#i felt a bit off for a while so i switched to digital and then back to traditional

[icupblog]

Where did the party go? (batfam x neglected reader) TW: neglect, slight kidnapping

Gotham residents always said that the city could hollow your heart out, that if you lived there long enough you wouldn't care about how many homeless lived in that abandoned building, or how high casulties were every time the Joker got out of Arkham. But at least when gothamites went home they could cuddle up to their loved ones. At least they could have someone coddle them and ask them mundane questions like how their day was and talk about the weather. You on the other hand had no one.

Did you have a family, yes... but they weren't yours, in the sense of whether they would care if you left the house late or if they would come to a dance show you had because you had asked them to (they wouldn't)

So you spent your days working, grinding away at your schoolwork. because maybe Tim would be impressed if you got all A's on your exams, maybe Dick would notice you rather than just ignore your presence, maybe even Jason would give you some semblance of a smirk and tell you good job (you had lost hope for Damian).Oh, how you hoped to live up to your expectations, even for Barbara and Stephanie and they weren't even adopted.

Maybe you knew when you first entered the Wayne Manors beautiful gates that the house would be haunted by something, you just didn't think that something would be you.

You first entered the fiery gates of Bruce Wayne's home when you were 12 years old, unlike the kids that had come before you, you had actually reached double digits before making it to the dark knights home. (well the kids that were there at that moment in time).

The first time you met the man himself was after a funeral. You had just arrived at the Manor a day prior with Alfred escorting you to your room before you slept, and when you awoke there was pure brilliant silence throughout the mansion. It was so surreal you thought you were in a dream, you tiptoed down the massive staircase into the entrance of the house. The windows were slashed with a heavy downpour of thick unyelding rain, almost as if it reflected Bruce's own emotions. He opened the tall doors with superhuman ease (to a small twelve year old at least) and slouched his way into the manor, uncaring to whether his soaked clothes would get on Alfred's beautifully cleaned carpet. He looked up at you and held your gaze for an unseemly amount of time before sighing. You felt as though you should have said something, however upon seeing the man your throat closed up immediately. How could you do anything when just looking at him fills you with a strange foreign emotion? (fear)

When you were 12 you ignored the hints the family would sometimes give you that they were too busy. "Sorry name but I'm pre-occupied besides you're a bit old to ask for my help, right?" Dick would say while he would scroll on his phone. "Okay, uhm, see you around then," "Hey, I was wondering if you weren't too busy with paperwork the-" "No name I'm working got to Alfred if you need anything." "O-okay" Bruce would always be straight forward and blunt, he didn't care, no matter how hard you wanted him too. To him you were nothing more than a mistake a stain on his playboy image as one of his many escapades as Brucie Wayne ended with your mother getting pregnant. "Babs, can you help me with my computer?" "Have you tried switching it off and on again?" "no..." Barbara would always give you some time of day just not a lot... like 30 seconds max.

Then before you could think it could get any worse Tim arrived a Kid around your age, yet he would always sneak off with Bruce and Stephanie (a girl he would bring round, you sometimes could spot her before she disappeared) into the depths of the study and come out hours later looking exhausted and even more irritable before.

It somehow got even worse when Jason came back an evil entity hell bent on ruining your life, and Tim's. He show up outside your school sometimes telling the office workers you were his half-sister and he had to pick you up after school some days. He would shove on the end of his motorbike and hold you in a safehouse for hours on end before realising no one would arrive for you. Upon realising the great Batman didn't care about his one civilian child he would grow furious, breaking things around you as you clinged to whatever you were attached to and cry. Eventually he would grow bored of this old routine and leave you alone.

You tried to tell the family but they would just say "he didn't mean it" "he's not in his right mind name" or even worse they would forget the fact that their child who should be dead by all means kidnapped you and instead asked about his well-being. "Was he angrier or more sad?" "Did you see where you were held? maybe we can reach out to him B". In fact you didn't even realise Bruce Wayne your supposed father was Batman until you had moved out and put the pieces together.

Eventually Cassandra came along, then Damian. You think you were so traumatised by your first encounters by them both that you had blocked them out of your memory. You do however remember coming out of each conversation with an injury.

Let's just say when you eventually became eighteen you were quite frankly done with the family, you had decided to move out asap, so the second you got your college admissions you skedaddled out into metropolis.

Guys how do we feel about this?????

[kinamiiii]

Drabble from Taste Test 🧁

Pair: DBF!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, partly proofread, Modern AU, reader in her early 20s, DBF!Bucky in his early 40s, so age gap basically, innocent reader, ice cream date, fluff, smut, finger sucking, oral (m receiving), praise kink.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

After that afternoon on your dad’s birthday with Bucky, you both definitely spent more time together. You were able to trade each other’s numbers and meet up with each other without your dad, Steve knowing. You and Bucky would meet at a small ice cream parlor in the city, him letting you pick your favorite flavor with a waffle cone while he chose his. It was an exceptionally warm day so this cold treat was necessary. After paying for both your cones, he’d take you back to his car in a pretty vacant parking lot, so you could sit and eat in a comfortable silence with the windows halfway down.

Your eyes would stare out, watching the light breeze blow through the leaves of some nearby trees, while your tongue licked around your frozen dessert. Bucky did try to keep focus on eating his ice cream but eventually, he’d get distracted by the way your soft lips were laced with the melted goodness. As he kept watching your mouth, he could feel his jeans getting tighter. It also didn’t help that he could hear the little cute moans you made just from your pure enjoyment of your satisfied tastebuds. He swore in that moment he was already leaking precum in his pants.

As you had finished eating your treat, you’d blink away from the window and turn to Bucky with a small grin across your lips. “Hey, looks like you’ve sprung a leak,” you giggled with your pointer finger at the dripping cone in his hand. He snapped out of his lustful gaze, switching his ice cream to his other hand, and was about to lick his palm and fingers clean, when you abruptly leaned over his car’s console and reached for his messy hand. His breath hitched as he felt your warm, wet tongue swirl on his skin. You didn’t waste a single bit as you sucked around his digits.

“Fuck, sweetheart…” Bucky let a groan escape his lips as he watched you teased his middle finger. He shifted in his car seat, having you pull away and make eye contact with his narrowed blue orbs. “Did I do something wrong?” Your head tilted and he shook his in response. He would then lean forward and hold your chin gently between his fingers, kissing you deeply with his tongue playing around in your mouth.

At that point, his ice cream had been completely forgotten.

Your hands were resting on his thigh for leverage as you both made out, swallowing each other’s moans and teeth bumping together whilst tasting the flavors of your ice creams on your tongues. His hand reached down for yours, dragging it slowly to the clothed hardened length between his legs, breaking the kiss to full his lungs. “Feel what you did to me, baby? You really know how to ruin a man.”

One thing led to another and his pants were undone and pulled down along with his briefs to free his swollen cock, and your head was down in his lap, already taking him down your mouth. You bobbed yourself consecutively while he held the back of your head, latching on your hair and relished in the sensation of your humid throat. “Nngh… yeah that’s it. You’re taking it so good, sweetheart. D-don’t stop, okay?” You obliged and continued to make him feel good, swirling your tongue at the tip of his dick and licking along his veins. The grip on your hair would get tighter and Bucky would force your mouth further down to the hilt, burying your nose in his coiled happy trail, and making your muffled moans vibrate through him, his tip hitting the back of your throat. His head would lean back with his mouth gaping open as he’d finally released his seed.

You instinctively swallowed his thick cum down and took your lips off his cock with an audible ‘pop.’ You gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and lifted yourself off his lap to settle back into your seat. You looked into rear view mirror to tidy up your hair from his hard pulling. You’d then turn to see Bucky, still panting with a heavily flushed face before helping him readjust his pants. “You doing okay there?” He nodded enthusiastically and chuckled, cupping your cheek in his palm. “You are just one skilled little thing, aren’t you, sweetheart?”

[polillamielera]

silly group games ⭐

Original Drawing below :3

(ignore the smudged gouache and pencil, i'm very messy)

[rafesangelita]

rafe + corruption kink

warnings: flirting, teasing, groping

“how come you’re here if parties aren’t your thing?” rafe currently had an arm draped over your shoulders, his hand resting on your thigh as he gazed down at your pretty face. “my friend wanted me to get out for a while..” you bit your lip, glancing up at the handsome stranger before quickly looking away. rafe smiled at your nervous antics. you gave him the impression that you’re not used to being in close proximity with men, and that idea enticed him more than he cared to admit. “do you know my name?” rafe watched your breathing quicken when he started rubbing shapes into your skin, his hand slowly moving under the hem of your dress.

“no.. i’m sorry, am i supposed to?” he leaned down so his lips were right next to your ear. “well, you’re in my house.” your eyes widened slightly. “really?! you have a beautiful home.” you smiled nervously. “yeah? you like it?” he got up, taking your hand in his, “wanna see more?” you nodded, fully expecting him to show you the pool outside, or maybe the bar in the corner of the living room, but instead you found yourself following him upstairs. “tell me..?” he trailed off, “y/n.” you answered, swallowing thickly as you two entered his bedroom. “y/n, i’m rafe. do you have a boyfriend?”

he guided you to his bed where he pulled you on top of his lap. “umm, no.. but i go on dates sometimes.” nervously fiddling with the ring on your finger, rafe hummed. “dates, huh? do these dates go anywhere?” he stroked your hair softly, tucking a few strands behind your ear as you shook your head. “i don’t think i understand what you’re asking.” your voice was small, the feeling of his fingertips on your skin made butterflies flutter in your tummy. “do they get to have their way with you?” his tone sent shivers down your spine. “like if we kiss and stuff? no.” you felt embarrassed saying it out loud.

rafe cursed under his breath at the revelation, his cock hardening in his shorts. “how come?” he cleared his throat, trying to ignore the way you shifted in his lap. “i don’t know, i just get scared i’m going to disappoint them.” you shrugged. “and why is that?” finally, you looked up, meeting his eyes. “because i’ve never done anything before.” it was like a switch flipped in his brain, and the only thing rafe could think about was stuffing you with his cock and turning you into his own personal slut. “do you want to?” his hand was back under your dress, as if to coax you to say yes.

you let out a shaky breath, blinking at him. “you’ll teach me?” rafe watched your eyes sparkle as you waited for him to answer. “baby, i’ll do so much more than teach you. i’ll make you feel so good you won’t even know what to do with yourself.” you nodded before a word could leave your lips. “you’d do that?” rafe smiled, his fingers slipping under the waistband of your panties. “of course,” he cooed, “but only under one condition.” your stare faltered when you felt a single digit slide between your folds. “no one else except me can touch this pretty pussy.”

[eroselless]

UNDERNEATH YOUR CLOTHES

summary => Request: Could you write a one-shot about Charles’ girlfriend wearing one his Ferrari jerseys or like his merch w his name on it and he fucks her with it on? [2.1k]

[charles leclerc x reader]

warnings: 18+ for explicit language and smut 

note: I’ve had this request in my inbox for so long and I’ve been absolutely itching to get this out. I’m such a sucker for friends to lovers so I changed it a bit to fit with the idea that I ended up rolling with.

School’s out until July so if anyone has anything they want written, send it in :) Hope you guys enjoy this first Charles request! 

You groan at the sound of urgent knocking at your door. Groggily, you pull yourself from your bed and make your way to the door. You don’t bother switching on the lights, neon signs from outside streaming light through your half-closed blinds, making patterns on the carpeted floor. The digital clock above the stove reads 3.27 am. You peek through the peephole, your eyebrows furrowing at the sight of Charles, shifting from one foot to the other. You swing the door open, a yawn pulling your jaw open. You squint at him, the light becoming too much for your eyes.

“Charlie, what the fuck?” you question as Charles rubs the back of his neck. His hair is dishevelled and his cheeks are a light shade of pink. 

“I, uh, I lost my keys and my phone while I was out and I can’t get into my apartment,” He explains sheepishly. You sigh, shaking your head in mild irritation. You step aside to let him in.

“You owe me big time for waking me up at this ungodly hour.” You state, trailing behind him after locking the door. He chuckles a soft ‘of course, chérie’ before heading into your room. He makes a beeline for your closet, grabbing a pair of sweatpants off of his designated shelf. He pulls them on before reaching back and tugging off his shirt. 

“How exactly did you manage to lose both your keys and your phone in one night?" you call from outside, a hint of amusement in your voice. He shakes his head. "Long story," He replies vaguely. 

He makes his way out, switching on a floor lamp by your bed. His eyes are on you as you collapse on the bed with an exasperated sigh. You roll away from him, facing towards the opposite side of the room. You pull the sheet up to your chest, making sure to keep some for him when he tucks himself next to you. His gaze trails over your figure in the dim light, eyes catching the big 16 and Leclerc written across the back of your oversized, overworn t-shirt. He cocks his head to the side, blinking a few times, a smirk playing on his lips. 

“Are you sleeping in my race shirt?” He teases, not having noticed it earlier. You turn at the sound of his voice, letting out a sleep mhmm. Your eyes are heavy, threatening to pull you quickly back into a deep sleep. The look you share is charged with something that makes you grow warm. A familiar feeling blooms in your tummy, a feeling not typically felt towards your best friend. He narrows his eyes at you and you can see a fire beginning to build in his cerulean eyes. He stares at your body, probably longer than he should.

You’re the image of a goddess as you lay on your back innocently, hair sprawled around you, almost like a halo. He can’t help but admire the red fabric against your skin or how it clung to every curve of your body. He can see the dark material of your underwear, poking out slightly from under the t-shirt. His eyes settle on the valley between your breasts and how your nipples have pebbled against the cold air. 

A shiver runs through him as he tears his gaze away from you. He rubs at his arms, turning away from you as he does. He clears his throat, setting his watch and wallet on your bedside table.

“Are you cold at all? Do you need another blanket?” 

You mumble a quiet no, reaching a hand across the bed. He watches as you make a grabby motion with your hand, beckoning into bed. He hesitates for a moment, suddenly self-conscious of what he is wearing, or rather, lack thereof. His pants are hung low on his hips and his shirt lays on the floor by your dresser. He bites his lip as he slips in next to you. His eyes widen slightly as you grab his arm, pulling him into you. It’s not like this was an odd occurrence, having years of comfort between each other. But his mind always seemed to wander, wondering how you’d feel without the barrier of clothes between you. He adored how you proudly wore HIS name in support during races. Here, the red fabric of your shirt contrasts with the white of your sheets, it feels so much more intimate. He couldn’t get the image of how good you looked with your back to him, his name sitting between your shoulder blades. 

You can feel him tense up as you settle under him, his head lying on your chest. The shirt is thin enough that he can feel the goosebumps blooming across your skin as the cold air drifts through the sheets. He has to stop himself from letting his hands (and his mouth) wander over the fabric of the shirt. 

It seems to him like you’re drifting back into sleep as he lays wide awake. He feels your hands wander over the large expanse of his back, your touch sending goosebumps down his spine. Your fingers take their time feeling over every mole and scar littered over his skin. You knead his thick muscles, a rumble escaping Charles’s lips as you dip your fingers in every dip and hill. His breath is hot on your skin as he shoves his head in the crook of your neck. 

Your eyes don’t feel as heavy when your hands find their way closer to the waistband of his pants. They settle there for a moment before you decide to slip a finger under it, pulling at it and releasing it. It snaps against his skin, a yelp escaping him. 

He lets out a laugh, quick fingers poking at your side. You thrash under him, howls of laughter bouncing off the walls. He blows raspberries into the thin skin of your neck, only causing you to squirm further. 

The energy slips from the room as you both stop to catch your breath. He’s suspended over you, supporting himself with his arms on either side of your head. The fire you’d seen earlier burns in his eyes as he looks down at you. It burns at the line you’re both afraid to step over, knowing full well that if it burns it away completely, there’ll be no going back. His eyes are locked on yours. They’re dark, their usual blue now as dark as a storming sea. Your eyes trace over the curve of his cupid’s bow and flicker up to his eyes once again. 

The warmth in your lower belly returns as he leans down and presses a tantalizingly slow kiss on your jaw. His hand cups the back of your thighs and you're suddenly hyperaware of the thin and increasingly wet fabric of your underwear. You let out a quick breath as he drags his lips over the column of your neck. The hand that isn’t supporting him slides up your body and under your shirt, gently grazing at your ribcage. You slip a hand away from his body, meeting his under your t-shirt. Sliding it higher, you bring his hand up to your breast. His fingers pinch teasingly at your puffed-up nipples, pulling a whine from your lips. 

“Charles…” you moan out, eyes opening and meeting his as he pulls away. Your eyes meet, the room going quiet again. 

In an instant, his mouth is on yours, tongue swirling with yours. You can taste hints of tequila on his tongue, no doubt the reason why he lost his keys and phone. He moves to sit on his heels and you follow his lips, already intoxicated with them. 

His arm wraps around you, pulling you snugly onto his lap as he settles at the head of the bed. The bulge in his pants is pressed deliciously against your crotch. You let out a gasp as he grips tight onto your hips, moving you over his hard-on. 

