#i told this to my mater | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hier--soir · 1 year ago

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a lover's pinch | four

joel miller x f!reader

pairing: professor!joel miller x f!reader rating: explicit, 18+ minors dni summary: after a conference in new york, you and j miller phd take things a step further. warnings/tags: au, university professor joel, age gap [20 something years diff], ethically dubious relationship due to inherent power imbalance, i think i describe reader as having sweaty palms about 1500 times so it deserves a warning, alcohol consumption, the plight of being a woman in academia, oral [f receiving], unprotected piv sex [IN A BED ??? GASP] for you filthy animals, prone bone, a little roughness and then not much at all, uhhh pet names during sex.... uhhmm intimacy errrrrr.... soft!joel... feelings... okay bye word count: 9.3k series masterlist | main masterlist a lover's pinch playlist a/n: hey folks, thank you so much for all your patience as i took my sweet sweet time writing this. we get to know our prof a little better in this one so a fair amount of dialogue for you but yeah anyways i hope you enjoy it, and i'd love to hear what you think! [and if i Fell Off because of the depression, don't tell me lol] A WORD ABOUT THE TAG LIST: i will continue the taglist for this part and for part five, and after that i will rely solely on my notifications account @hier--soirupdates so pls follow that and turn on notifs to be told when i post writing x this is part four of ALP. you can read the previous parts here: one, two, three.

Saturday.

The conference centre is vast.

A large space that protects you from the threatening clouds that loom over New York City, and exposes you to countless dense conversations.

An NYU teacher’s assistant is glued to your hip, parading you through the centre with a wayward index finger that points out the bar, the room where the keynote speech will be given [large, with an imposing stage], and the room where you will give your presentation [less large, with a far less imposing stage].

Your presentation.

You fight the urge to pull up the email for the thousandth time while she explains how there will be fifteen minutes to set up beforehand, and advises on when the doors will open for guests, and reminds you that you have a strict allotted time of 20-minutes, do you understand?

But the email is branded on the inside of your eyelids after this morning’s flight was spent reading and rereading and rereading the words. So you nod and smile and placate her on the tour of the centre, as you run through it in your mind.

We look forward to welcoming you to NYU’s Annual Classics and Ancient History Conference. Our team was intrigued by the presentation devised around your translation study in Athens…

“Did you hear me?”

You wish she wasn’t dressed so casually.

Loose balls of lint are collected on the back of her cardigan like trinkets, weighty and threatening to fall off in a sort of bread crumb trail behind her every movement. It makes your dress feel all the more serious, all the more formal. Navy blue and a little tight, with sleeves that slant across the middle of your bicep and a hem that cuts modestly across your lower thigh. Professional, smart, sexy, but not too sexy. You and Nora spent two hours at the mall picking it out last weekend. And you can see people in suits, in blazers, in dresses, everywhere you turn, but your eyes keep returning to the TA’s cardigan. Little pills, sad morsels of broken fabric.

She says your name sharply.

“Yes,” you snap to attention, and clock her poor attempt not to roll her eyes. “You were saying?”

“It’s an open bar,” she continues from a few steps ahead, slowly back away while raising her voice to be heard over the countless others sprouting across the room. “And food is served after the Keynote.”

Finally free of her and her cardigan, you scale the edge of the hall, curious eyes glancing across faces familiar and not. You notice some other postgrads from UNE, and some professors from your alma mater. But it isn’t until three hours into the conference that you notice him.

You’re in a painfully long conversation with Professor Carmichael, an ancient history department head from Boston, when you notice them.

“Well you see,” he’s saying, slowly. “The First Roman Triumvirate was very unique. Surely you agree with me there, my dear?”

“Of course,” you nod amiably. A waiter floats past you holding a tray of glasses. You grasp one with a grateful smile, and turn back to face him with a sip of cold white wine moving down your throat. “The Big Three, it’s all very interesting. Although I must say, I am personally more interested in the second triumvirat—”

“Oh they all say that,” he waves his hand. “Everyone is so taken by Antony and Octavian that they forget about Crassus! So tragic.”

“A very tragic death,” you offer an exaggerated frown. “I agree.”

Carmichael hums, eyes narrowing as if you’ve said something wrong. Sipping your wine, your eyes float over his shoulder, determinedly trying to spot any sign of food, gaze spilling across countless faces and tables and waiters and professors until one set of people makes you pause. Wild dark hair atop a floral dress floats in your vision, her pale hand hovering over the sleeve of a tall man in a suit. You watch the backs of their heads; the way the woman tilts her chin upward to speak to the man and laughs at what he says in return. That laugh. You frown, and feel yourself take a step forward, a step in their direction.

“Is something the matter?” Carmichael asks and you halt, flash him a sweet smile and shake your head.

“No,” you rush, practically tasting the opportunity to escape the conversation. “I’m sorry, Professor, I thought I saw someone waving me over. If you don’t min—”

“Always so many people to talk to at these things,” he says in a sing-song tone of voice, smiling obliviously. “All in due course, dear. You’ll find them later I’m sure.”

It’s not until fifteen minutes later that the tap comes on your shoulder. You turn and feel relief wash over you as you come face to face with Rachel, with her tangle of curls and bright orange dress. But then a jolt shudders through your frame, for you spot the man accompanying her; the man you watched her traipse around the room with, the man in the sleek black suit—Joel, hovering a step behind her.

“Rachel,” you blink. “Joel. Hi—”

“I didn’t know you’d be here!” Rachel says. Her eyes are wide, lips pulled back into a crooked grin that immediately sets you at ease. Joel, on the other hand, looks uncomfortable to say the least. You watch him tuck his hands in his pockets and then take them out again quickly, lips pursed together in a tight line as he glances between you and Professor Carmichael.

“Joel,” she grips the sleeve of his blazer and tugs him forward to stand beside her. You watch where her hand grazes him - the ease with which she jostles him around. “Did you know?”

“No.” He stares for a moment, lips parted and eyes darting across your face, shaking his head. “No, I didn’t know.”

“I’m giving a presentation,” you explain quickly, eyes darting between the two of them, fingers tightening around your glass every time your eyes settle on him. He trimmed his beard again; the hairs are shorter, neater—almost too short and too neat for your liking. His shirt is pressed and crisp, shock white beneath the midnight black of his jacket. He’s wearing different glasses. Tortoise shell glasses. Someone clears their throat to your right, snapping you out of your reverie. You apologise quickly, “This is Professor Carmichael.”

“Of course,” Joel nods, stepping forward to grip the older man’s hand. “Good to see you again, Professor.”

“And you, Professor Miller,” Carmichael chuckles, patting a shaky hand against Joel’s shoulder. “When was the last time we crossed paths? A year ago?”

“Must’ve been a year,” Joel smiles easily. His eyes slip to look at you every few seconds. “The conference in Ottawa.”

“The conference in Ottawa!” Carmichael cheers, nodding away. A weight sinks in your stomach like a cinder block as you watch the Professor gear up to wrangle Joel and Rachel into another conversation about Crassus’ untimely demise. But then Rachel slips away, called out to by someone across the room. And before Carmichael can open his mouth, Joel is speaking again, that honeyed drawl like music to your ears.

“Excuse me, Professor Carmichael,” he smiles again. Two of his fingers grip your elbow, tugging you a step backward. “Do you mind if I steal my star student for a few moments?”

Joel tilts your body to the left, and then the two of you are veering off into the crowd, wandering through throngs of people, his warm fingers pressed against the soft flesh above your elbow.

“Didn’t know you’d be here,” you say under your breath, glancing around warily, trying to spy any curious eyes that might notice the two of you.

“Could say the same thing,” he murmurs, dragging you to a stop at the edge of the hall with his eyebrows raised. “When’s your talk?”

“At one. Overlaps with the Keynote, which I’m a little relieved about,” you smile, a pinched, tense thing. “Hopefully everyone will go to that, and I’ll have a smaller crowd.”

Joel’s eyebrows raise. You think you notice his shoulders stiffen. “S’that right?”

A persistent pang of hunger stabs through your stomach, you rub a hand over the front of your dress and nod. Curious brown eyes follow the movement.

“Here,” Joel reaches into his pocket and pulls something out. His fingers graze your skin as he tucks the shiny rectangle of foil into your palm. “They don’t put out any food until after the Keynote.”

It’s a granola bar. Peanut butter and banana. You stare at it for a moment, almost dumbfounded by the kindness of the gesture. By how attentive he is; how much he notices without you even having to speak.

“Thanks,” you say. Nestle it into your purse and give him an appreciative smile.

“Sure,” he nods jerkily. Adjusts the glasses on his nose. “I’m disappointed to miss it.”

“Oh?” you blink. Your eyes focus then, flitting downward to focus on the badge hanging from his lanyard.

Joel Miller, Ph.D.

University of New England.

Keynote Speaker.

“Oh, shit.”

“Mhm,” Joel squints at you. “Sorry if I don’t share the sentiment that everyone comes to watch me instead of you.”

“Why didn’t you…” you gape. “You didn’t say you were giving a talk?”

“You didn’t ask.”

“The Keynote speech is a big deal,” you say, as if he wouldn’t know.

“I was their third choice,” he shrugs you off with practiced ease. “First two weren’t interested.”

“Third time lucky then,” you smile, and he chuckles. Someone calls Joel’s name then, and you both spin to see Rachel across the room with a group of people, all eagerly waving him over. Something nasty curls in your chest – something bitter and unwarranted and cruel. You smother it with a mouthful of wine and a soft smile of farewell to him as he turns and walks in her direction.

A hand clasps down on your shoulder and you flinch, turning to see Professor Carmichael beaming.

“Where were we then, my dear?”

You eat Joel’s granola bar at the back of the hall five minutes before your talk and walk onstage with the taste of peanut and banana on your lips, brushing crumbs of dried oats off your fingers.

Fifteen people attend, spotted miscellaneously across the amassed rows of chairs. The slide clicker is damp in your palm, and your thumb hovers trembling over the button, awaiting each moment you need to press down.

“Working alongside some fantastic translators,” you tell them. “We focused on studying the disparities between how Greek texts are translated by men and women. Particularly, we aimed to delve into the way emotive language has been downgraded or elevated depending on the lens through which a text is being viewed.”

Professor Carmichael sits in the front row, those sun-spot covered hands clasped in his lap, offering an encouraging smile as you shift upon the stage. Rachel is a few rows back, and she nods intently whenever you glance in her direction.

“One of our main points of focus,” you continue. “Was to understand points of difficulty in translating while accounting for cultural nuances, and how the context of differing authors can impact upon this. In my next slide—”

It’s as you turn to glance at the display that you notice them for the first time. Three rows from the front, where a group of men sit. Two of them young, maybe around your age. You change your slide and watch them whisper in each other’s ears. One of them points at you. Or not you, rather—your legs.

And you yearn for it to be meaningless. A meaningless gesture between colleagues. Meaningless legs, meaningless dress, meaningless curves and slopes and dips and spins. But as you continue, you know it can’t be. The way they talk through your presentation, as if they aren’t bothered to be heard. The way they leer at you over Carmichael’s shoulder, grinning to each other. Your words in one ear and out the other—simply a talking point for them, a blue dress, something to stare at. Your dress feels hot, tight, and your chest feels hotter, tighter under the lights as those eyes glaze over you. You glance back towards Rachel. She gives you a thumbs up that doesn’t serve to cool your nerves.

“When translating word for word in our field, it’s uncommon,” you stutter to a stop, eyes flashing warily. “Sorry, it is not uncommon to find that narratological creativity dwindles.”

You hear a chuckle to your right and swallow down the urge to shoot daggers in the direction of the sound. “Translators struggle to maintain the in-depth imaginative expression that the original Greek text inspires. But through my discussions with Professor Samaras, we found that…”

It’s in the final minutes that you notice him. Tucked away in a back row of the room, arms folded across his chest. You pause for a moment, words caught in your throat. But Joel merely gives you a short nod. The faintest hint of a smile, of the corner of his eyes slanting upward, and it’s as if a cool breeze washes over you. Hands steady, knees lock, and you push through. You don’t look at any of their faces until it’s over.

And when it is, and scattered applause decorates the air, you can’t help but cast a smile in Joel’s direction. A smile that slips and wavers when you spot the broad expanse of his back, that sharp black blazer, as he slips out the doors without wasting a second.

The rest of your audience follows suit, a slim line that wanders out the doors without a second glance—spare Carmichael, who tells you he was quite taken with how you presented yourself, my dear.

You hear your own name and turn to see Rachel approaching, a burst of floral frock and swinging earrings. Her smile is wide and crooked, and you can’t help but smile back.

“That was wonderful,” she cheers, squeezing your shoulder. “I was so taken by how you spoke about the importance of linguistic quality assurance when translating emotive texts. Brilliant!”

Your face warms. “Thank you,” you shake your head quickly. “It was… thank you. That’s very kind.”

You glance over her shoulder, wondering if he’ll reappear – perhaps share her sentiments, maybe shower you with praise. He doesn’t.

She catches you looking. “Joel was in a rush,” she offers easily. “Lots of people wanting to talk to the man of the evening.”

“Of course,” you swallow thickly. Another smile.

Rachel stares at you curiously. “He’s very impressed by you, you know.” Her voice is warm, gentle—soft spoken like a mother who can sense the slightest flash of insecurity. You cringe immediately, feel your arms cross protectively across your chest. Don’t give the game away now. “Honestly, I think he read your comparative paper on the katabasis three times. Practically raved about it when I asked what it was.”

“Oh,” you blink, shifting uneasily under her gaze. “That’s… wow, I’m flattered.”

“He sees a lot of potential in you,” she says.

“Right,” you nod. “Well, he’s a grea—you’re both great teachers. I’m very lucky to be learning from the two of you.”

She doesn’t speak for a moment, and you fear your face grows warmer in the silence. Can feel the slick on your palms returning, the flash of heat in your chest, the longer you sit in it. You make a quick and tumbling excuse to flee the scene, spitting a mess of thank you so much and just need some fresh air, before you’re stumbling out of the hall and wandering outside on newborn deer legs. You snag a flute of something bubbly off the bar on your way, and find yourself on a secluded bench in the breezeway behind the conference centre.

You sit there alone and watch the grass, the way the light from inside shines out across the green. Feel the chill of the wind slip past you, rustling your hair and raising goosebumps on your bare legs. Sip dry Cava and contemplate how many more of these things you can feasibly imagine attending in your career. There’s a single text from Nora on your phone, asking how the presentation went. You tuck it into your purse, leaving the message unanswered.

By the time you hear the door hinges creak, the glass is near empty. You spy a shadowy form snaking its way down the path, headed in your direction.

“Mr Keynote Speaker,” you hum. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”

“Funny,” Joel mutters dryly, knees cracking as he falls onto the bench beside you. A heavy sigh slips from between his lips, fingers lacing together in his lap as he gazes across the breezeway. You down the last of your drink and place it on the concrete by your feet. “Needed some god damn peace and quiet. All that chit chat drives me insane.”

You murmur in agreement and stare at the side of his face – the neatened beard, the thick frame of his glasses. Purposeful or not, the side of his body is pressed against yours. Thigh to thigh, shoulder to shoulder – he’s sat directly in the centre of the bench. Heat radiates off his body and it’s almost too warm, and yet you find yourself relaxing against him.

“First time at one of these?” Joel asks gruffly. He’s still not looking at you, his eyes trained on a pigeon pecking at a discarded foil wrapper on the grass.

“Is it that obvious?” you grimace.

“Only because I’ve been to twenty of the damn things,” he says. “Y’learn how to smell the nervous energy comin’ off the first timers.”

“Twenty?” you mutter. Feel your stomach curl and twist at the idea of doing this day nineteen more times.

“Somethin’ like that.” Joel glances at you from the corner of his eye. “Went to a lot during my second degree. Had to get good at talkin’, fast.”

“Ahh,” you say. “So, you weren’t always such a sweet talker then?”

He lets out a low chuckle, as if amused by the thought. “Sweet talker, huh? That what I am?”

You shrug, suddenly emboldened by him following you outside, by how close he is, by how open he seems.

“I suppose,” you say slowly.

“And what gave you that idea?”

“You here alone?” you offer a poor imitation of him, voice low and breathy with your awful take on a Southern twang. “Meet me in the bathroom.” You wink, quietly delighted by the way his lips have tightened into a flat line.

“Funny,” he says again, entirely unamused now.

Something warm shifts in your lower stomach. Something wet—a vivid memory of him on the ground behind you in the bathroom of a bar, of hands spreading you open, of his tongue pressing inside you, of The Eagles playing faintly in the background.

“You do that kind of thing often?” you ask.

“Do what?”

“Approach young women at bars,” you wiggle your eyebrows, smirking. “Rob them of their virtue in the bathroom and then hope you never see them again.”

“You? Virtuous?” Joel rolls his eyes. You can see the corner of his lip curling upward. “Must be gettin’ yourself confused with somebody else.”

“Maybe,” you smile.

“Sometimes,” he casts you a look, after a moment. “Not… often. And not young.”

“Younger,” you counter quickly.

“I didn’t expect you to be…” he trails off and shakes his head. “It’s not a thing I do, alright?”

“Of course not.”

“It’s not.”

“You don’t date then?”

He tilts his head at you curiously, eyes planted firmly on your face now. “Not for a long time.”

“Why not?”

“Been busy,” he grunts, clearly growing impatient by the line of questioning. “Spent a lot of time studying. Working.”

“Where did you study?” you press.

“This twenty fuckin’ questions?” he snaps, reaching up to rub the back of his neck. “Came out here for—”

“You came out here,” you interrupt. “Because I came out here.”

He glowers at you, but doesn’t try to deny it.

“Night classes at Texas A&M for my undergrad,” he grits out. You smile sickly sweet, pleased. “Did my postgrads part time at UT Austin,” Joel says.

Your eyebrows kick up again, the teasing pretence all but forgotten. “Sounds… unconventional?” you offer softly.

“That’s one word for it,” he agrees vaguely. “Spent the better half of a decade at school just to end up teaching at one. Ain’t that somethin’.”

“And before that?” you press.

“Before that,” he continues with a wry grin, one full of distaste and frustration and resentment. “Was a contractor for a long time. Houses, buildings.” He rests a hand against his shoulder, fingers pressing against the muscle there, as if working out a decade old knot.

And for a moment you can see it. Can almost taste it. Collared shirts and glasses replaced with hard hats and hammers and dirt in the lines of his palms. Joel carrying a plank of wood on his shoulder, wearing a toolbelt. Joel on his knees, sweat shining on his forehead while he wields an electric drill.

Your dress feels too tight suddenly. Too warm.

“A contractor,” you say distractedly, and hope he doesn’t notice how your thighs press together.

“Mhm,” Joel nods. “With my brother.”

“You have a brother?”

He ignores that. “Where did you study?”

“San Diego State,” you flash him a grin. “Go Aztecs.”

“Good school,” he hums. “You’re a long way from California.”

Only a little further than Texas, you think.

“You did good up there,” Joel adds.

Your smile dips and wanes into a scowl, uninterested in the change of subject.

“What?”

“It was…” you shake your head slowly, face warming as you glance down to your lap.

“What?”

“It just wasn’t what I expected.” You pick at a loose thread on the hem of your dress. “That’s all.”

“And what did you expect?”

“To be listened to,” you grunt. “Not gawked at by some ancient jerkoffs that were only there to stare at my ass when I turned to change a slide.”

Joel nods, quiet.

“I wanted it to matter,” you mutter. “Wanted to… fuck, I wanted to impress them.”

“I was impressed.”

“Oh yeah?” you snort, finally looking up. “You hightailed it out of there pretty quickly.”

Joel shakes his head and stares back at you, gaze heavy. His hands tighten into fists against his thighs, knuckles lightening to white as he squeezes. You shuffle on the seat—ignore the flare of heat that erupts where your shoulder nudges firmer against his.

“I guess you could say,” he speaks slowly. “I’m tryin’ to keep my distance.”

You arch an eyebrow and attempt to swallow the laugh bubbling up your throat.

“Well, you’re doing a great job,” you smirk.

Joel laughs and your smile falters, mouth going slack at the sound. How rare it is, and how much rarer to have it all to yourself like this. For all of his sharp angles, his sweet talking, his harsh words, and harsher touch—that laugh is the cruellest part.

He jostles his shoulder against yours a little. An acknowledgement; perhaps a glimpse inside. Something that says, I know, I see it, I feel it, I can’t stop either.

“You make it hard,” he says then, and his voice is soft—almost a whisper.

“How’s that?” You match his tone, as if you’re two little kids who’ve snuck outside to share secrets where no one else can hear them.

“You bein’ here,” he murmurs, eyes searching. “Startin’ to feel like you’re everywhere I turn.”

A breeze swims past and you shiver, locks of hair floating in a mess around your face until you pat them down. Joel moves almost imperceptibly, curling his side tighter against yours to shield you from the onslaught.

“I know the feeling,” you admit.

The muscle in his jaw ticks and he clears his throat, looking out across the green again. For a moment the pair of you sit in silence. Not as professor and student, but simply a man and a woman on a bench. Breathing the same air, soaking in a shared silence that only the two of you could understand. And there are so many more questions you want to ask him, so much more you feel compelled to know, but instead you settle for this—sitting on a bench together, shoulders and thighs and chests pressed side to side, two frames moulded around the welcoming shape of one another. For now.

“It gets easier,” Joel says then, jaw tense as he spares a glance back in your direction. “This stuff, these people, all the talkin’.”

You acknowledge him with a small smile, just the slightest twitch of your lip. Don’t bother saying, maybe for you. Maybe for a man.

“You know,” you suck in a breath and give him a lazy smile instead. “I think this might be the longest conversation we’ve had without ripping each other’s clothes off.”

“Mm.” He leans his head back to rest on the wall, eyes focusing up towards the sky.

“I like it,” you say quietly. Hear how vulnerability chimes in your voice – a wobble that begs to be ignored and understood all at once. “It’s nice… talking like this.”

Joel’s head tilts towards you, dark eyes locked on yours. He doesn’t say anything, but you can see that wariness in his eyes. The same wariness that poured out in flecks of brown and amber and gold in the light of your bedroom a week ago, when he told you he was fifty. A hesitant curiosity, an incessant suspicion, a bark of disbelief. You feel the desire to pluck the feeling out of him and swallow it whole. To lock it safely inside yourself and make it so he never has to feel it again.

