because she doesn’t wanna look at him when she asks her next question. “How much did Ethan tell you?”

“About Cooper?”

“Yeah.”

“Enough.” She picks her head up as he lightly rubs circles on her wrist.

“Did he tell you why we broke up?”

“Not directly,” he leans his forehead on hers momentarily. “I’d like to hear your answer to that though, if you’d be willing.”

She squeezes her eyes shut, and chokes out, “He got tired of me.”

“I’m sure he-”

“He told me, word for word, that he got tired of me. Tired of waiting. For what? I have no fucking idea.” And fuck, it’s been well over a year since she blocked his number, but she can’t recall the breakup out loud without a crack in her voice. “Apparently he’d ‘wasted’ a year of his time on a relationship that had long run its course.”

“And had it?” Jack asks gently. “Had it run its course?”

“Maybe. But it wasn’t fair to me that he didn’t even give me a chance to fix it.”

He nods stiffly, before, “Absolute jackass.”

“Definitely,” she hoists herself up on the counter to sit next to him, careful to not spill any wine. “When we broke up, it wasn’t like I didn’t see it coming. Things were kinda rough for a month or so beforehand. But I didn’t expect for it to hurt so much. I-I felt, just, really sad. Kinda betrayed. Pretty angry. I definitely didn’t think it would fuck up my perspective on relationships as much as it did.”

“I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

She almost brushes off his apology, staring unfocused into his living room. “I wish I didn’t feel this way. But when I met you, one of the first things I thought was that it wouldn’t move past the summer because what was the point? You would get tired of me eventually.” She squeezes her eyes shut. “I know that sounds ridiculous and whiny and it’s not true, but it’s hard for my brain to believe that. If I wasn’t enough for Cooper when we were in school and just dealt with that schedule, what would happen between you and I with our schedules and careers? That’s ultimately why I shut you down in the summer, I think. But also, fuck, Cooper was kinda an ass.”

He cuts in with a loud snort, “Clearly.”

She whacks his shoulder lightly, before letting out a sigh. “You know, he showed up at a party I was at a week later with another girl.”

“Yeah. Ethan mentioned that.”

“Right. It was a hockey party.” She squeezes her eyes shut, as if that will erase her memory. “I don’t know if you’ve ever felt like this, but I felt like I wanted to crawl out of my skin and also scream my lungs out and lock myself in the bathroom and never come out. It kinda fucking sucks seeing a guy you thought you loved and loved you suddenly just throw it all away like it meant nothing. Because if he could do that so easily, who’s to say the next one won’t?” She downs the last of her wine, sighing deeply. “I’m working on remembering that I want to be in a relationship and I deserve it, but it’s really hard. I don’t blame you if you don’t wanna stick around as I’m trying to figure it out.”

Jack hops off the counter, this time stepping between her legs. She bites her lip in anticipation as he takes her hands and intertwines them, looking her dead in the eye. “Amelie. I really, really like you. Like, I-still-get-nervous-for-a-second-before-I-see-you like you. Or, I-can’t-believe-you’re-even-giving-me-a-chance like you. I’m here. I want to be here. As long as you’ll let me hang around, I will. You don’t have to be afraid to be honest with me about where you’re at. I won’t ever hold that against you.”

“But-”

“Staying, right? Your favorite Lizzy McAlpine song?”

She tilts her head in confusion. “Yeah?”

“I listened to it.”

“Okay?”

“If you’re afraid that I’m gonna just leave when my feelings suddenly disappear, which they won’t, I’m not going to do that. I’m not Cooper, okay? I’m not gonna fuck around for a month before deciding if you mean something to me, because I know what you mean to me. And I want to be here when you’re trying to figure it out. When we’re trying to figure it out, to be honest. You think I know how to be in a relationship?” He laughs at himself. “I’m bound to fuck it up somehow, probably many times, but I’m not just gonna leave when I do. I’m sticking around. I’ll stay and figure it out with you to the point where you’ll probably find me annoying. I’m not just gonna leave when things get hard.”

“But how can you promise that?”

He shrugs with a wry and somewhat defeated smile. “I can’t, I guess. You just have to trust my word.”

And to Amelie, weirdly enough, that’s the answer she was looking for. Cooper made so many empty promises. Jack’s unabashedly unsure of everything yet isn’t leaving her in the dark.

She squeezes his hands. “I trust you.”

His swallow is visible. “Yeah?” He rasps out.

“Yeah.”

“That’s good to hear.”

“I’m sorry if that hasn’t come across.”

He shrugs, planting his hands on either side of her on the counter. “Don’t be. Part of the gig, isn’t it? Earning your trust. And I’m having the best time.”

She scoffs. “It’s not annoying?”

His signature charming smile is back as he lets out a breathy laugh. “I don’t know if you really understand the effect you have on me.”

She wants to kiss him so bad. She doesn’t, nudging him away so she can hop off the counter. “You tired?”

“Aren’t I always?”

“You choose what we watch,” she says, poking his shoulder.

He brightens up. “Cuddles?”

She rolls her eyes, but opens her arms when she collapses on the couch. Jack doesn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around her waist, humming in satisfaction.

(At 1:26 a.m. Clementine walks into the living room to see the sight of both Jack and Amelie asleep on the couch, his arm securely around her waist so she doesn’t fall off, their feet both dangling off the edge. She quietly clicks off the TV, adjusts the blanket so it covers both their bodies completely and takes their empty glasses to bring to the kitchen.

She takes a second to watch them — in a non-creepy way at all — from the dimly lit kitchen. Amelie and Jack’s chest rise and fall in unison and even when Amelie adjusts herself, Jack’s arm tightens on instinct to keep them from falling.

Clementine smiles to herself before tiptoeing to her bedroom)

~*~*~

jack

Jack doesn’t like feeling out of his element. And when it comes to Amelie, he feels like he has no fucking clue what he’s doing, even if he fakes it well. So that’s great.

He gets to the rink, and that’s old hat. Many things have changed, but at the end of the day, it’s still hockey. Blades to the ice is a feeling as natural as walking.

But now, knowing that some games, Amelie is more or less watching. It doesn’t distract him perse, but he definitely takes note, trying to subtly find her when he’s on the bench. It’s become a fun game for him. Sometimes, her red ribbon is easy to find. Sometimes, he thinks she’s hiding from him.

For Jack, not putting a label has been a bit difficult, because he’s always been the kind of person who needs to categorize things in some way, more for his own brain than anything. But at the same time, it also doesn’t matter to him that they’re not official. To him, they are, and that’s how he approaches all his actions. The dating apps from his phone are long gone. When he’s not thinking about hockey, he’s thinking about her. He’s trying not to be too overbearing while also not letting Amelie even question the possibility of him not being all in.

When he was crying in his bedroom back home in Michigan, this seemed so far out of his reach. But now Amelie’s here (her apartment is only a few miles away, even) and he’d be damn stupid if he let this go.

He’s never been in a relationship — or whatever this is — where coordinating both their schedules has been both a blessing and a curse. A blessing because not only does she understand, but their schedules overlap a good amount. A curse because her schedule is so unique covering many teams and even if he’s free, it doesn’t mean she is and vice versa. They’re only a few weeks into the season and it’s already becoming hard to find a few hours in their days to go do something.

Everything is at her pace. He wants to be sure that she knows that he takes that seriously and he’s not going to leave or get frustrated.

When Amelie said that she wanted to meet Clementine, Jack practically immediately darted for his phone, asking when the resident would have some free time. She’s been almost surprisingly chill about it all, not asking that much and only bringing it up if Jack brings it up first. Which, if he thinks about it more, makes complete sense to who calm, collected, older sister and beloved-by-all Clementine Sandoval is.

So that leads them to today, grabbing brunch in Hoboken on a Sunday morning with himself, Amelie, Clementine, Luke and Nico. Jack had asked Amelie if she wanted the latter two there or not, and she said she was okay with it. Jack hopes it brings Amelie more ease to have Nico and Luke around rather than stress.

Jack’s leg is shaking and Luke is in the backseat as they sit in the car outside Amelie’s apartment. Luke shoves Jack’s shoulder. “Dude, stop shaking your leg. You’re stressing me out.”

“Sorry,” he responds automatically.

“You know Clemmy. She doesn’t have a mean bone in her body.”

“I know.”

“Amelie’s scared?”

“I don’t think so. I don’t know. I just want them to get along.”

“They’ll get along,” Luke says matter-of-factly. “It’s Clemmy. And it’s Amelie. And me and Cap are there. How bad could it go?”

Jack just sighs. It’s not going to go badly. It won’t.

Honestly, it can’t.

It’s that he’s always felt that Clementine brings out the best version of himself and she’s one of the biggest parts of his life. If there’s an inkling of this not going well, he doesn't know what he’s going to do.

“Chill, man,” Luke says as Amelie floats through the front door. Jack is momentarily mesmerized by her maroon scarf and the white bow in her hair as she spots him, paddling over to his car. She’s about to go in the backseat, but Luke gestures to her through the window to take the front.

“Hi,” she breathes out, slipping in and shutting the door. She turns around to face Luke. “You didn’t have to leave me the front.”

“I wasn’t in the mood to hear Jack’s bitching and moaning,” Luke deadpans, a small smile peeking through as Amelie chuckles.

Jack is about to shoot something back at his brother but then Amelie reaches over to squeeze his hand. He immediately relaxes. “Well, step on it,” Amelie jokes lightly. “We don’t wanna be late.”

“You look really nice,” Jack says, pulling out onto the road.

“Thanks,” she responds quietly. “You do too. You too, Luke.”

“Thank you,” Luke sings. Jack isn’t looking at him but he knows that half-smile smirk thing that drives Jack bonkers is on Luke’s lips.

“You excited?” Jack asks.

Amelie coughs. “I’m scared as shit.” Luke snorts in the back. Amelie doesn’t even look as she whacks his knee. Jack knew he liked her for a reason. “No, I’ll be fine. I just want her to like me, that’s all.”

“She will,” Jack assures.

They don’t talk much the rest of the ride, Amelie singing softly under her breath. He realizes that everytime they’re in a car together, Amelie has to sing, almost like she can’t control herself. It’s so endearing.

Jack sees Clementine through the window of the restaurant in the middle of laughing at something Nico is saying. He internally rolls her eyes. They’re so gross. He flashes one last reassuring smile at Amelie before he leads them in, Luke holding the door for all three of them.

Clementine sees the trio come in immediately and grins. “Hi Jacky.”

He narrows his eyes. “Hello.”

“Chill out,” she says. “Hey Lukey. And Amelie!” Clementine stands up, engulfing her in a hug. Jack can’t see Amelie’s face. “It’s so nice to meet you finally! I’ve heard so much about you.”

“It’s nice to meet you too,” Amelie says, pulling away with a small smile. “Hi Nico.”

The captain just smiles at her warmly. “Hey Amelie.”

“Have you guys ordered yet?” Jack asks as they all sit down.

Clementine snorts. “No. We were waiting for your slow ass.”

“I am right on time, actually,” Jack snaps back.

Clementine ignores him, turning to Amelie instead. Immediately, the older girl just launches into questions. It’s a borderline interrogation and Jack can tell Amelie is a bit thrown off but she takes it all with grace paired with the most beautiful smile. By the time they order, Clementine’s already talking about how much of a pain it is to live with him and Luke and how much she wishes she didn’t and everyones jumping at each other as Nico just sits back and laughs and Jack hopes and hopes that this isn’t too much for Amelie. He’s seen her quietly work a room full of hockey players, but this is his family.

(When their food comes, he takes her hand underneath the table and squeezes it. Without a passing beat, she squeezes right back, as she asks Clementine about her time at Stanford)

At one point, the two women are still riffing seamlessly off each other (making fun of him, thank you very much), and Luke snorts. “Are you just going to take this? Fight back, dude.”

“Don’t,” Nico says wearily. “No point. You know this.”

Jack grunts, because Nico’s right. He rolls his eyes as Clementine shoots him a smug grin, but he feels himself soften hearing Amelie’s chuckle.

This could be his life. This is his life. Almost all his favorite people in the same place. He doesn’t get this peace that often in New Jersey. Especially not during the season.

Amelie fits like a puzzle piece perfectly into his life. How lucky is he?

Clementine has a night shift and apologizes for it (“I should probably nap before or else I’ll be dead on my feet”), to which all of them decide it’s a good time as any to leave. They’ve already been talking for almost two hours, which has to be a good sign, right? Jack gives Clementine a kiss on the cheek, hugs Nico and messes up Luke’s hair, staring fondly as Amelie gives Clementine, Nico and Luke parting hugs. He catches Nico’s knowing look that he’s been on the end of many times before, usually hockey related.

As he starts the engine of his car, Amelie deeply sighs to him. Immediately, he’s alert. “You okay? Was that too much?”

She shakes her head adamantly. “No, not at all.” She must sense his worry, because she continues with a laugh. “It was actually really fun.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she leans her head on the window, looking towards him. “I see why you talk so highly of her. Clementine, I mean. She’s really cool.”

“Isn’t she the best?” Jack grins.

“She mentioned her dad a few times?” Amelie prods gently. “Did something happen?”

Jack swallows. “I never told you?”

“I don’t think so?”

“Oh. I thought I did. Uh, her dad, Miguel, died back in 2015. New Year’s Day. Cancer.”

He sneaks a look at Amelie and she looks heartbroken. “I’m so sorry, Jack,” she whispers.

He continues on. He needs her to get it. “I miss him a lot. Constantly. He was the best guy. And Clee’s just..I love her so much. And Maeve, her mom. My mom, to some degree. I don’t know where I’d be without them.”

“That must’ve been really hard, for all of you,” she says softly.

“He never got to see any of us in the NHL,” Jack says. He’s trying to stay calm, but he’s gripping the wheel really tightly. “Hell, he never even got to see us in the NTDP. Or Q and Lukey at Michigan. He should be here. He would’ve loved all of it. But yeah, that’s Miguel.”

“She’s wonderful,” Amelie says after a few moments of silence. “Even just from that lunch, it’s obvious how much you all care about each other.”

“It’s hard to describe it, to be honest,” he says. “I think some people think at first that it’s something that it’s not. I’ve never seen her as anything but a sister.”

“I’m really glad you have someone like that,” she says, sounding somewhere between happy and sad. “And I’m sure she feels the same way.”

Jack chuckles. “I don’t know if she would. Most of the time I think we annoy her more than anything.”

“Annoying is 90% of what being a sibling is,” she points out. “Char and Col and I all love each other, but we annoyed the crap out of each other growing up.”

“You miss them?”

“All the time, and I saw Col a few weeks ago.” she tucks her legs up underneath her chin. “I think missing someone or something is all a part of it. You ever miss people even though they’re metaphorically right there? Or you haven’t had enough time to miss them yet?”

He sneaks another look at her and he feels his heart beating faster.

“All the time.”

~*~*~

amelie

Amelie and Kennedy are hanging out in the kitchen area when out of the corner of the eye, she sees Jack come in.

It’s not unusual for players to come into the kitchen area of their own practice facility. But he’s beelining right towards the trio, which has Amelie’s arm hairs sticking up.

“Hey Jack,” Kennedy greets warmly.

He nods with a close lipped smile. “Dynamic duo. How are you both?”

Kennedy raises an eyebrow. “Dream duo?”

“That’s how Josh refers to you two.” Amelie tuts as the other two laugh. Jack turns to her with an unmistakable twinkle in his eye. “What?”

Amelie shrugs. “Nothing. Just funny that Josh even refers to us at all.”

“It’s because we brighten his day,” Kennedy smirks. “What would he do without us?”

“Without you,” Amelie corrects with a wry smile. “I’m not here everyday.”

“You’re here enough,” Kennedy shoots back. She turns to Jack, and Amelie is immediately intrigued yet scared to hear what comes out of the older girl’s mouth, always the one to stir the pot in a harmless way. “Sick goal last night.”

Jack blinks. “The one that got called back?”

“The very one.”

Amelie bursts out laughing and Jack lets out a chuckle as well. “Thanks, I think,” he says.

“Got some cool shots of it actually, but alas.”

“Alas, indeed.” Jack then turns his attention to Amelie. She can’t help but let a smile peek out. “I don’t think I saw you last night.”

“That’s because I was in Philly. They needed someone last minute.”

Jack pouts. “But what if the Devils need you?”

She rolls her eyes. “Then they have Kenny. And numerous other talented people on call.”

He nudges her elbow. “I know. We like having you around though.”

Amelie purposefully ignores her friends / coworkers’ eyes that she can feel boring into the side of her face, choosing to instead focus directly on Jack. “Do you know who’s been looking for you all morning?”

His eyebrows furrow. “Who?”

“Emma.”

“Shit,” he curses. “For what?”

Kennedy rolls her eyes. “A Tik-Tok, probably. That’s what the kids are doing these days. You’re a kid. Shouldn’t you know?”

“You’re like, only three years older than me, Ken.” Jack protests. “I don’t wanna hear it.”

“She was in the media room last night I saw her,” Amelie smirks. “Go. Before she kills you. Or us. And I don’t wanna deal with that.”

He narrows his eyes. “Fine,” he swipes the unopened gatorade on the table, to which Amelie sputters at. That was hers, thank you very much. “I’ll see you two later.”

When he’s out of eyesight, Amelie lets out a deep sigh. “Annoying ass.”

“I have to agree, and I’ve been here for years. They all are though. Except for like, Nico.”

Amelie snorts. “Well, yeah. That’s a given. Everyone loves Nico.”

“Jack is right about one thing though,” the older girl nudges Amelie’s shoulder with her own. “We miss you when you’re not here.”

She just smiles, accepting a side hug from Kennedy. It’s a pretty damn good gig she has.

~*~*~

jack

It’s no surprise that hockey players are creatures of habit.

Jack is starting to freak himself in his willingness to break slowly from some of his habits for Amelie. Nothing crazy. Just an extra scoop of ice cream if Amelie’s craving something sweet after a game (he’s learned that she has a really strong sweet tooth and always has candy in her bag and car) or making sure that her texts and calls can come through during his pre-game nap.

