#current drip im using

[darkflierazura]

[hooniehon]

( ✶ ) JUST THE TIP .. ⎯⎯ 🌳

( ⟢ ) pairings. sunghoon x fem!reader 18+

⎯⎯ warnings. noncon/dubcon?.. unprotected sex oral f. rec. clit stimulation praise maybe even more but i’m lazy..

WORD COUNT ˳ 984

( 🗒️ ) note. don’t like it don’t read it.

sunghoon was slowly losing it.

you guys have been together for 5 months already. ⎯ five. fucking. months. and you’re still avoiding to have sex with him? he’s been trying to hold himself back every time he saw you with just your panties, walking around your little shared apartment and you still expect him to ‘wait’?

he tried to convince you every time but it was always the same answer. “no sunghoon im still not ready..” ⎯ that made his blood boil more and more each single time but he just tries to accept it knowing how you still feel from your last relationship. but he was slowly getting pissed day by day from having to deal with his boner all by himself every fucking time. ⎯ but finally, finally you decided to say yes and he couldn’t feel anything else than excitement.

“sunghoon but only put the tip in i don’t think i’m fully ready you know..” you sigh out, laying down on your shared bed. sunghoon who is currently between your legs just gave you nods knowing damn well hes going to have a hard to holding himself back. yes you’ve been together with sunghoon for 5 months but you never really felt ready. ready to have such an intimate connection with him.

“yeah yeah sure.” he says, rolling his eyes which goes unseen by you. sunghoon removes your pyjama shorts and panties in no time and dives in to give your pussy little kitten licks making you gasp out, his eyes follow each pleasured reaction your face makes and he can’t help but smirk as he makes his way up to your clit giving it kisses before sucking on your little nub, the amazing sensation making your toes curl ⎯ “agh- s-sunghoon..” you whimper grabbing his hair from the pleasurable feeling.

“gotta make this pussy wet and slippery before i get in.” he announces with a smirk again as he removes himself from your clit with a loud squelch. he then goes up to his knees to remove his sweatpants and precum stained underwear in one swift, stroking his cock as he watches arousal drip from your pulsing hole. the sight making him bite his lip as he then comes forward, sliding his tip up and down your slit. “holy fuuuckkk this pussy’s so warm ⎯ shit…” he moans out. if only rubbing his tip on your slit feels this good he doesn’t know how he’ll react when he’s finally going to be in you. ⎯ “p-promise you’ll only put the tip in h-hoon?” you say with a squeak holding your pinky finger up. “s-shit, yeah.” he moans out, still sliding his tip up and down your pussy as he makes the pinky promise with you.

“fuck i can’t wait” he says as he grabs his cock and lines it up to your pulsing hole and slowly pushes just his tip in. ⎯ your walls envelope around him so tightly he has to use all his might to not push it in fully… ⎯ “o-oh my- you’re literally squeezing me so hard baby..” he moans out from the pleasuring feeling of being inside you and pulls out of you just to thrust back in slowly to make sure he only puts ’the tip’ in. ⎯ “a-agh hoon!” you moan out loudly from the extra stretch, making your hand go up to sunghoon’s hands that were currently on your hips.

you just kept feeling better and better he was about to lose it. your tight wet walls just feel so good around him his patience just snapped in one go. ⎯ “s-shit, fuck i can’t anymore i’m sorry __..” is all he said as he tightens his grip on your hips and and just decides to ram in you in one go.

“aaagh- you said y-you would only- fuck, put the tip in!” you scream while tears from both pain and pleasure fall down your eyes, although the pain from the insane stretch overpowered you. you just can’t believe he just broke your promise. as angers takes over you try to push him off of you.

sunghoon just ignores your tears and what you said as he just focuses on his own pleasure. fuck he’s been waiting for this moment since day one and you feel soooo good he’s not just gonna stop. “baby stop crying and relax for me.” he tries to reassure you while he tries to wipe your tears away. “you knew i’ve been wanting to have sex with you agh- please just let me do my thing.” he begs, not even slowing down or anything.

you try to reply back but he just took that as an opportunity to kiss you as his hands make way to your nipples, he lifts your shirt up and breaks the kiss to envelope his mouth on your nipple as he just plays with the other one. ⎯ your pussy immediately clenches much harder on his cock at the delicious sensation and delivers a muffled moan from sunghoons mouth that’s currently on your nipple and the sensation directly earns a moan from you too.

“shit i’m so fucking close you’re doing so good for me __ keep tightening your pussy on me like that.” he says in a out of breath voice as he rubs your clit in fast circles. “mphhh- sunghoon agh- i’m cl-close too!” he takes that as a signal and grabs the back of your legs to make them on your chest so he can fuck his cock deeper in you than before and that was all it took for you both come from you.

sunghoon let go of your legs and just collapse on you for a second as he then goes up again to release himself out of you to watch his cum drip out of your hole. “what an amazing sight fuck __ you’re the best.”

[wettvagina]

HOW JJK MEN WOULD SEND NUDES 〔gojo,geto,toji,choso〕

₍^. .^₎⟆

warnings: sexting , cum, cum tribute, dp, masturbation, notes:fem!reader, geto is a little gross, toji can't use a phone, thank you @dontcryskxawng for the toji headcannon, 1st fanfic in a while im getting a little rusty ;P

─── GOJO SATORU

First of all, you don't have to ask Gojo for nudes, he intrepidly sends you them, at the right moments of course. He'd never send you an unsolicited dick pic– only losers do that.

Gojo, however, will wait until the precise moment where he knows your rubbing your thighs and discarding your panties behind the screen to send that raunchy image.

You've been texting back and forth from the hours of 10:00 PM to 11:00PM, an entire hour of tempting words displayed on the screen, but neither of you are bold enough to send an actual image, that'd be expeditious. But, God– were you wet, throbbing achingly against your cotton panties that were practically taunting you with the way fabric brushed against your puffy clit each time you moved.

Your phone in hand, and the other shamelessly down your panties, you laid in your bed, wearing a flimsy nightgown and desperately wishing Gojo was here. But he was across Japan, sent to fight some special-grade curse in some urban town you were too horny to remember.

Opting to use your vibrator, Gojo texted you at the perfect moment, keeping your fingers on your phone like if he had you enticed. He used the right words, texted back as soon as you replied– seems like he was just as horny as you were.

Boy, was that an understatement.

In the sumptuous hotel bathroom he was currently staying at, Gojo had discovered this gigantic mirror attached on the wall near the sink, staring at his reflection which was flawlessly illuminated by a square of white light that encompassed the mirror fully.

His first thought– this mirror would be perfect for taking nudes. And so he did. He was about 100+ texts into it, using words that could only be described as panty-wetting, talking about all the things he'd do to you, how painfully hard he was and how perfect you'd be taking him. Trust me, it didn't take long for his dick to be brushing against his boxers, and when it did, he headed straight towards the bathroom, tugging his shirt up and over his head, pulling his blindfold off and letting his pure white strands fall upon his forehead.

He had his phone in his left hand, tugging his boxers down slightly, enough to let his achingly hard cock spring free, pre-cum dripping from the pinkish-red tip. He hissed through his teeth, rubbing himself once or twice, letting his pre-cum smear along his length, now his entire cock was glistening. He held his phone up, clicking on the camera app, dick resting in the palm of his hand as he clicked record, using his back camera to capture his reflection on the gracefully lit mirror, stroking himself with his large hand, he let out a throaty groan as he smirked and picked up the pace. Downright, disgusting sounds of his hands rubbing along his shaft circled the room and entered right into the speakers of his phone, giving you a vivid, crisp sound of how he's feeling when you eventually play the video.

Gojo didn't record too much, merely 30 seconds, as soon as the video appeared in his camera roll he shared it to you. Patiently waiting for the video to send and for your response, because that's all this was about, the only thing that could make him come was you telling him how good you made him feel, he wasn't selfish, he will always put you before him. He didn't even ask you to send anything back, the simple response you texted him 'omg i just came' was all he needed to finish, shooting creamy white ropes onto the sink and counter, shamelessly moaning and groaning with his phone still in his hand.

─── GETO SUGURU

Geto Suguru is a disgusting man, you knew this. So when you had to leave for two entire weeks to take care of some sorcerer-related duties, you pondered as to what Suguru would do during the 14-day period.

Maybe watch porn? Nah, he's not that type of guy. Buy a fleshlight? You didn't think he knew what that word even meant. Contain himself for two weeks? Haha—No. Jerk off using one of your panties? Possibly.

On the first day when you arrived, he texted you, asking if you reached safe, if you were okay and getting through with everything. Typical boyfriend stuff. He managed to keep himself busy the first day, spending time with his friends, working out, cooking, blah blah blah.

The second day, yes, the second day. He felt as if he would combust, he didn't know what to do with himself. He didn't want to text you throughout the day because he knew you'd be busy, but oh boy was it tempting, he clicked on your profile picture for the thousdandth time that day, staring at the image of you, wishing you were here right now.

He tried to suppress his urges, doing something else, anything else. He cooked himself some udon, cleaned the house, did some push ups, cleaned the house again.

That's where he went wrong.

Maybe it was the pent-up release of endorphins from the workout or maybe he was just too horny, but while cleaning he found his old wallet, he dug through the sections and zippers for loose change or forgotten bills, his fingers touched something and he pulled it out, it was a folded picture of you that he took and printed early on into your relationship.

It wasn't anything bad, far from that even. It was a simple picture that he took of you and liked it so much that he printed it out and carried it with him, you found it endearing, truthfully, you liked how you looked in the picture too.

Then an idea popped into his head. It wasn't a lightbulb moment, there wasn't an audible ding! in his brain but there was a throb in his dick so he didn't think twice about it.

Unfolding the picture he held it with his hand and eventually placed in near the edge of the bed, he took his dick out of the constraints of his boxers, pulling both his pants and boxers slightly lower. His thick cock sprung out and beads of pre-cum smeared on the picture all over your face, which made Geto chuckle a little bit.

He grabbed the shaft, using his reddened tip to smear more lines of white, sticky pre-cum along the picture. He pumped his cock, throwing his head back upon the feeling, he stared down at the picture, your perfect face, how good you looked in that dress you wore that day in the picture, he even imagined how you'd be right right now, naked, wet and ready for him.

The thought only made him throb more, hands vigorously stroking his dick, occassionally his tip would smear against the photograph making him hiss at the coolness of the material. His eyes darted at his phone on the dresser, without thinking, he grabbed it, swiping left at the home screen and clicking record.

The camera was facing the picture of you, his glistening pre-cum shone all over the picture on video, as he stroked himself quick flashes of his entire dick would frequently appear. He groaned and moaned loudly, uttering occassional curses through his teeth, and when he was close, he pointed the lens directly at the picture of you, lining the tip of his cock directly onto your photographed face, spurting white ropes all over the picture, groaning relentlessly throughout it.

He came a lot, soking the picture completely, and a puddle of white, sticky cum was on your face and he still stroked himself while releasing. He didn't stop recording until he was a breathless mess, watching how his cum dripped all over the picture.

The video was a total of 1 minute and 42 seconds long. And when he showered and cleaned everything up, including the picture, he placed the now oncemore vivid photograph into his new wallet.

He heard his phone vibrate on the bed, picking it up he smiled at your notification, 'hey what did you do today without me?' he smirked and sent the video. Letting out an actual laugh when you sent a flurry of messages calling him 'disgusting' and 'a pervert'. Yet you found yourself watching the video more times than you would like to admit, hands reaching down into your panties.

─── TOJI FUSHIGURO

You don't really text Toji, unless it's for something important, other than that, the online conversations you have with him are relatively short, mostly because of him. He doesn't know what punctuation is, uses the laughing emoji too much and sends uncorrelated GIFs. Also, Toji is rarely on his phone.

But on a rare occassion when he's at home and Megumi and Tsumiki are at school, and feeling a little lonely(and horny), he pulls out his phone. Texting you a 'hey'.

Once you reply he immediately calls you, to which you decline because you were currently at work. His face twitches, 'answer' he sends, 'can't i'm at work :(' you reply. You waited nearly five minutes for a reply, watching as his typing bubble appeared and disappeared. 'wen u finished come ovr' he replies, you instantly decipher the message, growing used to Toji's texting style.

You knew what he wanted, and obviously you would go to him when your shift was over. You wanted him just as much as he wanted you, and you wanted it now. A sly smile formed on your face when an idea popped into your head. You slipped away from where you currently were, entering the 'Employees Only' washroom, finding an empty stall.

Once you found one, you entered, locking the door and pulling your phone out of your back pocket, you lifted the hem of your shirt up to your chest, exposing your bra that was too small for you, allowing your boobs to spill out. You snapped a picture, sticking out your tongue too. You send it to Toji and he immediately sees it.

Again, he takes 5 minutes to reply, text bubble appearing then disappearing, 'naught girl😂' he replies, you smile and cringe at the same time at the inappropriate use of the emoji but text back nonetheless. 'send me something back' you reply.

Toji received the text and frowned at your response. Send me something back? Oh! A picture of his dick. Duh! He chuckled with realization, but ultimately frowned. How do you do that?

His phone was small in his palm as his eyes scanned the screen. He knew the GIF symbol was for GIFs, the '🙂' symbol was for emojis, so the camera icon must be for pictures.

He rapidly clicked the camera, and his spread legs appeared on screen, he raised his eyebrows in surprise, before clicking the big circular button in the middle, ultimately taking a blurry picture of just his massive thighs. "Shit." he cursed trying to navigate back to where he originally was.

Finally, he pulled down his sweatpants, and since he wore nothing underneath, conveniently, he snapped the picture and immediately sent it to you.

'toji I can't see anything', was all you replied with because truthfully, all he sent you was a dark blurry screen. Toji huffed and tried again, discovering the flash, he put on the setting and retook the picture, similarly raising the confinement of his sweatpants and snapping the picture this time a flash of light was present.

His dick wasn't hard yet, but he sent it anyways. You received the picture and you reconsidered quitting your job to go to Toji's house, but then you'd both be broke so, you sat your ass down.

The picture displayed his thick, long dick, the tip was pink and laid limp but looked appealing nonetheless, the camera lens looked greasy or maybe that was just the quality of his phone(he has a Samsung Galaxy j2 prime).

You replied, 'omg i'm so wet 🤤', when Toji received the text his eyes widened and his dick twitched, he slipped his hand down his loose sweatpants, jerking himself off a little, enough to get him hard. He felt sticky beads of pre-cum dribble from the swollen tip, making it easier for his palm to rub up and down his fat cock.

He hissed through his teeth, thumb clicking onto the small screen of his phone, clicking to where you had sent him a picture of your boobs, he stared at the picture while jerking off, wishing he was squeezing them, maybe even fucking them.

He came hard, ruining his sweatpants with a large spot of cum. He groaned when he finished, sending you a weird GIF of a glazed donut, chuckling as he wiped his hand on the fabric of his sweatpants. 'Maybe this phone was good for something' he thought.

─── CHOSO KAMO

Choso is shy, especially when it comes to trying new things. Not to mention he's dense, so when you were extremely horny one particular night and texted him trying to coax some sort of arousing conversation out of him, he wouldn't budge.

So you realized that maybe you'd have to be more bold, or straightforward. So when you directly sent him 'send me a video of you jerking off with sound' he obviously replied with a stream of question marks.

Obviously it took some persuading, but you were compelling so he gave in anyway. Choso, on the other hand, was panicking. He had never done this before, the only time he uses his phone to record something is for taking a video of you doing something dumb or trying a new food or at a scenic place. He's never used his phone for this.

But, despite his drawbacks on the situation, he was enthralled— you really wanted to see him that badly that you requested a video of him touching himself? It nearly made his heart flutter and surely made his dick twitch.

So he laid in his bed, got lotion and shifted his wasitband down, letting his cock spring free. He was already hard, but the cold air hitting his moist cock made him even more aware, he squirted a few pumps of lotion onto his hand, grabbing his dick and rubbing the cold, white substance onto it, the lotion mixed with the glossy beads of pre-cum already dripping from his flushed tip.

He quickly grabbed his phone with his unoccupied hand, finding the camera app and clicking record, he panned the lens directly onto his hard dick. He stroked himself letting all the nasty sounds his hands made wrapped around his cock enter the phone speaker, occassional whines would also end up in the video.

Choso's hand was shaking slightly, making the video wobbly and his pants and whimpers grew louder. As his hands moved faster, up and down his lotion-lathered cock he let out loud, throaty moans, gasping loudly when he became close.

He let out a string of curses followed by a chant of your name when he finally came, shooting thick, creamy white ropes of his cum all over his thighs, that dripped down from the tip and slid down all the way down to the base of his cock, even while he came he still stroked himself, panting loudly into the speaker, letting out pathetic whines as he came down from his high.

The video was a total of three minutes, three minutes of pure filth. You had to watch the video with your headphones on, listening to every second. And to be honest you were surprised, you didn't think Choso had it in him, you promised him something back but all he wanted to know was if he did a good job.

You sent him a picture of your soaked through panties to let him be the judge.

[twijaxx]

chat… don’t get me started on Nerd isagi.. imagine this.

Isagi is just playing his video games, like he always does when he has some free time. He was currently playing Val, which involved him screaming at his teammates for planting spike on the wrong site… And since the only thing u knew about Val was that it had voice chat, u decided to use that against Isagi today.

He was in the middle of ranked match u think, but u got reallyyy bored of the shit u were watching on your phone and wanted him to pay some attention to you. So you got up out of his bed and walked over to him slowly.

“babyyy… i’m boreeed, how long is this gonna takeee???” you said while stroking his biceps with your finger gently. The next thing u could hear is some dudes yelling “is that a girl??” “Ivsaagii u got a gf?” Well… that was interesting.

“y/n just a sec.. like 15 more mins.. U COCK SUCKING MOTHER FUCKER FIX YOU FUCKING AIM WHAT THE FUCK!!!!” You really had enough of him yelling, so u took matters in your own hands. Moving him slightly away from his desk so you could fit under it. Isagi just shoot you his ‘what are u doing??’ slightly annoyed look, but u had no intentions in stopping what you started.

You started playing with the waistband of his sweats and by now he already knew what u had in mind, who is he to not agree to some free head tho??

As his bulge grew larger u went from playing with his waistband to palming him thru his sweats as you could slowly see the wet stain forming on them. Breathy moans started escaping from him as soon as he was fully hard, he was still focused on his game tho and u didn’t want that.

You told him to lift his hips a little and then u removed both his sweats and boxers in one swift motion. Pearly white drops of pre were already visible running down his shaft. You took the base of his cock in your hand and in the same time licked his sensitive slit. He left out a whimper and looked down at you which only let him to his downfall.

You on your knees looking like the only thing you had in your mind was making him absolutely pussy drunk. He wasn’t wrong tho, u did want that. The next thing he knows, you are taking him into your mouth inch by inch which earned you a high pitch sound you didn’t even know he was capable of making.

“shit!- don’t stop!! hah~” You could feel the heat in your panties growing larger as he continued to moan into his hand, forgetting he was actually playing a game two minutes ago. Eyes rolled back as he couldn’t stop his hips from moving forward every time you went up to circle your tongue around his tip.

You could feel him getting closer as his length twitched when it meet the back of your throat. U hummed with the intentions of asking him ‘are i close ichi?’ and fuck the way your hum sends jolts of pressure through his whole body, he was on the edge.

“fuck.. fuck- i’m gonna cum!! ahhh! y/n- imcummingimcu-“ His words were cut off by how intense his orgasm was, mouth parted as tears dripped down his face, spilling his seed down your throat making you swallow automatically.

You pulled off to look at his fucked out expression better, and boy the second u looked at him u wanted to suck him till the sunrise.

he’s gonna get another afk warning tonight…

i was 100% thinking with my pussy as i was writing this…. let’s just say im down bad for this version of isagi (white haired sagi better tho) SORRY FOR ANY MISTAKES ITS LIKE 1AM FOR ME I BETTER GO TO SLEEP after i get rid of the insanely big bulge in my pants LMAOOO

Tags: @iqxatlantic @yutamy1beloved @blu3-l0v3r

[unconventional-lawnchair]

Hi I love your fics and was hoping you’d like this request:)) I was thinking a fic with James x fem!reader where she’s a slytherin but not in the stereotypical way that James and the marauders typically see them as. She’s not cold hearted or prejudice, rather quite friendly and very artsy. I was thinking an enemies to lovers where James just generalizes her with the slytherin she doesn’t like so he’s not the kindest to her, but maybe she gets paired up for an assignment with Remus so James ends up having to be around her a bit and realizes she doesn’t suck lol. Think he would definitely have to work for her affection after fumbling the ball so hard but im a sucker for a happy ending!

I hope this sounds like something you’d enjoy writing, if not that’s totally ok too❤️

Masterpiece

James Potter x Slytherin!Reader

Summary: (see above) James Potter goes a little too far with a girl everyone happens to like.

AN: I am so sorry this took so long! I hope you enjoy it <3

CW: not proof read, use of {Y/N}, Jealous and Stupid James, sexual implied ending, Protective salty Remus, self indulgent, cursing, very slight angst, fem reader, not cannon complacent, sexual innuendo,

WC: ~9k

The sky was overcast and the wind was blowing rapidly, causing your sleeves to billow as the very stool you perched on teetered from side to side. You grabbed the seat and tried to steady your perch, holding up your paint brush away from your portrait as the creamy white shade dripped down on your bare legs. 

Dressed in casual clothes, your paint stained denim short overalls and a striped shirt that hid evidence of handprint smears from your absentminded messes. Sleeves rolled up to show your speckled skin already decorated with splotches of white and browns, fresh hazy grays that resembled the foggy ground of Hogwarts and its students. 

“{Y/N} {L/N}?” A voice so calm and careful called out from behind you. You turned and smiled on instinct, your eyes landing on the tall figure. He was also in more casual clothes, a brown cable knit sweater vest over a simple white button down shirt. He was holding up a piece of paper to his eyes before he put it in his pocket. Smiling so kindly, where the corners of his eyes crinkled and his scarred lip curled up to reveal perfectly uneven teeth.

Ballet white.

“Remus Lupin?” You called out to him and he chuckled, taking a few long steps to stand beside you. 

“You were meant to wait for me, you know.” He teased and slipped his hands in his pockets.

“Yeah, I know, I know. But this was the perfect time for it.” You lifted your hands to gesture to the sky and he looked around to try and find what exactly made this 'perfect.’

“How’d you even manage to get in here?” He quizzed and took a seat on the railing. Looking around at the castle grounds from the top of RavenClaw’s tower, you got the perfect view of the astronomy tower, what you were currently painting. 

“There wasn't much convincing involved. Barty Crouch walked me up here.” You smirked and he looked bewildered.

“You know Crouch?” 

“Yeah, I do.”

Remus furrowed his brow as he tried to piece together how he hadn't heard of you before. Seeing as he was meant to be escorting you two and from each Hogwarts house for your own personal study, it seemed unlikely he wouldn't of known of you, getting this particular form of special treatment from the headmaster himself.

Remus walked around you and took a peak at what you were painting. The air so familiar, and comforting, both of you had forgotten you had just met.

“What are you painting?”

“Magical paintings.” You hummed and he furrowed his brow further.

“Don't you usually need a subject?”

“Traditionally.” You muttered and gestured for him to sit down. He listened almost instantly, sitting down on the floor next to you, laying his crutch across his lap. After a moment of pause you shrugged and set your paint aside, shifting to sit beside him on the floor, making him chuckle.

“Do you know how they work?”

“Not a clue.” He shifted to sit and face you fully. Both of you crossed your legs, like tots ready to swap unearthing secrets in the school yard. 

“Well. What you're thinking of is magical portraits. The art of bringing the life of the subject to the painting.” You declared almost breathless. “But that's amature work.” 

He gave a delighted and startled laugh at your bold declaration, but it didn't impede you.

“The true magic is being able to bring life that isn't visible to the naked eye, to visual art forms.” You declared and gestured to your painting. Remus’s eyes flickered up and widened a bit. You gave an excitable bright smile as you both watched the misty fog in your painting shift, the faint stars in the background twinkle against the backdrop, and even the few faint sketches of students within the distant tower moving about. 

“Woah.” He whispered and you nodded eagerly. 

“Isn't it inspiring?” 

“It is.” He agreed instantly before he looked back at you. “But, doesn't it typically take magic from the subject for it to work effectively? How does this work?”

“Well, don't you think Hogwarts is possibly the most magical place in the world?” You argued and he chuckled at how easily you brushed off the question. 

Of course, no one truly knew how it worked. Not that the creator of the art method ever documented his findings. The only clear part of it was not everyone had the knack for it. You were lucky, since you were young, to be able to produce the art even before you got your magic.

You turned to Remus, who was watching with rapt attention.

“Do you want to try?” You offered, a mischievous smile taking over your features that looked startlingly familiar to Remus.

His eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Me? Paint?”

“Why not? You might find you have a hidden talent!” You encouraged, handing him a brush and a palette. 

Reluctantly, he took the brush, glancing at the canvas as if it were a daunting task. Exaggerative hesitation to defile such a beautiful painting. You grinned, ready to guide him through it. Little did you know that in that moment, you had endeared yourself to Remus in a way not many people were able to. 

For the next few hours, well after curfew, you and Remus stayed perched on the RavenClaw tower, as you instructed him on what colors and paints to use. He was doing his best not to ‘ruin it’, which quickly went out the window when, in a moment of playful determination, you covered your hands in black paint and began to stamp your canvas. Convincing him that you truly didn't care what he did to the painting as long as it was fun.

Finally, you both snuck out of the RavenClaw tower as quietly as possible, trying not to wake anyone. Leading to you two in the halls, laughing and joking as he carried your canvas for you. 

“So, you're self taught?” He prodded and you nodded. 

“Yup! Have been doing this since I was.. four? Likely. My mother showed me.” You hummed and he gave a delighted laugh. 

