#than any of the fics i've tried to write lately | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

chelseeebe · 22 days

Text

never leave (nevermind)

18+ mdni. canon compliant sorta kinda. takes place during the events of s4. violent scenes described. r and eddie are exes. reader gets vecna'd. lots of angst.

a/n: i've been writing this on and off for what feels like months and it's definitely noticeable in parts where my writing improves drastically. howeverrr, i've been wanting to write something s4 related for a while bc most of my fics are au's and as fun as they are, the canon material is also v fun (just very difficult to translate into a fic)

8.9k words.

being home for spring break meant one thing; avoiding eddie munson like the plague.

it wasn’t exactly easy what with being practically neighbours but you’d certainly tried to make yourself invisible around the trailer park.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

you hadn’t seen him for eleven months, not even a trace of that wild hair until one friday night when his van screamed down the gravel road, music bleating loud enough for you to hear inside. you’d known it was d&d night, he still held the club at the high school and no doubt would still be in charge of it, even after he eventually graduates.

you shouldn’t have even looked. it’s not like you wanted to see him. just curious as to why he felt the need to make so much noise so late at night.

that’s when your eyes saw her, green hawkins high skirt and the fluffy ponytail to match, flouncing out of the van without a care in the world.

chrissy cunningham wasn’t exactly who you’d imagined eddie would go for. she was prim and proper, wasn’t into smoking weed and talking about ozzy osbourne but pom poms and cheer routines instead.

it shouldn’t even hurt.

you’d been broken up for the best part of a year, away to college, living what was supposed to be your best life.

but it does.

pangs through your chest in insurmountable waves, rushing to duck down beneath the window before either of them saw you peeking.

you don’t dare look out again, maybe it was the fear of being caught or more likely for fear of hurting yourself anymore.

eddie’s single, he can do what or whomever he likes.

slinking back into the couch, hoping the crackly tv would drown out any of the lingering thoughts.

a sharp, stabbing sensation rings through your head, squeezing your eyes shut in an attempt to shut it down.

only since you’d been back here, in hawkins had you felt it. people always whispered about how this town was cursed, perhaps it was you after all, bringing the bad luck to the innocent people of this shit hole.

you drag your feet along the corridor to your bedroom, deciding that being buried beneath your blanket was better than constantly punishing yourself with sly glances out the window.

a multitude of fists pummel at your door, sunlight just barely breaking through the clouds as your eyes open.

nothing in this world could be so important to cause this reaction, especially not at this time of the day.

you slink to the door, grumbling your way through the trailer.

the door swings open, revealing a very out of breath dustin henderson and max mayfield, looking frantic as they pant on your doorstep.

“what the hell? it’s nine am,” you grunt, wondering how the two even knew you were home.

being with eddie had meant you’d come to adopt the gaggle of kids he played d&d with, driving them to and from games, offering a place to stay when their parents thought they were at each others houses while they were actually fighting monsters.

the usual.

the monster stuff was secondary, getting thrown into the deep end last summer after what was supposed to be a shitty mall job to save up for college, had turned into slimy monsters trying to kill you.

eddie had only really seen the aftermath, the piles of what remained of starcourt on the floor and the cuts that littered your limbs. you had told him that night what had actually happened, terrified that the government were listening at your door, ready and waiting to throw you in jail for speaking about what you’d seen.

dustin had made it very clear that you had to be careful not to talk too openly about it, delving into the whole world that rumbled beneath your town.

you weren’t exactly eager to relive that night in the mall, a haze of slobbering monsters and telekinetic little girls. putting it to the back of your mind as some weird fever dream, a symptom of living in hawkins.

“eddie’s in trouble,” dustin frowns, “is your mom here?” forcing himself into the trailer, max at his heels.

“no she’s not-” closing the door behind the rude tweens, “i’m sorry- what’d you say?” hoping you’d misheard him.

he peers down the hall, lousily checking the perimeter, “eddie’s in trouble,” completely serious.

“and what does that have to do with me?” putting your hands on your hips, hoping to display some sort of authority, though it rendered useless against their stubborn attitudes.

“remember the mall?” he deadpans, grabbing the phone from your wall as max pulls out a list of numbers.

“yeah? i’m still not.. why’re you here? you can’t help him at his trailer?”

dustin sighs, long and exaggerated, “he’s not at his trailer. we don’t know where he is,” aggressively punching in numbers, “and why didn’t you tell me you were back? i thought we were friends!” ever the sarcastic little dweeb you’d always had a soft spot for.

“i didn’t tell anyone,” shrugging as you slink into the kitchen, deciding that if they were going to stay, you were at least going to need coffee, “i still don’t understand what’s going on!”

“we’ll explain later,” max yells, fumbling around in her backpack.

you tut, relieved that the pounding in your head had subsided at least.

you’re somehow roped into driving the two to family video, receiving the details on the drive over.

cops had swarmed the trailer park by the time you were ready, piling into wayne’s trailer, talking in hushed voices and yelling at anyone that dared to leave their own homes.

wayne had come back from work this morning to find chrissy cunningham’s body on his floor. limbs broken and her eyes weeping with blood.

any sane human would assume it was eddie’s doing. he didn’t exactly hold the best reputation in this damned town, but you knew murder wasn’t anything he was capable of.

“that monster, from the mall,” dustin continues, leaning over the centre console, “that has something to do with this, i know it,” speaking with such confidence that you had no choice but to believe him.

“how do you know that?” you question wearily, pulling into the parking lot, “i’m not saying i don’t believe you, but how do you know for sure?”

“well,” he buffers, “i don’t, but i’m 99.9 percent certain,” hopping out of the car before you can get another word in.

you contemplate just waiting in the car for them to be done with whatever the fuck it is they’re even doing. not keen on seeing more people you really didn’t want to.

you follow them in either way, ducking your head in some half-assed disguise.

“-dustin!” robin squeals, reaching out to grab his arm, “those are my returns, you dweeb!”

she and steve turn to you, perfectly in-sync, “when the hell did you get back?” speaking in unison. it’d be unsettling if you hadn’t spent the entirety of last summer with them both.

you shake your head, “uh..” regretting your decision not to just wait in the car, “a few days ago.”

“and you didn’t tell me?” robin huffs, thankfully distracted with the mess dustin was inflicting upon her store to chastise you too badly.

“sorry,” you say meekly, picking up the fallen tapes from the floor as a shitty kind of apology.

she smiles gently at you, before turning back to dustin with a seeding hatred in her eyes, “what are you little nerds even doing here? do you not have anyone else to piss off on a saturday morning?”

“eddie’s in trouble,” dustin repeats for what is probably the thousandth time today, holding the receiver up to his ear.

“oh eddie?” steve quips, “what’d he do this time?”

dustin holds his finger up to shush him, unloading his rehearsed spiel down the phone to whoever.

steve looks over to you for some clarity but you just shrug, not really any wiser on what was actually going than he was.

this goes on for what feels like hours, listening to dustin and max inquire about eddie to each and every person on their call list, just to end up with a dejected frown when absolutely nobody has heard from him.

“rick,” dustin nods, drumming his fingers against the desk, “rick! he said he was going to meet rick today! d’you know where reefer rick lives?” swivelling in his chair to glare at you.

“reefer rick?” robin repeats with such disdain, it’d honestly have been nicer if she’d just laughed in his face.

you shrug, “i don’t know.. maybe?” offering absolutely zero insight whatsoever.

“you know, you were only together for four years,” he snarls, doing nothing to help his cause.

“oh i’m so sorry that i can’t remember every single place we went together,” you hiss back.

dustin eyes the empty computer and you can almost see the lightbulb go off above his head. tapping into the family video system as if he had any right to be here.

“you’re not supposed to be on that!” robin hollers, reaching for the mouse though his hands are quicker.

“stop it!” he screeches, typing rapidly into the computer, “jesus christ, how many rick’s are there?” scrolling the plethora of rick names that had appeared.

he figures it out pretty quickly.

realising that reefer rick probably wasn’t using the local video rental store to watch sixteen candles or risky business.

“you know where that is?” he asks steve, tapping the address on screen.

“uh.. i think so,” steve wavers, squinting his eyes.

“great,” dustin shoots up, grabbing his backpack without a second thought, “you drive,” pointing at steve, “you follow,” turning to you, giving zero alternative or chance to protest before he’s out the door, tugging at the handle of steve’s car.

you do as he says, obviously. fearing that if he were to be left alone with robin for too long, she might just wring his neck.

eddie’s nowhere to be found, the house looks empty and his van isn’t here leaving you back at square one.

“he has to be here,” dustin frets, pointing at the large shed on the other side of the yard, “let’s just have a look.. you wanna find him don’t you?” turning to you specifically.

a few years ago you would’ve said yes with zero hesitation but now you’re not sure if you even care. the thought of seeing eddie again makes you a little nauseous. not even owing to the fact that he was a potential murder suspect.

“why’re you looking at me?” you scowl, “i think we should just leave this to the police.”

“no!” stopping dead in his tracks, “they’ll kill him and you know that,” his eyes sharp as everyone falls into silence.

he was right, as he often is. which makes this all the more irritating.

you nod, gesturing for him to continue to the rundown shack behind the house.

there’s nothing in there, at least no signs of one eddie munson.

it all just seems useless. if eddie had used the neglected brain in his head, he’d be far away

from hawkins by now. he was nifty enough to survive on his own, you were sure about that.

steve jabs at the tarpaulin as you peer out of the door and into the quickly darkening night sky, spinning rapidly as the tarp crinkles and something comes flying out.

eddie.

with his hands now pinning steve back against the wall, chest heaving with sheer, seething anger.

only dropping his hold on him when it registers who it actually is, eyes wide and startled.

a million and one feelings rush through your veins. you hadn’t prepared to actually see him again, to now be stilled by the sight of him locking eyes with you.

the slow realisation dawns on him, quickly forgetting that he was a wanted man, all encompassed by your presence in this suddenly stifling shed.

steve gasps for air, breaking the tension and pulling the attention back to him. robin’s quick to soothe his arm while dustin launches into a quick scolding for eddie.

it’s not long before he moves onto the next phase of his master plan, dragging max to the corner to loudly discuss what they should do.

“when’d you get back?” eddie asks, leaning against the dusty wood panelling, “i haven’t seen you..” his voice cracks but he’s unwavering.

good, you thought. though really it was all useless now.

“couple’a days ago..” picking at the wood splinter on the wall, “when’d you start murdering teenagers?” hoping it wasn’t too harsh of a dig.

“ha ha,” he deadpans, running his hand over his face, “you don’t think i did it, do you?” worry seeping through his tone.

you shake your head no, choosing to meet his eyes, a little reassurance that even if you did think he was a loser, you definitely didn’t think he was a murderer too.

he nods, sighing into his palm, “fuck,” deflated, exhausted by the day he had endured, “they’re gonna kill me,” shrunken into himself, resembling a dejected little puppy.

“they’re not gonna kill you,” but your voice shakes a little, not unnoticed by eddie.

“you don’t sound so sure,” he chuckles, turning his gaze to the rotting floorboards. he looked horrible, to put it nicely. the bags under his eyes were dark and his hair an even wilder mess than usual.

“i’m not really,” refusing to lie to him, even now.

he looks up again, unwavering melancholy in his eye, “how’d you find me?”

you glance over at dustin’s busybody, passionately explaining the next steps to an exhausted looking steve, his hands gesturing for a fight. “he tracked down rick’s address from family video and then wouldn’t let us leave until we found you.”

eddie grin grows, finding the motivation to get himself off of the dirty floor, “yeah.. sounds about right.”

you’re too close for comfort now that you’re eye to eye, uncomfortably close while your relationship was still so fragile.

he breaks away first, striding over to dustin, “what’s the plan? i really need you to save my ass, dude.”

dustin nods, vowing to keep eddie alive, no matter what it takes.

dustin doesn’t hang around.

the minute the suns risen, he’s pounding on the bedroom door, waking the sleeping pile of limbs you’d collapsed in.

“i’m gonna kill him.. i’m gonna fuckin’ kill him,” robin grumbles, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, staring daggers at the door.

“eddie’s not answering!” he hollers, busting through the door, “we have to go back to rick’s! now!” pulling at nancy’s arm, presuming that steve had told him no to driving him around this early.

you rouse just enough to really see the panicked look on his face, swinging your legs off of the bed to grab his shoulders, “what happened? we can go i just need five minutes.”

“he’s not answering,” panting between his words, “i told him to check in at six! it’s nearly six thirty.. something’s wrong.”

“okay,” you nod, trying to wake yourself up, “okay.. let me get dressed,” finding your discarded pants and practically jumping into them.

dustin’s in the passenger seat before you can even run a brush through your hair, only just able to brush your teeth before he’s got his fist on the horn.

“jesus christ dude,” you exclaim, shoving the keys into the ignition and speeding off before he has the chance to chastise you again.

you’re grateful that it’s still early and the chances of getting a ticket are slim because you most definitely had broken some kind of speed limit, but truthfully it was mostly to get dustin to shut the hell up.

knowing eddie meant that you knew he was probably fast asleep, ignoring the cracklings of the walkie for the sake of a couple extra minutes of shuteye.

you turn down the long wooded drive, wondering if rick was back yet and just how he’d react to eddie’s ex-girlfriend and some random kid showing up on his doorstep at seven in the morning.

you’re forced to slam on the breaks, almost sending dustin through the windscreen as eddie’s face appears before you, his hands slam the hood, screaming something nonsensical.

“ohmygodohmygod,” he rushes, throwing himself into the backseat of your car, “you need to drive!”

“what the hell happened?” dustin probes as you turn around, only now seeing the barrage of cars parked outside of the house.

“jason..” he gasps, “those fucking meatheads he hangs around with.. they just showed up,” sliding down into the footwell just as jason rounds the corner of the house, yelling something about your car as you hightail the fuck out of there.

“they.. they- they think i’m the devil or some shit,” eddie gasps, his petrified face appearing in the gap between your seats, “they’re fucking crazy man.. fuck!”

your fingers tighten around the steering wheel, hoping to speed away before they got wise enough to follow you.

jason wasn’t much but his lackeys would have zero issue beating the shit out of eddie, or you for that matter.

you instinctively go to the first place you can think of, which in hindsight seems like a mistake now the gravel is crunching beneath your wheels.

forest hills was still crawling with cops trying to determine who or what had killed chrissy, though thankfully at daybreak their presence seemed to have dwindled a little.

“we should be okay here for a while.. stay in the car until i get the door open,” flashing him a harsh glare to make sure he really understands.

the three of you barrel into your trailer, grateful for the silence, unsure of how you’d ever explain this entire situation to your mom.

“shit man,” eddie marvels the walls, mouth hung open, “haven’t seen the inside of this thing for.. a while,” a sadness to his tone.

“yup,” choosing to ignore his glum cadence in favour of keeping the peace, “you can sleep in my bed,” tossing your keys into the bowl.

“you sure?” eddie asks, though he’s already making his way up the hall, all too familiar with your trailer.

“knock yourself out,” collapsing onto the couch to resume your own interrupted slumber. in a time not so long ago, you’d have relished crawling up next to eddie in bed, wrapping his arm around your shoulder to tuck you up under his armpit.

you brush off the glum feeling, wrapping your own arms around your body instead.

dustin gets to alerting the wheeler residence, informing them all that eddie’s okay and you were going to hang out here until he came up with some plan.

it’s almost noon before eddie rises again, asking if he can take a shower before dustin unleashes his plan.

that horrid buzzing niggles it’s way back into your brain. a dull pain that quickly becomes sharp, stabbing at the sides of your head.

“are you okay?” dustin questions nervously, ditching his notebook to step closer with caution.

your fingers clutch your temple, unable to form a coherent sentence as the pain throbs through your frontal lobe. features screwed up in searing pain.

“eddie!” he screeches, his fists pummelling against the bathroom door.

eddie emerges, towel slung around his waist, barely able to turn the water on yet, “what? what the hell is going on?” quickly shutting up when he sees your sorry state. “are you okay? what happened?” rushing over without a second thought.

dustin stands in horror just behind, watching as eddie’s thumb swipes the underside of your nose, coming back an unexpected shade of maroon.

“she just dropped! i-i don’t.. i’ve never seen this before!”

“you’re bleeding,” eddie fuses, “dustin.. tissue now,” tilting your chin upwards.

the pain subsides slightly, allowing your eyes to reopen and meet his, “there’s.. tylenol in the drawer,” letting him keep your chin between his fingers.

dustin speeds around the room, collecting supplies as your laboured breaths become easier, the ache dissipating as quickly as it came on.

eddie dabs at your nose until it’s clean, shaking out two of the pills onto his palm for you to take. “what the hell was that?” nagging yet concerned all rolled into one.

“i dunno, i’ve been getting these.. headaches, since i’ve been back,” looking between dustin’s horrified face and eddie’s distressed one. “it’s probably nothing.”

“that didn’t look like nothing,” dustin adds, still wary of your state. with all of the supernatural happenings at the moment, he had right to be.

“it’s fine,” shrugging them both off before the questions got too much. “what’s the plan dustin?”

he and eddie share another glance, pretending that you weren’t right there in front of them. “uh..” erring the line of caution before jumping right into it, “okay so we need to go down.. down there.”

it’s stupid, reckless even.

but what other choice do you have when the world is caving in and your ex-boyfriend is on the run from the police?

eddie climbs through the window of the rv, pulling your eyes away with a quickness as his shirt rises up to reveal his lower back.

the door swings open some moments later, gesturing for you all to climb inside as he gets to hot-wiring the gargantuan vehicle.

you pile into the back, ducking below the windows while his fingers fiddle with the live wires.

“do you even know what you’re doing?” nancy asks, her eyebrow raised in quiet concern.

“nancy please,” eddie huffs, “while your dad was teaching you how to ride a bike, my dad was teaching me how to hot-wire a car.. i know what i’m doing.”

she hums, settling into the passenger seat without another word.

it shouldn’t be attractive. you should think it’s utterly reprehensible to steal and engage with such criminal behaviour.

but you can’t.

not with his tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth like that, his hands whirring away as robin looks on with a screwed up face.

the engine roars loud, alerting the entire trailer park to your existence. eddie hightails it into the back, choosing the empty spot next to you as he yells for steve to drive.

this all so ridiculous, flying about the back of the rv as steve speeds out of town. finding somewhere solitary for you all to prepare.

everyone seems to be in cahoots about something, scarpering from the rv the second you walk inside. leaving you and eddie to navigate through the uncomfortable tension alone.

you take a seat anyway, picking up the discarded knife on the table, running your finger along the dull blade with a sigh.

you’d never imagined that the two of you could ever be so awkward together, having been close for the entirety of your lives, it felt awful to not even want to look at him now.

“i’m sorry.. about chrissy,” you swallow, still sharpening the knife, hoping he won’t say something to make you drive it into his throat.

the rest of the group ‘prepare’ loudly outside. dustin screeching at the top of his lungs for steve to put him down while robin tuts in annoyance.

eddie looks up, a little glum, “yeah.. she was a good girl, she didn’t deserve that,” dropping his own knife on the table in front of you with a clatter.

“i didn’t realise you two were.. together or whatever,” the look on his face immediately forces you to regret your words, hoping the ground would just swallow you whole.

he scoffs, “together?” knocking his knee into yours softly, “you thought we were together?”

oh my god. it’s worse than you could’ve ever imagined. cheeks burning as your eyes meet his, “oh! i thought.. someone said.. i don’t- i don’t know,” clinging onto the knife with sweaty palms, deciding whether to slice your own mouth off so nothing else could fall out of it.

“she was buying weed,” he laughs quietly, “pretty girl but.. not really my type, you know?”

you nod, looking back at the table in hopes that he’d just drop it now. so much for being the nonchalant, cool ex. all you’d done is solidify your psycho status.

“i haven’t really..” he begins again, never knowing when to leave well enough alone, “i haven’t moved on, i guess,” shrugging as his own gaze slips.

if you were going to live through the end of the world, you hoped it’d come soon. the tension in this cramped rv was enough to make whatever was happening with the underworld seem like a dream.

“oh!” is all you can conjure up. unsure of what response he was expecting from you. the breakup had been amicable.. sort of. to you, it made sense to breakup. you were away to college and he was repeating senior year again. you had almost died in the town you grew up in, he hadn’t.

it was a multitude of happenings that forced you apart. grief and it’s intertwining webs of despair had proved too much for your relationship. too much for you to handle on your own.

eddie hadn’t agreed.

he couldn’t understand it, why you needed out of hawkins so bad. but he wasn’t there, hadn’t seen the things you had.

the guilt had wrecked you for the first few months, afraid that you’d abandoned him in that very town for a new life after promising for so long that you wouldn’t.

“sorry, i shouldn’t have said that- i didn’t mean anything by it,” he fumbles, pulling on his bottom lip, “well i did! just.. not the time or place, you get me?” digging himself further into his hole.

your eyes meet his again, gnawing at the skin on your bottom lip, “it’s okay.. you don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

“i think what i meant to say was that i missed you.. i’m glad you’re back,” eddie coughs, un-jumbling his words at last.

it’s simple enough and really shouldn’t make your heart swell the way it does. you weren’t together. he wasn’t yours. that was that.

but maybe there’s something about experiencing the end of the world with someone that makes you a little reminiscent.

“i missed you too,” you smile, hoping that the overwhelming feeling of adrenaline is just from the interdimensional monster that lay beneath you and absolutely nothing to do with his doe eyes and plump lips.

his eyes flicker, trailing from your eyes to your lips. the air seems to shift around you, leaving the room at an expedient rate.

“you missed me?” eddie growls, looking back into your eyes, “then why’d you leave me here?” a deep set frown forming on his lips that wasn’t there a minute earlier.

“what?” you question, taken aback by his sudden change in demeanour.

“you left me. you left me here to die after you told me you wouldn’t,” he snarls, leaning closer.

his eyes are glossy now, glazed over with what looks like tears.

“i didn’t.. no,” backing away from him, “you were supposed to come with me.. you.. you..” shaking your head.

eddie’s eyes change completely now, pupils turning a slick grey. a dark cloud fills the room, overflowing out of the tiny window, covering the furniture and your body with the thick smog.

“it’s your fault,” the voice rumbles, no longer bearing any semblance to eddie’s, the walls decay in front of your eyes, wallpaper rotting as they crack and crumble.

“it’s your fault,” it repeats, louder this time, “he’s going to die,” it cackles, filling the room with the booming voice.

“no,” you scream into the void, thrashing around to find the source, “take me! take me instead!” yelling as loud as your throat would allow, but it’s futile.

there’s no one here.

eddie had gone. crumbled into a pile of ash on the floor, left on your own in some barren wasteland, the blood-curdling screams of menacing creatures travel through your body.

“you can’t save yourself,” the voice booms, pulling your eyes to the horrific humanoid figure stood amongst the ruins.

“what do you want?” you scream, stepping backwards over the rubble.

the man.. thing just smiles, “i’ve been watching you for some time, you shouldn’t have come back here,” walking towards your cowering frame.

“w-why? who are you?” fingers trembling as you attempt to grab onto something, anything to bring you back to earth.

everything you grasp crumbles into ashes, disappearing before your eyes as you struggle to breathe. wheezing through the dark clouds, not an inch of relief.

“we’ve met before,” completely ominous, “you don’t remember me?” tilting his head to the side.

it feels like you’ve seen it before, somewhere in a far away dreamland.

that’s when it clicks.

the bad dreams you’d been having, there had always been something there, a presence you couldn’t ever see clearly.

but now it makes sense.

“h-how did you do that? how did you get into my dreams?” the rubble beneath your feet disappeared with every step.

his head shakes and the landscape rumbles, a clattering of stones fall to the ground, jolting your body backwards.

“you let me in,” he rumbles, stepping closer, “you’re the reason any of this is happening.. it’s time for you to pay.”

his spindly fingers reach out, forcing you further and further back until your foot catches against a stone, sending you flying backwards into a sudden abyss.

you awaken with a harsh gasp, eyes opening to find eddie towering above, his brows threaded together in fear as the others screech around you.

“she’s awake! are you okay?” eddie rushes, holding your face between his palms, “oh my god,” as white as a sheet, shock rippling through his body.

you nod, blinking in the sudden bright light, exhausted from doing nothing at all. nothing felt real except eddie’s fingers brushing over your worn skin.

too tired for tears, too afraid to speak. your eyes shut on their own, trying to ground yourself back in this reality.

you relax into his hold, your breathing falling into line with his as their voices turn into humming background noise, focusing on the path of eddie’s fingertips instead.

eddie hadn’t dared to leave your side, following you around like a lost puppy, watchful eyes widening every time you moved or breathed too loud.

it would’ve felt suffocating if you weren’t scared to death. instead, it was a welcome comfort. a sense of familiarity in the most awful time.

you felt immense guilt, knowing that the end of the world had to happen for you to speak to him again. the man you’d gotten married to a thousand times in your head, the man you’d had a plethora of baby names with. it was all so insane.

dustin hadn’t exactly instilled much confidence in you. with news of fred benson and patrick mckinney’s deaths, he had figured out the pattern of attack.

they’d all died the same way, eyes burst and their limbs snapped one by one.

eddie had recalled how chrissy went into a similar trance, her eyes glossed over, completely unresponsive. though the moment he’d said it, his heart sank, realising that chrissy wasn’t the only one he’d witnessed like that.

logically, that meant that you were next.

dustin had uncovered what was essentially a countdown to your death. nobody wanted to say it, or even acknowledge it, but you weren’t stupid.

that meant that whatever plan he had, he had to perfect tonight, ready to attack tomorrow.

before it’s too late.

he’d said the quiet part out loud. a shared grimace encompassing the room, pitiful glances in your direction.

despite the fact that your demise was quickly approaching, you had felt a strange sense of peace. perhaps actually knowing your fate was better than not knowing.

there would be an end to all of this.

steve had offered his house for you all, his parents away on some trip for the next week meaning eddie could hide out in peace. a much better arrangement than the wheeler’s house again, ted had started to despise the groups of teenagers in his basement.

sleeping bags and blankets strewn across his gigantic living room, sleeping bodies filling every spare inch of carpet. none of you wanted to be apart for more than five minutes. sleeping on top one another was the ultimate comfort.

eddie had volunteered for first watch, keeping his eye steady on you from the corner of the room.

it’s a little difficult to fall asleep knowing that he was watching you like a hawk, surveying every tiny change and movement.

dustin was supposed to take over at some point in the early hours, but judging by the sounds of his rumbling snore, that wouldn’t be happening.

you sit up, shuffling over to eddie’s perch, avoiding your sleeping friends on the ground.

his eyes dart to the floor, as if he hadn’t been staring intensely at you for the last hour.

