#x ftm!reader

Abbot walked over to grab his jacket and wallet so he could leave the house and stop by the grocery store, having decided he would make lunch today so that you and he could spend more time together. His psychologist had already mentioned that he should take up some hobbies not that he’d taken that advice very seriously until now, when he saw an opportunity to have more free time with you and make you happy at the same time.

The trip to the market was quick for Jack: rigatoni pasta, tomatoes, Tuscan sausage, heavy cream, basil, and Parmesan cheese. Abbot hurried back home, leaving the grocery bags on the counter and grabbing the cutting board, the pot to boil water, the olive oil, salt, and black pepper.

When Jack looked up, it was at the sound of the front door opening; he saw you coming in with that look of complicity and feigned innocence — I forgot the charger— he heard your voice stop speaking as you entered the kitchen, the saucepan of sauce bubbling to thicken, and him grating the Parmesan cheese.

— Oh yeah, I saw a loose charger in the kitchen— Jack said as he set the grater and the cheese down in the bowl; he wiped his hand on his apron as he walked over to you. — How was your morning?— he asked, his eyes locked on yours; he kissed your forehead, waiting for your answer.

— Well, wow, I think I had an accident on the way here because that was definitely not on today’s to—do list— your reply drew a faint laugh from him as he slipped his hands into his pants pockets.

— Then I guess I hit the blank space on the bingo card— Jack said, moving his hand to your waist and guiding you to one of the counter stools. — Lunch today is Rigatoni alla Toscana— he said, placing a plate in front of you and another next to him.

— Wow, what made you decide to cook lunch?— Jack’s blue eyes looked at you as you asked the question, and a smile appeared on his face.

— I’m following what my therapist said, and I’m also spending time with you, because lunch is ready and now we have free time to be together during your lunch break.— — Jack said, leaning in and kissing your temple. — Come on, let’s eat— Jack said, already taking your hand and guiding you to the table that was set, with only the plates and the bowl of grated cheese missing.

He sat down next to him, placing a plate beside him and one in front of him. — You know, I could get used to this— Jack said, picking up the bowl and putting some Parmesan on his plate.

Throughout lunch, Jack was happy and kept looking at you. It was nice to spend a little extra time with his husband, and preparing lunch and other meals helped increase the quality time they had together he had the therapist to thank for that.

You only truly regained consciousness when they were already taking you to the infirmary in the cave; you were still quite dizzy and disoriented, but it was easy to say that they didn't even know what to say.

You woke up in Bruce arms with the gentleness and safety you expected, and Cass walking behind you two with such silence that it was impossible for someone without training to notice. You thanked whichever entity that Damian was at the Kent's farm for the weekend and that Duke was at his aunt's house.

And when you went down into the cave and Alfred, who was already there organizing some things for you, started tending to your hands, that was when the room really got heavy, but it was something you expected.

The inside joke in the family was that you were the saint, the only one with your head on straight. It didn't mean you remained an untouchable doll all these years; you've cried in front of them out of nervousness about producing a new work, out of anxiety about a release, and had your share of panic attacks over the fear of losing your kids during a mission or injuries that no mother should see in their own kids. It was more of a way for saying you was the only one that had "normal" problems, a consequence of being the one that wasn't direct involved with vigilantism.

So, for them, one random morning, after a really good night, after waking up in a great mood, while getting ready for work, you simply shaterring a mirror with your own fist while derealizating was something none of them could even dream of; they could barely imagine you having a fit of rage, let alone something like that.

No one lies to a bat, not even other bats, but you were not only a bat, but you're Batman's wife, the man who made that code. You never really went out into the streets, you didn't have a fixed uniform or a hero name, but you drove the Batmobile more times than any of the kids can dream, you handled more communications and mapping than Oracle, you tended to more injuries than Alfred, and you were definitely extremely important to maybe one case or a hundred.

You adapted to so many things in the span of a couple years that no one even imagined half the things you thought. You weren't just smart, you were one of them, which sometimes got forgotten amongst so much chaos, but you are one of the best of them.

But right now the situation was different, because you let your guard down around one of the best at reading people. Cass stared at you from head to toe, with an anxious but not profound expression, at least to outsiders. You were well aware of the whirlwind of information as he meticulously analyzed each and every move you made.

And your mind was on par with hers, what would she say, what would the others say? Because you know very well that you have two hours until everyone else knows, maybe three if you're lucky, and if this infirmary room already has a horrible atmosphere where nobody even knows what to say, imagine when all the other bats, stupidly caring for you, arrive?

Because you not only let your guard down, but you don't even know if you can raise it again, you don't even feel like you'll survive if you stay like this, but you have no other alternative, you don't trust that you'll be able to hold back if they start questioning or harassing you too much, especially if Bruce does something similar, the idea of ​​seeing the reaction of the man you love so much while he discovers this perverse secret makes you want to vomit.

You've worked for years to stay here, and if it all ends like this, you don't even know what you're going to do with your life.

"[Name]? Can you hear me?" You heard Bruce soft voice finally bringing you back to reality. Apparently you dissociated so hard again that you didn't even notice when the other two leaved the cave.

You look to your hands resting in your lap, perfectly treated and fingers covered in bandages, but one much larger hand covers them and you bring you attention to your husband again.

"Sweetheart... What happened?" Bruce voice sounded awfully sad, what matched his expression that he was trying to hide. People often say that Bruce isn't more than a lovesick puppy when it comes to you, and you never doubt that, and that was what makes everything harder.

"I-I..." You try to sound more serious or maybe more put together but your cracked voice still gets over. It was the first time in years that you genuinely didn't have a clue on how to explain something. "I don't know, I was getting ready and started to zonig out and when I come back I saw what I did..."

Omitting was the best thing you could think of in that situation but also was the worse, you know damm well you don't will be able to hold it for too long.

"What you was thinking of? Did something happened at work those days or was something happening in the house?" Bruce just sounded more and more worry and it was breaking your heart at this point.

"I don't know? Maybe we should redo my blood tests? I just fell like... It was just unnatural of me you know" You even forced a heavy sight while your husband was just holding you stronger.

"I gonna call your work and say you need a day off and ask Alfred to redo your tests, ok babe?" You just nodded slowly while fell your heart aching as Bruce gets closer to you. "You know that I am here for everything you need, right darling? And if you ever fell that I am getting too distant you know you have all the right of scream how much as you wanna with me... Or maybe you can even talk to the kids or Alfred before come to me..."

No you are not here for everything, you don't want your wife to become your husband, you don't wanna me screaming in your face over how much I want to die, you don't wanna your family having contact with me after this, you don't wanna a man.

"Of course my dear" was the only words that come out of your mind, following a long a open wide smile that was dripping in silence fear.

Bruce may love you, and you don't doubt that, but hear him saying things like that hurts everything, because he doesn't even know half of what is happening, but this is all your fault, you can't even actually blame him for this.

In the end, he let you go with a kiss that was supposed alleviate your fears but it only made you fell more dizzy.

You went upstairs praying that Alfred had cleaned up for you, because there was no way you could do it yourself, but when you entered the room you not only found everything clean but also Cass, lying on your bed, with two small bowls of food.

"It's almost one p.m and you haven't eaten anything today…" She said without much emotion, but arranging the two small plates on the bed for you, which brought a genuine smile to your face at that moment.

Cass is the quietest of them all and your only girl—Steph would rather die than admit that you or Bruce were her parents—and sometimes you even feel that this makes some moments a little sweeter. She wasn't one to express what was happening with words, but this was her way of showing that she would be there.

