#this room is visible from serving room so made to still look fancy BUT

[norsesuggestions]

The Hallwyl house was actually built in the 1890s. But they filled with furniture and like. Entire floors and walls from earlier centuries.

To give themselves a bit of that "family with history" mystique i assume

(mrs Hallwyl, born Kempe was the actual heiress of the factory and all the money. The kempe family had gotten their money to classic 19th century capitalism, and was not a nobility family with that type of. Nobility status. Rich as fuck though)

Anyway i think this is quite visible in the contrast between the dining room and servants quarters

From this

To servant quarters. suddenly! It has become actually 1890! Not anymore pretending to be another century!

[caapsiizzereads]

The greatest films of all time were never made

Chapter 1 of If my wishes came true, it would’ve been you

Warnings: none for this chapter i think

“This one looks interesting.”

“This one at least looks like something.”

“It’s like yin yung but with swans.”

Jamie’s not sure what he’s doing here – he has never been much of an art connoisseur. So how did he get here? Keeley, of course. She was gushing about this amazing art exhibition that she was going to go with a friend, she even managed to get invitations to the opening night. Unfortunately, at the last minute, something came up and she couldn’t go, so Jamie just had to go instead of her. She promised that he and Jenna, her “date”, would definitely get along. Jamie’s not stupid, he knows when he’s being set up. He doesn't think Keeley was even trying to hide it that much. And he trusts her enough to know that she wouldn’t do this unless she really thought that it was worth a shot, so he went with it. And so far, it has been going well. Nothing extraordinary, but better than he expected. Jenna is nice, she’s pretty, she’s chatty, easygoing, and she seems to be really enjoying the exhibition.

“Oh, I know this one!” Jamie finally sees a painting he can recognize. “Never understood what’s so special about it. It’s just lines and squares.”

“To be honest, me neither. But I guess there is something if people are willing to pay millions for it.” Jenna moves on to the next artwork. “What about this one?” Just some funky doodles, if you ask Jamie. “‘Youth’,” she reads the name.

“This is just a bunch of colorful shapes, I could do that.”

“And this is ‘Childhood’ and ‘Old Age’,” she gestures at the two paintings near them. “It says it’s a series of ten paintings, ‘The Ten Largest’, each one representing a stage in a human’s life.”

“It’s still a bunch of doodles.”

“I don’t know, I like these. Now I wanna see what the other seven look like.”

“I’m sure it’s on the internet.”

While Jenna is trying to look up the paintings online, Jamie looks around the gallery. The room is filled with men in fancy suits and women in expensive dresses, a bunch of waiters serving champagne, and security guards.

Many people seem to know each other, engaging in conversations or staring profoundly at the artworks. A bunch of posh twats is what Jamie would call them. Ain’t no way even half of them know what the fuck they are staring at. Not that he does either, but at least he can admit it.

Jamie’s about to conclude his observations when something catches his eye. Just for a brief moment, he thinks he saw a familiar face – one Jamie used to know so well. He doesn’t quite believe it at first, but then he looks again, and there it is. A bit different now, but Jamie would still recognize it anywhere. Wearing a silky black dress, with a glass of champagne in her hand and a charming smile on her face, she was standing right there, talking to a couple so called posh twats. Y/n.

She meets his eyes for a second as her head moves, and then she pauses, her eyes going back to him and surprise visible on her face.

Too soon, one of the rich-looking old men approaches her and snatches her attention, an easy smile appearing on her face again as she joins another conversation.

“Look.” Jamie hears Jenna talk. He looks back at her to see her showing her phone screen to him. There are the paintings from the series: different colors, same vibe.

“Yeah, cool,” is all Jamie can come up with.

Another half an hour goes by, and Jamie just continues following Jenna around the room. But while Jenna is looking at the art, Jamie’s a lot more interested in the crowd now. He keeps searching for Y/n’s face again and again as she makes her way through the gallery. She meets his eyes a couple of times, but other than that her attention stays on the people she’s talking to. Does she know all of them? Does she attend such events often? Is it the crowd she hangs out with now? Well, art has always been her thing. But rich twats and small talk? Not so much.

They stop in front of another painting: a red tree on a blue background.

“Why is the tree red?” Jamie says the first thing on his mind.

“Because it’s impressionism, and the painting is called ‘The Red Tree’.” Jamie’s heart skips a beat at the sound of an oh so familiar voice.

“This one stands out, you know, from all the squares,” Jenna smiles at Y/n.

“It does,” Y/n chuckles. “This is one of Mondrian’s earlier works, before he really dove into the whole abstractionism thing. He’s actually quite known for his paintings of trees, but this one is the most remarkable, in my opinion. It’s one of the first works where he used his famous red-blue-yellow color scheme.”

“That’s so interesting. You’re an art fan?”

“Kinda. I work here, so that helps.” Wait, what?

“Oh, that’s amazing! What’s your favorite piece here?”

“Well, I love this,” Y/n points at the painting in front of them. “But between us, af Klint is my favorite here. Have you seen ‘The Swan’?”

“Yes! I thought it was very interesting, but Jamie didn’t share my enthusiasm,” Jenna playfully puts her hand on Jamie’s arm, and he smiles awkwardly at Y/n.

“That checks out.” She smiles knowingly at him for a brief second. “The abstract one next to it is actually from the same series. There are a lot of them, but those two are the only ones I could get here. But No. 1 is my favorite anyway. I also love all of her botanical drawings.”

“We haven’t got to them yet.”

“You absolutely should. They are very simple, but I guess that’s exactly why I like them. ‘Violet Blossoms’ is my personal favorite.”

“We’ll definitely check them out. Must be so cool, always being surrounded by art?”

“Oh, you should ask the artists. I am mostly surrounded by paperwork,” Y/n huffs a laugh.

It’s very weird watching a woman that he’s just met today and a woman that he’s known for half of his life but hasn’t seen in years casually chatting right in front of him. And he’s not even part of the conversation.

“I really love this exhibition, though. You did a fantastic job with it.”

“Thank you, I’m glad you like it. Well, I’m gonna leave you to it. Hope you enjoy your evening.” Y/n smiles so casually at Jamie, as if he’ll be able to think about anything but her for the rest of the night. Maybe for the rest of his life.

“Thank you!” Jenna easily returns her smile.

And just like that, Y/n was gone. And Jamie’s still standing there like an idiot, watching her disappear in the crowd again. He had spent years wondering if he would ever get to talk to her again, and now that she was right there standing in front of him, all he could do was just stand there smiling awkwardly at her because he couldn’t come up with a single coherent thing to say.

They finish their walk-through. Jenna shares Y/n’s appreciation for the flower drawings, and knowing that Y/n loves them makes Jamie see something special in them too. They kinda remind him of the drawings Y/n used to sketch in her notebook when she couldn’t care enough to pay attention to the class.

Jamie drives Jenna back to her place and walks her to the front door, being a gentleman and all. She opens the door and stands facing him. Jamie can tell that he’s welcome to come in.

“The gallery curator, do you know her?” That was not what he expected her to say.

“What? Why?”

“I don’t know, just seemed like she was the only thing that really interested you tonight.” There’s no bitterness in her tone, just curiosity, maybe.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t–”

“No, no. It’s fine, I didn’t mean it like that. I had a good time tonight. But I think we both can do better.” She smiles at him.

“Yeah, yeah, me too. Had a good time.”

“You can still come in, you know. No strings attached. Just a little bit more of a good time.”

“I think I’m good.” Jenna smiles knowingly.

Jamie spends the whole drive home and the rest of the night trying to process what the hell has happened. And the date that he was supposedly on didn’t even make the front page of the things on his mind. It’s all Y/n, Y/n, Y/n.

He didn’t even know that she lives in London now. Well, probably. She has to if she said that she works in the gallery. And it makes no sense for him to be surprised that he didn’t know – he hadn’t talked to her in half a decade. Six years, to be precise. Of course, that’s plenty of time to move. But it still feels weird to know that she has been so close, and he had no idea. How long has she been here? Has she thought about him over those years? Does she even want to talk to him after how things ended between them?

There is no way Jamie could ever just let this go now. He knows it will eat him alive if he doesn’t at least try to reach out to her. If she tells him to go fuck himself, well, he proabably deserves it. But if there’s even a small chance that Jamie could get her back in his life, he will take it.

Knowing where Y/n works is a pretty good start – he knows for a fact how to find her. Jamie checks the gallery’s work hours and settles to wait for her outside. Like a creep. But, hey, they know each other, so it doesn’t count.

Almost an hour passes after the closing before Y/n walks out of the gallery, waving goodbye to one of her coworkers. She starts walking to her car while reaching into her coat’s pocket for the keys.

“Y/n!” She stops, then slowly turns around to the source of the familiar voice. “Hi,” Jamie smiles sheepishly at her.

“Hi.”

“We didn’t really get a chance to talk yesterday, and I really hoped that we could… so…”

“So you were waiting for me outside of my work like a stalker?” she suggests.

“Maybe. So can we? Talk?”

“Now? Here?” she gestures at the surrounding parking lot.

“We can meet up? Like for dinner or something?”

“Yeah, sure.” Jamie lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“Give me your number? I, uh, tried to call you once a few years back, it said your number was no longer working.”

“Oh, yeah, got a new one. Hold on.” Y/n takes her phone and opens the keypad, turning the screen towards Jamie.

He starts typing out his number. “So you live in London now?”

“Mhm, moved a couple of years ago.” Jamie pressed the call button, and his phone lights up with a number.

“Are you free tomorrow?”

“No, sorry. The day after?”

“Away match, gonna be gone till Saturday. Sunday?”

“Yes, Sunday works.”

“Mint.”

“See you soon, then,” Y/n smiles at him before taking the car keys back in her hand.

“See you.”

Jamie didn’t realize how anxious he was about this meeting until he was walking back to his car, feeling like his steps were a hundred times lighter and a smile was growing on his face.

Sunday couldn’t have come soon enough. Jamie and Y/n agreed on the time and place over texts, and Jamie offered to pick her up, but she declined. Jamie has never been this nervous before any date, and this is not even a date. Just two old friends catching up. Could he even still call them friends? He wants to believe that yes, but realistically, six years, almost seven, is a long fucking time. Jamie knows that a lot has happened in his life since the last time he saw Y/n, and knowing her, just as much has probably happened in hers. On the brighter side, she didn't seem to be mad at him. So maybe six years is also enough time for her to forget why they haven’t talked for that long in the first place. Either way, this is the chance that Jamie was hoping for, and he will not waste it.

Jamie gets dressed, nice enough but not too dressed up, and makes sure to arrive on time. Just a few minutes later, Y/n gets there too. Jamie stands up as she makes her way to the table, feeling his mouth go dry.

“You look good.” Jamie goes for casual.

“Thank you, you too,” she smiles at him.

“So…” How is it that Jamie has spent every waking hour thinking about what he’s going to say to Y/n, but every time she’s in front of him, no words can come out of his mouth?

Fortunately, Y/n spares him the awkwardness. “How have you been?”

“I’ve been good, yeah. Won the match yesterday.”

“That’s great! Who were you playing with?” Jamie can’t tell if she really cares or is just asking to be polite.

“Brentford.” Y/n is smiling and nodding, Jamie recognizes this one. “You don’t know who they are, do you?”

“No idea,” she chuckles. “But you won, so I guess they’re not as good, huh.”

“Maybe we’re just that good.”

“We, as in AFC Richmond?” She teases.

“That’s a long story…”

“And there’s a reality show involved somewhere in there.”

“Oh my God, you saw that?” Jamie wants the earth to swallow him whole.

“Some parts of it. Honestly, Jamie, I thought I raised you better than that.”

“Not my finest moment.”

“But, hey, look at you now. Heard you’re playing for the national team now. And Roy Kent’s your manager! This is, like, your childhood wet dream.”

“It was not!”

“Is his poster still on your wall? Do not lie to me.” Y/n squints at him.

“I don’t live in that room anymore!”

“So it is still there.”

“Oh, fuck off!” They both laugh. And it feels so fucking good. Just like the old times – Y/n teasing him, laughing together, just talking like two friends.

“Okay, that’s not fair. I don’t know anything about you,” Jamie starts again after their little laugh break. “How have you been? I mean, running a gallery? That’s awesome.”

“Well, I don’t run it. I’m just a curator. But yeah, it is pretty cool. I’ve been doing alright.”

“Never thought I’d see you living in England again, to be honest.”

A weird look flickers in Y/n’s eyes before she puts her perfect smile back in place. “Yeah, well, it was a long way. Loved Paris, and, God, Amsterdam was great, but in the end I decided to be closer to my family.”

Jamie beams. “How’s Natalie? How’s Amelia? She’s what, fourteen now?”

“Fifteen. God, she’s a handful.”

“It runs in the family,” Jamie says with a cheeky grin.

Y/n snorts. “Evidently.”

“Mom said you sold your house.”

“Oh, yeah, it was, like, five years ago. Nat finally decided to move to London. Oh my God, how’s Georgie? Her and Simon still together?”

“She’s good, yes. They got married!”

“Oh, that’s great! Told you he’s a good guy!”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. She asks about you sometimes, you know.”

“Well, tell her that I’m doing well and sending her my best wishes.”

“Will do.” Jamie and Y/n smile warmly at each other across the table.

They end up talking for hours. Jamie tells Y/n about meeting Roy for the first time, about his Richmond teammates, and (by Y/n’s demand) about Keeley. Y/n tells him crazy stories from her university years, about all the places she’s lived in before moving to London, and about the struggles of raising a teenager.

When it gets late and they walk out of the restaurant, Jamie offers to give Y/n a ride again, which she accepts this time.

Jamie stops by her place, and they exchange goodbyes. “Tell Natalie and Meli I said hi. Would love to see them some time too.”

“I’ll tell them. It was nice seeing you, Jamie,” she smiles at him.

“Yeah, you too.” Y/n reaches for the door handle when Jamie speaks up again. “Wait.” She looks back at him. “Can I ask you something?” A nod. “You knew all this stuff, like who I play for and, uh, other. How?”

Y/n huffs a laugh. “You’re not exactly a low profile person. Sometimes Nat would say something, since she was more subjected to the Premier League news… and certain reality shows.” Jamie internally cringes at the thought that Y/n’s sister has seen it too. “And I have the Internet too, you know. Got curious a couple of times, wanted to see how you’re doing, so I googled you. Pretty convenient.”

“Right.” Knowing that Y/n has thought of him over those past years too, even enough to look him up, gives Jamie the courage to ask the question that he’s dreaded hearing the answer for. “You’re not mad at me?”

“For what?” Y/n asks genuinely.

“For the way I… for how I acted back then.” Y/n understands what he means.

She doesn’t seem to share Jamie’s inner turmoil regarding the past, though. “It was a long time ago, Jamie. People fall apart, it happens.”

“But not us,” Jamie says desperately. “It was my fault. And I just wanted to say that I’m sorry.”

Y/n regards him for a moment, as if trying to figure something out, then she nods. “Okay.”

“Do you think we can be friends again?” Jamie asks hopefully.

“If you want.”

“I do!”

“You have my number,” she smiles at him one last time.

—

You sigh as you drop the keys on the hall tree and take off your shoes. You hear the noise coming from the living room, and when you walk in there, you find Amelia stretched on the couch, surrounded by a bunch of empty takeout boxes, watching TV. “Glad you’re enjoying your night,” you greet her.

“I left you a piece of cake,” she nods towards the bitten slice of cake that she clearly just couldn't finish.

“That’s so kind of you,” you say with obvious irony.

“Did you enjoy yours?” she grins at you.

“It was alright.”

“Just alright?”

You sit on the arm of the couch. “Kinda weird.”

“Weird how?”

“Like when you watch the first two seasons of a show and then go straight to season twelve. The faces are familiar, but you have no idea what the fuck is going on.”

“Out of the two of us, you’re the only one who does this, but I get what you mean. Did you do a recap? You know, like a ‘previously on…’?”

“Yeah, something like that. But, you know, it’s been a while.” She nods thoughtfully. You look at the TV screen, some action movie playing there. “What are you watching?”

“Uncharted.”

“Tom Holland game movie?”

“Mhm. I can finish later, you wanna watch something together?”

“Sure, just let me go change.”

You change into your home clothes and join Amelia on the couch.

“You never said why you stopped talking. I remember he was always around, and then he just wasn’t,” she says while you’re watching the Disney+ loading screen.

“Well, I moved to Paris, and he started playing full-time. And then he just kinda… ghosted me.”

“Asshole.”

You snort. “I know, right? He apologized, actually. Didn’t expect that.”

“You’re going to see him again?” She starts scrolling through the suggested shows.

“I don’t know. Maybe. He offered us to come to a match if you want.”

“Maybe,” Amelia replies noncommittally. “The Mandalorian?” She clicks on the show’s icon.

“Yes.” You pick up the uneaten piece of cake and lean back onto the couch cushions, resting your feet on the side table. Now, that’s a man that you’re always happy to see.

A/N: writing this fic while i’m dying inside and falling behind on my uni deadlines😗✌️

[dolphin1812]

I love how this visitor confuses the Thénardiers so much in relation to his social class that we see the full scale of how they treat people. We know that they’re dishonest overall, but we also know that they’re trying to be hospitable here, so the distinctions in their address are all technically polite, but they’re the different levels of politeness expected for different classes. We see this in the distinction between, for instance, “good man” and “monsieur,” but we also see it in how he’s denied a room. It would be rude to cast him out (and being rude is bad for business), but saying “there’s no room” is a perfectly acceptable excuse. Charging him extra to see if that drives him away serves the same purpose; it’s immoral, but the Thénardiers’ ultimate concern is avoiding having a guest who both can’t pay them and makes their inn look less fancy because he looks poor. Of course, we know that there is space, and the comparative luxury they end up offering this guest in case he’s secretly of a higher class demonstrates their interest in flattering wealthy guests. The speech about the decorations may be made-up, but that kind of attention is part of being a good host, which is important to the job in general but is even more of a priority for someone with money. It makes the Thénardiers seem invested in their guest and as if they are more “elevated” class-wise themselves (from, for example, owning fine bonnets). The fact that they need this man’s money again emphasizes that this is normal treatment and isn’t something specific to their moral failings (even if the dramatic contrasts may stem from that). Class was just that big a factor in how people were treated, down to the address used for them.

We learn more about the contrast between Cosette and the Thénardier girls here as well. Everything about Cosette radiates “fear” and suffering; she’s visibly malnourished and abused, poorly dressed, and melancholy. The other girls are warmly clothed and cheerful, likely because they’re well-fed and loved. They’re not wealthy, either; even they don’t have a very nice doll and have to play with an old and broken one. But they do have a doll, and they also are clothed properly for the weather. It’s a quick way of indicating that yes, the Thénardiers seem wealthy because they’re in a relatively poor village and have the contrast of Cosette right there, but they still can’t afford to spend that much on luxuries like dolls. It reminds me of the difference between how Fantine and Cosette were dressed when she left her in the Thénardiers’ care. Fantine had sold all of her nice clothes and was thus dressed very plainly, but her love for Cosette led her to save all her beautiful things for her daughter. Similarly, the Thénardiers prioritize their daughters’ appearance by buying them nice “bourgeois” clothes, but they don’t actually have the money to cover all the characteristics of that lifestyle.

I love watching the children play with the dolls (and the cat). Éponine and Azelma felt realistically young (and like an older and younger sibling) in how they approached the cat (which I hope got away from them quickly!), and watching Cosette stare at Catherine was both heartbreaking and cute (although seeing her rock the toy she made and tell it that her mother died was so sad). I want to be upset about Hugo’s Thoughts on Women, but in this case, I actually find them ironic in the context of the rest of the novel? The very first woman we were introduced to was Mlle Baptistine, who never married or had children. Hugo points out that this limits the amount of respect she’s given in society, but doesn’t add much more aside from some notes on her devotion to her brother. After that, we continue to meet women who are unmarried and/or childless, and while many of the most notable ones are nuns (like Sister Simplice) and may be gendered by different standards as a consequence of that, it’s so bizarre for Hugo to now say that a woman without children is “impossible.” I think Hugo does see a difference between “womanhood” and “woman who never marries or has kids, but it’s OK because she’s holy in some way,” so perhaps the irony stems merely from the overlap in terms? The whole thing is infuriating, but it’s also just strange.

[lawful-evil-novelist]

Design Notes: Kimmuriel Oblodra

This one's by request, a few people asked about him so I figured I'd share. This is mostly going to detail Kimmuriel’s design in Bag of Memories, which is a slightly more developed version of his design in The Smiling One.

Kimmuriel is a somewhat young drow in Bag of Memories.  I put his birth year at roughly 1088 DR in Bag of Memories, so he’s about 277-278 during the story.  He’s small, standing at barely five feet, and very thin.  He has muscle mass but it’s kind of negligible compared to literally everyone around him.  It’s enough that he can put up a decent  fight but not enough to really affect his body type.

I describe Kimmuriel’s face as catlike, specifically referring to his features as sharp but attractive.  He looks a lot like his father, Tsabanor, but he doesn’t have many features in common with K’yorl.  However, he does have some features in common with Jalynfein Oblodra, K’yorl’s older half-brother.  Make of that what you will.  

Kimmuriel has dark gray skin with a cool undertone, which is fairly normal for House Oblodra.  While I never designed these characters with Lolth’s Embrace in mind, I did end up notating their markings eventually because I am kinda fond of natural skin patterning.  Kimmuriel’s markings have a silver cast like all Oblodras, but his markings are extremely faint.  The most visible markings are around his eyes.

Speaking of Kimmuriel’s eyes, they’re a very dark red-violet, kind of a wine color.  They still glow a normal crimson color in the dark, but they do look a lot more purple in certain lights than, say, Rai’gy’s eyes.  Kimmuriel doesn’t have super long hair, he keeps it roughly chest-length and ties it back in a high ponytail to control it.  He habitually decorates it with little Githyanki braids, a habit he picked up from one of his childhood tutors, Kyn.  Kimmuriel also wears a very thin framing of dark blue kohl around his eyes.  Nothing fancy, and the dark color serves a further purpose of blocking sun glare on the surface.

Kimmuriel has three sets of piercings:

A set of astral silver hoops notating his formal entrance into House Oblodra at fourteen.

A pair of earrings made from Illithid bones, carved into needle-like points, made by Kyn to commemorate Kimmuriel completing his formal psionics training (Kimmuriel literally killed the illithid Kyn got the bones from).

A set of small gold studs shaped like spiders, formerly these belonged to Rai’gy, and Kimmuriel wears them as a tribute to him.

Another habit Kimmuriel picked up from Kyn was incredibly simple clothing.  I like keeping to the open skirting of drow clothing we saw in the visual dictionary, and kept that with Kimmuriel’s robes, making them very modest in comparison to most drow, with a higher collar, but more practical three-quarter length sleeves.  Generally I think he wears simple leather gauntlets to cover his hands and most of his upper arms.  Underneath he wears leggings and practical boots with a low heel.

Kimmuriel doesn’t wear any open jewelry other than his earrings, but wears his father’s amulet of catapsi under his clothes.  The amulet functionally disrupts all psionics that aren’t his own.  It’s a silver amulet set in the center with a fairly large piece of purple jasper.  It’s mostly a nice little memento, since Kimmuriel rarely uses it.

Kimmuriel wears some leather armor but only if he knows he’s going to get into a fight.  He dresses in mostly black, but his robes have some small hints of dark blue to them.  Kimmuriel still owns his House Sigil, but he almost never wears it.  He doesn’t need it to levitate so he keeps it hidden away in his room with other mementos.

Though he doesn’t seem to carry any weapons outwardly, he carries Kyn’s other gift for him: the dagger Draa’zviir (Kyn named it).  Draa’zviir is made from the tip of Kyn’s old greatsword, an astral silver blade with a dragon-bone hilt that is imbued with chaotic elemental magic.  Kimmuriel doesn’t use it often.

[cruelfeline]

I've been thinking, for the past few days, about why it's so strange to me, to hear people say that Hordak oppressed people. Or that the Etherian Horde was oppressive. Or just... insinuating that Hordak and his subordinates are somehow in a position of power on Etheria.

And I mean, I've written before about why I find Hordak far more sympathetic than I find the Princesses, but this isn't that. This is more... A disconnect. Between how people seem to view Hordak and the Horde and my personal understanding of oppression. Namely: the sort of "usual" social hierarchy of oppressed and oppressor don't seem to work here.

The patterns don't coincide.

When we look at our world, our societies, social power tends to be divided by wealth. Now, of course race and religion and gender and all of these other factors come into play, but financial resources hold tremendous importance. Members of oppressed minorities are more likely, statistically, to hold less wealth. Not always, obviously. There are no hard rules. But enough that it comes out in data.

And even in societal majorities, there is still the divide between those that hold great wealth, and those that do not.

My point being as follows: the members of the "upper class" tend to be oppressive because they have the financial means with which to exert control. Politically, economically, whatever. They are the ones oppressing, while the "lower class," the working class, tend to suffer under their wants and whims. It's an oversimplication, to be sure, but the general sense of it is all that matters for this discussion.

Essentially: the upper class oppresses the working class. The working class doesn't oppress the upper class.

So!

When we look at Hordak and the Etherian Horde, and when we look at the Alliance... who is working class, and who lives in absolute luxury?

Our protagonists are literal monarchs living in literal palaces with literal magic powers. They don't perform physical labor. They don't have "jobs" in the sense of earning money or earning their keep. And even during supposed wartime, they enjoy plentiful resources and delicious food and pointless luxuries.

The level of luxury is even played for laughs, sort of, when Adora first joins the Horde and has no idea how to live in a room that appears designed around impractical pampering.

But it also just kind of... borders on ridiculous? Like...they go to a magical floating island to relax at a spa. On a cloud beach. During a major war that we are supposed to believe they are suffering tremendously from. We're supposed to feel sad for them. While they're lounging on the cloud beach.

It's... hm.

Compare this to the Etherian Horde. And to Hordak himself.

There are no fancy rooms with decorative waterfalls in the Horde. Not for regular Horde members, not even for higher-ranking individuals.

The members of the Etherian Horde absolutely perform physical labor. They have few, if any, luxuries to speak of. Their entire lives appear to consist of working to earn and maintain their place in the Horde. And there are absolutely no spa days.

