#i love spotify wrapped season let me in…

[hardcockcafe]

deleted my premium spotify in january and haven’t used it at all since so my wrapped does NOT represent me but

[itsasilentreader]

ᯓ★ 𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 ― 𝐇𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐲𝐮𝐧𝐣𝐢𝐧

. ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁˖ . ܁. ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁˖ . ܁. ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁˖ . ܁. ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁˖ . ܁

. ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁˖ . ܁. ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁˖ . ܁. ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁˖ . ܁. ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁˖ . ܁

𝙋𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜: idol!Hyunjin x GN!reader, established relationship

𝙂𝙚𝙣𝙧𝙚: Fluff, suggestive

𝙒𝙤𝙧𝙙𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩: 1.2k — 9 𝙢𝙞𝙣 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙

𝙏𝙒/𝘾𝙒: suggestive at the end, mentions of drinking alcohol

𝘼/𝙉: This was my first request for Hyunjin! Jisung's version is coming soon. Hopefully you'll like it! :)

⤷ 𝘊𝘰𝘰𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘏𝘺𝘶𝘯𝘫𝘪𝘯 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘩𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘢 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘥𝘢𝘺.

⋮ 𝗠𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁 | 𝗛𝘆𝘂𝗻𝗷𝗶𝗻'𝘀 𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘀𝗶𝗼𝗻 | 𝗝𝗶𝘀𝘂𝗻𝗴'𝘀 𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘀𝗶𝗼𝗻

. ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁˖ . ܁. ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁˖ . ܁. ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁˖ . ܁. ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁˖ . ܁

When Hyunjin opened the door to your shared apartment, the smell of different spices hit him first. A little bit confused, he took off his shoes and put down his stuff before walking further into the apartment. He could hear your daily Spotify playlist playing over the speakers in the living room. His feet carried him through the apartment in search of you.

Hyunjin had a long day at work and couldn’t wait to feel your arms wrap around him while he took you into his embrace. He had to stay in the studio a few hours longer than expected because the songs they were working on were not really coming along as they had hoped. Chan tried his best to get it done as fast as possible, but he’s no superhero with superpowers. Sometimes it takes a little bit more work and time to get things done.

Normally, Hyunjin didn’t mind working a few hours longer than planned. That was before he met you, though. Before he met you, he often felt lonely. Sometimes it wasn’t a bad feeling, knowing he could be home as late as he wanted without having to consider anyone else with whom he shared his private life. At other times, he longed for the touch of a partner. He longed for intimate touches but also quick, fleeting ones—kissing his partner goodbye before leaving for work, coming home to cuddle in the late hours of the night, moonlight peeking through the bedroom window.

He found all of that when he met you, and he couldn’t be more grateful for it.

The tension and stress of the long workday began to settle in the muscles of his shoulders and neck. He could use a massage, preferably from you while you left soft kisses on his skin in between, he thought.

As he approached the kitchen, he could hear you humming along with the music. A soft smile graced his face as he stopped to just listen to you. You hadn’t heard him come in yet and were still focused on preparing Hyunjin’s favorite home-cooked meal. Cutting up the ingredients, you added them to the pan on the stove before seasoning everything just right.

Hyunjin watched you work for a few minutes before making himself known. Hearing his footsteps approaching, you let out a small yelp, placing a hand over your heart. “Oh my god, you scared me for a second, Hyune.” His face showed amusement at your reaction. “I didn’t hear you come in. I’m making your favorite meal, though.” You set down the cutlery and wiped your hands with a kitchen towel.

“I figured, but I didn’t want to disturb you. I love to watch you cook.” He took you in his embrace, and you wrapped your arms around him. By the way he leaned into you, you could feel how tired he was. “Long day?”

You felt him nod against you, still holding you close. “So busy, it’s stressful.” You peeked at his face and saw tiredness etched across his features. Giving him a soft peck on the lips, you stepped out of his arms and turned your attention back to the food on the stove, stirring it. Hyunjin came up behind you and wrapped his arms around your frame again, resting his head on your shoulder to watch as you cooked. You hummed along to the music once more, and Hyunjin soaked in the moment. Coming home to you cooking his favorite meal and taking care of him after such a long day was one of the best things in his life.

He absolutely loved his idol life, his career, and all the opportunities he’d had since debuting, but nothing beat this feeling with you—coming home to you, holding you, loving you, and being loved by you. He thanked the gods for the day when he bumped into you after you walked out of the coffee shop. Your drink had spilled all over you, and you were ready to get angry at the person who’d caused the mess. When you looked up, it felt like time stood still for a moment. He was the most beautiful man you’d ever laid eyes on, and you almost wanted to apologize for him bumping into you.

Hyunjin felt the same spark when your eyes met, and his breath caught in his throat. Even with your drink spilled all over your white shirt —which was totally his fault— you still looked gorgeous. Eventually, he made it up to you by buying you a new drink. You two started talking and haven’t stopped to this day.

“Go sit down, baby. I’ll pour you a glass of wine and finish up cooking.” Hyunjin let out a soft sigh as you turned around to get him a glass. He smiled to himself and headed to the bedroom to change. After returning to the living room, he saw a glass of red wine on the coffee table and noticed his favorite movie was already starting on the TV.

“What would I do without them,” he whispered to himself. He settled down on the couch, in his favorite spot, and took a sip of the wine. Finally relaxing, he thought, turning his attention to the TV. After a few minutes, he felt your hands on his shoulders. Softly, you began to massage his tense muscles, and he let his head fall back, closing his eyes. Your hands felt like heaven.

You continued the massage in silence, with the sounds of the TV and your playlist in the background. “Do you want to talk about your day?” you asked after a minute. A sigh left his lips, and he opened his eyes to look up at you. “Nothing special, we just needed to finish this song. It was just a long day.” You nodded and gave him a quick kiss on the forehead. “I’ll get two plates, and we can eat in front of the TV. Don’t move, mister.” Hyunjin chuckled, already missing your touch as you went back into the kitchen.

He heard you rummaging around, and after a few minutes, you reappeared with two plates. Sitting down next to him, you handed him his. You ate in comfortable silence, watching the movie you’d put on for him. After dinner, you quickly cleaned the plates and loaded the dishwasher. Hyunjin tried to help, but you motioned for him to stay seated and relax.

“You’re the best, you know that?” he said as you came back with more wine. You sat down and poured him another glass. “You work so hard. I thought I’d surprise you with your favorite meal. It’s the least I could do.”

You smiled softly at him and tucked a strand of hair behind his ear. His hand came up to hold yours, and he left a small kiss on the back of your hand. Even though the gesture was small, it still gave you butterflies. Setting down your glass, you turned to him. “Are you fully relaxed now?” He nodded. “I think so. Thank you for taking care of me, baby.”

“Always.” You leaned closer and gave him a soft kiss. “I thought about running you a hot bath, and maybe I can join you?” Hyunjin hummed in agreement and kissed you again. “I think that’s a great idea. Afterward, I can properly thank you for taking care of me.” He pulled back with a smirk on his lips. You saw his gaze darken slightly and nodded, your hands running up his chest before resting at the nape of his neck. Leaning in for another kiss, you whispered seductively, “I think I love that proposal.”

. ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁˖ . ܁. ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁˖ . ܁. ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁˖ . ܁. ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁˖ . ܁

Ⓒ︎ 𝗶𝘁𝘀𝗮𝘀𝗶𝗹𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿. 𝘈𝘭𝘭 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘦𝘥. 𝗗𝗼 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝘳𝘦𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘥𝘪𝘧𝘺 𝘮𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘵.

[leviscolwill]

read your mind (smau)

pairing: ollie bearman x singer!reader

in which: ollie is his gf's most supportive fan and you're the most supportive wag (face claim: sabrina carpenter)

notes: my first socmed au ever !! this was so so much fun to write hehe, i don't know if it's too long or too short for this kind of story so lmkkk. also yn.fm is yourname.fm (bc music got it ? hahahahaha.....)

now playing: read your mind by sabrina carpenter (emails i can't send)

yn.fm

liked by gracieabrams, olliebearman, and 472.332 others

yn.fm cooking a little something 👩‍🍳🤭

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user57 ALBUM SOON

yn.fm maybe, maybe not 🤭

olliebearman who let her cook ⁉️⁉️

yn.fm UR SO MEAN

olliebearman haha i love you

olliebearman

liked by yn.fm, arthurleclerc, and 67.843 others

olliebearman aaand we're back ! very excited about my first season in f2, many good things to come 😁👍

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prema_team Let's go Ollie !

yn.fm ROTY AWARD INCOMING

yn.fm I CAN'T WAIT FOR YOU TO WIN EVERY RACE

olliebearman who are you ?

yn.fm oliver answer the phone NOW 😁

yn.fm

liked by olliebearman, taylorswift and 861.989 others

yn.fm SURPRISE !!! my debut album 'email i can't send' is dropping on april 27th 2023 💌 i'm so so so excited to share these stories with you, tell me which track you're claiming in the commentssss 🫶

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user44 NONSENSE IS ABOUT TO BE MY TOP SPOTIFY WRAPPED SONG I CAN FEEL IT

olliebearman good choice 👍

yn.fm stop influencing my babies 😡

olliebearman just appreciating their taste love 🤷‍♂️

olliebearman they're so not ready

olliebearman not our little secret anymore :(

yn.fm i'll share other secrets with u dw 🤭

olliebearman

liked by scuderiaferrari, yn.fm, and 98.089 others

olliebearman so happy with this weekend's results! hoping for many other wins for the rest of the season :)

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yn.fm MY MAN MY MAN MY MAN

yn.fm 🐻celona 🤭🫶

yn.fm so leng

olliebearman stop this madness

scuderiaferrari Complimenti Ollie 👏

olliebearman grazie mille team !

yn.fm @olliebearman stop pretending you can speak italian on main

olliebearman @yn.fm you're about to get blocked

yn.fm

liked by flolikethis, alferdoflores and 980.421 others [tagged: olliebearman]

yn.fm nonsense video out tomorrow starring my favourite boy ever !!!

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user98 the highway is looking rlly comfy rn

olliebearman i caught the l-o-v-e

yn.fm so corny

olliebearman ??? they're your lyrics

yn.fm no ❤️

olliebearman am i your favourite actor as well ?

yn.fm not you thinking you can top ryan gosling

olliebearman 😞

yn.fm

liked by renee_downer, dennis_hauger and 875.385 others

yn.fm yk i luv a london boy !! uk tour starts tonight 😎

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olliebearman actually i'm from essex

yn.fm 'actually i'm from essex' 🤓☝️

olliebearman the british slander was a bit unnecessary

user68 i'm so excited to see you tonight xx

yn.fm i can't wait to see your cute faces my loves 🥹

formula2

liked by kimi.antonelli, roynissany and 57.998 others

formula2 Bearman to receive post-Feature Race time penalty at the #BritishGP.

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yn.fm booo you whore

user15 ariana what are you doing here ??

user66 LMAOO Y/N ON YOUR PUBLIC ACCOUNT ???

user98 @user66 her pr team must be so tired

yn.fm literally underserved

user39 so real of you

user07 so sad about ollie's penalty, on his home race as well :(

olliebearman

liked by prema_racing, nyckdevries, and 78.054 others

olliebearman i wish this weekend would've ended on a better note, but i'd like to thank everyone for the support there ❤️

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yn.fm so happy that i got to see you do what you love at your home race 🫶

yn.fm you were perfect ilysm

olliebearman love you ❤️

olliebearman

liked by clementnovalak, jakcrawford_ and 178.652 others [tagged: @yn.fm]

olliebearman happy one year to the most beautiful, hardworking and kind person on earth. here's to many many many other summers with you my love

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yn.fm I LOVE YOU SO MUCH ARGH

olliebearman i love you more 😁

paularon_ @olliebearman eww

yn.fm my swiftie bf

olliebearman you basically brainwashed me into a swiftie but okay

yn.fm

liked by oliviarodrigo, lissiemackintosh, and 1.003.581 others [tagged: olliebearman]

yn.fm happy anniversary to my lover, i'm so happy our paths crossed because i don't even know what i would do without you !! i love you more than words can say 🫶

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olliebearman my pretty girl !! i love you so much ❤️

yourbsf @olliebearman can i get her back now

olliebearman @yourbsf maybe tmrw

yourbsf @olliebearman it's been a week bearman 😐

olliebearman @yourbsf joint custody is so complicated with you

yn.fm @olliebearman @yourbsf HELLOO ??

[selfindulgentpoorlywritten]

My Sweet Girl (Matthew Tkachuk Imagine)

This is by far-- I repeat, by far-- the longest reader insert I've ever written. It's my submission for @wyattjohnston 's Winter Fic Exchange, a gift for @matthewtkachuk ! Excellent URL, by the way.

The creative process here went as follows: Shelbs shows me her On Repeat Spotify playlist -> I see The Band Camino on it and remember that I love that band -> I listen to nothing but them for two weeks -> I hear the song Know It All and am struck with inspiration -> I write this and inflict it on everyone else.

I jumped around a bit while writing, so please let me know if there's anything I screwed up! This is also the type of fic that has had 20+ tabs of Wikipedia pages, ESPN articles, and stats pages open on my computer for two months, but there was still information I couldn't find, so please be gentle with any inconsistencies.

Anyway, I truly hope that you enjoy this one! I apologize for being a day late posting, my job sucks.

Rating: M

Pairing: Matthew Tkachuk/fem!Reader

Words: 26, 028

Warnings: a lot of angst

Contains: best friend's brother, friends to ??? to strangers to lovers, situationship, idiots in love, everyone knows but them, Matthew being kind of a dick, guest appearances by the Weinberg-Hughes family and Jane Gaudreau

Summary: As Brady's best friend, it was your duty to love and support him. You're pretty sure falling in love with his brother does not count as "support", but here you are.

-----

You weren’t expecting this to be as hard as it is.

Luckily, you’d been given a little warning beforehand, but apparently a week wasn’t enough to prepare yourself. Was it kind of fucked up that the news had to come from Brady, because Matthew hadn’t bothered to tell you himself? Yeah, kind of. Sure, Brady and you have been best friends for years, but it’s not like you’re not close with Matthew, too.

You hadn’t realized what was going on at first, convincing yourself not to be upset when Matthew’s texts slowed and his calls stopped outright. It had been the beginning of the playoffs, you reasoned, of course he was going to be too busy to talk to you as much. Despite the fact that communication between the two of you had never waned because of the season before. It was his first year on a new team, you’d told yourself, a team with a great shot at the Cup, at that. You could deal with missing him a little more than usual if that’s what he needed.

When you’d called him to congratulate him on passing the first round, he’d thanked you and wrapped the call up as quickly as he could. Seeing the 3:24:41 call duration on your phone afterward had felt wrong. It was one of the shortest calls the two of you had ever had.

You’d brushed it off, chalked it up to him being tired or busy. Then they’d won the second round, and the process repeated itself. A quick phone call, a few scant minutes. It had sounded like other people were there that time, so you’d convinced yourself that he would call you back when he was alone. He never did.

You got to watch Game 4 of the third series, got to watch them sweep Carolina to win the Eastern Conference. Your friend Terri had laughed and clapped as you cheered, jumping up and down like a child. She was a Carolina fan herself, but was good enough of a loser to hug and congratulate you despite it. She’d offered to leave so that you could talk to Matthew, but you’d waved it off. You knew he’d be celebrating with the boys that night, so there was no real reason to try calling. You’d shot him a congratulations text and spent the night smiling so much your cheeks hurt.

When you’d tried to call Matthew the next day, his voice had been hushed when he answered. You’d given him your congratulations, bubbling over about how well they’d played. It’s not the first time you’d had a phone call exactly like that, him letting you gush about his team’s play and basking in the attention. This time, he interrupted you before you even got a chance to really get going. His voice was still quiet, almost a whisper as he said he had to go. The wind was immediately taken out of your sails and you’d barely had time to say goodbye before he hung up.

At that point, you’d given up convincing yourself that everything was okay. Something was very clearly wrong, and you’d spent the next nine days trying to figure out what it was. You’d reached out to Brady, and he’d told you that he hadn’t noticed anything weird from Matthew at all. Knowing that, you’d tried to downplay what was going on between the two of you, lest Brady go bother Matthew about it. You don’t do well with embarrassment, so you’d preferred that whatever was going on stayed away from any third parties.

The finals started, ending rather anticlimactically ten days later in a 4-1 loss for the Panthers. Knowing Matthew, he was going to go straight back to his hotel room and beat himself up. For the last three, almost four, years, you’d called Matthew after every big win or loss, and this was his biggest loss to date. Yet your finger hesitated at his contact name, hovered over the picture of him with bedhead and a lazy smile. With how things had been going, you knew he probably wouldn’t want to talk to you, even if you hadn’t figured out why yet. But part of you hoped that he would, that everything to that point had been stress, and there, at his lowest, he would talk to you again, and everything would go back to normal.

That, of course, is not what happened.

He hadn’t answered at all. And when you’d tried a second time an hour later, it rang once before going to voicemail. That meant that he’d declined your call, but you didn’t know what that meant.

Two more days passed without you hearing anything from him, so you’d called Brady. All of this had been concerning, but that had been too much. Miraculously, you’d managed to stay calm when you spoke with Brady, sounding impressively level-headed when you relayed what happened and asked him if he’d heard from Matthew. Brady had seemed shocked at the situation, immediately calling Matthew after he’d hung up with you.

Thirty minutes later, when you’d received a text from Brady, your heart had sunk to the pit of your stomach, and it’s stayed there ever since.

Because what the text had informed you of is that Matthew hadn’t lost or broken his phone, hadn’t been sick or depressed or, god, lost in the fucking desert or some shit. It told you that he’d been with his girlfriend, and hadn’t wanted her to see him call or text another girl. Because, apparently, Matthew has a girlfriend now. And just hadn’t deigned to tell you.

When Brady had told you that she would be spending the offseason in St. Louis with Matthew, you’d tried to hide your shock. You’d cleared your throat and told Brady how great that was, even as you wanted to throw up. They’d gotten into town a few days ago, and you’d done your best to keep your distance. But Brady asked you to come to dinner at his parents’ house tonight, citing the limited time you have to see him before he goes back to Ottawa, and you couldn’t refuse.

So now here you are, curled up in a chair in the Tkachuks’ den, across from said girlfriend. Her name is Tessa, she’s 26, and she does remote work for a marketing firm. That explains how she’s able to pick up and go to St. Louis for three months, at least. She’s already recounted the story of how they’d met, a romcom story of spilling his drink on her dress at a party and getting to know each other from there. She talks about the instant connection, the way they clicked so quickly that she knew they were meant for each other. That part of the story was when you’d excused yourself to get a glass of water, just so you could stick your head in the fridge and take a few deep breaths.

Matthew and Tessa are on one of the couches, the older, comfier one. Matthew is propped up against one of the armrests, Tessa curled into his side, his arm around her shoulders. You’ve spent the night pretending not to notice the way Matthew keeps glancing at you.