You sat on the bed next to her and pulled her under your arm while you ate. You'd barely been in the room for 10 minutes and you could already feel her gaze, a look that said she knew something, but didn't have the whole story, so she was going to try, gently or not, to get you to talk.

But that's something she won't get out of you that easily; the idea of ​​seeing your little girl react to such news isn't easy on your mind.

"My brothers are having dinner here tonight, by the way." Yes, exactly two hours. You honestly prefer not to know how that exchange of messages went or what their reaction was.

Your boys are the loves of your life, just like Cass, but the idea of ​​having them around you, obviously trying to get information from you and not knowing what to do, was too stimulating for a day like that, but you knew that you couldn't avoid them for more than a day.

You didn't even answer, just sighed and shook your head slowly, for the tenth time that day, which was barely halfway through. It was to be expected that silence would now reign, while the two of them ate peacefully in bed, which would still elicit a complaint from Alfred, but you almost froze when you felt Cass snuggling closer to your side.

"I love you, Mom." Her voice was barely audible, a whisper so sweet it would warm anyone's heart.

"I love you too, my dear." You tried to respond in kind, kissing her forehead and taking a small smile from her. That's why you considered yourself one of the best among them.

You think you won't last much longer.

Bucky was not a person who let go of control easily. You knew this.

Which is why it’s all the more delicious that he’s letting you do this.

He’s kneeling next to your bed, barely resisting as you fasten the straps of the muzzle behind his head. You stroke his hair for a moment before tilting his head back.

He whines a bit, eyes glazed and dark with need. You smirk, barely biting back a chuckle at the dazed look on his face. The black metal of the muzzle looks so good on him and the gag inside makes his quiet sounds all the more thrilling.

“How’s that feel?” You murmur. “You look like a proper mutt now.”

He groans and drops his head forward, pressing the muzzle against the crotch of your boxers. The metal keeps him from mouthing at you and his whine sends a shiver up your spine.

“Aww,” you murmur, “Poor puppy doesn’t get his treat this time.”

He groans again and tilts his head to glare up at you. But you just smirk down at him and idly scratch at his scalp. He shivers immediately, melting into the touch and you chuckle.

“You gotta work for it this time, babe.”

Bucky whimpers in protest but you ignore it. Instead you tilt his head back again and clip the short leash to his collar. “There you go.”

He doesn’t protest as you tug on the leash. You guide him up and he climbs up, settling over you easily. His head lowers to nuzzle your neck but the muzzle stops him yet again.

He growls softly but you shush him. He just growls louder and drags the metal bars of his muzzle against your shoulder.

You grip his leash a little tighter, pulling it taut. A warning. “Come on, mutt,” you scoff. “You’re creative. You’ll figure something out.”

His growl turns into a whine and you soften a little. But only a little.

You grip his muzzle and drag his head up, fixing him with a look. “The muzzle stays on,” you say firmly.

He groans but you can feel the way his hips rut down against yours. You bite back a moan at the feeling. He’s so hard, already grinding against your boxers like he’s desperate to fuck you.

“You want it?” You barely manage to mask the tremble of need in your voice. “I just put the muzzle on you and you’re already acting like a damn dog.”

Bucky whimpers and shoves his muzzle against your neck again, rutting harder against you. You can’t hold back a moan this time, rocking up into his movements.

You reach down to push down your boxers but he growls and grabs your wrists. He pins your hands up over your head, easily keeping them there with his metal arm.

His other hand slides down, tracing along your body. Not to tease you, but out of awe.

He tugs down your boxers and tosses them to the side. His fingers swipe up through your slick to circle your dick and you moan at the touch.

“Fuck,” you groan, “You’re such a good boy.”

He shudders at the praise and you can feel his dick twitch against your thigh. Smearing precum against your skin. His muzzle presses harder against your skin, his breathing getting heavier.

You chuckle softly. “Come on, mutt. Don’t tell me you’re gonna cum that quickly. And without permission too.”

You’re expecting a growl, maybe some attitude. You’re not expecting the way he melts against you, whining pathetically. Rutting softly against your thigh like he can’t help it.

It sends a rush of electric delight through your body. “Oh, you like that?” You purr. “You wanna be a good boy then?”

Bucky’s groan is muffled by his gag, but it only makes the sound hotter.

“Come on, then,” you taunt. “Be a good boy, mutt. Fuck me like a good dog.”

He’s moving as soon as the words are out of your mouth. He growls and ruts against your slick hole a couple times, making you moan again.

You open your mouth to say something more. Something a little meaner. A little more goading.

But he gives you no warning before he’s pressing the tip of his dick to your hole and shoving inside.

“Fuck!” You arch, clenching down around him, “Oh, fuck, yes!”

He growls and starts to move. Rutting his hips against you to thrust his dick deeper into your eager hole. Every movement makes you shudder and moan.

He’s not even fucking you properly. He’s just rutting and rocking against you, shallowly thrusting in and out. And it’s so hot.

His muzzle knocks against your shoulder with every movement. His whimpers and stuttered breathing making your body pulse with heat. Every clench of your body around him makes another pathetic noise crawl from his throat and it only makes you clench harder.

Bucky groans again, body shifting over you as he starts to lift up. Probably to change the angle but you don’t care. You grip his leash tight, stopping him before he can get halfway up.

“Bad dog,” you gasp out. And he shudders.

He drops back against you with a pathetic whine, muzzle pressing sharply against your shoulder. But you don’t care, not when he ruts into you with renewed fervor. Not when he’s clearly chasing a high that’s almost in sight.

He whimpers and shivers and whines at you, drool dripping from the muzzle onto your skin. It’s ridiculously hot. Everything about him, everything about his desperation and his submission makes you burn with heat.

His thrusts get sloppier, his whimpers needier. He’s so close to cumming.

And you’re high on power.

“Not yet!” You moan out. “Not yet, puppy!”

The noise he makes goes straight to your dick. He almost sobs, his entire body jolting with the sound. He sounds agonized. Like it takes every inch of self-control and obedience in him to obey.

But he stops.

And he heaves for breath. Shaking and shuddering on top of you, gripping your wrists so hard it’s almost painful.

You grip his leash, keeping his head low. Letting his muzzle press to your shoulder. Shuddering and clenching so tightly around him as drool and tears leak onto your skin.

“Fuck,” you hiss out. Your body throbs with need. Your spine is tingling with delight at the way he obeys you. Your head dizzy with the rush of lust and glee and the desire to see just how far you can push him.

But it’s a whimper from Bucky that draws you back. A soft, pained noise. He’s trembling, dick twitching hard inside you. Free hand gripping the sheets under you like they’re a lifeline.

You loosen your grip on his leash.

“Good boy,” you croon softly. “You’re such a good pup, being so obedient like that.”

He shivers and melts against you again. A muffled moan echoing from his throat. He starts to move again, slow thrusts of his hips that make the slide of his dick intoxicating.

“That’s it,” you purr. “That’s my good puppy.”

He whines again, once more pressing his muzzle to your neck. And you finally take pity on him.

“You can do better than that,” you murmur, leaning in to softly bite at his muzzle. “You know the rules, pup.”

He whimpers softly but lets go of your wrists. Your hands move to his head, lightly gripping his hair. Softly rubbing your fingertips against his scalp.

He uses his metal arm to prop himself up while his other hand trails down your body again. He keeps thrusting, even as he circles your dick with his skilled fingers.

