#I just need Louis to pop up somewhere as well

[theirloveisgross]

.

[livefromcastledracula]

Gothic literature fanons I wish would die a death and disappear from pop culture, here we go...incoming ramble.

DracuMina and tragic, romantic Dracula is a big one. It's just not who he is. There are plenty of other vampires who live these tropes. It's not Dracula. It's Barnabas Collins and Louis de Pointe du Lac and Angel from Buffy and Edward Cullen. It's not Count Dracula. Count Dracula is a bastard and his bastardy is what makes him scary and charismatic and compelling as a villain in the same way, say, the Joker or (pre-Angelina) Maleficent is. He doesn't need to be suave or soft or secretly a woobie out for love to be interesting. He is a smug, smiling monster to the bone and we love him for it.

If there's any tragedy at all to Dracula the character it's the vague hints Van Helsing gives that he was once a great man and that man's soul might still be trapped somewhere in this hollow, monstrous husk of a creature, yearning for the release of true death.

But that man is long gone. What Dracula is now doesn't feel any guilt or remorse or compassion or grief. He is, he schemes, he hungers, he preys. He is Vampire.

Okay, Carmilla...well the big one is that she is in any way not a lesbian. Adaptations that make her an equal opportunity seductress. Ha ha ha no. Book Carmilla shows absolutely zero interest in men. They might as well not exist to her. She is ALL about young women her own (apparent) age. There is that vague anecdote about the Baron's male ancestor in her backstory, but at the time 'lover' was also used in a more one-sided context of romantic admirers, of which a beautiful young noblewoman would have many, so it could as easily imply she'd never even spoken to him. Vampire Carmilla, the one we meet and interact with, is all about the girls and especially about specific girls; like Laura.

Frankenstein... oh there's a bunch, pop culture Frankenstein is probably the farthest away from the book. Let's not even go into "Frankenstein is the monster's name" or "Doctor Frankenstein" or "Igor" or "the monster is a mute lumbering zombie" or even the animated with lightning thing...

...the one that actually irks me is the pervasive idea that Frankenstein is resurrecting dead people, or that the Monster is / has the brain of a specific person who just doesn't remember who he is. Even Penny Dreadful did this one! Even the musical did this one!

Nooo, the Creature isn't a frigging zombie. He's not a revived human. Frankenstein specifically says that he can't revive the dead but that someday if his "creations" are successful he might also discover that secret:

'I thought that if I could bestow animation upon lifeless matter, I might in process of time (although I now found it impossible) renew life where death had apparently devoted the body to corruption.'

Also very worth noting that despite the frequent fanon that Victor used a random hanged man for the Creature and Justine or even Elizabeth's body to build the Bride, this absolutely does not happen in the book, at no point does Frankenstein consider 'reviving' his dead loved ones. It doesn't even cross his mind. He's not Herbert West 😆

Back to Creech, Frankenstein specifically says he made him eight feet tall because human parts were too small and detailed for him to work on quickly.

'Although I possessed the capacity of bestowing animation, yet to prepare a frame for the reception of it, with all its intricacies of fibres, muscles, and veins, still remained a work of inconceivable difficulty and labour.'

"...As the minuteness of the parts formed a great hindrance to my speed, I resolved, contrary to my first intention, to make the being of a gigantic stature, that is to say, about eight feet in height, and proportionably large...."

You can't do that just by chopping up a few dead people. You can't get an eight foot giant by stitching together a bunch of smaller dudes. You can't make a bigger heart and bigger bones and bigger organs just by stitching together smaller ones. So what the heck IS Frankenstein doing?

I had returned to my old habits. I collected bones from charnel-houses and disturbed, with profane fingers, the tremendous secrets of the human frame. In a solitary chamber, or rather cell, at the top of the house, and separated from all the other apartments by a gallery and staircase, I kept my workshop of filthy creation; my eyeballs were starting from their sockets in attending to the details of my employment. The dissecting room and the slaughter-house furnished many of my materials; and often did my human nature turn with loathing from my occupation, whilst, still urged on by an eagerness which perpetually increased, I brought my work near to a conclusion.

Okay so we know he IS collecting flesh to use as raw materials, but slaughter houses interests me. This suggests that the Creature isn't necessarily being built of human flesh.

And that makes more sense, doesn't it? How do you build a humanlike body with bigger-than-human bones, muscles, veins and organs? What if you got them from a bull, a horse, an ox?

But here's another point of interest:

...After having formed this determination and having spent some months in successfully collecting and arranging my materials, I began... ...The summer months passed while I was thus engaged, heart and soul, in one pursuit...

Months. It's taken him months at least to build Creech.

This book is set in the late 1700s. There is no refrigeration and Victor is working out of a loft apartment at a university.

How. The HECK. Is his glorious Creation not a pile of rotting meat falling apart on his table? How is he preserving it?

Does his magical mad science also extend to preservation? That's never mentioned, but I could imagine that it might involve a fair bit of, well, pickling. He does compare him to a 'mummy' at least once.

So...

Book canon Creech is an eight foot tall giant with flowing black hair, nice teeth, shrivelled yellow skin stretched over his muscle and veins, and watery yellow eyes in 'dun white' sockets. He is probably a bit 'pickled' and potentially a chimera built partially out of animal bones, muscles and organs, though don't think Dr Moreau, Victor was TRYING to make him look human and nobody ever comments on any visibly animal parts.

I wish the 'serious' movie adaptations would go harder on his makeup and effects. As OTT and steampunk Karloff inspired as the Van Helsing movie was, that's actually the level of "oh shit that's not a human" I expect from a canonical Creech, just ditch the steampunk cyborg bits and give the man some hair. Penny Dreadful did good with his alabaster skin and yellow eyes, and Rory Kinnear's still my favorite performance of this character, though they could've stood to use some LOTR-style forced perspective to make him Huge. If Creech could pass for a tall homeless war vet with a lot of scars, he's not 'creature' enough for me. There's probably something poignant to be said there about him thinking that his mistreatment at humanity's hands is because he's an inhuman monster, But Actually people he meets think he's human, they just treat him like they'd treat any other large, disfigured, confused, potentially mentally-ill homeless person they'd meet.

But that's not Mary Shelley's intent, I don't think. He's not a revived, amnesiac human. He's something much more terrifying, poignant, and mysterious. He's an entire new creature, a newborn, earthbound alien species, and that's what makes it interesting to me, because ... what even IS he? Creature is born as a total blank slate, he doesn't know what he is. Victor doesn't understand him, doesn't really comprehend what he's created, so he can't tell him.

So there's no-one alive that can, and there never will be, it's not an answerable question.

There's a deep, abiding existential horror in Creech's existence that is dumbed down to 'came back wrong' if he is a resurrected human. If he isn't, what the hell IS he? Frankenstein is grounded in science fiction rather than the supernatural, but if there's such a thing in its universe as a soul, does he have a soul? Where did it come from? Is he an amalgam of all the people/animals he's built out of, potentially hundreds of them? Is he something that came from somewhere else to inhabit this meat-husk? Is he something else entirely? He doesn't know and never will, Victor never will, no one ever will.

That's haunting, tragic, and terrifying.

[phdmama]

A small piece of writing...

(Possibly to be archived later, but it feels appropriate to share here.)

I wrote this years ago. This is the epilogue to a longer Larry fic that I started but have never finished. It's a plot-heavy fic, soul bonds, psychic Harry and medium Louis, reincarnation, past lives, etc. I am not sure I'll ever finish it, but this epilogue capture something about life and death that I really, truly believe. I just revisited it and I want to share it with my fellow fans. This fandom brought me writing, and well. Here's one more little Larry thing from me.

I don't think you really need to know anything more about the story for this to make sense? I hope not. This is technically major character death because it's life after death but it's about the life part. Really it's about the eternal nature of love.

This is for all of us, but especially for Liam.

Louis slowly swims to wakefulness and opens his eyes, confused as to where he is. Fluorescent lights that are currently off, the grey of pre-dawn through the window, white sheets, white ceiling, white walls. Hospital then, not his little condo at the assisted living facility. The light in the room has an odd cast to it, and the sounds around him are muffled, as if he’s underwater. He yawns and stretches, noting that for the first time in years, well, decades maybe, his shoulder doesn’t do that painful popping thing. In fact. He sits up, wiggling around. He feels better than no pain, he feels great.

Louis carefully slides out of the bed and stands, and it’s not until he’s almost to the door that he registers the crowd around his bed, that he must have just walked through, but he... didn’t even see them. Weird. There’s Charlie and Mika, there’s Alice and James and Sophie. The grandkids are all there too, JJ with his arm tucked around each of the twins, Rose and Maddie. Michael, his hair is deep and lovely blue this month, Louis notes with a grin, and Nessa, the youngest, with her shining blond curls and vibrant green eyes that she’d inherited from her Granddaddy.

The mood in the room is somber, Louis can tell. Stoic Charlie’s mouth is drawn, while Alice cries softly as James rubs her back and Sophie clutches her hand. The normal “joyful noise,” as Louis has called it for 50 years, is absent. Louis knows this is odd, knows he should be concerned, but he can’t quite connect to that feeling. There's only to the urgent sense that he’s got somewhere else, somewhere important to be.

Then he sees it happen, the doctor in the corner reaches over and flips off the heart monitor that has, Louis notes absently, flat-lined. There’s a shuffle of movement, and the group around the bed parts for a moment, and oh. Oh, there it is, his old body, looking smaller and frailer on the bed than Louis remembers feeling. He looks down at the body he’s in; it feels strong and sure, familiar and solid. 

He looks at his family, and notes something odd. In some of their faces, he sees something almost flickering and shifting. In Charlie, Louis catches a glimpse that reminds him of the pictures of Harry’s dad. In Michael, he sees something of Stan, his childhood friend, lost far too soon. Oddly enough, in the doctor standing somberly in the corner, he sees the shadow of his grandfather who’d died when he was a baby. And Nessa. His breath catches in his throat, because Nessa has turned, and is looking directly at him where he’s standing, paused, with his hand on the door handle, and she’s watching him with his mother’s eyes. How had he never seen that? Nessa is staring straight at him, and then when she sees him looking back, her whole face lights up in her trademark Nessie smile.

“I love you, Grandpapa.” She says the words loud and clear, and the others turn to look, first at her and then at where she’s staring. “It’s okay, Papa, you can go. We love you, we’ll always love you. I’ll miss you, Papa, but it’s time to go.” She makes a little shooing motion with her hands and then blows him a kiss, which Louis pretends to catch and presses to his heart. Her smile wavers as the tears start and then she whispers, “Tell Grandaddy I love him, okay?”

Louis can’t answer her, knows somehow that there’s no way he can speak to her from where he is now, but knows too, that the words don’t matter when he can see the love shimmering in the air, filling the room. The light around them gets brighter as he looks at his family and smiles, and blows Nessa a kiss back, their tradition since she was a tiny child.

The twins have moved to flank her now, and they’re smiling through their tears as well, and then the entire family starts doing that ridiculous two-handed wave that they’ve always done when they’ve sent one of their own off into the world. 

Louis waves one last time, and then turns away. It’s time to go.

He opens the door to the hospital room and steps out — onto the back porch of the old house on the Lake, where Charlie and Mika live now. He sees Alex, one of their majestic, siamese cats curled up on the couch, and drags his fingers through her fur as he passes. She stirs, blinks sleepily up at him in acknowledgement, and then stretches languidly.

He passes through the screen door and walks quickly down the steps, the sense that he’s headed in the right direction solidifying within him, and then when he looks down to the lake and sees who's standing there, he starts to run, marveling at the strength in this body, the way his muscles contract and release as he races towards the water.  No pain, no aches, just fluid motion.

Harry turns, and Louis feels his heart overflow at the vision standing before him. Harry looks to be about 30, his body tall and broad, his face unlined, and when he sees Louis, his eyes light up as he opens his arms, and Louis crashes into him with the force of a tidal wave, wrapping himself around the love of his life, gone these last nine years.

Not gone, though, Louis understands now. When Harry had died, mercifully quick after the diagnosis, Louis had wondered if he’d linger, but he hadn’t seen him, only the occasional sign that Harry was popping in. But now, here they are, reunited.

Harry’s calloused fingers trail across Louis’s cheek and then his hand cups Louis’ face, and he leans down, and presses a fervent kiss to Louis’ mouth.

“You’re here,” he breathes, and tips his head down in that familiar way to rest his forehead against Louis’, “You’re finally here.”

“I’m here,” Louis agrees, hearing the joy in his own voice and he kisses Harry again, because he can. “Err,” he says after another long moment, “Where is here, exactly?”

“Oh,” Harry looks around him and grins, “This is a way station, it’s one of the places where the... barrier, I guess you’d call it, is thinner, so lots of people come here to....” His voice trails off for a moment as he chooses his words. “Where people come to decide.”

“Decide what?” Louis asks, a bit confused.

“Decide if they’re ready to move on,” Harry says, as if this is obvious and all of a sudden, it is. Louis remembers back to one of those first conversations with Harry, a lifetime ago now, and how Harry had explained to him his understanding of the purpose of life on earth. It’s a spiritual boot camp of sorts, Harry had said, We’re here to learn to live in love, to learn to let go of fear.

“Is there, I don’t know, like, a judge or something?” Louis asks, looking around. The water of the lake is clear, and even though he knows it’s February, there’s no snow on the ground, just the lush green of late Spring, and he’s not in the slightest bit cold, even though he’s wearing the skinny jeans that he’d loved when he was young, that haven’t been in fashion for years, decades maybe, and a t-shirt. 

Harry laughs and shakes his head, “No, it’s not needed, because no one chooses to move on unless they’re ready. God, Louis, I have so much to tell you, so much to show you.”

“Wait,” Louis says, “Have you been here,” he gestures around them at the familiar yard, the orchard off in the distance in full blossom, “the whole time?”

Harry laughs and Louis almost starts to cry because it’s been so long, too long since he’s heard his love’s voice. “No, baby, I didn’t stay. I wanted to, but it was time for me to move on, so I did, but I’m back to guide you, to go with you. We’re soulmates, Louis, we’re destined to be together, not only in this life that you’ve just left, but every other life as well. We’ve always been together, baby.”

He grins, the wind ruffling his curls under the ridiculous hat he’s wearing and Louis takes a deep breath, the habits of living die hard, he thinks to himself with a laugh. 

“Oh,” he says suddenly, “Before I forget, as I was leaving, Nessa told me to tell you she loves you. She’s missed you a lot.”

Harry’s face softens and his eyes shimmer. “She saw you, didn’t she? When you left that body, the gift transferred to her, just like it came to you when your Great Uncle Charlie died.”

Louis nods and says, his voice husky, “She told me it was okay to go, and then goddamn but if the entire family didn’t do that stupid wave.”

Harry barks out a laugh, tears still shining. “Of course they did. We did good, baby. No doubt about that.”

“So,” Louis looks around again, noticing now that there are others around them, some ignoring them completely, but a few are paying attention, standing a respectful distance to give them some privacy in their reunion. He looks more closely and then sees, standing a bit further away, a group of three men together, talking and laughing as they wait. 

“Oh god,” he whispers to Harry even as he grabs his hand to tug him down the beach towards them, “Is that them?”

The men turn and then Niall calls out, “Louis” and they come together in a tight embrace. “Couldn’t let this one come by himself to fetch you.” 

The other two men are as familiar to Louis as his own family, even though he’s only known them in dreams, and hasn’t seen them in 70 years. Niall releases him and he turns to them, and as one, they reach for him, draw him in, and Louis can feel the warmth in their hug.

“Zayn, Liam,” he says breathlessly, “You’re here. What are you doing here?”

Liam smiles and finally, Louis hears his voice for the first time. “We’re soul bonded, Louis, the five of us are soul bonded to each other. Now that you’re here and ready, we’re all moving on together. We’ll talk more about it on the way.”

Louis nods, and realizes that he’s feeling once more that sense of urgency, as well as the certainty that he’s learned here what he needs to know. It’s not an anxiety that he’s late or is going to miss it, whatever it is, he thinks, but more that it’s that deep anticipation, like being a kid early on Christmas morning, or waiting for the bell to ring on the last day of school before summer vacation. That thrill, that certainty, that there’s something amazing just around the corner, something that he’s spent his whole life catching a glimpse of out of the corner of his eye, and now he’s almost there, and he just can’t wait.

He squeezes Liam and Zayn one more time before letting them go, grins at Niall and then turns to Harry, holding out his hand.

Harry grabs it, and they give each other a quick squeeze in that old sign to each other, I’m here, I’m with you, I’m not leaving without you.

“Okay,” he says a bit breathlessly, “What now?”

Harry points to the pier and Louis sees now that there’s a small sailboat waiting at the end of it.

“If you’re ready,” Harry says, “We can go.”

The five men make their way down the weathered pier, and climb on board. Harry leads Louis to the front of the boat, while Niall calls out orders to Zayn and Liam, who move with practiced ease around the craft, loosening the lines and getting ready to depart. Niall starts the small motor, as Harry and Louis settle themselves on the cushioned bench.

The boat starts slowly, pulling away from the dock, and Louis looks back one last time, watches the house recede on the shore as they move further out onto the lake. The engine cuts out as Liam raises the sail, and the boat begins to pick up speed. Harry wraps an arm around Louis and pulls him even closer, dropping a kiss onto his head, and they turn as one, away from the past, facing forward as the boat soars across the water.

If you had been on the beach that day, you wouldn’t have seen any of this. You wouldn’t have seen the boat moving away from the shore, sails billowing as she took flight. You wouldn’t have heard the sounds of laughter and conversation as old friends reunited, the joy in each other's company readily apparent. You wouldn’t have seen the flash of light as the boat disappeared off the edge of the horizon, and you wouldn’t have heard Harry speak, the love in his voice palpable.

“I’ve missed you, Lou. Welcome home.”

[comphy-and-cozy]

the guy on the team - jt compher

Pairing: JT Compher x Reader (f) - A Dream Come True universe

Word Count: 4.2K

Author’s Note: rediscovered the three paragraphs of filth i wrote after seeing this dude play (and score) in his first ever home game as a detroit red wing, then went buck wild writing about it. that's all you really need to know. 🎶 karma is the guy on the wings coming straight home to me... 🎶

Warnings: Smut (18+ ONLY). Unprotected sex, oral sex (f + m receiving), fingering (f receiving), brief masturbation (f), very minor spanking, creampie, me being a huge fucking simp series masterlist

October 2024

The goal horn—restored from the glory days at Joe Louis Arena, reminiscent of legends and lore and well-decorated history—blares through the arena, the sound nearly swallowed by the roar of the crowd. Don’t Stop Believing plays over the speakers, the “born and raised in South Detroit” chant almost deafening as 19,000 of Hockeytown��s finest pay a proud homage to the city.

The energy is palpable, infectious, and your eyes fall to the sea of red jerseys at center ice, sticks raised in appreciation and celebration of their first win and first home game of the season. They’re smiling, a few of them clapping each other on the back or tapping padded knees with their stick, circling around as they soak in the joy and promises of a strong season.

The 37 on his back stands out proudly, the bright white stark against the rich red. He offered to get you a jersey, identical to the one he’s wearing right now, but you’d declined and opted for an old sweatshirt from 2002; wearing his name still felt a little too cheeky. Your eyes follow his movements, almost subconsciously, and your gaze slides to the winged wheel embroidered on his chest when he circles around.

There’s a burn in your cheeks as you shamelessly check him out, anonymous in the sea of fans who are starting to make their way out of the arena. No one there knows you from any other admirer, that you know what he looks like beneath his pads and his gear, underneath the delicious slate gray suit that the Red Wings’ socials posted. 

You’ve barely made it to your front door when the text buzzes your phone in your pocket. 

[JT:] You free tonight? [JT:] Feel like celebrating [You:] Why, did something happen?

You don’t have to see his face to know he’s smirking at your comment. The text bubble pops back up, and you do your best to summon the chill, cool girl and not squeal when you see the response.

[JT:] You want to come over later?

Despite the effort, you can’t help the smile that emerges on your face. His next text informs you that he’s out getting post-game drinks and dinner with his family who came to town to see his debut in Detroit. You’re not offended that you didn’t receive an invite—just excited to have received a text. The status of your relationship is still up in the air, floating somewhere between casually dating and something with benefits. Meeting his family is far from your bucket list. At this point, anyway.

Though your makeup was already done for the game, you decide to reset in the shower. You exfoliate, shave, and take your time moisturizing until you’re squeaky clean and your skin is smooth. Your pre-dick appointment ritual is practiced, having perfected it in the last six weeks that you’ve been involved with JT Compher. He doesn’t expect perfection, has told you on multiple occasions in so many words, but the routine makes you feel like you’re worth his time, his affection, his attention—that’s something you’ll deal with in therapy, though. 

After the body prep comes a quick blow dry, a light layer of fresh makeup (you learned your lesson with too much makeup after JT made sure that the entire sultry eye you’d worked so hard on ended up smeared all over the sheets), and then the undergarment selection. By no means do you have an expansive luxury lingerie collection, but you’ve found yourself glancing at the intimate wear section when you’re out, anticipating the reaction of a certain redhead as you run your fingers over the various pieces on display. 

Tonight does feel special, you admit, with plenty to celebrate: a debut, a win, and two points for JT. The lacy red bralette feels fitting, perfect for a little ‘wow’ factor without feeling like you’re trying too hard—and, of course, a nod to his (and your) team. Cheeky red panties finish your look, hidden by a pair of yoga pants and a cropped zip-up hoodie: the quintessential dick appointment outfit.

By the time you’re spritzing on your perfume, the come over text comes through. Slinging a small overnight bag over your shoulder with a few essentials, you lock up your apartment and head on your way. Nerves flutter in your chest the way they always do, anticipation building as you pull into the parking lot of his apartment complex.

JT hasn’t changed out of his pregame suit, the takeout box sitting on the counter an indicator he hasn’t been home for long. Your heart flutters at the realization that he must’ve texted you before he’d even left dinner, that he was thinking of you even while sitting and celebrating with his family. 

After closing the door behind you, he moves in to greet you with a kiss, and once his lips touch yours, it’s like the floodgates of desire have opened up and you lose all self control. Without warning, your hands tug at his neck to kiss him fervently, quickly pressing your body against his and sighing at the warmth. 

He groans, returning the kiss with equal ardor as his hands find their home on your hips. As you’re turning your attention to his belt, pulling your lips away from him for a moment, he murmurs, “Not that I’m not really, really appreciating this welcome home, but is there a reason for the extra enthusiasm?”

Clink. The belt’s hit the floor, and you waste no time getting your mouth back on his. Your hand slinks up his thigh, palming the half-hard appendage in his slacks eagerly. Involuntarily, you feel a needy throb between your thighs, the low thrum in his chest adding fuel to the fire.

“Really liked you in that jersey,” you purr. 

“Oh yeah?”

Your bottom lip slips between your teeth and you nod, glancing up at him. “Yeah.”

JT smirks, allowing his ego to inflate just a bit. He doesn’t say it, but you know it drives him wild how much of an impact he has on you. How little he has to work to have you desperate for him. “Anything else?”

“I really liked it when you scored,” you say, wistfully recalling the way it sounded hearing his name announced over the loudspeaker at Little Caesars Arena. “You should do that some more.”

“How much did you like it?” 

With just one sentence, he’s managed to increase the temperature in the room by at least 20 degrees; the words themselves are innocent, but the rumble behind them offers a filthy, sinful promise. His gaze is hot, predatory even, following the movement of your hand as you unzip your hoodie in response to his question. You don’t miss the way his breath hitches at the peek of red lace, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat when you shrug off the fleece.

Tension is thick in the air as you stand before him, heart pulsing in your throat. With a blink, he seemingly regains his composure, though his eyes linger on your cleavage between the lace cups. “That much, huh?”

Another nod, shivering under the heated way he watches you sink to your knees in front of him. Breaking eye contact with him is difficult, but you’re met with an equally pleasing view of his firm length pressed against the rich material of his dress pants. 

Your hand works at the zipper of his slacks, the other slipping between the metal teeth to press your palm against him. He’s throbbing under your touch, growing more and more solid as your hand strokes him through his boxer briefs. 

Words aren’t necessary—or capable, for that matter—once you finally fish out his length and lap at the tip. The only thing exiting his mouth are strangled curses mingled with the sigh of your name, hand slipping into your hair when he slides further into the hot cavern of your mouth. He’s fully hard now, resting heavy on your tongue as you trace the vein that throbs on the underside of his shaft.