Only seven other people have that privilege. His parents, his brothers, his sister (Clementine), his second mom (Maeve) and his captain.

He’s always liked to stay silent and blast music on the way home from a game, win or lose. Now he’s started asking Amelie more and more to see if she wants a ride, since she doesn’t love driving and often carpools with a coworker into work. They don’t have to be talking, but letting her into his post game routine so seamlessly — especially since he and Luke don’t usually drive to the rink together that much — is something he hasn’t done for…anyone.

It’s just so easy with her. Their conversations, whether over text, phone or in-person, are never stale. She makes him laugh daily with her witty sense of humor. He always looks forward to catching a glimpse of her at the rink before a game or after a practice. He’s come to look forward to seeing her texts after a game since they’re usually a picture or two of him that she “thinks are the best ones.” Leaving on a road trip has become genuinely harder because he can’t see her for a few days.

He finds himself wanting. Constantly. It’s a newer feeling for him.

Sometimes, it feels scary. Especially since he hasn’t really gotten a direct answer from her yet about what she wants this to be. But they’re basically dating without the title.

He would like an answer at some point though. But it’s not stopping him from doing all he’s doing already. Or feeling all he’s feeling already.

They’re playing the Habs at home tonight, and he’s feeling good, driving into the arena now to prepare. Last night, he had Cole over for dinner and it felt like old times. They had an optional skate this morning where most of the team was present. He likes where the team is at and he’s confident about what he needs to work on in his individual game.

Walking in, he says hi to the guys, dodges a classic slap to the head from Curtis and goes to the medical room to stretch out. As he’s stretching out his calf, he spots Josh wandering through the hallway. He makes direct eye contact with Jack and comes into the room.

“Jack, hey.”

Jack smiles easily. “What can I do for you, Josh?”

“Have you seen Amelie? I have one of her cameras and I need to give it back to her before the game starts.”

“Uh, no.” Jack smirks slightly. He has an idea of where this might go. He’ll play. “Why would I know where she is?”

Josh blinks. “You two are always around each other.”

Jack tilts his head to the side, feigning innocence. “Are we?”

“Seems like it.”

“Well, no,” Jack grins. “I don’t know where she is.”

“You looking for me?” The two guys whip their heads to the doorway to see Amelie. She’s wearing a denim jacket over a simple black shirt., brown boots on her feet. The classic red ribbon is in her hair and Jack wants to kiss her so bad.

But he just nods. “Just in time.”

Josh looks to Amelie. “Your camera.”

She lights up, taking it from his hands. “Oh, right. What did you think?”

“It’s sick,” Josh admits. “I might have to add it onto my list.”

“Yeah, I saved up for that baby for two years,” Amelie laughs. “Worth it though.”

“Very worth it. Thank you for letting me borrow it. See you out there,” Josh turns to salute to Jack. “Good luck.”

“Thanks, Josh.” And then it’s just the two of them. “Hi. You look nice.”

“Thanks.” She bites her lip, making sure no one is coming down the hallway. “Does he know?”

Jack raises his eyebrows in amusement. “Know what?”

“About us?”

“We’re an us?”

She gives him an unamused look. “Jack.”

“I’m kidding,” he watches as she walks to where he is, looking up at her from where he’s sitting. “I don’t think so, to be honest. He’s a bit-”

“Unobservant,” Amelie concludes with a laugh. “Yeah, he’s a killer photographer. Has a great eye. But with everything else?” She lowers her voice. “Actually, I was gonna ask and I’m really sorry, but could you give me a ride home later? I rode with Kenny because she wanted to try this bagel place and and we just came straight here-”

“Of course,” Jack assures. “It’s not a problem at all. Ever.”

She snorts. “Yeah. Sure. I am out of your way, you know?”

“I love driving you home,” Jack admits fully with his chest. “I don’t mind it at all.”

“Okay, thanks,” she backs away. “I’ll see you out there?”

“As always,” he says, a smile still on his face as she walks out of his sight.

…..

They’re in his car after the game, a comfortable silence between them sans Amelie humming along to some he’s vaguely heard before, when things change.

“I told one of my college friends earlier today that you were my boyfriend.”

Jack almost slams on the breaks. “You did?”

“Yeah.”

Suddenly, he feels like he’s missing something. He looks over to her as he rolls his car to a stop in front of a light. “Is this your way of asking?”

She shrugs, but the streetlights expose the slight smile on her face. “Maybe. Is that bad?”

Despite himself, he laughs. “It’s definitely not what I expected.”

“I mean,” he thinks he hears her voice shake for the first time he’s known her as he pulls up to the front of her apartment complex, killing the engine. “We basically are anyways, aren’t we? And honestly, I-I think I’m ready. If you’re still interested.”

He wants to shake her silly because she’s being so ridiculous. He snorts. “If I’m still interested? Of course I’m still interested.”

“Good,” she breathes out. “Great. I, uh, yeah.”

“Yeah?” He repeats softly, afraid that this bubble will pop unexpectedly when he wants to scream happily from the rooftop. “I’m yours?”

“I’m really annoying,” she warns with a swallow. “I’m trying not to be. But I am. This is your last chance to back out. I don’t know if I know how to be a good girlfriend.”

Jack knows that’s not true and, frankly, doesn’t care. “I’m yours,” he rushes out. A firm statement this time. “However long you want me, I’m yours.”

“Okay.”

He lets out a breathy chuckle. “Okay? Can I kiss you?”

She pouts slightly. “Don’t one up me like that. I didn’t ask the first time.”

He blinks before a full fledged grin takes over his face. “You remember planting one on me in your grandparents’ kitchen?”

“I remember everything that involves you.”

Jack lunches forward to cup her cheeks and kisses her. Amelie responds immediately. He can’t believe this is happening.

They eventually pull apart and he watches her eyes open slowly as he rubs her cheeks with his thumbs. Her light grip on his wrists is the only thing keeping him tethered.

“Why haven’t you kissed me since we’ve been in Jersey?” She asks, tilting her head to the side.

“Because I didn’t know if you’d want me to,”

She visibly deflates. Jack quickly kisses her forehead lightly. He doesn’t wanna see her like that. “It’s late. I’ll let you go.”

“Okay,” she says softly, grabbing her backpack. “Goodnight. Text me when you’re home safe.”

And oh. Isn’t that lovely? “Of course. Goodnight, baby.”

The second he sees Amelie walk into her building, he dials Quinn’s number. He picks up on the fourth ring as Jack starts driving.

“Hello?”

“Dude.”

“What?” Jack hears rustling on his older brother’s end. He presumes Quinn is lounging around on his couch, freedom present in his off day.

Jack drums his fingers on the wheel, waiting for the light. “I think I have a girlfriend.”

Silence, before Quinn lets out a quiet snort. “Amelie finally say yes?”

“Hey,” Jack protests. “You’re making it sound like I’ve been begging her, which I haven’t, because that’s a dick move.”

“So what happened?”

“She said she was catching up with one of her old friends on the phone and slipped up and called me her boyfriend then we got to talking and she was like, okay.”

“That’s it?”

“Yeah.”

“And this happened, just now?”

“Literally less than a minute ago.”

Quinn chuckles. “Good on you both, dude. About time.”

“Is it supposed to feel like this?” Jack says with a swallow. “Is it too soon to feel like this?”

“Like what?”

“Like I wanna spend the rest of my life with her?”

Silence. And then a crackly, “Shit, you’re serious?”

“Don’t be an ass,” Jack scowls.

“I’m not trying to be,” Quinn says. “I’m just, holy shit. You really like her.”

Jack lets out a deep breath. “Yeah, I do.”

“Clem told me she met her the other week.”

“Yeah.”

“What did Amelie think?”

“She told me Clee was great. What did Clee say?”

“I’m not saying.”

“Ass.”

“You love me,” Quinn shoots back. “So now what?”

Jack blinks, cracking his neck. “I try not to fuck it up, I guess.”

“You’re not gonna fuck it up, dude.”

“You don’t know that.”

“You’re not gonna fuck it up,” Quinn repeats. “I’m serious. Especially not this.”

“I’ve done it once. I could do it again.”

“But you won’t. And if you do, it won’t fall to pieces. Because you won’t let it.”

Jack takes a shaky breath. He hasn’t felt anxiety this severe since the moments before he went in for surgery earlier this year. “I’m terrified.”

“Then talk to her,” Quinn says. “I’m sure she’d appreciate knowing that, to be honest. And also, I would bet money that she’s just as, if not more, scared than you are.

“Nah,” Jack brushes his brother off. “She’s so calm about this all compared to me.”

“Or she’s better at faking it,” Quinn points out. “She’s awesome, Jack, And you’re not so bad either. Don’t overthink it so much. Enjoy it. This is what you’ve wanted for months.”

“Yeah,” Jack responds, nodding to himself. “Yeah. You’re right.”

“I know. I gotta make dinner, so I’ll call you later, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re good?”

“I’m perfect.”

Quinn chuckles. “Good. Congratulations, dude. She’s awesome. Can’t wait to see her when we come to play you guys.”

“Thanks, man. Love you. Talk later.”

“Love you, Jack. Bye.”

When Jack pulls into his garage, he takes a deep breath. He kills the engine, reaches for his phone and swipes through to Amelie’s texts she sent just a minute ago.

It’s a photo of him at the faceoff dot from earlier. But it’s the text underneath that has Jack grinning uncontrollably.

Amelie Fishel

2830.jpeg

now you’re gonna get endless photos of yourself all the time !!

Jack Hughes

i don’t mind in the slightest

goodnight. sleep well

Amelie Fishel

you’re home safe!

❤️💤

see you tomorrow

~*~*~

amelie

A fun part of the job that she didn’t expect has been seeing the familiar faces around the league that she’s known before. As in, the people she overlapped with at Michigan. There’s a lot of them.

By now, she knows who wears what number for the teams she covers. She’s not required to know the rosters of the opposing team, but she likes to pair numbers with faces and names as much as she can. It’s become a fun game for her too.

It just proves to her that this world is so incredibly small. For better or worse.

Currently, the Devils are in the midst of their game against the Sharks and all she can think is: damn, the Sharks jerseys are pretty.

The teal of it all is tickling the color theory part of Amelie’s brain so well. She wishes the teams she covered were more original in color.

As Amelie’s sifting quickly through the photos she took during the second period on her new camera, she stops at a picture of two teal jerseys celebrating their goal. Number 2 and number 71. She quickly double checks on Google. Yup. She was right. Will Smith and Macklin Celebrini

Amelie’s always been good with names. Macklin’s stuck with her after working the draft. And Will’s is just so iconic.

She checks the time. She still has 7 minutes left before the third period starts. Quickly, she connects the camera to the laptop and then the printer, printing out two copies of the same picture. She reminds herself after the game to venture towards the visitors’ locker room as soon as she can before the Sharks leave. Maybe grab Bordeleau to make it easier. Hopefully he remembers her.

Once the buzzer sounds, she pats her pocket, making sure the two photos are there. She briefly thinks of a game plan, deciding to give it at least 15 minutes so she doesn’t interrupt the locker room. She hangs out in an alcove where she knows from prior experience that she can hear the visiting’s teams general coming and goings. In the meantime, she pulls up her laptop to edit some photos.

As luck would have it, she sees a glimpse of Thomas and now she’s on a mission. In a brisk jog, she catches up to him and taps him on the shoulder.

He turns around and his face lights up in recognition. “Amelie? Holy shit.”

She smiles. “Hey Bords.”

“I thought I saw on Instagram that you’re working in the NHL now,” he gives her a quick hug. “That’s awesome. Congratulations.”

“Thank you.”

“What can I do for you?”

“Yeah. Listen, I know you guys are probably heading out pretty soon, but do you mind grabbing either Celebrini or Smith or both of them for me?” At his initial confusion, she pulls out the photos. “Thought they might want a copy.”

He nods with a small smirk. “Yeah, I’ll grab them. Be right back.” Not even a two minutes later, Thomas comes back with Macklin and Will both in tow, all back in their game day suits, though much less refined than she’s sure they were walking in.

She puts on her professional smile, sticking her hand out. “Hi. I’m Amelie. Uh, I’m a photographer with the NHL,” she hands the rookies the photos. “I took this in the second period and I figured maybe you’d want a copy? No charge. Just keep a bit hush about that.”

Macklin takes the photos as Will looks over his shoulder. “These are sick. Thank you so much.”

“You’re so welcome.”

“How do you know Bordy?” Will asks.

“We went to college together,” she replies.

“Michigan?” She nods. Will continues. “You must know Rutger and Shea then. And Luke. Unless you didn’t overlap?”

Amelie laughs. “Oh, I know them very well. I was Rut’s TA. He loved that.”

“It’s beautiful there,” Macklin says. “I train there in the summers now and it’s so nice.”

Right. He trains with Jack. Go figure. “It is,” she reminisces, trying not to get too emotional about what home means to her in a literal and metaphorical sense.

“Do you work for the Devils now?” Thomas asks.

“Kinda,” Amelie says, redoing her hair and aimlessly retying her bow. “I cover the Devils and Flyers mainly, but Rangers and Islanders as well. I technically work with the NHL rather than a specific team.”

“Have we met?” Macklin asks with an innocent tilt of his head.

“Maybe?” She says. “I was at the draft. So possibly in passing. And maybe if you came to Yost? I can’t remember what year BU came to play in Michigan.”

“I never did at BU,” Macklin says. “But the draft makes sense.”

She backs away. “I won’t keep you for long so-ah!” She crashes into someone and whips around to see Jack, one side of his lips quirked up.

“Watch where you’re going,” he says with a playful tilt.

“What are you doing here?” She shoots back.

“Josh was looking for you, actually, and I just saw you out here.”

She looks down at her feet, because deep down, she knows it’s because he was purposefully looking for her. But she doesn’t mind the vagueness, especially in front of Thomas, Macklin and Will.

Jack does some sort of bro handshake with all three of them, paired with a friendly nod. “What’s up?”

Macklin grins. “Amelie here took a picture of me and Will and wanted to give it to us.”

Jack leans over to look at the picture and lets out a small chuckle. “Yeah, that’s a keeper.”

Amelie gives a parting smile. “It was nice to meet you both, and good to see you again, Bords.”

“Thank you for the picture,” Will says sincerely. “You didn’t have to do that.”

Amelie just shrugs, accepting a quick hug from Thomas before backing away and letting Jack say his parting words.

When he faces her directly, his back towards his fellow hockey players, in his Devils sweatshirt and his wet hair fresh from the shower, she swallows.

He’s hers. Isn’t that great?

“Hi,” she says softly when he gets in earshot.

“Hey,” he says. She wants to kiss him so bad. “Did you drive here today?”

“No. I carpooled with Kenny. Is she still in there?”

“I’m not sure,” he says. “How much longer you need?”

She hums, hands automatically fiddling with the camera around her neck. “Maybe 20 minutes?”

“I can drive you home.”

“You sure?” She whispers. “I don’t wanna keep you. I’m sure you’re tired.”

“Being here for 20 extra won’t hurt me,” they stop before parting to different hallways. “I’ll come knock on your door in a bit, yeah?”

“Yeah,” she nods with a small smile. “See you.”

(As the three Sharks watch Jack and Amelie walk away, they all notice how Jack’s hand doesn’t quite touch Amelie’s, but it’s damn close. And their bodies are tuned to each other in a way that goes beyond mere coworkers.

Macklin blinks. “It’s none of my business, but are they-”

“Yup,” Thomas responds. “I follow her on Instagram. They’re definitely dating.”

“Huh,” Will comments. “That’s kinda cute. The sports photographer and the player. Think Grace made me watch a movie like that once.”

“She’s great,” Thomas says with a nostalgic tilt in his voice. “We were both freshmen at the same time and I just, I don’t know. It’s awesome to see where she’s ended up.”

“Did you ever predict that she and Jack-”

Thomas snorts. “No. Absolutely not. Not any hockey player, to be honest. She was just always on the quieter end and seemed way too smart for any of us, because she is. But she’s, just, so great.”

The two rookies hum, watching as the couple turns the corner out of view.)

~*~*~

amelie

They finally, finally go on that Manhattan date, on a brief break where Jack doesn’t have any games and a day that Amelie is also free. The con is that he doesn’t tell her what they’re doing, only says “trust me” and “wear something you can walk in and be warm in and is a little fancy but not too much.”

She appreciates it, she does. And Jack elicits nothing but comfort and ease, especially since their conversation a week and a half ago. So she is trying to be at ease with the lack of knowing the plans. But by the time Jack knocks on her door a little bit after 2 p.m., she’s been dressed for over an hour, pacing around for almost the same amount of time.

She whips open the door and smiles, momentarily taken aback. “Hi.”

He laughs a bit, eyes sparkling. He has a canvas jacket tossed over a plain black t-shirt and black jeans. He looks clean and fresh and so cute. “Hi. Ready to go?”

“Mmhm.”

He waits for her to grab her bag and jacket, before interlacing their fingers and kissing their locked hands. “You look pretty.”

She tucks herself into his side, feeling giddy. “Thanks. You’re sweet.”

“I’m glad we’re finally able to do this.”

“I am too, but I think you’re a bit crazy for wanting to drive into the city.”

Jack shrugs. “It’s not too bad. Nico does it all the time with Clee. I’ve picked her up from the hospital before. As long as you don’t mind possible traffic. Besides, want you to be comfortable.”

She just looks at him, marveling at how much he really likes her. She wishes she was used to this feeling. Not wanting to dwell outwardly on that right now, she changes the subject. “What are we doing?”

“What do you mean? You know what we’re doing.”

“I know that you asked me if I knew of any places to eat in the city for a late lunch or dessert,” she deadpans as they get into his car. “I know you have more up your sleeve.”

He grins. “Maybe I do. Maybe I don’t.”

“Jack-”

His hand rests on her thigh and he squeezes lightly. “Hey. I got it, okay? Just worry about having a good time.”

She sinks back into her seat, shooting him a glare. He laughs and she softens. “Fine. Sorry. I didn’t mean to sound snippy.”

“No need to be sorry,” he responds easily. “How was your day yesterday?”