Brady and Emma are posted up on the other couch, one on either side, Emma’s feet in Brady’s lap as she lounges. Emma is great, and does a great job at keeping the conversation going, despite how little you and the boys are participating. Tessa either doesn’t notice your silence or doesn’t mind, chatting happily about some film she and Emma have both recently seen. You’re pretending not to notice the looks Brady’s giving you, either.

You should really be trying harder. You know Brady wasn’t expecting you to curl up under a blanket and mope when he invited you, and he really is right about time being limited. You should be engaging, enjoying the time you get with the boys while you have it. You would, if you could open your mouth without feeling like you’re going to scream.

Eventually, Chantal calls you all to dinner. It’s easier once you’re all gathered around the table, somehow, and you’re able to talk a little. Chantal has always put you at ease, has always made you feel like just another of her children. If you had it your way, Taryn would be here too. She has a way of lovingly bullying you that always makes you feel better. Unfortunately, she’s visiting some college friends out of state. But you’re doing okay, you think, at acting normal.

Then you lock eyes with Keith, and any sense of ease you’ve gained flies out the window. You wouldn’t be inclined to say that Keith is the most observant person in the world, so the way he’s looking at you– like he knows something is very, very wrong– makes it clear that you’re doing an absolutely dogshit job at hiding your feelings. You look away from him quickly, swallowing hard and forcing yourself to talk even more. 

Maybe if you can just act normal, if you can push down the emotions and act like everything is okay, it will be. There’s nothing else you can really do about the situation anyway. Matthew has made it clear that he’s not interested in talking about it, so you’ll have to suck it up and deal with it on your own.

Dinner goes by a little quicker once you’re actually actively involved in the conversation. Typically, you help Chantal with the dishes after meals, but when you reach for the sponge at the sink, she shoos you away. She sends the girls back to the den, insisting that it’s the boys’ turn to help.

You curl back up in your chair, mind wandering as you operate on autopilot. You’re saying things, contributing to the conversation with Emma and Tessa, but you have no idea what you’re actually saying. Mercifully, they either don’t notice or don’t care.

This entire situation is fucked. What’s really getting to you, though, is how you’d been introduced. You’d walked in, giving out hugs to everyone except Matthew and Tessa. She’d approached you, shaking your hand enthusiastically.

“Matthew said you’re Brady’s best friend, right?” she’d asked. It was simple, innocuous, and true. Brady and you have been best friends for years, and that would be an adequate title in any other scenario. But it felt like a punch to the gut, knowing that after everything, Matthew had told her that you were just his little brother’s best friend. You’d glanced at him as she said it, and the intentionally cool, unaffected expression Matthew had in place still couldn’t hide the guilt in his eyes.

In that moment, you knew that he hadn’t told her anything about you, about whatever the two of you have been to each other for the past few years, and that he never intends to. There was a second where he’d made a decision, a second that you weren’t present for, that had cut off everything you’ve been to him and relegated you back to Brady’s Best Friend.

You want to pull Tessa aside, spill out everything. You want her to know that you’re Matthew’s friend too, that you’ve been more than that. More than that, you want Matthew to do it. You want him to tell her, to acknowledge whatever the hell you’ve been doing for all this time. You want him to admit that you’re something, anything to him.

Instead, you keep it all to yourself. The knowledge of everything between you and Matthew will live and die where it is now, in the minds of the two of you, and nowhere else.

June, 2018

You’re wiping down the counters when the man enters. You force a bright smile at him, still annoyed from the previous customer but doing your best not to show it. He returns the smile, approaching the register. You move to settle across from him, greeting him politely. The shop has a lot of regulars, but you don’t recognize this guy.

“I’ll be honest,” he says, giving a single nervous laugh, “I’m not really a coffee guy. Do you have any recommendations?” It’s not an uncommon question, and there aren’t any other customers right now, so you don’t mind.

“Do you like the taste of coffee?” you ask. He shakes his head. That eliminates about half of the menu, so it’s progress.

“How much caffeine are you going for?” you ask next.

“As much as possible,” he replies. The dark circles under his eyes could have hinted you to that conclusion. He has a laptop and notebook in one hand, down by his side. It’s normal for people to bring work along with them, and he’s definitely young, so you guess it’s probably school work.

“You could always do a triple shot latte with a flavor,” you suggest, your own go-to drink, “The caramel is the strongest. I can put in an extra pump if you want.” Technically, you should charge extra for that, but the kid looks kind of pathetic, and you feel bad. He can have a pity pump this once.

“That sounds good,” he agrees. You do the math in your head and punch in the price manually on the vintage register. The whole cafe is supposed to have a vintage vibe, a real hipster magnet. Math was always your weakest subject, but having to calculate totals in your head has made you a lot better with it.

Once he pays on the very not-vintage card reader, you direct him to the far side of the bar. You start on his drink, pulling shots with practiced ease. You’ve been working  here since high school, so you’ve gotten pretty good at making coffee. He doesn’t try to talk to you while you work, which is nice. There’s something oddly calming about his presence, though, and it’s helping your annoyance fade.

You hand off his drink, and he retreats to a booth in the back corner after thanking you. You go back to wiping things down, bobbing your head along with the music playing quietly over the speakers. It’s later in the evening, so you only get a few customers over the next hour. It’s one thing you like about working the night shift. Not many customers, and most of the people getting coffee around this time are tired enough to not give you much trouble, and are usually extremely grateful for the caffeine.

It’s quiet for long enough that you pull your stool up to the counter, pulling your textbook and notes out from under the counter. You start working on the homework for your summer semester, singing quietly to yourself as you read.

“You have a nice voice,” the guy from earlier says, suddenly standing in front of you. You jump, hand flying to your chest as if you’re a damsel in a period piece. You’d forgotten he was here.

“Thank you,” you say, once the surprise fades. You laugh a little, shaking your head. He laughs too, apologizing for startling you.

“Could I have another?” he asks, holding up his now-empty cup.

“Of course,” you reply, “Same cup okay?” You do your best to be environmentally friendly, so you don’t want to use another cup if you don’t have to. He says that’s okay, so you take the cup and start pulling another shot.

“Y/N,” he says absently as he leans on the counter, “That’s a pretty name.” You thank him again, dumping the first shot into the cup. It’s odd, because people are usually flirting when they say something like that, but his tone isn’t suggestive at all.

“What’s your name?” you ask, feeling like you should say something. You start pulling the second shot.

“Brady,” he says, extending a hand toward you. You look between his hand and your own, feeling rude but needing both hands to pull the shot.

“Oh, um,” you stutter, “Sorry, I’m–” He seems to realize what’s going on and retracts his hand, using it to rub at the base of his skull.

“My bad,” he says, shaking his head at himself, “I’m tired, sorry.” You smile at him, much more genuine than the first time.

“What’s got you so tired anyway, Brady?” you ask, dumping the second shot and starting on the third. His face twists at what you’d thought was an innocuous question. He’s clearly debating something in his head, so you stay silent.

“I’ve got something big coming up in a couple weeks,” he explains, tapping his fingers against the counter, “I’m just trying to be prepared.” You nod, not minding how vague he’s being. You don’t actually need to know every detail of a random customer’s life. There’s a moment of quiet as you dump in the third shot and pour some milk into a metal container.

“And I might be a little nervous,” he says, looking at his hands instead of you. You smile again, beginning to steam the milk.

“Just a little,” you repeat, slightly teasing in a way you usually aren’t with customers.

“Yeah,” he chuckles, looking up at you, “Just a little.” You smile at each other for a second, both knowing he’s seriously downplaying his feelings. You wonder what it is that has him so anxious, sure that it must be something serious. He doesn’t seem to be the neurotic type.

“What are you working on?” he asks as you pour the milk, gesturing toward your books spread out next to the register. You shrug.

“Organic chemistry,” you reply, pumping in the flavoring, “The worst class ever.” He cringes at the mention of it, which you feel in your bones.

“I’ve heard it’s awful,” he says.

“It is,” you confirm. You snap the lid back onto the cup, sliding it over the counter to him. He cradles it between his hands, but doesn’t move to leave. He’s looking up at you from where he’s hunched over, and you can’t help but stare back.

“Do you want to come sit with me?” he asks, “We could be miserable together.” The smile that overtakes your face mirrors itself on his own.

August, 2018

When Brady walks in, right at his usual time, you give him a smile and lean over the counter to hug him. You’ve become fast friends, sitting together a few nights a week, probably talking more than studying. His Big Thing is long past, and he still hasn’t told you what it was, but you don’t really mind. You get to know about his family and his girlfriend and his upcoming move to Ottawa, of all places, but you don’t need to know everything if he doesn’t want to share.

You make two of the usual latte, one for each of you. You grab your books from the shelf, meeting him at the corner booth. You get through some small talk as you both set up, going back and forth with an ease that you were surprised to find has been there since the beginning.

“Matthew’s going to come hang out tonight,” he says as he logs into his computer. He’s spoken about his brother before, so you’re somewhat intrigued.

“Any particular reason?” you ask. To your knowledge, Matthew has never been to the shop, so you’re not sure if something special is going on to spur him into coming.

“He thinks it sounds cool,” Brady shrugs, flipping his notebook open. Maybe you’d know what he’s always working on if you could read his tiny chicken scratch. As it is, you don’t mind letting him have his secrets.

You get four pages into your chapter before another customer enters, laying your pen in the divot between the pages while you go make them their drink. Luckily, they don’t stick around. It’s not awful when other people are around, but you always feel like someone is going to complain about you sitting in the dining room and studying while you should be working. But if there’s no work to be done, you don’t think there’s anything wrong with it. Unfortunately, not everyone agrees. So you prefer if it’s just you and Brady.

Another four pages drag by, reading interspersed with breaks to talk. Honestly, the breaks are also a way to keep yourself sane as you read unnecessarily complicated science.

When the next customer enters, you spring up from your chair, shooting them a smile as you make your way behind the counter. You give your standard greeting, asking what you can get them.

“What do you recommend?” the man asks. You were kind of hoping he’d have something in mind so that this interaction could go quickly, because he may be the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen and it’s making you flustered.

“Do you like the taste of coffee?” you ask. He nods, looking you up and down with a critical eye. It feels personal, feels like he’s searching for something, and you’re not sure if you like it.

“How much caffeine are you looking for?” you ask next. You do your best to maintain eye contact, ignoring the way you have to look up to do so.

“How much you got?” he asks in return. The crooked smile he gives you makes your stomach flip. You grasp for a drink to suggest, all knowledge having fled your mind in order to focus on the curl of his hair over his forehead, the glint of his bright eyes.

“A Lazy Eye would probably be the most,” you say, clearing your throat, “But if you don’t want to have a heart attack, you could do a regular Red Eye.” He tilts his head, smile turning smug, as if he’s noticed your distraction. Something about it snaps you out of your daze, slightly indignant. You’ve seen plenty of hot guys in your day, and you’re not about to look like a fool in front of him just because he’s pretty.

“Red Eye, Black Eye, Dripped Eye, Lazy Eye,” you list off with as much confidence as you can muster, “Each with one more shot than the last. Pick your poison.” Your attitude change only makes him smile wider. Your hand is poised over the buttons of the register, ready to ring up whatever he decides.

“Let’s go with a Black Eye,” he says, bearing a surprisingly sharp canine, “I’ve had a few of those in my time.” That doesn’t surprise you, with his smug face and oozing self-confidence. Something about it feels so disingenuous that it makes your teeth itch. It’s clearly an act, but you can’t exactly call him on it.

You give him his total, he pays, you get to work. You empty the last dregs of coffee in the pot into the sink and set the machine to brew a new batch. No matter how annoying a customer seems, you’re not about to serve them shitty coffee.

“Y/N,” he says, leaning on the counter, “That’s a pretty name.” It’s exactly what Brady had said when you’d met him, which makes you eye the man a little suspiciously. Whereas Brady had clearly not been flirting when he’d said it, this man’s tone is ambiguous enough that you’re not entirely sure what his intentions are.

“Thank you,” you say, dumping the first shot of espresso into the cup. Normally, you would ask for his name in return, but you’re not sure if you want to encourage him talking to you.

“How long have you worked here?” he asks anyway.

“Almost three years,” you reply. You’re not sure you want to tell him anything about your life, but you’re trying to be polite.

“Experienced,” he says, smiling like he’s a lion closing in on its prey, “I like that.” It’s cheesy and kind of sleazy, and you can’t help but scoff in disbelief. He’s watching you like a hawk, studying your reactions to everything he says and does. You dump the second shot, wishing the coffee would brew faster so this interaction could be over.

“I don’t think I want to know what else you like,” you say, crossing your arms over your chest. You used to get embarrassed and rattled by customers making comments like this, but at some point something had changed inside you. Now you just get annoyed, no matter how hot the person may be.

“Feisty,” he says, smile changing slightly in a way you can’t parse, “I like that too.” You roll your eyes, making a quiet noise of disgust. It’s not great for business to react to customers this way, but you can’t help it.

“I like it when men are silent,” you reply, able to feel how withering your gaze is. His expression changes yet again, smile getting smaller but more genuine, scrunching the bottom of his eyes up a little. That feels more natural to you, looks more right on his face. Something about the new softness in his eyes soothes something inside of you.

The coffee machine beeps to signal that it’s ready, and you waste no time in grabbing the pot and filling the cup. You hand it off to him, giving your biggest, most obviously fake smile.

“Have a fantastic night,” you say, immediately rounding the counter and heading back to the booth. When you settle back into your seat, Brady is smiling at you like you’ve told the funniest joke in the world.

“What?” you ask, picking up your pen. Brady’s eyes flick up above your head, slightly to the left, staying there, prompting you to turn around. The man is standing behind you, small smile still in place.

“Brady’s told me so much about you,” he says, and it dawns on you, “Nice to meet you, Y/N. I’m Matthew.” Your jaw falls open and you turn back to Brady, kicking him in the shin under the table. He yelps; Matthew laughs.

“You’re both the worst,” you spit, trying to hold onto your irritation and failing. You laugh alongside the brothers, begrudgingly amused by the ridiculousness of the situation.

“Sorry about that back there,” Matthew apologizes, seemingly genuine, “I couldn’t help myself.” You shake your head at him as he bullies Brady further into the booth so he can sit. Brady shoves him back, but moves his things over anyway.

“It’s okay,” you say, pointing at him, “But if you ever pull that shit again, I’m banning you from the shop.” That startles a laugh out of him.

“I didn’t know you had the power to do that,” he replies, using his crossed arms to lean on the table.

“I do now,” you say, tilting your chin up, “Gonna put a picture up of you with a big X on it and everything.” You stare at each other for a second, and he breaks first, ducking his head as he laughs.

“Fair enough,” he concedes, looking up at you through his lashes. Your heart skips a beat, but you do your best to seem unaffected. This is your friend’s brother, for Christ’s sake. You can’t be all aflutter over him. You’re not sure you have a choice in the matter.

June, 2023

You might actually kill your coworker one day. He’s such a smug rat bastard, and every meeting including both of you makes you think you’re going to grind your teeth into dust. It’s just lucky that the job is remote, so you don’t have to be around him physically. Probably best for both your sanity and his safety.

“I mean, at least you were right in the end?” Terri says, sounding uncertain through your headphones. You’re sauteeing some onions and peppers, moving them around more than you should be just for something to do with your hands.

“Yeah, I guess,” you sigh, “I just don’t understand why he wants to make me look bad.” Ian– the coworker– seems to always have some kind of comment on your work, some type of criticism. Constructive criticism is part of the game, but his is never constructive. It doesn’t help that you’re the only two in the graphics department, so he’s always there when you present work. And really, being the only two should mean that you work together and support each other, honestly.

“Because he’s an insecure man-child,” Terri replies easily. You shake your head down at the vegetables, startling as the oven timer goes off. You jab at the button to turn it off, opening the door to remove the chicken.

“I think I’ve had enough of insecure man-children,” you grumble. You cut open one of the chicken breasts with more force than is strictly necessary, grateful that it seems to be done.

“You finally wanna talk about that?” Terri asks, and honestly? No, you don’t. Ideally, you’ll never talk about it, just push it down into the darkest recesses of your mind and bury it there. Unfortunately, you possess some level of emotional maturity, which means you know that you have to talk about it eventually.

It’s hard, because despite Brady being your best friend, you can’t exactly talk to him about this. If he knew any part of what’s been going on, he’d probably go physically fight Matthew on your behalf. Part of you thinks that might actually make you feel a little better. But he’d also probably be mad that you’ve had a not-thing with his brother, and that would make you feel worse.

“She seems like a nice woman,” you say, trying to keep your tone neutral. Terri sighs, and you take your plate of food to the living room to eat.

“She’s not the problem, here,” she says. She’s right, and you know it. You really don’t have anything against Tessa, and obviously you can’t blame her for any of this. Clearly, she had no idea about your not-thing with Matthew, and genuinely fell for him. There’s no point in being mad at her.

“Yeah, well,” you push some food around your plate, “He’s a fuckface and she can have him.” The mention of Matthew has ruined your appetite, the meal now looking completely unappealing. You push the plate to the other side of the coffee table with a huff. You’ll try eating again later, you tell yourself, knowing that you haven’t been eating nearly enough lately. You can’t help it, your inner turmoil chasing away your hunger most of the time.

“He is a fuckface,” Terri agrees, adding, “But don’t pretend you don’t still want him.” Ugh. Friends are the worst, actually, and you should just become a hermit in a cave somewhere. There’s no point even trying to deny the claim, both of you knowing that she’s right.

“I’m not allowed to want him anymore,” you say, voice coming out weaker than you want to admit, “I never should have let myself want him in the first place.” In the beginning, despite being attracted to Matthew, it was easy to maintain distance. He was in Calgary most of the year, and reminding yourself that he was your new friend’s brother actually worked as a deterrent back then.

You can’t pinpoint exactly when you started letting yourself get caught up, but you’d ended up completely entangled with him. Now he’s put that distance back between you, ripping away the strings you’d been tied up in, leaving you with all these empty spaces where he used to be. And it’s making you hate yourself, knowing that if you’d just kept things cordial, restricted your attention and connection to Brady like you should have, you wouldn’t be feeling any of this right now.

“You can’t help who you love,” Terri says, so gently that it only hurts more. You’re not fragile, okay? You don’t need the softness, the careful handling. You’re not fragile. You’re not.

“I gotta go eat,” you say, not wanting to lie, but needing a way out of the conversation, “Bye, Ter.” She says your name, but you just repeat the goodbye. She sighs, says goodbye, and you hang up. What you should do is eat something and go to sleep. Instead, you eye the easel in the corner of the living room. You sigh, heaving yourself up off of the couch to go grab a glass of water to rinse your brushes with.

April, 2019

It’s probably going to become your new favorite day of the year: the day Brady comes home from Ottawa. His plane had landed yesterday, and his parents had even brought you to the airport with them to pick him up. As quickly as you’d bonded last summer, you’d only gotten closer through the season. It feels like you can talk to each other about anything, like you were meant to meet, like he’s the platonic version of a soulmate. You had patiently waited your turn to hug him after his parents, squeezing him as tightly as you could manage. He’d only squeezed back harder.

