#here comes the avalanche of tags

[glow-205]

Day 27: Siblings

@bluegecko98

(nearly) All of them!

[28ms28]

HAPPY NEW YEAR

(if you wanna spoil your new year further here's all the other parts )

[getvalentined]

Biting my own fingers to keep from going off on too much scientific bullshit in this next chapter of Smoke and Mirrors because Nobody Needs All That and it breaks the pacing but also MAYBE I NEED TO EXPLAIN THAT GENESIS COPIES ARE JUST MEN WITH A DISEASE WHO WENT ALONG WILLINGLY—

[chilumi-shipper]

A prompt came into mind.. up to you if you're interested.

So, character and reader got married but character cheated because he said he doesn't love the reader anymore. They're technically done, but haven't finished doing the divorce files (because it's expensive and takes a long long time). But.. character got into an accident.. which made him forget everything that happened recently, and only remember the days he loved the reader. Reader's conflicted, the mistress that character has doesn't know what to do either. Character was confused on why he would marry anyone else when he has the reader fo begin with.

I think this fits your styles.

Btw, I LOVE ALL YOUR STORIES! I RE-READ THEM EVERYDAY-

Someone Better

Childe x Fem!Reader

Summary: Childe was a wild spirit, so when he got bored of your relationship, he sought the excitement of another woman. You were heartbroken, ultimately asking for a divorce. But just as your connection was almost severed, he got into an accident, losing every memory of his infidelity and returning to the man that made you fall in love him.

Tags: Cheating, Amnesia, Pining, Angst/No Comfort

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

You were staring at the tremendous amount of divorce paperwork sitting on the desk of your hotel room.

It was very complicated, five years of marriage with joined insurance, property, bank accounts, and now you have to meticulously separate all your joined assets, all while constantly on the verge of a breakdown.

Not to mention you had no family to stay with in Snezhnaya. There's absolutely no one you could talk to about everything, you've left your homeland thinking your future in the cold nation with the love of your life would be nothing less that fantasy.

As you rest your head on the desk and closed your eyes tightly to ease the headache, your ears perk up as loud knocks hit your door.

With a groan, you got up and opened it to reveal your two of Childe's older siblings.

"He's looking for you." The older sister said, Alevtina, her seriousness evident, looking at you somewhat panicked.

"I know, big si-" I paused for a moment, closing my eyes and rubbing my temples. "I'm working on the assets, I'll send it as soon as possible."

"No." The chilly tone of the older brother, Alexei, sent shivers down your spine. "You need to come with us."

...

"Big sister Y/N is here?" You hear Teucer's innocent voice as you enter their home. The younger children laid their eyes on you, seemingly eager to come closer, but perhaps they've been told that now would not be the time.

"Honey... Thank you for coming..." Their mother embraced you warmly, still accepting you with motherly affection. "Oh dear, I'm so sorry..."

"Mama, has he calmed down?" Alexei asked from behind you.

Your mother-in-law parts from you slightly, looking at you tenderly. "She will definitely help."

You put your confusion and questions aside, seeing the somewhat tense air within the house.

"Stop staring." You weren't looking at him, but you felt his eyes watching you set down a tray of soup and medicine on his bedside table.

Childe lets out a chuckle. "Sorry, love, I can't help it..." His eyes never faltered, containing a look of admiration that you've been unfamiliar with for so long.

"After the avalanche, I got a pretty bad head injury. When I woke up, you were the first thing on my mind. And when Mama said you weren't here with me, I freaked out."

You sat down on a chair next to his bed, your eyes observing the bandages wrapped around his head. "What did the doctor say about your injury?"

"I'm gonna get some very bad headaches, and I also got a bit of amnesia, I think." Childe looks as if he's in thought. "Do I seem like I forgot something?"

"Maybe some things..."

"But I love you just the same! So I bet what I forgot wasn't even that important!"

...How cruel.

Having to take care of the man that broke you apart, even worse, a version of him that you loved too much to despise.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

It was painful, staying with him.

Childe would keep you close, call you his different pet names, cuddle up to you, all while you were under the pitiful gaze of his family that knew of his infidelity.

On the other hand, he's been feeling the cold responses his advances have been receiving. But to him, he thinks he can solve it by smothering you in more of his love.

He is pretty observant, he's put it two in two together that he may be missing a memory in which he had done something wrong. He just didn't know how much it had hurt.

Though, not only from you, Childe had also felt that his younger siblings seem distant as well, no longer asking him to play snow games outside, or looking up to him as some sort of hero.

One early morning, when he walks up to the kitchen to see you cooking for the whole family, a smile formed on his face.

He steps closer, wrapping his muscular arms around your waist. "Hmmm... Morning, honey..." He basks in the feeling of you.

You remain quiet, letting him do as he pleases. The ginger frowns, however, feeling unsatisfied by your lack of reaction.

"Babyyyy... Loveee meee backkkk..." He whines, nuzzling his face on your neck.

"Ajax, come on..." You stifled a laugh, moving slightly away as his action tickled you. He hears the slight giggle of your words, smiling against your skin.

You compose yourself, pushing him away from you. "Stop." He lets you push him away, and you feel him freeze slightly at the harshness of your tone.

His blue eyes looked at you worried. "...Hey," He starts. "I'm sorry, darling, did you not like that?"

With a sigh, you looked down. "When the others wake up, tell them I already made breakfast. I have somewhere to be."

You walk pass him, but you did not miss the hurt tone of the faint call of your name.

...

You come back to his family's home after doing some more paperwork for the divorce that your husband doesn't even remember, feeling your head pounding as you ready yourself to face him again.

What you don't expect to see this late at night is Childe sitting on the porch with a lantern next to him, his head hung low as if he's thinking deeply.

"Childe?"

He looks up, but he frowns at you. "Ajax, darling..." He reminds you.

Standing up, he pulls you into his warm embrace. "I love you... I missed you..."

His words take you aback, as you reluctantly wrap your arms around him.

"I've been thinking about this morning, about you. You hate me."

"I know I must've done something... you can tell me." He kneels in front of you, staring at your eyes while his sparkle with the light of the lantern. "And even if I don't remember, I'll make it right..."

As you look down at him, you see the fiery passion of love that burned in his eyes as he knelt down to ask you to marry him so long ago.

It scares you...

You might not be able to control yourself...

"It's just hard to take care of you sometimes." You smile ever so slightly, yet his frown only deepens as tears start to escape your eyes.

He stands, his hand finds its way to your cheek. "Love..." His eyes held such conviction that you've not seen for years. "I'm so sorry..."

You close your eyes to hold in the tears, shaking your head and swaying his hand away. "...You're not."

Despite the tears, you tug at his arm. "Come on, let's head inside."

He's filled with questions, but seeing your sad face makes him set all those aside and focus on you for now.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

"Teucer, hey, little man." Childe calls for his little brother.

The little boy looks at him wide eyed. "I don't want to talk to you." He crossed his little arms, turning around to leave with a displeased look.

"What...? Oh come on..." The harbinger pouted, getting down on his little brother's level. "What did I do wrong...? All our siblings are acting so mean to me..." He whined, frowning as he tries to persuade the little ginger.

"But you were also very very mean!" Teucer refused to look at his older brother, the one he used to look up to the most. "We don't like you anymore!"

Childe's playful facade faded as his expression contorted to a confused one. "Hey, what do you mean...?"

"You're so mean to Y/N, you hurt her! She doesn't deserve tha-"

"Teucer!" Just as his brother erupted to a crying mess, screaming at him with all his little heart, their mother walked into the room, grabbing the little boy.

"Don't talk like that to your elders!"

"But it's true, Mama!"

"That doesn't matter, say sorry to-"

"What does he mean, Mama? Why did I do?" Childe looked at his mother expectantly, his voice starting to shake as he saw the fit of rage Teucer had because of him. "W-What did I do to Y/N?"

HIs mother shook her head, trying to ease her expression with a smile. "Nothing..."

"It's not nothing, Mama!" He raises his voice by accident due to his frustration. "I see it, the way she looks at me, it's different. The way you all look at me, like you have a monster inside your house."

Teucer forced his way out of his mother's hold, running to his older siblings room all teary eyed. Childe felt bad, but he desperately needed answers from his mother.

"Mama, please, I need to know why Y/N doesn't... love me anymore..." It hurts him to say, but based on the way you're acting, he could only make the assumption that your feelings have wavered.

"Oh, Ajax... it's not like that..."

The ginger then felt a sharp pain in his head, making him fall down onto the couch. He groaned as he clutched his head.

"Hey... where are you heading off to so late at night?" He hears your soft voice in a static audio playing in his head.

"Out." He then hears himself replying coldly.

"Ohh, when will you-"

He's out the door before you could even finish your question.

"Ajax, honey!' His mother's voice was a hazy blur as he keeps his eyes closed to envision what he's hearing in his head.

He tries to shake the feeling away, but his mind is flooded by fragmented memories.

"You've been going out a lot more recently." Your concerned voice entered his ears.

"I've been busy."

"Busy where?"

He then hears shatters of glass and yells as you sob while trying to talk to him.

He pictures your face, your crying, begging face, asking for some sort of salvation from his cold and merciless actions.

"T-There's someone else?"

"Someone better."

"H-How could y-you do this?"

"When I look at you now... I feel... nothing."

Childe opened his eyes, not realizing that tears had started to flow to his cheeks. "Mama..."

"Y-Yes, dear?"

"I hurt her..." He was in a state of disbelief. "I-I... Why...?"

His tears fell faster, looking at his mother for answers. "W-Why, Mama? Why was I so stupid? Why did I choose to lose her?"

"I don't know, dear, but that's simply what happened, and you could never make her forget that, even if you forgot."

His breathing started to accelerate, feeling like he wanted to punch himself. As his head started spinning, his vision turns black.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

You took a deep breath as you walked into the house, feeling everyone's eyes on you as you entered.

"Honey..." Your ex mother-in-law embraces you once again, holding you tight. "I'm so sorry... I didn't want to make it difficult for you..."

"N-No, no..." You returned her hug, sniffling as you start to tear up. "I readied myself for this, I'm just here to drop off the final papers..."

"Could you talk to him?" Alevtina suddenly asked, looking at you hesitantly. "I know he's been a jerk... but he won't eat unless he talks to you."

You parted from their mother, feeling the pressure of their request.

"It's okay to curse him, or to scream, or rough him up, I'll even help you." Alexei placed his hand on your shoulder to comfort you.

You nodded, sighing as they guided you to his room. And as you entered with a heavy feeling in your chest, he immediately sat up, alerted by your presence. You stare at each other for a bit before you muttered a word.

"Hi." You greeted him shortly.

"Hey..." His voice was soft, and his eyes followed you attentively.

"I'm sorry to intrude, I'll make this quick." You breathe deeply, trying to relax yourself. "I finished the papers, split the assets, got the lawyers."

"I talked to her, y-your woman..." You looked down, fidgeting with your hands. Childe seemed unfazed by it, though his gaze seem to falter at the mention of 'his woman'.

"She... umm... wasn't really interested anymore after the accident..." You breathe heavily, feeling small under his gaze. "But... your family's here to take care of you..."

Clearing your throat, you continued. "I do have one request, if I could... I would like a safe boat ride back home." You stepped closer, intending to hand him the envelope that contained all the paperwork to finalize your divorce.

"Take it all." You stopped in your tracks as he spoke.

"The house, the mora, the boat. It's all yours..." He lays back on his bed, staring at the ceiling. "Would you also do me a favor?"

You looked at him, encouraging him to speak.

"Carve my heart out and take it with you."

"...Can we be serious for a second?" You sighed.

"I would like to stay with you. I think that would be a good way to do it without constantly wanting to punch myself." You noticed that his eyes started to flood with tears.

"Ajax... I'm sorry this happened to you..."

"No, Y/N, I'm sorry... I'm sorry for everything." He sat up again, tears falling from his eyes as he looks up at you with genuine eyes. "I don't know why I did that. And I... I regret it so much..." He reached for your hand, and you let him hold onto you for strength.

"Every tear I had in me I already cried when you left me for her." You smiled bitterly, though you remained soft, making him even more guilty as you try to stay strong. "But I appreciate the apology..."

You pull your hand away from him slowly, feeling that he was reluctant to let go.

"I-I still love you..."

You gave him a final smile. "You'll love someone better than me... Childe..." You back away, leaving him alone in his room still yearning for the days where his memory only consisted of loving you.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Hiiii again after quite a while! I think I've been noticing that my recent fics have been angst, I guess I just feel like hurting you guys this season of giving (I give pain :D)

Anywayy, anon, I think at some point I went my own direction and didn't fully stick to your request (I'm sorryyy TvT) but I hope you like it anyway!

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

You get my motor running

Written for the day 27 of the @steddieholidaydrabbles, and for round one of the @steddiebingo

Prompts: Traffic & Handjobs

Rated: E

Tags: Established Relationship; Post-Vecna; Some vague references to PTSD; Handjobs; Semi-public sex

“Paper towels,” Steve barks, throwing himself into the passenger seat and slamming the door. A little avalanche descends off the van's roof. Eddie flinches back to attention. 

“That's a curse word I haven't heard before.”

Steve scowls, brushing snow from his hair. It leaves the carefully styled strands ruffled and sticking up at odd angles, giving him a slightly manic look. 

“Hilarious. There is a fucking truck lying in a ditch, like half a mile from here, paper towels all over the place. Police are waving the cars past, but there’s hundreds in front of us. It’ll be hours before we get out of here.” 

“Huh,” Eddie says.

“Yeah,” Steve huffs, crossing his arms. “Huh.”

They sit in silence for a while. 

“We should’ve gone yesterday,” Steve mutters. His leg starts twitching. “Everyone and their mother wants out of the city for the holidays, we should’ve known traffic would be fucking crazy. We’ll never make it to Hawkins on time at this rate. The others will-” 

“They’ll survive, Stevie,” Eddie says, catching his hand and running his fingers over his knuckles. They’re raw from the frosty air, dry skin coming off where Steve picked at it. A habit he's developed in the aftermath of everything, now that there's nothing left to punch, nothing left to go at with nail bats and axes and molotovs. “It's only Christmas dinner.” 

Steve’s fingers flex and Eddie knows he wants to argue, but then he sighs. 

“Yeah, you're right. I'm sorry, I'm just-” 

“Nervous,” Eddie says, tangling their fingers together. “I know, big boy.” 

It hasn't been easy for either of them, leaving Hawkins, but Eddie knows that it's been even harder for Steve. Steve, who's been involved in the Upside Down shit from the get-go, who's spent the better part of his teenage years fighting monsters - the fanged and clawed kind as well as the human-shaped ones. Who still wakes up screaming sometimes, throwing punches at the pillows, trying to protect his loved ones from threats that are long gone. 

“We'll be here for a while, honey,” Eddie says. “Nothing to be done about it. Just relax.” 

“I wish I could,” Steve groans, head thudding against the backrest, and fondness blooms in Eddie’s chest.

“Well,” he mutters, shifting his gaze back to the road, at the same time that his hand lets go of Steve’s fingers and travels to his thigh. “I think I can help you with that.” 

Steve gasps. Eddie stays focused on the road. He doesn’t need to turn his head to know there’s a blush slowly spreading over that pretty face.

“What are you doing?” Steve’s voice is a low, frantic hiss, but he makes no attempt to swat Eddie off. Eddie grins, shifting his hand just a little bit further upwards, and Steve bucks in his seat. “Are you insane? What if anyone sees?” 

“Well,” Eddie drawls, letting his eyes roam over the surrounding vehicles. Most of the drivers are staring off into space, some drumming their fingers to the sounds of their radios, some arguing with their passengers. Nobody is paying them any attention. His palm finds the bulge in Steve’s pants and cups it in a firm grip. “Guess we’ll just need to be subtle about it, huh?” 

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see how Steve’s face twitches as he silently weighs his options. 

“I mean, we could always wait and pull into a side road later,” Eddie shrugs. “But you said it yourself. It’ll be hours...” 

For a few seconds, the only sound is that of tires crunching on snow.

“You’re such an asshole,” Steve snaps, shimmying in his seat so that he can lift his hips and unzip his pants. “C’mon then, make it quick.” 

“Well, aren’t you generous?” Eddie coos, and reaches over. 

As far as handjobs go, it’s one of the odder ones he’s given. 

He needs to keep one hand on the steering wheel and his feet on the pedals, so the angle is awkward. He also can’t watch Steve’s face as he usually does, but they’ve been together long enough for his imagination to fill in the gaps. Steve makes a needy little noise somewhere between a moan and a whimper, rutting up into Eddie’s hand, and he can just imagine the way he flushes, the way he bites down on that pink bottom lip to keep louder sounds from spilling out. For all his initial reluctance, it takes him mere seconds to get hard, and soon his breathy whines are joined by the wet sound of his precome-slickened cock fucking in and out of Eddie’s palm.

Steve never believes him when he says it, but Eddie can feel his orgasm coming before he himself does. He’s learned to read the little telltale signs - the stutter of his hips, the minute hitch of his breath, the way his cock starts twitching in anticipation. Today is no exception. 

“Shit, I’m gonna-” Steve moans, trying to jerk away, to tuck himself back in, but Eddie makes a soft shushing sound and tightens his grip, keeping him in place. Eyes trained at the snowflakes falling beyond the windshield, he lets Steve shake apart in his hold, head thrown back into a silent scream, spilling hot and wet all over Eddie’s hand and his pants and the seat. By the time his breathing evens out, the cars in front of them have started moving again. 

“Well?” Eddie asks, wiping his hand on his pants. “Relaxed now?” 

Steve huffs, a breathy and incredulous thing, but his features have gone soft and content.

“Relaxed and fucking filthy. How are you gonna explain the stains to the others, genius?” 

“Well,” Eddie winks. “Maybe someone up there can lend us a paper towel.” 

Steve almost makes him walk the rest of the way, but he thinks it’s well worth it.

More holiday drabbles

More Steddie Bingo

[nymphea0]

Masquerade 🎭

Monster x reader series. (Concept)

Yan!Vampire x Reader

Have you ever thought. Creatures like vampires and myth stuff was real?, you don't think so?. That's the first thing you thought. But darling.. they are real and exist.

.

.

.

As long as you live on earth, you always think that earth is a boring world where you are unlucky to be born in this world.

There are no kingdoms, super powers, heroes and villains, princes and princesses, a hunter and a traveler. Plus... fantasy creatures! Elves, vampires, werewolves and the like!

Well, maybe that's what you thought at that time. But... here you are. Running with breathless energy, dragging the burden of an 18th century dress with a touch of goth.

Running between the snow and the dense shade of the forest at night. Heart pounding hard, you stop for a moment to catch your breath. Looking around, the quiet atmosphere without any sound of nocturnal animals or wind, with your breath coming out roughly. You are experiencing shortness of breath.

'Crack'

Like a deer about to be eaten by a wild animal! You ran without looking back after hearing a broken grumbling voice!.

Crouching, leaning on a tree trunk, this black dress with a touch of ruby ​​​​stone felt very heavy on your body, until you fell following the avalanche of snow!.

Running back even though your body screamed to stop! You crossed the frozen lake! Dragging the dress you were wearing.

Looking back, that's where you saw so many groups of bats and crows fly more closer to you at dark night sky.

And the figure of a man in noble vampire clothes. A jet black cape, like a bat fluttering wide! You ran faster but the ratio of humans to vampires was 1:10. Of course. You were immediately caught.

Falling on a frozen chunk of air. Above you. The man aligned his face.

Handsome, white skin like a corpse, eyes as red as blood and shining like a ruby, long jet black hair with natural waves. The man showed his sharp fangs.

"Ohh~~.. my darling is so clever and fast, thinking you can run away from me?, of course it will be like that"

A deep masculine voice, with a chuckle of disdain for you.

He poke poke your head with contempt.

"Besides, humans are a bit stupid. I understand that. Behave my darling, you accepted my invitation, that means.. you are willing to be my Atheare, my mate~"

"Now.. be a good girl~"

That was the last sentence before a fang pierced your skin that had turned pale from the cold

This figure.. is what you call a vampire. Yes. vampires. They are real and exist.

Waiting for you in the darkness so obediently that you let your guard down.

.

.

.

*(Note : Should i continue this series project? Or no?)

Tag list; @snowflakes666 @nerdygoateepeanut @blurryperrtymoonlight @luminethebest @scenicelixir @n4muqr @cannyyyyy @athena-roy @sirenetheblogger @rai-xxx @thehopingfairy @ryusooze @yaoduriaa @merveeeeesworld

©️Nymphea0 2024, OG story, Project series Supranatural OC monsters.

Please dont steal my work, or use without my permissions, Always be good people Dear. Much love, Neva🦋🦋.

[wwinterwitch]

new vows – din djarin x gn!reader

summary: the first time din ever removed his helmet in front of you

pairing: din djarin x gn!reader (no pronouns used)

word count: 2.5k

warnings and tags: fluff and angst + good ending, insecure!din, established relationship, kissing, the helmet's removed, doesn't follow the plot of the show at all (it's just din, reader and grogu being a happy family)

author's note: oof i hate how this turned out but my best friend read it and told me to post it so here we are, i hope it doesn't suck as much as i think it does

a reblog and/or comment on my posts really help me out as a content creator so thank you in advance if you take the time to do either!

navigation | pedro's characters masterlist | star wars masterlist

Din was observing you and Grogu from the entrance of the Razor Crest, arms crossed across his chest as he leaned against one of the walls of the ship. He smiles to himself when he hears the child giggling after you put a flower at the top of his little head, immediately reaching out with some difficulty to grab a flower from the ground and offering it to you.

