netflix is making a hockey show called "the sticks" that is based on a very real tragedy that occured in canada in 2018.
the show follows a minnesota high school team after their bus crashes and coming back to hockey afterwards.
in 2018, the humboldt broncos' (a junior A team made up of 18-22 year olds) bus was hit by a tractor trailer on a highway intersection. 16 people (10 players, 2 coaches, and 4 team staff members) were killed, along with 13 other players severely injured.
the memory of the humboldt broncos crash is an incredibly sensitive subject carrying a lot of trauma to both the survivors, their families, and deceased's families. the trajectory of hockey in canada was changed significantly after this tragedy.
despite this, netflix has decided to make a show using the death of young hockey players for profit. they did not consult the survivors, nor the deceased's families. they stole a canadian story for a feel-good cash grab.
i understand wanting to watch shows about hockey, but this is not the show to watch. do not give it attention, as the humboldt broncos' memories deserve to be theirs and theirs alone to share.
quick rant bc i feel little insane for some of the things i’ve been seeing on multiple platforms.
the term “puck bunny” is not something that should be “reclaimed.” with the rise of girls saying they’re reclaiming the term simply bc they watched off-campus is sooooo annoying bc 1. you’re not reclaiming it if you want to be exactly what it describes and 2. the girls calling themselves that now are not the one’s who are affected by the misogyny that the term perpetuates toward women who actually enjoy hockey. the off-campus girls don’t actually watch hockey, but the hot main lead told them on a talk show that the term wasn’t bad, so now they’re “identifying” with it bc they just want to have sex with guys who play hockey. they’re not offended by being called that bc it’s exactly what they are, which is fine, if you wanna fuck hockey players you’re free to do that. but the problem with hordes of women now “identifying” with this phrase is that then ALL women who even exist within the space of hockey are lumped into that category. the same thing happened when women doubled down on the “we just wanna see the guys kiss!” stereotype as a way to make hockey bros mad when heated rivalry came out. all that did was make people assume that ALL women only watch hockey bc of heated rivalry. why do we always have to reclaim or double down on negative stereotypes in order to try and gain respect or make a place for ourselves? whatever happened to getting mad when we feel disrespected or belittled?? i think some negative things should just stay as negatives…
the thing about writing denki aus is that i can make him as pathetic as i want in the name of characterisation, for example:
“WET DREAMZ”
a mha college au feat. DENKI K. & HANTA S.
“got me daydreamin’, man, what?”
wc: 6.7k
this is for @rumisgf very late birthday gift
mdni....
↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺
starting track….
denki fucked up.
he fucked up baaaaaaad.
and the thing is, he could've saved this, he could've saved himself a whole lot of trouble, a whole lot of sexual tension, a whole lot of bisexual confusion, and a whole lot of horny delusions.
his first mistake was letting sero meet you.
because, you're denki's high school best friend.
best friend, like, best fucking friend. best friend like you made denki what he is today.
he took his first shot with you, smoked his first joint with you, bought his first vape with your fake id.
every morning, he'd meet you at the bus stop, share those cheap ass, shitty ass, earphones of his, with your playlist saved onto his phone, only half of it downloaded with the 200MB he had left, using your phone to check the homework updates that neither of you completed.
and then you'd get the homework answers off some random, and spend registration scribbling out absolute bullshit, because even if it's incorrect and illegible at least it was done, and you wouldn't be given detention.
because you guys couldn't get detention, not when you had rustled up twenty dollars between you, to buy cheap weed off some sketchy guy, and smoke in the park next to his house.
late nights on face-time during family holidays, dinner at his house almost three times a week, helping your dad fix something that was broken in the backyard.
your lives were so intertwined, that when you made-out for the first time, it didn't feel like a big deal.
because, of course your first kiss would be with denki, of course the first guy to see you naked would be denki, of course the first guy to dry hump you on some random girl’s couch, would be denki.
so natural, so not-a-big-deal, so normal.
and then he left for college.
you knew it would happen at some point, that he would leave, that he would get tired of having to hide himself, quiet himself, tone himself down, in your small conservative little town, fucking duh. right?
and he told you he was going to leave, you were there when he applied for the university. and you were there, right fucking next to him, jumping for joy, when he got accepted.
doesn't mean it didn't hurt.
doesn't mean you didn't feel it in your chest.
despite the fact that you were doing your own thing, living your own life, becoming your own person.
it doesn't mean that every time you get a notification from him, an update about his new friend group, or something dumb that happened on a night out, or he comes back for a weekend, and he has a new piercing or tattoo or a different hairstyle, that you don't miss him so fucking much.
that doesn't mean that he doesn't miss you too.
every time he makes a joke that doesn't land, or references a meme from five years ago, or wants to go to a gig, or talk bullshit, or get high and go grocery shopping, he sighs to himself.
because no one really gets him like you do. no one sees him like you do.
you’re his person, his everything.
he had to invite you to come and see the city eventually, it took a while for your schedules to align for sure, but you got there in the end.
got here.
and denki's late.
you're late too if we're being honest. you missed the transfer, and had to wait for 45 minutes for the next train, enough time to leave the station for a smoke, fall asleep on the train, and nearly miss your stop.
but you're here now.
outside this big, loud, city station, suddenly feeling conscious of how you must definitely reek of weed, tapping your foot on the cracked concrete, lent up against the metal railing, idly scrolling on your phone.
travel bag full, headphones on, you don't even realise someone is calling your name till—
“—holy shit dude, are you that fucking deaf?” a sun-kissed hand waving in front of your face, “haven’t changed a bit—”
he cuts himself off to borderline tackle you into a hug, you nearly drop your phone, his warm body heat enveloping your system. arms wrapped tightly around your waist, he still smells the same, so do you.
you barely notice how he takes a deep inhale when he noses at the junction of your neck.
it’s so fucking weird to have you here, but in the best way. it feels like a dream, you feel like a dream, all disgruntled and weary from the journey.
“you gonna take her bag or what?”
oh right.
denki’s head stays where it is, nestled into your shoulder. the only move he makes is to stick a finger up from behind his back, but your gaze snaps up, meeting with the owner of the voice.
dark eyes meet yours, half-lidded, grin creeping onto his face, cigarette hanging out of his mouth, a few paces back from where you’re embracing the blonde.
“hey—”
“oh, fuck off, man,” denki still hasn’t let go, you feel his voice rumble through your skin, “don’t even talk t’er.”
“relax,” you say grabbing the back of his hair and pulling him off you, he lets out a small whimper, minuscule really, but you know him, yank a bit harder, voice dropping to a whisper, “don’t you dare.”
but denki doesn’t budge, he hums almost dreamily, “don’t talk to me like that, y’know it’s been a while.” with his arms squeezing you tighter, practically melting into your chest.
“free show for the general public, i knew you were freaked out but seriously dude—”
that does the job, denki finally unwinds his limbs from you to turn and scoff at his friend, talking about some, “you can’t let me have a moment,” and then turns back without waiting for answer, grabbing your travel bag and slinging it over his shoulder.
“not if i’m uninvolved,” the other guy scoffs out, hands in his back pockets, and he smirks down at the blonde who’s marched over to give him a light shove in the chest.
denki snatches the lit cigarette from his friend’s mouth, with a mocking sneer, and pops it into his own.
“‘uninvolved’ that’s not even a real word,” the words curl around the smoke as he waves you over.
“maybe you should read a fuckin’ book.”
“maybe you should shut your fuckin’ mouth,” he clears his throat, then dramatically flourishes to the guy standing next to him, whom you vaguely recognise. from blurry snaps, from instagram stories, from half of his figure in face-times, the one, the only, “hanta sero.”
he smirks at the introduction, something you reckon he does a lot of, and nods at you in greeting, “i’m surprised you’re a real person, i was almost sure this shit-head was making you up.”
your smile is strained because of the sunlight glaring right in your eye line, but your tone is warm, if not a little dry, when you reply with, “talks ‘bout me a lot, does he?”
“you don’t know the half of it—” denki shoves him forward, and sero laughs, bright and loud, let’s the momentum carry him into a step, which turns into another, and another, and then denki takes your hand to pull you along with them, as you make your way down the street, away from the station’s exit, back to their place.
↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺
“finally.”
denki huffs as he flops onto his bed with a groan, it creaks and shifts when you drop down next to him, his legs intertwining with yours like second nature.
and denki’s smelling you again. it’s less weird than it sounds, but still weird. it’s not his fault, you smell like sunshine and home, how could he not, nose buried into the top of your head, arms curled around your body.
you both lay like that for a minute, content in the silence, just basking in each other’s presence. electricity buzzing under your fingertips as he softly grazes his knuckles against your back.
until you decide to be a little bitch.
“your friend’s cute,” you murmur into his chest, you can feel denki’s heart pitter-pattering, vibrating through your body.
he doesn’t say anything for a beat.
you crack open an eye, try again, “i said, your friend is hot—”
he doesn’t give you the reaction you’d hoped for, which is a shame. instead he chuckles, snickers, softly against your hair, still tracing patterns into your skin, “you really gonna talk about another guy while you’re in my bed, no class.”
“take that back asshole,” and he catches your hand when you move to hit him, brings a thumb down to curl around your wrist, rolls his eyes as you squint up at him, “no class?” you repeat, “i’m so classy, so fuckin’ classy i brought my own bud—”
yeaaahhh, that wakes him up.
and because it's denki, because he has no manners, or boundaries, or concept of personal space, both his hands start sliding down your body until they feel the bulge in one of your back pockets.
you squirm out of his grip, feebly kicking at his legs, but he's so solid. you can feel his muffled snickers as you smack his arms away from you, but he barely moves, just presses you further into the mess of pillows and blankets that cover his bedspread.
“you're such an asshole,” but your shoulders shake with the uncontrollable laughter that tumbles out of your body when he starts trying to curl his fingers into the pocket.
you get a face full of armpit. “and you smell so fuckin’ bad, couldn't even take a shower before inviting me over here—”
he kisses his teeth at your insult, but doesn't flinch when your heel catches his shin, just lightly slaps your thigh to get you to chill the fuck out, because his bed-frame is cheap and creaking like it might collapse any second.
"dude," as he sits back on his knees and sticks out his tongue in victory, shiny foil package dangling between his fingertips, "the water pressure here sucks balls, i promise you, i tried my best."
you kick at him again when he starts to open it, and the baggy drops from his grip. you snatch it up before he gets a moment to breathe, and point a finger at him in warning, “nah-ah-ah. say please.”
he collapses on top of you again, bullshit doe-eyed expression, and juts out his bottom lip as he simpers, “oh please, my perfect princess,” you don't budge, “oh, please, dear goddess, let us roll a zoot.”
“well, seeing as you’ve always been a loyal subject.”
“you’re such a fucking dork.”
“me? me? i’m a dork?" you repeat back to him, voice wavering in astonishment, “the first thing you did when you moved in here was put up that zelda poster,” and you gesture to the aforementioned poster, corners peeling, plastered onto his wall next to the window, “and you wanna talk about dorks.”
“well if i'm a dork and you’re a dork,” he says, and with his face so close to your own, you can practically count the freckles matted across his cheeks. and that annoying little smile, so unchanging despite the time you've spent apart, despite the distance. "what does that make us?”
he answers for you, not before his eyes flick down to your lips as his tongue pokes out to wet his, “it makes us perfectly compatible.”
your eyes roll and you shove his face back with the palm of your hand, “you're a fucking loser.”
his hands crawling over your thighs, “yeah, what else?”
“a freak.”
his eyes boring into your soul, “keep going.”
“pathetic.”
his breath ghosting over your ear, “nearly there."
“and,” your hand suddenly stretches out, and denki keens when you take a fistful of his hair into your grasp, his body folds inwards towards you as you pull him closer, gently grazing your teeth across his earlobe while he shudders and you murmur, “i don’t fuck with blondes.”
unserious to a fault, denki breaks down into snickers, nuzzling his nose against your neck. it would’ve been believable, if not for the fact that, “y’know i can feel your lil’ boner pressing against my stomach.”
that makes him chuckle even harder into your neck. “guilty,” sarcastically muttered, and then denki cranes his head so he’s at the perfect angle to lick your cheek.
you groan in disgust and push his face away, but that doesn’t stop him, and you get his slobber all over your palms.
“get the fuck off me, i swear to—” he covers your mouth with his palm and continues to lick your face like a demented cat, what the fuck? “is this what the city life does to people?”
“no,” he whines suddenly, interlocking his fingers with yours against either side of your head, “i-i just missed you.”
oh.
you didn’t expect him to say it outright.
there’s been an annoying, awful, nagging, voice that has been whispering in the depths of your brain ever since he left. whispering that he stopped caring about you, that you were just a placeholder until he got cooler, funnier, friends, that you were nothing but an insignificant speck in the long, vibrant, life he was going to live.
denki’s warm, honey, eyes scan your face.
he’s frowning, and, well, denki should never be frowning.
you shake his hand off one of your wrists and he sits back immediately. no longer breaching your personal space, a brief look of hurt flashing through his eyes as you say nothing.
but then, your free hand reaches up, and your thumb, very carefully, very gently, smooths out the wrinkle that has appeared between his brows.
“i missed you too.”
the corners of his mouth uplift, his eyes shine, god, it's like the sunlight breaking through the dawn, the way denki's face contorts into a smile, “you really know how to make a guy sweat, baby.”
you snort, “oh, you're sweating now?”
“amongst other things, yeah.”
"amongst?" you repeat, eyes squinting in the way they do when you're about to take this piss, “is that a new vocab word?”
you’re trying to ragebait, but it doesn’t work.
because denki can't stop smiling.
there's just something so fucking dreamy about how you're here, in his college house, on his horrible twin xl bed. it's really hard to describe the feeling, because, sure, he's seen you, during holidays, on face-time and the like, but it's different having you in the city with him.
with him.
as in, not only did you trek all the way here, three fuckin' buses, two trains, all your essentials packed, with the sole intention of spending time with him.
but you missed him too?
that notion, that suggestion, that you thought about him nearly a fraction as much as he thought about you.
it makes him dizzy.
"you really like being mean to me, don'tcha?" and he can't keep his hands off of you, his fingers tracing patterns along your sides.
"i think you like it more than i do."
"you can't prove that."
that makes you laugh, genuinely, because, it's like, do you mention the hard-on that is throbbing against your thigh, again, or do you let him live in his delusion? questions, questions.
or…
the secret third option.
bringing your hand down, and cupping his erection through the material that covers his bottom half. using your nails to scratch at the seam that is straining with his hard cock, and watching his breath hitch, his brow furrow, his eyelids flutter.
"you're playing dirty," denki whines, as if that could hide the guttural moan that literally comes from the depths of his spirit.
you lean up towards him so you can mouth at patch of skin where his ear meets his neck, and you murmur into his ear, "i think you like it when i play dirty."
“well, i think,” as he traces your pulse points with his nose, “that you only have one voice line option," and then with his teeth, like the most least obvious vampire, "where's the variety?"
"don't be a dick."
"thought you liked my dick."
"i like your mouth more."
"oh yeah," he turns his head, kisses along your jawline, softly, like you’re something delicate, something he has to hold very carefully, something that he couldn't afford to break, something he wants to take his time with.
it makes your heart race, being loved on like that, you needed it to be honest. someone that knows you intimately, someone that knows exactly what you want.
you shrug his hand off you, from where one of his palms still had a firm grip on your wrist, so you can grab his chin, bring his face closer to yours, your breath intermingling.
and the next time he opens his mouth to make a smart comment, you stop him before he can even start.
by grasping his tongue with two of your fingers.
you know him as much as he knows you.
and you absolutely could not miss the shudder that wracks his body, or the way his eyes practically roll back into his head.
you have to tut at him until he stops trying to wrap the pink textured tip of his tongue around your digits.
so you have the space, to spit in his mouth.
oh wow.
there are not enough words to describe the pathetic mess denki makes out of himself at that moment.
i won't bother attempting to walk you through it.
but sero can.
denki's bedroom door slams open, hanta sero, giving no prelude before making his entrance, "are we still gonna go out tonighhh…"
now imagine this, your best friend, practically on his knees, on top his best friend, literally eating out of the palm of her hand, with both of his hands underneath her shirt.
sero grins.
and carelessly swats away the pillow that comes flying at his face.
the three of you just kinda blink at each other for a minute.
before sero turns on his heel and walks right back out.
↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺
“this is the best spot in the entirety of the old town, i'm telling you.”
“you said the same thing about the bar by the river—”
“—and about that arcade on the high-street.”
“anddddd, when we found the spot along the bridge with the benches.”
"that, that, that, that,” denki slurs, well stutters, a step behind you, “that doesn't diminish my point.”
you can’t see him but you hear the sound of him smacking sero when he mocks the blonde with a, “uh-ba-ba-ba-ba-da-ba-dah."
"shut up, just shusshh,” oh god, he really is licked, you can’t take him seriously, “i'm trying to show my beloved friend–in fact, you guys are even proving my point.”
"and what is your point exactly."
"well... that old town has all the best spots."
they all hum in agreement.
all being, the rest of denki's new friend group.
honestly, they're a cool bunch.
the girls are fucking lovely, stunning, nice as hell, like surprisingly. not that you thought his friends would be dickheads, but still, it's refreshing to be around.
almost as refreshing as the cool night air.
the sunset a while ago, while you were still pre-gaming at this one girl's flat, mina. she's a fucking legend. super hospitable, one of those people who never let's anyone sit out of conversation, a little prying but not enough to make you uncomfortable.
but she mixes drinks like a demon.
sero had warned you.
after denki had, ahem, had a shower and cleaned himself up, the three of you made your way over to mina's together.
but, denki was on the phone the whole time. one of the guys was having a crisis and apparently, it was very, super, extremely, important, so he had left sero to entertain you on the twenty minute walk over.
this sero guy is something else.
there's something very telling about the way he talks, like he's constantly trying to sus you out, but in the least discrete way he can. his questions are really leading, and it doesn't matter how you answer, it feels like you've fallen into a trap.
it doesn't help that he's fucking sexy.
with the piercings, the way his hair falls into his face, and that ridiculous sleeve of line-drawn patchwork tattoos, that denki seems intent on copying.
but his smile gets you the most.
this annoying, slick, grin that he gets when you say something a bit too sarcastic, or a bit too rude, or a bit too risky, and he visibly bites his tongue while he cheeses, flashing his pearly whites, all half-lidded eyes and barely concealed snickers.
fuck denki for leaving you to your own devices.
you'd been walking side by side with the dude, bare arms brushing, up until you got to the front steps of mina's flat, and even then, denki had disappeared almost instantly, leaving you with this guy, again.
and sero had not left you alone, maybe denki had told him to keep an eye on you or something, but you can't deny it, the attention was addicting. fetching you drinks when you asked, lighting your blunt for you, letting you smoke his cigs with nothing but a shake of his head and another one of those confusing, biting, grins.
aside from that, the rest of denki's friends had been great.
aside from the drinks.
sero, and the other girl, jirou, had fuckin’ warned you, that mina enjoys playing bartender, and that she takes her job very seriously. you had waved them off at the time, because honestly, two blunts deep, the glass you had tasted like fuckin' juice. really sweet, really orange, and apparently chock full of tequila.
which leads us to now, a large gaggle of about seven undergrads, arguing, then bursting into cackles, then tripping over their own feet, then arguing again, stumbling along the high street.
one dude, the guy that was having a "major crisis sorry for stealing him," is on your right, recounting the lore of their last night out, the group of 'em, getting lost on the way home, missing the last train, no ubers picking up the request, and having to walk back to the student housing, two hours away from where the gig was.
"and then, and then, that's not even the worst part," kirishima nearly hits you in the face when he gestures towards the other blonde of the group. he pats you gently on the shoulder in apology, but the volume level of his voice does not lower in the slightest when he says, "this dude, this fuckin' dude, ran off, like literally, sprinted into the distance, and left us."
jirou, who is to your left, chokes on her snort, pulls on your arm, calling your attention back to her, "all of our phones were dead, mind you."
"don't start talkin’ shit," the blonde in front of you suddenly cuts in, he's been quiet most of the night, aside from the occasional jeer, "i left you with the portable charger, i'm not a fuckin' asshole."
kirishima buffers, and then cries out, "dude, you left us. stranded."
"y'all made it home, didn't ya?"
"that is sosososo not the point."
the girls burst into snickers again, you are included in the hyena laughter, and you take a deep breath.
the streets are not quiet. it’s late, but it’s still so busy. cars and buses whizzing past, laughter and music pouring in from every open bar door.
this place, this city, it’s no wonder denki wanted to move up here.
bright, loud, vibrant.
just like him.
speaking of…
there’s suddenly a horrific, wailing, screech, that echoes around the street. you spin your head, sero and denki, both two steps behind you. or… were?
sero’s standing, sorry, crouching, hands on his knees, in a fit of cackles, coughing and spluttering. and denki, poor, sweet, denki, rushing back over to the group from where, you’re guessing, he was pushed into the road.
“stop fuckin’ around,” the blonde, scary, one bellows out at the both of them, to which they suddenly stand up straight, like well trained military dogs, “i’m not goin’ to a&e again for you schmucks.”
ah, that kicks off the idiots, “whadidhesayyy?”
“schmuck.” —and they both burst into another fit of boisterous cackles.
“are they always like this…?”
“yup.”
↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺
“mhmm, mhmmm that’s it baby, shiiiiit.”
denki’s always had this weird obsession with the way you smell. it’s not that you smell bad, usually you smell really fucking good, you have a… what’s the word… routine.
you have a routine. he’s seen you, watched you, even earlier tonight, he was sat on his bed ready to go, half scrolling, half watching you lather lotion across your limbs, practically drooling at the sight of your doughy thighs glistening with body butter.
and he thought that was the end. but then you pulled out your body oil, oh okay, which is actually very different to body lotion… apparently? and then, you’re done— oh, wait, no, now you have, uh, body spray? okay now you’re definitely finish– perfume oil? how many oils does one person need?
he can admit, the routine lasts, it does the job, he can get hints of it now, this close to you, whiffs of jasmine, and vanilla, and whatever that yummy spicy smell is, but that’s not what he means.
he loves the smell of your skin, of your sweat, of your natural body odour, that’s what makes it weird.
like right now, you’re sat on the closed toilet seat, in the back of that bar, the supposed ‘best spot in old town,’ with your legs thrown over denki’s shoulders, and him, on his knees before you, taking turns between viciously eating your pussy, and taking deep inhales of your cunt. he can’t help himself, there’s something addictive about you, pretty pink lips suckling on your clit, tongue lolling out to lick fat stripes across your sloppy, gummy, entrance, and his eyes rolling at you scent.
fuck, it’s “so good,” he dazedly mutters, nose buried into your bush, “sosososo so goooood mama holy fu-uck.”
your foot digs itself into his shoulder blade, as the vibrations of his drunken praise send shivers up your spine, “you’re so fucking nasty.”
“mmmm, i know, i know,” he does know, but he also doesn’t care, how could he, your fingers gripping his hair, your nails scratching at his scalp, your clit throbbing between his lips.
he takes a moment to very carefully trace his teeth along your pulsing bud, that makes you jolt, and hiss at him through your teeth, and clamp your thighs around his head, just like he wanted.
fffuck, he’s dizzy.
denki was already decently faded, but the smell of your pussy is even more intoxicating then any liquor, and so much sweeter, your juices just spilling into his mouth, so fucking delicious, oh lord.
you always get mean when you’re close, like your body doesn’t allow itself to experience pleasure without a negative output.
good thing denki likes it, right.
“shiiiiiit,” he gasps, between, disgustingly wet slobbers, his tongue prodding at your sensitive, stimulated, walls, “you gonna squirt in my mouth?” your mushy, gummy, pussy, just oozing with slick, all for him to gobble up, “oh, shit, please, pleasepleaseplease—”
and you cum with a hand burying his face into your cunt, hectic rolls of your hips, quivering thighs. your jelly legs collapse around his shoulders, your body slack against the wall, just panting for a minute, chest rising and falling with your laboured breaths. denki looks stupidly proud of himself, with that smug grin gracing his shiny lips. your heel kicks out again to smack that ridiculous look off his face, but it literally does nothing to deform his starry-eyed face.
“well, shit,” you breathe out finally, your eyes, half-lidded, as you watch him stand up, and snort at the crack of his knees.
“s’that all you got t’say?” denki snickers down at you while dusting the floor imprints off on jeans.
“what d’you want me to say?”
“oh, i dunno,” he fake contemplates, and then, in a stupidly high pitched tone that sounds absolutely nothing like you, goes “thank you, big dick daddy denki for eatin’ my pussy— OW FUCK.”
your foot, again, saying hello to his shin.
“who the fuck is calling you big dick daddy denki, you fucking loser?”
“ehhhh you’d be surprised.”
you’re about to say something else, maybe comment on how there’s a little wet patch on the crotch of his jeans, when a loud thump at the stall door interrupts your train of thought.
and, of course, no shame kaminari goes, “yellooo?” in the fucking most ridiculous, you’ve used ridiculous to describe him many a time but there really isn’t a better word, voice you’ve ever heard from a guy who was literally on his knees, seconds prior.
but, who’s voice is coming from the other side of the door?
“you’ve got all my smokes in y’er pocket, shitface.”
and you watch denki check, then pull a face, because he does have all sero’s smoke in his pocket, “oopsie, we’ll be right out!”
“we?”
and again, no-shame kaminari, just hits the latch on the door, and swings it open, while you’re still sat on the fucking toilet, recovering, and he’s still got your remnants smeared all over his mouth.
“stop fuckin’ disappearin….”
sero’s dark lazy eyes scan his friend, his glossy mouth, his flattened hair, the stain on his jeans.
he raises an eyebrow very slowly, then calls out to you, whom he can not see, but still, he knows his friend, “we have to stop meeting like this.”
“what did i say?” denki practically whines, “don’t fucking talk t’er.” and shoves his friend in the chest to make him back away from where he was leaning against the doorframe.
“what the fuck is your problem today,” sero sighs, not moving an inch, instead crossing one arm over the other and sneering down at his friend, “one minute it’s don’t talk to her, the next it’s please stay with her? what— i don’t even know what you’re thinking half the time.”
this is so fucking awkward, you wanna say something, or get up at least, but you also think, maybe, if you don’t move a muscle, they’ll both forget you’re there.
“unless…” sero pauses, the tip of his tongue peeking out, as he releases another one of those, vicious biting grins, “i know exactly what you’re thinking ‘bout.”
“you don’t know shit.”
“oh really?” he snarks back at denki, who is shaking with… you can’t even tell, and you’ve known denki for a long time, agitation? maybe?
until.
denki decides to make the very poor choice of turning his head, only slightly, to look back at you.
and it’s written all over his face.
because he's flushed, with something that is not the embarrassment of being caught eating pussy in a public restroom. in fact, he’s bitten his lips raw, his pupils are blown, and his eyes are formed into an expression you know very well.
you’re not stupid.
and this time you do want to say something, but you don’t even have the time to formulate the sentence in your head because denki pushes sero out of the stall with one hand, the other hand firm against the door frame, obscuring any vision of you from the outside, and says to you, “can you… uh… give us a minute? we’ll meet you outside—”
and then he’s gone. not by his own will, but because a tanned, flexed hand, has reached out, gripped his t-shirt and pulled him away.
the two guys stumble their way outside, through the bathroom and the purple lit bar interior, with sticky carpeted floors, and overwhelming chatter. there's no 'sorry’s' or 'excuse me’s' as they push past the intoxicated crowd with their elbows out, just denki spluttering the whole time.
“you are so— you’re such a— i can’t even—”
“then don’t,” sero breathes against his neck, as he pushes the blonde against the wall of the deserted alleyway. before his lips attach, grow teeth, and sink deep into denki’s skin, just below a mark that, sero assumes, you had left.
“so fucking needy, ain’t ya?” as he nibbles across the blonde’s pulse points, and curves his palm so he can cup denki’s straining erection. “s’kinda embarrassing if you ask me.”
“good thing no one was asking,” denki replies with his own fingers tracing along sero’s waistband.
sero groans at the tease, bucking his hips up into the sensation, “m’just saying, if you wanna ask her, ask her.”
this is like, the worst place possible to have this conversation.
it’s nearly 2am, the rest of the group is still inside, getting up to some bullshit like they always do, like denki has spent most of his college career doing. except he can’t participate properly, not this time, not when he has the self-proclaimed 'biggest moral dilemma of the century' looming over his head.
sero sighs, giving up on trying to undo denki’s belt, and rutting forward against his friend so both their crotches meet in this delicious tingle of friction, “i can hear you thinking y’know.”
“what if,” denki cuts himself off with a groan, and a roll of his hips, the cold brick wall doing nothing to soothe his feverish skin, “what if she thinks it’s weird?”
“why the— shit, that’s good— why the hell would she think it’s weird?”
his nails dig into sero’s shoulders at a particularly forceful thrust that has his head reeling, and his body whining, “’cos what do i even say like, hey i want you and my other-bestfriend-slash-roommate-slash-guy-i’m-currently-fucking-with to share me?”
“is that it?”
denki stills at the sound of your voice.
he tilts his head left and, you’re lent against the other side of the wall, half a joint hanging out of the corner of your mouth, patting your pockets down in search of a lighter.
sero, cheeses again, you roll your eyes at the sight of it, but hum in thanks when tosses a zippo your way. the sound of the spark wheel is like a honing signal, and sero release the tight grip he had on denki, who now crumples against the wall in embarrassment, to get a hit from you.
you inhale deeply, the end flaring up a bright cherry red, illuminating the bored look on your face in the dark alley.
you exhale in silence, pass the joint to sero, and make your way over to denki.
“dude,” you say softly, leaning your shoulder against the blonde, “you know you can ask me anything.”
↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺
“now what do you say?”
denki’s bed frame sounds like it’s gonna break, for real this time. it’s creaking and rattling like it only has seconds left to live before it collapse in on itself and takes the three of you down with it.
your pussy won’t let go, denki thinks he might actually die, with the way your walls are pulsing around his dribbling cock, practically milking him.
it wouldn’t be a bad way to go, the crease where your stomach meets your thighs and the sight of your jiggling tits will follow him into the afterlife. along with the way your hips tortuously grind down on him, and the unforgettable sensation of your pussy bubbling around the base of his cock, coating him in a juicy shine of slick, leaving that creamy ring stained forever into his memory.
“s-s-sorry?” he gasps out with laboured breaths, his chest caving, his heart feels like it’s gonna fall out of his throat from how fast it’s beating.
“hmmm, sorry for what?” you don’t give him a moment to think, sucking the soul out of his dick, you see his eyes rolls back into his head, dreamy, dopey, pussy drunk smile glazing his face.
“for–for being weird about it?” he finally croaks out when you slow at his silence.
you share a look with sero across denki’s shaking shoulders, from where he’s pistoling his cock into the blonde’s ass.
he sends you a smile, it forms slowly, beginning with a small grin, eventually spreading across his face, his lips stretching and curving, his teeth biting, with that same smirk in his eyes.
“and,” sero murmurs into his ears as his hands find purchase in denki’s hair, a mean grip that has the blonde carolling into your sweat slicked chest, the stimulus making his mind hazy, “you can ask for anything.”
denki’s head lolls, the sight of him, disoriented with pleasure, has you involuntarily clenching, which send him into another spiral, and leaving sloppy marks over any part of your body he can reach.
“say it.”
“i can—” denki groans against your skin, absolutely fucked out, his fingers bruising your hips with his grip, “holy fuck— i can a-ask for anything.”
"good boy," your voice is like honey in his ears, trickling sexual syrup right through his nervous system. the praise makes denki throb inside of you, you can feel it, the pulse, and you send it right back, rudely clenching down on him again, making him jerk his hips back in agony, right back into sero's cock.
it's disgusting, so fucking filthy, the room reeks of weed and your combined bodily fluids, his mattress is probably soaked in your sweat, and in denki's drool.
it's agonisingly good though, the near constant push and pull of three bodies.
denki feels like he's about to black out, and he keeps pathetically humping into both you and sero like that's gonna keep him from disaster.
his head tilts to suck on your tits, and you use his shoulder for leverage, so you can bounce on his properly, the motion sending him backwards into sero's hard chest, "denki, baby, you gonna cum for us?"
he gurgles in reply, too sex drunk to string any coherent thoughts together, just pleasure, pleasure, and more pleasure, his kiss-bitten body trembling, all your grunts and moans poured into his ears like fucking music.
"denki, denki, denki—"
god, he's gonna cum, he can feel it building, the two of you aren't far behind if the pick up in pace is anything to go by.
he can feel, fuck, hot under his veins, ecstasy thrumming through his body, it's never felt this good, he might die.
"denki—"
he's so fucking close, so close, oh god, everything, this long ass day, the constant tease from the both of you, and he finally gets to have this—
"DENKI!"
"huh, huh, what?"
his head flops back down into the pillow, the sunlight streaming through the open blinds is hurting his eyes, and god, his head is fucking pounding. his tongue slips out to wet his dry lips, fully content in going back to sleep, back to that fucking dream, anything to get away from the horrible light he can't seem to escape.
oh nevermind, he can't go back to sleep, not with his excrutiating morning wood, leaking pre all inside his boxers. he ruts down against the suprisingly smooth mattress beneath him with a satisfied groan, and another sleep filled sigh.
"dude are you serious?" an equally sleep stricken voice calls out from next to him.
oops. turns out his soft, smooth, mattress was his best-friends thigh.
denki's eyes flutter open weakly, and sero stares back at him, his dark hair a mess, his limbs stretched out across the bed.
"are you gonna stop that or what?" sero drawls back, voice hoarse with disuse, he raises a tatted arm to cover his eyes, and curses the morning under his breath.
the blonde's hips are still moving on auto pilot, relentlessly chasing a pleasure he can only imagine, until sero swats at him to stop.
hands rubbing his face, denki turns back around with a deep yawn, then starts feeling under the blankets for his vape.
"aren't we," sero yawns uncontrollably mid sentence, so hard tears start forming in his waterline, "uhh, aren't we supposed to go meet your friend at the station in a few?"
they can't stop the yawns now, denki stretches out his back as another one rips out, "s'too early man, s'way too early."
the blonde sits up against the headboard, smacking his dry lips for a minute, then says:
"dude, i just had the craziest dream."
taglist my asshole im so sorry im like dead on the inside lowkey
smoking with mina’s roommate sero always left you flustered and your head in the clouds. tonight the three of you are sprawled on his bed, the blunt freshly dabbed out and your head in mina’s lap. she smoothes your hair back while sero softly hums with the music.
“how you feeling, pretty girl?” she giggles as you slowly blink up at her.
“hot.” you smile.
“why don’t we all get naked?” sero rolls onto his side to grin at the both of you.
“you’re a freak hanta.” mina shoots him a glare.
“she’s hot, babe.” he laughs.
“don’t ‘babe’ me.” she pushes him onto his back.
“oh no.. i hope no one takes advantage of me while i’m on my back.” he turns his head and looks at the both of you.
“in your dreams.” you roll your eyes.
“wanna know what’s in my dreams?” he rolls back over. “two of you making out sloppy style over my dick.” he gives a lopsided smile.
“hanta!” you gasp.
“you sounding like that when mina slides her fingers into that dripping pussy.” he nods. “god we could get you laid out on your back,” he nods. “mina licking and finger fucking you while i fuck her from the back.” he sweats tighten. “yeaaahhh that’s the shit right there.”
“holy shit sero you’re an actual perv.” mina side eyes him and he catches the way her thighs squish.
“and you’re thinking about it.” he smirks. “so.. have you girls ever kissed?” he wiggles his eyebrows.
“wouldn’t you like to know.” you stick your tongue out at him.
“mm, has mina ever played with your pussy? i ever get you girls so high and you lock yourselves in mina’s room and just.. go crazy?” he’s shameless.
“hanta!” mina hisses.
“what?” he laughs. “i’m just asking.” he lays back on the bed.
“maybe.” you whisper, giggling when mina claps a hand over your mouth.
“i knew it.” he rolls over and rests his head on your thigh. “what about.. mina holding you there while i lick this pretty pussy? hm? would you like that?”
your heart thunders in your chest. “you can say no.” mina tilts your chin back to her.
“i.. yes.” you nod quickly.
“yeah?” mina purrs. “i’m gonna need something to play with while hanta’s eating.” her hands slide to squeeze your covered tits.
you just nod, breathless, happy to let them both undress you and press their hands all over your body. your back hits mina’s chest and when her hands find your tits you feel sero’s breath between your thighs. your head falls back when sero presses a small kiss to your clit, he peppers some down the sides of your slit letting his tongue lick along your warm skin.
sero’s hands snake around your hips and then he sucks your clit into his mouth. you arch against mina’s chest, moan falling from your lips as he flicks his tongue against you. mina rolls your nipples between her fingers, softly pinching as she starts to kiss your neck.
“sero doing a good job already?” you feel her smile against your skin.
“yes! he’s so- ahh!” she pinches down harder. “minaaa!” you roll your hips against sero’s face.
sero is happy to let you grind against his face, licking down and pushing his tongue into your pussy, groaning at the taste of you flooding his mouth. he slowly tongue fucks you, pressing closer and letting his nose ground against your clit. one of your hands fists his hair and pulls him closer, the other gripping onto mina’s hand. she sinks her teeth into your neck and sero chuckles into you with your shutter and the vibrations send you over the edge.
