#41 days of cheer

[asherend]

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hello! welcome to my bathroom!!

(i like johnnie guilbert)

names:

- Asher is my preferred name, but nickname is Ash

pronouns:

- he/him (im trans!!)

age:

- what’s my age again?

sexuality:

- pansexual!! (PLEASE MAKE YELLOW A COLOUR ON HERE)

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bands i love:

- MCR, blink-182, MSI, Linkin Park, Green Day, Pierce the Veil, Sleeping with Sirens, Taking Back Sunday, Parmore, Bring Me The Horizon, L.S. Dunes, Sum 41, etc

tv shows i love:

- scott pilgrim: takes off, the umbrella academy, DHMIS

songs i love (atm, i swear these change every week):

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facts:

-i’ve seen blink-182 live! 16-02-24

- i named one of my cats after Mikey Way

- if you try to talk to me i will yap about Gee Way

- i’ve seen LOTMS (life on the murder scene) and TBPID! (the black parade is dead!) atleast 100 times each

- i only found out a week ago that Billie Joe Armstrong was 51 (the fuck??)

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things i like in one image:

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things i post:

- i mainly reblog! i occasionally post my own things, but i’m gonna start posting about my new, weird, horribly-drawn mini series that was inspired by @mychemicalwindex!it’s called the chronicles of mark, tom and travis (form blink-182) :3

edit: btw i use #asher yapping on all of my posts!!

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[koolades-world]

Exclusive Mc Privileges: Side Character Edition

I don't know Raphael well enough to include him yet, so I'm sorry about that. To any Raphael fans out there, let me know how I can pay you back. I'm on lesson 41 right now lol

Diavolo

Sitting in his lap during important meetings and playing with his hair

Drawing on his arm and him displaying it proudly no matter what it is

Playing dress up in finery

Shopping sprees!

Becoming his royal hand holder <3

Cheering him on while he's doing paperwork and bringing him treats

Sneaking out together so he can show you his favorite spots in the Devildom

Having sleepovers weekly so he can learn more about "human culture"

Barbatos

Interrupting his castle duties with no consequences

Leaving you love notes for you to find throughout the day

Helping with your homework

Exchanging recipes

Brushing his hair!

Helping cook and getting as many tastes as you want

Freeing all the rats you find in the castle outside for him

Spending all his free time with you

Simeon

Helping him learn more about computers even if he's asked this question ten times already

Getting best massages in the three realms

Moonbathing

Helping him bake

Writing his scripts for him when his hands hurt

Getting to look at old concepts and manuscripts

Being his muse <3

Feeding him snacks

Solomon

Reorganizing his potions ingredients because it's always a mess

Dancing among the stars together

Attempting to teach him to cook (and failing)

Teaching him how to be hip and cool

Letting you admire his various pact marks and hearing the stories behind each one

Lets you style his hair differently just to see what he would look like

Forgiving you each and every time you set him on fire during lessons

Luke

Ruffling his hair

Tucking him into bed at night

Always being the first person to sample his desserts

Sharing concept ideas with you about new dessert ideas

Helping him deal with the brothers and their teasing

Ironing his clothes

Giving him piggy back rides and boosts to higher areas

Doing homework together that he's to afraid to ask a demon for help with

Thirteen

Braiding and styling her hair

Doing her makeup!

Throwing snacks and candy into each other's mouths

Getting sneak peaks into her latest pranks

Taking turns drawing on various sleeping people's faces to see who can do the most without waking them up

Having mini fashion shows that are mostly just her admiring you

Taking lots of pictures on your phone when you're not looking

Mephisto

Kidnapping and having free reign of his cane

Hitting him with the cane (lovingly)

Teasing him about Diavolo and Lucifer

Showing his affection for you in front of the brothers

Adding cute bows to his hair

Looking over drafts for the school paper

Learning how to horseback ride

Squishing his man titties

[holllandtrash]

secret admin | lance stroll social media au

pairing: lance stroll x reader

aston martin admin and lance are friends (we think?) until lance gets into a cycling accident and then no one knows what to think in this au, lance did not get into an accident at the start of the season, i wouldn't let the loml be injured twice, even in a smau

astonmartinf1

liked by lance_stroll, dailyf1updates and 107,833 others

tagged: lance_stroll

astonmartinf1 sneak peek into our saturday 😎💚

view all 5,829 comments

hamiltvn oh we love a lance stroll appreciation post

sebstroll he needs a podium this year

yourusername 💚💚💚💚💚💚

astonmartinf1 added to their story

yourusername added to their story

lancestroll added to their story

yourusername

liked by chloestroll, yourbestfriend and 671 others

yourusername are you really in monaco if you don't post a photo dump of you in monaco?

view all 41 comments

yoursister woww did she finally put the laptop away and enjoy herself for a change?

yourusername don't be fooled, i bring my laptop with me everywhere

yourbestfriend okay bestie who is that in the third pic

yourusername my boss

lance_stroll added to their story

lance_stroll added to their story

astonmartinf1

liked by yourusername, chloestroll and 213,221 others

tagged: lance_stroll

astonmartinf1 lance stroll spotted 💚

view all 3,411 comments

charles_leclerc 😂😂😂😂😂😂

landonorris aston martin admin doesn't play around

f1 here for this series

lance_stroll this was uncalled for

astonmartinf1 it was completely called for

yourusername added to their story

astonmartinf1 added to their story

lancestroll

liked by astonmartinf1, yourusername and 209,716 others

lance_stroll finished in the points today! Good hustle from everyone on board -- bring on the next race 👊👊

view all 2,4911 comments

astonmartinf1 see what you can accomplish when you stop stalking admin? 💚💚

lancestroll stalking is a harsh word, you're the one who invites me to hang out paddocksleuth do we sense some flirting in the comments??? rearwingf1 here for this paddock love story

yourusername 💚💚💚

liked by lancestroll

yourusername

liked by lance_stroll, yourbestfriend and 892 others

yourusername all work, no some play (see u later monaco)

view all 56 comments

lance_stroll please delete

yourusername woahh sorry idk how that last pic ended up in there chloestroll L O L

formulalewis okay but if she is admin i understand why lance keeps taking her picture 🥵

paddockgf so shes hot AND has a sense of humour

jemmapitlane lance make a move on her or i will

lance_stroll added to their story

yourusername

liked by chloestroll, yourbestfriend and 910 others

yourusername just what i wanted, a coffee the size of my head

view all 39 comments

yourbestfriend tu es trop mignon

yourusername bestie you know i don't speak french lance_stroll she said you're the cutest yourbestfriend ^^^^ yourusername i AM the cutest liked by lance_stroll

lance_stroll

liked by yourusername, astonmartinf1 and 265,226 others

lance_stroll absolutely gutted to be missing the Spanish Grand Prix but I will be watching and cheering on astonmartinf1 from home. Thank you to my medical team who has made this rehabilitation process smooth and optimistic.

huge thank you to friends and family for their incredible support during this time and a special shout out to the girl who refused to leave the hospital room the entire time I was admitted💚

I promise to be back behind the wheel as soon as possible👊

view all 45,324 comments

astonmartinf1 We miss you (both of you).

landonorris rest up mate, we'll see you soon

f1 💚💚💚

granddprixgf WAIT ADMIN HAS BEEN WITH LANCE THIS WHOLE TIME???

leclerrcs16 THEY'RE DATING???/?? ?W??? WAHT

tyreblanketss how did NONE of us figure this out🥺🥺🥺

yourusername

liked by chloestroll, astonmartinf1 and 2,102 others

tagged: lance_stroll

yourusername 3 different photos, 3 important moments in our life.

1 - the day we became more than friends, the end of the season celebration last year that i wasn't even going to attend but thank god i did because you finally made a move after i spent the last 8 months winking at you from across the garage

2 - the day you told me you loved me for the first time, also the day i realized you are most definitely going to be the person i spend the rest of my life with

3 - and yesterday, seeing you smile for the first time in a week, after an accident that has forced you to slow down and take a (temporary) step back from the world around you. yesterday was a reminder that I fell in love with your strength, resilience and determination. you are the most passionate and dedicated man that i know and i am blessed to have you at my side💚 i love you, you'll be back behind the wheel before you know it

comments are limited on this post

lance_stroll i love you, thank you for being my biggest supporter💚 i can't imagine doing this without you

chloestroll 🥺🥺🥺🥺

f1 paddock love story

lance_stroll added to their story

this was the longest smau ive ever created

masterlist here

[moonlayl]

"According to the United Nations, roughly 6,400 Palestinians and 300 Israelis have been killed in the ongoing conflict since 2008, not counting the recent fatalities." - X

Palestinian deaths: 6,407

Israeli deaths: 308

Palestinian injuries: 152,560

Israeli injuries: 6307

Palestinian children's deaths: 1,437

Israeli children's deaths: 25

Palestinians children's injuries: 32,271

Israeli's children injuries: 524

Palestinian women's deaths: 626

Israeli women's deaths: 36

Palestinian women's injuries: 8,953

Israeli women's injuries: 218

(this is total, so not just civilians.)

168.6 times more Palestinians were killed than Israelis

24.2 times more Palestinians were injured than Israelis

57.5 times more Palestinian children were murdered than Israelis

61.6 times more Palestinian children were injured than Israelis

17.4 times more Palestinian women were murdered than Israelis

41 times more Palestinian women were injured than Israelis

source: UN's Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs

but yes "Israel is protecting itself and not at all carrying out genocide or hurting innocent Palestinians. Israel has never hurt Palestinian civilians and this is totally an equal fight where both Israelis and Palestinians are equally wrong, equally at fault, and Israelis deserve to defend themselves by wiping out an entire region of 2 million Palestinians (most who are children) but the barbaric Palestinians better not fight back, defend themselves or hurt their oppressors.

Israelis are justified in their slaughter and oppression of Palestinians for DECADES because of the action of Hamas 3 days ago, but Hamas’ actions 3 days ago are completely wrong in every way shape or form, no question, despite the war crimes Israel has committed towards the Palestinian people and the people of Gaza for decades. That makes perfect logical sense

Israel has only started harming Palestinians because of Hamas, despite the fact that Palestinians were being murdered and displaced for more than 40 years before Hamas was ever a thing. Again, Israelis are perfectly justified in any horror or warcrimes they've committed and the UN will never condemn them and will sweep their infinite war crimes under the rug, but Hamas needs to be stopped which includes trying to suspend humanitarian aid to innocent Palestinians (even though most Palestinians aren't part of Hamas and this will affect the innocent people in need of help) and also cutting off their medical and water supplies (even though it'll affect almost a million innocent children stuck in an illegal blockade) but billions of dollars, supplies, and military support needs to be sent to Israel immediately!!!

The world cannot remain silent and the Israelis deserve our support, but please do ignore how the world's been silent for Palestinians all these years!!

We will show you videos of horror from other countries taken years ago, or even crimes Israelis have committed but spread the news that it was Palestinians who did such things, but we will not show any of the evidence of Palestinians refusing to harm women and children and instead taking Israelis as hostages, majority of them soldiers.

We will show you Muslims across the world celebrating the death of innocent people (when in reality they're protesting in order to call out their hypocritical governments who support an apartheid state) but we'll conveniently ignore how the people of Sderot (the city nearest to Gaza that Palestinians were recently able to enter after 16 years of being caged in Gaza) used to watch rockets hit Gaza and cheer on, calling it " best reality show" and "better than the world cup" back in 2014 which is one of the deadliest years for Palestinians (more than 2000 massacred).

Israel will warn the people of Gaza to flee and then go right ahead and bomb the only route they could possibly use: the Rafah crossing to Egypt and it will also threaten to target any humanitarian aid trucks trying to enter into Gaza (X, X, X)

Israel will also murder journalists, including an American citizen which is a war crime and illegal, but will face no consequences and try to frame Palestinians instead.

but remember! Palestinians are all terrorist islamist barbarians and you MUST support Israel and its oppression of Palestinians, otherwise you are antisemitic. Every Palestinian deserves to die and Israel is justified in carrying out mass genocide (by taking away electricity, water, and food) with the support of foreign countries because of the actions of Hamas, but Palestinians will never be justified in attacking their oppressors or defending themselves from 70 years of oppression. Shut up, these things aren't meant to make sense, just support Israel.

[hollytoshaw]

Hi lovie could you write an insta au where y/n is dating harry but she isn't famous (like not a youtuber or celeb just v lowkey) and maybe he has a priv account where he interacts w her post but one day he makes the mistake of liking and commenting on his main account and fans find it. Thank youuuu if you do this

aahhh love this idea of secret socials!!! hope you enjoy this. thank u for the anon <3333

private life | harry lewis

summary: y/n lives a private life with harry until one day he forgets to change his account and fans finds out about their relationship

face claim: fayegreenwoody

harry's finsta in the ig au : haroldinho , y/n's account is public <333

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y/nslife posted a photo!

liked by yourfriend1 & 340 others! y/nslife oui oui i'm in france

view all 31 comments

yourfriend1 the only person that could suit mustard yellow ↳y/nslife too kind lovely xxx

yourfriend2 bonjouuur pretty girl ↳y/nslife merci my darling xxx

haroldinho mustard is my new favourite colour ↳y/nslife said no one ever....

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sidemenupdates posted a photo!

liked by w2slover & 19,203 others! sidemenupdates W2S pictured with a fan today in France!

view all 928 comments

harrylewislover he is soooo fit omg

harryfan1 rare harry pic with a fan>>>

w2slover new sidemen vid in france????

sidemenlover123 apparently the fan said he was with some girl walking around paris ↳harryfan2 probs just an assistant or something

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y/nslife posted a photo!

liked by yourfriend1 & 321 others! y/nslife back to london life :(

view all 35 comments

yourfriend1 never seen someone so excited to get on the tube ↳y/nslife just love public transport xxx

yourfriend2 omg back on the hot girl runs ↳y/nslife H has dragged me into doing 75 hard with him

haroldinho day 1 of 75 cmoooon legend ↳y/nslife i hate you btw ↳haroldinho you love me :)

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y/nslife posted a photo!

liked by yourfriend1 & 392 others! y/nslife bored waiting for the boyf to come pick me up

view all 21 comments

yourfriend1 you beauty ↳y/nslife love you!!!

yourfriend2 if harry doesn't come pick u up i bloody will ↳y/nslife please do xxx

haroldinho so fit ↳y/nslife hurry up ↳haroldinho nearly there princess

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y/nslife posted a photo!

liked by yourfriend1 & 431 others! y/nslife birthday weekend away with my lover

view all 41 comments

yourfriend1 happy birthday you legend xxx ↳y/nslife thank you!!!

yourfriend2 prettiest bday girl ever ↳y/nslife too kind!!!

wroetoshaw love you doll ↳y/nslife oh for fuck sakes harry wrong account ↳wroetoshaw i've had a stinker

w2sloveer omg wtf w2s commented???

harryfan1 no fucking way harry has a priv insta

w2ssidemenluv as if w2s has a girlfriend wtf since when

harryfan2 is this his girlfriend??? is this who people have said they saw him w in paris???

sidemenupdates does this mean all the boys have priv accounts???

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sidemenupdates posted a photo!

liked by w2slover and 25,204 others! sidemenupdates screenshot taken from y/nslife which shows harry commenting. w2s has a girlfriend confirmed. what do you guys think?

view all 2928 comments

harrylewislover omg omg omg

harryfan1 i can't believe it omg???

w2slover makes so much sense, this is the girl hes always seen with

sidemenlover123 they seem really cute ↳harryfan2 ikr i'm lowkey obsessed w seeing harry being simp

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y/nslife posted a photo!

liked by yourfriend1 & 331 others! y/nslife cheers harry, officially a private account now :)

view all 31 comments

yourfriend1 lmao harry's in the dog house ↳y/nslife he's such an idiot

yourfriend2 hahha good luck getting out of this one @ wroetoshaw ↳y/nslife no sympathy for him

haroldinho sorry sorry sorry ↳y/nslife so now you wanna use the right account ↳haroldinho oh nelly

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sidemenupdates posted a photo!

liked by w2slover & 18,230 others! sidemenupdates screenshotted these off of y/n’s insta before she went private. Think they've been together for 4+ years from how far the pics go back! What do you guys think?

view all 1283 comments

w2slover surprised she stayed hidden for that long

harryfan2 how tf did noone know or even find his private account

sidemenlover she's really pretty

harryfan1 they seem really cute shame they don't post publically :(

harryfan5 give them their privacy guys xxx

harryfan6 so this is who he goes w on all those 'solo' trips he's talking about on side cast lmao

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a/n: hope this was ok!!!! still working on my harry full length fic but couldn't help but do this cute little anon request. made this in 20 mins so hope its not too rushed xxx

[selfindulgentpoorlywritten]

My Sweet Girl (Matthew Tkachuk Imagine)

This is by far-- I repeat, by far-- the longest reader insert I've ever written. It's my submission for @wyattjohnston 's Winter Fic Exchange, a gift for @matthewtkachuk ! Excellent URL, by the way.

The creative process here went as follows: Shelbs shows me her On Repeat Spotify playlist -> I see The Band Camino on it and remember that I love that band -> I listen to nothing but them for two weeks -> I hear the song Know It All and am struck with inspiration -> I write this and inflict it on everyone else.

I jumped around a bit while writing, so please let me know if there's anything I screwed up! This is also the type of fic that has had 20+ tabs of Wikipedia pages, ESPN articles, and stats pages open on my computer for two months, but there was still information I couldn't find, so please be gentle with any inconsistencies.

Anyway, I truly hope that you enjoy this one! I apologize for being a day late posting, my job sucks.

Rating: M

Pairing: Matthew Tkachuk/fem!Reader

Words: 26, 028

Warnings: a lot of angst

Contains: best friend's brother, friends to ??? to strangers to lovers, situationship, idiots in love, everyone knows but them, Matthew being kind of a dick, guest appearances by the Weinberg-Hughes family and Jane Gaudreau

Summary: As Brady's best friend, it was your duty to love and support him. You're pretty sure falling in love with his brother does not count as "support", but here you are.

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You weren’t expecting this to be as hard as it is.

Luckily, you’d been given a little warning beforehand, but apparently a week wasn’t enough to prepare yourself. Was it kind of fucked up that the news had to come from Brady, because Matthew hadn’t bothered to tell you himself? Yeah, kind of. Sure, Brady and you have been best friends for years, but it’s not like you’re not close with Matthew, too.

You hadn’t realized what was going on at first, convincing yourself not to be upset when Matthew’s texts slowed and his calls stopped outright. It had been the beginning of the playoffs, you reasoned, of course he was going to be too busy to talk to you as much. Despite the fact that communication between the two of you had never waned because of the season before. It was his first year on a new team, you’d told yourself, a team with a great shot at the Cup, at that. You could deal with missing him a little more than usual if that’s what he needed.

When you’d called him to congratulate him on passing the first round, he’d thanked you and wrapped the call up as quickly as he could. Seeing the 3:24:41 call duration on your phone afterward had felt wrong. It was one of the shortest calls the two of you had ever had.

You’d brushed it off, chalked it up to him being tired or busy. Then they’d won the second round, and the process repeated itself. A quick phone call, a few scant minutes. It had sounded like other people were there that time, so you’d convinced yourself that he would call you back when he was alone. He never did.

You got to watch Game 4 of the third series, got to watch them sweep Carolina to win the Eastern Conference. Your friend Terri had laughed and clapped as you cheered, jumping up and down like a child. She was a Carolina fan herself, but was good enough of a loser to hug and congratulate you despite it. She’d offered to leave so that you could talk to Matthew, but you’d waved it off. You knew he’d be celebrating with the boys that night, so there was no real reason to try calling. You’d shot him a congratulations text and spent the night smiling so much your cheeks hurt.

When you’d tried to call Matthew the next day, his voice had been hushed when he answered. You’d given him your congratulations, bubbling over about how well they’d played. It’s not the first time you’d had a phone call exactly like that, him letting you gush about his team’s play and basking in the attention. This time, he interrupted you before you even got a chance to really get going. His voice was still quiet, almost a whisper as he said he had to go. The wind was immediately taken out of your sails and you’d barely had time to say goodbye before he hung up.

At that point, you’d given up convincing yourself that everything was okay. Something was very clearly wrong, and you’d spent the next nine days trying to figure out what it was. You’d reached out to Brady, and he’d told you that he hadn’t noticed anything weird from Matthew at all. Knowing that, you’d tried to downplay what was going on between the two of you, lest Brady go bother Matthew about it. You don’t do well with embarrassment, so you’d preferred that whatever was going on stayed away from any third parties.

The finals started, ending rather anticlimactically ten days later in a 4-1 loss for the Panthers. Knowing Matthew, he was going to go straight back to his hotel room and beat himself up. For the last three, almost four, years, you’d called Matthew after every big win or loss, and this was his biggest loss to date. Yet your finger hesitated at his contact name, hovered over the picture of him with bedhead and a lazy smile. With how things had been going, you knew he probably wouldn’t want to talk to you, even if you hadn’t figured out why yet. But part of you hoped that he would, that everything to that point had been stress, and there, at his lowest, he would talk to you again, and everything would go back to normal.

That, of course, is not what happened.

He hadn’t answered at all. And when you’d tried a second time an hour later, it rang once before going to voicemail. That meant that he’d declined your call, but you didn’t know what that meant.

Two more days passed without you hearing anything from him, so you’d called Brady. All of this had been concerning, but that had been too much. Miraculously, you’d managed to stay calm when you spoke with Brady, sounding impressively level-headed when you relayed what happened and asked him if he’d heard from Matthew. Brady had seemed shocked at the situation, immediately calling Matthew after he’d hung up with you.

Thirty minutes later, when you’d received a text from Brady, your heart had sunk to the pit of your stomach, and it’s stayed there ever since.

Because what the text had informed you of is that Matthew hadn’t lost or broken his phone, hadn’t been sick or depressed or, god, lost in the fucking desert or some shit. It told you that he’d been with his girlfriend, and hadn’t wanted her to see him call or text another girl. Because, apparently, Matthew has a girlfriend now. And just hadn’t deigned to tell you.

When Brady had told you that she would be spending the offseason in St. Louis with Matthew, you’d tried to hide your shock. You’d cleared your throat and told Brady how great that was, even as you wanted to throw up. They’d gotten into town a few days ago, and you’d done your best to keep your distance. But Brady asked you to come to dinner at his parents’ house tonight, citing the limited time you have to see him before he goes back to Ottawa, and you couldn’t refuse.

So now here you are, curled up in a chair in the Tkachuks’ den, across from said girlfriend. Her name is Tessa, she’s 26, and she does remote work for a marketing firm. That explains how she’s able to pick up and go to St. Louis for three months, at least. She’s already recounted the story of how they’d met, a romcom story of spilling his drink on her dress at a party and getting to know each other from there. She talks about the instant connection, the way they clicked so quickly that she knew they were meant for each other. That part of the story was when you’d excused yourself to get a glass of water, just so you could stick your head in the fridge and take a few deep breaths.

Matthew and Tessa are on one of the couches, the older, comfier one. Matthew is propped up against one of the armrests, Tessa curled into his side, his arm around her shoulders. You’ve spent the night pretending not to notice the way Matthew keeps glancing at you.

Brady and Emma are posted up on the other couch, one on either side, Emma’s feet in Brady’s lap as she lounges. Emma is great, and does a great job at keeping the conversation going, despite how little you and the boys are participating. Tessa either doesn’t notice your silence or doesn’t mind, chatting happily about some film she and Emma have both recently seen. You’re pretending not to notice the looks Brady’s giving you, either.

You should really be trying harder. You know Brady wasn’t expecting you to curl up under a blanket and mope when he invited you, and he really is right about time being limited. You should be engaging, enjoying the time you get with the boys while you have it. You would, if you could open your mouth without feeling like you’re going to scream.

Eventually, Chantal calls you all to dinner. It’s easier once you’re all gathered around the table, somehow, and you’re able to talk a little. Chantal has always put you at ease, has always made you feel like just another of her children. If you had it your way, Taryn would be here too. She has a way of lovingly bullying you that always makes you feel better. Unfortunately, she’s visiting some college friends out of state. But you’re doing okay, you think, at acting normal.

Then you lock eyes with Keith, and any sense of ease you’ve gained flies out the window. You wouldn’t be inclined to say that Keith is the most observant person in the world, so the way he’s looking at you– like he knows something is very, very wrong– makes it clear that you’re doing an absolutely dogshit job at hiding your feelings. You look away from him quickly, swallowing hard and forcing yourself to talk even more. 

Maybe if you can just act normal, if you can push down the emotions and act like everything is okay, it will be. There’s nothing else you can really do about the situation anyway. Matthew has made it clear that he’s not interested in talking about it, so you’ll have to suck it up and deal with it on your own.

Dinner goes by a little quicker once you’re actually actively involved in the conversation. Typically, you help Chantal with the dishes after meals, but when you reach for the sponge at the sink, she shoos you away. She sends the girls back to the den, insisting that it’s the boys’ turn to help.

You curl back up in your chair, mind wandering as you operate on autopilot. You’re saying things, contributing to the conversation with Emma and Tessa, but you have no idea what you’re actually saying. Mercifully, they either don’t notice or don’t care.

This entire situation is fucked. What’s really getting to you, though, is how you’d been introduced. You’d walked in, giving out hugs to everyone except Matthew and Tessa. She’d approached you, shaking your hand enthusiastically.

“Matthew said you’re Brady’s best friend, right?” she’d asked. It was simple, innocuous, and true. Brady and you have been best friends for years, and that would be an adequate title in any other scenario. But it felt like a punch to the gut, knowing that after everything, Matthew had told her that you were just his little brother’s best friend. You’d glanced at him as she said it, and the intentionally cool, unaffected expression Matthew had in place still couldn’t hide the guilt in his eyes.

In that moment, you knew that he hadn’t told her anything about you, about whatever the two of you have been to each other for the past few years, and that he never intends to. There was a second where he’d made a decision, a second that you weren’t present for, that had cut off everything you’ve been to him and relegated you back to Brady’s Best Friend.

You want to pull Tessa aside, spill out everything. You want her to know that you’re Matthew’s friend too, that you’ve been more than that. More than that, you want Matthew to do it. You want him to tell her, to acknowledge whatever the hell you’ve been doing for all this time. You want him to admit that you’re something, anything to him.

Instead, you keep it all to yourself. The knowledge of everything between you and Matthew will live and die where it is now, in the minds of the two of you, and nowhere else.

June, 2018

You’re wiping down the counters when the man enters. You force a bright smile at him, still annoyed from the previous customer but doing your best not to show it. He returns the smile, approaching the register. You move to settle across from him, greeting him politely. The shop has a lot of regulars, but you don’t recognize this guy.

