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soaps-mohawk · 1 year ago

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Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 10: Treat Me Gently

Summary: You and Price take your relationship to the next level. It might be the best decision you've ever made.

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, smut, p in v sex, fingering, oral, first time sex, unprotected(ish) sex, reader has an implant, creampie, Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, a/b/o typical classism and sexism, military inaccuracies, language, the author is a bit rusty writing smut.

A/N: It's finally here. It's finally arrived, the moment we've all been waiting for! Uh, yeah, it's mostly badly written smut with just a little plot thrown in there. So...I hope you enjoy!

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Your attention is pulled from your book as the couch sinks on either side of you, two bodies joining you. You glance up from your book as an arm drapes itself across the back of the couch behind you. Your eyes flicker between Gaz and Johnny, mischievous grins on their faces.

“We heard you have a date this weekend.” Gaz says, leaning in closer.

Your face warms at his words. “Well, I don’t know if I’d call it a date...”

“What are you wearing?” Gaz asks.

“Do ye have anythin’ to wear?” Johnny asks.

Their questions give you pause. The most formal thing you have are jeans and, though you doubt Price would care if you showed up in sweatpants, you would like to have something nice to wear.

“Come on.” Gaz says, slapping your thigh before standing. “We’re going shopping.”

“What?” You glance between him and Johnny as they stand over you.

“Already got permission from Price.” Johnny says. “So come on.” He grabs your hands, lifting you to your feet easily. “Let’s get goin’, kitten.”

Your cheeks warm at the pet name, Johnny’s hand settling on your lower back to steer you from the rec room. You don’t have much of a choice but to follow, grabbing a couple things from your room before you leave the barracks with them to a car parked outside. It’s different from the car you and Price had taken to town last weekend. Of course, they probably all have their own vehicles, or at least a few at their disposal.

“I’m driving.” Gaz says, plucking the keys from Johnny’s hand.

“Aww, ye never let me drive!” Johnny pouts.

“Yeah, because with our luck you’ll traumatize her so badly, she’ll never want to leave again.” Gaz says, opening the driver’s side door.

You can’t help but giggle at the dejected look on Johnny’s face as you get into the back, Johnny muttering the entire way to the passenger side.

“I’m no’ that bad of a driver.” Johnny says, buckling his seatbelt.

“Yeah, but both you and Simon seem to be in agreement that the speed limit is a suggestion, not a law.” Gaz says as he turns on the car. “I’d like to make it there and back in one piece, thank you. Besides, Price would have both our heads if anything happened to our girl on our watch.”

Your cheeks warm as you meet Gaz's gaze through the rear view mirror. Your heart flutters at the look in his eyes, the dedication and protectiveness shining in them.

“I wouldnae let anything happen to ye.” Johnny says, reaching back to squeeze your knee for a moment.

You stare out the window of the car as Gaz drives towards town, half listening to the conversation in the front seat. You're beginning to recognize landmarks, buildings, areas between the base and town despite it only being your second trip. They'd be proud of you, you think. At least if something happened, you'd be able to give a landmark.

The farmlands fade into the city and soon Gaz is parking on the street in front of a shop. You take Gaz's hand as he helps you out of the car, lacing your fingers together. Soap holds the door to the shop open, letting you and Gaz walk through first.

It's a nice boutique filled with all sorts of formal wear. You wonder how they even knew about this place, or if they had done some research beforehand. Both make you feel honored that they would even go to those lengths just for you.

They are going to be your pack soon.

Packs do this sort of thing for each other. They take care of each other, spoil each other, make each other happy. It’s hard to be a good pack if one member is unhappy.

“Good afternoon.” One of the workers approaches you. “My name is Emily. Is there something I can help you find today?”

“Our omega has a date with our alpha this weekend.” Gaz says, smiling down at you. “She needs something to wear.”

The worker, Emily, smiles at you. “How exciting! Did you have anything in mind? Style, color, anything like that?”

“Probably nothing too fancy,” You say, eyeing the racks. “And, probably a dress.”

“Alright, we've got lots of options for that. Let's take a look and you can try some on.” Emily says.

Gaz keeps hold of your hand as you follow Emily through the racks, looking at some of the options. Johnny goes off on his own, perusing the racks himself.

“Is there a certain color you have in mind?” Emily asks you.

You hum in contemplation, looking at the many racks. You're not sure what color Price would like, or if he even has a favorite.

“His favorite color is blue, like a dark navy blue.” Johnny answers for you. “Though, I think he'd like you in any color.”

You can't help the way your cheeks warm a bit at Johnny's words. You realize you don't even know their favorite colors. There's still so much about them that's a mystery to you.

“What's your favorite color?” You ask, looking up at Gaz.

“I don't think I have just one.” He says, running his hand over a sequin covered dress on the rack in front of you “I like warm colors. Reds, oranges, purples.”

“Like a sunset.” You say, looking at a tag on one of the dresses, nearly choking at the price.

Gaz gently removes the tag from your hand, giving you a look as you meet his gaze. “Don't even worry about it, love.” He says quietly, leaning down to kiss your cheek.

“My favorite color is green.” Johnny says, appearing next to you suddenly.

“Let me guess, Ghost’s is black.” You say.

Johnny's mouth twitches. “Now how'd you come to guess that?”

You shrug, unable to hide your grin. “Call it intuition.”

Emily takes you to the changing rooms, the boys taking seats outside to wait for you to try on the dresses you've chosen so far. You pick a sleeveless, blue, knee-length dress first with a ruched skirt. You already don't like it, but you know the guys will want to see it regardless.

You feel nervous, strangely exposed as you step out of the dressing room and make your way to where the guys are sitting. They both straighten up as you approach, Johnny’s eyes immediately on your legs. Gaz let's out a low whistle as his eyes scan your figure, ending on your legs as well.

“What?” You ask concerned as you stare down at your own legs thinking the worst, like how you might have missed a spot shaving or something.

“Nothin’ love,” Gaz says, unable to lift his gaze from your legs. “Just never seen you in anything but long pants before.”

Your cheeks warm at his words. It's true, the climate had yet to allow for anything but long pants. Even to sleep, you found yourself too cold without long sleep pants.

“Christ, you've got gorgeous legs, kitten.” Soap says, letting his eyes trail your form. “Keepin’ those hidden from us?”

Your face feels like it's on fire as they stare at you, and quickly turn to face the large mirror across from them in an attempt to steady the butterflies in your stomach.

“What do you think?” Emily asks, stepping up next to you.

“It's a little too...churchy for a date.” You say smoothing your hands over the skirt. “Definitely need something fancier than this.”

You try on a few of the others, but none of them are right. Too short, too long, too formal, not formal enough. Johnny brings you more to try, a couple sticking out, but you're not sold on any of them.

The last dress you have yet to try on catches your eye as you pull it off the hook. It's a deep blue color, almost black. It's long sleeved and covers your front entirely, but the back is open. It's short, the skirt hem long enough to cover your ass, but you wouldn't dare bend over. It hugs your figure, accentuating the curves and lines of your body.

Your cheeks are warm as you step out of the changing room, both Gaz and Johnny going slack-jawed as they stare at you. Even Emily looks in awe as you stand in front of them.

“I think you've found the one, love.” Gaz says, his eyes trailing your form. “Give us a spin.”

You do a slow turn, not missing the way their eyes widen in the mirror when they see the back, Johnny still frozen as you turn back to face them.

“How do you feel?” Emily asks, stepping up to you.

“Good.” You say, your face still warm. “Really good.”

“Yeah,” She says, looking you over. “I think you've hit the mark with this one. Let me grab shoes and we'll put the whole look together.”

You turn to face the mirror as she steps away, your eyes meeting Gaz's as he steps up to you.

“You look fantastic, love.” He says, leaning in close over your shoulder, his breath fanning your ear. Goosebumps form on your skin as his fingers slowly trail up the line of your spine. “Price is going to want to devour you instantly as soon as he sees you in this one.”

You shiver at his words, biting your lip as his fingers splay out across your upper back. “You think so?”

There's a mischievous glint in his eyes as he holds your gaze through the mirror. “He won't be able to keep his hands off you. Gonna drive him insane, making him sit through dinner looking like a delicious dessert.”

You fear you might start smoking from how warm you feel, glad for Emily's reappearance. You try on the shoes she brings, opting for the shorter heels for the sake of your own dignity.

Johnny distracts you as Gaz pays for the items, spending far too much on you but neither will let you complain. It's what they're supposed to do.

They are your pack after all.

“What about lingerie?” Johnny asks, turning to look at you as you sit in the car.

Your face burns at his question. You hadn't thought about that bit.

“Gotta dress up the whole fit.” He wiggles his eyebrows at you.

“Lay off her, perv.” Gaz says, smacking Johnny's chest. “He's right though, gotta make sure the whole outfit matches.”

You feel like you might implode in the backseat. You might not make it to Saturday at this rate.

You wake early on Saturday. You don't have to be up early. There's nothing going on until tonight, no need for you to rise earlier than the sun. Yet, you can't help the anticipation burning in your stomach, the nervous fluttering in your chest. Tonight you're going to sleep with Price for the first time. Tonight you'll allow him closer than you've ever allowed anyone.

You have an outfit, you have fancy underwear, even new shoes. You're not sure how you want to wear your hair. You're not sure on makeup either, though Price has seen you plenty without it and has yet to offer any complaints.

You grab your phone, laying in bed and scrolling hair tutorials until the sun comes up and you start hearing movement in the hallway. You don’t bother changing, pulling on shoes before stepping out. You are hungry, even after spending half the day in town and eating dinner out with Gaz and Johnny yesterday. You slip out the door, coming face to face with Ghost. You tilt your head back, staring up at him.

“Didn’t expect to see you.” He grumbles. “Figured you’d be busy getting ready.”

“I’ve got like ten hours until I have to be ready.” You say, blinking up at him. “It doesn’t take that long.”

He lets out a huff, rolling his eyes. “Come on.”

You follow him out of the barracks, but you find yourself not having to speed walk quite as fast to keep up with him today.

“Are you upset?” You ask, kicking up your pace a bit so you can walk side by side with him.

“About what?” He asks.

“Price and I.” You say.

“Why would I be?” He sounds genuinely baffled that you’re asking him.

You shrug. “You’re an alpha in the pack too, and I didn’t really ask anyone but Price.”

“Price is your alpha.” He says, as if it’s the most straightforward thing in the world. He’s not wrong, Price is the only one that really matters when it comes to you, since he’s the pack alpha, and he’ll be the one claiming you.

“Would you ever want to be?” You ask, looking up at him.

He meets your gaze as he opens the door to the mess, not answering as you slip into the hall. He stands closer to you than he normally does as you get in line for food, tailing you like a shadow as you find Johnny among the drowsy and hungover soldiers in the mess.

You take a seat across from him, Ghost taking his spot next to Johnny. You can feel the nerves beginning to take hold as you eat, thinking about your date tonight. It’s not like you really have to impress Price much, though you suppose you could make him dislike you rather easily. You’d rather avoid that situation, as there’s no getting out of mating and being claimed by him. You’re going to be part of his pack whether he likes you or not.

What if he finds you boring? You’re not even sure what you could talk about. It’s not like you do much, and he already knows most everything he can about you. The only thing you have to talk about are things you’d rather not discuss during your first date. You’d prefer not to discuss them at all.

“You’ll be fine.” Johnny says as you walk back to the barracks. “Just get ‘im talking, and ye won’t need tae worry about gettin’ a word in yourself.”

Johnny’s words do make you giggle. You’re sure Price has so much more to talk about than you do. You barely know anything about him in general.

It’s ironic that you’re more nervous about dinner than you are about the fact Price is going to take your virginity tonight.

You did ask for this. It’ll be good, getting to know him before your heat starts. The idea of going through your heat with a virtual stranger is terrifying to you, and Price had so willingly offered to do this so that doesn’t happen, so you feel more comfortable with being mated and claimed by someone you at least somewhat know. This is your chance to get to know your pack alpha, your alpha before you’re forced to. This is your chance to make your own decision, to have some control over a life that’s been dictated for you this far.

You spend the morning in a nervous panic, looking up tips online, tutorials, possible questions he might ask and thinking up answers that will make you sound interesting at least. Answers that won’t just be parroting things that he already knows. Gaz brings you lunch, letting you continue to prepare for your date, knowing the chances of you having a breakdown if you’re forced around people are high right now.

You give yourself ample time to get ready, showering and moisturizing, making sure you smell clean and look nice. You do your hair, taking your time to make yourself look decent. You opt for minimal make up, wanting to make yourself seem like you at least put a little effort into your looks.

You're strapping on your shoes when the knock comes at the door. Six o'clock sharp, just as you expected. You take a deep breath, adjusting your dress before you open the door.

John is standing on the other side, dressed in a button up shirt and slacks. You look him over, the fresh scent of cologne reaching your nose. His eyes rake your form, his scent slipping through the cologne as his gaze darkens a bit. Gaz was right. He does look like he wants to devour you.

“You clean up nicely.” You say, looking him over again. His shirt hugs his muscles nicely, his pants obviously tailored to fit him. You haven't seen him in anything but fatigues and civilian clothes so far.

“Was going to say the same to you.” He says, lips pulling up into a smile. “You look beautiful, sweetheart.”

Your cheeks warm at the compliment. “Thank you.”

“Hungry?” He asks, offering you an arm.

“Always.” You say, taking his arm, letting him lead you towards the rec room.

The lights inside are dimmed, the table usually reserved for games set up with a tablecloth and candles, along with two plates covered with cloches, and a bottle of wine. You're not sure when he managed to procure the wine, or maybe he had it saved and decided this was as good a time as any.

“Wow.” You say, impressed by the effort he obviously put into everything.

“I bribed the boys out of here for a few hours.” He says, leading you to the table. “Wasn't easy.”

“I bet.” You say, sitting down in one of the chairs, letting him push it in for you.

He pours you both glasses of wine before taking the cloches off the plates. You blink in surprise at the meal on the plate. Spaghetti, a salad, and bread. It's so simple, yet it takes you right back to weeknight dinners at home.

“You made this?” You ask as he takes the seat across from you.

He nods. “I've amassed many skills over the years. I'm no five star chef, but I can throw things together in a pinch.”

“Well it looks good.” You say, picking up your fork.

It tastes good too. It's so simple, yet it's one of the best things you've eaten in the last month. You miss a lot of things about America, and the food is starting to be one of those.

You and John make small talk as you eat, the wine warming your body and easing your nerves.

“How long has it been,” You ask him as you clear your plate. “Since you were with an omega last?”

“Two years.” He says, taking a sip of wine.

Your eyes widen in surprise. You know they've been with omegas in the past, taking advantage of barrack bunnies and the swaths of willing omegas you know populate near military bases. You just hadn't thought it would be that far back in the past.

“Right around the time the task force was created.” He continues. “We were too busy bonding and working on the task force, by the time we had a moment long enough for anything like that, we didn't need them anymore.”

“That must have been torture.” You say, staring at him wide eyed.

“We're trained for that sort of thing.” He says with a smile. “How to fight off those urges, those needs. When you're in the field, something like that could get you killed. You don't pass selection into the SAS until you can show mastery over those skills.”

“Damn.” You say, taking a sip of your wine. “Still, it couldn't have been easy.”

“It can be hard, once you've been with an omega, to go without. But that's just part of the job.”

“Well, I suppose that's partly why I'm here.” You say, huffing out a laugh.

“Perhaps.” He says. “I'm certain we're not getting the full story.”

The double meaning isn't lost on you. There's a lot they don't know about you, things that are safer buried deep where they can't hurt anyone. Things you'd like to keep buried for the rest of time.

“It’s nothing...bad is it?” You ask, searching his gaze.

