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angelwithdemonictendencies · 6 months

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every love i've ever known has been drenched in blood; teach me how to unfurl these fists, show me where to put down this knife.

ax72 x reader: the fireman feels like something special.

(warnings: blasphemous filth, unprotected penetrative sex (m on f), hair pulling, oral sex (f on m), biting (briefly, okay?), crying, dirty talk (tasteful but serious. i'm not kidding), just all my typical stuff (and all my usual ax72 stuff - so legs and limbs and size and the like). don't read if you're not 100% sure).

(a/n: my favorites! thank you for being patient with me. for your reading pleasure, may i present to you a ax72 fic in which he is a volunteer fireman and you are plagued with fear and self-doubt! i'm joking, but not really. i couldn't not write something for him after the insane start to the season he's had - penalty minutes leader darling deserves a treat. obviously none of the details make sense, none of the dialogue is realistic, there are way too many dramatic speeches and angsty confessions, but you guys know that at this point. to anyone who may relate to what this main character is going through, please know you are not alone. it is very easy to push good things away because they scare you. but to be scared is to care about something. follow your fear, stalk it, don't let up on it until it leads you to something lovely, something real. pretty please tell me what you think. i think jh86 may be next but i'm still storyboarding. for now, i'm sending you and your snakes every single bit of courage and love i've got. go canucks. until next time).

that first night was cold like an absent mother. cruel and unforgiving, unavoidable.

the cold was weathered, however, but the hushed laughter and bickering amongst your housemates as you all exited the front door, smoke alarms blaring, loud and relentless.

"do we actually have to evacuate if we know there's not a fire?" your roommate asked, covering her ears with her hands.

another housemate sighed. "maybe we wouldn't have to if you hadn't left your curling iron on for three fucking hours."

your roommate grimaced. "my bad, guys. this one is on me."

you couldn't help a laugh as you threw an arm around her shoulders. "we know, sweetness. live and learn."

someone groaned. "it's frigid out here, jesus."

you nodded in agreement. the alarm had begun to sound at just after two in the morning, meaning everyone in the house was dressed for bed, all thin sleep shorts and fleecy sweatshirts, no where near enough to combat the brisk air, which was already starting to make your teeth chatter.

"great. here comes the government," one of your friends said, eye roll evident in her voice as the sound of the siren began to overtake the tamer sound of the smoke alarm.

you and your roommate giggled at her comment as you huddled together. as a polysci major, she had an opinion on everything, including all facets of the public sector. for example, the fire department, who pulled up to the curb at that moment in their truck.

"who's going to do the talking?" your roommate whispered to you.

"you?" you proposed, raising a brow. "it's your iron, hm?"

she groaned, but nodded. "this should be good."

three firefighters hopped down from their massive rig, looking even more menacing in their heavy fireproof gear.

"hello, officers," your roommate began, stepping forward and away from you to speak. your shoulders shook in a laugh.

"they're not officers," you whispered to her.

"hello, gentlemen," she corrected. "i speak on behalf of our entire house when i say we appreciate your punctuality."

one of your housemates hung her head in her hands. another one groaned.

"i'm gonna go out on a limb here and say there is no real danger?" one of the firemen said, his tone steady.

your polysci friend nodded. "correct, sir. your services are no longer required."

the three men now stood just in front of you, allowing you to get a true look at them.

the one who had spoken was older, probably thirty five, shorter than his coworkers but obviously the chief. he continued to speak with your roommate about the situation as the rest of you watched on.

the next in line was taller, lankier, with a goofy face and a goofier presence. he appeared unsure of his limbs, how to keep them still.

when your gaze drifted to the third, however, your breath caught, that familiar but long-forgotten whirlwind in your stomach. your eyes drank him in greedily, the way a child gulps down a soda at a friend's house. so similar, someone in your mind whispered don't tell mom.

he was the tallest of the three, and the broadest, too, his chest a wide expanse, arms and legs practically tree-like in his canvas uniform. it was his face that really had you, though. he was beautiful in a way you had never seen before, in a surreal sort of way. the kind of face that saved you in a dream, that you tried to conjure when you woke up but never could.

sharp jaw, sharper nose, the kind of cheekbones you had seen before only in a museum. full, pink, upturned lips, downwards sloping eyes that made him appear drowsy, like the personification of a midday nap. cheeks made rosy by the cold. even under his helmet you could see his thick, dark hair, so soft-looking. that was it, you thought. he just looked so soft, even though he appeared to be made of stone.

his presence made you shiver, which was only deepened when you met his eyes, dark and clear, found them already looking at you.

something in your gaze made him smirk, made your stomach drop. you crossed your arms closer around yourself, suddenly insecure under his scrutiny.

you hated the not-knowing, wished you could see yourself from his eyes, from the outside, so that you may correct yourself, angle and present yourself in some better way.

but his eyes only sparked with danger, not disappointment. cold? he mouthed to you, so as not to interrupt the conversation. his mouth formed the words slowly, deliberately, deliciously.

yes, you thought, half stunned he was communicating with you, the cold is why i'm shivering. definitely not you. definitely not your eyes.

so you only nodded slowly, felt your eyes widen as he walked towards you, shrugging off his jacket.

you stood, frozen in place, as he held it out to you in one huge hand. he offered it to you, someone he didn't know, someone who he owed nothing to, someone from whom he knew he could possibly receive nothing in return. and yet he offered it to you, regardless.

he was so close to you, now, just a step away. you tilted your head up to look at him. "don't you need it?" you asked, willing any squeak out of your voice. surely he would realize his mistake soon, realize you weren't worth it.

his chest shook in a low laugh. "what i need is for you to not freeze," he said, his voice much deeper, rougher, than you could have imagined. "just take it, darling, yeah?"

something in your mind screamed what do you want? at him in a voice dreary with fear, raspy with experience and expectation. what's the catch?

had you met him before? surely he couldn't be this sweet to you upon just seeing you, upon not even knowing your name. had you lent him notes in one of your classes, maybe spotted him a drink at a bar? you searched for an explanation that never came.

but at that point you probably would have done anything he asked, which you knew was not good. which you knew was very, very dangerous.

which was bad, but true, so you shouldered his jacket on, found it almost oppressive in warmth. "thank you," you told him, little more then a whisper, letting your voice trail off like a question.

"arber," he finished for you.

"arber," you repeated, knowing as soon as the name died on your tongue your mouth would feel empty, would long to form the word again.

he didn't walk back to his former place, either, instead electing to stay just next to you. just close enough to make you feel almost faint. one of your housemates wolf-whistled. you imagined the image looked fairly comical, a massive oak tree of a fireman with an 80's mullet and mustache combo next to a university pre-dentistry junior in pajamas, swimming in his coat.

but you couldn't think too much about that as you gave him your name, tried to keep your eyes trained on his face. a tough task, considering the way his arms looked unobstructed by his jacket.

everything about him was distracting. your heart was racing. how were you going to be able to get back to sleep after this?

"well, ladies, i hope you've learned your lesson," the chief said, appearing to finish a speech you had missed entirely.

"sure have, officer," your roommate said stoically.

"not an officer, miss," he corrected. the shake in his head was telling, made your housemates snicker.

"apologies, sir," she finished, giving him a salute.

"sorry you guys had to come all the way out here," one of your other housemates said.

"no trouble at all," arber said, his first time speaking to everyone. he was looking only at you. melting you like snow in the morning.

"until next time," your roommate said with a little bow, turning to go back into the house, now silent.

"there won't be a next time, sweetness," you amended, forcing your gaze away from arber. she waved you off.

reluctantly, you made to shrug off arber's jacket, hand it back to him as the other two firemen got back into their truck, your housemates walking back inside, leaving just the two of you.

"sure you don't need it?" he asked, the roughness in his voice somehow gentle. his words coming out in exactly the shape of the hole in your chest.

you gave a light laugh. "think i'll survive the trek back," you said, referring to the several steps between you and the front door. "thanks again, arber."

"my pleasure, darling," he said, and your cheeks flushed at the term. this brutal cold, you thought, making my face pink.

his lips quirked in a way that made your stomach flip. a way that made you so suddenly sure he knew exactly what effect he had on you. exactly how little the cold had to do with it.

"well," you said, your hands laced behind you, your voice taking on a melodic sort of cadence. "i guess i'll see you around, hm?"

"hope so," he hummed, something amusing in his tone. something careful. "sweet dreams, darling."

"good night, arber," you answered, dazed and blushy. like saying goodnight to an old friend, to a middle school boyfriend, to someone who knew you too personally to be real.

but somehow, it was saying goodbye to someone whom you had known for only moments.

the truck pulled away, you shut the front door behind you.

"should i just leave my iron on 24/7?" your roommate asked immediately, not giving you a moment to catch your breath. "maybe throw some rocks in the microwave?"

you rolled your eyes at her. "oh, please," you said.

"don't worry," she finished, an impish smile on her pretty, round face. "i'll wait until you're in the shower, next time."

you playfully slapped her arm as you made your way back into your room, not bothering to stifle both of your giggles.

you went to sleep that night with mirages of dark brown eyes and corded shoulders in your head. you swore you could smell smoke, could feel flame, could sense danger.

the feeling stayed with you, settled like ash in your bones. a heat, a skepticism, a want, a worry. you halfway hoped you would never see him again, because when had one person ever had such an effect on you? when had you let them?

you halfway hoped you would never see him again, but as soon as you did see him again, you knew that hope had been a complete and utter lie.

it was only a few days later, in the middle of your serving shift at the pub close to campus. only a wednesday, so nothing too busy, just a regular shift. your regular black uniform, long braid down your back with black ribbon, everything the same as always.

and then he was in a booth, practically taking up the whole bench, his deep laugh at something one of his friends had said making you dizzy.

surely it's not him, you thought as you took out your guest check pad, it couldn't be him. how could you have gone twenty one years without seeing him once, then see him twice in a week?

what trickster god was toying with you, now?

and then you were standing in front of his table, and it couldn't be him, but it was. of course it was.

but you didn't know if he would recognize you without your pajamas on, couldn't fathom that he could have dreamed of you with the vigor you had him, so you went on, business as usual.

"hi, guys," you said, your customer service voice ringing through the air like a bell. muscle memory had you placing napkin coasters down in front of each person. "can i get some drinks started for you?"

you took the orders of the others before finally locking eyes with arber. it wasn't any easier than you remembered. it wasn't any cooler, didn't feel any less like being engulfed in flame. "and for you?" you asked, hating how you couldn't just admit to recognizing him. hating how your mind preferred crafting protective plans to just being honest.

but he upended you, as you should have perhaps expected. his smirk was subtle. "am i that forgettable, darling?" he asked, like it was just the two of you.

the answer was so obvious you could have rolled your eyes, but you just cleared your throat and choked on a laugh, happy to have an excuse to show your delight. the insecurity in your head sighed in relief.

