#he also makes a ton of careless mistakes

[arowyn-m]

Why Viktor Could Die in S2

“They won’t kill a champion because—“ okay just pause for a second and humor me. I’ve made a lot of arguments in the past about why every Arcane character is fair game but that’s not what I’m arguing here—I’m arguing from a narrative standpoint.

Viktor’s my favorite character in Arcane, but I believe him dying in the series finale is the most likely conclusion to his arc. Here’s why:

Viktor’s whole arc is about life and death as a concept—what really constitutes “living”? (Posed by the scenes with Rio) Why is a human life inherently valuable? (Posed by capitalizing on his aggressive need to leave a legacy) Which is more important—a person’s effect on the world around them or their effect on their loved ones? (Viktor realizing too late that Sky valued him not just for his output but for who he is)

There’s also a ton of foreshadowing to Viktor’s demise coming about by a fault in his technology or by the careless way he relates technology to human life (usually himself but not always), and it’s often disguised as humor (the “of course not” scene) or hidden behind false foreshadowing for death by illness (basically everything to do with the Hexcore in eps 5 and 6)

I’ve theorized about it on here before, but I believe at the end of the series the Hexcore will be destroyed (probably by Jayce, specifically to call back to the promise he made to Viktor), effectively ending the threat of the Void overtaking Piltover. Viktor will be so connected to the Hexcore by the finale that destroying it will kill him. He reaches his Glorious Evolution, yes, but it destroys him in the end.

And yeah there is merit to the “how can you live with yourself” kind of approach to ending a character’s story, but that conclusion has the strongest impact if the character’s arc is about learning to live with your mistakes. Most of the character arcs in this show pose that question, but Viktor’s arc really doesn’t?

As far as we can tell with Viktor so far, there’s very little grappling with that concept up until his last 5 or so minutes of screentime, and even then it’s more of a blip that resolves itself (“In pursuit of great, we failed to do good. We have to make it right.”) If Viktor’s story is about defining the respective values of “life” and “humanity” then the most bittersweet ending to his story would be by letting him die after briefly coming back to his humanity.

At the same time, in Ep 5 of BtR Alex Yee says this when talking through writing the script for S2:

“It’s, like, die or accept some things being imperfect. That would be the way that they could go back to humanity.”

So if we assume he’s talking about Viktor covertly here (he very well could be talking about some other character, but yk “going back to humanity” is a very Viktor-coded issue) we could also speculate that they may try to end Viktor’s arc with him accepting the Glorious Evolution just…doesn’t work. I hope that’s not the case because that kind of kills his whole shtick but anything’s possible lol.

To round off this thought by comparison—there’s no chance Jinx dies by the series finale because her whole character arc will inevitably move from “Am I Powder or am I Jinx?” to “Okay, I’m Jinx. How do I live in that identity with the knowledge of my past mistakes?” Her dying at the end of the series would be an unsatisfying conclusion to that question. Same thing with Vi. Vi’s arc was about trying to “fix” things. She just wanted things to go back to the way they were, and they just can’t. Her arc is probably going to be centered around her grappling with grief over losing Powder AGAIN and learning to accept things will never go back to how they were before. Caitlyn’s arc is going to be her exacting revenge and maybe living with regret and bitterness. None of those character arcs logically conclude with “and though they found the answer to their life’s question, they died.”

Viktor’s probably will.

Also here’s a link to a longer more in-depth theory I had a while ago—kind of a adjacent to this thought (for some reason it won’t work as an embedded link) https://www.tumblr.com/arowyn-m/755893249865039872/jayceviktorhexcore-situation-in-s2?source=share

[sinnashuart]

Zack's ADHD

Zack fair has ADHD. That's something I see tons of people acknowledge that I myself agree with, but a lot of it feels very shallow/surface level? I mostly see people talk about his diffculty paying attention, but never really explore a lot of the other symptoms of ADHD that he very clearly has. In general, ADHD has symptoms that can be put in two categories. These being inattentiveness and Hyperactivity/Impulsive behavior. I'm going to try to go into each symptom I've seen him display. Going through things that fall under inattentiveness since that's what most people focus on first and foremost! Obviously, Zack has a short attention span. The opening of Crisis core has Angeal setting him back on track multiple times, and has to remind him of his mission. That bleeds into another symptom of ADHD, which is having a hard time listening to or following instructions.

Another few symptoms of ADHD under inattentiveness is being disorganized, forgetful, and making careless mistakes. Zack has shown to fit under all of these things in DMW scenes. One in particular features him both losing materia AND forgetting his sword.

Again, we see that he's a messy person when he's talking to Aerith in another DMW scene.

Now I'm going to go into the symptoms that fall under Hyperactivity. Some of the most talked about symptoms he exhibits are a lack of ability to stay still, excessive physical movement, and excessive talking. Noteably too, people with ADHD can have difficulty controlling the volume of their voice, or how fast they speak. For example here, Zack is told right before to calm down by Angeal, and immediately proceeds to talk loudly (giving away their position.)

Circling back to the previously mentioned symptoms, trouble staying still and excessive movement are some of the few things I feel people notice first in correlation to ADHD, but never really think about what it really is in the context of ADHD. Zack tends to do squats when he's excited. It's a repeated motion he does to calm himself down and/or focus. Sound familiar? that's because it's stimming. Interupting conversations lines up with ADHD, and is something Zack does in-game too!

Here he interupts Angeal's speech (and gets a fond smile in turn. I will bring this up later for something else). Zack is impulsive by nature, and tends to rush into things without a clear plan. He has a very absent sense of danger sometimes as well. All of which fall under the Hyperactivity category of ADHD symptoms.

The symptoms I see in Zack that hardly a soul has acknowledged though, is him being easily frustrated or irritated. ADHD makes it hard to regulate emotions, and Zack showcases this a lot throughout Crisis Core. For Zack, this sometimes seems to fall under under Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria, which is common in people with ADHD. It's a discomfort and difficulty regulating feelings of failure or rejection. For Zack, this also takes the form of confusion/frustration/annoyance. However, in most instances of him taking criticism, he mostly manages to move past his and take the criticism/corrections to improve himself. Funnily enough, you can see his quick frustration/irritatrion in the very first cutscene when Angeal jumps down to elaborate on the parts of the mission he missed because Zack jumped a bit too soon due to his eagerness (more impulsivity). Zack gets angry due to this interuption to the task he was focused on, and becomes cheerful as soon as he is able to get back to his task. The frustration with interuption and being quickly upset is interesting. There are more instances of this kind of behavior, and it all really feels like it falls under this umbrella of him struggling to regulate his emotions. This also goes hand in hand with his stimming, since it isn't just the frustration/anger he has difficulty managing. His excitement and stress is something we also see him have difficulty managing, and can be tied into a lot of the other aspects of ADHD I have discussed here! Zack gets frustrated again later when Angeal ends the training simulator, and puts an end to the task he had been hyperfocused on.

It's an irrational anger, but it makes more sense when read through this lense. Zack was excited and hyperfocusing on his mission. He charged ahead without hearing or understanding the full objective, and almost got hurt (in the context of the training sim). The sim was ended before Zack felt it was "finished", which resulted in a frustration he expressed outwardly. His hasty behavior and exciteability is a core character trait, but makes far more sense if you read him as a character who lives with ADHD. How he is written and how other characters interact with him is interesting to watch as well! One thing in particular I love a lot is Angeal's treatment of Zack's ADHD tendencies. For being in the military, which is a very unforgiving enviornment, Angeal shows quite a lot of compassion for Zack's ADHD tendencies. Things that would normally get him into trouble are instead corrected rather gently! Angeal consistently repeats instructions to Zack when he needs it, and keeps a firm hand when he guides Zack through missions. He never tells Zack to sit still. He never berrates him for his interjections (Zack going "And? And and and?"). The only time he really scolds Zack is when he's doing something that may endanger them.

For example, here they're on a mission that requires stealth. Zack being loud isn't normally a problem, but here, they need to be relatively quiet in order to achieve their goal. Angeal is compassionate and understanding when Zack is... doing things that are very ADHD coded. As mentioned earlier, Angeal doesn't get upset when Zack interupts him. Instead, he just smiles. It's likely Angeal was the one who taught Zack to do squats to stim, actually. In the Ever Crisis version of Crisis Core, Angeal says this to Zack. Although it's not necessarily canon, it's still entirely plausible and just. Very wholesome.

More of Angeal's tolerance for Zack can be seen here, when Zack's attitude slips after being criticized, and Angeal pays it no mind. (Again, his rejection sensitive dysphoria plays a part in having him react rudely)

Again, you need to keep in mind that despite their closeness, Angeal is still both his mentor and superior. He doesn't have to be as patient with Zack as he is in-game, but he does so anyway because... that's just how he is. Angeal cares a LOT about his loved ones, and Zack is included in this. He shows a lot of love to this little guy! I think it's nice, because I love seeing characters with ADHD being treated with consideration by others. It's something I wish people did more IRL, really. Lots of ableism surrounding aspects of ADHD that aren't as easy to romanticize and considered "annoying", so having Angeal respond to them with understanding makes me incredibly happy. Altogether I just absolutely love Zack as a character. I love reading him with ADHD since I have it myself. I just want people to see the depth to it more though, since there's more to it than just "he's high energy and gets distracted". You get to understand his actions or irrational behavior a lot more when you dive past the surface of his writing. Big, massive, enormous fucking thanks to my bestie @rune-rapier for letting me bounce ideas to and from him!! He helped me get a lot of these scenes in here to analyze, and brought up a LOT of points that made it in this post, and made it a lot easier for me to word.

[playingdxngerous]

Extra Credit

Word Count: 2.2k

Rating: 18+ MINORS DNI!!

Warnings: spencer reid smut, praise kink, hand kink if you squint hard enough, age gap (teacher and college student), digital penetration, oral f! receiving, angst bc the beginning is kinda sad ig, happy ending, just a ton of praise basically, also i didn't proofread so probably some mistakes here and there

~For my delusional girls, like me~

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"So, for homework I just need you to read the next 5 chapters and write me a summary. Tell me how this relates to transcendentalism in literature. Don't forget to use the study guide from this previous test." Professor Reid says as he walks across the room, handing out the graded tests. He gets up to your table and quickly flips your paper over as he hands it to you. You know it must be bad if he hides the score from your peers. You turn it around to see a circled 47 with the words "u ok?" written next to it. You look up and he's completely across the classroom, continuing on his rant about the homework. Still, he is looking right at you. How does he know?

Your mind traces back to the night before. You're on the phone with your boyfriend in the process of being broken up with. Followed by, of course, your parents fight growing louder and louder within the walls. You look out your door and see them yelling at each other, throwing their hands in the air after every sentence. Last night was not a good night, especially since you had to spend almost all night studying for the test you just failed. A score of 47. How?

The class continues on like normal for the next 30ish minutes. Each tick on the clock is just another second you must force your tears to stay in.

"Okay just don't forget that homework guys. It's really important that you know this for the final." His voice comes back into focus. He dismisses the class. People start to trample over you as you put your stuff into your bag, crumbling the test. Professor Reid walks up to you, propped up against the table with his hands. "Mind to see me for a sec?" He asks concerned.

"Look, if it's about the test I'm sorry. It was just some careless mistakes and I won't ever do it again. I'm okay." You say as he guides you to his desk. Once again he leans against the table to get to your height. His suit stretches out with his arm, his button up shirt and tie becoming more visible.

"I know it wasn't just some careless mistakes. You're usually a straight A student. You've never gotten below a 90 on one of my tests."

"I was just being dumb, I'm sorry." You look down in unexplainable guilt.

"Don't say that about yourself, you're such a smart girl," he requests. Your stomach drops at his validation.

You try to laugh it off, "You're really overestimating me right now Mr. Reid."

"You think I don't notice when something is wrong? I know you and I know you aren't just being dumb. Talk to me." He says, ready to listen.

"I didn't know you paid that much attention to me." Your eyebrows furrow.

"I do," he grows quieter, "Noticed you weren't sitting with your boyfriend today too."

"How did you even know we were together?" You puzzle.

"How could I not?" He gasps with a smile. "It's kind of obvious you know. The way you look at him and all."

He really does pay attention.

"He broke up with me last night. Cheated on me too."

"I'm so sorry, I wish I could make it better. It's really seeming to affect your mental health right now." He responds concerned.

"Yeah, it's whatever. It's not just him being a problem right now so I don't really care. If anything, I'm just numb."

"It's not the group of girls beside you, is it?" His voice speeds up with a higher pitch. "I will fix it immediately if you ask me to."

"No, it's just my parents and stuff at home." Tears sting in your eyes.

"Is there something I can do?" He inquires.

"Extra credit maybe?" You shrug.

"I can do that. What do you have in mind?"

"I don't know just-" your voice breaks off as a tear falls out. "I'm just really stressed right now.” You wipe away the teardrop, yet more start to join it. He brings his hand up, curling his index finger to wipe the preceding drops. With no thoughts in your head, you accidentally lean in and cradle him into a hug. He allows it, wrapping his arms right above your waist. Seconds go by until you realize what you’re doing.

"I'm so sorry. Oh my god, why did I do that?" You pull away rapidly.

"Hey," he grabs your arm, "I don't mind. You can come to me for anything." He catches your eyes with his soft gaze, taking away any sadness left in you.

"So extra credit?" You clear your throat.

"Yeah um," he snaps out of it, physically shaking his head. "Just don't worry about it okay?"

"Are you sure sir?"

"Yeah." He gulps. "And the homework too."

You hug him again and he grabs your hair, massaging into your scalp. You squeeze tighter, never wanting to let your teacher go. This hug has been better than anything your ex boyfriend or parents have ever provided.

Like a scene out of a movie, he leans down and kisses the crown of your head. Tears once again stream down your cheeks at his loving touch, drying up as they fall onto his button up shirt.

You pull your head away to look at him, nothing but softness in his eyes. You place your hand on his cheek, feeling his slight stubble in your palm.

"Kiss me?" He asks in a hoarse whisper. In what feels like ages, you both unconsciously lean into each other. Slow and steady. His lips fit perfectly against yours. Your heart skips a beat.

The thought of him being your teacher rings through your head, making you pull away out of embarrassment. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"Hey stop, it's okay." He assures.

"This is so wrong. You probably didn't want that and only kissed back because you feel bad for me." You cry out.

"You know we both enjoyed it. Plus, I'm the one that asked for it to begin with." He assures.

He's right. You did enjoy it. More than you probably should have. It got your mind off everything else.

"I'm so sorry Mr. Reid." Feeling like a crybaby, your eyes drown your face once more.

"It's okay, it's okay, it's okay." He says almost unintelligibly fast.

He begins to kiss your head all over, letting his lips fall randomly along you. He moves to your forehead, then trails down to your neck. You instinctively grab his hair and let him continue. He makes it back to your lips and you sloppily return the favor. Each second you grow hotter. A slight whimper escapes your lips as he slides his tongue into your mouth. The taste of the two of you combines, the sweetest thing you’ve ever tasted. His tongue slow dances with yours and he warm breaths begin to escalate onto you as he pulls away. His eyes remain closed even when not on your lips. He shortly returns, faster than ever. Passion floods the both of you. It flies in the air, warming up the world around you.

His hands find your waist, which he grabs to pull you closer. Friction rises in you below your skirt, so you squeeze your legs together to release it. This does little to no help, as the way he devours your lips turns you on more than ever. He grabs your right leg and hoists it over his hip. With the skirt being pushed up from this action, you begin to grind against his crotch with only your underwear and his slacks in between.

You then follow up with the other leg. He places his hands behind your thighs, his strong arms growing in size as he holds all of your weight up. You grab his biceps and squeeze. You’ve never imagined yourself admiring your teacher from so close, but it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to you.

He places you on his desk, pushing random papers and pens aside. With your knees up, your skirt slowly slides down your thighs. He has no other choice but to look you up and down with his starving eyes.

"Still up for that extra credit?" He smirks and bites his lip.

"Been dreaming of it forever Reid."

"Are we forgetting that I'm still your teacher even when you beg me to fuck you? It's sir." He squeezes your thighs.

"Okay sir," you say sarcastically. "Why don't you get on with it then. Make me forget all about my ex you were probably so jealous of."

"Stay quiet for me like a good girl and maybe we won't get caught, how about that?" He pulls your head up by your chin.

"You just don't want to admit it." You say right before he collides his lips with yours for the millionth time.

"You just really want that 47% to stay huh?" He laughs.

"No! Please Mr. Reid, I've wanted you forever. Please just give it to me already."

"So needy!" He replies in a high pitched voice. After a small peck on your lips he makes his way down your body with his hands. He takes extra long on your tits, making sure to cause your stomach knot to tangle even more. You shiver at the touch, so ready to let your orgasm go. Your legs straighten out and dangle off the desk.

He moves his attention to this, changing the direction of his body. He grabs your hand and kisses it, dropping it as he begins to kiss up your leg. Starting at the knee, he makes his way slowly up to where the fabric of your skirt ends at the top of your thigh. He nudges it up with his hands, feeling around your waist.

"You're being such a good girl for me." He looks up at you without moving his head too much. His half lidded puppy dog eyes stare into yours. "Such a good girl. Legs all spread, dripping wet for me. So perfect. My princess." You struggle to find ways to respond as you are completely taken aback by his loving praise.

"Please, I need you." You blurt out.

"What do you need my love?"

"You. Everything."

"So, you want me to take these off I assume?" He teases as he tugs at your panties.

"Please!" You yell from overstimulation.

"Hey quiet remember?" He swallows hard before going back to where he was. Slowly, he pulls them down. "Holy shit you are soaked." You love the cussing side of your teacher more than you probably should.

"I want you so bad baby," you beg.

"I'm right here. I will give you whatever you want. You deserve it, princess." He leans forward as he speaks, slowly reaching his mouth to your wet cunt. His tongue moves in circles around your clit, not yet touching it. This man will be the death of you.

He slides his tongue back and forth, then licks a long strip up your pussy. His speed increases as he flicks his tongue back and forth. Moans seep out of you and him, creating music. As he flattens his tongue and practically shakes his head into you, your back arches more than you thought possible. He sucks and licks with professionalism. You skin begins to prickle as the heat rises in you further and further. He takes notices and pulls his head away.

"Don't tell me you're close already, we just started." He wipes his lips. He leans up and removes his tie to get it out of the way. He places it behind your head and uses it to pull you up towards him. You kiss intently. "Like how you taste, my love?" You blush hard at his comment.

He takes off his jacket and moves back down, rolling up his sleeves and buttoning them in place. His veins travel from his hands up, entrancing you. He slides one finger into you to get you used to it. However, your body is ready for whatever he has for you. He slides in one more right after.

"You're doing so good. I'm so proud of you sweetheart."

Just as you begin to reach your climax, he begins to go harder and faster. He moves his head back down and starts to suck on your clit. He whimpers as you pull his messy hair, making you starstruck.

"C'mon baby let it go." He continues. "Let it out for me. You can do it princess." You fucking love that he talks you through it. It sends you over the edge, causing you to finally release your orgasm. The two of you share deep breaths among each other and he licks his fingers to clean them. "You did so good for me, such a good little girl." He praises in such a smooth, sexy voice.

"I feel so much better." You exhale. Your vision slowly returns after the climax you just hit.

"I'm glad. You definitely earned that extra credit, by the way." He says. You laugh and begin to slide your panties back on, followed by hundreds of innocent kisses.

[melanieryssel]

Genshin's characters as your tour guide | P2

Character: Bennet, Cyno, Nahida

Setting: Basically, now you're in Teyvat. It doesn't matter how you got here, it's totally up to your imagination. You could be a Vision wielder, born in Teyvat, or you could be a God!Creator who got shifted to this land. Anh on your journey to seven nations, you will meet up with other characters who will be your traveling companion.

A/n: I'm a new writer so I would love it if you guys leave me comments on how I can improve my writing. Also, this is a series so I plan on doing a lot of other characters too, let me know who you want me to do next. Finally, sorry in advance for any spelling or grammar mistakes.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Bennet

He gets so excited. Bennet always thinks to himself that his bad luck is the reason why no one wants to be his companion. So when you brought up the idea, he couldn't help but feel thrilled, grateful, and anxious because you chose him. 

You guys decided to meet in Mondstat city and then start the travel. With a brief glance, you can already tell he's under a lot of stress. Bennet holds a rolled map and tries to force a cheerful smile to reassure you that he's doing absolutely fine even though his dark eye bags tell a different story. He couldn't sleep at all due to tons of the fake scenarios he had in his head about how he might disappoint you or you might be affected by his bad luck. And now, your concerned face makes Bennet worry in his gut.

"I don't think we should go today, you look tired Bennet. Maybe we can pick another-"

"NO!!! PLEASE GO TODAY, I SWEAR I HAVE A PERFECT PLAN FOR TODAY JOURNEY!!!"