So you lean in a press your lips against his. Painfully soft, just a whisper of two mouths slotting together. Chapped and dry from the wind, he tastes like bitter sparkling wine. You sigh into him, uncaring. Hook your ankle around his, place your hand on his thigh, and sink closer, deeper.

He pulls back an inch, mouth still hovering over yours, the tip of his nose pressed into your cheek.

“Shouldn’t do this here,” he warns quietly, eyes still closed. His breath is hot against your face, and you inhale the taste of mint and Cava and Joel.

“I know.” You grip the lapel of his blazer and kiss him again. Firmer this time, grazing your tongue along the seam of his lips until he welcomes you inside to taste behind his teeth. The frame of his glasses presses into your nose, your cheeks, and you smile into his mouth. Rough palms and lazy fingertips graze the skin of your bicep, your neck, until they find a home at the nape of your neck. His thumb presses against the hinge of your jaw, hot wet tongue working your mouth open until you’re whining, teeth nipping at his bottom lip and fingernails digging into the meat of his thigh.

Only when you move to press a hand beneath the collar of his shirt does Joel pull back again, this time to stand and take a step away from the bench. A tinge of scarlet creeps its way from the hollow of his throat to the apple of his cheeks. He clears his throat and glances over his shoulder, towards the door. When he looks back, there’s something new there. Some dangerous that flashes in his eyes and lingers when his gaze dances down the curve of your body against the seat.

“Where are you staying?” you ask, breathless.

For a minute he doesn’t answer. Simply stares, contemplating, broad chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. The lenses of his glasses are fogged, and you watch them slowly clear.

Then— “The Pendry.”

Joel reaches into his pocket and retrieves something small and laminated. You take it from his outstretched palm carefully. “Fifth floor.”

You stare at it for a moment. Turn it over in your palm once, twice. Read the room number printed on the key card before tucking it safely into your purse. When you look up again, Joel is already walking back inside.

It’s nearing midnight by the time you arrive at the Pendry – a high rise in Manhattan West, the kind with a fancy lobby and a doorman in a neat black suit. The polar opposite of the hotel where your suitcase lies unopened across the city. You feel out of place in an instant, but you’re still in your dress, and the staff don’t bat an eye at your presence. The key card he gave you is hot where your fingers curl around it, plastic damp and foggy with the sweat from your palms. By the time you reach his door you have to wipe it on your dress before the sensor will recognise it.

A hollow beep echoes through the hall, and his door presses open with a soft hiss.

The room is enveloped in darkness. Moonlight shines in through a slim gap in the curtains, highlighting vague edges of the space. A desk against the wall, a large bed on the left of the room. For a moment you consider that he isn’t here—that he got caught up at the conference, sweet talking into the midnight hour with other professors and alums. You can hear sounds from the street, music and car horns blaring, even from the fifth floor. But nothing else. No Joel.

Tentatively, you take a step inside the room. And then another. Kick your heels off and feel rough carpet hairs sift between your toes. Holding your hands out into the darkness, fingertips ghosting the wall for support, you venture further into the room, only pausing when your shin thumps against the corner of something sharp and sturdy.

You spit a surprised curse and stumble into the wall, hands falling to grip your leg where it throbs and smarts.

“Jesus fuck,” you hiss, smoothing your fingers against the already forming lump.

A lamp flicks on, and the room lurches into view, tinged in a soft yellow light. You jump, eyes squinting against the sudden brightness. Bed sheets rumple and shift, and Joel is frowning at you from his place amongst the pillows, a hand raising to drowsily scratch his chin.

“The hell are you doin’?” he rasps.

Heat flares in your face as you straighten up, mirroring his frown. He moves slow, a sluggish stretch out of bed, wearing nothing but a pair of boxers and a t-shirt, and he looks almost concerned. It gives you pause for a moment, eyes unsure of where to settle, as you note just how much of his body you’ve never seen before. The soft muscles in his legs, the dark hair over tan skin. You can see the slight round of his stomach through the thin fabric of the shirt.

“Were you asleep?” you accuse.

“Thought you weren’t coming,” Joel mutters, and the sound is a fractured medley of words and yawns. You feel a dull pang of disappointment in your chest as you watch him rub sleep from the corner of his left eye.

“Were you hoping I wouldn’t?”

He doesn’t respond.

“You gave me a key.”

“I know,” he sighs.

“Of course I was going to come.”

He nods. Yawns again, hand snaking upward to cover his open mouth.

You turn your back on him slowly. Take a glass from the little kitchenette and let the faucet run a cool burst of water into it. Little specks of water splash up, dotting against your hand. Your feet ache from wearing those damn heels all day, but you wilfully ignore the pain, gulping down half the glass while staring at your reflection in the splashback. Blue dress, hair tucked behind your ears, charcoal smudged around the curve of your eyes.

Joel’s fingers wind around yours, peeling the glass from your clutch so he can steal the final few sips. He discards it on the counter and leans against it. You try to make out his expression in the shadowy light, wiping your water-dotted arm against your side.

“S’a good dress.” He looks more alert suddenly, eyes sharp and focused, wide shoulders squared.

“Yeah?”

“Mm.”

“Didn’t say anything about it earlier.”

“Was tryin’ not to think about it,” he says plainly. “And how badly I wanted to take it off.”

Your hand stills. That misplaced disappointment slips out of the room, an unwelcome third party, and you grin at him. A sleazy, sleepy smile, and walk backwards in the direction of the bed without taking your eyes off of him.

“So take it off,” you challenge.

Your heartbeat is a steady thrum against your breastbone as he crosses the room. Badoom, badoom, no less than three strides and he’s there, gripping your waist to turn you so his chest is against your back.

Your zip is a low whir in the air, spinning downward slowly, slowly, from the nape of your neck to the sloping base of your spine. Deft hands trace skin, grazing every mark, every freckle as they are revealed to him, until the material of your dress is a gaping smile across your back. You shiver as the air rushes to meet your bare flesh, and then careful—cautious—you feel a pair of lips press against the top of your spine, soft pink against steely vertebrae. You say his name, low and surprised, and he doesn’t say anything. Those hands push the dress down your arms, and you watch it tremble and fall, a mess of blue at your feet.

You can hear his breathing; the way it stutters and jumps as he traces the clasp of your bra, the arch of your spine beneath it.

“Take it off,” you say again, and feel a sharp scratch of desperation that perhaps this time he won’t deny you this. This something that you’ve not experienced even once, and yet you find yourself missing.

The idea of his skin against yours is something prophetic, something inevitable, something divine—something determined far before the two of you met in that bar. It’s out of your control or his, irrevocable—a beast bred from desire that claws and snaps at the bars of its cage, calling you kicking and screaming into each other’s arms.

His fingers pluck at the clasp, and you smile. Sigh in relief as your bra hits the floor and the weight of your breasts are borne to the increasingly warm air. Joel is still behind you, still not seeing you. But broad palms splay across your back, massaging and flexing into your skin as they roam your sides, your stomach, up your front to cup your breasts. You gasp, eyelids fluttering as he squeezes softly, palms warm and solid against the stiff peaks of your nipples.

“Fuck.” Joel’s nose buries itself in your hair, his forehead against the back of your head. Your legs shake, and you lean back into his chest, your body a soft and tremulous thing that would surely float away if he weren’t here to hold you up.

His hands are on your breasts, sweet and tender and finally, and you wonder how long this wanting will feel like burning. Like nicks of flame that gloss over you and spit embers at anyone who dares to get too close—at him, sparking and sputtering as they collide in a spitfire symphony. This man who lives set ablaze in his own right. This man who welcomes your flame every time—swallows it whole, and lays kisses against the back of your neck with lips still warm.

Calloused fingers roll and circle your nipples, playing gently, listening for every gasp, every sigh, before diligently repeating whatever it was that called the sound forward. Your underwear is all but ruined, already damp and clinging to the slick skin between your thighs. And you can feel him against your lower back, albeit unmoving—not grinding against you, not pushing you down onto the bed, but waiting – for what, you can’t be sure.

You turn around faster than he can stop you. Hook fingers into the band of your panties and drag them down in a swift movement before straightening, holding his gaze all the while. And Joel—

He looks in pain. Dark eyes lock onto on your face and don’t stray. Don’t dip downward, don’t glance around the room. His hands hang by his sides, palms facing upward in a dejected fashion, jaw slack as he just—waits.

“Why won’t you look at me?” you whisper.

“You don’t….” he shakes his head. “If I look, I won’t be able to forget. And I—I can’t—”

There’s a flash of that memory again. Sweating in the dark bathroom of a bar in Portland. Joel wiping stained lipstick from your chin. The words I’m gonna remember this dripping from his swollen lips.

You take a step forward. Feel your nipples graze the soft material of his shirt. “And what if I don’t want you to forget?”

He says your name quietly, shoulders tense. But when you grip the hem of his shirt, he doesn’t stop you. Rather, he lifts his arms and lets you drag the fabric over his head. You marvel at the bare skin, eyes dancing across jutting collarbones and the soft swell of his stomach. Watch the way his chest rises and falls as stilted breaths flurry inside him before spilling into the air between you. Admire the trail of dark hair that rests between his bellybutton and the soft band of his underwear. His eyes don’t leave your face as you push the boxers down his legs.

“So handsome,” you say and Joel exhales, hands hovering a hairsbreadth from your waist. The weight of the moment hangs heavy between you. This moment of more. To be with him like this feels like more. To be naked feels like more.

You grip his hand and raise it to your breast again. Squeeze your fingers over his. His thumb flicks across your nipple and you gasp. His eyes darken, nostrils flaring as he fights to restrain himself.

“Joel,” you whisper. “Look at me.”

Finally, he does. Those brown eyes flickering downward to rake in the sight of your body.

He’s on you in a second, mouth slanting desperately against yours while his hands drift aimlessly across skin, untethered in their access. Fingers pinching and grabbing and squeezing, teeth searing at your lips, and you gasp as his cock presses against your stomach. The long, thick weight of him, drooling and needy. Your fingers slip around him, rub softly over the underside of his head, the vein on the underside of him. Joel grips your wrist and pushes you backward a step, his lips leaving yours with a wet smack.

“Sit on the bed,” he orders firmly.

You wander backward, stumbling onto the edge of the bed when your calves collide with the heavy wooden base. He watches you, hand drifting to wrap around the base of his cock. He strokes himself gently, black eyes tracing vigilantly over every inch of your body. And you expect him to push you down, to crawl on top of you. Instead, you watch with bated breath as Joel drops to his knees in front of you. His knees crack as they bend but he ignores it, nudging your thighs apart so his broad frame can fit between them. Hooded eyes gaze between your thighs, roaming across all of the bare skin on show. Slowly, he lifts a hand and rests it gently on your mound. Calloused fingers stroke over the dark hair there, stroking through the short curls. You sigh and cant your hips up, but Joel only grunts, his free hand squeezing your thigh to hold you against the mattress.

Before you can process it, he’s leaning forward, nose nestling in your hair as his warm tongue parts your folds. You groan in unison, your fingers carding through his curls to hold him against you. He murmurs something that you don’t quite catch over the roaring in your ears, but you don’t care. Too caught up in a smooth slide of his mouth slotting against you. The flat of his tongue glides up and down your sex, smearing a mess of slick and saliva in his wake. You gasp as it flicks sharply across your clit, your jaw tensing at the harsh sensation. Joel notices—pulls back.

“Tell me,” he urges.

“Slower,” you say quickly, voice feeble and desperate.

“Slower,” Joel repeats with a nod, and he massages your thighs as he licks into you, fingernails scraping your skin as his grip tightens and loosens and tightens and loosens. He traces slow circles around your clit with the flat of his tongue that have you gasping and bucking against his face. And when his tongue presses inside of you, you moan, fingers twisting in his hair and tugging.

“Fuck,” he growls into you, and he likes that. You do it again and his eyes flick open, pupils blown, gaze darting wildly across your stomach, your arms, your breasts, your face – watching, admiring, taking in every detail of the offering that you’ve laid so generously at his altar. The tip of a finger curls inside you and he grins when your thighs tense around him. He rears his head back to watch how you welcome him inside, eyes locked on the way your weeping cunt clenches and drips around one of his fingers, and then another.

“Yeah,” you sigh, nose scrunching at the slight stretch. “Yeah, like that, fuck.”

“Look at you,” he mutters. “Christ.” And then the cut of his wet red mouth is back on you, lips parting to suck against your clit until you’re crying out, voice a hoarse shout as you speed rapidly towards your end.

“Shit, Joel,” you gasp. One of your legs kicks out straight and his hand drops from your thigh, one set of fingers working you open while the other comes up to part your lips, giving himself more access. As he lathes wet kisses against you, the coarse hairs of his beard scraping your inner thighs, you can feel it. That liquid heat that coils and stirs in the base of your stomach.

“Joel, I—ohh—I think I’m gonna come,” you whimper, hand shooting out to grip his shoulder. Your nails dig into the tense muscle there, using the leverage to rut your hips against his face.

He groans into your sex, fingers moving faster, unforgiving against that spongy spot deep inside that sets you alight. His teeth graze against your clit, the lightest brush, and your stomach is tensing, every muscle in your body locking up.

“Give it t’me,” he says gruffly. “That’s it, come on, baby.”

A choked gasp falls from your lips and then you’re coming, twitching against his face, pussy bearing down on thick fingers that stoke you through the high. Your hand leaves his shoulder to grip the back of his neck, holding his face against where you’re aching for him still. Joel moans, a low sound from deep in his chest, dragging his fingers away so he can drink down every heady drop of your orgasm.

Baby.

The word rings in your head, bouncing inside your skull, a fierce ricochet. Baby.

Trembling fingers feather across the cowlick at the crown of his head, twisting and petting soft wayward curls as his mouth pulls back, a wet drag across the skin of your hip. You catch a glimpse of his cock, heavy and throbbing between his thighs.

Joel’s teeth nip at the sensitive skin of your thigh, a sharp pinch that makes you flinch. Tired muscles tensing, face twisting up as he sucks and licks, hot tongue soothing over the stinging red mark. He breathes your name, mouthing the sound into your flesh once, twice.

“I’ve been tryna remember this,” he murmurs. “Only ever had it for a second.”

You whimper as he licks into you again, slowly. And you’re so sensitive, and maybe—maybe—it’s too much, too soon, but he doesn’t care. He grips your calf and tucks it over his shoulder. Holds it there in a vice grip.

“Wasn’t enough,” he says. Dark eyes look up and you’re rapt in them—bound and boneless simply from having those eyes on you you you nothing but you all he sees is you and he loves it, you can tell. Thrives on the way you melt beneath his rough fingertips, the wet drag of his tongue. “Remember that first day in my office?

Remember, remember, remember, how could you forget? I’m gonna remember this this this.

“Yes.” Your leg trembles against the side of face, the coarse hairs of his beard scratching your skin. The tip of his tongue lathes slow circles around your clit. A cruel, leisurely slip of flesh on flesh that has you gasping and twitching beneath his hands.

“I wanted this that day,” Joel rasps. “Needed it. But you were gone so soon, ‘n’ I couldn’t help myself.”

“What—oh fuck—” He flicks his tongue faster, hot swipes from side to side that have your thigh clamping down against the muscles in his neck. Your mind is a blur, eyebrows furrowed as you try to make sense of his words.

“Fucked my fist the second you left,” he growls. “My fingers in my mouth, the taste of you—Christ, couldn’t stop thinkin’ ‘bout it.”

“Joel,” you gasp, impatient. “I—get up here. Please, just—”

Strong hands push you up, push you back, further onto the bed until your head hits the pillows. His hair is a wild fray around his head, knotted and mussed from your fingers raking through it.

“I don’t have anything,” he says.

“I don’t care,” you say.

His knees press onto the mattress on either side of you and his eyes glance down your chest before he grips your waist and he’s turning you. Your stomach meets the sheets and you move to arch your back, to tilt your hips up towards him, but a firm hand rests on the small of your back, and keeps you down.

“Like this,” you hear him say. “Trust me.”

His chest is flush to your back, and you can feel him there, knuckles brushing the flesh of your ass, spreading you apart so his cock can press inside. The pillow swallows your wet gasp, and your eyes pinch shut against the stretch as he sinks deeper and deeper. Every delicious inch splits you open wider, further, carving out that space that’s just for him, and it’s more. Your vision blurs and you clutch at the sheets, fingers tangling in linen as Joel’s breathy groans fill the air.

“God,” he grunts. “Always so fuckin’—tight.”

You cry out as he begins to move, pressing you further into the mattress. The stretch of him is so broad—so deep—it has hot tears pricking in your eyes. Your legs are straight, almost clamped together, leaving the smallest gap for him to break through. His chest melts against your back, sweet sweat sliding from skin to skin. And his stomach is soft against the base of your spine, but his teeth are sharp where they nip and smart against the skin of your shoulder, your neck. He sets a pace that has you biting down into the pillow to muffle your groans. It’s almost overbearing how good it feels, how he surrounds you. Flat against the mattress, there’s nowhere to hide from the pleasure, no way to twist or curl your body away from how good it feels. A choked moan is muffled by the pillow.

And then his fingers are in your hair, dragging your head up.

“What are you fuckin’ doin’?” he grunts. You gasp, eyebrows furrowed and mouth ajar as you take take take. He pulls your hair harder when you don’t respond, presses his chin against your shoulder, lips curling against the skin of your neck as he speaks. “Don’t do that, not here. No more hidin’, I wanna fuckin’ hear it.”

He grips your hips and drags you upward so you’re on your knees, bracing against your forearms, and then his hand snakes around the front of your body, fingers dragging between your thighs as he begins moving again.

“Oh fuck,” your eyes widen in surprise, jaw hanging slack as he rolls his finger in expert circles over your clit. “Fuck, fuck.”

“Yeah?” he gasps.

“Fuck,” you repeat, mewling every time one of his thrusts sends your face forward into the pillows. “Yes, oh god.”

“Yeah, you fuckin’ like that.” Each word is punctuated by a thrust of his hips. “That’s it, lemme hear it.”

“Joel,” you cry out, voice cracked and broken. “So good.”

“I know, baby,” he grunts. “I know.”

“You’re so—deep,” you gasp.

“I know,” he soothes.

“I missed this,” you babble, mouth moving faster than your mind. “Missed you.”

“Christ,” he spits, pulling you up until you’re leaning against his chest. His fingers are a blur against your clit, cock a fast wet shift in and out in and out.

You tilt your head back against his shoulder, mouth hanging open as you press your ass back into him.

“Missed me?” Joel says, and his cheek is warm against yours. Wet. Your face is wet. “Gonna show me how much?”

“Yes,” you moan. His free hand grips your breast, squeezing and pinching.

“Need to get my fuckin’ mouth on you,” he growls.

“No,” you beg. “Joel, don’t—fuuuck, fuck, don’t stop.”

“Wanted to,” his hips stutter against you, losing momentum for a second. “Jesus, wanted to take my fuckin’ time.” You snake a hand behind his head to grip his hair again, to press his face into your neck. His mouth latches onto your skin, spit mixing with sweat where his teeth and tongue trace your roaring pulse. Your thighs are trembling, knees weak and wobbling against the mattress as he pistons into you, unrelenting, unforgiving.

“I’m—” your eyes start to roll back. You can feel your back arch and twist against him, toes curling into the sheets. “Oh my God.”

He says your name in a panicked hiss and pulls out.

You gasp at the loss, eyes flying open in alarm. He moves your body, not wasting a second as he lowers you down onto your back presses inside again, hands gripping the underside of your knees, holding them against your chest. Practically bent in half, you tremble in his grasp, eyes blurred and wet as you sob his name.

“Lemme have it,” he goads you, voice a dull vibration against your chest. “Bein’ so fuckin’ good for me, yeah, just like that.”

And it feels like something splinters within you as heat floods your senses, vision whiting out until all you can see is the soft edges of his curls against your chest, the wet smear of his tongue over your nipple. All you can hear is the words he speaks against your skin.

I’m close, he warns, and you say yes, say please, say I want it, because you do.

“Where?” You call the shots.

And you say, Inside, say, I want it, because you do.

Because you want everything. Everything he has and whatever dark matter is left after that. And everything is a naked thought, a stark realisation, a frighteningly bare streak of madness that zips down your spine and melts in your belly, and you can feel yourself tightening around him with the enormity of it. Can feel your body squeezing and sucking and holding it holding it holding it and with black eyes, spheres of a night sky’s pitch, he stares at you. Unruly eyebrows pinched tight. Mouth slick and swollen and snarling, white teeth grit like prison bars, keeping everything contained inside himself, just out of your reach.

“Fuck,” Joel spits, pleading, desperate. “Don’t—”

But his hips are bruising against yours and you relish in the ache. The jut of bone amidst the softness of his skin, a reminder of the coldness in him, the determination, the impatience. And you know that you can only have so much softness until there is stone. But you cannot understand don’t, you never have with him, so you grind upward. Meet him thrust for thrust, and shiver in delight as a tortured expression passes over his face. And when you come again he curses, broad palms bearing down on you, holding your frame into the mattress as he pushes you through it, prolonging that naked thought, that fearsome idea. You only hope that he cannot see how your own everything spills. How it cools and congeals around him with its palms spread open, longing to receive as much in return.

Joel comes with a shout, hips dragging backwards so his spend can spill across your stomach and the puffy lips of your sex. He grips his cock, milking himself for all he’s worth until wet ropes of his come are smeared across your thighs too. You gasp and writhe against the bed, trying in vain to keep your heavy eyelids open, not wanting to miss a second. The shine of your slick on his thighs and lower stomach is clear in the dim lighting, and you smile at the sight of it – your claim on him. Chest heaving, he follows your gaze, fingers swiping across his skin before sinking into his mouth. He groans around his fingers and you stomach lurches as he lowers his chest to the bed, mouth drifting between your splayed thighs.

You cup his jaw and hold him still.

“I can’t,” you murmur, and your voice is cracked and broken. “S’too much.”

And he agrees, tracing the marks on the inside of your thighs with his mouth until your eyes drift closed.

Time passes slowly after that. You don’t open your eyes for a while. Too fucked out, too tired, too tender.

There’s a warm glide of something soft and wet over your stomach, your thighs, between your legs—Joel cleaning up his mess. You almost wish he wouldn’t.

“Sorry,” you mumble a few minutes later. “I’ll go in a second.” But your eyes are closed, and the sheets smell like him.

