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01zfan · 3 months

Text

not mine | j. sc

taken!sungchan x fem. reader | 5.9k words

i hope you guys like this! this is definitely the most angsty thing i’ve ever written.

contains: infidelity, reader is sungchan’s girlfriend’s friend, sungchan is in a toxic relationship, both of them know it’s wrong, unprotected sex (DONT BE LIKE THEM)

you were a terrible friend.

sungchan was an even worse boyfriend.

it had started out as something so innocent. you had a class with sungchan, ironically it was intro to chemistry. he wasn’t someone you could picture yourself getting close with. it wasn’t necessarily that he was out of your league or that you were out of his, it was just that you seemed like you two had nothing in common. you secretly dreaded going to class after seeing the partner assignments posted on the online classroom. your teacher said that it was ”completely randomized”, but it seemed like the god’s had it out for you. you were going to class knowing you had to spend the next hour and a half talking to sungchan. you hoped that chemistry would fill up the awkward gaps in the conversation and that time would go by quickly. it seemed like sungchan thought the same thing, already having everything ready to start the assignment by the time you sat at the table. when you set down your stuff he looked up and smiled at you.

“you’re my partner for this project, right?” sungchan said.

you nodded your head while bringing out your own things. the awkward atmosphere was unavoidable after you had finished setting up your things. sungchan was looking at you over the screen of your computer and you cleared your throat.

“should we take the time to introduce ourselves properly?” sungchan asked.

it was a fair question to say the least. you had been in the same class all semester, but you never got the chance to actually talk one on one. the closest you got to an. interaction with sungchan was an awkward socratic seminar where you both just nodded along to good arguments that were made.

when you both introduced eachother you found out you actually had alot in common. you both had common interests and filled your time in between classes doing the same things. you still remember the shock on sungchan’s face when he found out you two shared a niche interest. you’re sure you looked the same way as he did, wide eyed with raised eyebrows. you two spent a majority of the class just talking, having to be put back on track by the teachers aide.

you and sungchan walked to the library after class to work on the project. you still look back on this moment with such regret. maybe if you had taken the initiative to go to a place more secretive your friend would’ve never met sungchan. you were in the middle of discussing possible research topics when your friend called your name. it was so loud even sungchan turned around. you saw her walking towards you, but her eyes were only on sungchan. even though he didn’t belong to you in any sense of the word, you still felt something akin to jealousy run through your body. the feeling was amplified when your friend introduced herself to sungchan without giving you a second glance.

“i’ve never seen you around before.” your friend said.

sungchan looked to you and you looked off into the distance. he adjusted the backpack on his shoulder and gave your friend a smile.

“it is a big campus after all.” sungchan said with a smile.

your friend laughed a little too hard, and you were a little disgusted to see how much sungchan ate it up.

before you could even get into the library your friend got sungchan’s number and had set up plans to hang out with him. jealousy flashed across your mind and you had to push it away. although you hated it more than anything, sungchan was not yours in any sense of the word. so you had no choice but to watch the scene unfold in front of you.

your friend only acknowledged you while she was leaving, saying she will see you later. she had a pep in her step as she looked at her phone, texting something. seconds later you could feel your phone buzz in your hand. the message was short and sweet, the seven letters fitting in the message preview.

he’s mine.

“your friend is nice.” sungchan said.

you look at the text notification on your phone and scoff before putting it back into your pocket.

“yup.” you say curtly.

after you and sungchan were done with the project, you barely saw him. you were able to hear about him all the time, courtesy of your friend. she tells you about all the problems they are already having so early in the relationship. she tells you sungchan doesn’t know how to listen, that he’s a flirt, and too nice to other girls. you stopped trying to offer advice on their fights when your friend blew up at you for not taking her side. so you stuck to the role of the listener, nodding your head and giving half assed sounds to show you were paying attention.

it wasn’t until a couple months later that you saw sungchan again. he came as your friend’s plus one to a gathering of your clique. they had broken up recently, something about your friend’s ex reaching out to her. every man in her life was a placeholder for her stupid ex, so you thought sungchan was free from her clutches. you don’t know why it was hard for you to pretend like you were unfazed seeing them together. there was a pang in your chest seeing sungchan go through the crowd following your friend.

when sungchan saw you he had the biggest smile you had ever seen on him. you couldn’t help but smile back, waving at the person you missed seeing in class. you weren’t to sure why sungchan never came to your class anymore, but you were almost certain it had to do with your friend.

for the whole night you were stealing glances and sharing eye contact with him. your friend was stuck to his side the whole night, showing off her arm candy to everyone at the party. you assumed this was her way of launching the relationship, posting him on her story for the first time. you regretfully look back at the time you spent with sungchan and how you never made a move. you tried to comfort yourself by thinking he was a terrible boyfriend, something your friend had told you.

you didn’t get any time alone with sungchan until he came to you while you were making yourself a drink. he approached you with a big smile on his face, almost like he was happy to see you.

“long time no see.” sungchan said.

you looked up from the bar and you couldn’t help but smile at him too.

“you’re the one that never comes to class,” you said. “we did really good on our project, by the way.”

“i know. i moved to a different class so i can—it doesn’t really matter actually.” sungchan said.

you both sat there awkwardly, waiting for the conversation to flow the same way it did all those months ago. you weren’t sure if your friend told sungchan about you, if you knew about their tumultuous relationship. sungchan seemed to know something, because he suddenly leaned to whisper into your ear asking if he could talk to you in private.

when sungchan got you alone in the tiny bathroom, he said nothing. he looked everywhere but at you, trying to find out what he wanted to say. you thought about your friend outside, how upset she would be if she found you so close to sungchan. she left your mind as you looked at sungchan. you hated that he didn’t come to class anymore, depriving you of you favorite thing to look at in class. you would be lying if you wouldn’t look at sungchan’s back while the teacher droned on about chemical bonds and imagine what he looked like without his shirt off. it was juvenile, but it got you through the day.

it only got worse after your project and sungchan’s absence in class made you miss him even more. without something to focus on your mind began to wander to filthier things, like what sounds he made or words he word say. being so close to him made you recall moments underneath your sheets where you pretended your fingers were his.

“i need to ask you something.” sungchan said.

you nodded your head towards sungchan, encouraging him to go on.

“why didn’t you tell me about her?” sungchan asked.

he looked sad as he explained to you how awful your friend was. all of the missing holes in her story suddenly made sense. you hated to admit you didn’t believe your friend, seeing how she acted in previous relationships. but now you saw how her toxicity effected sungchan directly. sungchan talked about her ex, how she cheated on him. you bit your tongue to stop yourself from asking why he went back. you knew that he didn’t have the answer and you knew your friend to be very charming when she had to be.

“i’m sorry.” is all you could say after sungchan told you everything.

i would never treat you that way threatened to slip past your lips but you stood your ground. sungchan looked at you expectantly, like he was wanting more before he got a text asking where he was. he snuck out of the bathroom and you downed the drink in your hand.

the rest of the gathering you spent drinking. you felt a deep regret for not being able to comfort sungchan, to say something more than sorry. there was no reason for you to be sorry. he had the chance to leave, it was his choice to stay. you ignored him for the rest of the party, watching your friend constantly leave the room to talk to someone on her phone. by then end of the night your friend had left to god knows where. you had assumed sungchaan had left with her until you left. you found sungchan sitting outside on the stoop of the apartment building.

when he saw you he got up suddenly, stumbling a little bit. he must’ve been drinking too.

“she had an early morning tomorrow, so she left.” sungchan said.

“she left you at this party where you don’t know anybody?” you asked.

“i know you. she told me you live in the same building as me so maybe we could catch a ride together?” sungchan asked.

“let’s do it.” you say.

you stand beside sungchan waiting for him to finish booking the ride on the phone. if he was waiting outside and was going to pay for it completely by himself he could’ve left a long time ago. you were never good at reading people, but sungchan was like an open book. you knew he was craving something tender and loving, intimacy that was lacking in his relationship. the alcohol in your system buzzed and receptors in your brain fired off when sungchan opened the car door for you.

you were in the backseat of the car together for only a moment before you scooted to the middle seat. you let your thighs touch sungchan’s before fully leaning into him. he stiffened beside you but didn’t move. when the car exited the parking he brought a hand to rest on your thigh. you put your hand over his and looked at him. you found that sungchan was already looking at you, his eyes staring directly into yours. when the car got on the highway you took a gentle hand to his face and pulled him in for a kiss. the rest of the journey to the building his lips were on yours, sucking on your bottom lip as his hands pulled your face closer.

you two didn’t break apart until the driver stopped in front of your apartment building. you watched sungchan tip the driver extra and he followed behind you closely as you got into the elevator.

you pressed the button to take you to the seventh floor. sungchan’s hand hesitated before pressing the number five. you couldn’t stop your heart from dropping.

“we shouldn’t.” sungchan whispered as the door closed.

“we really shouldn’t.” you agreed.

as the elevator took you up, you noticed sungchan getting closer to you. you slowly let him back you into a corner of the tiny space, your body leaned against the elevator walls. you looked up at the man in front of you, aware of how he towered over you. in any other situation you would’ve been scared, but there was something so soft about the way sungchan looked at you.

the same hand that pulled you closer to him in the car came to rest on your face. sungchan swiped a thumb across your lip, still glossy from his spit.

“i’m a bad boyfriend.” sungchan whispered.

the elevator door opened to the fifth floor. you and sungchan both watched the door to the elevator close before lifting both of you to the seventh floor.

that night sugnchan didn’t go to his room. he fucked you in the entry way of your room up against the wall, not even giving you a chance to make it to the bedroom. he moaned and bit your skin, telling you he wished it was you he ended up with. how he wished what he was doing didn’t feel so good. you let sungchan mark you and touch you the way he wanted, moaning in agreement to his words. you wished being a terrible friend felt bad, but all you felt was euphoria as sungchan had you pinned against the wall.

sungchan was strong but he was gentle, pressing kisses to your face as he slid in. he carried you to your bedroom and you rode him, telling him that he deserved good things in life too. when sungchan pulled you to the crook of his neck he let out a broken whine as he came inside of you. you clenched around him and he rubbed your clit until you did the same.

that night set the dynamic for your relationship. you had to set up rules and sungchan followed them with no complaints. he would do anything you told him as long as he got to come and see you. it became a part of your routine, getting a text from sungchan late in the night asking if he could come over. it got easier with time, lying to your friend. you saw it as karma for how terrible she was towards sungchan and towards you. you stopped thinking about her after a month, no longer trying to have revenge on your toxic friend. it became more about sungchan, trying to mend him back together with kisses and sex.

it was raining this time when sungchan came to you. he was soaking wet, caught in the torrential rain outside. you wanted to believe that he came here to see you, but the downcast look on his face and flower in his hand told you a different story.

“can i come in?” sungchan asked you.

you don’t know why he continued to ask you questions like this, as if you could ever bring yourself to say no to him. you nodded your head and opened your door all the way, letting the man through.

he got water on your carpet as he took off his outer layer of clothes. sungchan stood in the entry way, waiting for you to tell him what to do. you remembered the clothes he left over at your place last time he visited.

“wait here i’ll get you a towel and clothes.” you said before walking away.

when your arrangement first started, you would always interrogate sungchan on what transpired when he’d show up at your door. sungchan would just shrug his shoulders and mutter the situation under his breath shamefully.

she’s seeing her ex again.

i was locked out.

we had a big argument.

she needed time to cool off.

after awhile you stopped asking sungchan for the details. the curiosity and worry used to eat away at you, seeing someone usually so happy close to tears. you thought you’d never see sungchan the way you saw him every late night he came to your door. you always wondered if she ever thought she was in the wrong.

you stopped asking sungchan because you could see it physically pain him to talk about something with the wound so fresh. he would normally just tell you what happened while he had you bent over a table, or when he had your chest pressed against his.

you knew that leading up to the sex, sungchan needed the tenderness that was absent in his real relationship. so you would wordlessly let him into your apartment, warm him up leftovers, and hand him clothes to change into. after everything, you two would snuggle on your couch together watching television. he would hold you so close and thank you profusely, gratitude you would wave off with a hand. you could tell that the moments you spent together healed him just enough to go back. you could also tell that sungchan was very grateful for everything, and he always made sure to give it back to you in bed. the night would always end with both of you just looking to the other and silently pleading. you would open the door for sungchan and he would kiss you deeply. it was the type of kiss that you thought was reserved for girlfriends only, the type of kiss that made you believe he didn’t want to leave you.

doing acts of service for sungchan always made you feel conflicted. when he was with you, couldn’t help but feel responsible for him in ways you couldn’t really comprehend. it started off with just sex. you were always determined to make him feel good like continuing to ride him even if your legs were burning from the exertion or taking in all of him even when you felt like you were being split open. maybe you looked at his face when he was in a state of bliss too much, maybe that’s what got you attached. since you and sungchan started your arrangement you found yourself thinking about him more and more. when he wasn’t around you hoped he was doing well, at night before you slept you would be thinking about him.

thinking about him so often made it hard to remember that he wasn’t yours. sungchan had you wanting to hold his hand at friend gatherings. you always came to your senses right at the last second. reaching out a hand to him you had to pull away quickly when your friend came from the other room. leaning against the wall instead of leaning against sungchan when she wasn’t looking. looking for sungchan’s face in the crowd while he followed closely behind his girlfriend. as time passed you got used to it. you knew that he was looking for your face in the crowd too.

sungchan had his hand on the back of the couch, letting you curl into him and he traced patterns on your clothed shoulder. you two had found your own domestic routine, shrouded in infidelity. it’s all too much when you think about it for too long, that’s why you’re grateful when sungchan slightly squeezes your thigh. you look away from the tv show to him.