“I’d like to think not,” He says.

But...

You don’t need to hear him say it. You know it’s there, lingering at the end of that statement. You wonder how many times he’s been in these situations, forced to place blind trust in someone and hope they have the best intentions in mind. You’re all too familiar with those sorts of situations. Putting blind trust in strangers was your life purpose as soon as you presented as an omega.

“We’re not going to let anything happen to you.” He says, staring at you with such conviction you can’t help but believe him. “You’re part of our pack, which makes you part of this team, even if bureaucracy says otherwise. We take care of each other, and that includes you. You’re our omega, regardless of whatever the endgame is for this initiative.”

You feel almost breathless at his words, at his declaration of loyalty to you. You know how much loyalty means to someone like him, the kind of promise words like that uphold. They’d give their lives to defend you. You’d fight to defend them too, if it came down to it. Not that you could do much, but you’d try.

“You’re my omega.” John says, reaching across the table to take your hand in his. “I take care of what's mine.”

You nod, trying to fight the tears welling in your eyes. “I know. You've...you've been a better alpha than I could have ever hoped for. Despite everything you've been kind and caring and understanding. I know some things we learned at the institute weren’t right, but...I was expecting a lot worse.”

His thumb draws circles on the back of your hand, his fingers gently squeezing yours. “I'm glad I could prove that wrong. I know this situation is weird and less than ideal, but I fear I'll have to tell Kate she was right. She did pick a good omega.”

You smile, preening a bit under his praise. “That’s all I can try to be.”

“You can be so much more than that.” He says, lifting your hand to his lips. His beard tickles your skin as he presses a line of kisses across the back of your hand before turning it, kissing across your palm to your wrist. He presses his nose against the skin there, inhaling deeply. “You’re sure, about tonight?”

Your fingers brush his cheek as he holds your hand against his face. Your heart is thudding your throat at the proximity, those nervous flutters starting in your stomach again. He’s giving you an out, a chance to take back what you had asked for. You know he wouldn’t blame you. He was more than willing to wait for your heat to start, for when you had no choice, when it would mean less because you would be desperate and needy for him.

You don’t want that, though. You want him to want you before his instincts tell him he does. You want to know he’s not just fulfilling a duty, scratching an itch that’s been tickling him for two years now. You want him to want you as you are now. You want him to choose you.

“Yes.” You say, pressing your palm flat against his cheek. “Just...be gentle with me?”

“Of course.” He says, kissing your palm again. “You change your mind at any time, you tell me, yeah?”

You nod. “Yeah.”

“Good.” He takes your hand in his again, standing from his seat.

Nerves mix with excitement as he pulls you to your feet with him, stepping up close to you. His hand lifts, tilting your chin up. Your stomach flutters as you meet his gaze, his eyes warm and soft as he stares at you. Affection shines in them as his thumb brushes your lip before he’s leaning down, pressing his lips to yours.

The kiss is short and sweet, like the ones you’ve shared with him before. Yet, at the same time it feels different. There’s warmth beginning to blossom under your skin, the kiss not just a simple sign of affection this time. It’s the overture, the appetizer, just a teasing taste of what’s to come.

You hold his hand as he leads you down the hallway, heels clacking on the tile floor. It makes your face warm, the thought that they all know what it means, they can hear it and they know what’s about to happen. They know where you’re going, what you’re about to do.

John opens his door, motioning for you to enter. You haven’t been in any of their rooms yet, you haven’t invaded their own sacred spaces. Your steps are slow and cautious as you breach that barrier, John’s scent washing over you as you step into his room.

It’s neat and tidy, just as you expected it would be. It’s not laid out all that differently from your own, though perhaps a bit more organized and clinical than yours. There’s a shelf next to his nightstand, stuffed with books and what you can assume are souvenirs from places he’s been. There’s stacks of papers on the desk, his clothes and shoes tucked away neatly in their places. His bed is slightly bigger than yours, and you wonder if that’s a perk of his status, or if he pulled some strings once he learned he was getting an omega.

The door clicking shut draws your attention back to John, the click of the handle a finality. You’re doing this. There’s no going back now.

Not that you want to.

John steps up to you, staring down at you. You stare up into his eyes as his hand comes to rest on your waist, his touch hot through the thin fabric of your dress. “You’re sure you want to do this?” He asks, voice rumbling in his chest.

You nod, your hands slowly sliding up his arms, feeling the muscle hidden beneath his dress shirt. “Yes.”

His lips meet yours, beard tickling your skin as he kisses you. You let him lead, leaning into him as he pulls you closer against his chest. He’s so warm, so firm under your hands as you grip his shoulders. His hand slides from your hip to your back, a gasp parting your lips as his calloused fingers touch the bare skin of your back. Goosebumps raise on your skin, a shiver running down your spine at his touch. He tilts his head, taking advantage of your parted lips to slip his tongue into your mouth.

He tastes like wine, a quiet sound leaving your throat as he pulls you tighter against him, pressing your body into his. You can feel all of him, the hard ridges, the strength in his body as he cages you in his arms. Your head is spinning, intoxicated purely by the smell and taste of him.

Something rumbles deep in his chest, your entire body shivering in response. Your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, your hips pressed flush against his. You can feel him, the bulge in his pants pressing against your stomach. You’ve been able to smell the musky tinge of arousal in his scent all evening, and you wonder how long he’s been hard. Has it been since he saw you? Or has he been thinking about this all day?

The thought thrills you, makes your omega preen in the back of your mind. You did this. Your alpha is all worked up because of you.

A whimper leaves your lips as his hand slips lower, smoothing over the curve of your ass. He mumbles a curse against your lips before they blaze a path down the line of your jaw to your neck. You tilt your head, bearing your throat for him. A low rumble of approval vibrates through his chest, his hand squeezing your ass. The sound has your omega practically belly up, the dampness between your thighs intensifying as your scent gets heavier in the air.

John groans against your throat, teeth nipping at your neck just over your scent gland. “Such a good girl for me.” He groans, his hand on your ass guiding your hips to grind against his. “Such a good omega.”

You whine at the praise, hands blindly sliding down his chest to pull at the buttons of his shirt. Your fingers are trembling slightly from excitement, fumbling as you attempt to get his shirt off. You need to feel him, his skin against yours, the warmth of him pressed against you.

“Easy pup.” His voice rumbles against your throat, teeth nipping at the delicate skin before he pulls back, hands taking over to strip him of his button up and undershirt.

You lick your lips as his skin is revealed to you, your hand automatically lifting to touch him. You hesitate for a half a second but he makes no move to stop you. Your eyes trail over his form, over the many, many scars that decorate his skin like some kind of macabre painting. Lines and jagged slices, the telltale star shaped marks of bullet wounds. Cuts and nicks from knives or bullets, you can’t tell the difference.

Your fingers settle on a rather large scar on his side, starting at the base of his ribs and curling around his side. It’s an old scar, but the skin is still rough and uneven. Whatever had caused it, it took a chunk out of him. You don’t want to think about it, about how every scar could have been a close call. How many times he’s been on the brink of death.

“I’ll tell you about them later.” He says, taking your hand in his and lifting it to his lips. He kisses your fingertips, his beard tickling your skin. “Tonight is about you.”

He pulls you close again, leaning down to press his lips to yours. His hands are warm against your back as he wraps himself around you again, trapping your hands against his bare chest. Your nails dig into his skin as his hands sink lower, grabbing handfuls of your ass. He groans, sinking his teeth into your bottom lip. He presses you backwards, and you trust him to guide you until your legs hit the side of his bed.

“Gonna be a good girl for me, yeah?” He growls, his voice rough around the edges as his alpha slips through.

“Yes, alpha!” You gasp against his lips, your head tilting back in submission.

“Always such a good omega for me.” He praises you, teeth nipping at your throat. “Good omegas kneel for their alphas.” He says, pushing you backwards so you plop down on his bed. “But a good alpha,” He slowly lowers himself before you, dropping to one knee, then the other as his hands wrap around your ankles. “Kneels for his omega.”

Your face warms as you stare down at him, unable to do anything but watch as his hands make quick work of your shoes, setting them neatly beside the bed. His skin is rough against yours as his hands drag up your legs, slowly parting them. He moves himself closer, kneeling between your parted thighs. His beard scratches the sensitive skin of your inner thigh as he reaches up, pushing on your stomach until you're laying flat on his bed. He can see up your skirt now, and you're silently glad for the lacy panties Johnny had insisted on.

“Do you trust me?” His lips brush your inner thigh as his hands pause just at the hem of your skirt where it's ridden up almost to your hips.

“Yes, alpha.” You say, lifting your head to stare down at him.

He meets your gaze as he presses a kiss to your inner thigh, his hands continuing to press upwards until your dress is hiked around your waist. Your heart is fluttering rapidly in your chest as you stare down at him, his gaze leaving your eyes to stare at the soaked lace barely covering your most private parts.

His hands leave your hips to curl around the lace, giving it a sharp tug. The fabric snaps easily, the shreds falling to the floor. Your lip part as you stare at him in shock.

“I'll buy you a new pair.” He says, his hands gripping your thighs to pull them further apart.

The cool air in the room hits your slicked folds, making you shudder. He's barely touched you and already you can feel how slick you are. His lips press against your inner thigh again, blazing a path upwards. His gaze meets yours again as his hands shift to grip your hips, adjusting your position on the bed before he leans in, dragging his tongue through your folds.

You gasp at the foreign sensation, your thighs pressing against his broad shoulders. His mouth is warm as it closes over your pussy, his tongue licking another slow stripe up your folds until he reaches the spot that has your inhale turning into a gasp.

He focuses his attention there, dragging slow lines across your clit with his tongue. You let your arms give out, laying flat on the bed again. Little whimpers leave your lips as he teases your clit, your thighs already trembling. It’s been so long since you’ve touched yourself. Not since before you left the institute four months ago.

You don’t last very long.

Your thighs squeeze around his shoulders as your orgasm is ripped from you suddenly. You let out a cry that’s probably too loud, but you don’t care who could have heard you as your back arches off the bed, pressing your hips closer to John’s face. His hands hold your thighs, keeping you still as his tongue continues to tease your clit, working you through your orgasm.

It’s not until you’re writhing in his grasp, letting out little whimpers that he relents, lifting his face from between your thighs. His beard is shiny with your juices, his tongue darting out to lick his lips. It’s obscene and yet, it has heat pulsing straight between your legs again. He lets out a chuckle, the scent of your arousal washing over him.

“Fuckin sweet as sugar, love.” He says as he pushes himself up from between your legs, his body folding over yours on the bed.

His face presses into your neck, inhaling deeply. Your pussy flutters at the thought of him claiming you now, sinking his teeth into your skin to mark you as his forever. He could. It would be so easy for him to do it. His tongue laves over the skin covering your scent gland, a shiver running through you. Your arms wrap around him, holding him against you as your scents mingle, musky with arousal.

“Alpha...” You whine, your hips pressing up against the bulge in his pants. He’s fully hard now, the fabric of his pants providing delicious friction against your folds.

He shushes you, pressing a kiss to your throat before he pushes himself up over you. “Soon, love.” He says, moving until he’s standing in front of you. “Think you’re a bit overdressed still.”

Your eyes dart down to his pants. “So are you.”

He smirks, his hands dropping to your waist, slowly pushing your dress up higher. You let him slip it over your head, lifting your arms to help him. You’re bare before him, warmth spreading through your veins as he stares down at you. Your hands lift, coming to rest on his thighs. You can feel the muscle through the fabric, the strength of him beneath your hands. How easily he could take control, pin you down and take what he wants with little regard for you or your pleasure. How easily he could hurt you, snap your bones like they’re toothpicks, bruise and batter your body without even straining a muscle.

Yet he stands here, patiently watching as your hands move closer and closer to the prominent bulge in his fitted pants. He doesn’t even twitch as your hand cups his hard length, your breath stuttering at the sheer size of him. He’s big like most alphas are, or so you’ve heard.

His eyes stare into you as you undo his belt, popping the button on his pants open. He finally moves as you pull down the zipper, helping you tug his pants and briefs down. His cock stands at attention, almost as stiff as he is. You stare at his veiny cock with wide eyes, the tip flushed almost red with how hard he is.

“Christ.” You breathe, staring at him in awe.

You did that.

“Easy, love.” He says, leaning down to wrap an arm around your waist. “I said tonight was about you.”

He moves you so you’re laid out on the bed, your head hitting his pillow. The scent of him floods your nose as he joins you on the bed, the frame creaking as he kneels between your legs. Nerves twist in your stomach as you continue to stare at his cock bobbing between his thighs as he runs his hands along your legs. It’s going to hurt, you know that. It suddenly seems daunting, this request. At least during your heat you’d be so out of it with need you wouldn’t really feel anything. And you’d have plenty of slick to help.

“None of that.” He says, squeezing your thighs gently. “I told you I’d take care of you.”

You nod, swallowing thickly.

“We’ve got more work to do before we reach that point. I’m not just going to stuff my cock into you like some needy pup.” He stares at you. “You tell me and I’ll stop, alright?”

You nod again. “Yes, alpha.”

Your breath hitches as his hands reach the junction of your thighs, one moving to your stomach, the other dragging through your folds, gathering your wetness on his fingers. They’re so much thicker than your own, your pussy clenching as he presses against the entrance.

“Relax for me, love.” He says, rubbing gentle circles on your stomach with his thumb.

His finger presses into you and your lips part at the intrusion. You clamp tight around his finger, making him groan.

“Easy.” He says, his thumb moving to circle your clit.

A breathy whine leaves your lips as his finger presses deeper into you, reaching further than you ever could. Your hand reaches up to thread through his hair, letting the short cropped strands slide through your fingers. It’s softer than you imagined, though you expect he too had spent the afternoon preparing for tonight as well. The mental image of him lathering himself in moisturizer would have made you laugh if his finger hadn’t brushed against a spot inside you that has your hips lifting off the bed.

He leans down, lips blazing a path up your stomach, between your breasts to your throat. He swallows your moans as he works you open with his fingers, the lewd sound of his fingers thrusting into your wet pussy only adding to the pleasure coursing through you. You can feel it building within you, heat burning through your veins. Price groans against your lips as your nails scratch his scalp, his cock leaking against your thigh. You want him, need him inside of you. You need to feel him, you need to be close to him.

“Alpha, please.” You whimper, tugging at his hair.

He stares down at you, eyes blown with lust. “Please, what?”

“Need you.” You whimper, grinding against his hand. “Please, sir.”

Price closes his eyes, letting out a groan. His cock twitches against your thigh, his fingers slipping from you. He breathes out a curse, shifting to open his nightstand. He pulls out a bottle of lube, sitting back on his knees to squirt some into his hand. You’re plenty slick, but you watch as he rubs the lube on his cock, tossing the bottle back into the open drawer.

He kneels between your thighs again, staring down at you as one of his hands comes to rest on your hip. You feel intoxicated, your head spinning from the intensity of his scent around you and the knowledge of what’s about to happen.

Price folds his body over yours again, the head of his cock brushing your folds. You moan into his mouth as he kisses you, parting your thighs further for him as his tip catches on your opening. Your hands grip his shoulders as he presses into you, the stretch stinging a bit as he works you open. This is it. There’s no going back now.

You don’t want to.

You whimper quietly as he pushes into you, nails biting into his skin. It’s too much, yet you can’t get enough of it as he sinks further in. You let out a shaky breath as he pulls away from your lips staring down at your face.

“Alright?” He asks, stilling where he is.

You nod. “Just need a moment. You’re really big.”

His lips twitch up into a smile, a pleased growl rumbling through his chest. “Don’t start talking like that, love.” He says, leaning down to press kisses to your face.