They talk the whole time it takes for them to get into Manhattan. As always, Amelie’s on the aux. She hasn’t told Jack yet, but she’s started making a playlist of songs that she’s played that he’s noted that he likes or seems to bop his head to. Jack parks in a garage attached to a hotel in Soho, right by the sushi place that Amelie suggested per Colette. (“You’ve met my brothers. When do I get to meet your sisters?” Jack had joked. And the thought of that didn’t terrify Amelie as much as she thought it would.”) He doesn’t even give her the chance when the check comes, snatching it away despite Amelie very much verbally disagreeing.

He waves her off, as he signs. “Amelie. No. Don’t worry about it.”

“I’m getting the next one,” she says adamantly.

“We’ll see,” he says.

“Jack.”

“We’ll see,” he repeats with a smirk. “Ready to go?”

She grabs her bag and jacket. “To where, exactly?”

“You’ll see. We’re hopping on the train.”

She lets him lead, even leaning her forehead against his chest on the train when it’s packed. They ride mostly in silence as she takes in the city. This isn’t even close to her first time in Manhattan, but it’s always a bit overwhelming. Jack’s steady presence calms her down, especially when the train jolts and he automatically steadies her.

When they get off at the 42nd Street station, Amelie has an inkling she knows where this is heading. She gives Jack a look, but he just holds her hand firmly in his as they exit the busy station.

“Are you taking me to a show?”

He turns from where he was walking slightly in front of her with a smile. “Busted.”

She feels her heart dropping down to her feet. “Jack.”

“Well, hold on,” he jokes. “You don’t know what show yet.” She’s still in a daze, because she’s maybe only mentioned in passing how much she loves Broadway and musical theater and she’s trying to wrap her head around the fact that he remembered enough to incorporate into their first date. Tickets aren’t cheap, especially with-

“Jack,” she says as they glide to a stop in front of Richard Rodgers Theater. “No. You didn’t.”

He grins, exaggeratedly gesturing at the “Hamilton” billboard. “I did. I don’t know much about Broadway, but even I know Hamilton is supposed to be a great show.” Amelie’s so incredibly touched as she continues staring at Jack in disbelief. People are walking by them in a blur and all she can focus on is his smile, that slowly turns unsure the longer she stays silent. “I also did reach out to Charlotte on Instagram after I saw she followed me and asked if you would like this.”

That’s a loaded sentence. “Y-you asked my sister?” She sputters out.

“Well, yeah,” Jack shrugs sheepishly. “I wanted to make sure it was a good idea.”

“This is too much,” she finally chokes out.

“But in a good way?”

“I-I’ve always dreamed of seeing Hamilton live.”

“Dope,” he holds out his hand with an easy smile. “Come on. Let’s go in.”

She looks at him, takes a deep breath and intertwines their hands.

#k writes #hockey fanfic #hockey writing #hockey fic #nhl #nhl writing #nhl fic #nhl fanfic #hockey blurb #nhl blurb #jack hughes x oc #jack hughes x ofc #jack hughes #new jersey devils #luke hughes #reckless driving au #jack hughes fic #jack hughes writing #jack hughes fanfiction

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clarisse0o · 3 months ago

Text

Camp Wiegman-Part 66

Lucy Bronze x Ona Batlle

Alternative Universe : Military School

Words: 6k

Masterlist

———————————————————————

Wednesday, March 3; 5:30 AM - Ona and Alexia's room.

I was sleeping peacefully until I felt my blanket lift, letting a draft hit my chilly body. Naturally, I couldn't help but be scared, being the little scaredy-cat that I am, but I was quickly greeted by a warm breath.

"Shhht. It's just me."

A smile spread across my lips, even though I was still in a fog. Lucy slipped under my blanket, and I took the opportunity to turn around and bury my face in her chest. I could feel her smile as she kissed my forehead, holding me tight. Her body was freezing, but it was already starting to warm up against mine.

"Happy one month, my love," I mumbled against her chest, which hummed with satisfaction.

"Happy one month," she whispered back.

I sighed in contentment, not daring to move or let go. I was afraid it was just a dream, but I kept touching her, and she was still here. I knew I wouldn't be able to fall back asleep, but I didn't mind. I was perfectly comfortable next to her. I had missed her arms. After all, we always get used to the good things too quickly.

"I knew you'd plan something," I whispered. "It's not fair. I don't have the same advantages as you."

She chuckled, making her chest vibrate again beneath me. It was a pleasant surprise. I hadn't thought about it at all. Starting my day in her arms would give me a lot of motivation and good cheer.

"Hey, just so you know," came my roommate's deep voice. "I'll allow the cuddling next to me this time because it's your one-month anniversary, but please, keep it quiet."

We laughed as I heard her turn over in her bed. Lucy calmed me by sliding her hand under my T-shirt. It felt good to feel her. I liked it when she touched my skin.

"Did you hear, baby?" she teased me.

I smiled and nodded, pressing myself closer to her. I took a deep breath to take in her scent. I was happy she was here, in my bed. I'd have her scent on my sheets now. It would help me sleep better, even though it would be both a joy and a torture in the nights to come. I lifted my head and kissed her hard. It was another sweet torture that I intended to enjoy on this lovely morning. It was hard not to fully enjoy what was mine when I saw her every day. We continued like that for the half-hour we had left. Our time was cut short by the shrill alarm echoing down the hall. Lucy sighed, and I could see the disappointment on her face that it was already over. Still, she didn't move. Alexia had time to open the blinds, letting the daylight flood the room, momentarily blinding us.

"If you're not getting up, does that mean we have time to get ready?" Ale asked.

"Definitely not," she teased. "Come on, get up, beautiful."

"Just a little longer," I mumbled.

Alexia laughed as she went into the bathroom. As soon as she left, I resumed kissing Lucy, but she giggled and gently pushed me away. She kissed my forehead and got out of bed. I hadn't noticed because of the darkness, but she was already wearing her T-shirt for the day. I watched her as she pulled on her pants and jacket before Ale returned. I would have liked to get dressed too, but my clothes were in the bathroom.

"Thanks for the wake-up call. It was nice."

"My pleasure," she smiled. "But I'm serious. Go get ready," she said as Ale returned.

"I'm going, I'm going."

I dragged myself out of bed and went into the bathroom. I hurried as much as I could, knowing I still had to make my bed. When I was done, I wanted to tackle that, but I noticed it had already been made.

"Thanks," I said to Lucy.

I gave her a quick kiss on the lips to emphasize my gratitude. I then rushed to my closet to give her my drawing. It wasn’t much, but I didn’t want to be empty-handed. It was a self-portrait of her from behind, with her hair to the side. I highlighted the tattoo on her neck and her profile. I could see Lucy's eyes light up, and nothing made me happier.

"I didn’t expect us to be giving gifts..."

"I didn’t want to come empty-handed. The rest will come this weekend, of course."

"Oh, really?"

"Don’t think you're getting away without celebrating properly," I teased her.

"Oh no, no," she laughed. "I remember you’re in charge of the evening," she said with a mischievous smile. "I’m expecting a lot if you’re the one running the show."

I laughed softly and playfully hit her shoulder. She’s challenging me! I really hope she’ll like what I’ve planned.

"Alright, off you go. See you tonight."

"Have a great day."

I kissed her one last time before joining Ale, who was waiting for me at the door. Poor thing, I always made her wait. She didn’t seem to mind. As soon as we stepped into the hallway, she put her arm around my shoulders.

"So, my friend. Looks like you're starting the day off well."

"I couldn’t have dreamed of a better start," I admitted. "Not everyone would do that."

"That’s true," she giggled. "Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask you something."

"Yes?"

"Since you haven’t brought it up again, I was wondering how the discussion about the gallery offer ended."

"Oh, yeah. I didn’t mention it again, sorry."

"Did everything get sorted out? You have no idea how upset Jenni was about it."

"She didn’t have to be. It’s something that concerns only us anyway."

"That’s true, but she’s very protective of Lucy," she sighed. "So, what’s the decision?"

"For now, we’re waiting for the interview with Mr. Fields next week. I tried to schedule it for Friday afternoon to avoid needing permissions and all that, but he wasn’t available."

"Did you manage to find a time slot anyway?"

"Yes, yes. Monday, in two weeks. But we decided not to wait. Lucy found other galleries for me to apply to. Beth is checking their relevance before I send my applications."

"That’s right, I heard beth has a lot of friends in that field. She’s passionate about art thanks to her mother. Jenni and Beth are really close friends »

"Really? No, I didn’t know that."

"Well, now you do," she laughed. "And what if the guy doesn’t give up?"

"Lucy thinks that if I make it clear I don’t want to leave, he won’t chase me," I explained, shrugging.

"She’s probably right," she agreed.

"I know," I sighed. "But I can’t afford to accept. I don’t see myself leaving. I feel good here. She understands that I don’t want to be away from her, so it’s fine."

"Do you know why she reacted that way?"

"She was afraid I’d regret choosing her over a good opportunity, you know. I made it clear that wouldn’t happen."

"It’s a bit absurd, isn’t it?"

"You know, I think Lucy has never missed a single opportunity for her professional career. Look at where she is now… It might be absurd to us, but not to her."

"I see... Well, it’s perfect if everything’s settled."

Ale has such a big heart. I love her for that. We walked through the dorm doors to reach the outside.

"Hey, girls," Patri called out to us. "You’re a little late this morning, aren’t you?

We are greeted by all our friends gathered near the entrance. Even Alba and her girlfriend were there. Misa has been surprising me by hanging out with us more often since they started showing up together. In just three days, she’s been with us constantly, much to Ale's dismay. I could tell Ale wasn't thrilled with the situation. I found it a bit difficult too. I wasn't talking to Alba as much as I did before the holidays. For a while, I had the impression her girlfriend held a grudge against me. That seemed to fade once she found out I was dating someone. It was clear she didn't like my relationship with her girlfriend, and the last thing I wanted was to reignite any tension. Why does everyone always see me as a threat? It’s not like I’m trying to go after everyone, quite the opposite!

“Sorry, we were hanging out in the hallway,” my roommate defends us.

“Good thing it wasn’t Bronze who kept you back,” someone jokes.

A slight irritation creeps up inside me. Ever since I started dating her, I’ve had less patience for comments like that. There’s no one sweeter than Lucy on this earth. It’s crazy that she’s gotten such a reputation around here.

“You all seriously need to stop making her out to be a monster. I’ve already told you she’s not nearly as bad as you think.”

“Okay, I think we’ll take that as our cue to leave,” Ale says, grabbing my shoulders and steering me toward the cafeteria. I immediately regret my outburst as I catch the others’ glances. I hadn’t meant to let my words get the best of me. I need to calm down.

“Let it go,” Alexia murmurs. “They don’t know what they’re talking about.”

I take a long breath and exhale slowly. Checking to make sure we’ve put some distance between us, I say, “But seriously, it’s so frustrating! You know her now too. You know she’s not as cruel as everyone says.”

“I know, but relax. Now’s not the time to show everyone how much she means to you. You’ve already got Leah and Alessia watching your every move; I think that’s enough, don’t you?”

I growl in frustration. Ale keeps going, as if to drive her point home.

“We’re almost done with the school year, and besides, Lucy chose this reputation for herself. There’s nothing you can do to change it.”

“She only did that to protect herself,” I sigh. “I hate it, you have no idea.”

“Just a few more weeks in this environment, and then it’ll all be over. You’ll be fine.”

I nod reluctantly. She’s right—it would be foolish to ruin everything now, but it’s tough.

“And what about you? How are things with Alba?” I ask, shifting the conversation.

I had noticed that things weren’t perfect. Like me, Ale had been keeping her distance. I know they’re together in class, so I don’t see everything.

“Not great. I think Alba expects me to reveal who my girlfriend is ever since she introduced me to Misa.”

“I see... Maybe it’s time to tell her, don’t you think?”

“Yeah,” she sighs. “This charade has lasted long enough, and I’m tired of lying to her weekend after weekend. Plus, I also need to figure out how to tell her I’m not going back to live with my grandparents after school.”

“Is that a final decision?” I ask, surprised.

I can’t hide my joy. If she’s moving in with Jenni, it means we’ll stay close even after leaving here. She laughs softly at my reaction.

“Of course. It’s been decided for a while now. I’m just scared to tell her it’s Jenni. She’s going to kill me, don’t you think? She’s older than me.”

“Lucy’s older than me too,” I roll my eyes. “It’s not that big of a deal. I think what matters to her right now is knowing who you’re seeing. I feel like dating Misa has been good for her. She seems in love. Maybe now she can relate to you and wants something more with Misa after school too. Have you asked her?”

“No,” Ale mutters. “I don’t like that girl very much.”

“Get to know her before you say that. She might turn out to be cool.”

“And you’re the one telling me this?”

“What can I say? You can’t just reject her. You wouldn’t want her to do that to Jenni, would you?”

“That’s true,” she sighs.

“Come on. What did you just tell me? Oh right, ‘It’ll be okay, don’t worry,’” I mimic her teasingly.

She laughs softly, nudging my shoulder. I laugh too, and we exchange a calm smile.

“Talk to her as soon as possible. She’s happy right now, so take advantage of it.”

“You’re right,” she says with determination. “I’ll try. Thanks.”

“It’s nothing. I’m here if you need support.”

She gives me a grateful smile as we reach the cafeteria. Along the way, I briefly spot Lucy heading to her table, her tray already full. I’m surprised she passed us so quickly. We exchange a small smile, which makes Ale laugh.

“You two really have a lot to learn about being discreet,” she teases.

“Oh, stop it,” I groan, playfully hitting her.

She laughs more. It’s only been three days, but it’s already hard. She’s right—we need to calm down if we don’t want to get caught. Sometimes, you have to make choices, and right now, I’d rather keep Lucy close than push her away.

Wednesday, March 3; 2:30 PM – During class.

“Can I ask you a question?” Alessia interrupts me during one of my exercises.

“You just did.”

I smile as I finish writing my last calculation on the sheet.

“Ha ha ha, very funny.”

“I think so too,” I reply, my smile widening.

“Seriously, can I?”

“You could have before. What’s up?”

“What do you see in her?”

I don’t need more context to know who she’s talking about. She’s seemed pretty distracted today. I wasn’t expecting her to still be thinking about my relationship. After all, we hadn’t talked about it since. Ale had suggested I address it since she’d noticed the criticism from her sister, but I hadn’t done anything. I was always afraid of confrontation.

“Why are you so interested, exactly?” I ask casually.

Deep down, I’m nervous, but it seems I’m not the only one. Alessia keeps her head down when I look at her, fidgeting with her fingers. I place my hand on hers, and immediately, our eyes meet. Hers are filled with sadness, which weighs heavily on me.

“What’s wrong?”

“I never hid that I liked you, Ona. I gave up on it a while ago, but I just wanted to know where I went wrong.”

Her honesty touches me. Alessia is such a remarkable girl. I’ve come to learn that after spending time with her. We have so much in common, especially our love for art. I shake my head to let her know she’s mistaken.

“You didn’t do anything wrong, Alessia. I was already taken by her before we even met. That’s all.”

“Okay...” she murmurs. “But be honest. If you had met me first, could you have liked me as more than a friend?”

I look up at the ceiling, pondering her question. Like I’d told Lucy before, Alessia could have been my type. But would I have been able to open up to her and trust her like I do with Lucy? The answer is easy.

“I could have,” I admit. “In different circumstances.”

The hope in her eyes fades just as quickly as it appeared. I hate hurting her like this, but I can’t lie to her. She deserves the truth.

“It’s no secret. I have a troubled past, and I struggled to get through it. No offense, but you wouldn’t have been able to help me the way she did. I never thought I could open up to anyone again or even find myself... But she did the impossible, and I could never thank her enough.”

“How? She seems so... I don’t know. Detached from everything.”

I laugh softly. She's so right. Lucy is a completely different person here.

"It's just a mask, you know. She's not like that in real life. She broke me down just to rebuild me. The bond we share is special. It's strong and, most importantly, based on trust."

"Okay," she replies, followed by a deep breath. "You seem happy... and in love, too."

"I am," I confirm with a small smile. "Losing her would destroy me."

She nods thoughtfully, taking her time before responding.

"What does she think of me? I feel like she doesn’t like me much. Maybe I'm wrong, but she seems to react very coldly toward me compared to the rest of your friends."

I chuckle. If only she knew. No one gets accepted on the first try. Still, I can't deny that every time Lucy crosses paths with her by my side, she looks like she could kill her with her eyes.

"She knows that you like me. I told her that at the very beginning, during a conversation."

"You told her what?" she chokes out. "Oh my God, that explains everything! She must hate me!"

I burst out laughing, drawing the attention of our teacher for the first time. He looks up to give us a stern glare. We've been working independently for half an hour, which is why we've been able to talk so freely. I calm down immediately, not wanting him to forbid all conversation or, worse, send us out of class.

"I wouldn't go as far as to say that. She's just jealous," I say, pointing to my neck. "But she doesn't hate you. She doesn't even know you."

"She hates me, and she has her reasons," she insists. "Oh my God, why did you tell her that!?"

I struggle to hold back my laughter. Her expression is priceless. If I could record it, I would. I catch our teacher's eye again, and his stare instantly silences me. I pretend to get back to work to avoid any further attention, but I glance at Alessia, who has also bent over her table.

"You're exaggerating. It was a dark time, and I was telling her a lot of things. What do you want me to say... I couldn't take back what she already knew."

"You could have kept it to yourself! Oh my God... What must she think of me now...? She’s going to kill me, for sure."

"Stop. You're being ridiculous."

I think I'm trying to reassure myself. As much as I comfort my girlfriend, she continues to fixate on my friend.

"She's trying to push me away from you, isn't she? Is that why she canceled our tutoring sessions?"

"Aren't you going a bit far?"

I take it lightly, but Alessia seems far from convinced, given her silence. After a moment, I sigh and continue speaking.

"No, she didn’t cancel our tutoring for that reason. She was helping me study long before you started doing it."

"Then why did you stop studying with her?"