“Really? So you're studying in your free time?”

“Mhm! It's not something that can really be.. taught. So Hogwarts doesn't have classes on it quite yet.” You waved your hand vaguely and he nodded. 

“You're telling me this now, after all that time trying? You got my hopes up, {L/N}.”

You giggled and he put his hand over his heart in fake anguish. 

“I was this close to changing career paths, you know.”

“Oh, I'm sure you were. I could see the headline now: 'Remus Lupin, Future Auror, Turns Painter After One Magical Evening.'” You laughed, nudging him playfully with your elbow. 

He chuckled, shaking his head. “I think I’ll stick to Defense Against the Dark Arts, thank you very much. But this-” He gestured to the covered painting with a soft look. “You turned this mess into something amazing. You're truly talented.”

“I know.” You sang and he laughed, nudging you. 

“I'm serious, you know.”

“Sirius? I thought you were his boyfriend?”

“Oh Merlin, you're as bad as they are.”

You gave a laugh of your own and shoved him back. “Oh, you Marauders? Please tell me you're joking.” 

“No, no, truly. I think you'd get along. Gryffindor tower is next, right?” He prodded as you both entered the hall and stopped just before the dungeons’ entrance.

“Mhm.” 

“I'll see you tomorrow then?” He offered and held out his hand. You took it with a firm shake and you both said your goodbyes, hurrying over to the Slytherin common room.

~~~

“She's quite fun, showed me how to match pallets colors.” Remus rambled on to Lily who gave a delighted laugh at how excited he was to show her his new found artistic ability. They were sitting on the couch together, and he was exposing to her why his newest sweater vest was absolutely ruined 

“She sounds lovely.” Lily hummed, Sirius smirking from his spot between Remus’s knees, looking up at him. Eyes closed as one of the werewolf’s hands tangled in his loches of hair. 

“So lovely you should just marry her.” Sirius teased and Remus glared at him, giving a particularly rough tug at his boyfriend's hair. Sirius giving a chuckle and biting his lip. “I see no punishment here.”

“You-”

“Whose getting hitched?” James piped up from the stairs, jogging over and hopping onto the couch. Making the cushions bounce a bit as he got comfortable. “Evans, how can you let this happen? A Hogwarts marriage that's not our own?”

Lily gave a sigh and rolled her eyes, gathering her things and saying her goodbyes to Remus and Sirius, giving James the cold shoulder with a simple ‘Potter’ as he put his hand over his chest and sunk further into the cushions. 

“She says that name like it won't be hers someday.” He sighed fondly before he turned to look at the other two. “Where's Wormy?”

“He's on a date with a Hufflepuff.” Sirius snickered. “Some seventh year dude.”

“Huh.” James muttered and looked at the ceiling. “Didn't think he'd be the type to date older.”

“Yeah well-” Before Sirius could continue, Remus’s head peaked up from the couch when there was a knock on the portrait door. 

“That her?” Sirius asked as Remus slugged out of his seat to get around his clingy boyfriend. 

“Likely!” He shouted back and James tilted his head like a confused puppy.

“Who?” He quizzed Sirius and he smirked up at James.

“{Y/N} {L/N}, the artist extraordinaire.” Sirius replied with mock seriousness, adjusting his position to climb onto the couch. “Remus has been raving about her all evening.”

“{Y/N} {L/N}? Where have I heard of her before?” James leaned in, his curiosity piqued. “Oh! That paint girl? One who has been doing those weird paint studies around school?”

“Yeah, that’s her.” Sirius replied, grinning. “Apparently, she's doing some self study. Remus was practically glowing when he talked about her.”

James’s eyes widened with intrigue. “That’s brilliant! I’ve heard whispers about her- it’s supposed to be absolutely mesmerizing.”

“I wouldn't go that far.” You interjected, stepping through the portrait hole just in time to catch the end of the conversation. You were slightly out of breath, having hurried from the Slytherin dungeons to the Gryffindor tower, your paint-stained overalls still evidence of your artistic endeavors from yesterday. Looking around at the beautiful common room. A very faded almost gray-green scarf around your neck.

Burnt Scarlet and Butterscotch

The room fell silent as all eyes turned toward you. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.” You teased with a playful grin, glancing around at the familiar faces of the infamous boys. Sirius was looking you over curiously, with his typical sleazy grin, but James seemed absolutely slack jawed. After a moment of a wait you gave a small laugh, snapping James out of whatever trance he was in. Turning to look at Remus who had his eyes locked on your paints, making you smile.

His eyes flicked up to yours and he grinned back cheekily. “Where should I set up?”

“Over here, near the window.” He gestured over to a small nook. You hurried over and set your things down. Starting of course with a small tarp to set up your painting area without having to worry about ruining the flooring.

You set up two canvas this time and Remus helped you, confused at first before you set another pallet and paint brush down. “Alright, my student. Do you remember what I taught you?” You teased and he laughed, walking over to pick up the paint.

“You didn't have the bring this just for me.”

“Oh I know, how great am I, right?” You teased and sat down. Remus was still getting used to your deflective personality. Shrugging as he sat down and watched as you worked. Doing his best to copy your movements.

Meanwhile, Sirius and James were watching the scene curiously. Sirius couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy at the attention his boyfriend was giving this new girl, and James was unable to get over the fading color of your scarf. His jaw clenched a bit as he watched Lily walk over to introduce herself, also somehow roped in by your charm and even sitting down with you two to watch you paint.

James leaned back on the couch, arms crossed as he watched the interaction unfold before him. The sight of you, animated and joyful as you explained your artistic process to Remus and Lily, stirred something in him. It wasn't just the way you wielded your paintbrush with such confidence; it was the warmth that radiated from you. You were a Slytherin, so obviously, but you held the room like a Gryffindor. You worked with the precision of a RavenClaw. You were patient and thoughtful with Remus and his questions, like a HufflePuff.

He didn't get it.

“Oi, Prongs, you look like you’ve just swallowed a lemon.” Sirius whispered, nudging James with his elbow. “What’s got you all broody?”

“Nothin.” James replied, too quickly, his eyes still fixed on you. “Just… watching.”

Sirius followed his eyes and slowly smirked to himself. “She's getting under your skin too, huh?” 

James glanced at Sirius before his glare locked back on you as you instructed Lily to take your paintbrush and gestured to the canvas he couldn't see. “What's her deal? Why's she so.. smiley?” 

The ‘as a Slytherin’ part came unspoken to both of the boys.

“You know, Remus says she knows Crouch.” 

“Of course she does.” He muttered, eyes locked on the way you rolled up your sleeve and cuffed them. How you loosened your collar, and leaned down, showing the upper valley to your-

And suddenly the floor was a bit more interesting. He turned to look at Sirius who’s lip twitched as he watched Remus rub his thumb across his cheek and smudge some black paint on himself.

“... Merlin, he's bloody fit, ain't he?” Sirius muttered and James gave a loud exaggerated groan.

“I'm shocked Remus is entertaining her at all.” James finally muttered and sunk deeper into his sheet like a pouty child. Sirius nodded.

James watched with narrowed eyes as you laughed along with Remus and Lily, his annoyance bubbling up to the surface. Without really thinking it through, he pushed himself up from the couch, making his way over to where you were sitting with the paintbrushes and palettes laid out neatly.

He made it look casual, like he was just getting a better view, but as he stepped closer, his foot "accidentally" caught the jar of paint water perched near the edge of the table. It tipped, and time seemed to slow as the murky water splashed all over your leggings that just peaked form under your overalls, staining the fabric a dark, ugly color.

"Oh! Whoops, sorry 'bout that," James said, not quite managing to hide the smirk tugging at his lips. His tone was just on the edge of sincere, but the glint in his eyes gave him away.

You glanced down at the mess, then up at James, and for a moment it seemed like the whole room held its breath. James just waiting for the snake to snap its jaws at him. But instead of getting angry, instead of snapping at him like he expected, you just smiled- a bright, genuine smile that made James's stomach twist uncomfortably.

"No worries, Potter.” You mused, brushing it off as if nothing had happened. "A bit of extra color never hurt anyone."

James blinked, taken aback. He hadn’t expected that. He muttered something that might have been an apology, but the way you smiled at him; completely unbothered- only made his irritation flare up more. He turned sharply on his heel, stalking back to the couch where Sirius was watching with an amused expression.

"Smooth, mate," Sirius drawled, arching an eyebrow.

"Shut it," James muttered, sinking back into his seat, his eyes flicking back to you as you continued painting like nothing had happened.

---

Over the next few days, James found himself increasingly irked by you. No matter what he did, you never seemed fazed. He "accidentally" knocked over your brushes during lunch one day, scattering them across the floor. You just laughed, picking them up without complaint. He charmed your canvas to keep sliding down whenever you set it up, but you only adjusted it each time, humming to yourself as if it were all just part of the process. He even tried to charm the colors in your palette to mix into a murky brown- but you simply shrugged, saying something about it being a "happy little accident" and turned it into a whole new painting.

Each time, you just smiled at him, that infuriatingly calm smile that made James feel like he was the one being childish. It was driving him mad, and Sirius, for one, found the whole thing endlessly entertaining.

One morning, James was sitting in the Great Hall, absently poking at his breakfast, when he heard a determined set of footsteps approaching. He looked up just in time to see you standing over him, hands on your hips, your eyes sharp. If James was a smarter boy, he would of been able to see the faint red rims around your eye sockets and the twitch of your lip.

"Potter.” You huffed, your voice carrying just enough edge to catch the attention of the surrounding students. "Give it back."

James blinked, feigning innocence. "Give what back?"

"Don't play dumb.” You snapped, leaning over the table, your face inches from his. "My paintbrush. The one with the silver handle. I know you took it."

James opened his mouth to deny it, but the look in your eyes made him hesitate. There was something different today- a fire that hadn’t been there before. He was finally getting a reaction from you. He felt his resolve waver, and before he could stop himself, he found his hand reaching into his robes, to pull out the paintbrush in question. Only.. it wasn't there.

James blinked, his smirk faltering as he patted the pocket where he thought he’d stashed your paintbrush. It wasn’t there. A pang of unease settled in his chest as he searched through the other pockets of his robes, the smirk fading completely as he came up empty-handed.

“Are you kidding me?” You straightened, your eyes narrowing. “Potter, don’t play games right now. That brush… it’s important to me.”

There was a crack in your voice, something raw that caught James off guard. The confidence you always carried seemed to waver, your voice betraying a vulnerability that made James's stomach sink with guilt.

“I… I swear it was right here,” James muttered, now frantically checking every inch of his robes, his face growing paler with each empty pocket. The students around them had grown quiet, sensing the sudden seriousness of the situation.

Remus was glaring daggers into his very soul, even Sirius hid his face away in his hand.

You stood there, arms crossed tightly over your chest, your lips pressed together as you fought to maintain composure. You looked away from him, swallowing hard. “Potter, that was my mother’s. She gave it to me before…” You trailed off, your voice breaking slightly before you cleared your throat, trying to regain control.

James’s heart sank. He hadn’t known. He hadn’t thought. All he’d wanted was to rile you up, to see you react. He hadn’t meant for this.

“Alright,” He said quickly, standing up from the table. His voice was more earnest now, the usual cockiness gone. “I’ll help you find it. It must have fallen out somewhere. Let’s go check my dorm.”

You didn’t say anything, just nodded stiffly, blinking rapidly as you turned on your heel and started walking, James trailing after you. The Great Hall was eerily quiet as they left, whispers following in their wake.

“She's too damn nice.” Remus muttered and Sirius sighed. About to say something, before he earned a glare from Remus too. 

Lily tutted. “As if you weren't involved in anything he's done to her so far.”

~~~

The walk to the Gryffindor common room felt like it took forever, the silence between the two of you heavy. James kept glancing at you out of the corner of his eye, the way your jaw was clenched, the way you kept your eyes straight ahead, refusing to meet his gaze.

When they reached the boys' dormitory, James immediately began tearing through his things, searching every nook and cranny. He pulled open drawers, checked under his bed, even rummaged through the pockets of his other robes. But the paintbrush was nowhere to be found.

He turned to you, his hands dropping to his sides in defeat. “I… I’m so sorry, {Y/N}, I can’t find it. Maybe it fell somewhere else, maybe-”

“Stop,” You cut him off, your voice barely a whisper. Your eyes were glassy, tears welling up as you looked at him. The fight you’d been trying to keep inside seemed to crumble all at once, your shoulders sagging as you sank down onto the edge of his bed. “It’s gone, isn’t it?”

James stared at you, his heart aching at the sight of you like this. He’d never imagined he’d see you cry, and knowing he was the cause of it made him feel worse than he ever thought possible. Suddenly all those weeks of trying to get under your skin seemed more of a success, if this was the result of a truly damaging prank.

“I…” He didn’t know what to say, how to fix this. He knelt down in front of you, his voice gentle. “I’ll find it, I promise. I’ll look everywhere, I’ll…”

You shook your head, a tear slipping down your cheek. “It’s not just a paintbrush, Potter. It was hers. It was all I had left of her.”

James’s chest tightened, and he reached out, hesitating for a moment before placing a hand on your knee. “I’m so sorry. I… I’ll do whatever it takes to make it up to you. I’ll find it. I swear I will.”

You looked down at his hand, then back at him, your eyes filled with a mixture of pain and exhaustion. “Just… don’t,” You whispered, your voice breaking. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Potter.”

And with that, you stood up, wiping at your eyes as you turned and left the dormitory, leaving James there, staring after you, feeling more helpless than he ever had before.

~~~

James had never felt guilt like this. It gnawed at him, making his usual swagger feel empty. Over the next few days, he found himself constantly scanning the corridors, the classrooms, even the common rooms, hoping to catch a glimpse of you but you were always just out of reach. Each time he spotted you, you either turned and walked the other way or simply looked right through him as if he didn't exist.

It wasn't long before the whole school knew what had happened. How James Potter had lost something precious of yours, something irreplaceable. And unlike other times, where his mischief had earned him admiration or laughter, this time he received disapproving glares and whispers behind his back. How he hurt the only Slytherin everyone seemed to adore. Even Remus had given him the cold shoulder for a while, and Lily refused to talk to him outright.

One day, after Transfiguration, James caught sight of you slipping out of the classroom. He hurried to catch up, weaving through the crowd of students, his heart pounding in his chest. When he finally reached you, he touched your arm gently.

“{Y/N}, please, just give me a second.”

You turned slowly, your eyes meeting his. There was a guardedness there that hadn’t been before, a wall that you had built between yourself and him. It hurt more than James could put into words.

Even then, you took time to notice; Cinnamon Brown in his eyes.

 James Potter was used to rejection, Lily Evans ran him like it was a damned sport, but something about your usually positive beaming face turning to a frown at the sight of him wrecked him.

“What do you want, Potter?” You asked, your voice tired, as if dealing with him was just another chore.

He swallowed, struggling to find the right words. “I’m sorry. Really. I never meant for things to go this far. I’ve been looking for your brush, I swear it. I… I just want to make it up to you.”

You sighed, crossing your arms over your chest. “There’s nothing you can do, alright? Just leave it, Potter.”

“But-”

“No,” You said firmly. “I don’t want anything to do with you. You’ve done enough. I- I thought you were funny, that you could tell a good joke. Take one too. But this- no. No, just leave me be, Potter.”

James flinched at your words, the finality of them cutting deeper than he expected. He watched as you turned and walked away, the distance between you growing with every step.

~~~

James's heart sank deeper with each day that passed without a sign of the lost paintbrush. He had scoured the castle, enlisted the help of some of his housemates, and even tried asking around discreetly in other houses, but to no avail. It was as if the brush had vanished into thin air, leaving behind a growing rift between him and you.

Sitting in the Gryffindor common room, James slumped on a couch, staring blankly at the fire crackling in the hearth. Sirius and Remus were there too, the latter still showing signs of his displeasure over the whole ordeal.

"I messed up, didn't I?" James murmured, not really expecting an answer.

"You did.” Remus deadpanned, not looking up from his book. "And you know it's not just about the brush. It's about how you've been treating her from the start."

Sirius, lounging with his back against the armrest, watched James closely. "You've been a right prat, Prongs- even I gave in after the first prank.” He remarked and avoided Remus’s slight glare. “You didn't just step on her toes, you danced the bloody Tango on them."

James sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I don't know what's wrong with me. I just wanted to get a rise out of her, see her react. But now... I can't stop thinking about how I made her feel. It's like I'm seeing myself for the first time and it's not a pretty picture."

"Sounds like you've got it bad," Sirius said with a smirk.

Remus closed his book, finally giving James his full attention, not exactly happy with what he was hearing. "It's not just guilt, James. It's empathy. You're finally understanding the impact of your actions on others."

James looked from Sirius to Remus, the realization slowly dawning on him. "It's not like I like her. She's just.. pretty. You know, I hate to see a pretty face so upset.” He scoffed and looked back to Sirius who arched his eyebrow and smirked wider as he realized his remark wasn't as playful as he intended.

“That right?” Sirius pushed and James huffed. 

“That’s right.”

“When was the last time you bothered poor Evans?” Sirius challenged and Remus gave a low groan. Great, James just couldn't leave his friends alone. 

He watched in a bit of sympathy as the dumb boys jaw slowly went limp and his eyes widened. “Merlin, I think I like her.” He mumbled in absolute dread. “Like really like her. And I've gone and ruined it before it could even start."

"Well, you can't undo what you've done, but you can start making amends," Remus advised, a softer tone replacing his earlier reprimand.

"How? She doesn’t even want to see me," James lamented.

"Give her time and show her you've changed.. And Merlin, don't do this just to win her over." Remus huffed.

James pondered, his gaze drifting toward the flickering fire. "What if she never forgives me?"

"Then you’ll learn a valuable lesson in respect, won't you?" Remus said sternly. "You can't force forgiveness, James. All you can do is prove that you're better than your worst mistake."

“Does Merlin speak straight through you?” James muttered to Remus who swatted him with the book across his lap, before standing. 

“I need new friends.” He mumbled as he walked away.

Sirius laughed and James pouted, sinking back into the cushions of the couch. Pondering what would be the next best move when earning your forgiveness. He could live with never being with you, he always found the concept of lost love romantic. 

What he couldn't do was live knowing he hurt you without even trying for your forgiveness.

~~~

For the next few weeks, Hogwarts transformed into an entirely different realm for James. Determined to right his wrongs, he threw himself into the role of a repentant suitor with the zeal of a true 70s romantic hero; one who was more often clumsy than charming.

One morning at breakfast, armed with an armful of apology notes penned in his best handwriting (which still looked suspiciously like chicken scratch), James tried to navigate the treacherous waters of your friends’ skepticism and Barty’s disdain. He handed out his notes, his voice tinged with hopeful earnestness that made a few of your friends stifle their giggles. “Could you- um, would you make sure {Y/N} gets these? They’re, well, important.” His cheeks flamed red as he stumbled over his words, but the sincerity in his eyes earned him a few nods. The stuttering and foolish boy even earning a smile from Pandora Rosier who assured him she'd ‘do her best.’

He was getting desperate, at every shred of attention you spared him. During potions class, James attempted to be your knight in shining armor, which, predictably, went about as well as a troll in a ballet shop. When he noticed you struggling to reach a vial of newt eyes on a high shelf, he leapt up, nearly knocking over his own cauldron in his eagerness to assist. “Allow me!” 

But his overly enthusiastic grab sent the vial spinning into the air, only to crash down right next to Slughorn’s feet, splattering the hem of his robes with an unsightly goo. 

“Sorry, Professor!” James winced, while you suppressed a snicker at the sheer absurdity of his gallantry. Graveling even as he was sentenced to detention.

Now, James knew that if he wanted to be truthful with you it started with his behaviors. Which, started with him being truly himself. So, much to Remus’s annoyance, James turned to grander gestures. 

He managed to convince the house elves to let him borrow the kitchens for an evening to bake you a peace offering. Armed with sugar, flour, and an overabundance of misplaced confidence, he set about creating what he envisioned would be a culinary masterpiece. The result was a lopsided cake with icing that read, "Forgive me?" in wobbly letters. Only, half of the cake was callapsed, making it seem much more like a command of “give me”. 

He presented it to you during dinner, his hands shaking slightly as he placed it on the table. The entire Great Hall watched in anticipation as you took a bite. The cake was oddly salty, but when your lips twitched into a reluctant smile, James felt a surge of pure elation. Maybe, just maybe, his efforts were thawing your icy regard.

He even tried serenading you one evening in the common room, guitar in hand- a skill he had hastily learned over the past week. His voice cracked more than once, and the guitar was slightly out of tune, but he sang with such heartfelt passion that even the portraits along the walls seemed to listen in. He crooned to you, mangling the melody as he went. You watched, half-amused and half-astonished, as this boy who’d never shown an interest in music before butchered the song with endearing enthusiasm. Everyone in your common room appalled.

Through it all, James's exploits became the talk of Hogwarts. Whispers followed him everywhere- some mocking, others admiring. Some even amused that his attention had switched from Lily Evans, to you after years of pining. But beneath the laughter and the rumors, a thread of respect grew among his peers. Here was James Potter, chasing redemption as doggedly as he’d once chased after mischief.

Late one night, as James sat by the fire reflecting on his recent life choices, Sirius plopped down next to him, slinging an arm over his shoulders. “Prongs, you’re a bleeding heart wrapped in a jester’s cloak,” Sirius shook his head with a grin.

James laughed, running a hand through his tousled hair. “I just need to know she forgives me, Padfoot. That I’ve made things right.”

“Well, mate, at the very least, you’ve given the whole school a good show,” Sirius chuckled. “And who knows? Maybe our little Slytherin is writing her own notes now; ‘How to Tame Your Marauder’ or something more poetic.”

James smiled, gazing into the flickering flames, hopeful and a bit wiser. In his quest to win your forgiveness, he’d stumbled across something unexpected. Something worth it. Not just you, but a desire- no, need- to better himself. Every time he saw you smile, made you laugh, roll your eyes, he wanted to be someone better. Someone who deserved to find themselves feeling the magic of being in love with a girl like {Y/N} {L/N}.

And maybe he'd even find himself worthy of her affection in return.

~~~

It all came to a head one day when he was scouring the school once again for your paintbrush. He had lost track of time in his mindless routine and forgotten about potions class. He was a half hour late, dashing into the classroom in a ruffled mess.

His breathless arrival didn’t go unnoticed, especially by you, who eyed him warily from your spot at the potions bench. Professor Slughorn eyed him with a mixture of irritation and curiosity. 

“Mr. Potter, so kind of you to join us,” Slughorn boomed, sarcasm heavy in his tone. “Twenty points from Gryffindor for your tardiness, it's almost as if you left to miss my instruction specifically.” 

James grimaced but still tried to flash his playful smile that usually meant a clap back or snark. Instead, it was his form of a hesitant apology. “Sorry Professor-”

“I am not going over the instructions for Amortentia a third time today, is anyone willing to assist Mr. Potter?” Slughorn announced form the front of the class. There was a long moment of silence. Even with everyone slowly growing fond of him, no one was willing to drag down such an important project for the foolish boy.

Then, from across the room, your voice cut through the tension. "I can help him, Professor," you said, your voice calm but with an edge that didn’t entirely mask your reluctance. Everyone's heads turned towards you, including a visibly surprised James.

"Very well, {Y/N}. Please ensure Mr. Potter catches up without disrupting the rest of the class," Slughorn replied with a nod, turning back to his notes.

James approached your bench, a mix of gratitude and nervousness evident on his face. As he took the seat next to you, he whispered, "Thank you, I really mean it."

As James settled beside you at the potions bench, his hands fumbled slightly with the equipment. Slughorn, having returned to the front of the class, continued with his lecture, oblivious to the dramatic love story unfolding at the back.

James cleared his throat softly, his voice barely above a whisper. "Really, {Y/N}, thanks for helping me out here. I know I've been... well, less than admirable lately."

You didn't look at him immediately, focusing instead on measuring out rose thorns with precision. "Just start by adding these to the cauldron slowly.” You instructed, handing him the thorns. "And stir- don't let it settle."

As he followed your instructions, his movements were careful, mirroring the cautious tone he was taking with you. After a moment, you finally met his gaze. "You've been trying hard, haven't you?" You muttered, not unkindly. Your eyes drifting over his focused expression and having to fight a smile.

James paused, the stirring rod in his hand still. "I have. I want to make things right, not just with you but... well, I've been thinking a lot about things I've done. I'm sorry, truly."

You watched him, the sincerity in his eyes striking a chord that made your heart ache. What had you done to the famous James Potter? His efforts over the past few weeks hadn’t gone unnoticed- it was quite entertaining. From the awkwardly presented cake to his out-of-tune serenades, his actions spoke far more than his words ever did. "I've noticed.” You whispered. "It's been hard to miss, really. Hogwarts hasn't been this entertaining in years."

A small smile twitched at the corners of his mouth. "I guess I've made a bit of a spectacle of myself."

"Just a bit.” You chuckled, the tension easing between you as the familiar rhythm of your banter found its footing again.

Encouraged by that sweet sound of your laugh and the pretty way your lips curled into a smile he just adored-, James continued, "If there’s any chance I could, you know, maybe start over? I’d understand if not but-"

"You're really laying it on thick with the humility, Potter. It’s a good look on you.” You teased gently, turning back to the potion, which was now bubbling contentedly. "Let's just take it one day at a time. But, yeah, we can start with being friends."

James let out a breath he seemed to have been holding, relief washing over him. "Friends, right. And if you ever want to throw more paint at me, just say when."

"Be careful, I might take you up on that.” You warned with a playful grin.

As the class progressed, you both fell into an easy rhythm, the earlier awkwardness replaced by a budding conversation. James was surprisingly adept once he focused, and you found yourself laughing more genuinely than you had in a while at his self-deprecating jokes and clumsy yet earnest attempts at potion-making.