"Thank you, Grogu. It's very pretty!" you say to the baby, who looked absolutely thrilled to realize you liked his gift. 

The kid stands from the ground, lifting both of his arms as a sign that he wants to be carried. Already familiar with the gesture, you quickly lift him up from the ground before laying on your back in the middle of the landscape filled with lilac and light pink flowers. The baby giggles again, holding onto you as you both lay there.

Din's smile fades just enough shortly after that when the inevitable thought pops in his head again. That annoying and sudden thought that always makes an appearance during the day. 

At first he didn't mind, finding ways to always push it away before it got to him. However, it's been more and more frequent these past couple of days and it's becoming a bad habit he seems unable to control at this point, and it's starting to really annoy him.

His mind is filled with all these doubts and insecurities. Not only because of the content of what he's thinking, but because it's completely impossible to push it away now. Almost like an avalanche, it falls down the mountain at a rapid, devastating speed and it only seems to get bigger as minutes pass. It destroys everything in its way. In this case, the prime and only victim is Din.

Perhaps the worst part is that it always ruins what should be pleasant moments. If Grogu is looking up at him from the ground begging to be carried, the thought is there. Whenever you wrap your arms around him or grab his hand when the two of you are exploring yet a new planet, it's there. Even when he's trying to sleep right next to you, hearing the faint sounds of the baby already asleep, you can bet that thought will be there to torture him.

Because all of those little moments he shares with his partner and son remind him of the fact that neither of them even know who he is. Sure, they know how he is, but not who.

Every touch is not really a touch, it's just skin brushing against a uniform. Every exchange has a helmet hiding his features. They can hear him laugh, but they don't see his eyes squinting just enough and the smile that adorns his face. They can hear him remind them of his never-ending love for them, but they don't get to look into his eyes as he says it.

And it hurts because his mind has tricked him to believe none of those moments are real. Because they've never seen the man that claims to care for them so much, none of it is genuine. It's just touching a uniform and hearing empty words coming from a helmet. It almost makes him feel like a droid rather than a human, leaving him longing for that real connection. 

He knows he probably shouldn't, but he craves that actual contact, which is something he never felt before you two showed up in his life. 

Being a Mandalorian and living by their code was easy. He never even considered breaking his vow because nothing and no one was ever worth it. What could possibly be more important than this? That's what he would always ask himself and he wasn't able to come up with an answer– until you and Grogu showed up.

Now that you two are here, it's obvious to him that his priorities have changed. He wants to commit to an entirely new code. To prove his undying fidelity to his family and make a vow to the two of you.

But that brings another set of insecurities that make this entire situation a lot more difficult for him. As much as he needs to truly feel connected to you, he's terrified of what that connection means. It's obvious that in order to obtain that, he needs to take off his uniform. Most precisely, his helmet– which is something he has never done in front of anyone. Ever.

So that's when his mind is yet again filled with negative thoughts. What if you don't like what's under the helmet? What if you already have a picture of him in your head and he disappoints you because he looks nothing like it? What if you suddenly don't love him anymore because he's not what you expected at all? And what if Grogu rejects him too? He couldn't deal with either of you not liking what has been hiding underneath all the Beskar.

That's the complicated mess that's been haunting him for a few weeks. That inner struggle he has tried to keep hidden from the two of you. Should the helmet stay on despite being an obstacle to reach the depths of connection he needs to have with his family, or should he remove it and risk rejection? Is it better to settle or search for more?

He feels pathetic. The supposedly fearless bounty hunter is terrified of even thinking about taking a risk. Going on adventures used to be a lifestyle. Now, the mere idea of it is enough to fill his mind with self-doubt, making it almost impossible for him to make a decision.

He thought about it later that day when the three of you were already inside the Razor Crest and getting ready to go to bed, really considering his options and trying to create different outcomes to this hypothetical conversation that kept playing inside his head.

You were telling Grogu a bedtime story when Din joined the two of you. He sat on the bed and listened to you speak as he watched the baby, who was struggling to keep his eyes open at that point, holding onto the little blanket covering his body. 

By the time the story was over, Grogu was already completely asleep. You carefully brushed his face with your pointer finger in an affectionate manner, smiling down at him before focusing on Din.

"Ready to go to bed?" you asked.

"You'll tell me a bedtime story too?"

The comment made you laugh. "I think you're a little old for bedtime stories."

"Ouch. I'm not old."

"I said a little old," you quickly correct, putting both of your hands on his shoulders. He quickly lifted a hand that was resting on your hip a few seconds later. "Not the same as just old."

You smile down at him as he gently caresses you from your hip all the way down your thigh before his gloved fingers trails back up. Your smile inevitably takes him to the dark corners of his mind again because he knows you won't be able to see him smiling back at you.

His next words came out very impulsively. "Can we talk?"

Evidently, you were a little concerned after hearing that given the tone he used. "Is there something wrong?"

"I've just been thinking a lot lately...there's something that's been bothering me and it won't leave my head."

"Okay..." you said, trying to be receptive to what he was saying but still having no idea of what's going on.

"Neither of you know what I look like," he decides to simply confess. Why would he try to over explain something that is actually quite easy to say? "And I've never...you know, actually touched you," he adds, his helmet titling towards his hand still resting on your hip, hinting at the glove covering it.

"I mean, yes...but that's because you're a Mandalorian. It's what your people do, right?"

Din nods after your words. "It's part of our code, but...I don't know. It's been bothering me because lately this entire uniform feels like an obstacle. I still feel like it's a part of me but...it also stands in between us."

"I've told you how I feel about the suit," you quickly say in a soft, reassuring voice. "I don't mind it one bit."

"I know, I know. This isn't because of something you did or said," Din explains. "I guess my priorities have changed."

"You mean...?"

"I mean, I care more about connecting with you than with my traditions. I've started to question things I never took a second to consider before you and Grogu showed up. I want to be able to touch you– really touch you. And I want to look at you and talk to you. Not through a visor and a modulator," he further explains, feeling like a weight is lifted off his shoulders. "I don't need to be a Mandalorian when I'm with you two. I just need to be Din."

"Oh, darling," you start affectionately, feeling so incredibly in love with the man sitting in front of you. "Whatever it is that you want and need, I'll support you no matter what. Helmet or no helmet, you're still the guy I fell in love with."

"Really?" he asks with evident worry.

"Of course," you immediately reassure him.

"I guess it took me too long to talk about this because...well, I didn't know if you'd like what's underneath the uniform."

"Din," you call in a very serious voice, hoping that'll hint just how much you mean your next words. "I love you so much. I love you because you're the kindest man I've ever met. You're loyal, passionate, brave...and you care so much about me and Grogu. I could stay here and mention a trillion things about you that make me fall in love with you every single day. You're the one I want to spend the rest of my life with and nothing in this world is ever going to change what I feel."

He was quiet for what felt like forever, simply staring up at you while you held the helmet in between your hands so you could stare directly at his visor where his eyes should be. 

"You can't see it but I'm smiling, by the way. This is a good silence," he offers, which immediately makes you laugh.

"Is it okay if I take it off and see that smile for myself?"

He hesitated before answering. "Are you sure you won't change your mind?"

"I promise I won't change my mind."

There was another pause before he finally answered. "Okay..."

You start to remove his helmet in a gentle, slow manner. If he wanted to stop you, he could at any second. You really didn't want to rush it because you still wanted to give him a chance to back down if he wanted to. 

The fact that he wears the helmet all day in front of you has never been an issue. You fell in love with the person he is, whatever he looks like couldn't possibly matter any less to you. That love is not going anywhere. Ever.

It looks like Din is confident in his decision because he doesn't stop you at any point. He continues to keep one of his hands attached to your hip and the other rests on his lap for a few seconds until he uses it to help you completely remove his helmet.

Still holding it with both of your hands, you look down to admire his face. You can tell by his expression that he's terrified as he stares back at you, impatient for any hint of rejection. He was still expecting to see the disappointment all across your features before you take a step back from him and reveal he's nothing like what you expected.

But that disappointment never appeared. Instead, he's relieved to see the smile forming on your face before you leave the helmet next to him on the bed, immediately reaching out to grab his face.

Din practically melts under your touch, closing his eyes and focusing on just how good it feels to have your skin touching him for the very first time. The way your soft fingers trace his cheeks before they move down to his jaw...it feels like absolute heaven.

And you take your time with that. Your digits explote his features as if contemplating them wasn't enough. You needed to touch every inch of his face in order to truly appreciate what's in front of you. 

The most beautiful sight ever. The man you love so much, looking even more handsome than you could've ever predicted. From his soft brown eyes to the hint of a beard, he's so perfect you can't believe you're seriously this lucky.

"So?" he dares to ask. Hearing his voice without the modulator for the very first time almost made you feel goosebumps all over your body. How is this man so pretty?

You could've just said that. You could've stood there and told him over and over how pretty he is, but it didn't feel like it was enough. No words would ever begin to explain the admiration you have for this man, even before you knew what he looked like.

After feeling his skin for the very first time, you could only crave more. It was probably that inefficiency of words and the need for more contact that made you lean down and kiss him for the very first time.

He kissed you back instantly, the grip on your hip tightening just enough as he completely gave in to you.

It was evident you were his first kiss, but that detail couldn't be any more insignificant right now. His lack of experience didn't bother you. All you could think about is how lucky and happy you are to have him as your partner.

The kiss lasted for a few more seconds before you pulled away, failing to hide your smile when you saw his face. It was evident he was already missing the way your lips feel against his. 

You stare at him again for a bit, caressing his flushed cheeks, before you finally decide to speak. "Does that answer your question?" Din was still too lost in his thoughts to reply out loud, so he simply nodded. His reaction after your first kiss made you giggle, and you swore right there that you've never felt happier in your life. "Good. I'd like to kiss you again if that's okay."

Another nod, this time looking more desperate, was all you needed to kiss him again. You got more comfortable as you sat on his lap, knowing you'll be there kissing him for a bit, feeling his arms wrap around your lower back to keep you close as soon as you sat down.

And as he holds you in his arms, he knows he made the right choice, silently vowing to be yours for as long as you allow him to.

[cushfuddled]

When I first started shoveling Jayvik fanfic into my mouth a month and a half ago, I was shocked and delighted at the avalanche buffet of top Viktor and dom Viktor content. But I've started to feel like the detective who kneels down and touches some footprints in the dirt like, "Something happened here..."

Because I can't remember the last time I saw a fanon concept become...so ubiquitous? Even in fics where Viktor bottoms, he's a power bottom/topping from the bottom. Spotting a fic with an overwhelmed sub bottom Vik in the Ao3 tag feels a bit like the moment a snow leopard graces your Himalayan trail cam.

I DO NOT mean to suggest anyone "should" write more inexperienced/bottom/sub Viktor! It's just...as someone who likely missed whatever ancient discourse might've plagued the Arcane fandom years hence, I've been through this fandom song and dance enough times to recognize the smell of...what say, capital-O Obligation.

I just want people to know they can write whatever kind of fanfic they want. That's the point of this post. I hope someone somewhere reads this and feels emboldened to let loose/goof off/get freaky/whatever.

Because I can see why people would feel Obligated to portray Viktor as a top/dom/the sexually experienced one. He's physically disabled and chronically ill. Ableism so often takes the form of paternalism and infantilization. There's this pervasive notion that disabled people don't have sex. People think we're too "pure" for sex, or assume we're "undesirable" as romantic partners/that our physical or mental disabilities would make sex impossible. With that cultural context, it's a radical act for so many people to come together and choose to portray Viktor—a disabled, terminally ill man who struggles with suicide ideation—as a sexually experienced top.

One of the hardest things about being disabled/ill is the lack of control. You can't plan for the future; you don't know whether your pain levels will be better tomorrow or demand another trip to the ER; your life is totally in the hands of overworked doctors who don't care about you. So it feels kind of like an act of reclamation to put Viktor in a dominant position. In a safe, sane, consensual arrangement, all parties have control over the situation, but with topping and/or domming comes the Role of authority/power. Making Viktor an experienced, sly top/dom gives back Viktor's autonomy and agency.

So yeah. I get why this trend is pervasive within the fandom! It's fantastically subversive. I just hope nobody feels like they HAVE to fall into this dynamic.

I remember a Tumblr post from years ago where someone described the drawbacks of a supposedly "feminist retelling" of Cinderella or Sleeping Beauty, wherein the heroin saves herself by her own strength and wits. This, I would argue, is a perfectly fine story to tell...but its lack of intersectionality betrays a shallow definition of feminism. In casting those retold fairy tales in a feminist, "empowering" light, one ignores the realities of the people who found escapism in those helpless damsels.

In a paradoxical way, when my MCAS knocked me flat on my ass for two years, I was always out of control of my life AND forced to take control all the time. All those overworked, traumatized, apathetic doctors meant I had to be my own patient advocate. I had to do my own research; figure out which treatment plans made the most sense; find doctors who took my insurance and could see me within six months; argue with Medicaid when they didn't want to pay for one of the drugs I'd been prescribed; find new and creative ways to feed myself when my body reacted like it was allergic to everything other than water and Cheerios. And god, I had to self-police myself all the time. At the doctor's office, you have to look sick enough that they believe you when you say you're hurting, but you don't want to seem TOO sick because the desperation will make the doctor diagnose you with "hysterical woman" (or they'll just assume you're fishing for drugs). At home, you want to project some amount of strength so you don't worry your loved ones or make yourself too much of a "burden." (You also don't want to have to manage other people's anxiety on top of your own.) My disability (autism) and chronic illness (MCAS) are invisible, but I imagine there's a lot of masking that goes into navigating public spaces with a visible disability/illness, too.

So...when everything's this constant battle for control—when you're forced to project strength every day regardless of your pain level—of course some people are going to find relief in stories where they're allowed to shut down. I think it's important to let disabled characters be vulnerable and overwhelmed and even dependent on someone else, because as often as disabled and chronically ill people are infantalized, so too are we expected to "overcome" our disabilities/illnesses through miracles of resilience and cunning. We're pushed to perform strength, cheer, and "normalcy" for the public, who find our disabilities "sad" and "uncomfortable." Every time someone refuses to put on a mask, or a relative tells us to simply get more exercise, or a politician rails against "wellfare queens," or a bus route gets cut or a bench gets removed or our doctors hand-wave our symptoms, our world reinforces the message that we are Too Much; that our needs are exorbitant, our very existence a drain on society. So many of us throw ourselves into self-sabotaging grasps at independence. We work ourselves far past our limits to prove we aren't a burden on society. We refuse help just to maintain that tiny sense of control over our lives.

I find it deeply comforting to read stories where ill and disabled characters are...allowed to be helpless, I guess. To break the fuck down and let someone else finally take the reigns for a while—to lift some of that burden off their shoulders. I love when ill and disabled characters trust someone enough to take off that heavy armor, revealing the pain and weakness beneath the facade they were forced to take up to survive, and are rewarded with warmth and reassurance and care.

At a certain point...is it not a little ableist in itself, to restrict a disabled, chronically ill character to one specific role? To essentially lock them out of a position where they're allowed to relinquish control and be taken care of?

In essence,

Disabled and chronically/terminally ill people are not a monolith. As I always say, what offends one person will uplift another. It's an uncomfortable reality, but there's really no such thing as perfect representation. I think part of intersectionality is being willing to accept that multiple things can be true at once, because everyone's lived reality is different. It's absolutely fine to prefer one trope over another. But if I find a fanfic offensive or uncomfortable, I can always click the back button with the knowledge that there's almost certainly someone out there who'll find that same so-called problematic content empowering. Whether fic writers prefer top Viktor, power bottom Viktor, bottom Viktor, switch Viktor, sub Viktor, dom Viktor, experienced Viktor, virgin Viktor, omega vs. alpha Viktor, and every niche in between...I just hope they go where their heart tells them and write what they want.

[lewkwoodnco]

I got options, babe - Lockwood x Reader

“It’s a snow globe.”

In a miraculous moment of clarity, she realised what George was violently trying to communicate to her from behind Lockwood: play dumb.

”What’s a snow globe?”

George was positively beside himself.

a/n: the people have spoken so here is part 2 to buy me presents! am so sad i fell a little sick during the hols, threw a terrible wrench in my 12 days of fics plans for last year but i'm alr planning ahead for this year :))) yes its xmas themed but the vibes are close enough to valentines so shush. if i was in the l&co universe i would pay good money to see someone tell george to live laugh love, and i would tip extra if it was lockwood hehe. also I tagged a few extra ppl who seemed interested in a sequel!

warnings/tropes: lockwood x glassmith!reader, mostly fluffy, only a smidge of angst towards the end, clueless lockwood my beloved <3

word count: 2.6k!

buy me presents (pt 1)

TAGLIST | MASTERLIST

When Lockwood had shaken George awake plenty of hours before, it had taken a while for George's brain to catch up to what was happening. By the time it did, he was worriedly watching Lockwood animatedly talking to one of the shop assistants from a nearby telephone booth.

"No idea what it is, or why..." he was telling Lucy. Lockwood was looking around for him. George nervously shifted behind one of the bars of the booth. 

"Maybe he's just blowing off some steam?"

Lockwood was now wearing an aggressively tinseled Santa hat while wielding an identical one. George had a pretty good idea who that was for.

"Er, maybe. But perhaps you should come home too. Just in case."

Lockwood had finally spotted George and was frantically waving him over. George did not like the way the Christmas lights were reflecting in Lockwood's eyes.

"For the love of God, Luce, please come home. You can't leave with me...this."

With a bone-deep sigh, George regretfully hung up and emerged from the telephone booth, smiling weakly at Lockwood.

He was more than grateful for his presence of mind earlier, once they had reached Portland Row. Lucy walked in just minutes after Lockwood's unpleasant realisation about Nicholas and guffawed at the sight of the tiny tsunami of gifts.

"Brilliant," George said. "Your turn." He handed Lucy one of the last presents he had been holding and disappeared into the kitchen. She turned towards Lockwood incredulously, who was indignantly standing in front of the sea of presents with his hands on his hips. She raised her eyebrows.

"Oh, okay, I see how it is. I buy a few gi-"

"In what WORLD is this few-"

"- few gifts, and suddenly I'm the bad guy. It's Christmas, but I'm feeling a lot of negativity pent up here."

"Now you're just deflecting." Lucy rolled her eyes as Lockwood started fishing out some receipts from his pockets.

"Can't a guy spend...uh...three-oh. Oh. That's a lot of zeroes."

"Lockwood. How much did you spend?"

"...suddenly, I don't think I know any numbers past ten."

"Lockwood!"

"I couldn't figure out the installment plans! That's Y/N's job!"

George returned to the front door corridor and started picking up some boxes at random and shaking them experimentally.

"Yeah, a fine job you've left her to sort out your debts! No more shopping till Easter. And George, if you don't steal his wallet, I will."

He held up the present he was holding to Lockwood. "Listen, I don't think Y/N's going to want all of these, so how about I -"

"Absolutely not."

George made a rather rude gesture and disappeared back into the kitchen. Lockwood bent over to start clearing a path through the presents to the stairs.

"How was I supposed to know she was only kidding?"

"You know what her sense of humour's like. George and I would have picked up on it in a second."

A very unhappy Lockwood straightened out from under the avalanche of presents. 

"What's that supposed to mean?"

A little before lunch, Lockwood knocked on the attic door. It was ajar, and she was reading in a contorted position, all twisted up with a blanket on her rug in the one patch of sunlight in the room, leaning against her bed. She nearly tipped over when Lockwood poked his head in, but caught herself in time.

"Hey."

"Hey."

They stared at each other for a moment. It was the first time they had been alone since the morning's happenings, and it didn't feel as easy to laugh about it all when it was just them. Because the truth was, she didn't find it all that funny. Confusing, yes. Stressful, perhaps. But it wasn't that funny when all the emotions felt excruciatingly true. She closed her book, and Lockwood took another step in, leaning against the bannister.

"I'm sorry about the whole Nicholas thing. I was having a laugh, that's all. I never wanted to make you seem...foolish."

"I don't even remember Nicholas. I mean, that guy."

"Lockwood."

"Who's Loc- I mean, Nicholas? I'm Lockwood."

"Yes, I know."

"And I don't feel foolish. Do you think I'm foolish?"

She smiled at him with rheumy eyes, and his face twisted strangely like he was suppressing his own smile. His eyes drifted to the book in her lap, and the blanket swaddling her face.

"Er, reading?"

"Trying to. The sun's making me feel so sleepy."

"Then move out of the sun. Or take a nap."

She glared at him, scoffing incomprehensibly. "T-take a nap? What am I, 5? And we barely get any sun as it is, I'm trying to thaw my insides."

"Can you even breathe in that?"

She took a wheezing breath. "...yes."

Still, Lockwood sat down next to her, and after a bit of scuffling, she was tipped slightly to her side, leaning against him slightly. She was starting to regret using such a thick blanket through which she barely felt his shoulder. He picked up the book and opened it to the pages her finger was stuck between, and started reading. She closed her eyes and listened. It was some dream to be sitting next to him, without the usual inches between, to hear his honeyed voice ebb and flow, to watch his fingers smooth the pages and fiddle with the edges.

It was mildly disconcerting to hear the shape of his voice take on such a poetic form as if they were in some parallel universe. As if they were in some parallel universe where falling in love was easier than falling asleep.