"arber!" you exclaimed, clicking your pen nervously, "thought that was you."

he nodded towards your general figure. "good to see you warm," he said with that rough voice you could feel in your chest like a bullet.

you hummed. "good to see you," you said, not bothering to add a condition.

something he noticed, something that made him smile, therefore something so, so worth the risk. your grin overtook your face all at once, toothy and real.

it appeared to shock him as much as you, his expression suddenly one of wonder, of awe.

you cleared your throat again, rediscovered the other people at the table, went to get everyone's drinks and then ran their food orders to the kitchen.

and you tried not to dwell on the way his hand looked around a glass, like it was kid's toy in a play kitchen, tried not to zone out on his lips as they formed words, not to blush whenever he looked at you.

you only laughed, mumbled a thank you when he joking said this was the best service he had ever had.

when he asked how you day had been, you had just blushed, muttered something affirmative, tried not to drop the glass you were holding, hated how anyone's attention, never mind a man's, could render you so helpless.

it was a whole lot of trying, a whole lot of awareness and controlling your own limbs, your own reactions like a marionette puppet. this way, you guided your arms, lined with plates of food. that way, you led your legs. these words, no, not those ones. no, no blushing, no not like that.

your marionette puppet appeared defective in many ways, many frustrating ways.

it was the slowest shift of your life. you felt oh so tired by the time arber's table asked for the check, felt oh so embarrassed by how hard you had been trying all night, hated how it was impossible for you to hide your effort.

it was all over you. it was in the slight sheen of sweat on your upper lip, in the strands of hair that had come free from your braid, in the way your voice shook when he spoke to you, the wobble in your knees when your eyes met.

you were trying so devastatingly hard, and you knew he could see, that everyone could see. was it terrible, was it so naive of you to hope maybe he wouldn't mind? that maybe the effort would flatter him instead of scare him away?

when you came to give back the card and receipt, his friends had gone. it was only him, taking up all that space in the booth.

he smiled when he saw you. it was soft. he was soft, this marble man.

you placed the check on the table. "there you are," you said, threading your empty hands together behind your back, part of you scared their idleness would lead to reaching for him. "thanks for coming," you added, then physically cringed.

thanks for coming? what, like this was some party you'd thrown?

he laughed, low and gentle, at your expression. of course, he was laughing at you. how could he not, with how you were acting? your head dropped like it was full of bricks as you flushed, as hot shame began to pull at the edges of your face.

but then you felt him take your chin in one of his large, rough hands, tilt your head back up high to meet his gaze. there was nothing but softness in his hands, in his eyes. no judgement, nothing of the sort.

his touch felt like drowning in flame, even in this small dosage, and you knew immediately it was too dangerously good. you swallowed.

when was the last time someone had touched you like this and you hadn't secretly wished they would only just leave you alone?

"thanks for inviting me," he said, playing along with your words so mercifully. "think maybe you'll have me again?"

you nodded, couldn't stop your shy smile. "maybe," you said, your voice a breath.

too soon, his hand was gone, leaving your face cold, lacking.

"can i tell you something?" you asked, quiet and hopeful.

"'course," he said, like he would never deny you such a request.

"i sort of feel like i've met you before," you said.

"i don't know," arber said thoughtfully, "think i'd remember someone like you."

your mouth ticked. "someone like me?"

he tilted his head, just looked at you for a moment, his gaze comfortable in its greed, its genuine appreciation. "why do you think we've met?"

you shook your head. "something about you," you said, trying to figure it out yourself. like i dreamed you up, you thought, are you real? are you sure?

his smile was subtle. "hope it's something good, eh? something like you?" too soon, he was signing his receipt, and then he was up, walking towards the door, to his waiting friends. "sweet dreams, darling," he said, like there was no one else in the pub, in this universe.

if he had told you as much, you would have believed him.

after a moment to catch your breath, you took the receipt from the table, found not only a generous tip but a phone number and a child-like scrawl that read coffee?

your head bowed in delight. when was the last time someone had asked you out? had not texted you deep into the night, at the time when the parties were ending and something much more terrifying was just beginning?

when was the last time you were nervous for a date, but the innocent kind of nervous?

you were that innocent kind of nervous when you approached the agreed-upon coffee shop several days later, at the middle of the day, between your classes.

there he was, standing in front of the cafe, hard to miss in stature and presence.

you had spent a scary amount of time deciding what to wear, eventually landing on what you wore everyday. you gave him a timid wave, were met with a confident wave back.

do i shake his hand? you thought. no, i've worn his jacket. maybe a high five?

your overthinking was quickly overwhelmed by the realization that he was pulling you in close for a hug.

you froze for a moment, your mind short-circuiting, your body uneasy, unused to such casual gentleness, ease.

your head against his chest, his arms all the way around you, you probably could have passed out. your mind mumbled something about cardiac arrest as you slowly hugged him back.

he smelled like the forest, like dull smoke and wooden fog.

"swear you get prettier every time i see you, darling," he said as you both pulled away, his eyes full of sweetness.

you had to close your eyes as you breathed out a laugh, already turning pink. "you sure know how to embarrass me," you said, teasing, trying to recover.

he held the door open for you as you both entered the cafe. "it's too tempting," he argued, smiling. "that blush you get..." he trailed off as if lost in his mind. sparks, smoke, flame, ash.

you knew the feeling.

he ordered some kind of sugar-bomb, practically a coffee milkshake, you ordered your usual flat white with soy milk.

and you were out of practice when it came to first dates, but it didn't seem to matter. he didn't seem to notice the pauses you took to think about your words, or if he did, he didn't say anything.

you learned that he was on the hockey team, that he was a volunteer fire-fighter for the school, about where he was from and his family.

he asked about your family, about your studies, about your job, what you did for fun.

and when you told him how much you loved your pre-dentistry classes, he made a joke and popped his fake tooth in and out, which made your laugh come so easy.

you told him how much you looked forward to seeing your sister, how funny your shift the day before had been, how much you loved your house's movie nights.

he asked about you, and it dawned on you that your last boyfriend had never truly asked you simple questions like that, and he certainly had never cared about the answers.

you had sudden flashbacks, you and your ex in bed, you asking him about his week, him giving you some dismissive response as if you had asked him if you could take out some of his teeth sans anesthesia.

how, towards the end, it had felt as if you were engaged in some kind of corrupt exchange, sex for tolerance of your curiosity, sex for tolerance of you.

the memory sent a shiver down your spine, a wave of shame. you could not go through that again. you refused to put yourself through that again.

through the relentless begging for something, for attention? no, begging to be treated like a person? like a girlfriend? begging for him to just be a little more gentle. yes, that's it. you had gone months feeling like nothing but a burdensome bag of stones he had reluctantly agreed to carry around, and you refused to feel that way again.

you just wanted gentle. you just wanted soft, and when arber waved a hand in front of your face to break you from your trance, you realized it might not be crazy to think you were close.

"you okay, darling?" he asked, concern lacing his expression. "lost you, hm?"

"'m okay," you said, shaking your head. "sorry, just thinking."

"'bout what?" he asked.

your heart jumped at the intimacy of being asked such. of someone wanting to know what was going on in your head.

so, you decided to be honest, to an extent. "'bout how 'm very happy to be here, with you," you said, looking him in the eye. feeling no desire to look away.

his face was so utterly pleased. he looked so beautiful then, the sun drenching the side of his face, lighting him up. "makin' me blush, now, darling," he said, and his tone made you swoon.

"sorry," you said, an instinct that made you want to smack yourself.

"don't apologize," he said immediately, "i know i'll get you back."

talking with him felt just so easy that you were again struck with a disbelief that you had only known him for a few days, had only spoken with him a couple of times. you felt like he was inside of your head, like he always had been. something you had never felt before, something that had you saying yes much too quickly when he asked if you wanted to come skating with him that weekend.

you had never skated before, but you were sure if he had asked you to watch paint dry, you would have said yes, because it would have been with him.

but the rational part of your brain was currently overwhelmed by fear, by insecurity, by the terror that you would lose this great thing before you had ever really had it.

"what was i thinking?" you said to your roommate as you struggled to find something to wear. "i have no idea how to skate! i'm going to look like an idiot!"

she waved you off. "you won't, you know you won't. deep breath."

you both took a breath together, tried to exhale some of your nerves.

the quiet that followed felt like another friend. you sighed, sat down on the edge of your bed, held your head in your hands.

"i can't keep thinking like this," you said to her and yourself. "i can't be so fucking scared all the time."

"c'mon, love," she said, sitting next to you and holding you tight. "what will feel better, do you think? coming home after avoiding rejection, walls intact?" she squeezed you. "or maybe coming home with another person to lean on?"

you both knew the answer. you wanted so badly to act accordingly, hoped your overactive mind would let you.

so, when you showed up at the rink, you made the ittiest-bittiest promise to yourself that you wouldn't let your fear get in the way.

if only you knew he would never have let you. that he could never be so easily scared.

he greeted you with a hug once again, and you held him tighter than you had the first time. "thanks for coming," he said, a spark of a shared inside joke in his eye.

"thanks for having me," you replied immediately, a mirroring smile on your face. "'m gonna be honest with you-"

"please do," he said immediately, and you could have melted.

"i have no idea how to skate," you rushed, "so i'm going to be very slow and probably fall and it's probably gonna get ugly."

he let you finish, an amused sort of smirk overtaking his mouth.

"what's so funny?" you asked, furrowing your brow.

"i think you're funny," he said, simply.

you scrunched up your face. "you makin' fun of me, arber?"

he laughed, then, low and rough and grumbly as he reached his hands around you and settled them on the small of your back. "oh, pretty baby, promise 'm not, yeah?"

you pouted, but rested your palms on his chest nonetheless.

his gaze cut through you. "don't expect you to be good at everything, okay? i'll help you," he explained. "just think it's funny you think anything you do could be ugly. imperfect isn't ugly."

"i'll prove you wrong," you said immediately, although you were flushed already, could feel yourself soften, your walls crumble just a bit.

his shoulders shook again. "promise you'll stick around long enough to?"

you had nothing to say to that. what could you ever say?

and then you were out on the ice, more off-balance than you had ever been, and not just because of the skates.

he held your gloved hands in his, tight but not restrictive, keeping his eyes on yours. you willed some of the steadiness in his gaze into your body, found stability in him and let it flow into you like water. he was basically pulling you, but you were moving, and you weren't falling, so you took it as a win.

"'atta girl," he said when you made a turn, soft, proud, and you could have laughed. surely he knew what he was doing, no?

your eyes darted up to his, found a lazy smirk, found your answer.

you shook your head, continued to push with your legs, gaining confidence, gaining balance. "turn off the dream boy for a second, would you?" his smirk deepened. "'m tryna focus, here."

"my fault, darling," he said, false apology saturating his voice as he suddenly dropped your hands. "by all means."

you stumbled forward into him immediately, your body unused to the ice without him to ground you.

you narrowed your eyes at him, looking up at his face, your palms against his chest, his arms around your waist. "not funny," you said, giving him a playful slap. "i could have broken something."

he shot you a look. "you honestly think i'd let that happen?"

your gaze dropped for a second. "no," you sighed. "no, i don't." a revelation in itself.

he pulled you closer, pressed his lips to your hair in a kiss that singed. so quick, you could have missed it. maybe you would have, if you hadn't been so unconditionally in tune to him, to everything he did, to every breath that shook his chest, to every quirk of his mouth and glint of his eye.

your heart sang at the affection you had been so lacking, had somehow missed even though you had never really had it.

so, of course it was a no-brainer when he asked you to come to his next home game.

"i'd really like if you were there," he said as he untied your skates for you, bent on one knee in front of you.