"Because we had a falling out," I admit for the first time. "I wanted to distance myself to avoid getting hurt, but it ended up being a failure for both of us."

"Oh..." she replies, her expression showing that she suddenly understands.

"If she wanted to start tutoring me again, it was partly to reconnect, but also because my grades had dropped. My mood was one reason, but it's also because her study methods worked better for me."

"Are you saying I wasn't a good enough teacher?" she squints at me.

"No," I laugh. "Sorry. It's just that with her, I tend to daydream less, you know? She's more strict and serious."

She raises an eyebrow, making it clear that she doesn't entirely believe me. Alexia's words come back to me. They think I'm not really studying with her after class. I let out a heavy sigh.

"Look, I know you and your sister talk behind our backs."

I give her a moment to respond, but she doesn't, so I continue.

"I really do study with her after class, nothing more. I'm two years behind, Alessia. Don’t you think I have a lot of work to catch up on? Her help is invaluable, and I’m grateful to have her. She stays serious, even with our relationship. She doesn't mix the two."

"Really...?"

For the first time, she seems to be doubting herself. I know then that I've won, that she’s finally going to believe me.

"Yes, really," I confirm. "I have proof in my bag with a whole ton of exercise sheets she gave me to complete before the final exams."

"Is that why you asked the teachers for old chapters?"

"Yes. I need them to review, but also to refresh Lucy's memory."

"She studied management?" she asks, surprised.

"It's more complicated than that, but partially, yes."

"Okay..." she murmurs. "I guess you'll be meeting her tonight as well?"

"Yeah. Plus, today is a special day. It’s our one-month anniversary," I admit.

"Oh! Already? I thought it was less time..."

"No, no, it’s been a month," I confirm proudly.

"Well... I’m sorry for talking about you two."

"It's fine. I understand your reasons. I don’t leave you guys out on purpose, you know."

"I know... I just hope she won't ask you to end our friendship because of what she knows."

"She won't. She knows my friends are important to me, even if she gets jealous. You’re not the first one to go through this."

"If you could tell her that I accepted a long time ago that we’re just friends, it would help," she laughs softly.

"I’ll do that, I promise," I laugh along with her.

"I'm happy to count you as a friend, even if sometimes I feel like I don’t really know you."

"Oh?" I raise an eyebrow, surprised.

"Well... you talk about your past so much, but no one really knows anything. Don’t take it the wrong way, but it feels like there are missing pieces to the puzzle, you know? But it’s understandable that you wouldn’t want to share, it’s very personal."

I nod, even though her words leave me deep in thought. Do Mapi and Alexia feel the same way? They’re my best friends, but they don’t know either. Unlike Alessia, they’ve never mentioned it. What if they think the same and just haven’t said anything?

"Anyway," she continues, pulling me from my thoughts, "you deserve happiness. If Lucy is your source of that, then hold onto her tightly."

I smile awkwardly, feeling uneasy from her last words.

"Thanks, Alessia."

"Miss Batlle, Miss Russo. Do I need to permanently change your seats to ensure you get your work done?"

I jump as our teacher stands in front of us. Fortunately, he grabs my sheet, not Alessia's, who, from what I saw, hasn’t made as much progress as I have. I feel increasingly proud to surpass her lately, even if I still doubt my answers. After examining my sheet, the teacher gives me a disapproving look, earning a cheeky smile from me. Judging by his expression, maybe I got it right after all.

"Get back to work," he says sharply. "It would be a shame to waste these last minutes and end up getting kicked out for the weekend."

He places my sheet back down and walks away. Alessia and I share a mischievous smile before getting back to work. If I get kicked out now, I’ll lose much more than a weekend, not to mention the scolding I’d get from my girlfriend. Finally, the last few minutes tick by, freeing us from these never-ending classes. Time is starting to drag, and I have to admit, I feel more and more uncomfortable in this stifling environment.

"Are you going to meet her?" Alessia asks me.

"Yeah," I reply, adjusting my bag on my shoulders. "I’d like to get my homework done so I can relax."

"I get it. Well, see you at dinner tonight."

"Yep, see you later."

I head off as she waits for her sister and Lotte. I quickly find myself in front of Lucy’s office. Surprisingly, the door is closed. I knock three times as usual and feel compelled to wait for the signal before entering. I'm caught off guard when I find Wiegman in my usual spot. A wave of panic washes over me, but seeing her relaxed demeanor, I realize she’s not here for the reasons I feared.

- "Hello, Ona," she greets me.

- "Hello..." I respond hesitantly.

- "How are you?" she asks, more out of politeness. "You're here for your revisions, I suppose? Miss Bronze mentioned it to me."

- "Uh... yes."

I look to Lucy for support, but all I get is a stern look before the director turns to her. She smiles as if nothing's out of the ordinary. From all this, I understand I need to play along.

- "I assume this is your spot," she says, standing up. "I'll leave it to you. Anyway, we're done here. Do you have any questions?"

- "No, I think that will be all," Lucy replies with a small smile. "Thank you for stopping by to give me the latest details."

- "It's no problem."

I wait by her side, expecting her to move so I can take my seat, but I realize we’re far from that when she turns to smile at me.

- "I’ve received a lot of good feedback about you this week. If we disregard the chatting, one might almost think you've become a model student. We're all pleased, so keep it up."

She pats my shoulder as if we're old friends, before finally deciding to leave with a final goodbye. I sigh and drop into the chair, the tension melting away. Lucy laughs softly.

- "It's not funny! I really thought she'd figured everything out! What was she doing here?"

- "She brought me the latest details for your upcoming outing in a few weeks. I thought she'd leave before you arrived, but you know how she is—once she starts talking, there's no stopping her."

- "Hmm..."

I groan in frustration. I don't like having my emotions toyed with like that. She teases me gently while I unpack my things. I’ve got a test next week and a few exercises, so I've got plenty to prepare tonight.

- "So, you're still chatting, huh?" she teases with a playful grin. "Maybe I should resume my punishments to remind you of the importance of class. Or perhaps I should request that you be moved when you're seated next to your friend."

I roll my eyes with exaggerated amusement.

- "Any excuse is good. I thought we weren’t mixing personal relationships with work, huh?"

- "I'm not mixing anything."

- "Oh really? Because I still sense a bit of jealousy in your words. Why only move me away from her when I talk just as much to her sister or Lotte?"

- "Are you suggesting I isolate you alone at a table? Though, that’s not a bad idea."

I laugh and shake my head. She's beyond reasoning at this point. But mentioning Alessia reminds me of the recent conversation I had with her.

- "Hey," I say calmly. "Can I ask your opinion on something?"

- "Of course."

- "Do you think Mapi and Ale might be upset with me because I’ve never told them about my past?"

Lucy furrows her brows.

- "Have they given you any reason to think that, either through their words or actions?"

- "No, no. It’s just that I had a conversation with someone. They kind of hinted that they don't know me well enough because they don't know what I went through before I came here... So, I started wondering."

- "That person sounds a bit too nosy, if you ask me."

I bite my lip. Thank goodness I didn't mention Alessia by name.

- "It’s just that they might not be entirely wrong. I know why all my friends are here."

The many conversations we’ve had at the table have allowed me to figure it out. The first ones I learned about were the Putellas siblings, thanks to Ale. Then I learned about Patri and Claudia, who grew drugs for their neighborhood. There’s also Lotte, who went through a rebellious phase after his dad left their home. She used to get into fights and committed some vandalism. Her mom didn’t hesitate long before enrolling her in this school to get her back on track. That story surprised me the most. I can’t picture her as a fighter. She’s so calm and quiet around us. Just goes to show how deceiving appearances can be. As for Leah and Alessia, their story is a bit more complicated. It took me a while before Leah opened up to me. I already knew it had something to do with drugs since my detox. She was knowledgeable, and that's what brought us closer back then. She told me in private that they lived in rough neighborhoods in London due to their family situation. To survive in school, they had to join their local gang with Alessia. Unfortunately, they got caught during a fight with another gang the same day their father landed a better-paying job in Manchester. This caused them a lot of trouble. With the help of their lawyer, they were released on the condition that they collaborate and join the Wiegman Camp. Of course, they accepted, as this also provided them with a free higher education while allowing them to follow their parents to Manchester@.

- "So what?" Lucy continues. "That doesn't mean your friends don't know you. The past doesn’t define a person entirely. It's also about how they handle situations, their reactions, and their way of thinking, for example. How do you think they know someone had a painful past, hmm?"

- "Well... I told them..."

- "Everyone can tell you've had a difficult past, Ona."

- "Really? Even without me saying it?"

- "You never told me, and yet I knew it the first day I met you. I just had to look at you. You were fearful, hiding it behind your tough defensive attitude."

I blush, remembering our first encounter. She had thrown me out of bed, and I had stood my ground. I thought she was looking down on me with her airs, but in the end, she just wanted to break through my shell from day one.

- "Who said they didn’t know you?" she asks again, determined to find out.

- "It doesn’t matter," I mutter.

- "Are you sure?"

- "Yes. I was just worried about Mapi and Alexia. I was afraid they might feel the same way. I don’t want them to think I don’t trust them or that they don’t know me well enough."

She sighs softly and leans forward to take my hand in hers. I immediately catch her gaze when I lift my head.

- "I imagine this person who made you feel this way wasn’t Alexia, if you’re saying this."

- "No... It wasn’t her."

- "Then that means it’s a friend you’re not as close to..." she muses aloud. "Whether it’s that person or even the girls, you don’t have to tell them anything unless you want to. The girls know you well enough. They understand your boundaries without knowing everything about what you’ve been through, am I right?"

I nod. Of course they do. But Alessia doesn’t, and I realize what Lucy is trying to tell me.

- "Telling them everything would just satisfy their curiosity... Because deep down, they already know you well enough."

I smile shyly, nodding. I understand her point. A past can shape us, but I don’t need to reveal it to know who I am. Our reactions and actions define us well enough. To think I almost had regrets because of Alessia.

- "Thank you."

Her response is to bring my hand to her lips for a kiss. Lucy’s romantic side is something I never would have guessed at the beginning of our relationship. I need to step up to meet her level of devotion.

- "You're very welcome, beautiful."

- "Do you think I should tell them...?"

- "They deserve to know what hurt you, especially Mapi, given all the support she’s given you. It’s the same for Alexia, I think. But you shouldn’t force yourself. Do it when you’re ready."

- "I-I think I am. I really love them so much. They’ve supported me through everything. Even with you. If there’s anyone I want to tell, it’s them."

- "Then tell them. I’ll be by your side if you need support."

I shake my head. If I’m going to do this, it has to be on my own. Even though I’d love her presence, I need to handle this by myself. It’s the only way for me to build my confidence.

- "I guess they’ll be getting a girls' night without you... if you don’t mind."

She laughs heartily and kisses my fingers again.

- "Not at all, baby. As long as you stay reasonable when I’m not around."

- "I promise. You know, we never really talked about it, but I appreciate how we've managed to bring our friends together like this."

- "Me too," she admits. "We’re creating our own little group, and it’s wonderful. It brings us even closer."

I smile, wholeheartedly agreeing with her. "Us." It's a word that still gives me butterflies when she says it. I can’t wait to officially start our life together.

#woso #lucy bronze #woso community #ona batlle #barca femeni #woso soccer #lionesses #sefutbol fem #ona batlle x lucy bronze

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escapingrealtiylovinginsanity · 8 months ago

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Will Halstead: Guitar

I needed to write some fluff after all the angst I’ve been writing lately. The song used is Body is a Wonderland by John Mayer. This was inspired by 2x8 of med (I think/ish) That singing did all the right things for me.

Warning: Slight NSFW content at the end (a paragraph or so).

You hadn’t meant to snoop. You were only in his closet because you were looking for something soft to wear. You weren’t going to put back on that slinky dress or your ruined panties. And honestly, it was Will’s fault. If he didn’t want you digging around in his closet he shouldn’t have disappeared before you got up. This thing between the two of you was new and labelless. Dating, screwing, or just a casual thing- you didn’t know.

You did know that this- whatever this was- was a common enough occurrence that you felt comfortable enough to pillage through his closet. You fingered a few shirts before stopping at a soft well-worn sweatshirt. You pull it off its hanger and the smell of Will’s detergent and cologne floods your senses. It’s plain olive green with a Chicago Med logo on the breast. When you pull it over your head it drowns you. It falls past your knees and your arms completely disappear.

That is when you see it out of the corner of your eye. You hum to yourself as your hand grabs the neck of the acoustic guitar. It was well-loved and worn. You carry it back to the bed. You sit down setting it awkwardly on your lap. You had tried to pick up the art of playing a few times before with little luck. You had learned five chords before you had waved the white flag of surrender. You remember two maybe three.

You wiggled your fingers before pressing them onto the strings. When you stroke the strings, you wince. Even you know that sound isn’t right. You make a face chewing on your lip. You were about to put it back when a voice stopped you. “Flip your fingers.” Will was standing in the doorway, a bag in one hand, a warm smile on his face. The other was held up in front of him alternating his index and middle finger. You look back down at your hand and change the position of your fingers. You look back up at him and he nods encouragingly. You stroke the strings again and a rough but much more pleasant sound follows. “There you go,”

You look back up at him guiltily. “Sorry,”

“It just takes practice.” Your eyebrows furrow before you laugh shaking your head.

“No, not the bad playing. I mean for-” You gesture to the guitar on your lap. He smiles again as he sits on the bed next to you. He holds his hand out.

“May I?”

“I mean since it is yours.” He takes the guitar in one hand while offering you the bag from the other. The smell of the bag hits you and you moan in delight when you register its donuts from the bakery a few blocks down. He chuckles at your excitement as you take a bite. He starts strumming and you look up at him. You are surprised when he starts singing in a smooth light voice.

“We got the afternoon

You got this room for two

One thing I’ve left to do

Discover me

Discovering you

One mile to every inch of

Your skin like porcelain

One pair of candy lips and

Your bubblegum tongue

And if you want love

We’ll make it

Swim in a deep sea

Of blankets

Take all your big plans

And break ‘em

This is bound to be awhile.

Your body is wonderland

Your body is a wonder, I’ll use my hands

Your body is a wonderland”

His brown eyes are warm as he looks at you. You are caught in the moment, drawn into him like a moth to light. Your soul absorbs the words as your mind reminds you it is just a song. He’s just playing a song; it doesn’t mean he means the words. Even if he does... it was purely in a sexual way...right?

His hand grips the neck to stop the sound. He is still staring at you with those memorizing eyes. “Wow,” You breathe. “I did not expect that from you.” You glance at your lap before flicking your gaze back up to his. “I’ve never been serenaded before. It was-” beautiful, heartwarming, romantic, special, memorizing- “-sexy.” His eyes darkened and you leaned forward stealing a kiss and then another. He set the guitar down and cupped your cheek overtaking the kiss. His mouth tasted like bitter black coffee.

“Oh yeah?” You murmur your agreement against his lips. His caresses are slow and soft. His fingers tighten on your waist pulling you up and over his lap to straddle him. When he fucks you, he does it slowly. Purposefully. His thrust is deep and rhythmic. His attention focused on your pleasure. He keeps eye contact with you. You watch the emotions flicker in his brown eyes. After a while...

It feels like he’s not fucking you at all.

Taglist @zaidatorcuatomorgado

#chicago med #will halstead #will halstead x you #will halstead x reader #will halstead imagine

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californiaboytoybilly · 10 months ago

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VILLAINOUS VALENTINES || BILLY HARGROVE X STEVE HARRINGTON || ALSO AVAILABLE ON AO3 || NSFW 2.2k

cw: stalking, voyeurism/exhibitionism, mutual masturbation, sex toys, dominant bottom billy, mildly dubious consent, pervert steve harrington, cocky billy hargrove, model billy hargrove

beta read by: @bottombillyapologist (tysm 🖤)

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

o:|| ~ IT’S A GIVE AND TAKE KIND OF LOVE WE MAKE ~ ||:o

He was watching.

Billy knew he was watching. He was as predictable as the soft creak of the weathered floorboard that accompanied his first step across the threshold of his bedroom, somewhere beyond the soft fluttering of his sheer curtains.

Casting his eyes to the side as he walked towards his bed, Billy tried not to smile as he caught a glimpse of him, half hidden behind the stone statue in the garden. Steve- because it wasn’t hard to find out really anybody’s name or place of work when you had a wallet full of cash- had become something of a toy to him.

Steve didn’t know that Billy knew he was there, of course. No, no. That had been the best part for the blonde.

He imagined a breathless gasp echoing in his garden as he dropped the towel tied loosely around his waist, shower damp skin prickling as it was bared to the air. Steve would be drinking in the sight of him, lip clasped between his teeth all guiltily the way he did when Billy started coincidentally passing by the ice cream stand he worked at in the mall when he went to visit his favorite photographer.

Not many professional photographers would let you drag them into their supply closet for a quick fuck after a session, and Billy had been in a five year dry spell when it came to anything more than casual.

Maybe it was a little fucked up that he knew someone was stalking him and enjoyed it, but Billy wasn’t trying to pretend to be normal. It could’ve been his vanity, his ego, some need to be seen by someone— but he didn’t care why.

Putting on these Friday night shows was the only time he even bothered to touch himself anymore. It just wasn’t the same without his little audience member.

Billy sighed as he sat down on the edge of the bed, reaching for the rich tub of lotion he kept nearby. He wondered if the anticipation was simmering in Steve’s stomach in the same way it was for him as he scooped up the cream on his fingertips, thick and sweetly scented like white tea and raspberries.

As his fingers swirled the cream over his toned chest, massaging and pressing, leaving tingling little trails in their wake, his body began to wake up in other ways. Billy’s head tipped back, a private smile just for himself spreading across his lips as he let his legs fall open.

The teasing was the best part, but he found himself incredibly impatient for the main course. It had been a long week and he’d been eager for this.

Letting his back hit the wall, Billy slowly trailed his massaging fingers lower as he worked his skin cream in, breath catching in his throat when his fingertips brushed the very top of the thatch of hair between his hips. So close.