“fuck! i’m- nghh i’m cumming!” you squirm, legs snapping shut around sero’s head as he keeps going.
sero licks you through it, slurping down all your juices before he pulls back with swollen lips. “been keeping this pussy all to yourself, mina?” his eyes narrow at her.
“you’ll see how much harder she cums when i’m in between her thighs.” she grins.
you whine, chest heaving as they start to pull their clothes off. mina arranges you on the pillows and slowly kisses down your body, peppering kisses all over your thighs, giggling when sero yanks her hips into the air. he slides his tip through her folds, groaning at the stickiness before slowly pushing in.
“shit.” his eyes flutter shut.
“can’t handle it?” mina looks back over her shoulder and presses her ass back, sucking him the rest of the way in.
“chill.” sero’s fingers dig into her hips.
“mina!” you gasp as her tongue licks through your slick.
“mmm, sero left you a mess, naughty boy.” she starts fucking herself back onto him agonizingly slow while she sucks your clit into her mouth.
your hands fly to your chest kneading and rolling your nipples when you feel her slide one finger into you. your lips part as she slowly fucks it into you, thighs shaking while she leisurely licks at your clit. sero groans, leaning over her so he can watch her ruin you.
“how’s she feel around your finger?” sero pants.
“like this.” he squeezes around him and he presses his forehead against her back. “sero couldn’t handle you babygirl.” she slides a second finger in. “this pussy’s mine, yeah?”
“yes! nghhhh mina!!” your tummy twists when she starts pounding her fingers into you.
she attaches back to your clit while sero starts humping against her again. he gets a hand underneath her and finds her clit, swirling with precision that makes her moan into you. your toes are curling as she fucks into harder, curling her fingers just how you like. sero’s panting watching the both of you and from the feel of mina squeezing around him.
“shit you two are so hot.” he groans. “fuck babe you feel so good.” he rubs at her clit faster and she squeals into you. “yeah there you go.”
all it takes is a third finger stretching you open and you’re cumming all over her mouth and fingers. she fucks you through each wave only pulling back her mouth when she falls apart around sero, moaning loudly as he keeps circling her clit.
“just.. just a little more ma.” his hips frantically fall into her ass and with a low groan he fills her. the three of you pull apart and collapse onto the bed with heaving chests. “wanna smoke some more?”
the one where you reunite with matt, your sunday school classmate after many years and you notice he still has his purity ring on (10.6K words)
Contains: smut, sacrilege, blasphemy, religious themes/imagery (in a church), religious trauma & guilt, corruption of innocence, dub-con (if you squint), handjob, oral (m receiving), brief f masturbation, fingering, breast/nipple play, unprotected piv, creampie, slight degradation, dirty talk, implied praise kink, virginity loss, sub!virgin inexperienced matt x soft!dom fem reader (pls let me know if I left anything out!!)
⚠️ Warning: The type of content this fic contains may not be suitable for everyone. If you are uncomfortable with the contents listed above, PLEASE do not read ahead. This is simply written for the sake of fiction!
request by: @sturnskiss
The second I crossed the county line, I felt it. That old, suffocating sweetness this town wore like cheap perfume. Homemade pies, clean-cut lawns, and front porches that doubled as gossip pulpits. My phone buzzed with a new voicemail from my mother. Number eight. I didn’t need to listen. I already knew what it said.
“Will you be joining us for church on Sunday?”
As if there was ever a real question.
Coming home always felt like squeezing into a dress I outgrew. Everyone expected me to play nice, smile politely, say grace at dinner, and keep my belly button piercing hidden. It was adorable, really, the way they clung to the idea of who I used to be… the sweet little girl who went to Sunday school, memorized Bible verses, and asked too many questions that made the pastor uncomfortable.
College had shaken that out of me fast.
Now I had sharp corners. I drank and got stoned often, faked orgasms when men didn’t listen, and I said things that made small-town boys flinch. But family was family, and I did miss them, in a weirdly warm, tolerable kind of way. So here I was. Back for the summer, playing pretend for a few weeks and letting my mom think she still had some kind of pull over me.
So when she asked if I’d come to church this weekend, I said yes. Smiled, even.
Let them have their illusion. One more hymn wouldn’t kill me.
Sunday came like clockwork. I threw on a black sundress that showed just enough cleavage to make the deacons sweat. If I had to go, I’d at least go looking hot enough to stir some guilt. Let someone pray about that.
The church looked the same as it always had. Same chipped paint on the sign and same gravel lot that scraped under my shoes. Inside, the air was thick with floral perfume and aftershave. My mom beamed as we entered, waving to half the town like she was running for office. I gave a few tight smiles and kept my eyes on the stained glass, letting the colours blur into something softer.
We slid into a pew, front row-adjacent. I crossed my legs and glanced around, recognizing faces I hadn’t seen in years. Some older, some with babies, and some exactly the same. I leaned back against the wood, fingers tapping against my thigh, bored.
The choir finished their last chorus and the pastor stepped up, all puffed chest and pasted-on smile. His voice rang out loud and smooth, “When we stray from the Word, we open the door for corruption. For temptation. For the devil to whisper into our hearts.”
I bit the inside of my cheek.
“We must remain pure. In body and in thought. For even thinking sinfully is a gateway to eternal separation.”
Okay.
I blinked slowly, fighting the urge to roll my eyes. I glanced down the pew at my mom, who was nodding along, gripping onto every word of his. The man next to me whispered amen. A teenager in the row behind me scribbled notes like it was gospel truth.
Meanwhile, I was sitting there wondering if anyone else noticed how half the congregation clearly was thinking sinfully. Especially the deacon, who hadn’t stopped sneaking glances at the choir girl’s legs since she walked up to the podium.
I shifted in my seat and let my gaze wander, anything to keep from scoffing out loud.
The sermon had taken a nosedive into predictable territory, the usual warnings about temptation, the flesh being weak, and modern culture being a cesspool of sin. I was mid eyeroll, when I caught a glimpse of someone in the first row, across the aisle.
At first, I just registered the back of his head. Brown hair, cropped short but soft looking. Then his profile, the curve of his cheekbone, and the slope of his nose. And something about it tugged at me.
I leaned forward slightly, pretending to fix my sandal just to get a better look.
He turned, just a little, but enough. And then it hit me.
No fucking way.
Matt Sturniolo, from Sunday school. From crafts and cookies and that one time he let me copy the memory verse when I forgot mine and panicked. I hadn't seen him since we were maybe thirteen. Back then, he was quiet and lanky, and had braces so big he could barely close his mouth.
Now he looked like a grown man, and looked hot.
He was sitting up straight, posture perfect, with his hands folded neatly in his lap. His button-down was light blue and crisp. His face was clean-shaven, still sweet, almost boyish, but his jawline was sharp enough to make me want to bite my lip.
He even had earrings now. Small silver hoops, one in each ear. The kind that screamed quiet rebellion, like maybe he wasn’t completely untouched by the world after all.
He smiled faintly as the pastor spoke, nodding along, soaking in every word like he actually believed it.
I sat there, stunned. There was no way that little church boy grew up into that.
My focus was locked onto him, and I didn’t care if it was obvious. Everything else, the sermon, the choir, and the thick scent of incense, had all now dulled into background noise.
After the service, the congregation spilled out onto the front lawn, all chatter and sunshine. I stepped outside behind my mom, sunglasses slipping on like armor, and scanned the crowd to find Matt again.
And when I did, he was standing off to the side, talking to some older woman I vaguely recognized as someone’s grandmother. His hands were clasped in front of him, shoulders slightly hunched like he was trying not to take up space. He nodded politely at whatever she said, but I saw the way his foot tapped softly against the grass, like he was ready for an exit.
Perfect.
I veered towards him like it was accidental. The woman gave me a nod as she wandered off, and just like that, Matt and I were face to face.
He blinked. Once. And then twice.
“Matt Sturniolo…” I said, a slow grin tugging at the corner of my mouth. “Now that’s a blast from the past.”
His eyes widened. He opened his mouth, then closed it again like he’d forgotten how to speak. “I—yeah. Wow. Hi.”
God, he was so cute and awkward. And standing way too straight like he didn’t know where to put his hands.
“You probably don’t remember me.” I continued, even though I knew he did. “Sunday school. I sat two chairs behind you.”
He let out a soft, sheepish laugh. “No, I remember. You, uh… asked a lot of questions. The teachers never quite knew what to do with you.”
“They still don’t.” I smirked, tilting my head. “But you’ve grown up.”
My comment visibly flustered him. He scratched the back of his neck, his gaze dipping for a second before snapping back to mine. “Thanks. You, uh. You too. I mean… not that you weren’t before. But now—”
“You can stop before you bury yourself any deeper.” I teased.
He went quiet, lips pressed into a tight line. His hands fidgeted, tugging at the edge of his sleeves, and I could see the effort it took for him to maintain eye contact.
I took a step closer. “You always this nervous, or is it just me?”
His throat bobbed. “Just… surprised, I guess.”
“Mm. Bet you didn’t expect to see me here.”
“Not really.” He smiled, small and genuine. “You’re… kind of hard to forget.”
There was something in the way he said it. Soft and honest. A little breathless.
I didn’t even have to flirt. All I had to do was be.
“So,” I said, arms crossing lightly as I looked him over again, slower this time, just to watch his posture stiffen. “What’ve you been up to? You stuck around, huh?”
He nodded, hands still fiddling with the sleeve. “Yeah, I stayed. I help out with the youth group sometimes. Volunteer a lot. Got a job at the community center downtown. It’s… nice.”
“Nice.” I repeated, letting the word sit between us. “That sounds very… pure of you.”
He chuckled, but it came out quiet. “I guess so.”
I tilted my head, watching him with a growing sense of curiosity. “Still got that purity ring too, I see.”
His fingers instinctively curled over it.
“Y–Yeah.” he said, eyes lowering. “Still… you know. Waiting… for the one.”
God, his voice. That awkward honesty. The way his ears were already turning pink.
“Good for you.” I grinned, not even trying to hide my amusement. “Commitment like that is rare these days.”
He shrugged, like he didn’t know what to say. “What about you?” he asked, finally daring to meet my eyes. “You still… involved with the church?”
I smiled, slow and sly. “Not exactly.”
That made him pause. “Oh?”
“I left all that behind when I moved away.” I said, glancing out towards the street like the memory didn’t matter. “Stopped going. Stopped pretending.”
His brow furrowed, just barely. “But you’re here.”
“Mmhm.” I nodded. “Family roped me in. One morning service. Figured I could survive it.”
I turned back to him, letting the moment stretch, and letting the quiet hang heavy between us. “You look like you still take it seriously, though.”
“I try.” he said softly.
I stepped in, just a little closer. Close enough to see the faintest freckle on his nose. Close enough that I knew he could smell my perfume.
“You always were the good one.” I said, tone teasing but laced with something thicker. “Helping with crafts, memorizing verses, and raising your hand like it meant something.”
He flushed again, this time deeper.
And I smiled like I knew exactly what I was doing. Because I did.
I let my gaze drift across his face, slower this time. From his blue eyes to the faint line of his throat, following the flutter of his pulse. The way his chest moved when he breathed in, shallow and uncertain. My eyes looked down to his hands, they were big, veined, and fidgeting. I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from grinning. He swallowed thickly.
“You, uh… look really different now.” he said after a second, voice quiet and almost rushed.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. I mean… in a good way. Just… grown up. A lot.”
I tilted my head, my tongue gliding over my front teeth. “So have you, Matt.”
He went still.
I smiled, slow and easy, like I wasn’t watching him unravel from the inside out. “You filled out nicely.” I added, my voice light but cutting, just enough heat tucked beneath the surface. “Didn’t expect that.”
His mouth parted. A single breath caught on his tongue, like he wanted to say something but didn’t have the nerve.
“You always get this quiet when girls talk to you?”
His eyes met mine, wide and glassy. “N–No. Not really.”
“You’re so cute.”
I watched his lips part again, but nothing came out.
Instead, I smiled wide and easy. “Well,” I said, tilting my head slightly. “We should properly catch up sometime.”
His eyes lit up, hopeful in that painfully naïve kind of way. “Yeah? That’d be… nice.”
I took a step back, but kept my gaze locked on his. “You seem like someone who prefers quiet places. Somewhere familiar.”
He nodded a little too quickly.
“We could meet here again.”
“Here?”
“Why not?” I shrugged. “You already spend your time volunteering and worshipping. Might as well have one more wholesome night on the church grounds.”
His mouth opened, then closed. He clearly didn’t know what to do with that sentence, but he liked the sound of it anyway.
“No one’s around at night.” I added, voice feather-light. “It’d be just us. I figured that’s more your scene.”
He stared at me for a second too long. Then nodded again, slowly. “Okay. Yeah. That sounds… good.”
I smiled sweetly, already knowing he had no idea what he had just agreed to.
“Great.” I said, backing away. “I’ll see you soon then.” I turned on my heel before I could smirk but God, I wanted to so badly.
The church looked different at night. Empty parking lot and no choir echoes. Just the creak of the old sign in the breeze and the hum of cicadas somewhere in the dark. The stained glass didn’t glow without the sun, and the building looked almost dull without its congregation.
I sat on the front steps, a cigarette burning slowly between my fingers. I exhaled, watching the smoke curl upwards, and then heard gravel crunching under hesitant footsteps.
And there he was. Matt. Wearing a plain white t-shirt and jeans, hands shoved into his pockets, and head bowed like he wasn’t sure if he should’ve came tonight. His hair was a little messier than before. Softer and less polished. But that truly caught my attention was his arm. His tattooed arm. A full sleeve. Black and gray ink with delicate shading. Most probably from his shoulder down to his wrist.
My brows lifted before I could help it. “Well, well. Would you look at that.”
He blinked, then followed my gaze down to his arm. “Oh,” he said quickly, like he’d forgotten it was even visible. “Yeah. I—um. I usually wear long sleeves to service.”
I took a drag from my cigarette, with my eyes still on him. “Clearly.”
“They’re, uh… all personal. Like, meaningful.” His voice was soft. Like he thought I might judge him for it.
I flicked ash onto the concrete and gave him a long, appreciative once-over. “I like it.” I said honestly. “Didn’t expect it. But I like it.”
His shoulders relaxed a fraction. “Thanks.”
I smiled, crooked and teasing. “Guess you’re not entirely innocent.”
He ducked his head, the tips of his ears turning pink again, but he smiled too.
Fuck, he was too adorable.
“Alright, let’s go inside.” I said, standing up before extinguishing my cigarette under my shoe.
The heavy door creaked open, and the warm air inside wrapped around us quick. The church smelled the same as always, like wood polish, candle wax, and something faintly floral. I let the door fall shut behind us and walked a few paces down the aisle, my shoes soft against the worn carpet. Matt followed quietly, a few steps behind.
At night the church felt and looked something else entirely. No chatter or echo of footsteps from people filing in late. Just silence, soft shadows, and the occasional groan of the old building settling. It wasn’t eerie. Not really.
The long aisle stretched ahead like a path, and the walls… they looked taller somehow. More looming. The way cathedral ceilings always do when you’re alone beneath them, like they’re watching.
Only a few dull lamps glowed from the sidewalls, casting flickers across the old stone, and at the far end, the altar bathed in a warm pool of candlelight. Rows of votives shimmered gently against polished wood and gold accents, making the stained-glass panels above look like faded murals. Without sunlight pouring through them, the saints and angels bled into the dark, their colors muted, and their eyes unreadable.
“Creepy?” I asked, glancing over my shoulder.
He shook his head. “Peaceful.” Of course he’d say that.
I slowed until we were walking side by side between the pews, our hands brushing once by accident. He shoved his in his pockets again, ever the good Christian boy.
“Can’t believe you’ve got a whole sleeve under your Sunday shirts.” I said, glancing at his arm again. “What else are you hiding, Matt?”
He chuckled, nervous. “That’s kind of it, honestly.”
“No dark secrets? No late night rebellion? You didn’t go wild in college?”
He looked down at the floor, shaking his head. “Didn’t really party much. I went to a Christian university. Lived at home most of the time.”
I raised a brow. “And the virgin thing? Still actually true?”
He cleared his throat, his voice suddenly scratchy. “Yeah.”
The way he said it, so quietly, like he was confessing something that made him feel less than, pulled at something unexpected in me. But I didn’t let it soften me too much.
“Wow.” I said, stepping ahead of him just enough that he had to follow my lead. “So you’ve really never…”
“No.” he answered before I even finished the question. No hesitation. No shame, either. Just honesty. Like everything he gave me was clean and untouched.
I smiled to myself, walking slower now as we neared the front of the alter. I paused at the first pew and turned to face him fully.
“Well,” I said softly, tilting my head. “Now I’m curious what it’ll take to make you blush.”
And just like that, he did. Colour bloomed up his neck like wildfire. And I swore I saw his fingers twitch like he didn’t know whether to fold his hands or grab onto something to steady himself.
From the altar, the candlelight flickered, catching the shine in Matt’s eyes as he looked around. He stood with his hands in his pockets again, like he didn’t quite know what to do with himself. His posture was straight and polite, like the space demanded it of him.
“I like how different it feels.” I said softly, gazing up at the arches that curved above us. “Less pressure to pretend.”
Matt glanced over, surprised at my words. “You feel like you have to pretend?”
“Mm. Don’t we all?” I smiled without warmth. “This place loves the idea of me. Not the real me.”
He didn’t know what to say to that. I could tell by the way his mouth parted and shut again. So I stepped a little closer, tilting my head like I was genuinely curious.
“So,” I started, voice lighter now, teasing. “Besides hiding all that sick ink, what else does our favourite church boy keep under wraps?”
He smiled nervously, scratching at the back of his neck. “I don’t know. I mean… I’m not hiding anything.”
“You sure? Nothing you sneak off to do at night that might get you in trouble?”
He blinked. “Like… coming home too late from the movies?”
I laughed. It slipped out louder than I meant, echoing slightly. “You’re too cute, Matt.”
He flushed hard, pink blooming from his cheeks down to his collarbone.
“I mean, I listen to music that can have explicit lyrics at times, I guess. And I swear sometimes. In my head.”
“Ohh, dangerous.” I whispered dramatically, stepping even closer now. “Any wild confessions about kissing girls?”
He swallowed hard. “No, um… not really.”
I tilted my head. “Not really?”
“I mean, I haven’t… I’ve never…”
He couldn’t finish it. The poor boy looked like the sentence alone might catch fire if he said it out loud.
So I did it for him. Carefully. “You’ve never kissed anyone?”
His eyes met mine, soft and honest. “No.”
And there it was. that sweet and unguarded truth again, laid bare like it was the most normal thing in the world. Without any shame.
I didn’t say anything right away. Just let the moment sit there between us for a beat.
“You ever think about it?” I asked finally.
His jaw clenched. “Sometimes.” he said.
And I saw it, the flicker behind his eyes, the tiny shift in his breath. He definitely thought about it more than sometimes. He just didn’t have the words for the things he wanted.
I tilted my head, still watching him. His eyes had softened, lips parted like he wasn’t sure whether to speak or keep breathing. I could see the pulse jumping in his throat again.
“Would you like to try?” I asked casually, like I hadn’t just dropped a grenade between us.
His brow furrowed, confused. “Try what?”
I smirked. “Kissing.”
He went still. Like his brain had short-circuited and needed a minute to reboot.
I took a step closer. “You said you’ve never kissed anyone.”
“I—yeah. I haven’t.” His voice was barely above a whisper.
My hand grazed the side of his arm as I moved in front of him. “Relax. You’ll still technically be a virgin when it’s over.” My tone was teasing, but gentle. “Unless kisses count as unholy now.”
He let out a breathy laugh, one that sounded more like a nervous huh. I saw the panic flicker in his eyes but under it, curiosity burned brighter.
I didn’t wait for a yes.
I just stepped in, closing the distance, and leaned up until my lips softly brushed his, just enough pressure to feel the shape of his mouth. He didn’t move at first, frozen like he might break something. But he didn’t pull back either.
And when I kissed him again, a little firmer, I felt it… the moment he gave in. The tension uncoiling in his shoulders, the soft breath that escaped through his nose, and the tilt of his head, unsure but trying, so clearly trying.
I pulled back the tiniest bit, just to look at him. “Put your hands on my waist.”
He obeyed. Hesitant, warm palms settling on my sides, unsure if he was allowed to hold on or if this was some dream he might wake up from.
I slid one hand behind his neck, fingers weaving into the back of his hair, and the other found his jaw. He twitched slightly beneath my touch but didn’t stop me. My thumb swept across his cheekbone, and I felt him sigh.
Then I kissed him again, slower and deeper, coaxing him open as my tongue licked across his lower lip.
He gasped, and I took the opportunity to slide into his mouth, tasting him.
And Matt… sweet Matt… he followed beautifully.
A little clumsy and a little stiff around the edges. But eager. And when he finally tilted his head the right way, our lips melted into each other so easily. I moaned into it, just to feel him shudder.
It was funny, really. Usually, where we were standing, newly married couples kissed. After reading vows and verses about loyalty, love, and purity.
I kissed him once more before I drew back, just enough where I could still feel his breath against my lips.
His eyes blinked open, dazed and glassy.
“You okay?” I murmured, brushing my thumb over his flushed cheek.
He nodded, his lips still slightly parted, pink and kiss-bitten.
I leaned in once more and pressed a final kiss to the corner of his mouth, letting it linger, just a second too long to be chaste. He shivered. When I pulled away, I smiled. “You did so well, Matt.”
His breath hitched like that praise alone short-circuited his nervous system.
I watched him try to speak, but the words didn’t quite come. His hands were still on my waist, but looser now, like he didn’t remember putting them there. I watched him try to catch his breath, his lashes fluttering like his thoughts were too loud to focus. Poor thing looked like he’d just been kissed by sin herself. Which, to be fair, wasn’t far off.
I let the silence stretch just a little longer. Then I tilted my head towards the dark wooden booth behind us, the confessional tucked just off to the side of the altar. “You wanna confess and repent for that kiss?” I asked lightly, tone teasing, but my eyes didn’t waver.
His gaze followed mine. His expression tightened, a flicker of shame, or maybe confusion, or maybe both. He bit down gently on his lower lip, gaze shifting between me and the booth.
“I don’t know.” he said finally, voice soft. “Should I?”
The way he asked, like he genuinely wasn’t sure whether to cry or fall to his knees, it made something in me twist.
I chuckled quietly. “You look like you’re about to either bolt or beg for forgiveness.”
He didn’t answer. Just looked away, ashamed.
I softened, just enough to ground him. “I don’t want you freaking out later.” I said. “Or regretting something because it sat too heavy on your conscience.”
Matt looked back at me slowly, eyes wide and searching. God, he was trying so hard to be good.
So I gently reached for his hand, and slid my fingers between his. “Come on.” I murmured. “Let’s get you to the confessional. Might help.”
He let me lead him, steps small and unsure as we approached the booth.
The confessional loomed tall and dark, carved from thick wood, and the curtain drawn open just enough to reveal the narrow bench inside. The air around it felt colder somehow, like the space still carried the weight of everyone who’d ever whispered secrets into its walls.
I pulled the curtain aside and gestured towards the bench. “After you.”
Matt hesitated, but then stepped inside and sat down.
I followed, pulling the curtain mostly shut behind us. The wooden panel groaned softly as I settled in beside him.
It was cramped and shadowed. Quiet in a different way than the rest of the church… almost heavier.
He sat with his hands in his lap, still not looking at me. But I could feel it. The tension and the heat from his skin. The way he hadn’t stopped thinking about the kiss.
Neither did I.
He opened his mouth like he was about to speak, maybe even start with a confession or to just breathe, but he didn’t get the chance.
Because I saw it. The strain in his jeans. The obvious, awkward tent pressing up at the fabric between his thighs.
I let a small smile tug at the corner of my mouth. “Well, before you get into all that repenting… looks like something else might be weighing on you.”
His brows furrowed, confused for a beat. Until he followed my gaze. And saw exactly what I meant.
His whole face flushed, red creeping all the way down his neck. “I—no—I didn’t mean—” He started fumbling, words tripping over each other as he tried to reposition his legs, trying to hide the obvious. “Sorry, I don’t… it just happened—”
“It’s okay.” I said simply, cutting through the panic in his voice. “Really.”
He blinked at me, flustered beyond belief.
“Do you want help with that?”
Matt froze. “W–What?”
I nodded towards the problem in his lap, speaking casually, like it was the most natural offer in the world. “You’re clearly… tense. I could help. If you want.”
His hands fidgeted, gripping the hem of his shirt like it might save him. “No, I—thank you, but—”
And that’s when I “accidentally” brushed my hand across his thigh. Just a light touch. Barely grazing the outline of him through his jeans.
But Matt jolted like he’d been hit by lightning. His body stiffened and his breath caught. His hands froze mid-motion like he wasn’t sure if he should pull away or lean in.
I smiled, slow and wicked. “You sure?” I murmured, fingers still resting close. “Because your mouth says no, but the rest of you…” I shifted slightly, leaning in so my thigh pressed against his. The confessional suddenly felt even smaller.
I could practically see the war going on behind his eyes. Guilt versus curiosity. Fear versus want. His body had already picked a side.
“Hey,” I said gently, softening just enough to ground him. “You don’t have to be scared. I promise you’ll feel better.” He swallowed hard. “And if it helps, you can repent for this later too.” I added with a quiet laugh
That earned a shaky breath from him. Not quite a laugh, or a protest either. He didn’t move away, or pull my hand back when I reached for the button of his jeans. He just sat there, frozen and flushed, eyes flicking to mine like he was checking for permission that he’d already given without realizing it.
“Is this okay?” I asked calmly.
He hesitated for half a second. Then nodded. Barely, but enough.
That was all I needed. “Good.”
My fingers worked the button free, unhurried, then slid the zipper down that felt far too loud in the quiet booth. Matt sucked in a sharp breath, his hands gripping the edge of the bench like he needed something solid to hold onto.
“Lift up a little for me.” I said casually, like I wasn’t dismantling his entire belief system one inch at a time.
He did it immediately. Obedient without even thinking about it.
I tugged his jeans down just enough to free him, the fabric catching briefly before giving way. He let out the smallest sound, half gasp and half whine, and then went very, very still.
His cock sprang free, flushed, thick and aching against the cooler air. The head was a pretty shade of pink, already glistening, pulsing ever so slightly as though it had been waiting, no, begging, for this.
I glanced up at him, eyes warm and amused. “Such a good boy.”
And the way his shoulders sagged at that, with relief, want, and surrender all tangled together, told me he was already too far gone to turn back now.
I exhaled a slow, appreciative breath. “Well, you’re just… pretty all over, aren’t you?”
Matt let out a choked sound, somewhere between a whimper and a groan, and pressed his head back against the wood behind him like he was trying to disappear into it.
His entire body was strung tight, his fists clenched on the bench, his thighs tense, and his chest rising like he hadn’t remembered how to breathe since I touched him.
I grazed the backs of my knuckles up the length of him, featherlight. Just enough to make him flinch. “Have you ever touched yourself?” I asked, my voice soft and curious.
His breath stuttered. He didn’t answer right away. But then, “Once.”
I raised a brow. “Just once?”
He nodded, eyes shut tight.
“And?”
His voice cracked. “I repented. It felt… wrong.”
I let out a sympathetic laugh, stroking his thigh slowly with one hand while the other hovered just above his lap. “Poor thing.” Matt’s jaw flexed. “That must’ve been one hell of a confession.
He nodded again, eyes still closed like if he didn’t look at me, it would feel less real.
I dipped my head closer, lips near his ear. “Want me to show you how right it can feel instead?”
His whole body shivered. But still, he didn’t say no.
I let my fingers finally wrap around him slowly, watching the way his cock twitched helplessly in my grip. He was so warm and so hard. The skin was velvety and taut, veins standing out against the flush that ran all the way from base to tip. I stroked once, slow and gentle, just to feel the weight of him.
Matt let out a soft gasp, high and shaky, and his hips jerked like the pleasure was too sharp, too much, and too fast.
“Breathe, baby.” I whispered, smiling.
He tried. He really did. His chest rose in tight, uneven bursts, his hands clenched into fists at his sides, and his mouth parted in a constant stream of soft pants.
I kept stroking him, lazy and light. Long, teasing pulls from base to tip. Just enough pressure to make him whine. I twisted my wrist on the upstroke and watched his thighs twitch. “Feels good, doesn’t it?”
He nodded, voice caught somewhere between a moan and a prayer.
“Yeah.” I cooed, licking my lips. “You’re doing so good.”
His head tipped back, mouth falling open, and lashes fluttering as if the weight of sensation alone was dragging him under. He looked wrecked already, flushed pink from cheek to neck, like his body wasn’t used to being touched this way, and like he didn’t know what to do with pleasure that didn’t come tangled in shame.
I leaned in a little closer, brushing my lips against his jaw while my hand kept moving. “You’re allowed to feel good, Matt. You’re allowed to want this.”
His hips gave a tiny, involuntary thrust, chasing the rhythm of my strokes, and he whimpered again.
I gripped him just a little firmer now, smoothing my thumb over the slick head, gathering the precum that leaked from him freely. He was throbbing, pulsing hot in my hand, and I could tell already he wasn’t going to last long. But that was okay.
I let my grip tighten just a little as I started to move faster, the sound of my hand sliding over him obscene in the quiet booth. His breathing turned uneven almost immediately, short little pants spilling from his parted lips as his hips twitched in place.
“Just like that.” I husked, eyes locked on his face. “You’re doing so good for me.”
His cheeks burned red, his lashes fluttering like the praise alone was enough to undo him. He let out a soft, broken noise, somewhere between a whine and a plea, and I smiled.
“Breathe.” I reminded him gently, pumping him with steady, practiced strokes. “Slow it down. In through your nose. That’s it.”
I slid my thumb over the head again, smearing the bead that had formed there, watching his whole body jolt.
“Oh—” His voice cracked, hips rocking forward instinctively.
“Easy.” I said, firm but kind. I leaned closer, my voice dropping, filthy now. “Look at you. All flushed and hard, shaking just from my hand. You feel how good that is?”
He nodded quickly, swallowing hard. “Mmph! Y–Yeah.” he stuttered.
“Tell me how it feels.” I coaxed, pumping him a little faster now, wrist rolling just enough to make his breath hitch.
His fingers dug into the edge of the bench. “It feels… really good.”
I hummed approvingly. “That’s my good boy.”
The words hit him harder than my hand ever could. His hips jerked again, thighs tensing, and a needy sound tearing from his throat as he thrusted into my grip.
“Mm, look at you.” I praised softly. “You’re doing so well. Letting me take care of you.”
He whimpered, helpless and aching.
I stroked him faster now, relentless but controlled, watching his chest heave, his mouth fall open, and his entire focus narrowing down to the way my hand moved on him.
“I’m gonna make it feel so much better.” I said, dipping my head lower near his thigh, my voice utterly sultry.
He barely had time to process what I said. His lips parted, brows scrunching like he was about to ask what I meant… but then I took him in my mouth.
His entire body jerked like I had shocked him. He let out a strangled, broken moan, head knocking back against the confessional wall with a soft thud. My lips sealed around the thick head of his cock, and I moaned loudly, just from his taste alone.
The vibration sent him reeling. “Oh my—oh my God.” he gasped, voice high and breathless.
I bobbed slowly, deliberately, letting my tongue slide along the underside of him, savoring the way he twitched helplessly. He was thick and heavy on my tongue, flushed dark pink and leaking sweetly. I licked up the spill without hesitation, then sucked him back in deeper, humming as I went.
He whimpered loudly. The kind of sound that could’ve echoed in that tight little booth if I hadn’t swallowed it with another wet suck. “S–Shit.”
My mouth worked him with purpose, tongue teasing the sensitive ridge beneath the tip while I stroked the rest of him with my hand. The sloppy, wet sounds between us were so filthy, and so wrong in a space like this, but I couldn’t stop. I didn’t want to.
I pulled back with a pop just to breathe, lips glistening and chin slick, before dragging my tongue all the way up his shaft with a moan that made his knees shake.
“You’re so sensitive.” I said, my voice ragged. “So fucking responsive.”
Matt could barely speak. His eyes were glassy, his mouth open, and his fingers curled against the wooden seat like he didn’t trust himself to touch me back.
So I took him in again, deeper this time, and hollowed my cheeks.
He cried out, hips jerking before he froze again, as if moving even slightly might shatter whatever restraint he had left.
I didn’t stop. Didn’t give him a chance to breathe. Just sucked, licked, and moaned for him, like I was starved and he was all I’d ever wanted. And from the wrecked sounds spilling from his throat, he was already unraveling.
“Grab my hair.” I instructed, my voice thick with heat, and my mouth already wet from everything he’d spilled so far.
Matt blinked down at me, dazed, still trying to hold himself back. Sweet thing, was always trying to be good, but I didn’t give him time to hesitate. I sucked him back in, deep, moaning around his cock.
His hand found my head fast, trembling fingers threading through my hair with such hesitant care it nearly made me laugh.
“You’re not gonna hurt me.” I mumbled against his skin, lips dragging along the flushed underside of his cock. “Hold it tight.”
And he obeyed.
My mouth worked him fast, hot, wet, and relentless, with my tongue swirling and my cheeks hallowing. The slick lewd sounds echoed off the confessional walls. Matt was gasping, falling apart above me, hips barely twitching like he still couldn’t bring himself to thrust.
And then I felt it. The way he stiffened, the way his hand flexed in my hair, and the stuttering of his breath.
“I—” he choked out. “I’m gonna—” I didn’t stop. He groaned, ragged and wrecked, trying so hard to hold back. “Wait—I shouldn’t—I can’t—”
I pulled off just enough to speak, licking the tip with a filthy swipe. “I want to know how you taste, Matt.” Then I took him again, letting him hit the back of my throat, and letting the weight of him sit heavy on my tongue. I bobbed harder now, faster, my hand stroking the base in rhythm as my mouth sucked, worked, and ruined.
He came undone. With a sound I’d never forget, part sob and part desperate cry, Matt came in my mouth. His hand tightened in my hair and his thighs shook like his entire body had given out. I swallowed him eagerly, letting him feel every second of it. His hips jolted a few times, and then he slumped back, breath ragged and chest heaving.
I licked him clean and then looked up and whispered, “Tastes even sweeter than I thought.”
Matt’s mouth parted in disbelief, completely and beautifully shattered.
I let him catch his breath, pulling back slowly and wiping my mouth with the back of my hand like I hadn’t just swallowed every drop of his first orgasm. He slumped against the wall, legs spread open, chest rising and falling like he’d just run a marathon. Poor baby looked completely undone.
But he was still so hard.
“Look at you.” I whispered, dragging my nails lightly down his inner thigh just to feel him twitch again. “Came so hard for me… but you’re still not satisfied, are you?”
Matt let out the softest whimper, eyes fluttering shut like he couldn’t handle seeing the look on my face. He covered it with his hand, embarrassed, but I wasn’t letting him hide.
I leaned up and gently pulled his hand away, my fingers laced with his, holding it between us.
“Shy now?” I asked, voice teasing. “After the way you moaned in my mouth like you were made to be fucked?”
He groaned, dropping his head back with another wrecked little noise leaving him when I palmed his thigh again. “Please, stop.”
“You were so good for me, Matt.” I purred. “So obedient. So eager. You let me take care of you… and you looked so fucking pretty while I did.”
His head turned, breath catching. “R–Really?”
“I’ve never heard anyone make sounds like that.” I nodded, licking my lips. “You whined. You sobbed. You begged without even realizing it.”
He whimpered again, completely wrecked.
I smirked. “You don’t even know what I could do to you next.”
His body shivered like he wanted to know. Like he’d follow me straight to hell in that moment if I crooked my finger just right.
I didn’t say another word as I stood in front of him, catching his dazed eyes as I pulled my shirt off over my head, and then shoved my pants down in one smooth movement, leaving me in nothing but my bra and panties . His gaze dropped like a stone, mouth parting as he took in my bare skin, the way my breasts rose with each breath and the way he looked at me.
His eyes didn’t even try to be polite. They dropped instantly, dragging over every inch of exposed skin like he’d never seen a woman before. Which, to be fair, he kind of hadn’t. “You’re so… pretty.”
I brought my hands up and cupped my tits, squeezing softly. “You like them?” I asked, tilting my head as I threw him a sultry smile.
Matt swallowed hard. His mouth opened, then shut, then opened again. He looked absolutely stunned, with his pupils blown wide, but finally, finally, he nodded.
“Good. You can touch them.” I said with a grin. Then stepped between his legs and straddled his lap, my thighs bracketing his. His hands hovered, unsure of where to go, like he didn’t know what was allowed. Sweet thing. But when I reached for his wrists and guided them forward, pressing his palms to my chest, he melted.
His fingers curled automatically, gently cupping. I watched him the whole time, his mouth parted in awe, his breath shallow, and his eyes locked on my breasts like they were sacred.
I rolled my hips slowly against his, just enough to remind him I was practically naked and sitting right over where he was still hard. That earned me another shaky breath, his hands tightening just a little.
“You can squeeze them.” I whispered, leaning in just a little. “For now, they’re yours to play with.”
That was all it took. His hands came up slowly, fingers brushing along the curve of my sides before sliding up to cradle me. He was careful, almost too careful, and his thumbs ghosted over the material of my bra like he thought he might get in trouble for it. Yet, I still felt him throb beneath me
I arched slightly into his hands, my body pressing closer, and that pulled a quiet, needy breath out of him.