“I’ll be honest,” he says, giving a single nervous laugh, “I’m not really a coffee guy. Do you have any recommendations?” It’s not an uncommon question, and there aren’t any other customers right now, so you don’t mind.

“Do you like the taste of coffee?” you ask. He shakes his head. That eliminates about half of the menu, so it’s progress.

“How much caffeine are you going for?” you ask next.

“As much as possible,” he replies. The dark circles under his eyes could have hinted you to that conclusion. He has a laptop and notebook in one hand, down by his side. It’s normal for people to bring work along with them, and he’s definitely young, so you guess it’s probably school work.

“You could always do a triple shot latte with a flavor,” you suggest, your own go-to drink, “The caramel is the strongest. I can put in an extra pump if you want.” Technically, you should charge extra for that, but the kid looks kind of pathetic, and you feel bad. He can have a pity pump this once.

“That sounds good,” he agrees. You do the math in your head and punch in the price manually on the vintage register. The whole cafe is supposed to have a vintage vibe, a real hipster magnet. Math was always your weakest subject, but having to calculate totals in your head has made you a lot better with it.

Once he pays on the very not-vintage card reader, you direct him to the far side of the bar. You start on his drink, pulling shots with practiced ease. You’ve been working  here since high school, so you’ve gotten pretty good at making coffee. He doesn’t try to talk to you while you work, which is nice. There’s something oddly calming about his presence, though, and it’s helping your annoyance fade.

You hand off his drink, and he retreats to a booth in the back corner after thanking you. You go back to wiping things down, bobbing your head along with the music playing quietly over the speakers. It’s later in the evening, so you only get a few customers over the next hour. It’s one thing you like about working the night shift. Not many customers, and most of the people getting coffee around this time are tired enough to not give you much trouble, and are usually extremely grateful for the caffeine.

It’s quiet for long enough that you pull your stool up to the counter, pulling your textbook and notes out from under the counter. You start working on the homework for your summer semester, singing quietly to yourself as you read.

“You have a nice voice,” the guy from earlier says, suddenly standing in front of you. You jump, hand flying to your chest as if you’re a damsel in a period piece. You’d forgotten he was here.

“Thank you,” you say, once the surprise fades. You laugh a little, shaking your head. He laughs too, apologizing for startling you.

“Could I have another?” he asks, holding up his now-empty cup.

“Of course,” you reply, “Same cup okay?” You do your best to be environmentally friendly, so you don’t want to use another cup if you don’t have to. He says that’s okay, so you take the cup and start pulling another shot.

“Y/N,” he says absently as he leans on the counter, “That’s a pretty name.” You thank him again, dumping the first shot into the cup. It’s odd, because people are usually flirting when they say something like that, but his tone isn’t suggestive at all.

“What’s your name?” you ask, feeling like you should say something. You start pulling the second shot.

“Brady,” he says, extending a hand toward you. You look between his hand and your own, feeling rude but needing both hands to pull the shot.

“Oh, um,” you stutter, “Sorry, I’m–” He seems to realize what’s going on and retracts his hand, using it to rub at the base of his skull.

“My bad,” he says, shaking his head at himself, “I’m tired, sorry.” You smile at him, much more genuine than the first time.

“What’s got you so tired anyway, Brady?” you ask, dumping the second shot and starting on the third. His face twists at what you’d thought was an innocuous question. He’s clearly debating something in his head, so you stay silent.

“I’ve got something big coming up in a couple weeks,” he explains, tapping his fingers against the counter, “I’m just trying to be prepared.” You nod, not minding how vague he’s being. You don’t actually need to know every detail of a random customer’s life. There’s a moment of quiet as you dump in the third shot and pour some milk into a metal container.

“And I might be a little nervous,” he says, looking at his hands instead of you. You smile again, beginning to steam the milk.

“Just a little,” you repeat, slightly teasing in a way you usually aren’t with customers.

“Yeah,” he chuckles, looking up at you, “Just a little.” You smile at each other for a second, both knowing he’s seriously downplaying his feelings. You wonder what it is that has him so anxious, sure that it must be something serious. He doesn’t seem to be the neurotic type.

“What are you working on?” he asks as you pour the milk, gesturing toward your books spread out next to the register. You shrug.

“Organic chemistry,” you reply, pumping in the flavoring, “The worst class ever.” He cringes at the mention of it, which you feel in your bones.

“I’ve heard it’s awful,” he says.

“It is,” you confirm. You snap the lid back onto the cup, sliding it over the counter to him. He cradles it between his hands, but doesn’t move to leave. He’s looking up at you from where he’s hunched over, and you can’t help but stare back.

“Do you want to come sit with me?” he asks, “We could be miserable together.” The smile that overtakes your face mirrors itself on his own.

August, 2018

When Brady walks in, right at his usual time, you give him a smile and lean over the counter to hug him. You’ve become fast friends, sitting together a few nights a week, probably talking more than studying. His Big Thing is long past, and he still hasn’t told you what it was, but you don’t really mind. You get to know about his family and his girlfriend and his upcoming move to Ottawa, of all places, but you don’t need to know everything if he doesn’t want to share.

You make two of the usual latte, one for each of you. You grab your books from the shelf, meeting him at the corner booth. You get through some small talk as you both set up, going back and forth with an ease that you were surprised to find has been there since the beginning.

“Matthew’s going to come hang out tonight,” he says as he logs into his computer. He’s spoken about his brother before, so you’re somewhat intrigued.

“Any particular reason?” you ask. To your knowledge, Matthew has never been to the shop, so you’re not sure if something special is going on to spur him into coming.

“He thinks it sounds cool,” Brady shrugs, flipping his notebook open. Maybe you’d know what he’s always working on if you could read his tiny chicken scratch. As it is, you don’t mind letting him have his secrets.

You get four pages into your chapter before another customer enters, laying your pen in the divot between the pages while you go make them their drink. Luckily, they don’t stick around. It’s not awful when other people are around, but you always feel like someone is going to complain about you sitting in the dining room and studying while you should be working. But if there’s no work to be done, you don’t think there’s anything wrong with it. Unfortunately, not everyone agrees. So you prefer if it’s just you and Brady.

Another four pages drag by, reading interspersed with breaks to talk. Honestly, the breaks are also a way to keep yourself sane as you read unnecessarily complicated science.

When the next customer enters, you spring up from your chair, shooting them a smile as you make your way behind the counter. You give your standard greeting, asking what you can get them.

“What do you recommend?” the man asks. You were kind of hoping he’d have something in mind so that this interaction could go quickly, because he may be the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen and it’s making you flustered.

“Do you like the taste of coffee?” you ask. He nods, looking you up and down with a critical eye. It feels personal, feels like he’s searching for something, and you’re not sure if you like it.

“How much caffeine are you looking for?” you ask next. You do your best to maintain eye contact, ignoring the way you have to look up to do so.

“How much you got?” he asks in return. The crooked smile he gives you makes your stomach flip. You grasp for a drink to suggest, all knowledge having fled your mind in order to focus on the curl of his hair over his forehead, the glint of his bright eyes.

“A Lazy Eye would probably be the most,” you say, clearing your throat, “But if you don’t want to have a heart attack, you could do a regular Red Eye.” He tilts his head, smile turning smug, as if he’s noticed your distraction. Something about it snaps you out of your daze, slightly indignant. You’ve seen plenty of hot guys in your day, and you’re not about to look like a fool in front of him just because he’s pretty.

“Red Eye, Black Eye, Dripped Eye, Lazy Eye,” you list off with as much confidence as you can muster, “Each with one more shot than the last. Pick your poison.” Your attitude change only makes him smile wider. Your hand is poised over the buttons of the register, ready to ring up whatever he decides.

“Let’s go with a Black Eye,” he says, bearing a surprisingly sharp canine, “I’ve had a few of those in my time.” That doesn’t surprise you, with his smug face and oozing self-confidence. Something about it feels so disingenuous that it makes your teeth itch. It’s clearly an act, but you can’t exactly call him on it.

You give him his total, he pays, you get to work. You empty the last dregs of coffee in the pot into the sink and set the machine to brew a new batch. No matter how annoying a customer seems, you’re not about to serve them shitty coffee.

“Y/N,” he says, leaning on the counter, “That’s a pretty name.” It’s exactly what Brady had said when you’d met him, which makes you eye the man a little suspiciously. Whereas Brady had clearly not been flirting when he’d said it, this man’s tone is ambiguous enough that you’re not entirely sure what his intentions are.

“Thank you,” you say, dumping the first shot of espresso into the cup. Normally, you would ask for his name in return, but you’re not sure if you want to encourage him talking to you.

“How long have you worked here?” he asks anyway.

“Almost three years,” you reply. You’re not sure you want to tell him anything about your life, but you’re trying to be polite.

“Experienced,” he says, smiling like he’s a lion closing in on its prey, “I like that.” It’s cheesy and kind of sleazy, and you can’t help but scoff in disbelief. He’s watching you like a hawk, studying your reactions to everything he says and does. You dump the second shot, wishing the coffee would brew faster so this interaction could be over.

“I don’t think I want to know what else you like,” you say, crossing your arms over your chest. You used to get embarrassed and rattled by customers making comments like this, but at some point something had changed inside you. Now you just get annoyed, no matter how hot the person may be.

“Feisty,” he says, smile changing slightly in a way you can’t parse, “I like that too.” You roll your eyes, making a quiet noise of disgust. It’s not great for business to react to customers this way, but you can’t help it.

“I like it when men are silent,” you reply, able to feel how withering your gaze is. His expression changes yet again, smile getting smaller but more genuine, scrunching the bottom of his eyes up a little. That feels more natural to you, looks more right on his face. Something about the new softness in his eyes soothes something inside of you.

The coffee machine beeps to signal that it’s ready, and you waste no time in grabbing the pot and filling the cup. You hand it off to him, giving your biggest, most obviously fake smile.

“Have a fantastic night,” you say, immediately rounding the counter and heading back to the booth. When you settle back into your seat, Brady is smiling at you like you’ve told the funniest joke in the world.

“What?” you ask, picking up your pen. Brady’s eyes flick up above your head, slightly to the left, staying there, prompting you to turn around. The man is standing behind you, small smile still in place.

“Brady’s told me so much about you,” he says, and it dawns on you, “Nice to meet you, Y/N. I’m Matthew.” Your jaw falls open and you turn back to Brady, kicking him in the shin under the table. He yelps; Matthew laughs.

“You’re both the worst,” you spit, trying to hold onto your irritation and failing. You laugh alongside the brothers, begrudgingly amused by the ridiculousness of the situation.

“Sorry about that back there,” Matthew apologizes, seemingly genuine, “I couldn’t help myself.” You shake your head at him as he bullies Brady further into the booth so he can sit. Brady shoves him back, but moves his things over anyway.

“It’s okay,” you say, pointing at him, “But if you ever pull that shit again, I’m banning you from the shop.” That startles a laugh out of him.

“I didn’t know you had the power to do that,” he replies, using his crossed arms to lean on the table.

“I do now,” you say, tilting your chin up, “Gonna put a picture up of you with a big X on it and everything.” You stare at each other for a second, and he breaks first, ducking his head as he laughs.

“Fair enough,” he concedes, looking up at you through his lashes. Your heart skips a beat, but you do your best to seem unaffected. This is your friend’s brother, for Christ’s sake. You can’t be all aflutter over him. You’re not sure you have a choice in the matter.

June, 2023

You might actually kill your coworker one day. He’s such a smug rat bastard, and every meeting including both of you makes you think you’re going to grind your teeth into dust. It’s just lucky that the job is remote, so you don’t have to be around him physically. Probably best for both your sanity and his safety.

“I mean, at least you were right in the end?” Terri says, sounding uncertain through your headphones. You’re sauteeing some onions and peppers, moving them around more than you should be just for something to do with your hands.

“Yeah, I guess,” you sigh, “I just don’t understand why he wants to make me look bad.” Ian– the coworker– seems to always have some kind of comment on your work, some type of criticism. Constructive criticism is part of the game, but his is never constructive. It doesn’t help that you’re the only two in the graphics department, so he’s always there when you present work. And really, being the only two should mean that you work together and support each other, honestly.

“Because he’s an insecure man-child,” Terri replies easily. You shake your head down at the vegetables, startling as the oven timer goes off. You jab at the button to turn it off, opening the door to remove the chicken.

“I think I’ve had enough of insecure man-children,” you grumble. You cut open one of the chicken breasts with more force than is strictly necessary, grateful that it seems to be done.

“You finally wanna talk about that?” Terri asks, and honestly? No, you don’t. Ideally, you’ll never talk about it, just push it down into the darkest recesses of your mind and bury it there. Unfortunately, you possess some level of emotional maturity, which means you know that you have to talk about it eventually.

It’s hard, because despite Brady being your best friend, you can’t exactly talk to him about this. If he knew any part of what’s been going on, he’d probably go physically fight Matthew on your behalf. Part of you thinks that might actually make you feel a little better. But he’d also probably be mad that you’ve had a not-thing with his brother, and that would make you feel worse.

“She seems like a nice woman,” you say, trying to keep your tone neutral. Terri sighs, and you take your plate of food to the living room to eat.

“She’s not the problem, here,” she says. She’s right, and you know it. You really don’t have anything against Tessa, and obviously you can’t blame her for any of this. Clearly, she had no idea about your not-thing with Matthew, and genuinely fell for him. There’s no point in being mad at her.

“Yeah, well,” you push some food around your plate, “He’s a fuckface and she can have him.” The mention of Matthew has ruined your appetite, the meal now looking completely unappealing. You push the plate to the other side of the coffee table with a huff. You’ll try eating again later, you tell yourself, knowing that you haven’t been eating nearly enough lately. You can’t help it, your inner turmoil chasing away your hunger most of the time.

“He is a fuckface,” Terri agrees, adding, “But don’t pretend you don’t still want him.” Ugh. Friends are the worst, actually, and you should just become a hermit in a cave somewhere. There’s no point even trying to deny the claim, both of you knowing that she’s right.

“I’m not allowed to want him anymore,” you say, voice coming out weaker than you want to admit, “I never should have let myself want him in the first place.” In the beginning, despite being attracted to Matthew, it was easy to maintain distance. He was in Calgary most of the year, and reminding yourself that he was your new friend’s brother actually worked as a deterrent back then.

You can’t pinpoint exactly when you started letting yourself get caught up, but you’d ended up completely entangled with him. Now he’s put that distance back between you, ripping away the strings you’d been tied up in, leaving you with all these empty spaces where he used to be. And it’s making you hate yourself, knowing that if you’d just kept things cordial, restricted your attention and connection to Brady like you should have, you wouldn’t be feeling any of this right now.

“You can’t help who you love,” Terri says, so gently that it only hurts more. You’re not fragile, okay? You don’t need the softness, the careful handling. You’re not fragile. You’re not.

“I gotta go eat,” you say, not wanting to lie, but needing a way out of the conversation, “Bye, Ter.” She says your name, but you just repeat the goodbye. She sighs, says goodbye, and you hang up. What you should do is eat something and go to sleep. Instead, you eye the easel in the corner of the living room. You sigh, heaving yourself up off of the couch to go grab a glass of water to rinse your brushes with.

April, 2019

It’s probably going to become your new favorite day of the year: the day Brady comes home from Ottawa. His plane had landed yesterday, and his parents had even brought you to the airport with them to pick him up. As quickly as you’d bonded last summer, you’d only gotten closer through the season. It feels like you can talk to each other about anything, like you were meant to meet, like he’s the platonic version of a soulmate. You had patiently waited your turn to hug him after his parents, squeezing him as tightly as you could manage. He’d only squeezed back harder.

With their seasons ending right around the same time this year, Matthew had landed the same night. Knowing they’d have to go back to the airport, the Tkachuks had decided to just spend the day out instead of going home. They’d invited you to come with them, an invitation you’d eagerly accepted. They’re quickly starting to feel like family to you, and you love spending time with them. For the first time in your life, it feels like you fit somewhere.

Unfortunately, you hadn’t been able to come along to pick up Matthew. You’d had to work last night, so the Tkachuks had dropped you off at home to get changed and get going. You’d still gotten to spend most of the day with them, which would have to be enough.

You’re going over to their place today, and you decided to bake and bring along cookies. All of their local family and friends are going to be there to welcome the boys home, and you haven’t met most of them yet, so you want to make a good first impression. Besides, it’s just polite to bring something along to someone’s house.

Though Brady still tries to hug you when you arrive, despite your hands being full, the plates need to be deposited on the dining room table before he can get a real one. There are a few people chatting in the room, so Brady introduces you to them.

Most of the next hour goes much the same, Brady introducing you to family and friends, having small conversations with all of them. You know that Brady isn’t trying to embarrass you, but he has a habit of hyping you up to people. He’s more outgoing than you are, and he uses that social ease to brag about how smart you are, how talented. It feels a little like he’s trying to justify being your friend to them, but you know better than to think that Brady cares what anyone thinks of him and his choices.

The kitchen exits onto a large cherry wood deck, scattered with chairs, some of them already occupied. The back yard is sprawling, green grass lined with lush bushes. There’s a pool to the right, not opened for the summer yet, a jacuzzi positioned between it and the house. You’re still not really used to all of this, the casual wealth of the family. It’s so far from what you’d grown up with, something that had astonished you when you’d realized just how far above you the Tkachuks are.

There are a few yard games set up in the grass, cornhole and ladders and something you don’t recognize. And there, in the center of the yard, Matthew is teaching a child how to play ladders. The kid is probably a cousin, of which they have many. Matthew is barefoot, wearing a bright red Flames hoodie and black shorts that only come to mid-thigh. You’ve narrowed your staring down to a minimum, so your eyes only linger for a second or two before you turn back to Brady.

He guides you around to meet the few people braving the chilly spring weather, much as he had done inside. Everyone is so nice, saying how pleased they are to meet you, and seeming to mean it.

Your last stop is Matthew, who interrupts his lesson to hug you. It’s only the second time the two of you have done so, the first having been the last time you saw him before he left for the season. Despite that fact, he squeezes you almost as hard as Brady had, as if you’re his best friend too. Not that you’d presume to be Brady’s best friend, but. Still.

“It’s good to see you, Y/N,” he says when you pull apart, and the expression on his face tells you how genuine it is. Your smile is almost involuntary, turning up the corners of your mouth and baring just a hint of teeth.

“Welcome home, Matthew,” you reply, “We missed you.” You’re not sure what “we” you’re referring to, but it feels less incriminating than saying “I missed you”. You get the feeling that he understands anyway, beaming at you.

The three of you chat for a few minutes, Matthew introducing you to his little cousin. With there being four of you, you decide to play a game of ladders, to test the little one’s skills. He’s pretty good, for a kid, and you and Brady make sure to throw well enough to convince him that you’re trying, but still let him win. Throughout, Matthew gives him tips and instruction, so kind and gentle that it makes your heart ache. They cheer when they win, high fiving and teasing you and Brady.

You go inside to spend some time with Keith and Chantal. Chantal gives you a big hug, as if she hadn’t just seen you yesterday. Keith gives you a hearty clap on the shoulder. Taryn appears at some point, sneaking up behind you and poking your sides to make you jump. You laugh along with her, enfolding her into the conversation easily.

Time flies by, the sun setting around you, the house lights turning on one by one as darkness descends. Eventually, you end up lounging in the den with the other adult kids. From your visits last year, the chair in the corner has become yours. You’re settled in, legs folded up under you as something that no one is watching plays on the TV. Brady and Taryn get into a heated debate about something or another, and Matthew gives you a long-suffering look as his younger siblings bicker. You just smile back at him, finding the family’s passion entirely endearing.

“Seventeen years of this,” Matthew gripes, clearly not as annoyed as he’s trying to seem.

“And sixty more to go,” you reply. Matthew chuckles at that, looking to Brady and Taryn with such fondness that you almost can’t stand it. It’s the kind of relationship you’d wanted with your own brothers, but that’s best not to think about.

“Hopefully,” Matthew says, turning that fond look toward you. Your heart skips a beat, and you’ve gotten good at ignoring that.

May, 2019

You shouldn’t be this nervous, but you are. Terri is on speaker phone, telling you about her new job. You’re half-listening, staring at the clothing laid out on your bed. You’ve been agonizing all morning about what you’re going to wear, how you’re going to do your makeup, if you should wear makeup at all.

“I’m glad that your boss defended you,” you say to Terri, still tuned in enough to follow her story, “She seems cool.”

“She’s so cool,” Terri gushes, “She’s my favorite now.” You’re so happy that Terri has finally found a good job, especially with how hellish her previous one had been. This one pays almost double what she was getting before, too, which definitely doesn’t hurt. She expounds a little more about the things she loves about her boss, and you decide to hang back up the dresses you’ve laid out. It’s still a little too chilly to wear them, especially after sundown.

“You’re still staring at those damn clothes, aren’t you?” Terri asks, switching the topic suddenly. Your face gets warm as you make a plaintive hand gesture, despite her not being able to see you.

“Clothes are stupid and I can’t decide,” you complain, trying to imagine how each of the final two options will come across. If you try too hard, Matthew might think that you think this is a date, but you still want to look good. You know it’s not a date, but you’re still kind of acting like it is, and it’s embarrassing.

“Definitely wear jeans,” Terri advises, “That’ll make it more casual.” You agree, putting away the skirt you’d paired with the one shirt, trying to picture how it would look with jeans. You move the pants between each shirt, before giving up and just putting them on. You’ll just try on both outfits and see which one you like better.

Once dressed in the first option, you take a picture to send to Terri. You look at yourself in the mirror, turning this way and that. After a minute or two of consideration, you switch tops. You take another picture and send both to Terri for her opinion.

“Oh, definitely the second one,” she says, “The first one makes you look like you’re going to a job interview.” You look at the picture again, and can’t deny that she’s right. You put that one away, settled in your decision. You’re not sure if Matthew has ever seen you in anything but jeans and a t-shirt, so you hope the red tank top layered with a tucked-in sheer pink printed blouse isn’t too much of a change.

When Matthew had invited you to take a walk around the park yesterday, just the two of you. You’ve never spent more than a few minutes alone with him, always having Brady or Taryn or Emma to provide distraction and distance. This time you’ll have nothing to focus on but him.

The time comes soon enough, and you gather your things, not wanting to make Matthew wait for you when he arrives. You’d offered to drive yourself and meet him there, but he’d waved off the idea immediately, saying that he’d pick you up.

A knock comes at your door right on time. You take a deep breath before you open it, settling your frenzied heart. Matthew smiles as soon as he sees you.

“Oh wow,” he says, almost absentmindedly, “You look great.” Your blush is immediate, and you hope he can’t see it. It seems that anything that comes out of his mouth makes you blush, sometimes.

The drive to the park isn’t too long. When you arrive, you gather your bag from the floor of the passenger seat, and by time you move to get a hand on the door handle, Matthew is already opening the door from the outside. It’s a sweet surprise, and you thank him as you climb out of the car.

It’s a nice day, not too cold or windy for once. The two of you walk, talking about this and that, moving from topic to topic as they arise. You point out a few birds as you go, and Matthew listens to the little fun facts you give about them. He seems genuinely interested, but even if he’s not, at least he’s polite enough to pretend.

“I guess we should have left a little earlier,” Matthew remarks as the sun goes down, the light fading around you. The sun sets quickly this time of year, so you’re still a few minutes out from the car by time it’s completely dark. The lights along the pathway bathe Matthew in yellow light, casting warm shadows in the dips and hollows of his face.

“At least I have a big, strong man to protect me,” you joke, elbowing him.

“Oh no, if we get jumped I’m running,” he replies, shooting a shit-eating grin down at you. You gasp and press a hand to your heart, as if you’re truly scandalized.

“You would really abandon me like that?” you ask. His smile softens at the edges.

“Never,” he says, looking so genuine that it makes your heart flutter, pausing before he adds, “Unless we’re getting robbed.” Your combined laughter rings out through the trees.

June, 2023

You’ve managed to avoid any questions about your odd behavior, and it’s getting easier to act normal over time. A couple weeks have passed since your first meeting with Tessa, and you still feel like ripping your skin off when you see her touching Matthew, but you’ve gotten better at hiding it. It’s not your place to be upset, anyway.

The diner is bustling at this time of day, the tail end of lunch rush. You had to wait a little bit to get seated, but now you’re sitting at the end of a booth in a chair they’d pulled up to the edge to make up for all five of you not fitting into the booth. It makes you feel a little left out, the only one not paired off, a fifth wheel to the two couples on either side of the table. You block that out, a skill you’ve had for years, but have had to strengthen rapidly over the past few weeks.

Brady has an arm around Emma’s shoulders, and you can tell by the angle of Matthew’s arm that he has a hand on Tessa’s thigh. You remember when that was you, Matthew touching you so casually, so naturally. Sitting across from Matthew as he nudges your foot under the table, sitting next to him with your shoulders pressed together, fingers tangled together on the seat, where no one could see.

Emma is telling a story about a night out with some of her girlfriends, and you’re laughing along at the antics with everyone else. When she asks you about work, you try to clear the perpetual lump in your throat before answering, succeeding in sounding happy, though the tightness remains.

When your food arrives, you spend most of the time pushing it around your plate to make it look like you’re eating. You never have an appetite around Matthew anymore, weirdly embarrassed about being seen eating in a way you haven’t been since you were a teenager. You’ll take it home and eat it later, if you can stop thinking about Matthew for two fucking seconds.

You’re not sure how long that’s going to be impossible, but you hope it’s not much longer.

January, 2020

You’ve been to a few games when the boys have played the Blues, but you’ve never made the trip up to Canada to see them play each other before. Ottawa is nice, Brady and Emma having shown you around a little when you’d arrived. Your nerves had been shot from the anxiety of traveling abroad for the first time, even though it was just to Canada. The couple seemed to understand, only taking you around for a few hours before bringing you home.

Brady’s apartment is nice, really nice. He’s offered you the guest room for a few days, and you appreciate not having to pay for a hotel. He’ll be home for six days before he has to go to St. Louis for the All Star game, so you’d arranged to stay in Ottawa and fly back home with them.

Luckily, the cafe is pretty cool about rearranging your schedule, so you’ll just have to work some extra days when you go back to make up for what you’re missing. You’d asked for the days of the skills competition and game off as well, Brady having managed to get you a ticket. Your manager has always thought it was cool that you were friends with the Tkachuks, so she had agreed to give you the time off if you brought her a souvenir. Matthew and Brady had offered to sign a jersey for her without you even having to ask, and you’ll owe them for a while, though they insist you don’t.

Matthew gets in that first night, the three of you meeting him at his hotel. You’re not sure how he managed it, but he’ll be staying a few days instead of returning to Calgary with the team after the game. Maybe he got a special exception because this game is the last before All Star week, and he has to go to St. Louis anyway. No matter the reason, you’re glad he gets to stay.