You feel the mattress dip beside you. Hear a soft click as he turns off the lamp, and darkness swells around you once more.

“S’okay,” he says, and his voice is so close, as if he were whispering against the shell of your ear, breathing the words into you. “Don’t have to go.”

And it makes sense not to go. To stay, to stay, to stay. To sink deeper into the hotel mattress, and let the sounds of his heavy exhales lull you further to sleep. He doesn’t touch you. Doesn’t come any closer. But you can smell him. Can feel his warmth, a radiating sun that shines across the side of your body closest, and you sink deeper still.

You think of the katabasis - the hero’s journey spiralling down into the underworld. Of Orpheus seeking the safe return of Eurydice, his love lost too soon. Of Odysseus, guided by Circe to discover Teiresias on his quest for homecoming. Of Aeneid, venturing downward to meet his father and hear his true destiny. This descent into the afterlife, into the realm of the dead, wherein upon return our hero is irrevocably changed. But to stay, to stay, to stay. So warm it is here, you think, so lovely and warm to descend wholly into this wanting, this burning, this everything.

“Is this a good idea?” you murmur, voice a drowsy call into the darkness. “For me to stay?”

Joel doesn’t respond.

tags: @lovely-ateez @nana90azevedo @stevie75 @evyiione @dameron-grant-spector @brittmb115 @ashhlsstuff @casa-boiardi @bbyanarchist @hopplessilse @joeldjarin @anoverwhelmingdin @bluevxnus @kelp-dreaming @prettyinpunk85 @spacelatinos4life @iluvurfather @mrsquill @sarap-77 @sunnywithachanceofjavi @alleyy-katt @zeida @mendessi @love-the-abyss @myrealmofchaos @a-roving-woman @punkshort @gracie7209 @whichwitchwanda @fellinfromthetop @bitchwitch1981 @suzmagine @@lmariephoto37 @harriedandharassed @cumberpegg @tonysttank @ourautumn86 @my-tearsricochet @shotgun-shelby @5oh5 @psychedelic-ink @what-is-your-wish @sugadolly @elissaaa @nobodycanseeinsidemysoul

thank you for reading! x

#my writing #fic: a lover's pinch #professor!joel #ALP #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller smut

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ytmanzwhore · 3 months ago

Text

Chase It - 1

summary: in which nellie harding gets pulled back into the world of storm chasing, and butts heads with the tornado wrangler himself

warnings: none so far :)

an: hey peeps- this story is being cross posted on my wattpad account (forbesfever) so if you want to check it out there, that is likely where updates will go first!

read chapter two // three

then

"Wakey, wakey," a cooing voice whispered in Nellie's ear where she sat curled up in the front seat of Jeb's SUV. The red head groaned as she began to slowly stretch her legs, peeking her eyes open to see Addy's bright smile hovering over her. "It's time to get going bud."

"It's so early," Nellie whined as everyone began to move around, Javi of course still snoring on the ground till Addy blared the horn at him. The six of them had a pretty solid routine at this point, so it took them only a few mintues to get back to full functioning capacity.

"Hey!" Nellie shouted at Addy sharply as the blonde banged on the metal cylinder in front of her, ignoring Jed's camera turning to her. "Addy how many times to I need to tell you, do not hit that device or I swear to-"

"That's our Nellie," Kate laughed at the camera as the redhead continued to berate Addy. "Nellie is our resident health care professional with us in case of emergency, but also the reason we have Dorothy here with us."

Nellie, Kate and Javi had met by chance at Muskogee State. There was no real reason for two kids in the Meteorology department and a girl in the nursing school to interact, unless you factored in Nellie's last name. Muskogee State College in 2005 had been the lucky recipient of a donation from Dr. Jo and Bill Harding, of the last used Dorothy prototype. At that point, Jo and Bill had retired from chasing and consulted and taught across the country.

In 2018, their niece had chosen to attend their alma mater. In the past, the Harding's had gladly allowed different departments to take Dorothy out in the field, after giving them stern warnings and usually making them pass some tests. But when Nellie was stationed there, she became their new point girl. So when Kate's proposal came across their desk, they asked Nellie to be Dorothy's custodian as the girl did her field research with her team. And so formed the odd but strong bond between Kate, Javi and Nellie, and an all around a passion for storms.

"Nellie might not be studying with us," Javi moved in extremely close to the camera. "But she's probably chased more storms in her life already, then the rest of us ever will."

And Javi wasn't wrong, because Nellie? While her little brother was attending play time with the kids from the farm down the road (because their parents were too busy to parent), Nellie was sitting in the backseat of Jo's beat up truck, hearing Dusty scream down the radio and watching vortex after vortex leave paths of destruction. Nellie's childhood was split between that backseat, school, and cuddling on the couch at Aunt Meg's house while waiting for their parents to finally check back in on their kids.

So here Nellie was, berating Addy as she hit a legendary piece of equipment. "I told you I can handle Dorothy," Nellie huffed as she walked over and pet the cylinder. "She's just a temperamental bitch."

"Like you," Javi giggled, giving a innocent smile as Nellie whipped her head around to glare at him.

"I got her," Nellie nodded as she looked at the control panel, and poked at the release button gently, holding it down for a few seconds before pulling back and pressing again. Dorothy as if knowing who was asking something of her, opened up easily. "There's a method here, and-"

"Ok we know you're the Dorothy whisperer," Praveen laughed as he walked over with his laptop. "The only reason you're here."

"Whoa, whoa," Kate interjected, walking up to wrap an arm around Nellie's shoulder. "That's not true!"

"Thank you," Nellie nodded with a grin.

"She makes a great instant coffee too," Kate giggled as Nellie gasped. "Alright guys, lets get going."

And with that, their little group made some last minute checks before loading up the cars and hitting the road. They were driving through the farmlands of Oklahoma, both Kate and Nellie looking around and thinking of home. Nellie was watching the radar with Praveen while Kate took a last minute call from her mama.

"There's barbecue waiting for us at home," Kate grinned as she hung up the phone and everyone in the cars cheered. As the group drove towards the storm Kate had been eyeing, they could all feel the conditions begin to build. The wind began to whip, and Nellie cracked the window and took a deep breath, feeling the energy building around them.

While Nellie might not have a want to follow the academic side of storm chasing, what she did have was the instinct. Like Kate and her aunt and uncle, she could understand a storm like not many could. She loved the thrill of the chase, but what her heart called for, was to help people in the aftermath. Which is why she had chosen to pursue nursing instead of meteorology.

"It's time," Nellie said quietly as Kate also called for Jeb to stop so they could finalize the solution in the barrels. With that, Javi set up in his van to track data, while the other five loaded back into Jeb's SUV to get into position.

Nellie's chest began to ache as they drove and the hail began. "Something's not right," Nellie said as Kate began to peer out the windows. The two of them realized at the same time that the tornado was behind them. Everyone's heart began racing, especially as Jeb in an effort to avoid some debri, ended up in a ditch. They took that chance to hop out, save the overturned barrels, and drop the trailer in the tornadoes path.

The car moved further and further away from the vortex, feeling elated as Javi announced Dorothy's sensors had gotten swept up into the atmosphere. Kate's face was stone as she watched behind them, and noticed the compound wasn't active. Javi's voice tapered out as Nellie's arm hair stood tall.

"The velocity is 200 miles an hour," Praveen said quietly as Addy tried to hail Javi. Everyone's stomachs dropped as the realization hit them all, that an EF5 was quickly gaining on their position.

Jeb tried his best to drive them out, but the car couldn't handle the roads. Once again they ended up off the road. "This car's gonna fly," Jeb said to everyone, and Nellie needed no more influence to throw her door open and grab Addy's arm.

"Let's go," she screamed as they booked it to the overpass ahead of them. Kate and Nellie made their way up the slick incline, Nellie freezing as she watched Kate's leg get sliced by a piece of metal. "You're ok," she yelled as she pushed Kate's butt until Jeb grabbed her arm. The red head turned around, spotting Addy lying prone on the incline.

"Addy come on," Nellie shouted, leaning down to where the girls hand was outstretched. "Take my hand-"

And she could only watch as Addy's body got too high, and the girl's body was swept away by a flying piece of wood. "Oh no," Nellie's breath came quickly. "Okay Nellie," she talked to herself as she turned around and finished climbing to where Kate was being held under Jeb's bulk.

"Come on," Kate yelled, reaching for Nellie. The girl was silent and cold as she moved behind Jeb, bracing her feet against the concrete pillar and wrapping her body around the metal pipings. She closed her eyes, listening to the whistle as it built, hearing Kate's screams as she felt another one of her friends get swept into the vortex.

"Nell," Kate whispered as the silence hit. "Nellie."

Hours later, the two girls were found on the side of the road by a kind police officer, who hid his horror at the blank stares and bloodied bodies walking towards him.

now

Nellie's body jerked awake as her alarm went off, pulling her out of another dream about dark storms and the sound of a train approaching. She sighed as she pulled herself out of bed, opening her black out curtains and seeing the afternoon sunshine outside of her little apartment. The girl went about her usual routine, pulling on some leggings and a long sleeve before lacing up her tennis shoes and heading out for a run.

From there, it was time to shower, down some coffee and food, before throwing on her scrubs to head out for her 12 hour shift at a regional hospital in Oklahoma as a Senior Shift Nurse. She went through the motions that day as she did many days when her night was plagued with nightmares. But no matter what, she gave her best patient care, knowing she might be serving people on the worst day of their lives (or just for a paper cut).

At 7 am, the girl made her way back to her apartment, looking at her phone and seeing a missed call from Javi. Knowing the boy's habits had changed drastically, she gave him a call as she started her car.

"Good morning sunshine," Javi said into the reciever as he picked up her car. "You on your way home?"

"That I am," she nodded.

"Long night?"

"Always," she sighed with a tired smile. "But feeling good."

"Good good," Javi said with his own sigh.

"How was Kate?" the girl probed. And with that, the red head listened as her friend spoke to her about his meeting with Kate in New York, and his failure to convince her to come to Oklahoma. Nellie finished her drive home, choosing not to interrupt the boy to tell him she'd already heard most of this from Kate the night before on her way to work.

"Do you think you can talk to her?" Javi asked desperately. "Try to get her to just give this a chance?"

"Javi," Nel sighed. "I have talked to her. And she's terrified honestly to chase again, to get that close to another storm like," and she didn't have to finish her sentence for the man to understand.

"I know," he sighed. "There's just so much going on. So much I wish I could do. And I wish I had her skills or your skills, but I don't."

"Javi you need to believe in yourself," Nellie scolded. "You are great at what you do. And you're great at helping people. You just need to find another way. Kate is not the only way you can get this to work, you just need to think outside the box. But hey, let me call you later ok? I just got home and I need to get some sleep."

The two friends said their goodbyes, before Nellie headed inside and readied herself for her post shift nap. After another shift, two of three before Nellie was off, the redhead was sleeping once more when her eyes popped open in anger as she heard banging at her front door. The redhead cursed as she stomped her way to her front door, not even checking the peep hole before swinging it open. "What?" She growled, her mouth opening before she processed the two faces in front of her.

"Hi Nellie," Kate waved nervously as she bounced on her toes. "Missed you!"

"What the hell!" Nellie gasped as she leaned in to hug her friend, looking at Javi in confusion over her shoulder. "How did Javi convince you to come out here?"

"Well here's the thing," Javi laughed uneasily as the girls pulled apart. "She said she'd give me a week, but only if we dragged you along with us."

"What?!"

#tyler owens imagine #tyler owens #imagine #tyler owens x reader #twisters #twisters imagine #twisters 2024 #kate carter #twisters movie #glen powell #twisters fanfic #Tyler owens fanfic #tyler owens fanfiction #twisters x reader #twisters fanfiction

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d0rothydraws · 2 months ago

Text

Plus size reader has been sick and busy for the last 2 weeks. Sylus has also been busy, resorting in them not having sex for that time. Then, you feel better one day.

content: f!reader, plus size reader, description of fat bodies, very body positive, oral f! receiving, teasing, smut

w/c: 2.4k

Ao3: Here

a/n: I had an idea and it turned into this which was NOT my idea but I hope you enjoy it anyways. I want to write more plus size content as a big girlie myself I need to make my own food for this community.

also i'll be posting less because I'm starting a new job but I'll try to post now and then but also i'm going to try and write a bunch of prompts and oneshots for kinktober so if i do write stuff, I might just be saving it for october.

if theres anything you want to see with any of the boys for kinktober, send me an ask or comment and i'll make a list. I'll write pretty much anything.

You and Sylus have been busy as of late. Meetings, work, other obligations that left you tired. On top of that, for the last week you've been fighting off a cold. So, reluctantly much to the both of you, you had not had sex for two weeks; which for you two, two weeks ago seemed impossible. Two weeks ago it seemed like every few hours you were being dragged away, pulled onto his lap, lifted onto the counter, in the shower, against the door. Everywhere, anytime.

Of course you both were pent up, but your relationship was more than sex. You enjoyed each others company, and he would hold you close no mater how worried you were about getting him sick. He would kiss your forehead, his touch gentle and caring as you waited until you recovered. You swore you drank a years worth of orange juice which, in turn, upset your stomach more. He would tease you about wanting to get better so quickly, that he enjoyed taking care of you. But you knew he was just as eager as you.

So when you woke up one night you noticed how you felt imminently.

The feeling in your throat, gone. The weight behind your eyes, gone. The soreness in your stomach, gone. It was like you were a new person. As you sat up in the bed, knowing Sylus was still awake, probably in the attic watching a movie, your heart raced. You already felt the excitement build inside you as you just thought about what the next couple hours would consist of.

You changed clothes, your frumpy baggy night clothes replaced with a thin tank top that left nothing to the imagination. The curve of your soft stomach poked out slightly through the bottom of the fabric. Shorts replacing the thick pajama pants you've been wearing for two weeks straight. You looked at yourself in the mirror, pleased at the display. You weren't shy about your body. Not anymore, not worth him. He told you time and time again how your curves drove him wild, how his hands would sink into your body. The way your thighs touched and shook as you walked. You caught him looking more than a couple times. And now, with everything on display, your mission had begun.

Making your way up the stairs to the attic you didn't try to be quiet. You knew he would be able to hear you, anyways, you wanted him to see you. As you immerged, the room was dark. Sylus preferred to use a projector, the white canvas stretching the entirety of the wall beside the door. And in an instant, his eyes were on you. The red piercing the darkness more than the projector light did. You didn't hesitate or falter though as you walked right past him to the little bar that was behind the couch.

"What's got you all dressed down, kitten. Did you get too hot?" He said the concern clear in his voice but also, there was a roughness that he's been holding back for weeks present. You felt the sound make your head spin.

"Yeah, I got another hot flash." You said moving to grab a bottle of water that you knew you weren't going to drink, but you wanted to catch him off guard. "What are you watching?" You asked as you moved to stand behind the couch. You could nearly see the hair on the back of his head prickle at your presence. Before he could answer you leaned down, your lips pressing against his ear. Your voice low, your chest pressed against the edge of the couch, against his back as he felt your soft body against him making his breath hitch. "I don't think I seen this one before."

You felt his body tense against you, his hand on his drink tensed as your hand moved over his chest, feeling his muscles flex under his sweat shirt. He turned his head trying to look at you, but in turn, you took advantage, pushing your lips against his now exposed neck. What you didn't expect, was for him to moan.

"I thought you were still sick, sweetie." He said with an edge to his voice as he tried to not let his emotions get the better of him. But you both knew he was more sensitive than what he wanted you to believe. As he felt your teeth graze his neck, you moved back up to his ear, catching the lobe softly with your tongue.

"I was. And now I'm not." You said matter-of-factly, leaning more over the couch so he could feel your chest on the back of his neck. Sylus moved his hand, trying to touch you, any part of you before you moved away, circling the couch. You stood Infront of him, your body casting a shadow on the movie. His eyes raked down your body, his cheeks having a faint red glow. Slowly you walked over to him, your thighs trapping him against the couch. You sat back on him, watching his throat constrict slightly as his hand touched the soft curve on your side.

"You look very appetizing right now." He said with a groan, feeling your body in his hands, his cock twitching under your ass that was barely covered by your shorts. "Are you sure you're feeling better. If we start it will be hard for me to stop especially when you look like this." He said, his breath heavy as his hands moved to your love handles, the soft dough like area melting under his fingers as he started to sink his fingers more into you. His hands kneading your body as his cock twitched again. You pressed against him, your stomach and chest soft against his hard one, filling the space between your two bodies.

"Aw are you saying I'm cute? I could say the same about you." You teased as your own hands moved to the hem of his shirt. He helped you, taking his hands off you just long enough to let you pull it over his head and toss it to the side of the couch. His eyes narrowed at your comment but he smirked softly, enjoying the hunger in your eyes as you looked at his body. His muscles flexed, so defined, strong. And yours on top of him. Soft, more curves than he could hold in one hand and just as sexy as him. You complimented each other.

"Oh darling you're much more than cute" He purred, his hands on you again as he trailed down your curves to grasp the side of your thigh. His other hand moved to the top of your tank top, pulling it down more and more until it ripped. He watched as your chest was slowly revealed more as he stretched out the already thin shirt. The sight made his mouth water. You shivered, watching as your chest shook softly from the fabric ripping, the rest of your shirt falling off of your shoulders. You teased him, using your arms to press your tits together, shaking them slightly. You seen a spark flash in his eye before his head pressed into the cleavage.

His eyes looked up at you as you moaned, feeling his tongue lick at one nipple a your other nipple as being pinched and played with by his fingers. You ground your hips against him, moaning as you felt him bite your nipple as if giving a warning. That didn't stop you from doing it again though. And this time, he ground back. Slow, and steady. He pulled his mouth away from you, a long string of saliva attaching him to your nipple before it broke.

Your hands moved to his chest, the palms brushing over the skin as you ground again, his hands moving to your hips, holding you still. In seconds, you felt the couch against your back, one leg hanging off of the couch due to the width of your thighs, but it only made his job easier since you were practically on display for him.

His hands moved over your body, body caging you in as he left no inch left untouched and un-kissed. He started at your neck, peppering kisses as he licked down between your chest, his hands returning for a second before he continued lower. He kissed down your stomach, taking extra time for his hands to play with you some more. To feel your weight in his hands, how your body was so soft against his. His hands weren't shy about any rolls you had, or extra softness. If anything he took his time to appreciate every curve, his hands and fingers making your dizzy as he slowly reached the top of your shorts.

His hands slipped under the band of your shorts, pulling them down to find the lack of underwear. He chuckled, trailing kisses down your soft thighs, nipping the inside gently as he felt you twitch and shiver from his touch.

"No panties? What a naughty kitten." He purred as he licked the inside of your thigh again, his other hand pulling the one that was hanging off the couch to rest on his shoulder. Before you could answer, his face was between your thighs. He had the hunger of a man that hadn't eaten in weeks. And in a way, he hadn't. One hand moved to grope your stomach, fingers squeezing and kneading the softness you had as his tongue pushed inside you. He moaned, breath heavy as you clenched around his tongue, pulling your hips closer, forcing his tongue deeper.

"You taste sweeter than I remember. All of that orange juice might have had something to do with it." He growled, pulling back for a moment as you gasped for breath at the sudden stop. You looked at him, the sight of his face covered in your juices, how he licked his lips. His free hand moved between your thighs, gently pushing two fingers in at once. Your body arched, eyes rolling back as he moved his mouth back to meet his hand. His lips moving to suck and lick your clit until you were shaking and begging him to not stop. As you came on his fingers, he licked you clean, not wasting a single drop as he pulled away, purring softly. "Delicious." He said, his voice heavy with arousal.

As you caught your breath, he moved off of the couch, discarding his pants and boxers. You looked at him, moaning softly as you felt heat flood your body at the sight of his thick dripping cock. It had been 2 weeks since you took him, and a thrill went through your body as you wondered how he would feel after so long. A hand moved to his cock as he rubbed himself, walking to you. His eyes raking over your body. You moved one leg over the back of the couch as if to draw him in more, if that was even possible.

As he repositioned over you, he kissed you slowly. You moaned as you tasted yourself on him, kissing back. A hand moved to your cheek as his thumb trailed your jaw. After a moment he pulled back, his voice earnest and soft.

"It's been a while, so I'll start slow." He said as he rubbed the tip of his cock against your wetness, coating himself slightly. You gave a soft nod, your heart fluttering at his sincerity before he started to push in.

Your body went numb. Your cheeks flushed as your mouth opened. every nerve in your body contracted at the feeling. Pure pleasure and some pain as you felt your body stretch. He did move slow, but the moans he made, the grunts as you clenched around him, it made it hard for the both of you. You knew he was big, you've fucked more times than you could count. But in your abstinence, your body forgot.

"God, Sylus." You moaned, a hand curling in his hair, another clawing his arm. "You feel bigger than I remember." You gasped out, nails digging into him which made him rut slightly, pushing more into you as you cried out.

"Oh, sweetie. I'm almost offended. But I suppose it's more of a happy surprise." He said with a chuckle before he bottomed out. Your head was empty, the only thing that felt empty if you were honest. The only thought was him. How full he made you feel. How deep he was, how much he stretched you as you shook around him. No wonder you fucked him several times a day, his cock was like a drug. A drug made for you and you alone.

As he started to move his hands grabbed your love handles, fingers sinking into the flesh as he pulled you closer. Your body jiggled with each thrust, your chest bouncing, thighs wobbling, stomach shaking. Sylus growled softly, his eyes darkening at the sight as his thrusts got rougher as if to see how much he could make your body bounce from his cock.

Soon, you felt his hips start to stutter. One of his hands moved to between your thighs, thumb working the hard little nub that was begging to be touched. As he felt you clench around him, moaning and clawing his arm which was definitely going to leave a mark, he felt how close you were. Your moans getting louder, your cries getting higher pitched as your face grew more red, legs shaking around him.

"You look so good like this under me." He said, his voice heavy with need as he continued his movement. His comment pushed you over the edge, your body shaking with pleasure as your orgasm hit you like a wave. You gasped out his name, hand falling off of his arm. Seconds later he followed after you, groaning as he painted the inside of your walls with his thick cum. He continued to pump into you, slower as he released, riding it out. Your eyes rolled as you whimpered. Had he not came this whole time? There was so much. You shivered as you felt your body get aroused again, feeling how much he was filling you before finally pulling out, his cock still half half. He panted, leaning over you as he put one arm on the couch arm rest.