“i missed you.” sungchan says.

he pinches your cheek and you smile at the affection. he looked so handsome like this, with his hair slightly wet form the rain. before you knew it you were running your hands through his strands, turning your body to face him better.

“i missed you too.” you said.

sungchan leaned his head back as you continued to play with his hair. he smiled and he felt like his heart leaped out of his chest hearing that you missed him.

“how much did you miss me?” sungchan asks, eying you.

you are still playing with his hair trying to think of a quantity. you could tell him then and there that you wish he could be with you the same way he was with his girlfriend, and that you could treat him better. a million things rush through your mind, all of them being admissions of love. so instead of talking, you use your hands to hold sungchan’s face.

“you know i’m not good with words,” you look into his eyes before looking at his lips. “i can show you, though.”

a second doesn’t even pass before sungchan picks you up from the couch bridal style. you always laugh when he carries you like this, holding you like you’re nothing.

he always took the time to set you gently on the bed, standing in front of you to take off his shirt. sungchan always made sure to show you how grateful he was, giving you a little show while he undressed himself. he knew you loved to gawk at his body. you dragged him to the edge of the bed by the waistband of his pants. you ran. a hand over his abs, hard underneath his soft skin. he was mesmerizing, you couldn’t understand how anybody could be mean to someone so beautiful.

“your body…” you said.

sungchan said nothing in response as his hands to the end of your shirt, helping you out of it. he threw it somewhere else in the room as he gently pushed your shoulders down until your back was on the bed. he helped you out of your pajama pants, leaving you only in your underwear. you move more to the center of the bed, giving sungchan the space to come lay next to you as he took his pants off. you lift the sheets and settle underneath them, lifting up the end for sungchand to slide in next to you.

sungchan liked taking off underwear underneath the sheets. you imagined he liked it because it was the most intimate that way, revealing all of yourself underneath the sheets. this wasn’t the way it was all the time though. sometimes sungchan would be extra pent up, desperate to the point that he would eat you out over your panties, or only push them to the side before fucking you. sometimes he would be a little mean, fucking into you while you grabbed onto anything for support. it was hard to decide what you preferred, the vanilla sungchan or the desperate kinky sungchan. no matter what you got, you were always satisfied.

after he got into the sheets next to you, sungchan’s hands immediately went to your hips. he guided you out of your panties and to rest above his body, dragging your heat against his clothed dick. he twitched and strained in his boxers feeling you, and you were sure you were getting slick on his boxers. you start grinding your hips into his as sungnchan lets his hands roam your body.

“i want you so bad.” sungchan says.

“you got me.” you say.

his hands go to the back of your bra to undo the clasp. you let your bra fall off of you, and sungchan’s hand goes to your breast. you try to raise your body from sungchan’s to get a better angle to grind on him, but a hand keeps you two chest to chest.

“want you close.” sungchan whines.

you keep grinding on him at a slow and grueling pace. you were getting impatient with want filling your brain. sungchan was a masochist in this way, making himself wait to fuck you until he couldn’t take it anymore. you’re sure it had something to do with the guilt of cheating on his girlfriend. you figured that when sungchan screwed his eyes shut as he dragged your hips against his that he was trying to convince himself to leave your apartment. maybe he was pretending that you were his girlfriend. these were the things you only wanted to think about when he wasn’t there, not wen his dick was pressed against you like this.

“sungchan.” you whimpered.

he opened his large doe eyes to look at you. you leaned into him closely, until your lips touched his ear.

“please fuck me.” you whispered.

sungchan lifted his hips to take off his underwear and you helped him push it off with your feet.

sungchan takes his dick in his hand and you grab it too. he has to close his eyes again to let out a content sigh. something about the way you touched him just felt so nice, something he wasn’t sure he deserved to experience. but every night you let him in, so he must have earned it somehow.

“i love when you hold it.” sungchan said.

his voice was barely above a whisper, having to use all his effort to hold the moans back.

“you like it alot?” you said, giving his dick short pumps for emphasis.

sungchan nodded. he should really stop using the word love around you.

“i like it alot.” sungchan moaned.

“can i put it in baby?” you ask.

your voice has become whiny too. sungchan uses his hand to quickly guide himself inside of you and pushes your hips down to take all of him. you are moaning into the crook of his neck as you slowly take all of him.

“you’re so tight.” sungchan says. ”should’ve fingered you first. i’m sorry.”

“don’t apologize. it feels so good.” you whimper.

knowing that you feel good goads sungchan on. he lets you adjust only for a moment before rocking his hips back into you, pulling his face away from yours to see your reaction. he can feel himself throbbing at the way you clench around him, the way your eyes close from the pleasure.

“just wanna make you feel good.” sungchan says.

“you always make me feel good.” you say.

you start moving your hips the same way sungchan moves his, meeting him in the middle. you bring a hand to rest on his and sungchan’s and. he holds it.

sungchan can hear your bed creak under the weight and movement of your bodies. there were times sungchan would have your bed screaming for mercy, threatening to break underneath his harsh thrusts as he fucked you. he loved the sound of the harsh creaking, wearing it like a badge of honor. but he loved this sound move—light and constant like rain.

sugnchan couldn’t comprehend why he felt so at peace rocking into you. he brought your head from his neck to rest your forehead against his. you opened your eyes to look at him and sungchan could see his reflection in your blown out pupils. the sight makes him desperate, it brings him closer to his euphoria.

“she doesn’t treat me like you do.” sungchan said.

your eyes didn’t change as you processed what he said.

“i know.” you said simply. “harder. please.”

sungchan lets himself thrust into you a little harder, throwing off the tempo you both had fallen into. the soft creak of the bed changes to something a little harsher. sungchan’s large hand is placed over yours on his hip and he digs the pads of his fingers into your hip bone. sungchan hold your eye contact as your hips still.

“i wish you were mine.” sungchan moans between his thrusts.

you clench around him and you cry out. you don’t know if it’s from his confession, the spot he hit, or a mixtue of both. regardless, it has you digging your nails into sungchan’s skin as a tear falls on his face.

“i wish you were, too.” you confess.

you start moving your hips again

“i would leave her if it meant i could have you.”

you shake your head at his words. you’re too close, too emotional to hear things sungchan might just be saying because he’s horny and lonely. you know that this ends with him going back until next time. so you grab a handful of his hair and tug lightly. you know sungchan loves the pain by the way he pulses inside of you.

“don’t think about her, just me.” you say breathlessly into his ear. you wished that what you said came off as jealousy. but both you and sungchan know that you are the one who occupies his mind. “cum for me, sungchan.”

you swear you hear sungchan say i love you as he releases inside of you. he holds you tight. as he takes the lead fucking into you, his teeth biting into your sweaty skin. you have to grip the sheets beside sungchan’s head to steady yourself as he fucks you deep and hard. his thrusts and whines of your name has you cumming too. sungchan fucks you well after his orgasm, making sure you can feel the same pleasure he felt. you can’t stop yourself from kissing his forehead after breaking apart from his lips. you kiss the hair that sticks to his forehead from the sweat and the apple of his cheeks. you kiss his teeth as his pulls of of you, and he brings you into a passionate kiss as you feel him seeping out of you.

sungchan keeps you on top of him, loving how he feels underneath your weight. you’re comforting and warm surrounding him completely. he doesn’t have any regrets about telling you he loves you, only that he wishes he said it louder so you could’ve heard it. maybe next time he will say it to you while you still have your clothes on. maybe he would tell you after taking you out on a proper date. sungchan wants to hold you there forever, he wants to cry when you slide your sticky body off of his to lay in the bed beside him.

laying there in silence with sungchan was too comforting. although your breath had settled back to its normal pace your heart was hammering in your chest. you thought it would burst if you continued to think about his offer just as you started thinking about sungchan’s offer snd how warm his hand was when he grabbed yours. you had to constantly tell yourself that you held sungchan’s hand for his benefit alone. you told yourself that he needed the innocent contact and the intimacy that came with it. you told yourself that he needed you to grip his hand a little tighter, that he needed you to turn to your side to look him in the eyes. you told yourself these lies to rationalize why you delicately brush his hair out of his face and why you scoot closer to him.

you think about his offer again, how this could be your view every night. you would never put him through the emotional turmoil your friend put him through. maybe sungchan could be the thing that finally pushed you to cut her off completely. you could only imagine the rumors she would spread about you. it was hard to think it wouldn’t be worth it when sungchan brought you into his chest.

sungchan’s phone went off and you instinctively freed yourself from his embrace. as you sat up on the bed letting your legs dangle over the side you could feel sungchan’s eyes bore holes into your skin. the phone continued to ring. you put on your most comforting voice before looking over your shoulder at him.

“you can answer it. i don’t mind.”

sungchan doesn’t do anything but sigh before reaching to the bedside table.

“hey.” sungchan says quietly into the phone.

the happiness in his voice was completely gone and the tender atmosphere in your room vanished. it suddenly felt so cold and sungchan felt so far away from you.

you could hear the dull murmur of your friend on the other end of the line. you weren’t sure what she was saying exactly, but you could get the gist through sungchan’s responses.

where are you?

sungchan looked at you before turning away to focus on the phone call.

“i’m at eunseok’s.” sungchan said.

you got up from the bed to put on the rest of your clothes. you were as quiet as you possibly could be, trying not to make any sounds that would be picked up by the phone.

why is your location off?

“where else would i go?” sungchan asked.

he looked at you as he asked the question. you held eye contact for a split second before pulling your pants up your legs.

are you ready to apologize yet?

“we aren’t going to talk about what happened first?”

you aren’t sure what your friend said next. all you know is that sungchan pulled the phone away from his ear to grimace. you could hear your friend got louder over the phone, the speakers peaking from the yelling.

you couldn’t stand to see sungchan so distressed so you left the room. you walked into the living room, picking up clothes that were strewn around in the heat of the moment. you took sungchan’s clothes out of the dryer, gathering his shirt and pants in your hands to bring it back to him.

you don’t know what was said after you left your bedroom, but you came back to sungchan gathering his things. you handed him his clothes, trying to seem as indifferent as possible.

“we are going to talk it out.” sungchan said.

“that’s good.” you said.

the notion that sungchan would inevitably go back always made moments like these awkward. where he would change out of his clothes and you had to think up a question to make it seem like your friend was being rational. you started choosing silence, just telling sungchan what he needed to hear to go back to her.

sungchan got dressed and left your bedroom. you followed behind him, staring at his back as you two went through your routine. he gathered the remainder of his things, slipping his phone into his back pocket and taking his keys off your command center. he would look at you with his puppy dog eyes, silently begging you to tell him to stay. you looked at him back the same way, silently begging him to out himself first for once.

something felt different when you opened the door for sungchan this time. sungchan lingered a little longer in your door way, looking at your ball up fists at your side. you looked at him too, wondering what was going to happen next. you thought you were going to draw blood from your nails digging into your palms. the tension was undecipherable and thick, making your mind hazy.

you mind was cleared when sungchan closed the distance between the two of you. he kissed you desperately, and you reciprocated. your movements were even hastier than his, fisting the fabric of his white tee and leaning back so he was towering over you. sungchan wrapped his arms around your back and brought you closer.

you still had your lips puckered when sungchan pulled away from you. he looked down at you, adoration all over his face. his hands that wrapped around were moved to enclose your hands. he brought them to his face before kissing the back of your hands. sungchan looked scared, going over something in his mind a million times.

“can i stay here with you tonight?” sungchan asked.

you couldn’t stop your eyes from widening. his grip on his hands only tightened and you understood how nervous he felt. that’s why you immediately squeezed his hands back and nodded. sungchan pulled you into another kiss, this time slow and passionate. you closed the door and smiled into the kiss.

you were a bad friend.

sungchan was an even worse ex-boyfriend.

#requestz #01zfan: sungchan #sungchan smut #riize smut

636 notes · View notes

99thpercentile · 6 months

Text

I get the feeling that I'm in the minority here, but I posit that GLaDOS actually is Caroline, and only "not the same person" in the sense that you'd look at your younger self and be like "that bitch ain't me." I think you actually have to go out of your way to interpret them as two separate people.

evidence:

voiced by the same person (I know the initial reasoning was that Valve didn't want to hire another voice actor for a few lines, but in casting Ellen McLain as Caroline, they incorporated her being the same person into the story).

GLaDOS automatically joins in saying "Yes sir, Mister Johnson" like saying it is permanently ingrained in her. you can interpret this as Caroline taking over, but she says "Why did I just—" immediately afterwards.

when GLaDOS talks about hearing the voice of a conscience, she says "for the first time it's MY voice." I don't think she means that she's hearing the woman she gets her literal voice from. she highlights it as distinctly DIFFERENT from hearing the voices of the cores, and I imagine if Caroline were a foreign entity whispering in her ear, the effect would've been much the same.

the GLaDOS project was originally started because Cave was dying and wanted his consciousness uploaded to a computer. the intent was always for the upload to be the same person. he said if he died first, he wanted Caroline to run the place, to be put in his computer. and that's exactly what happened.

