#I’m still not…. COMPLETELY happy with it | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

leonarecs · 2 days ago

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we’re back for part two 🤭 i’m scared but excited because i know they are finally gonna FUCK n i’m very happy about that LMFAOOO, now let’s begin 👀

His absence leaves a heavy weight of guilt that presses hard onto your shoulders, regardless that he had been the one to mostly start the fight. What had you really even done wrong?

absolutely NOTHING queen, do not feel guilt!!!!! he’s being an ass <3 (sigh i kinda feel bad too i have too much of a soft spot for this man)

Despite his elusion you still see him, amongst your shared classes, the late nights in the common room or when passing in the halls.

this when they’re usually attached at the hip omg it hurts to imagine it MY BABIES

He decides it’s not worth getting involved now that Mattheo’s made his intentions clear. He wants nothing to do with it.

oh, so i’m not worth fighting for 😔✋ i see how it is, what a pussy. of course you’re scared of mattheo 🙄 (it’s okay at least we’ll have scary bf privileges soon)

He had just suddenly been everywhere, like a convenient beacon.

the ‘do you really like him or is he just giving you the attention you’ve been so desperately craving from someone else’ trope is inescapable and i love it

For the way you felt under Mattheo’s spotlight was divergent. He made you feel special, your heart beating to a different rhythm for him. Being with Mattheo was like watching a sunrise for the first time, the shades of orange and pink peeking up after you both stayed up all night stargazing. It made you feel alive. He made you feel alive. Made you feel electric with life and like you could conquer anything with him by your side.

I’M FUCKING SCREAMING OVER THIS??? THE DESCRIPTION OF HER LOVE??? THE WAY HIS ATTENTION IS DIFFERENT FROM EVERYONE ELSE IN THE WORLD?? i’m sobbing. this captures that overwhelming feeling of being seen by someone you care about so perfectly. also the way you went from “it made you feel alive” to “he made you feel alive” to drive it home FUCK it hits so hard. it’s like you can feel her heart waking up for him. i’m actually going to cry over this.

It wasn't his fault he was deeply flawed, but it was your choice to be the one to see him past those sharp thorns. To help bloom the roses that laid trapped underneath the rumble, bring them to light in the same way as how you saw him.

again, no words to describe how i feel, so:

“I'm not oblivious like you two are, besides I don't really want a repeat of my last relationship.”

poor guy can’t catch a break from all the girls that have secretly been in love with another boy since they were kids

“Not entirely sure what you see in the nutter, but knowing what kind of girl you are, it must be something good.”

AWWW OKAY THAT WAS SWEET I’M GIGGLING

A week without you had been to put nicely, hell for him. He had wallowed entirely, sulking like a pathetic child, like his favourite candy had been ripped from his clutches. He realized quickly that this was worse, that having your attention shared, not having your presence at all, had turned him into a dreary grump.

the way he completely falls apart without her in his life, HE’S SO IN LOVEEEE Y/N OPEN YOUR EYES

He missed you in his arms. He missed the gentle way you would soothe him to sleep. With warm caresses that resembled a mother’s touch, but with you it felt more intimate.

i genuinely believe you’re trying to kill me right now. my heart is literally unraveling with every word i read, mother, why must you be so cruel 😖 him falling asleep in her arms only will never fail to fucking destroy me. and they still wanna talk about some “best friends” bullshit bro, stfu

Clearing your throat of nerves, you speak directly to the point. “I didn’t mean it.” Mattheo's stubbornness had always been a persistent habit, one of his shortcomings that meant you knew it was unlikely he'd apologize first. Especially considering he can’t even look at you.

the fact that she just knew where he’d be. without even having to ask anyone, they really know each other better than anyone else in the world UGHHH 😓😓😓 also idc if he’s stubborn, he should be apologizing FIRST tf ✋

“I’m sorry, I.. I- you.. are wanted. Always, Mattheo.” “But not in the right way.”

oh god i literally cannot breathe right now

“It's fine, Ace. You’re forgiven. We’re still friends, alright.”

bitch. don’t you have something else to say. and what the FAWK do you mean ‘friends.’

He fights the part of him wanting to swallow his pride and spit out an apology, but he’d never been good at those. That would mean he’d have to explain the reasoning and vulnerable depth, years' worth of trauma that built a viscous insecurity he’d never shared with anyone, not even you. He didn’t feel exactly spritely about indulging you just because you were upset that he hit Dean.

i’ve said it before and i’ll say it once again, the way you characterize him is fucking spot on. you can feel how stubborn and defensive he is without it ever outright saying “he’s stubborn” — it’s all in the why. the way you tied his pride to this deep, unspoken insecurity?? it makes him so much more human. he’s not just being difficult to be difficult, he’s protecting these old wounds he doesn’t even know how to show. i’m losing it over how layered this makes him.

“For what? You’re the one that called me unwanted.”

NO I DIDN’T, STOP PUTTING WORDS IN MY MOUTH.

“I said I was sorry.” The words whisper with the tone of desolation. Despite your anger, the guilt and worry break the barrier through the emotions you wear on your sleeves, knowing you never wished to hurt him.

THE POOR GIRL MY HEART HURTS SO BAD RIGHT NOW it wasn’t her fault 😭

He steps without hesitation; coming closer, wrapping you up into his arms, a much needed hug for the both of you. He aches, feeling you reciprocate, gently hugging him back, and he holds you a little tighter, having missed your touch.

the hug oh my god i have real tears streaming down my face right now, the history and emotion between these two is too much for me to handle

The small sounds of your sniffles smothering into his chest vibrate through to his heart painfully, like an earthquake causing destruction to his protective walls.

more metaphors that i adore and have to highlight thank you very much

He turns glaring at you. “Let’s just go inside, Ace! It’s fucking thundering!”

it’s so intense right now, i’m literally buzzing with anxiety goodnight. this whole scene is playing out like a movie in my head the dialogue is SO GOOD.

He's ignoring how his mind is screaming to just tell you the truth, to finally bare his heart and soul to you, but the fear of rejection has him by the throat.

yeah.

“Tell me- god please Mattheo, I swear if this friendship means anything to you! You’ll fucking tell me.” The doubt creeps back in; Dean was wrong. He doesn’t see you the same.

i’m fucking screaming JUST TELL HER THE TRUTH YOU’RE DOING NOTHING BUT FEEDING HER DOUBTS RIGHT NOW PLEASEEEE MY HEART CAN’T TAKE MORE OF THIS ARGUMENT, he’s just letting her believe that he doesn’t give a shit whether she’s in his life or not 😞

“because you’re the best thing in my life! And yet I'm just scum on the bottom of your shoe.. And that motherfucker was right and I hate him for it, because I-i-I don't deserve you!.. Not your kindness… or attention… or friendship, and yet I'm still greedy. I still want more!”

ASAHSEDHAEGDFFYGACHUNˆSHDGFHDGFUHERIFJIENDXKJEWBDXJERBGCHJHIÇ≈≈XEFUHGVUFHDGU OH MY GODIFHJDG

i’m sorry. i cannot fucking breathe right now, there’s so much i want to say. the angry confession. the stuttering. the “i’m still greedy.” FUCKING HELLLLLL, when they think they’re not worthy but still can still admit that they want more, i can’t DO THIS ANYMORE

“B-because- because I fucking love you, you idiot!”

can’t even turn on all-caps, i’m too busy trying to hit the right letters through my tears

You're shut up by the pleasant surprise of his lips smashing onto yours, with an effort of urgency urged behind the feel of his soft lips. His hands move to cup your face, your soaked face, the warmth of them rising a blush to your cheeks, as he holds them with tenderness. He kisses you with all the love he has, willing to give you every beat of his heart. He knows you already have it. It's always been yours.

the last line i—

“Actually?” He smiles in reassurance and hope glosses over his eyes. His chest vibrates as he chokes out a disbelieving laugh and his grin broadens. "You-u lo-” He can't even finish the sentence so choked up by all of this. A smile graces your face with wide, full cheeks that burn with happiness and you reciprocate his choked upness, feeling the tears start again. The way your head nods ridiculously fast, flicking your drenched hair in all directions, makes him chuckle and he cups your cheeks for fear of it flying off. “Not fucking with me are you now Ace, cuz I swear to god if you-” Leaning forwards you capture his lips effortlessly, now being the one to shut him up.

this whole sequence has me actually laughing and smiling through tears WHO AM I????? g, you’re so unbelievably talented, the feelings are feeling really hard right now and i need a nap despite the fact that i slept for 15 hours last night

His arm guides you wrapping around your waist, a stark contrast to the way his arm usually drapes over your shoulder casually.

THIS DIFFERENCE BEING POINTED OUT AAAAHHHHH i’m literally bursting with happiness rn. also him not being able to handle seeing her cry even when its happy tears, fuck just let me fall to the floor real quick

His gaze drops and his eyes darken shamelessly, admiring how your shirt clings to your body, accentuating your chest. He licks his lips, letting his thoughts run wild for once with no guilt, and stops what he was doing walking closer. His hands graze your waist, letting you know of his proximity as he speaks with a low husk in his tone. “Lemme help Ace.”

I’M LITERALLY TREMBLING OMGOMGOMG HE’S SUCH A PERV LMFAOOOO WE’RE GETTING SOMEWHERE I’M SO EXCITED

His head dips, brushing his lips back against yours, and he whispers with the weight of a man ready to feast on his deepest desires. “Ace..you know I want you… don't you?” He’s so close that when he licks his lips, his tongue grazes your lower lip with the subtlest of touches and he relishes in the sucking in of your breath.

the way i’m holding my breath right now fucking hell, my choochie quaking i can’t even lie to you

“Fuck, you look so sexy when you bite that.”

the way he thought this in part one as well and now he’s actually able to voice his thoughts ajdghfgff i’ll never get over mattheo calling us sexy

He grabs your wrists, gently kissing both of them before he pins them above your head, shocking a gasp out of you. He grins, satisfied by your reaction as he shifts, sliding his hands upwards, intertwining your fingers together in an intimate hand hold.

my first reaction while reading this: oh my god, kissing her wrists is the sweetest fucking thing i’ve ever read. second reaction: HE DID WHAT OMG I CAN’T STOP SCREAMING. third reaction: HAND HOLDING MY FUCKING FAVORITE MY HEART IS MALFUNCTIONING

He shifts, rolling onto his side, allowing your hand to slip inside his pants and wrap around his cock. He can’t help but buck his hips into your palm at the feel of your hand making contact. “Fuck-Ace.” His eyes droop, looking at you shifting onto your side too, your tits squishing together in the constraints of your bra, his mouth gaping letting out a hitched shaky breath.

Couldn’t even edge to this, I exploded immediately!!! Clean up on aisle MY PANTS 😂😂😂😂 (i’m sorry.)

“Soakin Ace. You've been this wet the whole time?”

YES OBVIOUSLY OH MY GOD

“Yeah, you want another? Want me to stretch you out…wanna be ready for me, don’t you, Ace?”

He gives his fingers a quick lick, not wanting to waste a single drop of you, watching focused how you shuffle out of your panties.

OH MY GODDDJSGEWFHG WHAT IS THIS FEROCITY THAT YOU’VE EVOKED IN ME RIGHT NOW I’M BARKING

Wandering his gaze at your movements, he watches frozen, disbelieving the vision before him. Sitting up onto your elbows, you unclip your bra, freeing your tits and exposing yourself fully. His pants sit halfway down his legs, his jaw tensing, eyes gazing with enamour at your bare body. He blinks again, swearing this has to be one very good sex dream.

MY FEELINGS CANNOT EVEN BE VOCALIZED RIGHT NOW I DIED DEAD RIP ME THE WAY HE FROZE GOODBYEEEEE

“God, I love your laugh.. gonna make me cum right now.” Your laugh grows in ecstatic shock at his vulgar words. “Mattheo!” “Oh yeah, look at you practicing screaming already.”

THE GIGGLE THAT THIS TORE OUT OF ME SHOULD BE STUDIED BECAUSE I SWEAR I’VE NEVER MADE THIS SOUND BEFORE

“Tell me really, am I bigger?”

I’M FUCKING CRYING LMFAOOOO HE’S SO ANNOYING

But then you smile and wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer and whisper an adorable, “Hi.”

AAAAAAAHHHH ITS GIVING “Hi, Johnny.” “Hi, Shannon.” SQUEALING ESPECIALLY WITH THE TITLE TOO AHHHH

“I want your eyes on me the whole time, ok Ace.”

whatever you say, daddy— i mean what hahahhahahah

He flickers his eyes back and forth from how his cock slides between your folds captivatingly and up to your pretty blessed out face. Your mouth gaping as streams of whiney moans flows out, your head thrown back in ecstasy. “Fuck, I don't know where to look baby…look so good taking me.”

“s'good..the best ace. I could live in your pussy, just fall asleep and never wake up.”

it’s all over the screen 💔💔💔🥀🥀🥀

The notion that you'll both be alright, swaddled in the new cocoon of your relationship, both finally receiving the love you deserve together.

this is such a beautiful way to end it i’m sobbing

speaking so truthfully when i say that this wasn’t just a fic; this was a fucking experience. i felt like i was watching a movie in theaters and i didn’t even realize how long this was (18k words together i think?!?!) because it flowed so well and the dialogue never left a single moment where i wasn’t hooked. this, in its entirety, was so unbelievably well written—the dialogue, the metaphors, the story, descriptions and imagery, the way you weaved in their backstory and their tie to each other. i hate that it’s taken me so long to read it fully without distractions, but you truly exceeded all expectations. like i know deep in my heart that, from now on, every time i think about a best friends-to-lovers trope with him, my mind is instantly going to go to mattheo and ace because they’ve just set the bar for this whole trope. the yearning, the slow burn, the hesitance for both sides to finally admit their feelings, the fear of rejection — it’s all put together so perfectly. the emotion is so real and raw and powerful, i felt everything like it was actually happening to me. this might (definitely) be my favorite writing i’ve ever read from you. you’re fucking phenomenal b, literally never stop writing!!! (and never leave this fandom, i won’t survive without you!!!)

i honestly don’t even know how i’m to move on from this. someone come pick me up off the floor because i need mattheo and ace forever and ever (i know you posted something else of them and i’m excited to read but like fuck i just need an 8 book series of them because i’m not ready to let go)

[S]he will be loved ~ part two

Sum Reader is hopefully and madly in love with her best friend, constantly having her heart broken living in the shadows of other girls. Unaware that he’s hiding a secret, unable to express the truth about how he feels for her too.

Warn: NSFW18+, angst, yelling, swearing, PIV, fingering, semi handjob, dirty talk, (the smut is a little vanilla for the sake of being romantic), use of Ace as a nickname, y/n occasionally, Dramatic asf fr, maybe too dragged-out argument lmfao. Wc: 9.4k An: thank you for being so patience! It is suggested you read part one if you haven't, once again I went a bit in circles with this and so now will run away nervous as hell! but hope you all enjoy! Dividers from here & here

He makes good on his promise, avoiding you for the rest of the weekend and into the next week. His absence leaves a heavy weight of guilt that presses hard onto your shoulders, regardless that he had been the one to mostly start the fight. What had you really even done wrong?

Despite his elusion you still see him, amongst your shared classes, the late nights in the common room or when passing in the halls. His head locked straight ahead, as if the wall is the most interesting thing, and if his gaze weakens and he nips a glance at you, it holds no kindness. The icy water drenches your bones again and makes you question your memory, and how badly you’ve hurt him.

Dean keeps his distance as well, despite being unaware of your fight with Mattheo, the damage by him is more than physical and Dean wishes to keep far from the drama tempting to unravel. He decides it’s not worth getting involved now that Mattheo’s made his intentions clear. He wants nothing to do with it. His distance doesn’t go unnoticed by you, and you can’t help wondering how you’ve managed to drag him into an unnecessary mess.

Had you, in spite, subconsciously used Dean to get a reaction from Mattheo? Were you challenging the bounds of your friendship? It wasn’t like you had planned to even consider Dean an option. He had just suddenly been everywhere, like a convenient beacon. It hadn’t been hard to get along, with his contagious energy and charming personality, he had easily cleared the thick aged brain fog once completely consumed by Mattheo.

Clouds slide inwards, covering the heat of the sun, and casting downward shade along the cobblestones, making you plan to head back inside soon. You sit under the shelter of a tree in the viaduct courtyard pondering the inner turmoil. Feeling conflicted, you sigh, weighing up the differences between them.

Dean, a kind and warm spirit who opened his arms to you instantly, making you feel needed and welcome. So ready to listen, and match your energy to his own passions. But there was always something missing. It all felt very surface level, and maybe that was because it was new. Or maybe he just gave you what you were yearning so desperately for. Attention.

But it wasn’t the right type you craved. For the way you felt under Mattheo’s spotlight was divergent. He made you feel special, your heart beating to a different rhythm for him. Being with Mattheo was like watching a sunrise for the first time, the shades of orange and pink peeking up after you both stayed up all night stargazing. It made you feel alive. He made you feel alive. Made you feel electric with life and like you could conquer anything with him by your side.

Maybe you ought to give Mattheo some credit, for he his life had always left him complicated.

You, of all people, know the traumatic strain his upbringing had scared him, continuing into his current life. There is no escaping the forceful path his life has been shunted down, his hands bound. It wasn't his fault he was deeply flawed, but it was your choice to be the one to see him past those sharp thorns. To help bloom the roses that laid trapped underneath the rumble, bring them to light in the same way as how you saw him.

You sit up suddenly, spotting Dean crossing the courtyard with his friends, and jump at the chance to make amends with him. “Dean!”

His head whips around and he stops walking, allowing you to approach. His smile is less, but not unwelcoming. “Hey Y/n.”

You eye his friends awkwardly till they call out for Dean to catch up and continue walking. You shuffle between your feet, feeling nervous about starting the conversation. “Hi- I.. I just wanted to apologise. I’m really sorry about what happened last weekend.”

Dean is quick to shake his head, respectfully dismissing your apology. “It’s fine, you don’t have to apologize, y/n. I hold no grudges towards you - besides, my nose has healed up all fine.”

You wince at his little joke, adding, “It's not just on behalf of Mattheo, I want to for myself too.”

“Oh?”

“I’m worried. I led you on.. Though I swear it was completely unintentional..”

Dean nods his head firmly and grabs your shoulders to calm your rambling. He already understands and offers you one of his kind smiles you had grown to miss. “It’s really alright. I kind of figured that out already.. And I definitely don’t wanna meddle in the middle of your situation with Riddle.”

“Figured out?”

His eyes crinkle and shoulders shake as he laughs at your oblivious confusion. “I'm not oblivious like you two are, besides I don't really want a repeat of my last relationship.”

You nod, not quite understanding what he means by oblivious, but feeling the recurring wave of guilt hit for misleading Dean and so you just give him an appreciative smile. Your heart remains heavy despite Dean’s forgiveness. “I’m sorry again, anyway.”

He shakes his head, dropping his hands from your shoulders, “It’s fine y/n. Maybe catch ya with Eli sometime. But good luck with everything, yeah. Not entirely sure what you see in the nutter, but knowing what kind of girl you are, it must be something good.”

While Dean retreats, catching back up with his mates, you stay eyes locked on where he last stood in a daze of thought. Must be something good. That’s always what you’ve seen in Mattheo, aware that it’s the defining string between your relationship. The knot that continued to tighten throughout your years at Hogwarts, strengthening with every moment of trust and kindness you shared with him.

For once you bite the trepidation and unknown awaiting, the thought illuminating and making the lightbulb brighter. Hoping maybe Mattheo’s reactions to Dean were rather explainable, and burying the one doubtful tic questioning if this was his usual protective self or merging into something new.

With newfound determination, you set off to find Mattheo, choosing to believe in the bright possibility that this territory was Mattheo awaiting under the rainbow of your deepest fantasies with a mutual feeling.

He was mad at you for how you defended that prat so easily, without stopping to question his intentions. But then again, he’d never openly admitted that Dean’s words had gutted him, mentioning his biggest insecurity. Not being worthy of you. Of your attention, your kindness, your laughter, your warmth, and last, your love. It had eaten away at him all week.

He’d hardly slept, which was saying something for he rarely could. He knew he was undeserving, and yet if there was anyone he wanted to prove his worth to, it was you.

He continued to watch the lull of the black lake from within the Boathouse, a quiet spot for his thoughts to wrestle in the ring with one another. He missed you in his arms. He missed the gentle way you would soothe him to sleep. With warm caresses that resembled a mother’s touch, but with you it felt more intimate. His cigarette burned, allowing small moments of relief to flow through his lungs, the inhale of nicotine calming his distressed heart.

He hears the footsteps of someone entering the wooden house and peers over his shoulder, assuming it was someone who knew he came here. Seeing its you, he turns back to look at the water, exhaling another deep breath, his heart exhilarating just by your presence. He suddenly feels clammy, wishing to douse himself in the cold water just to calm his nerves.

His shoulders square tensely as you near, and you continue with caution, uncertain how to proceed. Everyone knows the extent of Mattheo’s temper, and thankfully you’ve never found yourself on the other end.

Your earlier bottomless energy and hopeful determination seems to have found a sudden end, diminishing like his smoke does into the afternoon sky. Being around Mattheo again makes the doubt seep back inwards, wondering if Dean had been imagining something between the two of you.

He stays quiet, listening actively. He doesn’t like where this is going, despite aching to make up with you, having never fought with you like this before. He’s aware this is leading to an unstable vulnerability, and he’s not sure he can hold on to the part of him that despises being soft.

“I’m sorry, I.. I- you.. are wanted. Always, Mattheo.”

He flinches at the use of his full name. Coming from your lips, it sounds so sweet and remorseful. He knows you’re being sincere. He can hear it in your voice and somehow it makes it harder for him to admit his own wrongdoings. “But not in the right way.” He mutters mostly to himself, exhaling the last of his cigarette.

Frowning, not catching his mumbled whisper, you take another step bravely and stand beside him, finally capturing a glimpse at his face. It holds no clear emotion of how he’s truly feeling, constrained by the mask he wears protectively. Eyes locked dead on the smoothness of the water, the clouds darkening out above the lake and the surface breaks as raindrops ripple, gently dropping onto it. Even in his blank expression, he still looks gorgeous, making the butterflies flutter.

He sighs, knowing you’re giving him a look to explain, for an answer, anything as he keeps his lips pressed into a thin line. His jaw clenches desperately trying to avoid glancing at you, for he’s well aware that with just one look, he'd crumble.

He stabs the end of his cigarette out on the wooden panels, discarding it into the previous piles of used up ones. “It's fine, Ace. You’re forgiven. We’re still friends, alright.”

Even as he says the words, he curses himself for leaving your relationship there, when he so wants to take the conversation somewhere else. Somewhere further, where he can express himself to you fully, but he’s afraid. He turns towards the exit. “It's late, and it's starting to rain. Let's head back up.”

You stand frozen, reflecting over his words, “wait - what? I’m forgiven?!”

“Yes, that's what I said. Isn’t that why you came here?” He pushes through the door, feeling the beginning of the downpour hitting his skin, quickening his pace, not checking to see if you’re following.

You trail behind him in disbelief, appalled by his audacity. You knew he was stubborn, but not to this extent. “Yes, but-what about yours? Don’t you think I deserve one too?!”

He hears the pain and confusion in your tone and curses himself. He fights the part of him wanting to swallow his pride and spit out an apology, but he’d never been good at those. That would mean he’d have to explain the reasoning and vulnerable depth, years' worth of trauma that built a viscous insecurity he’d never shared with anyone, not even you. He didn’t feel exactly spritely about indulging you just because you were upset that he hit Dean.

“For what? You’re the one that called me unwanted.”

He knows it's a hard blow as soon as the words leave his lips. But he refuses to change something about himself he knows will only make him weak. Showing that kind of vulnerability and transparency to you is not something he can afford in his life. He can't stand to see your view of him change. To see him fragile, the hidden boy behind the hard exterior. Even if you end up hating him, he’d go to the grave protecting that piece of him, even from himself.

He keeps walking, not noticing that you’ve come to a stand stall, frozen in shock from his jab. His words make your heart ache. It's clear he still holds a grudge over the words you said. You had never meant it like that. It wasn’t that he was unwanted, but his overwhelming protectiveness that ultimately made you feel like he was in control of you, and you had always put up with it.

Never once had you allowed yourself to be selfish and actually enjoy the potential opportunity of romance. Until now, and yet he still continues to act cold, pushing you away.

The rain pours harder, soaking your clothes through to the bone, and you wish for it to absorb you completely. Mattheo finally notices the quieting of your pestering and turns to see you just standing there with an unreadable stare. His brows knit with concern, his earlier irritation washing away, and he blinks through the rain, feeling a wave of guilt.

“Ace.” He descends back down the stairs with a fasten pace, “Fuck- Don’t just stand there, merlin it's pouring.”

Your arms wrap around your body to provide any warmth physically and to your heart, lifting your head heavily as he approaches. “I said I was sorry.” The words whisper with the tone of desolation. Despite your anger, the guilt and worry break the barrier through the emotions you wear on your sleeves, knowing you never wished to hurt him.

He sighs with realization, his habit of self protection had only projected an icy blast at you and messed with your head. He steps without hesitation; coming closer, wrapping you up into his arms, a much needed hug for the both of you. He aches, feeling you reciprocate, gently hugging him back, and he holds you a little tighter, having missed your touch. The way your hands grip with need the longer the two of you stay embraced, and your head snuggles into his chest.

It's one of his favourite positions, his chin aligned with the crown of your head so perfectly. The way he feels ten times lighter now that you’re in his arms, and his eyes close, finally taking a breath of clean air. He gets lost in the moment, grateful for how you’re able to calm him so quickly. How you can take away all his anger at the snap of fingers, all his stress, all his pain even if momentarily just from the mere warmth of your touch.

His peaceful tranquillity breaks by the shakes of your body, and he’s reminded that he is the one to have hurt you. The small sounds of your sniffles smothering into his chest vibrate through to his heart painfully, like an earthquake causing destruction to his protective walls.

Cold water continues to splatter, coating the wet clothes that cling to your bodies, the only warmth radiating from your chests pressed together as one. He rubs your back soothingly, allowing you to express his feelings in the only way he knows how to offer comfort.

He opens his eyes, looking up at the thick darkness of the night; blinking back the rain that has no effort to cease. He can’t fully determine whether your body is still shaking from sadness or the cold. He sighs deeply, looking down at you, offering a smiling feeling as if things will calm back to normal at any moment. “Come on, we should get inside.”

You shake your head stubbornly, not wanting the conversation to end here, and pull back with a deep frown. His smile does little to ease the pain and, in fact, bothers you at how nonchalant he’s acting. “No. it’s just a little rain, and it’s not hurting me nearly enough as your absence of an explanation.”

He studies the wedge of separation you stick between the two of you, the reigniting of infuriated energy charging him like an electric circuit. Why won't you just drop this? He doesn’t answer you, his head turning, looking out over the castle grounds, afraid that if he opens his mouth, he’ll snap at you or, worse, reveal something vulnerable.

You press onwards despite the tensing in his jaw, annoyed that he ignores you. “Don’t you trust me? Why can't you tell me the real reason? I just need to know why you hit Dean?”

“Please, just drop it Ace.” He grits out, trying to keep from raising his voice. His body still turned; his mind buzzing, humming with anxiety.

The lingering anger swarms to the surface at his refusal to even look at you, “I’ve been here for you through thick and thin and you can't even tell me this one simple thing?!”

The clouds boom before a thicker onslaught of water spits down harder on the concrete steps, making it harder for him to hear you. Cowardly, he’s hoping if he ignores the issue, it will go away. But he knows you, and the determination you’re expressing only makes you stubborn like a mule, knowing you won't drop it till you’re satisfied with an answer.

He turns glaring at you. “Let’s just go inside, Ace! It’s fucking thundering!”

Apprehensively, you pause at his loud tone, knowing he’s beyond pissed. But the urgency for the truth pushes you onwards into your questioning, with your heart thinly stretched on the line.

“I can't! I need to know!”

He groans, “Why?! Can’t you just believe me and drop it? Like I already told you that shithead deserved what he g-”

“No! That's not good enough. I need more, a proper explanation Mattheo�� and if you can’t tell me why.. I-I'll-”

“You’ll what?!” He snaps with an offensive scornful tone, so bitter he can taste the metal on his tongue for the attitude he’s giving. He blinks the water out of his eyes, shaking his wet hair that hangs soaked to his forehead. “You’ll leave?”

He's ignoring how his mind is screaming to just tell you the truth, to finally bare his heart and soul to you, but the fear of rejection has him by the throat. At this point, though, he’s afraid it won't matter what he does. The outcome is hanging dangerously, that he might lose you either way.

You swallow your turn not to say anything. You hadn’t wanted to actually say it, because it wasn't true. You didn’t want to leave, but you were feeling frustrated, hurt, betrayed.

He continues walking closer with intense energy, the darkness of the atmosphere making him look intimidating than ever. “Gonna walk away? Had too much of me finally, huh!”

His voice raises and you force yourself to hold still and not move from your spot, even when he gets right up in your face. You noticed the clear strain behind his words, and there's a flash of something more in his eyes other than anger, pain.

“Please Matty-y just tell-” you whisper pleadingly.

“Don’t. Don’t do that.. Stop looking at me like that.” He breathes out, hissing with venom and agony.

“Like what?” Uttering the question feels risky, as if the answer will hold all the truth to how he feels. His face twists and turns as your mind spins with anxiety. This is it.

“Just,” He groans with frustration, his voice raising again. “Like that! Fuck. Ace.” The lump in his throat grows, making him uncomfortable and his fists shake, clenching them to control the unravelling pressure.

You blink back the swelling tears and take a braver step closer, “Tell me- god please Mattheo, I swear if this friendship means anything to you! You’ll fucking tell me.” The doubt creeps back in; Dean was wrong. He doesn’t see you the same.

He’s cracking under the pressure and intensity of your gaze, seeing the fire burning like an inferno. There's no longer the usual glowing light he loves. How you stare at him like his answer will make all the difference to how you feel about him. But it's the way you mention your friendship with him that ultimately makes him combust, spilling his deepest, most impenetrable secret.

“Because when you look at me like that, it makes me feel unworthy!” He spits, not pausing to even let you process the emotions coming out of him. “Like I’m breaking you apart from the inside and i-I can't handle that. I can't handle seeing you cry…or even when you look at me in anger. It makes me feel like a piece of shit for who I am.”

His arms are up and his hands stress tangle through the wet locks in distress, “because you’re the best thing in my life! And yet I'm just scum on the bottom of your shoe.. And that motherfucker was right and I hate him for it, because I-i-I don't deserve you!.. Not your kindness… or attention… or friendship, and yet I'm still greedy. I still want more!”