JT grunts, tilting his head down to watch the way his cock slides between your lips. Your hands hold yourself steady against his strong, muscular thighs—one of the more underrated parts of his body, in your opinion—as you bob your head back and forth, wetting every inch of him with your mouth. You wrap your fingers around the base, twisting and setting a cruel rhythm that earns a loud whine from his throat, followed quickly by a long, “Fuuuuuuuck.”

Nails scratch lightly at your scalp, like maybe he’s searching for purchase, his chest starting to heave a little more frantically the more you work him to a state of dizzy bliss. It’s the least you can do, you think, to congratulate him on his first ever home game in Detroit. And, maybe, there’s a little piece of you that wants to reward him, because you still haven’t quite thanked him thoroughly enough for selecting your city as his final destination in free agency. For coming home to you.

A wet, frothy mixture of spit and precum coats your chin when he finally tugs you back with a groan. His eyes are dark pools of umber, arousal seeping out of them as he drinks in the sight of you on your knees, lips shining with the lewd evidence of your worship.

“Bedroom,” he husks, helping you onto your feet and pressing his groin against the swell of your ass as he gently nudges you down the hall toward his room. 

Falling forward onto the mattress, you glance at him over your shoulder and catch him admiring the view before his fingers are digging into the hem of your pants and tugging down. The sharp intake of breath tells you he likes your choice of panties, left as a sneaky surprise for him to unwrap as his reward. “Oh, she really likes it when I score goals.”

A wiggle of your hips earns a slap to your ass. Soon enough, you’re flipped onto your back, feeling the weight of him settled between your legs and his mouth slotting over yours. His lips are sure, certain, plush against yours, lazily commandeering control. Kissing him never gets old, not even when his erection is bumping against your lace-shrouded pelvis, silently begging for entry. 

One of his hands runs over your neck, down your chest, palming your breast through the bralette. He toys with the scalloped hem, admiring the feel of it beneath his fingers. The low rumble of his hum vibrates against the spot on your jaw that he’s paused to mouth at while his hands explore, hot breath cascading down the sensitive skin of your neck. “Y’look so pretty, I almost don’t want to take it off.”

“You like me in red, too, hm?” 

“I like you in anything,” he muses, allowing his tongue to trail along the thin strap that rests on your collarbone. It’s a sweet comment that you don’t have time to dwell on when his attention moves to the swell of your breast, then flicks at your taut nipple through the lace. “But red definitely suits you.”

JT punctuates his statement with a gentle nibble, tracing the floral pattern with the tip of his tongue until the fabric is damp with his saliva and your back is arched off of his sheets. Your fingers are threaded through his hair, knees pressed into his sides when your hips start to roll against his thigh that’s slotted between your legs. 

“Can’t decide if I want to taste you or fuck you first,” he murmurs against your breast. A hand slinks down your body, eventually settling on the fabric between your thighs; a pleased hum leaves his throat, presumably at the moisture he finds there. The breath in your throat catches when he brings two fingers to his lips. “A taste can’t hurt, right?”

The sight of JT Compher gazing lustfully at you from between your legs is one you’ll never take for granted, nor is the feeling of his hot breath against the inside of your thighs. Even better than that is the sound of his groan when he tugs the lace panties down your legs, eyes never leaving the dripping heat in front of him.

His hand draws to the apex of your thighs, and you brace yourself to feel a finger slipping past your lips; instead, you only receive the ghost of his touch, drawing up the slick that’s dribbled out of you.

“J,” you whine, hips bucking impatiently. You’re not sure you’ll survive his teasing antics—not tonight.

“Jus’ wanna enjoy my treat,” he says, cheeky, popping the finger in his mouth with a groan. “I love when your pussy drools like this.”

Soft, pillowy lips press against your core, and you aren’t sure who moans louder: you, from the feeling of his mouth finally touching you where you need, or him, at the taste of you on his tongue. He sets to work, devouring your cunt with his usual practiced precision; long laves of his tongue paired perfectly with gentle sucking of your clit. It isn’t until he pauses for just a moment to wrap your legs around his head that you realize he’s grinding himself against the mattress.

“JT, let me—”

“No, baby,” he pants, barely parting his mouth from you, his voice muffled by your skin. “Y’taste way too fucking good.”

You’re in the process of wondering what you did to deserve a man who enjoys eating your pussy more than you do when his hand slips between your legs, joining his tongue to aid in his quest to bring you to climax. He alternates between dipping his finger into your heat and using it to circle your clit while his mouth continues its sinful magic. 

“Fuck,” you gasp, spine peeling off the mattress when he curls his finger, striking at the spongy spot inside of you. The pleasure is blinding, radiating from the place where he strokes diligently. “Don’t stop.”

For being a man, JT is good at following instructions, especially when it comes to making you come. It doesn’t take long for your legs to quiver and a loud moan to rip from your throat; he hums in encouragement, fingers pumping relentlessly until you’re spent, slumped back against his pillow. You’re pretty sure your bones have disappeared and your body is now just a floating, ethereal being. You know, status quo with him.

“One for the assist,” he murmurs, pressing a wet kiss to the inside of your thigh. His lips are glistening with your slick and his spit, coating the auburn whiskers of his beard, and you draw him up to taste it.

His contented hum that vibrates against your lips when you kiss him makes your heart warm, like he could kiss you all day and not get sick of it. The feeling is mutual, you think, savoring the way his mouth fits perfectly against yours along with the heady taste of you on his tongue. His hand moves to cup your jaw, thumb rubbing gently as he swallows your sighs and comedown whimpers eagerly.

“You gonna fuck me now?” you ask into his mouth, once you regain the ability to speak. Sometimes, he has a habit of kissing the thoughts straight out of your brain. You love it more each time.

JT’s smile curls up against your lips. “Greedy girl, aren’t you?”

The sense of satisfaction watching his smile falter when your hand reaches between your bodies to stroke his erection is unmatched. Anything to render him speechless, too; the guttural moan is just a bonus. “Been waiting for this since warmups, when I saw you skating around in the winged wheel.”

“That’s a long time,” he says smugly, sitting up with a grunt and urging you to follow. When you turn your back to him, he pushes you down onto your elbows playfully, then offers a slap on your ass. “Your poor, poor pussy. So deprived.”

Turning your head, you watch him discard the rest of his clothes before his fist wraps around his cock, dragging up and down a few times. It’s a struggle to resist the whimper that threatens to bubble up in your throat. He runs the tip through your folds, coating it in your slick with a tsk. “So pretty. Should I give her what she wants?”

Instead of giving in, begging him the way you know he wants you to, you lean forward, ensuring he has an even better view of everything you have to offer. Your hand slithers between your thighs, fingers flattening as they rub at your clit. You part your folds before allowing your finger to dip into your entrance. 

“Fuck, baby,” he groans, voice dripping with a mixture of desire and awe. You swear you can feel the heat from where his eyes are burning a hole in you, staring at the way you touch yourself. “You’re so fuckin’ hot.”

Preening under his praise, your marriage joins your middle finger, moaning loudly when the two plunge into your heat. The sound of your slick is audible, harmonizing with your soft sighs and his deep, ragged breathing behind you. You muse, “I’ve always wanted to fuck a Red Wing. Doesn’t really matter who. Just want to say I did, you know?”

JT’s dark chuckle behind you sends shivers down your spine. He probes the head of his dick—still positioned at your entrance, waiting patiently for its turn—against your fingers, teasing you before nudging your hand out of the way. It falls to the mattress, and you return to leaning on both elbows. “You know how much I like making your dreams come true.”

The huffed laughter that falls out of your mouth is quickly usurped by a gasp when he pushes his hips forward. Pausing halfway, he hums at the way you squeeze him tightly before he sheaths himself completely. It’s a feeling you’re not sure you’ll ever get used to; so perfect and satisfying and full. Just the touch of his skin to yours is enough to ignite a flame deeper than you’ve ever experienced with anyone else—the intimate feeling of him inside of you is nothing short of euphoric. 

You push yourself back onto him, body acting on its own and greedily taking what it wants. He makes a sound behind you, somewhere between a laugh and a grunt; whatever it is, it’s followed by a firm slap against your ass that has you moaning.

“That’s it, baby,” he murmurs, voice low and raspy. “Fuck yourself on it.”

As if to accentuate his point, his fingertips trail up your spine before his hand fists into the lace strings displayed on your back. Once his hold is firm, he uses the material to drag you back against him and set a rhythmic slapping of your ass against his hips. 

JT fucks you until you’re a babbling, sweating mess, only capable of incoherent whimpers and crying out a semblance of his name. He’s steady and consistent, confidence rolling off of him even despite the way his voice falters when he’s murmuring filth in your ear, using your bralette to tug you backwards against his chest.

“You gonna come for me, pretty girl?” he whispers, beard scratching deliciously against the curve of your jaw. You nod, desperate, even your thoughts echoing the rhythm of his length driving in and out of you.

Teeth sink into the meat of your shoulder at the same time the universe explodes. Eyes squeezed shut, legs clenched tight, the air wrenched from your lungs as your body goes rigid in his arms. He hums lowly, working you through it, soft praises whispered against your skin.

“One for the goal,” he says, cheeky. You don’t have the brainpower to even roll your eyes at his hubris. Given the way your legs are still shaking, you’d say he has a right to be cocky.

Strong arms help you back down to your stomach, and you’re thankful for the soft mattress beneath you, no longer needing to hold yourself up; you’re not sure your limbs have the strength to. JT’s hands gently pull your hips back, lifting them up slightly to slide a pillow beneath them before he’s diving in face first with a groan. “Fucking love the way your cunt tastes after it’s been fucked.”

His tongue laps at you, and you squirm under his attention. Grabbing at your ass with both hands, he kneads the globes and offers a hearty smack that earns a squeal from you. “JT!”

“Sorry, baby,” he says, but the nip on your ass tells you he isn’t. You feel him shift before he’s helping to flip you over onto your back, and the sight of him smiling down at you makes your heart flutter. “Can’t help it.”

Something you’ve learned over the last few weeks with JT is that he is a thorough, meticulous lover. He worships at your altar until he’s completely absolved and your thoughts are wiped clean, pulling prayers from your throat with easy, intentional thrusts. With your legs resting in the crook of his elbows, he drives into you, solid, steady, watching the union of your bodies with a hunger that might intimidate you if it wasn’t the same one consuming you entirely.

“Look so good like this,” he murmurs, eyes roving over your body, admiring each curve as if he sculpted them himself. His gaze holds the sway of your breasts, testing the way you respond to different pulses of his hips. “Y’take dick like a fuckin’ pro, sweetheart. You know that?”

You hope the question is rhetorical, for when you go to attempt an answer, all that comes out is a garbled whimper. The praise makes your skin hot, heightens the flutter in your belly, and when he tells you to touch yourself, you blink dumbly at him. It garners a smile on his pretty lips—so fucking handsome—perhaps pleased with the way he’s fucked you stupid on his cock.

“Won’t last much longer,” he purrs. He swallows thickly, and if your brain wasn’t complete mush, you’d be very satisfied that he’s losing control, too. “Make yourself come for me. Jus’ one more, baby, please.”

And when he asks so nicely, how can you disobey?

Your hand snakes its way between your legs, rubbing at your tender clit; the action enhances the delicious, soul-altering feeling of JT’s dick delivering pleasure and promise. His eyes are glued to your movements, but your eyes are watching him.

JT Compher has always been beautiful. Handsome. Exquisite, even. But the sight of him, eyes shut, lashes kissing the tops of his cheeks, mouth open as his head falls back in ecstasy? No words. Truly, indescribable. 

It’s enough that you try to stave off your own orgasm just to prolong your view—that is, until the force of it absorbs you and then shatters you, seizing every last cell and filling them with euphoria. When the fuzziness fades from your eyes, JT’s panting body is on top of you, planting kisses along your collarbone. “And finally, one for the win.”

A dreamy smile slides onto your face. Weakly, your arms wrap around him, grazing the skin on his back lightly. He feels good in your arms. Safe. Comfortable. Natural. 

“Can I take you to breakfast tomorrow?” 

There’s a pause as you try to process what he said, sure that he fucked you so good, your hearing’s gone out, too. He nudges your jaw with his nose.

“B–breakfast?” Your voice comes out way shakier than you intended. You feel the short exhale from his huffed laugh against your skin.

“Don’t want you to think you’re just a booty call,” he says, like it’s obvious, like he’s not still half-hard buried inside of you, his cum seeping out onto the wrinkled sheets beneath you.

“That’s what you’re thinking about right now?”

“Can’t think about anything else about you or I’ll get hard again,” he admits wryly. The confession strokes your ego, something he manages to do without even trying. As you debate if you should, in fact, rouse a round two, your pussy flutters weakly in protest—dick too good. Need break.

JT’s hands never leave your body as he helps you walk to the bathroom, laughing at the way you waddle to avoid spilling cum all over his floor. Once you’re cleaned up, you slip on the t-shirt you packed, joining him at the sink to brush your teeth. He bumps your hip affectionately with his, and the domesticity of it all contrasted with the filthy aura from 5 minutes prior is astonishing—in a good way.

Back in his room, he eyes the bag that you place on the floor. “You can keep some things here, you know. I cleared out a drawer.”

It’s a simple statement, but one that strikes you hard; symbolic and heavy in its meaning: a place carved out for you in his home. 

In his life. 

JT sees you standing, gaping at him, and closes the gap between you before he’s tilting your jaw upward to look at him. His lips hover over yours, the ghost of his touch lingering in a way that makes your heart stop.

His voice is low, almost a whisper, like he doesn’t want to burst the bubble surrounding you. “If I’m coming on too strong, let me know.”

“You aren’t,” you breathe, surprised that your voice even works. His lips curl into a smile against yours before he presses forward to kiss you. It’s slow, ardent, sweet. Dizzying.

“Let’s go to bed. You can fill the drawer tomorrow.”

Tag list: @somuchf4rstardust @tpwkstiles @smileysvech @senditcolton @robindrake13 @laurenairay

[bropunzeling]

Tim/Brady bodyguard AU?

this is so barely adjacent to what you asked for BUT

pop star timmy stu

just think about it. young timmy, who has made a name for himself with some club bangers a la avicii (rip :( miss u) and is getting pretty popular! he's had his european tour! his songs are THE songs of frat parties across the land!

he's big enough that his label sends him on a north america tour, and maybe he is going to play a show at a music festival in st louis or something, and who does he run into the day before when he goes incognito to the first round of shows, is getting shoved around while just trying to get a beer at the beer tent but brady

brady is still captain of the ottawa senators, nhl player, etc etc, and he also -- i cannot stress this enough -- has no fucking clue who timmy is

(brady listens exclusively to mid aughts indie bangers and sappy country; he is not Hip to the Scene)

so brady just sees a very hot very german very pathetic guy and is like, well i GOTTA help this guy out and get his beer.

and then they start talking and timmy is SO cheerful and also activating the "needs taking care of" sensor in brady's brain, and meanwhile timmy clocks that brady doesn't know who he is and THATS fun because as nice as it is to be famous it's also nice to just harmlessly flirt with the very large man you've found, and one thing leads to another and they've spent the whole day together

(maybe brady protects timmy from some thrown elbows in a crowd at one of the shows. bodyguard!)

and maybe after the last show they have some inadvisable semi-public sex somewhere on the festival grounds

but they don't exchange numbers and they don't figure it's going anywhere

until the next night, when brady gets dragged by a friend to some more electronica ish shows than his usual and guess who is up on stage, looking as cheerful and handsome and game to be debauched as ever

[policemanofprincesspark]

H in his top class look will forever be H in 2019. Maybe it´s because I joined the fandom and I romantise this year in general (because it was the last year before things got sh*t in every possible way) but yeah, H in 2019 was somewhere else for me. I will probably blame O and her shitstorm for those 2 years that made H age much faster and he should and there´s no way back. Like I love him no matter what, because I am aging as well and was shocked when I looked at my photos from like 2014 vs now so at least I´m not the only one. I lowkey wish H will look older and older every time he pops up in public and so those harries who are there only for his fake semi-god of s*x persona will leave/move on to someone younger. And at the end of the day, no matter how old H and Louis look and how much we dislike it, what matters most is if they find each other attractive because they both are aging together. P.S.: Have you seen how much Shawn Mendes aged/how old he looks? That literally horrible if you add the fact he´s not even in his 30´s!

I don't think Olivia had a thing to do with it. Like many others, I think it was his Marvel contract. He needed to get ultra fit for his role in Eternals (which never went anywhere and has presumably been scrapped).

I think Harry really started looking good to me in 2014. Course, that's also when I joined the fandom. But I think his long hairstyle was beautiful before it got too long in 2015 and 2016. By then he was looking like Tarzan. Not a good look.

Then he had it cut in that dashing, almost 50s style.

That looked really nice, made him look younger again, and suited his face. His hairline also wasn't as receded. I mean, look at the difference between these foreheads:

Now that his hairline has receded so far back, he's going to need to adopt a different hairdo. He can't slick it up and back like that anymore. It doesn't look good. There's a reason true haters call him Pennywise.

Though the hair isn't even the big issue to me; it's the face. He's obviously had to put on weight to put on muscle, and I don't know his body fat percentage but it's probably higher than it was in 2017. Putting his face now side-by-side with his 2017 one really shows how wide his face has gotten. Not a good look.

You can see the mandibular angles stick out more, but he already had a good jawline before, so they didn't need to widen. You need balance for a good jawline—just about equal amounts of vertical and horizontal. It looks too square now, which could be a result of not properly mewing (yes, I know that's a funny-haha meme nowadays, but it's real). Case in point:

His jaw is just a little recessed, as most of ours are. Nothing abnormal. But if he adopted proper tongue posture and worked on it, his chin would appear a tad longer, which would really balance out the current width of his jaw.

His skin also just... doesn't look as smooth as it did seven years ago. I think he looks slightly pudgy in the cheeks too. Not significantly, but enough to noticeably change the way he looks overall.

Nothing all that wrong with this, by the way. I am by no means saying that he's ageing horribly. He's just ageing, and with age, if you want to keep up your looks, you have to put in a lot more effort than you did when you were younger. I don't blame musicians; it must be stressful touring. Right now he's on a break, but being exposed to all kinds of good food when you're in Italy and going out to eat a lot will do a number on you.

I know his weight and muscle mass fluctuate as it does with everyone, so don't bring up certain months this year or last when he looked better because that's not the point I'm getting at here. I understand he'll have times he'll look good and times he won't, as is the case for most people.

(As for Shawn Mendes, I think he looks fine. He's nearly 26 and looks his age and doesn't look unkempt or like he's gained weight. Looks good to me!)

[thedevilinmybrain]

L watching the world cup, H in need of attention - teasing L

"Louis," Harry coos as he walks by, drags his fingers along the back of the couch.

"Hm baby?" Louis doesn't look away from the television, hand buried in a bowl of crisps. He's got his feet up on the table, lounging. In a bit, some of the lads are coming over to watch the next match. This is only the recaps, a highlights, but Louis is still glued to the screen.

"Louis, can I give you a blow job?" Harry asks, pops his hip against the back of the couch. Years ago this would have worked immediately but Louis doesn't seem to be listening, tilting his head a little.

"Yeah, sure baby. Whatever you think."

"Whatever I think?" Harry asks, huffing a little.

"You know best." Louis nods, digs his hands into the bowl, tosses a few crisps into his mouth. "Let me know if you need help."

"Need help?" Harry reaches down onto the couch, pulls up one of the throw pillows. "To give you a blow job? Think I'm an expert by now."

"Yeah, for sure, love. You're right." Louis doesn't look away from the screen, flinches a bit when someone slides along the green. "You know best. Let me know how it goes though."

"How it goes? You want me to just find someone else then?" Harry huffs, slips off the back of the couch, stands up tall.

"Sure, love. Yeah. Good luck." Louis raises his hand, thumb up, dismissive.

"Good luck? Good luck?!" Harry snaps, tosses the pillow hard, hitting Louis in the side of the head. "Well good luck with your own right hand, Louis William."

Louis only gets a glimpse of Harry's back, naked and soft, disappearing around the corner a door slamming somewhere in the house.

[hsfan94]

New Girl

Chapter 1

Y/n never expected to find herself in this position. After moving to London for Uni when she was 18, she knew she never wanted to leave, but London's quite expensive. So when her boyfriend suggested they move in together after they graduated it seemed like a no brainer. What she didn't see coming was to come home early form her trip to Majorca with the girls to find him shagging the 18 year old from the coffee shop downstairs. They had been together for over five years. She thought they were going to get married. So, she had to move out, but she still couldn't live alone. In fact, she needed somewhere even cheaper than the loft above the coffee shop her boyfriend owned as she was a teacher. She moved in with her friend Perrie for a bit but Perrie already had two roommates and her flat was getting quite crowded. One day while she was at work she started searching online for a solution and that's how she ended up here, in front of three guys around her age.

"When I responded to the ad, I thought you were women," she laughed nervously. She had just told them why she needed a place to live.

"Why, why would you say that?" The guy with the Irish accent asked (she hadn't caught their names).

"Niall wrote the ad," the one with the deep voice stated with a smirk on his face, a dimple popping out slightly.

"I guess the diction you used, 'castle like exterior' and 'elegant decor' and the fact that the complex is called Princess Park. But my mistake honestly." She stood up from the couch and started to walk around. "This place is honestly really gorgeous. So much nicer than Braden's place, it's hard to say his name." She cleared her throat, trying not to cry.

"It's okay," Niall said, "Harry knows, he got dumped."

"I didn't get dumped," the one with the deep voice challenged, but Niall just quirked an eyebrow and he caved, "yeah I got dumped."

"I want to live here," she said. She was standing in the open kitchen now and exploring the different objects on the counter.

"Hold on, we still have questions," Harry spoke again, "I mean you just walked through the door."

"Fair, that's fair." She looked between them. "Well, as you can tell, I'm American. I moved to London for school when I was eighteen and I graduated from Richmond University with a degree in teaching. I stayed here afterwards cause I just loved the city too much to leave. I teach year 3 and those kids are my life. I'm pretty sad about the breakup still so I'll be watching a lot of rom-coms, Love Actually is my favourite. I just can't live with my friend anymore, she and her roommates are models and their friends that are models come over a lot and I'm rambling now sorry."

She looked up to see them all thinking it over.

"Any questions for us?" Harry said.

"Not really," she shrugged. Y/n knew she probably should ponder about these men but there was something in her gut telling her she could trust them. Then she realised something, "What's your name?" She looked at the shorter one with blue eyes as she spoke to him. He had yet to say anything and she felt it was only fair to know all their names before completely throwing caution to the wind.

"Louis," he said.

"He's a boy of few words, Tommo, but he's a hoot once you get him to open up," Niall said.

"Just give us a minute will you?"

The three of them walked down the hall.

She could hear them from the other side of the bathroom door.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea, Ni,” Harry said.

“Yeah mate I don’t want to live with a girl.” Louis spoke the most he had this whole time.

“Did you guys not hear her? Her friends are hot. Like professionally hot. Do you know what this means?”

“I just don’t know. I mean living with women has its perks,” Harry spoke again, “but it can have its downside too. I just don’t know if we’re ready for that.”

“You know what, executive decision she’s in,” Niall said with finality. Y/n wouldn’t have pegged him as the ring leader but he sure was acting like it.

She straightened up as the door opened and pretended she hadn’t been listening.

“You’re in,” Harry said.

“Thank you guys! You won’t regret it I swear.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

That night, Y/n made good on her promise and watched Love Actually. As Harry made his way to the kitchen and he passed by her strung out on the couch with a box of tissues and quoting all the lines, he let a small smile stretch across his face. She was just the cutest thing he'd seen and he knew he was in trouble.

Upon finding Louis and Niall in the kitchen he had an idea.

"I think we need to form an agreement of sorts," he said as he grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge.

"Yeah? On what?" Louis looked up from his phone.

"We need to agree that none of us will make a move on her. Not only because she's vulnerable because of the breakup, but also because that could get messy and we really need a roommate." He hoped it wasn't obvious he was suggesting it to protect himself.

"Okay. Sounds like a good idea to me," Niall chimed in, moving the pots on the stove around. "Let's come up with some rules, write 'em down and sign it, like a proper contract."