He stared, utterly transfixed, like my body was the most beautiful, forbidden thing he’d ever laid eyes on. I could feel how hard he was beneath me, abd could see the struggle in his eyes as he tried to balance his guilt and desire.
“Good boy.” I praised him, letting my fingers rake back through his hair. “Mmm… just like that.”
Matt let out a shaky exhale, his hands trembling slightly as they stayed pressed to the swell of my chest, and his gaze never once lifted from where he was touching me.
And I hadn’t even unclipped my bra yet.
“Take it off.” I husked, nodding towards the back of my bra.
Matt blinked like he wasn’t sure he’d heard me right, but I only shifted forward a little, giving him better access. His hands fumbled for the clasp, fingers trembling as he tried to undo it. I felt the hook slip once, then again, before it finally came undone with a soft snap. The straps slid down my arms, and I let the bra fall to the floor.
His breath caught hard. His eyes dropped to my now bare chest, wide and stunned like he’d just walked in on a religious revelation. I didn’t speak. I just let him take a good look.
Then I reached down, brushing his cheek with my thumb. “You can kiss them.” I told him, my voice low and breathy. “Use your mouth.”
I gently guided him forward until his lips brushed against my breast, and that first, hesitant press of his mouth made my spine arch. He kissed again, then hesitantly ran his tongue over my nipple, warm and slow.
“Yeah.” I sighed, threading my fingers into his hair. “Just like that. God, that feels good…”
He grew bolder with every sound I made, lips opening, tongue flicking and swirling around the peak before his mouth closed over it with a soft, eager suck. My head dropped back on a low moan as I rocked in his lap, hips moving in slow, shallow grinds against his thick length.
Matt groaned into my skin, hands flying to my hips like he suddenly couldn’t bear to let me go. His fingers gripped tight, digging into the curve of my waist as he held me there, dragging me down against him harder as he sucked deeper.
“Ohh, baby.” I gasped, my thighs clenching around him. “You feel so good.”
I shifted just slightly, letting his cock rub perfectly between my folds through my panties, pressure mounting in waves as he moved between one breast and the other, licking and mouthing both like he needed to.
He looked up at me once, lips moist and eyes dark, and that single glance had my whole body tensing, breath catching as pleasure curled low and hot in my belly.
Matt might not have done this before, but he was a fast learner. And I was more than happy to be his first lesson.
My hand slid up to cradle the back of his head, holding him where I needed him as he suckled eagerly at my left breast, tongue flicking and mouth warm. The pull of it made my hips jerk forward, grinding down against him as I softly panted above him. But I wanted more.
“Matt, baby…” I breathed, threading my fingers through his hair. “Use your hand. Play with the other one.”
He froze for a split second, like he needed to reboot, then nodded against my skin. One hand slid up, shaky but determined, and found the untouched nipple. His thumb brushed it carefully, then circled, then finally pinched just the way I wanted.
“Oh—yeah, fuck, just like that.” I gasped, hips grinding harder as his mouth kept working, tongue stroking and lips sucking while his hand kneaded the other breast. The mix of wet heat and pressure was overwhelming in the best way.
I couldn’t help the way I rocked against him, the friction making me go insane, and my panties were soaked through now. His hands were trembling, his lips still locked on my breast like he didn’t dare to stop, and I could feel how tight he held my waist, like he needed me just as bad as I needed to fall apart.
I dragged his mouth a little tighter to me, moaning when he let out a low, helpless groan against my skin. “You’re doing so good for me, Matt.” I panted. “So fucking good.”
Every suck of his mouth made my body jerk. The wet heat of his tongue, and the clumsy confidence in his hands as he played with my breasts just like I told him. I could barely think with how tight the pressure was coiling in my belly, how empty I felt despite the way I rocked in his lap.
His cock, thick and flushed, was pressed right against my soaked center. Just the thin barrier of my panties, stretched damp over the aching mess between my legs. Grinding wasn’t enough. I needed so much more. So I gave it to myself.
I slid one hand down between us, curling under the band of my panties, fingers slipping through the wetness gathered at my entrance. My middle finger found my clit instantly and I gasped, hips jolting against him as I started to rub slow, tight circles.
Matt froze for half a second when he realized what I was doing. Then he pulled back, lips slick from my nipple, eyes wide and locked on the movement of my hand. His mouth parted like he wanted to say something, but no words came out.
I moaned again, louder this time, head falling back slightly. “M–Matt…” I hiccupped, still rubbing slow but firm, my hips shifting just enough to feel his warmth against me.
Matt let out a ragged breath, completely still now, like he was trying not to combust.
“You’re making me so fucking wet.” I moaned, my eyes catching his. “Look at me. I’m getting myself off just from you.”
His gaze dropped between us, watching the way my hand moved inside my panties, and the subtle drag of my hips against the length of his cock as I worked myself closer and closer.
“You wanna feel how wet I am?” I asked, biting my lip as a soft giggle slipped out.
Matt looked like he might die right there in the confessional.
I reached down, still burning, and caught his wrist. Matt blinked up at me, confused for a second, up until I dragged his hand down and slid it underneath.
His fingers stilled the moment they reached my folds, and he felt it, the warm and sticky heat, the way I was drenched for him, dripping from how good he made me feel.
He inhaled sharply, his lips falling slack. His entire body went rigid beneath me. “Jesus…” he whispered, barely audible.
I moaned just from the feel of his fingertips trembling against my sensitive skin. “See?” I breathed, pressing his palm closer. “You feel what you do to me?”
He swallowed hard, nodding slowly, his eyes flicking down like he still couldn’t believe it. “Y–Yes. Holy shit, you’re so wet.” he said, voice rough, almost scared.
I smirked, rolling my hips slightly against his hand. “Good. Now rub me.”
He hesitated. So I took control, guiding his fingers exactly where I needed them, pressing down on my clit as I moved his hand in steady circles. The contact made me gasp, my head tilting back and my mouth dropping open.
Matt was panting underneath me, stunned. Still watching.
“That’s it.” I moaned, still using his hand, speeding it up just a little. “Fuck, rub me just like that.” His eyes never left mine. “I want you to feel how tight I’m getting… how close I am…” I pressed his hand harder against me, fucking myself on his fingers without shame. “Do you feel that, Matt? That’s all your fault.”
He groaned like he didn’t know what to do with himself, his free hand gripping my hip, knuckles white, and his cock twitching against me with every desperate sound I let out.
“Fuck, you make me feel so good.” I whimpered. “I’m gonna cum all over your hand, sweet boy. Just keep touching me like that.”
And he did, trembling, flushed, and silent, watching me fall apart with nothing but his fingers.
“Do you…” I breathed, still guiding his fingers over my clit. “…want to feel me cum, Matt?”
His entire body tensed beneath me. I watched the way his brows twitched, the way his lips parted like he wasn’t sure he heard me right. His hand stilled, but I didn’t let go. I kept his fingers pressed right where I needed them.
My hips rolled again. “I mean really feel it. From the inside.”
His breath hitched and he blinked fast, trying to process my words without his brain short-circuiting. And then, like he couldn’t stop himself, he nodded. Quite eagerly. It almost made me laugh.
“Yeah,” I smirked, drawing back just enough to reach for the waistband of my panties. “Of course you do.” I slid them down slowly, teasing myself as much as him, letting the fabric peel away from my wet cunt until it dropped to the floor.
Matt’s eyes snapped down instantly and they stayed there. Locked between my thighs, mouth parted, and chest rising in uneven jerks as his cock twitched violently beneath me. I watched it jump, flushed and painfully hard, just inches from where it needed to be.
“Oh, baby.” I whined, palming his chest as I rolled my hips once, letting my fleshy folds slide along the length of him. “You’re so close…”
His hands grabbed my waist like he needed something to anchor him. His pupils were gone.
“You wanna feel me cum?” I asked again, this time quieter, filthier, as I reached down and took his cock in my hand. I ran it through my folds once, slowly, torturing the both of us.
Matt groaned out loud, it was guttural and it sounded so helpless.
I lined him up with one hand, holding his strained cock steady, the tip slick and twitching as it kissed my entrance.
“Relax.” I said, teasing myself with just the head. “Let me really take care of you now.”
Matt whimpered, actually whimpered, as I slowly started to sink down. The stretch burned just right. My thighs trembled from how tight he filled me, thick and so deep already, and I wasn’t even halfway.
“F–Fuck.” he choked out, his breath punching out of him. “You’re… oh my God.”
I couldn’t help the moan that spilled from me, head tilting back as my walls clenched around him, fluttering from how good the pressure was. My nails dug into his shoulders for balance as I dropped lower, inch by inch.
“You’re so big.” I panted, looking down at where we were joined. “Jesus, Matt. You’re filling me so fucking good.”
His hands clutched my waist like he didn’t know what to do with them. “I—” he started, his voice shaking. “You feel… you feel unreal. I can’t—I don’t…” He trailed off into a strangled groan as I finally took him to the hilt.
We both just sat there for a moment. Catching our breaths and shaking.
Wrapped around him, I could feel every twitch of his cock, and every tremble of his thighs under mine. He was looking up at me like I’d just rewritten the laws of the universe.
“You’re inside me, Matt.” I smiled, rocking just slightly, letting him feel how snug and tight I was. “You feel that?”
Matt nodded, a moan breaking in his throat.
“Say it.” I ordered gently, grabbing his jaw. “Tell me what you feel. How it feels.”
“I—” he gulped. “You’re so… warm. And tight. I—I don’t wanna move. It feels good.”
I smirked. “Oh, you’re gonna move. But right now? Just feel me. Let me fuck you nice and slow.” He let out a desperate noise as I started to roll my hips. “You’re doing so good for me.” I moaned, grinding deeper. “Letting me take your first time. Letting me ruin you.”
Matt whimpered again, eyes rolling slightly as his fingers clenched at my hips. “Please… don’t stop.”
“Of course not, baby.”
I couldn’t help myself, as I let the rhythm build faster. Once the stretch faded into full, blinding pleasure, I couldn’t hold back. I lifted myself just enough to feel the thick drag of his cock pulling against my walls, then dropped back down with a slap that made Matt gasp. Again and again.
The skin-on-skin contact was filthy. Wet and loud sounds echoed throughout the confessional with every bounce of my hips, and every slam of my ass against his thighs.
And Matt? He was falling apart. His hands were glued to my hips, digging in so tight he’d for sure leave marks. His jaw had dropped open, his eyes were glazed and blinking slowly like he couldn’t keep up with the overload.
“Shit—shit!” he choked, watching where our bodies met. “You feel so good.” He whimpered, the sound pathetic, needy, and hot as hell.
I grinned, hips snapping down even harder. “You like this?” I jeered. “Getting fucked in a fucking church like a dirty little sinner?”
Matt groaned, tossing his head back against the booth.
“You like having your first time like this? Not with some soft vanilla shit, but with me using you like a toy, soaking your cock, and moaning loud enough for even God to hear.”
He let out a strangled sound and bucked up helplessly, hips stuttering beneath me.
“You’re leaking inside me, Matt.” I purred, grinding a bit more slowly just to tease. “You gonna fill me up again with your cock?”
Matt looked completely feral now. Hair messy, mouth slack, and hands gripping so tight my skin burned.
“I want to.” he heaved, nodding his head aggressively. “Please, let me—please—”
I cut him off by slamming down hard again. The sound of my wet hole sucking him in was filthy.
“Then do it.” I growled. “Use me.”
I leaned forward, dragging my tongue up the column of his throat. Matt gasped, the sound catching somewhere between shock and need, his hips twitching beneath me. I kissed along his skin, slow and possessive, right beneath his ear, then over his jaw, letting my breath dance across his flushed cheek. He was panting now, sounding absolutely wrecked.
Then I tangled my fingers in his hair and pulled. A choked moan escaped him as his head tipped back, neck bared, right where I wanted it.
I grinned wickedly. “You’ve never looked better.” And then I devoured him.
The kiss was messy. All spit, tongue, and teeth, my mouth crashing into his like I couldn’t get enough. I kissed him hard, pulling his bottom lip between my teeth and sucking before pushing my tongue past his lips again. Matt groaned so loud I felt it vibrate in my cunt.
He tried to kiss me back. bless him, fumbling and desperate. His lips chased mine, tongue clumsy and eager as he moaned into my mouth. I swallowed every sound. Drenched his jaw from our wet, sloppy kiss. I let him writhe under me like he didn’t know where his body ended and mine began.
And my hips never stopped. I was still riding him, hard and relentless, wet slaps echoing with every thrust down his cock, and every grind of his tip against my fluttering walls.
I pulled back just enough to pant against his lips. “Pretty boy, do you wanna cum?”
He nodded frantically, eyes blown wide, mouth still open and slick from the kiss. “Please.” he gasped. “I wanna cum—I wanna feel you too—I can’t hold it—please—”
I slammed down hard, grinding my hips in frantic circles, chasing that high like my life depended on it.
Matt was moaning beneath me, fingers bruising into my hips, and his cock twitching so violently I knew he was barely holding on. He was babbling something between “please” and “so close” but I couldn’t hear it. I could barely see. Everything inside me coiled tight, the pressure becoming unbearable. My thighs shook, my pussy clenched, and then I exploded.
A cry tore from my throat as my body locked up, heat flooding through me like a damn firestorm. My walls spasmed around him, cum gushing so hard I felt it spill, dripping down his cock in wet, slippery streams that soaked his lap and made the entire confessional smell like sin.
Matt’s breath hitched. “Oh my—fuck—” His whole body jerked, and then he came undone too.
I felt it. The twitch and the pulse. The sudden warmth spreading deep inside me as his cock throbbed and spilled everything he had in hot, thick spurts that made me moan all over again.
“Holy shit.” I gasped, still grinding gently, milking every last drop from him.
Matt could barely speak. His head lolled back, his chest heaving, and his pupils completely blown out, with his mouth hanging open.
I leaned forward, brushing away damp curls from his forehead as his chest rose and fell rapidly beneath me. He looked completely fucked out, dazed, and was glowing in the soft light of the booth, cheeks still flushed and lips kiss-bruised.
He looked so sweet, I had to kiss him. But this time, much slower. I softly pressed my lips to his. The kind of kiss that said I saw him. That I wasn’t just here to use him, but take care of him too.
His hands moved up my sides, hesitant at first, then bolder, holding me with a new kind of admiration. When I pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, he was already smiling. Shy, giddy, and looked so damn proud of himself.
“You did so good for me.” I smiled, stroking his cheek with the backs of my fingers. “So, so good, Matt.”
His smile widened, eyes lighting up with something soft, and perhaps even pride. His hands squeezed my waist and he let out the tiniest laugh, breathless and boyish, but so full of joy. “Yeah?” he asked, still catching his breath.
“Yeah.” I kissed the corner of his mouth. “You were perfect.”
And I watched him absolutely glow.
Eventually, I shifted, slipping off his lap with a soft sigh. Matt let out the faintest whine at the loss of contact, eyes fluttering open like he was waking from a dream. His hands, which had been resting lazily on my thighs, slid off as I stood in front of him, utterly unbothered by the chaos we’d just caused.
He sat up slowly, bracing his arms on the bench, and that’s when he looked down. His eyes widened, “...Oh.”
The mess between his legs was foul. His softening cock lay glistening, streaked with white and flushed an angry pink. My slick was smeared across his skin and thighs. And between the fading ache of my orgasm and the heavy drip of his cum leaking down the inside of my leg, it was very clear just how thoroughly we’d defiled the sacred little space.
I watched his throat bob as he swallowed, still staring. I smirked, asking, “Regretting it?”
His head snapped up, eyes wide. “No—God, no.”
I laughed softly and reached for my shirt, beginning to dress myself again. Matt still sat there, ruined and bare, with his pants tangled around his ankles and the blush on his cheeks somehow deeper now than it was when I was on top of him, while the reality of what we’d done crept back into his consciousness. He watched me like he couldn’t believe I was real.
“Careful.” I said as I bent to grab my panties, flashing him a peek of everything he’d just had. “You keep looking at me like that and you’re gonna get hard again.”
“...Sorry.” he mumbled, his voice hoarse.
“Don’t be sorry. It’s cute.” I then nudged him to make a move to begin dressing himself too.
I waited until he zipped his jeans close, to drop the bomb on him I was waiting to detonate. “So,” I said, tilting my head. “You still planning on making that confession?”
His eyes flicked up to mine, wide as saucers. “I—”
“Because,” I smirked, “I was thinking you might wanna add premeditated lust, prolonged moaning, public indecency, and letting a heathen ride your lap in a church to the list.”
Matt’s face went red.
I winked. “Just trying to save you some Hail Marys, babe.”
And with that, I pulled open the curtain and stepped out, leaving poor sweet Matthew to pick up the pieces of whatever was left of his soul.
fin.
A/N: i'm gonna go put myself in a time out now :))
to submit a request pls use my inbox or send me a message 💌
SYNOPSIS: sukuna's looking for someone to handle a delicate piercing, and you're the only piercer he trusts with the job. you both struggle to keep your interactions professional during his numerous appointments- but who's to say what will happen when it's all healed and done?
18+ mdni - WARNINGS: just 9.8k of porn with plot, unprofessional workplace environment, dick piercings, needles!, oral m!receiving, face fucking, degradation, praise, impact play (face & ass smacking), teasing, humping, riding, standing sex, multiple orgasms, power play, alternating power dynamics, pet names, slight edging, pain kink, slight mention of blood, heavy sexual tension, nipple play, choking, creampie, sloppy makeouts, some ass play
A/N: i am so excited to finally get this out :3 big, big thank you to pip for chatting with me and building so many ideas for this fic, she really helped pull the the smut from my brain when i hit a wall, and thank u peps for the title !
working in a piercing shop in a big city meant you got a mixed bag of clients. high school kids coming in with their parents for their first nose piercing, college girls getting their bellies pierced together, guys getting their eyebrows done. and you even did the ones that other professionals sometimes strayed away from due to their… delicate nature.
but whether it was a simple lobe piercing or clitoral hood— you did them all.
the first time you saw sukuna, he'd come in to your shop for an appointment with one of your colleagues to get some tattoos done. well, some was a stretch. he'd come by in the morning each time and wouldn't leave til the shop closed, booking out the entire day. give or take a year and he looked completely different.
head to toe, there were thick, onyx bands decorating his chiseled form in a way that was near mesmerizing with each movement, each ripple of his muscles.
it's not like he changed. even before the ink he was big, burly— certainly larger than any man you'd ever met before. and from the bits and pieces of conversation you'd pick up on, he was rough.
always barking out a sharp laugh, voice low and booming. everything about him commanded attention in such an effortless way, in a way that most other men wished for.
so no, he didn't really change (apart from his looks) it was actually like he became even more… himself.
you'd expected that if he ever came back to the shop, it would be for touch ups, maybe to even add more to his collection of designs.
but what you didn't expect, was for him to come back asking for you.
"where's that girl? the one that does the piercings." his voice rings out through the shop, distinct, gravelly. you know it's him before you even see him.
you poke your head out from the back, where your room is, eyes landing on the broad, hulking figure at the end of the hall. your waiting room isn't small by any means, but it certainly seems that way with him standing in the middle of it.
"you have an appointment?" you question, racking your brain because you can't remember seeing anyone on your calendar at this time— and you'd remember if sukuna had signed up.
he responds quickly to the sound of your voice, his body turning, crimson stare finding you immediately. "nah, not yet," he starts, long legs carrying him towards you with confident strides, "i wanna make one though."
"yeah, of course!" you beckon him into your studio, gesturing for him to sit down. and you have to stifle a laugh at the look on his face when he sees the little wooden chairs you have lined up against the wall.
you'd thrifted them a while ago for clients that like to bring a friend or family member with them, but it's a little comedic seeing someone of sukuna's stature taking a seat in one. for someone so large he was sure moving gingerly, expression suspicious as he carefully dropped his full weight onto the vintage piece.
"don't worry, it won't break," you assure him, but the wood creaking right after makes you doubt yourself a little.
"you sure 'bout that?" he questions, tone flat but laced with something akin to amusement.
"well, i guess we'll see," you shrug. "anyways, you said you wanted to make an appointment?"
he grunts in lieu of a 'yeah'. "wanna get a piercing done and heard you'd be the best for it."
you hum softly, resting a hip on the side of your counter, arms crossing in front of you as you look over him, curious as to what he's planning to get done. there's plenty of talented piercers in your city, but if he's convinced you're the one for the job then it must be…
"wanna pierce my dick." yep.
he waits, eyes scanning your face for any evidence of shock, maybe a little look of approval to feed his ego. he tries not to care when he gets nothing, just you nodding your head indifferently as you reach for your ipad to pull up an appointment form.
"you know what kind of piercing you want?" you ask, gaze cutting back up to his once you get the form set up.
"jacob's ladder," he replies smoothly, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.
that gets a reaction from you. the slightest ghost of a smile graces your lips and he can feel his chest swelling with pride. he shouldn't really care, he doesn't even know you, but ultimately, he's a confident man who likes to get what he wants. and from the first time he saw you in the shop— tight tank top clinging to your chest, leading away some client who was following you like a lost puppy— he wanted you.
and sukuna knows he's better than the other losers you pierce, probably just asking you for something basic, something you do every week. and he knows from your coworker how often they ask you out, thinking that they have a chance, just for you to politely turn them down and complain about it later. they never had a chance, but sukuna? he had a chance. that much was obvious with the way you'd curiously peek in during his appointments, eyes slowly raking over his figure each time, drinking in the sight of him before asking how it was going.
"good choice?" he asks, standing and crossing over to you as you keep scribbling on the ipad with your stylus.
"they're not too common," you muse, shifting to face him. ignoring the flush creeping up into your cheeks when you see through your periphery just how close he is, "but they're a personal favorite so… i'd say yes."
sukuna's grin widens. "personal favorite, huh? to pierce…" his voice drops as he leans down, hovering over you as your lower back presses into the counter, "or to look at?"
your breath hitches in your throat at the warm feeling of his breath fanning close to your face, and you pray he didn't catch it. but he did. his tongue darts out quickly to wet his lips as his gaze flicks between your eyes and your cleavage.
recovering quickly, you set the ipad aside, hands coming to rest behind you on the counter. you pretend you don't know what you're doing— pushing your chest out towards him, head craning back slightly to look up at him with that innocent look on your face. you flash him another smile of your own. "all of the above."
you know it's not professional. but was it so bad to indulge every once in a while? sukuna was attractive, very much your type, and very much into you.
your mind flashes through memories of lame dates and unsatisfying hookups, a montage of your depressing sex life as you look over him once more. every muscle is defined, like they want to show you that they're right where they need to be, his body practically radiating heat. you take in the way his compression shirt sticks to him like a second skin, the way his shorts bunch up ever so slightly around his crotch because his thighs are just that big. not to mention his voice— the timbre, the way he effortlessly commands attention at the slightest word.
everything about him oozes sex appeal, and you can't help but feel like you'd be crazy not to capitalize on his interest in you.
"oi, my eyes are up here."
your head snaps up to see sukuna's signature shit-eating grin on his face. "huh?"
"you were starin' at my dick. not very professional," he tuts.
you roll your eyes, heat pricking just beneath the surface of your skin as you realize that you were just staring at his dick. "well i'm gonna be piercing it, aren't i? just checking it out for the job, y'know?"
sukuna nods slowly. "right, right," he affirms sarcastically.
"shut up," you mumble, turning back around so you don't have to see him anymore, worried that your face might betray you even more. "anyways, it's probably going to be a few sessions—"
you're cut off when a large hand comes to rest beside yours on the countertop. you don't have to see him to know the way he's looming over you again, nearly caging you in.
"go on," he urges, other hand coming up to scratch his chin as he listens, like he's not being the world's greatest distraction.
"it's easier on the healing process if we just do a few barbells at a time, but there's some wiggle room there with exactly how many you want to do each session," you explain, mentioning that the first appointment can be used as a trial run. he can gauge the pain level and see how many he can handle at a time. after that, you'll determine roughly how many more appointments to schedule.
"so how long's this whole thing gonna take?" he asks gruffly.
"well… with a couple months between each appointment it could take around a year give or take— but it all depends."
"alright, think i can do that," he hums, "anything different about the healing process that i should know about?"
you reiterate the basics that he probably already knows, given the jewelry adorning his face already. "… other than that it's just no sex for a while."
sukuna freezes. didn't think that part through. he'd been so focused on the aftermath— of what it'd be like to have sex once he got it done— that he completely forgot about the whole time during the piercing process.
"how long is a while?" he questions, quieter than his usual self, making you chuckle.
"well ideally you'd wait until they're all healed," you start, neck craning to see the disappointed look on his face, "if you're certain the ones that are already done have healed up before your next appointment, obviously i can't stop you— but i would recommend wearing a condom to keep it drier, and be sure to clean them after."
"oh, thank god. okay."
your eyes narrow, "don't go sleeping around if they're not ready just because you can't keep it in your pants."
sukuna shoots you a look of feigned scandalization, free hand coming up to his chest. "sleep around? who do you think i am?"
"i think you're someone who likes to sleep around."
that pulls a laugh from him. a low, rumbling sound that makes your stomach flip. "maybe. but don't worry, i wouldn't wanna mess up your work."
"better not," you mutter, poking him with the stylus. "now sign here."
after ironing out a few more details, sukuna's first appointment was set for a week out. he paid the deposit and made for the door, the bell chiming softly above his head as he leaves, flashing you a quick wink.
you're behind the counter when sukuna returns. the glass door sliding open, a wave of heat rolling in with him as he steps out of the summer sun and into the air conditioned waiting room. you glance up from where you were scrolling on your phone, pretending to be busy but more-so just trying to distract yourself from the anticipation of seeing the tattooed man again.
you aren't really one to get nervous before appointments, but you can't help the swirling feeling low in your gut. it has less to do with the thought of actually piercing him, and more to do with the thought of being confined in that small room with him again— this time with his dick out.
your spine straightens, standing taller as sukuna strides over to you, large hands resting on the glass display case between you two, fingers drumming on the top.
"long time no see," he grins, gaze hungrily trailing over you, just as it does every time he sees you. he lingers on your chest, lips twitching at the sight of your cleavage in the low-cut top you decided to wear today.
all you can do is hope that it's not too obvious the effect he's having on you as you mutter a sarcastic "funny."
"i try," sukuna shrugs, always cocky. he shifts, coming down to rest on his forearms, the thick limbs stretched across the case towards you.
veins litter his tanned skin, running up perpendicular to the nicely healed tattoos, the dark ink a complement to the black painted on his nails. you instinctively shift closer, hips near pressing against the counter, against his fingers that are much too close. they twitch, drifting towards you just enough to brush along the hem of your shirt, soft enough for him to play it off as an accident. but you know better.
you ignore it. you ignore the way that when you don't react, it only spurs him on to tug the fabric lightly between his fingers, playing with it as you ask him about the jewelry he wants. "silver or gold?"
sukuna hums, like he needs to think about it— like all the metal already planted in his face isn't silver. he just wants an excuse to stay there a moment longer. until you clear your throat, arms crossing in front of your chest as you look at him expectantly. "silver's good."
"finally," you grumble, but it lacks any real bite. "follow me." he lets go and you lead him to the back, the heavy weight of his gaze bringing goosebumps to your skin. you don't need to see him to know he's staring right at your ass. it's not like it's his fault, he reasons silently, maybe if you weren't sauntering away, hips swaying side to side with each step, he wouldn't be ogling so hard.
you point to the table as you walk in, not bothering to check if he's watching you— you already know he is, "sit."
"yes ma'am," he practically purrs as he sits on the cushioned top, propping himself up on his arms behind him.
you shoot him a deadpan look, one that you hope hides the fact that his words, the tone of his voice, it all has your stomach tying in knots. you turn back around to rummage through your drawers and cabinets, pulling out everything you'll need and a singular silver barbell.
"just one?" sukuna asks, both skepticism and offense in his tone. did you really think he wouldn't be able to do more than one in a session? the same man who'd easily sat through multiple tattoo sessions that lasted several hours?
"we'll see how you're feeling afterwards. if you're up for it, i'll just grab some more."
"i'll be up for it."
you sigh— he's stubborn, that's for sure. but if it'll give him peace of mind then whatever. you retreat to grab two more barbells before swiveling back over to him in your little chair. "happy now?"
he grins, "sure am, baby."
"baby? that's new," you muse, pulling on your gloves with a snap.
"you like it?" he teases, shifting in his seat, legs falling further apart.
"maybe. i'll answer that after you've pulled your pants down," you shoot back. keeping your eyes fixed on what you're doing, you get everything in order on your tray so that each piercing can be as swift as possible. as tempted as you are to let your gaze slide up, trailing over his muscled thighs to the apex of his shorts— you're not giving in that easy.
he wants your attention, it's obvious, and though he's already got it, you find that you like playing with him. making him work a little harder than he's probably ever had to before, making him think that you're not quite there with him yet.
sukuna huffs out a laugh, confident and smooth. "just say the word."
"whenever you're ready, we can get this over with."
he rolls his eyes, fingers hooking into his waistband, muttering, "well don't act too excited." only now do you let your gaze drift down to his crotch and— is he hard right now? you don't realize the way you've tugged your bottom lip between your teeth, breath baited in anticipation, but sukuna does. and the look on your face is enough to have even more blood rushing down between his thighs.
his hips lift up, just enough to slide his shorts and briefs down over his ass. the waistbands catch on the tip of his dick, tugging it along with them as he pushes the garments down further. you can see the way the fabric shifts along the head as his cock fights to return back to its upright position, little by little until it's freed, the full length slapping up against his abdomen.
your mouth feels dry. tongue heavy, sitting against the roof of your mouth, it feels like it's filling the entire cavern. you could have guessed he was big, the way he carries himself is a tell-tale sign. he has that kind of confidence that you just know is well-founded, not something used to compensate. but— "damn."
"you wanna give me that answer now, baby?"
"shut up, sukuna," you snap, eyes still fixated on the distraction in front of you. he's big, pretty, even. veins trail up the thick shaft, a guide for your eyes, leading you up to the red tip, all flushed and swollen. your core feels hot, the initial dryness in your mouth being replaced with a rush of saliva.
"you stare at all your clients' dicks like this?" sukuna goads, hands coming back behind him so he can recline, putting himself on display for you. he knows that you definitely don't look at all your clients this way, and that you usually are very professional— but nothing about your relationship with him has ever been.
"we might end up needing another appointment or two," you finally tug your gaze away from his cock. his eyes are dark, pupils swallowing the red of his irises as he looks down at you situated between his knees.
"and why's that?"
"because we're gonna need more barbells than i thought." you're convinced you can literally see the man's ego growing at those words, and it makes you want to take them back. but you really do still have to be upfront with him, so he knows what to expect throughout this process. "or if you can handle one more each session then we might not need to drag this out. we'll see."
you grab your marker, mentally preparing yourself for the inevitable— when you'll have to touch his dick. reaching forward gingerly, you glance up at him once more, silently searching his expression for any hesitation. when you find nothing but a cocky grin, you wrap your fingers delicately around the middle of the shaft to stabilize him and hold his length up straight.
it's warm through the nitrile gloves, heavy in a way as it rests in your grasp. sukuna shifts lightly, sucking in the smallest breath at the feeling of your fingers against his most sensitive body part. and as much as he loves flirting with you, he's trying to keep his thoughts, his urges, at bay.
a part of sukuna wants to just say fuck the whole appointment, wants to roll his hips, rut into your fist, tell you to take the gloves off and let him feel you skin to skin. part of him wishes he could make a move on you now, a real move, instead of just dancing around the obvious tension in the room. but the stronger part of him knows that he can't.
he's wanted these piercings for a long time now, and he'd regret it more if he never got them done just because he couldn't keep it in his pants for a few measly hours.
so, sukuna wills himself to think of something, anything, but the feeling of your pretty hand wrapped around his cock.
still, by the time you finish marking up the piercing spots, he's tense as ever. jaw tight, his signature smirk is gone as he stares down at you through lidded eyes. you clear your throat, quickly looking away, busying yourself with capping the marker and setting it aside. then you grab a small hand-held mirror and offer it to him, "wanna check that they look alright?"
he shrugs, snatching the mirror and holding it out between his legs, the sight of his own cock reflected back to him. only now, there's little purple dots lining the underside of the shaft— where the barbells will be lined up over the next months.
he gives a rumbling hum of approval, handing the mirror back to you. "yeah, that's good, baby."
and the only thing you see reflected back in the glass is the piss-poor attempt to control your facial expression when those words reach your ears. there's a burning heat spreading across your cheeks as you pick up the hollow needle and barbell from your tray before turning back to sukuna.
"ready?" you check in once more, holding the needle and jewelry up.
he bares his teeth in a quick smile as he nods, "'course i am."
you line up the needle at the base, stabilizing it with your pinky. "deep breath in," you wait til you hear him inhale, doing the same yourself, "aaand breathe out." you press the needle under the skin, swiftly pushing it through, immediately following with the barbell.
sukuna hisses through his teeth, fingers digging into the plush table beneath him. pain sears through him, from the piercing site to the tip of his cock, a sharp sting that fades into a dull throbbing.
you sit back, giving him a moment when you see the furrow in his brow, the way his eyes are shut and his chest is heaving. "you can let me know if you'd like a longer break between them," you offer gently.
his eyelids flutter open, heavy as his gaze slides down to you. there's a faint pink dusting his cheeks, his bottom lip swollen from when you didn't even realize he was biting back a sound he wouldn't dare let out. his expression gives you pause, an unexpected intensity simmering just beneath the surface. he shakes his head lightly before jutting his chin out at you and muttering a "jus' keep goin'."
if you thought the tension was heavy before, it's near suffocating now. you feel dwarfed in your position sitting before him, right between his thighs, face inches from his cock. he's towering above you, body broad overhead as he looks down at you intently. the space between your own legs feels as hot as your cheeks, realization dawning on you that you'd mistaken his expression for discomfort, when what he was feeling was far from it.
swallowing loudly, you nod. you're wiggling awkwardly in your seat as you position yourself once more, trying to ignore the way you can feel your underwear starting to stick to your skin.
you get through two more before stopping, not wanting to do more than three piercings in one session. normally you'd stop at two, but since he really had no issues with the pain, you figured it was alright. not to mention he had the space for them.
while you clean up, sukuna's still sitting on the table, shorts around his thighs as he admires your handiwork in the mirror again. with him distracted, ogling himself, you can finally take a deep breath and try to quell the aching in your core. you've had attractive clients before, but there's something about sukuna. the mutual desire was palpable, and you're going to have to figure out a way to keep yourself in check during the next appointments or he might never get all these piercings done.
"you like them so far?"
sukuna doesn't even look up, eyes still locked on his own dick, "fuck yeah."
you chuckle, amused at how entranced he is by four new additions to his shaft. "alright, sukuna, you can keep staring at your dick when you get home—"
"'m not staring, i'm lookin'," he interrupts, handing the mirror back to you.
"whatever, just put your pants back on."
"you sure you want me to?" he teases, but still his hands reach for his waistband.
"trust me, i'm sure," you mumble, thankful for the fact that your voice didn't waver, fearful of giving away how much of an effect sukuna has on you.
"so mean, baby- ah shit!" he cuts himself off, flinching at the feeling of his briefs pressed snug around his swollen cock. "shoulda worn boxers," he grumbles as he finally gets situated.
you're ringing him up at the front again, giggling quietly under your breath whenever you catch him wincing and adjusting himself out of the corner of your eye. "aw, doesn't feel so good, now?" you coo, eyes running over over his figure, lingering on the slight bulge that remains in his shorts.
sukuna grumbles something incoherent, ears tinted pink and eyes averting to look at something very interesting on the wall.
"so you know the basics, keep it clean, keep it dry—" you're running over the aftercare with him as you two walk out to the parking lot together. "and don't fucking touch it. i'm serious," you add sternly, jabbing a finger into his bicep which he swats away weakly.
"yeah, yeah, i got it woman, y'said that shit twice already."
you raise an eyebrow at his tone, pulling a long sigh from him which you take as an apology— it's probably the best you'll get from the stubborn oaf.
since the beginning, there had been banter between you and sukuna, though you can't help but think about how much you feel like your relationship has evolved in such a short period alone with him. these few hours that you've gotten to spend cooped up together in your little studio have you two acting like old friends as you part ways now— bickering back and forth, laughing lightly.
there's a slight discomfort in your chest when you think about how you likely won't see the pink haired man for the next four months.
and you experience that same feeling at the end of each appointment.
every few months you'll double, triple check that your schedule is clear of all but one client. you'll wear those tank tops that you know sukuna likes, pretending it was all you had left in your closet as you relish in the way he can't stop his eyes from drifting downwards. you'll lead him back to your room, have him plop himself back onto your table and pull his pants down.
and each time, you're left speechless for a few moments. like over the weeks your understanding of his size was diminished, the concept of him was warped with the passage of time to where it feels as though you're seeing him for the first time again.
and he fucking loves it.
that stupid smirk on his face as he lounges like a king, presenting himself before you, his gaze resting lazily on your face— a misrepresentation of how much of his attention you actually have. because the truth is, it's all of it.
the truth is that sukuna is just as affected by you as you are by him. only both of you are too stubborn to address the tension outright.
but you can feel it starting to bubble over. when the room feels too hot to be in despite the air conditioning being on. you can feel it in the silence that followed the first time you pulled his pants down to find sukuna not only hard but leaking.
swollen, mushroom tip sitting stiff and pretty before you and right in the slit it was there— that pearly, translucent bead of precum.
you can feel it in the way your stomach tightens now when your fingers remain wrapped around his cock just moments longer than they need to be— nerve endings firing with each subtle twitch beneath your finger pads.
you can feel the attraction starting to bubble over when you finish the very last piercing, leaning back to see each silver rung decorating his shaft— each one there because of you. because you were the only one he wanted to trust with the delicate task.
the two of you are quieter than usual when you head back to the front counter to take sukuna's final payment. the weight of a million things unsaid filling the silence between you, but neither of you feels the need to speak them aloud. instead, you offer him a free check up appointment four months from now. an appointment you rarely set up in advance with other clients, but one you strongly urge him to make.
you just want to make sure that everything heals properly, that's all!
and he eagerly agrees, ever the dutiful client. he wouldn't want all your hard work to go to waste because of poor piercing maintenance!
so, it's really best that he comes back in four months, say… around 6:00 pm when your coworkers have long gone home. just to make sure everything's looking good.
and those four months were by far the worst. the lingering implications of what your next appointment entailed hanging over both your heads leaving you and sukuna restless. but the waiting was worth it.
it was worth it for the feeling of your body practically buzzing with anticipation as you open your studio this friday at 5:30. you poke your head around, searching for your coworkers. there weren't any cars in the parking lot when you arrived, but sometimes they've been known to take public transport and you want to double check.
you're scurrying around the shop when you hear the bell chime. the soft scrape of the metal door against the floor as it's pushed open. the familiar gruff voice.
