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lostintransist · 6 months ago

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Broken Beyond Bearing | Part 3

-.-. …. .. .-.. -.. .-. . -. / -.— —- ..- -. —. / .- … / - . -.

Part 1 found here | AO3

CW: A/B/O sexism I guess is what we should call this? Trauma reactions to doctors, awful in world politics.

Keeping his eyes on you Kyle’s concern rises with each shallow breath you suck between your teeth.

The nurse had been watching and held the door open as he directed Kyle to the first room on the right. Settling your body flat on the table he steps back, trying to give the nurse room to move. With two chairs, a small counter and a sink, and a ‘calming’ green on the walls the room looks exactly like he expects it to.

“How long ago was the exposure?” The nurse is taking your vitals and you stiffen as if your body hit rigor. “Ma’am if you don’t relax this is going to take longer.”

“Less than thirty minutes,” Kyle answers coolly.

The whine, primal and terrified, that comes from your throat as the blood pressure cuff is tightening has Kyle moving to where your head lays. Running the back of his knuckles down your cheeks he whispers to you. The scent of your fear, clear and uncontaminated with whatever afflicted you normally, flooded the room.

“Hey, hey. I’m here. You’re not alone. Everything will be okay.”

The nurse, an alpha by scent, makes a noise that pulls Kyle to look at him. The nurse, Johnson by the glance to his name tag, keeps his eyes on the monitor taking your blood pressure and pulse. Kyle focuses back on you. Your body regains mobility as the cuff is removed, eyes rolling like a horse looking for a place to run.

“Her vitals are all looking normal, the doctor will be in shortly,” Johnson shuts the door behind him. He must not be far enough away from the door when he starts talking to someone else. “Beta bitch in room one has track marks up both arms. I knew betas died from drugs more than any other gender but it’s wild to see that out here.”

Kyle would have stormed out the door to rip into the man if your hands hadn’t slapped into his, holding them tight. Pulling yourself upright from the reclined position you tuck your knees to your chest and rest your chin atop them. Letting go of his hands you curl them around your legs.

Sitting on a chair positioned next to the bed Kyle looks up at you, trying to catch your eyes.

Even when he could see the streaks of color through your irises no recognition lit your features. Concerned, Kyle stays sitting on the bed with you watching each breath and twitch. Nothing changes until the door opens with a faint knock.

“My name is Doctor Chen. Can you tell me what happened today?”

Like an automaton, you uncurl from your crunched position. Legs folded you straighten your back and rest your forearms on your knees palms aimed at the ceiling. Kyle had seen poses similar in meditation videos he would watch sometimes to give his mind a moment to relax. There is no peace in your pose. The width of your open eyes and the shallowness of your breath all remind him of victims he has saved from torture.

Memories that left their marks on his bones should not be reflected in your posture, he faced evil abroad and in the mirror to keep people like you safe.

He glanced at the man, dark hair, light blue scrubs, thick-rimmed glasses, and a white overcoat Kyle mostly associated with lab work. A quick draw of breath and Kyle marked him as an alpha. Dr. Chen did not look at you once, eyes staying firmly on him.

“We had an exposure to an allergen.”

Dr. Chen nodded once and sat on the small, wheeled stool that Kyle only ever saw in doctor’s offices. He wondered if they had to special order them or if they appeared in the building like fairies to offers of milk and bread. The man logged into his computer with a swipe of his name tag to an RFID reader and tapped a few buttons before turning to look at Kyle again.

“Do you know what the allergy was in reaction to?” He adjusts his glasses further up his nose.

“We don’t and would like to get some testing. Does this clinic do testing?” Kyle asked; all of his medical care happened on base.

Dr. Chen’s eyes glanced at you for the first time with a flare of his nose as he took in the fear salting the room with your uniquely beta scent. Kyle knew deeper than his marrow that you could turn off his brain and any explosive rage that he dealt with being an alpha. You didn’t use that now, but by the gods, he wished you would. The flash of disgust that whipped across Dr. Chen’s face ignited the soul-deep rage that existed with being an alpha.

“Dr. Chen,” the darkness, power, in Kyle’s voice brought the doctor’s face to him. “You will treat my wife with respect or I will ensure you don’t live to regret it.”

The cloying, nose-coating scent of Dr. Chen’s alpha rising to meet the challenge filled Kyle’s nose. He let the monster rise in his eyes, keeping his scent muted. Military training had to be good for something beyond the battlefield.

Kyle stands, placing his body between the doctor and the bed where you sit. Arms crossed and shoulders spread wide he used the mass of his bulk to show the barrier he could be. He didn’t know you, but Kate had seen something that prompted her to give them the care over you. You would not feel any harm if he could prevent it. You started to rock softly, eyes still unseeing. Then you begin to hum Edelweiss, effectively breaking the tension. Chen lost the staring match when he glanced at you.

“Do your job doctor, so I don’t have to.”

“That is out of line Mr—”

“Sergeant, special forces.”

Dr. Chen’s eyes narrowed but accepted the correction.

“Sergeant, your wife is doing fine by her visual inspection and her vitals agree. This clinic does not offer allergy testing but there are a few private practices here that you can call.” He turned back to his computer, typing in what Kyle assumed to be a summary of the visit today. “Most of what we do here for allergies is to stop the reaction and watch for any adverse effects.”

“I will need a copy of that report for our records,” Kyle stated it like a command he would give a private or a trainee. A firm ‘this is the course of action you will be taking’ that did not leave any room for questions or disobedience.

If Dr. Chen thought of arguing with Kyle, he kept it to himself. He left shortly after with a comment that Johnson would be in soon with the paperwork he requested. That is how Johnny found them, Kyle’s arms crossed and holding back his rage and you the juxtaposition of a peaceful body and an absent mind.

“You are more than you appear, wife,” Johnny took your hand, curling fingers around palms.

They wait in the cadence of your voice for nearly five minutes before Johnson appears, papers in hand. Kyle snaps a vice grip around the man’s wrist, pulling him close.

“Johnson. If I hear you telling tales about betas, and more specifically about my wife I will paint the walls of your room with colors not even crime techs will unsee.”

The man under his eyes paled quite impressively. Plucking the papers from his hand Kyle dropped Johnson’s hand and turned to his pack mate and partner in crime. Johnny’s thumb traced a track along the back of your hand as he watched the interaction play out before him.

“Can you carry her to the truck?”

Johnny’s eyes flicked as he watched the nurse flee from the room.

“Yeah. Up you pop bonnie,” he settled one arm over his shoulder and then the other before lifting you under the thighs to settle around his waist.

Still, you hummed, no life in your form. Kyle had a glare and a harsh, nose-blistering scent of rage for anyone who looked too long. Johnny settled in the back seat with you, buckling you into the middle so he could keep a hand on you and Kyle could check on you in the review mirror.

The drive home is tense, filled only with Kyle’s quiet mutterings about inexperienced winter drivers. When he turns onto the path home Johnny asks a question.

“What the hell happened in the clinic when I was on the phone with John?”

The steering wheel creaks under the pressure of Kyle’s hands.

“Nurse and doctor had some awful things to say about our wife, called her a drug addict, and couldn’t keep professional.”

“The hell? Why did they do that?” Johnny’s face in the rearview is tight with angry concern.

“It’s due to the beta laws that went into place ten…eleven? Yeah maybe eleven years ago.” Your voice is an unexpected addition to the conversation.

Kyle slows to a stop in the snow, throwing the truck in park and turning to look at you.

“What beta laws?”

He knows his gaze is harsh when you flinch back. Johnny wraps an arm around you and you settle a bit.

“There were laws on the books for a long time that weren’t really enforced,” you swallow and look from man to man before staring at your knees and continuing. “About how betas weren’t allowed the same personhood rights as alphas and omegas due to the lack of either consistent rut or heat. Apparently, the ability to do both is scary to the government. Several years back a group successfully passed a new law that said basically that betas should be treated like children, unable to sign paperwork without an approving authority, have bank accounts alone, apply for a credit card, or passport, you name it without the approval of an alpha or omega. In some places it went beyond that, stripping beta’s of all rights.”

Johnny muttered under his breath something that sounded like ‘What the fuck’ but Kyle kept his eyes on you.

“What happened to you?” His whisper hardens on your skin like ice.

There is no weak, scared beta woman here, only a beast that would peel him apart if he pushed. He didn’t scare her, but doctors did.

“No.”

Nodding once and accepting the answer Kyle turned back to driving. He would discuss this all with the guys after they had settled into bed. The interactions with the clinic staff were nothing like he had ever experienced before. Though as he thought of it he couldn’t remember the last time he had worked with a beta.

Simon and John step onto the porch as Kyle parks, as if they had been keeping watch for them.

The four men set about their tasks, hauling everything inside. You follow when Johnny reaches into the back seat and helps you out, hand tucked in his as he carries in a few bags. Simon sets about setting up the bed they picked for your room. Johnny settles you at the table, laughing and joking at you as he prepares a plate of food. Kyle and John set to work on creating the dresser. They don’t hear you laugh at any of Johnny’s stories but John points to you once and Kyle catches a glimpse of a smile. The sun slips away into the trees as each of the men finishes their task. Once the bed is made and the mattress settled on the frame John and Kyle lift the dresser into place.

The three men who had built things collapsed onto the couch facing the back wall of windows into the woods. Simon is settled between John and Kyle an arm dropped around each of them. You are standing on the back porch, head tilted back as you look at the ink-dark sky. The coat and boots you wear are those picked up today. Kyle didn’t think to wonder where Johnny had gone until he bounced down the steps with a bright bundle of fabric over one shoulder as he shoved a beanie on his head.

“Where ya going, Johnny?” Simon pitches his voice to carry but not to shout.

“Gonna give our wife a gift,” he winks at his lovers and pops out the back door.

Simon tightens the arm around Kyle.

“He loves you. That won’t change if he chooses to love someone new as well,” John murmured.

Kyle looked over at John who lay his head fully on Simon, nose buried in the scent gland at his neck. John licks the length of the gland causing Simon to let out a short whine.

Glancing back out to the back porch Kyle watches Johnny settle a shawl across your shoulders and sees in your profile confusion, hesitance. When you look down and clutch the shawl tight to your chest Kyle could only call the look on your face concerned acceptance. Johnny grinned at you like the sun had risen.

“To bed Simon, I can feel you grumble. Your rut starts soon. Let Johnny get our wife settled and let Kyle and I get you into bed.” John pushes up from the couch pulling Simon with him.

Kyle stands as well, eyes drifting to you and Johnny one last time. Standing side by side the two stare at the stars. John calls him from his observations and Kyle starts up the stairs after his lovers. His other lover will arrive with time.

Broken Masterlist | Masterlist

@lucienofthelakes @gg-trini @talia-the-gemini @thriving-n-jiving @z-wantstowrite @asialovesyou09 @literallegendicon @canthavetoomuchchaos @reinekoya @jsptmoche @demothers-empty-blog @hbaasaad

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saltymarshmall0w · 8 months ago

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Another Dp x DC prompt inspired by a Danny Phantom episode.

Identity Crisis- The episode where Danny flies through one of his parent's inventions (A dream catcher, but let's all replace that little detail with a net or a strainer) and separates into Phantom and Fenton. Fenton is glad to give up being a hero and be lazy with his friends while Phantom turns into the embodiment of a heroic archetype.

----

There was an empty, gaping chasm in him nestled somewhere between his spotty memory and the apathy that constantly settled over his brain like a weighted blanket.

He could see it in the way it felt like something was missing when he looked in the mirror.

In the way Danny enjoyed things but couldn’t list what exactly he liked.

His parents knew it too. His dad didn’t look him in the eye anymore, and his mom always made a disappointed “tsk” noise when they tested his blood to “check if his levels were going down yet” then questioned if he was using the decontamination soap. He did, even if it made his hands burn and left Danny feeling lethargic after every shower.

They moved to Gotham of all places overnight, before Danny could so much as say goodbye to his friends.

(He knew it was weird. He didn’t even remember packing his stuff—but he didn’t have to do the work so, whatever)

They locked him in the house all day as if he would go out on the streets and fight crime while they weren’t looking or something. They were being controlling freaks!

(He should probably run away. It was obvious, even to him, that he was being abused… but that sounded like a lot of effort and not all that fun, so he’d rather just stay in his comfy bed and watch tiktok. He could ignore the sounds coming from the basement until he was 18.)

Uncle Vlad would occasionally stop by to say thinly veiled threats and act all weird– once or twice asking about “Phantom” or a “core” whatever that meant. It was easier to just let Vlad send him to a rich-people school and drag him to a couple galas. At least he was actually getting out of the house.

Whatever was going on with Danny was probably something he should be concerned about. He should go to a doctor, or the police, or his obviously-a-vigilante classmate for help rather than attempting to create half-thought out inventions to solve a problem he couldn’t even describe that he inevitably would forget about in favor of watching tiktok.

According to google, the headaches, the tiredness, the dry skin, the disorientation- it all pointed toward dehydration. So, he was just overreacted anyway and should probably just drink more water.

Whatever, Doomed came out with a mobile version for phones so, he’s way more interested in that anyway.

Basically, Human!Danny does not remember anything to do with Phantom and he’s missing a lot of his key components.

lots of procrastinating, lots of apathy and emotions are extremely dull.

He doesn’t realize how much he misses his friends or his obsessions unless they’re directly in front of him.