“You look so pretty in Ferrari red,” he murmurs, teeth nipping lightly at your neck. The pads of your fingers dig into his shoulders, holding onto him like a lifeline. A smile tugs softly at your lips. 

He hesitates as his fingers drop to the waistband of your underwear. He fiddles slightly with the fabric, mimicking what you had done earlier and snapping it gently over your skin. You felt a gasp get pulled from your chest as his hands began to move under the fabric, pressing into the bundle of nerves at your very center. Your voice comes out in broken fragments:

”Charlie, please…” you beg.

You don’t quite know what you're asking for. For so long, you’d unconsciously ached for him. Your own fingers would find their way into your underwear and with your eyes squeezed shut, you’d try to imagine that they were his. His touch now feels almost overwhelming. You crave the weight of his body pressing you down, the rough pads of his fingers dragging over your most sensitive parts —

“Fuck,” he cries out, hips bucking up into yours. He squeezes at your breast, biting at your nipple over the fabric. You go to pull the shirt off, needing to feel his lips on your skin when he stops you, eyes hazy and glazed over with lust.

“No,” he says shaking his head. “Leave it on.” his fingers now travel downwards, pressing at your clit through your wet panties. You take in a sharp breath, head falling back. He circles it, thumb and pointer finger pinching at it slightly. 

“Need more,” you slur. He meets your gaze, a soft pink adorning his cheeks.

“Need my cock, mon coeur?” You nod instantly. You go up on your knees, giving him the chance to pull his sweatpants just enough to free his cock. It taps gently at your stomach, precum already beading at its tip. You draw your finger over its slit, a thin sting appearing as you pull away. Charles lets out a groan under you, eyes swimming with desire.

You climb off quickly, pulling off your panties and dropping them to the floor. Charles can’t take his eyes off of you as you swing a leg over his lap, his hands going to take hold of your thighs. His eyes float to where your grab him and bottom out on his cock. The squeeze you give him is so much better than he had anticipated. His mouth falls open as you take him in fully, he can’t believe he’s gone this long without ever feeling you all around him. You grind your hips against his, setting a rhythm. 

“t’es une si bonne fille, tu me prends tout entier,” he groans. such a good girl, taking all of me. His hands feel like they have nowhere to go but to the globes of your tits as they bounce deliciously in front of him. He pulls at the hem of your shirt, twisting it and pulling it up. Your tits burst out from under the fabric, nipples pebbling at the cold breeze in the air. He wraps his lips around them, teeth teasing them gently. Your back arches at the feeling, only pressing them further into his face. He was hooked how the fabric of the shirt ripples over your chest and the taste of your skin on his tongue.

“P-putain..” he whimpers, coming up for air. He lets out grunt as he plants his feet on the bed, lifting his hips fucking into you with force. Your lips part as the sound of skin slapping against skin reverberates through the room. His hands go to your ass, fingers digging into the suple flesh as he rocks you against him. Your hands take refuge on his chest, gasping as he hits your sweet spot. You feel so full with him as he continues to move at a steady pace. 

He brings his lips up to yours, groaning softly against your panting lips. It only spurrs you further, circling your hips to meet his as he continued to rutting his hips up into you. You can feel your orgasm nearing, a wave of pleasure coming over you. It envelops you, suffocating you as it crashes down. 

Charles can’t hold it any longer, lifting you off of him as strings of cum spill from his cock, coating his stomach. You sit on his thighs, just beyond the reach of the spurts. He looks incredible, cheeks red, lips swollen, chest heaving. You feel like you’re under a spell as you drag a finger through the warm cum on his stomach and tuck it between your lips. His eyes seem to sparkle, a new flame appearing suddenly in them.

“Can we go again?” his voice cuts through the suddenly silence in the room. With an innocent meeting of eyes, there is only one response that can escape you lips. There’s a grin playing on your lips, finger still caught between your teeth. An astounding answer echoes through the room with no words spoken, it has the two of you tossing around the sheets until the sun comes up. You’re gonna have to wear his name more often.

[slut4scoups]

late night calls

threesome with no plot. pt 1? depends.

MNDI.

dom!keeho, switch!intak, sub!reader, fingering, three way kiss (think of zendaya on the edge of that bed with those two guys… yeah… mhm 🙂‍↕️), lots of hands all over y/n body, not proof read

it was late at night,

little noises echo in keeho’s apartment. a small detour to the bedroom, the culprits of the noise are spotted. you sat on the edge of the bed, right between keeho and intak. keehos tongue traced your neck as you made out with intak, his hand resting on your inner thigh, massaging deep circles into it. a moan escaped into intak’s mouth as keeho let his own hand tease your sopping core, fluids seeping through the lace fabric that was preventing keeho’s fingers from already pooling into your wet cunt.

“tak, she’s already so wet. she’s dripping.” keeho said in amazement as he continued to tease you through your panties, circling his thumb over your sensitive bud before pulling your panties to the side, cocking his head towards intak, “look at her.” he said softly and intak quickly pulled away from the kiss, a string of drool following his bottom lip as he looked down at what keeho had displayed, your pretty, wet, puffy pussy.

intak licked his lips and let himself run his fingers between your folds, making your legs quiver and wrap around his wrist, “shit, wait oh god..” you moaned out, stopping his hand from moving. intak hissed under his breath as he felt how you were throbbing from keeho’s teasing alone. keeho gave you a small tsk and slapped your hand away, “is that how we treat our guests, babe? i don’t think so. go ahead, tak. feel her.” keeho bit his bottom lip as he watched intak’s fingers slowly disappear into your heat, his own hand palming himself through his sweatpants, “fuck, it’s like she sucked your fingers in..” keeho said in amazement as he looked up at your twisted face.

your eyes were rolled back and your toes were curled. keeho took this chance to dip down and start kissing your collarbone while intak started to pump his digits inside of you, intak’s bulge growing incredibly hard. keeho moaned out lowly before shaking his head, “mm, i didn’t think this would be so hot.” he groaned as he watched the scene unfolding in front of him. he caught a gaze of intak’s face as he fucked his fingers into you and leaned forward, kissing intak gingerly as he started to stroke himself. intak let out a soft sigh when he felt keeho’s lips against his and let his free hand palm himself as he continued to fuck his fingers into you.

you could feel yourself inching closer and closer to the edge, your fingers tightly wrapped around intak’s wrist as his fingers started to move quicker but you finally took the chance to open your eyes and saw the boys making out in front of you. your jaw slightly hung open from the view, “oh fuck..” you cussed as you watched them, before leaning forward and connecting your lips with them aswell. keeho pulled back a bit to allow your lips to touch both his and intak’s.

intak whimpered from the kiss but let out a sharp inhale when he felt your hand finally touch his throbbing bulge. from excitement, intak sped the movement of his fingers which triggered you to tilt your head back, “intak- oh fuck- wait,” your words were cut off by the sudden change in speed, causing a higher pitched moan to leave your lips before a string of clear fluids escaped from your body. keeho and intak both watched as you squirted and intak’s mouth hung open as keeho bit his bottom lip and gripped his own cock,

“holy shit, baby.” he said in amusement as he looked down where intak’s fingers once were. he licked his lips and took the hand intak just removed from your core, bringing his fingers to his lips and sucking on the wet digits. intak bit his own lip as he watched keeho and continued to grind his hips into your weakly placed hand. after keeho had sucked intak’s fingers, he pulled back to bring his lips to yours, his tongue immediately darting into your mouth so you could taste yourself. you let out a soft whimper as keehos tongue explored your mouth and you tried your best to snake your hand into intak’s pants, wrapping your hand around his throbbing length.

intak let out a choked moan at the contact and bucked his hips immediately, feeling relieved he was finally getting touched. keeho pumped his own cock in his hand as he let his tongue explore your mouth, a growl leaving his lips as he finally pulled back and shook his head,

“fuck, i don’t know if i wanna cum on you, in you or fuck you both.” keeho sighed as he continued to stroke his cock. both you and intak’s eyes widened at keeho’s words and you bit your bottom lip, looking at him with hooded eyes,

“eat me out n let me take care of takkie? he’s so hard in my hand, i want a taste.” you recommended to keeho and keehos hand movement came to a pause at the suggestion, his throat going dry. intak moaned from the suggestion alone and gripped the bedsheets, trying to hold back from cumming in your hand so quickly. he let his head lul back, “fuck- please, hyung..” he let out a small whimper as he looked at keeho and keeho felt his cock twitch again.

keeho took a deep breath to control himself and nodded, “yeah, i like that. intak, lay down so my baby can take care of that for you,” keeho let his hand run up and down his cock one more before pulling his pants down, “then, i’m gonna let you ride him while i stretch him out, and when he cums, you’re gonna sit on his face so he can eat it out. expect my pretty little hole to be nice and clean for me if i share.”

.

TO BE CONTINUED?

[izzabela]

based on a very real text from my very real boyfriend...

pregnant!reader x price

reader probably in the second trimester

MDNI: smut, graphic descriptions of sex, p-in-v, pregnant sex, pregnant!reader, f!reader = f!genitalia, prone-bone? (yeah i think so), we are rawdogging tonight! is breeding still possible while pregnant...? (if so, then breeding),

Price is just a guy

a chill guy who loves his pregnant wife

maybe a little too much...

because when you came to him with the announcement, the blue lines a heaven-sent message from the God he didn't believe existed, everything about his brain chemistry changed

you smelled so nice, lovely in fact. intoxicating, sickeningly sweet that he put in paid paternity leave much earlier than the intended date he was supposed to. you giggled every time you felt Price's scruff over your shoulder, arm, legs- any body part that Price could get his hands on

"darling!" you'd squeal, voice pitched in ticklish joy every time his thick hairs brushed over your skin.

he didn't want to leave you, not now and certainly not in the near future.

you're so soft too. maybe it was the bundle of joy in the middle of its creation in your belly, or maybe it was the constant massages that Price gave you whenever your back hurts. whatever it was, Price's calloused hands from war meeting his angel's, it the closest thing he has to purification.

"your hands...." you'd coo at his scarred limbs. "have you been using the healing cream i gifted you?"

cream? the only ointment he needs was your supple body- his holy grail

but the thing that did it for Price, the thing that made him go insane was the obvious sign of your pregnancy- the lil' bump that showed God's immaculate gift of a woman

for every cuddle session, Price's hands swarmed your belly with feathery touches. his lips would whisper the softest promises into your plush and growing belly. "papa'll show you the world" was your favorite

for every outing you and Price had, a hand always found your belly still! touchy thing, he is, because he would not stop talking about the little pumpkin you and Price were growing together

and for every night in bed...

"mmm, honey..." you writhed in his warmth, your back against his chest. if his stubbly beard rubbing the nape of your neck was one point of bodily irritation, then your back was tingling on fire with the fine hairs of his chest

"'s nothin' love," Price mumbles against your skin, leaving little kisses that were slowly going lower and lower. "Jus' checkin' on the baby, makin' sure she's healthy."

you felt rough hands scale your body, one resting over your mouth to muzzle you, and the other slithering down before making its home over your damp underwear. if your cunt was the magic lamp, then your muffled moans were his wishes come true

"stay quiet fo' me, love," he murmurs into your ear, nibbling a little bit in the process. compliance was a new thing for you, and you were damned that listening to him made you feel... real damn good

"there's a love...." he practically growled, swiping your panty to the side and easing his fat digits into your cunt

"h-honey, the doc said-" you tried to reason with him, but a quick grip to your jaw and you were reminded about the law of your darling husband. without saying anything more, you melt into Price, letting him make work in your aching pussy

how is it possible that you were so much softer inside? so much more wet? practically coating his fingers in slick as he pumped, pumped, and pumped, his nubs in you

shaking his hand off your mouth, you looked over your shoulder with those eyes he could never say no to, and the magic word

"inside?" you plea. and who is he to deny you the pleasure?

switching positions, he lays you on your tummy (with copious blankets and pillows to support you). of course, the fucking tease makes sure to irritate you by prodding his cock at your entrance, his head kissing your sopping folds down there. you mewl, whining for him to stop playing games with you

"sorry, dove," he leans over to kiss your cheek. "was 'at mean? oh, don't cry love," he hushes you some more, before a little smile peaks through and his number one girl is back

your lips lock with his like animals in heat, like you haven't seen him in years, like it's the first time in a long time since he's had you in his arms. and as your tongues dance, his cock finally makes its home inside of you, nestling nicely in your warm, gummy walls. in fact, you're certain his mushroomy head is just touching your cervix

he doesn't fuck slow, he fucks intentionally (that's how you're carrying his future in the first place...). after getting used to your insides, his hips buck in and out, a steady, constant pace that hits every. single. spot. and his cock, oh his that lovely cock of his, stretching you out until you're crying (again) out of pleasure and wanting

"greedy lil' thing, aren't'cha wife?" his voice low and gravelly in your ear. one of his hands is over your mouth, two digits in your mouth to gag and choke, while the other arm holds your little hands in place

"y'wan' anotha one? hm? wan' another baby inside? givin' 'm a lil brother o' sister?" he teases, cock practically engraving itself in you for your walls to memorize

he does everything in his power to not cum inside, even though his words have you drooling for more. but when you squeeze him, tightening around him as he's about to pull out, his chest is on your back again as he drives himself to his own finish

"playin' dirty, lil' girl," he snarls, and you can't help but lick over his fingers in response

you can't speak with his fingers gagging you, but your mind roared with "more, more, more" and "fill me, fill me, fill me" like a mantra

and isn't the best way to thank God through worship and prayer?

your finish is visceral, flashes of white clouding your vision as you feel your thighs and legs shake. you pussy is no better, slick leaving and coating your sheets

Price is practically there, hips smashing into your round ass, hearing his flesh collide with your to create the symphony of his dreams- bonus points for your cunt adding even more music

"ah, fuck, honey i'm-!" but there's no point for Price to finish his sentence when the rest of it filled you up

you melted at the feeling of his spunk coating your walls, filling you to the brim, the fatigue of sex finally caught up to you as you began to doze off

"c'mon love," he chuckled, a little rough in his throat as he tried to keep you awake. "gotta 'elp me to not hurt our lil' one..."

you weakly flip over back onto your left side, but there's no point in fighting the sleepiness when you've already drifted into the land of subconscious. Price can only sigh at the sight, but who's he to complain? you're growing his little pumpkin

as you dreamed of your baby, images of your baby all grown, Price was tending to his garden. after all, how can she create more if not taken care of properly?

[fatbiatchforever]

No Sleep

“Buckkkk…” You try to shake him off but he wouldn’t quit. “Bucky, I’m tired. Try later.”

“Sleep.” Bucky groaned. 

“Take your hands off then!”

“My hands are off.”

“Then why- OH MY GOD!”

You leap out of the bed to switch the lights on. “Get out! Get outtttt!” You cry while jumping with all your might.

Bucky gets out of the bed CALMLY to stand in-front of you, with his hands on his hips, “I’m confused.”

You shriek as you feel something crawling all over you, “There’s something on the bed.”

He looks back and turns to you, “I see nothing.”

“That’s because you didn’t look dumbass.”

He sighs and rummages through the bed.

“Shake the blanket properly. God, I can still feel it crawl all over me.”

“Are you sure that you felt it doll? Maybe-“

“Are you victim blaming?”

He flops down on the bed, “Who’s the victim here?”

“Me! Unknown creature crawling all over me. Who else?”

Bucky points to himself, “Or me, who is awake because his wife supposedly felt something crawling all over her.”

“I’m getting a divorce you liar. You promised to protect me.”

“From real things.”

You groan, “Whatever. What’s the use being married to an avenger if I still have to deal with insects?” 

“I bring more to the table,” Bucky pouts.

“Sarcasm won’t find whatever that was.”

Bucky picks your pillow to search, “Nothing.” He picks his pillow, “Surprise, nothing.” He removes all the pillows and blanket away, “Nothing!”

“Bucky, I know I felt something. Plea- FUCK FUCKKKKKK,” You exit the room in full speed. Away from the humungous spider crawling on your bed frame and your husband cursed under his breath.

You leaned on the couch, wrapping your hands around yourself, stopping yourself from thinking about the spider crawling all over you, while you slept cluelessly.

“Doll,” Bucky slowly appears out of the room.

“Is it gone?”

“Yeah. Spider is officially free.”

“You promise?“

“I promise. I flipped the bed around to be sure.”

“Okay. I’m sorry, I promise I’ll work on it.”

Bucky laughs, “Can I hold you?”

“Mhm,”

He walks towards you, pulls his hands out of his pocket and wraps himself around you. You felt yourself slightly slump on him and breathe all of him in. One of his hands wrapped around your waist as he pulled you closer and the other gently stroking the nape of your neck.

“I’m sorry for screaming.” You breathed out.

He pressed a kiss between your brows, “I’m sorry for not believing you.”

“Water under the bridge.”

“Hmm, don’t bother working on it.”

You move back to look up at him, “Really?”

He laughs, “Yeah, I like being there for you. You’re always so independent, which I love and respect, but at times I like being needed.”

“I need you more than just to get rid of insects.”