A few hours later, she woke up on her bed with a jolt, writhing uncomfortably in her blanket. Once she had managed to peel herself out of it, the embarrassment of having fallen asleep on him sunk in. She needed something to take her mind off it and eventually decided to tinker in her workshop. Down in the basement, she had a small makeshift workshop set up for the occasional tinkering or fiddling with some spare parts. It helped her mind relax when her hands had something to do.

She spent a very peaceful hour regluing some tiny diamonds that had fallen off an old watch. That was, until a door banged open from somewhere else in the house, followed by frantic voices. She looked up in alarm as the footsteps drew closer, blinking owlishly behind her magnifying eyeglasses. Her door swung open and Lockwood walked in, closely followed by a barely suppressed silent, but very agitated, George.

“Y/N, look what I found in George’s suitcase.”

Between the panicked sirens blaring in her head and George’s epileptic hand gestures, it was a miracle she was able to process all those words in the right order.

“…oh?”

A frozen smile sat on her face as her eyes nervously darted between the boys’ faces.

“It’s a snow globe.”

In a miraculous moment of clarity, she realised what George was violently trying to communicate to her: play dumb.

”What’s a snow globe?”

George was positively beside himself.

Lockwood, on the other hand, looked alarmed and touchingly concerned.

“You...you don’t know what a snow globe is? Do they not have snow globes where you’re from?”

“Did you just ask me if they have snow globes…in Hackney?”

He looked slightly miffed, but she couldn’t stay annoyed for long with his foolishly good-natured intentions.

“Look, Lockwood, I’m a little busy here. Is there something I can help you with?”

“I just…wanted to see if you knew anything about this.” He turns it over in his hand, and even with the shelter of anonymity, she finds herself desperately seeking the approval in his eyes that she had been hoping for. “It’s...it's beautiful. When I first saw it, I thought…” He looks up from the snow globe at her, where she’s holding her breath, and she’s distantly aware of how suspiciously invested she must seem in his answer.

“I thought it had to be you.”

She has his answer, but she still hasn’t let go of that breath, as if keeping at bay all the emotions and hope that will come rushing in with her exhale. He watches her face, and she’s too scared to even twitch. Too scared to come right out and say everything the snow globe meant.

“You thought wrong."

George’s seizure-like convulsions returned with a new vigour. Lockwood continues standing there for another minute, and it makes her think he hasn’t heard her until he regretfully bows his head.

“I suppose. Well, I hope your work won’t keep you long. We'll be having tea soon. Let’s- good God, George, are you having a fit?!”

After their Christmas Eve tea, they exchanged presents, and to call it an awkward affair would have been an understatement. She passed Lockwood the pair of snowman socks. George grudgingly passed him the snow globe. The absurdity of the gifts and their donors made the four of them pause for a moment. 

Finally, Lucy broke the quiet by handing out her gifts: mugs with pictures of Inspector Barnes accompanied with cheesy quotes. George's was 'live, laugh, love.' Lockwood's was 'keep calm and carry on.' But everyone was still looking far too solemn, so she nearly had an aneurysm holding back her laughter.

After they all retired to their rooms, she retreated into her chilly workshop. But instead of continuing with her work, she just sat at her desk, brooding a little. A few minutes later, there was a knock on her door as a rather breathless and pink-faced Lockwood poked his head in.

"Still working?"

She shook her head. "What are you doing?"

"Returning the presents." He turned to step out but hesitated. "Are you sure you don't want to keep any?"

"I'm sure that I would hate it if we went bankrupt. Do you need any help?"

"Oh, no, I'll be - yes. Yes, actually. These are a lot of presents. If you could spare the time...I'd really appreciate it."

So after she bundled up in her woollens and wrestled a scarf onto Lockwood, they somehow hurriedly carted the many slightly scuffed shopping bags into the cab, where they only had a brief break to catch their breath, given how close they lived to the shops. 

After that, it was a race to hit all the stores before they closed for Christmas Eve. After a couple of rounds, they had developed the fairly efficient system of Lockwood lugging the gifts around while she spoke with the shop assistants. The one drawback to their fine plan, at least for him, was her glancing at the receipts and the too-long numbers at the bottom of them ("Jesus Christ, Lockwood, how did you not have to take out a loan for these? Honestly! Do you think we're made of money?").

Finally, their luck ran out at their very last store, which looked as though it had been closed for hours. She knocked and peered inside feverishly, clutching the very last gift stubbornly.

"No, no, we were so close! Now what do we do?"

"We can come back after the holidays. Or," he gently pried the box out of her fingers, smoothly lifting the top, "you could keep it."

It was a silver charm bracelet, with rapier and lavender charms dangling from the central chain, much like the ones they laid out on jobs. It was beautiful. But she couldn't take it.

"You already gave me a present."

"Have another. A little special something for a special someone."

His cavalier attitude, his foolish smile - in that moment, it was all too much. Her terrible temper flared and she shoved the present into him, forcefully enough to make him stumble a little. She turned and started walking home briskly, fuming silently until he and his long legs finally caught up to her.

"Wha - was it something I said? Y/N? Y/N."

"I don't know, Lockwood." She was sick of his carelessness, sick enough to be a little careless herself, let her tongue run loose. "What have you said? Or haven't said?"

"Y/N, you know I'm terrible at riddles."

"Well, maybe Belinda can help you."

That stuns him enough to make him stop in his tracks. She slows down and, after steeling her fraught nerves, turns around.

"...what does Belinda have to do with anything?"

His hopelessly clueless expression, which typically soothed her anger in their worst fights, only served to infuriate her further here. She walked towards him angrily.

“I didn't want to give you the goddamn snow globe because Belinda exists. All right? Because there are a thousand different girls out there who you’ll like better than me.” There’s a sudden tightness in her chest. With some difficulty, she turns away from him, lightly pressing her sternum. “I can’t compete with them, Lockwood. I won’t let you make me.”

She hears the crunch of the snow under his shoe as he takes a step towards her.

"Belinda is...amazing. She might even be perfect. But even she's just a friend, because...because you exist. And-and I could find...the most perfect girls out there, but the image of you would still be breathing in some corner of my mind. It wouldn't be the same with anyone else. It never is."

She sniffed gently. "This might be the right time to tell you that the snow globe...was from me."

She can't decide if she hates or loves how she can hear the smile in his voice. "No. Really?"

She turns back around, smiling sarcastically at him. "Ha-ha. But don't get too excited about it. I made little figurines to represent the four of us at Portland Row, but you can't even see them from the outside. It's ridiculous."

"It's okay. I'll know they're there."

At that moment, she felt a rush of gratitude towards Lockwood. He made everything a little easier, a little sweeter. They were standing so close that she could see a tiny snowflake on one of his eyelashes. She didn't dare breathe.

"There really never was any competition."

"I know."

"Then why does it sound like you don't believe me?"

She frowned. "I do believe you."

"I don't think you do."

"...do you want me to not believe you?"

"Y/N."

"What?"

"There's something you should know."

"Lockwood, I am going to throttle you."

"You're standing under mistletoe."

She glanced upwards, and it was as though all the air had been stolen from her lungs. Against the pitch-black sky and the gentle dusting of snow, a soft white sprig of mistletoe was curling out of the edge of a branch. She lowered her eyes back to Lockwood's, and her eyes fluttered shut as he leaned over.

As impossibly close as they were before, they were even closer now, and it still felt like they would spend their whole lives trying to get close enough to each other. She kissed him the way she loved him - desperately, with her whole being. When they broke apart, the tip of his nose and cheeks were tinged pink, and there was a light dusting of snow on his hair. In that moment, all she remembered thinking was that none of his presents made a better gift than he did.

As they walked home with fingers tangled together, she realised that they didn't need some parallel universe. In every universe, they would somehow, somewhere, find each other, and dare to love. 

TAGLIST: @novelizt @thegreathuxton @avdiobliss @dangelnleif @elenianag080 @snoopyluver20 @ell0ra-br3kk3r @mitskiswift99 @ahead-fullofdreams @neewtmas @mischivana @houseoftwistedspirits

[phdmama]

Hey lovely, how about 43 from the smut dialogue list if you’re still looking for inspo - and maybe buddie as the ship? (I may have started reading a few fics and it might be about to become a problem…) but any ship that takes your fancy if you’re prefer!

Hello my dear pal!! I am so so excited you're reading some Buddie!! xox

I am so sorry this took this long to write (I've had some real rollercoaster ups and downs over the past few days with this silly broken leg bullshit). So anyway - here is where my brain went! (Keep in mind, I am lots of painkillers and have barely written in months!)

43. “Slowly, baby, I’m not going anywhere.”

Show My Mouth (Your Favorite Places)

Buddie, ~2300 words, Explicit tags: getting together, first time, Eddie Diaz has yet another close call, gratuitous use of italics, only lightly beta'd by me, set somewhere vaguely post season 7ish?

They’re barely through the door of Buck’s loft and Buck immediately has Eddie backed up against it, reaching out to run a hand over Eddie’s chest.

“I’m fine, Buck,” Eddie says again, and yeah, okay, it’s probably the tenth time he’s repeated the words but that was too close a call, and Buck says as much as Eddie tips his head back against the door, his eyes closed.

“Take your shirt off,” Buck says, reaching for the hem of Eddie’s t-shirt. It’s dirty and torn and Eddie doesn’t protest, doesn’t even open his eyes, just lifts his arms and lets Buck pull the rough fabric over his head.

“If you wanted to get me out of my clothes, all you had to do was ask,” Eddie says and Buck freezes.

“I just. I need to see you’re okay,” he says finally, and Eddie just smiles. 

“Help yourself. I told you, the thing barely grazed me.”

Buck doesn’t answer, just flips on the light and runs his hands lightly over Eddie’s chest. There are some scrapes, a few spots that will probably bruise, but Buck has to admit Eddie is probably right, the damage is superficial. Buck doesn’t really pay attention to what his hands are doing, caught in the memory of the way the tree had come down and for one, brief, terrifying moment he’d thought… He’d thought. That’s all.

He’s still thinking, lost in it when Eddie says, his voice rough, “Buck.”

“What?” Buck startles back to the moment and realizes he’s been, well. 

He’s been gently stroking Eddie’s bare chest, and Eddie’s eyes are open now, dark and intense, fixed on Buck’s face. His skin is slightly goosebumped and his nipples are tight buds on his broad chest. Buck rips his gaze away and swallows, his throat dry.

He’s worked so hard to just be chill, is the thing. After he and Tommy broke up (no real drama, just Tommy gently letting him down), Buck has been so, well. Aware of men, is the thing. Men in general and one man in particular. Buck knows he’s been weird about Eddie from the very beginning, and he knows Eddie is just as weird about him, and there have been moments where he’s thought… maybe… but he’s never been sure. Never seen a look on Eddie’s face like the one currently leveled at him.

“Are you, um. Are you cold?” he whispers and Eddie’s mouth curves.

“Not even a bit,” Eddie says, and his voice is so low and gravelly, it legitimately sends a shiver down Buck’s spine.

“Are you in pain?”

Eddie just shakes his head, not breaking his gaze. 

“I, just.” Buck’s heart is pounding. It feels like an avalanche in his chest, and under his hands, he can feel Eddie’s heart racing, just as fast. “Eddie,” Buck says, his voice pleading, although he doesn’t even know what it is he’s asking for. 

Eddie knows though, the way Eddie always knows.

Eddie simply replies, “Buck,” and then lays one hand over one of Buck’s where it’s still resting on his bare skin. 

For one brief, agonizing moment, Buck worries that Eddie is pushing his hand away, but it immediately becomes clear that's not what’s happening. Eddie is not pushing Buck’s hand away, he’s pushing it down. Eddie slides Buck’s hand down over his own toned abdomen, slowly enough that Buck can feel the expansion as Eddie takes a deep breath, and then, oh god. Then he shifts Buck’s hand even lower to where he’s hard in his LAFD sweats.

Buck stares at him as Eddie presses his hand to the hard length of him under the rough cotton. “Eddie,” he whispers.

“I’m not cold,” Eddie says quietly. “I’m not in pain. I don’t need you to fuss over me.”

“Then what,” Buck swallows. “What do you need?”

Eddie just grins, and he lifts the hand that’s not pressing Buck’s against his cock to curve it around Buck’s face. 

“I think you know,” is all he says and Buck breaks.

He surges forward, tightening his fingers around the hard shaft under his hand as he pushes forward, his mouth landing on Eddie’s. Buck is frantic, gasping as he lets himself go, lets himself take what he’s been longing for for so long. He’s afraid that this might be his only chance, that if he takes his time, Eddie will change his mind.

But Eddie doesn’t seem inclined that way. He meets Buck in the middle, strength for strength, passion for passion, kiss for kiss, until he begins to gentle things between them. 

Eddie pulls back, and whispers, “Slowly, baby, I’m not going anywhere.”

He leans back in and this time he sets the pace with deep, slow kisses, syrupy-sweet, until Buck thinks his knees might genuinely give out.

“Buck,” Eddie whispers and shifts, letting his mouth move over Buck’s face to his neck, a quick nip to the sensitive skin behind Buck’s ear that has Buck groaning and shaking. “Buck, baby. Let me take you to bed.”

“Too far,” Buck mumbles, turning his head to catch Eddie’s lips with his own. “Can’t wait.”

“Couch then,” Eddie insists and doesn’t stop kissing Buck, just gently herds him backwards through the apartment until Buck’s dropping onto his couch and pulling Eddie down with him.

For several moments, Buck doesn’t think about anything at all except the feel of Eddie’s chest against his own, the taste of Eddie’s mouth, Eddie’s hand in his hair as they kiss. He finally has to pull back to take a deep gasping breath, and just stares at Eddie over him.

“Is this… is this really happening?” Buck finds himself asking and Eddie grins, drops a quick kiss to the tip of his nose.

“It is if you want it to be.”

Buck just blinks at him. “I didn’t know. How did I not know you wanted this?”

Eddie shrugs, shifts his weight off of Buck so he can pull Buck up to sitting. “Let’s just say… when you started dating Tommy, I figured a few things out.”

“You didn’t say anything.”

Eddie shakes his head. “Of course not, Buck. You and Tommy, well. You were happy. Having fun. I didn’t think this was possible, but then when you guys broke up, and we were back to hanging out all the time. I started to think that maybe…” his voice trails off as he hooks his fingers under the hem of Buck’s t-shirt and starts to remove it. 

Buck automatically lifts his arms. “Have you ever… with a guy?”

Eddie just smiles, shakes his head. “Never let myself even think about it when I was young, and then. I guess it was just never the right time. Until now.” He lifts his hand, brushes his knuckles across Buck’s cheekbone, skates his hand down to curl it around Buck’s jaw. “I want to, though. With you, if you want that.”

Buck stares at him. “If I want that? Eddie. Of course I want that. I just. What does it mean?”

Eddie leans in, kisses him once and then again. He feels so good that Buck can’t help but groan as Eddie’s mouth moves to his collar bones as he slowly pushes Buck down onto his back, slides between his legs.

Eddie lifts his head after pressing one last kiss to Buck’s chest. “It means whatever you want,” he says finally.

“But,” Buck is compelled to ask, “what if it changes everything?”

Eddie laughs, low and rough. “Of course it’ll change everything, Buck, and I want that. I don’t think it’ll take anything away though. It’s just another way for me to love you, and I already do, so…”

He pauses and Buck grabs him by the shoulders. 

“Up, up, up here now,” he says frantically, suddenly sure that if he can’t kiss Eddie immediately, he may genuinely die.

Eddie snickers and Buck realizes he’s said that last part out loud. Then Eddie’s mouth is back on him, and Buck stops thinking at all.

He’s aware that this is Eddie’s first time with a guy (and holy hell, that’s a thought so hot that Buck’s brain might melt out of his ears) but there’s nothing in the way Eddie’s moving against him that suggests any hesitation about what they're doing. He lines them up, hard cocks pressed together, both of them still in their sweatpants, and sets up a slow, filthy grind. It’s good, so fucking good, that all Buck can do is wrap his legs around Eddie, grab onto his shoulders, and hold on.

Eddie’s kissing him again, those same deep, slow kisses, his tongue fucking into Buck’s mouth in counterpart to the way their bodies are moving together. Buck’s got his hands firmly planted on Eddie’s ass now, and it’s just as spectacular as Buck always thought it would be, especially with Eddie gasping into his mouth, sexy punched out groans that bring Buck closer and closer to the edge.

“How do you…” Buck starts and then shudders at a particularly innovative shift of Eddie’s hips. “Eddie, fuck, how…”

“How what, babe?” Eddie whispers against his lips, not letting up on the way he’s rolling his hips for even a moment.

“How do you want to come?” Buck finally grits out, holding on by sheer force of will now.

The question seems to surprise Eddie and he eases up now, rocking his hips so slowly as he considers Buck’s face.

“I mean,” Eddie says and then a wicked grin crosses his face. “You’re the expert here, Buckley. Walk me through it. What are the options?”

Buck stares up at Eddie and then can’t help himself, starts to laugh, deep belly laughs as his head drops back onto the couch cushions. “Not an expert,” he gasps finally, and sweeps his hands from where they’re resting on Eddie’s shoulders down his arms to his wrists and then back up again, to link his fingers behind Eddie’s head, pulling him in for a kiss. “Journeyman at best.”

Eddie is still grinning and rolls his eyes affectionately. “Fine. Journeyman. Whatever.”

Buck kisses him again, reaches down to grab Eddie’s hips and pulls them flush to his own, before working his way down Eddie’s neck.

“Lots of options,” he mumbles into Eddie’s collar bones. 

Eddie is grinding against Buck harder now, gasping, and Buck can taste the sweat on Eddie’s chest under his tongue. 

“We can keep doing this,” Buck manages to say and then groans at the way Eddie feels. “Fuck, that’s so. Oh my god, Eddie.”

“What else?” Eddie pants.

“I could… oh shit, Eddie, I could.” Buck swallows, his own breathing ragged in his ears. “I could suck you, jerk you off, whatever you want. You could fuck me,” and Eddie goes rigid above him, head thrown back, tendons in his neck standing out in stark relief as he lets out the sexiest sound Buck has ever heard, and Buck feels Eddie’s cock jerk as he starts to come.

For a long moment, the silence in the room is broken by the harsh sounds of Eddie’s breathing. Then Eddie opens his eyes, and the look on his face cracks Buck’s heart wide open. Eddie looks astonished, awed almost, as if his entire worldview has been shaken, and maybe it has, Buck thinks, remembering some of his own recent revelations. Maybe it has.

Eddie stares down at Buck as his breathing starts to settle, and the weight of him pressing Buck into the couch is as intoxicating as it is reassuring. There’s something so raw and honest about this moment — the way Eddie’s eyes are fixed on Buck’s face, the damp heat between them, the smell of sex intermingled with the scent of the peonies Buck bought at the Farmer’s Market the other day. Buck feels like every sense he has, and maybe some he didn’t even know about, are dialed all the way in.

“Buck,” Eddie breathes and his smile makes Buck’s throat tighten and his eyes prickle suspiciously. “My god, Buck.”

Eddie leans down and brushes a kiss across Buck’s lips, gentle and sweet, but as he does so, the extra pressure on Buck’s aching cock makes him hiss, his hips jerking up not of his volition.

“Oh fuck,” Eddie says, and without further ado, slides down Buck’s body and sticks his hand down Buck’s pants.

It doesn’t take long after that. Objectively, it’s nowhere near the best handjob Buck’s ever had — Eddie’s hand is dry, his grip a bit too tight, and his rhythm isn’t great, but none of that matters because it’s Eddie staring down at him, Eddie whispering things like “God, Buck, you’re so gorgeous, sweetheart, c’mon baby, give it to me,” and Buck is helpless to do anything but obey.

It feels to Buck like his orgasm is being drawn out from the very depths of his being, starting deep in his belly and rolling over him like the tide, inevitable and inexorable. Eddie keeps muttering words of encouragement, and when Buck’s head tilts back and his back arches, Eddie grins in satisfaction.

“There you go, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “Just like that.”

It turns out Eddie is mistaken. They clean up, make some dinner, collapse on the couch with their food and beers, and it’s no different than any other normal post-shift hangout. In the morning, Eddie good-naturedly submits to the ice packs Buck presses against his bruises, lets Buck make him coffee and bring it to him on the couch. No different from any other close call aftermath.

But Eddie’s never spent the night at Buck’s like that. Never brushed his teeth side by side with Buck before crawling into bed, wrapping himself around Buck like an octopus, the bare skin of his chest pressed to Buck’s back, his hand resting possessively on Buck’s hip. He’s never brushed a kiss to the sensitive skin at the nape of Buck’s neck. And he’s never said I love you quite like this before. So yeah, it turns out that he was also 100% correct. It changes everything.

And it’s amazing.

[hamsteriffic]

Here is a snippet from the first chapter ‘First comes Misunderstandings…’

It all started with a simple misunderstanding.

Like most things in Marinette’s life, the misunderstanding snowballed, becoming bigger and bigger until it was an avalanche and she’s cold and it’s white everywhere and she’s miserable and she doesn’t know how to get out of it.

Fun times, basically.

Sort of that feeling you get when you accidentally find yourself standing in a white ballroom catching her not-boyfriend in the middle of a romantic dance with his ex kind of miserable. Maybe boyfriend was too strong a word. They had only just confessed to each other their feelings and they hadn’t even kissed.

The Diamond Ball was only the first in a long line of deceit. When Marinette used Zoe’s invitation to enter the Diamond Ball, the first thing she heard was Chloe Bourgeois’ loud obnoxious voice from across the room. Marinette turned the other way, heading directly to the podium where Adrien and Kagami were sitting. She just wanted to tell him it was okay, that she understood his obligations as an Agreste… that she didn’t even want to go to the ball anyway.