With their seasons ending right around the same time this year, Matthew had landed the same night. Knowing they’d have to go back to the airport, the Tkachuks had decided to just spend the day out instead of going home. They’d invited you to come with them, an invitation you’d eagerly accepted. They’re quickly starting to feel like family to you, and you love spending time with them. For the first time in your life, it feels like you fit somewhere.

Unfortunately, you hadn’t been able to come along to pick up Matthew. You’d had to work last night, so the Tkachuks had dropped you off at home to get changed and get going. You’d still gotten to spend most of the day with them, which would have to be enough.

You’re going over to their place today, and you decided to bake and bring along cookies. All of their local family and friends are going to be there to welcome the boys home, and you haven’t met most of them yet, so you want to make a good first impression. Besides, it’s just polite to bring something along to someone’s house.

Though Brady still tries to hug you when you arrive, despite your hands being full, the plates need to be deposited on the dining room table before he can get a real one. There are a few people chatting in the room, so Brady introduces you to them.

Most of the next hour goes much the same, Brady introducing you to family and friends, having small conversations with all of them. You know that Brady isn’t trying to embarrass you, but he has a habit of hyping you up to people. He’s more outgoing than you are, and he uses that social ease to brag about how smart you are, how talented. It feels a little like he’s trying to justify being your friend to them, but you know better than to think that Brady cares what anyone thinks of him and his choices.

The kitchen exits onto a large cherry wood deck, scattered with chairs, some of them already occupied. The back yard is sprawling, green grass lined with lush bushes. There’s a pool to the right, not opened for the summer yet, a jacuzzi positioned between it and the house. You’re still not really used to all of this, the casual wealth of the family. It’s so far from what you’d grown up with, something that had astonished you when you’d realized just how far above you the Tkachuks are.

There are a few yard games set up in the grass, cornhole and ladders and something you don’t recognize. And there, in the center of the yard, Matthew is teaching a child how to play ladders. The kid is probably a cousin, of which they have many. Matthew is barefoot, wearing a bright red Flames hoodie and black shorts that only come to mid-thigh. You’ve narrowed your staring down to a minimum, so your eyes only linger for a second or two before you turn back to Brady.

He guides you around to meet the few people braving the chilly spring weather, much as he had done inside. Everyone is so nice, saying how pleased they are to meet you, and seeming to mean it.

Your last stop is Matthew, who interrupts his lesson to hug you. It’s only the second time the two of you have done so, the first having been the last time you saw him before he left for the season. Despite that fact, he squeezes you almost as hard as Brady had, as if you’re his best friend too. Not that you’d presume to be Brady’s best friend, but. Still.

“It’s good to see you, Y/N,” he says when you pull apart, and the expression on his face tells you how genuine it is. Your smile is almost involuntary, turning up the corners of your mouth and baring just a hint of teeth.

“Welcome home, Matthew,” you reply, “We missed you.” You’re not sure what “we” you’re referring to, but it feels less incriminating than saying “I missed you”. You get the feeling that he understands anyway, beaming at you.

The three of you chat for a few minutes, Matthew introducing you to his little cousin. With there being four of you, you decide to play a game of ladders, to test the little one’s skills. He’s pretty good, for a kid, and you and Brady make sure to throw well enough to convince him that you’re trying, but still let him win. Throughout, Matthew gives him tips and instruction, so kind and gentle that it makes your heart ache. They cheer when they win, high fiving and teasing you and Brady.

You go inside to spend some time with Keith and Chantal. Chantal gives you a big hug, as if she hadn’t just seen you yesterday. Keith gives you a hearty clap on the shoulder. Taryn appears at some point, sneaking up behind you and poking your sides to make you jump. You laugh along with her, enfolding her into the conversation easily.

Time flies by, the sun setting around you, the house lights turning on one by one as darkness descends. Eventually, you end up lounging in the den with the other adult kids. From your visits last year, the chair in the corner has become yours. You’re settled in, legs folded up under you as something that no one is watching plays on the TV. Brady and Taryn get into a heated debate about something or another, and Matthew gives you a long-suffering look as his younger siblings bicker. You just smile back at him, finding the family’s passion entirely endearing.

“Seventeen years of this,” Matthew gripes, clearly not as annoyed as he’s trying to seem.

“And sixty more to go,” you reply. Matthew chuckles at that, looking to Brady and Taryn with such fondness that you almost can’t stand it. It’s the kind of relationship you’d wanted with your own brothers, but that’s best not to think about.

“Hopefully,” Matthew says, turning that fond look toward you. Your heart skips a beat, and you’ve gotten good at ignoring that.

May, 2019

You shouldn’t be this nervous, but you are. Terri is on speaker phone, telling you about her new job. You’re half-listening, staring at the clothing laid out on your bed. You’ve been agonizing all morning about what you’re going to wear, how you’re going to do your makeup, if you should wear makeup at all.

“I’m glad that your boss defended you,” you say to Terri, still tuned in enough to follow her story, “She seems cool.”

“She’s so cool,” Terri gushes, “She’s my favorite now.” You’re so happy that Terri has finally found a good job, especially with how hellish her previous one had been. This one pays almost double what she was getting before, too, which definitely doesn’t hurt. She expounds a little more about the things she loves about her boss, and you decide to hang back up the dresses you’ve laid out. It’s still a little too chilly to wear them, especially after sundown.

“You’re still staring at those damn clothes, aren’t you?” Terri asks, switching the topic suddenly. Your face gets warm as you make a plaintive hand gesture, despite her not being able to see you.

“Clothes are stupid and I can’t decide,” you complain, trying to imagine how each of the final two options will come across. If you try too hard, Matthew might think that you think this is a date, but you still want to look good. You know it’s not a date, but you’re still kind of acting like it is, and it’s embarrassing.

“Definitely wear jeans,” Terri advises, “That’ll make it more casual.” You agree, putting away the skirt you’d paired with the one shirt, trying to picture how it would look with jeans. You move the pants between each shirt, before giving up and just putting them on. You’ll just try on both outfits and see which one you like better.

Once dressed in the first option, you take a picture to send to Terri. You look at yourself in the mirror, turning this way and that. After a minute or two of consideration, you switch tops. You take another picture and send both to Terri for her opinion.

“Oh, definitely the second one,” she says, “The first one makes you look like you’re going to a job interview.” You look at the picture again, and can’t deny that she’s right. You put that one away, settled in your decision. You’re not sure if Matthew has ever seen you in anything but jeans and a t-shirt, so you hope the red tank top layered with a tucked-in sheer pink printed blouse isn’t too much of a change.

When Matthew had invited you to take a walk around the park yesterday, just the two of you. You’ve never spent more than a few minutes alone with him, always having Brady or Taryn or Emma to provide distraction and distance. This time you’ll have nothing to focus on but him.

The time comes soon enough, and you gather your things, not wanting to make Matthew wait for you when he arrives. You’d offered to drive yourself and meet him there, but he’d waved off the idea immediately, saying that he’d pick you up.

A knock comes at your door right on time. You take a deep breath before you open it, settling your frenzied heart. Matthew smiles as soon as he sees you.

“Oh wow,” he says, almost absentmindedly, “You look great.” Your blush is immediate, and you hope he can’t see it. It seems that anything that comes out of his mouth makes you blush, sometimes.

The drive to the park isn’t too long. When you arrive, you gather your bag from the floor of the passenger seat, and by time you move to get a hand on the door handle, Matthew is already opening the door from the outside. It’s a sweet surprise, and you thank him as you climb out of the car.

It’s a nice day, not too cold or windy for once. The two of you walk, talking about this and that, moving from topic to topic as they arise. You point out a few birds as you go, and Matthew listens to the little fun facts you give about them. He seems genuinely interested, but even if he’s not, at least he’s polite enough to pretend.

“I guess we should have left a little earlier,” Matthew remarks as the sun goes down, the light fading around you. The sun sets quickly this time of year, so you’re still a few minutes out from the car by time it’s completely dark. The lights along the pathway bathe Matthew in yellow light, casting warm shadows in the dips and hollows of his face.

“At least I have a big, strong man to protect me,” you joke, elbowing him.

“Oh no, if we get jumped I’m running,” he replies, shooting a shit-eating grin down at you. You gasp and press a hand to your heart, as if you’re truly scandalized.

“You would really abandon me like that?” you ask. His smile softens at the edges.

“Never,” he says, looking so genuine that it makes your heart flutter, pausing before he adds, “Unless we’re getting robbed.” Your combined laughter rings out through the trees.

June, 2023

You’ve managed to avoid any questions about your odd behavior, and it’s getting easier to act normal over time. A couple weeks have passed since your first meeting with Tessa, and you still feel like ripping your skin off when you see her touching Matthew, but you’ve gotten better at hiding it. It’s not your place to be upset, anyway.

The diner is bustling at this time of day, the tail end of lunch rush. You had to wait a little bit to get seated, but now you’re sitting at the end of a booth in a chair they’d pulled up to the edge to make up for all five of you not fitting into the booth. It makes you feel a little left out, the only one not paired off, a fifth wheel to the two couples on either side of the table. You block that out, a skill you’ve had for years, but have had to strengthen rapidly over the past few weeks.

Brady has an arm around Emma’s shoulders, and you can tell by the angle of Matthew’s arm that he has a hand on Tessa’s thigh. You remember when that was you, Matthew touching you so casually, so naturally. Sitting across from Matthew as he nudges your foot under the table, sitting next to him with your shoulders pressed together, fingers tangled together on the seat, where no one could see.

Emma is telling a story about a night out with some of her girlfriends, and you’re laughing along at the antics with everyone else. When she asks you about work, you try to clear the perpetual lump in your throat before answering, succeeding in sounding happy, though the tightness remains.

When your food arrives, you spend most of the time pushing it around your plate to make it look like you’re eating. You never have an appetite around Matthew anymore, weirdly embarrassed about being seen eating in a way you haven’t been since you were a teenager. You’ll take it home and eat it later, if you can stop thinking about Matthew for two fucking seconds.

You’re not sure how long that’s going to be impossible, but you hope it’s not much longer.

January, 2020

You’ve been to a few games when the boys have played the Blues, but you’ve never made the trip up to Canada to see them play each other before. Ottawa is nice, Brady and Emma having shown you around a little when you’d arrived. Your nerves had been shot from the anxiety of traveling abroad for the first time, even though it was just to Canada. The couple seemed to understand, only taking you around for a few hours before bringing you home.

Brady’s apartment is nice, really nice. He’s offered you the guest room for a few days, and you appreciate not having to pay for a hotel. He’ll be home for six days before he has to go to St. Louis for the All Star game, so you’d arranged to stay in Ottawa and fly back home with them.

Luckily, the cafe is pretty cool about rearranging your schedule, so you’ll just have to work some extra days when you go back to make up for what you’re missing. You’d asked for the days of the skills competition and game off as well, Brady having managed to get you a ticket. Your manager has always thought it was cool that you were friends with the Tkachuks, so she had agreed to give you the time off if you brought her a souvenir. Matthew and Brady had offered to sign a jersey for her without you even having to ask, and you’ll owe them for a while, though they insist you don’t.

Matthew gets in that first night, the three of you meeting him at his hotel. You’re not sure how he managed it, but he’ll be staying a few days instead of returning to Calgary with the team after the game. Maybe he got a special exception because this game is the last before All Star week, and he has to go to St. Louis anyway. No matter the reason, you’re glad he gets to stay.

The game the next night is exciting, and definitely worth the trip. With the Senators’ performance in recent years, it’s mostly the diehard fans left, so the atmosphere is electric. You get swept up in the passion and joy, especially when the game ends with a 5-2 win for Ottawa.

The boys have to debrief and get changed, which you know will take a while. Emma and you wait with the WAGs, Emma excited to introduce you to them. Some of them think you’re a new WAG at first, which is honestly kind of flattering. All of the ladies are surprisingly kind and welcoming, and you enjoy interacting with them as you all wait.

Matthew emerges first, guided down the hallway by one of the arena staff. His steps pick up pace when he sees you and Emma, and he shoots a quick thanks to the staff member before jogging over to the two of you. He immediately enfolds you in his arms, squeezing tight and holding longer than usual. You know it’s difficult for him to lose at all, let alone to his brother, so you let him hold you as long as he wants.

Once he lets you go, he meets your eyes. His smile is soft, tinged with a slight sadness that you want to wipe away.

“Hey there, sweet girl,” he greets, and your breath catches at the term of endearment. He’d started using it a few months ago, and it still makes your chest tight. You know that it doesn’t mean anything, but you still imagine sometimes that it does.

He turns his attention to Emma, giving her a hug as well, just one quick squeeze before releasing. The three of you start talking, waiting patiently for Brady. It doesn’t shock you that he takes so long to come out, knowing his unofficial position of leadership in the team. The guys come out one by one, hugging and kissing their wives and girlfriends, the number of ladies dwindling as they leave with their men.

When Brady finally emerges, he heads straight over to give Emma a hug and kiss. He hugs you next, before punching Matthew’s shoulder. They have a little back-and-forth as you all exit the arena, taking harmless jabs at each other all the way to the car.

The main issue with the living arrangements for the trip had been that Brady and Emma were going to have two guests and only one spare room. Matthew had offered to sleep on the couch, but he’s too tall for that, and you don’t want him to end up sore or hurting his neck during the season. You’d insisted that you’d sleep on the couch, but both Matthew and Brady had immediately vetoed that idea. Then you’d found out that the guest room has two twin beds instead of one bigger one, and the answer was simple.

Matthew sets his suitcase and backpack next to the door when you get home. You’ve already claimed the bed on the far side, so he gets set up on the one closer to the door. Emma and Brady are in the kitchen, making a post-game snack for everyone, so it’s just you and Matthew.

“You excited to be roomies for a week?” he asks, unzipping his suitcase. Yours is already open under the window, so you grab some pajamas out of it.

“Depends how loud you snore,” you tease. He shoots you a toothy smile.

“Oh, it’s gonna be loud,” he says. You chuckle a bit, knowing he’s joking. Emma calls for you, then, and you leave your clothes on the bed to go to her. The four of you converse as you eat, seated in a row at the kitchen island. You’ve got Matthew to one side and Brady to the other, and they take turns kicking your ankles. You kick back, grinning at Emma when she kicks Brady’s other side.

Brady and Matthew had already showered at the rink, so they sit in the living room while you and Emma get ready for bed. She uses the master suite, and you use the bathroom in the hall. It’s nice, if small, with a simple stall shower instead of a tub. You go through your routine on autopilot, only realizing when you’re done that you’d left your clothes in the bedroom. You wrap yourself in a towel, doing your best to sneak past the door to the living room.

When you look to make sure your stealth is working, you meet Matthew’s eyes. It stops you in your tracks. You can’t discern the look on his face, and you’re not sure that you care to. He shoots you an easy smile, and you wave at him like an idiot, acting on instinct. It only makes him smile wider, and you scurry off to the room.

After you’re dressed, there’s a knock on the door. Brady asks if you’re decent, and you confirm that you are, so he peeks his head in. Once he sees that you truly are dressed, he opens the door the rest of the way. He and Emma bid you good night, telling you to just ask if you need anything. You thank them and say good night in return, Matthew entering the room as soon as the other two retreat to their own room. He’s barely two steps into the room before he’s pulling off his shirt.

“Woah there, cowboy,” you say, holding up a hand in front of you. He just shrugs at you.

“Gotta get ready for bed,” he says, bending over and lifting his foot to remove his socks. You’d figured that he would wear a t-shirt and shorts to bed like you, but you should’ve guessed he’d be the type to sleep shirtless, no matter who’s around. He’s naked in front of thirty people every day, who cares about being shirtless?

You do your best to brush it off, turning down the covers of your bed so that you can crawl in. Normally, you would read for a bit before bed, but you’re tired enough tonight that you don’t think you need to. You pull the blankets up to your chin, turning on your side. Unfortunately, you sleep on your right, so you end up facing Matthew’s bed. Is that weird? Should you try sleeping the opposite direction?

Matthew doesn’t say anything, flicking the lights off and crawling into bed. He sleeps on his left, apparently, so he’s facing you too. That’s a little awkward, right? As your eyes adjust to the dark, you’re able to see the glint of his teeth as he smiles over at you.

“Sleep well, sweet girl,” he says quietly. You return the sentiment, grateful that the darkness means he probably can’t fully see the embarrassment on your face. You’re backlit by the window, so you convince yourself that he can’t.

The next morning, you wake to Matthew already out of bed, stretching. Your eyes roam his back, taking in the dips and ridges of his muscles. Only at the last second do you realize that his head is turned to the side, and he’s staring at you through the corner of his eye. You quickly avert your gaze, turning to sit bolt upright on the other side of the bed, facing the window.

The four of you spend the day exploring the city, Brady and Emma seeming to have planned what they want to show you. It’s nice, peaceful and fun. You make them take pictures with you in front of landmarks or cool art pieces, all of you squished together to fit in the selfie.

It isn’t until the fourth night that anything out of the ordinary happens. You’re lying in bed, having turned on your back to stare at the ceiling, unable to sleep. You probably shouldn’t have had that affogato after dinner, though usually they don’t bother you this much. No matter how long you toss and turn, how many sleeping positions you try, you can’t even make yourself tired, let alone actually fall asleep.

“What are you, a rotisserie chicken?” Matthew asks rhetorically, breaking the silence. His voice is hushed, but it still startles you. You turn your head to stare at him, finding him staring right back.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize, sheepish, “I can’t sleep.” Matthew’s lips quirk up at one end.

“Me either,” he says, sitting up. You mimic his posture, then scoot back to lean against the headboard. He slings his legs over the edge of the bed and stands, and you think for a second that he’s going to turn on the light. Instead, he takes the two steps to your bed, motioning to the mattress. You nod, prompting him to start shoving your shoulder, bullying you into making space for him. You giggle, trying to keep quiet to respect the late hour.

“So,” he leads, taking a long moment to just stare at you before continuing, “Tell me something I don’t know about you.” You’re taken off guard by the request, not sure how to respond.

“I was an Aaron Carter girl growing up,” you pull out of thin air. Matthew’s face breaks into a wide smile, sunshine in the middle of the night.

“Really?” he asks. You nod, mumbling “yeah” in confirmation. That’s all it takes to get you both talking. You trade off back and forth, telling each other small things about yourself that may not come up otherwise, launching into short discussions about some of the statements.

“My favorite color is red,” he says at one point, when you’re starting to think you may fall asleep.

“I thought it was blue?” you reply, remembering Chantal mention that at some point. Matthew starts fiddling with his hands.

“I tell people it’s blue, but it’s really red,” he says. You tilt your head an inch or two, furrowing your brow at him.

“Why?” you ask. He ducks his head.

“Red is an angry color,” he explains, voice quieter than before, “With my reputation, I don’t want people to associate me with an aggressive color. I don’t want to play into the stereotype.” You hum, looking forward. It feels like this isn’t the best time to look at him, like he’ll clam up if you witness his vulnerability.

“It’s also the color of vitality, excitement, love,” you counter, leaving just a breath of a pause, “It’s a good color for you.” The entire room is still for a dragging moment, before Matthew gently knocks your shoulders together.