The game the next night is exciting, and definitely worth the trip. With the Senators’ performance in recent years, it’s mostly the diehard fans left, so the atmosphere is electric. You get swept up in the passion and joy, especially when the game ends with a 5-2 win for Ottawa.

The boys have to debrief and get changed, which you know will take a while. Emma and you wait with the WAGs, Emma excited to introduce you to them. Some of them think you’re a new WAG at first, which is honestly kind of flattering. All of the ladies are surprisingly kind and welcoming, and you enjoy interacting with them as you all wait.

Matthew emerges first, guided down the hallway by one of the arena staff. His steps pick up pace when he sees you and Emma, and he shoots a quick thanks to the staff member before jogging over to the two of you. He immediately enfolds you in his arms, squeezing tight and holding longer than usual. You know it’s difficult for him to lose at all, let alone to his brother, so you let him hold you as long as he wants.

Once he lets you go, he meets your eyes. His smile is soft, tinged with a slight sadness that you want to wipe away.

“Hey there, sweet girl,” he greets, and your breath catches at the term of endearment. He’d started using it a few months ago, and it still makes your chest tight. You know that it doesn’t mean anything, but you still imagine sometimes that it does.

He turns his attention to Emma, giving her a hug as well, just one quick squeeze before releasing. The three of you start talking, waiting patiently for Brady. It doesn’t shock you that he takes so long to come out, knowing his unofficial position of leadership in the team. The guys come out one by one, hugging and kissing their wives and girlfriends, the number of ladies dwindling as they leave with their men.

When Brady finally emerges, he heads straight over to give Emma a hug and kiss. He hugs you next, before punching Matthew’s shoulder. They have a little back-and-forth as you all exit the arena, taking harmless jabs at each other all the way to the car.

The main issue with the living arrangements for the trip had been that Brady and Emma were going to have two guests and only one spare room. Matthew had offered to sleep on the couch, but he’s too tall for that, and you don’t want him to end up sore or hurting his neck during the season. You’d insisted that you’d sleep on the couch, but both Matthew and Brady had immediately vetoed that idea. Then you’d found out that the guest room has two twin beds instead of one bigger one, and the answer was simple.

Matthew sets his suitcase and backpack next to the door when you get home. You’ve already claimed the bed on the far side, so he gets set up on the one closer to the door. Emma and Brady are in the kitchen, making a post-game snack for everyone, so it’s just you and Matthew.

“You excited to be roomies for a week?” he asks, unzipping his suitcase. Yours is already open under the window, so you grab some pajamas out of it.

“Depends how loud you snore,” you tease. He shoots you a toothy smile.

“Oh, it’s gonna be loud,” he says. You chuckle a bit, knowing he’s joking. Emma calls for you, then, and you leave your clothes on the bed to go to her. The four of you converse as you eat, seated in a row at the kitchen island. You’ve got Matthew to one side and Brady to the other, and they take turns kicking your ankles. You kick back, grinning at Emma when she kicks Brady’s other side.

Brady and Matthew had already showered at the rink, so they sit in the living room while you and Emma get ready for bed. She uses the master suite, and you use the bathroom in the hall. It’s nice, if small, with a simple stall shower instead of a tub. You go through your routine on autopilot, only realizing when you’re done that you’d left your clothes in the bedroom. You wrap yourself in a towel, doing your best to sneak past the door to the living room.

When you look to make sure your stealth is working, you meet Matthew’s eyes. It stops you in your tracks. You can’t discern the look on his face, and you’re not sure that you care to. He shoots you an easy smile, and you wave at him like an idiot, acting on instinct. It only makes him smile wider, and you scurry off to the room.

After you’re dressed, there’s a knock on the door. Brady asks if you’re decent, and you confirm that you are, so he peeks his head in. Once he sees that you truly are dressed, he opens the door the rest of the way. He and Emma bid you good night, telling you to just ask if you need anything. You thank them and say good night in return, Matthew entering the room as soon as the other two retreat to their own room. He’s barely two steps into the room before he’s pulling off his shirt.

“Woah there, cowboy,” you say, holding up a hand in front of you. He just shrugs at you.

“Gotta get ready for bed,” he says, bending over and lifting his foot to remove his socks. You’d figured that he would wear a t-shirt and shorts to bed like you, but you should’ve guessed he’d be the type to sleep shirtless, no matter who’s around. He’s naked in front of thirty people every day, who cares about being shirtless?

You do your best to brush it off, turning down the covers of your bed so that you can crawl in. Normally, you would read for a bit before bed, but you’re tired enough tonight that you don’t think you need to. You pull the blankets up to your chin, turning on your side. Unfortunately, you sleep on your right, so you end up facing Matthew’s bed. Is that weird? Should you try sleeping the opposite direction?

Matthew doesn’t say anything, flicking the lights off and crawling into bed. He sleeps on his left, apparently, so he’s facing you too. That’s a little awkward, right? As your eyes adjust to the dark, you’re able to see the glint of his teeth as he smiles over at you.

“Sleep well, sweet girl,” he says quietly. You return the sentiment, grateful that the darkness means he probably can’t fully see the embarrassment on your face. You’re backlit by the window, so you convince yourself that he can’t.

The next morning, you wake to Matthew already out of bed, stretching. Your eyes roam his back, taking in the dips and ridges of his muscles. Only at the last second do you realize that his head is turned to the side, and he’s staring at you through the corner of his eye. You quickly avert your gaze, turning to sit bolt upright on the other side of the bed, facing the window.

The four of you spend the day exploring the city, Brady and Emma seeming to have planned what they want to show you. It’s nice, peaceful and fun. You make them take pictures with you in front of landmarks or cool art pieces, all of you squished together to fit in the selfie.

It isn’t until the fourth night that anything out of the ordinary happens. You’re lying in bed, having turned on your back to stare at the ceiling, unable to sleep. You probably shouldn’t have had that affogato after dinner, though usually they don’t bother you this much. No matter how long you toss and turn, how many sleeping positions you try, you can’t even make yourself tired, let alone actually fall asleep.

“What are you, a rotisserie chicken?” Matthew asks rhetorically, breaking the silence. His voice is hushed, but it still startles you. You turn your head to stare at him, finding him staring right back.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize, sheepish, “I can’t sleep.” Matthew’s lips quirk up at one end.

“Me either,” he says, sitting up. You mimic his posture, then scoot back to lean against the headboard. He slings his legs over the edge of the bed and stands, and you think for a second that he’s going to turn on the light. Instead, he takes the two steps to your bed, motioning to the mattress. You nod, prompting him to start shoving your shoulder, bullying you into making space for him. You giggle, trying to keep quiet to respect the late hour.

“So,” he leads, taking a long moment to just stare at you before continuing, “Tell me something I don’t know about you.” You’re taken off guard by the request, not sure how to respond.

“I was an Aaron Carter girl growing up,” you pull out of thin air. Matthew’s face breaks into a wide smile, sunshine in the middle of the night.

“Really?” he asks. You nod, mumbling “yeah” in confirmation. That’s all it takes to get you both talking. You trade off back and forth, telling each other small things about yourself that may not come up otherwise, launching into short discussions about some of the statements.

“My favorite color is red,” he says at one point, when you’re starting to think you may fall asleep.

“I thought it was blue?” you reply, remembering Chantal mention that at some point. Matthew starts fiddling with his hands.

“I tell people it’s blue, but it’s really red,” he says. You tilt your head an inch or two, furrowing your brow at him.

“Why?” you ask. He ducks his head.

“Red is an angry color,” he explains, voice quieter than before, “With my reputation, I don’t want people to associate me with an aggressive color. I don’t want to play into the stereotype.” You hum, looking forward. It feels like this isn’t the best time to look at him, like he’ll clam up if you witness his vulnerability.

“It’s also the color of vitality, excitement, love,” you counter, leaving just a breath of a pause, “It’s a good color for you.” The entire room is still for a dragging moment, before Matthew gently knocks your shoulders together.

“What about you?” he asks when you look back to him. There’s a fraction of a change in his face, but you don’t comment on it.

When you wake up in the morning, you’re still sitting up, head resting on Matthew’s shoulder, his head laying on top of yours. You suppress the instinct to startle, not wanting to disrupt him, lest he wake up and move. His skin is warm under your cheek, your arms lined up from shoulder to the knuckles of your fingers. You close your eyes again, trying to keep your breathing steady, as if you’re still sleeping. You’ve been trying so hard to keep distance between Matthew and yourself, but you’ll allow yourself to enjoy this, just for a moment longer.

There’s a shift in Matthew’s breathing, his fingers twitching against yours. It settles after a second, into a different pattern, intentionally deep and even. You’re sure that he’s awake, that he’s doing the same thing that you are. You’re not sure what to do with that information.

The rest of the trip goes by smoothly, Brady and Emma showing you both the touristy things and the better local spots around the city. If the same thing happens the next night, and the night after that, you and Matthew talking in low voices until you fall asleep against each other, neither of you mention it.

April, 2020

While the initial prediction for lockdown was that it would only last a month, it’s clear that it’s going to last much, much longer.

It’s probably lucky that you’d just started a new job, one that can be done remotely, rather than either working at the coffee shop or being laid off. It’s not exactly what you want to do, but it’s at least in the artistic field, so you try to be grateful anyway. It’s difficult being locked away in your apartment, but you’re grateful that you’re luckier than essential workers and people who are losing their jobs altogether.

The thing that keeps you sane in all of this is your phone. More specifically, it’s your friends. You’ve developed almost a schedule with it, calling Terri in the morning for an hour or so before work. At lunch, you facetime Brady and Emma for another hour, not envying them being stuck so far from home. It must be hard to be in an entirely different country than your family.

The highlight of each day is the evening, when you facetime Matthew. Though he spends most of the day sending you videos and memes and updates about whatever little thing he’s doing at the moment, it’s still nice to talk to him out loud. Seeing his face helps your growing loneliness a little bit.

You’re in your living room, your phone propped up against the arm of the couch as you show off the few things you’ve made since picking up crochet a couple weeks ago. Matthew compliments each of them, commending you for your improvement. He’s the only one you’ve shown, too embarrassed to let anyone else see the wonky scarves with uneven stitches.

“You have time to work on any paintings lately?” he asks, once you’re done your little show and tell. The truth is that you’ve got three new canvases drying in the kitchen. The truth is also that the man asking about them is the inspiration for their creation. There’s nothing incriminating about them; it’s not like they’re portraits of him or something. But you’re still hesitant to show him, because even if he doesn’t know, you do.

You show him anyway. The painting of the park is his favorite, and you wonder if he knows that it’s the one you went to for your first time alone together. It’s mostly dark, greens and blues so deep they look black, yellow triangles of light splitting the canvas into section. If you look closely enough, the brush strokes fill in the details of the trees, the grass, the pavement. Your phone camera isn’t good enough for Matthew to see that, but he compliments it anyway.

“You should paint me something for my apartment,” he says after you show him all three. You’re not opposed to the idea, actually enjoy the thought of something you made being showcased in his home.

“What do you want?” you ask, a hundred ideas already flitting through your mind. The only way you’ve seen his apartment is through the background of pictures he sends you sometimes, or little glimpses you catch as he walks around while you facetime. You’re not entirely sure of the vibe, but you’re sure you can figure something out.

“What makes you think of me?” he asks in return. You stop in your tracks in the doorway between the kitchen and living room. The hand holding your phone lowers a couple inches unintentionally, your gaze drifting above the screen, staring into the middle distance. What makes you think of him? Hockey, obviously. Family. Curling up under a blanket on a cold night. Laying on the couch with your feet up on the armrest, your head propped up on a pillow, a sad replacement for his lap. Spruce trees, gold, pitbulls, mushroom pizza, black eyes– both the drink and the wound.

Everything. Everything makes you think of him.

You can’t say that, obviously. You search your brain for something personal but innocuous, something sentimental but still acceptable. You think of all the time that you two have spent together over the past few years, memories springing up, some that you’d even forgotten about. Some that you’ll never be able to forget about.

“Can I surprise you?” you ask. You’re given that familiar smile in response, any iteration of which makes your heart stutter in your chest.

“Yeah,” he says, propping his face up with one hand on his jaw, “I trust you.”

July, 2023

Some people may say that Terri’s apartment is cluttered, but you just find it cozy. She has decorations and knick-knacks on every surface, but the comfiest couch you’ve ever sat on. That’s where you are now, stretched out with your back against the side, Terri mimicking your posture at the other end, your legs tangled together in the middle.

“We should see the Barbie movie when it comes out,” she says, unprompted. You look up from the hook and yarn in your hands, tipping your head to the side for a second and shrugging.

“It looks good,” you say, an indirect agreement. You haven’t been to the movies since before lockdown, so it might be nice to go back.

“D’you think Gabe would want to come?” she asks cautiously, “He could bring the kids.” The mention of your brother still makes ice crawl in your chest, but it’s not as bad as it once was. He’d reached out last year, trying to reconnect with you, and apparently your other brother too. You’ve only seen him a few times since, but it’s more than you’d seen him in the four years prior, combined.

“It’s worth a shot, right?” Terri asks, eyes flicking toward your phone sitting on the coffee table. You look toward it as well, debating for a second. It would be nice to see your nieces and nephews, but it also hurts that they barely know who you are.

“Yeah,” you agree after a second, “Worth a shot.” You grab your phone, feeling as if it’s going to explode in your hands if you move too quickly. There are a few notifications when you wake the screen, which you ignore to unlock it. You open your texts, backing out of your thread with Terri from earlier. You have a picture message from Brady, just a selfie of him and Emma smiling, which you send a heart in response to. Backing out of that thread, you see another new message, underneath the contact name you haven’t had the heart to change. The red and purple hearts next to his name– each of your favorite colors– having been there so long that getting rid of them feels wrong, no matter how it makes your chest hurt to see them.

Can we talk?

You tap the back button as quickly as you can. You can’t respond. You should, to be polite, but you can’t. If you do, you’ll say something you regret. It’ll probably be agreement or the words “eat shit”, and either option will get you into trouble. You can’t respond. You want so badly to talk to him. You want so desperately to go back in time and never meet him.

Your fingers tremble as you draft a text to your brother, typing and deleting and re-typing a few times before you settle on the wording. You have more important things to worry about than Matthew.

August, 2020

The bubble was an interesting idea. It may not be the best idea in the world, despite the safety precautions, but you know Matthew is just happy to be back on the ice. He’s already sent you a dozen pictures of the hotel, of him with his teammates and friends, masked up together in the lobby. You tell him to tell the boys that you say hello, and he texts you each of their responses.

The first round goes well, the Flames only losing one game to the Jets. You know Matthew had been worried about going through all the rules and protocols just to be eliminated immediately, so you’re glad that that isn’t the case.

The series against the Stars starts out with an exciting back-and-forth, the teams trading off wins. Then the Stars win game 5, breaking the pattern. You’re not expecting the last game to actually be the last, convinced that the Flames would at least make it to a game seven. But the Stars pull a decisive 7-3 win, the Flames falling apart in the second period and unable to get themselves back together.

Matthew has called you as soon as he got back to his hotel room after every game, so you’re expecting your phone to ring some time in the next hour or two. You putter around the apartment a little, putting away some dishes and wiping down the kitchen counters. You’d been painting during the game, a commission from a friend of a friend of a friend. You return to that, losing yourself in the meticulous movements of your brush.

It feels like it’s been too long. You try to focus on the canvas in front of you, but there’s a nagging sense in the back of your mind that something is wrong. It sits heavy at the base of your skull as you try to ignore it.

Eventually, it becomes too much. You check your phone to make sure that you haven’t missed his call, but there are no notifications. It’s been a little over two hours. You unlock your phone and pull up his contact in a second, pressing the video icon. Typically, he’ll pick up after one or two rings, but you hear the third ring, the fourth. The call disconnects, shock shooting up your spine. It only lasts a second, your phone ringing with a voice call almost immediately.

“Hey sweet girl,” Matthew greets you in his typical fashion as soon as you accept the call. There’s something off about his voice, and it takes you a second to realize what it is.

“Hey there, darling,” you respond, voice as gentle as you can manage. It’s not the first time you’ve heard Matthew cry, but it breaks your heart every time. As much as he tries to seem tough and aloof, you know how deeply losses like this affect him. Now it makes sense that he didn’t want video involved.

“How are you?” he asks, clearly moving his face away from the receiver as he sniffles, but you can still hear it. You move to the couch, sinking into the cushions, as if you’re as crushed as he is.

“I’m okay,” you reply, “You holding up okay?” You know he’ll say that he’s fine, but you also know that he’s not. He may not be for a while. There’s a pause, a long stretch of silence, only interrupted by his deep, labored breaths.

“I wish you were here,” he says. He sounds absolutely miserable, his voice cracking in the middle of the sentence. The urge to hold him is overwhelming, your arms buzzing with the desire to wrap around him. You want to pull him down into your lap, let him tuck his head into the crook of your neck, let him cry on you as you scratch his scalp and kiss his head. Lockdown isn’t the only reason that can’t happen.

“I’m going to hug you so hard,” you insist, “As soon as I can see you again.”

July, 2023

While you’re still a third wheel with Brady and Emma, it’s better than being a fifth wheel with the entire group. You’d asked Taryn if she wanted to tag along, but she has training to do. Brady had already done his that morning, so he’s free for the rest of the day, and had invited you to spend some time together.

You’re certain that he doesn’t know how you feel about this place, how much it hurts to be here. As far as he’s aware, this is your favorite park, the one you visit with Matthew at least a few times a month every summer. He probably thinks it’s a great choice, something to cheer you up from the slump you know he’s noticed.

Despite the memories tugging at you from every direction, you’re mostly in a good mood. You’d gotten excellent news the day before yesterday, an opportunity you’ve dreamed of for a long time. You wanted to text Brady right after the meeting to tell him, but you’d decided it was better to share it with him and Emma in person. You’re debating something that absolutely doesn’t matter, all of you talking over each other. You’re waiting for the right moment to change the conversation. It doesn’t come until almost an hour into your walk, but you jump on it as soon as it does.

“I have some cool news,” you say, breaking the silent pause that had fallen over the group.

“Well?” Emma replies, “Go on.” The excitement is bubbling up inside of you again at the thought of it, your stomach turning, your chest too full.

“You know that gallery downtown that I love?” you ask, continuing after they agree, “I’m going to do a show there.” They stop in their tracks, Emma immediately enfolding you in her arms. You hug her back, squeezing tight as she bounces on her toes. When she pulls back, she holds your face in her hands, voice high and thrilled as she congratulates you. The smile on your face is unavoidable, happiness from the news mingling with the happiness of your friends being proud of you.

“Cool news, huh?” Brady asks, lightly smacking your shoulder as he says, “What an understatement.” The circle of his arms feels safe, his chest warm against your cheek as he holds you tight. The look on his face when he releases you is the best reaction you’ve gotten so far, his pride meaning more than anyone else’s.

“When is it?” he asks, taking Emma’s hand in his own once again and resuming the walk. You follow along, too excited to be self-conscious of the visible skip in your step.

“August 20th,” you say. There’s an unspoken question there, a silent invitation. You don’t want him to feel pressured to come, knowing that despite how supportive he is of your artistic endeavors, he’s not big on things like art shows. In the end, you don’t have to ask.

“You know we’re coming, right?” he asks, aiming a crooked smile at you, “You can’t stop us.” Though the smile hasn’t left your face since you brought up the topic, it gets brighter in return.

“I’d never dream of trying to,” you reply, and you mean it.

October, 2020

It’s odd to have the boys around at this time of year, the season usually taking them away at the end of August. You’re grateful for it, though. It means that you get to spend time with them, lockdown finally over, freeing you from the confines of your apartment. Your job has stayed remote, so you’re able to be around even more, saving time on what used to be an hour long commute each way.

Right now, it’s you and the boys, Emma, and Terri. You’d introduced her to them less than a month ago, but they already love her, just as you knew they would. She doesn’t always come around with you, considering how you spend nearly every day at the Tkachuks’, but she has some time today.

After twenty minutes of debating what you should watch, you all agree on a true crime documentary. You’ve given up your chair for Terri, squishing yourself onto the couch with Brady and Emma, pressing your cold feet against her leg and laughing when she yelps. She kicks you, only serving to make you laugh harder. Brady playfully threatens to fight you to defend his woman’s honor, and you put your fists up in front of you, jabbing out into the air as if you’re going to take him up on the offer. He chuckles, reaching out to fist bump you instead of punch. You drop your hands, looking past his big ass head.

Matthew is lounging in the second chair, the leg rest of the recliner up despite his legs being crossed under him. It’s the only way the chair will lean back, he’d told you once, and he doesn’t like sitting upright.

The smile on his face isn’t the wide grin you’d expected. It’s small, a gentle turn of the lips. Combined with the look he’s giving you– something unfocused, something unbearably soft– it implies an emotion that you know can’t be the correct interpretation. You swallow hard, turning your eyes back to Brady.

“Press play already, nerd,” you demand, tone playful enough to show that you don’t mean it. He sticks his tongue out at you, but does as he’s told.

Five minutes in, you glance over at Matthew, finding him already looking at you. You look away, slightly embarrassed to be caught. Another five minutes later, you can’t help but peek back at him again, as if your eyes are magnetized to him. It’s almost disappointing that he’s actually looking at the screen. It only takes a second for his eyes to move to the side, peering at you in his peripheral. The corner of his lips quirks up the tiniest bit, almost unnoticeable. But you notice.

You only make it maybe half an hour into the film before Matthew leans forward and snatches the remote from its place next to Brady. The plaintive sound Brady lets out is kind of funny, but you seem to think everything is funny today. Matthew pauses the show, declaring that the group needs snacks.

“Y/N, come give me a hand,” he says, beckoning you to follow him. You grumble a bit, but stand and follow him up the stairs and out of the den. He leads the way through the living room and into the kitchen. They’re fancy, so they have a walk-in pantry, of course. The two of you enter one after another. You start looking at the snack section, deciding what to grab. The good thing about being the one to retrieve the food is that you get to choose whatever you want and there’s nothing the others can say about it.

You’re rifling through the chips and pretzels when you feel a presence close behind you. It’s obviously Matthew, but he’s so close that you can feel the heat of his body radiating into your back. His left hand comes into your field of vision, pressing to the shelves next to your head. You twist your neck to look back at him, confused as to what he’s doing.

You’re not expecting the look he’s giving you. His eyes dark, completely focused in on your face. Your eyes flick from his eyes to his mouth without your permission. He’s not smiling, his lips parted just a fraction of an inch.

He rests his right hand on your shoulder, using it to turn your entire body around to face him. You can feel how dumbfounded your expression is as you stare up at him, your brow furrowed, your mouth slightly agape. He returns the gesture of looking at your mouth, his tongue quickly flicking out to wet his lips. He looks like he’s about to eat you alive. You would let him.

There’s a long, unbearable stretch of silence as the two of you just stare at each other, faces only a scant few inches apart. If this were anyone else, you would know exactly what’s going on, exactly what they want. But this is Matthew, your insanely wonderful, insanely hot, insanely out of your league friend. There’s no chance that he’s about to do what it feels like he is. No matter how many times you steal glances at each other, how closely he holds you, how many times he allows himself to be vulnerable with you, there’s no chance he’d ever want you. And just as you tell yourself that, he speaks.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks, his breath brushing across your lips from the proximity. Your eyes go wide, your mouth falling open wider in shock. You’ve spent the last two years valiantly suppressing any type of attraction you have to him, trying to respect his station as your best friend’s brother. And now, in just four words, he’s let it all loose. It floods you inside, so overwhelming, so much to take all at once that it triggers a full system reset. You swear your heart stops, your mouth opening and closing as you struggle to tear the words from your lagging brain.

The words won’t come. The look on Matthew’s face is changing, something embarrassed, something guilty. He moves back an inch and you reach out, unwilling to let him go. You cup his face in your hands, pulling him in to press your lips together.

It’s lingering, almost chaste, and entirely sensational. Your lips are tingling, sparks shooting down your spine. Your chest feels cracked open, your innards exposed for his inspection, your true self exposed for his judgment.

When you pull back and open your eyes, his are still closed. He looks like he’s in heaven, like he’s trying to imprint this moment in his mind the same way that you are. After a moment, his eyelids slide up and he looks at you again. His eyes are hazy, unfocused, his blown pupils leaving only a thin ring of blue around the edge of his iris.

“Again,” he says, breathless, “Please.”

Who are you to deny him?

The second kiss is as good as the first, your breath abandoning your body to pant out against his lips. You meet again, his tongue flicking out for half a second to touch your top lip. It makes you breath hitch, makes you kiss him again, makes you gently bite his full bottom lip. The sound he lets out is barely audible, but it only feeds the fire inside of you, an inferno that blazes up from your hips to your throat. You cradle his face in your hands, hold just strong enough to move his head how you want, to slot your mouths together perfectly each time.

“Hurry up, asshole!”

Brady’s shout violently snaps you out of your haze. You jerk backward, trying to step away, but already pressed against the shelves. Matthew doesn’t seem as put off as you, smiling as if nothing happened. You relinquish your hold on his face, dropping your hands to your sides. His hands had wandered as you kissed, one on your waist, the other on the back of your neck. He squeezes once at the base of your skull, dipping in to give you one last quick kiss.

After frantically grabbing random snacks, you return to the den. You can feel how hot your face is, and you can only hope that it’s not too obvious how flustered you are. You and Matthew deposit the snacks on the coffee table, everyone immediately selecting one. You curl back up in your chair, legs pulled up to your chest as you lay sideways, head on the armrest.

Every time your eyes drift to Matthew for the rest of the evening, he’s looking back.

January, 2021

Just as the day the boys come home is the best day of the year, the day they leave for the season is the worst. Sometimes you wish you were Emma, that you could follow them back and forth and never be without them. But St. Louis is your home, is where you have a job and friends and more recently, family.

You’d helped both boys pack for the past few days, but you won’t be able to go along to drop them off at the airport. When Matthew had left for the playoffs, Emma had offered you her spot in the car. You’d told her that she didn’t have to, but she’d assured you she wanted it that way. She has to go along this time, so the car is already overpacked. Besides, you have to work that morning anyway.

You still show up at the Tkachuks’ beforehand, so early that the sun hasn’t made an appearance yet. Matthew had forgotten to pack his favorite sweater, of course. You fish it out from where it had fallen under his bed, straightening up to hold it out to him. He thanks you, deciding to wear it for the flight instead of shoving it into one of his bags. It looks good on him. Cozy.