He takes a step back, needing the distance from you. His chest heaves while he lowers his eyes at the pebbled ground, deep in realization that he’s slipped up. The silence between you two is killing him and he’s lost in his head with dread and doubt that he’s just gone and fucked up everything more. He raises his eyes with the little spirit he has left, eyes filled with great pain that knocks the air out of your lungs.

“You want… more.. With me?” The question is barely breathed out into the open space of increasing vulnerability.

He licks his lips, contemplating his next words, taking his time to really study your appearance. He notes the lack of uncomfortableness. There's no show of disgust or rejection of his disclosure for how he feels. He’s surprised he’s still standing considering how his heart is beating, sure if it beats any more he’d need a replacement.

He swallows with force the last of his fear, feeling the lump drag down his throat and sink to the bottom of his pit. He nods, unable to utter anything else, allowing himself to be fully transparent for once.

Tears of realization stream down your face as you comprehend his words, blending with the saturation on your face. He’s not even mad at you. He’s angry with himself. You know him well enough to spot that his eyes reveal his tell. He’s afraid. He wants more, even though he can’t admit it. Your heart skips a beat at the confession.

He’s close enough to catch the onslaught of tears beginning and his face falls with fear. This is what he had apprehended. “Fuck!” He turns with anger, his fists clenching, his body shaking with regret and anguish. “Ace-e - why would you let me tell you this? Jesus!” He’s facing away from you to hold back his tears, his head clouded with assumptions of why you’re upset, all heading in the wrong direction.

“W-what? Mattheo - no these are-” You step forwards reaching for him with a tender arm.

“Dont. Don’t lie to me, Ace.” He shrugs your touch off, blocking his walls back up with ease.

“Mattheo, I'm not lying! I’m not upset-”

“Y/n I’m being serious.. I don’t want your pity-”

You scoff, offended, “Pity!? I've never once taken pity on you, Mattheo Riddle. Is that how you think I see you?” You blink back the tears as he turns again, fighting the frustrations to not just smack some sense into him. God, how oblivious is he to you. “I could never pity you. I respect you too much.”

“Respect me?! What in fuck for?”

The water builds behind your eyes, blurring your vision amongst the rain, watching him express his insecurities. “B-because- because I fucking love you, you idiot!”

There's a buzzing, fluttering feeling in his chest like all his nerves have lit on fire, and he blinks, frozen in shock. His chest rises and falls, shallow and slow, but his heart palpates rampaging behind it. The fuzzy feeling migrates around, running from his fingertips up to the apples of his cheeks like an unwelcoming chill as he attempts to process your words.

Everything he thought he knew disintegrates out into the open space, like a gust of wind swept through his mind collecting all his stupid, suspecting doubts. You love him. Love. Love! The unfamiliar word bounces around his mind as he mulls over the possibilities of the meaning. His mouth runs dry despite the assault of rain, as he struggles to form any words.

“I know this is hard, hell I can’t believe I just said that to you-”

Truly, every piece of love for you is magnified by your relationship with him. Your generosity to accept him for who he is, to open your heart to him, even if he always believed it to be platonic. It was enough to grow his heart, and since then, it had always belonged to you. He pushes every ounce of emotion through, knowing it's easier to express than through words.

“You-u..” He breathes, catching his breath as he pulls back, struggling to get the words out.

A smile graces your face with wide, full cheeks that burn with happiness and you reciprocate his choked upness, feeling the tears start again. The way your head nods ridiculously fast, flicking your drenched hair in all directions, makes him chuckle and he cups your cheeks for fear of it flying off. “Not fucking with me are you now Ace, cuz I swear to god if you-”

Leaning forwards you capture his lips effortlessly, now being the one to shut him up. It's sweet but passionate and he can’t get enough when you pull away. He threads a hand through his soaked hair in utter disbelief, his eyes returning to your loving ones. “I’ve wanted to do that for so long. Kiss the crap out of you over and over.” He rests his forehead against yours and reaches down for your hand.

He’s taking in everything you’ve just said, grasping for the same longing that's been sitting, waiting to be released between the two of you like a dam. His face lights, and a little smile curves onto his face, and for the first time he feels the words sitting with ease on his tongue. “You have no idea how in love I am with you. Ace, I’ve been in love with you since forever. Fuck i-just you know I'm not good with words, feelings, all that bullshit.”

You try to fight the blush creeping up your neck, but the smile that appears beaming brightly back at him is impossible to suppress. You’re completely speechless, overwhelmed with euphoric feelings of contentment. Words you’d only dreamed of hearing, now confessed to you in the eye of a storm, and suddenly you’re laughing. “Are we insane?”

His eyes light at your happiness, but he raises a curious brow, not catching what you said at the sound of another boom. “Are- we…WHAT?”

The sound of your laughter bubbles at his adorable confusion. “It doesn’t matter! We should head inside now.” He seems to catch the end of that and nods hurriedly, reaching out to grab your arm, leading the two of you up and into the castle.

Under the shelter of the overhanging archways he turns, grabbing you by your shoulders, “wait- just let me get something else off my chest first.” He swallows, pushing the wet strands back behind your ears, “I’m s-sorry.”

You watch him feeling an immense depth of pride for him, and you smile softly, reassuring him to continue. “look.. I won't apologise for hitting Dean, I don’t regret that and- i-I can’t tell you it all yet, but he said something that cut deep. Whether or not the asshole meant it, I couldn’t take how it made me feel. But I am sorry I ruined your night at the gig. Fuck- I was angry and jealous and I really was trying to look out for you.”

You nod in understanding, accepting that he’s not ready to bear that much emotion in one night, and bring him in for a hug. “Matty.. You don’t know how much I appreciate you trying.” He clings to you, a desperate boy finally receiving the much needed love he had been deprived of for too long. “And-d you didn’t really ruin my night. I wanted to go with you first, anyway. But I got in my head - the doubt i-i just didn’t want to ruin us.”

He pulls back cupping your cheeks, “god we’re stupid aren’t we?” He smiles amused with the obliviousness and blindness you both held for one another. “I’m just glad I didn’t lose you.”

You shake your head, “you never would have. I was bluffing completely.. I couldn’t handle being without you, Mattheo.”

He grins, leaning down to press another soft passionate kiss to your lips, “and you couldn’t have lost me even if you tried Ace. You’re literally iron cast around my heart. The knot is too tight. You’d have to break me just to free the attachment I have to you.” His eyes are sincere and hold so much emotion you’re verging on tears again.

“Okay, ah let's not cry again. I wasn’t lying about not being able to handle that. Let's go back to my dorm. Come on.” His arm guides you wrapping around your waist, a stark contrast to the way his arm usually drapes over your shoulder casually. He helps you walk back to his dorm with care and compassion, the energy between you a mixture of excitement and lightness, the weight of the confession lifted.

He helps you into his dorm, closing the door and gazes at you with pure happiness before searching his dorm for some towels. A room you’ve stood in many times before but never in this sense, and just being here with all your feelings out in the open makes your body prick with anticipation.

You stand watching him shivering a little, and begin to unstick your thick sweater, clinging to your soaked through shirt, stripping it up with difficulty while Mattheo searches through his draws for some clean clothes. The head of the material sticks trapping your head and you groan, frustrated, trying to pull it off, catching Mattheo’s attention. He peers over his shoulder, laughing at the awkward situation he’s spotted you in.

He slides his hands gently up your sides till he pushes the sleeves of the sweater up, freeing your arms before helping squeeze your head through the hole. The sweater drops to the floor; the moment becoming charged with heightened tension and desperate looks reflected in both of you.

His fingers descend, tracing down your sides in slow strokes that makes your heart leap your full attention on him. You exhale small shallow breaths, feeling your insides squirm under his intense stare, not daring to say a word. His hands wrap around the curve of your waist, tugging you inwards till you press fully up against him, giving you his signature boyish grin.

“That's better.” His eyes flicker between the desperation dripping in your eyes to the soft parting of your lips, waiting with anticipation.

You nod, your chest rising and falling with intense yearning, whispering back, “Yes.. I know now.”

“Good. That’s good.” He presses another kiss travelling up your cheek, sparking the heat to rise, flushing the skin a deep red. He grins sincerely, “you look so pretty when you blush.”

You swallow, feeling your body alight with need, buzzing with electricity that runs down to the tips of your toes. You wonder if he knows how aroused you feel right now. The rest of your clothes are slick still with rainwater, but you already know the puddle forming in your panties is definitely from the heat. You attempt to exhale quiet bated breaths throughout your nose, unable to trust your mouth to open, uncertain what kind of animalistic sound would fall out.

Mattheo might be oblivious to love, but he’s a keen observer in the act of sexual intimacy. It’s as if his eyes are an x-ray lust detector. He knows all the tells of an aroused woman. “So pretty Ace, fuck..you’re making me want to kiss you senseless.” His voice strains with restraint. He’s still holding onto some concern, not wanting to freak you out with all his intense energy waiting to consume you.

The struggle in his tone only makes you want him more and your eyes lift upwards, filled with hungry persuasions. Uttering a simple, “please.”

The moment you plead with those sweet eyes, all his control gets thrown out the window. Taking your jaw in his hand, he leans back in to kiss you. His lips melting onto yours, the two of your lips colliding in synchronization. His hands cup the nape of your head, tilting it back, and diving deeper, his tongue pushes, seeking entrance as kindly as he can be while he fights the pure animalistic hunger to devour you urgently.

You moan softly, allowing him access, the two of your tongues dancing with one another like a fervent tango. He mumbles softly against them, “Do you know how long I craved to feel these lips, Ace?”

A deep flush grows on your cheeks and you breathe heavily, gazing up, feeling his lips kiss along the side of your neck. “How long?” You ask breathlessly.

He chuckles at your response and interest. “too fucking long. I always knew that you’d taste this sweet.” The soft sighs and hums that vibrate out of you have his mind spinning and he presses his lips harder onto your skin, needing to entice more out of you. He pulls you closer to him before he’s back, kissing your lips, engulfing you completely.

The two of you continue to make out, still standing, before his fingers slip under your wet shirt and he hisses at the cold contact. “Merin, you're still freezing.”

“I’m okay.” You reassure him, shivering from his touch.

He smiles, noticing the shiver. “Yeah?”

You nod, promising him, finding it sweet how he’s concerned about you. Sliding your own hands up his arms, you find solace cupping the back of his neck, pulling him down, needing another kiss. He falls back into the growing pattern, not wanting to miss even a single moment of your touch.

“I know a way you can warm me up, though.”

His eyes flutter open and he gazes at you, his eyes glistening with similar intention. “Oh, yeah?” He flashes an amused smile, intrigued by your flirtatious energy. “What might that be, Ace?”

Biting your lip with a teasing smile of your own, you step back, pulling him with you onto the bed, causing him to chuckle happily. His arms flex, holding himself up from crushing you with his weight, and his head dips. “Fuck, you look so sexy when you bite that.”

Your face contorts with a soft whine at the flustering compliment and he grins, more pleased with your reaction. His lips reclaim yours once more with delicate urgency, and you match it quickly getting lost, diving your hands into his curls. Having only stroked his hair tenderly, your fingers move with eagerness, tugging and pulling desperately to get a sound out of him.

His hands trace you with the utmost respect and value, different from his experiences with other girls. There's reasoning and depth behind every touch. Enjoying every sweet moment, being able to explore every curve he’s only dreamed about touching. He’s finally able to hold you the way he's always wanted, no longer needing to hide behind his fragile vulnerability in the dark. He's finally giving you all of him under the limelight, and he hopes to show you how he’s felt this whole time.

Mattheo groans at each tug of hair, lowering himself to keep kissing you, his hands sliding under your shirt again, feeling the way your body contracts. The muscles twitch with sensitivity and he swallows your gasp, grinning before pushing dominantly his tongue back in. His fingers peel the wet shirt up and over your bra.

He sits up ditching his own shirt, and your hands roam over his chest, feeling the groves of his past scars, sending shivers down his back. He watches gazing at your eyes and how they view him. You already know about the meaning behind them, but now you get to love them, and he bites his lip to not get choked up at how you look at him with love in your eyes.

“I’ll go gentle on you...just for today, yeah.” Another cheeky grin flashes your way, unaware of the concealed experience of your sexual life.

You laugh at his sweet reassurance, squeezing his hands, loving the feeling of holding onto him. “I’m really not as innocent as you believe, Matty.”

He raises a brow with surprised curiosity. “Are you telling me I’m not about to be your first Ace?”

The silence confuses him, for when he looks down at you, there's a flash of guilt in your eyes. “I’m not?” He feels a wave of jealousy flow through his veins at the thought of you with someone else, though he knows he has no reason to. He leans down, carrying on his sensual onslaught, kissing up behind your ear. He nips it gently as he whispers sultry, “really?”

Feeling your head nod, he lets out a tiny groan, mostly at himself for taking too fucking long to get his shit together. “That is a shame, baby.”

Turning your head to lock with his sight, reassuring him, “It means more with you, though, Matty.”

His eyes soften, giving a curt nod. He can see the sincerity and honesty in your eyes and he offers a smile back, pecking you. He knows it's true, as it is for him. “The same goes for me.” He cups your cheeks, pressing his forehead to yours, “This isn't a one time thing, okay? You mean so much to me, Ace, and never again do I want to make you feel how I did before.”

His eyes hold so much truth and devotion that you can feel your eyes beginning to water. That is before his hips shift, pressing ever so subtly down, getting into a grinding rhythm as he distracts you from the raw moment with kisses.

He almost jumps out of his skin when your bold hand explores down south, not expecting you to act so brazenly. He shifts, rolling onto his side, allowing your hand to slip inside his pants and wrap around his cock. He can’t help but buck his hips into your palm at the feel of your hand making contact.

“Fuck-Ace.” His eyes droop, looking at you shifting onto your side too, your tits squishing together in the constraints of your bra, his mouth gaping letting out a hitched shaky breath.

Capturing your lips once more, moaning into your mouth, he drowns in the pleasure of how your hand increasingly pumps his cock up and down. He murmurs, resting his forehead against yours with knitted brows, “oh - yeah, ace like that.”

His own hands creep and unbutton your jeans, pushing them down with a bit of urgency. “This okay?”

You nod and ask back, “You? This okay?”

He nods, kissing your cheek and down your neck, “Yes.. better than okay- your hand feels so good.”

You tug your jeans down, kicking them off revealing your panties and he groans, peering down, before he slides a hand rubbing your thigh and tracing his fingers teasingly over the skin as they itch with temptation, brushing gently over your core. He rubs, applying slow pressure over your clothed covered clit and runs a hand through your hair, tugging it back to kiss you. He loves hearing your little sounds muffled into his mouth at the extra sensation you’re feeling.

“So pretty..you sounds so hot.”

You whine sensitively and he swears he’s sent to heaven at the harmonic pitch of your voice. His cock twitches, pulsing in your hand to the sound. Your actions slow focusing on your pleasure and for once he doesn’t mind not being the centre of attention.

He watches with an intense focus full of desire at how your pretty eyes can’t handle staying open, fluttering. The steady rise of your chest increases with every bit of pressure he rubs tauntingly slow. He can't wait any longer, maneuvering his hand under your panties, sliding one finger in, his skin saturated instantly in your juices.

His own breathing congeals to short tiny gasps, eyes darkening, consumed with lustral appreciation. “Soakin Ace. You've been this wet the whole time?”

His question, which seems sincere, causes a flustered reaction and you moan again, grabbing hold of the sheets. He takes it as a yes.

Soft moans of satisfaction infiltrate the room at each hum of your lips. He can feel just how much you’re enjoying this, welcoming him to do what he wants. The trust you have to know what he’s doing is appreciated, and he hums himself in arrogance. Every reaction, sound, movement - watching as your hips begin to jut slightly seek more friction only fills him with a deep pride. You're his girl now, and he’ll never disappoint you again.

His lips move peppering kisses down your neck, nipping at the skin, seeking the achievement of leaving marks of purple hues. “You like that, yeah?”

His finger protrudes deeper, gaining a steady pace, and his eyes flicker away from decoration markings on your neck to your legs spreading wider for his hand. He needs more, hearing every gasp and the sweet moan exhaling from you is pure bliss, and makes him feel on cloud nine.

He hisses gently at how your hand involuntarily squeezes the nearest thing, which happens to be his cock still. It's torture, as you're so focused on him, just pleasing him to even notice the subtle teasing you’re providing. “Sweetheart..” His tone is gritted with bated breath. “F-fuck, please either let go or do something with your hand.”

You moan at the pet name and begin pumping him again, trying to multitask, your brows frowning at his addition of another finger. “Ah- sorry Matty.. I’m trying…just feels s’good!”

He grins at your struggle to speak. “Yeah, feels good?” His fingers meticulously move with skill, slick knuckles deep in your cunt, before he curls them, scraping the spot to make your back arch.

There’s a string of whines as your hips buck up into his hand, “Uh! Yes!”

“Yeah, you want another? Want me to stretch you out…wanna be ready for me, don’t you, Ace?”

While his words are forward and prompting for more, he doesn’t make any moves to do anything until you give him confirmation. He’s continuously checking for your assurance, making sure this is what you want. He just wants to bring you pleasure, watch you get off riding slowly onto his fingers. How your back is arching and your muttering soft pleads, all for him. What's yours is his right.

You nod desperately, “Please Matty!”

He obliges, pushing in a third with ease, your walls contracting to fit him snug inside your drenched pussy. The warmth that evades his fingers has him groaning, listening to a new wave of mews slur out of you. “Fuck-that’s it. Such a good girl, baby.”

He bites back the small protest when you release his cock and grip his arm instead, the indents of your nails digging into his skin, stinging but filling him with a possessive power. He wants your marks on him as much as he wants to leave them on you. To combine your bodies as one and intertwine in a way that goes beyond physical.

Pure bliss overcomes your face and you turn, opening your eyes, glossy with need. Bringing his head down in urgency, you plead. “Matty…Matty, I want more.. Please, I don’t wanna cum unless it’s in you.”

“Shit-t yes yeah?”

His fingers slowly drag, retracting out, pulling a needy whine from the back of your throat, and you nod urgently. He gives his fingers a quick lick, not wanting to waste a single drop of you, watching focused how you shuffle out of your panties.

He shifts sitting up and starts removing his own wet pants with great difficulty. The jeans are heavy and compressed to his thighs tight, causing them to stick, his groin constricted pushing snuggly against the material of his unbutton pants. “Shit- fuck, these are fucking tight now.”

“Fucking Salazar.” He takes in your body as you lay waiting patiently. His lustful gaze only makes you that much hotter. He leans against the bedpost, unable to drag his eyes away. “Ace?”

“Yeah?”

“Just checking this is real.” He finishes pulling his pants down, almost tripping over them with excitement that draws a giggle out of you. The sound of your laugh shakes him out of his daze, and he grins cheekily, continuing his mission of ridding his clothes as fast as possible. “God, I love your laugh.. gonna make me cum right now.”

Your laugh grows in ecstatic shock at his vulgar words. “Mattheo!”

“Oh yeah, look at you practicing screaming already.” He grins, finding your flustering adoring. He frees his cock, admiring the absolutely thirsty look painting your face. He can’t help how his mind backtracks to your admission of not being a virgin, and he lets out a speck of jealousy. “Tell me really, am I bigger?”

“Bigger?” Only just are your eyes able to drift away and up with a furrowed brow.

“Yeah.. Then the fucker who stole your virginity.”

You can’t help the pleased laugh breaking out at his not-so-subtle jealousy, trying to hold back the smug attitude. “Seriously, you're getting jealous now, while I'm baring not only my body but my heart and soul to you.” Lifting a feigned unimpressed eyebrow, you watch with astonishment at how his face changes, expressing a small sheepish smile.

You beckon him closer with a finger, welcoming the confidence flowing through you. “Come here.”

As if pulled by a magnet, he crawls back down, hovering above, his eyes gleaming enticingly and the deep inhale of need. The way you’re looking at him as if he holds all your answers, holds all the warmth for you and that he’s the only one to bring you happiness prick at his skin, feeling nervous. But then you smile and wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer and whisper an adorable, “Hi.”

He grins back, finding himself relaxing just at the mere sight of those brimming cheeks and whispers back, “Hey gorgeous.”

His hands roam, maneuvering over your body and pushing your thighs apart. He notes how your eyes fall, breath spiking with anticipation. “Hey, look at me.” His voice is a soft, strained whisper, on the break of losing it altogether as the head of his tip drags through your folds. “You know I love your eyes. It's one of your favourite features of mine.”

He’s never done this before. Been so openly intimate, especially as he’s preparing to fuck someone. He nudges the tip a little further in just gently, a low rumble etching out with hoarse feralness. “I want your eyes on me the whole time, ok Ace.”

Meeting his eye, losing yourself drowning in warm pools of brown neediness, listening to his gentle but essential request, you nod in confirmation. “I will. I never want to turn my back on you again. I love your eyes too much, too.”

His cheeks are hurting from how much they’ve stretched into a smile tonight. “God, you’re perfect, aren’t you?” He captures your lips in a short but passionate kiss.

“Just tell me if it's too much, yeah.” He warns concerningly, biting back the desire to lose control and wreck you completely. At just your nod he utters, looking back up, “words Ace.”

“I will.. yeah, Matty just please..”

“Good girl, such sweet manners.” He grins, licking his lip as he grips his cock, nudging it further in between your folds, his eyes fixed on the way your pretty pussy embraces the head so perfectly, like it was made just for him. A glottal groan of relief passes through his lips and he thrusts his hips gently, his cock sliding deeper into the tightness of your warm walls.

“Oh-f-fuck.” He drops his head, pressing his forehead already beginning to bare a sheen of sweat onto yours, feeling the gaping of your own mouth. The sound that pulls from you is sinful, a delicious lewd moan that makes him grip your hips with firmness to not fall apart so quickly.

“God-yeah…You feel so fucking’good.”

At the flexible way your legs bend back towards your chest naturally, he groans breathlessly, taking it as a sign you’re okay for him to pick up the pace. His hips thrust, driving into you with a satisfying rhythm, the moans continuing to tumble from your lips.

“That’s it… you sound so pretty, baby.” He rasps low and husky. He’s looking at everything, watching the pleasure etched on your face while you lay with your eyes scrunched closed, absorbing it all. He flickers his eyes back and forth from how his cock slides between your folds captivatingly and up to your pretty blessed out face. Your mouth gaping as streams of whiney moans flows out, your head thrown back in ecstasy. “Fuck, I don't know where to look baby…look so good taking me.”

Clutching onto him with a grip of iron, nails pinching into his skin as he cages your body in. His biceps bulge under the movement of holding his weight above you. He drops his head into the crook of your neck and he groans, feeling your fingers dig into his hair, listening to your babbled praises. “Matty- ah feel s’good.”

He roams his hands, stretching your legs wider as he presses his palm down to stabilize himself, his hips vigorously bucking with the strength of a raging bull. He doesn’t know how he told himself he could go easy, with the way your pussy squeezes his cock feels as good as pure heroine. He plants kisses on your neck and turns your head towards him, pressing his lips back onto yours.

He’s in love with the way you feel, the way you sound, your touches roaming his body, switching from gentle caresses to carnal scratches. He feels whole with you, intertwined as bursts of passion taint your tongues, each sound harmonising together heavenly. “Ace.. fuck, you’re so perfect.”

You nod, trying to form a solid thought in response, but the way the tip of his cock is gliding so effortlessly into your cervix only makes you chant his name, your voice breaking with a high pitch strain.

It’s one of the most beautiful things he’s ever witnessed and he kisses your ear, whispering sweet nothings into them, encouraging your onboarding orgasm. “Mmm yeah, cum for me baby, so fuckin pretty wanna watch you fall apart.”

Your climax breaks, spots of white light blurring your vision and you tighten your arms around him, clinging to the one thing grounding you from the overwhelming pleasure. His head lifts, watching with pure delight at the way your body convulses, glistening with sweat like an ethereal being. His body shakes as his hips jutter following you. Broken groans mumble against the skin of your neck as he spills his seed into you entirely.

He huffs a tired pant, not wanting to move, for he’s never felt so whole as right now. He murmurs softly, pressing a sloppy kiss to your ear, “s'good..the best ace. I could live in your pussy, just fall asleep and never wake up.”

You catch your breath, letting out a shaky laugh that makes your cunt squeeze his cock, releasing another deep groan. He shifts his cock aching sensitivity and pulls out rolling to lie beside you, wrapping an arm around your neck to tuck you into his side.

He rests his chin on top of your head. “You okay?”

Nodding with droopy eyes, you plant a kiss on his collarbone and try to calm your mind and absorb the reality of what’s just happened. “Yeah..you're definitely bigger.” You grin answering his earlier question. You blink, gazing up at him with nothing but love and a rapturous glow on your face. “but I’m ok.. im great.”

He chuckles warmly, not even caring to be cocky anymore. He tangles his hand into the still wet knot of your locks. “fuck yeah you are..and your super sure you're real?”

You pinch his thigh, making a sudden squeal come out of his mouth. “Alright! Aight, no need to seek revenge on me - I already apologised.” He jests cupping your head in a firm hold like one of his usual headlocks, but only plants a soft kiss on the top of your head.

“I am sorry, though, and I mean it.” He shifts so your face is parallel to his and he admires the returning light that shines back into your eyes, a warmth that lights the darkness inside him. He brushes your check with his thumb, over the red hues adorning your cheeks, evidence of your spent state.

“I may be a twat a good portion of the time, and this-”, he gestures between the two of you. “Still scares me, so fucking much.” His words are raw and burn with a vulnerability that still sits unfamiliar in his throat. “You’re truly an enigma. I still don’t know what in the hell you see in me?”

You smile, eyes brimming with the utmost love. "I see everything you don’t.”

It’s the truth, and it always has been. The way Mattheo makes you feel is frightening, electrifying, like you’re caught in a storm and he’s your saving grace, parting the seas, giving you everything you need. How his eyes shine, reflecting your clear emotion, makes your heart beat with the force of a thousand drums stimulating the rest of your body.

A warm buzz vibrates between the two of you, knowing that all along, everything you were both missing was right there. The notion that you'll both be alright, swaddled in the new cocoon of your relationship, both finally receiving the love you deserve together.

This work is my own, please don't copy or claim. Any and all interactions are appreciated, thank you for reading! ty again @amongemeraldclouds for your love and support! couldn't have done this without you!

Navigation. Masterlist. Mattheo Riddle Masterlist.

©️pizzaapeteer 2025

#— 𝐥𝐞𝐨’𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐬 ༯ #mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle x reader

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callikari · 12 hours ago

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I LIKE ME BETTER ⭑ WHEN I'M WITH YOU

。 to be young and in love is to cherish the moments. (like when sunghoon gets jealous for your affection)

박성훈 x fem!reader 、 fluff · 🪷 893 wc ( ˶ˆᗜˆ˵ ) caution ! established relationship light jealousy skinship kissing

REBLOG FOR A KiSS

it started with something small.

you were just joking around with riki during practice break — ruffling his hair after he nailed a difficult move, tossing him a bottle of water with a proud grin. riki beamed at you, laughing when you ruffled his hair again and called him “good job, baby riki!”

completely harmless. sweet, even.

but from across the room, sunghoon saw the whole thing.

and he did not look happy.

he watched with narrowed eyes, arms folded tightly over his chest, jaw slightly clenched. he didn’t say anything — just turned dramatically away like a prince betrayed, grabbing his phone and pretending not to care.

you noticed immediately.

after practice, when the others were packing up, you made your way over to him, smiling softly.

“hoon,” you called gently, tapping his shoulder.

he barely glanced at you. “what.”

your heart squeezed at how grumpy he looked — brows furrowed, lips set into a thin line.

“are you mad?” you asked, amused but careful.

“no,” he said quickly. too quickly.

you crouched down in front of where he was sitting, reaching out to brush his bangs out of his eyes. he flinched, like he wanted to lean in but was too stubborn.

“you’re mad,” you said, laughing a little.

“i’m not mad,” he repeated, but now he was pouting. full-on, shameless pouting. “just… go baby riki. he seems to need you more.”

you gaped at him, realization dawning. “you’re jealous?”

he shrugged, looking absolutely miserable. “you were giving him head pats. and compliments. and calling him ‘baby.’”

you couldn’t help but laugh — not at him, never at him, but at how ridiculously cute he was when he got like this.

“sunghoon,” you cooed, crawling into his lap without warning. he tensed for a second in surprise, then immediately melted when you wrapped your arms around his neck.

“you’re my only baby,” you whispered against his ear.

he shivered slightly, arms coming up to hold you tight.

“promise?” he mumbled, voice small.

“promise,” you said, kissing the tip of his nose. “now come home with me, and i’ll prove it properly.”

sunghoon was even clingier than usual.

he dropped his bag by the door, kicked off his shoes, and immediately followed you around like a lost puppy — trailing behind you to the kitchen, to the couch, to the bathroom door while you washed your hands.

every time you turned around, he was right there, looking at you with big, sad eyes.

finally, you grabbed his hand and tugged him toward the couch.

“c’mere, hoonie,” you said softly, settling down and opening your arms wide.

he didn’t need to be told twice — he flopped onto you with a heavy, dramatic sigh, his entire body curling into yours like he was trying to merge with you.

you laughed, running your fingers through his hair immediately, knowing that’s what he needed.

he buried his face in your neck, mumbling, “baby me.”

“already on it,” you said, smiling.

you cradled him in your lap, one hand stroking his hair in slow, soothing motions, the other tracing gentle shapes along his back. he sighed contently, the tension finally starting to leave his body.

“you’re my one and only,” you whispered, pressing soft kisses along his hairline. “my favorite. my sunghoon.”

he hummed, still hiding his face, but you could feel the way his body relaxed even more.

you kissed the crown of his head. “my handsome boy.”

kissed his temple. “my talented boy.”

kissed the corner of his forehead. “my baby.”

sunghoon finally tilted his head up to look at you, cheeks flushed pink, eyes glassy with sleepiness and love.

“more,” he demanded quietly.

you smiled, cupping his face in both hands and squishing his cheeks. “more?”

“yeah,” he whispered, sounding almost shy. “please.”

you leaned down and kissed him properly this time — soft and slow, like you had all the time in the world. his arms tightened around you, pulling you closer until there was barely any space between you.

when you pulled back, you peppered more kisses across his face — his nose, his cheeks, his jawline — making him giggle in that rare, breathless way you loved so much.

“hoonie,” you murmured against his skin, “you’re everything to me.”

he blinked up at you, lips trembling slightly like he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words.

so you just held him tighter, giving him all the love he needed without asking for anything in return.

he deserved this. he deserved to be loved so fiercely, so obviously, that he never had to doubt it again.

you shifted slightly so that he was lying fully stretched out along the couch, his head resting in your lap, your fingers threading gently through his hair.

he sighed again — a long, content sound — and looked up at you through heavy lashes.