“d’you have a cigarette?” you whisper, knocking your knee into his.

he nods, raising his brow, “you don’t smoke?” baffled by your question.

you shrug, smiling into the darkness, “how would you know?” hoping it didn’t come across as snappy as it seemed.

he doesn’t reply, just shuffles around in his pocket, producing the scuffed up box with his lighter.

you nod towards the door, getting up from the floor with a small groan. limbs still aching and weary from your run in with death earlier.

he follows behind, glancing at the room of sleeping teens before slipping out onto the porch with you.

steve’s house was secluded, the massive back yard and the trees that surrounded it made sure that no one would find him here.

you perch on one of the lounge chairs, gesturing for eddie to join you, watching the steam from the pool dissipate into the chilly march night air. despite being in the same tiny town, his house was worlds apart from the trailer park you two grew up on.

he places a cigarette in your palm before sliding one between his own lips, passing you the lighter first.

it’s a silent exchange, unsure if you could talk about anything without crying, though it’s meaningful. eddie had been selfish plenty of times during your relationship but at his core, he’d put you before himself each and every time.

you light the cigarette, gazing off into the distance. hoping to god that he wouldn’t bring what had happened earlier up.

“when’d you start smoking?” he asks, keeping a respectable distance between you though he wishes that wasn’t something he had to worry about.

“when i found out that i was dying tomorrow,” exhaling slow, trying not to let your voice wobble.

he sighs, “you’re not gonna die,” with less conviction than you’d have liked, “you can’t die,” shaking his head at such a ridiculous thought, “you won’t.. you won’t,” mostly for his own sake.

your eyes squeeze shut, heart aching, squeezing your chest tight. last week you’d been terrified about your literature final and now none of it even mattered.

“what if i do?” you ask earnestly, finally meeting his eyes, “everyone else has? we don’t know if dustin’s right.. if we can beat him,” shrugging helplessly.

chrissy had died, patrick had died, fred had died. that meant you were next.

his jaw clenches, wishing you’d stop, “you’re not,” throwing his cigarette butt to the side, “i won’t let you, okay?”

you nod, albeit not believing a word he said. it was difficult to be so optimistic when the only evidence you had, said otherwise.

“this vecna..” eddie begins again, “he doesn’t know what’s about to hit him,” sounding slightly more confident than before, “we’re gonna kill him and you’re.. you’re gonna live and graduate and do all that great shit you still have to do.”

you don’t mistake the pain in his voice, the knowing that he should be there for all of that and that it had been his own fault for now being a footnote in the story of your life.

“i really do miss you,” you clarify, “i’m not sure how much of our conversation earlier was a vision or not..”

eddie chuckles, breath shaky and unstable, “no.. you said that before, you know- before you got possessed,” bumping his shoulder into yours, thankfully injecting his fucked up humour into the otherwise dark conversation.

“was it scary?”

he scoffs, almost offended that you’d even ask, “i shit my pants,” smiling with the side of his mouth, not fully committed, “reminded me of that stupid movie you made me watch.”

he had never liked horror movies, this tough guy exterior that exclusively listened to metal was all a guise. he’d watched the film through his fingers, clinging onto your arm.

“you were very brave though,” letting your cigarette fall to the floor, sure to be lectured by steve in the morning.

he shies away, looking down for a brief second, “i’m not gonna let what happened to chrissy happen to you too..” meeting your gaze once more, “i promise.”

“i don’t think you can promise that,” sharing a meaningful glance.

“i can and i will.”

you nod hesitantly. his words, as much as you’d like to believe them, meant nothing when the supernatural was at play.

his eyes flicker down to your lips, just like they used to so many months ago. but you don’t pull back, only leaning in further.

if you lived past tomorrow, you’d no doubt regret this but as that wasn’t looking at all likely, what was a kiss between traumatised exes?

eddie makes the first real move, his palm coming to cradle your cheek. you hope to god this isn’t another vision, that he won’t be cruelly torn away from you this time.

“is this real?” you can’t stop yourself from asking, sighing as you do.

“this is real,” he assures, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear, “d’you want to stop?”

“no,” closing the already dwindling space between you, placing your hand on his in such earnest intimacy, a sensation you’d missed so deeply for an entire year.

your lips touch, your eyes falling shut as his breaths start to steady, humming into your mouth in satisfaction.

it didn’t feel so bad now, nothing could be so utterly terrifying while you’re touching him like this.

eddie breaks away first, only a few inches of distance, just to gaze into your starry eyes, “i never thought i’d be able to do that again,” with utmost sincerity.

“you weren’t supposed to,” shaking your head. if things had gone according to your plan, you’d have never seen him again.

but it doesn’t work that way.

fate had other plans for you.

his lips twitch into a small smile, thumb drawing over your tired cheeks, “can i do it again?”

“please.”

connecting your lips once more, the cold tip of his nose bumping softly against yours. it was impossible not to notice how well you fit together, moving in synchronicity and with such tenderly care.

inside, dustin wakes up in a cold sweat. looking over at the empty spot on the floor where you should be, but now we’re not.

“shitshitshit,” he panics, whispering loudly to himself as he crashes around the house, stepping over the sleeping bodies.

dustin’s panicked face shoots up from the window, gawping at the barely visible sight, straining to make out what the fuck he was even seeing.

it only dawns on him when your lips leave eddie’s, foreheads resting together that it would be in his best interest to not interject and end up with his ass beat.

you come back in some twenty minutes later, after a plethora of shared kisses and soothing words. deciding to settle in the same empty spot on the floor, his hand only comfortable enough to grace your waist, under the blanket.

now wasn’t the time for questions or prying eyes judging your decision. you weren’t even too sure yourself.

it’s the only time you’ve felt comfortable enough to sleep tonight, watching his chest rise and fall, knowing that he was here, alive and that for right now, you were too.

the carnage pulls you from your sleep, people yelling over pancakes and glass clattering as max’s shrill voice scolds lucas for being too loud.

you look around at the mess of blankets and empty sleeping bags, the door to the living room was closed though it made no difference.

you’d have preferred to stay in the empty room, unwilling to address the situation with eddie last night but your stomach rumbles, pulling you out of the room and into the bright, bustling hallway.

robin swings out of the kitchen at the sound of your presence. she’d clearly tried to help with the breakfast efforts, though unsuccessfully, emerging with flour down her shirt, jeans and somehow in her hair. she smiles gently at your weary eyes, “we didn’t wanna wake you.. you were knocked out.”

“thanks rob,” even though their incessant arguing and yelling did eventually rouse you from your sleep.

in the kitchen, dustin sits with his feet swinging off the tall stool, a too-wide, toothy grin growing on his face the second he spots you, “well good morning! how’d you sleep?” a sarcastic little quip that you know holds something deeper.

“great thanks, you?” narrowing your eyes as you fill a mug with coffee.

he waits for steve to exit the room, turning back to you with the biggest shit-eating grin imaginable, “yeah, really good,” he twists his body to peer out of the door, ensuring no one could hear, “so you and eddie huh?”

“me and eddie what?” refusing to entertain his cryptic questions.

“i saw you two last night, k-i-s-s-i-n-g,” wiggling his stupid brows as he shovels yet another pancake into his uncontrollable, jabbering mouth.

“and i saw you wet the bed last year, do you want to go there?” flinging his taunting right back at him.

dustin’s mouth falls open, “you can be a real bitch, you know that?” taking his heaped plate back into the living room.

steve strolls back in, staring down dustin’s scowl before his eyes trail to you, “what’s wrong with him?”

you smile, tight-lipped and fully loaded as you pour a cup of coffee, “oh nothing,” looking over the food with slight disgust. the hunger hadn’t really hit you yet, too occupied with trying not to die to care about pancakes.

eddie interrupts your noisy brain, cackling as he comes into the kitchen, “maybe you should stop being such a smart-ass then,” immediately quietening down when he spots you.

you don’t speak, instead communicating with a shared look before you focus on the cup of coffee in your hand.

steve looks slowly between the two of you, “you good?”

“yeah.”

“yup.”

you both simultaneously reply, refusing to acknowledge the tension in the empty kitchen.

“o-kay,” steve whistles, deciding that sitting with dustin and his terrible attitude would be far better than whatever this was.

it’s not supposed to be awkward.

it was just a kiss. or multiple.

a few kisses between exes during the end of the world. that’s all.

“d’you sleep okay?” he dares to ask, feeling comfortable enough to make eye contact now that steve had left.

“yeah.. thank you, for looking after me,” smiling gently at the bleary eyed boy.

“i told you i would,” he reaffirms, “you’re not doing this on your own.”

“i know,” you nod, swallowing the growing lump, “but i’m scared eds.. i don’t want you to die because of me.”

eddie tuts, rounding the counter to place his hand on your arm, “that’s not-,”

dustin hollers, falling through the kitchen door, giving away the groups prying position, “ow shithead!” shoving lucas backwards as they materialise one by one.

dustin, lucas, max, erica.

in that order.

“are you fucking serious?” you screech, throwing your arms into the air.

this was low even for dustin.

“sorry! sorry! go back to confessing your love or whatever the hell was happening!” scurrying off to finish his pancakes and no doubt inform robin and steve what they’d witnessed.

“i can’t believe him,” you frown, turning to eddie who’s stifling his laugh. “it’s not funny,” but your lips twitch anyway.

“it’s kinda funny,” his hand still lingering on your arm, his smile reaching his eyes, “you don’t care if they know.. do you?”

you shrug, perhaps you did care a little bit. you were the one who’d broken up with him, deserted him for college. maybe you didn’t deserve a second chance.

“it’s okay..” he nods, as understanding as always, “this is weird, i get it," as understanding as he was, he wasn't able to conceal the dejected puppy gleam in his eye.

"it's not that," pathetically reaching for his hand, "i'm just.. i'm supposed to die today, i don't want to.. lead you on, or get your hopes up or whatever," putting your finger up to stop eddie from interrupting, "i don't need you to tell me that i'm not. just let me spiral about this," smiling as you speak, truly a means to soothe yourself, not just eddie.

"o..okay," his whole speech shut down, leaving him with nothing. his eyes flit over to the mountains of food steve had whipped up, "you should eat.. you've got a busy day of not dying to get through," smirking right through your snide glare.

something feels off, a nervous twisting in your stomach that makes you want to call the entire thing off.

you could go down there and fight this with them. screw whatever prophetic visions you’d had.

eddie hadn’t even wanted to go, desperate to stay in the attic with you, watching over in fear of losing you again.

“what if.. what if something happens and they don’t know how to fix it? they’re kids.” he’d pleaded, sat on the porch outside of the large house in your final moments of peace.

“dustin can’t do this on his own,” you cooed, only slightly wishing that he could execute this plan on his own. “you have to go. i’ll be okay..okay?” not entirely certain about the truthfulness of your words.

he takes a sharp intake of breath, fingers forming a weak fist, “you better be,” the moon reflecting off of his caramel iris’, capturing the entire universe in two tiny orbs, “i don’t want to lose you again.”

your head dips, quickly losing the ability to look him in the eye, overwhelmed with guilt and the reminder that you had been the one to end things.

“it’s okay,” grabbing your hand to place on his bouncing knee, “i’m not.. mad about it, or upset and you shouldn’t be either,” squeezing your fingers in a bid to draw your eyes back to him.

“i don’t-,” huffing a frustrated sigh, unable to form a coherent thought when the impending battle loomed over your heads. “everything is so fucked and i don’t know if we’re gonna make it this time.”

eddie’s fingers lace between yours, holding your hand tighter, “we’re gonna be fine.. okay? everyone is gonna be fine,” inching closer in the thick of the night, “i’m gonna be right back here, as soon as that bastard is dead.. i promise.”

this time, you punctuate his sentence for him, springing forward to latch your lips to his, using your free hand to cradle his stubbly cheek.

you long to kiss him forever, never escaping this embrace, knowing that there’s a chance it won’t happen again. his lips soft, desperate to stay attached to you, too.

“oh! shit! uhm-,” robin stutters, clattering out of the door.

you break apart, containing the low groan of disappointment, “sorry rob.. ‘s everything okay?” eddie’s as bashful as ever, his cheeks flushing a deep scarlet, even in the darkness.

“yeah! uh.. nancy told me to tell you that we’ve gotta go now or it’ll be too late,” swinging from the door as she speaks.

he glances at you again, longing for just one more minute of this peace. one more second of your touch.

but it doesn’t come.

they leave in a hurry, cycling maniacally away to the trailer park, leaving you, lucas, max and erica to conduct the rest of the plan. only fragments of hope left as you watch them disappear over the hill, praying for someone, anyone to just keep him safe.

everything is eerily calm, far too silent for the situation at hand.

you sit cross-legged in the attic, looking between lucas and max who had taken it upon themselves to converse through a notepad.

they reminded you of you and eddie once upon a time, giggling teenagers trying to navigate love together.

it’s sweet, full of the same adolescent innocence you were desperately trying to regain.

eventually they break apart, lucas traipsing over the creaky floorboards to check on you, equally confused by the serenity.

he turns to walk away, almost frozen as his brows furrow and his pupils dilate, “you killed them.”

your mouth falls open, immediately hushing him so as to not screw up nancy and dustin’s carefully thought out plan.

“you killed them all,” he parrots, a sinister air surrounding him. “eddie trusted you and you killed him.. you’re a murderer,” the venom flying off of his tongue, severing your heart in two.

the plan had worked. you were back in wherever it was you were taken before, confirmed by the sudden darkness, the wallpaper splintering and putrid stench that had filled your nose.

lucas isn’t lucas at all.

a mimic to the higher power cursing your town, only a small part of his master plan to destroy hawkins.

your surroundings melt away, lucas nor max no longer appearing before you. instead, you’re faced with a flash of red, and a maniacal cackle.

henry, as you’d since learnt he was called, begins his tirade, just as you’d planned.

“why didn’t you stop them?” he booms, appearing in the corner, “you let them go after everything i showed you.”

he didn’t scare you, not anymore. when the time was right, lucas would slide max’s walkman over your ears and pull you right out of this hellscape.

“they’re going to kill you,” standing stoic, resistant under his thumb. “you can’t hurt anybody else.. not anymore,” gritting your teeth, such determination to have him hear you.

his burnt frame disappears right before your eyes, a loud, blaring laugh appears from behind.

once again turning to darkness, only this time it’s accompanied by a chorus of screeching. feral creatures and familiar voices circle around your head.

his torment is ruthless, voices, namely eddie’s rattle around your brain, wailing and screaming, loud enough to make your ears ring and your head ache.

your eyes open to your trailer, watching yourself argue and cry at eddie.

the day you broke up.

“you’re just gonna leave me?” he despairs, just as feeble as the first time he’d said it.

“i can’t stay here eddie! you don’t get it! i nearly died.. i can’t do that again,” and yet, here you are.

a shrill, shrieking sound fills the room before the scene crumbles before your eyes leaving you to the decaying scene you bore witness to before. remnants of the creel house float through the scarlet sky, threatening to crash into each other.

“maybe i can’t hurt you, but you can hurt yourself,” vecna’s voice squawks, flashing forward to a scene you’ve never seen before.

eddie, with his back against a door, you can only assume he’s trying to keep something out. a grotesque mix of blood, sweat and tears seep down his cheeks, the door beginning to thump from the pressure of whatever was on the other side.

“this all could’ve been so easy,” rapidly wiping the imagine from your view, only to appear mere inches away, decrepit hand rising above your face. “don’t you wish you had just listened? don’t you wish that you had just come with me?” now mocking with his tone, condescending even though he’d gotten you exactly where you’d wanted.

“no.. no no no,” arms suddenly restricted by a slimy tendril, forcing your face to meet his, “you’re not real.. you’re not-“ a sudden, awful constriction wraps around your lungs, squeezing the air from your body.

“i’m not.. real?” he mocks, the corners of his mouth creep upwards, “i didn’t want this to happen this way but you’ve left me no choice.”

you gasp loudly for breath, struggling within his grasp for a means out of it. where was lucas? or max? what happened to the plan?

over the last few days, you’d become quite comfortable with the idea of dying. it became fact, an inevitable consequence of getting yourself tangled up in this entire thing.

but now, as it looms over your head, you want out.

you want to be with eddie. you want a dozen kids and a quaint house on the corner of maple. maybe a dog or a cat that he’d picked up on the side of the road. slow dancing in the kitchen after a day of warm sun.

you want to live.

his fist closes, leaving your lips blue and begging for oxygen. “this is what had to happen.. your time-“ his rambling cut off by a ground shattering boom, the tendril dropping your body at once.

he stumbles backwards, grabbing onto his chest. your vision too blurry to coherently make out what was happening, a mixture of colours that swirls away quickly.

your aching bones thump to the floor, gasping for air as the familiarity of the creel’s attic fills your peripheral.

max and lucas swarm your body, muttering over one another, their small hands shaking in fear as your head is placed on max’s lap.

“what the fuck? what the fuck do we do? lucas!” she hollers at lucas, as if either of them had any idea.

they shouldn’t have to be concerned with any of this, nor tasked with the pressure of keeping you alive. your breathing steadies though your chest still heaves, leaving the comfort of her hold to scan the room. making sure that this was real, that you were home.

four pairs of feet appear before you and not one of them the dusty pair of reebok’s you were waiting to see.

collapsing once again, in a crumpled heap on the dusty floorboards, your voice cracks, broken as you speak. still reeling from the onslaught of abuse you’d endured.

“where’s eddie?”

#eddie munson #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x fem!reader

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drabbles-mc · 6 months

Text

I'm Not Sorry

Bob Floyd x F!Reader

Warnings: 18+, language, dry humping, semi-public hookup

Inspired by This Text Post: i should be riding some nerd's thigh while he gropes all over my body & tells me i'm the girl of his dreams

Word Count: 3.7k

A/N: i've been struggling to finish fics lately but i saw that text post a couple days ago, knew i wanted to write about it for Bob, and then BAM this all fell outta me tonight. unbeta'd to the max but Bob Floyd deserves to fuck so time was of the essence 😌

Top Gun Maverick Taglist: @garbinge @proceduralpassion @justreblogginfics (If you want to be added to any of my taglists, please let me know!)

If you wanted to be dramatic, you could say that you and Bob had been playing a very coy game of cat and mouse for months. It was a bit of an exaggeration, but not by much. A majority of the time that you spent with each other was work-related. It was usually work related, and there was almost always other people around. The closest the two of you got to having time alone was when all of you went out together and everyone else got distracted with pool or darts or each other. So while it might’ve been months according to the calendar, it wasn’t really quite that drastic.

Still, though, you tried to make the most out of the time that the two of you got to have.

It was easy, especially at first, to get a rise out of him, to get his cheeks to flush pink, to get him tripping over his words. A seemingly accidental touch, a well-timed innuendo or wink—that’s all it really took. You didn’t say anything about it but you noticed each time his gaze would break, eyes flickering down from yours to your mouth anytime your teeth dragged along your bottom lip. It never took much with him and for a while you just chalked it up to the fact that he was sweet and shy and a little awkward, that anyone flirting with him like that would get that reaction out of him. It wasn’t until you saw him perfectly unfazed at The Hard Deck one night when a girl at the bar was all but falling into his lap that you realized it wasn’t a Bob thing. It was a you thing. Once you realized that, it was all bets off.

There had been more than one occasion when thanks to your subtly wandering hands Bob nearly spat his drink out across the bar or dropped the bottle from his hand completely. You were able to keep a straight face and play it off, and every now and then Bob was able to recover with some grace, but there had been a time or two when he’d caught a few odd looks from the rest of the crew. It was easy enough to wave them off and they’d let it drop, but the second his focus was back on you, you could tell that he was working overtime to stay on the right side of self-control. All you could do was smile and try to carry on like nothing had happened.

Truthfully, it had gotten to a point where you had almost just resigned yourself to this being what it was going to be like with you and Bob. You were trying to accept that this limbo, this knowing that you wanted him and he wanted you but neither of you really found the time to do much of anything about it, was as good as it was going to get. A never-ending chase, a game with no winners.

“Alright,” you said as you hopped off your barstool, “I gotta head out.”

“Why?” Rooster asked, sounding as though he couldn’t fathom why anyone would want or need to be anywhere else on a Friday night.

You laughed as you dug your wallet out, taking out a few bills to close out your tab and then some. “Some of us have shit to do in the morning, Bradshaw.”

He laughed and gave you a mock disbelieving look. “I don’t think so.”

Raising your eyebrows, you turned your head to face him. “You wanna close out my tab, then? Sounds like you might wanna close out my tab.”

He threw his hands up in surrender. “Forget it—see you Monday.”

You laughed a little harder at that. “That’s what I thought.”

It didn’t seem like your departure disturbed the flow too much, everyone falling back into their previous conversations as you made your way to the bar to square up your tab. You didn’t even bother looking back as you made your way to the door of the bar. By the time your feet hit the blacktop of the parking lot, you were already fishing your keys out of your bag.

Once you were a few strides away from the bar and the clamor of noise coming from inside died down, all you heard was the sound of your own footsteps, and the ocean not too far off. It was peaceful until you heard someone else’s footsteps behind you. The sound alone wouldn’t usually have been strange. Someone else deciding to leave the bar at the same time as you wasn’t a weird occurrence. What made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, however, was the fact that the footsteps were getting quicker and closer. You felt your jaw clenching, positioning your keys between your fingers the way you’d always been taught. You were only a few steps away from your car now but you still found yourself taking a deep breath, getting ready to turn around and see whoever it was that was behind you. You were about to turn and brace for impact when you heard Bob’s voice calling out your name, a little breathless, and very rushed.

Turning around and seeing him, some of the tension disappeared. You huffed, shoulders dropping. “Jesus, Bob.”

There was an apologetic smile on his face as he realized what had just happened. “Sorry.”

Shaking your head, you slipped your keys so that you were holding them in your hand normally again. You managed to laugh at the potential worst case scenario versus the reality of the situation. “Another step without saying my name and I think we both would’ve been sorry.”

He stepped in a little closer to you as he nodded towards your car. “Just wanted to walk you to your car.”

You rolled your eyes but smiled as you turned and started the last few steps across the lot with him. “You know, walking me out to my car is much more chivalrous and much less creepy when you tell me you’re going to do it.”

There was a smirk on his face as he shoved his hands into his pockets. “Guess I’ll have to remember that next time.”

Silence took over the space between you, and while it was comfortable enough, you couldn’t help but to feel like there was more to it, something in the air. Hitting the unlock button on your keys, the lights of your car flashed once. You looked at Bob, then at your car, and then back to Bob. “Well,” you chuckled, “thank you for the company on this long, treacherous journey.” You reached for the handle on the driver’s door. “Hope we can do it aga—”

Bob cut your sentence short when he placed one hand on top of yours on the door handle, keeping you from opening it. Before you could jump to another sentence and ask him what he was doing, his other hand was pressing against the small of your back and pulling you into him so that he could press his lips to yours in a kiss that was intense and nervous all at once.

It lasted just long enough for you to realize what was happening and how good it felt and then he pulled away. Going off the way his eyes were wider than you’d ever seen them, he was just as surprised at himself as you were. Despite the shock all over his face, he didn’t take his hand off your back, although the one that was covering yours on the door dropped back to his side.

“Sor—I’m sorry,” he finally forced out. “I’m…” he trailed off as he looked at you, tongue darting out over his bottom lip.

Another second passed in heavy silence, and when you didn’t try to break free of him, didn’t try to push him away, he let the rest of his sentence die on the tip of his tongue as he kissed you again. You could feel the way that he was more confident this time, the warmth of his palm bleeding through the thin fabric of your tank top as he pressed you against him.

You brought your hands up so that they were resting in the crook of where his neck met his shoulder. One slid up, thumb beneath his jaw as he deepened the kiss. It was all you could do to not ball up the cotton of his t-shirt in your fist, put it in a vice grip so that he couldn’t try to get away. However once you felt the way his tongue pushed into your mouth, and the way he used his body to pin you between him and the side of the car, it became clear that he wasn’t planning on going anywhere.

He had one hand still on your back, one hand braced against the side of your car. It was the first time it ever seemed like he was crowding you, like he was trying to make you seem small. You didn’t mind it. With the way he was kissing you, you were fairly certain you wouldn’t mind anything.

The next time the two of you came up for air, he didn’t pull far enough away for you to really see him. You were just far enough apart for your lips not to be touching, but you could still feel the side of his nose pressed against yours. You could still feel his breath against your skin. The two of you were pressed so tight against each other that you could’ve sworn you could feel the way his heart was about to beat clean out of his chest.

“Shit,” the word fell from his lips in a whisper, followed by an equally soft laugh. His lips brushed against yours as he spoke. “I’m…I’m not sorry.”

You laughed at that, couldn’t help yourself do to anything but. “Good.” Your hand slid from his jaw to the back of his head. “You shouldn’t be.” Kissing him again, you let your teeth pull lightly at his bottom lip as you pulled away. “Only thing you need to be sorry for is taking so long.”

He smiled and shook his head. If the lighting had been better you were sure that you would see a blush all across his cheeks and down his neck. You’d have to settle for the mental image of it. “Didn’t see you chasing me down across any parking lots for a kiss before this either,” he rebutted with a chuckle.

“Touché.”

The humor died down out of his voice as he said, “You know how long I’ve been wanting to do that?”

You nodded, noses brushing against each other. The bridge of his glasses bumped against your forehead for a split second in the process. “I’ve got a pretty good idea, yeah.”

Your bodies were pressed together so tightly that you felt it when he sucked in a quick breath. There were a million things that he wanted to say to you and he couldn’t make himself say any of them in that moment. He had his hand on your back and the taste of your kiss on his lips and yet none of the things he’d been thinking over the passing months were making it out.

The feeling of your fingers toying with the longer strands of his hair centered him enough for him to smile as he said, “At least you know that. I—oh—” He fumbled his way out of the sentence when he felt your lips on his neck.

“Bob?” you said, lips brushing against the column of his throat as you spoke.

“Y-yeah?” he stammered out, and you could feel the vibrations against your lips as he talked.

Taking one hand off of him, you reached and pulled on the handle to the back door of your car. You kissed him again, pushing both of you off the side of the car in the process. “Get in the car.”

He was far enough away that you could see the shocked look on his face. “What?”

You placed your hands on his sides, switching your positions so that he was closer to the car than you. “Car.” You kissed him. “Back seat.” Another kiss. “Now.”

“Now?” He looked around the parking lot. Full of cars but completely devoid of people. “Here?”

You laughed as you pushed him farther back, causing him to duck slightly as he went backwards into the car. “Preferably, yeah.”

“I don’t—whoa,” he fell back across your back seat, managing to brace himself on his forearms.

You shimmied in after him. Pulling the door shut behind you, you climbed on top of him, one leg between his, the other pinned between the outside of his leg and the back seat. It was close quarters, but you weren’t exactly looking to put any distance between the two of you.

Your hands landed on his shoulders, fingers curling over the curve of them as you leaned in and kissed him on the lips. Whatever reservations he’d had about your current location disappeared almost immediately once your lips caught his. His hands were on your hips for a moment. You could feel the way he tightened his grip even through the denim of your shorts. Your lips and his met over and over, each reconnection making him a little bolder.

He managed to get his thoughts together just enough to pry one hand from your hip so that he could reach up and take his glasses off. He all but tossed them up and onto the center console between the driver and passenger seats. You were smiling and about to make a comment about the action but you didn’t get the chance. He brought his hand back to you, starting off on the soft, exposed skin of your thigh. His touch was soft at first, but quickly started to change. His fingers dragged up your leg before slipping past the bottom hem of your shorts.