I think it would be a fun writing exercise, questioning how Danny would act without Phantom based on the events in Identity Crisis.

-Emotional incompetence. (He’s awful at identifying how he feels about things)

-Shameless Dopamine-seeking behavior.

-Doing things without thinking of the consequences.

-A completely gray moral compass

Meanwhile, with Phantom—There are different levels of messed up we could take this.

After Jack and Maddie separated Phantom from Fenton, they tried their best to get their son (who, thankfully, doesn’t remember being possessed for nearly a year) to decontaminate fully by moving to Gotham, while keeping their subject in the lab so they could keep running tests on it.

Unfortunately, the ectoplasm levels in Danny’s blood aren’t going down, despite weekly tests.

Last night, Danny had a nightmare where his parents cut him open.

It was only a nightmare, of course. His parents were inventors. They specialized in making every-day objects into the shape of his dad’s face; they didn’t work in biology.

Still, the phantom pain of his mom snapping his ribcage open was too realistic, and he still didn’t have an explanation for the surgical scars he kept finding on his body.

Jack and Maddie separated Phantom and Fenton and decided it was time they gave up ghost hunting for the safety of their son. So, they sold the ghost to the GIW and used the funds to move to Gotham, the city with the least amount of ambient ectoplasm in hopes to fully decontaminate their son.

Phantom is in the hands of the GIW until Fenton comes across him (probably due to Bat-related shenanigans) and instantly goes “Oh, shit. That’s my soul. I kinda need that back.”

-I’d be kinda funny if at this point the bats all know Danny as an extremely relaxed civilian who’s smart and figured out all their identities, yes, but also has zero interest in vigilantism.

-They’re going to get the “soul” thing Danny was freaking out about back Asap but they need to do a bit of reconnaissance first and–

- Oh—

-Danny’s mission-impossible-ing his way into the highly secure government base.

-and he’s, like, GOOD at it. WTF

Phantom, separated from his human half, turns into Little Baby Man. And just tries his darndest as a tiny little cat-possum-snake thing to find his human half… and protect everyone he sees… and collect shiny things. Okay! It’s not his fault he keeps getting distracted!

Until!! He found his human!! Well, it wasn’t actually his human, but Phantom could tell his human had been around this human. Besides, he sure did like this human. And the human said he was cute. Which actually made him explode with happiness!!

(The Waynes adopt little Baby Man, thinking he’s just a really weird alien cat)

So, now for the DC part of this I’m gonna throw some ideas out there for some interactions and you can decide if you like ‘em or not. I basically just really liked the idea of Danny finding out his classmate’s/friend’s secret identity and just… being completely apathetic to it.

I really flip flopped on his Designated Gotham Bf being either Tim or Damian, bc i think both would have a really interesting dynamic with a really apathetic yet insanely smart Danny, especially if you throw in Damian adopting LBM Phantom.

You, (yes, You! The reader!) can take this as whatever Wayne child you chose and I’ll just refer to them as Robin from now on.

Each of these separated bits are just a different new way I thought an identity reveal would happen, none of them are connected.

*Danny, standing way too close to an active rouge attack, watching Robin and Batman fighting*: You know… that guy throwing around the stylized R’s around looks kinda like that cute guy from physics.

Goon, currently trying to take Danny hostage: Yeah, whatever kid.

Robin: Hey, so, I know the school is under attack right now, but I really need something from my locker so–

Danny *The new kid who so far has only slept in class*: Dude, I know you’re Robin. It’s, like, really obvious. Just go, I’ll cover for you.

(while Fenton would not be inclined to help in a rouge attack, he still has the overconfidence of a super-powered being and some of the instincts that were ingrained into him after hundreds of fights)

Robin: Hey, Kid-I-don’t-know! This is an active gunfight! You should run!

Danny: Don’t worry Robin, there are no civilians around! I have time to wait around so when you’re done kicking ass we can get back to our group project. *thumbs up*

Robin: B, this is my friend, Danny. Please be nice to him.

Danny: Hey Batman. Rad.

Bruce: Hrm

Robin: *spluttering* Pfft- Bruce- Bruce isn’t Batman! Haha! What makes you think that?

Danny:

Danny: Wait– We’re friends?

Robin *very angsty moment*: Danny, I’m sorry. I only befriended you because I thought your parents were shady and wanted to investigate. The truth is… I’m Robin.

Danny *This is a total shock to him. He had no idea. He should probably react appropriately*: If I had a nickel for every time I dated a vigilante’s civilian identity I would have two nickels, which isn’t a lot, but it’s weird that it happened twice, right?

Robin: Are you seriously quoting Phineas and Ferb right now??

Robin: Wait– which vigilante have you dated before?

Robin: Danny? You can’t just leave me hanging, Danny.

Robin: Was it superboy? Because- Danny! I’m way cooler than superboy

—

Alternatively, consider the shift in dynamics when Danny is back “complete” and can finally feel regular emotions again.

Like shame, for example.

Robin: Hey :)

Danny: *Remembers anything he did as LBM and calmly moves to the floor so he can curl up and die of embarrassment*

Robin: ??? Are you okay?

Robin *bats his pretty eyes*: So? You and Phantom are finally back together again. How do you feel?

Danny *hasn’t noticed his Paulina-level attraction or Sam-level crush on Robin before*: Bisexual.

Misc:

Phantom: *growling at a mirror and repeatedly trying to attack it*

Robin: Yeah, we don’t really know what it is, but it’s cute.

Robin: This is weird, He doesn’t usually warm up to people so quickly. Usually he’s really protective.

Danny *completely calmly*: Oh, yeah. That's probably because it’s my soul.

Bruce: Listen, I know you like my son-

Danny: Woah, hold on. Yeah, Robin is pretty great. Dopamine goes brrr around him, but I don’t have a crush on him or anything.

Bruce: *gestures to Robin on the other side of the room, where Phantom is repeatedly giving Robin butterfly kisses and nuzzling into him*

Danny: ooh.

Anyway! if you're at all inspired by this and write something the only requirement is that you have to tell me so I can read it too :) otherwise, go crazy!

#The longer you read this post the more it falls apart #I spent really long trying to put this idea on a page correctly and I still have so many ideas I didn't even put in #dp x dc prompt #dpxdc #danny phantom #batfam #danny fenton #lbm danny #little baby man #dp x dc au

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boypied · 1 year ago

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pairings: steve rodgers x male reader

request: Steve Rogers, aka Captain America, was found by the male reader and not a shield. Male readers help Steve come to terms with the past and get him situated to the present. Throughout the process, Steve grows to have feelings for male reader, which leads to their first date and a night of fun. Where they both lose their virginity.

warnings: SMUT ! , swearing, anal sex.

MDNI + FDNI !

You aren't sure how you ended up in this situation, but you had a famous war superhero from the 1940s in your backseat. You didn't want to take him to the hospital, in case they took him to a lab and began to test on him and you didnt want someone like Nick Fury to get ahold of him, because you knew he would exploit him and force him to go onto missions and risk his life, so I guess that's how you ended up in this situation.

His body just laid across your back seat, and your eyes gaze off the road and towards the man in the back. You admired his bulging biceps as they were almost tearing out of his shirt, his wet shirt to be exact! it clings to his abs. You dart your eyes back to the road to make sure you don't crash and die. Once you reach home, you manage to get Steve's body inside after a LOT of trial and error.

You gently lay his body down against your guest room bed. You slowly peel his soaked top off his body to reveal his rippling six-pack and his soft pink nipples, "Wow, this guy must have been sculpted by gods" You blush slightly before leaving the room, closing the door quietly.

THE NEXT MORNING

You lay down in your bed staring up at the wall, thinking about how there is a soilder from the '40s in your guest bedroom. Where do you even go from here? There isn't a manual book that teaches you how to help someone who hasn't aged since 1945. If he ends up staying with you long-term, you're going to have to start teaching him the modern language, how to use modern appliances, all of this stuff.

You head out of your bedroom and walk into your living room, where you find a confused and naked Steve Rodgers. "Steve?..." You mumble quietly, worried to set him off. He turns around and reveals the full package to you. "Where am I? and who are you?" Steve asked curiously and with slight concern in his voice. Your eyes trail from his perfect pecs down to his rippling abs to his 9 inched, veiny, meaty cock.

His eyes dart down and his hands immediately cover his cock and he blushes "heh, sorry about that." He laughs slightly before being quiet. "I found you while I went out exploring, and I was worried if I took you to a hospital, they would start running tests on you like you weren't a person" you say while making eye contact with him, he feels a warmth in his heart that you just filled. "Thank you for saving me." A smile creeps up onto Steve's face, which causes you to blush.

You start to show Steve around your house and telling him what everything is or at least the more modern things. You had to teach his how to use a mobile phone, where you showed him all of the different apps. He really felt connected to angry birds.

THE DATE

This whole date situation just kind of fell into your lap, Steve wanted to find a way to thank you after you taught him how to adapt to the modern world over the course of a couple months, so he came up with the idea of taking you out for dinner. Except you had to plan it all for him since he still didn't fully wrap his head around how to use a computer.

Since Steve hasn't quite worked out how to drive stick, you decided it would be for the better if you drove. The whole time while you were driving, Steve had his large hand placed on your thigh, moving it back and forth gently. Your heartbeat picked up the pace.

You parked the car outside the restaurant and turned to face Steve. You both have a warm smile from ear to ear on your face. "Let's head inside, then Cutie," Steve says, which causes the blush on your skin to intensify.

Once you are both finally seated, at a candle sit dinner, you can't take your eyes off each other. You stare at his chiselled jawline. You admire the way he spoke and the way he contorted his mouth. Each movement of his caused you to fall harder for him. He could ask you to do anything, and you would do it. "I am really thankful that you saved me." He says while staring at you lovingly, "I am really thankful you came into my life" you stretch your hand to hold his.

You both ate your food, paid, and went back to the car to drive, once you got home... that's when the fun truly began.

VIRGINITY LOSSED

You unlocked the door, and you both stumbled inside, not taking your lips off each other. "I am going to show you how much I am thankful for you." Steve says while lifting you up and wrapping your legs around his waist, laying you down against the couch. He tears your shirt off to reveal your body, and he begins to devour your body, running his tongue along your body as he begins to suck on your nipples.

You begin to breathe heavily and mumble some moans "wait wait! slow down." You say as Steve pulls away from you." Am I doing something wrong?" His face contorts while looking down at you. "I'm.... I'm a virgin." You say while looking up at him, Steve laughs slightly before smirking. "So am I"

Steve continues to kiss up your body. Before pulling away to unbuckle his belt, to get out his semi-hard shaft. You stare at it, and your hole pulsates.

"Fuck" you gasped out as your mouth hangs open, Steve smirks as he enjoys how flustered you've become. "Do you want to... um... suck it?" Steve asks nervously. He sits down, and you go onto your knees between his legs. "I'll be honoured to, Steve."

You wrap your hand around the base of his thick shaft. You give it a few jerks before leaning down to swirl your tongue around his tip, slurping up all of his delicious pre-cum. He grabs your head, pushing you down to the base. "Awh! Fuck" he moans out, soaking in all of the pleasure. Your eyes water and your jaw aches, but you will stop at nothing to give him the best pleasure ever. You feel his cock twitch in your throat to indicate that he is close, so you pull away with a pop.

"Wait, no! Don't stop!" Steve pleads and begs with you while you strip off in front of him. You climb on top, straddling him. You place you hand on his cock lining it up with your hole. He nods at you to show he's ready, so you begin to slide down onto his shaft. "AH!" You begin to whimper at the slight pain but Steve begins to kiss your neck to help ease it.

Once he is finally balls deep inside you, you both pause for a moment. He lets you get used to his large size, rest your head on his shoulder while he gently thrusts into your tight hole. He begins to breathe heavily. "fuckk." he lays his head back while he grips your ass thrusting gently into you.

"...faster." You moan while kissing his neck, "Okay baby, I'll speed up." Steve begins to speed up his thrusting, his balls slapping against you. Steve pulls you into a kiss while his hand travels down to jerk you off. His hand goes back and forth, his thumb rubbing your tip. You moan into the kiss while his tongue dominates your mouth, "mhm" you moan.

His thrusts continue to hit your sweet spot, his tip constantly rubbing against it, causing you to unleash sultry moans. "AH! S-Steve, I'm close. " You moan out as Steve continues to jerk you off harder while thrusting into you.

You shoot your load onto Steve's abs, He pulls you into a kiss while he paints your walls, coating them in his cum. You both moan into the kiss as you ride out your high.

THE AFTER CARE

You both clean each other up while laying next to each other, embracing eachothers warmth. "I'm so happy I met you, Steve." you say while running your hands through his hair. "Meeting you was the best thing that ever happened to me!" Steve mumbles while blushing.

You both lay there for the rest of the night, cuddling and embracing each other.

Steve whispers into your ear, "Will you be my boyfriend?" He asks. You wraps your arms around his neck, pulling him into a kiss. "Of course I will!" You blush and pull him tightly towards your body.

#steve rodgers #steve rodgers smut #steve rodgers x male reader #x male reader #x male y/n #x male smut #chris evans #chris evans x male reader

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justabeewithapen · 4 months ago

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Right, I m going to go insane loredump about something but I need to say if you haven't read THIS post by @was-that-a-pun you're going to want to read it first, then come back to what I am doing.

