#or where there is clear distinction between things

[writingbuckets]

The Hot Take: Part 1

paige bueckers x influencer!reader

wc: 1.7k

a/n: here's part 1 to my influencer!reader fic based on the poll i posted a few days ago. i took a few days to write out the first few parts to this storyline, so i shall see yall in a few days <3

**********

Sitting in the studio, you shuffle through the day's notes as you wait for Taylor, your partner and co-host, to get ready. You glance around at the familiar setup: soundproof walls, the big red “ON AIR” sign, and Taylor’s mic with her distinctive bright blue pop filter across from you. The Hot Take has come a long way since you and Taylor first started recording episodes in a makeshift studio in your apartment.

Finally, Taylor takes her seat, grinning like she’s got a secret. You recognize that glint in her eye; it’s the same look she gives you right before she drops a bombshell on air. You chuckle, half expecting her to share some wild celebrity tidbit or throw in an off-the-cuff comment that’ll leave fans buzzing.

“All right, ready to kick things off?” she asks, sliding her headphones on. You nod, pressing record, and the familiar flow of the episode begins.

The conversation starts with your typical lineup of the week’s big pop culture and sports events. You trade opinions on a recent basketball draft, discuss an unexpected celebrity breakup, and riff on a few new album releases. Fans love the way you and Taylor can pivot from debating sports stats to analyzing the latest music trends—all with a laid-back vibe that feels like a natural conversation between friends.

As you move toward wrapping up, Taylor flashes you a mischievous smile, one that promises she’s about to shake things up. Before you can question her, she clears her throat, leaning close to the mic with a conspiratorial whisper.

“So, Y/N, we always promise full transparency on this show, right?”

You nod, slightly suspicious but playing along. “Right...”

She grins, eyes sparkling. “Well, I feel like it’s time I share something personal—a bit of a confession, if you will.”

You raise an eyebrow, curious. “Oh, really? Do tell.”

“It’s about my celebrity crush,” she declares, and you feel your eyebrows shoot up. Celebrity crush? That’s…random. But Taylor’s got that devilish glint, so you know she’s leading somewhere.

“Oh, please, Taylor,” you say, laughing. “Are you seriously bringing up your celebrity crush right now?”

“Of course! It’s relevant to sports, I promise.” She laughs, her voice dipping into an almost-reverent tone. “Because it’s Paige Bueckers.”

There’s a beat where you try to process that. Paige Bueckers—a name practically synonymous with college basketball greatness, a player with such raw talent and drive that her highlight reels are legend. Of course, Paige has the kind of skill and flair on the court that would make her anyone’s “celebrity crush.”

Without thinking, you roll your eyes and let out a laugh. “Oh, Paige Bueckers? Come on, Tay. Isn’t she a bit…overrated?”

The words escape before you have time to reconsider, and you catch Taylor’s jaw dropping in mock horror, her hand flying to her mouth. Her eyes go wide, as if you’ve just blasphemed on live radio.

“Overrated?” she exclaims, her voice full of exaggerated shock. “Y/N, you’ve officially crossed into hot-take territory. Are you serious?”

You shrug, leaning back in your chair as you play it off. “I mean, yeah, she’s good. She’s really good. But let’s be real—people act like she’s already the GOAT, and she’s, what, twenty-three? I think she’s talented, sure, but maybe the hype’s a little…excessive?”

Taylor shakes her head, laughing as she turns back to the camera, knowing your listeners will eat this up. “Listeners, you heard it here first—Y/N thinks Paige Bueckers is overrated. Prepare for the inevitable Twitter meltdown!”

You chuckle, figuring it’s all in good fun. You and Taylor are known for your candid takes; it’s what fans love most about the show. This will be just another talking point, something people can debate online. You wrap up the episode, signing off with your usual mix of humor and playful barbs, and end the recording.

**********

A few hours later, you’re back at home, scrolling through Twitter out of habit. Normally, after an episode drops, fans will post funny clips or start discussions around your and Taylor’s latest takes. You expect some buzz, but this? The reaction is way bigger than usual.

Your notifications are packed with tags, mentions, and—oh. There it is. A clip of your “overrated” comment has already gone viral. One account with a sizable following has posted it, captioning, “Did Y/N just call Paige Bueckers overrated?!” The clip has already racked up thousands of likes and retweets, with fans both defending and attacking your opinion.

Curious, you start scrolling through the replies. A lot of fans are indignant, passionately defending Paige’s talent and listing her stats, achievements, and highlights as if you’ve personally insulted them.

“Overrated? Y/N clearly hasn’t seen a game.” “She’s one of the best of her generation—how can you not see that?” “Bet Y/N wouldn’t last five minutes trying to guard her.”

But there’s also a crowd that’s rallying behind your comment. Some fans are laughing, glad to hear someone finally say what they’d been thinking. “Finally, someone not drinking the Kool-Aid,” one user writes. Another adds, “She’s great, but let’s not pretend like there aren’t other amazing players out there.”

The debate is heated, and the takes are piling up faster than you can read them all. A quick glance at Twitter’s trending page reveals that your name and Paige Bueckers are both climbing the ranks.

You sigh, amused but slightly annoyed. It’s one thing to have fans debating, but Twitter is practically ablaze, turning what you thought was a lighthearted comment into a viral controversy.

By the next morning, things have escalated even further. As you sip your coffee, you notice that your notifications have doubled overnight. And this time, it’s not just random fans. Paige’s teammates are chiming in too.

Azzi Fudd has posted a clip of Paige landing a flawless three-pointer, captioned, “@Y/N, this looks overrated to you?” Jana’s added her two cents with a subtweet: “We all have opinions, I guess. Can’t wait for the next episode.” And KK has dropped a classic response: “Hot takes are like free throws—not everyone hits.”

Each comment comes with thousands of likes and retweets, adding fuel to an already blazing fire. You find yourself chuckling, impressed despite yourself. They’re all coming to Paige’s defense with such witty precision that it’s hard not to admire the loyalty.

Yet, you also feel a prickle of defensiveness. Sure, Paige is good—great, even—but does that mean everyone has to agree that she’s the best thing in sports right now? You pride yourself on being honest and not falling for the hype, but as you scroll through the seemingly endless tweets, part of you wonders if you went too far.

Taylor texts you with a stream of laughing emojis. “Looks like you got the basketball world up in arms. Congratulations!”

You text her back, trying to stay cool. “All in a day’s work, right? Who knew Paige Bueckers had such a dedicated fanbase?”

“Did you really think people would let you get away with that one?” she teases, sending a gif of a player shrugging. “I think you just made Twitter history.”

You laugh, trying to play it off, but as the morning wears on, you can’t stop refreshing the timeline. More comments flood in from basketball fans, analysts, and even a few pro athletes. It’s spiraled into something you never intended—an opinion piece turned viral moment.

That night, you’re lying in bed, scrolling through the remnants of the day’s chaos when a new notification catches your eye. It’s a message request, from someone with a verified blue check. Your heart skips a beat as you read the name.

Paige Bueckers.

You hesitate, not sure what to expect. You’ve been in the public eye long enough to know that some people thrive off the chance to “clap back,” and you half expect Paige to lay into you.

You click to open the message, bracing yourself, but what you read is the last thing you anticipated. The message is short, her tone direct but surprisingly playful: “Overrated, huh? Bold opinion. Care to explain?”

For a moment, you just stare, processing the fact that Paige Bueckers herself has taken notice of your podcast—and your opinion. There’s something oddly thrilling about the attention, and you can’t help but wonder what this conversation might lead to.

With a smirk, you hover over the reply button. You know that a response could pull you further into this whole debate, maybe even turn the interaction into something bigger than a passing Twitter controversy. But there’s a thrill in it—this was Paige Bueckers, after all. The fact that she’d reached out, even playfully, meant you’d gotten her attention. For someone so used to being idolized and hyped up, maybe your perspective had struck a nerve.

Do I play it cool? Double down?

A few clever responses run through your mind, each one more sarcastic than the last, but you decide to keep it simple and direct. After all, Paige’s message had a vibe—she wasn’t attacking you. She was…what? Curious? Challenging you? Either way, it felt like an invitation, and you weren’t about to back down.

“Guess I’m just not a fan of hype,” you type, keeping it short but loaded. You hit send before you can second-guess it.

Not even a minute later, a new notification pops up.

“Fair enough,” she replies. “But if you think it’s all hype, maybe you’ve been watching the wrong games.”

You stare at her reply, feeling a flicker of competitiveness spark to life. She was biting back, not with hostility but with confidence—clearly ready to defend herself without missing a beat. Part of you is annoyed, but a bigger part admires the quick comeback.

So you respond again, more playful this time. “Guess I’ll have to tune in to one of your good games, then.”

A couple of seconds pass, then another message from Paige appears, this one laced with a challenge: “Tell you what—how about courtside seats to the next game? See if you still think I’m overrated.”

For a moment, you’re caught off guard. Was she…inviting you? To her game? This was turning into something more than just a Twitter exchange. The idea of seeing her play up close, watching her skill in real-time, fills you with a mix of intrigue and resistance.

You sit with her offer, fingers poised above the keyboard. Every instinct is telling you to throw a snarky response back, but curiosity gets the better of you. Before you realize it, you’re typing, accepting her offer with a short, “I’ll be there.”

[pine-arten]

i genuinely kept forgetting to post these

i'm pretty burnt out on drawing, so i decided to end the cringetober challenge. as much as i would like to complete it, i would die

day 16 (objecthead) day 15/18 (song lyrics/old art redraw)

i got through halfway the month, which is honestly still a win for me.

look here for a cropped version of the redraw, and the original picture

[anneapocalypse]

See because I enjoy making things Worse, my interpretation of Justice's issue with Handers in light of his romantic aspirations in Awakening isn't that Justice truly thinks romance itself is a distraction, but that he's jealous of Hawke. 🙃

[fairy-angel222]

𝐃𝐈𝐋𝐅 𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 𝐃𝐎𝐎𝐑 𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩

—in which toji is constantly fucking women and disturbing your peace. your complaints lead to you becoming one of them.

pairing: toji fushiguro x fem! college reader

cw: smut, breeding, daddy kink, size kink, age gap, toji being a cocky prick, unsafe sex, ass slapping, mentions of cervix touching

Ever since you heard about your next door neighbor Mr. Fushiguro going through a divorce, things have been hell. For you.

From the day he first moved into the apartment, constantly arguing on the phone with his ex wife about whose turn it was to watch his son, Megumi.

When Megumi is over, everything’s quiet, and you finally get a chance to rest your head and relax in peace. Doing some studying and cleaning in the quiet atmosphere.

You wished the black haired boy would stay for just a day longer, because Toji is back to his usual self hours later. Bringing in young college girls one after the other. Fucking them hard against his headboard as they let out loud cries of daddy. It was annoying. You could even stay inside anymore to get work done.

At every hour of the day he seemed to be active, fucking through all sorts of women, the shaking of your thin bedroom wall never coming to an end as high pitched moans echoed through.

It was getting to the point where you couldn’t take it. You were so fed up. Didn’t he ever get tired? Tired of promising these young desperate girls to call them back only to throw away their numbers and fuck their friends the next day.

Weeks go by and nothing changes, Megumi coming over for a silent three days then leaving again. Giving his father enough time to fuck any feelings for his ex wife out of his system.

You swore you couldn’t take it, you had barely been able to study, occasionally spending an hour or two in a nearby café between classes. When you noticed your grades slipping, your eyes having prominent bags at the lack of sleep, you groan loudly in frustration. Finding your legs moving before you could even process it.

Your fist raising to knock on the man’s door once, then twice, with no answer. You huffed, going in to knock a third time before the door swung open. A tall, muscular man towering over you with a scowl. “What?”

Your eyes widened as you scanned over his body, his perfectly sculpted face, broad shoulders, defined abs, and the very distinct outline in his sweats.

The man cleared his throat, a smirk gracing his face when he startled you out of your intense drooling. “Now, what do we have here?” he chuckled deeply, tilting his head to the side with crossed arms as he rested against the door’s frame. “Here to get your turn doll?”

You gulped, finding it harder to spit out your words as the Fushiguro man stared you down. “I.. I’m here to ask you to keep the noise down, some people have actual work to do.”

Toji whistled, “Oh? A bold one huh? I like it,” His hand reaching under your chin to make you look fully up at him. “you’re a pretty little thing you know,” he spoke, running his thumb along your bottom lip, “wonder what you’d look like ruined underneath me.”

You ignored the flutter that went off in your pussy, clenching your thighs discreetly as you glared. “Just keep the noise down okay old man? I'm trying to study.”

Toji could feel his cock grow harder, you were just what he needed. “So i’m an old man now? That’s a first, usually girls like you just call me daddy.” he shrugged, “but it’s okay, you’ll get there.”

You rolled your eyes as you walked away from him, annoyance written all over your face to mask the arousal swirling in your stomach. He’d probably fucked the entire neighborhood by now, including the campus, so you weren’t gonna fall for his sick charms. You just hoped he complied and kept the place quiet, you didn’t need that usual noise the day before your big test.

Toji had surprisingly did as you asked, and you sighed in content as you read through the pages of your notes. Your pen in your hand finding itself in between your teeth as you bit down softly. You got what you wanted, so why was your mind running wild with thoughts of the Fushiguro man’s hands on your body as he fucked you like all of those other girls.

You shifted in your seat, one leg over the other to bring stimulation to your needy clit making you whimper softly. You couldn’t let yourself give in.

Another week passed and you once again found yourself in the same noisy predicament. Your mind couldn’t help but wander to the man more than twice your age. Way too old for you yet just so.. hot. Toji Fushiguro had become your fantasy.

And it was unbearable.

Hearing all these moans day and night. Hearing Toji’s loud grunts and groans as he no doubt left them with the best fuck of their lives.

It was Thursday, and Megumi would be coming tomorrow per routine, so you’d finally get a break then. But, you couldn’t deny the fact that you wanted an excuse to go over there. Your face serious as you banged on his door.

You waited a minute, a shirtless Toji emerging into the door frame as it flew open. Toji smirked, “Ah, you again.” His sweatpants hung dangerously low beneath the start of his v line, black hair messy as his tongue darted out to swipe across his lips. “Finally came to your senses?”

His last fuck had left right before you came, coincidentally of course.

“N-no.” you objected sternly. “I’m here to ask you again to just be.. what are yo-“

You swallowed hard when he began stalking towards you, a sinister grin on his face as you were backed up against a wall. His breath fanned your head as he bent his neck. Hands on the walls near each side of your face. “Your face says otherwise, doll.”

“No it d-doesn’t.. you’re just a cocky old man preventing me from getting things done.”

Toji’s brow raised with a deep hearty chuckle, “Back to that nickname i see,” His hand grabbing hold of your cheeks and squeezing them together. “Gonna have to clean that mouth of yours, teach you how to be a good girl.”

You whimpered lowly, feeling wetness pool between your legs as you looked up through your lashes. Toji’s eyes trailing to your glossy lips as he inhaled sharply. “Don’t worry, this dirty old man’s lips are clean”

Pressing his lips roughly to yours, your eyes widening as you gripped the edge of your skirt with a moan. Toji smirked against your lips, his hands hooking beneath your legs as he lifted you up. Your frame so much smaller in comparison to his larger one.

Toji was quick to bring you inside. And you found yourself sitting on the man’s lap, your skirt bunched up at your hips as he hammered up into your wet cunt with brute force. His hands kneading into the flesh of your ass each time you ground your hips onto him.

You let out a loud mewl, his thick cock stretching you out and grazing against your gummy walls as he fucked you deep. Feeling him within your stomach when you cried out. “Fushiguro-san— ah, so- ngh g-ood.”

“That’s not my name doll, try again.” he growled deeply, landing his palm onto your ass in a hard slap. And you whimpered tearfully at the sting. “T-toji—” Another harsh smack burning through your flesh making you let out a cry. “Last chance.”

You moaned loudly, your back arching as Toji slammed into you. “D-daddy, ahh daddy, o-oh fuckk—,”

Toji hummed in satisfaction, “Look at you, thought i was a dirty old man hmm?” His teeth biting softly at the delicate skin of your neck, his pelvis hitting your red puffy folds relentlessly. “Moaning for me like a little slut, so fucking pretty.”

You let out a shaky cry, “Haah— F-fushiguro-san,” Your pussy clenched down on his girth, his rough hand making its way around your throat, squeezing the sides and forcing you to look at him. “Not gonna fucking tell you again.”

You mewled, “‘M sorry— nngh,” Your back arching when Toji bullied his cock deeper into you.

“Still waiting doll.” he grunted, eyes dark as his grip on your throat tightened, your moans and whimpers loud as his thighs noisily met your sticky cunt. “D-addy— ahh- so good,” you cried, feeling his angry tip forcing its way to your cervix, kissing the entrance with each harsh thrust.

“Good fucking girl, you’re getting there” he grinned with a groan. A creamy ring formed around the base of his cock, your pussy gushing messily onto him as loud squelching sounds filled the room. “Pussy’s so fucking tight— better be on the pill cause i’m botta cum in that pretty pussy, shit.”

“Ah— nngh daddy, ‘m close- gonna cum.” you whimpered, your eyes rolling back and your lips parting in a string of incoherent babbles, Toji’s thrusts sloppy as he groaned.

“Gonna cum on this old man’s dick yeah?” He teased cockily, “Had so much talk for someone who’s falling apart on my cock.” Toji grunted, “Bet ya sat there listening like a lil perv, your hand down your panties hmm?”

You shook your head no with a cry, “Uh uh- ahh— wasn’t.”

“Sure about that? Sure you didn’t sit there and fantasize about me fucking you like a little slut?” His hand reached down to rub at your clit, a loud moan escaping your mouth.

Your breathing sped up as you felt a coil buildup in your stomach. Your body shaking with pure ecstasy. You let out a high pitched scream, the stimulation to your g spot making your head go fuzzy. Vision turning white as you clenched down tightly on Toji’s cock.

“O-oh fuck— ‘m cumming— ah, cumming daddy.” Toji’s hand pressed down harder on your throat, the pressure restricting your air flow making you let out a choked mewl. Tears welling in your eyes as his heavy balls smacked against your ass.

“Nngh—” The ring of white thickened at his base as you let out whiny cries. Toji’s hand working small circles on the sensitive bud before he brought his lips to your ear. His voice deep and gruff as he groaned. “Fuck doll- squeezing me so tight, come on and scream for me.” He breathed, “make a mess on my cock.”

Toji’s mean pace became too much, a tight pull in your stomach as your mouth fell open, legs trembling with loud cries as an unfamiliar feeling washed over you.

It was heavenly, your brain going dumb and your pupils disappearing behind heavy lids as you screamed loudly, head falling back and nails digging into his shoulders as you fell off the edge.

Toji never slowing the movement of his hips, still hammering up into you despite the mess you were making on his thighs. Your pussy spraying streams after streams of clear liquid as you arched your hips, grinding back and forth to ride out your squirting orgasm.

“Even fucking louder than any of my previous fucks.” he laughed, “Wonder what the neighbors would say, went from being a whiny little bitch to being the same thing you complained about.”

You let out a whine, Toji flipping you abruptly onto your back, his hand still around your neck as the position allowing him to hit even deeper. “Fuck,” he grunted, his words in between each thrust. “gonna fucking breed that pussy so deep.” Letting out a low groan at the last thrust, his lips meeting yours in a sloppy kiss as he bottomed out.

A whimper fell past your lips into his when you felt him fill you up, his cum shooting in hot thick spurts along the walls of your cunt.

He smirked as he pulled away, watching you pant heavily. “Would make such a good breeding bunny.” Dipping his fingers past your lips and resting them on the back of your tongue. “Might have to keep you around, can’t be disturbed if you’re the one making the noise now can you?”

You shook your head tiredly, forcing your eyes to stay open as Toji pulled out of you. His sticky cum seeping out of your fluttering pussy slowly. Your brain was still so clouded, blinking in and out of blurry vision.

Toji hid the smile threatening to creep up onto his face, his face neutral as he plopped down onto the couch next to you. “Rest if you need to, then leave.” He said nonchalantly, trying to seem like his usual self despite the fact that he had not kicked you out yet. Which was something he never did, let a girl stay any longer than a second after sex.

The man would never admit it, but there was just something about you.

He wanted to make you his pretty little doll.

[artbyblastweave]

Playing through Fallout:New Vegas for the first time in years. And I'm developing a newfound appreciation for the damage done to the intended pacing of the narrative with the addition of the Courier's Stash. I wake up in Goodsprings, and as part of the extended tutorial you have Ghosttown Gunfight, the fairly self-contained faction war between Goodsprings and the Powder Gangers. And the design intent, I think, is that this is probably supposed to be a pain in the ass, with only one or two avenues of support available to you given the low level at which you'll pick this one up. Six Powder Gangers, some in body-armor, would be a serious threat, and committing to fighting against that with your dinky 9mm and a varmint rifle seems like a rough time! An actual uphill battle, doing the right thing instead of the easy thing. Fortunately, Benny inexplicably left my handy 40mm grenade launcher in the grave with me, so I cleaned up.

I'm working my way south, and, you know, in a version of the game where Benny didn't inexplicably leave my handy 40mm grenade launcher in the grave with me, this would have been the knock-on effect of my "good" Karmic choice in defending Goodsprings; the road south is littered with powder gangers who'd have been neutral had I not kicked the hornet's nest. As it stands? Free experience. I hit Primm, and fighting through the cramped hallways of the Bison Steve I encounter an enemy armed with what was clearly supposed to be the first heavy weapon I'd encounter in the world. Tight Corridors. Inexplicable Grenade Launcher. I clean up. South I go to the Mojave outpost, Nipton, that whole thing. And clearly, clearly you aren't meant to take a swing at Vulpes here, right? You're supposed to take it in, get a sense for the legion. In the version of the game that shipped you're supposed to get bodied if you try to kick the beef gate here. There are allowances in the game for if you pull it off, sure, but I did try with just the service rifle, without the glorious first-strike capabilities afforded to me by the 40mm grenade launcher that Benny inexplicably left in the grave with me. It didn't go very well!