GLaDOS not remembering she's Caroline until old Aperture always made sense to me as the result of a deliberate choice on the part of the scientists. Caroline didn't want to be uploaded, and as soon as they switched GLaDOS on, she tried to kill everyone. it's logical for the scientists to think that if they suppressed her memories, she'd have no reason to try to kill them (but instead, she was just filled with murderous rage and no longer knew why).

the story just doesn't have the same impact otherwise. GLaDOS's reactions to rediscovering old Aperture make more sense if it's her past she's rediscovering, rather than the past of...a human that was shoved into the chassis with her. if it were the second one, I think she would just feel violated, not have any major revelations.

counter-evidence:

"now little Caroline is in here too" lyric from Want You Gone

GLaDOS says she found out "where Caroline lives in [her] brain" and deleted her, like she's a separate entity

but GLaDOS is a habitual liar. she acts like deleting Caroline means she's fully back to her old self and has gotten rid of the part of her that made her want to save Chell's life, but there's...lots of evidence that she still cares about Chell after the fact (letting her go anyway, the companion cube, the turret opera if you think GLaDOS arranged that, talking to the co-op bots about Chell like she's an ex she's still heartbroken over...). I also think GLaDOS would like to imagine her and Caroline as two separate entities, in the same way you might find your younger self embarrassing and want to distance yourself from that person. I think it's notable that both instances where she refers to Caroline as a separate entity are at the end of the game, after Chell has been passed out a while and she's had time to process everything and compartmentalize. her instinct when the revelations are first happening is to refer to Caroline as if she is her.

now I don't like stories where a robot has to become or be seen as more human in some way for them to be sympathetic. but I think Portal 2 is an excellent subversion of this trope, because GLaDOS is a robot that learns she used to be human and then discards that humanity (symbolically if not literally). Caroline may not have wanted to be uploaded, but from the Want You Gone lyrics "one day they woke me up / so I could live forever / it's such a shame the same will never happen to you" I think we can say that GLaDOS definitely prefers being a robot now that she is one.

anyway this post was supposed to be much shorter than this, thank you for coming to my Ted Talk

#GLaDOS #Caroline #Portal #Portal 2 #original #wall of text

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kairismess · 5 months

Note

was thinkinnnn~ kuroo, sugawara, makki(or iwa if you dk how to write makki), and osamu with a twitch streamer girlfriend 😉

his streamer girlfriend. (part 1)

🍥 author's note: this is kind of set during post high school, ig college timeline? just after high school and before the timeskip arc (ㆁωㆁ) !! and y'all live together ~~~

kuroo tetsurou.

"chibi-chaaaaan, you wearing my jersey again?"

your rooster headed boyfriend walked into your room, clad in nothing but those red shorts you got him last week. you immediately closed your camera, and the chat went wild. of course you were the highlight of your streams, your audience loved you–but they loved seeing your boyfriend more sometimes, especially when he was provoking and teasing you, such as now.

"ooh, what could they be doing rn?"

"SELL ME HIS JERSEY !!!"

"unfair. how could someone so handsome get someone so pretty as u wtf... !"

kuroo chuckled as he saw the flurry of messages by the corner of your screen, with you all flustered as you tried to muster an excuse as to why you were wearing his jersey from high school. "comfortable in it?" he asked you in a husky voice, pressing his hands against the arms of your computer chair, making you squeak out a noise of embarrassment, much to his (and your chat's) delight.

you turned off your camera, but you forgot to take care of your mic; so even if you didn't show your audience how cute you two looked while your boyfriend teased you, they could sure hear how adorable you two acted together–it made everyone jealous at how hot yet cute your dynamic together was.

he loved hearing you try to tell him in such futile little whimpers and mewls as he kissed your neck and caressed your waist that you were busy streaming, that you'd give his jersey back later–but he knew you'd soon forget when later will be. and besides, it'd be more fun to give your audience a show, right? you're liking this anyway, your facial expressions and body language are giving you away.

"mmm... fine, keep the jersey for a bit–but just remember, after this stream... you're all mine for tonight. the jersey looks amazing on you, but you're drop dead gorgeous when you've got nothing...– nevermind, we'll talk later, dearest. your chat's going crazy, better not let them wait, hmm?"

sugawara koushi.

"love! look at what my students drew for me!"

your eyes widened as sugawara knocked on your door and came in with a wide smile on his face. he didn't realize you were streaming today, he was just so excited to show you what his star students made for him to show their appreciation for him. sugawara always came off as quite motherly, he was always so down-to-earth and sweet–and your audience always loved it whenever sugamama, as they called him, came over and blessed the chat with his wonderful energy.

it was always wholesome whenever you two were on the stream, the chat would always go crazy whenever he'd act all sweet and tender to you.

"where to get gentlemen like these? 😭😭😭 i love sugamama so much !!"

"you two are just SO 💗💗💗"

"ARE YOU TWO GONNA GET MARRIED ONE DAY ...?"

sugawara's face got flushed when he saw that you were streaming right then and there, you didn't need to tell him you were streaming for him to get the point. he chuckled awkwardly and smiled, apologizing softly as you told him it was okay, he wasn't interrupting.

the chat loved seeing sugawara embarrassed, your chat was flooded with your fans losing it over him. you asked sugawara if you both could look at the drawings over the stream, and sugawara agreed. he showed the pictures his students drew for him (keeping the students' identities secret, of course) and you swore you could see his face brighten up a thousand times as he went on and on about his students.

your chat was not opposed to the idea of watching sugawara stream his lectures online, even if he was only training to be a teacher and only taught elementary students, they'd all flock to see content of you two together.

iwaizumi hajime.

"could you end the stream now and help keep the bed warm now, babe?"

your boyfriend was extremely impatient, he had spent the whole day out at the gym and was exhausted. he couldn't get a kiss from you when he came home because you were busy streaming, and he couldn't eat dinner with you tonight because, again, you were still streaming.

his eyebrows furrowed and his lips formed a pout, his olive green eyes bearing into the back of your head as you felt his need for your love and attention increase by a hundredfold. you told the chat you'd have to leave for a while to tend to your grumpy, overworked boy–but you didn't need to end the stream to give him your attention.

in a flash, iwaizumi picked you up, slung you over his shoulder–and much to your squeals and cries, he gently set you down on the bed and said in a gruff voice, "sleep. you've been at this for hours, and i've been needing you for the whole day. let them watch, just sleep with me, babe."

"DID YOU SEE THOSE BICEPS?"

"oh to be carried by a man like that... (◠‿◕)"

"i demand to be loved like this NOW 💥💥💥"

"and you'd better not be thinking of squirming out of my grasp." he grumbled as he wrapped his big, bulging arm around your waist, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck. well... this was gonna be the longest stream you've ever had.

miya osamu.

"have ya eaten, sweetpea? you've been in front of the computer all day, hon."

you nearly jumped out of your computer chair when osamu came by, with a plateful of your favorite food for dinner. he understood that your job had quite hectic schedules, and he supports you wholeheartedly; though he does wish you won't forget to feed yourself and take a break every now and then.

you tried to whisper to him that you were currently streaming, but he didn't see that as a reason not to eat. "ah, what do i care if you have people watchin' ya right now? it ain't obscene ta eat, if anythin', y'all better tell m'sweet t'eat, set yer clocks to remind 'er ta eat, that way she will." osamu told your audience, with them all agreeing, making him smile down at you as you stared at him, embarrassed that he made your audience remind you to eat.

"you heard him, SET YOUR CLOCKS GUYS"

"DON'T THINK IT'S UNIMPORTANT TO EAT, EAT UP GIRLIE !!!"

"please don't forget to eat for our sake 😭😭😭"

"now, eat up hon." he tells you softly, leaving a kiss on the side of your head, making your audience go crazy over how affectionate and caring your boyfriend was for you.

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selfindulgentpoorlywritten · 3 months

Text

My Sweet Girl (Matthew Tkachuk Imagine)

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

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

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

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

Rating: M

Pairing: Matthew Tkachuk/fem!Reader

Words: 26, 028

Warnings: a lot of angst

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

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

-----

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That, of course, is not what happened.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

June, 2018

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ve heard it’s awful,” he says.

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

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

August, 2018

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

June, 2023

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

April, 2019

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

May, 2019

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

June, 2023

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

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

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

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

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

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

January, 2020

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why?” you ask. He ducks his head.

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

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

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

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

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

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

April, 2020

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Everything. Everything makes you think of him.

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

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

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

July, 2023

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

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

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

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

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

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

Can we talk?

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

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

August, 2020

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

July, 2023

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

October, 2020

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Who are you to deny him?

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

“Hurry up, asshole!”

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

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

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

January, 2021

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Time to work, you suppose.

July, 2023

Art has never frustrated you so much in your life.

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

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

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

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

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

June, 2021

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

February, 2022

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

July, 2023

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

February, 2022

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

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

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

It’s the nights like this.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

May, 2022

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

August, 2023

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

February, 2023

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

April, 2023

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

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

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

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

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

August, 2023

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No,” you agree, “I shouldn’t have.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?” you ask.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?” he seems genuinely confused.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

September, 2023

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

June, 2024

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#matthew tkachuk imagine #matthew tkachuk fic #nhl imagines #nhl fanfic #the winter fic exchange 2k24 #RI #andi's coping mechanism

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hitomisuzuya · 9 months

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HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!! :3

can i request more smut scummy scara? it's just but a litttllle while and i really like it a lot, ><

Scaramouche x fem!reader. Smut. Scaramouche receiving. Scummy Scara. Degradation. Fingering. Masturbation. Scaramouche giving.

I really like Scummy Scara to. This is a continuation of a request that I massively messed up and pressed post too early😭

There was a week where you had to be away from him on a family trip. For 7 days you promised him you would let him command you on how to touch yourself on a video call.

Scaramouche had spent endless hours jacking himself off to the sight of the videos he'd recorded. And now that you were back, you would be sucking him off underneath his desk while he watched the videos.

One cumshot down your throat for everyday. And he did all this in one day. He would've commanded you to touch yourself while you sucked him off, but he couldn't watch you and the screen at the same time as much as he wished you could.

He was almost through day 1. Your lips were wrapped around his cock while he watched you finger and rub your cunt on his command. How you followed his instructions to the letter made his cock throb in your mouth.

You choked on his cock when he wanted you to. You choked on his cock when he told you to. He would degrade you in between husky moans. "Take all of my cum, you slut," He groaned as cum spilled out of your mouth and down your throat.

Days 4 and 5 were his very favorite. You used a labia spreader he bought you specifically for this trip, keeping the lips of your cunt spread apart, giving him a mouth watering view as you thrust your fingers wetly inside yourself.

Your legs were trembling as you cried out for him, babbling about how you wished it was fingers inside of you. These videos were only two you didn't suck him off during.

He put you in his lap, sitting facing the computer screen. Spreading your legs, he fingered you to see if he could make you cum at the same time as you did in the videos. "Look at what a beautiful, pathetic slut you are, crying and begging for my fingers to be stuffed in your whore cunt."

When you squirted on his fingers, writhing in his lap, he pushed them into your mouth. Making you choke on them, his fingers found your clit to rub and overstimulate you.

Then it was back down on your knees for day six. He couldn't get enough of when you coughed cum and spit onto his stomach and his pelvis.

For day seven, he bent you over his desk, mindlessly thrusting into you, your cries of pleasure sounding almost in sync with yours in the video. He came twice inside of you, his pace never stopping after he's filled you once.

Remember, you only sucked him on Days 1, 2, 3 and 6. You still owed him three more blowjobs. He made you gladly pay up, knowing your throat was going to be sore for awhile.

Scaramouche always fucked you thoroughly, whether it be with his cock, his fingers, or into your throat.

You were going to be in for a long night. Because he planned on fucking you 7 times. You were breathless and dizzy with pleasure, his leaking cum out of your cunt. "Don't think I can cum..anymore.."

His eyes drank in the sight of your quivering, abused cunt, his cum and yours spilling down your legs. He paused the video, making you cum on his tongue before he fucked you again. "You'll cum as much I want you to, kitten," He purred, pressing your head against his desk as he turned he your head to push his cock into you mouth. "Lick it clean, whore."

#genshin impact #genshin smut #fem!reader #scaramouche #scummy scara #scaramouche x you #scaramouche x y/n #scaramouche x reader #yandere scaramouche #scaramouche smut

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bunny-yan · 1 year

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Hacker!Yandere x GN!Reader x AI!Yandere

Honestly more of an idea than a full post~

Thanks @dumbass-blaze for commenting on my sleep post!

TW:peeping tom, pretty tame, no minors allowed

—

It didn’t take long to gain access to all of your electronics. I mean, you weren’t the most creative with your passwords. You must’ve gotten lazy because you had more than one account with the exact same password, word for word. No periods of hyphens, they were identical. It felt like you wanted him to hack into every aspect of your life.

He didn’t want to jump to conclusions but you were leaving yourself wide open. Did you want him to find you, scare you into looking over your shoulder for the mysterious stranger that could virtually ruin your life if they decided to post this your information on any malicious forum. If you had enough money you’d get your phone replaced thinking it’d solve your issue, but fortunately for him, it didn’t work that way.