But her courage soon faded away as Adrien smiled at his ex-girlfriend. The way he looked at her - with so much emotion that she thought was only reserved for her. She tried to convince herself that it was only that Adrien was doing a convincing job of being in love - he was a model after all, he could fake a smile like the best of them.

Half truths and pretty white lies.

A/N Canon divergence:

Marinette never confronted ‘Adrien’ at the Diamond Ball, so Argos never happened. The events follow roughly the same events leading up to the London Special and post season 5.

Thank you to my amazing and talented friends from the very unhinged, very hilarious Miraculous Big Bang server. A special shout out to @burntwaffle12 @piratesandpizza and @yellowbullet100 for all their work beta-ing and making art along the way!

Follow @mlbigbang2024 or the tags below for more previews!

[marnerparty]

lost dog

Mitch Marner x Matthews!reader

ynmatthews

Liked by user1, yourbestfriend, and 13,457 others

ynmatthews found this adorable dog in the Toronto area! Please let me know if it’s yours!

View all 168 comments

user1 adorable

yourbestfriend why do animals always find their way to you?

ynmatthews right!? I must be Snow White

yourbestfriend maybe you’ll find your prince 😏

user2 you’re kidding right?

ynmatthews about . . . ?

user2 you should know whose dog this is

ynmatthews sorry??

williamnylander Mitch is shitting his pants right now

ynmatthews Mitch?

austonmatthews i’m embarrassed to be your brother

ynmatthews i’m so confused

austonmatthews if you came to my games and met more than one of my teammates you’d understand

williamnylander don’t listen to him, he’s a being a bitch. it’s our teammates dog

user3 when she’s Auston’s sister and doesn’t know Mitch freaking Marner

ynmatthews sorry! i’m not a hockey person!

marner_93 you are a life saver. check your dms please!

user4 imagine getting dms from Mitch Marner

williamnylander yn’s living everyone’s dream rn

ynmatthews

Liked by austonmatthews, marner_93 and 19,433 others

ynmatthews dog returned ��

Tagged marner_93

View all 231 comments

marner_93 can’t say thank you enough! Zeus was sad to see you go

ynmatthews so glad I could help!

user1 a friendship I didn’t know I needed

yourbestfriend prince?

ynmatthews nope

austonmatthews 👀

williamnylander now you’ve met another teammate!

ynmatthews funny will. i’m laughing

austonmatthews if you would just come to your first hockey game the joke would end

williamnylander ^^^

calemakar first leafs game*

ynmatthews cale it was a secret 🤦🏼‍♀️

austonmatthews I KNOW you didn’t go to an avalanche game as your first NHL game

ynmatthews but cale’s my bestie 🥹

austonmatthews I’M YOUR BROTHER

user2 the Matthews are hectic

austonmatthews yn’s hectic*

ynmatthews Auston’s hectic*

marner_93

Like by williamnylander, yourbestfriend and 37,851 others

marner_93 i think she’s been using me for my dog for the last 2 years

Tagged ynmatthews

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ynmatthews ofc I am!

williamnylander that view 🤩

marner_93 right?

austonmatthews hey guys, older brother here! just wondering when you were going to tell me you snuck off to mexico?

ynmatthews where have you been Auston?

marner_93 did we sneak?

ynmatthews def sneaked

austonmatthews 😮

yourbestfriend not your prince?

ynmatthews shut up

marner_93 king*

user1 I’m so happy for them

calemakar and she’s still only been to an avalanche game 😎

user2 even after 2 years!?

Liked by ynmatthews

ynmatthews

Liked by calemakar, yourbestfriend and 23,765 others

ynmatthews okay, I’m a hockey person now :)

Tagged marner_93

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yourbestfriend YN WHAT!?

ynmatthews IK

yourbestfriend now would be the time where you say…

ynmatthews yes, you were right. he’s my prince :)

calemakar i’m so happy for you matty ❤️

ynmatthews i love you my cale💙

marner_93 🤍🤍

ynmatthews i’m so in love with you Mitch Marner

williamnylander I remember when you didn’t even know his name

ynmatthews yeah and everyone made sure I knew how much of an idiot I was 😂

user1 last name upgrade

Liked by ynmatthews

austonmatthews so happy for you guys

ynmatthews love you bro 💙

marner_93 thanks for your blessing Auston ❤️

ynmatthews you asked him for his blessing?🥹

calemakar marry him immediately

Liked by marner_93

marner_93

Liked by nhl, austonmatthews and 45,398 others

marner_93 we’re pretty good at this sneaking around thing

Tagged ynmatthews

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calemakar YOU DIDN’T

ynmatthews we did

marner_93 only Zeus knew :)

williamnylander now you can’t be my favorite Matthews :( but congrats nonetheless

ynmatthews I was your favorite? 🥹

williamnylander duh

ynmatthews Mitch, buddy, we gotta talk

user1 plot twist: Mitch becomes a Matthews

Liked by ynmatthews

yourbestfriend I wish I was angry but this is so you. congrats my love

ynmatthews love you long time ❤️

nhl cheers to the Marners!

Liked by marner_93 and ynmatthews

austonmatthews and after everything you two get eloped

ynmatthews you’re shocked?

austonmatthews nope

mapleleafs I think this means she’ll finally be catching a game!

ynmatthews 😐

williamnylander oh that’s good

bunting27 congrats to you both!

marner_93 thanks man!

ynmatthews it means a lot mikey!🤍

ynmarner

Liked by yourbestfriend, calemakar and 31,752 others

ynmarner & to think w/out Zeus I wouldn’t have Mitch 🤍

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user1 who would’ve thought

austonmatthews he would do yoga

ynmarner i’ve asked him not to tbh

marner_93 that’s false

ynmarner mitch you’re my husband now back me up

austonmatthews well he was my teammate first 🤷🏼‍♀️

marner_93 bros before hoes

ynmarner divorce

austonmatthews he’ll get through it, not a big loss

calemakar okay I feel the need to step in

ynmarner please do I’m sad

marner_93 she’s sitting across from me giggling

ynmatthews 😮

williamnylander wow marriage is starting off great you guys

yourbestfriend remember all of the “20 mile runs”

austonmatthews why is that in quotes?

yourbestfriend 😳

austonmatthews yn?

ynmarner take a guess at how many miles away Mitch’s house was from mine . . .

austonmatthews shut the front door

yourbestfriend she shut Mitch’s often!

mapleleafs Zeus is such a good boy!

ynmarner the best!

user2 how long do we think this lasts?

marner_93 forever and ever and ever

ynmarner

Liked by austonmatthews, williamnylander and 43,567 others

ynmarner because we really needed one more secret to keep . . .

Grayson Auston Marner 💙

Tagged marner_93

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[silviakundera]

Kinnporsche Fanfic Recs

In celebration of the 2 year anniversary, here is an avalanche of Kinn/Porsche fics that I've enjoyed. Painfully incomplete & posted in no particular order. My shipping interests are 100% focused on the K/P couple and that will be reflected in my list, sorry 😘.

Deep Like a Coastal Shelf by Lilla_Torg

(79,000 words) Green Arrow inspired AU. "After five years abroad, Kinn Theerapanyakul returns to find his city under siege by a vigilante known as the Phoenix."

Stain of Sun by Lilla_Torg

(78,000 words) Omega brothers Porsche (hacker) and Chay (grifter) team up to take down the Theerapanyakul crime family. Things do not go as planned. // This marries A/B/O with mutant powers. As long as you're not wholly opposed to Omegaverse, give it a chance. Every one of this author's long KPtS fics is a banger.

Pouring Down Crimson Fire by Lilla_Torg

(119,000 words) Sort of a mutant AU but honestly that underplays how fucking cool this fic is. “I think you know something about keeping secrets,” said Kinn. He flashed Porsche a pocket-ace smirk. “You’re mine. Say it.”

The boy he’d been fourteen years ago would have told him where to shove it. But Porsche had been around long enough to know that the mafia always won. Still, he looked around, searching for a way out, before giving up and turning back to Kinn, those black eyes awaiting his surrender.

“I’m yours,” he said.

a perpetual unscattering by concernedlily

(31,000 words) Canon-divergence AU. “Pissing in bottles behind a cocktail bar,” Kinn said. “But Pa gave him to me, so I’m stuck with him.” To a visibly furious Porsche he said, “You don’t know the minor family? Never come across any of them before?”

“How would I know the fucking minor family?” Porsche snapped.

what a tangled web we weave by fortunehasgivenup

(80,000 words) 1000 Nights inspired alternate universe, fantasy-historical Thailand. // After the betrayal of his first husband, King Anakinn Theerapanyakul vows to never love again. Once a week, he takes a new husband, a young man who will not live to see another dawn.

When a nobleman comes to find a young man to adopt and marry off to the king in place of his own son, Thee chooses Chay.

Faced with an outcome that he refuses to contemplate, Porsche steps in and takes Chay's place. He only has one request for the king - to be allowed to tell his brother one last bedtime story.

Burn Your Name Into My Skin by Everyforkedroad

(72,000 words) In which Kinn visits a high-end sex club and he & Porsche meet under the guise of anonymity for what should be a 1 night encounter. Except not only are they intensely drawn together... things are not what they seem.

Salt by ronandhermy

(49,000 words) Sweat stings because the salt is purifying. Porsche may be in high school but he is still a National Champion in Taekwondo and he catches the eye of the national team's newest sponsor: The Theerapanyakun Family. Alternate first meeting. Leans into the darkness of canon, read the tags and proceed w caution.

how do you like it, daddy by Baby_Droll

(28,000 words) "and ain't shit 'bout me cheap and ain't shit 'bout me free" - our lord and savior, florence millicent. kinn & porsche, and all the other pieces on their fucked up chess board. a sugar baby/daddy au with an omegaverse twist. // This is a dark reimagining alternate universe. Iconic toxic K/P fic.

two shots by Martynax

(81,000 words) AU, different first meeting. Porsche joined the armed forces & became a hired gun. // “So I’m supposed to end a mafia dispute?”

“Something like that,” he mutters, wondering if he’s making a mistake, revealing it to Porsche so soon. Nothing is set in stone, after all. But he has a gut feeling that the man appreciates honesty and simplicity much more than intrigue and schemes.

be the best you ever tasted by Martynax

(90,000 words) an AU where Porsche's life is shit so he shakes his perky little bum for strangers at a strip club and Kinn books him for a private show. Porsche doesn't fuck customers and shouldn't get associated with whatever grey business his boss is trying to run out of the club. But... you know how this is gonna go.

between the sheets by DasWarSchonKaputt

(70,000 words) “And who’s that?”

“Oh. That’s Porsche. He’s Khun Kinn’s live-in boytoy. He’s harmless, mostly. Just a pretty face.”

A boyfriend can go so many places a bodyguard can’t. As the threat of a potential leak in their security forces looms large, Khun Korn hatches a plot to place an added layer of protection around his heir presumptive. Enter Porsche, former bartender, current bodyguard, and reluctant fake boyfriend of Kinn Theerapanyakul.

Stumbling to the Edge by FireRisingOverTheHills

(51,000 words) Of the genre of KP fics where Kinn and Porsche meet-cute in a random bar encounter, instead of a meet-ugly, this one is my fav. I just really enjoy the Kinn PoV with his what?! is?! happening??? vibes as he finds himself irresistibly drawn to someone who doesn't fit neatly into defined roles.

"He makes this all seem like it’s perfectly normal and Kinn is helpless to do anything but go along with it."

Whatever Else that Touches You by technicallyverycowboy

(9,330 words) Tender established relationship and bisexual self discovery, post canon. // "No, it's fine." Porsche shifts to be a little less plastered against Kinn's side, straightens his shoulders and smooths out his jacket with great dignity. "The answer to your question is yes, I have really never been with any other men."  Porsche answers questions, asks some of his own, tries new things, and fills in the knowledge gaps of his own sexuality.

An Elegant Mechanism by Laughsalot3412

(87,000 words) A/B/O AU, Kim centric with some background K/P and dysfunctional brothers & cousin bonding. The only fic on this list that isn't K/P primary. //  "Kim was only an omega when he was luring people closer to his gun. No one had to give Kim a weapon. He was one.  (Kim's mission is to get close to Porchay Kittisawat. Chay is not a typical alpha. Kim is not a typical omega. Kim isn't having feelings and Chay is going to be so normal about all of this.)"

Love and Violence by thewayside

(9,500 words) Beautifully written, post ep 14. // "Love and violence have always been bedfellows for Kinn. Down to how his first proper relationship ended in a pool of blood. Porsche’s beauty might have drawn him in, but he knows in his gut that he met someone in kind that first night, blood coursing through their veins as the fight ended and Porsche led him onto a bike to a road he barely knew."

Burnished night, blood-soaked stars by The_Old_Astronomer

(13,000 words) Missing scene set between the end of episode 6 and the side story (pre-ep 7). Porsche fights to keep Kinn alive after the attack, and gradually realises how much the other man means to him.

Night Call by vesna (mrsronweasley)

(34,500 words) "On Kinn's birthday, Kinn is dragged by Tae and Time to a strip club, where he gets a private dance from a man who calls himself Jom. Kinn is smitten. Things spin out from there." Canon AU, where Porsche became a stripper because bartending wasn't paying enough.

NFWMB by vesna (mrsronweasley)

(18,700 words) There's a rushing in Kinn's ears, a noise he can't shake. It almost makes him miss the next thing Arm tells him. "He was supposed to check in, as per protocol, but—"  "But what," Kinn snaps. A headache is building behind one of his eyes.  Arm's eyes are wide right before he lowers them and says, "He hasn't been heard from in two and a half hours."  Or, post-canon Porsche is kidnapped. Kinn goes through it.

Caught Off Guard by Altered_Ego

(23,000 words) The one where Porsche is one of his escort's bodyguard. Alternate first meeting; Porsche took another path to support his brother.

the less i know the better by mslunita

(45,000 words) Bored Kinn joins Tinder in hopes of getting his rocks off with a different kind of guy, instead of the standard escorts. Porsche challenges him in just the right way. // Alternate first meeting. Basically their canon selves, but this is after Porsche has already had his bi awakening.

XXX curious STRAIGHT boy BEGS for COCK for the FIRST TIME XXX by mirrorofprinces

(35,000 words ) Porn industry AU. “Porsche is extremely close to signing. In fact, he has a final meeting with the execs on Monday morning. The only condition is that he wants to request his first partner, and it’s you.”  Kinn takes a long drink of his whiskey, sets the glass down, and runs his tongue over his teeth. “So you had to meet with me, urgently, to tell me that a beautiful boy wants me to fuck him, thinking I’d say no.” He drums his fingers on the bartop. “Which means there’s a catch.”

paint my kiss across your chest (your touch is like a happy pill) by darkknight

(16,000 words) Episode 8 era. "Porsche discovers different new ways of how good sex can feel, ways that would never even have crossed his mind before meeting Kinn."

quis custodiet ipsos custode by concernedlily

(8,600 words) Porsche being on dangerous missions and Kinn discovering he has Feelings About That. Missing scenes and Post Ep 14.

Wing of a Butterfly by Kalere

(320,000 words) Some years before the canon storyline, two young men have a random encounter at a bar. Their friendship changes everything. // The epic Porsche & Vegas friendship fic.

[foundheavenly]

Streamer!Gojo x M!reader where Satoru he's a famous streamer and you're his secret bf, he shows you on screen for the first time because his followers don't believe you're real <3

Thank you !

Disclaimer: English is not my mother tongue so please be nice.

Words: 800

Pairing: gojo x reader

Theme: fluff, comfort, secret partner, streamer

The camera's red light blinked on, and Satoru’s confident grin filled the screen. The chat window beside him exploded with messages as thousands of fans eagerly awaited his next move.

“Hey, guys! How’s it going?” Satoru greeted, his voice smooth and charismatic. The chat responded with an avalanche of excitement, emojis and questions. Today’s stream had a special energy, a buzz of anticipation that was more intense than usual.

“Satoru, is your secret boyfriend real?” one message stood out among the rest, echoed by dozens of others. It was the question that had been plaguing his fanbase for weeks.

Satoru chuckled warmly, leaning closer to the camera. “Alright, alright, I see you guys are still curious as ever. You really don’t believe I could pull someone, huh?” He glanced off-screen, his eyes meeting yours for a brief second, and your heart raced. You were laying on his bed and waited nervously for the big moment.

yourfavoritedilf: i bet you paid him it ain't real

Satoru frowned and recognized the username. "Shut up, Zen'in."

ihatemylifebro: he ditched his own best friend for another man.

Satoru gasped as he saw a message from Suguru. "Hey back me up on this dude!" He shook his head and grinned. “Okay, buckle up, because I have a surprise for you all.” Hesaid, his voice a mix of excitement and nervousness. “Babe, come here.”

You stepped into the frame, and the chat went wild. Hearts, shocked emojis, and disbelieving comments flooded in. Satoru slipped an arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him.

“Everyone, this is Y/N” he announced, looking at you with a proud smile. “My amazing boyfriend.”

yourfavoritedilf: ain't no fucking way this dumbass pulled a guy

“Hi, guys” You managed, waving at the camera. You could feel your face heating up, a blush creeping in as you read the whirlwind of reactions on the screen.

“No way!”

“He’s real!”

“They’re so cute together!”

“Prove it’s not a prank!”

Satoru laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “You guys are hilarious. This is not a prank. Y/N has been my rock for a long time now, and I wanted to share a bit of our life with you all.”

He squeezed your hand under the table, a gesture of reassurance. You took a deep breath and smiled. “It’s true. I’ve been supporting Satoru behind the scenes, but now I guess you get to see me too.”

Questions began pouring in, and Satoru picked a few to answer. “How did you two meet?” one fan asked.

Satoru grinned at you, letting you take the lead. It was a pretty fun story. “We met at a gaming convention. I was cosplaying as one of my favorite characters, and Satoru happened to be there doing a meet-and-greet. I had no idea who he was at first. We just clicked, exchanged gamer tags, and the rest is history."

Satoru laughed warmly and kept his blue gaze on you. "Yeah, he totally played it cool. Didn’t even realize I was a streamer until later."

Chat: That’s such a cute story! Cosplay goals! What character were you cosplaying, Y/N?

You blushed and cleared your throat. "Oh, I was dressed as Tracer from 'Overwatch'. Satoru thought it was impressive because I made most of the costume myself."

Satoru leaned in and kissed your jaw. "And it was impressive. He looked amazing." He smiled and added, "he was also the one who beat me at my favorite game. That’s how he caught my attention, beside of being handsome.” He winked, making the chat explode with laughter and “aww”s.

As the stream continued, you both shared more about your relationship, from your favorite games to your inside jokes. The initial shock of your appearance started to fade, replaced by a warm acceptance from Satoru’s followers.

By the end of the stream, it felt like a weight had been lifted off your shoulders. Satoru turned to you as you both signed off, his eyes filled with gratitude and love. “Thanks for doing this, babe” he whispered.

“Of course” You replied, squeezing his hand. “I’m glad we can finally share this part of our lives with everyone.”

The screen faded to black and the chat slowly quieted down. Satoru leaned back in his chair, pulling you into a tight hug. “That went better than I expected.”

You smiled, resting your head on his shoulder. “Yeah, it did. They really love you. And us.”

Satoru kissed your cheek, a content sigh escaping his lips. “And I love you. Thanks for being real with me.”

You looked up at him, your faces inches apart. “Always, Satoru. Always.”

[fadewalking]

Open Starter— Solas is alone. See tags for content warnings.

Had it been a week? Two? Since Rook last visited him? Perhaps it had only been a few days. Even if time in the Fade did mirror the waking world—and it did not—Solas could not track it. There was no sunrise or sunset, no shifting shadows, no stars to chart. Even when exhaustion pressed him into closing his eyes, he found no reprieve. His dreams were bound within the prison’s confines, in the same desaturated emptiness. Eyes open, eyes closed—it was all the same. A cage of relentless monotony and regret.

The only thing he could do here was think, and the solitude of his own mind was a torment. Sometimes.. he could not stand it, to be so trapped.

Yes, there was a plan, but it hung by a thread, a desperate hinge of Rook defying impossible odds. If they fell, it would all collapse. There was no contingency this time, no second act waiting to salvage what remained. Even if Rook survived, there was no guarantee the plan would come together in time. He might already be too late. The thought clawed at him: he might remain here forever. Forever. Or else be crushed beneath Elgar’nan's tyrannical hand. He didn’t know which was worse.

How had it come to this? He had been so close to making it all mean something, to ensuring that the sacrifices, the betrayals, had a purpose. But no. He had failed. Again. That was all he could do: fail. Everyone who had faith in him, every life lost in his name, every death he had justified for this cause.

Varric. Felassan. Mythal.

Each name cut deeper than the last, and there were more. A legion of ghosts haunting him across centuries. What was any of it for now?

This.

To die alone.

It was his greatest fear realized. Dread filled him. No one he hadn’t betrayed could reach him here. He had failed her. The Elves. Himself. And had betrayed every value that had once made the fight worthwhile.

Solas knelt on the jagged rock, the sharp edges digging into his knees. He welcomed it. It was the barest fraction of pain he deserved to feel. The true weight of it all bore down on him, an avalanche he could not endure. The walls of his mind closed in; his vision tunneled, edged with black. Tears blurred what little clarity remained, falling in sync with deep, ragged sobs that burned as they tore from his chest. Each one hurt, an agony that felt earned. He was history’s greatest fool, and fate would give him exactly what he deserved.