"oi— damn, it's cold in here—"
you still in the hallway as your eyes find crimson. sukuna lets the door shut behind him, his gaze raking over you as it always does. only it's slower, like he's deliberately taking his time, re-memorizing each feature, each curve of your figure.
"long time no see," you break the brief silence.
"hey, baby." he's not meeting your eyes yet, still trailing up around your hips, your stomach, your chest. you cross your arms, your signature move when you're feeling impatient with him. finally, he looks at you.
sukuna crosses the room with steady strides to where you're waiting. you can feel your heart rate picking up at the closeness, neck craning slightly to look up at him as he stands before you now. leaning forward, a finger hooks under your chin, tilting your head up further. "miss me?"
you scoff, like he's out of line for asking. like your face isn't burning up at the single touch of his skin against yours. "not even a little bit," you lie, turning your head to the side.
he brings his hand to his chest, scoffing then pouting at you as he straightens up. "well now you're breakin' my heart."
"something tells me you'll be just fine, kuna," you reassure him with a pat on the shoulder, seemingly oblivious to the way your little nickname punched every retort straight out of his head. "c'mon."
sukuna's hesitant when he walks in after you, like he's not sure what to do with himself. this isn't an actual appointment so he doesn't know if he should sit on the table, a chair— should he just stand? he's never found himself in a situation where he felt so out of place, especially despite having been in this exact location several times before with you.
you can tell he's unsure, the sight bringing a soft smile to your lips. the ever cocky ryomen sukuna is suddenly feeling nervous? who would have thought.
"how's it been feeling?" you ask, partially as a way to give him something to talk about, and partially because, well, you do want to know.
sukuna shuffles toward the counter next to you, hip resting against it as he hums, "'s been fine. got used to the healing process after the first time so, wasn't too bad."
"you taking care of them like i told you?" you don't really have any doubts, but figure you should ask anyways.
he scoffs, "course i am, been keepin' 'em squeaky clean."
"good boy," you coo, biting back a laugh at the way he's beet red, grumbling under his breath about how you're an "insufferable woman." he's never had a partner be so forward, so dominant with him.
your hands reach forward, grazing along his waist, fingers dipping slightly beneath the hem of his shorts. your grip the fabric as you push him, guiding him until his lower back is pressing into the counter. "i've still gotta check…" you dip your fingers further, tugging down gently til you see the elastic of his briefs, "make sure you're telling the truth."
sukuna's hands come to grip the counter, knuckles white. you're looking up at him with wide eyes, bullshit innocent look on your face as you sink to your knees, dragging his shorts down with you. "how you plannin' on checkin'?" he breathes, so much blood rushing south from mere words and touches, his cock feeling like it has a heartbeat of its own.
you bring a hand up between his legs, resting over the tent in his underwear. humming like you're mulling over your answer, you palm at his bulge making him exhale a shaky breath. "you're a smart guy, i think you know already."
taking your time, you stretch the fabric away from his hips, finally freeing his stiff cock. you're licking your lips at the way it hangs heavy before your face as you pull his briefs down to his shorts. from where you're perched on your knees you have a perfect view of the underside of his shaft— still veiny and now glinting, light reflecting off the new silver jewelry adorning it.
"fuck, you really made the best choice." the compliment comes easy, rolling off your tongue without needing to think about it because just the sight of him has you rubbing your thighs together, heat starting to pool between them.
"you think so?" sukuna grins, tongue darting out to swipe across his teeth. he brings a hand to your head, patting it twice. "go on, baby, show me ya mean that."
you spit into your palm before reaching for the base, his balls twitching when your warm hand finally wraps around it. sliding up slowly and back down, you smear your spit around the top of his shaft, the tips of your fingers grazing the edge each barbell along the way. sukuna's hand weighs heavy atop your head, stroking lightly, a form of nonverbal praise when your tongue lolls out to swipe up the underside of his cock.
"seem healed?" sukuna grits out through clenched teeth.
your lips press a chaste kiss to his tip before parting, lowering, and enveloping the head. you hum in response, the vibrations paired with the feeling of your tongue flicking against his slit, lapping up his precum making him groan. the sound is deep, rumbling in his chest so loud you think it's the cause of the buzzing in your core.
you pull off of him with a soft pop, a string of saliva connecting your mouth to his tip which your break with a swipe of your tongue across your lips. "feel any pain?" you ask, eyes locked on his as you drag your tongue up the side of the shaft, cool metal balls rolling under the slippery muscle.
sukuna sucks in a breath, fingers digging slightly into your scalp as he shakes his head. you shift, tongue running back down the other side of the ladder, the taste of metal lingering on your tongue even when you pull away. "what about here?"
"nah— feels good," he grunts, pressing down, urging you to return your mouth to him.
you flash him a sly smile, "didn't think those were mutually exclusive for you." sukuna huffs out a short laugh at that, because you're not wrong. he doesn't need to confirm it either— at least not with his words. you lap at the barbell closest to the base, flicking at it with your tongue before drawing it between your teeth and tugging gently. he hisses, his cock twitching in your grasp at the slight sting, and the moan that follows is enough confirmation of his little kink.
pulling on each rung as your tongue climbs back up his ladder, you revel in all the sounds you're able to pull from sukuna along the way. you note the way his gruff moans turn pitchier, louder the harder you tug. but you're tired of teasing him too, wanting to get a real taste of him when your lips part and wrap around his head once more.
"keep goin'— think you can take all of me?" his voice is deep, strained as you start to sink down onto his length, your hot mouth swallowing his length inch by inch. your tongue stays flat along the bottom, running over the jewelry as you force yourself to take him deeper.
you continue pushing him further into your throat, ignoring the way tears are starting to well in your waterline and your jaw is already aching from having to accommodate not just his length but his girth.
"that's it, almost there baby," sukuna reassures you when you start to gag. the tip of his cock is nudging against the back of your throat, saliva pooling in your mouth but you're determined to take him all.
you slide back off of him until just the head rests on your tongue before sinking down once more. repeating the motions over and over, you're bobbing steadily, taking more of sukuna each time until the salty droplets slip past your lashes and drool starts to trickle out the corners of your mouth. until you feel the hair at the base of his cock prickling your nose when you finally manage to stuff his entire length into your tight throat.
"knew you could do it— such a good girl, deep throatin' my cock like a slut," he smirks, the degrading praise reaching your ears like a sweet melody that has your cunt clenching around nothing, slick starting to stain the gusset of your panties. "now suck," he grunts, pulling you off of him harshly before snapping his hips and thrusting back into your mouth.
a muffled whine vibrates around his length as your eyes stare up at him, all watery and desperate as he uses you. your hands fly to his thighs, nails digging into the skin and making him grit his teeth— the pain and pleasure taking him higher.
"mouth feels fuck— fuckin' amazing," sukuna groans, fucking your face faster, harder, despite the way your tears are streaming steadily down your cheeks or the way you're gagging and sputtering around him. but he doesn't slow, taking no pity on you because still, each time he looks down past your needy gaze, he can see the way your knees are rubbing together trying to create a friction you're craving. "god, you love when i use you like this, huh?"
you try to nod, try to moan. but all that you can manage is a pathetic, strangled whimper that gets drowned out by the wet sounds of your mouth slurping around sukuna's cock when you hollow your cheeks. he chuckles, low and mean, sharp canines flashing at you. "come on, baby— shit- why don't ya use your words," sukuna coos, only grinning wider when your glassy eyes narrow at him. "aw, c'mon don' look at me like th—aah fuck-"
a moan is ripped from his lips, interrupting him when you let your teeth ever so slightly graze along the top of his shaft. his whole body is buzzing, the wet heat of your mouth contrasting with the sharp sting of your teeth— you're successfully able to shut him up, save for a slew of curses being the only thing falling from his lips now.
you bring a hand to cup his balls, rolling and tugging on his scrotum, and it's not long before you can feel his cock pulsing on your tongue. you hear his breathing turn ragged, his voice strained and choppy and prepare for him to cum, salty and warm on your tongue. only he doesn't.
a large hand wraps around your nape, fingers squeezing painfully tight as sukuna yanks you off of him in one harsh movement.
you're coughing, rubbing your lips and drying your cheeks with the back of your hand as sukuna stares down at you. now his cock is aching, throbbing from being denied its orgasm but he needs to feel your cunt stretched around him.
your eyes are glued to one another, panting haggardly as you sit in silence catching your breath for just a moment before sukuna pulls you towards him. he's tugging you hard by the back of your neck til you're collapsing into him. hands splayed across his chest, your lips meet in a messy kiss. normally, he would have taken his time, kissed you slow and explored what you liked while his mouth moved with yours— but he can't be bothered. you can't be bothered.
pure hunger fueling your actions as your teeth clash, tongues swiping at each others lips, twirling around one another. sukuna sucks your bottom lip between his teeth, biting down and tugging away before letting it snap back in place. he gauges your reaction, smiling wide and cocky against your mouth when your hands grip his shirt and yank him back down to you.
you return the favor, biting down hard on his lip, sucking it harshly into your mouth before finally letting go leaving it red and swollen. you're moaning into each others mouths, what was already a sloppy make out deteriorating further into a slippery mess of saliva and tongue.
your fingers tighten around the fabric in your grasp as you step backwards, guiding him with you. you're stumbling blind, trying to lead him to your chair though you're not really sure what way to go. you're too addicted to the feeling of his soft lips and the taste of his groans to break away even for a second, and he can't either.
letting you drag him wherever you want, he doesn't think. he doesn't need to, just focuses on ravishing you while you figure out what to do with him.
and then you feel it. the tip of your foot nudging against one of the wheels on your chair, prompting you to spin the two of you around. only then do you separate from sukuna with one last kiss before you shove him backwards making he falls into your chair with a thud.
sukuna's looking up at you now, eyes wide and pupils blown. his hair is a mess and his lips are bruised and glossy, coated in a mix of your spit and his. you can see the flush on his cheeks get darker, his eyelids get heavier as you strip before him.
your fingers grip the hem of your shirt before pulling it over your head and tossing it off to the side. you do the same with your pants. sukuna mimics you, taking off his last article of clothing by discarding his shirt next to yours.
you can't hide the way you're even more entranced by him fully naked now. his abdomen is toned, bulky, his shoulders broad. dark hair sprouts from his chest, a complement to the untrimmed happy trail that leads your eyes back down to his bush which sits around the cock that's now half covered by his hand.
he's stroking himself languidly as your eyes rake over him, a mirror image to the way he's looking at you as you slip your soiled panties down your hips. you can feel the stickiness as the fabric is peeled away, goosebumps peppering your skin when the cool air hits your sex for the first time. kicking the garment away, you bring your hands behind your back to fiddle with the clasp on your bra before that too is forgotten on the floor.
"fuck," sukuna rasps, hand squeezing himself tighter at the sight of you fully naked before him. every inch, every curve is perfect, his eyes thirstily drinking up all of you as you strut towards him.
he spreads his legs wider, both hands reaching out to settle on your waist the second you're in reach. and now he sees them— your own glinting modifications. a simple belly ring catches his attention first, his thumbs rubbing along your skin, massaging your hips as he looks over you.
"when'd ya get these?" he purrs, fingers sliding up your waist, hands coming to cup your breasts. you let out a sigh as he paws at them, groping lightly and you arch into his touch. "fuck, they look good— perfect fuckin' tits."
"got 'em a while a-ah— ago…" calloused fingertips pinch your nipples, rolling them gently. your eyes flutter shut as you move to straddle sukuna, needing to be closer to him, to feel the heat radiating off of his body. his cock is resting against your stomach, settled between your torsos as your legs rest on either side of his.
"yeah?" sukuna asks and you wrap your arms around his neck as you nod in reply. "good." one of his hands comes down hard against your tit, landing across the flesh with a hard smack!
"fuck! kuna," you whine, rolling your hips. his shaft is settled between your folds, your arousal smearing around it and your clit catching on each piercing as you grind down on his lap.
his other hand comes down fast, slapping your other tit. guess he's learned a little something about you too. each hit, each pinch that's a little too harsh, has you getting his cock even wetter, has you humping him even faster. and those sounds— the pretty little moans that fall from your lips, they're even sweeter whenever the rough palm of his hand collides against your supple skin.
"all of you's just perfect, ain't that right?"
the hand still on your ass creeps inward, your body shuddering when you feel a fingertip circling the rim of your asshole. you arch into his touch, whimpering and distracted until—
smack!
you fall forward to bite down on sukuna's shoulder to muffle your cry after he lands another hit to your chest, that one harder than the last.
"asked ya a question— 's rude not to answer," he scolds you, hands rubbing soothingly over your breasts, working to ease some of the pain that's prickling under the skin. "said ain't that right?"
you're nodding fervently, face flushed and beginning to sweat, "y-you're right," you mumble into his neck, exhaling long and slow when he tugs a nipple piercing between his fingertips again.
"good girl," he whispers, head leaning against yours as you kiss down the column of his neck once more. "c'mon," he pats the side of his thigh, "needa feel that pussy, you're leakin' all over me."
you pull back just enough to meet his gaze, a little glint in your eyes that he can't quite place. and then you shake your head, bottom lip tugged between your teeth. "hmm, no."
sukuna's brows furrow and he tilts his head at you. "the fuck you mean 'no'?"
"so rude," you pout, bringing a hand to his cheek, your thumb stroking it lightly. "ask nicely and i might."
"excuse me?" he seethes, eyes narrowing. but you feel the way his cock twitches against your clit, nerves being set alight.
you smack him lightly— a warning and a test— your eyes scanning his face for his reaction. the tips of his ears are pink, his chest rising and falling deeply beneath you. "beg me, kuna. if you want me to fuck you."
you can see the conflict simmering beneath the surface mixed with a blend of arousal and embarrassment. he's mulling over his words, choosing the right action. the silence is starting to stretch and you're starting to get impatient so you roll your hips again, pressing hard along his length.
"please let me fuck you." he mumbles, eyes avoiding yours now.
"you can do better than that," you roll your eyes, hips still moving. you can tell his restraint is slipping, can tell you're close to getting what you want. just a few more grinds, a few more cascades of your fingers through his hair with a pout on your lips and he's folding.
"fucking- please, baby. please fuck me, i need you so badly," he rasps, desperation swimming in his irises.
you squeeze his jaw, forcing his lips apart as you gather your saliva, and then spit directly into his mouth. the glob hits his tongue, warm and mildly salty, a lingering taste of his own pre.
"good boy," you praise, rewarding him with a couple rough pats on his cheek.
"shut up," sukuna grumbles, hands returning to your waist and picking you up. he maneuvers you until you're sitting over his dick, the tip prodding at your dripping entrance. your hands perch on his chest for stability as you two lower your hips down onto him with loud sighs. "oh god— you're tight, loosen up f'me."
"'m tryin'," you whine, wiggling your hips. you're trying to get used to the feeling of his jacob's ladder rubbing against your walls, adding even more to the sensation of him stretching you out.
you're so close, almost to where you'd be sitting with your thighs atop his, and he can't wait any longer. sukuna's hips snap upwards and in one fluid motion he slams your own down onto him, fully sheathing himself inside you. "f-fuck! kuna, oh my god—"
"sorry," he grunts— he doesn't mean it— "couldn't wait, needed to feel this cunt stranglin' me."
your eyebrows knit together in mock irritation. but the truth is, it feels so fucking good to finally be stretched out by him, to finally feel him buried entirely inside you, every inch, every ring.
"just fuckin' sit still," you command, gyrating your hips, rubbing your clit against him. you know he probably wants you to ride him, to lift your hips and smack them back down, fucking yourself onto his cock— but you don't plan on doing that.
you're humping him steadily, each roll of your hips leaving your clit more stimulated, more sensitive. each roll making you wetter, soaking his cock as your arousal leaks out onto the base towards his balls.
"like that?" he whispers, hands finding your ass, kneading the plush fat under his fingers. "just use me— make yourself feel good on me."
"i-i will," you assure, humping him faster. you can feel your stomach getting tighter, the coil in your gut winding up more with every grind and nudge of your clit against his rough skin. "doing s'good for me, kuna."
your hands paw at his chest, your own fingers pinching at his nipples now. you squeeze them tight, tugging and twisting gently, eliciting a quiet moan from sukuna. he shifts, his hips coming up slightly off the chair, trying to match your movements as his finger returns to your ass, this time pressing inside. and in an instant your hand comes down across his cheek with a loud crack!
"i told you— shit- to sit still," you snap, both hands now settling around his neck.
sukuna's eyes are wide, shock coursing through him less from the fact that you slapped him and more from the fact that he fucking loved it. he's never had a partner do half the things that you're doing to him, and he would've never expected himself to be so into it. and still, the sharp impact, your words and the look on your face— he's entirely ready to submit himself to you. for now.
"i know—" sukuna starts, words trailing off when your grip tightens around his windpipe.
"but you d-didn't listen."
you're trying to keep your voice steady, but your encroaching orgasm is dangerously close. you're teetering on the edge of your release and fighting to keep it at bay so you can enjoy this moment just a second longer.
sukuna's face is covered in a sheen of sweat, more than just his cheeks are red now from the lack of oxygen.
you hold on a little more, a little tighter, using his neck to support your body as you chase your high. and then you let go, collapsing into his chest as he breathes deeply once more. he takes the opportunity to pump his finger slowly in and out of your ass, the added pressure making you squirm.
"'m sorry baby," sukuna chokes out, "c'mon cum on me— want you to cum all over my cock, please."
his voice is strained, cracked, his throat dry and sore from your hands. but you can still make out the desperation laced within each word and his pleas are too much.
with one last cry you're shaking— your whole body going limp against him as his hands move to your back to hug you into his chest when your orgasm crashes over you.
"there you go… you did so good, baby."
sukuna's muttering sweet praises into your hair, his hands rubbing gently across your skin as they shift back down to your thighs. you're sitting in your post-orgasm daze, a temporary wave of tiredness coursing through you. it makes it so you're not worried, when maybe you should be, about how sukuna's standing now, still buried deep inside you and carrying your body with him as he walks across the room.
until you feel the rough wall pressed up against your back. your feet are dangling, legs locked in the crooks of sukuna's arms so your thighs are being pushed into your chest now.
your eyes find his, being met with a sudden intensity, a sneer on his lips. "had fun back there?"
fuck.
you nod meekly.
"yeah? had fun smackin' me around and chokin' me out?"
you swallow loudly.
"say it."
"i d-did— aah-kuna!"
a hand snaked out from under your leg to rip across your face, the force sending your head snapping to the side. "you like that?" he growls, pinching your cheeks and making you look at him again. "pussy's clampin' down around me— dirty girl."
and then he's fucking into you. sukuna sets a ruthless pace, giving you no time to ease back into it after your first orgasm, primarily concerned with his own now.
"sukun-ah! shit— slow down-" you whine, the abrupt acceleration leaving you overstimulated. you're wiggling your hips, but whether it's to try and get away or fuck yourself down onto him— you're not even sure.
it's overwhelming. each thrust stretching out your gummy walls in a way you haven't felt before, each piercing scraping along the inside of your cunt.
"nah, fuckin' take it—" he slaps you once more, hard and fast before his lips crash down onto yours in a hungry kiss. he's swallowing your whines, moaning into your mouth in response.
every part of him is all consuming, the man you though you'd had a hold on suddenly reminding you exactly how much control you really have.
"god, you know how long i wanted this? wanted to see you fall apart on my cock?"
you whimper, shaking your head as tears return to your lash line after a particularly hard thrust.
"couldn't even jack off n' think about you— y'know how hard that was?"
"mmhm…" you sniffle, head falling back against the wall.
large, thick fingers splay across your throat, digging into your neck. "no, you don't," he spits, "don't even have your clit pierced— never had to go months without gettin' off after having a pretty slut handling you."
you try to choke out an apology but his grip tightens cutting you off. "spoiled brat."
sukuna's voice has a dangerous edge, one that makes your stomach flip and your core burn hot once more. you know he can feel the way your cunt is fluttering around his length, his hips stuttering for just a moment.
and that spurs him on. every bit of confirmation that you're just as needy, just as depraved as he is leaves him wanting even more from you. his muscles are aching, already pushing himself to his limit and still he finds the energy to move faster, deeper. he has the energy to make sure that every. single. thrust. has him balls deep, the tip of his cock kissing your cervix.
"o-oh god, oh god, kuna—" your moans are getting louder, head falling forward now onto him.
"gonna fuckin' cum again? god, you're greedy," he groans, like he isn't overcome with pride that he's coaxing a second orgasm out of you already.
"s-sorry!" you whine against him, your saliva and tears starting to wet his skin.
"don' apologize," he grits, both hands back on your ass for leverage as he ruts into you with a carnal desire, "thank me." he punctuates his command with a merciless smack to one of your cheeks, the pain making you cry out.
"thank you, thank you, thank you!" you sob, your climax being ripped from you with an unexpected force. your teeth sink into his shoulder, the taste of copper starting to trickle into your mouth.
you can hear sukuna hiss above you, his fingernails digging into your flesh. his pace falters one last time before he slams you back onto him and holds you there, pressing you tight between his body and the wall.
"fuuuck— you're perfect, baby-"
his cock twitches, pulses before you feel his seed spurting inside you— sticky, white ropes of cum paint your poor, abused walls. you're lapping at his shoulder, soft kitten licks to soothe the minor injury you caused as he fills you to the brim.
you don't need to look to know that his release is starting to leak out around his base, a mix of both of your spend seeping onto his balls.
sukuna's gentle as he handles you now. cradling you close to his body, the sweat and heat serving as a comfort for you as he sits back down on the chair with you in his lap. he's still plugging you up, just letting you sit there soaking him as his cock starts to soften inside you.
you're pressing kiss after kiss to his neck, collarbones, jaw, cheeks, as he rubs your back and massages your thighs.
"you really are fuckin' perfect," he pants, his exhaustion catching up to him.
"you too, baby," you mumble tiredly, missing the smile that graces his lips at the nickname.
"so… all healed i'm assuming?"
you giggle at that. "you're an idiot."
"and you're mean," he shoots back playfully, "can't believe i was gonna ask you out after this."
likes, comments, reblogs always appreciated ! i have more works here ♡
A/N: i hope you guys enjoyed reading this as much as i enjoyed writing it! sorry for any mistakes editing long fics is hell
Desperate times call for desperate measures. I NEED TO FIND THIS LANDO NORRIS FIC PLSSSS. ITS SET ON KINGS DAY WHEN HE WAS ON THE BOAT AND LIKE BASICALLY READER LIKE CANT FIND HER FRIEND LIKE WAS ON A DIFFERENT BOAT SND SHE NEEDED TO CHARGE HER PHONE SO SHE LIKE FOUND A PLACE BY LANDO (she didn't know who he was) AND LIKE THEYRE BITH DRUNK ANS LIKE TALK TO EACHOTHER AND SHE PUTS ON LIPGLOSS AND THEY LIKE MAKEOUT. PLSSSSSS I NEED TO FIND IT 🙏😭🙏😭🙏😭🙏
Fandoms stopped being a fun escape from reality when people started spreading the belief that you should prioritize purity over pleasure and the art you create must be a reflection of your moral standards at all times.
Casually mentioning being watched could be hot and oscar arranging for Lando to watch the both of you as a birthday treat.
warnings: exhibition, voyeurism, lando has a gay awakening😭, unprotected piv (just wrap it mate), oral (f&m receiving), rough sex, reverse cowgirl, dacryphilia
Oscar didn’t go out often, but when he did, you were sure to take advantage of it.
The congested crowds, loud music, people too engrossed in their own conversations to pay attention to what was going on around them. It all made it too easy for you to rile Oscar up, get him all hot and bothered so by the time you make it back to the hotel, he’s handling you like a rag doll.
This time, you were standing with your back to his chest. Your ass purposely rubbed against his crotch, and you could feel him grow harder with every sway of your hips. His hands found your curves there, halting your motions. He lowered his lips to your ear. “Lando’s watching.” He muttered.
Sure enough, lando stood with Alex and George across the room, pretending to nod along to their conversation. Unfortunately for him, his wandering eyes weren’t very secretive.
Nor was the tent in his dress pants.
You bit your lip, looking over your shoulder. “I think he’s rather enjoying the show.” You pointed out.
But Oscar didn’t notice Lando’s excitement at the scene. That was thrown to the back of his mind when you ground your ass against him harder than you had previously. “I think you’re enjoying his gaze.” He chuckled.
Spinning on your heels, you faced him now, arms tightening around his neck. “Hm, I don’t know.” You shrugged, pulling him down to whisper in his ear. “I think being watched could be hot.”
When you pulled away, he laughed at the wicked smirk on your face. His gaze flicked from your eyes to Lando. Oscar could tell the older man was now trying desperately to not turn his gaze back in the direction of the couple.
“You’ve got a dirty mouth on you.”
“Even dirtier mind.”
The hotel door was thrown open. It hadn’t even clicked closed before Oscar pounced on you. “Happy birthday,” he rasped into your mouth, swallowing the moans that escaped you when he squeezed your ass.
“Thanks, winner.” You grinned, hands trailing under his shirt before you pulled it over his head with a practiced ease. He cocked his head at that, hands on your hips, taking control easily. Your legs hit the bed, falling to the mattress with a gracious ease, hair splayed like a goddess. A ravenous groan vibrated his chest while his hands snaked under your dress to curl his fingers around your lacy panties. He didnt need to ask questions, you were already moaning in anticipation, “please, Osc I need you so bad.”
He chuckled, shoving the dress over your head, but taking his sweet time to pull your panties down your legs. He couldn’t help the moan that left his lips at how wet you were.
“Please,”
He didn’t make you wait any longer, dipping his head between your legs. The usual teasing kisses to your folds was skipped and he dove his tongue right into you. “Oh, fuck!” You shouted, shocked at the intrusion.
Like a lion starved, he devoured you from the inside out. The air was filled with the sounds of his slick while he messily ate you out and sucked on your clit like it was his own personal lollipop. Your hands thread through his hair, back arching off the bed, hips grinding against his face. “Fuck, you’re so good a this,” you gasped, trying—and failing—to catch your breath.
His hands found purchase in your thighs, fingertips digging into the skin there. “Osc! I’m so close! Please-“ you gasped, the both of you pausing at the knock on the door.
Pulling away, Oscar’s mouth and chin were coated in your juices while he grinned at you. He wiped his face with his middle two fingers before slipping them into his mouth an sucking them clean, all while keeping his eyes on yours.
A loud whine escaped you involuntarily. You shooed him off to the door when there was another knock, then scrambled up the bed, legs curled to your chest in an attempt to cover your most intimate parts.
Lando stood in front of a shirtless Oscar, looking uncharacteristically nervous. “I heard you already started.” He attempted to ease his own nerves by getting Oscar to laugh. For Lando’s sake, thank god he did.
“Yeah, come in.”
Your brows furrowed hearing Oscar’s words, scrambling for the sheets. They were tucked in place, leaving you vulnerable to the lustful gaze of your boyfriend’s partner.
“Lando-“ your eyes searched the room for an answer.
Oscar graced you with one. “You said you thought it would be hot, so…” he gestured to Lando, “happy birthday.”
“Are you both okay with this?”
The older man groaned, his eyes hadn’t left your partially exposed pussy. “Fuck yes.” He gasped, jumping to the bed and trying to crawl up it to get a taste of you.
Your foot hit his chest, keeping him at a distance. At the same time, it exposed more of you to him and the boy fucking whined like a wounded puppy, palming himself through his pants.
Oscar grabbed him by his collar, effortlessly removing him from the bed. “I said you could watch. Not join.” He booted him off to the couch adjacent to the bed. It was a perfect view.
You sat for a moment, pitying the fool. “Perhaps if he’s good?”
Scoffing, he shook his head. Not a disagreement, but bewilderment. “You’re a filthy girl.”
“I think you secretly love it.” You whispered against his lips before kissing him. It was messy, all teeth and tongue and filthy moans.
You were distracted, and he took the opportunity to stuff two of his fingers into your crying cunt. You cried out as his long fingers repeatedly slam into your g-spot. “Fuck, fuck,” you panted, gripping onto his arms. “Hmmm! I’m gonna-!”
He moaned as he felt your liquids gush all over his fingers, your back arching off the bed while your mouth hung open in a silent scream.
One hand of his continued to pump inside you, slowing, helping you come down. The other ran up and down your side, soothing you. “That’s it,” he encouraged, soft kisses finding your face.
He let you come back down to earth before flipping you over, mangling your body into reverse cowgirl. “Look at him,” Oscar muttered in your ear, his hand steady on your jaw. At who? You’d almost asked before your eyes found Lando. You forgot he was there. “Look at how bad he wants to join, how hard he’s gripping that couch. God, his knuckles are turning white.” His teeth grazed your ear. “Bet you want him to join, huh? Show me what a filthy girl you really are, how much of a slut you can be.”
You whimpered, feeling his hard dick pressing into your clit. “Please, Oscar,” you breathed, head lulling back to rest on his shoulder.
“Yeah? Want him to fuck you in front of me?”
You shook your head quickly. “Want you.”
Holy fuck, Lando’s brain was going crazy. He didn’t know what to focus on. The curve of your tits, how perky and on display they were for him—that was the obvious answer. But fucking hell, the way Oscar spoke to you in that low voice and commanded your attention so easily, that really seemed to do something to him.
Oscar didn’t wait for you to beg any more, lifting your hips and slamming you down onto his cock. “Oh, fuck!” You gasped, eyes rolled to the back of your head at the sudden intrusions
“Cmon baby, you want it?”
You nodded.
“Then take it.”
You tried to, you really did. Tried to bounce on his dick and show him that you were only a slut for him. But your attempts were feeble, too clouded by the pleasure—you just couldn’t get more than a few bounces in before stopping because it felt too good.
“Already fucked out and you’ve only cum on my fingers.” He feigned sympathy.
Hands gripping your hips, he took control. The speed at which he was forcing you to ride him made it evident he didn’t care about prolonging the pleasure. He just wanted to see how quick he could make you break.
It was a welcome switch up from his usual form in bed. He tended to be more gentle, favoring to make it feel more like a connection than a simple pleasure escapade.
He let your body drop, propping your ass up and fucking you from behind. He used your hips as leverage, pumping his cock into you like you were merely an object for his enjoyment. Gasps and moans of his name were the only coherent noises you could make.
It felt heavenly, and tears started to brim your eyes. Moans were punched from your lungs with every harsh thrust of his.
Lando—forgotten about by you, but not by Oscar—was fully losing it. He couldn’t stop squirming. He should’ve looked away, spared himself some of the torture. But he couldn’t. And truthfully, he was beginning to question himself. He didn’t know if he’d rather be in Oscar’s position, or yours.
“Touch yourself.” Oscar commanded of him.
He didn’t need to be told twice. He shoved his pants down his feet, along with his boxers. A shuttered moan left his lips as he wrapped his hand around the base of his cock. “Fuck,” he whispered, matching the fisting of his cock to the pace of Oscar’s thrusts. He was losing himself quickly, his moans mixing with yours and Oscar’s grunts and the lewd wet squelches.
God, if anyone were to walk by…
A new sound joined the symphony—a choked cry, followed by a desperate plea of Oscar’s name.
Lando gripped his cock harder at the sight of tears rolling down your face.
Scared he’d hurt you, Oscar slowed down. “No!” You interjected quickly. “Don’t stop, I’m so close!” You balled the sheets up in your fist as Oscar’s thrusts sped up again. His hand snaked down to your clit, fingers pressing hard and rubbing in tight circles. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, please Oscar!” You cried, feeling his full fingernails dig into the skin of your hip.
Your eyes focused on lando, then trailed lower, lower until-
“Oh, fuck! Oscar, yes!” You came with a shout, the sight of Lando getting himself off to your activities pushing you over the edge.
Oscar spilled inside of you as soon as he felt you squeeze around him. He groaned your name, the loudest sound of the night. He fucked through your highs until he heard your little whimpers of overstimulation. He was careful when pulling out, planting soft kisses up the curve of your spine. “Did so good for me, my pretty baby.” He muttered into your skin, earning a soft mewl.
Across the room, Lando was still trying to reach his own orgasm, whimpering with each stroke of his own hand. He was desperate for it, you could hear it in his noises, and see that in the way his head was thrown back and his eyes were squeezed shut.
When Oscar stepped out of the room to retrieve a towel, you crawled from the bed. You stopped right in front of Lando, on your knees. He hadn’t noticed you.
Your boyfriend returned and you gave him the widest, biggest doe eyes you’d ever given him. “Os,” you whined, pouting.
Lando’s eyes shot open. He hadn’t even known you were there—lips inches from his leaking tip—until you’d spoken.
“Go on, help him out.” Oscar gestured.
You gave your doe eyes to Lando while you wrapped your lips around the tip of his cock. “Huh, fuck,” he groaned, involuntarily thrusting into your mouth.
“Nah uh, let her do the work.” Oscar instructed, nodding to where you were now bobbing your head up and down his length. Still giving him those big glassy eyes. Oscar sat next to Lando.
The older man was approaching his peak quick, faster than he’d ever before. “Fucking hell, she’s good.”
Oscar chuckled, “I know. Who do you think taught her?”
What a stupid question, lando thought—only because it put an equally stupid image in his head: Oscar sucking him off instead.
“Oh!” Lando shouted, spilling his release down your throat without warning. He wasn’t even thinking, and grabbed hold of Oscar’s throat, kissing him.
Your brows shot up, moaning around Lando dick at the sight. You felt him soften in your mouth, releasing him with a pop. You giggled at the stunned look on both men’s faces.
“Mate I’m not-“ Oscar started.
“No, no I know.” Lando interjected. “I think I’m into guys.” He confessed, panting.
You hid your giggle behind your hand—albeit, not that well. “You think?”
thinking about sitting in shane’s lap at night after getting a little tipsy, slowing unbuttoning his shirt and giggling between leaving kisses on his chest. having his tauntingly ask something like “you think you can handle all this, kid?”
everyone else had gone to bed, one by one getting up from around the campfire and wandering off to their tents as the night went on. maybe they were sleepy, or perhaps they were growing increasingly more uncomfortable around the ‘situation’ between you and shane.
everyone felt it— hell, a few weeks with the man and they already knew what he was like. stories on stories of his experiences with women, and now something new had caught him eye. something younger, something he hadn’t had before.
you were hardly deterring it, walking around camp in tiny denim shorts that he swore grew shorter every time he saw you. it was sad really, such a young sexy body gone to waste with the world going to shit. you were a tease, finding any excuse to touch him, flirt with him, hang off his arm. you pushed, and he pushed back — until your designated seat was his thigh.
“hm, just us…alone…” you giggle, a little tipsy from having swigged at his beer bottles all night. he huffs out a lazy smirk, leaning back in his seat.
“you’re trouble, y’know that? i was a cop.” he teases, matching your amusement with his expression as he eyes you, all scantily clad on his lap.
“did you keep the handcuffs?” you blink at him innocently as you walk your fingers up the buttons along his chest, casually undoing a couple in your path, causing the man to wince and adjust his hips subtly beneath you. it seemed the apocalypse was leaving everyone that little more deprived.
“‘sure i can find some sweetheart. tick that off your bucket list.” he gives your hips a squeeze. “pro’lly for another day though. getting pretty late and girls like you need your beauty sleep.” his eyes flutter when you dip down, dragging your pillowy lips along his hairy chest, pressing kisses to the hot tanned skin.
“mm… i’m not tired… i wanna play…” you peer up at him, testing the waters and he ticks his jaw, practicing the last of his self restraint. shane lets out a tense chuckle, pulling away slightly.
“yeah uh, i’m not sure you can handle all that, kid.”
your hand slides between your bodies before cupping the bulge through his jeans, a shaky gasp leaving your own lips as you flutter your best doe eyes at him.
“didnt you say you’d be more than happy to teach me stuff?” you whisper, paraphrasing his promise from a prior conversation. shane meant how to shoot a gun, or catch frogs — but shit, he didn’t have the restraint to deny you of this.