As for Hordak? Well, you might say: "CF, Hordak is in an upper class position; he calls himself Lord and sits on a throne and-"

And I'm gonna stop you right there, because Hordak is a purpose-bred slave play-acting a god-monarch to earn back his place as a purpose-bred slave. He and his clone brothers are actual servants of Prime: made to do everything from cleaning to serving meals to fighting on the front lines of Prime's wars. They are true, all-around workers.

Actually, the little details regarding Hordak and "work" are so interesting. Because he absolutely works, in a way that the protagonists really don't seem to: with little to no visible time for relaxation and absolute zero indulgence in luxury. We so often see him in his lab, working with tools, with his hands. And after Entrapta makes him his new armor, we see him using it to perform significant physical labor. Labor that, as "lord," he could likely have delegated to others. But he didn't. Because Hordak, at his core, is a worker.

Now, does he have a throne? Sure! But it's a throne designed to be a tool, a prop of sorts to help him mimic Prime. It's not an actual piece of comfortable furniture. And it's not somewhere where Hordak appears comfortable or leisurely. It's just... a tool of the job. I mean... just look at how he sits in it, compared to Prime. Prime, who is absolutely "upper class" and has all of the fanciness to show for it. Prime who just lounges on his throne, secure in the knowledge that he belongs there.

And beyond the throne, in his Sanctum? Not a drop of luxury to be found. Just machinery for Hordak's work. And tools for his work. And a bunch of junk, because he's pathologically unable to throw anything away for Personal Reasons. Totally unlike, say, Glimmer's room. Or Prime's trophy and dining rooms. We don't even see a place for him to rest from his work, though extrapolating from the pods we see other clones in, we can guess that it's likely not a soft, fluffy, copiously-pillowed bed.

Because that's the thing about Hordak: he's the leader of the Horde, but he's still a member of the working class. He's play-acting a lord, but he doesn't actually enjoy any of the leisure or luxury that comes with that. Rather, despite his position in the Etherian Horde hierarchy, he has far more in common with his own cadets than with his hierarchical equals in Bright Moon.

Which is why the patterning for oppression is so off, for me. People are trying to convince me that a bunch of working class people, including potential orphans and an actual cult-slave, are oppressing the wealthy royals? It just. Doesn't compute. Like... even when Mermista's capital city is destroyed, she still has the means to lounge about in a fancy bathtub, eating ice cream. It just doesn't carry the same weight as, say, Hordak sitting amongst the trash-wreckage of his Sanctum in season four. Mermista is upset, but she's still pampered. Hordak is upset, and he's just... upset. With nothing comforting to help him.

It's just such a disconnect. I can't view the protagonists as "oppressed" when they have the means and resources to essentially avoid any true fallout from the war. While Hordak and his subordinates, supposedly dominant and oppressive, live in spartan quarters devoid of even the slightest shred of opulence or comfort.

Perhaps the series could have circumvented this if it had made our protagonists members of Etheria's less-royal population? Or if it had portrayed them as true refugees, as they are under Prime's aggression in season five. But it doesn't. It has them hanging out in palaces, going to parties and spas, eating sleep-over cake while Hordak gets injured by his glitchy health-care machine because he doesn't have anything better.

Anyway. I don't know if all of this makes sense. It's just. Such a weird thing to me. And makes it hard to see the Etherian Horde as "the oppressors."

[warriors-wyrms-writing]

The House

a story where something is not quite right.

    At a traveler’s first glance it may have seemed an ordinary house, albeit a bit large. However, it was anything but. Such a thing could be seen by the more keen of observers as far away as the wrought-iron gate, noticing the fantastical creatures and strange runes hidden within the intricate whorls and spirals. Most dismissed it as curious and went on their ways, and even those who didn’t initially were forced to, for the only time the heavy gates screeched open was when a new family took up occupancy, which happened rarely, and none of the residents deigned to leave except in boxes, even to retrieve food, all of the inhabitants as far back as memory served always having their few goods delivered through a hatch in the gate. That was the closest “common” folk ever got to the house, unable to see over or even really through the closely-woven iron.

  If any of them had on a regular day, they would have seen a stone path forgotten by time and people, overgrown with moss and wildflowers that children would gather up by the bunches when they lived there, and for a few weeks, the worn white stones would be visible once again among the waving grasses. If—and this is growing exceedingly unlikely—by any chance someone was to journey along the forgotten stone path through the clover and dandelions and actually approach the front door, they’d notice an elaborate white arched doorway, carved with waves and dolphins and with fishes and seashells.

     Ensconced within this intricate frame was a wooden door, sometimes red, sometimes black, it’s only extraordinary quality that it was always faded. And, of course, the silver door knocker. This intricate knocker was almost never used, but it was beautiful despite, or perhaps because of, it, carved into the shape of a dragon with a coiled tail. Though the detailed knocker was seen by so few, those who did gaze upon it did so for the rest of their lives, along with every other detail of the great red-brick house. It wasn’t just a house you lived in; it was a house that lived in you.

     If one got past that marvelous knocker, which on the date of this writing very few have, they would find themselves standing on a rug so red that one could almost fancy that it had been stained such with the blood of former occupants, staring out at softly tinted lilac walls and honey-gold wooden floors, and a crystal chandelier larger than the world’s tallest and fattest men combined and shining like a thousand captured stars in the light streaming through the great bay windows of the house’s welcome-room.

     If a resident (all who have ever beheld theses scenes have been residents) were to advance up the white-carpeted spiral staircase in the room’s middle as they all did eventually, they’d find a long hallway, seemingly windowless but lined with white doors along the corridor of which the walls had been painted with mint in an age time has forgot, but which still looked like it had been done last week.

     The rooms beyond the doors were all exactly the same, although with the house’s layout and outward appearance that seemingly would have made no sense to an outsider, although whenever you were actively beholding it it seemed perfectly reasonable. All these bedrooms were splendid, and would have been the envy of the state had they known of them. With a beautiful and cheerful abstract pattern, though still identical to those in the other rooms, letting in flecks of colored light that danced upon the yellow walls and flitted over the dresser and nightstand’s painted vines and flowers, pausing only to linger on the sunny blue blankets that lay upon the bed.

     If one elected not to venture up that spiral and instead went around it’s back, they’d find themselves in a kitchen tiled with geometric patterns in small black diamonds and with copper pots hanging over the black counters shot through with white from the underside of the dark cabinets fixed to the walls, the silver handles appearing to drip off them like teardrop earrings.

     At the far end of the kitchen was a swinging door such as everyday folks see in a restaurant, and if one were to go through it they’d enter the dining room, home to a chandelier even more impressive than the one in the welcome-room, structured too instead of merely a cascade of prisms. The candles held by its branching golden arms would illuminate a dining table and chairs carved with the same whorls as the fence outside, complete with the hidden pegasi and griffins, dragons and twisted runes, climbing up legs and backs, hissing malevolently at the residents of the cabinets of golden wood that lined the deep forest green walls, intricately painted dishes and vases accompanying sculptures of people and animals and a few strange mixtures of the two behind the glass fronts.

     The chandelier would also, more likely than not, illuminate a small passageway five feet high and three wide, lined in mirrors. If one would so choose to enter this strange passage, they would find it full of sharp corners and unexpected turns before it suddenly spit them out at the back of the house, near the dark grey rear door, the passage they had just emerged from looking like a mere unassuming crack in the red brick.

     They could re-enter the house through the grey door, but unless they knew about the key, hidden within the beak of the bird carved into the doorknob, it was unlikely. This was when the front-door’s dragon knocker was most often used, for few could find the mirrored hallway from outside. If, after re-entry of the welcome-room, they would turn right, they’d find themselves in a room with walls and cushioned couches of maroon and gold, and a fireplace large enough for a midnight tryst. The walls round the room were hung with portraits in ornate gold frames, or at least gilded thus. 

     If one did all that they would have explored all the house easily accessible, though not even half of the whole. After all, they hadn’t even discovered the secret greenhouse yet, but ah, maybe another time we’ll explore the innumerable mysteries of that strange house.

[thymeheals]

And Everything Begins to Go Rapidly Wrong Again.

Summary: Still at the ball. Lots of dancing. Begins in fluff, ends in angst.

POV: first person reader insert and Sam Winchester

Warnings: implied past abuse; abusive spouse; injuries briefly mentioned; kidnapping; character capture

Royal AU with the characters of Supernatural

Word Count: 1260

Part 5/? (7 so far) in process

Sam’s POV

Finally, Dean was able to escape fathers itinerary of women for the evening. I made my way back to the edge of the room and grabbed a drink off a passing silver tray. I couldn’t help but look back and smile as Dean’s shoulders relaxed and relief was visible in his demeanor. Y/n really lit up in Dean’s arms. She had really become a great friend to us both. I kept hope that we could rid y/n of the sentence on her head.

“How could you put that fugitive whore in your mothers gown Sam?” I didn’t have to turn toward him to know my father had sought me out. “Did you think I’d forget it and not take notice?” I clenched my jaw to prevent my first responsive thoughts from exiting my mouth.

“Just put aside who you think she is, dad.”

“Put aside!”

“Look at him, that’s the happiest he’s looked all day. He’s carefree with her. Stop pushing him to make a decision on who will be his wife when there’s absolutely no reason tor him to be forced into this. Let him enjoy the time he has left of just being a prince. You know he’ll step right up and be the soldier king you’ve trained him to be when the time comes.”

His father sighed, “Sam this is beyond your brother having a fling. Arthur Ketch, the ambassador from Malta has also taken notice of her presence. Judging by the look on your face, I’m guessing you know that she’s his wife.”

“Father you can’t send her back with him!”

John held up his hand to silence his son. “He doesn’t wish to return to Malta with her, but she must be retained at the end of the night. She will return to her cell under heavy guard. Have I made myself clear? There is a public warrant for her life to be served a week from today. I suggest you stop playing matchmaker and get some sense into your head. Now not another word.” King John made his way to Robert the head guard and gave him his instructions. Then retired for the night to his bedchamber with his mistress.

———————————-

Reader pov

After bantering with Dean to lighten his mood. I reach up on my tip toes and kiss him on the cheek as I say, “I hope you’ve had a Happier Birthday than it began this morning.” I blush, smiled and continue, “its getting rather late and I should turn in before I’m tempted to have another drink. Goodnight Dean, I hope one of these ladies catches your fancy. Many of them are beautiful, but go dig deeper and find someone you can be friends with.”

I gather my skirts and head to Sam’s bedroom before Dean can respond and I’m tempted any further to tell this kind man how much he deserves to fall in love and marry one of the breathtakingly gorgeous women my heart is so jealous of. I don’t think I could keep pleasantries up for another second. Why couldn’t I have met him six years ago before I resigned that Arthur was the best I could do for my family. After all he’d gambled away my entire dowrey within the first month of marriage and blamed me for everything. My parents benefitted only the ability to say I’d married an ambassador. I avoided him at all costs when he was home from traveling for work. Luckily he had no interest in children and I was merely a guaranteed warm body when he was in town.

Lost in my thoughts of what could’ve been I opened the door to Sam’s room and walked across the rug covered floor to look out the window while I changed into bed clothes. When all of a sudden I felt two hands clasp around my mouth and arms, as I breathed in a sickening smell slowly I felt my vision go black.

Waking up in small cold dark wet metal room. I can only feel where I am. My hands are restrained behind my back and my ankles are bound. It’s hard to breathe and I realize there’s a fabric bag covering my head. I’m terrified. I don’t know for sure who captured me. It could’ve been King John’s men if he figured out who I was, or if he just saw me as a threat to his plan for Dean. It could’ve been Arthur’s doing if he found me. It could’ve been a random attack on the castle and they don’t even know who I am - just that I was a friend of the princes. It could’ve been a family of one of the women suitors wanting to take out any competition for Dean’s hand. So many variables. I couldn’t catch my breath now. My heart was beating as if I’d ran a race. It was too much. I collapsed into darkness. Again.

The next time I awoke, it was to cold water being splashed on my face and upper body. Shivering, I looked around to find out where I was and just who was attempting to drown me in freezing cold water. My continued panic was making me angry. I had to get a grip on myself. That’s when I saw him leaned against a table, holding a bucket.

“Did you really think you’d get away scathe free for making a fool out of me? Who all have you been with in the village? Just how many? Are they paying you? What a waste.”

“What are you talking about, Arthur?”

“You know good and damn well what I’m talking about, whore. It wasn’t hard to convince his majesty, King John, to allow me take you home and deal with your insubordination. When I told him I saw you kiss his eldest son on the very night the prince was supposed to choose a bride nonetheless. What are you getting at? Do you think you can wreck all of Milan by waging war against me?”

“Arthur, please..”

Smack. My head reeled from his backhanded slap. As I held my hands to my temples my fingers were met with a sharp stubble. I gasped as my hands continued to explore the rest of my scalp not finding the soft long locks of hair that should be draped around my shoulders. Horrified, I looked to my captor for answers.

“That’s right, good luck finding someone to take you in now. The entire country will know of your sins upon sight when you’re escorted through the streets to the gallows.” He walked over to a table to pick something up. I couldn’t see what was wadded up in his hands. But I found out with a stinging lash to my slip clothed back.

He’d whipped me within an inch of unconsciousness. I hadn’t stopped shivering since I had woken up. I had no idea how long I’d been locked away. He didn’t provide me with any food or water. Clearly me living to make it to the gallows wasn’t his priority. I’ve never been this exhausted or this cold in my life. It was simply frigid. There was a disconnect. I had no more tears to cry and no voice left from the screams he’d pulled from my body with each new stinging lick of his whip. I was ready for it all to end. I don’t know exactly when, but I had by now accepted my fate.

[realityescapee01]

4 weeks (part 2)

part 1 here

Harry/Tao

Tao wasn't able to sleep much because his service to Harry begins this morning.

Tao faced himself in the mirror and gave himself a pep talk. Then he went down after a few minutes.

Only to be greeted by a fancy car on his front door. With a chauffeur.

"What the-"

"Good morning, Master Harry sent me. Please, let me drive you to school."

Tao got in the car and was surprised Harry wasn't really there. The driver, who introduced himself as Luis, said that Harry goes to school earlier for a run. Tao was actually impressed the jerk was dedicated that much to the rugby team.

Then he received a chat from Harry. Making sure Luis picked him up. Then Harry told him to get the bag beside him and bring it to him in the showers of the rugby team.

"Ugh! Seriously?!?" Tao looked at the bag beside him.

Then Tao had an idea.

He went straight to the showers and saw that no one was around. So he just tossed the bag by the door and sent Harry a message.

-Bag is at the door. Bell end.-

-Bring it to me!- Harry replied, super annoyed.

-Get it yourself.-

-Fine. But you have to wait for me. It's your job, remember? For 4 weeks.-

-Fine.-

A few moments later, Tao saw Harry open the room's door and reach for the bag. In only but a towel around his waist. Tao blinked a couple of times. Because his eyes were drifting to places he shouldn't be looking at.

"Nice view, innit?" Harry boastfully said.

"Pervert." Tao just rolled his eyes and turned away. Blushing because he got caught staring.

Harry disappeared again into the shower room and emerged a few minutes later. All dressed and smelling good. Handing over the bag to Tao.

Tao, at first didn't get it, just standing there for a minute. Harry then hit the bag on his chest.

"You'll be carrying my bag, twig."

Tao let out a little oof and caught the bag. Dreading the next 4 weeks of this. Harry would slave the shit out of him.

Tao walked with Harry up to his classroom. He gave back Harry's backpack and headed to his own classroom, seeing Charlie on the way.

"Tao? You're with Harry? What's happening?!?" Charlie was visibly confused and concerned for his friend.

Tao explained the situation and Charlie understood why Tao endures all of it. Tao love his mom so much. He just wish Harry would be good to Tao during those 4 weeks. He then made a mental note to talk to Nick about it. Maybe Nick can punch Harry again and say treat Tao good. Who knows.

Tao just sat on his seat when he received another chat from Harry.

-See you lunch. At our usual spot-

'Usual spot???' Tao was figuring out what usual spot he meant. They never hangout together so they can never have a usual spot.

Lunch time came and Tao headed to his usual table with Isaac by the field. Only Isaac wasn't there, but Harry.

"You're late." Harry crossed his arms.

"... This is our usual spot?"

"Yeah. We alway banter here."

"What do you want?" Tao asked as he sat across Harry.

"Lunch. You're gonna serve me lunch."

"S-Serve? You?"

"Yeah. Just go to the parking lot and get my lunch from Luis. Now."

Tao couldn't believe it. But he still did. He passed by Charlie and Nick as he headed for Luis. Tao knew that there would ba a talk between the three.

"Harry, hey. You better not treat Tao badly." Nick told Harry as he stood beside him.

"I'm not treating him badly." Harry denied.

"Then, why is he out there? What is he doing?" Charlie asked, voice a little high.

"My lunch. I asked him to get it."

"Harry." Nick was upset. "Don't do that. He's not a slave."

"I paid 4 weeks of his service."

"You're taking advantage of his situation. I can't believe you could be worse." Nick shaking his head in disappoinment.

"You know, if you're upset about Nick leaving your friend group because of me, direct that towards me. Not my friend. Not Tao." Charlie

"I am helping him out here! Paid full and easier than him looking for other jobs out there." Harry justified.

Nick towered over him. "Alright. We respect Tao's decision. But I swear, Harry, I would punch you again if you did something bad to Tao."

Charlie and Nick sat with him until Tao arrived. He has an expensive looking bento box in hand. 2 layers of it. He greeted Charlie and Nick. Then set the lunchbox in front of Harry.

Harry smiled and reached for it. Opened it and gave the 2nd layer to Tao.

"That's yours." Then he just started eating.

Tao stared at the lunchbox. It was full of seafood. Expensive ones. And undoubtedly fresh ones too.

"M-Mine? I have my own made by mom." Tao pushed it back to Harry.

"Take it and eat it." Harry pushed it back to Tao.

Tao looked at the expensive set of seafood lunchbox. There is tuna sashimi in there! He never had one. It is looking very enticing.

"I-I, Harry..." Tao hushed.

"Mnn." Harry was enjoying his bento box, making Tao drool and stare more at his own bento box. "Come on, Tao. One of the perks of working for me."

"Did you poison this?" Tao questioned.

"Ah! How dare you. I respect food. I will never do that. Now, quit whining and just eat it."

Tao looked at Nick and Charlie, the two just shrugged.

"Okay, look. Give me any piece and there and I'll eat. So you'll know if it's tainted or not."

"Fine by me." Tao took a piece at random and held it up to Harry's mouth.

Harry opened his mouth and took the whole piece in. Chewing and swallowing. "There. I'm still alive. Not tainted."

Charlie's eyes were huge. And he is holding back a little grin. That looked like... that looked so... something couples would do.

Tao smiled to himsel and pulled the bento box closer to him and started eating.

---

Tao walked back with Harry after lunch. Tao has a smile on his face. He was so full. He loved that lunch. He was in heaven.

Until Harry spoke. "You're coming home with me."

"W-what? WHAT??"

"You're tutoring me. I need help in Chemistry. You're in advance Chem, right? See you later then."

Tao wanted to protest but Harry was inside the classroom now.

Tao walked back to his classroom dreading the end of school. Going home with Harry.

-+-+-+ ( to be continued part 3 here) +-+-+-

a/n:

thank you. more on my master list here

I also have an AO3 account

[bunnyrhe]

Big House, Big Cars and...

Summary: Mafia boss! Yoongi x little reader. Yoongi comes home from work to look for you but he can't find you.

This was a request from @yoonlattesworld Thank you so much for requesting!! Guys and dolls don't forget requests, asks and drabbles are open.

Warnings-g*n, little reader/regressed reader and cg!Yoongi.

The black tinted SUVs made the broad strip around the playing fountain, crunching spraying up loose gravel, effectively silencing the chorus of night insects in the sprawling garden. The cars were nearly camouflaged against the night sky, even the bright moon reflected on the windows. 

Yoongi slipped out the backseat, suit jacket in hand watching the security crew lock the gate. The air was cool and crisp, indicative of rain.

He was all too happy to see the lights from the foyer on when he entered. He immediately picked up the familiar saccharine jingle of the TV in the den showing cartoons. He made a left turn from the front door, hovering in the doorframe quietly watching. He could see the episode of Peppa Pig casting a pink glow over what had to be his baby burrowed among the stack of blankets he could see over the chair back. 

He meandered up the stairs opting to shower before coming to sit with you. He knew you'd appreciate a clean smooth boyfriend to cuddle rather than have to pause cuddle time for him to shower.

Half an hour later, Yoongi was showered and fresh, his skin feeling smooth and cool. He entered the walk-in closet you two shared, noticing all the jewelry drawers we opened, his cupboard visibly ransacked.

He paused, blood stilling and beads of sweat and water flowing down his spine like the talons of some heinous creature. He felt paranoid, head pivoting between looking behind him for an unseen intruder and forward looking through your bedroom for you or any signs of you. 

The more he tried to be objective, the more he saw signs of a struggle- jewelery missing from the drawers and the floor safe had been opened, it's contents missing. You hadn't run up to him either as you usually did.  His senses were on overdrive   

Yoongi reached for his gun,tucking it in the back of his waistband and calling the security at the gate. He peered out the window seeing his men mobilize.

"Yn? Yn baby where are you?"He rushed down the corridor to the stairs. 

"Yoonie? Yoonie come!"you paused in the doorway of your playroom in your pink tule dress with the glittering sapphires and diamonds in your tiara winking at him in the hallway lighting.

"Come see!"

He put the phone away, seeing all your teddy bears around the tea table in the middle of the room with his rings on their furry heads and arms like tiaras and watches. Some of them wearing ballerina skirts and his ties.

He sighed letting his mind slowly grind to a stop. "Baby these bears are very fancy,"

"Yes daddy I wanted it to be fancy tea look I made real food!" You proudly showed him the serving tower of finger foods and pastries, and the hot pot of tea. 

"Yes baby I see were you safe when you made your sandwiches and tea?" He dialed the front gate again, giving the safe word to stop the fail safe protocol when there was an intruder. He debriefed them quickly, trying not to let you notice he was distracted. 

"Yes daddy,"

"Okay, my princess used spoons to make her finger sandwiches?" 

"Yes daddy,"

"Wow, good baby how responsible," he ended the call, sitting behind you on the floor, his thighs on either side of you. He kissed your ear softly ,"what kind of tea is there for your fancy tea?

"Jasminnie,"

"Oohh,"

"Cup daddy ,cup." Yoongi sipped delicately with his pinky out, his lithe fingers still fumbling with the tiny cup. 

"Mmmm delicious baby, good job." 

"Tea for two ,two for tea," you sang happily, giggling while Yoongi kissed your ears.

[mypoisonedvine]

𝗥𝗘𝗘𝗗𝗨𝗞𝗔𝗧𝗜𝗢𝗡 || dark!jan (the edukators/die fetten Jahre sind vorbei) x reader

𝗦𝗨𝗠𝗠𝗔𝗥𝗬 | in scoping out his next target, jan hadn't realised that you wouldn't be joining your family on their next vacation; in choosing to stay home, you hadn't realised what you were in for.

𝗪𝗢𝗥𝗗 𝗖𝗢𝗨𝗡𝗧 | 4.3k

𝗪𝗔𝗥𝗡𝗜𝗡𝗚𝗦 | smut (noncon, with fingering and penetrative sex), innocence kink, virginity loss/first time, brief exhibitionism, degradation, daddy kink, spitting (in mouth and on pussy), breaking and entering/home invasion, touch of misogyny kink, slight objectification kink (petnames like babydoll/dolly being 99% of this), slight bleeding (from sex specifically), death mention (no threats, just the fear of threats if that makes sense?)

𝗔/𝗡 | you don't need to have seen the movie to understand this fic, as long as you know that jan and his friends break into rich people's houses as part of their anti-capitalist rebellion. note that the vast majority of dialogue is written in english for simplicity, but that these conversations would actually take place fully in german.

this is a DARK fic, if you hit 'keep reading' I don't wanna hear you upset about content listed clearly in the warnings section

It’s probably normal to hear a bump in the night, to wake up and be a little freaked out, but to ultimately just stay in bed and not do anything about it. At first you were sure you were sure it was nothing, though your gut told you otherwise; then, as you heard more and more you spent quite some time convincing yourself that it was just pipes creaking or the foundation settling. But the thing about pipes and foundations is they don’t speak German.

“Hier entlang, hier entlang,” someone whispered, and footsteps shifted all along the lower floor.

Maybe you were still asleep, and this was just a strange dream, a terrifying dream. You pulled the blanket up over your head and prayed to wake up, but the denial turned to terror when you heard footsteps coming up the stairs.

You jumped out of bed, but it was too late to go out your bedroom door— you could hear them walking and whispering outside. Your bathroom had a small window, but even if you managed to fit through it you’d be on the second story with no way to ropel down. Maybe in your mind you could be some daring adventurer with the perfect plan to escape, or with the skills to defend yourself with something random you could grab, but you knew better than to really think you could do anything but hide.

As the footsteps and voices got louder, your eyes frantically searched the room and finally landed on the large upright dresser— maybe it was a little obvious, but it had a handy little feature that made it lock from the inside. It had come in handy for a decade of hide-and-seek, and now it would hopefully serve you one last time.

With not a second to spare, you ran over and grabbed the golden handles, swinging the doors open but being careful to shut them quietly after you’d stepped inside and made room for yourself among the coats and dresses. You searched for the lock in the pitch darkness, only able to find it because it was right above the keyhole that glowed from the dim light outside. Just as you turned the knob and heard the metal lock slide inside the wooden door, you heard your bedroom door open.

Someone walked around your room briefly, you even heard them pick something up and set it down— probably your bedside lamp, based on where it was coming from, but you obviously couldn’t be sure and frankly didn’t care that much. Footsteps approached the dresser and you saw the keyhole light up as a flashlight passed over it.

“Let’s take all the clothes and put them in the fireplace,” a voice in the room announced. “We won’t actually light the fireplace, but it sends a message.”

You covered your mouth with your hand to try to keep quiet when the doors shook briefly from an attempt to open them.

“Fuck, it’s locked.”

“Here, you go on to the next room, I’ll pick it,” a second voice decided, and you heard more footsteps as someone else approached the armoire. “Look how fancy the dresser is, they’ve probably got furs in here too— god knows people living in a house like this can’t miss an opportunity to destroy the environment.”

You heard something jiggle inside the keyhole, a clicking noise that went on for just a few moments before you heard the metal slide inside the wood again and the doors slowly opened.