Done that? Great! Venture under the read more at your own peril.

Right, so just re-summarizing what pun said, this is basically an AU where the toy experiments are not just underground work mules, but a genuine attempt to help children who are suffering from incurable ailments. This is where I expand even further. Elliot Ludwig, while deeply invested in the creation of toys, also had his fortune invested into the medical advancement.

This is because his daughter Poppy, who they named their popular Poppy dolls after, was diagnosed with a type of heart cancer that was rapidly growing as her quality of life steadily increased. Studies on reviving dead rats using a mixture of poppy flowers and several other ingredients had been very successful, but generally the rat would die again shortly after due to underlying issues in the body itself. This was when Dr. Harley Sawyer, head of the team, suggested they attempt to move the now functional organs to a different body. Before they even had a chance to begin tests Poppy began deteriorating to a degree where she wasn't going to make it, and so they started with her.

She was an unprecedented success, and an un-replicable one. Almost immediately Playtime Co. had both staff members with ill children and ill staff members offer themselves up to test, after of course more testing had been done with animals to ensure it wasn't a total fluke, and quickly everyone realized this was actually possible. Playtime Co. medical division was given government funding to continue to work on this research (all children and adults who are tested have volunteered for this) and they quickly established a hierarchy of what works best and what doesn't.

Initial tests with shells called Miss and Mister Delights (named after Amelia Delight who is an employee at Playtime Co. and due to chronic strokes offered herself up for testing) determined that the more human like a shell is, the harder the transfer procedure is. Of the 15 attempted, only 5 survive currently, though 7 in total were successful. (Two ended up passing away shortly after due to organ failure). All were adult volunteers from both factory workers and outside.

Each of them suffers from rather severe mobility issues and health conditions, requiring them to live on the property. This was when Playcare was established and some proper work could be done!

Playcare was a lot like a care center combined with a hospital. Patients that are currently waiting to be operated on, alongside patients still recovering from operation all live there (and their parents if they so choose). Set up with several common areas, specialized outdoor areas (see the big dome in the back) so toys and patients can get out while still being supervised, and many more, it is meant to be a home away from home for these kids! The whole place is run by Stella Greyber, with Dr. White as the head Physician. Dr. Sawyer, while he mainly works in the labs does frequently visit to advise and monitor progress. Speaking of Dr. Sawyer, you’ll notice here he is in fact a robot still! This is because Dr. Sawyer began developing his own health conditions while working on the project, and as such began to work on their most experimental body by far in case things got too far. After a severe stroke that lead to even more severe brain hemorrhaging, Harley was forced to be transferred into his robotic body.

While very functional he suffers from a lot of phantom pains, and has a very difficult time eating and drinking. However he is a very stubborn man and he is actively improving his body as he lives in it. Unlike canon he is not a sadistic monster, but he is still totally a drama queen. He is very uptight and super invested in his work, coming across as a total hardaft douche at first glance. He really just doesn’t know how to talk to people, especially children, and tries to avoid them if possible. While he mainly exists in one robotic body he is capable of of plugging himself into the lab’s mainframe system and existing like he does in game, but it is very labor intensive and causes migraines. Dr. Sawyer is constantly trying to push for improvements, his goal would be to one day be able to make little robotic or plastic replicas of the children’s bodies that are actually capable of housing the kids AND growth, allowing an almost normal life. It is a long ways away but he is determined to get there.

Jumping back to the toys! After much study and testing they have figured out roughly which toys are most effective and provide the safest procedures, and which toys are more risky! Of all the toys the easiest and safest procedure would be critter toys. For some reason they have the highest success rate of every other toy type. The biggest downside though would be the quality of life post the procedure.

Critters are very small obviously, they have done bigger ones (different from the bigger body critters, think large Baba Chops) but often the critter bodies can be very unbalanced. While updates to the critter designs have allowed for flexible mouths and fingers they still require a lot of help in everyday tasks such as eating and bathing themselves. Despite that, with a proper care guide (and time spent in Playcare with their parents being properly advised) they can generally return home even if going to school and work on their own would be difficult to impossible.

Mini Wuggies, plastic shelled toys, and long legs all have their own pros and cons that are discussed out with parents and their children before anything is done. They all have a very similar success rate though!

After that would be the bigger bodies (quad toys are generally avoided unless the child and parents are both fully informed of how that can impact quality of life, but some kids really really want to be a specific toy and Playtime tries to honor that when possible. Anyway, Bigger bodies have the lowest success rate, the most diversity, and generally the highest quality of life in terms of what they are capable of.

You’ll notice every kid has a tag around their neck or name tag, alongside a bracelet around their wrist! This helps identify them to doctors who work in playcare (all bigger body toys live at playcare as of now but work is being done to have them and their families return home permanently) that way the doctors know what health conditions they have and what room they need to be in. This is probably one of the few times you’ll see me draw the dough boys, and where I differ from Pun! I think Jack WAS still an accident, but the three of them went through the dough procedure separately. However it was quickly determined that dough was not stable enough to use as all three of them have difficulty keeping their forms solid for very long, and struggle with a lot of memory issues. The trio just ended up becoming fast friends being some of Playcare’s permanent residents. They can combine into Doey, though it is hard (really really hard) and they can’t hold the form for long, but that is just a side effect of how unstable they are. Susan and George live at Playcare alongside Kevin’s mom. Matthew’s parents don’t live in Playcare but do visit frequently.

Memory issues are common in bigger bodies, Kissy has them pretty badly and has to have an escort as she will end up in rooms and not remember how to get back fully. Like Pun said Poppy is somewhat a celebrity inside Playcare and she gets a lot of attention from other toys (which she doesn’t like) but she does like hanging out with Kissy!!

Many of the Delights (even those who didn’t previously work at the factory) have taken up jobs at Playcare, helping toys adapt to their bodies alongside the doctors and educators they have on staff! While not focused on it, Playcare does still have some involvement with local orphanages, trips to and from Playcare and the factory are common for both sides to make!! Playtime Co. is making a concerted effort to normalize the existence of living toys while they try and perfect a more humanoid body for the kids, trying to ensure as normal a life as they can for these kids!!!

Think that’s all I have besides a bunch of random interactions and character details I have in my head haha. This was very much a one off post bc I used to do roleplays with like “mutant/super power kids living in an isolated school/hospital/lab and living their lives” all the time growing up XD it is a concept I am very fond of, and was happy to ramble about a bit!!!

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hivemuthur · 6 months ago

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The Game of Teaching Body - Ch. 2.

viktorxfemale!reader mature! (for now, I will mark later chapters as explicit when the time comes)

AU university, AU modern era, slow burn, frenemies to lovers, teasing, pinning, banter, eventual romance and therefore smut, Viktor is simultaneously a menace and needs a hug, TA Viktor

Ch.1. | Ch.3. | Ch.4. | Ch.5. | Ch.6. | Ch.7. | Ch.8. | Ch.9. | Ch.10. | Ch.11. | Ch.12.

word count: 4K

tag: #the game of teaching body

summary: Reader is hit by a truck which is *university*. So, a lot of studying and a lot of frustrations. And the TA is being a pain in the ass, you know how it is. Some science talk, based on the remnants of my knowledge from uni.

author’s note: Guys, you have showered me with love, so I'm showering you with writing.

Cross-posted on AO3 + POV3rd Person Version

—

Sue was so fucking right. It had only been one week of freedom, and then the workload came crashing down on you. Suddenly, every class had a welcome test attached to it, and you found yourself buried under a mountain of homework—chemical equations to solve and analyse, essays, books to read, lab practice, and lectures to attend. There wasn’t any snowball effect; it all hit at once, and by the time you and Sue returned on the first Monday of the second week, you were carrying enough work to fill two mules, and it would still have been too heavy even for them.

“Your mum is calling,” Sue’s voice pulled you out of a particularly boring passage about physical chemistry in one of your shared workbooks. You would usually put your phones on the cabinet for study time, but the vibration had startled Sue for the third time in ten minutes, so she decided to address it.

“Ugh, can you put her on speaker? I’ll deal with this quickly, and I don’t want to move,” you rolled your eyes, catching Sue’s judgmental glare. She’s your mum!

“Kochanie, finally! I’ve been trying and trying, how are you doing?” Your mum’s voice filled the room with her familiar heavy accent, though she insisted it was improving. Your dad didn’t speak a word of Polish, so Joanna had to switch to English entirely after you left.

“All good, Mum. Lots and lots and lots of studying,” you said, your voice so unamused you barely lifted your eyes from the book, though your gaze was unseeing. You had been staring at the same equation for about half an hour now.

“Have you been practising your affirmations?” Of course, you hadn’t. Silly idea.

“Yes, every day and every time someone pisses me off. How’s Dad?” You decided to deflect as soon as the opportunity presented itself.

“Dad went to Calais for a retreat, and I’m left alone for the entire week. He’s not allowed a mobile, you see,” Your mum rambled on a little longer, and you let her. You were happy to hear your parents were moving on after losing their only daughter. Even though Joanna insisted she could feel your presence in the house, in the clothes and trinkets you’d left behind, and could sense your moods through an invisible mother-daughter bond you shared. What a load of nonsense.

“Mamusia, I love you, but I have to go. I’m studying with Sue, and we’ve got a test in thirty minutes,” you added a round of loud pecks so she could hear the kisses through the phone speaker. She told you to wear red underwear and get Sue to kick you for good luck.

“Your mum sounds awesome,” Sue laughed under her breath. She tried to study but ended up listening to the entire conversation.

“Eh, she’s something. She’s pretty cool when she’s not suffocating you with love, you know?” You gave Sue a knowing smile, and she understood immediately. “Have you managed to learn anything? My brain is literally fuming.”

Sue groaned as she started packing up her notebooks to head toward the lab class. “Honestly, I don’t know. I think I’ll use my last resort—can I borrow some red knickers?” You snickered as Sue shot you a huge mocking grin.

“No, but I can kick you alright, sweet Sue,” you couldn’t help but laugh. You gathered all the papers scattered around you with both hands and shoved them into your bag. You glanced at yourself in the mirror before leaving your dorm room, and Jesus Christ, your youth had already fled. Dark circles under your eyes, a gaunt face, lips chapped—all of it painfully underlined by an ink stain on your t-shirt. Whatever, there was no time to do anything about it.

It was Viktor’s class again. You had slowly grown to dislike them, ever since he and Jayce began to switch every second day, after Jayce got a new girlfriend—beautiful Mel Medarda, a third-year theatre student whom Hale once called a close second contender to rule the planet one day. Second after you, of course.

All of Viktor’s initial friendly sass had dissolved into the mean kind, which he executed each time Heimerdinger’s students were supposed to already know something they didn’t—including you. Thankfully, most of the time, you knew. The times you didn’t, he relished it and squeezed the situation to the maximum, like a sad lemon.

“Alright, take a test from the tray on the teacher’s desk and take your usual seat. And as usual, you can have a calculator and periodic table on your workbench,” Viktor’s instructions boomed through the lab classroom as one by one, students dragged themselves through the door, each one looking more exhausted than the other. “Looking ravishing today, Y/N,” he sent a smirk your way as you passed by him without sparing him so much as a glance and a quiet ‘hi.’

“Bite me, Viktor,” you barked back at him. What the hell was he thinking?

“Gladly, but maybe after class.” Usually, the smug look on his face would get you to scoff; this time, you granted him a faint eye roll as you dragged your feet toward the workbench you shared with Sue. As Viktor strolled through the room, making sure no one had anything illegal on their tables, he snatched your phone from your desk just as you were putting it into your bag.

“No phones,” he slid it into his lab coat pocket with a wink. You whined, about to say something you’d regret, but were immediately cut off by “I said, after class,” coming from behind you as you watched his back, your eyes burning a hole in it.

You solved the test first; you were so angry. As soon as you put it back in the tray, a realisation washed over you, and what you realised was the mistake you’d made in one of the exercises. You wanted to retrieve it and fix it, but Viktor’s hand shooshed you away.

“Come on, Viktor, it was there for less than a second!”

“You put it away, it’s gone for grading. That’s the rule. Also—it’s a learning curve,” he smiled at you sweetly, and you wanted to choke him out.

“Learning curve of what? That you are being a dick?” The last part was barely a whisper, nevertheless, a whisper that was fuming with rage and could cut through steel.

“Patience. And decision-making, which is a process that you clearly haven’t mastered yet,” he said coldly, not even looking you in the eye. This time, you did scoff, and angry steps carried you back to your seat.

The class settled into a more familiar rhythm after the test, the shuffle of papers and the steady hum of Bunsen burners filling the air. Viktor moved around the room, overseeing his students’ chemistry lab exercises with the same detached air he always wore. You tried to focus, but your thoughts kept drifting back to the test—and Viktor's smug little smile as he watched your frustration unfold.

The task at hand was simple enough: a titration experiment to determine the concentration of an unknown solution. Viktor had given you all the instructions, but as you watched the beaker of sodium hydroxide mix with the diluted acid, you felt a sinking feeling in your stomach. Something about the instructions didn’t sit right with you.

You glanced over at Sue, who was carefully measuring out the chemicals. You leaned in, whispering so Viktor wouldn’t overhear.

“Sue, I think he messed up the ratios in the instructions. If we follow this, it’s gonna screw everything up. We’ll end up with a totally different result.”

Sue frowned, taking a closer look at the setup. “You sure?”