“can we stay like this forever?” he asked, voice soft and sleepy.

“forever,” you promised, pressing another kiss to his forehead. “i’m not going anywhere.”

you stayed like that for a long time — cuddling, kissing, stroking his hair — until eventually, sunghoon dozed off completely, his arms still wrapped tightly around your waist like he was afraid you’d disappear.

you leaned down and whispered against his hairline, “i love you, baby.”

and even in his sleep, he smiled.

enhypen taglist :: @nocturnebite @cheruphic @chrrific @jungwonbropls @ijustreallylike2read @ijustwannareadstuff20

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alotofpockets · 2 days ago

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Between kicks | Kyra Cooney-Cross x Pregnant!Reader

5k celebration prompt: “Did the baby just kick?”

Warnings: pregnancy, preterm labour, emergency c-section

Woso masterlist | Words: 2.2k

-----

Pregnancy was a new experience for both you and Kyra. A whole new world opened for the both of you, learning so much from your family and friends who have kids themselves. You were grateful for having so many people around you that helped the two of you on your journey to parenthood, you wouldn’t know what you would be doing without all of their helpful tips and insights.

A few weeks ago you and Kyra had sat down in the room that you were going to convert into the nursery. Discussing what you would like the theme for the room to be. Scrolling through pinterest, showing each other things you liked and disliked.

“Any colour scheme you’d like to go with?” You had asked Kyra, as you had seen so many ideas that you no longer knew what to look for anymore. Kyra looked around the room, deep in thought about your question.

“What about green and yellow?” She asked with a hopeful undertone. “Matildas colours?” You asked, and you watched her smile grow. “Yeah, you know since we live here in the UK, maybe it would be nice to have a little bit of my home in the room.” You didn’t need any convincing, but loved the thought she had put behind the choice. “I love it. Green and yellow it is.”

Once your friends had finished painting the room for you, the two of you had taken over again. Kyra was assembling the baby furniture while you were washing and folding all the baby clothes you had bought so far. Neither one of you could stop yourselves when you saw something cute at the store, so you definitely had more than enough clothes already, including a couple baby jersey’s of course.

After another little shirt was folded, you felt something move in your belly. You move your hand to your belly and wait to feel it again. There it was again, a soft kick to your hand. Your eyes welled up, this was the first time you had felt your baby move. “Ky, come here quick!” You said excitedly.

Kyra rushed to your side. “Is everything okay?” You smiled through the tear that was rolling down your cheek, “Yeah, just wait.” With your free hand, you lift up Kyra’s and lay it down on your belly where you had just felt the baby.

It took a moment, but then you felt it again. “Did the baby just kick?” Kyra asked. Her eyes widen when you nod. “Yeah, I think he likes the room already.” With a content smile your wife looks over the room, “Great taste, little man.”

The pregnancy was going great, all the appointments went smoothly. Every scan showed a happy and healthy baby, so when the conversation about Kyra’s upcoming national camp came up, you were quick to convince her to go. “Darling, we are perfectly healthy and we still have three months to go before the expected delivery date. Let them know you’re available to go, please.” Kyra had said she shouldn’t go, that she shouldn’t leave you while you were pregnant, but you tried convincing her to go. There was still plenty of time in the pregnancy, and you had enough people around you to help out.

It took a lot of convincing, but eventually she gave in and let the coach know that she would be available for selection. Not soon after her call-up had come. She wanted to leave you completely taken care of, so she prepared everything that she could and made sure there were friends and family there to check up on you.

“I’m going to miss you both so much.” She said as she hugged you goodbye and then knelt down to kiss your belly. “Take care of your mama, little one.” She whispered. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

A week of texts, and quick video calls went by while Kyra was training with the team in Australia. She was constantly checking up on you, to the point where you had jokingly asked Steph who was in the background to confiscate Kyra’s phone so she could focus on her job. It was all out of love though, so you couldn’t really be annoyed at her for caring so much.

You had your mom over for lunch, and she’d stay to watch Kyra’s game with you. She had never cared much for football herself, but grew to love it with every game of Kyra’s you had dragged her to watch with you over the years.

While you were cleaning up after yourselves in the kitchen, all of a sudden you stopped talking mid sentence. Your mom turned around, “What’s that, darling?” She asks, thinking she misheard. But when she turns around she sees the panicked look on your face.

Your right hand is on your lower belly, while with your left you hold onto the counter like your life depends on it. Your knuckles white from how tightly you are gripping it. A sharp pain shoots through your belly, and your mom notices you turning pale. “I’m here, baby.” She steps forwards and helps to hold you up right.

“Mom, something is wrong.” You say before even noticing that you’re bleeding. It started slowly but then there was a lot of blood. Your mom was quick to help you to the ground and called 911.

Everything moved so fast. The last thing you faintly remember hearing is “Thirty weeks pregnant, heavy vaginal bleeding, vitals unstable. ETA ten minutes.” Before your eyes drift close.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the world, the Matildas had just kicked off. It was the first match of international break, and Kyra was excited to get her first touches back with the Matildas. For the first time since she left, she wasn’t worried about you and the baby, her full focus was on football.

Not even ten minutes into the match, Clare Wheeler started warming up. It got some weird looks from the fans in the stadium, and a couple of confused faces on the pitch, but everyone went with it. The coaches knew what they were doing.

The next time that the ball went out of bounds, Clare got up to make the substitution. Kyra heard her name being yelled, and right away she knew something was wrong. She ran to the side and knew her instincts were right when she saw the look in Clare’s eyes as she quickly high fived her.

“Are they okay?” Kyra asked the coach instantly as she stepped off. The coach put an arm around her and guided her into the tunnel instantly. Just getting Kyra away from the crowd. “We just got a call from your mother in law. Y/n is being rushed to the hospital. Right now we don’t know a lot, just that both your wife and the baby need immediate medical attention.”

Kyra’s heart was beating like crazy, this couldn’t be happening while she was on the other side of the world. Why did she let you talk her into going, she should be by your side. “We’ve got you a ticket for the first flight out. If you leave now, they should be able to hold the plane on the ground for you.”

The coach urged her to move towards the locker room to quickly grab her stuff. While one of the other staff members was getting her car to drive her to the airport. They told her not to worry about the rest of her stuff, that they would send it along with Steph and Caitlin, they just wanted Kyra to be with her family as soon as possible. Especially since the flight was so long. They made sure she got wifi so she could stay updated, and she was taking full advantage of that, constantly checking in with her mother in law.

It wasn’t until a few hours into the flight that Kyra got the update that you were out of surgery. She read over the message a hundred times. “They’re both okay. She’s out of surgery, and resting now. They had to perform an emergency c-section because the baby was in distress, but your little boy is strong. He is in the NICU being monitored.”

She cursed herself for missing the birth of her baby, but ultimately was grateful that the both of you were doing okay. She wiped away a tear, not wanting to cry in a full plane. Now that she had gotten this update, she knew she had to get some sleep in to make this flight go by faster. She texted your mom to let her know if anything changes, and that she would leave her phone on for any news.

After seemingly the longest flight of her life, Kyra finally arrived back in the Uk and quickly took an Uber to the hospital.

Kyra basically sprinted through the hospital to find your room. When she entered you were sitting up in the bed slightly, still connected to a bunch of monitors and an IV. Tears sprung in her eyes again. Without saying a word she stepped all the way to the side of your bed and hugged you tight. Your mom stepped out of the room to give the two of you a moment.

“I’m so glad you’re okay.” Kyra whispered. You smiled at her weakly, “Yeah, me too.” Kyra sat down on the edge of the bed and put her hands on yours. “I should have been here, I’m so sorry that I wasn’t.” You’re quick to shake your head, “Don’t be. Neither one of us knew this was going to happen. The doctor’s said that sometimes it just happens, and there is no underlying reason why. I’m okay and our little man is too, I’m just glad you’re here with us now.” You squeezed her hand lightly.

“I’m sorry you had to miss your match, I know you were looking forward to it.” Kyra chuckled, “I think I will get over that a lot quicker than missing my baby's birth.” To lighten the mood, you added, “Well, if it makes you feel any better, I missed it too. I mean I was there but not consciously.”

“Have you seen him yet?” Your wife asks. “Only through pictures and videos mom showed me. I haven’t been strong enough to head to the NICU until my last check up thirty minutes ago, and since I knew you were close, I wanted to wait and meet our little man together.”

So, that’s what you did. Kyra pushed your wheelchair to the NICU, with your mom in tow, filming every moment. As you rounded the corner, there was a nurse waiting to guide you to your baby. “He’s been waiting to meet his mamas.” She said as you arrived.

You look into the incubator to see him for the first time. He looked impossibly small, but his chest was rising and falling steadily. He has a few sensors tucked away between the blankets to monitor him, as well as a tiny nasal cannula to help his breathing. But those weren’t the things you were focussing on, your focus was on his perfect little face, his tiny hands gripping the blanket, and his tongue moving around his lips. “He’s perfect.” Kyra whispered in awe.

“Would you like to hold him?” The nurse asked. You didn’t even need a second to think about it, of course you wanted to hold him.

The nurse carefully took him out of the incubator and adjusted his wires as she laid him into your arms. Everything you had been worried about faded away a little as you got to hold him. You cradled him to your chest, Kyra laying her hand on his back as her forehead was touching yours.

The already perfect moment became even more perfect when he left out a content sigh. Hearing him like that warmed your heart and made you fall in love with him even more.

As much as you wanted to keep holding him, the position you had to sit in to do so wasn’t entirely comfortable after your surgery, so it was quickly Kyra’s turn to hold him. She sat down on a chair next to you, and the nurse helped to move him to his other mom.

You reached out your hand to move your finger over his tiny cheek, and then down to his shoulder, arms and his hand. On instinct he wrapped his hand around your finger, bringing out a smile to your face.

“Did you pick out a name yet?” Your mom asks, with her phone still recording the three of you. You and Kyra shared a look, there had been a few on your list that you liked, but the moment that you had seen him, you had known exactly which one you thought best fit him. Kyra nods, and you both turn to your mom again. “Oliver.” You said at the same time, your smile growing that you had the exact same feeling.

-----

💗 If you enjoyed this fic, please consider liking, commenting, and reblogging! You can also support me by leaving a tip 💗

#pockets 5k celebration #kyra cooney cross #kyra cooney cross x reader #kyra cooney cross imagine #matildas x reader #arsenal wfc x reader #arsenal women x reader #awfc x reader #auswnt x reader #woso x reader #woso imagine #arsenal wfc #arsenal women #awfc #matildas #auswnt

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jxwl4k · 2 days ago

Note

Hi J!! I have a little request 😊

Reader (she/her and a little girly if possible🙏🏻) and Katsuki are on a date or shopping, and they both run into Katsuki's old "friends" from middle school. At first, Katsuki didn't recognize them at all (until it hit him who they even were 💀), and then they started small talk. Katsuki really didn't give a fuck, the poor guy just wanted to spend time with his girl. Until they saw Reader and started completely objectifying her with comments like, "And that's your play thing?", "She's pretty to look at" without even acknowledging her as a person. In the end, Katsuki stands up for Reader and reminds the guys where their place is.

I would be very happy and wish you a good night/day, drink enough water, and take care of yourself.🩷✨️😚

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ Mine .𖥔 ݁ ˖

☘︎ . . . genre. fluff, slight angst

☘︎ . . . pairings. bakugou x fem!reader

☘︎ . . . requested? yes by anon

⤿ Katsuki Bakugou defends YN when his old friends objectify her during a shopping trip, showing them no one messes with what’s his.

The sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm glow over the bustling shopping street. Katsuki Bakugou was doing his best to keep his cool, but it wasn’t the heat that had him irritated. No, it was the fact that he was on a date with YN, his sunshine, the one person who could make him forget the world around him. She was everything soft and delicate, and he loved every bit of it.

“Hey, YN, do you think this would look good on me?” she asked, holding up a cute pink cardigan that seemed to make her eyes sparkle even more.

“Definitely,” he grumbled, his tone softening only because he could see how excited she was. Katsuki was never one for shopping he’d rather be training or blowing up the nearest target but anything to make her happy.

She smiled, holding the cardigan to her chest. “Okay, I’m getting it!” YN was a little girly, and he’d gotten used to it, even if it made him roll his eyes half the time.

As she skipped ahead to the register, Katsuki followed behind, hands in his pockets, his usual scowl in place. He wasn’t really paying attention to anything until a familiar voice broke through his thoughts.

“Bakugou?”

Katsuki’s head whipped around, eyes narrowing in confusion. Standing across from him were two guys, both grinning like they knew something he didn’t. It took a moment, and then it hit him. They were from his middle school.

“Shit… no way,” Katsuki muttered under his breath.

YN, still standing at the register, hadn’t noticed the encounter yet. Katsuki sighed, running a hand through his spiky blonde hair, clearly unimpressed. “What do you two want?” he grumbled, his gaze shifting to the two old “friends.”

The guys grinned, clearly surprised to see him. “We were just talking about how you turned into a big shot hero. Not bad, Bakugou,” one of them said.

“Yeah, real big shot,” the other chimed in, crossing his arms, his eyes scanning Katsuki’s face. “Didn’t expect you to be hangin’ around here, though. You always hated places like this.”

Katsuki just shrugged, uninterested. “I’m here with my girl. Don’t have time for your shit.”

The guys exchanged amused looks, their eyes flicking over to YN, who was chatting with the cashier, completely oblivious to the conversation.

“Is that your play thing?” one of the guys asked with a smirk, his voice dripping with condescension. “She’s pretty to look at, I’ll give her that.”

Katsuki’s blood began to boil, but he kept his posture relaxed, trying not to snap in front of YN. But the way they were talking about her? It made his skin crawl.

“She’s not a ’play thing,’” Katsuki bit out, his voice low and dangerous.

The other guy leaned in, clearly trying to get a rise out of him. “C’mon, she’s cute. She’s gotta be a fun little distraction for you, right? You always were the type to get bored quick.”

Katsuki’s hands clenched into fists, his patience wearing thin. This wasn’t middle school anymore. YN was his no one talked about her like that.

“Listen up, assholes,” Katsuki’s voice was suddenly sharp, his usual scowl back in full force. “You don’t get to talk about her like that. She’s not some object for you to ogle or make jokes about. She’s a person. And I won’t tolerate any shit from you two.”

The guys blinked, clearly taken aback by the intensity in his voice. “Whoa, calm down, Bakugou. We were just messin’ around,” one of them stammered.

Katsuki stepped closer, his towering presence making the guys take a step back. “You wanna mess around? Fine, but not when it’s about her. You’ve got your place, and that’s not it.”

YN finally turned around, the confusion clear on her face when she saw the tension between them. “Katsuki?” she asked, her voice soft and uncertain.

Katsuki’s expression softened the moment he turned to look at her. “Don’t worry, babe. These idiots are just trying to get under my skin.” He shot the guys one last glare. “And trust me, they’re not worth your time.”

YN frowned, her lips pursed. “I don’t like when people talk about me like that,” she murmured.

Katsuki reached out and gently took her hand, his thumb brushing over her soft skin. “They won’t anymore,” he promised, his voice low and firm.

The guys, now realizing they’d pushed their luck too far, muttered a quick apology and scurried off, clearly aware that they’d crossed a line.

Katsuki watched them go, his face hard, before he turned to YN. His fierce expression softened, and for a moment, it was just him and her.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his tone much softer now.

YN smiled up at him, her eyes glowing with affection. “Yeah, I’m fine. I just hate when people treat me like I’m not… well, me.”

Katsuki nodded, pulling her close. “No one will ever treat you like that again. You’re mine, and that means no one messes with you. Got it?”

YN’s heart skipped a beat at his words. “Got it,” she replied, resting her head on his shoulder.

And as they walked off down the street, Katsuki’s arm securely around her, he couldn’t help but feel proud. Not just because he’d stood up for her, but because she was the one person who truly made him feel something real, something that mattered.

And he’d be damned if anyone ever tried to take that away.

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coolwyous · 2 days ago

Text

┈─★ 𝘪 𝘨𝘰𝘵 𝘯𝘰 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘦 ( 𝘀𝗼 𝘀𝗮𝘆 𝗶𝘁 𝗯𝗮𝗰𝗸 — 𝙙𝙞𝙩𝙩𝙤. )

⊹ ࣪ ˖ after 3 years of dating rising star and hockey team captain megan skiendiel, your senior year of college signals the end of an era. as she approaches her final season, the two of you navigate how much you're willing to push and pull to pursue her dreams— and figure out where yours fit in all of this, too.

ˎˊ˗ ❄️ ⊹ ࣪ ˖ 🔓୭˚. ⠀ ᵎᵎ ⠀ 🗝️

➴ pairing: hockey captain! megan skiendiel x english major! f!reader

➴ genre + wc: 18k, fluff, angst, established relationship, poor stress management tbh, also reader keeps a lowkey shitty secret for a lot longer than needed, happy ending.

➴ you might want to tune in...: ditto - newjeans

┈─★ a/n: chat are we ready to say goodbye to dittoverse.... i'm ngl i'll miss my hockey wigline! so grateful that i got to start my writing journey w ditto pt i and now i get to write this to truly circle all the way around. lmk what you think <3

cw:// brief mentions of recreational drug use, mild violence but once again it's a hockey fic!

“ladies and gentlemen, megan thee skiendiel!”

you announce the introduction into your pen, quickly shoving the makeshift mic over the table into megan’s face.

“i’d get copyrighted.” she wrinkles her nose. “and my last name is so not tough enough.”

you shake your head, bringing the pretend microphone back to your face. “megan thee captain, then.”

“cheesy,” she grins at you. you match her smile right back. “i need something better for my interview.”

“megan thee girlfriend,” you tease, as she taps her chin as if to genuinely contemplate it.

“that’s a good one.” she grabs her notebook and pretends to jot them down. “megan thee property of y/n.”

“okay, relax,” you laugh. “what’s your day look like?”

the ginger lets out a sigh, and your heart aches as you realize you’ve popped the bubble. the topic you’ve both been avoiding as you try to make the most of your quality time: your girlfriend’s insane schedule.

“we leave to the airport after class,” she lists off, holding up a finger, “then the hotel, away game tomorrow evening, fly back saturday morning.”

“we prep your presentation, prep your speech,” you add, reminding her what you were working on in the first place.

“oh, and then monday i have to go with the department to do a ribbon cutting at an elementary school,” megan adds. “they started a girl’s hockey team in partnership with the university.”

“you’re terrible with kids,” you laugh.

“i fucking know i’m terrible with kids,“ she groans, burying her face in your shoulder. “how do i not knock them over or accidentally swear in front of them or whatever?”

“things are only going to get busier during midterms.” you frown at the mere thought of how overloaded her schedule is. “so you breathe when?”

“right now,” megan wrinkles her nose, before her mind escapes elsewhere. “we should get a dog.”

“oh, i’m sure my roommate-who-isn’t-you would love that,” you snort. megan still lives in that same house with dani, who now coaches, and lara, who’s finishing up her internship.

“not now, just later.” she grins and wraps her arm around your waist, scooting your chair in up next to hers far too easily. she brings her nose to your hear, mumbling into your hair. “hey, be my date to alumni night?”

“i’d crash out if you picked anyone else.” you laugh, pressing a kiss into her cheek. “like on the floor, snot all over my face, ugly crying.”

“no, you look so so sad when you cry. thank god you’re the only person i want as my date,” she grins.

a voice quickly bursts your bubble. again.

“shhhh.” you’ve almost completely forgotten about the couple trying to read across the table from you as you get caught up in your whispers. “library is for studying. less yapping.”

“we’re inside a study room,” you squint at her.

“sorry minji,” megan adds fearfully, her brows furrowing.

“please don’t feel the need to apologize to her,” you wave her off. you’re grateful that your friendship with minji hasn’t just survived the years, but thrived, and now results in you living in a off-campus 2 bedroom apartment with her and her girlfriend. of course, you’d ideally be living with megan, but given her travel schedule, it worked out better for you guys to live apart.

“i’m smarter than both of you,” minji says flatly.

the newest addition to your friend group, megan’s old roommate, danielle marsh, pokes her head out from behind the book she’s diving into, pushing minji gently on the shoulder as a reprimand.

“be nice.”

“thank you, marsh,” megan nods appreciatively, as you stick your tongue out at minji at her girlfriend’s reproach.

“we should start walking to class anyways,” you wave her off, seeing the time in the corner of your laptop. your girlfriend takes the cue without question and bids your friends farewell with a nod of her head.

megan, chivalrous, sweet megan, has never let you open a door for yourself, and got it into her head that you shouldn’t carry any of your own things either. you tried to tell her off when she first started doing it, but seeing how sad those puppy dog eyes got when you insisted she stop carrying your bookbag made you give in the next day, and the rest has been history.

she immediately reaches for your backpack and extends a hand out to you. you take it and relish in how warm her skin is against yours. she makes a face, a wince, as she grabs her own bag and hauls the two of them over her shoulder while you make your way out of the library together.

“is your back okay?” you ask, worried about her reaction.

“it would be if you stopped carrying every single one your textbooks in this damn bag.” she huffs, but the sparkle in her eye tells you she’s still just teasing you. she squeezes your hand reassuringly. “i get that you paid for them but jesus christ baby, get them online next time.”

“we have one last semester, think you can handle my books for a few months longer?” you tease back.

“don’t remind me,” she tells you, but you see something in her face change at the mention of your college experience coming to an end.

before you can ask anything about it, a few random people come up to the two of you, one girl stopping in your tracks.

“hi, could we get a picture?” she asks, sticking her phone out. “my dad loves you. says you’ve revamped women’s college hockey.”

you give megan a look but graciously step to the side, letting the strangers squeeze in next to her. megan shoots you an apologetic glance but immediately perks up into a smile for the girl’s photo.

“i think daniela avanzini changed the game, i just followed up on what she started,” she smiles, holding a thumbs up for the photo. they thank her and scurry off, leaving you to reclaim your girlfriend by the hand as you resume your walk to class.

“my mini-celebrity,” you pretend to fan yourself. “want me to sign an nda?”

“oh god, i hate when you say a bunch of letters,” she wrinkles her nose, shaking her head. “my fucking brain is so cooked.”

“chat, do i define nda for her or do i let her guess?”

“nonchalant drippy alpha.” megan grins.

“actually it’s never die, asshole.”

“i think it’s nine dry assholes,” she adds on.

“why did you fixate on the asshole part? and why are there nine of them?” you squint at her, poking her nose with your fingertip. “weirdo.”

“you’re weirder.” she grabs your finger and plants a kiss on it, then another, and another. “and you love me.”

your heart stirs at the sight of her cute brown eyes peeking out at you expectantly from under that stupid beanie. you’ll be stuck with a forever crush on this giant dork.

“maybe,” you shrug.

megan beams, then drops her voice into her stereotypical gamer voice, pretending to speak into an imaginary microphone like how you two had in the library.

“oh fuck yeah. we got a maybe from fineshyt, chat, please clip.”

you roll your eyes, but hold on just a bit tighter to her hand. megan is quick to squeeze right back.

your schedule is busy, between finishing your senior capstone project and the full course load you’re taking, on top of the online editing job you work in between it all. you’ve found an effective way to balance your workload, but for every day you want to grumble and complain about your schedule, you look at the google calendar that you share with your girlfriend, and send a silent prayer of gratitude that your days look nothing like hers.

your semester gets off to a slightly bumpy start, as megan tries to fit the beginning of the new season and her captain duties in with the classes she’s taking, but you two have managed to make it work.

and by make it work, you mean do whatever you can to try and spend whatever shred of time she can spare together.

like tonight, for example, when you’re done with classes and calling megan as soon as you’re done with your editing shift before you start homework.

she picks up on the second ring, and you can hear the bustle of people’s voices behind her in the background. she’d likely have just gotten out of practice given it’s this late in the afternoon.

“hi. just checking if i’m gonna see you tonight?” you greet her.

“hi, sorry.” she lets out a sigh, and you can practically picture the way she’s wrinkling her nose from all the stress. “i have tapes to review with the new players, then i have a coach’s meeting with the department, then we’re shooting an ad with gatorade.”

“when do you eat?” you ask, feeling your brows knit together.

“sometime in between all of that,” she breathes, a quiet laugh leaving her lips. you admire her, the way she doesn’t complain about any of it, but you’re always worried she’s pushing her limits.

“did you finish your homework?” you ask. granted, you’re only a few weeks into the semester, but in your years of dating, you had taken over the role of making sure megan stayed on top of her academics, and you weren’t about to let up now.

“i worked on some things in class,” she reassures you. “i’ll finish when i get home.”

“can i postmate you something?” you offer, but she’s quick to cut you off.

“no don’t worry about it, please,” she says hurriedly, but before you can insist, the phone clatters around on her end and you’re suddenly hearing a familiar voice that isn’t quite megan’s.

“i love you mami, you mean everything to me, my heart bleeds for you,” dani’s voice is loud and teasing over the sound of chatter in the background. you hear a chorus of girls laughing, and it brings a smile to your face to picture megan whining and turning red at daniela’s playful taunts.

“oh my god, fuckin’ dani,” megan groans, regaining control over the phone. “sorry about her. she’s even worse now that she’s a coach.”

“well is she right?” you grin.

“you’re the only thing that keeps me sane some days.” you can hear megan’s voice lighten up, warm and joyful. “i love you so much.”

“i can wait for you at your place,” you offer. megan still lives in the same house with lara and dani which makes the drive from your apartment with minji much easier.

“i’d love that.” you can hear her smile, picture her little whisker dimples, and it sends a wave of warmth over you. “i gotta go. see you soon.”

you drive over to megan’s place and you barely get a chance to knock before the door swings open, revealing the charming former goalie.

“hiiiii y/n,” lara drawls, her bright smile never fading as she greets you, ushering you in. “how’s senior year treating you?”

“oh you know,” you grimace, kicking off your shoes.

“you’ll make it through just fine,” she reassures you, “plus you have that—”

you shake your head quickly, to cut her off. “please don’t remind me.”

lara’s perceptive, quick to pick up on your anxieties and dissect them. maybe it’s the fact that you’ve dated her best friend for the past three years, but lara knows you far better than you’d ever have anticipated.

“you haven’t told her yet?” she asks in disbelief, her eyes widening.

“i know i know.” you wince. “the right time hasn’t come up.”

“i trust you, but sooner rather than later, right?” she gives you an empathetic tilt of the head.

“of course,” you nod. “i appreciate you.”

“always,” she smiles, before adding a quick heads up. “make yourself at home. she’s been coming home super late recently, you might be up for a while.”

between homework, studying, and reading, the hours alone in megan’s room melt away. you don’t even realize that you’ve fallen asleep when you hear the door creak open, jolting you awake. you check your phone and see it read just past 1:30am.

“home invasion?” you smile, worried about how late she’s coming home, but grateful to see her nonetheless.

“hands up, sigma,” megan jokes weakly, setting her bag down in the corner before coming to plant a kiss on your hair.

“i could smell you from a mile away,” you tease back, taking in the state of her. she looks utterly spent, hair a mess, skin still looking sticky.

“the gatorade commercial people kept trying to talk to me even in the locker room. i didn’t have enough privacy to shower,” she groans.

“my poor girl,” you reach out to stroke her cheek. “you sound exhausted.”

“missed you,” she grumbles, pressing a kiss into your palm.

“glad you’re home,” you tell her. “please come rest.”

megan nods, peeling her hoodie off over her shoulders.

“after my shower i’m passing out,” she calls out to you as she disappears into the bathroom.

“i’ll make sure you wake up on time. c’mon,” you beckon her, taking a look at your phone. if she sleeps in the next 20 minutes, she’ll maybe manage to get 6 hours before she has to be up again to head to campus. you tuck yourself in as you hear the water run, and take to tik tok to keep yourself awake to be ready to hear about her day.

you’re not fully aware of how much time has passed from your scrolling until your eyes flicker up to the time in the corner. nearly 2:15am.

you hear the water still running. megan deserves the luxury of a hot shower, but almost an hour has never been part of her habits. you jump up and enter the bathroom slowly, as to not disturb her.

“megan?” you call out, only to be met with silence.

you pull back the curtain to see your girlfriend, standing with her forehead against the tile, head slumped forward with her eyes shut. she looks so, so peaceful, but you know you have to wake her.

“hey,” you shake her gently. she jolts awake with a startle, and she looks so cute with her wet hair slicked back, but you’re extremely worried about what you just saw. “you okay?”

“sorry, sorry. it was so nice and warm,” she yawns, turning the water off.

“were you asleep?” you ask in disbelief, still holding onto the curtain.

she blinks a few times as you hand her a towel. “i think i closed my eyes when i was rinsing my hair and they just never opened.”

“that’s insane,” you laugh. “c’mon, let me braid your hair and we can finally go to bed.”

“she fell asleep in the shower last night.” you tell dani on the call, shaking your head in disbelief as you recount the events. “just straight up, literally, i shit you not, standing up.”

“like a horse?” dani questions.

“she’s so exhausted, but she never complains,” you sigh.

your friendships with daniela and lara had deepened in your time dating megan, and dani was someone you found would always be up for a quick call if she was free. though you tended to seek advice from lara about the more emotional things, dani had always given some tidbit of wisdom about the captain duties megan was taking on and how to best support her. this time was no different, though the pause she takes tells you she’s thinking about her words as to not worry you.

“megan’s always been a workhorse,” she reminds you. “if there’s a gap, she’ll fill it. ‘i can do more,’ she always fuckin’ says. you know her. she’ll find the balance, i know she will.”

you look down at the email in your inbox. you want to tell her, you do, but the last thing you want is to add stress to her day.

“you’re right,” you sigh, and focus on the future.

halfway through the semester, and your schedules have only gotten more hectic. you’re grateful to have met megan early enough in her career that she had plenty of time for you guys to get to know each other. at this point, you’re scraping by on whatever in-betweens you’re both able to make work, but you won’t complain. you know she’s doing her best to fit it all in and be the best.

speaking of which, a facetime audio from your favorite contact photo interrupts your train of thought. it’s a picture of megan on her birthday, blowing out a candle, smiling so big it looks like her face might burst. your heart skips a beat to think the girl in the photo is the one you get to claim so proudly.

“hi you,” you greet.

“hi,” she chirps back. “are you still working on your blackstone?”

“that’s the grill,” you correct her quickly, laughing. “capstone is my project.”

“please forgive me, shorty,” she says in a stupid voice. you can practically picture her face.

“forgiven.” you smile, before checking the time. “what’s up? aren’t you supposed to be at practice?”