A man, dressed in black and holding a flashlight in his gloved hands, stared at you from behind a mask that left only his brown eyes visible. You both stood still, staring at each other, until he did exactly the last thing you expected: he lifted the mask up to his forehead and showed you his face.

He was a lot younger than you would’ve expected, though he had the scruffy beard of a guy trying to look older; his teeth were slightly crooked when he smiled at you, and when he raised a brow while he gave you a quick look-over, you noticed the way they almost connected in the middle.

Under his gaze, you suddenly felt very aware of how little your lacy, baby pink nightgown protected you from the chilling night air.

"Well, what's this?" he asked coyly as he watched you shiver. "Guess these capitalist pigs left one of their little piglets behind." He put on a cooing sort of voice as he addressed you directly: "Did mummy and daddy leave you all alone while they went on holiday?"

He stepped closer even as you tried to shrink away, examining you carefully.

“Get out of there, silly, what are you hiding for? I’m not gonna hurt you,” he assured, not that you found it especially comforting. When you didn’t step out of your own accord, he grabbed your arm and roughly yanked you forward; he slammed the dresser doors behind you, and you whimpered in fear as he pinned you down against them by each arm. "Shh, hey, don't worry— I'm here to take care of you, you can call me daddy instead until your heartless banker father gets back. Go ahead, tell me what's wrong."

"I—"

"Ah ah," he tutted with a mix of bemusement and disappointment, "I already told you how to address me."

You shuddered but finally responded, "Daddy, I'm scared."

He gave you a demeaning little pout, but you continued.

"Some men broke in and I'm alone and… and I don't know if they want to hurt me."

"No, baby, they don't want to hurt you," he promised with a gentle smile, but it turned horrifically sinister as he leaned in to add with a whisper: "but we will if we have to."

You swallowed thickly, your gut twisting when you felt him breathe out against your neck.

"So you're gonna be a good girl, right?"

You nodded quickly, turning away when he leaned in closer, looking down at you with darkened eyes and running the fingers of his black gloves over the neckline of your pyjamas.

“You were just waiting for me, huh? All tucked in in your cute little nightgown, dressed up like a doll,” he grinned. “I bet you want daddy to play with you, hm?”

He laughed cruelly when you shook your head, fighting harder to get away again as he squeezed your arms tight enough to leave marks where his fingers had been.

“Wanna play, little dolly?” he continued, pressing his body into yours and roughly shoving his leg between your thighs. “I know you do… c'mon and give me a kiss," he requested.

“N-no,” you stammered, but he grabbed your jaw in his gloved hand and forced you to look ahead, slamming his lips onto yours and ignoring your muffled protests. When he pinched your side you gasped instinctively, and he shoved his tongue inside your mouth roughly— but that only lasted for a moment, before you found renewed strength and managed to shove him back. It wasn’t far enough to free yourself, but enough to get a break from the oppressive kiss.

“Aw, don’t be mean,” he pouted, wiping his mouth with the back of his gloved hand. “You said you’d be good for me, remember?”

“Just stop, please,” you whined, gasping before you could stop yourself when he rubbed his thigh up against you— hitting right on your clit which throbbed in spite of everything. Somehow the fear made you more sensitive, or at least something had because you’d never felt quite like this before.

“See? You’re all worked up,” he explained, “I’m gonna help you.”

This time when he leaned in he started to kiss and suck at your neck instead, starting right beneath your ear and moving down slowly until his tongue laved over the crook where your shoulder began. As much as you hated it, it made arousal pulse between your legs where his thigh continued to push hard on you.

When he moved even closer, you could feel his erection against your hip; you didn’t even realise that you’d let out a gasp until you felt him smile against your neck. “Oh, babydoll… you want daddy’s cock inside you, I can tell.”

“N-no, I don’t— just stop,” you begged.

“If only it were so easy, to just ask someone to stop,” he mused. “You know how many times we asked people like your father to stop before they fucked us? You know how far that gets us? You don’t just get to ask nicely, you have to fight for it…”

He chuckled as you writhed in his embrace.

“But you’re too weak to fight, poor thing.”

"Please, I'm not a part of whatever you’re talking about,” you tried to explain, “I don't know much about what Papa does at work—"

"That's your problem, baby, you're blissfully ignorant! Not all of us have that luxury. But the good news is, I'm here to educate you." He pushed up even closer to you, speaking lowly right into your ear with rage starting to bubble up in his voice. "Your father is a piece of scum who feeds on the working class and then robs them blind. You live like this, unquestioningly, and the rest of Germany suffers. Stuck-up bitch like you wouldn't even notice me if you saw me on the street, would you? Wouldn't even give me the time of day, but now you're at my mercy. That’s what you people need to learn: that you’re not gonna be on top forever.”

Suddenly you felt his hand cup your sex through your nightgown, and you choked on your gasp. “No—!” you started to shout, but his right hand covered your mouth as the left hastily pulled your pyjamas up and reached under them.

“Stop fucking squirming,” he grunted as he reached between your kicking legs and slid quickly up your thigh. “Mm, bet you’re hiding a pretty little cunt under this nightgown— hold still, baby, you’re gonna like this.”

Finally maneuvring his way into your panties, he abruptly shoved two gloved fingers inside of you, watching closely as you scrunched your face up tight in discomfort. He thrusted and twisted them around for a bit, carelessly stretching you open as you tried desperately to squirm away; it stung a bit, and the leather of the gloves was cool and awkwardly firm against your walls. For some reason, when he dropped his free hand from your face, you didn’t try to scream again— maybe because you knew no one who cared could hear you— and you just panted heavily instead.

As quickly as he’d pushed them in he pulled them out, bringing the glove up to his mouth to take it off with his teeth with a little growl before rubbing his bare hand over your pussy again. You whimpered when he slid his fingers inside you again, this time feeling the texture of his skin as he curled the pads of his fingers right against your spot. “Yeah?” he mumbled his taunt around the leather between his teeth before spitting the glove out onto the floor. “Fuck, so warm… you’re so wet already, dolly, has nobody been giving this pussy any attention?”

He stopped moving his fingers inside you to pull out and give your clit a few slaps, licking his lips when you cried out from the sharp sensation.

“Huh?” he reminded you to answer when you never gave a response.

“N-no,” you shook your head, finally, and he smiled like he was proud of himself.

“Yeah? You’re not a virgin, are you?”

You only looked down at the floor, blinking a few times as you focused on the teal carpet, and heard him laugh darkly.

“Oh, dolly, I might break you,” he warned roughly as he pushed your gown up to your waist, ignoring your sobbed pleas for him to stop. “We don’t usually take anything from the people we visit, but if I take your virginity maybe your people will finally get the message.”

“Please— you don’t have to do that,” you stammered, rushing through whatever you could think of to make him change his mind, “I won’t tell anyone you were here. You can have whatever you want, if I call them they can send you money—”

“You aren’t even fucking listening to me, we don’t want your expensive bullshit and we don’t want your dirty fucking money!” he corrected sternly, clutching your sleeves tighter and shaking you slightly with the intensity of his movements. “We just want you to be afraid, because the revolution is coming.”

But you were afraid of something much more imminent than a revolution.

“Get on the fucking bed,” he demanded, though you couldn’t do much else considering he was already roughly tossing you onto it, climbing on top of you and pinning you down when you started to crawl back instinctively. With his legs resting on yours and keeping you (somewhat) still, he only needed one hand to grab your shoulders while the other rushed to open his jeans.

Your eyes got a little wide when you saw his cock— before that, it was almost like some part of you didn’t really think he’d go through with his, but now you could see clearly that he was hard and ready… and big enough to make you question how that thing was even supposed to fit inside you.

He tore through your panties like they were paper; he lifted and spread your legs as he sat between them and, much to your humiliation, just stared down at your pussy for a moment. You’d never felt so exposed and it made you feel worse than ever. “Knew you’d have a pretty cunt,” he announced smugly, “can’t wait to see it all stretched out and covered in my come— I’m gonna ruin you, babydoll.”

You weakly struggled as he held your hips down with one hand and haphazardly stroked his cock a few times with the other, rubbing himself over your opening before pulling his hips back to spit right onto your clit. After spreading the improvised lubrication around with his head for a moment, he pushed down on it with his thumb to line up with your hole and, without any further warning, slid inside in one motion.

You bit down on your lip hard, and even that wasn’t enough to distract you from the sting; it felt like he was ripping you open, not to mention going so deep that you could feel him in your stomach.

He groaned loudly, head falling back for a moment as he started to thrust into you. “Fuck, I can tell you’re a virgin— it must be hurting you, huh?”

But the question was a bit redundant, since tears had already begun to stream down your temples and your fingers were clutching tightly onto the sheets beneath you; if they were any less expensive, they probably would’ve ripped.

“Maybe a little pain will be good for you,” he decided with a smirk, “I think a spoiled brat like you has been spared the rod a few too many times.”

It was definitely more than a ‘little’ pain, and it only seemed to sting more each time he pulled back and pushed in again— he wasn’t going very fast, yet, so that was one thing you could almost be thankful for. That said, he wasn’t very gentle either.

He hastily reached up under your nightgown to grope your breasts, quickly moving from one to the other as he squeezed them just a bit too hard. “You like how daddy plays with your tits, don’t you?” he grunted. “Say, ‘yes daddy.’”

“Y-yes, daddy,” you mumbled awkwardly; maybe being embarrassed to say that was superfluous considering everything else happening right now, but your face got warmer regardless.

A whimper almost caught in your throat when he pinched your hardened nipples, but it broke through when he seemingly-randomly gave a spank to your inner thigh.

He looked down at where your bodies were joined, where he was stretching you out with steady pumps of his cock that filled you to the brim, before reaching up to quickly pull his black sweater off over his head— a t-shirt underneath came off with it as his chest was exposed. He wasn’t unreasonably pale but he clearly wasn’t the type to get a ton of sun, and he had a thin scattering of dirty-blonde hair over some of it. It was sort of embarrassing, now, seeing how thin he was and yet he was still so much stronger than you.

"You're getting so wet, babydoll, look— you're making a mess on these expensive sheets," he grinned. And he wasn't lying; the sting of the stretch had slowly faded, replaced with a friction you actually couldn't help but enjoy. Each time he moved, he seemed to slide right over a spot that made you tighten up your legs so they wouldn't shake.

But, apparently, there was still plenty left that he could do to hurt you.

You cried out, so louder it echoed across the room, when he suddenly thrust into you hard and deep, hitting the very end of you as your body involuntarily jolted— he clapped his hand down over your mouth instantly, muffling your cries to near-silence as he set a punishingly fast pace out of nowhere. You couldn’t turn your head when you heard your bedroom door open, but you could glance to the side and see another burglar appear in the doorway, staring forward at the scene in front of him.

A new sense of shame burned inside you for being seen in such a way; oddly, it came with guilt, too, as if you were doing something wrong yourself, when really it was just something wrong being done to you. The man on top of you didn’t seem to feel much of either, though: he didn’t even slow down.

"Dude, what the fuck are you doing?" the other man asked his partner, face still hidden but his voice a mixture of bewildered and disgusted. "This isn't how we roll."

"Fuck off, I'm almost done," your attacker scoffed. You tried to use the distraction to fight him again— you swung your arms to try to scratch his face or push him away, but without even hesitating he simply stopped covering your mouth to pin your wrists at either side of your head.

"Is this really what you think the revolution is about?" the man in the door sneered. "Or does that even matter to you when you think you might get some ass? Jesus, I always knew you were a creep but this is…" he trailed off.

"Maybe you should take a turn with her, might fix your attitude," the man on top of you suggested. "She's real tight— trust me, you'll feel better."

"I promise that raping that girl isn't gonna make me feel better, Jan," he frowned.

"Fine, then just go so I can finish and I'll meet you guys in the yard," Jan— apparently that was his name— instructed.

"Don't go," you begged the man in the door, seeing the concern on his face— you could tell he wanted to stop Jan, maybe if you asked him to, he would.

"Shut up, bitch," Jan growled, correcting you with a slap to the face.

The man in the doorway just shook his head and sighed, stepping back into the hall and shutting the door behind him. You cried harder, more sure than ever that Jan was right when he said you were at his mercy; and he didn’t seem to have much.

He fucked you rough and fast, recklessly chasing his own pleasure with no regard for yours. Unfortunately, that didn’t mean that you didn’t feel any pleasure, though… it was building, in fact, sort of like when you touched yourself but so much stronger, and deeper, and threatening to overflow at any moment. “Oh fuck, you’re close,” he noticed with a tilted grin, “you love it so fucking much, huh? Wanna cream on daddy’s cock?”

You shook your head but he slapped you again, spinning your face to the side as he held both your wrists above your head in one hand and gripped your jaw with the other.

“Stop lying,” he growled, “I can feel it, I can feel your cunt getting tighter… you’re gonna come so fucking hard for me, aren’t you, babydoll? God, what a nasty fucking whore you are…”

He held your face to look straight ahead, up at where he hovered above you and bared his teeth in a snarl, before forcing your mouth open and spitting into it. You grimaced and tried even harder to squirm away but he quickly clamped his hand down over your nose and mouth so you couldn’t try to spit it back out again.

“C’mon, swallow it,” he instructed roughly, voice a bit strained from the force it took to hold you down. You could hardly breathe with his hand this way, and when you tilted your head back to try to get away from it, you accidentally swallowed his spit with a disgusted, muffled grunt. “There you go, good girl,” he purred as he watched your throat bob a bit involuntarily, “that’s it, I know you wanna come— say it! Say ‘daddy I wanna come.’”

He let go of your mouth and slapped you again before you even had a chance to hesitate. “D-daddy,” you whined, “I… I—”

“It’s not that fucking hard,” he hissed, “just say it, you dumb fucking slut!”

One more slap was apparently all you needed to just choke it out: “I wanna come, daddy!” you cried, back starting to arch as the pressure of holding back your release became too much to bear.

“Then fucking come,” he demanded, “come for me, baby, right fucking now.”

You tried to hold out just a moment longer, just to spite him, just so you wouldn’t obey him so easily… but it only took one rough thrust right into the end of you to make it all spill over. You came with a sob, shaking and jerking beneath him for a moment before a warmth spread through you; it started right where he filled you and spread everywhere until your mind was all foggy and your fingers started to go numb— or maybe that was just because of him pinning you down at the wrists.

Much to your disgust, you could hear how wet you had become with every stroke inside you, a sickening squelching noise that made him laugh as your face tingled with numbness and burned with shame all at once. “Oh fuck, that’s it,” he praised, “naughty little dolly, making a mess on daddy’s cock with that dirty fucking cunt of yours… I’m gonna cover it in my come, are you ready, baby? Ask daddy to come on your pussy, don’t make me hit you again.”

“Daddy, please,” you mumbled quietly, “come on my pussy…”

“I can’t hear you, babydoll, you need to speak up,” he mocked.

And you were just so exhausted and overwhelmed and his thrusts inside your sensitive walls were starting to get painful again— that was why you really meant it when you sobbed through your begging: “Please, daddy, come on my pussy!”

With one more panted moan he pulled out and only had to give his cock one blur of a stroke before white, warm come began to paint over your sore opening, your swollen clit, your bruised inner thighs. “Fuuucckkk…” he groaned under his breath as he watched himself coat you, and you caught a tinge of pink from your blood on his cock and hand as he slowed down to a stop. "Sheiße," he sighed, letting go of your wrists to sit up and close his eyes for a moment before looking down again at where you were limp and splayed out on your bed beneath him. “See? I’m getting reckless, I really shouldn’t be leaving evidence…”

Even without that, you knew his name and face, but apparently he was focusing on the copious amounts of DNA he’d just left on you.

“I suppose it won’t be a problem, because you’re not going to tell anyone,” he posited, leaning down slightly to hover over you as you swallowed around the rock that had suddenly formed in your throat. “You know how I know you won’t?”

You weakly shook your head, already terrified to imagine what the answer to that question was going to be. Of course, your first assumption was that he was going to kill you, or threaten to do so if you involved the police. He knew where you lived, he could threaten your family, too: the thought made your skin crawl as he leaned down further to whisper right against your ear as you instinctively turned your face away from him.

“Because if you tell someone that I raped you,” he finally continued, “then you’ll also have to tell them that you liked it.”

Speaking right against your ear, it took him no effort at all to stick his tongue out and lick you right on it, making you squeal with fear and disgust.

He quickly hopped off the bed and recollected himself, stuffing his softening and blood-stained cock back into his pants before gathering his discarded clothes from the floor. "Your folks won't be home for two more nights, right? I should come visit you again," he winked when he spared a glance at you. “Now get some rest, baby, you deserve it. Don’t worry, I’ll lock the front door behind me when we leave… wouldn’t want anybody unsavory getting in, now would we?”

[hockeywhy]

4 times you faked a relationship + 1 time you didn’t; m.tkachuk

WARNINGS: language. WORD COUNT: 17.2k. A/N: So, I didn’t want my effort for this fic to go to waste and I’ve decided to re-write it for Matty because he and the fake dating trope work so well together. I had to, so here it is.

one.

“I’d only be asking Matthew if I had no other options and needed a last resort,” you said. “Until then, I’m not even contemplating it.” 

“Kind of sounds like you’ve just about reached the bottom of your list, right around where you’re keeping Matthew, Y/N,” your friend, Anna, responded and though her tone said sympathy, the look on her face reflected anything but sheer elation. 

The invitation landed on your tabletop with a loud slap while you deposited yourself in a nearby chair unceremoniously, glaring at the decorative paper as if it offended you. Actually, scratch that. It did offend you. Greatly so. Honestly, it may as well have come in the form of one of those boxing gloves that sprung out of a box immediately upon opening and decked you square in the face. That’s how much it offended you. 

The golden letters inked on the thick paper warmly requested the pleasure of your company to witness the love of Josh Reynolds to Louise Jones six weeks from now. The location stated was a hotel you knew only through word of mouth: one of those fancy establishments that served ridiculously priced plates that were more canapes than actual meals. 

You doubted there would be much pleasure from your company.

You and Josh called it quits just over a year ago after a relationship that became increasing rockier, significantly more emotionally exhausting. The two of you started dating in high school and if the relationship started off with nothing but the sort of blinding fiery passion only teens could be capable of, well someone missed the memo on giving you the message that all fires eventually fizzle out. Gradually, it was the only way you could see your relationship heading and it seemed that Josh felt it too. It made the breakup easier: it was neat and mutual. Still, that couldn’t be considered an incentive for either of you to invite each other to such grand, deeply personal events. You couldn’t help but feel a little hurt that he found someone he wanted to tie the knot with so quickly but in retrospect, Josh had always wanted that while you were content as you were. That seemed to be the fork in your road with him.

On the one hand, you were angry at Josh for even considering jotting your name down on the list of attendees and on the other, you were angry at yourself for being angry about that. One moment you were dead set on declining the invite and the next, you considering that doing that would simply show you were bitter and unable to be civil about it. Besides, surely it was noted somewhere in the Rulebook of Ex’s that you just couldn’t do stuff like that. That seemed to just about do it. Like hell you’d given anyone the satisfaction of one-upping you.

You needed a plus one. Desperately. 

“Ask your brother then. Pretty sure that’s bound to impress anyone there. It’s not often many will get to say they brushed shoulders with an up-and-coming professional athlete.” 

“I don’t need that sort of plus one. If I did, I would’ve asked you—”

“Thanks,” Anna mumbled.”

“—but what I need,” you ploughed on ahead, “is, well, something that can come off a bit more serious looking.”

She rolled her eyes. “Saying the word boyfriend won’t jinx you into permanent silence, you know. You need a boyfriend.”

“A boyfriend for a day,” you agreed contemplatively. 

She picked up the invitation to look through it carefully and after concluding her inspection, she slapped the papers back down on the table, grinning. “Matthew it will be then!” 

Your younger brother, Jake, recently signed his entry-level contract with the Calgary Flames, in a way carrying forward the family tradition of starting a career in professional sports with them. Your grandfather did, your father did and now, here you were watching your little brother take on the mantle. Your family’s involvement in sport and, specifically, the team meant that you were somewhat familiar with the organization whether that meant attending home games or a few events arranged by the team. You couldn’t say you were the best of friends with them, certainly nowhere near the level your brother was, but generally speaking you were fond of the C of Red. 

That couldn’t also be said about Matthew, however.

It seemed that from the get-go, there was a personality clash between you. At first, you thought it was just Matthew picking on you, joking around as he disagreed with virtually anything you’d say but progressively, you were pretty sure the two of you didn’t even have the compatibility to keep things civil. Matthew had a way with pushing your buttons and it bothered you he could do that with so much ease, though the more you thought of it, the more it shouldn’t have come as a surprise to you: you were all too familiar with his on-ice shenanigans, after all. Whenever you knew you had to be under the same roof as him, you’d tell yourself to not let him get under your skin but that resolve would last for all of ten minutes. Fifteen if you had a particularly good day. 

Much to your chagrin, it seemed your brother was closest to Matthew. Though you offered the spare room in your apartment, your brother was so warmly welcomed by Matthew. It was no doubt even Jake found your annoyance with his teammate entertaining.

The thought alone was frustrating enough. If one day, by chance, you caught sight of a white strand of hair on your head, you were dead set on blaming Matthew for it. Matthew and his smarmy attitude; Matthew and his smartass retorts; Matthew and the smirks he threw your way whenever your brother took his side, outnumbering you. 

You clenched your teeth, glaring at the invite. From the corner of your eye, you saw Anna’s outstretched hand holding your phone out to you. A groan formed in your throat and you wished you kept in contact with the handful of guys you tried dating after Josh. None really stayed. Or better said, none managed to draw you in. It was as if Josh had put a jinx on you. If that was the case, you hoped that this whammy would disappear if it meant watching him watch someone else walk down the aisle towards him. 

Anna waved the device at you insistently. “Do it. Come on. Even you know nothing says fuck you like turning up there with Matthew. Scrappy when he wants to be and he’s not bad to look at either. You know it.” 

You arched an eyebrow up at her. “More than Johnny?” 

She flushed visibly. Johnny and Anna were still a relatively new thing, dancing around their relationship carefully as if they were both doing this rodeo for the first time. It was pretty cute. “Don’t change the subject.” She placed the device down on the table in front of you then patted your shoulder. “I have a feeling you won’t regret it. If he gets on your nerves too much, well…it can’t be worse than watching your ex get married, right?” 

“Ouch,” you winced, but chuckled, knowing you were defeated. Matthew was the last resort, and you knew you were at the bottom of your list before you even started going through it. “You do realize if he declines, I’ll probably make a start on packing my bags and moving to Montana, right? The only time you’ll hear from me is when my handwritten letter goes through the nine circles of hell that is our postal service.” 

Anna fixed you with a stare that could only read as ‘do it’. “I wouldn’t be so insistent on this if I knew Matthew would say no. I have a feeling he’ll surprise you.” 

With a heavy sigh, you unlocked your phone and scrolled through your list of contacts, thumb hovering over his name when it came up. Anna wasn’t wrong: Matthew wasn’t bad to look at all, that much you could admit. But god, if he turned you down…. you knew you wouldn’t be able to ever show your face in front of him or the rest of the team ever again. 

“I think I’ve had enough surprises from him to last a lifetime,” you mumbled but tapped the call symbol anyway.

He answered on the third ring. “Hel—

You didn’t let him finish. “I need your help,” you ground out, eyes closing while you rubbed at your forehead with the tips of your fingers. 

There was silence on the other end of the line that had you biting your lip in anxiousness. You shouldn’t have done this. You really shouldn’t have done this. All it would take would be just hitting the ‘resume my account’ link on one of the dating apps you signed up for a while ago. Someone was bound to be attracted not only to you but the promise of an open bar—

“Music to my ears,” Matthew’s response came through. You could practically hear the smile in his voice and knew you’d regret it; you could easily tell from the tone of his voice. 

You sighed quietly, leaning forward to rest your elbows on the table, eyes glued to the invitation. Fuck it, you could get someone else; easily, no doubt. The world of online dating was vast and there would always be takers.

“Uh, yeah actually, never mind—”

“No, no. Come on, Y/N. Pretty sure this is the first time you’re calling me first so can we take a moment to just let that sink in?” Silence again, then a chuckle. “Okay, now that we did. How can I help you?” 

It wasn’t as if Josh had put you in the position to ask Matthew for a favor but still: fuck Josh, anyway. In a split second of sheer pettiness, you considered aiming to host the most extravagant, unforgettable weddings when your turn would come just to show him who does it better. 

“Are you free the third weekend in June?” you asked tiredly. 

“Don’t know. Depends what for and who you’re asking for.” 

You should’ve asked him face-to-face. At least then, he would’ve had the chance to see you roll your eyes, turn on your heel and walk away. “I’m obviously asking for myself. Could you just be straightforward for once and answer yes or no? You’re making me hold the line for longer than I anticipated and I’m happy to ask someone else,” you lied.

“Let me get this right—” Here comes, you thought exhausted. “You’re calling me for the first time since you have my number to ask me if I’m free the third weekend in June? As a favor for yourself.” 

“Matthew, I didn’t stutter—”

“What’s happening in June?”

You don’t know what it was about his words that downed you. It was nothing but a simple question yet the only thing you could think of was: the first boy I’ve dated and so far, the only one, seems to have moved on quicker than I anticipated and while I’m still trying to build myself back up, I’m sitting in my kitchen looking at a wedding invitation and wallowing in self-pity because regardless of how hard I try, of how much I’ve amended my standards, no one seems to do it so what if this is it for me? What if this is just the way it’ll be from now on? And now, I’m resorting to lying just to make myself feel better but also put a façade in front of someone who I know no longer cares about me like that. And really, nor do I about him but here we are. So, nothing much is happening in June, Matthew. Hopefully we get a lot more sunshine though!

What you responded with instead was, “just an old friend of mine getting married and I need a plus one. Nothing serious. Just go there for an hour or two, say some hellos and leave. It’s a quick in-and-out thing.” 

More silence on the other end of the line other than the muffled shuffle of what sounded like bedsheets. “Why not ask your brother then?” 

“Asked him already, said he’s got something lined up already. So, are you free or not?” you lied, quickly pressing on even if you knew that sounded a lot like desperation.

“For you, at a price.” He was smirking. You knew he was and more than ever, you wished 2021 was the year you could just reach through the phone and shake the person on the other end. 