“I’m certain. The way he wrote it—if we add that much of the sodium hydroxide, the pH is going to overshoot too quickly. It'll neutralise the acid too fast, and we won’t get an accurate reading. If we’re supposed to get a neutralisation point, that change will mess with the whole titration curve.”

Sue was sceptical, but you were adamant. You felt it in your gut. "It’ll be off. Trust me."

Sue nodded reluctantly. "So, what do we do?"

You hesitated for a moment, your fingers tapping the edge of the desk as you thought. You pulled up a few formulas on Sue’s phone, glancing back at Viktor to make sure he wasn’t looking in your direction.

“If we use less sodium hydroxide, the neutralisation will occur more slowly, and we’ll get a more accurate pH reading. We’re supposed to use a much more diluted solution.”

Sue nodded, though she looked uneasy. “What the hell, let’s try it.”

You adjusted the solution as you suggested, making the necessary changes to the procedure. You proceeded with the experiment, and despite her hesitation, Sue followed your lead. The two of you worked in tandem, the smooth, natural chemistry of your lab partnership taking over. As you neared the end of the titration, it was clear you had achieved the neutralisation point correctly—without overshooting or leaving any room for error.

Meanwhile, the rest of the class was still fumbling through their measurements, the air thick with the sounds of Viktor’s quiet reprimands. You couldn’t help but glance at him every now and then, noting the small, almost imperceptible frown on his face as he inspected his students’ work.

When the clock pointed to fifteen minutes away from the class ending, Heimerdinger stepped into the lab, his eyes scanning the results with interest. He walked toward your workbench, eyes lighting up as he reviewed your calculations.

“Well, it seems we have at least one pair who didn’t follow the instructions blindly,” Heimerdinger said, his voice rich with approval. “Good work, you two. You’ve done the experiment correctly. Trusting your instincts—making adjustments based on the data rather than simply following authority—is key in science. After all, we’re here to discover, not just to repeat what’s been done.”

You allowed yourself a smile of satisfaction, while Sue breathed a little easier, glancing at you in admiration.

Viktor’s face, however, was unreadable. He stood at the back of the room, arms folded tightly across his chest, watching the interaction with narrowed eyes.

Heimerdinger didn’t seem to mind. “It’s a learning curve for all of us, even your teacher. Mistakes are inevitable. But sometimes when we challenge authority—question the procedures—that’s when we learn and grow. Science is born from curiosity and defiance. Respect is important, of course, but don’t be afraid to challenge when you feel something isn’t right.”

You raised an eyebrow at Viktor, who hadn’t said a word. His lips were pressed into a thin line, but his eyes were hard as steel. He wasn’t pleased by Heimerdinger’s praise of your independent thinking.

“That’s how science is made,” Heimerdinger continued, completely oblivious to the tension between his students and the teacher. “By asking ‘what if?’ and exploring the unknown.”

Viktor finally spoke, his voice cool and controlled. “That’s true,” he said, glancing at you. “But there's a fine line between innovation and recklessness. Don’t mistake one for the other.”

You met his gaze, your jaw tight. “I don’t think we did.”

Viktor’s eyes flickered with something unreadable, but he didn’t respond, turning on his heel and walking toward the front of the room. Sue nudged you gently, a smirk tugging at her lips. “Well, at least we didn’t screw up,” she whispered.

You smiled back, but your mind was still racing. You had challenged Viktor’s authority—hadn’t followed his instructions—and it had got you praise from the professor. This couldn’t be good. “Sue, I don’t think I’m getting my phone back,” you whined into your friend's shoulder, who giggled uncontrollably.

You waited for your group to disperse into the library or the cantina before the start of the next lecture, making sure Viktor wouldn’t be able to humiliate you in front of anyone. You took a deep breath and knocked weakly on the door of the assistant’s back office.

“Come in,” Viktor’s voice was as flat and unwelcoming as ever. You braced yourself as you turned the doorknob and stepped inside quietly. Viktor was sitting at one of the tiny desks you were cramped at with Jayce and didn’t even look up. You cleared your throat.

“Yes?” This time, he looked up. God, he looked angry. When he finally raised his eyes to meet yours, he only sighed. “I doubt I can do much for you, Y/N. Given that you know everything already.”

“That’s rich coming from a guy who broke into the lab to prove his point once. Yes, Jayce told me,” you smiled at him sweetly, referring to his second-year incident when he and Jayce breached the lab security at night and conducted an experiment they were forbidden to do by Heimerdinger himself. This got them secure spots for PhD and TA positions.

Seeing that there was absolutely nothing coming from his direction but a blank stare, you asked carefully, “Well… why did you fuck up?”

Viktor sighed again, stood up slowly, and walked toward you. “Some theatre girls got us drunk last night—Mel’s friends. And I messed up the notes. Chemistry is not my major, as you know.” A smirk started to paint his face as he observed your reaction to the mention of drinking with some girls.

Viktor decided to push you further, his smirk widening as he leaned against the desk. “It’s hard to focus when you’re surrounded by Mel’s friends, you know. A lot of distractions. I haven't quite shaken last night off me yet,” he teased, his eyes glinting with amusement.

Your heart dropped at his words. You forced yourself to keep your expression neutral, but something inside you shifted—you didn’t want to admit it, but it hurt. Viktor was deliberately drawing attention to some girls, and it stung more than you cared to acknowledge.

You scolded yourself internally. Stop it. Don’t let him get to you. But it was already too late. You could feel a pang of something—jealousy, maybe, or insecurity—but you refused to let it show.

Viktor, sensing your discomfort, didn’t let up. “By the way,” he said, his tone casual, “I took a closer look at your test. You know, given your answers, I understand how you worked out the correct proportions for the exercise. Same mistake you made on the test itself, right?”

Your stomach twisted, and your chest tightened. “So now you’re just going to relish in my defeat, aren’t you?” you shot back, your voice strained.

Viktor raised an eyebrow. “I’ve got far better things to relish in. Just making observations.”

You exhaled sharply, your anger bubbling over. “You know, because you were being such a dick, the thing I actually knew will probably lower my final grade now. Congratulations.”

Viktor’s smirk never faltered. “I wasn’t being a dick,” he said, voice smooth. “I was merely being a meticulous stiff bastard.” He leaned back, his tone laced with sarcasm. “You were quite vocal about that, if I recall. Something about me being a ‘pedantic pain in the ass’ when you were drunk.”

Your face flushed, your hand tightening into a fist at your side. That comment struck a nerve you hadn’t even realised was there. Your heart pounded. “Are you seriously so petty, Viktor, that you’re going to take revenge for some drunken slur by messing with my grade?” you snapped, your voice rising. You turned to leave, the weight of your frustration heavy on your chest.

But Viktor’s voice stopped you cold. “Wait,” he said, and for a moment, you thought he was going to apologise. Maybe even admit he’d gone too far.

You glanced over your shoulder, ready to hear some kind of redemption. But then Viktor’s tone shifted again. “You didn’t forget something, did you?”

You froze as he pulled your phone from his pocket and held it out to you, a mischievous gleam in his eye. The sight of your phone in his hand made your heart sink. You really are a bastard, you thought.

With strained composure, you took the phone from him. Your fingers brushed his, sending an unexpected jolt through you. Viktor’s gaze lingered on you a moment longer than necessary, and for the briefest second, you saw something flicker behind his usual cool façade. Something almost… uncertain.

Your stomach fluttered—No. Not now. Don’t let him do this to you.

You forced a tight smile, returning his gaze. “I can play this game too, Viktor,” you said, your voice low and controlled.

Viktor’s smirk faltered for a brief moment, and he leaned back against the desk, watching you with a hint of something deeper in his expression. His eyes softened, but he quickly masked it with another calculated look.

You turned to leave, your mind racing with frustration and another weird emotion you didn’t have the name for. Just before you reached the door, you felt a shift in the air. Viktor’s teasing had crossed a line, and somehow, the distance between you felt less like a joke and more like something real. Why does this matter so much to me?

Your heart thudded painfully in your chest. Viktor hadn’t just teased you. He’d affected you, and you hated that. As you stepped out of the office, you could feel his gaze on your back, following you, studying your body. You scolded yourself internally for looking like a wreck and made your way to join Sue in the library.

Your friend regarded you with concern as you slid into the chair at the table, books already splayed out in front of her. “Did you get your phone back?”

“Yeah, it was a fight to the death,” you mumbled, sighing heavily as you opened a massive tome of genetics for the next lecture.

“And who died?” Sue asked, placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder.

“Oh, definitely me this time.” You whined and dropped your head face-flat onto the table. “I don’t understand when this happened. Can you direct me to a point in time when Viktor woke up and chose violence?” you chuckled despite yourself.

“Um… I think it was some time after the party where that cute curly-haired guy with a poetic name clung to you the entire evening. Or—” she smirked—“you calling Viktor a meticulous stiff bastard.”

“Ambrose? I completely forgot about him,” you mused for a second. There had been an Ambrose sometime during your first weeks. He was from the theatre department too, full of big words, slightly obsessive, but overall nice. You never gave him your number, though, deciding it wasn’t meant to be.

“So you think Viktor loves me so much, jealousy rotted his guts?” you laughed a little too loudly, drawing a few irritated ‘shh!’ sounds from nearby students.

“Let’s say it’s my instinct,” Sue replied with a mischievous smile. “And remember, Y/N—trusting your instincts is key in science,” she added in a hushed, exaggerated Heimerdinger impression, causing you to suppress your laugh even further.

***

Viktor stretched in his chair. The last paper to check stared him in the eye, glaring at him almost as intensely as you had that morning. He groaned slightly at the pain in his leg as the door creaked open.

“Hi, partner,” Jayce greeted, shooting him a smile that was a mix of guilt and a plea for forgiveness. He’d left Viktor for an entire day to gallivant around campus with Mel. She had apparently needed strong arms to carry boxes of flyers advertising their winter show.

“Don’t ‘hi, partner’ me, Jayce,” Viktor huffed but smiled faintly under his nose. “How was it?”

“She’s really something, Vik. I can tell you over a beer?” Jayce offered, clearly still buzzing from his all-day hangout with his beautiful, smart, interesting, unique, elegant, new girlfriend.

“I think I’m going to call it a night. One last paper to check.” Viktor groaned slightly as he flipped your paper in front of his friend’s face. Jayce snatched it mid-air and studied it carefully for a minute.

“How come? I thought she was the only one to work around your… notes mishap?” Jayce tread carefully, noticing the frown forming on Viktor’s forehead. He knew exactly how Viktor had messed up the notes—sadly, it was partially his fault as well.

Viktor leaned back in his chair, still staring at the paper. “Yes, indeed, she was. She even tried to fix her answer when she put the test into the box,” he muttered quietly under his breath.

Jayce raised an eyebrow. “So why didn’t she?”

Viktor rolled his eyes, the motion quick and dismissive. “Because, Jayce, I don’t make exceptions for students who can't follow the rules.”

“Oh, Viktor,” Jayce sighed, shaking his head. “What did she do to get so deeply under your skin? Seriously, you're not usually like this.” Viktor was only mean and vigilant when he cared—or when he was hurt. That, Jayce knew. He just didn’t know which one it was.

Viktor shrugged nonchalantly, but there was an edge to his voice. “She’s just full of herself. Thinks she can do whatever she wants because she’s got it all figured out.”

Jayce’s lips twitched into a knowing smile. “Oh, I see. Well, if someone’s getting on your nerves that much, it usually means they’re reflecting something about you that you don’t want to see.”

Viktor stared at him blankly, the words almost not registering. Then, he let out a short, mocking laugh. “When did you start spreading the wisdom of your people around the world, Jayce?”

Jayce leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms casually. “Mel teaches me how to talk to difficult people now. You know, learning to understand them and not just shut them down immediately.”

Viktor raised an eyebrow, his tone sceptical. “Am I the difficult one here?”

Jayce’s grin widened. “Clearly. I mean, you’re willing to fuck up Y/N’s final grade over a sentiment. That’s not exactly… rational behaviour, is it?” He leaned into the desk, hoping for a moment of self-reflection from his friend.

Viktor was silent for a moment, then scoffed, trying to brush off the conversation. “It’s not like that. I’m not just doing it to be petty.”

Jayce leaned in slightly. “So, what did you tell Heimerdinger about the mishap?”

Viktor leaned forward as well, his voice dropping into a more serious tone. “I told him the truth—both of us fell asleep in the lab, working on our side project. I had to rush to class that morning. No big deal.”

Jayce nodded, processing this. “I’m sure Heimerdinger won’t bat an eyelid if you step up for Y/N, especially since she did well in class. If anything, she deserves some leniency.”

Viktor paused, looking at his friend thoughtfully. “I guess I could do that. Just… don’t think this is something I do for everyone,” he exhaled, rubbing his temple. “But I’ll talk to Heimerdinger.”

Jayce smirked, leaning back in his chair again. “There you go. Maybe Mel’s influence is working on you after all.”

Viktor shot him a look, clearly not amused. But deep down, he couldn't deny there was something about you that unsettled him—and, for some reason, it had started to bother him more than he cared to admit.

“Just keep your wisdom to yourself,” Viktor muttered. “And get out of my office. I still have work to do.”

Jayce chuckled but stood up, winking. “Hey, it’s my office as well! But yeah, I get the point.” As Jayce exited, Viktor stared at the paper before him, his mind occupied by frustration. A meticulous stiff bastard he was indeed.