“Yeah. What I’m trying to say is,” He kissed your nose, “don’t change yourself for me and I would happily spend any night getting rid of spiders or anything else that crawls on you.”

“Who’s going to get rid of you?”

“Funny. Let’s go back.”

“I need a shower.”

Bucky sighs, “Fine, I’ll make the bed.”

You kiss him and quickly run into the washroom to scrub every bit of your body.

*1 hour later*

Kill me, Kill me right NOWWWW!

You turn to stare down at the damn digital clock. Every time you tried to close your eyes, you would want to itch. You looked back at Bucky. He had his arm around you and half of his face covered by the pillow. You moved his arm as gently as you could. You grabbed a blanket and pranced into the living room. 

You got yourself comfortable on the floor, holding onto your blanket as you blankly looked out to the city lights. 

“OW!”

“I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”

“Yeah. What are you doing sneaking up on me and stepping on my hair?”

He lifts your head to place the pillow and lays next to you.

“Buck, go back and sleep. I’m great here.”

He pulls the blanket to your neck, “Would you go back to bed if I asked you?”

You sighed and pulled yourself closer to him.

“I love you, doll.”

[devilmademewriteit]

Dark Paradise

part 3 of Salvatore

read part 1, Salvatore, here

read part 2, Playing Dangerous, here

pairing: javier peña x afab!fem!reader

summary: left alone in javi’s bed, you go looking for distractions. finding them only leads you further into his world: a world of danger and violence, where no one can protect anyone.

warnings: rough sex/smut (fingering, fem penetration, super SUPER light choking) so 18+ only content; pet names (cariño, hermosa, querida, sweetheart, baby) afab fem reader; reader is American; mentions of hair pulling; allusions to SA; attempted SA against reader (not by javi); violence against reader (hitting, slapping, manhandling); smoking; dubcon (power imbalance, trauma sex??).

word count: 7k+

no use of y/n in this fic

u guys. it is here. and the most exciting part is I can already promise u a part 4!! pls be mindful that this part is darker than the rest. it has many triggering themes, so many sure u read the warnings & stay on the safe side of things.

as always, love u all so effing much. feedback, reblogs, comments & asks are always appreciated, & don’t forget to join the taglist in my pinned post !

-em<3

—

No one compares to you. I’m scared that you won’t be waiting on the other side.

- Dark Paradise

“Girl, where did you go?”

You’re on the landline with Carrie, one of the few half-friends you'd made living in Medellín, thighs sore and bruised from the backseat-loving you’d received the night before. While Javi’s at work, you’re on (his words) 'house arrest,' and lounging alone in his apartment feels eerily quiet. The occasional car drives by—you try not to listen for the sound of scraping tires.

So, around 9:30, you’d decided to fill the silent space with a bit of vapid conversation, realizing that last night's antics (and your unexplained disappearance) may have caused a bit of confusion.

You start by filling Carrie in on the generalities: the guns, the car, and the rescue, at first planning to leave out the more… personal details.

Like the one you'd filed away under 'Riding a Cop to High Heaven in the Backseat of his Jeep.'

You also leave out the part where, afterwards, you’d kicked off your heels by his front door, let down your hair in a sloppy, half-drunk movement, made a beeline to the familiar crinkles and folds of his unmade bed, and swiftly passed out in his embrace.

Oh, to fall asleep between those arms for the rest of eternity.

Given your more cynical—okay, borderline self-denying—approach to life, you felt downright ashamed of how much you’d enjoyed it. How much you’d enjoyed him and all of his lasting touches.

And in the morning… Javi’s hardness biting into your hip was a more efficient wake-up-call than the trial nuke sirens back home; the soft kisses laid down the length of your neck and the long, lazy fingers creeping down your abdomen had you surging to consciousness with embarrassing speed. You’d shivered into wakefulness, flattened against his chest.

“Good morning, cariño.” His words were molasses, melted caramel, thick and damp with sleep.  

“Hmmmh,” was your only reply, sloping into your highest octaves as his hand sank to push aside your already-ruined underwear, dipping lower to toy with the switch only he knew how to turn on best. Arching into his spine, last night’s dress crumpled up above your waist, leaving him to feel more, more, more of you.  

“Thought it would take more convincing,” he breathed against your shoulder, a breeze of late august air.

“Wh’time z’it?”  

“We have time, cariño, we have time.”

When his digits pulled a moan from your lips, no other answers really mattered. He’d loosed that deep, guttural rumble of approval that made your chest swell with pride, your legs part in service and need.  

“Can you hold this leg up for me, baby? S’all you need to do.” He’d helped fold up your knee, and you’d turned to meet him with pleading, drooping eyes, dutifully contorting to mold into the shape of his body. “Perfect, baby, good job,” a rough kiss to your temple, “n’I can do the rest, hermosa—I’ll do the rest.”  

He slid in effortlessly, harmonizing to your sigh of relief with a “shit, s’wet,” and sheathing his cock between the folds of your morning slick. Brows furrowing, mouth falling open, you had every detail of your bliss etched on your expression, all for the beautiful man looming over you. “Always fuckin’ askin’ for it, huh, sweetheart?” He'd mused. “Woke me up moanin’ in your sleep, cariño—dreamin’ about last night?”  

An “mhmm,” was all you could muster. Javi’s hips rolled against your ass, and the resulting feeling of overwhelming fullness had you swearing you were still in reverie. When he paused, snaked his arms under your neck and around your waist, and pulled you flush against his chest, you remember it feeling like a dirty, desperate hug.  

“M’sore, Javi,” you’d whined at the stretch of your opening, the continued drag of Javi’s fingers against your aching, weary clit.  

“S’no excuse, baby,” he’d grumbled into the shell of your ear, pressing hard into that tender bundle of nerves. “Gotta get you used to it.”

A harrumph as he’d turned up the intensity, punishing you for your protests. “Y-you’re a mean-mean man, Javier Peña.”

Soft, gravelly laughter danced, twirled, traveled along the dip of your neck. “‘N you’re gonna come so hard for this mean, mean man.”  

He was right, bringing you to the brink of orgasm with the thick, rough pads of his fingertips, the tip of his cock sliding up and down, over and over, in and out of your guts.  

“Yeah—yes—m’gonna come for you, Javi,” you’d admitted.  

But he’d stolen his magical digits away, used them to turn your jaw, to square your face off with his own concentrated, lust-filled expression. “Show me cariño, yes—gonna be picturin’ that pretty lil’ face aaaaall fuckin’ day,” and you’d tumbled over the edge the moment he’d slid back down to the apex of your thighs, drowning in the darkness of his cinnamon-brown irises and the tantalizing circles—drawn from memory—against your clit.  

“J-javi—it feels—feels s-so good—”  

“I know, hermosa, s’just what you needed, fuck—”

He was already close enough, but your climaxing trembles and your whining, choked gasps had him wrapping his hand around your throat, pushing you further and further down the length of his tensing shaft.  

“Shit—you feel like heaven, baby, so good for me—”  

His release came fast and hard, leaking his hot spend into you, painting your insides like brushstrokes on canvas with his final thrust.  

He seemed to lay there for forever, softening between your walls as sweet slumber carried you off once more. “Go back to sleep, baby,” he’d advised against your shoulder (as if you’d needed any kind of encouragement), “Did such a good job; go back to sleep.”  

It was easy to accede to his command.  

You’d come to for a half-second as he’d placed, fully dressed, the clink of his belt and the crisp waft of his cologne rousing you to near-consciousness, a deliberate, lingering kiss to your forehead. “Don’t answer the door for anyone else, okay, hermosa?”

“Huh? Oh—mhm.”

And you’d vaguely registered a low laugh. “Good to know you’re so well behaved when you’re half-asleep.” His finger traced your cheekbone, dragged down to pull teasingly at your bottom lip. “Means I’ll have to keep fuckin’ you to the point of exhaustion.”

“Mhm—please." Squished and mumbled, guttural and breathless.  

Another soft laugh, and then echoes of receding footsteps.  

Waking up a few hours later, you’d peeled your sticky thighs apart, confused at first by the mysterious pool of wetness between your legs.

You didn’t bother cleaning it up, already feeling the loss of your DEA officer. You somehow chose to dial Carrie's number to kill some time on your day off (or else, you feared, you’d have quickly found another use for your bored fingers).

Being alone in his room leaves you feeling very young. Lying in his bed, thinking about the past night’s events… you feel giddy, like a highschool girl after her first time, and anxious, on edge without Javier’s protection.

You just want to gush about it.

“Do you remember that DEA agent? The Texan?”

You barely have time to finish your thought before Carrie’s cutting your question short.

“Sexy Javi?”

She giggles. You snort indelicately into the receiver.

“I never called him that.”

“You didn’t have to,” she returns. “I deduced it from the amount of times you ranted to me about his… callers.”

You fiddle with the telephone chord, smiling artfully to yourself. “I’m in his bed right now.”

There’s a slap. No doubt the sound of a hand clapping over a set of slack lips. And then—

“I thought he lived outside the city?!”

It’s a strange reaction. You’d expected something a bit more on-topic, confused at your friend’s preoccupation with Peña’s living quarters when you’d just divulged such an out-of-character, personal detail.

Well, at least the enthusiasm is there.

“No, he lives right by the embassy.” You respond, rolling lazily onto your side. Opening the top drawer of his bedside table, you grimace to yourself, taking in (on top of the empty bottle of men’s cologne and an old, broken watch) a box of tissue paper, a pair of handcuffs (not regulation), a smatter of sex toys, and a few scattered, unopened condoms. “That new… fancy building on the corner,” you continue, swiping a few tissues between your legs, trying not to giggle at the teasing Javi was in for tonight, “Carrie—are you seriously not gonna ask how it was?”

There’s a pause. You hear a rustle in the background; the sound reminds you of students in class, whipping out pens and notebooks.

Is she taking notes?

“Tell. Me. Everything.”

That reaction felt more appropriate.

It all comes bursting out of you—the night out, Javi’s rescue, your backseat escapade. Carrie’s an ideal audience, gasping and ‘oooh’-ing and ‘girl!’-ing at all the right moments.

When you get to the end of your tale, your cheeks hurt from smiling so much. Carrie pries for more and more specifics, keeping you on the phone for close to an hour. You don't give her everything (did she really need an approximation of his size?) but you do make sure to remind her, often, that Javier Peña was an excellent fuck.

Finally, the conversation dies down. Sitting up, you realize just how desperately you’re in need of a shower. It wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, the smell of sex, tequila, and Javi’s day-old cologne clinging to your skin, but his place gets hot, and you hadn't anticipated the need to pack deodorant in your purse during last night's going-out prep.

Either way, Carrie's become distracted, the length between your words and her responses growing with every passing minute. You notice a Spanish conversation taking place in the background, no doubt the reason for her decreasing attentiveness.

You’re about to hang up, launching into a polite, “alright girl, I’ll let you go” when she goes back in for more.

“Is he home now?”

She blurts it out, and you're a bit taken aback. Frankly, the urgency of her tone feels a little jarring.

“Um, no,” you answer, uncertain, stretching out your vowels, “I think he went in early today.”

“Good.”

Her clipped tone continues to confuse you. It’s… not playful anymore. It’s administrative.

Commercial.

“What do you mean?”

“Oh,” a flutter of shrill laughter, “Just wanted to make sure he’s not listening in on our—”

There’s a knock at the door before she can finish. You call out just a sec! automatically, pulling on your rumpled clothes from the night before as the receiver tumbles onto the unmade bed.

It’s only once you’ve lumbered over, wiped the grogginess from your eyes, once you’ve unlocked the door and twisted the handle—it’s only once your head is covered with a thick, scratchy fabric, once the world’s gone dark and a cry of surprise is wrenched from your throat—that you recall Javi’s warning:

Don’t open the door for anyone else.  

Something else takes over. Something primal. Fight, fight, fight. Find the flesh and punish it, scramble for purchase into any detectable, softer areas. Squirm until your legs give out, 'till your knees hit the floor and the beginnings of bruises scatter across your burning skin in a plethora of vulnerable places.

But when you thrash around like that, make sure your head doesn’t hit the doorframe.

Because then? It’s lights out.

—

The first thing you notice is the smell.  

Weed and tobacco. Wet weed and tobacco. It’s not a smell you’re accustomed to (you worked for the DEA, for crying out loud). It makes your already-pounding head spin, so it takes a second before you remember that you’re not safe—you’re not at home, you’re not at Javi’s, and you’re not with Javi.

Instincts kick in. Your stomach aches with fear, lighting you up from the inside, energizing every inch of your body. You wrench, pull, struggle against the restraints suffocating your wrists, binding your hands around the back of a rickety, wooden chair. You can’t kick at anything, either. Your ankles are crossed, squished on top of each other and secured by a firm length of (what you assume to be) rope.

And then the canvas is unceremoniously yanked off of your head, taking a few hairs from your scalp along with it.

You squint, blinking into the dim light, slowly adjusting to your surroundings: some sort of musty basement with concrete walls and floors, decorated by nothing except a couple of small, rectangular windows near the too-high ceilings. It’s completely empty—save for your company.

One, two, three strangers. All men. All Cartel, by the looks of them.

And all positively leering.  

The one nearest you, holding the bag in his hands, speaks down to you. It’s quick and harsh, mocking and cruel. Spanish and unintelligible.

Your hatred towards the captor blinds you; it coaxes the animal out of its cage. You spit: “I don’t speak Spanish, motherfucker.”

(Even if you did, the adrenaline coursing through your veins wouldn’t allow you much room for comprehension).

From the shadows, another man appears. He lumbers over to you, and you notice the peculiarity of his European-looking hat as he squats down to level with you.

He clicks his tongue, dousing you with a look of disapproval. “That’s not very nice, hermosa.”

You shiver. Javi had called you that before, many times. And even though it sounded totally different coming from this foul man’s mouth, shrouded under the veil of a thick, Spanish accent, it sticks.

You hold your tongue, biting it to keep from sobbing. The glint in his eye, visible behind his glasses, moves from playfulness to exasperated ire.

He sighs, stands, and grabs your hair, tilting your head back harshly to look down at you. “You’re very hard to catch, you know that?” He muses, darkness trickling across his features. “But you’re alone now, Americana. No DEA—no Javier Peña to protect you.”

He makes a mockery of his name, oozing cockiness as it comes spitting out of his smirk. You glare up at him, simmering anger and bubbling fear claiming you. Would they go after Javi?

No. They wouldn’t dare.

Only an American like yourself—low-value, replaceable, unnoticeable—was expendable.

“What do you want from me?”

He smiles, releasing your head and taking a step back.

“You’re the assistant, aren’t you?” And that deceptively sweet tone is back, frightening you more than his rage. “We need directions, hermosa. You’ve been in all the government buildings—we know, we watched you. Why don’t you give us some assistance,” he pauses, leaning down towards you, “And tell us where your evidence against Pablo Escobar is filed.”

You snort, unimpressed, shocked, and a little humoured by his little monologue. This was what they were after?

This was why you'd been fearing for your life?

A fucking… map?

“Find someone else. I don’t know shit.”

It’s honestly true. The bastards could not be barking up a more wrong tree. For all their criminal genius, they hadn’t managed to catch the fact that you really, truly didn’t give a flying fuck about the particulars of your job.

But if this was about Escobar—the Pablo Escobar—then these were men from the Medellín cartel. The same Medellín cartel that left scores of expendable bodies in its wake, that bombed, assassinated, and tortured government workers like they were no more than rats in a science lab.

You weren’t the end-all, be-all of this operation.

No, you were just another lead.

A lead that (only you knew) led to jack-all. Unless they were scrambling to learn about the best places to go out dancing or the worst brands of moisturizer, you had very little to offer the thugs.

The one with the strange hat—the ringleader, you decide—shares a smile with his co-conspirators, and you begin to regret the arrogance of your statement.

“There are many ways we can do this,” he warns, voice sloping down to a dangerous hum. “It can be easy…” and he lowers a hand to his belt buckle, setting every cell in your body on fire, “Or hard.”

It‘s a plea to God more than a question for your captor, your desperate, self-pitying: “Why me?” It can't be above a whisper, but the asshole responds anyway.

“It’s more enjoyable when we get to work with something pretty.” A dark laugh. “Who’s going to come looking for you, hermosa? Your family? Your friends? Your… government?” He clicks his tongue again, looking down at you in mock concern. “Like I said, we’ve been watching. You have a habit of disappearing. Running away.”

Figures.

Figures that the reason you’d wound up with your life on the line, your body in danger, was because of you. Once again, it boiled down to the lack of attachments you’d curated over the years, passing from one thing to another, quick on your feet the second they hit solid ground. For God’s sake, the only reason you’d made it this long in Medellín was because it hadn’t managed to bore you yet.

Figures that the closest thing to stability you’d been able to find was in the crime capital of the world. It was poetically honest, laughably ironic.

Of course, the American government would assume you’d fucked off—just another ditzy contractor swept up in the thrill of a south-American life.

The other part held water, too—no one would come looking for you. Your boss might huff about ‘these flighty secretaries, can’t hold ‘em down for anything,’ but beyond that, your disappearance would cause less than a stir.  