Finally, he couldn’t bear it anymore. He needed to get off like it was as important as the oxygen he breathed.

Wiping off his fingers carelessly on the sheets, Billy let his eyes open just enough to peer subtly towards the window once more. There he was, even less hidden than before as his distraction clearly won out over his need to be hidden. That was how Billy had first learned of him after all.

As soon as all of the calendar model’s perfect golden skin was on display, Steve’s blood rushed south and Billy got to see a little more of his admirer as he slipped up.

Though the details were a little fuzzy from here, Billy could see his hand slowly rubbing over the denim of his jeans, pretty jaw dropped just a little as he braced himself against moss covered stone. Fizzling pleasure like fireworks flooded Billy’s body at the confirmation he was enjoying what he saw.

Like he always did.

Maybe one day he’d invite him in. Sit him down in the leather chair in the corner and make him beg to touch the object of his obsession, while Billy took himself apart painfully slow in front of his eyes. Maybe he’d even let him lick his spent dick clean after, just a fleeting taste to drive him wild.

Billy throbbed between his legs at the thought. Fuck, that was enticing. He always felt so boneless and lazy after a good orgasm, cleaning up was a hassle he didn’t always want to bother with. He knew Steve would do such a good job, clever pink tongue catching every single pearly drop like it was a priceless wine he could never afford.

With that image burned into his mind, Billy let his eyes slip shut as his hand wrapped around the base of his cock, flushed and weeping where it had risen to kiss the soft skin of his abdomen. If he gasped a little louder than was strictly necessary to ensure the sound would carry through the crack of his open window, that was his own business.

Need scratched up the inside of Billy’s body with fire-tipped claws, a beast yearning to be set free. Tonight wouldn’t be a slow, leisurely show. He needed it too much for that.

A whine escaped him as he rubbed his thumb over the swollen head, ass lifting an inch off the bed as he just barely stopped himself from thrusting into his hand. Fuck. His free hand blindly traveled over the bed until it slipped under his pillow to the place where he’d hidden what he needed for this.

Cool, pink glass brushed his fingers and he smiled as he removed it from its hiding place. Heather had been horrified at the very thought of a glass toy, cringing so hard in the shop despite the salespersons assurance it was solid and completely safe that she’d almost escaped her own skin.

Billy loved it. The temperature, the unyielding nature of it, the heart shaped bumps and ridges that made his toes curl. He lifted the toy to his mouth, opening his eyes just a little as he spit on the flared head of the toy.

He tried his best not to look right at Steve as he lowered the toy, letting it skim over his waiting hole as he spread his legs a little further, chin falling to rest on his chest with a pant as he pushed it inside of himself. A shudder rolled up his spine, tongue damn near falling out of his mouth as it lolled.

The spit wasn’t enough to make it an easy slide, but the friction only made his cock jump in his hold again. He liked it to burn a little so he could feel it later.

Idly, he wondered what Steve was packing. Would he stretch him open like the toy? Make it burn? Or was his proclivity to watch because he was on the smaller side? Did it make him feel inadequate, did he watch because he didn’t believe he could please Billy?

He was sure he could find a way. Size wasn’t everything.

Maybe if his cock was too small to ride, Billy would tie him to the bed. His ankles and wrists bound, laying there helpless and desperate as Billy straddled his face and rode his tongue until his blood turned to lava in his veins and he lost the ability to speak.

It only felt fair. Payment in pleasure for all that Billy had given him over the last six months.

He worked the toy faster as his desperation built, thigh muscles bunching up tight. Another lazy glance under his lashes showed him that Steve’s hand had disappeared into his pants, head pressed against the statue and shoulder rapidly rising and falling.

You wish you were inside of me instead? Billy wondered, before the toy brushed against a spot that had him damn near choking on the moan that ripped free.

Steve’s head dropped the second the sound reached his ears, only for a moment, mouth moving around a word Billy couldn’t make out and hand never so much as pausing its rapid motion. Just the sight of him had Billy going faster, rocking himself down to meet each thrust of the toy to get it deeper but—

Billy whined, annoyed. He was so fucking close but it wasn’t enough. He needed more.

It almost pained him to let the toy slip out of him, cock weeping and angry at the sudden neglect as he used his hands to get to his knees. He was loath to sacrifice his little glimpses of his favorite freak, but… maybe it wouldn’t hurt to give Steve something special tonight.

It was Valentine’s Day, and he felt like being nice.

And, he really needed to fucking cum before he exploded.

Billy turned his back to the window, kneeling on the soft mattress holding his weight, and bent over to reach into his nightstand. He might have shaken his ass, just a little. As a treat.

It didn’t take long to see what he was looking for. Bright red silicone and big enough to make his mouth water. He snatched it as well as the tube beside it, impatiently slicking it up just a moment later.

Finally, he thought as he slid down onto the toy, which was tightly held in place by his feet. It left his hands free to brace him against the wall, back muscles tightening under his skin as he began to fuck himself down onto the toy. It was bigger than the other one, enough to almost hurt, but he relished in it.

Once he was sure he wasn’t going to topple over, he removed one of his hands from the wall and dropped it to pinch at his nipple, head falling loosely back on his shoulders as he let out a litany of curses.

Had Steve fully come out of hiding now that he thought Billy would be oblivious? Or was he still being careful? Maybe he was even taking pictures…

That thought shouldn’t have been appealing at all and yet it had him rocketing towards the edge, probably forming a puddle on the sheets where his bobbing cock drooled endlessly. Quiet enough to not be heard from outside, Billy tried letting Steve’s name mingle upon his pitchy moans and heavy breathing. He liked the way it dripped from his tongue.

In fact, he liked it so much that he made an incredibly risky decision. One that had the chance of scaring off his skittish little bunny for good.

But his orgasm was creeping up on him, he felt drunk on the endorphin rush, and he wanted more next time. He wanted to be touched. Wanted Steve to get on his knees and beg for the privilege to do so. Even the thought was…

His body trembled, hand shooting down to stroke himself one, twice—

It crashed into him like an ocean wave, Billy’s hips dropping down as far as he could take the toy as he clenched tight and let out a near wail of Steve’s name. It trailed off into a sob of a moan, back bending and body shuddering violently as he painted the wall with his release.

Did he imagine the startled sound behind him? His brain was swimming as he struggled to catch his breath, barely able to muster the energy to lift himself off of the toy and let it fall to the bed. He angled his body as he flopped sideways, landing on his back with his legs splayed, one dangling off the bed.

He wanted to look, see if he’d scared him off. But he felt like his muscles had been reduced to pudding and he really needed a minute to reattach himself to reality.

A minute felt like a week before he could drag himself into a sitting position, wincing at the stab of soreness that would haunt him deliciously tomorrow. He pulled himself to wobbly feet, stretching out his body as he stumbled his way towards his window.

Steve stood wide eyed in the same place Billy had last seen him, lips parted and face bright red as Billy hit a button to flick on his pool lights and effectively illuminate him. He had a dark patch on the front of his pants, which made Billy lick his lips as he fought back a smirk.

He was looking at Billy both like he was the most alluring and most terrifying creature he’d ever seen. It absolutely didn’t make the blonde preen.

His bunny shuffled in place, looking like it was taking every ounce of strength he had not to run. Billy lifted his fingers to his mouth, kissed them and then winked as he pressed them against the window.

Steve jolted, lip sucked into his mouth and looking for all the world like he forgot how to blink.

Billy took a step back, reaching out to either side of the window to grab onto the edges of the curtains as a broad smile broke out onto his face. “Happy Valentine's Day, sailor boy.” He called out, watching only long enough to see Steve’s face slacken and go impossibly more red before pulling the curtains shut with a flourish.

Perhaps he’d indulge in a little bit of ice cream tomorrow.

He’d certainly worked up an appetite.

#billy hargrove #steve harrington #harringrove #billy x steve #stalker steve harrington #model billy hargrove #harringrove smut #stvillainousvalentines #billy antis dni #don’t like #don’t read #cw stalking #Spotify

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tojiscumdumpster · 1 year ago

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CHAPTER FIVE - READER

⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀✧ summary page

content warnings - vanilla smut.

I’m sober enough to be grateful that it’s Saturday, but I’m hungover enough to wish I didn’t drink so damn much last night. Four cocktails and eight shots? I’m surprised I’m not a corpse right now. My head is throbbing, and my body still feels too sluggish to get out of bed.

What time is it? Eight? Nine? Who knows? What I do know is that I’m going to take it slow today.

But even though I have the biggest headache right now, I can’t deny that last night was probably the best sleep I’ve had in a while.

It felt warm. Safe, like I was being protected and cared for. And I know damn well Mr. Don Julio was not responsible for that.

When I get drunk, I can sometimes remember bits and pieces of what happened the night before, in the next morning. I know I was at a bachelorette party. I saw Toji—

Wait, I saw Toji. We snuck away into the utility closet to make out like two horny college kids and talked. But he said something that hurt my feelings, causing my whole over drinking fiasco.

Then, some random guy who was hard on the eyes started dancing with me. I can’t remember much after that, but I’m sure he was a creep.

Realistically, I do need to get up to start my day. I have a couple of errands to run, and I sort of promised Nanami that we would meet for lunch later. Why? I don’t know. Again, I don’t hate him. It’s just… I don’t know.

But when I tried to get up from bed, I felt like I was being held down by an arm. Rough yet soft grumbles pass through ears that scatter goosebumps across my core.

In a way, they sound therapeutic. Though, I’m still skeptical about who’s in my bed because I don’t remember hooking up with anyone, let alone allowing someone to sleep over.

However, the moment I looked up to see those dark, mid-length, raven locks. The distinctive scar on his lip. His soft rose-colored lips, I broke from his embrace and jumped away from him.

Did I…

“Toji?”

He barely stirs, but my voice is enough to wake him up. “Hm?”

My mouth waters at the sight of him, laying in my bed, wearing only a tank top that bare his biceps, but leaves me with questions because of the scars that accompany his beautiful skin. And his briefs that shows his toned thighs and— fuck . His semi-hard dick print.

I should look away, I should. But it’s hard when the man you’ve been fantasizing about for the past week is laying in your bed, looking like that.

“A picture will last longer,” he rasps. That deep fucking husky voice that sounds even sexier in the morning.

Y/N. Focus.

Heat floods under my cheeks as I look away. “What are you doing here?”

“Last night really fucked you up, didn’t it?”

“I… Did we… Did we-”

“Have sex?” He finishes for me, and I nod. “No. I wouldn’t do that to anyone… Not to you.” His last words were filled with softness that made my heart skip a beat.

Why am I so drawn to this man?

Toji continues, “You’re pretty fucking clingy when you’re drunk, though. I took you home and cleaned you up for bed and I saw-” He stops mid-sentence, causing me to raise my brow in curiosity.

“You saw what?” He sits up and turns away from me. I notice a light crimson color forming across his face and spreading to his ears. “Toji Fushiguro, are you blushing? What did you see?”

“Just drop it.”

“Nope,” I countered, jumping on him to get his attention back to me. I’m now playfully straddling his lap, completely oblivious.

It's like my hangover washed over me the second I knew Toji was in my presence. He was my serotonin, and I didn’t even realize.

“Aren’t you supposed to be hungover? Where the hell did all this energy come from?” He asks.

“Suddenly I’m not hungover anymore because I’m more interested in what you saw-”

“Naked,” he interjects. “I saw you naked. When I was looking for your oversized tee shirts, you took off your dress while my back was turned and… yeah.”

“Oh…”

All the energy I had come to a halt while zeroing in on Toji. Me, still straddling his lap, becomes lost in his expensive emerald-colored hues. They’re so sharp. So pretty. Those soft lines, forming around his eyes that come with age, suits him well. But you wouldn’t even be able to tell he was forty-two because his skin is so smooth.

His eyelashes are dark and medium length. Brows straight and thin. Lips rosy and slightly plumped. Toji, who claims to be an indecent man, appears like a beautiful catalyst to me.

It’s true what he says about us barely knowing each other, even though it doesn’t feel like that because in such little time, my life feels safe with him.

“Y/N,” he whispers. He calls for me and when he does, I feel his erection growing against my pussy.

“I’m sorry.” I start to pull away, but he holds me in place.

“It’ll go down. Don’t want you to feel pressured to have sex with me,” he assures.

“Okay… what if I—” I begin rubbing my sex against his dick.

“Y/N.” This time his voice is hoarse when he says my name.

My pace quickens and the added friction of his briefs acting as a barrier brings me more pleasure than I expected. I lick and kiss all over his neck to hear more of his husky groans.

“Tell me if you want me to stop, Toji,” I say barely above a whisper. “Do you want me to?”

He grabs my hips and rolls me on him faster. “Fuck no.”

It’s not sex, but fuck, this feels so good. The material of his briefs has me feeling Toji like he is bare under me. Dry humping might be a virgin thing to do, however, it’s aiding me in a much needed orgasm.

I take one of Toji’s hands to hike up my shirt and squeeze my nipples, having me arch my back in pure bliss. He’s just so hard. I’m very tempted to pull him out and ride his dick, but I’m not ready for that yet.

Our moans continue to mingle the quicker we chase our release, and I feel myself soaking up his briefs. Embarrassment fills my emotions from how needy I sound, along with my whimpering. Toji forces our lips together to devour all my sounds of pleasure, biting and sucking on my bottom lip that he can’t get enough of.

My sudden change of movements from grinding on his cock to bouncing and rolling seems to have an effect on him, just as much as it does to me.

“Fuck, you’re going to make me bust in my fucking boxers like I never had pussy before, Y/N,” he admits. “Keep doing that.”

“Maybe because you never had mine.”

Something about my words had Toji growling and flipping me over, where he’s now above me. The look in his eyes is almost primal. No. It is primal. Hungry, craving to feast on me until I tap out.

Before I protest from his loss touch, his lips are back on me, and he dry fucks me as if he’s actually inside of my pussy. His hips snaps into mine while dragging his mouth across my face and neck. Toji continues to pinch my nipples underneath my shirt and I'm a whining mess.

“Toji, I’m about to come,” I cry.

“Why do you sound so fucking sweet? How are you going to sound when my cock is actually inside of you?” Too many questions where I’m too horny to form an answer. “You think you could take me, pretty girl?”

“Yes.”

He chuckles, showing mockery to my answer. “We’ll see.”

Why did that laugh, those two words, trigger me to come? It hit me hard, and blurred my vision with the tears that pricked my eyes. Toji’s presence was enough serotonin, but this? Nothing or no one could possibly ruin my day after this.

I softly gasp for air and it’s as if he knew to kiss me with such eagerness to breathe all the life back into me. Holding him tightly, I wrap my legs around his waist to take his thrusts and swallow his harsh grunts.

“About to fucking come, Y/N,” he growls.

“So come.”

He gives me a few more dry thrusts until the bed creaks and the headboard hits the wall before coming in his briefs.

Toji gives me a sloppy kiss, overpowering, and not giving me a chance to keep up with his moments. Coming down from our orgasms together is an experience I never expected to happen so soon, but it felt right to do it now.

I’m completely sober to remember this moment with Toji.

Our breaths are shallow and his forehead rests on mine. Soon, he slowly rises from me to look at the mess we, well, I made on his briefs.

They’re drenched. While he pulls apart a string of my wetness connects to him that makes my cheeks warm and causes me to look away. I know I shouldn’t be embarrassed, but I am.

“You’re so… fucking wet.” His deep and raspy voice soothes me. I feel his hand grasping my chin to turn my face to him. “Beautiful.”

“Not into the lovey dovey shit, huh?” I say, repeating the words he said to me last night.

He scratches the back of his neck. “Sorry about that. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. What you said was right, wanting to scare people away and shit.”

I don’t want to interrupt his thoughts so I nod my head so he can continue.

“I’m not good at relationships. Only been in one and, well… you know how that ended.”

I stand on my knees to level with his eyes. “I’m not asking for a relationship from you. Not now, at least. Let’s just get to know each other.”

He looks at me to consider my request, eyes wavering across my face. His hand goes to spring the tendril in my face, and I remember to curse myself later for now putting on my bonnet.

Toji takes his time to caress my face, line out my jaw, cuff my neck, and trace my collarbone. His touch is delicate yet burns through my skin. If I can feel this all day, I know I would be okay.

“Alright.”

“Alright?” I repeat.

He nods, giving me a half smile. “Alright.”

Again, my arms are around his neck, and I pull him into a kiss for a few more minutes before I head out for the day.

Having lunch with my ex-fiancé, who is also my boss, is not how I wanted to spend my afternoon, but here I am anyway.

After I spoke to Nanami this past Monday about potentially having dinner with him last night, it completely slipped my mind that I had a bachelorette party to attend. I’m rushing at five in the evening to grade tests for six different classes because my free period was used for a parent-teacher conference, and here comes Nanami coming in my classroom to see if we can still go to dinner.

I was honestly shocked that he had the nerve to ask me that question, like I want to spend my weekend grading papers. Unlike him, I like to enjoy my only two days off without thinking about work.

But when it comes to him? I’m sure he expected me to drop everything and accompany him to dinner.

Nanami stopped doing that for me, so why would I do that for him?

Anyways.

Because I wanted to see why he was so eager to talk to me, I decided to allow him to take me out to lunch today so we could talk. To see how things are going. His words, not mine.

“How was the bachelorette party?” He queries, pulling me from my thoughts.

I sip on my sparkling water. “It was fun. Had too many drinks. So, I still feel a bit sluggish.”

“I see. I know the martinis here are your favorite. Too bad you can’t drink any.”

“Not unless you want me to puke everywhere.”

Silence.

This is exactly what I was worried about. Is this why Nanami wanted to meet up? To have awkwardness while eating eggs and waffles? The chemistry. The love, at least, the love I had for him, died. A long time ago. This feels trivial.

“You brought me to one of the restaurants we used to go to together, you ordered my entire meal because you know me ever so well, and now we’re struggling to make small talk.” I come in hard with my accusations. “What did you want to talk about?”

“I want us to try to make things work, Y/N.”

I laugh. “That’s not happening. We tried twice. How many times do you need?”