“Uh-huh. Right. No, just forget it. Forget I even—”

You were going to end the call when Matthew laughed, quickly calling out a “no, no! Nothing weird, I promise. Just owe me a favor in return, is all.” 

“Do I get a choice?” you mumbled, more to yourself than towards him.

“I think we both know that you don’t. Text me the time and place,” he instructed and then, just as you were really about to end the call, he added, “hey, send me a photo of what you’re wearing also. I’ll match my tie to your dress, free of charge.” 

“Can you maybe ditch the jacket while you’re at it? Just want to make sure your tie’s within reach so I can strangle you with it.”

Even after you cut the call, Matthew’s laughter rang in your ears. 

-

Matthew matched his tie to your red dress. The color of the silk around his neck was so striking, you would swear it was made from the same material as your outfit. You sent him a photo of the material of the dress, more as a joke than having any expectations attached to it so you were pleasantly surprised to see he made the effort. For a moment, you allowed yourself to bask in sheer joy knowing that to any eye, the two of you could easily pass as a couple. At least, from looks alone if not from attitude. You were a proud person; fiercely so. Knowing you were now in debt to Matthew however he saw fit dealt a pretty impressive blow to your ego. You don’t let yourself linger too much on that thought, though. It was already difficult enough to loosen up and relax your stance as you climbed into Matthew’s car as soon as he texted you of his arrival. 

“You look good,” he commented after you fixed the seatbelt on. He turned in his seat as much as space would allow so he could look at you properly and in return, you arched an eyebrow, refusing to give way to his stare. “Are you trying to one-up the bride?” 

“Ha, ha. Funny. You didn’t even see the bride. I didn’t even see the bride.” 

“Didn’t see her but I’m seeing you, so,” he shrugged, by way of explanation before correcting his position. 

If asked, you wouldn’t deny that Matthew also looked good. Very good. But only if asked. It was impossible that someone with a face like that didn’t know they turned heads easily wherever they went. Matthew’s suit fit him as if it was sown on him. If the two of you had a better relationship, you would even dare ask him what it was he was putting in that hair of his that made it so shiny and gave those curls so much definition, taming them almost perfectly when he really put his mind to it. Whatever it was, you had a feeling he didn’t strain as much as you had earlier that morning to tame your hair and though you could give yourself credit for how well it turned out, your arms weren’t thanking you for it. 

Thankfully, much of the drive was pleasant. Though you hated small talk, you decided to make an effort if only to ease your nerves as the navigation system indicated you were drawing closer and closer to that glitzy hotel. You learned that although the season was over, Matthew, Brady and the rest of the family would spend a few weeks in Canada before heading back home to St. Louis. In turn, you told him that some of the days off you booked from work would be spent somewhere just as sunny and warm but with more beaches. It was safe ground. That, you could do although progressively, you were becoming more and more distracted, and less focused on the conversation the two of you managed to keep. 

“Want me to pull over?” Matthew asked suddenly. 

“What,” you mumbled, turning your attention from the road ahead to Matthew who seemed amused by the situation. “Why would I want you to do that?” 

“I’d want you to do that. You look pretty pale and honestly, I’ve just had the interior cleaned so—”

“Fuck you, Tkachuk, keep driving. I’m just a little…cold. How high do you have the AC on?” 

He fixed you with a stare while waiting for the lights ahead to turn green, eyebrow arched. “It’s June, Y/N, and uncomfortably warm. If it makes you feel better, though, I could turn it off and we can roll down the windows instead?”

“No, sorry—you’re right. It’s fine. Just leave the AC as it is.” 

The laugh he gave was nothing short of incredulous. “Repeat that back for me. Actually—hold on, do that when I can press record on my phone so I can have that on repeat. Did you admit I’m right?” 

“God, you’re making me regret inviting you,” you muttered though without heat. 

An uncomfortable silence slipped between the two of you or maybe, it was just your perspective on it. Matthew seemed perfectly at ease minding the road, only occasionally throwing a cursory glance towards the car’s navigation system whenever it announced a turn. Doing this seemed more and more like a bad idea. A terrible one. No one would’ve held it against you if you denied the invitation. In fact, you thought that was more expected than accepting it and turning up to the party as if you were seeing an old friend, not an ex-boyfriend. It wasn’t too late though. Matthew could still turn the car around. 

“Listen, Matt—”

“You have now reached your destination. Your destination is on the right.”

You released a breath you weren’t even aware of holding, then threw a quick look towards the main entrance of the hotel. Already, a few guests whom you recognized were crossing into the lobby.

“You really don’t look okay at all,” Matthew repeated and there was less humor in his voice and more concern this time around. Even you weren’t ignorant to how much your mood kept fluctuating over the course of the drive: often, engaged in conversation but occasionally, withdrawn, barely just catching on to whatever it was Matthew was saying. Sure, he probably didn’t know you well enough to read you, but it didn’t take a genius to figure out something was amiss. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I felt like there’s more to this thing than you’re telling me. You could’ve asked your brother, yet you didn’t—” 

Damn it. You made him swear to play along. You made a quick mental note to get back at him about it whenever you felt energized enough to do so.

“Matthew,” you said, your voice suddenly clear, tone neutral. You didn’t dare look him in the eyes so instead, you kept your stare fixed on the revolving doors ahead. “I’m only going to say this once and I hope that you won’t make me repeat it now or ever again. I’d prefer that you don’t mention it to anyone either. The person getting married today is my ex-boyfriend. Up until last year, we’ve been together since we were teenagers. I loved him. Since we broke up, I kept trying to look for parts of him in others, but I couldn’t find even a trace of who he was. I feel as I’ve been jinxed, and I felt that maybe if I come today, maybe if I see him with someone else, I can confidently say I’m fine with that. It hurt my pride when I received the invitation, so my first thought was to lie. If, for just a few hours, I can pretend I’ve also moved on and I’m not stuck in this…fucking weird limbo, then maybe it becomes true. A fucked up self-prophecy. So.” You pause, clearing your throat. Your mouth suddenly felt dry from your speech, yet you couldn’t feel a pang of regret in your chest or heat behind your eyes. “So. If you want out, that’s fine. After all, I’m asking you to pretend to be my date out of spite, I guess. And embarrassment. It’s childish and unfair and ridiculous but—”

You came to a halt when you felt a finger under your chin, and a gentle upward push forced you to raise your head up a little more. When you turned towards Matthew, you looked at him with a look of confusion on your face. 

“Keep your head up. We have a wedding to go to.” 

His encouragement sunk in faster than expected and as your expression relaxed, a smile formed on your face. 

Yeah. The two of you had a wedding to go to. 

-

The event hall was decorated minimally yet tastefully. It made everything seem even more personal and you received that impression from every detail: from the flower arrangements to the music, everything was a testament to a life united by love. Maybe your emotional outburst earlier accounted for it, but you felt lighter even as you watched the newlyweds glide along the floor for their first dance. Sure, you felt a desperate pang of want but it was distant. Muffled. 

Despite your initial thoughts, having Matthew at your side felt very much like a safety cushion. It surprised you to watch him settle into his role with so much ease that eventually, even you didn’t have to remind yourself to not withdraw whenever his arm wrapped around your waist: sometimes loosely, sometimes a little tighter, reeling you in closer.

Fish, here is your bait, you thought wildly as you stood tucked at his side while he accepted flatteries from one of the guests who swore had been a fan of the Calgary Flames since before he could even talk.

“You must be so proud,” the man turned towards you. “Your family’s truly one of a kind to have all played for the team and now—” He gestures towards Matthew as if to say all of this. “Must be something about those Flames!” 

You laughed tightly, just as Matthew squeezed your side. By that move alone, you could tell he was eating this up. 

“Yeah, just can’t get enough of them,” you concluded, pitching your voice just a little higher towards the end. To the man, it was as genuine as could be, but Matthew cautioned you silently with the slightest narrowing of his eyes, effectively warning you to be more realistic. “Hey, I’ll get us some refills? Try to be a little more inconspicuous in the meantime. Remember this isn’t your day,” you joked. 

“Only practicing for when our turn comes,” Matthew responded without missing a beat and released the hold he had on you. 

Once at the bar, you allowed yourself some extra moments to catch your breath. Even off ice, Matthew was a force to be reckoned with. He struck conversation with others easily, drew their attention with seemingly little effort and easily set the mood for whatever situation or person the two of you would run into. A part of you thought his profession had a lot to do with his mannerism, but a bigger part knew different:  mostly, it was really just Matthew. 

He had a way with words and with people that you haven’t been witness to before and couldn’t help but wonder if it was all show. He was, after all, a face for the public: familiar with interviews, familiar with the attention, apparently not overwhelmed even by less conventional questions. Watching him play this role was fascinating to say the least. It certainly took your mind off the circumstances so credit where credit was due. 

“Hey, it’s good to see you here.” 

You turned from the bar and came face to face with Josh. His jacket was off, and his sleeves were neatly rolled up past his elbows; behind the knot of his tie, you could see he’d undone the top button of the collar. You’d seen him make countless rounds across the entire floor, greeting guests and ensuring everything was running smoothly. Occasionally, you watched him dance either with his wife, or family members, or even guests you recognized as work colleagues. 

You smiled. “Thanks for the invite. It was a bit weird to receive it, I can’t lie about that, but I’m glad you sent it.” It surprised you to learn you weren’t even lying about that. Through the course of the evening, it dawned on you that maybe, it was more the thought of being here that made you anxious; the event itself, however, proved just how right you were. It felt…fine. You felt fine. 

“Yeah—uh, I wasn’t… I wasn’t really sure but, well, before…” He trailed off into a sigh. 

You chuckled softly. “Would you like to buy a vowel?” 

That made him laugh. Truly, genuinely laugh. “Sorry. I guess it’s a bit weird for me also. But, well, before you and I were, well, you-and-I, we were friends. I would’ve hoped we’d still be friends even after…” He waved a hand in the air by way of explanation but that was sufficient for you.

“Won’t hurt to be friends. Whatever happened between us—well. Thing of the past. Build bridges and get over them, right?” 

“Right. Function of a bridge and all.”

“Hey. Congratulations, by the way! I’m happy for you. Really. I wish the two of you all the best. She seems really great.” 

“She is,” he agreed and cast a glance towards the room, eyes undoubtedly searching for her. “Are you—”

“Here you are.” 

Saved by the bell. A weight fell around your waist that, by now, was warm and familiar. Unconsciously, you leaned into Matthew, flashing a wide smile at Josh. At first, he seemed surprised by the sudden appearance but then his features settled into something more comfortable; something so much like relief that for a moment, you wished you could just come clean about it. You and Matthew were less than meets the eye.

Before you could even introduce them, a kiss was pressed to your cheek, knocking all air from your lungs and almost making you choke because of it.

What the hell.

“You were gone for some time, so I thought to check on you,” Matthew informed you, all matter of fact. To Josh, he said, “congratulations on the wedding. Must be pretty great to finally get to this point. You two look great together.” 

“Oh? Yeah. Yeah, thanks man. So glad you could come along today.” Josh turned to you, an eyebrow perked in interest. “I didn’t know you two were together.” 

“Oh we’re just—” 

You began but were promptly interrupted by Matthew. “We like to keep it lowkey. It hasn’t been that long for us but that’s not much of a problem when your gut tells you this is it. You know it well, right?”  

You were entirely caught off guard. Instead of responding immediately, you bought yourself some time by taking a sip from your glass of—whatever it was. Strong though. Just perfect for the situation you suddenly found yourself in: ex-boyfriend ahead, fake boyfriend to the side, promising sweet nothings that you knew would come back to haunt you at some ungodly hour. You wished you could step on his shoe; pull on those shiny curls of his real quick, knock some sense back into him. There was a difference between play a role well and clearly, playing it too well.

Matthew pushed ahead. “It’s pretty good timing for us though. We could take some notes for when our turn comes, right babe?” 

“I’ll let the two of you to it, then. Thanks again for coming.” Josh made a move to step away but before he did, he turned to you and caught your eyes. “I’m really happy for you, Y/N. You look good together. Just make sure you don’t take too many notes.”

“Wouldn’t dream to,” Matthew responded, and you could read the slight bite in his words. When Josh was out of earshot, he looked down at you. “You dated him? Just him?” 

“Hey, what’d I say about not bringing that up again? And save your dick measuring contests for the locker room, Tkachuk. Now’s not the time nor place.” 

“Now’s definitely the time and place,” he countered, making you roll your eyes but there was a smile on your face you couldn’t quite wipe off. “Come on. Let’s continue taking leaves out of their book.” In one swift motion, he took the glass from your hand and set it on the bar while above, the LED lights dimmed, and the playlist switched to a slower song. 

You threw him a cautious look, easily reading where that was going. “I’m not dancing.”

“Sure, you are. You want to give the impression of being happily in love? You need to start pulling your weight in this thing.” 

“Oh, I’m sorry, Atlas. Do your shoulders hurt from carrying the burden of our relationship?” you mocked, yet still allowed him to lead you towards the dance floor. Right in the center of it given the bride and groom appeared to sit this one out; you expected nothing less from him. You weren’t even surprised when he made an entire show out of it, forcing you to do a pirouette when the two of you claimed your spot. 

“You can’t even imagine the pain you put me through,” he sighed near your ear as the two of you began swaying to the music. 

“Well, you’re still standing so clearly it can’t be that bad.” 

“Baby, it’s torture.” 

You were grateful the two of you weren’t exactly face to face or you were sure Matthew would never have let you live down the flush you felt rising to your cheeks. Sure, he didn’t use the pet name in a genuine manner, but just hearing it roll off his tongue like that… You stopped that thought before it grew into a whole new different monster. 

After a few moments of silence passed, Matthew lowered his head closer to yours, his warm breath colliding with the skin on your throat. “Do you think now’s the right time to kiss? Are enough people watching?” 

You stepped on his foot. Not hard, but just with the right amount of pressure to draw a wince from him. Satisfied, you leaned back just a little to look at him properly. “Don’t even think about it, Tkachuk—”

“Thought about it already.”

Through clenched teeth, you hissed, “you. Are. Incorrigible.” 

He raised his eyebrows, surprised. “If only you could meet yourself.” 

You snickered quietly then leaned back against him. “Thanks for doing this. I know it’s not the most convenient of things… and it wasn’t fair to tell you the full truth of it right on the day of. But—well, thanks.”

“That sounds like it was pretty difficult to let out. It’s very…. heartfelt.” 

“Just fucking accept it as I gave it to you, Tkachuk,” you complained, more amused than annoyed.

More silence followed, filled in only by the general buzz of the room and the slow melody. “And now?” Matthew questioned a short while later. You allowed an extended silence to fill in for your confusion. He picked up on it within seconds. “Do you still feel jinxed? Stuck in the same place while he goes on ahead in life?” 

You took some time to think through your answer, time during which the song faded into yet another slow one. Matthew didn’t give an indication of wanting to move away from the dancefloor, so you saw no purpose in you doing that. 

“Not really,” you concluded. “Just seems like we’re both following different trajectories. Doesn’t mean I’m left behind if I’ve not yet met someone to settle down with like he did. Maybe I just need to be here to come to terms with it. Good for him though. I’m genuinely happy for him and his wife. I think lots of people imagine going through this very same moment.” You ended with a shrug but then, to lighten up the moment, you added, “don’t mock me for it. Between the two of us, I’m the one with the pointy shoes.” 

Matthew laughed, a low, pleasant laugh right by your ear. “I’ll give you a free pass for what’s left of today.” 

“Your generosity astounds me. Please could you also sign my jersey?” 

“Is it my jersey?” 

“Why would it be your jersey when I have my last name printed out on one at the expense of my brother being roughed up a little?” 

“Don’t tempt me. That favor you now owe me? I might just use it to have you get my jersey so I can sign it since you so generously asked.” 

“Your call,” you shrugged. “Just know it’s going straight in the wash right after you scribble on it.” 

Matthew took a few small steps back, only to pull you back towards him. You played along and spun as you landed into his hold once again.

“You say that now, but when you’ll see yourself with it—”

“I’ll auction it on eBay.” 

The laugh you got out of Matthew stayed with you through the rest of the night and like never before, his good disposition easily transferred to you.

two.

When the elevator doors slid open, your brother and Johnny weren’t the only ones to step into the hotel lobby. Matthew accompanied them, flashing a smug smile as the trio approached and his eyes landed on you. You cast a quizzical glance from your brother, to Johnny, to Matthew and then looked towards Anna as if to ask are you seeing this? She only shrugged at you in silent response, though she was grinning from ear to ear. At least someone was certainly enjoying this.

“Last I remember, there were only two of you,” you commented.

“Was that before or after your third drink?” your brother chirped back.

Instead of humoring him, you shift your gaze to Matthew. “What gives, Tkachuk? Can’t be left at home unsupervised during family vacations?” 

“My house training has only gone so far,” he responded smartly, then nodded his head towards Anna and Johnny who were caught in a half-hug, apparently entertaining by watching you and Matthew bicker as if watching a tennis match. “They’re not family.” 

Anna feigned a gasp on your behalf. “Y/N and I are part and parcel, Matt. Thought you’d know that by now.” 

“Well, the three of us are part and parcel also, Anna. Thought you’d definitely know that by now,” he responded but you were already leading the way out of the hotel lobby and towards the busy square outside.

It was a hub of activity: from street vendors to dance and music performers, there was something to see regardless of which way you looked. Although you arrived at your holiday destination the previous day, the flight south coupled with the warm, sticky evening made you want to steer away from the busier parts of the town. Instead, you opted to lounge by the pool with Anna, having perhaps one too many cocktails to kickstart your vacation. Perhaps you missed Matthew’s arrival at some point then, though for the life of you, you couldn’t remember anyone mentioning he’d come along also. Not that it bothered you greatly.

Since the time you asked him to be your plus one some few weeks ago, the relationship between the two of you warmed slightly. Sure, he still knew which buttons to press to get a reaction out of you, but you saw it as being less ill-intended and more good-natured fun. You kept up with him easily and whenever it felt as if he was cornering you, you conceded with a roll of your eyes but never admitted defeat. You didn’t consider the two of you friends, but something changed on the day of the wedding right around the time you had spilled out your feelings about the entire deal to him. Looking back on it, you found it strange just how easily you did that, no second thoughts, no wishing for takebacks. You knew you owed him the truth given the position you put him in without plenty of heads-up, but you could’ve easily just simplified the entire thing. 

It wasn’t difficult to stick together as a group but eventually, you wandered off towards a few stalls on your own that have caught your eye. Though you wanted some more time to have Anna to yourself, it was technically her first vacation with Johnny. You could catch up with her later in the room; surely, she’d have even more swooning to do over him by then. Not that you blamed her. Johnny was an incredible guy. 

First, you stopped at a stall selling a range of baked goods that you simply couldn’t turn away from. And for good reason: the sour cherry churro you settled for was a dream come true. From there, you strolled towards a few small stores selling a range of products ranging from colorful graphic tees to earrings made from vibrant, colorful gemstones. You held a blue pair next to your ear, turning one way then another to watch as the light reflected off the gleaming gem. 

“Those suit your complexion,” the attendant commented and when you looked towards him, he smiled bashfully. 

A gentle heat crept up your neck, unable to keep the grin off your face but you couldn’t look away from him: his skin was lightly tanned, and a dusting of freckles covered the bridge of his nose and upper cheeks. His blond hair was messy in a way you could easily tell was styled to appear as such. He was cute in a sort of conventional way, but you liked the way he smiled at you, all shy but certainly genuine.

“Funny you say that. I always had a feeling blue was my color,” you responded, and his smile widened. 

“Here for vacation?” he asked. 

You nodded. “Yeah, I just got here yesterday, and I’ll be around for a few days,” you added, a little hopeful. 

Hey, if you could score some good company while in the area, then you weren’t going to turn down the opportunity to flirt a little and make good with someone more local.

“Good. That’s really good to know.” He regarded you for a moment and you were certain that caused your blush to deepen though at the same time, it made you feel a little…exposed. “Hey, are you free—”

“The red ones are nicer.” 

You squeezed your eyes shut, frustration quickly replacing the feeling of near euphoria. You could recognize that voice anywhere. Of all times he could have run into you, the universe fixed it so he popped up when you least needed that to happen. 

“I prefer the blue,” you countered, then held them up against your ear again though you knew you didn’t need to double check if they suited you. 

“No, trust me with the red,” Matthew insisted, and you saw him appear behind you in the small circular mirror you were looking into. He was so close. “Goes well with that little number I got you the other day.” 

You sputtered. “W-what?! Stop messing—”

In the mirror Matthew’s eyes flicked from you to the attendant. “Yeah, you know the one. I left the box on the bed in our room, thought to surprise—”

“Tkachuk, just shut up. There isn’t an our room—”

This was so painfully uncomfortable. So frustratingly annoying, you felt the blood warm in your veins, that familiar wave of anger coursing through your body.

“I’ll ring those up for you,” the attendant said, his voice carefully polite while he accepted the red earrings from Matthew’s outstretched hand. 

You hated him. Passionately hated him. It was easy for Matthew to play games like those because he could easily get just about anyone, but you? It wasn’t quite as easy to not be a pro-athlete who had pretty much everything lined up and going for them. You tried catching the store attendant’s eyes again but he was busy accepting the cash from Matthew after packing away the earrings in a small paper bag. You knew he wouldn’t catch sight of it, but it didn’t stop you from casting a longing, apologetic glance towards him before leaving the store. 

It felt as if for every two steps you took, Matthew only needed one and despite the crowds, he caught up with you easily, holding out the bag towards you while you powered ahead. 

“Come on, don’t be mad. The red ones are definitely better than the blue ones,” Matthew tried to reason with you while holding the hand stretched out to you, insistent on his offer. When you didn’t respond and instead, tried to rush further ahead, Matthew pressed on. Him managing to keep up with your pace only added fuel to the fire. “Don’t tell me you’re upset over Ron Jon back there.” 

You came to a halt, turning to glare up at him. “I am, Matthew. You didn’t need to do what you did back there. There was no reason for it. It was shitty of you, and I need you to back off while I try to enjoy the rest of my night.” You clenched your jaw, trying to suppress the overwhelming feeling of anger that normally resulted in tears. “You could at least pretend to be sorry about it.” 

With that, you turned on your heel and squeezed your way through the crowds, ignoring Matthew’s calls to stop and come back and that he was only joking. 

Too late for that, you thought bitterly, making a turn towards a street popular for its dining and bar venues. 

-

The part of the archipelago more popular with tourists was truly a sight to behold as the sun went down, coloring the sky in some of the warmest, most calming shades of orange, red and yellow you ever saw. It seemed as if everyone gathered on the promenade, phones at the ready while taking photos of the sky, selfies and group shots. Even you couldn’t resist it and after taking a few well-centered selfies, a passing couple offered to take your photo which you immediately posed for. 

Later, once the sight sunk in, you moved towards a nearby bar, first attracted by the pink, purple and blue neon lights and then, the music. A good cocktail, good music and a gorgeous sunset were all it took for you to feel more relaxed, leaving behind the event from earlier. He wouldn’t be the first cute guy you’d see, nor the last and indeed, it was easy for you to settle in the more crowded area of the locale where people were dancing either solo, with a partner or as part of a group.

Not long after you weaved your way onto the dancefloor, you felt a pair of hands settle on your hips, drawing you in. You went easily, accepting the embrace, accepting the way you were being led into the dance, swaying your hips along with his. You didn’t even miss a beat when he spun you around, but you kept your hands pressed against his shoulders, rather than wrapping your arms around his neck. You were tipsy, no doubt, and admittedly felt touch-starved but you weren’t quite in the mood for anything more. You even dodged his mouth when he tipped his head down to your lips so instead, he landed a kiss on your cheek. Still, he was pretty relentless. The dance took a turn that was significantly more sensual, crossing a line into discomfort, and you felt that was your cue to try and remove yourself from him. It was easy initially. You threw him a small smile and when he caught hold of your hand, you simply motioned you were only going to get a drink, hoping that would keep him where he was with the knowledge you would return. 

When you finally pulled away, you made a bee line towards the exit of the venue but again, you were a step too slow. The guy caught you just at the door.

“Where are you running off to, pretty?” he slurred, his voice louder above the thumping of the music. 

“Oh—Um, just getting a breath of fresh air, is all,” you said quickly and immediately wished you didn’t venture off in a place like this alone. It was as if you suddenly forgot everything that was common sense, pushed towards it by earlier frustration. 

“Doesn’t look like it to me.” He frowned, but there was no clarity in his eyes. He was entirely out of it and his fingers squeezed painfully around your wrist. You flinched visibly, squirming under his touch and even if you tried pulling your arm away, it was useless. He overpowered you even through the drunken haze. “Wanna go? Fine, then let’s go together.” 

“No—uh, I’m actually here with my friends. I’ve just—I saw them so I’m going to catch up with them. They must be looking for—”

“Then we can go to them together, sweetheart. Here, point them out to me.”

“No, really. I’m going to them alone,” you emphasized and put all your force into trying to free your hand. It may have taken him by surprise that led to his loosened grip, but as soon as you turned on your heel, you found out there was more to it than just that.

You almost faceplanted right into Matthew’s chest when you tried making a run for it. He stood there, eyes flicking between you and the guy with an unreadable expression on his face. Your heart was hammering wildly in your chest and instinctively, you almost glued yourself to his side. It wasn’t the first time someone tried to force a move on you, but it was the first time it was done so in such a thoughtless, drunken manner. Perhaps your fear was also enhanced by being alone in an unfamiliar place. To see Matthew this time felt like a blessing.

“Babe,” Matthew said by way of greeting, pulling you to him when he wrapped an arm around your shoulders. 

You didn’t realize you were trembling until you stood so close to him, legs suddenly feeling like jelly in front of your salvation. Matthew could easily overpower the guy; even if they were roughly the same height, there was a big difference between the body of an athlete and the swaying one of a drunk guy. Still, it didn’t mean you wanted Matthew to get caught up in anything he’d later regret or would affect him in any way, so you pressed a hand to his chest trying to put some pressure into guiding him away from the scene.

“She yours?” the drunk guy slurred, head tilting back, chin pointing towards your general direction.

“Yeah. So, guess that makes the situation even worse for you,” Matthew responded. His tone was light, seemingly non-threatening to someone who didn’t know him but you did. You knew him and you could read him crystal clear in this moment. 