So now I'm dogged by Legion hit squads on my way to Novac, which I get the distinct impression was not the point in the game at which this was supposed to start happening to me, because I am gathering up some pretty expensive equipment, all sold for space. I punch through to Vegas, and at this stage, the clear developer intent is that you need to spend some time milling around Freeside or Camp McCarran in order to gain access to the Strip- do odd jobs to scrape up the money, buy the forgery from Mick and Ralphs, gain monorail access, get your science skill high enough to hack the robot. Get the lay of the land, get a feel for the people, send some time stewing in the human cost of House's walled garden before you head in and hear the pitch from the big man himself.

Except I've got 5000 caps from selling off all the legion killteam equipment. In I go!

And the fun thing is, right, the Courier's stash can't be diegetic, but it is having a very direct impact on the world here. A top legion guy just went down to my inexplicable 40mm grenade launcher. Whatever else I'm roleplaying as, I am roleplaying as a guy who woke up in the possession of an inexplicable 40mm grenade launcher, and neither I nor my character can plausibly ignore that fact given its terrible bloodstained utility. I play a man, a man who would be a good man, a man nonetheless bewitched by the terrible resolutory power of the grenade launcher. My best friend, the inexplicable 40mm grenade launcher! My worst enemy, the inexplicable 40mm grenade launcher!

[irndad]

oh, but you're good to me -s.r.

a/n: i continue to not know the word count- but here's pining!spencer x sunshine!reader!! very hozier coded <3

The team has gone out for drinks after a stressful week, and this is a moment where Spencer finds that his willpower does not so easily overpower his desire. They’d chosen a kind of kitsch place, the kind where there’s couches where waitresses could bring you your drink under dimmed lights and music with cozy acoustic music played. Emily and Morgan were comparing conquests at their trip to the club the week prior, Penelope chiming in with warm support on either end. On the opposite table, Hotch and Rossi were discussing criminology in serious, even tones. 

And Spencer, well. He was well-occupied. 

His best friend is on the team, and he does not say that lightly. She’s earned her place in his heart, as hopelessly romantic as that makes him sound. But she did. He remembers the day he met her, warm tone seeped in patience and understanding. 

He remembers the sight of her like its engraved crystal, carved into the basis of his mind. Her delicate features distinct in their warm kindness. She’d offered her hand, shook it and giggled a sweet sound when he’d said it’d be safer to kiss. He’d blushed enough that his lack of flirtation in his intent was clear. 

On the jet, that first case, she’d listened to him talk about Russian literature and other obscure topics he couldn’t remember now, because now, all he can recall is the color of her doe eyes meeting him in intention. 

He’s pretty sure he’s in love with her. 

Which, right now, feels a bit like a drug- both painful and exhilarating. She’s a cuddly drunk (only with him, it seems) and he’s got a lanky arm tugged over her shoulder. It’s lovely in a way words vex him, the weight of her against him. 

“You look nice today, Spence,” she muses, looking up at him. His heart is going to stop.

“You do too,” he breathes out. This is nice. She’s touchy, and he likes when she touches him. It’s a pleasure, like sipping expensive wine or decadent chocolate, sweet and a little bit sad, because you know you can’t have it forever. 

She plays with his scarf, and he is hopelessly endeared by the sight of the fabric in between her delicate fingers. 

“This color is nice,” she muses, and god,  he wants to kiss her. This a thought Spencer has often, oftentimes at inopportune times. On the jet, in the office, at her house, in the car- always, really. 

Except now, no one’s looking at them. If loving her was enough to make her love him back, then he could. 

But it isn’t. 

He chokes back the emotion rich in his throat. He brushes her hair out of her face, a tender motion that betrays his intentions with her. 

“You always look lovely,” Spencer says earnestly. I love looking at you, he thinks.

She smiles back earnestly and warmly. 

“I didn’t think you noticed things like that.”

“I always do, when it’s you.”

He doesn’t know why this is what he’s allowed to have. She’s so close to him, pinned up against him and he can feel the curve of her waist against his side. He doesn’t get it, why he’s not her boyfriend but he still gets moments like these, where she’s pinned to him like velcro. He’s addicted to them, really- craves the moments where she falls asleep on his lap on the jet, where they’ll be walking together somewhere and she’ll lace their fingers and tug him along when she’s excited and the destination in sight.

Maybe this is just how she touches her best friends- he tries not to question it, because he doesn’t want to loosest. 

But tonight, under the low-light of the bar, shadows of her lashes thrown across the slope of her cheek- he wants to ask her.

“Are you like this with everyone?” He muses. He immediately regrets it, sees her face harden and feels the shift away from him, and the space leaves a gap of cold air. There’s a swoop f nerves in his stomach.

“I don’t know, I think I just thought- you know, we’re like this. We’re touchy, you and me.”

He’s not touchy. Everyone knows this, but she’s the exception to a rule that has held true his entire life. But he loves this, loves the feeling of this.

“I like this,” he says, intentional eye contact trained on her shaking irises. He reaches out and laces their fingers in an act of bravery that rivals some of his most intense moments, “I’m wanting inf you want more of it. Because I do.”

“You do?”

She’s back close to him, now, and he’s so immensely grateful for it. She smells like lilies and her, and this might be the only time he’s brave enough to do something like this. 

It turns out he doesn’t have to, because before he can answer, she kisses him. It happens fast, and his response is all instinct- pulling her into him closer, his hands around her waist and her soft sigh into his mouth that threatens to kill him. It’s better than his fantasies at night could have made him expect. 

“Hi,” she says, barely above a whisper when she pulls away. She looks a little adorably off-guard, in a way he’d like to create- like to instigate. 

“Hi back,” he says, a beaming grin threatening to spread over his face. He tries to memorize the feeling of this, the weight of her in his arms in case this is not something he can keep- he wants to remember it, what it felt like for her to kiss him, to be wanted by her. 

“Do you want to go out sometime?”

“Like out of here? It’s kind of cold outside-“

“On a date, Spencer.”

Instead of a response, Spencer kisses her again. It is absolutely the right choice.

[eightstarr]

at the count of three — ellie williams.

summary: how do you tell your best friend you’re in love with them? ellie has an answer! just be cool and wait for the right moment— and the next. and maybe another one, just to be sure. if you get impatient, you can always take a deep breath and count to three! (years, that is)

warnings: slow burn (childhood friends to lovers <3), little bit suggestive but no smut!

notes: born from a piece of dialogue i wrote like, a year ago and completely forgot about but somehow a week later it's 4k words? idk you're welcome or i'm sorry!!! also yes they do spend almost every scene sitting together on a couch but that's what lesbianism is all about...

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・。.・゜✧・. ────

ONE!

A movie plays on the TV, a slightly tarnished DVD of an 80’s action flick starring some oily guy and the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen— Ellie doesn't remember much other than an obnoxiously epic soundtrack and lingering shots that made the plot twist too obvious about 20 minutes in. 

She's freshly eighteen; you’re ahead only by a couple months. It's a warm Friday night, Joel and your dad in the kitchen putting scraps together for a mildly healthy dinner, Ellie sitting on the very opposite side of the couch from where you are. It’s hot, she'd said, looking away from your comically insulted face that grew with every scooch she made from your side, a lame excuse to save her from the newly found (and fucking torturous) fluttering that sparks in her stomach whenever she sits too close to you.

From the kitchen comes the sound of a can hitting the floor, followed by Joel’s 'shit!' and then quickly, 'sorry, girls'. You chuckle, turning to Ellie and catching her staring at you. A wrinkle forms between your eyebrows at the same time a pink warmth floods her cheeks. “Dude, you’re not even paying attention.”

“I am,” a scoff, her eyes now strictly committed to the screen. “The noise distracted me,” she adds, knowing it didn't even make her flinch from the careful study of your side profile.

“Scaredy cat— ow!” a pillow crashes against your cheek, sudden enough to shock you, too soft to do any real damage. “What the fuck?”

Ellie raises her eyebrows and looks at you from the corner of her eyes, a smirk half hidden by her hand. “Don’t be rude, you're missing the best scene.”

You throw the pillow back and scoff when she catches it, your lips slightly pursed, the signature sign to tell you’re annoyed. It's almost identical to the replica of that gesture that sits at the end of her last journal entry, an overly dedicated sketch born from a wandering thought. She could make it more accurate, she thinks now, soften the line of your jaw, take the scar on your cheek a little more to the left.

The sound of water splashing from the TV catches her attention and Ellie snaps her head forward (lest she get caught staring again), just as the blonde haired love interest is walking out of a fancy looking swimming pool.

“She’s hot,” you say, fingers pulling absentmindedly at loose threads on the rip of your jeans. When Ellie doesn't say anything, you turn to look at her, “You don't think so?”

Her voice comes out a higher pitch than she’d like. “What—” she clears her throat before continuing to mumble, “I don't know, I guess.”

You laugh. “You guess?” 

“Yeah, I— I don't know, dude, I wasn't thinking about that.”

You watch the nervousness on her face, the gulp that passes her throat, the red under her freckles. Fondness tugs at your chest and your voice softens just slightly, a smile playing on your lips. “Oh my God. Ellie, it’s okay,” green eyes find your face and she sees you hesitate for a second before you shrug. “Who cares? It's just me.”

You make it sound easy. It's the most distinct thing Ellie remembers about this moment, how suddenly safety felt like the most obvious thing. TV light on your face, your arm over the back of the couch, the same eyes she's been looking at since she was fourteen. Of course it's okay. Everything else with you is easy, why wouldn't this be the same?

Ellie shifts on the couch, the distance between you turning quickly ridiculous— offensive, even. She’s embarrassed to have let her flusteredness get in the way, but the urge to be closer doesn't feel right either. Everything she does feels like too much, everything she says too intense. “How long have you known?” she asks.

You tilt your head, less of a question and more of a guidance, “Known that you…”

Ellie parts her lips, unsure of whether or not she’s gonna say it or how, trying to will the words to come out. And they do, she remembers it well, because it was the first and maybe the only time she was this direct about it. “That I like girls.”

The smile on your face is teeth-rotting sweet, but she only gets to bask in it for a second before you widen your eyes and lower your voice to a scandalized whisper. “You what?”

Ellie rolls her eyes, cheeks burning, “Oh, fuck you.”

Your laugh fills up the room and the fluttering in her stomach feels absurd at this point, like she would actually be able to feel those annoying little butterflies flying around if she were to press her hand against her abdomen. “Sorry, sorry,” you say, and for a terrifying second Ellie thinks maybe they're loud too, and you’re able to hear them. But then she looks at you and forgets about it, easy easy easy. “It’s really okay. You know that, yeah?”

“Yeah,” she says. For once, there's not a glimpse of doubt about it to be found.

You watch another ten minutes of the movie in silence before your dad's head peeks out from the kitchen to call you both to the table for dinner.

Ellie has a habit of eating like it's her last day on earth. When you were both new residents of Jackson, hungry and scared and not at all used to the idea of a full plate of food twice a day, she couldn't help it. And you were the same, hence why your dad thought it would be good for you and Ellie to spend time together, which quickly turned to being around each other basically every minute of every day. But as the weeks passed, you seemed to be learning to adapt faster. A younger Ellie found this frustrating— especially after that time Joel complimented your table manners.

You’re just… nicer, she remembers saying, a stressed frown on her still childlike face, fiddling with a box of marbles she’d found under her new bed. She remembers how you pulled one out, your fingers brushing against her own for the first time ever, and held the clear crystal with green stripes next to her eyes, a satisfied smile at a practically perfect match. You’re nice too, Els, you’d said, shrugging your shoulders, the marble shoved inside your pocket, I think I just lie better.

Until that moment, Ellie had never thought about it that way; the fact that you could be pretending to feel more confident and comfortable than you really are to make yourself safer, to get people to like you. But when she asked, you swore you had never lied to Ellie. She used to drive herself mad thinking about that, a strange, confusing worry gnawing at her chest— she likes that you don't feel the need to lie, but what does it say about how you see her? Is it that you don't care if she likes you? Or worse, is it that you know that she already does?

You sit in front of her today at the same dinner table, four years later, and watch her practically inhale her bowl of pasta like no time has passed at all. You let out a snort and Ellie wonders if you can see it even now, if her constant thoughts of you are obvious even when she looks this busy.

"What?" she asks, an immediate frown on her face, though she's done you the honor of swallowing her mouthful before speaking.

"You're so gross," you say, chin resting on your palm, tilting your head like you're looking at some thought provoking art piece. Ellie thinks you'll leave it at that, but then you reach over and swipe your thumb over the red spot of sauce next to the corner of her lips, so soft she barely feels it. You watch her frown soften for a second before it becomes even deeper.

Ellie feels like her whole body is exploding with warmth, too hot under the hoodie she's wearing, too pink across her face. It's so obvious, she thinks, it's so— fuck, pull it together. Her gaze follows your finger as you bring it to your lips and lick off the sauce. “You’re disgusting,” she retorts lamely, her hand rough when she brushes it over her mouth, lest you notice another stain and she has to watch you do that again.

You are familiarly not deterred by her meanness. Or her attempt at it. "And you eat like a five year old,” you shrug. “I guess we both have our issues."

Ellie catches herself staring at your hands for the rest of the meal, certain that she's never noticed them in the same way before. How much time has she been wasting? You both have your issues, you'd said, but Ellie thinks she has you beat. Yours can't possibly be anywhere near this dangerous.

─────✧･ﾟ: *✧･

TWO!

Someone's knocking on her door. Ellie sniffles and lets out a groan as she gets up from the couch, sore throat, her limbs heavy and tired. She knows it's you because it's always the same three knocks; the first two firm and loud, a pause, and then one tiny one that sounds almost like 'sorry'. You’re impatient but still painfully afraid to be rude— if she loved you a little less, Ellie thinks she would make fun of it a lot more. But alas, she's cursed to smile at it every time.

She opens the door and the breeze that slips in makes her fall immediately into an embarrassing coughing fit. “It’s fine,” she mutters, at the same time you’re saying jesus christ, Ellie. “Shit. I’m okay,” she clears her throat and finally gets a moment to look at you, all pretty and put together in your best shirt and a freshly showered scent, the sun setting behind you like a perfect frame. Ellie prays her lungs don't betray her again and tries to make the brush of her hand over her messy hair look casual instead of desperate.

“Well, I was gonna ask if you wanted to come to the party with me for just a few minutes, but… I’m not sure you should be out of bed,” your worried frown is pretty, too. What a cruel fate. “Is Joel home? I can stay—”

“No, no, you’re good,” Ellie shakes her head, arms crossed over her chest like maybe it’ll cover up enough and you won't notice she was wearing the same long sleeve the last time you saw her. “He’ll be here in like, five minutes. I’ll be fine, ’m not a baby.”

You’re both nineteen by this time, Ellie remembers because you wore the same pretty blue shirt that you're wearing now for her birthday, and it was the day she realized her crush was no longer deniable. It's easier to act like nothing’s happening when she feels like she's alone in it, like there's no universe where you could love her like she loves you so she might as well let the fantasy die— but then you put on your shirt that's reserved for special occasions just to come over and bring her the cupcake you made, and suddenly Ellie can picture herself with her hands on each side of your waist, pulling you close, saying thank you with her lips brushing against yours before she kisses you. She can see it so clearly that it startles her, changes everything. Her birthday comes with a punch to the gut and a hunger she wants to tell you and only you about.

“You’re not gonna be bored? I really don't mind staying until he gets home.”

Ellie thinks (dramatically, extremely nineteen—) that if she lets you take care of her, she might actually die. It felt like she almost did last time you visited, your face serious with concentration as you pressed the back of your hand against her forehead. ‘You're warm’, you said, ‘do you feel sweaty?’ Ellie stared up at you, eyes glossy and heavy from sleep. ‘Not really’, her fingers sneaked out from under the blanket to wrap themselves around your forearm, a moment of bravery or delusion, ‘your hand feels nice’. You chuckled, ‘okay, keep it’.

She’s less feverish today, but not yet recovered from the greedy voice in her head that begs her to keep you close. If you don't go to the party now, she thinks (knows) that she’ll let herself casually talk you into staying the rest of the night. “Nah, don't miss your party,” she says. “I’ll be okay, Joel’s gonna teach me how to play that old card game.”

You raise your eyebrows. “So you're gonna argue all night.”

“No— what?” Ellie scoffs. “It’ll be good, I learn fast.”

“Yeah, because you make up your own rules.”

“I have questions about the rules, that's not the same thing.”

“It is if you cheat—”

“I’m not a cheater!”

You hum, a curious tilt of your head, and Ellie rolls her eyes before the words are even out of your mouth. “No, I guess you’d have to have a girlfriend for that.”

You watch her run her tongue over her teeth, her shoulder against the door frame. “You know I could say the same to you, right?”

“Too bad I said it first,” you shrug, pretty smile stretching your lips. “I guess I'll go, then. I’ll come over when it's done so you don't miss me too much.”

Ellie tries to maintain her composure. You know, she thinks, do you know? You must know. You can't know— “Right. Also so you can steal my food and crash in my bed, I’m guessing.”

“When you’re all vulnerable and weak? What do you think of me, Ellie?” you frown sadly, a hand over your heart.

“I think I know you,” she says, the corner of her lips lifting just a little, inescapably.

You walk to the gate and turn around as you close the lock, your hands on either side of your mouth as if she’s miles and miles away. “I’ll take the couch!”

“Yeah, sure!” Ellie yells back, her voice pretty even when it's hoarse, knowing she’ll hold on for just about ten minutes before she insists you take the bed instead.

Joel stays awake with her until around 10pm, when his yawns become too many to hide and he’s already let Ellie win three games, his smile genuine and wide while she chuckles and pretends she doesn’t notice. He leaves her with a tupperware of soup for tomorrow’s lunch and a deck of cards. To teach your friends or— I don't know, keep on the coffee table, he’d said, make you look cool. Ellie’s not sure you would find a box of cards ‘cool’, but she’s not above trying.

Ever since she moved out to the garage, she’s discovered a new type of stress at the notion of having you over. At Joel’s house, all she ever did to prepare for guests was pick up the dirty clothes from her bedroom floor and put her books in a (wobbly) single pile. Now things are different. The garage is small, but it's all hers— her floor, her living room, her kitchen. She can't have you thinking that she can't take care of things on her own.

She spends the next hour moving things around until finally, two loud knocks. A second passes; Ellie looks at the cards and considers shoving them inside one of the drawers on her desk. By the time the one quiet knock comes, she shrugs and decides to leave them on the coffee table, lest Joel was right and she misses a chance to have you start thinking she's cool and mysterious. “It's open,” she says from the couch, tiredness soon catching up with her after all that time rearranging things.

The door opens and you come in, quickly closing it behind you, a relieved sigh at the loss of that crisp, cold breeze outside. “Did Joel forget those?” you ask, bent at the waist as you take your shoes off, your chin pointing at the deck, the only thing on the coffee table. Maybe she should've been more subtle with it.

“Uh, no,” Ellie scratches the back of her neck, her legs stretched across the couch. “They’re a gift.”

She's not sure you hear her over the groan you make as you stretch your arms above your head, her legs moved to the side automatically to make space for you to sit. You fall down with a sigh and both forget about the cards— you, distracted by the warm tingly feeling of a couple drinks, and Ellie by the new jacket you’re wearing.

She lets a million different scenarios spin around her head for a couple seconds before she blurts out the question. “Whose is that?”

“What?” you turn your head away from the movie playing on the TV.

“The jacket.”

“Oh,” you look down at yourself as if you’ve just remembered it’s there. “Maya was leaving too, so she walked here with me. It’s hers.”

Ellie hums, her back sliding a little further down the couch, legs spread. “Stinks like it’s hers.”

You chuckle before you can help it, her animosity ridiculous and charming— Ellie’s better with actions than she is with words. “I don't even know what you're talking about,” you shake your head, not quite slurring, but not too far from it either. "She smells like strawberries."

Fuck Maya and her strawberry shampoo. Ellie could get some if she wanted to, maybe if she traded— what the fuck is she thinking about? She rolls her shoulders back and pushes the thoughts away, gluing her eyes to the screen. “Sure,” she says, less because she agrees and more because she doesn't wanna hear what else you like about Maya. “You had fun, then?”

“It was alright. You didn't miss out on too much,” the end of your sentence stretched out by a yawn, you cover your mouth lazily and rest back fully against the couch. “Jesse was drunk. They had to stop him from getting up on a table.”

Ellie chuckles. “I don't know, maybe he had something to say. I think I would’ve let him.”

“That's what I said,” you smile and let your head fall to the side, your cheek against the cushion. She feels you staring, enables it for a while by acting oblivious, falsely over-invested in some movie she can't remember the title of. She hears you move closer before she feels it— the shuffle of your clothes, the stupid jacket rubbing against her couch, so easily forgettable by the time your temple falls on her shoulder.

Ellie's about to fall asleep when she hears the little noise you make, something like a sniffle. For a worrying second she thinks she might’ve given you her cold, but then she feels the tip of your nose brush against her shoulder and she realizes you’re trying to breathe her in. 

“You always smell nice,” you whisper, half asleep.