By the end of the class, not only had you two successfully brewed a passable batch of Amortentia, which thankfully didn't smell like sweat and regret. James had shown you a different side of himself, one that was humbly trying to make amends and move forward. And as you packed up your supplies, sharing a light joke about the day's mishaps, it felt like a fresh start was truly possible.

James took the chance to smile back at Remus and Sirius. Sirius seemed delighted for him, and Remus seemed hesitant. But it was okay, because you hadn't just forgiven him. You were willing to be his friend.

~~~

James slowly realised that being your friend was likely one of the best feelings he's had in a while. He thought everyone you had met were your friends, considering how sweet and lovely you were with everyone. 

But he was wrong.

There was a crazy side to you that only a small few saw. He learned it quickly, that you were sweet, kind, understanding- yes.

But you were an absolute gremlin when you wanted to be.

James discovered this one evening when you invited him to join you for a late-night painting session- a tradition you shared with a select few. Remus told him about them, but he never really understood just how amazing it felt to have your full attention like this. He had anticipated a serene evening, maybe learning a bit more about your magical painting techniques. Instead, he found himself in the middle of a chaotic spree of creativity that involved more prank-like antics than actual painting.

How in the bloody hell had he not known you properly?

As James entered the room, he was immediately hit by a flying glob of paint. It splattered across his face, dripping down his cheek. He stood, stunned for a moment, before hearing your laughter from behind an easel.

“Oh Potter, rule one. Never let your guard down.” You taunted and quickly hurried over to your canvas. Able to notice how the bright pink paint clung to his Jet Black hair.

Wiping the paint off with a sleeve, James couldn’t help but laugh, feeling a spark of challenge light up within him. "Oh, it’s on, {Y/N}." He responded, grabbing a palette loaded with vibrant colors.

What ensued was a wild mess of laughter, artistic ‘attacks,’ and impromptu paint duels that left both of you covered in every hue imaginable. Hindsight is 20/20- he shouldn't of worn his school robes. It was during these moments, dodging your playful ambushes and crafting hasty shields out of canvas boards, that James realized how comfortable he felt around you. Your laughter became a soundtrack he looked forward to, and your approving nods at his clumsy attempts at art warmed him more than he expected.

“It's humiliating how good you're getting at this.” You teased from your perch on a stool, James chuckled and playfully flipped you off.

“So much sass. And if I credited this to my teacher?”

“You should, I'm bloody good.” You laughed, wiping your nose before sneezing away some of the wet paint you forgot was on your hand.

That night became a normal accurance, it was like you two never fought. You two would find yourself laying on a tarp full of paint. You were laying on your back with your legs against the wall, and he was sitting with his back against said wall. Both of you looking off into dead space as you both talked about the most random and ridiculous things; from the controversial taste of pasties to the value and control one had over each other's fates.

“You know, everytime I come here, I remember why I've fallen for you.”

His words came out before he could stop himself. His jaw dropped at his own broken honesty, horrified that he had ruined the moment. 

After a moment of silence, he looked down to see you smiling at the ceiling. 

“Is that so?”

James swallowed thick and clenched his jaw a bit.

“Yeah.”

“That's awfully sweet of you.”

Your words were light, but they carried a weight that settled over James with an unexpected warmth. He watched you, admiring the serene expression on your face, highlighted by the ambient light that filtered through the scattered paint jars around you. He welcomed the twist of his gut like an old friend.

"I mean it, though," James continued, a hint of vulnerability in his voice as he leaned his head back against the wall, his gaze still fixed on you. "You make it easy to be myself, to be better. You've turned what started as a mess into something... pretty great."

“And isn't that just life?” You teased softly. “Sappy, messy, and yet an absolute masterpiece.”

“Is that what you truly believe?”

“Maybe. Or maybe I just say what makes sense to me in the moment.”

“You're a pain.” He chuckled and looked down, seeing your smile had grown tenfold. Your nose scrunching up and the corners of your eyes wrinkling.

James couldn't resist the infectious energy of your smile. It pulled a laugh from deep within him, a genuine, carefree sound that filled the room- he was screwed. "You're brilliant, you know that? Absolutely infuriating, but brilliant."

You shifted to sit up, leaning against the wall next to him, paint smears marking both your faces and clothes. "I'll take that as a compliment, Potter. Coming from you, it means quite a lot."

And that was all. James hadn't even registered your soft rejection, just relieved you seemed to accept him regardless. He leaned his head on your shoulder and you flicked off some stray pain from his nose. He smiled, all teeth, before he got up and forced you to your feet. Pulling you into a dance that made you cackle like a proper witch. And that was enough. To see you so bloody happy was enough.

~~~

James learned to share you quickly. With Barty always on your heel or Pandora hovering listlessly at your side. 

He even grew accustomed to seeing you draped in the easy camaraderie of Ravenclaws and your fellow Slytherins, your infectious laugh filling the spaces you all occupied together. It was during these times that James learned to appreciate you in a new light- not just as a friend or a fleeting crush, but as a vibrant part of his Hogwarts experience.

It wasn’t always easy, of course. The sting of his previous actions lingered like a shadow at the edge of his thoughts, a reminder of the consequences of his thoughtlessness. Yet, each shared smile and each shared conversation with you wove a new thread of respect and affection into the fabric of his daily life.

As winter deepened and the snow began to blanket Hogwarts, bringing with it the festive buzz of the upcoming holiday season, James found himself more reflective. The common room was often aglow with the warm light of the fire, students gathered around in cozy clusters, and it was here that James found a new sense of belonging. Not just as a Marauder, but as a friend among a wider circle that included you.

One chilly evening, as the wind howled outside and the frost painted delicate patterns on the castle windows, James approached you with a tentative peace offering- a sketchbook. Its cover was a simple, deep blue, but inside, he had taken the time to fill the first page with a clumsy yet earnest attempt at a magical painting. It wasn’t animated like yours, but the colors were vibrant, a silent testament to his efforts to understand your world.

You accepted the sketchbook with a surprised chuckle, flipping through the blank pages before pausing at his painting. “This is for me?” You asked, a softness in your voice that hadn’t been there before.

“Yeah,” James nodded, shoving his hands in his pockets, looking uncharacteristically shy. “I thought… well, I thought you could use it to capture the winter. I know it’s not magical like yours, but-”

“It’s perfect, James,” You interrupted, a sincere smile breaking across your face. “Really. Thank you.”

That smile, that simple moment, seemed to close a chapter on the earlier tensions between you two.

“Of course, it's not free.”

“Id expect nothing less.” You teased and he chuckled. 

“Quiddich. You never go to the games. All I ask, next week, come and cheer me on?” He offered and you couldn't up but laugh. “Are you asking for a lucky charm, Potter?”