“they cut it short today cause coach and dani couldn’t stop arguing over about the starting lineup,” she explains, and you both laugh. “you and i haven’t had a real date in so long. can you squeeze me in?”

“i can move some things in my schedule.” your heart flips at the thought of being able to spend actual quality time with her. “i miss you.”

“miss you more. thanks for being flexible. see you soon?” she asks eagerly.

“where am i meeting you?”

“meet me in 20! i’ll text you,” she says, a little too quickly, and you instantly sense something’s up. but before you can question her, she chirps a quick “i love you” and hangs up.

you look down at your phone as you head towards your car and realize she’s sent you the location. you zoom out on the map until you realize where she’s got planned.

the lake….. megan meiyok be SO fr baby if u love me u wld be happy to spend any time w me it’s so cold outside i will bring you hot choco ples pls please pls pleas pls plspslpslpls OKAYYYY fine

the argument is over sooner than it started, and you’re heading over to the frozen lake where megan loves to practice when she doesn’t feel like heading to the arena.

“hi, beautiful,” she greets you, beaming smile. if you were angry earlier, her smile is enough to melt away any of your mild frustrations.

“hi you,” you greet back, pressing a kiss into her cheek

“we haven’t had a date on ice in a while,” she notes, handing you your skates that she keeps with hers.

“you’re determined to teach me how to skate,” you roll your eyes.

“you’re going to know how, our kids are going to know how, our crusty ass dog is going to know how.” she reaches out to you and steps onto the ice with the confidence of someone who’s never fallen. “we are for sure a skating family.”

you laugh and take her arm. you love the idea of the future she has pictured.

“do you remember the first time you tried to take me on the ice?” you ask, as she pulls the two of you along on the bumpy frozen-over lake.

“you were so bad at it,” she laughs.

“everyone looks bad at it compared to you,” you frown.

“i think i expected you to be more graceful,” she grins.

“you’ve been skating since you could walk.” you roll your eyes and try to push her, but the movement just makes you wobbly on the ice. “cut me some slack.”

“while you studied your books, i studied the motherfucking blade,” she tells you.

“ok, relax naruto,” you laugh, trying to get your bearings as she lets go of your arm and skates ahead of you, turning backwards to face you effortlessly. show off.

“dare me to hit the most vile jutsu known to man?” she grins.

“literally what does that even mean?” you shake your head.

“it means i hit a nasty pose and copy myself a million times,” she beams, and you can’t stop laughing at the various poses she starts to contort herself into.

“the bitches of the wnhl are gonna loooove you,” you sing song, watching her continue to hit what you can only assume are the most complex of nerdy naruto poses.

“coach said he’s already getting teams ask about me,” she says excitedly, reaching back out for your hand to guide you along the ice.

“i bet they’ve been asking about you since your freshman year,” you reassure her.

megan’s smile softens as she looks at you, then looks at your intertwined hands. “we have grown a lot since then.”

“so much.”

“i feel really lucky.”

“how come?”

“everything just sort of worked out for me. about to graduate, captain by my junior year, met my college sweetheart. it’s like, so convenient.”

“you have worked extremely hard for everything you have,” you reassure her, reaching up to play with the hairs at the base of her neck. “i can’t think of anyone who works harder. you deserve everything good in your life.”

“some days i feel like i never deserved you,” she admits.

“what? don’t be silly.” you squint at her. “you’re the superstar. i still get shy knowing i’m the one you call at the end of the night.”

“all these years and you still feel shy?” she looks at you with those wide, beautiful puppy dog eyes.

“you’re very, very good looking,” you admit, though you’ve told her a million times before how attractive you’ve found her. “and very funny, and unfortunately, extremely awkward, which meant i was doomed from the start.”

she makes a fist with her free hand and beams. “i bagged the baddie using my undeniable weird girl swag.”

“weirdest of weird girls,” you laugh. “i wouldn’t want anyone else.”

the weight of the email starts to strain inside your chest. lara’s words ring through your ears. this needs to be the time you say something.

“meg–” you start.

the buzz of her phone vibrates loudly against her pocket, cutting you off. she pulls her phone out and winces, letting go of your hand.

“it’s coach. i have to take this, nike wants to do an interview tomorrow and he’s losing his shit about it. i’m so sorry,” she offers you the most apologetic kiss she can muster.

“go for it.” you nod, but you feel the sinking in your chest. “i know what i signed up for.”

megan has to leave as soon as the call is over, and by the look on her face, she’s carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders. you can’t possibly bear to add something else to her plate.

you head home, grateful for the tender moment you were able to share. maybe it was a blessing in disguise that you didn’t get to spoil it with your announcement.

you’re home and settling into your night when you get a text from minji in the other room.

this you?

a post from a college sports gossip blog. it’s a picture of you and megan, on the ice, holding hands.

you grimace. sure, the lake is in a public park, but who’s weird enough to be taking pictures of you at your most private times?

your fingers keep scrolling.

you know dani had gone through this when her relationship with the coach’s daughter had gone public. megan had told you all about how they tried to keep it just between the team at first, but even with dani stepping down as captain, she was still a hot topic and being locked down by her coach’s own daughter made them campus celebrities for months.

you’ve tried not to let the same thing bother you, but facts are facts: megan is one of the best college hockey players in the country, and dani made women’s hockey something to talk about. megan, by default, becomes something of a mini-celebrity on campus, and you are unfortunately stuck as her hockey wife.

you look at the bright side. you knew her as a sweet, bright eyed freshman without a clue in the world, and despite all the recognition that’s come to her, she’s still the same old megan you fell in love with. you pick megan, and that means picking all that comes with her.

with midterms quickly coming and going, you and megan survive the grueling test season and make it out on the other side relatively unscathed. you know at this point in the semester, her team is starting to heat up, and with such a dominant performance so far in the season, her team is easily top in their conference, all but guaranteeing their spot in the playoffs.

you’d think that she’d take it easy to maintain her pace, but lately, megan has been harder to get a hold of, somehow even less available than you had thought was possible. you cheer her on at every home game, and she was thrilled when you crashed with sophia to cheer her on at an away game, but lately, even lara mentions how much megan has been blowing her off to practice or tend to her captain duties.

you take it upon yourself to wait for her outside of the conference room, knowing she’s busy reviewing a recent interview she did with ESPN with the athletics department. when she finally comes out of the room, you feel yourself light up at the sight of your girlfriend.

what hurts your heart is for the first time in years, she doesn’t light up at the sight of you. her eyes are tired, and while she acknowledges you with a hug, the unintentional cold shoulder admittedly stings.

“hi,” she greets weakly, reaching out as you initiate a hug.

you try to shake off your nerves at the interaction and squeeze her as tightly as you can. she takes heavy steps to lead the two of you out of the building.

“i saw your interview. tried calling you in between but i know it was a busy day for you,” you chirp. “how’d you think it went?”

“not good,” megan shakes her head immediately. “i lost my shit so fast.”

“why are you being so hard on yourself? you did amazing,” you frown.

“thank you.” a beat, and she nuzzles her head into your shoulder. a flash of your familiar megan comes back, and it soothes your heart. you run your fingers through her hair to comfort her, and it seems to help as she lets out a sigh. “yeah, sorry. i’m stressing about my grades.”

“you have so much on your plate,” you tell her worriedly.

she groans. “and i’m barely holding on to this passing grade in my world literature class.”

“i can help with that,” you nod. “easily.”

the two of you find yourselves on a bench outside the building, sitting side by side. a brief moment of peace with your ever-busy girlfriend.

“i don’t want you always doing my english homework for me,” she tells you, biting her lip.

“i’d never, you know that meg. but i can help you make sense of it all.”

“glad one of us likes english,” she wrinkles her nose, reaching over to press a kiss into your temple. “i like that so much about you.”

english. your mind wanders to the email. it’s been months now since you told yourself you’d say something to her. you steady yourself with an inhale and reach for her hand.

“speaking of english, i wanted to find a good time to tell you,” you start quietly.

“hm?” she arches a brow, those puppy eyes looking at you nervously.

“i got an offer for a master’s program in the UK.” you confess. “lodging would be paid for, i’d be a research assistant which would cover the costs of my program. it’s literally perfect megan, like a dream come true.”

megan’s eyes are wide. you’re waiting for the hug, the congratulatory cheer, but instead, she just stares back at you.

“oh.” she says simply. “you actually applied?”

“yes.” you furrow your brows. “i didn’t just mention it to mention it.”

“i didn’t think you were serious about it,” she admits, and it stings to hear her tone. dismissive. something you would have never expected given all the wins you two make such a big deal of celebrating.

“why do you say that?” you question, trying to regulate yourself.

“it’s so far,” she says quietly, opening her mouth to add more, but nothing comes out. she looks away, pulling her hand from yours.

“hey,” you push, scooting closer to her on the bench. “you okay?”

“i’m anxious,” she admits.

“i know,” you sigh. “just between practice, and your meetings, and your interviews, there’s never enough time to talk about the heavier stuff. i didn’t want to let more time pass. we haven’t exactly had a ton of time to talk about next steps.”

“y/n, you know it’s either hockey, or nothing for me after college ends. i need to go pro.” her eyes are determined, but there’s something more to them, something that worries you. “if i lose this season, my future is out the window. i can’t lose you too.”

“dani was the best player in the country and she didn’t end up going pro. everything can change so fast. you need to be prepared with a backup plan, meg,” you remind her. it’s not that you don’t foresee her succeeding, but you remember how torn up she was when dani got injured, and how fast it all changed. “you’re so much more than this sport.”

“i am nothing without hockey,” she says quickly, her face tensing. you don’t like what’s coming over her, but more so, you don’t know what’s coming over her. she’s never gotten like this in all your years together. determined, sure, but never this insistent, never this aggressive.

“yes you are,” your brows furrow.

“it’s everything to me.”

“what about your friends? your hobbies?” you press, before your voice softens. “what about me?”

“i wouldn’t have any friends without hockey. i don’t have hobbies,” she says quickly, shaking her head. “and i wouldn’t have met you without hockey.”

“but you got all those things along the way. hockey didn’t do that for you, they just happened. you made your friendships happen, i like you for you and not what you do.”

“no i get that, i just feel like i really need to focus. i’m really sorry.” she lets out a deep breath, and reaches again for your hand, and you feel slightly reassured by the gesture as her body relaxes. “i’ll make it up to you.”

“i know you will. just take it easy on yourself, please?” you plead, reaching over to brush some hair out of her face.

you see her wipe at the corners of her eyes. you reach for her and lay her head down on your shoulder, playing gently with her hair.

“i’m worried about megan,” you say quietly, later that night on another phone call with daniela as megan is off to do another tape review with the team.

“she’s been dreaming of this since she was a kid,” dani sighs. “the only thing she loves as much as she loves this sport is you.”

“i’m scared she’s going to burn out,” you confess.

“if there’s a time to push, it’s now,” dani reminds you.

“do you think i’m maybe doing too much?” you ask. you stare at a framed photo of you and the ginger that you keep hanging above your desk in your room, a picture of the two of you on a picnic. “like i’m asking too much of her?”

“that’s not a question for me,” dani tells you. “i’m in no position to be giving relationship advice. barely figured out how to make one work on my own.”

you laugh softly. “you know, it was easier when you were in charge.”

“i made that shit look soooo easy.” you can hear her smile over the phone. “nobody gets how hard it was. megan’s good at it but she’s not ever going to half-ass something.”

you stare at the photo. megan’s adorable dimples, her shining eyes, her wide smile: things you haven’t seen her do in what feels like weeks.

“i don’t think she has enough of herself left to give,” you say quietly.

the alumni night rolls around, and it’s a blast for you to see all the girls who graduated. they open up the arena for a few hours of free ice skating and talking to the team. it’s a welcome few hours to enjoy with her, and as you promised, you show up extra early to be her date.

megan, forever the adorable face of the team, gives a quick welcome speech on the ice and thanks everyone for being there. she poses briefly with a few of the donors for some pictures and then finds you to guide you onto the ice.

you’re wobbly, as expected, but megan keeps her arm held out to you, anchoring you as she pushes off strong enough for the both of you to lap lazy circles around and around without much effort on your end.

“i’ll get good at this eventually,” you reassure her, trying your best not to wobble and fall.

“that’s what i’m here for,” she smiles back at you. “also looks sick to have such a pretty girl on my arm.”

“you’re sweet,” you grin. after your talk, things had been tense, but you had tried to ease up and just support her. dani’s words would ring through your head, about how bad you want this, and you remembered how much you love megan’s determination.

“my babies, always looking more and more grown up,” lara sing songs from behind you both as she catches up on the ice. you spot lara’s girlfriend, plus yunjin, and dani, plus dani’s girlfriend, all joining you.

lara chats to yunjin about her therapy internship she’s doing at a local mental health center, and yunjin rambles excitedly about how boston is going for her and the super cool job she bagged straight after graduation. dani barely counts as an alumni considering she works at the university now, but she’s still wearing an alumni name tag, enjoying the attention of people asking her what it’s like to be on the other side of it all.

“zuha just got here!” yunjin announces loudly, looking down at a text on her phone with a beaming grin.

“kazuha signed to the vegas golden knights right after graduation,” megan says quickly. several of the seniors that year got drafted and you remember megan following all their stats meticulously.

“hoping to join her?” you ask curiously, trying to be a good sport about it all.

“just want to know what it’s like, she calls but she’s too busy to talk very long.” you can sense the urgency in her voice. “do you mind if i chat with her?”

“don’t be gone too long. i might get brave and try to skate again without you, might lose a tooth,” you tell her, smiling.

she presses a kiss to your forehead and sets your arm carefully on the wall, allowing you to pull yourself along to the exit.

you sit on one of the benches to unlace the blades from your feet, when eunchae comes to join you.

eunchae greets you with a broad smile and you return it, happy to see the once star-struck rookie who had blossomed into megan’s right-hand on the ice. megan had stayed close with dani and lara since they didn’t move away after graduating, but eunchae, being a year younger, had quickly become megan’s new closest teammate.

“it’s like ghosts came back,” she says as she sits next to you. “i missed everyone, but things are so different in just a year.”

“so different,” you agree.

“i’ll keep an eye on her for you,” she tells you, as if she can read your worries. “i know she’s been off lately. the new girls don’t know what she was like before she was captain, but i do. i can tell she’s been struggling, this year more than ever.”

you give eunchae an appreciative smile. “you have no idea how much that means to me. dani keeps saying she’s fine, but i feel like this year is different for her.”

“it’s a lot of pressure. we have the playoffs and if we do well, the championships. megan’s been part of the championship team since she was a freshman. it would look terrible if we started losing once she became captain. i think she’s trying to look at it from all angles,” eunchae explains, and it starts to click little by little for you.

“she doesn’t think she has any wiggle room,” you sigh, and the two of you spot her out on the ice, beaming widely at something kazuha is saying to her. your sweet, dorky megan, who shows up in flashes every once in a while.

eunchae offers you a nod of encouragement. “she’s got this, but i’ll let you know if i get worried. i can’t imagine this is very easy on you either.”

megan spots you from across the ice rink, and waves to the two of you. she says something quickly to kazuha before skating over to you, motioning for you to come back and join them. you and eunchae oblige, hopping onto the ice together.

“doing okay?” you check in.

she nods, but turns away for a moment, and you can see her trying to stifle a yawn. “i’m peachy.”

“how long have you been up for?” you question, holding onto her arm as eunchae chats kazuha’s ear off.

“um, i got up at 4 to do conditioning, then solo practice, radio interview at 6,” she starts to rattle off. you sigh and slip a hand into her back pocket, melting into her embrace.

“you need to fix your sleep schedule,” you chastise her.

“totally,” she agrees. “we can leave whenever.”

you’re about to suggest cutting the night early when a few extra voices cut in.

“cap!”

megan squints at you apologetically before turning to greet the source of the noise. “hi guys.”

megan and eunchae welcome a wave of the newer girls. you recognize them freshmen and sophomores you’ve met in passing. haerin, moka, and maya, who all approach excitedly.

you smile. years ago, it was you and megan who were the babies of the group, your sweet ginger being at her most bright-eyed and eager.

“this place is packed,” moka, one of the newer defenseman, gapes.

“insane, right?” maya, the starting goalie, agrees.

“hey, are we still good for an early practice tomorrow?” haerin asks megan, her voice quiet. you recognize her as a left wing: a high pressure spot with huge shoes to fill considering that was daniela’s former position, and works directly with megan as center to score the goals. you can’t imagine the pressure of being daniela’s replacement.

“for sure,” megan nods, and you can’t help but glare at her. so much for catching up on sleep. but these girls clearly admire her, and you won’t stand in the way of her being a doting team leader.

before they can keep going, a random guy comes up alongside you all, waving wildly at megan as if he knows her.

“my betting bracket depends on you,” he tells her, and you realize it’s just a fanboy. megan has had plenty in her time. “i’m putting it all on you getting us a dub.”

“thanks,” she says weakly, and eunchae gives her a quick glance as if to check in if she should do anything. you guys are all caught in an awkward silence as he simply skates alongside you all.

the guy opens his mouth to say something, but then notices your hand interlocked with megan’s, and brings a finger up to point at you.

“don’t fucking distract her, okay?” he warns.

you know he means it teasingly, but you can already feel megan’s body lurching at the gesture.

your girlfriend grabs him angrily by the sleeve, a warning look in her eyes as her grip locks tightly on his elbow. you see the younger girls freeze, all of you coming to a standstill as megan grabs him.

“don’t talk to her like that,” she warns harshly, her voice low. you can see the guy’s eyes widen in surprise, but more to your concern, you see the girls’ faces change. moka and maya are staring at each other, and haerin looks like she’s seeing a ghost.

“hey, relax,” you shake her arm, trying to bring her back to reality. you can tell she’s not all there by the way her dark eyes are still locked in on him, her grip still tight on his elbow. “he didn’t mean it like that.”

she blinks once, twice, and breathes slowly. “i’m sorry.”

“you can let go of him now,” eunchae says quietly, as if to not embarrass her. megan complies, and eunchae mentions something to the guy that has him skating off with a smile on his face, hopefully saving their interaction.

“sorry you guys had to see that,” megan tells the girls, shaking her head. “that was really not cool.”

“it’s okay, cap,” maya reassures her, if a bit too quickly, as if she’s kissing up. you smile at how hard they’re trying to cheer her up, but you can tell megan’s worried about how this affects their view of her, by the way she’s chewing her bottom lip.

“hey, it’s fine,” you reassure her, and moka nods in agreement.

“totally cool to protect your people,” she nods.

“i promise i’m not usually that quick to flip,” megan offers quietly, and you feel your heart ache at her embarrassment. usually, her protectiveness of you comes from a good place, but with all the stress, you can see her fuse is much shorter than normal.

“no, they know you’re a good person,” eunchae nods reassuringly.

“you’re thoughtful, and kind, and a good leader,” you reassure her, and the girls nod in agreement. “you work hard, harder than anyone i know, and you’re always willing to learn. you have zero ego.”

“alright, alright, i think i’ve blushed enough to reset my aura back into the negatives,” megan waves you off, wrinkling her nose, and the girls all beam back at you excitedly.

“i dunno cap, i think being a lovergirl actually proves you have rizz,” maya says, and haerin simply nods in eager agreement.

“yeah, coach dani loves telling stories about how you used to be this bitchless loser with zero social skills—” moka rambles, and you burst out laughing loud enough that it cuts her off.

“damn, your loser legacy lives on forever,” you grin, pinching her cheek.

“remind me to break her other knee once the season’s over so she’s got two bad legs,” megan groans, and eunchae laughs her off.

megan holds tightly onto your hand as you all continue to skate. eunchae chats excitedly with you and megan about some random stats, haerin is doing her best to listen and keep up, moka and maya are simply goofing off skating circles around each other on the ice in front of you all.

your heart warms looking up at your girlfriend, never having been able to picture how far you two would come from just being dorky little freshmen. you know it won’t be for long, but the brief peace it brings you is enough to power you through the rest of the day. you hope it’ll last, but make peace with the idea that this might be the eye of the storm.

(the peace only lasts the night, and the storm stirs starting the very next day.)

this week, with a deadline for your senior project approaching, you’ve been the one with limited time to squeeze in megan. you make it work between facetimes and quick coffee dates, the two of you agreeing to spend at least a few nights out of the week together even if it’s just to sleep alongside each other, but you can tell that your schedules are working in opposite directions.

even today, when you’re done with all your obligations and studying in the campus library by yourself, you’re hoping to surprise megan with a quick dinner after practice, but your plans get thrown off when you get an unexpected call.

a call from eunchae, of all people, with the most random favor in the world to ask of you.

“hey, will you come to practice? like, now?”

“what? is everything okay?” your voice jumps an octave in disbelief.

eunchae knows that you don’t come to practices, unlike some of the other hockey girlfriends, due to just how distracted megan gets by you being there. megan can focus when you’re cheering her on for games, but she’s explicitly banned you from practice after one too many missed shots because she’s too busy being nervous around you.

you’ve always found it sweet, and you know eunchae knows megan’s rule, so that’s why it’s surprising you that she’s explicitly going against the captain’s personal expectations.

“meg’s been, uh, how do i put this…” she pauses.

“eunchae?” you ask, worried with how long she’s taking.

“acting out,” she finally blurts, and you feel yourself grow even more confused. “it’s weird.”

your megan? your laser-focused, super professional megan, acting out?

“i’ll be there,” you tell her quickly, shutting your laptop and hurrying over to the hockey arena where they practice in a few short minutes.

eunchae is waiting for you by the entrance of the rink, out of view of the team, holding a tampon much too obviously in her hand. you laugh realizing this is probably the excuse she used in order to get off the ice and avoid suspicion when she gave you a call and waited for you in the middle of practice.

“acting out how?” you ask her, feeling your brows furrow in confusion.

“watch how she gets with ryujin,” eunchae tells you, before handing you the tampon to hide and putting her helmet back on, heading back out to the ice. you sneak in, trying to make yourself small and unnoticeable amongst some of the other girlfriends who are sitting and studying or watching from the bleachers.

megan is too focused on the ice to notice you. you can see the sweat dripping down off the tip of her nose, a testament to how hard she pushes herself every practice, how eager she is to give her all. she zips past the other girls during the drills, and you’re almost starting to feel guilty for spying on her.

but then, as the practice comes to an end and they split into two teams to practice a quick scrimmage, you see it happen.

it’s almost lightning fast, and you’re not really good enough at hockey to know the intricacies of what it’s supposed to look like, but you can tell that megan is expecting haerin to pass something to someone else and get it to her to make a shot.

haerin does as she’s supposed to, taking a pass from eunchae to send it over to ryujin, but ryujin is too busy blocking off the opposite wing to notice the pass. the puck slides past her, between her legs, into the waiting hands of the opposing girl, who skips past the wings and sends it straight past maya’s glove, scoring the other girls a point.

“left side wins,” dani announces easily. “good game, ladies. see you all tomorrow.”

you can tell the scrimmage is supposed to be light hearted (they only played for one point, for christ’s sakes,) but the moment dani announces that megan’s team didn’t win, you see the ginger rip her helmet off her head and throw it angrily into the plexiglass. you feel yourself jolt at the clang of the helmet against the barrier, the loud thud it makes that rings through the otherwise quiet rink.

and then you hear her voice, loud, booming, aggressive, echo through the arena.

“hey, if you’d get your head out of your ass, you’d have seen that shot, you idiot.”

ryujin instantly stands up straighter, and you see her whole body tense. “sorry meg.”

“i don’t want sorry, it want it fucking right.” megan scoops another puck from behind the box and drops it on the ice, sending it flying towards haerin and motioning to ryujin. “run it again.”

“but practice is over,” ryujin says weakly.

megan shoots a glare at haerin, who quietly complies and recreates the pass over to ryujin. ryujin ignores the pass and stares at megan, but this just infuriates the ginger even further. she grabs yet another puck, sending it more aggressively at haerin once more.

“shin, do it the fuck again,” megan demands, her gaze hard and serious as the other girls simply watch, dumbfounded and clearly in fear. “you’re not off the ice until you fix it.”

you look to dani to do something about it, but she’s too busy talking to the other coaches to notice what megan’s doing.

ryujin misses the pass once more, and you can see her face turning more and more red as megan drops puck after puck, insisting she go until she gets it right. the girls all stay frozen, watching the events unfold, until haerin exhaustedly sends a pass to ryujin that she finally catches, sending the pass to megan.

megan catches the pass, and as if to prove a point, slams a shot so forcefully into the empty goal, it shoots the net backwards several feet. you feel your stomach drop at the display of anger. megan waves them off wordlessly and gets off the ice.

eunchae’s eyes come up to meet yours from where you’re hiding on the bleachers, the girls all silently trickling off the ice. you can hear ryujin crying as she rushes past the rest of the girls into the locker room.

megan stays, and so do a few of the other girls like maya and moka and haerin, practicing a few more maneuvers with their captain, but nobody says anything among them. it makes your heart ache, remembering how she’d used to spend an extra hour here with kazuha, yunjin, lara and dani, practicing, laughing, catching up. now, the extra practice is heavier, silent and solemn, with none of the joy that used to have megan coming home rambling like an excited puppy about whatever nonsense they had gotten into between the five of them.

you wave her over, and see her brows lift in surprise as she realizes you’re there. she skates over to you, but doesn’t stop for a kiss or even a greeting. she simply gives you a look, as if to ask what you’re doing there, and you can tell by her clenched jaw that she’s still holding onto some frustration from that interaction.

“what’s that all about?” you ask, crossing your arms, motioning to the display from earlier.

“she’s just cocky.” megan shakes her head, making no attempt to apologize or explain otherwise. “but she has zero reason to be that arrogant. makes me irritated.”

“i’ve never seen you get irked like that before,” you say worriedly, your brows furrowing. “much less talk to a teammate like that. megan, you made the poor girl cry.”

“did you just un-ironically use the word irked?” she asks, ignoring the rest of your comment. you feel the irritation build up at how casually she’s treating all of this. your megan would never dream of turning the rink into something so toxic, so full of fear.

“i’m serious.” you warn her. “chill out. if your coaches thought ryujin needed the extra work, they would have made her run it over again.”

“fine, fine, i’ll apologize,” she shakes her head, reaching for her water bottle. “maybe i was too intense. sorry.”

“don’t say sorry to me,” you wave her off.

you wait for her to finish up with the rest of the girls, but you can’t shake your discomfort at the side of megan you saw.

as it turns out, this isn’t the last incident megan has where her temper flares.

you’ve never once thought of her as an angry person, and considering the sport she devotes her life to, that was something you felt like you lucked out on. you somehow managed to bag the only hockey player in the world without a raging temper, your silly little girlfriend, easygoing and mellow. this lack of temper was what made her so good in her role, focused and intense, able to lock into what she needs to do without the distractions of her emotions. sure, anxiety would run rampant through her, but she’d turn that adrenaline into fuel to work smarter, never using it to snap at others.

you know it’s the stress getting to her, but after eunchae has to call you several times throughout the next few weeks, it’s starting to wear you thin, on top of already worrying you.

(what is happening to your sweet megan?)

your presence doesn’t do enough to deter her from some of the comments she makes, some of the harshness she takes out on the girls. dani’s obviously used to the verbal abuse she takes from the head coach and doesn’t do much about megan’s occasional tirade, but even if she did, you wonder what it’d take to get megan out of this headspace. you can see the way the girls look at her, eyes equally full of admiration and fear, and you never would have imagined your sweet captain would lead by fear, not in a million years.

with finals coming up, of course you’d rather focus on studying somewhere quiet, or going through flash cards with minji and marsh, but eunchae has asked you to stay just a few more practices. they’ve made it to the finals, and championship games are always a stressful time for the whole team, but if eunchae is worried, you know you should be too.

this night, she takes it too far, with haerin slipping up on a pass and accidentally sending it in the opposite direction of where the play requires.

megan, seeing this, gets so angry that she takes her stick and snaps it over her knee, skating over wordlessly to grab another one without so much as a second look in haerin’s direction. you can see the younger girl and how her lip quivers, the way all the girls on the bench flinch as megan approaches, the way megan skates as if she has a chip on her shoulder.

practice ends, and you walk out wordlessly, deciding to wait for megan outside the building instead so you don’t end up calling her out in front of her friends.

she spots you as she steps out, showered and looking so cute with her skin pinking up against the chill of the december weather, but her eyes are dark and unreadable. you can tell she’s still internalizing the anger of the practice, still holding on to everything from the ice.

“that was too much, by the way,” you tell her, your voice stern and even. you’ve had enough of trying to guide her gently to self-correct.

“haerin keeps messing up the flow on the ice,” she defends herself, making no effort to reach for you.

“she’s new, she’s still getting the hang of it,” you remind her. “she’s just a freshman, megan, balancing the same things you did back then.”

“but i didn’t mess up when i was a freshman,” she pushes back, and your heart thuds painfully at how gruff her voice sounds.

“megan, you’re also like a child prodigy,” you remind her gently, trying to bridge the gap by reaching for her hand. “you can’t expect everyone to be as good as you were.”

megan lets you hold her hand, but makes no effort to squeeze back. “dani expected that of me and look how i came out.”

“but you’re not dani,” you say. “and more importantly, they’re not you.”

megan shakes her head, dropping your hand to bite at her fingernails, an anxious habit of hers. “she can’t go pro making mistakes like that. none of them can.”

“megan, not everyone wants to go pro,” you remind her. “i get that you’re really good, but let people make mistakes and learn from them. i’m not trying to hurt your feelings, but you sound like a jerk.”

you realize the last part slips without your meaning to, but by the time you try to correct yourself, she’s already taken a step back, her brows furrowing.

“a jerk? seriously? for what, for trying to help everyone get to where they need to be?” she asks. “hard work is the only way to get there.”

“okay, relax ego,” you narrow your eyes at her, so, so confused where this stranger has come from. “yes, hard work is important, but so is knowing when to take a step back and just breathe. working hard shouldn’t cost you everything.”

megan dips her head, her serious eyes meeting yours in the dark of the evening, her expression cold and harsh.

“y/n, you’re not understanding. i’m the only person who can get them there. it’s me, or it’s nobody, and i’m not letting this team fail.”

“you’re not thinking straight. you’ve always been a captain that cares about building the girls up, not tearing them down when they don’t act like you.”

“if they gave half as much of a shit as i do, i wouldn’t need to set them straight,” she says frustratedly.

all you can manage to do is to take a step away from her, away from this unrecognizable stranger. you can empathize to the moon and back, but this isn’t your megan, and talking to her as if she is starts to make your stomach hurt.

“figure out what you want, and what it’s worth, because i don’t know what version of you this is,” you tell her, trying to step back, eager to put some space in between you and this stranger.

megan’s eyes are intense, nearly panicked, and for every step you take backwards, she moves forwards to keep looking in your eyes.