"then i'll be there," you said, flushed, because it was the easiest answer you had ever given. when he gave you that big smile in return, so genuine and goofy, you knew you would have a hard time saying no to anything he asked. just keep smiling at me, your mind begged him. that's all i ask.

the game came quickly, suddenly, after a busy week of shifts and school and everyday things. before you knew it, the day was here, and then you were in the stands, watching him skate like it was second nature, like it came easier than walking.

you had been able to tell at your rink date that he was steady on his feet, but this was different entirely. this was like seeing him at home, like watching him fall asleep.

and it beautiful, it was lovely, it was so intimate until two players started to fight and you realized one of them was him.

one of the people throwing punches that looked lethal, taking fists to the ribs, to the jaw, one of the people with a bleeding nose, a gashed lip, one of the people with blood running down his knuckles - that was your arber. your dream boy.

it wasn't, but it was you - you were the one throwing the right hook, you were the one doubled over, you were the one spitting out blood. you were equally the one punching and being punched. you had set the flame, you were burning.

was it terrible that you felt a little sick to your stomach? you clutched at the edge of your seat, exhaled a short breath, immediately decided you would rather leave than watch blood run down his face on the jumbotron.

as you left the arena, got into your car, drove back to your house, someone in your head was screaming at you, someone with a shrill, panicked voice was screamed scared, scared, scared, scared, scared and you didn't know how to get them to stop.

why are we running? you asked the voice in your head, what are we so afraid of?

what are you so afraid of?

because it wasn't him, you explained to your roommate at some later time, maybe the next day, after the desire to bathe in silence had been overcome by the desire to tell just about anyone.

you were not afraid of arber, knew there had never been anyone in the world more gentle with you. no, there had never been someone who had treasured your heart so truly, who had wanted to understand you to an almost scientific extent, who had dropped into your life like an asteroid and blown it apart just as similarly.

if not him, then what is there to fear?

what is there to fear, if not placing your beat-up heart in his bloodied hands? what is there to fear, if not the desire to press your lips to each of his cracked knuckles, the urge to know him to the point of no return, the want to feel his teeth on your neck, his fingers in your mouth?

sirens went off in your mind. scared, scared, scared.

scared of you, yourself, of offering yourself up to him, to being devastated by him. scared of being so completely vulnerable, of taking all your armor off, finally.

in the end, you were terrified of how scared seeing him hurt made you, because that meant you cared much more than you thought, perhaps much more than you had ever before.

how come no one told you that as much as being scared for yourself hurt, being scared for someone else, that was real fear, pure and undiluted.

a fear captivating enough that you decided to just not deal with it for days, to ignore his texts even though it hurt like a dagger to the chest.

he'll lose interest eventually, you thought, he'll leave me alone eventually. then, finally, i won't have to be scared.

so why did that admission feel like being burned at the stake? why was some small part of you screaming at you to stop?

regardless, you held fast for three days.

and then your roommate put rocks in the microwave.

so you and your housemates stood in the front yard, the air deja-vu-inspiringly cold, the situation almost exactly the same as that first night.

"what's wrong with you?" you whispered-yelled at her. "how do you accidentally almost blow up our house?"

she waved you off, pouted for a moment. "you know how forgetful i get."

"yeah, i don't know if forgetful is the adequate descriptor here," one of the other girls said. "i have a few more specific words in mind."

"oh, come on," you roommate said to the group as the fire truck siren began to yet again overwhelm the smoke alarm. "god forbid a girl make a mistake around here."

you didn't hear the rest of the bickering, too busy sending up a silent prayer, begging some god, any god to listen. please, don't be him. please, if there is anything good in this world, it won't be him.

but, of course, as soon as you saw the massive figure climb down from the truck, you paled.

there might not be anything good, some voice told you then, but perhaps there is something right.

"long time no see, ladies," the same older fireman said, and that was the last thing you heard. the last thing that any of your senses consumed before all of them were so brutally and totally overwhelmed by arber.

because what was he, if not overwhelming? especially now, after having deprived yourself of him for days? how had you managed that?

seeing him here, in front of you, you had no idea.

because he was here, in front of you, this beautiful oaken man, and his hair was messy under his helmet, and his face was flushed from the cold, and his five-o'clock shadow made his jaw sharper, and you could feel his warmth from here.

because he was here, walking to you, right in front of you, dropping his giant jacket onto your shoulders silently, somehow, somehow he was still that kind, and then he was whispering to you.

"alive, are you?" he murmured, as if he almost couldn't believe it.

and you felt so selfish then, the guilt growing like poison ivy in your veins, up your throat, until you couldn't open your mouth for fear that only three-pronged leaves would come out.

you looked up at him, met his eyes, found them burning but unreadable.

a pause that felt infinite deflated as you struggled for words. "listen, arber-"

but he shook his head, almost looked sorry. "don't think i will, darling," he whispered, the name making your stomach sink. someone screamed in your head. "don't care much for hearing why 'm not worth a phone call."

you were shaking your head before he even finished. "no, no, arber, please, that's not it-" your voice was so close to cracking, splitting apart like brittle wood.

"what is it, then?" he said, and you noticed a quiver in his voice too, a warning, "because i've been trying to come up with something for days, and every option i've got hurts."

oh, good god, you had made him hurt? that alone was dizzying.

dizzying and so, so sobering, enough for you to mutter something aloud about arber helping you turn the smoke alarms off, pull him into your house, up into your room.

you barely noticed the alarms subsiding, him hitting all of the necessary buttons wordlessly on his way up the stairs.

and then he was in your room, and you two were alone, and he was sitting on the edge of your bed, taking his helmet and boots off, crossing his arms across his chest.

"by all means," he prompted. "tell me i'm crazy, darling, please, please tell me i've got something wrong."

you took a breath, set the marionette puppets strings down, finally. there was no leading your limbs anywhere, no running words over one million time in your head until you had the right ones.

it was finally time to set aside the fear, to unfurl your forever clenched fists.

your exhale was liberating as you approached him, not touching him, not yet, but close enough so that you could see his eyes, so that he could see the revelation in yours.

"you're not crazy," you said, the softness in your voice surprising you. "i've been trying so, so hard to make you think i don't care."

he scoffed, ran a hand through his messy hair, mercifully waited for you to finish.

"and i'm so, so sorry that i didn't call, and that i left during your game, and that i treated you like you were anything but special, arber."

he looked up at you then, and you saw a soft spark of hope in his eyes that spurred you on.

it was silent for a beat, and then he reached for your hand, held it in his grip, warm and consuming.

"i thought i scared you away," he said, vulnerable, completely honest.

you squeezed his hand, stepped closer, cupped his jaw in your other palm. "i was afraid," you admitted, and that alone felt like salvation. "but not of you." you swiped at his cheekbone with your thumb. "never of you."

with a single swift motion he tugged you onto his lap, both of his hand on your hips. there might not be anything good, that voice whispered like a gossipy teen, but perhaps there is something right. perhaps this is it.

"tell me," he said, not an order but a request.

you would have told him anything, then, as you reached up to loop one arm around his neck, use the other hand to twist one of his curls around your finger. "i hated seeing you hurt," you confessed, moving your fingers down to trace lightly over the greenish bruise next to his eye, the healing gash on his lip. "you give me so much more to lose, baby."

he was silent, still, so close you could feel his shaky exhales on your hand. you willed yourself to finish your thoughts, refused to leave him anything but completely certain, even if it was hard to focus with him under you, against you, all around you. even under the exceptional spotlight of his undivided attention.

"i was lying when i acted like i didn't want you," you said, your tone every bit as ultimate as you felt. "and i understand if you don't forgive me, and i won't hold it against you, but i promise i won't lie to you again, okay?"

you held his face like it was made of glass. his grip on your hips tightened, eyes bursting further into flame.

"let me convince you," you pleaded, willing every genuine thing from your bones into your words. "you have to believe me, baby, i care so, so much. a scary amount."

and something in you sighed, swooned, when you saw that amusement you had missed creep back into his gaze like a fog on the ocean.

his thumbs rubbed circles into the flesh of your hips as you relaxed further into him. "scary, hm?"

you nodded, peered up at him through your lashes.

"how about this, darling?" he offered, voice a tired rasp. "i'll believe you if you do one thing for me, yeah?"

"anything," you said, meaning it more completely than anything before.

the glint in his eye was dangerous as his grip turned firmer. he gave a hum of approval. "tell me something true."

after trying just so deliriously, terrifyingly hard for so long, nothing had ever come easier. with him, now, the truth was easy as breathing. "i want you," you breathed, running your nails lightly down his neck, relishing in his stifled groan. "so, so bad, arber. need you, please." your chest rose and fell in a hurried breath. had you ever been so free of fear? so buoyant with hope, with courage?

he hoisted you up on his lap, pulled you against his chest until it felt as if there was barely enough air to share between the two of you. "good girl," he said, a rough, low, rasp, and he caught your whimper in his teeth as your lips met his.

his kiss felt like molten iron, like forest fire smoke, like initials carved into a heart on an ancient oak tree. he felt like sun on your face and like drowning, drowning, drowning, this kind of torture one you would happily submit to over and over again.

you tangled your hands in his hair as he groaned into your mouth, pulling you up on his lap until you could feel him, so big and hard under you that you let out a gasp.

he smiled against your lips at your reaction, and you knew there would never be anything so glutted with bliss.

you kissed him harder, with the urgency of a thousand missed chances as he rocked you back and forth across his lap, slipping his hands under the waistband of your sleep shorts, his hands now scorching your bare skin.

"look so good in my jacket, darling," he rasped, "let me take it off, hm? want to see you."

you shrugged it off in obedience, placed both your hands on his chest and looked him in the eye, pleading.

one of his hands brushed your hair away from your face, gentle, soft, as you had always known him to be. he dragged his thumb down to your swollen lip, let it rest there for a moment.

"'f you want something, just ask," he grumbled, transfixed by your mouth. "know i'll give you anything you want 'f you ask for it, darling."

you pulled at his shirt, willed any oncoming flush or fear away. "please can i suck you off, arber?"

his smirk was devastating, delicious. "pretty baby wants me in her mouth?"

you nodded, a shy smile gracing your lips.

"course you can, darling, askin' so pretty for me, too."

you glowed at his praise, sunk down to your knees, admired him as he pulled away at his layers of clothes until finally you could reach for him, hold him in your hand, hot and heavy and just so big, so much so that you couldn't help your eyes widening, your mouth watering.

he groaned at your touch, tilted his head back and scrunched his eyes shut at the sensation of your soft palms on his cock.

you hid your grin, spit into your hands and pumped him up and down a few times before taking him in your mouth, making him moan, almost growl as he gathered all of your hair, wrapped it around his fist, the other hand bracing him against your bed.

"fuck, darling," he rasped, watching you bob your head up and down, "feels so good, so good for me, hm?"

you would have nodded, but instead you were overcome with a desire to take more of him, as much as you could. so you sunk your head down further, until your eyes watered, until air came in short spurts, until you gagged, felt him grow impossibly harder in your mouth.

he gripped your hair tighter, making you moan on his cock. "oh, darling, you want more, hm?"

you hummed, looked up at him through watery lashes, reddening eyes.

"want to take it all, do you?" he asked, "just want me to feel good, is that it?"

you moaned in affirmation, sunk your head down on him again, as far as you could go, relished in his groan, the way his thighs tensed, the way his forearms flexed.

already, your jaw was growing stiff, your shoulders strained, your knees warm from the carpet. too soon, though, he was pulling you up off of him, up from your knees back on top of him, wiping the spit from the sides of your mouth with his thumb, pressing a gentle kiss to your tired lips.

you pouted, wanting more still, and his shoulders shook in a low laugh. "not done, darling?"

you shook your head, ran your nails across his shoulders, down to his biceps, loved the way you could feel shivers erupt under your fingertips.

"i'll give it to you if you ask," he reminded you, simply, because of course it was that simple, that gentle.

you pressed your lips to his chest, his neck, his jaw, bit down softly on his collarbone. "please fuck me," you begged against his skin, "been wanting it forever, arber, need you to fuck me, need you to stretch me out."

in a moment he flipped you so that your hips were angled up to him, your chest against your bed, your cheek to your sheets.

"been waiting, have you, darling?"

you whined, nodded.

"no more waiting," he said, running his fingers through your folds, already so wet, "promise, no more waiting, pretty baby, okay?"