You sigh, don't want to ruin his excitement. You ask him to promise you that if he feels exhausted, you guys will go home immediately, and if he ever tried to hide it from you, you will be mad at him forever. 

It's safe to say that his bad luck is... worse, or maybe it's your bad luck and not his. You guys are chased by a group of Drendo slimes then Bennet accidentally burns himself and you while trying to get rid of the annoying slimes. You want to see the Cecilia flowers but then it pours with rain all afternoon. Next, Bennet and you are bumped by boars. And now, you slip and fall down a hill, Bennet tries to catch you but somehow he starts falling as well.

"I'm so sorry... It's my bad luck..." Bennet, on his bricks of tears, whispers.

"Hey hey, don't worry. I was careless too so it's not your fault. By the way, I think it makes our travel even more interesting and unforgetfull!."

"R-really?"

"Yes" 

Your answer is all he needs. You guys go home after that because Bennet doesn't think he could stay outside longer without fainting anymore, and obviously, he doesn't want to worry you.

Cyno

Cyno takes his job more like your personal security guard rather than a tour guide. Surely General Mahamatra knows Sumeru like the back of his hand, he promised to take you to special places only, which most people don't even know about. 

You thought it must be some beautiful and majestic scenery with a pond, a waterfall... something that is jaw-dropping.

However, you have never expected Cyno to bring you to the desert. It's boiling hot and you can feel your sweat everywhere. But you try to reassure yourself that the majestic view is so close to you already, only a bit more and you can see it with your own eyes! 

"You are more energetic than I thought, that's impressive." Cyno said.

"Yeah, thanks to all your jokes on the way."

"Oh really, how about I tell you some more of my best jokes. Laugh is the greatest thing to make you forget the heat in desert."

"..." You let out an awkward airy laugh.

Finally, you arrived there. However, it's a bit different from your imagination, leaving you speechless.

Cyno proudly points to the freaking huge pyramid in front of you while you are just staring at it hopelessly. It's sure a jaw-dropping building, but sadly, Cyno didn't bring you all the way here to just see the building from the outside. So you guys go inside and from this moment, you realize his intention.

"As you can see, those complicated and sophisticated puzzles are the evidence of Sumeru's knowledge history." Cyno says after making you solve fifteen puzzles in the ancient pyramid.

"Cyno... I don't know how to do this, can we go to a different place, pleaseeeeeee!" You are about to cry.

"Oh, you should say it sooner if you don't like solving puzzels. They might be a bit difficult, but I believe it's one of the best ways to explore Sumeru and improve you knowledge."

"Being stupid is okay with me."

Nahida

Nahida's first intention is to ask some of her allogenes to accompany you since she still has so much work to do. You actually went on a tour with them a couple of days ago too so when you came to see her this morning and admitted that you wish she could go with you, Nahida was really surprised. Nahida feels so happy and grateful because you see her as a good friend of yours.

Nahida decided to put off her work and agree to go on a small walk with you. She listens to you with great understanding and also tells you interesting stories about Sumeru City. You guys have a fun time together, but then because it's just a small walk so Nahida has to go back to her work right after.

The next day you come again. This time, you offer to help her so she could have a break then you guys could go out together. And the next next day, you come to visit again, bring along some snacks so you guys can spend time together while working. This causes Nahida to get deeply emotional. She is always insecure about her strength and feels like she could never be enough for her people, for Sumeru. What happened to her before gave her a hard time believing that she can ever have a true friend. But now, she has you.

Nahida can clearly acknowledge your sincerity and she thought it was not fair to make you do her work every day like that. So Nahida comes up with an idea so she can travel with you, and be your tour guide without neglecting her load of work.

"Nahida... I think this is kinda weird," you say uncertainly while standing in Vanarana.

"I actually think this is a wonderful idea. What do you think about the scenery? Isn't it beautiful?" Nahida responds, her voice laughing in your head.

"Yes, it's gorgeous, but why are you in my head, Nahida?!" you reply in frustration.

[branwendaughterofllyr]

Hiya!

I really love your fic A Poison Tree (and Blake's poem too)! Absolutely no pressure, but I was just wondering about if there'd be any interactions between Young Aegon and Rhaenyra in the future? It's just interesting to think about how she'd treat him. Also what do you think about the demonisation of Criston by the fandom? Do you think his scene with Rhaenyra counts as SA?

Thanks very much, and don't feel obliged to answer <3

Thanks so much for the ask!!!! I love getting them!

I actually do have an interaction between Aeg II and Rhaenyra planned out in the next chapter, and variations of it have been sitting in my drafts for a while haha. It’s a very unfortunate gap in the show, that Rhaenyra and Aeg II don’t have single conversation when…. They really should? They are brother and sister, rival claimants to the throne, one is the heir and the other is the longed for son who was quickly cast away, there’s so much potential there??? (One of my larger gripes about the show is that it rarely feels like an actual family drama, and half these people don’t even seem to know each other lol. One of the reasons why I’ve spent so much time in the time skip gaps to try and flesh that all out.)

And on Criston. Well. I think it’s very unfortunate that he’s so demonized by the fandom, when I think he was the stand out character writing wise for me in s2, and had a pretty good arc in s1! He feels like a real, flawed person, in ways that many of the other characters don’t. I think the show has a major problem with wanting to keep certain characters “likable” which often comes at the expense of making them interesting, which is why the “villain” characters (Larys, Criston) often shine more, especially in s2, when the writing problems were turned up a ton. Because the show isn’t invested in keeping them “likable,” they can actually be flawed and make bad choices, and I think Criston is the best example of this. But I also think the fact that Criston is fairly realistic might be precisely why people dislike him so. You likely don’t know any real people who feed people to dragons or chop off dicks, but you might very well know an emotionally troubled man who turns to violence and has bad relationships with women and his sense of self. I try to walk this line with Criston when I write him, at times sympathetic, at others not, and always a flawed person who makes mistakes and often passes on his anger to other people.

And on his sex scene with Rhaenyra. Well. I don’t think it was intended as an instance of SA whatsoever, and I think….. I think it’s complicated, because the show aged Rhaenyra up and made her the initiator, and made Criston very reluctant at first. I do think that Criston could have actually shut the door on Rhaenyra or pushed her away without too many consequences beyond his friendship with Rhaenyra ending, because young Rhaenyra can’t really do much against him without outing her own role in the matter. But I do think that Rhaenyra was…. Perhaps careless with Criston’s feelings on the matter and his situation? Especially since it’s clearly meant to echo how Daemon treated her just moments before in a deeply inconsiderate manner. I think she approached him with a degree of entitlement and carelessness, but I don’t actually think that it was non-consensual on Criston’s part, I think he was just deeply conflicted (as anyone in his situation would be) and ultimately he seems to have viewed the entire thing as a bad mistake on both their parts. I think it’s bitterness over this great mistake that they made, rather than resentment over Rhaenyra rejecting him that’s shaped his feelings towards this, since he was clearly at the end of his role when he proposed running off together, lol. And Criston himself seems to blame Rhaenyra herself for the entire thing, especially after she turned down his “solution” but I think that’s mostly to cover what is clearly some deep self loathing that he gave in? Idk, I know this discourse gets really heated, but I think the fandom could do with an ounce of nuance on this matter.

[dabihawksluvr]

Aizawa Is A Bad Teacher

[ NOTE: The questions I screenshot are from another account, I just couldn't find a way to get them all into one post without it being messy. So this is just me answering each one, to give my own perspective. ]

I think it's because Shinsou is a LOT like him, but yeah it's still very shitty for him to do. He should've been the class 1B teacher instead.

This is why I never really liked Aizawa, he reminds me of my abusers way too much and I didn't like how strict/careless he truly is.

I hope that, if he did ever have a kid, it would be the biggest wakeup call of his life. And we do see him treat Eri fairly, but that could be because of her quirk and how she's literally only 4/5 years old. Kinda can't treat a kid the same way he treats his students without being seen as a villain.

From what I've seen, that was supposed to be the case. But Shouta feels like a lesser version of Batman, at least the latter actually cared about his Robins (depends on the canon but majority of Batmans do). With Aizawa, we do not need that same care unless it's with Shinsou.

I think it was even canon that Aizawa just hates All Might for being 'too forgiving' on his enemies. But I've also never seen him favor Endeavor either, I think he just hates people in general.

All Might is a decent teacher, at least he considers everyone's thoughts/feelings and dynamics with one another. Aizawa has not once done that, unless it deals with the troublemakers (Bakugou and Izuku) or that one time when Ochako blamed herself for that one time (though I bet it was just his own trauma and being like 'hey I understand this so let me go fix a mistake I made with myself years ago' kind of thing). The ONLY good point Aizawa has is when he says 'live for the students' to All Might when it was clear the old man had given up on living. But that is ONE point, out of so many others where Aizawa fucked up.

YES. Aizawa is a liar, if he believes these are all a 'logical ruse' then he is really fucked up in the head. I am glad that he made some (very minimal) progress when it was found out that Oboro was Kurogiri, I think the guy just has a ton of trauma he needs to work through and that was the first step. I do think how he is now is better than before, at least now he seems to actually care about his students and he realizes he fucked up badly. Just wish it was before he got his leg and eye taken away, essentially making his quirk trash.

Ugh, having Aizawa as a teacher would be the worst. I did get along with teachers that were like All Might and the rest, but Aizawa would be my 13th reason for finally dropping out. Especially if it was young/teen me? Yeah, he'd be on for 2nd degree murder with my suicidal ass.

THIS. I understand they are training to be heroes, and in this specific circumstance it worked. But ONLY because they were all going to war, which btw Aizawa didn't even stop from happening at all (he did have a heel-face turn during the 1st war which was nice to see as we saw him start to care for his students but it was ONLY thanks to Deku saying losing him would be the worst thing ever). Maybe it's because he held himself to that same standard, so he thinks all future heroes should be the same...but he is damn lucky none of them became a villain, though that was because Deku brought them all together simply by being himself. Aizawa was NOT needed, aside from his quirk he was essentially useless as a person. An maybe he knew that, it wasn't until Deku that he saw some value in living on (which is why he cut off his leg - normally he wouldn't have done that).

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

tl;dr - Aizawa is a bad teacher. He is too strict with his teachings, makes assumptions that he rarely ever changes, outright LIES to his own students, puts his students in danger all the time, and cares more about a student from 1B (Shinsou) more than teaching his own class. But, we have to keep in mind that the man was traumatized by losing his friend Oboro (and then Midnight...and now possibly Mic) so he probably feels like his life isn't even worth it. And it wasn't him that wanted to be a teacher, it was actually Oboro. So he only took the job to fulfill his (dead) friend's dream, and it makes it clear why Aizawa is such a bad teacher. He didn't even want this, but feels obligated to regardless of what he truly wants. And yes, he did finally realize he cares for his students...but only when he finally lost the ability to use his quirk, meaning he has to rely on others now instead of just himself.

[magicalanimedonkeyboy]

Wall of text. Saw Thor Love and Thubder and didn't like any of it so much I wrote a bunch if words about it.

Thor Love and Thunder.

Oof, guess That was a movie. What the hell was with that? One of the most fascist pieces of garbage I've ever seen. It's pretty bad.

Like, it feels like it should have been an anti idolising thing. Afterall, in it the gods are selfish vain beings. Thing is it seems to be that idolising Thor is fine. Children see him as their hero and he kind of just is. No costs to that.

He does give them powers for a time but that's just weird. They're child soldiers at that point. I would think the way the narrative was one of them would have died cause Thor's silly actions.

I just think they should have died cause it seemed so irresponsible. Several children I a group with the powers of Thor with no martial training. It's like kids with AKs. Would have thought there would be an accident.

Another form of idolising is they meet Zeus at one point and Thor says he was his hero. Zeus is played by the guy who played Robert Barathean. King in season one of game of thrones. He didn't get in shape for the movie and I think k that's fine personally. Some body positivity. But that's not what we got.

Zeus wears fake golden abs. He wears a white skirt looking Thing he holds up in a dainty way when he goes down some stairs. Feels like they're making jokes at his expense. like “Look how effeminate he is.”

so we got this joke of a Zeus. Effeminate and soft looking. Thor's idol. Oh no! Oh, and he admits to being afraid of dying. To me this kind of all makes sense. Guess it just shows the differences in our morals. Whatever, guess its fine.

Zeus still shows himself to be very powerful because his words physically affect Thor. Tells him to be restrained and he is. So make no mistake he is Powerful. Then we have him strip Thor and people are just so floored by how Thor looks that several people pass out. Guess it's supposed to be because he's so muscled? He also has tattoos and stuff but they don't look like what I'd consider good.

Must be the muscles cause right after he shows his power by fighting Zeus’ guards after Zeus wants to keep him a prisoner. Thor and company defeat the guards and injure Zeus. Showing that Thor is better I guess. He must already be the best in fact cause he doesn't change from the beginning.

Idolising thing is bad I guess except for Thor because he's perfect. Also nothing is done about the gods not caring. Treating their worshippers as replaceable. And let's get into the worshippers of the gods.

The first worshipper is a man we see in a big desert with his daughter. They seem very weak probably dehydrated and starving. Pray to their God and stuff. We see he cares for his daughter a whole lot. Prays and shit. Lays there holding his daughters grave when she dies out there. A grave, meaning he buried her while starving and dehydrating.

Then he finds an oasis with his God just chilling, having a party. Not giving a shit. Says it's their place as mortals to worship. Gorr gets mad and an evil sword that's there teleportd to him which he uses to kill his own God.

From there he just decides to kill all gods. Sure, that's fine I guess. Christian Bale as Gorr is very under utilized I thought though cause he's mostly just dark and creepy the whole time. No dance to him or anything.

In fact he's so lacking in nuance he literally kidnaps all the children of New Asgard. Not to free them from the gods or anything like that. No, he uses children as a lure for Thor.

This man has by this point already killed tons of gods but for some reason he needs to lure Thor rather than just kill him. Probably juat so he wouod kidnap children to show how evil he is. The man who lost hia child to the carelessness of gods kodnaps a bunch of kids.

I figured he was up to somwthing more, no. They were just lures. At one point near the end a big statue appears to fall on the kids and i thought maybe he used his shadow amgic to teleport them out. No, Thor just comes in at the nick of time and saves them like he always does. Cause hes a perfect hero i guess.

Turns out he wanted the hammer because it's too conveniently a magic key to an altar at the center of the universe despite the hammer only being a few years old.

If Gorr had saved those kids that would at least show he cares somewhat for someone but no, he's just such a flat and evil villain. His kid died so he's willing to endanger a bunch of kids and let them die. Might be like a “Oh, he's so corrupted and changed by all his evil actions that he would even let kids die.” But there was no fall. He seemed to kill one God and then just became totally cool with anyone dying.

God, another thing I just realised. There’s this stuff about giving up on a romantic relationship and instead being happy being a dad but that really seemed to come out of left field. I think the writer was going through relationship trouble when they wrote this. It’s a bit shit. The romantic interest dies and he just raises a kid… a divorce isn’t a death. It’s a silly movie.

Thor also has a serious case of wandering eye. Sees his hammer with his ex, Jane And spends most of the movie trying to get it to come back to him. No good reason why other than he's envious.

Maybe they were trying for a B plot but it just seemed like an excuse to make silly jokes about relationships I think. Seems a little weird cause I don't see it relating to the A plot much at all. Not like his ax decides to leave him cause he's so envious.

His ax is mostly a plot device and portrayed like a dog. Maybe that's how the writer sees loyalty. I don't know but it mostly seems like someone Thor is trying to cheat on but poorly covers his tracks. Maybe it's supposed to be a jealous wife.

Some issues Here. It was mighty in the other movies, so what happened? Well I guess the novelty wore off. The hammer meanwhile has new abilities like a meteor shower like attack.

I feel bad for his new kid at the end though. How long until the novelty of having a kid wears off? Thor is clearly very easily bored.

A bit I don't think I touched on is Gorr's God not giving an afterlife to his followers but the movie implying Asgardians do get one. Feels weird. Is there some kind of energy cost that he was just too cheap to provide? With the afterlife probably existing for some people it feels like some wind is taken out of the plot's sails.

One doesn't even need to say that it's an energy thing. Maybe he's just a vain God who couldn't be bothered to set something like that up cause he's lazy. But then why would Odin? The man only seemed to care about conquest. There's a lovely thought. The colonisers get their heaven but no one else. Guess Odin was old. Maybe he did it after his great conquests when bored or fearing death.

Thor never really had to deal with anything like Gorr did from what I saw. Hardly reflect or related to each other in any way. Gorr is only a problem I guess for Thor just because Thor is a god.

The existence of no afterlife for a god could be something. But that's our marvel movies for you. Villains with a thing to be truly upset about that needs to be changed and heroes who fight against them just because they're affected personally. The heroes even get to live in whole other realities.

[notjanine]

i have an exam on monday and i’m trying to study and i’m actually stressing about it?? who am i

[spitfire-of-the-sea]

Holding on

Another little Ace x reader scenario. I SHOULD work. Instead, I'd rather contemplate dumb scenarios because they make me giggle. :D Mostly spittballing ideas here, of scenes I might like to put into a fanfic. This one is a mess, since I literally just typed it down and it's not beta-ed... but I hope you still find it amusing. =) Somewhat at least. No beta. We die like pirates.

Ace x reader; SFW

Napping during the daytime didn’t pay off.

Well, at least it didn’t anymore since one Portgas D. Ace had joined your crew. For one, there was a chance that somehow you’d end up in the middle of one of his I-will-murder-Pops-challenges. The chance was slim – usually, in some way, he tried his best to make sure to not cause collateral damage – but it was never zero. You’d know. Pretty early on after he’d been brought on board you’d taken a nap on deck and the next thing you knew your hair was singed and your little deck chair had broken down with you and Ace on top of it in a mess of flailing limbs and breathless curses.

A couple of months had gone by since then and things had changed – at least at this point the challenges were officially announced ahead of time and you had time to scramble off before you or your hair were in any real danger. You’d also started to notice that Ace was, in fact, damn attractive when he wasn’t spitting hissed insults like a feral cat backed into a corner. His freckles were damn cute and he was actually quite polite and nice, at least when he wasn’t talking to Pops.

Not that you’d ever admit it. You butted heads with him often enough, tired of his completely insane quest to defeat Pops and Ace’s complete inability to realize that it wasn’t going to happen anytime soon, if ever.

Hence, you’d done the sensible thing. You’d taken all those nauseating little feelings unfolding somewhere deep in your chest, fluttering up in your belly, tugging on the corners of your lips, and had stuffed them into a drawer labeled “Hard Nope” somewhere deep in the back of your head. Sure, sometimes they slipped out and you couldn’t help but watch him a tad too long or take it upon yourself to clean his wounds and bandage them even if there were so many other people around who could have easily done an even better job… but mostly, you managed. Distance helped.

However, all this had made you somewhat careless. You had gone back to your habit of taking naps on deck whenever you had an hour of time in between. As Marco’s assistant, you were used to long evenings and sometimes hectic days. The naps helped. You liked your naps.

They had gotten you into this situation, though: the situation being that you had been asleep when there had been a vote on who would be on Ace-duty today. Without the ability to protest, you had ended up being volunteered and so… here you were.

Ace-duty meant you’d have to keep an eye on him while you were on the island and that was a full-time job that allowed no mistakes. You’d have to keep him in sight at all times and make sure he didn’t accidentally light anything on fire, eat somebody out of a living without paying, blurt out his plan to kill Pops to the whole world (it was unlikely the pirate world would react with only mild amusement; most likely, they’d sense a sign of weakness and send tons of challengers and that would be annoying). Plus, you had to keep him from drowning in his food and starting a small-scale war.

Thatch had lost him sometime during a late evening only weeks ago and mere hours later you’d somehow ended up in the middle of a civil war between two villages. It had something to do with a shrine of some sun deity and half of the people started to worship Ace while the other half tried to kill him as an imposter.

The time before that Izou had simply not given enough fucks to take his duty seriously and from what you’d heard, Ace had eaten a whole restaurant empty, then fainted in his last plate and almost been buried alive by a very panicked middle-aged couple who were afraid they had somehow killed one of Pops’ sons and tried to get rid of the evidence.

So, long story short… it was your turn to watch Ace tonight and you would not let him escape your sight and cause mayhem. Spotting his bright orange hat in the distance, he was already making his way off the Moby Dick. You narrowed your eyes and cracked first your knuckles and then your neck. After a few stretches, you set off to catch up with him, simply vaulting over the railing and landing right in front of him.

He came to a halt abruptly, almost bumping into you and you saw his eyes widen for a moment. In the next one, a bright smile appeared on his lips as he regarded you.