#viktor arcane #viktor x reader #viktor fanfic #viktor x reader smut #viktor x f!reader #arcane #viktor smut #arcane fanfic #my writing #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #viktor x oc #viktor nation #the game of teaching body

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midseo · 11 months ago

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untilwefind · 1 month ago

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Five Celebrinis and a Smith

Set during the 2025 offseason in Vancouver, British Columbia

Day One

Will steps off the plane still tasting turbulence and old pretzels, hair stuck up on one side from napping weird in his hoodie. He’s not exactly fresh.

The airport smells like sunscreen, wet asphalt, and too many delayed WestJet flights.

Will’s dragging his suitcase out of YVR’s arrivals when someone whistles low behind him and says, “Jesus Christ, you really are that short in real life.”

He turns, blinking in the midday sun and there’s Aiden Celebrini in board shorts and a BU Hockey dad cap, leaning against a scratched-up Civic that looks like it’s survived multiple parking tickets and at least one fender bender. The trunk is already open.

But Bowen Island smells like pine needles and salt air and freedom, which is more than he can say for San Jose in June.

“I— Uh, hey,” Will says, offering a half-wave. “Where’s—”

“Mack’s doing agility ladders in the backyard. Didn’t finish his regen block this morning,” Aiden replies. “Dad got twitchy. Sent me instead."

Will laughs like he’s not panicking inside.

The drive to Bowen Island is somehow both beautiful and mildly terrifying. Aiden is the kind of driver who doesn’t use turn signals but does use his thigh to steer when he’s reaching into the glove compartment.

“You nervous?” he asks, as they pull onto the ferry.

“Should I be?”

Aiden snorts. “You’re staying a full week with Rick, my mother who communicates exclusively in herbal tea offerings, a fifteen-year-old tennis prodigy with rage issues, and RJ, who wakes up at 5:30 on his own to watch film.”

Will swallows. “Cool. Yeah. Normal.”

“Don’t worry, they’ll love you,” Aiden adds after a beat. “But they will make you question if you’ve ever truly trained a day in your life. Wait ‘til you see the mobility block he makes RJ do before breakfast.”

They disembark onto Bowen forty minutes later, and Aiden takes the winding turns up the coastal road with one hand on the wheel and one arm draped lazily out the window.

“By the way,” he says, like it’s an afterthought, “you’re probably gonna get dragged into some kind of fitness challenge before dinner. Dad’s been on this ‘peak summer output’ phase ever since Mack missed a rep test after Sweden.”

“He what?”

“Exactly.”

When they pull up to the cottage Will sees Mack immediately, down by the dock with a towel around his shoulders and his curls wet, talking to someone holding a stopwatch and a foam roller.

Rick Celebrini turns as Aiden honks the horn. His expression doesn’t change.

Mack lights up when he spots Will and jogs up barefoot, sweat-slick and flushed. “Hey,” he says, grin wide and real, already reaching for Will’s wrist like he might pull him inside.

But Rick intercepts first.

“Will,” he says, sticking his hand out. “Good to see you. Thanks for making the trip.”

Will tries not to flinch under the handshake. It’s firm in the I’ve seen your injury history kind of way.

“I’ve reviewed your last few USA games,” Rick continues, with the air of someone talking about a lab result. “Your puck control has improved. Usage could be cleaner, though. You drift too deep below the goal line when you’re tired. Still collapsing a bit in the hips.”

Will blinks. “I— Uh, yeah. We’ve been working on that.”

“Good,” Rick says. “You’ll find the wifi code taped to your training schedule. Dinner’s at six. No screens after eight.”

Then he turns and walks back toward the dock like nothing happened.

Mack watches him go, face unreadable. “You okay?”

Will lets out a slow breath. “That was a performance review.”

“That was the warm-up.”

Will doesn't get to meet everyone else until dinner. Mack’s mom is soft-spoken but distracted, pulling pans out of the oven and humming to herself, nodding at Will like she's vaguely aware he's there. RJ is twelve, wiry, and already wearing his own number on a camp-issued hoodie and gives Will the once-over like he’s scouting him. Charlie, fifteen and terrifying, says nothing until Will tries to take her seat and she says, “That’s mine,” without looking up from her phone.

Will is in for a long week.

---

Day Two

Will is vaguely aware of being warm, entangled, and kissed softly on the jaw before he’s violently aware of the door flying open and Rick Celebrini’s voice cutting through the morning like a puck off the glass.

Then Rick’s voice cuts through the morning like a slapshot.

“Let’s go, gentlemen. Mobility starts in five.”

Will startles so hard he nearly knees Mack in the stomach. Mack just groans and tightens his grip around Will’s waist, face buried in the crook of his neck like he didn’t just get caught cuddling by his dad at 6:55 a.m.

Rick, to his credit, only glances once at the tangle of bare chests and blankets before turning sharply on his heel and marching back down the hallway.

Will is frozen.

Mack, unmoved, just mumbles, “He’s done worse. Once woke Aiden up mid-dream with a BOSU ball to the stomach.”

“You could’ve told me he barges in,” Will hisses, heart still racing.

“Consider this immersion therapy.”

Will sigh and tries to sit up, but Mack groans dramatically and tightens his arms around Will’s waist.

“No,” he mumbles into Will’s neck. “No, you’re not going. I’m the youngest player in the NHL, I’m fragile. Stay here.”

Will half laughs, half panics. "Mack, if I don’t show up Rick’s gonna make me do high knees for six hours. He literally just walked in on us in bed together!”

“And now he knows you’re mine,” Mack murmurs smugly, pressing his face further into Will’s collarbone. “Claim staked. Let’s go back to sleep.”

Will tries to wriggle out of his arms.

Mack whines. Actually whines. “Smitty. Come on. My dad won’t even notice. Just stay for, like, fifteen more minutes. I’ll fake an ankle thing.”

“I’ll owe you later,” Will says, rolling out of bed. “You can sleep on me for the rest of the month. But I’m not getting grilled before I’ve had a banana.”

Mack grabs his wrist and pulls him back down with surprising strength. “Don’t. Just ten more minutes. You can do mobility later. I’ll help you stretch.”

He grins. Will glares at him.

“Was that a stretching joke?” Will asks, unamused.

“Maybe.”

And then Mack is kissing him again. Slow, insistent, coaxing. Will leans in despite himself, lets Mack roll halfway on top of him, one hand sliding under his shirt, fingertips grazing his ribs.

“You’re evil,” Will mumbles into his mouth.

“You like it,” Mack whispers.

Will might’ve stayed, might’ve given in completely. Except the door swings open again and this time it’s RJ.

“HEY, ARE YOU GUYS—”

He stops dead.

Will shoves Mack off him so fast the bed actually creaks. Mack faceplants into the sheets. Will scrambles upright like he’s just been caught committing a felony.

RJ, twelve years old and already three years deep into the Celebrini legacy of chaos, stares with glee.

“Oh my god,” he says, delighted. “You were making out. In Dad’s house. In his sleep window.”

Will covers his face.

Mack groans into the mattress. “RJ. Get out.”

RJ just leans on the doorframe. “You’re in so much trouble. I’m telling Charlie. She owes me five bucks.”

“RJ!” Mack yells, hurling a pillow in his direction.

RJ dodges it easily, he is a Celebrini after all, and bolts down the hall yelling, “MOM! MACKLIN’S TRYING TO SEDUCE HIS TEAMMATE! WILL WAS INVOLVED!”

Will flops onto the bed and stares at the ceiling in agony. “I’m gonna get cut from the Sharks over this.”

“You'll be fine,” Mack huffs before turning and burying his face in Will’s abandoned pillow to get a few more minutes of sleep. “Tell them I’m dead.”

Will does not. He tugs on a pair of shorts and heads down to the dock with mismatched socks.

7:08 a.m. - Paddleboard Prep

The Celebrinis are mid-warm-up by the time Will joins them.

RJ is already on the dock, stretching like a seasoned pro, as if he didn’t just burst into his brother’s room and witness a crime of intimacy. Aiden tosses Will a resistance band and nods like he’s seen this exact morning unfold five different ways already. Charlie has a timer out and is pretending not to record everyone on her phone. Mack’s mom watches from a lawn chair, sipping tea like she’s not fully present on this plane of existence.

Will barely makes it to the edge of the dock before Rick appears, stopwatch in hand.

“You’re three minutes late,” Rick says without looking up. “Where’s Macklin?”

Will hesitates. His heart’s still racing. His face is still burning.

“Sleeping,” he finally says. “I told him I’d cover for him.”

Rick’s eyes flick up, unreadable. “It’s not your job to manage his discipline.”

“I know,” Will replies quietly. “Just didn’t want him to—”

“Mobility waits for no one,” Rick interrupts, snapping the band around his wrist. “Let’s begin.”

They run through overhead squats, band walks, and core activation circuits. Will focuses hard on his breathing and not on the fact that RJ keeps grinning every time their eyes meet.

Ten minutes pass.

And then Mack appears.

He strolls down the hill shirtless and barefoot in sweats like this is optional yoga retreat hour, sunglasses crooked on his nose, hair still messy. He yawns and walks directly over to Will, stretching his arms once, before draping himself over Will’s shoulders like a blanket.

“Missed you,” he says into Will’s hair, loud enough for everyone to hear.

Will freezes mid-squat.

Rick stares. So does RJ. Charlie sighs and mutters something under her breath about “attention-seeking behavior.”

Will turns slowly, eyebrows raised. “Are you trying to die today?”

“Death by cuddling,” Mack says sweetly. “Very dignified.”

“You’re late,” Rick’s voice cuts through the lake air like a slapshot.

“Didn’t hear the whistle,” Mack replies, with a shrug that screams I don’t care if you ground me, I play for the Sharks.

“You heard it,” Rick says.

Mack stretches, slow and obnoxious. “Maybe.”

Will winces.

"Macklin. Station two. Now."

Mack smirks. “Yes, coach.”

He jogs down the dock, casting one last lazy wink over his shoulder at Will, and Will swears he’s going to strangle him with the resistance band before the week is out.

9:00 a.m. – Lake Conditioning

The training session does start intense. Timed laps around the buoys, proper balance drills, and paired relay challenges that make Will sweat out half his breakfast smoothie.

But once Rick wanders off to set up afternoon dryland stations with RJ, the tone shifts.

Aiden proposes a tandem board race. Charlie joins with a waterproof speaker blasting Doja Cat. RJ starts yelling “Sharks power play” and tries to knock Will off his board with his paddle.

Mack, at last, laughs. Actually laughs.

“You good?” Will asks, pulling alongside him, shoulders dripping with lakewater.

“Better now that I’m not being interrogated about my sleep hygiene,” Mack says, eyes crinkling.

Will grins. “You were literally drooling on me when your dad walked in.”

“I was recharging.”

They end the morning sunburned and soaked and smiling, stretched out side-by-side on the dock like they might actually survive this vacation.

Will hears Rick shout something about “post-lactate smoothies” from the house and nudges Mack gently. “Still wanna skip tomorrow?”

“Oh,” Mack says, eyes closed, “absolutely.”

Day Three

Will spends his second morning on Bowen Island under intense scrutiny. Not from Rick, for once, but from Charlie, who grills him over breakfast on which tennis players he respects the most (“If you say Djokovic, I’m gonna vomit”), and whether he and Mack plan to “get matching dogs or whatever.”

Will’s halfway through defending Roger Federer’s vibe when Mack brushes his knee under the table and leans in to whisper, “Meet me upstairs in five.”

Will’s brain short-circuits.

Ten minutes later, they’re upstairs in Mack’s room with the door shut, the blinds down. Will has Mack pressed up against the wall of his bedroom, one hand braced above his head, the other down the front of his boyfriend’s sweatpants. Mack’s mouth is on his, hot and insistent, and he’s got that look in his eyes. Half-cocky, half-devoted. The one that makes Will’s brain short-circuit every single time.

“Fuck,” Mack whispers, breath catching hard, jaw slack as Will mouths at his throat. His hands are buried in Will’s curls, knuckles pale, his whole body tense against the wall like he’s trying to disappear into it.

“You locked the door, right?” Will murmurs, dragging his thumb in slow circles just below the waistband.

“Yeah,” Mack breathes, grinning, pulling Will closer by the waistband of his shorts. “Doesn’t matter. Everyone’s outside.”

Will laughs, a little breathless, tilting Mack’s chin up and pressing his lips to the corner of his jaw, trailing lower. Mack is warm and whining softly under his breath and bucking gently into his palm and Will is so, so gone for this kid. “God, I missed this,” he says.

“You’re ridiculous,” Will says fondly, dipping down to mouth at his collarbone.

That’s the exact moment the door opens.

“Mack, did you—”

It happens so fast, it almost doesn’t feel real.

Mack’s mom steps into the doorway holding a basket of folded towels and standing just behind her, wide-eyed and curious, is RJ, arms full of board games, mid-question.

The sound of Mack’s breath hitching as Will’s hand flexes still hanging in the air.

Will freezes. Mack jolts, grabbing Will’s wrist to cover him, to shield anything from view but it’s way, way too late.

Mack’s mom gasps and RJ’s mouth opens like he’s about to say something truly life-ruining. Will catches a split second of her face: the wince of recognition, the rapid blink of retreat, the near-superhuman composure as she throws an arm out in front of RJ and spins him around.