"please," you mustered, the end of the word becoming strangled as he began to push into you. it was altogether too much - every possible voice inside of you screaming too much and not enough in some cacophonous harmony.

his groan was raw, full of relief, release, confirmation. he held onto your hip tightly with one hand, the other wrapping around your stomach to keep you grounded, keep you here as you felt like you were floating away.

the pressure was dizzying, staggering, enough that your breathing was choked, your mind completely clouded, your already watery eyes just barely holding back tears.

you reached a hand back to grasp at his forearm as he pushed further, almost all the way inside of you. you whimpered as the stretch reached a peak, as he stilled, making the stray, warm tears finally fall down your cheeks, hang on your jaw before collecting on the sheets under you.

"so pretty when you cry, darling," he breathed, tight and short as you adjusted to him, and he to you.

"please, arber, just move, hm?" you pleaded. "need it, please."

his embrace around your middle tightened as he began to move in and out of you at an agonizingly slow pace, almost undetectable.

"so whiny, hm?" he bit out. "pretty baby knows what she wants?"

you nodded feverishly. "just give it to me, baby, please, just let me take it."

"don't know if you can," he said, and you pouted. "don't want to hurt you, hm?"

you clutched at his forearm, began to fuck back onto him, determined to get the motion and pace you needed so desperately.

"want it to hurt, arber, please, please give me all of it," you spoke with all of the greed of a sinner seeking salvation. "need all of it."

he abandoned any qualms about hurting you, immediately adopting a brutal pace, so hard and deep you swore your teeth began to chatter. you bit out a choked moan, grabbed at your sheets with your fist, scrunched your eyes shut at the pressure building inside of you.

his grunts grew rhythmic in time with his thrusts. "feel so good, know that, darling?" he rasped. "being so fuckin' perfect for me."

you hummed in response, gasped when he ran a hand across your clit, making you clench tighter around him.

he cursed at the sensation, continued to tease you as he thrusted deeper.

"like that," you breathed, growing dangerously close, "fuck, just like that baby, right there."

"gonna make me cum, darling," he warned, pressing his palm flat against your clit, the friction maddening. "feel too good."

"please cum for me, baby," you begged, your voice raw, "need it so bad, arber, need all of you." you moaned. "fuck, give me all of it."

he groaned as he came, triggering your own orgasm, an overwhelming wave of pleasure that consumed you utterly and entirely. you felt him collapse on top of you, barely registered him pulling you into his side as you both caught your breath in comfortable silence.

moments passed slowly, thick like aged honey, fragrant, sweet.

he lazily traced his thumb across your cheekbone, down your jaw, your collarbone. eventually, you looked up at him, found his eyes full of something homely.

you thought briefly about how you looked in that moment, what he was seeing - spit on your face, skin probably splotchy and red in places from wear, hair fussed and skin sparkling with sweat.

notably, though, the thought evoked no fear, not even for a moment. because you were beautiful like this, like always.

you exhaled a breath, soft, gentle, and buried some ancient curse with it.

the silence was blissful. eventually you heard loud footsteps on the wooden hallway steps, eye widening as you realized there were other people that lived in this house, in this room.

you pressed a hand to his chest to prepare him. "sweetness!" you called out. "do not come in here!"

"why?" came your roommate's voice through the door. "is there a fire?"

you exchanged a look with arber.

"kidding!" she added, her voice growing more distant. "i'll be in the kitchen. big guy, chief left without you!"

your shoulders shook in a pleased, peaceful laugh. he smiled at you, then, a warm, soft smile with teeth, and what was there left to do but smile right back? "what'm i supposed to do, darling?" he asked.

you got up, slowly, reluctantly, tied your robe from the bathroom around yourself, handed him his clothes. "c'mon," you said, "i'll show you the kitchen."

he leaned forward, pressed a soft kiss to your lips before tugging on his clothes, grabbing his helmet.

i'll show you everything went unsaid by you, but not misunderstood by him.

he held your bedroom door open, holding your gaze with a goofy grin. "after you," he rasped.

you bowed past him and wordlessly told the picture frames in the hallway to behave, we have guests.

fin.

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angelwithdemonictendencies · 8 months

Text

i wear my shame like tar in a vacant town square, spitting out feathers like blood; you touch my hand and ask if i'm ready to go home.

cc22 x reader: the two of you never go out of style (ft. best friend ax72).

(warnings: longest story yet (12.5k, get comfortable), obviously blasphemous filth (i'm getting back in the swing of it, i think), unprotected penetrative sex (m on f), oral sex (f on m), choking and hair pulling and oral fixation and all of my usual nonsense (this one is a little touchy, don't ask me why), bodily fluids (you guys know the drill), depiction of self-doubt and burnout and failure and general unhappiness (you always get a happy ending, though! because you deserve a happy ending), don’t read if you’re not 100% sure.) gif is not mine.)

(a/n: favorites! this story poured out of me over the course of the last couple of weeks, all thanks to one of my friends who showed me a picture of cc22 on pinterest (thank you, country music festival season. you will be missed). and here we are! with many creative liberties taken, you have yourself a story with my typical mythical and religious imagery, way too much description, dialogue that no one would say, and plot holes the size of canyons. but you guys keep indulging me anyways, and i love you and thank you for that. you're a stylist in this one! (something fun and different, i think). as for takeways - too often we get caught up in what we think we should have accomplished by now, what we think others expect from us, how terribly we must be letting them down. deep breath and let it go, favorites. all you can do is show up, over and over again. that will always be enough. you will always be enough. enjoy this piece of my heart until inspiration next strikes and please tell me what you think. go canucks (under el capitano hughes, even! that c on his jersey stands for chokes out his girl). my snakes say hi to your snakes. love and gentleness and strength to you, always always always.)

the first car ride to your new client's house was stressful, to say the least. and that wasn't even with arber's haphazard driving style taken into account.

"jesus," you bit out from the passenger seat, "i'd prefer to be alive for this meeting, bear."

"relax," he said, taking a right. you didn't have to be looking at him to know he was fighting the urge to roll his eyes. "and stop with the fidgeting. this isn't an interview. you're already hired."

you dropped your hands to your sides, stopped twisting your rings around your fingers as he had requested.

you exhaled a deep breath. he was right, after all. you already had the job. that honestly wasn't what you were worried about. you were worried about styling someone who wasn't arber. that was entirely new territory.

after all, you had known arber practically your entire life. he had been your best friend, your first boyfriend, then your best friend again. he was the number one person in your life, the person you felt most comfortable with.

you had been the first person he hugged after his family when he signed with the habs, the person who he called to pick him up after a night out, the one who he asked for help when he was texting a new girl.

so, when he had asked you to be his full-time stylist, you had dropped everything, said yes immediately.

to be fair, though, you hadn't had to drop much. you knew he had asked you partially to be kind, as the offer came during the worst period of your life. freshly dropped out of school, cheated on and broken up with, without a purpose or direction in sight, arber had been the one to extend a hand, offer you a new dream like it was nothing but a jacket in the cold.

and it was your dream, genuinely. you had been studying at school to be a fashion journalist, aspiring to work in new york one day, have an office in a skyscraper, read your pieces in the print of a glossy magazine.

but things change. things fall apart. and things get glued back together again like china teacups.

you were so, so grateful, though. you loved your job. you loved bringing out the best in arber, you loved discovering new sides of the fashion industry, you loved the travel and the events and the fact that your best friend was your employer.

sometimes though, you couldn't help but feel like you were missing something, like your heavenly wings had been sawed off, leaving only dissipated potential and thick blood running down your back. and the weight. oh, how you felt the weight of your wings even though they were gone, stolen.

you felt the weight now, as arber pulled you both into the driveway, parked, turned to you. "deep breath, okay?"

you obeyed, your exhale coming out a little shaky. he put a warm hand on your shoulder, squeezed. "ready to expand your business?"

you gave him a smile, a genuine one. he had always referred to this whole agreement as your business, even though it was entirely his idea.

you nodded, to which he smiled. you both got out of the car and walked to the door. arber rang the doorbell as you straightened out the legs of your pants, even though you had pressed them this morning.

not a big deal, you thought to yourself. just adding another client. just adding another client, that's all, nothing serious.

you knew you were wrong as soon as the door opened.

your new client stood in the doorframe, much shorter than arber and maybe an inch taller than you. he looked like the human embodiment of stability, in all senses of the word. he was broad, so strong looking, you knew it must be impossible to knock him over. but his kind eyes, his warm energy, he just looked so stable. so happy, so secure.

and his smile. what other way was there to take that smile, if not serious as death?

you blinked. arber slapped you on the back, made you cough. had someone been talking?

"this is cole," arber said, shooting you a look that said dial in. he gave cole your name.

you cleared your throat and extended your hand, smiled softly. "pleasure to meet you, cole," you said. "'m excited to start working with you."

you were hit, then, with the full force of his gaze, the entirety of his gorgeous smile. "'d bet you i'm more excited, love," he said, so laidback, enveloping your outstretched hand in his, giving you a first shake.

"easy," arber warned his teammate with a look, referring to the obviously flirtatious tone cole had adopted. cole just smiled.

his palm was rough with wear, with work, and warm with promise. your hand felt heavy in his. you felt like your body might let out a comical sigh of relief at the perfect easiness of his touch.

at that realization, you dropped your hand, brushed your palm on your jeans. you didn't see his eyes follow the movement, nor did you see his jaw work for only a moment.

"i'll leave you to it, then," arber said, clapping his hand in cole's in goodbye. he had told you he would introduce you, but you knew he had things to do, and now the actual work had to begin. your work. surely, you could expand your circle, just a bit, right? make some room?

"thanks again for sharing," cole said to your best friend.

"be good to each other," arber warned like a chastising parent, moving a pointed finger between the two of you.

"if you're anything like wifi," cole said to you, "don't think that'll be hard."

arber shook his head. "oh, she's much better than me," he said, and you knew he believed it, which made you feel those phantom scars on your back. not even close, you thought.

you rolled your eyes, his antics bringing a smile out of you regardless. "sure," you said. "i'll see you tomorrow, bear."

the corner of cole's full mouth ticked up at your nickname for his teammate. he stepped back and held open the door to his house. "after you, love," he said, gentle as anything.

you bowed your head slightly in thanks, partially to hide the flush that now bloomed on your cheeks at the prospect of being alone with cole.

"i hope arber told you that you can trust me, and stuff," cole said, rubbing the back of his neck as you both walked through the entryway. "i know this is kind of out of the blue, and all that, but apparently, i really need your help, so-"

you bit back a grin. "apparently?"

he tilted his head, sucked on his teeth, gave you a guilty sort of smile. "alright," he started, "i didn't think i needed any help in the fashion department." he pulled out a stool at his kitchen countertop for you before walking around to the fridge, beginning to pour two glasses of water.

"did you?" you asked to his back as he faced away. his back that rippled under his t-shirt. which you definitely didn't notice.

there was a goofy, fake accusative look on his face as he turned back to you, placing one water in front of you. "what are you implying?"

you reached across the counter to grab two coasters and set them in front of you both, thanking him. "nothing," you teased, "except that i've seen your instagram, and maybe that my presence here wouldn't be the worst thing in the world."

he squinted for a moment, maybe confused, as he leaned forward, resting his forearms on the counter. "well, we agree on that, then," he replied.

a pause that felt like caramel settled between you two for a moment as you held each other's gazes. his, comfortable, and yours, curious.

you cleared your throat, brought up a hand to rub at your shoulder. "so, apart from thinking you don't need a stylist, what else do i need to know?"

"i don't know," he started. his forearms flexed, making the veins in his arms more prominent. "i like hats on gamedays?"

a grin broke across your face like sunlight. you let out a laugh. "yeah?"

"what?" he asked, fake offended again, but his smile was nothing but so utterly pleased.

you shook your head, crossed one leg over the other. "nothing," you said. "just don't know why the clients i attract are dead set on hats, of all things." you were thinking of all the times arber had insisted on a hat, even though you thought his hair had looked just perfect for the camera.