Somehow, that thought comforted you. The lack of collateral, the lack of another’s suffering… very little harm would befall the world in the wake of your absence. Peace was beginning to crest upon your settling soul. And, either way, you’d worked in this line of work for long enough to know that your death warrant had been signed the very second they’d seen you as a target.

You give the bastards what they want? You die.

You hold off? You die.

All things considered, you resign yourself, making up your mind.

Still, your defiant voice quivers as you say it.

“Fuck you.”

The ringleader smiles, like a predator cornering its prey, taking that first bite into hard-earned flesh. Your brain responds, screaming warnings in big letters, in flashing red ink. He barks an order to his underlings in Spanish, and the other two men come forward, roughly undoing the holds along your ankles, your wrists.

“Get the fuck off of me!”  

But they don’t listen, yanking you upright and shoving you onto the ground. Your vision becomes hazy. Something takes over, a protective instinct, perhaps, barring you from your own body. Distantly, you observe yourself fighting, but really all you feel is beyond. The words ‘I am not here, this is not happening’ wash over you over and over again, like a cleansing, salt-water wave.

Hands on cement. Clothes torn, destroyed—the cold barrel of a gun to your head, a man barking orders, hitting, slapping—and right as the worst is about to happen, everything just…

Stops.

It’s like they’re spellbound, bugs frozen in amber.

You hear the cause of it well after your torturers do. Footsteps upstairs, and gunshots, screams followed by the definite sounds of a creeping squadron.

The men get messy. Scrambling around, they gather their options. In your dazed periphery, you watch their eyes latch onto one of those open windows, 8 or 9 feet up from the ground.

A hushed conversation ensues. You're familiar enough with the more violent side of the Spanish vocabulary to string together their meaning.

“Shoot her? — no, the noise, they’ll find us faster — kill her? — too long — take her? — too messy — we have to go, we have to go, we have to go.”

Your ruined shirt is shoved down your throat, and then you’re gagging on it, ankles bound once more, shaking and naked on the freezing concrete. The trio uses the little wooden chair to frantically sneak out of the window.

It would be downright comical if you weren’t so terrified.

Soon, you’re alone, choking on cotton and wriggling to flatten your back against the wall. Centuries pass before the movement upstairs graduates to the basement below.

Relief doesn’t grace you. Any man—DEA, cartel, or Colombian police—would likely perform the same violence as your previous captors had planned to. A naked girl, roughed up and completely unprotected, in a dark, hidden basement, totally at their mercy… Shit. You were basically an invitation. A free meal, offered up to a different, hungry crowd.

You just pray that this one might be gentler.

The stairs creak under the certain weight of bodies in motion.

Tears run down the side of your face, dripping down from your temple onto the ground below. You compress into a ball, making yourself as small as possible.

The echoes grow louder, closer and closer. At this point, you just hope they’ll assume you’re an enemy or get trigger-happy and give you a quick taste of lead. Put you out of your misery.

Giving up was well within your comfort zone.

Someone gasps when they see you, and a single name hurtles through the space.

An out-of-commission part of your mind recognizes it—the name—knows it as a comfort. Still, you only tremble, trying to disconnect yourself from what must be a wishful, crafted, deceitful version of reality.

Then someone else comes forward. Your eyes, weary of keeping you in the dark, fling open just in time to watch a tall, dark-haired man push through the crowd of soldiers. You watch his expression—shock to rage, rage to relief, and then rage all over again.

He rushes you, falling to his knees before your wrecked form.

His first move is to wrench the fabric from your mouth. You croak out the most desperate sob of relief, all those stifled, unvoiced expressions of terror tumbling out in great-big-heaves.

“Are you hurt?” He asks.

“No.” You respond.

“Did they…?”

“No.”

Javi tears his big doe-eyes, filled with worry, away from yours, twisting to impatiently address the frozen crowd of four or five behind him. “Can somebody take these fuckin’ ties off?”

Switchblades slice through twine. Someone brings you a blanket, and Javi bundles you up in it, gathering you and lifting you in his arms. You don’t resist, clinging around his neck and hiding in the comfort of his shoulder.

“Hermosa—”

You regret the way you flinch. “Please—please don’t call me that anymore.”

“Okay.” He doesn’t ask questions, sounding a little softer, a little more unsure when he presses on, muffling the desperate edge to his tone. “Did you see where they went?”

“The window. Out the window.”

Most of the rest take to that almost immediately, scattering to start on their chase. Javi delivers a set of orders in his native tongue.

Then, he grows silent, carrying you through the house with two soldiers in the lead. “Close your eyes, okay? You don’t wanna see this.” But now that they’re open, you can’t seem to shut them. You only glimpse flashes of the upstairs area. Tables covered in paper, glass contraptions and coke, so much coke, which is almost more impressive than the quantity of blood splattered against the peeling walls.

And Carrie.

Carrie with half her brains hanging out, long, dark, red-soaked hair fanning around her crown like a rotten halo, lounging on the couch, fingers splayed and palms to the sky as if she were ready to wrap them around a glass of white wine—as if she were ready to catch up on girl-talk.

What’s Carrie doing here?

Should I ask her?

She’s dead.  

No, she’s not. She’s right there. She was waiting for me to be done so we could catch up. That’s just how she always sits—it’s just the scoliosis.

That’s why she always showed up so late to the club. She… she couldn’t dance too long because of the scoliosis.

You’re still debating whether or not Carrie would be up for a bit of gossip, another debrief, when big, strong arms lower you into the passenger seat of a Jeep Cherokee.

Javier buckles you in.

“We can’t go to your place—that’s…” and you trail off weakly, throat burning with effort. “That’s where they took me.”

He nods, his face a complete mask of concentration.

But you know him.

He’s holding everything back. You appreciate him for that, never wanting to hear a man shout for the rest of your cursed time on Earth.

“Steve’s, then.”

It’s your turn to nod.

—

Javier drives in complete and total silence, only speaking the occasional clipped sentence into his radio. Despite your vulnerability, despite your overwhelming gratitude, you feel guilty for taking him away from his work, from his team. For forcing him to rescue you once again.

For sure, he’s angry. Would he have to move? Find a new place? Leave all his stuff at the old one? Would a better captive have paid better attention, taken note of the exact direction her kidnappers had taken off in after clearing the window?

Soon, you’re settled against a couch, the light from the opposing window breaking in and dancing across Javi’s face. A blonde woman—fiery, familiar, concerned—hands you a glass of water.

Javi watches you, eyebrows notched together, lips drawn into a thin line as you take a slow sip in silence. The liquid slides down your throat, cooling and soothing the rips and tears there.

And they both won’t stop staring. Truly, their joint study makes you self-conscious, watching on with unapologetic intent as you shiver under the scratchy blanket.

Finally (thankfully), Steve's wife—Connie, you recall—speaks.

“You can go, Javi. I'll take it from here.”

“No.”

She looks borderline offended at his line in the sand.

“I don’t think she’s in any shape to talk, Peña.” It’s authoritative, protective, clearly marked with harboured resentment.

She'd make a good mom.

He scoffs. “I’m not gonna make her talk, Connie. Just don’t wanna leave her like... this.”

Connie looks confused. They share a glance, and an eventual understanding passes over her expression. In fact, even in your distressed state, you’re almost certain you catch a hint of a smile.

“Well if you’re both staying, we’ll need food.”

Javi nods absentmindedly, lighting up a smoke. You look away, still feeling the weight of his eyes boring into your ducked head.

She clears her throat. “I’ll be back in an hour or so. Remember to lock the door, Javi.”

Then, swinging her coat on, she traces an awkward line out of the apartment.

Silence flits across the room. The agent continues to study you from his seat at the counter across the room.

“Are you okay?”

You pick at your nails, internally asking yourself the same question.

“I’m just glad you were there,” you muster up, looking up at his softened, warm gaze. Concern etches a couple of fresh lines on his face.

Javi nods, taking a long drag. “Always, sweetheart. I’m glad I was there, too.”

You shiver at the thought of what could have happened if he and his team had showed up just a few minutes later. What shape he would have found you in, or if you’d ever permit yourself to feel the touch of a man again. Of anyone again.

“Why were you there?”

The question comes out of nowhere, bursting out the moment you realize that you hadn’t yet bothered to ask him how he’d pulled off yet another well-timed rescue.

It couldn’t have been in answer to your prayers—those had never worked for you before.

“Carillo’s been following Escobar’s cousin for a while. Zeroed in on the neighbourhood, but we spent all morning doing searches. Honestly,” he breaks off for a moment, rubbing at his temples, “It was just damn luck that we found you when we did. Wish I could say it wasn't, but it was. We were gettin’ ready to call it off. I had… no idea you weren’t at home.”

He blames himself for it. You can tell. In turn, you blame yourself for that—for his misguided, self-inflicted anger.

There’s more left unsaid.

“My friend—I called her this morning. From your place. She was there. She was… dead. I think.”

Javi doesn’t react, evidence of the years of gore, wreckage, and betrayal he'd witnessed.

You swallow, soldiering on.

“I told her. I told her where I was. Could she… could she have told them?”

Is she the reason this happened to me?

Slowly, lips pressed around his cigarette, Javi nods. “I’m sorry,” he barely mumbles.

Strangely enough, you’re not. That’s what you say: “I’m not.” And it’s true. “She was upstairs when it was all happening. I’m glad she’s dead.”

Now, he looks at you with a consideration that swells into a kind of respect. Not a respect, no not respect. A knowing. A new kind of understanding, of equal footing.

You meet him head-on with it, basking in your retribution, revelling in the immediate justice she'd been served. You’d mourn the person you thought she was when your wounds weren’t so open, so fresh.

"They wanted directions, Javi," you suddenly blurt out, voice hoarse, "Isn't that insane? They were gonna... they were gonna do that for directions. Not even the evidence, just fucking directions-"

Javi lifts his hands in the air, signalling for you to slow down. Normally, it would make you want to tear his arrogant head off. Now, however, you just do, although the silence isn't very comforting. After a moment, you can tell there's something Javi’s been avoiding, something he’s holding in. The agent clears his throat, finally calling it quits on his tiptoe-ing around the subject.

“Cariño," he begins, "I know you told me earlier, but I... I gotta be sure. Did they hurt you in… any way?”

God, he sounds so deeply wary, unable even to speak his fear into existence. You shake your head no, prompting his shoulders to relax.

“Okay. Good,” he breathes, crossing his arms and looking down at the rug. “Don’t think I could…”

Panic ripples through your frame.

'Doesn’t think he could' what? Bear to look at me, knowing the enemy had been where he’d been, done what he’d done? Touch me in the same grooves they'd left on my skin? Javi’s not that kind of man—is he?

“Don’t think I could forgive myself if anything were to happen to you under my watch.”

The rush of anxiety quickly dissipates, replaced by a stifling bloom of admiration and adoration across your chest. Like soft tendrils, warming your shivering body from within.

You smile self-consciously, scoff, and meet his eyes. “I wasn’t ‘under your watch,’ Javi. I opened the door. It was my fault.”

He raises his eyebrows, huffing a breath before ashing his dart, rising, carving a path towards the couch-cushion next to you and taking your glass of water from between your hands. It clinks as he sets it on the table. Taking your unsteady hands between his hardened palms, he coaxes you into meeting his golden eyes.

“It’s not your fault, herm—” a pause as he corrects himself, noticing your flinch, “—cariño. It’s not your fault.”

He waits for your nod of acknowledgement before pulling you into his arms. You let yourself go limp, dragged into the plushness of the couch and the firmness of his chest.

He lays a kiss to your forehead. He fidgets with your hair. He traces long, lazy lines up and down your spine.

How had you gone from that youthful giddiness this morning to this dark, anxious wreck in a matter of hours? It wasn’t even two o’clock yet.

The comfort your agent provides is good—will always be good—but you want more. Every inch of attention he gives you is just another step away from that cold basement, a foot towards freedom.

Time heals all wounds, and you want a distraction while you face those excruciating seconds. Something to move it along. Something to keep you busy, to keep the harrowing images at bay.

So you tilt your head up. Finding his lips, you press into him, shuddering when the rough hairs of his mustache tickle your top lip. When your body asks for more, when your tongue meets his and your hand drops to his thigh, Javi tenses, pulling back and breaking off the kiss.

“Sweetheart—you’re not in a good place,” he whispers, lovingly running his fingers through your hair.

You look up at him with eyes full of need, wordlessly begging him to give in. “I am now,” you assure him, tossing a leg over his hips and straddling his body. His expression darkens as you slowly chip away at his resolve, one touch at a time. “I’m with you.”

He smiles, plucking your hands from his chest. Every kiss he lays to your knuckles sends a ripple of electricity up and down your spine. “That right?” He muses between embraces. “That all you need?”

You nod, the pace of your shallow breaths picking up in anticipation. “When you touch me, Javi, it’s like you’re cleaning them off me,” you croon, leaning forward to brush your lips against his jaw.

“You’re in shock, baby,” but his hands defy his words, slipping down to circle your waist, “You don’t know what you’re doing.”

Slowly, deliberately, you lean back to stare directly into his heavy-lidded eyes. “I know exactly what I’m doing.”

You feel him tense at that, his body hardening alongside the weight building underneath your thigh. He lets you go on, deft hands pooling onto your hips.

“Get rid of them for me,” you plead, grinding down onto his bulge.

“Make me all yours again.”  

That does it.

His hands shoot up to your face, firmly cupping your cheeks between their heat. Then, Javi’s kissing you harder than before, warming your desire up to a feverish level. You moan into him, turning to putty in his grasp.

He peppers kisses down your jaw and up your neck, allowing you to clumsily untuck his shirt and undo his belt. It’s frantic and needy—it’s pure business. You free his length from the confines of his clothes, heavy breaths mingling when you look down in tandem, hungrily watching your small, delicate hand pumping up and down his cock.

“Fuck,” he groans, his dark crown of cropped curls falling back against the couch, “You make it fuckin’ hard to be a good guy.”

You smile, spreading the slick dribbling at his tip around the head of his cock.

God, the sight of him never gets old.

“Good guys listen, Javi,” you tease, managing to pull off an air of sultriness, “Not just to no—also to yes.”

A lazy, roguish grin spreads across his face. “You are feeling better, aren’t you?” and he knocks a squeal out of you when he cages you in his arms, flipping you over ‘till your back’s digging shapes into the worn-in cushions below. “Gettin’ mouthy already.”

You giggle up at him, but all of your noises dwindle when a few rough fingers push your torn, ruined underwear to the side. You grow especially wordless when one separates your folds and makes its way inside you.

Javi gives you his signature look of condescension, of mock pity.

“What happened, sweetheart?” He taunts, thumbing that aching bundle of nerves. “All the ways I’ve had my dick in you, just this—” he makes a point to curl his fingers towards himself, pressing against the most desire-stricken spot, “—‘n you can’t find your words?”

Your throat won’t open, choking around your own pleasure. Instead, you nod with enthusiasm, desperately clinging onto his forearm. “More.”

He quickly accedes, pushing another long and thick finger inside you. You shudder at the perfect sting—the stretch—as your opening hugs his knuckles. Javi mutters curses to himself, angry and lustful, supervising your writhing form.

“No one else gets to see you like this.” He speaks low, sitting up to work you with both hands. Your body responds without your permission; Javi clicks his tongue and shoves you back down when your hips buck up. “Don’t deserve it,” he continues voicing his thought as if no interruption had occurred, “I’d have to track ‘em down and kill ‘em.”

His tone goes beyond protectiveness, easily veering into the realm of the possessive. “I-I wouldn’t be good f-for them, Javi,” you manage, wanting to comfort him, to calm him, “Wouldn’t—wouldn’t listen.”

“Oh,” he smirks down at you, finally pulling his fingers from your soaked, ready cunt. “Like you listen to me?”

You spread your legs for him, shimmying down until he’s hovering right above you. He strokes himself, taking you in with hunger, playfulness and… something else.

Something like devotion.

A smile. You stroke his jaw. “You come harder when I misbehave.”

He shrugs and nods, a silent, ‘you got me there,' before lining himself up at your entrance.

You whimper, a pathetic, pleading sound, when the head of his cock finds your opening. “Then make sure to misbehave.”  

He rocks inside you, taking note of the way your jaw goes slack, hanging open, and the way your brow furrows, grateful eyes glazing over, showing high praise for that feeling of fullness.  

And he laughs to himself.

“Needy fuckin’ thing,” he coos, settling into a comfortable rhythm. “Beggin’ for cock after bein’ kidnapped. I shouldn’t be feedin' into your crazy, cariño.”

It is crazy. But you don’t care, giggling along to his taunt.

“Just makes me feel so-so good, Javi,” you breathe.

“Yeah?” He coaxes, sitting back to tower over you, pressing your thighs to your calves; the new angle has bliss rippling through your centre, your back arching involuntarily. “What feels good?”

He shoves your hips down, lowering a finger back to your clit.

“Oh—God—y-yourcock—” he nods approvingly at you, beckoning you to go on, “your—your fingers, too.”

He slows his pace, pulling out fully before slamming back inside you.