“Nope,” she says briskly. “RJ. Downstairs. Right now.”

RJ, naturally, starts cackling. “WERE THEY— MOM, OH MY GOD, WERE THEY—”

“RJ. Walk.”

“I saw so much—”

“RJ.”

Will yanks his hand back like it’s been burned and stumbles several steps away from Mack, who is just now pulling his hoodie back down and blinking like he just woke up from a concussion nap.

The bedroom door clicks shut behind them.

Will drops onto the bed, face in his hands. “I’m never going to survive this family.”

Mack groans and covers his eyes. “He’s never going to let me live that down. He already thinks he invented sex.”

“You literally told me the door was locked.”

“I lied.”

Will groans again and kicks at the comforter. “This is my Vietnam.”

Mack grins sideways and flops beside him. “If it helps,” he murmurs, “you had me, like, thirty seconds from coming.”

Will stares at the ceiling. “That makes it worse.”

---

Later that day, Rick announces that the post-lunch block will be “recovery-oriented,” which turns out to mean an hour of cold-water plunges, hip mobility drills, and team journaling.

Mack lasts six minutes.

Will watches as he stretches lazily on the dock, then whispers, “Come on.”

“What?”

“Boat keys are still in the cubby. You, me, freedom.”

Will hesitates. “We’re already on thin ice.”

Mack grins. “Good thing we’re surrounded by water.”

They take the little speedboat without telling anyone, drifting quietly away from the dock while Aiden pretends not to see them and Charlie turns up her music just loud enough to claim plausible deniability.

The ride is peaceful at first. Wind in their hair, no foam rollers in sight. Mack drives with one hand and rests the other on Will’s thigh.

“You know,” Will says, “this is absolutely a trap. We’re going to get back and your dad’s going to be waiting with a stopwatch and a foam mat.”

“Worth it,” Mack replies.

Ten minutes later, they pull up at the Bowen marina, dock like pros, and find a corner shack that sells real ice cream. Not oat milk, not protein pops, not “frozen banana purée.”

Mack gets mint chip. Will gets cookie dough. They sit on a sun-warmed bench near the water, passing bites back and forth.

“This is the best moment of my entire summer,” Will says, mouth full.

“Better than last night?”

Will chokes.

Mack smirks, licking his spoon. “Exactly.”

When they finally coast back toward the house, the sun’s starting to dip and the air’s gone gold. They see Rick on the dock, arms crossed, face unreadable.

Will gulps.

Mack leans back, feet up on the edge of the boat, perfectly calm.

“What’s the plan?” Will mutters.

“We say we were bonding,” Mack replies.

“You think your dad cares about bonding?”

“No,” Mack grins. “But my mom does.”

---

The house smells like lemon and dill and doom.

Will trails behind Mack into the dining room like a man walking toward his execution. His hair is still windswept from the boat ride. His shirt smells faintly like sunscreen and lake air. His soul is dangling by a thread.

Mack? Mack looks like he’s just come off a beach date, because he has. He’s wearing swim trunks, a hoodie he didn’t bother zipping, and the exact same smug look he had earlier when they were kissing behind the ice cream shack.

The only thing that’s changed is who knows what now.

Because now, everyone knows everything.

They’re fifteen minutes late to dinner.

And Rick is seated at the head of the table.

So is Mack’s mom. So is Charlie, arms folded, tennis braid pulled tight. So is RJ who looks like he’s vibrating with suppressed laughter and the world’s most unearned sense of superiority. Aiden is at a friend's for a barbecue. Lucky bastard, Will thinks.

Will slides into his usual seat next to Mack with the full-body tension of a hostage. Mack drapes an arm across the back of his chair like none of this is happening.

No one speaks for a full thirty seconds.

Then RJ clears his throat, very loudly.

“So…” he starts, eyes gleaming. “How was the ‘recovery session’?”

Will almost drops his fork.

Mack doesn’t flinch. “Productive.”

“Did it include the, uh…” RJ raises his eyebrows and makes a very unsubtle gesture with his hand, “…stretching from earlier?”

Will closes his eyes.

Charlie inhales sharply through her nose and mutters, “You are actually the worst.”

Mack smiles, unfazed. “I believe the term is flexibility training.”

Will is considering crawling under the table and never coming out.

Their mom, who hasn’t said anything since she walked in on them mid-handjob, finally clears her throat and says delicately, “I hope the two of you used sunscreen at the marina.”

Will wants to scream. He wants to evaporate. He wants to travel back in time and personally kick past-him in the ass for agreeing to this trip.

Rick still hasn’t said a word. He’s methodically cutting his salmon with the kind of controlled precision usually reserved for autopsies.

Mack leans toward Will and says under his breath, “Dad’s in passive-aggressive mode. It’s his final form. Don’t blink.”

Rick sets down his fork.

“We rescheduled tomorrow’s training block,” he says calmly. “Since some of us needed time for unsupervised leisure.”

Will swears Mack actually snorts.

“Ice cream is a known anti-inflammatory,” Mack says smoothly.

“Not when it’s eaten instead of post-workout protein,” Rick replies without looking up.

RJ mouths owned across the table and giggles into his broccoli.

Will takes a sip of water and wishes it were lava.

Charlie finally speaks, her tone flat. “So. Is this whole… thing happening now? Like, out in the open?”

Mack shrugs. “Guess so.”

Will looks at Mack like are you trying to get me murdered in your kitchen?

Mack just stretches, lazily confident. “Kinda hard to deny it after two walk-ins and one marina escape.”

RJ perks up. “You think the marina has security footage? Because if I can find it—”

“No,” Rick says, sharp and immediate.

Will’s heartbeat spikes.

“Jesus,” Charlie mutters, and stabs her asparagus like it owes her money.

Rick looks at Will for the first time all evening. Not a glare. Something more surgical, detached. Like he’s scanning a muscle group for strain.

“I trust,” he says, measured and careful, “that you’re aware of the influence you have in this house.”

Will nod slowly. “Yes, sir.”

“Good.” Rick picks up his fork again. “Then you can model punctuality for the rest of the week.”

Will blinks. “Yes, sir.”

Mack elbows him lightly under the table. “That was so close to a compliment.”

RJ leans across the table. “I think you guys are my new favorite soap opera.”

Mack grins. “That’s ‘cause we’re the only ones who don’t ice-bath our feelings.”

Their mom sighs, very quietly, and passes Will the salad like everything is normal.

And somehow, that’s worse.

Day Four

The whistle blows at 5:30 a.m. sharp.

Will wakes up to the sound of RJ stomping down the hallway yelling, “RISE AND GRIND, LOSERS,” followed by a second, sharper whistle and the sound of Rick’s voice like the sky is falling.

“On the dock in ten. Let’s move.”

Will groans. Mack faceplants deeper into the pillow beside him and mutters, “If I pretend to be unconscious, do you think he’ll call an ambulance and leave me alone?”

“No,” Will whispers, already pulling on sweatpants. “He’ll just check your vitals and add sprints.”

Outside, its raining and the lake is misting in low, early light. The dock looks like a place where dreams go to die.

RJ is already there in full gear, hoodie zipped, whistle swinging from his neck like a badge of power. He has a stopwatch in one hand and a GoPro strapped to his chest. “Today’s menu is suicides, plank pyramids, and emotional pain!”

Will gives Mack a look. Mack mutters, “RJ is twelve. We can’t legally drown him, right?”

Rick appears like a shadow, clipboard in hand, eyes sharp. “This is consequence conditioning,” he says without preamble. “We don’t skip structure in this house. Suicides, five rounds. Two-minute recovery. Then ice tub, no complaints.”

Will breathes through it. He’s survived NHL preseasons, road games on no sleep, and one deeply cursed TikTok trend started by Eklund. He can survive this.

Mack, though?

Mack looks wrecked by round three.

He’s not even dragging his feet, he’s just ghosted out, running on fumes and grit and pure muscle memory. His skin is pale, lips chapped, hair soaked with sweat and rain. He doesn’t say a word as Rick barks corrections and RJ yells “SPLIT TIMES” every thirty seconds like a man possessed.

By round five, Mack stumbles on the dock boards. Not a trip, a full-on misstep that almost sends him into the lake. Will grabs him instinctively.

Rick opens his mouth and Mack snaps.

“I’m fine,” he says. But it’s not sharp. It’s not angry. It’s hollow.

Rick freezes.

Will doesn’t let go of his arm. “You’re not.”

Mack breathes shallowly. His eyes are shiny, not from tears, exactly, More like sheer burnout. The kind of exhaustion that doesn’t come from one bad night or one skipped smoothie. The kind that builds under your skin for years.

Rick finally says, “If you’re not finishing the drill, you need to make that decision intentionally.”

Will watches something go very quiet in Mack’s face.

He turns to Will, voice barely above a whisper. “I’m tired.”

Will’s stomach twists. “I know.”

“No, I’m—” Mack presses the heel of his hand to his eyes. “I’m tired of being in shape for someone else. I’m tired of pretending I’m excited to get up before sunrise so my dad doesn’t think I’m wasting potential. I’m tired of—” his voice cracks, “—being a project.”

The silence that follows is deafening.

RJ has stopped timing. Charlie, off to the side with her tennis towel and a mug of green tea, watches with no expression.

Rick’s jaw tightens. His clipboard creaks in his grip.

Will doesn’t wait for him to say anything. He wraps a hand around Mack’s wrist and says, “Come with me.”

They walk off the dock barefoot and dripping with sweat, past the house, through the trees, until they reach the little clearing behind the boathouse where no one ever goes. Mack drops to the grass and pulls his knees to his chest.

Will sits beside him. Quiet for a long moment.

“I’m not good at taking care of myself here,” Mack says eventually. “I just… go numb. I shrink down to who I was when I was thirteen and trying to earn my way into every meal.”

Will doesn’t touch him yet. He just sits close, steady. “You don’t have to earn anything here. Not with me.”

Mack snorts, bitter. “Tell that to my dad.”

“I will,” Will says. “I’ll tell him every morning if I have to. Right after the 5 a.m. suicides.”

That gets a weak smile.

Mack leans into Will’s shoulder. “He’s gonna lose it.”

“Let him. He’ll either process it or push a tire up a hill until he forgets.”

They sit there for a long time — not moving, not talking — just letting the weight of it all settle in the summer air.

Eventually, Mack whispers, “Thanks for pulling me off that dock.”

Will tilts his head and says, honest and soft, “Always.”

---

They don’t do anything for the rest of the day.

Not training. Not chores. Not breathing for someone else’s stopwatch.

Just… nothing.

Will coaxes Mack into his slides with a promise of iced tea and a slow walk down the road behind the house. They hold hands. Not showy, just steady. Fingers locked loosely like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Mack’s hoodie is three sizes too big and the hood stays up the entire time. His voice barely cracks a whisper, but he doesn’t pull away when Will talks, even if he doesn’t say much in return.

They make it as far as the old overlook, where the trees open up to reveal the cove, all soft glass water and sun-dappled rocks. They sit on a fallen log for a while. Neither of them mentions Rick. Neither of them mentions the dock. Neither of them mentions the fact that Mack’s hands are trembling just slightly, even in rest.

Instead, Will just leans their shoulders together and says, “You don’t have to be impressive today.”

Mack exhales and rests his head against Will’s temple. “Good. I’d rather be clingy.”

Back at the house, Will digs through the kitchen fridge and plates up two neat bowls of quinoa, grilled salmon, and steamed greens leftover from last night’s dinner. He drizzles the tiniest bit of tahini-lemon dressing over them, hears Charlie mutter something approving behind her phone, and decides to take that as the rare win it is.

Mack picks at his food until Will flicks a snap pea at him. “Fuel,” Will says firmly.

Mack rolls his eyes, but eats. “You’re lucky you’re hot.”

They take their bowls out to the hammock strung between the two big pines behind the house, just out of view from the patio, quiet and shaded and safe.

Will settles in first, propping up the iPad on his stomach. Mack climbs in after him, carefully balancing the bowls on the deck rail until they’ve arranged themselves just right. Wills on his back, Mack curled half on top of him like a weighted blanket with a hockey contract.

They pick a Nora Ephron rom-com. Soft, funny, just emotional enough. The kind of movie that lets Mack close his eyes but still reach for Will’s hand, lacing their fingers together loosely, like he needs to be touching him at all times now that he's allowed to.

They finish the food slowly. Halfway through the movie, Mack’s empty bowl tips to the grass, forgotten.

By the final act, Mack is fully asleep, legs tangled in Will’s, face pressed against his chest, arms looped around his waist like a seatbelt. Will strokes his fingers through Mack’s hair absentmindedly, feeling every muscle slowly unlock. Every breath deepen.

It’s not performative. It’s not for show.

Which is exactly what makes it so much when Rick and Aiden come walking around the path behind the boathouse and see them like that.

Will doesn’t notice them at first.

Rick does a full stop. Aiden stops too, blinking, watching the hammock sway.

Will shifts, and his eyes catch on them. He freezes.

But Mack doesn’t even stir.

He’s still curled into Will’s side, mouth open a little, hair flopped into his eyes, hand splayed across Will’s ribcage like it belongs there.

Rick stares for a long moment.

Then says, quietly, and almost like he’s talking to himself, “He’s never been like that with anyone.”

Aiden glances at him. “Not even as a kid?”