He was pathetic. Useless. A mockery of a villain, an insult of a hero. No one would ever dare to mourn him. Few would even spare him a thought if he were never heard from again. And perhaps that was how it should be. He was a lost cause. He was worth giving up on.

He should—he should just..

His head lifted, his gaze catching the precipice of the chasm that stretched beneath him into the infinite Fade below.

He should just do it.

A voice came unbidden, like his own but colder and sharper. It urged resignation.

Do it. Fall. Accept.

The suggestion coiled in his mind, insidious. At least then there could be no more expectation for him not to live up to. His eyes locked on the edge, wide and unblinking, tears streaking his face. His muscles froze, save for the trembling of his hands and the uneven rise of his chest.

No more devastating responsibility. No terrible purpose. Just the release of letting go. Perhaps that was the only escape left to him; the third option he'd been missing...

But he wouldn’t. He couldn’t. He was too much of a coward. Too afraid to admit that the only way out might be off. And wasn’t even that cowardice? What right did he have to give up, even when there was nothing to hope for?

No.

Even his adversaries deserved more from him than that. He would keep going, giving every last piece of himself to the cause until his breath was gone or his mind finally shattered. He owed that much. Everything. No matter what.

At least he could mourn himself, here and now. And he did. He wept into his open palms; his cries would have echoed but there was nothing to reflect from.

Lost in his despair, he didn’t notice the ripple in the Veil; the faint pull across the chasm. Someone was coming, someone was already here. His gasp broke the stillness, a sound caught between exhaustion and shock. He pivoted sharply, turning his face away from the presence. He didn't want to be seen like this.

[mendeshoney]

let it once be me - s. malinski (colorado avalanche)

A/N: hello! long time no see. this was written for the "the eras tour hockeyblr fic challenge" hosted by the lovely @comphy-and-cozy and @wyattjohnston, and is inspired by the song "the prophecy" by taylor swift. thank you both for hosting this challenge and I adore y'all very much.

word count: 18,965

warnings/tags: very light and vague-ish soulmate!au, lots of angst, strangers to lovers to strangers to lovers, memory loss (random, non-illness related, part of the soulmates condition), angst with a happy ending

~

It’s almost exactly like how it happens in the movies.

And you hate it.

Time seems to slow down, your heart seems to beat slower, louder, heavier in your chest behind your ribcage. You can feel your skin getting warmer, can feel a hint of a shiver on your arms, and the way your mouth opens slightly in shock at seeing him.

It’s been two years at least since you’d seen him last. He’s still the same in so many ways.

Confident, determined, yet somehow, more free spirited.

You’re at Valley Tavern, the newest bar downtown that had just opened a month ago. You’d been there with your friends who’d been curious to know what it was like, and it seems he and his friends were the same.

There's a smile that threatens to form on your lips when you see the familiar way his friends welcome him into the bar, the excited way that they envelope him into their circle again like he never left it. You force the smile away, force your mouth shut, and school your body into neutrality as you turn back to your friends, tuning back into the conversation.

As the night progresses, there's this distinct feeling of electricity that pricks across your skin every time he gets near, when he’s just within reach but still too far away. It’s annoying, and you hate it, but the familiarity of it is something you welcome, even if you know it’ll be brief.

There's a couple of times where you make eye contact, but you only allow it for the briefest of seconds before you tear your eyes away, as if you were scanning the room for someone else. Otherwise, he lingers in your peripheral vision the entire time, but you make no effort to interact with him in any way.

It won’t matter, after all. 

After all this time, he still has no idea who you are.

A couple of hours after he’s walked through the door, you're sitting with your friends at a corner booth of the bar, chatting and finishing the last of your soda when he’s the closest he’s been all night. You're sitting at one of the ends of the booth, and he and one of his buddies are chatting about a foot away from you. His friend’s back is facing you, and you can semi-hear their conversation as they catch up. 

His voice is smooth, cool and unwavering as he chatters away, his friend laughing at a few things said here and there. None of what they’re saying registers to you, all of it drowned out by the conversation in the booth.

A few minutes later, when your glass is finally empty, you can feel how your social battery begins to deplete down to zero. You double check that your crossbody is still secure around you and remains unzipped, that your phone is in your pocket, before turning to your friends. You wait for a pause in the conversation, and when it comes, the very second you open your mouth to say goodbye to your friends, another voice cuts in.

His.

“Hi there.”

Your friends all blink at him, and then their heads collectively swivel to your with expectant eyes.

You turn, and to your surprise, finds that he’s looking at you with the same expectant look, only standing a couple of inches away. 

“Hi,” you return, all too aware of how your voice came out much quieter than intended.

It doesn’t seem to bother him in the slightest. He gives an easy smile, sticking his hand out.

He introduces himself, saying “Hi, I’m Sam,” all that boyish charm and manly confidence etched into the smile carved out on that handsome face of his, and it would have flustered anyone else for sure, probably sent their heart racing.

But not you.

Not when you know all of his tricks by now.

The familiarity of his game eases the tension in your body, erases all the little pinpricks and lingering electricity you felt when you first saw him tonight, quickly being replaced by a calm that must seep into your features when you smile back at him. It makes him blink a bit, clearly a little stunned - by what, you aren't sure - as you take his hand and shake it, introducing yourself to him in return.

You ignore the goosebumps his touch sends up your arm.

Belatedly, you can feel the way your friends eye him, how some of them want to remind him that he’s met you before, but you know they won’t say a thing - too excited at the prospect of seeing your soulmate introduce himself to you yet again far too tempting. They’d rather see how this will play out than butt in with the facts of reality.

“It looked like you were about to head out and I didn’t want you to go without saying hello to you first.” Sam says, dropping his hand from yours and sticking it in his pocket.

The corner of your mouth threatens to quirk up in a smile as your own hand falls back into your lap. 

That’s new.

“Usually people say hello at the beginning of the night, you know.” You point out, keeping your tone playful. 

“True,” he nods. “I meant to, but I kept getting distracted.”

Your head tilts curiously. “By?”

“The thought about whether or not I deserved to say hello to someone as pretty as you.”

You can’t control it, the smile that creeps across your lips, and you laugh a little while your friends giggle at your side.

“Ah,” you say, nodding. “I see. So you decided that you deserved to?”

He shakes his head seriously. “No way, but I figured I’d give it a shot anyway.”

“Bold of you,” you commend. “I appreciate the confidence.”

“Do you appreciate it enough to at least let me walk you out? If you were in fact leaving, that is.”

You shrug, “Sure, why not.”

You pretend to ignore his slightly stunned expression as you stand, saying goodbye to your friends as they each climb out of the booth to give you a hug. Two of them whisper that they’ll be following behind you as he escorts you out, to which you nod and whisper a quiet ‘thank you’ in return.

You understand their concern, but you also know they’re doing it more because they’re worried for you than they are suspicious of him.

When you turn back to Sam, he’s got an excited smile on his face. He takes a step back to allow you to lead the way, and he follows close enough behind that he can help you navigate through the crowd, but he remains far enough out of your space that he’s barely touching you. His friends and teammates jest and whistle at him as he goes, some of them quietly observing, considering they definitely recognize you, but can’t do a thing about it.

Once you’re out on the street, the night breeze takes you by surprise a little, a small chill running through your body. 

“Oh,” he says, then he’s shrugging off his jacket and placing it around your shoulders gently. It smells a little woody, but not overpowering.

“Thank you,” you say, “That’s kind of you.” 

From behind him, you can see the way your friends linger at the entrance of the club. 

“Did you need to call an Uber? Or-”

“I’m sober, I’m parked over there.” You gesture down the street with your chin at where you’d expertly parallel parked earlier in the night.

“Can I walk you to your car?” Sam offers, and you raise a brow at him playfully. He shrugs with a wolfish smile. “Just trying to earn the right to have said hello and taken up all this time of yours so far.”

You pretend to consider it, then nod. “Sure, I’ll let you walk me to my car.”

He holds his arm out for you to take, saying “This way, pretty girl.”

You loop your arm through his and try to squash down the butterflies in your stomach. This may be new territory for you, but his charm is still the same. By tomorrow, this will be another “first meeting” added to the list.

As you both get closer to your car, he hums a little, and you glance at him. “Something on your mind?”

“Would it be overstepping if I asked you out for coffee tomorrow? Or maybe brunch, if you like that sort of thing?”

You blink.

That’s…new too.

“Well. I guess that depends.” You say, digging into your purse for your keys and unlocking your car as you approach it. He reaches for your door, opening it for you, and you spin to look at him.

Huh. You think. He actually looks hopeful. 

Too bad.

“Depends on?”

You smile, a slight edge to it as you shrug off his jacket, holding it in your hand. 

“What’s my name?”

Sam blinks, and then he laughs a little, “Really? Is that it?”

“Part of it.” You say, holding his jacket out to him. 

“What’s the other part?” He asks, then pushes his jacket back to you. “Keep it,” he insists. 

You smirk, draping the jacket over one of his shoulders. “Nope, you can’t use your jacket as an excuse to see me either.”

“So it’s just your name?” He puts the jacket on, sticking his hands in the pockets. “Your name and you’ll come with me to brunch?”

“Sure,” you say with a shrug. He opens his mouth, and you can see your name is right on his lips, and you hold a hand up, effectively silencing him. “Not now.” At his confused look, you give him a small, wicked smile. “A week from now.”

Sam almost jolts, the shock written all over his face. “What?”

“If you can remember my name a week from now, if you want to have made ‘taking up all my time’ tonight worth it, then I’ll go to brunch with you. Next Saturday, eleven o’clock, at Piper’s Diner on Main Street.”

You toss your purse into your car in the passenger seat and he starts to stutter. You smirk, getting into the car, shutting the door, and rolling the window down once you start it. 

He bends down to look at you, the shock still on his face. “You’re being serious?”

“Very serious.” You insist. He lets out a breath, hanging his head in disbelief. You revel in it for a second, then say his name. It gets his attention, his gaze drifting to yours, an almost hopeful twinkle to them. “If you can’t remember it, don’t bother coming.”

Sam blinks again. For a second, you expect him to say screw it, to say it’s not worth it and say thanks but no thanks and head back to the bar.

Instead, he takes you by surprise. “I’ll remember it. See you at Piper’s, pretty lady. Drive safely, okay?” He winks at you, then takes a step back from the curb and onto the sidewalk.

Cocky. You muse. 

Without another word, you put your eyes to the road, putting your car in drive and pulling out of your spot, taking off down the street. You don't even bother casting a glance at him in the rearview mirror.

It won’t matter.

Like always, he won’t remember by the morning.

He never does.

~

In school, they always called it “the true test of love.” 

They made it sound so romantic, so ideal.

But to you it always sounded like a curse.

“Soulmate bonds, true soulmate bonds, are rare for humans now. There are only about three types of identifying symptoms that can help to solidify that the person who is your true match is in fact, yours. The last of those three symptoms is the most common.” Your high school health teacher had explained. 

“All three symptoms have to do with memory. The first symptom is memory sharing - meaning that anything your soulmate learns or begins to remember, so do you. The second deals with memories as dreams, where as you sleep, you ‘dream’ of a memory that your soulmate has. Now these symptoms aren’t as frequent, or as common, but they do happen, and it’s just as it sounds. The third symptom is the most common.”

What she didn’t say was that it was also the most unfortunate, frustrating, and useless symptom known to humankind.

It dealt with memory loss. Specifically, memory loss regarding their soulmate.

It was ridiculous and cruel. To think that you’d meet the person destined for you, to be with for the rest of your lives and every life after, and all they can do is forget you.

“It only happens to one soulmate, not both. But, if you do have a soulmate, it is likely that they will forget things about you. They could forget small things, things like your favorite color, your favorite food, or they could forget time - not realizing how much of it has passed. They can also forget the big things - such as your name, your face, sometimes they may forget ever meeting you. The latter now is not a punishment, but rather a sign - a sign at how imperative you are to that person’s soul, that they must meet you again and again and again to understand what it is to meet you, lose you, love you, and fight to keep you.”

A pain in the ass. You had thought to yourself. 

“There can be small stretches of memory loss, or long stretches. Meaning you can meet your soulmate, and they’d forget you within the next few hours, or, you could meet them and they would remember everything about you until one day, they just stopped.”

“So you could be with them, and they'll remember you every day for years, and then it can just…stop?” You had asked in disbelief.

Your teacher nodded, but her demeanor remained hopeful, while yours turned sour.

That sounded horrible.

“How do you know which one of you is meant to forget the other?” A classmate of yours had asked.

“You won’t know until you either remember it all, or until you meet them for the second time and they forget you.”

Your heart broke in your chest. How awful.

“Do they forget you forever?” Another classmate had asked. “Do they ever stop forgetting? Is there ever a time where they remember?”

There was a fond smile on your teacher’s face when she nodded. “They do eventually remember, yes, and the forgetting will stop when it’s time. There will come a day where they’ll remember everything they’ve forgotten. However, it can take time. My husband and I had technically been off and on for about ten years before he finally remembered everything. It was our wedding day when he finally remembered everything - the best wedding present I could have received.” 

You had frowned at that. That was pure luck, and you knew for yourself you would never get to the point of marriage if your soulmate wasn’t going to remember marrying you.

“Are you supposed to help them remember?” You couldn’t help but ask. “If they forget, are we supposed to tell them we’ve met before? That they already know us?”

She’d paused, clearly trying to choose her words carefully. “You can, but you have to do it carefully. It could interfere with their ability to naturally remember in the long run if you force their memories.”

That pretty much helped you make up your mind. 

If anything, you hoped you were one of the common people who didn’t have a soulmate. You didn’t want to deal with any of that business if it meant dealing with memory loss, if that memory loss was meant to test how “destined” you were for one another, if you couldn’t even tell your soulmate that they knew you before they remembered that they knew you.

Destiny was cruel, and you wanted no part of it.

~ 

Over the last seven years, you’d met your soulmate exactly five times before.

The first time you met was when you were eighteen and at your first college party. He was there too, drinking along with the other freshmen on his team while the older ones supervised. 

The second you saw him, time slowed, your heartbeat picked up, and you even managed to muse aloud, “He’s the cutest boy I’ve ever seen.”

Serena, your best friend and roommate, told you his name then. 

Sam Malinski. 

You’d spoken it softly, repeating it to yourself to commit it to memory before you’d been dragged in the direction of your friend’s friends.

Some time later that night, someone suggested a game of spin the bottle and seven minutes in heaven.

You’d been dragged into the circle by Serena, and he’d been shoved into it by his friends. He’d spun the bottle, and you both ended up pushed into the hallway closet closest to the circle with the warning that there'd be three loud knocks on the door once you time was up. 

Sam was tipsy, close to drunk for sure, his words slightly slurred when he said “Hi there. What’s your name?”

You told him, and he gave his name back to you before he hummed, sobering himself up enough to tell you “You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. We can just sit here.” 

“I want to,” you told him honestly. “I don’t mind.”

“Are you sure?” He asked. You could hear him fumbling, moving his hand along the wall to try to probably find the light, and that was the last thing you wanted - was for him to see your face up close, to be able to see you fully.

You were afraid he’d be mortified, think you weren't attractive, stick with just a peck to the cheek or forehead and then fumble around on his phone for the rest of the time.

So you reached forward, managed to find his hand and bring it between you. You traced your hand up his arm until you found his face, and then you brought him down to you and kissed him.

It was your first kiss.

Ever.

You were surprised with how quickly and how easily he had kissed you back, how his hands found their way into your hair, scratching gently along your scalp as he pressed your back against the wall. You kissed each other like you’d done it a thousand times before, but it didn’t feel practiced at all. It just felt…natural. Like it made all the sense in the world.

You were lost in his lips, lost in the way he went from having his fingers in your hair, to dropping them to your shoulders to bring you impossibly closer, to then cupping your face in his hands, using his grip to tilt your head this way and that as he pressed kisses from your mouth, to your jaw, your neck - nosing along the column to inhale your perfume, along the exposed line of your collarbone, and then back again until his lips were on yours once more. 

You kissed and kissed and held tightly to one another until a loud barrage of knocking and laughter rained upon the closet door, and just like that, your first kiss was over, and whatever had developed between you both in those seven minutes began to slowly fade out.

“Dammit,” he’d cursed, hands dropping away from your body.

Your own hands fell to your sides right when the door flew open, the light from the party flooding into the pitch black closet and nearly blinding you. You felt Serena grab your wrist and all but yank you out of that closet, her and your other friends immediately demanding to know if you were okay and whether or not you’d been upset.

As they dragged you away from the closet, you’d turned your head back to look at him, and found him only a few steps outside of the closet as his friends and teammate surrounded him. The second you looked at him, it was like he felt your gaze, so he looked up, and you’d caught each other's gaze, eyes locked on one another, matching dazed expressions on your faces that remained until your friends tugged you around a corner.

You didn’t see each other at all the rest of the night, no matter how hard you tried to look for him.

The second time you’d met was the next day, in the morning breakfast line at the cafeteria. You’d been standing at the back of your group of friends, all of them waiting patiently with their trays to grab the steaming food waiting at the buffet in front of them when someone bumped into you from behind, apologizing profusely the second it happened.

You’d turned around, ready with a kind smile, “It’s oka-” was right on your lips, but the rest of the word died and your heart stuttered.

It was him.

“Oh,” you said. “Hi again.”

Sam stared back at you, puzzled. “Hi there. I’m sorry,” he repeated, voice sleep rough but filled with genuine apology. “Have we met before?”

Your heart came to a crashing halt behind your rib cage and disappointment flooded your veins, but you kept your kind smile where it was as you shook your head. “Oh no, I’m sorry. I think I mistook you for someone else.”

He’d stared at you for a second, clearly trying to think, but your friends had called your name, and you turned, following them as the line began to move. You’d turned back to see him, to ask yourself if that had just happened, but he was already gone, being dragged to the breakfast burrito station by his teammates. 

When you’d sat down to eat, Serena asked “Was that the guy from last night?”

“I thought so,” you’d said. “But I guess it wasn’t him.”

She raised a brow. “Are you sure? It looked just like him.”

You shook your head, digging into your scrambled eggs. “Apparently not.”

Serena gave you a look. “Babe, does that mean he’s-”

“Nope,” you insisted, shoving a forkful of food into your mouth.

You knew what it meant, back then, that he didn’t remember you. You had hoped deep in your heart that it was just a boy being an asshole, that he genuinely didn’t remember and it wasn’t because of some soulmate bullshit.

But you knew. Deep down, you knew.

He was your soulmate. 

And apparently, your soulmate lost his memories of you within twelve hours.

The third time you met, it was three years later, in a class your senior year.

You’d seen him here and there over the years. Never kissed him again, never ran into him intentionally or accidentally, never dared to put yourself in his path. He went pro sometime during your sophomore year, so you thought for sure you’d never see him again, until senior year, when he hopped into the lecture hall of your mythology elective class during the first day, a cast on his leg as he moved on crutches, and plopped down in the seat in front of you.

You kept your composure, resolved to pretend like he didn’t exist.

Till he turned around and gave you a kind smile, hair still a little wet from his morning shower.

“Hi there, I’m sorry, it’s been a while since I’ve done this so it looks like I forgot a pen. Would you happen to have a spare?”

“Oh,” was all you could muster. “Sure.” You dug in your bag and handed him the only spare you had, and he’d given you a kilowatt smile in return.

“Thanks.” Sam said, and then his face morphed into a softer expression, smile getting smaller, a little dimmer, but still kind. He introduced himself again, then said “And you are?”

You gave him your name for the second time in your lives, and this time, he repeated it, saying “Well it’s nice to meet you,” before turning around as a couple of his buddies, and now former teammates, spilled into the lecture hall and rushed to sit beside him.

From what you gathered from eavesdropping - well, it was hardly eavesdropping when they were speaking so loudly, and right in front of you - he’d gotten injured toward the end of his season in the big leagues and got surgery at the end of the summer. He managed to work out a deal with the school and his team for him to be able to come back to campus as a commuter and finish out his degree that he’d apparently been working on online, even though he’d left campus two years prior.

You found it admirable, at the time.

Once class was over, he’d gotten up and left without so much as a glance back at you, taking your pen with him. 

He never showed for the next class, his teammates griping about how he’d been forced to go back to the team and to travel with them instead, continuing his courses online.

“Good riddance,” you tried to convince yourself to think. But it didn’t work.

You graduated, got a job, moved to Denver, and started your life. 

A few years later, he got traded, and moved to the same city.

So, you’d met for the fourth time on a Friday night in a club downtown, a place called Luisa’s. It was popular, frequently packed, and exactly the kind of place you went to when you needed to let loose and pretend your life was anything other than it was.

You’d been dancing with your friends and some co-workers, and once you grew thirsty, you found your way towards the bar where you ordered yourself and your friends a few drinks.

He was there of course, waiting for a round of beers for his friend, and when he spotted you, that same, signature smile of his already splayed on his features.

You didn’t get your hopes up that time either. You looked different than you had the last time you’d seen him, your hair had gotten longer and a little lighter from all the time you’d been forcing yourself to spend in the sun. All your friends told you how much hotter you’d gotten with age.

Figures your soulmate would confirm that for you, all the while not remembering a single thing about you. 

“Hi there.” Sam had said, then handed his card to the bartender and gestured towards you with his head. “Put her drinks on my tab, too.”

The bartender nodded and took the card before you could even start to protest, and you let out a small sigh. “Thank you, but you didn’t have to do that.”

“Gave me an excuse to talk to you, didn’t it?”