And so the no shag oath was formed.

On his way back to his room he noticed she had started the movie over and it really was his favourite so he asked to join.

"Sure! The more the merrier." She didn't take her eyes off the movie so he thought she was done but then she spoke again. "You know, I want us to be friends. Like life can get lonely when you're an adult so I think the beauty of having roommates is that you always have someone to talk to."

That was it. She didn't look at him once, almost as if she was unaware of how deep and honest her words were. They watched the rest of the film in peace and went their separate ways to bed and as Harry fell asleep that night he couldn't help but let her side profile flitter through his mind.

AN: I'm obsessed with New Girl and have wanted to put my own spin on it for ages. This will be my first series! Hope you guys are as excited as me.

[bcondonwrites]

Olney, Illinos

In the Southeast corner of Illinois, somewhere between St. Louis and Louisville, is the small town of Olney. Its historic downtown looked much like every other historic downtown; the occasional restaurant or thrift store squashed between empty storefronts. The old theater sat vacant, bought and sold over and over in hopes of finally being renovated. By all accounts, Olney was a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it sort of town, you didn’t even need to turn off the highway. The only people who deliberately made the detour had run out of gas or cigarettes, save those who had taken an interest in some of its smallest residents. 

Slick dew still pearled the grass at Olney City Park, its sign declaring the town Home of the White Squirrels. Every year, the city ran a census on the white squirrel population in town, 64 as of last October, and even enacted an ordinance that gave the unique critters the right-of-way when crossing the street. Everyday celebrities, those squirrels were. 

On the morning of Monday, September 4th, Mara opened her eyes and everything was as it always was, except for a small tear- a pinprick really- that had opened up in the basement of the Richland County Courthouse. The hole had popped into existence at approximately 6:58 a.m. CDT, two minutes before Mara's alarm was set to go off for school. The residents of Olney, Illinois, weren't aware of the anomaly and never would be. 

As Mara stepped out of her house and ducked into her lukewarm hatchback, the pinprick expanded slowly and steadily. By the time she had reached Richland County High School, 600 or so strong, it had swallowed its first filing cabinet. Mr. Paxton, who had had a warrant out for his arrest based on those very files, was set to have his house raided that morning. With a single gulp, he disappeared from the docket. The officers assigned to Mr. Paxton’s home proceeded elsewhere, and they all enjoyed a rather eventless hour or so. 

The hole, now surely large enough to be called that, continued expanding until it had swallowed the entire labyrinth of files and shelves that had been gathering dust in the archives. Hopefully it didn’t have allergies. At school, the bell rang to signal the end of the first period, and the students sprang up from their seats. Mara was especially studious and had recently taken up an internship at the Courthouse, which she attended for her second and third periods. As she hurried to her car, the Courthouse, as well as everyone inside, was enveloped. She reached her car, grabbed a warm pack of gum from the center console, and walked back inside to enjoy her free periods. 

Having swallowed an entire block, the hole became quite ravenous. It seemed the larger it grew, the faster it expanded. Mrs. Castillo, the proud owner of El Cactus Mexican Grill, crouched down to retrieve a lost pair of sunglasses just as she and her restaurant were swallowed whole. Her daughter and son-in-law, anticipating the announcement of their first pregnancy, had been coming to visit her all the way from Indianapolis. They had stopped at Crumble Coffee & Bakery, enjoyed a delightful breakfast, and promptly turned back the way they had come. 

“Why’d we even drive so far for breakfast?”

“Don’t know, but damn it was good, don’t ya think?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

Soon, Mara was pushing notebooks back into her school bag, eager to grab a light lunch with her friends at Ophelia’s Cup downtown. Mara and her friends hopped into the hatchback when suddenly, she was craving pizza, then Chinese, and then cold-cut sandwiches from Casey’s. They agreed to get sandwiches and Mara pulled out of the parking lot. The trio arrived just as the cashier’s girlfriend, a petite woman who loved to gossip, was snatched along with what was formerly 22 blocks worth of businesses, homes, and residents. She had been busy spreading a rumor about the woman who lived in the unit above her, a single mother. 

“She has men over every night, you know?”

“Yeah?” replied her hairdresser, trying to recall if this was the same woman who’d had the yapping dog last month. 

“Yeah,” she laughed, “and they pay her like shit, too.” None of that was true, but it no longer mattered when the mother, too, was swallowed. 

The cashier was probably the sleaziest one employed, even before he no longer had a girlfriend to keep him in check. He made no effort to hide his attraction for the girls, even moving from behind the counter to touch Mara on the shoulder. He had never been so bold. The girls talked in hushed tones about the interaction as Mara drove back to school, but were quickly distracted by their phones as the Casey’s became victim to the black hole in the distance. The hole was no longer perfectly circular as it expanded; it reached out with inky arms, a paintball spattering Olney in slow motion.

They brought their food to an empty table in the cafeteria and ate quietly. There wasn’t nearly as much to talk about now that half the town had been consumed. A flock of ducks had been flying to a small, swampy pond at the end of a cul-de-sac on the southern edge of town. The oldest of the flock felt a pull in his heart for that pond, and then like a pair of scissors snipping a thread, his desire vanished. He banked and led the ducks onward, passing over what remained of Olney and narrowly avoiding the void’s reach. The frogs below, however, weren’t so lucky. 

Mara didn’t feel anything in particular when she ceased to exist, she was simply gone. Drake University in Iowa had no reason to send an acceptance letter to a girl who didn’t exist, from a school that didn’t exist, and so her name subtracted itself from their spreadsheet of new hopeful enrollees. One less envelope an underpaid student assistant had to seal. As the abyss grew larger and larger, the town became smaller and smaller. 

Mara’s father, Ryan, was a welding instructor at Olney Central College who had been visiting a neighboring college in Robinson. He found himself at the center of a classroom filled with bored eyes and restless legs. “Well, introduce yourself,” said Kenny, a stocky, lifetime resident of Robinson. 

Ryan raised his hand and gave a quick salute to the class. “Hey, my name is Ryan Hansen. I’m here from…,” he trailed off. And just like that, the last oak tree, just past the baseball fields on the edge of town, was swallowed. A squirrel had lived in that tree, quite peculiar in terms of squirrels. It was the very last white squirrel that called Olney home, a ghostly sight to see. Once swallowed, this squirrel- quite possibly the most powerful squirrel we have come across in our time- did something to that hole. Around noon, the hole quietly began to pucker and shrink, heavy arms pulling at the edges of the land as it collapsed in on itself and the last white squirrel, and of course, all 9,584 residents of Olney, Illinois. It shrunk until there was no trace a town had ever even existed there, and on Monday, September 4th at 12:08 p.m. CDT, the trip from St. Louis to Louisville was shortened by 3.5 miles, about six minutes by car.

Previously Published in the Upper Mississippi Harvest, Spring 2024

[murfpersonalblog]

@evilista "he's as flaming as he can be without being murdered"

ACCURACY 👏

Louis was definitely fighting his vampirism (and especially Lestat's draconian dogmatic whitesplaining), but as for the queerness, yup--Louis was out there married with his whole chest! In a lot of ways he's a lot like Eff-All-Y'all-Paul--i WANT father maTHIas. 😅

Louis' queerness became entangled with vampirism, because Lestat was such a freaking problem. Lestat represented every -ism Louis had struggled with and had to reconcile in his life: racism, sexism, vampirism, classism/capitalism, Catholicism, etc. But Lestat also represented what Louis thought was gonna be his ticket to FREEDOM. "You couldn't look weak on LIBERTY." Lestat is walking talking Liberalism. With Lestat Louis felt seen & heard & emboldened--some gay people wait to find the person who makes them feel like coming out will be worth whatever backlash they end up facing. He felt safe(r) with Lestat--Lestat's white rich vampire priviledge actively protected Louis. Louis didn't have to assimilate with Lestat (not really, not at first). Certainly no slinking off to the nasty bayou just to get a BJ from another man, the "lies I told myself about myself." He really could take Lestat to dinner cuz "Mama loves European." People literally fell over themselves to give Lestat (and Louis by association) a pass--"it's the humidity, it does that sometimes" 😍 "why not make Mr. Lioncourt the public face of your operations?" 🤑 Literally EVERYONE knew they were gay, but turned a blind eye (at first), "I heard that about you two." Lestat promised Louis this whole bag of goodies, live your truth Without Apology (TM), and Louis was like Bet!

But then reality came crashing down.

The tragedy of IWTV is seeing how far Louis falls. He goes from being this take no nonsense driven go-getter Mr. I wanna buy the Fairplay Saloon Mr. Fire Escape, and we just see this poor man slowly being chipped away at, by Society out in public and by Lestat back at home.

All of his mother's niceties towards Louis AND Lestat evaporated once Paul died. Mrs. "Humidity" becomes Mrs. "Overdressed Self" practically overnight, no more excuses for Lestat (and certainly not a CRUMB for Louis). The 2 beds or 1 goes from harmless gossip to threats from the cops. "We would go underground. There would be no Roaring 20s for us." Underground societally, locked away in the townhouse to avoid public censure, but also the word play on them being undead vampires who would otherwise be 6 feet under. Their gayness was entangled with their vampirism (the cops were called because of Claudia's 56 Floaters, but they left commenting about the 1 bed). ALL of it factored into them going back into the coffin/closet for almost a decade.

Homophobic SOCIETY forced him back into the closet. And then we see Lestat force him into the "small box" (i.e. love, i.e. a literal coffin).

By Ep5 Lestat's fully revealed himself to be the villain in Louis' life (the most conservative, patriarchal overlord ever, what "liberalism"?); and yes, to a certain extent we can 100% read queerness being villainized, because of all those complex entanglements--all those -isms Lestat represents, for Louis/Anne Rice, the "unhappy housewife." But it was never really about Louis being gay, WHAT he was, but rather WHO he was gay/vampiric with. Louis found his libido again real quick once Jonah popped in. Louis had iced Lestat out--go have fun with Antoinette, cheater. He started eating people again once Claudia said she "felt looked down on for her body's needs." With Armand Louis not only cruises for men more, but he also drinks more blood than ever, whatever that "Farm" is. 💀 Louis assimilates VERY well when some blonde French White man isn't screaming down his neck. Enjoy the swamp/dump, Lestat. ����

Episode 7 is Louis breaking every chain shackling him down. He's off the plantation, he's leaving America, he's divorcing his husband, he's starting fresh somewhere new, hot girl summer, Mr. Loumand. He's perfectly fine being a gay vampire with Armand, not resisting/rejecting either facet of what he is, because Armand is not the embodiment of every societal pressure or personal desire/ambition or familial loss Louis' experienced. Armand is not Louis' Maker. Armand is a blank slate. Unfortunately for Louis, however, he's been lulled into yet another false sense of security with Armand, another bag of goodies promised that is really just full of coal and ashes. And the carousel comes round again, cuz Louis just can't catch a dang break.

When it comes to Louis’ queerness he is not trying to assimilate and I don’t know how someone may come up with that conclusion. Maybe if you’re going into the show thinking that his vampirism is a metaphor for his queerness then you can easily connect the dots and say that “The way that Lestat goes about being a vampire represents unabashed queerness and Louis vampirism represents assimilation and because Louis is always fighting with his vampirism then that means he’s always trying to fight with his queerness.” And because Lestat is the villain of the first season it can come off as the show demonizing queerness. But Louis’ queerness and his vampirism are two different things that he treats differently. Even with the time period and laws that are in place he still drags Lestat along everyone he goes. He brings him to family functions. He brought him and Claudia to his moms funeral even though he knows that his mom was homophobic. He’s out here getting super neck in the swamp by another man. He knows that everyone knows that he’s gay and yet he still runs around everywhere with Lestat like…that man is not assimilating especially by episode 7 💀

Even if he was maybe ask yourself why. Why would a black man in the Jim Crow south try his hardest to assimilate?

[carolmunson]

not givin' it up (rockstar!eddie x actress!reader)

h, smack, dope, horse, snow, persian, white, brown -- no matter what someone called it, he was using it. sometimes the promise of things getting better is enough to keep you coming back for more.

warnings: active drug use, addiction, drug mentions, withdrawal symptoms, manipulation, fighting, swearing, no happy ending, no makeups, just like how shit like this goes down, syringe mention, partying, angst, angst, angst, more angst

The first time you saw Eddie in withdrawal you thought he just had the flu. You had just started getting serious, still like giddy teenagers playing house together. You fawned over him, bringing him soup and crackers, orange juice, ginger ale. New symptoms popping up by the hour: sweating, shakes, aches, running nose, watery eyes, vomiting. “My poor baby,” you’d coo, while he’d whine and toss and turn in his water bed. He’d wake up hyperventilating, pale, vibrating – and it didn’t get better. He would cry at night, while you slept on the couch at the window, thinking you couldn’t hear him. You thought it was just from the pain – you’d shush him and hold him to your chest thinking 'He can’t be contagious at this point’, but he wasn’t contagious at all. After you called him out of rehearsal for the second time, the boys came over and sat you down in the living room. “He’s not sick, the way you think he’s sick,” they tried to explain, but you didn’t wanna believe it. “No, no, I’d know. It’s just the flu, it’s just…” tears welled in your eyes, “It’s the flu, right?” Gareth shook his head no, tapping his foot nervously.

“He – you know he wasn’t using for a bit, he got off it for a while when you both started seeing each other. He was doing really good,” Jeff said, “But you know how things are. In this industry? It’s everywhere.” “He’s so impulsive, and when he’s already in his moods y'know, he just wants to start the next party,” Gareth continued. “It’ll probably be another week, we’ve done this with him before,” Jeff said, putting a hand on your shoulder trying to make you relax. “He’ll be okay, just another week – we promise. We’ll help you.” They did, the whole band moved in for a week and a half – all half ready to call 911 at any sign of a turn for the worse. He recovered, slowly but surely, finding energy to get out of bed the following Tuesday. You’d repeat this process a few more times over a couple years until he finally decided he needed to go to rehab. It was all over the news: CORRODED COFFIN’S BAD BOY GETS CLEAN. As clean as he could – at least he wasn’t doing opiates (for now). It was the time after rehab that sent you over the edge. When he came back from the hospital, he saw you in the Hollywood house at the door with your bags packed. Two full sets of Louis Vuitton luggage filled the foyer. “Baby?” he asked, “You goin’ somewhere?”

“I gotta go, Ed,” you said with a sniffle, “Can’t do it anymore, I just – I can’t do this with you anymore.”

“Whaddaya mean? Can’t do this with me?” he asked with a smile like he didn’t know what you were talking about, but his face was pained. He shut the door behind him, pulling you in so you hips were on his, his hands lacing over your lower back.

“I’m done with it, sweet thing, I promise,” he said, “This time, I’m done.”

“You said that last time,” you cried, “And the time before.”

“I know,” Eddie admitted, his voice low, “But I mean it. I’m done.”

“If it happens again…” you sighed, “I’m done, okay? It’s me or its her.”

“Heroin’s got nothin’ on you, baby,” he smiled, you didn’t smile back. He pulled you into his chest, rocking you slowly while you rode out the rest of your cry.

“Let me help you unpack, pretty girl,” he muttered, “Just relax. I’m here now, I’m with you.”

He got your name tattooed on his hip the next week just to prove he meant it. He’d never touch opiates, as long as you were in his life, he had no reason to do it again.

You left for Canada to guest star for a few episodes of a new TV show feeling confident, a couple months out there and then you’d be home. He’d be touring anyway, shows and press – the boys would be with him the whole time. You had nothing to worry about – he called every day, he sounded lucid, bright, aware. He told you about the night before, and the night before that, and the night before that.

It was okay. It was gonna be okay. You were so excited to surprise him at home a day early that you left your luggage a mess in the foyer, hearing him moving around in the main living room.

“Baby!” you called out, “I’m home! I’m –” but it wasn’t your 'baby’ on the couch. Ed was in the center, bent at the hips low, straw in his nose finishing up a line on the table. A pill bottle opened and empty, Oxy or Dilaudid you guessed, four lines neatly lined up behind the one he just finished. At the end of the table, a tied off baggie, a syringe in its packaging, his old tourniquet and a spoon. “Were you just gonna do it all in one go?” you asked, unsure how the question even left your lips. “Oh shit, shit, fuck,” Eddie said, holding his nostril with his knuckle, “Baby, baby no this isn’t–” “What is it then?” you interrupted, your heart was racing, “What the fuck is it? What the fuck is it, Eddie?” “Tour was gettin’ hard, baby,” his face contorted, his eyes watering, “I missed you.” “Missed me?” you asked, your voice starting to shrill, “Looks like you missed someone else.” “No, please, no,” he said, rubbing his eyes nervously, tears pouring down his face, “I didn’t mean to, you know it’s hard for me. You know how it gets, baby, I swear I–” “I told you,” your voice was low and grave, “That you had a choice. It was between me or her, and you picked her.” “I–I didn’t,” he said, realizing what you meant, realizing he was gonna lose you, “I didn’t choose–I’d never choose heroin. B-baby please believe me. It’s always you, I prom-promise.” “You chose, you chose what you wanted!” you started yelling once the hurt kicked in, kicking the edge of the table, the glass jumping out of place. The left over lines he had perfectly curated fell apart, the syringe and spoon clattered to the floor, the tourniquet bouncing under the couch.

“So get out! Get the fuck out! This is my house!” your voice was strong but you were shaking inside, refusing to cry, “You made your choice!”

“GET. OUT. Ed,” you hissed, your eyes bulging while he sat on the couch. He hid his face, hair shaking with his body while he cried into his hands. “B-baby please, no, I’m sorry,” he sobbed, “I didn’t even–I didn’t–I didn’t even do it. I didn’t shoot up, I–”

“You didn’t do it because YOU GOT CAUGHT,” you yelled, “Do you think I’m fucking STUPID? This was all here and set up by accident?!”

“N-no, I d-don’t,” he said, lifting his head to face you. His head slipped down and then back up as he caught himself slipping under, his brown eyes shining with tears and guilt, “I fucked up, I’m sorry.”

“You really did, you really fucked up, Ed–” “I messed up, please p-please let me fix it, I’ll go–” he stumbled to find his words, starting to slur, slowly standing up, “I’ll go back t-t-to rehab, just p-pleasedon'leaveme, don'leaveme. Please, I’ll do'nything.”

He moved slow towards you, his head dipping, bending at the hip, his breath getting ragged.

“Ed, sit down,” your voice got small while you watched him start to nod off, he looked so sick, “Sit down, Eddie.” You stopped him from coming towards you, guiding him back towards the couch. He sat back, his head turning to the side, his eyes half lidded. “You with me?” you asked him, taking his head in your hands, “You with me right now? Should I call an ambulance?” He took a sharp intake of breath, stretching his eyes open, only for them to become half lidded again. It hurt him to be honest with you, more tears spilling out while he fell in and out of the moment, “J-just did two, just did two.”

“Two what? Two pills? Two lines?” you asked. “Two lines,” he said, his face relaxing into the high, “Just gonna sleep. Gonna sleep it–gonna–gonna sleep it off.” “Ed?” you said, your voice was far away and fading, “Eddie?” — Eddie woke up with a jolt, drenched in sweat – he felt like shit. The living room was dark, light shining in from the chandelier on in the sprawling foyer. He inched his way up off the couch, coughing into his elbow, smacking his tongue against the top of his mouth thickly. He looked down at the table, still covered in powder, the little baggie of Persian still sitting there, goading him. He picked it up and put it in his pocket, guilt pouring over him while he remembered your face when you came in. So disappointed, like he did it to hurt you. “Baby?” he called out hoarsely – but it was a big house. The likelihood of you hearing him was slim. It was likely you had gone to bed anyway. He shuffled slowly to the kitchen, having to stop every few steps to dry heave, the cool sweat starting to pour from him now. He really fucking did it this time, christ. He cursed himself for not being used to it by now, the aches, the pains. He flicked on the light, squinting at the harshness. The white of the marble counter top offending whatever headache was starting to brew behind his eyes – but by the grace of whoever left it, there was a glass of water and a bottle of Tylenol already out for him. His heart swelled, he knew it was you. Your little ritual, he gets fucked up, you fix it better.

But as soon as his heart swelled, it sunk. Next to the glass was a small plate with your engagement ring on it. The stone sparkled brilliantly, like you had cleaned it before you left it there. Under the ring was a single line note scrawled on your stationary in curly script.

Call me when you choose yourself.

Eddie took a harsh breath in, and started to cry.

[mysugarkoo]

Have a safe flight || JJK

Hello! This is the first fic I've ever written that just popped to my head and decided to give it a try.. I'd really appreciate all kinds of responses and reviews so I could get better :) ALSO, I have more parts for this one-shot so please let me know if you're interested in that pls :)

Summary: Jungkook's flying to NY after not going abroad for almost two years, in which in those you welcomed your first baby. So you're sad, worried, and a tiny bit jealous. Pairing: dilf!Jungkook x reader Genre: FLUFF -------------- Currently sitting on the floor of your walk-in closet, wearing pajamas and watching Jungkook moving around the room and pulling out clothes, laying them down neatly over the suitcase that was open on the floor. Your stare then got cut by the blabbering and the funny noises your almost 2-years old was making. Glancing over to Eunwoo, who was currently trying to put anything that came in reach into his mouth or waving it around in his tiny hands, and you let out a soft giggle at the sight. Before he could notice, you reached for him across the floor and wrapped your arms around him, making him squeal, "Come here you little peanut, what are we going to do all by ourselves when Daddy's gone huh?" You mumbled while squeezing and tickling him. Jungkook glanced at the two of you before chuckling and continuing his packing, when you spoke again "You know, daddy gets to fly on a plane and go to New York while you and mommy are stuck here" You said now teasingly, knowing Jungkook was listening.

Eunwoo was mumbling words and blabbering the whole time you were holding him on your lap as he just began to learn a few words recently, when you mumbled the last part "They don't give mommies and babies diplomatic passports you know, only daddies" now glancing to see Jungkook's reaction - which of course was rolling his eyes at you for bringing it up for the who knows what time this past few weeks since he's got the announcement the whole band was getting their passports. "You know this is just for this UN thing, and not some shopping spree... If I could I would've taken both of you along..." he sighs at the end of that. He knew you were just teasing him but at the same time, he still felt quite bad about leaving for a week and leaving you two back home. Eunwoo was born a couple months before the pandemic has started, and ever since it was always just the three of you together since the boys were not traveling anywhere. He's not used to leaving you for more than a day or two, let alone fly across the world for a week.

Eunwoo was then fussing around, wanting to get away from your grip and continue his tour around the room and you let him go "I know ... I'm just sad you're gonna be away Koo.... also a tiny bit jealous" you said softly, peering up to look at him with a tiny smirk on your face. truth be told you were mostly scared of staying by yourself now that you have a baby. You and Jungkook's relationship was going on for the past 4 years, so him traveling was nothing new for you. But now with a 2-year-old and a pandemic, you're kinda stressing over it. He then kneel in front of you and smiled while moving a piece of hair from your face "I'll be back before you know it, baby" kissing your forehead just after. "But not without some gifts from, New York" you said that last part with a dreamy sigh and sparks in your eyes, before pointing your tiny finger at him and glaring obviously very jealous.

Jungkook then stood up laughing at you, mumbling "I know, I know", then glancing over to Eunwoo who was just done playing with the fabrics of the dangling clothes around the room, and now signaling he's hungry "Nanas!" which clearly meant he was craving his favorite these days, bananas. Jungkook picked him up and planted kisses all over his face, soon both laughing and squealing together, while you were watching these two best pals enjoying each other, "What about you peanut? You're gonna take care of mommy when I'm gone huh? Are you going to be a good boy?" Jungkook now walking out of the closet and disappearing inside the room, while Jungwoo wrapped his tiny chubby hands around his father's neck asking for bananas again "Nanas dada!!".