“What about you?” he asks when you look back to him. There’s a fraction of a change in his face, but you don’t comment on it.

When you wake up in the morning, you’re still sitting up, head resting on Matthew’s shoulder, his head laying on top of yours. You suppress the instinct to startle, not wanting to disrupt him, lest he wake up and move. His skin is warm under your cheek, your arms lined up from shoulder to the knuckles of your fingers. You close your eyes again, trying to keep your breathing steady, as if you’re still sleeping. You’ve been trying so hard to keep distance between Matthew and yourself, but you’ll allow yourself to enjoy this, just for a moment longer.

There’s a shift in Matthew’s breathing, his fingers twitching against yours. It settles after a second, into a different pattern, intentionally deep and even. You’re sure that he’s awake, that he’s doing the same thing that you are. You’re not sure what to do with that information.

The rest of the trip goes by smoothly, Brady and Emma showing you both the touristy things and the better local spots around the city. If the same thing happens the next night, and the night after that, you and Matthew talking in low voices until you fall asleep against each other, neither of you mention it.

April, 2020

While the initial prediction for lockdown was that it would only last a month, it’s clear that it’s going to last much, much longer.

It’s probably lucky that you’d just started a new job, one that can be done remotely, rather than either working at the coffee shop or being laid off. It’s not exactly what you want to do, but it’s at least in the artistic field, so you try to be grateful anyway. It’s difficult being locked away in your apartment, but you’re grateful that you’re luckier than essential workers and people who are losing their jobs altogether.

The thing that keeps you sane in all of this is your phone. More specifically, it’s your friends. You’ve developed almost a schedule with it, calling Terri in the morning for an hour or so before work. At lunch, you facetime Brady and Emma for another hour, not envying them being stuck so far from home. It must be hard to be in an entirely different country than your family.

The highlight of each day is the evening, when you facetime Matthew. Though he spends most of the day sending you videos and memes and updates about whatever little thing he’s doing at the moment, it’s still nice to talk to him out loud. Seeing his face helps your growing loneliness a little bit.

You’re in your living room, your phone propped up against the arm of the couch as you show off the few things you’ve made since picking up crochet a couple weeks ago. Matthew compliments each of them, commending you for your improvement. He’s the only one you’ve shown, too embarrassed to let anyone else see the wonky scarves with uneven stitches.

“You have time to work on any paintings lately?” he asks, once you’re done your little show and tell. The truth is that you’ve got three new canvases drying in the kitchen. The truth is also that the man asking about them is the inspiration for their creation. There’s nothing incriminating about them; it’s not like they’re portraits of him or something. But you’re still hesitant to show him, because even if he doesn’t know, you do.

You show him anyway. The painting of the park is his favorite, and you wonder if he knows that it’s the one you went to for your first time alone together. It’s mostly dark, greens and blues so deep they look black, yellow triangles of light splitting the canvas into section. If you look closely enough, the brush strokes fill in the details of the trees, the grass, the pavement. Your phone camera isn’t good enough for Matthew to see that, but he compliments it anyway.

“You should paint me something for my apartment,” he says after you show him all three. You’re not opposed to the idea, actually enjoy the thought of something you made being showcased in his home.

“What do you want?” you ask, a hundred ideas already flitting through your mind. The only way you’ve seen his apartment is through the background of pictures he sends you sometimes, or little glimpses you catch as he walks around while you facetime. You’re not entirely sure of the vibe, but you’re sure you can figure something out.

“What makes you think of me?” he asks in return. You stop in your tracks in the doorway between the kitchen and living room. The hand holding your phone lowers a couple inches unintentionally, your gaze drifting above the screen, staring into the middle distance. What makes you think of him? Hockey, obviously. Family. Curling up under a blanket on a cold night. Laying on the couch with your feet up on the armrest, your head propped up on a pillow, a sad replacement for his lap. Spruce trees, gold, pitbulls, mushroom pizza, black eyes– both the drink and the wound.

Everything. Everything makes you think of him.

You can’t say that, obviously. You search your brain for something personal but innocuous, something sentimental but still acceptable. You think of all the time that you two have spent together over the past few years, memories springing up, some that you’d even forgotten about. Some that you’ll never be able to forget about.

“Can I surprise you?” you ask. You’re given that familiar smile in response, any iteration of which makes your heart stutter in your chest.

“Yeah,” he says, propping his face up with one hand on his jaw, “I trust you.”

July, 2023

Some people may say that Terri’s apartment is cluttered, but you just find it cozy. She has decorations and knick-knacks on every surface, but the comfiest couch you’ve ever sat on. That’s where you are now, stretched out with your back against the side, Terri mimicking your posture at the other end, your legs tangled together in the middle.

“We should see the Barbie movie when it comes out,” she says, unprompted. You look up from the hook and yarn in your hands, tipping your head to the side for a second and shrugging.

“It looks good,” you say, an indirect agreement. You haven’t been to the movies since before lockdown, so it might be nice to go back.

“D’you think Gabe would want to come?” she asks cautiously, “He could bring the kids.” The mention of your brother still makes ice crawl in your chest, but it’s not as bad as it once was. He’d reached out last year, trying to reconnect with you, and apparently your other brother too. You’ve only seen him a few times since, but it’s more than you’d seen him in the four years prior, combined.

“It’s worth a shot, right?” Terri asks, eyes flicking toward your phone sitting on the coffee table. You look toward it as well, debating for a second. It would be nice to see your nieces and nephews, but it also hurts that they barely know who you are.

“Yeah,” you agree after a second, “Worth a shot.” You grab your phone, feeling as if it’s going to explode in your hands if you move too quickly. There are a few notifications when you wake the screen, which you ignore to unlock it. You open your texts, backing out of your thread with Terri from earlier. You have a picture message from Brady, just a selfie of him and Emma smiling, which you send a heart in response to. Backing out of that thread, you see another new message, underneath the contact name you haven’t had the heart to change. The red and purple hearts next to his name– each of your favorite colors– having been there so long that getting rid of them feels wrong, no matter how it makes your chest hurt to see them.

Can we talk?

You tap the back button as quickly as you can. You can’t respond. You should, to be polite, but you can’t. If you do, you’ll say something you regret. It’ll probably be agreement or the words “eat shit”, and either option will get you into trouble. You can’t respond. You want so badly to talk to him. You want so desperately to go back in time and never meet him.

Your fingers tremble as you draft a text to your brother, typing and deleting and re-typing a few times before you settle on the wording. You have more important things to worry about than Matthew.

August, 2020

The bubble was an interesting idea. It may not be the best idea in the world, despite the safety precautions, but you know Matthew is just happy to be back on the ice. He’s already sent you a dozen pictures of the hotel, of him with his teammates and friends, masked up together in the lobby. You tell him to tell the boys that you say hello, and he texts you each of their responses.

The first round goes well, the Flames only losing one game to the Jets. You know Matthew had been worried about going through all the rules and protocols just to be eliminated immediately, so you’re glad that that isn’t the case.

The series against the Stars starts out with an exciting back-and-forth, the teams trading off wins. Then the Stars win game 5, breaking the pattern. You’re not expecting the last game to actually be the last, convinced that the Flames would at least make it to a game seven. But the Stars pull a decisive 7-3 win, the Flames falling apart in the second period and unable to get themselves back together.

Matthew has called you as soon as he got back to his hotel room after every game, so you’re expecting your phone to ring some time in the next hour or two. You putter around the apartment a little, putting away some dishes and wiping down the kitchen counters. You’d been painting during the game, a commission from a friend of a friend of a friend. You return to that, losing yourself in the meticulous movements of your brush.

It feels like it’s been too long. You try to focus on the canvas in front of you, but there’s a nagging sense in the back of your mind that something is wrong. It sits heavy at the base of your skull as you try to ignore it.

Eventually, it becomes too much. You check your phone to make sure that you haven’t missed his call, but there are no notifications. It’s been a little over two hours. You unlock your phone and pull up his contact in a second, pressing the video icon. Typically, he’ll pick up after one or two rings, but you hear the third ring, the fourth. The call disconnects, shock shooting up your spine. It only lasts a second, your phone ringing with a voice call almost immediately.

“Hey sweet girl,” Matthew greets you in his typical fashion as soon as you accept the call. There’s something off about his voice, and it takes you a second to realize what it is.

“Hey there, darling,” you respond, voice as gentle as you can manage. It’s not the first time you’ve heard Matthew cry, but it breaks your heart every time. As much as he tries to seem tough and aloof, you know how deeply losses like this affect him. Now it makes sense that he didn’t want video involved.

“How are you?” he asks, clearly moving his face away from the receiver as he sniffles, but you can still hear it. You move to the couch, sinking into the cushions, as if you’re as crushed as he is.

“I’m okay,” you reply, “You holding up okay?” You know he’ll say that he’s fine, but you also know that he’s not. He may not be for a while. There’s a pause, a long stretch of silence, only interrupted by his deep, labored breaths.

“I wish you were here,” he says. He sounds absolutely miserable, his voice cracking in the middle of the sentence. The urge to hold him is overwhelming, your arms buzzing with the desire to wrap around him. You want to pull him down into your lap, let him tuck his head into the crook of your neck, let him cry on you as you scratch his scalp and kiss his head. Lockdown isn’t the only reason that can’t happen.

“I’m going to hug you so hard,” you insist, “As soon as I can see you again.”

July, 2023

While you’re still a third wheel with Brady and Emma, it’s better than being a fifth wheel with the entire group. You’d asked Taryn if she wanted to tag along, but she has training to do. Brady had already done his that morning, so he’s free for the rest of the day, and had invited you to spend some time together.

You’re certain that he doesn’t know how you feel about this place, how much it hurts to be here. As far as he’s aware, this is your favorite park, the one you visit with Matthew at least a few times a month every summer. He probably thinks it’s a great choice, something to cheer you up from the slump you know he’s noticed.

Despite the memories tugging at you from every direction, you’re mostly in a good mood. You’d gotten excellent news the day before yesterday, an opportunity you’ve dreamed of for a long time. You wanted to text Brady right after the meeting to tell him, but you’d decided it was better to share it with him and Emma in person. You’re debating something that absolutely doesn’t matter, all of you talking over each other. You’re waiting for the right moment to change the conversation. It doesn’t come until almost an hour into your walk, but you jump on it as soon as it does.

“I have some cool news,” you say, breaking the silent pause that had fallen over the group.

“Well?” Emma replies, “Go on.” The excitement is bubbling up inside of you again at the thought of it, your stomach turning, your chest too full.

“You know that gallery downtown that I love?” you ask, continuing after they agree, “I’m going to do a show there.” They stop in their tracks, Emma immediately enfolding you in her arms. You hug her back, squeezing tight as she bounces on her toes. When she pulls back, she holds your face in her hands, voice high and thrilled as she congratulates you. The smile on your face is unavoidable, happiness from the news mingling with the happiness of your friends being proud of you.

“Cool news, huh?” Brady asks, lightly smacking your shoulder as he says, “What an understatement.” The circle of his arms feels safe, his chest warm against your cheek as he holds you tight. The look on his face when he releases you is the best reaction you’ve gotten so far, his pride meaning more than anyone else’s.

“When is it?” he asks, taking Emma’s hand in his own once again and resuming the walk. You follow along, too excited to be self-conscious of the visible skip in your step.

“August 20th,” you say. There’s an unspoken question there, a silent invitation. You don’t want him to feel pressured to come, knowing that despite how supportive he is of your artistic endeavors, he’s not big on things like art shows. In the end, you don’t have to ask.

“You know we’re coming, right?” he asks, aiming a crooked smile at you, “You can’t stop us.” Though the smile hasn’t left your face since you brought up the topic, it gets brighter in return.

“I’d never dream of trying to,” you reply, and you mean it.

October, 2020

It’s odd to have the boys around at this time of year, the season usually taking them away at the end of August. You’re grateful for it, though. It means that you get to spend time with them, lockdown finally over, freeing you from the confines of your apartment. Your job has stayed remote, so you’re able to be around even more, saving time on what used to be an hour long commute each way.

Right now, it’s you and the boys, Emma, and Terri. You’d introduced her to them less than a month ago, but they already love her, just as you knew they would. She doesn’t always come around with you, considering how you spend nearly every day at the Tkachuks’, but she has some time today.

After twenty minutes of debating what you should watch, you all agree on a true crime documentary. You’ve given up your chair for Terri, squishing yourself onto the couch with Brady and Emma, pressing your cold feet against her leg and laughing when she yelps. She kicks you, only serving to make you laugh harder. Brady playfully threatens to fight you to defend his woman’s honor, and you put your fists up in front of you, jabbing out into the air as if you’re going to take him up on the offer. He chuckles, reaching out to fist bump you instead of punch. You drop your hands, looking past his big ass head.

Matthew is lounging in the second chair, the leg rest of the recliner up despite his legs being crossed under him. It’s the only way the chair will lean back, he’d told you once, and he doesn’t like sitting upright.

The smile on his face isn’t the wide grin you’d expected. It’s small, a gentle turn of the lips. Combined with the look he’s giving you– something unfocused, something unbearably soft– it implies an emotion that you know can’t be the correct interpretation. You swallow hard, turning your eyes back to Brady.

“Press play already, nerd,” you demand, tone playful enough to show that you don’t mean it. He sticks his tongue out at you, but does as he’s told.

Five minutes in, you glance over at Matthew, finding him already looking at you. You look away, slightly embarrassed to be caught. Another five minutes later, you can’t help but peek back at him again, as if your eyes are magnetized to him. It’s almost disappointing that he’s actually looking at the screen. It only takes a second for his eyes to move to the side, peering at you in his peripheral. The corner of his lips quirks up the tiniest bit, almost unnoticeable. But you notice.

You only make it maybe half an hour into the film before Matthew leans forward and snatches the remote from its place next to Brady. The plaintive sound Brady lets out is kind of funny, but you seem to think everything is funny today. Matthew pauses the show, declaring that the group needs snacks.

“Y/N, come give me a hand,” he says, beckoning you to follow him. You grumble a bit, but stand and follow him up the stairs and out of the den. He leads the way through the living room and into the kitchen. They’re fancy, so they have a walk-in pantry, of course. The two of you enter one after another. You start looking at the snack section, deciding what to grab. The good thing about being the one to retrieve the food is that you get to choose whatever you want and there’s nothing the others can say about it.

You’re rifling through the chips and pretzels when you feel a presence close behind you. It’s obviously Matthew, but he’s so close that you can feel the heat of his body radiating into your back. His left hand comes into your field of vision, pressing to the shelves next to your head. You twist your neck to look back at him, confused as to what he’s doing.

You’re not expecting the look he’s giving you. His eyes dark, completely focused in on your face. Your eyes flick from his eyes to his mouth without your permission. He’s not smiling, his lips parted just a fraction of an inch.

He rests his right hand on your shoulder, using it to turn your entire body around to face him. You can feel how dumbfounded your expression is as you stare up at him, your brow furrowed, your mouth slightly agape. He returns the gesture of looking at your mouth, his tongue quickly flicking out to wet his lips. He looks like he’s about to eat you alive. You would let him.

There’s a long, unbearable stretch of silence as the two of you just stare at each other, faces only a scant few inches apart. If this were anyone else, you would know exactly what’s going on, exactly what they want. But this is Matthew, your insanely wonderful, insanely hot, insanely out of your league friend. There’s no chance that he’s about to do what it feels like he is. No matter how many times you steal glances at each other, how closely he holds you, how many times he allows himself to be vulnerable with you, there’s no chance he’d ever want you. And just as you tell yourself that, he speaks.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks, his breath brushing across your lips from the proximity. Your eyes go wide, your mouth falling open wider in shock. You’ve spent the last two years valiantly suppressing any type of attraction you have to him, trying to respect his station as your best friend’s brother. And now, in just four words, he’s let it all loose. It floods you inside, so overwhelming, so much to take all at once that it triggers a full system reset. You swear your heart stops, your mouth opening and closing as you struggle to tear the words from your lagging brain.

The words won’t come. The look on Matthew’s face is changing, something embarrassed, something guilty. He moves back an inch and you reach out, unwilling to let him go. You cup his face in your hands, pulling him in to press your lips together.

It’s lingering, almost chaste, and entirely sensational. Your lips are tingling, sparks shooting down your spine. Your chest feels cracked open, your innards exposed for his inspection, your true self exposed for his judgment.

When you pull back and open your eyes, his are still closed. He looks like he’s in heaven, like he’s trying to imprint this moment in his mind the same way that you are. After a moment, his eyelids slide up and he looks at you again. His eyes are hazy, unfocused, his blown pupils leaving only a thin ring of blue around the edge of his iris.

“Again,” he says, breathless, “Please.”

Who are you to deny him?

The second kiss is as good as the first, your breath abandoning your body to pant out against his lips. You meet again, his tongue flicking out for half a second to touch your top lip. It makes you breath hitch, makes you kiss him again, makes you gently bite his full bottom lip. The sound he lets out is barely audible, but it only feeds the fire inside of you, an inferno that blazes up from your hips to your throat. You cradle his face in your hands, hold just strong enough to move his head how you want, to slot your mouths together perfectly each time.

“Hurry up, asshole!”

Brady’s shout violently snaps you out of your haze. You jerk backward, trying to step away, but already pressed against the shelves. Matthew doesn’t seem as put off as you, smiling as if nothing happened. You relinquish your hold on his face, dropping your hands to your sides. His hands had wandered as you kissed, one on your waist, the other on the back of your neck. He squeezes once at the base of your skull, dipping in to give you one last quick kiss.

After frantically grabbing random snacks, you return to the den. You can feel how hot your face is, and you can only hope that it’s not too obvious how flustered you are. You and Matthew deposit the snacks on the coffee table, everyone immediately selecting one. You curl back up in your chair, legs pulled up to your chest as you lay sideways, head on the armrest.

Every time your eyes drift to Matthew for the rest of the evening, he’s looking back.

January, 2021

Just as the day the boys come home is the best day of the year, the day they leave for the season is the worst. Sometimes you wish you were Emma, that you could follow them back and forth and never be without them. But St. Louis is your home, is where you have a job and friends and more recently, family.

You’d helped both boys pack for the past few days, but you won’t be able to go along to drop them off at the airport. When Matthew had left for the playoffs, Emma had offered you her spot in the car. You’d told her that she didn’t have to, but she’d assured you she wanted it that way. She has to go along this time, so the car is already overpacked. Besides, you have to work that morning anyway.

You still show up at the Tkachuks’ beforehand, so early that the sun hasn’t made an appearance yet. Matthew had forgotten to pack his favorite sweater, of course. You fish it out from where it had fallen under his bed, straightening up to hold it out to him. He thanks you, deciding to wear it for the flight instead of shoving it into one of his bags. It looks good on him. Cozy.

Brady and Emma are double checking their room as well, one door down from you. Keith, Chantal, and Taryn are down in the living room, waiting as patiently as they’re capable of, which isn’t very much.

Being alone with Matthew used to be exciting, used to make your heart change its rhythm, used to start up a buzz under your skin. Now, it’s just… comfortable. Safe. Right.