“Matthew, please,” you muttered, looking at him almost desperately while trying to put all your body weight into guiding him away. 

The guy scoffed. “You’ve gotta do better than that, buddy.” He snickered. “You’ve gotta keep ‘em on a tighter leash unless you want them to go—”

Matthew made a move towards him, but you quickly stepped in front of him, essentially forcing him to halt. “Matt, please. Let’s go, okay? Please. I really want to leave. Right now.” 

He glared at the guy for a moment longer but the hard look in his eyes softened as soon as his gaze fell on you. You took the liberty of placing most of your weight against Matthew, allowing him to remove both of you from the situation and towards a less crowded area. That was easy to find: with the sun having long set, most of the crowds cleared away from the promenade so there was plenty of space for you to collect yourself in peace. 

He didn’t pry into the situation, didn’t even make any smartass comments. Instead, he let you slip away from under the safety of his arm while you pace around a small area, trying to work off the anxiety as much as you could. You had to count your breaths, remind yourself to breathe in then out slowly. You were okay. You were far from that guy, and he couldn’t hurt you. At least, no more than he already did. Your wrist felt a bit sore, but you’d take that over anything worse. 

“You okay?” Matthew asked at last, tone careful. “I can go back there and pull him out, you know, get him to apologize.”

“No!” you said loudly, desperately, then cleared your throat and lowered your voice. “No, don’t go. Please. I just need a moment, that’s all. Just a little. Could you not leave? I’ll be fine in a moment. Just—just need to catch my breath—"

“Hey, hey—relax. It’s over. He can’t put a hand down on you now, or ever.” Matthew took a few steps closer to you as if apprehensive to approach you in the first place. You knew what you must’ve looked like: pale, still shaken by what happened. He held a hand towards you, palm up. “Can I touch you?” 

You looked from it to his face, then said, “don’t get any funny ideas,” but it lacked your usual punch. You took his hand though, letting yourself be drawn to him. Matthew smelled like the sea. You couldn’t help but wonder if maybe he’d gone down to the beach earlier to take a dip. You wished you did that rather than try and drink your frustration over missing out on a random guy. God, you could sleep right here if sleeping while standing was a thing. “I’m sorry for reacting the way I did before—with, uh—what did you call him?” 

Matthew chuckled, a low, deep chuckle. “Ron Jon.” 

“You’re awful, Tkachuk.”

“And you have a funny way of expressing gratitude.” 

“Sorry—”

He laughed louder. “I’m messing with you.” A pause, and then, “I’m sorry I rained on your parade earlier with the guy back then. If you really liked him…” He trailed off, as if to let you fill in the sentence for him.

You laughed weakly, waving a hand dismissively. “Thanks. Again. Seems like nowadays, I just keep having to thank you for one thing or the other.” 

You felt him shrug. “Fine by me. You keep adding to these favors you owe me.” 

“It’s only one. Well. Two if you want to be a dick and count this one too.” 

You took a step back, detaching yourself from him to run both hands through your hair. You felt exhausted, drained of energy yet relieved. Who would’ve thought you’d be pleased to see Matthew pull another one of his appearing out of the blue acts?

“You give me no other choice but to be one,” he joked. “Come on, let’s go back to the hotel. Everyone’s wondering where you were, so you kind of lost your right to vote on dinner for tonight.” 

You sighed heavily. “Let me guess: you all ganged up on me in my absence and settled on lobster?” 

Matthew grinned. “Can’t vacation in a seaside town and skip out on that.” 

“Ugh. Sea critters.” You pulled a face, drawing yet another laugh from Matthew. It made you feel oddly accomplished but you cut that train of thought there, forcing it to derail elsewhere, to place more familiar to you, more comfortable. “Matthew, I mean it when I said thank you. That was—it was scary,” you admitted as the two of you started walking back towards the hotel. You pulled your wrist into your hand, rubbing at the skin gently. Focused on the road ahead, you missed Matthew frowning down at the gesture. “I don’t know how that happened. It’s just—it’s not my thing to do. Go out alone, especially in a place like that. Good instincts by the way,” you tried to joke but it fell flat.

“Don’t mention it,” he said, voice tight. “I don’t want to think about it again if I can help it.” 

You cast a confused stare in his direction but by then, it was his turn to look ahead, a frown marring his features. You didn’t push any further though. 

Later that night, after you and Anna decided to call it a day and switch off the lights, you lay in bed glancing a look up at the ceiling above. You didn’t think back on the evening’s events but rather, thought back to how a familiar small brown paper bag was taped to your room’s door before dinner. Anna had fixed you with a knowing stare as you plucked it off the door, tipping its contents into the palm of your hand. 

Then, you thought how during dinner, Matthew had claimed the seat next to yours and complimented the earrings you wore, remarking how awfully familiar they seemed though he could swear he didn’t know where from. For the first time, you had an inside joke to share with him and neither of you bothered to offer any clarifications to everyone else around the table as they tried to press for details. 

three.

The Flames’ first game of the season was scheduled to take place in Las Vegas and with a few days left of vacation, you couldn’t skip on the opportunity to return to the city you were inexplicably fond of, as well as watching your brother play on the third line. The night promised to be unforgettable, and you wouldn’t miss it for the world. Although there were plenty of things to keep you busy throughout the day, your eyes would occasionally wander down to your watch, counting down the hours until the start of the game. It seemed like most of the city was doing the same.

Often, you’d spot handfuls of people donning Knights jerseys and occasionally, there would be a few Flames fans wandering the streets and locales. You’d only spotted one person wearing your brother’s jersey but that was more than enough for you – he was a fairly new face in the professional league, but he certainly pulled his weight during every shift he had on ice whenever given the opportunity. Luckily, you managed to take a quick photo of their back before they disappeared into the crowds, sending it to your brother along with a thumbs-up emoji. 

He didn’t respond immediately, nor did you expect him to. You could only imagine how quickly he racked up pre-game nerves and he had a pretty strict routine, which included avoiding his phone until after the game. You couldn’t really make sense of superstitions even if each member of your family who played, whether professionally or otherwise, had their own. Naturally, you were surprised when your phone pinged, indicating a new message almost half an hour later. Except, it wasn’t quite who you were expecting.

Matthew is that your way of saying good luck?

You frowned, but all it took was a little more attention on your part to notice you hadn’t sent the message to your brother but rather, to Matthew. Lately, he was one of your top contacts for frequent messaging.

You wrong number

You good luck to you too though, i guess :/ 

Matthew busy?

You don’t you have practice to get to?

Matthew [attachment: photo of an ice rink where a few players were captured in motion]

Matthew [attachment: photo of his skates, taken from the players’ bench]

Matthew on break, where are you?

You hanging around

Matthew what are you wearing? 

You [emoji: middle finger] 

Matthew ice cold

Matthew nice, i can handle ice cold

You then go handle ice cold so you don’t get handled tonight

Matthew wish me luck too

You i already did

Matthew i need it twice, it’s my superstition 

You that’s a bullshit superstition

Matthew if we lose tonight, it’s on you

You [emoji: angry face]

You good luck!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Matthew :) 

You dropped your phone on the table with a low groan, slouching in your chair. From across the table, Anna shot you a confused stare which quickly morphed into understanding when you rolled your eyes, shooting your phone a look of frustration as if the device itself was to blame. 

“Anything interesting?” she asked in a singsong tone. 

“If you count Matthew being his usual self interesting, then that’s what’s up. Otherwise, nothing new.”

“By his usual self, do you mean engaging? Funny? Witty? So good with his words that he yet again takes your attention and keeps it while the rest of us, mere mortals, struggle to do that for longer than a few minutes tops?” 

You arched an eyebrow, somewhat amused. “All that – just empty words.” 

Anna leaned back in her seat, taking her glass with her while twirling the straw, looking ahead somewhat thoughtfully. “You know what the two of you remind me of? Those two kids in the playground who think love can only be expressed through pulling hair and making snide remarks.” 

“First of all, that’s a shitty way of trying to get someone to realize you have feelings for them and second of all, love is a pretty big word. You managing to carry it okay?” 

“Okay, maybe not love. But like? It has to be like. Say what you want to say but it looks different from the outside.” 

“Okay, you keep staying out there and let me know what you’re seeing. I like your imagination. Very vivid,” you commented but there was no bite to your words and Anna threw her head back with laughter. 

You didn’t think much of your exchange with Matthew throughout the rest of the day, nor did you try to linger too long on Anna’s interpretation of your relationship with Matthew. You let it wash over you, knowing it’d give her too much satisfaction if you fretted too much over it and anyway, many of your thoughts seemed to fly towards the evening’s game. 

By the time the two of you made your way to the arena, however, you moved from anxiety to excitement within the space of mere moments, apparently. Even if this wasn’t your first rodeo and you’d been to countless games before, there was nothing quite like the thrill of an opening game. You and Anna had spaces reserved in the upper stands along with other family members and significant others but both of you chose to watch the warm-ups close-up, so you hung around by the glass at ice level. 

The Vegas Knights and the Flames stepped on the ice to a combination of cheers and the thump of a loud electronic mix. You spotted your brother almost instantly. He did a quick lap around the team’s half of the ice before pulling a puck towards him with his stick, sliding it this way and that before shooting it over towards the net. Once sufficiently warmed up, he cast a searching look around the rink and you quickly waved both arms up in the air to try and get his attention. You knew he’d spotted you, but he made an entire show out of looking over you until you smacked a hand against the panel. You knew the sound wouldn’t be heard over the general noise of the arena, but he still laughed. When he skated over, you held your phone up, giving it a quick shake and mouthing “selfie?”. 

He flashed a thumbs up and you quickly turned around to take the photo, but it wasn’t until you inspected it afterwards that you noticed you were photobombed by Matthew himself. You had every intention to look up from the screen and somehow try and get his attention only to glare at him, but he was a step ahead. You almost jumped out of your skin when you noticed Matthew standing right there by the glass, smirking at you.

“Asshole,” you mouthed, not daring to voice it out given you were surrounded by kids.

Matthew winked, skated to collect a stray puck then threw it up over the boards towards one of the kids standing right next to you. The kid was clearly thrilled by the gesture, bouncing up and down with the puck held over his head as if it were a trophy. You couldn’t help it: your heart melted at the sight, so you simply nodded once at Matthew, apparently just in time as the warm-up countdown reached zero.

You weren’t surprised the home team were putting on such a show for the opening night. There was a little bit of Vegas in every opening act: from the fireworks set off outside the arena to the showgirls and mind-blowing animations projected down on the ice, it felt more of a Stanley Cup playoff game than the start of a regular season game. This was Vegas and no one did it quite like Vegas did, you had to give that to them. 

Both teams were almost evenly balanced throughout the first period but stepping out of intermissions and into the second, the Flames started powering ahead. It was as if something had clicked together even better and they functioned as a well-oiled machine, both in offence and defense. By the end of that period, they were leading the Knights 3-2 and you were more than elated your brother had earned himself an assist. Like all games, tensions formed quickly, and the third period saw both teams play aggressively. On several occasions, you caught sight of players clearly chirping each other even while heading towards their respective benches after the end of a shift. Once, Matthew seemed to be involved in a seemingly endless yelling match with a player on the opposing team. There were more checks against the panels, an impressive number of penalties drawn by both teams, and it felt as if the atmosphere was just tethering towards a fight.

It happened right after the Flames scored the fourth goal with just two minutes left of the game. 

The moment the puck was dropped at center ice, you watched as Matthew charged ahead towards one of the Knights players who didn’t hesitate to drop the gloves. Between them, Matthew had the faster instinct, and he landed the first punch, effectively forcing both players to fall to the ice while the referees scrambled to try and split them apart. They were there a moment too late, just mere seconds after you caught sight of knuckles scraping along Matthew’s mouth on the big screens above. At first, it seemed to be nothing more than a graze but once he was separated and made his way towards the Flames bench, you noticed several spots of blood on his jersey on the screens above that made you almost jump out of your seat.

Sure, this was a familiar sight, but it didn’t alleviate the sheer shock and restlessness. Whatever had happened between them must’ve been a pretty big deal to set Matthew off the way it did. There was no way of sugarcoating it: the fight was vicious. More than ever, you wanted the period countdown to reach zero so you could go down to the lockers. It wasn’t just a few nagging feelings towards Matthew that led you to react the way you did. He was a friend, after all, so worrying for him was simply natural. An expected way of responding to a situation like that. 

“He had it worse before, remember?” Anna reminded you as you followed the small stream of relatives and friends down towards the players’ rooms.

“Still looked pretty bad to me,” you responded, briefly pulling your lower lip between your teeth. Before she could continue being the voice of reason, you added in a light tone, “I just want to see if he had any teeth knocked out of his mouth this time around.”

It took some time before the players filed out and as you watched them come out one by one, you almost wished you saved this for somewhere less…well, public. Sure, you were just a friend checking on a friend, but you wished you could do that without an audience. 

Your brother emerged first, beaming, no doubt pleased with the win, and you hugged him tightly, easily sharing his joy. 

“He’s just getting ready to come out now,” he informed you, heading nodding back towards the locker.

You blinked. “What? Oh—no, I’m just. I was waiting for you to say congratulations. What are you even talking about,” you mumbled but inevitably, your eyes were drawn towards the locker room as the door swung open and Matthew stepped out.

His hair was still damp but already curling again. He was dressed in the same suit he probably arrived in, a simple light grey number that fit him perfectly. He had his backpack on also and in one hand, he carried an apparently ice-cold bottle of water while the other was pressing an ice pack to the corner of his mouth. When you made eye contact, he frowned lightly and for a moment, seemed almost hesitant to approach you. This time, you were a step ahead and cornered him before he decided to walk away.

You nodded your head once, indicating in his general direction. “What? You’re trying to add to the family’s hefty dentist bill by getting a few teeth knocked out already?”

Matthew shrugged. “It’s not hockey without a few scraps now and then.”

“For a guy who got a goal and an assist, you sure don’t look too pleased with that.” 

At that comment, Matthew’s expression shifted, lightening up considerably. “Are you keeping track of my stats now?”

“What? No, Tkachuk. I was doing what everyone else in that arena was doing: paying attention generally speaking.” 

Suddenly, his entire face scrunched up in pain and he almost doubled over as he groaned. Instinctively, you reached out for him, eyes widening a little when bending down a little to try and look at his face. 

“Oh my god—Matthew. Are you okay? Do you need me to get a medic to check—” 

You frowned as soon as you felt his shoulders tremble under your touch. Slowly, it dawned on you he was laughing. Laughing. You slapped his shoulder lightly, the gesture more a tap than anything else and you started walking down the corridor quickly, trying to catch up with everyone else as they filed out of the arena. 

“Hey, hey, wait, Y/N! Come on, don’t be mad,” he called out after you and you heard him jog to catch up with you. When he did, he took a couple more steps ahead then stepped in your path, walking backwards to match your pace. “I was only messing around. I couldn’t not do that. You should’ve seen your face, honestly.” 

“My face? Hope you’ve seen yours. I’m not mad. Me being mad would basically mean you managed to get to me which you really didn’t, so don’t give yourself any credit, Tkachuk,” you responded. “You just reminded me you’re still a dick so thanks for that.” 

“Give me a free pass. I’m injured.” 

“If you’re searching for sympathy, you’re looking for it in the wrong place,” you informed him, side stepping him so that he resumed walking at your side instead. After a few moments of silence, you conceded with a sigh. “Seriously speaking. How’s your mouth?”

“Don’t think I’ll need fillers, let’s just say.” He removed his hand from his mouth, and you looked over. 

Thankfully, it seemed that putting ice on it quickly was paying off. The area was somewhat red, but no significant damage seemed to be visible to the untrained eye. He was certainly miles better than he was just months ago. 

“Looks okay, I guess,” you shrugged. “What happened? Honestly, it looked pretty intense from the outside.” 

Matthew didn’t respond and you didn’t press him for details even after you stepped out into the balmy Vegas night. If he chose to not share with you, then you guessed it must’ve been either pretty personal or pretty stupid. You leaned more towards the former. You didn’t even complain when he followed you to the car you hired, claiming the passenger seat. Before you also stepped inside, a message pinged in from Anna informed you she had taken off with Johnny for dinner but promised to be back in the room in a few to catch up.

You didn’t start the engine when you fixed your seatbelt and instead, leaned your head back against the rest, watching a few other vehicles pull out of the car park. In his seat, Matthew was looking out of the window to his left, heading resting against a loosely formed fist propped up against the door. 

“He was talking shit about you,” he said at last, but didn’t turn to you when he spoke. 

“Who was?” 

“The guy on the other team. He made a comment about you towards your brother at the end of the shift. Something about… I don’t know, something crude, vulgar. Don’t really remember it.” 

You didn’t quite believe him on the last part, but you allowed it anyway. “Okay… Well, I don’t know the guy anyway, so it didn’t matter, Matthew. You should have let it slip by or left my brother to deal with it.” Then, out of curiosity, you asked, “why didn’t you?”

More silence. Occasionally, the muffled sound of a passing car would cut through it but it, too, would be gone in seconds.

“Because I couldn’t.”

You pursed your lips and your fingers clenched then unclenched in your lap. You placed your hands on the steering wheel, then dropped them away before settling them back on it after starting the engine. 

“Thanks, I guess. You just keep making me owe you favors.”

“You don’t owe me—”

“So, I’ll clear that now with dinner. Just please don’t tell me you’re going to need to be on a smoothie diet. I’ll feel bad eating something really good while you’re there with a strawberry and banana drink. Not that I’d stop eating though, just so you know. But it’s the thought that counts,” you said and finally, finally he chuckled quietly. 

“No smoothie diets this time.”

You sighed dramatically. “Maybe no smoothie diets ever?”

Matthew shrugged. He was still not meeting your eyes but that was okay. “Can’t promise that. Kind of comes with the job. Just in case though, I like the sweeter stuff more. Triple chocolate, Oreo pieces, peanut butter.” 

“Thanks, Matthew. I’ll file that under information I don’t care to know about.” 

“I’m injured. Show some sympathy,” he demanded without heat, finally turning to you. 

You cooed then reached out with one of your hands to pat his cheek lightly. “Aw, really searching for it in the wrong place.”

“I’ll make do with what I can get,” he allowed, and you could swear he leaned into your touch, but you tore your hand away before either of you got too comfortable. 

four.

Matthew called in his favor after a few of his teammates agreed where to host their Halloween party. 

“Kind of sounds like you’re the one asking for a favor,” you commented, planting yourself at your kitchen table while securing the phone between your ear and shoulder.

Matthew sighed on the other end. “Sort of. Who does a themed Halloween party anyway? The theme itself is Halloween.” 

“You’re not wrong about that. Could be fun though, a bit more unique. So, what’s the theme for this year?” 

“Couple outfits,” Matthew replied without hesitation. 

You stilled and were grateful he wasn’t in the same room as you. It took you a great deal more energy over the course of the past few months to convince yourself that Matthew didn’t attract you in one way or another. His looks aside, it was rare you came across someone who could easily keep up with your snide remarks and the more you got to know him, the more you realized that there was more to Matthew than just being a typical athlete with his share of well-deserved fame. He was funny, dedicated and undoubtedly, caring. You had some first-hand experience with the latter. After all, he didn’t owe you anything to make him obligated to jump into whatever weird situation you found yourself in.

You warmed to him little by little. If you found him attractive, well that was for you alone to know though it made everything just that more difficult. Thankfully, Matthew seemed pretty oblivious to it or at least, he was doing a good job at pretending he didn’t catch you staring at him on several occasions or the few times you took a discrete step back if it felt like you were too close to him. Knowing he was asking you to go together as a couple (pretend couple, you corrected yourself) only added to the difficulty of coming to terms with your…crush. 

Puppy love, you assured yourself. It’ll go as quickly as it came. 

“Y/N?”

“Sorry, still here. Guess it sucks another year will go by without the opportunity to bring out your Fortnite costume.”

“Oh, come on. I wouldn’t dress like a game character!”

“Matthew,” you warned.

There was a pause, then, “okay, fine. Maybe I would. So, can you come?” 

You shrugged, then remembered he couldn’t see it. “I owe it to you, don’t I?”

“Great! Hey, choose something good for us. There’s going to be a prize for best dressed and I have my eyes on it.”

“I think we can both agree my creativity will not let us down. I’ll text you my idea. You just make sure you actually stick to it, so I don’t end up looking stupid.”

“Don’t worry,” he started, “I won’t dump you on Halloween.”

“Good to know I won’t end up traumatized and have my favorite holiday ruined,” you said, by way of goodbye.

-

“Hey, spin around for me once. You look good. Blonde’s not bad on you.” 

“No color’s bad on me,” you responded but refused to entertain Matthew by complying with his request. Instead, you rang the bell to Noah’s apartment after the door didn’t budge when Matthew tried the handle. 

“Come on, just a spin,” Matthew insisted, nudging his elbow into your own then pressed the doorbell himself once again – hard, as if that would make it ring louder.

“Only if you dance for me and do the entire Greased Lightning choreography without missing a step.” 

Matthew feigned a groan and you shot him an amused look. Before you could even comment on that, the door opened, and Noah stood at the threshold. The ruckus from inside spilled out into the corridor and from what you could see beyond him, it was a full house of all sorts of characters. 

“Wow! Sandy and Danny! Finally, someone with really good taste,” Noah said by way of greeting and he looked towards you pointedly. 

You flashed him a grin. “Always a pleasure to exceed expectations,” you responded and stepped into his open arms, a clear invitation for an embrace that was shortly broken apart by Matthew.

“Hey, none of that man,” he said, pulling you back and easily holding most of your weight as you broke into a laugh that had you stumbling into his side. “I didn’t even get to tell her she’s the one that I want.” 

“Yeah, well, you better shape up ‘cause I need a man,” you responded, without missing a beat though you couldn’t help but replay his words in your mind. They sounded a lot like a broken record that you desperately wished to stop immediately before this…thing went way too far and spun out of control.  

You were both led towards a photo wall and if you had any nerves about striking good poses without at least some liquid courage first, all that vanished. To your surprise, Matthew easily took the lead initially, falling to his knees in front of you in an attempt to recreate the part where a smitten Danny fell before Sandy, completely and utterly overwhelmed by her presence. Despite it being difficult to control your laughter, you played along with ease. At first, you were simply grinning down at him but you couldn’t let all his in-character effort go to waste, so you turned, casting a glance down towards him over your shoulder. To your side, Noah’s flash was going off every few seconds as he tried to capture the two of you from the best angle, together with cheers of encouragement. For your second pose, you rested your arms on Matthew’s shoulders once he rose back to his full height and his hands held on to either side of your torso. Again, the flash went off and again, the two of you changed pose into something more casual: him, standing behind you with his palms on your hips while you place a hand on his face, grinning at the camera. The flash went off again and he whooped loudly.

“I’m never inviting both of you to a party with this theme again,” Noah muttered, feigning disgruntlement. “You can’t come into my home and kill it like that.” 

“Blame the one who came up with this idea in the first place,” Matthew defended, holding both hands up in the air in a gesture of innocence. 

It was true. The idea to dress as Danny and Sandy from Grease came to you fairly quickly. You knew the two were a popular go-to, but you enjoyed the movie greatly. Plus, it was a great opportunity for you to pull out a pair of red heels you invested a hefty sum of money into. And, well, admittedly there was something about Matthew that made you think he’d suit the role just fine. When you shared your idea with him, he was on board from the start without complaining or suggesting alternatives. You were grateful for that: when Matthew picked you up earlier, dressed in an all-black outfit, leather jacket and hair styled to rival John Travolta’s, you gave yourself a mental pat on your shoulder. If any photos would go up on the internet, you were pretty sure Instagram would be grateful to you. Certainly, you knew Chantal and Keith would get a kick out of it for sure.

“Guilty as charged,” you acknowledged. “I’m going to look for Anna. Catch you later.” You gave a wave to the both of them before making your way towards the hub of activity where couple costumes ranged from peanut butter and jelly to superheroes. 

She was fairly easy to locate, in part because she told you she and Johnny would dress as Wonder Woman and Steve Trevor. The red, blue and gold of her outfit were unmissable even in a sea of costumes. As soon as she spotted you approaching, she made a beeline and wrapped an arm around yours.

“Tell me you and Matthew will recreate the entire You’re the One That I Want scene,” she pleaded. “Please tell me that at some point this evening, you’ll tell us to clear the dancefloor so the two of you can have your moment.”

You rolled your eyes, dragging her along towards a table hosting drinks and small bites. “There’s no moment we’re going to be having.” 

“Because you don’t want to or because you want to so badly that you don’t know how to ask him? I’m pretty sure he’ll say yes.” 

“Neither,” you muttered but even you’d be able to hear the lack of conviction in your tone from a mile away. 

To take your mind off it, you poured yourself a glass of red wine, taking a tentative sip from it. Across the room, Matthew had deposited his black leather jacket away and started making rounds around the room. You took a longer sip from your wine and looked away. 

Anna fixed you with a knowing stare which you refused to acknowledge, but she knew you like the back of her hand. “It’s okay to say you like him, you know,” she advised, and you hated the soothing tone she tried to take when saying that. It felt more pitying than anything, as if you hadn’t already had your share of disappointments in love—or, relationships better said. 

“Who said anything about liking him? He’s not bad to look at I’ll admit, but that’s where it stops.” You frowned, looking out of the nearest nearby window that gave a broad view of the city below. “That’s where I want it to stop,” you admitted, this time quieter. 

You were well aware that you were occasionally trying to look for a narrative that was most convenient for late night thoughts when you had the peace and privacy to think of him as you wished. The reality couldn’t be more different, though, and you knew that. Matthew was helpful to you before because he was good friends with your brother and eventually, you realized that it was just part of his nature. Beyond being successful, beyond his fame and recognition, Matthew was kind and funny and respectful. It was just that you didn’t give him the chance to before and now that you got to know him better, you suddenly realized that…what? You’d like the first man who gives you a helping hand? If that were the case, you should’ve gotten the memo sooner: it would’ve been easier liking the tech guy from work who once debugged your laptop.

It wasn’t doing you any good to try and look for a ‘but’ in every situation: Matthew is helpful because he’s good friends with my brother but it’s not like that should force him to act as if we’re romantically involved not once or twice or thrice but now, four times. Regardless of how you looked at it, that reeked of desperation. You were in that weird period in your life where it felt as if everyone around you was in a relationship, so maybe that mood translated to you. 