The rest of the day was filled with just the three of you at home, packing and spending your day together. When evening came Jungkook was soon leaving for the airport and was getting ready and pulling his bags towards the entrance door. You were sitting on top of the kitchen island watching his every move when he finally walked towards you with a small smile. "You look so good in this Louis Vuitton," you said in a whine while wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling him closer so he stood between your legs, when he smirked. While you sighed again with a pout "It's just a week baby" he said wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you two as close as he could and caressing your skin. "I know baby, it's just been so long since you went aboard.." you glanced for a second towards Eunwoo how was playing with his toys around the living room "what if I need you? Or if something happens or if I can't handle Eunwoo alone, and you're not here, and you're busy and can't answer you phone.." you said now panicking when he pulled your face towards his now mumbling against your lips "You're gonna be fine Y/N. You've got this. Just a week baby, then I'm back and we'll go somewhere special" kissing you softly now. "Plus I'm sure all the girls are not really happy staying home while we leave, so you'll have each other as well" knowing you were all so close with the rest of the boys' families and wives. "And if I'm not picking up and you need something urgent, you can always just call one of the staff.. But nothing's gonna go wrong baby. I promise". Kissing you again. you played with his hair, knowing he was probably right "I'm gonna miss you so much" still pouting but pulling him in for another sweet kiss while he kissed you back and mumbled as well "I know baby me too" pulling away now "But you'll be fine. You'll have fun together".

Suddenly a knock on the door was heard, his security signaling that it was his time to leave, he pulled away from you and went to grab Eunwoo from the floor and kissing his cheek softly. Setting Eunwoo on your lap so he was facing Jungkook, you wrapped your arms around his tiny body while he smiled at the both of you, before squeezing the three of you into a hug with Eunwoo in the middle and all of you giggling at the act. He pulled away and looked at the two of you with loving eyes "I love you guys so much" he said caressing Eunwoo's little face before leaving a few kisses along his face and Eunwoo was giggling again. Looking up at you, he caressed your face as well before pulling you into another sweet kiss, this time lingering a little bit longer. "Have a safe flight. Call me as soon as you get to your hotel, you hear me?" you said when he pulled away and he smiled before pecking your lips one last time and planting a kiss on top of Enwoo's head before pulling away from you guys "I will. I promise" he said while grabbing his backpack and adjusting it on. Some staff were then stepping in as he unlocked your house door for them, smiling slightly towards you while you smiled back at them. You slide off the kitchen island with your baby in hands just as his bags were being taken away "Say, bye daddy have a safe flight" you told Eunwoo and he waved his hand towards Jungkook "dada", "bye baby I love you two, be a good boy to mommy remember?" he kissed his small hand and pecked your lips one last time before stepping out with his security.

You sighed again with Eunwoo in your hands, the house now empty, the two of you looking at each other. "Well baby, you're stuck with mommy for a whole week" you squeezed his cheeks together, then he suddenly sneezed right at your face. "Aww baby thanks for that" you laughed "Now let's go take a bath before mommy starts crying because daddy's gone," you said realizing now that Jungkook's really gone now and it's just you two.

Later that night after putting Eunwoo to bed, while you were watching some TV in your living room, you started texting the other girls in your little group chat, all of you tearing up and laughing at the situation you're all in before going to bed.

copyright © 2021 mysugarkoo do not repost, and thank you for reading

[ameliabartons]

Amelia had never really been the jealous type. She had a lot of friends and prided herself in the fact that she was, quite frankly, very lucky to be so enormously loved by so many. On the nights where she couldn’t make movie night with Scotty, Louis and Cassie, she never found herself feeling excluded from their circle; Their schedules aligning just so, with no ill regard for anybody. On days when Luke wanted nothing more than to laze around on the beach with her, she never found herself sulking or throwing a tantrum when she couldn’t make it, and he opted for Olly instead. She always wanted to be near her friends, but she never begrudged them the fact that she wasn’t always available. That was just the way of the world, after all. 

Now, however, as she watched Maggie’s eyes trail after Jessie’s across the club, silently appraising her friend, she felt something stir in the pit of her stomach. It was unpleasant, a sour taste bubbling up until it reached the tip of her tongue, biting words fighting to be free. Amelia adored Jessie, but she knew that she lacked the other girl’s confidence. She wasn’t sexy or alluring in the way that Jessie was. Sure, she wore tiny skirts and knew her way around a dancefloor, but Jessica Ortiz – to be perfectly blunt – had raw sex appeal, and that was something that Amy was sorely lacking. 

“Uhuh, yup!” Amelia agreed, tight-lipped and at a loss for words. It was rare that she’d offer such a useless retort, normally prone to chattering away until the person next to her was bored senseless. It was why she got along so well with Ty and Charlie, she supposed. The three of them could talk at length without pausing for breath and still have so much to say to one another. She was already finding that jealousy didn’t suit her one bit, her stomach fizzing with disdain at her lack of enthusiasm for her own friend! 

Clearing her throat, Amelia plastered on a warm smile and started nodding, this time with a little more spirit. “Jessie’s gorgeous. Everybody loves her. She’s kind of the best.” 

Drumming her fingers against her thigh, Amy waited patiently for Maggie to respond. Or rather, she supposed, she waited for Maggie to remember she was even there at all. It seemed like the other girl had slipped away to somewhere faraway, some distant land where her thoughts took hold, separating her from reality and the girl beside her, yearning and desperate for her undivided attention. 

“You don’t... dance?” Amelia mused, a soft giggle bubbling from her lips. 

Though she wasn’t keen to admit it, after the two of them had texted, Amelia had googled Maggie. Upon learning that she was a singer, she’d wanted to find out more – to see her in action. She’d swiped relentlessly through TikTok, grating on Louis’ nerves as he’d been forced to endure the same 6-second snippet of a sugary-sweet pop song as the noise carried through the walls of their apartment, Amelia lost in a deep-dive of concert videos and fancams of one Maggie Chance. She’d been transfixed, completely dizzied with a mixture of both intrigue and lust by the time that Lou had poked his head around her door and asked her to stop giving Poppy’s nemesis all that free revenue, Ames. Amelia’s retort had been that she was scrolling through Tiktok, not Spotify, and that she was fairly sure Poppy Martin didn’t have it in her to have a nemesis, but okay! 

In short, she knew that Maggie danced, and she knew she could do it well. 

The clarification that had followed Maggie’s statement felt like a blow to the chest, heat rising to Amelia’s cheeks as it dawned on her what the other girl was trying to say. 

“Right, of course! I get it,” Amelia nodded, her voice rising in pitch as she nodded a little too eagerly. She wanted to be understanding, to assure Maggie that it was absolutely fine and that there were no hard feelings, but as instinctual as it was to try to reassure and meet the other girl’s needs, it still did nothing for the weight that appeared to be settling against Amelia’s sternum. 

She had no right feeling upset, nor embarrassed. Even over text, Maggie had been honest. She wasn’t a lesbian, not by a long shot, and girls were just an experiment to her. She’d made that abundantly clear to Amelia, and she’d completely recognised how difficult it was so for so many people to come to terms with their sexuality, to put a label on whatever it was they were feeling. She, Scotty and Louis had all found comfort and sanctuary in one another, all having endured that same exact struggle so many moons ago. 

But as Maggie’s fingers trailed along Amy’s thigh, her breath hitched in surprise. The touch came from beneath the table, private and tucked away from prying eyes. She supposed it made sense, if Maggie was closeted, but she couldn’t help but wonder if that was the full truth of it. Was she ashamed of her attraction to girls – the brazen way in which she’d flirted with Amy on their first meeting told her otherwise – or was she simply embarrassed by Amy, specifically? 

She wondered, absently, if Maggie might prefer to go somewhere else? Somewhere more private. 

“Of course! Totally, absolutely. I mean, this is all very... public,” Amelia huffed out a nervous laugh, her own hand skirting over Maggie’s, her skin brushing against the other girl’s knuckles, testing the water. “We could, I mean... We could go somewhere else? If you wanted to. Maybe back to my place? Or yours, if that would be better?” 

She sounded desperate, suddenly. Needy and obsessive; The picture-perfect image of some creepy lesbian who had no grasp on boundaries, but the words had tumbled from her lips so freely, too late to take back. 

The earnestness with which Amy recieved her compliment had the adverse effect of making her feel shy. So often Maggie's compliments were delivered with a bored inflection in her voice, or a sneer to show the other party just how backhanded it was. But Amy accepted the compliment with a bright smile, a twirl that made her dress lift in the air, showing the tops of her thighs, just enough bare skin to get her pulse racing. (She was so sex starved she felt like a teenage boy sometimes, honestly.) Amy appeared confident in a way Maggie longed to be, like she honestly didn't care if Maggie liked her. Meanwhile, Maggie wanted everyone to like her.

"Wait, really?" Maggie exclaimed, her voice two octaves above chill. Lifting herself up out of her seat, she attempted to crane her neck to peer out into the crowd. A sick feeling overcame her as she followed Amelia's line of sight, the syrupy sweet coke churning in her stomach as she sought Matty out. Sure enough, he was dancing with Amy's friend. The scene hadn't changed from the last time she looked out, but now she could put a name to the object of her jealousy. Jessie. Her lips pursed in annoyance as she watched them dance together, knowing it could be her if it weren't for her moods. Jessie was lovely, loose-limbed and happy, and it was hard to know whether or not to attribute the desire she felt to her, or Matty, or her longing to be up there with the two of them.

She shuffled over, the leather underneath her sticking to her legs with sweat. She felt her heart in her throat as Amy giggled, high and musical and soft. Maggie had no idea how to speak to girls. She usually just settled for insulting them. She wasn't alluring and soft like Sephy, or sexy and silver-tongued like Matty, she was all hard lines and awkward edges.

"She's um, like, beautiful?" Maggie breathed, voice turning up at the end like she was asking a question. "Oh, I know Charlie. Clarke. He's Sephy's friend."

Maggie didn't know if she liked Charlie. She should hate him, really, on the sole basis he was another person Sephy liked more than her. His personality was loud and overbearing when sober, and another thing entirely when he was hopped up on his drug of choice. He must've caught on to the fact she found him hard to take though, because he largely left her alone. The few times Sephy had taken her along to his sets, her fingers linked with Maggie's as they looked up at the DJ booth, Maggie had watched the way he bounced around the stage and thought, he's not unlike me. He knows how and when to perform.

She snapped to, realising she'd been lost in her own thoughts for a beat too long. Amy was talking, and she hadn't realised. To make up for it, she leaned forward, the long curtain of her curly hair hiding her face as she moved her ear closer to the other girl.

"Oh, no." she shook her head fast, wrinkling her nose at the idea. "I don't do that."

She knew how to dance, obviously, it wasn't that. She'd spent enough time following routines in the studio with a paid choreographer, the best of the best, but the idea of dancing with Amy was different. She couldn't go out there and be seen dancing with a girl. It wouldn't be mistaken as casual, or friendly, two drunk friends losing themselves in each other and the music. Maggie wouldn't be able to hide it, she was certain. People would know.

She blushed in the dark of the bar, her voice hard when she said, "I can't be seen dancing with you. People know me here."

Maggie heard Sephy in her head instantly, practically felt the playful jab of her elbow. Be nice.

"Not because there's anything wrong with you." she laughed, sharp and trilling, discomfort showing. "People will just get the wrong idea."

She smiled then, her hand finding the soft skin of Amy's upper thigh where her dress had ridden up, actions contradictory to her words. She gave her leg a reassuring squeeze, lifting her shoulders in a shrug.

"You get it, right?"

[typical-simplelove]

On Your Right (M. Tkachuk)

Author's Note: The longest one-shot I have ever written is for @raysofcrosby for @antoineroussel's Summer Fic Exchange; this is my first exchange, so hopefully, I did well. Thanks to Demi for organizing this! I truly had a blast working on this. I hope you enjoy this!! I used inspo from To All the Boys I've Loved Before and Bridgerton for this. Enjoy reading!

Summary: When you and Matthew both find yourself needing dates to individual events, Matthew proposes a plan where you both fake date. He suggests that he, who's been in love with you since the age of ten, and you, who is convinced Matthew hates you, date. What could possibly go wrong?

Word Count: 21.4k

Warnings: the time may not coincide with the way time works, but ignore that; hatred; friends hating each other; Matthew being an ass; fake dating; mentions of sex (nothing explicit or too NSFW, though); planes; only one bed

Sitting on the patio chair of the Tkachuk's deck was exactly how you expected to spend a Sunday afternoon in the early weeks of summer vacation. For the past ten years, it's the exact way you've always spent your Sunday afternoons in the summer. It was always the same. Your mother and Chantal would be in the kitchen with the air conditioning, and your dad and Keith would be at the grill making dinner. What they would make would change, but it would usually be somewhere between burgers and hotdogs to chicken or salmon. It was always a surprise. They'd never tell the kids not wanting any complaining. You always sat in a chair with Taryn on your left and with Matthew on your right. Across from you sat your brother and Brady next to him. Keith always sat at one head and Chantal at the other. Your dad sat in the seat next to Keith, and your mother sat next to Chantal. You would always drink lemonade, and your brother would drink iced tea. You never got to drink that at home, so you and your brother would make sure to share your cups. Sometimes, Matthew would drink a pop of his choice and share it with you. If it rained, the Tkachuks would go to your home, and the seating situation was the same around your dining room table.

Chantal and your mother would insist that you kids couldn't play inside at these Sunday afternoon dinners. Sometimes, your brother and the boys would play soccer and maybe let you and Taryn join. Oftentimes, though, you and Taryn would hang out together. Sometimes, Matthew would play with you and Taryn, and you'd all play family. You and Matthew would be married parents, and Taryn would be your daughter. If your brother and Brady chose to join, Taryn would be the aunt, and Brady and your brother would be the children. Taryn always joked that life should always end up that way -- you and Matthew married with Taryn as the aunt to your children. When she'd bring up the topic, your mother and Chantal would always give each other a knowing look as if they knew something you both didn't. Your dad wouldn't say anything, but Keith would pat his shoulder, again, as if they knew something you didn't. Brady and your brother would gag and tease Matthew. You and Matthew never said anything; you both were close friends, some would argue best friends, but it didn't matter. You knew that Matthew would be someone who would always be in your life. In your life, ages 5-10, you didn't understand the notion of marriage. All you knew was that you wanted Matthew to be in your life, and if it was marriage, then so be it.

Despite expecting to be sitting on that patio chair, you never expected you'd be watching Taryn, Brady, Matthew, and your brother playing while you sat there by yourself. It wasn't that they weren't including you, but they also weren't not not including you. They all decided to play your least favorite game, and you didn't want to, so you decided to sit and watch. There's more to it, though. The school year ended just the previous week, and you and Matthew graduated from elementary school and would be going to middle school. Somewhere within the past few weeks. Matthew went from being one of your closest friends to hating you. He just suddenly decided he didn't like you. You weren't sure why, but he just stopped being your friend. You told your mother you were sick so as not to have to come to the Tkachuk's today, but she said no. She saw right through your lie. You didn't know why Matthew didn't want to be your friend anymore, but it hurt. It hurt a lot. No longer were the days where you and Matthew would pretend to be a married couple. No more were the days where Matthew would share his pop with you. No more were the days where Matthew was your closest friend.

When Chantal called for dinner, you ran to the washroom to wash your hands and sat back in your usual spot. Despite knowing Matthew's recent emotions towards you, you hoped he'd still sit next to you. You watched as Taryn returned from washing her hands and began to apologize for not playing a game you liked. You told her it was okay, it was, and watched your brother take his seat across from you, as normal. You watched Brady put the toys away and go to the washroom to wash his hands. You watched as Keith and your father put the grilled chicken on the table, and Chantal and your mother set the sides on the table. Finally, Matthew emerged from the house, but what he did next confused you. He sat in Brady's usual seat.

"What are you doing, Matthew?" Brady asks when he sees where his brother is sitting. Matthew glares at you and shrugs.

"I just want to sit next here, today," Matthew says with anger in his voice. You weren't sure why he was suddenly so angry, but the look he had as he stared at you sent chills down your spine. That's when you knew. That's when you knew that Matthew hated you. He doesn't like you anymore, and you doubted he ever would You didn’t know it, then, but you now know that when Matthew opted to sit in a different seat and treat you with anger, he broke your heart.

Matthew Tkachuk broke your heart at the age of ten.

. . .

With Matthew out of the picture as a friend, you found yourself growing closer to your other friends. One friend, in particular, became your closest friend, Shelly. You and Shelly became the best of friends and stuck together through middle school, high school, and college. It was Shelly who convinced you that it would be a good idea to move to Calgary despite your hated family friend living there.

"Shelly, I don't think so," you tell her. "Actually, I know so."

"Come on, Ynn," Shelly eggs on. "Do it for me? I'm getting married! Please, can you bring a date? Actually, it's a must thing. I'm telling you that you have to bring a date. That's the only thing I need from you."

"So, the only thing I need to do as your maid of honor is to bring a date?"

"I mean, no? But, the wedding is in two months, and most of the stuff I've needed you to do has been done. Just this one thing, okay? I think you'll enjoy it much better if you have someone to hang out with. Who knows, maybe you’ll fall in love with him and marry him, and I can be your maid of honor."

"Fine," you grumble. "But, only because I love you."

You hang up the phone and groan. How were you supposed to find a date? You had a few work friends in Calgary, but you found it difficult to find a date. The one thing that annoyed you the most was that you had two months to find someone you liked and trusted enough to bring to St. Louis for a wedding. What were you going to do?

Now, a month later, you were standing outside one certain door you never thought you would with a plate of cookies, their favorite cookies, and angry that this was your last resort. You knock on the door of the apartment and await the smirk and comment you were bound to get.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't my biggest admirer, Yn Yln," Matthew says with his signature smirk. Yup, you guessed it.

"Matthew," you grumble and walk into his apartment as he welcomes you inside. "Here are some cookies."

Matthew takes the plate from you, opens it up, and bites into a cookie. "Thank you," he says with a mouthful of cookies. You grimace at the sight and remind yourself about the task at hand. "You know, when you called me, I forgot you were in Calgary. Why haven't you ever called me before to hang out?"

"You're serious?"

"Very."

"Maybe the small fact that we've hated each other since we were like ten? Or, how about that time you spilled water down my dress at our joint eighth-grade graduation party? Or, how about that time you spilled Gatorade on my English project? Or, how about that time you told everyone we were dating when you clearly know WE WEREN'T. Or, how about that time you took my car keys and hid them at the bottom of your hockey bag in the men's locker room? Would you like me to continue? I can keep going as far as you need."

"No, no, I get the point. No need to remind me," Matthew tells you. He internally cringes at his actions growing up, but he has too much pride to apologize. "Anyways, that was when we were growing up and in high school. I haven't treated you like that in ages."

Matthew knows he shouldn't have said that immediately when he sees the glare you give him. "I have a list if you'd like for me to list it out?"

"Okay, fine, message understood. You hate me, and I hate you because of it. What do you need? You called me pretty frantically."

You narrow your eyes at Matthew. "Firstly, I did not call you frantically. I called you asking if I could ask for a favor. Secondly, I only hate you because you hate me. Third, I need your help with something."

"Okay, firstly, yes you did. Second, maybe that's right. Third, just tell me."

"Can you set me up with a teammate or a friend of yours for me to take to Shelly's wedding?" you blurt out in one breath.

"What?" Matthew laughs breathlessly, not sure if he heard you right.

"I need a date for Shelly's wedding, and I need you to set me up with someone you trust, please."

"You don't have a boyfriend?"

"No," you grumble out, and Matthew laughs at you. "It's not like you have a girlfriend or anything."

"Wow, look at you. Firing shots, huh?"

"Matthew, can you or can you not set me up with someone you know and trust?"

"Sure, I'll see who I can find."

"Great, thank you," you say and make your way to leave.

"Where are you going?" Matthew asks, furrowing his eyebrows.

"Home?"

"You just came here to ask me that and leave?"

"It's not like we're friends or anything," you say blatantly. Matthew is shocked by your words and takes a visible step back. He isn't sure why your words shocked him so much because he knows you're both not friends. He knows for a fact you're both not friends but hearing you actually say it after all these years is shocking to him.

"Right, not friends. You can leave then. You can take your cookies back."

"No, no, I made them for you. I know they're your favorite. Thanks, again, Matthew."

"Sure, sure," he says as you walk out the door. He locks the door behind you and is instantly confused why he hates that you're both not friends. He knows you’re not friends. Both his and your actions over the past years have proven it, but he thought — he actually doesn't know what he thought. As the season came to an end, Matthew had another task at hand — finding someone for you to take as a date even though he knows no one he knows is good enough for you.

. . .

Matthew was sitting at the bar with his teammates sizing them all up wondering which one would be good enough for you to have as a date. There was Noah; Matthew guesses he could be okay with you with him, but Matthew knows you could do better. There was Jacob, and Matthew knew he'd treat you well. Maybe he should ask Jacob if he'd join you as a date.

"Matthew, why do you keep staring at us?" Noah asks.

"I have someone I know who needs help finding a date for a wedding this summer," Matthew explains. "This person I know asked if I could set them up with someone I know and trust."

"Do you need a guy? If so, then go with Jacob. He'll treat your friend, right," Elias says.

"Yn's not my friend," Matthew is quick to say.

"Is she someone you’re more than friends with?" Noah asks with a smirk on his face.

"No, absolutely not," Matthew says as he vehemently shakes his head. "No, we've hated each other since we were like ten."

"Why are you helping her, then?"

Matthew just stares at Noah. Why was he helping you? You both weren’t friends, as you made abundantly clear the other day. Matthew didn’t know why he was helping you. You were a long-time family friend and by far one of the most amazing people he’s ever met. But, that didn’t answer the question as to why he was helping you. You were someone amazing, yet Matthew still can’t seem to pinpoint why he was helping you. Matthew knows that if he doesn’t help you Chantal would have his head. Maybe, just maybe, it was the small, no large, crush he’s harbored for you since you were both ten. Maybe, just maybe, he truly, deep down cared about who you dated if it couldn’t be him. “I’m not sure,��� Matthew deflects knowing fully why he was helping you.

“Maybe you should strike her a deal,” Mark mentions. “You find her a date for the wedding, and she finds you a date for the End-of-Year Charity Gala.”

Matthew perks his head up towards his captain. He forgot about the Gala.

“Oh no, Matthew has a smirk on his face. What’s your idea?” Noah says suspiciously.

“Nothing,” Matthew says, not losing his smirk. He has one splendid idea that he is sure to solve both your dating issues.

. . .

Matthew: I have a date for you. He’ll come over tomorrow at 5 pm with flowers, okay?

Yn: Okay, sounds good! I can’t wait to meet him.

Matthew: You’ll love him.

Matthew knows you won’t. Based on what his plan was, he knew you wouldn’t like it. He only hoped you wouldn’t slap him across the face.

. . .

The day after Matthew texted you and said when your date would show up, you were nervous. Incredibly nervous. You hoped that, for once, Matthew wouldn’t be an ass and set you up with someone nice. You were pacing around your kitchen and 4:58 pm when the doorbell rang. You stood up straight and took a deep breath. You could do this. You weren’t going to actually date the guy; you were just going to ask him to accompany you to a wedding back home and that was it. You walked over to the door and took a deep breath before opening the door.

“Matthew?” you ask in disbelief as you lock eyes with Matthew’s striking blue eyes. You give him a once-over and notice he’s wearing a white shirt, a tight shirt that fits him way too well, and black dress pants. What was with the fancy wear? You meet his eyes again, and you’re met with his eyes full of love, happiness, and worry as they stare deep into your eyes. You’ve yet to ever see this mix of emotion in Matthew’s eyes when he looks at you, and it sends a shiver down your spine. You and Matthew continue staring deeply into each other’s eyes, both not wanting to break the trance you’ve found yourself in.

“Hey, Yn,” Matthew finally says, realizing who he was looking at. He hands you the bouquet of your favorite flowers. “These are for you.”

“Oh, um, come in,” you say and usher him inside. You hate him, Yn. Stop with these emotions, you keep telling yourself. Why did he suddenly have this effect on you? Matthew walks into your apartment, takes his shoes off, and sits on a chair at your counter. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m your date,” Matthew says nervously, but you still see the love lining his eyes as you speak. You haven’t seen that look directed to you in a while.

“No, absolutely not. We hate each other, remember? Why would I suddenly bring you as a date?”

“Look, before you go crazy, just listen to what I have to say, okay?” Matthew asks softly. You nod and turn away to put the flowers in a vase. You make sure your back is to Matthew because you don’t want him to see how flustered you are by his soft tone towards you.

After placing the flowers in a vase and placing it on the coffee table, you say, “Okay, Matthew, what do you have to say?”

“You know how at the end of the season, the Flames have an End-of-Year Charity Gala?” you shake your head no, and Matthew chuckles softly, and your faith grows warm. “Well, we have one, and I need to bring a date.”