When Matthew approaches you, crowding up into your space, you know exactly what he wants. The first time you’d kissed should have been the last. You’re too drawn to him, feel too much toward him, more than you should. More than he will ever return. The two of you haven’t discussed exactly what you’re doing here, but it’s clearly meant to be casual. Matthew isn’t typically the kind to shy away from voicing what he wants, and he hasn’t spoken up to define anything.

Is that what you want? You’re not sure. Making out like teenagers for months has been nice, has satisfied a part of you. But only a part.

You’re avoiding thinking about what you want, too afraid of what you’ll find. Some part of you, buried deep inside, hidden behind a recently built wall, already knows. If you allow yourself to acknowledge it, this will end badly. If you allow yourself to want, you’ll destroy yourself in the process.

The kisses he lays on your lips stay sweet, gentle presses, just a tease of tongue here and there. His arms are wrapped around you, resting on your shoulders, while your hands rest on his hips. You haven’t progressed past kissing, and you’re not sure if he wants anything beyond this. You’ll take what you can get.

Keith calls up the stairs for you to hurry up, lest the boys miss their flights. Matthew leaves one last peck on your lips, just as he always does before you part. You glance around his room a final time, making sure everything is packed. You help him bring his bags downstairs, help him and Emma get their things outside and into the car. You’ll have to go home as soon as they depart, and you’re actually a little grateful that you have work to distract you from the first hours of missing them.

As per usual, Emma is the first to hug you. You squeeze tight so that you can lift her off of her feet for a second, just to make her laugh. Brady grabs you next, as if both of them know that Matthew wants to be last. Brady wiggles you side to side, planting a kiss on the top of your head. You headbutt his shoulder, then kiss the same spot you’d hit. He says how much he’ll miss you, something he always reiterates for a few days before he leaves. You return the sentiment honestly, earnestly. When he pulls back, you punch his chest lightly, and he returns the gesture.

Matthew steps up and opens his arms, and you step into them easily. He doesn’t squeeze too hard, just holds you close, hand cupping the back of your neck, calming your anxiety and dulling the sharp edge of your pain.

“Gonna miss you so much, sweet girl,” he whispers into your hair, just loud enough for you to hear. You try to swallow the lump that has suddenly formed in your throat.

“Miss you already,” you reply, a little uneven, a little raw, “Can’t wait to see you again.” He places a kiss on your head as Brady had, but his lips linger, hesitant to let go. But he does let go.

They all wave as they drive off, Brady, Emma, Matthew, and Taryn all crammed into the back seat. You wave back, watching the car go, staring down the street even after the car turns and disappears.

Time to work, you suppose.

July, 2023

Art has never frustrated you so much in your life.

When you were young, the struggle and annoyance came from trying to get things just right, though they were above your skill level. As a teenager, it was due to the struggle of developing your own unique style. In college, it was not having the energy to paint most days, falling asleep at the easel others.

For the past month, the art has been flowing. You’ve been painting most every day, the ideas coming easily, creating almost a compulsion that you can’t resist. It’s only satisfied when the painting is complete. There are a couple dozen or so canvases scattered around your apartment to dry, the most you’ve ever produced in a single month. But the frustration– the frustration comes from the fact that all of your ideas are about him. All of your paintings are moments with him, things he’d said, how you’d felt, how you’d hoped he felt.

There’s a feeling inside of you, as if you’re right on the edge of catharsis, as if you paint just one more thing, you’ll be able to let it all go. That’s your motivation for everything you’ve been making, just desperately searching for the release that will save you from the pain. At this point, you’re not sure it will ever come.

You’re working on a bigger canvas, the biggest you’ve used in years. You’re glad your current job allowed you to move into a bigger apartment, because you surely wouldn’t have been able to fit something like this in your old shoebox, packed so full of your things that you’d barely had space for an 11x14. You have to stand to reach the upper portion, swiping a brighter red over the dark red base. You don’t want it to be about him. It is anyway.

The show at the gallery is rapidly approaching, only a month away. You’ve been working with the curator to decide which pieces to use, filing through years of work. So far, everything that she’s found compelling has been about him. Things you’ve made recently, things you made years ago when things were still good. One day, you’ll get over this. But not today. Today still just hurts.

June, 2021

With neither of the boys making the playoffs, they’d come home earlier than usual this year. Sadly, Brady is pretty used to it by now, usually coming home around this time anyway. You’re used to getting a few weeks with Brady and Emma before Matthew comes home, but you don’t have that this year.

While Brady sulks for about two days when he gets home, Matthew is far more upset. The Flames had made the playoffs for the last couple years, and he was getting used to being a contender. So not even getting a chance at it this year clearly stung. He moped around for a week or two, face tight and arms crossed over his chest most of the time. The only time he let his arms down, let his guard down, is when the two of you were alone.

You’d comforted him through the couple weeks of upset, even staying the night a few times. It wasn’t intentional, you’d just stayed so late that you fell asleep, and Matthew didn’t have the heart to wake you. You have to get up early to get home for work, so you’d snuck your way out of the house before anyone else had woken. You’re not sure how Keith and Chantal would have felt about you staying the night in Matthew’s bed, but you know what they would have thought was going on, and you didn’t want to put yourself or Matthew in that position.

Once he’d relaxed, taken a deep breath and accepted defeat, he went back to being his regular happy, seemingly aloof self. You’re grateful for it, not a fan of seeing him upset and always wanting to help him through and cheer him up.

June had come kindly, bringing along more sun and nicer weather. You and Matthew had resumed your walks in the park, and the whole group of you spend about as much time outside as you do in the den. Things with Matthew had picked up where they left off in January, him pulling you into a secluded area any time he could get you alone, kissing you senseless. You’d missed the feeling of his lips, of his body pressed to yours.

Tonight is one of the more rare nights where Matthew comes to your apartment, instead of you going to his parents’ house. You’ve offered to make dinner and follow it up with movies. You’re already on the couch, your dirty dishes abandoned on the coffee table. You’re laying on your side, Matthew spooned up against your back, your knees hanging off of the couch with the way they’re bent to accommodate Matthew’s too-long legs. You’re warm and comfortable, enjoying the feeling of safety that he brings, something you’ve very rarely felt in your life before.

The movie is good, but you’ve found that being in Matthew’s arms makes you sleepy, so you’re having a hard time focusing. You manage to mostly follow it, letting out a jaw-cracking yawn when the credits start to roll.

You feel Matthew place a kiss on the back of your neck without comment. Then he’s moving you, rearranging your bodies carefully until you’re on your back, Matthew staring down at you from his position straddling your thigh. The way he’s looking at you is intense, somehow simultaneously fond and hungry. It wakes you up almost instantly, and you reach out to rest your hands on his thighs.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says quietly, reverently. It’s not the first time he’s said it, but it feels different now. Maybe it’s the position you’re in, maybe the way he’s looking down at you as if he wants you, as if he–

He takes your hands in his own, bending down as he brings them up to cradle his cheeks. You run your thumbs across his high cheekbones, tilt his head up a little by the jaw as his eyes slide shut. You press your fingers into the soft spot behind his jaw, under his ears, pull him down, down, down.

Kissing him feels as easy as breathing. Guiding his head this way and that to get a better angle, pressing your lips together over and over, longer each time, deeper. Matthew has one hand on the arm of the couch to hold himself up, the other wrapped loosely around your wrist. He’s not trying to move you or take control, just holding on as if he needs something to ground him. You press your thumbs into the hollows of his cheeks, feeling the solid wall of his teeth under the skin. His mouth drops open and he lets out a soft sound. You press your thumbs in harder, between the new gap between his upper and lower teeth, testing how far you can push from the outside.

He squeezes your wrist once and you release the pressure. His mouth stays open, lips wet and shining. He opens his eyes halfway, as if his eyelids are too heavy to get all the way up, eyes hazy and unfocused.

Again, he squeezes your wrist. He’s suddenly standing, using his grip to guide you up as well. He immediately crowds up against you, as if being more than an inch away will kill him. His eyes have managed to refocus, but there’s still a dreamy look in them.

He takes a step backward, using the hand that had instinctively gone to the back of your neck to bring you with him. He kisses you, lingering. He takes another step back, gives you another kiss. He rounds the end of the couch and you realize where he’s leading you, kind of impressed that he can find his way to the bedroom without even looking.

Of course, your heart is a frantic mouse scurrying around your chest, thumping hard like you’re a prey animal facing down a predator. But as much as it freaks out in the cage of your chest, there’s no panic in your head. Being with Matthew calms your mind, keeps your hands from trembling, feels so right that you can’t find a reason for the anxiety that used to plague you around him.

He stops you halfway between the door and the bed, pulling back a couple inches to stare down at you. You’re hesitant to put a name to the look on his face, not sure if reverent is being dramatic.

You flatten your palms against the front of his shoulders, shoving him gently, bullying him toward the bed. He allows it for a moment, but stops after a few steps. He takes your hands in his own, brings them to his mouth to kiss your knuckles. You try to swallow down the desire that grows inside of you, threatening to spill out. He holds your hands close to his face, enough that you can feel his lips move when he speaks.

“You don’t have to be in control, sweet girl,” he says, lays another kiss on the bump of your right middle finger, looks deep into your eyes with such adoration you feel ready to split at the seams.

“Let me take care of you,” he says. The part of you that’s spent your entire life with a fist clenched desperately around any sense of control that it could find, for the first time, relinquishes its hold. And Matthew does, indeed, take care of you.

February, 2022

It’s your first time in Vegas, and the atmosphere is electric. There are hockey fans everywhere, plenty of people wearing jerseys as they explore the strip. Everything is so big, so bright, so fancy. As exciting as it is to be here, it makes you feel a little off, a little like you don’t belong. It reminds you of the first time you’d been to the Tkachuks’ house, amazed at how different everything is from the way you grew up.

Each player was supposed to be allotted two tickets, but they had allowed Brady to take additional tickets for his family, considering Matthew is his brother, in addition to how well-known and beloved Keith is. He’d managed to get Emma included as well, luckily.

You weren’t sure how he did it, but Brady had gotten another player to give one of his tickets so that you could come. Apparently the guy’s family couldn’t make the trip, and he only had one friend that he really wanted to bring. He won’t tell you who it was, but the way that Timo Meier winks at you as he passes the stands gives you an idea. You weren’t aware that the two talked, but there’s always the possibility that he had just gone around and asked everyone. The idea makes something bloom in your chest, as if you could love Brady more than you already do. You’ll have to find a way to thank Timo some time.

The skills competitions are fun, though Brady doesn’t win anything. It’s nice to see the players relaxing and having fun, a well-deserved break from the stress of the season.

You all go out to an early meal before the games the next day. You don’t realize until you arrive that Jack Hughes and his family were joining you, and you trip over your own feet when you see them waiting for you. You’re a huge fan of Jack’s, but more than that, Ellen Weinberg-Hughes is an icon. You stumble with your words when you greet her, shaking her hand and screaming silently in your head. With how the boys are looking at you as you do so, they obviously anticipated your reaction and are incredibly satisfied with themselves.

For the meal, you’re sat between Matthew and Jack. You’re grateful that Matthew is next to you, needing his calming presence as you meet some of your favorite players. The families are friendly with each other, the parents catching up on the news of each others’ lives, the children doing the same in separate conversations.

You spend most of the dinner talking to Jack, Quinn, and Matthew. They tell you all sorts of things, including embarrassing stories about Matthew that you weren’t privy to. You grin at Matthew every time they share one, absolutely intending to tease him about it later. This seems to be what the Hughes boys want, eager to give you more ammunition. Matthew buries his face in his hands at one particularly humiliating story, even as he shakes gently with quiet laughter. When he emerges and sits back up, you take a chance, placing your hand on his thigh. You squeeze once, trying to reassure him. He does his best to not react, but he also rests his hand on top of yours under the table.

“So you’re a painter, right?” Quinn asks at one point, curiosity evident in his perpetually sleepy eyes.

“Yeah,” you confirm, asking “How did you know?” You’d told them about your official job, but you hadn’t mentioned being a traditional artist in addition to a graphic designer. Jack turns a smug smile on you.

“Matthew talks about you a lot,” he says, pleased with himself. You look to Matthew just in time to see his face flush.

“Shut up,” he says to Jack, which only makes him smile wider. Jack’s attitude rubs off on you a little, and you give Matthew a delighted smile.

“How much is a lot?” you ask Jack, feeling Matthew dig his fingertips into your knuckles.

“Like, a lot,” Jack replies, Quinn nodding from his other side. You look back to Matthew, who looks like he wants to crawl under the table and hide.

“I talk about him a lot, too,” you say. That makes Matthew look at you again, bright eyes nearly sparkling in the restaurant’s dim lighting. His expression shifts, a small, grateful smile scrunching his eyes up the slightest bit.

After dinner, you all make your way to the arena. Brady and Jack left a while before the rest of you, needing to arrive in time to get dressed and likely do some more media. Before he’d left, Jack had requested your phone, creating a contact for himself and inputting his number. As he dud, you turned your face away, toward Matthew, opening your mouth wide as if you’re screaming. He looked amused at it, but there’s a sharp edge there. Quinn took the phone next, doing the same thing. You squeezed Matthew’s thigh again, and his expression softened. You’ve been following the Hughes brothers since they were in Juniors, and having them like you enough to want to keep in touch– you can only describe the feeling as elation.

The lines are out the door at the arena, and a few people catch the boys to request photos before you can get to the special entrance for players’ guests. They’re all very kind and courteous about it, taking a few pictures with people, finding a way to move through the crowd even as they do so. You probably should have come a different way, or maybe gotten there earlier, but as long as the boys don’t mind, you don’t either.

The seats are good, the second row of the first balcony. It seems to be the section that they put all of the family and friends, people milling around and chatting with each other. You spot Johnny’s parents a couple rows away, the only people around that you’ve met before. You wave to them and they return the gesture. They make their way down to your seats, greeting each of you in turn. They start chatting with Keith and Chantal, so you continue talking to Taryn and Emma.

The games are great, surprisingly fast. The Atlantic division plays a great game again Central, despite losing by 3. You still can’t help being proud of Brady. You’ve been next to him since his first season, and you’ve loved getting to watch him grow and improve. As long as he’s in the world, you’re going to be proud of him.

The final is awesome too, and you jump up to cheer when Jack scores in the first. When the Metropolitan wins, you high-five Taryn, glad that Jack could win when Brady couldn’t. Not a bad consolation prize.

The group hangs around for a while after, and you get to meet a bunch of new people. Everyone is so nice, making you feel welcome, feel like you belong. When you finally start up the stairs to leave, Johnny’s mom Jane stops you for a second. She pinches your jersey and gives you a sly smile.

“Just a family friend?” she asks, not a question but a suggestion. A few years back, Matthew had given you one of his jerseys to wear to a game, and you’ve worn it tonight, despite him not playing. You realize now how it could be interpreted, ducking your head for a second to smile at the floor, before looking back up to Jane.

“Just a family friend,” you say, firm and definitive. She holds your gaze for a moment, looks behind her at Matthew, who’s waiting patiently a few steps up. He’s looking at you, that soft look he gives you sometimes. After a second, he smiles brightly at Jane. She waves and turns back to you.

“We’ll see,” she says. She pats your shoulder twice before making her own way up the stairs with Guy. Once you process the statement, you shake your head and make your way up to Matthew.

“What was that?” he asks as you enter the corridor. There’s no way you can tell him the truth, and honestly, you’re not sure what the fuck that was either. You just shrug at him, continuing your way out of the arena.

The comment sticks with you, no matter how you try to brush it off. Johnny is Matthew’s best friend, and you’ve met Jane a few times before. If it had been a stranger, you would’ve dismissed it outright. But to hear it from someone who actually knows the two of you? That’s harder to let go.

July, 2023

Laurel, the curator for the gallery hosting your show, is a lovely woman. She’s also very, very good at her job. You’ve been to countless shows at this gallery, and they’re always perfectly compiled, excellently arranged. You’ve brought her your most recent paintings today, which makes you glad that you have a car, because hauling them through the city would be a nightmare.

The only problem you have with Laurel is that she seems to see straight through you. You’re not used to someone looking past the professional figure you present, let alone someone seeing every part of you that you put into your art.

She’s staring at your offerings, examining every last detail. She’s already chosen about half of the pieces that will be displayed, creating a theme with your relatively impressionist style. She moves one canvas to the side, away from the others. She takes an extra few minutes to consider one of them, the largest one. It just finished drying yesterday. Having to see it every day as you passed it in the living room has been torture.

“Everything except that one,” she says, gesturing to the one she’d set aside. If she wants all of these, that’s likely going to be everything for the show. With everything else she’s chosen, this is all they have the wall space for, considering the way that you’ve seen Laurel arrange the art in previous shows you’d attended.

“That one is the centerpiece,” she adds, hand against her cheek as she continues staring at the large canvas. You swallow hard. Of course. Of course every painting she likes is about him. Of course the centerpiece will be him. No matter what you do, you’ll never escape him.

She asks a bit about your inspiration and motivation for the piece, and you give her vague answers that sound more philosophical than the real thing. The two of you discuss some of the minutiae of the show, trying to get everything finalized ahead of time. There’s less than a month left, and your excitement is starting to pair itself with dread.

When you get home, you go straight to your bedroom and throw yourself face first onto your mattress. You bury your face in a pillow, finally letting out the scream that’s been stuck in your throat since you learned of Tessa’s existence. It helps.

You make and have dinner, barely aware of what you’re eating. At least you can eat without getting nauseous now. You don’t feel like watching TV, probably wouldn’t be able to pay attention to a real show right now. Instead, you sit on your bed, leaning back against the headboard. You scroll social media mindlessly for a while, the ghost of Matthew next to you, his invisible arm pressed against yours.

February, 2022

Despite your better judgment, the first time you and Matthew had slept together wasn’t the last, either. It had continued through last summer, then again when he’d come to play the Blues. Now you’re in Calgary, in Matthew’s apartment for the first time, in his bed again.

A lot of people idolize the first time they sleep with someone, comparing every subsequent time to the first and often coming out disappointed. You had no reason to do so, because the sex only got better over time. As you and Matthew learned each other’s bodies, figured out what got the best reactions, the sex kept improving. Even if you wanted to fall back on your morals and resist him out of respect for Brady, you know you couldn’t stay away for long. It’s irresistible.

And it’s not just the sex. It’s the way he holds you after, lays on his back so that you can rest your head on his chest. It’s the way his breath ruffles your hair as you fall asleep together. It’s the things he says to you.

It’s the nights like this.

You’re in Matthew’s bedroom, the dark dead of night offering only the moon to light the room. Your head is on Matthew’s chest, his arm around you to keep you close, as if you would ever willingly leave. Your breathing had returned to normal a while ago, your body cooling off and beginning to recover from the rush of feeling. Matthew kisses the top of your head every so often, and you return the sentiment by tilting your head to lay kisses against his sternum.