Brady and Emma are double checking their room as well, one door down from you. Keith, Chantal, and Taryn are down in the living room, waiting as patiently as they’re capable of, which isn’t very much.

Being alone with Matthew used to be exciting, used to make your heart change its rhythm, used to start up a buzz under your skin. Now, it’s just… comfortable. Safe. Right.

When Matthew approaches you, crowding up into your space, you know exactly what he wants. The first time you’d kissed should have been the last. You’re too drawn to him, feel too much toward him, more than you should. More than he will ever return. The two of you haven’t discussed exactly what you’re doing here, but it’s clearly meant to be casual. Matthew isn’t typically the kind to shy away from voicing what he wants, and he hasn’t spoken up to define anything.

Is that what you want? You’re not sure. Making out like teenagers for months has been nice, has satisfied a part of you. But only a part.

You’re avoiding thinking about what you want, too afraid of what you’ll find. Some part of you, buried deep inside, hidden behind a recently built wall, already knows. If you allow yourself to acknowledge it, this will end badly. If you allow yourself to want, you’ll destroy yourself in the process.

The kisses he lays on your lips stay sweet, gentle presses, just a tease of tongue here and there. His arms are wrapped around you, resting on your shoulders, while your hands rest on his hips. You haven’t progressed past kissing, and you’re not sure if he wants anything beyond this. You’ll take what you can get.

Keith calls up the stairs for you to hurry up, lest the boys miss their flights. Matthew leaves one last peck on your lips, just as he always does before you part. You glance around his room a final time, making sure everything is packed. You help him bring his bags downstairs, help him and Emma get their things outside and into the car. You’ll have to go home as soon as they depart, and you’re actually a little grateful that you have work to distract you from the first hours of missing them.

As per usual, Emma is the first to hug you. You squeeze tight so that you can lift her off of her feet for a second, just to make her laugh. Brady grabs you next, as if both of them know that Matthew wants to be last. Brady wiggles you side to side, planting a kiss on the top of your head. You headbutt his shoulder, then kiss the same spot you’d hit. He says how much he’ll miss you, something he always reiterates for a few days before he leaves. You return the sentiment honestly, earnestly. When he pulls back, you punch his chest lightly, and he returns the gesture.

Matthew steps up and opens his arms, and you step into them easily. He doesn’t squeeze too hard, just holds you close, hand cupping the back of your neck, calming your anxiety and dulling the sharp edge of your pain.

“Gonna miss you so much, sweet girl,” he whispers into your hair, just loud enough for you to hear. You try to swallow the lump that has suddenly formed in your throat.

“Miss you already,” you reply, a little uneven, a little raw, “Can’t wait to see you again.” He places a kiss on your head as Brady had, but his lips linger, hesitant to let go. But he does let go.

They all wave as they drive off, Brady, Emma, Matthew, and Taryn all crammed into the back seat. You wave back, watching the car go, staring down the street even after the car turns and disappears.

Time to work, you suppose.

July, 2023

Art has never frustrated you so much in your life.

When you were young, the struggle and annoyance came from trying to get things just right, though they were above your skill level. As a teenager, it was due to the struggle of developing your own unique style. In college, it was not having the energy to paint most days, falling asleep at the easel others.

For the past month, the art has been flowing. You’ve been painting most every day, the ideas coming easily, creating almost a compulsion that you can’t resist. It’s only satisfied when the painting is complete. There are a couple dozen or so canvases scattered around your apartment to dry, the most you’ve ever produced in a single month. But the frustration– the frustration comes from the fact that all of your ideas are about him. All of your paintings are moments with him, things he’d said, how you’d felt, how you’d hoped he felt.

There’s a feeling inside of you, as if you’re right on the edge of catharsis, as if you paint just one more thing, you’ll be able to let it all go. That’s your motivation for everything you’ve been making, just desperately searching for the release that will save you from the pain. At this point, you’re not sure it will ever come.

You’re working on a bigger canvas, the biggest you’ve used in years. You’re glad your current job allowed you to move into a bigger apartment, because you surely wouldn’t have been able to fit something like this in your old shoebox, packed so full of your things that you’d barely had space for an 11x14. You have to stand to reach the upper portion, swiping a brighter red over the dark red base. You don’t want it to be about him. It is anyway.

The show at the gallery is rapidly approaching, only a month away. You’ve been working with the curator to decide which pieces to use, filing through years of work. So far, everything that she’s found compelling has been about him. Things you’ve made recently, things you made years ago when things were still good. One day, you’ll get over this. But not today. Today still just hurts.

June, 2021

With neither of the boys making the playoffs, they’d come home earlier than usual this year. Sadly, Brady is pretty used to it by now, usually coming home around this time anyway. You’re used to getting a few weeks with Brady and Emma before Matthew comes home, but you don’t have that this year.

While Brady sulks for about two days when he gets home, Matthew is far more upset. The Flames had made the playoffs for the last couple years, and he was getting used to being a contender. So not even getting a chance at it this year clearly stung. He moped around for a week or two, face tight and arms crossed over his chest most of the time. The only time he let his arms down, let his guard down, is when the two of you were alone.

You’d comforted him through the couple weeks of upset, even staying the night a few times. It wasn’t intentional, you’d just stayed so late that you fell asleep, and Matthew didn’t have the heart to wake you. You have to get up early to get home for work, so you’d snuck your way out of the house before anyone else had woken. You’re not sure how Keith and Chantal would have felt about you staying the night in Matthew’s bed, but you know what they would have thought was going on, and you didn’t want to put yourself or Matthew in that position.

Once he’d relaxed, taken a deep breath and accepted defeat, he went back to being his regular happy, seemingly aloof self. You’re grateful for it, not a fan of seeing him upset and always wanting to help him through and cheer him up.

June had come kindly, bringing along more sun and nicer weather. You and Matthew had resumed your walks in the park, and the whole group of you spend about as much time outside as you do in the den. Things with Matthew had picked up where they left off in January, him pulling you into a secluded area any time he could get you alone, kissing you senseless. You’d missed the feeling of his lips, of his body pressed to yours.

Tonight is one of the more rare nights where Matthew comes to your apartment, instead of you going to his parents’ house. You’ve offered to make dinner and follow it up with movies. You’re already on the couch, your dirty dishes abandoned on the coffee table. You’re laying on your side, Matthew spooned up against your back, your knees hanging off of the couch with the way they’re bent to accommodate Matthew’s too-long legs. You’re warm and comfortable, enjoying the feeling of safety that he brings, something you’ve very rarely felt in your life before.

The movie is good, but you’ve found that being in Matthew’s arms makes you sleepy, so you’re having a hard time focusing. You manage to mostly follow it, letting out a jaw-cracking yawn when the credits start to roll.

You feel Matthew place a kiss on the back of your neck without comment. Then he’s moving you, rearranging your bodies carefully until you’re on your back, Matthew staring down at you from his position straddling your thigh. The way he’s looking at you is intense, somehow simultaneously fond and hungry. It wakes you up almost instantly, and you reach out to rest your hands on his thighs.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says quietly, reverently. It’s not the first time he’s said it, but it feels different now. Maybe it’s the position you’re in, maybe the way he’s looking down at you as if he wants you, as if he–

He takes your hands in his own, bending down as he brings them up to cradle his cheeks. You run your thumbs across his high cheekbones, tilt his head up a little by the jaw as his eyes slide shut. You press your fingers into the soft spot behind his jaw, under his ears, pull him down, down, down.

Kissing him feels as easy as breathing. Guiding his head this way and that to get a better angle, pressing your lips together over and over, longer each time, deeper. Matthew has one hand on the arm of the couch to hold himself up, the other wrapped loosely around your wrist. He’s not trying to move you or take control, just holding on as if he needs something to ground him. You press your thumbs into the hollows of his cheeks, feeling the solid wall of his teeth under the skin. His mouth drops open and he lets out a soft sound. You press your thumbs in harder, between the new gap between his upper and lower teeth, testing how far you can push from the outside.

He squeezes your wrist once and you release the pressure. His mouth stays open, lips wet and shining. He opens his eyes halfway, as if his eyelids are too heavy to get all the way up, eyes hazy and unfocused.

Again, he squeezes your wrist. He’s suddenly standing, using his grip to guide you up as well. He immediately crowds up against you, as if being more than an inch away will kill him. His eyes have managed to refocus, but there’s still a dreamy look in them.

He takes a step backward, using the hand that had instinctively gone to the back of your neck to bring you with him. He kisses you, lingering. He takes another step back, gives you another kiss. He rounds the end of the couch and you realize where he’s leading you, kind of impressed that he can find his way to the bedroom without even looking.

Of course, your heart is a frantic mouse scurrying around your chest, thumping hard like you’re a prey animal facing down a predator. But as much as it freaks out in the cage of your chest, there’s no panic in your head. Being with Matthew calms your mind, keeps your hands from trembling, feels so right that you can’t find a reason for the anxiety that used to plague you around him.

He stops you halfway between the door and the bed, pulling back a couple inches to stare down at you. You’re hesitant to put a name to the look on his face, not sure if reverent is being dramatic.

You flatten your palms against the front of his shoulders, shoving him gently, bullying him toward the bed. He allows it for a moment, but stops after a few steps. He takes your hands in his own, brings them to his mouth to kiss your knuckles. You try to swallow down the desire that grows inside of you, threatening to spill out. He holds your hands close to his face, enough that you can feel his lips move when he speaks.

“You don’t have to be in control, sweet girl,” he says, lays another kiss on the bump of your right middle finger, looks deep into your eyes with such adoration you feel ready to split at the seams.

“Let me take care of you,” he says. The part of you that’s spent your entire life with a fist clenched desperately around any sense of control that it could find, for the first time, relinquishes its hold. And Matthew does, indeed, take care of you.

February, 2022

It’s your first time in Vegas, and the atmosphere is electric. There are hockey fans everywhere, plenty of people wearing jerseys as they explore the strip. Everything is so big, so bright, so fancy. As exciting as it is to be here, it makes you feel a little off, a little like you don’t belong. It reminds you of the first time you’d been to the Tkachuks’ house, amazed at how different everything is from the way you grew up.

Each player was supposed to be allotted two tickets, but they had allowed Brady to take additional tickets for his family, considering Matthew is his brother, in addition to how well-known and beloved Keith is. He’d managed to get Emma included as well, luckily.

You weren’t sure how he did it, but Brady had gotten another player to give one of his tickets so that you could come. Apparently the guy’s family couldn’t make the trip, and he only had one friend that he really wanted to bring. He won’t tell you who it was, but the way that Timo Meier winks at you as he passes the stands gives you an idea. You weren’t aware that the two talked, but there’s always the possibility that he had just gone around and asked everyone. The idea makes something bloom in your chest, as if you could love Brady more than you already do. You’ll have to find a way to thank Timo some time.

The skills competitions are fun, though Brady doesn’t win anything. It’s nice to see the players relaxing and having fun, a well-deserved break from the stress of the season.

You all go out to an early meal before the games the next day. You don’t realize until you arrive that Jack Hughes and his family were joining you, and you trip over your own feet when you see them waiting for you. You’re a huge fan of Jack’s, but more than that, Ellen Weinberg-Hughes is an icon. You stumble with your words when you greet her, shaking her hand and screaming silently in your head. With how the boys are looking at you as you do so, they obviously anticipated your reaction and are incredibly satisfied with themselves.

For the meal, you’re sat between Matthew and Jack. You’re grateful that Matthew is next to you, needing his calming presence as you meet some of your favorite players. The families are friendly with each other, the parents catching up on the news of each others’ lives, the children doing the same in separate conversations.

You spend most of the dinner talking to Jack, Quinn, and Matthew. They tell you all sorts of things, including embarrassing stories about Matthew that you weren’t privy to. You grin at Matthew every time they share one, absolutely intending to tease him about it later. This seems to be what the Hughes boys want, eager to give you more ammunition. Matthew buries his face in his hands at one particularly humiliating story, even as he shakes gently with quiet laughter. When he emerges and sits back up, you take a chance, placing your hand on his thigh. You squeeze once, trying to reassure him. He does his best to not react, but he also rests his hand on top of yours under the table.

“So you’re a painter, right?” Quinn asks at one point, curiosity evident in his perpetually sleepy eyes.

“Yeah,” you confirm, asking “How did you know?” You’d told them about your official job, but you hadn’t mentioned being a traditional artist in addition to a graphic designer. Jack turns a smug smile on you.

“Matthew talks about you a lot,” he says, pleased with himself. You look to Matthew just in time to see his face flush.

“Shut up,” he says to Jack, which only makes him smile wider. Jack’s attitude rubs off on you a little, and you give Matthew a delighted smile.

“How much is a lot?” you ask Jack, feeling Matthew dig his fingertips into your knuckles.

“Like, a lot,” Jack replies, Quinn nodding from his other side. You look back to Matthew, who looks like he wants to crawl under the table and hide.

“I talk about him a lot, too,” you say. That makes Matthew look at you again, bright eyes nearly sparkling in the restaurant’s dim lighting. His expression shifts, a small, grateful smile scrunching his eyes up the slightest bit.

After dinner, you all make your way to the arena. Brady and Jack left a while before the rest of you, needing to arrive in time to get dressed and likely do some more media. Before he’d left, Jack had requested your phone, creating a contact for himself and inputting his number. As he dud, you turned your face away, toward Matthew, opening your mouth wide as if you’re screaming. He looked amused at it, but there’s a sharp edge there. Quinn took the phone next, doing the same thing. You squeezed Matthew’s thigh again, and his expression softened. You’ve been following the Hughes brothers since they were in Juniors, and having them like you enough to want to keep in touch– you can only describe the feeling as elation.

The lines are out the door at the arena, and a few people catch the boys to request photos before you can get to the special entrance for players’ guests. They’re all very kind and courteous about it, taking a few pictures with people, finding a way to move through the crowd even as they do so. You probably should have come a different way, or maybe gotten there earlier, but as long as the boys don’t mind, you don’t either.

The seats are good, the second row of the first balcony. It seems to be the section that they put all of the family and friends, people milling around and chatting with each other. You spot Johnny’s parents a couple rows away, the only people around that you’ve met before. You wave to them and they return the gesture. They make their way down to your seats, greeting each of you in turn. They start chatting with Keith and Chantal, so you continue talking to Taryn and Emma.

The games are great, surprisingly fast. The Atlantic division plays a great game again Central, despite losing by 3. You still can’t help being proud of Brady. You’ve been next to him since his first season, and you’ve loved getting to watch him grow and improve. As long as he’s in the world, you’re going to be proud of him.

The final is awesome too, and you jump up to cheer when Jack scores in the first. When the Metropolitan wins, you high-five Taryn, glad that Jack could win when Brady couldn’t. Not a bad consolation prize.

The group hangs around for a while after, and you get to meet a bunch of new people. Everyone is so nice, making you feel welcome, feel like you belong. When you finally start up the stairs to leave, Johnny’s mom Jane stops you for a second. She pinches your jersey and gives you a sly smile.

“Just a family friend?” she asks, not a question but a suggestion. A few years back, Matthew had given you one of his jerseys to wear to a game, and you’ve worn it tonight, despite him not playing. You realize now how it could be interpreted, ducking your head for a second to smile at the floor, before looking back up to Jane.

“Just a family friend,” you say, firm and definitive. She holds your gaze for a moment, looks behind her at Matthew, who’s waiting patiently a few steps up. He’s looking at you, that soft look he gives you sometimes. After a second, he smiles brightly at Jane. She waves and turns back to you.

“We’ll see,” she says. She pats your shoulder twice before making her own way up the stairs with Guy. Once you process the statement, you shake your head and make your way up to Matthew.

“What was that?” he asks as you enter the corridor. There’s no way you can tell him the truth, and honestly, you’re not sure what the fuck that was either. You just shrug at him, continuing your way out of the arena.

The comment sticks with you, no matter how you try to brush it off. Johnny is Matthew’s best friend, and you’ve met Jane a few times before. If it had been a stranger, you would’ve dismissed it outright. But to hear it from someone who actually knows the two of you? That’s harder to let go.

July, 2023

Laurel, the curator for the gallery hosting your show, is a lovely woman. She’s also very, very good at her job. You’ve been to countless shows at this gallery, and they’re always perfectly compiled, excellently arranged. You’ve brought her your most recent paintings today, which makes you glad that you have a car, because hauling them through the city would be a nightmare.

The only problem you have with Laurel is that she seems to see straight through you. You’re not used to someone looking past the professional figure you present, let alone someone seeing every part of you that you put into your art.

She’s staring at your offerings, examining every last detail. She’s already chosen about half of the pieces that will be displayed, creating a theme with your relatively impressionist style. She moves one canvas to the side, away from the others. She takes an extra few minutes to consider one of them, the largest one. It just finished drying yesterday. Having to see it every day as you passed it in the living room has been torture.

“Everything except that one,” she says, gesturing to the one she’d set aside. If she wants all of these, that’s likely going to be everything for the show. With everything else she’s chosen, this is all they have the wall space for, considering the way that you’ve seen Laurel arrange the art in previous shows you’d attended.

“That one is the centerpiece,” she adds, hand against her cheek as she continues staring at the large canvas. You swallow hard. Of course. Of course every painting she likes is about him. Of course the centerpiece will be him. No matter what you do, you’ll never escape him.

She asks a bit about your inspiration and motivation for the piece, and you give her vague answers that sound more philosophical than the real thing. The two of you discuss some of the minutiae of the show, trying to get everything finalized ahead of time. There’s less than a month left, and your excitement is starting to pair itself with dread.

When you get home, you go straight to your bedroom and throw yourself face first onto your mattress. You bury your face in a pillow, finally letting out the scream that’s been stuck in your throat since you learned of Tessa’s existence. It helps.

You make and have dinner, barely aware of what you’re eating. At least you can eat without getting nauseous now. You don’t feel like watching TV, probably wouldn’t be able to pay attention to a real show right now. Instead, you sit on your bed, leaning back against the headboard. You scroll social media mindlessly for a while, the ghost of Matthew next to you, his invisible arm pressed against yours.

February, 2022

Despite your better judgment, the first time you and Matthew had slept together wasn’t the last, either. It had continued through last summer, then again when he’d come to play the Blues. Now you’re in Calgary, in Matthew’s apartment for the first time, in his bed again.

A lot of people idolize the first time they sleep with someone, comparing every subsequent time to the first and often coming out disappointed. You had no reason to do so, because the sex only got better over time. As you and Matthew learned each other’s bodies, figured out what got the best reactions, the sex kept improving. Even if you wanted to fall back on your morals and resist him out of respect for Brady, you know you couldn’t stay away for long. It’s irresistible.

And it’s not just the sex. It’s the way he holds you after, lays on his back so that you can rest your head on his chest. It’s the way his breath ruffles your hair as you fall asleep together. It’s the things he says to you.

It’s the nights like this.

You’re in Matthew’s bedroom, the dark dead of night offering only the moon to light the room. Your head is on Matthew’s chest, his arm around you to keep you close, as if you would ever willingly leave. Your breathing had returned to normal a while ago, your body cooling off and beginning to recover from the rush of feeling. Matthew kisses the top of your head every so often, and you return the sentiment by tilting your head to lay kisses against his sternum.

“I wish I could keep you here forever,” he says, so hushed that you almost miss it. He’s always so quiet when he talks like this, as if he’s afraid to say it. He says these kinds of things anyway, but never above a whisper, not willing to share the vulnerability with anyone but you. Again, you press your lips into his skin.

“I wish I could stay here forever,” you reply. It would be nice, wouldn’t it? To stay here, with him. No need to be quiet so as not to wake his family, no having to sneak out in the morning, no work to keep you away. Just laying here, together.

“I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you,” he says. There’s desire in his voice, of course, but also earnesty, like he really means it. Part of you would like to believe that he does, but another part knows how important it is to not get caught up in the fantasy. It’s easier said than done.

“Not any of the other girls you’ve had?” you ask. You’d meant for it to come out teasing, but your honest curiosity wins out. Then there’s a hand on your chin, fingers gently guiding your head up until you’re looking Matthew in the eye. It’s not exactly comfortable to crane your neck like this, so you prop yourself up on one forearm, resting the other hand where your head had been as you stare down at him.

“Never,” he replies, insistent. He looks so serious, sounds so sincere. You don’t say anything, can’t think of anything. There’s something in the wide roundness of his eyes that speaks to you, pulls you in, encourages you to search deeper. It takes a second to figure out what it is that’s hiding in there, but… it’s fear.

“I never want this with anyone else,” he says, tangling his fingers with yours over his racing heart. There’s a question you want to ask, something you’ve been wanting to ask for a while, but the fear in him has mirrored itself within you. You should just shut up, keep it to yourself. The words come out before you can convince yourself to stay quiet.

“What is this?” you ask. You’re not sure what answer you’re expecting, but you know which one you’re hoping for. He takes a deep breath, exhales slowly. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, and for the first time, you don’t divert your gaze to admire the sheen of them, unable to look away from his eyes.

“I don’t know,” he says, pauses, presses your entwined hands harder to his chest, “But I never want to give it up.”

May, 2022

Again, Matthew is the second to come home. Brady returned almost a month before in April, the Senators not in the playoffs, as usual. You feel bad sometimes, because Brady is genuinely a great player, but his team has just struggled to gel together. Even through all of their trials, Brady insists on keeping hope. He loves his teammates, and that’s what really matters to him.

Matthew, on the other hand, isn’t so great at dealing with failure. The Flames make it to the second round, which is an achievement all on its own. But after winning Game 1, they’d lost four in a row and been knocked out. It feels to Matthew almost like they got swept, he explains over the phone after the final loss.

When he gets home, he once again spends a week sulking. You mimic what you’d done last year, though staying the night is intentional this time. So long as you sneak out before anyone wakes up, you’ll be fine.

On the eighth day, you tell Matthew for the hundredth time how proud of him you are. He shoots you a bittersweet smile and says that he’s proud of himself too, and you know he’s bouncing back. It doesn’t help that he’s been debating for months whether to re-sign with the Flames, an agonizing choice for him. He loves his boys, but he’s not sure he belongs there anymore. You’ve assured him that you’ll support him no matter what decision he makes. Johnny hits free agency next month, and if he moves, you’re not sure that Matthew will have the motivation to stay.

The next couple of weeks go by the same way that they always do, with you spending as much time with the Tkachuks as possible. At least, you think you’re doing a good job of acting like everything is the same as years past. No one knows about you and Matthew, and it seems like he wants to keep it that way. You like having this little secret life with him, getting to have him all to yourself. You’re okay with the way it is, you convince yourself.

June came quickly, having begun only four days after he’d returned. The weather improves, you and Matthew once again resume your walks in the park. You play yard games and watch trash TV with Brady and Emma. You help Chantal cook dinners, help Keith clean up afterward. Everything is back to the summer standard.

The day had been nice, sunny and warm. The light had turned the leaves of the trees golden during your walk this afternoon. The sun is long gone now. Nighttime has become your favorite part of the day, the only time you get to indulge in whatever it is that you and Matthew have. The only time you get to touch his skin, to hear the low sounds he can’t help but make, to feel his warmth against you, inside you.

It’s been some time since you’d finished, but you can’t quite fall asleep. Matthew is spooned up against your back, face buried in the nape of your neck. You’re not sure if he’s asleep or not, too distracted to bother trying to figure it out. You’ve been thinking about it since your visit to Calgary. Any time Matthew called, or texted, or even crossed your mind, you thought of it. It made your heart leap into your throat, your breath catching as you choked on it.

He doesn’t know what you’re doing together, what you are. He didn’t give the response you’d been hoping for, but he didn’t outright deny it either. Sometimes you think it would have been better if he had, if he’d said that it was just sex. Then you could start working on moving on. You wouldn’t have to lie awake at night, wondering.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, his groggy voice making you startle and snapping you out of your head. You take a deep breath, debating yourself for a couple seconds before you decide.

“Nothing,” you reply, patting his forearm where it’s snaked around your waist, “Go back to sleep.” He takes a quick, deep breath, the air rushing out over your skin. You’re helpless to resist when he starts moving you. If you did put up a fight, push back against his hands, you know he would stop. But you’re tired.

“What’s wrong?” he asks again once you’re flipped to face him. He looks tired too, the exhaustion of the season still lingering. The moonlight paints his face in silver. It makes his skin shine, almost glowing in the darkness.

“I’m afraid,” you say. You wish he hadn’t turned you around. It would be easier to speak it into the wall than it is to say to his face. You say it anyway, watching his brow furrow, admiring the way the silver light adds contrast to the wrinkles the expression creates.

“Of what?” he asks. You could make something up. Telling him that you’re afraid of monsters under the bed would be less embarrassing. You’ve never been very good at lying to him.

“The day you move on,” you whisper, invisible pressure on your throat making the words come out tight and unsteady. The surprise on his face surprises you in return. He’d refused to put words or labels to whatever this is, of course you would think that he’s going to leave eventually. You’d have to be an idiot to think that he means it when he says forever.

“I won’t,” he says, resolute. You can only manage a half-smile for him.

“You’re not the first man to say that,” you reply. He reaches up and cradles your cheek in his wide palm, warmth seeping into your skin.

“But I’m the first one to mean it,” he says. You close your eyes. They begin to prickle at the corners, but you refuse to cry about any of this. He’s so adamant, so steadfast in his insistence. You try to remind yourself of what this isn’t, what it will never be, but you’ve never trusted someone the way you trust him, and you can’t help believing him anyway.

August, 2023

You hadn’t anticipated this happening, let alone how hard it would be, but finally, finally it’s a little bit easier.

You’re not over Matthew, not by a long shot. It’s going to take months, years. It may never happen, who knows? As long as you can cope with it, can keep your friends around, that’s all that matters.

The first half of the day was spent with both boys and their girls. You didn’t have to curl up so tightly on your chair, didn’t have to force words out so they didn’t think anything was wrong. Conversation was relatively easy, topics changing and flowing naturally. You’d smiled, laughed, and a couple of times you actually meant it.

Matthew had apparently planned a date for Tessa and himself, so they excuse themselves in the late afternoon. Brady, Emma, and you stick around the den for a bit, continuing to talk. Eventually, Emma stands, stretching dramatically.

“Let’s go for a walk,” she suggests. You’ve spent too much time lately sitting at an easel or curled up in bed, and a walk sounds like a great idea.

You expect it this time when Brady takes the three of you to the same park. It’s easier when you’re not blindsided by it, and you have the lovely memory of the last time you were here with the two to focus on, instead of Matthew. You walk for a while, music playing softly from Emma’s phone, tucked in her back pocket. Once you’re deep into the wooded area of the park, she stops dead in her tracks. You follow suit, spinning around to shoot her an inquisitive look. She takes the two steps forward to close the space between you two, grabbing you by the shoulders and walking you backward. You stumble, trying to look behind yourself to keep from falling. She pushes until the backs of your knees hit a bench on the side of the pathway and you fall onto it. You gape up at her, befuddled by the behavior and the way her arms are crossed over her chest.