“what if this is the only version of me? what then?” she pushes, her face tense.

“i don’t believe that. you can work hard and still be kind. you’ve never lost one in being the other. i don’t get why you’re letting yourself start now,” you push back, shaking your head.

“i can’t believe you’re picking a fight with me this week of all weeks,” megan groans, taking a step back and pinching the bridge of her nose.

“megan, i’ve been trying to be sensitive because i know you’re going through a lot, but it’s not just this week,” you tell her, frustrated that she’s trying to pin this on you. “it’s been the last few months.”

“i’m under a lot-” she starts, but you hold a hand up to cut her off.

“a lot of pressure, i know.” you grimace at the excuse everyone’s made for her, but you’ve had enough. you try to soften your voice, to plead with whatever part of her could rationally hear you. “i’m not asking you to give anything up, i’m just asking you to consider where your head’s at.”

her voice softens, meeting yours, and she lets out a quiet, pained breath. “i can’t lose focus.”

“i’m not trying to distract you,” you reassure her, reaching for her arm. “i just want to make sure you’re going to be okay.”

“i’ll be okay when we win and i’m drafted,” she says firmly, fixing her eyes on the ground.

“you’re losing yourself in the process,” you plead with her.

“this has always been me,” megan says quickly, finally bringing her gaze up to meet yours.

“no. you were never like this,” you push against her words, holding onto her hand by her index finger to reassure her. “i know that for a fact. you have never once been like this. when i met you, i thought you were the biggest jerk alive, and you proved me so wrong. that’s why i fell in love with you.”

though you treasure the memory of getting to know her, something about the way you bring it up sets her off, her face hardening again as she pulls away from your grasp, yanking her arm back.

“i’m not that stupid freshman any more, and you’re not some hero who can save me again. i’m fucked if i don’t figure this out on my own. nobody’s coming to my rescue,” she spits angrily, a tone that shocks you.

“i didn’t mean it like i saved you,” you furrow your brows. “tutoring you was the best thing that ever happened to me. you’ve never been stupid—”

“i know you think i’m taking it too far but not everyone can just ace every class,” she blurts, interrupting you, taking another step away from you. “some of us don’t just get everything handed to them that easily.”

her words cut harsher than you could have ever imagined. firstly, the implication that you haven’t worked for what you’ve gotten to is extremely unfair, but even worse, it’s like your body wasn’t prepared to hear such words out of her mouth. in all your years together, megan had never once raised her voice, never once snapped at you, no matter how bad your disagreements got. she’d go quiet, take some space, and come right back ready to see things from a new perspective. never once had she insulted you— your walls have been down far enough you never thought that was a danger you’d need to protect yourself from.

“don’t talk to me like that,” you say simply, blinking back tears. “you’ve never talked to me like that.”

she’s too far gone into whatever headspace has taken over. you can see her eyes glaze over, forgetting where she is, who you are to her.

“i think-” she starts.

“megan,” your voice is sharp, a warning.

she blinks once, twice, her eyes fixing on something beyond you, unable to meet your eyes. “i think i just need a little bit to figure some things out.”

“i trusted you when you said you wouldn’t dream of hurting me,” you snap, hurriedly wiping the tears from your cheeks when you feel them fall, unsure of when they started spilling in the first place. “i don’t know where that girl went.”

you can see it shift in her eyes. the memory to her first championship game. your confession, her confession, how long ago it was and yet how fresh it felt to you.

“i’m hurting you,” she whispers, her face tensing.

“when you figure yourself out, let me know. when my megan comes back, you tell me, because i have no clue who you’ve turned into. i’ll be here.”

you turn on your heel and leave her to figure herself out. you don’t know where this leaves you, but she doesn’t chase after you, and that’s enough for now.

minji and marsh are gone when you get home. you assume they’re on a date, which stings mildly as you remember all the double dates the four of you were able to fit in over the summer. you don’t need to bother minji with your drama right now, but being alone in the apartment means you need to figure something out to get megan out of your head and give her space. you’re hoping a few hours will give her what she needs to cool off, but the evening trickles by and you’re mindlessly on your phone, nothing to be heard from megan.

it’s close to midnight when you’re dozing off, startled awake by a sudden buzzing in your hand.

lara raj. she isn’t one to cold call, usually texting first, so you’re a bit worried about what this means for you.

you pick up, curious as to what she could need so late in the evening.

“hey y/n,” she drawls, clearly trying to sound casual. “not to be super crazy or anything, but nobody’s seen megan since practice, and her location is off.”

“is she with you?” dani butts in quickly.

you check your phone and realize megan has turned her location off for you as well, something she hasn’t done in your time dating (except for the time she tried planning a surprise birthday party for you, which she gave herself away several times with her terrible ability to keep anything secret.)

you figure she’s not planning any surprises and let out a sigh. “is she not replying?”

“no,” dani says.

“she hasn’t come home yet,” lara says simply, the concern palpable.

you take a beat before thinking back to her most likely spots. “have you checked the lake?”

“oh, duh, have we checked the lake,” you hear dani say in the background.

“can you come with?” lara asks.

“i don’t think she wants to see me right now,” you admit. “we had a pretty bad fight.”

“a fight?” you hear dani’s disbelief palpably through the phone. “what the fuck?”

“megan?” lara clarifies, as if you could be possibly talking about anyone else.

“i don’t know who it was,” you shake your head.

“we’ll be there in a few.” dani tells you. “let’s go get her head on straight.”

they pick you up as promised just a small while later, and the three of you drive out to the park to see if your guess was right.

you can hear her before any of you see her. the clack of her stick against the ice, slapping pucks into the snowbank over and over again. you’re shivering even beneath your thick jacket and sweatpants, and you can tell megan’s been out here for a while based on how flushed her skin is, even in the dark.

“go away,” she says shortly as the three of you try to approach as peacefully as you can. lara and dani take the lead and you hang back, hoping to not make it feel like an ambush.

“baby’s grumpy?” lara teases gently, stepping out onto the ice with her, trying to keep her balance in her gripless sneakers. “c’mon meg.”

“fuck off,” megan responds curtly.

“um, who shat in your shoes?” dani arches a brow. “relax.”

“i need to focus,” she waves them off, and you realize she hasn’t spotted you yet.

“meg, don’t be rude,” lara pushes.

“you’re not the boss of me,” she snaps quickly, skating away to turn her back on them.

“i think you should go,” lara tells you quickly, eyes widening as she approaches you again.

“she doesn’t care that i’m here,” you scoff, motioning to how easily she can head off without realizing you’re there. you’ve never been mentally prepared for her cold shoulder, and being on the receiving end hurts more than you’d care to admit.

“she cares,” dani says quickly. “she’s just being stupid. i’ll prove it.”

“y/n?” megan looks up at the sound of your approach, and her eyes linger on you with something more, something like an apology in waiting.

“apologize,” daniela says firmly.

“what?” megan gapes in surprise.

“fix it,” dani emphasizes, pulling you along towards her. you feel dani’s hand drop to your waist.

in all your years of being friends, she’s never once tried anything with you, so the gesture feels both platonic and unusual all at once. you know she’s absolutely crazy about her girlfriend, and assume this has something to do with getting under megan’s skin, which you’re not thrilled about.

“don’t do that,” megan says quickly, and you can see it. her eyes darkening. you realize dani’s intention to set her off to prove a point.

“apologize. to lar first, and then to y/n,” dani repeats, her tone hard and bordering on aggressive. you remember this version of her, the night that she got into that fight, the way she so fearlessly stood up to those girls from the other team. you can’t believe megan’s at a point where her own best friend has to step up to her like this.

“i was never fucking scared of you,” megan snaps back, yanking dani’s hand off of you.

she’s rough with dani, but when megan reaches for you to move you back, her hand is so gentle against your hip gently moving you to the side, and part of you relishes in the touch. you’ve missed her gentle self, the way she reaches for you with such tenderness.

“well you fucking should be,” dani growls back. “you’re pissing me off, puppy, and off the clock, not as your coach— i’ll beat your ass.”

“dani, don’t ever put a finger on y/n again,” megan warns, and you feel yourself wish you could escape whatever is about to go down.

“you don’t get to be jealous girlfriend when you’re being the world’s biggest dick. y/n loves you, you owe her an apology,” daniela argues, kicking a puck in her direction.

“it’s fine,” you shake your head. “megan, i tried coming here to fix things, but you’re too stuck in your own head to see it. when you’re cooled off, i’ll be here. when you care about literally anything else but yourself, let me know.”

“you guys don’t care,” megan snaps, her brows tensed across her face angrily. “stop ganging up on me.”

“where is this victim complex coming from? we just want to help,” lara sighs.

but megan’s not finished, and she points her hockey stick threateningly in dani’s direction before looking to you apologetically. “and dani, don’t ever use y/n as bait again. i’m sorry they dragged you into this.”

“you’re dragging her into this with your fuckass attitude,” daniela calls her out, taking a challenging step closer. “give her a real apology.”

“megan…” you start, but megan and dani are too lost in their stand off for her to hear you.

“fuck you dani,” megan spits angrily.

“they might have patience for you, but i don’t. fix it, now,” daniela presses back, reaching out once more for you as if it’s a threat.

in a flash, megan is rushing forward, dropping her shoulders to grip dani in a locked grasp and tackle her flat, slamming her back onto the ice.

“no, enough!” you scream quickly, leaping in to try and pull them off each other, but a soft pair of hands reach for you first.

“let them,” lara stops you, holding you back by the sleeve. “meg needs it out of her system.”

“not like this,” you grimace, trying to reach for her again, but lara simply holds a hand out to stop you.

“it’s a hockey thing,” she shakes her head.

you watch as daniela wrestles for control over the grapple, what megan has over her in size and strength, dani more than makes up for in technique. megan’s on top for a few frightening moments before dani maneuvers them easily into a flip, quickly wiggling her way out to now straddle the taller girl. you gasp and feel your stomach drop as dani doesn’t hesitate to land one, two, three quick blows to megan’s exposed face, the ginger bringing her arms up to try and shield herself.

megan ducks out of the way of the fourth punch and lets dani punch the ice beneath them instead, the older girl groaning as her fist makes contact with the solid, frozen wall. megan uses the quick break to land a harsh blow of her own to the side of dani’s face, throwing her quickly off of her as daniela reels from the strike to her eye.

you’ve had enough. yes, you’re mad at megan, but that doesn’t stop you from caring about her, and watching her fight some of the people she loves most pains you beyond imagination. you turn on your heel and escape to the street, quickly seeking the closest uber to come pick you up. you feel sick at what you’ve seen them all come to: megan, her friends, her team. you hope a night apart will give them all a chance to sort themselves out.

you’re too distressed to sleep even in your own bed, not wanting to be surrounded by the memories of megan cuddling you or the pictures of her you have scattered throughout your room. you come home and fall asleep on the couch in the living room, hoping you’ll wake up to some sort of clarity.

no texts from megan, a missed call from daniela, 3 missed messages from lara.

you bite back the knot in your stomach and close your eyes, deciding you’ll ditch class today to focus on studying.

you sleep through the morning and wake to the smell of breakfast from the kitchen, the sound of the tv kicking on with no concern for your sleeping body. leave it to minji to play animal crossing at full volume even when you’re clearly trying to sleep.

“you’re such a dick, dude,” you groan as she sits next to you on the couch, unphased by your attempts to rest.

“good morning,” minji pokes your cheek. “it’s noon, by the way.”

“what do you want?” you roll your eyes, trying to turn the opposite direction.

“haven’t seen you sleep out here since we moved in,” she observes, eyes focused on the tv the whole time as she assesses the status of her island. “you good? where’s puckhead?”

“she’s been busy,” you say simply, not exactly eager to relive the events of last night.

“ah,” minji says simply. “too busy to say hi to her friends?”

“too busy to be nice to her girlfriend,” you say, hoping it’s enough.

“pouting doesn’t suit you, it’s gross,” minji grimaces.

“be nice,” marsh yells out from the kitchen, always so quick to run to your rescue.

“what are you trying to get at?” you wrinkle your nose at minji.

she shrugs, taking a hit from her pen as she keeps her gaze steady on the screen. “megan is a massive loser, yes—”

“minji,” marsh warns once more, as if it’s the only thing she’s capable of doing. “be nice!”

“i am best friends with the most emotionally incompetent person in the world,” you groan, trying to hide your face behind a random throw pillow.

“listen to me, i’m cooking or whatever,” minji says irritatedly. you find it hard to believe that she’s worth listening to: your half-high roommate, in her spiderman underwear and an old oversized t shirt, acting like she’s some oracle. but you’re sort of out of options, and minji’s put the controller down, so at this point you might as well hear her out. “megan is a loser, because she’s scared of a lot. and when she’s not being a loser, she’s acting not-scared, but what are the chances of her still being scared?”

“i know who megan is,” you tell minji, hoping she gets to her point sooner rather than later.

“you’ve never seen her too scared to find a solution. this might be it,” she says simply, staring into your eyes with her own serious ones. “she might be pushing you away while she thrashes around, ‘cause she’s never figured out how to navigate hard shit around others. she’s always had someone to fall back on, now she’s the fallback.”

“i know all this,” you say as if it’s obvious.

“but does she know that you know all this, or are you still just bagging on her for not having it figured out the way you do?” she asks, and the weight of her words hits you. “are you judging her for getting it wrong, when she’s never been taught how to get it right for something this serious?”

“thank you,” you whisper quietly under your breath, realizing this is the wakeup call you needed. you sit up and check the calendar— megan’s schedule is packed to the brim until her game at 6.

her final championship game of her college career.

“you wouldn’t be with her if it weren’t for me.” minji says, self-satisfied smirk on her lips as she goes back to playing her game. “think of that next time you insult me.”

“you’re not that emotionally constipated after all,” you beam, wrapping her into a quick hug. even though she simply sits there and grunts, you know your roommate has your back.

“told you she could be nice,” marsh laughs from the kitchen, coming out to offer you a smoothie she’s put together. “we can drive you to the game later, if we’re still invited.”

“of course you guys are,” you reassure her. “i wouldn’t be with megan if it weren’t for minji.”

“and i wouldn’t be with minji if it weren’t for megan,” danielle beams. “we all sort of owe each other, in a weird square sort of way.”

“meg loves all things weird,” you smile.

the first championship game you ever came to, you made it late. every game since then, you’ve been sure to show up at least an hour early, seated in front of the player box, where megan’s tickets get you the best seats in the whole arena, and this time will be no different.

you still remember how excited she got when you custom ordered a university jersey with her last name, especially since college sports don’t allow selling custom merch. wearing your one-of-one “skiendiel” jersey seems fitting.

you think to text her and see if you can steal her away for a second, but before you can do anything, you spot the flash of ginger wandering out of the locker room. you can see the paleness in her face, the way her lip is bright red from how hard she’s been chewing it, the clear tells of how unwell she’s feeling. your heart aches for her, and before you can help it, you’re barrelling towards her, not caring where she might possibly need to be right now.

you collide into her with enough force to push her backwards, but she’s steady enough on her feet to take the hit and keep you both standing. your arms wrap around her and you’re breathing her in, her comforting scent, her familiar warmth, her strength and her softness all at once.

she melts into you as soon as you grip into her, pressing her nose into the top of your head as her arms wrap even tighter around you. the hug feels so, so comforting, leaving so much in the air lingering without causing either of you to suffer for a moment longer.

“you still came?” she asks in disbelief, those big eyes taking you in as she moves to take a step backwards and eye you over. you can see her seriousness melt away as she takes you in, the jersey, your presence, your genuine excitement to see her.

“i haven’t missed a championship game since i met you,” you remind her, offering a gentle smile as a peace offering. “sure as hell wasn’t going to miss your very last one.”

megan opens her mouth to say something, but she pauses, her face twisting into something pained. you can tell she’s remembering the events of the night before. you take her in, realizing there’s some bruising around her cheekbone from her fight with daniela.

“i hurt you,” she says simply, clamping her eyes shut with a grimace.

“well i love you, and i have for a long time, and i think i know you pretty well. i don’t think you meant to hurt me.” you offer quietly, reaching for her hand. “i think my megan is in there still, just scared.”

“i’m fucking terrified.” you finally hear her admit it, and you look down to realize her hands are shaking. “of everything. this game, my career, our future.”

“you don’t have to be,” you reassure her, trying to reach out to steady her hand.

“i don’t have anything else going for me,” she breathes out, trying to even out her nerves. “you don’t understand.”

“i don’t see it that way,” you push back gently.

“i’m going to go play this game, and then i’m going to beg for forgiveness for being the worst girlfriend ever and a shit communicator.” she quickly takes both your hands in hers, bringing them up to her chest. you can feel her racing pulse against your palms, thudding against her ribs. “and if you’re still mad at me, i totally get it and i’ll go jump off a bridge asap.”

“shut up,” you laugh, and she breaks out into a smile that makes you feel like everything might just end up being okay.

“i’ll keep apologizing as a ghost, i’m serious,” she’s still sticking to the bit, but you can see her eyes start to tear up. “i messed up so bad. i’m really sorry.”

“go do what you do best,” you reach up to kiss her nose, careful to avoid the bruising. “i’ll be here, cheering you on like always.”

“i don’t want this to be the only thing i do best. i want to be a good friend, and a good girlfriend, and a good person,” she says determinedly.

“i love you,” you reassure her.

“nice,” she beams, and you laugh at how only she could make a tender moment so, so stupid.

“at least say like, samesies or some shit,” you beg.

“will you accept ditto?” she asks.

“if i have to,” you wrinkle your nose.

“cool then, ditto,” she grins, reaching down to press a gentle, pleading kiss against your lips. “i love you a lot, y/n. i’m sorry again.”

“you got this,” you reassure her once more, and you can hear the calls of the coaches beckoning her over.

you wave her goodbye and find your seats again, busying yourself debriefing minji and her girlfriend, shooting a text to lara to let her know the resolution you’ve reached.

the two teams make it onto the ice and you spot the ginger braids peeking out from beneath the helmet, the way megan waves to the entire arena for what will be the last time in her college career. you can see her taking it in, deciding what she’s going to make of tonight, who she’s choosing to be right now.

you spot dani coming out with the rest of the coaches, sporting a particularly gnarly black eye, no doubt courtesy of your girlfriend. she seems tense, but as soon as she spots you in the stands and glances back at megan, who is simply smiling at you, she nods approvingly and claps to get the team’s attention. they have a team huddle, and you can see the nervous eyes of so many of the newer girls darting around as the cheers from the arena get louder and louder, announcing the impending drop of the puck for the face-off.

eunchae leads them in a chant, and megan sends them off with the team battle shout, each of them slamming their gloves into the helmet of the girl next to them, a tradition dani had started with megan as a sophomore. it’s so cool to see them hyping themselves up, turning their nerves into pure adrenaline, and you see megan lock into her mindset of pure focus as she heads onto the face-off with a look of sheer determination.

the puck drops and she’s off like lightning, the puck nearly invisible with how quick she wields it. you look out to the ice, seeing the new faces, the way things have changed. eunchae stays in the back, holding down the defenseman’s position, but instead of lara, maya guards the goal protectively. instead of yunjin covering defense with eunchae, now it’s moka, looking determinedly out across the ice. instead of kazuha and dani working together to move the offense back and forth in their favor, like clockwork, like mirror images, it’s ryujin and haerin, a bit more scattered, but still quick, still eager, still lightning fast on the ice to pressure their offense.

and the anchor of the team, megan as center, carrying the weight of the team on her shoulders. it’s up to her to score, to call plays, to navigate traps, to see holes in the defense and predict where the offense is going to be. it’s her job to protect maya as the goalie from ever having to see the puck, to trust that moka and eunchae know what they’re doing and can cover the back end of the ice on defense, it’s her job to read ryujin’s movements and see where haerin is trying to take them, to weave between the two of them and catch every pass or assist every shot they try to make.

hockey is the thing you almost lost your megan to, but watching her on the ice, the way she seems to almost float effortlessly and maneuver the puck with insane expertise, reminds you exactly why she’s poured all she has into this sport— to be the best, nothing less.

you stay on your feet for the entirety of the game, eagerly watching each stolen pass or shot taken. even minji, seated next to you, and often unbothered by most sporting events, seems moved to cheer for megan every time the ginger steals another pass or tries to move into a shooting position.

the game is tense. the first period ends in a drought, a simple 0-0 that sets the tone for an even more aggressive 2nd period, the other team ramping up their efforts to blitz maya in the goal with a more aggressive offense.

megan, who picks up on this immediately, calls out to eunchae, and eunchae immediately compensates by playing harsher on the incoming offense, clearly indicating that she will not hesitate to protect her goalie at all costs. you can see maya’s confidence grow with each protective shot cut off by eunchae, the way moka eventually finds her stride and manages to cut off several incoming attempts, shooting them straight back up the ice at megan.

you’ve never been part of a team like that, but you can tell that the girls are finding their groove, megan’s leadership doing more than just keeping them from losing, but building their synergy, the trust between all of them. you see an opposing offense come in, slipping past ryujin, but moka is quick to call out to maya, who in her increasing confidence, is all too quick to catch the puck before it can even try to hit the net.

megan doesn’t take a chance to let her guard down, but she pumps her fist excitedly at the save, yelling out something to the defense line that has moka beaming and maya matching her smile.

eunchae catches your eye by the end of the second period, sending you a thumbs up. you feel your chest lighten. you see it in the way they move, in the way megan keeps nodding back at all of them, orchestrating them on the ice, hearing the coach’s directions and implementing them as she sees fit. the joy in her eyes is back. she’s truly, sincerely enjoying herself for what looks like the first time all season.

0-0 in the final period is not a good sign for either team. you know megan is going to ramp up her attacks. she’s described her playstyle as more opportunistic before— whereas kazuha was conservative, and daniela had the stamina to be relentless, megan has always described wanting to play smarter, to find holes and exploit them instead of waiting for clarity or rushing to catch the defense off guard. any other players would start to panic, maybe play sloppy, but megan is a threat because she can wait, and she can watch, and be quick enough to strike without hesitation.

you can see it in the eyes of the other team’s girls, trying to goad her into picking a fight with one of them. they’re getting rougher with her, slamming her around more aggressively than her position would ever call for, even when she doesn’t have the puck.

but megan, more determined than ever, keeps her gaze laser focused on exactly where she needs to be.

the clock trickles down, and even though their defense has done an amazing job of preventing any shots, you know it’s up to megan and the offense to get a score up on the board. they wrestle over the pick over and over, the push of both teams trying to get up on the other. you watch in eager anticipation as the game risks going into overtime, the minutes trickling down into the very end of the game without a single score between the two of them.

the other team gets sloppy in one of their attempted scores and you see megan lock in on the mistake. eunchae blocks the shot and their full team is pushed too far up, the pass she sends to megan leaving the center wide open to take an easy shot. it’s obvious, painfully so, that this is it. you feel the stadium pause with baited breath as the puck makes it into megan’s possession, her feet making quick work of moving her halfway up the rink to close the gap in seconds.

megan looks at the goal, then back at the girls. a split second decision. you know it’s her shot to take, wide open and easy enough for her to send.

you see something flash over her features, the vision of her future in front of her very eyes.

in a move that shocks even you, she sends the puck forward, flying straight to haerin.

haerin freezes, handling the puck for a brief moment before realizing the opening she has. she’s waited a bit too long, by the time she takes the shot, the other team’s defense is already swarming in on her.

the next 20 seconds are a blur. the opposing team gains possession of the puck and megan does everything in her power to chase the other center out of their box, but they’re too late. the opposing offense makes quick work of overwhelming eunchae and moka, leaving a gap for their center to take a shot. maya, despite her speed, isn’t fast enough to block the shot, and you hear the buzz of the shot making it in. seconds trickle by, and the final buzzer goes off to announce the end of the final period.

you look at the finishing score. 0-1.

you hold your breath, spotting the girls all dumbfoundedly shaking hands with the other team as they celebrate their victory, and making their way off the ice. even the coaches are in silence, and you can see megan’s face, hard and stony, as she takes her helmet off her head.

the team crams into the box, all looking expectantly to their captain. you’re half worried she’ll erupt, but you trust her. you walk up to the box and watch their interaction through the glass.

she breaks out into a gentle, almost goofy smile. she looks like a little kid, good naturedly taking the loss on the chin.

“good game,” megan nods, and the girls all seem to take a breath of relief at her simple words.

“i cost us the shot.” you hear haerin’s voice pierce through the air, quaking angrily. the forward throws her stick onto the ground, her face tensing. “why didn’t you just take it, megan? you would have made it.”

“you had just as much chance of making it as i did,” megan says firmly.

“i lost us the game,” haerin’s eyes water.

“i believed in you, it’s okay.” megan pulls her glove off with her teeth, reaching her bare hand to grab haerin by the back of the neck and pull her closer, forcing her to look up at the captain. haerin is still biting back tears, but megan nods reassuringly. “it’s not your fault they made their own shot. kang, you’ll make your shot next year.”

“next year you won’t be here,” haerin pushes back anxiously.

“i was here this year and we didn’t win. i’m not what matters. i’m just glad i had an amazing time playing with all of you,” she smiles once more. “thanks for the kick ass game, guys.”

maya is the first to break out into tears, tackling megan into a giant hug that the rest of the girls swarm into immediately.

“we’ll make the shot next year,” ryujin promises, between sobs.

“i’ll kill someone to make sure they don’t ever get a point over on us again,” moka threatens, crying into megan’s shoulder.

“you’re missing the point,” megan glares at the underclassmen, laughing as the girls take it too far. eunchae, still panting from the game, beams back at her.

“thanks for thinking i could do it, cap,” haerin tells her, her voice soft. “i’ll make sure it happens next year.”

daniela having watched the whole thing, shoos the girls to break up their huddle and eyes megan, before patting her on the back.

“that’s what a captain does,” she says simply, approvingly. “good call, meg.”

megan wrinkles her nose sheepishly at the assistant coach, noting the bruise she’s sporting. “sorry for the black eye, dani.”

“that was you?” eunchae asks in disbelief, but the two friends ignore her.

“i’m just sorry i didn’t break your nose. don’t ever piss me off like that again, ‘cause i’ll do real damage next time, alright meiyok?” dani threatens, but instantly hooks megan by the neck and presses a kiss into her head. “i think someone wants to talk to you.”

dani motions to you, and for the first time in what feels like forever, megan’s eyes light up as she catches sight of you.

years ago, the older girls would tease her and make kissy noises when you’d come up to her after a game. now, megan’s respected, the leader figure, and the girls all scatter to give you guys some space as she takes off what she can of her gear before making it out of the box and coming up to you.

“what was that?” you ask, curious into her mindset about giving the pass to haerin. she could have taken the shot and clinched the win to no-one’s criticism, so you’re truly curious what her mindset was for this call.

“dani always trusted me to make shots. she gave almost all her shots to me by the middle of my first season. that’s what gave me the confidence to try, and to get good, and to feel like i could do it and keep up with her.” she explains. “and you trusted me enough to give me a chance. that’s what helped me branch out, and know i was capable. i love teams, i love improving, i love the trust. not winning. i’m sorry i lost sight of that.”

you smile and wrap your arms around her neck. you see it now— megan gives up her investment in herself to invest in the future for these girls, the thing she truly believes in, the thing that made her the perfect captain. she gives up the win to instill the love of the sport in the next generation.

“i have a lot to make right to you,” she continues, her hands shaky as they wrap around your waist, and you feel so, so at home in her embrace. “i have a lot to make up for.”

“i missed you,” you shake your head, just grateful to have her back. the rest will easily fit into place.

“i missed you too.” she hums, pressing her forehead against yours. “never letting that out of sight again. i’m sorry.”

you decide she’s done enough apologizing. you scoop her chin into your hand and melt into a kiss, the sweat from her nose dripping onto you, but you don’t mind. she wraps her arms even tighter around your waist and kisses you back so eagerly it makes your heart thud.

“i was crazy about you then, i’m still crazy about you now,” she tells you, lifting you and spinning you around. “probably gonna be crazy about you forever.”

you laugh and hug her even tighter. the whole thing feels like a win in your book.

“you know what?” you beam.

“what?” she grins back at you curiously.

“ditto.”

the next morning, megan is giving her statements about their loss in the conference room, but she isn’t solemn or sullen about it. she’s bright-eyed, eager, like a weight has been lifted off her shoulders.

after the coach announces eunchae as next year’s captain (the department clearly learning their lesson about letting the captains make such an announcement) there’s a quick question from one of the reporters to megan about her future in the wnhl and her plans to pursue hockey.

“hockey gave me everything, and i gave it everything,” she says simply, nothing more, nothing less. she flashes a quick, nervous smile, and it’s perfect for her, the balance of sincere and dorky that made you fall for her in the first place.

“what’s next for you?” another reporter asks, trying to goad her into opening up further about her prospects.

“whatever is next, i’ll give it 100%,” megan says carefully. “and i’ll be grateful, and i’ll remember what matters to me. the love of the game, nothing else.”

she nods awkwardly and excuses herself from the table, letting dani and the head coach take over the rest of the questions about what they plan to do without their star player.

you greet megan with a kiss on the cheek, and she returns the gesture by pressing a kiss into the top of your head.

“what’s really next?” you ask, motioning to the google calendar you share that she hasn’t updated for the day.

“uh, will you help me study for finals?” she asks, almost shyly, and you can almost see it play back. your first class together, how awkward she was asking for your notes. it makes your heart flip inside your chest.

“no more interviews?” you question.

“coach and dani can do them together. i need to focus on right now, and right now is a bitchass english final due in 48 hours that my girlfriend would know exactly how to study for,” megan informs you, and you laugh at her determination.

the two of you escape hand in hand out of the building and start making your way towards the library to get a head start on preparing for finals.

you catch her staring at you as you walk, peering out of the corner of her eye. her cheeks flush as she realizes she’s been spotted, and she tries distracting you instead by taking off her letterman jacket and insisting on placing it over your shoulders.

“what?” you question, accepting the jacket without protest.

“you are really so pretty,” megan breathes out nervously.

“thank you,” you smile back at her. those big brown eyes, her button nose, her dimples. “you’re so fucking cute.”

“you make me nervous,” she mumbles quietly.

“still?” you ask in disbelief.

“always have,” she nods, and the way she breathes out makes you feel like she’s finally able to start thinking about what she wants, instead of what she’s afraid of. “you have from the start.”

finals are grueling, but you both manage to pass all your exams, and spend your winter break making up for lost time now that the season is over. your anniversary quickly approaches, and megan ditches off-season practice where she’s supposed to be training eunchae in order to spend the whole day with you.