A small bubble of a laugh had almost left you in the moment. That was new, you remembered. He’d never been cheesy before. The trace of that smile had been on your lips still when he’d saddled up to you, getting in your space enough to close the distance but also remaining far enough away that you could leave if you really wanted to.

He introduced himself the same way he always did, and for the fourth time, you introduced yourself too, the same way you did before. He repeated your name again, a smile playing on his lips.

“What brings you to Luisa’s?” He asked you.

You shrugged. “The same as everyone else. You?”

“Well it was the same as everyone else.”

“Was?”

“The same as everyone else was getting kind of boring till I saw you. Now I’m staying because I want to get to know you.”

You remember you scoffed internally at that. You were sure just like before, you’d never get that far.

And you were right.

Later that night, you found yourselves drunkenly making out in a supply closet toward the back of the club, when the fire alarm went off, forcing you apart, which had been followed by a barrage of knocking on the door. He opened it with a frustrated sigh to find that his friends and yours were waiting there, the latter of which grabbed you and dragged you away, the blaring of the alarm drowning out their no doubt intense line of questioning. 

He’d called after you that time, shouting your name among the alarm, but you didn’t look back.

Not right away at least.

When you did chance a glance behind you, you were slightly surprised to see Sam was watching you go, and you gave him a little wave goodbye.

The fifth time you met was the following morning in the grocery store. 

You’d managed to ease your small hangover earlier that morning and decided grocery shopping would be a good way to get yourself out and about so you didn’t just sit and do nothing for the rest of the weekend.

He was there, in the produce section grabbing potatoes while you grabbed onions. 

When he accidentally bumped your side when moving to get onions next, you didn’t bother looking up at him. Just accepted his sorry with a quiet “no worries,” and turned your back to him, heading for the bell peppers next. 

You chanced a glance at him, to see if he might have remembered who you were this time, considering it was the second time he’d had his tongue down your throat.

He didn’t. 

Sam barely looked in your direction before he sauntered off, and you grabbed your produce and went in the opposite direction.

As always.

Of all those five times, he never remembered you the next day, never seemed to be able to remember your name, your face, or the fact that you’d been pretty familiar with each other’s lips. 

So you knew, as soulmates, that would probably be the pattern you had until fate decided it was time for him to remember.

That’s why when this sixth encounter came, you’d been better prepared. 

He may have gone off script for once and suggested meeting again, but even if you knew whether you’d meet again or not, it would be just like always.

Hi there.

What’s your name?

The night would progress, maybe with a kiss, maybe not, but once you were out of sight, time would reset for him, and then it’d only be a matter of time before you’d meet again - you with every memory of before, Sam with no recollection at all.

Hi there.

What’s your name?

Repeat. 

~

That fateful Saturday, you saddled up in your normal seat at the breakfast bar at Piper’s, smiling at Serena from her place at the espresso machine. Piper’s was extremely busy, busier than normal for a Saturday morning rush, and yet Serena looked as beautiful as ever, like none of this fazed her in the slightest.

She’d quit her corporate job about a year and a half ago, exhausted with the mundanity of her nine to five, and on the walk back to your shared apartment, had found a restaurant space for lease. After considering her savings and deciding she had nothing to lose, she opened up Piper’s Diner.

You were proud of how far she’d come, proud of how she never seemed exhausted or tired, proud of how much she loved the place.

“One best friend special, Eddie,” Serena calls back to the kitchen, tossing a wink in your direction before expertly loading up three coffees, two hot chocolates, and a few matcha lattes onto a tray and distributing them among the customers around the diner.

One of her waitresses, Jenna, places an orange juice and a glass of ice water down in front of you, like always, then puts her phone down, a picture of her latest design on the screen.

“Holy shit!” You exclaim, grabbing her phone and zooming in. Jenna was a student at the fashion institute, and had been working on a collection of clothing for one of her exam grades. 

The design you were looking at was of a floral embroidered midi dress, flaunting a corset-style bodice and a column skirt topped with blue floral embroidery. It was stunning, and in the next picture, you saw the corset top had a lace-up back, along with a low-back cut-out.

“The collection theme I’m going with is ‘Eve’s Garden,’ and that is my first piece.” She says. 

It was truly stunning, and Jenna giggled when you looked up to gape at her.

“How on earth do you come up with these designs?” You ask, then zoom in on the photo to get a closer look at the embroidery. 

Jenna shrugs, “Oh you know, just magic I suppose.”

You open your mouth to respond, but your voice is seized from you when you hear a familiar voice call your name.

Hoping the shock isn’t written all over your face, you turn on your stool, in complete disbelief when you see Sam standing there.

What.

The.

Fuck.

Your heart rate skyrockets to a hundred, and you do your best not to unhinge your jaw completely when it drops a little in shock, before you snap it back shut almost immediately.

What is he doing here?

Did he actually just call my name? You think. You want to pinch yourself to be sure, but instead, you flex your toes in your sneakers, rolling your ankle subtly, trying to find any proof that you are in fact, settled in reality and that Sam Malinski of all people is still standing in front of you.

Your soulmate.

Your soulmate who until now - never remembered a thing about you, and certainly not your name.

He’s in a light sweater, black jacket, and dark jeans, hands stuffed in his pockets as he looks at you with a sheepish smile. “I said I’d remember it, didn’t I?”

And he did…but…

“How did you-” You cut yourself off, knowing you can’t actually ask him. How did you remember me? How did you remember any of it? How are you here right now?

“Cat got your tongue?” He teases, moving from his spot and taking a seat on the barstool next to yours.

Jenna’s staring at him with a skeptical look, dragging her gaze back to you as if to say “Who’s this dude?” 

Sam either doesn’t notice the tense atmosphere he’s created or doesn’t care, smiling easily at Jenna and saying “I’ll have whatever she’s having, please.”

She nods, shooting you a look that means “the group chat will hear about this,” before turning to the little window to the kitchen, shouting her order to Eddie and grabbing a couple glasses to fill for Sam's orange juice and water.

You realize you’re still staring at him, and it’s probably uncomfortable, but you don’t know what else to do.

He smiles, laughing a little. “I can understand why you’re shocked, but I did say I would remember, and that I wanted to see you again.”

Again?

There has never been an “again,” never been a “next time,” and you want to tell him that. You want to tell him that and shake him and explain to him just why this is exactly the big deal you are trying so hard to not make it out to be.

But then his smile fades a bit, and his eyes fill partially with concern. “Did…did you forget?”

“No,” you insist, and his concern disappears almost immediately. “I didn’t forget.”

I just thought that you would.

“I’m surprised, that's all.” You continue. “A week is a long time.”

“Is it?” He muses. “I mean…it did feel a bit long - I was pretty excited to see you again.”

The smile that creeps up on your lips is there before you even realize it, and you can feel the heat flush in the apples of your cheeks. You see Jenna approach out of the corner of your eye, and turn your head toward her as she approaches with Sam's drinks. She puts it down, her eyes darting between you two.

“This is Sam,” you explain, cutting to the chase. 

When she hears his name, you can see the bit of recognition there, and she offers a polite smile. “Nice to meet you,” and then to you, she says. “Food will be out in a bit. Did you need a side of fries?”

You look at Sam, who gestures as if to say “up to you,” before turning back to Jenna with a nod.

You’d need all the comfort food you could get, at this point.

When she walks away, you turn to him, fumbling for something to say. 

You’d never actually gotten this far with him before.

For all that in the past he’d prepared you to deal with meeting him over and over, and then him forgetting you over and over, you’d never actually considered or had to be prepared with him remembering you. 

He beats you to it though. “So, was it officially worth it? Me taking up all your time last Saturday?”

“Yes,” you say, almost immediately. Because it’s true.

Because this is the first time you’ve gotten this far with him before.

And it was new, exciting, and nerve wracking.

It maybe even made you feel a bit…hopeful?

You tamp it all down anyway, because again, you’ve never gotten this far with him before, and you don’t know how much farther you can go.

But for now…for now you’re just tempted to find out.

“It was worth it,” you promise him. 

Sam smiles, dazzling and charming and soft, and holds out his glass of orange juice. You hold yours up, and he lightly clinks your glasses together.

“To it being worth it,” he explains, and you smile right back at him.

“To it being worth it.”

~

Brunch flies by, your plates of food cleared and discarded as the two of you split a second basket of fries.

You’d learned so much about him this time. More than you ever got the chance to before, and it had you clinging to your barstool as you leaned in, listening with rapt attention as he spoke to you.

It wasn’t until he happened to glance at the clock on the wall that he flashes a sheepish smile, wiping his hands nervously on his jeans. 

“Sorry,” he says, “I didn’t mean to take up all your time. You probably had other plans.”

“I didn’t,” you say, honestly. “Usually my Saturday mornings are brunch here, and then I spend the rest of the day at home.”

He smiles softly. “Oh, okay. In that case, do you feel up to doing something else? With me, I mean. Something else with me. Maybe?”

His nervousness brings a smile to your lips. Cute. 

“I’d love to.” You say, and Sam’s charming smile is back in full force. He politely waves Jenna over and hands her his card for the bill. When you protest almost immediately, he shakes his head. 

“Absolutely not,” he tells you. “This is definitely a date and I prefer to do things old school.”

A date.

Your heart flutters, even if just for a little. There’s also a part of your subconscious that tells you it’s a bit silly to get excited over a date with the guy who is most definitely your soulmate, but you tamp it down, offering a kind smile instead.

“Well, thank you. Genuinely.” You say, “I appreciate it.” 

It’s another few minutes before Sam settles the bill, and when you both stand to leave, you see Jenna and Serena watching the two of you with curious eyes. You flash them a reassuring smile, waving your fingers. They both give you another look that says “We’ll discuss this later.”

You follow Sam outside, and he stuffs his hands in his pocket, turning to you. “Would you prefer to take your car, or mine?”

Quietly, you gesture to where your car is parked near the curb. “I’m right here.” 

He smiles, pointing to the black BMW next to your car. “I’m right next to you.”

“Rock, paper, scissors?” You tease, smirk playing at the corner of your mouth.

You’re only half surprised when he actually sticks his hand out, fingers curled into a loose fist. It makes you laugh a little, and you hold out your own fist.

You both shake your fists three times, then throw out your weapon of choice.

You throw scissors.

Sam throws rock.

You push air through your nostrils, absolutely not pouting when you look at his face. He laughs, eyes crinkling, playfully and gently bringing his fist down on to your two fingers. A shiver runs up your spine at the contact, goosebumps erupting on your arms. 

“Looks like you’re riding with me, pretty girl.” He teases, then walks over to his car, unlocking it as he approaches and opens the passenger side door.

You pointedly ignore the pet name.

Sam looks up when he notices you’re not there, frowning slightly when he sees you’re still standing in your place on the sidewalk, arms crossed over your chest and a questioning look on your face. He smirks as he rests one arm on the roof of his car, the other on the top of the door. 

“Need something else?” He asks. “You can take a picture of my license plate to send to your friends, if you need to. I don’t mind it.” 

“They’ve got my live location,” you inform him, “So that’s not really wholly necessary.”

“Then why aren’t you getting in?” Sam questions, gesturing at your current position with his chin. 

You tilt your head at him curiously. “Where are you taking me?”

“On part two of this date I worked so hard to earn.” He teases.

You scoff. “I didn’t make you work that hard.”

“Waiting a week to see you again was hard,” he reasons, stepping around the car door and then shutting it so he can approach you on the sidewalk once more. “Especially because it was all I could think about every day.” 

You look up at him from below your lashes, skeptical. “Sam, I-”

He takes you by surprise, carefully undoing your crossed arms and taking one of your hands to link your pinkies together. He makes a small cross over his heart with his other hand, before resting it on top of your linked pinkies. “I swear that I will take you on a fun and enjoyable second half of this date and return you here early enough that you can drive home safely while the sun is still out. And if you don’t have fun with me, then you can call it quits at any time and I will immediately bring you right back.”

He looks at you afterward, expectant, and you can’t help the small smile that creeps up on your face, looking down at your feet to school your expression before the smile gets too big.

It’s just because you’ve never gotten to this point with him. You remind yourself. It’s not a big deal.

“Alright,” you concede. “I accept your promise.”

Sam gently untangles your hands, only to lace his fingers between yours, taking a tentative step back and pulling you with him. “You trust me, right?”

There was…so much you wanted to say in response. Because in truth, of course you did. It didn’t matter if he didn’t know that you’d known him for almost ten years at this point, it didn’t matter that he didn’t realize you two had been more than well acquainted, or that he couldn’t remember a single bit of it.

He was your soulmate, so even if he didn’t know it, of course you trusted him.

But still, this was a version of him you weren’t completely familiar with, so you just say “I’m starting to.”

The smile Sam gives you in return is blinding. “Good enough for me.”

~

There had been times over the years you’d thought about him.

You couldn’t help it - no matter whether he remembered you or not, no matter how much time had passed, no matter how much you hated the things you’d have to endure as his soulmate, the unknown amount of times you’d have to have your heart broken over and over and your hopes shot down, you thought about him.

You would think about him on your tough days at school, your tough days at work, during holidays when you would see couples and families out and about, even at home with your own family as each of your cousins got engaged, got married, started having children. 

If it was on, if he played, then during the nights you missed him, or wanted to be close to him, you’d turn on one of his games, content to just sit and watch. Whenever he came on screen or the announcers spoke his name, you’d felt your heart almost throb in response, as if it was trying to leap out of your chest to go to him. Serena and Jenna and your other friends crowded around you in those times, sharing in your joy.

They were there for you through it all, and especially in that moment - knowing exactly who he was, knowing what you’d been through with him, knowing who he was to you, and knowing that it was still very important for you to have this moment to celebrate with him from a distance. 

You still weren’t quite sure what was next for the two of you, what this all meant, but you knew that if anything, it was nice for the two of you to be able to have something tangible for once, for him to be more than just a passing encounter, or a wistful thought before bed.

~

You pull up to the player’s lot behind Ball Arena, a little hesitant as you roll your window down for one of the attendants in the lot.

“Hi,” you say, trying to sound confident. “I’m uh, I’m supposed to be picking up Sam Malinski? He told me to wait for him here?” You say, and you’re surprised when the attendant’s face lights up at the mention of Sam.

“Oh of course! He did mention you’d be coming. Right this way, I’ll have you park in his spot.”

You nod, offering a kind smile before rolling your window up, following the attendant to a parking spot a few doors down from an entrance, pulling in and parking. The attendant taps on your window, and you roll it down again, accepting the visitor’s pass he offers.

“You’re welcome to stay in here, or if you need to use the restroom or anything, the door is open and you’re free to go on inside.”

You carefully place the visitor’s pass on your dashboard, “Thank you, I appreciate it.” 

Once the attendant walks away, you feel yourself being able to breathe a little easier, but there’s still a small bundle of nerves sitting in your stomach. You decide to stay in the car, texting Sam to let him know you’d arrived, and that you were in his parking spot whenever he was ready.

He’d taken you to Meow Wolf, an interactive exhibit that the two of you surprisingly spent a solid three hours at, before he took you to Little Man Ice Cream, and eventually dropped you off at your car in front of Piper’s. At that point, you and Sam had exchanged numbers, and over the past two weeks since, had been texting back and forth, speaking on the phone a few times, and FaceTimed once. 

With his schedule and yours, it had been a little tough to find time to meet up since that initial Saturday, but you’d managed to find some time today. It was a Thursday afternoon, and you’d agreed to come and pick Sam up once you’d finished work and he’d finished practice. He had a game tomorrow night, one you’d be attending with Serena, and then Sam would be heading out on a trip for a series of games in California that following day.

He wanted to take you out for dinner at one of his favorite restaurants to enjoy the outdoor patio before the cold really settled in, and you couldn’t help but be a little excited. 

Again - you’d never gotten this far with him before, so every new moment the two of you spent together, every day that passed that he still remembered you, it made you tingle.

The hope that had bloomed that first day at Piper’s continued to grow and grow, a swarm of butterflies taking permanent hold in your stomach with a field of flowers to match. 

Sam doesn’t make you wait long - he’s coming out of the player’s entrance after less than ten minutes, a duffle bag slung over his shoulder. You hear a cacophony of noise follow him as the automatic door slowly shuts, can see his teammates and friends jeering at him, a few of them smiling and waving at you.

You’re familiar with them, of course. Had met them a few times since his arrival in Denver, but Sam didn’t remember that, and his teammates and friends probably didn’t either.

To be kind, you wave back, smiling softly and then laughing when you can see Sam follow your wave, turning back to his teammates and shouting something at them that makes them scatter like ants.

When he approaches your car, you pop the trunk for him before opening your door. He meets you right as you exit the car by wrapping you into a warm hug, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your hair.

“Hi there,” he murmurs, and you fight back the shiver that threatens to run up your spine.

You were starting to like that phrase from him more and more by the day.

“Hi,” you parrot back, rubbing his back gently. “Ready to go?”

Sam nods, then carefully releases you. You lead him to the trunk so he can put away his bag before you’re both rounding back to the front of the car, Sam taking the driver’s seat and you in the passenger seat, since Sam knows where he’s going.

As the two of you pull out of the lot and head through the city, you turn a little in your chair to face him. “How was your day? Good?”

“It was good, better now though.” He says, turning to you to give a playful wink before returning his attention to the road. “What about you? How was work? Did the photoshoot go well today?”

You worked at an interior design firm as a photographer and assisted with set design on the side, and Sam found it extremely interesting. He’d told you that once upon a time he wanted to study architectural design, which you’d already known, but you didn’t think that because of that he’d be all that interested in your line of work. 

He’d proven you wrong - another unexpected but welcome miracle.

“It did,” you admit. “Better than I expected.”

“Told you that you didn’t have to worry about anything.” Sam points out. His tone is gentle, encouraging, and he reaches across the center console to rest a calm hand on your knee. 

The touch makes you shy all of a sudden, though you’re not sure why. He’d been handsy in the past, so you had a feeling physical touch was something he preferred, but this was different.

Everything was different, especially now.

“You did say that,” you muse, resting your own hand on top of his. 

“Good thing we’re gonna go stuff our faces with pasta to celebrate then, isn’t it?” He says teasingly.

You look at him, really taking him in.

From the outside, anyone who might not know that the two of you did have a past, they might tell you that you’re moving a little too fast, that your efforts for the past several years to keep your heart out of the equation was starting to be for nothing.

Sam was your soulmate, and not even death could sever that, or change it. And the more you got to know him, the more you knew the possibility of him forgetting you was still high, and probably unavoidable.

But you didn’t know if you really cared about that anymore.

“Yeah,” you say, almost too quiet. “It’s a good thing.”

~

You two stuff your faces full of pasta and share a slice of the richest chocolate cake you’ve probably ever had in your life.

Sam has his game the next night, which you and Serena attend - you with bright eyes and a thrill of excitement as you sit several rows above the glass, eyes on him the entire time. 

The Avalanche win 3-1 and after the game, Sam asks to meet you near the player’s entrance in the lot.

Serena waits with you, the both of you chatting idly and greeting some of Sam’s teammates and their family and friends as they each make their way out of the arena to head home.

Sam follows after them a little later, hair still wet from his post game shower and dripping a little onto his suit jacket. He finds you easily, and once you lock eyes, you smile at him, waving. He responds with a smile of his own, opening his arms when he’s only steps away and you fall into him when he gets close enough, eyes falling shut and inhaling the scent of him.

He presses a kiss to your forehead, his quiet “hi there” pressed against your scalp before he pulls away, keeping one hand resting around your waist as he greets Serena.

“Do you mind if I steal her from you?” he asks, and Serena sends you a smirk and a wiggle of her eyebrows.

“Not at all,” she says sweetly. The two of you had arrived separately because Serena had a feeling this might happen, and though you had initially denied it, you did pack an overnight bag just in case, one that was resting in the trunk of your car right now.

Sam turns to you, a small question in his eyes. “Do you mind being stolen?”

“It’d be a first,” you tease, “but I’m open to it.”

You say your goodbyes to Serena, who promises to text you when she gets home, and Sam follows you to your car. You hand him the keys, climbing into the passenger seat while he throws his things into your trunk.

When you pull out of the lot, there’s a part of you that wants to ask where you’re going, but you already know the answer, so you keep your mouth closed, welcoming Sam’s resting hand on your knee. You lace your fingers with his loosely, resting your head against the back of your seat as Sam navigates his way through the city.

You’d never spent the night at his place before, not now, not all those years ago, so you’re a little surprised when Sam drives past apartment building after apartment building and pulls into a residential neighborhood, driving past house after house until he pulls into a dead end street with a roundabout at the end. 

Sam parks just two houses down from the roundabout, in front of a two story contemporary style home, with an honest to god wrap around front porch with the lights on. 

A quiet exhale of amazement leaves your chest, and Sam chuckles softly from beside you. Your head turns to him at the sound, and he smiles. “Like it?”

“It’s really nice,” you say honestly. Because it is. 

“I just want to say, before we go in,” he starts, throat thick with what you can sense is both hesitance and anxiety. “I’m not…I’m not expecting anything, you know? I just wanted to spend time with you before I left, and I don’t expect you to stay the whole night. My teammate is picking me up in the morning so we can head to the airport, so you don’t have to worry about it if you decide you want to leave, and-”

You squeeze the hand that’s resting on your knee, laughing a little when you say “Sam. Sam, it’s okay. I want to stay.”

He blinks. “You do?”

“I do,” you nod. “I um…I don’t know that I feel comfortable with…anything else? But I’m fine to stay, to spend time with you. I don’t mind spending the night, so long as it is just to spend the night.”