Your pleased gasp of surprise when you felt the pads of his fingertips over the lace of your panties was quickly smothered as he pulled your lips back to his again. His grip on your ass tightened, pushing you down harder onto his thigh and causing you to moan into his mouth.

For a split second you couldn’t believe it. All this time and Bob hadn’t been able to make a move, couldn’t believe that you wanted to fool around in the back seat of your car—that same man was now grinding you down against his thigh in a way that had you wet and clenching around nothing.

You broke the kiss to catch your breath, muttering out a quiet, needy, “Fuck,” as you continued to move along the top of his leg.

When you pulled back enough to see him, you saw the way that he was watching the movement of your hips. He didn’t take his eyes off of you, felt like he physically couldn’t tear himself away from the sight. His hold on you loosened as you found your own rhythm. A tiny whimper slipped past your lips, the sound involuntary as you savored the friction. The sound made his gaze snap back up to your face, and when he saw the want and desperation etched into your expression he thought that he was going to melt into a puddle right there on your back seat. What a way to go.

He pulled you back down into another kiss, your bodies flush practically from head to toe. Even as you continued to move against his thigh, you could feel the way he was shifting slightly, trying to get in the most comfortable position as he felt himself growing more and more aroused with each passing second. He didn’t let you pull away, though, didn’t let you put any distance between you. With you pinning his leg to the seat, Bob let his hands wander up underneath he fabric of your shirt. Suddenly it was like you felt his hands everywhere—your back, your sides, your chest. He slipped them down past the waistband of your shorts and underwear, fingers kneading the flesh of your ass in a way that with everything else had your legs starting to shake.

Bob could feel it, too. He could feel the increased sense of urgency in your movements, the way you were chasing after something and you almost had it. He was half-expecting to be woken up and find out that this was all just a dream. But not even his dreams had been this good, felt this good.

He dragged his lips off of yours, trailing them along your jaw instead. He left a string of sloppy, desperate kisses in his wake until his lips were beside your ear. One of his hands crept up your back, palm and fingertips scorching your skin in the best way.

“I meant it, you know,” his whisper came out lower than you’d ever heard, a tiny hint of a tremor to it, “when I said I’ve been wanting this—you.” He kissed below your ear, feeling the shaky breath you let out at that, at his words. “But even when I thought about it,” he kissed your jaw, “or dreamed about you,” he kissed your neck, “it wasn’t—shit—it wasn’t anything compared to this.”

Fighting the urge to bury yourself into the crook of his neck at his words, you pulled your head back. You cupped his jaw roughly in one hand and crashed your lips against his. His arms slithered around you and wrapped you tightly against him. He could still feel the slight shake in your legs.

“Bob—”

He stole another quick kiss. “I’d wait all over again for this.”

You could hear it in his voice how genuine he was being. You tried not to let yourself get distracted by his still-wandering hands, or his erection that you could still feel through his jeans. You tried to start your sentence again. “Bob, I—”

“Let me—”

“Come home with me,” you cut him off right back this time, deciding to just get to the point of what you were trying to say.

Confusion flashed across his face for a quick moment. “What?”

“Come back to my place.”

“I thought—”

“I wanna do this.” You sat up enough so that you could drag your fingertips down over his chest and stomach, even doing it over the fabric of his shirt had him starting to squirm with want. “But I’d rather do it somewhere where I don’t have to worry about smacking my head off the ceiling if I sit up all the way.”

The statement got both of you to laugh. “That’s fair.” He paused, a smirk on his face as he said, “Car was your idea, though.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m feeling a little impatient. Sue me.”

He pulled you into another kiss, one that every time you thought it was over he’d pull you back in all over again. As much as you wanted to get him back to your apartment and laid out on your bed, you also knew that you’d spend as much time as he wanted to doing exactly what you were doing right now. Anything to keep him this close now that you had him there.

When he released you from the kiss, he looked up at you with that same smile, that same slightly dazed look to in his eyes. Like he couldn’t believe this was happening. You couldn’t really believe it either. You couldn’t believe that any of it was happening at all, but you were also having a hard time wrapping your head around the fact that Bob Floyd, the same man who could barely make eye contact with you at the bar the first time you all went out together, was the same man who looked like he was about to try and strategize how to best make use of your back seat so he wouldn’t have to wait to get back to your apartment.

“I live less than ten minutes from here,” you said, already knowing what he was going to say.

His hands moved around to the front of you, fingers just barely curled over into the front of your waistband. You pretended not to notice the way he was toying with the button of your shorts. “Thought you had things to do tomorrow?”

You laughed, leaning in and kissing him. “I still do. Now they’re just,” you ran your hand lightly over the crotch of his jeans, enough pressure to get him to buck into you, “different things.” You giggled quietly at the purposeful breath he sucked in. Reaching over, you grabbed his glasses for him. “C’mon. You can ride shotgun.”

He propped himself up by his forearms again as you untangled yourself from him. “What if—”

You couldn’t help but to laugh as you stopped his sentence short. “Little late to get shy now.”

He smiled, face starting to turn red. “Right.”

The only thing that passed between the two of you were knowing looks and soft laughter as you scrambled out and into the front seats of the car. It wasn’t until you were pulling out of the parking lot and onto the road that you spoke up again, trying not to be too distracted by Bob’s hand creeping higher and higher up on your thigh.

“So,” you looked over at him for a second before returning your attention to the road, “you dreamt about me?”

His head dropped back against the headrest and you couldn’t help but to laugh at his faux exasperation. He gave your thigh a squeeze. You were expecting a joke, one of the witty little comebacks that he had a way of finding in the right moments, but instead he let himself be serious as he said, “Yeah, I did.”

The three words hung in the air between you, and you felt the butterflies that you’d been too busy to feel before in the heat and the rush of everything else. You could feel the way that Bob was looking at you while you looked at the road.

“How much longer?” he asked.

You laughed, sparing him a glance. “Six minutes, tops.”

He nodded, fingertips grazing up and down your thigh, goosebumps breaking out over your skin despite how warm your car was with its still-fogged-up windows. “Six minutes.”

#top gun #top gun maverick #top gun: maverick #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick fanfiction #bob floyd #robert floyd #bob floyd x reader #bob floyd x you #robert floyd x reader #robert floyd x you #x reader #x reader fic #my writing #fanfiction #drabblesmc #bob floyd fanfiction

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cosmicanakin · 6 months

Text

𝐏𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐔𝐏 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐈𝐄𝐂𝐄𝐒 ⟢ | dean winchester.

adult content | minors do NOT interact.

⟣ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. dean winchester x female reader.

⟣ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. a heated argument with dean leads to a vulnerable confession of your long-held feelings.

⟣ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒). angst arguments implied sexual tension mild language season 1 dean ( yes that's a warning ) mature themes.

kari's corner ⟢ ݁⋆ back with a new fic whaaaat?! i recently started rewatching supernatural to mend my broken heart after the season 15 finale… they deserved so much better & just thinking about it pisses me tf off. anyway i was listening to stairway to heaven for hours on end while writing this (that song is my childhood.) enjoooooy!

you stared out the window of the impala, watching the roads and scenery fly by as led zeppelin played softly in the background. the familiar rumble of the engine and the comfort of the leather seats usually provided a sense of peace, but today all you could feel was tension.

you and dean had gotten into a nasty argument earlier, one that had been brewing for a while now. it was about his careless flirtation with other women, even when you two weren't officially exclusive. you couldn't help the feelings you had harbored for him over the years, feelings that only seemed to grow stronger the more time you spent together on the road. and it hurt to see him so freely give his attention and affection to anyone but you.

you tried to push those thoughts aside, to focus on the music and the drive. but it was impossible to ignore the way dean kept stealing glances in your direction, the way his hand would occasionally graze your thigh in a move that had become comfortable and familiar between the two of you. each subtle touch sent a jolt of electricity through your body, a painful reminder of what you couldn't have.

as the familiar chords of the song played on, you closed your eyes and tried to will yourself to sleep, to escape this tense situation, even if just for a little while. but just as you felt yourself starting to drift off, dean's hand suddenly landed firmly on your inner thigh, sending your eyes flying open as your heart raced.

without a word, dean pulled the impala over to the side of the road, putting the car in park before turning to face you. the intensity in his green eyes made your breath catch in your throat, and you found yourself unable to look away.

"we need to talk," he said, his voice low and serious.

you swallowed hard, every fiber of your being telling you to run, to avoid this conversation at all costs. but you knew it was inevitable, that the tension between the two of you had been building for too long to ignore any longer.

"okay," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

dean studied you for a moment, his gaze searching your face for something you couldn't quite decipher. finally, he let out a heavy sigh and ran a hand through his short, spiky hair.

"look, i know things have been...tense between us lately," he began, his eyes never leaving yours. "and i know a lot of that is my fault."

you opened your mouth to interrupt, to argue that it was his fault, that his reckless flirting had hurt you more than you cared to admit. but he held up a hand, silencing you.

"please, just let me say this," he pleaded. "i'm not good at this whole...feelings thing. you of all people know that. but i've been thinking a lot about what happened earlier..." he paused, his brow furrowing as he struggled to find the right words.

"i'm sorry," he said finally, his voice sincere. "i never meant to hurt you, i swear. it's just...old habits die hard, you know?" he hesitated, his gaze dropping to his hands, which were fidgeting nervously in his lap. "i guess i was... afraid."

your eyes widened in surprise at his confession, and you couldn't help but lean forward slightly, your curiosity piqued.

"afraid of what, dean?" you asked softly.

he let out a humorless chuckle, shaking his head. "afraid of this," he said, gesturing vaguely between the two of you. "afraid of... of letting myself feel something real, something that could actually last."

your heart ached at his words, the raw vulnerability in his voice cutting you deeper than any of his careless flirtations ever could. you knew, deep down, that dean had been through more than his fair share of pain and loss in his life, and the thought of him being afraid to open himself up to you only made you love him more.

"dean..." you began, your voice trembling slightly. "i... i had no idea."

he looked up then, his green eyes meeting yours, and you were struck by the raw emotion you saw there. "i know," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "and that's my fault. i've been pushing you away, because i'm scared of what this could be. of what we could be."

you felt your heart skip a beat at his words, hope and fear warring within you. "what are you saying, dean?" you asked, fiddling with your thumbs.

he reached out to you, his calloused hand coming to rest on your thigh again, his thumb brushing against it in a gentle caress. "i'm saying that... i care about you, more than i've ever cared about anyone. and i'm tired of pretending that i don't."

you felt your breath catch in your throat, your eyes flooding with tears as the weight of his words settled over you. "dean... i care about you, too. so much," you whispered, your voice shaking.

a small, tentative smile tugged at the corners of his lips, and he reached up to gently brush a stray tear from your cheek. "i know," he murmured. "that's what scares me the most."

you nodded, understanding dawning on you. "because you're afraid of losing me, too," you said softly.

he nodded, his hand moving to cup your face, his thumb caressing your cheek. "yeah," he breathed. "i've already lost so much in my life, sweetheart. i don't think i could handle losing you, too."

you leaned into his touch, savoring the warmth and comfort of his hand on your skin. "you won't lose me, dean," you whispered. "'M not going anywhere."

he studied your face for a long moment, his green eyes boring into yours, before slowly leaning in. your heart raced as his lips brushed against yours, soft and tentative at first, before deepening into a passionate kiss.

when you finally broke apart, you were both breathing heavily, your foreheads resting against each other. "i love you," dean murmured, his voice barely audible but you heard him clear as day.

"i love you, too," you whisper, your fingers tangling in the short strands of his hair.

for a long moment, the two of you simply sat there, lost in each other's embrace, the tension and pain of earlier melting away. but then, a thought occurred to you, and you pulled back slightly, your brow furrowing.

"what about sam?" you asked, your voice tinged with concern. "i mean, we're on our way to pick him up from stanford, and i don't want him to feel... i don't know, awkward or anything."

dean chuckled softly, his thumb tracing the curve of your jaw. "don't worry about sammy," he said, a mischievous glint in his eye. "he's been rooting for us to get our heads out of our asses for years."

you couldn't help but laugh at that, the tension in your shoulders finally starting to ease. "i should have known," you said, shaking your head in amusement.

dean grinned, pulling you in for another kiss, this one deeper and more passionate than the last. when you finally broke apart, you were both breathless again, your hearts racing.

"so, what does this mean for us?" you asked, your voice soft and uncertain.

dean's expression turned serious, his hand moving to intertwine with yours. "it means that i'm all in, baby," he said, his voice low and sincere. "no more flirting with other women, no more pushing you away. i want this, us, more than anything."

you felt your heart swell with emotion, tears of joy threatening to spill over. "me too, dean," you whispered, squeezing his hand gently. "i'm in, too."

he smiled then, a genuine, warm smile that lit up his entire face, and you couldn't help but lean in and kiss him again, savoring the feeling of his lips on yours, the warmth of his body against yours.

as you pulled apart, dean's expression turned mischievous once more. "so, what do you say we give sammy another day and find us a nice, secluded spot to... celebrate?" he asked wiggling his brows, a hint of suggestiveness in his tone.

you couldn't help but laugh again at what you were hearing, playfully swatting his arm. "dean winchester, you are such a hornball," you teased.

he grinned, his grip on your hand tightening. "maybe so, but you love me anyway," he said, his voice filled with a quiet confidence that made your heart flutter.

"that i do," you murmured, leaning in to kiss him once more.

as the impala rumbled back to life and dean guided the car back onto the open road, you couldn't help but feel a sense of peace and contentment wash over you. the tension and hurt of earlier had been replaced by a deep, abiding love and trust, and you knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you and dean would face them together.

you nestled closer to dean as he drove, your hand still intertwined with his, and stairway to heaven filling the air, you closed your eyes and allowed yourself to bask in the feeling of pure, unadulterated happiness.

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thefanficmonster · 7 months

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Not sure if ur accepting requests for the bear.. but could we maybe get a Mikey x reader where she finds out she's pregnant after he died (big angst tbh) and she comes to the restaurant a mess and tells everyone and it's sad but everyone's shocked or something idk if that makes sense lol, thanks

Ahhh the angst! My favorite genre to write 🙈 Thank you so much for the request, darling! I hope you enjoy the fic 💌

Too Much, Too Late

Michael 'Mikey' Berzatto x Reader (Female) [The Bear]

Warnings: Mentioned Suicide, Mentioned Past Drug Abuse (dealing and consuming), Pregnancy, Swearing, SPOILERS for The Bear

Genre: ANGST, Hurt/Comfort, Found Family, Angst with a happy ending

Summary: see request above

It was a job like any other. It was supposed to be one of those briskly-in-swiftly-out deals. All you had to do was keep it on the down low, distribute your products, get your pay and leave.

However, that didn't happen exactly as planned.

"Why are you in such a rush, sweetheart?" You found yourself accosted by a man who was very clearly three sheets to the wind already. The redness of his eyes, the dilated pupils and the alcohol on his breath suggested he was under several influences. Still, none of that was any justification for his borderline sleazy behavior. "Why don't you accompany me in blowing through this, huh?" He held up the baggie he'd just bought off you, causing you to roll your eyes.

In another setting, preferably under vastly different circumstances you would've probably found him attractive and would even like to uphold a conversation with him. Then again, in those ideal circumstances you imagine he wouldn't have been nearly as obnoxious as he was being in that moment.

Besides, you had a strict rule against participating in drugs with your clients. Or just drugs, period. Anything stronger than weed, that is.

You wanted to get him off your back as soon as possible so, instead of shutting him down in your typical cut-throat manner, you decided to let him down slowly and vanish before his object permanence kicked in. "Another time, pal. I have a busy night ahead."

It worked like a charm anytime someone tried to sweep you off your feet.

However, none of those other occasions had any follow-up. This one, on the other hand....

"Hey."

You had been caught up in your thoughts, making a mental itinerary for the next few days worth of deliveries when a voice startled you out of your tranquility.

It was the following morning and you were headed to the dumpster that was your plug's house - if you could even call it that.

Looking up, you couldn't help but frown at the sight of the 'flirt' from last night standing on the porch of your plug's house, leanings against the fence, smoking a cigarette.

"Hi?" The word came out automatically, a notation of confusion to it which made him smile.

"I don't know if you not remembering me is for better or for worse. I understand I came off a bit....gross last night." His unoccupied hand clasped around the back of his neck, an apologetic half-smile on his lips.

Despite being puzzled by the predicament, you found yourself chuckling, "No, no, I remember you. And don't worry about it, you were pretty tame compared to other shitbags I've had to deal with."

Your wording made him let out a laugh, "Yeah, 'shitbag' sums me up nicely."

Realizing how your words were poorly transmitted, you hurried to correct yourself, "No! That's not what I..."

He laughed yet again, amused by the blush that had crept onto your cheeks, "I know, I'm just fucking with you." He flashed you a charming smile as he tossed his cigarette and offered you his hand, "I'm Michael, by the way, but everyone calls me Mikey."

You were surprised by your own lack of hesitation as you took it, "Y/N, nice to meet you, Mikey."

What did surprise you was his smooth gesture - bringing the back of your hand to his lips, pressing a quick kiss to your knuckles. You could see relief flood his features when you only scoffed in amusement. "Hope you don't mind, I asked around about you at the party last night. You're quite the phantom, you know. Nobody knew anything except your plug and it was a whole other hassle having to track him down."

You would've been lying if you said you didn't find his effort flattering. "Why go through all that trouble?"

There was that charming smile once more, now accompanied by a wink, "Cause that ain't a face you simply forget, darling."

That's how it all started, three years ago. But you can hardly remember any of it now. Everything has quickly been overshadowed by the tragedy that rocked your world.

Losing the love of your life. No one and nothing can ever prepare you for such a thing. No one can take away or aid the pain it brings on. No one can tell you how to move on, if you ever will. No two grieving processes are the same and yours has been very quiet. Too quiet. You can't even remember if you've cried since you found out a week ago. You can't remember having spoken to anyone since that dreadful phone call.

It's all been building up, piling on - the calm before the storm.

And the storm has just crashed down on you, tears finally spilling over past the barrier you're able to hold them at. Sobs scratch up your throat, racking your ribcage, echoing back at you off the bathroom walls. All the agony, all the pain, the regret, the guilt the grief - it all spills out in those harrowing sobs as tears stream down your face, falling onto the sink counter and pregnancy test on it.

The positive pregnancy test.

"No, no, no...." You mumble to yourself in despair, unsure of what exactly you're saying no to.

You don't even have time to process how you feel about it, if you want it, whether you're happy about it or not. All that's plaguing your mind is the gnawing thought of what if?

What if you'd found out two weeks earlier? What if you told him? What if that changed his mind? Would you still have him by your side if he knew he'd be a dad? Would this be a reason for joy and excitement for the two of you? Having your own little family, fucked up in its own way but miles better than your individual families.

You never met his, he never met your. Unlike him, though, you haven't seen your folks in years, five to be exact. He put up with his, you had cut off yours.

You're well versed into his family and their dynamics though, thanks to all the stories Mikey told you throughout the years. You specifically remember him talking about his siblings with such adoration. Natalie and Carmen. The only supposedly sane ones of the bunch.

Wiping the tears off your burning red cheeks, you regain control of your breathing, effectively calming yourself down as you take a long look at yourself in the mirror. You will yourself to put a hand over your belly, taking a moment to let the realization of there being a living thing inside you sink in.

Your and Mikey's baby.

A baby that'll never know the wonderful man that is their dad.

"Don't worry, baby. If they don't want us, we'll always have each other."

* * * * *

After a sleepless night, you find yourself struggling not to nod off on the train.

You thought you'd feel a lot more....well, something more as you approach the inevitable meeting with Mikey's brother. Instead, you're quite numb, immune to whatever you might be faced with once you arrive at the restaurant. Nothing he might say or do can faze you, not after the week you've had. Though you're pretty sure his hasn't been any better. He lost his brother after all. It could be a point of mutual understanding for the two of you or a point of collision and apperhension.

Only one way to find out.

You're surprised by the sheer boldness with which you enter the sandwich shop. Again, you thought you might exhibit at least mild hesitation but you have never been prone to such reservations. You still do things like you used to back in your dealer days - briskly-in-swiftly-out.

This is no different.

Upon entry, the interior feels familiar. You've been here only twice before, always after closing, snuck in by Mikey as a date night. He'd cook for you while you DJed with the restaurant sound system in the office. It was the peak of romance in your relationship.

Never once did you think one day you'd be coming in alone, during work hours, the memories bringing tears to your eyes.

You push the pain to the backburner when a waiter approaches you. "Welcome, what can I get ya?"

You force the closest thing to a smile you can manage, "Carmen Berzatto, if possible."

Just then, as if on cue, sounds of chaos flood out from the kitchen into the seating area. It doesn't really seem to bother any of the three tables enjoying their meal, but you are certainly a little shocked. You remember Mikey mentioning shit would get chaotic in back of house, but you'd never imagined it'd be this bad.

The waiter casually peers over his shoulder, pressing his lips in a thin line, "I can't promise you anything but I'll go ask. Who's asking for him?" He inquires, already uneasy at the thought of what he'll be met with in the kitchen.

"Mikey's girlfriend." You watch, in real time, as the poor guy's eyes hollow out in shock, his eyebrows raising impossibly high.

Despite being rattled by your response, he manages to clear his throat and murmur a quick, "Please wait here" before disappearing out of view.

Less than a minute later, the door to the kitchen swung open again, the man emerging from the kitchen shocking you with his lack of resemblance to Michael. Fair hair, bright blue eyes, overall soft features whereas Mikey was all sharp edges, dark brown hair and chocolate eyes.

He too, quite like his brother, is doing a poor job masking his confusion as he offers you a tattooed hand as a greeting, "Hi."

You take it, "Hi."

The rowdiness picks up yet again, causing Carmy to motion for you to follow him, "It's a little too loud in here." You nod and follow suit as he leads you out through a back exit to a fenced of area. He shuts the door, drowning out most of the noise before he turns back to face you, "Alright, tell me everything."

It takes all the will you have coupled with all the pride within you not to let yourself shed any tears as you sum up five of the best years of your life in front of this stranger. It gets especially hard when you see his eyes gloss over but you manage to keep it together. Your chest feels somewhat lighter once you bare one of the biggest secrets in your life, knowing there cannot be any repercussions now.

Because...well...he's gone.

"Fuck..." Is all Carmy can say to break the silence after you've concluded your story. His gaze is trained on the ground, his hand cupped around his mouth. He suddenly lifts his head to look at you, making you feel a little too exposed. Those eyes stare right through you. "Why didn't he ever tell us about you?"

You shrug, you have no real answer. You don't know why he would tell them but you're none the wiser as to why he didn't tell them either. So, you just stay quiet.

He nods, pausing for a second to collect his thoughts before speaking up again, "I-I gotta ask...did you suspect anything? Like, did you see any signs?"

You were expecting this. That doesn't mean it hurts any less to actually hear him ask it. You force yourself to inhale a shaky breath before replying, speaking around the knot in your throat, "No. I saw him that morning, he seemed fine. Nothing out of the ordinary. We were talking about the game. He was excited the Sox had won. He made us breakfast. I ironed his shirt for work and I sent him off. And...." You take a moment to maintain your composure, "...that was the last time I saw him."

"Fucking hell..." He sighs out, the curse pouring out from the depths of his soul. He takes a pack of cigarettes out of his back pocket, taking one and offering the pack to you, "You smoke?"

You shake your head, "Yeah, but I can't right now." You let out a bitter chuckle as you add on: "Last night...I found out I'm pregnant."

Carmy chokes on the puff he'd just inhaled, coughing out the smoke. He gives you a deer-in-headlights look, trying to gouge your reaction so he can mimic his accordingly. You help him out by giving him a slight smile, allowing him to reflect it back at you ten fold.

"No fucking way." He laughs, prompting you to nod, your eyes filling with tears for the millionth time today. He tosses his cigarette, motioning for you to approach him, "Come here." His arms wrap around you and you damn near break down, finally allowing yourself to shed those tears you've been holding back as you hug him back, squeezing him tightly.

You didn't realize how much you'd needed that hug, that comfort. You had no one to offer it to you. It's funny how quickly people can become important in our lives - in this case, only minutes after entering yours.

You're both startled when the door is thrown open revealing a man you don't recognize initially. His demeanor allows you to connect him to a name soon though.

"Cousin, what the fuck?! We're fighting a war in there...- oh, my bad." He straightens his attitude when he notices you, "Hi there."

Sniffling, Carmy wipes a stray tear before offering Richie a wide smile, "Cousin, we're gonna be uncles."

The confusion on his face provokes a laugh out of you, a genuine one at that. It's refreshing, nostalgic almost. And although you're well aware you'll have to retell your and Mikey's story several more times to catch people up to speed, you know that it'll be a little less dreadful each time.

* * * * *

It's over. The five minutes of utter hell and chaos are over.

You share a look of disbelief with Syd before bursting out in hysterical laughter, enveloping each other in a hug.

"We did it."

"We fucking did it."

Wiping sweat from your forehead with the back of your hand, you beam up at Richie who is equally as high on the feel of accomplishment. His arms wrap around you so tightly, he momentarily lifts you off the ground.

It's finally the calm after the storm. You can finally relax without waiting for the other shoe to drop.

You rush out to the dining are, going straight to Sugar and Pete's table where your one year old son is being entertained by the couple, cackling as Pete tickles his feet.

"Hope he wasn't too much trouble." You say as you approach their side, your voice prompting Sugar to get up and practically tackle you with upmost joy.

"Great job back there, Y/N." She beams at you, holding your hands tightly when she pulls away.

"You too, mama." You smile back, resting a hand over her swollen belly just in time to feel a kick.

Turning back to Calvin, you see him making grabby hands at you, giggling when you pick him up, peppering kisses all over his face, "Hi, baby!" You coo to him, adjusting his surprisingly still clean shirt. A fancy one, curtesy of Richie. Him, Fak and Calvin are in matching suits tonight and it's the most adorable thing. "Wanna go see uncle Carmy?"

It's ridiculous you even asked. The little boy cheers happily, kicking his feet as you carry him back to the kitchen, stopping in front of the freezer door to knock on it.

"What?!" You hear Carmy's rough voice boom from inside.

"Carmy!" Calvin calls out to his uncle, his tiny hands tapping on the freezer door, "Hiiii!"

"Hi Baby Bear." His tone has softened now, raising to an octave higher, "Your mommy is a badass, you know that."

"Oh he knows." You reply, resting your forehead on the cool metal, "We did it, Carm. We took care of it. Everything's handled, don't worry." You take this moment of calmness on his end to reassure him that no matter what anxieties are plaguing him, everything is and will be fine.

"I know you did, Y/N. You're an awesome team. Just wish I was in the fire with you, you know?" He says through a shaky breath, causing your heart to ache.

"Oh this was just the frying pan, dude. You'll be there for the many fires to come." Your words are successful in making him laugh, bringing you relief.

"I cook too!" Calvin proudly proclaims, making you both chuckle.

"You'll cook too, Teddy Bear. You'll be the best fucking chef ever." You gave up a while ago trying to shield Calvin from the sailor mouths of the Berzatto family and the restaurant as a whole. If he has a potty mouth from a very early age, you'll just blame it on his dad and uncles.