“Or what?” You ask, your nails digging harder into his skin.

“I might not be able to control myself.” He growls, his alpha slipping out around the edges of his voice.

Your pussy clenches at his words, walls clamping down around him. He lets out another growl, hiking your leg up over his hip. It forces him deeper into you, your breath catching at the feeling of him spreading you open.

“Fuck,” You breathe, rocking your hips to take him even deeper into you.

John’s arms frame your head as he presses his body against yours. Your arms slip around his back, legs locking around his waist as he begins to move slowly, working himself deeper and deeper into you until he’s pressed flush against you. He stills for a moment, pressing his forehead to yours as you both breathe. You’re trembling just slightly, overwhelmed with being so close to him, to your alpha. The pain and discomfort is gone, replaced by burning heat as desire pulses through your veins.

“Please, alpha.” You whimper.

He shushes you, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. “I’ve got you, omega.”

Your skin is slick with sweat already as he begins to rock his hips into you. Your hands press into his back, feeling the muscles shift and flex as he moves. It feels good, the friction of your bodies, the way he stretches you open with every thrust. Your head is spinning with pleasure at the thought of being so close to another person, being so connected with someone else.

Not just someone else, with your alpha.

The wet squelch of your pussy as he thrusts into you is loud, the mattress creaking as he picks up speed. You’re trembling, your thighs squeezing around his hips as he pushes you closer and closer to the edge. You’re not sure how he’s lasted this long, especially without any sort of release for himself yet tonight.

Perhaps it was the training he spoke about earlier.

You’re not sure how he manages it. You couldn’t have that kind of control. Not after this. Not after knowing how good it can feel, how good he can make you feel.

“Fucking feel so good.” He grunts, his breath fanning her ear. His own skin is slicked with sweat, muscles twitching under her hands. “So fucking tight and warm.”

“John!” You gasp, digging your fingers into his shoulder blades as he picks up the pace even more, his hips snapping against yours.

“Gonna cum for me? Gonna cum like a good omega? Need you to cum for me.” He grunts, staring down at you.

You let out a whine, arching against him as you seek your second high of the night. His cock brushes that spot inside of you, stars nearly erupting behind your eyes.

“Right there.” You gasp, thighs shaking around his hips. “Fuck, right there!”

You’re being loud but you don’t care, nails dragging down his back as he focuses his thrusts right at that spot inside you. You cum with a cry, pussy squeezing around him. He lets out a loud groan, his hips stilling as he twitches inside you. His muscles go lax, his body falling on top of yours. He manages to keep himself from squishing you beneath him, his face pressing against your neck.

The smell of sex, arousal, sweat, and your own combined scents are heavy in the air. You’re shaking, still wrapped tightly around John as he lays on top of you. He’s breathing heavily, warm breaths fanning against your neck. You don’t want to move, your mind buzzing with the aftershocks of your orgasm still.

“Alright?” He murmurs, lips pressing a gentle kiss against your throat.

You nod, slowly unwinding yourself from around him. “Yeah. ‘M good.”

“Fucking Christ, a man could get addicted to that.” He says, lifting his face from your neck. “Sweet little omega.”

Your face warms more than it already feels, and you lean into his touch as his fingers brush your cheek.

“Let me go get something to clean this mess up with.” He says, pushing himself up so he’s kneeling.

You can’t help but giggle as his joints pop and he lets out a groan at the effort. “Need a break, old man.”

His eyes flash playfully, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “Going with the old man insults again, huh?”

You give him a look. “You’re the one grunting while getting up.”

You let out a surprised yelp as he brings his hand down on your thigh, the skin tingling as he gets up. “I’ll show you old man.” He murmurs as he heads for his en suite.

You bite your lip as you begin to feel his release slipping out of you, the feeling causing desire to stir in your stomach once more.

John tsks as he comes back, wiping the mess between your thighs. “Needy little thing.” He practically purrs, stepping away to toss the rag into the bathroom sink before he returns, climbing back onto the bed.

You press as close to him as you can, nuzzling into his neck. Your limbs are still twitching a bit, your mind buzzing from the aftermath of what had just transpired. John wraps his arms around you, holding you close to his chest. You press a gentle kiss to his neck, earning a rumble in response. Your own rumble starts up as you purr contently, tossing a leg over his hip to allow you to get as close to him as possible.

He huffs out a laugh, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Comfortable?”

You purr louder in response, sleep beginning to fog the corners of your mind.

“Good girl.” He says, pressing another kiss to your head. “Sleep. Alpha’s got you.”

NEXT ->

Taglist:

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#call of duty #call of duty fic #cod fic #poly 141 x reader #poly 141 #tf 141 x reader #john price x reader #captain price x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #gaz x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #soap x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #x reader #a/b/o #omegaverse #alpha beta omega dynamics

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ekybrini · 3 months ago

Text

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.

#hockey imagine #hockey fic #nhl imagine #nhl fanfiction #nhl fic #jack hughes #jack hughes imagine #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes x y/n #jack hughes fic #nj devils #njd fic #hockey x reader #new jersey devils #hughes brothers

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cosmoszyn · 30 days ago

Text

a decade | caleb.

synopsis: two years apart and a decade of loving him, caleb returns to your life again through a spontaneous roadtrip and shared bottles of alcohol that leads to unearthing the uncertainty of your feelings.

content: caleb x nonmc! reader, little hurt/comfort, light angst, feelings are hard and confusing! third and final part of the seven years series. a LOT of drinking and alcohol involved.

part one / part two

word count: 7k

cross posted in my ao3

It is an unusually chilly night, the scent of spring permeating in the air. You wrap your arms around your slightly shivering body, shifting your weight to your other foot. You exhale, glancing at your wristwatch. The bus is fifteen minutes late, again. Since the news about the train undergoing maintenance, you have never gone home before 10 pm. Before you can even release a sigh, a navy blue sports car slows its acceleration and stops across you. With furrowed brows, you take a step back from the curb, senses heightening. The window rolls down.

“What are you doin’ here?”

Oh.

You catch a glimpse of his curled lips and the shine glazing in his eyes. Then you cock your head to the side, looking at him like he grew three heads.

“I work here, dummy.”

There was a pause.

“...Right. I knew that.”

His reply remains in the howl of the wind as you merely stare back at him as if to say “Of course you do, dumbass,” but his eyes avoid yours and instead fixate on the leather of his steering wheel. He bites the inside of his cheek as you refuse to reply.

He whips his head back to your direction and with a beat of silence, he speaks again, “You got a ride home?”

You blink at him slowly and turn your head to the huge blue sign beside you with a bus printed across it, “What do you think, Caleb?” You reply, turning back to him. In the shadow of the night, you make out the faint tinting of his ears and cheeks.

With a sheepish grin and a hand rubbing the back of his head, he says, “Just get in. I’ll get you home.”

You hesitate.

A thousand options run through your head. A myriad of scenarios flashing before your eyes. And the memory of him lying supine in the cold tiles of your kitchen floor two years ago surfaces again. Getting in that car seems like a bad idea. No–the worst idea you’ve concocted ever since you got drunk and confessed to him three years ago. But you’ve been waiting for the bus for fifteen minutes now. It seems it won’t even arrive at this point.

And so, with a sigh, your trembling hands reach to the passenger door and climb in.

You could feel him staring at you. You ignore it as you drop your bag to your feet and pull the seat belt beside you, locking it in place.

“Get driving, then,” you demand jokingly, looking at the emptying street across you. He gives you a chuckle, “So bossy.”

He shifts the gear and picks up the acceleration. The sound of the engine and heater enclosing the small space.

It was silent.

Suffocatingly silent.

The streetlamps guide the way of the dim road. And yet it feels too dark.

While Caleb maintains the speed of the vehicle, you could barely contain the hastening beat of your heart against your ribcage. You want to clutch your chest and breathe heavily to rid of the smothering air between you two.

This is a mistake.

It hasn’t even been a minute but you already rack your brain of excuses to get out of the car.

You forgot something at the office? No, he’ll just wait outside for you.

You want to grab a meal instead? It’s certain he’ll just come with.

You need to pick something up at a friend’s home? He’ll definitely drive you there,

There is nothing.

And you can even barely get a word out before you hear the sound of windows rolling down. You glance at your side, welcoming the fresh air, calming your pacing heart.

“You seem restless,” he speaks.

Of course he knows.

Of fucking course.

How could he not? When he spent most of his college and early adulthood reading you. He consumed eight years of his life studying you.

Like you were a test he wants to pass with flying colors.

Like there was nothing else in the world that mattered aside from learning you.

And yet, two years ago, in his intoxicated state on your kitchen floor, he ruined everything you two built around.

Well. You ruined everything you two built around, three years ago.

Or maybe it was him, confessing his stupid, non-existent feelings towards you?

Whatever, semantics. It’s just the same either way. Both decisions end up where you are today.

You don’t reply back to him, just a small nod.

Despite the wail of the wind and the steady hum of the vehicle, you could still feel the strangling silence.

With a click of a tongue, you reach his radio. Your fingertips hover over the screen of his car while Caleb steals glimpses of you from his peripheral.

“Whatever song that plays on this will answer my fate on my lovelife,” Caleb suddenly says before you can tap on the radio, eliciting a snicker from you.

“Oh so you want to play that game huh?” You say, “Alright then. What song will describe Caleb’s fate in his lovelife?” You press the button.

Now shut up and drive (drive, drive, drive)

Shut up and drive (drive, drive, drive)

Caleb chokes on his spit and you cackle, hands clutching to your sides.

“Sucks to be you,” you say in between fits of giggles and Caleb just alternates his gaze between you and the road with an amused smile tilting on his lips. “Well, how about you?” He says, reaching for the button. You swat his hand away and he just grins.

“Oh please no thanks!” You protest.

“Oh no, no. We need to hear yours too.” He reaches for the radio, “What is her fate in her lovelife?” He says, turning the station randomly.

So I’ll wait for you, love

And I’ll burn

Will I ever see your sweet return?

Oh, will I ever learn?

Oh-oh, lover, you should’ve come over

‘Cause it’s not too late.

The laughter dies in your throat. The reverberating sound of the riffs of the guitar, hard beating of the drums, and the raw longing from the vocalist catches you two off guard. You squirm in your seat uncomfortably as the air between you thickens.

Caleb clears his throat, “Want to just connect your phone to the bluetooth?”

“Yeah. Sure,” you murmur, taking your phone from your bag.

He removes the radio and taps on the bluetooth option of his car as you connect to it successfully while scrolling through thousands of playlists. He glances at your brightly lit phone and your squinted eyes as you try and settle for a mood for the evening.

“How about that playlist we made in college?” Caleb says.

You purse your lips and hesitantly, you reply, “...I deleted it.”

“Oh. Right.”

There was a brief pause.

“But how come I can still listen to it?” He replies with a raised brow. “I dunno,” you respond blankly. “Must be an error.”

He hums, ignoring the dull ache in his heart.

You deleted the playlist.

Something you two cherished while tolerating the agony of four years in college. He tries to ignore it. He wills himself to. He tells himself, he deserved it.

“When?” He asked, listening to the random playlist you played.

“Huh?”

“Did you delete it.”

“Oh. Two years ago.”

“Oh.” He shrugs. “Okay.” You notice the tight grip he has on the steering wheel and his shoulders tensing.

You two neither exchanged words after that. And you knew everything had been a mistake the moment he pulled up from the curb and greeted you with that warm smile you were oh so familiar with.

He could still tug at your heartstrings the same way he did the first time in your freshman year, when you asked him if the class he was in was Calculus 1. He gave you a nod and a polite grin, “Yeah! You can sit beside me,” he said. With hesitation, you sit beside him. And for some odd reason, he hands you his registration card with ease and precision, like you knew each other for years.

“Check if we have the same classes together,” he says casually. You could only nod obediently, perplexed at the situation as you pulled out your registration card squeezed between your binder. He leans over to your space as you compare your schedules.

“It seems we have the same schedule,” you say under your breath. And it appeared like he cheered.

Since then, you two would do everything together–despite begrudgingly avoiding his company initially. He was a strange man, you thought. But in the end, he came into your life, rather forcibly. And for some reason, even in the most mundane of things, you find yourself in his presence. Enroll in classes, join the same organizations, study the same subject, assist your juniors, even become officers of the organization you were in. It went as far as juniors calling you the “couple” of your organization. You two deny the claim profusely, settling on the term “twins,” instead.

Four years of college and eight years of him. And you never saw him remotely look at you romantically.

With bated breath, Caleb speaks, pulling you out of your trance, “Wanna go to Whitesand bay?”

You stare at him incredulously, “At this hour?”

He shrugs, “It’s only 8 PM.”

“At this hour?” You parrot.

“What? It’s a Friday.”

You continue to stare at him skeptically.

“We can grab a few drinks too on the way there,” he persuades.

“By drinks, you mean alcohol?”

He bites the inside of his lips, “Yeah, why not?”

“And then you will drive back home?”

“Huh? I mean yeah but I won’t drive while I’m drunk! I’ll get some sleep before we head home.”

You narrowed his eyes on him, “There are no hotels near Whitesand bay.”

“My car has plenty of space,” he says confidently with a smirk.

You roll his eyes at him. “Call yourself Caleb the gloater with your boastfulness,” you scoff, followed by a series of sounds imitating the noises a goat makes.

Caleb only laughs at your teasing,

“So? What do ‘ya say?” He asks.

You look at the passing buildings by your side, the gush of wind sweeping the hair across your face. You tuck a chunk of strands behind your ear and with a sigh, you turn to him.

“You know what? Fuck it.”

Minutes later, you find yourself under the buzzing overhead lights of a convenience store, across the fridge of alcohol with a wide array of bottles displayed.

“What should we get?” Caleb asks, his hand against the glass door and arm outstretched. You ignore the flex of his biceps that is inches away from you. “Beer?” Caleb asks, “Not in the mood for that,” you say.

“Surely not tequila.”

“Do you want to die?”

“As if that wasn’t your go-to drink in college.”

“College.”

He only chuckles then glances at the bottommost shelf. “How about this? We used to drink this a lot together when we’d hang at your apartment,” Caleb says, opening the door, and grabbing a bottle.

You stare at the vodka-based drink with lime and ginger beer, waves of memories flooding over your senses immediately. Especially tracing back to that one, freezing winter night at your apartment in your last year of college, sitting across Caleb on the floor. There was a pink tint on his cheeks and ears, something unusual from him since he never flushes this red when you drink.

“Come on, cheers,” you said, clinking the bottle against his. He sent you a half-hearted smile before you noticed his downcast gaze. “Hey, what’s wrong?” You ask him, throwing him a quizzical look and your fingertips ghosting over his shoulders. Caleb shakes his head, “It’s nothin’, pips.”

You frown at him, “It’s not nothing when there’s clearly something, Caleb.”

He just chuckles with obvious hesitation and his fingers draw imaginary apples on your floor. He gulps, “It’s really nothin’,” he says but he exhales when you remain quiet, “But…” His eyes flitted across yours which makes your heart increase in speed. Under the dim glow of your warm light and the scattered papers on the couch, you have learned the past four years that being with him just felt right. When he would get sick and had to skip class, being alone felt nauseatingly wrong. And everytime you would spend your nights with him, it would always feel like a missing puzzle piece that you didn’t even know you needed made its way to your incomplete life. You admire the freckles on his cheeks, his chapped lips slightly parting and curving into a smile and his hair slightly disheveled from the amount of times he ran his fingers through it.

You were deeply, completely enamored by this man.

And you’d like to think that the universe was built around you two.

“She’s just back, pips.”

The beating of your heart paused. The snow on the outside seemed to momentarily freeze your world altogether. Caleb sensed your confusion, which he misconstrued with forgetfulness rather than a heartbreak.