“What’s going on,” she demands, not a question. You furrow your brow, at a loss for words. You know what she’s talking about, and you know that she knows that you know. But why would she wait until the day that it starts to fade, the day that you can finally think of something else, to ask you about it?

“C’mon, Y/N,” Brady says, plopping down on the bench next to you, “We know something’s wrong.” You had accepted the possibility of this back in June, but you weren’t expecting it to take almost three months for it to happen.

Your first instinct is that you absolutely can’t tell them. You’ve been keeping this secret for years, and if Matthew has his way, you’ll keep it forever. If Matthew gets his way, you repeat in your head. That’s it, isn’t it? All this time, you’ve been so focused on what Matthew wants that you ignored your own wanting. What do you want?

You want to tell someone, to finally have this horrid pain out in the open instead of keeping it caged up around your heart. You want your best friend and his wife to hug you. You want them to understand.

“Matthew,” the name tumbles out, and you don’t want to stop it. Brady and Emma are still looking at you, waiting for anything you want to tell them. God, Brady is your goddamn best friend and you’d convinced yourself that you couldn’t tell him something? That there was anything on this earth that he would shun you for?

It all comes spilling out in a rush. Everything from the first time you’d met him. Hell, some information that isn’t strictly necessary, but they don’t interrupt you or complain, so you venture on. It takes long enough to recount that Emma sits on the metal armrest of the bench. Brady’s holding one of your hands in his lap, Emma taking the other to do the same.

You’d promised yourself more than once that you wouldn’t cry about this, but you don’t really care enough to stop yourself now. The tears come two-thirds of the way through, falling silently as you recount some of the things Matthew had told you, the things he’d promised you. You’re not outright sobbing, so you manage to power through the rest of the story. Your eyes are squeezed tightly shut by the end, like closing them will block out the memories.

It takes a couple of minutes for the tears to stop. The three of you let the silence hang as you wait for it, nothing but the leaves rustling in the trees, something scurrying in the bushes. When you can safely open your eyes to face the world again, you look over to Brady. He looks devastated.

You watch his evolving emotions morph the expression on his face, from heartbreak to anger and back again. The anger makes your heart skip a beat, suddenly afraid that maybe the whole “I slept with your brother” thing will be a problem after all.

“Do you want me to kick his ass?” he asks, startling a laugh out of you. You know he’s dead serious, too. Part of you thinks it might be cathartic to see Matthew get beat up by his little brother, but your soft heart doesn’t want anything bad to happen to him. After everything he’s done to you, you still don’t want him to have to feel even a fraction of the pain you do.

February, 2023

This year, the boys don’t have to bribe anyone else to get you to the All Star Game. Each of them is allotted two tickets as per usual, but Taryn is too busy with school to come. She’d aimed a satisfied smirk at Matthew through the camera of her phone, saying guess you’ll have to take that one along as her eyes darted slightly to the left, clearly looking at where you were on the screen.

Since your work is remote, you’ve brought along your laptop. You spend the morning of the skills competition working, still averse to using your PTO if it’s not completely necessary. The boys have to do media, so there’s no one around to bother or distract you. You kind of wish there were.

The special skills competitions are as fun this year as they were last. You especially love Sidney Crosby in the dunk tank, seemingly having the time of his life. You may not know him personally, only having met him once in passing, but after everything he’s been through, you think he deserves some carefree fun.

The sun has set by time you emerge from the arena after the regular skills competitions. The days are shorter at this time of year, even in Florida. It is warmer than St. Louis, though, which you’re grateful for.

Jack is in the competition again this year, so you meet up with the Weinberg-Hugheses again that night. You’ve gotten much closer with Jack and Quinn over the past year, building relationships on texts and calls and dinners when they play the Blues. Luke has tagged along this time, and you get on with him just as well as his brothers.

Matthew shoots Jack a look when he slings an arm around you on the way back to your hotels after dinner, but Jack just grins at him. You’re still not sure what that’s all about, but you’re just going to stay out of it.

The games the next day are fantastic. You’ve never gotten to watch both of your boys win at once, and you love it. When the Atlantic wins the whole thing, you cheer so loudly your voice cracks. Emma laughs at you, but you just laugh along with her.

You stick around for a bit after the game again, Keith and Chantal mingling while Emma shows you the decorations she’s planning for the wedding on her phone. After a while, someone taps you on the shoulder from behind. You turn your head, immediately recognizing Jane. Johnny had made it again this year with his new team, so it would make sense that she’s here too. You stand, reaching up to hug her in her elevated position.

“Matthew got you a new jersey?” she asks, referencing the All-Star jersey you’ve got on. You wish you could say that you bought it for yourself, but it had indeed been a gift from Matthew. It shouldn’t be embarrassing, so you act like it’s not, even though it is.

“Yeah, he’s a great friend,” you reply, shrugging, “He likes to take care of me.” The thing about Jane is that she’s not really a jerk. Sometimes the you-and-Matthew comments bother you, but she’s generally a very sweet woman.

“It’s good to have someone like that,” she says, smiling gently at you, “Matthew is a good boy.” Jane had been at enough Flames games for you to know her, and definitely enough for Matthew to become a pseudo-son to her. They don’t interact much anymore, save for when she pops up in the back of Johnny’s facetimes, but you know she still has a soft spot for him. You don’t blame her.

“He really is,” you agree, nodding. The two of you make some small talk, and you get some updates on Johnny’s new life on the Blue Jackets. You give her some updates on Matthew in return. After a bit, Guy shuffles up next to Jane, telling her that it’s time to go. She acknowledges him quickly, turning back to take one of your hands in her own.

“I know he takes care of you,” she says, patting the back of your hand with her second, “But you take care of that boy, too. Okay?” You just nod, smiling and bidding her goodbye. Her and Guy retreat up the steps and out of view. You’re not sure why she feels the need to say these things to you, and you’re not sure why you take them to heart.

You meet Matthew and Brady outside the player entrance, the boys immediately scooping up you and Emma, respectively. Matthew sweeps you off of your feet for a moment, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. Once you’re free, you start to dip forward, realizing what you’re doing at the last second and changing track to make sure the kiss lands on his cheek.

He beams at you, and you’re absolutely certain that you’ll spend the rest of your life trying to make him smile.

April, 2023

The day Brady comes home is the best day of the year, you remind yourself for the thousandth time. You’re excited to see him, you are. The way your chest has felt rent open for days isn’t his fault in any way. You’re not going to make him pay for being the messenger.

Once you all get the couple home, you go upstairs with Brady and Emma to help them unpack. They don’t really need help, obviously, but it’s an excuse to spend time together. Brady talks a little about the season, but mostly focuses on his plans for the summer. He talks about wanting to go see G, maybe even take a trip out to visit Tim.

For the most part, you just fold clothes and listen. Eventually, they switch to the topic of the wedding, Emma showing you even more pictures. She’d asked you to be a bridesmaid forever ago, so you’ve already seen most of it, had even helped her pick half of it out, but you’re never going to squash her excitement.

Exhausted from their travel, the two make their way down to the den after everything is put away, collapsing onto the couch. You curl up in your chair, allowing the couple to choose what you watch. They pick something or another, nothing that you can pay attention to right now. Instead, you find yourself examining Brady, picking apart his features, finding all the things he shares with Matthew.

It’s the best day of the year, you remind yourself again. The light of the TV highlights Brady’s jawbone and your skin crawls.

August, 2023

The show is going exceptionally well, exceeding your expectations. The space is filled with strangers, friends, and even your brother and his family. There are critics and collectors, some that you’ve seen at other people’s shows, some that you don’t recognize. Everyone wants to talk to you, and you don’t get a spare moment to breathe for the first few hours.

When you do get a chance to exhale, the rich couple that had been occupying you finally walking away, you catch the color out of the corner of your eye. You’ve been all around the building all night, mingling and networking in equal measure. You hadn’t realized where you ended up until right this second. You turn to the piece, staring as if you’d never seen it before.

You don’t need to look over to see who steps up next to you a minute later.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” Matthew says. It doesn’t feel like an accusation, though it is one. All you can do is sigh.

“What did you expect me to do?” you ask, not expecting an answer. You glance at his hands out of the corner of your eye, noticing the wine glass in one hand, water glass in the other. Without a word, Matthew holds the water out in your direction, still fixated on the painting. You take it, feeling odd that not only does Matthew know that you forget to drink enough water, but also that he’s still trying to take care of you.

“It’s me,” he says after a pause. You’re both facing the largest canvas, the centerpiece. Swirls of bright red spread across a crimson background, highlighted with orange, accented with a royal purple. There, in the center, are two comparatively small, even circles of icy blue.

“They’re all you. Or about you, at least,” you say, seeing no need to deny it any longer, “About us.” It’s obvious that Matthew hadn’t expected you to admit it outright, thrown off for a minute by the admission.

“Can we talk?” he asks as you take a sip of water.

“We’re talking right now,” you reply, feeling petty. It’s his turn to sigh. He sets his wine glass down on the nearest horizontal surface before returning to your side, facing you this time.

“Somewhere private,” he clarifies, pauses, “Please.” You may be mad at him, enraged, incensed, but you’ve never been able to deny him anything, and you still can’t, even now.

You shut the storage room door behind you, flicking on the light to chase away the darkness. Matthew has his hands shoved in his pockets, looking around as if there’s anything interesting in here. You cross your arms over your chest, waiting for him to nut up and look you in the face.

“Listen,” he begins, rubbing the back of his neck but still not looking at you, “I know I should have gone about this better.” You snort. No shit. The sound finally brings Matthew’s gaze to meet your own.

“I’m sorry, okay?” Matthew says, motioning with his raised hand, “I didn’t think you’d care that much.” You can feel how incredulous your expression is, and you don’t even try to hide it.

“In what world would I not be upset?” you respond, “After everything?” You can hear yourself, know you sound like a bitter, jealous old ex, but you can’t bring yourself to care. You see his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows and looks away again. When he looks back, there’s an almost pleading look in his eyes.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” he says, more sincerely than the first time, “You shouldn’t have had to find out from Brady.” You avert your gaze, working your jaw for a second before you raise your chin and square your shoulders.

“No,” you agree, “I shouldn’t have.”

“I’m sorry I stopped talking to you,” he says, motioning helplessly with his hands, “You have to know how hard that was.” You shake your head, almost disgusted.

“Imagine how hard it was for me,” you reply. Your fingertips are digging into your own arm, fingernails biting into the skin. The fact that he would stand here and imply that this was a struggle for him– as if he expects you to offer sympathy– makes your stomach churn. The guilt in his expression makes you sickly satisfied.

“Listen,” he leads with that word again, as if he has any right to ask it of you, “I didn’t want to upset her. You know how some girls are.” You do know. And it’s still not an excuse.

“You didn’t tell her about me,” you say, anger and hurt straining your voice, “You said that I was just Brady’s best friend. You didn’t even tell her what we had.” You want to scream it at him, just want to scream in general. Maybe if you did, if you released your tight grip on control in a different way than you had with him, maybe it would make him understand.

“What did we have?” he asks. His voice is quiet, just as yours had been when you’d brought up the topic all those months ago.

“I don’t know,” you say, turning his own words back on him. It’s true, anyway. You’ve never known what any of this was. You’d only known what you wanted it to be, what you stupidly, fruitlessly hoped for.

“We never dated,” he replies, voice still low but seemingly not bothered by the uncertainty, “We never called it a relationship. You were never my girlfriend.” It’s a simple fact. It tears your heart out of your chest.

“Just because we didn’t name it doesn’t mean it was nothing,” you insist, squeezing your eyes shut for a second to push down the urge to cry before admitting, “I stopped dating.” He looks even guiltier at that, but it doesn’t soothe anything in you.

“I didn’t look at another man,” you continue, embarrassed and ashamed but unable to let him continue through life without knowing, “I didn’t even want to look at anyone else.” The shame makes the fiery anger burn brighter.

“I gave you three years of my fucking life,” you say, voice raising just enough to make Matthew flinch. You keep it reigned in enough that no one outside will hear, not interested in sharing this conversation with anyone else, especially not potential business contacts. The flames engulf your chest, lick up at your throat, threaten to consume you.

“I never asked you to do that,” Matthew replies, solemn. Your jaw drops, just half an inch, enough to part your lips as your breath hitches. He never asked. He never fucking–

“You–” you begin, breath catching in your throat as your eyes burn with tears you refuse to let escape, “Everything you said, everything you did, and you expected what? For me to just move on?” Your nails are digging so deeply into your biceps that you’re surprised they haven’t drawn blood. Matthew doesn’t respond right away, and you can’t tamp down the impulse to be petty.

“But I guess that’s what you did, huh?” you jab. Matthew shuts his eyes tightly, fists clenching like he wants to fight. It should be threatening, but you’ve always known that he would never dream of laying a finger on you in violence. But then again, you’d thought you knew a lot of things about him.

“Why do you care?” he asks, shoulders tense as he opens his eyes to stare you down, “You don’t even want me.” That shocks a laugh out of you, so completely ridiculous that you can’t help it.

“That’s the most fucked up part– I do want you,” you respond, simultaneously an answer and an admission. His brow furrows as he continues looking at you, as if he can’t believe what he’s hearing.

“Did you seriously think I didn’t?” you ask, more of a demand, slightly offended because, “Do you think I said all those things for fun? For shits and giggles?” You can’t read his expression, don’t even bother trying. He can feel whatever he wants. That’s not your concern anymore. All you care about is the cold spreading through you, crawling up from the tips of your fingers, freezing your arms, creeping into your chest and beginning to extinguish your rage.

“I loved you, dickhead,” you continue, the words spilling out of you starting to sound pathetic, no matter how hard you’re trying to hold on to the anger, putting the last grasp of it into the words, “Stupid fucking idiot asshole, I loved you.” Matthew gapes at you, hands going lax at his sides. His jaw moves as if to say something, but nothing comes out.

“I loved you and you threw me away like garbage, and didn’t even have the balls to tell me yourself,” you force the sentence out, feeling like you’re choking on every syllable. Matthew’s breathing stutters. You’re expecting annoyance, irritation, maybe even shame or guilt. You’re not expecting his wide eyes, his eyebrows turned up in the middle, his slack jaw.

“You loved me?” he finally asks after a few agonizingly long seconds of silence. There’s something in his voice that you tell yourself you don’t care to analyze.

“Of course I did. How could I not?” you say, huffing as you look upwards, needing a momentary break from this staring contest, “The pathetic part, the part that makes me hate myself, is that I still do.” It’s physically painful to say, no matter that the hurt is psychosomatic. You’ve spent the last few minutes breaking open your ribcage, one bone at a time, revealing to him the space you’d made for him inside of yourself.

“You love me?” he asks, so dumbfounded that he’s repeating himself.

“Yes, Matthew,” you say, facing up to the dread inside of you, the one fact you’ve been struggling with the most since you’d found out the news.

“And I’m terrified. Because I’ve always loved you,” you pour out, barely able to hold yourself together as you meet his eyes, “And I’m afraid that I always will.” There’s not even space for half of a breath before Matthew speaks.

“Please do,” he says. His hands are open, palms facing your direction, as if pleading.

“What?” you ask.

“I didn’t know,” he says, and apparently he’s decided it’s his turn to reveal himself, “I was surprised that you wanted anything to do with me at all. But then you kissed me, and I spent the next three years waiting for you to leave.” The confusion comes over you so quickly that it almost masks the hurt.

“Why would I leave?” you ask. There’s been nothing subtle about your feelings. You’ve told him that he’s the only one you want, that you want to spend the rest of your life by his side, that he’ll always be the only one. How could he hear all of that and think that you would ever leave?

“Because you’re smart and kind and funny and hardworking–” he starts listing off.

“Tessa is all of those things too,” you cut him off. It doesn’t come out as resentful as you would’ve expected a sentence like that to. As you’ve told Terri, you really have nothing against Tessa. Besides, she really is everything he’s saying.

“But she’s not you,” his response comes immediately, emphatically, “I don’t want just anyone like that; I want you, and you happen to be that way.” You’re stunned into silence.

“It’s not the traits, it’s you,” he says, insistent, like he’s trying to convince you of your own worth, “And I kept waiting for you to find someone else, someone who wasn’t hotheaded and self-centered and–” He stops himself, swallowing so hard you can see his throat stutter under the thin skin of his neck.

“Someone better,” he finishes. The thing is that Matthew doesn’t have low self-esteem. He knows he’s a catch, and yet… And yet, he’s standing here, admitting that he’d still thought of you as being so far above him that you could never want him. And it’s not that there isn’t probably someone out there better than him–

“I never wanted someone better,” you tell him, voice almost a whisper. Growing up, you’d created this picture of the perfect man, told yourself that you’d find him one day, would never settle for less. Then you’d met Matthew, and he was nothing like that imaginary ideal. He was flawed; he was real. And you couldn’t help but love him for it.

“And I never wanted anyone else,” he replies, his own voice hushed to match yours, but no less certain, “I still don’t.” Three months ago, you would’ve given anything to hear that. But things are different now.

“I thought that if I went and found someone like you, someone close enough, that I could fall for them too,” he confesses, shame making his face tense, “I thought that if I stopped talking to you, if I kept my distance, that I could get over you.” A fraction of the anger buds in your chest at the idea.

“So you’re using Tessa,” you accuse, instantly offended on her behalf.

“No!” Matthew denies emphatically, pauses, shakes his head, “Yes. Maybe. I don’t know.” If he is using her, at least he seems ashamed about it. Something in his posture makes you think he isn’t, that he really thought he could love her.

“Look, she’s great. She’s amazing. She’s too good for me, too,” his shoulders have been hunched up to his ears, but they fall now, defeated, “She talks about that spark she felt when we met, the way she feels about me now, and I want, I really want to feel that way too. It would be easier if I could.” Believing this entire time that he truly loves her has been hell for you, but it’s still somehow worse to know that he doesn’t. That he did all of this, hurt you so deeply, for someone he doesn’t even love.

“As much as I’ve tried, I don’t. And I can’t,” he says, turning his gaze to the floor, “And if I’d ever thought that I had the slightest chance with you, I never would have dated her to begin with.” All these years, all those words, all the touches you’ve shared, and he’d still never taken you seriously. It’s not your fault, you know. But you realize now that for every time you’d indirectly confessed your feelings to him, he’d said the same things back. He’d returned every sentiment readily, easily. And as much as he’d apparently had the same idea as you, that the other could never love you back, you hadn’t seen it either. You’ve been just as ignorant of his feelings as he was of yours, just as deep in denial. And now there’s this rift between you, a deep chasm that keeps you apart, all for no reason.

“So, what now?” you ask. There’s nothing else to ask.

“What?” he seems genuinely confused.

“What now?” you repeat, too tired to be upset anymore, “You break her heart? Or do you keep pretending? Fake your way into a wife and kids and a house in the suburbs?” His confusion persists, tongue darting out to wet his lip the way it always does when he’s anxious.

“I thought–” he shakes his head the tiniest bit, as if he can’t believe what’s happening, “I mean, I love you. I want to be with you.” There’s a sadness sitting heavy in your chest, only getting deeper at his words.

“I love you too,” you say, tipping your head an inch to the right, perfectly aware of how melancholy your smile must be, “But you hurt me, and now you have to hurt her too. I thought you were better than this.” You’d thought the world of him. You don’t hate him now, could never force yourself to. But you are disappointed in how everything has played out.

“I thought you didn’t want better?” he says, not really a question. Your lips turn up another centimeter at that.

“Listen,” you say, turning the word back on him. You inhale deeply, exhale slowly. He stays quiet.

“The opportunity of a lifetime is on the other side of that door,” you gesture vaguely over your shoulder, then let your arms relax, your hands fall to your sides, “I don’t know what to do with any of–” you give another vague gesture, “--This.” The devastation is writ clear on his face, telegraphed by his posture, bared in the forefront of his miserably beautiful eyes.

“Out there?” you say, smile still in place, “I know exactly what I want. So I’m going to go get it.” you pause, take another deep breath, “And maybe you’ll be there tomorrow, and maybe you won’t.”

“I will,” he jumps in. You huff an almost-laugh.

“We can figure this all out later,” you say, sure a definite, “For now, I have to focus on the things that I’m sure of.” He nods, looks at the floor, raises his head and looks back at you.

“Did you used to be sure of me?” he asks, an uneven, shaky whisper.

“Yeah,” you say, your entire being feeling so heavy that you can barely hold yourself upright, “I used to be.”

September, 2023

While Brady had departed yesterday, Matthew doesn’t leave until tomorrow. It took some internal debate, but you’ve decided not to go along to drop him off at the airport. His family will think it’s weird if he doesn’t hug you, and you’re not sure if you can handle him touching you yet.

You’re curled up on the couch with a book, letting yourself get lost in the story. A knock comes on the door and you startle. You mark your page and stand, rounding the couch to open the door. When you do, Matthew is standing there.

“Hey,” he greets, giving you the same bittersweet smile you’ve become accustomed to over the past few weeks. You’d given him a key to your apartment right after you’d moved, but you appreciate him not using it right now. You welcome him in with a gesture of your hand, turning to lead the way. You get four steps away before he speaks.

“I broke up with Tessa,” he blurts out. He doesn’t seem happy about it, but he doesn’t seem particularly sad either.

“Why?” you ask, crossing your arms over your chest, “You’re that sure that I’ll take you back?” The anger comes and goes as it pleases, and it’s starting to sneak through the space between your ribs.

“No,” Matthew says, looking so unbearably fond of you, “I think you’ll tell me to get fucked.” Some days you want to.

“Then why did you break up with her?” you ask. Part of you has been wondering if, despite everything he’d said, he would stay with her. You’re not sure you would have been able to keep the conversation to yourself if he had, but you would have at least tried.

“Because none of this is fair to her,” he answers, shrugging, “She deserves someone who feels the same way about her that she does them. Someone who’s obsessed with her. She doesn’t deserve to be settled for.” You examine his expression, his stance, and realize that he’s truly being honest. He genuinely wants the best for her.

“How’d she take it?” you can’t help but ask. It makes him grin down at the floor for a moment.

“Honestly?” he asks when he raises his head, “Not great. Could have been worse, though.” As much as you love Matthew, you would have been proud of Tessa if she had slapped him.

“Probably should’ve been worse,” you reply. He grins again, tilting his head as he admires your face.

“Probably,” he agrees. For long moments, you both stand still, eyes locked.

“What now?” you ask, the same question as a couple weeks ago. He shrugs again, but he doesn’t seem as miserable or desperate as he had at the gallery.

“I don’t know,” he replies, that same phrase that you’re still trying to make peace with, “I know what I want. Same thing I’ve wanted this entire time. So I guess it’s up to you.” After three years of him encouraging you to give up control, to let go and follow his lead, he’s handing you the reigns now. However this ends or continues is completely your decision.

“You leave tomorrow,” you say, though you’re both viscerally aware of the fact.

“Yeah,” he gives you the crooked smile that had captured you the first time you’d met, “Don’t suppose you want to come with me? The winter weather’s nicer in Florida.” You let out a breathy chuckle, shaking your head at him.

“If you’d asked me that last summer, I probably would’ve said yes,” you admit. You kind of expect him to react with sadness, but you prefer the hope that blooms on his face.

“Maybe I’ll ask you again next summer?” he suggests, offering you the option. At this point, you have no idea where your relationship will be at this time next year. You don’t know if you’ll even have a relationship, of any kind. But if he’s willing to try, so are you.

“Yeah,” you nod, smiling wider than you have in a long while, “Next summer.”

June, 2024

The Hughes brothers are a funny trio. Seeing Jack’s upbeat, outgoing energy bookended on each side by two reserved, perpetually exhausted brothers is always kind of funny. You’d run down the pavement from the Tkachuk’s door to the driveway when you’d seen Quinn climb out of the car’s driver seat, immediately sweeping him up in a hug. The boys had decided to road trip around this summer, so of course you’d strongly suggested that they visit you.

You help them haul their bags out of the trunk, taking Luke’s backpack in hand and insisting on carrying it in for him. The three of them had started teasing you the instant they saw that Matthew hadn’t come out with you.

“Come on, I heard him at the All Star game,” Jack pesters, voice taking a mocking edge as he croons, “Sweet girl.” You laugh brightly, stopping the careful steps you’re taking backwards up the pathway to the house.

“We weren’t dating, I swear,” you insist. Plenty of people over the years have accused you of dating Matthew, but at least he’s funny about it. He stops in front of you, lifting his chin and giving a shit-eating smile.

“Wait, weren’t?” he asks, “As in, past tense?” You feel heat begin to crawl up your face. You’d intended to tell them, of course, but not the second they got here.

“Yeah,” Matthew calls from behind you, and you twist around to watch him close the space between you, “Past tense.” Jack’s glee is overt, but you can see the little signs of happiness on the other two boys’ faces too. Matthew lines himself up against your back, wrapping his arms around you, the gaudy Cup ring on his finger glinting in the light.

“Hey, sweet girl,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss into your hair. You can’t see him, but Jack’s smug face makes you sure that Matthew is staring straight at him. “My sweet girl,” Matthew says. It might be the best thing you’ve ever heard.

[lassieposting]

Concept: ME2, told through Shepard's very active text chain with bestest best buddy Wrex after he leaves the Normandy post-ME1.

Like. Cerberus has a new omnitool for her aboard the SR2 and the first thing she does is try to contact him and Garrus. It takes a few days - and a few frustrating phone calls - to reactivate her old line and forward her messages and contacts and shit, but eventually they all ping her at once as the tool downloads them

10 November 2183

[10:46 GST] Urdnot Wrex: [11 missed calls]

[10:48 GST] Urdnot Wrex: pick up

[10:51 GST] Urdnot Wrex: answer me

[10:52 GST] Urdnot Wrex: alliancenewsnetwork.ex/breaking_news_ssv_normandy_shot_down_over_alchera

[10:53 GST] Urdnot Wrex: ur ok?

[12:01 GST] Urdnot Wrex: shepard?

[14:32 GST] Urdnot Wrex: SHEPARD???