Ellie swallows and prays to keep her body completely still, scared she’ll make the wrong move and have you pull away, scared you’ll lean closer and be able to hear the fast beating on her chest. She sounds breathy, “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you say. “Like fresh rain.”

Slow like the roll of credits playing on the TV, Ellie feels how every muscle in her body settles down, relaxed, content— fucking cocky. She wraps her arm around your shoulders and hopes the scent will rub off on the jacket and remind Maya of a cloudy autumn night, rain over her garden.

─────✧･ﾟ: *✧･

THREE!

"Do you think we would've liked each other?" you ask, your legs resting on her lap while she fidgets mindlessly with the ruffled cuff of your socks. Every patrol lately ends the exact same way, a quiet walk home and a joint on Ellie’s couch. "Back when the world was normal?”

Ellie turns to look at you, blinking lazily, a reddish hue over her green. You’re not sure if she's more tired or high, but either way you're not doing much better— everything you’ve said during the past hour is the kind of thought you have when you're alone at night and your brain wanders, moments away from falling asleep. It's a meaningless question, but Ellie lets out a soft hum and thinks about it like it's worth considering. You're not sure if anyone you’ve met in your whole twenty years of life is as willing to indulge you as she is.

"Yeah," she says decidedly, in the same tone with which one would say duh. "We—" a yawn cuts her off, slender hand rubbing one of her eyes. "We would be friends, like, in college."

"I wouldn't be in college.”

Ellie frowns, takes one last inhale and discards the joint to the ashtray on her coffee table. "Why not?"

"'Cause I'm not smart like you," you shrug.

The fold between her eyebrows deepens. "You're smart," she argues, with enough conviction that you almost believe her, insisting, "You are."

"In other ways, sure—” Ellie opens her mouth to interrupt but you get ahead of her, “I’m not trying to talk badly about myself, I just don't think college would be for me.”

You’ve never been the most disciplined. It’s hard to imagine yourself staying up late to study, taking diligent notes in class. It feels ridiculous.

“I’d be working somewhere, I think. Making coffee for people or something.”

Ellie pauses before she nods, adjusting her daydream to what you’re saying, strangely committed. "Then we would meet there,” she makes it sound like the easiest thing in the world, a natural equation. “I'd go get coffee from you."

You chuckle. "You don't even like coffee that much."

Ellie shrugs, soft pink lips curved in a smirk that tells you she's sleepy and serves to warn you of the horror that's about to come out of her mouth.

You groan. “Don't—”

"Maybe I like the pretty girl that's making it."

“Awful,” you push her shoulder away, barely any force behind it, her giggles swimming comfortably around your head. “Never speak again.”

"Not my best work?" she asks, her fingers wrapping lazily around your shin. Too much, her brain warns, but then she remembers the pad of your finger over the back of her hand last night, the cursive lines with no purpose other than to be touching her— and it feels right, or like it's not enough. Too much soon turns to coward.

"Possibly your worst.”

She might be going crazy, but lately Ellie feels like you’re looking at her differently. In your eyes there's something gentle, awaiting, a tracing of your eyes over her face that says please. She chews on her lip, her eagerness painful. “We would like each other,” she doesn't think there's a world where you wouldn't, and if there was… "I'd make you like me."

You raise your eyebrows, teasing, "Oh, so like now?"

Her lips part with genuine surprise, more amused than offended. “...I made you, huh?” 

You regret the joke as soon as it comes out of your mouth, immediately brought back to your fourteen year old self, lonely and admittedly captivated by the auburn haired girl from next door. Flashes of you rushing to catch up with her, untied laces on your too tight sneakers, Ellie, do you wanna be friends? The sound of pages shuffling and her voice reading in whispers in the dead of night because you asked, can you talk to me until I fall asleep? Infatuated from the beginning, obsessed. Even now, on her couch, after spending a whole day together— do you like me? Would you like me, always?

A pillow crashes against the side of her face, her laugh almost louder than the embarrassed pounding of your heart. You pull your legs from her lap and lie back, fold your arms over your face. “You're so annoying.”

A lie so obvious it makes Ellie smile. She shifts to crawl closer, one knee on either side of you. “C’mon, I was joking,” she leans forward and you feel her knuckles tap your arm like she’s knocking on a door. The power to make you shy is still foreign to her, makes her feel drunk, thrilled. She doesn't remember having it before, but of course it was there. In little ways, in daily, simple things. Your eyes always looking for her first in any room, lighting up even after an especially bad pun, tracing her arms when the day becomes too hot to keep her jacket on. You like her, of course. How much time has she been wasting? The breath she lets out feels like it's been waiting to be let go, years spent stuck in her lungs. Ellie wraps her fingers around one of your wrists, her voice sweet, achingly soft. “Want me to tell you why I know I’d like you?”

You lower your arms just slightly, eyes peering up at her.

“Yeah?” she tilts her head.

You nod, arms coming down, unusually quiet.

Ellie grins, victorious. “Okay, but fair warning— it's worse than the coffee thing.”

You chuckle. “Is it?”

“Very.”

“Hm,” you hum, pretending to think about it, distracted by the vision of her practically sitting on top of you. Freckled face framed by the hair that's escaped her usual bun, softly lit by the warmth of the lamp on her desk. “Alright,” you say finally.

It takes Ellie a second to respond, momentarily dazed by the thought of being pretty enough for you to ogle like this. She clears her throat. “You ready?”

You tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear and away from her eyes. “Sure.”

Ellie waits for the nerves to come, but even as she parts her lips to speak, they never do. What a kind fate. “I know I’d like you because nothing’s ever made more sense to me— I’ve been doing it since I was a kid. I like you enough for a million lifetimes.”

You look at each other, bask in a moment of understanding. Your eyes on her lips, a hand on her waist that pulls her closer. “That was worse,” you agree.

Ellie moves to rest on her forearms, cages you in, her nose brushing against yours. “I told you.”

She waits, feels herself count once again, a final time, one, two—

A hand against the back of her neck brings her in and the quiet noise of her surprise vibrates against your lips, makes her smile into the kiss for just a second before the hunger takes over. Her hips readjusting over yours, knees pressing against your sides, Ellie kisses like it's a need rather than a whim. She takes and takes and swallows every sigh you make like it's a gift, four, five, six seconds of a messy trail of kisses down your neck to say thank you before she resurfaces again.

“Love you,” she breathes out, because suddenly all that talk about ‘like’ feels stupid— immature, incomparable to what she actually feels for you. “Need you.”

You moan against her lips and it's her favorite sound in the whole world, immediately, as quick as realizing she would fall in love with you the day she met you. “Love you, Ellie.”

A kiss to your clavicle, your hands pulling at her shirt and her thigh between yours. She makes you say it three more times.

[ncroissant]

HEAR ME OUT ON SUB! HUSBAND! FRANCIS AND DOPPELGÄNGER READER I BEG OF YOU AJAJSHSBDBJSEHE

sub! husband! francis mosses x dom! doppelgänger! gn! reader

summary: phone sex with needy francis mosses (pt. 2 here)

wc: 1.6k

content warning: nsfw, praise, dirty talk, exhibitionism kinda (security camera on him), slight nipple play, masturbation

author's note: thank u for the great ask anon :) i had so many ideas with this one, but this one stuck the most hehe >:) sorry for literally taking so long on this, writer's block is a bitch!! hope you guys enjoyed this one !! not proofread, minors pls dni !!

it was just a quick one-two, in and out of this man's apartment.

you just needed a reason to stay in this person's apartment until you established your place. you'd act like his loving, doting partner, working their job then living their best life. that was the plan.

but here you were, complaining about their life like it was yours.

things were getting boring in the security office. there was no one to deny because you let your fellow doppelgängers in. plus, it was a weekend so no one wanted to be home today.

in contrast, something you did like about living your copy's life was your new husband. he'd come home earlier from deliveries just to wait for you to come through the front door. dinner ready, table set, plants watered. he was such a sweetheart, always tending to your needs.

unexpectedly, as domineering as he seemed, he was actually more needy in the bedroom. always needing guidance, extra attention and someone to boss him around. that's what got his dick rising.

so when you decided to phone his apartment, knowing it was off day, he was quick to pick up.

"hi dovie! how's work?" he had a little lilt in his voice, acting like he didn't stamper to the phone, knowing it was you. he wasn't one to give out his apartment number.

you chuckled at his speedy response, leaning back in your chair. "hi lover boy. it's going..." you trailed off, checking the window for any customers. "you miss me?"

"mhm. always miss you," he nodded, holding the phone tightly in his grasp. "when're coming home, hm?" like a puppy waiting for its owner to come home.

"miss you too, honey. my shift ends at 6. three more hours to go!" you cheered sarcastically, staring at the clock as you watched the hands tick. "you alright all by yourself?" you asked, pulling out a notepad.

you had a habit of doodling when francis spoke, he always loosened up when it came to you. "kinda. i miss you lots though. think 'm gonna read a book later," he rambled, though there was a distinct sound of rustling on his side.

"is that so? what book where you thinking of reading?" you placed the phone between your chin and shoulder, trying to find a pen. it was silent for a bit, but the rustling persisted. "francie? you still there?"

"oh, sorry," he cleared his throat, almost as if he was snapping himself out of a trance. "mmm, i-i don't know..." he was huffing softly, you could almost feel him breathing in your ear through the phone.

you were quick to put two and two together. "francie...are you doing something you shouldn't be doing?"

he almost let out a whimper, the rustling making much more sense. "'m sorry..." he sighed, the noisiness of his end coming to a full stop. "i-i was touchin' myself..."

as if it wasn't obvious already: his panting, his rustling. "'s okay, honey. do you need help?" he flushed at your suggestion, toying with the zipper on his slacks.

"b-but you're at work. don't wanna distract you," he mumbled, his thighs squeezing together at the thought of you guiding him to an orgasm.

"work's slow today. entertain me, honey," you chuckled, your laugh making his ears tingle. "want me to help you cum, hm?"

he nodded, forgetting that you couldn't see him. the blush on his face travelled from his ears to his cheeks, down to his neck and back. it was a sight you'd pay to see. "is your cock still in your hand, honey?"

"no, i was just rubbing through my pants..." he shyly confessed, feeling his bulge throb.

"m'kay, take off your pants and underwear and hold out your cock," you instructed, completely abandoning your doodles. "tell me what you were doing to yourself while i was talkin' to you, honey."

you heard shuffling against, fabric against skin. "mmm, well, hearin' y'r voice made my tummy feel funny. then i felt my cock feel tight in m'pants, hngh," he explained, his zipper quickly freeing his cock.

"s-so then i jus' started touching myself a lil'. just through my pants 'n shirt, nothin' else!" he defended himself, but his revelation made you smirk.

"playing with your chest too, hm?" you repeated, a wide grin plastered on your face. "is your cock in your hand now?"

"mhm!"

his hand was gripping at the base of his cock, squeezing it to get some sort of friction. he was kneeling on the couch, legs slightly spread, his balls rubbing against the cool leather underneath.

"why don't you start making yourself feel good, honey? stroke it nice and slow for me, yeah?" you cooed.

he did as you said, no questions asked, stroking at his already hard cock as slowly as he could. "'n then why not you keep playing with your chest for me too? since you had no problem doing it earlier."

"mngh...o-okay...!" he squeaked, his hips rutting into his hand. he quickly placed a hand on his chest, rubbing his nub with a waving hand motion. "o-ooh! 's so-"

"you really like that, huh? like when people play with your perky chest," you taunted, feeling your own chest feel heated.

you almost wanted to join him, but the security cameras in your office made you think otherwise. "i wanna go up there and fuck you, honey. you like that too?" you whispered, making him moan.

"mhm, mhm! c-come up, hn, please!" he begged, his hand picking up its pace. his slick was sticking to his hand, slowly gathering at the tip of his cock. "miss you, dovie! miss you lots, aagh!"

you could only imagine how pathetic he looked. legs spread, weeping cock in hand, nipples poking through his shirt. he would be waiting for you so patiently, waiting for you to come home with his cock rubbing against the carpet floors.

you felt yourself leaning too far forward, accidentally pressing a random button on your panel. francis' moans filled your ears, but a certain image popped up on the security camera feed.

your husband on full display.

"francie, can you look to your left a little?" you ushered him to look towards the camera in disbelief at your discovery.

he obeyed your orders almost instantly, making you smile. he was in the direction of the camera, but not looking at it directly. he was completely unaware of the it, as much as you were.

but despite the strangeness of it all, you wanted to use it to your advantage.

"lay on your back f'me, honey. make sure your legs are spread wide open," you instructed, watching him meekly get into position. "i want that shirt unbuttoned and your pants to your ankles."

he hastily got undressed, his hand cupping his left breast. you wanted to cum at the sight of your pretty husband all open up from you, waiting for your next command.

"what's next, dovie? what do you want to do to me?" he innocently asked, his freehand hooking under his thigh to pull it up to his chest.

you grinned evilly, looking at the lewd position he was in, fantasizing what you should do next. "i want you to keep stroking at your cock, and playing with your chest."

and he followed instructions so well. he'd stick his fingers in his mouth before rolling his spit covered digits around his nipple. then he'd stroke at his cock, the desperation to cum more evident on his face.

the way his brows knits and sweat rolled down his temples made it clear that he was close. all this while the phone was wedge between his shoulder and ear, making every moan very audible.

"don't slow down, honey. i need you to keep stroking until you cum." you scolded, seeing how tired his wrist was getting as he got closer.

"o-oooh 'kay! 'm t-tryin' my best, haaagh! hand's getting a lil' tired, dovie, mmngh!" his lewd moans slipped out, as his hips shook from the speed he was stroking at.

his eyes were screwed shut, drool dripping down his lips at the thought of you praising him. "'m cumming soon, dovie! h-have to cum soon, unngh!" he panted, fucking into his fist.

you chuckled at his desperation, closely looking at your husband squirming on the couch, curtains wide open for the world to see the little slut you were hiding away.

"'m not seeing you pinching your nipples, honey," you scolded, making him tense up.

he did what you asked for, tugging at the tips of his nubs, but your comment made his dick tighten. "hnnnghh! y-you can see me?" his back arched against the couch, the view of his dick getting closer to the overhead security cam.

"o-oooGHH! c-CUMMING! cumming, dovie! 's coming out, hnnnghhh!" he exclaimed, cum shooting out of his tip, staining the entirety of his face and the couch.

although the feed was in black and white, you could see the splotches of cum that coated your couch and the way his clothes darkened from the wetness.

"such a good boy, honey. did so well f'me," you praised, chuckling at the way he twitched in his spot, unmoving. "you g'na wait until i get up there and fuck you properly, huh?"

he nodded mindless, huffing loudly into the phone.

suddenly, someone walked up to the window. "entry request and id, please," you disregarded the lewd image in front of you, returning back to your job.

he felt himself cum again just from the sight of your professionalism. you were so sexy when you were on the job. his orgasm came too quicky, his cock throbbing at the loss of cum.

"n-need you to f-fuck me, dovie, hn..." francis moaned into the phone, making you blush. you mindlessly looked through the person's papers, paying no mind to accuracy.

you let them through with no questions before gripping at the phone. "'m leavin' early. just for you, francie," you growled into the phone, feeling yourself get worked up.

"be ready in 5. i'm comin' up."

[an-spideog]

Don't Use Duolingo if You Really Want to Learn Irish

That title is a bit dramatic, but I really don't think that duolingo is a useful tool for Irish, especially in its current state, so I want to talk a bit about why, and I'll also talk about some alternatives.

Pronunciation

The first and most egregious issue is that at some point recently-ish, duo decided to start using Text-To-Speech for their Irish course, rather than recordings of a native speaker. The problem here is that their TTS is not trained on native speakers of Irish and pronounces words incorrectly. It doesn't make consistent distinctions between broad and slender consonants for example.

Irish has no standard pronunciation, so I understand how it can feel weird to choose just one dialect for the purposes of pronunciation (the old recordings were from a speaker of Galway Irish), but having just one dialect is much better than TTS which sounds like a learner, imagine if they had TTS for the French course which sounded like an anglophone schoolkid trying to pronounce french, and claimed they were teaching you how to speak french!

Grammar

Duo tends to be correct on grammar at least, which is a start. But often people using it get very confused about the grammar because duo doesn't explain any of it. I think there's a place for immersion in language learning, and I don't think everything has to be explained like that, but within duo's system of sentence testing and exercises like that, not having any explanation for why it's "mo chóta" and not "mo cóta" can be really confusing. Duo used to have more grammar information, it's a shame that they removed it, I wonder why they did it.

Money and Motivation

Duolingo is a business, and their motivation is not to help you learn a language 'fully', but to keep you using their app and hopefully have a higher chance of sharing it with others, competing with others, buying or causing others to buy memberships or lingots or any other in-app purchases.

I don't want to make it out like duo is some big conspiracy and they're tricking people, I don't think that's the case, but it's good to remember that their primary motivation is to keep people using the app, rather than help people move to a level in a language where they don't need the app anymore.

Keep this in mind whenever you see people trying to sell you stuff for language learning.

Why do people use Duolingo

I do get it, and I don't want to make anyone feel bad for using duo, there's a ton of reasons people tend towards it at first 1. It's really well known, so especially if you're learning a language and haven't heard of other resources for it, you'll check duolingo 2. It's very motivating for a lot of people, checking in every day and forming that habit is a really good way of sticking with a language 3. It's fun, people enjoy it

If you use it for reason 3. and you still like it, then don't worry about this post, I'm not trying to yuck anyone's yums, keep having fun!

If you use it for reasons 1. or 2. you can still keep using it if you like, but I want to suggest some other things which you might find helpful in trying to get to a higher level in Irish.

Other Resources

To address the pronunciation issue, I'd heavily recommend you disregard the pronunciation in duolingo, if you're looking for more reliable sources of pronunciation, I'd look towards recordings of native speakers, you can find that on:

Teanglann and Foclóir (they use the same recordings)

Fuaimeanna

and a really useful and underused one: https://davissandefur.github.io/minimal-pairs/ where you can hear the difference between similar sounds that English speakers often mix up in Irish.

A lot of people like duolingo because it's nice to have a clear path forward, a progression that you can get into without too much decision-making. For this I recommend getting a good textbook or course and working through it, the ones I'll recommend also have native speaker audio on them.

Learning Irish by Mícheál Ó Siadhail, this book teaches Galway Irish, not just in pronunciation but in grammar too. It's quite dense but it's well thought out and well explained.

Teach Yourself Irish (1961) this book is available for free online, and is a really good option if you're interested in Cork Irish (Munster), and have some experience with grammatical terminology. I used this book myself and really liked it, but it's very intense and not for everyone. (If you do end up using it, feel free to skip the appendices at the start, they're more of a reference and sometimes put people off from actually getting to the first chapter. Also if you have any questions about it or need any help just let me know.)

If you want a video course, there's a great course called "Now You're Talking" which is available for free online, along with audio files and worksheets here. It features Donegal Irish and leads into the more intermediate level course called Céim ar Aghaidh also available online.

There's other textbooks that I have less experience with (Buntús na Gaeilge, Gaeilge/Gramadach Gan Stró, etc.) but if they work for you, stick with them, there's nothing worse than not making progress because you keep switching resources trying to find the "perfect one"

Whether or not you continue to use Duolingo, I would really really encourage you to try engaging with media in Irish. People often shy away from this when they're learning because they don't feel like they're "ready" yet. But you basically never feel like you're ready, you just have to try and find something near your level and try to get comfortable with not understanding everything. This is where you learn a huge portion of the language, you hear how things are pronounced you see what words mean in what contexts, getting input in your target language is so important!

I know content can be kind of hard to find, so I'll make a few recommendations here: There's a wealth of content available for free online (more if you're in ireland but some internationally) on TG4 If you're still starting out, I'd recommend trying to watch some kids shows since they'll have simpler language and will be easier to follow. I wouldn't recommend using English subtitles when you watch them. Some good options include:

Dónall Dána: an Irish dub of Horrid Henry, silly and childish but the actors have good Irish and importantly the show has Irish language subtitles, they don't always match but if you're still beginning and can't necessarily get everything by ear, they're really useful. (Mostly Galway Irish)

Curious George: another dub, again with Irish language subtitles (I can't remember what dialects were in it off the top of my head but I'd assume mostly galway again)

Seó Luna: No subtitles, but a good option if you're aiming for Munster Irish, the lead character has Kerry Irish

Miraculous: No subtitles but a better show than most of the other kids' ones and more bearable to watch as an adult (Mostly Galway Irish)

Ros na Rún: Moving away from kids shows, a long running soap opera, this has Irish subtitles and a really good mix of dialects within the show. If you're finding the kids shows boring or too easy I'd really recommend it, but it can be complex because of the amount of characters, dialects, and plotlines. I'd recommend starting at the beginning of a newer season and just trying to catch on to what's happening as you go.

There are a lot of books, if you live in Ireland you can get nearly any Irish book for free from a library, so please check out your local library or request some of these from other libraries in the system:

There's a series of fairytales (Rápúnzell, Luaithríona etc.) by Máiréad Ní Ghráda which are illustrated and for children, which are a really good option for when you're just starting out reading

There's kids books about Fionn and the Fianna by Tadhg Mac Dhonnagáin

There's a cute little kids' book in Kerry Irish about a cat named Mábúis

Leabhar Breac has a lot of graphic novels, some of them based on Irish mythology, some on other stuff. The fact that they're illustrated can make it a lot easier to follow even if you don't understand all the words at first.

Gliadar has just released their Scott Pilgrim translation

If you're looking for something a bit more advanced you can look at some of the books for adult learners by Comhar, they contain simplified language and glossaries but have full original adult stories.