“The childhood friend I was always talking to you about. She’s back.”

Your world split in half.

You clear your throat as you hear the buzzing lights of the convenience store again with Caleb looking at you expectantly, a bottle still in his hand.

“Yeah, sure. Let’s just have that.”

With a nod, Caleb returns the lone bottle and effortlessly grabs the 6-pack from the lowest shelf with one hand. You ignore the heat forming in your cheeks as he walks over across the aisles of the store, one hand holding the pack of alcohol and the other grabbing chips you two enjoyed in college. You trail behind him like a lost puppy, unsure of what to do in this unexpected situation.

Half an hour ago you were just complaining about the transportation system and now you’re back with the man you’ve longed for in years.

And your infatuation towards him is still the same as ever. Noting how in all of his 6’2” glory, the shadows of his muscles behind his white tee still manages to show and the veins in his hands protruding at the amount of items he is holding, all the while he refuses to let you hold anything.

“Hey,” he calls, slightly looking to his side to catch your attention, “Sorry but can you get us a bottle of water? We’ll need it for sure.”

You don’t even need to be told twice. You nod and hurriedly escape from the grasp of his insanely good looks.

Minutes later, you two find yourself back in his car.

“I’ll send you my half of the bill,” you insist.

“And I’ll return it back to you. As I said, it’s fine. I’ll cover it,” Caleb argues, locking in his seatbelt in place.

“Who is this man talking to me? In college he would force me to pay the fifty cents I owe him,” you joke, leaning against his polished seats.

“That was in college, pips. I earn good money now. Let me treat you,” he gloats.

“Oh right, treat me with what? Alcohol and junk food?”

“And water. Duh.”

You laugh. And for a second, everything felt like it was back to where it was. How it all used to be. Music echoing across the small enclosure of his vehicle, wind gushing in the open windows, and his hands aching to reach in your warmth.

The night continues on as Caleb skillfully drives through the empty streets. The faint sound of the forgotten playlist plays in the background and the howl of the wind accompanying you two. For a moment, you blatantly watch Caleb yawn beside you, his hand covering his stretched lips. You turn away when his mouth closes.

Half an hour passes by and you find yourself drifting to sleep, your head cocked to Caleb’s side. He catches a glimpse of your peaceful state, his lips slightly curving upward. He fights the urge to brush the stray hair away from your cheek.

It has always been like this.

Caleb beside you.

Whether in loud and colorful spaces or in tranquil and intimate positions. Despite being apart from you for the past two years, he somehow, in some way, found his way back into your already busy life. As if to tell you that he refuses to be a fleeting moment.

That he was there to stay.

No matter what.

And it doesn’t matter if you think of his presence as a blessing or rather a pest that you couldn’t get rid of, he frankly doesn’t care.

He is there to stay. He knew that the moment you entered the doors in the classroom in college.

He drives to Whitesand bay at a steady pace, often finding himself avoiding the potholes and slowing the acceleration at the speed humps. Despite that, he always finds a way to glance over your sleeping figure.

Another half an hour later, the sounds of the waves crashing on the shore filled your ears, stirring you in your sleep. Caleb gradually applied the brakes in his car, until it came to a complete stop, cutting the engine. He turned his gaze to you, curled up in the passenger seat. He presses his lips together, eyes softening at your state, contemplating whether to disrupt your peaceful sleep. He releases a soft exhale as his hands reach over to you, pausing for a moment in sheer hesitation.

“Hey, pips,” he whispers, his breath fanning your cheeks as he slightly nudges your shoulder. “We’re here.” Your eyes fluttered open from the movement, slightly stretching your body away from him.

Through the windshield, a thin slice of the dock is visible, along with the stretch of the ocean. You sit up straight, blinking to get a hold of your surroundings, darting your gaze to Caleb who is looking at you expectantly–with the most doe eyes you have ever seen on him.

You shake your head to get rid of the drowsiness and thoughts away, exiting the vehicle with a light slam of the car door beside you while the brunet follows suit.

You wrap your arms beside you as you lean beside his car, the wooden planks of the dock beneath you creaking with every step you take.

You marvel at the glistening dark blue waters in front of you, the moonlight rippling against the waves crashing against the shore beneath the dock. You hear the sound of the trunk being slammed closed behind you as you rub your eyes blearily, a yawn escaping your lips.

“Hey pips.” You turn your head to Caleb. He pats the hood of his car, a blanket hovered over it. He props himself up to the hood, leaving some space beside you. You slide next to him as he hands you an already opened bottle of alcohol.

“Cheers,” Caleb says, clinking your bottles together.

Your lips meet the opening of the glass, chugging the alcohol, feeling the cold liquid slither down your throat. Caleb lets out an exaggerated exhale of satisfaction.

For a moment, everything felt right.

“So, how are you doin’?” He opens, eliciting a chuckle from you that sounded more like just an exhale.

“You should’ve started with that hours ago, Caleb,” you reply, side-eyeing him.

“Better late than never, right?” He replies with the same boyish chuckle he had in college. Your heart skips a beat.

You turn your gaze to the ocean. “Just fine, I guess.”

“Just fine?” He parrots.

“Hmm. Yeah. I’m doing fine.”

He scoffs, “Come on you’re sellin’ yourself short.”

You turn to him, cocking your head to the side in confusion but before you could express it verbally, he speaks as he stares at you with owlish eyes, “You’re on literal magazines and billboards across the whole damn city of Linkon. It’s a surprise the cashier from the convenience store didn’t recognize you.”

It was your turn to scoff, “Oh please. That little thing? I’m just doing my usual nerd shit at work.”

“I never thought doing nerd shit would warrant you in huge billboards on highways, pips,” he says teasingly with a grin.

“Oh please! Don’t tell me that when you’re what, one of the highest ranking pilots at the Deepspace Aviation Administration at the age of 25?!” You exclaim exaggeratingly, waving the bottle in the air. He laughs, “It’s nothin’, I swear.”

He tries to hide the disbelief written all over his face with laughter, surprised that you know that he’s a high ranking pilot at the DAA despite having no connection. He tries. But the curl of his lips in amusement is betraying him.

“It’s nothin’, I swear!” You mock him and you two laugh together, the sound resonating in the quiet air. As the laughter dies down, you take another swig of the alcohol, already downing it to its half. The tangy taste sits in your tongue and the icy cold liquid crawls in your throat with a stinging sensation. You remember the first time you drank alcohol with Caleb.

It was the evening after midterms season, or as you two like to call it–hell week. The grades were just announced in your campus portal and as two eager, overachieving students that you both are, you decided to check it together in a shared space in your apartment. Upon loading into the website, you quickly skim through the courses and its corresponding marks. As your eyes file through the last subject, you let out a sigh in relief. Passed. But just as soon as you realize your passing grade, Caleb speaks, “Want to get drunk?”

Caleb almost dropped out of the Dean’s List.

Just .1 shy away from being dropped from the roll.

And within ten minutes, Caleb has already set up the first ever drinking session between you two.

“No, but seriously, how have you been?” A voice pulls you out of your reminiscence. You watch him warily, his eyes refusing to meet yours while he chugs down his drink, “It’s been two years without contact,” he continued, followed by a shaky laugh. He wipes off his mouth with the back of his hand and places it back in the space between you two, just mere inches away from yours.

You let out a sound of contemplation, “Well,” you begin, ignoring the desperation laced in his tone, “I got promoted to two positions higher than what I used to be.”

“Mmhmm.”

“And I got in magazines because of work, as you already know.”

“Yep.”

You trace your fingers over the print of the alcohol bottle, ignoring his watchful gaze at you, “And I finally travelled somewhere outside of Linkon City for once.”

“Hm? Where have you been?” Caleb asks with his head tilting to the side, propping his left knee up and resting his elbow. “Chansia City?” He continued.

You shake your head. “No.”

You press your lips together in a thin line and with a heavy breath, you say, “Skyhaven.”

Caleb feels like he’s been dumped with ice cold water.

“Skyhaven?” He repeats.

“Yeah.”

He swallows, “When?”

You down your alcohol, emptying the bottle, “Hm. A little over two years ago? Probably some time in October.”

“October? You mean two months after we…”

Ignored each other deliberately?

Fought?

…Broke up?

“Yeah,” you just reply. Caleb continues to stare at you, but this time, with wide, owlish eyes and mouth slightly agape. You refuse to look at him and instead stare at the thick clouds obstructing the full moon.

“Why were you in–”

“Can you get me another beer?” You say, shoving him your empty bottle. “And get some chips too. I’m famished!” You joke.

Caleb observes you for a second before giving you a slight nod and sliding off the hood of the car.

You never meant to slip that you went to Skyhaven, you just thought he wouldn’t ask further questions. But you must’ve forgotten how relentless Caleb could be when learning things about you. After all, this was the man that asked you about your schedule the moment you sat your ass down beside him on the first day of meeting him.

When he returns, your arms wrap around your legs and your chin settles atop of your knees with your eyes looking at somewhere distant over the horizon.

“Here,” he says, handing you a cold bottle. You murmur a thanks and as soon as you take the drink, both of you guzzle down almost half of the alcohol in sync. He opens the bag of chips effortlessly and places it between you.

Before you can even change the topic, he says, “Why were you in Skyhaven?”

You catch a glimpse of him.

Which was a mistake.

You see regret lingering in his eyes, his flushed cheeks, and quivering lips. Like he was on the verge of demanding all answers from you and the universe for your falling out.

You turn away from his stare. You nestle deeper in your knees, “Nothing. It was for vacation,” you say.

Caleb waits.

He knows there’s still something in your words.

“Well, initially it was for vacation,” you continue, “But… I think deep inside, I was looking for something familiar,” you murmur.

“Something?” He asks in clarification.

“Someone,” you correct. Caleb had to physically tear his eyes from you, gravitating instead to the rusting freighters floating in the distance. “In hopes that maybe I would… bump into him,” you muttered, as if the person you were talking about isn’t getting drunk beside you.

He remains silent, counting the buoys he could spot. You take a sip of your alcohol.

“And… Get him back? I don’t know. He was never mine, anyway.” You whisper the last sentence under your breath, hoping he didn’t catch it.

Of course he did.

Caleb feels like his heart is clawing its way across his throat. Ignoring it, he takes a sip of his beer.

You chuckle uneasily, “God, I’m already tipsy. I’m still a lightweight even after being trained by you.”

Caleb’s first mistake of the night, he notes, was looking at you the moment you said those words. Your eyes are glassy, your cheeks red, lips slightly parted and curled up in an intoxicated smile, and your composure is already driven by the alcohol.

“I didn’t know you were in Skyhaven back then,” he said.

“Of course you don’t, dummy! I never told anyone. Just our HR,” you reply, slapping his shoulder playfully.

“But you could’ve told me. We could’ve–”

“What? Fix things?” You cut him off with a frown. “Impossible. We could’ve never fixed it. Not then, not now, and not later.”

It was his turn to scowl. “What do you mean not now and not later?”

“What? I’m just telling the truth, Caleb.”

“Then don’t say that,” he says, begging. “If that’s the truth then I don’t want any of it. I don’t care if college has been dead for six years now or if we lost ourselves along the way. I hated being away from you.”

“Then maybe you shouldn’t have shown up to my doorstep, drunk out your mind, and almost cried on my stupid kitchen floor two years ago,” you muttered, rolling your eyes.

Caleb groans, rubbing his temples with his fingers before drinking another shot. “I was stupid, okay?”

“Was?”

“...I am stupid.”

“I know.”

Silence engulfs the two of you again, only the sounds of the waves from the sea filling the empty space.

“Look–” He sighs, running his fingers through his hair, “Even before I got drunk at your doorstep, I was already regretting things between us.”

You narrow your eyes at him, “What do you mean regret? Which one?”

“Letting you handle all the burden of being alone,” he murmurs.

And you recall the month leading up to his drunken confession. After realizing how much he waited for his childhood friend to come back and how you saw the yearning stares he gave to her, whether through a screen or in person when he introduced you to her, when he was certain no one else was looking, you knew you had to save yourself.

You thought drunkenly confessing your feelings a year ago would set you free from the iron grip he has on your heart. You were certain you had been okay since that intoxicated revelation of how you have loved him since college. But every single time you see him longing for someone that wasn’t you–it tears you apart. And so, you decided that you’ll take a month-long venture in moving on. It was just a short journey, just enough so you’ll get rid of any romance in your system. It started with short texts to nothing at all, too fixated in your career and always on do not disturb. Then, it was bailing on dates that involved only you two. If Gideon was there, you’d come–god forbid you’re left alone with Caleb.

But unfortunately, Caleb didn’t take it well. He thought you were ending everything. He thought you were throwing away seven years of your friendship.

Hence, the intoxicated, faux confession of him loving you.

After he was rejected by his childhood friend.

Leading up to complete and absolute falling out.

Which was not in your initial plans.

“Burden?” The word nearly sounds like a laugh and you shake your head, “Caleb, please. I was just in love with you, I wasn’t dying.”

“But you left.”

“So?”

“It’s the same thing.”

You look at him with furrowed brows, “You are so dramatic,” you laugh and he follows suit, emptying the alcohol bottle.

“Sorry,” he mumbles sheepishly, “I just miss moments like this more than anything.”

You ignore the dull ache in your chest, “I’m sure you do.”

He sighs for the umpteenth time tonight. “I think of you in the most mundane things I do,” he confesses.

“Like what? Getting drunk? You make me look like an alcoholic,” you joke.

He shakes his head with a laugh, “No,” he says as your lips reach the rim of the bottle, “Like when I make instant noodles and I instinctively reach for two packets because you don’t like the way you make them,” he says. Your eyes slightly widen.

“Or when I read reports, I reach for a pen that’s your favorite color to comment on it.”

He takes a big swig of his drink.

“Sometimes when I see a new cafe in Skyhaven, I would think about asking you to come with me, only to find out I don’t even have your number saved anymore.”

You blink, feeling the gush of the salt air tangle in your hair. The crease between your brows deepens.

“Caleb…” You drawl, turning to him with a frown, “Why are you telling me this?”

He turns to you.

“If you’re telling this to make you feel better about not loving me back after eight years, I will be the first person to tell you that it’s not your fault that you didn’t love me back.”

“No, I–”

“You don’t have to apologize for not loving me back either. It’s just the way it is, Caleb!” You almost exclaim, “We’re just friends and I have long accepted that,” you continue, inching closer to him with tears welling up in your eyes, “It’s time you do too.”

The sound of waves sloshing around the dock envelops the situation. The light from the streetlamp illuminates your skin as you forcibly try to restrain yourself from reaching out to him.

With a shake of your head, you exhale a deep breath and look away. “Sorry,” you begin, “That was a bit dramatic.”

“No, don’t be,” he replies.

“Yeah.”

Caleb chews on his bottom lip. “You want to finish another bottle or you’d rather sleep inside?” He asks.

You fiddle with the neck of the bottle, “I think I’d sleep this off. The alcohol is getting to me,” you say.

Moments later, you find yourself in a situation that the you two years ago would find baffling. Laying inside your college friend’s car, with the seats on recline and him being inches away from you. You could feel the waves of the ocean lulling you to sleep despite the hammering beat of your heart against your ribcage, and with closed eyes, you try to.

You ignore the cramped space you are in.

You deny the subtle confessions Caleb was declaring to you.

You ignore the stares you could feel on your side.

Ignore. Deny. Ignore.

“We could get arrested for this,” Caleb whispers behind you.

“For sleeping in a car?” You reply, eyes still shut.

“For parking in a no park zone.”

“Just bribe them with your big pilot money. I’m sleeping here.”

“I didn’t expect those words to come out of your mouth,” he replies.