“Oh, hey!” he said easily and watched you straighten yourself up in front of him. Your height wasn’t very impressive, you were smaller than almost everybody else on the Moby Dick. You were cursing yourself for miscalculating and jumping down too close in front of him, now you had to look up to him. You glared.

He cocked his head to the side, watching you. “Oh, well,” he said then, his smile growing as he reached out a hand and patted your head. ���I’ll be off then.”

Patted. Your. Head.

Caught between the urgent feeling of your cheeks suddenly being on fire and the urge to slap his hand away because you were not a dog, you froze for a precious second. Words were piling up on top of your tongue, nonsensical and undecided and locked away behind clenched teeth. By the time you’d formulated a sentence, his warm hand had already slipped off your head as he moved past you and moved into the crowd. It was more reflex than conscious thought that made your hand snap out and catch him by his shirt, barely catching it by the hem.

He stopped again when he felt the tug, throwing you a confused glance over his shoulder and his warm brown eyes on you only made matters worse if possible. You stared at him like a damn idiot, unable to put together even the most rudimentary word combination. Something that vexed you to no uncertain extent, you were not usually so tongue-tied and that left only one conclusion:

It was clearly his fault. He made you look dumb. Or perhaps he made you dumb. Whichever it was, you didn’t like it. Perhaps it was the magic power of the physique he was displaying so generously, shirt open all the time and now even within reach. Damn his magic abs.

“Do you need something?” Ace asked finally and cocked an eyebrow at you, his eyes searching you before they dropped to your hand on his shirt.

Finally, finally, something came out of your mouth: “You have to stay close.”

His second eyebrow joined the first one, both now almost touching his hairline before he chuckled, hunching down to be on eye-level with you. Which made things so much worse. So. Much. Worse. You could basically have bumped your nose against his with only one step forward.

“Are you scared?” he asked gently and reached out again, patting you again. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep you safe.”

That did it.

You used your free hand to slap his away from your head, huffing and puffing. “I’m not scared!” you snapped. Despite your size, you were, in fact, not completely helpless! Sure, you were not exactly a top-tier fighter but you could hold your own well enough.

His smile softened and he nodded, dropping his hand. “Of course not.”

Oh, that guy ticked you off on so many levels. Like, why couldn’t he just fucking close his shirt?!

“I’m not!” you repeated and were very aware that you sounded like a petulant four-year-old. You took a deep breath, willing at least a few of your brain cells to stop registering the outline of his abdominal muscles and the V you could see trailing down into his…-

Damnit it! Again!

“I’m not scared!” you said for the third time and would have slapped yourself if it hadn’t made you look even weirder. “What I mean,” you continued immediately when he opened his mouth, “is that you need to stay close to me so you’re safe!”

Ace laughed at that. The bastard.

“I think I’ll be fine,” he finally said, mirth still making his eyes twinkle as he straightened again. “I think I’ll go off on my own tonight. I’ll see you later!”

You stared at him. He stared right back, then looked down at your hand on his shirt, and then back at you.

“No you won’t,” you said and tried to do so calmly. “Go off on your own, that is.”

“Why?” he asked.

“Because this island is not Pops’ territory, per se. It’s right at the border with Kaido and we don’t want to lure him out of Wano. It will be annoying to explain to the commanders why I let you bring a dormant volcano back to life just for shits and giggles...-“

“There’s a dormant volcano here?” Ace interrupted you, interest lighting up his face and you cursed yourself.

“No?” you tried and tightened your fingers on his shirt.

“So yes?” he asked with a grin and already looked up toward the forest-covered mountain not too far in the distance.

“Listen, we won’t go there,” you told him and quickly considered your options. “There’s a BBQ place just down the road, I’m sure you’re hungry. Let’s go there…!” You started walking in that direction and only realized after a few steps that you were holding his shirt in your hand. Only his shirt. Without him in it.

Pivoting on the balls of your feet you quickly spotted his broad back as he made his way through the crowd heading for the mountain. He’d simply slipped out of his shirt. Panic rose in you before anger quickly pushed it back down. Dropping the shirt you quickly sprinted after him, catching up just before he turned into a side-street and could slip out of your sight. Reaching out you curled two fingers around a belt-hoop on his trousers, jerking him back.

Still fully focused on catching up with him, you had not thought it fully through, and were not prepared for your motion making Ace stumble back a step and bump into you. Embarrassingly, you bounced off of him like a ping-pong-ball bounced against a wall and would have gone down if not for your reflexes.

“I said no!,” you told him firmly, your voice muffled by the hand you had brought up to tenderly feel your nose – you’d smashed into his shoulder with it and since the damn man apparently had the consistency of a brick wall, it was throbbing now.

“Ach, come on!” he whined. “I am just going to take a look, I’ve never seen one. I’ll behave!”

Which was a lie if you’d ever heard one. You doubted Ace knew the meaning of ‘behave’. Your fingers tightened around the belt hoop as you stared up at him. There was little doubt in your head that you’d not be able to contain whatever he could start at that volcano and you weren’t willing to give it a try.

“No! We’ll go and eat! You like food!” you told him and tugged. To no avail, he didn’t budge. Instead, his eyes went to your hand and you could see the cogs in his head turn.

“You want to strip out of those, too?” you snapped.

He lifted his head to meet your eyes and you didn’t like the grin on his face. You liked even less that you couldn’t help but drop your gaze to your hand and thereby his waistline and thereby the V-shape and thereby the thoughts of what if he actually stripped out of those…

“Why not?” Ace asked, the ever-present grin making pretty good progress in driving you up the wall. “Freedom might be worth it.”

Clenching your teeth you snapped your eyes back up to his. He wouldn’t. Right? Right?!

Deciding to call his bluff you leaned closer. “If you do,” you told him succinctly, “I’ll still have something to hold onto.”

For once it seemed as though you had succeeded in wiping that grin off his face.

[random4townheadcanons]

4town members’ cars/driving headcanons!!

(This works for 2002 or a modern universe because I think it would be cool if they had older cars in 2022. They’re not super show-y or fancy, because I feel like they wouldn’t be into that kind of stuff but that’s just me. Also they’re all in their favorite colors hehe.)

Also no one asked for this so I’m sorry lol.

Robaire

Robaire likes going on road trips and driving on all types of Terrain, so a big car with 4 wheel drive is a must for him. He prefers to have a bigger car so that he can bring the other members on road trips and they can have a comfortable amount of space. He is a very good and safe driver, and is always very alert and won’t let himself get distracted, and he is very responsible about getting gas. He always has a pine tree air freshener hanging from the rear view mirror. His car is always perfectly clean. He is constantly wiping and vacuuming the inside and washing the outside.

Jesse

Jesse also likes to own an SUV-type car, although he doesn’t need it to be as perfectly suited to outdoor, rugged terrain, and he likes to have a car that has a sufficient amount of space so he can also drive the other members around comfortably. Jesse has been driving for almost 10 years, so he is a pretty relaxed driver (the Aaron’s and Robaire have only been driving for 3 years and Tae has been driving for 2). Even though he’s more relaxed, that doesn’t mean he is more careless, he is a very safe driver. He doesn’t have to think as hard as the others. His car is pretty clean, but he’s not as uptight about it as Robaire.

Tae Young

Tae didn’t want a super big car, but he wanted one that had enough seating for the other members to ride in it, although he drives them around the least. Since Tae has only been driving for 2 years, he is the least experienced of them all so he isn’t as relaxed as Jesse is but he’s still a really good driver. He does get the WORST road rage out of all of them. 75% of what comes out of his mouth in traffic is screaming curse words. This cracks up the other members and they often record it (in a modern universe, and usually one of them posts it). His car is also always clean and smells nice.

Aaron T

T has 2 cars, but he almost always drives the Beetle though. Usually they just take the bus to the beach or on camping trips. T is a safe driver, he never gets in accidents, but that does not mean he is a very careful one (he’s a little TOO relaxed). In non-residential areas he unintentionally will drive over the speed limit, and he often makes little mistakes that make him say “oh shit. Oops.” He also always waits TOO LONG to get gas and usually won’t remember until Z points it out. The other members always have a lot of fun and laughs when he’s driving, but Jesse still is a little freaked out, especially since he taught each of them to drive, and he always says “I did not teach you that.” T’s car is clean, but not super tidy though. He doesn’t have trash in his car, but oftentimes another member will find like an unopened capri sun or candy rolling around in the back. He also has a ton of strawberry scented vent clip air fresheners, so riding in his car is like hotboxing a candy store. Z always sits in the passenger seat when he drives.

Aaron Z

Z really enjoys the cute and sporty look of his car but he kind of wishes it was bigger, because he wants him and the other members to feel as safe as possible in his car. He is a really safe driver, and sometimes he gets pretty nervous and paranoid when he’s driving, but T is always with him in the passenger’s seat so his rambling and jokes relax him a lot more. He tends to convince himself that he’s not a great driver, but T often makes jokes about how much more responsible he is than him. His car is always really clean and tidy like Robaire’s but he doesn’t obsess over it as much. He usually has a Sex Wax air freshener hanging from his rear view mirror in either the coconut, pineapple, or grape scents.

Surprise, T’s section is twice as long as everyone else’s 🙄

Anyway, I hope you liked these :)

And still keep sending requests!!

[mianavs]

the assault

In Lima with You part 4

a/n: this marks the beginning of the end for this story. like previous parts in this story and it’s predecessor, there’s some messed up stuff going on in this part.

tw: non-con, dark content, nsfw, violence

wc: 1.7k+

In Lima with You

You had been scrubbing for a good thirty minutes, yet the bright red from the tomato sauce you’d spilled on your living room carpet was still there.

Glaring at you

Mocking you

Wiping off the beads of sweat that trickled down your brow with the back of your hand, you ran the scrubby through the bucket of soapy water that was now a milky salmon color. After wringing the scrubby of the excess liquid, you went back to scrubbing that spot while ignoring the growing ache in your fingers and the knot in your neck.

It’d been a careless mistake, spilling your spaghetti while your mind had been elsewhere—a common occurrence since the night your fragile world fell apart when Dabi walked out on you.

Almost as careless as the mistake of letting your captor into your heart where he left a mark that spread until it encompassed the entire thing.

A mistake you were now paying the price for, on your hands and knees trying to scrub the mark stain away only to realize it had spread in spite of your efforts.

You fell back on your haunches and threw the scrubby into the bucket. It had been five days since you’d last seen Dabi, and you were starting to lose it.

Every time you heard footsteps outside of your front door, you would rush over and swing it open only to face nothing or a bewildered stranger. The room that had once suffocated you with warmth was now frigid and made it difficult for you to fall asleep in. Your mornings started with you waking from a nightmare that almost always involved Dabi’s death. While at the beginning of his absence you could still go about your day cooking, cleaning, or engaging in a hobby, you eventually spiraled into a depression that made it hard for you to even get out of bed.

Not only was Dabi the death-sentenced protagonist of your nightmares but he was also on your mind all day. His face during your last argument was one that had been burned into your memory. You could still see the blank look that flashed in his cerulean eyes, the twitch of his mutilated mouth, and then the shock that seeped from every pore in his body as he staggered away from your enraged form.

You’d been the one wronged that day, yet Dabi was the one that fled, leaving you with an all-consuming guilt. It didn’t make sense but then again neither did the overwhelming pain festering away in your heart the more time passed without seeing him, touching him, loving him.

Love. It was a ridiculous notion when you thought about it.

Dabi had been the monster that kidnapped you. He’d broken you down physically and mentally to mold you into the obedient darling you now were, but even with the plethora of scars all over your body, you couldn’t help but feel empty without him. Even with the door unlocked and nothing chaining you down to your shared condo, you would leave only to roam around the city for a couple of minutes before a panic seized your entire body; It was that suffocating panic that forced you back home to the comfort of your bed that still smelled of Dabi’s musk and smoke.

You loved Dabi.

You needed Dabi.

So as you dumped the soapy water down the kitchen sink and washed out the bucket, you mulled over your options in tracking Dabi down to tell him how you felt. Then just as you were putting the bucket away, the muffled sound of footsteps captured your attention and you dashed to the front door on impulse.

Where a scarred face with a wicked grin should have greeted you, there was only a red winged man with astonished eyes.

“Y/N,” Keigo breathed. “You’re really here.”

You looked behind him, searching for the man you actually wanted to see. When it was clear he wasn’t there, you turned to your former friend.

“Where else would I be?” You asked before stepping aside to let him in.

“I assumed you’d be with the League,” He answered amusedly, walking in while you shut the door behind him. “But I guess this was a no ex-heroes type of mission.”

“Where’s Dabi?” The question burst from your lips before you could think it through.

Keigo’s smile faltered at your desperate inquiry, and his throat bobbed as he swallowed. “Last I heard they were two cities away wreaking havoc in true League fashion.”

You raised an eyebrow at his mocking tone. “Sounds like you don’t approve of the mission.”

Keigo laughed at that and it left a bitter taste in your mouth. “How about we drop the act, Y/N. It’s just you and me. Dabi isn’t here to punish you.”

His eyes traveled to a fading scar on your forearm before returning to your face. “We both know that what they’re doing is wrong.”

A bitter laugh tore from your throat as you approached him. “So the HPSC selling me for some intel is right? Them drugging me and sending me off to an orphanage is right? How about them trying to sabotage my career? Does all of that seem right to you, Keigo?!”

You were now in front of him, and he had the decency to appear sheepish after your rant. He averted his gaze and said nothing while you let out an exasperated sigh and ran your fingers through your hair.

“Don’t give me that right or wrong crap.” You retorted when your anger simmered. “Hero society deemed me a villain before giving me a chance to prove myself. I won’t stand in the League’s way if they want to bring it down.”

Keigo’s hand shot out and wrapped around your elbow, fingers pressing into one of your scars. You tried shaking him off but Keigo didn’t relent.

“What about the thousands of innocent civilian lives that will be ruined because of them? Will you also stand aside when they’re screaming for their lives?”

His golden eyes bore into yours and memories of a certain mission hit you like a ton of bricks. You remembered the room full of children that you’d saved with Keigo, and for the first time in weeks, you hesitated in defending Dabi and the League’s actions.

“We’re targeting the heroes and the HPSC, not civilians.” You reasoned, wrenching your arm from his grasp.

“We’re?” Keigo sneered, backing you against a wall. “Are you serious?”

At his aggressiveness, the alarms in your head went off but indignation muffled them. You jutted out your chin defiantly. “Yeah, I am. As long as Dabi remains in the League, I will too because... I-I love him and tha—”

Keigo smashed his lips against yours and took hold of your hands before pinning them above your head. Unlike the first kiss he stole from you, this one was harsh and meant to punish. He claimed your mouth with his invading tongue while you wrestled against his bruising grip. It wasn’t until you realized he wouldn’t let up that you bit down on his tongue until he hissed in pain and released you with a curse.

With the metallic taste of Keigo’s blood in your mouth, you tried recovering your breath only to hear a harsh thump that was immediately followed by pulsating pain on the side of your head. You doubled over from the sheer force of Keigo’s blow that left you debilitated and vulnerable.

And that was exactly what Keigo wanted.

In your stupor, you were picked up like a ragdoll and thrown onto your bed, landing face down on a pillow. The sudden motion only worsened what you assumed was a concussion. As a sharp ringing assaulted your ears, all you could do was grip the sheets beneath you in a weak attempt to stop the room from turning.

So when rough hands pulled off your shorts and ripped off your flimsy lace panties, you were too busy burrowing your spinning head in a pillow and swallowing bile to put up a fight. The severity of the situation finally registered with you when you felt the bed dip and rough hands lift your waist until you were on your knees.

By the time your body reacted, it was too late. Keigo pressed you into the mattress with your hands pinned behind your back as he settled between your legs and spread them open with his body.

His cockhead prodded at your entrance a couple of times before he forced it into your dry cunt in one harsh thrust. Horrified and unprepared, you screamed into the pillow that still smelled of Dabi while Keigo violently took you from behind like an animal.

Pain was all you knew throughout Keigo’s assault. It pulsated in your head until it felt like your skull was being split in half. It coursed through your arms that were pushed together and pressed into your back. It ripped through your cunt as Keigo’s cock rammed into you without mercy.

Concussed, restrained, and without your quirk and voice, all you could do was lie there and wait for your body to produce the slick you oh-so desperately needed to ease the ache in your cunt.

Without changing the pace of his hips, Keigo leaned over you and grunted into your ear.

“Don’t you get it, Y/N? I’m doing this because I love you and right now you’re sick. That so-called love you feel for that bastard is a disease. You have Stockholm Syndrome and I’m gonna cure you with each load I shoot up your womb.”

He let out a chuckle and licked the shell of your earlobe, causing bile to surge up your throat. Unable to swallow it down any longer, you used all the strength you could muster to jerk your head over the bed’s edge.

As you regurgitated that day’s lunch, Keigo’s thrusts ceased and he released you with a disgusted grunt.

“Rude bitch,” he growled, pulling you by your hair and pressing his torso against your body. “I tell you I love you and that’s how you react?”

Keigo shoved your face into the mattress and you writhed beneath his weight and grip as your lungs were depleted of oxygen. When your limbs went limp against the bed and black specks stained your vision, the last thing you heard was Keigo’s honeyed words delivering your sentence for falling for your captor.

“Guess I’ll have to take you away from him for you to be cured.”

[kazuhasbunny]

Giiiirl, imagine you are on Baal's side, you are a general and commanding an army against the rebels' own general, Gorou.

You are all cocky and confident, your years of experience just keeping you aware enough so you won't be consumed by your pride. But oh, your face, when after all of those carefully thought out strategies and intensive training, you end up losing to that mutt.

He is insufferable. Even though his face and body is caked in a mixture only war can give-- blood, sweat and dirt, his smile is the biggest, smuggest thing you have ever seen in your life as a warrior. It does not help that you are on your knees, back stretching forward as the grip he has on your jaw tugs you up with such a force you won't ever believe an archer, a long distance fighter, would posses. The bodies of both sides lay scattered on the defiled land, but the purple spots decorate the most, as his last men stand straight and proud behind him, just as yours do, but the lack the attentiveness. Their tired and bored countenance ticks you in a wrong way. Why they don't look happy by this result?

Does your failure was already predicted? As if this end was something that was already calculated. Taken in account.

The man holding your jaw in a bruising grip let go of you, a mere blink of respite as the next second your left cheek explodes in pain, your vision swaggers for a second as you fall on your right side from the streght of that blow. You shut your eyes and concentrate on your breathing; the fight left you completely drained, as much as your brain screamed at you to stand up and attack that man, your bones and muscles protested as you tensed in hopes of getting up, but ultimately you only made yourself look pitiful.

Gorou turns to were his men are, his gaze lingering for a second on your laughable attempt. His focus switches to the army as he starts to pace from one side to the other, the victory was already decided, but the energy from the feat itself brought a surge of emotions within him.

Another quick glance at you, and something on his mind switched. He was wondering what to do with you; killing you off felt as a meaningless action, as the Shogun won't care for someone as low as yourself. You only were deployed to fight against them to gain time for the real force, to prepare and learn how strong the rebels actually are. With how confident you looked hours ago, it seems that your benevolent Shogun forgot to grace you with such knowledge before sending you off with a bunch of newly trainees.

"First of all, congratulations, my friends, for this well earned victory" Gorou began. The group of men on front of him quickly acknowledge his words, paying attention to what he had to say.

"Even if the outcome resulted as to what we--" He turns around, your eyes opened when he began speaking. You both made eye contact, and Gorou's smirk transformed into a full smile. Was it okay for him to fill such giddiness at the sight of your equally wounded pride and body? After all, he was the one to bring you into that state, he was the one to put you in your rightful place with just one arrow, kneeling on the dirty battlefield as the geo power incased on the arrowhead did its job in petrify you.

The glint of defeat on, dare he say, those gorgeous eyes of yours really made them stand out. Actually, as he approaches your form, he's starting to see some other appealing features he couldn't notice from a longer distance. What was the Shogun thinking, in even allowing you a spot within her number when you clearly weren't made for war?

"--Expected" his pause brought your attention to what he was actually saying. So they had all of this calculated...

"But now, all that is left to do, is tend to the wounded and take care of the dead. Yours and their sacrifice will bring an end to this stupid decree in no time. We need to prepare for tougher, real..." He gives you a glance "...battles from now on. Don't let this win get in your head"

The crowd quietly cheers between them, some of them patting each other on the shoulder for a job well done. All of that camaraderie made your stomach hollow, as you recognise the same speech you have told to your former men after a battle well fought. Those piercing blue eyes of his made you painfully aware of the consecutive part of giving a victory speech, about what is waiting for the losing side, the pit in your stomach grew in size and you really wished that it could swallow you whole before the man in front of you does.