(it’s her first time ever ditching practice since starting the sport, and you don’t take it lightly.)

she’s losing pitifully to you in the snowball fight you’re currently halfway through, and it doesn’t escape you that she’d put her phone on do not disturb in order to focus on you. the last time you two were at the lake, it was her fight with dani, and the time before that, your date that had gotten cut short, so this date feels like it’s making up for all the terrible experiences you’d previously shared.

and what’s best, is that megan is perfectly fine with just playing in the snow, no longer insisting on teaching you how to skate.

her phone falls out of her pocket as she tries packing another snowball to toss at you, and you notice that even through dnd, her mom has called her at least four times since your date has started. megan’s mom is close to megan, but not exactly the clingy type, so this raises a flag for you.

“why is your mom blowing you up?” you ask, pointing to your phone as she picks it up out of the snow. “everything okay?”

“i’m not interrupting another date to take a stupid phone call,” she furrows her brow, preparing to tuck it back into her jacket.

“it’s your mom, meg,” you reassure her, laughing at her determination to be better. “it’d be different if it was coach.”

“fine,” she grumbles.

she takes the phone off and brings it to her ear, a quick greeting in cantonese before you hear her mom rambling something at a million miles an hour. you grin and tackle her backwards into a snowbank, the two of you sinking into the powder with a laugh as you simply rest on top of her while she keeps chatting away with her mom.

it seems like the usual check in until you see megan’s face change, her features widening, her skin going pale. you almost insist that she put it on speaker before she quickly hangs up. you realize her hands are shaking as they slip the phone back into her pocket.

“you know how my mom does all my management stuff?” she starts, voice wobbly.

“loser,” you laugh, realizing that megan has kept all her management as her mom’s job instead of hiring a real agent. “but continue.”

she gives you a blank stare, her mind clearly not fully there following the phone call.

“they want me for the olympic women’s hockey team,” she says simply, and you feel your jaw drop.

“holy shit, megan,” you gasp.

“the winter olympics are in london next year,” she tells you, and the two of you connect the dots at the exact same time. “you’ll be halfway through your program.”

“that’s convenient,” you beam.

“olympic players always go back in the draft,” megan tells you, her words picking up in pace, her voice growing more and more excited. “i’ll take a month or two off to sight see, and then i’ll go to the combine for drafting. if i’m lucky, a team will pick me up as soon as i’m done.”

“megan, that’s amazing,” you bury your face into her neck to wrap her in a tight hug. “your dream is coming true.”

“my dream isn’t hockey,” she corrects you quickly, running a hand through your hair. “it’s just a future where i’m happy. think you’ll be part of it?”

“wherever you get drafted i’ll go with you,” you nod reassuringly. the smile she gives you back is worth everything to you.

she scoops up a pile of snow and shoves it in your face. you scream with laugher and scoop up one to smash right back into her nose, watching as she tries to wiggle herself out from under you and shove you further into the snowbank.

the semester is grueling, but you make it through in one piece, and so does megan. graduation rolls around before you even realize it, and your time as college students is quickly coming to an end.

at the graduation, you and megan have to split up as you separate into your different majors and departments, but she presses a kiss to your forehead before you depart.

“i’ll be the loudest cheer in the room,” she promises, smiling at you. you can’t help but admire how cute she looks in her cap and gown. the way the cap just slightly brushes her eyebrows reminds you of how low she used to wear her beanies, and how she still sometimes will.

you shuffle into line and take inventory of all your friends from the year, all the things this university has given you. sophia in the crowd next to your family, minji and danielle in their own caps and gowns waving from their section in the graduation lineup. you know daniela and lara are cheering you on from their spot with megan’s family.

the department heads read off the names, and you feel your ears perk up as they approach the name of the ginger that had come out of nowhere your freshman year and changed everything for you.

“megan skiendiel.”

you hear an air horn go off, followed by another, and the whole arena erupts into an echo of cheers. you can see from the crowd where several people have printed up blow up heads and are waving them around. you can make out some of the newer girls and realize nearly 2 full rows of seats are taken up by the entire women’s hockey team, the babies who’d follow megan anywhere even with all they’ve been through. they wave the blow up heads wildly around, cheering at the top of their lungs as if they’re at a game and not at some respectable academic demonstration.

you see megan’s cheeks flush as soon as she spots the stupid display, no doubt daniela and lara’s idea. she takes her degree and makes her way off stage.

your department comes next, and you beam as you take to the stage.

“y/n y/ln, graduating magna cum laude.”

you can hear the uproar from your loved ones, but one voice is cheering longer and louder than all the rest. you look down at the graduates and see megan with her hands cupped around her mouth, cheering as loudly as possible. you see her eyes shining brightly. she’s usually not a huge fan of bringing attention to herself, but your stupid, goofy megan doesn’t stop cheering the whole time you’re on stage.

your families join after the ceremony into one giant group, made even more chaotic by the fact that the entire women’s hockey team is eagerly trying to fit into the picture as well.

megan smiles at you, and takes your hand in hers. in that exact moment, you can’t picture anything you’d ever want more than this.

your phone background is a countdown of how many days are left until megan lands. it’s been a grueling 4 months without her, but she’ll be in your city prepping for the olympics in no time at all. plus, she’s sent weekly care packages, and her twice daily facetimes make it a little more bearable.

you admire your desk, the way your life has all fallen into place.

on your bulletin board, pictures of your life: you, minji, and marsh, all posing at one of megan’s games your junior year. you and megan celebrating her second championship game win. you and megan on the beach when she had brought you to hawaii to meet her family the summer after sophomore year. a photo of the two of you at the surprise party the underclassmen had planned just before summer ended. one of you and sophia at the renaissance fair. megan cheering you on at your senior capstone presentation. the photo of everyone from graduation. one of the first photos you had ever taken of her, a picture from freshman year during one of your many study sessions.

your hands unpack the envelope that megan had saved for you specifically. the magazine drops into your hands, and the familiar eyes look back up at you from the photo on the cover.

you hold the magazine up and look up proudly at the cover. the sullivan award, amateur athlete of the year: megan skiendiel.

megan. your megan, as she’s always been.

#megan skiendiel x reader #megan x reader #megan katseye #megan skiendiel imagine #☆ﾟ coolwyous works.#☆ﾟ coolwyous ditto.

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mapofsouthdakota · 3 days ago

Text

Maps headcanons -

🧡 Caleb and period cramps fluff

Details: 600 words. Feel good food. Fluff. Tender, wonderful, caring, loving Caleb during that time of month. It actually fits if you just want a lil pampering from our boy too. Get you a man who can do both *cries* this is for you @gavin3469

You barely make it through the door before exhaustion weighs you down. The day had been long, and your body felt like it was fighting against you, every step home a battle you barely won. You had considered stopping by the store, picking up something to comfort yourself, but the thought of carrying even the lightest of bags felt impossible. You just wanted to collapse, to sink into something warm and safe and let the world fade away for a while.

You sigh as you unlock it, expecting nothing more than the quiet stillness of your apartment. But the moment you step inside, warmth greets you like an embrace. The air smells of apples and vanilla, and the soft flicker of candlelight casts golden glows against the walls. There’s something else too—something that smells like summer, fresh and inviting.

“Hello?” you call out weakly, toeing off your shoes.

No answer.

Your brows knit together as you shrug off your coat, your tired brain sluggishly trying to recall whether you had left any candles burning this morning. But then you see him.

Caleb stands in the kitchen, completely oblivious to your arrival, airpods in as he chops vegetables with effortless precision. His movements are fluid, a rhythm all his own, the steady thunk of the knife against the cutting board matching the beat of whatever music he’s lost in. He sways as he works, shifting his weight, rolling his shoulders in time with the sound only he can hear. It’s not forced, not even intentional—just an unconscious, easy sort of grace.

But that isn’t what takes your breath away.

Across the living room, near the couch, sits an enormous cube of heaven—a down duvet, the kind that screams luxury, thick and impossibly soft. A massive ribbon is tied around it, wrapped so perfectly it looks like a gift for a special occasion—something you’d dreamed of unwrapping on your birthday, carefully chosen just for you—rather than just Caleb being Caleb. The sight of it—of the effort, the quiet, knowing care behind it—makes something ache deep in your chest.

Caleb’s head lifts, eyes widening briefly in surprise, and then, in an instant, he sets the knife aside and crosses the room with the kind of intent that makes your heart stutter. He doesn’t hesitate, doesn’t ask—just gathers you into his arms, pulling you close, holding you like he’s been waiting for this moment all day. His warmth envelops you, deep and unwavering, the kind that seeps into your bones, making the exhaustion, the ache, the weight of the entire day fade into nothing.

The whole world disappears—there is only this, only him. His chest rises and falls beneath your cheek as he exhales, his lips pressing softly to your hair, lingering there as if he’s just as relieved to have you home as you are to be here. His hand slides down your shoulder, fingers squeezing lightly, grounding you in a way that feels like safety, like home.

“How has your day been, dear?” he murmurs, voice low and filled with quiet affection. “I’m so happy to see you.”

The words break something loose in you, and before you can stop yourself, your eyes well up. Maybe it’s the exhaustion, the pain that’s been gnawing at you all day, or maybe it’s just him—the thoughtfulness, the way he always seems to know exactly what you need before you do. His hands find your cheeks, thumbs brushing away tears before they can fall, and he presses the softest kiss to your forehead.

“Hey, hey,” he soothes, voice barely above a whisper. “I got you. You don’t have to do anything tonight. Just let me take care of you.”

You exhale shakily, leaning into his touch, grounding yourself in the quiet strength of him.

Then, as if reading your mind, he grins and tilts his head toward the couch. “Wanna try out your new duvet? Bet you won’t wanna leave it once you do.”

A laugh bubbles up despite yourself, and for the first time all day, the heaviness in your chest lifts just a little.

You nod, unable to find words, and Caleb grins before pressing a soft kiss to your temple. He takes your hand and leads you toward the couch—toward warmth, comfort, and the unwavering truth that, in this moment, you are the only thing in the world that matters.

——————————————————————————

#i just needed a little bit of a cuddle after sleep token wrecked me yesterday and i had this in my drafts lol #i’m still uanble (birth control) to ovulate but hey i still want the pampering yesplis #BUT I REMEMBER THE FEEL lol #okey my headcanon is that we’re ovulating super hard because our ovaries are like BABIES NOW #love and deepspace #caleb fluff #caleb love and deepspace #lnds caleb #lads caleb #fanfic caleb #love and deepspace fluff #reader x caleb #you x caleb #Spotify

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elodieunderglass · 3 days ago

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Oh!!! You collect leucistic animals?!?!?

Seen in May 2024. This white tailed deer with a very pale silvery coat! She wasn’t completely white, but definitely much paler. Regular deer in the same yard for comparison. The colors are pretty accurate to real life! Sorry the photo quality is so bad, these are cropped versions of already very zoomed in photos lmao

Does this count as leucistic? Or is this a different pigmentation thing happening? I tried to find an explanation online at the time but I couldn’t find any examples of this specifically.

Oh thank you so much for thinking of me!

After several years of collecting colour morphs, I’ve decided to simplify by just keeping them all under #the leucism channel #(open to all colour morphs) because I still see tremendous pleasure and value in curating the diversity of animal colouration.

The primary personal reason in my heart, and the reason why I admire and collect colour morphs at all, is because it gives us the experience of witnessing the animal as fresh and new to our eyes. Sometimes without the distraction of colour and pattern, it takes a moment to truly understand what you are seeing - by recognising and re-cog-nising the character of the animal - which in itself reminds you of the true nature of the animal. So that being my intention, I collect them and they make me happy, but I only do it under one tag, and I’m no longer hugely interested in deciphering exactly what mutation a photo of an animal has, or hosting those arguments in my notes. So it’s a blanket thing. The Leucism Channel for tradition and recognition, and Open to All Colour Morphs because it is! This deer is definitely eligible!

As for your lovely witnessing, that does look leucistic - it can be a partial pigment loss, it doesn’t have to be “pure white” - just paler when considered from the centre point of the wild-type expression.

In domestic animals, where we select for colour morphs both purposefully and unintentionally, we use expressions like “dilution factors” to talk about genes that reduce the levels of an animal’s colour. For example, a black cat with the “dilution effect” applied becomes a “blue” cat - those cats with blueish grey fur. A black horse with cream dilution becomes a Smoky Cream, which is a silvery gold colour. You could think of it like a slider where you have (base + dilution). The dilution of a black cat is not grey or white, but blue-grey.

Leucism in wild animals encompasses the slider that is paler than wild type, and melanism encompasses the slider that is darker than wild type. (There are specific words for specific pigment losses but it is not inaccurate to start with this understanding and then expand it.) and the word we use for something that has fallen off the slider entirely is albino. Albinism carries other genetic implications and significances, which is why people will argue about it.

Thus the deer you have is quite likely to be leucistic, exhibiting characteristics of leucism, but perhaps only partially - as a dilution rather than a loss of wild-type expression.

What a lovely sighting, thank you so much!!

#the leucism channel #open to all colour morphs

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monicfever · 2 days ago

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have you ever heard of Megan Fox carrying a bit of her boyfriend's blood in a necklace? do you think any of the characters in DD and Punisher would be into it?

wearing a necklace full of their blood 𝜗𝜚 daredevil & punisher headcanons

r e q u e s t e d ♡

characters used ᝰ .ᐟ matt murdock / frank castle / foggy nelson / karen page / elektra / ben poindexter / billy russo / dinah madani / muse / wesley (bonus!)

⏜︵ MATT MURDOCK. 𐂯

MATT would think it’s incredibly intense, the idea of carrying a piece of someone so deeply with you. at first, he’d be uncomfortable with the thought. his mind would race through the risks, the danger, the symbolism. he’d wonder why it felt so personal, almost too personal.

“wait, hold on,” he’d say, brow furrowing as he tries to wrap his mind around the request. “blood? like, my blood?” his voice would be a little tighter than usual, the words laced with a mix of disbelief and confusion. he’d laugh, but it’s awkward — like he doesn’t know whether he should be horrified or curious. “i get the whole emotional connection thing, but blood? that’s… a bit much, don’t you think?” he’d pause, shifting on the couch, fingers tapping out a rhythm of uncertainty on the armrest. he'd squint at you, half joking, but the wheels in his head are already turning, questioning if there’s some deeper, weirder meaning behind it.

at first, he might even feel a little judged, like you’re asking for something too much, too soon. it’d be confusing to him �� why would you want something so messy? but if you’re persistent, explaining that it’s not about the blood itself but about the bond, he’d start to soften — only a little. it wouldn’t be an instant change, but there would be a shift, a moment when the idea clicks for him. he’d still be unsure, not entirely comfortable with it, but there’s something about you — the way you’re so sure of the gesture — that starts to make him reconsider his own hesitation.

it wouldn’t be easy for him to swallow, but he’d respect it. he’d want to understand, if only because it makes you happy. once he saw that it wasn’t just a whimsical request, but something deeper, something that held meaning for you, he’d come around. he’d agree to let you wear it, not because he understands, but because he wants to see you happy, even if it’s something he’s not completely comfortable with. for him, love has always been about sacrifice in some way — about giving a little piece of yourself, even if it’s not easy.

"just don't wear it out in public too much. i’m not saying you can’t, but... i don’t want you drawing attention. you know how people are."

there’s a strange intimacy in that — him accepting something he doesn’t quite understand, all for the sake of your happiness. it’s his way of letting you in, showing you that he’s willing to compromise, even if it means stepping outside of his comfort zone.

sometimes, late at night, matt’s fingers would linger on the edge of your neck, tracing the space where the necklace would rest. it’s a small touch, but it speaks volumes. he’d never ask you to carry something like that for him, not unless you insisted. and even then, he’d probably hold back.

⏜︵ FRANK CASTLE. 𐂯

FRANK’S first reaction would be pure confusion, followed quickly by concern, and then a heavy dose of skepticism. his brows would furrow, lips pressed tight in a hard line. there’s a rough edge to his voice when he speaks, something like disbelief at first. “you want what?” he’d glance at you like you’ve lost your mind, shaking his head as if he hasn’t quite processed the request. this isn’t a conversation he’s used to having. what kind of connection are you even asking for here? what’s the point of holding on to that part of him?

blood doesn't hold the same weight for him that it might for others. he's seen so much of it, bled so much of it, that it’s almost like it’s lost its significance. it’s just… blood, something that’s always been a part of the violence and the violence that’s always been a part of him. but he still can’t fully wrap his mind around the idea of you wanting to keep a piece of it.

his first response would still be that subtle, confused pause — a second of wait, what did you just say? but after a moment, he'd just shrug it off, his eyes narrowing slightly as he tries to assess what exactly you're getting at.“uh... sure. I guess it's not like I haven't given enough of it away already.” there’s a wryness to his tone, like he’s trying to make light of it, but he also just doesn’t have the energy to care that much about the request. blood isn’t some sentimental thing for him; it’s just a substance, a part of the whole fucked-up cycle he’s been stuck in.

it would be weird for him, yeah, but he’s also someone who’s been through a lot of chaos, a lot of violence, and in his mind, this would just be another weird thing to add to the list. it's not that he doesn’t care — it's just that his attachment to his blood is nonexistent. he doesn’t have some emotional connection to it, doesn’t hold on to it like a symbol of life or love the way other people might. it’s just a fluid, just a part of him, like any other body function.

might even joke once it's all said and done, in that dark, frank way of his: "just don’t let it be some weirdo’s idea of a good souvenir, alright?"

when he sees you actually wearing it, close to your chest, something would shift in him. not a full-on change, but there'd be a quiet flicker of something protective. he'd watch you for a long moment, considering whether or not he’s okay with it. and honestly? part of him would hate the idea that his blood — his mess, his past — has become a piece of you. but another part of him would feel mildly okay with it, because you’re choosing to take that risk with him. it wouldn’t be an “into it” kind of thing, like he’s suddenly head over heels for the idea of you wearing his blood as some symbol of love. but he’d accept it, and there’s something deeply important in that. he’s not the kind of guy to get caught up in the sweet, small things that most people value, but your request for something so deeply personal would strike a chord with him.

he’d let you have it, just like that. no grand gestures, no overthinking. just a small, simple act of giving. it’s the way frank does things — silent, understated, and somehow more meaningful because of it. there’s no need to complicate it. it’s just you and him, and that’s all that matters.

⏜︵ FOGGY NELSON. 𐂯

FOGGY would be more surprised than confused, he’s not used to this kind of request. he’s an open guy, warm and understanding, but he’s also not the kind of person who typically associates love or intimacy with something like blood. still, when you ask him for a piece of it —well, it’d throw him off for a second. he’d probably laugh first, nervously, as though trying to lighten the situation and mask the discomfort he’s feeling. "is this a vampire thing? am I supposed to be worried?" he’d joke, his voice a little higher than usual, trying to make light of it. foggy’s one of those people who uses humor to cope with things he doesn’t understand.

if you kept going, explaining why it meant something to you — something about connection, about keeping a piece of him close to you — his joking would quickly subside. he’d still be uncertain, definitely surprised, but the sincerity in your voice would make him pause. he wants to understand the people he cares about, even if it’s a bit out of his wheelhouse.

but foggy would get it, eventually. he’d see it for what it is: a gesture of trust, of wanting to hold onto him in a way that feels meaningful to you. and even if he doesn’t fully understand it, he’d respect it. he’s not totally comfortable with the idea, but foggy is all heart, and if it means something to you, he’d go along with it. he might even try to be a bit lighthearted about it, making sure to joke that he’s pretty sure he’ll never get used to the idea of his blood in a necklace, but deep down, he’d be touched by the fact that you wanted something so personal, something so him.

he’d find himself thinking about it during late nights in the office. his eyes will drift to the spot where the necklace rests against your skin. when you lean in to talk to him, he’ll catch a glimpse of it. he might not be vocal about it, but inside, there’s a small, quiet warmth that builds up every time he sees it. maybe he’d never really understand why, but the fact that it was his blood now tied to you made it feel like you were carrying him with you in a way that no one else had.

if you wore it, he'd probably give you that soft, endearing smile of his, the one that makes him look a little bit shy but a whole lot fond. maybe he’d even reach out and adjust the necklace for you, fingers brushing yours just a little too long. he wouldn’t get it, not exactly, but he’d do it because you asked — and because, in his own way, he’d want to give you everything.

⏜︵ KAREN PAGE. 𐂯

KAREN would definitely approach the idea with her usual mix of curiosity and caution. at first, she’d be so confused. her eyebrows would knit together as she stared at you, trying to process what you’re saying. she’s been through a lot, seen a lot, but this? this would be a new one.

she’d probably be concerned at first, more for the how than the why. karen would think about the practical side of things — how do you even get that much blood into a necklace without it being, well, gross or unsafe? "i mean... isn’t that a bit... dangerous? i’m not a scientist, but i don’t think blood’s supposed to just hang around in a little vial forever, right?" she'd frown, her mind immediately running through a million worst-case scenarios.

when she saw how serious you were about it, how much it meant to you, her instinct would kick in. she’d want to understand. karen has a way of caring for people deeply, even if it takes her a second to process her feelings. she’d want to be there for you, but her protective nature would come out. couldn’t you just keep a picture of me or something? she’d think to herself, because blood — well, blood is a lot.

eventually, karen would warm up to it. not instantly, not easily, but slowly, like light coming through sheer curtains. at first, she’d carry the discomfort quietly, that persistent hum of this is a little morbid tucked somewhere behind her ribs. but over time, as she sees how gently you treat it, would start to shift something in her.

you’re not treating it like a trophy or a token. you’re not wearing it for shock or drama. you hold it like it’s sacred, like it means something more than what it physically is. and karen, who has spent so much of her life trying to separate herself from the parts that hurt, from the blood and the chaos and the loss, starts to see the beauty in how you accept all of her. even the messy parts. especially the messy parts. so yeah, after a while, she’d get it.

she’d catch herself touching the chain around your neck, fingertips grazing the tiny vial like she’s still unsure what it means, but drawn to it anyway. she’d ask more thoughtful questions — what made you think of this in the first place? does it make you feel safe? do you feel like it’s me, really? — not in a way that’s judgmental, but curious. and when you explain, when you tell her that it’s not about morbidity or obsession, but connection, something private and quietly intense, she’d finally see it.

and then one night, when it’s just the two of you, quiet and warm in your shared space, she’d bring it up again. soft voice, eyes downturned, like she’s not sure if the words will come out right. "would it be… weird if i did it too?"

and once she says it out loud, the whole thing would feel less strange to her. she’d probably even laugh a little at herself as she holds up the tiny vial of your blood later, squinting at it like how did this become my life? — but there’d be something so soft in her eyes, something new. maybe even a little thrill.

she’d wear it under her clothes, close to her heart, and never mention it to anyone.

⏜︵ ELEKTRA. 𐂯

ELEKTRA wouldn’t be shocked when you ask. she wouldn’t laugh or tease or tilt her head in confusion like others might. she’d just look at you, long and still, and there’d be something slow and curious behind her eyes, like she already understands what you mean before you finish saying it.

to elektra, the idea of carrying a piece of someone, something visceral and deeply personal, doesn’t feel strange. it feels ancient. sacred, even. she comes from a world where symbols matter, where blood means more than biology. it’s lineage, loyalty, sacrifice. a kind of wordless promise. so if you asked to carry hers, she wouldn’t recoil. she might ask why, just to hear your reason. not because she doubts it, but because she finds it interesting. because she loves when you reveal more of yourself. and if your answer is soft, a little unsure, something like i just want to keep a part of you close, her expression would shift, almost imperceptibly. thoughtful. warm, in that rare, fleeting way she gets when she’s not guarding her feelings.

she’d agree. simply. easily. no ceremony.

but it would mean something to her more than she’d admit. she’s not someone who gives pieces of herself away lightly — so if she gives this to you, lets you keep that part of her close to your chest, it’s because she’s already decided you’re hers in a way she won’t undo.

she’d watch the way you treat it. how carefully you wear it. how often your hand drifts to where it sits, almost unconsciously, when you’re thinking or nervous or just quiet. and something about that would stay with her.

she would absolutely be into it. not in a sweet or sentimental way, but in that quiet, intense, elektra way. to her, this kind of gesture wouldn’t feel dark or dramatic. it would feel intentional. primal. intimate in a way that most people shy away from. she's someone who lives in extremes, who’s always been drawn to the edge of things — danger, devotion, desire. so when you ask to carry a piece of her like that, she’d feel something tighten behind her ribs. not fear. not confusion.

and over time she’d get deeply into it. she’d trace the necklace against your skin when you’re standing close. she’d touch it absently when she’s thinking, the same way someone might reach for a lucky charm. it would become part of the way she loves — silent, physical, constant.

because in her mind, it isn’t strange. it isn’t excessive. it’s trust. it’s possession. it’s a kind of love most people wouldn’t understand — but you do, and so does she.

⏜︵ BEN POINDEXTER. 𐂯

DEX would be so caught off guard at first. he’s used to people keeping him at arm’s length, used to his intensity being too much, his closeness being too sharp. so when you ask — quiet, maybe a little hesitant, like you’re not sure how he’ll take it — he freezes. not out of fear. just confusion. like his brain is trying to catch up to what you just said.

his first reaction isn’t rejection — it’s shock. not because he thinks it’s weird, but because he doesn’t think anyone could want him that much. that deeply. that intimately. and the fact that you do? that you want something from him, so personal and permanent — makes his chest tighten in a way he doesn't understand.

you can see the way his expression flickers — first confusion, then caution, then something much softer. something like wonder. and then, all at once, he’s in.

he says yes too quickly, because he wants to give you anything. everything. if this is how you show love — if this is how you feel close — then he wants to meet you there, even if it doesn't totally make sense to him yet. to ben, this isn’t just about the blood. it’s about you choosing him. wanting to keep part of him.

he’d probably get a little obsessive about it in the quiet, vulnerable way he does — checking the necklace when you’re not paying attention, brushing his thumb over it like it proves something. like it makes all of this real. you want him close. you want him to stay.

then the idea would grow on him. if you get to carry a piece of him, shouldn’t he carry a piece of you, too? he’d just keep watching you wear his with this quiet kind of reverence, like it’s proof you’re not afraid of him. like it means you see him and still chose to stay. but the more he sees it around your neck, the more the thought starts to gnaw at him. why shouldn’t he have one? he wouldn’t ask directly. he’d sit with it for a while, trying to pretend it doesn’t matter, but it does. he wants you close, always. and he wants something physical, something real, something he can touch when his mind gets loud.

so eventually — softly, a little unsteady — he’d ask for one too. and when you say yes his whole body would go still. not dramatic, not loud. just that locked-in, hyperfocused stillness he gets when he’s overwhelmed by emotion. like the weight of being wanted back hit him all at once. he’d keep yours close to his skin. under his shirt. right against his chest. he’d wear it all the time. when things get hard his hand will drift up to it like a reflex. your blood, your presence, your promise. it would anchor him.

he’d get weirdly sensitive about it too. if you ever took his necklace off — forgot it, misplaced it, even just left it on the nightstand — he’d notice immediately. there’d be this flicker in his eyes. something sharp and nervous. why aren’t you wearing it? are you mad at me? did something happen? did i do something wrong?

his brain would start filling in blanks you never wrote. he’d try to act casual, but you’d see the tension in his shoulders, the way he keeps glancing at your collarbone like he’s searching for it. to him, not wearing it might feel like rejection. like distance. like the beginning of leaving.

it wouldn’t matter how small the reason actually was — his head would make it big. because you loving him enough to wear a part of him? that’s everything. and the absence of it — even for a second — would feel like absence of you.

he’d hold onto it like a tether. something physical. grounding. yours. he might not fully know how to say it, but it would wreck him a little bit, the way you love him. strange, specific, intense. no one’s ever wanted him like that. now that you do — he’s not letting go.

⏜︵ BILLY RUSSO. 𐂯

BILLY would take your request and wrap it in silk and shadow. on the surface, he’d play it cool — smirk curling lazy at the corners, eyes sharp with interest, like he thinks it’s fascinating that you’d ask for something so intense. he’d repeat the request like a joke, like he’s amused, but there’d be a glint behind it. something darker. something real. underneath all the charm, billy loves the idea.

the intimacy. the loyalty. the fact that you want to carry part of him close to your body, like a secret only you two understand. he’s used to people wanting him for the surface — his looks, his polish, the curated version of himself he offers up so easily. but this? this is something else. this is messy and permanent and unpretty. and you want it anyway. you want him anyway.

he’d pretend to tease you about it. baby, that’s a little twisted. but there’s pride in his voice. affection, even. the kind that slips in when he’s not trying to perform. he’d hand it over without hesitation — too easily, honestly. like he’d been waiting for you to ask. he’s the type to go out and get the necklace himself. something sleek, something custom. minimal but expensive.

he’s got a control thing, a possession thing, and this? this satisfies both. it’s not just about giving you something of himself — it’s about belonging to you in a way no one else ever has.

and god help the day he sees you not wearing it. he’d try not to let it show, but it would eat at him. he’d flash that practiced smile, make some offhand comment — forget something this morning, sweetheart? — but the look in his eyes would be tighter. flatter.

if you're not wearing it, if you left it behind, even by accident, he’ll feel it like a bruise. he won’t explode. he’ll retreat. cold shoulder, false calm, the kind of silence that hums under the skin. he’ll convince himself you’ve changed your mind. that you don’t want him anymore. that you’ve seen the cracks in the mirror and finally looked away. you’ll have to pull him back. show him it still matters, that he still matters. because for all his bravado, billy russo wants to be loved so deeply it hurts.

he’d be into it. almost disturbingly into it, but in that smooth, quiet, russo way that feels expensive and intense and a little dangerous. he wouldn’t just like it, he’d crave the idea. because to him, this isn’t just a romantic gesture. it’s a mark. a claim.

he’s not loud about it. he doesn’t need to be. he has this controlled intensity that makes everything he does feel deliberate, curated, like he’s always five steps ahead. so when you ask for a vial of his blood he grins. slow, wolfish. his pupils dilate a little. he says yes, but with this air of control, like he’s the one offering, not just agreeing. like he’s giving you something no one else has.

it becomes a branding thing. not in a possessive, overbearing way; but in that quiet, obsessive, billy russo has a past he never talks about way. you’re wearing his blood. you’re carrying him. that’s not casual to him. that’s forever.

in his mind, that blood means forever. and if you’re wearing it, maybe there’s a chance he gets to keep you forever, too.