“And you won’t expect the next one either.”

“What?” He says, watching you turn to your side and face him, nuzzling your cheek on your hand and eyes screwed shut. “Shut the fuck up,” you whisper back, “Emphasis on the fuck and shut,” eliciting a chuckle from him.

“Alright.”

But shutting the fuck up is something Caleb somehow can’t do when he’s lightheaded from the alcohol.

“I missed you.”

You hum.

“I missed the silence between us.”

“Then I beg of you to shut up. I miss the silence too,” you grumble.

He ignores your protest.

“Won’t you ask why I’m in Linkon?” He asks

“To torment me, probably. I don’t fucking know.”

“That’s one thing.”

You don’t reply, relishing on the couple of seconds that Caleb has his mouth zipped.

“But I wasn’t in Skyhaven in October two years ago.”

Your heart could leap out of your throat.

“Pips, I was in Linkon the moment you were in Skyhaven.”

Like he couldn’t make it any more clear.

“I waited outside your office every day. All the restaurants you enjoyed. The cafe shops. Everywhere.”

Caleb’s second mistake of the night was when he saw how you slowly opened your eyes when his words fell from his mouth. He could see the way your lips fall into the deepest frown and your brows creased together with a fury of ten years of loving him.

“Again, Caleb, why are you telling me this?” You ask, seething.

“What?” He asks, dumbfounded.

“You don’t have to tell me all of this, Caleb. Everything has happened already. Everything,” you begin, sitting up straight. He follows suit.

“I drunkenly declared to you my love and you outright rejected it. A year later, you visit me, intoxicated and you declare the same shit, right after you got rejected?” You scoff, “Come on, Caleb. I’m not stupid. Please.”

He looks at you, bewildered.

You feel the rush of heat in your cheeks and ears. Your fingernails clawing against the fabric of your jeans.

With a sigh, you shake your head, feeling the impending headache loom over you. “I know you missed me, Caleb. And I understand, trust me. ‘Cause I missed you too, I missed us,” you begin, slumping your back against his leather seat, refusing to look at him any further. “But nostalgia is a liar. You keep visiting the past but no one’s there anymore, Caleb. I’m here and you’re here. And we chose different things and that’s fine. We have to move on eventually.”

“No but I just hated how I said all those terrible things to you–”

“Me too! I hated having to let you go,” you confess, your voice cracking but no tears threaten to spill from your eyes. “But let’s face the truth, Caleb. It’s what we needed.”

The man across you remains silent while you heave a deep breath, alcohol coursing through your veins, and you know what he’s doing.

He’s studying you intently. Again.

With a click of a tongue, you shake your head, plopping your body back to the reclined seat, laying on your side facing him.

“I’m getting dramatic again. Goodnight, Caleb. And I expect you to shut up for real.”

The moon hangs bright in the sky, with sparse clouds littering around it, and a handful of stars accompanied the satellite with their soft light. A couple of rusting freighters and dimly lit buoys are still floating in the distance, with the soft sounds of waves continuously lapping against the pier. The tick tick tick from the hazard signal of Caleb’s vehicle is akin to a metronome.

He still sits upright, studying your steady breathing and eyelashes fluttering across your cheeks. Swallowing thickly, he leans back into the seat. He instinctively curls into the radiating warmth lying beside him, screwing his eyes shut in an attempt to doze off. But the pacing beat of his heart deemed it fruitless. Fluttering his eyes open and rubbing the intoxication off, his breath hitches at the sight of you.

With your hands tucked under your head as a makeshift pillow and your chapped lips caused by the harsh weather slightly parted, he finds himself staring at your serenity.

Caleb inches closer to your face, clamping his mouth shut to avoid his breath fanning you awake. His vision is still dazed from the alcohol and his mind is almost short-circuiting from exhaustion. The cold air from the slightly ajar windows whizzes through the two of you, causing you to twitch. He flinches at your sudden movement, eyes widening at the possibility that you would rouse from your sleep. But instead, you snuggle deeper in your arms, sighing blissfully.

Caleb contemplates, slowly blinking. And with the courage of ten years of being with you, he reaches over your sleeping figure, tucking the stray strands of hair behind your ear.

He softly calls your name.

Once.

Twice.

“What?” You grumble.

“I’ll shut up for real,” he says.

“Then do it. Don’t say it.”

“But I need your help in doing it.”

You peek at him with one eye open. “Help you shut up? It’s like telling me to hang the stars in the sky,” you say.

“Kiss me.”

“What?” Both your eyes fly open, startled by his words.

“Do me a favor and kiss me,” he casually says. You grimace, shaking your head. “You’re just drunk, Caleb. Jeez don’t say things you will regret–”

“You think two bottles of that beer will get me drunk?” He raises a brow at you and tilts his head knowingly.

Touche.

“You say nostalgia is a liar,” he continues, “Then help me move on from it then. Make me realize it’s not real.”

He sits up once again and you follow suit.

You chew your bottom lip in contemplation, darting your stare from the steering wheel, to the shift, and back to your lap.

“Just a kiss?”

He nods slowly.

You gulp.

Another mistake is about to be made, you mentally note. And you swear this is going to fuck up your friendship and you’re just inebriated, this is just the alcohol talking nonsense, and you’re certain you’re demolishing all the stability you’ve built in your life but–

“Fuck it.”

Caleb didn’t have to be told twice.

Within seconds, Caleb slowly leans into you, “Here I go,” he mutters. You nod at him, your breaths shallow and fanning his face as his hand reaches to your cheek. With his trembling fingers over your skin, he presses your lips together–the feeling of his chapped lips against yours, slowly moving along the rhythm of the waters. Despite the tenderness of it all, you were caught off guard with the sensation, but eventually, you relax under his touch. He feels the rapid beating of his heart against his chest as you carefully slip his actions in sync.

Your heart both sinks and swells at the feeling of his warmth radiating against you, your hands grip onto his shoulder as the two of you continue to glide your lips against each other. He trails his fingers from your cheeks to your chin, gripping it tight before slightly pushing it downward, urging you to part your mouth further. He slides his tongue against yours as his other hand reaches for the back of your head, pulling you closer to him. You let out a small whimper, your hands shaking as you try to hold ground yourself back into reality.

Your nails claw through the fabric of his shirt, earning a groan from Caleb between your mouths.

Unable to keep the wild thumping of your chest at bay, you pull away from him before he can push himself further into your space, avoiding his gleaming irises. You pant heavily, heat rushing to your cheeks.

“There. That ought to shut you up.”

Caleb almost laughs in between his heavy breathing.

But you lean back into the seat, turning your back against him.

He feels his heart sink to his stomach.

“I don’t want to hear another word from your big mouth, Caleb,” you say jokingly. “You better keep your promise.”

And for the first time in the long night, he was quiet. Of course, he kept his promise. Not until the words slip from his tongue, “I think you’re still wrong. Everything I’ve felt about us has always been real.”

But you no longer heard it with the soft snores coming from your slightly parted lips.

Hours later, after a pathetic convenience store breakfast, and the heat of the morning seeping through the car windows, you two find yourself threading through the highways and avenues of the city again.

Laughs were shared in the small enclosure of his vehicle, complaints about a splitting headache were echoed, random catching up were made, and even sob stories about how life treated you two during the years you’ve been apart were declared.

For some reason, the air still hangs thick–but this time, with more uncertainty than ever. But it’s okay, you tell yourself, with your head leaned back onto the seat of his car and his hand sometimes ghosting over yours, you tell yourself that it’s fine.

Because once this is all over, when you’re back in the comforts of your apartment, you’re certain that whatever Caleb feels about you will come to fruition the following days. Whether he’d come to your doorstep with flowers in hand or just through random texts like a friend, it won’t hurt you.

By the end of the day, he was still the Caleb that you cherished in college. And you were content with either outcome fate decides to give you.

a/n: hope you guys liked this :") tbh i didn't want caleb taking the route of blatantly confessing his love because i could never wrap my head around the concept of loving someone after yearning after a different person for years.

reblogs, comments, and likes are highly appreciated! pls share some love <3

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solxamber · 2 months ago

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Going to get my driver's licence and now I'm curious. How bad do you think the twst characters would be behind a car?? Cause idk if they have cars in that world or some magic equivalent, but I'm 90% sure almost none of them now how. Like imagine Lillia behind the wheel. He would either crash the car or get you yo your destination with mild injuries. And I KNOW leona sucks at driving that sonnova gun probs doesn't even have his permit.

good luck soldier, hope you pass first try 🫡

leona is canonically good at driving! his liongarb vignette part 2 has him driving everyone and they say it's a surprisingly smooth ride, he's had his license since before he enrolled in nrc!

ooo let's see (these are my hcs)

How I think the twst boys drive:

Riddle

“If you don’t use your blinker, you deserve a revoked license and public humiliation.”

has a laminated printout of the dmv manual in his glove compartment. refers to it. frequently.

stress-mumbles the rules of the road like it’s a ritual to keep the car from crashing

WILL tailgate someone going under the speed limit while also ranting about how dangerous tailgating is

6/10 driving skills. you’ll get there. your spine might not survive the journey, but you’ll get there.

Trey

drives like a dad and acts like one too. snacks in the glovebox. tunes to an “easy listening” radio station no one asked for

makes full eye contact with you while backing into a parking space like it’s nothing. terrifying.

won’t yell at other drivers but will mutter very passive-aggressive things like “oh, nice turn signal, champ”

actually a good driver, but if you’re in a rush he suddenly forgets where the gas pedal is

9/10. safe, boring, you will arrive calmly unless you say something that triggers “dad lecture mode”

Cater

treats every red light like a selfie opportunity. traffic jam? story time.

“oops lol i forgot i was driving”—said as he casually swerves back into the lane with one hand and no shame

will absolutely blast hyperpop or sad girl music at full volume and sing along

uses gps and still misses every turn. rerouting? he’s rerouting his soul

4/10. looks good while driving but he’s taking you straight to the afterlife

Ace

somehow thinks he’s in mario kart. will try to drift. is bad at drifting.

screams “WE’RE FINEEEE” after hitting the curb for the third time

brakes too late, accelerates too fast, thinks honking is just “assertive communication”

if there’s a speed bump he’s treating it like a ramp. bonus points if he makes you hit your head on the ceiling

2/10. he’s the reason riddle has ulcers. do NOT get in the car if you value your life or bones.

Deuce

follows every rule with military precision. 10 and 2. full stops. checks mirrors like he’s solving a crime

“Yes ma’am, no ma’am, I mean—uh, officer! No officer! I wasn’t speeding I swear—” (he wasn’t. he was 5 under.)

will cry if you scream while he’s merging. please don’t scare the boy.

starts off driving like your grandma, then randomly hits you with a tokyo drift moment and doesn’t explain

7/10. either safest driver alive or full menace. depends on how much sleep he got.

Leona

the infuriatingly competent kind of driver who looks like he’s not paying attention, but then parallel parks in one smooth move without even checking the mirrors

arm out the window, seat leaned back, one hand on the wheel, vibes immaculate

doesn’t drive fast, but drives scarily efficient. like you blink and you’re at the destination

will not turn down the music. you are listening to the same remix loop for 45 minutes and you WILL like it.

9/10 driver. good under pressure, hates driving in the rain, will refuse to pick you up unless you bribe him with snacks or flattery.

Ruggie

terrifyingly resourceful behind the wheel. the kind of guy who’ll be like “oh yeah there’s a shortcut” and you end up on a goat trail with no guardrails

speed demon. not by choice. he just doesn’t believe in arriving late. or braking.

eats while driving. talks while driving. does parkour with the car while driving. you pray while riding.

every time he drives you somewhere, you owe him one. including emotional damage fees.

5/10. you will survive. but spiritually? you left your body three potholes ago.

Jack

rule follower. actual golden retriever on the road. if you litter out the window he will make a U-turn to go back and make you pick it up

will not speed, will not honk unless someone is literally on fire, will not change the radio station unless everyone agrees

but if someone cuts him off? feral instincts engaged.

quietly competitive. if someone passes him, he WILL accelerate. you may hear growling. don’t question it.

8.5/10. safe, solid, dependable. would drive you home from a party and make sure you drank water first.

Azul

thinks driving is a power move. like. he paid extra for that quiet engine start just to flex

fully uses driving time to monologue about business deals, plans, or subtle threats. you’re not sure if you’re carpooling or in a hostage negotiation

signals three miles ahead. checks mirrors like he’s being tailed by the fbi. he might be

very good at navigating. if gps reroutes, he reroutes it back. he wins against the algorithm.

9/10, but unnerving. you’re safe, but at what cost.

Jade

why does he have a license. who allowed this.

drives like he’s setting up a prank for someone ten miles ahead

never speeds, but takes the creepiest, emptiest backroads imaginable. says it’s “more scenic”

always smiling while driving. concerningly calm if something explodes. probably listening to classical music or nature documentaries

6/10. legally fine. emotionally? you’re not coming back the same.

Floyd

no one is shocked he passed the test. everyone is shocked he was legally allowed to take it

drives according to mood. if he’s bored, the car drifts. if he’s happy, he’s swerving in rhythm to the beat. if he’s angry? start writing your will.

makes driving sounds while driving. “vroom vroom~ screeeee~” for no reason

WILL throw fries at other cars. WILL try to high-five a biker at a stoplight. WILL unbuckle his seatbelt to “stretch” mid-drive

3/10. you either have the best day of your life or a near-death experience. possibly both.

Kalim

loudest driver alive. music blaring, windows down, shouting "WHEEEE~!" every time he accelerates

constantly turns around to talk to people in the backseat. like fully turns around. while driving.

forgets he’s not in a flying carpet. every stop sign is an opportunity to launch forward like it’s a joyride

someone told him roundabouts are fun so he goes around twice. just for the vibes.

4/10. he loves driving. driving does not love him back. you’re clutching the oh-shit handle the whole time.

Jamil

the only reason scarabia hasn’t been sued for vehicular crimes

drives like a tired single parent with 4 kids in the back screaming about McDonald's

SPEEDS when no one’s watching. you blink, he’s five miles ahead. shadow clone jutsu behind the wheel.

has memorized every traffic light timer in the city. never hits red. it’s… weird.

9/10. efficient, smooth, and will absolutely sigh dramatically the whole time you’re in the car.

Vil

drives a clean car. spotless. smells like luxury perfume and judgment

interior is curated. no trash. no crumbs. one water bottle and it’s aesthetically pleasing.

signals aggressively. like he flips that blinker with intent

will slow down to give you a Look if you’re in the wrong outfit to be seen with him

8/10. elegant and competent, but if you scuff his interior with your shoes, you’re walking.

Rook

who gave him a license. seriously. who looked at this man and went “yes. let him command a machine.”

sings full operas while driving. makes direct eye contact through the rearview mirror. unsettling.

has taken you on backroads even you didn’t know existed. somehow it was scenic.

talks like he’s narrating a wildlife documentary about the local traffic patterns

???/10. is he a good driver? no one knows. he’s just... driving.

Epel

lives for off-roading. doesn’t matter if he’s in a prius, he’s driving that baby like it’s a monster truck

drives like a 90-year-old when vil’s in the car. drives like he’s in a nascar trial when vil’s not

says “it’s fine, I’ve done this before” and proceeds to take a left turn at 70 mph

threatens to do donuts in the parking lot and then does them.

5/10. he’s trying his best. unfortunately, his best involves sick tricks and zero concern for tire life.

Idia

doesn’t.

has a license “for legal reasons,” but he treats driving like going outside is the final boss battle

owns a tricked-out car he never drives. it has led lights, anime decals, and a built-in gaming console. he uses it as a portable man cave

the one (1) time he did drive, he wore fingerless gloves, anime osts were blasting, and he whispered “initial D style” before forgetting which pedal was the brake

2/10. technically can drive. emotionally should not. you’re safer ubering with floyd.