“Look at it, cariño,” Javi instructs, steadying your hips once more. “Watch me fuck your pretty lil’ pussy.”

You struggle onto your elbows and obey, mouth slack and perpetually open. Pressure builds at your core as you watch every inch of his hard, dark length disappear, over and over, inside the shelter of your body. It’s so dirty, and somehow the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

“M-made for you, Javi.”

And he moans, an animalistic sound you’d never heard from him before.

“S’right, baby, made just for me.” He flattens his fingers against your clit, applying just the right amount of pressure. “Can you come for me now?”

You nod, grateful for his permission as soon as you start to feel your thighs shake. The tension snaps within you, and you tumble over the edge of your climax with a high pitched whine.

“Good girl,” he praises, low, deep, and bristling with pleasure, “Good fuckin’ girl.”

You ride it out. Javi shows no mercy, squeezing your waist and bouncing your lower half against him. His biceps and shoulders strain against his shirt, the sight making your eyes roll to the back of your head.

After having him a few times, you were well aware of his impressive stamina—Javi wasn’t going to finish without giving you another one. Nonetheless, the overwhelming pleasure has you squirming away from his unrelenting grasp.

He pulls you back against him, steadying you between two forceful hands.

And he fucks you harder.  

“Still remember them, querida? ” He breathes.

You find your voice, using great effort to stammer out a “y-yes."

It's not the correct answer.

Javi growls, “Then I’m not fuckin’ done with you.”

His shirt grazes the insides of your thighs, and you're certain that every part of his form is working to set your skin on fire. A skilled hand wraps around your jaw, and Javi leans over you, lowering his lips to latch around a hard, peaked nipple.

Your whimpers do nothing to stop him. He just keeps rhythmically rocking into you, the head of his cock reaching impossible, beckoning depths.

An almost-sob wracks your lungs. “S’a lot, huh? Takin’ all this cock inside you…” Javi shushes you with feigned sympathy, nipping and suckling at the softest spots at his disposal. “S’okay, baby, s’okay.”

Then he makes his way to your lips, forces you to kiss him—deeply—as your lungs scream for oxygen. He locks your hands above your head in just one of his own, the pressure of his weight the only thing keeping your squirming limbs in place.

And then his mouth is sliding down your jaw, his breaths hot and heavy next to your ear.

“Fuck—can feel you gettin’ close, sweetheart, gonna come again?”

All you can do is nod.

He rolls into you—hard and deep—forcing tears to pull from the outer corners of your eyes.

“S-so good to me,” you manage, seeing pure white as your third orgasm of the day blooms from between your seizing legs.

He groans, freeing your hands (which immediately find stability in the firmness of his shoulders) to clumsily wipe the tears from under one dazed eye. Above you, he resembles a hungry, lustful angel, eyes darkened with unbridled need, affection, approval.  

“‘M’good to what’s mine, baby,” he whispers, pulling you into the crook of his neck as he chases both your highs. “Come, cariño—s’right, come for me.”

And you do, aching, ruined cunt squeezing and releasing, fluttering around Javi. He moans a downright sinful ‘fuck’ at the sensation, reaching his own peak almost in tandem with yours.

Only once his every last drop is spent, once his groan and your whines have stopped echoing around the unfamiliar, open space, does he pull back from your neck.

And when he looks at you… God. There’s something you’re both not saying.

“Only wanna see you cry like this, baby,” he tells you, laying a long, lingering kiss to your forehead. “Never gonna let them—let anyone—lay a finger on you again.”

Your breath hitches, the words thick and sticky in your throat. The both of you are dazed, breathless, and completely wrecked. “I’m… I’m glad we met. That you—that we’re doing this.”

He raises his eyebrows, crooning a soft ‘yeah?’ as he pushes your hair from your face.

You nod. “You make all of it worth it.”

He’s appreciative when leaning in for a kiss, slipping out of you and groaning against your lips. You tangle your fingers in his damp hair, leaning up into him with every aching muscle in your body, wanting nothing more than to become a part of his whole. When he pulls away, it's only to tuck his softening length back into his briefs. He focusses on you again, leaning over to affectionately stroke your knee.

“Is it just sex for you?”

His question comes as a bit of a surprise—you’d never heard him speak so openly, so innocent and vulnerable.

You cup his face. Despite the fact that he looks like the men from earlier, carries the same guns and ammo, knows what they know, even speaks their language, he’s never seemed so separate from them, an entirely different species.

“No—at first, maybe, but now… No. Not for me.”

He eases into a soft smile, wrapping you back into your blanket before laying back, manhandling you to rest against his still-unsteady chest.

Those masterful hands comfort you in a million different ways. He plays with your hair and traces the highest points of your cheekbone. He massages your knuckles, pulls you in for little kisses, dips into the curve of your waist.

“How about you?” The question is small, even though you anticipate the answer.

He takes a second before answering. When he does, his voice is low, quiet.

“Not at all, sweetheart.” He tilts your head up, his soft, caring gaze probing into every corner of your own. “Honestly, I think it’s been more than that since the first time you said ‘go fuck yourself, Peña.’” He whistles under his breath, exaggerating his approval. “Shit was hot.”

It makes you laugh, but it's also enough to make your heart soar. Settling in to the nook of his neck, you breathe in his familiar, earthly scent, until the exhaustion of the day eventually weighs on you.

You fall asleep with a smile on your face, entertained by the fact that while you really should be a wreck, you feel perfectly at ease, wrapped in the arms of your favourite DEA agent. In fact, you can hardly remember what your kidnappers looked like—or sounded like, for that matter—succumbing to slumber, you only think of him.

—

Less than three hectic, hazy days later, you’re pulling a suitcase through the Medellín international airport. There was no sense risking it anymore—you'd have to be transferred to the States until the assholes were caught. Ambassador's orders.

Javi flanks your side, eyes peeled for any abnormalities in your surroundings.

Your heart breaks with every step you take. He comes all the way to the gate without saying a word, merely holding onto one of your bags (that he'd insisted he carry) in a white-knuckled fist.

You’re running behind. There’s not much time.

He doesn’t say he’ll call—knows he’s not that kind of man. You don’t say you’ll visit. You don’t say you’ll write.

No, all you do is lean up on your tippy toes to plant a tender, lingering kiss to his cheek. He returns the favour by cupping your face, leaning down and kissing you intently.

Too intently—as if he were memorizing the grooves in your lips.

Well, that’s what you’re doing, anyways.

Over the loudspeaker, your name is called.

“They’re paging you,” Javi translates, his breath hitting your top lip.

You pull away, doing your best not to cry.

“Thank you.”

It’s all you say—it’s all that needs to be said, really.

Thank you for showing me I matter. Thank you for teaching me patience. Thank you for saving my life three times. Thank you for wanting me. Thank you for making me wait for it. Thank you for giving me a reason to miss this place.  

Thank you for loving me. I think that's what this is.

He hears it all, stuffed and contained, overflowing from the two uttered words.

Then he smiles, that well-trained, protective cockiness spreading across his face.

“You’re welcome, cariño.”

You scoff a laugh, slowly dropping his hand and turning towards your gate.

“If I ever visit home…” he calls after you.

You pause, smiling down at the glistening floor, shaking your head. “You’ll never catch me in Texas, Peña,” you call across the traffic of rushing families and over-packed suitcases. He smiles knowingly, hands in his pockets, watching you leave. “Just lock the fuckers up so I can visit. The weather sucks back home.”

You slowly walk backwards towards the exit, ignoring a few flight-attendant-glares, not daring to break off the playful eye contact linking you to your agent.

“I’ll do it just for you, baby,” he calls, grinning like a fool.

Strange. You’d never noticed how the teasing, that snarky back and forth you’d developed together seemed to put him at ease—to relax him. All that time he'd spent, driving you to the brink of insanity... it comforted him.

And that realization was enough to make you beam.

You commit that final glimpse to memory. Javi—smiling, calm, alive, yours. It was rare enough that you felt sure it would stick.

When you finally turn to face the gate, to face your future, you don’t feel like crying anymore.

It was enough just to have met him.

Maybe—just maybe—he felt the same.

—

All my friends tell me I should move on

I'm lying in the ocean, singing your song

Ahh

That's how you sang it

Loving you forever can't be wrong

Even though you're not here, won't move on

Ahh

That's how we played it

And there's no remedy for memory, your face is like a melody

It won't leave my head

Your soul is haunting me and telling me that everything is fine

But I wish I was dead (dead, like you)

Every time I close my eyes, it's like a dark paradise

No one compares to you

I'm scared that you won't be waiting on the other side

Every time I close my eyes, it's like a dark paradise

No one compares to you

I'm scared that you won't be waiting on the other side

All my friends ask me why I stay strong

Tell 'em when you find true love, it lives on

Ahh

That's why I stay here

And there's no remedy for memory, your face is like a melody

It won't leave my head

Your soul is haunting me and telling me that everything is fine

But I wish I was dead (dead, like you)

Every time I close my eyes, it's like a dark paradise

No one compares to you

I'm scared that you won't be waiting on the other side

Every time I close my eyes, it's like a dark paradise

No one compares to you

But there's no you, except in my dreams tonight

I don't want to wake up from this tonight

There's no relief, I see you in my sleep

And everybody's rushing me, but I can feel you touching me

There's no release, I feel you in my dreams

Telling me I'm fine

Every time I close my eyes, it's like a dark paradise

No one compares to you

I'm scared that you won't be waiting on the other side

Every time I close my eyes, it's like a dark paradise

No one compares to you

But there's no you, except in my dreams tonight

I don't want to wake up from this tonight

—

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[writingonleaves]

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

6A

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. 

[luvleyk]

.・゜-: ✧ :- Stress reliever

| CW: scissoring, switch Bada x reader, cunnilingus, fingering, Bada was the one who's receiving, sloppy make out in the last(〃ﾟ3ﾟ〃), ykyk..

|A/N: birthday special? Maybe.. This was a request from anon so.. It's my first time making a sub canon x reader so idk if did good lmk..

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚　˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

You got home early than your girlfriend. So while waiting for her, you decided to do a little bit of chores. It's rare for the both of you to do some bit of chores around her place since you both got busy with work. It means, that you two had a bit of time for each other, which you understand. Tho you two tried both of your best to have a free time to spend together. You put the trash on the trash can, before perking up when you heard the door opened, signalling that she's already here.

You quickly went towards the living room to greet her.. "Welcome home, love" you said as you hugged her by the torso and giving her a peck on her cheek. She gave you a tired smile as she returned the gesture, by giving you a kiss on your forehead.. You quickly noticed her tired expression as you helped her with her stuff.. "Got tired from work?" You asked and she nodded as a response.

"The dance class went well and it was fun, but it's tiring at the same time." She explained as she leaned down, to level your height. She rest her chin against your shoulder as she pulled you closer in a tight embrace.. "Mm... I missed you, baby" she hummed before nuzzling her face against the crook of your neck.

A chuckle escaped your mouth as you hugged her tightly.. "Missed you too, love" you said before slightly pulling away to look at her when a idea suddenly popped on your head.. "Hmm... How about I take care of you today?" You asked while tilting your head..

She looked down at you before chuckling.. "Well.. What do you have in mind?" She asked..

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚　˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

She was laid flat on the bed, with you hovering her as she let you kiss her, letting you lead this time. Let's just say that she's in the mood to be taken care of, today. And you're willing to do it. Almost eager to make her feel good. Your hand starts to roam around her body, your tongue licking the bottom of her lip to ask for access and she willingly opened her mouth, letting you taste her or dominate her.

Her baggy jeans and her boxers were tossed on the floor as your tongue was now circling around her sensitive her bud as your fingers were rubbing against her entrance, coating herself with her own juice..

"Fuck... Y/N" you heard her moaned out your name, giving you a sign that she's feeling good. You continue on your work as you gently pushed two digits inside her, slowly pumping inside while you continue flick your tongue against her clit.

You feeling her thighs trembling, as if she wants to squeeze her thighs together, but also controlling herself at the same time.. Your hum makes a vibration against her bud, causing her to let out a whimper. Her constant moaning and gasping were fueling your little ego.. Even tho it's not the first time that you've made her submit, but it's still making you a bit prideful to see someone, like her trembling beneath you.

You stopped on your work as you pulled you fingers out, causing her to whine... "Y/N-ah.. Why'd you pulled out..?" She asked between each breath.. You look down at her, feeling yourself lost for a bit before taking off your underwear, beneath your skirt... "I have other plans" you said as she watched you tossed your underwear and straddle yourself on top her, slightly hovering my aching cunt against her. She already know what were you trying to you so she gently placed her hand against your hip to guide you... You ground her hips against yours, her slick heat rubbing against your throbbing clit as you started to tease her..

She let out a muffled moan, as you began to move. Wet folds pressing and rubbing each other, pleasuring both of you.. You bit you lips as you felt you rolling her hips against yours, syncing on your rhythm. Your thrust became powerful, burying you clit against her, causing for her to arch her back and moaning your name like a mantra.

Your breath breath became erratic as you hold against her hip for support.. The sound of hips slapping became sloppy as felt both of dripping... You circle your hips, coating her cunt and her inner thighs with you juice... "Mmn.. Bada..." You moaned. Half-lidded eyes slowly went to look at down at her, hair sprawled out on the bed, chest rising and falling down heavily, hearing her becoming incoherent as her grip on your waist tightens..

Pleasure starts to build up inside you and you can tell Bada was feeling the same way.. The bedroom filled with the erotic sounds of their joining—wet flesh smacking against wet flesh, heavy breathing, and the soft moans that escaped both of their mouths..

"Y... Y/N... Fuck... I'm gonna.." She paused as she let go of your hips, her hand went to her mouth while the other were gripping on the sheets, tightly. You nodded in acknowledgement as you started to rub yourself against hers in a fast pace... "M.. Yeah..? I'm close too, Bada" you gasped out.

The sound of the moans, coming from both of your mouth became loud as your hips stuttered against hers.. Feeling yourself tensing up on top of her... You feel both of your hips jerked up and spasmed, both letting out a loud cry as you two come down from your high..

You collapsed on top of her, breathing heavily as you pushed your fingers, inside of her to help her ride out her orgasm.. You nuzzled against her neck as you heard her letting out a weak moan before pulling out..

Once you two calmed down, you slightly pulled away to plant a kiss on her lips, and she returned it with a weak and sloppy open-mouthed kiss.. This time, she's the one taking the lead on the kiss, licking your bottom lip before pushing her tongue in, savoring your taste..

After a while she pulled away, a string of saliva were connected between the both of your lips.

"Hmm... You did well" she praised before planting a kiss on your forehead and you hummed in response..

"Mhm... We can take a shower, later.. For now... I want to sleep" you said.. "Being on top was exhausting" you joked, which you received a laugh from her.

"Well... We can do this, sometimes... Only if you want"

[charlottesbookclub]

time after time – chapter seven (part one) (armitage hux x reader)

time after time masterlist

Summary: Hux's expectations are altered, but he takes the opportunity to spend more time with you

Warnings/Tags: gn!reader; set pre-TFA; descriptions of eating; as always, let me know if I've missed anything!

Words: 5364

Author’s Note: as I mentioned in my notes on chapter six, that was the chapter that convinced me I needed to take the story in a little bit of a new direction. chapter seven is where I start doing that! this was a really fun one to write, and I hope it will be equally as fun to read! 🥰

Hux awoke slowly this time, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. The sight that met him was not the dark, clinical ceiling of medical, but rather the cheery surroundings of your quarters. He must have woken up before the cycle switched. He scrambled for his datapad. A thick, cold feeling slid down his throat and settled in his stomach. The digital display dispassionately informed him that it was already the next cycle. He should have felt relieved – he had finally broken through whatever strange curse had held him trapped for the past week. But those feelings were overshadowed by the idea that he didn’t get to try this again. All the thoughts of practicing and perfecting himself slid through his hands. You would remember, you would know. Every awkward question and ungainly phrase, every foolish thing he had done and said. His hands were shaking as he turned off the datapad and returned to the couch feeling dazed.

He needed some kind of warning, some sort of preparation. What he needed was a new plan. Maybe this wasn’t so bad after all – you had asked him to stay, hadn’t you? You wouldn’t have done that if he had made himself completely abhorrent to you. He scrubbed his hands across his face as though in an effort to jumpstart his thoughts. They came to him in rush. Kriff – he had responsibilities again! He couldn’t just write off his work knowing it would all be reset. In a flurry he reached for his datapad once more. He couldn’t even remember what he was supposed to be doing today. He pulled up his packed schedule and breathed a small sigh of relief upon seeing one large block of color filling up most of the cycle. It was labeled ‘Project Starkiller Planetary Inspection.’ He relaxed against the couch, closing his eyes and counting out a few breaths to calm his racing pulse. 