10 November 2184

[8:51 GST] Urdnot Wrex: img_attachment_bottle_of_ryncol_very_blurry.jpg

[8:52 GST] Urdnot Wrex: cheers

[8:52 GST] Urdnot Wrex: fucking. pyjak

And she gets back in touch with him, explains what happened to her and why she was MIA for two years, has a bit of a quick cry maybe because she misses him and she's surrounded by Cerberus lifers and she just wants someone on board she can trust to have her back, and from then on Wrex has to get used to receiving weird contextless texts on a regular basis

Like

[9:17 TNT] Shepard: LOOK WHO I FOUND

[9:17 TNT] Shepard: img_attachment_garrus_asleep_in_medbay_post_surgery.png

[9:18 TNT] Shepard: Ignore all the bandages, his face fell off but we fixed it. You will not believe what he's been doing im going to kill him

[13:18 TNT] Shepard: video_attachment_garrus_fascinated_by_medbay_automatic_doors.mp4

[13:18 TNT] Shepard: Anaesthetic is wearing off...slowly...

And

[17:08 TNT] Shepard: img_attachment_urz_wearing_hotdog_costume.png

[17:08 TNT] Shepard: :)

[17:09 TNT] Urdnot Wrex: i gave u that thing to win u credits and ur just putting it in stupid outfits

[17:10 TNT] Shepard: img_attachment_urz_asleep_on_bed_with_plushie.png

[17:11 TNT] Shepard: yeah :) he baby

[17:13 TNT] Shepard: instagram.ex/urztherescuevarren

And

[22:31 TNT] Shepard: img_attachment_harbinger_assuming_direct_control.png

[22:31 TNT] Shepard: wHaT tHe FuCk WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE FUCK

[22:47 TNT] Shepard: img_attachment_collector_corpses.png

[22:47 TNT] Shepard: nvm we good man these things UGLY

And of course, some go in the opposite direction.

[05:17 GST] Urdnot Wrex: so you finally did it eh

[05:25 GST] Shepard: Did what?

[05:29 GST] Urdnot Wrex: vakarian. about damn time

[05:41 GST] Shepard: oh my god 😂

[05:41 GST] Shepard: brb gonna go kill grunt

[05:42 GST] Urdnot Wrex: whatever a "step" dad is, he thinks hes getting one

Just. Shep and Wrex staying a big part of each others lives despite all the lightyears and star systems and backbreaking responsibility between them

[nctsplug02]

okay but like smth i’ve been having on my mind is that johnny LOVES when he’s gets to have ur thighs around his head ,,, like that man is in HEAVEN especially with thick thighs…

(♥️)

GENRE: fluff, smut, hot dilf next door, older male!mc and younger fem!mc (age gap).

WARNINGS: age gap; (41-25), thick thigh reader, kissing, flirting, possessiveness, praising, thigh fuck, face sitting, oral sex (F receiving), and cum eating!

you rub your eyes with a yawn while you walk down the staircase.

“oh, hey there.” you gasp, biting back a scream when seeing your 6’2 giant boyfriend in the kitchen, half naked and holding a coffee mug with the labels; “i♥️my girlfriend.”

“i’m so glad my throat is worn out, otherwise i would’ve woken up the whole neighborhood.” johnny laughs and grabs your waist, pulling you in and giving you a kiss. “i’m pretty sure you already did last night.”

you smack his chest. “i’m kidding! maybe,” he mumbles. “g’morning, princess.” you wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him once more before pulling away.

“morning, love. how’d you sleep?” you ask and fix his messy bed hair. “slept like a perfect baby. especially after eating your pussy.. slept amazing.”

you giggle and hide your face in his chest as he cups your ass cheeks.

you pull away and press a kiss on his jaw. “can you make me a cup of coffee, love?” johnny nods with a soft hum and taps your thigh.

you jump and instantly johnny catches you. he brings you over to the counter next to the coffee maker and sits you next to the machine.

“how are you feeling after last night?” johnny asks, grabbing your matching mug (i♥️my boyfriend) and pouring the black coffee into it.

“sore; my thighs, hips and clit are so sore, right now.” you rub your hips while watching johnny add creamer into your coffee. “aw, i’m sorry, princess.” johnny hands you your mug.

you take a sip and nod, groaning at the sweet taste. “you make the best coffee, i swear.”

“well, i do own the best café in the city.” you set down your mug and nod. “mhm, that’s where we first met. i’m sorry, again.”

johnny laughs and shakes his head. “it’s fine, princess. i know you didn’t mean to spill coffee on me.”

johnny, your boyfriend of four years who owns a small coffee shop and is a CEO at one of his parents companies.

“that reminds me. what time is it, don’t you have to get ready for work?” johnny shakes his head and spreads your legs, wedging himself between them and picking up his mug.

“it currently is,” he looks behind him and turns back to you. “ten in the morning and no, the meeting i was supposed to have at the company was postponed for next week.”

you frown, “that sucks but yay, another day for us!” you say with a small cheer.

“mhm,” johnny sets down his mug. “and, what would you like to do today since it’s a day for us?” johnny rubs your thighs and bites his bottom lip.

“you think we can go to ikea? i need a dresser for my guest room.” johnny groans and rolls his eyes. “can’t you just move in already?”

johnny, your boyfriend of four years, who’s also your next door neighbor.

“love, we’ve already talked about this.” you cup his face and smoosh his cheeks so his lips pout. “i love you but i don’t know if i’m ready to move in yet.”

“baby, you’ve moved almost all your stuff into my house already. i think it’s kind of a waste to be paying rent on your own place when you’re over at my house 24/7.”

you bite your lip, he was right.

“i’ll think about it, alright?” johnny nods.

you set your mug down. “what should i make for breakfast?” you ask after hearing nothing but silence.

johnny smirks and it was a smirk you knew. “i’m craving for something sweet and juicy.” johnny plays with the end of your shirt.

“you want stake for breakfast?” johnny presses his lips together and glares at you. “i’m kiddingg,” you giggle and kiss his lips.

“you want my pussy, you gotta use your words and ask.” you wrap your legs around his waist and rub his bare chest. “c’mon, baby. just a little taste. i’ll order you waffles and boba?”

“extra boba?” johnny nods. “i promise.”

you pull off the oversized shirt and toss it on the ground behind johnny. “fuck, you aren’t wearing anything under?” besides a thong, you were bra-less. “i got a little lazy.” you shyly admit with a shrug.

“you’re so sexy.” johnny groans and grabs your hip, pulling them a bit forward and then slowly pulling off your thong.

johnny lowers himself onto his knees. “have i ever told you how much i love your thighs?” johnny smacks and watches the recoil from your thighs. “always.”

you gasp feeling his mouth come into contact with your inner left thigh. “n—not a day goes by without you telling me how much you love my thighs.” you sigh in relief when his nose brushes against your pussy.

“you smell so sweet.” johnny sighs and smears your folds. “i love your pussy so much.” johnny bites his bottom lip and then ghosts his thumb over your clit.

“stop being a tease and eat me out!” johnny chuckles at your impatient cry. “please?” you add.

johnny chuckles, again and shakes his head. “so impatient.. it’s pathetic.”

johnny presses a kiss on your folds and pulls back. “while i eat your pussy, i want you to think about you moving in with me, got it?” you nod in a hurry. “okay, okay! just.. please hurry?”

you moan in a dreamy way when feeling johnny mouth your pussy. his tongue laps your folds and flicks your clit.

your hands find themselves tangled in johnnys hair. moans pour from your throat and groans spill from johnny as he laps up your juice.

“j—johnny,” you gasp and pull on his black locks. “y—you’re a menace.” your gasp pitches up when he sucks your clit.

johnny pulls away and licks his lips. he looks up at you through his lashes with hungry eyes. “i just.. mm.. love how sweet you taste.” johnny licks your right inner thigh and begins sucking a hickey where he’d just licked.

your legs hang from johnnys shoulders, toes curled, thighs suffocating your boyfriend who doesn’t mind.

your fingers tighten around johnnys locks as he goes back to eating your pussy but this time his fingers are slipped inside you.

your chest is lifting heavily and falling back at the same pace. your moans are filling up the perfect sized kitchen. your eyes are shut tightly to keep this as a memory.

“mm,” johnny pulls away and wipes his chin with the back of his hand. “gonna cum yet, princess?” johnny asks, looking up at you through his lashes.

you nod with an uncomfortable face.

“c’mon,” johnny sucks on your clit and groans, “cum on my tongue, baby.” your legs hanging off his shoulders begin to tremble, johnnys fingers had hit the best spot causing you to fall weak.

with a cry of pleasure, you cream on johnnys fingers and tongue.

johnny pulls away with one last kiss on your clit and comes up with his fingers in his mouth, he groans as he sucks them clean.

“mm, boy am i full.” johnny smiles and rubs his bare belly. “tch,” you sit up and allow your legs to slowly shut. “lucky you.” johnny helps you off the counter and holds you by the waist.

your chest pressed against his bare chest, you on your tiptoes and your face making a fake angry face.

“i still want my breakfast, suh.” johnny lifts you so you’re off your feet for a split second and kisses your neck. “of course, it’s what i promised and i don’t break my promises.”

johnny grabs his phone which is on the counter behind you and begins ordering your breakfast. “babe, can i get a side of hashbrowns and eggs? i really like the eggs, they have cheese in them!” johnny chuckles and nods.

“anything for you, baby.” he rubs your thighs and ass while confirming the order.

“babe,” you clench your thighs together and hold onto johnnys arm. “yeah, baby? what’s wrong?” he holds you up in front of him. “my thighs—the baby powder isn’t working anymore!”

you and johnny were at the club with his friends and yours combined.

while getting ready, you were torn between two dresses; a barbie pink thigh cut dress with the straps tied around your neck or a black and nude dress with a long v-cut in the middle.

johnny being the fashionista he is and picks the barbie pink dress, saying it fits the club better and saying how you’d outshine (glow) everyone like you always do.

“what’s wrong with your thighs, baby? are they starting to chafe?” you nod as johnny rubs the peeling skin. “okay, let’s go home. i’ll take care of you, baby, don’t worry.”

johnny finds one of his buddies and tells them to tell the rest that you and him were taking off because he wasn’t feeling well.

your heart melted by how he took the blame.

“i think i have some vaseline and bandaids in the car somewhere but i’ll have to look as soon as we get to the car.” johnny says guiding you out the club.

you wince and stop when reaching a stop sign. “dude,” you laugh in pain and grab the pole that holds the stop sign. “my thighs are absolutely killing me!”

johnny laughs and watches with his hands now in his pockets as you rub your inner thighs. “my skin is peeling, i can feel my skin burning and my thighs scraping against the other.”

“alright, baby. take your heels off.” a bright glow outlines your body when hearing johnnys command, you knew exactly what he meant by that.

“yay!“ you clap your hands and do little hops before undoing your heels. “piggy or shoulder?” you shrug and hand johnny your left heel. “whichever is easiest for you.”

johnny smirks, “both are easy but there’s only one of you and i’d like to keep it that way.”

with one hand, you hold both your shoes while johnny picks you up and tosses you over his shoulder. “you alright, baby?”

“perfectly fine!” you say with a giggle and a little kick.

“this is absolutely perfect.” johnny says as he begins to walk. “how so?” you ask while hanging lifelessly. “because, my face is facing your thighs and i fucking love your thighs.”

“you love my thighs or you love fucking my thighs?” johnny stays silent. “both, of course.” you roll your eyes.

“that reminds me,” you hum. “how are your thighs now? still hurting—? oh, look. our car!” you grab your bag and dig around for the keys, holding them out by your ass when finding them.

you close your bag and let it hang lifelessly with your arms. “my thighs are fine for now. i can feel the skin just.. absolutely stinging.”

johnny sits you in the passenger seat after unlocking the car and opening the passenger side. “can we get food on the way home?” you ask while seat belting yourself. “sure, what are you in the mood for?”

“i don’t know.” johnny glares at you. “i’m not really craving for anything specific, i’m just hungry.” johnny doesn’t say anything and shuts your door. “uh, rude!” you shout.

“figure out what you’re in the mood for and i’ll take us to go get some.” johnny says when entering the drivers side and buckling himself in. “i’m feeling beef tacos right now.”

“beef tacos it is! let’s go to our favorite taco truck?” you look at the time, 11:23PM. “it’s almost midnight, i’m not sure if they’re open.” you look at johnny with a sad pout. “we can go check and if they’re not then we can go find another place to eat at or something else to eat.” you nod and johnny drives off.

“c’mon, babe. it wasn’t bad last time, we loved it.” you shake your head and toss the folded jean on the jean pile.

you pick up johnnys barbie pink boxer and sigh. “babe, for the last time. we’re not doing anal tonight! the last time we did anal, i could barely sit for a week straight!”

johnny giggles and scratches his head. “i know, i’m sorry. but, hey! you told me i could go at whatever pace and you just felt so damn good, i couldn’t resist.”

“please, baby.” you look back at johnny with a glare. “maybe another time, johnny. tonight is not the night for anal.”

“can we thigh fuck, then?” you snort.

you look back at johnny who stands against the door frame with his arms crossed. “i’ll think about it, okay?”

johnny goes silent and stays silent for a few minutes. “okay, can you hang up our shirts?” you ask johnny and fold the last pair of shorts. “of course, baby.” johnny takes the basket and goes into the closet.

you finish shoving all the neatly folded clothes into a drawer and you walk into the closet, watching as johnny hangs the shirts in a color coordinated way.

“johnny,” you wrap your arms around his broad chest. “you still up for a quick thigh fuck?” johnny tosses the shirt that was in his hand back into the basket and turns, grabbing you and guiding you to the bed.

you sit in the bed with johnnys tap of demand and watch as johnny pushes down his sweats. your eyes widen and blinks repeat several times when seeing johnnys cock spring free.

“i will never pass on a thigh fuck with you. your thighs are my favorite body part on you.” johnny says in the softest yet nastiest tone ever.

it was mixed with both honey like and sultry.

johnny goes for your leggings. “what happened to my boobs being your favorite?” johnny pauses with the leggings scrunched on your knees. “that was yesterday but today it changed to your thighs.”

he pulls off your leggings and tosses them behind him. “does that make me look sexy?” johnny asks. “you’re always sexy, john.” he laughs. “i know but, did me throwing your pants behind me make me look sexy?”

“yeah, i’m so wet from that.” johnny groans and reaches down, rubbing your pussy through your damp panties. “fuck, baby.”

“nuh-uh, no mind changing. stick to what you wanted and fuck my thighs already.” johnny clenches his jaw and glares at you.

his stare is subtle and dark.

you gasp when johnny lands a slap on your pussy. “don’t tell me what to fucking do, brat.” he lands another slap on your pussy and this time you don’t make a sound, only barely whimpering and pouting at his meanness.

johnny stands straight and grabs the bottle of oil from his nightstand, spreading your legs a bit and dropping a few drops of oil on your thighs.

johnny snaps the oil bottle shut and tosses it next to you. he rubs the oil in between your thighs and uses the leftover oil on his hand and rubs his cock with it.

“fuck,” johnny whispers when feeling his hardness and rubs the precum from his tip.

just as if it was your pussy, johnny slips between your thighs. “shit,” johnny sighs when feeling your warm thighs around his cock.

you let out a wince when johnny slaps your thighs.

johnny has your legs propped against his shoulder while he fucks your thighs. you watch as his tip disappears and reappears from between your thighs.

“fuck, baby.” johnny hisses and moans.

you raise your arms above your head and rest your arms on your forehead. you only look up when your thighs don’t feel johnny thrusting anymore.

“johnny—?”

johnny pulls your lavender pantie so that they’re stuck above your knees. “i can’t resist your pretty pussy, baby.” johnny says and enters you, you gasp and grab his hand on your thigh.

“god, you’re so big, johnny!” you mumble and moan as he fucks you.

johnny lets out groans and pants as he thrusts his hips like there’s no tomorrow. “you feel so amazing, baby.” he hugs your legs and lifts his shirt, peeking at how well you take him.

“you’re so good for me, y/n.” johnny pauses and reaches down, grabbing your shirt and lifting it, pulling up your bra after not succeeding the first time. “fuck, you’re so, so, good for me.”

your breasts bounce every time his abdomen hits your ass. “you’re just perfect, baby. so fucking perfect. too perfect.” he spits out.

“look how well you’re taking me. you’re taking me so fucking well, baby.” johnny groans when seeing his cock being swallowed by your glistening pussy.

“urgh—i’m gonna cum!” johnny growls and tightens his grip on your thighs.

johnny reaches forward and grabs your large breasts, fondling and pinching your nipples.

“c—cum in m—me, johnny.” you grab his hand. “my baby wants me to cum in her?” you nod and slip his finger in your mouth, placing the finger pad on your tongue and suckling the saltiness.

“fuck me!” johnny groans and pulls his finger away, hugging your legs tightly.

his thrusts grow sloppy as he grows closer to his climax. you gasp and clench the bedsheets when johnny shoots ribbons of cum on your walls.

johnny chants a few curse words before spreading your legs and falling between them, laying his heavy breathing body on top of yours.

after sitting for a few minutes, you strike a conversation. “i’m hungry, are you?” you rest your hand on johnnys back. “a little, yeah. i could go for some food.”

“can we go eat out at a restaurant?” johnny lifts his head. “sure, why not.” johnny stands and pulls out of you, his cum slowly spills and a satisfied grin appears on johnnys face.

“i hope i don’t get mistaken as your uncle or dad, again. that shit is so fucking embarrassing.” you laugh and sit up. “it’s so funny whenever they mistaken you as my dad or uncle but, i can’t blame them. we are fourteen years apart after all.”

johnny rolls his eyes and stands, running his hand through his sweaty hair. “let’s take a quick shower and then we can go, okay?”

“uhh, i still have to do my makeup, do my hair and then pick out a pretty outfit that’ll make you wanna rip it off in the middle of the restaurant and fuck me on our table.” you pout.

“so, my pretty girl needs her time getting dolled up, i get it. but, every outfit you wear always makes me want to rip it off and fuck you on every surface.”

johnny slams the door after you stumble in, full on dying of laughter. your body shakes as you attempt to quiet yourself.

“it is not that funny, y/n.” johnny sighs and yanks off his tie.

“it is so funny!” you hold the wall for support as you die from laughter.

“i don’t get why people can keep their comments to themselves. i mean, seriously. do i really look like your dad?” johnny points to his face.

you laugh even harder and you cross your legs. “i’m gonna pee my pants!” you let out a cry and continue laughing.

“you aren’t even wearing pants, you dummy!” johnny glares at you with a pout.

johnny yanks you by the waist and stares down at you while you continue laughing. “y/n,” you look up at him and attempt to shut your laughter up.

you fail with snickers breaking your silence. “i’m sorry, it’s just so funny!”

after johnny holds you up for another good minute, you’re able to calm yourself.

“i appreciate and love that you find humor in a younger man asking for your number and assuming i’m your dad when finding out that we’re dating but, i find that rather disturbing and disrespectful. do you like younger men, y/n?” you look up at him with a now worried face.

“tell me, y/n. do you like younger men rather than older men? do younger men hitting on you give you better satisfaction than i do? can younger men please you the same way i do?”

johnny smirks when hearing no response. “that’s exactly what i thought. please go to the room and strip on the bed.”

“you party pooper.” you mumble while walking to the bedroom with your arms crossed and lips all pouty.

“what was that?” johnny shouts, cuffing his sleeves and undoing a few buttons of his button up.

“i said you’re a party pooper!” you shout back and pick your pace up while going up the stairs when hearing johnnys sarcastic chuckle.

oh, this was gonna be an amazing night.

[thebestofoneshots]

Gilded Constellations | (wolfstar x reader)

Series Masterlist | Previous episode

Pairing: Wolfstar x Reader Word Count: 8.8 K Warnings: None Prompt: In which you meet Sirius' real parents and go on a Christmas shopping spree. This IS a Wolfstar x reader fic, but it's incredibly slow burn. They won't start all dating each other until we're very deep into the story, but I promise the long wait will be worth it. Proofread by lovely: @aremuslupinsimp

Chapter 41: Urban Adventure

Wednesday, December 23rd

Sirius and you stayed by each other’s side until you arrived at the station and walked out of the train next to each other. On the platform, many students were smiling as they greeted their parents. You saw your boyfriend look at some of the scenes apprehensively, almost bitterly. That had been something Sirius had never gotten to do, at least never with his cold parents.

There were some couples kissing each other goodbye, while some kids held their heads up, trying to see above other people’s heads to find their families already waiting for them.  You didn’t bother looking for yours, you had told them you’d be taking the floo from Diagon, and that you’d be hanging out with some friends. You had gotten money on the response letter, a small enough fortune for you to buy as many gifts as you pleased, and a note that said something about them not getting home until late on the 23rd due to a work dinner that they’d be attending.  

Your father had sent you a separate letter with even more money, so you could spend as much as you pleased on your Christmas present. He had also sent a key to a vault in Gringotts inside that same envelope, saying that that was your 17th birthday present and that he thought giving it to you ahead of time would be clever, in case you wanted to save the money from your gift. He mentioned something about your vault already being filled with Galleons and some other family relics he thought you’d like, that he had originally moved it there because he needed to make space on the family vault but that you could take and squander as you pleased. Whatever was in the vault now, you could keep it as yours. 

You had been pretty pleased when you read that letter, although, you’d be lying if you said you weren’t curious about what exactly your father needed to make space for in the family vault. Regardless, you had been so busy that day, preparing for the moon, that you didn’t have much time to ponder about it. 

You saw Nina hugging a round, older-looking lady who had the exact same hair and nose, you instantly knew it was her mother. You also spotted some of your other friends here and there, some greeting their parents, some others saying goodbye to their friends. Walburga showed up at the station too, she was wearing a long dark coat and walked past Sirius like she hadn’t even seen him. Sirius’ expression turned sombre as he too pretended not to have seen her at all. You had pretty much recoiled from her and into Sirius the moment she so much as walked your way and he placed an arm around your waist. 

“Ignore her,” he told you simply. “She’s just a bitch.” 

You turned to him, he couldn’t even hide the sour expression on his face, he’d told you about the night he’d escaped with the Potters, it had been absolutely dreadful and Walburga had never seemed more horrifying to you than she did when he told you the story. And since then, you had also found out about the veritaserum she had used on Reg, and even if she looked as stunning and put together as ever, you could see the monster hidden behind her elegant features as clear as day.

You had been thinking of how Sirius’ hand tightened around your waist when you saw Sirius’ expression switch completely, you directed your attention towards his line of sight, and you instantly knew why he’d cheered up so suddenly. A slim lady who must have been in her fifties was walking towards him with open arms. She had a warm and welcoming expression, rosy cheeks and the most contagious smile you’d ever seen, only battled perhaps by who you instantly knew was her son, James Potter.

She had short, neatly trimmed hair, and there was a small unruly curl falling over her forehead. “Sirius!” she said with a smile, “Look at you, I’d swear you’ve grown a few inches since I last saw you.” She had her hands around the boy’s face now and was looking at him affectionately, exactly like you would expect a mother to greet her son after not seeing him for months. You couldn’t help but smile at the sight. Sirius was smiling happily as he greeted her, standing tall and proud as she mentioned her height and when she added, almost in a whisper, “And you’ve gotten more handsome too,” he even sent her a cheeky wink. 

You smiled brightly as you saw the interaction, almost mirroring the expression of the man in front of you, who looked just as happy as he stared at his wife greeting Sirius. He had a mop of black hair that seemed to have no trimming –now you knew where James had gotten it from– with a few streaks of white in sections and sunshine-bright hazel eyes. He looked slightly younger than the woman and had the same venturesome expression James had. There was no doubt about it, James Potter was completely and irrefutably, their child. 

“And this beautiful lady must be this Vixen you boys keep telling me about in your letters,” she said with a smile. 

“Nice to meet you, madam,” you said as you extended your hand, but she pulled you into a hug instead. If you thought Sirius had no sense of personal space, he was absolutely nothing compared to Euphemia Potter, but she had such a warm, honest and open aura, that you accepted her hug gladly, in fact, the shudder you had felt earlier when Walburga passed you by was completely forgotten the moment she embraced you as if she has some sort of calming superpower or something.  

“Please, call me Effie,” she said as she pulled back from you. “I’ve gotten a bunch of letters about you, even from Remus,” she told you with a smile. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.” 

The man from behind, who had dragged Sirius into yet another hug as Effie spoke, turned to you with a smile. “Fleamont Potter,” he said as he extended his hand for you to shake, “but please just call me Monty, Mr. Potter was my father.” 

You smiled and shook the man’s hand, he was as tall as James, although he was rather thinner. You remembered James telling you it was his mom who taught him how to ride a broom and you thought it made absolute sense that she looked like the sporty one in the family instead of Monty. “My mother’s a big fan of yours,” you said. “She’s been using Sleekeazy since it was released.” 

Monty smiled at that, “Send her my greetings,” he said. 

“Do you know by any chance where James has gone off to?” Effie asked, looking at both you and Sirius. You exchanged glances, both of you had a pretty good idea of where he might have been, but you couldn’t exactly tell his parents that he was most likely –still– snogging Lily somewhere in the carriages.

“No idea,” you said as you looked around, pretending to look for him. “He said anything to you?” you asked Sirius who shook his head. 

Effie huffed and then shook her head as if to change the subject., “Where will you spend Christmas, darling?” 

You shrugged, “At home, I suppose… Mom and Dad haven’t talked much about their plans for this Christmas, why?” 

“Oh nothing, we were just going to invite you on behalf of James and Sirius, I’m sure they’d both love to have you with us. If not on Christmas day, you are more than welcome to come over whenever you please, we’ll leave the floo open for you during the entire break,” She said with a smile. 

“I think the boys are already planning to invite everyone over sometime for the New Year’s celebration anyway,” Fleamont added. 

“That would be lovely,” you said with a smile. “That way you won’t have to miss me as much,” you said as you turned to Sirius with a teasing smile, he scoffed in return. 

“You mean, you won’t miss me,” he sassed back, you shoved him lightly, and while still lost in each other's gazes, you completely missed Effie’s knowing smirk and Monty’s proud smile. Because of course, he was proud, ever since they had taken in Sirius, they considered him as their own, and frankly, he had been worried about his playboy personality. Not because he considered it inherently bad, but rather because he knew Sirius was doing it to piss his parents off by ruining his reputation even further, and because he was still trying to lick love out of knives, after having been starved of it throughout most of his childhood. 

Monty and Effie had vowed to make him feel loved and cared for, and they knew their friends were doing a great deal for Sirius as well, but they feared it not to be enough. The boy was still looking for love in the wrong places. But seeing him with you, teasing each other playfully, instantly told them that perhaps, Sirius’ need for love, would finally be fulfilled and he would no longer have to lick it off of knives, but rather he would be able to enjoy being fed silver spoonfuls of love by those he cared for so much. 

“You are definitely not telling my parents about my grades are you?” James asked as he placed both of his hands around you and Sirius, looking at both of his parents with a smile. 