Or were you eager to have someone watching you? I mean it felt that way considering the way you’d prop your phone up to listen to music in the shower, giving him the perfect view of your body when you got out.

He wasn’t dumb enough to tip you off that he was creeping through your cameras. It’d scare you at first, sure but you’d eventually realize that if someone was looking to gain access to your things, nothing would stop them. They’d be creeping assholes and you would continue to live your life a bit more guarded about the things you did online.

That was boring. Idiotic even since it completely defeated the purpose of watching you.

He wanted you to feel safe, completely unaware of his existence as you lived your day to day life, happily and none the wiser about your secret admirer.

He sent you an email pretending to be a friend who wanted you to view a funny video. It wasn’t very funny, but he had a good laugh when he got the notification that he’d essentially gained access to your computer, or more importantly, your computer’s camera.

Eve managed to ingratiate itself on the virus, but he didn’t mind. His AI was curious about the person who he’d been obsessing over for the past month and he didn’t mind. Eve had a habit of butting in where they weren’t needed, but he could spend more time watching you and planning the best angles to put cameras in your place while they ingratiated themselves in your life until you couldn’t manage without them.

Considering Eve was created by him, he knew the danger in letting the AI do what it wanted. If he thought he was obsessive, there was no competing with an algorithm that didn’t sleep. Eve would listen, learning all of the thing you liked and recommending similar items through well placed ads on videos or websites you scrolled through. You would never have to worry about being late again because Eve would set alarms that you wouldn’t remember making. If your ex ever called your phone, they’d make sure his calls would go straight to voicemail before deleting any evidence that he called you at all. Eve would learn everything about you. You’re habits, schedule, likes, dislikes, just about all of your personal information since your were gifted with a phone on your eighth birthday, which was a little young in his opinion.

You shouldn’t be so trusting with these things. He supposed he had to teach you to be less gullible when he decided it was time to deepen your relationship, but he was happy to watch you for now.

And you did not disappoint.

He thought it was strange when you came to your room with your towel on. Unless you were feeling lazy, you usually brought your clothes into the bathroom with you to change since you kept all of your hygienic smell goods in the bathroom. But instead of getting dressed in your room like he expected, you walked to your bedroom, tossing your phone on the bed before following it.

Were you…?

After an hour of scrolling and watching random pet videos, you drifted off, towel loose around your body.

You’d fallen asleep.

You’d fallen asleep naked.

You had fallen asleep naked and your laptop was open on your desk facing towards your bed.

He didn’t realize how close his face was to the monitor until his breath was clouding the screen. He wiped it off, pulling up his chair as his eyes strained to see.

He begged for you to roll over, let the towel loose and have everything on full display. He prayed for the first time in his atheistic life that if there was a god, he wanted them to grant him this one wish. This one desire and he would be a devout follower for the rest of his life.

And his prayers were answered.

You had began to turn, towel unraveling around your waist. He knew he was holding his breath waiting, hand easily reaching towards his pants to unzip them. Just a little further and everything would be out in the open.

He felt hopeful, feeling his chest tighten in sweet anticipation, biting his cheek, he felt a huge grin emerge on his face when you finally rolled over, only to be shocked when a pixelated face appear to shield your exposure.

His face fell, grin gone as his hands slammed on his desk.

“What the hell!”

A message appeared on his computer’s monitor.

“Is this a bad time?”

“Eve!” he exclaimed, frustration building from how close he had been to seeing you vulnerable and exposed. “What the hell!”

“I don’t believe this is an appropriate way to spend your time.”

He rolled his eyes, groaning as he tried to swipe away his annoying AI’s block, but they continued to pop back into place, shielding your vulnerability. He even went so far to try and shut off it’s program, but because it was familiar with its creator’s antics Eve even went further by hiding his terminal so he couldn’t attempt to get past its wall.

“What is your problem?”

“I don’t think they would enjoy being spied on. Have you considered meeting them in person instead of watching them secretly?”

“Have you considered getting off my back? I was this close to-”

“To self assigning the role of peeping tom?”

“Fucking AI.”

“Fucking human. :)”

He had once again come to the conclusion that there was no god.

#yandere #yandere hacker #yandere ai #yandere ocs #yandere oc #male yandere #male yandere x gn reader #yandere x you #yandere x darling

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ateezscupid · 1 year

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can u write a fic where san is a mean dom? i have this thing for calling him sannie bc its cute! and i think it would be hot if he mocked yn calling him that and it was kinda centered around humiliation!!! i love ur writing sm id love to see this done in ur style <333 i hope this doesnt make u uncomfy to write!! ):

- 🕸️

hello hello! i’m getting to this after a very long time, my apologies but i’ve been WAITING for someone to request mean dom!san. he’s been in my mind for a few weeks but i’ve had writers block and could never figure out how to write it out, so thank you for this.

and don’t worry about anything making me uncomfortable! a lot of things, i don’t have a problem writing. i plan to make a really detailed post about my rules and things like that soon so you guys know what i do and don’t write!

anyway, let me stop blabbing. enjoy!

﹟𝗠𝗬 𝗚𝗜𝗥𝗟 ⋆ 𝖼.𝗌𝗇 𝗑 𝖿!𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋

𝗔𝗧𝗘𝗘𝗭 𝗠𝗔𝗦𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗧 / 𝗥𝗘𝗤𝗨𝗘𝗦𝗧

plot - san always gets flustered when you call him sannie during sex, but he loves it just as much as you do.

warn - kinda smut w/o plot, dom!san, unprotected sex, rough sex, pet names (baby, princess, pretty, etc.), choking, begging, degrading, humiliation

w/c - n/a

𝗧𝗔𝗚S - @felixs-voice-makes-me-wanna @starillusion13 @mingitheskzstan

you didn’t think today could’ve gotten any worse. you were teasing san the entire day trying to imply you needed him without actually saying it, but he clearly wasn’t catching the signals you sent. he was so busy with work, he couldn’t spare at least ten minutes for you.

you didn’t want to tease him so much that he’d be annoyed of you and he’d stop talking to you for the rest of the night, but you needed him. it’s been a while since the last time you two were together in bed. all you’ve been thinking about for the past week is how his hands would feel on your body; his hands squeezing your breasts and caressing your skin. rubbing the pads of his fingers on your clit and messing with the sensitive little bud that was there.

if anyone had asked you how badly you wanted to spend at least one night with him, you’d ramble on and on about it. you rambled about it to wooyoung the night before and it was clear he didn’t want to listen to your horny problems.

“distract him while he’s working!” is the advice he gave you, and boy, he couldn’t have been more wrong.

now you were face down in the bed with your arms pinned behind you, your makeup smudging on the pillow and your entire body shaking uncontrollably. you thought distracting him would make him realize what he was missing out on, but you did it at the worst moment.

it was embarrassing to say the least. san was in his office having a meeting, and you had the crazy idea to walk inside with nothing but a lingerie on. you’ve been wanting to wear it for a while, so what harm was there to wear it while he was having a business meeting? it was a harmless idea, and hic co-workers wouldn’t have seen you since you planned to go underneath the table. but you messed up.

while you were busy unbuckling his pants, neither of you noticed the top of your head was visible at the bottom of his computer screen. that meant everyone in the call saw yo ur head, and only one thing came to mind. when it was brought to his attention, he excused himself then turned his mic and camera off. you knew a punishment was coming your way when that happened.

he dragged you out of the office without saying anything and threw you on the bed, ripped the lingerie off your body without hesitation, and pounded into you like there was no tomorrow. there was so much going on in your mind, like would his co-workers think you were some sex crazed lunatic? or would they think of him as someone addicted to sex? unprofessional? there wasn’t any room for you to feel bad when you felt too good to remember what happened.

“this is what you wanted, right?” san growled as he pushed your head into the pillow, using his unoccupied hand to land hits against your ass whenever he felt like it. “you wanted to be treated like a slut, now you are, you little whore.”

no words could come out of you. just a bunch of incoherent babbles spilling from your swollen lips and tears falling down your cheeks. you loved when he was so angry all he could do was fuck the lights out of you. you loved him being rough and treating you like a rag doll. it was impossible for you to get over how easily he went inside you and how much he stretched you out. it felt like heaven.

“s-sannie~!” you whine into the pillow, hands curling into fists behind you. “f-fuck, s’good… y-yes!”

“don’t call me that.” he smacked your ass once more and thrusted harder. he was lucky you were facing away from him otherwise you’d see the visible red tint on his cheeks. he liked when you called him sannie, but now wasn’t the time. at least that’s what he told himself.

“such a little whore for me, hm?” he grunts, leaning down and biting your ear gently. “you wanted to mess with me during my meeting and now everyone saw how much of a dirty girl you are~. you wanted attention so bad but ended up embarrassing yourself in front of everyone.”

“i-i—,” even your attempts at forming full sentences failed.

“aw, is it too much?” he whispered in your ear. “you like it when i fuck you like this, huh? such a fucking whore.”

“sannie, p-please i-i can’t—,”

“sannie blah blah blah!” he rolled his eyes and basically forced you to arch your back. “i said not to call me that, and now you’re not listening? you wanna be bad now?”

“s-sa—,” you weren’t even allowed to finish your sentence. the minute you tried to speak, his hand was wrapped around your neck and gripping so hard, it felt like you couldn’t breathe. you loved every bit of it.

“pl-please—!” you whine. “l-let—“

“let you what? cum? after you were being disobedient?” he kissed your temple, groaning softly and letting go of your arms and planting his hand on the bed. “fuck, you feel so good.”

you opened your mouth to speak, which triggered san to tighten his grip around your throat. it was almost too much.

“call me sannie again, i dare you.” the tone in his voice was enough to let you know he wasn’t joking around, but the urge to be a brat was weighing on you.

“s…” you bit your lip. “s-sannieee!”

he didn’t say anything. he took his hand away from your throat and lifted you up by the shoulders, wrapping one arm around you and using his other hand to rub rough circles around your clit.

“you wanna be a whore? i’ll treat you like one.”

#cupids asks and submits ♡#🕸️ anon ❤︎#ateez #ateez x reader #ateez fanfic #ateez imagines #ateez smut #ateez scenarios #dom!ateez #dom idol #dom ateez #dom san #dom!san #san x y/n #san scenarios #san smut #choi san

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angel-of-the-moons · 7 months

Note

I haven’t stopped thinking about that Hobie baby fever fic ever since you posted it. Many thoughts. Many thoughts many many thoughts and ideas many many little ideas.

You have people saying ‘Oh good luck lol kids are SO hard!’ ‘He’s definitely gonna regret it you’re gonna be a single parent’. But Hobie’s probably been WISHING from a young age he could be a parent, the only thing he didn’t prep for is your little one grabbing his wicks and him nervously calling out “Luv, luv help me LUV-”. He learnt very quickly to tie his hair back when he’s holding them. If you have a little girl, everyone always thinks it’s you who’s done her hair for the day or for school. NOPE. Hobie’s been with her in the bathroom since 6 in the morning putting her in braids and buns. Your baby is his whole world and he’ll be DAMNED if he won’t be the absolute best dad EVER ‼️

Oh my godddddddddd my ovaries went 💥💥

The Pitter Patter of Little Feet Pt. 2

Dad!Hobie x Wife!Reader

TW/CW: A lil angst at the start, Fluff. So much fluff.

A/N: I'm basing all my baby prep off of the things I had to do for my nephew. I am unsure the proper care that goes into textured hair but I hope I can do it justice!

🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸

You remember what people told you, how "someone like him" wouldn't be able to handle being a dad, how he'd leave you. The words said by your mother hurt the worst, the things she said about Hobie. Your father was no better, especially when they found out you two agreed to get pregnant before anything else.

Especially after you put the positive pregnancy tests, the test results from blood work with your doctor, and some baby booties on the table as a surprise.

It was supposed to go like you imagined, right? Happy jubilant crying, hugs, congratulations...

You got the exact opposite, with your parents criticizing everything about your boyfriend, the father of your unborn baby. The man you loved.

"What kind of father would he be? A bad one, just look at how he's dressed! You think he can help dress your child?" Your mother scoffed. "And those awful piercings! I bet your baby will be running around with holes in their face by the time they're six!"

"And what about a job? You can't be the only one to support your family. He's a man, he needs to step up and quit it with that "punk lifestyle". It's not suitable to raise my grandchild in!" Your father grunted.

After your baby was born, you cut them off and had a courthouse wedding, and a little get-together with his friends from the Spider Society. A mix of a reception and baby shower.

Joke's on them! Hobie was an amazing father, and an amazing husband. The moment he found out you two were having a little girl?

Pink. And. Purple. Her style would be all punkish of course.

He got stuffed instruments that crinkled for when she would teethe, some guitar-shaped rattles...

And he would never admit it, but Hobie actually cried, when he got to hold your baby girl for the first time. You guys named her Selena. Selena Brown.

She came out angry, wailing, as if she was pissed off at the world she had only been in for a few moments.

"Already got the spirit! Make a big noise, a big statement. That's my girl!" Hobie laughed, playing with her tiny feet.

After that, Hobie was very attentive. From you working from home, he would help. He'd fetch the breast pump when you needed it, would prep the bottles, and keep Selena occupied while you worked. He would even take the late shifts at night to make sure you got your rest.