Your hands fist in his hair and you moan, arching under him as pleasure zings up your body. You’re already so wound up that it barely takes any time at all before you’re falling apart beneath him, shaking through a delicious orgasm.

He doesn’t stop thrusting all the way through it. Even when he stutters and whimpers with need at the way you clench so hotly around him. He doesn’t cum and he doesn’t stop.

You’re barely half recovered, barely able to remember how to form words. But you finally let go of his leash.

“Come on, mutt,” you moan out. “You’ve been a good boy. Now fuck me like a real dog.”

And he loses it. His hips snap forward, burying his dick inside you. He lifts up just enough to get the perfect angle and then he fucks you.

His hands grip your hips bruisingly hard. He pounds into you, shaking the bed with the force of his desperation. His head is tossed back and you can barely hear his muffled howls. He’s lost to his pleasure and it’s the hottest thing you’ve ever seen.

You cum on his dick again and his thrusts speed up. He lets go of your hips to slam his hands down on either side of your head, leaning in close. You can barely think.

His drool drips into your open mouth and you greedily swallow it down. He groans above you, his hips stuttering like he’s on the very edge of cumming.

“Cum for me, puppy,” you gasp out. “Be my good boy!”

He breaks. He cums hard inside you, shudders of pleasure wracking his body. His thrusts turn to slow deep grinds of his cock, letting your body milk him into overstimulation.

Only then does he collapse against you. His breathing hard and fast.

Your fingers hasten to undo the straps of his muzzle and he lets out a pathetic moan as you gently pull it off him.

He buries his face in your neck, mouthing at your skin and dropping kisses against your shoulder. Sucking in deep breaths as you both come down from your highs.

You pet his hair as you both relax. His weight on top of you is familiar and comforting and soothes the greedy part of your mind that wants more.

He makes a low sound against you and starts to shift up. The movement makes you clench a little around his dick and he hisses from the sudden stimulation. “Fuck!”

You force your body to relax again and he pulls out with a soft groan. But his fingers immediately press to your hole, carefully pushing his leaking cum back into you.

“Bucky,” you groan, covering your face with your arm. Your face suddenly burning hot.

“What?” He murmurs, voice low and raspy. “I don’t have a knot to do this for me.”

A bolt of heat shoots straight to your dick at the thought and you clench hard beneath his fingers.

“We— You—“ Just the thought of his dick having a knot. Of his cum being kept inside you like that. Of you two being forced to cuddle until his knot went down. Just the thought has you dizzy with lust all over again.

Bucky just grins. “How else are we supposed to have pups together?”

You grab for his leash and yank him back down into a filthy kiss. “Shut the fuck up and fuck me again.”

He chuckles and kisses you back eagerly. “Yes, sir.”

You don’t let him leave the bed again for hours. And it’s worth every single minute.

You were…

Restless wasn’t the right word. Neither was anxious. You were lonely and you were bored. And you missed him.

Wesker had walked out that door almost eight hours ago. He’d never left you alone for more than six before.

But here you are, bored out of your mind and approaching the eight hour mark.

You’ve already tried your usual time-passers. You’ve read a book. You’ve halfheartedly tried to paw off, but you didn’t get very far on your own. It’s not as fun without the thrill of being sneaky.

You’re not committed to disobeying his rules today anyway. Not after the scrap of praise he had tossed your way on his way out the door.

‘That’s my good boy.’

Such a small scrap, but you can still feel the faint glow of pride spark in your chest. Not just a good boy. Not just his. But his good boy.

Easy praise is such a rare thing from him; you’re almost surprised you’d even tried misbehaving at all. But then you remember how bored you are.

A soft huff escapes you. You glance again towards the door, as if you can summon Wesker by hoping hard enough. It didn’t work the first million times, but you can’t help but look again.

The second your gaze flicks away, the lock clicks. You’re all attention in an instant, refocused on the door with an almost giddy sort of anticipation.

It’s Wesker, and only the weeks of training with him keep you from springing up off your dog bed to greet him.

He doesn’t even look your way. He’s tense and stiff and his hands shake as he turns and locks the door behind him.

Your excitement cools into something more nervous. He hasn’t greeted you. He hasn’t even looked at you.

Wesker crosses to his desk and unlocks one of the drawers. One of his special drawers, the ones he never lets you go through.

Worry finally gets the best of you and you start to rise from your dog bed. “Wesker—“

“Sit.” His fingers snap and you obey without even thinking. You drop back down, heat suddenly crawling up your spine.

That was a new tone.

“Good pup.” He lifts his head and meets your gaze. His tinted sunglasses make his expression unreadable but the intensity in his body makes you shiver. Oddly enough, though, he seems… less stiff.

“So obedient today,” he murmurs, his voice low and velvety. “Did you have a good time while I was gone?”

You immediately open your mouth to speak, but you freeze just as fast. Something… something in his demeanor gives you pause. Something about the way his sunglasses catch the light, or about the way he’s standing…

You suddenly feel very much like prey.

But he’s clearly waiting on some sort of answer from you, so you swallow and latch onto the first idea you think of. “… woof?”

It’s so tentative and shy and you immediately flush with embarrassment, but that all melts away the second his lips quirk up.

“Good dog.”

Heat spills through you like melted butter on pancakes. It’s slow and thick and warm and makes every part of you fuzzy for one delicious moment.

Good dog. You’re a good dog. You’re his good dog.

By the time the fuzzy tingles calm into a low simmer in your core, Wesker’s gone back to rifling through his drawer. You watch him avidly, all your attention locked on him now.

He makes a pleased hum low in his throat and lifts out two leathery items and what looks like a little metal cage. It takes you a second to place what they are. The realization sends another wave of dizzying heat through you.

Mitts. And a muzzle.

Wesker advances on you slowly. Leisurely. Like a predatorial animal stalking up to its trapped prey.

Your instincts tell you to bolt. Your training keeps you sitting in place, but just barely. Your heart pounds in your chest and heat bubbles in your stomach.

He stops in front of you and you whimper softly. He leans down and gently tilts up your chin. “Such a good dog,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing along your lower lip.

Your lips part under his touch and he lightly strokes his thumb over your lower teeth for just a moment. You shiver and lick at his thumb but he pulls his hand back.

“Come, mutt.” He strides over to the little couch in the corner of his office, the one he never lets you on.

The rules are different today, though.

Wesker pats the cushion and you slowly stand. He says nothing as you walk to him, but his lips press together.

You swallow as you sit down, your skin itching with the wrongness of going against the rules he’s drilled into you for weeks now.

That all crumbles away as soon as his fingers stroke through your hair. You melt at his touch, nuzzling greedily against his forearm.

“Behave,” he chides softly, but his touch stays gentle. The muzzle feels odd on your face at first, but Wesker tightens the straps anyway.

You squirm a little as he slides the mitts onto your hands, but a sharp look from him has you stilling quickly.

A ‘sorry’ almost slips out, but you swallow it down before it leaves your tongue. Whatever mood he’s in, you don’t want to ruin it. You can behave for him. You can be good.

Wesker finishes tightening the straps on the mitts and steps back just a bit. He hooks his fingers into your muzzle and pulls your head up. Heat thrills down your spine and pools in your core at the little smirk on his lips.

“Such an obedient mutt for me,” he coos, his voice dripping with pleased mockery. His fingers slip down to your throat and he presses the smooth leather of his gloves to the sensitive skin there. The feeling makes you shiver and you whimper softly.