That’s right, you settled. That’s what was possibly behind these thoughts of yours. You found Matthew attractive – and what? So did plenty of other people. You saw him surrounded by girls after practice, after matches, while out. What you felt was nothing special. It felt easier to think of it that way, even if for a few hours to truly enjoy the party without having that lurking at the back of your mind. 

You mingled easily, danced with Anna, danced with other players’ girlfriends and wives, danced with your brother, even attempted a few traditional Russian dances taught by Nikita, Artyom and a few of their friends, that left you breathless by their rapid pace and intricate footwork. 

“I’m done!” you declared, breathless and almost swaying on your feet when another Russian folk song came to an end but thankfully, you managed to hold steady before you could catch a ride on the hot mess express. “Absolutely wasted. Knocked out.” You stepped away, tired but euphoric and dropped rather unceremoniously on one of the available couches pushed against a wall. 

“Having fun?” Matthew asked and there was a light flush on his cheeks you knew wasn’t from dancing. There was even just a slight slur to his speech.

“The most,” you replied, breathless, and accepted the drink he held out to you. You took a sip without questioning him what was in the glass, only to find out for yourself he was settling for harder stuff tonight. “But never let it be said that anyone can keep up with Russians because let me tell you,” you whistled quietly, “we’re a couple of steps behind. Plenty of steps behind, actually.” 

Matthew flashed a lazy smile and you briefly spared a moment to envy him for how kept together he remained despite being evidently buzzed. “’s okay. At least we’re the better dressed ones so we lose in style.” 

You took another sip from his glass, holding it out to him with a smirk. “Tell me about it, stud,” you said in what you hoped was a low, alluring tone of voice but no sooner did you think that, and you were reduced to embarrassed laughter. “Forget about that! Forget it, forget it! Where’s the delete button?” 

“I didn’t come equipped with that,” he declared proudly, finishing off what was left of his drink. “C’mere, you can show me a couple of those steps you learned.” 

He stood, a little unsteadily initially then held a hand to you. You knew he wouldn’t have the strength to pull you up properly, so you stood easily fully intent to actually lead him through some of the steps. Except, Matthew was definitely swaying more than you thought he would. There was something inexplicably amusing about the situation and instead of directing him towards the center of the room, you steered him away from it and towards a small bathroom you were shown to earlier that night when you needed some time to re-touch your makeup. 

“Where’re we going?” he asked curiously, looking over his shoulder towards the living room with a look that could only be read as longing. 

“To cool down a little and then you can learn as many folk dances as you want. Believe me, you need to be alert for them. Can’t miss a step,” you advised, trying to steady him by wrapping an arm around him though the difference in weight between the two of you couldn’t compare. Still, you managed to get him into the bathroom safely without either of you making a mess of yourselves or the room. 

“Are you gonna cool down too?” he questioned. 

“Sure thing, definitely need it.” 

“Good, we’ll cool down together.” With that, he made a move to open the glass partition for the shower cubicle but thankfully, you were significantly more alert than he was and managed to prevent him from doing anything more than that.

“Not that sort of cool down. Here, sit here,” you encouraged, lowering the lid on the toilet so Matthew could drop down. You doubted you’d be able to hold much of his strength above the sink if you were to help him splash some cold water on his face.

“But I want that sort of cool down,” he slurred. “With you. Us two. You said you want to cool down too. Could be a couple activity.” He grinned, as if proud of himself. 

Thankfully, Matthew was buzzed enough to miss the flush on your face, the slight shake of your hand as you arranged a towel around his neck to prevent too much overspill before turning the tap on. 

“Can’t do that, Matthew. Here, this will be much better, I promise.” 

“Wanna try though,” he mumbled but was still compliant as you pressed a wet, cool palm against his forehead, then either of his cheeks. “Not cool enough.” His complaint was accompanied by a frown which only morphed into a lazy smirk when he leaned back, trying to pull you with him. “C’mon, Y/N. It’s a couple’s Halloween night.” 

“Matthew, we’re not a couple,” you said gently, pushing your palms against his shoulders in an attempt to free yourself from his hold. Before it was too late. Before you allowed yourself to get drawn into a drunk man’s ramblings. 

“But I wanna be. A couple, with you.” 

You put all your strength into breaking away from his hold and thankfully, managed to do so. Your heart was hammering in your chest as if desperately trying to release itself from the cage of your ribs. 

“Matthew, you’re drunk. Here, splash some cold water on your face so you can come back to your senses.” 

“But I’m not drunk,” he insisted and as if to demonstrate, he stood up quickly. He swayed on the spot, stretching out his arms a little and once he found his footing, he looked towards you with an expression that mixed pride with hopefulness. “See? Definitely okay—”

You frowned, feeling a little caged in. You should’ve left the door open at least. “Okay, then let’s go back out there, yeah? I can get an Uber and I’ll take you home if you prefer that?” 

“Yes,” he said, then leaned back against the door. “Only if you come with me.” 

You exhaled, suddenly tired as if the exchange was working every ounce of energy out of you. “I’ll come to make sure you’re okay and can make it to your bed okay.”

“I can though. I can definitely make it there even on my own and you know why? Because I’m not drunk,” Matthew insisted and when you shot him a look of disbelief, he peeled himself away from the door. “Look, look I can prove it to you I’m not drunk.” 

Before you could even ask him to walk a straight line without stumbling his steps, Matthew’s arm wrapped around your waist while his other hand pressed on the back of your head, bringing you closer until your lips met. Kissing Matthew was like everything you imagined and more. He even did that with the same passion with which he skated on ice, chasing puck after puck. It left you breathless how well he worked his lips against your own as if all along, he knew how to do that in such way that it’d leave your legs feeling like jelly. Beyond that though, it felt comfortable. Not forceful despite him having not asked if he could do it in the first place, yet it still felt right. You tasted sweetness on his mouth and the sharp tang of whiskey. Vaguely, you knew nothing else could compare. It was that thought that made you push away from him with as much force as you could muster, ducking under his arm and towards the door. 

“I’ll ask someone to take you home,” you said without even looking his way before leaving dashing out of the bathroom.

“You okay?” Anna asked you when you ran into her. Quite literally. 

“Uh—yeah. No, actually. I think I feel a bit unwell so I’m going to head home, okay?” 

You made a move to leave but her arm stopped you. “Hey. Are you sure you’re okay?” 

Above her shoulder, you saw Matthew emerge from the bathroom, a little dazzled, eyes searching the room. Before he could even spot you, you quickly freed yourself from her hold and nodded. “Will be. I’ll text you when I get home. Don’t rush back, okay? Tell Alex I said thanks for the invite.” 

You didn’t stumble a step in your heels as you jogged towards the door, making a swift exit before you attracted even more attention.

+ one.

Matthew left no calls and no messages, but that was fine. You didn’t spend time trying to build your expectations of anything like that happening because drunk words weren’t always sober thoughts. The event was just something you had to deal with and if you had to do it alone, then so be it. Reasonably speaking, you and Matthew went from nothing to friends and if you caught feelings along the way, then that was your mistake for letting yourself slip like that. You were left broken hearted once, you really didn’t want to go through that again especially over someone that wasn’t even really and truly yours to begin with.

So, the next morning, you woke up at a reasonably early hour despite the late night but felt energized enough to sweep through your apartment and collect the garments you tossed carelessly on your way to bed after arriving at home. You said a heartfelt goodbye to Sandy, apologizing that in this scenario, her and Danny didn’t end up driving off in a red convertible. After that, you showered and changed in a fresh set of clothes even if the day would most likely be spent indoors. It was a fitting conclusion to the Halloween weekend, and you could do with some downtime, really.

Anna must’ve stayed with Johnny because regardless of how much noise you made, she didn’t emerge from the room and after fixing a quick breakfast and brewing coffee to continued silence, you knew you were right. It didn’t bother you. You’d make full use of the couch and stretch out on it properly as you flicked through your Netflix account and for the sake of sticking to weekend morning traditions, you selected a lighthearted sitcom. You were halfway through the third episode when your doorbell rang. You could’ve sworn Anna had a spare key of her own unless she misplaced it or forgot it home. Not entirely out of question.

Except, it wasn’t Anna who greeted you when you opened the door.

“Oh.” You coughed lightly, crossing your arms then unfolding them, then leaning one against the doorway before dropping it to your side. “Hey—uh. Hey Tkachuk, isn’t it a bit early for you to be out and about? You were smashed the last time I saw you.” 

Matthew looked over your shoulder into the apartment, as if checking to see if you were alone. “Can I come in?” 

Defeated, you stepped to the side and cleared the way for him to step inside before pushing the door closed. Part of you wished you’d dressed up as if you were ready to head off somewhere. You weren’t quite ready nor willing to face whatever music Matthew had in mind for you. 

In the aftermath of the party, out of the flashiness of the costume, Matthew seemed to be perfectly clear-headed despite the state you’d left him in. The curls atop his head seemed soft despite the natural frizz and as he passed by, you caught a whiff of sharp cologne and fresh bodywash. 

“Is Anna here?”

“Are we playing twenty-one questions?” 

“No?”

“Kind of sounds like it, though?” You laughed quietly, trying to lighten the mood. It was bad enough the weather outside was gloomy, autumn settling in full force. Now, you had to deal with a Matthew who looked as if he wasn’t sure he came to the right place. “Coffee?” you asked, already leading the way towards the kitchen. You heard him follow behind you just moments later. While you poured a full cup for him, he hovered by the table, making you frown at him. “What’s wrong with you? You need an invite to sit down and relax? Seriously, Matthew, you look like you should be in bed.” 

“You left last night without saying anything,” he said instead. 

“Uh—yeah. I was kind of tired and I wanted it to call it a night early so—”

“Was it because of what I said or what I did?” 

You almost dropped the coffee cup, but fortunately only startled enough for the liquid to slosh over the rim and down the back of your hand, causing you to hiss in pain. You cursed quietly and, in an instant, Matthew crossed over the room and took the cup from you, setting it down on the table before leading you towards the sink. As if used to this, he placed your hand under ice cold water and once the sharp pain numbed, you pushed his hand away, taking a step to the side in an attempt to put more distance between you. 

“It’s fine, I’ve got this,” you mumbled, holding your hand still under the jet for a few more seconds before closing it.

It was hardly worth the fuss, but it gave you a reason to make yourself busy with something other than freaking out. It couldn’t be that he remembered anything. It couldn’t be that he was standing in your kitchen, thinking that it was a good idea to just open up that subject when you were so ready to take a shovel to it and bury it six feet under. 

“Didn’t you get tired of it at all?” he tried again.

“Tired of what?”

“Of pretending. Of only acting like we’re together for one reason or the other—”

“Matthew, I asked you only once and you know why. I apologized then but if it helps you sleep better at night, I’ll apologize again for dragging you into my mess. I don’t know what the point is of this discussion—”

“The point,” he said, raising his voice but only to cut through your speech. “The point is that I’m tired of it. I’m tired of having to be by your side and pretend. It got to a stage where I don’t even know what’s real and what isn’t, and I feel as if the only time I’ll know that for sure will be when you find someone, so you no longer need to turn to me to pretend.” 

“Matthew, I’m not using you, if that’s what you’re thinking. You’re coming at me with this out of the blue and I don’t even understand what this is all about,” you argued, waving a hand between the two of you. 

Matthew clenched his jaw. You watched as he flexed it and his eyebrows furrowed. “Do you need me to spell it out for you again? I thought I was pretty straightforward about what I want last night.” 

“You were drunk last night, is what you were. You could hardly put a foot in front of the other.” 

“You know that’s not true,” he retorts, lifting his arms then dropping them back down to his sides. “I was sober enough to know damn well what I said and why I said it. If you want to keep pretending even now, even at this point, then you go ahead and do that but let me be clear with you again and you take what you want from it: I don’t want to pretend with you anymore. I want to be with you. You want to know what that feels like? It feels a lot like being so close to something you want, literally having that thing dangled right in front of you only to have it snatched just when you think it’s yours. Me kissing you last night? I’m sorry I forced it on you, I could’ve gone about doing it differently but I’m not sorry for what I feel. That was all me and not the alcohol. So, you take this and do what you want with it.”

You stared at him, disbelieving your ears. It wouldn’t surprise you if that was the case: you did wake up surprisingly refreshed even after an emotionally charged night, so for all you knew, you could be dreaming this. 

“Matthew, what are you—That’s, you’re kidding me with this right? You can’t. You can’t possibly think that.” 

“And why not?”

“Because it doesn’t make sense. Are you even hearing yourself talk?” 

“Why doesn’t it make sense? Want me to go about it differently? If you let me pull your hair, I’ll let you push me in the sandbox.” 

You were suffering from a strange, ill-timed case of déjà vu. Part of you wanted to laugh at the situation but the bigger part of you triumphed, thankfully. You released a breath you had been holding, bringing both hands up to cover your face, taking some moments to yourself. Or perhaps, you’d lost track of time because eventually, you heard Matthew sigh and felt his fingers wrap around each wrist though he didn’t put pressure to tug your hands down from your face.

“Sorry. I’m just—I’m not doing this the right way. I don’t want it to seem like I’m forcing my feelings on you and that you should accept them. If I misread us—you at any point, then fine. Just, we can drop it here and I’ll deal with it but—”

You shook your head slowly. “No, I just need a moment. Sorry. You really caught me by surprise. I didn’t… I thought everything you said last night…what you did… I thought that was just, well, just the alcohol. So, I did the best thing I knew to do and, uh, left.”

“Drunk words, sober thoughts,” he reminded you quietly and this time, you dropped your hands away from your face so you could look up at him. 

He was so handsome. Ridiculously handsome in his casual clothes. Briefly, you thought back to the time you first found safety in his arms and wondered if maybe… Well, why not. You closed the distance between the two of you, wrapping your arms around him, fingers clinging to the thick material of his hoodie while you faceplanted against his chest and breathed him in.

You liked Matthew. You liked Matthew so much that the admission overwhelmed you so much that you squeezed him to you, trying desperately to bring him closer. The gesture seemed to prompt him into action, and he returned the hug, pressing a kiss to the top of your head and then to the base of your throat once he’d lowered his head there. 

“Me too. I want to be with you too. Really be with you. No more of this pretend stuff,” you told him, your voice muffled against his body, but you knew he caught every word.

He chuckled, the sound low and deep, sending shivers down your spine. “We won Noah’s competition last night.”

“Bet he did it because of your long face,” you commented, unable to help yourself. “What did we win?” 

Matthew made a move to step back, but you clung to him, much to your embarrassment. It seemed as if your body acted out of sync with your mind, but who could blame it when Matthew stood right there, right before you. Turned out he only took a step back to lift you off your feet and instinctively, you wrapped your legs around his hips, arms resting loosely around his neck. You leaned in and pressed a fleeting kiss to his mouth as he stumbled away from the kitchen while you stole another kiss. And then, just because you could, a third. 

“A voucher to a seafood restaurant,” he informed you, breaking into a laugh when you groaned, throwing your head back in sheer frustration even if you had a strong feeling he was only messing with you.

“Remind me to never put so much effort if that’s what the stake are.” 

“Noted. Next time, I’ll tell you we could just stay home for Halloween and play by our rules. Outfits optional. Probably not recommended.” 

“That’s…really not what I said.” 

“I’m reading between the lines. See? We know each other so well.” 

You laughed as he carried you all the way into your room without even as much as breaking a sweat. That was definitely some food for thought at a later point.

[river-bottom-nightmare]

an (incomplete) list of things kon can do because lex luthor is his dad that people always forget about:

#1 : math - he's fifteen, and math comes easy to him (unlike a lot of people his age, or at least, his visible age.) a lot of things come easy to him, because when you have all knowledge in the known universe downloaded into your brain, things like advanced math don't bother you very much.

but it bothers his friends, because bart loses interest about three seconds into the assignments, cassie groans anytime "homework" is brought up in general, and tim hates the concept and execution of math so much that he'd rather hide in kon's room where he thinks no one will look for him instead of even cracking open a textbook.

but kon's pretty sure being a hero means you don't need any real world skills, and after his initial hesitation and disagreements, he realized that he genuinely wants these people to like him, to be friends with him. their math homework is easier than a breeze to complete.

#2 : tying a tie the ~fancy~ way - he's nineteen, and his fingers flow through a silk tie like a fish through water. the motions are beyond familiar, he could do them in his sleep. so is the action of pulling on a suit, pressing his collar, arranging his hair into a neat style. he's timothy drake-wayne's date tonight, and he needs to look the part. fortunately, luthor taught him how to look the part a long the ago.

the party itself is,,,,pleasant, he supposes. he spends most of the time as arm candy, tim's pretty little thing as his boyfriend sweet-talked investors and networked. but they both know that the tipsier people are, the easier they let slip secrets to someone they believe won't understand them, and kon gathers a wealth of information by the time he meets up with tim by the appetizer bar right before dinner.

tim tugs him close by his tie and kisses his cheek, then laughs when kon discreetly but disgustedly spits out the pickled salmon cracker toppings.

#3 : educated debating - he's sixteen, and in an argument with tim that's gone so off the rails that kon can't even remember what they were fighting about in the first place. wherever they started, they were here, now, kon on top of a table in an ice cream parlour screaming about how a socialist approach to taxes would boost the lower class, tim on top of a barstool screaming right back about how the middle class are the only ones paying taxes and socialism would only put more weight on their shoulders.

both of them are this close to busting out laughing, and the only reason they haven't been thrown out is because the employee behind the counter is frantically taking notes. kon can see it in tim's eyes, see the way the younger boy didn't expect to hold such a passionate and intense debate with him, didn't expect kon to be capable of it. it's a pleasant surprise, though; that much is evident in tim's barely-hidden grin.

the debate comes to a pause when bart smacks him with a spoon and tells him off for stepping on the speedster's ice cream, and the tiredness with which he collapses back into the booth is a good one.

#4 : efficient + effective workplace supervision - he's twenty, and wondering how in the hell people hadn't murdered the entirety of young justice when it was first founded. bart had graduated to being the flash's full time sidekick, and though he came to visit often, it wasn't the same. gotham was almost always on the verge of imminent disaster these days, and tim was one of the few ropes holding it together. kon missed him like crazy, but his few visits were all the boy could spare. cassie was in charge now, and she was a wonderful leader, but busy, always smoothing over relations between the team and the justice league and civilian offices.

so, somehow, that left kon to be the den mother to all the new younger kids, and somehow, kon was good at it. he knew exactly what to say to get people to listen to his commands, telling them to work on this or work on that, train for this and practice that. he tells them when to get some sleep and let the weight of the day roll off their shoulders, and when to push themselves to raise them higher than they ever thought they could go. unexpectedly, he finds himself liking it.

#5 : the splits

#6 : colour schemes + interior decorating - he's twenty-one, and tim's finally deciding to turn the nest into a home. bart, who had spent the last couple of years bouncing between allen-west-mercury households and was therefore accustomed to a home with a fire of love reaching every corner and every member of the family, was appalled. so was kon, honestly.

the penthouse that tim worked out of was cold and impersonal, sleek lines that angles that matched the limbs and contours of tim's body. but the shadows around tim's eyes had lessed over the past few years, his smile coming to his lips almost as easy as when young justice first learned how to work together. all it took was a little encouragement from cassie, and suddenly, all four of them were involved in a home renovation project.

cassie churned out ikea furniture like it was nothing, the three of them taking a break from their jobs to just watch her as she lifted one of their hardwood bookshelves with one hand. bart bought home goods and essentials from various department stores and ran around, stocking the house with them wherever he felt a saucepan needed to be hung (near the coat hanger) or a candle holder needed to be placed (on the kitchen barstools, because apparently those were decorative anyway).

kon, meanwhile, decorated. he painted rooms and bought curtains and pillows, yes. but he also sorted through every single souvenir and memory the four of them had managed to accumulate over the years, photographs and hacked-off pieces of giant robots and saved movie tickets and broken weapons. he gets his hands on everything he can find, then fills up tim's nest until it's brimming with a cosy warmth made up of the four of them.

still, it's an obnoxiously large penthouse, so there's empty and open space left over even after redecorating. it's tim who takes a breath and works up the courage to tell them, not ask but tell them, that he wanted each of them to have their own bedroom. so bart takes the largest guest room and turns it into an explosion of colour, and cassie spends too much time decorating a room that she won't even live in most of the time. kon conspicuously notes how tim doesn't bother giving kon a room, just dumps kon's backpack on his bed and clears room in his own closet. he does wrap tim in a ttk hug though, from all the way across the room, and drinks in tim's red flush.

#7 : speed reading (no powers) - he's seventeen, and just now realizing how competitive his best friends are. cassie had long since resigned herself to being the judge and the hander-outer-of-prizes (candy from the nearest convenience store) for the speed-reading competition, but tim, kon, and bart were still in the running.

eventually, though, the pressure from holding back his powers grew too strong, and bart slumped against the back of the sofa, mournfully opening his mouth so cassie could drop a candy into it.

and then there were two.

kon thought back to the confrontation that had started this contest in the first place, robin's offhand comment about how he had to be the one to collect the data files from the company office they were infiltrating, because he was the only one who could speed-read and retain information. that had spiraled into an argument, then a challenge, then a competition, with a clear rule not to use any powers.

kon darted his eyes across the page, soaking up every word, the pages like tiny knives on the pads of his fingers as he turned them. he lost track of the page count, just reading and reading and reading until he tried to turn the page and realized there wasn't a next one. he yelled in triumph, reveling in tim's defeated groan, and settled in for cassie's quiz on the contents of the book.

#8 : sophisticated meal and wine palette - he was twenty-two, and discovering that he really, really liked tim's shocked face. they'd been friends for years now, childish hatred turned into playful bantering turned into knowing each other inside out. still, every now and then, kon did something that forced tim's eyebrows high on his head, his eyes widening just the barest bit.

right now, kon was at a dinner party with the words moral support written across his forehead. tim could handle himself remarkably well, but there was tiredness lacing the smaller boy's frame, and kon could practically see the way the tips of his soul were frazzled. so kon let tim lean into his arm and whispered jokes about luna-with-the-big-ugly-purse and martonio-who-can't-do-a-combover into his ear. or, at least, he was.

somehow he'd been drawn into a good natured argument with the man sitting just two seats down from tim and kon. friendly opinions of food had been tossed back and forth, growing more and more heated until kon looked him right in the eye and said he liked prosecco with his prosciutto, internally crowing with satisfaction at their shocked silence and sighing with pity that none of the guests here would ever try that combination out of fear of deviation. once the man had regained his sensibilities, he shot back, saying the sixth course should never serve salmon, instead regaling the fish to the amusebouche or the cheese course. kon snorted and told him fish itself was going out of style, and if he wanted to impress guests at the next dinner party he hosted, he should try serving octopus.

tim's shocked face was a pleasant surprise, but seeing the stunned, controlled blinks of everyone around him as they realized he wasn't just a pretty face was satisfying as well. even more satisfying was when he and tim said their goodbyes; while waiting for the valet, tim pressed up onto the tips of his toes and whispered promisingly in kon's ear, i fucking love your competence.

#9 : manipulating people into hating him to justify his actions - he was eighteen, and he was screaming, crying, tearing his hair out. kon didn't know what he had expected. lingering fondness? grudging acceptance? maybe a small leap for a chance at love?

it didn't matter. clark didn't want anything to do with him. and he was eighteen now, which meant clark didn't need to take care of him anymore, didn't need to pretend to pay attention to him anymore. he'd made it quite clear.

maybe that was why he found himself hesitating before saying no to amanda waller's offer. he forgot about the warnings tim gave him, though, and waller pounced on that hesitation, quicker than a panther. it was easy, it was oh so easy to let himself go with her.

besides, they had a reason to hate him now. he hadn't done anything to clark. he hadn't asked to be made. but clark had wanted nothing to do with him anyway, and didn't that sting. so if people were going to turn him away now, it was going to be for something he did.

he didn't realize how bad he was spiraling, how close he was to stepping off the lighted ledge he'd been balancing on his entire life and tumbling into the darkness below. but cassie had a stronger punch than most grown superheroes, and bart had tenaciousness written into every strand of his ginormous hair, and tim gripped his jaw so hard his fingernails dug into kon's skin and told kon that he was getting his best friend back, no matter what the hell he thought he was worth.

maybe it was madness that made him throw himself forward, still wrapped in the lasso cassie borrowed from diana, practically mauling tim's lips with his own. he was pretty sure he wasn't supposed to break down crying after he kissed someone, given past experience, but the three of them, his wonderful, wonderful friends, just hugged him tight, let him fight and shake and sob until all the rage was gone. it was the first time in a long while he'd done something in hopes that someone would look at him with love, not hatred.

#10 : waltzing - he was twenty-three, twenty three and giddy with how much time he had left. conner was with tim drake-wayne publicly now, so expectations were thrust onto him, expecting to be met.

kon tended to have more fun at events than tim ever did. granted, kon didn't have to deal with all of his coworkers drinking too much and exchanging money with secrets faster than drugs and asking tim whether or not his relationship meant he was open for still-young and handsome men who needed just a small escape from their wives. but tim wasn't trying very hard to enjoy himself either.

so kon was completely justified in tugging him towards the center of the room, in a patch of floor sparsely occupied, then pulling him as close as he dared. tim's panicked whisper of what!? was overridden by kon's laughter, but he muffled his sounds for a minute, letting tim hear the quiet music playing in the background (prerecorded and playing on speakers, not live).

understanding broke over tim's face, and he arched into kon's hold as easy as breathing. kon moved one of his hands to grip tim's wrist, and he twirled the two of them effortlessly, breathless at tim's flabbergasted expression. the rhythm was simple, and tim caught on quickly. one two three, one two twist, one two three, one two step, one two three, one two switch, one two three, one two three.

kon couldn't say they danced the night away, because a little while later tim took a break for a drink, then speeches were made, then dinner was served. by then, they were both entirely too tired to dance, longing for just a bed and a soft blanket and each other. but for those few minutes in the middle of a packed yet empty ballroom, kon and tim did lose themselves in the music, just a little bit.

i don't know shit about taxes or socialism. this got way longer than anticipated whoops. i'm tagging this "long post," but if someone asks me to put it under a cut, i'd be happy to

also jesus christ this thing is almost 2.5k words. im uploading it to ao3 later if i'm in the mood

tag list: @woahjaybird @birdy-bat-writes @anothertimdrakestan @subtleappreciation @screennamealreadyused @pricetagofficial @catxsnow @bikoncon @maplumebleue-blog-blog @sundownridg @thatsthewhump @xatanna-troy

[garbagevanfleet]

Brightest Blue (series)

PART FIFTEEN (final chapter)

Pairing: Josh & female!Reader Warnings:  18+ ONLY, sexual content, alcohol, feelings Summary: Things are changing. New state. New school. New roommate. You just pray things are going to click into place. Notes: What an odd feeling this is. I love writing fics, but when you work so long and hard on something, it’s hard to let it go. I’m really pleased with how it turned out though, and I’m so incredibly grateful to everyone that read it and interacted with it. A big thank you to my editor, @lantern-inthenight​ for sticking with me through it, and thank you again to everyone on my taglist. 