You never dreamed you'd find yourself in the cahoots of such a batshit crazy and immensely loving family. It really makes you feel a sense of fulfillment looking back at how far you've come and look forward knowing that you'll never come to a point where you'll be alone.

You'll always have your son, the Berzattos and The Bear by your side.

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unlosts · 11 days

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hi !!

i'm pretty sure it was me w the perfume request! (my brain is so scattered i barely remember what i asked for but!! i'm so so excited to read it when you're done <33) (btw i'm loving the spencer fics and i'm psyched for more, your writing is so beautiful 🥹🫶🏼)

A/N: Thank you so much for your request! It was exactly the one I lost. Hope you like it, I had a lot of fun with it 🫶🏼.

Also no one asked but I'm a firm believer that Hotch is a Grey Vetiver by Tom Ford guy, or he should be!

At exactly 9:18 the sound of the elevator opening interrupts the quiet morning, Aaron Hochner walks out heading briskly towards his office, coat over his shoulders and briefcase in hand, nodding in greeting to the rest of the team who collectively turn to stare at him with various degrees of confusion plastered on their faces.

“I was about to call a S.W.A.T team,” Says Emily, stopping him in his tracks “again.”

At that Hotch finally turns to face them, his usually pristine white shirt wrinkled like he had picked it off the floor that morning.

“Excuse he?” He asks, brow arched.

Derek lets out a laugh at this, languidly spinning his chair from side to side but before he can say anything JJ, ever the mediator, interrupts “You’re just not usually this late, we were starting to worry.”

“Yeah, cuz y’know you have a bad track record” Says Penelope with a grimace, she’s perched by Morgan's desk toying with a feathery pink pen while she talks.

“They were worried, I just knew you were maybe having some fun for once” Derek chimes in with a smile, letting out a huff when Pen pokes his side with her pen.

“There’s no need to make a scene out of it, I’m sure I've been late plenty of times before” He tries to say in a stern enough tone that they’ll hopefully drop the subject.

It would be easy to classify it as merely teasing but Hotch knew the entire team worried about him, namely about his lack of a social life outside of work. And usually he would entertain their banter for longer but he really is late today and he can already feel the beginning of a headache forming.

“Actually," Spencer adds without looking up from his paper“this year, you were only late three times, the last one being about two and a half months ago on July when you had a flat tire and had to wait for triple A”.

“Thank you for that, Spencer” Hotch says, shooting him a look.

“No problem”

“Nothing happened, I just got stuck in a bad pile up on my way there and I was already cutting it close beforehand, so if you all could focus back on your files that would be great, we have to present our consults before 5 today” He says trying, and failing to regain a modicum of authority.

Just when he thought that they had tired themselves out, the elevator opens up again and you spill out of it, carrying with you the floral scent of your perfume and a dazzling smile that spells nothing but trouble for him. The kind that makes him stay up until 2am in the middle of the week and turns what was meant to be a quick shower into a half hour delay.

“Hello hello, sorry for being so late, there was a bad bad pile up on my way here” You speak without pausing once for breath, your heels click clacking on your way to your desk where you unceremoniously dump your coat and purse on top of your desk. Heading for the kitchen to brew a new pot of coffee.

On your way there you playfully ruffle Spencer’s hair and wink at Pen, who can’t help but comment on your good mood “Well aren’t you happy this morning missy”

You make eye contact with him for a split second and Hotch can feel his throat dry up, he always felt like you breathed life into any room you walked in, the sun patterns following your steps whenever you went. So it makes sense that even now in the middle of fall he feels something warm settle over him even with such a brief look.

He thinks he’s been staring at you for hours when it couldn’t have been more than a couple of seconds, by the time he snaps out of it he finds Emily regarding him with a quizzical eye and a smile that does nothing for his brewing headache.

“Well, I’ve just been having a very nice week” You reply pointedly “even went and got myself a new perfume” He did, actually, but it’s not like you can say that.

Seeing an out in the conversation he starts once more to go towards his office before he’s interrupted, once again, by one Emily Prentiss.

“Huh” She says, pinning him down with a perfectly arched eyebrow

“What?” He asks exasperated, quickly losing his patience.

“Aren’t you testy today?” She teases “I was just thinking about the fact that you both got stuck in traffic, despite coming from opposite sides of the city, that’s all” And with a nonchalant shrug of her shoulders that’s anything but, she turns to work on her files.

You pop out of the kitchen carrying with you two expertly done mugs of coffee, and even better timing, hastily sitting by Emily’s desk and leaving one mug in front of her.

“I was hoping you could look over one of my cases with me? I’ve been stuck for ages and I could use a fresh set of eyes?”

“So this is bribery coffee?”

“No, the bribe is the very nice bottle of red I have back at my place that’s all yours next girls night, the coffee is just because I’m a delight to be around” You reply grinning at her.

Emily huffs a laugh and with everyone distracted Hotch finally makes his escape, shutting his office door and basking in the blissful quiet of his office.

He spends the next hour and a half failing to fill expense reports, his mind wandering to your hair splayed on the pillows this morning; you staring up at him in the shower, a droplet of water running from the bridge of your nose to rest on your lip being kissed away by him. The exact dazzling smile from this morning but all his to keep.

The lost twenty minutes after dressing he spend with you pressed against the entrance door, your hands running over his back.

With an hour left to go before lunch and a creek in his neck from leaning his head on his palm all morning he gives up and goes to get himself his second coffee of the day.

In the kitchenette right by the vending machine is his headache personified, getting herself a bag of skittles.

While he makes his coffee Emily pauses next to him and extends the bag of candy in a silent offer that he declines with a shake of his head, right before leaving she says “I do love the new cologne, very summery fresh, but just a heads up, I do think she wears it better than you”

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner imagine

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xxselenite · 2 months

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٠ ࣪⭑ Leave behind all of Cupid's arrows and quivers | Jacaerys x reader

modern!Jacaerys Velaryon x fem!reader [no use of y/n] Word count: 2.1k words Summary: You've had feelings for your best friend Jace for a while now and he has agreed to help you rehearse your lines for your theatre play, but things take an unexpected turn. Warning: none, pure fluff. If anything, reader is down bad and a little insecure a/n: The title and the play quoted is Cyrano de Bergerac by Edmond Rostand. It's one of my favourite French plays and I absolutely encourage you to read it! This is also a very self-indulgent fic considering I've acted for eight years, don't mind me haha. English isn’t my first language so I apologise in advance for any possible grammatical and/or lexical mistake! feedback is welcome and appreciated <3 (images are taken from pinterest)

Sitting on the edge of your bed where you could catch the most sunlight, you skimmed through the script of the play until you reached a page covered in highlights and spiderly handwriting. The notes went from deep character analysis to little jokes written here and there and smiley faces drawn by your castmates.

“Alright, act three, scene six!” You declared, handing the paper to Jace who was lying on your bed by your side, his eyes half-open. He let go of the plushies he was playing with to grab your notes. “This is the second most iconic scene of the play, though I don’t have that many lines, so it should be quick,” you added.

Jace sat up and squinted to decipher the annotations on the page, a smile appearing on his face as he read the stupid puns you had found.

“You’re being super professional,” he rolled his eyes.

You chuckled. “You’re being unfair? I joined the theatre club for funsies, I did not expect to land this role.” Your face twisted into a scowl. “Most of the things I write in there are useful though. I don’t want to act like a killjoy so others don’t think I’m annoying, but I still want to prove I was the right person to cast for Roxane.”

Jace lowered the script to look at you and passed his hand in his hair to put it back into place. “You do deserve that,” he told you with a gentle tone and you tried to repress the butterflies in your stomach his praise and soft gaze had created, cursing yourself internally. You had never wanted to develop feelings for your best friend in the first place, you knew it was a bad idea, but it was too late now. Love was there, deeply rooted in the daydreams in which he kissed you during the golden hour, when your bedroom was bathed in light.

Falling in love with Jace was as easy as breathing. Of course, he was handsome, but it was not just a shallow little crush. He was nice, and sweet, and funny. He cared about you and listened to you when you needed to. He gave you good advice but knew when you just needed comfort. He had been there for you when you were at your lowest and no one else was there. He had the cutest smile ever and gave the best hugs. The list went on and on, anything he did was just making you fall a little harder.

But this love, sweet as honey, was also as sticky and sickening. You indulged in the sweet moments when he hugged you or complimented you, but it also made you feel guilty and, well, desperate. You were convinced this love could only be one-sided – Jace was perfect, everyone at your high school liked him. And you were… you. You knew each other since you were kids, there was no way he would ever see you as something more than a friend. And you were relatively okay with this, you would rather keep being this close to him without anything more than risk losing it all.

Perhaps your turmoil of emotions appeared on your face, or it was just Jace’s ability to read you like an open book, but he frowned and asked you if you were okay. You immediately regained your composure to answer in a way you hoped was natural.

“Yes, I was just thinking it must be pretty boring for you to help me rehearse my lines. We don’t have to do the whole play today. We don’t even need to do the whole thing, I can finish on my own.”

“Are you kidding? I wouldn’t have said I’d help you if it bothered me. It’s fun actually, and you’re a great actress.”

You felt your cheeks heat up and cleared your throat.

“I try my best! Although this is one of the scenes that scares me a bit.”

“Why so?”

“Okay, so this scene is with the love triangle between Christian, Cyrano and Roxane. You know the story, Christian is handsome but a bit dumb, Cyrano is ugly but quick-witted and a great speaker, and they both want Roxane. Cyrano decides to aid his buddy Christian and hides and prompts Christian who talks to Roxane under her balcony.”

“A balcony scene, like in Romeo and Juliet?”

“Precisely. But at some point, Cyrano starts talking instead of Christian and makes a beautiful declaration to Roxane because this is at night and she can’t see him. As I said, Roxane has very few lines but you see her falling for who she thinks Christian is, and I have to make this very clear to the audience.”

It’s not going to be hard to pretend that with you… You thought to yourself, looking away from the boy.

Jace nodded thoughtfully, reading the first lines of the scene again.

“Alright, where am I supposed to stand?” He asked you, looking up again.

“I guess I could get up on my bed and you go in front of me, on the floor? This way I’ll be a bit above, like with a balcony?”

The boy followed your indications and helped you find your balance on your bed. You weren’t used to this angle and seeing his eyes from above made you melt. You knew that they were beautiful, blessed with thick eyelashes you were jealous of, but it was like you were discovering them for the first time.

Once you could stand comfortably, Jace started the scene, changing his voice and attitude for Cyrano and Christian. His way of acting both characters earned a chuckle from you.

“Am I doing this wrong?” He briefly interrupted, shooting you a worried glance.

“Not at all, you’re nailing it! You should have joined the company, it would have been fun.”

“I’m not sure it would have been a good idea if I made you break character.”

“I’m much more professional on a stage than in the privacy of my bedroom.”

“If you say so…” He smirked before continuing the scene, and you thought you’d do anything to frame this moment and keep it forever. The warm afternoon light, the slight breeze, the smell of your vanilla candle, everything about it was perfect, like out of a fairytale.

Your first line, “Who calls me?” came out a bit trembling when you met Jace’s intense gaze, and you forced yourself to look away, reminding yourself that Roxane could not see her interlocutor, let alone lose herself in his eyes. Taking a deep breath, you focused and the following lines went swiftly.

But as the scene progressed and Cyrano’s declarations got gradually passionate, it became harder and harder for you to put your feelings aside. You repeated yourself that it was all acting and that Jace was, unfortunately for you, a very talented actor. Everything, from the tone of his voice to the way he looked at you, made him look like an enamoured boy, and a specific line acted as the final nail in the coffin.

“I love you! I am mad! I am suffocating with love for you! Your name rings in my heart like a bell. When I think of you, I tremble, and the bell shakes and rings out your name! Everything you do I love! I remember every action of yours that I ever witnessed! I know that last year on the twelfth of May, you changed the way you wore your hair. I am so used to taking your hair for daylight itself that, just as one stares at the sun and sees a red blot on all things, when I turn away after looking at you, I see a radiant image imprinted on everything!”

You closed your eyes as he finished speaking and clenched your fists as you whispered your answer, opening your eyes again

“Yes, this is love.”

You knew Roxane was supposed to be in a sort of emotional turmoil at this moment and that your reaction, if a bit excessive, was not out of character, counting on that fact not to attract Jace’s attention. Yet, his gaze softened and he frowned a little to show his concern, but you nodded to tell him to keep going. This was another thing you cherished about your relationship with him; he could understand you without needing any word.

With a little hesitation, he continued the scene, but from this moment on, his eyes did not leave your frame on the edge of the bed, towering over him but looking so fragile. He walked a little closer to the edge of the bed, as if he was expecting you to faint and wanted to catch you.

You reached the climax of the scene a few minutes later. You knew it was coming from the beginning, the moment where Christian, high on enthusiasm to see Roxane fall in love, asks for a kiss. The kiss does not happen in the scene, Cyrano backtracks, but the demand creates an immediate tension in the scene. Yes, you knew it was coming. Nevertheless, when you Jace said “a kiss,” it felt like a punch in your guts. Your eyes flickered down to his lips, God knew what you would have given to kiss them just once, for a second.

Your brain was moving slowly, like it was underwater, and you couldn’t find your next line. No matter how hard you tried to remember it, your mind was blank, all you could do was stare at him in awe. When your eyes left his lips after what seemed to be an eternity, he was looking at you, his face a few centimetres away from yours. You could see every detail on his skin and smell the faint fragrance of his cologne.

You blinked, and when you opened your eyes again, his lips were on yours. They were soft, and warm, and a little hesitant. You returned the kiss without even realising it, lips parting and hands flat against his chest while his own hands found your hips and held you still to prevent you from falling from your bed.

Jace broke the kiss, too quickly in your opinion, but it had been enough to tie the wires in your brain even tighter and the only thing that you managed to blurt out was a pathetic: “This isn’t in the script.”

Your best friend chuckled, still holding you. His touch was gentle but it was enough to send shivers down your spine.

“I really hope the look on your face is surprise and not pure horror.” He said, and you sensed the nervousness behind his light-hearted tone. You hadn’t even realised your eyes were open wide. You shook your head and carefully grabbed Jace’s hands, keeping them between your two bodies.

“Why did you kiss me, Jace?” You made sure that your voice was soft and your question genuine, so that he couldn’t interpret it as a blame.

The boy seemed to be taken aback for a split second and looked for reassurance in your eyes, which he seemed to find as he licked his lips and answered.

“Cyrano’s words. They’re mine. I mean, they’re not exactly mine, they’re way more eloquent than I can be. But what they say matches what I feel. This whole scene, it’s… It’s acting, but it’s not. I mean it.” He started fidgeting with your fingers. “I’ve been feeling like this for a little while now I think, but I’ve never really admitted it to myself.”

“What changed then?”

“I’m not sure. Maybe the fact you joined the theatre club? You’re so radiant when you talk about it, let alone when you’re on stage. You- you shine like a star in the night, and I realised I loved you more than a friend, I was just too scared to do anything, because losing you would be worse.”

You let a nervous laugh escape your lips and Jace seemed startled by the crystalline sound.

“Oh Jace,” you sighed, “we are so ridiculous. I’ve been feeling the very same thing for months, and I was standing there letting the fear devour me.”

“Seriously?” The word slipped out of Jace’s mouth in a whisper which you barely caught and you nodded in the same discreet, almost secretive way.

You kept quiet for a little while, gazing into each other’s eyes. Outside, the birds were chirping in the garden. The rumble of the cars was echoing from the more active parts of the cities. The breeze was causing the curtains to flow at a low rhythm. And you two felt like the only people in the world.

#hotd #house of the dragon #house of the dragon x you #house of the dragon x reader #hotd fanfic #jacaerys x reader #jacaerys x you #jacaerys fluff #jacaerys velaryon

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selfindulgentpoorlywritten · 8 months

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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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missxwrites · 8 months

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new beginnings - tom kazansky

tom 'iceman' kazansky x reader

Summary: Tom finds his pregnant wife in the heart of their shared home, the sight of her simply takes his breath away. Word count: 1,120+ Warnings: fluuuufffff, SERIOUSLY FLUFFY SOFT TOM, pregnancy, afab!reader (still working on gender neutral tone as best I can), assumptions about size (I play into the plus size side of things because I am plus size, but there's no direct mention), no use of y/n (just she/her pronouns) A/N: This is only rough edited by myself, I'm so sorry for any mistakes. (Im rusty as f*ck at fic writing) I've had this fic in my back pocket for months, please enjoy all the fluff. I'm head over heels for val kilmer as a person, and I'm well aware that the gif is not from Top Gun... this is however an aged up version of Commander Kazansky (;

Tom wasn't typically a man of many words, even after Top Gun and becoming a commander... He was still on track to becoming an admiral in a couple years and his stoic ice-cold exterior has carried him far in the Navy. No, there wasn't much that could get in his way now.

Except for her.

She melted his every icy edge. Especially now that she's 7 months pregnant with his baby. The way she waddled around the sizable estate that he purchased the year they got married. It'd been nearly 7 years since that beautiful day, but Tom and his wife decided to focus on their separate careers before committing to living with little ones under foot. He was nearing his mid-to-late 30's now and with his career excelling, his mind constantly settled on imagining what her beautiful features would be like mixed with his.

Would they get his ice-like stare or her warm bright irises that see right through to his soul? Would they get his pin straight hair that stuck up in all the wrong places or her beautiful, textured hair that fell beautifully in every light?

His mind would run rampant every time he looked at her, his eyes never failing to trail up and down her whole figure. He would linger on her face, taking in how absolutely mesmerizing she was in the pregnancy glow before darting down to her ever-changing belly. It was very noticeable now, and the way she braced the underside of the bump softened his stare every time. Even through the literal growing pains of making a human, she looked ethereal. He subconsciously pulled his bottom lip between his teeth. Tom was fully convinced that she could never be more beautiful than she was in this exact moment.

With a warm but soft chuckle under his breath, he stood slowly and made his way over to her. The book she'd been perusing at the kitchen counter happened to be a cookbook he got her for Christmas in the early years of their relationship. He'd assumed she must be craving something specific by the way she quickly flipped through the pages. He placed his hands over the tops of her shoulders, giving a gentle rub to the tense muscles in her shoulder blades and leaned in to kiss her neck. The smell of her conditioner and body wash from her shower this morning is almost intoxicating. His body was warm, causing her to lean back on his chest.

"You're absolutely radiant dear," Tom stated, a smile forming across his lips. "And absolutely distracting..." He hasn't been able to take his eyes off her since she entered the kitchen adjacent to the doors of his office. He'd been trying to get through some paperwork before finding her to ask what you might want for lunch as she graced her way into the heart of their shared home.

She was one of the only women that could ever truly take his breath away, though many tried. Even in a moment like this... with his wedding band heavy on her finger and growing the fruit of his love for her in her tummy, he still had to remind himself to breathe.

His large arms made their way down her body until they gently embraced her and her bump. He supported her belly gently, the same way the two had learned in the parenting classes Tom insisted on attending once she confirmed her pregnancy. The soft hum that escaped her throat told him that she needed this. Her eyes fluttered closed as he stood there, swaying gently with her in his arms.

“Blueberry.” Was the only thing that snapped the quiet of the moment between the two of them. Her words were soft in his ears. Tom raised an eyebrow in curiosity as he leaned forward to place his chin on her shoulder. The pages of the cookbook landed on a muffin recipe that had been dog-eared and made enough times to sport the stains of baking chaos.

Another low chuckle reverberated through his chest. “Cravings?” Tom placed another gentle kiss on her neck as he slowly released his childbearing wife to turn to the refrigerator behind him. This recipe was one he was familiar with, having made it several times over the years. He grabbed out the bowl of blueberries, buttermilk, butter and eggs while his wife gathered the remaining dry ingredients.

A quiet melodic sound filled the kitchen as Tom watched his wife pull up the large glass bowl from the cabinet. The smile spread across his face as he recognized their wedding song falling from her lips. “I wanna know what love is…”

Tom set the cold ingredients out on the counter, crossing the kitchen swiftly to pull her back into his arms. “I want you to show me…” He whispered to her, a hum parting his lips as he twirled her around slowly in the afternoon light of their kitchen. He mirrored her radiant smile as they slowly swayed together, her baby bump separating them a little more than usual but neither of them cared.

After enjoying the embrace of her husband, Tom’s wife pushed him away gently as she resumed making the muffins lil’ kazansky was craving so badly. The blonde commander only laughed as he kissed her hand before parting their embrace. He too busied himself making muffins again wordlessly as he reached into the bottom drawer of the oven. Grabbing out the old muffin tin, he paused to preheat the oven as he lingered there for a moment.

Tom’s hand immediately found his wife’s lower back as he brought the tin over to the island countertop, using the other to place the white liners in each cup. A devious giggle caught his attention and before he could even blink, she’d managed to touch his nose with a flour-covered hand. His steely eyes closed suddenly as she swiped at his face, unable to hide the slow grin that parted his lips as he dipped his own hand into the bowl of flour.

He laughed as he pulled her back from the counter slightly, his flour covered hand landing gently over the top of her baby bump. The white handprint was stark on her dark dress. The gasp that escaped from the woman in his arms only made him laugh harder as she rolled her eyes and shook her head at her husband’s antics.

"What am I going to do with you, Thomas Kazansky? ” She said exasperatedly despite a smile growing on her face.

“Love me.” He said simply, his eyes gazing deeply into hers as he pulled her in close again. “And make muffins with me forever.” She laughed, her heart full, as she accepted his proposal.

#tom kazansky x reader #tom iceman kazansky x reader #iceman x reader #tom kazansky #tom iceman kazansky #iceman #top gun iceman #top gun #top gun maverick #tom kazansky x pregnant!reader #fluff #val kilmer #pregnant reader

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joelsgoldrush · 1 year

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swore i heard you whisper that you preferred us like that

joel miller x f!reader / 5,8k words

summary: you ask joel –the quiet, distant joel– to teach you how to ride a horse. they say the eyes are the window to the soul, and it must be true, because when he really sees you, it´s like he finally understands what you feel for him.

warnings: smut 18+ let’s pretend joel never left jackson, porn with plot, no use of y/n, age gap (reader is in her late 20s, joel is 56), grinding, oral (f receiving), fingering, masturbation, pet names, unprotected p in v (don't try this at home ok), dirty talk, soft!dom joel (sort of???), a bit of angst/feelings, joel gets all babygirl around reader, ellie appears for like a minute, mediocre attempt at recreating joel's southern accent (sorry in advance)

a/n: hello??? well this is my first fic ever so bear with me, i'm still new to all this. also english isn't my first language so i'm afraid there may be mistakes (mostly when it comes to collocations bc i hate them and they confuse me), buuuut i'm learning obviously and if you find anything that should be corrected PLEASE TELL ME thank you :) i'd appreciate if you told whether you liked this story (idk what to call it tbh) but if you don't it's more than fine! anyways thank you so much for reading if you come across this fic, i hope you like it! i've spent a week writing it bc finals season is killing me <///3

here's my masterlist in case you want to read my other works :)

"Oh, my drunken southern star / How you tried to hide in darkness / Slipped from orbit / Now you’re dangerously close / Come out, come out from all your hiding out / We’ll dig in our heels, salute the battlefields / Where our broken hearts were born."

What is it that he has?

You used to ask yourself that question every night as you went to bed. On some occasions, you couldn't manage to come up with an exact answer. There were too many reasons that disclosed why a man like him lingered on your mind, even in those moments that were supposed to be for you and only you. Sleeping more than three hours a day was definitely something you needed tremendously, but still, the not-so-rational voice inside your head kept on bringing his name up without fail, disturbing your rest.

Joel Miller. Was it possible to feel like this? Like you knew somebody without having exchanged more than five words with them? Sure, there wasn't a single person in Jackson who wasn't aware of his existence. From whispered rumors in the streets to stories that intended to give his reserved personality an explanation, Joel became a real talking-point among those in the commune. Years ago, when the world was still just a floating ball in space, he would’ve frightened you, being the kind of person your parents used to warn you about as you started to grow older.

He walked a certain way, as if he were holding the suffering of many lives in his hands. Always on guard, prepared to fight those who defied him. Hidden knives in his pockets, a gun between his fingers, the trigger too tempting to be pulled at any time given. His hair was a mixture of brown and gray, and you swore that the latter was only becoming more prominent as days went by.

Suddenly, your pillow felt too uncomfortable, your hands fisting the fabric of your t-shirt while you kicked the blanket resting on top of your bare feet. A sigh escaped your lips, the taste of something you couldn't even distinguish on your tongue, your unsteady breath being the only sound to be heard in that noiseless night.

You were having a hard time figuring out how you felt about Joel (if there was anything to feel in the first place, since he barely remembered your face and there you were, fantasizing about him instead of sleeping.) Maybe you liked how he presented himself, how bossy and persistent he looked the times you caught him patrolling around the zone. Or perhaps it was his character what charmed you in the first place, and the fact that, deep down, a different side from him remained completely unseen.

He was handsome, too. Tall, broad shoulders, aquiline nose. His arms looked majestic in every single piece of clothing he wore, his tanned skin shiny enough to reflect the very same sun. And his legs… you were sure they were muscular like the rest of his body, because of all the physical effort he did. You had heard that he worked as a contractor before the pandemic, which made a lot of sense. Once or twice you had paid attention to his hands and–

Then, a familiar feeling sinked in. Warm began spreading through your belly, your thighs involuntary clenching together. “Fuck,” you muttered in a low tone, keeping your hands glued to your sides. Another motive not to think about Joel: he made you feel… things. Certain things that you hadn't felt for anyone in a very long time. You preferred to think that it was probably due to the fact that you were touch-starved, and not because you found yourself deeply attracted to him. Never had you ever been a sexually active person, so why now? Why did the mere image of Joel in your mind turn you on?

He’s strong. I’m alone. I feel the need to find someone who’s willing to protect me. That’s it. No other reason.

Your internal monologue was lacking in arguments, but it was definitely something you could work with. As if on cue, you found it hard to keep your eyes open, your limbs not feeling as if they were yours anymore. Next thing you knew, you were asleep.

That night, you dreamt with Joel.

★ ★ ★ ★ ★

In a small cabin, you taught children how to paint and draw. Maria believed it to be helpful for their psychological development or something like that, and you had agreed to do it. A good way to spend your free time– that’s what it was. Plus, you liked children; some would even choose to include you in their drawings, and that small gesture just warmed your heart.

There, you met Ellie, a teenager whose basic vocabulary consisted mostly of profanities.

And boy, you loved Ellie.

It was hard not to, actually. She was like a breath of fresh air, with her jokes and instant charm. You two became attached in a short time, and she reminded you of a younger version of you, just a lot braver. Although in this world it brought her benefits, you sometimes wished she wouldn’t have gone through all that shit. Those eyes, which squinted as she laughed if you tickled her sides, were the cemetery of many buried memories. You wondered how she managed to put a smile on her face despite her past and the horrible things she had seen, hoping it was genuine and not a mask.

“Look!” her voice brought you back to reality. Blinking in her direction, you realized the amount of paint you had dropped onto the floor, a red stain already forming on the carpet. “Are you okay? You seem off.”