“Okay?”

“So, what if we pretend to date? Like, you come with me to the gala, and I go with you to Shelly’s wedding,” Matthew proposes nervously.

“Why would you want that, Matthew? You hate me.”

“I don’t — I couldn’t ha— you know what? It doesn’t matter. Look, you need a date, and I need a date, so why don’t we just go together and solve both our problems?”

“Matthew, I don’t know.”

“Yn, come on. What’s stopping you?”

“You hate me, Matthew,” you tell him softly, not meeting Matthew’s eyes.

Matthew sighs. He could never hate you. He never really hated you; he just had to pretend to hate you because of how he felt. When Matthew was ten, he realized that he had a crush on you. He realized he like liked you, and he didn’t know what to do about it, so he just ignored you and was mean to you. Unfortunately, over the years, Matthew couldn’t let go of those feelings, and he fell more and more for you as he watched you grow into the beautiful person you are now. Seeing you walk into this apartment with the cookies the other day, Matthew realized that he was still hopelessly in love with you. At first, Matthew thought that he could find a date for you. He could find someone who was perfect for you because everyone knows that he could never be it for you, but, as he began going through his list of friends, he realized that even they weren’t good enough for you. Matthew knew you’d never feel the same way about him, but if Matthew can have you as a fake girlfriend, then that’s what he’ll have, then. “We both don’t want to find a date for our events, so why don’t we just pretend to date, then?”

You look at Matthew and see the sincerity in his eyes. You see the longing and want for you to say yes. You’ve always loved looking into Matthew’s eyes and seeing the emotion in them. You’ve never seen this kind of emotion directed towards you. You see the longing and sadness and wishing for you to say yes; however, you also see love? You couldn’t possibly be seeing that in his eyes. Could you? “Okay,” you whisper, suddenly being overwhelmed with what you saw laced in Matthew’s eyes and facial expressions.

“Okay?” Matthew asks, confirming because he was in disbelief.

“Yeah, okay. We can fake date.”

Matthew rushes over to you and wraps you in a giant hug. “Thank you,” he whispers as he holds you tightly.

“Of course, Matthew. You had a good idea that helped us both.”

Matthew leaves shortly after with a fake girlfriend and a wide smile on his face. He only hoped that he wouldn’t fall harder for you now that he’s finally somehow got you.

. . .

Matthew came over two weeks later, one day before the Flames’ last game, to sort out the terms of your and Matthew’s fake dating ruse. You weren’t sure why you agreed to this. No one back home would believe that you and Matthew were dating. You both have hated each other for as long as you can remember. Everyone would be shocked that you and Matthew can possibly stand to be in the same room together. The fact that you moved to the same city was also a giant shock to everyone. Not a single person would believe it, but why did your heart suddenly race when you thought of you and Matthew fake dating? Why did your pulse quicken at the thought of being on Matthew’s arm at the Gala? Why did you enjoy the cheeky messages Matthew has been sending you and telling you that he was trying to “fill the role perfectly”? Why did your heart hurt when you realized it was all fake?

“I brought some takeout, is that good?” Matthew asks as he steps into your apartment. In his hands, he has a bag of food from your favorite restaurant in Calgary and another bouquet. You take the bag of food and the flowers from his hand, and Matthew goes into your cupboards to find some plates. The domesticity of the situation made your heart lurch through your chest, but you still weren’t sure why.

“That’s perfect, thanks, Matthew,” you tell him with a smile as Matthew sets the plates down on the counter. You place the flowers in another vase and put them next to the flowers Matthew brought previously that were probably ready to be tossed. “You don’t have to buy me flowers every time you come by.”

“Firstly, it’s been like two times, and secondly, let me treat you, okay? I am your boyfriend, after all, so I might as treat you as you deserve to be treated,” Matthew tells you as if he was preaching fact. He talked to you as if he didn’t hate you your entire life and only just started liking you.

“Fake boyfriend,” you correct. You want to make sure that the parameters of your relationship are clearly defined.

“You tell that to Shelly? That you and I are fake dating?” Matthew asks with a smirk.

“I told her I had a date, and I was going to tell her it was you, but she told me to surprise her on her wedding day. I’m convinced she thinks I don’t have a date,” you tell Matthew and take a bite of food. You moan in delight, and Matthew grins knowing he picked the perfect meal for you. “How did you know this was my favorite?”

Matthew shrugs, but a playful smile is a dead giveaway that he has an explanation. “I guess I just know you really well.”

“That’s ridiculous, Matthew. You do not know me at all. I’ve changed since you stopped being my friend when we were ten.”

“Hey! I did not stop being your friend. You stopped being my friend,” Matthew feigns hurt even though he knows your words are right.

“Matthew, I stopped being your friend because you stopped being friends with me.”

“That’s not how I remember it,” Matthew mumbles and opting to look down at his plate instead of at you where he’d much rather be looking.

“You stopped being my friend after we graduated from elementary school. I remember that the third Sunday dinner we had that summer was the first time you stopped sitting next to me, and I knew that you were officially not my friend anymore.”

“You sure that’s what happened, Yn? Are you sure that it wasn’t you who stopped being my friend?”

“I always sat in the same middle seat, Matthew. You opted to sit in Brady’s seat instead.”

“Fine, whatever. Agree to disagree?”

“Sure, sure, even though I’m right.”

Matthew laughs at your words and shakes his head. “How we were ever friends baffles me because we are both so stubborn.”

“That we are,” you agree, and a comfortable silence fills your kitchen as you and Matthew continue to eat.

“You know,” Matthew says breaking the silence, “I do know you better than you think.”

“As do I,” you tell him not meeting his eye. You always were quite observant of Matthew despite you two not being friends anymore. There was something about him that made you want to look at him. No, it probably wasn’t because of how gorgeous he was.

“Okay, you tell me something about myself, then.”

“What do you want me to say?”

“I don’t know, Yn; you just say something.”

“But I want you to tell me what you want me to say,” you tease.

“I’m starting to think you don’t know anything about me,” Matthew gives you his signature smirk.

“I’m starting to think the same about you.”

Matthew sighs and shakes his head. “How about we talk about our situation instead?”

“Our ruse?” you tease and quirk your eyebrows.

“Sure, our ruse,” Matthew says, not sure why you had that look on your face. “What is our story? We could just say we hooked up and realized that we liked each other.”

“As much as that story is believable, I don’t think that Shelly will believe that. Why don’t we go with something else? How about: I was lonely in the city and needed someone familiar, so I called you, and the rest just fell together.”

“I don’t think they’ll believe that,” Matthew says. As much as he loves and thinks it’s a good story, he’d very much rather have a bit more romantic and loving story, so Matthew can have the fake relationship he’d always wanted with you.

“Oh, come on, Matthew, it’s perfect!” you pout, and Matthew knows he’s going to bend for you because it’s you. He always bent to your will regardless of whether or not you knew it.

“Fine, we’ll use your story. How long have we been dating?”

“Why don’t we just keep it vague to minimize any questions? Should we say a few months now? Anything longer will be suspicious, and anything shorter would be weird. The most we can say is three to three and a half months because when I talked to Shelly about two months ago, she was under the impression I wasn’t seeing anyone.”

“Okay, fair. You know,” Matthew says with a smirk, “the fact that you’re able to throw together the perfect fake-dating story makes me think that you’ve done this before.”

You burst out laughing. “You seriously think that? I thought you knew me.”

“I do know you.”

“Then you’d know I’m a hopeless romantic, and the amount of times I’ve read fake dating romance novels is unbelievable. The only thing, though, is that our story won’t end up with us dating but with us maybe being friends.”

“Right,” Matthew says, and he looks down at his plate sadly realizing you truly didn’t feel the same way.

“I’m sorry, did I say anything wrong?” you apologize. You weren’t sure why Matthew suddenly got upset, but you thought it couldn’t have possibly been your words. How could it? You and Matthew have hated each other for years. It’d be ridiculous to think that this ruse would end in an actual relationship.

“No, not at all. Don’t worry,” Matthew sends you a soft smile, and your stomach does somersaults. “What about physical stuff?”

You glare at Matthew trying to figure out exactly what he was asking for in this fake relationship. “Explain because if you’re trying to sleep with me, it’s not happening.”

“No, Yn, of course not! That’s not what I meant!” Matthew replies shocked that you’d even bring up the notion. “No, I meant like holding hands, my arms wrapped around you, kissing and stuff like that. Things that couples do, you know?”

“Oh, yeah, um, I guess we could hold hands and touch each other to keep up the facade, but only in public.”

Matthew nods. “Only in public.”

You make moves to clear the table, but Matthew stops you and clears the table for you. “Sit, I’ll take care of it.”

“Matthew —” you begin.

“Nope, my fake girlfriend doesn’t need to clear her table, so sit down.”

“Maybe you should be my fake-boyfriend forever if you’re going to be clearing my table and stuff like this.”

“I mean if you’d like,” Matthew smirks and sends you a wink. He continues cleaning up by placing the dishes in the dishwasher and placing the leftovers in a Tupperware container and inside the fridge. You’re watching him concentrate on the task at hand, and suddenly, you’re drawn to his lips. You were drawn to the way he bit his lip in concentration and licked the bottom lip now and then. You watched the way he’d stop biting his lips and realize that you want to be the one to bite his lip. You wanted to kiss Matthew.

“Hey, um, Matthew?” you begin hesitantly.

“Mmm,” he replies looking up.

“Should we, um, kiss?” your eyes don’t meet Matthew’s, and you’re intent on staring at the tiles on the floor of your kitchen instead.

“I mean, sure, when we’re out in public. It’d be weird if we didn’t, right?”

“Right,” you nod knowingly and happy that Matthew didn’t realize the true meaning of your request. You look up and notice him watching you curiously. The sparkle in his eyes makes your face warm under his gaze, and you know that he’s figured out what you were truly thinking.

“Or,” he begins with a smirk, “we could practice now, so we know what to do when we kiss in front of people.”

“I think that’s a good idea,” you whisper, barely audible.

Matthew, being the pest he is, smirks at your words and asks you to repeat them. “I couldn’t hear you, baby. I need you to repeat it.”

“I think that we should practice kissing,” you say again, slightly louder, but Matthew’s shit-eating grin tells you that you’re going to have to repeat yourself.

“Come on, baby, I need to hear you loud and clear,” he walks over to you, and you shift in your seat to face him. You stand up, so you’re level with him (as much as you can be considering his height), and Matthew puts his hands on your waist. “This okay?” he asks, and you nod, but when he raises his eyebrows, you know you have to give him audible consent.

“Yes, Matthew, and I think that you should kiss me,” you tell him loud and clear. Matthew’s grin widens, and he dips his head towards yours. You put your hands around his neck, and he pulls you closer to him.

“This okay?” he asks with concern lacing his features. He didn’t want to overstep any boundaries with you.

“More than okay,” you reply and lean towards him. Matthew dips his head towards yours and places his lips softly on yours. He planned on pulling back and that being the end of the kiss, but his instincts and strong desire to kiss you stopped him. Matthew’s hands leave your waist and cup your face. He holds you forcefully but also gently. You both deepen the kiss, and your mouth separates as Matthew works his mouth against yours. Your tongue swipes against his bottom lip begging to meet his. Matthew puts his hands back on your waist and pulls you close and flush against his body. There’s no space between the two of you, not a single inch of air. You both pull away after the kiss crossed the line between what your relationship truly was. You both pull away but your heads are still close to each other. You’re looking into Matthew’s blue eyes that are laced with longing and desire. You watch Matthew’s eyes glance down to your lips as you long for his lips to be on yours again.

“We have the practice, now,” Matthew says in a deep voice, almost huskily.

“That we do,” you reply softly.

“I didn’t hurt you, right?”

“Absolutely not, Matthew. I would have slapped you if you stepped out of line,” you tell him, and Matthew’s deep chuckle sends the butterflies erupting in your stomach. You take a step back from Matthew and sit back in your chair. “Maybe if we kiss in front of people, it shouldn’t be that deep and passionate.”

“Yeah, maybe not,” Matthew tells you. He loved kissing you. Now that he’s kissed you, he doesn’t want to kiss anyone else. He wants to keep kissing you for as long as you would possibly let him. “Oh, that reminds me.”

“Mmhm?”

“I may or may not have let the cat slip out of the bag that I had a girlfriend, and now the team is expecting you to be at the last game tomorrow and our celebration.”

“Matthew!”

“I know, I know, I wasn’t supposed to. I didn’t mean to, it just slipped out!”

“How does it just slip out?”

“Some people asked if I had a date for the Gala, and I said I was bringing my girlfriend.”

“So, I have to go to the game tomorrow?”

“Please?” Matthew pouts. “I’ll owe you big time.”

“You already owe me big time,” you point out.

“Fine, just come to the game tomorrow? You don’t have to wear my jersey or anything, just come?”

“I’ll be there, and if you give me a jersey, I’ll wear it, okay? Or, I can just wear Brady’s.”

“No, never. Wait, why do you have Brady’s jersey and not mine?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Sure, I have to go, but I’ll see you tomorrow?” Matthew asks as he walks over to the door. You walk with him and unlock the door.

“See you tomorrow, fake boyfriend,” you tell him and place a kiss on his cheek.

“Tomorrow, fake girlfriend,” Matthew says and walks out the door. When the door is closed, he places his hands on his cheek where you kissed him. He touches his lips softly remembering how you kissed him just recently. Just remembering your mouth being anywhere near his face made him melt. Matthew was digging himself into a hole he only hoped he’d be able to escape from.

. . .

You walked up to the Friends & Family box still trying to recover from Matthew kissing you barely twenty-four hours prior. You didn’t have Matthew’s jersey to wear, so you opted for a red shirt with jeans and a leather jacket. You’ve also never met anyone on the team before, so you were scared as to what they would say.

You stepped into the box and were instantly overwhelmed with what you saw. All the other wives and girlfriends and children were mingling around, and you felt out of place. One of the WAGs walked over to you, and said, “You must be Yn, Matthew’s girlfriend.”

You nodded, “Yeah, that would be me.”

“I’m Annica, Elias’s girlfriend. Don’t worry about being nervous or whatever, Matthew is crazy about you, so we’re automatically crazy about you, too! Everyone, this is Yn, Matthew’s girlfriend.”

You stood there as everyone introduced themselves, and you maybe remembered two of those names.

“Matthew left you a jersey because he knew you didn’t have one,” Lauren, Mark’s wife, tells you. She hands you the jersey, and you look at it. Were you supposed to put it on? “You can just put it on over your shirt and leave your jacket on a chair.”

You nod. You put on the jersey and look down at the number on your sleeve. You smiled. You liked the way it looked on you.

Watching the game with the other girls was interesting and exciting. You chatted with the other women and played with the children. It was exhilarating to be in the Saddledome during a game, especially the last of the season. You haven’t been to a game in Calgary despite living there. Every time the Tkachuks came to town, you always told them you couldn’t go to the game. It didn’t feel right, but now that you’ve been to a game, you wanted to keep coming to the games. The Flames ended up coming out on top to celebrate their final game, and the arena was loud and bursting with happiness. You followed behind as everyone walked to outside the locker rooms to wait for the team. You stood awkwardly, not sure what to do. You played with your jacket in your hand just as Matthew walked out. He spotted you instantly, and his heart lurched through his chest as he saw you in his jersey. His eyes widened at seeing his number on your arm, and if possible, he fell more in love with you.

“Hey,” he says as he walks over. You look up and give him a wide smile.

“Hi,” you tell him and pull your fake boyfriend into a large hug as you whisper in his ear, “you played amazing.”

Your words send shivers down Matthew’s spine, and he holds you tightly. “Thank you.”

You both pull away and notice some of Matthew’s teammates and significant others greeting each other with congratulatory kisses. Were you both supposed to kiss? “Should we kiss, Matthew?” you whisper.

“What?” he whispers back, not sure if he heard you properly.

“You heard me, should we kiss? Everyone else is.”

“Do you want me to kiss you?”

“Would it be awkward if we didn’t?”

“I’m going to kiss you, okay?” Matthew doesn’t wait for your response as he hungrily leans down and kisses you. Despite kissing you yesterday, Matthew was waiting earnestly for the day he’d get to kiss you again. It wasn’t as passionate as the night before, but somehow, it was even more intimate despite being in public. You both full away flushed with the kiss, and Matthew’s teammates holler around you both. “Oh, shut up.”

Matthew leads you to his car and holds your hand. “Did you want to come to celebrate with us?” he leans down to whisper in your ear.

“I thought that was part of this,” you tell him.

“Yeah, but not everyone is going out, so if you don’t want to, we can just head to my place.”

“We can go to your place, then.”

“Okay,” Matthew says to you and opens the car door for you. He closes the door and heads towards the driver’s side. When he gets in, he asks, “How did you get here if I’m driving you home?”

“Oh, I walked because I don’t work too far from here,” you explain, and Matthew whips his heat towards you. “What?”

“You walked? Do you not have a car?” he asks as if the notion were beyond him.

“Yeah, it was like ten minutes.”

“If you didn’t have a ride or something, I would have sent someone to pick you up.”

“I walk to work, Matthew.”

“You walk? No, from now on, I will be driving you to work and wherever you need to be.”

You giggle to yourself softly. “I have a car, but I just walk to work because it’s only five minutes.”

“No, I refuse to let you walk to work.”

“Matthew,” you say gently and place your hand on his thigh. “I’m fine, I promise, okay?”

Matthew looks at the soft look in your eyes and the anger he has dissipated. “Okay, but if you ever need a ride somewhere, please just let me know, and I’ll drive you, okay?”

“Okay, but I do have a car, you know,” you tell him, and Matthew starts the car and heads towards his apartment. Why was Matthew so concerned and angry about the fact that you don’t drive to work? You ponder the thought and are so deep in trying to figure it out that you don’t realize that you’ve reached Matthew’s apartment until he tells you so.

“You okay?” Matthew asks as you’re standing in the elevator.

“Yeah, I’m fine, why?”

“Not sure, you seem kind of spaced out.”

“Oh, no, I’m okay.”

“Promise?” Matthew asks.

“Promise,” you reply with a smile.

You and Matthew walk into his apartment, and your breath is taken away by the view of Matthew’s apartment. You take your shoes off and just stand there staring. You drop your purse and bag on the floor and walk over to the window in a trance.

“Yn, you good?” Matthew asks, confused about your actions.

“It’s just so pretty, Matthew,” you say and reach for your phone in your back pocket and take a photo. Matthew can’t help but smile at your actions. Sure, the view was pretty to him, but he saw it each day, so it wasn’t as special to him. Watching you take in the view, though, gave Matthew a new insight into how pretty the view truly was. Maybe, just maybe, Matthew was staring at you, looking beautiful with the dim lighting of his living room and wearing his jersey, instead of the view, but it didn’t matter. It was beautiful, and if he was talking about you? Then, so be it!

“I’m just going to get changed real quick, okay?” Matthew asks. He didn’t want to leave you standing there alone, but he knows he won’t be comfortable in his suit. “I can stay if you want.”

You giggle to yourself. “I can take care of myself, you know.”

“Yeah, I know, but —”

“Go,” you push Matthew in the direction of his room. “I’ll be fine.” Matthew looks behind him once more to you; you give him a pointed look, and Matthew walks to his room to change.

You settle yourself on the couch and sit there staring at the TV stand. On it are sitting picture frames with photos of Matthew’s family and friends. One photo, in particular, stands out to you. You get up and walk to the photo and smile at it. You pick it up and stare at it. It was a photo of Brady, Taryn, Matthew, your brother, and you. You don’t remember the photo being taken but it was around when you were six or seven. You were sitting at the table in Tkachuk's backyard before dinner. Matthew was sitting on your right, as he should, and with Taryn on your left.

“Find anything interesting?” Matthew asks as he walks out. He walks over to you and rests an arm around your shoulder.

“I’m surprised you have a photo of me sitting here,” you tell him and look at him.

“Why?” Matthew furrows his eyebrows in confusion.

“I just, I don’t know.”

Matthew walks over to the couch and sits. You place the photo back on the stand and join him. You sit next to him on your right, and Matthew, again, rests an arm around your shoulder. “I have photos of the important people in my life.”

Matthew turns on the TV and begins flipping through Netflix. He selects one of your favorite movies, and you’re surprised he knows it, but then again, Matthew seems to know more about you than you realized.

As the movie continues, you and Matthew move closer and closer together to the point where you’re cuddled into him and your head moves in sync with Matthew’s breathing. The warmth that Matthew’s body exudes and the pattern of his breaths put you to sleep. When Matthew notices you’ve fallen asleep, he doesn’t want to wake you, so he tightens his hold on you and grabs the blanket that was sitting over the couch (he silently thanks his mom for making him put it there), and he places it on you. He softly kisses your forehead with a soft, ”goodnight, Yn.”

. . .

The next morning, after you’ve woken up, eaten breakfast that Matthew made for you, and left for the day, Matthew was on his way to the Saddledome for the exit interviews of the season. It didn’t end the way the team wanted, but they fought tooth and nail until the last game, and they should be proud of that.

As Matthew walks into the locker room, he has a soft smile on his face of pure bliss.

“So, what did you and Yn do last night?” Noah teases when he sees his teammate. “You’re never one to turn down a night out.”

“I didn’t go out because Yn didn’t want to. I think she was overwhelmed with meeting everyone, and I just wanted her to be comfortable.”

“Wow, Matthew, look at you maturing for the better,” Mark teases. He was waiting for the day that Matthew would meet a girl and act this way for her.

“Whatever,” Matthew rolls his eyes.

“Matthew’s in looooove,” someone teases and everyone else laughs in response. Matthew, again, just rolls his eyes in response. He had no other response.

Matthew only wishes that the person he was in love with was him, too.

. . .

You’re standing outside Matthew’s apartment door with your dress in your hand with a bag of the things you needed to get ready over your shoulder. You took a deep breath. You weren’t sure why you were so nervous, but you were. You were about to ring the doorbell, but Matthew opened the door first.

“How did you know I was here?” you ask as you walk into his apartment.

“I mean, I had to buzz you into the building, so I was waiting for you,” Matthew says as if it were obvious.

“Oh.”

“You can shower first. I probably take less time than you to get ready, so you can shower first.”

You nod. “Okay, can I hang up my dress in your closet?”

“Yeah, of course. What color is it? I probably should have asked before, so that we could match.”

You smile. “It’s a lavender color. I doubt you own anything lavender.”

“My mom bought me a lavender dress shirt for Christmas, so, yes, I do own something lavender.”

You giggle to yourself softly and head into his bedroom to hand up your dress. You walk into his washroom and set your things there. “Thank you, Matthew.”

“No need to thank me,” he tells you. “I left you towels and stuff. Just let me know when I can shower, okay?”

You nod. You’re not sure why you’re suddenly at a loss for words. What was it with Matthew?

After you showered, Matthew told you that, if you were comfortable, you could use the washroom as he showered. You told him it was fine and began styling your hair just as Matthew was showering. You were halfway done when you heard Matthew turn off the water. You watch him from the corner of your eye as he grabs the towel from behind the shower curtain. You try to calm your breathing as you watch Matthew step out of the shower with the towel wrapped low on his hips and his broad shoulders and chest lined with water droplets. He stands next to you and begins to moisturize his face. You feel your face warm as you stand next to him.

Matthew walks out of the washroom, but he stops at the door and turns to you. “I’ll get ready in my bedroom, and you can get ready here. Just let me know when you’re ready, and I’ll let you change in the bedroom.”

“Thanks, Matthew.”

“Sure,” he says and takes one step out of the washroom before stopping again. “Hey, yn?”

“Yes?” you turn to him.

“Your hair looks really pretty.”

“I haven’t finished, yet,” you point out.

“Fine, but I know for a fact that you’re going to look so incredibly beautiful.”

. . .

You put on your shoes and look at yourself once more in the mirror. You observe the way you look and take a deep breath. You take your steps out of the bedroom, and Matthew stands when he hears the clack of your heels. Matthew takes a deep breath, getting ready to see how beautiful you will undoubtedly look.

“Hey,” you say and stand in front of Matthew. You smile, and your breath stops when you see Matthew. He’s wearing a lavender shirt that matches your dress with a black tie, jacket, and pants. His clothes fit him perfectly, and it displays his body just the way clothes should.