You turned to him only to realise there was still some of Lily’s lipstick on his mouth and you turned to the side, pointing at a corner of the station, “Is that an Eagle Owl?” you improvised. And thankfully, both of James’ parents turned, and you threw a look at Sirius who decided to follow up while you used your thumb to wipe the smeared lipstick off his face. 

“Oi, what–”

“Shut up,” you whispered as you continued, “Your hair is messy enough, you really want your parents to figure out you were snogging earlier?” 

He gave you a worried look and you raised your eyebrows knowingly. Finishing the cleanup and then turning his head to look at the place you had pointed at earlier. Poor James was being manhandled and didn’t even complain about it because he knew how much help you’d been. Both you and Sirius, he might have had the best train ride of his life.  

“I must have gotten it wrong,” you said then with a shrug, “Sorry,” you added sheepishly, and Sirius had to hide the smirk threatening to grow on his face. 

Then James pretty much jumped from his spot, shuffling in between you and Sirius and reaching to give his mom a tight hug, even lifting her slightly. 

“Oh darling, you’re very energetic today, aren’t you?” she asked as he let her down, and it was almost impossibly hard for you and Sirius not to laugh after exchanging a knowing glance. 

He then hugged his father warmly and turned to Sirius and you with that same dumb smile as before, if you thought James was a goner for Lily before they started dating…

“We’re walking to a friend’s house and taking the floo home from there,” Effie explained. 

“Will your parents come and pick you up, would you like us to wait with you?” Monty offered kindly.

“Oh, no,” you said honestly as you looked to the side, there was a rather disproving glance from Effie that made you feel a little self-conscious. “No, don’t worry, I’m– they’ve sent me some cash, I’ll walk to Diagon with some friends and take the Knight Bus home, Mum and Dad are renting an apartment close to the Ministry of Magic.” 

“The Knight Bus?!?” Monty asked scandalised, not because it was a bad method of transportation or because of the pure bIood bias against it, but rather because he knew the driver and he was reckless. 

“Which friends?” Sirius asked with a frown. “We’re your friends.” 

You threw him a side glance, “Beth, Tom and I decided to get together to buy some gifts.” 

“And you are planning to walk all the way to Diagon?” Effie asked. 

“Well it’s too early to fly, and I don’t think any of us brought our brooms,” you added as you looked around trying to spot either Tom or Beth. 

Monty tutted, “Do you want us to apparate you there?” he asked. 

“I wouldn’t want to be an inconvenience, I’m sure James and Sirius are tired and want to get home–” 

“Nah, let them take you on a ride,” James said casually. 

You smiled after that, “If it truly is no bother…” 

“It’s settled then,” Effie said with a clap and an air of finality. “Find your friends, we’ll wait for you here, darling.”

You nodded and smiled, walking around the station to try and find Tom and Beth, Sirius and James both walking alongside. Beth was the easiest to find, she was talking with Mary and Marlene and you took the chance to hug the two other girls goodbye and wish them a fantastic Christmas. 

“You know where Tom is?” you asked the redhead and she sighed. 

“With Minho, I believe still inside the train.” 

“Oh fantastic, we can go look for them,” James said with a smile and you threw Sirius a glance, he instantly knew what you meant, and he had promised he would keep what he knew a secret, even from James, so he improvised. 

“Actually, why don’t we go back to your parents with Beth, Vix can find Tom and we buy some snacks to stock up your house’s pantry for the New Year’s reunion…” 

“Yeah, go ahead, I’m sure it won’t take long to find them both,” you said with a smile. Beth threw you a wary look and you sent her a reassuring smile. She knew you knew about Tom and Minho, she didn’t know Sirius knew as well, but she was sure you wouldn’t have told him without Tom or Minho’s permission and therefore decided to ask you about it later. 

You parted ways and bumped into a rather tall brunette girl, “I’m sorry,” you said politely, but the girl had turned to you with the grimmest expression you had ever seen. You were taken aback by her reaction and took a step back as you reached for your wand inside your pocket, not because you wanted to use it against her but because you thought she might want to use hers against you. 

Although… she smelled different. Almost like–

“Petunia!” you heard Lily’s voice from the side, and you turned to look at your friend almost in shock. 

Petunia as in, her sister Petunia?!? 

Lily ran straight to hug the disagreeable-looking girl and you let your wand fall back into your pocket as you pulled your hand out to greet the girl. You smiled politely, genuinely interested in meeting Petunia. Lily had told you something about the girl not responding to her letters, but she also told you that she was in her last year of high school and she was really busy as she attempted to apply for a Typewriting course in London, whatever the hell that might be.  

Petunia looked at your hand disdainfully and shook it with a very annoyed look. “Nice to meet you,” you said with a smile as you gave her your name. 

“Petunia Evans,” she replied simply and then turned to her sister as if exasperated. “Are you ready?” 

You turned to Lily who had the face of someone who wanted to excuse her sister and pulled her trunk behind her. You walked closer to her and pulled her into a much warmer hug than the one Petunia had given her, making sure to pass your hand over the back of her hair, which she hadn’t quite managed to get together after making out with James, “You have so much shit to tell me,” you whispered into her ear. “Prongs was absolutely panicked when he fled from you.” 

Lily turned red and giggled, “Merlin, please!” she said in an admonishing tone, and you just smiled teasingly at her. As you pulled apart you noticed Petunia’s look of disdain hardened. 

Good, she better fucking appreciate her amazing sister, you thought as you send her an equally hard look. 

Lily seemed to be able to sense the tension because she spoke again, “Where’s mom and dad?” She asked Petunia. 

“Didn’t make it,” she responded, perhaps that is why she was so angry. “And since they know I will be coming to London soon, they asked me to pick you up. Crossing that stupid wall was dreadful,” she added as she shuddered, placing both hands around herself.

How could Lily have such a dreadful –you used her very own words– Sister?

“Have a safe trip home,” you told Lily with a genuine smile. “Merry Christmas,” you added, giving a quick nod towards the taller girl and pulling Lily into another hug. “Don’t let her bring your spirits down, and write me all the details of the train,” you added just to tease her a little further, pulling back from the hug and giving her a knowing smirk that made her go red again. 

“Petunia,” you added, you were sure the way you said her name sounded as disdainful as the look she gave you in return and then walked inside the train. 

“Your friend is–” Petunia started. 

“Amazing?” Lily interrupted her before she said something that would annoy her, “I know.”  Petunia didn’t press further. 

As you walked inside the train you started looking through the compartments to try and find Tom and Minho. “Love birds?” you joked. There was no one else there according to the student counter near the entrance, “Come on, we must go,” you added. 

You were about to open the doors of one of the bathrooms when the one right behind you opened wide and out came Tom and Minho, both slightly breathless. You smiled knowingly at the two of them and Minho blushed a little more. His ears became almost completely red. Tom, on the other hand, only returned the look you’d given him.

“Sorry to interrupt your –talk–,” you improvised, and Minho was thankful you hadn’t called it what it was. He was not used to people knowing what he was up to, let alone who he was up to it with. “But the Potters offered to apparate us in Diagon and they’re waiting outside for us,” you explained, looking at Tom. 

“You and your angelic little face,” Tom said as he shook his head. “I’ve studied here for years and I’ve never been offered a ride by the Potters.” 

“Your parents have always come to pick you up,” Minho responded. The three of you were walking together towards the entrance, and halfway out Minho raised one of his hands to pull his satchel and threw Tom’s backpack his way. 

“Thanks, Luv,” Tom said simply and you would have sworn Minho’s ears were getting red again. 

By the time you were all out of the train, Minho gave the two of you a short goodbye hug and disappeared into the swarms of students. Tom looked at you and smiled.

“What?” you asked. 

He shrugged, “I heard you were alone with Sirius in the Marauder’s cart.” 

You smiled as you shook your head and elbowed him lightly, “I was… Until Prongs decided he needed a SexEd class and invaded us.” 

“Oh, I would have bet on Remus joining you in a threesome first…” 

“You what?!? We didn’t have a threesome! He asked Sirius questions.” 

“Oh well then,” he said with a shrug. Bet’s still on. “Wouldn’t have judged you at all, James is–” 

“James is what?” Minho, who seemed to have shown up out of nowhere, asked. 

Tom looked panicked for only a second before composing. “Really good at quidditch,” he said, “really good captain too.” Minho frowned. “Not as good as you, of course.” 

“Hmph,” you said playfully. “That’s your house’s captain, you're talking about Tom.” 

Then Minho gave you a teasing wink and cleared his throat, “You have my pen,” he said as he pulled a small silver and green fountain pen from Tom’s front shirt pocket. 

“And here I thought you’d let me keep it as a souvenir.” 

Minho laughed at that, “Merry Christmas to the two loveliest Gryffindors I know,” he added before turning around again. He no longer had his bag and you assumed he’d probably left it with his house elves or something. 

“But I’m the loveliest,” Tom said with a smile. 

“Yeah sure,” Minho said casually, as if he hadn’t been pining for Tom before the two of them got together. You just smiled, Tom’s self-assured personality could be intimidating to anyone, especially with someone as reserved as Minho, but it was nice to see that he wouldn’t let himself be teased without ever teasing him back. They really were an adorable couple. 

After Minho left –for the second time– it didn’t take much for the two of you to find the Potters again, Beth was having a really amicable conversation with Effie while James, Sirius and Monty caught up on how the boys had been doing in school. 

Effie smiled the moment she saw you and the boy walking by your side, “Thomas Harrow,” she said with a bright smile. “You are the spitting image of your father!” 

Tom smiled politely at that, “Thank you, madam, I’ll take that as a compliment.” 

“Just call me Effie,” she said with a smile and looked at him curiously. “The resemblance is uncanny, isn’t it Monty?” she said as she turned to her husband who nodded. “Tom was on the quidditch team with me in my Hogwarts years.” 

“You played quidditch?” you asked with a surprised smile. “James, you never told me your mom was cooler than you,” you teased, James gave you a huff in response and Effie’s smile widened. 

Who would have thought all it would take to charm Effie Potter was Tom and Vixen? 

“I was a seeker, like James,” Effie said. “Runs in the family.” 

“Bet your little redheaded children will also be seekers,” Sirius teased and Effie turned to James with a surprised smile. 

“Is this about that Evans girl again?” she asked. 

James slapped Sirius on the side and then turned to his mom with a smile, “Didn’t I mention to you in a letter we went on a date last month?” 

Effie gasped at that and shook her head. “You did not! Even Sirius told me when he started dating this lovely girl,” she added as she placed a gentle hand on your shoulder.

“You did?” you asked, turning to Sirius with a surprised frown and he shrugged in response. 

“Of course he did!” Effie responded. “Can’t believe you’d leave me out, perhaps we’re getting old, Monty.” 

“Maaaaaa,” James complained. 

“Well, I think you don’t look a day over 25, Effie,” Sirius said with a sly smile. 

“Definitely,” Tom agreed. 

“You could be James’ older sister,” Beth added. 

Effie smiled as she shook her head, a dramatic air in her voice that reminded you much more of Sirius than it did of James, “All of your friends like me better than you do.” 

“That’s not true, Ma,” James insisted and dragged Effie into a hug. As she was being hugged, she looked at you, Tom and Beth with a sly smile and then gave you a short wink before returning her face to that fake grieving one from earlier. 

“Ready for Diagon?” Monty asked as he looked at the three of you and you nodded. 

“Better go now before it’s too dark,” you said as you looked at the big watch near the end of the platform. 

“Indeed,” Effie said as she pulled back from James’ bear hug. “I think it’s better if we take one by one, to reduce the risk of splinching.“ The three of you nodded in agreement. “Monty, how about you take little Tom and I take darling Beth first?”

Monty nodded and walked towards Tom who instantly offered his hand. Beth did the same and just before they disappeared, Effie gave Sirius a small wink and mouthed, “So you can say goodbye properly.” 

“Woah,” you said as she disappeared. “Not even sure why I tried to cover for the lipstick smear on your face, Prongs, I feel like Effie would have just cheered you on…” 

James huffed and shook his head, “At least you didn’t straight up out me,” he added, looking at Sirius. 

“Mate, you ramble to her every time you catch a snitch in practice, how would I know you didn’t tell her about Lily?” 

“Common sense?” He asked. Sirius gave him a stern look and he just huffed again. “I’ll go look at the train or something.” 

“So he can actually take a hint,” you said as you saw James turn around and walk a few steps to the side. 

“I heard that,” he responded and you just laughed in return.

“Love you, Jamie!” You said simply.

“If you’re gonna snog her, Sirius, you better–” 

You didn’t even hear the rest of James’ rant, Sirius had pulled you by the shoulders and turned the two of you around, pressing you against one of the walls and planting a proper goodbye kiss on your lips. 

You kissed back just as greedily. It had been some time since you had kissed each other like that, and you would be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy every second of it. Even if, as you pulled away from his minty breath and soft lips you were slightly dazed. Sirius smirked as he pressed a soft, quick kiss to your lips, “You’re definitely going to miss me more.” 

Terrible choice of words, really. Two could play this game, you thought as you dragged your hand to the back of his neck and pulled on his hair lightly, dragging soft kisses through his jaw and down to that particular spot in his neck that made him overly vocal and you rejoiced when you realised he was trying –and kinda failing– to stifle a groan. 

In hindsight, kissing him like that in the middle of the station might not have been the most appropriate move, but even if you got some disdainful looks your way, the wall he had pushed you against was hidden enough and all people could really see, was two pairs of Gryffindors kind of snogging in the back. 

Sirius and you had equally competitive personalities, and neither of you would let the other win without competing properly, and in this case, the competition just happened to be about kisses. And you were most definitely at least one point above as you pulled back from his neck, giving the small bruise you’d purposefully caused a quick, wet kiss and then rubbing your thumb over the area with a little smirk. 

“There, so you’re reminded of me–”“ you looked up at him through your lashes, biting your lips to try and keep your smile from going bigger “–when you’re missing me more.” 

Sirius opened his mouth in amusement and you were sure he was about to make another move since you felt his hand threaten to inch down from your waist when Effie apparated again and you pulled Sirius into an innocent hug instead. 

She smiled as she spotted the two of you and tilted her head to the side just a little. “Merry Christmas, Puppy,” you said as you pulled away from the hug with a sly –insanely fox-like– smile. 

“Merry Christmas, Starshine,” he responded, his hand still around your shoulders. Effie couldn’t help but smile at the adoring look Sirius had given you. James had approached you then and you finally pulled apart to give him a hug, much shorter in comparison to the one you’d given Sirius, but just as tight. 

“Merry Christmas, Prongsie,” you said. “Take care of Pads for me, will you?” 

“Of course,” he said with a bright smile, and then a little louder, “I’ll keep him entertained so he doesn’t miss you as much.” Sirius rolled his eyes and pushed James lightly and the two of you snickered at his expense. “Try to keep yourself alive without us.”

You gasped at that, “You know, my close encounters have significantly increased since I met the marauders, so I’d say stepping away might actually give me better chances of that.” 

James shook his head with a smile and you gave him a short wink before walking next to Effie. She offered you her hand and you took a deep breath. “You get apparation-sick?” she asked you politely. 

“No,” you said honestly, even if that didn’t make you feel particularly at ease. You had apparated with Dumbledore a couple more times after that first class and you had managed to keep all those awful memories at bay by concentrating a lot. And you had been reading a book about Occlumency on the train before you fell asleep, but two things were making you nervous: you had never apparated such a lengthy distance since that moon, and you really didn’t want to give Effie access to your mind. Not because you didn’t trust her, you honestly thought she was lovely, but rather, because of how lovely she was. 

If she figured out what had happened that night, she may not actually understand why you had to keep it a secret. Something told you that, even if she had just met you, Effie would be more than ready to fight for your well-being and for what she thought was right. And while someone like her on your corner might be an excellent idea, you weren’t ready to relive that night again. 

“I’m just feeling a little drowsy after the train ride,” you lied, you weren’t sure if she believed you but she went with it anyway, you closed the distance between the two of you and linked your arm to hers. 

“See you in a second boys,” she said and suddenly the two of you were in Diagon. Tom and Beth right in front of you. 

You turned to her with a bright smile, “Thank you very much, Effie,” you said. “I hope you have a fantastic Christmas.” 

“I’m sure we will,” she said with a smile. 

“Merry Christmas,” added Monty as she took his wife’s hand and the two of them disappeared. 

The moment they were gone Beth pulled her list out and you all walked towards the first store: Flourish and Blotts, where you bought the very first gifts of the night, a book about History of Magic, but written by a muggle-born that you thought Lily would find fascinating, a romance book about mermaids that you were sure Nina would adore, a book about and a copy of one of the overdue books from the library Remus always kept on his bag. Beth also bought a gift for Lily there –a bookmarker– and you gave it an absolute passing nod when she showed it to you, still a little insecure on whether it was a good idea to have it or not. Tom bought like 5 different books for Minho because he wasn’t sure which one he would like best and even when both you and Beth told him he was exaggerating, he shrugged it off and decided he would buy them anyway. 

He regretted his decision when you walked inside Quality Quidditch Supplies, and he also thought every single thing inside the store would be perfect for Minho. At least this time around he actually listened and he only bought a Tutshill Tornadoes stationery set that included a mug with the seeker of the team –Minho’s celebrity crush–, a keychain and a notebook with their logo. You already felt bad about the poor Owl that would have to carry it all but he told you that he’d add a levitating charm on them. 

“You don’t mind Min will ogle at his crush whenever he has a drink?” Beth teased. 

“Not at all,” Tom said with a shrug. “I’m way hotter anyway.” 

Beth and you had thrown each other a look, Tom wasn’t lying, he had good looks and he was damn confident about them, not to say the guy on the mug wasn’t attractive. If anything, you’d both reached to the conclusion that Minho had pretty good taste in men. 

Beth and you had both bought your gifts for James and Marlene there. She’d gotten Marlene a stunning pair of beater gloves and you’d gotten her a matching pair of goggles and headband for sweatier days. 

For James, she’d bought some anti-rain spray for his broom and goggles, and you’d gotten him a small snitch keychain that you thought was adorable, you saw a beater bat and you got that one for Sirius and when you spotted the hoops and were about to get them for yourself Beth took them from your hands and told you that you’d see it again in Christmas. You also got a broom polish set for James and a small pin that said “Captain” which was more of a joke gift than an actual gift but the opportunity was too good to pass up. 

Tom bought a keychain for his father and when you remembered Effie had also been a seeker you decided to take another one of those cute snitch ones for her. You were sure she’d love to match with James. You also wanted to get something for Minho and in the end, decided to get him a very elegant-looking copy of Quidditch Through the Ages with annotations from Reyansh Atwal, the same seeker on his mug. 

“Oh, that’s brilliant, switch with me?” Tom tried to convince you as you all walked towards the register. 

“No way in hell,” you said with a smug smile. “You already have like 5 books for him, and your stationary set.” 

“But that is annotated by Reyanash!” Tom complained. 

“Sucks to be you, I’m a great gift buyer,” you replied with a smile. “I’m sure Minho’ll love all of your gifts, more than this one even,” you reassured as you moved and handed the money to the old man across the counter. “He’ll love them because it’s you who gave them to him.” 

“She’s right, young man,” the old wizard interceded. “I’ve had hundreds of books and trinkets, and I’ve cherished none of them as much as the ones Orlo gifted me.” There was an odd, longing-like look on his gaze that instantly told you that he missed that Orlo of his dearly. You wondered if the old man, like you and Tom, had peculiar preferences in regards of love. 

After that, you went to get some delicious ice cream at Florean Fortescue's Parlour since you knew he closed soon and the young owner Florean, gifted Beth a free icecream for being the customer number 100th of the day… although, both you and Tom suspected it was because he had developed a mini crush on her, that suspicion only grew when he asked if he could write her. Beth had laughed merrily and played dumb, not offering the man her address but thanking him for the free treat. 

Your next stop was Obscurus Books, where you found adorable pocket editions of a bunch of different wizarding world classics and you decided to buy one for each of the members of the reading club, including Nina who would now get double presents. And since you felt rather guilty about that, you decided to buy a few other books and trinkets for the other members you were really close to. You thought Nox, Neil and Todd would rather like the fantasy books you’d gotten them, and “The Book of Terrible Jokes'' you'd picked for Comet seemed to be right up her alley, be it due to irony or because she would genuinely make fun of how bad those jokes would be.  

You had also spotted a “Magical Chess Strategy” book there and after consulting with Tom in secret –who confirmed that Beth definitely didn’t have a copy of that one– you decided to add it to the bunch of books you already carried.

At Wiseacre's Wizarding Equipment, you found the perfect set of medical instruments for beginner Medwitched and you got it for Mary, alongside a beautiful golden and red set of Gobstones that you thought would go perfectly with Peter’s collection. You found a circle tin with his favourite cookies and decided to buy that as well. 

You got a watch for your father and a simple but elegant necklace for your mom, some sweets for the rest of the members of the quidditch team, a book about photography for Alex, and a small fountain pen –similar to the one Minho had recovered from Tom’s pocket earlier– for Nightshade, a matching one for McGonagall, Merlin knows she deserves the world for dealing with all of your bullshit, and some small packs of chocolate for the rest of the teacher’s that you’d hand out at the beginning of the year. 

After you paid there, you all walked out and took a seat near a bench, you were looking at your parchment and writing down everything that you’d gotten. 

“You got Sirius a Keychain?” Beth asked incredulously, especially as she looked at James’ gift, even Peter had gotten a nicer lot. 

“Oh, I’m actually planning to get Sirius some non-magical gifts,” you said as you finished annotating everything and called Barnaby over with a whistle. You performed a simple levitating spell and sent him off with all the bags, “Do you guys have everything you were planning to get from Diagon?” 

“Yeah,” Tom said, pretty satisfied with his haul. 

“Me too,” Beth added as she checked her bags. Her family owl had also flown down to pick them all up and take them to her house, while Tom just placed everything inside his bag, like Remus, he had also added an undetectable extension charm to it. You thought perhaps it would be useful to do the same to your own bag, even if your trunk, which you had left back at Hogwarts, already had one of those. 

Then Tom pulled a list out of his pockets and unfolded it carefully, a smile appearing on his lips as he showed it to the two of you, he seemed incredibly proud of it. 

But Beth frowned, “How are– Tom did you get a map of London?” 

He seemed taken aback by the question. Of course, the three of you knew how to navigate Diagon perfectly, and you certainly knew how to use the muggle underground, provided that you had an idea of where to go, but Tom’s list didn’t even have addresses, just the names of the stores and what you could find in them. 

Beth sighed, “How are we going to get there?” 

“We could ask around?” Tom offered. 

“If I remember properly,” you said. “There’s a small bookshop a few blocks from here –on the muggle side– and they have to have maps there, right?” 

“You think?” Beth asked. You shrugged in response. 

“Well, off to an adventure!” Tom said as he started his march towards the brick wall that would take you to Muggle London. 

You and Beth gave each other a look and after shrugging at each other, followed Tom all the way to the outside. There you took the lead, walking the few blocks and straight lines until you found “Daunt Books.” 

A small smile drew itself on your lips as you looked at the shop, you were pretty proud you had found your way there, without a map and using nothing but the bits of things you remembered from 5 months ago when you had taken the exact same path but backwards. 

It was in Daunt Books where you had found the copy of “The Picture of Dorian Gray” that you had gifted Remus among other very interesting muggle books, and you were rather eager to get back inside, you were sure you’d find other books there. The three of you walked inside the store and a small bell rang as the door opened to let you in.

There was a young woman sitting across the book counter flipping through some pages of a book as she tried to keep a diverted and amused smile away from her face. She looked up from her book slowly, as if she didn’t want to stop reading and then looked at the three of you with a smile. “Welcome to Daunt Books, may I help you with anything?” 

“We’re looking for some maps,” replied Beth politely and approached her, Tom followed swiftly and they started talking with her, you were sure Tom had put on his winning smile and was asking the lady to help him mark some of the stores he’d picked on the map –at least the ones that weren’t already on them– but you were far too distracted by a pile of books near the back to really pay attention to the conversation. 

You leaned down to examine some of the books and found the most fascinating little display with rows of stunning, leather-bound books from a “classic collection”. The Picture of Dorian Grey was there and next to it was a series of other books, some you’d heard of and some that were completely new to you. You grabbed onto one with a dark green cover and read “Frankenstein”, the tragic tale of the creature and the monster that created it. You grabbed onto it, and then onto a bunch of other books, some you’d read and thought Remus would love, and some you hadn’t but seemed right up his alley. Including a copy of “The Chronicles of Narnia” for Regulus. You had read the book and throughout the entirety of it, you’d thought of the Winter Witch as Walburga, he’d probably think it was funny when you told him about it. By the time you turned to the next row of books, you already had about 7 books in your hands. 

And then you saw it, near the back, there was a display of magazines and the absolute perfect gift for Sirius. You walked over to it and then pulled it from the shelf, it was a thick book, made out of magazine paper and it said “The Legends of this Decade”. There was an open version on display and you flipped through some of the pages. There was a section dedicated to the Beatles, another one to Queen, one for David Bowie, a very long special dedicated to the Rolling Stones and there were even smaller, 2-page sections dedicated to up-and-coming celebrities and groups like Bon Jovi (who you hadn’t heard of), Boston and Kansas (American rock bands of which you actually owned a few tapes you’d gotten back in the summer). 

You didn’t even continue flipping about and instantly took one of the wrapped books along with a special edition magazine dedicated to Bowie –whom Sirius adored–, a science magazine for Remus, and one that detailed the lives of the ABBA girls for Mary who seemed to really like the band. For a second you considered that perhaps you were going overboard with the gifts, and then you checked the money bag you’d gotten for Christmas and realised how freaking much you actually had left. So you thought, fuck it, and went straight to the counter with all the things in hand. You opted to not actually make the conversion of pounds to galleons and decided to just roll with it. 

The pretty girl gave you an approving look as she packed your stuff in a very nice paper bag with the logo of the store on the front section and you felt a little bit of pride at that. Of course, taste in books was relative, and there were books for everyone, but this girl worked at a bookshop, she must have read hundreds of books and if she considered your selection good, then it had to count for something, right? 

Tom and Beth thanked her for her help with the map and after a polite goodbye, you all left the store. “She was super nice!” Beth said, “I didn’t know muggles were so nice!” 

“Some of them are, some of them aren’t, just like wizards,” you said with a shrug and took out a bag of jelly slugs from your backpack and offered them some. 

“But she was delightful! If I wasn’t already dating someone…” Tom said as he grabbed one and placed it in his mouth. “She helped us mark all the stores on the map and even gave us a mini route so we could visit them all before they closed.” 

Beth nodded in agreement, as she too munched on a jelly slug, “And she even gave us some other recommendations.”