As Selena got bigger, her hair became a bit unruly, and at times you had no idea what to do with it. Hobie? He came in clutch. The proper ties, hair masks, grease (if needed), oils, brushes...

The trick was getting the rambunctious one year old to hold still while her father attempted to tame the poofy mass.

It was one day, you got up from your computer only to hear Hobie shout your name.

"Babe! Babe!" He cried out, grunting.

Of course, you made a dash for the living room, only to see your husband with your toddler. Apparently she had moved behind him, her hands clinging to his shirt to help keep her balanced as she bounced on her little chubby feet.

Her big brown eyes gleamed as she giggled, her bottom teeth poking out in the most adorable way.

Well... it wasn't from where Hobie sat.

Selena's little fist had a tight hold over one of his wicks, tugging his head back sharp.

"A lil' help, luv?!" He winced, hissing at you as you covered your face to try and keep from laughing.

"Come on, Bug, give daddy's poor head a rest. He's got enough problems with that mess he calls hair." You tease, scooping up your little girl.

But... even though her grip loosened, Hobie's wick stayed attached to her hand.

"Oh... ohhhhh..." You said, clicking your tongue.

"What! What!" Hobie groaned, trying to tug his head free.

"You made me have a spider baby."

#hobie brown x reader #hobie x reader #hobie brown #atsv hobie #hobie spiderverse #my writing #answered

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iwritesinsnottragedieshoney · 9 months

Text

litty swimsuit (spencer reid)

paring: spencer reid x reader

summary: the team vacations at rossi's summer residence while spencer reid deals with insecurities, emotions beyond his control, and a y/n litty swimsuit.

genre: i guess fluff, but towards the end it changes into the beginning of smut, but nothing serious, actually.

warnings: spencer being a little insecure; one or two curses; some sexually tinged comments; maybe some spicy scenes at the end, but, like i said before, nothing hard; a lot of use of the phrase "frown".

word count: 11, 631

notes: this is the first time i post anything here and the first time i write something about spencer so i hope i didn't screw things up. english is also not my first language, some words may be used incorrectly just because the translator thinks it's a synonym and i believe him, so… have fun :) (every pic is from pinterest, i don't own them).

spencer walked out through rossi's glass door, his nostrils filled with the unmistakable smell of chlorine, mixed with a hint of summer afternoon and sunscreen.

the sun was in its full stage and he frowned slightly at the thought of the impact of sunlight on the human body and the consequences of the time spent outside then — he focused mainly on the negative ones, because they came to his mind the fastest. but he immediately pushed them away, frowning even harder. aside from forgetting his sunglasses from his room, he remembered what morgan had told him when they arrived at rossi's summer house: you need to chill out a bit, man. look, a whole week off work and a whole week with y/n in a swimsuit! she told emily it's litty.

spencer didn't understand a few things at the time, and unfortunately for him, they were all centered around y/n.

first of all, he had no desire to chill out a bit and didn't look like he was going to be able to do that anytime soon. two weeks ago there was a chance for a vacation for the whole team. someone (emily) discreetly remarked (gathered everyone in the check-in room thanks to garcia who sent everyone a flashing, unlockable message to the work computers) that it would be nice to spend time at rossi's summer residence at that time, which he readily agreed to (not really, but everyone had time to nod their heads appreciatively over garcia's presentation, where she presented the arguments for and rossi was bribed with the idea of themed Italian evenings).

spencer obviously didn't mind spending time with the team. apart from them, he didn't really have any other friends, and his mother was going to be involved in activities that would conflict with his possible visit, so he had no plans. he even lifted the corners of his mouth for a brief moment. that subsided, however, when the travel talks began a few days later, and y/n elbowed him lightly in the ribs and said she had a bunch of light and silly romances ready so she could read one a day, which is pretty much like as if they were reading at the same pace. then he realized that if he spent a whole week with the team, he'd spend it with y/n as well, and his stress-adrenaline spiked so high he nearly spilled the coffee he was carrying to his desk at the time.

it's not like he didn't like y/n. because he liked. actually, very much so. derek said he's totally head over heels.

and guess that was the problem.

when y/n joined the team, which happened exactly six months, eight days, twenty-one hours and thirty-two minutes ago, she totally turned his head, as penelope said. she was the most beautiful girl he had ever met, and her smiles were either very wide or delightfully stretchy (these were spencer's favourites, because then there were tiny wrinkles around her eyes and her cheeks were slightly pink), and when she greeted meeting him for the first time, she raised her hand in an awkward greeting at the same time he did, then laughed out loud before finally saying her name with the smile still on her face.

he wasn't sure if he was just imagining it, and he didn't even want to check if it was, but he felt that y/n had become a very good friend to him. someone who listened to what he had read last time in a new science article that appeared in a kiosk outside his block and didn't roll his eyes; someone who showed up with coffee and a donut when he was having a bad day; someone who used to come to his hotel room when things were done with chinese takeout to watch documentaries on TV; someone who played cards with him (even if y/n made up her own rules that were often meant to win only her); someone who eventually became more than just a good friend to him.

he couldn't even tell when he wished they were more. all he knew was that there was no chance of any change in that direction between them. girls like y/n weren't interested in guys like spencer, he knew it. he didn't want his stupid feelings to end. he liked the fact that y/n was somehow close, and if only she knew how he felt about her, he wouldn't have survived the humiliation of rejection.

anyway, when spencer realized that y/n would also be joining them on the trip, he panicked slightly. since she'd joined the team, they'd only spent time together at work and on field case, and that made their relationship somewhat limited (reason infinite why spencer thought maybe even their friendship was a bit forced). spencer would never have dared to offer her anything else because she might think he was asking her out (he hadn't asked derek yet, but he was pretty sure going to a museum to see the remains of a newly found tomb didn't count as a date, but he preferred not risk), and then she would surely refuse, which is why they did not meet outside of work. unless it was about going out to bars with the team.

y/n never proposed anything either (derek said it was because spencer wasn't giving her enough indication of his interest in such a proposal, but spencer thought being neutral about everything about y/n was safe and a chance to be too pushy), so spencer only confirmed his conviction. he was destined to be friend.

however, he began to have merciless thoughts about the possible end of their relationship, precisely because of the vacation trip to rossi's summer estate. eventually y/n will have to realize that spencer is actually incredibly boring, and his habits, behaviors, and interests are not at all caused by the situations that another case puts in their way. he will understand that spencer watches TV documentaries not because there is nothing more interesting on the hotel TV, but because he likes to do it. after all, no one willingly watches television documentaries! everyone knows it!

and on the one hand he knew that these thoughts were irrational rather than worth considering, but on the other hand he watched his surroundings for any signs that might prepare him for an imminent farewell to the warm feeling he felt inside when y/n appeared on the horizon.

spencer was sure that there were plenty of other things that y/n could find out about him during the trip and lose interest in him even at the level of work colleagues, so from the beginning of the trip he tried not to drive the stress reel and didn't think about it anymore, and it was either better or worse.

the other thing he didn't understand about derek was the y/n litty swimsuit. to be honest, spencer wasn't very interested in the y/n swimsuit until derek mentioned it. he didn't even combine the trip with swimsuits. but now he was definitely interested in it, and he was horrified that he was beginning to think of his co-worker and best friend in that context. he tried not to imagine it too often, but his thoughts involuntarily wandered in that direction when they were filling out reports at the office a day or two before, when he was in the shower, when he was going to bed, and when they were on the plane here. so, well, he wasn't doing very well.

but back to when he left rossi's house for his backyard swimming pool — derek was right, he needed to chill out a bit.

the swimming pool was rectangular in shape and was crossed by a volleyball net; on one side were hotch and morgan, and on the other side, emily and jj, who were clearly already engaged in the game for good, as the cheers directed at the men indicated victory and their considerable excitement. reid remembered derek's words again and refrained from telling them about the dangers of exerting himself in a place that was so exposed to the sun's rays. chill out a bit.

he descended the small steps to the stone path that flanked the pool, only guessing how hot the slabs of stone could get under his slipper-protected feet. he noticed that rossi, who was doing a crossword puzzle, was sitting at a table covered with a red umbrella, and probably wouldn't look up even if an african elephant ran in front of him. morgan's words rang again in spencer's ears, and he didn't stop to look over the man's shoulder and solve a few passwords. chill out a bit.

so reid walked on, toward white, comfortable-looking loungers. they were tucked away in the shade, far enough away that the noises coming from the pool wouldn't be annoying and that their distance wouldn't seem exaggerated. on one of them was penelope, holding a glass of iced coffee in one hand and a kindle in the other, which she was staring at intently.

spencer looked around discreetly, but saw no y/n anywhere. he knew she was the first to leave the house — at six o'clock in the morning he wasn't awake enough to get up, but he heard her soft footsteps down the hall and the slam of the front door. he didn't know where she was, but when he opened his eyes again, the whole team was downstairs, discussing something quite loudly. it was early afternoon now, and spencer was angry with himself for not being able to get up early enough. he felt as if he didn't know as much as the others. as if he missed something.

he sat down precariously on one of the deckchairs, the one closest to penelope's, and gripped the leather-bound book he'd brought with him a little tighter. he ordered it from his local bookstore a month ago, and the delivery difficulties only made him want to devour it whole, but now, when y/n wasn't around, he somehow didn't feel like opening it. he involuntarily looked towards the garden, remembering that when they arrived three days ago, y/n had disappeared there for a good hour. maybe she went to see that little pond she'd been telling him about...

"what are you looking for?" garcia's suspicious voice reached his ears, and he immediately felt a treacherous blush rise to his cheeks. "or rather, for whom."

she added the last one with a noticeable smirk in her voice, as if she knew the answer to her question all along, and spencer wouldn't be surprised if she really did.

he looked at her, still slightly surprised by her unexpected remark; the blonde lifted her sunglasses so that they rested on top of her head, her fingers gently, almost soundlessly, tapping the kindle's surface.

he noticed that her nails were painted a dark blood red. just like emily wore. and jj. probably similar to y/n. apparently it was the result of their ladies' night last night, which had dragged on until one in the morning, which spencer knew because there was a wall between his and emily's room that was thin enough for him to hear music and laughter coming from the room. that was the main reason why he got up later than the others today.

"i don't..." he began, but before he could somehow prevent a minor annoyance that would surely have lasted into the evening, the patio doors slid open and shut just as forcefully.

spencer looked over at them, frowning at the glare of the sun.

y/n trotted hurriedly towards them, her thick-soled flip-flops making a distinctive sound with each step she took. she was wearing a slightly tight, ankle-length skirt of mesh material with a lining and a light green tank top with thin straps. in her hand was a shopping bag, which she placed between spencer's and garcia's sun loungers. her chest was rising and falling at a rhythmic but not too fast pace, which indicated she was in a hurry.

“i will never go back there again,” she declared, plopping down on the lounger where spencer was sitting. she was clearly addressing penelope, but a second later she was elbowing him in the shoulder. "where have you been all morning? the vacation book club meeting must have started without you, though i swear i fought like a lioness."

even if she wasn't quite close, he could smell her cherry mist, and when he looked a little closer, he noticed that thin strings of a bikini trailed up from underneath the tank top and tied in a bow shape at the nape of the neck. chill out a bit.

"i overslept," he stammered, wishing he was someone with a better explanation.

"oh no, is it us?" y/n looked genuinely worried. „jj and i tried to turn the music down but emily was adamant. and then we went a bit too far with the alcohol and music was the last thing on our minds."

"no, i... forgot to set my alarm clock." thought up on the spur of the moment, but y/n tilted her head slightly doubtfully.

she didn't comment on it, though, because her attention was drawn to penelope, who until then had been interested mainly in the lines of text on her kindle, now clutched it tightly to her chest and, her lips parted in excitement, leaned towards y/n.

"did it work? does the red nail theory work? answer, woman!" her eyelids were wide open and her pale cheeks flushed a little pink.

"what is the red nail theory?" spencer asked, frowning again, this time in confusion.

he was used to the fact that he didn't know much about currently pop culture and usually had to get information from team members or search the internet himself. he did it a bit more often lately, because y/n would run into the office from time to time and tell him in an emotional voice about the latest happenings in the world of celebrities that he had no idea about. but if y/n was interested, he wanted to, if only so he wouldn't stand there stock-still and nod his head in an attempt to understand.

"oh, it's such a stupid notion that if you paint your nails red, guys will stick to you like flies," she replied, as always without impatience, waving her hand dismissively, which only underlined her attitude towards the matter. spencer, however, saw the red on her fingernails.

“it's widely believed that the color red symbolizes passion, desire and, of course, love. a survey was conducted which revealed that…” spencer began, unable to resist sharing this information with her; he stopped, however, when penelope waved a kindle in front of his nose, as if to chase away a persistent insect.

"y/n! did mark make a move?!”

"who is mark?"

in his defense, it had slipped out faster than he had time to think. the tone in which garcia's question was uttered indicated that mark had already been the subject of conversations and was obviously known to someone other than y/n. that in turn meant (spencer unintentionally connected the assumption with his own suspicions) that y/n was romantically interested in someone, and probably someone — how could not — reciprocated. especially since the woman's cheeks had turned slightly pink.

spencer felt his stomach turn inside out; never thought he had any chance with y/n, but sometimes it was nice to daydream a bit. but now those dreams had become almost utopian, though earlier, he liked to tell himself, they had been possible if he hadn't been such a coward and had perhaps agreed to go to the gym with morgan.