“I wish I could keep you here forever,” he says, so hushed that you almost miss it. He’s always so quiet when he talks like this, as if he’s afraid to say it. He says these kinds of things anyway, but never above a whisper, not willing to share the vulnerability with anyone but you. Again, you press your lips into his skin.

“I wish I could stay here forever,” you reply. It would be nice, wouldn’t it? To stay here, with him. No need to be quiet so as not to wake his family, no having to sneak out in the morning, no work to keep you away. Just laying here, together.

“I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you,” he says. There’s desire in his voice, of course, but also earnesty, like he really means it. Part of you would like to believe that he does, but another part knows how important it is to not get caught up in the fantasy. It’s easier said than done.

“Not any of the other girls you’ve had?” you ask. You’d meant for it to come out teasing, but your honest curiosity wins out. Then there’s a hand on your chin, fingers gently guiding your head up until you’re looking Matthew in the eye. It’s not exactly comfortable to crane your neck like this, so you prop yourself up on one forearm, resting the other hand where your head had been as you stare down at him.

“Never,” he replies, insistent. He looks so serious, sounds so sincere. You don’t say anything, can’t think of anything. There’s something in the wide roundness of his eyes that speaks to you, pulls you in, encourages you to search deeper. It takes a second to figure out what it is that’s hiding in there, but… it’s fear.

“I never want this with anyone else,” he says, tangling his fingers with yours over his racing heart. There’s a question you want to ask, something you’ve been wanting to ask for a while, but the fear in him has mirrored itself within you. You should just shut up, keep it to yourself. The words come out before you can convince yourself to stay quiet.

“What is this?” you ask. You’re not sure what answer you’re expecting, but you know which one you’re hoping for. He takes a deep breath, exhales slowly. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, and for the first time, you don’t divert your gaze to admire the sheen of them, unable to look away from his eyes.

“I don’t know,” he says, pauses, presses your entwined hands harder to his chest, “But I never want to give it up.”

May, 2022

Again, Matthew is the second to come home. Brady returned almost a month before in April, the Senators not in the playoffs, as usual. You feel bad sometimes, because Brady is genuinely a great player, but his team has just struggled to gel together. Even through all of their trials, Brady insists on keeping hope. He loves his teammates, and that’s what really matters to him.

Matthew, on the other hand, isn’t so great at dealing with failure. The Flames make it to the second round, which is an achievement all on its own. But after winning Game 1, they’d lost four in a row and been knocked out. It feels to Matthew almost like they got swept, he explains over the phone after the final loss.

When he gets home, he once again spends a week sulking. You mimic what you’d done last year, though staying the night is intentional this time. So long as you sneak out before anyone wakes up, you’ll be fine.

On the eighth day, you tell Matthew for the hundredth time how proud of him you are. He shoots you a bittersweet smile and says that he’s proud of himself too, and you know he’s bouncing back. It doesn’t help that he’s been debating for months whether to re-sign with the Flames, an agonizing choice for him. He loves his boys, but he’s not sure he belongs there anymore. You’ve assured him that you’ll support him no matter what decision he makes. Johnny hits free agency next month, and if he moves, you’re not sure that Matthew will have the motivation to stay.

The next couple of weeks go by the same way that they always do, with you spending as much time with the Tkachuks as possible. At least, you think you’re doing a good job of acting like everything is the same as years past. No one knows about you and Matthew, and it seems like he wants to keep it that way. You like having this little secret life with him, getting to have him all to yourself. You’re okay with the way it is, you convince yourself.

June came quickly, having begun only four days after he’d returned. The weather improves, you and Matthew once again resume your walks in the park. You play yard games and watch trash TV with Brady and Emma. You help Chantal cook dinners, help Keith clean up afterward. Everything is back to the summer standard.

The day had been nice, sunny and warm. The light had turned the leaves of the trees golden during your walk this afternoon. The sun is long gone now. Nighttime has become your favorite part of the day, the only time you get to indulge in whatever it is that you and Matthew have. The only time you get to touch his skin, to hear the low sounds he can’t help but make, to feel his warmth against you, inside you.

It’s been some time since you’d finished, but you can’t quite fall asleep. Matthew is spooned up against your back, face buried in the nape of your neck. You’re not sure if he’s asleep or not, too distracted to bother trying to figure it out. You’ve been thinking about it since your visit to Calgary. Any time Matthew called, or texted, or even crossed your mind, you thought of it. It made your heart leap into your throat, your breath catching as you choked on it.

He doesn’t know what you’re doing together, what you are. He didn’t give the response you’d been hoping for, but he didn’t outright deny it either. Sometimes you think it would have been better if he had, if he’d said that it was just sex. Then you could start working on moving on. You wouldn’t have to lie awake at night, wondering.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, his groggy voice making you startle and snapping you out of your head. You take a deep breath, debating yourself for a couple seconds before you decide.

“Nothing,” you reply, patting his forearm where it’s snaked around your waist, “Go back to sleep.” He takes a quick, deep breath, the air rushing out over your skin. You’re helpless to resist when he starts moving you. If you did put up a fight, push back against his hands, you know he would stop. But you’re tired.

“What’s wrong?” he asks again once you’re flipped to face him. He looks tired too, the exhaustion of the season still lingering. The moonlight paints his face in silver. It makes his skin shine, almost glowing in the darkness.

“I’m afraid,” you say. You wish he hadn’t turned you around. It would be easier to speak it into the wall than it is to say to his face. You say it anyway, watching his brow furrow, admiring the way the silver light adds contrast to the wrinkles the expression creates.

“Of what?” he asks. You could make something up. Telling him that you’re afraid of monsters under the bed would be less embarrassing. You’ve never been very good at lying to him.

“The day you move on,” you whisper, invisible pressure on your throat making the words come out tight and unsteady. The surprise on his face surprises you in return. He’d refused to put words or labels to whatever this is, of course you would think that he’s going to leave eventually. You’d have to be an idiot to think that he means it when he says forever.

“I won’t,” he says, resolute. You can only manage a half-smile for him.

“You’re not the first man to say that,” you reply. He reaches up and cradles your cheek in his wide palm, warmth seeping into your skin.

“But I’m the first one to mean it,” he says. You close your eyes. They begin to prickle at the corners, but you refuse to cry about any of this. He’s so adamant, so steadfast in his insistence. You try to remind yourself of what this isn’t, what it will never be, but you’ve never trusted someone the way you trust him, and you can’t help believing him anyway.

August, 2023

You hadn’t anticipated this happening, let alone how hard it would be, but finally, finally it’s a little bit easier.

You’re not over Matthew, not by a long shot. It’s going to take months, years. It may never happen, who knows? As long as you can cope with it, can keep your friends around, that’s all that matters.

The first half of the day was spent with both boys and their girls. You didn’t have to curl up so tightly on your chair, didn’t have to force words out so they didn’t think anything was wrong. Conversation was relatively easy, topics changing and flowing naturally. You’d smiled, laughed, and a couple of times you actually meant it.

Matthew had apparently planned a date for Tessa and himself, so they excuse themselves in the late afternoon. Brady, Emma, and you stick around the den for a bit, continuing to talk. Eventually, Emma stands, stretching dramatically.

“Let’s go for a walk,” she suggests. You’ve spent too much time lately sitting at an easel or curled up in bed, and a walk sounds like a great idea.

You expect it this time when Brady takes the three of you to the same park. It’s easier when you’re not blindsided by it, and you have the lovely memory of the last time you were here with the two to focus on, instead of Matthew. You walk for a while, music playing softly from Emma’s phone, tucked in her back pocket. Once you’re deep into the wooded area of the park, she stops dead in her tracks. You follow suit, spinning around to shoot her an inquisitive look. She takes the two steps forward to close the space between you two, grabbing you by the shoulders and walking you backward. You stumble, trying to look behind yourself to keep from falling. She pushes until the backs of your knees hit a bench on the side of the pathway and you fall onto it. You gape up at her, befuddled by the behavior and the way her arms are crossed over her chest.

“What’s going on,” she demands, not a question. You furrow your brow, at a loss for words. You know what she’s talking about, and you know that she knows that you know. But why would she wait until the day that it starts to fade, the day that you can finally think of something else, to ask you about it?

“C’mon, Y/N,” Brady says, plopping down on the bench next to you, “We know something’s wrong.” You had accepted the possibility of this back in June, but you weren’t expecting it to take almost three months for it to happen.

Your first instinct is that you absolutely can’t tell them. You’ve been keeping this secret for years, and if Matthew has his way, you’ll keep it forever. If Matthew gets his way, you repeat in your head. That’s it, isn’t it? All this time, you’ve been so focused on what Matthew wants that you ignored your own wanting. What do you want?

You want to tell someone, to finally have this horrid pain out in the open instead of keeping it caged up around your heart. You want your best friend and his wife to hug you. You want them to understand.

“Matthew,” the name tumbles out, and you don’t want to stop it. Brady and Emma are still looking at you, waiting for anything you want to tell them. God, Brady is your goddamn best friend and you’d convinced yourself that you couldn’t tell him something? That there was anything on this earth that he would shun you for?

It all comes spilling out in a rush. Everything from the first time you’d met him. Hell, some information that isn’t strictly necessary, but they don’t interrupt you or complain, so you venture on. It takes long enough to recount that Emma sits on the metal armrest of the bench. Brady’s holding one of your hands in his lap, Emma taking the other to do the same.

You’d promised yourself more than once that you wouldn’t cry about this, but you don’t really care enough to stop yourself now. The tears come two-thirds of the way through, falling silently as you recount some of the things Matthew had told you, the things he’d promised you. You’re not outright sobbing, so you manage to power through the rest of the story. Your eyes are squeezed tightly shut by the end, like closing them will block out the memories.

It takes a couple of minutes for the tears to stop. The three of you let the silence hang as you wait for it, nothing but the leaves rustling in the trees, something scurrying in the bushes. When you can safely open your eyes to face the world again, you look over to Brady. He looks devastated.

You watch his evolving emotions morph the expression on his face, from heartbreak to anger and back again. The anger makes your heart skip a beat, suddenly afraid that maybe the whole “I slept with your brother” thing will be a problem after all.

“Do you want me to kick his ass?” he asks, startling a laugh out of you. You know he’s dead serious, too. Part of you thinks it might be cathartic to see Matthew get beat up by his little brother, but your soft heart doesn’t want anything bad to happen to him. After everything he’s done to you, you still don’t want him to have to feel even a fraction of the pain you do.

February, 2023

This year, the boys don’t have to bribe anyone else to get you to the All Star Game. Each of them is allotted two tickets as per usual, but Taryn is too busy with school to come. She’d aimed a satisfied smirk at Matthew through the camera of her phone, saying guess you’ll have to take that one along as her eyes darted slightly to the left, clearly looking at where you were on the screen.

Since your work is remote, you’ve brought along your laptop. You spend the morning of the skills competition working, still averse to using your PTO if it’s not completely necessary. The boys have to do media, so there’s no one around to bother or distract you. You kind of wish there were.

The special skills competitions are as fun this year as they were last. You especially love Sidney Crosby in the dunk tank, seemingly having the time of his life. You may not know him personally, only having met him once in passing, but after everything he’s been through, you think he deserves some carefree fun.

The sun has set by time you emerge from the arena after the regular skills competitions. The days are shorter at this time of year, even in Florida. It is warmer than St. Louis, though, which you’re grateful for.

Jack is in the competition again this year, so you meet up with the Weinberg-Hugheses again that night. You’ve gotten much closer with Jack and Quinn over the past year, building relationships on texts and calls and dinners when they play the Blues. Luke has tagged along this time, and you get on with him just as well as his brothers.

Matthew shoots Jack a look when he slings an arm around you on the way back to your hotels after dinner, but Jack just grins at him. You’re still not sure what that’s all about, but you’re just going to stay out of it.

The games the next day are fantastic. You’ve never gotten to watch both of your boys win at once, and you love it. When the Atlantic wins the whole thing, you cheer so loudly your voice cracks. Emma laughs at you, but you just laugh along with her.

You stick around for a bit after the game again, Keith and Chantal mingling while Emma shows you the decorations she’s planning for the wedding on her phone. After a while, someone taps you on the shoulder from behind. You turn your head, immediately recognizing Jane. Johnny had made it again this year with his new team, so it would make sense that she’s here too. You stand, reaching up to hug her in her elevated position.

“Matthew got you a new jersey?” she asks, referencing the All-Star jersey you’ve got on. You wish you could say that you bought it for yourself, but it had indeed been a gift from Matthew. It shouldn’t be embarrassing, so you act like it’s not, even though it is.

“Yeah, he’s a great friend,” you reply, shrugging, “He likes to take care of me.” The thing about Jane is that she’s not really a jerk. Sometimes the you-and-Matthew comments bother you, but she’s generally a very sweet woman.

“It’s good to have someone like that,” she says, smiling gently at you, “Matthew is a good boy.” Jane had been at enough Flames games for you to know her, and definitely enough for Matthew to become a pseudo-son to her. They don’t interact much anymore, save for when she pops up in the back of Johnny’s facetimes, but you know she still has a soft spot for him. You don’t blame her.

“He really is,” you agree, nodding. The two of you make some small talk, and you get some updates on Johnny’s new life on the Blue Jackets. You give her some updates on Matthew in return. After a bit, Guy shuffles up next to Jane, telling her that it’s time to go. She acknowledges him quickly, turning back to take one of your hands in her own.

“I know he takes care of you,” she says, patting the back of your hand with her second, “But you take care of that boy, too. Okay?” You just nod, smiling and bidding her goodbye. Her and Guy retreat up the steps and out of view. You’re not sure why she feels the need to say these things to you, and you’re not sure why you take them to heart.

You meet Matthew and Brady outside the player entrance, the boys immediately scooping up you and Emma, respectively. Matthew sweeps you off of your feet for a moment, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. Once you’re free, you start to dip forward, realizing what you’re doing at the last second and changing track to make sure the kiss lands on his cheek.

He beams at you, and you’re absolutely certain that you’ll spend the rest of your life trying to make him smile.

April, 2023

The day Brady comes home is the best day of the year, you remind yourself for the thousandth time. You’re excited to see him, you are. The way your chest has felt rent open for days isn’t his fault in any way. You’re not going to make him pay for being the messenger.

Once you all get the couple home, you go upstairs with Brady and Emma to help them unpack. They don’t really need help, obviously, but it’s an excuse to spend time together. Brady talks a little about the season, but mostly focuses on his plans for the summer. He talks about wanting to go see G, maybe even take a trip out to visit Tim.

For the most part, you just fold clothes and listen. Eventually, they switch to the topic of the wedding, Emma showing you even more pictures. She’d asked you to be a bridesmaid forever ago, so you’ve already seen most of it, had even helped her pick half of it out, but you’re never going to squash her excitement.

Exhausted from their travel, the two make their way down to the den after everything is put away, collapsing onto the couch. You curl up in your chair, allowing the couple to choose what you watch. They pick something or another, nothing that you can pay attention to right now. Instead, you find yourself examining Brady, picking apart his features, finding all the things he shares with Matthew.

It’s the best day of the year, you remind yourself again. The light of the TV highlights Brady’s jawbone and your skin crawls.

August, 2023

The show is going exceptionally well, exceeding your expectations. The space is filled with strangers, friends, and even your brother and his family. There are critics and collectors, some that you’ve seen at other people’s shows, some that you don’t recognize. Everyone wants to talk to you, and you don’t get a spare moment to breathe for the first few hours.

When you do get a chance to exhale, the rich couple that had been occupying you finally walking away, you catch the color out of the corner of your eye. You’ve been all around the building all night, mingling and networking in equal measure. You hadn’t realized where you ended up until right this second. You turn to the piece, staring as if you’d never seen it before.

You don’t need to look over to see who steps up next to you a minute later.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” Matthew says. It doesn’t feel like an accusation, though it is one. All you can do is sigh.

“What did you expect me to do?” you ask, not expecting an answer. You glance at his hands out of the corner of your eye, noticing the wine glass in one hand, water glass in the other. Without a word, Matthew holds the water out in your direction, still fixated on the painting. You take it, feeling odd that not only does Matthew know that you forget to drink enough water, but also that he’s still trying to take care of you.

“It’s me,” he says after a pause. You’re both facing the largest canvas, the centerpiece. Swirls of bright red spread across a crimson background, highlighted with orange, accented with a royal purple. There, in the center, are two comparatively small, even circles of icy blue.

“They’re all you. Or about you, at least,” you say, seeing no need to deny it any longer, “About us.” It’s obvious that Matthew hadn’t expected you to admit it outright, thrown off for a minute by the admission.

“Can we talk?” he asks as you take a sip of water.

“We’re talking right now,” you reply, feeling petty. It’s his turn to sigh. He sets his wine glass down on the nearest horizontal surface before returning to your side, facing you this time.

“Somewhere private,” he clarifies, pauses, “Please.” You may be mad at him, enraged, incensed, but you’ve never been able to deny him anything, and you still can’t, even now.

You shut the storage room door behind you, flicking on the light to chase away the darkness. Matthew has his hands shoved in his pockets, looking around as if there’s anything interesting in here. You cross your arms over your chest, waiting for him to nut up and look you in the face.

“Listen,” he begins, rubbing the back of his neck but still not looking at you, “I know I should have gone about this better.” You snort. No shit. The sound finally brings Matthew’s gaze to meet your own.

“I’m sorry, okay?” Matthew says, motioning with his raised hand, “I didn’t think you’d care that much.” You can feel how incredulous your expression is, and you don’t even try to hide it.

“In what world would I not be upset?” you respond, “After everything?” You can hear yourself, know you sound like a bitter, jealous old ex, but you can’t bring yourself to care. You see his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows and looks away again. When he looks back, there’s an almost pleading look in his eyes.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” he says, more sincerely than the first time, “You shouldn’t have had to find out from Brady.” You avert your gaze, working your jaw for a second before you raise your chin and square your shoulders.

“No,” you agree, “I shouldn’t have.”

“I’m sorry I stopped talking to you,” he says, motioning helplessly with his hands, “You have to know how hard that was.” You shake your head, almost disgusted.

“Imagine how hard it was for me,” you reply. Your fingertips are digging into your own arm, fingernails biting into the skin. The fact that he would stand here and imply that this was a struggle for him– as if he expects you to offer sympathy– makes your stomach churn. The guilt in his expression makes you sickly satisfied.

“Listen,” he leads with that word again, as if he has any right to ask it of you, “I didn’t want to upset her. You know how some girls are.” You do know. And it’s still not an excuse.

“You didn’t tell her about me,” you say, anger and hurt straining your voice, “You said that I was just Brady’s best friend. You didn’t even tell her what we had.” You want to scream it at him, just want to scream in general. Maybe if you did, if you released your tight grip on control in a different way than you had with him, maybe it would make him understand.

“What did we have?” he asks. His voice is quiet, just as yours had been when you’d brought up the topic all those months ago.

“I don’t know,” you say, turning his own words back on him. It’s true, anyway. You’ve never known what any of this was. You’d only known what you wanted it to be, what you stupidly, fruitlessly hoped for.

“We never dated,” he replies, voice still low but seemingly not bothered by the uncertainty, “We never called it a relationship. You were never my girlfriend.” It’s a simple fact. It tears your heart out of your chest.