"how did you and wifi meet?" cole asked easily, perhaps also thinking about arber and his colorful hat collection. "or bear, right? that's what you call him?"

you blushed, nodded slightly.

"only if you're comfortable," he clarified, and it surprised you that you actually were. sitting here, in this stranger's house, you felt normal.

"we've known each other since grade school," you began, clasping your hands. "he's my best friend."

"you don't come to the games," cole said, nothing more than an observation.

you shook your head. "not a hockey fan," you admitted.

he tilted his head. "maybe you just haven't been watching the right player, love."

you rolled your eyes at his obvious arrogance. "okay, big guy."

he took a sip of water. "so you guys have always been friends?"

"we dated for about a year in high school," you said, leaning on your clasped hands. "my first boyfriend."

something interesting sparked in his gaze. something you noted. "and?"

you narrowed your eyes. "and some people aren't meant to be dating. arber and i are meant to be friends. why?"

just a bit of a blush crept across his nose. "no reason. how did you get into styling?"

you rubbed at your shoulder blades again. "arber offered me the job." you swallowed, omitted the rest of the story. you were comfortable, but not that comfortable. "he's the first and only person i've styled, up until now. until you."

meaning flooded his eyes. "i'm honored, then."

don't be, you thought, i'm not worthy of something like your honor.

"thanks for making some room for me," he finished, giving you another smile that had your heart feel like it was bubbling.

"if you didn't want a stylist," you asked, trying to slow down your heartbeat. "why am i here?"

"i was catching too much heat from the guys," he confessed, honest and unserious. "and wifi said he could hook me up. said you were the best of the best."

you closed your eyes and gave the slightest shake of your head as you smiled. of course he would say that.

"so, how do you usually start out?" he asked.

you thought to yourself for a minute. you didn't really know. "when i started with arber, i already knew everything about him," you said. "and i don't know anything about you, cole."

"except," he clarified, "that i like hats."

"yes, except that." you let out a low laugh. what must life be like, to take everything so lightly?

"what do you want to know?" he asked, running a hand through his soft-looking hair.

"style is about showing everyone a little more you," you explained. "what do you want people to see when they look at you?"

he scrunched his mouth to the side in thought. "i don't really care what people see." his emphasis told you that he cared about specific people, not people as a collective. what would it be like to be a part of those select few?

you took a breath. what it must be like. "okay. who are you dressing for?"

he appeared confused again, and he wore the expression like a child. "what do you mean?"

you could never be anything but patient with him. what would disappointment look like on him? you shuddered at the thought.

"you mentioned the guys in the locker room. are they your audience? or maybe the girls on social media?" he blinked. "who do you want to look good for?"

"how does arber answer this question?" cole asked.

you pressed your index finger to your lips playfully. "client confidentiality," you explained.

"i want to look good for me," he said. "i play better when i know i look good before the game."

you nodded, making a note of that. "good." his gaze softened into something lovely.

"but i wouldn't be mad if your help meant i get some more edits made of me."

a laugh burst free from your chest, organic and loud. it seemed to echo across the high ceilings, and it echoed in cole's head. "got it. show me your closet?"

you made to get up as he pushed off of the counter, his arms and chest flexing as he did so. you willed your flush to dull, not wanting to give yourself away or make him uncomfortable, although that seemed impossible.

"take me out to dinner first," he joked, making you roll your eyes as he led you to the master bedroom, then to his massive closet. he held the door open for you again.

"do we have enough hats?" you asked sarcastically, your eyes immediately drawn to his excessive collection.

"okay, lay off," he said, grinning, leaning against the doorframe. "they aren't going anywhere."

you panned through his button-downs, his trousers, his ties, overall pretty impressed. "lots of color," you observed. "especially in your accent pieces."

"i like to be a little different," he admitted.

you were glad you weren't looking at him head on. as if his presence wouldn't make him stick out in any crowd, no matter the size.

"you have a lot of nice pieces here," you complimented, finally.

he looked at you with such hope, you melted. "really, love?"

the name made you flutter off the ground, like you had wings again. like they had never been severed off with a rusted blade.

you nodded, met his gaze, decided you could probably live there, drowning in his attention. "yeah, cole. i'm excited to help the world see a little more of you." lucky world.

i'm excited to see more of you, you wanted to say.

something warm swirled in the air around the two of you. "thank you again for taking me on," he said. "you didn't have to, and i'm really happy you're here."

you could have sighed at those words. when was the last time someone had told you that, so explicitly?

you bit your lip. "okay, so wednesday? we can do measurements?" you said, hoping he didn't notice your breathlessness.

"perfect," he agreed.

so, on wednesday, you were back at cole's house, this time with all of your supplies, ready to begin what you hoped would be a wonderful partnership. and you were sure it would be, if only you could stop getting so distracted by your client.

and he was ever so distracting, now, having obviously just showered, flushed from steam, hair damp and dark, his eyes a drowsy and delicious sort of comfortable.

"you came back," he said as you stepped inside past him, past what you could assume was the smell of his shampoo - something fresh and almost floral.

you clutched your clipboard to your chest, looked at him curiously. "of course i did," you said. this was your job, after all. you were dedicated to your business, your craft. to your people. and cole was technically part of that circle now.

he put his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants, shrugged. "just happy you're back, 's all."

you bowed your head to hide how much his words meant to you. how could he say things like that? things that meant everything to you, but he said them like they were the easiest thing in the world? like they were just an exhale?

"how was practice?" you asked softly as the two of you walked side by side to his closet. you knew it had been exhausting, at least from arber's curse-filled rambling that had blown up your phone the second his ice time ended. you had empathized with him, but mostly just reminded him to chug some gatorade and suck it up, he was a professional athlete.

the thought of telling cole caufield to suck it up almost made you sick to your stomach.

he blew out a breath. "tough, today," he said. "i won't bore you, though. know you're not a hockey fan." he said the last part with a joking sort of bite.

i want to know, you wanted to say. i want to know about you.

but you didn't want to scare him off, or come across as weird, so you didn't say anything.

"what's your plan for today?" he asked.

right. you had a plan. you put your clipboard between your side and your arm, pulled out your tape measure. "measurements," you said with a smile, almost shyly.

now that you thought about it, taking someone's measurements was an intimate act in itself. standing here, in front of him, you realized how dangerous this was.

was there anything more tense? than to know the width of one's thigh, having never seen it bare? to deeply understand the curve of one's neck, but through numbers, never touch?

"where do you need me?" he asked, and you wondered briefly if he registered why his words made you jittery.

one look at his ghost of a smirk and you had your answer. you cleared your throat. you put a pen behind your ear, tape measure and clipboard in your hands, held your arms up in a t. "like this," you said, and he mirrored you.

you took a breath before closing the space between you, beginning to measure the distance from the center of his chest to his fingertips.

did the silence weigh as heavily on him as it did you? like kindling, one spark away from a wildfire?

you recorded the number on your paper.

"what did you do today?" cole asked you gently, as if not to spook you. you wrapped the measure around his bicep as you thought to yourself.

"not much," you said, thinking about your slow morning, which you had spent drafting something like an article, exploring recent trends among male athletes. something no one would ever read, you were sure.

you were almost embarrassed at your inability to talk to him - keeping everything short, so short, as if keeping distance from a rabid animal.

he didn't seem to notice. "what did you have for lunch, then?"

a small smile began to pull at your mouth. "a grilled cheese."

he tilted his head back and let out something like a moan, something that had you bowing your head to hide your face.

something that made the air scream.

"that sounds amazing," he said as you bent down, held the measure at his feet and began to work it all up to his knee.

"yeah?" you replied, happy to not have to look at him, to have something to do with your hands. "maybe i'll make you one sometime."

there was a pause. "would you?" he asked, voice slow.

you scrunched up your face, met his gaze for only a second before turning back to your task. "yes," you said simply before pulling the measure up to his waist.

the number made your shoulder shake in a rumble of laugh.

"what?" you could hear the glow of a smile in his voice, bouncy and bubbly.

you shook your head. "nothing," you tried. "'m just used to different measurements."

"are you?" he asked. "don't tell me you're thinking about another man right now, love. it'd shatter my heart."

you laughed for real, at that. "it's just that arber is so tall, barely proportionate," you explained, writing on your clipboard again. "and you're-" you faded out, at a loss for words.

how could you even describe him?

"not six four?" cole offered, not even close to offended. almost cocky about it, somehow. he ran his tongue along the edges of his teeth, gave you a grin.

you shook your head. "not six four," you agreed. you twirled your finger in the air, motioning for him to turn around, his arms still in a t.

you now faced his back, became closely acquainted with the damp curls at the nape of his neck, with the practically pornographic indents in his shirt that marked his triceps.

"tall enough, though," he said into the air in front of him, snapping you out of your trace, cockiness oozing from his voice like blueberry syrup. "don't you think, love?"

you thanked every star there had ever been that he couldn't see you.

what could you say, here? what would be the normal thing to say?

"i think so, cole," you squeaked, trying not to let the smell of him so close make you dizzy. if you looked at his face, what would you see? what part of you would that heal?

you held the measure at one end of his full wingspan, pulled it all the way to his other outstretched hand. your fingertips just barely grazed the backs of his hands, only just a brush, and yet it felt like some private secret, like a stolen touch in an ancient ballroom.

you longed to run your hands across the planes of his shoulder blades, check for the wings you were sure you would find.

this golden boy would never have the ugly, jagged scars that you felt marred your own back. no, his wings would be bright and proud and every bit the wonder that he was. this beautiful angel boy would never know the grief and theft that you understood so personally.

"alive back there?" he said, a roughness to his voice that made you shiver.

you nodded although he wouldn't see it, finished your last measurements, cleared your throat, tapped the top of his spine once in finality.

he turned to you. face to face, his smile was so brutal you could have flinched.

"all done, love?" he asked, little more than a whisper. you couldn't stop your gaze from slipping to his mouth, if only for a second, maybe lingering on his full lips before snapping back to his shimmery eyes.

"all done," you repeated, low and heavy. "you should probably do your inseam." you forced a lightness into your tone to dissolve the tension you felt pressed between the two of you. "and don't embellish."

his smirk was nothing like the boys you'd had in the past. there was no trace of cruelty, only a cocky sort of satisfaction. a knowing. "i'd never lie to a pretty girl like you," he rasped. "and besides," he added. "embellishment's not necessary."

you bit back a nervous laugh, tried not to let your mind wander, tried not to wince at the word pretty in his voice ricocheting against your head.

then he was handing you back your tape measure, giving you a number with that smirk on his face.

and then the cockiness was gone, replaced by something soft.

his head tilted ever so slightly as he leaned forward, just an inch, angled his face to your neck before retreating back to meet your gaze again.

your face felt hot, your feet like someone had poured cement over the tops of your shoes.

"you smell nice," was all he said, ever the gentle observation.

you blinked at him, rubbed at your shoulder blades unconsciously. "thank you," you breathed.

all of a sudden he was glowing much too bright, like staring into the midday sun, just this mass of potential, so much potential without even a smidge of doubt.

this potential, his potential, there was no doubt that it would be realized, exceeded even. no doubt at all. beautiful golden angel boy. his wings were too much to bear, just now.

you mumbled an excuse to leave, rushed to gather your things, ignored the confused scrunch of his brow, nodded affirmation about your shopping appointment tomorrow, hurried out the door with a shy goodbye. so rushed, so shy, you missed the way longing invaded his gaze as he opened his front door for you, watched you get into your car and drive away.

you hated the way slow, burning tears ran down your cheeks as you drove, the kind that hang at your jaw and feel like they must leave some kind of mark behind - some kind of ugly scalded scar.

and you weren't mad at him, that would be impossible. you weren't even jealous. you had known for years that you would never get your wings back, and it wouldn't even be the same if you did. to sew them back in would be so painful, so traumatic. so no, you weren't jealous.

it hurt, then, it hurt so terribly to want someone so, so different, someone so much better. you felt as if you would never deserve to bask in the glow of his attention, to hear what his voice sounded like when it was drenched in syrupy sleep, to know what his perfect mouth would feel like on your collarbone.

you went to sleep with a phantom ache. you went to sleep sad.

the next morning was better.

you were at arber's, laying out a couple of options for him to wear to a casual sponsorship event he was attending later.

after your usual catching up while you sorted through some of his shirts, his voice adopted an airy sort of inquiry.