Kissing you slowly, he brought his other hand to your face, holding you firmly. There was heat behind the kiss. His body still burning with that need for you.

"I hope you're not tired." He said against your lips, his hands moving to rub the expanse of your thighs. "Because we have to make up for lost time."

#love and deepspace #sylus #lads sylus #love and deepspace sylus #sylus x reader #lads #l&ds #plus size reader #sylus x plus size reader #l&ds sylus #sylus x mc #sylus qin #lnds sylus

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sansaorgana · 8 months ago

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Can you do a buck x reader where she’s a nurse and takes care of everyone at the 100 and they all think she’s just perfect and a mother figure while all the soldiers are away from that mother figure and one day she like snaps when having to deal with screaming soldiers and she goes up to one the higher power guys and like cussing them out for constant sending the men into a death trap and her having to pick up the pieces and buck has to hold her back while she’s just screaming at the other guy and everyone else is like 🧍

hello, thank you for your request! 🧡 I've just realised that none of my previous Readers in the stories with Buck were nurses lol 😷 most likely because I can't even imagine myself as a nurse and writing about all these things is enough to make me feel sick 🤣 but because of this, it was easy to write this story where the Reader is at her breaking point lol proceed with caution because there are ugly descriptions of blood, needles, death etc.

also this gif asdfghjkl I swear, in the story he has more compassion towards the Reader 🤣🤣🤣

my inbox is open for blurb/short fic requests for major cleven 🤗

You thought you could do it. When the war had started, you hadn’t thought twice as you had signed up to help. Real help. No paperwork or coffee making. You had wanted to become a nurse.

The physical aspect of your job was not that difficult. You knew what to do in most situations and you had learnt how to stop frowning at the physiological body functions. It was the emotional aspect of the job that no one had prepared you for.

Sometimes the boys would come back from the air battles with nothing but mere scratches. They would still come by just to spend time with you and let your gentle, skilled hands to patch them up as they were telling you stories.

Sometimes the same boys would not come back from their next mission and the stories they had told were all that was left of them. You would cherish them in your heart forever.

Sometimes the boys would come back burnt, with half of their faces blown out or their guts bleeding all over the floor. Their screams of pain would haunt you later at night. Those were your boys.

Perhaps that was why you were everyone's favourite nurse. You were getting attached to them so easily, treating everyone as a friend, offering them a loving hug when they needed it, listening to their stories, helping them to write letters to their mothers and girlfriends or children. You were a good spirit of the base and one of the planes was named after you. So far it still hadn’t gone down and everyone treated it as a sign that you were their guardian angel indeed.

You didn’t see yourself as a guardian angel. If you had to stay within the religious imagery examples, you’d rather describe yourself as a mater dolorosa – lady of sorrows watching her son’s suffering and not being able to help him.

Sometimes they would die in your arms. Still, it was better than to die in a burning plane. Better for them. Not for you.

Today was a day of a very difficult mission. Most of the planes hadn’t come back at all. And the ones who had, were full of men screaming in agony and pain. You were barely able to hold it all together when they were reaching their hands out for you as if your touch would heal them. But it wouldn’t. It couldn’t, no matter how much you wanted it.

“(Y/N), you should take a break…” Your friend put her hand on your shoulder. You were exhausted indeed. You were working for three hours straight without sitting down for one second and you were running around from one bed to another. “Go, rest,” she insisted but you shook your head and went back to work.

Only when you noticed that your hands were shaking so much that you weren’t able to inject a needle into a vein properly, you decided to take a break indeed. You didn’t want to cause even more damage by trying too hard.

But before leaving the sickbay you wanted to check on one of the young pilots. He was nineteen years old, it had been his first mission and you remembered how excited he had been about it. Now he was laying on one of the beds, barely breathing as his chest was burnt and lungs damaged.

You were approaching his bed and your heart sank to your chest at the sight of the doctor putting a white sheet over his face.

“Wh-what… What are you doing to Johnson, sir?” You asked.

“I’m sorry, (Y/N),” the doctor shook his head. “He’s just passed away.”

You just stood there with your lips slightly parted. Johnson was just another surname on the list of all these boys you would never forget about. But Johnson was special. He was the youngest you had known. He couldn’t stop talking about his mother and little sister, about his dog and his girlfriend waiting for him back in Alabama.

Your sadness overtook your whole body and then it developed into an anger so big that you felt as if you were about to explode and bring down the whole base.

“Son of a bitch…” You breathed out angrily as you stormed out of the sickbay without even taking your apron off. It was full of blood but you did not care.

You walked down the corridor with murder in your eyes, making everyone step out of the way. And you entered the Colonel’s office without knocking, so loudly and rapidly that all the men inside startled.

“Miss?” Colonel Harding asked as he was sitting behind his desk and showing some sort of a map to a few Majors.

One of them was Major Cleven. He hadn’t been up in the air on that day but he would be tomorrow. And was the one you had befriended the most. But even his presence couldn’t stop your rage at that moment.

“You can’t just keep sending them to die, Colonel!” You clenched your fists and approached the desk as the men watched with big eyes. “Look! Look, Colonel! Look!” You showed him your bloody hands and your apron. “Why is it me with their blood and guts all over me? While you’re just sitting here, planning…” You gave the map a very angry look. You wanted to tear it apart and you were shaking to stop yourself from doing so. “You’re sending them to death, all of them, they’re just boys! Johnson was nineteen years old! Do you even know who he was? Or was he just another number to you?!”

“(Y/N), calm down, let’s take you outside…” Buck approached you carefully but you moved away.

“No! I will not be silenced. I have things to say and I will say them!” You snapped at him and he froze. You laid your eyes back on the surprised Colonel again. “You just sit here and plan how to send them to death more efficiently. You men… Can’t you see how stupid this whole war is? How stupid every war is? And just because some brilliant engineers constructed planes, doesn’t mean they should be used to kill people!”

“Miss…” Colonel furrowed his brow, “Miss I-Don’t-Know-Your-Name, are you done?”

“You son of a bitch!” You banged your bloody fists on his desk and his stupid map got covered with blood. “You don’t even know my name. But I am the one to patch them up and hold their hand when they’re dying after you sent them to death. God damn you, Colonel Harding! You and all the Generals that you serve! God damn Hitler, God damn Churchill and God damn your fucking President Roosevelt!”

“(Y/N), please,” Buck’s strong hands pulled you away. “I’m sorry, Colonel. She’s all shook up,” he tried to explain your behaviour as you started sobbing when the anger had finally left your body. You hid your face in his uniform and allowed him to put his arm around you. “I’ll take her outside.”

“Yeah, you better do it, son,” Colonel nodded at him. Buck started to walk you out slowly and carefully as you heard Colonel’s voice while you were walking out of the door. “Poor girl… She needs a free weekend.”

Buck took you outside and watched you worryingly as you were catching your breath back and trying to calm yourself down, wiping the tears off of your face with the palms of your bloody hands.

“Here, let me,” he took out a handkerchief and wiped your face with it gently. “Gee, (Y/N), what was that?”

“I… I don’t know… I just can’t… I can’t do it anymore, Buck… That boy, Johnson, he was nineteen… Nineteen, for God’s sake,” you sniffed your tears back and looked into his eyes as your lips trembled. “He was telling me stories about his mum and little sister… His dog and his girlfriend… And now… And now he’s gone. Just like that. His lungs were burnt. Every breath was agony…” You tried to explain, still shaking.

“You really need a free weekend,” Buck pointed out and brought you closer to give you another hug.

It felt good to be in his arms. It was comforting. But you were scared to admit to yourself that you indeed liked him more than just a friend. Because if he would go down tomorrow or any other day, it would hurt even more.

“I can’t… I can’t leave my boys…” You took a step back to look at his face again. “And… And I can’t just take a free weekend. It would feel wrong. When you boys are up in the air, so brave and so heroic. All I can do is patch you up later. I can’t give up, no…”

“We all need a break sometimes. Hey,” Buck raised your chin up with his finger, “promise me that you’ll take a free weekend.”

“Aren’t you on a mission this weekend?” You asked.

“Yeah.”

“Then no way, Buck,” you shook your head. “I have to be here to patch you up,” you smiled through the tears.

“There are other nurses ‘round here,” he pointed out with a soft smile.

“I don’t want them to touch you,” you admitted suddenly as your cheeks heated up.

Why the hell had you said that…?

“They don’t know how to patch you up properly, I mean…” You tried to explain yourself quickly. “Only I know how to–”

But he didn’t let you finish. He leaned in very carefully and placed a gentle kiss upon your lips. You were stunned.

“I know what you mean, sweetheart,” he teased after finally breaking the kiss and caressing your cheek with his thumb. “I promise I won’t get a single scratch when you’re not around.”

MASTERLIST || BUCK MASTERLIST

#euryno-j47 #sansaorgana: Answered #*buck #lilysfiction #gale cleven x reader #austin butler x reader

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whatsnewalycat · 1 year ago

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I Know

(Second Part to Bunny)

Summary: It didn't take you long to figure out that your new co-worker, Javier Peña, is a former client from your days working a phone sex line. But does he know who you are?

Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

Word Count: 5.3k+

Content / Warnings: professor javi, former phone sex operator reader, professor reader, co-workers, seduction, yearning, dirty talk, smut, smoking, swearing, drinking

Notes: Hi, pals. LOOK I TOLD YOU I WOULD DO A SECOND PART TO THIS!!! True to my word, baby. Hope you like it.

There’s such camaraderie in a cigarette.

At the social hour after New Faculty Orientation, smokers gather on the sidewalk outside the University of Texas San Antonio’s John Peace Library. Liquor-fueled mouths babble on, letting off thick plumes of exhaust into the cloudless sky. Blue ribbons of smoke dance off the ashy orange tips of cigarettes between puffs.

All these academics broken off from the crowded meeting hall into bite-sized chunks, generally determined by field of study, familiarizing themselves with the colleagues they’ll come to rely on. Within this horde, you ask yourself: Who will have a lighter when I can’t find mine? Who will commiserate with me over a smoke when I have my first work-related breakdown? Facilitate those necessary micro-therapy sessions that get me through the hardest days?

Dr. Natalie King, whose poison of choice is menthol flavored, chatters on about her excitement to be working at her alma mater—a proud Roadrunner, through and through, eventually asking, “Where did you work before this?”

“This is my first job out of my doctoral program.”

It’s mostly the truth. You take a drag off your cigarette, then blow a chimney stack out the corner of your mouth.

“Oh, straight into academia, huh?” she smirks, and when you grin, she comments, “Brave girl. Well, if you ever have any questions about the clinical side of things, feel free to reach out to me. Lord knows us gals have to stick together in such a male-driven field.”

A flash of light catches your eye, the glare of sun off the library door opening. An attractive, dark-haired, mustachioed man steps out into the bright, buzzing Texas sun. He slides on a pair of yellow-tinted aviators and pats his shirt pockets, fishing out a little white and red box. He plucks a cigarette from the pack and meanders up to your two-person sample study in women’s psychology, asking Natalie, “Got a light?”

She nods and starts digging through the purse hanging off her shoulder while the man shifts his weight to one leg and pushes the cigarette between his plush lips. He takes a cursory glance around at the other smokers as Natalie curses under her breath.

“I got it,” you pull a lighter from the pocket of your slacks and hand it to him.

“Thanks,” he murmurs around the filter and lights the tip, inhaling until it’s a glowing ember, then gives it back to you.

“Dr. Natalie King,” your companion introduces herself, sticking her hand out to him.

He gives it a firm shake and says, “Javier Peña,” then turns to you and holds out his hand.

You take it and tell him your name through an exhale of thick smoke, meeting his dark eyes through the sunglasses. He holds your gaze for a moment, then steps back and brings the hand to his hip, jerking his head towards the library, “What’re you two in for?”

Natalie answers that you’re both Doctors of Psychology, then goes on to explain which classes she’ll be teaching when the 2002 Fall Semester begins next week.

While she does this, you tilt your head at him, trailing your eyes along the sharp edges of him. The steep slope of his nose, the squared off corners of his jaw, the defined muscles of his neck. He holds himself like there’s a restless energy burning beneath his skin, shifting his weight from leg to leg, eyes working over his surroundings. On guard.

There’s something about him that piques your interest. His voice, warm and deep and smooth, unearths nostalgia from deep within your gut. You mentally sift through acquaintances, friends of friends you might have met at a party, people from your hometown, et cetera, trying to figure out how you know him. It’s strange because you think you would remember meeting someone so handsome.

Your eyes flick to his left hand. No wedding ring. A shiny silver wristwatch catches your attention, though, when it jiggles a little. You glance up, find his eyes locked to yours, and don’t look away until Natalie asks him what he’s teaching.

He pinches the cigarette between his lips and takes a long drag, exhaling words warped by smoke, “Criminal Justice.”

“I see,” Natalie drops her spent torch on the ground and grinds it into the sidewalk with the toe of her brown loafer, then crosses her arms, “What were you doing before this?”

“Not much the past few years,” he cocks an eyebrow and shrugs, “Helping my dad out on his ranch down in Laredo, but I was DEA before that.”

“Oh wow, ok.”

You frown, “What did you say your name was again?”

He flicks his gaze to yours and answers, “Javier Peña.”

Recognition punches you in the gut. Your face gets all hot and you drop your eyes to the sidewalk, “Oh, ok. Well. Great to meet you, Javi.”

You stomp your cigarette out, turning to Natalie with a sigh, “Should we go back inside?”

“Sure.”

Don’t look don’t look don’t look—fuck.

Your eyes betray you. They snap to his. Those dark eyes, studying you with precision, narrowing just enough to twist your stomach in a knot.

Natalie starts towards the library doors, and you trail behind her, ignoring the burn of his stare following you inside.

—

Throughout the next couple weeks, when your paths cross, his gaze lingers.

Sometimes you don’t even notice he’s there until your brain’s ancient hardwiring sends out a primal pulse of warning, making your nerves to crackle. During workshops and interdepartmental meetings. While walking the halls. In the faculty parking lot. And, of course, on your smoke breaks.

You wonder what information he obtains in those small moments before your heart thuds and face flushes, urging you to put as much space between yourself and his meticulous gaze as possible.

Each instance summons the ghost of his voice as you walk away, greeting you with a cool, “How’s Bunny doing tonight?”

Asking you, “Can you do something for me, sweetheart?”

Asking, “Are you touching yourself? Let me hear it.”

It forces you to revisit the evolution of your intimacy, how the two of you gradually went from “It’s nice hearing your voice,” to, “I thought about you all week,” to, “I missed you.”

“I missed you, too. Don’t suppose you make house calls, do you, Bunny?”

These memories start to bleed into your thoughts with alarming frequency.

You think about him when you brush your teeth in the morning. When you go to sleep at night. Every free moment in between. When you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, you wonder, “Does he think I’m attractive?” Then scold yourself for giving a shit.

“It doesn’t matter,” you lie to yourself, “He wasn’t talking to me, he was talking to Bunny.”

—

Only a few students and staff roam the campus at this time of day, when overnight dew still clings to the blades of grass hidden from the sun. This particular spot, a tucked-away path between the Biosciences Building and a parking garage, usually only has one visitor each morning: you.

Every once in a while, the hum of a car engine sounds from behind the big oak tree you’re propped up against, followed by the slam of a car door, then the echoey shuffle of shoes against concrete as whoever makes their way to wherever.

Mostly, though, it’s peaceful.

You raise the 22-ounce styrofoam cup of watered-down gas station coffee to your mouth and pause, gauging the heat of the steam that brushes your lips. Too hot. Lowering the cup to your lap, you spot a robin a few yards away. It hops across some damp grass, tilting its head this way and that; its keen, beady eyes scan for movement below the earth’s surface.

A deep breath expands your lungs and your eyes drift closed. You concentrate on the cool ground beneath your legs. The oak tree holding your body upright. Your head rolls back against it, like you’re trying to soak up some of its fortitude for the day ahead of you.

The dry scuff of footsteps on the cement sidewalk tugs at the edge of this meditation. They come to a stop nearby, then you hear a familiar timbre ask, “Mind if I join you?”

Your eyes snap open, spine straightening as you squint towards the source: Javier Peña.

Heat trickles through your body as you survey him. The navy blue fabric of his fitted suit stretches across his broad shoulders in a way that’s really not fair. Sunlight douses him in brightness, and his dark eyes seem to glow in the warmth. He shifts his weight to one leg and plants a hand on his hip, glancing around before he pulls a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and plugs one into his mouth, then holds the pack out to you. An offering.

Against your better judgment, you nod in approval.

A little smirk makes the dangling cigarette bob between his lips. He saunters over to where you’re seated, visibly relieved when the shade of the oak tree falls over his body. With a quiet grunt, he sits down next to you, unbuttoning his suit jacket, resting his back against the sturdy tree.

Again, he holds the red and white pack of cigarettes out to you. You take one, murmuring, “Thanks,” as you shove the filter between your lips and light it.

He does the same and takes a sharp inhale, exhaling blue smoke, “Nice spot you got here. Quiet.”

“Yeah,” you chuckle, heart thumping loud and hot behind your ears, “How are your first few weeks going?”

“Fine,” he shrugs and flicks ash from the tip of his cigarette, “Pretty different from what I’ve been doing these past few years.”

“Right, on the farm?” you inquire, purposely getting the vernacular wrong to throw him off your trail.

He doesn’t correct you, just nods, “Although, some of these kids are stubborn as cattle.”

You laugh at this, “It’s been an adjustment, huh?”

He hums in accord, and you can feel his eyes on your profile, studying you.

Your insides twitch. Skin tingles. You take a drag off your cigarette, then say, “Yeah, same here. I’m straight out of school, so it’s pretty surreal being on this side of the fence.”

“I bet,” he murmurs, “Wha’d you do for work?”

“Customer service, call center stuff.”

You’re not sure why you didn’t just make something up. Say you did manual labor or clerical work or something.

Maybe it’s because you know how earnest he is, and any potential lie would feel like poison in your throat. Maybe it’s because the space between you feels electric and sacred.

Maybe there’s a small part of you that wants him to figure it out.

“How’d you like that?” he asks as he blows a cloud of smoke away.

“Well,” you sigh, looking down at the coffee cup pinched between your legs, avoiding his gaze, “I liked it, actually. I talked to a lot of different people. It was interesting. Plus, the paycheck was nice.”

Again, he hums in acknowledgement, then chuckles, “Hopefully this gig pays better.”

“Yeah,” you snort, “A lot better. It was fun while it lasted, but this… this is my purpose, you know?”

You glance over at him now, and his eyes lock to yours. The intensity of his stare inspires tiny flutters from deep within your core. Right when you start to ask yourself, “Does he—?” Javier nods, “I know.”

These two words give you a head rush. Your mouth gapes, and his gaze flicks to the open space between your lips. It lingers there for a beat too long before he looks away and takes one last drag off his cigarette. He crushes its glowing orange cherry into the earth and murmurs, “I better get going.”

“Oh—yeah, ok,” you frown, following his form as he rises to his feet and brushes grass from the seat of his pants, “It was nice talking to you.”

Javier smirks down at you, those devastatingly warm brown eyes softening when he asks, “See you around?”

“Sure thing,” you smile.

He stares at you for a moment, shifting his weight from one leg to the other, then turns and leaves the way he came.

—

Later that night, your office phone rings.

You pick it up and pinch the receiver between your ear and shoulder, “Hello?”

“What’s up, Doc?”

A knot twists in your belly. Your eyes flick to your closed office door, then to the lecture notes scrawled on index cards all spread across your desk.

“Hi, who am I speaking to?”

Like you don’t know. Like the rich notes of his voice don’t instantly send shivers down your spine.

“Javier Peña,” he answers. In the background, there’s a clink, followed by the slosh of liquid pouring into a glass.

Nostalgia hums thick beneath your skin. Hundreds of conversations flash through your head and shimmer between your legs. You lick your lips and ask, “What can I help you with, Professor Peña?”

“Just wanted to hear your voice again like this,” he murmurs, then clarifies, “Over the phone, I mean. I missed it.”

A few things happen in quick succession within the confines of your body.

First, your heart swells. You curl the cord of your phone around your index finger and smile. He missed it. He missed you.

Then, an odd feeling dims your brightness. Like you’re naked in front of a crowded room. Exposed. You sit up straight and whip your head around the empty room.

Finally, the peacekeeper inside you tells you to calm the fuck down. This doesn’t definitively prove he knows. Maybe he’s confused you for someone else. Or maybe he’s playing a joke on you.

It’s fine.

A wet swallow sounds on the other end, then he continues, “I didn’t know you’d be so attractive in person, though… Bunny.”

Shit.

Electricity floods your veins and short-circuits your brain.

“I—I don’t know what you mean,” you let out an exasperated chuckle and push your chair out behind you. The coiled cord of your phone works as a leash as you pace the width of your desk, “Professor Peña, I’m not sure who you think I am—”

“Don’t do that, sweetheart. Don’t bullshit me,” he purrs, his voice sure and steady, “I know.”

Shock steals your tongue. Your eyes clamp shut. Chest aches. Hands tingle. You take a deep, shaky breath and try to harden your tone, “Know what, exactly?”

Javier ignores your denial, just says, “Come over.”

“Javi—” you start to protest, destroying all pretense as you stare up at the ceiling.

He doesn’t say anything. The line is silent as he waits for a better response.

Eventually, you ask, “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why are you doing this—What do you want?” you drop your voice to a whisper, “Look, if you’re trying to blackmail me—”

“Blackmail you?” he scoffs, “Do you really think I’d do that?”

You scoff, “Well, I don’t know—”

“I promise it’s not like that, sweetheart. I’d just like to have a drink with you in private, so we can… talk.”

“Now who’s bullshitting?”

The speaker crackles with an airy chuckle, “You got me there.”

“So… what do you want with me, Javi?”

You hear the metallic flick of a lighter. A sharp inhale. His words are fuzzy with smoke when he asks, “Haven’t you wondered what it would be like?”

Heat flickers deep inside you. You imagine his hands gripping your body. His mouth hot on your skin. You lean against your desk and shrug, “It doesn’t matter.”

“That’s not an answer.”

You don’t trust yourself to say anything.