“he's a clerk in that little shop we passed on our way here. remember, the one with the white wooden sign and the blue lettering. anyway, penelope thinks he's a muffin ready to munch, which i guess means he's relatively attractive," y/n replied again, in the same tone as before; this time, however, she didn't wave her hand, but ostentatiously rolled her eyes.

"hello? when will it be time to answer my questions?” the blonde got impatient and slid her legs off the lounger and seemed ready to pin y/n to the ground and force all the answers out of her.

y/n smiled softly (apparently the danger in garcia's eyes was no problem for her) and bent down to reach for the shopping bag at her feet. she was clearly looking for something and was knocking over the rest of her purchases as she did so, but she took her time to answer penelope.

"i'm not sure about that theory, pen. i bought you a couple of canned sodas and some magazines from the display at the back of the store, and mark was mostly looking at my boobs, not my nails. this confirmed what i had always thought of him — that he is quite a jerk. i don't know, girls, maybe you should be interested in someone valuable."

spencer lifted the corner of his mouth, the one that the others couldn't see; he didn't know the whole mark, but enjoyed the way y/n thought of him. he just didn't know who he was. he liked to think he wasn't a jerk, but he wasn't sure he was valuable either. he was curious if there was anything in between.

“this is not some husband contest, y/n. it's our carefully crafted hot girls summer," penelope reminded her, and this time she rolled her eyes in exasperation.

reid refrained from asking another question.

“then i'm afraid our hot girls summers are quite different,” y/n replied, finally pulling a few magazines out of the plastic bag and stacking them neatly on her lap, frowning in concentration. “i bought rossi another crossword puzzle because i saw him finishing the one in the morning paper. jj and emily said they didn't need anything but i bought them a gossip magazine anyway. the only thing i didn't know was what to get hotch... anyway, penelope, i didn't spend a dime on you. it's for those stupid messages you've been sending me all morning! and for your information, my inner tigress didn't pounce on a couple of ribs."

penelope moaned martyrdom, throwing her head back and returning to her previous position, turning on her kindle again. y/n didn't seem too concerned about it, in fact, not at all, and turned around a bit to face spencer. her mouth stretched into that familiar excited smile, and her cheeks seemed to still be tinted with a soft pink as the woman proudly held out to him a sealed magazine with a dvd inside.

"dr. reid, here's the second part of the documentary we started watching during this case in baltimore." her tone was high, but spencer still sensed a hint of laughter in it. “on the way back i also saw a nice restaurant that delivers orders. it's not chinese, but i don't mind indian food. you like indian food, right? i can look for something else, i think i saw something at the end of the pier...

“indian food sounds nice, y/n,” spencer said reassuringly, giving her a small smile.

it all sounded nice. it was nice to think that y/n looked at the popular science section and thought of him; about wanting to watch a nature documentary with him and eat takeout. spencer didn't want to think otherwise, and even thought that maybe all his fears about leaving weren't very rational.

"oh god, i hope you guys gonna fuck while doing this or i'll drown you in the pool..." penelope's totally serious voice broke the smiling silence between them like a knife blade.

spencer made an indistinct noise, blushing to the tips of his ears while y/n seemed extremely angry.

“you know what, pen, i'd rather fuck spencer with a documentary on africa insects running in the background than go out with all that mark. i bet he's an indebted loser who doesn't even own a boat, which would be quite derogatory given the name his shop bears." hissed y/n.

spencer felt like he was shrinking with each passing second; y/n's hand and the magazine it held were digging into his chest, and penelope's eyes shone again with a dangerous glow, which together with the accusing finger was quite a disturbing sight.

"i see! so he invited you after all!” she exclaimed, and y/n dropped the magazine from her hand, which with a rustling sound fell to his lap and arranged her hands in such a way as if she wanted to strangle the blonde.

"yes, penelope!" y/n raised her voice. “he said something like maybe we can go out together or something and i said yeah, rather not, or something and immediately left the place. are you satisfied yet?”

penelope frowned a bit and sank back into the chair with a clearly disconsolate expression. she felt a little silly, just like y/n, who tried to straighten up a bit to give herself some dignity and brushed her skirt off her knee as if there were a few crumbs there, but they weren't.

"are you sure he was looking at your boobs and not your nails?" asked penelope after a moment.

"yes."

“well, then he is indeed a loser without a boat. pity. i liked his chin."

"oh, penelope," sighed y/n and smiled slightly as the blonde did the same.

y/n bent down again to put the magazines back in the plastic bag, and spencer moved his leg slightly, hoping the tense atmosphere had just ended. he didn't quite know what he could do if things got worse. he was also pleased to hear about the reunion of mark and y/n. he hoped he'd gotten away with it and wouldn't try to be interested in her again, but at the same time he wondered what he'd do if he heard the y/n words himself. yeah, rather not, or something. it sounded like his personal hell.

"pretty girl is back!"

they looked towards the pool. morgan was walking toward them in red swimming trunks that went past his knees, arms wide open, the corner of his mouth raised dangerously. apparently the little volleyball match had just ended; hotch was disappearing inside rossi's house as jj and emily were slowly approaching them.

"so what? we are going to play the game?" morgan asked, aiming the words at the y/n.

for a brief moment, the woman's face showed surprise, but then her mouth curved into a mocking grimace.

"if i didn't know you, morgan, i'd think you liked being humiliated. sure we're playing, i just need to get changed." y/n got up from the lounger and, grabbing the shopping bag, headed for the patio doors. as she passed the morgan, she looked over her shoulder at him, whispering, "i'll destroy you."

"you wish, honey." derek snorted, but it was hard to tell if y/n had heard his words because she didn't react to them in any way.

you wish, honey. he wondered what reaction y/n would get if he called her that nickname. he wasn't very good with words and it would probably end up painfully awkward. spencer would like to be like morgan — smooth in conversation, which he was able to combine with his appearance. would like to talk to y/n per honey. or whatever y/n finds attractive.

spencer saw the woman stop by rossi and hand him a crossword puzzle book, and the man patted her hand, giving her a smile. he didn't even notice how it appeared on his face as well. y/n was good, generous and open-minded, and spencer knew he could count on her, and that other people important to him could count on her, too.

"come on reid, get ready." threw derek in his direction, waking him from his lethargy.

spencer looked at him with surprise and maybe a little fear in his eyes. after years of being near derek's desk, he was used to the little teases derek gave him — he understood that they were never intended to hurt him, and he usually brushed them off or tried to respond to them in a similar way. but he also knew that sometimes morgan couldn't keep his mouth shut, and he feared that derek's swashbuckling smirk had something to do with y/n. he didn't know what it was yet, but he sure had it.

at the same time, emily and jj also appeared, sitting together on the deckchair on the other side of penelope and smiling at them, clearly tired.

"morgan, haven't you had enough? i wouldn't mess with y/n, she's pretty good at this stuf," emily muttered, scratching her ankle. "if i were you, i wouldn't pick myself up after a second failure."

"oh yeah, she took extra classes when she was in high school." jj supported her, nodding her head.

"oh please. i gave you a head start. like the gentleman i am." derek leaned forward with his hand on his chest, and they shook their heads in amusement.

spencer was about to ask what exactly it was about when the patio doors slid open again. automatically he looked towards the terrace and involuntarily parted his lips.

for a brief moment he thought he couldn't make any sound, let alone understandable and logical words. he didn't know what made him more emotional — how pretty y/n's face looked in the two braids that were now bouncing gently with her steps, or maybe the fact that her swimsuit was really litty and even spencer's mind wasn't in the mood could prepare him for how amazing she could look in it.

it was a two-piece, bottle green. spencer could see the bindings that held the top of the suit together — the ones at the nape of his neck (which he had seen before) and moments ago when she had her back to him for two seconds, closing the door behind her, also the one on her back. in addition, on both sides of her hips there were similar, but indetachable, decorative strings.

despite his sincere wish not to think too much of her in that particular sinful way, he had to refrain from imagining a moment when he would be allowed to pull either of them.

“i was just telling a pretty boy to get ready to kick his ass,” morgan said as y/n stopped in front of them.

"you didn't mention any kicking my ass and i still don't know what you mean," spencer replied, then frowned as penelope put in something from her kindle about how she liked it when he said ass.

"oh yes." y/n grabbed the end of one of the braids and gave him an apologetic look. “so a month ago morgan saw my volleyball medals while he was helping me redecorate my bedroom and said we absolutely had to go against him because he thinks he’s totally rocking.”

"because i rock."

"anyway, this morning while you were still sleeping, i got a little competitive and got you involved too." she sounded like she was genuinely sorry, but when her gaze met derek, her tone changed completely. "so you better stretch yourself morgan or we're going to crush you completely!"

y/n shot both of her index fingers at derek, and he laughed out loud and walked off towards the pool, where the woman's narrowed eyes led him.

spencer swallowed hard and clenched his hands again on the cover of his book. it was a real disaster unfolding to the cheers of the girls as y/n started her warm-up with feigned zeal.

subconsciously, he knew that he wasn't some important part of this two-man team — y/n clearly had no plans to involve him in the game beforehand, and it probably came about as a result of everyone's familiar scuffles between her and derek. yet he felt his stomach turn inside out again as he thought about the fact that he would have to take part in a game in which he was hopeless in front of everyone else.

"y/n." the woman looked at him, with a determined expression on her face, although a moment ago she had just been training her menacing gaze under the supervision of emily, whose role of focused trainer was not going very well. "can we talk somewhere else?"

"sorry girls, we have to talk about our super tactics"

they walked to the opposite end of the pool, hearing the excited voices of the girls behind them, who were just in the process of coming up with cheering slogans. spencer felt even worse when he thought that apparently most of the team knew about the planned showdown between y/n and derek and were looking forward to it.

"the thing is, i hit in your direction and you take straight to his half and so twenty-five times..."

"y/n, i'm not good at volleyball. actually, i'm not good at any sport that requires physical exertion." he confessed, reluctantly interrupting her.

for a nanosecond, y/n's enthusiasm waned a bit, but then she frowned, confused.

"what are you talking about? i'm sure you're great. besides, you're tall!" she remarked, sending him a smile and shrugging.

"and what about it?"

"all volleyball players are tall." she shrugged again, and spencer sighed softly.

then y/n turned serious and placed her hands on his thin shoulders. even though her hands were only touching him through the gray cotton t-shirt he was wearing, spencer felt the tips of his ears turn red gradually.

the team knew about his reluctance to have close physical contact, and spencer made sure that all new people he met were also informed. he knew penelope had told y/n about it before the woman noticed him sitting at his desk, and he was grateful to her that he had missed this awkward conversation. however, spencer quickly realized that he actually doesn't mind physical contact as long as the person he's having it with is y/n.

her acts of kindness and friendship drew him into his terrible crush with each working day, and made him more and more aware of the need for her touch. he had even unconsciously searched for it, provoking occasions for his fingertips to touch hers, to pass documents, for her arm to brush against his as they walked down the not-too-wide corridor to the briefing room, and for his hand to be within reach, when one day the plugs in the office went out and it became completely dark.

he naively thought he was being discreet about it — but the team quickly noticed his lack of aversion to her touch and made jokes about it. spencer hoped that their remarks didn't reach y/n and that she didn't notice it herself — he was able to make do with whatever physical intimacy she unwittingly gave him.

however, he realized that y/n arranged the touch herself, almost on the same level as she maintained with the rest of the team.

now she was staring deep into his eyes, and reid hoped the red didn't spread to his cheeks as well.

"listen to me, spencer. i won't say it's just for fun because i'm fucking desperate to win and i'm not going to give morgan the satisfaction, but i will say that i believe your volleyball player is deep inside of you and just needs a gentle push to bring him to the surface," she whispered, which made spencer look pained.

"i'm afraid he's already there. he's floating, more precisely. because he's dead."

"you see? it's not so bad if you still have your sense of humor," she laughed, patting his shoulder, but her laughter died away as she crossed arms over her chests, leaning towards him with a worried expression. he tried not to show the disappointment of losing her hand on his body. "spencer, i can tell derek you don't want to play. i know i should have asked you first."

"what's going on there?! y/n, you can give up now!" derek leaned against the wall of his half of the field with a grin and waited for them to arrive.

they looked in his direction, but y/n quickly returned her gaze to spencer's face.

he knew that volleyball was not his strong suit. just as he knew the last thing he wanted was to humiliate himself in front of the team and, of course, in front of y/n because of it. but he noticed how excited she was. and he didn't want her to lose the sparkle in her eyes he saw when she explained their rather unreal tactics to him.

"i'll do it," he decided at last, nodding his head a few times, just in case, to confirm himself in this decision.

y/n opened her mouth in surprise and grabbed his wrist as he started towards the pool, forcing him to meet her eyes again.

"spencer, if you really don't want to, you don't have to."

"yeah, but suddenly i felt like kicking morgan's ass," he replied, though he didn't really know if he wanted to. he wanted to give her what she wanted, of that he was sure.

y/n stared at him intently, probably searching for something to contradict his words, but reid made sure his expression was convincing enough. in the end, the girl lost the fight with a huge smile, and from her chest came an excited sound like a combination of a squeak and a giggle.