”Not any Lucky charm. Mine.” 

~~~

The day of the Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Slytherin arrived with the usual buzz of excitement and rivalry. The stands were packed, a sea of red and green as students cheered boisterously for their respective houses. James, his nerves on edge, had been secretly looking forward to seeing you in the crowd, especially after your promise to wear Gryffindor red. It was a small victory, but for him, it meant the world.

However, as he scanned the crowd from his broom high above, his heart sank a little. There you were, indeed wrapped in a bold, red scarf, but still cheering enthusiastically for Slytherin. The sight was confusing and, if he was honest with himself, a bit disappointing. Throughout the match, James tried to focus on the game, but his eyes inevitably kept drifting back to you. Each cheer for Slytherin felt like a playful taunt, and his competitive spirit took a hit each time.

Despite his best efforts, the game didn't go well for Gryffindor. Slytherin was sharp, coordinated, and relentless. When the Slytherin seeker caught the Snitch, sealing their victory, a wave of green cheers swept the stands. James landed his broom with a tight expression, his disappointment not just in the loss, but in the mixed signals you seemed to be sending.

The teams made their way back to the locker rooms amidst mixed reactions from the crowd. While his team consoled each other and talked about what went wrong, James couldn’t shake off his gloom. He avoided the usual post-game mingling, instead heading straight for the Gryffindor common room, his mood as dark as the clouds above.

As he slumped into an armchair by the fire, the common room mostly empty due to the ongoing celebrations outside, Remus and Sirius walked in. They took one look at him and exchanged a glance.

“Tough game, Prongs,” Sirius said, clapping him on the shoulder.

“Yeah. And I guess the whole wearing-red thing didn’t mean what I thought it did,” James muttered, not meeting his friends' eyes.

Remus, ever the perceptive one, added softly, “Maybe there’s more to it, James. Did you ask her about it?”

Before James could respond, the portrait hole opened, and you stepped in, still wearing the red scarf, your expression a mix of concern and determination. Seeing you, Sirius and Remus excused themselves with knowing smiles, leaving the two of you alone.

James, as avoidant as ever and riddled with emotions he didn't want to confront, stood sharply and turned towards his dormitory. You gawked at him before furrowing your eyebrows in annoyance, a pout taking over your expression. You hurried after him.

“What's wrong, Jamie?”

Oh Merlin.

“I don't want to talk to you.” James hissed out and shoved his way into his room. You huffed and shoved the door open and walked in, closing the door behind yourself.

“You're not being very fair right now. I'm sorry I couldn't win the game for you but-”

“Do not make this about the win.” 

“What is this about then, Jamie? I don't get it!” 

“Stop calling me that.” He hissed and turned to face you, making you flinch. 

“What's gotten into you?” You pushed cautiously and James scoffed.

“I can't do this! I don't get you!” He strained. “I tell you I've fallen for you and you brushed it off. I ask you to cheer for me and you show up in red, cheering for Slytherin!”

“James, it's my house.” You muttered softly and you saw his shoulders sag.

“Yeah but- I just figured-” He gave a long shaky sigh. Turning around and sitting on the bed, running his hands over his face.

You moved closer, taking a seat next to him on the bed, your own emotions swirling. Even then you were able to take notice. His teeth were strained by his jaw, yet they held the same Ballet White. His robes shimmering with Burnt Scarlet and Butterscotch. His eyes that locked onto yours so vulnerable, giving that perfect Cinnamon Brown. Then the way his hair shagged over his Jet Black lochs. You couldn't look away. Not from all your favorite colors.

“James, I wore red because you asked me to. I thought it was a way to show you that... that I care. But I'm still a Slytherin, and my friends were down there on that field too. I was cheering for them, not against you."

James looked at you, the frustration softening in his eyes as he processed your words. "I know, I know. It's just... everything got mixed up in my head. Seeing you there, in red, but not for Gryffindor. It felt like you were there, but not really with me."

You took his hand gently, squeezing it. "I was there for you, James. Maybe not in the way you expected, but I was there because you matter to me. I cheered for Slytherin, but I wore your favorite color. Can't I support both?"

James let out a small laugh, the tension easing from his shoulders. "When you put it like that, it sounds perfectly reasonable. I just... I guess I let the game get to me more than I should have."

"You're passionate, that's not a bad thing. But sometimes, you might see competition where there's just... affection." You offered him a small smile, hoping to lighten the mood further.

He returned your smile, this time with more warmth. "Affection, huh? So, you admit there’s something?" James teased, trying to shift back to his usual playful demeanor.

"Maybe I do.” You teased back, nudging him lightly. "But don't let it go to your head. We still have a lot to figure out, starting with how to handle house rivalries during Quidditch matches."

James chuckled, his spirits visibly lifted. "We'll figure it out. As long as it means I get to see you in Gryffindor red, maybe I can even cheer for Slytherin once in a while."

"That’s a deal.” You agreed, feeling the gap between you closing as the misunderstanding cleared up.

Just then, the door burst open, and Sirius poked his head in, a mischievous grin on his face. "Are we all forgiven and friendly now? Because there’s a victory party for Slytherin, and I was hoping to steal your girl for a dance, Prongs."

James rolled his eyes, but his smile was genuine. "Only if you promise to bring her back, Padfoot."

You laughed, standing up and offering James a hand up. "Let’s go then. And maybe we can start a new tradition- dancing together, no matter who wins the match."

James took your hand, standing and pulling you into a quick, grateful hug. "Sounds like a perfect plan."

Before he could pull away fully, you stole a quick kiss against his cheek. He gave a startled huff, staring at you with wide eyes. Before he could scamper out any response, or even kiss you back, you pulled away and sent him a wink. Hurrying after a laughing Sirius as he took your arm like a gentleman would.

It took James two to three business days for his system to turn back on. “H-hey, wait!” He shouted after you, stumbling over himself and hitting his foot against the bed. Giving a small curse before he stumbled back after you, not hearing the soft clank of something falling from between his head board and the dresser. 

Later that night, you two would find your mother's paintbrush, nestled between his bed posts and pillows. 

What were you doing in James Potter’s bed so late? 

Experiencing a masterpiece.

[munv]

Suguru’s jealousy simmers. It’s barely noticeable, but its there. And you come to this realization when he denies you of your cause.

“no.”

“Just this once suguru, come on!”

“Hell no”

He’s currently wrapped in his towel, hair loose and dripping and no shirt. Fresh from the shower you presume. Yet, he wears this irritated face as if he managed to convert all that hot water from his shower into anger.

A snicker comes from the bed, following by a haughty voice. “What’d ya do to make him so pissed, I wonder?” He glances up for a second, eyes fixing on your figure as you reach for another product on your vanity.

“Satoru, you arent taking this seriously.” Suguru bites back. He eyes his white counterpart, who is currently scrolling on his phone without a care in the world.

You roll your eyes at the two before going back to fixing your makeup. “The girls and I will be gone for like, an hour at best. Im not gonna get swiped the second I go outside.”

“Like that you probably will.” Satoru chimes in, again.

“People like you are the reason others feel the need to end it.” You snark

“Love you too sweets” That little fucker is taunting instead of helping your case, how useful.

You watch as Suguru approaches you from the mirror and leans over your figure. “Suguru, you’re gonna get me wet!”

“Where?”

“You know what I mean” He gives a boyish laugh before tracing his hands across your collarbone. Bending down to whisper in your ear as he drapes himself over you. Closer and closer to your face.

“Eugh, your shower evidence is gonna seep into my clothes, off. Now!”

“Quit being sassy. You really thought you’d go out looking this good? I cant stress this enough im afraid”

He pecks your neck and for a moment, your completely entranced as he breathes in your perfume. Nose snug in your neck as he narrows his eyes at you through the reflection.

Your breath hitches, but you dont falter. Not yet. “The point is that I look good babe.” You wiggle a bit in his grasp, watching his hands slither down to grasp at your hip as the other settles on your leg.

“You always look good. But I think you should stay in tonight” he grumbles, snuggling closer. “Really?”

He squeezes your hip. “Really.”

You can feel yourself folding under his grasp at an alarming rate, and by this point? You have half the mind to message utahime you wont make it tonight.

“Say, how about I show you something better? Hm? Im sure that we can arrange someth—“

“I GOT 76028 LETS GO?!”

You both groan.

Satoru rolls around, white tussled hair bouncing along in his excitement. All before he looks up with wide eyes

“Woah. Two hotties. We fucking or what?”

You sigh before wiggling out of Suguru’s grasp. “Im taking a shower.”

Suguru glared at satoru with a strained smile. “You just ruined the mood you dork”

“For real?”

“For real.”

[ekybrini]

slipping through my fingers| JACK HUGHES

— ⟡ summary | in which y/n and Jake childhood best friends who've always had something there for each other. But once jack gets drafted everything changed for both of them.

— ⟡ warnings | none (that I know of)

— ⟡ word count | 17.8k (GUYS IM SORRY)

— ⟡ gabs note | hiii!!! im so excited to finally start writing again! I apologizer if this seems rushed. also this is EXTREMELY INACCURATE!!! please don't think this is literal, I don't know how some of these things work. also i apologize if this is cringe bc I CANNOT write romance for the life of me. I'm currently on spring break so I'll be trying to take advantage of being able to write a few things! if anyone wants to request or suggest anything don't hesitate to go into my inbox . i'll try to get to it and write it as soon as I can :) after spring break I may be a little inactive as i'm trying to lock in, in some of my classes before the semesters is over (ap econ and living earth are actually kicking my ass)

⟡ slipping through your fingers | jack hughes (jacks pov)

Part two

You've known Jack since you were kids. Backyard games of street hockey, summer nights spent on the lake, and watching him skate around with his brothers. you were always there. best friends through and through. 

The first time you met Jack, you were about 10 years old. You had just moved into the neighborhood and the first thing you noticed was the street hockey that was happening right outside of your house. The kids from the neighborhood were scattered in every direction, sticks raised, yelling at each other. The one who caught your attention right away was the kid with the wild hair, darting around the group with such speed that it was almost impossible to keep up. He made it look effortless. He, of course, was jack. 

You were lonely at first, standing awkwardly by the curb or watching the game through your bedroom window . Jack, always the curious one, had spotted you one day as you were sitting on the curb and skated over with a big grin.

"You gonna watch all day, or do you wanna join us?" he’d asked, not missing a beat, despite being out of breath. his eyes were full of that contagious energy.

You'd hesitated, feeling unsure. “I don’t know. I’m not really good at this... I’ve never really played before.”

"Come on! I’ll teach you," Jack insisted. "It’s easy, you just gotta push the puck this way, and then..." He demonstrated, sending the puck flying past you. "See? Just like that!"

It wasn’t perfect, but you tried. And Jack, always encouraging, cheered you on even as you missed the puck completely a few times. "Don’t worry. You’ll get it. It’s all about having fun."

From that moment on, you and Jack were inseparable. Summer after summer, it was the same routine. Jack, with his scruffy hair and infectious smile, would be the one to drag you out onto the street, even if you were just coming off a bad day at school or feeling a little down.

One of your favorite memories came when you were both about 12 years old. It was a hot, sticky summer afternoon. Jack, as usual, had the game already set up, calling the shots while the other neighborhood kids were pretending to be superstars in a game that felt far more like a chaotic free for all than a real match.

"You in or what?" Jack shouted, holding out a stick. “This game’s going nowhere without you.”

You rolled your eyes, already seeing the sweat dripping from his forehead, his shirt clinging to his back. "You know, I was just thinking about going inside and having a popsicle."

"Are you really gonna let me down like this?" Jack raised an eyebrow, grinning from ear to ear. “you promised you'd play after school." 

"Fine," you said with a laugh, grabbing the stick. "But this time, I’m definitely winning."

You didn't win, at least not that day, but you had so much fun trying. Jack was so fast, his little tricks and turns keeping you on your toes, but every time he made a move, you were there to give it your best shot. You kept pushing him, running after the puck until the sun dipped below the horizon, and both of you were covered in dirt and sweat, laughing until your stomachs hurt.

That night, you sat side by side on the dock by the lake, feet dangling in the cool water as you two ate ice cream bars. The night was quiet except for the distant croak of frogs. 

“You were so close to getting me,” Jack said between breaths, a playful edge to his voice. He tilted his head back to look at the sky. “You’ll get me next time. Just wait.”

You chuckled, watching him with a teasing smile. "Yeah, sure, Jack. Maybe when I’m 18 and you’ve forgotten how to skate."

Jack laughed loudly, nudging you with his elbow. “Not a chance. I’ll always be better. But hey, I can teach you some moves if you want.”

“Oh, I bet you would,” you said, rolling your eyes. “Teach me how to win, too?”

"Obviously," he said with a grin, though there was a genuine warmth in his eyes. “I’ll make you into a skating legend if that's what you want.”

You didn't know it then, but those summers spent with Jack would become some of the best memories of your life. Even when the seasons changed and the street hockey games moved indoors. Jack’s determination never left. You spent every Saturday watching him at the rink, your nose pressed against the cold glass as he glided across the ice, his stick flashing, eyes full of focus. He was good. Too good, in fact. And with every game, the crowd cheered louder with his dreams growing bigger.

⟡

By the time you and Jack hit your early teens, things start to feel different. It’s not obvious at first just a lingering glance here, a nervous laugh there. Jack’s still Jack competitive, loud, always pulling you into whatever chaos he’s creating. But sometimes, when his hand brushes against yours, or when he looks at you a second too long after you’ve made a joke, it feels like something is shifting beneath the surface. You notice it, even if you don’t understand it yet.

The way he seems to notice you more, how he’s always trying to catch your eye in a group conversation, how his voice drops just a little when he says your name. It’s subtle, and you try to ignore it. He’s your best friend, right? Nothing has changed between you two. You’re still the same, pulling pranks on each other, laughing at dumb things, challenging each other to stupid games on long summer afternoons.

But the moments keep building like when he reaches across the table to grab something and his fingers graze the back of your hand, leaving a warmth that lingers far longer than it should. Or when you catch him staring at you when you’re talking, and his expression shifts just a fraction of something unreadable there for a brief second before he masks it with a grin.

And then there are those times when the air feels too quiet. Like when you’re lying next to each other on the grass, watching the stars, and the silence stretches between you two in a way it never has before. It’s not comfortable anymore, this space. It’s heavy.

You’re 14 when you notice it for real. You’re both sitting on the dock, summer sun dipping low behind the trees, casting everything in a golden haze. Jack’s freshly showered from practice, hair still damp, the scent of soap and fresh air clinging to him. You’re half listening to him ramble on about a play he’s been trying to perfect, his words weaving in and out of the soft, distant hum of the lake’s waves against the dock.

But something in the air is different. It feels thicker. The kind of tension you get when you can’t tell whether the storm is coming, or if it’s already here and you’re just waiting for it to break. You can feel the weight of the evening sun on your skin, but your heart feels heavy, like it’s pounding against your ribs, a rhythm you’re trying to ignore.

“You’re not even listening,” he accuses, nudging you with his knee, and you startle, realizing you haven’t heard a word he’s said for the last few minutes.

“I’m listening,” you argue, even though you weren’t.

Jack raises an eyebrow, the smallest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “No, you’re not. You’ve been all quiet. What's up with you?”

You scoff, trying to brush it off. “Me? You’re the one who’s weird,” you tease, attempting to lighten the mood, but your words feel hollow, even to you.

He doesn’t laugh. Instead, he studies you, his expression more serious than usual. His gaze shifts from your face to your hands, and then back to your eyes like he’s trying to figure something out that you aren’t even aware of.

“Yeah, maybe.” He shrugs, leaning back on his elbows, staring out across the lake with a far-off look in his eyes. “Or maybe it’s just us.”

The words hang in the air heavy with meaning you don’t fully understand. You freeze trying to process what he’s said. It isn’t just the words, it's the way he said them. The tone in his voice is softer than usual almost uncertain. There’s something fragile in his eyes, like he’s letting a piece of himself slip past you hoping you’ll catch it, but not quite trusting you to. You don’t know how to respond.

You try to shake off the discomfort. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Jack glances at you, his lips quivering at the edges, but there’s a heaviness in his gaze now. “I don’t know,” he mutters. “Just growing up.” He pauses, his voice quieter now almost too soft for the space between you two. He looks at you then, really looks at you his eyes searching for something in yours like he’s asking a question that doesn’t have an easy answer. Something you’re not ready to answer not sure you even can.

You want to say something to reach out and close that space but you can’t find the words. Everything that’s been building between you two feels like it’s teetering on the edge of something unspoken. And the closer Jack gets to this new world he’s creating for himself this future that’s already starting to pull him away from you the more it feels like you’re both standing on the precipice of it.

You don’t have an answer, so you reach over and grab his hand. It’s instinctual, a reflex more than anything else. His fingers slide easily between yours, like they’ve always belonged there. It’s familiar, comforting even. But there’s something different in the way he holds your hand this time. He doesn’t let go immediately like he always does. He holds on for just a moment longer, and in that brief pause, the weight of it hits you.

His gaze drops to your joined hands, and you see a flicker in his eyes something unreadable, maybe even a little vulnerable before he looks back up at you. The quiet between you two stretches longer than it should, and you’re not sure if it’s because of the summer air, or because of the uncertainty that’s silently wrapping itself around both of you.

“I think we’ll figure it out,” you say softly, trying to anchor this moment, even though the ground beneath you feels like it’s shifting.

Jack’s smile is small, unsure. It’s not his usual confident grin, but it’s there. Barely, but it’s there. He doesn’t let go of your hand. Not yet. 

You don’t know what “figuring it out” means, or if you even can figure it out. All you know is that in this moment, with the sun setting behind the trees and the sound of water lapping against the dock beneath you, everything feels poised on the edge of something you don’t understand.

But you’re scared that the moment you try to reach for it, Jack might pull away.

⟡

It’s late, the fire has burned down to a few glowing embers, and the crickets are the only sound beside the occasional splash of water against the dock. You’re sitting with Jack, your legs hanging over the side, toes brushing the cool surface of the lake. The night is quiet, almost too quiet, and for the first time in a long time, there’s a distance between you that wasn’t there before.

Jack’s usually carefree, his humor quick, his energy contagious. But tonight, he’s different. He’s quieter, eyes lost somewhere beyond the horizon. You’ve known him long enough to know when something’s off.

"Jack, you okay?" you ask, not pushing, just asking.

"Do you ever feel like things are changing?" His voice is low, almost hesitant, and you turn to look at him, your heart skipping a beat.

You nod slowly, sensing that this conversation is heading somewhere you’ve both been avoiding for too long. "Yeah, I’ve been feeling it." You pause, meeting his eyes, and for the first time, you really see him. His face, the way his eyes linger on you, the way his lips part like he’s about to say something more. It’s all so familiar, and yet, everything feels new. "It’s been hard to ignore."

Jack exhales sharply, as if he’s been holding his breath. He leans back, letting his head rest against the wood of the dock, looking up at the stars above. "I’ve been trying to figure it out. For a while now. What’s going on between us."

You swallow, the weight of his words settling in your chest. Your voice is barely a whisper when you respond. "What do you mean?"

Jack doesn’t look at you right away, but you see his jaw tense, like he’s trying to gather his thoughts. Finally, he glances over at you, his gaze intense. "I think I’ve been avoiding it. The way things have felt. I’ve always known you meant a lot to me. But it’s more than that now. And I can’t keep pretending I don’t feel it."

Your heart races. This isn’t just a fleeting moment, this is him, telling you exactly what you’ve been feeling. Your stomach flips as the words finally hit you.

"I’ve been feeling it too," you admit, your voice steady but your pulse thundering in your ears. "It’s different now, Jack. And I can’t pretend it’s not."

There’s a long silence between you two as the words settle in the space around you. You both know it’s out there now the truth that neither of you could avoid forever. The air feels thick, charged with everything you’ve been holding back.

Jack’s gaze softens as he turns fully toward you. He reaches out, his hand brushing against yours. "I’ve tried not to think about it, but it’s impossible," he admits, his thumb tracing along the back of your hand. "I don’t know when it happened, but somewhere along the way, I stopped thinking of you as just my best friend. And now I don’t know how to go back."

You feel your breath catch in your throat. This is it. The thing you’ve both been dancing around for so long, the thing neither of you knew how to say. But now, here it is, raw and real.

"I don’t want to go back," you say, your voice soft but certain. "I’ve felt the same way, Jack. For a while now."

"You know, I keep thinking back to when we were kids," he says quietly, almost as if he’s talking to himself. "Back when things were simpler. We used to hang out, play hockey, talk about everything and nothing. I always thought that was enough."

You smile, remembering those simpler times. "It was enough. It still is."

Jack laughs under his breath, but there’s something different in it. "Yeah. But now... I don’t know. I can’t stop thinking about how things feel between us lately. And I don’t know how to handle it."

Your heart picks up a little pace, and you look at him, feeling a shift in the air between you two. It’s subtle, but it's there. His eyes are locked on you now, and the usual teasing glint is gone.

"I think I’ve known for a while," you admit, voice barely above a whisper. "That things have changed. That maybe… we’ve changed."

Jack’s gaze softens, and for a second, everything feels like it’s falling into place, like the puzzle pieces are finally lining up. "I’ve been thinking about it too," he says, his voice low. "And I don’t know if I’m ready for this to be weird between us. I don’t want it to be weird."

Your stomach flips at the vulnerability in his voice. "I don’t think it has to be. It doesn’t have to be weird, Jack."

He looks at you for a long moment, and you can tell he’s weighing his next words carefully. He reaches over, brushing a strand of hair from your face, and that simple touch feels like the universe’s nudge, reminding you that things have always been easy with him. There’s no pretending with Jack. There’s never been any pretending.

"I guess we’ve always been able to figure things out," Jack says, his voice steady now. "And maybe this is just… one of those times."

You nod, your chest tight as you try to put into words what you’ve been feeling for so long. But nothing really needs to be said. This moment, this quiet understanding between you two, is enough.

Jack leans in just a little, close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from him, but not enough to cross the final line. His gaze flickers between your eyes, lingering on your lips before returning to your eyes again, as if he’s waiting for something. The space between you both seems impossibly small, charged with everything that’s unsaid.

You can’t deny it anymore the way your heart races in your chest, the way your breath feels shallow, as if you’ve been holding it in all this time. This moment, this change between you, feels like it could either break everything or put it all back together.

His hand hovers just inches from yours, like he’s unsure whether to close the distance, like he’s waiting for you to decide. The air is thick with the weight of it. You’ve both danced around this for so long, carefully, quietly, but now it feels like everything is teetering on the edge. One move, one step, and it’ll change everything.

“You’re not nervous, are you?” Jack’s voice is almost a whisper, his usual teasing gone. There’s something softer in the way he says it, like he’s genuinely asking, genuinely uncertain for the first time.

You laugh quietly, but it doesn’t feel like the teasing kind of laugh you’re used to. It’s shaky, full of nerves. “No... Just a little confused, I guess. Not sure if this is all too much.”

Jack shifts closer, and his hand brushes against yours, the lightest touch that sends a jolt through you. It’s a simple gesture, but it speaks volumes. He doesn’t look away now, and neither do you. His breath is slow, steady, and in the stillness, you hear his heart beating in time with yours.

“I’m not sure either,” he admits, his voice low. “But I think I’ve known for a while… I don’t think we can keep pretending things are the same. I can’t. And I’m not sure what will happen next, but I know I don’t want to screw it up.”

You swallow, your own uncertainty mirrored in his eyes. Everything that’s been left unsaid finally hangs in the air between you two, heavy and undeniable. The fear of what could change, of what could be lost, and the quiet hope that maybe just maybe it could work.

"Jack…” You start to say something, anything, but the words stick in your throat. You want to say that you’ve been feeling it too, that you’re terrified of losing this, of messing it all up. But the weight of it all is too much. So instead, you just shake your head, a small smile tugging at your lips despite the uncertainty in your chest. “I don’t know what happens next either.”

You hold his gaze for a beat longer, everything inside you pulling toward him, wanting to close the space between you both. And with that final breath, that quiet understanding, you realize it doesn’t have to be perfect. It doesn’t have to be figured out right now.

You lean in the rest of the way, tilting your head slightly, and then Jack’s lips meet yours.

It’s nothing like you expected. It’s soft, hesitant at first, like you both are testing the waters. But it’s real. And for the first time in a long time, you feel like you’re finally on the same page. It’s not about the future or the fear of change it’s just about right now, and the way everything feels when it’s just the two of you.

When you pull away, there’s a breathless pause, but it’s not awkward. It’s not forced. It’s just you, and him, and everything that’s been building between you finally making sense.

Jack’s forehead rests gently against yours. His eyes are still closed, and there’s a quiet smile playing on his lips. “I think I could get used to this,” he says, voice low, almost like he’s speaking to himself.

You let out a soft laugh, the tension between you both easing, and for the first time, it feels like you don’t need to say anything more. You both know. It’s not perfect, it’s not figured out yet but it’s real, and maybe that’s enough for now.

⟡

It’s almost midnight when your phone buzzes on your nightstand. You’re half asleep, barely registering the sound until it buzzes again. You squint at the screen, the glow too harsh in the dark room. It’s a text from Jack. “are you up?” 

You rub your eyes and sit up the sleepiness fading as you type back. “yeah, what’s up? Are you okay?its midnight.” The dots appear and disappear. Then nothing. You frown, already knowing where this is going. “ want me to come over?” This time, the dots stay. “You don’t have too, just want to talk to you.”

You slip out of bed, grabbing a sweatshirt and slipping on your shoes without even thinking about it. Your house is quiet as you head out the back door and cut across the yard. Jack’s house is familiar, the kind of place you could walk to blindfolded. The back door is unlocked like it always is.

You find him on the couch, the TV on low, playing some old hockey highlights. His head is tipped back against the cushion but his eyes are open dark circles shadowing his face. He looks up when he hears you, his expression softening in a way that makes your heart ache a little.

“You didn’t have to come,” Jack says, sitting up.

“You knew I would,” you reply, kicking off your shoes and sitting down beside him. Your knee bumps against his. He’s in sweats and an old usa hockey hoodie, and his hair’s still damp from a shower. He looks tired.

Jack doesn’t say anything for a long time. His eyes stay on the screen, but you can tell he’s not really watching. The hum of the commentary blends into the background. You wait, not pushing you’ve always known how to give him space when he needs it.

“I can’t sleep,” he says finally, voice low. His knee bounces restlessly. “I keep thinking about the combine.”

You lean back against the couch, watching the screen as a highlight reel of some playoff game flickers by. “What about it?”

Jack sighs. “Everything. The tests. The interviews. The scouts. If I screw up, it’s going to be everywhere.” His hand runs through his hair, leaving it messy. “I mean, I’ve trained for this my whole life, right? But now that it’s actually here I don’t know.”

“You’re not going to screw up,” you say softly.

Jack lets out a hollow laugh. “Yeah? What if I do?”

You nudge his leg with your foot. “You won’t. But even if you did it wouldn’t change anything. Not with me.”

Jack’s eyes flick toward you, guarded but searching. He’s quiet for a beat. Then, so quietly you almost don’t catch it, “It’d change everything else.”

You shift toward him, turning so your knee presses more firmly against his. “Jack, you’ve worked your ass off for this. One bad day at the combine isn’t going to erase years of training and games and scouts already knowing you’re good enough.”

Jack’s jaw tightens, his eyes falling to his hands. His thumb rubs absently along the inside of his palm. “Yeah, but what if I’m not enough?”

You don’t hesitate. You reach over, lacing your fingers through his. His hand is warm, his skin rough from years of hockey sticks and gloves. He tenses for half a second, then relaxes into the touch.

“You’re enough,” you say, quiet but steady. “You’ve always been enough, Jack. Even if you didn’t have hockey.”

Jack’s eyes lift to meet yours, wide and a little raw. His thumb grazes the side of your hand, slow and deliberate.

“You really believe that?”

“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

Jack’s mouth curves into the smallest smile. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes, but it’s something. His gaze drops back to the screen, though his hand stays in yours, his thumb running over your knuckles.

For a while, neither of you speak. The silence isn’t uncomfortable it’s the kind of quiet that feels like home. Jack’s breathing evens out, his knee resting against yours. The highlights on the screen blur together.

“Stay?” Jack asks after a long moment. His voice is quiet, almost hesitant.

You squeeze his hand. “Yeah.”

Jack shifts, leaning back against the couch. You lean into him, letting your head rest against his shoulder. His hand stays tangled with yours, his thumb brushing back and forth along your knuckles in a steady rhythm. Slowly, the tension in his body eases.

“Thanks,” Jack murmurs. His head tips toward yours, his breath warm against your hair.

“You don’t have to thank me,” you say, eyes drifting shut. “Just remember this. When it gets hard, when the pressure’s too much, remember you don’t have to do it alone.”

Jack’s hand tightens around yours, his breath catching for half a second. Then he relaxes.

“I’ll remember,” he promises, voice low and sure.