“I’m fine! Just a bit sleepy today, that's all,” you got closer to where she was lying down, her fingers moving the brush you had gifted her in different directions. Squatting a bit, you placed a strand of hair that didn’t make it into her ponytail behind her ear. “So, what are you painting?”

She smiled warmly, and her teeth catched her lower lip momentarily. “It’s not finished, okay? Don’t freak out. I know you’re a perfectionist.”

“I’m not…” you tried to explain yourself, but ended up choosing to be defeated. “Maybe you’re right. Anyway, may I see it?”

The canvas was in your hands a few moments later. Ellie spoke beside you, her words mixing together in a sign of embarrassment. “It’s for Joel. Figured I could do something nice for him, you know? I don’t– I think I need to start over. His eyes look kind of strange, don’t they? They’re so close he looks like a cyclops.”

“Don’t say that, kiddo. This is… it’s beautiful,” your index finger traced the lines framing his jaw, the shades of his skin perfectly achieved. You held the painting even tighter, afraid of breaking it for a second. He wasn’t frowning like he normally did; Ellie had painted him smiling, and the crinkles by his eyes matched his age. Surely you must have spent more time than necessary staring at it, ‘cause then Ellie continued talking.

“Well, you know what they say: The student has become the teacher.”

You handed the canvas to her, a smirk taking place on your face. “Yeah, I guess I’ll stop teaching you if that’s the case.”

An hour or so later, someone knocked on the door. As both of your hands were occupied (a more formal way to say that they were dirty with paint), you screamed “Come in!”, and Ellie covered her painting with an old, muddy curtain you used to clean the tables in which the children worked. You were about to ask her why she had reacted in that way, until you turned around and saw him.

Joel was there, as every other Wednesday. In your cabin, standing right in front of you. And you didn’t even look presentable. His hair looked messy, a couple of locks stuck to his forehead with sweat. “Hi,” he said shortly, meeting your gaze and attempting to shake your hand, but you avoided contact.

Showing him your hands, you held your palms in the air as an indication of the still fresh paint on your skin. “Sorry. If I were to accept the gesture, I’d leave you a stain.”

He retrieved a bit, adjusting his glove. “It’s okay. Safety first.”

That was supposed to be a joke, you noticed tardily. The silence in the room persisted until Ellie appeared from behind your back, already putting her coat on.

“You were supposed to pick me up in half an hour, asshole.”

His mouth snapped shut for an instant. “I missed you too. How was the class?”

Ellie lifted her shoulder in a half shrug, looking in your direction and proceeding to jerk her thumb toward Joel. She didn’t want him to see the painting. “Fine as usual.”

“Can I see what you’re–”

“No fucking way!” she accentuated the word fucking, drawing him closer to the door.

“Why not?”

“Because it’s not done.”

“But–”

“No more questions, Joel. Let’s go! Say bye!” Ellie handled him like a baby, which made you giggle.

Though you saw Joel raising his eyebrows, so you stopped laughing.

Soon, they left and the cabin returned to its familiar quietness. A sigh erupted from your chest, and you allowed yourself to fall on top of a chair.

At least you could say you had actually talked to Joel for once.

★ ★ ★ ★ ★

It didn’t surprise you that you wanted to see him again.

Not in the “you-turn-me-on” way, but in the “you-seem-interesting-and-i-need-to-find-out-why” one.

He had something. Something so magnetic and indecipherable that kept pulling you towards him. Something that made you look for his presence in every crew, and not sensing what it was only made your wishes to dissect him grow bigger. There was a tiny probability that he was an idiot with a pretty face. Who knew? You definitely didn’t, and that needed to change. You deserved to know if pining over that man was worth it or not.

That chain of thoughts led you to look for him the next day, almost trembling with eagerness as you asked him the most stupid and unexpected question you could have imagined.

“Would you teach me how to ride a horse?”

He looked at you as if you were out of your mind, opening his mouth a few times and then closing it before he actually replied to you. “You’re tellin' me you don’t know how to ride a horse?”

“Tried it a few times, but failed and now I really want to learn to do it properly,” you swore his eyes were trying to decipher if you were saying the truth or not. “Ellie told me that you could probably make some time to teach me?”

“So Ellie's in charge of my schedule, I suppose?” you froze on the spot, and he must have noticed it because then his expression dulled. “Sorry, sweetheart. It was a joke. I've been told I'm not the best humorist.”

Sweetheart. You could’ve died a happy girl.

“Look, why don’t we meet up tomorrow after lunch? I'm sure it won’t take us much time. Not a difficult task, y’know?” he stroked his beard, apparently thinking you understood what he was talking about.

“Sure. Thank you, Joel. My name’s–“

He didn’t let you finish. “I do know your name,” and before leaving, he repeated: “I’ll be here tomorrow. You know where to find me.”

To say that you slept without interruptions that night was an understatement. Each hour seemed to become longer the more you glimpsed your watch. Your heart drummed inside your chest violently, and you feared that someone else would be able to hear it if they got close enough to you.

After having lunch in the same spot as every other mundane day, your legs took you to the stable. You took a shaky breath, expecting him to appear out of thin air, but fifteen minutes went by, and there was still no sign of Joel. Pressing your forehead against the wooden door, you wrapped your arms around yourself. “What was I even thinking?”

“Hey.”

You looked to your side and– there he was, already getting inside the stable and inviting you to follow him. Joel petted one of the horses, clicking his tongue. His fingers caressed the animal’s back, and when he shot a glance at you, he didn’t ignore your disturbed expression.

“Don’t tell me you’re afraid of horses.”

“I’m not afraid of them,” you laughed awkwardly, eyeing the horse, which stared at you with those big and strange eyes. You raised your hand to mimic Joel, but that just made the animal move further away from you. “I guess it’s mutual. We don’t like each other.”

Joel smirked, guiding you outside. “It’s a damn horse. I don’t think you can tell whether he likes you or not. You gotta change that attitude of yours,” he murmured as he got on top of the horse, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Treat him well and he’ll be nice.”

At first, Joel taught you the basics: how to position yourself for balance, get your legs in the right position, hold the reins properly. A little bit of help coming from him was needed for you to mount the horse. He got down on one knee, patting it as if it were a mounting block. “Come on. Step on it.”

No need to ask me twice, you thought as you did what you were told, and once you were grabbing on those reins for dear life, you observed him with curious eyes. “Now what?”

“Now…” he pressed his hand into one of the horse’s sides, and afterwards, the horse began to fucking trot and you cried out, a high-pitched shriek slipping from your mouth. Joel laughed maliciously, almost hypnotized by the scene. “Now is when you learn how to ride a horse!”

“This isn't funny!” you screamed, the horse still very much entertained with the way you were jerking on top of him. “Stop!”

You couldn't believe how he kept… cracking up. Joel touched his stomach, shaking with laughter. “You’re a natural, can’t you see it? I’m havin' the time of my life here.”

“What I can see is that you’re an idiot! Cut the cackle and help me!”

But he didn’t move a single muscle. Instead, he remained still, that smug look never abandoning his features.

The bastard. “You’re gonna make me beg? In this situation?”

Crossing his arms while teasingly grinning at you, he added: “Wouldn’t hurt to try.”

“Joel Miller, will you help me? Pretty please?” your hair was getting in the way, and you could taste it as you insisted. “Is that enough for you?”

It was, actually. He helped you get down from the horse, his thick fingers digging into the mushy skin of your waist. It shouldn’t have felt that good, but it did. You were supposed to be angry at him for setting you up and still, by touching you for a microsecond, he had transformed you into something malleable.

Sadly, that feeling didn’t last much longer. “Didn’t know you were a man of manners. Should’ve told me beforehand.”

“Didn't know you could scream like that. I hope you didn’t freak anyone out.”

The two of you continued to practice until nightfall. A thing you also learned, apart from horse riding, was that Joel was a determined man. Everytime you tried to quit, he stopped you, making it impossible for you to rest. You stared at him, rubbing the back of your sore neck with a grimace. “I’m tired. Can we go back?”

“One more time.”

“Joel–”

“Trot a couple of meters just one more time, and that’s it for today. Can you do that for me?”

You tried not to pay too much attention to his choice of words, although it was basically non-viable. He looked sinful, and you longed to shut him up with a bruising kiss. Again, a hopeless option. Your hands itched to touch him, to feel his stubble, rough and coarse under your thumbs. How could you stay focused when the man you had been daydreaming with for the last couple of months was bossing you around?

Despite your inability to clear your head of any of those thoughts, you managed to accomplish what he had asked you to do. “Well done,” he offered you his hand to dismount the horse and you accepted it, sighing as you stretched out your arms. “We should take him back to the stable,” Joel suggested, giving you the impression of being pleased as you told him you were coming with him.

Inside the stable, he relocated the horse into one of the many stalls. Unbelievably, the place didn’t smell like absolute shit, which was what you were expecting from a barn. “Thank you for the lesson,” you told Joel once he was done with the horse.

“Anytime,” he scratched his jaw, the dim light making his dark eyes look, if possible, even darker. “It wasn’t that bad, was it?”

“No. You were right,” your heart thrummed with every word that he blurted. His presence was addictive. You were never the one to have any bad habits, but deep down, you recognized that he easily could develop one. “I thought you were less talkative.”

“So did I,” for an instant, he pressed his lips together, forming a tight line, as if he had said something he shouldn’t have in the first place. “I think I didn’t ask you this before: but why now? I mean, why did you wait so much time to learn how to ride a horse? Everyone in Jackson seems to know how.”

You cleared your throat, his piercing eyes peering at your movements. “I guess I thought it wasn't necessary back then, before all this. It's one of those things that you don't even consider until it becomes inevitable. I used to believe I had a lot of time left when I was younger,” you had never talked about this with anyone else. There was something so intimate about this conversation, how Joel stood seemingly tongue-tied in front of you, as if he were taking notes of what you were confessing to him. “I remember being a kid and not wanting to use my toys sometimes because I kept waiting for the right moment. But then…”

“You realize there’s no such thing as the right moment,” he finished the sentence for you, and you bowed your head. “Life can end at any moment, especially in a world like ours. That’s why you always gotta do what you wish to. We never know what’ll happen tomorrow.”

“Live for today, hope for tomorrow? That’s your creed?” you tried to mock him, the tension in the stable far from evident, but he didn’t move.

“It’s the way I try to live my own life. I don’t like being left with the desire to do somethin’ I could’ve done earlier. Too old for that.”

Maybe you were gradually losing it. Perhaps just a little. It couldn’t be a coincidence, right? Had he noticed how you acted around him? Were you that obvious?

“So, you would advise me to just…”

“Do whatever you feel right, sweetheart.”

That raspy sweetheart made you give in.

His eyes. His penetrating, gleaming eyes scrutinized your face at the same time you closed the distance between your bodies. From there, you were able to see every freckle, every small detail that you hadn’t previously acknowledged. He parted his lips, as if to speak, but no words other than your name came out. One of your hands made its way up to his cheek, cupping it, feeling the warmth his skin radiated. His head immediately leaned into your touch, like a moth into a flame.

You kissed him, unable to keep waiting. It took him what felt like ages to kiss you back, his fingers tangling in your hair. He absorbed your whimpers, pressing your back against the nearest wall. Maddening– it was the perfect word to describe how being kissed by Joel felt like. When you thought he was going to draw away from you, he just held you tighter until your lungs implored for some air. Your knees had never felt this weak, and you found yourself grabbing onto his shoulders, already feeling the places where his stubble had left its trace in flames.

“Joel…” you mumbled against his lips, detaching your mouth from his. Your erratic breaths seemed to sync together like a melody, and you tugged at the collar of his jacket.

He knew, could see it on your features. “Wanna go to yours?”

Joel took you home. The moment you set foot in the cabin, he closed the door behind him, his hand lingering on the handle as he contemplated you from a distance. You took your coat off first, starting to unzip your pants. There was silence long enough to hear crickets in, the moon up in the sky being the only bystander of your meeting. His eyes roamed the newly exposed skin of your legs and you observed him gulp.

“Did something happen?” you asked him, a flush crepting up your face. Taking a step forward, one of his hands came to rest on top of yours.

“No, it’s just that– Are you sure you want this?”

Crinkling your nose, you uttered: “Why wouldn’t I?”

“I’m just too old for you,” he warned you, running a knuckle down your cheek. “You should be with guys your age, y’know? Not with an old man like me.”

“I want you,” reassuring him, you got rid of your t-shirt, and the fact he was still dressed up from neck to toes lit some kind of fire inside you. His calloused fingers fiddled with the strap of your bra until it slipped off your shoulder. “This is what I want. Please, Joel.”

It turned out that Joel Miller certainly was a man of manners.

You couldn't help but moan as he grabbed you by the waist, dragging you to the couch by the window and straddling his lap, his hard-on finding its place beneath you, pulsing and in need of more. His tongue brushed yours ever so often, and your eyes rolled to the back of your head as his teeth latched onto the skin of your throat. Joel groaned, the sound, low and primal, having its desired effect on you, your hips involuntarily grinding against his in a delicious but tormenting rhythm that already had you on the verge of tears.

“Joel, please,” you managed to plead, not knowing precisely what you were asking for. His hands cupped your ass, imprinting his fingerprints on the soft flesh, forcing your hips to go harder and harder. The harsh fabric of his pants was definitely going to leave a mark on your cheeks, and thinking that helped you realize that you were the only one –almost– naked. You reached for the buttons of his denim shirt, your lips hovering over his. “Take your clothes off?”

He did the rest himself, throwing his jacket to the floor. When he got to his jeans, he cocked his head. “Why don’t we move this to the bedroom, if you’re so goddamn needy?” The few guys you had been with had never been very talkative during sex; there was even this one specific boy who had asked you to not make a sound while he fucked you.

But Joel wasn’t like them. It was just starting and you had already realized that he had a dirty mouth, an expectant look on his face every time he waited for your reaction to his words. “Now you’re quiet, huh? Thought you wanted me to fuck you, darlin',” one of his fingers pressed down on your clit, stimulating it through your underwear. He sighed, stopping his movements and pressing the damp pad of it against your lower lip, urging you to taste yourself. “You’re wet, baby. So fuckin’ wet. Have you been like this all day? Bet you would’ve let me take you right there in the forest.”

“Oh my God,” you whined next to his ear, your whole body trembling with desire. “Take me to bed,” you begged him, and next thing you knew, he was grabbing you as if you weighed nothing and heading towards your room.

Not knowing how, you kept your hands to yourself until he placed you on top of the bed. Joel shoved his jeans down and you didn’t think twice– you stroked his length, the fabric of his boxers only making the slow drag of your hand more satisfying. His long fingers circled your throat, and you moaned as you kept eliciting exquisite noises from him. “Let me take care of you,” his dilated pupils carved holes in your being, his grip doing nothing to cease the ache between your legs. “Please, baby. I need to make you feel good. Been thinkin’ about this for so long.”

“What?” you slowed down your pace, looking up at him through your eyelashes. “You wanted me?”

“Why do you think I began to pick Ellie up from your classes, huh? Because I’m a good, generous man?” Joel parted your knees, getting closer to where you required him the most. “I’m sorry to ruin this, but I’m far from good. Just wanted to see you and your pretty face. Didn’t know if we were on the same page until you came lookin' for me, askin' me to teach you how to ride a damn horse,” you hadn’t noticed your bra was missing till he cupped one of your breasts, flicking your nipple between his fingers. “I’m sure there were many other people you could’ve asked to teach you, but you chose me, didn’t you?”

“Don’t want anybody else,” your lips chased his, a drop of sweat already rolling down your temple. “I didn’t– didn’t know you noticed me.”

“How could I not? If you could only look at yourself like I’m doing right now… You’re a sight, sweetheart, all spread out for me,” removing your panties, he kissed the skin where your inner thighs met, his tongue darting out to draw imaginary figures on your flesh. His mouth was just inches away from your cunt, and you had to tell him.

“Joel?”

“What’s wrong?”

“I’ve never– nobody has ever done that for me.”

He seemed to understand what you were referring to. It made you tense a bit, despite the fact that you were completely naked in front of him, basically begging him to tear you apart. Still, the realization that you weren't as expert as him hit you out of nowhere. Yeah, it was all fun and games, kissing and touching probably the hottest man you had seen in your almost three decades of life. But said man was a lot older than you, and he had lived his best years in the real world, not this fucked up version you grew up in. You were sure he had been with many different women, which wasn’t a problem– you two were nothing.

“Nobody has ever tasted ya’? That’s what you’re tryin’ to tell me?” you nodded quickly, shoving a strand of his graying hair back away from his eyes. Joel chuckled languidly, squeezing your hips. “Do you want me to? It’s okay if you don’t. We can try somethin’ else.”

“Please,” you’d have time to embarrass yourself later, thinking about the amount of times you had repeated that word. But certain moments were to be lived only once, and though you hoped it wasn't the case, you had to take the chance. “I want you to.”

Four words. It took Joel four words to disappear between your legs, licking a hot stripe up your folds. You nibbled on your bottom lip, a loud moan filling the void of your dorm. He drew sweet patterns in your cunt, discovering a part of you that no one else ever had, and you couldn’t help but to grind against his face as he dipped the tip of his tongue into your entrance. Breathing wasn’t a necessity anymore. You felt as if all the air in the world was being punched out of your lungs, the knot in your belly growing tighter the more Joel spent his precious time keeping you entertained.

At some point, he focused his attention on your clit, circling it over and over again, making you shudder. Suddenly, the pad of his middle finger tested the waters, and he slowly slid it into your cunt, earning a strangled whine from you. Burying your hands in his hair, your glossy eyes looked for him for a second. You shouldn’t have done that, because as you took in the sight of Joel with his own eyes closed, browns knitted, your nostrils flared, and you wondered if it was even possible to want somebody that much.

“Joel, wait, I’m– fuck,” your jaw went slack and you scrunched up your face, two of his thick fingers nudging that spot that made you see stars. “I’m close.”

“That’s a good thing, sweetheart. Don’t know why you say it in such a dry tone,” his mouth curved into a smile, his chin and stubble shining with your slick.

Your chest rose and fell with rapid breaths. “I don’t want to come yet.”

“But you will.”

A thing you also learned, apart from horse riding, was that Joel was a determined man.

“Joel–“

“I’ll make you come with my mouth, and then with my cock,” dizziness was starting to blur your vision, your eyelashes fluttering with every hard thrust of his fingers. You glanced up to the ceiling, tears filling your eyes. “Think you can do that for me, be my good girl and come twice?”

You bobbed your head. It was official: he was going to make you come.

Drawing in a long breath, you could feel the unbearable pressure in your core. His name sounded like a prayer on your lips, chanting it in the same way some people expressed their devotion to a certain God. You had your own personal deity, whose tongue accomplished to push you to the limit, licking every drop of your release as if it were a special kind of forbidden elixir.

Your shoulders sagged and you relaxed under him. Joel kissed you, an open mouthed and filthy kiss crowning that moment as you panted. Through the cotton fabric of his boxers, you felt his hard-on poking your thigh. Shoving his underwear down, you took him in your hand, hot and just big, stroking him for real this time. You twisted your wrist at the tip, and he slumped forward, almost crushing you with his entire body weight, his breath dampening your neck. “Wanna fuck you, baby,” he croaked, his hips chasing your touch.

Out of all the scenarios you had ever imagined, none of them included being split open by Joel. You had a very vivid imagination, but no amount of creativity would’ve prepared you for what his cock would feel like inside of you. He bottomed out, his arms shaking where they rested on each side of your head. Joel’s breath quickened as he pulled out, just letting the tip, and then thrusting into you again.

“Fuck,” you didn’t recognize your own voice. It was even hard to decipher if you were still alive or dead from how magnificent he felt.

“So good, sweetheart. You’re so good, such a good girl,” he groaned, fucking deeper into you. His cock pulsed inside you, your cunt squeezing him. “Can’t believe how– how tight you are. You’re gonna make me lose my f–fucking mind.”

It was just too much. You hadn’t even recovered from your last orgasm before Joel started pounding into you like his life depended on it, the obscene sound of skin slapping skin ringing out in the room.

“You gonna come, huh? Gonna make a mess?” you could sense he was also close, his pace faltering as seconds went by, words slurring together. He pressed his forehead against yours, clenching his fists and taking in a sharp breath. “Fuck. I’m not gonna last much longer, baby.”

Come inside, you wished to tell him, to feel his seed dripping out of your greedy hole, painting your walls. But you weren't on the pill; it was also the first time you were sleeping with Joel, and you didn’t know how he would take the… suggestion. “Close,” you yelped instead, tears shimmering in your eyes as Joel’s body hovered over you like the most perfect eclipse.

His thrusts became more frenzied, if possible. “That’s it, darlin’. Come for me,” your gaze fixated upon him, his eyes flickering with hunger. “Wanna see you when you soak my cock.”

Your body went limp, your orgasm hitting you like a truck. Soreness took place in your throat as you moaned his name through the aftershocks, fireworks exploding behind your eyelids. Going rigid, you let go of Joel’s shoulders. He pulled out, mumbling something you didn’t quite catch. You fisted his cock, trying to give him the release he so yearned for. Joel kissed you, messy teeth and saliva taking part of it. Heavy on your hand, his dick twitched as you squeezed the base, roped of his warm cum splattering your belly. The scene reminded you of a painting; he was the talented painter, and you his blank canvas, waiting to be signed with his name.

It was the turn of silence now. None of you said anything for a while, until Joel used his boxers to clean up his cum from your stomach, smiling apologetically at you. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” your fingers delicately traced the contours of his chest as he reclined, enveloping you in the embrace of his strong arms. “Will you stay?”

Please say yes.

“Only if you want me to.”

Moral of the story: learning how to ride a horse can actually be nice if your teacher happens to be Joel Miller.

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hard-core-super-star · 1 year

Text

bleeding me dry like a goddamn vampire [K.Bishop]

pairing: vampire!kate bishop x reader

summary: a failed mugging leads to you discovering kate's biggest secret...and her finding out yours.

warnings: yes, i still suck at summaries, shhh SMUT -> minors, you know the drill, walk away now [porn with almost too much plot; blood and fangs and all the stereotypically hot vampire things; so many neck kisses it should be illegal; fingering {R receiving}; kate being a tease and owning it; praise + degradation + two seconds of humiliation]

wordcount: 3.3k

a/n: do i have like ten requests sitting in my inbox rn? yes. was this idea going to leave me alone if i didn't write it? no. i've been trying to finish this fic since JULY, GUYS, AND I NEED IT OUT OF MY DRAFTS AND INTO THE WORLD! it wasn't supposed to be smut, but i couldn't help it. i don't think i'll have time to do any real kinktober-type fics so enjoy this little treat instead. ALSO, a lot of the vampire dynamics/lore in this fic was inspired by first kill so go check it out if you haven't seen it.

part two | part three | part four

* * * * * * *

You were working yet another late night at Bishop Security. A normal occurrence considering your boss’s distaste for coming into the office when the sun is high in the sky. She almost never comes in before 3 PM and almost always stays in until way past midnight.

Pretty much everyone who works for her hates her unusual schedule, claiming she’s way too new to her position to be slacking off so much. Everyone seems to share that view…everyone except you since being her secretary means you get to share her schedule.

Which conveniently means you get to sleep in most days.

She’s never offered an explanation, not that you’ve ever tried asking her about it, but the rumor swirling around is that she’s too busy partying and sleeping around to bother showing up at the office at a regular time.

You don’t doubt the validity of that rumor but you’re also sure it’s not the whole story. There have been times when Kate has forced you to leave at 2 AM while she’s stayed behind to write up a report or prepare for her next meeting.

She’s young and reckless and way too rich for her own good but she’s not completely irresponsible or arrogant. Unfortunately, the media loves making up stories about the ‘Tony Stark of Bishop Security’ almost as much as your co-workers love gossiping.

Maybe if those rumors held more truth to them you wouldn’t be where you are right now: speed-walking out of the building and trying to make it to your car before something bad happens. You’re aware of the irony of working at a security company yet being terrified of walking through the parking lot. But hey! It’s New York City, your fears are more than valid.

You’re too busy arguing with yourself about said irony to notice the person sneaking up behind you until they forcefully grab your shoulder and slam you into the nearest concrete wall. The force of the push forces all the air out of your lungs, leaving you unprepared for the right hook your attacker throws your way.

The ringing in your ears is the only thing you can focus on for a few seconds. You see their mouth moving and you’re barely able to make out the name ‘Kate Bishop’ before they raise their fist again. You squeeze your eyes shut and wait for the punch to land.

Except it never does.

Your eyes snap open right as your shoulders are grabbed again but this time, the person standing in front of you is none other than Kate Bishop herself. “Hey, hey, it’s alright. Just focus on me. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I think so.” You’re pretty sure the pounding in your chest has more to do with the proximity between the two of you than your leftover fear after being attacked. “I just got pushed around a little.”

“More like punched around,” she says with a small chuckle.

“That’s not funny.” Despite your words, a noticeable smile spreads along your face.

Kate’s eyes trail down your face and hone in on your lips. The sudden attention makes you subconsciously lick your lips and a slightly metallic taste fills your mouth. You assume the look on her face is due to her concern over you until you notice the way her pupils dilate as blood gathers on your bottom lip.

“Um…Kate? Are you okay?”

Your voice seems to bring her back to the present moment. She leans back a little before she speaks again. “Yeah, we should probably get out of here.”

You hear her words but your gaze is glued right to her mouth and the two protruding teeth you’re pretty sure you’ve never seen before. For a second, you think you’re imagining things but it’s practically impossible to deny what you’re seeing with the way the light bounces off of her teeth.

You had always thought Kate was hiding something. Something that ran deeper than her long list of ex-lovers or weird schedules. But the place your mind is going to right now seems far too illogical. Superheroes, aliens, even the damn multiverse, everything else seemed much more plausible than vampires.

And yet, the proof is staring right at you with caring blue eyes and a nervous smile that tells you you’re both thinking about the same thing.

“I can explain,” she assures you before extending her hand out for you to take. “But you’re gonna have to come with me.”

“You’re insane.”

She shrugs, not at all phased by your comment. “Maybe a little…I promise I won’t bite.”

You don’t know whether to laugh at her joke or slap that look off her face for having the audacity to make it in the first place. Ultimately, your trust in her wins out and you reach for her hand. It’s just one small choice but you have a feeling it’s going to change everything between the two of you.

She starts to lead you toward her car, ignoring your protests like a real gentleman. You weren’t going to act like you had never imagined Kate taking you back to her apartment but you had imagined it under different, significantly sexier, circumstances.

You get into her car and ignore the way your heart is pounding in your chest. You tell yourself it’s only due to the leftover adrenaline from being attacked but you know it has more to do with the overwhelming smell of the archer than anything else.

A few minutes of silence pass before you work up the courage to start a conversation…even though you know you’re not going to like any of the answers you’re searching for. “What do you think that guy wanted?”

“What guy?” Kate’s eyes remain glued to the road ahead, not giving you a chance to decipher the look on her face. “The one who tried to mug you?”

“He wasn’t trying to mug me, he was looking for you.”

You notice the way her jaw clenches even with the darkness that envelops the car. “Looking for me? What are you talking about?”