He takes a drag off his cigarette, then says, “All that talk about what we would do if we were together. How well you’d take me. What that sweet little cunt would feel like wrapped around—”

“Javi, it was a job,” you whine. It holds little conviction.

He’s quiet. The low, airy hiss of his lungs drawing smoke. Then, “Are you saying it wasn’t real?”

Heat rises to your face. You open your mouth to lie, but you breathe the truth instead, “No.”

“Then come over.”

You bite your lip, looking down at your lecture notes with indecision.

“Please.”

With an exaggerated sigh, you concede, “What’s your address?”

—

Javier’s one-bedroom apartment is small and tidy. The stark white walls are void of decoration, but the tasteful home furnishings, all wood and bronze and leather, tell you this choice is less “sad bachelor pad” than it is “I want my fucking deposit back.”

What was intended to be a dining room area has been made into a home office. A large chestnut bookcase lines one wall, displaying various textbooks and whodunit novels alongside family photos. A matching chestnut desk butts up against the adjacent wall. Stacks of papers and notebooks, most aptly described as an “organized mess,” sit atop the deep wood finish.

You lean on the kitchen counter opposite him and watch him pour room-temperature whiskey into two low tumbler glasses. Each nerve ending in your body buzzes with anticipation. You try to think of things to say, small talk to make, but it all seems flat. Disingenuous. The words all die on your tongue.

This doesn’t seem to bother him, though.

He slides a glass across the counter, then rests his elbows on the surface, eyes flicking around your face as you take a sip.

“What?” you chuckle after swallowing the burning liquid.

He shrugs, “You’re just… much more beautiful than I expected.”

“Oh yeah?” you smirk, meeting his eyes, “What were you expecting?”

He licks his lips and smiles, this big, brilliant, sly smile, “Real answer?”

Fuck, he’s handsome.

“Always,” you grin in return, batting your eyelashes at him as you lean closer onto the counter.

“I imagined you so many different ways, and none of them seemed right,” he confesses, face falling into a frown, “I expected disappointment.”

“Oh,” you wince and nod, dragging the tip of your finger along the rim of your glass, “Well… are you disappointed?”

“No,” he tells you firmly. Your eyes snap to his, and he asks, “Are you?”

“No,” you breathe, searching his face.

A hum sounds from his throat. The air between you is thick and magnetic. It clings to your skin and makes you shiver.

“Tell me something, sweetheart,” he coos, his vocal cords catching an edge, “No bullshit, alright?”

Your heart gallops. You swallow hard and nod for him to continue.

“Do you want to fuck me?”

Everything seems to tilt. Marionette strings pull your spine taut. Your tongue traces your lips before you take a swig from your drink. You can’t look at him, but feel his gaze burning your face.

The counter creaks as he pushes off it. He works his way around it, slowly, deliberately, each step amplifying across your tingling skin, until he’s inches away, hovering there. Heat radiates from his body and pulses between your legs.

Javier purrs your name.

You look over at him and meet those warm, dark eyes, all hooded with want. They drop to your mouth and seem to study your lips. It’s like something tightens around your lungs and squeezes every ounce of air from them.

“I, um…”

It comes out barely a whisper.

His throat rumbles in response. He brushes his knuckles against your cheek, making you shiver, and says, “Look at you, so shy all of a sudden.”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

He nods in acknowledgment, but he scoots closer. Drags the pad of his thumb along your bottom lip. A shudder racks your body and you whimper.

“I didn’t ask you if it’s a good idea, I asked if you want to fuck me,” he murmurs, hot gaze flicking between your eyes and mouth. He slides his hand against your abdomen. It stays there as he steps behind you, pulling you into the heat of his chest, “You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t, though, would you?”

“Javi—”

His lips press a damp spot into your shoulder, the warm tips of his fingers slipping under the fabric of your shirt, drawing soft circles on your bare skin, and he hums, “Hmm?”

You gasp as his touch ripples deeper, jolting your insides, making your eyelids flutter, “We really shouldn’t.”

But you reach back and place your palm on the nape of his neck, gently coaxing him to continue. He leaves a trail of slow, heated kisses to your thudding pulse. The wet velvet of his tongue rolls against you.

“Oh my god,” you breathe, threading his hair through your fingers, pulling him closer.

A pleased rumble sounds from deep inside him. His lips form a seal, sucking the tender skin of your neck. You moan at the wave of pleasure that gushes down your spine.

The hand at your navel slides over the zipper of your pants, following the curve between your legs, applying firm, flush pressure. He holds it there while dragging his tongue up your neck, then catches your earlobe in his teeth and tugs.

“Fuck,” you gasp, and he releases.

“Come on, sweetheart, say it.”

You let your head fall back on his shoulder and roll your hips against his hand. He draws it away and mutters in your ear, “All that dirty talk over the phone, now you can’t use your words?”

“Fuck me,” you whisper, pushing back into the bulge in his jeans, grinding into him.

He sucks in air through his teeth and grazes your cheek with his nose, “What’s that?”

You chuckle and drag a finger along his jawline, “You heard me.”

“Maybe I wanna hear it again.”

“Oh yeah?” you twist around to face him, hooking your hands at the back of his neck.

He drinks you in with this lustful gaze that settles on your lips and nods, then takes a step closer, backing you against the counter, pressing his body into yours.

“Is that what you want?” you drop your voice to a sultry whisper and tilt your head, “You want me to tell you how wet my pussy is for you? How it’s begging to be filled by you?”

A groan escapes his chest and you grin.

“That’s it, isn’t it, baby?”

“It is.”

Your teeth catch your bottom lip for a moment and you shrug, “Do you wanna feel how bad I want you?”

He nods.

“Go ahead, baby.”

Javi searches your face as a hand slips under the waistband of your pants, then under your panties. A thick finger slides between your lips, down the gooey middle of you, and he rasps, “Holy fuck.”

You gasp at the gentle way his touch explores you, moving up and down your folds, spreading your heat.

“That feels good,” you breathe, looking up through your lashes to meet his eyes.

He rubs your clit in soft, concentric motions, holding your gaze, his mouth gaping open when you whimper and nod in approval. Each flick of his wrist accumulates hot and sticky and alive at your core, prodding your pulse, warming your skin. Quiet gasps fall from your lips. Your eyelids flutter and you rake your fingers through his hair.

“Do you like that?” he asks, all rough edges, “Like the way I touch you, baby?”

“Yes,” you whine, “I love the way you play with my pussy, Javi, feels so fucking goood, oh my god—”

His lips crush into yours. You clamber closer, kissing him back, heated and needy, both of you making all these throaty, desperate noises as your mouths meet again and again, licking, tugging, kissing. His touch between your legs quickens, your entire body starts to sweat and tremble as pleasure twists inside you.

You’re overcome with this aching need for more.

“Javi—please,” you beg between kisses, hooking a finger under his belt, “I want you.”

His throat rumbles. He captures your lips in another kiss before grabbing your hand and leading you to his bedroom.

When he flips on the light switch, it reveals a few cluttered surfaces and a four-post bed. You pull your shirt off over your head and shuffle out of your pants as you absorb everything. The suit jackets hanging on the corners of his dresser’s vanity mirror. A stack of mystery novels on his nightstand. The white comforter, rumpled like he tried to make his bed but he’s not very good at it.

So much proof that this person who only existed as a voice in your life for so long is flesh and blood.

It’s surreal.

“Did you ever think something like this would happen?”

You turn to see Javier unbuttoning his shirt, gaze drifting along your body. His pants lay in a pile beside him. An amused smile spreads across your face when you notice his cock standing at attention. He shucks the shirt off his shoulders as you step towards him and slide your palms up his smooth chest.

“What, that I’d fuck a client?”

Javier nods. His hands land on your waist and he guides you back towards his bed, planting a few languid kisses on your jawline, mustache tickling your skin.

“No,” you chuckle, “I had a very strict no meeting policy… as you know.”

The backs of your legs butt up against the bed. You land on the bed with a soft bounce and crawl backwards to allow him space to follow. He does, running his hands along the curves of your body, leaving a trail of wet kisses down your neck, your collarbone, your sternum.

As you tell him, “You were my favorite, though,” he reaches around your back, unhooks your bra, and tosses it aside.

“Was I?”

His heated palms slide up your ribcage, over the slope of your breasts, and he squeezes them. You gasp, eyebrows threading together, and nod. He drags his tongue across your nipple, then closes his lips around it and sucks. A burst of pleasure soaks your insides, sharpening when his teeth catch the bud and grind down.

“Ffffuck,” you whine, meeting his eyes as he moves to the other nipple, licking, sucking, biting. Every motion drips hot down the middle of you.

“Do you like playing with my tits?” you coo while combing your fingers through his hair, making it stick up every which way, “You do, don’t you, baby?”

His eyelids flutter and he moans, nodding, then opens his mouth wider and takes more, hollowing out his cheeks as he sucks.

Your head falls back with a moan, “So fucking good, yes—”

Javi comes off you with a pop and rolls your nipples between his fingers, “So hot.”

You watch him work his way up your body, leaving kisses on your sternum, your collar bone, your cheek, your lips. Your hands slip around his shoulders and you arch your back into him, wrapping your legs around him, soaking up the warmth of his skin, your lips and tongues meeting again and again, exchanging soft moans, hips grinding his cock between your bodies.

“I need you,” he says, eyes all wild and black, “Fuck, I need you—”

“Take me.”

He steals another kiss from your lips before sitting up to pull off your underwear. While tossing them aside, he drinks you in, sliding one heated palm up and down the curves of your body, purring, “Look at you. Fucking perfect.”

You whimper at his praise, at his reverent touch making your nerve endings buzz. He strokes your clit with his thumb, mouth hanging open as your whole body shivers and writhes in reaction.

“So sensitive, mi conejita,” he murmurs, the head of his cock nudging against your entrance, “Do you want it?”

“Yes,” you nod, arching your hips, “I need it—I need to feel you inside me, Javi, please.”

A noise surfaces from deep in his chest, then he breathes, “Fuck, say it again.”

You thread your eyebrows together and bat your lashes at him, shifting your voice into the lusty, airy tone you know gets him going, “I need to feel you inside me, Javi. Need your cock to fill me, make me whole—”

“Fuck,” he groans, hips rocking forward just enough to breach you. A jolt of pleasure shoots up your spine and you moan.

“Do you want more, baby?”

You lick your lips and nod frantically as he works your clit faster, the tip of him teasing you. Pressure builds in your chest and pulls your muscles taut. You roll your hips and try to get more of him, more movement, following the heat pounding through your veins.

“Need more of my cock, baby, that’s what you need?”

“I need more of your cock,” you breathe, eyelids fluttering at the growing fire deep in your belly, “Please please please, Javi, plea—”

“You’re gonna come for me just like this, aren’t you?” his voice only amplifies the feeling, making your heart race, and then he rasps, “Fuck, baby, do it, let me feel you, let it go.”

You do.

It overtakes you, flooding you with pleasure, your whole body shaking from the force while Javi strums your clit fast and hard, cooing, “That’s it, mi conejita, that’s it, come for me baby. Doesn’t that feel good?”

You whimper and nod, unable to form words until your orgasm peters out and leaves you panting, staring up at him. He meets your gaze. His cock pulses inside you.

Seeing him like this, his hair all disheveled, skin dewy with sweat, dark eyes fiery and enamored…

“Come here,” you sit up on your elbow and bring a hand to his chin, coaxing him closer. He follows you down to the bed and kisses you with force, a groan vibrating on your tongue as you drag it against his.

He starts to roll his hips, filling you more and more with each thrust, the thick length of him electrifying your walls.

His lips don’t leave yours. Neither of you pull back to murmur filth to the other. The only noise in the room comes from your humid bodies pressing together, from whines and moans traded through panting breaths as you renew the kiss again and again.

You push back against his thrusts, digging your fingers into the broad expanse of his shoulders, losing yourself in the feel of him stretching you, the heat of his skin clinging to you, his mouth against yours.

Pleasure builds, hot and demanding, between your bodies. He fucks you faster, pumping into you at a frenzied pace that makes you gasp and nod, pulling you higher and higher. His hand grips your jaw and he stares down at you, searching your face, his puffy lips forming an ‘o’ as he watches your face contort.

Neither of you seem in control of the noises escaping you. They’re frantic and breathy and sharp.

At once, it’s like you’re sucked up into a vacuum. All the air evacuates your body and your muscles clench. The noises stop when you reach the crest of the wave, and when ecstasy crashes down, you let out a choked sob, convulsing around him. He groans, low and guttural, hips stuttering as he captures your lips in his and spills inside you.

A few languid kisses pass back and forth before he rolls off you. You follow the persuasion of his arm curling around your shoulders and tuck yourself into his side. He holds you here like this for a while, staring up at his ceiling while your breathing returns to normal, and eventually he asks, “Why was I your favorite?”

You shrug and watch your fingertips draw swirls into his chest, “You wanted me to be me, not your idea of me.”

He hums, grazing his thumb against your shoulder, then says, “I think that’s true for both of us.”

“Yeah?” you shift to meet his eyes.

He nods, dropping his gaze to your mouth. You draw closer to kiss him, slow and soft, and when your lips part, he murmurs, “Mi conejita.”

#javier peña #javier peña x reader #javier peña fanfiction #javier peña x you #javier peña x ofc #javier peña narcos #narcos fanfiction #narcos fic #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character

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leclerc-s · 8 months ago

Text

karma - part five

series masterlist // previous // next

charles_leclerc and natalia_leclerc posted new stories

je vous aimerai pour toujours (i'll love you forever)

"bébé, tu es l'amour de ma vie" (baby, you are the love of my life)

siempre te amare (i'll always love you)

tehe, that's my husband 🥰

hey siri, play slut! (taylor's version)

charles_leclerc posted new stories

how did i get so lucky?

😘��

liked by gracieabrams, sukiwaterhouse, kellypiquet and others

natalia_leclerc no words to describe what it has meant to me to go on this journey with people i love. daisyjonesandthesix has been the greatest, most fulfilling gift. it’s surreal that it has come to an end, but i have made friends for life, and memories that will bring a smile to my face forever. i could’ve never anticipated exactly how much love this show would get and how my life would change. it has just exceeded all of our dreams. i’m so proud of how far we’ve come. congratulations to all of the winners and nominees 💙 thank you televisionacad for this recognition. oh baby, look at us now 🎶

view all comments

user1 charles leclerc, you lucky son of a gun

user2 so cunty of her to be wearing red to the emmys. she owns that color.

landonorris DID YOU MEET TAYLOR SWIFT??

natalia_leclerc maybe. maybe not? charles_leclerc she almost cried. natalia_leclerc traitor landonorris and? i would too, she isn't special.

user3 can charles fight??

user4 red bull may be falling apart but charles will still simp over his wife.

sukiwaterhouse oh baby you looked gorgeous 😘

natalia_leclerc it was all you corazon charles_leclerc please stop flirting with my wife. sukiwaterhouse never you french man. charles_leclerc MONÉGASQUE!! I'M MONÉGASQUE!! sukiwaterhouse french adjacent 🤷🏼‍♀️

francesca.cgomes what a beautiful girl 💙

natalia_leclerc aww baby 💙 user5 praying for my man charles. everyone loves his wife.

user6 you're telling me lightning mcqueen pulled her?? how??

alex_albon believe me, we've been asking ourselves that same question since 2018. landonorris it's a miracle really pierregasly she is the sally to his mcqueen natalia_leclerc and pierre is the mater to his mcqueen

kellypiquet you look amazing red is definitely your color 💙

natalia_leclerc thank you kelly!

max verstappen so does anyone know who our new team principal is going to be??

charles leclerc i'm still trying to wrap my head around daniel not driving this season. sebastian vettel i haven't been told anything yet. natalia leclerc as if they're going to tell me. i only know everything because charles tells me everything.

max verstappen i was hoping someone would know something. i think the anticipation will slowly kill me.

charles leclerc good, then i can become champion. sebastian vettel not that he needs you to be dead to beat you.

max verstappen i guess we'll see won't we?

charles leclerc we will, won't we? natalia leclerc men 🙄

sebastian vettel i think if we don't know anything it's because they haven't found a replacement.

max verstappen then that's stupid, why are they going to announce it when they haven't found someone to replace him?

natalia leclerc because even now we can't get away from spanish papers. someone leaked this shit.

sebastian vettel i have a crazy idea.

charles leclerc how crazy are we talking here?

sebastian vettel i'll be back in like 40 minutes.

max verstappen way to leave us hanging seb

40 minutes later

sebastian vettel i don't know how successful i was but i think they'll think about it.

natalia leclerc seb, what did you do?

sebastian vettel hopefully something worthy of younger seb's chaos.

max verstappen we're fucked

charles leclerc don't be mean. as long as it's not another multi-21 we'll be fine.

sebastian vettel oh my god. let it go. charles leclerc as long as people still hold the inchident against me. i will hold multi-21 against you.

natalia leclerc i don't know why anyone thinks you three are serious people. you're all children.

max verstappen says the woman who's been thiristing over her husband on social media.

"how long did it take you to convince him?" natalia asked. sebastian huffed, "i almost got down on my knees to beg."

"it would not have come to that," kimi replied.

sebastian rolled his eyes, "he was enjoying it. i had to ask his wife to help me convince him. they gave me a deadline to get him on board."

"was there any other option?" max questioned.

"jenson," seb answered at the same time kimi said, "mark."

charles laughed, "oh, would it not have been great to see seb and mark on the same team again?"

"they would've killed each other," max realized.

"no, we wouldn't," sebastian argued. natalia gave him a shit-eating grin, "you still have to see him at the paddock, like every week. he's oscar's manager."

"the mini-me?" kimi quizzed, looking up from his ice cream, because nothing would stop him from enjoying ice cream. everyone at the table looked at him confused, kimi shrugged, "i read what people say. sometimes."

the conversation was stopped by kelly's arrival, "sorry, i'm late. daniil was running late and- nevermind. did you order yet?"

max shook his head, "just kimi, said he needed his ice cream."

"it's very good," kimi replied, "but i don't share."

sebastian huffed again, "i made a huge mistake."

"too late."

taglist: @janeholt3 @vroomvroommuppett @charlesgirl16 @someoneintheworld @iconicbookstore @evans-dejong @minmira95 @leanneg97 @asparklysoul @d3kstar @lollie0024 @magical-spit @gemnetjournal @rockyhayzkid @weekendlusting @ironspdy @namgification @moonyzsworld @Fall-bambi @emilyval1 @lorenakaspersen @spilled-coffee-cup @butterfly-lover @blushmimi @mgmoore @lovely-blackinnon @six-call @bingewatche @vroomvroom95 @lesliiieeeee @itscrzy @alymeddar @fletchingarcher @casperlikej @minmira95

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¡leclerc-s speaks! hope i didn't let anyone down with the kimi reveal, which due to popular demand, i just had to go with him. trust when i say i would've gone with seb if i didn't already have plans for him. listen, i love ollie, he is a baby, and i just had to include him somehow. so i took creative liberties. realistically this couldn't happen but oh well, poaching him and arthur was definitely seb's idea. also, please don't hate me for the daniel thing but liam lawson deserves an f1 seat and he's getting one in this story. at least i didn't get rid of him completely.

¡disclaimer! this is in no way making assumptions about the people involved in this story, this is all fake. it is a fanfiction please don't take any of what is said seriously. this is all for entertainment purposes and as a creative outlet for me. enjoy!

#leclerc-s #karma series #f1 instagram au #f1 x oc #f1 oc #f1 smau #f1 social media au #f1 #formula one #f1 fic #formula 1 fic #f1 x female oc #charles leclerc x female oc

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thewritetofreespeech · 2 months ago

Text

Night 82: Practice

words: 2193

rating: E

pairing: Gale x Tav

summary: Gale's first day at Blackstaff Academy was fast approaching, so he and Tav decide to practice with a little student/teacher role play

tags: heterosexual sex (m/f), roleplay, student/teacher roleplay, all members are of age, use of magic, fingering, cunnilingus, rough sex, bend-me-over-the-desk-daddy, Gale is a nervous nelly.

Ao3 - 1000 Night Series

---------------------------🟣----------------------------------

His first day at Blackstaff Academy was fast approaching, and Gale didn’t think he had been this anxious since it was his last first day as a student.

Being offered a teaching position at his alma mater was a dream come true. To be so respected for his magical abilities to instruct others, and perhaps caution them through his follies, was something Gale didn’t realize he wanted so much until he got it. He wanted to make a good first impression. To that end, he was running himself in circles trying to get everything just right. Churning his stomachs into knots in the process.

“I really think it’s going to be fine Gale.” Tav told him, from her safe place on the couch amongst his chaos, trying to soothe him.

“But if I can’t find this damned book then my lesson won’t make any sense!” He insisted.

“Are you going to read the whole book to the class on the first day?”

“Well…no.”

“Are you going to assign them to read it on the first day?”

“Gods no. The text in this book are far too advanced for novice apprentices to even comprehend, much less replicate.”

“Then why do you need it?”

Gale stopped his rummaging. Realizing in his wife’s perfectly boiled down words that she was right. He sighed. “I just…I want to make a good impression on the students…”

“You’re Gale Dekarios,” Tav told him, as if he had forgotten, “formally Gale of Waterdeep, Mystra’s Chosen, and one of the saviors of Faerun. I think the impression has already been made.”

Gale chuckled once. Leave it to Tav to give him a boost of confidence, should his coffers ever run low. “Yes, well, now I want to add ‘teacher extraordinary’ to my apparently long resume.” He came over to sit next to Tav on her couch; in what little space was left to her. “I’ve just never taught anyone before. What if I’m not any good at it?”

“You taught me.” Tav reminded him. The two of them both mentally drifting back to that night in the woods where they shared a moment of magic, connecting with the Weave.

“That is different. A simple incantation done by practiced, beautiful hands.” He told her. “But teaching wizards who wish to master the Weave, to be the foundation on which they build their temple of study, it’s a lot of pressure. If I fail at a spell or incantation, I have nothing to show for it except a sore head and perhaps a few singed eyebrows, but if I fail them….”

“Why don’t we practice?” Tav suggested suddenly.

“Practice?” Gale repeated curiously. As if even that simple concept was lost to him (his students were truly doomed).

“Yeah! Practice! You go through your whole first day lesson and I shall play the part of your eager, attentive student.”