MASTERPOST

taglist: @valleyd0ll​ @satingrass-maidensfair​ @guitarfingers​ @thebohemianpenguin​ @peaceisouranthem​ @oblvions​ @hansonobsessed @myownparadise96​ @anditsmywholeheart​ @kill-fear-the-power-of-lies​ @bigblack-catattack​​  @dharma-divine​

There was a plant in the Kiszka house that you couldn’t stop looking at - you found yourself making your way to the kitchen, just so you could peek in on it. It was a Christmas cactus placed on the south-facing window sill above the sink, spilling out of the sides of its terra cotta pot in long tendrils. 

Shapely, dark green, and perfectly healthy - it was the perfect metaphor for the household that loved it. The fuchsia pink buds on the tips of every trailing vine were promising to open every day since you’d arrived, and - perfectly on queue - the first one opened on Christmas Eve. It had been tightly closed when you greeted it in the morning as you sipped your cup of coffee, but by the time the family was snacking on a veggie tray and cocktail weenies at lunchtime, it was fully open, facing the floor in a way that reminded you of a ballerina’s tutu. 

“You like this thing, huh?” Josh had asked, audible to just you over the lively conversation and music filling the kitchen and dining room. He was standing closely behind your right shoulder, charmingly trying to get the same view of the cactus that you were - as if that could help him appreciate it better. 

“Isn’t it lovely?” you replied, turning your head and realizing at the same time that you could kiss his cheek if you leaned in closer. The two of you shared a lingering look that you put an end to just before you could start feeling physically warm.

He hummed in consideration after a moment. “It’s pretty,” he agreed and then smiled weakly. “It kinda just looks like another plant to me though, if I’m being honest.”

You turned to face him then, giving him a warm look. “There’s a lot of beauty to be found in things that other people don’t know to consider. It gives you kind of a selfish satisfaction.”

The slightly suggestive tone you’d taken put a puzzled smile on his face. He gave you a look that somehow perfectly let you know that he’d be back to pry at the deeper meaning of this conversation later when you were alone. 

“We got this for Christmas for my mom one year when we were little kids. Sam and Ronnie liked the color.” He smiled at it past your shoulder. “It used to be so tiny.” 

It certainly wasn’t anymore. As a matter of fact, it was currently threatening to take over the whole sill - swallow up the little knick-knacks peppered around it. 

“It’s really happy,” you agreed. 

+++

Dinner that night was photo-worthy. Laid out on the table were dishes upon dishes of different comfort foods, each with its own oversized serving spoon. Jake had been trying to make homemade bread through the entirety of your time there - the first night was his very first time making it and it was a little raw, then the next night it seemed a little hard, then the next it looked a little overcooked and dense. Tonight, however, it looked worthy of a cooking magazine cover.

PERFECT BREAD ON THE SIXTH TRY! it would read triumphantly.  

No one had a claim on any of the specific spots at the dining table, so it was free game - which was how you were able to finagle your way into sitting between Jake and Sam for that evening’s meal. You liked them a lot, for the record, but you had been thinking a lot about your earlier interaction with Josh, and that was the reason for your chosen position. 

You wanted to stare at him without arousing suspicion - or rather, any more suspicion than was already present amongst the six of you. 

He had given you a questioning look as he sat directly across the table from you, scooting his chair in until he could rest his elbows on the wood. You offered him a reassuring smile as you settled in, but secretly you reveling in the fact it’d seem awfully non-platonic if he questioned your choice out loud. 

While you ate, he only caught you looking at him once, to which he responded by playfully poking his tongue out at you. Otherwise, you listened intently to a story that Sam was telling you about a fated time he found a designer jacket in a truck stop bathroom and it fit perfectly. You also chatted lightly with Jake - who was sitting to your right - about each of your classes and he graciously listened to you gripe at length about the weather and its lack of consistency, which was obviously very kind of him.

When dinner was over, the family changed into their pajamas before meeting in the living room with their wine to sit around the tree and open one present each of their choosing. It went around in a circle, starting with Josh who received a new cutting board and a set of knives that his mom jokingly assured him he couldn’t have until he was ready to go back to Ann Arbor. You were unabashedly visibly excited to be able to use a knife that could cut without having to use a sawing motion.

Jake had unknowingly chosen to open the present you got for him, which was a leather-bound journal and fountain pen that cost more than you wanted to admit but after you saw it at the store, you couldn’t stop thinking about it. You had felt incredibly cool while purchasing it, so in a way, it was kind of a gift for you too. 

The gift you opened was a wool sweater from Josh’s parents and when you lovingly clutched the forest green fabric to your chest, it was a genuine gesture. You reminded them that they didn’t have to get you anything, but thanked them profusely when they informed you that you were being silly.

After the designated presents were opened, warm conversation was had as the Rudolph Christmas movie played quietly in the background. It was one of your holiday favorites though, so you probably paid more attention to it than the rest of the family. 

Once 10 pm hit, there was a sharp rise in the frequency of yawns, and shortly after that people started turning in, one by one. Everyone was wished a good night, knowing that when they woke up again, it would be Christmas. 

After Jake turned in around 11:30, you and Josh were the last ones standing - or sitting rather. 

You were sitting next to each other on the sofa, about a foot apart because despite Jake having been privy to your relationship, it was just good practice when any member of his family was around. 

As soon as Jake’s bedroom door was closed, Josh seemed to visibly relax his muscles, though his fingers still fidgeted with his jeans every few moments.

“Are you liking being home?” you asked and then took a sip of wine, already knowing what he was going to say. 

He gave you a low, pained-sounding hum through a grimacing smile. “We should have just told my family what the nature of our relationship was - I don’t think I can handle not touching you much longer.”

 “M’kay, couple things to address here,” you started through an amused smirk. “You were able to handle not touching me for months - I think you can handle literally one and a half more days. And two-”

He cut you off with a finger against your lips. “Yeah, but had I known you wanted me to, it would have made a lot of difference.”

You pressed a kiss to the digit before he quickly pulled it away with an accusatory squint in his eye. 

“And secondly,” you tried again pointedly. “What would you have told them? ‘Hey guys, I have very very fuzzy boundaries with my roommate and that often results in us sleeping together, both literally and as a euphemism’?”

He shot you a teasing smirk. “Cute. You’re very cute,” he said sarcastically. 

After a very long, comfortable silence, you spoke again, voice low and hushed. “So, can I scoot closer to you now?” 

He looked over at you from out of the corner of his eye, still holding that smirk. “Please do.”

You shuffled until your thigh was touching his.

Of course, you had missed it right away, but you hadn’t really realized how much you’d missed being physically close to him until you caught the now-familiar scent of his cologne. 

Another comfortable silence fell upon the room, quiet enough that all you could hear was the quiet crackling of the logs in the stone fireplace.

“Can I kiss you too?” you asked, looking over at him through the sheer curtain of your hair. 

He looked like he was truly mulling it over as his eyes flicked down the hall to his siblings’ rooms, and then across the living room and up the set of stairs to his parents’ room. After a second, he let out a huff and said, “Fuck it.”

He reached over and tugged on your various limbs until you were sitting in his lap, face to face. 

It had been so forbidden to you up until then, that when he leaned in and caught your lips, you let out a groan under your breath. 

“I missed you,” he breathed, almost directly against your mouth. “I love knowing you in any aspect, but I’ve been burning for this.”

 It made the heat rise to your cheeks, as well as your lap - but you couldn’t let him know he’d turned you on so easily, so you replied breathily with, “That’s an awfully fancy way of telling me you’re horny, babe.”

He was biting back a laugh for a split second before, grabbing your hips a little tighter to gain back what dominance you had borrowed from him with your teasing. 

You pressed your luck. “Really, very eloquent.”

A look of contemplation flashed over his features as he was obviously deciding what to do next. He lifted you with little effort and then pressed you firmly backward until your shoulders hit the seat of the couch. Then he crawled over you and stared down into your eyes triumphantly. 

“Aren’t you worried about someone coming out here?” you challenged through a grin. 

He leaned in until he could drag his teeth across your cheekbone, making your skin prickle. “I don’t care anymore,” he replied, and then - in a show of brutal honesty - pressed his crotch against your hip and ground down just enough to show you how hard he was. 

Your breath caught in your throat, and involuntarily, you bucked up against him.

You kissed him so forcefully that it was almost more like just mashing your mouths together for a long moment. His hand slipped down between your bodies until his fingers brushed over your navel, the ticklish feeling making the muscles jump under the touch. It was the anticipation of his next move that fucked you up the most.

He was dragging his fingers lower, just about to dip under the band of your pajama pants when he seemed to have a moment of clarity and pulled his hand away altogether. You frowned at him, pushing your hips up to meet his hand instead, to which he responded by placing his palm on your stomach and pressing you back down with a laugh. 

“Let’s go to my room,” he suggested.

“No, wait.” You gave him the softest eyes you could. “It’s so romantic out here right now - the lights on the tree, the fire, the soft couch. Would you just kiss me here for a bit?”

The look on his face could only be described as enamored. He stared at your face for a few long seconds before you finally asked if he was alright. 

“I’m lucky to have you.”

He said it under his breath, so sincerely and honestly, that you weren’t sure how to respond until you could catch up with your thoughts. You cupped his jaw in your right palm, raking your fingers through his hair and he careened your touch in a way that had you feeling like a melting scoop of ice cream.

 “You know, I sometimes think about how poorly the whole ‘moving across the country to a place you’ve never been for school’ thing could have gone. There were so many variables that had to click into place, and somehow I still ended up living with a person that,” You paused to brush your thumb against his cheekbone, hoping to portray your meaning through your touch. “Might be a literal angel.” 

He raked his front teeth over his bottom lip subconsciously as he consumed the compliment. You could see his brain chewing it over as he snickered a laugh. 

“Though, I think angels are supposed to deliver good tidings and not black eyes,” you teased. 

You couldn’t name the look he adopted then, but it seemed somewhere between solemn and proud reminiscence. The frown forming on your features was not lost on him, and you quickly spoke before he could change the subject. 

“What’s wrong?” 

He hummed and met your eyes. “I never wanted you to find out about that,” he said like an admission.

“What do you mean?”

“There were a lot of things I did to get your attention, but that was completely reactionary. I’ve never been a violent person - well, to anyone but my siblings anyway-”

You huffed a laugh at him but nodded for him to continue. 

“You were right,” He met your eyes with an intense sincerity. “I am a lover. Not a fighter.”

“I know,” you whispered as you brushed a stray curl from his forehead. “But you must have known I would find out, right?”

“I wasn’t thinking about that at the time, but yeah - in retrospect - of course, you’d find out. But I did it. I sought him out and it just-”  He bit his lip for a second to take a pause. “I saw him and all I could think about was you crying on my shoulder that night.”

You didn’t say anything. You just let him gather his thoughts as the crackling of the fire served as a placeholder in his silence. 

“He’s lucky he only got a black eye because I wanted to kill him for touching you.”

 It was clear after a moment that he was waiting for you to respond, possibly even hoping for validation at such a vulnerable moment. 

“If I’m being honest, Josh, I still can’t believe you could do that - I can’t even imagine you yelling at someone in a way that was anywhere near serious.” 

He stared at you for a few long beats, and you watched the reflection of the Christmas lights twinkle like stars speckled over the dark canvas of his eyes.

 “Yeah, well,” he started, just above a whisper. His brows were tipped into a look of contemplation - the spacing of his words making you think that he wasn’t sure how to proceed. “You do crazy things to protect the people you love.” 

It wasn’t voluntary in any way when your breathing stopped, it just happened - like your lungs were locked up for a few long seconds as you waited for one of you to say something. 

“You’re my best friend,” he said like a confession, looking more serious than you’d ever seen him. “And I love you.” 

Undeniably, your face was peachy pink - you could feel it tingling warm. You weren’t sure what to do with your hands, but you knew you wanted to touch him. His skin tightened around his jaw when you ghosted your fingers over it.

“You love me?” 

He nodded at you, a small but confident motion. “You fill a lot of different positions in my life. I’m not in love with you yet - I don’t think - but I want your permission to be.”

Without wasting another second, you caught his lips in an earnest kiss, your chest feeling like it might implode. It only lasted for a moment before he was pulling you back up until you were sitting in his lap.  

“Was that romantic enough for you?” he asked, trying to shade his voice with humor but it came out sounding breathless instead. 

“I literally can’t imagine anything more romantic,” you agreed with a weak laugh and then teased, “Unless you proposed. You’re not going to propose, are you?”

He adopted a disbelieving smirk. “Do you want me to? I’m sure I can fashion a ring out of something. Maybe there’s a cock ring joke in there somewhere-”

You rolled your eyes playfully and cut him off with, “Please shut up and take me to bed. Right now, okay?”

He ushered you off of him with a breathy laugh before gently nudging you in the general direction of his room. “Hurry along then.” 

The two of you padded quietly down the hall, shutting the door without making a peep. 

The only light in his room was what you could see of the Christmas lights that framed the front door, casting a white-gold glow over the setting.

When he laid you out over the bed, it was significantly gentler than you were expecting as was the kiss he placed - first on your cheek and then your jaw and down your neck to your throat.

His hands slipped under your pajama top, tugging lighting at the buttons on it from the inside and letting his fingers make the skin across your navel tighten. Instinctively, your fingers tangled into his hair, keeping him close enough that the pointed tip of his nose was resting on your sternum. The warm humidity of his breath hitting your skin was both calming and exciting at the same time in a way you couldn’t describe if you tried. His fingers worked to undo your top with relative ease, sliding it off of your chest after. 

You eyed the way his bicep flexed as he held all of his weight on it, and wrapped your fingers around it to give it a squeeze. He reacted by dragging his teeth across your breast with just enough sting to make your hips lift off the bed. The way he sucked one of your nipples into his mouth and rolled it around with his tongue made you squirm, fingers flexing into his tense skin. A tingly, warm feeling set over you as you wrapped your legs around his hips and sat up to shrug your shirt off. 

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to this,” he stated simply as he ran his fingers down your bare chest. 

You hummed at him through a smile, pinching his chin in your fingers and tilting his head up until he had to look you in the eyes. He gave you a grin as he bit his bottom lip and then leaned in to press a kiss against your cheek. In your heart, you knew the gesture had you blushing, but it was confirmed for you when he smugly rubbed his thumb across your cheekbone. 

The chill in the room made your newly-naked skin prickle as he tossed your pajama pants to the floor, followed quickly by his own. With all of your clothing discarded into a pile, he pulled you up onto your knees, cupped both sides of your jaw with his hands, and tugged your face closer until your noses were touching. You listened to his shaky breathing for a moment before you dug your fingers into his hips, pulling him back over you as you laid out on the bed. 

You knew your nails were digging into his skin - probably a little too deeply - as he pushed into you, one of his hands wrapped around your thigh to keep it hitched over his hip. This was confirmed for you when you heard him suck in a breath that sounded more like a hiss, though you got the feeling that he liked the sting of it. 

Through the entirety of the time he was fucking you, he barely pulled his body away from you at all, instead opting to just rock himself against you until you were near tears. The biggest challenge was barely making a sound as you reached your peak, your face buried in the humid crook of his neck and shoulder. 

You weren’t positive how much time had passed, but as you laid together, post-orgasm, you realized just how exhausted you were. 

Neither of you had said a word for quite a while, so it sounded too loud when you spoke into the dark room. 

“Are you going back to the living room?” you whispered. 

“Nah, fuck it. I’m not going anywhere,” he replied, nuzzling the top of his nose into your hair as you laid, half on his bare chest. Just before you fell asleep you remembered the very first night you slept in his bed, and how much had changed since then - and how much had not really changed at all. 

+++

You had meant to set an alarm - really. But you hadn’t gotten around to it the night before, which is why when you came stumbling out of the bedroom with Josh close behind you, you were met with a few pairs of eyes staring at you from the living room. Trying not to look like the most guilty human on earth, you ducked your head and quickly made your retreat to the bathroom. Neither of you said a word as you brushed your teeth together, sneaking playful glances at each other in the mirror. 

By the time you had both showered - Josh first and then you second - and changed into your clothes for the day, it was 9:30. You both found the dining room table hosting his entire family and enough breakfast food piled on top of the worn wood to satisfy a small army. 

The two spots that they saved for you were next to each other, so you settled in and tried to prepare for the most awkward meal of your life thus far. 

“You almost made it to the end,” Jake quipped, apparently happy as hell to deliver the first blow. 

You watched Josh’s eyes flick up at him, delivering him a chilly look. 

“Okay, it wasn’t really a secret before, but it’s definitely not anymore,” Jake finished, rolling his eyes as the bowl of scrambled eggs was passed to him. 

Josh poured himself a glass of orange juice and then gestured for your glass too. “If I were in the living room last night, Santa wouldn’t have come. Really, you have me to thank for the gifts you receive today.” He finished filling your glass and set the carton back down before continuing. “And I’ll take that thank you in the form of you shutting up and minding your own business.”  

 Jake snorted a laugh as he dished himself out some breakfast. He opened his mouth to tease Josh further, but when he looked up and met your eyes, he let the next remark die on his lips - instead just settling for a smug smirk. 

No one mentioned anything else about it, but as the meal went on, you realized that you really had nothing to be ashamed of. You brushed your fingers against Josh’s under the table and then let him lace them together as his sister was telling a story about the best gift she’d ever received. You didn’t share a look with him, but you didn’t have to as his thumb swiped over the top of your hand, over and over. 

After breakfast was eaten and presents were opened, Josh found you on your way out of the restroom and motioned for you to follow him to his room. 

“I have something for you,” he started as he took your hand and sat you on the bed. You crossed your hands in your lap, settling into your spot with a smile. He closed the door behind him and then lifted the bag he’d packed from home onto the dresser. 

He pulled out a little box like a magician would pull a rabbit from his hat, and then held it out for you to take. 

“It really isn’t much, because we obviously don’t have a lot of money, but after what you did for Penny- Well. I wanted to do something meaningful too,” he explained sheepishly. 

The box was wrapped in mint green foil and marked with your name on a brown paper tag. 

You took a lot of care removing the wrapping, and gently opened the top of the box as you held his eyes. 

Inside was a 4-inch terra cotta pot, decorated with delicately painted sunflowers on a white background.

“It’s obviously not perfect-” he started, but you didn’t let him finish before you set the pot on his bedspread and wrapped your arms around his neck.

“It’s perfect,” you stated simply. 

+++

He slept with you again that night, this time sparing any sneaky behavior - and this time, when the two of you emerged from his room, no one even batted an eye. It took you only a few moments to pack your things up, but over an hour to say all of your goodbyes. 

You watched as his mother hugged him again, just like she had when he’d arrived - tightly, like she could barely stand to let him leave. This time, she hugged you too, nearly just as warmly. 

Josh helped you get your bags into the trunk of your car, being decidedly less gentle with Jake’s belongings, and the two of you crawled into the front seats as Jake was ribbing his much taller younger brother at the front door. 

“Hey, I got you this. I looked it up on my phone and the wiki page said I could just rip it off, so I did,” he explained as he placed a long arm of the Christmas cactus into your lap. 

You look at it for a long moment, your chest feeling tight. 

He must have mistaken your silence for apprehension, because he continued on, letting a concerned tone shade his words. “It said it wouldn’t hurt the plant and that it would eventually just grow roots. Is that right? So you can have one of your own, you know? Since you liked it so much. You could even use the little pot.”

You let your eyes meet his as you tried to choke back the feeling in your throat that was threatening tears. Embarrassingly, your voice was a little shaky when you stated, “I love you too.”

He looked completely stunned, but he only had a moment to fix his expression before Jake was opening the back door and sliding effortlessly in. 

“You guys good to go?” Jake asked as he leaned forward and snatched the aux cable from where it was rested on the center console. 

You gave Josh an expectant smile, but when it was clear that he wasn’t going to respond, you leaned over and pressed a kiss against his lips, prompting him to say through a beaming grin, “Let’s go home.”  

[sweetdreamsofandrea]

Mighty & Powerful (High King Peter)

warnings: smut, throne kink (i mean if it is a thing), oral (f receiving), y/n is a maid and also naughty (i mean don't touch the stuff you are not supposed to touch honey), a bit of self-underestimating, avoiding high king has some consequences, peter is sassy and i love him, he is also very caring.

a/n: oh wow this is my first attempt writing an english smut. i'm very excited. if there is any mistake, please correct me. and please let me know what you think. good god i feel like a pure sin. also thank god william was in the royals, otherwise i would have zero gifs. gifs are not mine. i just edited the first gif.

word count: 2976.

You knew you shouldn't be there.

As the maid of the castle, it wasn't appropriate for you to be in the throne room. Okay, you were sort of flirting with High King and he obviously was interested in you ─and he made sure you knew that, but still, you knew you shouldn't be there.

It wasn't your intention when you left the kitchen. You just wanted to find him and spend some time with him if you were lucky. He'd been busy recently, Cair Paravel had visitors and as High King, he was busy with them. You hadn't seen him for almost two days, except for the times you were serving in the dining hall.

You were walking in the corridor when you saw the door of the room was open. You wanted to look to see if he was in there but he wasn't. The room was empty. It encouraged you.

That was the reason why you went closer to the thrones. You just wanted to look at them, you always appreciated almost everything in the castle because everything was so beautiful and majestic. And you'd always liked the thrones, they were so mighty and powerful. The way you wanted to feel.

You of course went closer to his throne first, looked at its golden engravings. Well, it actually looked so much mightier and stronger as he was sitting on it. Without him, it just looked like a fancy chair. You realized the factor that made the throne so mighty and powerful was him, not the throne. The way he sat, the way his legs were open, the way his cape touched the floor, the way he put his hands to its arms and the rings he wore shined under the lights were the reason why the throne looked like that.

You took a short breath. Why were you thinking those things and torturing yourself? He hadn't talked to you for almost two days. He probably didn't even think of you for a second. He was the High King, why would he think of you? How could he? He probably had thousands of things in his mind that were so much more important than you.

Oh, how badly and remedilessly you needed to feel mighty and powerful. You wanted to feel something different from self-pity and longing for him.

You touched the arm of the throne. You softly ran your finger on it. It was cold. Then you realized what you were doing. You immediately stopped touching it. Oh, what were you thinking? What if you got cought?

Well, you didn't get cought and you'd been there for a while. The room was still empty and the door was almost closed. You took another short breath.

‘Okay,’ You mumbled. ‘For a second. Just a second. Then I'll leave and never come back.’

To sit on the throne, you turned your face to the door and fastly sit on it.

It was a mistake. Because it was the exact moment you saw him, his body standing at the door, tall, strong and broad.

You were about the stand up but he raised his hand, implying you to stay where you were.

Your heart started beating faster, your chest was moving fastly and it was visible. You were in panic and you felt so guilty. Why couldn't you just walk away? How were you going to explain this?

“If I'm being honest, M'Lady,” He said. “I really fancy the way you look right now.”

“I-I'm so sorry, Your Highness,” You stuttered while you intended to stand up.

“Stay there.” He ordered, using his High King voice. He then closed the door. The voice of it slamming harshly made you take a shaky breath.

He wasn't Peter now, he was the High King and you knew you were in so much trouble.

“What are you doing, sweetheart?” He asked as he took a step to come closer to you. “I mean, I can see that you are sitting on my throne, that's for sure. However, what are you doing?”

He was getting closer and your heart was beating faster and faster, which surprised you because you thought it was already beating fast enough to kill you.

“I...” You couldn't say anything. What were you doing really? “I don't know.”

He chuckled. “I also fancy your bravery. Being here is something, but sitting on my throne is something else. I am very impressed.”

“I'm so sorry, Your Majesty, I really am. If you let me, I can leave and never come back. Please─”

“Oh, sweetheart,” He was now standing in front of you. He leaned and put his hands to the arms of the throne, where your hands already were. His big hands were now on yours and you felt his hot skin.

“Do you really think I will just let you go?” His face was so close to yours.

“I hope so.” You whispered and he smiled.

“I think you shouldn't. I haven't talked to you for two days, you did your best to avoid me, and when I finally find you, you are sitting on my throne. I think you know I won't let you go.”

You just took a sheaky breath and helplessly said, “I didn't avoid you. I was just doing my job.”

“Are you saying that your job is to stay away from me in crowded places and immediately find an excuse to leave the room when we are finally on our own?”

“We were never truly on our own.”

“Oh, I see,” He nodded shortly. “I bet you think because you are a maid, you shouldn't be with me. Am I right?”

“No, I don't─”

“You are full of surprises, Y/N. You think I don't want to you to be with me because you are a maid but you come here and dare to sit on my throne.”

You gulped. Oh, you were really screwed up.

“Tell me the honest reason why you wanted to sit here.”

You licked your lips before speaking. You felt you needed some fresh air, and water. But you knew you were going to be there for a while.

“I... I just wanted to feel mighty and powerful for a second. Nothing more. I meant no harm, I was going to leave immediately.”

He frowned. “You don't need to sit on some fancy chair to feel or be mighty and powerful. You already are. Sweetheart, are you badly forgetful? Did you forget everything you did for me and Narnia? Or don't you have a mirror in your room? Have you ever truly seen yourself?”

You couldn't look at his face while he was talking. You felt so ashamed and you were not a person knowing how to react to a compliment.

“Look at me, Y/N. Look at me and listen carefully, okay?”

You did what he said and nodded.

“You don't need a fancy chair, a beautiful dress, a job you think is better, me, or anyone and anything else to be mighty and powerful. You already are. It makes me very angry to see that you are underestimating yourself. I could count everything you did and everything about you that amazes me, but unfortunately I desperately want to kiss you right now.”