Gorou thrills in your despair. That pretty face of yours plunging into dark dephts, your mind weaving one horrifying destiny after other speaks a lot of your character, as only those who have layed a cruel end to those before them can conceive. He knows what kind of thoughts those are, but as much of a monster as you are viewing him now, he won't do such a thing. He was quite merciful while deciding what your fate will be, even if he didn't pondered a lot in the few minutes after your fall, you are but only a child with a weapon, sent to die by that horrible woman.

And something he prides himself of, is learning from mistakes. He won't throw away something that can fulfill very well other duties than warfare ones.

"Sir! If I may--" a voice spoke between the masses of helms and spears.

"I know, I know. The general" Gorou waves off his hand, his eyes never stranding away from your form for far too long.

A groan escapes your body as his foot steps on your ribcage, not too hard but your weak body sense as if he had nails attached to the sole, your skin felt cold and as if it was being prickled by a ton of needles. He pushes your your body with a gentleness unexpected from an enemy, until you were lying on your back. The new position put pressure in the arrow wound on your right/left shoulder, your dominant arm, and for a second you were grateful of the rigidness granted by the geo element yet covering half of your arm or else you are sure you would have cried in pain, the last thing you want now is to show more weakness that what you are displaying.

"What I am going to do with her... I didn't know myself when we first begun this battle" Gorou continued. He removed his shoe from your chest to your side on the floor, so you'll be cage between his legs while he looks down on you. His arms crossed across his chest and he tilted his head to the side, as in assessing you, taking on your face just as covered in grime as his but not diminish your beauty in the slightest. He really made a good decision in regard of your fate.

The soldiers stood still, the atmosphere felt heavy like the air on a hot summer afternoon that feels stuffy on your lungs as your breath in. Their general had an unseen aura surrounding him, his usual careless actitud makes everyone forget that there's an animal side to him, although they aren't sure they will presence it for the first time, their captain is definitely switching towards that side... they even feel a little bit of pity for the woman under him.

"But as I see her like this, beaten, it makes me remember something of old, that the victorous usually sow. Can you guys guess what it is?" He squats over you, sweetly combing a couple of strands of hair out of your face.

Whispers break among the army after the question. One of them raised his hand, no barely 18 years old as he was one of the shortest in comparison to his bigger and wider shouldered comrades. The young recruit promptly lowered his arm as the general wasn't looking at their direction but that didn't stopped him from answering, eyes shining with excitement:

"They take something as a token of their victory, sir!"

Gorou hummed in affirmation. "Yes, they did. A spoil of war, if you may"

Dread washed over you. He wasn't going to kill you, as a way to demonstrate their superiority? To be taken as a trophy, a possession... He surely won't mean that, right? They are going to torture you and extract every drop of information that you have, until the last thing left in you is blood to shed on their hands as your usefulness is cut short like your troath.

You needed to say something. Anything, as long as it would arise anger within the young male, anything as long as you aren't degrade far from what you have been.

Gorou raised his eyebrows as you coughed. He wasn't expecting a monologue from you but neither silence. Your sudden wish of speaking made the men jump into action, their spears pointing at you with such terrifying speed made you realise furthermore that this battle was destined to end like this, another stripe to the tiger just like a new blow to your pride.

"Just kill me already. I won't say anything, and if given the opportunity, I will end it myself" you spat. You tried to transmit all of your pain, hate and shame in one stare, you won't go happy until you make that man see what you feel, how big your abhorrence is to his being.

All the males stare in silence, until the general himself chuckled. Your cheeks burn with rage, your teeth clenched together as you tried yo surf this flare of emotions. How dare he laugh like that! He already won and you won't speak a thing about the Shogun, why acting like that? Isn't the rebels supposed to act with nobility and fairness?

Gorou took a breath in. He's happy he didn't went for the traditional route and killed you.

"Aw, now you just proved me correct, sweetheart. I'll enjoy making you into a proper wife"

All of that just to say "Imagine being taken as Gorou's prize and he makes you his whore wife" LMAO

(Also? In the part that reader coughs? I wanted to put that Gorou spits on your lips because you looked thirsty AODJFJDC)

THIS 🙏 yes i’d love to be gorou’s housewife he should really take me in and train me to obey him . please i’d do anything for him

AND pleasee omg ... if u actually put that in i’d die on my chair it’s too hot i can’t hjnhnggrh

[hockeyboysiguess]

sunflowers | m. tkachuk

a/n: today, i offer a humble too long matthew tkachuk fic, full of angst and thoughts about love.

i would like to thank @nolypats​, for having a dream that i wrote a fic about? that dream looks nothing like this fic, but that was the og inspiration, and for being so supportive during the writing of this monster. also, @jasondickinsons​ and @slapshot-to-the-heart​ for freaking out every time i sent you a preview. never would’ve finished it without these three. 

word count: 20K

warnings: swearing, and a ton of angst.

wine pairing recommendation: a full bodied cabernet sauvignon, because this fic is full bodied.

You ran a hand through your hair as you looked at Matthew across your apartment. The mug in your hands felt heavy and the tea inside had gone cold. The look on Matthew’s face when he walked in the front door had made you set it aside and forget about it entirely. He had been nervous, hesitant, his movements almost delayed, like there was too many thoughts swimming in his head for the signals to get down to his muscles at the correct timing. You drummed your nails on the cool ceramic, your fingertips tracing the outline of the sunflower on the mug, as you let out a long breath. 

“We literally just-”

“I know,” Matthew cut you off. He stumbled through the next six words, but they stung all the same. “I think this was a mistake.” 

It was as if he picked the words right out of your deepest vault of insecurities, sharpened them, then tossed them in your general direction careless, but still wasn’t surprised when they hit their mark. Your shoulders caved in, your body reacting to the weight of the insecurities you had tied to those words in your mind hitting you in the chest. You set your mug on the counter with shaky hands. 

“Matthew,” you tried to start, but he just set his blue eyes to the ceiling instead of trying to look at you.

You pressed harder, this time, irritation in his inability to communicate with you boiling over, “You can’t just say something like that then not look at me.” 

“Fine.” 

His eyes were dead when they rolled back to yours, lifeless, emotionless, almost completely devoid of the person you knew so well that was usually behind them. He looked nothing like the friend you had for the past two years, nothing like the boy who you kissing on his birthday a few months before this terrible moment you were being forced to inhabit, and nothing like the boyfriend you had since that night. He was unrecognizable from the boy you loved, the set in his jaw unsettling you. Matthew had not come over to have a discussion. You could see that now. He was resolved to end this relationship when he walked through your front door. When Matthew Tkachuk’s mind was made up, you had yet to find anything that could redirect his course. You knew you wouldn’t be the first tonight. 

“I think we can work on this, if you’ll just talk to me about it.” 

The laugh that comes out of his mouth in response to your words made you instantly wish you had never tried. The part of you that had told you to just swallow the breakup he clearly wanted was screaming, “I told you so,” at the top of its lungs. There was no resolution to be had. This relationship was over before he walked in the door, before he walked in the building, before he had gotten in his car. It was over the minute he texted you, curtly informing you he was coming over. Now that your mind was ruminating, the tone of his text felt rough and succinct, like he just wanted to get through it to get to this. 

“I think that there’s nothing to work on,” Matthew told you, his tone flat. “I think we were friends, are friends, good friends, and we just starting having feelings because we thought we couldn’t have each other. That whole forbidden fruit thing, right? And we got all mixed up. Sex was great, is great, don’t get me wrong, that kind of chemistry isn’t the problem, but I just don’t think we’re supposed to be together. I think we just got our wires crossed and mixed the chemistry and the friendship up to mean that we’re in love when I just don’t think we are. At best, I think we just had middle school crushes gone off the rails. I don’t think I really have feelings for you and I don’t think you have them for me either. I think that’s why we fight a lot. There’s nothing really here, in all reality, and I think we can both sense it. You know I’m right. You just don’t want to admit it.”

“Get. Out.” 

You spat the words out with all the venom and anger you felt. It wasn’t until the door shut behind him, not another word spoken in the tense moments it took to cross your kitchen to it, that you felt the pain in your chest. The anger, and the adrenaline that came with it, had disguised it while he was still here. Now, it was just you, in your empty apartment, realizing you not only had to deal with the pieces of yourself left over after Matthew just shattered you, underneath that was the agony of losing a friend. A friend you had come to know so well over coffees and sheet pizzas and margarita pitchers, in parties and houses and parks and arenas. He left with your now ex-boyfriend, because they were one and the same. 

All you had was the now tainted memories of him and an even colder cup of tea.

------

You shuffled around your kitchen island, skipping the tea kettle in favor of your trusty slightly rusty coffee pot. This wasn’t a morning tea could handle. None of the mornings since Matthew told you that, in essence, your entire relationship was built on false pretenses and was doomed to fail from the start, had been tea mornings. They’d all be coffee caliber mornings. 

Just as the coffee started to drip into the pot, your phone lit up on the counter. It was either your mom or another friend checking on you for what had to be the hundredth time. Your friends had be rotating who would check on you and who would bring you food. They were genuinely worried this break up was making you a bit of a recluse. The problem was, the person that had gotten you out of ever breakup funk you had over the past two years, every bad date, every ghosted text, was the person that caused this one. Your mind unwillingly brought you back to a memory you had been trying to avoid for the last four weeks.

There was a knock on your door. You pulled your sweatshirt sleeves over your hands to wipe your nose and eyes. You would have thought that after two weeks, a whole fourteen days, you would have cried everything out by now. Your body apparently had other ideas and was content to continue to produce tears until you felt better. When that would be? Who could say. 

Matthew Tkachuk was trying to have a say about it when he was on the other side of the door you opened. You sighed. You weren’t in the mood for him and his persistence in getting his way.

“I brought donuts, Legally Blonde because my sister said to, and my sparkling personality and I’m not leaving until you smile, eat at least two donuts, and take a shower.” 

He pushed his way into your apartment effortlessly. You didn’t consider yourself particularly weak, but there really wasn’t much you could do against Matthew Tkachuk with his mind made up on his side. He kicked his shoes off on the way to your coffee table, dropping the donuts on it before grabbing the TV remote. 

“I said I brought Legally Blonde. I meant that I brought my intent to watch it with you. We both know I’m just gonna rent it on your TV for you. I don’t own a DVD player and neither do you,” Matthew said to you as he started pulling up the movie. “Also, I have no idea how to log in to my stuff on this thing because you have a Fire TV instead of an Apple TV like a loser, so I’m just going to Venmo you $3.99 for the rental.” 

“Matthew,” you sighed, running a hand through your unwashed hair.

“Yeah, you can’t physically remove me from your couch, so I will not be leaving this apartment,” he informed you. “Watching Legally Blonde on your couch without you and stuffing my face with donuts I’m not supposed to have feels like it would be a pretty low point in my life. Unless you come watch with me and save me from half of these donuts.”

You saved him from half the donuts. He saved your hair from a record eighth day without washing it. You saved him from actually watching the sequel. He saved you from your torturous thought spirals and your tendency to look entirely for mistakes you made and flaws within yourself in lieu of acknowledging that relationships always take two people. He saved you from becoming a recluse that time, pulling you out of your apartment for dinner with him the next day. It was just Chipotle. He said he chose the environment for low social stress, high food volume ratio. You had hit him in the chest and he’d squeezed your hand softly, bringing it up to his mouth to kiss the back of it softly. 

“You know he didn’t deserve you, right?” he told you as you waiting in line. “You can and will do a hell of a lot better than him someday, probably sooner than you think.”

“Thanks, Matty.” 

Looking back on that memory, you couldn’t find any fondness for it. It just made the dull ache in your chest that had become a permanent resident over the last month transform temporarily in a sharp, stabbing one, before returning to its original form. You poured your coffee, each movement it required felt exhausting. You felt absolutely spent constantly because you were spending all of your energy trying to figure out what had gone wrong. Relationships were a two way street, but you could never drive down the other side, only your own. Matthew’s side, his view of it all, would always be foreign to you, but you could analyze every word, every movement, and every piece of Matthew’s reaction to all of your actions to find what you had done, what you had done to contribute to the car wreck that had caused the pain in your chest. Did you veer too close to him? Did you veer too far? What did you do? 

When you get together with a friend, after years of mutual pinning, it’s supposed to work out. Every book, movie, and hell, every other couple you had ever seen that had been great friends first, then started dating, worked out. It always had a happy, romantic comedy kind of ending to it all. Everything was supposed to fall into place the second Matthew kissed you for the first time because friends falling in love felt inevitable in the kind of way that made you believe in predestination, in fated futures. You had come to the conclusion that fate either didn’t exist, or she was a fucking bitch. 

“Come here!” Matthew shouted to you across the party when you were less than two steps into his front door. “I want a birthday hug!”

“I literally just got here!” you shouted back, your voice dropping in volume as you got closer to him, bumping your way through the party to get to him in the kitchen. “You couldn’t wait two minutes for me to like, put your gift down and take off my coat? Needy.” 

“Ah!” Matthew raised a finger to you and shook it slightly. “It’s not needy when I’m the birthday boy. Hug. Now.” 

You rolled your eyes, but tucking yourself willingly into Matthew’s broad chest. He was so warm all the time, but particularly now that he was definitely a few drinks deep and very much enjoying himself here at his party. Matthew always smelled the same, like the slightly too strong laundry detergent scent boosters his mom made him use and spearmint toothpaste. You couldn’t stand the combination at first, but now, pressed into his chest, you felt calm, the stress of the day washing away when you enveloped in him. He pressed a sloppy kiss to the top of your head and gave you an extra squeeze before letting you go. 

“Also, you’re late,” he pointed out as he grabbed you a beer from the sink he’d filled with ice in lieu of people going in his fridge.

You took the beer from him after he slammed the top off on the edge of the counter. You chugged about a quarter of it before scrunching your face up and stopping. The first few sips were always the worst, before any of the wondrous affects of alcohol actually kicked in. 

“Work,” you told him with a shrug.

Matthew rolled his eyes at you, a common occurrence, and you rolled yours back, and even more common occurrence. He laughed a little at your routine, before he tapped his beer suddenly on the top of yours, making foam rise rapidly, overflowing the bottle. You cursed and shifted your hand over the sink so the foam covered his makeshift cooler instead of the counter, but your hand was a lost cause. 

“Matthew,” you groaned, your displeasure heavy in your voice as you shook your hand free of the foam. 

Matthew threw his head back and laughed as you rinsed off your hand. When his head lifted, eyes finding yours again, he was met with a glare and the displeased shaking of your head. He smiled lazily, his blue eyes crossing your face to take in your expression. 

“You’re cute when you’re pretending to be mad.” His words were a little more connected than they should be, his faint lisp expressing itself more, endearing in a way that cut through your annoyance at him. “I would like to request a birthday, ‘One of my best friend isn’t mad at me anymore,’ pass.” 

You rolled your eyes again at him for the second time in minutes, “You’re going to get real annoying with this birthday thing, aren’t you?” 

Matthew smiled wryly at you, “Comes once a year. Feel like I should get my money’s worth for the twenty-four hours I can, no?” 

You shook your head at him, then took a sip of your beer. You were pretty sure you knew how this night was going to go and after a long day at work, it wasn’t exactly what you had been looking for. But the smile on his face, the curls falling down his forehead, and the fact that you were head over heels for him, meant that even though you hadn’t been looking to get on a rollercoaster today, damn it all to hell if you weren’t going to throw your hands in the air, scream your head off, and enjoy the ride. 

“How about,” Matthew slurred slowly at you, “a birthday dance?” 

“You could just ask me to dance. I’m used to you stepping on my toes and elbowing me in the face,” you threw back at him.

He faked pain, like you shot him in the chest, a large hand clapped over his heart as he winced. You giggled at his expression, before your laugh made him laugh. Matthew extended the hand on his chest out to you. You sighed before clapping your hand into his open one and letting him pull you toward where a few people were dancing. He spun you into his chest with a tug on your hand, purposefully putting your hands on the back of his neck. 

“Odds you step on my toes tonight?” 

Your beer bottle tapped between Matthew’s broad shoulders as he slowly started to sway with you, using his hands on your hips, one hand still with two fingers wrapped around his beer, to guide you. He smiled down at you knowingly. You knew the answer to your question before you’d even asked, but Matthew knew you were just teasing him. 

“Oh, one-hundred percent,” Matthew told you with a smirk pulling up the corner of his lips. “I should get you steel toes for your birthday.” 

“If you can remember when it is,” you laughed as Matthew spun you by your hips, your hands breaking from his neck to allow the spin. 

“Don’t doubt me,” Matthew grabbed your wrists with one hand and pulled them against his chest. “I might have had to make it my phone passcode to be sure I don’t forget, but I definitely am not going to forget it.” 

“That might just be the cutest thing you’ve ever done in your life, Tkachuk.” 

He rolled his eyes and freed your hands, only to wrap his arm around your neck and yank you into his chest where your hands had been moments before. You squealed at the action, which only made him laugh. Matthew was a touchy drunk, but it was the closest you could be to him. These were the moments you could touch him, dance with him, and let yourself feel like the world you lived in was also the world in which he had feelings for you too. But you knew those worlds weren’t the same. The would you lived in was a world full of stolen drunken moments like these and unrequited love. 

“Birthday beer?” he asked you, presenting you with the empty bottle you hadn’t realized he’d finished.

“You are really pushing your luck,” you told him. 

The smile that came across his face when you grabbed the empty bottle made your heart beat heavier in your chest. You smiled back up at him and you could have sworn you saw his eyes glance down at your lips, but you shook off the idea like the intrusive thought it was. It was a self-indulgent misreading of him, your mind projecting a motion you wished Matthew had done, instead of accurately reading the moment for what it was. It might have been a false creation of your mind, but it made your chest hurt all the same. 

You grabbed Matthew his beer. Then you birthday grabbed him a slice of his birthday cake. Then you had to birthday dance with him again. Another birthday hug. It started to wear heavy on your shoulders because tonight all Matthew seemed to want was you glued to his side. Your mind was twisting and turning, running down dark, unlit roads you had blocked off in your mind for your own good, but the combination of alcohol and Matthew’s hand on your hip was allowing your mind to blast through barricades you’d built to protect yourself and you were imagining this being real. Worse, you were wondering if maybe he felt like you did, which was as dangerous as driving down a twisty, forest road in the middle of the night, with your highlights out, and faulty breaks. 

As the last guests trickled out of the party, Matthew said you didn’t count as a guest, he collapsed onto his couch, throwing his arm over the back. He motioned over to you as he polished off his remaining beer. He sighed when you had yet to move, letting his head roll back, curling bouncing at the movement. 

“Come on, birthday cuddle,” he whined softly, gesturing you over to him again.

You groaned and hoped off the counter where you had posted up as everyone else left. Matthew smiled and lifted his head up when he saw you coming, adjusting on the couch to give you a clear spot, right under his arm, right against his side. You climbed onto the couch and slid in, dropping your head onto his chest as his arm dropped around your upper back instead of remaining on the couch. You sighed as you snuggled into his broad chest and Matthew’s chest suddenly rattled beneath you as he laughed.

“Well, make yourself comfortable then,” he laughed softly. 

“You’re comfy and I’m tired,” you mumbled, tucking your face down to try and hide the flush rising in your cheeks.

Yes, you were tired. Yes, Matthew was pretty comfortable. Neither one of those things had anything to do with why you were thrilled to be snuggled into his chest. The smell of spearmint and laundry detergent was mixed with cheap beer, but you found yourself falling more into him, your shoulders relaxing, your mind slowly, but your heart racing. You might be pushing your luck, tipping your hand with how you were openly enjoying this, but Matthew’s hand playing with the ends of your hair and the steadiness of his breathing plus the sheer volume of alcohol he had consumed tonight was giving you hope that even if you were tipping your hand, he wouldn’t be able to recognize the cards. 

“Come here. Birthday hug.” 

“I’m literally snuggling you. Why do you want a hug? Snuggling is an extended hug,” you muttered to him. 

“Hug,” Matthew repeated, a hand patting his thigh. 

You groaned as you lifted your head from your comfortable spot, twisting awkwardly to get your arms around Matthew’s neck. He huffed, clearly not thrilled with your position. His hands found your waist, fingers sliding into your belt loops to pull you onto his lap, situating your legs on either side of his. He wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you tight against him, hugging you to his chest. His face was tucked into your neck, his hot breath fanning out over your skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake. 

He mumbled something you couldn’t entirely hear, but you caught the word birthday again and rolled your eyes. You sighed as you pulled back, his arms giving way to let you sit up on his thighs. 

“What did you say?” you asked him softly. 

Matthew swallowed hard, his eyes darting away from your attempted eye contact. His jaw clenched, nerves getting the better of him. You just didn’t know what he had to be particularly nervous about. 

“I want a birthday kiss.”