The project on Ilum was just in its beginning stages – Hux simply needed to visit the planet and see what progress was being made on updating the old Imperial infrastructure. Compared to many of his other responsibilities, it was relatively easy. It was quiet. His eyes snapped open. The thought echoed again: it was quiet – almost private. He could take you. Excitement bubbled up in his chest. He felt like a silly child, but even that thought couldn’t dampen his sudden good spirits. Maneuvering easily through a series of highly confidential access portals, he cleared your schedule and granted you the required permissions to visit the base. Only a select few knew of the actual plans for the planet, but he reasoned you didn’t need to know that restricted information to simply tour the base with him. Plenty of personnel staffed the limited facilities there without knowing the true purpose of the planet.

Nearly bursting with newfound energy, Hux found he could no longer sit still, even though it was still quite early in the cycle. As quietly as he could, he collected his fresh uniform, thanking the stars that he had thought to request one, and slipped into the refresher. Not even chancing a glance in the mirror while still in his sleep clothes, he pulled on his uniform, adjusting it to perfection. Then there was the considerable problem of his hair. He felt wrong using any of your products, but he had to do something with the orange mess that had grown even more unruly with sleep. He cast about the small room, looking for anything he might use. A tidy stack of little black boxes in the corner caught his eye: your unused First Order-issued products. Knowing instinctively which one contained the necessary gel, he carefully took just as much as he needed before meticulously replacing everything as he had found it. After a couple passes of his gelled hands through his hair, he finally looked in the mirror. Given the stark contrast from the night before, he was reasonably pleased with how he had turned himself out. He hoped you would be too.

Sitting back on your couch, your blankets now neatly folded beside him, Hux waited for you to awaken. He responded to messages, filed reports, and signed documents, trying to get ahead on as much as possible. He had never thought to try and give himself free time before, but if it meant he could spend it with you, then he was willing to at least make an attempt.

Faintly, he heard the chime of an alarm followed by shuffling footsteps. He tried to keep himself focused on his work and not think about how you might look right now, completely unguarded and disheveled from sleep. If he woke up next to you, he would know. That sudden thought, a blaster shot from the darkness, sent him reeling. He tried to swallow the idea, but it lingered as he listened to you move quietly about your quarters, just out of his view. 

Eventually, you emerged into the main space, dressed in your uniform, appearance meeting and exceeding regulation. The only thing out of place on the perfect model of a First Order officer was the warm smile that you offered him. But he wouldn’t have changed that for all the core worlds. It didn’t seem fair that just looking at you would rob him of his breath, yet he found himself returning your smile despite his difficulties with moving air through his lungs.

“Good morning, General,” you snapped him a little salute, but the lilt in your voice and the teasing smile that you seemed unable – or unwilling – to chase from your lips made the whole greeting seem much less martial and much more congenial. Was Hux smiling again? The corners of his mouth felt a little odd, like they weren’t used to making that shape as often as you seemed to be able to bring it out of him.

“Good morning, Captain,” he returned your salute happily. You beamed. 

“I’m afraid all I have to offer you this morning are nutrition bars,” you revealed your other hand, which held two of the wrapped bars, and handed one to him.

“Not to worry – these are my usual fare after all,” Hux received the bar and began to unwrap it. You moved as though to sit. Expecting you to take up the same place on the floor that you had occupied last night, Hux nearly dropped his bar as you rounded the table and perched on the corner of it. The toes of your polished boots were almost touching his. He swallowed his bite of the bar thickly and attempted to divert his attention from the fractional space that separated you from him. You planted your elbows on your knees casually as you unwrapped your own bar. This was such a different version of you than what he had seen in his first glimpses in the dining hall with your back straight and shoulders upright. It was so different from everything he had ever known, but he found he preferred this version by far. You made things feel easy, light.

“I see there’s been a change to my schedule,” you mused as you ate, watching his reaction from the corner of your eye.

“Yes, I’m realizing now that I should have asked you first…” In his haste to spend more time with you, Hux had failed to plan for a scenario where you didn’t want to go with him. Or perhaps he didn’t even want to consider that such a scenario was possible. You waved away his concerns and he breathed a private sigh of relief.

“Not at all – anything that gets me off bridge duty is more than welcome.” Your tone was joking, but he could tell there was a heft of sincerity behind your words. He recalled your interactions with Ernstead, momentarily allowing the memory to make him clench his fist. He’d need to address that. But not now.

“I thought I could use your expertise from the field,” he measured his words as he monitored your reaction, one of your brows raising in interest, “seeing as I’ll be going planetside to make an inspection of a new base.” Your whole face lit up. Hux felt his chest fill with warmth.

“I’m far from an expert,” you responded, excitement inflecting each of your words, “but I’ll do the best I can.” You pushed yourself up from the table, a motion that Hux echoed.

“I fear I won’t be able to tell you much – the project is classified,” he apologized as he collected his greatcoat and swung it onto his shoulders.

“Not a problem,” you confirmed happily as the two of you made your way to the door. During the short walk, Hux watched as you subtly adjusted your posture – straightening your back, squaring your shoulders, stiffening your limbs, dimming your smile. By the time you were walking side by side in the hallways, you were perfectly at attention. The posture was so natural to him, but watching the process on you, lamenting what it had taken from you, he began to wonder: had he ever not been at attention?

You both slipped into a vacant turbolift. Hux selected the level for the proper flight bay and switched on private mode; it was a considerable trip to the ship you would be using, and he would rather not have anyone interrupt. Your lips quirked up in a little smile as he did so.

“You know, General, I have it on good authority that many officers aboard this ship abuse the privilege of private lifts,” you informed him, a glimmer of a laugh in your voice.

“Unfortunately I am aware of this,” he responded ruefully, wondering what had caused the amusement in your voice, “I have heard a number of reports of officers using private mode simply to go on caf runs during their off shifts.”

“Oh!” You let out the exclamation as though you were expecting him to say something else entirely. “That’s quite tame compared to the stories I’ve heard.” You both stood professionally facing the doors of the lift, but Hux was watching you intently from his periphery. The small smile did not leave your lips. What had you heard?

“And these stories involved…” he prompted as he watched your mouth work slightly as though you were debating how best to phrase your response.

“Usually a pair of officers engaged in… shall we say… highly unprofessional interpersonal contact.”

Hux’s entire body stiffened as he froze in place at your words. Heat seeped up the back of his neck.

“Primarily kissing, I’m told,” you continued, the bemused lilt in your voice never fading, “I doubt the average length of a lift ride leaves time for anything… further.”

Despite the fact that he was still standing as still as if he were carved from stone, he was utterly flustered. He swallowed and tried to remind himself to breathe. He had fixed his eyes completely on the polished black doors in front of him, but he still thought he saw you chance a glance at him. Kriff, he hoped you didn’t notice the incriminating blush that was blossoming onto his face. Certain images were taking shape in his mind. He thought of your cheek under his hand, the warmth of your body as he pulled you close to him, the press of your lips— He cleared his throat and tried to banish these thoughts, but was less successful than he had hoped.

“Right, well…” he cleared his throat a second time when his words came out thickly and slightly strangled on the first go. “I shall have someone look into these reports.” Kriff, he needed to change the subject before he abused the privilege of a private lift in just the manner that you had described. 

“Captain, I assume you are able to pilot a vessel?” He tried to keep his words as professional as possible while still fighting with the images his mind had conjured for him. If you were surprised at the abrupt change of subject, you didn’t show it.

“Absolutely, General. I graduated the academy with top marks in all my flight classes.” Hux could still hear the smile in your voice. 

“Excellent, since I have opted to forgo an assigned pilot for this trip. I thought it would allow us more…” his words faded as he noticed that you had turned slightly to face him. Your expression was frustratingly unreadable, though he thought you might be puzzling through something internally.

“Is that… alright?” He asked, suddenly nervous that he had presumed too much. “If you are uncomfortable with that arrangement, I’m happy to make the necessary adjustments—”

“No, no – that’s completely fine,” your smile had returned as you reassured him, “in fact, I’m looking forward to it.”

Hux was about to respond when the lift pinged to indicate that the selected floor had been reached. As though on cue, your smile flattened into a neutral mask, and the doors slid open to reveal a flight bay bustling with well-ordered activity. Hux strode out of the lift with you just a pace behind him. After conferring with the flight coordinators, you both made your way to your assigned ship. Hux was hyperconscious of your presence beside him, watching the faces of the passing personnel for any indication that they could sense his desire to be near you, but most of them barely looked up. Of course it was completely natural that a captain might accompany him on an off-ship mission, but what they didn’t know was that it wasn’t just any captain, it was you. 

“I’ll make sure everything in the cockpit is in order, General,” you stated as a flight coordinator accosted him to confirm the last-minute details of the trip. Hux had difficulty paying attention to the coordinator as he watched you confidently board the ship and disappear from his view. What he gleaned from the conversation was that a small squad of stormtroopers would accompany the two of you on the trip – Hux knew it would be too much of a risk to go completely alone – but they would travel in the transport section of the ship, near the back. You and Hux would be alone in the cockpit. He reaffirmed the planned departure and arrival times, ensuring that the ship would be expected on both ends. When everything had been satisfactorily arranged, he dismissed the coordinator with a salute and tried not to hurry too obviously to join you in the ship.

He found you sitting in the chief pilot’s chair of the two-seated cockpit, adjusting some of the settings and checking the pre-flight read-outs that were being displayed on the screens. Not wanting to disrupt your work, Hux tried to slip into the neighboring seat quietly, but you still threw him a small smile as he entered. Travel through the Unknown Regions was hardly safe or predictable, and as he watched you make the necessary adjustments, your concentration totally focused on the task in front of you, Hux was captivated. Your movements were sure and precise, despite the relaxed casualness he knew you were capable of. You were fast and responsive, reacting to the read-outs, the ship’s internal systems, and the chatter on the coms channels all at once. Buckling himself into the seat, he didn’t dare to interrupt, but he couldn’t help but notice the way the red and blue lights played over your features, setting your profile off against the banks of buttons and blinking lights. Finally, you flipped one last switch and addressed him.

“Thank you for your patience, General. I think we’re ready for takeoff if you are.” Your words were professional, but you didn’t bother to hide the excitement on your face when it was just the two of you in the small cockpit.

“Of course, Captain. You have my approval to launch the flight.” You answered his words with one flash of a smile before switching on your headset and requesting permission for takeoff. You exchanged words with the controllers, making some more adjustments on the ship’s flight array. Your attention was once again completely absorbed with piloting the craft as you gained permission to leave the hanger and maneuvered expertly out of the busy flight bay. Hux didn’t mind at all; he was fascinated with watching you work. There was an impressive professionalism about you, but not the self-conscious kind that he noticed when you were walking the halls or on the bridge. Here, you seemed to be in your element, engaged and confident. You made a few more communications to the Finalizer’s controllers as the ship zoomed from the hangar and into the vast field of space beyond. Eventually, you were able to set the auto-pilot feature and replace your headset on its stand, easily within arm’s reach in case of an emergency. Shifting to a more comfortable position in your seat, you looked over at him.

“What?” you half-laughed, almost embarrassed. Kriff, you had caught him staring. Hux quickly fixed his gaze out into the net of stars outside the ship.

“Nothing – it’s just…”

“What?” You repeated your question again, almost nervously, like you weren’t sure if you had done something wrong. Hux spoke as quickly as he could to disabuse you of that notion; you had done everything perfectly.

“You seem more… comfortable here. Than you do on the Finalizer, that is.” You shrugged lightly. Hux wanted to know more. “Did you do a lot of flying when you were in the field?”

“Some,” you responded, looking over at him. He took this as permission to return his gaze to you as well. “Why are you asking?” You seemed guarded suddenly, and the thought that he had said something wrong made Hux’s stomach churn. You seemed to value honesty – you had proven that to him last cycle. Maybe it would be better to just ask? Something about being there alone with you was making him feel brave. He sighed, changing his tone slightly, lowering his voice.

“I know – well, I’ve heard – that you’ve been struggling with transitioning to the Finalizer from field work.” You reaction was instant. You returned your gaze out of the large viewport, your posture stiffened, and your grip tightened on the controls, even though you weren’t actively flying the ship. You swallowed, possibly trying to keep down tears.

“It’s that obvious?” Your voice carried none of its usual brightness. Hux’s chest seized.

“No – it’s not – not to me. I just—” 

“But it is to others.” Somehow it felt like the statement was meant to be a question, but instead you uttered it as a dismal fact. Your eyes were still fixed far beyond the ship. How had he made such a mess of this? He couldn’t even help you when he truly wanted to. He longed to place a comforting hand on your arm, but his many calculations came back confused, and he couldn’t determine how you would receive the gesture. His arms remained stiffly situated on the armrests. 

“I promise you, I don’t mean this as any kind of judgement of you or your performance. I want…” Hux wanted a lot of things, a lot more things than he felt he should want when it came to you. He voiced just one of those desires: “I want to help you.” You let out a deep sigh and slumped back slightly in your chair. After a beat of silence, you turned to him, a half-smile on your face.

“Thank you, Armitage.” Your use of his first name in this professional space caught him off-guard, momentarily stealing his breath. Despite the shock, he found he liked it. It seemed… intimate. There was that word again. A welcoming warmth buzzed in his chest.

“Actually, it’s sort of funny that you should offer,” you continued, “since you’re actually the first person who has helped me.” You took one look at his suddenly blank face, and he knew that you knew that he had no idea what you meant. You let out a small laugh, as though it was obvious how he had helped you. It wasn’t obvious to him. It wasn’t obvious at all. You had caught him when he nearly passed out, opened your quarters to him, cooked him food, let him stay with you, and never thought less of him despite his many failures. Clearly, you had been doing all the helping.

“You were nice to me – you are nice to me,” you said at last when it must have become clear that Hux truly didn’t know what you were talking about. “Nobody else has really done that. Well, except Lieutenant Mitaka I guess, but I already knew him, so that’s different. But like I said last cycle, you didn’t judge me for all my weird shit— sorry, stuff,” you quickly corrected yourself with a little laugh, and Hux couldn’t help but find himself smiling along at the small slip, “and you listened to me.” You fixed him in the weight of your gaze then, serious once more. Hux found himself entirely entranced by your eyes, probably lingering a moment too long before speaking.

“I’d like to do some more listening – if you’d let me.” Your lips lifted up at the corners at his words; not a full smile yet, but he was getting there.

“Sure – what would you like to know?” You made a sweeping gesture with your hand to indicate the expansive nature of the questions you were allowing him to ask. Hux wanted to know everything, but he desperately did not want to abuse the privilege. He started simple.

“You worked recruitment in the field, right?”

“Did you look me up, General?” A small, teasing smile fluttered its way onto your face.

“Lieutenant Mitaka told me,” he responded, knowing full well that he had looked you up. But Mitaka truly was the first to tell him about your previous assignment, so it wasn’t a complete lie.

“Right – that makes sense.” You hummed thoughtfully a cast your eyes back outside the cockpit, this time though, it felt less like you were avoiding him and more like you were thinking. Hux didn’t press as he watched the faint starlight flicker over your features. He half wished the ship never had to land. After a long moment, you turned to him again, your answer ready.

“Technically, yes, I fell under field recruitment for the navy, but I feel that what I did was more like ‘building community trust’ – not that that would ever pass as a First Order department name,” you snorted and Hux found himself unable to keep from chuckling a little himself. You seemed to notice this, pausing momentarily before continuing, your expression brightening a little at his evident amusement. “I didn’t directly conscript any personnel – I worked primarily with local leaders who held sway in the areas where I was stationed. I found that I made a lot more headway by explaining what we’re trying to do rather than just… I don’t know, shoving recruitment papers down people’s throats like some of my colleagues seemed content to do.” You rolled your eyes at some past memory, and Hux had to keep from laughing again at the endearing expression of annoyance. He wanted you to keep talking forever. Kriff, he was ready to promote you to the top of recruitment immediately. “There are just so many planets and systems and people who are disadvantaged by the New Republic’s policies, and when you’re able to walk them through why they’re experiencing resource deficits or economic downturn or whatever else, they tend to listen.”

You concluded your remarks with a little gesture that seemed to indicate that everything you just said should be obvious. It was obvious to Hux. He was a hair’s breadth of his self-control away from unbuckling himself from his seat and kissing you until he couldn’t breathe. You were kind and capable and you could see his vision perfectly. It took every ounce of energy in his body to remain sitting where he was, fingers nearly making dents in the armrests from the force it took to contain himself. He hoped that his enthusiastic nods of agreement would assure you of his complete support of your ideas. He didn’t stop thinking about kissing you though. 

Just when he thought he could finally speak relatively calmly, your headset buzzed. You snapped it up instantly, confirming with the controller on the other end that you understood the message. After switching a few more toggles and adjusting the flight path slightly, you signed off with the controller and clicked the headset back into place.

“Potential for asteroids in the area,” you said by way of explanation, “we have our early warning systems on though, so if any get close, we’ll know.” You paused for a moment, thinking. “I’m so sorry, General – what were we discussing?”

“Your work in the field,” Hux considered leaving it there, but he was still wrestling with his self-control and let his unusual impulsivity go further: “your excellent understanding of the First Order’s mission and your admirable trust-building efforts.”

“Ah yes, thank you!” Hux was hyperaware of the way you bit your lip a little in embarrassment, eyes angled back toward the control panel and away from his admiring gaze. “You’re very kind to say that.” Hux merely hummed in response, another question floating through his mind.