“Hey,” he replies, and his breath stops, too. You were beautiful. The lavender gown hung on your body perfectly, and it accentuated each and every curve of your body perfectly. The color brought out your eyes, and they shone in the light. The dim light of Matthew’s apartment reflected off the design and details of your dress that Matthew knew he was going to be speechless when the light of the ballroom truly lit you up. “You’re beautiful, Yn. Gorgeous, yn!”

“Thank you,” you say bashfully and walk over to your fake boyfriend. You place your hands on his chest and straighten his tie. “You look amazing, too, Matthew.”

Matthew’s breath is shallow as you run your hands on his chest. His heart is beating through his chest, and he knows that he’s going to have to use all his energy and brainpower not to stare at you the entire night. You stop and rest your hands on his chest. “Ready to go?” you ask.

Matthew audibly swallows at your touch. “Yeah,” he says in a low voice. He takes your hand and leads you towards the door. “Did you want to put your stuff in your car and drive home, or do you want to just stay the night and drive home in the morning?”

“Can I stay the night?”

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” Matthew won’t admit it, but he wanted you to stay the night.

As Matthew drives to the location of the Gala, he continues taking peeks at you. He isn’t sure what he’s done to get someone as beautiful as you as his date, but he’s thanking any and every higher being for blessing him with you.

Throughout the entire night, Matthew has to force himself to leave you for moments every now and then to do his job. It was difficult. He wanted to be right by your side and show the world how lucky he got to be right next to you. You were the star, and Matthew was one of your many admirers. When Matthew wasn’t talking to donors and was right next to you, he found it difficult to speak. When you’d ask a question or make a comment, Matthew would take a few seconds to reply because of you. Your laughter, your smile, and your perfume were intoxicating, and Matthew wasn’t sure how he would make it through the rest of the night.

Annica wanted to grab another drink from the bar, so you went with her. Matthew, reluctantly, removed his hand from the small of your back and watched you lovingly as you went off with Annica. When he lost sight of you, Matthew finally turned his attention back to the group at the table.

“Yeah, you’re definitely not whipped for her and in love with her,” Elias says.

“Matthew not in love, who?” Noah jokes.

“Oh, shut up,” Matthew says. It didn’t matter if he was in love with you because you weren’t in love with him.

“Look, the minute Yn comes back, Matthew is going to put a hand on her, either on her shoulder or on her back, smile down at her, and pull her close to him. I guarantee it,” Jacob says. He was watching the two of you interact the entire night, and he knows that this will happen as it happened every time you and Matthew got separated.

“I see your point, and I raise you with this: he’s going to lean down and kiss Yn on the forehead,” Johnny adds.

“I see both your points, and I raise you with this: Matthew’s going to look at Yn, and she’s going to look at him, and they will both smile widely at each other,” Elias points out.

“Are you guys betting again?” Mark asks as he settles himself at the table as he’s making his rounds.

“Kind of. We’re trying to figure out how Yn and Matthew are going to act when she returns,” Noah explains.

“Oh, drop the subject,” Matthew says, annoyed.

“I’m not sure what has been said, but I guess that Matthew will be so enthralled by his date that everything in the world will fade away,” Mark says, “because that’s what a person in love does.”

“Look, I’m not in love with Yn, okay? Can we just drop the subject before Yn and Annica return?” Matthew replies exasperatedly.

Everyone agrees, but they all know that they will be monitoring your and Matthew’s actions when you return. Just a few moments later, you and Annica are returning to the table with a refill of drinks. You settle in next to Matthew and place a glass of wine down for you and a glass of beer for him.

“You were empty, so I got you a refill,” you tell him.

“Thank you,” he says to you and places a hand on the small of your back where it was before you left. You lean in further to him, and Matthew smiles down at you as you engage in conversation with Mark. Matthew places a soft kiss on your forehead, and you look up and smile at Matthew who smiles back at you. Elias mentions Matthew’s name, but Matthew is too soaked up in your presence to notice. The group is shocked. Every single one of them guessed correctly what Matthew would do when you returned.

“Well, if you’ll excuse me,” Mark begins, “I’m going to go ask the Mrs. for a dance.”

Elias and Annica leave, too, and head to the dance floor. You stand there awkwardly wondering if you and Matthew should dance. Matthew leans his head towards yours and whispers, “Do you want to dance, Yn?”

You look at Matthew and nod with a smile. Matthew takes your hand and leads you to the dance floor. He takes one hand in his and the other rests on the bare skin of your upper back. You place your other hand not in Matthew’s on his shoulder and move close to him. You both sway to the music that’s playing. As you both continue to dance, Matthew’s hand draws soft patterns on your skin sending electric shocks through your body. As the song comes to an end, the bubble you and Matthew found yourself in slowly pops, and you return to reality. It didn’t matter how special dancing with each other was, you were both not truly dating. You were living a lie, and you knew it would hurt when, one day, the ruse was over. You only hoped that you could salvage your feelings and not hurt your heart too much. You weren’t sure, though, what you were trying to save your heart from.

. . .

“Ready to head home?” Matthew whispers into your ear as you’re talking with some of the WAGs. You nod and say goodbye to the ladies. Matthew wraps his suit jacket around your shoulders as he notices you’re cold and takes your hand in his. “Thank you for being my date.”

You smile. “Thank you for taking me. I had a lot of fun.”

“I had a lot of fun with the beautiful person as my date.”

“Oh, beautiful person? Who may they be?” you tease.

“They’re you, of course. The most beautiful of people.”

“You flatter me, Matthew.”

“You deserve all the compliments in the world, Yn,” Matthew squeezes your hand and opens the car door for you. You smile in gratitude as he closes the door and heads to the driver's side. You smile in happiness at the evening you had. Matthew intertwines his hand with yours as he drives. With the late hour and the comfort of Matthew’s hand, you feel your eyes drift closed. You didn’t mean to fall asleep, but you did.

“Yn? You have to wake up; we’re back at my apartment, now,” Matthew says softly as he strokes your face softly to wake you.

You slowly open your eyes, and your lips quirk up at the sound of Matthew’s soft voice. You nod and move to get out of the car.

“No, no, I’ll get the door for you,” Matthew interrupts. You’re too tired to argue, so you just let Matthew rush out of the car to open the door for you. Matthew leads you back to his apartment and ushers you into his bedroom. “You can sleep here, and I’ll take the guest room.”

“No, Matthew, I’ll take the guest room,” you interject.

“No, Yn. You did me the biggest favor by coming as my date tonight, so you can take my bed.”

“Matthew —” you were going to point out that you were taking him to Shelly’s wedding, but he wasn’t going to change his mind.

“Yn, just take the bed, okay? You can grab a shirt and sweatpants to wear to bed.”

You nod, and Matthew walks out of the room with clothes for himself. He closes the door quietly behind him as he heads to the guest room. His one wish was that he was sleeping in that bed with you instead of you there alone.

. . .

“Yn, come on, we have to go,” Matthew says, standing in your kitchen and waiting for you to be ready to leave.

“Just give me a moment. We’ve got quite a bit of time, still.”

“You know, you’re the one who told me I had to be here at exactly this time, Yn, so you should be ready to go.”

You walk out of your bedroom lugging your suitcase and purse. Matthew rushes over to you and takes your suitcase out of your hand. In the process, Matthew’s hand brushes over yours, and you hear your heartbeat in your ears as the heat rushes to your face. “Let me just make sure that all the windows are closed and that I unplugged everything.”

When you return and are completely ready to go, you lock the door to your apartment and head to Matthew’s car. He opens the trunk to place your suitcase in, and as usual, Matthew opens the car door for you.

“You know, you don’t have to always open the car door for me, right?” you tell him.

“Just doing what any boyfriend would,” Matthew points out. “Fake or not.”

“Right,” you say. It’s been a while since you or he pointed out the fakeness of your relationship, and you almost forgot. Almost. Matthew turns to you and opens his mouth to say something, but he isn’t sure how to put his thoughts into words. How is he supposed to ask if you’re upset that he pointed out that you were both fake dating despite that being the obvious title between you two? You reach to turn on some music to try to ease the awkwardness in the car. You put on Taylor Swift, and Matthew groans in response.

“You know the way Taryn and I were growing up; I can’t believe you’re shocked.”

“I thought you’d show me some mercy, you know as your boyfriend?”

“I show zero mercy.”

. . .

Going through checking in and security was a breeze. You got on the plane fine just, but the nerves immediately hit as the pilot announced that the doors were closing. Your leg begins to bounce up and down, and you begin to fiddle with your fingers. Matthew glances down at you and notices your nerves.

“You’ve been on a plane before, right?” he whispers.

You nod. “Just scary sometimes.”

He nods and places his hand on your thigh causing it to stop bouncing. You feel all your nerves suddenly dissipate. “I’m here, okay? Don’t worry.”

“Okay,” you whisper back. Matthew lifts the armrest between you both and scoots closer to you. He pulls you into his side, so you’re leaning against him. You rest your head on his shoulder, and Matthew takes your hand in his.

“It’s not a long flight. You’ll be okay.”

. . .

“Hey, you have to wake up,” Matthew whispers as he strokes your head softly. Your eyes flutter open. You didn’t realize you fell asleep on Matthew during the flight. “Sleep well?”

“Yeah,” you yawn.

Matthew smiles softly at you. “You slept through the flight, so that’s good.”

“Oh, we landed?”

He chuckles. “Yeah, let’s get off this plane, what do you say?”

You grab your purse from under the seat in front of you, and Matthew grabs his carry-on from the overhead bin. He packed significantly more than you because he wasn’t flying home with you. Matthew would be staying in St. Louis until he flies back to Calgary for training camp.

Matthew extends his hand for you, and you take it. He walks into the aisle first with one hand holding his bag and the other behind him holding your hand. You both exit the plane and head towards customs and baggage claims.

You take a deep breath once you’re in line for customs. You knew this day would come, but you didn’t realize the nerves that would come with it. Would you be able to survive this week with Matthew?

. . .

“You go in first and get us settled; I’ll pay for the taxi,” you tell Matthew when your taxi pulls up to the hotel.

“Nope, you go in; I pay,” Matthew counters.

“Matthew —”

“I am your boyfriend, no? Just let me do this.”

“Okay,” you relent softly and head into the hotel with your luggage in tow. You head to the check-in desk. There isn’t a line, and you get your room information and key quickly. You meet Matthew at where he’s standing and lead him towards the elevator door. You both wait for the elevator in silence and walk inside in the same silence. You lead him towards your eighth-floor room and walk inside. “I made sure to request two beds, so we don’t have to share.”

“Smart,” Matthew says. You unlock the door and walk inside. You groan when you see the layout of the room and what it contains — one bed.

“Oh,” you mumble. “Only one bed.”

“What? Oh,” Matthew says as he stands next to you.

“Let me call down and see if they have another room for us.”

Matthew nods. He was frozen solid at the thought of sleeping next to you. He watches as you walk over to the phone and call down to the front desk. You tell them your issue, and Matthew watches as you furrow your eyebrows in frustration. You end the call with a “thank you, it’s no problem” and look to Matthew.

“What’s the verdict?” Matthew asks.

“They have three wedding parties staying here and no extra room with two beds for us.”

“I can sleep on the floor,” Matthew suggests.

You shake your head. “We’re both adults. I’m sure we can sleep in the same bed without any issues arising.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Matthew breathes out. His throat is dry and the words are barely forming on his tongue. You nod towards Matthew and begin unpacking. You hang up your dresses in the closet and line your shoes against the wall.

“Make sure you hang up your suit, so it doesn’t get wrinkly,” you remind Matthew as you head to the washroom to unpack your toiletries. Matthew nods and does what you say. He isn’t sure why he’s suddenly so nervous and clammy, but he figures it’s because you are both going to be sleeping in the same bed. You both move in sync with each other as you settle into the hotel room. Once Matthew has finished, he settles on the couch and turns the TV on. You awkwardly get on the couch, and Matthew chuckles at you.

It would be a restful night, right?

. . .

After meeting with the rest of the bridal party and making sure everything was perfect for the rehearsal the next day and the wedding the day after, you head into your hotel room and see Matthew sitting on the bed.

“Hey,” you say as you get ready to shower.

“How were your preparations?” he asks.

“Not bad. I’m tired, but it’s all worth it if Shelly gets the wedding of her dreams.”

Matthew nods.

“I’m going to take a shower and then go to bed; if that’s okay?”

“That’s perfectly fine,” Matthew replies as you head to the washroom to shower. While in the shower, you did everything in your power to prolong your time there because you knew that when you finished, you’d be going to sleep. You’d be going to be sleeping in the same bed as Matthew.

Once you’ve showered and gotten ready for the night, you walk out of the washroom and see Matthew standing next to the bed.

“I pulled out the blankets and stuff when I heard the tap turn off,” Matthew bashfully tells you when you notice the bed. “I figured you’re tired and stuff, so I was trying to help.”

You smile softly at the man. “Thank you, Matthew.”

He nods at your words. “What do we do now? Should we call down for more pillows and make, like, a pillow wall?”

“Um, I don’t think we have to do that. It’s big enough where we probably won’t get in each other’s way.”

“Yeah, probably,” Matthew lies. He isn’t sure if now is the right time to mention he’s an active sleeper and moves around a lot. “You can get in first.”

“Okay,” you say and move towards the bed. You get under the covers and sigh at the comfort of the bed. You lay on your back, a position that isn’t the most comfortable for you. When you’re done, Matthew gets under the covers, and he, too, lays on his back. You don’t think it’s the most comfortable for him, either. You lean over to turn the lights off, so the entire room is cascaded in darkness. “Good night, Matthew.”

“Night, Yn.”

You both lay there in awkward silence and stare up at the ceiling. What were you supposed to do? Were you supposed to talk to each other until the other fell asleep? Was it okay to face each other as you slept? What happened if you woke up in a compromising position? Would your friendship (was this a friendship?) be awkward? What would the morning be like? How awkward would it be? Should you be thinking about the fact that Matthew wasn’t wearing a shirt next to you? No, you shouldn’t be, but here you are thinking about Matthew’s bare chest.

You took a deep breath and hoped for sleep to easily overcome you.

Thankfully, it did. You fell asleep, and when your alarm went off, you were surprised you slept through the night. It was one of the best nights of sleep of your life. The pillows and blankets exuded this comfort and warmth that cocooned you and made it easy to fall asleep. When you opened your eyes, you were shocked by the sight in front of you. You blinked your eyes to make sure you weren’t still dreaming. Nope, you definitely weren’t dreaming.

Matthew Tkachuk, your fake boyfriend and boy who has hated you since you were ten, was cuddling you into his chest. Not only that, his arms were wound tightly around your waist with your forehead comfortably on his chest. Both of your legs were intertwined with each other, and your arms were grasping his waist. No wonder you slept so well.

“Oh, good morning,” Matthew says quietly. You look up at him and notice that it looks like he’s been up for a little bit.

“How long have you been awake?” you ask.

“Wow, no good morning? I’m hurt,” Matthew pouts.

“Good morning, Matthew; how long have you been awake?”

“About half an hour?”

“And you didn’t wake me knowing we were sleeping like this?” you say annoyed and slowly pull away. Once you’re fully out of his grasp, you wish you remained in his grasp. Matthew’s body exuded this comfort and warmth that made you happy and comfortable. You wished you could return to Matthew’s hold and embrace without it seeming weird.

“You were very comfortable, it looked like, and you seemed to be sleeping peacefully, and I figured you’d be more upset if I woke you, so I didn’t. Are you upset that I didn’t wake you?”

You ponder over his last question for a moment. No, you weren’t upset that he woke you. “No, it’s okay. I just slightly overreacted.”

“No need to apologize. You reacted just fine.”

You nod. “I have to get ready for wedding stuff, but we can go down to get breakfast together.”

“Yes, whatever you say,” Matthew replies and watches you get out of bed and towards your suitcase and washroom. Matthew wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but he was up for hours. He got up hours before because he was warm and needed to turn the AC up higher, but when he realized the situation you were both in, Matthew refused to get up. When else would Matthew be able to hold the person he’s been in love with his entire life who doesn’t love him back?

. . .

“You have the rehearsal tonight, right?” Matthew asks from outside the washroom as you’re doing your makeup. He walks over to the dresser and begins looking at the jewelry you’ve laid across it.

“Yeah, sorry that I can’t bring you. It’s a small thing with just Shelly’s family and bridal party. That means, though, that our big fake dating debut will be tomorrow at the reception,” you say from the washroom. “What are you going to do?”

“I’m having dinner with my parents at a restaurant around the corner. I know you said that you have a ride to and from where you have to be, but if you need a ride, just call me, okay?”

You smile to yourself from the washroom where Matthew can’t see you. There was something about his concern that made you smile like crazy. “Okay, Matthew. Thank you.”

“No need to thank me,” he begins. “I am your boyfriend after all.” He mutters under his breath the word “fake” with a scowl. He hated being just your fake boyfriend.

You begin to pack your things back into your toiletries bag so as not to leave a mess, and you walk out of the washroom. “How do I look?” you ask when you’re in full view of Matthew. He immediately looks up from where he was staring at your necklace, and his jaw drops.

“Wow, you — I, wow! You’re gorgeous, Yn,” Matthew says with wonder and awe in his eyes. You take your hands and place them on the hem of your skirt and look down. Matthew walks over to you and takes one of your hands and twirls you. You giggle in response, and Matthew catches you with his hands on your waist. “You’re beautiful, Yn.”

“Thank you,” you whisper. Matthew places a soft kiss on your forehead and takes a step back to admire you.

“I get to be your date tomorrow? Aren’t I the luckiest guy on the planet?”

You giggle again and make your way to the dresser to put on the necklace sitting there. It’s a matching necklace you and Shelly both bought at the age of 18. “Can you help me put it on?”

Matthew’s Adam’s apple bobs in his throat as he soaks you in and your request. He nods and takes the necklace gently from you. You turn around, so your back is to him, and Matthew places the necklace around your neck. He fiddles with the clasp and whispers a soft “there you go” when he’s finished. You turn around and look into his eyes.

“Thank you, Matthew,” you say nervously but hide it with a smile. You’re not sure why you’re nervous, but you suddenly are. Maybe it was the intimacy of the act Matthew just performed for you. “Have fun with your family tonight.”

“Have fun at the rehearsal! Text me when you’re on your way back, okay?”

“Okay,” you reply as you slip on your shoes and make your way towards the door. “Night, Matthew.”

You walk out the door before Matthew could respond. “Night,” he says even though it’s pointless. In his head, Matthew is replaying the vision of you walking out in your blush pink dress and how beautiful you looked. Matthew knows that whoever gets to be the one to call you their girlfriend will be the luckiest person in the world. He only wishes he were the one.

. . .

Matthew walks into the restaurant his family picked, still reeling from how beautiful you looked. It was at that moment when Matthew saw you when he realized he was truly gone. Matthew has dug himself into a hole that he knows he’s never going to get out of. Now that Matthew has experienced you as a date, in his arms in his apartment, at one of his games, kissing you, and sleeping next to you, Matthew knows that no one else will compare to you. He knows that when this ruse is over, he will be heartbroken beyond repair. Is he choosing to do something about it? Nope, not at all because to him, if he can have even a little bit of you, even if it’s under the guise of being fake, then he’ll take it.

He sits at the table his parents and siblings were already at and greets them. It’s not even two seconds after he sits before they all corner him about dating you.

“So, you and Yn, huh?” Brady smirks.

“Don’t start, please,” Matthew warns.

“I’ll start, then,” Taryn prompts. “I can’t believe you finally got Yn to date you after you’ve harbored a crush on her for all these years and hated her.”

“Can we not?” Matthew asks.

“Nope, not happening, we are going to question you about every single detail. Who knows, maybe you two will be the next ones to get married.”

“Okay, Taryn, take a step back,” Keith chuckles.

“I think you should take a step forward,” Brady prompts. “Considering how head over heels Matthew has been, Taryn’s right.”

Matthew just rolls his eyes and sighs. “Can we just order and have a normal meal, please?”

“This conversation isn’t over yet,” Taryn warns, and Matthew just rolls his eyes.

After deciding what to eat and ordering, Taryn was true to her word and began to question Matthew about his dating life. “How did it start? What was your first date like? Did Yn slap you when you first asked her out? I need details, Matthew!”

“Did you ever consider that Yn and I want privacy about our relationship?” Matthew snaps.

“Right, but this is the weirdest pairing ever, so I feel like I should get something out of you,” Taryn defends herself.

“There isn’t much to say. A few months back, Yn called me saying she needed a familiar face because she was homesick, so we met up. We realized that we liked each other and here we are.”

Chantal gives her son a curious look. That was the exact statement and explanation that you gave her when she called you a few weeks after she found out about you and Matthew. Either that was the reality of the situation or you both practiced this many times. Chantal thinks it’s probably the latter because she knows her son. She knows that if you and Matthew were for real, then he’d be telling everyone how much he liked you.

“That’s it? I thought there’d be more! Something more romantic or something,” Taryn pouts, and Matthew just shrugs. He wishes he could have made a more romantic story for how you both started dating because that’s what you deserve, but you wouldn’t have any of it.

“I agree with Taryn,” Brady adds. “Yn, as we know, is a hopeless romantic. I’m surprised you haven’t stepped up your game to match Yn’s romantic side.”

“Look, maybe we do have a romantic relationship, but we just want to keep it private,” Matthew growls.

“Alright, let’s just let the topic go,” Chantal interjects and inserts an out for Matthew. “Will you be sitting with us tomorrow?”

“During the ceremony, probably because Yn is part of the procession and all that. I’m not sure during the reception, though, because I think it’s open seating.”

“Okay, that’s understandable,” Chantal says just as their meals arrive. Matthew lets out a sigh of relief. He was able to keep the story about your ruse straight and evade any questions that could poke holes into the story. He could only wish that what was happening between you two was real.

. . .

Just as Matthew was getting interrogated by his family, your brother and Shelly were on their way to interrogate you. It was after the rehearsal, and everyone in attendance was at the restaurant catching up. Your brother walks over to you and whispers that Shelly wants to talk to you. Being the maid of honor, you figured that she needed help with last-minute wedding preparations. You weren’t expecting an ambush.

Your brother leads you to where Shelly’s sitting, and you expect him to leave. However, when he sits right next to you with Shelly across from you, you know that you’re getting interrogated.

“Don’t you have to go be with your pregnant wife?” you ask your brother pointedly hoping to get out of the conversation.

“No, she wants this information as much as I do,” he retorts.

“You and Tkachuk?” Shelly shrieks. Some of the other guests turn to the commotion but turn away when they see it’s only the bride getting excited about something. “I always knew he had the hots for you, but I wasn’t sure if he’d ever do anything about it. Wow, I’m impressed it didn’t take more time for it to happen.”

“What are you talking about?” Matthew never had the hots for you. This situation was purely platonic and aiding each other's social calendars.

“Oh, come on,” Shelly rolls her eyes. “You have to have known that Matthew was crazy in love with you in high school.”

“And that explains his treatment of me?”

“It’s what insecure guys do when they crush on someone who is way out of their league,” your brother explains. “For what it’s worth, you are way out of Matthew’s league, and the only reason that I haven’t confronted him is that I know him. But still, Matthew? Why him?”

“How did it start? Is he a good kisser? Does he make you smile like crazy? Is he the super romantic boyfriend that you’ve always wanted? Is he good in bed?” Shelby begins but is stopped by your brother making a disgusted look. He definitely didn’t want to think about you and Matthew sleeping together. “Sorry, I forgot you were here.”

“It’s alright,” he grumbles, and Shelly throws you a wink knowing that she’d ask you about this later.

“The other questions are still valid, though.”

“It started because I was homesick. I realized that I missed home and needed a familiar face, so I called Matthew. From there, we realized that there was something there between us,” you explain hoping that your brother and Shelly would accept the story.

“More like you finally realized it,” Shelly corrects. You were about to contradict her words, but wouldn’t that break the facade you and Matthew have built? “What about the rest of the stuff?”

You shrug.

“That’s it? There’s nothing else you can say about it?”

“I like keeping my relationship private,” you say softly hoping it came across as confident despite the guilt you felt lying to your brother and best friend.

“Sure, and did this happen before you and I talked about bringing a date to the wedding?” Shelly questions further. She knows that if you liked someone and were crazy about them, then you’d be talking about this person constantly. She isn’t buying the story.