His words were soft, vulnerability keeping his voice tense, but his volume low. His eyes lifted up, scanning over your face, looking for some sign as to how you received his words. Matthew moved a hand to the back of your neck and gently pulled, ever so slightly, to bring your mouth closer to his. His eyes continued to take in your face, trying to read your expression, but he was clueless, his own feelings clouding his judgment. His tongue darted out, swiping across his bottom lip. 

“You don’t have to, obviously, but fuck, I really hope you want to, ” he breathed out, eyes still trying to find some sign, something to hang onto in your face.

It was clumsy with excitement, but you dipped your head forward and pressed your lips against his. Your heart was beating loudly in your ears as he started to kiss you back, the sound blocking out everything except how you were finally doing this, you were finally kissing Matthew. All you could feel was him, his hands on your body, his lips on yours, his tongue working yours softly. Just him. You pulled back and resting your forehead against his as his fingers tangled themselves in your hair at the back of your neck. 

“Thank god,” Matthew mumbled. “I thought I ruined us for a second there.” 

You shook your head softly and smiled down at him, pressing a quick kiss to his lips again. He was smiling before you even pulled away this time. 

“Fastest my birthday wish has ever come true in my life,” Matthew told you softly, a smile wide on his face as he spoke. “Also, my best birthday wish ever, if I do say so myself.” 

“Wait, what did you wish for?” you laughed, letting a hand run down his chest lightly. 

“You,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I wished for you.”

Everything after that was easy, for a little while. You both had dreamed, fantasized about having each other, so you were both in absolute bliss when everything came together. It felt like two pieces in a puzzle, finally finding each other after being separated by the expanse of the unfinished masterpiece in between if the masterpiece was the world as far as both of you knew. But you never found your place in it together, never locked into the bigger picture. Two pieces floating out in space can’t stay connected forever when hands start trying to smash them into place, hands that wonder if those pieces even belong together at all. 

The hands that ripped you and Matthew apart weren’t from the outside looking in though. They were the same hands that held your hips so tightly on nights between the sheets. The same hands that held yours where you walked through the city after a few too many drinks at the bar together. The same hands that ran through your hair softly when you came over crying about something you couldn’t even remember anymore. 

They were the same hands currently wrapped around a glass at a bar across town. The boy, not man, whose hands they were was running one through his hair hurriedly now. He couldn’t get you out of his mind and he just couldn’t figure out why. 

“Okay, why did you break up with her again?” Johnny pressed Matthew for what had to have been the twentieth time over the last month. “Because you’re fucking miserable all the time. She’s fucking miserable. None of us can get her out of her apartment. So I’m just not getting this one, man. Why aren’t you at her place right now? Why weren’t you there a month ago really, begging for her to take you back?”

Matthew groaned and screwed his eyes shut hard. He had explained this so many times, the words and memories were starting to blur together for him. If you say the same word too many times in a row, your brain begins to question if what you’re saying if even real anymore. Matthew felt the same type of confusion and disassociation with recounting his reasons for breaking up with you. The version of him that had original thought those thoughts, felt those feelings, wasn’t here anymore. It was replaced with a shell of a boy who realized he’d made a terrible mistake. 

“Wait, have you seen her?” 

Johnny rolled his eyes at Matthew, but he answered anyway. 

“No, I didn’t,” he sighed, motioning to the bartender for another beer. “A couple of the girlfriends stopped by, brought her some casseroles or something.” 

“Don’t you bring casseroles when someone dies?” 

Matthew forced the terrible joke and his own laugh in response out, in a poor attempt to disguise the ache in his chest at the thought of you. He could see you so clearly in his mind, pacing holes in the floorboards of your apartment, wearing out your favorite mug, but there was no way on God’s green earth you were wearing your Flames sweatshirt you usually did when you were upset. Hell, Matthew would be amazed if you hadn’t burned it after what he done. He knew you had to hate the casseroles, both based on the fact that you barely considered them an edible type of food, and the fact that they seemed to be an homage to the funeral of your love life. You would’ve made a better joke than him too and he wished he could’ve heard it, but you probably hadn’t made one. Matthew was the person who helped you out of the negative thought spirals that sent you spinning around your apartment. He caused this one instead and he was here, sitting in a bar, doing nothing about it because there was no way you’d even talk to him again, not with what he said.

“I just,” Matthew sighed again and fussed with his beer, lining and unlining it up with the condensation ring on the coaster as he talked, “I got too into my head. We were fighting. It just, it wasn’t good, Johnny.”

“It wasn’t good or you weren’t good?” Johnny pressed, watching carefully as Matthew’s body froze in response to the question, glass frozen mid-movement, eyes fixed on a broken neon sign in front of him. “Chucky, you don’t do anything unless you already know you can do it. You’ve never been in a relationship as an, I don’t want to say adult because that’s not entirely true, but as an adult, so you probably sucked at it.” 

Matthew rolled his eyes before throwing back verbally at him, “Thanks, Johnny. Loving this pep talk. I’ll make sure when Gio retires, you get my recommendation for the C.”

“We both know exactly,” Johnny tapped Matthew on the forearm, “where that C is going next and don’t even lie. But that’s neither here or there right now. The point is that she was your girlfriend. You were supposed to talk to her about being a shitty boyfriend.” 

“I am not in the mood for this,” Matthew groaned, dropping his head to the bar, recoiling when his skin stuck to it, his face scrunching up in disgust. 

“I mean, Johnny’s right,” said Monahan as he slipped up next to Matthew’s other side, making a second groan slide from Matthew’s throat. “You were supposed to talk to her, not break up with her like a dumbass. She was your friend first. She knew you weren’t perfect and that she’s have to put up with some shit because you definitely don’t know the first thing about being someone’s partner. She went all in with you anyway,” 

“Decided the person you could be and the person she could be with you was worth it,” Johnny jumped back in. 

“Good one, Johnny,” Sean nodded appreciatively, tapping his beer bottle against Johnny’s across the bar in front of Matthew. “She gave you a chance, a hell of a good chance. And you decided to throw it all away? Because you fought?”

“Who the fuck are you right now?” Matthew cursed at Sean. “Where did you find all this girl advice, huh? If I wanted this, I would’ve asked your girlfriend.” 

“Fianceé excuse you,” Sean reminded him, a smile pulling at his lips. “She relayed all of this back to me. She saw her a few days ago. This is all straight from the source, man.” 

“Wait, she said that stuff?” Matthew choked a little on his beer. 

“Yeah, she did. Wanna know what else she said?” Sean didn’t give Matthew time, much like Matthew gave you no time during that conversation a month ago, no regard to if Matthew could handle what he was about to say. “She said you weren’t good at communicating or being a boyfriend, but she was okay with it because she loved you. All she wanted was effort. Just a little effort from you, man. And you just left instead of trying.” 

Your words, albeit coming through the probably clumsy filter of Sean, stung in Matthew’s chest. He felt like a coward, a fraud. He tried so hard to be tough, to be the guy that kept pushing, kept grinding, kept giving a shit even when his team was down three goals with five to play. He was the guy everyone counted on to try, even when everything else was screaming to just give up and accept defeat. That’s what he’d done with you. He gave up when the waves of trials started coming, when a storm kicked up. Matthew had taken one look at a swell coming that looked to be the type that could swallow ships whole, took the lifeboat, and ran without a second thought. He left you on a battered boat, full of holes, without even a bucket to bail yourself out. 

To make matters worse, the wave he had been so scared of was either entirely a fabrication of his own mind and he had run from his own twisted imagination. Or worse, he had created the wave himself and ran before it could catch up to him. 

It was catching up to him now though, sitting at a dive bar in Calgary, a warm beer in his hand, and the weight of what he had done sitting heavy on his shoulders. 

“Fuck,” was all he could say.

“Your dream girl, really.” Johnny was twisting the knife now, but Matthew knew he deserved it when Johnny added, “And you fucked it.” 

“Yeah,” Matthew laughed softly, but the sound didn’t reach his eyes that were still staring at a broken and sputtering neon sign, but really seeing something that wasn’t there. 

He was seeing you, in that pretty sundress, the one with the sunflowers on it that Matthew loved on you because you always looked so happy whenever you wore it. Countless memories of you in that dress. You wore it out with friends, the second time Matthew had ever met you. That’s the first time he remembered thinking just how pretty you were, the way your hair fell down on your shoulders, the way your smile formed, the way your nose crinkled when you laughed. Matthew was used to thinking girls where hot, but you? You were beautiful, standing there, laughing at something Johnny had said, in that sunflower sundress. 

He remembered that dress from the first time he almost kissed you, a month later, walking down the street together after dinner, his hoodie around your shoulders because you had gotten cold and Matthew was always warm. It was the first time you wore his clothes and it made Matthew’s heart beat loudly in his ears, so loud he couldn’t hear anything else, couldn’t think about anything else, but kissing you. He almost went for it, but then you pulled him back to reality, actually pulled him out of the street he hadn’t noticed he stepped into because he couldn’t hear the cars over his heartbeat. 

That dress starred in his memories of your first date that occurred a week after his birthday, the one where he finally kissed you for the first time, over two years after the first time he almost kissed you. It might have been January in Calgary, but there was that dress again, with tights and a thick coat and knee high boots and socks and a little hole at the bottom hem and it made Matthew want to die. If he died staring at you in that dress, kissing you in that dress, he was pretty sure he would be fine with whatever his obituary looked like. 

Except that dress and all the memories of it were tainted because you had been wearing it when he broke your heart, when he watched you break apart and shatter, all of his own doing. Hell, he probably tainted sunflowers as a whole for you. He’d gotten you so many over the few months you’d been together, even though they had cost far too much money since sunflowers in Calgary in the winter weren’t exactly commonplace. The necklace for your birthday, a sunflower and his number in delicate gold, his sister’s idea. 

Matthew wondered if people could hate certain types of flowers for the same type of reasons people loved them. People loved them because of how they looked and smelled, but also the memories associated with them. His mom loved pink tulips, but was it more because she always had or because his father always bought them for her and now she couldn’t look at them without thinking of his dad and all the times he has surprised her with them? Was the existing love or the associated love the more powerful factor in her love of them? 

Either way, Matthew was just hoping you didn’t hate sunflowers anymore because of him. 

“How do I fix it?”

Matthew’s voice was soft, barely above a whisper now, his hand tense around his glass. Matthew had too many thoughts running through his head, but he needed to make sure you didn’t hate sunflowers now. He just didn’t know how to even get you to talk to him to find out if you did. 

Johnny and Sean looked at each other and Johnny sighed when the silent communication resulted in him being the one to answer. “I don’t think you can, Chucky.”

“No, I have to, I have to fix it, Johnny,” Matthew’s voice cracked. “I just, I have to make sure...”

He didn’t finish the thought because it wouldn’t make sense and they would both probably send him home, thinking he was either too drunk or having a breakdown, more likely both, if he started ranting about sunflowers. 

“I think all you can do is reach out,” Johnny told him softly. “Just let her know that you now realize you made a massive mistake, that you want to be a team this time and work on it, I guess. From there, it’s up to her.”

“Should I bring flowers?” Matthew was asking the universe more than either of the two not so romantics next to him. “Chocolates? Something? Is there anything I can bring or do to fix it?” 

“I don’t think you can fix it, dude,” Sean cut in with a sigh. “You can’t force it. if she even talks to you, she’s going to have to decide you’re worth a second shot and knowing her, she’s not going to just give it to you tonight or tomorrow or whatever. She’s going to want to see real change first. You just tell her that you’re going to try and then fucking try, even if she doesn’t ask you to try. Start working on yourself anyway. Start acting like she’ll give you a second shot.”

“Do you think she will?” 

Matthew’s voice echoed how it sounded earlier, timid, small, a whispered prayer from a boy who knew his only hope was if fate heard him and decided to twist the world in his favor, if fate wasn’t a fucking bitch after all. 

“I mean,” Sean sighed, thinking about himself now, trying to shove his feet into Matthew’s water-logged shoes for a moment to find an answer, “if I was her, I wouldn’t. But she’s a better person than all of us put together, so maybe she will, but I know I wouldn’t.” 

Matthew let out a long, shaky breath, eyes fluttering closed for a moment before opening them to pick his phone off the bar. He knew you wouldn’t answer a phone call. He also knew your voicemail was definitely full at this point. He was always the person who had to tell you to delete the old ones whenever he tried to leave you one and couldn’t, but he wasn’t there to do it, so it would be full by now. He had to settle for a text, which felt like a much shittier version of a handwritten letter, but he had terrible handwriting and spelling, but at least it ranked well above an email in the power ranking of methods of communication. 

Please tell me you don’t hate sunflowers because of me. I really hope I didn’t ruin them for you.

Matthew placed his phone face down on the bar, then nervously flipped it face up even though he knew you wouldn’t have even been able to read his text in the millisecond his phone was face down. He didn’t know if you would answer, or if you would even read it. You would read it, Matthew assured himself. He knew you. You never got a text or a message you didn’t read. Would you say anything to him about it though? Would it be on your phone, nested among texts from people who didn’t break your heart until one day, probably a year from now, you would meet someone else and have no need to remember him anymore, so only then would you finally delete it?

Matthew tried not to think about it, but his eyes glanced down at the screen every thirty seconds even though he was willing them to just give you time. He didn’t even realize it was past one in the morning. You were definitely up, he knew you better than to think you would be asleep, but awake and awake and answering texts were different. He just hoped if you were awake, that you didn’t hate sunflowers, maybe that you didn’t hate him, and that you weren’t crying. 

You were awake though, holding that godforsaken necklace that you had ripped from your neck the morning after he ended it and thrown into the back of your jewelry box. The necklace was in one hand and your phone with Matthew’s text pulled up in the other. You were crying, something Matthew desperately wished you weren’t doing as he drank the last dregs of his beer and headed home with his head hung low, his phone alight in his hand as he ritually checked for a reply from you. You sighed, looking between his text and the necklace, wondering if you hated your favorite flower now. That question hung on another one though, one domino relying on the other to fall. Did you hate Matthew Tkachuk? 

Yes, you did. That was decided the moment the door closed behind him and he left you to deal with the crashing waves of grief all by yourself, without even a bucket to bail you out.  

Did you hate him more than you loved him though? 

You stared at the necklace, the one you hadn’t been able to throw away, and you knew the answer. The delicate golden necklace would be buried deep in a landfill if you really hated him more than you loved him, not in the palm of your hand now. But here you were, staring at it until your eyes went cloudy with tears, before you had to put it back in the box. You couldn’t put it back on, not now, maybe not ever, but you also couldn’t bear getting rid of it, the idea making your heart twist in your chest in a way that made you physically wince. 

You put your phone on your nightstand at the same moment Matthew did across town, both with your minds racing over the unanswered text. Matthew went to bed thinking you would never answer it, forever leaving the question hanging in the wind. You went to bed knowing your answer, but unsure if you were ever going to share it with him. 

------

Matthew groaned when he heard his doorbell ring, followed by cautious knocking. He hated that doorbell. The noise was absolutely piercing, especially to his hungover brain. He hadn’t even drank that much last night, but he was so incredibly hungover. Matthew could only guess that the alcohol had worked in tandem with the ache in his chest after deciding he needed to feel worse to create a hangover this bad from five beers over three hours. He shuffled to the front door, not even caring he hadn’t bothered to find any clothes other than sweats on his way to it. Whoever it was was too goddamn early and they would need to come back another time. 

When Matthew ripped open his front door, a groan falling from his mouth at the effort it took, he was looking at the ceiling, head thrown back in hatred of the exhaustion he was now feeling due to having to actually do something other than lay in bed and be hungover.

“Look, this building better be on fire or-”

Everything stopped when he saw it was you. You looked so small to him, standing there, a tray with two coffees in hand and a brown bag in your other hand. Your sweatshirt was swallowing you up and you looked like you were strongly debating making a break for the stairwell with the way your eyes were shifting to the right. There were dark circles under your reddened, swollen eyes, eyes that only looked like that when you had been doing a lot of crying recently. 

Matthew thought you would have a lot of possible reactions to his text. He never once let himself think you would show up at his front door. 

“I brought bagels,” you finally said, after far too long of both of you assessing the other. 

Matthew looked almost as bad as you did. His hair was unkempt beyond normal, the curls broken and haphazard across his head, hanging into his forehead. His eyes were sunken and absent, vacant like a forgotten home on the outskirts of town. Days old stubble patchily covered his jawline, razor clearly lost among his things again. If you weren’t at his apartment, if you had just passed him on the street instead, you might not have recognized him. There was always a lightness to Matthew, an inability to keep his feet on the ground as he searched for the next adventure he could have, but he seemed rooted in place, held down by some outside force. He was complying with it, the force, but it was clearly under duress and it was exhausting him. The force was absolute agony and it was written all over his face, in his posture, in his every labored movement. 

“And coffee,” you added after no words left Matthew’s mouth long enough for an uncomfortable silence to stretch between you both. 

“You’re here,” Matthew breathed out, words spoke so softly as if he feared if he said them too loudly, you would disappear. 

Matthew’s head was pounding. His mouth tasted awful since he went straight to bed when he got home, not even stopping to brush his teeth. He knew he looked like an absolute mess because there wasn’t a way a person could feel like he did and not look like a mess. He didn’t care about any of it. You were here. You were actually here, with coffee, and bagels, at his front door. 

He didn’t think. He knew it was a mistake after the fact, really as soon as he did it, but he also knew there was a chance you were here just for personal closure, that this might be the last time he ever got to see you again. He reached out and grabbed you by your waist, crushing you into his bare chest. His face pressed into your hair, which always smelled like strawberries to him even though you swore your shampoo wasn’t supposed to smell like strawberries. If you never talked to him again after today, he just wanted to hold you one more time. 

You hugged him back, hesitation evident in your loose arms and your tense shoulders. It was barely a hug, but it almost made Matthew cry. Even just the small response, no matter how cautious it was, made him feel better than he had felt in a month. 

“Go brush your teeth and like, actually wake up,” you told him as you pulled away from him. “I’ll, um, toast the bagels, I guess.” 

Matthew was on autopilot as he walked into his en suite and grabbed his toothbrush. His movements were slow, robotic as he brushed his teeth. There was only one thing on his mind, replaying over and over incessantly, persistently. Why did you show up at his place? Matthew was desperately trying to turn the broken record playing his mind over to the other side, hoping to find the answer, but it was only more of the same. There was no reason, no reason he could understand, why you had shown up at his front door. Why you had shown up with coffee and breakfast for him was so far outside of the realm of things Matthew could understand, he had to eliminate it from his mind. 

Until it all suddenly clicked in place, Sean’s words from last night flowing back into his mind. 

You were here because you were a better person than he was, a far better person. Sean had said you were better than all of them, very much including Matthew, put together and it was true. You were bright and beautiful and good, so incredibly good. You loved people with an honesty and a bravery that made Matthew’s heart ache due to the effort it had to put in to keep up with you when he’d been smart enough to accept your love. You were so much better than he was four months ago when you kissed at his birthday party, so much better than the bedraggled boy looking back at him in the mirror today, and somehow infinitely better than the person he was going to be in fifty years, already. Who you would be in fifty years? You were going to be the kind of person that needed a designated overflow zone at your funeral because too many people were going to want to acknowledge they’d felt your love in front of hundreds of others. 

Matthew never deserved the piece of you he’d gotten. He knew that now as he heard you humming softly to yourself as you dropped the bagels in his toaster. Matthew had never deserved you and it’s why he had ended it because he’d known all along. He knew you were fighting because he wasn’t good enough for you and that he never would be. He would have spent his life running at top speed behind you, trying not to slow you down, trying not to be a drag on your life, trying not to lessen the impact for good you could have on the world. You would have never let him go, slowing yourself, stunting yourself in order to accommodate him.

But here you were, looping the train of your life to run back through the temporary station of your relationship with him that was in complete shambles, and Matthew let himself dream it was because you were ready to hold his hand and fix it up brick by brick, piece by piece because you were so good it hurt. Matthew knew the right thing to do would be to make sure your train left the station today, unencumbered by any damage from him, and more importantly, without him. But Matthew Tkachuk was three things that made that impossible. He was competitive, problematically so, always wanting to get better, always wanting to win. Damn it all to hell if he couldn’t spend the rest of his life running to keep up with you because one day, he just might actually catch up if he could figure out how to run fast enough. Matthew Tkachuk was also incredibly selfish and incredibly in love with you, one a personality flaw and the other the purest part of him that had ever existed. He had to figure out how to catch up because he couldn’t let you go.