“May I ask you something else, Captain? Something unrelated?”

“Of course,” you returned your focus to him, watching him with expectation to see what he would ask. Hux himself was wondering how best to frame his inquiry so it came off as casual.

“Our scheduled meeting from last cycle – when Lieutenant and Captain Mitaka proposed that and set it up, how did they frame it to you? What did they call it?” You seemed to suddenly find the control panels in front of you very interesting, despite a lack of new alerts.

“Oh, just that: a meeting or a meet-up or something of that sort.” Your words felt intentionally nonchalant, almost too much so. “Why do you ask? Did they frame it differently for you?” You cast a furtive glance in his direction before returning your attention to the flight array. There was something in the look that Hux couldn’t quite read, but he thought it might be a flicker of hope, though he wasn’t sure. He stayed the course and kept to the safe answer.

“Oh no, something very similar: meeting, meet-up, rendezvous, something of that nature,” he lied, also trying to keep his tone light and casual. He recalled Mitaka’s increasingly complex and obscure names for the meeting after Hux had steadfastly refused the term ‘date.’ You nodded at his response, your flash of nervousness seemingly fading upon hearing his answer. You flicked your gaze to him again. Kriff, would there ever be a time when just your eyes on him wouldn’t make the skin under his collar start to heat up?

“Why did you want to know?”

“I was just hoping that after my unfortunate incident last cycle which disrupted said meeting, that you would be gracious enough to allow me to consider this an extension of that initial appointment. I fear it will be something of a working meeting – my schedule can’t be helped – but perhaps it could still serve a similar function?” Hux intentionally left the proposed ‘function’ vague, hoping you might interpret it in a more generous manner.

“Of course, General.” Hux felt you might have been about to use his first name again, but then opted against it. How he wished you had. “I’m so grateful that you’re willing to spend this time with me. I can only imagine how full you schedule is.” Kriff, if you only knew he wished he had all the time in the galaxy to spend with you. Any attempt at endeavoring to somehow compress that thought into words that he could actually utter to you was interrupted by a notification on the control panel. Your hands flitted over the array of buttons and screens, flipping switches and adjusting toggles as you responded to the blinking lights. Then you leaned back again.

“The autopilot notified me that we’re close to coming in for a landing. I’ve set the flight path accordingly. There shouldn’t be any issues, but I might have to take the controls if things get… bumpy.”

Indeed, Hux could see Ilum coming into view through the large windows of the cockpit, the greyish planet growing larger as the ship angled in preparation for landing. The two of you sat in companionable silence then, Hux watching as you continued to make minute adjustments to the controls every so often. He couldn’t help but think about how nice it would be to just be with you like this. Doing work late in his quarters or sitting on the couch with you just there, comfortably beside him. He clenched his teeth slightly as the exquisite softness of the thought slowly pressed the air from his lungs. After a while, you spoke again, your eyes still fixed outside of the ship.

“I hope this doesn’t come off as impertinent,” you seemed to take a deep breath before continuing, “but you’re very different than I thought you would be.” You flicked one nervous glance at him as the word ‘different’ fell from your lips. The sentence was barely above a whisper, as though you hadn’t decided whether you should say it aloud or not. Hux’s body stiffened instinctively, heat growing from his chest and rising toward his ears. A slight queasiness began to build in his stomach.

“What—” he cleared his throat when the word came out thin and reedy, “what do you mean by that?”

“It’s just— well, Lieutenant Mitaka praised you very highly. He lauded your commitment to the First Order. He said you were loyal and intelligent and responsible – that you were someone he looked up to.” 

Mitaka had said those things about him? Hux sat in stunned silence, puzzling through how your experience differed from the way the lieutenant had described him. Did you not find him to be those things? Did you not find him praise-worthy? The sick feeling in his stomach intensified, but you weren’t done.

“But he also told me to be careful.” You sighed deeply, almost as though you had decided something within yourself. You turned fully to look at him then, and Hux had significant difficulty breathing under the soft but weighty intensity of your gaze. “He said you could be… prickly. Hard to get to know. That you don’t… trust others easily.” Hux was completely pinned. He knew the words were true. He had a thousand reasons for this, of course – betrayals and humiliation and more uncertainty that he could stand. He was trying to stammer out some excuse to this effect when he realized you still hadn’t finished. “But I don’t find that to be true at all.”

You looked down for a minute, then back at him, your eyes so warm he thought he was going to melt right there. You didn’t find it true at all. Your words reverberated through his suddenly thoughtless mind, causing a gentle hum to rise in his chest and spread in little shivers throughout his body. He didn’t recall even deciding speak when the words stumbled their way out of his mouth:

“You make it easy.” His voice was hoarse and the phrase was inelegant, but when he saw your face light up like a sun, he didn’t care at all.

“Thank you, Armitage,” you beamed at him, the sound of his name on your lips rendering him even more nonfunctional than he already was, “I only hope I can be worthy of such high praise.” With that, you needed to turn your attention back to the ship, flipping off the autopilot as the planet’s atmosphere neared and taking the controls into your hands. Hux sat dazed, basking in the glow of you and trying to figure out how he was ever going to force himself to leave that cockpit and conduct a professional inspection of the base. 

[arsheyee]

Geto x Y/N: Bad Boy Biker Geto

SMUT AHEAD KIDS BELOW 18 STAY OUT

Sooo I saw a fantastic fan art by this amazing artist and I wrote I geto smut

@polariae that bad boy geto fanart him with a bike inspired me to write this fanfic on geto. Truth is I got horny 🫣🫣

Word count : 1.3k words

This was the fanart

Hope you all enjoy and become horny

It is a bit long 😅😅😅 about 1333 words long but it is worth it. Got carried away while writing it blacked out and finished it at 3 am

TW: rough sex and name calling daddy specifically

You were frustrated. You weren’t ignored or neglected. You know you weren’t. Geto dotes on you like you are a princess and gives you his undivided attention always.

Maybe you were just being selfish.

“Why don’t you stay home tonight?” You whined, rubbing your body against his just slightly.

He knew what you were doing because he picked you up easily, holding you at eye level so your legs wrapped around his waist and your hands moved into his long hair.

I’m supposed to get there in ten minutes.” He pecked on your lips.

But as you kissed him, you didn’t seem to take that into account. Usually, he was in this position, seducing you while you were the voice of reason. But now it was switched.

“But daddy…” You whined again and at the sound of that word leaving your mouth, Geto cursed under his breath.

“It’s been so long. Wouldn’t you rather stay home and fuck my pussy.”

Your hand was already gripping him through his pants, rubbing over his pants already.

“I’ve been so wet all these days.”

“Y/N…” Geto said your name like it was a curse.

You took hold of his hand and pushed it underneath the flimsy dress you were wearing.

He was able to directly feel both the fact that you weren’t wearing any panties and, that you were wet.

Soaking actually…

“You can do whatever you want.”

Your sweet voice almost snapped his sanity.

“Please. My fingers don’t fuck me as hard as you do.”

He instantly had an image of you spread out on his bed with your fingers deep inside your soaking cunt.

Fingering your clit calling him out.

That snapped his self-control. It drove him wild but it was a good thing. That’s how you wanted him.

He pushed you on the bed and got on top of you.

You were already rubbing your thighs together. You want him deep the friction was not enough.

He swiped his fingers lightly over your clit making you squeal.

“Ahh~ please daddy more”

Focusing on your tits and in between your legs.

“Whatever the fuck I want?” He said, even his voice was more hoarse, rougher. And all you could do was nod.

“Shit, you’re so fucking wet.” He hissed, “Just because I haven’t fucked you in a week? Are you really that fucking needy?”

Yes, he was right you were like a bitch in heat. You wanted him so deep inside you. You were so sensitive from how horny you’d been for so long, imagining his fingers, his cock, his tongue…anything.

You were whining just by how his fingers explored your pussy and clit. By the time he’d inserted two of his big fingers into you gasped, eyes closed, mouth open, and back arching. Your legs moved to close involuntarily but Geto’s hands kept your legs in place by your inner thighs. If anything, spreading them open even more.

“Keep your fucking legs open.”

You felt a sharp slap against your inner thigh when you tried to close your legs. “It’s too much, I ca—I can’t— daddy please ” And yet there you were, hips rolling against his palm to feel the heel of his hand rubbing against your clit.

“Yes oh my God. I’m gonna c—”

But then his fingers were gone, leaving your sloppy cunt empty and clenching around nothing.

“Daddy why pleas—”

You were cut off as his digits went in your mouth. You sucked on them

“Daddy is gonna fuck your tight pussy.”

You could only feel your need for him grow deeper and hotter in your belly, making you wetter and your bare pussy trying to find friction uselessly even with just the air.

Your mouth was watering by the time he shoved his pants and boxer briefs off and you finally had his pretty, hard cock in front of you. Finally. Despite how much he had tried to convince himself of his restraint, his tip was oozing precum already.

Geto climbed over you, pushing your legs further into your chest, effectively folding you in a mating press.

You felt so open. Your hole was clenching around nothing. And it was burning. You brain was short-circuiting and all you could think was Your Daddy Geto

“Ahhh~ ohhh ~ ohmf… daddy…”

Moans pours out your lips as he enters you. The size stung but it felt so hot.

His cock was spreading you open, you could feel him rubbing against your walls, feel every inch of him as he reached deeply into you. Your pussy was taking him in greedily, through his big size that had him looking almost squeezed inside of your small hole. He barely fit.

You were addicted to him.

Especially when his balls slapped against your ass, especially when his weight on you as he drilled into you in a harsh pace had you almost unable to breathe.

Only furthered by his big hand wrapping around your throat,

“Is this what you fucking wanted?”

“Ahhh~”

You could only moan in response to him.

“Can’t use your words baby. “ he smirked and darkly chuckled.

“Ah ah ah Daddy Daddy ohh right theeeerree…. “ You moaned as he hit you g-spot.

There was a sense of incoherence to your voice when you clung to him. “Keep fucking your pussy, daddy, please.” You were dizzy. But it felt so good. “Missed you so much.”

“D-daddy… Ahh Yes yes yeeesss I am going to cum” Don’t stop daddy please daddy” you begged him. And he obliged to your begging by giving you exactly what you wanted.

You put your hand in between the both you you to rub you aching clit. He smacked your hand growling “Don’t fucking touch my pussy. It’s mine. Only mine.”

He ran a hand down to rub at your clit,“Yeah? Feel good? You’re doing so good for me, princess.”

“Taking me so well this pussy is the best.”

“Fuck I’m gonna—” His eyes closed for a second but he watched to make sure he wasn’t hurting you despite your pleads of harder! fuck me harder daddy.

Yes Daddy I ahh~ cumming”

“Cum baby cum you can do it. Do it for Daddy. That’s right, make a mess for me.”

Your eyes were still dazed as his cock hit just the right place deep inside of you. And again and again. He was so good.

He leaned down and kissed your lips, it wasn’t a heavy kiss but it wasn’t a light peck either.

You came so hard you had to pull away from the kiss.

“Ahhhh~” “Fuck baby” he exclaimed as you let out a long moan. He also came along with you.

When he pulled away, he also finally left his position on top of you, pulling out and watching the way his cum stayed filling you up. The white remnants of his cream pie covering your pussy, the physical representation of his tainting.

You lay there on the mattress catching your breath.

“How’s my girl doing?”

But you didn’t answer him, just gave a slightly dopey-sounding giggle and curled up beside him. All he did was wrap his arms around you and keep you there, his lips near your ear. Sometimes he whispered sweet nothings but your fuzzy brain couldn’t focus on those soft words. Picking up soft murmurs of my pretty girl, always so beautiful, my sweet baby.

Are you okay?” He asked and smiled when you nodded.

“Do you need anything?” He again waited until you shook your head.

You let yourself be laid nearly on top of him, your head resting on his chest.

“Thanks for staying home with me. That was so good. It was exactly what I wanted. I just didn’t expect…” You laughed weakly.

You sounded so exhausted, mentally and physically. He didn’t blame you.

“I love you too, princess. Let’s get some sleep. You need to rest. I’m staying home tomorrow night too.”

He felt his cold heart come alive when you whispered a small ‘yay’ just as you drifted off.

[homestuckreplay]

In Another Timeline, I Found A Good Title For This Post

(page 1196-1219; timeline theories)

The pacing of this intermission is kind of unbelievable – double digit pages for the past five days in a row. With that, all four members of the Midnight Crew have been introduced, so I’ve put together this quick table showing some of the patterns we’ve seen so far. About 75% of the time I spent making this was researching hat styles.

Page 1211 was the moment I really bought into this intermission. Up til now it’s been fun, but I have been missing the beta kids. But ‘You're gonna jump to a timeline where he's dead’ has really grabbed me, because this is new – as far as we know, Acts 1-3 took place in a single timeline, where loops are closed and everything’s stable. Now, the possibilities are anything. Calling it now that we’ll learn in Act 4 that a critical earlier event actually happened in a different timeline to everything else.

Also the two of spades turning into Slick’s licorice scottie dogs between panels is a really good bit. It ALMOST makes up for the ‘jack king off’ joke on page 1197, which is probably the worst joke in Homestuck so far.

This page is another highlight! Slick literally did build this town, and it looks totally different from the green-tinged complex architecture of now. I guess this is the flaw in Die’s powers – he can travel to a timeline where somebody is dead, but he can’t choose which one. He’s equally likely to get a timeline where Slick died today as one where Slick died before ever building the town. And maybe more importantly… this page looks kind of like a color switched version of page 248, another wasteland with a city in the distance (although this new one has other planets circling overhead).

So, most likely, Spades Slick and Jack Noir are versions of the same character from different timelines, and that’s why they’re not aware of each other. In the HS timeline, the character becomes a prominent agent of the dark kingdom, while in the MC timeline, he becomes an underground criminal/architect/construction worker on a planet that probably isn’t Earth, and might not even be in the Incipisphere. A city planner would fit right in with WV, PM and AR’s civic infrastructure theme. So the question is, what determines if a NPC leaves the game and returns to the outside universe? And does this mean Jack Noir could also leave, go to Earth, and be the future character who starts off in Dave’s location and flies to join the other three?

It does seem significant that on what’s apparently an alien planet, there is so much human paraphernalia. As well as the Crosbytop and Foxworthy photo, Deuce has a Stretch Armstrong doll. Surely this planet has its own celebrities to draw from. Alchemy still seems likely – Dave definitely has the components in this house to alchemize this doll. And there is a strong suggestion that appearification and sendification could work between planets or into/out of the Incipisphere – page 733 gives a good look at the screen on WV’s appearifier, which could be adjusted to the Incipisphere with the right key. That key isn’t Slick’s spade key, but someone has it. Maybe Snowman or Lord English or Diamonds Droog (who seems a fair bit more competent than Slick). And obviously we know there’s lots of Skaian technology on Earth, but it’s now possible there could be items from this other alien planet, too. Say, rocket boards.

And as a final red string theory (‘Red Strings’ title of DD’s magazine??), Boxcars hypothesizes that ‘you've got to alter the flow of time itself’ to open the Felt’s safe (p.1218). This is a story where one specific time of day has been really important, and has come up over and over again, and now there’s a whole mansion and group of previously unknown characters whose whole deal is controlling and changing time – among other things, these people can decide when it is 4:13 and when it isn’t. Clock faces are the same on this planet as they are on Earth, and the current time is 12:13pm – also the time on Jade’s island at the start of Act 3, for what it’s worth – and Boxcars’ plan to blow up this very important clock feels significant when we know that some places are outside the flow of time of the universe, AND there’s multiple timelines here, which could potentially converge if time is otherwise stopped.

I’m out here getting my head all tangled over this timeline stuff, but the Midnight Crew are not at all. Droog, especially, has this ‘just another day at the office’ familiarity with time travel. He and his crew don’t engage in it at all, but they know what’s up, and it’s no different to knowing what type of disguise or getaway car a rival gang uses. What a fucking idiot, they’ve totally given themself away with this ‘punching me from the future’ move yet again. This moment on page 1203 looks like a stable loop, even if nothing else is – Deuce has arrived after being radioed for backup, and Droog’s trail leads up the stairs, where we know he went after being punched.

Droog and Deuce are both great characters. Droog is like the second in command who’s actually way more competent than the leader. He has clear parallels with Dad Egbert, sort of Dad’s dark mirror, with the same attention to suits and to backup versions of his clothes. Dad also has multiple backup hats, although some are in different styles (p.72), multiple backup pipes, and lots of identical shoes and ties (p.948). We haven’t actually seen a DD analog on the ominous planet – only SS (p.953) and HB (p.957) – so either Dad is going to meet this DD analog, befriend him and be sheltered by him now that he’s escaped prison, OR (more compelling), he’s going to disguise himself as an ominous citizen and BECOME the DD analog in the HS timeline.

As for CD, I just think he’s neat. I love that he’s wearing two hats and one of them is a bomb.

[bumblebee-is-best-boi]

BLITZBEE WEEK DAY FIVE: SCARS

hoooo boy! This one is my fav. Originally it was just a Blitzwing story but I made it have Blitzbee for the purpose of this week.