Simon has a very complicated relationship with sex and love, and because of all of his childhood trauma I imagine he often feels he isn't deserving of pleasure. He still craves it, however, so his solution to not feel like an imposter in his own body is have someone treat him with disdain while they make him feel good. Here's Simon with his regular dominatrix because I said so
CW: bdsm, bondage, dom/sub dynamic with him being sub, reader is a professional dominatrix, degradation, humiliation, orgasm denial, foot/footwear stuff that can be seen as light cock and ball torture, masturbation, self loathing, slapping, pegging, use of 'mistress', and handjob. Nsfw MDNI or I will smite you
The ride back home is the same every time.
Price can’t stop talking about how excited he is to see the missus and his kids. Might have to put another one in ‘er, he’ll joke, and everyone will laugh like it’s their first time hearing it.
Gaz can’t stop showing everyone pictures of his new niece. It was starting to seem like his family was just pumping babies out by the dozen. Everyone squeals and hunches over his phone and sighs dreamily like teenagers watching sappy movies.
Soap can’t stop talking about what bar he’s looking to scout out. Conquer, is the word he uses, Simon believes. Everyone’ll listen to him, cheer him on, and go back to thinking about their own life.
Ghost? He has his phone in his hand, tucked away in some faraway corner of the helo.
We still on for tonight? The text shoots to you. He knows you’re not gonna reply.
That’s all the confirmation he needs.
The depraved routine is the same every time, too.
He sits, foot tapping patiently against the wooden floorboards of his flat. He doesn’t have anything else to do, and you have still an entire hour to show up.
He’d get drunk, as per his usual, but he needs to stay sober for this. You’d caught the faintest breath of whiskey on him once, and left without a word. He hadn’t even been tipsy.
The bell startles him awake. His vision swims, the room a blur of shadow and light. A sticky line of drool clings to his cheek—he wipes it away, cursing under his breath.
He rushes to the door, sparing one last ruffle to his hair before opening.
“Hey,” he says, face as warm as it can get. The smallest hint of a lopsided smile graces his features as he steps to the side to let you in.
“The usual?” you ask, duffel bag slung down your shoulders.
He nods, hands shoved in his pockets.
//
He lays on his bed, bare body sprawled out like a starfish on the reef. The ceiling has tiny cracks in it. If he squints he can count them properly.
You call from the closet, part of your voice lost in the wood. “Green is?”
“Go.” His chest rises and falls heavy with his bated breaths.
“Yellow?”
“Less.” He brushes away a strand of strawy hair fallen astray.
“And red?”
“Stop.”
“Good boy.”
His hands are diligently tucked on his chest. He doesn’t want to start today off on the wrong note.
Although… you are taking a long time—long enough for his mind to wander, for temptation to creep in, for the idea of punishment to become something tantalising rather than foreboding.
And discipline? He’s never been one to turn it down.
His fingertips roll lazily over the tip of his cock, already moist with leaking arousal. He strings his lower lip between his teeth, trying to keep silent while you prepare in his closet. His eyes roll backwards.
Just a few seconds can’t hurt, he tells himself. Few seconds turn into a few minutes of his fingers stroking the skin. A crooked smile spreads across his features at the relief he administers to himself.
The sound of a door opening jolts him out of his daze.
“Touching yourself?”
He gulps, erection twitching of itself at the cold voice you’ve put on now. “… yes.”
Misbehaving is bad. Lying about it is worse.
He’s gonna pick his battles.
“Yes… what?” You saunter closer. The light overhead falls on the latex corset you’re wearing, shiny and glossy.
"Yes, mistress." His voice is barely more than a whisper, thick with need. Wide eyes, nose flushed red—he looks wrecked already.
Your features soften imperceptibly, distant eyes glaring at his glistening fingertips. “Tsk. Left alone too long, and you start thinking for yourself again, huh?”
His brows knit together, head shaking eagerly. His voice is timid, soft. “No, no, mistress. I… I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.”
The lush feather of your crop brushes against his jaw. “That’s not good enough.”
His lips thin, eyes pressed shut. “I’m sorry, mistress.” A tight coil curls deep inside his belly, low and churning.
“Look at you,” you murmur, tilting his chin up like you’re inspecting something fragile and broken. “Didn’t even touch you properly, and you’re already shaking. That’s just sad.” A white-hot flame pricks at his skin at the sound of it, his hands flexing to touch his aching arousal. “You know what I have to do, don’t you?”
He nods slowly, expression anguished as he lays back down.
Your hand caresses his features with a gentleness contrasting your persona starkly. Almost a reminder of sorts, that he can stop this anytime he wants. The sharp scent of latex hangs between you—rubber and something faintly chemical, clinging to the warmth of your skin.
“If you want to be forgiven,” he hears the soft thump of ropes from the far side of the room, “you’ll have to earn it.”
“Yes, mistress.”
“Hands.” He jerks upright, holding his hands out behind his back. He feels the jute, the roughness of ropes against his wrist, your hands making dexterity of securing them.
He looks at you, eyes wet and lips parted, as you bring the satin blindfold closer to him. You put your knee on his thigh, mesh threads stretching over his bare skin. You tie it languidly, and his vision is now shadows and lights through black fabric.
“Kneel.”
He slides himself off the bed, feeling the cold wooden floor on his knees.
The cold bite of your heel grazes the fine hairs on his thigh, a slow, taunting ascent toward where he aches for relief. His breath shudders, a broken sound escaping him as it finally—finally—presses against him. His head drops forward, mouth parted against your stomach, the heat of his breath spilling over your skin. His nose presses against the latex like some lost thing—scent filling his lungs like a new-filled balloon stretched too thin.
You yank his head back by the hair, and he lets out the smallest, most pitiful noise—something caught between a gasp and a whimper. He’s not even trying to fight it. If anything, he’s leaning into it, like a dog desperate to be handled.
Your heel intently presses down on his arousal, drawing yet more whines out of him. His thighs quiver with the pressure of it all, wrists rubbing against the rope in a weak attempt to break free.
“You like that, baby?”
He nods, eyebrows creased in a furrow. He can feel a cold sweat breaking out on his skin.
A jarring slap lands to the side of his face. “Use your words.”
“Yes, yes, mistress,” he pants. “I like it.” He squirms, wrists twisting uselessly against the ropes, his muscles coiled tight with anticipation.
“You want it?”
He nods frantically—too fast, too eager. He looks ridiculous, sitting there with his cock leaking onto his own stomach, breath coming out in little gasps. “Please, mistress. Please, I need—”
“‘Please, I need—’” you mock, a cruel imitation of his pitiful, wobbly voice. “Christ. You can’t even get a proper sentence out, can you?”
Your heel presses against his cock again, a little twist into the skin. His hips jerk up, needy and automatic and helpless.
“Fucking pathetic.”
You press down harder, a choked moan slipping loose from his throat, neck pulsing in the effort to keep upright. You release your foot, and he falls limp against the bed. His shoulders shudder with need, completely at your mercy.
“On the bed.”
He picks himself up off the floor, body a thousand kilos. He wobbles as he sits back down, head tilted upwards to where he can make out your silhouette.
Your hand runs along his cheek, his face instinctively leaning into your touch like an iron to lodestone. “Look at you… just lettin’ me use you like this, aren’t you?”
He gulps, tempest of pride and submission warring inside him. “Yes, mistress.” You nudge him further back, pushing him down until he’s lying again on the mattress.
“You gonna be a good boy for me, Riley?”
“Yes, mistress.” He flips around, face down, bed creaking with disdain. His nose and lips smush against the comforter, muscles tense with anticipation.
He feels the cold tingle of lubrication rub on his plucked hole, strangled whimper falling from his lips. It’s been too long.
“I’m doing you a favour, you know,” you bite, “you should thank me.”
“Thank you, mistress— oh, God,” he breathes, face flush with sensation as you push your finger in. It curls and hooks to much resistance in his spongy walls. His legs kick up, feeling the full weight of you straddling the back of his thighs. His hands move upwards too, chafe of the rope stinging his skin.
Your free hand splays across the space between his shoulder blades, brushing him calm like livestock. Your finger continues thrusting inside him, cold gel adding and quelling the friction. He feels full, stretched, and you’ve only put in one digit.
A shiver runs along his spine when you put in another one, gently coaxing him to open up further. Your two fingers piston in and out of him, dragging deliciously along his walls. His head falls and rises with each movement, body curling and arching.
“Turn around,” your voice commands, sharp sting overcoming his senses when your fingers pull out of him. He can feel a gaping void.
He obeys nonetheless, wriggling and twisting like a fish out of water until he’s flat on his back. His cock twitches before falling back against his stomach.
The first touch of your palm over his tip is like heaven. No place for a man like him. Your other hand wraps around his throat, fingers pressing at the congregations of nerves below his ears. His moans are strangled, muffled as you stroke him slowly.
“I want to play a game,” you say, fingertips lightly running over the length of him. “The counting game.”
“Yes, mistress,” he manages, voice riddled with cracks and shakes.
Your hand wraps around him now, tightening in its grip—firm like a snake around youngling.
“Start,” you say, hand assuming a steady pace in its ministrations. It slides over with a lewd squelch with each stroke, a mix of the beads of his pre and your lubrication.
“One, two, three,” he breathes, chest rising and falling heavy with strained breaths, “four, five, six…”
“Switch.”
“Five, oh,” his eyes roll back as you squeeze his scrotum, balling it in your fist, “four, three, two…”
“Switch.” You take your hand off his throat, using both now.
“One, two, three, fou— oh, oh, fuck,” he pants as he feels your hands stretch him apart in different directions at the same time, skin pulled taut, “six, seven,” he continues, eyes pressed shut.
“Uh-uh,” you tut, and he immediately feels a cold chill run down his neck.
“Four, five, five, please, oh,” his head presses back into the mattress, hips thrusting into your hand.
You land a sharp slap to his shaft, broken moan falling from his mouth. His voice rises in pitch with the building crescendo in his guts.
“I’m sorry, mistress, please, I’m sorry,” he begs, pathetic and at your disposal completely.
Your hand continues stroking him, low hum on your tongue. “You’ve been good enough today… I might let it slide.”
The breath that escapes him is like an elixir, bringing him back to life. His toes curl as you continue your movements, pace quickening as the coil in his belly tightens. A burst of light flares within his deepest corners, blinding and beautiful.
His body squirms beneath your touch, groans and barely held back cries escaping his throat.
His orgasm crashes over, pulling everything under with a force too powerful to fight, leaving only the echo of its roar as the waves recede.
He pants heavy as your weight lifts off him, viscous beads of release rolling down his belly. His cock spurts and twitches, letting out the last of his climax.
//
“Should’ve gone through about now,” he says, looking up from the bank app on his phone. You’re back to your normal attire again, dropping the towel you had used to gingerly clean him up back onto his bed.
“Alright, great,” you say, zipping your duffel shut. “Any notes?”
He shakes his head, hands fisting in his pockets. He could never have notes.
You smile, slight hesitation slipping through the cracks of your facade. “Okay. Until next time, Simon.”
The way you say his name has him wanting to fall to his knees again, worship you the way he had just done not minutes ago.
But it’d be different.
And he doesn’t know if he can handle different.
Tenderness like that could break a man like him, in ways he’s not ready for.
As you’re walking out the room, you turn back. “Hey, how was, uh… deployment?”
He isn’t caught off guard anymore. He knows this is more than just some… service. It’s a mutual understanding.
“Fine, yeah. Uneventful.”
“That’s good,” you nod, seemingly genuinely interested. If only held at bay by your sense of professionalism, and to some extent—he’s grateful for it. There’s a beat of hesitation in your stature before you step closer to him, hand resting gently on his cheek. Juxtaposition to your brashness before. “Take care of yourself, Simon.”
His jaw tightens, eyes burning with the promise of tears. He whispers, quiet and small, “Okay.” The quiver in his voice betrays his fear of losing the fragility you’ve built.
Your features soften. It’s scary, a raw and vulnerable quality to it he isn’t quite ready to explore the implications of. “Okay.”
[30.2k]
Pairing | Jack Hughes x afab!reader
Summary | how does one guy go from wanting everything to do with someone, to nothing at all? Jack didn’t know what he wanted until he started losing to Trevor, but maybe that was a good thing.
Warnings | 18+ smut, childhood friends to lovers, angst, jealousy, fluff, swearing, grumpy x sunshine-ish, underage drinking, mention of mildly-dysfunctional family, hickeys, backshots, mild choking, masturbation implication, praise kink, hair pulling, making out, protected p in v, pet names (angel, sweetheart)
Authors Note | this is my first Jack fic please bear with🫶. Another slow burn, sorry. This is a work of fiction, please remember that my dudes
♫ the spins - mac miller
[small worlds masterlist]
Jack's heart stopped and he gulped. Never in his thirteen years of living had he come face to face with someone whose stare was more bone-shaking than his older brother, Quinn's. He'd never felt apprehensive about someone else, hockey eliminated that the moment he learnt to skate as a small child. Y/n L/n had been in every class of his since he could remember. In the frozen suburbs of Toronto, she lived a few houses away from his, took the same bus and could only recall two occasions where he’d seen her smile: with her friends at lunch and watching guys like him suffer misfortune. Then they were project partners for their literature class, and neither had been too pleased with the decision.
Jack slid into the empty seat next to her with a grin smeared across his face and a chewed pen between his fingers. His nerves hadn't dissipated as he had hoped, the neat formatting of her notes and their quality only made his heart pound harder. Her face didn't move but her eyes scanned his face, finishing with a stone gaze into his pretty, blue eyes. That was one thing she had to give him, his eyes were beautiful, vibrant and lined with long, thick lashes that she wished she had.
“Do you like literature, y/n?” he asked. He had far too much confidence in himself, an ego some would say. He was used to people just agreeing and following him like a prince, bowing at his words. The girls would fawn and twirl their hair, the guys dying to hang out with him. Jack was popular because he was charming, friendly and social. But he was also a teenage boy, so the world was also his territory, and everyone was just in it.
“Yes.” She squinted cautiously, grip on her pen tightening.
“Perfect! How about you do the parts you're good at, and I do the speaking? Does that sound good?”
“Sounds like a ‘get out of jail free card’, Jack. We're splitting it fifty-fifty. Drop it and let's start brainstorming.” She spat, opening his notebook for him and refusing to drop her glare.
He groaned, slamming his head onto the desk. “What do you mean ‘drop it’? Drop what? My pants? Because I didn't know you were that kinda gal-”
“-The act, Mr. Eighty-Percent Average Score. I want a good grade and you're a hockey player, you need good grades, or you'll be benched, right?” She deadpanned and started jotting down ideas in her notebook. Sometimes having a troublesome brother in hockey had benefits, but most of the time it didn’t.
“How did you…huh? How do you know that? Did Quinn tell you that? That little rat-” he jolted when her palm slapped the back of his head, not hard but enough to get him to shut up.
“What was that for? All right Sunshine, what is your problem?”
Her hand grabbed the collar of his burgundy hoodie, a fire burning in her eyes as she seethed. “My problem is some of us don't have set futures and need school, Hughes. So shut up, do as you're told and let's get this project over with so we can both go back to enjoying our lives. And get this idea that you call the shots here just because you're popular out of your head. You're no more special than anyone else while at school."
She let go and leant back, returning to her notes as if nothing had happened. Jack didn't adjust his collar. He didn't laugh, cry or yell. His cheeks burned pink with wide eyes, and his stomach doing flips. If he could replay that moment again, he would. No one had spoken to him like that before, not even his family. She was out for his blood. Some of his friends would call her unpleasant, others would disagree and say that Jack was lucky to be partnered with someone as cool as her, someone who didn’t take shit from people and got things done. They’d grown up in the same schools, of course, he’d heard the stories about y/n being voted ‘most fearless’ because she wasn’t afraid of having a backbone or watched her hit another girl because she stole her friend’s juice box. She wasn’t unpleasant, Jack would’ve done the same, and that’s why he wasn't even angry, but his respect for her peaked and intrigue bursting at its seams. But the guilt lingered. His first ever proper interaction, conversation with just the two of them (aside from small talk over the years) and he may have just fucked everything up when they were supposed to get along and cooperate. But why did he feel guilty.
“Do you hate me?” he blurted out quietly, watching her pause mid-sentence. If she was out for his blood, what did he do that was so bad? Or what had she heard?
“No,” she turned her head to face him, “I have no reason to hate you…yet. You're just annoying and stupid if you think I’ll let you sit back while I do this alone. We're doing our presentation on symbolism, by the way.”
“Am not, control freak,” he grumbled, muscles relaxing at the fact he wasn't rejected, God forbid he was rejected by someone cool, that would be embarrassing. He pulled his seat in and started copying the notes she'd scribbled for him, “but yes ma'am.”
*
Maybe some people aren’t meant to be. Not even as friends. After almost getting choked on Monday, Jack hadn’t learnt much from his experience. On Tuesday he spilt water over y/n’s notes, and while he profusely apologised, he was punished with silent treatment and no guidance on their project. Wednesday, she had sought him out over lunch, hoping to retrieve the notes he borrowed but as she found him at his locker, he slammed the door into her face on accident and the only thing he could do after that was slam his head into the wall, repeating ‘idiot’ to himself. But Thursday was the worst. The winters were vicious in Toronto, so attempting to navigate the ice was a task. Fortunately, the school set grit over the concrete, but over time the snow would deflate into sludge as everyone trampled over it. Y/n had been carefully making her way to the bus, trying to work with the crowd and not slip in front of everyone. Jack was late, in too much of a panic to be thoughtful. He just didn’t want to be late for hockey practice. Without looking, he’d stormed through the crowds and shoved past y/n, but he tripped and took her down with him, the pair tumbling into the sludge, soaking wet and cold through their clothes. When Jack realised who it was screaming ‘asshole!’ at him shooting daggers into his soul, he learned that his coach was, in fact, not the scariest person he knew.
Since Monday, the week was supposed to be easy after processing the partnerships, yet on Friday, y/n still found herself in her seat doing more than fifty per cent of the research while Jack talked endlessly to his friend across the classroom, laughing at YouTube references and memes that only thirteen-year-old-boys would find funny. She knew Jack was doing it on purpose, he was more than capable of contributing, she’d seen his previous presentations and other projects. Was it her? She wondered if she’d been too aggressive, too moody with him to the extent that she was just off-putting or that he found it amusing. Perhaps if she’d been a bit kinder, they would be getting along like the rest of their class, laughing and chatting with each other instead of him flinging rubber bands at his friends while she stuck her nose in her notebook, worrying about how she’d get all the work done solo (because she wasn’t holding out for hope). Truth be told, she had as much passion as a night-shift worker, not because of Jack, but who liked doing graded presentations at the start of the school year?
“Will you please turn around and shut up?” she whined, tugging on his hoodie sleeve with a tired pain in her voice, “You’re so rowdy.”
Giggling, Jack turned around in his seat, satisfied with the torment he’d caused his friends and with a wide grin. He’d taken time to reflect on their interactions, even asking Quinn what he’d do to redeem himself (after calling him the grumpiest man alive). He did come across as arrogant, he admitted to that. He wasn’t expecting her to know about the school and hockey relationship and really wasn’t expecting to be choked by his collar and humbled publicly. That’s why he decided he liked her; she was a cool girl in his world who didn’t care about who he was. He didn’t know any girls like y/n, not that she wasn’t like other girls, but other girls he surrounded himself with didn’t hiss in his face and spit his name like it was poison in her mouth.
“Sorry, Sunshine,” he saluted, continuing his part of the project in an awkward silence. Jack’s knees bounced, the air between the pair so quiet he could hear his breathing echoing in his ears, mouth itching to talk about anything but he didn’t want to risk saying the wrong thing again. He watched her from the corner of his eye, even in a neutral state she looked jarred, lips in a permanent downward fall. His friends called it a ‘resting bitch face’, but she had every reason to be a bitch to him, after all, he had pretty much embarrassed and driven her up the wall all week. He sighed, turning his attention back onto the text she chose to study, annotating parts he thought would suit the instruction she’d given him.
“I’m sorry for choking you. And snapping at you.” He whipped his head around in surprise, her eyes hadn’t moved from her notes, but her tone was soft, the softest she’d sounded to his memory. She peered over to him apprehensively, almost shocked at his silence.
He blinked twice, out of the two of them it should have been him apologising first. His lips tugged into a small smile, “I deserved it. I’m sorry for being an ass and hitting you with my locker, and knocking you in sludge and overall, just being annoying. You have every right to hate me.”
Sitting up straight, y/n’s gaze softened for the first time, “Jack, I don’t hate you. For the sake of this project, how about we start over?” she held her hand out, “Pleasure to be working with you, Rowdy. Let’s do this fifty-fifty and that way we both benefit.”
He shook her hand, his almost engulfing hers, but he thought it was cute, “You too, Sunshine. So, uh…how are we gonna do this? Because we’re kinda slacking on all grounds. Like, we know each other and where we live, and that we take the same bus, yeah, but like…not anything, uh, personal like your favourite colour.”
“Well, my favourite colour is red, I like hot chocolate with marshmallows and my favourite hockey team is the Maple Leafs.” She said, doing her best to start some sort of icebreaker to at least make conversation easier. They should have done this from the start like others would have but he was arrogant, and she was up tight. Just because you’ve grown up in the same proximity as someone doesn’t always make you friends.
Jack’s eyes lit up, “No way! My favourite hockey team are the Leafs too! Lemme think…uh…my favourite meal is steak; I love watching movies and my dream is to make it to the NHL.”
“Cool. That’s a lot of weight to carry,” he nodded enthusiastically at her, “but you’re the kinda guy who could, Hughes. Anyway, what have you done for this shitty project?” she peeked at his notebook, brushing over the fact Jack was grinning like an idiot at his breakthrough. It was a start, but at least she wasn’t insulting him anymore and they were talking with their walls down, no weapons. He opened his mouth but immediately closed it, scratching the back of his neck. Her notes were always so direct and neat and his were a mess, not even he could understand what he was saying half the time.
“What the hell am I reading, Jack?” her smile dropped, and her deadpan humiliated him alone. He sunk into his chair, he did his best, he really had, but unlike in hockey, the school was a flow he just couldn’t enter. “We have a lot of work to do. Hope you’re free over lunch next week.”
“Or we could do it at my house. Do you wanna come over?”
“Not really,” she said flatly, looking him in the eye.
“Please, there’s too much happening at school and doing it at my house - or yours - would be so much better. Think about it, I won’t get distracted~”
She chewed her cheek, watching his toothy grin widen. If he weren’t a charmer she would’ve made her decision more quickly, but Jack had this effect to him where it was almost impossible to resist, whether you liked him or not. He had a point, in his home he wouldn't be hollering across the room or fidgeting in his seat. Anyway, it would be a good opportunity for them to bond.
She sighed, and hung her head, “Fiiiine. Are Sundays, okay?”
He nodded urgently, perhaps more excited than he should have been, but getting her to give in and try to hang out outside school felt like a win. He just wanted to know if her walls were always enforced up high or if it was a school thing.
*
The first Sunday crept quicker than she would have liked. Although the Hughes' house looked no different than hers, the dahlias in the front garden were twice as pretty, a small part of her hoped the frost would never hit them, reflecting the joyful souls of the Hughes family. Y/n stood on the doorstep, rucksack slung on her shoulder and rollerblades in her hand. When Jack had told her to bring them, she asked why but in typical Jack manner, his answer was vague, ‘Please just bring them!’, but she listened anyway, dreading what kind of ideas were running through his mind when they were supposed to be working on their project. After all, the faster they submitted it, the sooner they could return to their lives.
She lost track of how long she’d been standing there, he probably thought she’d ditched him by how long she’d been mustering up the nerves to knock but the reality of the situation, her reality, she was processing how there was no muffled noise coming from behind the door.
For a home of five, it was as quiet as a zen garden. She wasn’t sure why she was surprised; most families were quiet. She never had to look where she was going on her way home, she always heard her family before she saw them, whether outside the front door or somewhere in the house. The yelling never stopped, so standing outside Jack’s house took the weight off her chest and she could feel the September breeze in her hair.
She knocked timidly, listening to footsteps barrel through the house from the other side and a muffled ‘Quinn don’t you dare answer that!’ however when the door opened it wasn’t Jack’s excited, puppy-like self. She’d never looked at him properly, but y/n blinked twice at Quinn standing before her. He was a lot better looking than Jack made out, the opposite of Jack: dark hair, taller, broad shoulders and his eyes were a duller blue compared to Jack’s vibrant ones. He smiled kindly as Jack shoved past him, shooing him out of the way and muttering at him to leave them alone.
“I told you not to answer! I had it!” Jack whined at his older brother, pushing him to the side.
“I didn’t know you were inviting your girlfriend over, why didn’t you just say so?” Quinn teased, letting Jack move him. To him, seeing Jack so ecstatic over a girl wasn’t new, Jack had had short-lived girlfriends since he was eleven, not understanding the difference between validating attention and love yet but y/n with the hard gaze was the first girl he invited into his home. The kind of girl Quinn least expected since she didn’t seem happy to be in their home, unfazed by Jack’s playful behaviour and glint in his eye. That was new and part of him felt old seeing his little brother grow up so fast.
“She’s not my girlfriend, assface!” Jack growled, his face heating up.
“Ugh, as if.” She scoffed at the same time before fully processing the smirk on Quinn’s face. Jack girlfriend? Is that how it looked to others? A boy and a girl hanging out as children was fine but the moment, they hit their teens it meant they were all over each other. She imagined what it would be like if she were to be his girlfriend, until she caught herself in the act, what kind of demon possessed her even to have such a fleeting thought? Curiosity? Or maybe it would be funny seeing the reactions of others, seeing him with someone they least expected. Y/n’s breath hitched, heat rising to her cheeks but less noticeably than rosy red Jack who started swatting Quinn.
“Ignore him, y/n, let’s go do this project.” He emphasised to his brother.
Jack gently took her by the sleeve, pulling her into his hallway and impatiently waiting for her to slip her shoes off and leave her rollerblades before leading her upstairs. She glanced behind her, giving Quinn a shy wave which he returned as Jack led her further, weaving around stray hockey gloves and shoes on the stairs and reappearing into a simple hallway. The layout couldn’t have been more unfamiliar to her home, the walls were highly decorated with family photos, more of the boys than anyone else. Quinn, Jack and Luke, the youngest, clad in mostly hockey gear but the occasional casual photo, some even of them piled on top of each other. The landing was nothing special, a single strip with one bedroom facing the street, one next to the stairs with another opposite and the master facing into the garden, bathrooms in between.
Jack pointed to the room next to the stairs, “that’s Quinn’s room,” then to the room at the back of the house, “that’s my parents,” then to the front, “that’s Lukey’s,” and eventually ushered her to the room opposite Quinn’s, opening the door and giving her a grand reveal, “and this is mine!”
Y/n shuffled in, taking in the personality of the room. It wasn’t big, nor a box room but the grey walls made it feel smaller than it was. A double bed pushed against the wall, a desk next to it and opposite those were a chest of drawers and a wardrobe crammed snugly. It was the kind of room that someone who didn’t spend a lot of time in would have, the only elements saving it from a show home were the hockey posters and awards on the walls and surfaces, a hockey helmet on top of the wardrobe with gloves and skates scattered under the bed. But the one part that stuck out the most while she moseyed around, was the framed photo on his desk. A recent picture of him and his brothers together, void of smiles and Jack wearing the burgundy coat the day he knocked her into sludge, Quinn in the grey hoodie she just saw him in and Luke in, what she assumed, some sort of blue university fleece with an ‘M’ on the chest. She stifled a chuckle, only Jack would wear full burgundy, but it was no better than the photo of her, her younger brother and her dad at her cousin's wedding, all three of them miserable and her dad nursing a hangover (pre-drinks with the boys before the wedding was not his and the relative’s greatest idea for some of their ages). But this photo of Jack had something endearing to it, and proof that he wasn’t sunshine and rainbows all the time.
Jack crept behind her, peeking over her shoulder and speaking quietly next to her ear, “We all got a copy of that one. It’s also on the stairs. Mum thinks it’s hilarious because before it was taken, Dad had us shovelling snow for thirty minutes before a two-hour evening hockey practice.”
It hadn’t occurred to her how he felt the need to stand so close to her until then, his voice practically sinking into her skin as if she were wearing headphones rather than listening to him through a speaker. It wasn’t that she hated it, it was just…new. He wasn’t smirking, his hands were in his jean’s pockets and the way his popular-kid demeanour plummeted when talking about his brothers was like she had met an entirely different person. It’s crazy how getting someone in a different environment can lower their mask. It made him loveable and the longer they stood there, close together, the less she hated the idea of being around him. It was almost comforting to share family stories, the information that anyone who hadn’t seen the photo wouldn’t know.
She nodded, her rucksack strap dropping from her shoulder and into her hand as she turned to him, looking up at his smiling face. Okay, he was a lot taller up close, or well to her at least, and he seemed to enjoy looking at her face as she swore his eyes had a sparkle in them.
“Where do you want me to sit?” she asked, casually.
For a second he thought he saw her crack. She was the only person who’d seen the photo, he’d usually put it away for safety when his friends came over since a couple of them had a thing for pillow fights at three in the morning. Letting her into his world and sharing his secrets would surely get her out of her shell, he was convinced that if he dropped his mask, she’d drop hers. He imagined what that would be like as she turned to him, and what it would be like if she looked in his eyes brightly all the time, shamelessly in the school hallways without anyone to ruin it. But her voice jolted him like he had been shaken by its shoulders and the real world was back to ground him, “Uh- right- project, you can take the desk I’ll sit on my bed. What, uh, time do you need to be home…by the…way?”
She sat on his office chair and set up her stationary, not looking at him when she replied,
“Probably seven at the latest, usually when dinner is but I can leave whenever you want me to. I’m just a few houses away.”
He grinned. That gave him a perfect amount of time to begin his plan if they didn’t spend the whole day on the project, which was likely considering his attention span went haywire in her presence. He couldn’t explain why, only that there was something about her gloom had him infatuated. Partnered projects weren’t for everyone, he knew that. He loved them, the bouncing, the company, getting away with not doing anything because he did all the talking but he also knew some people despised them entirely because of people like him, slackers, yappers, people who didn’t view them as real assessments because they weren’t pen and paper. Jack was the first and y/n was the latter, but for some reason, he wanted to be bossed about, wanted to work and perhaps see things from her world, hear her talk more.
Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad after all, maybe if he showed her to loosen up, she wouldn’t get stressed over it but if he tightened up, he could learn a skill or two and they’d find a balance.
Usually after two hours of unbroken work focus, Jack would groan in despair out of restlessness and boredom, but in the two hours that passed, both parties had completed a lot. They’d managed to negotiate roles, y/n would endure the tedious theory research elements while Jack focused on analysing and piecing together their text passage and the theories she’d found. It wasn’t fun, but they’d caught up with the rest of their class and were safe, and on track. She wouldn’t have to work into the night, and he wouldn’t have to risk skipping his social life. Jack had to admit, and he couldn’t lie, that working with her, even in silence, wasn’t as bad as he thought it would be. They chatted here and there about life when they let their brains rest, she didn’t insult him, and he didn’t annoy her. They found a balance, and he’d learnt a bit more about y/n, like how she couldn’t ice skate but could rollerblade, how she forgot to blink when in a hyperfocus or that she didn’t like talking too much because she’s worried, she’d overshare and weird people out. Which did hit him in the gut when she casually expressed it, because he didn’t think anyone should hold themselves back from being true to themselves.
With his notebook and pens abandoned on his bedsheets, he sat crossed-legged, watching her scribble down quick notes from a website, “So, you used to talk a lot but since your friends just…never reacted or made snarky comments, you just thought to reign it in? What do you talk about?”
“Yup. Can be a yapper in the right environment, but now all we talk about is school, the news or things they’re into. They don’t even try to give context to those who have no idea what’s going on. It’s not a big deal though, most of them are going to a different high school than me so I’ll make new friends.” She explained with a sigh, finishing her notes and swivelling in his chair to face him. Talking to him as if they were friends felt refreshing, she only got to talk to one or two people this way, and those were the two friends going to the same high school as her. Neighbours would say that she and Jack should’ve been friends from toddlers since they’d grown up together on the same street, same kindergarten, same elementary and now coming to the last year of the same middle school but Jack was an outdoors kid always participating in some sort of sport with the other kids, y/n preferred the indoors, quietly finding hobbies and watching from the window. The only reason they’d recognised each other in elementary school was because Ellen had once dropped by to gift her mum, flowers as a thank you for something, and Jack happened to be with her, y/n locking eyes with him as she was walking through the house.
“Well, you can always talk to me, I’ll be your friend. We’ve known of each other for years, our mums help each other garden for God’s sake so we’re not completely strangers…” he fiddled with the chewed pen in his lap, “besides, I have two brothers and some…unique friends, nothing you do or say could weird me out.”
She sat in silence, watching him struggle to make eye contact with her for the first time like he was nervous about what she would say. He was probably expecting her to chew him up, brush him off but he had a point. They had been neighbours their whole lives, and if she played outside more, they would have been better acquainted. But her middle school friendships were fickle, and immature, in their eyes, she was the weird kid and only because her interests differed slightly, and more people gravitated towards her, girls and boys alike. And when that happens in a friend group of eleven to fourteen-year-olds, you’re the odd one out, people get jealous and there’s only so much artificial solidarity to go around sometimes. So, she changed and tried to scare people away so she could fit in again and survive and it worked. Until Jack Hughes wiggled his way into the picture.
Why is Jack talking to you? You know I like him.
That’s so unfair!
Befriending your friend's crush? Low y/n, so low.
“I appreciate your kindness, but that’s a terrible idea.” She deadpanned, leaning back in the chair, a pang of regret striking through her upon seeing his shoulders slump.
He looked up with confusion written on his face, “What, why?”
“Because you’re Jack Hughes. Popular, charming Jack Hughes who everybody wants to be friends with. And I’m miserable y/n, my friends would throw me to the curb if I started hanging out with you suddenly. Actually, they would accuse me of betraying them and think something is going on between us. Petty shit.”
“But I like miserable y/n, you’re not even miserable. But why would it be a betrayal? Unless your friends got a crush or something-” the pieces clicked in his head, “-oh. I see. Well, think of it positively, would you rather have a group of friends who make you have to pretend to be miserable or have one friend who actually makes you miserable?”
She tried so hard to suppress a giggle but seeing him gesture to himself when making humour of the conversation made it impossible and she let the giggle out. Only Jack could say that, and it be funny, as self-deprecating as the joke was, it came from a good place. Jack’s head however emptied, and his chest exploded, a giddy feeling jerking his nerves hearing her giggle because of him (and not because he was getting punished or dumped in the hallway). He didn’t fuss over it, he didn’t want her to stop because he’d brought her guard down, so he giggled with her.
“I guess I would rather have one friend that makes me miserable.”
“Correct answer!” he mused, all project work was abandoned, and it was clear to them both that they were done for the day. “Well, now we’re friends, do you wanna go play street hockey? That’s why I asked you to bring rollerblades, we’re gonna hang out.”
“So, doing the project was just a front for getting me to hang out with you?” she began to pack her stationary into her rucksack while he pushed his onto the floor. He’d clear it up later if he remembered.
“Uh-huh,” he nodded proudly, “I thought that if we hung out, we could get to know each other better, do something fun.”
He was almost falling off his bed in excitement, waiting for her to agree and play with him. Was he this eager with everyone? No one had ever been that desperate to be friends with her, most people weren’t that desperate. She opened her mouth to decline, but he’d spent the past two hours forcing himself to focus on their schoolwork, do as he was told, and listen to her intently even though she knew he was getting restless and bored, she owed him at least an hour of her time.
“Okay, but only for a little bit. I’m not great like you so go easy.” A smile was all it took for Jack to leap up, take her by the sleeve, drag her through his bedroom door (almost knocking Luke over in the process) and into his hall again.
*
What was supposed to be just an hour, so she told herself, turned out to be three hours of non-stop street hockey. Two beaten-up goals outside his house and two laughing teenagers clad in gloves and rollerblades, hockey sticks hitting each other for the plastic ball that dragged and rattled across the concrete. Neither had been keeping track of the time, they were too engrossed in trying to beat each other, especially y/n, who forced Jack to go easy on her just so she could at least have a chance.
It wasn’t often she got to participate in something like street hockey with someone, a lot of her social life was talking and not a lot of experiencing. She didn’t even hang out with her brother like the Hughes boys did, but her brother was far more interested in golf or playing FIFA with his friends or causing trouble at school. When they were younger, she and her brother used to spend hours playing basketball in the garden, so much so that eventually the hoop fell off and that was the end of it. Or they used to play video games together, getting so competitive in Wii Sports that her brother would start crying if he lost. Those were ephemeral days stuck in a memory loop, but playing hockey with Jack freed the same adrenaline rush that made the world feel brighter and hopeful like living for yourself was worth it.
She closed in on Jack’s goal, readying herself to take the shot, sheer confidence across her face until he swooped in and blocked the shot, stealing the ball from her possession and skating towards the other end.
“Jaaack,” she groaned, “you’re such a dick, I almost had that!”
His triumphant laughter echoed through the neighbourhood as he closed in on her goal,
“You don’t sound so happy, Sunshine, why don’t you come to show me who’s the boss, huh?”
She clicked her tongue playfully, getting a burst of energy as she approached Jack. She could have knocked him out of the way, blocked his shot, or broken any of the standard rules but she was having the time of her life and Jack hadn’t stopped smiling since she agreed. Y/n tossed her stick to the side, dropped her gloves and grabbed the back of his hoodie, pulling herself closer to him and wrapping her arm around his shoulder, sending them both crashing to the floor, equipment scattered but both players laughing and playfighting, rolling and wrestling until their stomachs ached from laughter.