His smirk only grows. “All you’re missing now is your collar,” he croons, “A nice black leather collar to match the rest of your toys. Perhaps I’ll even be extra generous and I’ll request it be made from the same leather as my own gear.”

You can barely breathe at the thought. It rolls over you and zaps every other thought from your mind. All you can think of is being his. Of being claimed so definitively by him. Of being collared with something he’s had made for you and you alone.

Your whole body feels fuzzy. Tingles race through your nerves, lighting you up inside with heat and anticipation and excitement.

Wesker chuckles softly. “You’re such a good boy for me, aren’t you?” He purrs. “Such a sweet thing; not a thought in your head, but a good boy regardless.”

You whine softly, melting under the warmth of his words. Your head is starting to fuzz up, shivers of heat rolling through your veins. You feel so good under his attention and he knows it.

You gaze up at him, eyes all hazy and speech just a little slurred. “Thank you, sir.”

He clicks his tongue softly but doesn’t reprimand you. Instead he steps back a little and slowly starts taking off his gloves. You can feel his gaze behind the dark glasses. He’s watching you. Relishing in your fuzzy-headed need.

“Not quite my good pup yet, hmm?” Wesker croons softly, his words dripping with sugary condescension. “Were your paws and muzzle not enough?”

He reaches out, and the warmth of his rough fingertips against your cheek makes you moan. You chase after the sensation but he clicks his tongue again and you still immediately.

“Greedy dog,” he murmurs, a faint smirk on his lips. “It’s a good thing that’s exactly the way I like you.”

He pulls his hand back and you almost manage to bite back your whine. Almost.

Wesker chuckles and begins removing his jacket. He draws it out, pulling it off slowly. Like he knows he has your full attention.

He’s careful with it, laying it gently to the side. He straightens up and exhales slowly. Like he’s pacing himself. Like he has all the time in the world.

Like you’re not drenched with heat, thrills of excitement shivering down your spine at the simple sight of him like this.

“What…” he murmurs softly, “am I going to do with such an eager mutt?”

Fuzzy heat washes over you again, turning your thoughts to scattered mush.

He idly works at his shirt cuffs, unbuttoning them slowly. Letting the anticipation only build higher and higher inside you until your breaths are coming in soft little pants and a quiet whine sounds in the back of your throat.

He glances down at you and smirks. “What a needy boy… So obedient and so docile for me. I’m almost convinced you deserve a treat for your behavior.”

His crooned words make you shudder with excitement. You want to melt. You want to whine. You want to drop to your knees and press your muzzle to his crotch and beg for him to let you show him how good you can be for him.

You can almost taste him in your mouth, his thick cock sliding over your tongue as he fucks your mouth. Using you like a toy for his pleasure, your only purpose to obey him. To let him use you and guide you and fuck you until you’re so full of him you can’t even think anymore.

Wesker chuckles softly, his words edged with mockery as he suddenly yanks up your muzzle. Forcing your hazy, bleary eyes to meet his own.

“Focus, pup. Or are you too fuzzy-headed to even pay attention to your owner?”

A moan builds in your throat and you shake your head a tiny bit. It’s hard to think of words. They slip around your head, dodging your desperate grasps by bare breaths.

Another slight tug to your muzzle drags your focus back to him. You whine softly, squirming a little to give even the tiniest bit of relief to your aching dick.

Wesker’s eyes darken and glint.

“Such a dumb little puppy,” he croons. “Too needy to think about anything but your achey little puppy parts.”

Vaguely you can feel the slightest flash of warning in the back of your mind but it’s so hard to grasp at the thought. You just whine again and let out the softest little “woof” in response.

The pleased look that crosses Wesker’s face makes heat blossom in your chest. His words from earlier echo in your mind, ‘good boy’ ‘good boy’ ‘my good boy’.

Wesker hums and rolls up the sleeves of his shirt. Revealing his toned arms to your hungry, hazy gaze. He’s never shown this much skin to you before and it makes you drool with excitement.

So much delicious skin for you to bite. For you to chew on and worship and claim. So much skin for you to bite and mark, claiming him as yours and yours only.

Wesker chuckles softly and smirks at you for a moment before nudging a shoe between your feet and kicking your legs apart.

“Look at you,” he mocks, dropping to his knees in front of you. He pushes your legs further apart, exposing your soaked boxers to the air. You’re drenched, so slick and so needy that you’ve soaked through your boxers onto the cushions beneath you.

“So needy for me,” he scoffs softly, before leaning in. “Just an empty-headed little mutt.”

He doesn’t even hesitate once as he presses his face to your crotch. He inhales deeply, groaning low at the rich scent of your slick.

“Fuck…” he breathes out, “My perfect pup.”

He pulls back just a bit, pressing his thumb to your needy hole through your boxers. You clench at the touch, pleasure sparkling at the touch. You’re so wound up and so needy and so on edge that even that makes you feel like you’re about to explode and melt into pleasure.

You whine and it strangles into a moan as he teases your hole again. You’re clenching and shaking and desperately trying to keep from squirming into his touch.

Wesker sneers at your shivering desperation. “What a pathetic mutt. Even your puphole obeys its owner.”

But his eyes betray him. They’re glazing, brighter than you’ve ever seen them. He’s so into this, into watching you squirm and whine and beg so silently for his touch. Into watching you reduce into a drooly whiny desperately needy toy for him.

And his own control is fraying.

His fingers tremble as he pulls down your boxers. His touch so gentle but so firm as he trails his fingers along your soft skin. Every brush of his hand leaves your skin buzzing and it goes straight to your dick every time.

Wesker’s breath catches as he glimpses your dripping hole. His eyes widen, his whole body tensing so tightly.

And then he yanks your boxers off and shoves his face against you. You don’t even get a second before he’s drinking up your slick like a starving man. His nose grinds against your dick, making you gasp from the sudden shock of pure pleasure that jolts your system.

It’s overwhelming and all consuming and you can only scrabble at his hair with your mitts as he goes down on you greedily. He moans against your hole, the tension melting from his shoulders as he fucks you with his tongue. He’s licking so deep, lapping and slurping up every drop of slick your puppyhole gushes against his mouth.

“Wesk—“ you gasp out, mind so dizzy and delirious and so fuzzed with heat that you can’t form a single thought. “Fuck—“

He growls against you, shifting his head to flick his tongue against your dick. Your brain turns to mush as pleasure explodes in your gut, winding throughout your whole body. You hunch over, gasping out silent sobs as he doesn’t stop.

He doesn’t even give you a chance to breathe. He slurps and laps up your cum, sealing his mouth to your hole to drink up as much as he can.

You weakly and blindly bat and shove at his head, dick throbbing with entwined overstimulation and pleasure. He doesn’t even react, ignoring your choked whines like he doesn’t even hear them.

He just moans and drinks up your slick like he’s the one indulging. Like your pleasure is insignificant. He’s not this for your pleasure. He’s doing this for his own.

Time seems to blur for you. There’s nothing and no one, just Wesker between your thighs. Greedily going down on you with the same fervor and intensity he reserves for his research.

It makes you dizzy, the world tilting and folding around you as you gasp and grind fervently against his eager mouth. He’s moaning and growling and groaning against you. Lapping at your dripping soaked slick hole like it’s what he’s been craving his whole life.

You’ve never seen him like this. Never fathomed he could be so hungry for you. And here he is, edging you closer and closer to cumming again.

This one builds, making your toes curl in their mitts as it swells and crests inside you. You can’t even sob out his name as it melts over you, soaking your very bones in velvety, exquisite pleasure.