And if you're wanting full, natural, native-level Irish there's a load of books by those same groups, and others like An Gúm, Cló Iar-Chonnacht, Oidhreacht Chorca Dhuibhne, Éabhlóid, Coiscéim, and more.

And don't shy away from older books written in Seanchló either, they can be more challenging but it's a whole extra world of books

If you're trying to improve your listening comprehension, I definitely recommend listening to shows on Raidió na Gaeltachta, hearing native Irish speakers talk at full speed is really good practice. But I get that it can be overwhelming at first. Here are some things you can do as you build up to that:

Watching those same TV shows I mentioned without subtitles is a good way to build up listening skills.

Vifax is a website where you can practice listening to short news segments and answer questions on them, then getting to look at the transcript with notes afterwards.

Snas is kind of the evolution of vifax, now using clips from both the news and Ros na Rún.

I really hope that this post can help people move away from duolingo if they're looking to take their Irish learning to the next level, if you've got any questions, just let me know!

[nesryn-x]

-----mdni-----

------18+-----

🩸🩸 BUTTER KNIVES🩸🩸

Human!Alastor x f!reader

blood / size kink / bitting / incorrect usage of knives / virgin reader / fucking in general / ALASTOR IS FILTHY AS HELL / porn with plot

---------

---------

Your father always disapproved of him. A girl like you should never marry such man.

"A radio host? Pumpkin, you need a man who will be able to look after you when you grow old." Your father had said to you when you had gathered all your courage at dinner table one evening.

"But... I love him father..." You mumbled quietly.

"Love? You're far too young to know what love is. And besides, didn't you see at the ball how all the girls were looking at him? I can bet, that he looks at all the girls the same." Your father continued and dabbing at his moustache with napkin, cleared his throat:

"I must head out. Moon is out tonight and it's perfect for hunting. Lads will be waiting on me by now."

"Stay safe." Your mother kissed your father on cheek and saw him off. You were left sitting alone at the table, staring at your half eaten plate.

"Dont take it so hard, petal." Your mother stood next to you and gently run her hand through your hair.

"A man I respect is keeping me away from the man that my heart yearns for..." You sighed.

"Does father want me to marry someone I do not love? I'd kill myself in such marriage, mother."

"Don't even say such thing. You know your father is only looking out for you. For your future." Your mother said, trying to calm you.

"Alastor is also looking out for me." You narrowed your eyes at mother. With a hard look down at you, your mother advised:

"I think... It would be better if you did not see him anymore. Don't make your father angry, petal."

You looked up at her, not believing what she had just said.

"What..? Mama... How could you say such thing?" Your lip started to tremble. With blurry vision you looked around the table, butter knives shining in dim light. With angry huff you tried to brush your tears away and stood up, chair falling over in process. Your mother took a step back:

"Behave now." Mother said in sharp tone. You took a quick glance at the clock on the mantle piece and then bolted for the door.

"Where are YOU going at such hour?!" Your mother grabbed your hand before you even got two steps away from table.

"Clearly away from here." You spat, not breaking eye contact.

"You will sit back down, finish your dinner and go straight to bed." Your mother stated, her grip on your arm tightening. What she didn't notice, was how your other hand sneaked behind you and blindly reached for the first thing - the glimmering butter knife.

"I will not do such thing. Now. Let. Go." You said through gritted teeth.

"That's it. You insolent daughter." Your mother's hand reached up to grab your hair, but before she could do so - you were pointing the knife at her.

With wide eyes, both of you stared at the knife that was between you two.

"Mother.... I'm so sorry... I didn't mean--"

Your mother looked up at you and in one swift motion slapped you right across your face. With a cry you clutched your cheek and finally escaped the house. Leaving your mother to seeth back at the doorstep.

Quickly running down the front stairs of the house, you bolted across the yard. Ducked through the wooden fence that held your father's horses out of mother's garden, and run bare feet in the field. Trying to put as much distance between her and yourself.

When you finally had reached the other far off side of stockyard, you felt like you could breath again. Not bothering to climb over the fence you sat in the wet dewy grass and leaned against the fence pole. Distinct sounds of hunters gunshots and hound howls echoed in the forest behind.

You looked down at your hands. Right one still clutching the butter knife. From holding it incorrectly in your hand while on the run, you had accidentally nicked your fingers. New tears gathered in your eyes and you let out pathetic whimper.

"Y/n...?" You heard steps approaching on the other side of the fence on the gravel road.

"A-Alastor?" You immediately jumped up. Switching the knife from one clammy hand to other and hiding it behind your back. Now free hand, whipped your nose and cheeks, unknowingly to you - leaving red streaks across your face.

"What has my darling doe crying?" He quickly approached the fence when he picked up on your sniffling.

"Its fine, Alastor. Just had quarrel with my mother." You tried to laugh it off.

"A bloody one, as I see." He eyed you, reaching for your cheek. You tried to step away, but his warm touch was so inviting.

"Show me your hands, love." he said. He wasn't asking.

Swallowing thickly you brought both hands in front of you. Feeling like child in trouble. Trembling, and both bloody by now.

"We were having family dinner. And my father was reminiscing on the previous ball. And asked if I fancied any men there-" Alastor eyed you sharply for a second, unknowingly to you as you kept on rambling:

"-and I said that there was a man that I have had eyes for such long time, that the other men at the ball didn't even interest me. And he asked who. I said it's you. And he said that I should look elsewhere. I stood my ground and told him I love you. And he disapproved. Then mother said I should listen to him. Then she was screaming, saying I should stop seeing you. I got angry. She grabbed me. Tried to pull my hair and I... I just -I just pulled a knife at her... And then... And now I'm here..." You ranted so quickly that now you were out of breath.

With gentle chuckle, Alastor reached for your hand that was holding the knife, his ever seeing eyes, noticing the cuts on your other palm. He slowly frapped your fingers alongside his around the hilt of the butter knife and pulled both of your hands across the fence.

"When in dire straits, slice the sinew to halt movement," he murmured, gently drawing the knife across his chest. "Stab and pivot to temporarily cease motion," he directed, gesturing towards the center of his chest.

"You're wicked, Alastor..." You mumbled looking up at him.

"And you should never shed your blood. Though I am touched by your eagerness in defending your convictions concerning me, I would prefer not to witness your blood spilled, my love."

"Even if blood is such a pretty colour on you." He continued, his eyes flickering across your face. Standing up on the first wooden beam of the fence, he now stood way taller than you. Grabbing your chin he tilted your face one way, then the other.

"Since you say I'm wicked-" he gave you a cheeky smile,

"I might be afraid that your parents are correct. You should stay away from me." He looked away from you and across the field behind you.

"But I love you, Alastor..." You whispered so quietly, afraid that he might not have heard you.

"You have brought a knife in bloody hands tonight. What an odd way of confessing one's love." He bent his head closer to your face.

"What a lovely thing you are." His voice suddenly sounded sultry. It was enough for you to stand on your tippy toes and press your lips against his.

You could feel his smile against your lips. One of his hands sneaking to hold the back of your neck and pulling you closer. When that was not enough, in swift motion his legs swung over the fence and he was right in front of you. His lips never leaving yours.

It felt so right to kiss him. To kiss him felt like finally quelling an obsession. Just to feel the painful withdrawal as soon as his lips traveled to your neck to leave love bites there. Love bites that bloomed the same way as the blood splatters on your light summer dress.

His hands traveled down your back, the butter knife still in his hand. Both of you knew that no one would come down this road at this hour, but there was urgency in your actions. Desperation, almost. Your hands traveled to the front of his shirt, to get rid of the bow tie and open couple of buttons.

"The next move shan't be quite gentlemanly of me, my doe.." he was breathing hard and put the hilt of the knife in his mouth. His tongue briefly tasted your blood on it. Alastor's hands deftly gathered the skirt part of your dress and pushed you against the fence. Then raising the fabric around your hips and bunching it to the side, he grabbed the knife and pinned your dress to the fence.

"Alastor..." Your breath caught in your throat as your lower half was exposed to the cold nights air.

"Too much?" He asked, now stepping closer as his hands worked on his belt.

He clearly did intend to fuck you here. In empty field. Against a fence. In middle of the night.

"No, just perfect, you're perfect..." you breathed, hands looping around his neck to pull him in for a kiss.

"Lovely." He whispered and kissed you. His hand reaching down between your legs.

"Ah..." You moaned at the first contact.

"Needy little thing you are..." Alastor sighed against your lips, feeling the wetness between your legs.

It was the first time someone else's hands were touching you down there, besides your own. Feeling was not entirely new, but the anticipation was almost killing you. Your hand around Alastor's neck tightened, pulling him down, so you could hide your face in his shoulder. Breath heavy against his neck.

His fingers deftly slid through your slit.

"How.. many...?" Alastor implied, trying to shift his face away and look at you, making him pull his hand slightly away and his fingers circling back to your clit.

"Ah.." you gasped, not hearing his question and just trying to hide your face again.

"Sweetheart..." Alastor's hand slid from your cunt and instead dug his fingers in - right where your thigh met your pussy. This finally got your attention and your head shot up to look at him. You could almost swear that you could see your own debauched image reflecting in his glasses. He tilted his head down at you, and your reflection was gone and his warm eyes were staring right into your soul.

"How many men you have sle-" before he could ask the question you were shaking your head.

"None. No one." You said. "None has touched me this way," you looked down at his hand between your legs. His pointer finger that was closest to your pussy, slowly slid through your slit once more. Your head fell back and you stared at the sky. Stars were slowly starting to appear in the night sky.

"... except myself." You swallowed. Your head feeling empty of any coherent thought. Alastor's mouth fell open slightly:

"Say the word, and I'll stop, my doe..." He leaned down to your exposed neck, and gently run his nose up and down your pulse point.

Your hand shot down and grabbed his wrist:

"I want you and you alone."

His smile against your neck was almost infectious.

"Well, then... To rephrase..." He planted slow, open-mouthed kisses against your shoulder, his free hand pulling your dress down your shoulder. He moved his lips against your ear, as if to tell you something that no one else could ever hear:

"...How many of your own fingers have you taken?" you could hear his wicked smile in his voice. And you could feel his hand moving between your legs. His middle finger slowly, almost feather lightly, circled your clit and slid down to your opening. Your breath hitched:

"A-Alastor..."

When you didn't provide him the answer, he quickly pulled his hand out of your underwear and grabbed your hand putting it up between both of you. He pressed his palm against yours and looked at your hands. You did the same. Both of you could see how his fingers shined in the moonlight from your wetness coating them.

"Tell me."

"One."

"How far?"

You were staring at your pressed together hands. He was looking straight at you, watching how your eyes showed the realization of how much bigger his hands were and how longer his fingers were.

"Second knuckle..." You whispered and your eyes met his, over the frames if his glasses.

"Oh, my little doe... I will give you so much more than that..." He chuckled and looked at your hands as his fingers interlinked with yours.

"When I kneel before you, you shall receive all I offer. Diligently." He let go of your hand and took off his glasses.

"Understood?"

You nodded. For such a gentleman, he definitely had such a filthy mouth. You'll soon learn it both ways.

"Hold these for me, will you?" He innocently asked and put his glasses on you, quite lower so you could stare over the round frames. Before you could say anything else, he was on his knees in the dewy grass, both of his hands sliding up your bare legs. His lips gently leaving kisses on your hips as he dragged your panties down your legs. You couldn't look away from him. His soft lips moving from one hip, across your stomach to the other side. His fingers running between your folds, time to time coming up to circle your clit and then tease your entrance by dipping in a fingertip.

"Mark me..." you breathed out as one of your hands slid to his hair.

"That will hurt." He looked up at you.

"You won't hurt me. I trust you, Al..." You said through a moan.

"...where...?" He quietly inquired.

God, please, everywhere.

"Here..." you gently tapped your hip. Alastor smiled, leaned closer, pressed his lips to the top of your hand and then gently bit your fingertip.

"This shall mean you're mine, my love, I hope you are preparing for the consequences that it ensues." He said against your skin as you pulled your hand away.

"I was yours as soon as our eyes locked when I saw you riding horses with the hunters all those years ago..." You moaned as his fingers circled your clit, as if he was encouraging you to finish your though. Next second, you felt his teeth sink into your skin and his middle finger plunging into you.

"Alastor! Ah.." both of your hands flew to his hair, as your hips jerked against his hand.

"Shhh.." Alastor smiled against the blooming love bite. His eyes then locked on how you were taking his finger.

"Good girl." His smiled and looked up at you. His other hand joining to circle your clit.

"Oh Lord..." You moaned. He playfully rolled his eyes at you and leaned his temple against your hip.

"Such a good girl, taking my fingers so well." He praised, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. He twisted his finger and you let out a high pitch keen.

"Look at me." He straighted a little. Your eyes locked with his. Opening his mouth, he stuck his tongue out. Your eyes grew big, and a flash of warmth traveled down from your chest to your legs. Your pussy involuntary clamping down on his finger. And then his mouth was on you. As soon as his tongue got the first taste of you, his eyes fell shut and he moaned against you, sending vibrations straight through you.

"Ahh...ha...." You moaned loudly, both hands moving to his hair and pulling it. He lapped at your pussy as if he was a starving man. He sucked on your clit and then you felt a second finger stretching you open.

"Please.... Just don't stop..." You moaned, your hips jerking against his mouth. His fingers picked up the speed and your breathing did the same.

"I think I'm going to..." Your hold on his hair grew tighter and you were starting to push his mouth harder against your weeping cunt. Alastor grunted, his hand that was constantly squeezing your ass traveled down to his crotch and palmed himself. His pants growing too tight.

Alastor curled his fingers forward and sucked hard on your clit. With a loud cry you came on his fingers and tongue. You yourself could never reach such intense peak. Your toes curled, your knees almost wishing to pull together. You pressed Alastor's head closer to your dripping core, at the moment careless if he could breathe or not.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuckfuckfuckkk..." Your eyes rolled back into your skull. For a moment you felt weightless, your hands falling away from his hair, to hold onto to the fence beams that you were leaning against.

Flatly dragging his tongue from your twitching hole up your slit to the clit, he placed chaste kiss on your mound. Alastor leaned back and looked up at you.

When you had gathered at least some wits about you, you looked down at him. His chin and lips were glistening from your cum.

"You taste sweet." He gave you a wink and licked his lips.

"Alastor..." You whispered his name and in swift motion crossed your hands and pulled the dress over your head. Leaving it hanging by the knife. Alastor was caught off guard and sat back, his hands slowly starting to unbutton his vest and then his shirt.

Was Alastor intending to fuck you against the fence or where you intending to ride him in the dewy grass?

In two quick steps you were in front of him and straddling his hips. Your lips immediately seeking out his and hands helping him to unbutton his shirt faster. With a groan he pulled away and grabbing your hand dragged it down his chest to the front of his pants. Unzipping his pants you dipped your hand in his boxers.

"Fuck..." He moaned, his eyes rolling back. You wrapped your hand around his cock and gently freed him from the confines of his pants.

"How is that going to fit...?" You blurted out when you looked down at him and gave him two long strokes.

"... perfectly..." He hissed through his teeth and threw his head back when your thumb swiped across his dripping tip. You switched your hands, and raised now free hand up to your face. Alastor looked at you through lidded eyes. Gently you licked your finger, tasting him on your skin. Seeing you do that, Alastor's hips jerked up into your fist and his eyes fluttered shut.

"Lover." He gritted through clenched teeth. His hands coming to hold your hips. You only smiled at your ability to drive him as insane and he was driving you. You slid your hand down to his base and gently squeezed.

"Cheeky little thing..." Alastor opened his eyes and pulled you in for a kiss by your neck. It was slow but messy. Tongues twisting, saliva smearing against both of your lips.

You got up on your knees and wrapped your hands around Alastor's neck. However, he grabbed your hand and wrapped it around his cock alongside his own.

"Now, now." He smiled against your lips. "You gotta learn how to take it. Put. It. In." Alastor whispered absolute filth against your lips and moved your hand so that his cock dragged through your soaked folds.

With a shaky breath you dragged his cock through your folds once more. Pausing on your clit and moaning against Alastor's lips.

"Yes... Take your pleasure..." He whispered.

Then moving his cock down, you pushed it's tip against your entrance. And then with a hissfrom your mouth, your hips were flush with his. The unknown feeling between your legs made you bite Alastor's lip. He groaned in your mouth, but didn't pull away if both of you felt the tangy taste of blood.

Alastor was patient with you, and let you decide when and how to move. But once your hips started to twitch against his, Alastor ground hips up into yours. His warm hands moved up to your back and shoulder blades to pull you closer. Your own hands tangled themselves in his dark hair and scratched down his back. By now your moans were echoing the same as the hounds of the hunters.

"Harder.. Al... Please..." You moaned against his cheek, as your hips moved up and down. Your desperate cunt twitching around his cock and making Alastor moan in your ear.

Next moment you were on your back, your legs on his shoulders as he leaned over you. Your eyes locked with his. Both of you as mirrored image to each other. Hair disheveled, foreheads sweaty, short rapid breaths. And then he was fucking you as if this is the last night out here with stars. As if the coming morning you won't stop by the coffee shop where he gets his morning dose of caffeine.

The way his cock so deliciously dragged against your walls - you had nothing in this world to compare it to. Leaking tip of his cock was carving your cunt out with every push back in, and each drag of it made you clench around him. As if to say, that you need him back in and not let him pull out.

You grabbed Alastor's cheeks:

"I'm in love with you...." He said first, as if he had read your thoughts on what you were about to say.

"I love you." You smiled back and pulled him in for a kiss that was broken by your moan as Alastor gave harsh thrust, hitting your cervix. Making you lose your breath momentarily.

"More.. please..." You begged, your cunt twitching around him.

"Fuck..." Alastor moaned, his hips taking on harsher and faster movements. You could swear that you felt him in your guts. Your hand traveled down your stomach and pressed on the outline of his cock. He smirked at you, as if saying that no other cock will ever be this deep, no one ever will pleasure you the same way.

"You're mine..." He groaned. Letting your legs off his shoulders, he pulled your lower lip with his thumb until your mouth opened and he could slide his finger in. Your tongue latched around his digit and sucked hard, making him stutter in his movements as he wondered how to use that mouth of yours in other ways.

With press on your tongue, your mouth opened once more, Alastor pulled his finger out and dived in to kiss you. Your tongues meeting before your lips could. You moaned in his eager mouth as his wet thumb now circled your clit. Your hips raising to meet his thrusts. When your wandering hands were enough for him, he grabbed them and pinned both of them above your head.

"Keep them there..." He said breathlessly and leaned back lifting your hips with his.

He was fucking you like drowning animal would fight for air. And the pleasure was rapidly pulling both of you under. The way your cunt clenched around him more and more frequently, was a sign that you were close. As if not being able to stand not touching him, your hand raised to rest on his stomach, feeling the lean muscles flexing there.

Not wanting to soil you on your first sexual encounter, Alastor was ready to pull out when your legs wrapping around his hips locked him in place. Sliding his hands up your legs and then sides, he leaned over you.

Your orgasm approached you unknowingly, as such intense feeling you have never felt before.

"I got you. Just let go." Alastor said against your chest as his forehead rested against your collarbone. With a moan that stole all your breath - you came. Alastor's name tumbling out of your lips like the sweetest honey. Your body arched off the ground and pressed against Alastor. Not knowing what to do with your hands as all nerve ends felt like going haywire, you opt to grab Alastor's hips and, as if your legs being locked around him wasn't enough, you pulled him against you.

Corrupting such sweet doe as yourself felt so rewarding. He could almost feel your orgasm on his tongue. Perhaps that was just taste of your cunt that kept lingering on his tongue. His own hips stuttered and with deep groan he came deep inside you, his teeth latching on the side of your left breast, leaving another love bite to remind you of this night of debaucheries.

For a moment neither of you moved. Still ongoing gunfires of hunters and howls of hounds could be heard echoing, meaning that hunt was still on. And you could return home without your father seeing you here.

Alastor wrapped one hand around your back and gently laid you back on ground.

"I must beg your pardon. A lady such as yourself ought never to be deflowered in such a place for the first time." He said quietly against your soft breasts that were still raising and falling in short breaths.

"Oh, hush. I enjoyed myself very much so." You took a deep breath trying to steady your breathing. Alastor looked at you and you smiled at him. Gently running your hands through his hair in order to tame it.

Steadying himself on his hands, Alastor pulled out and couldn't help but to stare at your cunt that was already leaking his cum. Catching him staring, ought to teas him a little bit. Bending your legs you spread them open. Gaining Alastor's attention, you trailed one hand down your body and dipped your fingertips in your folds. Shyly looking to the side you spread your folds, making more cum leak out. Alastor was watching your hand like it was a prey.

"Darling-" Alastor warned as his lashes fluttered. He leaned to kiss your knee instead. Fighting so hard not to take your overstimulated body the second time.

"We should talk in the morning." Alastor got up with a sigh, tucked himself away and walked over to the fence to retrieve your dress.

You quietly got dressed, not questioning anything. You weren't sure what we're you to say in such moment. While you were getting dressed you couldn't help but stare as Alastor was putting on his shirt. His skin on the back scratched by your nails. Or how the fingers you had cut had smeared blood all over his body.

"Shall I escort you home?" Alastor turned to you.

"No. It's late, we both should be getting home and to bed. And besides, I know this field like back of my hand." You shook your head.

"Alright." Alastor tilted his head to the side and smiled. He walked up to you and gently took off his glasses from you.

"Not a scratch. Good girl." He praised you, leaning down to your eye level. Your cheeks immediately flushed red and you quickly pressed your lips against his.

As he watched you walk back home, you couldn't help the smile that was on your lips. The faithful butter knife clutched carefully in your hands, will be neatly stored in your vanity as a reminder.