Before you could even react, your lips met, no, your lips almost crushed because he kissed you so passionately, and long. You let him do whatever he wanted to do because you needed him, oh, you needed him so strongly that it surprised you. You never thought a person could desire a person the way you did.

His lips left yours and started kissing your neck. You turned your head a little and gave him more place to kiss. He kissed your neck, under of your ear, and your collarbone.

You were breathing heavily now. Your body was relieved because it finally came together with him, but at the same time it was burning with much more desire because it wanted more.

His hands left yours and touched your back to find the ropes holding your dress together. He was quick because he'd done it before, so many times. He learnt by heart the way you tied them.

He pushed your dress down, releasing your breasts. He had no seconds to lose; he needed to touch you, feel you, and make you feel good. He quickly took one of your nipples into his mouth, the other one was taken care of by his fingers.

All you could do was whining. He knew what he was doing very well. He knew how to drive you crazy. You sometimes hated how perfectly he knew your body because he could always use it against you but in the end, who were you to complain?

While his wet and warm mouth were on your breasts, you used your hands to untie his cape and you pushed it back from his shoulders. Then you pulled his shirt but you couldn't take it off because his body was over yours. He understood what you wanted and took a break to get rid of his shirt.

Oh, there his beautiful body was. You absolutely loved his body. His sunkissed skin was just perfect. He was muscular and his chest was broad, he had many scars but you didn't mind them at all, they were of course upsetting you but on the other side, they were the proofs and symbols of his survivals, which was something making you feel so proud of him and love him even more.

He smiled when he saw your eyes on his body. He could see the admiration and desire, which made him feel good. He loved being appreciated by you. Honestly, there was no other person whose opinions he cared as much as he cared yours.

Before leaning down to kiss you again, he took his crown from his head and put it to yours. He'd never done this before and you were surprised. Why did he do that? You had no explanations.

He looked at you, how beautiful you looked. On his throne, wearing his crown. He loved it when you were close to things that actually belonged him. It made him feel like now you were actually in his life, physically and tangibly. When it came to you, it was all about giving. Maybe he'd never shown it before but he could do anything for you when you told him to do. Each word coming out of your mouth was a duty he needed to fulfil.

His thumb caressed your cheek for a moment, then he finally kissed you again. You touched his body, ran your hands on his smooth skin as he kissed you. You felt his hand caressing your leg underneath your dress. His touch was gentle, warm and directly going to your burning core.

You automatically tried to close your legs but he stopped you.

Then he pushed the skirt of your dress up as you watched him. You had no power to do anything. You just could watch and let him. He made you weak but it was alright. You actually loved that kind of weakness.

You felt one of his fingers running on your underwear. You breathed loudly.

“Already wet.” You heard him murmuring. “Already wet for me.”

He took your underwear off and when the air hit your core, you wanted to close your legs again but he cought your right leg and put it to the arm of the throne.

“Stay still, sweetheart.”

You nodded.

But it was very hard to stay still when his mouth was finally there and he licked your clit.

You moaned and your back left the throne.

“Peter,” You whimpered.

You felt his lips smiling to your skin and heard his chuckle.

“You finally learnt your lesson, didn't you?”

By force of habit, you called him ‘Your Highness’ or ‘Your Majesty’ while you were having sex a few times and you could say that he didn't like it, not at all. Because according to him, he was the High King to everyone, but he wanted to be special to you, he wanted to be his true self to you, therefore he ordered to be called Peter, not something else. Well, when you called him something else, he made sure you would remember what the consequences would be if you did it next time.

You couldn't answer him because your head was in the clouds. You couldn't think anything but his tongue and the way it worked.

It was teasing your clitoris, then your enterance. Actually it was everywhere, leaving a wet mark behind it. He was eating you out like his life depended on it.

You were moaning, and your legs began shaking. Your hand were inside his hair, pulling it and desperately pushing his head to your clit more. You knew what you were doing but somehow, you also didn't.

That feeling emerged, informing you that you couldn't hold it any longer. You were so close to cum but Peter didn't care. He wanted to make you cum.

“Oh,” Your chest was moving fastly, you were biting your lip. “Peter, I'm so close.” You managed to say.

Then he pushed his tongue to your enterance.

“Oh!” You pulled his hair tighter. You couldn't take it anymore, everything felt so intense and the pleasure blew your mind.

It didn't take so long for you to cum. You screamed his name as you did. You were breathing fastly and were a total mess. He kissed inside of your leg before standing up.

You saw his lips, red and wet. His hair was completely messy but he looked so handsome and still magnificent.

“Come,” He took your hand helped you while you were standing up.

He kissed your lips. It was a miracle that you could remain standing and kiss him back because your legs were still shaking. But his hands were on your waist and you knew you was holding you.

He turned your body after the kiss, and you knew what you were supposed to do. You bent over, and put your hands to the arms of the throne.

You looked at him over your shoulder as he took off his pants very quickly. Even looking at it made you feel so good and when he finally was inside you, you lost it and moaned loudly.

He filled you perfectly. It was everything you needed. You felt complete and loved that idea of you two completing each other, in every way possible.

At first he was slow, letting you adjust to the feeling but then he started getting faster. He knew the way you liked it and gave it to you.

He grabbed your waist while he fucked you fast. You heard his groans. His voice was deep and filled with passion. He moaned your name. You felt his breath on your skin.

Then he pulled you to himself and made your back touch to his chest. You felt now his cock was buried inside you even deeper. You couldn't stop whimpering. Everything was perfect. Just perfect.

His forehead was on your shoulder. He kissed your skin. Then, he bit your neck, leaving a mark there. His hands found your nipples and played with them. Your body was completely occupied by his and feeling him everywhere was all you ever needed.

“Peter,” You moaned, at the same time he moaned your name.

“Two days,” He whispered. “Two days without you is enough to drive me crazy, enough to make me lose my control.”

“You say it like it is a bad thing.” You could answer him this time.

He smiled when he heard your answer and kissed your jawbone.

He loved it. He loved the way you were ready and willing to take him no matter how he was. You accepted him easily and the way he were, and he loved you for that. Was he going to lose his control? You were ready to take it. Without any judgements, any questions, you just accepted him and every time he felt it, he loved you even more.

You put your head to his shoulder, and he kissed your completely open neck. The only reason why you still could stand was his body. You leaned on him. You knew he would hold you. He always did.

“I'm so close,” You said. “Please never stop.”

“It's alright,” He said. “I will not.”

He kept his promise and fucked you until you came for the second time. He then pulled himself out and came to your ass.

He hugged your waist, his head on your back, rested for a while to catch his breath.

“Are you okay?” He asked.

“More than okay, actually.” You replied, couldn't stop smiling.

He smiled too. “Let me dress you up, then we can go to our room.”

“I can─”

He interrupted you. “Let me.” It wasn't a request now.

He dressed you up, gently but fastly. He could see you were tired and needed some rest, therefore he wanted to take you to bed.

“Won't you take it back?” You asked, implying the crown on your head.

“No, it suits you.”

“It is yours.” You objected.

“Well, the throne was also mine but you didn't seem to care, did you sweetheart?”

You couldn't help but laugh. “It still looks weird though. Look at my dress and─”

The look on his face was enough to make you stop talking.

“We've just talked about it.” He said in a very dissappointed voice.

“I think I need some time,” You spoke as he tool your hand. “To get used to it.”

“To get used to what?”

“I don't know. I guess... everything.”

You started walking to leave the room.

“I can help you with that, M'Lady.”

You smiled. “Oh, I bet you can.”

oh hi hello hello! i hope you like it, please tell me what you think.

love, andrea. ♡

[shemarmooresfedora]

Rebuilding Family

Summary: Y/N and Spencer were college sweethearts at Cal-Tech but once Spencer got accepted to the FBI Academy, he ended things deciding it was not fair to make Y/N wait for him. When they meet again years later, he discovers something unexpected.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Warnings: a teeny bit of angst (resolved)

A/N: hi, loves! i will be changing updates to this to once a week because i would like to get my final other WIP out that has been sitting in my drive forever and i have graduation stuff. ALSO, i hit 400 followers!!! thank you thank you <3 here is the celebration!

Masterlist

Chapter 32

“Okay, everyone ready?” Spencer asked.

“Yep,” you smiled, grabbing Jo’s hand, “Just let me get a picture first.”

You pulled your phone out of your pocket and faced it towards Spencer, “Smile!”

Spencer turned sideways so both babies would be visible in the photo. He was wearing one of those double baby carriers so Ophelia was strapped to his back while Ollie was up front.

You all walked out of the room and down to the parking garage while passing nurses and visitors would ‘aw’ at the adorable family that had just practically doubled in size.

“Honey, can you put Jo in her booster seat in the middle first?” Spencer asked.

“Yep, up you go, Baby J,” you helped her into her new booster seat.

On both sides of Jo were now two newborn baby car seats so she could keep the twins entertained on the car ride.

You unstrapped Ophelia from off of Spencer’s back and littered her with kisses, already missing her in your arms. You buckled her in securely as Spencer did the same to Ollie on the other side.

Spencer got in the driver’s side and you got in the passenger seat. You both turned around to look at all your little kids in the back row.

Spencer turned to look at you with a huge grin, “We’re going to need a bigger car.”

“Spencer Reid, I am not driving a mini van,” you gave him a quick peck.

“Fine, I’ll just have to steal one of the FBI’s many SUVs,” he joked.

Jo switched her attention between both babies during the car ride, giving you and Spencer a play-by-play of everything they did.

“Ophelia is trying to squirm out of her blanket so I’m tucking her back in,” she stated.

“Thank you, Princess,” Spencer smiled, rubbing soft circles on your thigh as he drove.

“Ollie’s little hat is almost falling off so I am going to put it back on.”

“Thank you, baby, you are being such a good big sister,” you complimented her.

Once Spencer pulled into the driveway, Spencer grabbed Ollie and you grabbed Ophelia out of their respective seats.

“I’ll come back for the bags in the back,” Spencer said as he walked up to open the front door.

“I wanna hold her please,” Jo made grabby hands up at you with Ophelia in your arms.

“You can hold her when you are sitting, Baby J,” you assured her, patting her head.

Jo followed you up to the nursery, Spencer’s old bedroom. You had the cribs and other basics set up but you didn’t decorate because you were hoping to be moving soon. You and Spencer put an offer down on the house near JJ and Will’s and were waiting to hear back.

“The babies are going to take a nap right now and we are going to have lunch so say night night,” you lifted Jo up to give the babies a kiss before their nap.

Spencer placed Ollie in the crib with Ophelia, “I read up on co-bedding in one of the pediatric magazines at the hospital and if the twins are small enough, having them sleep together in the same crib can provide benefits including regulating body temperatures and sleep cycles, plus it soothes them.”

You and Jo gave the babies kisses and then you grabbed the baby monitor and switched it on.

“You coming, love?” you placed your hand on Spencer’s shoulder.

“One second,” he whispered, his eyes not leaving the two twins cuddled up together in one crib, “They’re just too perfect.”

-

You awoke to find Spencer in the rocking chair in your room in between the two bassinets. You had their cribs set up in the nursery for naps but they would do most of their sleeping in here with you guys until they were a few months old.

“What’s wrong? Are they hungry again?” you whispered, rubbing your eyes as you sat up.

“No, love. You can go back to bed. Ophelia was getting a little fussy which made Ollie fussy too but I think they just wanted some tummy time,” Spencer smiled softly as he had both the babies pressed to his chest.

“You are the best dad ever,” you blew him a kiss before resting your head back on the pillow.

You were lulled back to sleep by the quaint creaking of the rocking chair and Spencer’s loving whispers to the babies.

-

“Where’s Daddy?” Jo asked as you served her a bowl of oatmeal.

“He’s changing the twins. He’ll be down in a bit,” you assured her as you sat down across from her.

You watched Jo push around her oatmeal a little but not really eat any, looking up to the stairs frequently to see if her Daddy was coming down.

Spencer finally entered the kitchen with the twins, “Love, do you want to take Ollie?”

You opened your arms and accepted Ollie into your arms, “Hi, my little one!”

“Sorry it took so long. I was trying to get them properly swaddled but this princess right here was trying to escape,” Spencer grinned at the baby in front of him.

Jo pushed her still-full bowl of oatmeal towards the center of the table and scooched out of her chair, stomping slightly up the stairs.

When you heard her bedroom door close, you turned to Spencer with a disappointed look.

“Spencer, I know the twins are very exciting but you have to remember you have 3 kids, not 2. You hadn’t even said good morning to her yet.”

“I was going to!” Spencer insisted.

“And you called Ophelia ‘Princess’. That’s your nickname for Jo,” you pointed out.

Spencer sighed, he hadn’t even realized he had done that. He placed Ophelia in her bouncer seat and reheated Jo’s oatmeal. He even placed blueberries on top in the shape of a smiley face before heading upstairs.

Spencer knocked gently on the door. His guilt increased tenfold when he heard the little sniffles coming from inside.

“Jo, I know you’re mad at me and you have every right to be but may I please come in?” Spencer asked through the door.

He heard the sound of light footsteps and a teary-eyed Jo opened the door. Spencer immediately knelt to her level and set the bowl down on the floor.

“Jo, I am so sorry I made you feel forgotten because I got too wrapped in trying to take care of the twins. I promise it will never happen again. You are my only Princess, Jo. We’ll give Ophelia a different nickname.”

“I forgive you, Daddy,” Jo hugged Spencer.

“After you finish breakfast, we can do whatever you want today, Princess,” Spencer smiled.

Jo beamed as she scooped a bite of oatmeal into her mouth.

-

You knocked on Jo’s bedroom door where you heard whispers and scuffling of footsteps.

“What’s the password?” you heard Jo announce in a deep voice.

You looked down at the construction paper invitation with lots of glitter glue that was slipped under your bedroom door.

“Sunflower.”

The door opened, revealing a mini table with pillows all around it as seats. Jo’s tea set that Penelope had gotten her was beautifully arranged on the table along with little finger sandwiches and cookies.

“Oh my, how did I get so lucky to be invited to this exclusive tea party?” you smiled, “I know the invitation said ‘dress fancy’ so I hope this sundress is suitable.”

You gave Jo a little curtsy before entering. You had Ollie wrapped in a cloth baby bjorn around your front because he was taking a little nap but Ophelia was wide awake in your arms.

“You look like a Queen, Mommy!” Jo did a little twirl for you in her ruffle dress with strawberries all over it.

“So do you, my little Princess,” you smiled back.

Spencer was already seated on the floor in a full suit like he would wear to work. He shaved and slicked back his hair.

“Ah, I see the King has already arrived,” you chuckled, bending down to give him a kiss.

“Indeed, my lovely wife. I brought the bouncers up for the babies to sit in,” Spencer informed you.

You placed Ophelia in hers but kept Ollie in the bjorn because you didn’t want to disrupt his peaceful slumber.

Jo poured you all tea and Spencer added a little bit of sugar and honey to the tea cups.

“Do the babies want tea?” Jo asked, still holding her tea kettle.

“The babies can’t have tea just yet but thank you for offering,” you smiled, gently picking your cup up.

“Pinky’s up, Daddy!” Jo instructed.

It was rather comical to watch Spencer try to hold the tiny porcelain tea cup in his large hands.

“The tea is absolutely exquisite, Princess Josephine. I believe I will have one of these gourmet peanut butter and jelly sandwiches to go with it,” you smiled.

-

“I’m exhausted. Mommy needs a nap like the twins and Jo,” you chuckled as you fell back on the bed after putting the sleeping twins in their bassinets.

“Are you sure you don’t need a shower first?” Spencer questioned.

You looked at him and quirked an eyebrow.

“What? You know what your sundresses do to me,” Spencer whined.

“I guess I have a little energy left,” you grinned, grabbing his hand as you tip-toed to the bathroom to not wake the twins.

A/N: another reason i need to push the updates back is because i am going camping next week (i wish spencer could protect me from any bears)!

taglist (just ask to be added or removed!): @samuel-de-champagne-problems @g0lden-cth @spencerreid9 @averyhotchner @coldlilheart @k-k0129 @ickleronniekinsemotionalrange @harrystylesandthegoobs @cmily @jswessie187 @rem-ariiana @hoodpankow @doctorreiding @reidsfish

[bukojuiice]

the wedding booth  — eren jaeger

ೃ pairing: (eren jaeger x  fem! reader)

ೃ after being unwillingly dragged to plan and create a wedding booth for your first university festival, eren accompanies you to a bridal boutique. there, he contemplates about the future and all of the cheesy romantic stuff he wants to do with you.

ೃ genre and warnings: college au, lots and lots of fluff!

ೃ  my nav  →  my aot masterlist

ೃ 1k words

My Big Fat Greek Wedding, My Best Friend's Wedding, The Wedding Planner, Wedding Crashers... hell, even Mamma Mia.

If having to be forced to watch these romantic comedies about weddings doesn't give you the sudden urge to get hitched and run away to some tropical island, then you don't know what will.

For your very first uni fair at Shigashina University, your friends had proposed a Marriage booth. To be more specific, three of your friends did. Jean, Sasha, and Connie are the masterminds behind this stupid idea and it's all because of three things:

1. Jean is pining over Mikasa so so bad. So many years have passed and yet he still hasn't found a way to confess. And so, due to his pompous ass binge-watching stupid rom-coms recently, he thinks that if "fake dating" can bring two people together, then having a fake wedding with his unrequited crush of 12 years could finally make her fall for him too. He wants the booth to be as iconic as a wedding straight out of Las Vegas. Problem is, he's never been to Las Vegas, and his terribly unrealistic basis for wanting it to be as iconic as a "Las Vegas Wedding" is that one scene from The Hangover and that episode from Friends.

He was delusional and yet, he wanted to push through with this proposal no matter what. Nothing was going to stop him... not unless it was one of the three seniors whom you would be proposing this project to in the first place.

2. Sasha's goals are much normal. A bit odd, but still normal and not as desperate as Jean's. All she wants is to get Ymir, the captain of the school's soccer team to confess to Historia, the freshman Bio-Chemistry student who works part-time as a library assistant (and whom everyone secretly fawns over for. she's just that damn cute.) However, the real reason as to why she helped [rp[pse this stupid marriage booth to get them to finally confess to each other is anyone's guess.

3. Connie thinks he's gonna get clout from this. Rise up the university hierarchy perhaps? He's treating the entire festival like it's high school all over again. He prays that the marriage booth will become the hottest thing in the festival, then he'll instantly become that cool and bad-ass freshie whom everyone wants to be friends with. Either way, if the booth is going to be a success or not, you know for a fact he's never going to be a part of the "cool kids" (good lord, can you believe people still use that term in college?) and he's gonna be stuck with you and your other friends for the rest of the years to come.

It didn't take long before they finally finished their elaborate PowerPoint Presentation (despite Connie insisting that Powerpoint is boring) that they were going to pitch to three of the principal members of the student council. Namely, Erwin Smith, Levi Ackerman, and Hange Zoe.

It was gonna be an automatic no for Levi, obviously. Nothing could ever get past that man. But if they can somehow convince Erwin and most especially Hange to get on board with their stupid scheme, then the booth was good to go.

Now, here you are, in a bridal boutique. Purchasing some simple wedding dresses that will serve as your rent-a-dress service for the Marriage booth.

It wasn't originally a part of the plan. Not at all.

However, Hange would only approve of the project IF the wedding booth was going to be made into something more elaborate and memorable. They didn't want something as simple as printing out fake marriage contracts, cheap tulle fabric wedding veils, fake plastic bouquets, and wedding pictures that came out of a polaroid camera.

Oh no no no. They wanted it to be extravagant. The cream of the crop. The absolute bomb. The best booth at the festival.

Hange saw potential in the idea and with an approved budget by the student council, you could make anyone's wedding dreams come true.

 Fast forward to a week before the event, you are currently on a shopping spree with Armin, Mikasa, and your boyfriend, Eren (because Sasha insisted he had the right proportions for the rental groom outfits. She totally did not ask him to come along so that he can see you try on wedding gowns.) to buy supplies, props, decorations, and everything else needed.

"(Y/N), we'll meet you and Eren at the bridal boutique, okay?" Armin proclaims, looking at the time on his wristwatch and struggling to balance the shopping bags on his other hand.  Mikasa notices how much he's been struggling and offers to hold the bags for him.

"Sure! Don't forget about the list that Jean sent!" You shout back, turning to Eren as his fingers interlace with yours, making your merry way to the boutique whilst Armin and Mikasa go off the other direction.

"Don't get too excited." You joke, nudging Eren on the arm. "I'll just be trying on these dresses for the booth."

There's a particular glimmer in Eren's emerald eyes, chuckling at your quip. "Sheesh. Did you really have to remind me? Of course I know that. Besides, we're too young to even think about marriage right now. What's important is that I'm spending the best years of my life with you."

"Eren Grisha Jaeger, it is too damn early for you to make me a blushing pile of mess with your flirty comebacks." You deadpan, the heat rising up your cheeks as you try to hide your embarrassment from him.

The both of you laugh it off, shuffling into the store. The chiming bells of the shop door echo around the area as you look in awe at the luxurious dresses occupying every available space. The wafting smell of a vanilla pinecone scent and the soft sound of a sewing machine doing its work. There was a homey and rustic feel to this boutique that made you feel like you were sent back in time.

From great flouncy pieces adorned in layers of lace that rolled like ocean waves to more humble designs, albeit of the finest cloth.

This plethora of finery- reminds you strongly of the many genteel ladies depicted in those books and historic romances you used to read and watch. Like that of Pride and Prejudice or Sense and Sensibility.

Having the opportunity to enter a boutique such as this was a dream.

"Welcome! May I help you find anything?" A seamstress appears from the register. She looks at you from head to toe, as if trying to guess your measurements.

"W-we're looking for wedding dresses. Anything within the 200 to 300 dollar range? We don't need anything extra fancy, though! We'll just be needing them-"

Her eyes shift from you to Eren like she's suddenly a love coach, sizing the two of you up. "Yes, yes, young love! How sweet!" She chirps, breathing out a dreamy sigh. "Of course! For couples on a tight budget, we have-"

"We're looking for wedding dresses that can be used as costumes! Not too short and not too long either. W-we're not getting married or anything." You dismiss the seamstress with a wave of your hand. "I'm sorry if you thought of it that way..."

Although her shoulders visibly drop, the saleswoman still manages to smile. "Oh! I would like to apologize for assuming anything too!"

"Actually, mam, we do have plans sometime in the future." Eren grins cheekily, pulling you close to him. "Not today, of course, but we'll make sure to drop by in a few years!"

The saleslady's eyes lit up at Eren's vow. "Over here are some of our best-selling pieces! Ones that will certainly attract the eye of any groom!" She beckons you over to some mannequins lined up in the middle of the store, your gaze is drawn to the myriad of dresses on display as you walk throughout the space.

You turn back to Eren, studying him closely as he walks a few paces behind you, you thoughtfully wonder if the dresses you would pick out would match his taste.

She leads you to the back of the store to show the other garments and dresses embroidered with simplicity and yet elegance. You then pick two gowns up from their respective racks, satisfied with your purchase and making a beeline to the register to pay. However, the seamstress stops you from your tracks.

"How about this one, dear?"

You turn your attention to her, doe-eyed and curious as to what she was going to show you next.

"It is indeed a wedding dress, although not what you had asked for, the handsome young man did say something about your marriage plans. Perhaps this might help you visualize it? Give you an idea for the future, hm?" She hums wistfully, drawing your attention to the mannequin she placed in front of you. "It would be a shame if you left the boutique without trying anything on."

"(Y/N)?" You hear Eren's husky voice call out for you from the front of the store, "Armin just texted me. They can't find a specific prop in the crafts store so we might have to wait a bit longer for them."

"Okay! We can spare more time in the boutique, anyways." You answer back,  before turning your attention to the seamstress once more.

"Alright. I think I'll try it on then."

"Trying it on" turned out to be more than you had imagined. You thought you could just slip inside the dress and show it off. But nope. You needed a few adjustments to dress, adornments in your hair, and had to wear a wedding veil.

It was almost as if you were actually preparing to be wed.

"Good sir, your lovely missus is ready!" Yup, even the words of the seamstress made you feel like you were living in the 17th century right now. Did she really have to use such fancy words?

"Please, watch your step." The seamstress takes your hand and leads you out of the dressing room and right towards—

Eren who had been waiting in the shop proper.

"Doesn't she look beautiful?" She giggles, glancing at Eren for a response. "Well, I'll leave the two of you here first and bring the dresses you've chosen to the cash register first." In a wink, she's gone and had disappeared into the back almost before the words left her mouth.

The unfamiliar yet elegant garb makes you feel shy and the fact that Eren was gaping at you did not help at all. He was absolutely entranced by your beauty.

You unconsciously lower your head, tucking a strand of hair beneath your ear, unable to bear the thought.

"God, you're not just beautiful. Y-you look breathtaking."

He says in a barely audible whisper, pulling you to him once more.

Placing his hands on your waist, Eren plants a soft, tender kiss on your chest, the low-cut dress affording it easily. In a heartbeat, you feel your cheeks grow hot.

"Heh. Guess I got you again." He grins wolfishly, still admiring your beauty and tracing circles on the back of your hand. "I-I don't deserve you... I really don't."

"If you didn't deserve me, would you be here right now?" You say jokingly, raising your eyebrow.

"I mean it." He buries his face on the hem of your dress, his voice is muffled and soothing. "I can't believe you chose to love me." He looks up at you, eyes practically welling up with tears. "God, I honestly can't believe I'm crying right now, but, yeah... I am. That's how much I love you and how much I want to marry you right now."

You giggle at the expression your boyfriend has shown before you, stroking his hair and burying your fingers into his long brunette locks. "I love you too. But... why so sudden? You already told the saleswoman that we'll be back in a few years. She'd be surprised to hear you change your mind so easily."

"Well, if that's the case, then I better tell Jean to have us first on the list of the wedding booth then. We worked our asses off for this, might as well be the first to be blessed with the luck of that stupid booth."

You giggle once more as he continues to hold you so close. You feel his breath and his heartbeat. Each exhale and pulse brings you to the realization that Eren is the one. The man you want to be with for the rest of your life. The man who will help you through all your faults and mistakes, your burdens and troubles, through all the ups and downs... he will be there.

Just as you will be for him.

Guess those stupid movies centered around weddings weren’t so bad after all

.taglist: @crapimahuman​