"so," he began, sitting and leaning back against the wall, his elbows resting on his knees. "how's coley? 's he being nice to you?"

you scrunched up your face, laying one shirt down on top of some dark brown trousers. "'course he's being nice to me," you said. "don't think he's got a mean bone in his body."

"alright," arber relented. "you bein' nice to him, then?"

"yeah." you met his eyes, couldn't shake the worry in your tone. "why? did he say something 'bout me being mean?"

you knew the smugness on arber's face all too well. a set up. it made you roll your eyes, throw a balled up t-shirt at him.

he laughed. "i knew it," he said. "since day one. since before day one, actually."

"shut up, bear," you grumbled.

"i'm just excited for you," he defended, still in that teasing tone. "been a while since you've had a crush, eh?"

in reality, you hadn't really had a crush since your fall from grace. since that demon from your past had left you like you were nothing, like you were a pointless chore.

you grabbed a couple pairs of sneakers. "whatever," you said, tried not to sound defeated.

"what does that mean?"

"crushes are meaningless," you said.

"crushes are fun," arber corrected you.

you scoffed. "it's basically painful for me to be around him."

"fuck." arber threw a sock at you. "so you really like him, then." he shrugged to himself. "i called it."

"how could you have possibly called this?" you asked, genuinely, holding a baseball cap next to a sneaker to see if the shades of navy matched. "cole is, like, the opposite of my usual type."

arber laughed again. "and what good has your usual type ever done you?"

you rolled your eyes, despite that fact being absurdly true. "you know you count as part of that demographic, right?"

"with me being the obvious exception," he amended. "as i'm not a sadistic asshole."

you finished laying out his options, stepped back.

"i like the navy one," arber said immediately.

you were nodding already. "i knew you would."

he made to stand up. "so, you seeing him today?"

"we're shopping," you said, taking a breath.

"sounds fun," arber tried. you lack of a response was notable.

"i'm scared," you whispered eventually. "he's just so..."

no words seemed to do him justice.

"good?" arber offered, half shrugging a massive shoulder.

maybe that word did.

"wanna know something?" he asked, slowly draping his arms behind your head and pulling you into a hug. you relaxed into his familiar embrace.

"what?" you said into his chest.

"you are, too."

you carried your friend's words with you like a talisman as you mentally prepared to see cole again.

and when you arrived at your agreed meeting spot, like a vision, he was there, waving at you. and no preparation would have been enough, you realized, as his easy kind of beauty would stay breathtaking no matter how long you knew him.

his hair curled into his face as he pushed his sunglasses to the top of his head, drawing your gaze to the slope of his nose, the symmetry of his high cheekbones.

you rubbed at your shoulder blades and waved back at him. "hey," you said when he was in front of you.

"you came," he said, his voice laced with such pleasantness you could taste the sugar of it on your tongue.

"of course i did," you sing-songed, knowing you had had a conversation like this with him before.

"well, i'm happy i get to see you," he replied as you began to walk side by side. "where to first?"

so you went shopping with your client, and as you did, you couldn't help but recognize how cole had this way of making you feel like showing up was all you ever needed to do.

like the phantom weight of your wings was gone, like they had never been there, because the only you he knew was the one standing in front of him right now.

and that you seemed perfectly enough for him.

every time you held up a shirt to his frame, every time he met your gaze, each accidental brush of a touch - it all felt like something you had dreamed up.

"can i ask you a question, love?" he asked at one point as you both entered a store that specialized in sneakers.

you nodded.

"how come you always wear..." he trailed off, opting instead to gesture to your daily uniform of well fitting jeans and a flawlessly ironed button down.

"how come the stylist isn't more stylish?" you asked, a teasing smile beginning to come free.

"not necessarily." cole shrugged. "you always wear the same thing. just wonderin' if there's a reason."

your heart fluttered at the idea of him observing something about you and wanting to understand the reasons why.

you quickly realized it was probably important to him, from an employer standpoint, to understand his stylist's clothing decisions, and the fluttering wilted.

you looked away. "because it's not about me," you said, picking up a unique looking pair from a shelf.

when you turned to show him, his confused expression startled you. it looked so genuine on him.

"it has to be, sometimes, right?"

no, you wanted to tell him, it's all so much easier when it's not about me. when it's not about what i want. please don't make me think about what i want.

"yeah," you said instead, less than convincing, "right."

and the day continued, successfully, if you said so yourself, as you got a better sense of what cole actually liked to wear. unfortunately, you also got a better sense of who cole was, and that was very much not helping in your desire to stop wanting him.

how his laugh came so often, and still so truly. how his smile never dimmed, a glow that seemed to permeate the thick thorns around your heart. how he asked you more questions about yourself than maybe anyone.

when you suggested a darker color, so as not bring attention away from his eyes, he asked, "where did you learn that?"

and he would listen so intently as you explained how color theory was one of the first things you learned in university.

and he would say, "that must be why you wear red shoes a lot, then. to match with your undertones."

and you would nod and try to hide your blush before it began to match your patent red slingbacks.

and then later he said, "i didn't know you went to university, love. what did you think of it?"

and you would feel embarrassed but still compelled to say, "i didn't finish it." because lying to him about that seemed cruel, stupid, petty. because lying to him seemed impossible.

and he would say, "but what did you think of it?" with no trace of judgement or expectation and you almost didn't ever remember what it was like to have wings, what your fall from grace was like, what that searing blade felt like on your back.

so a smile that was beautiful because it was true would grace your mouth as you told him, "i loved it." and it would feel so deliriously liberating to tell someone that. for someone else to know that you really had loved school, and that dropping out hadn't been what you wanted but what you needed.

and that while you were so, so grateful for what you were doing now, there was a part of you that was so utterly glutted with rage at the fact that someone had taken that from you.

that someone had broken you so critically and completely that something you loved had morphed into something you couldn't manage, something that would only break you more.

and that every day was another day closer to healing, another day closer to being okay with the fact that the past had already happened.

and cole would smile just because you were smiling.

later on, towards the end of your excursion, when he held up a positively dreadful hat that matched definitively nothing, you couldn't help but laugh.

and if your eyes weren't shut you would have seen how something sparkled in his eyes like rippling water.

"c'mon," he pleaded. "it's perfect."

"it's definitely something," you conceded, hating the hat but loving the way he seemed to love it.

"please, love," he begged, and you didn't even know why he was asking you, as it was his money, and at the end of the day, his wardrobe.

you didn't mind the tone his voice had taken on, though, if you admitted it to yourself. he made pleading sound so pretty.

"how about this?" you offered. "we can do a 'one for me, one for you' rule." you met his excited gaze. "to make sure we balance what i think is right and what you want."

"one for me, and one for you," he repeated.

you nodded. "almost like we're working together on an art project, or something."

he laughed, and it was glittery. "but i'm the art project," he responded, delighted at the metaphor.

you wanted to tell him that he was a masterpiece.

the following weekend marked the first preseason game that you would be styling him for.

very early the morning of, you drove over, having already met with arber and gotten him squared away.

"don't you dare make him look better than me," arber warned you on your way out.

you rolled your eyes. "good luck today, bear," you called over your shoulder.

"i'm serious! no playing favorites just because you want to fu-"

you shut the door before he could finish his sentence.

now, here you were, pulling pieces from cole's closet as he sat on the edge of his bed.

"what are you feeling like today?" you asked him as you thumbed through jackets. "brown or black?"

"i'm feeling like that light purple tie over there," cole replied immediately, pointing to the one he was talking about and not answering your question.

you shook your head. "well, we'll do one for me," you said as you grabbed a beautiful soft brown suit, "and one for you," you finished as you plucked the purple tie from its holder.

you completed his look together and then waited in the kitchen for him to change.

you heard his footsteps behind you, causing you to turn. "well," his rough voice asked, "what do you think?"

seeing him made you feel like the wind had been knocked out of you.

but there was something almost sinisterly personal about seeing him in clothes you had styled him in, a collaboration of his likes and your knowledge, a combination of him and you, right in front of you.

just as you had imagined, the soft brown complimented his coloring beautifully, the purple adding the perfect pop of spontaneity.

would it be like this every time? would he always feel like best thing you had ever done?

"trying to take your silence as a compliment, love," he joked, and you scolded yourself that he had even gone a second without knowing how beautiful he looked.

you approached him, then, reached up to adjust his collar, one of the first times you had willingly and unnecessarily thrust yourself into his personal space. which he noticed, by his sudden intake of breath, the way his chest rose and fell.

"look so handsome, cole," you told him honestly.

and you'd tell him a thousand times if he kept looking at you like this, like you were the sweetest thing he'd ever seen. like you were unscarred. or maybe that you were scarred, but that you were sweet anyway, like a just-over-ripe end of summer plum, the kind whose dark juice dribbles down your chin at first bite.

"thanks to you, love," he breathed, his voice a little short.

you dusted off his shoulders, relished in the sculpted muscle you felt under your palms. "you're a job well done, then," you said, and you loved the way his eyes warmed at your words, at the way you could physically see the effect you had on him, the way he wore his desire so shamelessly.

oh, to be shameless. you weren't there, not just yet. couldn't yet meet him at a shameless middle.

but as you left him to do any final preparations before his game, you couldn't help but feel that you were gliding, slowly, but absolutely, towards that meeting.

that feeling was strengthened that weekend, the last weekend before the real season began. you were scheduled to style both arber and cole for a country music festival in toronto.

for the last two years, you had styled arber for this event, as it was one of his favorite weekends of the summer.

it was one of your favorite events to style, too, as you rarely got to lean into a more western, almost cinematic sort of look.

it would be your first time thinking about this event from the perspective of two different clients.

arber's side was easy. he already had a favorite cowboy hat, a refusal to wear boots, an insistence on sneakers. it was only a question of colors, of brands to satisfy sponsorships, of what flannel shirt to rip the sleeves off of.

"and you're sure you don't want to come?" arber asked, ever the inclusive best friend.

"'m sure, bear," you said, although part of you wanted to come. something was holding you back though, something you didn't like very much. a fear of being a burden? a fear of feeling alone, surrounded by thousands? something like that.

arber knew you well, though.

"i'll see you at the festival," he said as you left him to get ready.

"what?" you asked, confused.

you could hear his smugness even though your back was turned. "know coley's going to ask the same thing and you're going to go all gooey-eyed. 'of course i'll come, cole,'" he said, doing a dreadful imitation of your voice at the end, "anything for you!"

you were happy he couldn't see your vengeful flush, your embarrassment at how accurate his statement had been.

anything for you was echoing around your brain when you showed up to cole's house, made your bow past him extra bashful, made his presence seem extra indulgent. being around him today smelled like brownies, like chocolate, like fudge that gets stuck on your teeth. it was rich. and it felt a little shameless.

you handed him a container with a grilled cheese you had made that morning. "'s your off day, right?" you explained. "just don't tell your trainer."

and maybe somebody else would have looked at you with expectation, maybe someone else would have thought what else will you do for me?

but cole's gaze was so genuine it melted you away. "for me, love?" he asked, and you could sighed at how happy he was in that moment. how easy it was for him to be happy. how it still felt so lovely to make him happy, despite the ease.