“Just because we didn’t name it doesn’t mean it was nothing,” you insist, squeezing your eyes shut for a second to push down the urge to cry before admitting, “I stopped dating.” He looks even guiltier at that, but it doesn’t soothe anything in you.

“I didn’t look at another man,” you continue, embarrassed and ashamed but unable to let him continue through life without knowing, “I didn’t even want to look at anyone else.” The shame makes the fiery anger burn brighter.

“I gave you three years of my fucking life,” you say, voice raising just enough to make Matthew flinch. You keep it reigned in enough that no one outside will hear, not interested in sharing this conversation with anyone else, especially not potential business contacts. The flames engulf your chest, lick up at your throat, threaten to consume you.

“I never asked you to do that,” Matthew replies, solemn. Your jaw drops, just half an inch, enough to part your lips as your breath hitches. He never asked. He never fucking–

“You–” you begin, breath catching in your throat as your eyes burn with tears you refuse to let escape, “Everything you said, everything you did, and you expected what? For me to just move on?” Your nails are digging so deeply into your biceps that you’re surprised they haven’t drawn blood. Matthew doesn’t respond right away, and you can’t tamp down the impulse to be petty.

“But I guess that’s what you did, huh?” you jab. Matthew shuts his eyes tightly, fists clenching like he wants to fight. It should be threatening, but you’ve always known that he would never dream of laying a finger on you in violence. But then again, you’d thought you knew a lot of things about him.

“Why do you care?” he asks, shoulders tense as he opens his eyes to stare you down, “You don’t even want me.” That shocks a laugh out of you, so completely ridiculous that you can’t help it.

“That’s the most fucked up part– I do want you,” you respond, simultaneously an answer and an admission. His brow furrows as he continues looking at you, as if he can’t believe what he’s hearing.

“Did you seriously think I didn’t?” you ask, more of a demand, slightly offended because, “Do you think I said all those things for fun? For shits and giggles?” You can’t read his expression, don’t even bother trying. He can feel whatever he wants. That’s not your concern anymore. All you care about is the cold spreading through you, crawling up from the tips of your fingers, freezing your arms, creeping into your chest and beginning to extinguish your rage.

“I loved you, dickhead,” you continue, the words spilling out of you starting to sound pathetic, no matter how hard you’re trying to hold on to the anger, putting the last grasp of it into the words, “Stupid fucking idiot asshole, I loved you.” Matthew gapes at you, hands going lax at his sides. His jaw moves as if to say something, but nothing comes out.

“I loved you and you threw me away like garbage, and didn’t even have the balls to tell me yourself,” you force the sentence out, feeling like you’re choking on every syllable. Matthew’s breathing stutters. You’re expecting annoyance, irritation, maybe even shame or guilt. You’re not expecting his wide eyes, his eyebrows turned up in the middle, his slack jaw.

“You loved me?” he finally asks after a few agonizingly long seconds of silence. There’s something in his voice that you tell yourself you don’t care to analyze.

“Of course I did. How could I not?” you say, huffing as you look upwards, needing a momentary break from this staring contest, “The pathetic part, the part that makes me hate myself, is that I still do.” It’s physically painful to say, no matter that the hurt is psychosomatic. You’ve spent the last few minutes breaking open your ribcage, one bone at a time, revealing to him the space you’d made for him inside of yourself.

“You love me?” he asks, so dumbfounded that he’s repeating himself.

“Yes, Matthew,” you say, facing up to the dread inside of you, the one fact you’ve been struggling with the most since you’d found out the news.

“And I’m terrified. Because I’ve always loved you,” you pour out, barely able to hold yourself together as you meet his eyes, “And I’m afraid that I always will.” There’s not even space for half of a breath before Matthew speaks.

“Please do,” he says. His hands are open, palms facing your direction, as if pleading.

“What?” you ask.

“I didn’t know,” he says, and apparently he’s decided it’s his turn to reveal himself, “I was surprised that you wanted anything to do with me at all. But then you kissed me, and I spent the next three years waiting for you to leave.” The confusion comes over you so quickly that it almost masks the hurt.

“Why would I leave?” you ask. There’s been nothing subtle about your feelings. You’ve told him that he’s the only one you want, that you want to spend the rest of your life by his side, that he’ll always be the only one. How could he hear all of that and think that you would ever leave?

“Because you’re smart and kind and funny and hardworking–” he starts listing off.

“Tessa is all of those things too,” you cut him off. It doesn’t come out as resentful as you would’ve expected a sentence like that to. As you’ve told Terri, you really have nothing against Tessa. Besides, she really is everything he’s saying.

“But she’s not you,” his response comes immediately, emphatically, “I don’t want just anyone like that; I want you, and you happen to be that way.” You’re stunned into silence.

���It’s not the traits, it’s you,” he says, insistent, like he’s trying to convince you of your own worth, “And I kept waiting for you to find someone else, someone who wasn’t hotheaded and self-centered and–” He stops himself, swallowing so hard you can see his throat stutter under the thin skin of his neck.

“Someone better,” he finishes. The thing is that Matthew doesn’t have low self-esteem. He knows he’s a catch, and yet… And yet, he’s standing here, admitting that he’d still thought of you as being so far above him that you could never want him. And it’s not that there isn’t probably someone out there better than him–

“I never wanted someone better,” you tell him, voice almost a whisper. Growing up, you’d created this picture of the perfect man, told yourself that you’d find him one day, would never settle for less. Then you’d met Matthew, and he was nothing like that imaginary ideal. He was flawed; he was real. And you couldn’t help but love him for it.

“And I never wanted anyone else,” he replies, his own voice hushed to match yours, but no less certain, “I still don’t.” Three months ago, you would’ve given anything to hear that. But things are different now.

“I thought that if I went and found someone like you, someone close enough, that I could fall for them too,” he confesses, shame making his face tense, “I thought that if I stopped talking to you, if I kept my distance, that I could get over you.” A fraction of the anger buds in your chest at the idea.

“So you’re using Tessa,” you accuse, instantly offended on her behalf.

“No!” Matthew denies emphatically, pauses, shakes his head, “Yes. Maybe. I don’t know.” If he is using her, at least he seems ashamed about it. Something in his posture makes you think he isn’t, that he really thought he could love her.

“Look, she’s great. She’s amazing. She’s too good for me, too,” his shoulders have been hunched up to his ears, but they fall now, defeated, “She talks about that spark she felt when we met, the way she feels about me now, and I want, I really want to feel that way too. It would be easier if I could.” Believing this entire time that he truly loves her has been hell for you, but it’s still somehow worse to know that he doesn’t. That he did all of this, hurt you so deeply, for someone he doesn’t even love.

“As much as I’ve tried, I don’t. And I can’t,” he says, turning his gaze to the floor, “And if I’d ever thought that I had the slightest chance with you, I never would have dated her to begin with.” All these years, all those words, all the touches you’ve shared, and he’d still never taken you seriously. It’s not your fault, you know. But you realize now that for every time you’d indirectly confessed your feelings to him, he’d said the same things back. He’d returned every sentiment readily, easily. And as much as he’d apparently had the same idea as you, that the other could never love you back, you hadn’t seen it either. You’ve been just as ignorant of his feelings as he was of yours, just as deep in denial. And now there’s this rift between you, a deep chasm that keeps you apart, all for no reason.

“So, what now?” you ask. There’s nothing else to ask.

“What?” he seems genuinely confused.

“What now?” you repeat, too tired to be upset anymore, “You break her heart? Or do you keep pretending? Fake your way into a wife and kids and a house in the suburbs?” His confusion persists, tongue darting out to wet his lip the way it always does when he’s anxious.

“I thought–” he shakes his head the tiniest bit, as if he can’t believe what’s happening, “I mean, I love you. I want to be with you.” There’s a sadness sitting heavy in your chest, only getting deeper at his words.

“I love you too,” you say, tipping your head an inch to the right, perfectly aware of how melancholy your smile must be, “But you hurt me, and now you have to hurt her too. I thought you were better than this.” You’d thought the world of him. You don’t hate him now, could never force yourself to. But you are disappointed in how everything has played out.

“I thought you didn’t want better?” he says, not really a question. Your lips turn up another centimeter at that.

“Listen,” you say, turning the word back on him. You inhale deeply, exhale slowly. He stays quiet.

“The opportunity of a lifetime is on the other side of that door,” you gesture vaguely over your shoulder, then let your arms relax, your hands fall to your sides, “I don’t know what to do with any of–” you give another vague gesture, “--This.” The devastation is writ clear on his face, telegraphed by his posture, bared in the forefront of his miserably beautiful eyes.

“Out there?” you say, smile still in place, “I know exactly what I want. So I’m going to go get it.” you pause, take another deep breath, “And maybe you’ll be there tomorrow, and maybe you won’t.”

“I will,” he jumps in. You huff an almost-laugh.

“We can figure this all out later,” you say, sure a definite, “For now, I have to focus on the things that I’m sure of.” He nods, looks at the floor, raises his head and looks back at you.

“Did you used to be sure of me?” he asks, an uneven, shaky whisper.

“Yeah,” you say, your entire being feeling so heavy that you can barely hold yourself upright, “I used to be.”

September, 2023

While Brady had departed yesterday, Matthew doesn’t leave until tomorrow. It took some internal debate, but you’ve decided not to go along to drop him off at the airport. His family will think it’s weird if he doesn’t hug you, and you’re not sure if you can handle him touching you yet.

You’re curled up on the couch with a book, letting yourself get lost in the story. A knock comes on the door and you startle. You mark your page and stand, rounding the couch to open the door. When you do, Matthew is standing there.

“Hey,” he greets, giving you the same bittersweet smile you’ve become accustomed to over the past few weeks. You’d given him a key to your apartment right after you’d moved, but you appreciate him not using it right now. You welcome him in with a gesture of your hand, turning to lead the way. You get four steps away before he speaks.

“I broke up with Tessa,” he blurts out. He doesn’t seem happy about it, but he doesn’t seem particularly sad either.

“Why?” you ask, crossing your arms over your chest, “You’re that sure that I’ll take you back?” The anger comes and goes as it pleases, and it’s starting to sneak through the space between your ribs.

“No,” Matthew says, looking so unbearably fond of you, “I think you’ll tell me to get fucked.” Some days you want to.

“Then why did you break up with her?” you ask. Part of you has been wondering if, despite everything he’d said, he would stay with her. You’re not sure you would have been able to keep the conversation to yourself if he had, but you would have at least tried.

“Because none of this is fair to her,” he answers, shrugging, “She deserves someone who feels the same way about her that she does them. Someone who’s obsessed with her. She doesn’t deserve to be settled for.” You examine his expression, his stance, and realize that he’s truly being honest. He genuinely wants the best for her.

“How’d she take it?” you can’t help but ask. It makes him grin down at the floor for a moment.

“Honestly?” he asks when he raises his head, “Not great. Could have been worse, though.” As much as you love Matthew, you would have been proud of Tessa if she had slapped him.

“Probably should’ve been worse,” you reply. He grins again, tilting his head as he admires your face.

“Probably,” he agrees. For long moments, you both stand still, eyes locked.

“What now?” you ask, the same question as a couple weeks ago. He shrugs again, but he doesn’t seem as miserable or desperate as he had at the gallery.

“I don’t know,” he replies, that same phrase that you’re still trying to make peace with, “I know what I want. Same thing I’ve wanted this entire time. So I guess it’s up to you.” After three years of him encouraging you to give up control, to let go and follow his lead, he’s handing you the reigns now. However this ends or continues is completely your decision.

“You leave tomorrow,” you say, though you’re both viscerally aware of the fact.

“Yeah,” he gives you the crooked smile that had captured you the first time you’d met, “Don’t suppose you want to come with me? The winter weather’s nicer in Florida.” You let out a breathy chuckle, shaking your head at him.

“If you’d asked me that last summer, I probably would’ve said yes,” you admit. You kind of expect him to react with sadness, but you prefer the hope that blooms on his face.

“Maybe I’ll ask you again next summer?” he suggests, offering you the option. At this point, you have no idea where your relationship will be at this time next year. You don’t know if you’ll even have a relationship, of any kind. But if he’s willing to try, so are you.

“Yeah,” you nod, smiling wider than you have in a long while, “Next summer.”

June, 2024

The Hughes brothers are a funny trio. Seeing Jack’s upbeat, outgoing energy bookended on each side by two reserved, perpetually exhausted brothers is always kind of funny. You’d run down the pavement from the Tkachuk’s door to the driveway when you’d seen Quinn climb out of the car’s driver seat, immediately sweeping him up in a hug. The boys had decided to road trip around this summer, so of course you’d strongly suggested that they visit you.

You help them haul their bags out of the trunk, taking Luke’s backpack in hand and insisting on carrying it in for him. The three of them had started teasing you the instant they saw that Matthew hadn’t come out with you.

“Come on, I heard him at the All Star game,” Jack pesters, voice taking a mocking edge as he croons, “Sweet girl.” You laugh brightly, stopping the careful steps you’re taking backwards up the pathway to the house.

“We weren’t dating, I swear,” you insist. Plenty of people over the years have accused you of dating Matthew, but at least he’s funny about it. He stops in front of you, lifting his chin and giving a shit-eating smile.

“Wait, weren’t?” he asks, “As in, past tense?” You feel heat begin to crawl up your face. You’d intended to tell them, of course, but not the second they got here.

“Yeah,” Matthew calls from behind you, and you twist around to watch him close the space between you, “Past tense.” Jack’s glee is overt, but you can see the little signs of happiness on the other two boys’ faces too. Matthew lines himself up against your back, wrapping his arms around you, the gaudy Cup ring on his finger glinting in the light.

“Hey, sweet girl,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss into your hair. You can’t see him, but Jack’s smug face makes you sure that Matthew is staring straight at him. “My sweet girl,” Matthew says. It might be the best thing you’ve ever heard.

[leahsgirl]

dramatic much | ella toone x female reader

veryyy short ella blurb to get back out there. no warnings.

sorry for my disappearance - writers block got the complete best of me and i hate every draft i make.

—

ella busied herself in the kitchen, occasionally stopping stirring the sauce in the pan to re-read the recipe on her phone.

some may say she’s been a little too aspirational in opting to make a three course meal for herself and you, considering she can barely make a bowl of cereal without something going wrong. but with her being away so much with with international duty and pre-season duties lately and little time for just the pair of you - she wanted to do something special.

in all fairness, everything was going to plan. she prepped the veg in advance, seasoned the chicken, and is yet to call alessia to come and save her (and the meal).

but nothing is ever easy in the world of ella toone, so as the brunette was jamming along to one of her notorious spotify playlist as well as peeling potatoes; she accidentally managed to slice her finger.

“fuckin’ el” she retracted her hand back in a jolt, watching in horror as blood pumped out of the small but painful cut.

she’s pretty sure this is the end, any minute now and she’s going to die from a haemorrhage which is why in a swift motion - like any self respecting adult would do - she whipped out her phone from her back pocket.

“hey babe.”

“how far away from home are you?”

“about five mins-ish, why?”

“i’m gonna die man! you need to hurry up.”

“what do you mean, what have you-“

but ella hung up and there you was; heart rate through the roof as you sat driving your car. it didn’t take long for you to get back though, probably breaking a few speed limits here and there.

“ella?” calling out as soon as you entered the premises.

“in the kitchen!”

you find the girl hunched over the counter-top, about thirty pieces (not an understatement) of kitchen roll wrapped around her hand. “what have you done?”

“bloody sliced my finger open.” you see the half peeled vegetables on the chopping board and piece two and two together, letting out an airy laugh “let me have a look.”

ella propped herself up onto the counter as you gently unravelled the tissue paper to reveal… a small cut. barely a nick, really, but enough to have your dramatic girlfriend convinced she was at death’s door. “oh my god you are such a hypochondriac.” 

“mate it was like a blood bath in here i nearly died.” the mancunian defended herself as you hummed along amused, searching for the first aid kit.

“it’s your fault too.” she vindicated.

“of course it is.” you said with a grin, playing along “what did i do?”

“if i wasn’t cutting potato’s for this meal i was making for you, then it wouldn’t of happened.” she huffed like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“or maybe you and the kitchen just aren’t meant to be.” you opened a sachet of antiseptic wipes and motioned for her hand. “but i love the thought and effort.” you kissed her lips while slying cleaning the wound.

“shit shit shit!” the brunette pulled back and immediately went to wave her hand to stop the stinging “what you do that for?!”

“would your dramatic ass let me do it if i had told you? the answer is no.” you smiled sweetly at her and put a plaster over the cut. “there. all better.”

“wait you forgot something.” looking expectantly at you as you cleared away the rubbish. “what?”

“kiss it better?” you laughed at the childish behaviour but gave in, conceding a quick peck on her finger. “i’ve never known anyone as dramatic as you, ella toone.”

“good thing you love me isn’t it?” she hopped off the kitchen surface and smacked your butt.

“mhm. now go get changed so i can put that shirt in the wash.” pointing to the scattered red marks on the material.

“fine, but i’m stealing your hoodie.” she called over her shoulder as she made her way to the bedroom.

_

well what was supposed to be ella’s culinary masterpiece ended up being your handiwork. after convincing the girl she’d done enough damage for one night, you took over in the kitchen, following the recipe she found. to your surprise, the meal turned out pretty tasty. ella hovered around you the entire time, watching your every move like an eager student, offering unhelpful advice and distracting you with cheeky kisses. not that you minded—it was nice to see her so invested, even if it meant she spent more time fussing over her finger than actually helping

with dinner over and dishes abandoned in the sink, the pair of you was settled on the sofa, scouring the tv for literally anything to watch. ella was cuddled into your side, messing with the remote as you combed your fingers through her hair.

“why don’t we see what’s on netflix? i think there’s some new shows out.”

“ugh there’s nothing good on netflix anymore.” the brunette moaned.

“you’re so hard to please sometimes y’know.” you teased as you took the remote off her and put on a movie both of you liked, one that you watched together more times than you can count “happy?”

ella nodded, “i’ll go grab some snacks.” she manoeuvred off you and the couch, bending down to steal a kiss on the corner of your mouth, the brief contact leaving you grinning. you watched her disappear into the kitchen, hearing the familiar clatter of cupboards opening and the rustle of packaging as she gathered your favorites.

she was back after a couple of minutes, hands now full with a bowl of popcorn, a bar of chocolate and two cans of pop. “here you go m’lady.” she said with a mock bow, gracefully placing the bowl on your lap and handing you one of the drinks. “thanks babe.”

she went to the other couch and picked up the blanket, wrapping it around her shoulders like a cloak and making her way back to her personal pillow (you).

“ah! shit shit shit!” the older girl was now hopping around holding her foot.

“literally what’s just happened?” you look on in disbelief because realistically how many accidents can this girl get herself into.