You just jerk and twitch and sob at the overstimulation. Your dick is throbbing, every bump and grind of his nose against it making pleasured pain spike up your spine. It hurts, making you delirious with how blissfully good it feels.

Your limbs feel heavy, your mind nothing but static and heat. You just pant, drool pooling in your mouth and spilling down your chin as Wesker growls and shoves closer. Desperate for one last lick of delicious slick.

You moan, weak and whiny and so pathetic.

Wesker growls again, but he slowly pulls back. Giving your stiff, throbbing puppydick a light nip that makes your body jolt and throb with heat all over again.

You feel boneless, weightless. Nothing in your head but the sound of your gasping breaths and Wesker’s soft huffs of breath.

He staggers to his feet, looking just as dazed as you feel. His mouth and chin and cheeks and nose are smeared with your slick. He carelessly swipes his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes wild and intense and so full of greedy hunger it makes your puphole clench and ache with need.

“Look at you,” he rasps out. He fumbles and stumbles towards his desk chair, looking utterly wrecked. “Fucking tease, keeping that from me all the time.”

He runs a shaky hand through his disheveled hair, leveling you with a ravenous look. But he doesn’t say anything more. He just watches you. Watches the puffs of your breath and the pathetic dazed needy look in your eyes.

He wipes at his mouth again and sneers at you. “Get up, mutt.” His voice is so low, so raspy yet somehow so breathless at the same time. Like you’ve stolen the moans from his chest and made him just as delirious as you feel.

“Get up,” he growls again.

You force yourself up, but your mitts make you stagger. You collapse back down and he snarls. “Get up, mutt.”

It’s too hard to form thoughts and your limbs feel too clumsy and heavy and your brain feels just so fuzzy.

You whine and shudder and crawl to him. Fumbling on shaky limbs, your pup parts aching and throbbing the whole way.

He pats his lap and you struggle to obey. He just growls at your fumbled attempts and hauls you up. He settles you on his thigh, manhandling you into his arms.

“That’s it,” he croons, his voice velvety and dripping with condescension. “Grind against me, mutt. Be a good dog and hump your owner like a good boy.”

You whine and yelp as he grips your hips, forcing you to grind against the rough fabric of his pants. It’s nothing like the hot slick warmth of his mouth and it sends throbbing aching thrills throughout your whole body.

“Wesker—“ you gasp out, clinging to him as best you can with your mitts and heavy limbs.

He growls softly and nips your neck. A moment later you jolt with a cry of pleasure as he smacks your bare ass firmly. You shudder and clench and grind down hard against him, brain fuzzed out with pleasure at the tingling sting of the slap.

“Know your place,” he hisses. “Dogs don’t talk.”

You melt further into the haze, letting your forehead loll forward onto his shoulder. You pant and whine, struggling against the fuzziness as you desperately try to hump his thigh.

Your need builds and builds. The friction and effort finally making you break with a sob. “I can’t!”

Wesker scoffs. Derisive and mean. “Of course you can’t. You’re just my dumb mutt, so spoiled you can’t even get off without your owner there to work you through it.”

He sharply spanks you again, making you sob and jolt and cry against his shoulder. It feels humiliating and hot and you feel helpless in his arms.

“Please,” you sob out, “Please, sir, I wanna be good for you!”

Wesker hums low. His hand comes up and he pets through your hair. Gently scratching and stroking like he’s trying to soothe you.

“You want to be good for me…” he muses. “You want to be good for your owner…”

He clicks his tongue softly and stops petting you. He shifts you around and the friction against your throbbing dick makes you yelp and choke on a sob.

“Shush, puppy,” he murmurs. His voice is low, deep and firm. It smooths over the fuzz in your head, making your teary gasps soothe into soft whimpers as he lightly jostles you with his movements.

You press your muzzle into his neck, burying yourself for a moment in the comforting familiarity of his scent. You can feel him shiver a little under you, a curse hissed out through his teeth as he tenses hard.

You crack open your eyes, tilting your head to see. He’s gripping the base of his dick, teeth gritted like he’s forcing himself away from the edge of orgasm.

The sight of his cock pushes past your tears and fills your head with hunger. You start to drool again, avidly watching the way his dick twitches like he’s seconds away from spilling into his own hand.

It takes several more moments before his grip relaxes and he slowly exhales. “Fuck…”

His hands shift to your thighs and he lifts you a little. Effortlessly resettling you in his lap. His strength makes you thrill a little inside.

He guides you onto his dick, ignoring the hitch of your breath and whine from your throat at the stretch. You’re still soaked with slick and he pulls you down until you’re fully settled in his lap.

“That’s a good boy,” he groans softly, cupping the back of your head and tugging you into him once again. You melt into him, clenching around his thick cock. It feels so good inside you. Just filling you up and giving your needy hole the satisfaction it’s been craving.

You nuzzle against him, basking in his warmth and melting under the slow but firm massage of his hands against your hips.

You just cuddle for a bit, both blissfully relaxing into the heat and closeness of the other. His dick doesn’t soften even a little, but he seems utterly uninterested in it for now.

Eventually though, your body starts to recover. His touches aren’t even teasing, but slow smoldering sparks of heat start building in your gut.

You resist it for a while, struggling to just focus on the way he’s holding you so close. So carefully. Like you’re precious to him.

It only fans the flame.

You start to squirm, twitching and shivering at the firm way he’s massaging your body. You whimper and shift closer, trying to work against his grip to grind down. Your dick throbs with simmering heat, and you clench around him every time he rocks you a tiny bit closer to his body.

Your tongue feels so heavy in your mouth, your brain utterly empty of words. You just whine, squirming harder to get any sort of friction.

“Hush, pup,” he murmurs firmly. “You’ll take what I give you.”

You go still, excitement perking up at his words. But he continues to not do anything more.

You sit as long as you can again, but the need is building and you’re only a puppy.

You start squirming again and he clicks his tongue. A light smack to your ass makes you whimper and you settle down again.

But you can’t help it.

You go slower this time, driven only by the desperate need demanding that you get fucked right now.

His grip tightens on the second grind. His hand yanks up your muzzle, his gaze firm and glintly brightly.

“Pathetic,” he sneers. “Fucked twice and you’re still begging for more when your owner hasn’t even cum once.”

You whimper. That can’t be right… You’re a good dog. You’re his good dog.

You stop grinding down immediately, giving him a pleading look. But instead of softening, he just scoffs and thrusts up into you.

You jolt and moan. He’s big and thick and long and rubs against all the right spots inside you. It sends shivers of heat up your spine and you whine when he stills again.

“Come on,” he mocks, “I thought you wanted to be good for me. Or are you too spoiled to even ride my dick without my help?”

You whine again, but it turns into another moan as he thrusts up into you.

“Be a good dog,” he purrs, “Be my good little fuck toy and maybe I’ll cum inside you.”

That sends a hot thrill through you. Your muscles ache in protest but you start to grind and rock down against him. You even manage to shift up a bit, doing your best to obey him.

But the ache builds. And finally you can’t. Your legs are too weak from earlier and your body refuses to move. You whimper and sink down against him, burying your face in his chest.

He scoffs and clicks his tongue. “Pathetic little mutt…”

He grips your hips and starts lifting you. Up and down, slowly fucking you on his dick. Slowly.

It’s almost painful, the slow way his cock sinks into you. It’s rubbing oh so perfectly against you, but it’s not enough.

You whine and moan and whimper so pathetically, but he doesn’t acknowledge any of it. It’s not until a whiny, broken “please” tumbles from your lips that he finally pauses.