The smile filled with all his boyish charm spreads wide across his face, and it makes you giggle a bit. He laughs with you, relieved, and nods to himself. “Okay, okay cool.”

Together, the two of you exit your car, grabbing your belongings and heading inside.

There’s a split second when you cross the threshold into his house for the first time when you feel a shock of electricity run down your spine, and you can’t help but wonder if it’s a sign, or an omen.

~

In the morning, you wake first, content to remain in his arms and watch him for a moment.

Mornings after or next days had never been kind to the two of you.

This was the first time you’d really gotten to see him like this - soft, gentle, at peace and sleeping like he didn’t have a care in the world. And maybe he didn’t. 

At least that made one of you.

You’re not sure how long you lay there watching him, listening to him breathe and thinking about all the times you’d silently wished for moments like this before. His alarm eventually rings, vibrating under his pillow.

You do what you think is the decent thing and close your eyes, breathing quietly and listening as Sam slowly wakes, sheets rustling as he turns his alarm off then stretches out. A moment later, you can feel his hand gently brushing hair out of your face, fingertips brushing against your skin as he goes. You open your eyes then, and when you do, you observe the way he tracks your expression, staring back at you quietly, almost like he’s looking for something.

Whatever it is, you think he finds it, because then he’s smiling at you, leaning forward in the space between you and pressing a series of gentle kisses to your hairline, murmuring “Hi there,” voice fraught with sleep.

You hum quietly, murmuring it back into his shoulder. 

“I have to get up,” he speaks into your hair, but it sounds a lot more like he’s convincing himself. “I still have to pack and make food and stuff.”

“Don’t you eat on the plane?” 

“That’s lunch, not breakfast.” He says, and you can’t see him, but you can picture the wrinkle in his nose.

“You get ready then,” you say. “I’ll make you something.”

Sam makes a small noise of protest. “You don’t have to do that, I can-”

“Breakfast is kind of my specialty.” You say. “My best friend owns a diner, and all.” 

He gasps a little. “Serena owns Piper’s? You didn’t tell me that.”

“Surprise?” You offer, and Sam laughs, lips meeting your forehead once more. “Go,” you say, patting his side. “You get ready, and I’ll go make breakfast.”

Sam gets ready in his bathroom while you get ready in the half bath and then head out into his kitchen. You find what you need, making quick work of his breakfast and putting it in the open lunch bag on the counter, cleaning up after yourself as you go. 

You hear a car pull into his driveway at the time Sam comes downstairs, he’s dressed in black slacks, a white dress shirt, navy blue tie, and a black blazer, his suitcase in one hand and his phone in the other. 

You take him by surprise a little when you hand him the lunch bag, “Two breakfast burritos. One with bacon, one with sausage.”

Sam is quick to smile, accepting it with a quiet and shy “thank you.”

“Like I said, it’s my specialty. It was nothing, really.”

“That’s more than I deserve,” Sam says, and you shake your head.

“I don’t think that’s true.” You say, smiling kindly, then double check the time on the clock on your oven. “You should probably get going though, I think your ride might be outside and I don’t want you to be late.”

“Okay baby, thank you.” Sam says, leaning forward and quickly dropping a kiss to your lips, once, twice, three times, before he pulls away.

Sam turns to bend and put on his shoes, failing to see the stunned look cross your eyes, your entire frame frozen in shock, lips still tingling from his affections. 

You hadn’t kissed him since…well, since that night at Luisa’s.

And that was two years ago.

Sam had only kissed you on your forehead so far. 

You’d forgotten how much you enjoyed kissing him, how soft his lips were, how earnest. 

But by the time he rights himself again, glancing back at you with a smile, you’d manage to wipe the incredulity away, smiling softly back at him in turn, offering a little wave when he tosses a “See you soon pretty girl” over his shoulders. 

You move to the front window, watching him get into his teammate’s car and drive off, watching till it disappears down the street, trying to understand why the tingling of your lips would not go away, and why your confusion around his kiss suddenly formed a ball of sadness in the pit of your stomach.

~

You’re at Piper’s later that day, still a little dazed. You were surprised you’d managed to lock up after yourself at Sam’s and had the wherewithal to bring yourself here to have a late lunch.

You’re almost done with your food when Serena approaches you from the other side of the counter, refilling your orange juice.

There’s a small look on her face that you can read from a mile away, so you gently set your fork down. “What?”

She raises a brow in open curiosity. “Have you told him?”

“Told who what?” You lie.

Serena sees right through you, of course. She always has. Instead of answering your question, she sets the pitcher of orange juice down behind her next to the soda fountain, then turns back to you, resting her hands on the countertop. 

“How long are you going to keep it from him?”

You pause. 

Because you honestly don’t know. 

“You can’t not tell him, you know.” Serena says, and though it’s gentle, it registers to you as ominous, and your stomach twists. 

“Does it matter?” You say instead, which you know is the wrong thing to say. Because it does matter. It mattered a whole hell of a lot to you a month ago, and you both know it. 

Serena just smiles easily, and somehow that makes it worse. “It doesn’t. Not to him, at least not right now, but it does to you.” When you frown, taking a bite of your french fries, she continues talking. “I just don’t want to see it happen to you again, and I think if you tell him, then it won’t.”

You blink up at her. 

Serena had been there for you, she’d seen it all. You knew she knew what she was talking about.

But all you could say in return was “It’s just…it’s still new. I’m just trying to enjoy it for a little longer.”

She’s quiet, and it unnerves you just a little. For all that Serena was your best friend, there was a part of you that looked to her like an older sister, so when she sighs through her nose and offers you a placating smile, it feels a lot like you’ve let her down.

~

A week later, you’re back at Sam’s house again, and he’s watching you work through editing some of the photos you took at your last design shoot. 

“Do you need anything?” He asks, approaching you from behind. Once he reaches you, your frame tense in the barstool at his kitchen counter, he places a comforting hand on your shoulder, gently caressing the skin there. You think at first he means to massage it, probably ro try to work through the small bundle of nerves at your shoulders, but that’s not what happens.

You can feel his careful movements as his hand moves up to your neck, reaching around and using his finger to tip your chin up, head back, so he can bend down and kiss you gently. His fingers gently rest on your throat, and it sends a shiver racing through your body.

It’s so…reminiscent of before. Of the way he would kiss you like the world would stop tomorrow if he didn’t, only for him to forget you the next day.

Part of it feels nice, familiar, and warm. The other part makes you a little afraid.

When he pulls back to look you in the eye, you stare right back at him, eyes widened in slight surprise and blinking at him. 

The corner of his mouth ticks up in a small smile as he watches you right yourself then turn on the barstool to face him, reaching out to brush your hair out of face. “What is it, pretty girl?”

There’s a pause, and you’re a little lost, afloat in the ocean and stranded. 

That is…new. Wholly welcome, but new.

When you see Sam’s patient expression, you shake your head softly and swallow down the lump in your throat. “Nothing. It’s nothing.”

“Was that…” He starts, suddenly looking unsure. “Was that okay?”

“More than okay,” you answer quickly, almost too quickly. “I just…”

He nods, as if to urge you on.

You’re not sure how to broach the subject at all, if you’re honest, and you almost regret saying anything instead of just enjoying it. You can see the nerves start to rise in his eyes, and you shake it all off, pushing it away.

You smile easily, reassuringly, and instead say “I really like you.”

Your confession visibly stuns him, his head jerking back slightly. He blinks at you, his hand falling to his side lamely. 

“I really like you, too. Though that might be a bit of an understatement.” he says simply, like it's a fact, like it’s a written rule in the universe, and smiles. 

“It’s only been like…two months, though?” You point out, not to prove him wrong, or say you don’t believe it, but also as a fact.

Sam doesn’t even falter. “I know. But when you know, you know, right?”

You blink back at him this time, shocked. Your heart hammers in your chest, pleased with his answer and still shocked at how easily those words come so easily from him, but the pit of doubt at the base of your spine is still there, still reminding you that this could be gone in the morning.

He misunderstands your silence as dissatisfaction with his answer, and you can see the worry as it begins to brew.

“Do you not…” He pauses for a second, unsure how to ask. “Do you not?”

“I do know.” You say, nodding. “I just…this is the first time.” 

The first time I’ve allowed myself to admit I might love you, even if you don’t know why, or for how long. 

“What?” Sam asks in a surprised gasp. 

You worry your bottom lip between your teeth, hesitating, before finally letting out a stressed breath. “Not with anyone.” 

He blinks. “What? No one?”

“No one.” You confirm. “I haven’t had something like this.”

“Like this?” He parrots, and you can tell he’s not asking because he’s not understanding. He’s asking because he wants to be sure of what you’re saying.

So you say it.

“Love.” Sam technically put it out there first, right? So… “A love like this. It’s new, and I guess I’m getting used to it, trying to understand it.”

Words, so many words, get caught in your throat when he doesn’t say anything, to the point that you’re not totally sure where to go from here. But then he’s reaching out to pull you in by your shoulders, wrapping his arms tightly around you and pressing his cheek to the top of your head.

“You can ask me as many questions as it takes for you to be able to understand it.” He says finally, pressing the words into the crown of your head. “I’ll answer every single one.”

“There might be a lot.” You murmur against his chest after a moment.

Your bodies shake together at his soft chuckle. “Every single one, baby. I’ll answer them all.”

~

As the next few months pass by - the two of you fall into a routine. 

You spend time after work and between his practices and games and all his travel. It’s at his house, mostly, but sometimes at your apartment. In the mornings, you make breakfast, and he will usually handle lunch, or dinner, or both. 

Sometimes, he’ll drive your car, or sometimes you’ll drive his, taking each other on dates around the city, or to and from each other’s place. As it gets colder, Sam insists on taking you skating, which you agree to, but it gets harder to plan for when the holidays kick up your schedule and Sam has to buckle down and focus on the season, the team quickly moving up to the top spot in the division.

You decide to save it for a special day, one that hasn’t arrived yet but probably will, and it excites you every time Sam mentions how much he’s looking forward to it.

He meets all of your friends, spends his free Saturday mornings at Piper’s with you. Even on the few days where you tell him you have to hop behind the counter to help out as Serena’s barista, Sam parks in your usually barstool and eats your regular order, ordering refills of his orange juice while he chats idly with Jenna, Serena, and even Eddie, who wanders out from the kitchen every now and again to slip Sam some fresh cookies before you can even put the rest on the counter. 

Most mornings, especially the ones where you wake up together, there are moments where you wait with bated breath to see if today will be the day, if you’ll have to let him go. You wait with so much anxiety you think it might make you burst, until the moment where he opens his eyes and greets you softly, pressing kisses to your face.

“Hi baby,” he says now. 

It’s what he says when he picks you up, when you pick him up, when he wakes up, when he comes back to you or you back to him, even if you’ve only been separated for five minutes, or even if you’ve only crossed the room to go right back to him.

“I love you,” he says now. 

In the moments when you come back to him, when he goes back to you, when he always has that smile ready for you, when he sees you in the kitchen, when he sees you waiting for him, opening his arms,  waiting and ready for you to run right into them.

It’s those moments, where you come back to him, when he comes back to you, that keep you hopeful.

~

“When are you going to tell him?” Serena asks you, more than once. 

Enough times in the six months that you go from saying “I don’t know” to “Soon, I will,” which in your heart means probably never, not if you didn’t have to.

Except you’d have to.

And you should’ve known better than to be hopeful.

~

About six months into your relationship, you agree to go out with Sam on a night out with his friends and teammates. Some of them you’ve met in passing when they pick Sam up at his house, or when you pick him up from practice, or when you say hello and make small talk at his games. You’ve met Gabe and Melissa, something Sam mentioned had to happen first, then met Nathan, the other Sam, Parker, Mikko, Casey, Miles, and Cale. 

You haven’t met all of them, or all of their significant others, but that’s part of what tonight is for, you suppose.

You and Sam arrive a bit early, Sam insisting that he wanted to have some time with you alone before things got crazy. And he was right.

The arrival of his friends and teammates and their significant others brings noise and creates quite the crowd. You’re in a bar you don’t think you’ve ever been to before, the name of it completely lost on you. 

You were too distracted by Sam and the tight grip he had on your hand as you walked in, eyes never leaving the side of his face, too insistent on taking in that excited expression of his.

Some of the older teammates get in a little later, including Nathan, who after he greets you, is visibly surprised.

“Oh! You two are together now?” Nathan teases, a hint of mirth in his eyes as his gaze falls on you, then back to Sam. “Since when?”

“Not long after we met for the first time at Valley Tavern, maybe a few months after?” Sam says proudly, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and pulling you closer. There's a cocky smile on his face, and he presses a noisy kiss to your forehead. “She didn’t fall for any of my charms but she still let me take her out on a date anyway.”

“Valley Tavern?” Parker parrots, confused. 

You turn to him, equally confused. He wasn’t there, that much you remember. You may not have known his name then, but you do remember his face. You remember seeing him at Luisa’s, two years before, since he was the one to pull Sam away from you, but you didn’t think he remembered any of that, or that any of them did, for that matter.

Parker’s gaze falls back to you, and you can see it then.

Recognition.

It rattles you a little. You stare at him, not sure what you’re meant to say, not sure what it is he expects from you.

To correct Sam? Correct him when he didn’t remember you in the first place, especially that night?

That’s when it clicks - when you realize why Parker’s staring at you that way. 

You can see that while Sam didn’t remember you, some of his friends did. 

“Valley Tavern,” you confirm anyway, trying, and failing miserably, to subtly communicate to Parker and the others around you who know to just accept that as an answer and keep their mouths and memories shut and locked away.

Parker barrels on, and you can feel yourself wishing for time to stop. “But you met before at Luisa’s?”

There's a pause, a shift in the air that you can feel. When Sam squeezes your shoulder and pulls you closer, there's a part of you that has to resist pushing him away. 

He laughs awkwardly, and you can feel his body tense against yours slightly. “Nope, it was Valley Tavern. You weren’t there that night, so you’re probably mixing things up.”

“Yeah man, we know he was a playboy before but he’s changed his ways. He definitely remembers where he met his lovely lady,” Miles pipes up, causing a few people in their group at the table to laugh. From beside him, his girlfriend sends a worried look your way, and you try to smile back at her in a way that is reassuring and positive, but it doesn’t work.

She murmurs your name, reaching out as if to try to whisk you away to the bathroom, to get you out of this situation, because she is a kind friend and an ally, but that doesn’t work either.

Sam squeezes your shoulder again, and then turns to glance down at you before looking back at his teammate. “No man, we met at Valley Tavern.”

“Dude,” Casey tells him, a serious edge to his tone. “You met her like…two years ago? At Luisa’s. Remember? The girl from the supply closet?”

Sam blinks, fingers flexing against your skin. “Bro-”

“It’s her.” Casey insists.

Parker nods in agreement. “I swear. I wouldn’t say this in front of her if I wasn’t absolutely sure. You couldn’t stop talking about her for the next like two days. You even swore you saw her the next morning.”

Your heart comes to a crashing halt against your rib cage. 

He…he recognized you?

He remembered you.

There’s no way.

It can’t be.

“I don’t…” He starts, and you know what he’s trying to say. What he wants to say. I don’t remember. 

But it never comes.

As loud as it is, it suddenly becomes quiet enough to hear a pin drop.

And really, you should all be happy, you should all be ecstatic and over the moon and happy and joyful.

But all you can feel is like your heart is being squeezed within an inch of its life. You feel panic, anxiety creeping in and clawing at your throat. 

~

The drive back to your apartment, where the two of you had agreed to spend the night, is completely silent. 

Sam still keeps a hand on your thigh, squeezing every now and again. It’s a gentle touch, anchoring almost, and halfway through, he turns his hand over, palm up, and you know what he wants.

You’re hesitant, but you still give it to him, resting your hand gently in his palm. His fingers lace through yours, and he holds your hand tight. It’s not tight enough to hurt, or tight enough to worry you, but you feel it all the same.

His sadness, his worry. 

He’s half of your soul after all. Of course you feel it.

When he parks in the garage of your apartment, he shuts off the car and turns to you. It’s quiet for a beat, and you swallow past the lump in your throat, taking a deep breath before you speak.

“Sam, I-”

He takes you by surprise, all but launching across the center console, hands cupping your face and kissing you.

It’s intense, desperate.

Familiar.

He kisses you with the same urgency he did before, all those times before. There’s a bit of that gentleness underneath, a bit of the parts of him that just met you before he decided he needed to have you. 

“I just,” Sam says, breathless as he pulls back an inch. “I just needed to do that. Is that okay?”

You nod, pulling in a deep inhale. “Yeah, it’s okay.”

He nods, and the ghost of his lips brushes against yours, almost a phantom kiss, before he presses a firm one against your mouth. He pulls away after a breath. “Let’s go inside, yeah?”

You nod, and the two of you carefully get out, Sam locking his car before taking your hand in his and leading you both to the elevator. 

Once the elevator doors close, he holds you tight to him, keeping you close, and if you didn’t know better, you’d say he’s worried that you’d disappear.

You wonder if he knew that you were feeling the same way. 

Once you’re safely inside, Sam making sure the door is locked behind you both, you turn to one another, and the silence says everything.

He knows. 

He reaches out, takes your hand again, and you let him, let him lead you to the couch, but you don’t sit. You can’t.

You shake your head, and he blinks, nodding. You drop your hands, but he reaches for them right when you move to take a step back, and his fingers gently circle your wrists. 

You open your mouth to say something, anything.

It’s been years.

I didn’t think this day would come.

I didn’t know what I would do if you forgot me again.

Nothing came out.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He murmurs, the fingers circling your wrists loosening as he tries to intertwine your fingers.

You smile at him sadly, shaking your head. “It didn’t matter.”

“But it did,” Sam insists. “It does. It mattered to you for a while and it matters to me.”

“It doesn’t.” You say, trying to take your hand back. “It doesn’t and it never did. It’s in the past and I was the only one who remembered.”

He frowns. “But I remember, too. I do.”

“You didn’t remember until someone else told you,” You remind him as gently as you can, no heat or anger behind your words. “You didn’t remember any of it, and it’s okay. It doesn’t matter now.”

“Stop saying that,” he practically pleads. “Why do you keep saying that?”

Your last bit of restraint snaps and you rip your hands away, taking a large step back from him.

“Because you didn’t remember!” You cry out in frustration, “Not a single time that we’ve met have you remembered a single thing about me. Not my name, not my face, not a thing.”

You can see the way your confession breaks him.

There’s a long pause. He looks absolutely guilt stricken, and as much as it hurts you to see, you don’t know that you can comfort him. 

“How many times?” Sam finally asks, voice quiet. “How many times have we met?”

Now it’s your turn to pause. No matter how frustrated you were, you knew admitting this would hurt him, but there’s no way around it. “Including Valley Tavern, we’ve met six times.”

His face twists into an expression of agonizing pain. “Six times?” All you can do is nod, and he practically deflates. “How…” he swallows past the lump in his throat. “How long have we - how long have you known me while I haven’t known you?”

You don’t know which answer is going to hurt more - the number of years or the age at which you first met. You’re also not sure which is going to hurt you more to say.

You just say the first thing that comes to mind, which is “We met freshman year. In college, in the fall semester.”

He visibly winces, taking a step back and running a frustrated hand through his hair. “I’ve known you since I was eighteen? Since we were eighteen?”

All you can do is nod. He completely deflates then, weight collapsing beneath him as he takes a seat on the couch. He props his elbows on his knees, holding his head in his hands.

You don’t say anything. You don’t know what to say, or if there is anything to say.

It’s not until you see the small shake in his shoulders that you find yourself sinking to the floor in front of him, your knees hitting the plush carpet and hands coming to rest on his forearms, pressing your forehead to his. 

“Sammy,” you say gently, silent tears of your own cascading down your cheeks. “I’m sorry.”

He doesn’t say anything back, just quietly cries for a moment. You stay right where you are, waiting.

A few minutes pass before he sniffles, raising his head and wiping a few stray tears with the back of his hand. He looks at you then, and frowns, reaching out to thumb away your tears.

“Can you-” he starts, clearing his throat when his voice comes out shaky. “Can you tell me about it? About all the times we’ve met.” His request takes you by surprise, and for a second all you can do is blink, wondering if it’s a good idea. But then his expression crumbles a little more, his eyes tearing up again, and he lets out a quiet “Please.”

You nod, resting your hands on his knees. 

You tell Sam everything. From seven minutes in heaven to seeing him at breakfast. From his first day in class after three years and meeting at Luisa’s, and then meeting again the next morning at the grocery store. You recount meeting him again at Valley Tavern, about how you only offered up that condition of seeing each other again because you didn’t think you would be seeing each other again. At all. You recount every detail and hope it answers whatever questions are going through his head.

You tell him again in different words that you never thought to remind him of you because if he didn’t remember you in the morning, you thought you’d both be better off that way. You try to impress on him that you thought you were doing the right thing for the both of you, that you thought it would be better for him given the circumstances. You can hear the desperation in your voice when you tell him, can hear that you’re practically pleading for him to understand that this wasn’t easy for you, that you didn’t mean to hurt him, that you didn’t mean to keep this a secret, but you didn’t know what other option you had. 

When you finish, he just stares at you, a storm of emotions behind his eyes that you can’t read.

“I-” he starts, clearing his throat. “I understand your side of it, I do. But I…I’m not gonna lie to you, I’m upset. I’m not mad, or angry but I’m upset.”

You nod, swallowing past the lump in your throat. Your hands fall from his knees to your lap, and you sit back, taking a deep breath. “Okay. I understand.”