Gale laughed. He had to admit, an eager & attentive Tav was something that was conjuring images not fit for a classroom, but her concept was sound in theory. “Alright. Let’s give it a whirl. But if we’re going to do this,” Gale waved his hand and in a blink, they were no longer standing in their living room but a memory of his own former classroom, “let’s do it right.”

Tav beamed and looked around the illusionary room in awe. Gale wondering if it was the visions of room or the details of his illusion that had her undivided attention. He’d have to show her one day. Walk her around the school. Show her the gardens. Where he used to hide out from the headmaster when he was in trouble. His classroom both then and now. He couldn’t wait.

“First things first, my students will always have to show up to class in proper uniform attire.” He snapped his fingers and Tav flinched as her outfit changed from her common clothes into Blackstaff Academy robes. Making her giggle.

“Of course, Professor.” Gale felt his back go a little straighter when she said that.

He watched as she went over to one of the desks and sat in the front row. Bright eyes. Bright smile. Chin in her hands as the picture of enthusiasm, and the perfect distraction. “Alright, teach me Professor Dekarios.”

Oh…this may have been a bad idea….

For all his wayward thoughts, not fit for a member of the illustrious Blackstaff Academy, Gale felt he did very well for a practice run. Tav took her role very seriously. She paid attention. She asked questions. Hells she even took notes. If he didn’t think about the fact that she was his wife and they were actually standing in their living room for a moment, he would have truly believed that all of this was real.

“So, how did I do?”

“You did wonderfully. Your other students are going to love you.”

Gale smiled softly at Tav, now that they were standing together in classroom like any other post lecture chit-chat, and tucked her hair behind her ear. “You’ll always be my favorite student though.”

“Oh really?” That grin that Gale knew all too well coiled its way on to Tav’s lips. She took a step closer. Leaning her weight forward into his personal space while her hands just barely rested on his hips. “Do favorite students get preferential treatment?”

“They certainly do.” His own hands reach out for her. Closing the gap between them as he stared into her eyes. “If they’re good.”

“Oh, I’m a very good girl.” A whine bubbled up Gale’s throat, just about to come out before he swallowed it back down. “So, what do I get, Professor?”

Gale lunged forward with his lips to capture Tav’s in a kiss. Unable to hold back anymore. He was almost ashamed to admit how turned on he was. Using his new, illustrious, highly respected job as a form of role play but Gods was he hard.

He kissed her recklessly. Still with the presence of mind to keep his illusion intact as he turned them around, so Tav’s back was against the desk. “Sit.” Instantly, she did as she was told. Like the word was some manner of incantation lock like what he just covered in his lecture. “That’s my good girl.” Gale doesn’t miss Tav’s own whimper that doesn’t stay locked inside her throat. “You did so well in class today. Eager. Attentive.” There were those words again. Only this time he could put them into a different kind of practice. “I think eager young students should get rewards. Positive encouragement is the cornerstone of my teaching methods.” With the tip of his finger, Gale pressed against the spot where her collarbones met and slid down. His finger acting like a knife to his illusion as it ‘cut away’ her uniform. The long robes peeling back from her until they were no more than an open cloak around her naked body.

“Gale,” Tav hissed once her skin was exposed; likely from the cool rush of air on her skin, or the brush of magic tickling away as the illusion gave way to some reality. He gave her one stern, but playfully, look and she instantly corrected to, “oh..I mean…Professor.” His clever, clever girl.

He kissed her again. Holding the back of her head close to him. Tav then gasped loudly into his mouth. Her head tilting back. “What’s this you’ve brought me then, hm?” Gale asked as he continued to touch her. His whole hand cupping her while his fingers played with the wet slit they found there. “Certainly doesn’t feel like an apple for your teacher. But maybe it’s just as sweet.”

Falling to his knees between hers, Gale pushed her legs apart to devour her. Hungry for her to the point of drooling almost as much as her cunt. Her hands braced behind her on the desk as she tilted back. Her face towards the sky as she moaned for him. “Oh Gods Gale…! Mhmm….! Fuck right there!”

“Such language from my most gifted student.” Gale scolded as he pulled back.

Tav whined. Her body literally twitching with desire. “Gale…mmm..Professor…” He rewarded her by sliding his index & middle finger over her entrance, between her wet folds and her clit, for remembering their game. “Please don’t stop….”

“Ssh..ssh…ssh…” Gale hushed Tav gently, though his fingers never stopped what they were doing. He then slipped them in. Her opening eager to accept but clenching frantically for want of something more. “Shall we continue your oral exam, or do you want to move on to harder lessons.”

“Harder lessons Professor, please.” He doesn’t want to think of his wife as a slut, but the way she spread her legs with his fingers still inside her, leaning back on his desk, non-verbally begging Gale to fuck her, she looked downright filthy. “I’m ready for a more indepth education.”

Pulling his fingers free from her to use both hands on his belt to get it off faster, Gale pulled out his throbbing cock and thrust it inside her. He didn’t even bother with the rest of his clothes. Behaving as if they had no time for him to take them off. Like someone could walk in from another class at any moment, they were so lost in the illusion. Tav didn’t seem to mind as she moaned greedily against his ear. Her hands fisting in his shirt. “Fuck me hard, Professor. Teach me a lesson.” Gale growled and nipped at her ear. Tav squealed before descending into moans as he did what she asked.

The desk wasn’t as helpful as one would have thought. It lent to the aesthetic and overall fantasy of the moment but didn’t provide a lot of leverage in their current position. All a matter of perspective though, and what kind of teacher would Gale be if he wasn’t a problem solver?

He pulled his cock out, all shiny and wet, before he moved Tav from the desk and flipped her over. A much better position as her hands now braced her in the front and her ass stuck out towards him; illusionary robes long gone now as either Gale willed them to vanish or his spell was cracking on its own with his attention divided, he couldn’t quite tell. Taking only a moment to admire the new vision before him, like any good lover of art, Gale thrust back into Tav hard and continued their rough game.

The sounds she made were invigorating. Loud shouts. Breathy moans. Sharp cries of ecstasy.

“Mmm…Professor…” She was completely lost in the fantasy now. “You’re being so rough…”

“That’s what you asked for, isn’t it.” Tav groaned as his hand wrapped around his throat to tilt it up towards him. His chest against her back as he whispered in her ear. “For me to fuck you hard. Even before you asked with your words. Staring up at me with those big eyes from your desk. You asked for this.”

“Yes.” Her nails scratched against the wood and some muffled version of the word ‘more’ fell from her lips.

“Do you do that for all your professors? Look up at them with those big, beautiful eyes for attention? For praise?”

“N-No.”

“Why is that?”

“I only want you.”

It was Gale’s turn to groan, and he turned Tav’s head as far as it would go to pull her in for a big, sloppy kiss. During this, he felt Tav’s wall shutter around him. Her body quake as her hands fought to keep purchase on the desk. Destroying the imaginary papers scattered on top of them. He lasted a few more thrusts before he came too. His resolve snapping like an overstrung cord, along with his spell.

Without his illusions, their mount disappeared and they fell to the floor. Gale tried to brace them as much as he could to cushion the fall. Feeling the pain in his shoulder though, after he successfully ‘saved them’, he had to wonder why he didn’t conjure some real cushions. “Are you alright?”

“I’m better than alright.” Tav told him. She didn’t seem phased at all by their stumble. But then again stumbles, of any kinds, never seemed to keep her down. She pulled herself free from him but then turned around to face him. Head in her hand with her elbow on the floor. “So, Professor, how did I rate?”

“Oh, full marks all around.” He teased back. Pulling her in for a proper kiss now that they were facing each other. “But I always have time to offer extra credit, for my most industrious students.”

Tav giggled. The sound and that smile infectious. “Do you feel better about your first day now?”

“Well, I can’t do any of that with my students.” He quipped. “But the first part, yes. I think it really helped. I feel I really have a command of it now, although that might be the residual endorphins talking.” Tav snorted, but then curled up beside him.

They seemed content to lay there for a while on the floor. Enjoying the moment. “I still wish I could find that book though.”

“Gale!”

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mournings-stars · 9 months ago

Note

so lute and velvette… opinions on what they would like to receive as gifts? 👀

OHHH OK i got carried away and did how theyd react to gifts but trust i followed the prompt at first

so lute doesn’t like gifts (this is a lie). if you get her anything she’ll just throw it away (she will treasure that shit til the day she dies). just dont get her a work-related gift and she’ll love it forever

velvette on the other hand loves gifts — she expects them and you know it’d be a death wish to get her anything related to her work — even if its shallow, she’d rather have that because something work related feels undermining

say you get lute flowers? she’ll appreciate them in private because no one ever gets her anything, and she doesn’t know when she’ll get a spontaneous “they made me think of you” gift again

get velvette flowers? that woman is expecting flowers with every gift you give her because flowers can’t be a gift again silly, now they’re just common courtesy

but don’t worry, velvette is gushing about you all over social media because you meet her expectations so well — she posts things like “never settle for less” and its more and more every time

lute is discreet about her fawning. rather than broadcasting her appreciation, she’ll find herself staring at the flowers she’s been keeping healthy with fresh trims and water whenever it was needed and thinking she should probably do something to show her gratitude — so that you weren’t just giving her something unwarranted ofc. not because she wanted you to start giving each other gifts

of course that would be exactly what happens

i don’t think velvette would put too much effort into getting you a gift, like shes not thinking about what you might like in return or anything, but if she sees something you’ll like?? (and she knows what you like) best believe she’s getting that no mater the price

and vel is not the type to take off price tags. not because she wants you to feel bad about her spending so much money, but because she wants you and everyone else to know that she’s going to do everything possible to keep you happy, so that price tag going on her story with a casual “anything for my baby”, is 1000% percent a threat to the world

i have half a mind to think she makes sure to buy you the most obscenely expensive things when you’re not there to object and tells you it was final sale, but “it’s okay, love, we’ll go and get you something else, yeah?” and thats how she gets you because she knows you love her gifts, and she will be getting you more

with lute, you’d definitely be the one buying things on a whim. however, she would make you return things that were too pricey, only to find something she’d want to get you — conveniently she’d forget to check the tag, or she’ll talk to the shop owner until she got the price down

“what about this?” she’d ask when she saw something she wanted to get you, and you’d have to ask her whether it was for you her her. she’d lie, obviously, and end up finding a way to give it to you in the future

lute would also tell you not to get her anything then be walking with adam down the promenade and tell you to “catch” as she tossed you something she got for you

and that girl is 100% watching to see you fawn over it, smiling when she sees how excited you are only to be pulled out of it by you coming back to give her something in return because you just knew if she told you not to get anything, that meant she got you something. like it’s basically a competition at this point and she counts that as a loss — and lute does not lose

velvette, on the other hand? not a competition; she’s winning either way. she has a partner who gets her gifts that meet her expectations, and she has a partner she can give gifts that meet her expectations

but lute’s competitiveness about gifts is hot so who’s really winning…

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel headcanon #hazbin lute #hazbin hotel heaven #hazbin velvette #lute hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel lute #lute x reader #lute #hazbin hotel velvette #velvette x reader #velvette hazbin hotel #hazbin headcanons #hazbin x reader #lute headcanons #velvette headcanons #hazbin

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simpforrooster · 1 year ago

Text

falling for a girl in purple & gold.

Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x F!Reader

summary: your brother convinces you to join him at his tailgate. you meet a gorgeous blonde, who happens to root for the opposing football team.

t/w: lots of mention of alcohol. she/her pronouns. cursing. instalovey.

a/n: i’ve been dying to write something like this. this fic is def based off megan maroney’s ‘tennessee orange’ and conner smith’s ‘orange & white.’ i left readers school pretty ambiguous until the verrrrrry end. i’m an lsu girlie 💜💛 so i needed a little self-service.

Stepping into the tailgate tent, nostalgia fills your body. You are transported immediately back to your time in college. Cheering on your alma mater with your sorority sisters. Hooking up with those random frat guys who definitely showed you a good time. You’d have to remember to thank your brother for making you come.

“Sis!” Speak of the devil. Your brother envelops you into a huge bear hug, as if he didn’t see you one week prior at your family’s standing dinner date. You return his hug.

“I am so glad you made it!”

Your brother began introducing you to several of his friends who were taking up space in the tailgate tent. If he doesn’t know them from his fraternity days, then he knows them from the Navy.

“Two more guys are planning to show,” your brother says. “Guys from my time in Miramar.” You understand this to mean from his time at TOPGUN.

Lucky for you, you’ve been schooled in all things naval aviation thanks to the burly guy you call a brother. There was no way he was going to have a sister have zero knowledge about the Navy.

His words, not yours.

Leaving you to ponder, your brother begins mixing drinks. He hands you his “special” after a few minutes. His special being vodka, with a tiny splash of sprite and cranberry juice.

You take the drink from him, raising your brows.

“It’s the first tailgate of the year, sis. Go big or go home.”

You’d much rather go home than consume a ton of alcohol in this heat.

“Well if it ain’t Bozo!” you hear a deep voice call, with a sliiiiight country accent.

“Hey guys!” your brother calls with the enthusiasm of a kid who just unwrapped a PS5 from under the tree. “I’m glad y’all made it.”

You turn and take in the source of that accent, and almost spill your drink. Your brother never told you he was friends with Adonis.

His blonde hair fans out at his neck, beneath a nice Stetson, like he’s skipped a few haircuts. A pair of jeans hug his hips, and across his chest, the school colors of the enemy.

University of Texas. You were sure that burnt orange wouldn’t look good on anyone, but this man is proving that notion wrong. Your eyes lock with his, and he makes sure you see his eyes trail down your body.

When those green eyes meet yours, he drops his right eye in a slow wink.

“Bozo, I didn’t know you colluded with the enemy,” you say to your brother, nodding toward the handsome blonde.

“Ah, well,” Bozo starts, rubbing his hand behind his neck, “not everyone is perfect.”

“What do they call you?” you ask the blonde, not being able to take not knowing his name any longer.

“Hangman.” He fixes you with a gorgeous smirk, and tips that cowboy hat.

“Hangman?” you question, cocking an eye brow.

Those eyes peer into yours. “Yes ma’am.” The way he says those two words has you thinking of all the instances he could say them in.

“What do they call you when you’re not flying a plane?”

“Jake. And your name, pretty lady?”

“Y/n.” You stick a hand out toward him. Jake reaches forward, taking your hand lightly into yours. The two of you stand there, shaking hands for what feels like an eternity. Neither one of you wanting to break the contact.

“Fuck, Bozo. You never mentioned how beautiful your sister is,” Jake says to your brother, but never taking his eyes off you.

“Because you’re a fucking playboy, Bagman,” he says.

“Funny,” Jake comments.

And you’d gladly let him.

“A playboy, huh?” You quip.

Jake shrugs a shoulder. “Maybe I just haven’t met the right lady yet.”

The way he peers into your eyes has you sipping your mixed drink in order to hold some of your sanity. This man has the potential to ruin you.

And you’d gladly welcome it.

Grabbing his hand, you pull him toward the beer pong table. “Be my partner.” You fix him with one of your award winning smiles.

“Anything for you, darlin’,” he drawls. Gah, that accent is gonna be the death of you. The two of you fall into a steady rhythm, beating your brother and another aviator, Rooster, effortlessly.

Jake holds up his hand for a high five. When your hand meets his, his fingers lace between yours. He pulls you into him. You can’t be sure if the vodka is making you lightheaded, or the way your body feels pressed against his.

“I’m having the time of my life with you, sweet thing,” he says into your ear. You giggle into his chest. You actually giggle. You’ve never giggled in your life.

“What would you say if I needed to kiss you?” Jake asks against your temple. Spying your brother working the makeshift bar, you grab Jake’s hand. You lead Jake down an alley situated between two class buildings.

“I’d say, kiss me, Hangman,” you say, grabbing his ugly, orange jersey to pull him toward you. One of his hands braces his weight against the wall, just outside your shoulder. He has you completely caged in, that strong body hovering over yours. Jake reaches up to pull his hat from his head. He casually holds the hat up, blocking anyone from seeing the two of you.

Between Jake’s kisses and your brother’s mixed drink, you’re feeling all kinds of good. Not wanting any of it to stop, you grip his jersey tighter, pulling him as close as you can get him.

A low groan escapes his mouth, and the fact that he’s seemingly affected by you the same way you are by him has you reeling.

“A gentleman would at least take you out first before kissing you like this,” he murmurs.

“Oh yeah?” you question, not really letting his words soak in.

“Mhmm. Too bad I am not feeling too gentlemanly, right now.” Jake deepens the kiss, and your hands leave his jersey and thread through his hair.

“Good,” you breathe.

Your watch buzzes, pulling you from Jake’s tantalizing kisses. Taking a peek, your brother’s name appears across it.

Where the fuck are you? We have to go into the stadium.

Jake pulls his phone from his back pocket. “Bozo,” he murmurs.

“Where are your seats?” You ask, still breathless from his kissing.

“Next to you,” he says, placing once more kiss to your lips. Pulling you from the wall, he plops his hat onto your head.

“Fuck, my dads going to be so pissed I’m falling for a girl in purple & gold,” Jake says shaking his head. “Lead the way, darlin’.”

masterlist.

#top gun maverick #top gun #top gun maverick fic #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin x you #jake seresin fanfiction #jake seresin fluff #jake seresin x oc #jake seresin #jake hangman x reader #hangman top gun #hangman x you #hangman oneshot #hangman x oc #hangman x reader #hangman seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin

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writingonleaves · 10 months ago

Text

and all at once, you’re all i want (i’ll never let you go) - jack hughes

pairing: jack hughes x original female character

warnings: literally nothing. fluff! some minor worship of nina hischier (the goat), a little love letter to my alma mater

title: "king of my heart" by taylor swift

word count: 10.3k

author's note: first fic in the new year is for @wyattjohnston 's winter fic exchange 2k24!! i had the absolute pleasure of writing for @wildrangers <3 taylor, i hope you enjoy this as much as i enjoyed putting it together and demi, thank you for your endless hard work for putting this on!!

four times where jack hughes and ashley grassie showed up for each other and one time where everyone showed up for them

*****

one - two months

“Jack, are you sure about this?” Ashley asks, fiddling with the silver rings on her fingers.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” He responds confidently, sparing a look at her from the drivers seat before turning his eyes back on the road. “Everyone’s expecting you.”

“You told them?”

“That my girlfriend was coming with me to a New Year’s party? Of course.” He squeezes her thigh lightly. “They’re excited to meet you. And not while we’re working.”

“I’m excited to meet them too.”

“You sure?” He teases lightly. “You’ve been quiet all afternoon.”

“Yeah, yeah. Sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry about.” They stop at a red light, and he leans over to kiss her cheek. “Ash, baby, they’re gonna love you.”

“But you don’t know that,” she protests softly.

“I do, actually. Because everyone loves you.”

She rolls her eyes. “You can’t promise me that everyone’s gonna even like me.”

He shrugs. “I’ll prove you wrong. You’ll see.” He tugs at her gold sweater. “Is this new?”

“Yeah. Seems fitting for the occasion. Sparkles equals New Years, right?”

“I like it a lot.”

“I know what you’re doing,” she deadpans.

He smirks. “And what might that be?”

“Distracting me.”

“Maybe so. You’re so smart, Miss Columbia Grad.”

“Jack,” she whines, making him laugh.

He picks up her hand and kisses the back of it. “Trust me, okay? It’ll be great. And I’ll be with you all night.”

Ashley swallows, before forcing herself to nod.

The thing is, after two months of dating officially (she’s not counting the month beforehand when there wasn’t a label on things even though there should’ve been), there are still important parts of each other’s lives they have yet to experience together. She’s gone to a few of his games, but has never met any of his teammates (except for Luke, but he doesn’t count), choosing to meet Jack back at his place after instead of waiting for him at the rink. She also doesn’t count that one Devils game she had to fill in for, which is how she met Jack in the first place. The few times he’s invited her along when he does go out with them, she’s been busy with other things.

New Year’s is kinda a big time to be meeting new people. People that mean a lot to Jack. But that could just also be all in Ashley’s head. She’s never really done this before. The last serious boyfriend she had was in high school where everyone knew each other. There was no need for introductions.

Jack squeezes her hand. “Thank you.”

“For?”

“Coming with me to this. Taking off work early. I appreciate it a lot.”

She shrugs casually. “It’s about time, right?” She pointedly ignores the look he shoots her, because she doesn’t want him to know how nervous she really is.

Before they know it, Jack’s pulled into the driveway of the Toffolis and her hands start sweating again. She gathers the flowers on her lap and the wine bag as Jack rounds the car and opens the door for her. He grabs the bag, presses a kiss atop her head and hand in hand, they walk to the front door. She lets Jack take the lead as he just walks in. They walk into the kitchen area, as Cat pulls her into a hug and thanks them graciously for the flowers and wine.

It turns out that Ashley really does have nothing to worry about. Getting thrown into a whirlwind of introductions and new names is a lot, but she doesn’t mind. A wave of comfort crashes over her as Luke practically hauls her into a hug.

She finds herself besides Nico after he hands her a glass of wine. “You’re a journalist, right?” He asks.

“I am.”

“Do you ever watch Jack’s media interviews?”

Ashley giggles. “I do once in awhile. Trust me, I have my thoughts. I also met him for the first time from that. And you, technically.”

“Right, right. Will we ever see you in the locker room again?”

“Probably not. I was just filling in for Danny. On the rare chance I do sports, it’s usually for the Jets. Besides, better to watch and support you all without any stake professionally.”

“What do you usually report on?” Nico asks with genuine curiosity.

She perks up, like anytime she gets to talk about her job. As she talks, using her hands animatedly despite one of them holding a drink, Jack looks on from a distance with a lovesick look in his eyes.

“She is way too cool for you,” Dawson says, fixing his cap.

Jack rolls his eyes. “Shut up.” But Jack knows his teammate’s right.

Jack’s not clingy, perse, but it’s hard for him to watch Ashley just…be and not be touching a part of her. Even if it’s just sliding up against her so her body is pressed alongside his, he just wants to be near her all the time.

(Quinn once sent some random thing he found on Instagram about love languages a few years back and Jack had remembered absolutely roasting him. But maybe he had a point)

“So,” Nicole starts, refilling both their glasses up with champagne a bit later in the evening. “Why Jack?”

Ashley snorts. “Your guess is as good as mine.” From beside his girlfriend, Jesper barks out a laugh and from next to Ashley, Jack pouts. Ashley laughs, leaning into Jack’s side. “I’m kidding. Mostly. I was hesitant at first though.”