He tilts his head to look down at you, but his gaze holds nothing but smug cruelty. “Beg for it, mutt.”

You whimper again, but his eyes just glint at the sound.

“Beg for me, mutt, or this is all you’re going to get,” he sneers.

“Please,” you whimper out. “Please, I want it.”

“Aw,” he mocks, “you want it? Puppy wants a treat, hm? Puppy wants all the praise and all the attention, but can’t even fuck itself on its owner’s dick.”

You whine in protest, but he sharply spanks your ass.

“Use your words, mutt,” he growls. “Beg like a good boy, or I’ll shove the first thing I grab inside that greedy little hole and leave you to pleasure yourself with that only all night long.”

The threat sends spikes of heat racing to your dick and you clench hard around him. You moan, your voice breaking at the fuzzy thrill that fills your head at the thought. “Please, sir… Please just… Oh god, please, sir… Please fuck me, god, please…”

He stills under you and you almost sob. Your chin is jerked up, his gaze feverishly bright.

“Say it again,” he rasps out.

“Please,” you moan.

But he clicks his tongue, a scoff to his voice. “Not that.”

Your brain is so fuzzy, so hazy with desire and need and desperation that it’s hard to think. You fumble for any thought at all, grasping hard at the first one you can.

“Please, god?” You whimper. “Please fuck me…”

His head drops back. He groans, low and deep and so hungry it’s almost pained. His hips snap up, thrusting his cock deep inside you.

Your moan doesn’t even bubble past your lips before he starts to fuck you. Deep, fast thrusts, hands gripping your hips so hard you know you’re bruising.

He snarls and growls and moans, panting for breath just as loudly as you. Heat gathers fast in your gut, building hot and heavy and delicious as he fucks you greedily. He’s using you like a toy, like his own personal little fucktoy.

And it only makes it hotter.

“Sir, please—“ you gasp out, pleasure knotting fast and tight in your gut. “I’m close, I’m close, please!”

“Beg for it,” he snarls out, “Pray to your god and beg for it!”

“Wesker, god, my god, please—!”

His hips snap up and he forces you down, bullying his cock deep inside you as he cums. He keeps you there, shivering and moaning as he rides out his own high. Filling you up with his cum. Breeding you with his cum.

He just keeps you there, slowly loosening his grip with every passing second.

It takes him a moment to catch his breath, and you’ve never seen him look hotter. He’s disheveled and flushed and his eyes look dazed and bleary and unfocused.

“You,” he rasps out, “are going to ruin me.”

You shiver with delight, slowly grinding down against him. Your pleasure is still simmering hot, but you ignore it in favor of basking in his praise.

He exhales and finally focuses on you again. His hand comes up, softly brushing his knuckles along your cheek.

“So devoted to your god…” he murmurs, his voice low and warm. “And yet, I am nothing without your worship.”

You whimper, blushing hotly at his words. But it doesn’t draw him from his blissful adoration.

Instead he grasps you carefully, standing to set you on his desk. His hands slowly slide down along your hips… your thighs… down to your lower legs.

And he follows, sliding his dick from your hole with a soft groan.

His cum doesn’t even have a chance to drip from you before his tongue is there. Lapping gently at your hole.

It dizzies you, the shift in his demeanor. The pleasure and tenderness and warmth fuzz your mind, leaving you speechless and dazed as he kisses and licks his own cum from your hole.

It doesn’t feel like sex. It feels like worship.

Your orgasm builds once more and it washes over you, filling your veins with blissful heat. You shiver and melt, slipping boneless into his waiting arms.

He chuckles softly, reaching around your head to unbuckle your muzzle. You whimper softly as it slips from your head, but he catches your mouth with a kiss.

It’s an adoring, hot, filthy kiss that leaves your head spinning and your tongue coated with the rich bitterness of your mingled cum.

“Do you taste that?” He purrs in your ear, voice low and rumbly. “That’s devotion. A feast for a god.”

You melt further into him, nuzzling into his neck. He just purrs out more praise, lifting you into his arms effortlessly. Cradling you gently, keeping you safe and warm and satiated.

Keeping his good boy tucked oh so softly and oh so close against him.

Respectfully, Wallace does not give a shit that you’re trans.

Of course, he doesn’t flat-out ignore it, because it’s part of who you are, but it isn’t an obstacle in your relationship by any means, and it doesn’t bother him in the slightest.

If you’re feeling dysphoric and/or otherwise insecure about yourself, he’ll pinch your cheeks and tell you how handsome and sexy you are.

If you’re feeling especially bad, like ‘not getting out of bed and hiding from the world’ bad, he’ll keep you company and say what he can to reassure you.

Being mushy and sincere truly isn’t his thing, so whatever he says will sound either slightly insensitive (but still pretty sensitive as far as Wallace goes), facetious or like he wants you to get over how you’re feeling so he can fuck you.

But, he genuinely doesn’t want you to feel bad and you can tell he cares, because otherwise he wouldn’t be there for you when you're feeling your worst.

Wallace is very affirming, but in his own Wallace way.

He lovingly refers to you as his lameass boyfriend.

If Scott ever compliments you about anything, Wallace will call him gay.

He will shout ‘gay’, like the Senor Chang meme.

"Hey, man, I like your shirt-"

"Ha, Scott's gay!"

"I-I'm not gay! I just like his shirt."

"What's wrong with being gay, Scott?"

"Nothing! There's nothing wrong with being gay!"

"You really need to work on your internalised homophobia, Scott. To think, my gay lover and I share a bed with a bigot."

If you’re doing anything that he knows will make you dysphoric or exacerbate your dysphoria (for example, scrolling through social media and looking at cis dudes that give you gender envy) he’ll shut it down.

Using the aforementioned example, he’ll snatch your phone off you and close the app, saying: “Nope. Make better decisions.”

And, while you’d initially be annoyed at him for grabbing your phone, you will appreciate it in the long run.

If you have testosterone shots but you’re not a fan of doing them yourself, he’ll begrudgingly help you with them.

He will make a very Wallace comment, though

“Stabbing? I didn’t know you were that kinky.”

If anyone’s a dick to you about being trans, Wallace is always ready to go with a snide remark about the other person, because of all the things you could possibly mock his lameass boyfriend for, being trans is at the bottom of that list.

(He should know, as the person who makes fun of you the most.)

Also, he cares about you very, very much and he doesn't want people being transphobic to his boyfriend.

If you’re cool with it, he will make trans jokes, but nothing ‘attack helicopter’ or ‘attack helicopter’ adjacent, because he’s too clever for that and he can come up with better material that isn’t just derivative, transphobic garbage.

If you get your period and it makes you at all dysphoric, be prepared for this exchange:

“Don’t worry. Scott pissed blood last month and cried about it and he’s still a man.”

“Did-did he go to the doctor?”

“I don’t know. He seems fine now, though.”

If you still have boobs and don’t mind them being touched or otherwise acknowledged, he will use them like a pillow.

If you decide to get top surgery, he will make the following request:

“Well, if you’re not using them, can I have them? I need a pillow that Scott won’t steal. And, he wouldn’t steal your tits, because he knows I’d call him gay for it.”

“Why are you like this, Wallace?”

“Selfish.”

Being trans doesn’t make your relationship much different from any of Wallace’s other relationships.