“Now? Just one. I know I haven’t been the best in our relationship, but these months without you made me realize there’s more important things in life,” he explains. “Memories. Marriage. Parenthood… I eventually want to build that with you if you allow me.”

“If I allow you?” I mock. “That’s the thing, Ken. I never was opposed to any of that. You knew how much getting married and becoming a mother meant to me. I didn’t take away from you. You took that away from us.”

“I’m sorry.”

I scoff. “Sorry for what? For staying late at work? For declining me sex? For having me to go to our friends get togethers alone? What exactly are you sorry for?”

I attack Nanami with all these questions because it honestly fucking amazes me that he invited me to lunch to try to convince me to give another chance.

We were together for five years. Engaged for one. Problems began two years prior. I’ve been more than patient with Nanami. I was the only person to actually understand how he feels because I’m a freaking teacher. Work is hard on me, too.

But the difference is, I know how to keep it at school. Yeah, maybe I have my days when I have to grade at home. However, when it came to Nanami? I dropped the world for him…

Why couldn’t he do that for me?

I’m not going to cry over him in front of him. Not here. Not now, so this lunch needs to be cut short.

“I’m sure you’re sorry, Kento. Actually, I know you are,” I tell him. “I can’t act like we didn't share some amazing memories. The love you had for me when you were in our relationship was beautiful. You made me light.”

“I still lov-”

“But you also hurt me—badly.” I gather my things to leave him at the table, but before I do. I say one more thing to him. “I don’t think I forgave you yet. If you want to be friends, cool. Give me time for that. But romantically? There’s no chance for that anymore.”

Nanami’s hand sits in lap, and if I know him like I think I do, they’re probably balled up in fists. I know his anger isn’t directed toward me, but at the reality of our demise.

“Okay… I understand. I’ll give you time, Y/N.”

“Thank you.” I give him a solemn smile. “See you around, Ken. Take care of yourself.”

PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER

discussion question #1 — we see both reader and toji becoming familiar with each other, and trying to figure out why they don't feel like strangers. based on their interactions, who do you think will fall in love first?

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awkwardlyflustered · 1 year ago

Text

Smile, Idiot

A/N: Okay so it has been a l o n g time since I’ve written anything, but the new Red, White, and Royal Blue movie has sparked something in me because I love it. Speaking of, this contains very slight spoilers for the movie. Nothing insane by any means, in fact, I think it all might be in the trailer. It’s definitely a little rougher than I would like it, but I’m still getting into the swing of things so cut me a little slack. (Side note, I might have switched the dialogue at the beginning, but shush. My amazon isn’t working).

“I think they want us to shake hands now,” Henry muttered, turning stiffly towards his American counterpart.

“Well then… smile, idiot,” Alex muttered right back at him, grabbing his hand and forcing a fake smile onto his face. Henry scowled before mirroring the insincere smile and posing for the camera.

Through all of the rest of the stupid interviews and all the other stupid activities they had to do, they kept their distance as much as possible. It wasn’t until they landed themselves in a tiny little storage closet, literally on top of each other, that any of their hatred ceased.

“...what was that?” Henry asked, his face adorned with a smirk.

“Nothing! Shut up!” Alex rushed out, his face bright red. “You heard nothing, and you’re wrong, and also shut up.” The little squeak Alex had let out when Henry’s fingers brushed against his ribs would have been explored more, but the door was opened and the two had to scramble out of the closet. Henry still tucked the encounter away in the back of his mind anyways… just in case.

Just in case came about much quicker than he thought it would. Just about a week later the two found themselves in one of their usual positions of Henry on top of Alex, the pair making out. Conveniently, Henry remembered their little excursion, and his hands managed to find their way down to Alex’s ribs. Alex broke away from the kiss with a little flinch.

“Wh-what are you doing?”

“You remember the day when we got pushed inside the supply closet?” Henry asked nonchalantly, still not moving his hands. Alex’s eyes widened, and he started to squirm, but Henry just pushed him back into place. The events of the supply closet flashed through Alex’s mind. He was so conflicted, on one hand, it was when he realized that Henry wasn’t just a royal pain in his ass (pun intended), but it was also when Henry found out…

“Yes- yes of course I remember,” he muttered out sheepishly, still kind of trying to squirm away.

“Good, then you know what’s coming. Now what was it you said? Oh yes… Smile, idiot.” Before Alex even got the chance to respond, Henry was already digging into his ribs. As much as Alex would like to say he remained stone faced, only stopping to chuckle at Henry’s foolish, child-like behavior, he couldn’t. The pure, joyous stream of giggles that came tumbling out of his mouth was the furthest thing from that.

“God you are so cute,” Henry adorned, “It is absolutely unfair that you have such cute giggles. You’re gonna kill me with how utterly adorable you are.” Alex didn’t think it was possible, and yet, he felt more heat flood into his cheeks as his boyfriend praised him.

“Shuhut up, yohohou prihihick!” He squealed out, grabbing onto Henry’s wrists, having given up on trying to squirm away. Henry pulled away in a dramatic presentation of offense.

“Me a prick!? Me!?” Alex took the break happily, quickly catching his breath before retorting.

“Yes, you! You may think you’re absolutely perfect, your majes-” Alex suddenly cut himself off as he remembered the position he was currently stuck in. Henry cocked an eyebrow down at his lover, and slowly loomed over the boy.

“What was that? Did you just call me your majesty, after I’ve told you how many times that is specifically reserved for the king? This is obviously deserving of a punishment.” Alex pursed his lips and squeezed his eyes shut, preparing for the onslaught of tickles he was about to be hit with.

Henry took his time toying with Alex, relishing in every flinch and twitch that came from even the slightest touch. Every time Henry’s fingers touched him, Alex could feel the electricity shooting through him. The anticipation was the worst part of it. He had absolutely no idea where Henry’s devious fingers were venturing to, and could hardly take it. Finally, much to Alex’s chagrin, Henry’s fingers finally settled in to the dips of his hips. They weren’t there for even a second before Alex began desperately begging.

“Nononono, Henry please I can’t take that. I’ll be too loud, people are gonna hear-” Alex got cut off by Henry leaning down and kissing along his neck, slowly making his way up to give him a quick peck on his lips before whispering into his ear.

“Guess you better keep quiet then.” Leaving Alex with absolutely no time to react, he started rubbing his thumbs in quick circles, which left Alex a howling mess. There was absolutely no hope of him even maintaining a semblance of quiet. How could he when his absolute worst spot was being tickled by a mad man? Alex squirmed, and screamed, and begged. Anything and everything he could think of to at least get Henry to move spots, and Henry absolutely reveled in it. He loved nothing more than making the hottest man on earth squeal and screech with laughter.

As much as he did enjoy it, he was honestly worried someone was going to catch them, so he instead opted to lift up Alex’s shirt and begin gently nibbling along his abs. Alex was beyond relieved his hips were being left alone, but it by no means made this new form of torture any better. Henry couldn’t help but smirk at the little buck Alex did every time he hit this one spot just above his left hip.

“H-Hehen, plehehease,” Alex giggled out, pulling Henry down by his collar. Henry relented, finally, happy falling into a kiss with the younger boy.

The two continued kissing for a couple minutes before Alex pulled away and looked at him with a smirk.

“Hey, Henry?”

“Mhmm?”

“Run.”

Henry didn’t have to be told twice. He broke out in a grin, beaming ear to ear, before leaping off the couch and running to find protection from the tickle monster out for revenge. He did not get very far, of course, and again their hotel room was filled with gleeful giggling, and desperate pleas.

#RWRB #alex claremont diaz #henry fox mountchristen windsor #lee!Alex #Ler!Henry #Tickle #tickle fic #rwrb tickle #Hopefully this is alright #It has been so long since I've written anything #I just love them too much to not #Plus Alex is such a little shit and deserves to be wrecked 20 times over

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mickittotheman · 8 months ago

Note

49 …out of necessity for the prompt game if you are so inspired?! ❤️😍

I did one for this prompt here, but I was indeed feeling inspired so here's another!

49. ...out of necessity

“Hey, Mickey?”

Mickey drops the bowl in his hands to the table with a clatter. Clears the distance between the kitchen and his room in quick strides. “What? What’s wrong? What’s happening?”

His gaze flits to Ian first. Still in the same position. Still curled up on his side, facing the wall, the sheets tugged up over his head. Mickey breaths out a long breath, not sure whether the feeling flooding him is relief or disappointment or both.

Carl blinks at him, wide eyed. “Nothing. Jeez. Just wanted to ask you something.”

Mickey sighs again. He snatches his brass knuckles out of Carl’s hand and shoves it back into the top drawer of his dresser. All his other weapons have been cleared out into a couple of cardboard boxes shoved deep inside the depths of Mandy’s closet. He’s not taking any chances. “Stop messing with my shit. You couldn't have fucking walked out there to ask me the question?”

Carl shrugs. “You said not to leave him alone.”

Right.

Mickey twists his lips. Looks at Ian again. Looks away.

“Fuck did you wanna ask me?”

Carl goes all shifty. Starts fiddling with the sheets. Looks, for a moment, like the little kid he is, not the wannabe tough guy he’s pretending to be. “Um. I know it's kinda stupid, but… Debbie used to watch those stupid fairytale movies, you know? The girly ones, with the princesses and castles and shit?”

“Okay,” Mickey drawls, eyebrows steadily creeping higher. He waves his hands around when Carl doesn’t continue. “You called me in here just to tell me that?”

“No– I,” Carl frowns. Shrinks in on himself. Looks impossibly younger. “It’s just. You said you’d be willing to try anything, right? To make him better?”

Mickey makes his best ‘duh’ expression.

“Well um. One time when we were little. And Monica was around. And she was like this. Debbie had this idea, that maybe Frank should try kissing her, because in her stupid movies they would always cure everything with true love's kiss or whatever. It didn’t work, but we thought maybe it’s just because the way Monica and Frank love each other is kinda fucked up, and maybe…”

Carl trails off, blushing furiously. He shoves himself to his feet before Mickey can even begin to wrap his mind around what the fuck he’s talking about.

“Nevermind. This is stupid. I’ve gotta go. Gotta meet someone in twenty.”

He brushes past Mickey on the way out of the room. Mickey stares after him, mouth open, brows furrowed incredulously. The front door slams shut.

What the fuck.

Mickey sighs. Pinches the bridge of his nose. “Fucking Gallaghers, man,” he mutters.

On the bed, Ian doesn’t so much as twitch.

Mickey circles over to his side. Grabs the plate of toast off the nightstand– half eaten, better than yesterday– and brings it out into the kitchen. Eats the slightly stale toast. Finishes his bowl of cereal. Leaves the dishes there for someone else to deal with.

He grabs a gatorade from the fridge, grabs an extra quilt from the couch, brings them back with him into his dark, stuffy room. He pulls the curtains open. Cracks the window just a bit. It’s cold as fuck outside, but he’s been looking into shit, and fresh air is supposed to help. He circles back to Ian’s side again, sets the gatorade in reach, seal already twisted off to make it easier for Ian if he decides to drink some. He drapes the quilt over him, tucks the edges in tight, smooths a hand over the sheet covering Ian’s hair.

Mandy used to like fairytales, too. Mickey stole a copy of Sleeping Beauty from this girl in his class back in primary school. He read that fucking thing to her so many times he could practically recite it from memory alone.

Carl was right. This is fucking stupid.

But he was also right about Mickey being desperate enough to try anything.

He scowls. Rolls his eyes. Crouches down beside the bed. Leans in. Squeezes his eyes shut.

His breath hitches when their lips touch. Fuck, but he’s missed kissing Ian.

He misses being kissed by Ian even more.

He pulls back. Digs the heels of his palms into his eyes. Fuck.

When he lowers his hands, Ian is awake, staring back at him.

“Holy shit. Ian.”

Ian doesn’t respond with anything other than a slow blink, but he hasn’t talked in days now, and his eyes look clearer than they have since this whole fucking mess first started.

Mickey grips hard at Ian’s arm. Ian doesn't shove him away this time. Just blinks again.

Mickey takes in a shuddering breath. Pastes on a strained smile. “Hey there, sleeping beauty. You feeling any better?”

Ian moves his shoulder, just a tiny little twitch of a shrug. His gaze darts down to Mickey’s lips, then back up to his eyes, then down again. Mickey can see his jaw flexing, his throat working, his mouth twitching like he’s struggling to say something.

“What is it? You need something?”

A short, sharp, jerky nod.

“You want your gatorade? More food? Another blanket–?”

Ian shakes his head. His brows twist in frustration. He looks at Mickey’s lips again.

Oh.

Mickey’s breath whooshes, like he’s been kicked in the sternum. He kinda fucking feels like he has been.

He darts forwards again. Brushes his lips against Ian’s, chaste. Pulls back to look at him before doing it again, and again, and again.

Fairytales are bullshit. But maybe there’s some things they got right.

send me a number~

#prompt games #gallavich #my scribblings #if this hurts to read. just know it hurt infinitely more to write.#jk this was fun (said with tears and blood on my face)

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catindabag · 2 years ago

Text

TBOSAS on Crack short take (30)

*When Dean Highbottom revealed all the Mentors’ infamous list of crimes to everyone at The Academy*

Casca: Thank you, my dear students, for coming to our annual school meeting in Heavensbee Hall. May this year start with good-

Festus: *raises hand* Sir! Dean Highbottom Sir, will there be free food after?!

Casca: Put your hand down, Mr. Creed. And do shut up while I’m spea-

Festus: But I’m hungry~.🥺

Iphigenia: Me too!

Androcles: Can we have pizza? I really want to eat a slice of pizza right now.

Coryo: Is pie even on the menu?

Pup: Does anyone want soup?

Sejanus: I brought bread pudding.

Felix: Can we have takeouts?

Casca: Wait a damn minute! Creed, why are you and your classmates here?! Didn’t I personally banned your class from attending forever?!

Coryo: *stands up* But sir, this is The Academy’s annual meeting. Our class must be allowed to-

Casca: Sit the f*ck down and shut your mouth, Crassus Snow!😡🔪

Coryo: But-

Casca: Not another word, Xanthos!

Festus: Can we ask why?

Casca: Why?! Do you even remember what your class did last year?!

Felix: Sir, I swear it wasn’t us!

Androcles: I wasn’t even there when that incident blew up!

Casca: Don’t you dare lie to me, boy! You were even one of the masterminds-

Livia: Oh, move on, Highbottom!🙄💅

Coryo: Yeah! The water wasn’t even that deep-

Casca: Your freaking accursed class flooded the entire Heavensbee Hall with glitter!

Hilarius: Well, no one got hurt.

Festus: And everyone enjoyed-

Casca: Do you know how much money The Academy had to pay the freaking Department of Education to fix your mess?! To fix our screen?! To get rid of the hot pink glitter?!

Coryo: The glitter was Livia’s idea-

Casca: I had to take another freaking big ass loan from Mama Cardew!😩

Livia: And because of that, my allowance tripled!🥳

Felix: It wasn’t that bad-

Casca: I should’ve just expelled all of you! Especially you, Creed!!

Festus: But you didn’t!😂

Casca: Do you even know how many crimes I had to cover up for your class?!

Androcles: What crimes are we speaking of? Outside or just inside the school?

Felix: I ain’t no criminal! I’m innocent!

Casca: Just let me grab my list. . . Oh, here it is! *reveals a big ass book instead*

Livia: is that your very own Burn Book?

Casca: Mic check, mic check-

Coryo: Well, Andie, good luck. I just hope they didn’t tell Highbottom about the missing Pitbull Rabbit Incident.

Androcles: You know what, I hope they did.😌

Lysistrata: Impressive, really.

Casca: Let’s start small. The first petty crime your class committed was the stealing and eating of the Dean’s favorite apple pie without remorse.

Coryo: That was one time.

Lysistrata: Twelve times, Coryo.

Casca: Another was when a certain someone deliberately locked me up inside the broom closet. Also, without remorse.

Florus: What? I didn’t want to receive a demerit. And I really needed to steal that bleach from the Dean.

Casca: The third was when a certain rich girl illegally customized and dyed our prestigious school uniform sunshine yellow without my consent.

Juno: Excuse me? Yellow was the color of that season, peasant.💅

Casca: There was also that time when someone stole my Bichon puppy and dyed its fluffy fur lime green.

Io: I swear it was in the name of science.

Casca: *keeps on reading* Stealing and hacking my personal computer to change his or her math and literature grade.

Apollo: To be fair, Andie just helped us do the stealing.

Iphigenia: So who did the hacking?

Diana: Coryo Snow.

Coryo: 50 bucks is 50 bucks.

Sejanus: And you guys didn’t even think to invite me?!

Casca: Quiet! Now where was I-

Clemensia: Page 4, paragraph 5, line 7, Sir.

Casca: Oh, yes. Calling and pestering the National Security, just because his calculator was stolen.

Urban: It was a serious national crisis! We had a calculus test that day!

Androcles: And I needed that calculator more than Urban.

Casca: The smuggling of illegal drugs to school, and passing them off as ✨Miracle Pills✨.

Lysistrata: Last I checked, my parents are certified doctors. But for legal reasons, it wasn’t me, officer.

Casca: Dumpster-diving for scraps before class, and lying to Peacekeepers that it was a legitimate after-school activity.

Festus: Collecting free food coupons inside Highbottom’s dumpster is not a crime!

Casca: Skipping school for the hundredth time to attend an underground fancy-dress rave.

Arachne: What? Domitia and Vipsania were also doing it.

Casca: Emptying the school’s food pantry to feed their Tributes.

Coryo: Oh, c’mon! I wasn’t the only one! The Ring twins and the others were doing it too!

Casca: Stealing the Dean’s morphling bottles and illegally reselling them at the Capitol Black Market.

Androcles: Honestly, I needed the extra cash.

Felix: Why? Your family’s rich.

Androcles: My mama froze my allowance after I stole my uncle’s credit card to buy “prohibited” fireworks for the New Year.

Casca: The Smuggling and trading of banned films and items at school for personal profit.

Dennis: It was a really good and profitable business!