“Oh, yeah. He told me about this,” Jesper says. “Said he chased you down the hall after post-game media and asked you out?”

“Sounds about right.”

“And you said yes to that?” Jesper asks. Jack whacks his teammate in the stomach.

“Not right away,” Ashley admits. “He gave me his number and told me to text him if I was interested. And I ended up being interested.”

“Lucky for him,” Nicole chuckles.

Jack squeezes Ashley’s waist fondly. “Lucky for me.”

She listens on in interest as Nicole talks about how she and Jesper got together. Somewhere throughout the conversation, she can’t help but let her mind drift. They’ve been together for years now, been living together for a bit and are looking to move into a house. She literally moved away from Sweden full-time for him.

Ashley swallows as Jack asks about how their house search is going. There’s a very little chance that Jack will be leaving Jersey anytime within the next half decade. But her mother warned her that his career could take him places in the future unexpectedly.

And in a way, so could Ashley’s. But it’s not as easy.

She scolds herself for even thinking this far. They’ve been dating for literally two months. That’s nothing in the grand scheme of things. They’re celebrating entering the new year today, but she has no idea if they’ll even be together for all of it.

She’s hoping they are. God, she really fucking hopes so. But she could hope until the end of the world and have it fall short. She smoothes her sweater out with her suddenly-clammy hands, chugging the whole glass of champagne before putting the flute down on a nearby table. She excuses herself politely to use the bathroom, which she does, before getting some air.

She definitely looks a bit crazy outside on the Toffoli’s porch in the dead of winter, but she doesn’t mind the biting edge of cold. It’s grounding her, actually.

“Was looking for you.”

Ashley doesn’t even look at Jack, humming as she hears him walking out to stand next to her. “Did my sparkle sweater give me away?”

“No, Neeks did, actually. Said he saw you walking out.” She finally looks at him with his eyebrows furrowed. “You’re not cold?”

“Don’t even think about offering me your jacket,” she warns. “I know you’re only wearing a t-shirt underneath.”

“Then come back inside so we both don’t die.”

“In a minute,” she promises.

He huffs, rubbing his hands up and down her arms to try and generate some heat. “Everything good?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Just, you know, minorly freaking out at her boyfriend’s teammate’s place about the fact that she might be falling in love with him even though it hasn’t been that long and what a future could look like for them and how that future could fall apart in an instant.

So regular New Year’s Eve thoughts.

“Unlike you, I don’t have a college degree, much less two,” Jack grins. “I can’t read minds.”

“And you think I can?” She jokes back weakly. He just chuckles. She continues. “Your friends are nice. I like them a lot.”

He lights up anytime someone he loves gets brought up in conversation. “Yeah, they’re cool. They like you too.”

“That’s good,” she says softly.

He taps her forehead with his pointer finger. “Countdown’s soon. Come back inside?” He laces their fingers together.

“You gonna kiss me at midnight?”

“Think so.”

“You only think so?”

Jack smirks, kissing her deeply. “Shut up.”

Ashley is absolutely floored.

two - one year and one month

Cam’s wedding crept up on her.

Of course, Ashley knew it was coming, but still. Though she was surprised when Jack told her that he was free of games on that particular early November weekend somehow, only having to miss an optional practice and that he would notify the coaching staff far in advance.

It’s not the act of bringing Jack that she’s nervous about. Cam and Amanda, his fiance, came into the city a few months ago and they all grabbed lunch before heading to a game at The Rock that night. She’ll never forget how ultimately “traitor-like to the Bruins” Cam felt, Ashley and Amanda finding it hilarious. They both had a good time though, and that’s all that matters, and Cam, who has always looked out for her even before she had ever asked, subtly gave his approval.

(“I’ll admit my assumptions about him were wrong,” Cam had said. “He’s awesome, and he really cares about you. If he’s the one, I won’t be mad about it. He’s very lucky.”)

It’s more of a particular person that’s going to be at the wedding.

Weirdly, when she and Alex broke up way back when, one of the thoughts that circled her mind months after was exactly this. If and when the day of Cam’s wedding came, and they were both still close to him, they’d both be there. And here they are.

She’s over him — obviously, considering she’s in a happy, long-term relationship and it’s been four years — but how do you prepare to see your ex-boyfriend when the last time you saw him you had just broken up and you were in tears?

She and Jack drive up to Cape Cod early the day of the wedding and she feels a bit bad that he’s driving after he had a game last night and has one in just two days but he doesn’t mind, happy to be driving as long as she’s in the passenger seat next to him. They’re switching off anyways, and she had driven the first half. Cam and Amanda rented out a bunch of rooms at a few inns for their guests so her and Jack will get ready there before heading to the venue.

From a quick rundown Cam gave her a month ago when they caught up over the phone, she’ll at least be familiar with a good amount of people at the wedding. She’s excited to see them all again and catch up, those memories that were bittersweet at some point, all water under the bridge so many years later.

It’s what you get for dating within a friend group. Ultimately, at some point, sides are chosen.

At the end of the day, it’s Cam, someone who has always been there for her since they were 16, even when she didn’t necessarily do the same. He’s given his friendship selflessly to her for over a decade. The least she can do is come to his wedding to celebrate.

And she has Jack with her. Nothing can go wrong with Jack by her side.

“You okay?” Jack’s voice breaks her out of her thoughts as he squeezes her thigh, sneaking a look before focusing back on the road. “You’re quiet. You’re rarely quiet in the car.”

“It’s a 5 hour drive, Jack.”

“I’ve been playing country nonstop for the last half an hour and you haven’t chirped me once.” She starts playing with his fingers and his eyebrows furrow. “Alright. What’s going on, baby? What are you thinking about?”

“You know what I’m thinking about.” She shoots back with no malice.

He sighs, linking their hands together and bringing them up to his lips to kiss her knuckles. “Yeah. I got you though. I’ll be with you the whole day.”

“It’s dumb, really. Four years. And I haven’t thought about him in a long time.”

He shrugs. “He was your first heartbreak, and you haven’t seen him since. This is gonna be some sort of closure, even if it’s four years later.”

“You seem awfully cool about this, considering, you know, your current girlfriend is lowkey freaking out about seeing her ex again.”

“I’m not worried,” he replies easily. “You need this closure. I wasn’t smart like you back then and actually saw my exes probably way sooner than I should’ve. Besides, I’m the one on your arm now. Not him. I’m not pressed.”

She scoffs at yet another country song playing and skips it, snorting when ‘Suburban Legends’ by Taylor Swift comes on. How fitting. “I’m definitely hyping it up in my head. It’s nothing. And Cam told me that he purposefully put us at separate tables, in case Alex says some questionable shit while drunk.”

“No worries about you saying anything questionable?”

“Compared to Alex? No way.” He snorts, amused. But he knows enough about his girlfriend’s ex-boyfriend to not push it. “I wonder if he’s bringing someone. God, I hope he is.”

“Why? Don’t want to rub it in his face that you’re happy and in love?”

“That’s mean,” she says airily. “No. I hope he’s bringing someone because I want to know what kind of girl can tolerate his ass. I did, but I was 20 and stupid. I wanna see what kind of girl can tolerate him at 26.”

“Does he know I’m coming?”

“Cam?”

He snorts. “No. Alex.”

“Who knows? Even if he does, he probably doesn’t care and isn’t overthinking it like I am.”

“I think you’d be surprised,” she looks at him, confused and he bites his lip. “Even if they play it off, guys are affected by that stuff more than you’d think.”

“What is there to be affected by?”

“You,” Jack says simply. “Not that I’m biased or anything, but you leave quite an impact on everyone you meet. And that lucky ass got to date you. As someone who also has had that privilege, I can relate a bit.”

Ashley chuckles before squeezing his hand. “Thanks for coming with me. I know your schedule is really busy with the season and everything-”

“You don’t need to thank me. Isn’t half of having a significant other just bringing them as plus ones to weddings?”

“Fair.” She leans her head on his shoulder momentarily as he pushes the sunglasses on top of his head to his face. “Thank you, though. I feel bad that you’re missing practice.”

He snorts. “Don’t.”

“They didn’t give you a hard time?”

“Not really. It’s an optional, anyways. Nico just told us to have fun and I think Lindy has a soft spot for you somehow. I’m excited. I like Cam. And I’m happy to be here with you.” He smirks, adding. “Come on, baby. Did you think I was gonna leave you to dry when your ex is gonna be there?”

“You don’t know anybody at the wedding. And Cam grew up in a hockey-loving family from Boston. There’s bound to be people who recognize you.”

“So I’m the arm candy for the night. That works perfectly for me.”

They arrive at the inn just past 1, and decide to stop by a nearby cafe to grab a quick bite. Jack decides to take a short nap before they have to start getting ready and head out while she scrolls on her phone and plays with his hair since his head is on her lap. Occasionally she finds herself staring outside the window at the water with a smile. Even if not in the summer, the Cape is beautiful.

Once it hits 4:15, she figures that she should start getting ready, but she can’t move without disturbing Jack since he’s still sleeping soundly on her lap. She gently whispers his name and presses a few kisses on his forehead as his breathing changes, groaning a bit as he stretches and opens his eyes.

“Time to go?”

“In like, an hour. I need to start getting ready.”

He hums, puckering his lips and she takes the hint, kissing him soundly twice before ushering him off her lap. She lays out the few makeup products she has, moisturizing her face before putting light foundation and concealer on. As always, she focuses more attention on her eyeshadow, deciding to add a bit of gold glitter to compliment her pink dress. She clips a matching pink bow in, liking the way it blends with the natural brown of her hair. She decides to save the lipstick for right before they leave and turns to Jack, who’s buttoning his shirt.

“What do you think?” He looks up as he’s buttoning his cuffs. “Too much glitter?” She asks.

“Never too much glitter. You look beautiful.”

She looks at his blazer and tie that he’s laid out on the bed, looking at him with minor confusion. “Since when do you own that tie?”

“Since last week when I bought it.”

She looks at where her dress is hanging. “It matches my dress.”

“Yes it does.”

She looks towards him as he tucks his shirt in, a sudden wave of love rushing through her heart. “I love you.”

He looks up and immediately walks over to her, placing a hand on her waist and kissing her. “I love you too.”

She puts on her dress quickly, smiling when she doesn’t even have to ask Jack as he comes over to help her zip it up, pressing a chaste kiss on her shoulder. His phone ringing interrupts and she brushes her hair before she puts on her accessories.

“Sup Quinny?”

Quinn’s voice crackles through Jack’s phone. “Where the fuck are you going all dressed up on a Saturday? I know for a fact you don’t have a game today, considering Luke just sent a snap of him playing Chel with Dawson 10 minutes ago.”

“I’m in the Cape, asshole. One of Ash’s friends is getting married.”

She peeks into the view of the camera and waves after putting in one earring. “Hi Quinn!”

“Oh! Hey Ash. You look beautiful.”

She beams. “Thank you!”

Jack scoffs. “I’m here too.”

Ashley leaves the brothers to catch up as she starts gathering her things and puts on her lip tint before sitting at the edge of the bed since they still have 15 minutes left before they have to head out and she’s mostly all ready to go. She chimes in once in awhile, always happy to talk to Quinn as Jack shrugs on his suit jacket, ties his matching pink tie and clasps on his watch.

“Looking good, you two.” Quinn says as they both stand in front of the phone. “Matching tie, eh? Good move, Jacky.”

“We look good enough to make an ex jealous?”

She just rolls her eyes as Quinn’s eyes lights up, immediately catching on. “Absolutely.”

“Don’t encourage him, Quinn.”

Quinn just laughs and bids them farewell as Jack smooths down his tie. She puts on her jacket and grabs her boots and slips them on. As she’s about to bend down and tie them, Jack ushers her to sit on the bed and kneels down. He does it too quickly for her to dwell too much on how much she loves him, but he probably knows, if him gently rubbing his thumb over her ankle and the kiss on the inside of her knee tell her anything.

It’s only been a little over a year, but she really does think she could spend the rest of her life with him.

They end up running into Nick in the lobby and even though it’s been…four years since she’s seen him, she corrals him into a tight hug. She introduces Jack and Nick introduces Melanie, his fiancee. The only indication from Nick that he knows who Jack is is a subtle comment that’s delivered in a way that’s so Nick it makes her heart ache — “Jack Hughes. Only Ash would show up after almost five years in the flesh with a professional athlete at a wedding where her ex is gonna be at. Always gotta do some out of pocket shit.” — and makes Jack laugh as she slaps him.

The four of them walk the short seven minute walk to the venue together, with Ashley and Nick mostly leading the conversation. She can’t remember where they left their tentative friendship in their late teens and early twenties when the world was shut down and the future looked the most uncertain it had been. Even though they don’t immediately pick up where they left off, years of rust littered in their interactions and memories, she’s extremely happy to see that he’s doing well.

(Jack’s just happy to be there, holding his girlfriend’s hand as she leads the conversation. It’s nice not having to lead for once. There’s not many situations where he’s the one tagging along)

As they enter the ceremony space, Ashley immediately sees plenty of other people she recognizes. She chuckles to herself as she realizes many of the guys are from the soccer team. It’s touching to know they still keep in touch. Logan, one of said guys, greets Nick goodheartedly, before wrangling her into a hug. As pleasantries are exchanged and people are introduced, she does feel a bit out of place. But that’s natural, reconnecting with people after so long that clearly still hang out with each other and only hear about her through sporadic updates through Cam when they ask.

Sides were chosen, even if not intentionally. Ashley’s learned to be okay with that. Even if she thinks it’s unfair that Alex got to keep a lot of their mutual friends and she didn’t.

As everyone settles down in their seats, she squeezes Jack’s hand, opening her mouth to apologize for…something. Not preparing him in giving the whole lore of how she knows all these people? How the only reason she knows the sport of soccer is so well is because of Alex? Not explaining clearly the mixed feelings of her coming to the Cape this weekend?

But Jack’s enraptured in a conversation with Logan, and she smiles. Of course. Logan played hockey back in high school as well.

(Out of instinct, Jack does squeeze her hand back though, even placing them in his lap even though he’s not looking in her direction at all)

When Alex comes into view, a pretty redhead’s hand around the crook of his elbow, Ashley starts sweating. Thank goodness she has deodorant in her bag. Jack, who’s still talking to Logan, notices, and she’s about to apologize for her clammy hands as he sends her a confused look but the nearby exclamations of Alex’s name answers his question. He just presses two kisses to her temple.

Logan, to his credit, grimaces. “You gonna be good, Ash?”

She waves his kindness away. “Of course. It’s been so long. And it’s Cam’s day.”

And it is Cam’s day, as everyone falls silent watching both sets of parents and the groomsmen and bridesmaids walk down — she chuckles when she sees Sean walking down, forgetting that he and Cam got closer in college even after going to the same high school — before grinning as Amanda walks down in her beautiful A-line, ball gown of a wedding dress. Ashley wipes a tear away watching Cam do the same and she thinks if only 16 year old them could see themselves now.

(She has a moment when she looks at Jack where her stomach flips, thinking of the day they could be the ones at the altar. She quickly focuses her attention back to the front)

Cam and Amanda are pronounced husband and wife and she cheers as he dips her and kisses her, beaming and tearing up and laughing as she hears Nick wolf-whistle. People start dispersing, the large heated patio hosting a cocktail hour before the doors to the reception hall open back up again.

While she’s sipping on a glass of wine, she hears a familiar voice calling her name and she beams, carefully making sure she doesn’t spill any wine on Sean’s tuxedo as he towers over her and hugs her tightly. He introduces himself to Jack and she watches in slight amusement as they talk.

Sean and her never really were friends, more friends by association. He was more in the popular crowd in the school that Ashley herself was never inclined to push her way through. Her and Sean shared plenty of classes together though, and always got along when forced to work together. And in another life, sometimes Ashley thinks that she would’ve had a crush on the blonde boy.

Instead, she dated one of his teammates. And, well, that turned out the way it did.

(Ashley rolls her eyes when Sean makes a comment about how it “makes complete sense that you’re the one who ended up dating a professional athlete” because sure, Sean. Sure.)

Jack may be among many Massachusetts natives who live and die for the Bruins and are not hesitant in chirping him within 5 minutes of meeting him, but he smiles genuinely as his hand instinctively finds a way on her lower back. After dating Ashley for over a year, he’s used to the good-intentioned bluntness of New Englanders. She only starts rolling her eyes when high school gets brought up and stories about her start piling up. In contrast, Jack loves this and just eggs them on, eager to hear the stories.

With a quick glance at the seating chart when they’re all starting to filter back into the reception hall, she finds that the high school crowd is split between two tables, and that Cam kept to his word and put her and Alex at different ones. The tables next to each other, but still. She won’t have to worry about making accidental awkward eye contact with him across her chicken. She’s the slightest bit surprised she hasn’t crossed direct paths with him yet. But there’s enough people that they wouldn’t ever be forced to interact. And maybe that’s for the best.

Dinner passes by without incident, Ashley squeezing both Cam and Amanda tight as they come around to toast every table as Jack gives Cam a tight bro-hug and Amanda a polite kiss on the cheek. The dance floor starts to open up, and as usual, Ashley’s one of the first ones on, dragging Jack and practically their whole table out. She feels light on her feet and happy as she leans into Jack with a big smile. He ditches his suit jacket at the table and his pink tie is loosened and she thinks he looks so handsome. She’s happily tipsy enough where the curious glances and whispers from probably the entire fucking reception hall about why an NHL player is here don’t bother her. She knows he’s used to it. She doesn’t know how.

(Jack may not know everything of the lore and context behind Ashley’s relationship with the people she knows here, but he knows her and how deeply she feels and nostalgic she can get and how that can change her perception of her own memories and how that in turn, can make her extremely self critical.

So this whole evening, he’s tried to make it as easy as possible, talking with her old friends and classmates — which isn’t much of an ask, they’re nice enough — and just squeezing her hand or waist or kissing her temple or cheek when he feels her focus trailing off. If she talks to Alex and wants him there, he’ll be right next to her. If not, he’ll make himself scarce. Whatever she wants)

Ashley’s resting at her chair while Jack’s in a casual conversation with Cam as Alex comes up behind Cam, tapping him on the shoulder. She swallows and sits up straight and Jack automatically places a gentle hand on her back. Cam and Alex exchange a few words she can’t hear before Cam turns his attention back to her and Jack feels a surge of gratitude towards Cam, who looks extremely apologetic.

Jack watches as she stands up and steps towards Alex with a small smile. “Hey.”

Alex blinks. “Hi.” She gives him a quick hug before stepping back next to Jack as he stands up. “Alex, this is Jack, my boyfriend. Jack, Alex.”

“Nice to meet you, man.” Jack says with a firm, polite handshake and he doesn’t really see (or care about) Alex’s reaction before turning back to Ashley again, trying to read her. She gives him an almost imperceptible nod. Jack’s eyes flicker to Cam, who also nods behind Alex and he clears his throat. “I’m gonna get a refill. You two want anything?”

“All good, man.”

“Rum and coke, heavier on the coke?”

“You got it,” Jack presses a quick kiss to her hair before he and Cam walk to the bar.

Jack waves to the bartender for a whiskey sour for himself as Cam gets a gin and tonic. They both lean against the counter and Jack sighs, watching Alex take Jack’s previous seat. “Was that a good idea? Leaving them alone?” Because he knows her, of course, but Cam’s known her longer. And he had a front row seat to her and Alex’s friendship before they got together, their relationship when they got together, and the fallout of their breakup.

“Honestly? I don’t know. But they’re both 26 year old mature adults.” Cam’s eyes flit over to a redhead woman a couple seats away from the bar and waves her over. Jack’s trying to remember if he’s met her tonight

“Hi Cam,” she says lightly.

“Hey yourself,” he nods over in the direction of her and Alex. “You initiate that?”

She snorts, “Of course I did.” She perches herself on a stool and sticks her hand out to Jack. “I don’t think we’ve met yet. I’m Francesca, but please call me Fran. I’m Alex’s girlfriend.”

Jack gives her a small smile. This is something. “Jack. Ashley’s boyfriend.”

“I’m aware,” she teases. “I grew up in Jersey and my brother’s a huge hockey fan. I’ve been to a couple of your games throughout the years.”

“Always nice to meet a fan,” He responds smoothly and genuinely. “Especially in a room filled with Bruins fans that could honestly poison my drink at any moment and I wouldn’t be surprised.”

“Yeah, yeah. You’re lucky there are no Rangers fans here.” Cam waves him off as Jack and Fran laugh.

“What a way to meet someone for the first time,” Fran says.

“While our exes are talking for the first time in over four years?” Jack says and Fran and Cam both snort. “You could say that.”

She turns to Cam, “Cam, you can go off and mingle, you know? It’s your wedding. Jack and I will be fine here.”

Jack opens his mouth to agree but Cam just shakes his head. “It’s fine. I need a second to breathe anyways. And also make sure this doesn’t go downhill.”

“Ashley seems like a smart girl and Alex isn’t that stupid,” Fran says. “They wouldn’t make a fuss at your wedding.”

Cam sighs and Jack thinks about how thankful he is that Cam has been there for his girlfriend way before Jack even knew her. Jack then turns to Fran and asks how she and Alex met and the conversation starts there, all three of them turning to the two exes from time to time to make sure there’s no flames or glasses being thrown.

Fran talks about how she and Alex met at work and laughs in amusement when Jack explains that it was the same with him and Ashley, talking about how Ashley had been filling in for a colleague for an interview and Jack practically fell in love with her the second he saw her and had to tell himself to not sound stupid in front of the pretty girl.

And honestly, as Jack talks to Fran, he laughs to himself a bit ironically. She reminds him a bit of Ashley. A bit too much for him personally and harsh in a different way than his girlfriend, but decent company nonetheless. So maybe he and Alex are more alike than they think.

Meanwhile, the conversation happening merely 20 feet away between two exes is not as casual. Not as comfortable.

“Been a long time, huh?” Alex remarks.

Ashley tries not to scoff. “Four years.”

Alex curses under his breath. “Yeah. How are you?”

What a loaded question. She goes along with it. “I’m good.”

“Cam mentioned you’re in New York?”

“I am. Moved out there about a year after college for work. Then went to grad school there.”

“Journalist?”

She shrugs. “More or less. The title’s changed a couple times throughout the years but all in that field.”