The kitchen air smelled of stale beer, flat soda and boredom. Outside, everything looked still, frozen in time, in stark contrast to the high pitched scream streaming in from Kirby’s living room, the flickering lights of the gory slasher movie Robbie had insisted the group rewatched, as he did at least three times a year. In an attempt to flee the overwatched dialogues and murders, you had escaped to the dark kitchen, taking as long as possible to grab a soda from the well-stocked fridge. Everybody else seemed absolutely enthralled by the flashing images, Robbie above all and, sadly, Charlie too. You had only come to this “party” (not really a party) as an excuse to spend time with the boy, but you’d barely had a chance to speak to him, he’d already been at Kirby’s side when you’d arrived, and he hadn’t left it at all. Boredom had slowly seeped in, and while trying to sneak glances at Charlie and somewhat look interested at what was going on in the movie, you’d finally sneaked off into the kitchen, after a mumbled excuse about being thirsty.

You leaned against the counter, taking a sip of soda, looking through the darkness at Charlie’s sharp features, at his eyes fixed towards the screen, mesmerized by the blood on-screen. You rubbed your eyes, sighing, wincing as the edge of your binder dug into your ribs. How could you have been so stupid as to hope for his attention when you knew that the boy was pining for Kirby, the blond angel. You couldn’t hate her, she was an absolute sweetheart, one of the first to accept your transition, the first to defend you, the first to invite you anywhere, and specifically tonight, she’d offered to let you stay the night, and offer that you’d graciously accepted, eager to get away from home. You understood Charlie: Kirby was probably one of the best people in this town, and one of your closest friends. 

But you were starting to regret your decision of even coming, you felt completely forgotten and out of place. You finally made your way back to the living room just in time to see Robbie pause the movie near the end to explain a useless detail of the plot, one that he’d already underlined in the past. His remarks were accompanied by a disgruntled chorus of disappointment and a throw pillow chucked at his face by an annoyed Jill. You chuckled softly at the odd scene unfolding in front of you and went to plop down on the far end of the couch, when Kirby spoke up in your direction:

“Cmon, sit here, next to me!”

She scooched over, leaving a gap between her and a panicked-looking Charlie. A million thoughts crossed your mind in that moment, and most of them either included running away or passing out.

“No, don’t worry, I’m fine where I am,” you managed to force out.

“Nuh-uh, as host, I demand you sit next to me,” she joked. Since she didn’t seem to want to let it go, you dragged yourself over and plopped down on the couch, hoping Charlie wouldn’t be too pissed at you sitting between him and his longtime crush. You didn’t even dare look in his direction, and anyway, Robbie was already shushing everyone as he resumed the movie. 

The end of the movie was a blur, you’d seen it so many times that you spent your time curled up on the sofa, refusing to look at Charlie for more than a second at a time, mostly letting your mind wonder as to what could be, but never would.

Charlie was straight, you knew that. You also knew that he liked Kirby. You were gay, everybody knew that. And most importantly, like a blaring neon sign above your head, to your dismay, you were trans. It wasn’t easy feeling accepted, especially in such a small town where everyone knew everyone. You’d lived in Woodsboro forever, people had known you as the little girl grappling for her femininity, dressed in the frilliest dresses, hair falling to her waist. Seeing you grow into a boy, then a young man, was odd to them. It took a while for people to accept your transition, and though you’d found lots of allies and friends, you’d also discovered how horrible certain people could be. In short, it was difficult. You were sick of the comments, the stares, the judgement. You’d rather people just kept ignoring you, it would be softer on everyone that way. 

Charlie was a person who you’d not interacted with enough to know what he thought. In hopes of saving yourself the humiliation, you stayed mostly away from the boy you liked, you pined from afar, and he never made a step in your direction, no matter how hard you hoped. Tonight was a last resort, and clearly, it wouldn’t amount to much.

You snapped out of your rêverie as the final credits began to roll, and you felt Kirby stir beside you. Robbie seemed ready to immediately play another movie, but Kirby stopped him easily with a single glare. She stood up, turned on some soft lights, and spoke loud, overtop the other conversations.

“Let's play some games. This doesn't feel like a party.” She stared pointedly at Robbie, who was too busy rifling through her movie collection to notice. The blond grabbed an empty bottle from a nearby table and waved it around. Jill turned to face her.

“Spin the bottle? What are we, thirteen?”

“Oh come on, it’ll be fun.”

Everyone seemed to agree with Kirby, except you, but you didn’t dare speak up. Instead, you slipped away to seek refuge in the kitchen again. As you walked past the girl, she seemed to want to say something, but a pleading look from you convinced her to stay quiet. She followed away from the others, into the kitchen.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine… party games aren’t really my thing, sorry,” you mumble back.

“Are you sure? It’ll be fun, I promise. Plus, it’s just us, you know everyone here.”

You glanced beyond her, at Charlie, who was sitting on the floor, talking with Robbie.

“It’s more for your sake… I don’t think many people are eager to kiss me.”

“So what? No one here wants to makeout with Robbie and he’s still playing.”

“Yeah but he has an obnoxious ego.”

She giggled.

“True, but still. I think you should play.”

“I don’t think I have the guts for that, Kirby.”

“I have a remedy for that.”

She walked to the fridge and came back brandishing a bottle of beer, looking exceedingly proud of herself.

“Your solution is beer?”

“Liquid courage.”

You smiled against your will. Her good mood was infectious, bleeding out onto your skin and into your heart.

“You’re trying to get me drunk.”

“Maybe.” She smiled childishly. “Alright, yeah, I am. But can you blame me? You’re a very fun drunk.”

“Kirby, I-”

“Oh shush, you’re sleeping over, right?”

“I guess.”

“Then drink.” She practically shoved the bottle in your hands. “Cmon, you’ll have fun.”

Reluctantly, you took a sip of beer and followed Kirby back into the living room, where everyone was sitting in a circle.

“Jesus, this looks like a cult,” you mumbled. In the corner of your eye, you caught Charlie smiling at your comment, and you felt your heart swell. You plopped down on the floor, between Kirby and Olivia, directly across from the boy, and took another sip of beer. It wasn’t hard liquor, but you were drinking on an empty stomach, and you were tired, so you could already feel a fuzzy warmth spreading through your body. 

Still, you crossed your fingers that the bottle didn’t land on you, you’d rather not be involved than see the look of disgust on Charlie’s someone’s face. The game took off, but you were too deep in thought, slowly growing tipsier, to notice much of what was happening. Suddenly, you heard someone call your name. Panicked, you looked up, thinking the bottle was pointing at you, but it was the second worse thing that could happen: it was your turn. There was a tense silence in the room and as you looked around at the hesitant faces, you mumbled:

“I should just skip my turn.”

A few faces relaxed, but Kirby frowned. She handed you the bottle.

“Cmon Y/N, it’s fine, just spin.”

You took the bottle from her hands and placed it in front of you. You glanced at Charlie, who seemed to be interested in everything but you, and with a deep breath, you spun the bottle. It seemed to go on forever, and you were growing dizzy from how hard you were staring at it, as if willing it to explode. It started to slow down, and you wished you could disappear. It stopped spinning, pointing straight ahead of you. You couldn’t even get yourself to look up, you didn’t want to see his face. But you had to. 

You glanced at Charlie, and he looked absolutely bewildered. You saw him looking at Kirby, looking panicked, and you catch her shrugging. You opened your mouth to talk, but the alcohol made you slow, and someone beat you to it.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

It’s Trevor. Grade A asshole, you thought to yourself. But he was right. You nodded and mumbled an agreement. Charlie stayed quiet for a moment, then finally spoke up, directly at you.