I EVEN GAVE IT A TITLE

hehe

@blitzbee-week Day Five: Scars

title coming up soon vvv

Digits In Between The Wings

Characters: Blitzwing, Bumblebee, Astrotrain

Warning: Cybertronian cursing, mentions of throwing up, too much fluff and angst :)

story under the cut vvv

When Blitzwing used to be a seeker, he liked to polish himself. Not to the extent of Knockout, of course (no one obsessed over their polisher like Knockout), but enough to make his frame glimmer in the slightest bit. He had the perfect frame to show his glimmer off, but that wasn’t the main reason he polished himself. It wasn’t even about the polish at all! 

It was more about the machine he used.

The one he used, while it was a bit smaller than usual polishers, it used to fit perfectly in the space between his wings. It pressed against the joints of his wing bases in a way that wasn’t too much pressure to hurt or damage them, but enough to stimulate some pleasant feelings. 

Blitzwing used to attach his polisher to a long handle and just slip it between his wings once in a while, keeping it there for several minutes before moving on with his polishing. 

But when he was turned into a Triple Changer, that all changed. 

Blitzwing’s polisher had become too small to be nice between his wings, but it didn’t matter, since he wasn’t even comfortable using the polisher anymore. The idea of it gliding across his frame, one that had changed drastically for him, just made him a little bit sick in his tanks. Every time it glided over his scars, it made him wince in uncomfortableness, since his scars revealed his sensitive metal plates. Also, the experiment must have fragged something up between Blitzwing’s wings, because he felt as if something defective there was aching with everything he did, and touching it caused him lots of pain.

That didn’t mean Blitzwing didn’t at least try.

He tried many times, but he just couldn’t handle the feeling. And then after one wonky attempt, he broke his polisher into pieces in a fit of rage (or was it actually distress? He couldn’t really tell anymore).

After becoming a Triple Changer, his frame, which once had a slight glimmer, had become dull and matte. Blitzwing stopped taking care of his frame, sometimes to the point where Astrotrain had to force him to take care of himself for a while to prevent rust and cracked plates. Astrotrain might have been way taller than him, but he was also a bot who was very gentle with his movements (if he wanted to, most of the time he liked to be overly erratic). His fingers were nimble, originally to handle to spin his blasters and shoot out multiple rounds in quick succession, but also to handle the tools needed to keep a mech functioning. But no matter how much Astrotrain tried to take care of Blitzwing to make sure his unwillingness to do self care didn’t make him go offline, his frame glimmer was lost.

___

“For Primus’s sake Blitzwing, you should take care of yourself more often!” Astrotrain yelled in exasperation as he pushed one of Blitzwing’s arm plates open to scrape off dried energon build up from a damaged energon line, “Be lucky that this energon line wasn't so major, or you would have been bleeding out for hours on end. And also be lucky that I saw the bleeding before it got any worse!”

Astrotrain finally scraped it off, started patching the energon line, then switched faces and chuckled. “Heh, but I know you're not going to listen to me. It's just typical of you to do whatever you want without any thoughts of the consequences! Typical Blitzwing! All cuckoo and carefree!” 

Astrotrain kept snickering as he closed Blitzwing’s arm plate and stood up, “I know for sure that no matter what I say, we’re going to be right back here again, fixing some new problem!” 

Blitzwing switched faces and fumed, “Oh shut your mouth, slagger!”

“Ok ok, I will, for now. But you cannot shut the fact that my words speak the truth.” Astrotrain turned to walk away, his footsteps thundering, “Oh and by the way, Megatron wants us in the meeting room in ten minutes. I suggest you hurry and don't damage any more of yourself on the way, you know how much Megatron wants his Decepticons in top condition!”

Blitzwing opened his mouth to yell at Astrotrain, but he stopped and closed his mouth again, switching faces and standing up. He looked at his arm, where Astrotrain had fixed his energon line. Astrotrain’s words echoed through his processor multiple times, no matter how annoying it got. Blitzwing wanted to just laugh it off, to think of it as a silly joke, but he couldn't. It wasn't a silly joke. It was the truth.

No matter how much Blitzwing wanted to deny it, it was the truth. The cold hard truth.

____

Refueling wasn't a big problem for Blitzwing… sometimes. Sometimes he got himself enough to last a while, sometimes he had only enough to run on half a tank. It was quite hard to adjust to a frame that demanded more energon to function, but he made it work eventually (He didn’t). And then there was the purging that happened once in a while during the night… but he didnt like to talk about that.

But what was most annoying about his frame upgrade was the pain that came with it. Not even the idea of three faces annoyed him that much (even though the face switching did hurt at one point). His knees were constantly hurting, due to the weird build of his legs, and he kept breaking his knee braces by tearing them up and destroying them whenever he felt like it. For days on end, his tanks constantly felt sore, no matter if his tank was full or empty or whatever in between. And what was the worst thing was the dull ache in the joints of his wings, and the constant prickling pain down his back in between his wings.

He once wanted to paint over his scars, but every time he thought of it, he always got sidetracked to thinking about painting himself in many different colors wilder than any Decepticon had ever seen before. Despite that sounding like a cool idea, Blitzwing always countered those thoughts because he didn’t want to look stupid or get in trouble with Megatron. Instead, he decided to see how others reacted if someone else was painted in wild colors.

This led to him going to the seeker trine’s room with buckets of paint and painting all sorts of crazy things on them (originally he wanted to just paint Starscream, but seeing them in the seeker pile made him all too happy to paint all three of them). Blitzwing then waited till the next day to see what would happen… It was lots of humiliation and getting punished by Megatron pretty badly. This scared Blitzwing to his very spark, to the point where he felt guilty about it (but no way he would ever admit it was his fault).

Only Astrotrain knows what truly happened on that day.

At that point, Blitzwing had completely given up on trying to fix himself, trying to take care of himself, caring for a frame that he once cherished. No use in caring for a frame that had been warped beyond his own recognition and repair.

_____

“Blitzwing.” Astrotrain spoke, trying to get Blitzwing’s attention. 

No response.

“Blitzwing.” Astrotrain hissed, “You glitch, I know you can hear me,” He looked down at the ground, “Stop ignoring me please.”

Blitzwing eventually raised his head, “What is it.”

Astrotrain looked into Blitzwing’s optics, “There’s only one energon cube left for today.”

Blitzwing’s optic twitched, and he switched faces, “That’s what you bothered me for?!”

Astrotrain switched faces, “Oh EXCUSE me for trying to help my DEAR Amica! Oh what an aft am I!”

“Slag off!”

Astrotrain switched faces, “Do you want the fragging energon cube or not?”

Blitzwing switched faces, “You can have it.”

Astrotrain reached for the energon cube, then stopped.

“You refueled yourself at least more than halfway today, right?”

Blitzwing’s optic twitched, then he switched faces, “Ah yes! I had quite the feast today! Oh such a nice servo salad it was! Aha!”

Astrotrain grimaced for a slight moment before grabbing the cube, “the idea of you eating other Cybertronians still unnerves me heavily… but at least it’s better than nothing. ”

Blitzwing switched faces again and looked at the ground as Astrotrain chugged the energon cube. He felt bad for lying, but also not sorry for it at the same time. No matter whatever Astrotrain felt through the Amica bond.

Speaking of the Amica bond, Blitzwing rarely made use of the emotion sensing ability that the bond had. He had too much going on in his head to go poking around in Astrotrain’s emotions.

But this time, Blitzwing used the bond. He used the bond to try and poke into Astrotrain’s emotions, but gave up when he felt the mess of emotions in there. He didn’t care enough to go in there and try to see what is what.

He just didn’t care.

_____

But then he met Bumblebee. That little yellow Autobot who kind of slightly annoyed him to no end and was the love of his life at the same time. The one who treated every single one of Blitzwing’s faces with love and care, even when he was being a bit of a glitch.

Every time that they met up, Bumblebee would bring something to cheer Blitzwing up, whether it was a few cubes of energon, some cans of oil, a servo (Bumblebee never said where he got it from, to Blitzwing’s disappointment, since it was one of the best servos he ever had), or even his own polisher! 

But the best thing was how Bumblebee tried his best to handle Blitzwing’s pain. He couldn’t do anything about Blitzwing’s knee pain, other than at least try to tell Blitzwing to stop destroying his knee braces. Bumblebee would bring his hands over Blitzwing’s numerous scars, massaging them the best he could (he stopped if Blitzwing was in too much pain though). He would even move his fingers over the space between Blitzwing’s wings, putting his digits between the wings and massaging the wing base joints, soothing the discomfort in them.

It was the best thing Blitzwing had felt in centuries.

____

Holding the energon cube in his hands, Blitzwing looked down at it with a solemn look on his face. Why did his love offer this to him? He gingerly cupped the cube, afraid to spill a drop and disappoint his little sweetspark. 

“Why aren't you drinking your energon Blitz? Worried that it’ll run away?” Bumblebee chugged his cube of energon and tilted his head at Blitzwing.

A sigh came out of Blitzwing’s mouth. He just couldn’t tell Bumblebee the truth… he couldn’t! 

“Why aren’t you drinking your energon, Blitzwing?” Bumblebee’s antennae drooped in sadness.

Oh god, the sight of Bumblebee being sad hurt Blitzwing to the deepest depths of his spark. He needed to find a way to mitigate the situation before it got worse!

The slight ache in his tanks gave him a great idea.

“Ach… I have a slight tank ache. I don't really feel like refueling right now…” Blitzwing spoke, hoping that everything would stop at that moment.

But when Bumblebee immediately turned his head around to look at him, he was greatly surprised. He didn't expect that Bumblebee would become so attentive to him.

“Alright buddy, lie down.” Bumblebee commanded Blitzwing, “I wanna try something”

Blitzwing was confused, but he laid down anyway. Luckily the ground was soft-ish, or else he would have been very uncomfortable. And so he waited for something to happen

He waited…

And he waited…

And he waited some more…

Until suddenly, he felt a weight on his tanks. Blitzwing immediately looked up and saw that Bumblebee had plopped himself on top of his tanks. He kept staring, even when Bumblebee looked up to meet his gaze. 

“Hey, you’re a big mech, I have to change how I do things here!” Bumblebee pouted.

Blitzwing watched Bumblebee, then switched faces and laughed, “Wow, you’re heavier than I thought!”

He received a slight kick to the tank.

“Not funny.” Bumblebee frowned.

Blitzwing winced, switched faces, and sighed, “Apologies.”

“Good. Now let me do this, and I promise that your tank aches and pains will alleviate soon!” Bumblebee positioned himself and reached out with his hand. 

The hand settled low on Blitzwing’s hips before going up and stopping just underneath his chassis. This was repeated 10 times. Then some semi circle motions across his abdomen, also repeated ten times. There then came some soft massages and kneading, which calmed Blitzwing down.

But when Bumblebee did the little vibrations with his hands, this surprised Blitzwing a little bit.

And then Bee was finished.

“Wow,” Blitzwing gasped, “That was… wow.”

Bumblebee smiled, “I get tank aches too, so Ratchet taught me this to alleviate the pain.”

“Could… you teach how to do that?” Blitzwing asked.

Bumblebee smirked mischievously, “Only if you drink the energon cube. You need it.”

Blitzwing sighed, then drank the cube. It actually felt nice…

It seemed that what Bumblebee did worked really really well.

____

After a while, it seemed as if the treatment Blitzwing got by being Bumblebee’s sweetspark started affecting him in a good way. His frame felt so much more comfortable to him now, his aches between the wings had stopped, his scars were less sensitive, and he purged much less. Face switching was less of a chore to him now, more being more flowy instead of jerky and sudden. He even used what Bumblebee taught him to alleviate tank ache.

Astrotrain, as observant as he was, was bound to notice something.

____

“Damn Blitzwing, youve having more energon right now than ive seen you have in an entire week!” Astrotrain laughed, slapping Blitzwing on the back.

Blitzwing’s wings twitched from the slap, his face switched, and he scowled. Finishing his energon cube, he turned towards Astrotrain.

“So I guess Swindle sold you some good sense or something?”

“No you dumbaft, Swindle hasn’t even been here in a while. And any transactions I do or will do will be face to face with him, cause I don’t trust him entirely.”

“Ah, ah.” Astrotrain smirked as he kneeled down, “Then tell me what’s gotten you to act so different? It’s definitely not from you following my advice, that’s for sure.” Another laugh from Astrotrain ensued.

Blitzwing fumed for a bit, then switched faces, “it’s… the little Autobot.”

Astrotrain paused for a moment, then switched faces, “What did the Autobot do.”

Blitzwing reminded himself that Astrotrain was not entirely trusting of Bumblebee, so he had to choose his words carefully if he didn’t want to accidentally screw everything up.

“He… gives me energon every time we meet…” Blitzwing switched faces “He treats me like a queen! His beautiful big queen!” 

Astrotrain froze, not expecting to hear that. Switching faces, he brought himself closer to Blitzwing, eyeing him curiously.

“So you’re saying that this… tiny little Autobot… has been helping you with your problems?”

Blitzwing nodded vigorously.

Astrotrain suddenly switched faces, “Well FINALLY! Finally someone got some sense into your processor!” Laughing, he patted Blitzwing on the shoulder, “And, please keep this up. It’s healthier for you, and there’ll be more for your little Autobot to love!”

Blitzwing switched faces, blushing in embarrassment, but nodded anyway.

After a while of snickering, Astrotrain switched faces, “But I must not get sidetracked, since there is something I have to say: Megatron has commanded that we go do an energon raid in about three hours. We actually have to be out of the base in one and a half hours,” Astrotrain said with a bit of bitterness in his voice, before softening his tone, “So have another cube and we can go, okay?”

Blitzwing nodded his head and drank his energon cube, “Alright.”

____

Even though he knew that his scars would never heal, Blitzwing knew that Bumblebee would be there for him, no matter what.

And that was more than enough for him.

[voidheartkisses]

Okay hello hi hello,

First off you're amazing and a gift to the world, I wish I had even half your talent. Your last piece blew my mind and I just HAD to ask,

How long have you been drawing/painting for? I imagine forever but I'm always curious how long it takes before artists reach these sorts of levels where it evolves into full-scale projects as opposed to smaller hobbyist crafts. There are so many beautiful art pieces on this platform as a whole and I'm constantly baffled by it all

Sorry if my excitement is off-putting that piece is heavenly and my mind is blown. Hope you're doing well!

Hi and thank you! That's a good question

So I've been drawing since I was born, but I've been drawing digitally for 8 years. I think in the very beginning most artists should just focus on having fun, you'll basically improve by default

after a while you will want to improve. It will be slow, but this is the stage where you'll recognize what you need work on

I'd say the turning point is when you've finally gotten far enough into your art journey without any sort of formal training (ie, a lot of artists dont learn the basics/fundamentals first, which is fine since most of us start as hobbyists) But I think learning them really did help me a lot. You start to think more about how light and shadow lays, depth, 3D objects, and more.

I highly recommend watching this video about levels of art, it's been really helpful and motivating to me throughout the years

This part is going to be long so you don't have to read it but I just wanna give my personal journey and how I got to now if anyone thinks it'll be helpful:

(2017) With digital art, I started off on ms paint and occasionally ibis paint x. Mostly using anime deviantart bases (EMBARRASSING), but after a while I developed my own style based on the people I was inspired by at the time, I was just happy to draw and didn't care much about improving at this time

(2019) The people you look up to artistically will naturally change over time (and thats okay), after a while I decided to switch to firealpaca, where I guess I got more invested on how light and shadows work, as well as making my characters look a bit more natural and develop my own style, your preference in aesthetic may also change over time which is noticeable here

(2021) Eventually, I began to lean more into semirealism (which isn't everyones preference and thats okay! realism shouldn't be the ultimate end goal of art) but I really enjoyed making stylized characters look 3D and in natural looking environments, since I felt it spoke to my own experiences, a lot of artists draw from real life experiences. I focused more on anatomy at this time as well as textures and environments, composition also became a big deal for me at this time, as well as wanting to use different colors

(2024) The change from LINEART to DIGITAL PAINTING in 2022 was the hardest for me once I switched to clip studio paint, it was basically like starting all over and I was so lost. I had a lot to figure out on my own but I knew it was a transition I had to make to draw the kind of art I wanted. But I began to study and take more things into consideration, I didn't like my art so I simply kept going "I can do better", learning from my previous mistakes and slowly making something I would be more satisfied with. At this point art felt more like "projects" then anything, because I wanted to make pieces that were of quality and had time and care put into each of them, sure it meant there was no longer much quantity. but hey that's what my smaller Cult of the Lamb lineart drawings are for!! 💙

I'm still growing and I definitely have a long way to go, but I am very proud of my progress this year, and I'll continue to grow until I'm satisfied (haha im stubborn) I also want to develop my secondary lineart style that I do when I'm not painting, since I feel that is important too

in short; time, practice, dedication, and passion are the most important, draw what you love above all else because it will be your drive to keep going, staying motivated was the most important for me

Sorry for the long post 😭