“Kate, don’t play stupid with me. You can’t possibly think he broke into a highly secured parking lot just to mug the first random secretary he saw.” Her silence is enough of an answer. “So, who is he and what does he want with you?”

“I can’t tell you that. It’ll only put you in more danger.”

“More danger than that?”

“Yes.” You’re sure you’ve never heard her sound so serious before. “Believe it or not, you finding out about this wasn’t in my plans.”

You’re going to regret asking but your mind has been whirling with thoughts and ideas since you first caught sight of those fangs. “What exactly is…’this’?”

“Exactly what you think it is.”

Her tone leaves no room for questions or arguments. Despite that, the only thing that fills your mind is questions. And answers you don’t want to think about.

“Stop looking at me like that,” she says, effectively cutting off your flurry of thoughts.

“Why?”

The hunger on her face when she turns to look at you tells you all you need to know. You should probably be scared considering the power she holds over you right now. Not only is she the one driving, she could probably crush you with her bare hands…or sink her sharp fangs into your neck and drain you dry.

Fear is certainly not what you feel at that thought though.

The corners of her mouth quirk up into the cockiest smirk you’ve ever seen. “You’re into some weird stuff, aren’t you, sweetheart?”

“What else are you?” The way you shift in your seat doesn’t go unnoticed by the brunette. “Some kind of mind reader?”

“No need,” she replies. “Your scent gave you away.”

Your face heats up at her words but you’re not sure if it’s from embarrassment or something else. Thankfully, she pulls up to her apartment complex before you can dig yourself into a deeper hole.

A weirdly comfortable silence surrounds you as you make your way out of the car and into her apartment. You’ve known Kate for a while and you’ve always felt safe around her, something that not even those sharp fangs can take away. Especially when she places a strong hand on the small of your back while she leads the way.

For someone who’s richer than most people will ever be in their whole life, her apartment isn’t extremely lavish or full of ridiculous decorations. It could even be considered minimalistic if it weren’t for the numerous bows scattered all over the living room, the chewed-up boots near Lucky’s dog bed, and the overwhelming amount of clothes piled up on the couch.

“Sorry, I don’t usually have people over,” she says almost as if reading your mind. “I’m not usually so messy.”

“You and I both know that’s a lie, Katherine.”

She makes a disgusted face at the sound of her full name, her expression somewhere between adorable and amusing. “You didn’t have to say it like that.”

You’re about to make another stupid comment when your brain short circuits at the sight of Kate unbuttoning her shirt, the black tank top she always wears underneath straining against her torso and all the muscles you know are hiding out of sight.

The corners of her mouth quirk up just enough to give away the fact that she knows exactly what she’s doing and she’s one-hundred percent doing it on purpose. You’re just grateful she doesn’t verbalize how obvious your breathlessness is.

You attempt to look away from her but she moves her arm just enough for you to notice the dark stain on her shirt. It takes you a second to figure out what it’s from and you mentally curse the brunette for not telling you she had gotten hurt.

“Kate,” you call out once you find your voice again. “You’re bleeding.”

“What?” She looks down at her arm, clearly pretending she hadn’t noticed the wound yet, before shrugging her shoulders. “Oh, yeah, it’s fine.”

“Fine? Why didn’t you tell me you got stabbed?”

“It’s just a scratch.”

She tries to wave you off but it’s too late. You’re already gripping her shoulder and pushing her down onto her overpriced leather couch. “You’re an idiot. Sit down.”

She grumbles something about being able to take care of herself but you don’t listen to a word she says. Instead, your hands reach out for the first-aid kit she keeps on her coffee table.

“Take your shirt off.”

“y/n, if you wanted to see me naked, all you had to do was ask, baby.” Her voice carries that cocky tone that makes you want to punch her and kiss her at the same time.

“Shut up,” you mutter while attempting to look unaffected.

There are too many thoughts swirling around your brain and most of them have to do with Kate doing some very inappropriate things to you, with or without her fangs. The truth is, you can act like you’re only attracted to the danger that could potentially come your way now that you know her secret but she’s always been far too good at scrambling your brain with a few well-placed words.

She finally does what you ask, pushing her shirt off her shoulders and revealing inches of skin you’ve never seen from such close proximity before. You’re able to pass off your clear ogling as concern as you step closer to examine the small knife wound.

It’s only a few inches long but deep enough to have caused her to bleed the entire way here. You wordlessly open up the first-aid kit and start disinfecting the area, doing your best to ignore the soft groans that leave the brunette’s lips.

“Is all of that stuff true?” You ask a few minutes later, the smallest hint of a joke in your tone.

The corners of Kate’s mouth quirk up into a small smirk that tells you she knows exactly what you’re talking about. “What stuff?”

“You know, the stuff about silver and garlic and burning in the sun?”

“Yes to the silver, no to the garlic, and kind of to the sun. I sunburn really easily but I don’t think that’s due to the vampire thing.”

You laugh at her response, the sound nervous yet warm. It’s still too much to wrap your head around but at least she’s not beating around the bush anymore. “How long have you…?”

“All my life,” she replies with an almost inaudible wince as you start to bandage her up. “It’s a long, complicated story but my family and I are descendants of the first vampires to ever exist. We’re legacies.”

“Sounds fancy.”

She chuckles while she shakes her head. “It’s a pain in the ass.”

“I’m sure there are worse things to be.”

You finish securing the bandage in place right as the words leave your lips. Now that there’s nothing to distract you, you realize how close together the two of you actually are. You’re standing right between Kate’s open legs, the heat of her body warming you up in ways that leave your legs shaky.

“y/n, I…I’ve done a lot of things that-”

“You don’t have to tell me. I don’t need to know any of that to know I trust you.”

She looks up at you, her usually bright eyes looking soft and vulnerable for the first time in a long time. It’s almost startling how quickly she changes from the cocky and overconfident Kate Bishop everyone knows to this gentle and hesitant version of herself.

A version of her you can't help but love.

Your feelings must be more than obvious by this point but she doesn't push. You've never known her to be slow or patient or particularly sensitive to what other people want and yet she waits.

The seconds feel like hours until her eyes finally drift down to your lips…and the small amount of blood that still coats them.

You shouldn’t be doing this.

The few brain cells that aren’t completely focused on the brunette in front of you tell you to move away from her before you cross a line you won’t be able to come back from. A line that is unprofessional and stupid and full of problems and rumors that will probably ruin your life.

Unfortunately, crossing that line is the only thing that’s been on your mind since the day you started working for her. And the urge to find out what her lips taste like and what her hands feel like on your skin has only gotten stronger since.

“Tell me to stop and I will,” she whispers, her voice thick with emotions you don’t want to think about.

You lean in closer, your breath fanning across her lips while you grab her hands and place them on your waist. “Please don’t stop.”

“y/n…” Her voice comes out somewhere between a whine and a groan. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

It’s unclear whether she’s talking about her vampire side or her serial heartbreaker side but you ignore her warning all the same. You’ve wanted her far too long to let something that seems so irrelevant right now stop you.

“I’ll be fine,” you assure her, letting her pull you close until you're finally sitting on her lap. “I only need you right now.”

The weight and warmth of your body on her lap causes her to take in a sharp breath, one that leaves no doubts about what it is she wants to do with you. “Fuck…”

She leans forward, completely ignoring your lips and instead moving her face toward your neck, her nose brushing against your skin and making your heart skip multiple beats. Her grip on your hips tightens and you swear you can feel the smirk that adorns her features right before she attaches herself to your neck.

Your head tilts back to allow her free access while you do your best not to grind against her. You fail miserably the second her fangs start to nip your skin. She doesn’t bite down hard enough to puncture your neck but the feeling has you desperately bucking your hips in search of relief anyway.

“Kate-” You gasp out, your hands holding onto her arms for support.

She chuckles while one of her hands starts its journey down inside your jeans. “I know, sweetheart. I can smell how much you need me…how desperate you are to feel me inside you. I bet you can’t think about anything else right now.”

You’re not sure when it happened but her hesitation has clearly gone out the window by now. All that remains is the current of need that flows eagerly between your two bodies.

You let out a soft moan as her fingers dip inside your soaked underwear and find the mess she’s turned you into with a few teasing words and restrained kisses. “Please.”

“Such a good girl,” she murmurs. “How can I deny someone as sweet as you?”

Despite her words, she still doesn’t give you what you truly want. Instead, she presses two fingers against your throbbing clit and starts drawing small circles, her movements slow and calculated. Your hips move in response and you suddenly realize what it is she wants from you.

There’s no time for whines or embarrassment, no time for anything except desire and desperation.

You grind down on her fingers and let out a string of incoherent noises that leave Kate groaning into your neck. “Just like that, baby. Show me how much you want me.”

You do just as she asks, rolling your hips and relishing the non-stop kisses she lands on your overheated skin. Her teeth keep teasing you and it’s all you can do not to beg her to bite you hard enough to make you dizzy.

She told you earlier she wasn’t a mind reader but you’re about to call bullshit on that considering the way she picks up on all your dirty thoughts without a single word from you.

“I could drain you so easily right now. You’re so desperate you’d just let me, wouldn’t you? You’d let me sink my teeth into you so long as I kept fucking you, wouldn’t you?”

Your sounds of ecstasy should be more than an answer but they’re not enough for the brunette. She picks up the pace of her fingers and turns your brain to mush long enough for you to let out the truth.

“Yes! God, yes. Please- Don’t stop.”

“Good girl.”

She plants a few more kisses against your neck before she finally bites you. Hard. Hard enough to make your eyes squeeze shut and your legs tense up. The pain borders on unbearable until she starts sucking.

Your mind spins endlessly as all the different sensations overwhelm you. You’re not sure what to focus on but your body makes the decision for you.

You gasp, although the sound comes out more like a whine than anything else, and Kate takes the hint. She plunges her fingers inside of you right as you fall over the edge, the tips curled just enough to hit that one spot that has you seeing stars that weirdly resemble the color of her eyes.

You’re shaking and panting and dizzier than ever but it all feels far too good. The pleasure and the pain roll together to give you the most intense orgasm you’ve ever had and you suddenly wonder how you lived so long without knowing such ecstasy existed.

Kate detaches herself from your neck right as the ringing in your ears fades. You open your eyes to the sight of her, pupils blown wide and her lips stained red. You subconsciously clench around her fingers and she smiles.

“I was right,” she says, her voice low and far too controlled for your liking. “You taste as delicious as you smell.”

You don’t waste another second attaching your lips to hers and drowning out all her cocky statements.

You end up spending the rest of the night getting to know Kate in ways you’d only ever dreamed about before, completely oblivious to the way word already starts spreading about your intimate encounter outside the walls of her apartment.

736 notes · View notes

footiehoefics · 1 year

Text

Chose to be friends, meant to be lovers

gif: @bracedes

Hi guys! I've been working on this fic for a little while. It is the longest I've ever done but I always say the longer the better (lol). Let me know any feedback you have and I hope you enjoy it as much as I did writing it! :) 7.0k words, TW none, Angst/Fluff, tags: @nightlockcornucopia

Y/N

“You know…Mason will probably be there tonight.” your friend said, smirking at you. To be honest you were not paying much attention to whatever she was saying, too concentrated on applying mascara.

“Y/n did you hear me?” Aliyah said, waving her wand in front of your face. “Stop, you will ruin my makeup” you said giggling. “Sorry, yes I heard you.” You replied, closing the mascara tube and placing it where it belonged. You noticed Aliyah was still staring at you.

“Can I help you?” you asked confused as to why she was still staring at you. Although you know why she was staring at you. “I said Mason will probably be there.” she said again. “Yea he probably will be so?” you said trying to sound unbothered.

“Sooo…are you like gonna try and shoot your shot finally?” she said, leaning towards you smiling and waiting for your reaction. You rolled your eyes at her statement. “Will you stop with that please?” you said standing up. “Oh come on Y/n I know you better than anyone I know you’ve been falling for him HARD lately.” She was not wrong, you hated that she was not wrong.

You tried to distract yourself by searching for an outfit in your closet. “Am I wrong?” Aliyah said, again bringing you back to earth. “Aliyah, please,” you said, more annoyed. She was not wrong; however, you know that the possibility of Mason having feelings for you was near 0.

You had met Mason through a mutual friend at a party. It turned out you had a lot of friends in common and you started seeing him more often at parties or dinners. Of course, when you met him you knew who he was. You could not avoid the big murals for him around London. That and also, you could not avoid his radiant personality. He was charming, always with a smile on his face, and chatted to everyone. He was just a nice human being, very funny and of course, very dreamy. He was probably the most beautiful man you had ever met.

At first, you and he were not close. Not because he didn’t try to talk to you. You were very shy. Social interactions, the majority of the time, make you feel awkward. Meeting someone new was hell for you, it was hard for you to just have a natural conversation without feeling self-conscious. He became really good friends with your friend group, hence why you got more comfortable around him as time went by. You loved the way he would include you in conversations, try and get your opinion at times where you were not really talking.

Fast forward a year later, you and him talked almost on a daily basis. You two were close but you always refrained yourself a little bit. You had noticed how he was always touchy with everyone, he loved to have his arm around someone while talking, hugging everyone. You knew if that man showed you even the slightest bit of affection, you would crumble. You already liked him physically and his personality. All of that combined with his love language would make you fall harder than you already have.

It's not that he would never hug you or touch you, but you always told yourself “he does this with everyone, it does not mean anything with you.” Sometimes you did pull away and felt bad after the fact because he would look upset.

“Y/n! I’m your best friend, why won’t you just admit it to me?” Aliyah asked with a pout. “Because there is nothing to admit, okay? We are friends and that is all we’ll ever be.” You closed your closet door and headed to the bathroom to get changed.

Once inside, you shut the door, and rested against it, closing your eyes. You didn’t think it was that obvious you liked him. You really thought you were hiding it very well. You didn’t like when people tried to figure out if you like someone or tease you about it. It made you uncomfortable and it also made you act differently towards the person you have feelings for.

You got dressed and looked at yourself in the mirror. You liked what you saw, and hoped Mason did too. Were you trying to look good for him? Yes. Would he say something about it? Maybe, but he probably would say the same thing about another friend.

Once you stepped out, Aliyah looked at you smirking. “I think Mr. Mount will like it” she said, wiggling her eyebrows making you laugh. “See you're laughing!” she exclaimed. “I’m laughing because you are so annoying and weird.” You said in between laughs. “Yea right y/n.”

You stopped again to look in the mirror hanging behind the bedroom door. “Y/n, you look great. I promise. And I mean it, Mason will like it.” Aliyah assured you hugging you from behind. “I love you.” You said smiling at her. “Well, I love you more. Ready then?” “Yes, I’m ready.” Both of you grabbed your purses and headed out to the car.

Once you arrived at the party, two of your friends were already waiting for you at the door with drinks. “C’mon drink up, you guys have to catch up!” your friend Harry exclaimed. “Oh Jesus” you murmured to yourself, dreading the sting this shot of alcohol would cause. You grabbed the shot glass, placed it in your mouth and threw your head back to drink it as fast as possible.

Aliyah wiped her mouth and yelped at the flavor of the tequila. “Okay then, this will be your confidence boost to go talk to him.” She whispered in your ear making you giggle.

Honestly, alcohol sometimes did that to you. It made you more social but in the mornings, you would end up regretting it.

You walked inside and the place was packed. It was a house party, although right now it did not look remotely close to a house. You could not spot a single piece of furniture since it was so packed.

“Oh God, finding everyone here will be hell.” Aliya stated, almost shouting because of the loud music, at you.

Once you got through the swarm of people, you managed to reach the door that led to the back yard. When you stepped outside, you took in a big breath. It felt like there was no oxygen inside the house from the amount of people in there.

Lucky you, Ben, Kai, Sophia, and all your other friends were outside drinking and hanging out. “Wow you guys made it through no man’s land” Ben said as he spotted you, Aliyah, Harry, and your other friend Nicolas. You all laughed at his comment.

You all got settled in the outdoor furniture and started talking, laughing, and drinking. You didn’t spot Mason anywhere, not even when you were walking inside the house. You started looking around, trying to spot him but nothing. After 30 minutes, you decided to go inside to get another drink, well that’s what you told your friend. In reality you wanted to see if you could spot Mason.

Squished between all those people, you could barely see anything. It started getting hot for you, you felt sweat on your forehead and your neck. You didn’t know if it was someone else's sweat or yours at this point.

You couldn’t get past everyone to go back outside so you decided to head towards the bathroom. You wanted to tidy up, go back out and go around the house to the backyard.

Once you reached the bathroom door, you opened it and saw your worst nightmare. Mason. With a girl. Kissing.

“Oh shit, um I’m so sorry!” you panicked and slammed the door closed. You stayed there frozen in your spot for a little bit. You were trying to get that image out of your head, but you couldn’t. Mason was against the sink, his arms firm on the sink. The girl had her arms wrapped around his neck and her lips on his.

You couldn’t tell who the girl was. I mean how could you, you saw a microsecond of it and shut the door. And the microsecond you saw was her face mushed into his.

You snapped out of your thoughts when you heard the doorknob of the bathroom moving indicating someone was opening the door. You moved away from the door and panicked, not knowing if staying waiting for him and her to come out was better than just running and pretending you never saw anything.

Mason opened the door and saw the look of panic and shock in your face. He was about to say something when the girl stepped out behind him.

You couldn’t believe it. You knew Mason was a lady’s guy, everyone knew that. You knew he would hook up with people, it hurt but what could you do? You were just his friend. You knew the type of girls he would hook up with, but you never thought he would go so low as to hook up with her. Alice.

Alice was the only person in Mason’s friend group that never liked you and she made it clear by showing no interest in you. She would never talk to you, every time you said anything in a group conversation, she would roll her eyes. Aliyah always said it was because Mason was always with you at gatherings, and she felt jealous, part of you thought the same thing but why? You and Mason were just friends.

You would always tell Mason how Alice never tried with you. He would always say you should try and talk to her to figure out why, but you never did. Well, you intended to but once you wanted to start the conversation, she shut you down. She made you feel like an idiot and said a lot of hurtful things.

Of course, you told Mason, and he was furious. You told him not to do anything about it. Although not doing anything about it did not mean going out with her.

It hurt regardless of who the girl was, but the fact that it was Alice hurt even more. He knew how shitty she made you feel. He knew and had witnessed her being crap to you. Yet here he was making out with her.

“Sorry the bathroom was unlocked so I just opened it, I should’ve knocked.” Your voice was shaky, you felt like the waterfall of tears was threatening to fall. “Yea you should have.” Alice said, annoyed. You looked at her, then at Mason. Mason was red in the face and looked worried.

You couldn’t bear the sight of them so you started heading towards the front door.

“Hey Y/n, wait up!” you heard Mason from behind, but you were not in the mood to have that conversation right now.

You felt him grab your arm once you got to the front door. “Y/n please listen-“

“Mason don’t, sorry I interrupted your time with her.”

“Y/n I’m so sorry, I know it looks bad-“

“You think?” you asked sarcastically, interrupting him again.

He looked around, opened the door and pulled you outside with him.

“Listen, I’m sorry, I was trying to take her to the kitchen because-“

“Mason please, stop. I don’t care what you two were going to do. You know, more than anyone, how shit of a person she is, especially with me, and you go and make out with her?” You didn’t mean to raise your voice, but you were hurt. You know you had no right to be mad at him for making out with someone but, your feelings were taking over your brain.

“Okay, yes I understand, I know how she is, I promise kissing her was not what I wanted to happen, but why are you getting so mad?” he asked, taken back at your rage.

“I mean, regardless of who it was, I don’t understand why you are so mad, you’re not my girlfriend.” he said, making your face drop.

Ouch.

“Yea I’m not Mason but I’m your friend, right? And that is a slap in the face. What would you do if you found me making out with Nicolas?” you asked.

Nicolas was one of your friends that didn’t vibe with Mason at all. You tried to brush it off but sometimes it was too visible. Mason had told you he didn’t like him, and vice versa with Nicolas. You tried to ignore them on that matter and just encourage them to talk to each other to settle their differences.

“That is different Y/n…” Mason replied.

“Is it though?” you asked, raising your eyebrow.

You didn’t want to keep harping on the subject. Yes you were not his girlfriend, but you wish you were. Now most definitely you would never be.

You felt dumb and pathetic. You spent almost 2 hours getting ready to look beautiful and for him to maybe say something only for this to happen.

You walked away from him to the main gate. You wanted to leave, not only because you saw what you saw but you knew emotions were getting the best of you and tears were filling your eyes. You didn’t want to make a scene at a party.

You heard footsteps following you, and when you turned around you figured you would see Mason but it was Nicolas.

“Hey hey where are you going?” he asked. Tears had already fallen and you looked hurt.

“Hey, I’m um-“ you tried to get the words out but you choked on a sob.

“It’s okay, I’m here.” Nicolas said, grabbing you by the waist and pulling you into a hug.

You hugged him back. You didn’t care if it was him, you were hurt.

You heard footsteps approaching and you figured it was maybe Aliyah, but you were surprised to see Mason again.

“Nicolas, can I talk to her alone please.” Mason said sternly.

Nicolas looked at you, then at him, and back at you. He put two and two together, realizing he was the person who hurt you.

“What the fuck did you Mason?” Nicolas asked angrily.

“It’s none of your fucking business, okay? I need to talk to Y/n, alone, so please fuck off.” Mason replied stone cold.

You didn’t want this to get more heated so you intervened.

“Stop, okay? I’m fine, I’ll just go home-“

“I’ll drop you off” Nicolas interrupted you, still not glancing away from Mason.

“I think it’s better if I do, we need to talk-“ Mason tried to say.

“I’m getting an uber so stop, both of you. I’m ordering it right now.” You said pulling out your phone not wanting to entertain any more bullshit.

“I’ll wait here with you for the uber.” Mason stated

“Me too.” Nicolas said, turning to you.

You rolled your eyes at how childish they were being. You waited about 10 minutes for your uber. 10 awkward minutes of silence. Once you finally saw a car approaching the house, you were grateful.

You didn’t hug either of them goodbye, you just got in and left.

Mason

Mason did not want to be at the party. He was ready to call it an early night, maybe ring you and ask if you wanted to go to his to watch a movie and order food.

He was not in the mood to drink, party and definitely not in the mood to take care of drunk friends. He had a rough week filled with physios and meetings.

However, Woody ended up convincing him. How? By stating you were going. Mason had developed feelings for you, this had been going on for a while, now that you two were much closer.

He loved everything about you, but he couldn’t help but notice you sometimes pushed him away a bit. He didn’t know why, he had never given you a reason to. He tried to brush it off, but now that you two always talked and would always hang out, he wanted nothing more than to be more touchy with you and you resisted it sometimes. He knew you didn’t feel the same way, and it hurt him.

Once at the party, Mason started scanning the sea of people to see if he could spot you. He couldn’t find you anywhere, so he went outside where all his friends were and asked Sophia if she had seen you.

“No she’s not here yet, I think she and Aliyah were on their way.” She responded smiling.

Mason thanked her and went back inside. He spotted Woody with some girls, of course. Once Woody saw Mason, he approached him smiling. “Mate I need your help.” Woody pleaded. “What do you want?” “I met this girl, she’s the one in the blue navy dress, see?” Mason moved his head a bit to see who she was. “Yea I see, what do you want me to do?” Mason asked, confused. “I need you to take Alice somewhere else, I want to be alone with her but she came with Alice so they are attached to the hip.” Mason rolled his eyes. “Mason c’mon, I’m not asking you to do anything with her I know you are waiting for your princess.” Woody said, teasing Mason, making him smile. “I’ll take her to the kitchen so she can talk to other people but if she comes back, it’s not my fault.” Mason stated, moving towards Alice.

Alice was always very flirty with Mason, and a lot of his friends knew that she had feelings for him. He didn’t want her to get the wrong impression.

“Hey Alice, why don’t we go to the kitchen and get a drink?” Mason asked, immediately regretting it. She was visibly drunk, and he had just offered to give her even more alcohol. “Masey, hey of course!” she slurred.

Alice grabbed his hand and dragged him to the kitchen where all the mixers and bottles were. She poured a drink for her and him with way too much alcohol. Mason was trying to get her to talk to everyone, but she was being very touchy with him. Grabbing his hand, rubbing the back of his neck when they were talking to someone else. He wished it was you doing that, not her.

Shit. If you saw him right now with Alice all touchy and handsy, he knew you would get mad. He knew you despised her, and she despised you.

Alice pulled him out of his thoughts. “Mason, can we go to the bathroom?” Hell no he thought. “Um, what do you need? Are you going to be sick?” he asked nervously. “Yea” she said, almost hanging from him. Mason sighed and agreed. He was almost carrying her to the bathroom. He didn’t want her to be sick in front of everyone. He didn’t like her, but he had to be a good person.

Once inside the bathroom, Mason closed the door without locking it.

“Okay, do you want me to hold your hair or do you have like a pony tail so your hair doesn’t get dirty?” he asked, and once he turned around he saw Alice just smirking at him.

“Mase, seriously?” she said, almost laughing.

Mason gulped. He didn’t want to be in this situation right now.

“You know something I’ve always wanted to ask you?”

Mason looked nervous and confused.

“Do you find me attractive?” she asked, batting her eyelashes at him and getting closer.

“I mean, every girl is beautiful.” He said.

Alice was very pretty, Mason knew that. But he never saw her as something else. Especially now that he had feelings for you.

Alice got closer to him, and he backed away but stopped once he reached the sink. His hands were firm on the sink not wanting to do anything that might look like something else to her.

“Mase c’mon, aren’t you like a lady’s man?” she asked, smirking. She was now closer, her hand around his neck.

He didn’t know what to do. He could perfectly smell the mix of perfume and alcohol.

Without hesitation she leaned in and kissed him. He was taken back and didn’t stop it. He was frozen but the kiss didn’t last long.

Someone came in and swung the bathroom door open. Mason pulled away quickly, trying to compose himself. Why did he just let her do that? Alice just pulled away laughing.

Mason rolled his eyes at her. He grabbed the doorknob to open the door.

Once he opened the door, he saw you. He didn’t know it had been you who had walked in just now. He was as shocked as you were.

“Sorry the bathroom was unlocked so I just opened it, I should’ve knocked.” you said with a shaky voice.

Mason felt horrible. He knew what he did was wrong. He wasn’t thinking about how you would feel at that moment, but to be fair he couldn’t think about anything. His mind froze.

Alice stepped out of the bathroom a second later. “Yea you should have” Alice said, pulling out her lip-gloss from her purse and reapplying it.

Mason saw you walking away from the scene and shouted at you to wait up. He wanted to explain everything. You wouldn’t stop walking and once he saw you reach the front door, he grabbed your arm to stop you.

“Y/n please listen-“ he tried to say

“Mason don’t, sorry I interrupted your time with her.”

“Y/n I’m so sorry, I know it looks bad-“

“You think?” she interrupted him again .

He looked around, opened the door and pulled you outside with him.

“Listen, I’m sorry, I was trying to take her to the kitchen because-“

“Mason please, stop. I don’t care what you two were going to do. You know, more than anyone, how shit of a person she is, especially with me, and you go and make out with her?” you said, raising your voice.

Mason knew what he did was bad, but he didn’t think you get this pissed off and emotional about it. Part of him hoped it was because there were some feelings involved but he didn’t know.