“No, it’s fine. It’s just a game.”

And the world seemed to crash down around you.

“What?” Your tone betrayed your shock. He shrugged.

“I said I’d do it. Wouldn’t be fair if I didn’t. Everyone else played, it’s only fair.”

You nodded slowly; and Kirby gently pushed you to get up. You had a feeling she knew about your crush on the long-haired boy, even though you never mentioned it, and you silently thanked her for encouraging you to play. You slowly walked towards Charlie, staring at your feet, willing for time to stop and to go faster at the same time. You stopped in front of him, and you could feel everyone staring at you. You took a deep breath, and through the slight beer-induced haze, you leaned towards him. You were terrified. You were scared he’d regret, pull back, but no. He met you halfway, and you swore you heard someone gasp. His lips were dry, they tasted of soda and chapstick, they moved hesitantly, slowly. You felt his hand brush your waist softly, right before you pulled back, and you were sure you felt him chase your lips before straightening up and looking away. You bowed your head to hide your profuse blush and headed back to your spot next to Kirby, who was smiling excessively.

The game went on in a blur, neither you nor Charlie being called on again. Eventually, people started to break off and the game died down. You excused yourself and rushed upstairs. It was much quieter there, and you stepped into the guest bedroom you used when you spent the night at Kirby’s. Slumping on the bed, you took a minute to collect yourself.

Holy fuck.

Holy. Fuck. You could still taste Charlie on your lips, you could still feel him somehow. The kiss had lasted a fraction of a second, or a million years, you couldn’t tell. You looked at your reflection in the mirror in front of you, it felt like you were looking at another person. No physical differences, but something changed. It scared you how much one kiss with Charlie, in such an unserious context, had impacted you. The moment was replaying over and over again in your head. You couldn’t face him after that, you really couldn’t. You considered staying in here for a while, but you knew Kirby or another one of the girls would come get you eventually. So, after making sure that you looked presentable, you headed for the bedroom door, but as it swung open, you jumped when you saw someone standing there. Your heart rate tripled when you realised that it was Charlie. He seemed just as startled as you.

“Oh, hey… everything okay?” you managed to ask.

“Yeah, Kirby sent me to get you. She said she needed help with something.” You noticed he looked shy, a faint blush coloring his pale skin.

“I’ll be right there.”

He nodded and started to walk away, but stopped when he heard your voice.

“I’m sorry about earlier”

“What for?” He looked at you quizzically. 

“The um… the game? The kiss,” you blurted out.

“You don’t need to apologize for that-”

“I know, it was just a game, but still, I’m sorry you were in that position-”

“Y/N.”

“What?”

“I wanted it to happen. I liked it.”

The words vanished from your mouth, and you stared at Charlie, bewildered. You could feel your face go red.

“I’m sorry, what?” you finally managed to ask.

“I said I liked it.”

“And before that?”

“I was… was hoping for it.”

Nothing seemed to make sense. You ran a hand through your hair.

“You don’t need to say anything,” he said, “Sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

He started to walk away, and you wanted to say something, you really did, but you couldn’t get any words out, nothing coherent. You saw him disappear down the stairs, and cursed yourself for being so slow.

What had even happened? It must’ve been a hallucination, right? A sick image conjured up by your hazy, lovesick mind, to taunt you. There was absolutely no way Charlie had just said that he’d liked, that he’d wanted it. You rushed down the stairs, back down to everyone, scanning the faces. You found Kirby before finding the boy: she was all smiles and excitement. She rushed to see you, and you took a few steps in her direction.

“He’s outside, if you’re looking for him.”

Both of you knew who she was talking about.

“You knew?!”

“Of course I knew.” You stared at her, shocked.

“What? How?”

“I’m the only one who knows Y/N, don’t worry… I think even Charlie himself was confused.”

Things made even less sense now. 

“I think you should go talk to him.”

“Fuck no… I can’t face him.”

“Sure you can. You have to.”

She seemed set on pushing you towards him, but you were too frazzled to do anything, let alone in Charlie’s general direction.

“Oh cmon, he’s just as nervous as you are yknow? It would be cute if I wasn’t getting frustrated at the fact that neither one of you wants to make a move. You have to do something.”

“I’ll fuck it up”

“You won’t.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“You’re overestimating my skills Kirby.” She grabbed your forearm, gently pulling you towards the back door. You kept trying to free yourself, to convince her to let you go, but it was no use. The door was right in front of you.

“Kirby-”

“Y/N. He likes you. I know, he’s talked my ear off about it. You like him, obviously. What could go wrong?”

“So much could go wrong.”

“Nothing will, I’m sure.”

And with that she opened the door for you. With a last pleading look, you stepped outside. The porch seemed empty, but Charlie appeared from around a corner. He looked like an angel in the moonlight, pale skin, piercing eyes, hair almost glowing silver.

“Hey,” he mumbled.

“Hi”

Neither of you seemed to know what to say. A laugh tumbled from his lips, and you relaxed a little.

“Fuck um…” You looked away, the back at him. “I had no idea.”

“I wasn’t sure either. I just… felt something, I guess, but I didn’t really know what it was. I didn’t know I liked… boys.”

He’d called you a boy. It was stupid, but it meant everything. You could feel butterflies fluttering in your chest, between your ribs.

“What about Kirby?” you asked, still wondering about his alleged crush on your friend. He frowned.

“What about her?”

“Everyone seems to think that you like her.”

He stayed quiet for a moment, looking at you.

“I did. In the past.”

“Oh.”

“But we wouldn’t work. We’ve both established that.”

He looked away and started pacing, walking along the lines of the wooden porch.

“But we stayed friends. She’s the only person I told about… you”

“Oh wow.”

“I know.” He looked at you again. “She helped me figure things out.”

“I guess I have her to thank, huh.”

“I guess so.”

The air smelled sweet outside, vividly fresh in your throat and lungs, slowly bringing you out of the lethargic state you were in. You’d lost your beer at some point, but you’d drunk enough to be enjoyably tipsy and giddy, especially out here, alone with Charlie. You found yourself unable to hold his gaze without feeling your cheeks flush, so you let your gaze wander along the treeline, or towards the illuminated windows.

“Sorry,” you felt yourself mumble, “I’m not good at this shit, I’m making it awkward.”

The boy frowned, leaning against the banister.

“You’re not, don’t worry.”

“And sorry if the kiss was bad,” you added.

“It wasn’t.”

“And sorry for apologizing so much.”

He laughed softly at that.

“You’re forgiven.” Then, “So… that kiss.”

“Yeah?”

“I think I could do it better if you give me another chance.”

“I’d give you as many chances as you need”

And with that, his hands were firmly on your waist and his lips pressed against yours. He still tasted of chapstick, but something stronger tainted his lips, something inebriating and velvety, some of Kirby’s liquid courage probably. The kiss was messy and uncertain, but desperate. Both of you had waited and imagined and wished for too long to not enjoy this moment. You finally pulled back, breathing heavily, fire of the alcohol smeared on your lips, his grip tight on your abdomen, your arms resting on his shoulders.

“Better?” he asked.

“Much… but there’s room for improvement. Try again,” you answered, smiling slightly. He didn’t hesitate, pressing you against the banister, joining your lips again. Your lips dropped open, and you could feel him in your mouth, you could taste him, warm and heady. A soft sound escaped you, loud in the quiet of the garden, and you felt him smile. His hips were pressed against yours, and you grabbed his face to have something to hold on to, and in that moment, you could feel everything with such glaring reality that it all made sense, for once.