At some point in their roughing, y/n’s fist hit Jack square on the cheekbone, hard. Sitting up straight, legs tangled, they stared at each other like they’d seen ghosts, her heart stopping in her chest. She didn’t mean to hit him, not for real, but on reflex she unclenched her fist and held his face in her hands with a delicate touch as if he were glass, her fingers holding his jaw as she inspected his cheekbone for any bleeding. She may have thought nothing of it, just protocol for when someone got hurt, but Jack’s cheeks blazed, hands becoming clammy, and he thought he was going to lose his breath at how gentle she was with him. If getting injured was all it took for her to look at him with soft eyes and obtain all her attention like a prize, he should’ve broken his legs a while ago. His world paused, the sounds of nature and cars faded out into a silence and his heart skipped eight beats at once. He’d had girlfriends, but he’d never had skin contact with one. Never held a girl’s hand before and never had his face held by one. She was like a drug, the second she cradled his thumping face, he never wanted her to let go. Maybe it was because he liked the attention because it was new and exciting or maybe the endorphins rushing through him altered his state of mind too much and confused the difference between enjoying her touch and pain relief.
“I’m okay,” he said just above a whisper with a fond look, “it’ll just bruise at most.”
She nodded, letting him reassure her before a grin crawled onto her face, arm snaking around his neck and held him in a headlock, grinding her knuckles mildly into his head and ruffling his hair. Even though he wished on all his lucky stars that the moment would never end, getting noogies from her was just as euphoric if it meant her giggles gave him just as much of a bliss escape as the scratching of ice skates did in hockey.
“If you say so, Wack Hughes.” She rolled off and sat on the concrete opposite him, catching her breath, both bodies panting with flushed, chilly cheeks and undoubtedly bruises and grazes on their limbs. That’s what they got for not looking properly for knee and elbow pads.
“Can I have your number?” the words erupted a lot quicker than he expected them to, he borderline felt like he came across as a desperate man at a bar hoping to strike gold, “So, uh, we can text when to meet up…for the project and stuff…yeah.”
She sighed dramatically, “If I really have to.”
In all instances, all universes and every other life after his current, Jack wished the project would never end. He was just beginning to get somewhere with forming a liberating friendship where he was just Jack, the kid from class.
*
Jack had been right, but he wished it had been a cut because the bruise over his cheek was diabolical. A beautiful purple and blue bruise next to his eye, not quite a black eye but the cheekbone was close enough. Quinn and Luke teased him relentlessly the Monday morning over breakfast, even though the middle Hughes explained it was an accident while playfighting and not because he pissed her off.
School was worse. At first, his friends taunted him about it, and how the ‘pretty boy wasn’t so pretty anymore’. Jack was just relieved that nobody asked him how he got it, they all assumed it was hockey and he would have too if he was them. At least a bruise wasn’t as embarrassing as when he broke his leg but there’s only so much teasing you can take before it starts becoming boring, and all week he had heard the same comments and the same giggling. He didn’t blame y/n, she didn’t do it on purpose but her packing a punch was not on his twenty-fifteen bingo card.
Sunday rolled around again, Jack and y/n only had a week left until their project was due and while y/n had her hand fisting her hair, the words on her screen blending and almost sending her into cardiac arrest, Jack had zoned out long ago. Silence filled the Hughes’ dining room, both bodies void of willpower as they entered hour three of their study. On the bright side, they were over halfway done, opting to pull the presentation aesthetics together last as that was the easy part. The hardest part was trying to condense twenty-five slides into ten at most.
Luke was home with them, keeping out of their way but giving them a glance as he meandered into the kitchen for a snack. He may have been twelve and starting to enter his pre-teen years of figuring himself and the world out, but what he did know was that the house was quieter on Sundays. That’s how he knew y/n was over. He stood quietly in the kitchen, peering over at his brother and y/n in deep thought from the breakfast bar, wondering how someone had tamed Jack within two weeks. Yes, they spent almost every day together so the chance of them getting to know each other better that way wasn’t off the table, and the quality of friendship isn’t determined by how long you’ve known someone. He’d never seen Jack sit so still, he wasn’t even chewing on his pen, just staring at his laptop screen and notebook while he feared y/n might yank her hair from her scalp if she gripped it any tighter. Luke pulled two glasses from the cabinet, filled them with water, and set them in front of the two. He then disappeared back into the kitchen and rummaged through the cookie jar before returning and placing them on the dark wood next to the water. Y/n’s hand fell from her hair and raised her head to meet a smiling Luke. They’d never spoken, but he liked it when she came over, especially when he’d watched her tackle Jack to the ground a week prior, of course.
“Thanks, Luke. You really didn’t have to.” Y/n’s voice suddenly filled the room and pulled Jack out of his daze, his attention immediately landing on the glass of water and cookie.
“It’s the least I could do for someone who can keep Jack on his leash.” Luke chuckled lightly, making his way back into the living room.
Jack waited until he left to whip around to her, making her flinch at the speed, “You’re friends with my little brother easily but not me? I’m taking that as an offence.”
“He didn’t tell me to do the entire project by myself while he got to do the easy part.” She jested, poking her finger into his chest. Call them Punch and Judy with the way they bickered. “He also didn’t pull me into sludge.”
He wrapped his fingers around her hand, holding it gently as he rolled his eyes, “Okay, well, fair enough. At least it was Luke.”
“Why? Scared I’ll fall hopelessly in love with Quinn and his dark curls and brooding personality,” she leant forward with a smirk, watching Jack’s eyebrows knit. She’d done it, found his button to press and she loved every ounce of adrenaline that raged through her, “that’ll I’ll hang out with him instead?”
His tongue poked his cheek, their faces inches away and for once it was him sulking while she taunted him. Yet, the grip he had over her hand stayed loose, even when she continued to prod him, but he knew she could feel how sweaty his palms were from the panic that rattled him, “Yes! Kinda, maybe! I don’t know!”
She stopped, her smirk dropping and his breathing becoming heavy. Their gazes met as she licked her lips, their faces were so much closer than she had thought, and a warmth spread up the back of her neck. They said nothing, their eyes searching each other for answers to unspecified questions. His bruise had healed better, it wasn’t a deep purple anymore and a yellow tint started peeking through, although she was sorry for hitting him, there was a small, amusing element to the story. She lowered her hand, but he didn’t let go. Never had she expected Jack to feel in competition with his brothers over anything but hockey, but his heart hammered in his chest the longer their stares lingered, terrified for the worst-case scenario.
“Wait, for real? You think I would do that?” Jack nodded shakily, chewing the inside of his cheek. It was ridiculous, his hormones getting mixed up and fluctuating over a girl he’d only started being real friends with, but he felt like they’d known each other longer by how thin the air felt between them. Was that allowed? Was there a rule about being friends with someone? If so, he yearned to break it, after all, he’d been friends with some guys for three years and knew nothing about them, barely hanging out with them outside school. “If it makes you feel better, I wouldn’t.”
“It’s not Quinn specifically, I don’t know, like, we just started being friends and like, ugh, I don’t know.” He truly couldn’t describe the nagging feeling of a thorn that stabbed him in the side, he’d never felt it before, but he hated it. She was his friend and only his, Quinn and Luke weren’t allowed to swoop her away. Y/n was just his friend, no more sharing friends between them, they could keep that to hockey but not school. He’d do anything to keep it that way, even if it meant brawling with his brothers like when they were kids or even other kids at school. He just wanted to freely be friends with someone on his own, sick of being surrounded by friends who had their own, separate friend they could run to, rely on, cry, laugh with, and escape to their own isolated paradise with. He wanted a person.
With a gentle nod, she noticed the warmth engulfing her hand. They peered down at their laps, pulling their hands away quickly and awkwardly finding chewed pens and hoodie strings. The first time he’d held a girl's hand, and it was because she was riling him up, and she’d never had a boy hold her hand before so the heat in her neck flushed to her face.
“Sooo,” Jack started, the tension crushing him, “what do you like to do for fun? You already know I play hockey and we did that last week; we should try something of yours today.”
Her muscles relaxed and she pondered. What did she do for fun? It was one of those moments where suddenly she forgot everything about herself and became the most boring person alive, nothing coming to mind. She didn’t consider herself nearly as exciting as Jack. She wasn’t an athlete, or an entrepreneur, and didn’t do any thrilling things over the summers. How are you supposed to sell yourself when you just enjoy staying at home and chilling?
“Uh…I dunno. I like doing origami, I guess. Not really as intense as street hockey but I find it relaxing.” She ripped out a blank page of her notebook, tearing it neatly into a square and effortlessly folding the corners and sides. He was mesmerised, she made it look easy and Jack convinced himself that he could do it. Pulling the head out, she placed a swan in front of him. To create what sat in front of him more than muscle memory, it was time and patience. “For you. I’ll teach you step by step.”
She tore out two more pages into squares, giving one to him, “Fold the paper diagonally to create the centre line, then unfold,” she demonstrated as she spoke, allowing him time to catch up, “refold the sides to the centre line and flip the paper over, doing the same as we just did. You should have a skinny kite shape. Bring the bottom corner to the top, middle corner and fold the tip of the bottom corner we just folded, down to halfway.”
Jack’s tongue poked out from his lips, his brows knitted as he concentrated hard, watching her fingers move intensely and carefully copying. His folding wasn’t as neat as hers, but he understood what she was showing and he hadn’t completely screwed it up yet, but he was a lot more heavy-handed than she was, too used to using all his strength rather than none of it at all.
“Good boy, you’re getting it. Okay, now fold what you have in half, but outwards, away from you, not inwards, like this,” she folded the paper as instructed, “and gently pull the neck up and head out. See, a simple swan.”
Jack’s face brightened, his lips twitching into a smile as he pulled the head out of his - messily folded - origami swan. He knew she’d gone easy on him, and he was frankly grateful that she hadn’t tried to teach him something overly complex because he did not want to deal with Ellen yelling at him to pipe down in front of y/n. Y/n didn’t need that, didn’t need to see or hear that. Jack may not have been an empath by any means and may not be the kind of guy to psychoanalyse people but Quinn had taught him to think carefully before he asked questions. Of course, he wondered why y/n never asked if he wanted to go to her house instead, but when he talked with Jim about it, he said there’s usually a reason, and sometimes people don’t want to talk about that and would prefer to just accept the offer, and that by offering up their home could be one of the nicest things he’s done for her.
Y/n set her swan in front of him, his hands delicately inspecting the precision as if it belonged in a museum, “How can you do this so quickly and neatly? What else can you make?”
“Practice, I can make cranes, frogs, bats, foxes, stars.” She giggled, watching him compare the two swans and setting them next to each other, “You can keep both mine, from me to you.”
Jack grinned. It wasn’t much at all, but having a homemade gift held more value than anything money could offer. It was made specifically with him, and she gave it to him, willingly, as a souvenir. He shoved his pens into his pencil case, stacked his books and closed his laptop, sliding the pile across the table. Surprised, she began packing her belongings into her rucksack, they were done with their project according to him. In his defence, they had achieved more than they thought. He turned, resting his cheek in his palm with a burning intrigue glowing in his eyes.
“Oh, uh, I guess I like graphic design…that’s kinda my hockey. Just making sports posters or posters in general really. I’ll show you, my favourite.” She opened her laptop again, searching through the files while Jack scooted closer, resting his chin on her shoulder. Her chest tightened at the noise that slipped from his throat when the file loaded, an electrocuting excitement radiating from him as his jaw dropped and eyebrows raised. It was the coolest thing he’d ever seen, last year’s baseball schedule graphic that he thought was significantly better than the one the team had originally posted. Upon hearing his chain of compliments, she opened more files, discovering their common interest in sports and the odd TV show. He didn’t have many creative friends, he was part of a dominantly sporty crowd, in fact, anyone who had creative abilities fascinated him and he would argue that they deserve just as much praise as athletes. It wasn’t easy producing ideas and visions let alone executing them.
The more Jack raved about her work, the more files she pulled up and explained with her full chest and he swore he saw her eyes light up the same way his did when he talked about hockey. So, he let her talk. He asked questions about inspiration, the origins of her hobby, her favourite aesthetics and future plans, works in progress and if she would want a future in graphic design too, all in which she answered for hours before the clock hit seven and they had to call it a day with bittersweet smiles like they wouldn’t be seeing each other the next day.
*
Good times fly fast. Is what someone would say if they were having fun, but the past week had not been for y/n and Jack. In the last week before their project was due, they had crammed a week’s worth of work into three days, their deadline being Thursday. Lunches were spent in the library, copying and formatting into their presentation slides, and then trying to condense, and condense and condense more into ten overall slides. If they hadn’t worked during class and at the library, they knew they would have failed and with Jack’s hockey schedule, they had no other option. They didn’t hate it, spending lunches together became the best part of their days, that little buzz in their stomach making the mundane classes easier to bear.
The actual presenting part started awful when the PowerPoint wouldn’t load, then stabilised as Jack did most of the talking but then almost hit the fan when y/n stammered almost every time she spoke (which wasn’t her fault, some people can’t cope with public speaking). However, they had submitted, presented and they were project-free until May.
Y/n didn’t expect to see much of Jack anymore, she wasn’t sure what would happen next after they had no project. She didn’t pay attention to her classmate’s presentations, her eyes zoned on the wall and her shoulders slumped in her seat. It was sort of…upsetting that it was over, not hanging out with Jack again. Would her friends be happy? Absolutely, the competition was over but during the three weeks, they hung out constantly, what others thought mattered less and less until she smiled more with him than she ever had with them. What she and Jack had was real.
Jack’s eyebrows lowered and pulled closer together, he couldn’t bring himself to be happy, the bleak expression on her face pulled at his heart too aggressively. It couldn’t be over, he didn’t want it to be over. It was not going to be over. He pulled his phone from his hoodie pocket, eyes flicking to the teacher who was too engrossed in the assignment, and he typed quickly before stuffing the device back.
Wack Huh🤕
my house sundays?
i think my mum wants to cook us dinner as a reward
u can meet my hockey friends 2 they r coming 4 the wknd
Feeling her pocket vibrate and glancing at the teacher, she replied under the table.
Sunshine💪
Will be there ofc
Are these the unique friends? Bracing myself
She smiled, looking to her left subtly to see Jack practically kicking is feet. All was not lost.
*
When Jack said his friends were unique, she wasn’t expecting three boys to be staring at her like meerkats when she entered the living room. At least he didn’t lie. She expected three dudes chilling on the sofa, with drinks and playing video games but instead, she was met with the short one and one with long-ish hair wrestling on the sofa with Mario Kart abandoned on the TV and Jack and the third with dark hair trying to pry them off each other, Jack babbling something about irritating his parents again. It was Quinn who’d answered the door again, apologising for the noise and again she had looked up at him with adoration in her eyes. The noise was something she was used to, especially coming from teenage boys, if Jim and Ellen didn’t get involved, it would be okay. When she stepped into the living room, calling Jack’s name, the three other boys shot up and snapped their heads with wide eyes like they’d never seen a girl in their lives.
Jumping off the sofa, he stood beside her, wrapping his arm around her shoulder and his thumb caressing comforting circles, “Y/n! This is Cole,” the short boy waved, “Trevor,” the boy with tanned skin and long-ish hair winked, blowing a kiss, “and Alex.” The dark-haired boy gave a kind, welcoming smile. They were Jack’s unique hockey friends she’d heard many stories about over the last few weeks, like how someone hid Trevor’s towel one time and he could only wait until everyone had left the locker room before changing, or how the four of them thought it would be a good idea to hold arms and spin in a circle while on rollerblades and then let go, so all four of them went flying in different directions but it was Cole who ended up, not only taking out a couple but falling into a bin. Or how Alex tried to impress a girl by belching the alphabet but instead she slapped him.
“Do you like Mario Kart, y/n?” Alex asked, to which she nodded.
“Don’t get too cocky, she can pack a punch. Got that Trevor?” Jack sneered, holding her closer to his side and pointing to his almost-healed bruise.
“That was one time!” Trevor groaned, taking the controller he’d launched previously. “Don’t listen to him, angel. He’s just mad because he sucks at everything but Chel.
Only Jack had given her a pet name before, especially not one on the first meeting or one like angel. Jack had nicknamed her when they met, but ‘Sunshine’ suited her at the time, a jab at her doom and gloom. Angel, though? That hit different, that felt personal, aimed at her looks alone.
“Mmm sure, at least his towel stays in one place, Trevvy.” She quipped, stepping into the room.
“Jack! Why would you tell her that?” Trevor grabbed a sofa cushion, and swung it at Jack’s face, “Angel, that does not happen often but if it means you call me ‘Trevvy’ again, it so can.”
The sun began to set earlier in the autumn. After a morning of violent Mario Kart matches and rough play in order to cheat, the five of them settled on the two sofas in front of the TV, this time watching The Amazing Spiderman and two empty bowls of popcorn and mugs that once homed hot chocolate.
Jack’s eyes struggled; his energy burnt out from a weekend of non-stop moving but he refused to sleep in fear he’d fall onto Trevor’s shoulder. The last time he did that, he woke up with marker over his face and a cock on his cheek, but God, were his eyes heavy. Y/n repositioned herself, bringing her knees away from her chest and stretching them with glorious relief. Said relief was fleeting as she felt a weight drop onto her thighs, peering down to see Jack’s head lying comfortably, body curled up in the spot he was sitting in. She bit her lip, what the hell was she supposed to do? Leave him? Push him off? What did it mean, did friends normally do this? But his hair looked so soft and silky, it always did. It always looked good, even after he’d finished gym class. With a hitched breath and trembling hand hovering over his head, she ran her fingers through his hair with a feathery touch, nails massaging his scalp. If his heart hadn’t been thundering just trying to find the courage to lay on her lap, it was now exploding like fireworks at her touch lulling him into a slumber. Her fingers running through his locks sent euphoric sparks through his body, addicting, heavenly, he never wanted to move from the spot. He wouldn’t bring it up though, he didn’t want to talk about it, and it become painfully awkward and never happen again. That moment before he drifted off was Jack’s paradise.
Ten months of sitting with each other on the bus, sharing classes, and lunches, failing to beat the dating allegations and teasing. Forty Sundays were spent at the Hughes’, playing video games, street hockey, boardgames with the brothers, gardening with Ellen, listening to Jim’s life stories and sharing secrets in the confines of Jack’s bedroom.
The summer before they started high school, Jack begged y/n to join his family at the lake house for the summer, the boy got on his knees and everything. Of course, she wanted to go, why would she reject going to this lake house she heard so much about? Her parents were the part she worried about, and if they said no, she’d make them regret it, taking her away from her happiness like that. And perhaps they would have, followed it up by giving the speech about it being unfair to her brother. But to her surprise, they were pretty much ushering her out the door. What she didn’t know was that Ellen had swung by and her mother agreed it would be good for y/n. Thank the stars for Ellen Hughes coming in the clutch there. Finally, a summer spent away from arguing and moaning about being grounded.
She’d never seen a lake house in person, and it was better than she imagined, bigger and fancier than some haggard shack. Growing up near enough in the city never gave her chances to see the open country much, let alone large lakes surrounded by well-kept homes thriving in pride, green to be seen for miles and most importantly no pollution and constant rumbling of cars. It was the perfect place to escape to.
The Hughes’ lake house was gorgeous, pale blue with white accents, flowers and hedges (kept in pristine condition by a gardener) lining the drive and bedded outside the front, long driveway where Jim’s truck and Ellen’s Toyota estate were parked up, said drivers unloading the suitcases while Jack explained the home to y/n: five bedrooms, a games room in the basement that looked out into the garden, back porch above the basement, docks at the end of the garden and their boat, a beautiful bowrider with bow seating and the back deck with a U-shape layout. The way Jack spoke with excitement bouncing around his body made all sorts of butterflies flutter inside her stomach, jubilation radiating from his smile as he pointed to the windows, informing her whose rooms were where.
“Also, Mum said you get the spare room with Cole and Alex, which sucks because I was hoping we’d be roommates. So, if they try anything funny, let me know, okay? Though, I trust you’ll hit ‘em if they do. But my room’s only next door.” Jack placed his hands on her shoulders with a stern tone, searching her eyes for reassurance. He had half expected his parents to reject the idea, his friends were with him after all and three boys in one room never turned out peaceful. Ellen and Jim knew that first-hand.
She chuckled, “I will, don’t worry. Besides, those two are the least of your worries.”
Trevor’s laughter roared from the truck and the two peered towards him before looking back at each other. Jack slumped with an exhale, resting his forehead on her shoulder.
“I can’t believe I lost rock-paper-scissors. I love Trev and all, but he doesn’t stop talking. Y/n he talked the whole way here!”
Y/n’s laugh settled his nerves as he nuzzled into her shoulder. There were now going to be seven of them that summer, and hopefully for many more to come, getting any time alone with her would be a battle to the death. That may have been their last quiet moment together for that day, so she wound her arms around his torso, stroking his hair until Ellen called out for them.
*
Only a week had flown by, and Jim had already started to regret his decision to let three boys tag along, the worst part being one sunny day and the other six raining, trapping everyone inside. That was one week, two cases of a blocked toilet, four ice packs to Trevor’s head from doing somersaults off the boat (on the one day it was sunny), six trips to the corner store for popcorn restocks and seven days of y/n, Quinn and Luke almost being knocked over by wrestling matches or whacked with a pool cue (Alex and Trevor almost lost their lives when they hit y/n square in the head). So, when the sun seeped through everyone’s blinds on Monday morning, Ellen and Jim pretty much slammed every bedroom door open, threw breakfast on the dining table and told the teens to make the most of the sunshine outside.
Michigan was usually sweltering during the summer, cooking the seats and giving bare skin a fright when the leather latched to it, something Jack fell for every time. With the water calm and the lake hushed to birds singing their songs and neighbours heading out towards the country club, Quinn started up the boat. He’d only had his licence a year but if there was anything he knew just as well as hockey, it was the lake. And tuning out the irritations he was surrounded with, unfortunately. Cole, Alex and Luke lounged at the back, watching Trevor groan at Jack ditch him and dart back into the house, leaving him to heave a cool box through the garden and down the docks in which his best friends could have aided him with, but they were too busy hollering banter at him and Quinn, well Quinn chose to pretend like he hadn’t noticed. He was glad it wasn’t him for once. Whatever Jack needed was more important, clearly.
Jack dropped the cool box handle abruptly and spun on his heel, letting Trevor’s voice fade back out into the distance as his feet slapped against the wooden flooring inside the house. When he and Trevor reached the back porch, y/n wasn’t there waiting for them as she had insisted, and the thing about y/n is that when she said she’d be there, she would be there without fail. Besides, she was more important than Trevor carrying that cool box on his own.
He knocked on the spare room door twice, calling out her name and waiting for her voice. Instead, she opened the door slightly, her head peeking around the corner with red, puffy eyes.
“Hey, hey, hey,” he cooed, “what’s wrong? Was it the guys?”
She shook her head, refusing to let him open the door further and stop him. He’d never felt so useless in his life, she was right under his nose, crying and he hadn’t been there to soothe the tears away. All he wanted was to reach out and press her into his chest, let her sob into his t-shirt, pet her hair and tell her that everything was going to be okay. Instead, he was shut out, stuck between a barrier that he couldn’t seem to break through.
“Sunshine, please let me in…” his voice was small, sympathy on his face and slowly she pulled the door back, allowing him to shuffle in and close the door behind him. When he turned around his jaw almost dropped, but his cheeks sold him out completely with how hot they flushed. When he saw her crying, he assumed that she was hurt, or that she’d received a nasty text or something that was not what he was faced with at that moment. All that ran through his mind was, ‘Fucking Christ.’ His body betrayed him then, so badly. His eyes raked her up and down, not in the way a predator seeks its prey but in the way that he had no idea what he should be trying to fathom.
“I look awful. I don’t know what I was thinking.” Was all she squeaked. Jack shook his head eagerly, stuffing his hands into his swim shorts and stood next to her, encouraging them both to face the wall-length mirror.
“I think you look…” he swallowed, throat suddenly dry and he shifted his weight, “Good.”
Of course, he’d seen women in bikinis before, in music videos, in magazines, in adverts, at the beach and lake but this time it was different. Y/n was a real-life girl who stood next to him in a bikini that showed more skin than he’d ever thought about. She looked more than good, she looked pretty, stunning but the latter were lumps stuck in his throat.
“You think so?” she asked, staring at them both in the mirror, removing her hands from covering her body. Jack never looked any different. She’d only ever known him to have abs or abs in progress. He was an active guy, she expected it, but it didn’t mean she didn’t find it drop-dead attractive, struggling to swat away the thoughts of touching the dips in muscles and smoothing her hands over his shoulders. He hummed in response, just two teens taking in their bodies as if they’d never seen them before. Growing up sucked sometimes. “I wish I had your slutty little waist.”
She broke into a contagious smile, one that seemed to calm whatever was making his shorts uncomfortable and chest tight, “And I wish I had your nice tits but here we are.”
“Tits only look good in bras, Jack. Gravity betrays them.”
“That's okay, I love a good album drop.”
She smacked his chest jokingly and giggled, “You're such a perv.”
“Hey, I'm saying you look hot!” He raised his hands in defence, the lump in his throat shrinking but biting his tongue.
“Not just me.” With her arms folded over her chest, she teased him, pushing her chest together and smirking when his eyes shifted quickly.
Jack stepped closer to, y/n spinning to face him as his figure loomed over hers, close enough to hear each other mumble crystal clear, “Oh? Then who else?”
Gazes falling back into each other, smirks painted on lips, the message was evident but getting each other to admit such secrets was their favourite game to play, especially with high stakes waiting for them, now impatiently, outside on the boat.
“I don’t know, Trevor’s cleaning up well lately.” She cocked an eyebrow. Behind his sleaze grin, he loathed the name that ruined his moment. Why was he on her mind when they were stood, alone, on a friendly flirtatious rollercoaster that kindled his puppy love craving for giddy sparks in his tummy? Instead, all he felt was that horrible thorn stabbing in his side again. “But you’re not too bad yourself, I guess.”
“You little- c’mere,” before she could wiggle away, his arms locked around her waist, pulling her flush into his chest as she squealed, “that wakeboard is calling us.”
Squirming, Jack threw her over his shoulder, opening the door and taking them both down the hall. She laughed the whole time, “I can't wait to watch you fall off again.”
Cole and Luke piped up like little meerkats when Jack and y/n closed in on the boat, y/n still cackling over his shoulder. He plopped her down on the deck, stepping into the boat first just so she could hold his hand while she joined them. There was no way he was letting anyone else have the privilege of having her hand enchant theirs.
“Looking sexy, angel.” Trevor hollered, way too loudly for how close they all were. Jack did his best to hide his irritation, but he let a deep huff slip and perhaps he glared a little too harshly at Trevor, who only winked.
“You too, Zegras,” she thanked him, sitting next to Jack, thighs touching. “You been working out lately?”
“You could say that. Been hittin’ the gym.” He flexed his bicep, “Was hoping you’d notice. Wanna come take a feel?”
“And get your cooties? No thanks.” She chuckled, watching Trevor slouch back in the seat with defeat.
Jack’s muscles tensed and he lay his arm on the seats behind y/n. His friends received a message that day, one loud and clear yet when Cole, Alex and Trevor, all gave each other scheming looks, Jack knew he screwed up.
*
They started high school, lost friends, made new ones, got introduced to social constructs for the first time and the anxieties and insecurities that came in the package. What trend was in this week? People were wearing makeup now? When did people start filling out and getting taller? Everything was changing, everyone was changing and suddenly the world seemed so small and terrifying to walk in. Of course, the scariest part of it all was the cliques. They say they don’t exist in real life, that they only serve as movie elements, but they very much did happen in real life and y/n found herself at the centre of it all. Being friends with Jack brought out the best in her, and it wasn’t middle school anymore, nobody knew who she was and better, nobody knew Jack, only by association with Quinn (which wasn’t all good, he was always going to be Quinn’s little brother). Grumpy and grim y/n was part-time, and she let people in, made friends who didn’t care if she was friends with Jack and Jack being Jack attracted a crowd. Y/n went from being a middle school nobody with fickle friends to rather popular for all the right reasons with a tight circle. And her best friend, Jack Hughes.
Another Sunday, another afternoon spent laying on his bed watching Netflix while snuggled in his hoodie. They took their usual position, y/n sat against the wall with Jack’s head on her lap, fingers running through his hair. Although the episode played in the background, both silent and still, her attention droned on him. He’d grown so much over the year. He was taller, and broader, he’d started working out more and every time they hugged, or she held onto his arm, she felt the growing definition. His hair wasn’t as blond anymore, it morphed into a dirty-blond, on its way to brunet shortly but that wasn’t the most noticeable change to her. Jack had grown out of his baby fat, his jaw one of the sharpest among the boys in their grade. The only thing that hadn’t changed was his striking eyes and whirlwind personality. He still followed her like a lost puppy, dragging her and jumping around her, glued to her hip, and she’d grown to love it.
She hadn’t realised that the episode had ended and been paused, Jack rolling over onto his back, gazing up at her. She continued to stroke his hair, the silence between them comforting as he got lost in her eyes. He’d found his person and so far, he’d let nobody take that away from him. But he, like everyone, had that sinking feeling looming inside him. One day, she’d like another boy, and they’d start dating and he’d have to share his precious time with him. Sharing with his brothers was awful enough, but watching Luke try and teach her how to play Chess spread warmth through his heart, and he’d never laughed so hard seeing her and Quinn get borderline violent during Uno (she almost lunged over the table), so that wasn’t so bad. But at school, that was like trying to hit a puck with a mop: impossible. Boys would like her, see her in ways he did, but also ways he’d want to punch them for, and he would be the masculinity-threatening-boy-best-friend.
“I always wondered why mum lets us do this. Hang out in my room with the door closed.” He said with his voice low, or as low as it could go without breaking and squeaking.
“Maybe my aura is trustworthy.” She chuckled, his eyes closing as her nails raked gently over his scalp. “You mean she didn’t give you a lecture?”
“Damn, think my mum likes you more than she likes me. But yeah, it was basically her telling me to not get you pregnant, which was fucking crazy for a Monday, but I was expecting to be told to keep the door open so they could see what we were doing. Y’know, that kinda shit.” When they’d stopped hanging out in the living room due to background noise disrupting their shows, Ellen had pulled him aside one evening and given him a thirty-minute lecture on trust and not getting girls pregnant as teenagers, but also the importance of using protection, not that either of them were going to have sex, they were only fifteen. He groaned and avoided eye contact the entire time, wanting the ground to swallow him when Quinn heard the entire thing and told Luke. Of course, she was basically telling him that she trusts him to not get y/n pregnant if they were moving to his room. They may have used his room to do their project many moons ago, but that was different, it was once before Jim found out and purposely cleaned the dining room table (which had been on his to-do list for too long) so they could work there instead, even though they were thirteen going fourteen at the time. “Don’t your folks worry about things like that? Like for all they know, we could be fucking right now.”
She laughed as he opened one eye. She hadn’t mentioned a lot about home, but at some point, she would have to spill the secrets about it. It wasn’t that her parents were bad people, no, not at all. They were supportive and loving, but her younger brother, who was in Luke’s grade, was a rebel without a cause and made it difficult for her parents.
“They’ve got bigger problems than what I’m doing,” she said, giving him a smile but she knew he was desperate to ask why she never asked him over to hers. She overheard Jack and Jim talking about it one afternoon as she was walking past. They were getting out Jim’s truck and she just happened to be on her way home from the store. It wasn’t that she was ashamed but exposing him to screaming and arguing wasn’t a promising impression at all. “My brother’s a pain in the ass, bad in school, bad reports, near suspensions, violence. My parents just want the best for him but all he does is get hostile, and then my parents start yelling and then everyone’s arguing with each other, avoiding each other, awkward dinners. He’s supposed to play hockey, but my parents can never get him to go to practice more than twice a week, hence I knew about the school grades and hockey relation. I just don’t like hearing the yelling all the time and I don’t want people to know about it.”
“Do my parents know about it? They seem to talk with yours a lot…”
She pushed the hair off his forehead, thumb rubbing circles over a bruise from his helmet, “Probably, I don’t know.”
He thought carefully, both eyes opened and steadied on hers before he opened his mouth to speak, his voice soft, “You’re always welcome here. My home is your home.”
Just as his dad had told him, offering up your home could be one of the nicest things to do for someone and hearing his words made her stomach fuzzy as a spark of adrenaline surged through her. Should she just do it? Was it okay? What if he pushed her away? Fuck it, what was the worst that could happen, he was too charming to pass up the opportunity and maybe she’d be the first to do it.
She leant down, the other hand’s fingertips lightly ghosting his jaw as she placed her lips to his forehead, giving his flushed skin a sweet, chaste kiss, “Thank you, Wack.”
His jaw dropped, bug-eyed but blooming with ecstasy at the foreign sensation driving through his body and fogging his mind. He couldn’t resist temptation and broke out into a cheshire-cat grin, eyes crinkling at the corners and cheeks burning pink. He felt like the happiest man alive. She was still his person.
*
Homecoming turned out to certainly be a night to remember, in more ways than one. A good few weeks or days, she wasn’t really paying attention, of grand proposals like it was prom, many couples chained together like it were to be their wedding night and the everlonging hope that someone would ask her to be his date. The assumption was that everyone wanted to ask the popular girls, because they held this social value, clout that they had no idea about, making them highly desirable to be seen with at homecoming. Because anything could happen after homecoming, right? Kisses, sex, teens saying they had sex when really their dad caught them making out on the driveway. For a group of popular girls, only one had been asked to be a date, and she would have a magical night to add to her memories.
At first, she thought with her whole heart that Jack would ask her, but then he asked another girl who she didn’t even know. She waited weeks and even had a jumpscare dream that Quinn was forced to take her out of pity. She physically cringed at that, as hot as she found him. Jack was positive though and reassured her that someone would come, there were loads of guys in their grade, one of them was bound to ask her, ‘You’re y/n! Why wouldn’t someone ask you? You’re the coolest and funniest! He’d be stupid to pass you up!’. He tried his best to wingman, he really did, and he thought he’d hit the bullseye with a guy from his gym class.
Y/n sat at one of the tables pushed to the side, cheek resting in her palm while she watched the couples and groups dance under the warm lighting of the gym. The committee settled of a Great Gatsby theme, with dim lighting, a red carpet at the entrance, extravagant balloons and chandeliers covering the ceiling, gold accessories, red tablecloths and a photo booth. Nobody had asked her along with her friends, she wasn’t originally going to attend, claiming to Jack that, ‘It was just a stupid dance, why would I go?’ but there she sat, alone.
She glanced at the clock on the wall, 21:30. Two hours had been long enough for attendance, surely, and clearly nobody was dying to see her. With a sigh, she stood up, patting down her outfit and began to make her way towards the doors. She took one final gaze into the crowd of swaying and hands roaming bodies, the sea parting briefly and the world fell silent. Standing frozen, her eyes widened slightly, lips parting as she locked eyes with him. He was blatantly staring right back at her, like she’d caught him red-handed in the act. Jack stood amongst the crowd, alone, hands stuffed into his suit pockets and looking the most handsome she’d ever seen him. Like a moth to a flame, their legs moved on their own, weaving through the crowd with lips slipping into smiles the closer they became to each other until they stopped chest to chest, joining the sea of bodies. As if on cue, the once upbeat music lulled into a soft and slow song, the accent lights dimming until the chandeliers projected perfect amber droplets around the gym.
Jack held his hand out, “Will you dance with me?”
She didn’t need to speak, her hand melted into his as he pulled her into his chest, gliding his hands to her hips while hers looped around his neck, swaying in perfect sync to the music. He looked so good, too good, or maybe he always looked like that, and it was only then she was letting herself accept it. The way his thumbs caressed her hips made it too easy to seek comfort in him, gentle and thoughtful, not ghosting but not bruising. The perfect pressure that made the pit of her stomach warm and tingly.
Jack’s heart exploded repeatedly in his chest, like she was the cause of his death yet also the healer. He hadn’t expected to see her alone that night, he really believed she’d be swept off her feet so when he caught her just before she slipped away, out of his reach, he was five seconds from bursting through the crowds, without a care for who he pissed off, they didn’t matter. When her hands touched his neck, the only thing he felt like doing was hugging her tight and close, to run his hands over her to feel the fire burn through him all over again, and again, and again. That addicting kind of burn, the kind that kept him warm. He just never wanted her to let him go, didn’t want to become an infirm flame.
“Thought you weren't coming to this stupid dance?” his voice husky, quiet, not to kill the mood for others but his playfulness seeped through.
A wave of confidence washed over her, maybe it was destiny they’d found each other, “It was stupid because I didn’t have a date. But I guess it's not so bad anymore. I get to dance with a pretty guy.”
“I was about to ditch until a pretty girl agreed to dance with me.” He chuckled.
“You think I’m pretty?” Her smile dropped slowly, and her eyebrows raised. Jack swore he saw the stars in her eyes then, glittering under the lights and just them two in the world.
“Always.” He murmured. Her lips twitched up when his smile never faltered, ever since they met, he always looked at her like she’d hung the stars out for him. “I’m sorry nobody asked you to be their date. I thought- I’m sorry, I thought Ryan would. Guess he pussied out.”