Ortho

doesn't technically need a license but downloaded the entire dmv handbook into his memory for fun

his “car” is less “vehicle” and more “sentient ai-controlled hovercraft with wifi and snacks”

offers in-flight entertainment. like you’re not even on a plane. he just projects movies on the dashboard

drives at optimal efficiency.

11/10. the future of driving. terrifying and amazing. please stop letting him hack traffic lights though.

Malleus

he has a license. he studied for it. memorized the entire rulebook. aced the written.

the problem is: he drives like he's never seen another car before

goes 25 in a 60 because “it is the safest way to protect my precious cargo” (YOU)

stares at traffic lights like they personally offended him

car is some luxury vintage thing that makes no sense. you have to open the door with a key made of bone or something

3/10. you are deeply loved. and deeply late.

Lilia

drives like he’s lived through every era of vehicular invention. he owned a horse-drawn carriage and a tank

owns a beat-up, pink minivan with a custom wrap and dice in the mirror

speeds. aggressively. will swerve into the drive-thru and order fifty mcnuggets “for the road”

talks with both hands while driving. both. hands.

4/10. unpredictable. fun. chaos incarnate. your insurance company hates him.

Silver

good driver. responsible driver.

...except for the part where he falls asleep at stop signs

you’ll be halfway through a deep conversation and he’ll just nod off with his foot on the brake

car is clean, smells like lavender, and has one (1) emergency granola bar in every compartment

very gentle driver. almost too gentle. like “you didn’t feel the turn because he was spiritually aligned with the wheel” kind of gentle

6.5/10. smooth ride, but someone needs to keep him awake with snacks and playlist bangers.

Sebek

shouldn’t be allowed behind the wheel.

drives like he’s been assigned to escort the royal heir through enemy territory

yells at everyone on the road. pedestrians, squirrels, YOU—no one is safe from his critiques of your seatbelt position

insists on narrating everything. “SIGNALING LEFT. NOW SWITCHING LANES. REMAIN ALERT!”

the gps is set to his own voice. and you can’t turn it off

2/10. the only thing louder than the engine is his righteous fury.

Grim

that’s a cat.

(he tries to drive. he sits on the wheel. honks the horn with his butt. chews the seatbelt. it's a warzone in there.)

this was so fun to do lmao

#sol answers #twst #twisted wonderland #twst headcanons #sol hcs

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omgfangirlland · 5 months ago

Text

The Shadows That Nurture 9

Ch9 is here and with it everything is set in motion! The bomb is ticking- Ch 10 is done and ch 11 is in the works, uhhh a lot of characters are about to make an appeareance along the way-

Enjoy!

Masterlist || First || previous<< Chapter 9 >>next

The Grayson household was having dinner like every night, the table filled with enough food to fill everyone, the kids on one side of the table and the adults on the other. “So- guess who’s finally getting his powers?” Mark started softly once the conversation quieted down, quickly getting met with a smile and praise from you and Debbie, neither noticing Nolan’s suspicious glare laced with worry.

“Are you sure?” The praise stopped as soon as Nolan’s voice was heard. Your foot immediately met his shin, making him look at you with surprise as you glared angrily at the man. “Dude-“ you almost hissed. “Don’t be like that. You know Mark wouldn’t lie about this, not when you put enough pressure on him as is.” The slight jab at his tough parenting made Nolan clear his throat and give a soft apology to his son.

Mark gives the man a small smile as he shrugs. “I mean- I did throw a trash bag into space at work.” The boy’s confirmation was met with a happily surprised look from Nolan, your eyes narrowing with suspicion at the older man’s customer service smile, after which he offered the young man to join their training sessions from tomorrow on.

All in all, Mark felt quite great! He could finally join his sister and father in their “saving the world” adventures, he could follow in Nolan’s steps. Finally be the protector of Earth alongside his family. He’s gonna be able to fly. He was finally going to be able to fly!

He went out onto the roof and knocked on his sister’s window. He wasn’t going to do this alone, what if he was the odd one out and couldn’t fly and fell and cracked his head open? Nuh-uh.

“Don’t look down, you’ll only scare yourself.” You warned Mark, your brother quickly shushing you as he muttered to himself. “Dad always said it was like a reflex, so if I don't want to fall, I won't, and even if I do, maybe it won't even hurt-“

“And Superman said it’s a leap of faith, so leap.” You interrupted his worried mutters, your hair flying around you as you lifted off the roof, ignoring his beg for you to be on the ground below just in case. “Don’t think about it, Mark. I believe in you.”

Mark’s tense muscles relaxed as he looked at his sister’s reassuring eyes. He didn’t look away as he stepped back until his back hit the wall and he didn’t look away as he started running, taking a leap and flying right to you. You both laughed with glee at his success, you almost snorting as he started rolling like a ball and stopping upside down.

“Well. I guess we’ll have to work on you keeping upright.” You couldn’t help teasing him. “Shut up! I can do that-“ Your dear brother whined as he wiggled a bit in the air before he figured out how to turn. “See? It’s not that ha-auch!” Mark winced when he hit a tree branch while he unknowingly drifted as he talked, making you snicker.

His speed was good, and his landing needed work, but you weren’t one to talk. You almost crashed through a building on your first few landings. By morning Mark barely got an hour of sleep but with a whole pot of coffee, he was as good as new. Until he crashed again. “I guess that still counts as a landing.” Nolan sighs and tells Mark to get back up. “And it was in the middle of nowhere- so points for no civilian casualties?” you mutter as you cross your arms, one hand covering your mouth. “…That looked like it hurt.”

The man cleared his throat. “How about a bit of insight on how to interrogate?” You tried to argue against it, but Mark insisted he was fine, pushing to continue training. “Well…” You sigh before a mischievous smirk takes form on your mug. “I think I know just the guy for it.”

You three watch as the clown’s laughing turns into worried yelling for help, you and Nolan smiling while Mark just looks worried. “Shouldn’t we catch him?” You just waved him off. “Nah, the bastard is a rapist, abuser, and kid killer, let him suffer a bit.” The men look at each other before they look at you. “Rock, paper, scissors for who gets to throw him into space?” Nolan asks.

“You're really going to keep the shirt?” Mark asks as he looks at the fabric clenched into your hand. “Yep. I’m entitled to it. Won the game square and fair. And- I’m going to cross out Jason Todd and add The Joker so it’ll say, ‘I killed the Joker and all I got was this lousy t-shirt’. It’ll be fun.” Mark just shrugged, brushing it off as a Gothamite thing. “It’s fair and square.” His correction was met with you flipping him off.

While Nolan decided to teach Mark how to throw a good punch you went off for a bit, busy helping a kid get her cat from a tree. It was surprisingly common, too common for your liking- but you didn’t have it in you to ignore it. By the time you came back, Mark was gasping for air as Nolan was apologizing g. “Mark… If you really want to do what I do, what your sister does, you have to be prepared for anything. No one is gonna pull their punches.”

“Nolan.” You hissed at him as you stormed closer, helping your brother sit up. “I know you have expectations of him, of your son, a true Viltrumite or whatever- but you can’t just start hammering into him at full strength! It took time with me to develop my full strength and immunity, it will take time with him too.” The older man looked like a sad puppy as you berated him, but he nodded and apologized again, unable to argue with you. It was hard to get rid of the way he was raised, though, if push came to shove he knew who he’d stand by.

Debbie had a similar thought about her husband’s actions. Nolan was pushing too hard and at his outburst, you knew that he also felt the same. You decided to give Mark some space, he’ll come to you on his own. Nobody wanted to hear their father say that he’d rather you not have powers.

The next morning instead of flying Mark to school, you flew with him, greeting William and leaving with a hug to both boys and a goodbye. College was a bitch, but you wouldn’t have it any other way. It was nice to see all these passionate people.

Your mind, however, was still stuck on Nolan. He was acting weird since your brother got his powers, paranoid or skittish. The man was… peculiar. Not quite Wayne or Luthor's level of hiding secrets but you could tell he was never telling the full story, the Viltrumites seemed too good to be true. As you walked out of school, ready to get home and out for some work, a message made you change directions.

Hiding in the shadows, melting into them, was easy for you, natural even. So, when the two figures finally walked by you, you were quick to pounce, climbing onto Nolan’s shoulders while pushing Mark lightly, the younger man screaming at the sudden touch, swinging blindly behind him, only stopping when the lights came on and you giggled.

Your brother’s face flushed as he glared at you and Nolan’s smiling face. “You’ll get used to that. And you-” The man said while flicking one of your ears gently, making you whine. “Don’t scare your brother like that.” His tone was too light for you to take that as a serious warning so you just childishly booed.

The introduction to Art was quick, the best, and seemingly the only hero costume maker in Chicago. He also made your prom dress, which you loved, but this was… a questionable suit. “Forget the orange and yellow- What are those disks all over?” You asked. The old man just shrugged. “They’re solar-powered batteries. I designed that costume back when I was under the impression your dad’s powers were solar power based. Like that Krypton alien.”

“It’s a common mistake, don’t worry about it. Though, I think I’m a better hero than him.” Nolan couldn’t help but preen, trying to show off in front of his kids. It only resulted in you snickering. “I don’t know dad. He can shoot lasers from his eyes.” The father just huffed. “You’re biased, you have a crush on the man.”

The accusation made you stutter, face flushing at the thought. “I do not! Besides, he has kids around our age!” You huffed. “She’s right.” Mark shrugged. “Thank you-“ Your thanks were quick-lived as your brother continued. “Her daddy issues lie in bad boys, like that lead singer from Mucous Membrane.”

“Whose side are you on?!” You scoffed at Mark’s teasing, making the boy shrug. “The winning side.” Nolan only smiled at the interaction. “You do like the older people-“ you opened your mouth to comment but Nolan interrupted. “Like War Woman, Wonder Woman, Immortal, Brit, you mentioned that Slade mercenary once-“

You could only cover your face as he continued naming heroes and mercenaries, even some rich folk you’ve been working with, mortification slowly making you shake. “Shut up- please- just shut up- if I knew that this is what having an actual dad and sibling was like, I would have run away. This is treason- this is- I just mentioned these people once!”

"You did doodle War Woman and Wonder Woman once and put hearts around- ack!" Mark didn't get to finish as your hands grasped around the base of his neck tight enough for him to feel but not enough to do damage, and shook him back and forth. "Shut it, you little snitch!" The male specimens in the room only laughed at your misery.

As the men talked about Mark’s idea for a costume, you were sulking in the darkest corner of the room, the shadows were filled with amusement, chirping with happiness as they tried to lighten you up. “You want a symbol. That’s good. Have you thought of a name? It helps. Darkwing has dark wings, the Red Rush is a red rush when he runs by you. Your sister, The Sorceress, seems to have a new power every month like she’s magical.”

“I made her suit the darkest green I could find with bright green and gold accents to nod to the color of her powers and the average magical color that so many mages seem to have. The hood is a nod to the stereotypical witch cloak but the body was inspired by the viltrumite outfit your dad wore when he first came to earth. Small details for someone who has quite the bag of tricks, but when people see her, they know who it is. You get it? You give me something to go on, I'll strive for iconic. Think about it and get back to me.” Art reassured the boy.

The shadows hummed with a sensation of happiness and love as your hero's name was mentioned, after all, they’re quite proud that you chose their pick, Omni-girl was such a “follow into my footsteps” dad thing for Nolan to try and push onto you, they always judged him for that.

After the whole “find your identity” fiasco, Mark had to go do his homework, leaving you and Nolan alone quite a distance from anyone else who may be trying to listen in. As the man turned to face his daughter, she was already facing him, your eyes locked on him.

“Look- I don’t know what’s up with you, but you need to fix it.” When he opened his mouth, you immediately hushed him. “Let me finish. You’re being weird. I can’t tell if you’re paranoid or if you’re scared about something, but I know you trained me amazingly- whatever that was with Mark was sloppy- like you wanted to test him instead of teach.”

“I’m neither. Mark and I are Viltrumites; it’s our job to be the best of the best so we can- so we can help others-“ Your eyes narrowed and your lip curled at his stutter. He was slipping. “Don’t give me that bullshit. I told you before that I don’t believe that stuff about you Viltrumites being goody two shoes who only want the best for others. I’ve seen what other humans and aliens could do in the name of good. For all I and everyone else know, your race could be a long line of conquerors who kill those who refuse to bend.”

“Don’t-“ You interrupted him again when he tried to speak up once more. “I don’t care about that. Your past is whatever to me because you’ve helped so far. But you seriously need to think long and hard about where your loyalty lies. Debbie loves you, Mark loves you, Art believes you are a great friend, I-“ You can’t help the shaking in your hands as you give his chest, where his heart would be, a soft punch, barely making him grunt. “I love you, dad. Don’t fuck that up. Don’t make me regret that.” Pulling away from him you decide to give him some space to dwell on it. “I’ll tell Debbie you’ll be late.”

Tonight, you fell asleep to the thuds of Mark trying to perfect his landings, the only thing that made you shoot upright in your bed was a deep, gut feeling. “Someone’s being rude to mama.” You slur, groggy with sleep as you get out of bed and crawl out the window, your hair a mess as you look over the roof down at Mark and Debbie. “Stop being mean to ma, Mark!” Your yell makes the two flinch, Debbie laughing at the sight of you half asleep glaring at your big brother. “I apologized! And she made me realize what my hero name is going to be! It’s-“

Tag list: @bat1212 @trashlanternfish360 @shycreatorreview @syrooo @a-lurking-fae @alittletiredcry @kittzu @plsfckmedxddy @blackhood1229 @nxdxsworld @leeiasure @dandelion-delusion @lovebug-apple @sillysealsies @tsxukikami @enchantingarcadecreation @alishii @d3nnji @itsberrydreemurstuff @yuyuzi-ling @welpthisisboring @1abi @mxvoid26

The title card is a one off joke- I can't do it every chapter :)))

#dc crossover #dc x invincible #invincible crossover #yandere batfam #yandere batfam x neglected reader #yandere invincible #neglected reader #yandere batfamily #fem!reader #female!reader #platonic yandere #yandere!nolan grayson #yandere!debbie grayson #yandere!mark grayson

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lovemomhatepolice · 3 months ago

Text

drivers licence - f1 drivers multi!

navigation taglist requests

pairing: f1 drivers x fem!reader

warnings DRIVERS LICENCE, swearing, English is my second language

belonging: f1 drivers multi!

type: fluff, some are a little angst

summary: short stories about how a particular driver would teach you driving (or try)

more content: formula 1 masterlist, lando norris first meeting, max verstappen nswf alphabet 2

charles leclerc

“Are you sure you know how to park?” [Y.N] teased him, buckling her seatbelt, while Charles combed his hand through his hair, already exasperated.

“Of course I know how to park,” he muttered, putting the car in reverse gear. “It's just… sometimes I misjudge space,” he said.

“Sometimes?” she snarked, scrolling through countless memes on her phone depicting Charles' parking failures. “You're literally known for that.”

Charles groaned. “Fine, fine, laugh all you want, but today I'm the teacher and you're the student.”

“That's what worries me,” she said, smiling.

They were in an almost empty parking lot, Charles having chosen the safest place imaginable to prevent any disaster. He turned to her with the most serious expression on his instructor's face.

“All right. First, check the mirrors. Then slowly…”

“I know how mirrors work, Charles,” interrupted [Y.N].

“Let me teach you! - He growled, before continuing. “Now gently turn the steering wheel while reversing. Feel the car, control the movement and…”

The car jerked violently backward, causing him to grab the seat in terror. In response, it additionally turned off, causing silence in the car for a brief moment.