You smile, your heart steady now as you let the sound of his breathing and the flicker of the TV lull you toward sleep. You know there’s still a long road ahead, the combine, the draft, Jack’s rookie year  but for now, this is enough.

It’s late afternoon when you find Jack on the ice, alone.

The rink is almost empty and quite the kind of quiet that makes the sound of skates cutting into the ice seem louder. Jack’s in a plain grey hoodie, a puck sliding back and forth between his stick blade as he moves through the neutral zone. His head is down, shoulders tense, and even from the stands, you can tell he’s overthinking it. His movements are sharp, almost mechanical like he’s trying too hard to be perfect.

You sit down on the bleachers, the cold from the rink seeping through your jeans. Jack’s been like this all week quiet, short answers, disappearing for extra hours at the rink. You didn’t have to ask why. The NHL Combine is in two weeks. The pressure’s been building, and Jack’s not the type to admit when it’s too much.

A sharp slap of the puck against the glass pulls you from your thoughts. Jack’s skating toward the blue line, his stick dragging behind him as he breathes heavily, a little unsteady. He circles back toward center ice, but his stride falters slightly just enough for you to notice.

“You’re overthinking it,” you call out, standing.

Jack glances up, his expression closed off but his eyes soften when he sees you. He coasts toward the boards, resting his forearms against the top. His breath comes out in sharp clouds of condensation.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” he says but there’s no bite to his words.

You shrug. “Figured you’d need moral support.”

Jack huffs a soft laugh but it doesn’t reach his eyes. His gaze drops to the ice. “Not really playing like someone who deserves it.”

You step closer, your hands resting on the edge of the boards. “Jack, you’re allowed to have a bad practice.”

Jack shakes his head. “Not now. Not this close.” His hands flex around his stick. “I can’t screw this up.”

“You won’t.”

Jack’s eyes flick toward you. There’s something guarded in his expression the same look he gets when he’s trying not to show how much it’s getting to him. His eyes are dark under the shadows of his helmet.

“You don’t know that,” he says quietly.

You swallow, searching for the right words. “Yeah, I do.”

Jack exhales sharply, his gaze drifting to the ice. He’s quiet for a long time before he speaks again, his voice low. “What if I’m not good enough?”

Your chest tightens at the vulnerability in his voice. He’s always been confident, cocky, even but this is different. This is the fear he doesn’t let other people see.

You rest your hand over his where it grips the top of the boards. His fingers twitch beneath yours, but he doesn’t pull away. “Jack” Your voice softens. “You’ve been working for this since you were a kid. One bad practice isn’t going to change the fact that you belong there.”

Jack’s mouth pulls into a thin line. His eyes stay locked on the ice.

“You know that, right?” you press.

Jack’s jaw tenses. He exhales through his nose and finally meets your eyes. “Yeah. I know.” But his voice is tight, like he’s still trying to convince himself.

You squeeze his hand lightly. “Come on. Take the helmet off. Let’s reset.”

Jack hesitates for a second before unbuckling his chin strap. His hair falls into messy waves as he pulls the helmet off, and you smile despite yourself.

“There’s the Jack I know,” you say softly.

Jack’s mouth tugs at the corner, the smallest hint of a smile breaking through the tension in his face. He sets the helmet down on the boards and rests his forehead against the glass, his eyes closed for a long moment. His breath fogs up the glass in front of him.

“Why are you so calm about this?” Jack murmurs.

You smile, even though he can’t see it. “Because I know you. And I know you’re going to be fine.”

Jack’s eyes open. He tilts his head toward you, his cheek pressed against the glass. His gaze lingers on you longer than it probably should. His expression softens, his mouth curving into something more familiar less guarded.

“You always know what to say,” Jack says quietly.

You shrug. “It’s part of the job description.”

Jack’s mouth tugs at the corner. He leans back from the glass, turning toward you. “And what job is that?”

“girlfriend” you say lightly, even though the words feel heavier than they should.

Jack’s gaze drops to your mouth for half a second before he catches himself. shaking his head slightly. “You’ve been overpaid.”

You laugh. “I don’t know. Pretty sure I’ve earned it.”

Jack’s hand slides from the boards, brushing against yours as he steps back onto the ice. The contact is brief a split second  but it’s enough to make your breath hitch.

He skates backward, his eyes never leaving yours. “Stay?”

You smile. “Always.”

Jack nods, his jaw unclenching slightly. His shoulders relax as he turns and skates toward the far side of the ice. He moves differently now, smoother, looser. It’s not perfect, but it’s him.

⟡

Jack’s in Buffalo for the Combine. He’d been gone for almost a week now, thrown into a blur of interviews, medical tests, and physical evaluations. You’d been following the coverage clips of him flashing across social media, a quick shot of him stepping into the arena or walking down a hallway with other top prospects. He looked calm on the surface, but you knew better.  The absence of him is starting to feel like a hollow ache beneath your ribs. You’ve talked to him every day, quick texts in the morning, rushed calls at night  but it’s not the same as having him there next to you. He’s exhausted you can tell even through the phone but he’s not the type to admit when it’s too much.

You’re half asleep when your phone buzzes on the nightstand. It takes you a second to realize what’s happening, the glow from the screen sharp against the dark. You blink, rubbing your eyes as you reach for it for the sixth time this week knowing it was a text from Jack “are you awake?”

You sit up, sleep slipping away as you type back. “yeah. What's wrong? it’s late.” The typing bubbles appear, then disappear. Then nothing. You frown, already feeling the tightness in your chest. “want me to call?” A pause. “I just need to hear your voice.” Jack replied. 

You hit the call button without even looking at his message. Jack answers on the second ring. “Hey,” you say softly. “Hey,” Jack’s voice is rough, low. He sounds tired.

“Did you just finish?”

“Yeah.” He exhales sharply. “Got back to my room like five minutes ago.”

“What happened?”

Jack lets out a humorless laugh. “Where do I start?” His voice is tight, and you picture the way he probably looks right now sprawled out on the hotel bed, arm draped over his eyes. “The bike test was brutal. My legs were shaking so bad I thought I was going to fall off.”

You wince. “That bad?”

“They crank up the resistance until you physically can’t pedal anymore,” Jack says. “I could barely stand afterward.” Your chest tightens. “Jack” he cuts you off. “And the VO2 max test?” Jack groans. “I thought I was gonna puke. I was seeing spots by the end.” You frown. “Did anyone else struggle that much?”

“Yeah, but I’m supposed to be better than that.” His voice sharpens. “I can’t afford to screw this up.”

“You didn’t,” you say quickly. “You weren’t there,” Jack says, his tone edged with something close to frustration. But then his breath catches, and his voice softens. “Sorry. I didn’t mean”

“It’s okay,” you interrupt gently. “What else happened?” Jack sighs. “Wingate test. They make you sprint all out on the bike for 30 seconds. My legs were already toast, so I tanked it.”

“Jack” you say once again, getting cut off “And the long jump?” He laughs under his breath, but there’s no humor in it. “I swear I’ve never jumped that short in my life.”

“Did Quinn do better?” you ask carefully. “Of course he did,” Jack mutters. “The scouts loved him.” Your heart aches at the sharpness in his tone. You know how much Jack admires Quinn, but that admiration is tangled up with the constant pressure to keep up.

“And then,” Jack’s voice lowers, frustration leaking through, “they threw me into interviews while I could barely breathe. One scout asked if I thought I deserved to go first overall.” Your mouth tightens. “Seriously?”

“Yeah. Another one asked if I think I’m better than Quinn.” You sit up straighter. “What the hell?” Jack mutters “I didn’t even know what to say,” His voice is low and tight. “I think I screwed it up.”

“You didn’t,” you say firmly. Jack doesn’t respond right away. You hear the rustling of sheets, the muffled sound of the TV in the background probably an old hockey game. “I don’t know,” Jack murmurs. “I need to be better.”

“Jack.” Your voice softens. “You’ve done enough. You’ve been working for this since you were a kid. You’re too hard on yourself” Jack’s quiet for a moment. Then, so soft you almost miss it “What if it’s not enough?” Your chest tightens. This is the fear he doesn’t let other people see.

“Hey,” you say softly. “Close your eyes.” Jack’s quiet for a second. “What?” 

“Just trust me.” 

A long breath. “Okay.”

“You’re on the ice,” you say. “Just you. The rink’s empty.” Jack’s breath steadies. “You’ve got the puck,” you continue. “Skating down center ice. No pressure, no scouts, no cameras. Just you.”Jack hums quietly, like he can almost see it.“You make the shot,” you say. “Bar down. Clean.” Jack exhales. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you say. “And you don’t even need to look, because you already know it’s in.”There’s a long stretch of quiet on the other end of the line. Then, so soft you almost miss it “I wish you were here.”

“I know,” you whisper, throat tightening. “Me too.” Jack sighs, and you hear the rustling of sheets as he shifts. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You’re not going to find out,” you say, trying to sound light, but it comes out more fragile than you mean it to. Jack’s quiet for a long time. You think he might have fallen asleep until you hear him murmur, “You’re the only thing keeping me sane right now.” You press the phone closer to your ear, even though it won’t bring him any closer. “You’ve got this,” you whisper. “You’re going to be fine.”

Jack breathes out, low and even. “Stay on the phone with me?”

“Yeah,” you say, curling into your pillow. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Jack’s quiet for a while after that, but you don’t hang up. You stay there, listening to the sound of his breathing as it evens out, until the line finally goes quiet and you know he’s asleep. You don’t hang up. Not yet.

⟡

Jack’s been quiet all morning. His usual easy smile is nowhere to be found, replaced by a tight line of tension in his jaw. He’s been bouncing his knee relentlessly, his leg jittering under the table during breakfast at the hotel. He barely touched his food, pushing scrambled eggs around his plate until Quinn took it away and told him to stop torturing it. Now, he’s sitting next to you on the edge of the bed, his head tipped back against the wall, his fingers tapping absently against his knee. The hotel room is bright from the mid-morning sun filtering through the sheer curtains, but it feels too quiet  too still  like the entire day is holding its breath.

Jack’s name has been everywhere since the Combine. Every hockey account, every sports network, every mock draft all saying the same thing. First overall. Franchise player. Generational talent. He should be used to it by now, but it feels different this time. Closer. Like the weight of it all is pressing down on his chest. And you feel it too, even from miles away. You saw it during the Combine  the way he tensed when people mentioned the draft, how he downplayed his scores and his interviews even when you knew he’d crushed them. Jack’s always been good at brushing things off, but this feels different. Bigger. Like it’s not just about hockey anymore. It’s about living up to something.

The draft isn’t until later tonight, but the weight of it is already pressing down. Jack’s been working toward this moment his whole life, the moment his name is called, the moment his future in the NHL becomes real and now that it’s finally here, it’s like he can’t figure out how to breathe through it.

You shift closer until your knee bumps his. “You’re thinking too hard.”

Jack’s eyes slide toward you, dark under the shadows of his lashes. He huffs out a breath. “How am I supposed to not think about it?” His voice is quiet, frayed at the edges.

You reach for his hand, your fingers slipping between his. He’s warm always is, but his hand is stiff, tense. “I don’t know. Maybe stop overthinking it.”

Jack lets out a shaky breath, his thumb brushing along your knuckles. His gaze drifts toward the window, but you can tell he’s not really seeing it. His mind is already at Rogers Arena, already running through every possible outcome. He’s been carrying the weight of this for months the expectations, the pressure, the comparisons to Quinn, to his dad and you know it’s only gotten heavier.

“Jack.” You squeeze his hand. He doesn’t look at you right away, but when he does, his eyes are wide, a little raw around the edges. You offer him a small smile. “You’ve got this.”

Jack’s mouth twitches like he wants to smile back, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “And what if I don’t?”

“You will.” You don’t hesitate, don’t even think about it. You just know. Jack’s been skating since before he could walk. He’s trained for this put in the work, put in the hours. He’s ready. Even if he can’t see it right now.

Jack’s gaze stays on you, his brow furrowing slightly. His hand tightens around yours. “I’m scared,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper.

You shift closer until your shoulder presses against his. “That’s normal.”

Jack’s eyes darken. “What if I’m not good enough?”

“You are.”

Jack swallows hard, his jaw working. He looks away, his throat bobbing as he tries to steady his breathing. You can feel the tension radiating off of him, the way his chest rises and falls too quickly. His thumb rubs absently against the back of your hand.

You lean into him, resting your head against his shoulder. “It’s going to be okay,” you say softly. “Even if you don’t go first. Even if it doesn’t go the way you expect  you’ll still have hockey. You’ll still have me.”

Jack’s breath stutters. He turns his head slightly, his cheek brushing against your hair. “You mean that?”

You lift your head and meet his gaze. “Of course I do.”

Jack’s hand slides from your hand to your knee, his fingers curling around it like he’s grounding himself there. His eyes search yours, and for a moment, it feels like the weight of the room shifts. The nerves are still there, the pressure, the uncertainty but some of the tension in his face softens. His eyes flick toward your mouth, then back to your eyes. He exhales slowly. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You’ll never have to find out,” you say, just as softly.

Jack’s mouth tugs at the corner. He leans in, pressing his forehead against yours. “Promise?”

You smile, your hand lifting to his jaw. “Promise.”

Jack lets out a shaky breath and closes his eyes for a moment, his hand tightening on your knee. The quiet settles around you both, not the heavy kind, not the tense kind  just quiet.

“Jack?” Quinn’s voice breaks the silence, followed by a knock at the door. “We’ve gotta go soon.”

Jack sighs. He lifts his head, his eyes lingering on you for a second longer before he pulls away. “Yeah, okay.”

Jack stands, adjusting his shirt and brushing his hands down his pants. His gaze flicks toward you, hesitant. “You’re coming with us, right?”

You stand too, straightening his collar. “Obviously.”

Jack’s mouth curves into something close to a real smile, small but genuine. He takes your hand again, linking your fingers as he leads you toward the door.

The car ride to Rogers Arena is quiet. Jack sits next to you in the backseat, his knee bouncing, his fingers tapping against his thigh. He’s wearing a fitted suit, his hair styled but still a little messy at the top. You can tell he’s trying not to overthink it, but the tension in his jaw gives him away.

Quinn and Luke sit in the back of the car, phone in their hand, scrolling through Twitter. The whole car feels charged, the anticipation building the closer you get to the arena. When you pull up, Jack hesitates for half a second before stepping out. His hand brushes against yours as you follow him out of the car.

Inside, the energy is palpable. The arena is packed with media, fans, scouts, the low hum of conversations mixing with the occasional burst of camera flashes. Jack tugs at the cuff of his jacket, his mouth pulling into a thin line. His eyes flick toward you.

You slip your hand into his, squeezing gently. “Deep breath,” you say.

Jack’s jaw relaxes slightly. He squeezes your hand back. His eyes linger on you for a beat before he nods. “Yeah. Okay.”

Quinn steps up behind him, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “You’ve got this”

Jack’s mouth twitches. He looks toward the draft stage, toward the rows of seats, the cameras, the scouts and then back at you. His hand tightens around yours.

“You’re with me, right?” Jack asks quietly.

You smile. “Always.”

Jack breathes out. And this time, when he looks toward the stage, the tension in his jaw fades just a little.

Jack’s heart is hammering. It’s too loud in here the buzz of conversation, the hum of the arena speakers, the occasional burst of laughter from a family. His suit jacket feels too tight across his shoulders, his tie choking him a little more with each second that passes. His name has been circling the draft floor for months, repeated on every broadcast and in every article first overall, franchise player, generational talent  but none of it feels real right now. It feels heavy. Like the weight of the entire league is resting on his chest, squeezing the air from his lungs.

He shifts in his seat, his hand resting against his thigh, and feels your fingers slip between his. His head turns toward you automatically. You’re sitting beside him, close enough that your knee is pressed against his. Your hand is steady, your thumb brushing lightly over his knuckles. He doesn’t realize how hard he’s gripping you until you adjust your hand slightly, your grip soft but certain.

“You’re okay,” you whisper, low enough that only he can hear. Jack breathes out shakily. “Am I?” You smile soft, sure. “Yeah. You are.”

Jack’s gaze drops to the floor, his thumb smoothing over the inside of your wrist. He can feel the pulse there, steady beneath his touch. His heart’s not steady. It’s racing. He doesn’t know if it’ll settle until this is over until he hears his name.

Quinn is watching him. He’s sitting straight in his chair, hands resting on his thighs, but his eyes are soft when they meet Jack’s. “You’ve got this,” Quinn says quietly. Jack’s mouth twitches. He starts to nod, but then Luke leans across from Quinn. 

“Yeah,” Luke adds, his grin lopsided, a little nervous but bright. “And if you don’t, you can always blame it on Quinn.”

Quinn rolls his eyes. 

Jack huffs a soft laugh, but it fades quickly. His gaze shifts toward the stage, where the Devils’ management team is already gathering. The nerves coil tighter in his chest. His hand tightens around yours.

“You’re with me, right?” Jack asks quietly. 

You don’t even hesitate. “Always.”

Jack’s eyes soften, some of the tension fading from his expression. He breathes out and shifts closer, his knee pressing into yours beneath the table. He doesn’t have time to say anything else before the commissioner steps up to the microphone.

Jack’s stomach drops. The noise in the arena swells as the camera swings toward the Devils’ table. The commissioner is still talking, but Jack barely hears it over the blood rushing in his ears. His legs feel locked beneath the table. His chest is tight.

“And with the first overall pick, the New Jersey Devils are proud to select from the US National Team Development Program… Jack Hughes.”

Your hand squeezes his.

Jack exhales. He stands on shaky legs as Quinn claps him on the back, Luke grinning wide as he jumps up to hug him. “Dude!” Luke laughs, his arms tight around Jack’s waist. Quinn pulls them both in, his head knocking against Jack’s shoulder. Jack’s laugh comes out a little breathless.

“Go get your jersey,” Quinn says, his voice thick with pride.

Jack’s hand is still locked with yours as he turns toward you. His expression is soft, his eyes dark and bright all at once. “You’re coming with me after this, right?”

You smile. “Try and stop me.”

Jack hesitates for half a second, then leans in. He kisses you quickly  just a press of his lips against your cheek  but it’s enough to make your breath hitch. His thumb brushes over your knuckles once more before he finally lets go and steps away.

Jack walks toward the stage, his heart still pounding but his legs moving steady beneath him. He can feel Quinn and Luke’s eyes on him, your smile burned into the back of his mind. He shakes hands with the commissioner, pulls on the Devils jersey, and lifts the hat onto his head. Cameras flash. The noise swells. His chest is tight again  but this time, it’s not nerves. It’s something else. Something warmer.

He looks back toward the floor, toward the row of seats where Quinn, Luke, and you are sitting. You’re still watching him. Your hand rests against your heart. Quinn’s arms are crossed, smiling like he knew this would happen all along. Luke is grinning wide, already pointing toward the Devils logo on Jack’s chest.

Jack breathes out. And this time, he smiles.

After the photos and the handshakes, Jack ushered toward the media pit. Questions are thrown at him from every angle about expectations, about his future with the Devils, about being a franchise player. He answers them as best as he can, his gaze flicking toward the crowd every so often, searching for you. When it’s over, the team staff directs him toward the tunnel, and he barely makes it a few steps before he hears someone yell his name.

“Jack!”

He turns just in time to see you barreling toward him, arms outstretched. Jack’s barely able to brace himself before you crash into his chest, wrapping your arms around his neck. His arms come up automatically, locking around your waist. You’re laughing and crying at the same time, your face buried in his shoulder. Jack breathes out, his chin resting on top of your head.

“You did it,” you whisper.

Jack’s arms tighten around you. “Couldn’t have done it without you.”

“You could’ve,” you mumble, pulling back enough to look at him. “But I’m glad you didn’t.”

Jack’s gaze drops to your mouth. His hands settle at your waist, his thumbs brushing lightly over the hem of your sweater. His chest is still pounding, but this feels steadier somehow. Grounding.

“Hey,” Quinn’s voice cuts in. Jack glances up to see Quinn and Luke standing nearby, Luke practically vibrating with excitement. Quinn’s got that proud but pretending to be casual look on his face.

Luke steps forward first, grinning. “Dude! First overall!” He throws his arms around Jack’s waist, nearly knocking him over. Jack laughs, ruffling Luke’s hair.

“Couldn’t have done it without you either,” Jack says.

Luke pulls back, his smile wide. Quinn rolls his eyes, but his smile doesn’t fade. “Congrats, Jack.” He steps in, pulling Jack into a one armed hug and clapping him on the back. “Knew you had it in you.”

Jack’s throat feels tight. He pulls back and looks between Quinn, Luke, and you. His family. His people. His hand finds yours again, his fingers threading through yours like it’s instinct. Your gaze softens, and Jack feels his heartbeat finally settle.

“Come on,” Quinn says, nodding toward the tunnel. “Let’s go celebrate.”

“Yeah,” Jack says. “Let’s go.”

⟡

It’s been a whirlwind since the draft. Jack signed his contract with the Devils two weeks ago, and now he’s leaving to New Jersey for rookie camp. Jack’s flight to New Jersey is early. Too early. You’re still wrapped in blankets on the couch when he stands in the doorway, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder. His Devils hat is pulled low over his eyes, casting a shadow across his face. His mouth pulls into a thin line as he looks at you, hesitation flickering in his eyes.

“I should get going,” Jack says quietly.

You push yourself up, rubbing the sleep from your eyes as you cross the room toward him. “Are you sure you have everything?”

Jack nods, but his gaze stays on the floor. His hand tightens around the strap of his bag. “Yeah.”

You hesitate for half a second before stepping closer. Your arms wrap around his waist, and Jack exhales sharply as he melts into you. His chin rests on top of your head, and his heartbeat thrums against your cheek.

“I’m gonna miss you,” you murmur.

Jack’s hand slides up your back. “It’s not like we’ve never done long distance before.”

“Yeah, but” You trail off, the words sticking in your throat. It feels different this time. You pull back, your hands lingering on the hem of his hoodie. “Just don’t forget about me when you’re a big NHL star.”

Jack’s mouth twitches. “That’s not gonna happen.”

“You don’t know that.”

Jack’s eyes soften. He leans down, brushing his nose against yours. “I do.”

You smile, even though your chest feels tight. Jack kisses you softly with a lingering brush of lips  and then pulls back too soon. His hand stays on your waist for an extra second before he steps away, his expression shifting into something steadier, more composed.

“Call me when you land?” you ask.

Jack’s mouth tugs at the corner. “Always.”

You walk him to the door, watching as he disappears down the driveway and into the early morning light. Your chest feels hollow by the time his car pulls away. The silence that follows is heavier than you expect.

You try to keep busy over the next week  spending time with friends, picking up extra shifts but it’s hard to ignore how quiet it feels without Jack around. He calls every night, though, and you fall into a familiar rhythm. Jack fills you in on the details of rookie camp, the fitness tests, the long practices, and the media. He tells you about the other guys, how Nico seems nice, how Bratt’s already chirping at him like they’ve known each other for years. He tells you how much faster the game feels, how much stronger the guys are. You can hear it in his voice, the strain beneath his usual confidence.

“Hard day?” you ask one night, curled up in bed with your phone pressed to your ear.

Jack sighs. “Yeah.”

“Wanna talk about it?” Jack’s quiet for a long moment. “I just don't know. I feel like I’m playing catch up. Like everyone’s two steps ahead.”

“You’ve barely been there for a few days, Jack.”

“I know,” Jack says. “But it’s not supposed to feel this hard.”

“You put too much pressure on yourself.” Jack huffs a soft laugh, but there’s no real humor in it. “It’s kinda hard not to.” You’re quiet for a beat. Then, “You’re not gonna figure it out overnight.”

“I know.”

“But you’ll figure it out. You always do.” Jack doesn’t say anything for a second. Then, quietly, “I hope you’re right.” You close your eyes. “I always am.” Jack’s breath crackles over the line. “Can I call you tomorrow?”

“You don’t have to ask.”

Jack’s quiet for another moment. “I love you and I miss you .”

Your heart clenches. “I miss and love you too.”

Jack sighs softly. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Jack.”

You keep the phone pressed to your ear until the line goes quiet.

Jack calls you after his full day of rookie camp, his voice low and tired through the phone. He sounds exhausted, more than you expected. You’re sitting on the floor of your bedroom, your knees pulled to your chest, the phone pressed to your ear. 

“Hey,” Jack says, his voice scratchy. “Hey,” you say softly. “How was it?” Jack exhales a sharp breath. “Brutal.”  

“What happened?”  

“Fitness testing.” Jack huffs a soft, humorless laugh. “Like the Combine but worse.”  You sit up a little straighter. “Worse?”  

“Longer. Harder.” Jack’s voice dips lower. “I thought I was ready for it, but I don’t know.” He sounds frustrated, and that’s what gets you. Jack rarely admits when something’s hard. 

“You’re gonna be fine,” you say quietly.  “I don’t know,” Jack says again. “It’s not just the testing. The practices everyone’s so fast. So strong. I’m trying to keep up, but it feels like I’m a step behind.”  

You can almost picture him  sprawled across his bed, running a hand through his hair the way he does when he’s stressed. Your chest tightens. “You’ve been there for what five days?”  

“ a week.”  

“A week” you repeat. “Jack, you need to give yourself some time.”  

“I don’t have time,” Jack says. His voice sharpens, the frustration cracking through. “This is the NHL. Everyone’s watching.” 

You know that’s true you’ve seen the articles, the highlight reels on social media. It’s a lot for anyone especially for Jack, who’s always carried the weight of expectation like it’s part of his DNA.  

“Hey,” you say softly. “You don’t have to figure everything out right away. This isn’t going to be easy it’s not supposed to be. But you wouldn’t be there if you couldn’t handle it.”  

Jack’s quiet for a long moment. Then, barely above a whisper: “I don’t know if I can.” You close your eyes, your heart tightening. “Jack.” 

“I’m serious,” Jack says. His voice cracks a little at the edges. “What if I’m not as good as everyone thinks I am?”  

“You are,” you say immediately. “Jack, you’ve been working toward this your whole life. You belong there.”  

“Do I?” 

“Yes,” you say. “And if you can’t believe that yet let me believe it for you.”  Jack doesn’t answer right away. His breath crackles over the line. “What would I do without you?”  You smile faintly, even though your chest aches. “You’d figure it out.”  

“Maybe,” Jack says. “But I’m glad I don’t have to.”  

Jack starts texting you more after that. Sometimes it’s a quick message in the morning on the ice or a random photo of his new locker with his nameplate above it. Sometimes it’s a rant about drills, or a chirp about one of the guys. Jesper seems to be his favorite target. 

Bratt tripped me in practice today. little rat  

What'd you do? you text back.  

chirped him about his hair  

You can’t help but smile. But there are harder messages too.  

Bag skate this morning. Thought I was going to pass out.  

Coach isn’t happy with me.  

Everyone’s so much stronger. 

You know Jack doesn’t say these things to anyone else. With the media, with his teammates he’s steady. Confident. But with you he lets the cracks show. And when he calls you late at night, his voice low and rough, you know that’s when he’s feeling it the most.  

One night, it’s past midnight when your phone buzzes on your nightstand. You’re half asleep, barely registering the sound until it buzzes again. You squint at the screen. Jack.  

“Hey,” you answer, your voice thick with sleep.  “Did I wake you?” Jack asks. “No,” you lie. “What’s wrong?”  

Jack sighs, and you can hear the tension in it. “Nothing.”  You wait. Jack’s quiet for so long you think maybe he’s about to hang up. Then he says, “I just needed to hear your voice.”  

You sit up, rubbing at your eyes. “Rough day?”  

Jack’s breath catches. “Yeah.” 

“What happened?”  

Jack’s quiet for another long moment. “Coach ripped into me.”  

You frown. “Why?”  

“Made a bad play during the scrimmage,” Jack says. “Got caught flat footed on the backcheck. Then I missed the net on a breakaway.” 

“That doesn’t sound like you.”  

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” Jack says. His voice drops lower, almost shaky. “I’m trying. It’s just everything’s so much faster than I expected. I feel like I’m drowning.”  

“You’re not,” you say quietly. “You’re adjusting.”  

Jack’s breath hitches. “What if I don’t?”  

“You will.”  

Jack doesn’t answer for a long time. You hear rustling on the other end of the line, like he’s lying down. “I miss you,” he says finally.  

Your chest tightens. “I miss you too.”  

Jack’s voice gets softer. “Will you stay on the phone with me? Just for a little while?”  

You slide down beneath the covers, resting your head against the pillow. “Of course.”  

Jack breathes out. “Thanks.”  

You don’t say anything after that. Jack’s breathing evens out eventually, and you think he’s starting to fall asleep when you hear him murmur, barely audible “Love you.”  

You don’t know if he’s even awake enough to remember saying it. But your heart thuds painfully against your ribs.  

“I love you too,” you whisper.

⟡

Jack’s first game in the NHL is at home, and the crowd is louder than he expected. He steps onto the ice at Prudential Center, the Devils logo bright under the lights. The noise is deafening, the kind of sound that hits you square in the chest  and for a second it’s hard to breathe. His legs feel shaky as he skates through warmups, the ice cutting beneath his skates with every push. The energy is electric, but it’s not enough to drown out the knot in his chest. He knows everyone’s watching him, the first overall pick, the franchise’s future. He tries not to think about it but it’s impossible to ignore the weight of it.

You’re watching from Michigan. The game’s on TV in your room, your laptop balanced on your knees. Jack looks smaller on the screen somehow swallowed up by the bright lights and the size of the arena. He’s wearing number 86, and it still feels surreal seeing it on an NHL jersey. He’s buzzing with nerves  you can tell by the way he’s gripping his stick too tightly during warmups. He’s always done that when he’s nervous.

Jack texts you after warmups while the Zamboni is still clearing the ice. “Starting on the second line. My hands are shaking.”

You smile, already typing back. “You’ve got this. Just play your game.”

Jack’s response comes quickly. “I feel like I’m going to throw up.”

“You won’t.” You pause before adding, “But maybe don’t sit next to Nico if you do.”

A minute passes before the dots appear again. “Not funny.”

“A little funny.”

Jack doesn’t respond, but the small, shaky smile he gives the camera when it passes by his bench tells you he saw it.

The game itself is rough. Jack looks fast, quick on his feet, but the Devils’ offense struggles to keep up. He gets knocked down hard in the first period, bouncing off the boards and coming up wincing. He pushes through it, but you can tell he’s frustrated the way he shakes his head after a shift, the way he skates to the bench with his head down. The Devils lose 4-1, and Jack finishes with a minus-two rating. His line gets hemmed in the defensive zone more than once, and even though it’s just one game, the postgame interviews are already talking about whether he can handle the league’s size and speed.