“We started talking before, but we made our relationship official shortly after your call,” you lie, again. You make a mental note to tell Matthew this so that when Shelly did interrogate him, he’d have that information.

“But you insisted you didn’t have anyone to bring as a date,” Shelly points out.

“You also called me if any of my friends would want to bring you,” your brother points out smugly. You glare at him and kick him under the table.

“I wasn’t sure if bringing Matthew would be like cheating because I knew he was invited to the wedding,” you quickly retorted. Would that be enough to have them lay off you?

“Sure, sure,” Shelly begins. “Look, if your relationship is of convenience, you know, for pleasure, you can say that.”

What? “What?” you and your brother speak at the same time. She wasn’t interrogating you because she thought you and Matthew were faking. She thought you and Matthew had a friends-with-benefits relationship! Somehow, that calms your nerves and helps you relax.

“Oh, so it’s a real relationship,” Shelly says with a grin. “I was wrong?”

“Yes, it’s a real relationship,” you laugh.

“I mean, if it were a pleasure-seeking based relationship, then I’d also be okay with that because you do need to make yourself happy,” Shelly winks.

“Okay, I’m done here,” your brother immediately gets up and walks over to his wife. You and Shelly both giggle.

“Are you happy?” she asks.

You nod. “Yeah, I’m happy.”

“That’s good. I have to get back to bride duties. I know that I was shocked when you told me you were dating Tkachuk earlier and didn’t react the way you wanted me to, but I only did it because I don’t want you to get hurt. He treated you like crap when you were in high school, and I don’t want him to go back to that version of himself. You seem happy, though, so ignore me.”

Shelly kisses your forehead and finds her fiance. You knew you weren’t going to get hurt because what you were both doing was merely for show. You both weren’t actually dating, so there were no feelings to be hurt, but one thing stuck out to you. Matthew liked you in high school? You weren’t sure why that unsettled you so much, but it did. Why would he have treated you like crap if he liked you? Would you and Matthew hurt each other? What happens when you both end this ruse? You know you’ll miss the way Matthew could always put a smile on your face and bring out giggle after giggle from you. You’d miss the way his smile or hand in yours would make your heart burst and make you warm inside and out. Were you on the path to getting hurt?

. . .

As Keith and Brady are arguing about the bill, Matthew and Chantal step outside to wait for them, and Taryn is in the washroom.

“So, you and Yn?” Chantal begins.

“Mom,” Matthew groans.

“I find it funny that the story that you told tonight to us is exactly what Yn told me a few weeks ago.”

“It’s what happened, so it makes sense that Yn told you the same thing,” Matthew lies.

“Yeah, but it was the exact same story, Matthew.”

Matthew looks at his mother, and he knows that she’s read through fabrication. “We both needed dates for things, so we thought we’d pretend to date to make it easier on both of us,” Matthew mumbles.

Chantal looks at her son and sees the forlorn expression on his face. “But you like her.”

“I’m pretty sure I’m in love with her, mom,” Matthew says sadly as if he finally realized the hopelessness of the situation.

“Why don’t you just tell her?”

“Because, mom, it’s like Taryn was saying earlier and why it shocks you so much. I treated Yn like crap when we were growing up, and I’m pretty sure she hates me.”

“But you love her.”

“I never hated her; I just didn’t know what to do with my feelings. I’m screwed, aren’t I?”

“I don’t know,” Chantal admits. Her heart breaks as she watches her son run his hands through his hair sadly as he admits to feelings. “I haven’t seen you both around each other, but who knows, maybe Yn does feel the same way.”

“No, I know for a fact she doesn’t. It’s okay, at least I have this,” Matthew says. Keith and Brady walk out of the restaurant at that moment with Taryn close on their heels. Keith slaps Matthew’s back and asks what Matthew was talking about. Matthew shrugs it off with a curt “nothing.” Matthew didn’t want the rest of his family to know about the reality of his dating life. He also knows that you’d rather not let that information come out.

“On Sunday, you and Yn should come over for dinner,” Chantal suggests. “Like tradition.”

“I’ll ask Yn,” Matthew answers.

“It’s not a request, Matthew,” Chantal says and walks with her husband. Well, then you and Matthew are going to dinner at the Tkachuk’s on Sunday.

. . .

The next morning after the rehearsal, you had to force yourself to pull yourself out of Matthew’s embrace. You’ve both woken up in the same entanglement as the morning before, but this time, you liked it. You enjoyed the warmth and comfort his hold produced. You groan as you get out of bed and walk to the washroom in the cold away from Matthew. You had to be up early to get things ready for the makeup artist, hairdresser, and photographer. You briefly washed your face and brushed your teeth before throwing on a pair of leggings and your “I Do Crew” t-shirt that was made for you. You grab your dress, shoes, and jewelry before heading over closer to the bed to grab your phone and purse. You place everything down and kiss Matthew on the forehead. You smiled at how peaceful and cute he looked as he was still sleeping.

If only it were real.

. . .

When Matthew’s alarm went off a few hours later, he moved closer to your pillow hoping to hold you for a little bit longer. When his head hits your cold pillow, Matthew’s chipper mood deflates when he realizes you’re not gone. He knows that you had to leave early for wedding preparations, but it still hurts knowing that you weren’t there to wake up next to him. In the past few days, Matthew has gotten used to waking up next to you. He isn’t sure what he’s going to do when you both return to your normal lives and he can no longer wake up next to you.

. . .

“Well, you look nice, Matthew,” Chantal says as Matthew sits in the row next to his family. Matthew straightens his tie. His leg is bouncing up and down in nervousness. Chantal observes her son from the corner of her eye and smiles at his actions.

“Have you seen Yn yet today?” Chantal leans over and asks. Matthew shakes his head no; he was nervous to see you. Matthew got a glimpse of your bridesmaid’s dress, and he knows you’re going to be just as beautiful, if not more, than the night of the rehearsal.

Matthew and his family continue to chat quietly, and everyone in the crowd abruptly ends their conversations as Shelly’s groom heads to the front of the aisle. In a matter of seconds, the orchestra begins to play the “Wedding March”, and everyone turns their heads to the aisle awaiting the procession. The groomsmen process down the aisle and take their places. Following the groomsmen are the bridesmaids. As each woman processes down the aisle and takes their places, Matthew is confused when he doesn’t see you among them. Matthew assumes, though, that because you’re the maid of honor, you have something special to do.

Matthew’s suspicions are confirmed when you walk down the aisle in your blush, floor-length, off-the-shoulder dress with your right hand holding the hand of the flower girl and your left hand holding a bouquet. As you walk down the aisle, Matthew is entranced by you. He stops breathing and blinking as he watches you. He watches as you lead the flower girl to her place and stand behind her. When everyone’s attention is turned to Shelly and her father walking down the aisle, Matthew’s attention is focused on you. He knew you were beautiful, but you were beautiful. There isn’t any difference between the two words, Matthew knows, but the latter word somehow means more. Matthew keeps telling himself it’s the dress, but he knows it’s not just the dress. It’s the person wearing the dress. It’s the way your face glowed from happiness at the new couple and the makeup you had on. It was the way your hair flowed impeccably in the breeze. It’s the way you looked amazing in that dress that had Matthew frozen. You were the most beautiful person Matthew has ever seen, and he didn’t want to look away.

When you catch Matthew’s eye, he swears he died and came back to life. You smile softly at him, but he doesn’t do anything. He just stands there staring at you as the officiant continues to talk. Chantal notices you trying to stifle a giggle and turns to her son to see if he had anything to do with it. When she sees Matthew just staring at you, she elbows him.

“Smile at her,” Chantal directs. That, it seemed, was what finally took Matthew out of his trance. He blinks and takes a deep breath right before sending you his signature smile. You shake your head playfully when you notice that Chantal had to remind him to smile and pay attention. You turn your attention back to the ceremony happening right in front of you as the officiant directs everyone to sit. You also try to ignore the hole it feels like Matthew (and the rest of the Tkachuks) were burning into the back of your head.

Because you were the maid of honor, you were one of the official witnesses and had to stand behind the bride. Through it all, Matthew was watching you. He was captivated by you, enamored by you. You met his eye a few times and had to force yourself not to laugh as a blush overcame his face and he turned away. Taryn, thinking that the next wedding she’d be attending was between you and Matthew, was watching the interactions between you two. The first time she watched you looked constipated as you tried to hide a giggle, she knew Matthew was the reason. After the second time, Taryn made sure to keep an eye on Matthew, too, so he could watch his reaction. Normally, in relationships, Matthew was confident, cocky, and full of himself. He was always the one to make the person he was dating speechless, shy, and look away bashfully. This time, though, you were the one in control, overtaking Matthew’s usual position. This time, Matthew was the one who was smiling bashfully and looking away whenever you’d meet his eye.

Taryn noticed that you stopped turning your attention to Matthew when the vows began to focus on the bride and groom. That doesn’t mean, though, that Matthew was paying attention to the happy couple. He was still watching you.

“Hey, Matthew,” Taryn leans over her mother and whispers.

That seems to take Matthew out of his trance as he rolls his eyes at his sister's words. “What?”

“Stop staring at your girlfriend. You’re trying to get her to marry you, not run away from you.”

“Taryn,” Chantal warns. Matthew doesn’t say anything except to stare ahead. This time, though, he doesn’t place his eyes on you. No, he places his eyes on the couple hoping to get his family off his case. He didn’t want to face the reality of the situation that Matthew wasn’t trying to get you to marry him despite him knowing you were the one. He hoped to ignore the true reason why Matthew was here as your date and not as a family friend. During the rest of the ceremony, Matthew doesn’t look at you once. He opts to look at the couple, the officiant, or the beauty of the outdoor venue. He hopes that by not looking at you, Matthew can escape the reality that he’s in love with you and you, it seems, are not.

When the ceremony ends and the couple walks down the aisle, you and the rest of the wedding party are getting ready to take photos during the Cocktail Hour. You try to make your way to find Matthew and see him because you missed him, but every time it seemed you had a chance, he was busy or was avoiding you.

Eventually, the Cocktail Hour was over and everyone was heading into the location of the reception. After you’ve made your rounds, you look around to see where Matthew was or your brother. You weren’t sure who you were going to sit with, but you were hoping to sit next to Matthew, though. You weren’t sure why Matthew was in a sour mood, but you knew you caused it. You only hoped he wasn’t too mad at you.

“Hey, you look beautiful,” Brady says as he walks up to you. He is holding a fresh drink in his hand, so you assume he was coming from the bar.

“Thank you,” you murmur, wondering if Matthew was around, too.

“Matthew, don’t you think so, too?” Brady says, and you turn your head to where Brady was directing his question to.

“Hi,” you whisper when your eyes lock with Matthew’s. You see anger in his eyes and are suddenly worried that Matthew is truly upset at you. However, Matthew’s face softens when you send him a soft smile, and the anger leaves his face.

“Are you sitting with us?” Brady asks.

“Of course, she’s sitting with us,” Matthew says and walks over to and wraps an arm around your waist. “She’s my girlfriend.”

You smile and let Matthew lead you to where his family is sitting. Matthew pulls out a chair for you to sit in, and he pushes it in for you. Matthew takes the seat next to you, and you’re suspicious that it was Brady’s when he grumbled about sitting in the chair next to you. Immediately upon sitting, Matthew places his hand on your thigh and scoots his chair closer to yours.

As the night carried on, Matthew never took his hand off your thigh, and he constantly whispered in your ear asking if you were okay. If you needed a refill on a drink, Matthew always went to the bar to get you a refill and insisted you shouldn’t have to get up. He always returned by placing the drink on the table and placing a kiss on your forehead.

When he returned with your third or fourth refill of the night, you smiled at him as he sat down and told him, “You know, I’m starting not to hate you anymore.”

Matthew looks at you sadly at your words. You still had animosity towards him? He thought he’s been working so hard to change your opinion of him, but it seems it's just barely working. You notice the strain and sadness in Matthew’s pout and wonder if you did something wrong. You place your hand on his thigh and look into his eyes. The minute your hand touched his thigh, Matthew was fine. It didn’t matter what you said because he knows he cares about you, and he knows that deep down, you care for him, too, despite your words.

“You okay?” you ask.

“Of course,” he says with a smile. “I’m sitting next to the prettiest person in the world; why wouldn’t I be okay?”

You smile at Matthew’s words and rest your head on his shoulder. What were you going to do when you and Matthew no longer could be like this? You knew you were going to miss it.

. . .

As the reception is nearing the final hours, everyone’s moods have turned more casual and laid back, including you and Matthew. Both of your chairs were right up against each other with you leaning heavily against Matthew with your head resting on his chest. His hand was wrapped around your shoulders and was rubbing small patterns on your shoulder. You and Matthew are talking to Brady and Taryn when a slow song, one of your favorites, begins to play. You perk up slightly, wondering if you should ask Matthew to dance with you.

“Hey, Yn, isn’t this one of your favorite songs?” Brady instigates.

“Oh, yeah, I guess it is,” you reply, and Matthew looks down at you softly.

“Do you want to dance, Yn?” Matthew asks. You nod and slowly pull away so he can lead you to the dance floor. You and Matthew position yourselves so that your hands are resting just below his neck with his resting on your mid-back. You both sway to the song, and you’re both entranced with each other’s eyes. As the song continues, Matthew’s hands slowly rise up to the bare skin of your upper back. He begins to stroke soft patterns on your skin, and it sends chills up your spine. You pull yourself closer to Matthew to try to use his warmth to evade the chills. You run your fingers through the hair at the nape of Matthew’s neck, and you see his Adam’s apple bob in his throat.

As the song comes to an end, Matthew licks his lips and leans his head towards yours. He pulls his head back slightly. Was this appropriate? He didn’t have the chance to further contemplate kissing you because you pulled away and led him back to the table. His one true regret that evening is that he didn’t kiss you. He wanted to kiss you. He wanted to kiss you badly, and he wanted nothing more than to kiss you and tell you how much he loves you.

He knows he’s dug himself into a hole he will never get out of.

. . .

“What are you doing today?” Matthew asks as you’re getting ready for the day. Based on his tone, you know something’s up, and you have to agree with whatever it is.

“Why?” you ask nervously.

“Would you want to go to my parents’ house for Sunday dinner? Like pastimes?”

You turn to face Matthew and smirk at him. “I feel like I don’t have a choice here.”

“My mom said that I had to bring you, no negotiations, so yeah, you have no choice.”

You laugh. “Okay, I can go to your parents’ for Sunday dinner, but I know my parents and brother won’t be there. They have plans tonight.”

“What are you going to do for the rest of the day, then?” Matthew asks knowing he wants to spend the day with you.

“I’m going to visit some friends from high school; what are you doing?”

“Just hanging around. Nothing much.”

“Okay then, why don’t I meet you back here, and then we can head over to your parents’ house?”

“Perfect,” Matthew says and turns away from you to go shower. On his face, he’s wearing a wide smile. He only hoped that you were just as excited as he was.

. . .

Unlike when you were growing up, you didn’t stay outside with the boys while Chantal and Keith got dinner together. This time, you and Taryn were in the kitchen helping Chantal cook while Brady and Matthew were out at the grill helping Keith. Now and then, you’d look out the backyard window and notice Matthew. Sometimes, he’d meet your eye and wink at you, and your face would grow warm. Or, sometimes, he wouldn’t be looking at you, but you saw him turn his head away as if he was just looking at you. Sometimes, he didn’t notice you looking at all, and you loved watching him interact with his dad and brother.

“He seems lighter when he’s around you,” Chantal comments after noticing you and Matthew staring at each other for the gazillionth time that afternoon.

“How so?” you ask.

“He’s nice,” Taryn says blatantly.

“Taryn,” Chantal scolds, and you can’t help but smile.

“I’m not wrong,” she defends.

Chantal rolls her eyes. “All I’m trying to say is, you guys are good for each other. It’s about time you both realized the dynamic you both have after years of animosity between you two.”

“Who knows, maybe we’ll finally be sisters,” Taryn jokes, hinting at the possibility of marriage. The smile on your face fades as you remember that you and Matthew aren’t dating. The smile fades knowing that you and Matthew wouldn’t ever get married, and when this ruse was over, many more people would get hurt than you both anticipated.

“Anyways, let’s go eat, yeah?” Chantal approaches. “Taryn, you put the salad on the plate and tell the boys we’re ready. Yn, you can help me scoop the other sides, okay?”

You were about to take the potato salad out to the table, but Chantal grabs your shoulder lightly and signals you to hold back for a moment.

“Just know, Matthew cares deeply for you,” she advises. “At the end of the day, he’s crazy about you; don’t forget that.”

You don’t have the words to say anything in response, so you just nod. Chantal seems to think you fully understand her words, so she walks out to the backyard. You don’t. What could she be talking about? Did she know that you and Matthew weren’t dating? You thought you both put up a pretty good act.

Opting to try to enjoy the evening, you place your worries to the back of your head and walk out to the patio. Just as you’re placing the potato salad on the table, Brady is placing the grilled corn on the table, too. Taryn’s already taken her usual seat, and because it’s a smaller crowd, Chantal has taken the seat where your brother would normally sit. Following tradition, you sit next to Taryn, and Brady takes the seat next to you. Keith has taken his seat and says that Matthew has gotten to grab a refill of drinks for you and him.

“Brady, move,” Matthew growls to his brother from behind you. You perk your head up and turn to see Matthew glaring at his brother.

“What? No! Go sit somewhere else. I’m already sitting here,” Brady says in retaliation and annoyance. He shakes his head and mutters a comment to you asking how you put up with him. You stifle a giggle knowing that the look in Matthew’s eyes was of determination, and the ordeal wasn’t over yet.

“Brady, I said, move,” Matthew says more forcefully.

“Why can’t you sit somewhere else? You never sit here.”

“Brady, move,” Matthew growls again.

“Why don’t you sit here, Matthew?” Taryn asks, trying to diffuse the situation. It was clear that Matthew wanted to sit next to you.

“No, I want Brady to move.”

“I’m not going to,” Brady is firm in his words. “Seriously, Yn, how do you deal with him sometimes?”

You don’t say anything, but Matthew does and is still incessant on Brady moving. “Brady, move and sit somewhere else. I want to sit next to my girlfriend.”

Brady stands up and stares at his brother. Looking at Matthew’s face, Brady knows that Matthew won’t give up on his endeavor, so Brady sighs and proceeds to get up. Brady goes and sits in his old normal seat, and Matthew sits next to you. He places a glass of water on the table for himself (he already had one beer but was driving, so he had to be safe) and lemonade for you. “Thank you, Brady,” Matthew says softly once he’s situated.

Brady grumbles in reply and mutters about how annoying Matthew was. You place your hand on Matthew’s thigh and lean over to whisper in his ear, “You didn’t have to force Brady to move, you know. It’s fine if we don’t sit next to each other.”

“It’s not fine,” Matthew whispers into your ear. “I wanted to sit next to my girlfriend, so I was going to sit next to my girlfriend.”

You open your mouth to say how it was all a ruse but decide against it.

“Shall we eat?” After observing her two sons spar over a seat and Matthew melt as he whispers into your ear, Chantal finally says.

Conversation, as everyone eats, varies from the wedding from the previous night to Taryn going to college to the upcoming season to your job. You loved how normal it was and how it was like before. It felt like before you and Matthew turned ten started hating each other. It was like when you were both young and the idea of marrying each other was still a thing. It was the way life was supposed to be had Matthew not started hating you at the age of ten. As you were both eating, Matthew always had a hand on you. Whether it was on your thigh or around your shoulder, Matthew was always touching you, and his family noticed completely.

“You know, when Matthew told us you were both dating, I was truly shocked. I was surprised you would ever go for him, Yn, considering you are way out of his league,” Brady says out of nowhere and tries to get back at his brother.

“Brady,” Keith warns.

“He’s not wrong, though,” Taryn points out, not realizing the true intentions of Brady's words. “As much as I love you, Matthew, Yn is completely out of your league.”

You notice Matthew stiffening up next to you, and you place your hand on his thigh to try to calm him down.

“I’m just surprised you even gave him a chance considering Matthew hated you for like half your life.”

“Taryn,” Chantal warns. Taryn looks up at her mother and shrugs in confusion.

“I never hated, Yn,” Matthew defends. “I’m not sure where you guys are getting that from.”

“How about the fact that — ow!” Brady is stopped as Chantal kicks him under the table. An awkward silence fills the table as everyone finishes up their meals. What did Matthew mean when he said he never hated you? His actions definitely showed it. Did he still hate you? All these questions swirled in your head as Taryn volunteers you and her for clearing the table. You move in autopilot as you clear the table still trying to figure out the meaning of Matthew’s words.

“I’m sorry for my comments out there,” Taryn apologizes. “I didn’t mean to say anything hurtful.”

“Don’t worry,” you tell her with a smile. “I wasn’t offended, but I think Matthew could use an apology more than me.”

“Nah, he’ll be fine. He’s got thick skin, and it’s not like I said anything he didn’t know.”

“Mmm,” you say, not sure how to respond.

“I’ve never seen Matthew so protective over someone before. Is possessive the right word? I don’t know, but I don’t think he’s ever been like that. If he would challenge Brady to something and wouldn’t immediately get his way, then he’d just drop the subject or physically fight Brady. He didn’t do either of those things. There’s something about you, Yn, that brings out a different side to Matthew,” Taryn points out as she’s rinsing the dishes, and you place them in the dishwasher.

“Interesting,” you say, again, not sure how to respond

“It’s a good thing. You’re both good for each other.”

. . .

You and Matthew say goodbye to Chantal, Keith, Brady, and Taryn two hours later and head back to the hotel you were staying at. Chantal couldn’t understand why you guys didn’t just stay with them before you flew back to Calgary the next morning. You weren’t sure how to explain that you’re not dating her son, and you needed some time to unwind and not have to be Matthew’s pretend girlfriend for extended periods of time.

As you’re driving to the hotel, you and Matthew sit in silence. Now and then, Matthew would shift in his seat in discomfort. You could tell he was still upset from Brady’s and Taryn’s comments. You reach your hand across the center console and place it on his thigh. You hear Matthew’s breath halt at the touch, and you’re confused at the sound.

“Matthew, are you okay?” you ask softly. “Don’t take Brady’s and Taryn’s words too seriously.”

“Yeah, but —”

“Matthew, don’t,” you interrupt as he stops at a red light. He turns to you, and his heart melts at how the lights on the street illuminate your face. He nods at your words, and suddenly, he wasn’t sad or frustrated anymore. The drive continues in silence, but your hand doesn’t leave his thigh. You have one lingering thought, though. “Matthew?”

“Mmm?” he asks.

“What did you mean when you said earlier that you didn’t hate me?”

“I didn’t realize there was anything to say. I don’t hate you,” Matthew says blatantly.

“Yeah, but you did hate me.”

Matthew laughs sourly. “Why do you think that even though I’ve told you that I didn’t hate you?”

“You were such a pest to me after we turned ten.”

“That didn’t mean I hated you, Yn.”

“Then why were you such a pest?” you ask.

“Because I had a giant crush on you when we were ten.”

“You had a what?” you asked, shocked, as Matthew drives into a parking space.

“A crush when we were ten,” Matthew answers and walks out of the car. He walks over to your side and opens the door for you. You step out of the car still reeling for his confession. “Don’t worry, Yn, I don’t have a crush on you anymore, so don’t worry.”

“Good,” you reply quietly. You aren’t sure why you are so upset at Matthew’s words, but you are. Did you have a crush on Matthew, now?

. . .

You’re standing in front of the mirror placing the final touches on your makeup and hair as you get ready to fly back to Calgary. You vaguely notice Matthew sitting in the chair behind you. You figured he was looking at his phone or watching the TV that was on. You lift your eyes to glance at the boy in question. Just as your eyes meet his face, Matthew looks up, and his eyes land right on yours. You stop moving, too entranced in his gaze. Matthew sends you a soft smile, and you mirror his smile. He sends you a wink, and your eyes instantly dart away from him. You continue getting ready, and you try to ignore the heat that rushed to your face and the rapid beating of your heart.

. . .

“I brought pizza and beer, is that good?” you say as you walk into Matthew’s kitchen. It was his first night back in Calgary since you said goodbye at the airport after the wedding, and he wanted to spend the night with you.

“That’s perfect,” he says and takes everything out of your hands.