“Okay, yes I understand, I know how she is, I promise kissing her was not what I wanted to happen, but why are you getting so mad?” he asked, taken back at your rage.

“I mean, regardless of who it was, I don’t understand why you are so mad, you’re not my girlfriend.” he said, making your face drop.

He regretted saying it instantly. He didn’t mean for it to sound bitchy. He just wanted to get to the bottom of it. He wanted to know what you felt. Did you have feelings for him the same way he did with you?

“Yea I’m not Mason but I’m your friend, right? And that is a slap in the face. What would you do if you found me making out with Nicolas?” you asked.

Mason hated him. Why? He knew and he could tell he had feelings for you. He also hated the fact that he had more confidence with you. Ever since Mason met him, they didn’t like each other but it was more of an unspoken thing.

“That is different Y/n…” Mason replied.

“Is it though?” you asked, raising your eyebrow at Mason.

Y/N

Once you thanked your uber, you got out of the car and rushed to your front door. The whole drive back to your place your sobs were almost coming out of your mouth.

You don’t know who you were madder at, him or yourself.

Why on earth did you think he could feel the same way you did about him? Why? You were just friends. He was him. He was way out of your league. Why were you dumb enough to think you could end up with someone like him?

All these thoughts plagued your mind while you were taking your makeup off. Removing the makeup revealed the redness on your face from crying.

You washed your face to try and compose yourself, but all you could think about was that horrible image of Mason kissing her.

He was right, you weren’t his girlfriend so why were you so mad? Alice is a good reason, but you were more jealous than mad. But how the hell would you tell him “Oh yea I’m mad because it’s not me you’re kissing, it’s her.”

After doing your skin care, you decided to just go to bed and try to get some sleep. At the end of the day, you could not let this ruin your life. It’s just a boy, that’s what you told yourself the whole night “it’s just a boy”, the problem was he was the perfect one.

The next day, you were thankful you left early from the party. You were not in the mood to deal with a hangover.

You did your normal morning routine, but also went in and checked on Aliyah. You knocked on her door, no answer. You knocked again, nothing.

You opened the door and saw a sight you never thought you would see. Aliyah and a guy in her bed. Thankfully, they were covered, and nothing was out in the air. You giggled to yourself and closed the door.

It was a free day so you decided to clean up a bit around the apartment and make yourself a yummy breakfast. After an hour had passed, Aliyah and the guy came out of their room. Her cheeks were bright pink and you could tell the guy felt awkward, scratching the back of neck.

You couldn’t help but laugh at the sight. “Oh, shut up y/n” Aliya said, rolling her eyes. You laughed more and introduced yourself to the guy whose name was Andrew. “Well, it is nice to meet you, I cleaned up a bit around because I knew we had a guest over.” You said trying to tease Aliyah and making her laugh.

They said their goodbyes and both of you sat down on the living room sofa. “Good night then?” you asked, taking a sip of your tea and raising your eyebrows. “Amazing” Aliyah responded, making you chuckle.

“What about you? Nicolas said you left kind of early, what happened?” It all came back to you; all of the events from the night before. You had done a pretty good job at hiding it and not thinking much about it but now that Aliyah asked you couldn’t hide it anymore.

You opened your mouth to say something but were quickly cut off with tears pouring out of your eyes. “Oh honey! What happened?” Aliyah asked now concerned and pulled you in a hug. You hugged her back tightly, just wanting to cry the emotions out.

Once you had cried for a bit, you pulled away and tried to articulate everything.

You told Aliyah everything. How she had always been right in saying you had feelings for him, how you dressed up yesterday for him, how you saw him kissing Alice, what he said to you afterwards and how mad you were at yourself for being so pathetic.

“Hey stop it! You are not pathetic! You are allowed to feel sort of betrayed by him. And, you are allowed to have feelings for him and try to impress him. There is nothing wrong with that.” She said comforting you, rubbing your arm.

“Babe, why didn’t you tell me when it happened? I would’ve come home with you and talked about it.” “No, no, I just wanted to be alone. Nicolas found me crying and I didn’t tell him either but he knew it had something to do with Mason and was mad.” You said remembering Nicolas had waited for you to get in the uber as well.

“I mean duh, of course he would be mad. He has feelings for you.” Aliyah said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “What?” you asked, confused. “What?” “You just said he has feelings for me?” Aliya rolled her eyes at your question. “You are so naïve sometimes, oh my God.” “Aliyah, he has never said anything.” “I mean he doesn’t have to, it’s obvious. Also, why do you think he doesn’t really vibe with Mason?” Everything Aliyah was saying started making sense. “I guess it could be true…?”

Both of you spent the day on the sofa catching up on a series you started watching the week prior. You were both caught up on it, but the doorbell made you both look at each other. “Did you order anything?” you asked, thinking maybe she had ordered some food and it was the food delivery guy. Aliyah stood up to open up and replied with a no.

Once she opened the front door, you both saw Nicolas standing there with some flowers.

“Hello you!” Aliya said, hugging him. “How was your night?” he said, raising his eyebrows, he clearly knew what Aliya had been up to. “Well, obviously better than yours.” She said laughing.

Nicolas stepped in the apartment and saw you curled up in the sofa, making his heart melt. “Hey Nic” you said smiling, standing up to greet him. He smiled and hugged you. “Whose are these for?” you asked confused. “Well, um they are for you.” He said shyly. You could see Aliya had that “I told you” look on her face.

“I’m going to go take a shower and leave you guys” Aliyah stated rushing back upstairs to her room to give you both privacy.

“Oh wow, why?” you asked, smiling a little. “Well, I wanted you to feel better after last night.” You started blushing. “Thank you, you didn’t have to.” You took the flowers and placed them on the kitchen counter. “I’m going to add water and put them in a vase, thank you.” “No worries.”

You offered him some tea, he accepted and both of you sat in the living room talking.

You liked Nicolas, he had been your friend since your first year of college. But you never saw him as something else. Honestly, maybe you should. However, you didn’t want it to turn into something just because you want to get over Mason. You respected him enough to not do that to him. Once you chatted for about an hour, you thanked him again for the flowers and said your goodbyes.

You cleared up the tea mugs and were about to go upstairs until the doorbell rang again.

You opened the door, and this was a sight you were not expecting to see. Mason. With flowers in his hand and a card.

You both just stood there for a moment without saying anything, frankly you didn’t know what to say. He broke the silence, “Can I come in?” he asked.

You stepped out of the way so he could come in. Once you both reached the living room and kitchen area you immediately regretted letting him in. The flowers Nicolas brought you were still on the kitchen counter in full display.

Mason stopped in his tracks, taken back. His mind had a million thoughts going through his head. Were they yours or Aliyah’s? If they were yours, who gave them to you?

“Did someone beat me to it?” he said, chuckling a bit, trying to cut the tension. He was hoping you would answer they were not yours, but his face dropped when you answered. “Um, kind of” you said, chuckling nervously. “Oh, I thought they might have been Aliyah's.” he said, whispering the last part to himself.

“Can I ask, whose are they from?” Mason asked, dreading the answer. “Nicolas.” You spoke.

This made Mason’s blood boil. Why would Nicolas bring you flowers? What did he want from you? Mason placed the flowers and the card on the kitchen counter.

“Why did he bring you flowers?” he asked, annoyed. This now annoyed you. You didn’t owe him any explanation, especially after last night.

“Why do you care?” you snapped. Mason looked at you with rage. “Just, because” he replied, trying to keep his voice calm.

“Oh, well you’re not my boyfriend so why are you so mad?” you asked, satisfied with giving him a bit of his own medicine.

All this tension had even made both of you forget his flowers and the reasoning behind it. Mason’s face dropped, and it gave you a weird feeling in your tummy. You didn’t want to hurt him, but after last night and how he was being right now he deserved it.

“You know what, I came here to apologize and explain what happened last night but honestly fucking forget it.” He said scratching the back of neck frustrated with the whole situation. He didn’t say anything else and just left.

You don’t know why you wanted to cry. You knew you hurt him with that comment, but he hurt you too.

You went upstairs and instead of going straight to your bed, you knocked on Aliyah’s door. “Come in!” you heard from the other side of the door.

You stepped in the room with tears in your eyes. “What the fuck happened? I thought it was a good thing what Nicolas did?” She pulled you in a hug yet again trying to comfort you.

“Fuck, I feel so lame I’m crying over a boy.” You said sniffing and pulling away from her. You wiped the tears from your face. “Mason came by after Nicolas left.” “What!? What did he say?”

“Not much, he brought me flowers and a card as well, he saw the flowers Nicolas bought for me and got annoyed, started asking who gave them to me and I said Nic and he got even more annoyed, and then I said the same comment he told me yesterday, got mad and left.” You said, grabbing a Kleenex that Aliyah handed to you.

“Babe this is like a rom com,” Aliyah said, chuckling to herself. “you’re like in a love triangle who would’ve thought.” She said teasingly trying to cheer you up. “C’mon Aliyah.” “Y/n I’m serious! Why else would Mason be mad that Nic got you flowers? They despise each other because they both have feelings for you. Damn, how are you so smart yet so naive?” she asked herself.

You thought about it for a second, it made sense but at the same time why would Mason have feelings for you.

“Wait, did you read the card?” Aliyah said, interrupting your thoughts.

“No, it’s downstairs.” You said. Aliyah jumped out of bed and ran downstairs to go and get the card. She came back panting from running up the stairs. “Okay well then, read it, maybe it will give you more clarity.” She said handing the card to you.

You opened the card and saw Mason’s handwriting.

“I don’t even know how to start a letter, so don’t laugh at me.

I’m so sorry about last night. I would never do something to hurt you like I did last night. Your feelings are more important to me than her or anybody else. I’m sorry for getting defensive last night, you had every right to be mad and I shouldn’t have said what I said, it was low of me.

You’re my friend and I owe you this apology. Sometimes I wish we were more than that. I wish it had been you I was kissing. I wish you would feel the same way. But if that is not the case then, being your friend and being by your side is enough.

Love,

Mase”

“What does it say?” Aliyah said, curious as to why it left you speechless.

“He…he has feelings for me” you said in disbelief, almost tearing up again, not looking up.

“y/n! I told you! I fucking told you! Wow I’m like a genius at reading people” Aliyah was proud of herself.

You tilt your head up to look at her, with tears brimming your eyes.

“No, no, no. We are not doing this again. You are not going to cry. You are going to get ready, go to his place and talk to him and tell him you feel the same way.”

“But-“ you tried to say.

“Nope, I don’t care, c’mon get up.” Aliyah said pulling your hand so you would get up her bed.

“But I said something hurtful-“

“And he did too, okay? You both did, and you will work It out. Try and work it out.”

That was exactly what you needed to hear. You left her bedroom to go get ready and drive to Mason’s place.

Once you put on a hoodie, shoes and got your purse and keys you were heading to Meson’s house. The drive to his house was a bit long, making you start overthinking everything. Maybe this seemed like a good idea 20 minutes ago, but now? What if he’s hurt and you can’t make him forgive you?

You arrived at his house and the nerves started getting bad and settling in your tummy.

You knocked on the door, waiting for him to open up. You heard footsteps approaching the door. There he was, in joggers and a hoodie, with a confused look on his face.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

You hold up the card, again tears forming in your eyes.

Mason glanced at the card, and then back at you.

You reached out for him, and he smiled. He grabbed you by the waist and pulled you into a hug. You both stayed there hugging for what felt like forever. You were crying, again. “Fuck, this like the 3rd time I’m crying today.” You said sniffing, making Mason giggle.

He pulled away, letting you into his house.

He grabbed your hand and took you to the living room. Both of you sat down and turned slightly so you could look at each other.

“I’m sorry Mase-“

“Don’t, you don’t have to apologize. I kind of deserved that either way.” He said cutting you off.

“Doesn’t mean I’m still not sorry about it.” You said wiping the remaining tears on your cheeks.

“Why didn’t you tell me you had feelings for me, Mase?” you asked.

“I feared being rejected by you. I didn’t want to risk losing our friendship. I was scared that if by some miracle you did feel the same way, my lifestyle would be too much, and it wouldn’t work. I was scared by a lot of things. I also, I feel like you sometimes pushed me away a bit. And as for last night, I was trying to be a good wingman to Woody and it backfired so hard. I just froze when she started getting closer to me.” He said not looking at you, almost as if he was ashamed about it.

“I forgive you.” You said, grabbing his hand.

“Mase, I always had feelings for you. I pushed you away because I knew if I didn’t, I would just be falling more and more for you. I was also scared of you rejecting me. You know, you are who you are and have this amazing life and everyone loves you, and I’m just me. I didn’t think you would ever feel the same way about me.” You said choking up.

“We really need to communicate better, fucking hell.” He said, making you both giggle.

He placed a hand on your cheek, caressing it with his thumb.

“How can I not fall for you?” he said whispering.

Your heart melted and just leaned your head against his palm making him smile. “I’m too awkward to even admit all of this to you.” You said smiling. He chuckled.

He started leaning in more and more, your noses bumping into each other. You finally closed the gap between you both and kissed him.

You had always imagined this moment. Ever since you met him, and so did he.

Your lips were moving in sync and it was the best feeling in the world. You didn’t want it to end. You both pulled away and rested your forehead together.

“You know I wish you would see yourself the way I see you.” He said whispering.

“Mase…” you said, almost tearing up again.

“Don’t bring the water falls again,” he said giggling.

You both embraced each other the whole night. Explaining everything that had happened the night before and that same morning.

“I don’t want to ruin the moment.” You said looking up at him.

“Oh uh…” Mason replied, looking down at you.

“I should talk to Nicolas Mase. I owe it to him.” You said afraid of what he would think.

Mason thought about it for a second. As much as he didn’t like him, he knew you were right. On the positive side Nicolas would know it was him you wanted and not Nicolas.

“Can I ask you something?” Mason said not looking at you.

“Yes of course.” “Did you ever had feelings for him?”, you chuckled at Mason’s jealousness. “No Mase, never.” You got up a bit to be face to face, and gave him a little kiss to assure him you never did.

“I promise, I just need him to know how I feel about you and to say sorry if he thought there was something else between him and I.”

“I know, I trust you.” He said, looking at you now.

“But that can wait,” he got up from the sofa, and reached his hand out for you.

“Stay here today, with me?” he asked, giving you puppy eyes.

“Okay you said smiling.”

Both of you got ready for bed, he had given you one of his t-shirts and boxers for you to sleep in.

Before falling asleep and getting into bed with him, you gave a quick text to Aliyah.

You both got under the covers and cuddled each other. The night was filled with kisses, Mason whispering sweet things, and you blushing. This was heaven for both of you, and what you had craved for so long.

#mason mount #mason mount imagine #mason mount fan fiction #mason mount x reader #mason mount x y/n #mason mount angst #mason mount fluff #mason mount fic

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joelmillers-whore · 1 year

Text

The Only Thing I Did Right

summary: after a patrol gone wrong, joel races to get you back to jackson. while the doctor tries to save you, he wrestles with the guilt of letting you down.

pairing: joel miller x reader

word count: 2.6K

series or one-shot

warnings: mature, language, joel x female!reader, no mention of Y/N, canon timeline (sort of), jackson era, post-outbreak, soft joel, hurt/comfort, minor descriptions of blood, joel thinking everything is his fault, tommy is there briefly, mentions of drinking and/or alcohol dependence, happy ending don’t worry, angst if you squint

A/N: i meant for this to be a short drabble because my creativity has been waning lately and i’m a little burned out to be honest, but i got carried away, but what else is new. anywho, enjoy this lil fic. let me know if ya’ll would like to see another part of this or maybe an interconnected one-shot series, i would be down. i really enjoyed writing this. also, i am still trying to power through this sickness i have suddenly, and i don’t think i’ll be able to post hard light chapter two this week.

I've Got Nothing Left To Hide

“Where’s it hurt?”, Joel asked, in a low, almost inaudible voice. He tried to keep his tone calm, trying to keep you calm, but his mind was flustered, and he was on edge, and he was pretty sure that you could see right through his charade.

He swallowed thickly, past a lump that was stuck in his throat. His eyes darted all over you, tracking every movement, every laboured breath, and wince.

It had been decades since he had felt like this; the constricting of his chest, the shallow and unsure breaths that he was letting out, and the staggering way his heart clenched, a silent prayer on his lips, asking any God who would listen to spare you.

It all felt so overwhelming and a little too familiar. Images of Sarah flashed through his mind, dredging up demons and emotions he had thought he had left in the past.

He had never been so afraid of losing someone he loved, not since Sarah, but here he was now, feeling like he was about to collapse at any minute, terrified of making the wrong move and losing you.

He swallowed again, harsher as he concentrated on his breathing.

He hadn’t let his mind drift to thoughts of his daughter in a long time, his chest burning in that familiar way each time that he did, squeezing to the point of pain.

He let an idle hand drift to his chest, right above his heart, and gripped it, trying to will it subconsciously to slow down. But it was no use.

There were very few things in the world that made Joel feel as if the ground was collapsing underneath him, and thinking of Sarah was definitely one of them.

Whenever he found himself thinking of her, thinking of how he couldn’t save her, the breath from his lungs evaporated, and guilt slammed into him with enough force to destabilize him.

But seeing you like this, the woman that he had promised Tommy that he would watch over and protect, writhe in pain as blood pooled under your shirt, that was another thing that he couldn’t bear to witness.

You looked so helpless, lying in his arms, looking up at him with droopy lids, a faraway look in your eyes.

He cursed under his breath, knowing that you were injured because of him, because of his carelessness.

You were going to be another person he couldn’t protect and he didn’t know how much more of that he could take.

“‘M fine”, you said, weakly, your breath coming out in stunted gasps.

Joel shook his head, tempered anger coursing through his veins, “Don’t pull that brave shit with me”, he bit out, harsher than he intended. He gripped you tighter in his arms, holding onto you for dear life. “I know it hurts, so just tell me”.

He watched as tears gathered at the corners of your eyes, you tried to blink them but the motion only made them fall, coating your cheeks.

Joel lifted a hand, wiping them away. He hated to see you cry, he couldn’t stand it, it broke his heart.

He left his thumb on the apple of your cheek, thinking that maybe the sensation would bring you some comfort, thinking that maybe it would bring him some comfort.

“Am I going to die, Joel?”, you asked, a slight tremble in your voice.

Joel shook his head, adamantly, “Not if I can help it”.

You faded in and out of consciousness as Joel debated his next move, trying to figure out how he was going to get you back to Jackson.

He clutched the hem of your shirt, the material sticking to your stomach as he peeled it from you.

He visibly cringed as he eyed your wound, the punctured flesh dispelling crimson red at a rapid and borderline concerning rate.

He couldn’t wait around any longer, couldn’t wait for the next round of patrol to find them, if they even came out this far. So, he took matters into his own hands, his muted internal clock ticking down the more he looked at you pale in his arms.

He scooped up your limb body, pressing you flush to his body, determination and adrenaline pumping through him, the driving force propelling him into action.

There was only one thought in his head; get you back to Jackson, by whatever means.

As he stepped out of the small cabin, Joel noticed that the sun was slowly starting to dip beneath the horizon, the pop of blistering orange making him anxious.

Night would come quicker than either of you wanted and then the real challenge would begin, trying to navigate through the dense forest and get back to the community in the dark.

You were trembling in his arms, shaking so violently, from either the bitter cold or the loss of blood, that he thought that he was the one who was hurting you.

“Can you ride?”, he asked, urgency in his voice.

“Dunno”.

Joel couldn't risk injuring you further, but he also couldn’t waste any more time, so he made an executive decision. He had been making a lot of those on your behalf today, and his most recent had gotten you in this position in the first place, it was his fault.

If anything happened to you, he wouldn’t ever forgive himself.

He placed you tentatively on the ground, his arm sneaking around your waist to stabilize you as he untied his horse from the post.

“Alright”, he bent slightly, grabbing your foot and placing it in his hand, “Nice ‘n easy now”.

He could see the strain on your face, the pellets of sweat sticking to your hairline as you used as much strength as you could, hoisting yourself up and onto the horse. You’d let out a strangled groan as you got situated.

Once he knew that you were on, he hopped up, grabbing the reins and digging his heels into Shimmer’s body, spurring her into a run, his motivation to get back to Jackson making his heart race.

The only solace that Joel took from not being able to see you from the position he was in, was that he could feel you gripping him from behind, your arms latching around his waist, your cheek flush with his back.

He could feel your chest rising and falling against him and his pulse softened, knowing that you were still fighting, still holding on for him.

He had pushed Shimmer to her limits, getting you both back to Jackson in record time. The sequence of events that followed had been a blur to him.

The gates had opened immediately, the guards recognizing him even in the dusk.

He remembered screaming his throat raw, begging someone for help as he carried you into town and to the doctor.

He’d watched on, helplessly, as they quickly began working on you. Blood and cloth blurred his vision, making his stomach twist with queasiness.

He had to leave the room, too overcome with emotion and nausea to be of any help to you.

When he stepped outside of the small makeshift clinic, the frigid air pierced his lungs, drawing out a long and aching breath, striking him so sharply that he stumbled forward.

He had gripped a wooden post for support, digging his palms into it for purchase, closing his eyes.

He tried to get a handle on his breathing, but it was no use. He felt the bile creeping higher in his throat, until he couldn’t hold back anymore.

It poured out of him, leaving his mouth dry and his head spinning. It was a visceral reaction, his worry over you, over what he had let happen.

He cursed Tommy for entrusting him with you, something so precious. He knew things could have turned out worse, and he was glad that they hadn’t been, but he couldn’t get over how bad they were right now.

How shaken to his core he was that he had allowed this to happen at all.

Joel couldn’t stand to be there anymore, just on the other side of the door that led to you, powerless while the doctor patched you up. So, he did the one thing he had always been good at, he left.

Snow crunched underneath his boots, growing louder in his ears as he walked away from the clinic. He thought that a drink might help calm his nerves.

A part of his brain wanted to forget that this day had ever happened, and another part told him that no amount of alcohol would repair the guilt that was nestled snuggly in his gut. But he could try.

Joel didn’t know how long he had been at the Tipsy Bison, he had lost track of time after the third or fourth whiskey. He blew out a shaky breath, letting a hand drift over his haggard features.

He had been running on adrenaline the whole day and now he was crashing, feeling the exhaustion settle deep in his bones.

But he couldn’t rest, he didn’t deserve to, not when he didn’t know if you had made it or not.

A jolt of horror shot through his body, making his stomach twist in knots. What if you hadn’t made it? He licked his dry lips, closing his eyes as he felt a prick form behind his eyes.

Joel was startled by a firm hand on his shoulder. He twisted slightly to see who it was, his face dropping further when he saw that it was Tommy.

He didn’t have to look at his brother for long to get a read on his expression. What he was thinking.

He was pissed and rightfully so. He had failed you and now he was waiting for Tommy to lay into him, chastise him for being so fucking stupid.

“She’s askin’ for ya”, Tommy said, keeping his voice soft.

Joel turned around in his seat fully to look at Tommy, surprised that he had gotten to his feet so fast. He snorted out a laugh, seeing the fucking relief that was surely on Joel’s face.

Tommy clapped his shoulder again, almost to stabilize him. Joel couldn’t look his brother in the eye, guilt bubbling and breaking the surface, making his skin sting.

“‘M sorry”, he mumbled, “I should’ve been there, I should’ve gotten to her quicker, I shoulda done something”.

Tommy shook his head, “You couldn’t’ve known that would happen, Joel. So stop blaming yourself”.

Joel scratched at his facial hair, running his hand along his jaw, pondering Tommy’s words.

He continued, “You protected her with your life, brother. I couldn’t ask for more than that”.

Joel felt emotion clog his throat. Tommy wasn’t angry with him like he suspected he would be, he was grateful even. Something unfamiliar unfurled in his stomach, something that felt like acceptance.

A long beat stretched between them, “Go see her”, Tommy finally said, a smile pulling at his lips.

He led Joel out of the bar, leading him back to the clinic to go see you. Tommy stopped short of the door, motioning for him to continue without him. Joel nodded curtly, slipping past and entering the small, single-room cabin.

Tentatively, Joel inched closer to the bed that you were in, walking on the balls of his feet, uncertain if you were awake or not. You were lying down, stretched out with your back to him, He sat on the edge of the bed, seeing you turn toward him, a grin on your face as you looked at him. Joel’s face heated under your gaze.

He didn’t deserve that smile, he thought, but he would take it anyway, if you were willing to give it to a man like him. He reached out, stroking your face softly with the back of his fingers.

“Hey, darlin’, how ya feelin’?”, his voice was throaty, raw.

His heart hammered below the surface as your eyes locked with his, pining him to where he sat. He didn’t want to breathe too loudly or make any sudden movements, too afraid that he would break the spell.

“Better now”, you croaked.

Everything collapsed at once inside of him; his resolve, his strength, his pride. He couldn’t fight it any longer, how fucking happy he was that you were still here, still with him.

“What’re you smiling at, hm?”, you asked, arching a brow.

Joel shook his head, his explanation dying on his tongue. He had never been one to lose his words but right now, being so close to you, he wasn’t sure he knew how to speak anymore.

Your hand wrapped around his wrist, pulling him back to the moment. Your hand was freezing as it touched his skin but he didn’t mind.

His smile disappeared as your eyes scanned his face, “I’m so fuckin’ sorry—”, he started, but you shook your head.

“It was my fault, Joel. Don’t you dare apologize for my fucking mistake. I won’t hear it”, you said, your tone firm.

Joel wanted to argue, to tell you that it was his fault but he didn’t have the heart, not when you were only just beginning to heal up, still looking weak and pale.

He could wait for another day to have it out with you. He just nodded instead, and you hummed, content with him seemingly letting it go for now.

Your hand was still on his wrist and he felt a strange sense of calm.

“Come ‘er”, you whispered, tugging on his wrist lightly.

He wasn’t sure what was happening until your lips were on his, soft, pliant, and full. The kiss was sweet but it only lasted a minute. He pulled back, his brows furrowed in confusion.

“Thank you”, you said, eyes shining as the light hit them, making them more beautiful than he thought was possible.

He nodded quickly, head still spinning from kissing you. It had been a thank-you kiss and he shouldn’t think more of it.

But goddamn it, he wanted more. He wasn’t mad or upset that you had kissed him, honestly, he had been meaning to do it for months now.

If a kiss filled with gratitude for saving your life was all that he could get, he would accept that, he didn’t want to push his luck.

You noticed the uneasy look on his face, shifting in the bed and using your dwindling strength to sit up.

Now you were the one with creased brows, your eyes darting over his face, trying to find your answer. Realization struck your features.

“If I made you uncomfortable, I’m sorry, Joel. I just didn’t know how else to say it”.

Joel felt like a jackass, that wasn’t what he meant at all.

“That’s not— that’s not it, darlin’. I just didn’t think you’d want to kiss an old man like me”.

His chuckle was thick with depreciation, but you just shook your head, eyes gleaming with something he didn’t recognize. You chewed your lower lip and Joel couldn’t help but stare.

“I’ve been meaning to do that for a while actually”, you admitted.