He calls you after the game, his voice flat. “That sucked.”

“You knew it wasn’t going to be easy,” you say softly.

“I didn’t think it would be this bad,” Jack mutters. He sighs, and you can hear the exhaustion in his voice. “I was minus-two. Do you know how bad that is?”

“Jack”

“Everyone’s already talking about it,” he cuts you off. His voice tightens, the frustration bubbling to the surface. “I can’t screw this up” He trails off, his breath shaky.

“You’re not screwing anything up,” you say firmly. “It’s one game.”

“It’s not just one game.” Jack exhales through his nose, and you can hear the tension in it. “This is what I’ve been working toward my whole life. And what if I’m not good enough?”

You close your eyes, pressing your forehead to your hand. “Jack. You are good enough. You belong here.”

Jack’s quiet for a moment. “Yeah,” he says eventually. But he doesn’t sound like he believes it.

The first few weeks are more of the same. Jack gets pushed around a lot, the physicality wearing on him. He’s getting hit hard, knocked off the puck more than he’s used to. He’s fast, but the guys he’s playing against are bigger, more experienced. He’s trying, you can see it but it’s not coming together the way he wants it to.

Your phone buzzes constantly after games. Jack’s name lights up the screen with texts “Minus-three. Fucking embarrassing.” “I can’t score.” “I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.”

You try to reassure him, but the losses are piling up. The Devils are 0-4-2 to start the season, and Jack’s still scoreless. The media’s already running with it  headlines about whether he was overhyped, if he’s too small for the league. Jack tries to brush it off, but you know it’s getting to him.

It’s late one night when he calls you, his voice quiet. “I don’t know how to fix this.” You sit up in bed, clutching the phone to your ear. “You will.” 

Jack doesn’t say anything for a while. “I just” He sighs. “I miss you.”

Your chest tightens. “I miss you too.”

Jack’s breath hitches. “I hate it here,” he says quietly.

Your eyes burn. “I know.”

“I don’t know how to do this without you.”

“You’re not doing this without me,” you whisper.

Jack’s quiet for a long time. His breathing is steady in your ear. Eventually, he says, “I just want to come home.”

You close your eyes, swallowing down the ache in your chest. “I know,” you say softly. “But you can’t.”

Jack doesn’t answer, but you know he’s still there. After a while, his breathing evens out, and you realize he’s fallen asleep on the line. You stay there for a while, the phone pressed to your ear, listening to his quiet breathing.

Jack finally scores his first goal two weeks into the season, a breakaway against Vancouver. Quinn’s on the ice when it happens, and you see the way Quinn hugs him against the glass after the puck crosses the line. Jack looks lighter for a moment, his smile big and bright, but it fades quickly after the game ends. The Devils still lost 5-2.

He calls you that night, and he sounds more tired than happy. “It doesn’t matter if we keep losing,” Jack mutters.

“Yes, it does,” you say. “Jack, you scored. That’s huge.”

Jack sighs. “Yeah.” He’s quiet for a second before adding, “Quinn said you screamed when it went in.”

You laugh. “Maybe.”

Jack’s breath softens. “I miss you.”

Your heart squeezes. “I miss you too.”

Jack’s quiet for a long time before he says, “I don’t know how long I can keep doing this.”

You don’t know how to answer that. So you don’t.

⟡

Jack’s rookie season should’ve been exciting. It should’ve been everything he’s worked for. Instead, it’s November, and the Devils are on a six-game losing streak. Jack’s gone nine games without a goal, and the media’s not holding back. Every headline is brutal. Every post game interview is worse. He’s not smiling as much anymore. He’s quiet when you call, sometimes too tired to even talk. And when you visit, it feels like he’s somewhere else entirely.

The last time you saw him in person was two weeks ago. You’d flown from Michigan to see him play in Newark the first time you’d been able to since the season started. Jack had barely looked at you when you met him outside the locker room. His face was tight, his eyes tired. He’d hugged you, but it was quick. Impersonal. And when you sat with his family during the game, you saw the tension in his shoulders, the way he carried himself on the ice like the weight of it all was pressing down too hard. He’d been the last one off the ice after the loss, his head down, his mouth pulled tight.

He called you that night late, when you were already back at the hotel and apologized. “I just I’m sorry I couldn’t see you more,” Jack had said, his voice low. He’d sounded exhausted. “I’m just tired.”

Now, it’s almost midnight again, and you’re staring at your phone, waiting for him to call. He hasn’t. You’ve texted twice with no answer. You know he’s probably at home by now, maybe asleep. Or maybe not. He’s started turning his phone off after games. Less noise, he’d said. Less pressure. But you don’t know if it’s helping.

It’s hard to know what to say when you do talk to him. When he tells you he’s doing fine, even though you can hear it in his voice that he isn’t. When he tells you, “I’ll figure it out,” even though you can see him unraveling.

The next morning, you call him before class. He answers on the third ring, his voice rough with sleep. “Hey,” he says.

“Hey,” you say softly. “You okay?”

Jack sighs. You can hear the sound of him rubbing a hand over his face. “Yeah. Just tired.”

“You’ve been saying that a lot.”

Jack’s quiet for a long time. “Yeah.”

You sit down on the edge of your bed, clutching the phone a little tighter. “Jack”

“I’m fine,” he says quickly. Too quickly.

“You’re not,” you say gently. “You don’t have to-”

“I said I’m fine,” Jack cuts in. His tone is sharper than you’ve ever heard it.

You go quiet. Jack exhales. “Sorry,” he mutters. “I just don't know.”

“It’s okay,” you say softly.

Jack doesn’t say anything for a while. You can hear his breathing over the line, steady but heavy. Finally, he speaks again, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know how to fix this.”

You swallow the lump in your throat. “You don’t have to fix it alone.”

Jack doesn’t answer. And after a while, the line goes quiet.

The next time you talk to Jack, it’s after another loss. This time to Toronto. Another night of him leaving the rink without a point. Another night of reporters asking him what’s wrong, why he isn’t producing.

“I’m trying,” Jack says, his voice tight. “I’m trying and it’s not, it's not working.”

“I know,” you say softly. “But it’s not your fault. It’s a team-”

“I don’t care if it’s a team thing,” Jack snaps. “I’m the first pick. I’m supposed to be the one fixing it.”

“Jack-”

“I have to be better.” His voice cracks. “I just I don’t know how.”

Your heart aches. You want to reach through the phone and pull him into you. Hold him until the tension melts away. But you can’t. You’re too far away. And Jack’s already starting to pull back.

“You’re not alone im with you,” you say quietly.

Jack doesn’t answer.

You hear him breathe out. Then the call ends.

The worst part is that you don’t know how to help him. Jack’s not letting you in the way he used to. And you can feel it the distance growing between you, like something fraying at the edges. You want to fix it. You want to be enough to hold him together.But Jack’s starting to slip through your fingers.

⟡

After a while, you notice that not only jack started to drift from you, but also your relationship with him. It starts with the little things.

The missed calls. The delayed replies. The way Jack’s voice sounds a little too thin over the phone, his laugh not quite reaching the places it usually does. He’s tired you can hear it even when he tries to hide it.

At first, you don’t think much of it. Jack’s schedule is brutal, and it’s not like he’s never missed a call before. But then it starts happening more often. You’ll text him after a game Proud of you, call me when you can? and it’ll sit there for hours. Sometimes until the next day. Or he’ll call you late, hours after he said he would, with a rushed apology and a tired “I’m sorry, babe. I just passed out after practice.”

You get it. You do.  He’s in the middle of his rookie season, grinding through the hardest stretch of hockey he’s ever played, and he’s under more pressure than he’ll ever admit. But that doesn’t make it sting any less when you see his name light up your phone after midnight and realize you’ve already given up hope of hearing from him that night. 

Or when you do pick up, and it’s not the Jack you’re used to hearing.

“Hey,” you say softly, curling up under the covers. “You okay?”

Jack’s voice is thin over the line. “Yeah. Just tired.”

He always says that. Just tired. Even when it sounds like more than that.

“You played well tonight,” you offer. “Had that sick pass in the second.”

Jack’s breath crackles faintly through the speaker. “Didn’t matter. We still lost.”

“It’s not on you.”

Jack hums. You can picture the way he’s probably lying there  head buried in the pillow, hand resting over his face, the line of his jaw tight. He’s always been hard on himself. But lately, it's gotten worse.

The games aren’t going well. The media’s been tearing into him —first overall pick and only four goals? The disappointment in the headlines is almost palpable. You’ve stopped reading the articles, but you know Jack hasn’t. He doesn’t talk about it, but you can tell from the way he’s quieter now. The way his texts have dwindled from paragraphs to one word answers. 

The last time you FaceTimed, Jack barely looked at you. He was lying in bed, hair damp from his post-game shower, and you could see the crease between his brows even when he wasn’t talking. You tried to make him smile made a dumb joke about how you’d start training to become the Devils' new enforcer but all you got was a faint chuckle and, “Sorry, I’m just-”

“Tired,” you’d finished for him, and Jack had sighed, rubbing his hand over his face.

It’s been like this for a while now. He’s slipping  or maybe you’re the one slipping away. You don’t know how to fix it when Jack’s over 600 miles away, and every conversation feels like trying to grasp sand in your hands the harder you try to hold on, the faster it slips through your fingers.  

You’re curled up in bed now, phone pressed to your ear as Jack’s voice filters through the speaker. 

“It was bad,” Jack says. His voice is quiet. Defeated. “I just I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

You sit up a little, pushing back the tight feeling in your chest. “Jack, it’s not you. The whole team’s struggling right now.”

“Yeah, but” He cuts himself off. You can hear the frustrated exhale on the other end. “I should be better. I was the first overall pick  I’m supposed to make a difference.”

“You are making a difference,” you say gently. “It’s your rookie year. No one expects you to carry the team.”

Jack’s silent for a beat too long. 

You squeeze your eyes shut. “Jack?”

“Yeah,” he says, but his voice sounds distant. “I know.”

You hesitate. “Do you, though?”

His breath hitches. “I just I don’t know. Feels like I’m trying, but nothing’s working. And people are starting to talk, you know? About how maybe I wasn’t ready, maybe I’m not”

“Jack,” you cut in. “Stop.”

He doesn’t respond.

“You’re not a mistake,” you say, because you know that’s what he’s thinking. “You deserve to be there. You worked your ass off for this.”

“I guess.”

“Not ‘I guess,’” you press. “Jack, you”

“I know,” he snaps, and the sharpness of it cuts through the space between you. You freeze, swallowing the knot in your throat. Jack exhales shakily. His voice softens. “Sorry. I’m just tired.”

You force a small smile even though he can’t see it. “You’re allowed to be tired.”

“Yeah,” Jack says, but it doesn’t sound like he believes it.

Another stretch of silence presses down between you. You wait for Jack to fill it, but he doesn’t.

“You want me to stay on the phone with you?” you ask quietly.

Jack’s quiet for a second. “No its okay”

“I’ll stay” 

“Okay.”

So you stay. Jack doesn’t say much after that. You can hear the rustle of his comforter as he shifts around, settling into bed. His breathing starts to even out. You stay awake longer than you probably should, listening to the soft sound of him breathing on the other end of the line, wondering how much longer you’ll be able to reach him like this.

Because lately, even when he’s right there, yet he feels so far away.

⟡

It’s been months of missed calls, delayed texts, and half-hearted conversations. Jack’s always tired. Or busy. Or distracted. And when you do talk, it’s like he’s only halfway there like some part of him is already pulling away. You’ve tried not to read into it, tried to convince yourself it’s just the pressure of his rookie season, that things will settle once he finds his rhythm. But deep down, you know better. It’s not just hockey. It’s him. It’s you. It’s the quiet space growing between you, the way it stretches wider with every unanswered text and every empty conversation.

So you book a flight to New Jersey because you need to know if this is still something you can save or if you lost him completely

DAY ONE  

The cab ride from the airport to Jack’s apartment is quiet. Too quiet. The city outside the window passes in a blur of gray and headlights, but you don’t really see it. Your phone sits heavy in your lap, the screen dark except for the faint reflection of the passing streetlights. You tap your thumb against the side of it like you're expecting a message that you know isn’t coming. Jack texted you earlier to confirm he’d be home when you arrived, but that was three hours ago. No follow-up. No “Can’t wait to see you.” No little heart emoji like he used to send.  

It’s not that he’s ignoring you  at least, not outright. He’s busy, you’ve told yourself a hundred times over the last few weeks. Rookie season is demanding. New city, new team, new pressure. He’s adjusting. You should understand that. And you do. You swear you do. But understanding it doesn’t make the silence feel any less heavy.  

When the cab pulls up in front of Jack’s building, you hesitate for a second before stepping out. You’re not sure why  it’s not like you’ve never been here before but the weight sitting low in your stomach makes it hard to breathe. The driver sets your bag on the curb, and you force yourself to pick it up, shoulders tensing under the weight of it as you walk toward the entrance.  

Jack opens the door when you knock. He’s in a plain Devils hoodie and sweatpants, his hair damp like he just showered. He smiles, but it’s thin, barely reaching his eyes. 

“Hey,” he says. His voice is soft, like he's already tired.  

You smile, forcing brightness into your voice. “Hey.”  

Jack leans down to kiss you, but it’s brief. Quick. Like he’s already pulling away before it starts. His hand finds the small of your back and guides you into the apartment, but it drops as soon as the door closes behind you.  

The apartment looks the same cleaner than you expected, probably because Ellen came to visit last week but it feels off. Like someone came through and rearranged all the furniture just enough to make you notice. Jack’s shoes are in a neat row by the door. There’s a half empty coffee mug sitting on the counter. His phone is face down on the couch.  

Jack sits down on the couch, leaving a noticeable gap beside him. You sit too, trying to close it, but he doesn’t shift toward you.  

“So,” you start, your voice too bright, too forced, “how was practice today?”  

“Fine.”  

Your stomach twists. “Just fine?”  

Jack shrugs, eyes fixed on the muted TV. “Yeah.”  

You watch him for a second, the sharp line of his jaw and the way his hand rests against his knee. Normally, he'd have his arm around you by now. Normally, you’d be tangled together and he’d be rambling about plays and drills and how Nico wouldn’t stop chirping him today.  

But he’s quiet. Detached.  

And you’re hyper aware of the space between you.  

Jack reaches for the remote and starts flipping through channels. His brows furrowed in concentration, but he’s not really watching anything. It’s like his body is here, but the rest of him is somewhere else.  

“Hungry?” he asks after a minute.  

“Yeah, I could eat.”  

“Cool.” He stands. “I’ll order something.”  

And that’s it. He disappears into the kitchen without asking what you want. A minute later, you hear the soft murmur of his voice on the phone.   

You sit there, your heart beating loud in your ears, and wonder why it feels like you’ve already lost him.  

Jack comes back a few minutes later and drops onto the couch, his knee brushing against yours for half a second before he shifts away.  

“Food should be here in, like, twenty minutes,” he says.  

You nod. “okay”  

More silence. The TV hums in the background, the flicker of light reflecting off Jack’s face. You glance at him, hoping he’ll look over at you, but his gaze stays fixed on the screen. His hand is resting between his knees, his fingers pulling at a loose thread in the fabric of his sweatpants.  

You clear your throat. “Did you, um talk to Quinn today he was asking me about you?”  

Jack’s mouth tightens. “Yeah.”  

“And?”  

“He’s good.”  

You wait for him to elaborate, but he doesn’t. The seconds stretch out between you, long and tense and uncomfortable.  

“Jack.” You lean toward him, lowering your voice. “What’s going on?” Jack’s jaw twitches. “Nothing.”  

“It doesn’t feel like nothing.”  

Jack sighs, running a hand through his hair. “It’s just been a long week.”  

You search his face, the dark circles under his eyes, the faint crease in his forehead and you know he’s not lying. But you also know he’s not telling you the whole truth.   

“You know you can talk to me, right?” you say, your voice soft.  

Jack’s gaze flickers toward you, and for a second, you see it  the familiar warmth, the quiet vulnerability you’ve always known how to reach. His eyes soften, and he looks like he might actually say something.  

But then the buzzer for the front door sounds, and the moment evaporates.  

Jack stands quickly. “That’s the food.”  

You watch him cross the room, feeling the distance stretch wider with every step.  

He comes back with a brown takeout bag, setting it on the coffee table before sitting down. He opens the bag and pulls out containers of food  sushi, not your favorite  and hands you a pair of chopsticks without looking at you. 

You stare down at the food. “Did you know what I wanted?”  

Jack hesitates. “I just ordered something quick.”  

Your chest tightens. Jack always knows what you want. He knows you like avocado rolls, not spicy tuna. He knows you like extra soy sauce on the side and that you don’t like wasabi. But tonight, it’s like he didn’t even think about it.  

You pick at the sushi, appetite gone. Jack eats quietly, his eyes back on the TV. The sound of the game commentator fills the air, too loud, pressing into your skull.  

After a few minutes, Jack stands and starts cleaning up. He takes your barely touched container and tosses it in the trash without a word.  

“I’m gonna shower,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck.  

“Oh. Okay.”  

Jack hesitates in the doorway. His eyes flick toward you, and for a second, you think he might come back, sit down, pull you into his arms, tell you he’s just tired and that everything is fine.  

But he doesn’t. He disappears down the hall, and a minute later, you hear the sound of the shower running.  

You sit there, hands clasped in your lap, listening to the water hit the tile. Your heart feels too big and too small at the same time, pressing against the walls of your chest.   

Jack’s phone buzzes on the table, and you glance at it. A text from Nico lights up the screen:  

Good skate today. 

 You stare at the message for a long time. 

The shower runs in the background, and you sit alone on the couch, feeling the emptiness stretch out around you.

DAY TWO

Jack sleeps with his back to you.  

It’s not the first time, but it feels different tonight. Final. His side of the bed feels miles away, the sheets cool and untouched where his body should be. You lie there for a long time, staring at the ceiling, listening to the sound of his breathing. It’s shallow, restless. Every few minutes, he shifts, the mattress dipping under his weight.  

You think about reaching for him, curling up into his side like you always do. Your hand twitches under the blanket, fingers itching to brush over his back, to anchor yourself to the steady rhythm of his breathing. But something stops you. Fear, maybe or just the quiet certainty that if you reach for him, he’ll pull away.  

So you stay still, the space between you cold and unforgiving.  

You wake up sometime in the middle of the night to find him half hanging off the edge of the bed, his face turned toward the wall. His arm is curled beneath his head, his breathing uneven. You watch the rise and fall of his back, the way his shoulders tense even in sleep. He’s not resting, not really.   

You swallow hard and sit up slightly, brushing your hair away from your face. For a second, you think about touching him, coaxing him back toward you. But you don’t. You can’t.   

In the morning, Jack wakes up first. You know this because you hear him moving around the apartment while you lie there, eyes closed, hoping he’ll come back to bed. He doesn’t.  

Instead, you hear the distant sound of water running in the bathroom, the clink of glass in the kitchen. The low hum of the TV. You press your face into the pillow and try to breathe through the tightness in your chest.  

When you finally get up, Jack’s sitting at the kitchen counter with a protein shake. He’s already dressed in workout gear Devils issued shorts and a long-sleeve shirt that fits snug around his arms. His hair is damp, curling slightly at the ends. He glances up when you enter the room.  

“Morning,” you say, your voice coming out softer than you meant.  

“Hey.”  

You sit across from him, pulling your knees up and wrapping your arms around them. Jack’s gaze flickers toward you briefly, then drops back down to his protein shake. He spins the cup slowly in his hands, condensation trailing down the side.  

You try to find his eyes. “Sleep okay?”  

Jack nods, distracted. He taps his thumb against the edge of the cup. “Yeah.”  

“You sure?”  

“Mmhmm.” His gaze darts toward the window.  

You glance at the clock on the microwave. “What time’s practice?”  

“Ten.”  

“You want to grab coffee after?”  

Jack hesitates. His shoulders tighten. “I don’t know. We’ve got media stuff later.”  

“Oh.”  

You feel stupid for asking.  

Jack stands and rinses out his cup in the sink. His back is to you, but you see the tension in his shoulders. He’s holding it all in  the pressure, the frustration, the weight of everything this year has asked of him. Normally, he’d tell you about it. He’d talk through it, let you hold it with him for a little while.  

But now it feels like he’s trying to keep the distance intact.  

“You okay?” you ask quietly.  

“Yeah.”  

“Jack.”  

He sighs and rubs a hand over his face. When he speaks, his voice is tight. “It’s just a lot right now.”  

You nod, even though he’s not looking at you.  

Jack’s hand curls over the edge of the counter. His knuckles turn white for half a second before he exhales and grabs his keys from the hook by the door.  

“I’ll see you later, okay?” His tone is light  too light. Like he’s trying to make this feel normal.  

You sit up straighter. “We could go out tonight. Dinner or something.”  

Jack pauses with his hand on the handle. His eyes flick toward you, guarded. “Yeah. We’ll figure something out.”  

Then he’s gone.  

The door clicks shut behind him, and the quiet of the apartment closes in around you.  

You sit there for a long time, staring at the spot where he stood. The sunlight spills in through the thin curtains, cutting pale lines across the hardwood floor. You think about the way he used to kiss you in the mornings, sleepy and warm, his hand curled over the back of your neck. You think about the way he used to tug you into his chest after a restless night, murmuring sleepy nonsense into your hair.  

And then you think about last night about the empty side of the bed and the quiet wall of his back facing you.  

Your phone buzzes on the table. You grab it quickly, your heart leaping in your chest. But it’s not Jack. It’s a text from quinn  

"Hope you’re having a good time! How’s Jack?" 

You stare at the message for a long moment before typing back:  

"Good. Everything’s good." 

The lie tastes bitter on your tongue.   

You sit there for a while longer, the phone still in your hand, before pushing yourself to your feet. You grab the half-empty protein shake Jack left on the counter and dump it down the sink. The hum of the refrigerator fills the silence.  

It’s only nine o’clock, but it feels later. Your eyes drift toward the bedroom  the sheets still rumpled from sleep and you wonder if you should crawl back into bed and wait for him to come home.  

But you know better.  

Instead, you curl up on the couch and pull the blanket over your legs. Jack’s sweatshirt is draped over the arm of the couch, and you pull it onto your lap, bunching the sleeves in your hands. It smells like his laundry detergent and something warmer, more familiar.  

you press your face into the fabric and close your eyes, trying to remember the last time he held you like he meant it.  

You think about how he used to look at you and really look at you like you were the only thing in the room that mattered.  

But that was months ago. Now, when Jack looks at you, it’s like he’s looking through you. Or worse like he’s already decided what happens next.  

Your phone buzzes again. This time, it’s Jack.  

“Practice ran long. Gonna be late.” 

You type out a quick response  "Okay."  but don’t hit send right away.  

Instead, you sit there with the message glowing on the screen, wondering when it started feeling like this. Like you’re holding onto something that’s already slipping away.

DAY THREE

It was worse the next day. The air felt thicker, like it was weighing down every conversation. Jack seemed distracted, his gaze always drifting toward his phone or the TV. When you asked if he wanted to grab lunch, he hesitated for a second before saying, "Yeah, sure," like he was doing you a favor.

At lunch, he kept glancing around, not meeting your eyes. You watched him scroll through his phone between bites of his sandwich. You tapped your nails against the table.

"Jack."

"Hmm?" His eyes didn’t lift from his phone.

"Can you put that down?"

He sighed but set the phone face down. "Okay."

You wanted to ask if he even wanted you here. You wanted to ask why he wasn’t looking at you like he used to, why you felt like a ghost in his apartment. But you swallowed it all down and smiled when Jack forced another conversation about hockey that you could barely focus on.

That night, he sat at the edge of the bed, scrolling on his phone again while you sat behind him. You reached out, resting a hand on his back. He tensed.

"Are you okay?" you asked.

"Yeah," he said quickly.

"You don’t seem like it."

"I’m fine, okay?" His tone was sharp. He stood up and walked toward the bathroom without looking back.

You stared at the empty space he left behind.

DAY FOUR

You woke up before Jack.  

He was lying on his stomach, face half-buried in the pillow, hair sticking up in every direction. You watched him for a moment, chest rising and falling steadily. He looked peaceful like this like the Jack you used to know. The Jack who used to roll over and pull you into his arms the second he woke up.  

You shifted closer, brushing your hand over his back. His skin was warm under your fingertips. He stirred, groaning softly into the pillow.  

"Morning," you whispered.  

Jack’s eyes fluttered open. He blinked at you sleepily, then rubbed a hand over his face. "Morning."  

You smiled, leaning down to press a kiss to his bare shoulder. He didn’t react. Just sat up and ran a hand through his hair.  

"What time is it?"  

"Almost nine."  

Jack nodded, already swinging his legs over the side of the bed. "I should get going soon."  

"Going where?I thought you had today off"  

Jack stood, stretching. "I do, I'm just going to go workout with some of the guys."  

"Oh." You sat up, the sheets pooling around your waist. "Can I come?"  

Jack paused, looking at you over his shoulder. "I mean it’s just going to be boring."  

"I don’t care."  

Jack hesitated. "I think we’re just gonna grab lunch after. Probably end up hanging out at Nico’s."  

You bit the inside of your cheek. "So you don’t want me there?"  

Jack’s gaze darted to the floor. "It’s not that."  

"Then what is it?"  

Jack sighed. "I don’t know. Just feels like a guys' thing, you know?"  

You swallowed. "Right."  

Jack’s phone buzzed on the nightstand. He grabbed it, checking the screen. A faint smile tugged at his mouth.  

"Who is it?" you asked.  

“Nico," Jack said, texting back quickly. He tossed his phone onto the bed, already moving toward the bathroom.  

You sat there for a moment, heart sinking.  

"I’ll be back later," Jack called over his shoulder.  

"Cool," you murmured. But Jack had already closed the door behind him.  

You sat there for a long time, listening to the shower running.  

When Jack got back that afternoon, you were curled up on the couch, knees pulled to your chest. He walked in, tossed his keys onto the counter, and sat down across from you. He scrolled through his phone without saying anything.  

You watched him for a moment.  

"How was it?" you asked.  

"Hmm?"  

"Your workout."  

Jack shrugged. "Good."  

"Anything else?"  

Jack didn’t look up. "Nope."  

Your jaw tightened.  

You shifted closer, resting a hand on his arm. "Jack."  

He tensed. "What?"  

You hated how sharp his voice sounded. Like you were annoying him.  

"Do you want to do something tonight?" you asked quietly.  

Jack sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "I don’t know. I’m kind of tired."  

"Oh."  

Jack’s gaze flicked toward you. "What?"  

"Nothing," you said quickly, even though it wasn’t nothing.  

Jack’s phone buzzed again. He picked it up without hesitation. You sat there, heart sinking as he smiled at the screen. He didn’t even notice the way your hand fell away from his arm.  

And that’s when it hit you.  

You weren’t the person he wanted to talk to anymore.  

You weren’t the person who made him smile like that anymore.  

You took a breath, swallowing hard. "Jack."  

"Hmm?"  

You sat up straighter, heart hammering painfully against your ribs. "Do you even want me here?"  

Jack’s head jerked toward you, brows furrowing. "What kind of question is that?"  

"You’re barely looking at me." Your voice cracked. "You don’t talk to me. When you do, it feels like you’re trying to get through it so you can go back to your phone. Just say it if you don’t want me here."  

Jack’s jaw tightened. "Jesus, you’re making this a bigger deal than it is."  

"A bigger deal?" you echoed. Your voice sharpened. "Jack, I flew to new jersey to see you. I’m trying so hard to hold this together, but you’re not even meeting me halfway. If you don’t want this anymore, just"  

"I didn’t ask you to come."  

You froze.  

Jack’s eyes widened, but the words were already out there.  

Your heart hammered in your chest. "What?"  

"I didn’t ask you to come," he repeated, softer this time. His gaze fell to the floor. "You decided to."  

You blinked hard, your throat tightening painfully. "Wow."  

Jack ran a hand through his hair, exhaling hard. "I didn’t mean it like that"  

"You did."  

Jack’s mouth opened, but no words came out.  

You stood up, shaking. "I can't, I can't do this anymore."  

Jack’s head snapped toward you. "What does that mean?"  

"It means I’m done." Your voice broke, but you kept going. "I’m tired of feeling like I’m the only one fighting for this. If you’re not going to try, then why am I even here?"  

Jack’s eyes darkened. "So that’s it? You’re giving up?"  

You laughed bitterly. "You gave up first."  

Jack’s mouth twisted. "Right. So now it’s my fault?"  

"You know what?" you said, your breath shaking. "Yeah. It is."  

Jack stood up, his eyes hard now. "Fine. If you want to go, then go."  

"That’s it?" You took a step toward him, tears blurring your vision. "You’re not even going to try to stop me?"  

Jack’s eyes flashed. "What do you want me to say? That I miss you? That I love you? You already know that, but it’s not enough, is it?"  

"It’s not enough if you’re not going to show it!" you shot back. "You say you love me, but you act like I’m just here. Like I don’t matter."  

Jack’s expression darkened. "Yeah? Well, maybe you don’t."  

You sucked in a sharp breath.  

Jack’s face paled instantly. "I—"  

"No." You shook your head, tears spilling down your cheeks. "You said it. And you know what? Maybe you’re right."  

"Don’t twist this"  

"I’m not twisting anything! I’m done!" Your voice cracked, but you held your ground. "I’m not going to sit here and beg for you to care about me. I deserve better than that."  

Jack’s jaw flexed.  

Your breath hitched. You waited for him to take it back to tell you to stay. But Jack just stood there, eyes stormy, hands clenched into fists at his sides.  

You nodded slowly. "Okay."  

You grabbed your bag from the floor. Jack didn’t say anything as you walked toward the door. Your hand trembled as you opened it.  

You hesitated. Just for a second.  

"Bye, Jack," you whispered.  

Jack didn’t reply.  

You closed the door behind you.  

The flight home feels like a blur. You don’t cry at least not yet  but the numbness sets in as soon as the plane takes off. Jack didn’t text you before you boarded. He didn’t call. He didn’t say anything after the door shut behind you.   

You stare out the window, watching the clouds blur beneath you, but your chest feels hollow. Four years. Gone in a single weekend. Your friendship since you were 10 of growing up together, of loving each other through every awkward phase and milestone  shattered in one conversation.  

You scroll through your phone without really seeing it. His contact sits at the top of your recent messages, the last one marked as read. I’m sorry. He hasn’t sent anything since.   

And honestly, you don’t expect him to.  

Your phone vibrates, and for half a second your heart leaps. But it’s just your mom, checking in. You let the message sit unopened and slide your phone facedown on the tray table.  