You take your shoes off and walk further into this apartment. “Oh, looks like you cleaned.”

Matthew looks around the apartment and scratches the back of his neck. He turns to you, and you see a slight blush lining his cheeks. “Yeah, well, no one likes to live in a pigsty.”

You raise your eyebrow at his words. “What version of Matthew is this? The high school version of Matthew had the most disgusting bedroom ever.”

“Oh, shut up,” Matthew rolls his eyes and throws a napkin at you. You swat at it and begin to giggle. Matthew takes a piece of pizza and places it on a plate for you and opens a bottle of beer for you. You take it out of his hands with a soft “thank you” and walk over to his kitchen table. He places his plate and beer on the table and places his hands on your hips; your breath catches in your throat at his touch, and Matthew swears his heart started to beat a hundred times faster at the sound. He guides you towards the couch. “We’re sitting on the couch to eat.”

“But, Matthew,” you say after regaining your voice. You watch him grab his beer and plate from the table where he placed it and sits next to you.

“Nope, we’re not at Yn’s house. We’re at Matthew’s house, so we eat on the couch when we’re having a movie night.”

“Matthew,” you begin again.

He shakes his head as he takes a sip. “Don’t. I can’t eat this once training camp and the season starts, so let’s just enjoy it, okay?”

You nod and take a bite out of your pizza. Why did your breath hitch out of your throat when Matthew touched you? He’s touched you before, but why was it different this time?

. . .

“How about these?” Matthew asks as he holds a bag of chips in front of your face.

You shake your head. “I don’t like that flavor, and I already bought a bag of chips.”

“Maybe you should buy them for me, this lovely person who you forced to go grocery shopping with you.”

“That is not what happened, Matthew, and you know that,” your point out.

Matthew walks over to you and entraps you from where you’re standing at your shopping cart. He places his hands on the bar on your sides so you can’t move. He leans his head towards your ear and whispers, “Then tell me what happened.”

“You know what happened,” you murmur, trying to hide the fact that Matthew’s actions and words were sending chills down your spine.

“But I want you to tell me,” he whispers again into your ear.

“You showed up at my apartment just as I was about to leave,” you swallow before continuing, “and you insisted on coming with me, and here we are.”

“I don’t recall that being how it happened,” Matthew says against your neck, and the vibrations warm your entire body. You figure if Matthew was going to mess with you in the middle of the snack aisle at the grocery store, you might as well do the same. You wrap your arms around his neck and pull his face closer to yours. Your lips are micrometers from his, and you can tell that Matthew is nervous.

“That’s exactly how I remember it happening,” you say against his lips and with each word you said, your lips touching Matthew’s. Out of instinct and preparation for a kiss, Matthew places his hands on your waist, and you smirk, knowing you have him right where you want him. You run your hands up through his hair, and Matthew’s hold on you becomes limp. You lean closer, if possible, to him, and Matthew thinks you’re going to kiss him. Just when you would’ve leaned forward and kiss Matthew, you pull back and escape from where Matthew has you entrapped. You’re standing a few feet away from him, and you notice Matthew still in his trance. “You coming?”

That seems to take him out of his trance, and he nods and pushes the shopping cart to follow you. Matthew isn’t sure what happened, but he knows that whatever did just happen sent Matthew to heaven.

. . .

“What are you wearing?” Taryn asks you when you sit down next to her.

“Oh, this old thing?” you say, pretending to be oblivious.

“Matthew’s going to hate it considering you’re his girlfriend, who the Flames are playing, and what you’re not wearing.”

“I’m counting on it.”

“You are such a pest like Matthew. No wonder you guys are so good to each other,” Taryn rolls her eyes.

“You’re lucky we won or you’d have hell brought down upon you,” Matthew says when you’re standing outside the locker room after the game.

“I didn’t know you knew the devil personally,” you joke.

“Why did you have to wear Brady’s jersey, Yn? The day that I play the Sens, you are wearing the wrong brother’s jersey.”

You shrug but have a knowing smirk on your face. “I felt like it.”

Matthew groans when he sees Brady walking over to you and him. “Nice jersey,” Brady smirks.

“Thank you. Too bad you guys lost.”

“Seriously?” Matthew’s mouth’s agape.

“Oh shut up, you know I cheered for you when you scored,” you say and link arms with Brady as you head towards Chantal and Keith. “It worked. I pissed him off,” you whisper to Brady.

“You guys are so weird,” Brady chuckles. Matthew just stands behind you and Brady and is trying to figure out what just happened and how he’s going to get back at you.

. . .

When you showed up to the Senators-Flames game wearing Brady’s jersey, Matthew knew he had to think of a way to get back at you. After a week-long road trip and coming home at 2 am, Matthew wanted nothing more than to go home and sleep. He also wanted nothing more in the world to see you and to get back at you. When he got in his car to drive home, Matthew realized he had the perfect plan to get back at you. He knows that something you value deeply is your sleep, so because you messed with something important to Matthew, he was going to mess with something important to you.

Matthew drives to your apartment from the airport and parks in the parking spot next to your car. He isn’t sure why he thought you didn’t have a car and why you don’t drive it to work, but here your car is. He walks into the lobby of your building and waves to the nightguard working the night shift. He takes the elevator up to your floor and walks up to your door. He takes a deep breath and begins to aggressively ring your doorbell. He hopes that you wake up and none of your neighbors do.

The ringing continues for twenty seconds before you realize it’s not your alarm. You sit up for a few moments when you realize that it’s someone at the door. When the ringing doesn’t stop, you get worried that something’s wrong. You rush over to the door and open it. “Is everything okay?” you blurt out before noticing who’s the one ringing your doorbell.

“No, I have a very important message for you,” Matthew says with a smirk grazing his face.

“What happened? Is everything okay?” you’re worried now. You’re still barely awake, and if you were, you probably would have noticed the smirk on Matthew’s face.

“It’s an important message. Ready for it?”

“Yeah, yeah, just tell me!”

“Hi.”

“Hi? That’s it? Matthew, you rang my door like a lunatic and made me worry that something was seriously wrong. What’s wrong with you?”

“You wore Brady’s jersey to my hockey game.”

“So you decide to pull this shit?” you’re angry now, and Matthew realizes he made a mistake.

“I’m sorry. I also wanted to see you,” he mumbles.

You sigh and pull him into your apartment. “Then call me instead of halfway giving me a heart attack.”

Matthew nods and follows you into your apartment. He puts his bag down by the door and takes his shoes off.

“I’m going back to sleep, but you can change and shower in my washroom and join me when you’re ready. I’m not staying awake; I’m too tired.”

Matthew is shocked that you’re doing this. Matthew woke you at 2 in the morning just because and you’re opening your home for him despite it. Matthew will never take your friendship for granted ever again.

. . .

“Matthew, are we still fake dating?” you ask out of nowhere. It’s been months since the wedding, and you weren’t sure if you and Matthew still had that title. Recently, you both had been hanging out together, but it didn’t seem like “dating”. It was “friend” hangouts, and you were both disappointed and happy with it.

“Why do you ask?” Matthew asks. He doesn’t want to fake date you anymore; he wants to real date you, but he isn’t sure if you want that, too.

“Because,” you hesitate.

“Because, why?”

“I went out with some friends the other night and this guy was hitting on me, and I turned him down because I didn’t know if we were still under the ruse of dating.”

“Oh,” Matthew says dejectedly. “Don’t worry, if you see him, or anyone else, who’s hitting on you, then you can say yes. We, as of this moment, are just friends and no longer fake dating.”

You nod. “What do we tell people? Like, Shelly or your family?”

Matthew shrugs. “We realized we were better off friends. We went from the extreme of not being able to be around each other to the extreme of always being around each other and realized it doesn’t work.”

“Okay,” you say. You weren’t sure why you were so upset with Matthew’s response.

After the conversation, you head home about an hour later with your head still reeling from Matthew’s words. Just friends, he said, but you didn’t want that, did you? You wanted Matthew in every way that you could. You wanted him next to you when you woke up and when you fell asleep. You wanted good morning kisses, good night kisses, and just kisses in between that. You wanted Matthew because you liked him. You wanted Matthew because, in the months of fake dating, you fell for him. You fell for Matthew Tkachuk, the one boy you never thought you’d fall for, and the one boy who doesn’t want you like that.

. . .

You went out with Matthew and the team to celebrate another win. This time, you wore Matthew’s jersey, and you swore Matthew’s smile grew wider when he saw you in it. The celebration at the bar thus far has been fun. You weren’t sure if the team knows you and Matthew “broke up”, but it doesn’t matter because Matthew was still being touchy with you, and you hoped that you were hiding your feelings for Matthew well.

“I’m going to go get some refills for us, okay? Same drink for you?” Matthew whispers into your ear. You visibly shiver at his action, and you know Matthew noticed. You nod, not trusting your words. To try to ignore how you’re feeling, you immerse yourself in conversation with the group. It works, you think, but when you look up and see the back of Matthew’s head, your heart begins to beat rapidly. You needed to figure out how to get your emotions in check if you’re going to continue to be hanging out as friends with Matthew.

“So, you and Matthew have been going strong, huh?” Annica says when she notices you staring at Matthew. You snap your attention back to the woman. Matthew must not have told the team that you and he “broke up”. You guess that would be a weird conversation to have. You doubted Matthew said something along the lines of, “Yes, we broke up, but I’m going to keep bringing Yn around. Why? Well, we were never really dating, and now we are just friends. Yeah, it’s weird, but just go with it.”

“Oh, um, yeah,” you reply, hoping that Annica didn’t read too much into your words.

“I can tell he’s crazy about you and that he —,” Annica is interrupted by Elias bringing her another glass of wine and conversation changes. You look back at Matthew to try to figure out the meaning of Annica’s words. Just as your eyes land on Matthew’s head, he turns around, as if sensing your gaze, and meets your eyes. He smiles at you, and you instantly feel the tears falling from your eyes. You try to blink them away, but when Matthew begins to rush over to you, you know that he noticed. You excuse yourself from the group and rush out of the bar.

“Yn, yn,” Matthew calls out to you. He catches up to you with his long strides and places his hand gently on your shoulder. You turn to face him and feverishly wipe the tears away. “Yn, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you lie.

“I didn’t know we cry over nothing now, but thanks for letting me know,” Matthew jokes, but it doesn’t do anything to make you feel better. “What’s wrong?”

“I can’t be your friend anymore; it just hurts too much to be your friend when I want more,” you blurt out and walk away. Matthew is too stunned at your words to follow after you. You want more? Since when? Matthew doesn’t come to his senses to chase after you until you’re getting into your car to drive home. What does he do now?

. . .

“Yn, yn, yn, I know you’re in there,” Matthew yells as he aggressively knocks on your apartment door the next day. “Yn, please. I just want to talk to you.

You angrily stalk to the door and open it. “What, Matthew? Maybe you should have taken a hint when I didn’t open the door the first eighteen times you knocked on it.”

“Yeah, well, we need to talk, so it doesn’t matter if I was knocking on your door for hours, I’m going to talk to you.”

“Matthew, there’s nothing to say,” you tell him through gritted teeth hoping not to let it show how much you wanted to cry at that moment.

“Like hell, there’s nothing to talk about,” Matthew aggressively replies as he runs his hands through his hair. “You can’t just say that and leave, you know. You’ve had me going crazy, Yn!”

“Well, it’s not like you feel the same way or want the same thing,” you mumble, looking at the ground.

“Are you kidding me? I’ve wanted this since I was ten!” Matthew replies incredulously.

“But you told me you didn’t like me anymore!”

“That’s because I thought you didn't like me like that.”

“Well, I do like you like that, Matthew.”

He takes a step closer to you and looks into your eyes. “That entire time we were fake dating? I was imagining it was real. I was doing everything in my power to make it real so that I could have that experience of being with you because I thought I’d never had a chance with you. Like my parents said, you are completely out of my league, so I was extremely honored that you ever wanted to fake date me.”

“I don’t want to fake date you.”

“I don’t want to fake date you, either,” Matthew chuckles.

“Oh, good,” you reply and look down at your feet. “I want to be your real girlfriend.”

Matthew laughs at your words. “That’s what not wanting to fake date means.”

“Oh, right,” you giggle at yourself.

“So, if I put my hands on your waist and kiss you, is that okay?”

“That’s more than okay, Matthew,” you tell him with a smile and place your hands on his face to bring him closer to you. Matthew smiles at your words and leans his head towards yours. You both softly placed your lips on each other before deepening the kiss. It wasn’t the first kiss you both shared, but it was the first time you kissed each other with your feelings on display. You both deepen the kiss, and Matthew pulls you into him. You run your fingers through the hair at the nape of Matthew’s neck, and you giggle at the small moan that leaves him. His moan and your giggle cause you both to pull back. Matthew gives you a pointed look.

“Great, our first kiss ends like that.”

You giggle again. “It’s not our first kiss, Matthew.”

“Still,” he pouts.

“Don’t worry,” you tease. “There will be many, many kisses in our future.”

“I’m going to hold you to that,” Matthew says with a grin and pulls you in for another kiss.

The get-together wasn’t perfect or what anyone expected, but it was your story, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

[inthefallofasparrow]

Batman fights GOD

<GOD> so if a bad guy came at you with a gun - you’d rather be unarmed, than armed?

<crusader_27> I leave guns to my enemies. I don’t need them, so I won’t use them.

<GOD> yeah good luck with the high road, when you’re lying dead in an alleyway somewhere

<crusader_27> has been timed out

‘GOD WIN’S! ‘GOD WIN’S! ‘GOD WIN’S!

Bruce groaned and leaned back in his chair, turning away from the gaudy message flashing on his computer screen. A chilling wind howled through the batcave behind him. It was getting late. He had lost track of how much time he’d spent down here fighting with this website.

‘The ColloQuium’ was a private online forum set up by one of the Riddler’s followers. Exclusive members could use it to discuss various illicit activities and organize shady business transactions with impunity. If anyone wanted to anonymously hire a hitman, blackmail a judge, sell some blood diamonds, then this was the forum to use.

“Might I be of assistance, sir?” Alfred inquired from behind him, “The ColloQuium again, is it? Craigslist for the criminal underworld.”

“Right.”

“So, how does one become a member?”

Bruce exhaled pointedly, “You have to have an argument with God.”

Alfred leaned forward, “I’m sorry?”

“The site’s guarded by some kind of A.I. gatekeeper called ‘GOD’.”

He gestured to an avatar of a heavenly, bearded figure on the screen.

“How narcissistic.”

“Basically, you have to debate ‘GOD’ on some random topic it gives you. And once the debate is over, you’re supposedly allowed into the forum… But it’s just an automated troll account. All it does is throw strawmen and non-sequiturs at you. You can’t outsmart it because it’s deliberately obtuse. No matter what you say, it just keeps going around in circles until some arbitrary point where it times you out and claims it won the argument regardless.”

The screen still displayed the bold, celebratory letters announcing that GOD had won, over and over. Bruce rubbed his strained eyes.

“I’ve tried everything. I’ve tried arguing fairly. I’ve tried trolling it back. I’ve tried admitting defeat. I’ve tried typing gibberish, or not typing anything at all. It doesn’t matter. Eventually, GOD declares itself the winner and kicks me right back to the start. It’s rigged against any sort of debate, so I can’t win!”

Alfred considered this. “But the rules don’t say you need to win the debate specifically... You just have to end it.”

“Well, you have to have the final word, I guess. But it never lets you. And then it gloats about it.”

Reaching for the touchpad, Alfred clicked on the refresh button to re-enter the site. “Unless it’s not gloating; it’s telling you how to pass.”

The GOD avatar popped up again with a new topic.

<GOD> I believe that St. Louis-style bagels are the ultimate food crime.

Alfred hit the caps lock and began typing.

<crusader_27> SOUNDS LIKE SOMETHING HITLER WOULD SAY, YOU NAZI!

Immediately, the website highlighted ‘NAZI’ and ‘HITLER’ as keywords, flickered green, and opened the forum.

“Are you familiar with ‘Godwin’s Law’, Bruce? ...The idea that the longer an internet discussion goes on, the more likely someone will make a comparison to the Nazis --”

“-- at which point the argument ends, as it is pointless to continue.” Bruce slumped in his chair, defeated.

“The apostrophe really should’ve given it away, sir.”

“Yes, thank you, Alfred.”

[incongruous-faggot]

Sorry for answering in the tags!! I do that sometimes on autopilot lol

Have written the questions you gave me and my answers for them under the cut <3 (thank you so much for this it's so much fun!!!)

Why does Jekyll need a lawyer? Did he get caught up in Hydes crimes?

Mr. Utterson seems to be his general lawyer that he contacts for anything. Apart from being Jekylls lawyer, he is also one of Jekylls oldest friends. Utterson receives at the start of the book, Jekylls will that he is to keep safe, and when reading over it he spots the name Hyde as Jekylls sole heir(?) (i fuck up words, heir is not really the right word, Hyde is specifically to be given all Jekylls assets in case Jekyll dies or "suddenly disappears").

Utterson receiving this will and finding the inclusion of Hyde in it weird is what essentially starts off the plot of the book, as he recognizes the name after his cousin, Mr. Enfield, tells him about this mysterious man named Hyde that trampled over a little kid.

(tho it is actually a little weird that Jekyll has a lawyer at all, as when we get a list of his credentials, it's revealed that he also has an education in law)

Does Hyde receive any repercussions for his actions?

Mmmmm yes. Hyde, (who is Jekyll, they are the same person!) receives repercussions, but not really any properly organized ones. He is not arrested, does not face any jailtime and is not hanged. But Jekyll does face his life getting worse after giving into his desires and seeking them out in the form of Hyde. (to the point where Jekyll ends up comitting suicide)

At first Jekyll is simply able to turn into Hyde with the help of his potion, and then go about doing awful things, before returning home and transforming back, therefore keeping his reputation safe. But later on in the story, Jekyll decides to stop going out as Hyde, and once does something "sinful" (we are not told what) as himself, and from that point in time, the form of Hyde can take over him at any point (but mostly if he has any vile desire). He starts to wake up as Hyde despite going to bed as Jekyll the day before. His life becomes a living nightmare, as he never knows when his secret identity might be revealed to everyone he knows, and therefore ruining his good name. (On top of that, Hyde functions as an intoxicated state. Jekyll, as Hyde, is less concerned with what is good for the people around him, and is way more impulsive.)

When was the book written and where? Does this influence show in the book?

It was written in 1886 by Robert Louis Stevenson, in Bournemouth (but the story is set in London). RL Stevenson is Scottish, born in Edinburgh, and i've read an article somewhere that discusses, that while the book is formally set in London, that it could just as well have been set in Edinburgh based on description.

Anywho, Jekyll and Hydes social setting is the british upper class, which is heavily relevant for the book, especially as it informs one of the main ways people interpret the book:

See, pop-cultural idea, as i stated in my previous reblog, puts Jekyll and Hyde up as simply being a metaphor for good and evil. In reality, a much more fruitful way of reading it is as a metaphor for the english victorian upper classes relationship with sin, and perceived goodness. See, as I've stated a couple times, Hyde is not some entity within Jekyll that forces him to do evil, but rather a "mask" and state of mind that Jekyll puts on to hide (hehe) his evil doings. Purity culture was of high regard in the 1800's. Men were to be GentleMen, and women were to be precious pure flowers. Any evil in any amount is too much. We see very little of what Hydes actual evil is. We hear of him trampling a child, hitting a woman, and killing and old man. But apart from that his evil is merely alluded to. It could be anything from say, killing prostitutes to (my favourite interpretation) him being a homosexual man. (He gets himself a house in SoHo, the part in London where homosexuality was most common back when RL Stevenson wrote the book.) The "civilized" upper class could never commit such hanous acts! But Jekyll commits them anyways, disguised as Hyde, who, depending on interpretation, might seem like a lower class citizen at first. But his shabby house in SoHo's messy streets is decorated with expensive paintings and furniture of rare materials. Jekyll, and Hyde, members of the "pure civilised" upper class are just as capable as anyone else of being monsters.

(ps: another lovely way of reading the book is as a metaphor for drug abuse)

Does Hyde feel remorse for his actions?

(i'll return to this one)

Which version (original or adaptation) do you prefer?

Oh the book would be my favourite anything with Jekyll and Hyde (and, i've been saying book, but it's in reality more like a long short story).

My favourite adaptation so far would be 1959's Le testamente du Docteur Cordelier, which is a very faithful book adaptation (which is rarely seen) set in post war france, where none of the characters are named after Jekyll and Hyde characters, and where some of the base details for the story have been changed, to make the twist work anew again :)

Another one i like, purely for the fun of it is Dr Jekyll and Sister Hyde (1971), which, to be honest, is a transphobic scare film about the dangers of transgenderism and homosexuality, so watch with caution! But it's such a fun watch, and i can't help but to cheer Hyde on the entire way through, she's such a queen, and Jekyll is just the perfect amount of pathetic for the film.

You said a theory is that Hyde represents evil. What would you say this representation is? What comments does it make on evil?

Mmmm that's the thing, it's not so much a theory. It's like, kind of stated outright within the book, but is also not what the book is really getting at metaphorically.

At points, Jekyll calls Hyde "pure evil", but Jekyll also makes a point out of stating that Hyde is merely another way for Jekyll to live. Jekyll has control, but he also seems to be less able to make safe decisions for himself and others when Hyde (thus some readings having Hyde be cocaine or alcohol). Jekyll is an unreliable narrator when we get to the last chapter of the book (that consists of letters Jekyll has written). He has been stuck in his room alone for weeks, and has started to refer to Hyde as a seperate entity, again, despite us having confirmation earlier that he's more a state Jekyll can be in. He could have compartmentalized and charactarized the different parts of himself to try and explain himself away, to try and "seperate" himself from the evil within him, but he is still Hyde. You can try to blame the evil you have inside you on something, or someone else, but it's within you. All humans are multifaceted. Jekyll is an awful human being, but he's also a doctor, and a beloved friend. The book, in it's actuality, tries to get at good and evil as elements that live inside us all, that we must be both punished and forgiven for.

Oftentimes, modern very surface level references to Jekyll and Hyde place Jekyll as a saint, and Hyde as a devil, both inhabiting the same body. The names have become a shorthand for rapid mood swings and dissociative identity disorder (a very disrespectful interpertation of the story btw)

Caught between war and peace - without words It's hard to know what knows, or thinkgs Cuz, as a lightning, it hits suddenly Seconds between hate and love And hurts in blind rage - everyone you like but no one knows when it'll happen again is one an enemy or friend? I live with you like Doctor Jekyll and Mister Hyde (...) At first you say no to tender touches, then you kiss me

(Moonjam "Jekyll og Hyde" (translated to english from danish by me) (btw the song is a banger, just not a very good way of utilizing Jekyll and Hyde as a metaphor. Five Finger Death Punches Jekyll and Hyde song is pretty good too, and utilizes the reference a bit more accurately to the book)

In the musical, Jekyll is a good (debatable, but he's kind of presented as such) doctor, who in his attempt to remove evil from the world creates Hyde, who rapes and murders prostitutes, and who is essentailly an "evil alter" within Jekyll, that ends up taking over Jekyll and getting him killed on his wedding day.

Jekyll and Hyde is often presented as the most drastric of contrasts, but they are in fact different expressions of the same person.

I am in love with this book

What comment does it make on good?

See above question :))

Here's a little list of related subjects/ areas of the Jekyll and Hyde interest that i love talking about if you need inspo for more questions :D

The Jekyll and Hyde Gothic Musical Thriller Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde 1932 australian Radioplay The 1931 and 1941 American Jekyll and Hyde films The Picture of Dorian Grey The Doppelganger as a motif in litterature My Little Pony Jekyll and Hyde Animatics (by Inkpotts) My Little Pony Jekyll and Hyde AU (by Myself :D )

That's it for this post, thank you so much for the questions they've been awesome to answer!! Do tell if there's stuff you want me to expand upon (i might also drop in a "lecture" about different Jekyll and Hyde stuff another time UwU)

(also do say if more stuff should be tagged or tw'ed)

Sometimes I feel sad that my special interest is learning as a broad because I used love school so much but obviously the school system and being autistic and shit kinda ruined my experience and now I really struggle to engage in my own special interest.

But then I remember I’m the perfect friend to other autistics. Like please. Tell me everything about your niche interest. I will ask questions. Lots. I will get as obsessed with you. I will remember for next time.