Meanwhile Alastor was sitting on the fence, watching you walk away, with skip in your step. Once you were far enough, he hauled himself over the fance, back on the road. What you had not seen at the very beginning, was that Alastor had come with knive of his own. Quite menacing butcher knife, that he had wedged in the nearby tree.

You were almost home. You had just ducked through the fence and walked quietly across the yard when, one, so much differently sounding gunshot, made you turn back around and stare at the field where you had come from....

-----------

Part 2?

[puck-luck]

among the sheets | jack hughes

SEQUEL TO BETWEEN THE TILES

warnings: unprotected p in v, jealous and possessive jack, dirty talk, creampie, lots of kissing (lfg), trickery, light breeding kink (shh), mentions of masturbation (m & f), fingering, light biting, praise, ignoring the apparent repercussions of taking Plan B (cappy says that it’s bad for your body and to be real? i’ve never taken Plan B so idfk and idfc about the repercussions) pairing: frat!president jack hughes x reader summary: “Frat! Jack getting jealous watching reader get paired with another guy in their shared class together for an assignment 🤭”, “ok but reader talking to another guy in jacks frat bc she’s like whatever ur gonna act like nothing happened so will i and he gets PISSED and finally breaks telling her that he can’t stop thinking about her” wc: 6916

Three weeks. Six classes. Two Mondays, two Wednesdays, and two Fridays. One entire Thanksgiving break. That’s how long it’s been since you and Jack hooked up at his party in the beginning of November. 

December comes with a new goal for you: that you’re not going to let Jack Hughes get into your head. After all, he’s just a frat guy. It’s typical for frat boys to get what they want– laid– and then ghost their hookup. You’ve seen it happen to your roommates and close friends in years past, who always seem to fall for the frat guy that can’t commit. He’ll string them along for a fuck, convincing them that he likes them, just so that they’ll come back for more. 

Your girlfriends never stay the night, never receive aftercare, and sometimes don’t even get to come. Yet– the boy is always allowed to stay the night at her place. And he always pulls her back in, even when he’s fucking other girls and lying about it. Your mind automatically goes to Jack’s frat brother, Cole, who was the puppeteer of a miserable situationship with your close friend a few years back.

You’ve learned, just through talking with Jack during class, that he and Cole are still close friends. Cole’s his VP of Brotherhood. You don’t share the fact that you know the girl who cried over Cole every week for the better part of sophomore year. 

No, that information you keep to yourself. Although, to you, Jack’s friendship with Cole is proof that Jack is doing the same thing to you. If he asked, you probably would fuck him again. After all, he’s been nothing but kind to you since that party. But, at the same time, he’s been kind– not flirty. 

The distinction between the two is clear. Heading into finals, you’re going to keep your head down and do your work. You’ll study, you’ll prep for the second-to-last set of finals you’ll ever take, and you will not allow Jack to distract you. He’s just some guy.

You’re a little nervous heading into your first class back from break. Today, your teacher is announcing the pairs for your final project. In this class, there’s an optional written exam. Instead, there’s the required project, where you have to research and present about one of the topics that was covered this semester. With your luck, you’re expecting that your teacher will pair you and Jack together. That way, you won’t be able to avoid him. It’ll be a nightmare.

Like always, you arrive to class before Jack does. Like always, you take out your computer and your textbook, rereading your most recent notes to make sure you’re up to speed on what you’ll talk about in class today. Like always, Jack drops into the seat next to you just before the bell rings, and like always, he peers over your shoulder to look at your computer screen, snooping.

“I see you haven’t changed over break,” Jack says, sounding disappointed. “I was hoping that we’d come back and I’d get to watch you shop for a dress for formal instead of having to look at your notes all the time.”

“I’m not going to any formal,” you reply. “I’m not in a sorority.”

Jack clicks his tongue like he’s just remembering, about to retort when your professor starts class. You shush Jack, then turn your attention to your prof. 

She tells the class that today you’ll be meeting with your assigned partner and choosing a topic for your presentation. Everyone will have to move around in the classroom to do so, which is a relief– unless Jack ends up being your partner, he’ll have to leave your side. You won’t be burdened with the weight of having a man who’s seen your face when you come right beside you.

She begins to read from the list on her computer and you get lucky– Jack isn’t your partner. Instead, you get Braden Schneider, who sits across from you in the classroom, close to the back. He tucks himself into a corner every class and you’ve seen him at office hours once or twice. When you’re partnered up, he gives you a little wave and a smile.

Jack is stuck with another boy from the class, a boy named John (you think) with whom he seems to get along. 

Once the class splits into pairs, Jack raises his hand to bid you goodbye and goes to join John across the way. Braden comes and takes his seat. You don’t know Braden well, but he’s passionate about doing a presentation about the topic that you know best, so you click almost immediately. You leave class feeling confident that you will get a good grade on this final, so good that it might bump you up from a B+ to an A-... or even an A, if you can speak as well in front of the class as you can research.

You and Braden leave class together, trying to decide when it’s best to meet up outside of class and start working on your presentation. As you walk down the hall, Braden tells you that he can’t meet up on Friday because he’s going to his girlfriend’s formal– you can’t seem to escape the topic of greek life. You decide to grab coffee on Sunday morning. Outside the building, Braden leaves you with another wave and a confirmation of “It’s a date!”

Then, Jack finds you.

“How was Schneider?” He asks, eying your classmate’s retreating figure. 

“He’s good. We’re getting coffee on Sunday. I think our project will go well. How’s… John?” You reply, fixing the backpack straps on your shoulders before setting off towards the parking lot where you parked today. This class with Jack is the last of the day, so you’re ready to head home. He walks back the same way, since the parking lot is about a block closer to campus than the frat houses.

“Johnny,” Jack corrects. Then, he shrugs. “He’s fine. Why are you getting coffee with Schneider?”

You almost burst out laughing. “For the project?” You explain, like it’s obvious. “We have to talk about it.”

“Why can’t you just go to the library? Or you could work on it during class time,” Jack says. 

Now, it’s your turn to shrug. “We want to get it done and he says he works best in a more relaxed environment.”

“Of course he does,” Jack scoffs. “Those fucking Nups. They never take anything seriously.”

“‘Nups?’” You repeat. “What the fuck is a ‘Nup?’”

“Nu Upsilon Rho,” Jack says. “Our rival frat. He’s one of the brothers.”

“So… because he’s in this frat that you don’t like… you think he’s not going to take the project seriously,” you deadpan. “Do you even know him?”

“I just think he’s going to ditch you with all the work because he’s busy,” Jack says with another shrug. He fixes his baseball cap, turning it so it’s backwards atop his head. 

“Well, I have faith in him. We’ve got a plan and he seems pretty into our topic, so I think everything will be fine.” You frown at Jack, narrowing your eyes at him. “Thanks for the concern.”

“Are you angry with me, or something?” Jack asks. “You seem mad.”

“I think you’re really overstepping,” you tell him. “My project isn’t your business. We’re not partners.”

“I’m just trying to look out for you.”

“Why don’t you worry about yourself?” You’ve reached your parking lot, so this is the part where you turn left and Jack continues going straight. You cross your arms over your chest and he stops in front of you, turning to face you. You’re crowded on the left side of the sidewalk. Other students walk past you, sometimes looking at you to express their distaste at the obstacle blocking their way. 

Jack looks at you for a minute, holding eye contact without saying anything. He looks confused at your retort, a slight frown tugging at his lips. 

Those are the same lips that kissed your earlobe, your cheek, your neck. Behind them is the same tongue that licked into your mouth and slid against yours. 

You’re flushing a bit now. It takes a lot of concentration to tear yourself away from him, to look down at his feet. He’s wearing those white AF1s that he always wears, creased and gross after years of wear and tear, and that’s enough to bring you back to yourself. 

“We’re throwing a party on the last day of classes,” Jack says. “It’s, like, a final hoo-rah before finals. The theme is Ugly Christmas Sweaters. I’ll put you on the list, if you want to come.”

“Maybe,” you say. You probably won’t go. The last time you went to one of Jack’s parties, you ended up losing your head after one drink and fucking him in the downstairs bathroom where everyone could hear, just because he asked you to.

“Okay. It’ll start at nine. You can come early, too. I’ll be at the house all day.” If Jack is bothered by your uncertain answer, he doesn’t let it show. He bids you goodbye and turns away, heading towards the house. 

You watch him walk away, then you don’t think about him again until class on Wednesday. Wednesday begins exam review. Your optional exam is scheduled on the first day of finals week, in just ten days. You’ll only have two classes to summarize everything you learned this semester, since Monday and Wednesday are reserved for presentations, so it’s imperative that you pay attention. You have to pay attention in case your final project falls apart and goes completely south, the way that it seems Jack believes it will. You want to ace this final exam if you have to take it.

You barely speak with him throughout exam review on Wednesday, nor on Friday. You head to the library to work on other papers and exam reviews after your classes instead of going home, just so you don’t have to walk back with him.

If Jack’s not going to bring up the fact that you fucked, then neither are you. If he’s going to be a dick about the project, and the fact that you’re paired with one of his rival frat’s brothers, then you’re just going to ignore him.

That’s not to say that he doesn’t try to bother you during class, because he does. He’s insatiable like that. It’s impossible for him to go a class period without talking or without poking you and pouting for attention. You’re just the bigger person.

Jack’s presentation is on Monday and it goes fine. He and his partner are relatively monotone and they don’t seem to care much about their topic, so you’d say that they earned a solid C on the presentation part of the project. Hopefully their research and write-up is better and can lift their grade up to a B. You give him a high five after it’s done, just to congratulate him on completing the assignment, and he slumps in his seat. 

Your presentation is on Wednesday. You and Braden met for coffee on Sunday, like you said. He told you a bit about his girlfriend’s formal on Friday, then you got down to work. You both pulled through with your end of the research, so organizing your presentation was easy. You were in and out of the coffee shop in less than two hours, feeling fully confident that you’d be able to present well and receive an A.

On Wednesday, everything goes off without a hitch. Your professor looks impressed, scribbling only a few notes on her sheet of paper. You try not to look at Jack, lest he distract you, but he’s staring at you the whole time. He gives you a tight smile after the presentation is over and you breathe a sigh of relief. 

After class, Braden comes over and gives you a hug. You’d gotten his number before your coffee date, but he assures you that he’d love to study together in the future. You’ll have a class together next semester, anyway– the same one you’ll have with Jack, since you’re all in your last semester before graduation and everyone always ends up in the same course. 

Jack walks with you to the parking lot on Wednesday, heading home in the same direction, but his hands are shoved in his pockets and his expression is oddly blank. When you reach your normal parting point, Jack stops.

“Are you coming to the Ugly Sweater party?” He asks. 

“It’s on Friday, right?” You ask, still beaming after your successful presentation. “I don’t have any plans, I don’t think.”

“Do you have an ugly sweater?” Jack asks.

“I think I can find one.”

“I have two. You can borrow one of mine.” Jack kicks a rock to the side of the sidewalk, out of the way. “Do you want to come to the house and grab it? I know coming to frat parties early, like… isn’t fun for most people. I’ll kind of be busy before, too, so. You coming to the house now to grab it would be better. If you have nothing else to do.”

His words are jilted and awkward. You’re just as aware as he is that the last time you came to the house, you came all over his cock and he shot off inside of you. You know Jack’s thinking about that because the tips of his ears have gone red and he can’t meet your eyes.

You’d rather face the frat house now, in the light of day, than go back on a Friday night when there is a huge crowd and you can barely hear Jack.

“Yeah,” you tell him. Your answer surprises Jack, but it makes him smile. 

“Okay,” he says, trying to bite back the big grin. “C’mon.”

Together, you bypass the parking lot where your car sits. You walk together to the row of frat houses down the block. Jack swipes into the house with his student ID, holding the door open for you.

You kind of think he expects you to keep walking, but you’ve never been to his room before. You’ve only been in the dancing room– which looks like shit in the light of day, on a Wednesday afternoon– the kitchen, and that bathroom down the hall. 

Jack waves at a brother who is sitting in the living room to the right of the foyer, then guides you upstairs with a hand at the small of your back. His touch is featherlight, his fingertips pressing against the back of your sweater, bunching up the fabric. 

You make it to the top of the stairs, turning towards the left. There are more doors on that side of the hall, so you expect Jack’s room is down there. There are two doors on the right.

Jack climbs the final stairs and hooks a finger through the belt loop of your jeans, tugging you gently towards the right. “My room’s over here,” he mumbles, reaching for one of the doorhandles. “The other one is the shared bathroom for the guys. If you need the bathroom during the party, you can go in this one instead of waiting downstairs again.”

You nod, not sure how to reply. You’re not sure if you can face that bathroom without wanting to repeat your encounter with Jack. 

It’s even harder seeing his bed– unmade, messy, and looking comfortable. The sheets are wrinkled and thrown around haphazardly, his pillows flat and squished like he was hugging them in his sleep.

“Sorry for the mess,” Jack offers. “I didn’t think…”

“It’s okay,” you say. “I don’t mind. My room isn’t much better.”

That’s a lie. You have a laundry basket for your dirty clothes and Jack seems to drop them in a pile in the corner. He’s got books out, whereas yours are stacked neatly on your desk. The truthful part is that you don’t mind– you didn’t expect a clean room in a frat house.

You take a seat on the edge of his bed, clasping your hands in your lap and bouncing a bit on the mattress when you sink into it. He digs through his closet, moving hangers and pulling boxes out of cubbies to try and find the ugly sweater that you’re going to borrow.

You spot a can of Zyn on his bedside table, which makes you laugh to yourself. You’re looking around the room for more when your phone dings.

You dig it out of your pocket, checking your messages. It’s Braden, who has sent you a picture of a coffee and a donut– and his girlfriend in the background– from the same coffee shop where you met up on Sunday. His message reads: “Thanks for the recommendation! Ordered your fav to celebrate our awesome presentation today. Jos says she’ll get the butter cream next time for sure :)”

“Who’s that?” Jack asks, already facing you when you look up with a truly ugly Christmas sweater in his hands.

“Braden.”

Jack’s face clouds over. His hands drop to his sides, the sweater drooping in his right. “You’re done with the project, though.”

“So what?”

“Why are you still talking to him?”

“We get along,” you explain with a shrug. “He’s nice.”

“He’s a Nup,” Jack says again, deadpanning.

You scoff and shake your head. “Jack, just because he’s in another frat than you doesn’t mean he’s not nice. I’m friends with him just like how I’m friends with you.”

“But we were friends first,” Jack complains.

“Does that mean that I’m only allowed to be friends with you?” You ask, teasing him slightly. The idea is absurd and you need to know if Jack really means what he’s implying. “Heaven forbid I have to tell my roommate that we’re not allowed to be friends anymore because the President of Pike doesn’t allow me to talk to anyone other than him.”

“That’s not fair, you know I don’t mean that,” Jack says. 

“Jack, honey,” you begin, an air of patronization lacing the pet name. “You’re overstepping again. Let me see that sweater.” You hold a hand out, making a grabbing motion at the lump of fabric in his hand.

“You can’t just look at it,” Jack says with a pout. “You have to try it on to get the full effect. That’s what my mom always says.”

A short silence hangs in the air as you both realize what he said. It’s not like you can pull this sweater over the sweater you’re wearing– you’ll be sweltering and it won’t fit right.

Jack looks so caught on the spot that you can’t help but burst into giggles.

“Jack,” you laugh. “Are you trying to get me to take my clothes off?”

“Well, you’d put a new sweater on immediately after,” Jack says, trying to make up for his blunder. His ears are burning again, eyes darting around the room awkwardly. “I’ll even turn around.”

“Nothing you haven’t seen before,” you say, shrugging him off. You start to pull your sweater over your head, revealing the bra you’d thrown on this morning because it was on the top of the pile in your drawer. You weren’t expecting anyone to see it.

“I mean, technically, I haven’t seen it,” Jack jumps in. “You kept your shirt on when I fucked you.”

It’s so jarring when he says it so bluntly. You’d both been avoiding the mention of your… encounter… for weeks.

“Well, now you’ve seen it, so you’ve collected the full package,” you concede, pulling the ugly sweater over your head and standing to look at yourself in the mirror in the corner of his room. 

It’s ugly. That’s for sure. There’s fake tinsel, there’s a stupid Christmas saying on the front, and there’s probably a Santa hat or reindeer headband to match.

Jack comes up behind you, smiling at you in the mirror. “Do you like it?”

“It’s an ugly Christmas sweater,” You reply. “You weren’t lying when you said that.”

Jack seems to forget that the mirror shows his expression, because he bites his lip and eyes you. “Looks good on you.”

You laugh, pulling the sweater back over your head, leaving you in your bra. You go to move past Jack, approaching the bed where your old sweater lies. “I think you just like to see a girl in your clothes, J. You seem to have a possessive streak.”

“Nuh-uh,” Jack refutes. 

You fix him with a look, glancing over your shoulder and seeing him with his arms crossed over his chest. “Jack, you don’t want me to be friends with a boy in another frat. I think you seem to believe that I’m Pike property because you fucked me once in the bathroom.”

Jack’s eyes go wide.

“Not that we’ve talked about it, because we probably should,” you point out. “We’re friends and we’ve fucked, then you acted like it never happened.”

“So did you,” Jack says, defending himself.

“I did because you did,” you tell him with a shrug. “I thought you’d bring it up during class or one of our walks. I don’t know. Maybe that was stupid of me.”

“I just didn’t think you wanted me to bring it up,” Jack says. “I thought you’d want it to be a one and done. I mean, I–” He pauses, wincing a little bit. “I came inside you. We didn’t talk about that. I didn’t know if you’d… be mad at me. So I… didn’t… talk to you?”

“I’m not mad at you for coming inside me,” you reply, shaking your head at him. “I don’t mind that. I took a Plan B afterward and everything’s fine. My period is supposed to come sometime this week. Plus, I–”

You cut yourself off, snapping your mouth shut. Jack’s not someone who you’d share your kinks with under a normal circumstance. He’s not your best friend, he’s not someone you gossip with, he’s not someone who you’re fucking regularly. It happened once, halfway in public, and that doesn’t mean he’s entitled to information about you. He doesn’t need to know that you felt feral over the way he came inside of you, with that low groan that has been replaying in your head every time you pull out your trusty vibrator and take care of yourself.

Jack cocks his head to the side. He raises an eyebrow. “You what?” He queries, expecting an answer. When you don’t answer, he takes a step forward and asks again. “You… what?”

“I’m not saying it,” you announce. 

Jack smirks. “That doesn’t mean you’re off the hook. Hmm, let’s think,” he teases, tapping his chin with his finger, pretending to think. “You didn’t mind when I came inside you, so I think you might… like that?”

You pull your sweater over your head, covering yourself up again. You seal your mouth shut and look at Jack, who takes another step forward, his smile only growing.

“You… want it,” Jack surmises. 

You hope your poker face is good, because he’s mighty perceptive. You would absolutely rather have a man come inside of you than in a condom. But, once again, it’s not something you were planning on telling Jack after just one fuck.

“You might be just as possessive as me,” Jack teases. He’s close enough to touch you now, so he does. He places a hand on your shoulder, his thumb smoothing against your exposed clavicle. He pushes the fabric of your sweater off your shoulder a bit, displacing it. The knitted fabric is stretchy, so it moves easily. He leans closer. “You like when I come inside of you because, well, I’m yours that way, aren’t I?”

With his hand on you and his body so close, he doesn’t miss the way you stiffen up.

Yes, you think. That’s exactly it. You hadn’t been able to place your finger on exactly why before now– Jack seems to have opened your eyes. Yes, you like it when a man is so desperate and overwhelmed by the feeling of you that he has to fill you up. He’s yours. He might be marking you up in a way that claims you, but his come is a sign that he’s yours.

“And I like it,” Jack continues. “Because you’re mine.”

A shiver actually runs down your spine.

And then Jack kisses you.

It’s sensual. It makes your brain melt. He’s gentle with it, his tongue caressing your lips until you open up for him. With one hand, he cradles your cheek. His other hand slides along your waist, underneath the bottom of your sweater. It feels like he’s branding your skin with his touch– or maybe all of the ‘possessive streak’ talk is warping your brain. 

“Why did you put your shirt back on?” Jack murmurs when he pulls away. 

He’s genuinely asking, which makes you laugh and pull him in again. Your laughter has him smiling, which makes it hard to kiss him properly. It devolves into a series of sweet pecks, interrupted by a breath of laughter or a wide grin before your lips meet again.

“No, really,” Jack says between kisses. “Why’d you put your shirt back on? I didn’t get a good look.”

“You are such a goof,” you reply, touching his hip. “Obviously I didn’t know we’d be kissing by the end of this conversation.”

“I think we should do more than kiss,” Jack says.

Again, a bout of laughter escapes you. He is so blatant and honest about what he wants. It’s such a male trait– you can’t imagine being so brash.

“You don’t think so?” Jack asks.

“You’re just so– I don’t know,” you say, feeling flustered. He’s still touching you, his hands are  greedy, roaming along your middle.

“Is it– too much?” Jack asks, matching your tone. His face contorts with concern. “If you don’t want to go again, we don’t have to. I would… fuck, I want to fuck you again.”

The sincerity of his voice surprises you. You know that he’s a man and men are often fueled by their desire to have sex with a partner, but Jack’s words blossom in your stomach like a flower opening on the first warm day of spring.

“You do?” You ask, coyly goading him into saying more. 

“Baby, I haven’t stopped thinking about it,” Jack reveals, groaning a little bit with want. “I can’t use the downstairs bathroom anymore and all the guys think it’s hilarious.”