When you get home, everything feels wrong. Your room looks the same, but it’s too quiet. No FaceTime calls from Jack lighting up your phone. No goodnight texts. No “Miss you” or “Wish you were here.” The absence is deafening.   

You lie in bed that night, scrolling through old pictures, ones from Vancouver, from Michigan, from all those summers at the lake house. Jack’s smile frozen in time. Your hand in his. Quinn and Luke in the background, laughing at something Jack had said.   

Your chest tightens.  

You think about how easy it used to be how you could sit in silence for hours and still feel connected. How you could tell what Jack was thinking just from a look. How his hand would instinctively find yours without either of you thinking about it.   

But somewhere along the way, you both stopped reaching for each other. Mostly him. 

Your phone buzzes again. This time, it’s Quinn.  

“You okay?” 

Your thumbs hover over the keyboard, but you don’t know how to answer that.

“Yeah. Just tired.”  

Quinn’s reply comes quickly. “Jack didn’t mean it.”   

Your breath catches. A hollow feeling sinks deeper into your chest.   

You don’t answer.  

Because the worst part is maybe he did.

[aluraveil]

Lisa im having major braunrot about blade fucking Darling in his Mara struck state 👀

imagine how rough he would be <3.. im getting horny just thinking abt it 🥰

ooh yes anon!! blade would be extra possessive esp when the mara hits him!! plus his cock would be much thicker and harder.. poor darling. thank you for the food anon!!

~

𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐀 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐊𝐄𝐒..

Pairing: Blade x Female Reader (ft. Kafka)

TW: Yandere-ish?? Masterbation, lots of smut, vaginal penetration, bedroom activities basically. Everything is consensual here.

MINORS DNI. 18+ only.

~

Blade has time periods that occur every month due to being mara struck where he sorta becomes.. a completely different person. When he’s in the mara struck state, he becomes more.. insane for the lack of a better word.

He was already possessive of his darling before, but during this state, he becomes ten times if not more possessive. Blades mental state becomes more deranged and downright crazy. He’s more angry and more aggressive due to the painful memories that flash back to him. Blade also acts as if he’s in an animal in heat because of how horny he becomes. His cock becomes bigger and stretches out wider and the veins pop out more. His dick is flushing an angry shade of red and the tip is dripping out pre-cum. His cock is painfully erect and it always stretches through his boxers hence why there’s a large bulge forming in his pants.

Blade always has to deal with his.. problem by himself by sneaking off during a mission to hide in a private place such as a bathroom stall or just anywhere where there’s privacy for him and his horniness. He sits himself on his bed in the room that he’s currently staying in for a mission. What a pain, he grumbles as his bandaged hands quickly undo his belt and fumbles with his zipper. He shudders as his cock is finally freed from the confining place and he could almost cum from the feeling of the cold air hitting it. His hands work hastily as he masterbaits. He moans at how pleasurable it felt as his hands began moving up and down went faster and faster, until finally his dick splashes out thick ropes of cum and it squirts everywhere on his bed and dirties his pants. During his Mara struck state, his cum becomes more thick and the duration that it comes out becomes even longer. As for taste, it’s extra creamier and sweeter.

Kafka’s spirit whisper is able to help with some of the symptoms of his mara, such as utterly destroying his opponents, but she can’t do much about his.. hormones. Kafka tells him that her spirit whisper can be useful during missions but the best thing for him would be masterbation and having sex.

“Maybe Y/N could help you with it,” Kafka winks at Blade as she turns back to her magazine. Blade grumbles in pain as he leaves the Stellaron Hunter’s base as he makes the journey back to your shared home.

You weren’t aware about Blade’s tendencies due to the Mara quelling within him. But imagine to your surprise when you’re laying in your living room on the couch wearing one of your boyfriends shirts when Blade bursts the door of your shared home in hushed, raggedy breathes. His shirts covered in blood and his hair is slightly messy. When Blade sees you, he almost couldn’t restrain himself from pouncing on you. Fuck, you looked so gorgeous wearing his shirt and your scent smelled just like him. Blades thoughts were clouded with nothing but lust as he imagined the ways he wanted to ravage your body right then and there.

“Blade? What’s wrong?” You asked him with your eyes full of concern.

Blade’s breathing becomes shallow as his finger points to a certain place. “The mara.” Blade isn’t a man of many words, you were confused on what he meant until you look down and oh. You quickly catch on and realize he’s having another Mara flare up at that moment and he’s painfully horny.

“I can try my best.. and help if you would like- woah!”

You barely even finished your sentence before Blade lifted you up and rushed to your shared bedroom. He tosses you onto the mattress and he hurriedly rushes to undo his pants. You stare in awe as you look at how huge his cock had become. You could see the pre-cuz leaking out and how desperate it was for some friction. You and Blade have had sex many times in the past before, but the difference between now and then was big especially since this would be your first time having sex with him in his Mara struck state.

Blade’s bandaged hands begin to stroke himself and he groaned at the feeling. He quickly climbed on top of the mattress as he rushed to undo your clothing. Your shirt that you borrowed from him was quickly thrown and your laced panties were ripped off.

Blade immediately pounces on you and begins to push inch after inch of his cock into you. You cry out in pain because of how big and thick he is. Blade makes sure to savor every inch of your walls being wrapped around him and he groans at how tight you feel.

“M’gonna pound you,” He breathes out in rushed breathes as he begins to thrust in and out. “Gonna mark you up and make you mine..”

You moan at the feeling of Blade’s dick going in and out. It felt so good and you could feel every inch poking and prodding your insides. The bed began to shake as Blade started going rougher and rougher.

Unfortunately for you, Blades stamina is also increased a lot when he’s having a mara flare up. Which means that whenever you have sex with him during this, you can expect that he’s gonna be cumming inside you a lot and that you’re gonna be having rough sex for a couple of hours. You can also expect that from now on, you’ll be having sex with Blade during his mara flare up all the time since you so nicely volunteered to help him. You’re impressed and shocked with how Blade is able to have sex with you for such long periods of time and how hes able to bend and fold you in numerous positions as he thrusts in and out of your hole. At this point, know that you won’t be leaving the bedroom for at least a week every month.

After your first night of rough intercourse, Blade immediately reports back the good results to Kafka. She notices that whenever Blade is with you during his Mara flare ups, hes more calmer and hes able to control the Mara within him and keep himself more at bay. Meanwhile you’re laying on Blade’s lap with your clothed pussy is all used up and worn out from the abuse of his large cock while your arms, body, and neck are all covered in bite marks and hickeys. Blade has his arms wrapped around your waist as he rests his face on the side of your neck. He feels calmer now because his sweet girlfriend helped him.

Now imagine when you open the door to your shared home one day when you notice a pink present laying on top of your porch with a magenta ribbon. Curious, you open the box only to be greeted with a red laced lingerie set. Your face immediately heats up in embarrassment as you notice a note also placed inside the box.

“For Bladie’s next mara flare up ;)

-Kafka”

Your breath hitched as you feel a strong pair of arms wrap themselves around you. You realize it’s Blade as he nuzzled his face into your neck, then he notices the box you’re holding in his hand.

“Pretty.” He mumbles, “I want you to wear that for me.” You could feel his bulge start to harden as he grinds himself against your ass. “The mara is coming back..” Blade says with a hushed voice, “Be a good girl and help me.”

Well who were you to deny your boyfriend access? After all, you loved him a lot and you were of course willing to help him contain the Mara <3

~

[luvyeni]

[ req? yes / no ]

𝗦𝗖𝗘𝗡𝗘 ──────── mark can’t stand jeno talking to you or even being around you…

( 対 ) mark lee + fem. reader wc. 0.8k genre smut· contains! mature content. / back to library

watching you basically drool over jeno mark could only feel one thing — he wanted to kill him. he wanted to kill him because how dare he make you laugh like that? flex his muscles and flaunt , mark was pissed. “could you not look at jeno like you want to rip his head off for talking to her.”

he scoffed. “talking to her? he’s practically ready fuck her right then and there.” haechan rolled his eyes at his friend. “aren’t you the one who says he doesn’t want a relationship? this is your fault.” he tapped the boy's shoulders walking away. the boy was right, and maybe that’s was his problem , but now as he watches jeno put his arm around your shoulder — he can only feel one emotion : anger.

“you wanna get out of here?” jeno whispers in your ear. “or are you only here to make a certain person upset?” you smirked. “what to do you want?” his eyes trace your body and he groans. “as much as i want to take you out of here , your current problem is currently on his way over here , and im gonna walk away so i don’t get into a fight with one of my best friends.” he gave you a kiss to the temples just to piss mark off even more before walking away.

you can feel him walking up behind you and before you could even turn around, he was dragging you away. “mark.” you say , but he just turns to you. “shut up.” he drags you to a nearby room , closing the door.

“you love fucking with me don’t you?” pushing you against the door. “what did i do?” you pout innocently. “keep playing games yn.” his hand coming up to your cheeks to squeeze your cheeks. “it won’t end well for you.”

that shut you right there; he smirked , letting your face go. “on your knees.” you drop immediately down. “look at you , ready for anything i give you even if you were just ready to ride jeno in fucking public.” he unbuckled his belt , pushing his pants down to his ankles. “fucking slut.” pulling his cock out from his shorts , his mushroom tip dripping with pre-cum as he slapped it on your lips. “open your mouth.”

he pushed his cock into your mouth with a groan. “ah fuck!” he hissed , holding the back of your head as he began to rut into your mouth; his cock hitting the back of your throat , making you gag. “mmh fuck.” he grabbed the wall to hold himself off. “such a tight throat , gonna fucking cum.” he used your mouth to get himself off , holding the back of your head , pushing it down. “fuck!” he cursed as his cock twitched as he shot ropes of cum down your throat. “swallow it, swallow my fucking cum.”

pushing you on the bed, your skirt rolling up to your stomach. “look at how wet you fucking are.” he cupped your clothed cunt. “is this for me , or for him?” you whimpered, desperate for his touch. “answer me.” he slapped your cunt , you shouted. “you!” he pulled your thong to the side , the tip of his cock against your hole. “that’s right.” he pushed himself inside you. “fuck you’re so wet.”

he gripped your waist , pounding into you. “you’re fucking mine.” he growled , hand wrapping around your throat. “understand? he can’t fuck you like i can.” pressing down on your lower belly , a pornographic moan emitting from your throat. “he can’t make you cum like me.” your eyes rolling to the back of your head. “such a whore for my dick , you gonna cum?” you nodded. “who said that you can? hmm? i wanna hear you beg.” he began to slow down , making sure you could feel all of him. “fucking beg.”

“mark please , pl-please let me cum.” his named flowed out your mouth like a mantra; over and over. “please.” he held your legs , pushing them against your chest as he went as deep as he could , your eyesight going white as he whispered into your ear. “cum for me.”

and that’s all you needed before you we’re gripping the sheet , letting out a scream as you came. “ah shit!” he pulled out , tugging at his cock , cumming all over your stomach. “fuck.” he sighed; riding out his own high , tapping the tip of his cock on your sensitive bud. “mine.”

you could barely remember the party the next day ; only the part of the night where after the party mark took you back to his place pulling three more orgasms out of you before allowing you to finally rest next to your , rubbing your stomach. “you’re my girl okay?” he kissed your temple.

“i wanna be the only man ever on your mind.”

©️LUVYENI

[last-words-ofashootingstar]

can i req 104, 129 and 220 with mean dom yunho?🫶

➯a/n: yes you caaaan omgggg yall know i love me sum mean dom yunho😋➯a/n2: im starting to use the queue feature again so i hope this actually posts when i want it to, last time tumblr screwed me over 😭

Lucky Charm

❥Jeong Yunho x fem reader

104 + 129: "give me your panties" + "you want to cum ? ... oh, but do you deserve to ? "

✫彡wordcount: 1k

(>ᴗ•)genre: smut

ಠ_ಠwarning/content: 220: manhandling, idol yunho/non idol reader, established relationship, semi-public, fingering, clothed sex, name calling+playful (?) degradation, yunho panty obsession and you'll see what i mean LMAO, not edited

♡masterlist !♡

MINORS GET LOST

౨ৎ

    In the back of the waiting room, Yunho has you all but cornered as the chaos of preparation continues around you.

     "You look extra handsome today," you smile softly as you rub his velvet-clad arms, "you nervous, Baby?"

    "Just a little, we're sold out." His eyes never leave yours, his hands finding your waist as you pull him into a hug.

     "Don't be nervous, Yunho, you always do amazing," you peck his lips softly so as not to smudge his lipstick. He's got a mischievous glint in his eyes that's spelling trouble for you.

    "I could use a good luck charm, y'know?"

    "Mh? Like what?"

    "Give me your panties."

    You choke on your saliva, covering your mouth and looking at the floor with heat creeping up your neck. "Yu..."

     "Your panties," he whispers with a smirk, "give them to me. I want to keep them in my pocket."

    "Again, seriously?" You whisper-yell, slapping his arm. "You need to start bringing them for yourself at this point!"

   "Seriously," he leans closer with a laugh, tilting his head. "Hurry, hurry~"

    "You creep," you pout dramatically while looking past him. Not even one person is looking your way, and Yunho nearly completely covers your frame anyway by the way you're situated in the corner. "Fine, but I want them back this time."

౨ৎ

      "Get over here."

     How in the world Yunho has any energy after such an intense performance is a damn mystery.

     He came back to you with a searing kiss and drug you to the nearest bathroom, locking the door the second you were inside. He's always like this when his adrenaline is pumping.

     "Careful!" You yelp as he slams you to the wall, his hand cradling the back of your head so you don't hit it.

    "You aren't getting them back," he moans against your neck as he kisses and bites all over your skin. "Sorry, sweetheart, they're my lucky charm. I gotta add them to my collection."

    "You jerk," you chuckle as you push at his shoulders playfully, "I'm going to run out of underwear if you keep this up!"

    "You don't need them anyway — they just get in my way." He proves his point by running his hand up the back of your thigh and grabbing your ass. "I should have easy access to what's mine, don't you think?"

"Mhm~" You moan softly as he slides his hand to your heat and cups it teasingly soft, the other wrapping up in your hair.

"You're all wet, you naughty slut," he laughs as you shake your head; trying to deny it. "Yes, you are~ Gets you all turned on knowing I'm on stage with your panties in my pocket, doesn't it? You're lucky you didn't start dripping down your legs."

"Fuck!" You grab his shoulders tightly as he slips two long, thick fingers right into you and starts an unforgiving pace.

He pins you to the wall by your neck, groaning as you start soaking his palm with every flick of his fingers. "You want to know a secret, sweetheart?"

You struggle to nod your head with the dizzying pleasure he's giving you, but you manage.

"Look down my sleeve."

Your eyes follow the hand that's currently stretching your hole, and your eyes widen as you catch a glimpse of your panties wrapped around his wrist. "Yu-Yunho!" He only smirks at your embarrassment, pulling you away from the wall by your neck. "You damn perv! What if s-someone saw?"

"Oh, well," he wraps an arm around you and lifts you to the counter, your skirt making you slide as you sit on top of it. He leans and pulls you by your hair to meet him in a rough and passionate kiss; spit swapping and tongues everywhere they can reach — all while he's curling and scissoring his fingers in ways that make you go crazy.

He leans his forehead against yours, breathing in your heavy breathes and watching as your eyes get more and more foggy with your growing pleasure.

Yunho has an intense habit of staring at people. Even in non-sexual situations, his eyes are always screaming 'dominance' when he sets them on someone. And you always get that stare times one hundred.

"Stop that," you whine as you feel his gaze penetrating your very soul while he sinks in a third finger.

"What, honey?"

"Looking at me like that!"

"Like what~?" He bites his lip to hold back a laugh as you grumble embarrassedly, looking away from his eyes and holding onto the edge of the counter tightly. "I can't help myself, sweetheart," he hums before pecking your lips again, "you're just so pretty when you're all shy~"

You're a bit shocked he's being so nice. Usually he's even meaner after a performance —

"My pretty slut."

There he is.

He shoves your legs back open when you try to close them, standing between them to stop you from doing it again as he repeatedly curls his digits right into your g-spot and presses for a moment before letting go and repeating all over again. "Just look at you — leaking all over the place. Letting me finger you in the fucking bathroom, you're just as nasty as me~"

"Fuck, please! Keep going!"

"Yeah? You want to cum?" If only you'd open your eyes; you'd see the evil, cheshire grin on his lipstick smeared lips.

"Yes!"

"Oh, but do you deserve to?" Before you can even think of a response, he's pulling his fingers out quickly.

"Ahh! Come back~" You nearly cry at the loss of stimulation, finally peeking your eyes open and catching a glimpse of him sucking his fingers clean as he continues to stare you down.

"I asked you a question." He tilts his head when you don't do anything but stare back at him with your mouth gaped open. "Put that mouth to use before I do."

"What was — yes! Yes, I deserve to, please!"

He pulls you straight off the counter and spins you around, bending you over it roughly. "I don't know about that, sweetheart... Let's see how well you take my cock and then we can decide, deal?"

౨ৎ

[evnseokz]

{ ☆ just the tip ~ j.sc }

pairing: bf! sungchan x f. reader

contents: soft dom! sungchan, inexperienced! reader, clothed sex, messy dry humping (there’s nothing dry ab this), i literally dk how to describe this, dirty talk, praise, pet names: baby, princess, darling, corruption kink if u squint, hopefully that covers it!

based off of this twitter link

an: saw that vid on twt and immediately thought of sungchan, wc 680

MINORS DNI

this isn’t how you pictured tonight going when you pranced around the house in nothing but your boyfriend's shirt, but the moment sungchan saw you, he couldn’t control himself. you drove him crazy.

sungchan was always gentle with you, knowing you weren’t as experienced as him, and tonight was no different. he didn't want to push you further than you were willing to go, so when he offered to make you feel good a different way, you shyly obliged. “w-will you feel good too?” you ask innocently. sungchan cradles your head in his large hand, smiling at you fondly. “yes, baby, i'll feel good too.”

that is how you ended up in your current position: you were laid on your back, sungchan hovering over you, and you're completely bare except for your lower half, which is covered only by your light pink panties. your pussy puffy and throbbing against the head of your boyfriend's cock as he uses you like a toy.

“fuck, you’re soaking wet for me, baby,” sungchan curses from above you, his thick cock rubbing harshly against your soaked panties, his tip prodding at your entrance over and over again as you moan his name. “channie! feels so good,” drool pools at the corner of your mouth as your muscles tense from the pleasure you’re feeling. his large hands hold your thighs open, rutting desperately between your folds as low grunts fall from his lips.

“you look so beautiful like this,” sungchan purred, leaning down to your ear as he feathered light kisses on the skin around it. you sigh in response, your legs threatening to close around his waist. you jaw falls slack as he pushes his tip into your sopping, covered hole at an unbearable pace, stretching you more and more with each thrust. the only thing separating his thick cock from your tight hole being the material of your thin panties.

his arms suddenly snake around your waist, flipping you over and positioning your hips in the air. you moan at the sudden change in position, his cock now rubbing desperately between your plump ass cheeks, his balls hitting your swollen pussy with every thrust. “f-feels- hah! -good!” you moan, all of your noises going straight to sungchans cock as his fingers grip your hips, moving your body in sync with his.

your face rubs against the mattress as he rocks back and forth against you, tears threatening to pool at the corners of your eyes. your stomach begins to tighten and your muscles tense. your head beginning to spin as he drives you closer to the edge. sungchan is right behind you, grunting lowly as he holds his cock steady against your ass. “f-fuck im close, princess,” he bites out, thrusts becoming sloppy as he feels his high approaching. you’re both holding on by a thread at this point, bodies desperately rutting against each other, your wetness dripping down your thighs as sungchans precum smears all over your panties.

“ah-ah!” you cry out; your legs become tingly as the pleasure you’re feeling suddenly heightens. “let go for me, baby,” sungchan coos, a bead of sweat dripping down his forehead as he keeps a steady, yet unkempt pace against your ass, trying to hold out for you to cum first. before you grasp what’s happening, your legs buckle beneath you, sungchans hands keeping you in place as he continues to rub against you, chasing his own high.

he’s not far behind you, letting out a loud groan as thick white ropes spurt from his cock, painting your panties and ass cheeks with his seed. his eyes are screwed shut as he empties his cock, not stopping until he’s completely emptied out.

he flips you back over, collapsing next to you, his arms wrapped firmly around your waist as his eyes scan your face. his proud, predatory gaze on you, his lips curling into a smirk, "you--" he swipes a finger over your lips, "are such a pretty mess for me, darling."

…

..

.

[katscki]

hiiii it’s me 🌷 currently obsessing over kats using my throat as long as he wants :3

also random but do u think he’s a titties or ass guy ? i really can’t decide im leaning more towards titties but idkkkk!

Omg

Sex Hcs for bkg

He would loveeeee when you lay down on the bed asking him to fuck your throat. He could never ask you himself because he doesn’t want to hurt you but when you ask… one hand is on your tit and the other is feeling him fuck your mouth through your neck. He loves it even more when you spread your legs to play with your pretty pussy while he does it, gives him a show.

He loves every single part of you but I believe he is an ass man through and through. It all started back in your third year when he began to have a crush on you. He noticed all the little things and that lead to him staring at where your perfect legs met your uniform skirt, dying to see what underwear you had over your gorgeous ass. He was a very respectful boy but he couldn’t help tilting his head a little bit as you walked away trying to get a good view.

Speaking of third year, you were his first everything. So when you finally made out for the first time and he got two handfuls of your ass? He was a mess.

He loves watching your pretty pussy stretch around his cock then looking up at your half lidded eyes that beg him to keep going. And once his thumb finds your clit they flutter closed in the most beautiful way.

He’s a slut for dirty talk, he knows that you can’t really respond to him, just moan out his name. And that’s why he loves it so much. It makes you make the noises he’s addicted to and your cunt tighten up around him. “Yeah~ that’s it baby… look so fuckin perfect under me. Feel good sweet girl?” All to have you nod uncontrollably.

He can get off on the sounds you make alone, nothing even has to touch his dick but when you’re moaning so sweetly it’s like the cum is already dripping from his cock. However It becomes a problem when you’re sitting in the common room just stretching out and then moan a little, the poor boy is so fucking hard and all it took was a little “ngh~” while your arms are above your head.

He would never tell you this but he knows exactly when you’re going to ovulate. As sad as it is he waits all month for this time because he knows that when he goes home you’re going to jump his bones and fuck him till he can’t speak. Waits at the agency all day like a teenager touching a girl for the first time. And he was right, when he got home you’re kissing him sweet nothings, asking about his day but not really caring. Then somehow you’re riding him right there on the floor. He loves when you ovulate because you force him to cum five times just to “make it stick Suki~”

As much as he wants to deny it, he was so horny when he was a teenager n when you get him in bed, it’s clear he tried to make up for lost time fucking you over and over again. He tries to have sex or at least make you cum once a day at least. Unless one of you is sick or he’s gone for work.

The first time he knew he wanted to marry you was when he came home to your shared apartment and found you in your room, wearing his hoodie moaning his name, as you plunged a dildo, that he got specially made to be like his dick, into you. Instantly he opens the door and comes over to you on his knees to eat you like a mf. Fucking you with the toy himself as he tongues at your clit.

All in all he is just fucking addicted to everything about you and wants to experience all the lovin you have to give.

[nanivinsmoke]

His. Hers. Ours.

married!Toji x nannyF!Reader

summary : what she doesn’t know, won’t hurt her.

warnings and tags: raw sex, nothing but straight fucking! creampie, ass worship, slight cock warning, reader has a big ass, age gap (reader’s in her 20s and toji is in his late 30s), breeding, cheating (married toji), also i gave his wife a name (megumi’s mom), fingering.

“too b-big—g’na cum, toji~” you breathed, earning a smack to your cunt as the older man fucked you, his stroke slow yet deep; making your cunt gush.

“huh? didn’t quite hear that” his words teasing, his teeth nibbling on your ears, sending chills up your spine.

“oh fuck—cumming for you, daddy!” he thrusted inside of you harder, his tip hitting your spot each time, making your eyes roll back—showing off the whites.

“mhm, let it all out. we gotta hurry up too, don’t want wifey to catch us” he grunted, reaching around to clutch on your boob. you held on his forearm, pussy frantically clenching around him as you came.

“did you just get off at the thought of her catching us? hm? want her to see her nanny cumming all over her husbands cock, hm?” the hand that was on your boob, was now around your neck; choking you while you continued to cum.

“fuck, you’re so wet—shit gonna cum~” with a few more sloppy thrusts, he emptied his load inside of you, cunt full of cum—making you shiver from how warm it was inside of you. he pulled himself out of you, with the rest of his seed pooling out—before he got up from the king sized bed to get dressed.

“c’mon, she should be home any minute now.” he spoke, putting his sweatpants on along with his grey t-shirt; tossing you your own clothes. you slowly grabbed your pink shirt, slipping it over your head—trying to reach for your panties, which he happily snatched away. “toji!~”

“these are for me. if you’ll be a good girl, you’ll get them later. now hurry up and get dinner started, I’ll put the sheets in the wash” you wanted to reach for them again, but you knew that would only lead to you being put through the mattress and being caught by mrs. fushiguro. you slipped on your khaki miniskirt, walking towards the kitchen to get started on dinner; trying to ignore the uncomfortable feeling of his cum dripping down the sides of your legs.

you’ve been with the fushiguro’s for a few months now, working as their nanny. even though mrs. fushiguro was currently pregnant with their only child, she still wanted you to be her nanny until the baby gets here.

when you first met toji, he answered the front door shirtless, your eyes were stuck on his abs; mentally counting each of them. he brought you back to reality with a snicker, making you lock eyes with his dark green ones.

“eyes up here sweetheart. what can i do for you?” his voice was deep, causing you to shiver and press your thighs together. you readjusted yourself, gripping your suitcase and your bag that held your laptop and other things.

“im your nanny. mizuki called me and told me i could start today?” you adverted your gaze, trying to stop the thoughts about him that filled your mind. “oh, my wife? yeah she did mention something about that. let me show you where your room is” he reached for your suit case and you immediately cringed, the man was married! and here you were thinking about how you would let him have his way with you.

you vowed from that day on that you would just let him be your boss. well, at least you tried to. toji couldn’t keep his eyes off of you. he studied every curve and every inch of your body, loving the way your ass stood out in everything you wore. be it jeans, sweatpants or pajamas, your ass poked through them. he tried so hard to contain himself and remember that he had a pregnant wife, but seeing how full it looked when you bent over; had him cumming in his pants.

your thoughts about him only became stronger, especially at night. panties to the side, while you rubbed your swollen clit—thinking about him teasing your aching hole, lowly moaning his name as you released, and drifting off to sleep afterwards. it was a nightly routine for you and as much as you tried to ignore it you couldn’t. especially today.

mizuki was away at work, while you and toji were at home. toji sat on the couch with a beer in hand, watching television like always. you learned that he was currently unemployed, which meant that he was home with you all the time. you were walking around with a wooden basket, picking up the dirty clothes that were strewn around the house, all thanks to him.

ignoring his presence, you picked up the laundry in the living room, his eyes immediately moving from the t.v and onto you. he watched the way you moved and then he noticed how short your skirt was. it barely covered you, which made your cheeks hang out from under it. he sat up correctly on the couch and rested a hand on his crotch, rubbing himself through it.

you were oblivious to his gaze, forgetting that he was there, until you bent over—giving him a view of your whole ass. he couldn’t contain himself anymore and you had the nerve to have a thong on too?

“y/n. come here” you huffed and let out a hm, turning around only to be left breathless. there was a huge tent in his sweatpants which he was gripping, his face was a little contorted and his eyes were low and lidded. you felt your body get hot and you tried your best to ignore it.

“toji, i-i gotta get started on this laun—“

“come. here.” his voice was low, yet intimidating as he beckoned you with his finger. as much as your heart told you to not go over there, you couldn’t ignore the strong throbbing sensation you felt in between your legs. you dropped the basket in your spot and walked over to him, sitting down on his lap—which made him groan once he felt your warmness.

his hands immediately squeezing your plush backside, “you’ve been waiting for this, haven’t— shit—you’re so fucking thick~” he didn’t even bother to finish his sentence, too busy gripping and loving on the fat of your ass. you couldn’t help but to blush. the more he rubbed and smacked, the more aroused you became. and before you knew it, you were grinding your lower half on his hard clothed cock.

“shit. you’re a tease aren’t you~” he chuckled, bucking his hips upwards, making his cock press onto your clit— eliciting a loud mewl from your plump lips. he continued his movements for some time, his pants now coated with your slick, before he stopped and picked you as he stood up from the coach.

reading the expression on your face, he smirked and held onto your waist while walking towards his bedroom, “need some more space, so I could fuck you the way i want to.” and that’s what led to you being filled with a married man’s seed.

———

“dinner was soo good, y/n! any man would be lucky to have you as his wife” mizuki devoured the last bite of her food, washing it down with her iced tea before rubbing her growing baby bump. you smiled and began to pick up the dishes, trying to ignore the guilt that was swarming inside of you.

“thank you and you’re already a good wife, so i know you’re gonna be a great mother” you couldn’t face her, not when you had just sat on her husband’s dick almost 30 minutes ago. mizuki rose from her spot and went around the table to kiss her husband, before going to the connecting kitchen to hug you—making you cringe.