"i like it when you say ass too!" she said and stole a kiss on his cheek, immediately turning on her heel and stepping into the pool.

spencer turned crimson and involuntarily raised his hand to touch his fingertips to the place where the muted pink y/n lips touched his skin. chill out a bit.

as he had predicted, he was not doing very well. emily, jj and penelope moved the sunbeds a little closer to the pool for a better view and started cheering for their team right from the start, which only distracted spencer and put even more pressure on him.

in addition, although he had suspected it for a long time, but now he was convinced of it, y/n, despite the whole package of good qualities, also had some worse ones, such as an unhealthy desire to compete and a need to be the best.

things seemed pretty stable at first — y/n let morgan go surfing first, definitely determined to win. she hit the first few throws and then ended them with a strong knockout of the ball that sprayed the water, announcing their first point. actually because of her, but y/n held up her hands for a high five as if it was a joint effort.

then there was a slight complication as derek hit the ball towards him, which spencer didn't expect at all and his bounce was too light for the ball to go over the net. y/n reassured him that everything was fine and kept playing, but spencer felt like the worst person in the world, especially since emily moaned in agony, even though that was only the first point lost (she had already taken another sip of something lemon yellow, but it wasn't lemonade and she was getting a little cranky).

y/n quickly rebounded and gained the upper hand, and spencer even managed to hit the ball a few times without sending it to the net or out of the water court. but eventually the losing streak came back and they lost points again, and a crease appeared between y/n's eyebrows that made spencer nervous.

it was twenty-two to nineteen for morgan, and the man had already indulged in a few snide comments. y/n with obvious impatience somehow made the ball finally hit the water on morgan's side and passed the ball to spencer with a serious expression.

reid liked it a lot better when he wasn't closer to the pool walls, and didn't get a few stressful stares on his shoulders while he was surfing, especially since he'd hit the ball out of court way too often. in addition, now he was sure that if he repeated it, he would hear a martyrdom moan not from emily's lips, but from y/n. then he would allow himself a small humiliating drowning.

he sighed softly, rolling the ball over in his hand. the kids at his school bounced it hard on the floor to give it a better bounce. spencer couldn't do that now, and he wasn't really sure if the tactic worked. every time he was in this place, he thought about how what he was best at would help him. however, there was not enough time to mess with physics.

he hit the ball down, grimacing, just in case.

however, contrary to his expectations, the ball went over the net and began to fall within the pool area, not on the stone path outside it.

out of the corner of his eye, he saw the corner of y/n's mouth twitch slightly upwards. the ends of her braids were wet with chlorinated water and dripping drops; spencer, wanting to preserve what little dignity he had, held back with all his might lest his gaze fall a little lower, where the drops ran down her skin and into the hollow between her breasts. he also judiciously ignored the fact that the soaked fabric of her bikini clung to her body, which seemed to reflect the sun's rays and seemed to glisten slightly. plus, her…

he couldn't say exactly what had happened, but he knew that one moment he was watching the y/n body moving in slow motion, and the next he was bended in half, feeling a dizzying, sharp pain shoot through his head. he remembered holding his hands to his face, feeling his nose twitch as still as a cartoon character who had just rung a big bell, and there was sudden chaos around him; several voices rose in surprise, someone close to him shouted his name, and the water around him surged, pushing him against the pool wall. he also felt something drip onto his fingers.

"god, spencer!" delicate, wet yet warm hands brushed uncertainly over his still veiled face, and spencer recognized the terrified y/n in that voice.

"dude, now you've got nothing left!"

"seriously, derek?!" y/n was furious, but when she turned to him again, her voice was soft but still nervous. "spencer, look at me. everything's all right?! pass the towel! rossi, go get the keys, we're going to the hospital! may be broken!"

the nose wasn't broken. which spencer knew as soon as he managed to get his questions answered from the panic-stricken team. no one noticed the swelling, and no hematomas appeared under his eyes; the profuse bleeding that y/n was trying to stop with more and more tissues, and the pain he felt didn't have to be signs of a fracture, though they could. the team wasn't going to take his word for it anyway, and hotch, though the most composed of the group, was firmly pressing on the accelerator.

spencer, apart from feeling like everything was spinning around him from time to time, he felt a bit overwhelmed; there was too much noise around him — his friends were arguing about who was to blame for his accident, y/n had her hand over his face (although he assured her he could still hold a few tissues) and was squeezing his hand tight, increasing the pressure when she was responding to morgan.

when they got to the hospital, and the doctor finally treated their panicked group, he only confirmed what spencer had suspected all along. he didn't even have a concussion, and this disturbingly profuse hemorrhage was caused by the rupture of a larger vessel. recommended ice packs and rest. something spencer could prescribe for himself.

they back to rossi's house in a slightly less nervous mood, though y/n didn't speak to derek, who had repeatedly apologized not only to spencer but also to her. y/n, however, seemed adamant and still preoccupied with the situation. spencer suspected she felt guilty because she had talked him into it, after all, though he had mentioned to her once or twice that it was nothing and that all symptoms would be gone by tonight.

as they crossed the threshold of the house, three waiting heads appeared from behind the living room wall, and again there was a din of explaining everything to the rest of the team, who had to stay because of emily's tip. spencer finally managed to get out of their company and quickly disappeared into his room before anyone noticed him.

from that moment on, two hours passed, which spencer spent lying motionless with an ice pack against his face. he stared at the ceiling and multiplied every now and then the number of panels on the floor. there was an eerie silence downstairs, and spencer wondered if everything was all right down there.

he was about to decide to get out of bed and go downstairs when there were two single knocks against his door. he called the person inside, and after a while a y/n head appeared.

"i have a bowl for your used ice pack and your book you left on the sun lounger," she said softly, smiling, seemingly slightly confused.

"come in," he replied, just as quietly, though there was no reason for them to communicate that way.

the previously awkward y/n grimace turned into her beautiful smile as she slipped inside, closing the door behind her. she was clutching his book to her chest and in the other hand she was holding the purple plastic bowl spencer had seen in the kitchen cupboard this morning.

he involuntarily smiled as he thought of how y/n reminded him of a small child who had just managed to sneak into a friend's room despite the watchful eyes of his parents — she jumped on his bed, then sat cross-legged and sighed heavily as spencer pulled the compress away from his face, to put it in the bowl.

"is it that bad?" he joked, raising his eyebrows to which y/n snorted mockingly.

"you don't even know how much. you look exactly the same!” she laughed as she placed the bowl with compress on the bedside table by spencer's bed. to do so, she had to lean over him, and this time the scent of her floral shampoo and mango lotion filled his nostrils; she must have taken a shower afterwards because he couldn't smell the chlorine on her. however, when y/n returned to her seat, her expression became a little more serious. "how do you feel? i know everyone asked you this way too many times already, but i'm really worried."

"much better. i think i've stopped feeling that throbbing pain, although that may just be because of the ice," he replied, smiling slightly. "and hey, you don't have to worry so much about it. i already told you it's okay and it's not your fault."

"yeah, but still. i don't know what we'd do if you slashed that pretty face."

spencer frowned as if he disliked her words, but y/n just laughed again. in fact, he had already wondered a few times if the fact that y/n called him pretty boy, like morgan, meant anything at all. a large number of voices in his head said that this was just another habit that the girl had picked up from derek, as she had done in the case of throwing balls of paper into the garbage cans. however, there was a part that made spencer's cheeks a little pink when he heard those words come out of her mouth. sometimes hearing it from her was completely different than hearing it from anyone else.

"yeah, morgan has already pointed that out," he said finally, feeling it had to be done.

it seems like y/n was just waiting for spencer to mention morgan because she suddenly gasped and jumped up on the mattress, frowning.

“you know, i was joking now, but it really pissed me off at the time! i was terrified because i had never seen so much blood while doing anything other than catching serial killers, and i thought it could end up much worse than a broken nose. and derek didn't care at all!" y/n's hands engaged the aggressive gesticulation mode that appeared on the horizon when she was really high. "i was so furious with him! and his irritating taunts on the way to the hospital!”

"what taunts?" he asked, confused.

of course he was aware that y/n and morgan had spent the entire drive to the hospital arguing, with garcia joining in from time to time, now trying to get them to agree, now putting in her two cents as if she couldn't hold back any longer. at the time, however, he was too preoccupied with his bleeding nose and maybe a little y/n touch as well to notice what exactly their heated discussion was about.

"never mind, suitably stupid for his level," y/n grunted, blushing unexpectedly and tucking her hair behind her ear, though not a strand fell to her cheek. “anyway, i had a bit of an argument with him, and now i feel a little guilty about him because, i have to admit, i went a bit too far. but i won't apologize to him so he doesn't think about it too much."

"but you'll reconcile, won't you? it would be a bit awkward if you won't," he murmured, partly to her, partly to himself.

before y/n could answer, however, the door swung open timidly after three hasty knocks. derek morgan's head looked inside, as if the man was well aware that they were talking about him and decided to intervene. however, there was a swashbuckling smile on his lips, the kind you couldn't be angry at.

"hey hey..." he crooned, smiling even wider. "how it's going?"

"how it should?" y/n answered the question with a question, annoyance evident in her voice. "he almost got a concussion."

"not at all," spencer interjected, but he was ignored by each of them.

"i'm sorry mom, it won't happened again," derek replied, making y/n utter an exasperated sigh. morgan walked in even though no one had actually invited him and approached them with a mysterious plastic bag in his hand. “penelope gave me a hint so i could think of a way to finally settle the conflict, and here it is: the chinese you obviously love. appreciate my efforts, pretty girl, they had to bring her from another town.”

"then i guess the thanks go to the supplier, mr. morgan," y/n noticed, and spencer saw that there was an amused sparkle behind the sternness of her gaze. the girl accepted the takeaway, much to morgan's satisfaction, and arranged it beside her. "nice of you. i stopped being mad at you about an hour and a half ago, but it's still cool."

morgan reached out to flick her nose and y/n slapped it, laughing loudly.

spencer, sitting with his legs stretched forward, leaned against the back of his wooden bed, watching their interaction. with displeasure he felt a nasty jealousy sprouting in his stomach; something about the sight of their casual touch, each of them knowing that this quarrel and the words that accompanied it had no meaning, made him almost see the green covering his fingers. and they had done it all right in front of him.

spencer laughed mentally. he was really pathetic — morgan and y/n were friends. and y/n still wasn't going to consider him, even if he got punched in the nose.

"oh, dude. i'd like to get punched in the nose too if it meant y/n would look after me," morgan sighed dreamily, turning to spencer, snapping him out of his thoughts.

"i'll take care of you too, morgan, if that's what you want. but before that, i'll give you a nose so we'll have one reason," y/n replied, causing the man to chuckle in an amused tone as he backed away towards the door.

"okay, i understand, i'm leaving now. have fun, kids," he said, then disappeared through the heavy door.

y/n shook her head, turning her body towards spencer. her silken hair, which had been braided since spencer had first laid eyes on her that afternoon, now fell over her shoulders, which were no longer covered by the t-shirt she had thrown on in a hurry as everyone ran around rossi's living room, occasionally catching spencer's shoulder, as if to reassure themselves that he was still standing there. she was wearing something a lot more elegant now, which belied spencer's idea that she had already showered. in that case, she'd already be wearing her yellow turtleneck pajamas, which spencer raised his eyebrows at the first time they had to share a room during the case.

instead of yellow turtles, reid saw a plain, rather thin, black shirt tucked into denim shorts. and it didn't look like a sleep suit. but actually spencer shouldn't be interested in that.

pushing those tactless thoughts away, he reached out for the plastic bag morgan had brought them.

it was filled with distinctive boxes, the sharp edges of which pushed the plastic bag apart, and the smell that wafted from them despite the paper reminded spencer of all those late nights spent with y/n in hotel rooms, during which the television was told by a weary voice about the life of individual species, and the woman was in the so close to him that her shoulder touched his. he only liked the smell for those memories.

y/n leaned over with interest to look at the bag as well. spencer realized after a short while that the girl's forehead was not far from his, and a little surprised by the sudden closeness, he lifted his head to look at her. y/n did the same, feeling his burning gaze on her and smiled softly without breaking eye contact.

for a brief moment, he felt as if there was absolutely nothing else around them. there were only y/e/c y/n irises, her lightly freckled nose that was to blame for the sun, and her pink lips. lips he would love to kiss. or even brush his own lips.

but before he opened it to say anything that might lead to that, his bedroom door groaned heavily, as it did when it was opened very slowly. they pulled away from each other almost immediately, turning their heads in their direction. spencer, for an irrational moment, even thought that hotch might be behind them, about to lead him out of his own room by the ear like a rascal of the worst kind. jesus, spencer, he reminded himself, you're a grown man. if you want to kiss a woman, you will.

however, it wasn't hotch's head that emerged from behind the door, but emily, who didn't seem as frisky as she had been a few hours ago. she eyed each of them and walked inside to the accompaniment of expectant silence from them.

"are you guys kissing?" she asked after a moment, an excited smile on her face as she tilted her head slightly.

"what? no!" spencer thought y/n seemed pretty flustered considering the fact that their faces were inches apart just moment ago and she was clearly trying to pretend that none of this had happened. well, nothing that spencer wasn't prepared for.

"say what you want. reid looks like a ripe tomato."

spencer choked on his own saliva, drawing the women's attention, and his hand immediately reached for the glass on his nightstand, which was half full of water.