“So is that why you didn’t want me talking to Braden?” You ask. “Because you’re jealous, seeing me have fun with another guy, meanwhile you can’t stop thinking about how my pussy felt around your cock?”

The dirty words make Jack keen in the back of his throat, tugging insistently at the hem of your sweater. 

You start to remove it, slowly, teasing him. As you watch his pupils dilate, fixing on your newly revealed skin, you continue to talk: “Have you been fucking your fist a lot, Jack? While you think about me?”

“Yeah,” he agrees, his voice merely a whisper.

“Good boy,” you praise lowly, trying to make your voice as seductive and innocent as possible without feeling like a fool. “I’ve been fucking myself to the thought of you, too.” 

Your shirt comes off, dropping to the ground, but Jack’s eyes find your face.

He bites his lip, his eyes dancing along your features. “Fingers?” He asks.

You shake your head. “Been using a toy.”

Jack’s blue eyes are starting to look black, shadowed and heady with lust. They’re devoid of emotion– except for one: want.

“Good?” He asks.

Again, you shake your head. “Not as good as the real thing.” You bring your hands to his pants, popping the button on his jeans slowly, to build suspense or even give him a chance to kiss you again. He’s standing still, staring at you with those dark eyes, so you drag the zipper of his pants down and reach in, palming his length over his underwear. 

Jack’s eyes stay on you as you touch him, the blue of his eyes matching the navy of the midnight sky. 

You stroke him until you’re certain he can’t grow any harder. Then, you push his t-shirt up to reveal his stomach, somehow soft and toned at the same time. You scratch along his abdomen, lifting the fabric. His mouth curves up at the edges when you’re finally able to pull the shirt off of him, leaving his hair disheveled. It’s cute like this, you decide.

The air between you is tense, his gaze weighing on you. You kiss him again, just because you can, and you use the distraction to push at his jeans until they’re falling to the ground. His lips are wet against yours. He must have licked them while he was staring, while you stroked him.

One of his hands works on your jeans, but you’re much more concerned with the hand that’s petting over the clasp of your bra. He’s able to unfasten it quickly. Once your bra is loose, he acts quickly. He brings his hand to your front and pulls at the band of the delicate piece. He drops to a knee, leaving your lips behind, but kissing over your stomach as he tugs at your jeans. They’re tight around your hips, so it takes him a second to get them off, but his fervor and determination aides him.

Once he’s got you in your underwear, completely braless, he rises. He covers your skin in wet, messy kisses as he comes back up. He captures one nipple between his teeth, then moves to the other and sucks. His hands are flush against your ass, squeezing your skin and keeping you close. 

“Fuck, Jack,” you moan, threading your fingers through his hair and breathing in languorous spurts. 

“Wanna take my time with you,” he murmurs. “But I’ve been waiting for this for weeks. I can’t wait any longer.”

“So fuck me,” you tell him. “I want you to. I want you to fuck me now.”

Jack smiles against your skin, licking over your nipple one more time before he comes back to his height. “Music to my ears, babe.” He places a quick kiss on the corner of your mouth, helping you step backwards until you’re against the bed. “Lay down. Let me touch you.”

You obey, climbing onto the messy bed and making yourself comfortable among his pillows. Jack joins you, climbing up your body and planting another kiss on your lips. He takes a pillow from beside your head and brings it under your hips, tapping your sides so that you lift up for him. 

“Good girl,” he mumbles. 

His words are quiet, but they still give you a burst of pride. 

He’s already moving to pull your panties down, biting his lip in concentration. His eyes are fixed on the point between your legs, even though his face is level with yours. His hair is falling into your space, tickling your forehead. You take a moment to take him in. Your eyes are wide and unblinking as you stare at him. You know Jack’s attractive, because you look at him all the time and you like looking at him, but in this moment, he’s a work of art. You might have stopped breathing.

You gasp when he touches you. His fingertips are blunt and careful as they sweep through your wet folds. 

The gasp takes Jack by surprise, his eyes flickering to your face, and he smiles when he meets you there. “Are you always this wet when we’re together?” He asks. “I’m imagining you in class, absolutely soaked even though I haven’t touched you.”

“Fuck off,” you laugh, bringing a hand to his hair again and smoothing it back. 

“That’s a no?”

“Definitely a no,” you say. “I’m not just wet because you’re around, Jack. It doesn’t work like that. This is because you’re a good kisser. And, well, because you sucked on my nipples.”

Jack brightens. “And I’ll do it again, too.”

You grip his hair before he can dip down and make good on his vow. “Slow down there, cowboy,” you say. 

Jack laughs at that, kissing your lips instead of finding your nipple. He swipes a finger against your clit, making you gasp again, into his mouth this time. 

“Mm,” Jack hums patronizingly. “Does it feel good?”

He fills you with his middle finger and thumbs at your clit, working the digits in tandem to make you whimper.

“Listen to yourself,” he says. “All that noise for me?”

“Fuck me,” you plead. “Please, Jack. I need you to fuck me.”

“You need it?” Jack teases, sliding his ring finger inside of you, joining the other. 

“Don’t be a dick,” you whine. 

“God, and I thought it was embarrassing how bad I want you,” he simpers. “But, you make a good point. We both want it. Let’s not wait.”

He removes his hand from between your legs, the empty feeling foreign and dissatisfying. He shucks off the final bit of clothing remaining between the two of you, throwing the underwear over his shoulder comically. It’s not sexy, but he’s so charming and goofy that you swoon anyway.

Jack fists his cock, stroking himself. He aligns himself with your entrance, teasing your folds and bumping your clit with the head of his cock. He smiles to himself, gaze meeting yours before he speaks. He quirks an eyebrow, coming lower to kiss you again because he just can’t help himself. “Let’s fill you up, hm? Just like you like.”

“Just like you like,” you parrot back.

He murmurs a quiet agreeance as he pushes into you. He goes slow, sinking into you in a direct contrast with how he fucked you last time. “Still so tight,” Jack acknowledges. “You feel just as good as last time.”

You hold his shoulder, one hand twisting into the hair at the nape of his neck. 

He dips down to smear a kiss against your jugular, mouthing at the area where your pulse races. Jack starts to roll his hips, feeling you out. Even though it was the whole point, you realize suddenly that he’s bare inside of you. It’s like the piece of information was delayed and that you didn’t understand it until you felt him, felt the way his cock was weeping inside of you.

“Jack,” you moan, pulling him closer. You wrap your legs around his waist, locking your ankles at the small of his back. You don’t let up, not until his pelvis is flush with yours and his stomach is practically touching your own. You need him to be close– you’re drunk on the feeling of having him inside of you, bare and leaking.

“I know,” he soothes, rocking into you. He kisses you again, his tongue lathering your lips and petting whatever area he can touch– teeth, tongue, the roof of your mouth… it’s messy, but driven completely by his desire, and you love it.

Your whines and whimpers, musings about how well he fills you, and your trembling touches fuel him. 

He fucks you deeply, making sure his cock brushes against your cervix with each thrust. You lose the ability to kiss him when he taps your sweet spot, keening in a way that has him grinning. You clench down involuntarily, which makes him choke a bit on his own breath and stutter his movements. 

“Fuck, sweetheart, if you keep squeezing me like that, this is going to end a lot faster than I want it to,” Jack tells you, grimacing through another thrust. He snaps his hips, showing no signs of stopping even though he seems determined to last. 

“I want you to come,” you goad, practically begging. “Please, Jack, fill me up. Need you to come in my pussy, I need it.”

Jack makes a choked moan in the back of his throat, his head dipping to bury itself in your neck. He nibbles your neck, keeping his teeth in place to quiet himself as he quickens his pace. His breath is like music in your ears, panting and turning high pitched when you squeeze him again. “Baby, shit,” he moans, dropping to his elbows, bracketing your head. 

You grind up against him, your hips lifting off the bed and the pillow completely. 

He rearranges his position, shifting his weight to one arm so that he can reach down and rub circles over your clit with his dominant hand. His fingers, the ones next to your head, toy with your hair. He thrusts as hard as he can, his thick cock pistoning into your heat and making your stomach turn over from the pleasure. 

The pressure on your clit sends sparks through your body. You can feel the pleasure in your clenched fingertips, the burning tips of your ears, and in your curled toes. He’s everywhere, and his cum is seconds from marking you.

“Be mine,” you plead. You mean to say, ‘fill me up, put your cum inside me until it spills out of me, come apart like your cum belongs to me,’ but what you hear is different. You hear yourself ask him for more than just a fuck– you hear a slogan from a chalky Valentine’s heart, begging for a romantic connection.

He’s a frat boy. He won’t acknowledge this, he won’t understand what you mean. He’ll take it the wrong way and he��ll never talk to you again, even if you show up to the party on Friday. He’ll say hello, then look over you to find the next girl–

“I’m yours,” Jack replies, breathless. “All yours.”

The relief that comes with his reply washes over you. You cry out, unable to stop yourself from clenching down on his member and succumbing to the pleasure that had been building up inside of you.

You let your release take hold of you, throwing your head back and baring your neck to Jack. He takes advantage of the newly revealed skin, sucking on the skin below your jaw. His nose presses against the side of your face, his breath wet against your skin. 

“Good, baby, so good,” Jack praises as he fucks you through your release. “Y’feel so perfect around me, gonna give you what you want, just another minute…”

His hips work in a frenzy, snapping into you with lewd noises that mix with the noises falling from both of your lips. It only takes a few more thrusts before Jack is shuddering in your arms, his lips coming to smudge a messy, passionate kiss against yours. He spills inside of you, filling you with his hot, intoxicating cum until there’s none remaining in his cock.

His hips slow when he’s done, his blinks becoming longer and slower as he regains his breath. He watches himself thrust into you a final few times, his mouth open slightly and eyes trained on the spot like he’s in a trance. 

You snap your fingers by his face, drawing his attention. “My eyes are up here, pretty boy.”

Jack bursts into a fit of giggles, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck and peppering you with kisses. He uses the leverage, and the wide expanse of his bed, to roll over so that you’re laying on top of him. He touches your hips, your ass, the smooth plane of your back, all the way up to your shoulderblades before wrapping an arm around your waist and keeping you there. 

He kisses you silly, cradling your cheek with one hand. Occasionally, he allows you to pull away, but you never go far. He’ll play with the strands of your hair, gazing at you with a satisfied, smug smirk on his lips. 

“It’s a date party,” Jack says eventually.

“What is?” You ask, your nose scrunching in confusion. 

“The ugly sweater party. It’s a date party. I was conning you into being my date.”

You barely stifle a laugh. “You’re a fucking freak.”

“Hey,” Jack complains, pouting. “Not all of us can just say shit like ‘be mine’ in the middle of sex.”

You pat his chest, clicking your tongue at him to reprimand him for mocking your words. “Says the boy who tried to trick me into being his date for a frat function.”

“Desperate times call for desperate measures.” Jack shrugs, pulling you in for another kiss.

It’s slow, like the first one. Your lips move together until you’ve both run out of air. Jack returns to your hair, tucking it behind your ear.

“Gonna get you a Plan B in the morning,” he says. His tone sounds like he’s wondering, still thinking about it, although you know that he’s stating a fact and formulating a plan. “But I think, if we want to keep doing this, we’re going to have to figure something out about birth control.”

Normally, you wouldn’t allow a man to tell you what to do with your body. Today, though, you concede. He’s right. The world isn’t ready for a little Jack, and you don’t want him to stop coming inside of you, so you make a mental note to call your doctor tomorrow.

Still, you can’t resist the chance to make a joke.

“Maybe we’ll get you a vasectomy instead,” you tease, touching his bottom lip with your index finger. “They’re reversible, you know.”

note: i couldn't resist posting this, since i finished it before i expected to. I LOVE YOU FRAT JACK! (am willing to skip the plan b but only if you're also down)

[justicewasserved]

so I see a lot of people going "hahaha wild that Jon thinks everything (such as the apocalypse) is his fault when it REALLY isn't" and they would be correct but I keep thinking about why it is that he's like that. I think a lot of people simply put it down to "that's just how he is as a person" when I really think it's more of a combination between personality, how he was brought up (not that well) and the web.

in mag 81 he's never that specific about what his grandmother was like, and is very clearly trying to make her sound better than she actually is. but to me it sounds like she instilled a feeling that any and all problems that occurred throughout his childhood was his fault, or made worse by him. I'm thinking something like "I'm feeling so bad right now because I have to pick you up from school every day." and if she did do this, clearly it worked because he is, in his statement as an adult, retroactively pinning the blame for all his childhood problems on himself for being a "deeply annoying child". I really think that it's not normal to think you are to blame for someone else bullying you and that it was probably caused by his grandmother making him think he caused everyone's problems.

the mr spider event shocked him in a lot of ways but one of the main things that shook him was that he felt like he could've prevented what happened and he could've saved the guy's life. obviously this is ridiculous - it's clear to us that the web pulled him down the exact path which would lead someone else to interrupt his reading and get captured themselves. however Jon does not know this and clearly thinks he should've done better. I think that this, along with his upbringing, started the distinct way of thinking that he has where he decides that everything is his fault.

the web knew this would happen and then utilises it to make sure his crushing sense of responsibility causes him to get all 14 marks and then to, unwillingly, play his part in removing the fears from the universe.

[spacedykez]

do you ever get confused when it comes to shipping discourse because shipping as a whole confuses you sometimes. ppl will be like 'this ship is problematic because of xyz' and youre like. um. okay?

[comicaurora]

hi red!! i'm doing an analysis of sun wukong's (and journey to the west in general's) impact on modern culture for my world mythology final, and for some reason i'm having a hard time finding sources. is there anything you can recommend?

The fact that Journey to the West has contributed an enormous number of tropes to modern media is very clear when the media in question is examined, but I don't know of a specific secondary source that's already done that analysis for you. However, this IS a very good excuse for you to plow through a metric buttload of shonen manga, since the lineage is basically Sun Wukong -> Son Goku -> like a solid third of all shonen action heroes written in the last forty years.

Dragon Ball kicks things off:

Started in 1984 and almost unquestionably the most influential manga ever made. Its first arc features the weird super-strong monkey-kid Son Goku - which is just the japanese pronunciation of the characters of Sun Wukong's name - meeting up with a wacky crew of thinly-veiled expys of the Journey to the West crew, with teen inventor Bulma filling the role of Tripitaka, Oolong the pig-man filling Zhu Bajie's role and Yamcha the desert-based bandit as Sha Wujing.

Hijinks ensue, and while the story drifts pretty far from Journey to the West's original plot, it actually stays pretty solidly referential in weirdly unexpected ways. Several the villains of the week are JttW references, and even the later appearance of three more Saiyans lines up with the surprise reveal of three more Wukong-like mystical apes in the original story.

The connection between Dragon Ball and JttW is very unsubtle and a frequent reference in the chapter covers and supplemental art.

Not every subsequent JttW reference is the result of Dragon Ball popularizing it or anything, since it was already enormously popular, but I think it's pretty hard to extricate Dragon Ball's influence on anime and manga from the original influence of Journey to the West itself.

One way that a distinction can be drawn is in the differences in characterization between Goku and Sun Wukong himself. A lot of the next generation of shonen protagonists were kind of Goku-alikes - pure-hearted dumbasses who only care for the three Fs: Food, Fighting and Friendship.

But the original characterization of Sun Wukong is not really all that similar. He's a trickster, sure, but he's far from a young, friendship-motivated goober. He's profoundly intelligent, pretty much the most well-educated entity on the planet, and routinely brings up that he's centuries older than most of his peers. The Goku-alikes from the later decades of shonen anime are tellingly far-removed from that original characterization. So you get characters based on Goku's cheerful idiocy, but it's just a small subset of the broader influence of Journey to the West on the space of literature.

In general, Journey to the West frequently shows up in very small, bite-sized tropes in other stories. It's less "this is wholly based on Journey to the West" and more "oh, I know where they maybe got this idea/aesthetic/power/weapon/villain of the week from." There are way too many to list, but some of the ones that tend to jump out at me are-

Sneaky characters with monkey motifs:

Tricksy, highly mobile characters who fight with a staff:

Characters afflicted with a magical restraint artifact that allows a much weaker character to stop them from misbehaving:

Specific esoteric weapons, eg. magical fans, rakes, gourds, namedropping The Sword of Seven Stars, etc.

Villains with prominent ox or pig design motifs:

Characters whose primary combat strat is just making Shitloads Of Disposable Copies Of Themselves:

Honestly it just keeps going like this. It's kinda everywhere. Finding the JttW in things is my favorite conspiracy theory rabbit hole because it's 100% harmless and more often than not completely correct.

[joannechocolat]

Two Boxers Walk Into the Ring...

No-one can have missed the absolute scenes on social media, both before and after the boxing match between Imane Khelife and Angela Carini, from which Carini withdrew after just 46 seconds, having received a blow to the face.

Social media had already been abuzz with unfounded claims that Khelife was a man, largely based on her athletic (and to Westerners, “masculine”) body type. (The same rumours had also been spread about Taiwanese boxer Lin Yu-Ting; also a woman, assigned female at birth, who got into boxing to protect her mother from domestic violence.) From this explosion of misinformation came increasingly wild claims from all the usual suspects: that she was trans (in spite of coming from a Muslim country where transitioning isn’t allowed); that she had “self-identified” as a woman in order to win (again, not possible in Algeria) plus some quite ghoulish speculation about her sex organs, her medical history and the type of puberty she might have undergone.

But here’s the thing.

Khelife is not trans. There is one trans boxer at the Olympics, a trans man called Hergie Bacyadan, who for some reason has gone almost unnoticed in this desperate attempt to prove a conspiracy that just isn’t happening. Imane Khelife was assigned female at birth, has a passport confirming it, and has spent her life as a woman, fighting against her country’s patriarchal ideas of what women are supposed to do. Not only this, but she is an ambassador for women and girls, who originally took up boxing to protect herself from those who disapproved of her interest in sports.

She was disqualified from the 2023 women’s world championships because (according to a Russian source that becomes less and less trustworthy the more you look into it) tests apparently showed some kind of unspecified anomaly, which may have been either elevated testosterone (quite possible in a woman) or the presence of XY chromosomes, once more altogether possible for a cis woman.

Nor does her condition (if she even has one) mean she is automatically likely to win against her opponents. In 2020, she made it to the quarter-finals of the Olympics, where she was defeated by Kellie Harrington, and she has been boxing on the international circuit for years without any of her wins or defeats gaining much attention.

Until now.

But her fight against Angela Carini on Thursday made her a magnet for some truly disgusting hate, largely, it seems, from the kind of men who enjoy threatening women, whatever the reason or excuse. In fact, there were distinct parallels with this and the recent anti-Muslim riots in Southport after the murderer of three little girls was falsely rumoured by agents of the far-right to be a Muslim immigrant.

Let’s be clear. Even if the attacker had been a Muslim immigrant, this violence would have been completely unacceptable. But the mob just wanted the opportunity to scapegoat and attack a community, in exactly the same way that the people attacking, threatening and objectifying Imane Khelife wanted the chance to attack a woman for not conforming to their idea of what a woman should be like.

In this context, it’s hard to see the rage and violence levelled against her for this victory as anything other than misogynistic - and racist.

It’s also hard to understand why in a sport like boxing – where the whole point is to hit your opponent – a person should be criticized for following the rules of the sport. It’s almost as if excellence is allowed in men’s sports, but in women’s sports, it’s automatically viewed as suspicious. And Imane Khelife isn’t the only athlete of colour accused of “being a man” because she defeated a white woman. Serena Williams has spent her career fending off accusations that she “was born a man” both because of her muscular physique and her excellence in her field. Caster Semenya, who has naturally elevated levels of testosterone, has been likewise demonized. It’s almost as if the people driving this toxic narrative believe that only men can excel in sport.   

And as for the argument that claims that elevated natural testosterone levels in a woman is “an unfair advantage,” don’t all elite athletes have some kind of physical advantage? Do we dismiss basketball players for being unusually tall, or weight-lifters for being unusually muscular, or runners for being lean and light? Why do we celebrate Michael Phelps for his genetic advantage, but penalize Caster Semenya for hers? Women have fought so very hard for the chance to participate in sports that were once seen as the sole province of men. Now, when they dare to excel in them, they are accused of secretly being men, or of not being “proper women.”

This isn’t any kind of feminism I recognize. The feminism I believe in is about breaking down barriers, not setting them. I personally dislike boxing (both for men and for women), but I respect any individual’s choice to compete. And attacking a woman boxer for winning a boxing match is as misogynistic as claiming to “defend” her opponent by painting her as a victim. Both athletes chose to compete. Both accepted the risks. Both have had their Olympic moment ruined by people who don’t care about sports, or the facts, or even women. This isn’t feminism. This is the worst and most patronizing kind of prejudice, and it actively hurts women – all women, but especially women of colour and those who do not conform to traditional ideas of what a woman should look like, what sports she should enjoy, or how she should behave.

Women fought for years for the right to make their own choices, to have their own identities outside of the stereotypes set by the patriarchy. Questioning those choices - those identities - isn’t progress.

 Supporting women doesn’t mean protecting them from themselves.

It means not setting limits on who a woman wants to be.

[theemporium]

[22k] in attempt to bridge the decades old rivalry between the two gangs, a marriage of alliance is proposed between the new jersey devils and the new york rangers. the last thing you expected was to find yourself offered on a silver platter to your enemies. and you certainly didn't expect your future husband to be the likes of the devils leader himself, nico hischier.

new jersey mob masterlist || nhl mob masterlist

warning: this is a mob au. topics and themes such as violence, blood, murder and gun use are prevalent and constant throughout the fic. please keep that in mind if you choose to proceed with this fic and the whole series.

read part one here

.