"of course for you," you said, willing nonchalance into your tone, even though that couldn't be farther from the truth. you began to walk to the closet. "now, about today's event-"

his hand grasped your wrist, ever so gently, like you were some kind of precious porcelain doll. like to disturb your beauty would be a malevolent crime. like he would lock himself up if he did.

his barely there touch stopped you where you stood. "thank you," he breathed, some kind of meaning twisted up in his words that was beyond you.

and you wanted to laugh nervously, wave him off, mutter something about how it was just a grilled cheese, for god's sake, how it didn't mean anything.

but lying to cole caufield had always felt like an impossible ask. so of course what you ended up saying was, "anything for you."

and of course you wanted to bang your head against his beautiful wallpapered wall after you said it. you could hear arber's grumble of a laugh in the back of your head.

if you had been focused on cole's face, then, you would have seen how the heat in his eyes burned like embers, how his jaw worked at your words.

but you were already opening his closet, the place in his house that was quickly becoming your safe space. "about today," you began, forcing the squeak out of your voice. "how do you feel about standing out a bit?"

"as in...." he said, an easy smile on his face like he was just happy to listen to you talk.

"as in full western," you answered, hope dripping from your tone like granulated sugar.

he looked at you with a teasing skepticism.

"please?" you asked, barely noting how his eyes darkened, if only for a second. "please let me dress you up, coley?"

you knew you had him. and you were right, but to a greater degree than you realized.

"dress me up, then, love," he conceded, leaning against the doorframe.

your smile was nothing short of triumphant. when was the last time you had felt triumph?

"one for me," you sing-songed as you placed a pair of cowboy boots at his feet like an offering, setting the tone of the final look immediately.

"and one for me," he said, soft, picking out the hat you had been going to choose anyways. something told you he knew this, which made your blush begin to creep up your neck and past your ears.

so you went spar for spar, picking out pieces until you the final look of your dreams was laid out in front of him.

you left him to get changed, but as you passed him in the doorway, you rubbed gently at his shoulder. "you're too good to me, cole," you said, in a joking tone, but you meant every word. "letting me win."

he exhaled and relaxed into your comfortable touch. "like it when you win," he said.

and what could you even say to that? so you didn't say anything, went to wait for him in the kitchen. everything felt warm. what a delicious pleasure, to have someone say they were rooting for you. suddenly being a professional athlete made a lot of sense to you.

"'m glad i let you dress me up," he said as he walked in, adjusting his hat. "i think standing out might be exactly what i need before the season starts."

and when he stood in front of you, a vision of western silhouettes and muted denim colorways, a pop of red here and there, you could have clapped yourself on the back. he looked like a truly wonderful combination of a trashy airport romance novel and a luxury magazine editorial.

his embroidered denim button down strained at his thick biceps and shoulders, his shorts the same sort of tense around his thighs.

you clasped your hands behind your back to release some of the pressure that had begun to coil up inside of you like a mechanical snake.

you didn't think you would ever get used to seeing the fruits of your imagination painted across cole's body. it was a special kind of intimacy. a torturous one, almost.

you approached him again, pulled at his sleeves in a teasing sort of way. "a little small in the arms, yeah? maybe around the thigh, too?"

he tilted his head, his gaze filled with cocky knowing. "and who took the measurements, love?"

you had entered an unknown land, the boundaries of which were unclear, blurry. it fizzed at the edges with danger.

accordingly, he brought a hand to your chin and held your jaw gently. "starting to think you did it on purpose," he breathed, something rough and raspy beginning to invade his tone.

"i'd never do such a thing," you defended, emboldened by his hand, by his courage. your hands were again clasped behind your back. don't cross a line, you thought to yourself. don't.

"i'd be willing to forgive you," cole started, his trailing off meaning there would be a condition.

his thumb had begun to trace feather-light circles on your jaw.

"if?" you asked.

"if you come with me today," he said plainly, openly, easily. always easily.

"done," you said, almost as easily. even if you knew there would be hell to pay when arber saw you. even if you knew the line between work and pleasure was becoming very, very thin. perhaps transparent.

as you drove back to your place to change into something a bit more suited for a festival, it dawned on you that you hadn't thought about your wings at all, hadn't rubbed at your shoulders the whole time you had been with cole that day. not even once.

with him, you didn't need to be the beautiful, smart prodigy practically overflowing with potential. you didn't need wings.

you just needed to show up. so, that's what you did.

you showed up for him at the festival, very notably not in your everyday uniform, instead in a vintage sundress you had been dying to wear and your boots, a unique pair of accent sunglasses pushed up into your hair.

it felt good to wear something different, to wear something a little more out there, to wear a bit of you. you were not used to giving the world a bit more of yourself, having felt before that perhaps the world didn't need any more of you.

you glanced at your phone, approached the spot that arber suggested you meet the group at, quickly recognized the clothes you had put together this morning.

you hugged arber first, elbowed him lightly when he whispered, "change your mind, did you?" into your ear.

you smiled, rolled your eyes, but you could see in his gaze that he was just happy that you had decided to come, that whatever you had going on with cole was enough to bring you here.

he introduced you to some of his other teammates, their respective friends and partners, everyone being especially welcoming.

some of his other teammates joked about how they might be needing your stylistic help soon, too, and their girlfriends might have shared a look with you and mouthed "please" with a friendly grin.

you could feel cole's eyes on you the entire time you stood there, could have touched the side of your face to check if his gaze had seared a burn into your skin.

finally you turned to face him, were starkly unprepared for the vulnerable desire you found lurking in his eyes like some kind of mythical beast.

you couldn't help but smile at him, tilted your head, asking him a silent question.

can i trust what i'm seeing? how do i know my vision isn't a liar, like everything else?

"you came," he said to you, then, like he had so many times before.

"of course i did," you said, like you had so many times back to him.

you adjusted his hat on his head, straightened it, tilted it down slightly, creating a bubble-like barrier between the two of you and everyone else.

you picked up right where you left off, on the fringes of danger. danger you felt as he only barely touched your fingertips with his, not quite holding hands, almost.

he thumbed the hem of your dress between his fingers. "wear something pretty for me, love?" his gaze flared across your figure like high beams, getting stuck on your exposed legs like sediment, coating your bare shoulders thickly, like brownie batter.

who are you dressing for, that's what you had asked him at the beginning.

"'cause you look it," he clarified, raspy, "just so pretty."

and you blushed strawberry pink, let the group lead you to the main stage, settled into the space as the artist came on.

set after set, you couldn't remember the last time you had existed so carelessly, so gently, so shamelessly.

there were no thoughts of the past, of wings that once were, of anything but dancing with your best friend, laughing with his teammates, singing along with their girlfriends like you had known them your whole life.

you felt so light, so present, so perfect.

light on your feet, almost floating, each time your gaze caught on cole's, immediately tugging a smile free on your face, the kind you felt in your ears, in your jaw, in your squinting eyes.

present, absolutely no where else, each time you heard cole's starburst of a laugh, the sound ringing through the air and your head like a bell, like a lullaby.

perfect as anything, each ghost of a touch you both stole from each other throughout the afternoon. making an excuse for hair in your face, for a bustling crowd, for having a bit to drink, for a thread that had come free. excuses that were unnecessary, that nobody believed anyways.

late into the afternoon, you pressed a hand to your collarbone, felt a glow of heat under your palm. you bit your lip, found cole next to you. "'m gonna get burned," you said to him, shaking your head like you had said a joke, like you had said can't take me anywhere, hm?

but he only started to unbutton his shirt, making your eyes widen more as he revealed more and more skin.

"what are you doing?" you whispered, a sort of pleading tone injected into your voice. something like please don't do this to me.

something that he heard, must have, given the smirk that crept onto his face at your flush, at your voice. "gentle, pretty girl," he soothed, now entirely shirtless, entirely distracting. he handed his shirt to you. "can't have you burning up."

you tried not to be too terribly touched. you took the sunglasses off of your face and handed them to him. "one for you, one for me," you said with a smile as you traded.

"one for you, one for me," he repeated like a child repeats a prayer, doused in a desperate kind of faith. he pushed your sunglasses up onto his head, making his soft hair stick up in a million different directions.

you let him hold your drink as you shouldered on his shirt, fastened the top two buttons, tried not to get dizzy at the scent of him all over you.

just then, your favorite artist in the lineup came onstage to begin their set, cheers from the crowd loud and warm.

you faced the stage now, away from cole, clapping your hands, flushed with excitement.

a flush that only deepened as the music began, as you felt cole behind you, as he wrapped his arms around your front and swayed with you to the rhythm, something twangy and groovy.

"'s this okay?" he whispered, resting his chin between your head and shoulder, his mouth so close to your ear that you could feel the heat of his breath.

maybe okay wasn't the right word for this. this being his thick arms resting lazily around your hips, his bare broad chest against your back like puzzle pieces slotted together.

you nodded, regardless, had a hard time focusing on anything but the feeling of him, so close. "'s okay," you breathed.

maybe okay wasn't the right word.

"can you see?" you asked, hesitantly relaxing back into his chest, draping yourself across him like some kind of quilt.

you felt his laugh more than heard it, the shiver it evoked making it's way up to your hairline.

"tall enough, remember, love?" he whispered.

you snaked one of your hands back, ran your nails lightly across his neck, his curls. "more than enough," you said, not really referring to his height, more so just him. how this beautiful golden angel boy was more than enough.

the night fell like blackberry jam, thick and sweet and like home. you lost track of time as you slouched deeper against cole's body, as he began to hold you up a bit as you grew tired, continuing to sway to the music all the time. you had never been more comfortable. nothing had ever been easier.

too soon the night was over. you felt the residue of the sun on your face like a blush, the weight of the day in your legs. too soon you were hugging your new friends goodbye, handing your number out to the ones who were interesting in perhaps becoming a client, a few of the girls saying they better be seeing you at games, soon.

too soon you were at the passenger door of arber's truck, as he had arranged to drive you home after you told him you were coming.

cole walked you to the door, opened it for you, held your warm hand as you hopped into the lifted truck.

"you have everything for the road trip?" you asked him, referring to the outfits you had picked out together for him to wear for his series of away games.

he nodded, something flickering in his eyes. did he feel the shadow of you against him as you did him? was he cold like you were, without his exhales on your collarbone?

"travel safe," you said, your words brimming with meaning. i'll miss you went unsaid, but not unrecognized.

"the gala when i get back, yeah?" he said, almost drowsy.

"i've already got some ideas," you said, and the thought brought a smile to your face.

something dangerous flashed across his face, making your stomach flutter, your heart tense. "i've got some ideas too, pretty girl."

and then arber got into the driver's seat, said goodbye to cole, who returned the sentiment.

"i'm really happy you came," he said to you as the car started. i'll miss you, too.

you had a dreamy smile on your face as arber drove away.

"i like your friends," you said.

"they like you," he returned before smirking. "some more than others."

you rolled your eyes, but it was no use. hope bubbled up in you like caramelizing sugar. "does it bother you?" you asked then, squinting, realizing you hadn't really asked your best friend what he thought.

"does what bother me?" he asked. "you coming out to things you never would have a couple months ago?"

you went to cut him off, but he pressed on.

"or that you smile more now than i've seen in years? or that you seem to be genuinely enjoying your work?"

he wasn't lying, wasn't wrong, wasn't even critical.

you had always felt that you connected with arber because he, too, walked with the distinct slouch of a fallen angel, of a being, once heavenly, now devoid. the same evidence of struggle, of lack.

it dawned on you then that you had never judged him for it, had only appreciated him more. maybe it was time to extend yourself the same appreciation, the same forgiveness.

it was arber who had extended a hand to you in that place of darkness, but it had been you who had taken it. it had been you who had gotten up.

you had always been the most wonderful team. the kind of trust existed between you that perhaps one only offers their first love.