Casca: Vandalizing the school’s Hall of Fame by spray painting their family crest on every corner of the hallway.

Hilarius: And it was worth it.

Casca: Poisoning and almost killing half of the school by bringing their infamous deadly apple pies to our ✨End of The Year Class Party✨.

Palmyra: Well, I just hope that this juvenile criminal was caught and sentenced to prison.😌💅

Casca: Annually scaring the freshmen by dressing up as a bloody serial killer cannibal ghost every October.

Persephone: It was pretty funny though.

Casca: Lying to the School Board Committee that I was a certain someone’s sugar daddy who willingly pays for his sugar baby’s education.

Livia: You weren’t?! I mean, you and Coriolanus Snow were so-

Coryo: What the actual f*ck, Livia!

Sejanus: Coryo’s mine!!😡🔪

Casca: Secretly depleting and embezzling the class fund without their classmates’ consent.

Iphigenia: Oh, that’s so horrible! Who would ever do such a horrid thing?

Everyone:. . .

Iphigenia: But for legal reasons, I hope they’ll be caught soon.

Casca: Hacking the school’s sound system to automatically play ✨Gem of Panem✨ whenever I enter and exit a room.

Diana: It was funny!

Casca: Bringing a whole ass dairy cow to their Class Show & Tell, just to milk it in front of the judges.

Domitia: I was thirsty!😩

Casca: Stealing a Jabberjay from Dr. Gaul’s lab and teaching it to say “Your school sucks! Go home, Losers!” to guest students and professors.

Vipsania: To be fair, my aunt (Professor Sickle) gave me her permission.

Casca: Forging his father’s very important signature in order to skip school and attend an underground rap competition.

Pup: The prize money was really worth it, Sir!

Casca: Smuggling illegal sexy magazines and secretly placing them inside my office.

Gaius: To be fair, it was a dare.

Casca: Using his granduncle’s influential family name and position to delay the Hunger Games for the hundredth time.

Felix: Can’t we just officially postpone it forever? No one really wants to watch it anyway.

Casca: Lying to Capitol News that I was unfairly treating and harassing a certain student for being poor.

Clemensia: I wasn’t lying! You were literally emotionally abusing poor Coryo!😠

Casca: How dare you place yourself between me and my Crassus! You have no right to slander me and my boyfriend like that!

Clemensia: *sighs* I should’ve added “delusional” as well.😞

Casca: Now, where was I? Oh, yes! Stealing my boyfriend (Crassus) and claiming that their so called “Snowjanus” ship is better than #Crasca4Ever!

Sejanus: Becuase it is the superior ship!

Casca: No, it’s not!😡🔪

48 notes · View notes

callsign-magnolia · 2 years ago

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I Hope You Dance // Ch. 50

MATURE CONTENT (18+)

A/N: This is cross posted to my Wattpad, so if this seems familiar that is why!

TW: Mental abuse, emotional abuse, slight physical abuse, death and loss.

Description: When Caila meets Rooster, sparks fly. But, she's already married, to a man who she thought loved her, and won't let her go. Rooster will fight for her, he just has to convince Caila to fight for herself.

The songs mentioned in this chapter are Dethrone & Concrete Jungle both by Bad Omens! (Give them a listen if you like metal)

Word Count: 7.3k

Chapter 49 | Masterlist

It’s been a few weeks since the pictures started. Six in fact, which puts us two weeks before Rooster’s birthday. I was still debating on what to do for him. Maybe a night out at The Hard Deck? But we do that so often. I want to do something different for him. But I had no idea what. But I wasn’t sure if I wanted to go out myself. With these pictures going around, I get looks everywhere I go. Mav even had to make an announcement on base that no one was allowed to talk about it. Whoever was posting these pictures was smart, they would wait a while between posting at this point, like they were waiting until we let our guard down and then they would post another. It was mentally and emotionally draining and most nights I went straight to bed after dinner and fell asleep. I know Rooster is worried about me, but it’s so hard to have any motivation to do anything. I’ve done well to keep it from affecting me at work, but as soon as we were in the car to go home, it’s like I deflated like a balloon. Slouching in the passenger seat as Rooster reached for my hand, kissing it and resting our intertwined fingers on the console.

I stood washing the dishes from dinner when Rooster’s arms wrapped around my waist, his lips pressing to the spot just below my ear. “You okay?” He asked, resting his chin on my shoulder, his hand splaying over my belly, a warm feeling flooding me. It’s been weeks since Rooster and I had sex. With the photos being out I hadn’t felt like it, and Rooster has been great at hiding how it’s affected him. I know it has, because he’s been spending a lot more time in the shower and I can hear him. I took a deep breath leaning back into him. “I’m okay.” He smiled into my neck, holding me tightly. I bent down to reach into the sink for the pan and accidentally brushed against him. He let out a quiet groan and I could tell he was seriously holding back. I remembered one of my sessions with Dr. Lender that I had recently. He told me that I need to keep up my normal routine. With everything going on it’s easy to fall into isolation, and to distance myself from everyone. I needed to do everything I could to live normally and that includes, fucking my fiance. I had lingerie in the closet I’ve never worn, the ones I bought months ago.

Once I finished the dishes I went upstairs, but I was surprised to find Rooster laying on our bed, nothing but boxers, rubbing himself through the black material. “Fuck, Mags.” He whispered and I grinned. I didn’t say a word as I crossed the room. He jumped up as I startled him. “Mags.” He said and I kept walking until I walked into the closet, closing the door behind me. “What are you doing, Mags?” He asked. I ignored him, slipping on the white crotchless panties as well as the baby clue corset. I tightened it and took a deep breath, turning to the door. I was nervous for some reason, wondering if Rooster would like it. But I mustered up the courage and swung the door open. Rooster was sitting on the edge of the bed, leaning back on his hands. “Oh. My. God.” He whispered. “Like what you see, Lieutenant?” I asked, giving him a slow spin. “Oh, honey. You have no idea how much I love it.” He said as I stepped closer. He raised one hand, skimming it over my bare thigh. He continued to stare, taking in every inch of me, and it made me feel sexier than I had felt in weeks. “You look ethereal.” He mumbled, one finger hooking into my panties. “Yeah?” I asked and his eyes met mine. Warm and brown, full of love. Love that was only meant for me. I reached out, caressing his cheek before dragging my hand along his shoulder, then to his chest. I took another step forward, gently perching myself on his lap. I could feel how hard he was through his boxers. “I’ve missed you.” I said, leaning in, my nose nuzzling his jaw as his hands grabbed my waist. “I’ve been right here pretty girl.” He said as he turned to me, kissing my cheek, just below my eye, before kissing my nose, then my lips. It was gentle, sweet even. I dragged my hand down his chest, slowly trailing to the waistband of his boxers and he groaned as I dragged a nail over the bulge in them.

“Oh, pretty girl.” He moaned as he pulled back from me. “You want it?” He asked, his hand gently gripping my chin, keeping my gaze on him. I could only whine in response and he smirked at me. “Then take them off.” He said and I stood, grabbing his boxers and slowly pulled them down his legs. His throbbing erection, resting against his stomach as it sprang free. I sat up, placing a kiss to the swollen head as I did before reclaiming my place on his lap. I rested my hands on his neck, pulling him into another kiss as he palmed at my ass. I was soaked, leaking onto his thighs as I rutted against him. “I need you out of these.” He said, looping his fingers through my panties. “No need.” I said. I stood again, taking his throbbing dick in my hand, pumping him a few times, making him moan for me before I straddled him once more, lining him up with my entrance. I slowly sank down on him, reveling in the way his thick cock stretched my walls. It hurt in the most delicious way and I whimpered when he was fully seated inside me. He groaned, looking at where our bodies met, and I leaned forward. “They’re crotchless.” I said and he moaned again. “God I love you.” He said with a chuckle.

“Not god, but you can worship me all you want.” He groaned, wrapping his arms around me and pulling me flush against him. My hips shifted and the head of his cock nudged against that spongy spot inside me, making me moan. He pressed his lips to mine, swallowing any noise I made as my fingers weaved into his hair. His large hands moved to grab my ass, slowly rolling my hips against him. “Bradley.” I whined and he smirked at me. “What is it, pretty girl?” He asked, rolling his own hips into mine. “‘m so full.” I moaned out and he chuckled. “Yeah? You like being full of my cock?” I could only nod as his cock kept nudging that one spot, my clit dragging across the coarse hairs at the base of his cock. “Mm, my pretty girl all dumb on my cock. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so stupid for me.” I felt dumb. Something about not being with him for so long, made him feel a thousand times bigger and better. He scooted back on the bed with me in his lap before laying back, his hands resting on my hips. “Go on.” I knew what he wanted, so I leaned forward slightly, resting my hands on his chest before lifting my hips. I rode him slowly, trying to keep myself from cumming so quickly, but it was so hard. He felt so good and I was a moaning mess. “My pretty girl is so dirty for me, isn’t she?” I could only nod as I moaned. “Wants nothing but my cock inside her. God, I could stay buried in this pretty pussy for the rest of my life.”

My hips stuttered, my legs growing tired from the constant motion and Rooster noticed. I squealed as he flipped us over, me now under him, just how I liked it. “Look at you, all pretty in your little corset. All for me.” He said, leaning down to kiss me before he thrust his hips into me at a brutal pace. “Oh fu-u-u-u-u-ck. Yes, Bradley! Yes!” I cried out, my nails dragging down his back as he fucked me. He grabbed my knees, tossing them over his shoulders. He pushed till my legs were flush against my chest, kissing the tops of my breasts that were spilling out of my corset top. “You like that, Mags? You like when I fuck you like my own little slut?” A shiver ran up my spine at his words. He’d never spoken to me like that, but goddamn did it turn me on. “Yes! Fuck! Bradley, make me cum, please!” I begged and he smirked, his hand coming up and wrapping around my throat, squeezing slightly. “I will. I always make you feel good.” He said, as he thrust into me with long languid strokes. A tingling sensation started in my toes, working it’s way up my legs until that sensation in my belly washed over me and sent me spiraling into my orgasm. “Bradley! Fuck yes! Don’t stop, Roo!” I begged as I held him tightly, not wanting him to stop. His head was near my lips and I smirked. “Cum inside me, Roo.” I whispered and he groaned. “Fill me up with your cum, Roo. Need to feel it inside me. Wanna watch it drip down my thighs.” He thrust into me quickly before he suddenly stopped, cock buried inside me completely and his ropes of cum filling me to the brim. “Fuck, you like when I cum inside you?” He asked, still holding my neck and making me look at him. “Yeah. I can’t wait till we’re married. I’m gonna walk around constantly stuffed full of it.” He groaned, bringing his head down to rest on my shoulder. “You’re making me hard again.” I smirked, tilting my head to whisper in his ear again. “Then fuck me again. I am your personal little slut, aren’t I?” With that he rolled me onto my side, his chest pressed against my back as he lifted my leg and fucked me hard. Bringing another orgasm down on me. “Have you lost weight?” He asked and I sat up, nodding. “A little, why?” I asked. “I noticed it physically but you just felt lighter when you were in my lap.” My eyes lit up and my smile widened. “Really?” He raised a brow, chuckling at me. “Yes.” He said leaning forward and pressing a kiss to my lips.

We easily fell back into our routine, and the bed together, and after a few days it was like everything went back to normal and I felt more myself than I had in awhile. That is, until the worst hit. “Fuck! Yes! Yes! Bradley, don’t stop!” Bob and I were walking by a group of Ensigns who were staring at a phone. It was distorted but I could pick up my own voice anywhere. I turned to face them, listening to some very familiar voices. “NICE TITS!” I knew exactly what they were watching. “Ensigns.” I called and they all looked at Bob and I before standing at attention, a blush covering most of their cheeks. “Phone. Now.” I was handed the phone and I looked at the video at this point Rooster and I were getting dressed. I clicked out of it to see who originally posted it, and sure enough it was a guy standing on a catamaran, shirtless with a douchey smile on his face. The caption? Since the photos are going around, thought I’d treat everyone to her sex tape. I took down his name and twitter handle before handing the ensign his phone back. “Admiral Simpson's office. Now.” They immediately turned and headed that way.

Bob followed behind and I walked into Cyclone’s office first. “Sir,” I addressed and he raised a brow at me. “We have a problem.” I filled Cyclone in and he yelled and he threatened those boys. But ultimately he had to talk with their commanding officer. They were docked here for the week and would ship out at the end of this week. He sent them off before sitting back in his chair, sighing. “Lieutenant. We have to get this under control.” I nodded. “I’ve already gotten his name and I’m calling my PI as soon as I walk out of here.” He nodded. “Was this man the one posting all the other photos?” I shook my head. “The caption insinuated he didn’t do it, but there will probably be an investigation into that. We’re still trying to catch the guy who’s originally posting these.” He hummed just as my phone dinged. I looked at it, seeing I was tagged in a photo on twitter. My heart thudded wildly in my chest as I opened it, but I felt sick at the picture in front of me. It was one Rooster sent me after I was deployed. He was sat in the chair in our room, facing the mirror. He was completely nude, cock hard and resting against his stomach as he took the picture with a wicked smirk on my face. “Magnolia?” Cyclone called and I turned to him. “What is it?” He asked and it took me a moment to respond. “I-it’s Rooster. It wasn’t my picture this time, it was his. Oh my god.” I gasped as I saw the caption below the picture. Call off the wedding and I’ll stop posting them. “What does it say?” He asked. “Someone wants me to call off my wedding.” I said before turning and sprinting out the door, bumping into Bob. “What’s wrong?”

I explained everything to him as we rushed to the hangar, I had to find Bradley and tell him before someone else showed him. But I seemed to be too late as I heard him shouting through the hangar door. “WHAT THE FUCK?! I’M GONNA KILL THIS SON OF A BITCH!” I rushed in and the sound of the door caused everyone to look at us. “Bradley-” “Have you seen it?” I nodded as he came over, his hands tightly gripping my biceps beneath my flight suit. “Bradley honey, I’m so sorry.” He shook his head. “It’s not your fault. But this fucker is going down. First that video, now the pictures of me and asking us to call off the engagement? I’m done playing his games, I could… I could…” His grip tightened with every word, so much so it was painful. “Roo, you’re hurting me.” I whispered. He looked at his hands on my arms and quickly let go. “Mags, honey. I’m sorry, I didn’t-” I nodded, taking his hands in mine. “I know. I know you didn’t mean to. This is incredibly stressful and we have to figure out something soon.” He nodded. We agreed to talk about everything at home, but the rest of the day was tense. So many people had seen the video at this point that whenever people saw us, they would stare and a few were even bold enough to make gestures. A few men motioning to their laps was enough to have Rooster raging. But finally, we were done for the day so we showered and climbed into the bronco to head home. After a windy ride home we walked into the house, sighing in relief from being done for the day.

Rooster set our bags by the door and walked towards the kitchen. I grabbed our bags, taking them up to our room and setting them by the closet. As I set them down, the light hit my engagement ring, making it gleam. If calling off the wedding would make this all stop, then perhaps I should do it. I paced the bedroom for a little bit, thinking of the pros and cons. Hundreds of cons and one pro, the pictures would stop. But we only have to call off the wedding, we can still get married at the courthouse and have a wedding later. Making my decision I grabbed the navy felt ring box, placing the ring inside and starting downstairs. I walked into the kitchen, seeing Rooster leaned against the counter, Dahlia standing on her hind legs, leaning on him as he pet her. I couldn’t help but smile at them, watching as he rested his forehead on Dahlia's, looking up at her, seeing as she was a head taller than him on her hind legs. “What are you looking at?” He asked, smiling at me. Dahlia immediately left him, coming over to me for some love. “Just you two.” I said, stepping closer. “So, we need to talk about this picture business.” I nodded. “I wanted to talk to you about that too.” I said, setting the box on the counter and sliding it closer to him. He stared at it a minute before he started laughing. “That’s funny, Caila.” I bit my lip and his laughing stopped. “Mags. That ring better not be in that box.” He said as he snatched it, opening it up. “Listen to me-” “NO! NO! THE ONE THING I’M NOT DOING IS CALLING OFF THIS ENGAGEMENT!” He yelled. “Rooster, don’t yell at me.” I said sternly and he scoffed. “WHAT DO YOU EXPECT ME TO DO WHEN THE LOVE OF MY LIFE WANTS TO CALL OFF OUR ENGAGEMENT BECAUSE SOME SICKO IS POSTING PICTURES OF US?!” “STOP YELLING AT ME!” I screamed back and we both stopped, chests heaving. “I won’t wear the ring. We can still go down to the courthouse and get married, we can have a wedding once this is all over. I just think for now we just need to play along.”

“Going down to the courthouse is not what either of us want. Mags, I want to see you in a white dress, walking down the aisle towards me. I want to say our vows in front of everyone and kiss you when it’s all said and done.” I sighed as his hands came up, cradling my face softly, a sharp contrast to the grip he had on my arms earlier. “No. I’m not letting some smart guy whose probably sitting in his mom's basement with cheeto dusted fingers keep me from marrying you in December. We will figure this out, Mags.” He said, kissing my forehead. He opened the ring box, and pulled it out, grabbing my hand and slipping it on my finger. “I swear to god, Mags. If I have to slip this on your finger one more time.” He joked, making me laugh. “So… we’re not calling off the wedding?” He asked and I shook my head. “No. We’ll figure this out.” I said, leaning up on my toes and kissing him. After that we called my mom and she had Chelsea write up a press release for us, which would be announced on the day of Rooster’s birthday. In the meantime I tried to figure out what to do for him, or even what to get him. I thought and thought and thought as the days went by and I struggled. I felt bad because he knows me so well, and I feel like I barely know him since I can’t come up with anything to do. A few days later Phoenix called me after work. I was lounging on the couch while Rooster was in the shower. “Okay, wait till you hear this.” She said before I could even say anything. “Okay.” I said. “That band that we love? The one we found when you stayed with me?” I nodded. “Yeah?”