⏜︵ DINAH MADANI. 𐂯

DINAH would definitely think it’s weird. at first, she’d just stare at you, blinking in disbelief like she’s not entirely sure if you’re joking. she doesn’t do well with sentimental stuff, and this feels like one of those way too intense gestures that doesn’t really sit right with her. she doesn’t understand the appeal. to her, blood is something practical, not some romantic gesture or keepsake.

dinah’s not the type to hold on to things like that. she’s got a strong, independent vibe, and anything that feels too attached, too cloying, would make her uncomfortable. she’d start to question why you wanted it, unsure how serious you are about it.

even though she’s open with you in her own way, this is too out there for her. she’s not the type to do something that personal — it makes her feel vulnerable. but after a bit of thinking, and seeing how much it means to you, dinah might reluctantly agree. though it would be so much about her getting you to explain why you want it.

when you wear it, she might give you an odd look at first, but she wouldn’t say anything. maybe just a quiet, “still wearing it, huh?” as if she doesn’t entirely understand, but she’s not going to stop you.

if you ever asked for her to wear your blood in return? she’d probably laugh, but more out of awkwardness than anything else. “no way. that’s... no. not happening.”

⏜︵ MUSE. 𐂯

MUSE would be so into it. the second the idea crosses his mind, he’s already a step ahead of you, imagining it, planning it, getting excited about it. this is his element. blood is his medium. it's not just a substance for him, it’s a language, a tool, a signature. the idea of you carrying a piece of him in a necklace doesn’t feel weird, it feels natural.

he’d grin, that glint in his eyes burning with something dark and mischievous. there’s no hesitation in his voice, no questioning. he would probably get even more into the idea than you expected. he’d start fantasizing about the perfect vial, the perfect necklace, the perfect design for something that will hold your connection. and of course, it has to be something sleek, sharp, almost like a weapon — because to him, this is about making something as permanent as the blood itself.

when he gives you his blood, he wouldn’t just give you a little — he’d give you more. as much as he can, until he’s left with just enough for himself, his thoughts already racing with the idea that your blood is just as essential to him. his fingers would twitch with that artist’s urge, always thinking about the best way to make you part of him, to mark you, to make sure everyone knows who you belong to. of course he’d want to give you something like that. you want his blood? then it’s only fair that he has yours, and he’ll savor every drop like it’s the most precious thing in the world.

he wouldn’t stop at a necklace, either. he’d want your blood in multiple places, multiple vials, maybe even a painting or three. “oh, we’re doing this, huh? alright. i’ll need more of you,” type of way. once you open that door there is no closing it, so you really have to be careful about it with him.

when you wear it he’d watch you with that obsessive, possessive gaze. he’d want to know where it is at all times, how you treat it. if you forget it one day? expect a darker side of him, angry, with that twisted sense of ownership rising to the surface.

because this? this is more than a necklace. it’s art. it’s identity. it’s you, forever a part of him, and him a part of you.

⏜︵ WESLEY. 𐂯

WESLEY would be thrown off by the idea at first. he’s not exactly someone who’s used to open displays of affection or anything that feels too personal. for him, everything is about control and efficiency. when you bring it up, he’d probably blink at you a couple of times, trying to make sense of what you’ve just said. he’s already thinking about the logistics — is this a trick? a joke? something to get under his skin? his first instinct would be to shrug it off, but there’s something about the way you ask that makes him pause.

“you want my blood in a necklace?” he’d repeat slowly, voice a little unsure, the usual smoothness replaced with confusion. his brain would scramble to process it. blood, in a necklace. his blood. he’s used to violence, used to the gritty side of life, but the idea of someone wanting a piece of him like that? that’s a level of intimacy that feels a little personal. too intense for someone like wesley, who keeps everything wrapped up tightly in neat little boxes.

he’d be thrown off, definitely, but a part of him would be intrigued. there’s something in him that would quietly admire the boldness of the request, the trust that comes with it. even if he doesn’t quite understand it, a small part of him would think it’s... kind of cool? it’s not something anyone else would ever ask of him, and that in itself would make it a bit of an oddball connection.

after a little while, once he’s had time to process, he’d give in. reluctantly at first, though. he’d get you a necklace, sure, something simple, understated — nothing flashy. he’d probably go for something practical, like a small vial or a pendant, but still classy enough to feel like it means something. he’d also get a little curious about your intentions. “why do you want this?” he’d ask, not in a judgmental way, but in that calculating way he has, always trying to figure people out. he doesn’t fully get it.

once you wear it he’d notice quietly, without saying much. it would settle into his mind, and even though he doesn’t fully understand it, it would be something he values. and if someone ever made a comment about it, if it became a point of conversation? oh, he’d defend it. in his own subtle way, he’d be fiercely protective over it. the idea of you holding his blood, something of him that no one else has, would stir something in him. maybe not romantic or passionate, but certainly possessive in a way that makes him feel like you’re his.

he wouldn’t wear one himself — he’s not the type for something that sentimental — but the fact that you want his blood would still feel important. like he’s somehow been marked by you, and that’s a thought he’s not entirely opposed to.

★ a / n : i loved this request send me more niche lil requests like this

started 4.24.2025. finished 4.26.2025.

( masterlist. )

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fallen-w1ngs · 3 days ago

Text

'' flower shop of new feelings ,,

[ 04 : unlucky ]

|| pairing : james "bucky" barnes x florist!reader

|| warning : nothing !

|| wc : 3.6k

Ever since you’d found out about James - Bucky - being an Avenger, the two of you’d grown closer. He was more open about who he was, what he’d like. You learned he rather listens to old 40s music than the newer Taylor Swift, which was completely understandable. He wanted to learn how to bake the things his Ma made, muffins and cakes and all that jazz before the war. And when he’s alone in the Tower, he likes to put on soft music and dance to it, pretending he was back in the 40s.

You loved learning more about him, he went from an old customer to a friend, and now, you’d dare say he was one of your closest friends! Despite it barely being 2 months- ah, he was really growing on you. However, with your growing friendship, that also accidentally made it so you were neglecting your other friendships. Especially May, you were both very busy with work, and her being busy with her nephew as well. It was understandable that you both weren’t hanging out much, but you wanted to change that!

You invited May to go out to a cafe with you, one down the street from your flower shop, you knew the person who ran it, Finn.

“Thanks for this, May, gods, I feel like I haven’t seen you in ages!” The both of you hugged, you giving a small squeeze before letting her go and sitting down across from her. “How’ve you been? How’s Peter doing?”

“Oh, we’ve been doing just great! Peter’s been interning at that Stark place and he’s so excited about it, constantly working on stuff that’s supposedly on-” She raised her hands and did air quotes. “- the down low, y’know?”

A small chuckle left your lips as you sipped on the hot beverage in the paper cup you’d ordered, god Finn made the good stuff here. “How about you? You’ve been MIA so much! I was planning on bringing over some pot pie a few days ago, but Peter saw you coming home and said you looked like you were on the verge of collapsing!” May leaned on the table, her brows furrowed, etched with worry as she asked.

“I promise, I’m okay, really, work’s just been busy.” You gave a lazy shrug. It was true, that day you’d gotten 5 calls for special orders for weddings or funerals and such. Even then, you still had to deal with your other, in person customers. “It’s a lot, but I’m enjoying it.”

“If you say so..” She sighed and twiddled with the pastry in her hands before taking a bite. “Y’know, you need to take a break soon.”

“May-”

“I’m serious!” She huffed and chowed down on the pastry, a sigh of relief leaving her lips. “Oh, this is so good,” May muttered before shaking her head. “I can call Happy, get him to send you off somewhere nice, have a chill vacation”

“I thought you knew me better, May, I’m more of a home-body” You shook your head and laughed before processing.. Happy? Who’s Happy? “Wait, who’s-”

“Happy's uh.. Someone I’ve taken interest in.” Her lips were pulled into a sly smile as you gaped. Were you that absent you didn’t know your friend was seeing someone??

“Tell me everything!”

“Well, he works at Stark Industries and I met him through Peter,” She took another bite of her pastry. “He’s a really sweet guy, there’s some weird stuff, but ah, it’s casual”

“I’m really happy for you, May”

“Awh, shucks” She playfully swatted her hand in the air, feigning to be flustered. “How about you? Any guy friends? Maybe lady ones?”

Your face flushed and you shook your head, your eyes glancing outside. “No, no, been waaay too busy for that!”

“Oh, that’s so boring! How about this, I hook you up with someone.”

“May!”

“I’m just saying! You need to get out there, especially after..” May trailed off as your shoulders tensed. Your last relationship hadn’t ended well, cheating and whatnot. It broke you, even though it was a short relationship, cheating never felt nice. After a beat of silence, May cleared her throat. “C’mon! It’d be fun! Plus, Happy knows the Avengers, maybe you could go on a blind date with one of them!”

Your eyes widened at that.. James was an Avenger, well, sort of. Imagine going on a blind date with him, that’d.. Be a disaster. He knew you, you were just friends. No way you’d get hooked up with him.

“I-I’m way too busy for that, May, it’s a nice sentiment, but not for now.”

She just sighed and shrugged, allowing this topic of discussion to be dropped. The two of you started to talk about some random crap, how your other neighbors were loud.. In more ways than one, it was so annoying. How New York felt like it was the new warzone for aliens and Avenger level threats. God, it was a lot. But, it was nice to talk to May about this stuff. You loved her, she was a great friend.

–

After around 1 and a half hours of gossiping with May, the two of you went your separate ways, promising to do this again soon. Which you intended to keep! May had to go out and get some groceries, meet up with some of her co-workers and pick Peter back up from Stark Industries. Unless he gets a ride. You on the other hand? You decided to just head home, have a lazy day.

It was a Saturday, you’d already done your grocery shopping yesterday and the flowers back in the shop should be good until tomorrow evening. You needed to water them and make sure they weren’t wilted. In the meantime you walked back home and immediately bolted to your room to change into something comfy.

Once you put your comfy pjs on, you flopped on your couch and planted your ass on your couch as you watched mindless television. There was a rom-com sit-com playing on the screen, it was something you liked to put in the background as you crocheted, a hobby you recently picked up.

While you watched TV, the time passed as if hours were seconds and soon enough, the bright rays of light that seeped into your windows grew dimmer and dimmer. Soon enough, the evening had come and you were hungry as hell. With a small groan you pushed yourself off the couch and walked over to the kitchen. You didn’t feel like making anything complicated, so you opted for some instant ramen. With a clean motion, you grabbed a pot and put it under the faucet, turning the knob.. Nothing happened. No water, just a weird sounding sputter.

“What the hell?” Again, you tried turning it, nothing. Shit, was it broken? You put the pot down and squatted in front of the sink, opening the cabinet and looking at the pipes.. Yeah, you were out of your specialty with this. Usually, you asked May for help with this stuff, but as stated before.. She was busy. Shoot.

You sat on the cold ground of your kitchen apartment, looking to find any help from a plumber? You didn’t know who you needed for this. The prices were outrageous. Yeah no, you weren’t calling some professional.. You couldn’t exactly call up any family members.. Your only option left was James. Awh, man, you did NOT want to bother him, but.. You’re friends! He wouldn’t mind. With worried hands you dialed his number and put your phone close to your ear. Bucky was an Avenger! He’s probably busy with Avenger shit, here you are asking for sink help.

–

“Ha! You think you can beat me, little man?”

“.. I am a whole foot taller than you, Belova.”

Bucky and Yelena were currently playing cards together, something that Yelena had offered. She knew how out of depth this man was with the modern era. So, to help ease him into it, she offered to play cards with him every Saturday.. Plus, half the Avengers were busy doing something and she wanted to annoy someone new.

“Still, I am undefeated in the game of Gin Rummy. You know, Natasha taught me how to play when I was a kid!” She puffed her chest out in a proud manner.

“I was alive when Gin Rummy was made world wide.” He raised an eyebrow as Yelena made a “psh” noise and waved her hand in the air dismissively.

Before the two could continue the round, Bucky’s phone vibrated in his pocket, Yelena raised her eyebrow as he gave an apologetic look before standing up and walking out of hearing distance. When he saw it was your name, his heart started to beat just the smallest bit faster.

“[Name], what’s up?”

“James?” Your voice was quiet on the other line, nervous. “Heeeyy”

“You sound nervous, what’s wrong?”

“Well.. Oh, god,” He heard as you took a deep breath in and let it out. “I, uh, was trying to make dinner and I needed water to boil, and uh- my sink is.. Broken- and I didn’t know who else to call, my neighbors out, and I can’t pay for an electrician to help, can you..?”

You trailed off with your question, most likely out of embarrassment, Bucky suspected. Though, he didn’t know why you were embarrassed. “You need me to help?”

“Yes, please”

“Send me your address, I’ll be there quickly.”

“Thank you so much, James! I promise, I’ll cook you something when you fix it!” This made the corners of his lips quirk up. With quick goodbyes, he hung up and waited for your text. Once he saw your address, he recognized it. It was only a small ways away, with his motorcycle he’d be there in less than 10 minutes.

Bucky pushed his phone into his pocket and walked back over to the table where he and Yelena were playing. “I gotta deal with something, sorry to cut the game short.”

“Wha- oh, that’s ерунда, where are you going?” She pushed herself up and gave a small glare to Barnes as she watched him grab his jacket and keys.

“None of your business.”

“Oh, come on, Barnes, I won’t tell anyone.”

He just let out a huff, as a laugh type thing and turned around and walked to the elevator, giving a lazy wave to Yelena as he entered. “I’ll be back in a few hours, don’t trash the place.”

“No promises!”

With a ding, the elevator doors closed and he was going down to the parking garage. This was the first time he’d ever gone to your house, and his mind was RACING. I mean, it was just for friends. You guys are friends. Nothing more, nothing less. I mean, it’d be nice to be more, but no. To Bucky, you were someone who was soft, delicate, like a flower. He was some bulldozer who’d hurt you if he got too close. Not like he wanted to hurt you! No, he was just.. Worried.

As he got on the sleek, black motorcycle that Tony had given him as a peace offering, his mind started to calm as he drove. It was dark enough, just past sunset, so the streets were calm. No usual hustle of New York, no. It was peaceful, for once. The only thing he wished was that all the lights that were on during the night were off. There were bright billboards, bright neon signs that pointed to the nearest club. God, he loved clubs back then. They were nothing like what they were now. They were jazzy, sleek, elegant in its own rustic way, y’know? He missed that. The little things of the past.

Once he got to your apartment complex, he double checked the address before pressing the doorbell, or buzzer for you.

“Uh, [Name]?” He asked into the intercom.

“Hey, James! I’ll buzz you in! Again, thank you so muc-” Your voice got cut off as you unlocked the door for him.

Bucky walked through the empty halls of the apartment, his eyes darting for your apartment number. It was a nice place, better than the apartments back then. Even if Bucky was technically on the more rich side of things when he was younger, everyone had their struggles.

Once he got to the door that had your number on a bronze plate, he knocked on the door, and in a few moments there you stood.. Wow, man, maybe this was too domestic for him. You were in your cozy pajamas, a black, white and red flannel patterned pants and a black oversized shirt, cute mismatched socks that adorned your feet.

“James! Oh, thank god you’re here, c’min c’min!” You ushered him in and closed the door once he was fully in.

Bucky turned his head as his eyes darted around your home. It was.. Cozy, really cozy. There were thrifted paintings on the wall, and crocheted items on your couch. It was warm, but not overwhelming, just right. He stepped more into your living room as his eyes glazed over the photos. One was of your high school graduation, one of your family, one of some (he assumes) high school friends, as well as a photo of your university graduation, upon further inspection, your degree was business. There was one more photo, it was you, a brown haired lady and..

“Peter?” He muttered to himself as he looked closer to the photo, his brows furrowed in confusion. In the photo, you and May were on both sides of Peter as he stood in the middle, holding a first place trophy in his hand. A science thing, Bucky didn’t know. What he DID know was that you were friends with the spider boy's aunt and the spider boy.

“James?” You called out from the kitchen and that seemed to break him from his trance. He grunted and walked over to where you were. “Uhh, here’s.. The sink”

“What’s the problem with it?”

“It makes a sort of- fart noise when I turn it on”

The comparison made Bucky crinkle his nose and snort in amusement. He turned the knob, and yup, just like you said, out came the fart noise. Without the stink.

“This is an easy fix, I think it’s just clogged”

“Oh, so I’m just stupid,” You groaned and tugged at your hair. “I’m sorry for bothering you for such a simple issue of it being clogged.”

“You’re not stupid.” He huffed as he started to work on it. The perks of having a metal arm? He didn’t need any tools. Sure, it came with the trauma of falling out of a train, getting experimented on and being a weapon for 70 years, but ah, y’know how it is. “Steve used t’need my help with everything when we were younger”

“Yeah?” You sat on top of the counter as you watched him work.. Now you were not a pervert, but god, he had nice looking arms. The way it flexed under his jacket when he pulled or pushed on something. GOD, your friend was good looking. NOT THAT YOU WERE LOOKING! Aha.. totally not.

“Yeah, one time he broke one of the lights in his room as a kid, he was trying out some random item he got from the thrift shop and it backfired on him, needed it to get changed and clean up the shattered glass,” He spoke with a certain fondness in his voice as he worked on your sink. “I tried to help, he cleaned up the glass, I tried finding some extra light bulbs, but his old man found out and he told our ma’s. His mom and my Ma got pissed at us when they found out” He chuckled and pulled away from the sink.

“That should be good.” He had a small smile as he looked over to you. His heart beating quick as he looked over your face, you had the brightest smile on your face as you listened to his small story intently. You loved whenever he opened up about his past, even something as small or insignificant as that, it just.. Made you feel closer to him.

“Thank you, James.” You hopped off the counter and tried to turn the sink off, and miraculously it turned on! “Oh, thanks so much James!” With a wide grin on your face, you threw your arms around his neck and hugged him tightly. He stiffened at this but, with much hesitance, he hugged you back. After a beat of silence, you pulled away and filled up the pot from before. “I’m gonna make instant ramen, if that’s okay?”

“More than okay.”

You hummed in acknowledgement as you put the pot on the stove and started to boil it. “You wanna watch a movie? I have Netflix!”

“Uh, what’d you wanna watch?”

“Oh, I, uh, I was hoping you’d choose?”

He huffed and walked back into the living room. Despite being free for over three years and a half, he still wasn’t used to picking out things for himself, having options. Granted, two of those years were spent with the Wakandans rehabilitating him, but that’s just details.

Bucky scrolled through your Netflix, a small smile on his face as he saw in your recently watched documentary of ‘Captain America : The Original Avenger.’ He watched that documentary, it wasn’t super accurate, but it was better than the others.

“Whaddya think about a World War 2 movie?”

“So you can point out the inaccuracies?”

Bucky snorted and confirmed your assumption. You just rolled your eyes and laughed. The two of you grew into a nice silence as the documentary played. Bucky didn’t sit down on the couch though, he walked around the living room. Looking over the photos, still shellshocked at the fact you knew the spider kid.

–

After a little while, you and Bucky finally had the bowls of instant ramen in front of you as you both sat in front of the TV. Still, he’s pointing out the inaccuracies of the documentary. It was really amusing. Everytime he pointed something out, his nose would scrunch up and his brows would be furrowed just the smallest bit.

Especially if the documentary brought up the Howling Commandos, he’d get pissed at every inconsistency.

“We did not take down 50 men that day, it was 36, god they’re dramatic.”

“You remember?” You asked, your cheeks puffed out with ramen as you slurped it down.

“I remember every mission of mine before- uh, everything.” He took a sip of the soup and took a bite of the noodles. “That mission, Stevie was pissed ‘cause Pinkerton accidentally threw out one of the plans of attack. He got Sawyer to draw it up all over again.” Again, as he reminisced, there was a certain sadness in his voice. Despite it being a literal war, he remembered all the good with the Howling Commandos. They were like a family of his. “Obviously, Steve didn’t stay mad the whole time, just long enough for Pinkerton to grovel”

You snorted at that and finished up your food. Listening to every word of what he said. Usually, Bucky was more closed off, quiet, but when talking about his past. The good parts of his past, he seemed like a never ending sentence. He’d talk fondly of the Howling Commandos, his Ma, his sister Rebecca, and all the trouble he and Steve got into as teens.

Soon enough, the documentary ended and you and Bucky finished your food. He, in a quiet tone, offered to wash the dishes which you complied with. The dishes were one of your least favourite chores. As he washed, you both still talked.

“So how was your day?” As dry as that was, you had no idea how Bucky’s day was, especially being an Avenger. In turn, he gave a lazy shrug, his arms deep into the sink.

“Worked out from 8 to 12, uh..” He had therapy today but he was not going to tell you about that. “Had lunch with Steve and Natasha, no Sam ‘cause he’s out in Wisconsin.”

“Why?”

“Mission, heard some enhanced was causing trouble. He, Wanda, Clint and Banner went.” You hummed in acknowledgement then asked if he did anything else. “I.. Cleaned, I dunno. I don’t really do much around the Tower. Though, Yelena and I were supposed to play-”

He cut himself off and checked the time after he put away the last dish in the drying rack. Shit, it was already 11 PM, how did he not realize 4 hours had passed?? How did he not realize that the documentary was so damn long? Shit, Steve’s gonna ask questions when he gets back home.

“You needa go home?” You had a small smirk on your face, your eyebrow raised at his sudden cut off. With a twinge of embarrassment, he nodded.

“Sorry, just.. Being, uh, me-” He pointed to his metal arm. “People in the Tower don’t really trust me all too much just yet, so I hafta get home.”

“Nah, I get it, no worries, James.” You walked him out and at the door way he put his shoes back on and reached for the handle. Before stepping outside he turned to you one last time, sparing you a small smile.

“I had fun today.”

“Same, we should do this more often”

“Definitely.” He had a soft smile on his face as he stepped out and you closed the door. For a few moments, he stared at your door all longingly, as if he was some teenager who’d just snuck back out of his secret paramour's house.

With a small sigh he turned away from your door. His eyes locked with wide eyed brown ones. Ones that he’d seen way too often back at the Tower.

“Mr. Barnes?”

Of course it was the Spider kid.

|| WOOOOWEEEEE!!! i looove making everyone have connections guys !!! ALSOOO if you wanna be added to the taglist, i'd be more than welcome to add you :3

|| also, small thing, if the russian that yelena said was wrong, blame google translate, i know nothing abt russian

taglist : @iyskgd , @highhopes1008

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wingedhallows · 2 days ago

Note

hi ! you asked me to send you my request here (i hope this is working though, i'm still trying to figure out how the app works...) so that you don't forget about it, so here it is again :

just noticed you wanted us to send you asks so here i am :) unfortunately, i don't have any great inspiration to share with you at the moment… anything with vi or ellie williams (my girlsss) is always nice to see. but other than that, completing basketball!vi x ballerina!reader would be super cool, if it's something you'd be happy to do, of course ! (yup, i'm still obsessed with that one…)

bye 🫶 have a great day !

𝐘𝐎𝐔'𝐑𝐄 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐅𝐄𝐂𝐓

♒︎ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 loser!ellie x reader / 1.2 k words ♒︎ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 none ♒︎ 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 HI !! I'm totally working on 'labyrinth love' right now, maybe i'll drop the last part tonight! this is a little something that's been sitting in my drafts & i think you'll like it (hopefully) so, here u go!!

♡︎ 𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ♡︎

You’re all crammed into Dina’s apartment—some shitty couch, a couple floor cushions, an overturned laundry basket being used as a table.

Music low, drinks half-finished, someone’s passed out in the corner with a blanket that definitely smells like weed and regret.

And Ellie? Ellie’s on the floor, back against your knees, launching into the most insane rant you’ve ever heard.

“…I’m just saying,” she says, hand flailing with a cheeto between her fingers, “If birds wanted to be evil, they totally could. Like, they’ve got flight and hollow bones and talons. You ever seen a goose, man? Those things are demonic.”

The room is silent for half a beat.

“Anyway,” she adds, like she’s just delivered a TED Talk, “that’s why I never trust anything with wings and an attitude.”

Jesse blinks slowly. “Dude, what the fuck?”

But you?

You’re grinning. Fingers carding through Ellie’s hair absently, like you love hearing her unhinged theories about avian world domination. You lean down a little and whisper near her ear, “so… if I wore wings, would you be scared of me?”

Ellie’s neck goes red in an instant. “What—no—wait—maybe? I mean, not in a bad way! Like, in a cool, terrifying, kinda hot way—”

“Jesus Christ,” Jesse mutters. “She’s in love.”

“She’s doomed,” Dina adds, sipping from her beer.

But Ellie’s barely listening—because she’s twisted halfway around to look up at you, and you’re still smiling at her, still stroking her hair, still looking at her like she’s the smartest, funniest person alive.

And she’s melting.

“You’re, like…” she breathes, squinting. “Really pretty.”

You blink, caught off guard for half a second.

“…Thanks, babe.”

“No, like. Really. It’s a problem. You’re smiling at me and I forget how words work. And my brain just goes: pretty. smile. girlfriend. And then there’s just static up here.”

She taps her forehead with two fingers, completely serious.

And you just laugh—soft and sweet—and lean down to press a kiss to her temple.

The room erupts.

“OH MY GOD,” Jesse groans, falling back on the couch like he’s been shot. “How the hell did Ellie pull her?”

“I feel like I’m watching a golden retriever date a goddess,” Dina mutters. “It’s disturbing.”

Ellie turns scarlet, burying her face in your thigh. “Don’t listen to them,” she mumbles. “They’re just jealous.”

You smile down at her, hand curling under her chin to tilt her up again.

“I think you’re perfect.”

Ellie malfunctions. Fully. Stares at you with big, round eyes like you just offered to marry her on the spot.

She mouths perfect? like she’s never heard the word before.

And all you do is nod.

Because you mean it.

Ellie’s still staring up at you, stunned, her face half-buried in your thigh. Everyone else has moved on to another round of some dumb card game Jesse’s pitching, but she’s still stock-still.

You called her perfect.

Her. Ellie “accidentally-walked-into-the-wrong-classroom-and-sat-there-for-40-minutes” Williams. Ellie who once used a sock to hold her blunt ‘cause she lost her lighter and burned her thumb last time. Perfect.

“You good, babe?” you murmur, hand gently brushing her cheek.

She blinks. “Yeah. Yeah, no, I’m chill. Totally chill. Just, y’know, experiencing a full emotional reboot. It’s fine.”

You giggle and press another kiss to the top of her head, and she whines softly into your leg like she can’t handle the affection.

Eventually, someone mentions it’s past one, and the room starts to empty out. You tug Ellie up by her hoodie strings, and she stands like she’s been resurrected, slinging her bag over her shoulder and mumbling something about “walking you back.”

Outside, it’s cool and quiet. The kind of early campus stillness where every window glows soft yellow and the street lamps flicker like they’re just as tired as the students.

You lace your fingers through hers, and she tenses for half a second before relaxing—then squeezing back.

She glances sideways at you. “So. Uh. I meant to ask. That thing you said back there—was that, like, real? Or were you just saying it ‘cause I said your smile makes my brain explode?”

You stop walking and tug her back a little, fingers still locked. “You mean the perfect thing?”

Her whole face goes red again. “That’s the one.”

You shrug, playful. “Guess you’ll have to get used to hearing it.”

She stares. “You’re gonna kill me. You’re actually gonna kill me. Death by girlfriend compliment. Local lesbian found deceased on sorority row sidewalk.”

You grin. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m in love,” she says immediately, too fast, too much. And then realizes, slapping a hand over her mouth.

“Oh my god, ignore that, that was—that slipped out, I didn’t mean to—well I did, but I didn’t mean to say it, not like that, I was gonna wait ‘til, like, Valentine’s Day or a meteor shower or something cool—”

You stop her with a kiss. Gentle. Quick. Just enough to make her forget what planet she’s on.

When you pull back, she’s blinking, dazed. “…was that a good kiss or a ‘shut up, loser’ kiss?”

You smile. “Both.”

She huffs. “Rude.”

But you’re smiling at her with that look again—the one that says she’s yours, chaos and all—and she leans in close, bumping her forehead to yours.

“I meant it,” she mumbles. “Even if it was an accidental I-love-you. I do.”

You tilt your head, whisper back, “Me too.”

Ellie practically floats the rest of the way to your dorm. You part with another kiss, and she’s halfway down the hall before she turns around, walking backward and beaming.

“You still think I’m perfect?”

You laugh. “I think you’re mine.”

And that’s all it takes. Ellie bolts out of sight before you see the way she pumps her fist in the air, quietly muttering, “holy shit, holy shit, I have the best girlfriend on earth.”

She’s standing in the middle of her room. Hoodie still half-on, phone gripped like it’s both her lifeline and her greatest threat.

Her cat’s staring up at her from the bed, judgmental as hell.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she mutters, flopping onto the mattress. “You didn’t see her. She said I’m hers. I had no choice but to fall apart.”

The cat blinks.

Ellie’s phone buzzes.

[You]: made it back okay? [You]: you looked like you were floating

She groans, punches her pillow a little, and then types back:

[Ellie]: i was not floating [Ellie]: i am very grounded. like a normal person. a grounded, non-floating person who is extremely chill and not thinking about your lips at all.

Immediate regret.

She throws the phone face down on the bed.

The cat meows. “I panicked, okay?”

Buzz.

[You]: you’re so dumb. i’m smiling so hard it hurts [You]: love you, loser. goodnight.

Ellie clutches her phone to her chest and lets out a long, dreamy “fuck.”

Then she whispers it again, grinning “She loves me.”

#ellie williams imagine #ellie williams #ellie tlou #ellie the last of us #ellie x reader #ellie x fem reader #tlou2 #the last of us part 2 #loser!ellie #loser!ellie x reader #tlou ellie #hallow!mail #hallow!requests #hallow!asks

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mothmandalorian · 3 days ago

Text

It's Just Dinner

Hello and welcome to my very first fic! This was inspired by a “Joel Miller x doesn’t know you’re dating” writing prompt. I’d hit the writer’s block wall pretty hard on another project but was encouraged to get some practice in by doing this. I’m so glad I did. This was really fun for me to write and I hope you have just as much fun reading it. And let’s face it, now that season 2 is out I think we all need to see this man happy.

Huge HUGE thank you to the incomparable @djarins-cyare for lovingly forcing me to write this, being my beta reader, AND making the gorgeous header!

A quick note: This is mostly canon-compliant with TLOU with one very glaring exception: Joel doesn’t go golfing. This takes place after Joel’s talk with Ellie on the porch. My man can be traumatized but he will be breathing.

No use of Y/N. Reader is female but there are no physical descriptions other than words like “pretty” (and yes, that does describe you if you’re reading this, I don’t make the rules).

Tags: The Last of Us, Joel Miller, Joel Miller x f!reader, fluff, angst, fluff and angst, my precious traumatized Joel is just kind of an idiot sometimes, give the old man time he’’l figure it out, gratuitous mention of flannel shirts Word count: 2148

- - - - - - - - -

It’s not that you aren’t grateful to have a house in Jackson.