Matthew stepped out of the bathroom with resolve settling into his clenched jaw. He knew asking you to take him back without any proof he could improve was a hopeless avenue. He couldn’t ask you for that; him asking for anything was already unfair, he needed to try to at least ask for the least he could. Any plan he had formed was tossed out the window of his high rise the second he saw you, sweatshirt hanging off your shoulder, hair piled on top of your head, humming softly to yourself as you spread cream cheese on his and your bagels, barefoot in his kitchen. For a moment, that moment Matthew held his breath so you wouldn’t hear him standing in the kitchen doorway, it was like the last month hadn’t happened and you were still his. Matthew hung in the moment as long as his lungs would allow, soaking it in case he never got to see it again. 

“You going to keep staring or are you going to come get your bagel?” 

Your words pulled him out of his thoughts violently, head shaking off the ideas that had been swirling, pulling him down that whirlpool of you and him that might just kill him. He yanked the nearest bar stool out, dropping down into it unceremoniously, before graciously taking the bagel and the coffee you’d brought for him. 

“Why did you ask me that?” you finally said, words slicing like knives through the palpable tension in the air. “The sunflowers. Why that? After a whole month? That?” 

You said a few extra words then you’d meant to say. You were trying to keep everything short and brief, just here in a quest for the peace you needed and nothing more. More words meant more feelings and more feelings meant the idea of peace slipped further away with each expressed word. 

“I just,” Matthew ran a hand aggressively through his curls before starting over, “I just wanted to make sure that after everything I did, I didn’t ruin one of your favorite things for you.” 

You sighed, debating if you wanted get into this or not with him. What could it hurt? It was just a story.

“I like them because my mom does,” you told him softly. “She always had them growing by our house when I was little. She always had them in a vase by the front door, and she had these sunflower earrings, these little golden ones. They’d kind of like the necklace-” 

Your fingers touched the bare skin where the necklace he gave you had sat until a month ago, fingers finding nothing to touch to. Matthew’s eyes had followed your movement, saddening when he saw you weren’t wearing it even though he hadn’t expected you to be. 

You cleared your throat before continuing, “Anyway, she lost them a while ago. But I guess they just remind me of home. That’s why I got that dress. I got it when I first moved here. I saw it walking around downtown in a window and just took it as a sign that everything was going to be alright, you know?”

Matthew nodded softly as he continued to listen and mindless pick at his bagel. 

“And then when we started dating and you figured out they were my favorite flowers and started getting me dozens of them all the time, I guess you and us started creeping in as part of those reasons I love them. It kind of sucks because they make me sad now and I can’t wear that dress anymore.”

The words were tumbling out of your mouth now, practically on top of each other. You weren’t sure where you’re going, but more words meant more expressed and acknowledged feelings and you were saying a lot of words. Matthew was trying to keep up, trying to take time to process and read between the lines. You always said so much whenever you spoke, half of it jammed in between sentences in pregnant pauses and shifting eyes. He was trying to take it all in, trying to figure out how you were actually feeling, but you weren’t resting in any one emotion long enough for Matthew to identify it. 

“But no,” you sighed. “I don’t hate sunflowers. They’re sadder now. It used to just be missing home, but now they make me miss us. But I don’t hate them. I don’t think you can fully hate something that reminds you of so many people and places and times that you loved. I don’t hate them because I don’t hate you, Matty.” 

He didn’t ruin one of your favorite things for you and you didn’t hate him. In full honesty, Matthew didn’t think you hated him. He knew one of your flaws, but also your best quality, the one that made Matthew feel so lucky to have been with you, was your capacity for love. It got you in trouble sometimes, kept you with people you shouldn’t have been, made you believe in fake friends’ false pretenses, but it also the only reason you didn’t hate him now and the only possible reason you would ever accept any sort of olive branch Matthew could clumsily extend. 

“I fucked up,” Matthew said suddenly. He wasn’t thinking, wasn’t filtering. He should have taken his time, picked his words carefully, but it was you and you didn’t hate him and Matthew was painfully awful at this sort of thing and he was overwhelmed with the idea he might just have an opening back into the warmth that was you. “I’m so fucking sorry. I totally get if you can’t trust me again. I know I’m a shit boyfriend. But fuck, I love you. I know I do. I’m just so bad at showing it. I want to fix that. I want to fix it with you. I want you and I want to show you I’m not a fuck up and that I do love you. I won’t need a second chance ever again, just some patience. Please.”

Matthew let out a long, shaky breath when the final begging word left his lips. He knew he’d been pleading with you with each and every word, hoping something he could say might hit you in just the right away, might have just the right effect to get the result he so desperately craved. You. Back in his arms. Back in his bed. Back in his jersey at his games. Back with him, where he wanted you more than he had wanted anything in an embarrassingly long time. 

“Is any of that even true?”

Your question stopped Matthew in his tracks. It felt like a punch to his chest, right over his already aching heart. How could you doubt that? No, Matthew knew how you could doubt it. You could doubt it because you could doubt every single thing about him if you damn well pleased. He deserved every bit of doubt and caution you presented. He had broken you because he refused to take his seat at the adults’ table and talk about how he felt, how he was feeling insecure, how he felt like a bad partner, and how he felt worse about all of that because he felt like he couldn’t fix any of it. He attributed the two of you not working out to you two not being a match, instead of acknowledging his own flaws and what they were doing to both of you. In retrospect, all of that probably would have been far better to say to you than what he had actually said, but words couldn’t be stuffed back in his mouth. They were now in your mind, in your memory, and Matthew would just have to live with another mistake on the laundry list of things he had done wrong regarding you.

“Every single word is true,” Matthew told you softly. “I have so many other ones too, if you want to hear them.” 

You breathed out hard, shoving the air forcefully out of your lungs as you ran a hand through your hair, “You don’t get to say those kinds of things to me, Matthew. You don’t have the right to that.” 

“I know,” Matthew grimaced in reaction to your words.

He should’ve held his tongue, but he had so much he needed to say to you. But there he was again. Thinking about himself, only himself. He wasn’t considering you, wasn’t communicating with you. He just vomited all of his thoughts and feelings up without even bothering to see if you were actually open to receiving them. Saying you didn’t hate him didn’t even correlate to being open to the conversation Matthew had forced into your hands, unaware he had even pried your fists open to put it there. 

“I shouldn’t have forced that all on you,” Matthew admitted softly. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I just, I have so much I want to say to you.” 

“Matthew,” you sighed. You had been doing a lot of sighing lately. “I don’t think-”

“I don’t want you to take me back,” Matthew cut you off. “At least, not right away. I don’t deserve that. I know that. I’m not asking for that.” 

You crossed your arms over your chest, eyes scanning over his face to try and figured out where he was going. You thought he would ask you to take him back, something you weren’t going to do without a sign from him that it would actually be different this time instead of exactly the same, with a shorter honeymoon period. Another two months with him, only to suffer the same heartbreak wasn’t enough time to make you take a blind chance it would be different. You needed something to hang your hat on, something to make you feel like he wanted to be your partner this time around. You needed to see him try, try in the long nights apart, try in the close nights together, try in the afternoon dates, and try in the stolen morning moments. You needed to see Matthew try and be your partner, and not just some emotional, freeloading friend with benefits version of a boyfriend who would spin you around a dance floor, then into his bed, then leave whenever you asked for more.

“Then what are you asking for?” 

Your words were quieter than you expected, confusion ringing heavy in each syllable. Matthew ran a hand through his hair, frustration evident in how his fingers tugged on his curls at the end. He didn’t really know what he wanted. He just wanted a shot to prove to you he was worth your time, that he could be the partner you deserved. He wasn’t even sure he could be, which was part of the reason he was struggling to speak to you now, feeling like he was trying to row up a rushing creek made of his current feelings and his past failures without any sort of paddle or even a life vest, about to drown at any possible second.

“I just, I want to show you that I’m worth a real shot again.” Matthew was begging now, figuring that if you said no, at least you would know how badly he wanted you. He couldn’t get more pathetic than asking you if he’d ruined your favorite flowers because it had somehow said everything without saying anything at all. “Just, let me be around, let me earn a second chance. Let me show you I’m trying, trying to get better, trying to communicate better, trying to be someone who is good enough to deserve half of you. Let me show you I can try and that I’ll keep on trying forever, if that’s what you want from me. If you want to watch me try for five fucking years before giving me another shot, that’s fine. If you want to watch me try to five fucking years and then not give me another shot, that’s fine, at least I spent five years trying for someone who is so goddamn worth it, it hurts.” 

“So, you want what exactly?” you pressed, a defensive laugh edging at your voice. “You want to just, what? To be around all the time? To be together all of the time? That’s just being friends, Matthew, and you were always a great friend, but you were a shitty fucking boyfriend. You want to spend all day with me, showing me that you’re trying to be better, then do whatever you want when you’re not around me?” 

“No, I, fuck,” Matthew groaned, hands digging into his hair, head dropping to the cold granite counter in dismay at the mess he had made. 

“Here’s your first communication test then,” you told him, letting the passive aggressive biting words you held at the back of your tongue roll off the front of it instead. “Tell me what you mean.”

“I don’t want anyone else.” Matthew banged his forehead on the counter with each word, frustration getting the better of him now. “I don’t even think this is going to make sense, but let me be your boyfriend even though you won’t be my girlfriend. That sounds so fucking stupid now that I said it out loud, but I guess I’m just trying to say I’m going to be one hundred-percent, all gas no brakes, full throttle about you and trying to actually change for you and show you I’m changing, but you can do whatever you damn well please because even letting me try is a fuck load more than I deserve.” 

Matthew let out a breath to try and steady himself before continuing, “I know I’m still asking for a lot, both of your time and of your ability to at least sort of try to look at me not like the guy who said all of that shit a month ago. But I promise, I’ll be worth it. You do whatever you want, no strings, no jealousy, nothing. Let me be around and prove I’m worth a real second shot, please. You can send me packing whenever you want and I won’t bother you. You’re just too fucking incredible for me not to ask to try, even though I don’t have any right to ask.” 

You breathed out hard, forcing all of the air out of your lungs. Matthew was asking, begging, for an opportunity to prove himself, to prove he could do what you wanted all along, just for him to try. Standing in his kitchen, bare feet cold on his hard wood floor, the idea of giving him that opportunity made your heart pick up in your chest, but made pain radiate through it at the same time. The romantic in you, the part of you that wondered if maybe Matthew Tkachuk was actually worth it, the part of you that loved sunflowers even though the memories attached to them were so incredibly mixed now, wanted to give him a chance. The other part of you, an equal part of you, was screaming, demanding that you be protective of yourself, of your happiness, from the people you let into your life, especially ones who had already proven then had no problem burning the life you were building for yourself and leaving before the ashes started to fall. 

But did you even have a happiness you needed to protect? If you didn’t, then the answer was simple. If there was nothing to protect, there was extremely limited risk. You were already in a variation of hell of his own creation, sponsored by the feeling of someone you love deciding you weren’t worth an ounce of effort. What could it do to you if he failed? It would just affirm what you already experienced as a perennial fact instead of a potentially annual moment. 

But the romantic inside pushed back, hard. Would you always wonder what would have happened if you gave him a chance? Would you always carry a torch for him? Would there always be an empty room, with a light left on, for him, in the house of the life you ended up making for yourself? 

Romanticism versus realism. That was the question at hand. You knew both sides of the argument, the angel and devil on your shoulder both just facets of you, screaming at each other, both trying to decide what was best for you. They were just extensions of you though, so if you didn’t know, they didn’t know. But you did know two things though. 

You knew you still loved sunflowers and you still loved Matthew Tkachuk. 

And that was enough to convince you punch him a round-trip, one month ticket on the train of your every moving, ever developing life. You would be directing the path, choosing which tracks you would take, making all the moves, and he would have to figure out how to be your co-director. You weren’t going to stop or simplify anything for him. You were just going to continue on. In a month, the train would loop back to the station and you would decide to punch him another ticket, offer him the seat next to you, or leave him stranded there, alone at a run down train station probably in the pouring rain like in all the movies, before he would leave and watch as the station crumbled to dust upon his exit along with the idea of you and him. 

“Okay.” 

You settled into your answer as you gave it, trying to get it to settle over your body in a way that made you feel warmer rather than colder. Matthew’s eyes were staring into yours and he looked like he was teetering on the edge of crying, like he wanted to tell you everything that single thing that word made him feel, but he bit his lip and held his tongue. He was listening instead of talking, a welcome change, a welcome first attempt. 

“You get one month,” you told him, your voice shaking as you tried to force it to be level. “One month of being around, I guess we can call it that. You figure out how you want to prove it to me. I’m not here to help you out. You hurt me. This is me, unlocking the front door for you. You have to figure out how to open it all on your own, okay? After a month, I guess we can talk and see where we’re at.” 

“Thank you,” is all Matthew can figure out how to say for a moment. One month to try and show you he was worth another maybe, or if he let himself dream for a second, one month until you might want to be with him again. “I’d take anything, so thank you.” 

“Take your fucking breakfast,” you smiled softly, trying to break the tension as much as one joke can. “And your coffee is cold now but that’s going to be a you problem.” 

“Is your coffee cold?” Matthew asked you. He just wanted to fix something, even something as small as a too cold cup of coffee. “I can fix it.” 

“Well, it’s iced coffee,” you informed him, a genuine laugh in your voice this time as you reached behind you to grab your drink on the opposite counter, giving the cup a little shake, ice rattling, as you showed it to him. “So, I sure hope you’re not going to try and warm it up.” 

“No, no,” Matthew laughed softly, hands fiddling with the collar on his now room temperature at best coffee. “Probably should’ve asked what you were drinking first.” 

You nodded softly, “Your heart was in the right place.” 

Matthew smiled softly as you and your heart picked up in your chest again. God, that smile. It cut through everything, through the dull ache in your chest, through the deafening noise in your head of your own thoughts, and hit you right in the room in your heart that was reserved for him. It was vacant now, but the lights shone brighter for a moment and the furniture in the basement that used to be in there for him rattled, drawers and cabinet doors smashing, a reminder that everything you felt for him was still there. It might be covered in drop clothes and an inch of dust, but it was there. Part of you was already ready for him, but it wasn’t most of you. Maybe one day it would be. Or maybe this was one of the worst things you’d allowed in a long time under the impression that he simply couldn’t make things worse for you, which was almost a challenge to that fucking bitch fate at this point. Your insecurity and shaky foundation got the best of you for a moment and a sentence like a child’s prayer slipped out of your mouth. 

“Matthew, please don’t waste my time.” 

“I won’t,” Matthew’s words followed yours without a second of hesitation. “I promise. I won’t.” 

The romantic in you hoped he was right, that this would be worth how difficult it would be, how difficult it would be to look at him over and over again with his past words playing like a broken record stuck on a broken record player in your mind. If he truly did try, then enduring the torturous reminder of the past would be more than worth it because you were pretty certain that if Matthew Tkachuk could figure out how to be everything you knew he could be, he would be the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen. But could he get there? You didn’t know, but sometimes people take risks, people bend until they almost break in search of love, like sunflowers bend towards the sunlight, in search of a new and brighter day.

------

You woke up the next day after breakfast at Matthew’s, after ducking out for a planned series of activities, lunch with a friend, and errands to run. You had tried to fill your day after Matthew’s to give yourself an out if it went poorly and a break from Matthew to process everything if it turned out positive. Part of you was wondering if what had happened was really positive or not, but you felt better today than you had over the last month, able to get out of bed and get the coffee pot started with too much extra effort. The bags under your eyes looked better than they had in weeks.

A knock on your front door, eerily reminiscent of the one you’d delivered on Matthew’s door the day before, brought you and your freshly poured cup of coffee in hand to the door. You opened the door and were greeted with an unfamiliar face with a very familiar expression, one far too cheery for the hour in the day. The smile plastered on her face didn’t falter as she read your name and address off her list to confirm who you were and that she was in the right place. You nodded as confirmation, which just made her smile impossibly wider. 

“Great! These are for you then!” 

Her voice was somehow worse than the fact that she was downright euphoric before nine in the morning. No one who could be this excited about life before nine could be trusted. She practically shoved a bouquet into your hands, turned on her heels, then seemed to skip down the hallway and out of your building. You shook your head as if to shake off the memory of the world’s cheeriest delivery person from your mind, before turning back into your apartment, kicking the door closed on your way to the kitchen table. 

Of course, they were sunflowers. Matthew’s consistency with flowers was never in doubt. You grabbed the card, smiling at the words printed on the small card.

If you don’t hate sunflowers yet, give me a month. You’re going to get so many, you’ll be sick of them. Lunch today? - Matty

You tapped the card in your hand, taking deep steady breathes as you walked over to the counter where your phone was. You were really doing this. You were really giving him a chance to show you he could be better than your downright awful four months full of casual disagreements, fights, and near constant miscommunication had shown you. There were people in your life you didn’t think would approve. No, you knew they wouldn’t approve. That’s why you hadn’t told a single soul about yesterday, but this wasn’t about anyone else. It wasn’t about the opinions they would be bound to have. It wasn’t about what they thought was best. This was you and Matthew and everything that was still there. It wasn’t for other people; relationships never were. 

You texted him, accepting his invitation for lunch. He texted back immediately even though it was way too early for him usually. If Matthew had practice at ten, he wasn’t out of bed until a quarter past nine and he lived fifteen minutes from the arena. Your mind wondered if he had been awake, just waiting for your text, but you pushed the thought of side as you headed to take a shower. He wouldn’t get up before nine unless his building was on fire. 

Across town, a curly-haired boy who had woken up two hours earlier than he usually did, just to see if the girl he loved had gotten her sunflowers, smiled when he saw her text.

She had gotten them, thankfully. Matthew got to go to practice with a smile on his face, wondering how she’d smiled when she had seen the flowers arrive, and with the knowledge he’d get to see her smile in person after practice. Well, if he played his cards right, he’d probably be able to con a smile or two out of her. He felt damn near giddy, like a kid at a county fair who had too much cotton candy and who has just accidentally won the biggest prize the fair had to offer, even though he hadn’t even come close to winning you back yet. Getting to be around you again was his win, and it was so much more than he thought he would ever get, he could feel like a little kid for the morning if he wanted to.

He could and did feel like a little kid the entire time he waived for you at the restaurant. Matthew arrived fifteen minutes early. Being late had been his specialty the first time around, not necessarily a problem often within itself, but compounded upon everything else Matthew didn’t do then, a list that seemed to grow longer the more he picked apart the past from your point of view, showing up early carried more weight. The shock on your face when you saw him already waiting at the table when the hostess brought you around was proof enough that every effort Matthew made, every single thing he took notice of from the past and changed, would make a difference. 

“Hey, how was practice?” you said as you dropped down into the seat opposite him. 

Matthew had the smallest sliver of hope that the sunflower dress would have reappeared, but he knew he didn’t deserve that. He didn’t deserve to see you look like you had when he had gotten the opportunity to take you out the first time, to do this right the first time. If he hadn’t screwed everything up with his stubbornness and his general inability to be a boyfriend, he wouldn’t be wishing for that dress right now. He could be in your apartment, holding you, face in your neck, arms around your waist, decompressing from practice and life in general. But he was here, sitting four feet apart, in the middle of a restaurant, knowing he wouldn’t even get to hold your hand on the walk to his car later because you hadn’t even driven together. 

“Um, practice was good,” Matthew told you, his mind still running through a seemingly endless list of things he could be doing with you right now if he hadn’t given up before ever really getting in the game. “How was your morning?”

“Good. Didn’t do much since I didn’t have work.” 

Matthew nodded, taking a sip of his water before doing what he would need to do over and over again, if he really did want to get the chance to love you to you again. He tried again.

“So, um, how’s your mom doing?” Matthew asked, hands trying to find a resting spot on the table, his lap, somewhere.

“Fine.”

The distance across the table felt wider with each passing second to Matthew, like you were somehow slipping further away from him with each clipped answer you gave. It was painfully obvious that the sunflowers had only gotten you to show up. The magic of them had worn off the second you sat face to face with him and had to claw through all of the emotional shrapnel that was heavy in your chest and in your mind that Matthew had caused to sit across a table from him. Just sitting across the table from him, all you had was your past with him on your mind. You had too much time to think, to remember. Matthew needed to find some way to overcome it, to make you see the him from the present and not the past when you looked at him. It wasn’t going to happen in this restaurant with nothing but time for you to get hopelessly lost in the past.

“Okay, nope,” Matthew sighed, tossing his napkin and menu onto the table. “We’re not doing lunch here.”

“You picked it,” your brows furrowed down in confusion as Matthew stood from the table. “Do you not like see anything you like?” 

“I see you,” Matthew slid in with a playful smile on his face and just for a moment, you remembered why it had been so easy to fall for him what felt like a lifetime ago. “But no, this just isn’t working. Let’s get out of here.” 