“And her number,” Tom chimed. “Although, I must say I suspect she was more into Beth than she was into me.”  Beth laughed and playfully hit Tom in the arm. You could easily tell they were really close, perhaps as close as you and James, or you as Remus were. “Oh here,” Tom said sometime later as he pulled the two of you into the underground.  

You had walked for hours and hours in London, you had used their bright red buses and even taken a cab, but you had never ventured into the underground. You thought it would take too much time and you enjoyed walking past stores and seeing the muggles doing their day to day so you stayed over the ground. 

But the minute you walked down those stairs you were absolutely fascinated by it, you had heard from the people in New York that the subway was dirty and had rats and, overall very many negative things, and while you hadn’t heard muggles explicitly hate on the London’s underground, you hadn’t heard them praise it either. Seeing now, in real life, made you think that perhaps those New Yorkers were exaggerating. There was a small group of people signing in one of the corners and many of them commuting around. 

It took the three of you at least a few minutes to figure out how to use the vending machine to get your tickets, but once you did, you all walked towards the train that the girl from the store had advised you to take with very accomplished smiles on your faces. 

After that, you visited a few other stores, some, where you bought some things, some, where you didn’t actually get anything. Tom dragged the two of you into Carnaby Chic Boutique and somehow persuaded you to buy some interesting muggle fashion items that he thought looked incredible on the two of you, he also got himself some clothes, and by the end of that little expedition, you might have been the most fashionable squad back in the school –as long as you were talking muggle fashion and not wizard fashion.

Then you went into a Vinyl shop, the one Daunt Books girl said would be open pretty late so she’d left it at the end of the short trip and you ended up splurging there too. You got all the new stuff from your favourites and Sirius’. You also got some chiller jazz and blues songs, since you had discovered Remus liked to listen to those while studying and you found them oddly comforting as well and you thought he might appreciate them.

You bought a few empty cassettes and a thing that would allow you to record some songs into them and make your own playlist, you were crossing your fingers it would work in your house (with all the magical interferences and such) but you got a pair of headphones. In case it didn’t, you would just walk with it –after charming it so it wasn’t as heavy– to the small café a few blocks from your apartment and record there.  

You saw some band shirts in the stores and also got a few of those, one for you with a really cool Pink Floyd logo (thought you bought it big enough in case Sirius ever wanted to borrow it), one for Lily with John Lennon (she had admitted that she’d had a crush on him back in 3rd grade), another Bowie shirt for Sirius (this one was technically a Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars shirt but it had Bowie on the front) since he seemed to love the one Andromeda had gotten him, and then a Sex Pistols one for Remus. Now you weren’t sure if he liked the Sex Pistols that much, but the idea of Remus Lupin walking around with a shirt that had “Sex Pistols” written in bold around the castle was too hilarious to pass up, especially with the wizards who had absolutely no clue that they were actually a band. 

After paying, the three of you walked outside of the incredible store and into the night. The sun had disappeared a while ago but it was certainly colder now than when you entered the shop. 

Beth sighed, her hands filled with as many bags as you as she sat down on a nearby bench. “I guess that’s it for today, isn’t it?” 

“I think so,” you agreed. 

“I’ll call the Knight Bus,” offered Tom as he looked around to make sure there were no muggles around and lifted his wand up to the sky. 

You walked next to Beth and sat there, leaning your head on her shoulder, as you waited. Then you saw a small light blink in the distance, and then all the lights to a store you hadn’t paid attention to earlier were on. There was a big green sign illuminated by the faint light of a yellowish lamp that read “L. Cornelissen & Son Art Supply Store”. You gasped, “I must go!” 

“What?” Asked Beth as she turned her gaze towards the direction of yours. “You want to go to an art store?” 

“I have to,” you said. “To get something for Sirius.” 

“For Sirius?” Asked Tom with a frown and you nodded in response. Then the bus showed up. “You already have like 4 other gifts for Sirius.” 

You made a mental note of how much you’d bought for him and decided correcting Tom was absolutely unnecessary, “Yes but… You don’t get it. It’s like you saw an all-Thubshill Tornados shop and deliberately ignored it, without even checking it out.”

“I had no idea Sirius was into art…” Beth mumbles. 

“Kids, are you getting on the bus or what?” a young pudgy guy asked as he held out a few tickets. 

“They will,” you said pointing at them. “I’m staying. I’ll call again when I require the lift.” 

“It might take a while, Sweets, we’re taking some people a little further out of town tonight and we’re pretty packed,” he added, he had a very strong Irish accent, that you would have perhaps considered nice if it hadn’t been so squeaky. 

“It’s fine, I’ll stay,” you said with a smile. “Home’s not that far from here anyway,” you added. 

Tom shook his head in disapproval and Beth spoke, “I really think it’s a terrible idea.” 

“As if I hadn’t walked around London at night before guys,” you huffed. “It’ll be alright, I promise. I’ll um… send Barnaby over as soon as I’m home. Or I could even fire-call you if you’re really worried about it.” 

Beth nodded reluctantly and pulled onto Tom who looked a lot less convinced, “Slysprite, just get on you have enough gifts alrea” 

“We’re not gonna argue this one out,” you said with an air of determination. “And I’m very stubborn. I could win an argument, even against you.” 

Tom huffed as he tilted his head to the side, clearly unsatisfied with the turn of events. “You’ll firecall me, swear.” 

You nodded, “Swear!” 

“Time to go!” the conductor said as he urged your friends to get on by pushing them lightly and shut the door. “Take care, Miss!”

“Thanks,” you said with a small smile as the bus sped out into the street. 

You instantly remembered your first trip on the Knight Bus and almost felt sorry that you wouldn’t be there to see your friends’ reactions to it. You wondered if they had gotten the hot chocolate and if Beth would be mad if it fell on her white coat. 

Alas, it was time to get to the shop. 

Series Masterlist | Next Chapter

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A/N: Badum tss… “How many pure-blood wizards does it take to navigate muggle London properly?” Now, I've left you on a bit of a cliffhanger, haven't I? Hope you liked this chapter, it's a cute and fun thing before things get dark. Love, Lils xx

Read more Marauders Fiction

[saekkas]

For your Blue Haze ask game! 💙 #41 your hair is really soft - with Kaiser! Please 🙏.

prompt: "your hair is really soft." tags: f!reader, kaiser is a simp, fluff. note: i'm sorry this is so short and that it's taken me so long to write it :< writing's not coming easy to me these days. i hope you enjoy! <3

"your game is in five minutes, what are you doing here!?" you hiss, the whisper turning into a shout when kaiser runs barreling into you. "michael kaiser!"

everything is oddly silent; the birds aren't chirping, the soccer fans' shouts only a distant murmur— it's as if the world's slowed down, stopping into a freeze frame.

even your boyfriend, the renowned star player, is quiet. he leans forward to place his head on top of yours, his arms wrapping around your waist.

you can only sigh, knowing this weird outburst is caused by the petty fight you had earlier.

"i'm sorry, alright?" the words catch, his speech slightly stiff, so unlike the smooth drawl kaiser's known for. it's as if his pride has bound a leash on his words, pulling them back down into the crevices of his heart.

your lover hides his face in your hair, sniffing the scent of your shampoo every now and then. he waits for your reply, and you can feel his heart hammering against your own chest with how tight he's holding onto you.

"i know i'm an asshole for apologizing this way, and i'm sorry," he whispers, his lips moving against your forehead. "can you forgive me, liebling?"

you stay quiet, watching as he slowly moves to face you, his hair a mess and his eyes tinted red.

your eyes trail over his face, taking in his tired visage. and maybe it's the doubt swimming in your eyes, or the hesitance plastered on your expression but kaiser sighs, lifting his hand only to drop it back to his side the next second.

"i know i can't undo the things i said," he mumbles, lips downturned and eyes plastered to the ground, "but i couldn't go out there pretending like everything's fine when the person that matters most isn't cheering for me in their usual spot."

you bite your lip, trying to keep the smile that's threatening to bloom at bay. even if it's only an excuse to be let off the hook, kaiser's always been creative with his words. a closeted romantic under all that suave and charm.

"what do you say, mein liebling?" there's a hint of a smile on his face, his eyes molding into your beloved puppy eyes. the piece of resistance he always uses, knowing you can't resist. "you can hit me all you want back at home. just cheer for me, please?"

please isn't a word kaiser normally uses and when it slips past his lips, you come to understand just how desperate he really is.

"okay," you whisper, body instinctively leaning forward in search of his warmth. "but we still need to talk after your game."

kaiser nods, his expression clearing like the sun after a rainy day. he doesn't move, doesn't walk, doesn't talk, and the silence that comes after is nothing but a loving embrace.

"you didn't braid my hair this morning," kaiser says after his eyes trail from the tip of your hair to the end of your toes and back. "you skipped out on our routine."

you snort, chuckling a little when he tilts his head, indirectly asking for you to braid his hair.

"i could barely look you in the face without punching you this morning," you mumble. the strands of his hair are smooth in your hands, and your fingers pull them into braids as if weaving through the finest silk. "your hair's really soft."

"i used your shampoo," kaiser grins shyly, like a giddy schoolboy who's just confessed. there's a hint of a blush on his cheeks, the skin reddening the longer you braid and compliment his hair. "missed your scent and all that."

you laugh at his words, indirectly letting him know whatever storm was brewing has passed. you press a quick kiss on his cheek, letting his hair fall down his back in braids. "go get 'em, hotshot."

kaiser goes on to score five goals in the match, blowing multiple kisses to you after every single one.

[iamacolor]

I'm sure you'll go on just fine. You'll be cheerful as you've always been. I'm sure you will. Even if I don't ever get to see you again, if you get to turn 31 and then 41 for the first time...If I can make sure you get to have lots of grey hair someday, I will willingly and happily vanish.

MOON IN THE DAY - EPISODE 13

[harrysfolklore]

i love what you do with the babysitter series. i can’t wait to see more

ITS NANNY TIMEEEEEE !! i really really hope you like this part bc ooohhh lord what’s coming next. SEND ME FEEDBACK !!!

PREVIOUS PARTS

ask me anything | masterlist | likes and reblogs are appreciated ! | support me

liked by yrrahselyts, pillowpersonpp and 387 others

yourinstagram first day of the nyc residencies and i’m feeling icky :// and yes i’m aware that i’m in my underwear and no bra in this pic but i’ve been throwing up all morning so don’t give me shit for it

view all 85 comments

yourbff oi, whatever you say, princess

↳ yourinstagram why are you talking so loudly

pillowpersonpp And yet you still look beautiful 💖

↳ yourinstagram i LOVE you

kidharpoon Are you hungover? Did you convince your old man to go out for drinks ?

↳ yourinstagram not hungover just with a stomach bug 🤧🤧

yrrahselyts Awee poor thing, let me cuddle you x

↳ yourinstagram please do🥺

liked by harryfan1, harryfan2 and 4,937 others

harryupdates Harry out in NYC today !

view all 965 comments

harryfan1 BABYYY

harryfan2 he looks like a dilf

harryfan3 NEW PLEASING HOODIE ??? NEW COLLECTION??

harryfan4 husband material

liked by jefezoff, yourinstagram and 41 others

yrrahselyts A sick Nanny on film because she’s excited about her modeling debut. I love you @yourinstagram x

view all 15 comments

jefezoff And you’re back to being a fan account

↳ yrrahselyts I’m an in love man and that makes you jealous

↳ jefezoff I’m literally married..

yourinstagram IM SO NERVOUS 😭😭😭😭

↳ pillowpersonpp Pleasing girl, you did amazing

↳ yourinstagram my biggest hyper 💖

↳ yrrahselyts Excuse me, I’m your biggest hyper, have you seen this account?

liked by yourinstagram, harrystyles and 583,836 others

pleasing Pleasing x Marco Ribeiro has arrived. Explore your creativity with our latest collection, where under Ribeiro’s lead, shades and tones take an expressive turn to act as a call to arms for creativity and experimentation.

YN, photographed by Anthony Pham, for Pleasing.

Find your Pleasing.

view all 9,927 comments

harryfan1 OMFGGG

harryfan2 she’s absolutely stunning wow

harryfan3 she’s getting modeling gigs just because she’s dating harry? i smell a famewhore

↳ harryfan4 come on now, you can’t be calling her an attention seeker when she’s not even public on instagram and besides the leak their relationship has been so private

liked by yourinstagram, hshq and 2,093,836 others

harrystyles Pleasing x Marco Ribeiro. YN, 2022. Find your Pleasing.

view all 98,376 comments

harryfan1 OH MY GOOOD

annetwist Gorgeous girl 🥰

↳ harryfan2 anne approves omfg

pillowpersonpp That’s my baby and I’m proud 💖

yourinstagram i love you 🥺

↳ harryfan2 sTOP

harryfan3 i still think she’s a famewhore 🤷‍♀️

liked by yrrahselyts, mitchrowland and 402 others

yourinstagram good luck to my lovie tonight, baby jonesland and i will be cheering from backstage 🥰

view all 92 comments

jefezoff Firing Pham and hiring you

↳ yourinstagram babysitter, girlfriend and photographer?? i don’t know if i’ll manage

yrrahselyts I miss you already

yrrahselyts I love you

↳ yourinstagram get off your phone, you sap

liked by yourinstagram, lizobeeating and 2,098,646 others

harrystyles Love On Tour. New York City VI. August, 2022

view all 54,987 comments

harryfan1 BEST SHOW EVER

harryfan2 dilf energy

iheartradio THE VEST IS MY RELIGION 🫡

yourinstagram looking good

↳ harrystyles Thanks, mate x

↳ harryfan4 OMG THEY'RE INTERACTING

↳ harryfan3 attention seeker

liked by yourinstagram, pillowpersonpp and 43 others

yrrahselyts Polaroids of the Pleasing girl x

view all 14 comments

pillowpersonpp Gorgeous gorgeous girl 💖

jefezoff WHIPPED

yourbff Milf

yourinstagram i love my fan account <3

yourinstagram i love you

TEXTS BETWEEN SARAH AND YN

taglist: @cucciolafaerie @eleanordaisy @sunflowersndpeaches @golden-hoax @alienorknight @daydreamingofmatilda @sunflowervolume66 @vanteguccir r @ivyproblems @ayeshathestyles @stylesmygucci @gimsaysay @rosaliedepp @dontworrysunflower @milfrrynation @manifestrry @iceebabies @harrystylesrecs @pleasingrryyy @harianaswhore @leadmetogarden @abeanontoast @grapejuice-rry @vrittivsanghavi i @msolbesg @tati813 @sad1esgf @ivegotparticulartaste @wobblymug @eviesaurusrex @olivialovesh @itsgabbysblog @theekyliepage @gumballavocadoharry @watermelonsugacry @be-with-me-so-happily @a-strange-familiar @reveriehs @musicforcinemas @rafeyyyyy @tinydeskwriter @noooovaaaaa @tenaciousperfectionunknown @mxltifxnd0m @rach2602 @balletdancerry @b-reads-things

[the-s1lly-corner]

The Creepypasta Masterlist, Volume 2

I don't think this needs any introductions, but welcome to volume 2 of the creepypasta masterlist! here you will find even more links to more of my writing! as usual if theres anything wrong with any of the links please let me know! As of 3/22/24 this list is complete!

MULTI CHARACTERS:

Hugging Slender, Splendor, EJ, LJ, Masky/Tim, Hoodie/Brian, Toby, Puppeteer, Jeff, and Ben

Jeff, Slender, EJ, Toby w/ an albino!reader

Tim, Masky, Brian, and Hoodie developing a crush on the reader

LJ, EJ, and Slender w/ a reader who looks like Clyde (Pastra)

Kissing hcs for Slender, Splendor, EJ, LJ, Tim/Masky, Brian/Hoodie and Puppeteer

Proxies, Ben, and EJ x reader w/ Albinism

LJ, Jeff, and Ben w/ a reader who has a perma smile

LJ, EJ, and Slender x reader who bottles up emotions

Reader meets LJ, Slender, and Ben

Slender, Splendor, EJ, LJ, Tim/Masky, Brian/Hoodie, Toby, Jeff, Ben, and Puppeteer comforting the reader

LJ, EJ, Hoodie x reader who misses them and steals their clothes

EJ, Slender and Jeff as dads/dad figures

Slender, Splendor, EJ, LJ, Tim/Masky, Brian/Hoodie, Toby, Jeff, Ben, Puppeteer on valentines w/ the reader

Slender, Splendor, and EJ visiting an old playground w/ the reader

Masky, Hoodie, and EJ when the reader wants their masks

Flirting w/ Masky and Hoodie

Slenderman, Splendorman, Masky, and Puppeteer x reader who steals their clothing

Slenderman, Masky, and Hoodie x quiet but sweet!preteen!reader (platonic)

Splendorman, Puppeteer, and Hoodie w/ a reader who got stood up on Valentine's day

Tim, Masky, and EJ x mother hen!hypocrite!reader

The proxies x reader who has a ballerina fighting style

SLENDERMAN:

Reader who hugs and kisses his tentacles

Celebrating christmas

Flirting w/ Slenderman

Getting into an argument w/ Slenderman

SPLENDORMAN:

Splendorman x gloomy!reader

Flirting w/ Splendorman

Arguments w/ Splendorman

Splendorman x quiet!shy!reader

EYELESS JACK:

EJ x stoic!reader whos only nice to him

Flirting w/ EJ

Aftermath of EJ accidentally hurting the reader

EJ x demon!reader who feeds off of emotion

Hunted (EJ x reader being tracked down by the cult)

EJ x reader who gets cuteness aggression

EJ interacting with his past self

EJs thoughts on the readers looks

Prince!EJ x Maiden!reader

More general EJ hcs

EJ x girly!childish!cheerful!reader

Reader telling him they love him

Eyeless Jack x gloomy!reader

Shut In (one shot fic)

EJ x reader who is stuck in a timeloop

Valentine's w/ EJ

EJ celebrating the readers birthday

Prompts 2 and 14 w/ EJ

Prompts 15 and 6 w/ EJ

EJ x immortal reader

Prompt 41 with EJ

LAUGHING JACK:

Haunted House attraction

Lj x reader who has BPD and has him as her FP

Flirting w/ LJ

LJ x possessive!reader

Cuddling w/ LJ

LJ comforting the reader + gift giving hcs

LJ x cheerful!girly!reader

LJ x Baker!reader

Arguing w/ Laughing Jack

Holding hands

Resting his head on your lap

SFW taking a bath with LJ

TIM/MASKY:

Dancing with LJ

LJ x pierrot!reader

Masky laying his head on your lap

Reader undressing Masky to tend to a wound

Reader doing Masky's nails

BRIAN/HOODIE:

Hoodie doing the readers makeup

Getting him snacks

PUPPETEER:

General Puppeteer hcs

Flirting w/ Puppeteer

OTHER:

Platonic Toby x reader w/ chronic pain

Platonic Jeff friendship hcs

Platonic Ben x seraphim!reader

Platonic Ben x computer ghost!reader

Arguments w/ Jeff the Killer (platonic)

Jeff the Killer cutting the readers hair (platonic)

Eyeless Jack and Laughing Jack dynamic

General dynamics and relationships

Platonic jeff x kid!reader

Platonic H I J with Toby

R T Y with toby but its the platonic alphabet

W T P with Jeff but it's the platonic alphabet

[scotianostra]

IT'S A PURE DEAD GIVE-AWAY THAT YOU'RE SCOTTISH IF :-

1. You consider scattered showers with outbreaks of sunshine 🌞 as good weather.

2. The only sausage you like is square.

3. You were forced to do Scottish country dancing 🕺🏻

every year at secondary school.

4. You have a wide vocabulary of Scottish words such as numpty, aye, aye right, auldyin, baltic...

5. You destroyed your teeth when you were young using Buchanan's toffee, Wham bars, Penny Dainties, MB Bars, Cola Cubes etc

6. You have an enormous feeling of dread whenever Scotland play a 'numpty' team like the Faroe Islands.

7. You happily engage in a conversation about the weather with someone you've never met before.

8. Even if you normally hate the Proclaimers, Runrig, Caledonia , Deacon Blue and Big Country, you still love it when you're in a club abroad and they play something Scottish.

9. You used to watch Glen Michael's Cavalcade on a Sunday afternoon with his side kick Lamp Paladin.

10. You got Oor Wullie and The Broons annuals at Xmas.

11. You can tell where another Scot is from by their accent - "Awright, pal, gonnae gies a wee swatch oa yur Sun ? Cheers, magic pal." Or "Fit ya bin up tae ? Fair few quines in the nicht, eh ?", etc

12. You see cops and hear someone shout 'Errapolis'.

13. You have participated in or watched people having a 'square go'.

14. You know that when someone asks you what school you went to they only want to know if you are catholic or protestant.

15. You have eaten lots and lots of random Scottish food like mince 'n tatties, Tunnock's Caramel Logs, oat cakes, haggis, Cullen skink, Lees Macaroon Bars, etc.

16. A jakey has asked you for money.

17. You think nothing of waiting expectantly for your 1p change from a shop keeper.

18. You know the right response to 'Ye dancing ?' is 'Y'askin?' followed by 'Ahm askin' and finally 'Then ahm dancin'. 💃

19. Whenever you see sawdust it reminds you of pools of vomit as that's what the jannies used to chuck on it at school.

20. You lose all respect for a groom 🤵 who doesn't wear a kilt.

21. You don't do 🛒 shopping ... you 'go the messages'.

22. You're sitting on the train 🚂 or bus and a 😵 drunk man sits next to you telling you a joke - and asking 'Ahm no annoying ye ahm a?' and you respond 'Naw, not at a', yer fine. This is ma stoap, but'. 🛑

23. You can have an entire phone 📞 conversation using only the words 'awright', 'aye' and 'naw'.

24. You have experienced peer pressure to have an alcoholic drink 🍷 when out - regardless of the circumstances.

25. You know that ye cannae fling yer pieces 🍞 oot a 20 storey flat, and that seven hundred hungry weans'll testify tae that. Furthermore you're sure that if it's butter, 🧀 cheese or jeely, or if the breid is plain or pan, the odds against it reaching earth are 99 tae wan.

26. You know that going to a party 🥳 at a friend's house involves bringing your own drink.

27. Your holiday abroad is ruined if you hear there is a heatwave in Scotland 🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿 while you're away.

28. Your national team goes 2-0 up again the Czechs in a qualifier in Prague and your mate says we'll end up losing 3-2 here and you think "Probably". ⚽️

29. You can properly pronounce McConnochie, Ecclefechan, Milngavie, and Auchtermuchty.

30. Your favourite pizza is deep fried and battered from the chippy.

31. You're used to 4 💨 ☔️ ☀️ ❄️ seasons in one day.

32. You can't pass a chip shop or kebab shop, without drooling, when your 🥴 drunk.

33. You can fall about 😵 drunk without spilling your drink.

34. You measure distance in minutes.

35. You can understand Rab C Nesbitt and know characters just like them in your own family.

36. You go to Saltcoats because you think it's like being at the ocean.

🌊

37. You can make a whole sentence out of just swear words.

38. You know what haggis is made with and still eat it.

39. Somebody you know used a football 🥅 schedule to plan their 💒 day date.

40. You've been at a 👰 🎩 wedding where the footie results were read out.

41. You aren't surprised to find curries, pizzas 🍕 kebabs, Irn Bru, nappies and fags all for sale in one shop.

42. Your seaside holiday home has Calor ⛽️ gas under it.

43. You know that Irn Bru is an infallible hangover 😵 cure.

44. You understand all the above and are going to send it to your pals.

45. and, finally, you are 100 per cent Scottish if you have ever used these terms - "How's it hingin'?", "clatty", "boggin", "cludgie", "dreich", "bampot", and "dubble nugget"..

😂🕺🏻🥳

[srbachchan]

DAY 5812

JWMari,Jaipur Jan 15/16, 2024 Mon/Tue 12:41 am

🪔,

January 16 .. birthday greetings to Asha of Egypt 🇪🇬 - Ef Rasha Zayed .. and Ef Krishna Ramdas from Washington DC the Capital of the United States 🇺🇲 .. love and affection from all the Ef Family .. 🙏🏻🚩 .. LE PANGA !! 👊🏽🩷💋

yes Le Panga be the call of the Jaipur Pink Panthers, Kabaddi team, owned by Abhishek .. who played brilliantly today .. on home ground, Jaipur .. the Pink City !!

and victory ..

.. and a confusion in the understanding of the game points .. 🤣

anxious moments in the game ..

... a few questions in the offing ..

.. and questioning the referee decision ..

but the ref is the ref .. can't argue .. so long as we win ..😁

glum ..

... and the love of the people ever blessed by it ..

!!!!!!

A confusion on birthdays .. there are 2 Rasha's .. both from Egypt .. Rasha Zayed .. birthday Jan 16 .. and Rasha Fouad .. birthday Mar 2 .. so wished the wrong one , got corrected and discovered the error .. my apologies .. 🙏

Jaipur .. the city where several work related took place .. now a revelation .. huge development and changes .. such a delight and yes a surprise to see all that has come up in and around ..

Came in here to cheer the team and be with Abhishek and his 'baby' ..

😂

back to the grind .. early ..

Love and wishes

Amitabh Bachchan

[3rddimension]

fun question: do you have a favorite part in the shourtney stream compilation? if so, which one? personally i love part 18 and part 25 <3

Here's my quick fav list! (In no particular order tho)

Part 5: Halloween Karaoke. This is around super early relationship and they're being soft as hell when Court ask Shayne when they want to sit on the sofa together but there's a baby doll hanging around them. Also the general vibe of that stream is super fun and they're cheering each other on their turn to sing.

Part 18: Donner Dinner Party. The origami saga start around this time and they're teasing each other in the level that we've never seen before.

Part 24: Star Wars Day. It's basically double date live stream. LMFAO

Part 26: SSSS Revival. Probably one of the first big clue pop up around this time. The morning breakfast talk and the way both of them caring for each other the whole stream. Espcially around the end when Shayne bracelet is not working and Court with pouty face went to him with the replacement one. It's super cute.

Part 31: Stan vs Internet Summer Fun Edition & Wii Bowling Night 2. The start of broken ankle saga. Court basically admit that she can't go to the gym (because she need to taking care of Shayne) also the boba slip up. She's also trying to get attention from him the whole time on both stream.

Part 33: Ring Fit one. The instant iconic & classic smoothie incident. Enough said tbh.

Part 36: The whole video especially God Hates Charades part. This is after they went back from visiting Shayne's family in Colorado. So you get a big slip up when they were playing charade and Court let out that it's remind of Shayne's dad with a significant details about his dad history.

Part 41: That soft voice to tell Court to put goggles on is basically why this one is on the list. The best moment out of all imo.

Part 42: What are Those Gamer Gear. I loveddddd the part when Shayne accident hit her face. lmfao