"you know i just want to see you happy, don't you?" he said, a bit softer than his typical biting humor. "if that's him, i could never be bothered."

"i do know that," you said, and you meant it. "i don't tell you enough how much i appreciate you, bear. but i do."

how lucky you felt to know you had him by your side no matter what, that no matter what happened, you had your best friend. to know that he had you, too.

you made sure he was all squared away for his trip, gave him a hug goodbye, told him to text you when he landed.

and such began the week of time away.

a week you filled with planning, preparations, shopping, lists, moodboards, drafting articles that (probably) no one would read but you wrote them anyway.

a week you wore things that didn't match, clashing colors and aesthetics, frilly silk skirts and sneakers, jerseys and business trousers. just to see how it would feel, just because you could. shameless.

no matter how busy you kept, you missed cole. you missed the way your stomach would flip when he would open his front door, the way he smelled after he showered, you missed his firework of a laugh and the way his voice would get raspy with use.

it was hard to leave off at the point that you did - seemingly on the precipice of the point of no return.

part of you hated that you had left everything so uncertain still. every possibility of what he felt, what would happen, it twisted around you like a lovesick tornado. what would happen when he returned?

would you have to build up to everything again? would he forget what you felt like against him? would he even want you to remind him?

or maybe he would kiss you immediately, like you so desired. as he was away, your workdays became interrupted by visions of his lips, phantom hands on your hips, your fingers on his throat, his in your hair.

visions that left you a little breathless. a little flushed. but wanting, above all else. they left you wanting.

so you were a little scared, a little tense, but mostly full of want when you arrived at cole's for the first time since he'd arrived home after a successful string of games on the road. the week had gone by fast, but also painfully slowly.

today you planned to prepare for the gala tomorrow for one of his teammate's charities, a black tie event, sure to be a fun night to style.

today you wore a dress, and that said enough.

when cole opened the door your breath caught. beautiful golden angel boy.

he looked so soft, then. the angle of his jaw, of his cheekbones, perfectly distilled by his halo-like messy hair, his flushed face, almost girlish nose. you missed seeing his face in front of you, noticing everything about him.

what a privilege, to be close enough to cole caufield to notice things about him.

"after you, love," he said, stepping back and allowing you though. you bowed your head as you walked past him, a plume of his scent dissolving around your face.

how many times had you had this same interaction? had it always felt so electric? had the air been vibrating like this the whole time?

you made your way to his room, to his closet, just like always, catching up, asking him questions about his trip.

yes, he was a little tired, and yes, the team looked good, though he wished he had finished a couple more of his net-front chances. yes, arber did well, even coach said so.

and he asked you about your week as you began to lay out some options, occasionally referring to your clipboard of notes, moodboards, ideas.

yes, you had a nice week. yes, you ate well, really. you wrote a bit, and he could read the articles, if he really wanted to, which he insisted that he did.

"and how do you feel about a three-piece?" you asked.

"that depends," cole began, taking up his usual post, leaning on the doorframe. "how do you think i would look in a three-piece?"

you felt a blush begin to creep up your neck. "remember when you said you dressed for yourself?" you said in a teasing tone.

"still do, love," he defended. "just got a panel to consult, first, these days."

you exhaled. "you know i think you look lovely in anything, cole," you said. it had always felt like a crime, the prospect of lying to him.

you could feel the heat of his gaze on you as you panned through his dress shirts, his vests, his ties. you could feel the sparks of his eyes ignite into flames, flames that licked at your legs and tensed the coil inside of you.

was his halo beginning to singe the ends of his hair?

"did i ask you yet if you missed me?" he said, lazy but attentive, his eyes sharp.

you approached him, held a couple of ties up to his face. a forest green, a baby blue, a burnt orange. "you didn't ask me," you said, your gaze glancing to meet his between swatches. "do you really need to?"

the air fizzed and sparked. you could practically smell smoke.

you looked back to the ties, scrunched up your face in thought before nodding. "one for me," you began, referring to the baby blue tie you had chosen.

"and one for me," cole breathed out, all in one motion grasping your face in his rough hands and capturing your lips with his. his kiss tasted like a home-cooked meal after a semester away at university. it smelled like sugar and smoke and cinnamon and felt like floating, like flying.

it was rushed and just so desperate and rough but also gentle. there had never been anyone, after all, who had been as gentle with you as cole had, as if he was holding your delicate, bleeding heart in his hands, taking care of it for you until you were ready to house it again.

you dropped whatever you were holding, wrapped your arms behind his neck, your way of saying, closer, please. your way of saying finally.

he walked you backwards until you were the one leaning against the doorframe, the plane of it pressing between your shoulder blades. you twisted one hand in his hair, pulling gently.

he moaned into your mouth, making you smile into his as he brought one hand to brace against the frame, just next to your hip, the other still resting on the side of your face.

"please, love," he said, little more than a whimper. "i need you."

pressing himself against you using his leverage, you could feel exactly how desperate he was, just how much he had missed you, too. was there any better feeling than bringing an angel to his knees?

your sly smile turned mocking, your voice dripping in desire, still. "stop whining," you breathed.

the way he immediately did as you said, without question, eyes wide and glossed in waiting for your next move, it felt shockingly beautiful.

you had always been plagued by the struggle of a fallen angel. but here, now, with cole, you didn't feel like an angel at all. he made you feel like a god. and what good did shame ever do any god?

you gripped his shirt and pulled him out of the doorway, away from the closet, the place that had become something like a cathedral for both of you.

a cathedral for which the only accepted sacrifice was the sacrifice of shame, left bloody and dead on an altar welded from want.

you pushed him back onto his bed, the one you had walked by so many times, had barely allowed yourself to look at.

he leaned back with a grunt, put one elbow behind him and the other on his thigh, seemingly waiting patiently for you. ever so patient. always had been.

you sunk down to your knees, rested your elbows on his, now spread apart, looked up at him through your lashes, tilting your head as he brought one hand from his thigh to your head, lacing it through your hair. your mouth watered.

"can i suck you off, coley, please?" you begged as his grip on your hair tightened. "want to feel you in my mouth so bad, baby, can i?"

he whimpered at your words, was already nodding feverishly, moving clothes aside so you had better access to him.

you bit your lip as you pulled him out, felt the weight of him in your hands, hot and thick and -

"told you i didn't have to lie about measurements." cole's joking words broke you from a trance of heavy seriousness. you looked up at him, your delicate grip pumping him up and down, and found him to be smiling, a big, toothy, goofy one.

you couldn't help but laugh, a real laugh, one that had you flushing and shaking your head.

this, this was the real privilege. to be on your knees in front of him and still have him making you laugh. you knew then that you could be awkward and messy and still be beautiful, perhaps even because of your awkwardness and messiness. you could be a beast of desire and want and still be worthy of his smile.

then you took him in your mouth, moved your head slowly up and down, hollowing out your cheeks, promptly catching the laugh in his throat and urging it into an almost anguished moan instead.

he held your hair to the side, tilted his head back when you took him all the way to the back of your throat.

"fuck, love," he groaned, the curse guttural on his typically clean tongue. "bein' so perfect for me. feels so good."

his words spurred you on, pushed the pace of your rhythm, made you rake your nails down his thigh.

you felt his overstimulated shudder in your teeth as he grew impossibly harder in your mouth.

his breaths grew short and choppy, his moans whiny as his thighs tensed under your hand.

you pulled yourself off of him, spit running down your chin, your eyes watery and lashes clinging together as you pumped him with your hand.

he met your gaze and promptly moaned. "look so pretty, love, gonna cum if you keep lookin' at me," he whined.

and so the dirty, messy, and awkward god grew bashful at the angel's words.

"want you to cum for me, coley," you pressed, running a thumb over his sensitive tip. "please?"

something dark flickered across his gaze like lightning in a storm, powerful and inevitable. in a motion he pulled you to your feet, pushed your legs apart so you could straddle his hips, your dress pooling around you both, your center precariously and dangerously against his hard cock.

"hate sayin' no to you, pretty girl," he said, your faces again just a breath apart. "but gotta fuck you first, yeah? been dreaming about it."

now it was your turn to nod feverishly, to lift your hips up gently and let him angle himself underneath you. the seconds felt gelatinous. you both took a breath.

a breath you both released as you sank down onto him that first time, his coming out strangled and yours full of relief.

you both paused for a moment, you adjusting to him and he to you.

his stretch made you dizzy, a pull you could feel in your throat, in your fingertips. he mumbled something incoherent that dissolved into a groan as you began to move your hips up and down, each push deeper than the last.

you rested one hand on his lower stomach, grounding you, the other coming to gently grasp at his throat, squeezing only the tiniest bit. "like you've been dreaming, baby?" you asked, only a little teasing, only because you knew he could take it.

he moaned louder, nodded, dug his hands into your hips, began to meet you thrust for thrust.

something possessed you then, something hazy and hot, something had you moving your hand from his throat to his cheeks, clutching at his face in a way that forced his mouth open. open enough for you drop your head, almost like you were going to kiss him again, but instead letting spit drop from your mouth into his.

you could have sighed at how easily he swallowed, how his eyes were brimming with lust and something softer when he opened them and found you, there.

his eyes made you whimper, which made him thrust up into you harder, a little faster, somehow deeper.

"so wet for me, love, fuck," he bit out, dragging a slow hand from your hip to your bottom lip, sticky with spit. "take it," he moaned, an order but also a plea. "so good, love, take it."

you let him push his fingers into your mouth, let him rest them there, your eyes rolling back at the feeling of him everywhere inside of you. so deep you felt him in your stomach, the back of your throat. your heart, most of all.

you became aware of the hair sticking to the back of your neck with sweat, the pleasant evidence of effort that burned in your thighs, the croak of wear that had begun to tear at your voice.

you built up a rhythm, quick and hard. you rolled your hips back against him, hitting a new, perfect spot inside of you, making you clench tighter around him.

"feel you close," he rasped, "where do you need me?"

and you were back to that day, so far away, now, taking measurements. where do you need me? he had asked.

here, present you thought, here and now.

you tugged his hand from your mouth and led him to your folds, showing him exactly how to touch you. exactly what you needed.

his touch jolted through you, an electric current of desire, bringing you brutally close to your high as he continued to rub at your clit, thrust into you hard.

"fuck, coley," you whined, "'m so close for you. gonna cum all over your cock, baby. stretchin' me so perfect."

the muscles of his stomach clenched under your fingertips, his shoulders tense under your other palm as your motions up and down became messier, his thrusts sloppier, both of your breathing choppy.

"please cum for me, pretty girl," he breathed. "make me feel so good, yeah?" he grunted, almost a pained noise. "need you."

you did as told, his words and the beautiful vulnerability in his eyes sending right over the precipice of pleasure you had been teetering on. you came with a shuddering moan, collapsing into cole's damp chest, triggering his own orgasm, warm and raspy.

draped over him like a velvet curtain, you felt the rise and fall of his chest slowly become regular again against your cheek. the air around you was warm and stained with the enormity of your want, realized.

you tilted your head up to gaze at him, found him glowing, flushed, his hair fussed. he looked so beautiful.

"you look like an angel," you said, your voice all but a rasp as it escaped your worn-out throat.

his laugh was like honey and lemon. he shook his head, traced your jaw with his fingertips. "just a human, love," he said, a whisper. your eyelids grew heavy, your voice lazy. too lazy to stop the sweet smile that tugged at your mouth. one that he mirrored.

"me too," you breathed. he pressed his swollen lips to the top of your head.

and with that, with a sigh of relief, you finally laid your wings to rest, in the graveyard of things that had never been.

fin.

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