Rick shakes his head once. “No. He hated being touched. Would flinch if you tried to hug him before a game.”

Aiden tilts his head. “Guess it’s different when he’s safe.”

Rick doesn’t respond. But Will sees the flicker behind his eyes. Confusion, maybe. Or recognition. Or the deep ache of a man realizing there are parts of his son’s heart that he’s never even seen before.

Rick clears his throat. “Let them be.”

And they walk on.

Will exhales slow, steady and looks down at Mack, still sleeping, still clinging to him like it’s the only thing anchoring him to the world.

He doesn’t move.

He just lays there, quiet and still, and lets Mack stay soft.

---

Will doesn’t follow at first.

He sees Mack slip out the back door barefoot after dinner, hoodie sleeves pulled over his hands, and walk quietly toward the dock with something tense and tired in his gait. The sky is all navy and soft clouds. The lake hums with bugs and far-off boat motors.

Will lets him go. Gives him the dock.

But not forever.

By the time Will steps out onto the porch twenty minutes later, there’s already someone else standing at the end of the dock.

Rick.

Mack’s sitting on the top step, arms around his knees, eyes on the water. Rick’s standing just behind him. Not close enough to crowd, not far enough to pretend he just wandered out by accident. The distance between them is precisely calculated. Measured, even here.

Will doesn’t move any closer. Just watches from the shadows near the tree line.

“You didn’t need to push through this week,” Rick says, barely above the lap of the lake. “I wasn’t watching for failure.”

Mack doesn’t look up. “I thought you were always watching.”

“I watch because I’m your father,” Rick says, quiet. “Not your coach.”

“That’s not how it feels.”

A long pause. So long Will thinks the moment’s passed.

Rick clears his throat. It’s not loud, but in the quiet it sounds sharp.

“I saw you today,” he says.

Mack doesn’t look back. “Obviously.”

“I’ve never seen you let anyone touch you like that.”

"Huh?"

"In the hammock..."

Mack shrugs. “That’s ‘cause no one else makes it feel like I can stop bracing.”

Rick’s silence crackles.

“That’s not a knock on you,” Mack adds after a pause, still not turning around. “Or maybe it is. I don’t know. But it’s not... malicious. It’s just different.”

Rick shifts. Not uncomfortably, but like he’s absorbing something.

“I didn’t know that was something you needed,” he says eventually.

“I didn’t either. Until him.”

A longer pause.

“I spent a lot of years,” Rick says, “teaching you how to stay upright. But I don’t think I ever showed you how to... lean.”

Mack huffs a soft, startled breath. Half laugh, half ache. “Pretty sure you’d rather I die than lean during a sprint test.”

Rick doesn’t smile. But there’s a tiny hitch in his breath. A beat of surrender.

“I’m trying, Macklin,” he says finally. “I know I don’t say it right.”

That’s when Mack looks up. Not over his shoulder, just up at the sky. Quiet. Still.

“I know.” Mack kicks gently at the water. His voice is so small it barely reaches the trees. “You could’ve just said you were proud of me, y'know? That would have been enough.”

Another pause.

“I am.”

They both go still again. Not cold, just quiet.

Rick lets out a long breath, like he’s been holding it since the moment he saw them tangled together. “He brings something out of you.”

Mack nods. “He lets me be soft.”

“And that’s... good?” Rick asks, like the word’s still unfamiliar.

Mack finally turns his head, just a little. Enough for Rick to see his profile. “It’s everything.”

Rick doesn't answer. But after a long moment, he sits down on the dock beside him.

No touching. No fanfare. Just two figures in the dark, side by side, both looking out at the same lake, trying to say the things they don’t have language for.

Will watches them for a few seconds longer then turns and heads back toward the house.

He won’t ask Mack about it later.

---

When Mack comes back in, his eyes are red but calm. He doesn't say anything right away. Just crawls into bed and curls up facing the wall.

Will slides in behind him and wraps an arm around his waist.

Mack tucks their fingers together and says into the dark, “He said it. Finally. Just once.”

Will presses a kiss to the back of his neck. “It counts.”

They fall asleep like that, curled close, breathing in sync.

Day Five

The message comes through quietly, scribbled on the dry-erase board by the fridge in Rick’s blocky, clinical handwriting:

TODAY: REST. RECOVER. RESET. (Eat. Hydrate. Journal. No screens until evening.)

Charlie rolls her eyes the second she sees it. RJ reads it aloud in a newscaster voice. Aiden says, “Holy shit, a miracle,” and nearly drops his smoothie.

Mack just smirks at Will over his cereal. “So, obviously we’re not gonna listen.”

Will’s still sleepy, hair mashed down on one side, hoodie swallowing his frame. “Please tell me this rebellion includes butter.”

“Oh, it includes so much butter,” Mack says, already grabbing the keys to the little outboard skiff tied to the dock.

10:12 a.m.

Mack insists on driving. Will insists on not dying.

They end up at the Bowen marina café with wet hair and fake innocence. Will buys three cinnamon buns and an almond croissant the size of a hockey helmet. Mack gets two lemon scones and a bottle of orange San Pellegrino. “Balance,” he says.

They return to the dock like returning war heroes. Charlie steals half a cinnamon bun. RJ says he’s bulking and takes two. Even Rick walks by at one point, clearly trying not to notice the sugar orgy happening under his “reset” day, and only says, “Fifteen grams of protein would have been more effective.”

“I’m hitting emotional macros,” Mack says, full mouth and all.

Will nearly chokes.

1:00 p.m.

It starts with RJ declaring, loudly, “I now pronounce the first annual Celebrini Dock Olympics officially open!”

He’s holding a pool noodle like a ceremonial torch, wearing a life vest and goggles for no reason, and standing on the dock railing like a gremlin. “Events will include: balance duels, splash tag, noodle jousting, and the decathlon of death—”

“Absolutely not,” Charlie cuts in from her lounger.

“Fine. Pentathlon of mild risk!”

Aiden, lounging nearby with a La Croix and sunglasses, grins. “You know he’s been planning this for weeks, right?”

Will glances at Mack, who’s already barefoot and rolling his shoulders like a warm-up. “Is this… normal?”

Mack shrugs. “RJ is like this. You either play along or get tackled.”

Will looks down at his very dry t-shirt.

“Fine. But if I get a black eye, I’m blaming genetics.”

Event One: Paddleboard Duels

Each sibling takes turns challenging the others to a one-on-one stand-off on the paddleboards, armed with foam noodles and exactly zero coordination.

Charlie wins every match except the one where Mack grabs her paddle mid-swing and flips her board from underneath. She shrieks all the way into the lake and resurfaces like a vengeful sea witch.

Will loses to RJ in less than ten seconds. RJ screams “INCOMING” and kamikazes into him at full speed, knocking them both into the water.

“Unbelievable technique,” Aiden calls from the dock. “Get this kid a contract.”

Mack doesn’t duel anyone after Charlie. He just hops on Will’s board when he’s drying off and lays across it sideways like a lounging cat.

“This a new event?” Will asks, trying not to tip them both.

“It’s called: romantic sabotage.”

Will nearly drops him in on purpose.

Event Two: Spikeball, Dock Edition

Charlie insists on a two-on-two spikeball game “to keep things civil.”

It is not civil.

RJ cheats immediately. Aiden calls a fault. Mack serves into the lake on purpose.

Will, who has never played spikeball in his life, ends up on the winning team entirely by accident after one spectacular dive that flings him off the dock and into the water but scores a point.

“You’re now officially a Celebrini,” Aiden declares, tossing him a towel.

“I’m concussed.”

“Welcome to the family.”

Event Three: Noodle Jousting

By 3 p.m., RJ has constructed a “jousting arena” that consists of two foam mats balanced precariously over the shallow part of the water.

Charlie is the reigning champion. Mack is the challenger.

The entire family, including their mom, watching from a lawn chair with her tea and not a single expression of alarm, gathers to spectate.

Mack steps onto his mat, shirtless, noodle raised like a sword. “Winner gets naming rights for the next dog.”

“We are not getting another dog,” their mom says.

“We’ll see,” Mack replies.

Charlie steps onto hers, cool and composed, braid swinging like a whip. “You’re going down, Baby Shark.”

The match lasts thirty seconds.

Mack is faster. Charlie is meaner. She ducks his first swing, whacks him behind the knee, and launches him into the lake with brutal efficiency.

Will can’t breathe, he’s laughing so hard.

Mack surfaces and yells, “You elbowed me!”

“Penalty not called,” Charlie says, already toweling off.

RJ declares it the most iconic play in Dock Olympics history.

3:45 p.m.

They finish the day stretched out on towels and floaties and paddleboards. Dripping, breathless, a little sun-stung and softer than they’ve been all week.

Mack dozes with his head on Will’s stomach. RJ builds a tower of Gatorade bottles. Charlie texts and barely hides a smile. Aiden passes out protein bars like medals.

Will closes his eyes for a moment and lets himself feel it fully. The chaos, the noise, the lightness. Not performing. Not hiding.

Just belonging.

And somewhere inside the house, Rick watches the whole thing unfold from the kitchen window, a protein shake in hand, and says nothing.

But he doesn’t look away, either.

6:45 p.m.

Aiden disappears around five and returns with a clinking backpack and a smirk.

“Special teams training,” he says.

The bag has three ciders, two bottles of beer, and a plastic flask that Will is pretty sure used to belong to Mack's grandfather.

The sun dips low, setting the lake on fire in gold and pink. The siblings, still damp from the Dock Olympics, are sprawled around the fire pit. Aiden’s dragged a speaker out, and music hums low, a weird mix of 2000s pop, indie heartbreak songs, and whatever Charlie snuck onto the playlist last.

Aiden passes around the first round of drinks just after dinner.

Mack gets a cider. Will grabs a beer. RJ’s got an aggressively large lemonade in one hand and a melted marshmallow in the other, eyes twitchy from too many s’mores and way too much sugar.

They all settle in around the fire, blankets over legs, shoulders pressed together, the light from the flames dancing across flushed faces.

Mack is soft in a way Will’s never seen in public. Drunk-soft. Firelight-soft. He keeps running his hand up Will’s thigh without realizing it, thumb tracing circles just above his knee. Every so often, he murmurs something only Will can hear. Usually something stupid, like “your laugh makes my ribcage feel fizzy,” or “if we sneak away, do you think they’ll notice?”

Yes, they’ll notice.

They already are.

Charlie throws a marshmallow at them around 9:45 p.m. “Do you two know you’re sitting like one person with four limbs?”

“Body heat optimization,” Will replies cheerfully, arm slung low across Mack’s hips.

“Oh my god,” RJ groans. “I’m gonna puke.”

“You’ve had six s’mores,” Aiden points out.

“And whose fault is that?!” RJ yells, halfway upside-down in a camping chair. “You brought contraband sugar and I’m in my bulking era.”

Will and Mack dissolve into laughter. Mack leans into Will’s chest, tipsy and flushed, and bites at his neck in what would’ve been discreet if he didn’t immediately try to follow it with a very obvious kiss.

Charlie shrieks. “I am right here.”

“I’m in love!” Mack calls, dramatically, his head tossed back against Will’s shoulder. “Let me be disgusting in peace!”

“You’re winning PDA like it’s a sport,” Aiden says. “Put it away.”

“Never!”

Will giggles, actually giggles, and tries to shush Mack, only for Mack to grab his hand under the blanket and start kissing his knuckles like they’re in a YA adaptation on Netflix.

And that’s exactly the moment the back door opens.

Rick steps out onto the deck.

Everyone freezes.

Then their mom follows him, holding her tea. “Smells good,” she says, completely unbothered. “Who’s burning the marshmallows?”

Aiden immediately points to RJ.

Charlie drops her face into her hands.

Will slowly attempts to untangle himself from Mack, who is absolutely trying to put his cold nose down Will’s collar.

Rick walks over with a neutral expression, glances at the cider cans and beer bottles, at his youngest son licking marshmallow off his thumb with more chaos than blood in his body, and then finally at Mack and Will, still curled up together like it’s muscle memory.

He says nothing.

Instead, he lowers himself onto a deck chair beside Aiden and murmurs, “Didn’t know this fire pit still worked.”

“It works,” Aiden says, cracking another beer. “It’s just never been this fun before.”

Will waits for the shoe to drop.

But it doesn’t.

Rick stares into the fire, arms crossed, and says, with the faintest trace of dry humor, “Don’t set yourselves on fire.”

Mack grins like he’s been handed the Stanley Cup.

Their mom sits beside Charlie and asks how tennis training is going. Charlie answers without a word about the makeout session she just witnessed.

RJ tries to do a cartwheel and falls into the fire pit (he’s fine). Everyone screams and laughs. Aiden throws a blanket over him and declares him “smores-high.”

And somehow, in the middle of it all, Will finds himself leaned against Mack, heart thudding, cider half-finished, surrounded by so much noise but none of it sharp. None of it cold.

Just laughter. Chaos. Belonging.

He tips his head toward Mack’s.

Mack looks up, soft and tipsy. “Yeah?”

Will presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “This is the most joy I’ve ever seen you in.”

Mack doesn’t joke. Doesn’t deflect.

Just nods, once. “Me too.”

And for the first time all week, Rick doesn’t flinch when he sees it.

He just adds a log to the fire and lets it burn.

11:47 p.m.

They fall asleep in the hammock, wrapped in two blankets and the smell of cedar smoke.