“That’s awesome.” He runs a hand through his hair and it looks so familiar yet unfamiliar. “I still remember when you told me you got into BU. Seems like the path was always laid out for you, huh?”

She’ll have to unpack that one later. “Guess so. How about you? I heard you were in Portland. Real estate, right?”

He nods, “Yeah.”

“That’s great. I’m really glad you’re doing well.”

“Thanks.” A moment of silence there. “For what it’s worth, it is really good to see you again.”

Ashley lets out a genuine smile. Small, but genuine. “Same.”

The sound of his laughter kinda aches a bit, but not in a way that has her sad. Just nostalgic. There is some easy banter, and somewhere in the back of her mind, Ashley’s remembering a bit of why she loved him in the first place.

There’s a pause in the conversation, before she continues, “I haven’t gotten a chance to meet whoever you’re here with yet, but-”

“Fran.”

“Fran, right.” she says. “But I’ve heard a bit. How long have you two been together?”

“Are we really going to do this?”

She swallows the urge to fire back, shrugging instead. “Why not? And don’t pretend like you’re not curious about Jack either. I figured I might as well just go first.”

Alex laughs. “Around three years for Fran and I.”

“You love her?”

“I do. A lot.”

She smiles. Genuinely this time. “Good. I’m glad to hear it.”

“How about you and Mr. NHL Superstar?”

Again, she swallows down her instinct to fire back. “A little over a year now.”

“You happy?”

“Very.”

Alex nods once and doesn’t quite smile but has a pleasant expression on his face. “Cam said that he likes him. Which is a lot, considering I’m pretty sure he used to think that he was a cocky asshole.”

Ashley knows it’s not meant in that way because she knows that her boyfriend has somewhat of a reputation, but she gets defensive. “People aren’t always what they seem. Even if he’s a pest on the ice sometimes, he’s a wonderful guy.” You should know, she wants to say. You were the exact same way in high school.

They’re trickling into dangerous territory. She wonders if he’ll take the bait. If he does, she wonders if she’ll be strong enough not to fall for it. She wonders if he’ll apologize, not because she needs it, but because she knows she deserved one all those years ago.

Alex leans back casually, putting his arm over the empty chair next to him. “From me to Jack fucking Hughes. I don’t know if I should be flattered or offended.”

Ashley doesn’t know at all how she’s supposed to take that. Like everything he’s always done, he says it casually, taking a drink of water as she’s figuring out how to respond. She doesn’t. For the first time, she feels like she doesn’t have control of this conversation.

He notices she has no response and keeps going. “Hey, he’s a decent player and the money can’t hurt. I’m glad you’re happy.”

She swallows. A gold digger? Is that really what he’s hinting at?

Ashley almost sighs in relief when she catches sight of Jack, Cam and a woman who she presumes is Fran walking back towards them. Immediately she plasters on a smile and introduces herself to Fran, because it’s not her fault that her boyfriend still has the ability to get under her skin even so many years after their break-up. Jack presses a rum and coke in her hand silently and she thanks him quietly before making small talk with Fran. Just having Jack next to her has her blood pressure lowering. Soon enough, they all but shove Cam back into his own wedding and bid farewell as Fran excuses her and Alex and heads over to chat with someone she doesn’t recognize.

Jack leads her outside of the main reception hall into one of the hallways, where there are people sporadically chatting and also getting away from the music for a second.

Jack grabs her drink and faces her with a concerned look. “Ash? You okay? It seemed to get a little…tense at times.”

Ashley shrugs and chuckles. It’s bitter though, and he knows it, immediately placing a grounding hand on her waist. “I was how I always am to everyone.”

“Sure,” he responds skeptically.

She sighs. “It was fine. I’m fine. It didn’t go badly. I don’t know if it was good. It just…was.” She squeezes her eyes shut. “It was fine. It’s not a big deal. It’s been four fucking years and it’s not like I love him anymore. I shouldn’t-”

“Hey. Stop. None of that,” Jack says softly but firmly, leaning in closer and kissing her forehead as she bites her bottom lip harshly. He holds her hand gently and presses it against his chest. “Open your eyes, baby. Take some breaths with me.”

She obeys, looking into blue eyes that have become another home for her and taking deep breaths. “Thanks.”

“Always. Wanna talk about it?”

She debates in her mind. “No. It’s a wedding. Let’s go back and have fun and dance.”

“You sure?”

She nods, before placing a peck on his lips. “I’ll probably be more in my feelings tomorrow about it. Or the next week. But for now, come dance with me.”

“Lead the way.”

Ashley doesn’t even look at Alex’s direction for the rest of the night, instead looking at Jack when she feels like the floor beneath her is gonna get pulled away. The stupidly romantic thing is, she knows he’ll catch her everytime.

three - one year and nine months

“What do you think?”

Jack looks up from where he’s sitting on her bed and his eyes pop open, jaw dropping with it. He tosses his phone to the side. “Ash. Holy shit.”

Ashley twirls around in the yellow ruffle dress. “I like this one the most, but I don’t think it’s fancy enough.”

She looks up to see him biting his lip, eyes scanning her body. She blushes as he beckons her to stand inbetween his legs. “Don’t care. You have to wear this one, please. It fits you perfectly.”

She smoothes down the ruffles. “Are you sure it’s fancy enough?”

“Honey, most of the guys probably won’t even be wearing ties,” she settles her hands in his hair. “Wear this one. I know you love it and you look beautiful in it.”

She lets out a breath. “Okay, yeah. I can pair it with those flower earrings and matching bracelet and I think Scarlett has white heels I could borrow and-”

“Woah there,” he chuckles, rubbing his thumbs on the fabric at her hips. “Did you have too much coffee today? You’re talking a million miles a minute.”

“No,” she drawls out. “I’m just…nervous? This is the first thing we’re going to that’s so…”

“Public?” He finishes for her. She nods. He pushes her gently so that she’s sitting next to him. “I get that. I’m a bit nervous too. But I’ll be there the whole time. And you’ll have my parents and Quinn. And Nico will be there too. Besides, you’re great with people. I’ve seen you in action.”

She shrugs modestly. “That’s not what I’m worried about.”

“Then what is it you’re worried about?”

She swallows at his tone, because she doesn’t think he gets it. Why would he? He’s not the one that’s going to be scrutinized by his fans. At least not to the degree she would be. “Everyone else’s thoughts.”

Jack nods slowly in realization. He leans in to kiss her lips twice. She has to admit it makes her feel a bit better. His kisses usually do. “You know no one else’s opinions mean anything. Besides, it’s very clear to anyone that I’m happily taken.”

And he has a point. She’s made an appearance on his Instagram with two photos in his annual summer dump — one was just of her in the city and the other was of the two of them by the lake in Michigan — and he hadn’t tagged her, but it was clearly a message to the world that he wasn’t a single man. Social media doesn’t matter and it never will, but it had been a decision they both had come to, Jack approaching her gently and asking if he could post them.

But having it through a screen and having it in real life is different.

“I know it’s stupid,” she says. “But you know me. I don’t particularly enjoy being out of my element.”

“I know, I know,” he bumps her knee with his. “It’ll be fun though. We’ll get drunk the night before and maybe I’ll be hungover the next morning and you get to tell Luke if I do anything embarrassing.”

Ashley laughs. “That does sound fun.”

“Exactly.” He cups her face in his hands. “I gotcha, baby. Always.”

She trusts in that when she lands in Boston a few days later. She trusts in that as she gets swept in a world she’s not quite comfortable in, but finds there are a lot more similarities than differences compared to environments she’s been in. She’s a journalist after all. It’s her job in a way to blend into different lives in order to get the best and most impactful stories. She trusts in that as she’s rolling her eyes fondly at Jack, who’s chatting with practically everyone at the bar. She doesn’t think she’s ever seen this many hockey players in one room. She trusts in that as Jack then always drags whoever he’s talking to so that he can introduce her.

For someone who has always valued their privacy, Jack is making it pretty obvious that the “stunning girl in the floral shirt” is his. Ashley can’t say she hates it, even if it’s a little bold for her particular taste.

“He looks happy, doesn’t he?” Ellen asks as they both watch Jack across the room with Auston Matthews. Ashley’s cousins in Toronto would be freaking out right now.

Ashley snickers. “Drunk or happy?”

“Both?” Ellen raises her glass up to knock it against Ashley’s in a toast.

“I’ll drink to that.”

“Thank you for coming. I know it means a lot to Jack that you’re here.”

“Thank you all for having me,” Ashley responds, suddenly a bit shy. “It’s, been, uh, a bit overwhelming, to be honest.”

“I can imagine,” Ellen smiles sympathetically. “All this hockey stuff, business wise, is more Jimmy’s scene than mine.”

“Really?” Ashley thinks to all that Jack’s told her about his mother and all the warmth Ellen has emitted since they’ve met, not to mention how everyone they’ve talked to — player, coach, agent — has gravitated towards Ellen.

To her credit, Ellen chuckles. “That’s fair. Jack tells me that you know how to work a room, which is something that Jimmy’s always said about me.”

Ashley traces the rim of her glass. “I think Jack gives me too much credit.”

“I’m not sure about that,” Ellen says with a knowing smile. “I read your article the other day. The one about the family who’s had to travel across the country to get care for their child. Quinn sent it to me, actually.” Quinn read it? She doesn’t remember sending it to him. Did Jack send it to him? “It’s an incredible piece of work. How long did that take you?”

“From start to finish? Around two months.”

Ellen grins, placing a motherly hand on her shoulder. “You’re so talented, honey. I try to keep up with everything you write, but you do so much that sometimes I lose track.”

"You really don’t have to do that. But thank you, Ellen. T-that means a lot to me.”

“What does Mom not have to do?” Jack asks, squeezing himself next to his girlfriend.

“Read my articles.”

Jack grins. “Why not? They’re so good. Our family group chat is filled with them. Dad always loves your profiles.”

Ashley swallows. She’s pretty confident that the Hughes family likes her, but the fact that they all keep track of her published articles is a bit too much for her to handle right now. She downs the rest of her beer and waves Jack away when he opens his mouth to ask if she wants his. Instead, he asks the bartender for a ginger ale. Ashley’s grateful.

The next day, Ashley smiles as Jack’s walking the carpet. He’s up for the Hart trophy this year and as he squats down to greet a little boy and sign his jersey, Ashley can’t help but let her love and pride for him soar. She’s as out of the way as she can be, trying not to get overwhelmed with all the voices and flashes around her. It helps that Ellen and Jim seem to always be nearby and she makes fast friends with Nina and Luca, who are watching Nico do similar things.

She gets pulled out of her own world with a familiar hand on her waist. “Hey,” Jack murmurs into her ear.

“Hi.”

“Do you wanna jump into a few pictures with me?” Jack asks softly. “It’ll only take a few minutes. No pressure if not.”

“Uh, yeah. Sure.”

He beams, offering an arm as he leads them over to where the photographers are. She tries not to blink too much as the flashes hurt her eyes and hopes she and Jack are looking in the same direction.

“You look beautiful,” he pairs his sincere compliment with a squeeze of her waist.

She smiles at the cameras for a few seconds before turning to him slightly. “You already said that.”

“I know. It’s worth repeating.”

Thankfully, it’s only about 30 seconds before everyone else — Quinn, Jack’s parents and Nico’s family — are being ushered in for a group photo. She finds herself inbetween Jack and Nico and giggles as Nico tries to blow his hair out of his face. She takes pity on him after a few tries and she reaches up to fix it for him quickly, Nina laughing on the other side of her brother.

“Stop messing with it,” Ashley scolds lightly through clenched teeth, smiling for the pictures. “You’re gonna make it worse.” She giggles when Nico pokes her side a few seconds later.

When Jack wins the Hart, Ashley leaps out of her seat in excitement. To her, he’s always going to be the best player she knows because she sees firsthand how hard he works, but it’s nice that his peers are recognizing it too. He places a quick kiss on her lips before going up on stage and Ashley’s clapping and laughing to herself. He was dreading having to make any sort of speech.

After the ceremony, she just follows everyone to whatever swanky rooftop seemingly the entire NHL is gathering at. She finds herself flocking towards Nina for a lot of the evening as they both exchange fun stories and memories of their own lives over drinks. Ashley thinks she could keep talking to Nina for the rest of her life. She’s just so damn cool.

The next day, she drags Jack around the BU campus and is happy pointing out buildings that she had classes in, cried in, cheered in and lived her life in. They walk from one end of Com Ave to the other, Ashley dutifully pointing out Agganis Arena (“I’m sure Trevor has some good memories in this building”), their starting point.

She stands in front of the College of Communication building and stops. Jack dutifully stops next to her. “This building kinda looks like shit.”

Ashley snorts. “Yeah, I know. Especially compared to all the science buildings.” She bites her lip. “It all started here.”

“What did?”

“The dream.”

And yeah, maybe that’s a bit dramatic. But Jack said similar things when he brought her to Toronto earlier this year, so she knows he understands.

Almost two years together now, she’s convinced that no one will really ever understand her like Jack does.

He nudges her hip with his, the breeze blowing comfortably through her hair and rustling the plants around them. They watch as a student walks through the front doors. “Wanna go in?”

She shakes her head. “Nah, I’m good.” She tugs at his hand while sipping the lavender lemonade from Pavement in the other. “Come on. I’ll show you Bay State. I lived there my junior year after I came back from studying abroad in Dublin.”

Bay State Road is beautiful as always in the Boston summer, Ashley’s hand in Jack’s. She drags him out into the middle of the road and only squeals once when a car is coming and he pulls her to the sidewalk.

Campus isn’t the same when classes aren’t in session, but she hopes Jack can still feel some of the magic in the air through her stories.

“It suits you.”

She turns to Jack. “Hm?”

“This city. It suits you.”

“Oh,” she blushes for some reason. “Thanks.”

“Do you miss it here?”

“All the time,” Ashley admits. “New York is great, but Boston will always be home.”

“Would you think of working here? If given the option?” Jack asks.

“Maybe,” Ashley squeezes Jack’s hand, “But I also have reasons to stay in New York.”

He smirks, but it quickly transitions into something gentler. “Yeah?”

She could throw something snarky back at him, but she looks around the brownstones and lets out a deep breath. This is home, but flashes of Hoboken and East Village flicker in her mind and that’s also home.

She looks at Jack and feels overwhelmed. Oh. It’s Boston. It’s Hoboken. It’s East Village. It’s him. Jack is home.

four - two years

“Big day, huh?”

Ashley just smiles at Carissa, nudging her side. “We’ve come a long way since that phone call at 2 a.m.”

Carissa just snorts. “That phone call got us here.”

“True,” Ashley squeezes her arm as they make their way to their assigned table. “Love you, girly.”

“Love you more. I’m proud of us.”

Ashley grins, looking around as everyone is mingling amongst each other. There are past award winners here and Ashley’s already done some of her internal fangirling, especially when Lynsey Addario came up to her and wanted to talk to her.

She’s still decently new in this industry and knows she has so much to learn, but it’s comforting to see that all of her hard work has paid off.

People are starting to take their seats and Ashley looks around at her colleagues. Everyone’s dressed up and looks so lovely and Ashley smiles, looking down at her midnight blue dress. When Jack had seen her walk out of the changing room in it a few weeks ago, his eyes had popped out.

(“Fuck,” he had said. “Now I’m even more pissed I can’t make it to the dinner.”)

And yeah, it would be nice if he was here. But the Devils are playing the Islanders tonight. It sucks that he’s so close but so far away, but after two years now, it’s just part of the gig. And they make it work. So Ashley isn’t too upset about it, even if Jack is.

She’s a bit confused when there is an empty seat next to her, as it seems like the ballroom is filled. There’s no nametag there either, but her attention soon drifts off to the front. She has to bite her lip to stop herself from smiling too hard.

The Pulitzer Prize Awards Ceremony at Columbia University, also her alma mater in a way. Her 18-year-old-self who was sitting in the front row of Introduction to Journalism in Boston could’ve only dreamed about this day.

Opening remarks start and Ashley really does try to listen, but her eyes glaze over as her mind drifts off. She claps as the first few awards are being presented. She thinks about all the hours that it took to get this piece down, but also all the hours before — in her classes, at her college paper, in her internships, during her job search. The times she wanted to throw in the towel and just do something else. Anything else.

“I didn’t miss too much, did I?” She blinks, turning to the voice next to her. She freezes.

“Jack?” She breathes out. She hasn’t been sleeping much this week, so this could very well be a hallucination.

He beams and she reaches to place her hand on his cheek and she realizes as she scans her eyes up and down. Oh. He’s in her favorite suit of his. And he’s here.

“Oh my god,” she wraps her arms around his neck as her whole table cheers. Thankfully, there’s a lull in the ceremony where the whole room is blanketed in a low buzz. “What the f-don’t you have a game?”

“Technically,” Jack says, nodding at her coworkers with a charming smile. “Took a personal day.”

“What? You can do that?”

“Yeah,” he shrugs, like he didn’t just skip a game to be here. He rubs his thumb on her shoulder as he kisses her temple. “This is a huge deal, baby. I wasn’t gonna miss it. I’m so proud of you.”

“Lindy’s not mad? Nico’s not mad?”

Jack snorts. “The second you won, I told Lindy to count me out for the game so he can do what he wants with that. Nico’s lowkey pissed he also can’t be here.” He turns to Carissa on the other side and beams. “Hey Care. Congrats.”

“Thanks, Jack,” Carissa beams. “Surprised you pulled this off.”

“Surprised we pulled this off.”

Ashley looks at Carissa. “You knew about this?”

“Of course. Who do you think made sure he would have a seat?”

She looks between her colleague and her boyfriend. Something creeps up her throat that feels a lot like love.

When her and Carissa are recognized and they have to go up to accept the award and give a short speech, it’s kinda a blur. All she remembers is Jack’s kiss on her cheek and receiving a standing ovation as she and Carissa walk up together. So many hours with her eyes glazed over glaring at the laptop. So many hours interviewing with people and reconfirming facts. So many hours dedicated to this one piece.

She wouldn’t have it any other way.

As Carissa is speaking, she locks eyes with Jack. He’s beaming and his eyes are actually sparkling. His hair tousled and he’s so handsome and he’s hers.

(She almost trips walking back to him)

He chuckles, pulling her into another tight hug. “You’re amazing, baby. Congratulations.”

“Thank you,” she chokes out. “Thank you for calming me down all the times I was freaking out.”

“Of course. I’m sure all those glasses of cold water helped,” he jokes. She always said the ice cold water he would place next to her laptop would wake up her brain.

She laughs into his shoulder. “They did.”

He pulls away and just stares at her, smile still on his face. Their attention is taken away by someone who wants to congratulate Ashley and has no recognition on their face when looking at Jack.

(Jack looks on with pride)

plus one - three years and four months

Stanley Cups are interesting. Even some of the best athletes of all time have never gotten one. And some that are only slightly above average perhaps were just placed on the right team in the right season.

But this Stanley Cup, in Ashley’s completely unbiased opinion, this one was fully deserved. By every single person on the team.

She doesn’t think she’ll ever forget the absolute joy in Nico’s eyes as he lifted the cup in the air to a roaring crowd at The Rock, or how long the hug between Jack and Luke was when the final whistle sounded, or seeing Ellen cry as her two sons beckoned her in for a picture with the cup, her other son and husband standing close by with pride in their eyes.

The picture of her and Jack by the cup as he’s kissing her cheek as she smiles so widely her eyes are shut might be her favorite picture of them of all time.

Ashley had wondered if Jack was going to bring the cup to Toronto or Michigan. He ended up bringing it to Toronto while Luke brought it to Michigan. It ended up being all the same, since they were both present at both.

Jack winning the Cup is obviously a huge celebration. But he’s not the only one with something to celebrate.

Yesterday, when they were out to lunch with some of his extended family, Ashley had found out by phone that she was just promoted to be a director of her team. After her phone call, she had just covered her mouth in shock as she sat down on a nearby bench. It wasn’t until a few minutes later when a concerned Jack came up to her and asked what was wrong, before she told him and he smothered her face in kisses.

The parade around his pseudo-hometown is absolutely insane. Ashley doesn’t even know how she has a voice by mid-afternoon, much less how Jack has one considering that he’s been yelling all day. At some point, she forces him to sit down and chug a giant water bottle.

But she can’t overthink too hard. Her phone’s filled with pictures of Jack with his loved ones and she just feels proud.

Some of Jack’s extended family who still live in the area offered their home to host a party that night with just friends and family. Ashley did all she could to help prepare, which included coming over to decorate the night before and parking herself in the kitchen the second they got there to offer a helping hand. Well, she tried, before every single person pushed her away and insisted she go join the celebrations.

She finds herself in a long, in-depth conversation with one of Jack’s younger cousins who’s thinking about working in media when she notices it suddenly becomes quiet. Suddenly, the light flickers off and Ashley is confused.

Jack then walks in with a circular cake with candles lit paired with his beautiful smile. Ashley blinks in confusion as everyone’s eyes fall on her and before she can ask what the hell is going on, Luke bounds over to her and swings an arm around her shoulder, shaking her.

“Congrats on your promotion, Ash!” Luke exclaims.

Her mouth drops open and she looks around as everyone in the room cheers and shouts out their congratulations. She chuckles in shock as Jack walks closer. And then suddenly, all she can focus on is him.

“What are you doing?” She whispers, suddenly wanting to cry.

“Come on,” he says with the softest smile. “You didn’t think I’d just keep the news to myself, did you?”

“But this is your day,” she chokes out.

“My day. Your day. It’s all the same, eh?” Jack nods at the candles. “Hurry up. My arms are getting tired.”

A watery laugh from her before she blows out the candles at everyone’s cheers. Jack places the cake on a nearby table before smothering her in a tight hug. Ashley’s heart could burst right now at the love she feels from the people in the room and the person in her arms. She gets a chance to really look at the cake, which is white and sage with “Congratulations Jack and Ashley!” in beautiful script at the center. The lights turn back on and Quinn’s the first one who comes up to hug her. As Ellen is giving Ashley a kiss on the cheek, she sees Jack over Ellen’s shoulder, smiling at her.

She swallows as she pulls away, before glancing at the ring on her left finger. Ashley’s never let herself want much in her life. But if someone asked her what she wants with her life, she would just place them in this room. Right here. Right now.

(They cut the cake together. Ashley feels a buzzing joy throughout her bones)

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