Joel’s head snapped up, searching your eyes. You were sincere and he knew it. That was the confirmation that he needed, the hope that lit a flame in his chest. You wanted him too.

A deep chortle escaped Joel’s throat, his face neutral as he leaned in closer to yours. “Then I guess we better make up for lost time then”.

Joel pressed his lips into yours, moulding to the shape of them as he gripped your face in his large hands, letting a groan slip into your mouth. You pulled back with a giggle, fisting the hair at the base of his head.

Your smile was a thousand watts and Joel couldn’t look away. His grip on your face tightened a little more, making sure that this was really happening to him.

He couldn’t believe it but he dove back in regardless, wanting to soak in as much of your love and light that you were willing to give to him.

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overtaken-stream · 7 months

Note

Do you have any writing plans involving Katakuri or the Big mom pirates?

Monster's Voice Is Sweet To Hear

Charlotte Katakuri x F!Wife!Reader

! !NSFW! !

This is from ao3, last year, sorry for any grammar mistakes, as well as my different writing, this is also the first time I wrote filth, aside from the love-making in the Ace fic from Ao3. I want to write something for him but the ideas are just not coming to me. I also didn't specify readers race. Just that it's a female and tall/stronger then a human since we all know Big Mom won't just toss away Katakuri and make him marry a boring human with no specialties. this could work on all shapes and sizes of reader, chubby and skinny.

Word count: 5.8k

Summary: Rarely in the dead of night, a monster such as Katakuri needs love. It's something you can't say no to. After all, how can you deny that unnerving voice of his.

Warnings: Size difference, POST-WANO SPOILERS, multiple rounds.

In the quiet night, where only the humming of your voice is heard.

Light from the cake-inspired lamp bounces off the pink walls the shadow that's in a silhouette of a woman falls onto the giant bed in the center of the room.

On a quiet night, a married girl takes her jewelry off and places it in one of the drawers the magenta bureau contains.

You stand up from the chair, getting closer to the bed. Getting out of your clothes and putting on a modified (F/C) nightgown, you straighten the hot pink details running over your tall figure as you lie down on the heavenly bed.

Only at the sound of a door opening did you quickly get under the blanket. The sound of metal and leather rubbing against itself notifies you of the person who walked in before they can even say anything.

``(Y/N).``

``Katakuri.`` You shyly show your face from the covers to see the sight of your husband of 3 years now, even after all this time you can feel the blush creeping up your face, no matter how long you will never get used to seeing a man that's able to look down at you. That stoic and firey gaze always unleashed the butterflies deep inside your belly.

``I apologize for startling you, I've seemed to... Be distracted lately.`` This was his way of saying I forgot to knock on the door. With much time you start to learn the ways of Katakuri's speech patterns. Start to recognize what words his pride was holding back even from you. Apologetic wasn't one of them. It isn't like he's trying to hide something after all you've seen his biggest weakness in action multiple times, gobbling all kinds of sweets. But never have you thought forgetting was something Katakuri was capable of. It wasn't until after the incident at Pudding's wedding involving the Strawhats that Katakuri's mask, which he had been carrying since marrying you (probably much, much longer than that) truly shattered. Thanks to his younger sister Flampe not keeping her mouth shut about how horrid her big brother is physically and then about his treatment towards her, after what she did. The brat even tried to approach you to run her tongue about Katakuri. Your husband.

Honor is off the table when faced with a person with that kind of mindset. Never mind the respect when facing a worthy opponent.

``Mind if I join you?``

``No, not at all.`` You smile as you watch him carefully get out of his uniform. Never did you imagine you would smile at Katakuri, compared to the sad bride and groom the two of you were. The new life treated you both kindly, it wasn't fast but it wasn't slow-paced either.

The stiff and awkward interactions turned into small conversations about interests and they blossomed into what can only be fondness. The road came with its fare-share of bumps, and both of you dived head first in this with only your families in mind, ready to throw away what little freedom both of you had for your parent's satisfaction.

At the wedding ceremony, walls were built. Walls that cracked the more time you spent with each other.

``Y'know, Luffy was announced as an Emperor today.`` You fill in the silence. Knowing Katakuri's favorite topic you slide in the information.

Katakuri stops mid-changing and raises his head at that. He had told you about Luffy a couple of weeks ago, finally emptying his head to you about the topic he was trying to tell you the moment he returned to your room injured. You didn't push him back then.

The time will come when he'll bring it up. You would tell yourself. It's his calculations of reactions that hold him, little insecurities eating him up and even if the conversation was late, you are happy that he was finally opening up. To you at least.

``Is that so?``

``Yeah, it was in today's newspaper. It said he defeated Kaidou, impressive huh?``

You watch as he nods his head. You debate for a second if you should tell him the next sentence, but he is her son, after all, today he dedicated himself to the library (A time he cherishes since it happens so rarely. A battle with the Straw Hat sure tired him out. You wonder if it's a blessing in disguise sometimes. If it is you wouldn't be surprised.) and judging from his lack of knowledge about the feat Luffy accomplished, you might as well tell him now...

``Surgeon of Death and The Eustass kid from the Worst Generation were involved... They defeated Big Mom.`` At that, you can feel how the temperature drops in the room, his movements to put the clothes back in their place slowed down until they came to a stop. It almost felt like time had stopped.

``I've heard about that. All the commotion in the palace this morning was from Perospero's call. They needed a backup to retrieve them.`` He says as the heavyweight is lifted off the room, letting go of the fabric he was holding onto, the time begins to roll once again.

You don't bat an eye at Katakuri's actions and his casualness. You doubt he would mourn his mother.

You quiver as the blanket is thrown off of you, the chill biting your arms and chest before he joins you on the bed. You fix your body position as the natural warmth his body carries sends shivers down your spine. Your back facing his chest as his giant hand creeps up to cradle your waist.

You shy away or try to. But the moment his fingers softly graze your pelvis, a tight knot starts developing, his shy yet soothing and careful touches sending the blood up to your face.

He's mindful of his heaviness, even if you are taller than a human should be, more tolerant and powerful, he treats you the same as he would to his child siblings, with feather-light touches. It's instinct at this point. It makes you nervous. Makes you red and sad, as well as happy that he also wasn't the only one with bad habits.

Habits that differentiate you two are rare. Since most of them are dependent on higher-than-an-average-human height.

``Is this okay?`` his open eyes travel over your face devoid of any skin color except red. You nod.

``...May I?`` The awkwardness in his voice is precious. Sweet as a mochi should be. Not how a monster's should be.

It makes your heart skip a beat and your core to pulse.

The impatience takes over when he's leaving lingering touches closer and closer to where you would like the itchiness to go away. The temptation to grab his hand and drag it to your genitalia is strong. Biting the bottom lip you feel his hand cup your crotch, and it's a feeling you'll never get tired of.

He shoves the gown's bottom piece up to your belly button, getting the cue you grab the (F/C) silky cloth. It's tacky but it was one of the more subtle ones that Brûlée has picked for you.

You shift your left thigh to the side when the tips of his finger flex on top of your clitoris, a thin layer of fabric stopping him from intruding, yet he is still making you pulse and drowning you in the electric shock of pleasure. The fingers slowly run over it, again and again putting no pressure behind the movement.

When his right-hand digs behind your back, your flushed face barely turns around to ask him what he is doing.

``Changing position...`` Katakuri says as he carefully scoops your neck between his forearm and upper arm, his left hand grabs onto your right hip.

His show of strength as he gets you on top of him in a second, leaves your knees shaking. At first, you lay on his chest with your back pressed against him.

Even with your superior height he somehow manages to make you feel as if you were a human, it makes you doubt your reality for a millisecond, his right hand balancing you and the other one going down your body a bit too fast, your suspicions are confirmed by the impatience with which he tosses the blanket off of your bodies. The room temperature now no longer poses a threat to your skin.

This time he isn't as slow with his actions, leaving the undergarments on, he rubs up and down your slit, feeling its warmth escape onto his sweaty hands.

The quiet room was momentarily full of little gasps and beating hearts of both parties. A squeak leaves your mouth as you rise from your position on his chest, leaning on your elbows that are still... On his chest. The coldness that sudden separation brings on your back is forgotten as you look down to where Katakuri is making laps around you. The moisture grows in seconds when he presses his thumb on your clit, slowly rocking it sideways and tightening the knot deep within you.

You try to bite the bottom of your mouth to not let the noises escape but as Katakuri flattens his hand so his index and middle finger are sliding and tickling your entrance, the task to stay quiet becomes very difficult. You feel the way he snakes his second hand up your breasts while the other separates the undergarment from your folds. Little moans sneak past your lips as you look straight down, the bulge that shows from underneath your thighs just makes your heart beat out of your ribcage.

Katakuri lays his forehead on your shoulder as he feels the wetness coating the surroundings of your entrance, he knew the smaller hands were coming before feeling them pull down the owner's panties, momentarily stopping for her to take it off before he continued infiltrating it. His right hand fondling with your breasts squishing them but not rough enough to hurt you.

For a split second, you felt the pain of the stretch, arching your back and tossing your head over his shoulder as Katakuri's other hand played with the silk-covered nipple, he pushed his forehead down on your cleavage, it wasn't in his intentions but the size difference was really making your mind mushy.

You could feel him shaking from below you as you rest on top of him, closed eyes and clean mind absorbing your movements.

For a couple of seconds, you lay like that, panting breathes and already sweat covered. He won't move. He won't hurt you. He'll give you time to adjust.

Your hand lands on his crimson hair, fingers run through the short pink layers devoid of grey. It startles him, eyes snapping open he looks to his left shoulder where you are resting your head and meets his beloved's smiling face staring back at him.

Pink dusted his cheeks and as his heart jumped, his mouth opened and closed, this nervous feeling is shameful to him. The big brother Katakuri was still getting used to his new-not-so-new feelings towards new-not-so-new his wife, and expressing them to her face turned out to be the most complicated and difficult part. (Aside from Brûlée, she has seen him at his worst. It's a new feeling, a new type of embarrassment he hasn't experienced with anyone, not even Brûlée. The thought of this ever getting out almost frightens him. It frightens him.)

At last, he chooses to look away as you chuckle.

``C-can you move now?`` He nearly forgot.

``Are you... Sure?``

``Yeah, now c'mon... I was so close...``

He continues his motions with soft pink shades over his face, and slowly the two fingers slide deeper into your gummy walls. The clenching makes him wish it was some other part of his inside of you instead of his fingers. He listens as hisses leave your lips from the painfully nice stretch, the tears gathering at the corner of your eyes being wiped away by Katakuri's other hand that took a break from playing with your breasts, he feels his boxer get tighter when your legs shake around his massive thighs, for a second he feels glad that you aren't super tiny, it makes this feel like the first time both of you did it. It holds a special place in his heart, the lovely touches have never been that satisfying. And every time you take your time to show affection to him during it- he falls further and further in love with you. Even if he doesn't show it, or return them, he appreciates the gestures.

He knows it's time to start the actions of love and that you would certainly never reject it. It's the childish fear keeping his head and eyes locked away during them. Is he shy? Maybe. Does he wan't to return the gesture? Some would think that he doesn't.

The whimpering noises fill his head as he finally went in knuckle deep, he lifts his head from your cleavage and brings your face closer for a kiss, eating the deep moan that leaves your mouth when he pulls out his finger and pushes it back into the warmth. Watching with open eyes how your eyebrows point up in pleasure twisting into a lustful picture he'll love for the rest of his life. The fact that he is the only one who's allowed to see it makes his head dizzy with what other expressions he could steal from you.

He slowly fastens his pace, making and leaving your walls a mess before he gets back in and fixes it with his fingers, finding that spongey spot was easy, having it memorized Katakuri curves his fingers upwards and pistons into it, barely taking his fingers out.

One after another lustful noises (now louder than ever) escape before you can bite your tongue. At some point, drool started coming out of your mouth. Eyes closed you can feel how Katakuri milked your sweet spot brutally, making your cunt weep and sting oh so impossibly delightfully.

His hand and your thights are all wet now.

``Just aah little m-more...!``

You were so close. So incredibly close.

The moment Katakuri forced his hand to dig deeper in your cunt, to get past the line of his knuckles, and pushed upwards into your belly, forcing you to arch for him harder was the moment you were seeing stars.

Your closed eyes were going into your head and your wide mouth was slack as he held your hip with one hand and rubbed your clit faster than ever with the other one. Throwing you off the edge and finally loosening the knot that was tied at the start, slick now not-so-unclear dribs down your slit, he doesn't let you have a break, hand still accompanying you even after your orgasm.

You don't complain.

He slowly pushes your pelvis down with his forearm to meet his hips, not slowing his fast-paced rubbing. Your moans are now as free as they can be, but you limit yourself, wanting to hear little grunts and deep slow moans from Katakuri. You honestly think you could cum from his voice alone.

He's beautiful you think.

His eyes are closed, the furrowing thin eyebrows holding onto the sweat drops that are covering his face in a thin layer of gloss. His eyes are closed yet he seems so concentrated to make you cum again. The vein in his forehead is on full display for you. His naturally long eyelashes adorned his hooded eyes.

``You're Beau...tiful... Kata...``

The way he hides his mouth in your cleavage and not in your shoulder because of his big size, the way he is avoiding eye contact the moment you whispered those two words. The way your heart shattered, is like no other pain you've felt. Because this boy is so... So incredibly sad. You want to kiss the pain away, the worries to be crushed under your tall figure. You want to shield him because he deserved so much more than this family.

``Sooo pretty... C-can you look...at me?`` Exhausted, you reach out.

You don't pay attention to the second orgasm, too busy complimenting him about his beauty. You miss how he is rutting his clothed hips right on your naked ass. You don't miss how he turns his face to the opposite side from you, you don't miss the red-colored ears as you hug his neck. Biting his ears as you are getting closer yet again. You notice how he's gone quiet the moment you praised him. How he is listening to your moans right in his ear.

Suddenly he crashes his hips into you, stinging sensations of him losing grip on his strength lays mockingly on the prints he has branded on both sides of your hips. Even if you were drowning in an indescribable pleasure you didn't miss the way he threw his head back, he almost roars a held-back-moan as wetness spreads on your ass. You don't have to look down to know that both of you guys's cum is wetting the sheets below.

Did he cum by pleasuring you?

Shit... That's so... Hot.

You've known there were ten million ways to love somebody and this. This was one of them.

Katakuri relaxes on the pillow behind him, coming down from the high he tossed both of you in, your arms still around his neck. He opens his eyes looking down at your face, It's a mess really, with sweat and hair sticking on your forehead, swollen lips from the previous kiss (he spends extra seconds looking and feeling the breasts resting against his own skin) but it doesn't matter to him, all he sees are the fruits of his labor. He finally removes his hands from your hips, his gaze falling on a now-covered-by-your-nightgown spot.

Did he leave a mark?

A giggle escapes from your lips before you can stop it, earning a playful glare from his direction. What's so funny?

``Aha-I'm sorry, it's just. You're so red!`` He looks through you, unfocusing his eyes before turning his (now red from embarrassment) face away from you.

You rub your cheek against him, feeling the stitch scars that lead to his mouth hole.

``Awh! C'mon don't hide from me!``

``...You're getting brave (Y/N)...``

``I don't have to be brave to call my husband beautiful and handsome! Plus you're so cute right now!``

``I'm not cute...``

``Sure you're not.`` You're pushing it. You are sure as hell not sure where this confidence came from but you aren't complaining.

Putting your hand under his chin and turning his face toward you.

His eyes settle on your lips before you pull yourself up to make your (S/C) lips land on his monstrous mouth. Like a beast, he doesn't close his eyes, unlike you.

Yet again choosing to make up for the time he closed his eyes during the sex. Staring into your wet eyelashes.

His left arm drags you so impossibly closer to his chest, in a hug while his other hand puts a strand of (H/C) hair back over your ear. When you try to pull away he follows your lips down. Cherishing the strawberry residue that the lipstick left.

A couple of moments last of you two in a romantic kiss before it turns into playful pecks across each other faces. Katakuri was careful with his fangs, still getting used to having someone get as close as he was to the white knives. He calls them and judging from the sharpness you can't exactly call him wrong.

It lasts like that for more than necessary. The sweet touches turned harsh from him is a normal feeling for you, pain tolerance is one of your specialties. It's in your blood. There is nothing he could do from the outside that could hurt you. From the inside, it's a different story.

It's the reason why Charlotte Linlin chose you to be the bride for her second son.

``He's a monster in humans skin,`` She said.

``Better have that scarf around you at all times Katakuri, don't frighten the soon-to-be bride.`` She said at one of the tea parties she had invited your family over.

It was humiliating for him to hear those words, let alone in front of a different kingdom's royal family. Those words were enough for you to have an opinion set on Big Mom.

And Katakuri too. It was respect, you respected him for putting up with people like his mother daily. Another thing to add in the similarities chart besides the height.

``Don't you think your genetic powers would make lovely children for my boy here darling? Wouldn't that be wonderful?``

You pity the children you have to give birth to. Because you know it will happen.

Her piercing gaze and a change in tone was the only reason you nodded your head. It was how the entire party went actually, with you acting like one of Big Mom's homies. Bobbing your head to every compliment she would say about you and your powers.

Maybe that's what left a sour taste in Katakuri's mouth. Why he avoided you for a couple of months after the wedding, he probably saw you as a fragile bimbo who was swayed by fear.

You would hate to say it but the truth is always hard to swallow.

It was what you were before the wedding and after. No doubt about that. The fear of upsetting a bomb that was Big Mom terrified you to your core. You could take Katakuri ignoring and avoiding you but you could never say no to them, the strings she had on your family were too tightly tied around their necks to risk it. Not to mention the thousands of people's lives each of your family member represented.

``The more you fuck around the more you're gonna find out`` As your diplomat father would say in all kinds of situations. It's just that in this instance it wasn't comedic.

It was a psychological thriller. And fucking around you couldn't.

It was a sad start to your relationship with him, an unwanted marriage both of you were against at first, maybe in another lifetime one of you would have had a voice to protest it. But for now, you enjoy the soft embrace of his arms around your shoulders. A loud banging of his heart against your ear.

The chill of the aftermath leaving your body and replacing it with a sticky feeling between your crotch and the smell of sex that wasn't visible at the time.

``Well then, don't you want to clean yourself up?``

``No, I don't.``

``W-why not?`` Usually, Katakuri loves his cleanliness, organization, and tidiness. He showers after coming home, often he's the one running to the bathroom with towels in his hands before you can even process that you've arrived home.

``...I just don't want this to end.``

``... You...`` And you thought Katakuri had run out of his surprise factor. It makes you want to toss your feet in the air with tiny kicks, giggles and everything, it makes you blush.

Seriously? Why are you acting like a schoolgirl with a crush on her upperclassmen?! Have you lost all your marbles in you, woman?! Where is the royal blood?!

You can practically feel the inner, secondary or tiny voice in your head yelling at you.

``Y... You do...?`` Unbelievable.

A nod from him is all you need.

``Y'know, we don't... Have to end it...``

``What?`` God his obliviousness makes you want to strangle him.

``We can... Continue it instead...I-i mean... If you... Want..?`` You run your index finger over his chest, tracing the tattoo with half-lidded eyes and lips in a kissing position. If this isn't lustfull, you don't know what is.

``...``

``... We can?`` His shocked eyes leave you once again, speechless.

``Of... Of course, we can! If you have any energy left that is... What made you think that we couldn't..?``

Sex is something that rarely happens between you and him since both of you most of the time are sent out for missions separately, however, If your memories aren't lying to you there are a total of four times (not counting this one) that you guys have slept together. How many times did he want to cuddle after sex? 2 times? 3 times?

Such a bad wife you've been to him.

WHAT DON'T THINK LIKE THAT!

Your questions go unanswered. Instead, he gently turns you onto your back, his hands balancing himself like a pole, they shut off your field of vision 'till you can't look anywhere instead up.

And up you look.

You think it's a sight any fair lady would go feral over. So what if you've seen this many times before, it never fails to make you nervous, the confidence dripping off of him, even if shaky eyesight proves just how unconfident he is.

Swoon over him you do.

The feeling you got at the start of the night coming back ten times stronger and filling up your heart until it's back to the pace it was before, this time maybe even shaking sideways for dramatic or. romantic effect.

Your breathing quickens as his head follows his body that was leaning on his thighs which were usually heavy with accessories of any kind, mostly following his gothic style with minor changes. Now he stands on top of your legs with his free-of-any-weight ones, caging yours with his knees. He has a charm in the way he travels his hand down on your skin, giant fingers ghosting over the most sensitive of places. The size difference isn't much but staring at your squished thighs and comparing it to the thickness of his knees makes your breath hitch, gulping you look up towards his face.

Katakuri's sharp crimson eyes glimmer down at you.

He had never once failed to make you feel so unbelievably small under his gaze, you find this exact moment perfect to take off your sticky nightgown that's wet with substances from both of your bodies. It turns out to be a good hiding device for your face, too bad it only lasts a couple of seconds before Katakuri gets suspicious.

Once over your head, you toss the (F/C) fabric somewhere on the floor. Presenting your fully naked body to him.

You don't know when or how he got the boxer off, but he now stands in all of his glory. One would think he was flexing his muscles, and he was. With how heavily Katakuri was breathing, you would have run your fingers up his tattoo if he didn't grab your legs first, taking them out of his leg jail, it was an awkward struggle to pull them over his thighs but he managed to not stretch it out for too long.

It felt so right, you against him fitting like puzzle pieces, your warm legs clinging onto his hips that are the perfect fit for your long legs.

It's your fantasy coming to life and so is his.

Katakuri pulls your hips near his pelvis to get you in a comfortable position. His fingers play with your now relaxed entrance. His other hand strokes his sex in front of you.

Shyness is thrown out of the window.

``I'll... Be slow.`` He always says that. But he can not help the roughness come into play the moment you get used to having him inside you.

You shiver as his head presses against your folds, hiss as it's slowly getting past the cold surface and into the warmth your insides bring. You hear him let out a grunt of his own. The shakiness of his hands on your hips calms the arch your back has been put into.

Katakuri pushes in with slow motions.

He tries to distract you will little strokes up and down your arched back.

You try to not tense up, you really do, but his fingers weren't enough for you to have been ready for his cock. It has that extra length and thickness his fingers weren't capable of having.

The sting leaves you panting and watery-eyed.

Katakuri looks down at you, completely stopping his actions when the walls around his girth close his pathway to bliss.

He lets you relax and adjust to his length. Looking at your face when you wipe your not-yet-spilled tears. Feeling the walls grip and loosen around him makes him close his eyes, ignoring the sparks of pleasure that are signaling him to just rut into you. He turns his face back to you, opening his eyes.

Katakuri doesn't ask you to relax, he knows you're already doing that and he knows you'll signal him to move onward, there is no need to remind you of what's obvious. So he stays quiet, humming and touching you elsewhere across your body, a gentleness he didn't know was capable of, coming forward and dripping honey over your pain, sugarcoating it with his lips that are kissing up your neck.

You put your hands over his shoulders, feeling the pain go away only for it to be replaced by numbness. calming down you nod your head against his scarred cheek.

``You can go on... Now.`` And he does. Slowly and surely with the help of the previous round. He bottoms out.

Your walls surround him, while his grunts surround your head. Both of you stay still for a moment, him going back to kissing your shoulder while you hug his neck, lost in ecstasy.

The world is summed down to only him and you, even if you are running your eyes on the walls of the room, you're still breathing in his leftover cotton cologne, lingering on his skin for just a bit longer.

He starts moving, god he starts moving.

Rocking into you slower than ever, stickiness in your crotch area goes unnoticed. The feeling of him moving and dragging the pleasure away only for him to slide back in, adding the rubbing against your clit with his shortened pubes is soul-shattering in a pleasing way, making your brain mush and your mouth full of unholy sounds.

Sweat dribbles down the side of his face still buried in your shoulder. He is not a man who leaves hickeys. Even though It's impossible since he can't exactly hurt you, although he enjoys leaving marks with anything else, they don't last long, only a couple of minutes before it's back to the way your skin was. But he likes having your signatures on his back especially since that's the only place covered by his jacket in the public.

Even now you leave tiny trails with your nails on his back, not strong enough to break the skin but just enough for them to look like a part of his tattoo gone wild. it just sums up more blood on the southern side of his body, getting him harder than he was before.

It's too much for you when he starts setting a fast pace, his hips meeting yours midway through your grinding, it's too much you tell yourself.

The way he is holding his wide torso with his elbows right beside your shoulders since you didn't let go of his neck since you grabbed it. You feel silly, sticking yourself onto him this way but he doesn't have any complaints. Even if it's too much how you cum yet again with shaky legs and slick dripping down your crack and onto your arched back. Too much of him rocking into you. The mattress below you squicking and rocking with his thrusts. Not only the mattress, but his thrusts also drag your entire body with him, meeting him halfway through his pulling. Too much moaning coming from your side, it's too good.

Too good to tell him to stop.

You can't tell when you came again, the shakiness is blending in with his hips crashing into yours, and you can't tell what is your natural body's doing and what is Katakuri making your body do.

Him finding the sweet spot was the last thing you wanted him to do. You wanted him to find it.

But judging from the electricity hitting you full force again and again and again, making you cry out in all kinds of movements to push him away, you can't be sure.

Katakuri takes advantage of your vulnerability and pulls you away from him so you could relax on the light pink pillow almost swallowing you whole. Allowing him to thrust at a slightly different angle, an angle that also relieves tension from your back.

He straightens himself, now standing on his knees as he looks down at where your bodies are connected, he lands his hands on your hips setting an almost inhuman pace you aren't able to keep up with.

Not with your body and not with your mind.

He pays no attention to your face, you've had enough of that before. Instead, he watches as his hands slam your hips to him, and your poor clit swollen and sad, lies helplessly. Taking him with no problems.

``A-ah little more..`` he moans out. You want to cry at how much he wants to drag this out.

You can tell by the way his hips stutter before calming down completely, going back to the slow pace he did at the beginning.

It's too much.

``Katah-kuri, please!-`` Your voice cuts off by a scream that left your mouth when he slammed his hips back into you unexpectedly.

You can hear him chuckle lightly at your trembling figure lying under him.

It's like he is teasing you and himself.

Tears drip down your face as he repeats it a few times more, before grinding his pelvis when fully entering you cleanly. Your abused cunt beats against the few pubes it has stuck in the wetness surrounding it.

He doesn't let your wobbly legs slide down his thighs, holding them harshly and not letting your bottom parts get away from him.

You can feel it before it comes. The way a vein in his dick starts pulsing and throbbing. Filling your insides to the brim.

You don't look down, instead, you pay attention to Katakuri's Addams apple bobbing up and down in his thick throat accompanied by sweat drops, the way his heavy jaw comes up and down, and the way his eyes are closed and tensed as are his eyebrows. How the other shoulder free of any tattoo (one which you were previously gnawing on) is red colored. It's shiny with spit, tears, and sweat.

It's as far as you get before your heart finally calms down, forcing your eyes to close and your body to pass out, exhaustion finally catching up to you. The last thing you see is a blurry figure of Katakuri looking down at you.

His worried voice calls out to you.

And here you thought you could endure a monster's sweet voice.

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