When you’d first arrived here—after a horde of infected had attacked your group and you’d become its only survivor—you’d been under the impression it wasn’t even possible to have a house anymore. Maria handing you those keys had felt like a fever dream.

You’re insanely grateful to have a house in Jackson.

But after the third consecutive leak in your bathroom sink, you’ve just about had it with houses.

“My brother Joel and his kiddo will be livin’ right across the street from ya. If ya need anything fixed, go bug him. He needs the socialization,” Tommy had said when he and Maria had helped you move in. You think they knew you’d be needing the socialization, too. A week of wandering the forest and convincing yourself that starving to death might actually be the least awful way to die out of all of your options will do that to you.

You’ve seen Joel coming in and out of his house, taking note that he doesn’t do it nearly as often as your other neighbors do. He largely keeps to himself, aside from the young woman who appears to live in a makeshift apartment behind the property, who you assume is the kid Tommy had referred to. You’ve been too intimidated to walk over there yet. He isn’t nearly as approachable as the other people here, but then again, neither are you. You’re still a bit jumpy after a few too many dreams about gnawing teeth and endless forest. But when your bathroom floods for the third time, you get over it.

- - - - - - - - - - - -

To say that Joel isn’t used to visitors is an understatement.

He’d had another night of fitful sleep. Even though they’ve slightly improved since moving to Jackson, he’s convinced he’ll never be rid of the nightmares. He has even more reasons for them now, after all.

His relationship with Ellie is barely getting off the ground again, but he’ll take what he can get. After their talk on the porch, at least she isn’t completely ignoring him anymore.

He still dreams of sheep being stolen in the night, hearing their cries from afar as he tries and fails to find them. The endless pit of regret grows and grows in his stomach until his eyes open and his heart is racing. Usually, he has to look around the room, count the number of panes in the windows, squeeze and release his fingers and toes–anything to help him remember where he is.

Today, the knock at his door serves as a much quicker method. Grumbling but unable to not check it, he rolls out of bed and tosses the nearest shirt on. Eyes still bleary, he opens his front door. He blinks a few times, making sure he’s seeing it right. There you are, the pretty new neighbor, standing on his porch first thing on a Thursday.

“Can I help ya?”

It comes out almost mumbled, his Texas drawl heavier in the morning.

- - - - - - - - - - - -

Oh, shit.

You must have woken him up.

“I’m uh–god, I’m so sorry. Hi. I live, uh, over there…”

“Across the street, yeah?” Joel saves you, seemingly choosing to have mercy on you while your mouth stutters open and closed like a fish.

“Yeah! That gray one. I’m um, I’m new here.”

“Only a couple’a weeks, right?” Joel asks, eyebrow quirking. He leans against the doorway with his arm above his head, and for a split second, you completely forget why you came over here.

“Yup. Fresh off the…forest.” Oh, god. Really?

Joel chuckles, and you nearly want to thank him for it.

“I take it my brother told you to come bug me if somethin’ was off in your house, yeah?”

You nod, trying not to make it any worse.

“I’ll come by later this afternoon.”

- - - - - - - - - - - -

He keeps his word, and you make him dinner as payment.

He tries to refuse, but you insist, handing him a plate of the best-smelling food he’s had in years.

“You can’t refuse. My house, my rules. Eat.”

He nods and obliges. It’s clear he isn’t used to this. What you’d originally thought was a coldness in his eyes looks a lot more like sadness this close, and you wonder if that’s why he doesn’t let people get close often. You don’t bring it up.

“I haven’t had someone else to cook for in years. And I’ve never had a proper kitchen to do it in. This is very exciting for me.”

Joel chuckles, a little bit of life briefly lighting up his face.

“Don’t mind bein’ your test subject,” he says. “Thank you, ma’am.”

“Oh god, ew. Please do not call me that, it makes me feel eighty years old.” Joel breaks into a full-body laugh. You catch a hint of surprise in his eyes before he settles into it, and you wonder how long it’s been since he’s gotten to laugh like that.

- - - - - - - - - - - -

He keeps coming back for dinner long after the sink is repaired. He always finds something in your house to fix, but you still always end the evening eating dinner together. Joel is surprisingly funny, his laugh lines well-earned. You learn that he worked as a contractor with his brother for over a decade before the outbreak, and he tells you stories about some of the strangest things he found in people’s drains. He tells you a lot of stories. None of them go beyond a certain depth. You don’t push it.

Because you want him to keep coming back. Because you desperately like him.

You frequently get distracted by the way his shoulders shake when he laughs, how he rubs his chin when he’s thinking, the gray hair growing in at his temples.

They’re so distracting that you start to tell him things about you. He catches you off guard, and suddenly, you’re being vulnerable.

He listens. He doesn’t share a whole lot about himself, but boy, does he listen. He doesn’t try to placate you with the same sappy bullshit everyone else tries to give you. He doesn’t do a lot of comforting at all. It’s downright refreshing.

You think that, at some level, he knows how it feels to be pitied, and it probably makes his skin crawl, too.

You think that’s why your relationship works so well.

- - - - - - - - - - - -

This time, you’ve come over to his house bearing a pot full of something that smells heavenly.

Joel watches closely as you take the cover off of it.

“Chili,” you say proudly. “You said you grew up in Texas and ate stuff like this, right?”

His crooked, boyish smile makes all that effort crushing tomatoes and chopping onions worth it.

Ellie, who up until this point has simply been a person you know exists because you see her going in and out of her little apartment in the backyard, walks down the stairs, her hair wet from an apparent shower.

“I knew someone else made that. Nothing he’s ever cooked has smelled that good,” she says as she walks into the kitchen.

“You wanna have some?” you ask. “I made plenty.”

Ellie looks at Joel.

“You haven’t even introduced us, and she’s offering me homemade food. This is finally the treatment I deserve,” she declares.

You chuckle.

“I like her, Joel,” Ellie’s sing-songy voice echoes as she walks out the door.

Joel runs his hand through his hair.

“Your kid is funny,” you comment casually. “She must get that from you.”

He doesn’t correct you.

- - - - - - - - - - -

He knows he’s fucked up by the look in your eyes.

He doesn’t mean to hurt your feelings, he just wasn’t expecting…this.

After dinner, as he stands up to start doing the dishes, you walk over to him and put your hands on each of his cheeks before tilting up your head and trying to bring your mouth to his.

When he physically recoils, it really has nothing to do with you and everything to do with the fact that no one has tried to kiss him in years.

But you don’t know that.

You curl in on yourself as you walk–more like scurry–out of his house. He hates every second of it, most of that hate directed at himself.

- - - - - - - - - - -

When Tommy opens his front door, seeing a shell-shocked Joel on his doorstep, he assumes the worst.

“That’s it?” Tommy asks Joel when he explains the situation, trying to hold back a chuckle.

“What do you mean, ‘that’s it’?” Joel snaps his eyes back up from the floor.

“Your girlfriend tried to kiss you. It ain’t exactly news,” Tommy shrugs.

Joel feels like he’s been stabbed in the gut.

“My–my what?”

“Your girlfriend, Joel.”

There it is again, that feeling in his chest. The rising panic. The bile coming up from his stomach and scratching the back of his throat. The sweat in his palms. He stops talking for a solid minute.

“Please tell me you’re kidding.” Tommy chuckles incredulously.

If Joel thinks about it hard enough, maybe the floor will open up and swallow him whole.

“What happened?” Maria’s voice floats in from the hallway before she walks into the kitchen.

“Joel’s lil girlfriend tried to kiss him, and he freaked out and scared the poor thing off.”

Maria laughs. “No kidding? I told you she’d be the one to try first,” she says unceremoniously, giving Tommy a pointed look.

“Yeah, yeah, I owe you two loads’a laundry.”

Joel wonders if he can vanish into thin air if he just concentrates on it really hard.

“But it’s just…dinner.”

Tommy groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Do not say that to the poor girl.”

Maria pretends to look at a nonexistent watch on her wrist. “By my math, you’ve got about twenty minutes to apologize before she rightfully never talks to you again,” she advises.

Joel thinks back to all the times you’ve spent together. The way you pay attention to which foods he likes. Your insistence on standing closer and closer to him. The way you light up when you look at him. How has he been this stupid?

Even the way Ellie had talked about you earlier should’ve clued him in: I like her, Joel.

“Did everyone know but me?” Joel asks, sounding pained.

Maria and Tommy nod, a slight cringe on each of their faces.

“Shit, I gotta go.”

“Go get ‘em, tiger!” Tommy yells out the door behind him. Joel rolls his eyes and wonders if they’re already placing bets on how it will go.

- - - - - - - - - - -

It’s your turn to be surprised by a knock at the door.

You desperately try to wipe the tears from your face, but it’s no use. Joel gets to see you in your full, heartbroken glory.

He’s fidgeting as he follows you into the living room, his hands clenching and unclenching. He takes a deep breath. “You may have picked up that I’m a little stupid when it comes to…this kinda thing.”

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion. What kinda ‘thing’?

“I ain’t had anyone…interested in a long time. I think I forgot it was possible.”

He looks down at his hands, then back up at you. Wait, is he serious? There’s no way he’s just now realizing that you’re interested.

“I’m sorry, darlin’.”

Joel approaches you slowly, his hands out as if in surrender, until he’s just a foot away. You can tell that his mouth is moving and that he’s probably saying words, but hell if you know what they are. What is he talking about? Why is he acting like this? You’ve been dating for weeks. Right?

“Honey, you hearin’ me?” You snap back when his thumb brushes your chin. His hand is gently resting on the back of your head, the other around at the small of your back.

“Y-yeah–sorry–what?”

“I asked ya if we can try that again.”

You’ve barely finished nodding when his lips touch yours. His flannel shirt smells like the laundry you imagine hanging from a line across the backyard of your shared home. You picture coffee in the mornings on the porch, getting a dog together, what kind of wedding dress you can find in an apocalypse, how it feels when he wraps his arm around you in bed on cold mornings…

You don’t even realize you’ve moved your hands to grab at the front of his shirt until he pulls away, an infuriatingly smug chuckle coming out of him.

“I ain’t gonna float away, sweetheart.”

You relax your grip a little but don’t move your hands entirely.

“So…does this mean we can keep havin’ dinner?” He asks, the usual sadness in his eyes replaced by something softer.

“Yeah, Joel. We can keep having dinner.”

You tug him in by his shirt to kiss him again. He’s not about to complain.

#joel miller #the last of us #tlou #joel miller x reader #fluff #angst #angst with a happy ending #my precious traumatized Joel is just kind of an idiot sometimes #give the old man time he'll figure it out #gratuitous mention of flannel shirts

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accio-victuuri · 1 day ago

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“last two days in shanghai”: A completely fake series of events typed up by a cpf. 🤡🤡🤡

well, i think the title of this post is disclaimer enough as it is. lol. i’ve initially talked about this here and here. this will be about the events that happened after the second link. so it’s the morning of the race and there are videos of wyb and xz here and there. i am actually slightly changing my stance on xz’s intention. i think he wants us to know that he is there. enough to be photographed leaving his hotel and nothing else. the usual plausible deniability card he and yibo are so good at.

so let’s start with a run down of events: we all know yibo won. by 5:00 PM we had videos of WYB’s win already. it was a happy affair. then around 8PM we received news that WYB is nominated for Huabiao Awards. after that, we got some talk of XZ attending Stefanie Sun’s concert at around 9:30. this was later confirmed by videos and XZ posted about it himself so much later in the day. please note that the 9:30 time when was the news made it to the internet, when it actually happened was earlier.

now here comes the clownery-interpretation.

no one knows where xz is after he left his hotel. yibo already won by 5PM, tho there was still time in the podium. so was that enough time for him to attend Stefanie Sun’s concert? absolutely. please see below:

so proximity wise. it’s very possible. there are also talks of how xz came in late. some attendees said he was there during the 3rd part of the concert, and was seen leaving the audience section before the program ended. well, i’m thinking he might have already been there, backstage or whatever VIP section earlier. people only learned he was there when he came out and stefanie mentioned him. this is his idol and his fandom lol so i would imagine that he wanted be there on time. tho being a bit late is okay too cause he still had to spend time with his champion racer boyfriend 🙄🙄🙄😤😤😤 there is a repo from a concert goer that he left around 9PM. yibo on the other hand was seen leaving the track at 9:30. so coordinated!

xz was again spotted returning to his hotel at around 11PM. so it is possible that xz watched wyb’s race, watch the concert and they still had time to go celebrate. 🎉🎉🎉🎉

XZ being spotted at a concert is the perfect alibi of sorts. he can say he was there to attend the concert. but if you look closely and observe the time, there is a huge window that is unexplained. Of course i’m not removing the fact that XZ did want to go. this specific concert is to celebrate her 25th year anniversary as a singer so it’s really special and any fan would surely want to watch. but it also happens to line up perfectly with bobo’s race.

now i’ll quickly run down a few cpns floating around……

first is how the caption is formatted, it’s so similar to yibo’s birthday post

the photo of the nutcracker that he shared was during the song 真的 ( really ). maybe he just liked how it looked but the song itself is pretty telling. if we are talking about this and interpreting it in the CPN context. that weekend specifically, they both had to go through a lot to spend time together. but they did. love is not always easy!

⬇️⬇️⬇️⬇️

i love his caption for the concert but i have a feeling that the last part was for someone else. for his racing win and the awards nomination.

I fly forward, fly across a sea of time, and the best youth is you. I wish you happiness every day! Forever!

He specifically mentioned this song 尚好的青春 that she did not sing during the concert. but of course it’s important to him and yibo cause this was the song he performed during the 11.11 concert where WYB was supposed to introduce him 😭😭😭😭

https://youtu.be/B2cF9NzGO0Y?si=pB_aOWI0jkkELQR2

youtube

i’ll stop here and there’s probably some more if you clown hard enough 😋😋😋 you can also add him talking about being a “shining adult” and how that related to Chen Shuo.

Moving on —Sunday, was another race day and sadly, yibo couldn’t continue competing. he made it in time to attend Huabiao Awards. XZ then went back to Beijing and was spotted around 10PM. again. so much time in between for XZ to watch Bobo again!

what a great weekend in shanghai 😉😉😉

lastly, i wanna address the cpn about the black tent. some are saying that it’s a possible place for xz to be in there but was later was said to be where tires are stored. others are saying that for sports like this, the emergency contact should be present. i was holding off talking about that cause when cpfs are hyped up, we tend to over interpret. and that’s dangerous. we all fall for that one way or another, and i think it takes time to be more discerning. all cpn pieces should be taken as what they are — cpn. made up. fiction. i don’t know how i can make people understand that xz being there is not a fact. it’s not a matter of what “evidence” was there or whatever “washing” was done. the default fact is that xz wasn’t there.

so i hope people will not be too glass hearted when a different explanation for cpns comes up. this is all fiction. we won’t know. just enjoy the fandom! don’t take it too seriously. 💛💛💛

-END.

#yizhan #bjyx #there is no science here i’m just clowning like i always do

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sulkenswan · 17 hours ago

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SUCKER — PROLOGUE, something new

gorgeous fanart by @nramv , edited by me

vampire!dealer!ellie x reader

↫ masterlist next ↬

info: rain appears to be the centre of your new life, as well as your newest enemy. you try to adapt to the cold town of jackson while simultaneously remeeting what seems to be every person in town, bracing yourself for the first day of school. MOODBOARD + PLAYLIST

cw: reader smokes and she's 17 (soon to be 18) so underage, set in the 2000's!

wc: 3.5k

note: oh goody im excited, as you can tell its based on twilight. thank you to my friend E for proofreading!

as soon as you get into your dad’s car, the first thing it starts to do is rain. pour rain. the sunny weather suddenly vanishing before your eyes, and all hope you had of this place being slightly like your old home disappears in an instant. jackson. a small town in the state of wyoming, always cloudy, always raining. population: 3,120 people. you haven’t visited since you were 13. no matter how much the gloominess would obviously appeal to you, your mother kept you close, leaving your father to his own as the police chief. trees fly beside you as you stare outside, arm propped up on the side of his work car, paying close attention to the droplets falling on the glass window.

you both don't speak. you had already done the pleasantries, nice to see you, you’ve grown up so much, blah blah blah. it’s clear he has more to say, but you really don’t. you’re only here to make your mom happy, without you. over the years you've made the accidental habit of raising your mother instead of your mother raising you, so in a way you’re thankful for the change of scenery.

you remember the days with your dad when you were younger, how gentle he was with you and how much he cared, and although he’s trying his hardest not to show it, you can see how he holds just as much love for you as he did then, regardless of the 12 years that have passed. the rain pats gently all around you, and you close your eyes to soak it in. something new is what you’ve been needing. what you’ve been craving. you can't fully blame your mother for wanting to soak in the feeling of her new marriage, and to have complete freedom. she’s not the only reason you moved, anyways. things weren’t working out for you back there. you had no purpose, you didn't know what you were doing or what job you wanted to go into. simply making it day by day alongside your best friend.

the car jolts to a stop, pulling you out of your train of thought and forcing you to face your new home. it’s not raining anymore, and the house is the same as you remember it. two stories, painted white with a dusty brown roof, detailing wherever it can go. your dad is already out of the car, opening the boot and hauling out your luggage. bracing yourself and rolling your sleeves as far up your palms as they can go, you open the door. cool air hitting you instantly, the slippery pavement almost making you collapse on yourself.

“you good, bear?”

bear. oh god how you’ve missed your dad. you cant believe you almost forgot that nickname.

letting out a shaky exhale, you answer “yeah, sorry just slipped a little.”

he’s beside you in an instant, your luggage taking up both of his hands.

“oh here let me help you-”

“no, no im fine. i’m not that old yet,” he jokes, turning towards you for a minute and offering a soft smile in which you return “well, welcome to your new home.” he makes the first move to go inside, and you quickly reach for your purse still sitting in the passenger seat of his car; grabbing it quickly before closing the door and following after him. trying your absolute hardest to not fall and die on the driveway.

you both walk in silence, the house smelling as it always has. woody, rainy, and fresh. the tiles look as if they have been freshly polished, and the downstairs feels much less roomy than you remember. he guides you upstairs into the same room you remember spending countless nights in as a child, not giving you much time to process the downstairs. you make a mental note to explore more later. he drops your luggage to the side while you continue analysing it. its pretty open, direct space in front of you and a small hallway-like area off to the side, your closest on the wall opposite there. the bed resting in front of you against the wall is new, he changed the bedsheets, the pink florals have been replaced with a dusty purple floral design. there are matching pillowcases as well as a swan pillow perfectly placed in front of it, a darker shade of purple belonging to the sheets peeking out from underneath the duvet.

the rest of the room has also seemingly been revamped. there are fairy lights all around the ceiling, adding some nice warmth to the room. the shelves that rest on your wall in front of your bed next to the window have been emptied, and the window seat right beside, almost like an extension of your bed, has the same purple theme going, a fluffy throw blanket messily thrown in place, alongside some simple decorative pillows, lace curtains adding some simplicity. you already know you’ll be spending most of your time there.

next is the desk, right in front of your bed, just before the room extends. a lace tablecloth matching the curtains and acting as a shield to the wood. there’s what seems to be a fairly recent laptop model and some books adorning it, a mirror hanging right above it, alongside some storage underneath it. the chair seems comfy, just a simple wooden one, matching the desk. you assume he left the room mostly empty to incorporate as much of your old life as possible, but part of you wishes you didn't have to carry anything here. that you could leave no trail of your past here, but you appreciate the thought he’s given you nonetheless, and how he’s seemingly overly aware you’re no longer a child.

the last thing you investigate is the extension, there's a full length mirror at the end, but for the most part the extra room is mostly empty. there’s a bulletin board beside the mirror, and an extra wooden dresser to the side. just for safety, even though your clothes will probably take up less than half of the closet.

“wow… you really went all out.” you compliment, although it seems to raise slight alarm in him.

“sorry if it’s too much, i just wanted to let you take control. but also not have your old childish things…” he drones on for a little, but you’re too busy admiring your room. you feel better about the move already, aware that your dad will give you the space you need, while also actively caring for you and ensuring you’re safe. pros of living with the chief of police: you’re pretty much guaranteed safety. cons: you can’t be as open to him about bad habits as you would like.

you interrupt him before he spirals more, “it’s perfect, dad. purple’s cool. thank you.” you softly smile at him, throwing your purse onto your bed while starting to visually plan what you could add. the bedside table in front of you looks like it could use some decoration, and you’re already planning on going out into town to collect some small bits and pieces you might be able to use.

you flop down on your bed, just avoiding your purse, front facing the ceiling. the weight of the day slowly being lifted off of you while the exhaustion takes over.

“well, uh, i guess i’ll leave you to it.” your dad stands in the center of the room, hands on his hips as his bulky uniform makes his shadow appear unusually large. “the anderson’s will be here soon. any minute now, knowing them.”

“the andersons?” the name sounds so familiar, yet you’re finding it difficult to put a name to the face. sitting up to look at your dad on your elbows, legs hanging off the surprisingly comfortable bed.

“er yeah. abby and owen. they’re bringing you a present. well, a gift from me,” he clicks his tongue, contemplating what to say next, scared that he’ll spoil the surprise “you know what, you’ll see.” and he leaves it at that, going to exit your room as you lay back down on your bed, trying your hardest to remember who the fuck abby and owen are. but just like clockwork, the doorbell rings, and hearty chuckles can be heard from just below your window.

you sigh, and your dad chuckles to himself. his back facing you as he makes his way out of your room, footsteps booming down the stairs. you sit there for a moment, still racking your brain for who exactly the anderson’s are. as far as you’re concerned, they haven’t been mentioned until now. deciding the better way to solve this mystery is to actually see and talk to them, you groan before begrudgingly getting out of bed. jeans rustling against the sheets as your black chucks follow after your dad down to the front door, just below your bedroom, and right in front of your window. by the time you make it down, he’s only just opening the door to greet them. the warmth leaves your body as the cold air blows in, and although you’re technically wearing layers, it does little to help.

rushing to the door and practically stumbling over your feet while doing so, you come face to face with two people who’s memories instantly rush to mind. those anderson’s.

“nice to see you finally join us,” owen jokes, making eye contact with you, abandoning whatever conversation he had been having with your dad moments before. abigail stands to his side, fuck, she looks nothing like you remember. she looks hot. you check her out, shamelessly at that. you know she can see you, and you swear her lips have curved up into a slight smirk.

you laugh at owen, mustering up the last of your energy to figure out what to say next, “you know me. it's nice to see you guys, it's been too long.” you leave the doorstep, moving outside to the pavement, once again overly aware of how you’re moving, really trying to not slip and embarrass yourself. reaching to hug owen who reciprocates instantly, he smells like citrus somehow. you let go of the hug first, giving a smile and turning your attention to abby, a stupid smirk still plastered on her face. she's wearing a tight fitting white long sleeve and cargo pants. how she is warm is something you don't think you’ll be able to solve. she opens her arms for a hug and you reach for her, being engulfed instantly. she smells like oil, and amber. an oddly comforting mix.

“nice to see you,” she whispers.

you stay lost in the moment for only a second longer before responding, “you too.”

it's not a whisper, but still barley spoken, and you force yourself to be free from her grasp. you haven’t seen her in years, and you’re not sure why you expected her to still look like how she did when you were practically babies.

“so, how have things been?”

owen and your dad are lost in their own conversation, so you take it upon yourself to continue talking to abby.

“eh, same as always. i started fixing up cars and stuff, working out as you seemingly have already noticed.”

your cheeks flush red, so she did notice. “don’t flatter yourself, abigail. it’s been awhile, i’m just surprised to see you is all.” you defend, crossing your arms over your chest.

she laughs, throwing her hands up in defense. “how about you?”

you don't even hesitate to answer, “it's just weird being back here. i have not visited since the last time i saw you when we were what? 12?”

she thinks for a moment, most likely doing the maths in her head. “13, actually. how weird is that?”

“so weird,” you laugh, and she joins in alongside you.

as it dies down, she desperately makes an attempt to keep talking to you “what school you going to?”

“jackson, unfortunately. oh god, please tell me you are as well. it would be so good to already have a friend there!” you plead

she sighs and shakes her head, putting a hand on her hip. “sorry princess, i'm down on the firefly side. and before you get angry, i drove an hour out here.”

you frown at her, eyebrows furrowing. how the hell were you gonna make it through your first day now? you decide not to dwell on it too long, you would cope with that tomorrow when the issue presented itself.

analysing your surroundings, you notice a truck sitting right behind abby. it was pretty old, but you honestly found it pretty. a navy blue, rusty truck. abby follows your eyes, smiling.

“hey uh, i think the princess has spotted something important.”

she gains the attention of both owen and your dad.

“oh my goodness of course how could i forget,” your dad scolds himself as owen snickers to himself off to the side, “uh, i know it’s not exactly much, bear, but this is my house warming gift to you. i've already paid for it from this fool, and i wanted you to have your own way to get to school and wherever else you wanna go, really. so…”

your smile widens significantly, tucking your hands into your back pockets. “thank you so much dad. i love it.”

“and credit to me for fixing it all up, thank you very much,” abby chimes in, and you giggle at her bluntness.

“i cannot thank you guys enough,” you express, looking around at the people before you.

“it’s just something to get you started, but you must be tired,” the blonde in front concludes, reading you as perfectly as she did six years ago, you smile at her with gratitude.

“oh of course! you've had a full day of travelling and you have to get up pretty early tomorrow. we’ll leave you to it, it was nice to see you. make sure to get lots of rest tonight.” owen wraps up, releasing you from social interaction.

abby tosses you the keys, you catching them effortlessly.

“of course, and i’ll come visit you guys as soon as possible. get home safe!” you add on.

your dad says his own goodbyes as the two pile into owens car, abby in the drivers seat. they wave you goodbye as they leave, and you really do plan on seeing them as soon as you can.

you hadn’t even noticed the night settling over you as you and your dad make your way back into the house.

“you want some dinner, bear? i made some pasta before.”

as terrible as you feel turning down his offer, the only thing you really feel like doing is freshening up and going to bed.

“sorry dad, i’m pretty dead. i’ll snag some to have for breakfast tho!” you promise, making your way up the stairs while he lingers down in the living room, going to turn on the tv.

having a quick shower and changing into your pajamas (that only consisted of a tank top and underwear), you called down a quick goodnight to your dad and shut your door, sighing. you had barely done anything today, yet felt more tired than you had in months.

but you had a routine, and that routine got you to where you were now. jumper thrown on while you crawled over your bed to your windowsill seat, lighter and cigarette in hand. although your room is warm thanks to a heater, you’re taking safety measures in advance and preparing yourself for the cold air that will breeze through. you open the curtains, then the blinds, and finally the window. you sit back comfortably, back laid against the wall beside the window while your legs are stretched across, you lean into the open window and flick your lighter alive, it being the only light source other than the small glow of street lights and the warm fairy lights around you. holding the cigarette to your lips, you light it gently, the flame catching instantly.

you inhale the smoke, sighing in relief at the alleviation it was already starting to grant. placing the lighter back into your bag, you remove the cigarette from your lips for a moment, exhaling the smoke and admiring the woods that lay directly opposite to you, before your truck catches your eye again. no matter how old it is, you’re just glad you have something to get you from place to place. you didn't have that back in seattle. taking another puff, you sit there and soak in the first night. grabbing your phone to reply to your moms messages that had been coming in non stop since before your plane even took off. answering all of them in a haste. yes i landed safely. yes, dad is nice. i got a car. my school is sorted, i already told you a month ago i start the day after i arrive. i'm good. how are things with him? goodnight.

you sit there for the next 20 minutes or so, playing snake on your razr phone. you occasionally dust the ash off out the window and make a mental note to buy an ashtray, something you had somehow forgotten to bring along with you, before calling it a night. the clock reading 10 pm, your outfit for your first day already resting on your desk chair. shoulder bag right beside it, you were prepared enough. cigarette stashed in the side pocket, just in case. but you had to be careful with your use, you only had a pack left and you weren’t sure where you would be able to buy more, if you would be able to at all.

falling into a deep slumber, you’re awake and preparing for school before you know it. you haven't had the opportunity to unpack yet, so you’re frantically running around your room trying to find the pair to your earring, and trying to figure out how your concealer has suddenly gone missing, and you really thought you had prepared enough the night before.

grunting in frustration you decide to just leave as is, transferring your shitty spare concealer you held in your purse to your bag as well as your small jewelry box, you would deal with it when you got there. your outfit and hair were simple, opting for a v neck long sleeve layered with a blouse and skinny jeans, and an extra jacket looped around your arm with spare fuzzy gloves in your bag.

you can't stop for breakfast, calling out to your dad a thank you! in which he just looks up from his newspaper in shock, before shaking his head and looking back down, unbothered at your antics. you make a beeline for your truck, phone and keys in hand, then you slip.

too focused on getting to the car, you forget that jackson's pavement actually ices over. causing you to land flat on your ass. you whine instinctively, sitting up and rubbing your butt, feeling as it's now wet and you have no time to change. exactly what you needed. you don't let it stop you any longer as you rancorously unlock and enter your vehicle, tossing your backpack in the passenger seat beside you. do you have any idea where you’re going? no. does it stop you from pulling out of the driveway and hoping for the best anyways? no. you’re just hoping you’ll spot another teen driving to jackson highschool soon enough and be able to follow them.

to your luck, you actually do make it to school relatively on time, thanks to that random kid that was probably fearing for their life thanks to your following. you take the spare minute you have to sit in your truck and mentally prepare yourself. you got a decent parking spot and rush to yank the concealer out of your bag, methodically applying it with the trucks rear view mirror, not bothering to return it to your bag when it's done, grabbing your jewelry box and selecting a few rings and finally finding your other earring, applying all of them on, putting the box back next to your concealer. untucking the necklace you always wore out from your undershirt. after deciding you look presentable, you do the hardest part, leaving your truck, thankfully not slipping this time.

everyone’s eyes are on you immediately, people whispering to each other. your arrival somehow already being anticipated. you keep your head down, trying your best to not focus on all the eyes following your every move, navigating through the crowd and up the stairs to the entry, before somebody enthusiastically rushes up beside you.

“hi! i’m cat, you must be the new girl. i’ve been assigned to show you around.”

“hey, it’s nice to meet you.”

you cautiously introduce yourself as enthusiastically as you can, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. you have no idea where you’re going, and cat can most likely tell from your facial expression.

“here,” she titters, “i’ll bring you to the office. my friends, well, your friends too now if you wanna sit with us, are just down the hall. we’ll meet up with them after!”

cats' confidence and welcoming comforts you beyond words, and the day doesn't feel so bleak anymore. hopefully, it’ll stay like that.

next.

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