Mack has his head on Will’s stomach. Will’s hand in his curls again.

Rick tosses a bucket of water on the fire and sits beside them in silence for a while. Doesn’t say a word. Then gets up and tucks the edge of the blanket over Mack’s shoulder before going back inside.

Will hears him say nothing.

But he feels it all the same.

And when Mack breathes out, slow, steady, for the first time in days, Will doesn’t say anything either.

Because this is the victory.

Day Six

The sun wakes them gently.

It filters through the pine trees in gold streaks, dancing across the faded fabric of the hammock and the soft, sleep-creased curve of Mack’s shoulder where it peeks out from under Will’s hoodie.

They’re still tangled up, legs knotted, hands somewhere between clasped and claiming, Will’s cheek resting on Mack’s messy hair, the blanket twisted around them like a lifeline. One of them kicked off a sock in the night. The iPad is face-down in the grass, battery long dead. The fire pit is nothing but ash and a few charred marshmallow sticks.

Will shifts first.

Mack groans quietly and clutches him tighter. “No.”

“It’s morning,” Will whispers, lips brushing the top of Mack’s hair. “We fell asleep outside. You’re drooling on me.”

“It’s the offseason. Let me drool.”

Will laughs softly and threads his fingers through Mack’s hair. “At some point someone’s going to notice we’re still out here.”

“They’ve already noticed. Charlie threw a pinecone at us at like 3 a.m. and called us gross.”

“That tracks.”

Mack shifts closer. “I feel like a warm pancake.”

Will hums. “You smell like campfire and cider.”

“Romance isn’t dead,” Mack mutters, and pulls the blanket back over both of their heads like he’s trying to delay the inevitable.

It would’ve worked.

If not for RJ.

9:08 a.m.

A high-pitched voice cuts through the birdsong: “RISE AND GRIND, TEAM DISGUSTING!”

The blanket is yanked off. RJ stands triumphantly at the edge of the hammock, holding two electrolyte drinks and a pool noodle.

“I’ve got training drills, paddle sprints, and THE REDEMPTION TOUR lined up, LET’S GO!”

Mack lets out a strangled groan and yanks the blanket over his head again.

Will squints into the sunlight. “You are… the loudest twelve-year-old on earth.”

RJ beams. “Thank you. You’re my relay partner today.”

“Wait, what?”

“Charlie bailed! I NEED YOU. You’re nimble.”

Will opens his mouth to protest, but RJ is already dragging him by the hand out of the hammock.

Mack whines, muffled. “Don’t go.”

Will leans down and presses a quick kiss to his forehead. “I’ll be back in twenty.”

Mack glares up at him from under the blanket, betrayed and beautiful.

RJ yells, “TWENTY MINUTES OR I’M RECRUITING AIDEN,” and sprints down the dock like he’s training for the Combine.

Will gives Mack one last guilty smile and follows.

9:35 a.m.

Will survives the first round of dock drills mostly through dumb luck and RJ’s limitless energy.

They paddle through cone circuits, relay baton handoffs (made of pool noodles), and RJ’s elaborate “Rescue the Teammate” challenge, which involves pulling Will back onto the board after faking a wipeout.

Will’s not sure how he got tricked into genuinely sweating, but RJ is weirdly fun, even with the sugar still buzzing in his bloodstream from the previous night.

“You know,” RJ pants, arms behind his head during a water break, “you’re not bad.”

Will laughs. “That’s your highest form of praise, right?”

“Also, Mack says you’re his favorite person. But don’t let it go to your head.”

Will blinks. “He… said that?”

RJ grins. “Yeah. In his sleep. Last week.”

Will’s chest goes warm and tight all at once.

“Also,” RJ adds, “he said he’d beat up Aiden if he tried to ‘steal you.’”

Will absolutely chokes on his water.

RJ pats his back helpfully.

10:10 a.m.

Mack appears at the edge of the dock in sunglasses, swim shorts, and Will’s hoodie. He looks like the hottest, most pouty housewife on vacation.

RJ is mid-race recap when Mack walks right up and inserts himself between them, throwing his arms around Will’s shoulders like a human octopus.

“Time’s up,” he says. “You’ve had your Will Time.”

RJ squints. “We were literally exercising.”

“You got ninety minutes. That’s a felony.”

Will, laughing, tries to pry him off. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m in love and possessive,” Mack says. “Get your own emotional support NHL player.”

RJ throws his arms up. “This is favoritism.”

“You are twelve.”

“I’m emotionally advanced.”

“You duct-taped a mini stick to a pool noodle.”

RJ stomps away. “You’re a menace to sportsmanship!”

11:00 a.m.

They return to the hammock, this time with a fresh smoothie and zero guilt.

Mack immediately sprawls across Will’s lap like a cat, resting his head on his thigh, fingers idly tracing circles along Will’s shin.

Will carding fingers through his curls, soft and steady, says, “You know you’re kind of insane when I spend time with your brother for more than an hour.”

Mack groans. “I know. I hate it. I’m working on it.”

“You don’t have to,” Will murmurs. “It’s kind of hot.”

Mack smirks. “Jealousy is my love language.”

Will leans down, presses a kiss to his temple. “Then you’re fluent.”

And somewhere in the background, RJ throws another pinecone and yells, “YOU’RE GROSS AGAIN.”

---

Dusk settles slowly on the patio.

The lake's gone still, like a sheet of glass. No music tonight, no sparklers, no RJ in a sugar high. Just the rustle of wind through pine needles and the faint creak of dock ropes swaying in the breeze.

Will is sunk deep in a patio lounger, one of Rick’s old faded ones, legs stretched out and bare feet tucked under a blanket. And Mack, soft and boneless and a little clingy after being “tragically neglected” all morning, and on Will's last day, is curled across his chest, hoodie half unzipped, one arm slung low around Will’s waist. His face is pressed into the side of Will’s neck. He hasn’t moved in over an hour.

Will runs his fingers through Mack’s hair slowly. He’s not tired himself. Just full. Still smiling faintly from earlier. From RJ insisting Will be his paddle partner, from the water fight that broke out after, from Mack huffing through all of it until he dragged Will away with a muttered, "You're not allowed to be more emotionally bonded to my brother than me."

It’s peaceful now.

And then the screen door creaks open behind him.

Rick steps out, hoodie sleeves pushed up, water bottle in one hand. He pauses when he sees them. Not frozen, just still. Observing.

Will lifts his head a little. Doesn’t move otherwise. “Hey.”

Rick steps out onto the deck. “He asleep?”

Will glances down. “Out cold. He whined about needing ‘reconnection time’ and passed out halfway through complaining about RJ.”

Rick makes a soft sound, amused, maybe, and walks to the railing. He leans on it, looking out at the trees silhouetted against the lake. Quiet for a beat. Then: “He used to cry when RJ beat him at anything. Wouldn’t speak for hours.”

Will smiles faintly. “I’ve seen the early warning signs.”

“He’s better now,” Rick says. “Less afraid of losing. More willing to laugh.”

Will doesn't answer right away.

Rick nods at the two of them. “I think that’s you.”

Will shifts slightly, startled. “Me?”

Rick still doesn’t look at him. “You’re good at quiet things. At not taking air out of the room. At letting him take up space — and giving it back when he forgets how.”

Will swallows hard. “Thank you. That means a lot. Especially… from you.”

Rick exhales slowly. “He doesn’t let anyone get this close.”

He finally glances over, not sharply, just steady. Mack is still curled into Will like gravity’s stronger when they touch.

“I see how he is with you,” Rick says. “And I see how you are with him. There’s trust there.”

Will nods. “There is.”

Rick is quiet again. Then: “Keep earning it.”

“I will.”

They sit like that for another moment. The kind of silence that doesn’t feel unfinished.

Then Rick straightens, glancing once more at the pair of them.

Rick turns toward the door. Stops just before going in. “I’m glad you came, Will.”

Will’s throat goes tight. “Me too.”

Rick disappears into the house without another word.

A beat of silence.

Then Mack shifts slightly and mumbles, voice gravelly, “You can tell I’m awake, right?”

Will startles, then grins. “How long—”

“Since ‘You’re good at quiet things.’” Mack doesn’t lift his head. Just snuggles in closer. “Wasn’t about to ruin that.”

Will kisses his hair. “You okay?”

“I don’t know what freaked me out more,” Mack mutters. “Him saying nice shit, or you just… taking it.”

“Taking it?”

“Like you deserved it.”

Will’s smile softens. “Maybe I do.”

Mack doesn’t answer. But his fingers find Will’s hand under the blanket and hold on tight.

And for once, there’s no joke. No tension. Just the soft, heavy weight of being loved — and knowing it’s allowed.

Day Seven – One Foot Out

Will’s duffel is by the door. His charger’s finally unplugged. Mack’s hoodie is still draped over his shoulders, partly because Will’s cold, partly because Mack refused to let him leave without it.

The car idles outside, Aiden behind the wheel, sunglasses on, claiming he’s “just letting the air conditioning run” but everyone knows it’s to hide how bad he is at goodbyes.

Inside the house, it’s a slow-motion departure.

RJ gets there first.

He barrels down the stairs, nearly trips on a soccer ball, and launches himself at Will’s knees. “You have to come back for my birthday.”

Will catches him, staggering. “When’s your birthday?”

“Four months from now. You have time to prepare.��

Will snorts. “Prepare for what?”

RJ grins, pulling something from behind his back — a duct-taped, splintered mini stick, blade half-cracked, grip covered in neon stickers.

“You’ll need this,” he says, shoving it into Will’s hands without ceremony. “The Sharks have weak defence.”

Will holds it like it’s a relic. “Thanks, I guess?”

“You’re part of the empire now,” RJ says gravely. “Don’t make us regret it.”

RJ runs off without another word. Just yells “CALL ME WHEN MACK MAKES YOU CRY” as he vanishes up the stairs.

Charlie slides him a protein bar on his way to the front door.

“If he gets annoying in the car,” she mutters, jerking her chin toward Mack, “tell him I said to shut up.”

Will opens the wrapper. “You’re the sweetest.”

“I’m letting you leave, not die,” she replies, and vanishes into her room

Will unfolds the napkin when she’s gone.

It says: I don’t hate you. With a doodle of a paddleboarder being flipped off a dock.

Mack's mom appears in the hallway just as Will’s tying his shoes.

She hands him a Tupperware. “Frozen banana muffins. For the plane.”

“You didn’t have to—”

“I know.”

There’s a pause.

Then she cups his cheek, just lightly, and says, “He’s lighter when you’re here.”

Will’s throat catches. “Thank you. For letting me in.”

She smiles. “You were never out.”

And then it’s just Rick.

Standing in the doorway. Arms crossed. Unsmiling, as always but not cold.

He steps forward and claps Will’s shoulder once, solid and brief.

“Text Mack when you land,” he says. “And can you do me a favour and remind him to roll out his hips this week. He won’t listen to me.”

Will nod. “Got it.”

A pause.

Then Rick adds, almost softly, “It was good to see him laugh like that.”

Will doesn’t say anything. Just nods again.

Rick steps aside.

And then it’s just Mack, standing behind him, frozen in the hallway like he doesn’t know what to do with his hands. Or his heart.

---

Aiden throws Will’s duffel in the trunk and adjusts the seat with a dramatic sigh. “I hope you like early 2000s bangers because I’m not emotionally available enough for silence.”

Will laughs. “Let’s go.”

Mack doesn’t say anything, just climbs into the backseat with Will and wordlessly tugs him close the second the door shuts.

They drive the whole way like that, knees touching, Will’s hand in Mack’s hoodie pocket, heads leaned together.

Aiden talks the whole time.

“You better be grateful for this ride, Smitty.”

“I am.”

“And for me. In general.”

“Sure.”

“And you should Venmo me for gas.”

Will glances back. “Aiden, your dad works for an NBA franchise.”

“And my Venmo’s in my Instagram bio.”

---

The drop-off at the airport is slow.

Will double-checks his ticket. Aiden double-parks. Mack just stands there, fists shoved deep in his pockets, like if he holds still enough the flight won’t leave.

Will turns. “You okay?”

“No.”

“Want me to stay?”

“Yeah. Kind of always.”

Will presses their foreheads together.

“I’ll see you in two weeks,” he says. “Boston. You’ll love it. My mom already told me to make up the guest bed.”

Mack sighs out a shaky laugh. “You sure she won’t kill me?”

“She might try.”

“Hot.”

Will grins. “She’s got a wine fridge. You’ll win her over in a day.”

Aiden, leaning on the car: “Please make out or let go, I’m emotionally compromised and need closure.”

Mack flips him off without looking.

Then, finally, reluctantly, Mack wraps his arms around Will and holds him tight. Long enough for a security guard to side-eye them. Long enough that Will nearly cancels the flight.

Mack says, quiet and into his neck, “I’m glad you came.”

Will kisses the side of his jaw. “I’ll be back.”

Mack pulls back. “I know.”

Will steps toward the terminal.

Mack watches until he disappears through the doors.

Aiden sighs. “You’re gonna mope all afternoon, aren’t you?”

Mack doesn’t answer.

He just nods.

---

Mack texts Will before he's even boarded his flight. u left ur toothbrush. also i miss u.

Will grins. He’s already planning Mack's visit to Boston.

#macklin celebrini #will smith hockey #mackwill #wacklin #willmack

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