He knew he should’ve talked to her, asked her if anyone had asked her yet, if Ryan from gym class did go through with it, but guilt bit him in the gut. That’s what he got for neglecting his best friend, focussing on a girl he met four days prior, and he paid the price by watching her heart break before his eyes.
“It’s not your fault,” she cupped his cheek, feeling him melt into her hand like putty as he leaned down, “but I’m flattered you assumed I would have one. I came with my friends instead, but I lost them.”
“If it helps, my date ditched me too. Pretty much as soon as we got here.”
Their gazes steadied on each other, her hand glued to his face and showing no sign of moving away as he closed in on her lips. She stood on her tiptoes, attempting to close the gap with hot, trembling breaths tangling and lips inches apart. Heartbeats raced at a million miles per hour, hammering in their ears with what felt like electricity transferring between them with how giddy they were. It was just them in the room, their world and everyone was just existing. Lips ghosted, eyes fluttering closed as they took the final leap.
Until Jack pulled back, and instead let his lips meet her forehead for a gentle kiss. Yet the thrill remained, smiles shone brightly, and eyes still sparkled under the chandeliers. His mind screamed at him, screamed insults and profanities for not thinking clearly, face flushing pink as his smile poorly hid his embarrassment. Y/n wanted to run, but her feet refused to move, heart too swept up in the moment.
*
Winters in Toronto bit hard. Froze anyone to their core, nothing but one big duvet of snow covering every building, road and car for miles, taunting the poor civilians who had to wake up extra early just to shovel their driveways and lay layers of grit on the footpaths. The only real redeeming quality for it were the Christmas decorations plotted around people’s front yards and lights wrapped around fences and trees, hung on porches and bushes. Perhaps the Christmas spirit too, when people decide to be just a little bit kinder than normal or suddenly feel the urge to see every family member they know, or huddle inside and watch films by the fire all day with hot chocolate and puzzles. The best of all, Christmas break. A house with no parents for days and freedom to do whatever you wanted.
Unfortunately for y/n and Quinn, there was no huddling in the warmth or sleeping in. The two eldest siblings were promptly enforced to shovelling duty in the AM so their parents could make it to work on time. Thick coats zipped to chins and hockey beanies pulled down to the eyebrows. Y/n’s dad was an early riser, so she never had too much to shovel at six-thirty in the morning with headtorches, but since she was already up, she trudged her way down the road, shovel in hand and surprised Quinn by aiding him. Both gave each other a mutual look of disapproval at their parent’s decision, why were they the ones being punished?
“You don’t have to do this, y’know.” He was so kind, too kind, and such a softie with the way he smiled though his face felt numb.
Y/n tipped a pile of snow off his driveway, “Wasn’t like a was sleeping anyway, teamwork makes the dream work.”
He chuckled with her, both shovelling the last pieces of snow before huffing and high fiving.
“Hey, we’re heading down the rink this evening, you wanna join? Jack’s dying to teach you how to skate, won’t shut up about it.”
At seven-thirty in the evening, the rink was exactly where y/n had found herself, her hands clutched in Jack’s as she attempted to skate like a newborn giraffe. His practice wouldn’t start until eight, and he was determined to get her skating on her own by the end of the public session. Kind of. Part of him had a longing to skate side by side with her, her arm looped with his as they glided around the ice in a perfect sync, yet the other part melted into a puddle when she clung to him for stability, she was just too cute when she concentrated. How could she rollerblade but not ice skate? It was the same thing, almost.
“I got you, don’t try and walk, trust the blades and push. I won’t let you fall; I promise.” He instructed, intently watching her feet move and progressively start gliding yet also trying to not tumble backwards. “That’s it, you’re doing so well.”
His words repeated in her head like a verse, a greed for success shining at the end of a dark tunnel, she would learn to skate eventually. Even though she was barely skating, she laughed the entire time, deep down knowing Jack was doing a lot more dragging than he was letting on, he just wanted her to be happy and have fun.
“You think you can try on your own? I’ll still catch you.” The shock and horror on her face when he let go sent a shockwave through him, y/n was hard to rattle, courageous as they came sometimes and he never thought ice would be her enemy. He found it somewhat amusing, watching her wobble like a baby deer, cautiously moving one leg in front of the other and her arms reaching out to him just for him to slide back, like she was chasing him.
“Jack this is terrifying!” she cried, but not seriously.
“No no, you’re doing fine, look! You’re skating!”
“Barely!” She straightened her hunched posture, bending her knees like Jack had shown her and caught his burning eyes. He did have confidence in her, real, genuine confidence that she wasn’t a lost cause. So, the ambition grew, pushing with more power, using her hands to drive her stride instead of looking for him and by seven-fifty, she could just about skate in one direction.
With one hefty push, she threw her hands up in victory, forgetting about stability and purposely falling into Jack, who caught her by the waist and cheered with her while spinning in a circle with smiles that ached their cheeks.
“I did it!”
“I told you so, Sunshine!” He pulled her onto her feet, hands holding hers tight and cosy, looking at her like she was the most beautiful diamond of the batch, “When I’m out there with the big shots, I’ll take you to the family skate, and the whole world can see us, I swear.”
“Sounds good to me! You better be winning games though!”
“Duh! I have a practice game today, and if I win, I think I deserve a thank you for being your coach.” Although he was only joking, she’d known him long enough to know he was also being dead serious.
“Alright, I suppose. What do you want?”
He pretended to think hard, rubbing his non-existent facial hair on his jaw, “Mmm, I think if I win, I would like a kiss, right here.” He pointed to his cheek. He knew goddamn well what he was doing, the boy craved affection and attention and he knew she was willing to feed it to him.
She agreed, short-circuiting for a second at his wishes but not entirely opposed to the idea overall. He was cute, and she did wonder what it would feel like to kiss a boy and her friends had all done it so why wouldn’t she? The final call for changeover buzzed and vibrated the walls, public skaters leaving the ice and the hockey coaches entering to set up. Jack led y/n off, taking her skates off for her and bidding her a temporary goodbye with a squeeze before she left to sit in the lobby.
On the way through to the locker rooms, an arm plonked itself around his shoulder, “Lil’ Hugh, that uh, girl you were with, she’s real cute. She got a Snapchat?”
Shrugging his arm off, he continued walking, “Not for you, Chris.”
“Oh~,” Chris was his teammate, and unfortunately someone Jack could never find a middle ground with. He thought he had superiority since his father was a former professional hockey player, “Is she your girlfriend? That why?”
Jack turned the corner and entered the locker room, ignoring Chris’ comments and gossip but his fuse shortened every time Chris opened his mouth. Y/n wasn’t some girl to rotate around the team, he’d sworn to himself that she’d never go near the team ever. She was his person; she and hockey were separate, and he hated how badly his jaw tightened whenever her name left someone else’s mouth. All he wanted was to scoop her up in his arms and tell her how much she meant to him. He knew, oh knew painfully well how down bad he’d fallen for his best friend already.
Y/n almost dropped her phone when the doors to the lobby swung open to a Jack bundling through them at some inhuman speed. She whipped around, standing up to open her arms, catching him with a stumble. The cheesy grin on his face meant one thing, and it was that Jack was about to claim victory for the second time. With a playful eye roll, she cupped his jaw, little fires tingling over his skin and igniting more goosebumps than the cold could. Her lips softly met his cheek, giving it a sweet peck before he engulfed her in a bear hug.
Sixteen was such a socially vital age to be turning. Everyone had crazy sixteenth birthdays it seemed. She remembered Quinn’s well, he’d thrown a house party and when she found out she was invited, surprised was an understatement. Some guy had managed to get his hands on alcohol, and at least half the guests got tipsy, except this one girl who threw up in the garden. She knew that because it was her and Jack who’d hosed it down before Ellen and Jim got home the next morning. It was also her and Jack who’d nursed Quinn’s hangover and cleaned half the house for him, safe to say that it was a party people remembered.
Now it was Jack’s sixteenth, he hadn’t planned to celebrate socially until the weekend, savouring the actual day to have at home, just the two of them watching a marathon of The Mighty Ducks in the living room although spent most of the second movie eyeing up the present and card on the coffee table in front of them. Pausing the TV, he took the card between his fingers, slicing the envelope with his nail.
Y/n bit her lip, in excitement or nerves, she wasn’t sure, but she struggled to sit still in anticipation as he pulled the card out. His eyes lit up, carefully holding the handmade card between his fingers, admiring the poster of himself in the format of his favourite video game cover (‘chel’/NHL). Pestering Ellen for photos was worth it after all, the edit looked almost real. No store-bought present could come anywhere close in value to the card in his hands, and the long message handwritten inside made his chest swell and tummy do somersaults like it was going to explode. Placing the card on the coffee table, he reached for the present, looking back at her for the go ahead before tearing the paper to shreds over the floor.
“Thank you so much, Sunshine.” He tackled her back into the sofa cushions, fingers gripping the marshmallow-scented cologne he’d mentioned one lunchtime.
“Anytime.” She fished for the remote, hitting the play button and accepting the fact that Jack had no intention of moving off her, nuzzling his head into her chest as if he couldn’t have been any more obvious to her. She didn’t mind, it was only Jack, and the weight was comfortable and brought a sense of security. Her arms wrapped around him, fingers carding through his hair until the sound from the TV slowly droned out, pairs of eyes fluttering closed, and they drifted off.
While passing by, Ellen’s heart swelled. In the years y/n had joined their lives, she’d never seen her rowdiest son so calm and hooked on someone like Jack was to y/n. Ellen never told Jack or any of her boys, but back when the kids were only young, Ellen and y/n’s mother hoped they’d become friends just as the l/n’s and the Hughes’ had, enrolling them in the same schools their whole lives just to ensure that if all ended badly, they’d still have someone in their lives. They always assumed it would be y/n and Jack hitting it off being the same age, but little y/n seemed to enjoy little Quinn’s personality more, likely due to being the eldest and always having a louder younger sibling disgruntling them, hovering all the same with that childlike fascination that there’s someone else living in their home too. But kids grow up and the heartbreaking part of being a parent was watching kids grow apart from each other until they were nothing more than neighbours and strangers on the same street, the kid from class until they’d completely forgotten that at one point, they were friends.
She draped a blanket over the two, carefully prying the cologne box from Jack’s hand and placing it on the coffee table and turning the TV off. To say that she was riddled with joy as a mother was nowhere near as descriptive as what she felt inside, even spotting the card y/n had made Jack just made her want to tear up. It wasn’t easy finding solace in someone, but as his mother, she knew that no matter who he dated, how many girls he dated, none of them would ever bring the peace of mind y/n had and unfortunately for that poor girl, y/n would always be his number one priority, whether Jack knew it himself or not.
*
People change ages and they also change mentally and emotionally with it. His sixteenth weekend social turned out to be one of the best nights of his life, not a great one for y/n (she was on drunk Jack duty after once again, beers had been smuggled in). She knew that one day, she would be second to Jack, he’d raved about girls to her day after day, his confidence never wavering when it came to his feelings. It started with Nicole when they were thirteen but nothing ever came of it, Talia at fourteen whom he had his first kiss with under the bleachers, he dated Emma when they were fifteen and he took her to homecoming, only for her to ditch him then dump him a month later and at late fifteen, Jack started dating Kenna but at sixteen they had recently broken up, yet Jack was still stuck on her. She never understood why, not because she was upset or jealous, but Kenna wasn’t ever clear with him whether she liked him or not, but Jack seemed to be into whatever it was. Above all those girls, he told y/n about every single one of them in crushing detail, calling until the silly hours of the morning like a lovestruck teenager. Y/n kept her crushes and boyfriends on the down low, they weren’t anyone’s business anyway. Jack had only met one of her boyfriends, and the air that day was as awkward as it came, behind Jack’s forced smile his shoulders tensed and jaw locked, poor Miles sweat like a pig for the whole interaction. But she couldn’t date Miles for long, couldn’t lead him on like she felt something real for him and after four months she called it off. He thought it was due to Jack, which would have been any guy’s default answer, but Jack had no idea about it until a week after. The worst part for Miles was that y/n didn’t shed a tear, she’d cried over Jack more.
Y/n and Jack stood outside his friend, Liam’s, house. Music thumping, echoing into the street outside and colourful lights strobing from the windows with teens seeping into and out the house as they pleased. It was the most college looking party they’d seen, but Liam’s parents were on the wealthier side, and they had a large enough house to host.
“Wack, I have a really bad feeling about this,” Y/n said, holding onto Jack’s arm. Her hand squeezing around his bicep made him all kinds of jittery inside.
“It’ll be okay, yeah? If you wanna leave, either come find me or give me the signal.” He smiled, giving her forehead a quick peck, “And if you can’t find me, find my friends, you’re okay with them, right?”
She was, she’d hung out with them on occasions and had classes with a couple of them. They weren’t on a level of friendship like Jack was with them, but they were the kind of friend where you’d still be relieved if you saw them in an unfamiliar place.
With a nod, they entered through the crowds, snaking through bodies to find Liam and the rest of Jack’s group. In a house swamped with people she knew, y/n had never felt so small and alone, clinging to Jack’s arm like she didn’t belong there at all. She could hold onto his arm the whole night and he wouldn’t have minded; his number one fear was losing her entirely or being unable to help her in a time of dire need.
After an hour of being at Liam’s, her vice grip on Jack’s arm was surrendered as soon as her friends arrived. Liam was only really friends with one of them, but the more the merrier, right? The level of tea that had been spilt while she and her friends dominated the sofas was astronomical, y/n had updated her mental filing cabinet of high school gossip completely, a full reboot and she’d contributed heavily to it. ‘Anyone who claims they don’t gossip is the biggest gossip’, that was their motto.
Her friend, Rachel, leant closer into their huddle, “Guess who just arrived? Kenna!”
“Kenna? As in Kenna who started dating Miles? That’s fucking bold.” Sarah gasped, the group’s eyes widening.
“Huh?” y/n choked on her beer, “They’re dating? Why?”
“Right!” Kylie’s posture straightened, her mouth falling in disbelief, “Though, I heard from Josh that Miles was super bummed when y/n/n dumped him, so maybe he’s in his revenge era?”
“Bold of him to assume I care about what he does.” Y/n sipped her drink, scoffing slightly.
“Really? Lily, the blonde one, said that Owen told Liam that Kenna and Jack had broken up and Kenna was so pissed about it because apparently Jack dumped her for y/n/n, which we know isn’t true because Jack and y/n/n aren’t together!” Jonie exclaimed. Y/n hated how her heart sped up, there was no way she was the reason Jack left the girl he was crazy about for her.
“That’s further from the truth,” y/n piped up, “Kenna dumped Jack a week before his birthday outside my locker, think she was upset that he planned to spend his birthday with me and not her. Fucking Cam was there too. I dumped Miles way before that.”
“Oh my God, maybe Miles thought you dumped him for Jack and Kenna assumed that you two were canoodling? Like, ‘Hey, sorry but I love my bestie more than you, you’re second place’ which is understandable, it’s normal.” Kylie raised. All drinks had been set by feet and the huddle tightened, the conversation just got juicy.
“One, never say canoodling, two, hold up. Why would Miles date Kenna to get back at y/n? And vice versa?” Rachel asked, the group subtly glancing across the room at the two victims of their night.
“Shit, Kenna knows Jack’s crazy about her and probably knows he hates Miles. It’s for the chase. Poor Wack.” Y/n rested her chin in her palm, her friends looking at her with sappy eyes hearing her use the nickname.
“You two are too cute.” Kylie cooed, y/n rolling her eyes. She despised that comment with every fibre in her body. Nobody broke her heart more than the comments about how cute she and Jack were, nothing fed delusions and false hopes more. Jack liked Kenna, and that was final. In no universe would she and Jack be more than friends, as much as that tore her heart out of her chest. Maybe some people aren’t meant to be.
As if they’d summoned him, Jack shoved his way through the crowds to the sofa and stood with panic in his eyes, “Sunshine, I need your help, like now.”
Jack dragged her to a corner of the living room, away from the majority of the crowd but not isolated entirely. When Jack said he needed him, she hadn’t expected the following sentence at all. He’d seen Kenna and Miles, and he’d fallen into their trap, and she felt nothing but sympathy for him.
“So, Kenna thinks we’re, like, a thing so I need you to kiss me.” He begged, y/n stood frozen, “Please, y/n, you know how crazy I am about her, I’ll make it up to you.”
She almost shook her head and walked away, but the way he flashed his puppy eyes and clutched her hands in his, she couldn’t resist. He was so adamant that by Kenna seeing them kiss, she’d come crawling back to him in some sort of jealous fit of rage. Kissing Jack would screw things up, y/n knew that. She knew that it may have not meant anything to Jack, it would fog her feelings and mind too much and she’d never be able to look at him the same way again. But they were best friends, they were supposed to be there for each other, and his happiness was her number one priority.
“All right, pretty boy,”
Her hands cupped his jaw, his lips gracing into a smile. He wasn’t supposed to feel excited; he wasn’t supposed to feel restless with adrenaline surging through him and he certainly wasn’t supposed to be enjoying the way he melted into her palms and his hands embedded on her hips, pulling their bodies closer. He dipped down, closer to filling the gap between them as eyelids fluttered closed with hot breaths bouncing off each other's cheeks. The house of bustling teenagers yelling to each other over throwback songs and cheering from beer pong muted and everyone they were once surrounded by felt like they had disappeared into the void as just the two of them heard heartbeats pulse in their ears. Just Jack and y/n, y/n and Jack. Their lips pressed together, a thrilling voracity unleashing, and his tongue swiped her lower lip. She was only going to live once, and even though she’d never made out with anyone before, if she wasn’t great at it, at least it was only Jack. She opened her mouth, his tongue darting in with a fervent desire. With one hand sliding to his nape, tugging on the hairs and ripping a groan from the back of his throat, one of his hands left her hip and slid up her spine, pressing her body closer into his chest. She followed his lead, tongues lapping at each other in a rousing frenzy, like something they’d been dreaming of doing for months and getting it out of their systems turning them feral for the taste and affection. All the little touches, hugs, afternoons spent cuddling on his bed, time cooped up in each other's company with no proper understanding of their feelings finally bursting into fireworks.
He pulled back, chests heaving as they caught breaths with half-lidded eyes speaking more words of yearning than either would admit before Jack dove back in, deeply kissing her slowly, tongues roaming mouths and moans vibrating through chests as they physically couldn’t stop themselves from drinking in one another.
Perhaps they’d kissed a bit too long for it to be fake, kissed a bit too well for it to be a show. What they did was that dreaded limbo between a mistake and the experience of a lifetime. When they had pulled away for the final time, hands leaving each other hesitantly with sheepish smiles, Kenna stormed out the room, y/n and Jack watching her with giggles. The pair turned to each other and high-fived with strained hearts and trampled feelings being stuffed to the pits of their minds as they’d tried to forget the kiss ever happened. Not that they could, no, there was too much intent behind the way they touched, too many sparks between their lips for it to not mean anything at all. It meant everything to y/n, her first proper French kiss and when the world tuned back into play, she ascended to the heavens with pure elation. She hoped he felt the same, the way he kissed her had too much desperation and emotion behind it to all be just an act.
Another two hours drowning at the party, another three cheap beers and she just had to break the seal, and wetting yourself at a party was not what anyone wanted in their teenage years. She splashed her face, doing her best to keep herself away, perhaps another hour and she’d go lug Jack home. Fixing her hair and outfit, she slipped from the bathroom, exhaling before entering the lion's den once again but when she turned the corner, her stomach dropped to the pit and shattered into shambles. She was so wrong. She knew it was a bad idea and she should have stayed strong when he raised the idea because then she wouldn’t be watching Jack lip-lock with Kenna right in front of her. She had to remind herself, repeat it like a mantra to drill it into her skull, they were just best friends at the end of the day. Jack was into Kenna, and she knew that, but it should’ve been her standing there. It was her before Kenna, why did he like her anyway? She was hot and cold, on and off with him, one day they were snuggled up and the next y/n was the one cradling Jack through his rambles. Kissing Jack had always meant nothing, yet she deluded herself that it meant everything. With watery eyes, she took a sharp breath and kept walking, B-lining for Jack’s friends at the beer pong table. Anything to take her mind off the invasive fantasies being abolished. Getting drunk didn’t sound all that bad anymore.
“Hey, y/n!” Liam called as she approached, his t-shirt collar damp and stained, “You good?”
“Yeah, was wondering if you needed one more player?” she lied, hiding any drop of hurt behind her teeth.
They split into even teams, re-setting and refilling the red solo cups to the brim and playing rock-paper-scissors to decide who started. Liam won, lining up his aim and watching the ping pong ball bounce over all the cups, the other team (y/n’s team) letting out sighs of relief. The next guy took his shot, the ball landing in the cup and the round continued, y/n forgetting about Jack the more beer she threw down her throat.
One round quickly turned to two in the heat of the thrill, the beer slowly running low and so Liam pulled out the vodka he’d stashed away from the rest of the party. The vodka had one hell of a kick compared to the beer, the burning satisfying as it fell down her throat, yet it was the perfect remedy as the more cups she drank from, the less Jack entered her mind. Until the room started spinning and nausea hit her like a brick.
“I’ll be right back; I don’t feel so hot.” She tapped Liam’s shoulder, stumbling as she turned away.
“Shit,” Liam wrapped his arm around her shoulder, stabilising her, “hold on guys, be right back.”
Liam guided her to the bathroom, sitting down next to the toilet with her. She shook her head at him and leant over the bowl, panic rushing through him as his hands pulled her hair away from her face.
“It’s all right, ‘atta girl,” he soothed. He shouldn’t be the one with her in that state, she needed someone close and that she trusted, and Liam wasn’t sure if she was entirely okay with him seeing her in such a disastrous state, but if he left her, Jack would tear the place up.
She stopped retching, tears falling down her cheeks as she sobbed out hoarsely, “Just wan…ted to forget…saw.”
Meanwhile, Jack hung in the garden with a group of girls, Kenna and her friends, re-telling a half-exaggerated story from the summer when Owen blundered over to him and gripped him by the arm, spinning him around to face him.
“Hughesy! Your girl's not holding up so good, she played beer pong, Liam took her to the bathroom.” He explained hurriedly, watching Jack’s face screw up, brows knitting deepening on this forehead and suddenly the girls weren’t important anymore.
“And you left her there?!” he hadn’t meant to raise his voice, but his fight or flight kicked in and he shrugged Owen off, storming into the house, “Thanks anyway.”
Jack’s ears blocked out his classmates swear at him as he burst through the house, pushing his way to the bathroom like the place was on fire, swinging the bathroom door open and halting when his eyes laid upon y/n slumped against the cabinet, Liam sat opposite her.
“I got her, go. Thanks for keeping an eye on her.” He let Liam squeeze past before locking the door. Jack crouched in front of her, his chest tightening at her tear-stained cheeks tinted red, his palm resting on her cheek.
“Hey, Sunshine,” he said softly, y/n nuzzling into his hand with opening, puffy eyes, “why’d you drink so much?”
“M’was sad.” She uttered out, pulling her knees closer to her chest with a fuzzy head and weak jaw.
“And why were you sad?” his thumb rubbed her cheek, guilt building in his stomach. She was in dire need of him, and he wasn’t there. The evil voice at the back of his brain refusing to let it slide, howling it at him, ‘You weren’t fucking there! It’s your fault!’.
She lulled her head up straight, red, sleepy eyes staring into his, “Because…you kissed me,” she slurred, sniffing, “and I liked it, and I shouldn't have…because you kissed another girl. So, it meant…meant nothing.”
You kissed me and I liked it. It rang through his head like a parasite. Actions have consequences, his dad had always told him that since he was a child and he was finally realised that he didn’t just mean in hockey, but in life. Not only had he messed up his own feelings but now hers too and it was all his fault. He didn’t want to think about it anymore, he just wanted to night to end, the moment to pass and a new day to begin where everything went back to normal. Where he could hug and hold her without thinking about a future where she was more than his best friend, where he wouldn’t be squatting on a bathroom floor, holding his drunk y/n’s head in his palm while evidently displaying the fact she had been crying because of him, even worse that Liam had seen her. Even worse that she felt the need to drink until she puked just to get it out her head.
“You’re drunk, y/n. You have no idea what you’re saying.”
She raised her hand and gripped his wrist, “I’m drunk, not stupid. You’re annoying…and annoyingly pretty. It’s not fair! Why dont guys like you like me!? Why do guys like Miles like me, he’s so…so lukewarm.”
She tried to stand up, wobbling but he caught her, his arm snaking around her waist as she put her weight into him. He would always catch her.
“You deserve better than guys like me, Sunshine.” He unlocked the door, walking with her through the foyer until they left out the front door, “The guy who wins your heart will be so lucky.”
It was midnight by the time they’d managed to trek home, y/n sobering up as they walked, leaning her body weight less and less into him but they walked hand in hand the entire way. Although it was nearly mid-May, the nights were still chilly, and both regretted not wearing jackets.
Jack walked her to her back door, her head still a bit fuzzy and his heart aching tremendously. Neither said a word, they gave each other a slight nod but to her surprise he planted a kiss on her forehead. Then he spun on his heel and left out her back gate.
*
Life moved on since the party and neither Jack nor y/n bought it up either, the whole event just seemed to fade into a memory vault. Yet too many nights of overthinking, too many hugs that lasted too long and sex dreams after the kiss just kept the feelings on a loop. But enough time passed for them to sit in Jack’s room at the lake house during the summer, chatting like usual and laughing at stupid jokes. Somehow, y/n had convinced Ellen and Jim to let her share with Jack, her point being that sharing with boys was awkward (even though she, Alex and Cole got along perfectly, harmonious to be absolute) and Jack couldn’t bear Trevor’s brutal snoring for another year. So, they let y/n take the mattress on Jack’s floor, emphasising the ‘no funny business’ rule once again.
Jack tossed and turned in his bed, shorts hiked up his thighs from wiggling so much, sheets twisted and his mind refusing to sleep. He tried flipping his pillow, turning the fan on a colder setting, and counting sheep but he couldn’t stop thinking.
“Jack, stop moving.” She whispered from the floor, irritated at the rustling.
“I can’t sleep knowing you have to sleep on the floor.” It wasn’t a complete lie, “Sleep here with me.”
Opening her eyes slowly, she gulped. He wanted her to share his bed? Even after they made out and she confessed her darkest secrets about it to him? He muttered a ‘Please’ before she threw her duvet off and slipped into his bed, Jack shimmying over next to the wall. They laid on their sides, facing each other with nothing but the whirring fan filling the silence. He tried to keep his eyes steady, to stop them from wandering to her collarbones and cleavage but why did she have to wear a tank top to bed? Was she trying to kill him? The bikinis during the day had him sweating and retreating to his room early to deal with his uncomfortably tight shorts as it was. What was she doing to him?
“Did you mean it? Did you really like it?” He asked, voice barely above a whisper.
She knew exactly what he meant, the only thing they hadn’t been talking about. “Why would I lie to you?”
“I liked it too. I don’t care if people know we kissed, by the way. I wasn’t ashamed. I just didn’t want to make things awkward, so I didn’t bring it up.” He placed his hand over hers on the pillow, as if to hold it.
She smiled at him, “It’s okay, as long as we’re cool.”
He paused and gazed into her eyes, admiring how they shimmered under the moonlight that seeped through his blinds. “You’re a good kisser, dunno if anyone’s ever told you that.”
“You too,” she giggled, “when did you learn how to make out?”
“Honestly, I winged it. That was the first time I’ve made out with somebody but I’m glad it was you. You were a lot better than she was.”
“What happened to her?”
Jack exhaled, taking his hand off hers and his arm winding around her waist instead, tucking her into his chest. Y/n’s arm snaked around his torso, the two intertwining and slicing the thick atmosphere that once separated them. With that action alone, y/n knew his answer, she was the only woman back in his arms again. As it should have been. As it should be.
The weeks before the annual lake house trip was always the most hectic. So much packing, cleaning, laundry and sorting out car and bedroom arrangements. Ellen and Jim had to spend almost two days brainstorming on how everything would work efficiently and make everyone happy. The more summers that passed, the more they got used to their big group and they didn’t mind anymore. What was supposed to be a one-off turned annual but giving the kids fond memories of their childhoods and adolescence was all that mattered. However, Jack had started dating a girl called Tabby from school which meant for weeks on end he pestered Ellen to let her join the lake house. Of course she was wary about space, but she didn’t want his teenage moods to ruin the summer. The settlement was final, Tabby could join for a week, but she had to find her own way there since their cars were full. Or so Ellen hoped. It wasn’t like she hated Tabby, she barely knew her son’s new girlfriend, but she hoped y/n would still be on the invite and if Jack wasn’t going to relay the message, then she would. She just prayed Jack still remembered he had a best friend.
Saturday nights were Jack’s turn to wash the dishes, even if he complained every time. It was good training for when he got older and would have to do it anyway. Quinn would do his part without question, Luke too, but Jack moved at one-hundred miles per hour, everything else was far more interesting than chores. Especially Tabby, the girl he thought he’d fallen in love with, thought about all the time, wanted to spend the little moments with.
Luke entered the kitchen, two plates in his hands and he placed them next to the sink, Quinn following with the last one. Jack scowled, placing a wet plate onto the drying rack. Both Luke and Quinn gave each other a side-eye, nudging each other’s ribs behind the middle’s back, silently gesturing who would speak up first.
Luke rolled his eyes, shaking his head, “Is y/n coming this summer? She better be, Jack.”
Jack shrugged, placing another plate to his right, “If she wants to.”
“Does she know that?” Quinn prompted, folding his arms over his chest.
“…probably?” Jack’s voice was far too dismissive to his brothers, like he didn’t even care at all, hadn’t even thought about it. Quinn’s tongue poked his cheek, Luke exhaling.
“You’re such an ass, I’m texting her.” The youngest exasperated, his dirty-blond curls bouncing as he pulled his phone from his pocket, fingers typing rapidly.
“Mum’s not gonna let you and Tabby share your room, by the way. That only works with y/n/n.” Quinn was his big brother, it was his job to tick his brother off, have the last word and assert that he was in the right.
Jack placed the final plate on the drying rack, roughly pulling the rubber gloves off and swung around to face his siblings, eyebrows knitted into a deep ‘v’, “You guys suck! Why can’t you be supportive?” He snapped, voice echoing through the kitchen and dining.
“You’re not seeing the point, Jack.” Luke kept his voice calm, even though his knuckles gripped his phone until they were white, “We don’t care if Tabby comes or not, we care if y/n is. And I just invited her so some friend you are.”
Quinn was almost shaking, seething as he hissed, “Don’t forget who was here first. Goodnight Jack.”
He shook his head with disappointment, turning and leaving the room, Luke tailing behind him. The clock ticked in the silence that swallowed Jack, his breathing heavy and rattling in his ears as his eyes caught sight of the photo on the wall. It was from last summer, a group photo of the usual suspects around the fire pit, wrapped up in hoodies and blankets with hot chocolates in their laps. The lawn chairs had all been taken, so he, y/n and Trevor sat on the log, y/n huddled between the two boys with their arms thrown over her shoulders. The same distaste coating his tongue as it did in the moment, something about how close she and Trevor had been that summer. The only thing making it better was how she fell asleep in his bed, in his hold and how she also was not ashamed of kissing him.
But he had a girlfriend now, so why did it still hurt to think about y/n?
Seventeen was such a floodgate age. You were in love with living and so dearly connected with souls, afraid to get old but at the same time you were so inconsolably fragile. Y/n’s stomach twisted whenever she saw Jack and Tabby together. Slowly, day by day, she watched him drive further into the distance while she was left in the rear-view mirror. She couldn’t control him; he was free to love and live how he wanted but didn’t think she would be easily replaced. At least she was the first to make out with him, the first to cradle him while he cried, fall asleep with him on sofas and beds, tell him he was pretty but now she was lucky to receive a text back. She hung out with Luke more than him since Tabby entered the picture. She played street hockey with Luke, watched movies with Quinn, FaceTimed Trevor, played games with Cole, texted Alex, spent Sunday’s shopping and took long drives with her friends instead. It was starting the feel like the older they got, the further apart they became. So much so that she found herself texting Cole, Trevor and Alex more than Jack. Hell, they thought they texted her more than they did Jack.
Trevvy
R u lake housing this summer?
Pls say yes cuz ik jizzy’s got his new girl and ur always no 1
y/n <3
You’ll have to take that up with Jacko, depends if I still have a place in his heart
I just say yes to the invite
I hope so tho I miss you and the boys
Trevvy
U’LL ALWAYS HAVE A PLACE IN MY HEART ANGEL
We miss u 2
I’m gonna be so pissed if ur not I wont go. Omg u can come to me!!!!
y/n <3
Thanks Twevvy
But gross no thanks
You should still go tho like don’t let me get between friendships
Trevvy
Ur so mean to me :(
Dw Tabby already did that
We r y/n/n supporters in this house <3333
y/n <3
Lukey’s invited me!! But snore in my ear and I’ll rip your balls off <3
She was just about to fall asleep, a new excitement flushing now she was officially going back to the lake house and away from the house for another year until her phone flashed. Her brother had only become worse, and she started getting used to the Hughes’ getaway home, that was the scary part.
Wack Huh🤕
I was gonna call u but its late but im sorry
Ik this is poor of me to say over text but it cant wait. Im sorry for kinda just leaving u behind now im w tabby. Idk what was wrong w me but Q and lukey opened my eyes and after thinking i realise ive been a dick abt it. Im sorry for not hanging out with u as much and for not texting or calling, im sorry i haven’t been sitting with u at lunch either. Im gonna go back to how things were w us. Im sorry for not inviting u to the lake sooner and that luke had 2 do it. I do want u 2 come ur my best friend ofc i do, i need u. I wont let it happen again, im so sorry sunshine i love u and u’ll always be my no 1 u were here first <3
She really didn’t know how to feel. There was no distinctive feeling but as he’d said, they were best friends, and she needed him too and it did hurt. It stung like a bitch but not forgiving and giving him a chance would have stung more.
Sunshine💪
Thank you
You’re forgiven but i miss you so please don’t let it happen again. Idc if you’re with tabby or not as long as you’re happy but you have friends too that love you more than any girl could
*
Tabby had arrived at the lake house a week after the Hughes’ and honorary Hughes did. She wasn’t a stranger to his brothers and y/n, but Trevor, Cole and Alex had never seen or met Tabby (only knew the name) so when some girl rocked up at the door, the three suddenly got the memo that Jack’s girlfriend had come to join him on their adventures, and avoided her like the plague, subtly. Y/n, Quinn and Luke, all had given each other looks, knowing that they wouldn’t see Jack for the week.
So, when Jack yanked y/n into his bedroom one afternoon out the blue, shock slapped her around the face. He closed his door urgently, eyes wide in a panic, his clothes skewed over his room, and he stood skittish in front of his mirror, dressed in a white polo shirt and khaki shorts.
“Be honest, do I look good?” he asked her, biting his nail.
Y/n blinked, processing how she’d never seen him so unsure of himself. Wanting to impress someone was natural, but Jack’s confidence usually never wavered, especially around people he was comfortable with.
“Stupid question. You look great, possibly the cleanest I’ve ever seen you.” She stood next to him, like they had done years ago when she cried over a bikini.
He fussed with his collar, spinning to face her, peering down at the way her eyes softened, “Really? Good, I’d be so lost without you. Why am I scared, y/n? It’s just a date.”
Her eyebrows raised. Date? Since when did he start planning dates? It couldn’t be helped when you could be in love with your best friend, that slither of jealousy choking her neck. Y/n swatted his hands away from his collar, straightening it out and patting it flat. Her hands slid to his chest, smile tugging on her lips as his hands moved in autopilot to hover over her hips, fingers barely ghosting the fabric of her (his) hoodie.
“Because you want to impress her. It’s normal, you want her to keep liking you and get to know her more.” She replied gently, watching the way his eyes glued to hers in a trance.
“You always know what to say, Sunshine,” his voice was deeper than last year, chest firmer and as much as she knew she had to stop enjoying her hands on his chest, she couldn’t back away, “s’one of the things I like about you.”
Thank the stars he’d closed his door, because if anyone had seen them standing almost chest to chest with hands in places they shouldn’t have been for just friends, the hurricane that would have broken loose would have been disastrous. Yet neither moved, thumbs rubbed circles over fabrics and thoughts spiralled, the same devilish thoughts from Liam’s birthday party. How soft lips looked, how pretty and handsome they’d become, how sharp jawlines were and how alluring eyes had become. Touches igniting the fires than tingled over skin all over again. The aroma of marshmallows that had her dying to bury her nose in his neck. That stupid cologne. How dare he wear it for a woman that was not her. The scent that triggered waterfalls of memories and feelings; him sleeping on her chest, her tucked under his arm.
“You smell really good, almost familiar.” She mumbled with a smirk, batting her eyelashes at him sinfully.
His lips quirked, “Marshmallows? I wear it when I need you around.”
To school, to hockey, to family functions, to parties, to dates, whenever she wasn’t there, the cologne was. It was his own reassurance, comfort. When he’d neglected her before summer, every time he wore the cologne, the smell would bring a longing, a sense of emptiness and he never figured out why. He didn’t care if anyone liked the way it smelled, unless it was y/n. Always y/n. Only y/n.