“you coming up?” mizuki turned to ask toji, who sat at the table, sipping on the last of his beer. “yeah, after I get another beer” the raven haired woman nodded and walked down the hall to their shared bedroom and closed the door. silence followed her departure, the only thing being heard in the room was the sound of the sink’s water and the clinking of dishes in the sink as you washed them.

you finished the dishes in a hurry and put them in the dishwasher to dry, drying off your hands before turning to leave. “goodnight!” you didn’t wait for his response, making a beeline to your room and shutting the door behind you. with a sigh, you began peeling your clothes off of your body, cringing when you saw the stains that were up and down your legs; all thanks to his cum.

the shower’s water was scalding when you stepped in, but that’s what you needed. you needed to punish your self, to cleanse yourself free of him. it was wrong on so many levels, yet it felt so right. the way he touched your body and made love to every part of you. the way he knew what peaked your arousal and what made you cum, felt so very right. no matter how much you wanted to stop, your body craved more of him, especially since he was someone else’s.

after your much needed shower, you grabbed your towel and headed back into your room; jumping when you seen toji sitting at the foot of your bed, making your drop it. the cool air made your nipples stand at attention and he took notice to it, licking his lips and beckoning at you with his finger. “toji…we can’t. you’re married,” you bent down, picking up your towel and wrapping it around you.

he said nothing and stared into your eyes. your knees growing weak and your thighs pressed together, you could feel your body getting warmer by the second. this time, he didn’t ask you again, instead you acted on your own and dropped the towel—before sitting your wet body on his lap. “good girl,~” he praised, before latching his to one of your hard nipples, sucking on it and swirling it around his tongue.

moans flew out of your mouth as the overwhelming sensation caused waves of pleasure to erupt inside of you. but, you didn’t want to be teased anymore, you desperately needed him back inside of you. you lifted up slightly and skillfully pulled his throbbing hard cock out of sweatpants, before lowering your slick coated cunt down onto him.

with a pop, he let go of your nipple as the two of you sucked in some air. “so—fucking….tight.” his big hands immediately went to your ass, gripping it when you began to bounce up and down. he filled you up with each bounce, the way he stretched you out had you going crazy. your tits bounced like crazy in front of him and he couldn’t help but to reattach his mount to them again, increasing your pleasure.

“shit, toji! s-sofuckinggood! i love this dick so—much,” you babbled, so drunk off his cock. he removed himself from your swollen buds, smashing his lips on yours—his tongue taking over your own. “you must really want her to catch you fuck her husbsnd, huh?” the feeling of your gummy walls clenching around him, gave him an answer and he lowly chuckled.

he gripped your hips and picked you up, pulling out of you when he flipped you on your knees, making you whine in response before he shoved himself back into you. you buried a scream into the velvet blanket underneath you, eyes rolling back as he pounded your cunt sloppy—your ass clapping against his pelvis with each thrust.

“cum for me. let her hear how much you love her husband’s dick~” he taunted, slapping your ass hard and pushing himself deeper inside of you; his tip kissing your cervix. you gripped your blanket and deepened your arch, feeling yourself coming undone around him. “cumming—cumming for you daddy!”

he was right behind you, his thrusts hard and sloppy when his dick twitched, pumping his load inside of you—filling your tummy. pulling out of you, his cum dripped out and onto the bed, as he pushed his wet cock back into his pants; leaving you fucked out of your mind.

———

you sat dazed at the dinner table, cunt sore and wet, while toji’s thick fingers teased your clit; only to be brought out of it by mizuki. “you okay y/n? i heard a scream too last night.”

you looked up and away, blushing as you recounted what happened last night. “y-yes. i just had a b-bad dream and i couldn’t get any s-s-sleep after that,” you lied, trying to fight the moan that wanted to leave your mouth as toji stuck a finger inside of you.

“aw man, how about you get some rest tonight?don’t worry about your duties today, toji will take care of you. isn’t that right?” toji nodded and smiled, fingers pumping in and out of you.

oh he would be taking more than care of you tonight.

[milomelts]

Bet On Me

Pairing: Jack Abbot x Reader (she/her/afab)

Word Count: 3.5k

Warnings: 18+, no y/n use, italics

Note: bear with me cuz i havent written in months but first pitt fic 😈 send me them requests im currently obsessed lmao

also lowkey if anything is incorrect pls tell me cuz i am the proof reader round these parts 😭

——————————————

Jack Abbot had never really been addicted to anything. Sure he had an affliction for cigarettes for a while, and on more than one occasion, sought out the high after an adrenaline rush, but these weren’t things he necessarily needed.

What he did need was the constant. He was addicted to the pattern, your rhythm, it was as if his day wouldn’t start until you had said those four words.

“Wanna make a bet?” you’d smirk, talking in a hushed tone for him and only him to hear. It was addicting. Every single day you’d find him at the start of his shift no matter where he was, those four words ringing in his ears like a sweet song when he tried to fall asleep. Wanna make a bet.

He always did.

“What’s it today,” his hazel eyes would find yours, scanning your face. He’d let them linger on your lips just slightly too long before snapping them back up to your eyes, only to find you flittering back and forth between his. Surely you hadn’t noticed but you were always too observant.

“I bet,” you would trail off, eyes scanning around central as you searched for your latest victim. Sometimes he would swear that you were bribing people into your side just so he would lose the bet. “We get an overdose patient in the first hour.”

Abbot scoffs, pushing off the counter the two of you had been leaning on, running a hand through his hair as he ruminated on the bet. Too easy, that happened most nights, he could counter with something more rare but it would be risky. He turns back to you about to respond but his breath catches in his throat. You were looking up at him, head resting on the counter, hair falling over your shoulder revealing your neck, and those sweet innocent eyes were following every movement his hand made through his hair. Your teeth teased at your bottom lip as you bit them, a habit he found you doing when you were lost in thought or concentration.

“Too easy,” he shakes his head, bring you both back to the present as you stand up straight once again frowning. “How about broken clavicle before 4am?”

You make a noise of dissatisfaction, ruminating over how likely it was someone would come in with a broken bone at all, let alone the clavicle. Then adding in the time factor, it adds to the risk and…

“I can pick something easier if-”

“No, no!” you interject, a small smile working its way on your face. You always did love a risk. “Sounds perfect.”

Perfect. God you were gonna ruin him.

“Well what do you wanna wager, Dr. Abbot?” This was his favourite part. The way you say his name, dragging out every letter, making it sound like its dripping with honey. He wanted to hear you say it over and over and over again.

“Anything.” It slips out before he can stop himself, god he must have been tired already.

“Oh?” You laugh, that beautiful sound ringing in his ears as your eyes shine bright at him. He didn’t deserve you, your innocence, your energy. “How about a drink and a massage, I don’t think you could afford losing anymore money this week and my back is killing me.”

His head is spinning at this point and he barely registers you holding out your hand for him to shake. That meant you wanted to go back to his place. Just the two of you, a drink, god fuck. Shake her hand idiot.

He did, probably for slightly too long. Before he can pull away, you lean in closer to his ear with one last tease.

“I hope you’re good with your hands, Dr. Abbot.”

Then you’re off, skipping your way across central to take over rounds for the day shift. For you he could be good, his hands could be good he means. Please god let someone’s clavicle break.

Its not long before you’re swept away doing work up after work up. Even during the night shift it seemed there was a constant flow of patients, especially since it was a friday, various college kids who were blackout drunk or elderly patients that just got checked on before bedtime. You had finally sat down for the first time in what felt like hours after finishing the initial workup on an allergic reaction, ordering a shot of epinephrine for a girl who had one bad anniversary dinner. You were adding to her chart when you felt someone slide up beside you, light clicks coming from their own ipad as they typed up paitent charts.

“So,” Dr. Ellis began, a shit-eating grin spreads across her face as you glance up at her. “You and Doctor Abbot? What’s going on there?”

You can’t help but laugh with her, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” This wasnt the first time she had asked about your relationship, but you had insisted that despite how badly you wanted to see him at home in baggy grey sweats and messy curls, there was once again nothing going on. Definitely nothing at all.

“Right, so he’s just making heart eyes at you right now for fun?” She chided, beckoning you to look across the room with a tilt of her head.

You follow her motion across central and chills rake down your body as your eyes lock with Abbot’s. His hair was messy at this point, the way it always got around 2am with how often he tugged at it when he was stressed. God you wished it was you pulling at it instead. He tilts his head slightly, pulling your eyes back down to his and he smiles softly before tapping his watch and walking back to check on patients.

Instinctively you go to check the time, but Ellis beats you to it. “Nearly 4am, don’t tell me you guys have another bet going?”

“We always have a bet going,” you remind her, turning back to face her once again.

“In that case I hope you win,” she grins, returning both of your tablets to the main docking station and grabbing a new one for each of you. She passes you your tablet but pulls it back just before you can grab it, raising an eyebrow at you. “What did you wager?”

“Oh uhm,” You face flushes and you stand up, gingerly grabbing your tablet from her and shrugging as you rush back towards your patients. “Just the usual, money.”

“You know none of us believe that!!”

You face is flushed bright red as you check the vitals on your first bed. Stable BP, no blown pupils. Don’t look at your watch, dont do it. 3:48. Shit.

Next bed, paitent sleeping but stable vitals once again, still waiting for that head CT because of course they would be backed up at this time of night. Do not check the time. 3:52. Fuck.

By the time you’re at the third bed you can barely focus on checking charts and vitals, grumbling as you toss down your tablet at central and look towards the ambulance bay. 3:57.

You look around the room, eyes stopping when you catch Abbot staring at you once again. He glances down to his watch again, mirroring him you check yours one last time. 3:59. Your head whips up to find him, boots landing heavy on the ground as he stalks towards you interrupted by two medics bursting through the ambulance doors and you both rush towards them.

“37 year old female, car accident. Tenderness and pain coming from the upper chest, but stable vitals.” The medic rattles off as you and Abbot wheel the bed towards the first trauma bay.

Abbot’s hands press lightly over the patient’s neck and then down overtop their clavical where she’s winces in pain, groaning as he presses overtop the same spot again as you order pain meds. You start assisting with hooking up the various monitors, but your head snaps around when Abbot says your name.

“Looks like we have a broken clavicle,” he doesn’t want to smile, but can’t help the grin on his face when your eyes light up.

“Perfect,” you whisper out, catching a few strange glances from the other nurses in the room and you quickly reorient yourself. “I mean, let’s get her up for a scan!”

You nod to the other nurses as they take the bed out of the room, waiting for the doors to slide closed before you look up at Abbot again. You open your mouth to say something but your voice catches in your throat when you see the way he’s looking at you -like a predator about to catch its prey.

“What do you like to drink?” He voice is low and gravely, only for you to hear. His eyes drop down to your lips and back up, once, twice, and you can see the rise and fall of his chest quicken.

“Just, uhm, just whatever is fine.” You squeak out, heart racing as he takes another step closer to you. He could get used to seeing you shy, seeing you blushing underneath him as he-

As he focused on the present like his therapist recommended. Jesus get a grip man.

“Wine okay?” His fingers are almost touching yours, and you gasp when they accidentally graze against your arm.

“Mmhm,” Your lips are sealed tight together and for just a moment you think maybe this was all a dream. That you had actually hallucinated this whole thing and finally gone crazy from the lack of sleep.

Just as Abbot opens his mouth to say more the doors to the trauma bay slide open and the two of you shoot apart like repelling magnets as the cleaning worker wheels in their cart to mop the floor. Abbot is rushing out before you can get another word in and you awkwardly apologize to the worker before hazily finding your way through central back to your desk.

“Five minutes tell we’re off, but judging by the fact that all your paients charts are caught up, one might assume you have somewhere to be.” The teasing tone causes you to groan and drop your head against your desk as Ellis rolls her chair up beside yours.

“Yeah my bed,” you lie, refusing to pick up your head to look at her as her eyes burn holes in you.

“So what did you win?” She lightly pushes your shoulder causing you to look over at her and break out in a fit of giggles. “The nurses say you were a little too excited for that broken clavicle.”

“Always with the gossip train,” you mutter, letting your hands slide down your face. “Fine, I may or may not have won drinkswithAbbot.” You hurriedly mumble out the last part, standing up quickly as you pull your jacket off the back of your chair and sling it over your shoulder. You had to get out of there before you got embarrassed anymore by Ellis, or god forbid, another nurse overheard your conversations.

“Oh you are gonna get a lot more than just drinks-“

“Good morning and night to you too Dr. Ellis,” you cut her off, bending at the knee in a little curtsy, before making your way out to the parking lot ignoring her cheers as the door slams behind you.

You weren’t entirely sure where you were supposed to meet up with Abbot, but as soon as your feet hit the pavement of the parking lot his were walking in step right behind you. He hovers his hand lightly over your lower back and guides you to turn down the first street as you head towards his apartment a light banter about the various patients you had seen during the night fills the air comfortably as you finally make it to his building.

Unsurprisingly his apartment was neat, almost bare which is expected considering most of his time was spent at the hospital, but there was still a warmth of home. Various books where sprawled out on the coffee table by his couch, surrounded by even more bookcases containing various movies, records, and you guessed it even more books. Of course he had a dvd player and all his favourites sitting on a shelf by his TV, once again reminding you that he was nearly twice your age.

You hear some glasses clink together behind you and you turn around to find Abbot pouring some red wine in each before meeting you on the couch. He sits down beside you, your breath hitching as his thighs touch yours and you involuntarily lean closer into him as you take the glass.

“Cheers to your win,” his voice is soft, it’s so quiet compared to the authority he exudes in the ER. He probably would talk you through it. You choke on the wine and cough, the red liquid spilling out onto your shirt.

“Shit,” you cough out, settling the glass down on the table as Abbot does the same, his hand coming up to your shoulder to steady you as you catch your breath through the coughs. “I’m so sorry, that’s so embarrassing!”

“No, it’s okay,” His reassures, hands coming up to steady your waist as you get through the fit of coughs.

“I swear I know how to drink,” you laugh out, eyes darting down to his fingers playing with the end of your shirt.

“If you want I have spare clothes,” he offers, once again toying with the edge of your shirt. His fingers dance along the hem before they slowly glide along your bare skin, causing you to gasp at the cold feeling.

Your face is centimeters away from his and you can’t help but dart your eyes from his hands up to his eyes, then his lips which are stained a deep red from the wine. A surge of confidence bubbles up in you and before you can lose it you find your hand coming up to cup his cheek bringing his eyes to yours.

“Well, I won’t be needing a shirt for my massage, right Dr. Abbot?”

That pushed him over the edge, pulling you into a rough kiss, teething clashing against each other. Your hands moved their way up to his locks, intertwining with those damn curls you had been so desperate to mess up before. He pulls away from you, tugging your bottom lip lightly between his teeth causing you to moan and you could see the fire light in his eyes.

You move closer to him, settling on top of his lap with your legs on either side of him, as he finally pulls off your top and unclips your bra letting them fall to floor. His mouth is back on you, trailing kisses down your neck till he reaches your collar bone. You let out a whine he bites down, sucking and smoothing the area over with his tongue over and over causing you to moan and grind down on him.

When he finally pulls back his pupils are blown out, lips puffy and red, he looks absolutely wrecked from just kissing you and you’re sure you look the same. He nods his head down, following his gaze you find a dark purple bruise forming on your clavicle where he had just been focusing his attacks.

“Jack!” you scold, noticing the way his hips jerk up into yours as you say his name. He can’t help the smile that tugs at his lips from your reaction. He would mark your body over and over again, he wanted everyone to know you were his and his alone.

“Think it’s about time I fulfill the other part of that bet,” he’s quick to flip the two of you over causing you to gasp as you back hit the couch. Jack sinks to his knees in front of you, pulling off ur scrub bottoms and undies in one swoop, and positioning himself between your thighs.

Your hands are quick to find his salt and pepper hair as he kisses softly up your thigh till his nose was hitting right where you craved him. He licks a long stride up your slit and you whine, tossing your head back against the couch as he repeats the motion once more before kissing and nipping at your thighs again.

“Jack, please” you plea, just wanting him to give you anything. End the teasing and rail you over and over till you cried.

“Eyes on me baby,” He hummed, his hazel eyes cutting right through you as he finally returned his mouth to your cunt. It was an unspoken deal, the longer you held eye contact the more he would give you.

You watched his eyes scan your whole body, the way your back arched every time he added a finger, the way your brows would press together when he would brush against the right spots, he was always too damn observant. But god was he just drunk on you. He loved feeling your fingers tighten in his hair when he’d suck and lap at your clit and the way your eyes would close for just a moment before snapping back to his. He was addicted to this, to you.

By the time you were cumming he was wasted. The sweet sounds, the way your thighs were threatening to close around him, the blush coating your face threatening to drag down over your neck and chest. You were so beautiful, so perfect, and all for him.

“Jack,” your voice snapped his attention back to you, your eyes pricking with tears as he pulled away from your cunt, coming up to capture your lips with his. His hands fumbled with the hem of his shirt, breaking the kiss to toss it off, whilst your hands worked on untying his scrub pants and letting them fall to floor.

“You sure you want this?” Want him he means, everything that comes with him. If there was one other pattern that came with Jack Abbot other than an addiction to you, it was this. The feeling of burden.

“I want this,” your voice is hushed and you can see the way the statement softens his eyes, brows relaxing as he pulls you into another kiss, this one is less frantic, less rushed. A declaration of something neither of you wanted to label just yet, but a promise to each other.

He makes quick work of his boxers, spitting on his hand and pumping his length a few times before teasing your slit up and down, and finally pushing his full length into you. He lets out a deep groan, burying his face in the crook of your neck as you scratch along his back, wrapping your legs around him.

He reveled in the filthy noises you made as he began fucking in and out of your tight cunt, feeling your fingers dig into his back and pull at the curls on his neck. He was driving you insane, between the kisses and the lewd praises that streamed out of him like a memorized scripture.

“Such a good girl,” He’d repeat over and over, his good girl. “Your pretty hole is taking me so well.”

All you could do was whine out his name over and over, he was all you could think about. The pleasure he was giving you, the bruises he was decorating your collar with, the head of his dick kissing that sweet spot over and over. He held your hips down as he pounded into you, bringing one hand up to rub circles around your clit cause you to tighten around him, holding on to his biceps as you moan.

“Mm close, Jack” You could feel the way his arms tensed, dick twitching inside you signaling he was close too. He could cum just from hearing you say his name.

“Gonna cum for me?” He rasps out, practically out of breath when he takes in the sight of you. Pupils blown, hair sticking to your face, tears pricking at your eyes, and god, the way your pussy was taking his length so well, it was mesmerizing to watch. “Please, cum for me baby.”

Thats what sent you over the edge, the begging. He wanted every bit of you, would beg to have you, to please you. He continued fucking you through your high, finger slowing down on your clit till he was pulling out and painting your stomach white.

He falls to his knees in front of you, resting his head on your thigh as he looks up at you with a lazy grin, those beautiful hazel eyes finding yours. You watched as he caught his breath, eyes never leaving each other as you both came down, finally able to form coherent thoughts.

“Thank you,” you smile while reaching out a hand to card fingers through his messy hair. Of course you would say thank you after making him cum the hardest he ever has. Sweet, innocent you.

“Who said we were done yet?” He wasn’t letting you go that easy, not until the sun was setting again.

Maybe Robby could cover his shift tomorrow.

[tpwk-formula1]

Kinktober Day 2 - Overstimualtion - CL16

Charles Leclerc X Reader

TW

WC - 1200+

Y/N POV

Laying in bed I hear the front door of my shared apartment door open. Making me sit up a little knowing I was supposed to be alone for another night before Charles was due home.

It doesn't take long before Charles appears in the front door of our bedroom which has me getting up and rushing towards him. After not seeing him for a few weeks I can barely believe he's finally home.

Due to the busy schedule both of us have had we haven't been able to see each other since he left for a triple header.

"You're early," I whisper into his neck which makes him chuckle a little.

"I wanted to surprise you! Max offered to leave a day early knowing how much I had missed you," Charles explains making me smile.

I lean up and place a few kisses on Charles's soft lips before pulling back and smiling at him.

"I've missed you so much," I tell him with a smile.

"I've missed you too," Charles tells me before kissing me again.

It doesn't take either of us very long before our clothes are scattered around the room with me in the center of the bed and Charles on top making out with me.

"Please, cha," I whine out looking for any kind of stimulation possible.

"What do you want cherie?" Charles questions while pulling back slightly and watching me attempt to grind into his hard cock.

"Touch me," I whisper out making him smirk at me. Charles slowly starts trailing his mouth down my jaw and neck before settling on my tits and playing with my nipples.

Charles knows how sensitive my nipples can be when I'm worked up so it was no surprise when I started grinding into him harder knowing I was chasing an orgasm almost entirely built from my nipple stimulation.

"Cha I might cum," I warn out which has him sucking and pinching my nipple a bit harder.

"Oh, fuck," I moan out before allowing myself to fall over the edge for the first time since he left weeks ago.

I start shaking lightly while Charles slowly makes his way down to my soaked pussy knowing I was nowhere near done cumming for him.

He instantly starts diving into my sopping pussy making me moan out. While the orgasm was nowhere near the most powerful orgasm I have ever had I'm starting to get the early signs of overstimulation but instead of the twinge of pain I normally felt all I felt was pure pleasure when Charles sank two fingers into my dripping hole.

"Fuck Charles," I moan out when he instantly hits my G spot.

Charles switches between licking my swollen clit and pulling it into his mouth to suck on it. Whatever action he is doing on my clit never once slows down the movements of his fingers shoved into my pussy.

"Charles, shit, of fuck," I moan out cumming before I can give any form of warning. Charles helps me ride out my second orgasm of the night, but never once stops even when my orgasm is over. I'm starting to feel the overstimulation which has me wiggling to get out of his grip but he never once lets up on my pussy.

Thankfully it doesn't take long for the slight pain to turn into pure pleasure all over again. My third orgasm hits me like a train out of nowhere leaving me a shaking mess while Charles lets off on my clit but continues to fuck me hard with his fingers.

"Charles fuck, something," I whine at the new type of pleasure starting to build deep in my stomach. I can't even finish my sentence before Im cumming all over Charles's face. When I look down I notice Charles's face is covered in my juices which has my face growing red in embarrassment.

"Fuck, sorry Charles," I gasp out in shock. I had never once squirted before which had me thinking it wasn't real.

"Don't apologize, that was the hottest thing I have ever witnessed," Charles replies back before digging back into my pussy like it was his last meal was ever going to eat.

"Charles, I can't," I whine out from the over whelming stimulation I was currently experiencing.

One of Charles's favorite things has always been overstimulating me especially when we are apart from each other. However, I have never felt this level of stimulation before.

"Too much," I whine out when I feel another orgasm start to build.

"Give me another," Charles mumbles out into my pussy and if I wasn't so hyper focused on him I probably wouldn't have been able to make out what he was saying.

It doesn't take me long before I'm cumming all over Charles's face again. While I didn't squirt this time the orgasm was one of the most overwhelming feelings I had ever experienced.

"Amour, no more please," I beg out which has Charles chucking a little before he licks from my dripping hole to my over worked clit which has me twitching at the feeling and whining to hope that Charles will give me a break.

"Can you give me one more?" Charles asks while pulling himself back up so we are face to face. I'm still coming down from my last orgasm that I can barely process what Charles is asking of me.

"Yeah," I whisper out softly not trusting my voice at the moment.

Charles instantly leans down and starts making out with me allowing me to taste all of my juices that are on his lips, making me moan softly.

"You're as sweet as ever, Cherie," Charles mumbles against my lips.

I start to feel Charles tease my clit with his tip which has me whining from the overstimulation I was still feeling. Once Charles finally sinks his cock into my still-soaked hole I gasp out at the feeling of being full for the first time in awhile.

"Feel so good," I tell Charles encouraging him to speed up his actions.

"So tight. Have you touched yourself at all while I've been gone?" Charles groans out through clenched teeth.

It was an unspoken understanding that I never touched myself while Charles was gone because it never felt half as good when I did it myself.

I shake my head no which has Charles speeding up his actions to a brutal pace, making it clear that Charles also had some pent-up frustrations he was finally letting out.

"You're gonna cum with me," Charles tells me sternly while still fucking me and reaching his hand between us and playing with my stiff and sensitive clit which has me almost instantly cumming all over Charles's dick which then triggers Charles to start cumming deep into my pussy.

"Fuck," Charles moans out while still buried deep in me.

Once both of us have finally come down from our strong orgasms Charles is slowly climbing out of the bed to grab a rag and clean up the mess the both of us have made.

Once we are both cleaned up Charles picks me up bridal style and carries me into our guest room.

"I'll clean the mess tomorrow," Charles lets me know when he climbs into bed and pulls me against his chest where we both fall asleep almost instantly.

[muffinpink02]

ok important context, I’m in uni and have three suite mates and very thin walls…so a very specific time to myself is hard to come by. Tell me why, when Im finally able to enjoy one of those times, right when I’m about to get to the best part, the dorm fire alarm goes off!

Anyway it made me imagine Alexia overstimulating me with a vibe and then having to evacuate the building and she’s like you think you’re done? No chance

No!!!! Omg how bladdy annoying! 🥲 I hope you didn’t have to wait too long outside 🙃 and got back to your ✨ activities ✨

Also thank you for sharing this cos you also made me imagine 😂

Saved by the bell

Smutty, not smut 18

You’re close, so fucking close.

You’re close, so fucking close. 

You’ve been close for 20 minutes. 20 long agonising minutes you’ve been left on the edge, tasting the sweet sensation of an orgasm but never getting close enough to fall over the edge. 

Because the blonde who was currently straddling your waist was an evil but sexy menace. 

“Just a little more.” She whispered as she watched the beads start to form on your face. 

“Erghhh. A-Ale!” You stuttered. 

Her hazel eyes danced with an almost crazez expression, smiling possessively at you as she easily held your wrist above your head with one large hand. 

She pulled the pink vibrator off your clit, allowing you to breathe for a second, though the vibrations still lingered on your puffy clit, making the nerves in your body bounce uncontrollably. 

The sheets below you were soaked, sticking uncomfortably to your hot sweaty skin, every inch of your naked body was gleaming. 

But you weren't the only one who was wet. 

You were front row, watching as Alexia’s own juices dripped against your stomach. You moaned patheticly as you watched her shamelessly slide her cunt against your skin. Using you as she tortured you.  

“You look so cute, amor.” She husked before she lent down to kiss your puffy lips. 

You could only whimper below her. Your throat had dried up like the Sahara desert, your body probably using every ounce of bodily fluid it had on your wet pussy. 

Her kisses became more desperate, easily sliding her tongue into your mouth, swiping the muscle against your own tongue, moaning as she tasted herself from your earlier activities. She moved faster on top of you, her hips rocking on to your body like she was on a mission. 

She leaned back, just a little, her blonde hair draped down beside your face. “More?” she whispered against your lips. It was a rhetorical question, she wasn’t really asking. She was just giving you a little heads up. 

Your body tensed as she blindly moved her arm behind her, though she knew exactly where she was going. You could feel every nerve in your body screaming for a release, but you knew better than to allow yourself that pleasure. 

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath in. Readying yourself for the next wave of tortured pleasure. 

BEEP BEEP BEEP!

The sound of an ear deafening alarm sweeps through the apartment.

Alexia freezes above you, her mouth gapping open. 

You stare at each other for a couple of beats.

“It's the fire alarm.” She winces.

You can’t stop the loud and very annoyed groan that comes out of your mouth. “You got to be kidding me? Its probably the neighbours below again.”

“I know. They set it off the other day as well.”

“I can literally smell the burnt food from here.” You rolled your eyes. “Can’t we just wait it out?” You plead. 

“No. Come on get dressed. Vamos.” She sighs, just as annoyed as you, releasing your wrist as she gets up.

You both quickly throw on anything you can find and rush towards the door. But you nearly don’t leave once you see yourself in the hallway mirror. Your hair’s a mess, your face is deeply blushed and your lips are so swollen you look like you've been physically assaulted. 

You look fucked. And you hadn't even got to that bit yet.

Alexia pulls you out the door before you can protest. 

“Come on, the quicker we do this the quicker I can get you back in bed.” She smirks at you before throwing you a wink.

“And finally let me come?” 

“I was about to let you come just before the alarm went off.” She admitted.

You stop in your tracks, Alexia laughs as you try to pull her back to your apartment but it's no use. 

“Amor. Don’t worry, I'm not done with you yet.”