Sam stares at you, eyes roaming over your face. He reaches out, brushing a stray strand of hair away. “I was so worried, for a long time, that I didn’t have anyone out there for me.” He starts, voice thick with emotion. He speaks slowly, trying to tamp it down as his fingers continue tracing the features of your face. “I thought I’d have to wait forever to meet you, to have you with me. When we met at Valley Tavern, I felt it, you know? I could feel that it was you. And I was so relieved, and yet I was also so worried that you’d forget me.”

His voice almost breaks on the last word, but he clears his throat, hand falling away from your face to rest limply at his side. “When I walked into Piper’s that day, for the first time, I was so scared that you’d have forgotten me that week. Every time we saw one another, I felt myself bracing for it. But then you’d look at me and you’d smile, and I felt like I was flying. Every morning I woke up next to you and had you there, it was worth it. I was still on eggshells, waiting for you to forget me, or anything about me, but this whole time…”

The tears that fall from his face break your heart into pieces, and you’ve never been more upset with yourself in your life than you are right now. If Sam were to decide he needed time apart to process this, you’d grant it to him. You’d give him anything he needed.

You wait for him, reaching up to brush the tears from his face. It takes you by surprise when he turns his head into your touch, pressing a kiss to your palm. Then he’s sliding off the couch, joining you on the floor and pulling you into his arms.

There’s a breath of relief that leaves your chest when you’re in his embrace, and you start to sob, fat wet tears rolling down your cheeks as you bury your face into his shirt. His chest stutters as he tucks your head under his chin, and you both sit there for a moment to cry it out.

You know you’re crying out of anger towards yourself, frustration at how you handled the situation, and fear that he’d leave you. You’re not completely sure why he’s crying. You know there’s relief for him, confirmation of something he’d been desperate to know that you’d selfishly kept from him, but the rest has that fear gripping at your heart with barbed wire.

“I’m so sorry, Sammy,” you choke out, uncaring of how terrible you sound. “I’m so sorry, I never meant to hurt you.”

“I know, baby.” He says, pressing kisses to your hairline. “I know. It’s okay. We’ll figure it out, okay? We’ll figure it out.”

His words break your heart even more, and you continue to cry. You both stay like that for what feels like hours, until eventually he picks you up, guiding you both to your room, then your bathroom.

Sam takes care of the both of you - making sure you shower, wash your face, brush your teeth - and it’s so much more than you deserve. He dresses you in one of his shirts from his drawer before he settles you both into bed, where you sleep through the night with your arms wrapped around one another.

When you wake in the morning, your heart is still heavy, and your head hurts from all the crying, but you force yourself out of bed, carefully extracting yourself from his arms to brush your teeth before you head into the kitchen to make breakfast for you both.

It’s a welcome distraction, and you allow yourself to get lost in it until you hear him pad out from your room.

“Are you hungry?” You ask, back still turned as you flip the french toast over for the last time, then flipping off the burner. “I made-”

Words die in your throat when you finally turn to face him, and you nearly drop the spatula on the floor when you see him there, dressed in his jeans and his shirt from last night, a sheepish smile on his face.

“What are you…” Your voice trails off when you see the way he takes in your apartment, like he’s never seen it before, and then his eyes fall on you.

“Hi there.”

That signature smile with all his boyish charm is on his face as he says it, and you drop the spatula.

You swear you feel your heart drop to the floor with it, shattering in a million pieces.

No. You beg the universe. Please, no. Not like this.

The universe does not listen.

He is gone. 

Your “Sam” is gone.

“I’m Sam. I don’t know if I said that when we uh…met? Properly? Last night. What’s your name?”

He winces after he asks, almost as if he’s made a mistake by doing so.

This isn’t funny, you want to say. Don’t do this to me.

But it’s the truth. 

You murmur your name. It’s so quiet that even you can barely hear it, but Sam seems to hear it just fine. 

“It’s nice to meet you,” he says. It’s so genuine that you almost feel like dropping to your knees right there.

You don’t respond to him. You can’t. You’re too focused on trying not to cry, on trying to refrain from throwing yourself at him and begging him to remember you, just this once. 

To not let history repeat itself. 

You didn’t realize how much you didn’t miss the way you’d been used to him forgetting you over and over until he finally remembered you long enough.

Long enough to make it hurt. 

He doesn’t see the internal war you’re fighting and losing, and he keeps talking. “I’m really sorry, genuinely, since you made breakfast, which is really nice of you to do, by the way. But I um…I’ve got to go.” He says, clearly embarrassed, pointing toward your front door. 

All you can do is nod, swallowing past the lump in your throat and biting the inside of your cheek so hard you can’t guarantee you’re not bleeding. 

Sam heads to the door, toeing on his shoes, patting his pockets for his wallet and keys. You’re rooted to your spot, too terrified to move, tracking every step with your eyes. Just before he reaches the door handle, he turns to you, a torn expression on his face. 

“I um…this is going to be embarrassing for me to say, but I feel like I have to. I don’t remember last night, like…any of it. And that’s probably my fault, so I’m sorry if I took advantage of you, or if I crossed a line.”

This, unfortunately, does warrant a response. Because even if you can feel your soul being ripped to shreds, the last thing you want is for him to somehow turn himself into the villain of this story, when it’s definitely not him.

It’s you. 

But he doesn’t know that.

Not anymore.

“It wasn’t like that.” You assure him. “You didn’t take advantage of me.” 

A small smile creeps onto the corner of his mouth. You know he’s trying not to show how relieved he is. 

You hate yourself for how familiar you’ve become with him, only to lose it of your own accord.

“Okay,” he says. “That’s good.”

Sam undoes the lock and opens the door, stepping through it and into the hall. He turns to you, and your battered soul succumbs to defeat when you see the caring smile on his face.

“Lock up behind me, okay? It was nice meeting you.”

You nod once, and then he’s pulling the door shut, the automatic lock snicking back into place, and then there’s silence. 

You fall to the floor in a heap on your knees, allowing your sobs to fill the room, sadness and emptiness settling in.

~

Despite your better judgment, you head out the next morning, thinking you’ll see him.

You don’t.

~

You don’t see him the next day, either.

~

Or the next day.

~

Or the day after that. 

~

Three weeks go by, and there’s a text from Nathan and a text from Serena on your phone.

Serena

Babe, please call me. I just want to make sure you’re okay

You ignore it.

Nate Mac

Did you break up? Why can’t Sammy remember you?

You ignore that one, too.

~

At first, there was a part of you that had hoped. 

You hoped that it wasn’t going to be like before, where he would forget you so quickly and move on. You hoped that there would be a day where his memories would kick in and he would show up with his boyish smile and your favorite take out, apologizing for his momentary lapse.

You had hoped that every time your friends, his friends, or a teammate texted or called, that they’d tell you that he remembered.

They didn’t.

He didn’t.

Perhaps this was fate’s cruel way of punishing you for resisting him - your soulmate - for doubting him and keeping the fact that you were soulmates to begin with a secret. 

You used to know exactly what to expect from Sam.

This hadn’t been anything like those times before.

Before, you didn’t know him. You knew his lips, his touch, his charm, his usual game. You didn’t know how sweet he could be to you, how loyal, how devoted and attentive and kind and wonderful and intelligent and everything you’d never imagined.

Before, you didn’t know what it felt like to wake up next to him, didn’t know what it felt like to have his arms wrapped around you as morning crept in, didn’t know what it felt like to have him squeeze you tighter to his body before he even opened his eyes because he wanted to be close to you.

Before, you didn’t know how his eyes crinkle when you made him laugh. You didn’t know how he loved eating breakfast together in the morning with you. You didn’t know how he always kept an arm around you when you were out because he didn’t want you to be too far from him.

You didn’t know he’d been waiting for you.

You didn’t know he’d been afraid of you being the one to forget him.

You didn’t know that he held every single bit of hope that you had about finding, loving, keeping, and remembering your soulmate in the palm of his hands. 

You didn’t know that this whole time, you’d been hoping, wishing, praying, that everything you feared soulmates were and all the heartbreak that came with it wasn’t true.

And when it had finally been about five months since you’d seen him last, you stopped hoping.

~

“What did you do when your husband forgot you?” You had asked your teacher after class, voice quiet and shy. 

“What do you mean?” She’d asked. It was judgemental, it was a clarifying question, and you recognized it, but you still felt put on the spot.

“You said there were ways to help them remember when they forgot you. You said you and your husband were on and off for ten years before he remembered you. Did you help him? Or...” 

She smiled at you, keeping her expression neutral, but her smile was still gentle. “I gave him things that helped him remember.”

Your brows had furrowed at that, unsure of what she meant. “Gave him things? Like what?”

She sat back in her chair, exhaling a small breath. “It’s different for everyone, but sometimes little reminders or hints of who you are help jog their memory.”

“Reminders like what?” You pressed. “Like a diary? Or a picture?”

This time her expression turned placating, and you frowned. “It’s different for everyone,” she says again gently. “When the time comes, if the time comes, you’ll have to figure it out for yourselves.”

~

“Oh,” you say when you open the door, definitely not expecting the people on the other side.

Gabe Landeskog and his wife Melissa are standing there, Melissa with a fresh bouquet of flowers and Gabe with an empty plastic bin that manages to look small in his grasp.

You feel like the principal just showed up and you’re in deep trouble.

Which, if they’re here, you most likely are.

Your throat goes dry.

You suppose they’re here to get Sam's belongings, so you step to the side with as polite a smile as you can manage and say “Come in.”

Mel smiles warmly at you once they’re inside and you shut the door behind you. She takes you by surprise, embracing you in a warm hug and then handing the flowers to you.

“Happy Birthday!” She exclaims.

Oh. 

She remembered.

That was…nice of her.

“Thank you,” you say honestly, then look between her and Gabe, uneasy.

“I uh…I had a feeling you’d be by but I wasn’t sure when. Had I known you were coming I would’ve organized a bit better but um…” you shift your weight from foot to foot. Mel looks confused, Gabe even more so, so you barrel on. “Um, make yourselves at home, help yourselves to whatever’s in the kitchen. I’ll be right back.”

You turn on your heel and head to your room, placing the flowers on the nightstand to exchange it for Sam's watch that’s been sitting there. 

He must have been in such a panic that morning, waking up in a stranger’s apartment, that he missed that it was there. And of course, he probably didn’t think to check if he had your number, so there was no way for him to ask for it back.

Technically, you could’ve just given it back - you could’ve given it to anyone of the people who’d been reaching out to you. But you couldn’t bring yourself to part with it.

Now though, you suppose you don’t have much of a choice.

You move around the room on autopilot - collecting all the crumbs of him there and try not to cry as you go.

His hoodie from your closet, the few shirts and sweatpants, a few pairs of briefs, a pair of his socks from his designated drawer in your dresser - your drawer, technically, again, now - along with a pair of shorts, a tank top, and swim trunks, his tie from your vanity, another shirt from the laundry you washed this morning, another hoodie from where it rests on your chair.

You have it all in a neat pile when you come back to your living room and nearly drop it when you see Mel and Gabe on opposite sides of your kitchen island, Mel making drinks for three and Gabe elbow deep in a container of cookies.

They don’t look sheepish or embarrassed, and you expect nothing less, honestly, but it still feels weird that they’d feel so comfortable here. 

Here. In the home of their friend’s technically ex-girlfriend and ex-soulmate who harbored all those secrets from him.

You shake it off, heading over to them since Gabe has the plastic bin at his feet from where he sits on one of your barstools, and carefully place Sam's belongings inside.

“I think that’s everything, but if…if you guys think he’s missing something, just let me know and I can look for it.”

Gabe raises a brow at you, then at the contents of the bin, then back to his wife, who slides a glass filled with a pretty orange liquid across the counter to you, then to her husband, before topping it with a lime. 

“What’s all this?” Gabe questions, voice slightly muffled by the bite of the cookie in his mouth, gesturing to Sam's clothes with the other half of the cookie still in his hand.

You raise a brow. “His clothes? His stuff he left here?”

“Oh babe,” Mel says, shaking her head. “No no, the bin isn’t for Sam's things. It’s for yours.”

You blink. “What?”

Gabe swallows his cookie and clears his throat before he speaks. 

“I was the one who forgot, back then. I couldn’t remember a lot of things about Mel, at first, but I never forgot her. The first time I actually forgot her was two weeks before our wedding, and it was awful. I couldn’t remember her even though she was right in front of me.”

“I was so sad,” Mel remembers, but she doesn’t sound sad. If anything, she sounds fond. “I was pretty pissed, too. I was in a bikini and he didn’t even recognize me.”

Gabe rolls his eyes, then turns back to you. “My mom had remembered that when she used to forget things about my dad, he would give her things like his clothes or his journal, a book he told her he had read, and it helped her remember him because she had pieces of my dad to jog her memory. My mom brought me the blanket Mel liked cuddling on the couch with and the shirt of mine Mel always wore, even her pillow with the pillowcase on it, to help me remember.”

“Did it work?” You ask, voice hesitant, unsure. You know where this is going, but you don’t doubt it.

“It did.” Gabe nods. “I felt like I was missing a piece of myself when I forgot her, I was sad, angry, and no one would tell me anything. But the second I had her stuff, it came back to me. Not all at once, it was slow, but it worked. I remembered her after about four days. I remembered it all.”

“What triggered it?” You ask. “What happened that made you forget?”

“I thought it was because he got cold feet,” Mel answers. “But it was actually because he was so nervous about things going so perfectly right that he just sort of…panicked? I guess.”

“I wanted it to be perfect for Mel,” Gabe explains. “I panicked thinking it wouldn’t be, that I wouldn’t be.”

“And you think…you think if I give Sam some of my things, that he’ll remember me again?”

Gabe nods, grabbing another cookie. “I don’t think it, I know it.”

You frown. “But…it’s been five months. Why…why now?” 

Why are you both here now? Is what you want to ask. What’s changed? Is he okay?

You don’t. You don’t really think you deserve to know, but you want to anyway. 

Gabe reaches for another cookie, but drops it, putting the container on the kitchen counter in front of him. “Well, Sam, he…he said he…saw you. Yesterday.”

That shocks you. You run through what you did yesterday - work, pilates, book store, grocery store - but you don’t remember seeing Sam at all. 

“He was at the grocery store. He said he saw you, from behind, and you were wearing his shirt. The same one he saw you in on the morning when he…” His voice trails off, and you can tell he’s trying to be careful, but it doesn’t sting anymore. 

“When he forgot that day,” you finish for him, and Gabe nods.

“Yeah. He recognized you yesterday. Said there was something familiar about you, that he felt like he knew you beyond the one night stand he thought you had. He asked the rest of us if we knew anything.”

You shake your head. “I can understand that. I just mean…why are you trying to help us now?”

Help me. You think bitterly. 

“We didn’t know what happened.” Mel says gently. “You wouldn’t…you wouldn’t talk to anyone. Even Serena said she couldn’t get the full story out of you, just that he forgot. It wasn’t until Sam mentioned it to some of the guys, and Nate told Serena about it, that we understood.”

You chew nervously on your bottom lip. “Serena told you?” 

Mel smiles. “She told us what she knew. Don’t be too angry with her. She was just trying to help.”

“I’m not,” you insist. “I just guess I’m surprised she didn’t tell you anything earlier.” 

“You weren’t very talkative about it earlier,” Gabe points out. “She said you didn’t say anything about it till a month went by.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Mel finally asks. “Why didn’t you tell someone?”

“I didn’t know how to,” you admit. “I didn’t…every time we’d met before, he’d forget me in twenty four hours. That first date, when he remembered me even after a week - it had never happened before. I didn’t think it was even possible. I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, for him to forget, but he never did. So it never seemed important.”

Mel offers an understanding and sympathetic smile. “Until it was.”

You nod, swallowing past the sudden lump in your throat. “It’s fine. It was my fault anyway. I shouldn’t have kept it from him.”

“No one blames you for it,” Mel reassures you. “Everyone understands, really. And Sam will probably understand when it comes back to him.”

“If it comes back to him,” you correct.

Gabe shakes his head. “When. He will remember, just give him some time.”

You smile sadly at both of them. “Time is all I have.”

~

You were curled up in a corner booth of Piper’s leaning into the L-shaped seat while you focused on your laptop, trying to sort through all the photos from the design shoot you’d done the day before. Every now and again, you could see Serena checking in on you from behind the counter, and you would always meet her eyes with a reassuring smile.

You knew why she was concerned, knew Jenna and Eddie kept coming around every ten minutes for the same reason, but you were fine now.

The loss didn’t hurt as much anymore.

You let time pass as you focus, accepting refills of your orange juice and water and welcoming the fresh basket of fries that Eddie brings you when you’d been there for about two hours.

When a random shiver runs down your spine, electricity pricking on the back of your neck, you pick your head up abruptly, scanning your surroundings. You had put your headphones on to try to stay focused, noise cancellation activated, so you knew it wasn’t that you’d heard some phantom voice call your name. 

No, someone was staring at you. You still had an uncanny capability for sensing when someone's eyes lingered just a second too long for it to be a passing glance. 

A cursory glance around Piper’s brought you up empty. You try again, glancing around a little slower, yet still nothing. No one seemed to be paying attention to you, which was fine, but you could’ve sworn…

Slowly, you leaned forward to look out the glass of the front door, scanning the street. 

Still nothing.

Shaking off the lingering electricity, you settle back against your chair, squeezing your eyes tight before focusing back on your screen. Flexing your fingers, you’re just about to scroll through the next set of photos when you can see someone approaching from in front of you. 

Assuming it’s Serena, or Jenna, or Eddie, you pick your head up again, and try to keep your expression neutral while your gut twists painfully at what you see instead.

It was…him. 

Sam. 

But…how?

He waits until you pull your headphones from your ears to rest them around your neck before he speaks. 

“Hi there.” 

You blink at his gentle greeting, hands falling into your jean-clad lap.

“Hi there,” you all but squeak. 

He looked…good. Not that it was difficult for him. He donned light jeans, a gray sweater, and black jacket. 

It took his small smile for your heart to plummet to your feet, and he gestures to the booth. “Is this seat taken?”

You shake your head, closing your laptop, photos be damned. “No, uh, feel free.”

For a second, you don’t know whether to be optimistic, or to play it natural, go back into the flow of how it all used to be.

You really didn’t want to, but it was a logical possibility given everything that happened, no matter how much it stung.

Instead, you’re surprised when Sam drops into the booth, another of his small smiles quirking up the corner of his lips. “I saw you outside.” He admits. “I was just walking by, and I saw you and I had to come in and say hi.”

So that explained that. You knew you weren’t going crazy.

It also slightly hurt that he could still send that zip up your spine after all this time.

“Oh.” Was all you could come up with.

Nearly six months since you’d last seen him, a year to the day at Valley Tavern, Sam Malinski, your soulmate, walked back into your life.

It seemed too good to be true, and you couldn’t help but feel like he was a complete stranger in this moment. 

He says your name, and you blink at him, completely stunned. He laughs a little at your expression, offering a small smile. “I don’t know how to say this,” Sam begins, resting his hands on the table. “And I can imagine this has been a lot for you, and I’m really sorry. I didn’t…I didn’t mean to be away for so long, but with the team, and trying to get my memories back, I didn’t want to see you again until I remembered.”

Wait…what?

“You…” you start, “You remember?”

Sam nods, smiling when he says “I do. Hi baby.”

The relieved laugh that puffs out of your chest makes you feel almost delirious, and when Sam turns his palm upside down, you barely contain the excitement that runs through you when you rest your hand in his. He squeezes tight, pressing a kiss to the back of it before resting it back on the table.

“It took me a long time.” He admits. “I kept seeing you everywhere. In passing, from a distance, everything. I knew who you were, I could still feel it, but I knew I was missing something. With Mel and Gabe…they were right. Having your things really helped, and Parker nearly dragged me here every Sunday he could once I started to cause he thought it would speed things up. It did, I mean, kind of, but I had to be sure. When I saw you from outside just now, I admit I wasn’t sure about coming in. I didn’t want to come back to you until I knew for certain I didn’t forget a single thing, but I couldn’t take being away anymore.”

You nod in understanding, smiling at him reassuringly. “It’s okay, I understand. I put you through a lot, and-”

“No.” Sam insists. “No, you didn’t do anything wrong. And no one blames you for it, especially me. It was all you knew, before, and all I can say is that I’m sorry.”

You shake your head, trying to keep the happy and bittersweet tears at bay. “Nothing to be sorry for.”

“There is,” he insists. “I didn’t mean for that to be all you knew. I didn’t mean for that to be your constant, and I promise, I swear to you that I will change it. If it happens again, all that I ask is that you help me remember.”

“I’ll do that,” you promise. “I will.” 

Sam smiles, knocking his feet against yours under the table. “I’m sorry I didn’t eat your french toast that morning.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “It’s okay, I can make it for you whenever you want.”

“What about tomorrow morning?” He asks. “If that works for you.”

“That works for me,” you confirm, allowing the kilowatt smile to take over your face. 

Sam nods, squeezing your hands again, standing up to lean over the table and press a soft, gentle kiss to your forehead. “Thank you for always waiting for me, baby. I promise you won’t have to anymore.”

“I’d wait for you forever,” You tell him, because it’s true. This whole ridiculous prophecy you’d been gifted of him forgetting you was long gone. You and Sam were in this now, for real.

Even if tomorrow morning, he woke up again and didn’t remember you, you wouldn’t let him leave anymore.

You’d make him french toast, sit him down, and tell him your story.

From the beginning.