Matthew threw far too much money on the table considering the only thing you had ordered was water, but he felt bad for wasting the wait staff’s time, and started putting on his coat. You slowly rose from your seat to do the same, confusion pulling your brows together. A patented Matthew Tkachuk date was a meal and that was pretty much it. A change of venue mid-date? Multi part dates? Definitely not in his wheelhouse. Especially when you considered you hadn’t even ordered an appetizer yet.

“Where are we going?” you asked him as he gestured for you to lead the two of you out of the restaurant. 

“Honestly,” Matthew sighed as he pulled the door open for you, waiting for both of you to exit before continuing, “I don’t really have a plan. That just felt stuffy? Weird? I don’t know. It didn’t feel like us.” 

“What does us feel like, Matthew?” you sighed, tucking your hair behind your ear, a nervous habit that would never die and never stop making Matthew want to die since he thought it was the cutest thing he’d ever seen, every single time. 

“I know what it used to feel like when it was good,” he told you. “We could talk for hours about anything. We used to be able to anyway. I know it might be awhile before we can do that again, but that wasn’t like the good parts of us and you know it.”

You sighed again, something you knew you would probably be doing a lot as you tried to give Matthew the space to just try, but the part of you, a large part of you, the part couldn’t stand not being the line leader in kindergarten, was screaming at you to do something, anything. Kiss him, which would have been the worst idea you might have ever had, slap him, also not advisable, get in your car and leave, not a great suggestion either. Just something, anything other than just standing in the street, looking at him and remembering how much it all hurt, how much it hurt to love someone who always seemed to have one foot firmly planted somewhere that wasn’t with you.

“Come on. I know a better place,” Matthew told you, pulling you out of your spiraling thoughts before you could fall too deep into them.

It took everything in him not to offer you his hand. He was pretty sure holding your hand might make him cry, which wouldn’t be the best look for him, but he was pretty sure it would feel like heaven. But no pearly gates were going to open for him today. He’d have to settle for standing next to you with the knowledge that maybe heaven did exist after all.

You walked side by side with him as he weaved through the streets of downtown, staying close, but far enough apart so you couldn’t accidentally brush his hand with yours. You stayed in step with him into a nearby coffee shop, the warmer more comfortable atmosphere already sinking into you and Matthew, loosening your shoulders, the tension softening. The restaurant had been cold somehow, harsh, and considering your love for him was pretty frozen in permafrost, this was much better. 

“They supposedly, according to Benny, have the best blueberry scones in the city,” Matthew said softly.

“You know me,” you smiled softly. 

“Love a good baked good.” 

You and Matthew spoke in unison, bringing a laugh over both of you, tension continuing to loosen with each passing moment. Matthew asked you what you wanted and ordered for you, mostly so he could pay without hearing a fight from you about how you didn’t need him to pay for you. You sat down with your scone and your coffee at a table Matthew dwarfed, but he didn’t seem to mind too much as he looked at you. 

“So, take two,” he joked. “Is this better by the way? You just didn’t seem happy at all there. It seems like this is more your speed.” 

To say you were stunned that he was actually checking on you, trying to tune into your emotions, would be an understatement. He had showed up early and was asking about how you felt, genuinely. His blue eyes, long standing one of your favorite features of his, bounced across your face, trying to take in every micro expression before you could even answer the question.

“Yeah, Matty,” the older nickname sliding out, “this is better.” 

“Okay, good,” he smiled softly and this one made its way to his eyes, crinkling them at the corners. 

He asked you about work, desperate to catch up on the office drama he had missed. You asked for updates on the team, the things the media would never and could never find out about. He asked about your mom again and you actually told him. Sliding back into old ways, it didn’t feel like your relationship in the coffee shop. It felt like your old friendship. The world felt like it felt when you fell in love with him in secret originally. Matthew was actively listening to you the entire time, something he deeply struggled with because did he ever have the tendency to talk too much, but he was trying. He apologized for cutting you off once to tell his own story and you almost got whiplash when he sank back into his chair and verbally gave you the floor. He was making space for you, fully and honestly, and trying to appreciate you inhabiting the space he was making for you in the conversation and in his life. He talked too much, but there was a peace he found in listening to the best person he had ever had the privilege of knowing tell him stories, tell him about her life like she wanted to give him part of it and god, did he ever want part of your life. 

Matthew went home that day and was damn near clinical about the whole thing, breaking apart everything he could remember about how you reacted to what he said, what you seemed to appreciate and what you didn’t. He treated his memories of it all like game tape, reviewing what he considered to be a win after a rough first period showing, looking to areas of success and areas of possible improvement and man, he was finding a lot of areas to improve. He kept getting stuck on your smile, the few true ones in the coffee shop, where you looked like the girl he fell in love with instead of the hollow one he created with his own words. Matthew let himself sit with those moments for a couple of steady breaths. You were worth the effort, he reminded himself again. You were. 

The next morning you were thankfully already milling about, halfway through your coffee and halfway through getting dressed when the knock came to your front door. You had a suspicion based on the knock which somehow itself was cheery that you were going to open the door to the same delivery person as yesterday. There she was when your door swung open, ponytail swinging, smile tattooed on her face, unable to fall. This time though, she shoved a bouquet of a dozen red roses into your hands, much to your confusion. You almost asked her if she’d given you the wrong flowers, but she had already vanished who you looked up from the flowers, off to curse the next person with her cheeriness. 

When you placed them on your side table next to your sofa, the spot on the kitchen table still inhabited by the sunflowers from the day before, you at least knew she’d given you the right bouquet. 

Can’t always get you sunflowers, sweetheart. Got to keep you on your toes. :) - Matty

You immediately pulled your phone out of your pajamas pants pocket and shot off the first thing that crossed your mind to him. 

Variety is NOT the spice of life, Tkachuk. Stick to the status quo.

You got a text back shortly after exchanging your comfortable pajama bottoms for the confines of work appropriate pants. You checked your phone seven times on your walk to your car, feeling like a version of yourself you thought you left behind in middle school. You had dealt with unrequited feelings for Matthew so long, fell in love with him in secret, that when you had the chance to love him out loud, you jumped at it and so did he. It might have been the only time you had ever been completely on the same page together. Before that, you had been fast friends, falling into friendship without any effort really by either of you. This was something else. Matthew Tkachuk was putting in more effort than you saw him put into anything besides his career. The effort was making you feel like you should be back in a plaid skirt, shoving a binder into your locker, and whispering about the cute curly-haired boy from your science class, a kid with a crush who had no idea what was yet to come.

But you could only wish you had no idea of what was to come. It had already come, running you over faster than you could ask, your heart shattering under Matthew’s feet due to his carelessness. One sentence from the speech he so carelessly used to break your heart felt like this moment. At best, I think we just had middle school crushes gone off the rails. The amount of times you had fallen in and out of crushes in middle school was too high to even attempt to count. Was what you were feeling just a recurrence, a temporary realignment of the train on the tracks? Was Matthew putting in all this effort for fleeting feelings? Was he right this whole time? 

------

Matthew Tkachuk was working against himself with you, fighting the mess he’d made of you and him a month ago. He created the situation that made you build the walls he was trying to surmount with an army of sunflowers and his poor excuse for love. Matthew was good at a few things, hockey, being a pest, and creating chaos. Righting the chaos he made had never been a task that was asked of him before and now, three days after that first day in the coffee shop, he was struggling to figure out where to go from here. He wanted to make the right decision, systematically work through the heartbreak he’d caused, taking leaps each time he saw you until maybe he’d be close enough to wrap you up in his arms and never let you go again. He might have to settle for a baby step today though since you were at work, slammed with a new project from your boss, with no time to see him

He sent you lunch at work instead, from your favorite burger place you always went together. You swore you could have cried when you realized he included both sweet potato fries and regular fries, your mind pulled back to the first time you went together, back when you were just friends. 

“Should I get the sweet potato fries or regular?” you asked him. 

“Get the sweet potato ones,” Matthew told you, running a hand to push his curls out of his face. “You always get regular fries and complain about how you should’ve gotten sweet potato whenever we all go out to eat together.” 

You agreed with his suggestion, letting the conversation fall comfortably back over the two of you as you waited for your food. You hadn’t even realized time had passed when the waitress dropped off your food. Spending time with Matthew melted away stress and your perception of the passage of time, letting you live in the moment, unencumbered by the stressful comings and goings of your day to day life. 

The sweet potato fries had been a good choice. They had a honey drizzle on them and you were more than pleased with your selection. But Matthew’s regular potato fries appeared to have some sort of special seasoning on them and you were itching to try one, but Matthew wasn’t big on sharing in general, let alone when it came to food. He saw you staring at them and groaned. 

“You’re the worst,” but he flipped his plate around so the fries faced you anyway. “Don’t say I never do things for you.”

“You’re the best friend I’ve ever had, Tkachuk.” 

You frequented that same burger joint with him throughout the years of your friendship that came after, and during your short relationship. The burgers you ordered changed, but never the fries. You got sweet potato. Matthew got regular. He let you steal as many of his as you wanted without a single complaint sliding between his lips despite dozens of repeat visits to the restaurant.

In your office, holding a container of sweet potato fries and a container of regular in opposite hands, you thought it was a little ridiculous that french fries were making tears well up in your eyes. He hadn’t forgotten. You shook your head to shake off the desperate thoughts that were swirling, the ones that were tying emotional weight to french fries of all things, and shot him off a quick text to thank him for lunch before getting wrapped back up in your day. You didn’t see his reply text until you had already kicked your heels off at home too many hours later. 

Would never forget to get my girl her whole meal :) 

Sometimes, love wasn’t big gestures. Oftentimes, it wasn’t even gestures that would make much sense to relay to other people. Two kinds of french fries wasn’t something you could explain to anyone else because it would just seem childish, but you felt cared for. Above all, you felt remembered when you’d opened that bag. You felt like Matthew Tkachuk had seen you almost two years ago in a restaurant and remembered exactly who you were in that moment and still knew who you were today. The french fries would go untold to anyone else, but they made you smile more than the roses on your coffee table when you fell asleep that night. 

The next month felt like it happened all at once. There were enough sunflowers to create your own you-pick patch of them, rose and tulips and whatever other kinds of flowers Matthew knew the names of interspersed, just to keep you on your toes. Movies nights at his place, complete with half-burnt, half-unpopped popcorn courtesy of Matthew’s non-existent culinary skills. Nights out, full of laughter and storytelling that made you feel like nothing had ever changed, like you had flipped over an extra month in the calendar, skipping one entirely, the month you’d been apart, and moved on without it. He felt like your friend again, something that had lapsed when you’d started dating. You both tried so hard, arguably too hard, to change your relationship into a romantic one that you didn’t leave space for friendship, booting it out without anything solid to fulfill its previously occupied space. The relationship collapsed without a solid core, the frail coverings of romance too heavy for the hollow center to bear. 

Matthew wasn’t perfect by any stretch of the imagination. He still talked over you, parts of his brain running faster than others. He still forgot to talk to you on road trips sometimes. He still forgot your sister’s birthday. He still resisted emotional responses from you, physically pulling back and trying to dodge conversations that would bring discomfort. The gestures were there, hundreds of them in the form of your favorite flowers, but was it enough? Did you truly believe you two were hand in hand, putting the train station of your relationship back together, or was this just an attractive paint job hiding the cracks for a few months until they became exposed again because of time? Was the effort a permanent fixture? Or was it just a passing small town station that Matthew had created to attract you, pulling you into town with the promise of nice accommodations and restaurants always being available, only to abandon them as soon as the train left the station and your life got on without you, leaving you stranded, trapped in a small forgotten town forever?

As you walked into your favorite coffee shop, you cut the line, heading right to the front like you had become accustomed to doing. Matthew had called your order in and paid for it over the phone every work day before you got there since that first day after he sent you lunch. He knew what time you usually got to your favorite shop, and worked it out with the staff that they had your order ready for you now like clockwork every day. You had been able to gain twenty minutes of sleep from it, but you were wondering now if this would all stop if you took him back or not. Really, the coffee order ceasing would be more than fine. Love wasn’t in monetary gestures like this one technically was, but what else would disappear with it? Would Matthew trying to verbally and physically make space for you in his life disappear too? Would him genuinely trying to, even if it’s hard and he’s pretty shitty at it, understand your emotions fade away? Would all the effort fragment into sporadic moments, slowly growing further and further apart until they stopped happening all together and you wasted years of your life giving Matthew Tkachuk your love and not getting enough back? 

You didn’t know the answer, which is why you were thrilled you were having dinner with some of your closest, non-Matthew related friends after work. You had been keeping Matthew a bit of a secret. Actually, a complete secret. You knew your friends wouldn’t approve at the start, so you hadn’t told them a thing. They would have told you he didn’t deserve any semblance of a second shot, that the things he had said in the past could never be overwritten by future good actions, that you weren’t supposed to give people who break your heart second chances. But now, you were at a crossroads. 

You could give Matthew more time, maintain the status quo until inevitably your heart gave out. You could open your arms to love him again, knowing full well that you would never be one hundred percent sure or not. You could brush him aside, thanking him for his temporary effort that would never be enough for you. Three clear options left you further from a solution than you thought possible. You needed advice. You needed opinions from people who only had stake in you in this relationship. You needed to be more selfish than you knew how to be, so you were passing the task off to your friends. 

While they were usually quick to pass judgment, they were silent as you went through every painstaking detail of your past month, starting with that fated text about sunflowers, through every dinner, every movie, every moment until the text you got before you sat down in this chair at dinner with them. You were exhausted by the time you got through everything, emotionally and verbally spent, feeling no closer to your answer. You had hoped retelling everything would pull you in one direction or the other, with no such luck. Your friends, however, weren’t undecided in the slightest. 

“So, you’re ending this experiment, right?” 

You were shocked, almost spitting out your drink at the harshness of the words that spilled out of your best friend’s mouth. She shrugged off your shocked expression. 

“I mean, it was a nice experiment, I guess, but a total waste of your time,” another friend added. “There isn’t any way to prove this is a permanent change and I, for one, will never tell you to take that kind of a risk. You’re too good to put up with a guy who very well could end up not being worth it.” 

Your friends were talking a mile a minute, all at you, but really at each other in their bubble of agreement, agreement that Matthew Tkachuk was not worth your time. He could buy you flowers, coffee, as many lunches as he wanted to. He could make promises about listening and trying and making an effort, but he was on trial during it all. He was under a performance review. It was a manufactured situation as far as they were all concerned, entirely unrepresentative of who he would be outside of it. When there wasn’t a close date, a date he could begin to slack off again according to your friends, and you demanded engagement and effort from him every single day without any relief from that pressure, he would fail. He would fail every single time. 

How had you not seen that? You created a situation with a time limit, a window in time he would have to be a different person than he was, with a definitive end date. Was anything he had done representative of actual change, or was it just a temporary side step towards being closer to what you needed, only to return back to his original spot when you took him back? There was no way to know if anything he had done over the last month was real or some elaborate farce.

The farce, this charade of a month, it swept the both of you up with returning feelings of seemingly endless longing from when you loved each other in secret. You were pretty sure Matthew had gotten swept up right along with you by the fantasy of fate and love being something unbreakable that would always pull people back together. This effort wasn’t real, even if Matthew believed it was. It was all part of some twisted game fate was playing by telling the both of you that you were meant to be. Two puzzle pieces that aren’t supposed to go together don’t go together, even if one tries to bend their corners until they can. Matthew thought he was cutting corners off, not just bending them, making permanent changes to fit with you, but it would never matter. The picture the two pieces that were you and Matthew created together would never be correct. You were shades of blue, like the sky on a Sunday morning as you remembered it as a child full of wonder, like the ocean, powerful and unstoppable. Matthew was red, like the deepest tones of a fading sunset, like the feeling of sitting by a fireplace on Christmas morning. Both pieces individually were beautiful and important to the larger picture, but they didn’t belong anywhere near each other. There were no transition colors. It was blue and red, black and white. They couldn’t mix. They just had to fit. And you two just didn’t fit. You didn't create a picture together. It was just two pieces trying desperately to create something you couldn't because red was your favorite color and blue was Matthew's and fate was a fucking bitch.

You were crying as you walked into your apartment building and pulled out your phone. You typed out a text that echoed one you’d received two months ago without even meaning to do it. 

We need to talk. Come over? 

It was identical to the one Matthew had sent before he set all of this in motion and you were about to mirror him even more closely. Before he came over, you had to have your words collected. You knew he would push back, try and argue that your friends didn’t know the two of you, that they didn’t know what you both felt. But feelings were fickle and often told lies and it was telling you and Matthew the same one right now, that this would work if you tried hard enough even though it would just hurt a thousand times worse when the lie became undeniable six months down the road. 

You almost didn’t notice the small package on your doorstep, eyes too clouded with tears to successfully unlock your door on the first three tries. You snatched it off the doorstep, a sob breaking through your chest when you realized it was from Matthew, no address on the package, just your name scribbled on the top in his horrendous handwriting. He had dropped this off himself and somehow that made it all feel more heartbreaking in your chest. You shuffled inside, the fourth attempt being the charm today, and tore into the package as you kicked the door shut behind you. The wrapping was even his handiwork, too much tape, not enough but somehow too much paper, and you were ruining it with tears dripping on and staining the paper. 

You sat down on the floor, back against your front door. The lid of the box slid off easily and you tossed it aside. You were greeted with a picture of your mother, one you had framed on your front table, mere feet from where you had collapsed on the floor. It was your favorite picture of her, something you had definitely told and retold to Matthew one too many times. You flipped it over in search of some reason for it’s inclusion, finding more of Matthew’s handwriting on the back. 

Hey sunflower, 

Hope work was good today :) If it wasn’t, I’m sorry and call me and we’ll talk about it. They switched our flights around for this roadie so I’m on a plane right now, but I wanted you to have these before I left. 

You told me your mom was a big part of the reason you loved sunflowers and that she had these sunflower earrings you loved growing up, but that they were lost. I saw your mom was wearing them in this picture, so I took it to a jeweler and well, they aren’t the ones your mom wore, but I hope you like them anyway. 

I know you probably aren’t ready to hear it from me, feel free to skip to the end if you aren’t, but I love you and the past month has made me realize just how much I do and how stupid I was in the past. I’m going to keep trying to get a little better every single day and maybe, if I try hard enough, I might become someone who deserves you. 

- Matty  

Your hands shook as you slowly set the picture on the ground next to you and pulled back the tissue paper. Nestled safely in the box were two golden sunflower earrings, delicate golden wire bending to make up their shape. They were identical to the pair your mother had worn almost every single day of every summer of your childhood. Except these were yours. And they were made for you by a boy who loved you who was trying really hard to become a man who loved you and deserved to be loved back by you.

Suddenly, it didn’t matter. Your judgmental friends didn’t matter. Your negative thought spirals that tried to ruin everything good you ever had that was risky because the best things in life were always inherently risky didn’t matter. Fate and whether or not she was on your side or not didn’t matter. Matthew Tkachuk mattered. His effort was real and raw and pure and the most beautiful thing anyone had ever done for you and it mattered. And all Matthew needed for all of his effort to matter was exactly one single act of effort from you. It would have to be a continuous act, a constantly, daily task, but all he needed was your patience with him. And as you sat on the floor, tears staining your cheeks, holding a pair of sunflower earrings you knew Matthew Tkachuk was worth your patience, that he was worth your love, and that you didn’t hate sunflowers at all, not even a little bit.

People weren’t puzzle pieces. You and Matthew Tkachuk didn’t fit together seamlessly to create one image because that’s not how people work. Puzzle pieces are stagnant, fixed, unchangeable. People are supposed to flex and grow and change, be mutable over time, with contact from others. You were blue now, but there was no reason to say throughout your life, from touching other people and their beautiful lives, that you would always be the same shade of blue you were now. Tomorrow, maybe you’d meet the most yellow person you had ever met in your life, and you’d be a little more green for it. Matthew Tkachuk was red and just maybe, purple was supposed to be your favorite color. 

You pulled out your phone and deleted six words and two punctuation marks you had typed walking into your apartment building, but never sent. You replaced that text with a picture of the earrings in your lap, and simple red heart emoji because you knew words would fail you and any words that came to you, you wanted to say to his face when he got back from his trip. He texted you back almost instantly, just a simple red heart emoji. Matthew had started the red hearts. When you were friends, he’d send every other color except red. But when when you started dating, he would send a red heart whenever he wanted to kiss you but couldn’t, when he was on the road and wouldn’t see you for a while, when he was across the table from you at dinner with his parents. It was one of your little quirks, little things that neither of you had forgotten, an old habit that never worked its way out of your behavior. You didn’t send red hearts to anyone else anymore, and neither did he. But you sent one to him now. 