“I know I mentioned it before, but they’re gonna be in San Diego on the twenty-eighth.” That sounded so fun. “I would love too, but that’s the day after Rooster’s birthday and I’m still trying to figure out what to do for him.” She hummed. “I forgot about that.” I laughed. “Don’t tell him that.” She joined me in my laughter. “That sucks, I was hoping we could go.” She said and I sighed. “I know. But I can’t drag him to something I want to do on his birthday.” I said. “What did you want to do?” I jumped up, a scream escaping my throat as he startled me. “Bradley!” I whined, smacking his arm as he came around the couch, sitting in front of me and pulling my legs into his lap. “Sorry. What did you want to do?” He asked. “Nothing.” I knew if I told him he’d go just because he wanted to please me. “A concert for a band we like.” Phoenix said loudly, loud enough for Rooster to hear. He hummed, “Which band?” He asked. Phoenix gave the name and I yelled at her. “Phoenix! Stop telling him!” He just laughed. “Is that the metal band you keep listening to?” He asked and I nodded, a blush on my cheeks. “Yes.” He smiled at me. “They’re actually really good.” I rolled my eyes at him. “So let’s go.” I huffed. “Phoenix, let me call you back.” I said and she agreed before I hung up. “Do you actually want to go, or are you just saying that because I want to go?” I asked and he grinned at me. “No, I actually want to go. A concert sounds fun.” I narrowed my eyes at him. “It’s standing room only, so we’d be on the floor.” I said and he nodded. “Okay.” He said with a smile. “Okay, but we’re staying to either the left or right side. I’m not dealing with the mosh pit and I am sure as hell not spending my night lifting crowd surfers.” He just laughed as I grabbed my phone. “Of course, honey.” He said as he leaned forward, kissing me. With that I called Phoenix and told her to book the tickets.

I still hadn’t figured out what to do for Bradley’s birthday. He said he wanted a simple dinner with just me and him with no gifts. He didn’t want to go to The Hard Deck, he didn’t want a small party. Just me and him. I loved the idea but I still had to figure out what to get him, whether he didn’t want a gift or not. It took some searching but finally I came across something. I immediately grabbed my phone. I googled phone services in Virginia before I started dialing. I called many services, explaining the situation before I finally found it. “Yes, ma’am we do have Carol Bradshaw in the system.” I nodded. “I know it’s a long shot, but do you have any old voicemails saved on the server?” I heard clicking on the other end before she answered. “Yes, ma’am. We have them as far back as nineteen eighty-one.” I bit my lip, smiling. “Great. Can I have the access number?” She had to email me some forms and because neither of Bradley’s parents were alive I was able to get a hold of the number pretty easily. Now I just had to listen them all and find the one I needed.”

I woke up about twenty minutes early on Rooster’s birthday deciding to get up and make french toast for him. Once that was done I went back upstairs, smiling as I saw him in bed. I quickly shut off his alarm before it could wake him and crawled onto the bed, managing to slip under the covers. Thankfully he was already laying on his back, making it easy for me to gently slip his boxers down, morning wood almost smacking me in the face as I did so. I smirked, gently wrapping my hand around him, giving him a few teasing strokes until precum beaded on his tip. I kitten licked the head of his cock before taking it into my mouth, sucking gently. His chest rose as he took a deep breath, a sign he was starting to wake. I took more of him into my mouth, struggling a little as he stretched my throat. A moan escaped his lips and his legs shifted as I sucked on his cock. “Mags?” His morning voice alone made me wet, my legs rubbing together for friction as I started bobbing my head along his cock. My hands rested on his lower stomach as I took him down to the hilt, gagging as I did so. Sudden;y the covers were tossed off of me and I looked up, meeting Roosters eyes as he stared down at me. “Best birthday ever.” He said, hand coming up cradle my face as drool fell from my mouth, coating his cock. “You’re so pretty with my cock in your mouth.” He said and I brought my hand up, fondling his balls as I sucked him off.

“Oh fuck, Mags. I’m gonna cum.” He was always so much more sensitive in the mornings. I quickly took him all the way into my mouth, my nose brushing against his trimmed hairs at the base of my cock. Hot ropes of cum shooting down my throat as I looked up to him. His head was thrown back, one hand buried in my hair, holding me in place until he was done.Soon he was and I sat up, smiling at him. “Show me.” I smirked, holding my tongue out so he could see the last bit of his cum that rested on it. “Swallow.” He said as he reached forward, gently gripping my face. I pulled my tongue in, swallowing and he smirked, pulling me into a kiss. He pulled my naked body onto his lap, my arms wrapping around his shoulders. “Happy Birthday, my love.” He smiled into the kiss, pulling away slightly. “You’re amazing, you know that?” I smiled at him. “You may have told me once or twice.” I said. “I hate that we have to work today. I’d rather keep you in bed.” I chuckled. “Well, I made french toast for you.” He laughed, standing with me in his arms. Once downstairs, he put me down and I made him sit at the island. We were both naked as I grabbed the french toast and walked over. I straddled his lap, smirking as he groaned. “I know of a way to make this better.” I raised a brow. “Oh, you do?” He nodded and raised me slightly, grabbing his cock and lowering me onto him. “Oh…” I moaned, feeling so full of him. “Feed me?” I smirked, grabbing the fork. “Whatever you want, my love.” He made it three quarters of the way through the food before he took the plate from me, setting it down and fucking up into me.

Soon we had to get ready for work and I handed him a card before we left. It was a birthday card but it had a slip of paper inside. “The holder of this card may get a blow job at any time on his birthday.” I smiled as he smirked at me. “I just suggest you be careful about it. Don’t wanna get caught on base.” I said and he just stared at me before yanking me into him, kissing me intensely. “I absolutely adore you.” He said, backing me into the wall. “Wanna make use of that card?” He leaned back, a grin on his face before looking at me again. “In uniform? Hell yes.” He said and I smirked, reaching for his belt. “Better make this fast then. Don’t wanna be late for work.” I grinned, pulling his cock from his boxers. Good thing I decided to forgo makeup today. I made quick work of him and we were on our way to work. Once we got through our briefing and got into our flight suits before we walked into the hangar. “Happy Birthday!” Everyone cheered and he turned to me. I put my hands up. “I had nothing to do with it.” I said and he turned back as Phoenix held up a single cupcake. “You only wanted dinner with your fiance and no party, so we thought we’d at least give you this.” She said and he smiled at her. “Happy birthday to you-” Mav started and everyone else picked up, finishing out the song with a loud cheer. He blew out the candle and offered me part of the cupcake. I just swiped my finger through the icing and dabbed it on his nose. “It’s yours, eat it.”

We were busy today but he asked for another blow job during our lunch, in a very specific place. “Gotta make this fast.” He said as he sat in the cockpit of his super hornet. He unzipped his flight suit, pulling his cock out as I knelt down in the floor by his legs. I had to move around the joy stick which proved difficult but I still managed to lick a stripe along the large vein on the underside of his cock. “I only thought this would happen in my fantasies.” He groaned out as I took him into my mouth before releasing him with a ‘pop’. “How long have you been fantasizing about this?” I asked before bobbing my head along his cock. “Oh fuck,” He moaned out. “Since I first saw you. It was the first place I ever imagined you sucking me off.” I released him again and smirked at him. He was struggling to find something to do with his hands, seeing as he can’t grab my pristine bun. “Since you first saw me? My, my, how dirty.” I said with a wink before sucking him off again. It wasn’t long before he was coming down my throat, trying hard to contain his moans. “Let’s get out of here before we get caught and get in trouble.” He said, climbing out before I followed suit. The rest of the day was normal, study flight maneuvers, sit in meetings, do some paperwork and soon we were headed home. I showered and slid on Bradley's favorite sundress of mine. It was white with little pink flowers, spaghetti straps, it came to mid thigh. It was fitted, but since I had lost weight and continue to lose weight, I feel so sexy. I grabbed my bag, hoisting it onto my shoulder and stepped out of the locker room.

Rooster was faced away from me, talking to Payback and Bob as I walked up behind him. “Hi, honey.” I said in a sultry tone and he turned to me, eyes practically bulging out of his head. “We’ll leave you guys alone.” Payback said and they walked away. “Hi, pretty girl.” He said, his large hands gripping my waist and pulling me close. “You like it?” I asked and he nodded, his fingers scrunching my dress slightly. “I may not make it home.” He said and I giggled. But of course, he couldn’t wait. So here we are at a red light, his cock in my mouth as one hand lifted my dress, palming my ass. “I can finally mess up this bun.” He said, taking my hair down and running his fingers through all the hairspray I had in. It felt nice as he massaged my scalp and after a few more minutes I was swallowing more cum. I gasped as I popped him from my mouth, looking at him and wiping drool from my lips as he pulled into the driveway. “Messy head has got to be my favorite.” He said, smirking at me. “Enjoying your birthday so far?” I asked and he nodded as he reached over, caressing my cheek. “I am. This is one of the best birthdays ever.” He said, I turned nuzzling into his hand before kissing his palm softly. “Are you sure your jaw doesn’t hurt?” He asked and I couldn’t contain the giggle that bubbled up my throat. “No. Honey, I’m fine.” I told him. He didn’t really believe me, but that all went away when I cooked his mom’s recipe for marry me chicken. “God this is amazing.” He said, as he put a bite in his mouth. “Marry me.” He said and I giggled. “Already taken, honey.” I said as I wiggled my ring finger.

After dinner Rooster sat on the couch and I told him to stay there. “Honey! I told you not to get me anything!” I ignored him as I grabbed the wrapped box from the closet, taking it downstairs. “I know. But you’ll love this.” I said as I handed him the medium sized box. He stared at it for a moment before he looked at me. “Go on! Open it!” I said excitedly. He just chuckled, ripping the paper off and opening the box. “O-oh. Mags you shouldn’t have.” He said as he pulled out the fuzzy bear. He stared at it, flipping it around, not looking all that pleased. “Do you not like it?” I asked and he looked at me, questioning his next words carefully. “Oh, ye-yeah. Of course. I always wanted a teddy bear for my thirty-ninth birthday.” I just giggled. “Look down in the box.” He did and pulled out a photo. It was him and his parents and in his hands was the original version of the teddy bears I gave him. “Wait… Is this Mr. Snuffles?” I nodded. “Not the exact same one, but yeah, it is.” He smiled, leaning back into the couch. “My dad gave me this just before his first deployment after I was born. I carried this thing to college with me. Hell, it’s probably in one of those boxes Tilly gave me.” I smiled, laying my hand over his and his eyes snapped to me.

“Squeeze the left paw.” I said and I couldn’t hold back the tears that lined my eyes. He kissed my temple before squeezing the paw. “Hi buddy!” It was his dad’s voice and immediately tears fell from his eyes. “You’re one today! God this year has flown by and I wish I was home more to see you grow. But I have a few weeks of leave coming up and I can’t wait to spend all my time with you and your mama. We’re gonna go to the beach, and spend all our time playing in the backyard! I know you’re only one, but I’m even gonna get started on that treehouse for you. You're the greatest gift your mom ever gave me, and I hope I can be as good of a dad for you as your grandpa was for me. I love you, Bradley. To the moon and back, as far as the universe stretches and I can’t wait to see you grow up and become an amazing person. I have to go, but I promise we’ll have so much fun when I get home. I love you, buddy!” As soon as it cut off sobs racked his body and I pulled him into me. “Bradley-” “Thank you.” He cut me off and I smiled, kissing his head and running my fingers through his hair as he clutched the bear to his chest. “I figured you’d cry but I didn’t expect this.” I said and gently soothed him until his sobs turned into little hiccups. “I forgot what his voice sounded like.” My heart broke. I could never imagine not knowing what my daddy’s voice sounded like. “Oh, Bradley.” I pulled him down till I was laying flat on the couch, his body on top of mine. “This is the best gift you could’ve given me, Mags. Thank you.” He sat up, wiping his eyes just as Dahlia came over, licking his face and making him laugh. “Thank you, big girl.” He said, leaning over and kissing her head. “So, you like it?” I asked and he listened to the message one more time. “I love it.”

The next day we spent most of our time lounging around before we got ready for the concert. “You sure you want to go?” I asked as I finished straightening my hair. He nodded as he slipped on another Hawaiian shirt. “Of course. I’m really excited.” He said smiling at me as I stood in the bathroom in nothing but a black bra and thong. He groaned, sitting in the chair in the corner, looking at me with a devilish smirk. “What I wouldn’t give to have you on my cock just one more time.” I giggled as I walked over to the closet. “No time. We have to meet Phoenix and Hangman at the venue. So save it till we get home.” I said and he groaned as I tossed on a simple blue dress. I usually wouldn’t wear a dress to a concert, but I know Rooster will be behind me the entire time so I wasn’t worried about creeps sticking their hands up my dress. Once I was dressed, I slipped on some flat sandals and pulled my ID and my card from my purse. “Put that in your pocket?” He nodded, taking them and putting it in his wallet. “Ready?” He asked and I nodded. The drive the venue was easy, parking was a bitch and we wound up walking for twenty minutes before we arrived at the end of the line. “Are they here yet?” Rooster asked and I shrugged. “Let me text Phoenix.” I said. “No need. Hangman!” He yelled and a blonde head snapped around to him. After a minute they stepped out of the line and came back to meet us.

“Was parking bad for you too?” Phoenix asked and Rooster scoffed. “You have no idea.” He replied. We talked until the line started moving and finally we were able to hand over our tickets and walk inside. “Want a beer?” Rooster asked and we all agreed. It took a minute but we found a space on the left side close to the bar and the bathroom and out of the path of the crowd surfers. We enjoyed the openers but now it was time for the headliners, the entire reason we were here. The lights turned down and the music started causing Phoenix to grab my hand tightly. The mood in the crowd shifted and the mosh pit grew, pushing us a little but nothing too bad. I couldn’t help but scream the lyrics as Phoenix and I bounced. “Here am I! Take me to the pearly gates! Don’t let ‘em hit you on the way out when I take your place!” Rooster and Hangman had to take a step back from us, seeing as we kept bumping into their chests. I was sure my voice would be gone by the end of the concert, but I couldn’t bring myself to care. I was having the time of my life, especially when Rooster would wrap his arms around my waist, holding me close and swaying with me. He even knew some of the lyrics. “I said it’s enough! I begged and I ran in circles! I climbed to the sun and fell in a concrete jungle!” By the end of the concert we got into the merch line, waiting forever before we were all leaving with shirts tossed over our shoulders. “We should hit up The Hard Deck.” Jake suggested and I smirked. “I don’t know man-” “Please, Roo? Just stop by and say hi. Then we can go home and we can do what you asked about earlier.” He sighed, knowing we wasn’t about to say no. “Okay. But we aren’t staying long.” I cheered, grabbing his face and pulling him into a kiss. “Yay!” I cheered, grabbing his hand as we all walked towards our cars. “See you there.” Hangman said as Phoenix and him veered off.

Rooster helped me into the bronco before getting in himself. I smirked, sliding myself into the middle seat and leaning on him. “Did you have fun?” I asked and he nodded, kissing my head. “One of the best concerts I’ve ever been to.” He said, backing out of the parking lot. “You know, I was listening to that one song and they’re right. Love is the death of peace of mind.” I hummed in agreement. “I worry about you a lot Mags.” I smiled up at him. “That’s okay. I worry about you a lot as well.” He chuckled and soon we were pulling into the sandy parking lot of the beloved bar and Rooster dragged me out through his door. I was caught off guard when he pushed me up against the side of the bronco. “Let’s get this over with,” He said as he kissed my neck, his fingers reaching around to grip my ass through my dress. “That way I can get you home and naked in my bed.” I giggled, pushing him away slightly. “Then I guess we better go in.” I dragged him inside and immediately everyone was yelling. “HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” There was a banner above the bar and Penny had a cake set up. “I thought I said no party.” I shook my head. “No party. Just a typical Saturday night at the bar. But tonight we have cake!” I said, pulling him towards the bar for a beer. “Happy birthday, Bradley.” Penny said, pulling him into a hug. “Thanks, Penny.” Mav came over, hugging him as well. “So, how was yesterday?” He asked and a blush crept up my cheeks. “Amazing! You should see what she got me!” He said, pulling out his phone and pulling up the picture of the bear. “Is that Mr. Snuffles?” Mav asked and Rooster nodded. “She even managed to get an old voicemail dad left for me on my first birthday and put the recording in the paw, so when I press it, it plays.”“How did you get the voicemail?” Mav asked. “I called almost every phone company in Virginia and finally found the one that had Carol’s name. Then I filled out some papers and got access to the voicemail box.” Mav seemed shocked as Bradley tucked me into his side. “That’s amazing. When I come over you’ll have to play it for me.” Rooster agreed and we walked off, grabbing some cake from Penny. We spent about an hour playing pool and catching up before Bradley was ready to go. “Bye guys!” He called and everyone waved. We were halfway to the bar when he stopped, turning me to face him. “Thank you. For the past few days, you have made me so happy.” I smiled up at him. “Good thing I get to make you happy for the rest of our lives.” He smiled, hands coming up to hold my face before he leaned down, kissing me sweetly, making butterflies build in my stomach. Suddenly, a loud bang went off, scaring everyone. The sound of glass shattering filled the room as Rooster grabbed me, something splattering against my face as he pulled me to him. Something whizzed by my head and soon, everything went quiet. Roosters fingers dug into my skin, scrunching my shirt in his grasp. I pushed away from him, standing straight, and looking around. Everyone else was looking around in confusion and standing from the floor. I turned to Rooster, looking up at him. “Are you…” My voice trailed off when I noticed how pale he was. I had never seen him this pale and he had a look of fear in his eyes. “Roo?” He gripped me tightly and stumbled a little. My eyes trailed down to his chest, the white tank top he wore under his Hawaiian shirt, flooding with red. A horrified scream escaped me as I grabbed him, but he slipped through my grasp, crashing to the floor.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Taglist: @mak-32 @rosiahills22 @fanboyswhore9 @genius2050 @callsign-athena

#i hope you dance #top gun maverick #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw #rooster top gun #rooster #rooster fanfic #robert bob floyd #bob floyd #jake hangman seresin #hangman #phoenix #natasha trace #pete maverick mitchell

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