She slipped her hand to his shoulder, standing on her tiptoes gradually as he dipped down, wetting his lips. The action felt familiar, the attraction like a Siren’s song as their noses bumped hesitantly, breaths hitting cheeks and lips ghosting, sparks shooting through nerves and through bodies and hitting the fight reflex. She titled her head up, millimetres away from closing the gap and warmth pooling into her lower stomach. He wanted to kiss her again. Again, again and again. Recreate their night all over again and she needed to taste his tongue. But as their lips barely met, his door handle rattled and opened hastily. Jack let her go and y/n pushed him back, both stepping away and creating a sensible distance between the two of them, cheeks flaring at the realisation that they shouldn’t be left alone.
Tabby poked her head through the door with a smile, “Jack, are you- Oh hey, y/n! Are you okay?”
“Uh, yeah, sorry I just needed to…ask him something…I’ll, uh, go now. Have fun!” She fumbled over her words, pulling her sleeves over her hands and slipping past Tabby, stumbling into Cole in the hall.
After leaving Jack’s room in a hurry, she hadn’t a clue where she was going until her legs took her to the back porch, sitting on the porch swing. The sun set in in the distance, the orange and pink hues cascading down the sky and the lake’s water twinkling. She sank back into the cushions with a gentle swing, eyes fixated on Trevor, Luke and Alex playing swing ball down on the grass. There was peace, nothing but quiet for once. She closed her eyes, relishing in the breeze and movement of the swing until the seat dipped next to her. Opening one eye, she was met with Quinn’s comforting figure. He didn’t say anything at first, just sat and swung next to her, watching the boys below hit the tennis ball with too much aggression for what it was worth.
“You know he’s just gonna keep breaking your heart, right?” He stated, gaze maintaining on the boys.
She suspired, a bittersweet smile on her lips and eyes, “And I’ll let him every time.”
Quinn’s heart sank, he’d watched his little brother obsess over her for years, talk about how pretty and cool she was, beg for her undivided attention and fear that she’d like his brothers more. The dramatic switch up hit like a brick, and if it was tough on him, y/n must’ve been feeling one hell of a storm inside. He scooted closer, wrapping his arm around her and pulling her into his side. She leant her head on his shoulder, sniffing.
There was nothing romantic about the gesture, they’d known each other for so long it was more comforting in a brotherly way. At one point she may have had the tiniest crush on Quinn, but spending every week with him normalised his presence and spending more time around Jack made the feelings jump from one brother to another.
“Try not to think about him, hang with the others instead. You’re allowed to have friends too. Jack’s just annoying, remember that.” He reassured, attempting a light-hearted sprinkle of humour.
*
Boat days were always highest priority, even if waking up was difficult. She’d slept well for once, considering she was sharing the basement with the boys. She could have shared the spare room with Tabby, but from the kindness of her heart, she let her have the room to herself as she was considered the guest, and because y/n felt awkward. Besides, pillow fights in the basement hit different and Uno when you’ve got to be quiet turned out to be funnier than it should have been. The basement was just the vibe, kitchenette under the stairs, glass sliding doors out into the garden, pool table in the middle, fireplace with a scoreboard on the right side of the doors and a c-shape sectional sofa and a TV on the other side, bathroom in the corner.
Y/n wasn’t as upset as she’d thought she would have been, seeing Jack and Tabby together. Trevor had consoled her beforehand that she was welcome to join him and the other two on shenanigans if Jack was, in his words, ‘being a dick’. But she wasn’t upset when they all headed out into the lake, Jack and Tabby cuddled up together on one end of the deck while the other hooted and hollered at y/n tearing it up on the wakeboard.
“Lookin’ hot, y/n/n!” Trevor called, pulling his phone out.
“When did you get so good!?” Cole’s eyes almost falling from their sockets in surprise.
Tabby and Jack were in their own bubble, chatting with arms around each other while blocking out the laughter from the others. Though, Jack’s eyes couldn’t stay on his girlfriend for long, they seemed to flicker between her face and the way Trevor caught y/n as she stepped back onto the decking, handing her the towel before it was Luke’s turn. Something about seeing y/n with the guys just irked him.
The second time Jack found himself licking his teeth was on Tuesday night. The usual suspects circling the fire pit, roasting marshmallows and chatting until their eyes became heavy. Tabby was deep into sharing a story with the group, but it fell deaf on his ears, and apparently y/n’s too. She’d also apparently decided that wearing Trevor’s hoodie was more comfortable than his. Her melted marshmallow had bumped Trevor’s, and the pair were trying to unstick them while suppressing giggles as to not be rude to Tabby. Usually it was himself and y/n trying to stifle laughter.
Wednesday he’d taken Tabby to a flower show she’d been interested in. But the biggest mistake he’d made was opening his Snapchat to find, via Alex’s story, that his friends, brothers and y/n had gone down to the go karting track without him. In the video was Cole and Trevor pulling up, both boys flashing the camera a wink before he heard y/n voice ring out from behind the camera.
“That was so hot, Alex send me that.”
“You could just ask and we’ll do it again.” Cole’s voice muffled by his helmet.
“You do know your way to a girl’s heart, Caulfield.”
He had a girlfriend, why was he seething over a few banterous comments? It happened all the time, they were friends! It meant nothing!
Wednesday afternoon, only a couple of days left until Tabby had to leave and instead of planning how to make her days special, Jack watched his best friend teach Trevor, Cole and Alex how to shotgun a beer from the porch. They all laughed harmoniously, like seventeen-year-olds should, alcohol spraying everywhere when someone didn’t quite make it but grabbing another can from the crate Jim bought them as a treat.
“Tabs, you wanna go join them? It’ll be fun! Y/n’s super cool, she’ll teach you better than I would.” He interrupted his girlfriend, who was mid-ramble about a concert she was dying to see.
“Oh, no it’s okay. I don’t drink, but I’ll stay here and watch!” Tabby politely declined, she was too kind, but disappointed when she realised that Jack hadn’t been listening for the past five minutes.
He stayed, sitting back into the cushions and resting his arm over the back of the bench, eyes still blankly staring at his friends below.
Lukewarm beer pooled down Cole’s throat; his free arm raised in the air as he’d finally been able to successfully shotgun without the drink exploding over himself. The other three cheered, only Trevor left to gain success. He tossed the can around in his palm, puncturing the bottom with the key and tilting his head back only to have it spray over his face and t-shirt, his friends bursting into fits around him.
In an instant retaliation, he turned to the nearest person and held the can towards them. Beer sprayed over y/n’s t-shirt and hair, earning a squeal from her that rang through the yard.
“The fuck, Trev!” She swatted his arm away from her, grabbing his can and sticking it to soak Alex instead. Alex ran, only to have y/n chase him with the drink as it rinsed his clothes.
“You bitch!” It was his turn to take the can and chase Cole, who screamed the loudest blood-curdling scream as the others cackled, holding stomachs and dodging the firing line.
The evening Tabby bid her goodbyes before Ellen drove her to the airport was the worst moment of Jack’s teenage life. He’d barely seen his friends all day, making Tabby’s last day special before helping her with her bags and giving her a kiss goodbye before he watched his mum’s car drive down the road. He would have joined if his assistance wasn’t needed at the barbecue. Watching his girl leave wasn’t the worst part, it was what came after that.
He ran his fingers through his hair and stood in the foyer, strangely absent of that empty feeling when good times come to an end, that longing when you don’t know what to do with yourself. He knew what he wanted to do, he wanted to hurl himself into y/n’s arms, tuck his face into her neck and feel her fingers rake through his hair, tugging gently through the knots while she vented about how stupid the characters in a movie were. But he couldn’t. Was that…wrong? To want such a thing when his girlfriend just left. He wasn’t going to be a cheater, y/n would never forgive him if he did such a thing to anyone, and he wouldn’t forgive himself either. He loved Tabby after all, and clearly y/n loved Trevor’s company better.
Shuffling through the house and onto the back porch, Jack froze, the light in his eyes dimming, his jealousy growing from a thorn in his side to a leash around his neck upon watching his friends play basketball on the patio. Y/n shot the ball into the hoop, circling the rim before falling in. Trevor and y/n jumped for joy around a defeated Alex and Cole, y/n leaping into Trevor’s arms as they hugged in celebration. Jack grit his teeth, that should have been him spinning her around, holding her waist. But no, it had to be Trevor, his other best friend.
Actions have consequences, they said. And what they said was right. But Jack still hadn’t entirely grasped that concept entirely. To him, he was being replaced, that y/n didn’t want him anymore now he had a girlfriend.
*
After Tabby left, the basement dwellers moved to the spare room, but y/n didn’t retreat to Jack’s. He had half expected her to, but he ended up laying alone, ignoring the texts from his girlfriend and scrolling through photos of himself and y/n, wondering what life would be like if he didn’t have Tabby.
It wasn’t often y/n woke up in dire need of a drink, especially in the middle of the night. She also didn’t mean to hang around in the kitchen for too long, but the moon just shone beautifully, almost enticing her into her own little world. So much so that the footsteps against the floor startled her, fear running, thinking the worst-case scenario that either Jim or Ellen were about to tell her to go back to bed. But it never came. Her eyes met his in the reflection of the glass and she turned to face him calmly, a small smile on her lips seeing his blue eyes focus on her for the first time in a while. Jack’s body urged; legs restless as they just stood listening to the kitchen clock tick in the dark. Her feet concrete to the ground, with tears welling in his sullen eyes, swift like the breeze, his arms encased around her shoulders, burying his nose into the crook of her neck. Y/n hummed, winding her arms around his torso and listening to the way his heartbeat slowed. Jack could be told a million times that he’d hurt her, but the only way he’d realise was to feel it with his own heart.
“You guys are seeing what I’m seeing…right?” Cole asked, adjusting his seating when the leather starting stinging from the heat.
Y/n, Quinn, Luke, Alex and Trevor replied in unison with ‘yep’ and ‘yup’, the group blatantly staring at Jack and his new girlfriend sitting at the bow of the boat. After last summer, Tabby had broken up with Jack a couple of months later, something about just not being a fit for each other. Of course, Jack was devastated, but not as much as he thought he’d be which showed a lot about his feelings, but life moved on normally. He still had his best friend, and he still had his family. He still had his constants, especially that constant feeling like he was in competition. Regardless, it wasn’t long until he was laying on y/n’s lap, telling her all about this girl, Ari. And as everyone had assumed, Ari joined their lake house summer for a week.
“It’s kinda freaky, do you think he realises?” Trevor added, y/n shaking her head at him.
“Either he doesn’t and he’s really stupid, or he’s done it on purpose. I mean come on, she and y/n look so similar.” Luke said, overly thrilled that he was considered cool enough to be part of their group activities fully.
“Should I be flattered or worried?” y/n blinked at the couple, noting the familiar bikini Ari was wearing, “I wore that bikini when I was fifteen. He fumbled so badly when he saw it.”
“Don’t blame him, angel. Had me gasping for air.” Trevor chuckled, y/n slapping his chest.
“Yo,” Alex spoke up, the group turning to him, “I think Jack may be into y/n but just doesn’t know it.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, kid’s into Ari and all those other girls he talks about. Don’t give me false hope.” She scoffed, folding her arms. They all glanced back at the couple and then at each other. It wasn’t like she was hiding the fact she liked Jack, in fact, she didn’t have to because it had been obvious since they were kids. If anything, they were all rooting for them.
“No, he has a point,” Quinn eventually piped up, pulling the boat to a stop and swivelling to face the back deck gang, “ever since you were fourteen, he’s been obsessed with you. Like all he would ever talk about. That kid would have never completed that project if you hadn’t been his partner and choked him.”
“You choked Jack?!” Alex and Trevor’s jaws dropped in disbelief, Quinn, Luke and y/n throwing their heads back and laughing.
“When do you think he’ll realise that y/n’s actually the love of his life and always has been, like girl’s willing to let him break her heart every year.” Luke jabbed, a cheeky glint in his eyes.
“I have an idea,” Trevor smirked, arm falling over her shoulders and pulling her into his side, “you guys in?”
*
From the get-go, Ari knew she’d never be number one in Jack’s heart. She shared classes with the two since they were freshman, she wasn’t an idiot. She’d seen the way they looked at each other with hearts in their eyes, the way y/n shone like the sun around him. She always envied their friendship, so when Jack asked her out, she didn’t hesitate but the guilt that ate her took the pleasure from it all. It wasn’t fair in her romantic mind. But she did love Jack, he was just oblivious and if it meant Ari had to break her own heart, she was willing to do so for love.
Ari poked her head out the patio doors, spotting y/n on the porch swing and smiling. She sat next to her timidly, mustering up the words while y/n stuck her nose into the novel she was reading.
“Y/n? Do you mind if I join you?” Ari’s voice was sweet, quiet compared to the rest of the lake house group.
“No, you’re okay. Something up?” Her eyes never left the pages, she wasn’t really reading them, just avoiding eye contact.
“Well, um, is Jack always weirdly protective of his clothes? He’s never offered a hoodie or anything and I was worried it was me?” she asked, recognising the blue sweatshirt y/n wore, Jack’s blue USA Hockey sweatshirt.
“I don’t think it’s you, he has this weird thing where he likes them to smell and fit a certain way. Or it was a gift.”
“Weird guy. Does he also not vibe with pet names? I called him ‘babe’ and he screwed his face up! I thought I said something wrong!” Ari just needed to prove her theory. Theory that she was not the one he loved, but the one who just needed to fill the gap.
“I’m not sure, actually,” y/n closed her book, looking out into the garden while she thought, “he’s not used to things like that, I guess. He might warm up.”
“But you call him ‘pretty boy’ or, or ‘hotshot’ and he doesn’t seem to mind. Is there a difference?” Ari knew she was starting to slip, sounding more upset than she had meant to, more accusing and she knew y/n wasn’t a bear to poke.
“I also call Trevor ‘sexy’ and ‘gorgeous’, Cole ‘cutie’. He’s your boyfriend, ask him. If it upsets you, you should tell him because he won't take a hint unless it's hockey, believe me.” She turned to face Ari, surprisingly calm, “Like this one time, we were at a party and this girl had just been dumped, and we kept nudging him to shut up and that it wasn’t the moment for jokes, but he didn’t get it. Literally had to slap my hand over his mouth for him to take the hint.”
Ari smiled and nodded, thanking her and getting up to leave while y/n opened her book. Data collected and conclusions made. The ambush was odd, especially the questions asked but y/n was in no position to think too deeply about it. Ari and Jack’s relationship wasn’t her business anyway.
*
With the sky clear and weather warm, the golf course swarmed with country club members of all ages, kids learning from their parents to the retired living their best lives with a three o’clock beer.
The usual suspects hung around their current hole, poking fun at Cole’s terrible shot. Y/n also wasn’t the greatest golfer, Trevor was teaching her that day how to play as they went along, claiming to be the best golfer of the group.
She stood by the tee, correct club in hand with her feet shoulder-width apart. Trevor tried his best to explain what to do but the complex terms he used just made the whole thing more confusing. He stood behind her, arms around hers with her back to his chest, guiding her hands to the positioning on the handle. He walked her through the process, voice rumbling in her ears.
“Relax, imagine I’m Jizzy.” He whispered, breath hot on her neck.
“No, I might cum. Besides, he’s got Ari.” She was glad she could make crude jokes with people, and if anyone was going to find it funny, it would be Trevor.
“Jack would have my head right now if he were here. No way would he enjoy watching this.” He muttered playfully.
“Yeah, but he sucks and isn’t here, so less talking more teaching, Yappy.” She giggled.
Jack’s phone flashed, the Snapchat notification that Luke had added to his story filling his screen. While Ari left for the bathroom, he unlocked his phone, desperately opening the story. Luke barely ever posted to his story; he knew they’d gone out but where was a mystery.
“You’re fucking kidding me.” He grumbled, grip tightening on his phone upon seeing Trevor Zegras with his body wrapped around y/n’s teaching her how to play golf. That was supposed to be him. He was supposed to teach her golf so they could go out and do it together. Until then, he thought the only way to have your heart broken was by being dumped or rejected, but for the first time he understood how y/n must have felt all the times he made an empty promise. It shouldn’t have bothered him; it shouldn’t have made him seethe but there was only so much he could manage before he was going to snap. The more summers that passed, the closer she got to his friends and even closer to Trevor and she never pushed him away, like she was doing it on purpose.
Then it clicked. They weren’t together, so she was allowed to do as she pleased. She wasn’t confined to a relationship like he was. When he was off the table, she’d retreat, let him go with a bittersweet smile, stay away from causing confusion, but when he was a single man again, she’d be there, smiling when he’d curl up in her arms like old times. Ari may have been right. He called her insecure when she’d raised the issue that she did not believe that Jack loved her the way he thought he did. They’d argued about it, about how y/n had clothing and pet name privileges over her, how she knew he was looking at her over dinner, fire pits, boat days, that he only talked about y/n and never her and the worst topic of all, how y/n was the only woman Jack would allow in his bed. To Ari, the signs were all there. Y/n was not just Jack’s best friend, he just didn’t know it. And it wasn’t y/n’s fault, she’d done nothing wrong. In that moment, Jack realised that if he didn’t wake up, he would lose the woman he loved the most.
*
Y/n slowly and softly placed her glass onto the draining board, trying her best to not make a noise because everything was louder at three in the morning for some reason. Three days had passed since golfing, since Ari went home, since the room arrangements changed again. Three days passed and Jack hadn’t made a peep to anyone.
She sighed, stepping back and hoisting herself onto the island counter, watching the waves in the distance twinkle like a sheet of glitter under the moonlight, the memory of last summer fading back into existence when she’d been watching the moon and Jack snuck up on her. Nothing hurt more than watching yourself slowly drift apart from someone you’d spend every second with. She missed his laugh, the playfighting, when he’d fall asleep on her, pull her into his chest and hug her longer than friends should. She missed the way he’d kiss her forehead, curl up on her lap, his scent and as much as she hated to admit it, his attention, his wandering hands up and down her spine and hips, eyelashes fluttering against her neck and that one open mouthed, shamelessly lewd kiss when they were sixteen.
“Hey, Sunshine,” his raspy voice echoed in the dark, the window just barely illuminating the room, “can’t sleep either?”
She peered over her shoulder to the boy leaning against the kitchen doorframe, arms folded over his bare chest and basketball shorts hanging off his hips. Even dishevelled he looked attractive. He pushed off the doorframe, ambling around the island until he faced her, leaning against the sink and blocking her view of the moon. Y/n shook her head at him, kicking her legs slightly just to occupy them from the suffocating gap between them, like a wedge had been jammed to keep them apart.
“I’m guessing you miss Ari too much to sleep…” she mumbled, voice above a whisper but not loud enough to wake anyone.
He hung his head before he responded, “I've been thinking about you a lot lately. About us,”
“Me too, Jack. About if we’re still friends…” she wet her lips, “because you haven’t spoken to me in over a week, haven’t really spoken to me properly for the past couple of years actually. So, what’s up, hotshot? Where did I go wrong?”
Jack let out a shaky breath and kicked the wedge that separated them away. Hands meeting the cold marble of the island counter and he stood between her legs, eyes coming directly in line with hers.
“I was supposed to teach you how to play golf. It was supposed to be an us thing.” He kept his voice low as she watched his gaze skip between hers and her lips, his hands shifting closer to her bare thighs. “And instead, I found out, via Snap, that you found a new best friend. I’m okay with you and Trevor being friends, but any closer and that’s off the table.”
“We’re just friends. You were busy and that was the only time slot open. What’s it to you?” She folded her arms and raised her eyebrows at him. She’d never seen him like that, his forearms tensed and poison dripping from his words, but she truly did not understand what the big deal was. If he could go off all merry with his girlfriend, why wasn’t she allowed to hang out with her friends? They were also being cast aside like she was, so it was logical for all of them to band together and enjoy their summer either way. Plus, they were eighteen, they were getting too old to hold grudges against people, throw tantrums about whose turn it was to play with who.
Jack’s hands roamed along her thighs tenderly, hooking under her knees and opening her legs further apart, pussy throbbing at the sudden action. Excitement puddled in her stomach when he smoothly pulled her to the edge of the counter until they were close enough to hear their breathing, “I don't like sharing, especially not with hockey guys. You’re my person.”
“And I always will be,” he’d always been clingy, the king of her personal space but this was a whole new ground he marched on, it was territorial with how firm his stare was, how tight his shoulders and jaw held. She could feel the bubbling heat radiating off his skin, a green-eyed demon flaunting around his shoulders. After Kenna, her envy died into acceptance, but he never accepted that one day she wouldn’t be just his anymore. Not because he had that toxic twang to him, he was just protective of the girl that put up with him happily, blended with his family well, picked him up when he was down, tamed him when he was wild, choked him humble when he was arrogant. He didn’t believe that she deserved any harm or heart break after making his life so much more euphoric, “Jack, are you…jealous?”
“I dont know, why dont you go ask Trevor, you two seem close lately. Practically tangled in each other by the looks of the photo. Wouldn’t be surprised if you two fucked too since you’ve been all over each other.” A vein pulsed in his neck sending a pleasurable shiver down her spine. She shouldn’t have found it sexy, there wasn’t anything attractive about being accused but he looked so hot with how defined his biceps were, how his veins popped on his arms and hands.
Her lips twisted into an amused smile and titter, “Oh my god you are! You’re being ridiculous.”
He pushed away from the counter, taking a sharp breath and running his hands through his hair before turning back, hands slapping on the counter either side of her, “So you two did? Is that where the hickey came from? Did you go see him? Fuck my best friend because you weren’t getting attention?”
She only grinned at him. Before summer, she and her friends took a weekend break to New York for Kylie’s birthday, indulging in cute cafes and activities but somehow, Rachel had managed to get them all invited to some random frat party where alcohol was obviously on the table out in the open. She didn’t remember much from the party, but she did remember hooking up with some guy and waking up in her B&B with a purple blotch on her neck. She’d managed to hide it from her parents, but she thought Jack too, but she should have known that nothing slipped past Jack and when he’d asked her about it, he pieced the worst case - and dramatic - scenario together: New York? Trevor was in New York. Girls trip? Weekend away? Funny business, because Trevor was obviously the only man in New York.
“Oh jeez,” she rolled her eyes, “that really was a girl’s trip, Jack. You saw the photos.”
“You’re avoiding the question, Sunshine. Work with me.” He still hadn’t raised his voice, whether because he was trying to keep quiet or because he’d never raise his voice at her didn’t matter.
“Because you’re jealous, I can have sex with who I want, I’m not yours and I never was so why does it bother you so much?”
He sighed in defeat, hanging his head and resting in on her shoulder while his hands locked on her hips. Y/n didn’t touch him, didn’t speak, let him control his hammering heartbeat and get himself thinking straight before he’d say something he’d regret. She wasn’t mad at him; she couldn’t be mad at him even after he’d accused her of sleeping with Trevor. It wasn’t that deep, he was just jealous for reasons she wouldn’t know until he took a breath, calmed and confessed.
Jack went back and forth on what he would say. Worst case scenario was she never spoke to him again. Best case scenario was she reciprocated. His thumbs rubbed circles over her shorts unconsciously, as if seeking comfort by finding home on her hips. They’d always find their way to her hips, there was just something that took the weight off his shoulders and she never pushed him away.
He looked up wearily, chest rising and falling and palm cupping her cheek. She melted into his touch, the beacon of hope that she wasn’t upset. That she still wanted him. Her lips still looked as soft as they always did, inviting and waiting to be blessed and bitten. Eyes waiting on him, half-lidded and searching for reply. He couldn’t be a coward forever, too many times they’d been interrupted and too many times he’d wished he’d just gone for it, followed his heart.
With his hand tangling in her hair, he leant in, closing the distance between their pining selves, lips meeting for a bruising open-mouthed kiss. Y/n unfolded her arms, enlacing around his shoulders, pulling him in with a low moan emitting from the back of her throat when his tongue lapped hers the way it once did. He kissed her with a desperate yearning, slowly and sloppy, hand on her nape as lips connected and disconnected, tasting each other’s toothpaste with little mewls slipping through from the pleasure embracing them.
They pulled back, panting but hands remaining latched onto each other, “I'm in love with you. That’s why it bothers me. And I think I’ve loved you since the day you punched me in the face. And I’ve wanted to kiss you again since we were sixteen.”
She smirked. That was so hot, so goddamn hot of him to do with impatient passion driving him into a confession. She wondered what else he would do with enough provoking, what other feelings would he give into, “That all you got? I bet Tre-”
He kissed her roughly again, just as messy with twice as much appetite in the way his tongue danced with hers. Her hand slid to his hair, tugging and pulling a groan from him while his toyed with the hem of her shirt, his hand moving from her hip, gliding underneath the fabric and feeling up her waist and curve of her spine. They pulled away again, but he didn’t give himself much time to catch his breath before attaching his lips to her neck, leaving butterfly kisses down the column until she moaned in his ear. He nibbled at the spot at the base of her neck, biting and sucking on the skin, leaving a purple blotch in his wake. Y/n held his shoulder tight, continuing to play with his hair with a rousing desire coaxing her core and pussy, begging for attention as his body was just so close. Jack’s hand slipped from her hair to join the other under her shirt, palms groping her breasts, rolling her nipples between his fingers, with his lips assaulting her neck, nipping and suckling little red blossoms over the skin as if leaving his mark. Not that she minded, she finally got to be his girl, years of painfully watching from afar and hurting her own feelings rewarded with his tongue running over the spots where he sunk his teeth into her.
“I wanna fuck you so good you won't remember his name.” He grumbled into her ear, planting a kiss underneath her earlobe and sending jolts through her veins. She let out a whimper, aching for friction between her legs as he kneaded her tits like dough, feeling the smirk on his lips whenever he could get her to submit to a whiny, pathetic noise.
Letting go of his hair, her lips pulled into a devilish grin and fingers wrapping around his neck, pushing his head from her neck and squeezing at the sides. He huffed in surprise, cock twitching in his shorts and hands dropping from her chest to her hips again. He really hadn’t thought she’d be into anything like that, but he should have guessed since he caught a glimpse of Deja vu. It had been too long since they really talked, did he know anything about her anymore? Apparently not, but it wasn’t like he…disliked it.
“Do it,” she loosened her grip with honey lacing her voice, sliding her hand to grip his shoulder, “do it, Jack. I’m on the pill. Show me who I belong to.”
The fire lit inside him and without any ounce of hesitation, he was back to tasting her lips, fingers kneading her thighs and inching up underneath her shorts. He pulled them to one side, brushing his knuckle over her clothed clit, erection hardening with the way she mewled and ground her hips into his fingers. He toyed with the elastic of her underwear, pulling them to one side and ran his fingers through her folds, coating his fingers in her slick as they slipped through smooth.
“This fucking wet? For me?” He whispered into her lips, middle and ring finger landing on her clit, massaging the bundle of nerves in firm circles as she clung to his shoulders, relaxing into his chest and panting in his ear.
“Yes,” she sighed, “don’t stop, feels good.”
She left languid, messy kisses over his neck, biting when she’d pull a groan from him. No man had ever made her cunt ache to be filled like Jack could. The merciless cries to be filled and stretched out and it wasn’t like she hadn’t dreamt about it, thought about it when he’d parade around shirtless and adjusting his swim shorts. Dreams do come true though, her message fell loud and clear into his ears, and his fingers that toyed with her clit sank into her cunt, warm, spongy walls taking him perfectly. Her jaw slacked, a winded breath replacing an elongated moan that would’ve got them caught.
“Mor…more,” she puffed, her nails digging into his shoulder muscles when his fingers plunged in and out faster, eyes rolling back when they curled into her. He bullied his digits at a fast but steady pace, knowing he’d hit her keen spot when her nails pierced into his skin and her hips rolled to meet his pace, arousal seeping from her.
He threw his head back closing his eyes, he slipped in her better than he’d imagined, he could do it every day, all day if she’d let him. The sheer salacious yearning that washed over him not enough to tend his fantasies. He needed more, to be inside her, feel his cock be squeezed and hugged as if his life depended on it. Needed to hear his name leave her mouth when he fucked her. His y/n, his person. No, it wasn’t just fucking, he wanted to love her, let the world know who makes her feel good.
“Fuck this.” He grunted, pulling his fingers out, taking them into his mouth and sucking them clean with low, erotic moans of satisfaction. She whined at the loss of pleasure, pouting and darting back to know why he suddenly stopped only to feel heat rush through her and pussy throb at the sight of Jack pulling his cock out his shorts. With a couple of blissful strokes and lustful gaze boring into her, he lined himself up, y/n placing her hands on his shoulders and giving him consent.
It wasn’t her first-time having sex, but it already felt better than the last. He pushed himself in slowly, y/n nuzzling into his shoulder as he disappeared into her until bottoming out, gummy walls hugging him with a sensation resembling ecstasy fogging his mind. She broke into a smile, he felt so perfect, stretching and filling her in all the ways she’d hoped and wanted. His pace started gradual, rocking his hips, watching his cock sink in and out with shaky breaths, hands gripping the globes of her ass.
His pace quickened, her whines muffled by his shoulder, the only sound that mattered to him, “You feel incredible, can’t help myself, y/n.” Rocking into rutting, his cheeks flushed red, throwing his head back and screwing his eyes shut as his craving tormented him as if he had committed the worst sins of all.
“Fas-faster, Jack, fuck,” her legs wrapped around his waist, locking her heels together and inhaling his scent as he hit deeper angles. She struggled to keep her voice down, if only she could really let go and let him hear how much she enjoyed the wet sounds of his cock plunging in and out of her sopping folds. His hips thrusted harsh, each fast stroke dragging whimpers every time he hit her cervix, sweat forming on his brow and sticking their skins together.
His fingers laced in her hair, yanking her face from his shoulder with a mewl and bearing her neck to the open, her eyes squinting closed as he admired his artwork cascading over her skin from earlier. Her cunt ached for him, relished in how he pounded in and out, in and out, squelching echoing into the kitchen. “Who does this pretty pussy belong to, y/n? I wanna hear you say it.” He rasped.
“You,” she croaked, breasts pressed flush against his chest. She only wished she had taken the t-shirt off to properly feel his skin cling to her, “you, Jack! I've wanted to do this for so long,”
Her words triggered an animalistic burst of energy, hips thrusting desperately. She’d wanted to feel him fuck her all that time and never said anything. He thought about how many nights she’d spent with her fingers inside herself, moaning his name and cumming at the idea of him. “Takin’ me so well. Made for me.”
“Oh fuck,” she moaned, slightly louder than she had intended but Jack’s mouth reattached itself to her lips, his grip in her hair falling slack as he kissed her deeply.
“Trevor couldn't make you feel like this, could he?” he growled, her pants hot on his cheeks as she batted her eyelashes at him, tits bouncing with every consuming buck into her. Her mouth opened to respond, no words falling out except small cries of elation and the pit of her stomach feeling a surge of heat spill into it, like a knot tightening on the verge of snapping.
His hands massaged her ass roughly, all those days of watching it fit snug in the little bikinis and it was finally in his clasp. The days of containing himself when she’d wiggle on his lap and clueless to how painful his raging erection was. Letting every pornographic fantasy that kept him up at night out in erratic, mouth-watering thrusts on the kitchen island of all places.
Y/n’s eyes snapped open, the warm and pleasant euphoria in her pussy suddenly cold and empty when Jack pulled out abruptly, pulling her off the counter all-together and harshly spinning her, back against his chest and voice husky next to her ear, “Bend over, sweetheart.”
With a coy smile, she did as she was told, sticking her ass out into his crotch and tits chilly and squished against the marble. He smoothed his hands over the curves and with his finger pulling her shorts and underwear to the side as before, shoving his cock inside her harder and faster.
“Oh shit-” she moaned in a hoarse breath, “Please fuck me, fast and hard. Make me cum, Jack! Wanna cum!”
Biting his lip at her demands, lust glazed over his eyes, “Fuckin’ tease.” Wrapping one hand around her throat, he tugged her back flush to his chest, pelvis bulling into hers as a rapid and feral pace. The only sound bouncing off the kitchen walls being the melody of skin slapping and short, high-pitched whimpers.
“That's my girl, make such pretty noises for me,” his stomach contorted, burned, he couldn’t let himself cum yet, she felt too good it couldn’t be over too soon. Fingers slipping down the front of her panties, he circled her swollen clit, her head falling back onto his shoulder as his grip around the sides tightened. Sensual, needy pleasure seduced her senses, choking on her saliva in spurts of whines. Pent up feelings and emotions encasing her into a paradise of raw, sloppy sex with her best friend. “Who do you belong to? Whose pretty pussy is this? Who treats you like the goddamn beauty you are?”
“Pussy belongs to you, belongs to you Jack, you,” her head lulled against him, his grip ever so slightly loosening. The knot building began to falter, harder to hold and keep tight the more he rutted with a brutal stamina. “M’gonna cum, please let me cum.”
He pulled his fingers from her clit, hand splaying over her stomach as his thrusts became sloppy, languid but deeper and exhilarating. His other hand dropped from her throat, sliding down her chest to grasp her tit as his hips burrowed into her from behind. He wasn’t far off, the pool of heat ready to overflow, pussy clenching around him tight.
“Squeezin’ me so tight, Sunshine. So fuckin’ perfect,” a strangled moan escaped her lips, heat dripping from her cunt and down her thighs, muscles relaxing into Jack’s body as he held her like a ragdoll against him while he made his last few thrusts, chasing his own release with soft grunts. He shuddered, jaw slacking and flooding her with warmth.
“Good girl. Such a good girl.” He pressed gentle kisses to her jaw, a ring of thick and hot cum soaking his cock. The kitchen fell back into an eerie silence, just heavy breathing and the clock hands reminding them that everything was louder at the unholy hours of the morning and that they both should hope no one heard them, or at least say nothing if they did.
He released her throat, arms winding around her midsection, nose nuzzling into the crook of her neck while his cock remained nestled comfortably in her. One of y/n’s hands lay over his on her stomach, the other reaching up feebly to pet his hair. They stood like that for a moment, catching breaths in a pleasant haze, his eyelashes fluttering against her skin. As satisfying as the high was, as warm as his embrace was, she couldn’t let the thought go. They hadn’t found closure before they lunged for each other, did she let a taken man drive into her or not. The last thing she wanted was to be the other woman, it wasn’t fair on Ari. Sweet kisses littered her neck and up to her jaw, his lips laying the final on her temple before resting his cheek against her hairline.
“What about Ari?” she whispered, staring out into the abyss of the house, “What are we supposed to tell her now…”
“Nothing. S’just you ‘n me now…” a weight fell off his chest, finally saying it out loud, making sure it wasn’t a dream. The afternoon Ari left, she’d given him a poetic speech, a much needed one to drill it into his head that everyone was seeing what he wasn’t accepting or letting himself accept. Ari had grown up alongside them too, she’d seen their good days, their bad days, the days Jack pined over her, the days y/n pined over him. She told him to think about who he loved more and always had. Reminded him that love is a constant that sometimes falters, but always bounces back in the end. And that only person constant in his life was y/n. No matter what happened, she was always there, even if it hurt her watching Jack with someone else. And now, he got it. “I love you, a lot. Always have. Just not sure how you feel.”
“You’re so stupid. You think I kissed you to make your ex jealous for shits and giggles? Let you spend hours rambling about how in love you were with those other girls because I didn’t value your happiness?” she gave a small, airy giggle, “Let you make empty promises that broke my heart repeatedly and still let you cry in my arms? Let you fuck me in your kitchen, and you don’t know if I love you? Jack Rowden Hughes, I fell in love with you the day you told me that your home is mine.”
“Thank fucking God,” he breathed, craning his neck to capture her lips into a passionate and earnest kiss, no tongue, no teeth just souls connecting. They may have not pulled out and cleaned up yet, time was moving and getting closer to four thirty, but in their world, everything froze and felt as if the universe had fallen into place.
He pulled away, forehead leaning into hers, “You’ll come watch me play, right? In the NHL?”
“I’ll come watch you fall.” She pulled him into another sincere kiss and for a moment, nothing seemed to matter anymore.
It was October when Jack made his NHL debut for the New Jersey Devils. She was there on draft day; she was there afterwards, and she planned to always be there. Y/n had made it to university for graphic design, coincidentally close to him which worked in their favour. He always joked about how even after she graduated, she could work for the Devils social team, and he’d get on his knees and beg if he had to.
The crowds were always loud in the Prudential Center, a sea of red and black, chants and cheering with elation for another game. The team entered the ice for warmups, skating in laps, manoeuvring pucks with skilled hand work, and shooting practice before the game started. Y/n could have sat in the family room with the other wives and girlfriends, but when she’d mentioned her weekend plans to her university friends, they’d asked if they could tag along for the experience. So, there they were, screaming and waving at the players, offering trades for pucks and falling in love with athletes, into the realm of hockey men. Jack didn’t need to look hard; he could spot her for miles even in a crowd where everyone looked the same. After taking a couple shots at the net, he stopped in front of her and her squealing friends, tapping the top end of his stick at her and throwing a puck over the plexiglass. There really was no time like the present. All Jack’s nerves faded when she clasped the puck in her hands, looking back at him with a smile and a nod. It was just Jack and his girlfriend, y/n, now against the world.
I hope this message finds you and your family in good health. My name is Eman Zaqout from Gaza. I am reaching you out to seek your urgent help in spreading the word about our fundraiser. I lost both my home and my job due to the ongoing genocide in Gaza and we are facing catastrophic living conditions. 💔
I kindly ask you to visit my campaign. Your support, whether through donating or sharing, will help us reach more people who can make a difference. Thank you for your continued support for the Palestinian cause. Your dedication brings us closer to freedom. 🙏🕊
Note: Verified by several people as 90-ghost and aces-and-angels. ☑
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