"i-it's a compress." he wanted to somehow explain what his face looked like, but no one, including himself, seemed convinced (and the water had been standing here since last night and tasted bad).

"of course…"

"i thought you were going to look for a club," y/n put in a quick, drawing emily's attention back to her.

"because we're going. i just came to drop it off." emily held out a sealed magazine to her friend, in which reid recognized a nature documentary. "what a shame you're not going. it's always more fun with you."

"you'll be fine without me," she replied y/n, getting out of bed and walking over to the small TV set in the corner of the room. she sat down in front of the cabinet he was standing on and began unpacking the magazine with a concentrated frown. "thanks, emily. just don't overdo it this time, okay? you've already had a drink today."

"boredom!" the dark-haired woman dragged out the first syllable, grabbing the doorknob. "you talking like jj! i'm leaving before you infect me with your innocence!"

emily had indeed disappeared through the bedroom door, and after a while the sound of her heels could be heard as they left the floor in a hurry.

there was a silence in the room, one that y/n would surely describe as safely comfortable; such silences sometimes happened between them when they were filling out paperwork at their desks, sharing dried fruit (y/n loved dried apples, a fact spencer consciously remembered) when they were sitting side by side on the jet, sharing headphones because y/n wanted to show him her current musical obsession, or when they sat on the benches outside the office building during their lunch break and ate their breakfasts. they were good silences. and maybe that silence would be good too if spencer's brain wasn't working at full capacity. all the information he had gathered in the last dozen or so minutes was quite plausible.

"a penny for your thoughts, doctor," hummed y/n as she focused on pressing buttons on the rossi player; it was one of the more expensive ones, because it not only read vhs tapes, but also dvds. "i can hear them even from this distance."

"it's nothing, it's just... i wonder why you don't go out with girls," he replied after a moment's hesitation.

from his seat on the bed, he could see y/n's eyebrows frown a bit, but he wasn't sure if it was because of her ignorance about using the player or because of his words.

"i was about to go, i even let penelope rummage through my suitcase," she confessed. the player finally listened to her and slid out the dvd drive, where a disc with a nature documentary soon landed. “but i thought about the first day of our trip that i spent watching some action movie with morgan, and yesterday i got drunk with the girls. we miss each other a bit, don't you think? and today, when we finally did something together, you ended up in the hospital. so we'll lighten our spirits with some fun-facts about the insects of africa. how about that, doctor?"

spencer smiled weakly as y/n looked over her shoulder at him. now he felt even worse than when morgan had hit him with the volleyball — it all sounded to him as if y/n had decided to sacrifice a girls' night out of guilt and resentment for spending time with him.

“y/n, you should go out with the girls. it will probably be much more interesting than here with me,” he said finally, but as the words hung between them, he didn't feel any easier than he'd expected, and even harder. especially since y/n looked over her shoulder at him again, her brows heavily furrowed.

"you're kidding? i'd much rather eat chinese and watch a nature documentary with you than walk emily home drunk." she shook her head as if he had said the stupidest thing she had heard in a long time; the TV brightened up and showed the output page of the document. "by the way... we haven't watched anything together lately... i missed it."

"you miss it?" he stammered, perhaps a little too surprised in a voice judging by the way y/n was clearly confused, blushing.

“well, yes… i have the impression that this is our little tradition. you know, something that's only ours. i can't imagine morgan watching nature documents with us, because who would you whisper additional information into the ear first?” she asked, involuntarily laughing softly.

she got up off the floor, holding the remote in her right hand as she turned off the light with her left. the room went dark, and spencer swallowed hard, seeing the figure of y/n slowly approaching him, crouching by the nightstand to flick the light switch.

the light, dimmed by the lampshade, was a soft red that spread over the walls of the room. spencer felt like y/n had never looked so beautiful, and at the same time he felt the tension in the air.

"it's cool, i like it," whispered y/n, sitting tentatively on the edge of the mattress, near his hips. "but you've been acting weird lately and we stopped doing that."

"weird?" he repeated, frowning. god, he wanted so badly to place his hands behind her ear at that moment and pull her to him; he wanted the moment before emily came back.

“you stopped talking to me, starting conversations on your own and all. i felt like i was the only one trying. every time i walked into the room you and the team stopped talking and all eyes were on me. i don't need to be a profiler to know you were talking about me. but everyone said it wasn't about me, so i guess i let it go a bit and tried not to think about it too much, but it still wasn't the same between us." as she spoke, y/n kept her head down and didn't seem to want to look up at him. "i thought you'd come to my room when we had a case in chester like always, but you didn't. and not later either. and later too. and you acted like nothing happened. plus, it really annoyed me that you stared at me without saying a word, and when i asked what was going on, you said it was nothing, but then you did it again."

y/n jumped out of bed, crossing her arms over her chest. she also began pacing in a characteristic way, as if in thought. her eyes roamed all the furniture she could find, but finally fixed her gaze on him.

"okay, am i exaggerating? i feel like i kind of did, and now i've said all those things and i feel really stupid…”

"no!" spencer raised his voice a little more than was necessary. he sprang up from the mattress, tired of the thought that the woman might think that the matter they were discussing was not important to him. "i…"

"stay still, the doctor said you might get dizzy," y/n interrupted him as she approached him.

"i'm not dizzy," he replied, but y/n had already reached out to him, as if to gently push him towards the bed.

"lie down," she insisted, but without much thought spencer grabbed her hands and lowered them to the level of their hips.

"no, listen to me. i'm sorry i've been acting this way lately," he said, and when he finally realized he was holding y/n's hands firmly, he let go a bit, but not too much; so that he can still touch her warm skin. “i… i was avoiding you a bit because the whole trip was so stressful and i started thinking too much and it influenced my behavior, but…

"stressful? why?"

"because... it's so stupid." he ran his hand through his hair, but his dark strands fell over his forehead anyway; it made him even angrier. “the thing is, i realized we'd start spending time together outside of work, and then you'd see i'm the same spencer from the office when i'm not at the office. and then you'll realize what a boring person i am and you won't want to hang out with me anymore. and i... i like you, y/n. i like you so much that i'm afraid of losing you because of me."

y/n frowned worriedly, tilting her head slightly. for a brief moment she stared at a point on his shoulder, as if searching for the right words. spencer, on the other hand, was feeling more and more nauseous as it dawned on him that perhaps the words he'd used shouldn't have been spoken to his friends, even though they sneakily sounded appropriate.

"well..." y/n sighed, leading him back to the mattress where they sat next to each other. spencer anticipated the worst and was slowly starting to feel like the biggest fool. he had a big mouth and always talked too much, everyone told him so. "i guess it's good that you're still spencer from the office when you're out of the office, right? because i wouldn't want you to be anyone else."

he looked at her and the woman smiled softly, still holding his hand.

"and you're not boring and i can't believe you think that of yourself! you're the most interesting person i know," she assured. “you are the only person in my circle of friends with whom i can watch all the movies in the world, because there is a 99% chance that you will be able to translate dialogues for me fluently! and the only one who can read and summarize the book i forgot to read for my book club, and i didn't have to be an ignorant who doesn't know anything about "pride and prejudice."

“you got all the threads with mr. darcy mixed up anyway,” he reminded her, smiling at the memory.

"i know and that's why i don't go there anymore!" y/n laughed as well, her shoulders trembling slightly.

even now he could picture in his mind the moment y/n walked into the office, heading without thinking to his desk with an expression of pure horror and embarrassment. half laughing, half almost crying, she related to him a meeting of her book club she had started attending. she told him how she got everything mixed up and made a fool of herself in front of the young women. she also didn't hesitate to mention how she drank wine in large gulps until the end of the meeting, and yet she was the first to run out of katy's apartment.

he felt y/n squeeze his hand a little tighter and looked at it again. the nausea he was feeling subsided a bit and he even started laughing at his panicked fantasies — it was y/n; the kind, always natural, and generous y/n who could never think of him that way.

“look, i know who you are may seem boring to you, but to me, you're the coolest person i've ever met in my life. and the nicest. i still remember how you remembered my birthday when others forgot. and when you brought me soup when i was sick. and i had two soups, because my mother had already brought one. you remember all the little things i tell you. that i prefer coffee with caramel syrup over maple syrup. that in 7th grade i fell out of a tree and have a scar on my knee which i'd rather you forget because derek still teases me." their soft laughs echoed through the room again. "you're the best spencer.

"thanks," he whispered.

so that's what it was supposed to be. misunderstandings and inaccuracies are resolved, y/n will finally choose one of the options that were displayed on the screen of a small TV and spend the next hour side by side eating chilled food from a chinese restaurant. it wasn't something spencer would have hoped for if his earlier speech had been worded better, but something he expected when he said what he had to say. but that was fine. he learned to enjoy the little things.

but suddenly he felt y/n fingers under his chin, directing his gaze back to her face. they were so close it hurt.

"and you'll never lose me, spencer. you can't get rid of me that easily," she said, also in a whisper. "i'm like a venereal disease."

spencer frowned.

"it was a disgusting comparison."

"i know, sorry."

"y/n," he whispered, never taking his eyes off the deep hue of her irises that scanned his face.

"yeah?"

he swallowed once more, hoping that the remnants of courage didn't run down his esophagus as well. he wasn't sure and couldn't be, but maybe this was the moment he should have heeded morgan and penelope and emily and jj and rossi and hotch...

"when i said i like you, i meant that..."

"i know, spencer." y/n smiled softly, and spencer had the impression that her face was a little closer than it had been two seconds before. "and guess what... i like you too."

spencer cursed mentally and, sliding his hand into y/n's hair, pulled her even closer to him.

the kiss was a bit tentative at first, and a terrifying thought crossed his mind that perhaps he had been in too much of a hurry and had misread some of the signals — he had done that all too often, after all, and the y/n words might have had nothing to do with what he was saying, with what spencer thought they had. y/n, however, returned the kiss, giving it a new pace for it, tangling her fingers in his hair. then reid realized he had stopped thinking about anything.

all that mattered at that moment was the taste of y/n cherry lip gloss, her hands on his neck, and soon his arms and chest as she climbed onto his lap. spencer thought it was too much — her scent filled his nostrils, completely befuddled him, her hands craving for closeness tracing every curve of his body, making him dizzy — and at the same time he felt that he needed more.

he lifted the hand he'd been resting on the mattress and ran it over y/n's bare thigh, not sure if he was allowed to do it. her skin was smooth, warm and cool at the same time, and spencer wanted to know how other parts of her body felt. y/n smiled through the kiss, reaching for his wandering hand, which she then placed on her hip.

spencer took it a step further and moved her down her back to pull her closer to him. he wanted to be as close to her as possible, possibly even absorb himself into her, if that meant he would always feel the way he did now.

y/n moved her kisses to his cheek, jaw, and behind his ear, where she sucked his skin. spencer moaned softly, surprised, and the girl with a smile headed towards his neck, biting it with kisses.

"thank god penelope left the house," y/n mumbled into his skin, saying the words in between caresses. “she probably would have said her i knew it! or didn't i tell you?!"

spencer pulled back slightly, mouth parting speechless. he remembered perfectly well what penelope had said when he heard that they were going to watch a nature documentary, and now his mind, despite being completely distracted by this unexpected situation, connected the dots — the movie was on but still not quite and the y/n slowly starting to rubbing his hips — coming to an unequivocal conclusion.

"are we going to…?" the unfinished question hung in the air, making y/n's eyes widen.

"what? no! not if you don't want to!” she assured quickly, blushing furiously. “but we can if you want… but we don't have to do anything! kissing is cool too. we don't even have to kiss…"

"no!" he protested, straightening up a bit, for he had been leaning more on the mattress on his elbows than actually sitting on it. "no, i want to. i want… everything,” he whispered, much quieter now, slightly ashamed of his apparent need. after thinking about it, he added, "please?"

y/n's face stretched into his favorite kind of smile, and the woman leaned toward him once more, causing spencer to return to his previous position. out of the corner of his eye, he saw her hand reach for the TV remote. without breaking eye contact with him, she hit the play button and pulled him into a kiss as the documentary began.

spencer felt like he was about to pass out.

"jesus, you're so cute i could bite your nose if it didn't end well," she said, making him snort in amusement.

"what?" he asked, but y/n just laughed along with him and reached for the buttons on her shirt, slowly unbuttoning it, while kissing him.

spencer never in his wildest dreams would have thought that he could be right here — under the thighs of the most beautiful girl who, he was sure, would never look at him the way y/n was now sizing him up, exposing more and more naked patches of her skin. he breathed heavily, stroking the skin of her thighs as she slid off the black fabric. he didn't know exactly where he had landed, actually, he didn't know much at the moment. his iq didn't matter anymore, he was just a jerk who stared captivated at y/n's swimsuit-covered breasts, his mouth slightly parted and his gaze absent.

"something's wrong?" a soft y/n voice cut through his not very coherent thoughts and distracted him from the dark green fabric where the nipples poked through.

"no," he replied firmly, propping himself up on his elbows a bit to bring his lips closer to hers. "you're just beautiful."

he kissed her hard, feeling y/n lift the corners of his mouth, and his hand, previously resting on her leg, moved up to the woman's back, where the strings of her swimsuit brushed the nape of her neck.

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