“[Y.N]!” the Monegasque shouted, looking at his girlfriend.

[Y.N], despite her slight dismay, burst out laughing. “You said to feel the car!”

“Not like that! You want to crash my Ferrari?!”

“You have a whole garage.” She then looked at him indulgently and put her hand on his shoulder. “Besides, Ferrari will give you 10 more of these if you ask.”

Charles looked at his girlfriend, not at all convinced, and nodded toward the ignition keys to start the car back up. “Come on,” he muttered, tilting the window. “We have to finish this before it gets dark.”

Then she followed his instructions more carefully this time, the car smoothly backing into the spot. She stopped and looked at him expectantly.

Charles inspected it, then tilted his head. "Hmm. A little crooked, but—"

"It's better than your parking," she quipped.

He groaned, dropping his head against the seat. "Remind me why I’m teaching you again?"

"Because you're my boyfriend, and I need to learn from the best," she said sweetly before adding, "Well, relatively speaking."

Charles shook his head with a smile. "Alright, fine, but you owe me something,” he laughed lightly, looking in her direction.

“Is a kiss enough?” she asked, laughing under her breath and moving closer to him to then join their lips in a kiss.

“More than enough” muttered the man, smiling into her lip

—————

kimi antonelli

Kimi sat down in the passenger seat, clasping his hands in his lap so tightly that his knuckles turned white. “I don't think this is a good idea.”

[Y.N] smiled sweetly. “Relax, you just got your driver's license. You can pass on your wisdom to me, it's fresh.”

“That's exactly why I'm scared.” - he muttered under his breath. “I gained it so quickly, I don't want to lose it any sooner.”

They parked in a quiet neighborhood, where the most dangerous thing on the road was an elderly man walking his dog. But for Kimi it might as well have been Monza at full speed.

“Okay,” [Y.N] said cheerfully after a moment of silence, putting the car into first gear. “Let's go!”

The car shot forward as if it had been launched off the grid. The girl knew more or less what she was doing, since she had already had some lessons with a real instructor, but who would disdain free lessons with her boyfriend?

Her daring drive through a small intersection was interrupted by a terrified Kimi, who looked as if he had been forced to drive. Not at all, like a professional driver who just got into Formula One - the most prestigious and perhaps also dangerous racing in the world.

“OH MY GOD-[Y.N], BRAKE!”.

She pressed the brake and they both moved forward. Kimi instinctively grabbed the dashboard as if it were a life raft.

“Okay,” she said, panting. “A little too much gas. I understand, too extreme for you.”

Kimi exhaled slowly. “Mi ucciderai!.”

She giggled. “Don't be dramatic! You drive race cars!”

“Yes, but at least I know what I'm doing!

Ignoring him, she started the car again, this time more gently. Kimi started breathing again, but just at the moment he relaxed his fists….

She reached a traffic circle. There was nothing difficult about it, she even thought it was the best she could do for now. Yet all it took was a moment of inattention and the girl drove into the wrong lane, admittedly not causing any collision, but enough to make Kimi gasp for air again.

“Pull over to the side,” - he said weakly, but the girl initially ignored him, continuing to drive. “[Y.N], please, I'm too young to die. I just got a Formula 1 seat!"

As she pulled over to the side of the road, Kimi slumped back in his seat, wiping imaginary sweat from his forehead. “I've never been so scared in my life. Not even in my first F4 race.”

[Y.N] burst out laughing. “Come on. It wasn't that bad,” she said.

Kimi turned to her with his eyes wide open. “We drove for five minutes and I think I just saw my life flash before my eyes.”

Suddenly he began to gesture, at which the girl had to hold back her laughter. Sometimes she forgot that her boyfriend was Italian.

She rolled her eyes, but smiled. “So you mean to say that … I just need more practice?

Kimi groaned and leaned his head against the seat. “I'll never get into a car with you again.

“Even if I pass the first time?” she asked, raising her eyebrows and looking at her boyfriend.

Kimi looked at her, looked at the car, then sighed in defeat. “I have to make a will first.”

—————

oscar piastri

“All right,” Oscar said, buckling up and looking ahead with his usual focused expression. “Parallel parking. It's not difficult. Just follow my instructions exactly,” he said.

[Y.N], sitting in the driver's seat, looked at him sideways. She smiled under her breath, seeing his confident expression. “You sound so self-assured.”

“Because I'm pretty confident, and even more so that you can do it.” - he replied matter-of-factly. “Now pull up next to this car.

She did so. A little crooked, but enough to fit in.

Oscar sighed, but said nothing. This was their first, if you can call it a lesson. “Good. Now turn the steering wheel all the way to the right and start reversing slowly.”

She carefully followed his instructions, and her hands gripped the steering wheel as if her life depended on it. The car began to reverse.

“Good,” nodded Oscar, smiling slightly at her. “Now straighten the steering wheel. You're doing great.”

She tried.

Oscar's eyes narrowed. “No, no, no, you're going too far. A little to the left - no, not so much! Right again - no, no - stop!”.

The car came to an abrupt stop. [Y.N] squirmed, looking sideways at Oscar. “Oops.”

Oscar breathed, pinching the back of his nose. “It's okay, it's okay. I put too much pressure on you. We just need to improve the angle.”

As he started to drive it again, a car pulled up behind them and honked. Oscar immediately went into a fighting mood, although of course he didn't show it from himself, but only made a snearky comment.

Oscar turned his head. “Are you serious?”

She looked in the mirror. “Uh… should I-?”

“No. Stay where you are,” he said in a flat voice.

The driver behind them honked again.

Oscar clenched his jaw and muttered more to himself than to the man behind the window. “Buddy, we're clearly parking. Get around us.”

The driver didn't move, and Oscar rolled down his window and looked at him with a crooked look. "Unbelievable. An old man who doesn't know the rules of the road. And he still thinks he'll impress someone with his expensive car."

[Y.N] bit her lip to keep from laughing. "Oscar, I just…"

"No, because what's his problem?" he continued, glancing in the rearview mirror. "Does he think that honking will magically make you park faster?"

She turned to him, amused. "You sound more pissed off than I am."

Oscar crossed his arms. "Because it's annoying. People in normal traffic are worse than race drivers, I swear. And he honks at my girlfriend, let him go fuck himself."

Finally, the car behind them gave up and drove off. Oscar watched as it disappeared down the street, still clearly irritated. Then, he sighed contentedly and looked at [Y/N] with an encouraging nod.

“Okay,” he mumbled, exhaling. “Let’s go back to the parking lot.”

With his instructions (and fewer distractions), the girl managed to park the car perfectly. She looked at him happily, seeing his satisfaction.

“Did I do it?”

Oscar checked. He nodded. “Yeah. Nice on, you did well without that jerk in the back.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “You know, for someone who’s supposed to teach me, you spent most of your time yelling at other drivers.”

Oscar shrugged. “Well, if people knew how to drive, maybe I wouldn’t have to. They drive worse than Carlos, who pushes around on the track.”

She rolled her eyes, but leaned in to kiss his cheek. "Thanks for the lesson, coach Piastri."

—————

max verstappen

[Y.N] sat in the driver's seat, arms crossed, staring at the steering wheel as if she had personally insulted her. Her eyes were watering and her lips were pursed in a grimace. It had been over five minutes since the girl had turned off the car and had sat in silence as she hit the traffic cone on the maneuvering yard yet again.

Max, sitting in the passenger seat, watched her breakdown in silence, allowing her to take offense.

Finally, she sighed dramatically. "I'll never pass."

Max winked. "Okay."

She turned to him indignantly. "Okay? Is that all you have to say?"

"Would you rather I lied?" he asked slightly mockingly, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. "Don't stress out so much. It's just a driving test."

"Just a driving test?" She caught her breath. "Max, you're a professional driver. You wouldn't get this."

He raised his eyebrows. "I became a Formula 1 driver before I even got a regular driver's license."

[Y.N] paused. "What's that supposed to mean? Should I just give a fuck and become a Formula 1 driver?"

He smirked. "You really could. The Formula Academy is growing, such a pretty and a smart woman would fill the spot perfectly."

Max sighed, reaching up to adjust her hands on the wheel. “Stop thinking too much. I’ll explain this to you properly.”

She sniffed. “Really?”

“Yeah, but if you cry while you learn, you won’t get anywhere. You’ll definitely not see the cones.” He smiled weakly at her, which she returned.

He led her through it step by step—slowly, methodically, making sure she understood each part before moving on. When she got frustrated, he’d crack a joke to lighten the mood.

By the end of their lesson, [Y.N] had managed to do the task flawlessly, even several times in a row, so she smiled happily to herself as she parked her car on the side of the parking lot.

She turned to him, her eyes widening. "Did you see that?! I did it!"

Max smiled at her and clapped his hands. "Amazing. A true performance by a world champion."

She rolled her eyes but smiled. "Shut up."

He smiled pityingly. "You're not as bad as you think. I'd say you're good, it's just that you have too much on your mind and stress is eating you up. You'll pass in no time."

The girl looked at him and smiled at her boyfriend, fixing her hair. "Thank you Max," she said, grabbing his hand. "Time to go home."

"I'm driving," Max muttered, opening the passenger door and stepping outside.

“Thank God,” the girl laughed, repeating his steps.

A/N: first part of the driving license stories. two more to come. I keep my fingers crossed that you had fun. Any feedback is welcome

please do not copy and translate my works! in case of any issues related to this - I invite you to discuss privately :)

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lilybug-02 · 6 months ago

Text

I'm gonna THEORY CRAFT for a second about Animator vs Animation 11. Because there's something SUPER WEIRD I've noticed about the way camera shots are orchestrated in recent animations. Specifically about -

THE LAPTOP SCREEN.

And even more specifically what Alan (and the real world) may look like to the stickmen.

We've known for a while now that 3D space was possible outside of the Laptop since AvA 7 (March 11, 2019).

But the camera angle on the Laptop has always been in 2D space until very recently!

Our first introduction to a 3D environment in Alan's Desktop was Green's Influencer Arc (Uploaded Sept 7, 2024).**

(Look how insanely massive the inside of the laptop looks now.)

But throughout the entire Influencer Arc the camera was NEVER pointed towards the outside of the laptop, to the real world. It is always tilted so that we can't see it.

((And even more weird in this Green's video, is which the left most wall is covered a solid white, whereas, us - the audience - can see through this wall when looking through the screen. wth is happening))

--------------

Our most recent scene of a 3D Laptop space (as of writing this) is in AvA 11, where Victim is drawn and killed.

Again, the outside world, through the screen, is never shown. Although we do get extremely close with Mitsi's Creator. But it's coincidentally obscured by the internet explorer window.

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And last of all- the thing that got me really questioning this camera choice - is something I noticed back in AvA 10 (Nov 4, 2023). When The Chosen One is having his memory scanned, he purposefully causes the screen to blur as he enters Alan's Laptop. (You have to put it in .5 speed to really notice.)

And guess what The Chose One does the second he gets to Alan's laptop. He stares daggers at Alan.

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So what does this mean?

It means the camera is being specifically shot at angles to never address how the Stickfigures see Alan and the rest of the world.

And what does that mean???

I HAVE NO IDEA. But I kinda hope it's leading up to a scene where we DO see the stickfigures addressing it. BECAUSE HOLY HELL THAT WOULD BE SO SICK.

..........

Wait-**

Wait wait wait wait wait-

This ACTUAL SHORT from August 2023 shows the screen??? Are you fricking serious.

I am going to explode now <3. --------

Nah, in all seriousness, I would still LOVE to see the camera angle change for dramatic effect in the "main series". Because it just feels like the hints are leading up to it. ❤️❤️❤️ I'm really enjoying the series either way and was having fun theorizing here :)

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And don't even get me started on why almost all animations/stickfigures are oblivious to Humans or strait up don't know about them. LIKE- wtf are all these posters

"Are We Being Watched?", "Tiles in the Sky", "What's Beyond Our World?", "Origins of the Stick Figure"

DUDE WHAT THE HELL. Are Alan's stick figures the only ones who've seen humans??? Do any other stickmen know humans created them? Ahhhhhhh

#bread #fan theory #ava theory #ava #avm #animator vs animation #animation vs animator #i dont know what to tag #ava victim #ava the chosen one #ava tco #ava the second coming #ava tsc

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yungistiny · 5 months ago

Text

camgirl ═ chapter one

[ S. Mingi ]

chapter one: a bit of a mess

╚═════════

summary: mingi just really needs some cash and he was told all he had to do was hold a camera. simple enough. he just didn’t anticipate the type of content he’d be helping to create

warning: emo mingi, stoner mingi, switch mingi, switch reader, mingi is hung, creampie, unprotected sex, choking, spanking, masturbation, rough sex, degradation, size kink, spitting, deep throating

pairing: mingi x afab/reader

genre: smut, angst, drama, romance

word count: 3.9k

chapter two

masterlist

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Mingi knew he was getting too deep into this shit, getting too attached. Too emotionally involved. His jaw clenched, there was no livestream now. No viewers. No one watching.

It was just them, alone in his room. His bedroom door actually shut for a change as he trailed a hand up y/n back, tangling his fingers into her hair.

She moaned, gasping as he pulled her up, back flushed against his chest, a hand snaking around her and wrapping around her throat, gently squeezing. Mingi growled, his grip on her tilting her head back so he could kiss her, his other hand gripping her waist tightly as he continued to thrust into her aching, soaked cunt.

Her walls clenching him, her arousal creaming him and Mingi couldn’t help the whimper that escaped him because fuck if she wasn’t the best thing he’d ever had.

“Look at me.” The words left him with no control, making y/n open her eyes, pupils blown as they began to water from his deep and quick pace thrusts, dick finding that spongey little spot that sent her shaking in his hold.

Mingi held her gaze, his own eyes much like hers, darkened and pupils blown from desire. “You’re mine.” A loud, crying moan left y/n as her orgasm tore through her like a storm. “I’m yours!” She repeated the words like a broken record left on a loop.

“I’m yours…”

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Mingi stared at the small piece of paper in his hand, his banking account balance practically mocking him. Just a little over 10, 000 won left in his account. That was barely enough for a bowl of ramen and a drink.

He was starting to slightly regret spending his savings on that Bring Me The Horizon concert. But the chances of them coming to South Korea was low so of course he had to jump at the opportunity to see one of his favorite bands.

The slight chill in the September air caused Mingi to shiver, balling the atm receipt up and shoving it into the pocket of his ripped baggy jeans. His roommate and about the closest thing he had to a best friend, Choi San, was gonna scold him. Remind him how he had distinctly told Mingi not to waste his money on a concert.

Mingi never listened to San.

He ran a hand through his short fading pink hair, the color now a light pastel compared to the hot pink it had been when he first dyed it, his dark roots bleeding through. Mingi knew if he really needed money all he had to do was call his mom, his dad would certainly not be too giving or lenient after he had to pay a good whopping 2.8 million won to pay for damages caused by him at a hotel in Busan.

The Busan incident was now something his dad always brought up when Mingi needed to borrow some money.

“You know son, I would have the money but instead, I had to pay for a brand new window that you and your idiotic friends broke by tossing a mattress out of it.”

It’s not Mingi’s fault that Lee Seokmin and Hoshi Kwan were fucking absolutely crazy when high. He doesn’t even recall what exactly led up to Hoshi pulling the giant king sized mattress, pushing it full speed towards Seokmin who screamed and jumped out of the way.

Mingi promised his dad he’d pay him back, the hotel room had been in his name so of course Mingi was left with the bill. And he really did mean to pay his dad back but then he splurged his savings on dying his hair, he also got a new phone and the rest was spent on that concert.