Matthew Tkachuk sat on a plane that night, wishing he could driven across town fast enough to deserve to get pulled over and kissed you instead of sending you a stupid fucking emoji. He fell asleep that night, letting himself remember what it felt like to kiss you, something he had kept in the back of his mind for the last month because the thought of never being able to do it again made his knees pull up into his chest to try and block off pain that was unfortunately coming from inside himself. But tonight, tonight he let himself remember it, let himself pretend that you were thinking of the same thing, let himself remember what it was all like with you because you wanted to kiss him too. He fell asleep with a smile on his face for the first time in months and woke up the next morning with it too, still thinking about you and getting back home to you to finally get to kiss you again. 

------

Matthew didn’t even think twice when his feet touched the tarmac a few days and two road wins later. He knew where he needed to go. He got to his car and tossed his tie into the passenger seat before starting to drive way too fast to your apartment. He didn’t hit a single red light, which made him think about fate again for a brief moment, but then he remembered this wasn’t about her or anyone else. Everything was just about you, you and your love affair with big yellow flowers and hopefully, him again. He took the stairs two at a time after parking incredibly poorly in front of your apartment, but he didn’t care. He just wanted to kiss his best friend, the girl whose heart he broke, the girl that somehow didn’t hate him or sunflowers, the girl that just might love his undeserving self in spite of it all. 

He barely got two knocks on your front door before you yanked it open and Matthew could swear he wanted to die. There you were, a lightness in your eyes he hadn’t seen for months returned to you. Your hair was pulled back, the earrings he had made for you on display. His eyes drifted down, taking in the familiar golden chain around your neck, the one that had been missing for two months now, the one that held a small sunflower and the number nineteen at its base. But Matthew Tkachuk swore his heart almost gave out when he saw the familiar white neckline of that damn sunflower dress. You hadn’t worn it in the past two months, unable to take it out of your closet without crying, but you put it on today and it made you smile. 

“Hi,” he breathed out. 

Driving over with the intent to kiss you was as far as he’d gotten and you in that sunflower dress was making it impossible to think of anything other than that one word he had managed to say.

“Hi,” you breathed back, a genuine smile pulling up the corners of your mouth.

Matthew cleared his throat, letting his eyes close for a second so maybe he could try and think about something other than how you looked right now. He let his head fall back, taking in a deep breath, giving his head a shake in a vain attempt to shake off some nervousness from his mind to clear his thoughts. It worked well enough so one thought could slip through as he let his head fall forward and opened his eyes into your gaze again.

“Do I, um, get another month?” Matthew asked you, his voice timid and frail, on the edge of breaking. “Today is a month.” 

You looked up at him, eyes taking him in. The parting of his lips, the happiness that finally reached his beautiful blue eyes, the curls falling on his forehead, the wrinkled game day suit sans tie that you knew was probably crumpled in the passenger seat of his car. He was on a tightrope, ready to fall to either side with your answer. One side was absolute heartbreak, the kind he was pretty sure would taint the concept of love for him for most of this life, and the other was joy and love and happiness and everything he ever wanted. He was ready to fall with your words, giving you all the control to push him to one side or the other. 

“No, Matthew,” you told him softly.

Matthew’s face started to fall instantly and he felt like his heart dropped into his stomach where his own body started to eat away at it immediately. The dress, the earrings, the red heart, everything, he thought he had finally broken through to you. More than that, he had thought he finally was loving you in a way you wanted, in a way that you deserved. He thought he finally had enough of the pieces of what you needed, wanted, and liked together in himself to be someone you wanted to give your love to. He knew a month wasn’t a lot of time, but he’d loved for over two years now. He loved you as a friend. He loved you when he thought there were only unrequited feelings. He loved you when he was your lover. He loved you when he broke your heart out of sheer stupidity, when he thought fighting meant you would never work together, that somehow he was wrong to love you. He loved you the entire month he didn’t see you. He loved you this past month he spent desperately trying to show you he could love you through actions, not just in his own head and chest, that he could love you like a partner, like you deserved to be loved. 

“You don’t get another month,” you continued, each syllable twisting the knife deeper into Matthew’s chest. “You don’t get another month because you don’t have anything else to prove to me, Matthew.” 

Matthew willed his eyes to find yours again, hoping the hope that had just alit itself in his chest wasn’t misguided. You were calm, your eyes steady, keeping contact with his. Matthew almost dared to feel reassured for a moment, like maybe the hope he felt when you said he had nothing left to prove was correct. But if he was wrong, which he so often was in general, but especially with emotions, yours in particular, it would just serve as an additional twist of the knife. When it was already in so deep, did it really matter anymore? 

“You’re not on trial. No more tests,” you said to him, letting your love for him you had tried to store away pour out. “I want you, Matthew. I want you and me. I want to see if purple is my favorite color.” 

The purple part was beyond Matthew and he made a mental note to ask you about it in a minute, but he needed to kiss you right now. He reached out and you leaned into his touch for the first time in a long time. His hands cupped your face and you rocked up on your toes as he pressed his lips to yours. Your hands came up to rest on his chest as he kissed you so softly, tenderly. He wanted to crush you into him, but that wasn’t what this moment was. This was hopefully the end of the longest period of his life he’d ever have to go without kissing you again. He wasn’t going to rush this, his second chance with the girl who loved him for some reason and sunflowers for much more obvious reasons. 

Matthew was slow as he pulled away and tilted his head down to rest his forehead against yours. One of his thumbs shifted to ghost over your lips, his blue eyes staring into yours, but really past your eyes, and into you, seeing you better than anyone else did. He loved you without the rose colored glasses. He saw you and loved you, it had just taken him almost too long to figure out how to show it. It had almost taken him too long to figure out that love wasn’t just something you could feel and ride the feelings to bliss. Love was daily effort, trying and retrying and sometimes he would fail, but it was constantly showing up anyway. Love was hard, but holding your face in his hands, he knew you were worth the effort he planned on putting in every single day for the rest of his life. 

“I love you, sunflower,” Matthew whispered, the words left raw and unpolished by how real the feelings he injected into them were. 

“I love you too.”

[bts-hyperfixation]

Mine - kinktober - day 18

Jimin X reader

Yandere warning

I do not condone the behaviour of Jimin in this fic it is purely fictional. Is this is not for you please check out the other kinktober fics I have, none of the other 17 are yandere related

F!masturbation f!oral

It is the first time in a long time you and all of your friends have managed to get away. Six of you had rented a three-bedroom villa in Cyprus. Roommates had been decided long before the trip had even begun

“I get to stay with Y/N” Jimin had called as soon as the reservation had been booked. You laughed at his eagerness. The two of you had been best friends for the longest time it had seemed like the obvious choice, but it was nice to have the reassurance. You had met Jimin while you were in high school, the two of you had attended different institutions but somehow you’d kept bumping into him – at sporting events he’d be there, randomly in town he’d be there, at the most obscure parties he’d be there sipping a drink eyes meeting yours whenever you walked in the room. You’d always joked that fate just wouldn’t let you not be friends. Actually, before you truly became friends you had attempted to make a move on him. Beyond drunk in some football players back garden, you clumsily dropped hints and tried to kiss him. Instead of taking advantage he just took you home. After that, your friendship was solidified. You never really broached the way you’d acted that night. It was buried deep in the rich history of your relationship.

Once settled in the villa, the six of you were lounging around the pool trying to decide what to do that night.

“We could go for a meal? Couple of cocktails? Nothing big we did just get here” someone suggested.

“Oh come, we should definitely go crazy, lets go skinny dipping on the beach” another proposed. Jimin’s gaze fell to you waiting to see how you’d react to the suggestion. He wanted nothing more than to see you naked, but he didn’t want others prying eyes to see you that way. You should be his… only his.

“How about we go half crazy half chill and go clubbing?” your idea coming as a happy medium, the group nods in agreement. You and the other two girls in your group rush to shower and prepare, readying yourself for selfie upon selfie in beach themed clubs. The guys however hang back soaking in the remaining rays before spending considerably less time preparing for the evening.

Once on the clubbing strip it doesn’t take you long to lose most of the group. You make plans to meet back at the taxi rank at 1am and everyone is gone, the boys running in the direction of the bar offering the cheapest beer, the girls into the bar with the hottest guys. You glance along the line of bars and decide on the one in the middle after seeing a girl walk out with the fanciest cocktail you’d ever seen.

You make your way to the bar and order the fruitiest drink on the menu before making yourself comfortable on a barstool to wait. This bar seems to be relatively quiet in comparison to some of the others. It also provides a nice vantage point for you to watch the world go by, occasionally seeing your friends go with it. Not normally one to stray without at least one friend around it makes a nice change of pace. When your drink arrives, you find yourself chatting with the charming bartender in between his customers. He tells you all about what the locals get up to when the tourists disappear. They have huge beach bonfires with tons of food and drink that go on well into the next morning. He even invites you to the next one they were planning a week from now, just before you leave. The two of you are chatting for hours, you get through six of those cocktails before you even realise you are drunk. Its well passed 1am when Jimin finds you still sat there.

“Y/N” the worry is evident on his face as he approaches you “We were so worried why weren’t you at the meet up point? Why didn’t you answer your phone” you glance at the long abandoned electronic.

“I’m sorry Chim I didn’t realise” your words slur slightly, and you can see the anger flash behind his eyes. You mistake it for anger at you for not keeping your promise. You hop down from your perch on the stool and lose your footing. Jimin catches you before you fall and keeps his arm secured around you. He starts to lead you away but not before you can give the bartender your number. Jimin delivers you to the rest of your friends before heading back into the bar, claiming to need the bathroom.

He marches up to the bar seething

“How could you let her get like that” he spits at the guy you had been talking to.

“Dude she’s a big girl, she can handle herself” he just shrugs it off and turns to go back to other customers but the singer isn’t finished.

“You don’t know her like that! You should’ve just left her alone. She doesn’t need a pretty boy like you in her life” the other man is at least half a foot taller than Jimin and twice as broad, but he doesn’t care. All he can think about is how careless he had been letting you out of his sight, letting someone else flirt with what was his. Luckily, the bartender just scoffs and rolls his eyes.

“Look she didn’t tell me she had a boyfriend, ill back off it’s all good” he puts his hands up in surrender and Jimin accepts, if only because it will start to look suspicious if he is away too long. That and he has already been away from you long.

The next few days are filled with uneventful beach days and house parties. You were gutted that the cute guy hadn’t texted but moved on regardless. Today the boys were supposed to go off and play golf or something, honestly you had kind of zoned out when they started talking, thinking of all the things you could do when you finally had your bedroom alone for a few hours. Of course, it was great sharing with your best friend, but there are certain itches you were unable to scratch with someone else in the room.

You waited until they had been gone for a while before excusing yourself and drawing a bath in the ensuite in your room. You sink into the water and allow the heat to loosen your muscles. Your music is blaring through your headphones to block out the other girls having a water fight downstairs. You stretch one leg over the bath to give yourself better access and start to imagine all the dirty things you would have done to that bartender given the chance. It’s not long until your thoughts drift to the friend you swear you only thought of platonically.

The boys return from their trip earlier than planned, the golf course was closed for the day, so they had gone for lunch instead. Jimin headed straight upstairs, assuming you’d be outside with the others. The sight he is greeted with makes him immediately hard. You’d left the bathroom door open, enjoying the breeze from the AC mixing with the steam from the water. The sounds tumbling from your lips were sinful. Jimin’s hand move almost involuntarily to his bulge, palming himself through the thin material of his board shorts. Moans that mimic yours pour out of his mouth, getting so loud you can hear them through your music. You cease your motions, but Jimin is so caught up in the thought of you he doesn’t notice until you scream.

“Jimin!” you shout throwing a shampoo bottle at his head as punishment for perving. But he doesn’t leave. In fact, he comes straight in and replaces your hand with his own. You are so shocked by the daring action your convinced it’s a dream. That you’ve fallen asleep in the tub fantasizing about him, and it manifested in your unconscious mind. That is until you realise even your brain couldn’t make you feel this good. His thumb rubbed expertly at your clit as two of his fingers explored your hole, curling in just the right ways. His eyes never once leave yours, daring you to ask him to stop. You don’t think you could if you wanted to, your mouth too busy moaning at every thrust of his hand.

Your orgasm comes quickly with the new assistance, and as you come down you really take in the situation.

“Jimin…” you start but your cut off as he lunges forward lips on yours. The kiss is desperate, almost like there’s something to prove. You return the passion, emotions from that drunk night many years ago resurfacing. He pulls away breathing heavily, unwilling to take his hands off your body. The body you are suddenly aware is naked, as if he didn’t have his hand on your most private area just moments ago. The blood rushes to your cheeks as you bite at your lip, unsure of where to go from here. You opt to go with whatever he chooses to do next. He feels around a pulls the plug out of the tub before bringing forward a fluffy white towel and wrapping it around you.

He carries you from the bathroom and places you on the small sofa in the corner of your shared room, before kneeling in front of you and looking at you like an eager puppy waiting for a walk. His hands trail up your thighs and you open them for him. He takes in the sight of your puffy lips, as if committing them to memory. Then with little hesitation his head surges between your legs, lapping hungrily at your sex, lewd whines leaving his mouth in time to the sounds being drawn from your own lips.

“This should be mine, all mine.” The vibrations of his voice only add to your pleasure “If you needed help you should’ve told me. This all I’ve wanted since I first saw you, all I’ve worked towards” the words don’t fully register in your blissed-out state “I want…. to please you… for you to need me… for you to be mine.” He punctuates each sentence with kitten licks to your pussy. Three fingers have now worked their way inside you and your struggling to focus on his confession, all you know is this feels right.

“Yours... all yours” you pant out, caught up in what you think must just be a kink that he has. For the second time he has you cumming, this time all over his tongue. The noises that escape him would make anyone think he was the one mid orgasm, and they wouldn’t be wrong. Finally having your juices coat his tastebuds proved too much for Jimin as he rocked his hips to create fiction, releasing in his shorts seconds after you clenched around his tongue

Kinktober

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@adventuresinwonderlust @thedarkwinterrose @samros95

[3mmafr0st]

Remember Me Part 3

Previous Part <-------> Next Part

Bucky Barnes x Reader Summary: Y/N has escaped, but where does she go from here?  Word Count: 1.5k (Sorry this ones a little short)

Warnings: Homelessness, a striking lack of Bucky, but soon my friends, soon, ANGST, reader not understanding computers very well A/N: Im apologizing for the lack of smut in this part, but I really like following the canon

I was woken up abruptly by a quick jab to the ribs, quickly waking up and going into action. I grabbed the object and twisted it away.

“Hey, I’m not looking for a fight here, just wanted to make sure that you didn’t overdose on whatever you were on last night.” I looked up to see the older man that had talked to me the night before. He was in his forties and dirty looking, but had kind eyes, shielded by a pair of small glasses. “Can’t have the cops pokin’ around here, bad for everyone.” I got up from the wet grass, wiping myself off from anything that may have gotten on me. 

“For the record, I wasn’t high.”

“Could have fooled me.” I shook my head, rolling my eyes. He couldn’t have understood the intensity of the situation that I was in. Hydra was probably after me, and I had no idea where to go or what to do about it.

I couldn’t help but think about Bucky, what happened to him and where he was right now. He had to have gotten out, right? He was a better agent than I was, simply in physicality. He had the capability to escape, we would find each other. But how had they found us out? There must have been some sort of suspicion, something that tipped the higher ups off about what we were going to do. How could I have been so careless to allow someone to find out the plan. But that was the past now, I had to focus on what happens next. 

“Where’s the closest library?”

I walked down the sidewalk toward the library, trying my best to blend in, looking inconspicuous against the crowd. I was lucky enough that the closest library was only two blocks away, I was already a little tired from last night with everything that happened. 

I looked to my left, and sure enough, there was a quaint little library that looked cozy. I shook the handle and pushed at the door, thankful that it was open earlier than most places. 

The walls were covered in children’s drawings. I knew I shouldn’t be wasting time, but the entire thing was so uncanny, so unabashedly civilian, something I hadn’t experienced in who knows how long.  At the small front desk sat a woman, maybe in her thirties with a small name tag.

“Hello miss, anything I could help you with today?” She smiled sweetly at me, welcoming me into the library. 

“Actually, do you guys have computers that the public can use?”

“Yes, they’re right over in the corner.”

“Thank you, also, do you happen to have some paper and something to write with?” She turned around, picking some paper and a pen up and handing it to me. I returned her smile and headed over to the out of date computers sitting at the back of the room. 

I turned the old thing on, a sound a little bit like music coming out of the speakers as it booted up. It was then that I remembered that although I’ve shoved a flash drive in one of these and let things happen until it said “COMPLETE,” I wasn’t too familiar with computers .  Sure I had wanted to work with those beautiful machines, simply being left alone with one for an hour with a manual and figuring out all of it’s secrets. I had no idea what in me was pushing me so much towards them, but it was there.

Once the machine turned on, I looked at the display. Luckily, it wasn’t too difficult to figure out, there were only two little icons on the screen, and the one that looked like a little trash can was probably not what I wanted. The other was a little colorful circle called “Chrome.” Personally, I didn't see what was chrome about it but I clicked it, and a screen popped up. The word “Google'' was written across the middle of the screen along with a small bar with a picture of a magnifying glass at the left side. 

It took me a minute, but I figured out what I needed to do. The first thing that I could think of to search for was Bucky. I typed his name into the search bar and pressed enter, and tons of results flooded the screen.

The problem was that I didn’t know any of the concrete facts about him. I knew that his name was Bucky, and how he was sweet and funny even though we’ve both been through so much, but I didn’t know his last name, or when he was born, or even how old he was. 

There was a little tab called images that made the most sense to me. If I could find a picture of him in the pool of “Bucky”s that existed in the world, I could find out who he was, and then hopefully, figure out who I was from there. There were many pictures, at first it was overwhelming, but as I scrolled slightly, I found it, found him. 

He looked younger, more innocent, with a short haircut and a blue leather jacket that made me swoon a little bit. He looked different, but I couldn’t mistake those beautiful blue eyes. I clicked on the picture, which led me to a sight called Wikipedia, with his photo in the corner. 

“James Buchanan Barnes, born on March 10th, 1917, was a member of the Howling commandos and best friend to Steve Rogers (Captain America).”

I continued reading, writing down the important bits , how he was tested on by HYDRA way back in 1943, and how he was supposedly killed after falling from a train. But he couldn’t have died, I didn’t know him back then, I knew him now. 

The name Steve Rogers continuously popped up, so I clicked on it, and was flooded with even more information. Once I had everything I had to know written down after the rabbit hole I had been down, I turned to the librarian to ask her one last question.

“Do you think you could give me directions to Avengers Tower?”

I would have preferred to take a cab but I couldn't without money, so walking 20 blocks was my only option. The tower was huge, and I found it much too easy to walk right in. There were people walking and sitting at tables in the lobby, working at filling out paperwork. I went up to the desk, not allowing them to get a word in before I could say what I needed to. 

“I need to speak with Steve Rogers.”

“Ma’am, if you just give us a moment, we can help you.”

“No, you don’t understand, everyone here is in danger, Bucky is in danger.” A man in the back stood up, walking towards me to get a better look at me. His hair was graying and his glasses filled up most of his face. He looked pale, as if he had just seen a ghost. 

“Y/N?”

“Get this shit away from me! I told you, I need to talk to Steve Rogers, he’s the only one who will understand.”

“Y/N, I know you don’t remember but we need to do some tests.”

“Please, just get me in touch with him!”

The lab, I’ll admit, was friendlier than most that I had been in. The room was filled with computers and scientific equipment that I really wanted to go and play with for some Rita’s on. There were nodes stuck to my forehead that were oddly gentle, but I still didn’t like the feeling.There was a small TV connected to the ceiling showing the news. A woman’s voice was heard over the mess that was being filmed. 

“In breaking news today, wanted fugitive from S.H.I.E.L.D., Captain America, has been spotted in Washington D.C. battling with a masked stranger in the middle of the highway. “

I  looked to the screen and immediately recognized him, It was Bucky, my Bucky, fighting it out with Steve Rogers. He had taken off his goggles, the two of them fighting with an intensity that I had never seen before. The only person that could match Bucky in a fight like that was me, so this was damn impressive. 

“There! There he is, you need to get me to Washington D.C!”

“Y/N, you need to calm down, we need to help you first.” A second man began to get near me, pulling the leg of my pants up, exposing the metallic nature of my left leg. I panicked and kicked the man away, sending him across the room. 

“I don’t need help, I need to get to Washington D.C., and how the hell do you know my name?” I pushed the man off of me and got up, trying to get out of the lab. I had almost made it out of the door when I felt a sharp pain in my neck. I immediately felt woozy, falling back into the chair closest to me.

“It’s gonna be ok, Stats, I’m gonna take care of you,” The graying man from earlier said, helping me back into the lab chair from earlier with music less resistance than before. My vision got spotty, as his wistful, almost bittersweet facial expression was the last thing I saw before total blackness.