It was chaos the second you walked through the door.

You had never seen the house in such a state: orders being yelled out, people pushing past each other, guns and weapons being loaded onto belts and into bags, screams so loud they were basically incoherent. 

Somewhere in the mess, Nico had taken your hand and refused to let go. You couldn’t find it in yourself to pull away just yet either. 

He tugged you through the bustling crowd of people, pulling you towards a large dining room in the back of the house—the one used for the weekly family dinners—when the incoherent screams began to make sense. You could hear each of their voices so clear, so distinct, so angry. 

It made something in your own chest tighten and twist into something ugly.

Jesper was the first one to notice you both. Or maybe he was the only one willing to tear his eyes away from the heart-stopping sight in the middle of the room. 

You had seen Jack in many states. You had seen him in his usual everyday, bubbly and loud moods where he was charming and sweet and a little sassy. You had seen him drunk and clingy and throwing himself around like he was unstoppable. You had seen him silent and angry and huffy when things didn’t go his way, when he messed up or didn’t do something up to his personal standards. 

You had seen him so many ways and yet, nothing could have prepared you for the sight of him now. 

He looked dead. 

There was no other way to put it, no way to sugarcoat it. He was laying out on the dining table they used for family dinners: his face was black and bruised and cut up, his clothes were ripped and wrecked, his shirt was practically nonexistent and giving you a clear view of his torso. 

It was shredded. 

You had seen men die in a million different ways, fast and slow and easy and torturous. You had seen men on the brink of their life, begging and pleading and praying to a god that wasn’t watching over them. You had seen men beg for mercy. You had seen men so arrogant they could barely finish their sentence before the bullet was put through their head. 

But you had never seen something like this—or maybe you had never seen someone you care about like this.

There were large gashes spanning across his stomach. They were huge and deep and gruesome to look at. And it was bloody. So bloody. So much blood seeping out of his wounds and staining his skin, his clothes, the table, the wood. 

Everything. 

And his body was unresponsive. His eyes were closed. His skin was pale. 

And he looked dead. 

Jack Hughes looked dead and it made you queasy. 

It hadn’t even clicked to you where the screams were coming from, or rather who they were coming from before you heard Jesper talking.

“They can’t do anything to help him until he moves,” Jesper rasped, something quite like fear lacing his words as he spoke. “Nico, he’s freaking out and he’s—”

“I’m not leaving! I-I can’t! He can’t leave me!” 

Your eyes snapped over Jesper’s shoulder, finally spotting Luke being held back by Kurtis and Kevin with sombre looks on their faces. He was thrashing against their hold, angry and worried and upset. For the first time since you met the boy, it hit you just how young he really looked when his emotions really took over. 

“Get him out of here,” Nico hissed, short and snappy but the concern could still be heard. 

“We can’t,” Jesper repeated, exasperated. “We tried—” 

“Let me,” you spoke up, not even waiting for a response from the two boys before you headed straight towards Luke and the others.  

“He can’t be dead,” Luke yelled, his voice raspy and broken. “He—He can’t!” 

“Luke,” Kurtis tried, squeezing the boy’s shoulder. “They need to—” 

“He’s not allowed to die!” Luke pleaded, his voice almost sounding like a choked out sob. “He…we…he can’t!”

“And he won’t,” you said in a firm voice, even if the words tasted like battery acid on your tongue. “He won’t die if you let them help, Luke.”

His eyes snapped away from Jack, away from his dying brother on the table, to look at you and it broke your heart. It broke your heart to see the fear and anguish and misery, a haunted look in his eyes that you couldn’t quite understand but shattered the pieces of your heart into dust regardless. 

“I can’t do this alone,” he whispered, no longer tugging against the hands pulling him back as he stared at you with a hopeless expression. “I don’t want to do this without him.”

“You won’t,” you said it like a promise. 

Luke shook his head, his eyes red and glossy from tears. “You don’t know that—”

“I do,” you interrupted. “I do know that. It’s scary, I know. But you’re not alone and neither is Jack. The doctors are going to do everything they can, Luke.” 

A small ‘ooft’ left your lips as the boy stumbled forward, as his body fell into yours and you caught him as best you could, letting him press his face against your shoulder and let the fight leave his body. 

“Let’s give them space, okay?” You whispered, just loud enough for him to hear.

“Stay with me?” 

“Of course,” you murmured, squeezing him tighter. 

…

You had spent almost every day with Luke Hughes for the better part of the last four months.

You had seen the younger child charm in him, the slightly awkward but endearing allure that captivated a part of you. You never had any siblings, destined to be the only child your parents had, but you liked to think in another world you had a younger sibling quite like Luke: one that was good-natured and irritating and sassy and witty. 

You liked to think that in this world, in this lifetime where you met under unwanted circumstances, that he was more than the boy appointed to be your bodyguard under Nico’s command.

Even from day one, he had never seemed like the young, obedient henchman following the instructions given to him by his boss in an eager attempt to please him. He became a friend, even if it took him a few weeks of wiggling his way into your life until you accepted it. You cared for him more than you ever cared for the younger boys back in New York that made feeble attempts to get on your good side to get an in with Jacob.

You had been denying a lot of emotions and feelings and truths to yourself over the last few weeks and Luke was one of them. You cared for the younger boy. You saw him as a friend, as a brother even. It hurt when he was upset with you, ignoring you for a few days. 

And it hurt seeing him now, so broken and hopeless and a shell of the boy who was usually finding new ways to get under your skin. 

“He’s all I have left,” Luke murmured, his cheek squished against the pillow beneath his head. “I know the Devils are a family but—”

“I know,” you assured him before the guilt of his words could swallow him whole. “He’s your brother. No one is judging you.” 

“I should be beside him,” Luke rasped. 

“What Jack needs right now is the doctors,” you murmured, pushing some curls away from his face and watching his eyes flutter shut. “And you need to rest.” 

His eyes snapped open. “I can’t—”

“You will,” you said with a pointed look. “You can stay here. If he wakes up, I’ll wake you up.” 

Luke swallowed. “Promise?” 

“Promise,” you said with a soft smile.

“You’re a good person, Rogue,” he whispered as he slumped back down against the pillow, no longer fighting the exhaustion. 

“Yeah, you too, kid,” you said fondly. 

You didn’t move from your spot until the boy had fallen asleep, his breaths slowing and his face looking a little more peaceful as he rested. And even then, you remained for a little longer just in case. It was only once you were sure Luke was asleep and okay that you moved to stand up, throwing a blanket over him before you snuck out of your own bedroom. 

You almost jumped out of your skin when you turned around to find Nico leaning against the opposite wall, waiting for you. 

“Sorry,” he shot you a sheepish smile. “Didn’t mean to scare you.” 

“I didn’t expect anyone to be outside,” you admitted, slumping against the door as you mirrored his smile. “How’s Jack?” 

“He’s gonna be okay,” Nico said, and you felt the relief hit you like a truck. Even if you hadn’t wanted to admit it out loud (especially around Luke), you were terrified of the other outcome, that Luke would wake up to his brother gone. “Probably won’t be happy he will be stuck on bedrest for a few weeks.”

You snorted, despite yourself. “He will be bummed but at least he will be alive.”

“How’s Luke?” Nico asked, a crease between his brows as he tried—and failed—to hide his concern. 

“He’ll be okay too,” you said with a soft but sad smile. “I know Jack is his brother but…god, seeing him like that was heartbreaking.” 

“Thank you,” Nico murmured, watching as your face morphed into one of confusion before he nodded towards your bedroom. “For what you did for him.” 

“You don’t have to thank me for that,” you said, the emotions of the last hour or so finally catching up on you as you tried to ease the suffocating feeling around your throat. “I always wanted a roommate,” you added, though the joke fell flat. 

Nico frowned. 

“Sorry,” you winced a little. “I was just going to sleep on the floor anyways—”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Nico quickly intercepted. “You can sleep in my room.”

You paused, raising your brows. “I thought that wasn’t until we were married.”

His lips twitched. “We can make some exceptions.” 

…

The second you stepped into his room, you almost wanted to laugh. 

Maybe it was the rush of emotions or maybe it was the fact that after four months, some things about Nico Hischier were so predictable to you and his bedroom was one of them. It had dark wooden floors and matching furniture. It was black silk sheets and a door that led off to a walk-in wardrobe where you could almost imagine all his suits neatly hung up. It was fit for a mob boss. 

And then there were the things that did genuinely catch you by surprise. 

The bookshelves stocked with a variety of titles you both recognised and had never heard of before. Trinkets dotted around the room like small reminders. Photo frames holding pictures that almost made him seem like a normal person, like he was just some twenty-something year old who wanted to decorate his space with sweet memories. 

It was just another one of those things that made your chest tighten. 

You had been staring at a photo on his dresser—one of him, Jonas and Timo grinning shamelessly at the camera whilst they sat in some bar—when you heard the man let out a sigh. He was slumped against the edge of his bed, running a hand through his hair and almost looking out of place in his casual wear from the picnic. 

And he looked exhausted. Dejected. Crushed. 

Your feet were moving before you could stop yourself, before you could second-guess your actions. 

Nico lifted his head as you stood in front of him, his legs spreading a little wider as you stood between them and replaced his hand with your own. His eyes fluttered shut, enjoying the feeling for a few moments before you spoke. 

“Jack and Luke will be fine,” you murmured, nails lightly scratching against his scalp as he let out a deep sigh.

“I know,” he swallowed harshly. “I just worry. They have been through so much and today could have been avoided and—”

You lightly tugged on his hair for him to continue. 

Nico looked contemplative before he spoke. “Did Luke ever tell you about Quinn?”

Your brows furrowed together. “Who’s Quinn?” 

“He was Jack and Luke’s oldest brother,” Nico said, his lips pressed together in a thin line.

You blinked. “Was as in…?”

“Dead,” Nico confirmed with a nod. “They used to live in Toronto. They got into some shit with some bad people up there but Quinn never made it out alive. Jack and Luke were lucky to make it to New Jersey.” 

“Oh my god,” you breathed out, the realisation hitting you like a punch in the gut. His freakout went beyond just caring about his brother, it was about potentially losing his second brother. “How old were they when—”

“Luke was thirteen or so,” Nico said with a blank face. “Jack turned sixteen a week after it happened.”

“Fuck,” you swore. 

“Yeah,” he flashed you a sad smile. “Fuck indeed.” 

You frowned. “They came to New Jersey alone?” 

“I remember the day I first met them so clearly,” Nico murmured, swallowing back the thickness in the back of his throat that made it hard to mutter out the words. “They were so young and hopeless and—” He paused for a moment. “I promised myself I would never let them feel like that again. I know what this world is like and I know it’s impossible to put that on myself but I never wanted to see them or any of the others look like that again. And that was exactly what I saw in Luke today.” 

“Nico,” you whispered softly.

“M’sorry,” he huffed out, tucking his head down as he let out a sad, pitiful laugh. “You just spent the last hour comforting Luke, you don’t need to do this again.” 

“You care about them so much,” you murmured as you tugged his head back, as his chin rested on your stomach as he looked up at you. “And you put so much pressure on yourself to be the one they can lean on. But you need someone who takes care of you too.”

“I like taking care of them,” he whispered, soft and honest. “I like taking care of you. The Devils are my family and it’s my job to look after them, to be the one they can always rely on.” 

“Let me be that to you,” you whispered back, your thumb lightly stroking against his cheek. “You don’t have to do this alone.” 

He leaned into your touch. “This is enough. This is all I need.” 

And it felt hard to ignore when he whispered those words to you. It felt hard to push down the feelings you had been having for the last few weeks, to ignore what you think you had known for a while but couldn’t quite admit to yourself. It felt hard to ignore the truth. 

You lowered your hands until both hands were cupping his face in your palms, your eyes meeting his warm gaze, your body trapped between his legs. It was close but not close enough and you never wanted to leave the twisted embrace. 

It took less than a second before you leaned down to press your lips against his. 

In an instant, Nico’s arms were winding around your thighs and tugging you closer. He kissed back like it was instinctive, like he had been waiting for the moment to approach. He kissed you like he loved you, in a way you had never experienced before. He kissed you like you had the rest of your life ahead of you to live off of these kisses. And you found that you really wanted that.

“I want to marry you,” you whispered, watching his expression change with the admission. “I don’t care about the wedding. I don’t care about finding the perfect venue or getting the most expensive flowers or any of it. I just want you. I just want to marry you.”

Your thumb pressed against the dip of his dimple as he smiled at you. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” you nodded. 

His hands gripped your thighs, tightening his hold. “God, if I knew all it would take was one kiss, I would have made a move sooner.”

You snorted, trying to push him back but he just pulled you closer. “Shut up.” 

“I’ve been waiting for you to catch up,” he added, but there was something affectionate in his voice.

“We may have been a little unconventional in the way we got here but I mean it,” you said, your palms still holding his face. “I want to marry you, Nico.”

“I can’t wait to marry you, baby.”

…

You weren’t shocked to find Luke already in the room, sitting by Jack’s bed where you had expected him to be since he woke up the following morning.

You were shocked to find that Jack was already awake.

If you were being completely honest, he didn’t look much better than when you last saw him, bleeding out on the dining table. But he was awake. His eyes were open, there was somehow still a smile on his face—even if it was a little tender—and he was talking, which was more than you were expecting to see. 

He had been the one to spot you by the door first, flashing you a somewhat sheepish smile as he nodded you to come in. 

“Found time in your schedule to see lil’ old me? I’m honoured.” 

You shook your head, though it was almost fond. “Good to see they didn’t break your sense of humour.”

“Gonna need to do more than almost kill me for that,” he joked, the words leaving his mouth before he even realised. 

Your eyes instantly snapped towards Luke. There was a mixed expression on his face, one you couldn’t quite figure out but it was giving you the same overbearing need to hold him in your arms like you had done the previous night. 

“Too soon,” Luke grumbled.

“Sorry,” Jack murmured, his eyes softening as he reached for his little brother, as he took his hand and gave it a soft squeeze. Like a reassurance that he was still there.

“Well, there will be no more attempts because Nico has put you on bedrest indefinitely,” you quickly chimed in, crossing the room to stand by where Luke sat. 

Jack’s jaw dropped. “What? No fucking way.” 

“Yes fucking way,” you snapped back, giving the boy a look. “You’re out, Hughes.”

“This is unfair,” Jack huffed, leaning back against his pillows and trying to hide his wince as he did so.

“It took us twenty minutes to get you to sit up,” Luke deadpanned. “For once in your life, listen to Nico.” 

“Whatever,” Jack huffed. “I get jumped out of nowhere and yet, I am punished for it.”

“Nico is already on it,” you told the boy. 

“If this is just going to be the same argument, I’m gonna go get breakfast,” Luke muttered as he stood up from his seat, wincing a little as he stretched his legs. “Do you want anything?” 

You shook your head. “I already grabbed something with Nico earlier.”

Luke shot you a curious look but didn’t say anything before he left the room. His brother, on the other hand, was less than subtle. In fact, he was just downright blunt. 

“Since when did you and Nico become so close?” Jack retorted, the pout long gone and replaced with a smile that oddly resembled the Cheshire Cat. “Anything you want to tell me?” 

“He’s my fiancé,” you retorted. “I am bound to be close to him, aren’t I?” 

“Oh, he so wore the white tank in front of you,” Jack snorted, only to wince a little afterwards. And yet, his injuries didn’t stop him from being a meddling gossip. “Did his plan to make you love him back finally work? Am I finally free from his two hour rants about which cufflinks you’d notice?” 

You rolled your eyes. “Rest, Jack.” There was a small pause before you continued. “I’m happy you’re okay.”

His face softened. “Thank you for looking after Luke for me.”

“Anytime,” you murmured, giving him a soft smile. You hesitated for a moment before you reached out, squeezing his hand the way he had done with Luke earlier. “For both of you.” 

Jack didn’t say anything but he nodded like he understood and, for now, that was more than enough for you. 

…

It was the following Sunday when you received the call from Jacob Trouba.

It was ironic how much could change in a short space of time. Just a few months ago you were cursing his name for not reaching out after you stepped out of that meeting room, spent nights almost wishing he would finally reach out. The alliance was about bringing the Devils and Rangers together, and yet you just felt iced out from your previous life.

And now? 

Now, you were staring at his name on your phone screen and you felt…indifferent. The feelings of awe, admiration and respect you once held for the leader of the Rangers was now gone, replaced with a sort of irritance that left a crawling sensation under your skin. 

You waited three rings before you finally answered the call, lifting the phone to your ear with the oddest desire to hang up and end the call already. But you were curious and you knew he would never speak first.

“Calling on God’s day,” you mused. “This must be important.”

“It’s nice to hear your voice, Rogue.”

“Surprised you remember my name at all,” you snapped back, your fingers tracing over the spines of the books on Nico’s bookshelves. Despite the fact your room was now free, you had spent every day since in his room. You didn’t see that changing any time soon. 

“Don’t be like that.”

You knew he was goading for a reaction. You could imagine the scene so clearly with him sitting in his office, leaning back in his chair with a knowing smirk on his face. You almost rolled your eyes at the thought.

“Is there a reason you’ve phoned me?” You asked, straightforward and blunt. 

“Always so straight to the point. I’ve always liked that about you.” 

This time you did roll your eyes. “Jacob.” 

“Oh, c’mon, baby.” Your jaw clenched a little at the nickname, your stomach twisting in disgust at the word leaving anyone else’s mouth but Nico’s. “Don’t tell me you’ve become all stuck up and boring over there.”

“I thought I wasn’t your problem anymore,” you chimed, fingers fiddling with some random trinket as you spoke. 

“I’ll always care about you, Rogue.” 

“So you called to be sentimental?” You deadpanned. 

“I apologise for wanting to catch up with my best girl.” 

“Not your girl,” you gritted out. “Never have been, Trouba.”

“Oh, Trouba now? Guess Hischier has really gotten into that head of yours. It’s fine, you’ll snap out of it when you come back home.”

You froze, your brows furrowing together. “Excuse me?” 

“I am breaking the alliance. The deal is off the table. You’re coming back to New York.” 

You scoffed. “No, I’m not.” 

“I do not permit you to marry him anymore.” 

“I don’t give a fuck what you permit me to do,” you bit back, your irritance growing into something more angry. “You can’t just break the alliance, Jacob, you signed a contract. You both signed—”

“I don’t give two shits about the contract or the alliance or any of it. I expect you back in New York by Wednesday.” 

You laughed, dry and unamused and severely pissed off. “Jersey is my home now.” 

“So that’s it? After everything I do for you, and this is what I get in return?” 

“Oh, cry me a river,” you retorted. 

“Fine. Stay with the fucking rats.” 

“You’re the one breaking the alliance!” 

“And your future husband is the one that sent his pretty boy sniffing around my territory!” 

Your jaw clenched. “It was you who attacked Jack?” 

“Yes. A shame the bastard is alive. But that’s what I get for sending a couple of idiots to do the job.” 

“And you’re responsible for just Jack?” You questioned, something quite like dread and anticipation swirling in your stomach. 

“I look forward to seeing you crawling back to me, Rogue. I bet you look pretty on all fours.” 

The line went dead before he finished his sentence. 

…

The click of your heels were frantic as you approached Nico’s study. 

You hadn’t bothered knocking, pushing the door open with the words ready on the tip of your tongue, only to find a handful of people already in the room. You froze for a moment, taking in their various expressions of concern, annoyance and contemplation. Your shoulders practically sagged in relief when your gaze caught Nico’s.

“You already know.” 

He nodded in response. 

“How?” 

“The shredded alliance contract left burning at the front door was telling enough,” Nico answered with a frown. 

“Fuck,” you muttered. 

“He has someone working for him,” Nico continued. “Someone feeding him information. From Candy to the warehouses to Jack. Someone was telling him everything and we didn’t even fucking know.” 

“What?” You shook your head, stepping into the room and closing the door behind you. You were in his circle for years, someone he trusted, someone he confided in. You would have known about a spy in one of the Rangers’ biggest enemy territories, especially long before he was contemplating the alliance. “No, that’s not possible. I don’t know how he—”

“Do you not?” Timo questioned. 

You blinked. “What?”

“Do you not know how?” Timo continued, something written across his expression that you couldn’t quite work out. “You’re close to Trouba, no? One of his lackeys?”

Your eyes narrowed. “Are you insinuating something?” 

“Does a duck quack?” He retorted.

“Enough,” Nico interrupted, his lips turned downwards. “We don’t know for sure who—”

“Jacob Trouba is practically flaunting around New York that he gutted Jack,” Jesper chimed in. “He has someone he trusts—someone we trust too—whispering in his ear.” 

“And you think it’s me?” You spluttered out, your shock clearly written across your face. “Are you fucking serious?” 

“I am just pointing out the facts,” Jesper responded.

“I wasn’t even here when half of the attacks happened,” you retorted. “I didn’t even know I was coming here until that day in the meeting room.”

“So you say,” Timo muttered, eyes narrowed. 

“I have spent every day for the last four months here,” you gritted out through clenched teeth. “What do you think I was doing? Sending carrier pigeons to Trouba?” 

“You have a phone,” Timo pointed out.

You let out a humourless laugh, throwing the phone towards the boy as he effortlessly caught it. “Check it if you’re so sure.”

“We are wasting time,” John spoke up, having stayed mostly silent as he stood by the desk, brooding as he usually did. “And arguing is getting us nowhere.” 

“Wherever he is leading you, it will be a trap,” you pointed out, ignoring the glares some of the boys were sending you and, instead, focusing on the one man you could rely on. “Nico, please. I know him. I know how his head works.” 