It wouldn’t be so bad but Mingi’s boss fired him today after he was late, the third job he’d been fired from in the last two months. He just couldn’t keep a job to save his own life and was sure at this point he was going to be stuck going back home and working under his dad at the family restaurant.

Warmth enveloped him as he walked inside the convenience store just a block away from his apartment building. The heat was like a warming blanket against the chill outside.

Mingi grabbed a cup of ice from the small freezer in the front, hand crunching the ice up as he searched for a drink, grabbing a packet of green apple flavored juice. One finger pointed, the black nail polish chipping, searching for a bowl of ramen and snatching a spicy buldak.

He also grabbed a couple of cheese sticks before making his way up to the register where one of his old college friends Jung Wooyoung waited, eyes on his phone before glancing at Mingi when he dropped his stuff on the counter.

“You look all broody today.” Wooyoung teased him as he scanned his items. “I got fired again.” Mingi bit at his bottom lip, pushing his black rimmed glasses up his nose, poking the inside of his cheek, his tongue piercing rubbing against it. “Dude,” Wooyoung laughed. “you’re like job repellent.”

“Fuck you.” Mingi grumbled, unlocking his phone and going into his wallet to display his debit card. “Time and place.” Wooyoung smirked at him as Mingi tapped to pay, just enough in his account for the junk food.

“You know,” Wooyoung watched him walk over to the little snack station, filling his bowl of ramen up with water and putting it into the microwave. “I think I know the perfect job for you.”

“Oh really?” Mingi scoffed as he pulled the seal off of his cup of ice, tearing open the drink pouch with his teeth. “Last time you said that i was left stranded in Busan with your two crazy ass friends and now I’m in debt with my dad.”

“That was like three months ago.” Wooyoung rolled his eyes, waving his hand in a dismissive gesture. “This, this you’re perfect for.”

“What is it?” Mingi grabbed his cooked bowl of ramen out of the microwave, snatching a pair of wooden chopsticks from the container beside it, mixing the red sauce into the noodles and pulling his chopsticks apart with his teeth to help stir.

“My friend,” Wooyoung leaned atop the counter, to see Mingi where he sat at the small little dining area in front of the window. “she needs help, someone to be behind the camera for this streaming thing she does.”

“What? Like twitch?” Mingi peeled the sealing off of his cheese stick, pulling them apart and mixing them into his bowl of noodles. “Something like that.” Smirked Wooyoung.

“So… what,” Mingi took a sip of his drink, arching a brow at Wooyoung as another customer walked in, disappearing into the store to shop for their own needs and cravings. “I just hold the camera for her? I thought streamers had stands for that?”

“Well… what she streams she needs some….” Wooyoung giggled. “close ups, different angles.”

Mingi waited, taking a bite of his noodles as Wooyoung checked out the customer, waiting until after they left to ask the most important question. “What’s she pay?”

“Well, when I helped her a few times…” Wooyoung thought for a moment, calculating in his head. “For about one session… 700,000 won.”

Mingi choked on the cheese stick he started to chew on, gasping and quickly removing the lid on his drink and chugging to help wash the food down. 700,000 won? That was like $500 usd! “All that? Just to hold a fucking camera?”

“Well, there’s a bit more to it then just that, but yeah, that’s about the gist of it.” Wooyoung nodded, looking back down at his phone. “I’ll text her, let her know I found her someone.”

“I haven’t even agreed yet…” Mingi took another drink of his juice, a cough escaping him after almost choking on his food. “Yes you are.” Wooyoung grinned at him. “I’ll text you her address when she lets me know when she needs you.”

“And she’s just gonna let a stranger into her home to film her?” Mingi asked, not denying the fact that Wooyoung was right. There’s no way in hell he was passing this opportunity up.

“She trusts me and I trust you.” Wooyoung shrugged, sitting his phone back down. “It’s not like I’m sending her some random creepy dude or anything.”

“Have I met her before?” Mingi was curious now, he was sure him and Wooyoung hung around the same friend group. “No. I met her that summer after freshman year when I went to New York. Her grandparents are from here and she came back a couple years ago to take care of her grandma before she passed.”

A ping from Wooyoung’s phone alerted them that he had a new message. Mingi watched him typing a reply, a devious smirk on Wooyoung’s face. “You can go by her place tomorrow night, she said around 6:00. I’m texting you the address now.”

Mingi unlocked his phone, checking his messages, eyes widening in shock at the address location. “She lives in the Gangnam district?”

“Her grandma left her this nice ass duplex.” Wooyoung giggled at Mingi’s reaction. “So she’s like…. rich?” Mingi looked back down at the address on his phone. “What’s her name?”

Wooyoung had to hold in the snicker that wanted to leave him, the smirk on his face growing because Mingi had no idea what he was getting himself into but Wooyoung knew his friend was perfect for the job.

“Y/N.”

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San wasn’t home when Mingi walked into their shared apartment, quickly feeding San’s pet cat, Byeol, before grabbing his stash from under his bed in his room and flopping himself on the couch, feet propped on the coffee table as he rolled himself a blunt.

The tv played a playlist of 2000s rock music videos, a Linkin Park one coming on as he brought the blunt to his lips, inhaling and closing his eyes as the smoke exhaled through his nose.

Byeol curled into Mingi’s lap, the cat purring and snuggling up to sleep. The weed was slowly loosening his mind, relaxing him at the moment as a Three Days Grace music video started to play, he had no care in the world.

Mingi used one hand to thread through the fur and pet Byeol, his chunky steel rings scratching at the cats back making her purr more. The blunt in his other hand burned for a second as he got distracted by the music video on the tv before taking another hit.

Mingi had no idea how long he sat there, too high to care, when the apartment door opened, San finally home after work, a long day spent with kindergartners but San loved kids.

“You’re home early.” San arched a brow at Mingi, he usually didn’t get home after work until after 8:00 and it was only a little after 5:00.

Mingi stared at him for a long moment, eyes red and half lidded letting San know he was high. “I got fired.”

The heaviest sigh left San as he sat down next to Mingi on the couch, shoving his feet off the coffee table. Byeol perked up at her owner, stretching in Mingi’s lap and meowing at San, switching seats and making herself comfortable in his lap instead. “Again?”

“It’s fine,” Mingi waved a hand dismissively. “I already got another job.”

“That was fast.” San scratched Byeol behind her ear. “What is it this time?”

“One of Wooyoung’s friends.” Mingi answered, rolling another blunt. At this rate he was gonna smoke all his weed up before he had more cash.

“You know what happened last time you worked with Wooyoung’s friends.” San reminded, Mingi was never living the Busan incident down. “This is different.” He argued as San turned the tv down.

“Which friend is it this time?” San was curious, he knew all of Wooyoung’s friends just like Mingi did. “I haven’t met her yet.” Mingi shrugged, licking the wrap of the blunt to seal it.

“Her?” San picked Byeol up, holding her closely. He was tired and needed a hot shower. “Just don’t sleep with her.” It’s why Mingi had been fired from his last job, sleeping with the boss’s daughter, while on the clock mind you.

San loved his best friend, practically his brother, but Mingi had become a little bit of a mess and irresponsible after they graduated from college three years ago.

Mingi smirked as he brought the blunt to his lips. “Of course not.”

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It was well past noon when Mingi woke up the next day. His eyes blinked slowly, Byeol staring at him where she had made herself home on his bed once San had left for work that morning. Mingi always left his bedroom door open for the needy cat.

A deep groan left him as he turned over onto his back, stretching his arms and legs. His phone lay on his bedside table, the screen lighting up as he unlocked it. Mingi was going to have to do something he was dreading. Ask his mom for money. Sure he started his new job today but he literally had no money to his name at the moment.

The call rang twice before his mother answered. “Mingi, honey, make it quick because the restaurant is starting to get busy.” She sounded in a hurry and he could hear the clutter of dishes and his older brother’s voice in the background.

He hesitated before asking. “Omma,” Mingi put on his best pouty voice, knowing his mom couldn’t say no to him. “I’m starting a new job today but I’m all out of cash until I get paid.”

“If your father finds out I sent you more money he just might cut you off this time.” She warned him, not saying no though. “He won’t find out and give me a week or so and he’ll have every bit of his money back.” Mingi promised. First thing he was going to do was get his dad off his back.

His mother gave in, telling him she’ll transfer him some money on her break. Mingi still had almost five hours before he had to meet y/n. He found himself the night before on twitch searching for any streamers named y/n but found hundreds of results and instantly gave up.

The next five hours started with a hot shower and then dressing in his favorite dark washed ripped baggy jeans and a black long sleeved Jesus Piece shirt. His hair air dryed, slightly spiked from where it was growing out.

Mingi even repainted his chipping polished nails back black. He smoked about three blunts, he kind of lost count, and headed out to check his bank account balance once his mom texted him that she transferred the money.

Just a little over 300,000 won. Mingi looked at his phone seeing the time and cursed to himself. He needed to be over to y/n in Gangnam in twenty minutes.

He quickly flagged down a taxi. The ride to Gangnam took longer then Mingi hoped it would, quickly paying the driver and hopping out right outside of the duplex y/n lived at. It was pretty, colored a light eggshell, flowers grew in the yard already wilting from the September weather.

Mingi rang the doorbell, waiting with his hands in his pockets. He could hear shuffling inside then the unlocking of a lock before the mahogany door opened.

Fuck.

Wooyoung didn’t think to mention just how hot his friend was. Y/N was shorter then him like most were, knee high white socks on that were fully visible due to the pink Calvin Klein boyshorts she had on paired with a cropped pink Mean Girls tshirt that gave Mingi the perfect view of her stomach and legs. Did he catch her at a bad time? But she said be here at 6:00…

“You must be Mingi.” She smiled at him, her gaze taking him in, lingering from his face taking in the entire length of him. Mingi smirked at her wondering eyes as he was doing the exact same thing to her. He placed each of his hands on the entrance of the door, leaning in slightly, looking down at her. “And you’re y/n.”

Fuck his voice was deep. Y/N clenched her thighs, his entire appearance and demeanor was attractive. And he was tall, really fucking tall. Wooyoung didn’t think to mention to her how hot his friend was?

“Come in!” She shook her head, returning her gaze back to his smirking face, stepping out of the way to allow Mingi room to walk in. Fuck! He smelled really good too. Like faint notes of amber, a smooth sweetness she couldn’t exactly decipher and y/n could tell he must of gotten high before coming over from the undertone scent of weed mixed in.

She shut the front door back closed and locked it behind him. Mingi allowed his gaze to roam around the living room as he kicked off his combat boots, the white painted walls lit by fairy lights that decorated the top of them, wrapping around the entire room. A three seated white couch with a fluffy pink throw blanket draped over it was placed against the wall where a big black cat, with probably the biggest mane Mingi had ever seen, sat licking and cleaning itself.

Mingi looked back at y/n not realizing she was right beside him. Her scent invaded his own senses. A mixture of strawberry, vanilla and sugar. He had the urge to drop to his knees and beg her to let him have a taste. He didn’t of course. He couldn’t. This was business, he was just there to work for her. But damn if he weren’t gonna be tempted.

“That’s Gladiolus,” y/n walked over, picking up the giant cat. She held him in her arms like a small toddler. “he’s not really a people person kitty though….”

Y/N trailed off, shocked when her otherwise antisocial cat started to purr as Mingi scratched under his chin. “I guess he likes you though, magic touch.” She teased him.

Mingi smirked, noticing the way her gaze lingered on his hands. “Oh, yeah. Pussys love me.”

Y/N rolled her eyes at him, face flushed. She was going to kill Wooyoung for sending her someone he knew she’d be attracted to. Wooyoung was the closest she had to a best friend and he knew exactly her type. He’s a menace.

Gladiolus stretched when y/n placed him back on the couch. “Come on, everything is upstairs.” She led Mingi up the small staircase upstairs to her bedroom.

Mingi took in the white painted walls, the queen sized bed centered by the headboard against the wall in the middle of the room, a mirror on the wall it sat against, another mirror, a floor length one against the wall to the right, a large computer and streaming set up on the opposite end of the bed against the other wall.

White fairy lights wrapped around the entire room much like the living room, fake green leaves and pastel pink roses adorned the decor with them. She likes pink. Mingi bit his lip, humored at the coincidence of the color of his hair that was practically the same color as the rug at the foot of the bed he was standing on.

Y/N watched him, gaze following his hands, loving the way his nails were painted black. Loved the rings on his fingers as he rolled up his sleeves, revealing the bracelets on his wrists. The beaded ones matched the beaded choker necklace he had on with the silver chain dangling with a small cross pendant.

She watched the way he darted his tongue out, wetting his lips and giving her the perfect glance at his tongue piercing. Y/N avoided her gaze from him before he noticed her staring, unbeknownst to her, he already had. “Did Wooyoung explain anything to you?” Her best friend loved to mess with people, she knew that, it’s why Boo Seungkwan didn’t last one stream with her. The poor guy had been flustered and a mumbling mess the entire time.

“You’re a streamer.” Mingi shrugged, pushing his glasss back up the bridge of his nose. “Did he tell you what kind of streamer?” Y/N was trying not to laugh now at the confused expression on Mingi’s face.

She noticed then the little lightning bolt like design shaved into the end of his right eyebrow as he arched it. He watched as she smirked at him, her glossy lips very tempting. “I’m guessing it’s not twitch?”

The laugh that left her caught Mingi off guard. “Is that what Wooyoung told you?” Of course he would. He once told her he likes to watch the stream whenever she gets a new cameraman, all ended up nervous, shy or just got too horny to finish.

Mingi looked around her room, eyes searching for anything that would give him a clue as to what it was she streamed but nothing seemed out of the ordinary or stood out too much.

“Let me give you a hint…” y/n walked over to a pink painted two door wall cabinet, opening the door and gesturing for Mingi to come and look at what was inside.

Mingi walked over, towering behind y/n as he studied what was there. It took him a minute to register it all but when he did, Mingi wasn’t sure if he wanted to kill Wooyoung or thank him for getting him this job.

Definitely the latter.

“And…. you’re just gonna let me film you, live, while you get yourself off?” Mingi’s voice was deeper now, he couldn’t control it with the images flashing in his head, his imagination suddenly getting the best of him.

“Wooyoung trust you…” y/n didn’t look behind her, she didn’t move as he brushed up against her briefly, his height making her feel small. “and I trust Wooyoung.”

Mingi backed up, biting his bottom lip and letting out a quiet disbelieving chuckle. “So, I just…. hold the camera?” He was curious now what exactly all it was he was gonna be required to do.

“Basically.” Y/N turned to him, walking over to her camera that sat on her desk beside the computer. “But… I need you to move with me…” she grabbed the camera, handing it to Mingi, looking up and meeting his heated gaze behind his glasses.

Mingi was glad he was high as hell right now, his senses calm, his emotions centered otherwise he’d probably kiss her, tangle his ringed fingers into her hair and pin her against the wall.

This job might end up being a tad difficult.

“How many cameramen have you had?” Mingi was curious, obviously the last one didn’t make it and he knew Wooyoung had helped her out a few times.

“Just a handful, all sent by Woo but…” she pouted at him, looking up through her lashes, voice teasing. “none of them ever last.”

Mingi took the camera into his hand, gripping it and smirking down at y/n. “If there’s one thing I’m great at…”

His voice was so much deeper now, practically rumbling as he stepped back, gesturing towards the pink wall cabinet she had showed him before, letting her know he was ready to get started when she was.

“is letting a woman come first.”

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permanent tag list: @straycat420 @dejatiny @ultrapinkvoidbouquet @hannahlilibet411

#mingi #song mingi #mingi smut #mingi x reader #mingi x y/n #ateez #ateez fic #ateez fanfic

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