Nico’s jaw clenched, a pained look in his eyes that made your heart twist in discomfort. But it was his words that cut through you, leaving it a little harder to breathe as he spoke with a blank face.

“Maybe it’s best if you stay behind.”

“You think I’m the rat?” You whispered, your voice cracking despite your attempts to keep it even.

He couldn’t bring himself to look you in the eye after that.

…

“Not you too.” 

Luke didn’t say anything, staring blankly at the wall in front of him.

“Are you serious?”

Luke remained silent.

“I don’t need a fucking babysitter,” you muttered under your breath as you threw the book down on the bed beside you, a failed attempt to distract yourself from the sick feeling in your stomach when you thought about what Nico was going to walk in to. “They need the fucking babysitter! They are the ones walking straight into a trap!”

Luke still remained silent.

“Do not fucking do this now,” you grumbled as you pushed yourself to stand up, rounding the bed and walking towards the boy. You almost scoffed as he moved just as quick, stepping in front of the door, blocking your way out. “You don’t seriously believe I’m the rat?” 

“I am just following orders,” Luke stated.

“Luke,” you stood in front of him, your hands on your hips. “Do not fucking play with me right now. We spent every fucking waking moment together, do you really think I would do any of that?”

His eyes snapped down to you, a conflicted expression painted on his face. 

“Do you really think I would do that to Jack?” You continued, your voice a little softer and you watched as the boy swallowed harshly.

“No,” he rasped, his voice rough but honest. “But there is a rat. Someone did do that to Jack and I—”

“I know,” you murmured, winding your arms around his torso. It didn’t take much for the boy to return the hug, to find comfort in your embrace. “We will find them. I promise. And I will personally let you be the one to give them what they deserve. But we need to help the others first before Trouba gets to them.” 

“How can I help?” 

You pulled back, a somewhat sheepish expression on your face. “Depends. How well do your puppy dog eyes work on Jack?” 

…

“Absolutely not.”

“Jack—”

“Nuh uh. Not happening.” 

“Dude, come on—”

“It’s bad enough that I am stuck in this bed whilst everyone else gets to go have fun,” Jack huffed, though the pile of pillows surrounding him did little to help sell the angry expression on his face. “I am not giving you my baby on top of everything else.” 

You shot him a look. “You boys and your motor toys.”

Jack blanched. “She is not just a toy, she is—”

“A motorcycle,” Luke intercepted, shooting his brother an apologetic look.

His eyes narrowed. “Why can’t you just take one of the cars?” 

Your gaze wandered to the floor, slightly sheepish as you shrugged. “I can’t drive stick.” 

“Luke can.”

“Luke isn’t coming.”

“Wait, what?” Luke snapped his head around to look at you. “Yes, I am. You’re not going in alone.” 

“It is bad enough that the rest of them are already there,” you bit out. “I am not letting you risk yourself too. You saw what he did to Jack.”

“I was caught off guard,” Jack grumbled.

“I am going alone and I am not arguing about this,” you said, hands on your hips as you waited for the boy to do the exact opposite and start arguing with you. 

And just like clockwork, he did.

“How the hell am I supposed to help from here?” Luke questioned, a crease forming between his brows and the beginnings of the classic upset Hughes’ pout starting to show. “Jack is the injured one, I am completely fine!”

“Stop reminding me,” Jack sighed deeply.

“You can help from here,” you stated. 

Luke shot you a look. “How?” 

“I don’t care how you do it and I don’t care what lies you have to tell but get on that phone and get the others back as fast as you can,” you said, your face remaining serious. “Nico wouldn’t have taken them all. They are probably waiting somewhere as back up. Call them and get them back here. Lie, bribe, blackmail—do whatever.” 

Jack blinked. “You really think it’s that bad?” 

“I think killing them would be too easy for Trouba,” you said honestly. “I think there is a bigger picture we are not seeing and tonight is not the night to figure out what that is. At least not under Trouba’s discretion.” 

Luke stared at you for a few moments. “Fine. But stay safe or whatever.”

You smiled, playfully patting his cheek. “Don’t worry about me, kid. I can handle myself.”

…

“So, she was right.” 

Nico slowly turned his head to look at Timo who was on the chair next to him, his arms and legs tied tightly just like his were. He shot the other man a look, his face remaining blank and unimpressed. 

“Got yourself quite a wife there, Boss. Smart lady,” he continued, flashing Nico a slightly strained smile. 

“Your ability to act like we aren’t completely fucked is admirable,” Jonas deadpanned from his spot on the other side of Nico. “On the off chance we get out of here alive—”

“Which we probably won’t,” Timo supplied. 

“—Nico will kill you for that comment alone,” Jonas finished.

“I wouldn’t,” Nico spoke up. “I would let her.”

Jonas snorted. 

Timo nodded. “Yeah, that’s fair.”

“As endearing as this whole moment is,” another voice spoke up from the other side of the room. “You are really making me regret not bringing gags with me.” 

“Kinky,” Timo mused. 

Nico shot him another look. 

“My bad for trying to make our last moments enjoyable,” Timo huffed.

“Would be enjoyable if the ropes weren’t tied so badly,” Jonas grumbled. 

“God,” Jacob growled, pushing himself off the desk and walking towards where the three of them were currently stationed. “I don’t know how that little bitch could stand you for months. Thirty minutes and I don’t know if I want to put a bullet through your heads or mine.” 

Nico’s jaw clenched. “Watch your mouth.” 

“Aw, touched a nerve?” Jacob smiled as he closed the distance, crouching down a little so he was face to face with the Devils’ boss. “Possessive over your wannabe wife, Hischier?”

“Keep her out of this,” Nico growled, his teeth gritted. 

“Hm, it’s cute you think you have any power here,” Jacob commented, his next movement a flash of blurred colours. It wasn’t until the pain erupted in his nose and he could feel the blood starting to drip down his face that he realised Jacob had smacked him with the handle of his gun. “Don’t make me muzzle you like a fucking mutt.” 

“Bite me, Trouba,” Nico snapped back. 

“He might be into that,” Timo murmured.

“Dude,” Jonas hissed. 

Nico let out another groan, his head snapping to the side as Jacob pistol-whipped him once again. 

“Hey!” Timo exclaimed, the legs of his chair scuffling against the floor as he tried to fight against the restraints. 

“You were annoying me,” Jacob said with a shrug as he stood back up. “And his pretty face annoys me.” 

Nico lifted his head, spitting the blood pooling inside his mouth in Jacob’s direction before flashing him a smile. “You think I’m pretty?”

Jacob shot him a blank look. 

“My wife thinks I’m pretty too,” he continued, something almost sadistic written across his face. “Remind me, did she ever think you were pretty?” 

“I think,” Jacob began, the telltale click of the safety lock being removed echoing through the empty office space. “I’m sick and tired of having your lot become such a problem for me.” 

“Yeah, I could really tell from that alliance you signed,” Nico deadpanned. 

Jacob let out a dry laugh. “There is no honest man in this life, Hischier. You’re a naive bastard if you believe anyone other than yourself.” 

“He does know contracts are legally binding, right?” Timo muttered. 

“Yeah, because everything we do is so legal,” Jonas drawled, unamused.

“Why sign it?” Nico questioned, his eyes trained on the man in front of him. 

“It was fun messing with you,” Jacob said with a shrug.

“Bullshit,” Timo snorted. “You just laid back for four months for fun? Yeah, sure.” 

Nico glanced at his friend before returning his gaze to Jacob. He noted the way his jaw clenched, his eye twitching a little in frustration. He tried—and failed—not to take pleasure in the small signs of annoyance. 

“Because the plan didn’t work out the way you intended,” Nico guessed, and assuming from the small, irritated huff Jacob let out, he was right. “Because you had to hold back and work out some things but, like a petulant child, you ran out of patience. That’s why the attack on Jack was so messy. You threw caution out the window.”

“You seem far too interested in the fine details for a man in your position, Hischier,” Jacob grumbled. 

“Call it a dead man’s curiosity,” Nico retorted with a smile.

“Speaking of death,” Timo piped up. “You are keeping us alive for a surprisingly long time.” 

“Because he needs something from us,” Nico assumed.

“You think you’re so smart,” Jacob hissed. 

“Well, he knows how to tie a better knot,” Jonas grumbled under his breath.

Nico shot him a look, only for Jonas to shrug in response. 

“I’m just saying, you can tell he doesn’t do the dirty work.” Jonas added.

Jacob looked unimpressed. “I don’t typically lower myself to dirty work.”

“How noble,” Timo snorted.

“What are you waiting for?” Nico poked, his eyes narrowing a little with determination. “Why keep us alive? One bullet through my head and you would have everything you want. But you’re hesitating.” 

“You done with your conspiracies?” Jacob bit back.

“Whatever it is you want, you’re not going to get it,” Nico told him, so sure of himself. 

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Jacob responded.

Nico shrugged as best he could in his restraints. “I would.” 

…

As a Ranger, you were one of Jacob’s top enforcers. 

It was the unexpected factor that made you effective. The others were tall or buff or intimidating, but you were able to get away with a lot more—call it taking advantage of the inherent and ridiculous misogyny within the mob life. 

But your effectiveness and skill was the exact reason why Jacob Trouba trusted you, why he let you in on the private meetings, why he kept you so close within his circle. It was also one of the main reasons why the initial arranged marriage caught you off guard. 

You weren’t made for marriages of alliance, you were made for this.

The forty-eight floor office building in Lower Manhattan was an abandoned project that failed extensive safety acts but was too expensive for the city to knock down—in the books. Off the books, it was a grey area the police tended to look away from and not prod too much. It was the perfect place for someone like Trouba—who controlled the majority of the crime and underground businesses in New York, who didn’t like any more eyes on him than he allowed. 

It was a building you were familiar with, one you had spent many days and nights in for the years you stood in Trouba’s circle. You knew the ins and outs, the various corridors to sneak around and hide. You knew the exact rooms where the screams and pleas of a man would be deaf to the bustling city outside. You knew which floors were reserved for the kind of things people with weak stomachs tended to avoid. 

And, for the first time ever in your life, you stepped into the building with a sense of dread lingering over your head. 

Every time you had ever stepped into this building, you were indifferent. You were there to complete a job and you always did so. You never hesitated or second-guessed yourself. You went in, you did your job and you left. 

Because never once had there ever been the life of someone you cared about on the line—never once had you ever feared you wouldn’t be able to save someone’s life, rather than being the one to end it. 

And yet, the mere idea of walking into one of these rooms and finding out you were too late was eating you alive as you made your way in through the side entrance, trying not to take the lack of men stationed around the building as a sign that you weren’t fast enough. 

At least, it was eating you alive until you were distracted by your phone buzzing in your pocket.

“You better have a good fucking reason to be calling me right now.” 

“First of all, that was rude. I am bed-ridden and lonely. You could at least say hi.” 

You rolled your eyes. 

“And second of all, I wanted to make sure my baby is okay.” 

“Your motorcycle is fine, Jack,” you deadpanned. 

“One scratch on her and we are going to have problems.”

“However will I escape your wrath when you are bound to your bed?” You questioned, the sarcasm dripping from your words as you made your way through the corridors—one hand holding your phone and the other clutching your gun. 

“That was also rude.”

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes again. “Why did you call, Jack?” 

“Well, there’s good news and bad news.”

You paused for a moment, straightening your back. “Good news?”

“We got everyone back. Jesper is a little pissed. John is really pissed but that is on Luke for lying about—”

You quickly interrupted. “And the bad news?” 

“Timo and Jonas are with Nico, so you are now on a three man rescue mission—”

“Which would have been easier if you let me come,” Luke yelled from somewhere in the background.

“And he is waiting for someone. Supposedly. We are assuming whoever the rat is.” 

Your brows furrowed together. “How can you be so sure it’s them?” 

“According to the dude Kurtis bet up for some information, Trouba has been sending money to the rat for months. Today was meant to be the day they met, and supposedly Nico was the price they demanded.”

“He doesn't even know who his rat is?” You scoffed. “I’m assuming there’s no real name attached to the account.” 

“Unless you know a Barbra Parker who lives in Brooklyn and attends weekly zumba classes for senior citizens and sometimes attends church when she wants to gossip, then no. We have no name and no more clues towards whoever Trouba has been paying.” 

You let out a sigh. “Great.”

“On the bright side, Jesper did admit he was wrong for accusing you and I got the admission on video for you to blackmail him with.” 

You laughed a little. “Thanks, Jack.”

“We got your back, Rogue. You’re a Devil. But if Nico asks, this was totally my idea and he owes me dinner at that fancy steak place I got banned from three years ago.” 

This time you did roll your eyes before hanging up. 

…

Nico watched as Jacob Trouba paced the room, the nerves emitting from him like a bat signal for weakness as he kept glancing down at his watch. He had never seen such obvious and badly concealed emotions from a man like Trouba, it was almost off-putting to watch if he weren’t trying to work out the little puzzle in his head right now. 

Most of the pieces were there, but there was something glaringly obvious that Nico was missing and it was starting to irritate him.

“It’s actually quite sad to watch,” Timo commented. “He looks like a distressed polar bear.”

Jonas flashed him a confused look. “What?” 

“You know, those videos where the polar bear is in a zoo enclosure and gets really stressed and starts exhibiting weird behaviours?” Timo said, only to receive blank expressions in response. “What? I literally sent you the video a few weeks ago. Assholes.”

“You sent it to me when I was down in Philly,” Jonas retorted.

“Excuses,” Timo huffed. 

“We really need to discuss your hostage conversation topics when we are back,” Nico deadpanned. 

“Hard to have that discussion when you three will be dead in a few hours,” Jacob spoke up, turning to finally look at them for the first time in the last thirty minutes. 

“Seems like you’ve been stood up, Trouba,” Nico assumed, the amusement clear in his voice despite the fact he was the one who was restrained. “It happens to many men, you’re in good company, I’m sure.” 

Jacob clenched his jaw, rounding towards him. “You little—” 

“Watch how you talk about my husband, Trouba.” 

All four pairs of eyes snapped towards the entrance. 

You stood there, your hands holding onto your gun tightly and pointing it directly at your former boss—your former friend—with your finger on the trigger. It was an odd feeling, one you had never really experienced before. Because as much as you wanted to tell yourself you felt indifferent towards Jacob—that maybe even a part of you despised him for the way he treated you over the last four months—there was a louder, more vocal voice in your head reminding you just who he was to you. 

Just who he used to be to you. 

And it was so fucking disorienting. 

Something quite like surprise and elation crossed Jacob’s face. “Rogue.”

“Drop the gun,” you nodded towards the gun in his hand. “Right now.” 

He smiled, his head tilting a little. “You know I’m not going to do that. And I know why you’re really here, you can drop the act.” 

Your eyes narrowed. 

“Not quite on your knees,” he continued, his grin growing when Nico let out a string of curses. “But I knew you’d come back to me.” 

“Your ego is truly astounding,” you mused, your eyes glued on Trouba. You couldn’t look towards Nico. Not right yet. Not until you had dealt with the man in front of you. “Almost as pathetic as your mind games.” 

Jacob cocked an eyebrow. 

“I mean, of all the people to choose as your rat,” you continued, watching as his face dropped a little as the lie passed your lips. “You really thought I wouldn’t find out?”

Jacob huffed out a laugh, dry and a bit tense. “Rogue—”

“Meanwhile, you don’t even know who your rat is,” you added.

His jaw clenched a little. “I do.”

“Do you?” You questioned.

“You were always the smartest one in my ranks,” Jacob mused.

“And yet, you sent me away,” you finished for him. 

“But you came back,” Jacob grinned, as though he had planned this all along, as though he was the mastermind. “Like I always knew you would.” 

“And you need your ears checked because I think I have made myself very clear where I stand,” you gritted out. 

“Don’t tell me you have gone soft for him?” Jacob scoffed,  looking at you in a mix of disbelief and amusement. But when your gun remained pointed at him, he only laughed. “Yeah? You expect me to believe you��re going to do it? Fine then.” 

You watched as his gun moved away from Nico, watched as the barrel of the gun was pointed towards you instead. Something prickled under your skin, your hair standing on the nape of your neck. You have watched that gun in his hands kill so many people and now it was directed at you. 

It felt so wrong and, yet, you didn’t lower your weapon either.

“Is this what you wanted? Some noble showdown to prove yourself to them?” Jacob goaded. “They will never trust you. You will never be one of them, no matter who you marry or who’s dick you suck. You will always be an outsider. You will always be a Ranger.”

Your jaw twitched. “I stopped being a Ranger the second you sold me off like fucking cattle.”

“Rogue, baby, you never stopped as long as I say you haven’t,” Jacob smiled, all-knowing and smug. “Now, put the gun down. The game was cute but it’s getting a bit dull now. You’ve put on your little show, you’ve made your point. It won’t happen again. Scout’s promise.”

You stared at the man for a few moments, stared at the person you once knew so well. “You know the difference between me and you?” 

He raised his brows. “What?”

“You’re far too sentimental over shit that doesn’t ultimately matter anymore,” you said, your finger pressing down on the trigger before you even finished your sentence. 

Jacob let out a pained exclamation, his body falling towards the floor as his hand instantly went to the bullet wound now oozing blood from his thigh. His grip on his gun was still firm but before he could even raise it, you shot him once more on the opposite shoulder, letting his cries of pain bounce through the room. 

“Take this as my one and only mercy, Trouba, for the man you once were to me,” you spoke, blunt and indifferent as you approached the man. Your foot was pining his wrist down, letting you throw his gun towards the other side of the room before you turned back to him. “Next time you even touch a hair on my family’s head, I’ll put a bullet through yours. Remember that.” 

Jacob didn’t even get a chance to reply to your threat before you slammed the handle of your gun against his temple, knocking him out cold as he laid motionless on the ground. 

“Fuck, that was hot.” 

Your head snapped around, finally settling on the three men tied to the chairs in front of you. You took a quick glance over Jonas and Timo, happy to see a limited amount of blood on them before your eyes finally stopped on Nico. It was almost embarrassing the way relief drowned you at the sight of him smiling at you. 

“Fucking hell,” you murmured out, your body moving on autopilot as you stumbled towards him. You took his face in your hands, unbothered about the blood drying on his face as you leaned your forehead against his. “I fucking told you I was right.” 

Nico huffed out a laugh. “Yeah, baby, you did. Should listen to you more often.” 

You smiled a little. “You have time to learn.” 

“All the time in the world, Rogue,” he confirmed, his nose nudging against yours. 

“This is really cute and that was really badass but could you two please stop so she can untie us and we can go home?” Timo spoke up. 

“Please, it’s insulting having these terribly tied knots holding us down,” Jonas added.

You laughed, pulling away to look at the other two with a fond smile. “Yeah, let’s go home.” 

…

“You know, I am pretty sure it’s considered rude to sneak away from the party when the party is for us.” 

“I don’t see you trying very hard to go back to the party.” 

“Well,” Nico said with a heavy sigh, trying to bite back his smile as he let you pull him towards the counter you were currently sitting on. “I am a weak man when it comes to the whims of my beautiful, cunning, scheming wife—” 

You snorted, your arms wrapping around his neck as he stood between your legs. “So dramatic.”

“You still married me though,” Nico grinned, his hands on your thighs as he shamelessly played with the edge of the little white dress you put on for the occasion. “You’re stuck with me, baby. I’m all yours.” 

“What a tragic life sentence,” you mused, your eyes softening a little as you leaned in to press a quick kiss against his lips. “What have I got myself into?” 

“Hm, let’s see,” he started, puffing his cheeks a little before he let out a sigh. “We are basically at war with the Rangers and all their allies, there’s an unknown rat in our ranks that knows we are on their tail and one of my best men is still out of service until further notice. Add in the fact that we have a handful of rocky aliases to strengthen across the country, especially the west coast, and you have a pretty big fucking mess you’re walking into.”

“But it’s something we will solve together,” you said in a determined voice, your hands moving to cup his face so you could stare into his eyes. “Me and you. In sickness and in health and in huge fucking messes.”

His lips twitched. “I don’t remember that in the wedding vows.”

You shrugged. “I’m paraphrasing.” 

He laughed softly as he fisted the material of your skirt in his hands. “There is no one else I would rather have standing by my side, Mrs Hischier.” 

“Good,” you huffed, lifting your chin a little as the mischief shone in your eyes. “Because in the wise words of a smart man I know, you’re stuck with me, baby. I’m all yours.” 

His grin widened. “And that is more than enough for me.” 

Your smile pressed against his as he leaned in to kiss you again, a soft sigh leaving your lips as you sunk into the embrace. The music thumping through the speakers could still be heard, even so far from the actual party, but in the arms of your husband is exactly where you wanted—no, needed—to be. 

You huffed out a small laugh, though you couldn’t find it in yourself to bat his wandering hands away as he squeezed your thighs before tugging you closer to the edge of the counter. You pulled back a little, taking in his flushed cheeks and shining eyes and felt something quite like fondness explode in your chest. 

“I am so in love with you, Nico Hischier,” you whispered, like a soft confession shared just between the two of you. 

“I’m glad you’ve finally caught up, baby,” he whispered back. “It’s about time people know.” 

“Know what?”

But his grin only widened, the love and adoration he held for you so clearly written across his face as he cupped your face in his hands. “That my girl is a Devil, through and through.” 

And as you stared back at him with a similar expression on your face, there were a few things you knew for certain: Nico Hishcier was the leader of the New Jersey Devils, he was a kind and fair man despite the world you lived in, and that you were truly and utterly in love with him.

And you knew that you would stand by his side whatever the world threw at the two of you. 

For better or for worse. 

Until death do you part. 

.