“stubbed my bastard toe.” ella hissed through gritted teeth “think i’ve broke it, swear I heard a crack”

“oh for fucks s-“

[alittlebitofsainz]

- you swear that you listened -

prompt: “so take me to every party and just talk to your friends.”

pairing: logan sargeant x reader

summary: why did he even bring you to meet his friends if he was going to forget you even existed? featuring an important conversation and a dog at the party

a/n: lyrics from track #65 - worst of you by maisie peters :)

masterlist | the spotify wrapped collection

“babe, what’s up with you? you’ve been quiet all night.”

“yeah, maybe it’s cos you didn’t talk to me for the entire time.” you shot back, both your words and tone harsher than you’d intended. logan was silent after that, and you stole a glance across to him sat in the passenger seat, immediately feeling guilty when you saw the wounded look on his face. you turned your gaze back to the road ahead with a heavy sigh.

it wasn’t really your fault that you were in such a bad mood; it had been your first time meeting a bunch of his childhood friends, stressful enough without the added bonus of you being the designated driver, so you had had to watch everyone slowly getting more and more intoxicated while you nursed the same diet coke for three hours straight. you’d offered to stay sober, but only because logan had emphasised that he hadn’t seen these friends in years, and it would be really nice to catch up with them over a beer, and you don’t really drink that much anyway, so you don’t mind driving, right?

“I don’t mind.” you’d said, because you knew logan had been having a tough season, and you wanted nothing more than to see him enjoying himself with his friends. and you. that had been the key part that was missing. you tried to join in on their conversations, you really did, but they were full of stories from the time before you even knew logan, sentences always seeming to start with “do you remember when…”. and every time you tried to speak up, to input something, the topic would change again, someone speaking over the top of you to remind the group of another funny anecdote from their past. you tried to catch logan’s eye, but to no avail, too wrapped up in old memories and the beer in his hand.

eventually you’d made an excuse about going to find the toilet, and disappeared off into a living room that no one was in. you weren’t even sure whether logan had noticed you were gone; you could still hear the ringing of his laughter drifting through the cracks between the door and the doorframe. at the least the dog came to find you. dogs were always the best thing at parties.

the worst part was that you didn’t know how to handle this. it had never happened before, you weren’t used to it. logan was always so attentive, so loving, so caring. he never failed to tell you, or show you, how much you really meant to him, his light shining through the darkness that had been this rollercoaster of a season. but around his friends, he just seemed different. like he’d forgotten you were even there.

the silence lasted the rest of the drive home. you once risked a glance across to logan, but his head was turning away, chin resting in his hand, his elbow propped against the passenger window, looking out at the world passing by as if he was deep in thought. from this angle, you couldn’t read his expression. you didn’t know if you even wanted to.

“I’m sorry, please, y/n, if I’ve done something wrong…”

logan tried again as you entered his apartment, his words slurred slightly, reminding you that now wasn’t time for this conversation when he was several beers deep and you were stone cold sober.

“really, lo, it’s…” you couldn’t bring yourself to say it’s fine, so you just shook your head instead. “let’s just talk about it in the morning, okay?” you murmured, catching a glimpse of his crestfallen expression as you passed by him, a sight that made your heart ache. you both got ready for bed without speaking again, the tension in the air uncomfortable.

and when morning rolled around and the sun filtering through the curtains woke you from sleep, you found yourself still reluctant to talk about it. you rolled over, turning to face logan, only to find a pair of bright blue eyes staring back at you.

“you were mad at me.”

you bit back a sarcastic good morning to you too. now was not the time.

“what?” you tried feigning ignorance, voice quiet.

“last night, you were mad at me.” logan repeated, and you realised you weren’t getting out of this one. “why? I don’t get it; did you not have a good time?”

you blinked, letting his word settle in your mind, before your brows folded into a soft frown.

“you didn’t even notice?” you murmured, knowing what the answer would be.

“notice what?” logan’s face scrunched up in confusion, searching back through his memories, desperately trying to remember something specific in the haze of what had happened last night. you sighed. it was the answer you’d been expecting, and dreading.

“I left, like, halfway through. went and sat in the living room. alone.” you explained, trying to spell it out for him. logan’s confused expression deepened.

“w- wha- why?” he stuttered, propping himself up on his elbow, “baby, you should’ve told me if you weren’t having a good-“

“I tried to!” you cut him off sharply, tone growing exasperated, “I tried to, but I couldn’t get your attention. not even for two minutes. it felt like I wasn’t even there.”

he opened his mouth to argue, but found nothing to argue back with. now that he thought about it, you were right. he had barely noticed you, once he was surrounded by his friends and stories of old times, and he felt fucking awful about it.

“I’m sorry. oh, fuck, babe, I really am sorry.” he stammered, trying to get all his apologies out at once, words tripping out over his tongue. you both appreciated and hated seeing him so remorseful; you knew you couldn’t just let it slide, or it would only happen again and make you feel worse, but at the same time you knew logan was genuinely sorry.

“it’s okay, lo.” you reached out a hand, taking his in yours and giving it a gentle squeeze. he drew in a soft breath, as if he expected a fight instead of forgiveness, and when his eyes met yours again they were glistening with unshed tears of remorse, “it was an accident, I know you didn’t mean to. everyone makes mistakes, right? we’re learning together.” you continued, a soft smile spreading across your face as you watched him relax slightly, tension leaving his shoulders. he nodded, ducking his head away to try and hide the tear thar had slipped down his cheek.

“right,” he agreed shakily, “I’m still sorry I made you feel forgotten about, really. I promise it won’t happen again.”

“I know.” you replied softly, releasing his hand from yours and instead holding out both your arms as a silent invitation. logan was only too happy to accept, shuffling across the bed towards you and burying his head into the crook of your neck, your arms securing around his back. you felt him take a deep breath into your shoulder, chest rising deeply before falling back down again.

“I really love you, you know that, right?” he murmured, voice muffled as he rested his cheek against your skin. you chuckled softly, pressing a kiss to the crown of his head.

“I know. I love you too, Lo.”

a/n: i tried so hard to leave this on a more angsty ending but honestly i just can’t be mean to logan for more than five seconds he deserves happiness even if its just in fictional form

[lovrsm]

ᴄʜʀɪꜱᴛᴍᴀꜱ ᴛʀᴇᴇ ꜰᴀʀᴍ

sum: Christmas is near the corner, remembering how in this time of the year, everything is magic with the man you love.

word count: 2.5k

pairing: charles leclerc x childhoodbsf!reader

warning: angst, overthinking and FLUFF!!

disclaimers: we’re going to pretend that in Monaco it snows, FOR THE SAKE OF THIS SILLY WRITING. Alright? I investigated what winter is like there, and it’s not even close to snowing🤕. Also, kinda wrote this like a fairy tale, I’m so in love with it wtf😭♥️

Merry Christmas to you all🫶 love you and enjoy!

Spotify - Apple Music

ᴍᴀɪɴ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

“Just being in your arms takes me back to that little farm”

Christmas was around the corner.

Or maybe in a few couple days.

In reality, it was more than a month away.

November, 1st of November, and everything turned a mix of red, white and green. The colors of your favorite time of the year.

Your hands were covered in bags, and the bags filled with presents for all of your loved ones. It was barely afternoon, but you had woken up since 6am to be at stores as quick as you could.

Every single present was planned, even if it’s one time they mentioned they wanted it, or something they’ve been dying for since forever. Your presents were always the best, and everyone knew that.

After you buyed some great amount of gift wrapping, you finally headed home.

You knew you’d take a long time to get home, holiday shopping traffic was surely starting now.

Just a day after halloween and you knew you had to make everything green and white, and hella lot of red.

The rest of the day was for yourself, your family, and for making everything festive. Changing your bedsheets from black to red. Having christmas decorations over the entrance of your house.

The only thing that was missing, was the Christmas tree.

The very thing you waited for all year long.

You weren’t sure if it was the smell, or the shape. But the journey to find the tree, that was all you needed for Christmas.

You closed your eyes, and that silly little Christmas tree farm was the only thing you pictured.

-

“Sweetie, it’s time to go, they’re here!” My mom screamed from downstairs.

shit

I finished drying my hair, since I had just showered. Quickly, I grabbed all the extra clothes I needed for the cold weather outside.

I rushed downstairs, grabbing a beanie I had by the door in the way.

I could see at the corner of my eye the whole place covered in a blanket of snow.

“Oh, we are ready to go now!” I heard my dad shout as I was locking the door soon a lot of footsteps.

“Took you long enough” I heads a calm voice behind me.

I turned around to see the face I’ve been missing so much. I quickly jumped into his arms. “I’ve missed you too, asshole.” I whispered in his ear. He chuckled, making my whole body shiver with excitement.

“Missed you too, you have no idea.”

I let him go, taking a good look at him. His dimples showing up, and his white pearled teeth shining at me.

I couldn’t hide my smile, he was finally here.

A honk interrupted my thinking. “Come on you two, we want to get early this year!” I heard Lorenzo screaming from his car.

We both rushed to it, my dad, mom and Pascale left in the other car. While the Leclerc’s, my brother and I traveled in this car.

“Hey y/n!” Lorenzo smiled at me through the car mirror “Sup!” Arthur gave me a wave from the co-pilot seat.

“Hi!” I responded as I settled into my seat, putting on my seat belt. Lorenzo wasn't the best driver around.

“So, how was everything both of you? Did you miss us?” My brother started a conversation.

“It’s been crazy! All I could ever imagine, it literally felt like a dream”

“Yeah, all the behind the scenes is absolutely crazy, definitely learned a lot from the team, I think white looks good on us” Arthur completed.

“But, do you know what will look even better?”

“Red!” We all said in union and laughed.

Charles had won the new Ferarri seat for the 2019 season, and we were all so proud of him.

“We all saw you at your races, y/n was the first one to wake up and put on the tv, always.” My brother, Matthias tried to tease me.

Charles turned to look at me with a grin plastered in his face.

“Okeyy, I’m a morning person, alright? What is wrong with that?” I answered normally.

Yeah, I am a morning person, but I would normally go walking on my mornings or maybe do some exercise, not stay home watching tv.

But if Charles was on it, there was no way I would miss it.

“If you say sooo” I leaned out of my seat to look at Matt, since he was on the other side of the car. Charles was in the middle.

“okay.” He quietly answered to my glare.

“Anyway, so what is the first thing you want to do when we get there?” Lorenzo asked from the pilot seat, concentrated on not crashing.

“The sleighs”

“The horses!”

“Maybe we should get the trees first” Charles said calmly, looking at the road ahead.

“Yeah, you know how quickly they buy them, we should get the best two around.” I smiled at them, and everyone nodded in agreement.

Charles was right, the biggest, greenest and beautiful trees were obviously taken as soon as possible.

Last winter we were left with not the best tree because we all got distracted doing something else.

“So, we all know the drill, right?” Arthur asked, turning to look at the three of us in the back.

I smirked, this was going to be fun.

-

“Maman, papa are with Pascale, I texted them. They are going to wait for you, Enzo”

And with that, we arrived to the parking lot, and thank god we found a good place to park in, I did not want to walk too much after the whole day.

We always end up exhausted.

“Everyone get their phones at maximum volume, if someone calls answer immediately!” We all agreed.

“Go go go gooo!”

I opened the door as fast as I could, and waited for Charles to get out, but in a blink of an eye he already grabbed my hand and started to run to the barns direction.

I was slowly catching to his pace.

Shit he was faster than last year.

He finally stopped at the start of the trees. “Well, we have a lot of options”

Charles was concentrated on watching every single tree in front of us, scrunching his nose in a very cute way.

“Yeah… we better go looking”

-

Half an hour. A whole 30 minutes we were looking for the damn trees.

All of us took this very seriously.

“Too short”

“Too tall”

“Ew, that’s ugly.”

“Never liked the ones with fake snow.”

“Not fluffy enough”

“Oh come on, there is no way an ornament will look good in that.”

Every time there was an excuse. That was until Arthur and Matthias called us saying they found the 1st one.

Then my maman and papa called right after just to say they finally found another one, the most ‘perfect’ in the place.

In the pictures they sent to us, they looked so cute and wonderful. Surely there was no complaining at all.

So the Christmas tree hunt was over. And now we could peacefully walk around the place.

Charles and I walked silently to our favorite place here, it was somewhere close to the icy and blue ice rink.

Some small open cabins were there, just so people could get somewhere to get warm, and to lit up a bonfire.

The temperatures here were no joke.

Charles and I were basically freezing, even if we had the mittens that his mom made for us last year.

I snuggled into my sweater as I waited for charles to set the bonfire.

“You cold?”

“Mhm” he laughed at my state, I always get easily cold, but that doesn’t mean I hate winter.

It’s actually the exact opposite.

“Your nose is red as a tomato.” He pinched my nose.

“Hey!” He shrugged and smiled while he gave me his white scarf. “Thanks…”

I was now hypnotized by the dancing fire, and Charles came closer, having his arm touching mine.

“I wish you could’ve come with me” He whispered.

“To your races?”

“Everywhere, I needed you there.” He sweetly smiled at me. But I hit him in his arm “ow? What was that for?” He laughed at me.

“For all the times you were reckless and almost gave me a heart attack!… but, I would’ve loved being there with you too, you know that”

He chuckled, since we were little, when he was karting I would always be there for him when he crashed or just had a bump on the way.

Always.

But now we were talking about F1, something people should not play with. Cars that go at a speed I can’t even think.

So, yeah, I obviously had my nearly death experiences while watching the tv and having Charles crashing out of nowhere.

But here he was, next to me and I could now feel his warmth.

-

charles pov.

Missing her is just an understatement, he needed her. Every day it passed without her was absolutely devastating.

Yeah, they texted and called often, but there was nothing like having her by his side.

At this point she’s the air he need to breathe, it was like the sun finally appearing after long rainy days.

She was the first person he called when he got into Ferrari, she was the one who he texted in the middle of the night when he couldn’t sleep.

Charles didn’t even know how much he needed her till she wasn’t by his side anymore.

How do I even tell her?

She’s at my side, peacefully watching the bonfire while I am dying inside to tell her how much se makes me feel.

“Hey…” I started, I don’t even know what Im fucking going to say.

She turned her head to look at me, and tilted her head while shining her big gorgeous eyes at me.

I gulped. She stopped the world completely by just looking at me.

“Are you ok? You look like you’ve seen a ghost” she laughed, and the ends of my lips turned upwards.

“Here, let’s go take some hot cocoa, maybe it’ll help you relax”

She stood up and offered me her hand, and I took it hesitatingly, if I don't do it now when will I do it? I can’t just not tell her.

“Oh god, you’re even paler now.” She looked a bit worried.

“Come on big boy, you will be fine, follow me”

I grunted, but she didn’t stop moving. The cold air hitting us as soon as we left the warmth of the bonfire.

“Here, with marshmallows, just how you like it Charlie.” She showed her teeth at me handing a warm cup of hot chocolate.

“Feeling better?” She placed a falling piece of her hair behind her her ear after taking a sip from her own cup.

“More than ever” I replied.

She looked directly into my eyes, god I could melt right now.

“What was it that you were saying?”

I almost choked.

“Ugh, nothing important”

“Must be, you can always count on me Charlie.” She placed her delicate hand on top of mine.

Charlie, she has called me that since we were little. My parents and hers were friends since forever, and I guess we just followed.

“I just, was thinking about when I was away. Uh, I was just thinking about this… girl.”

-

ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴘᴏᴠ

I felt a sting on my chest

But that is does the mean anything, right?

“Oh” i just managed to say, I looked at my feet just so I couldn’t meet his angelic eyes.

who am I even fooling at this point?

“It’s just, I really, really want her to be more to me than she is now. I just don’t know how to tell her.”

Cool.

Cool cool cool cool cool… cool.

“I mean, I don’t know, what is she like?” I looked everywhere just to not look at him.

But I’m pretty sure he must be distracted thinking about this girl.

why am I feeling like this?

“Well” he chuckled. “She’s like, the best woman I’ve ever met. She gets me, and she’s so creative and funny and everything great in this world...”

My heart was slowly breaking by each compliment he gave her.

“…I just want her by my side.”

“Just tell her, if you feel all… this, maybe you should just tell her”

It’s the first time I’ve heard him talk about a girl like this, heck, he even called her a woman.

I finally looked up at him, just to find out he was already looking at me.

His eyes shined with that sparkling light he had. I could resist the smile creeping up my cheeks already.

“Really? I’m just afraid I’ll screw everything up.” He concluded.

“Any girl would be nuts to say no to you.”

His cheeks turned a slightly darker red. I could feel my cheeks burning already.

But I had to stop myself, this isn’t you who he is talking about.

I turned around, I need to take a breath.

“y/n…” he grabbed me by the wrist to turn me around. I met, once again, with her dreamy eyes.

“Yes?” I quietly replied.

“You know who I’m talking about, right?” He raised an eyebrow at me, and gave me a look I couldn’t quite figure out was trying to say.

I shook my head side slowly. I felt my eyes watering.

I looked around just so that he couldn’t catch my glossy eyes.

But I met with a mistletoe just over a head. I opened my mouth in awe.

I felt a shift in the ambiance, I looked back at Charles and saw him smiling showing his dimples.

He was looking at the mistletoe above us.

“I can’t, I just can’t anymore y/n.”

what?

He met my gaze and took both of my hands, I could feel them over my mittens.

“Since we were kids, there was something about you, the is something about you that has always made my heart skip a beat.”

This isn’t happening.

I could feel my mouth slowly forming a smile.

“And I’ve always thought it was normal for me to feel like this with you. But god, being away from you has been hell. I need you, I can’t conform with just texting and calling.”

“Maybe this might sound selfish, but I don’t even want to picture you with someone else who is not me. I thought it was a little crush, but heck, you make me feel this way every single time and I never get tired of it.”

I was completely speechless.

This is happening.

“It’s ok if you don’t feel the same way, but it physically hurts to not tell you how much you actually mean to me. I’d be a fool not to tell you how special you are.”

At this point I started crying.

I cupped his face in my hands.

“What i’m trying to say is… I love you. More than I’ve ever loved anyone.”

I was left with words, I’ve never been good at telling my feelings.

But I am good at showing them.

I slowly looked up at the mistletoe, and he followed my eyes.

I bit my lip. And furrowed my eyebrows asking him with signs, not words.

“Please” he quietly begged. I didn’t even had to think it twice.

I crashed my lips into his, expressing every single ounce of love I had for him. He followed.

It was the most magical night of the year.

-

Under the sparkling lights, bundled up in their mittens and coats, sweet dreams of holly and ribbons…

The couple finally found their way together, and their souls finally united and all their wishes came true.

Their love was blooming, and it all started in that little Christmas tree farm.

-

Taglist

@delicatepeanutsublime @leclercera16 @ironspdy @architect-2015 @buendiabebeta @zlut1r

[hd-wireless]

📻🎶 H/D WIRELESS 2024 - WEEKLY WRAP-UP #4

🎤 Can you believe we’ve had four weeks of amazing creations already? We certainly can’t! We hope you’re enjoying the works inspired by music that hit just the right tone to make them into unique drarry fics, art, and podfics.

There are enough works for us to post for one last week of glorious Drarry goodness, so buckle up for the final countdown! 🎶

As always you can listen to the prompted songs for the works we post on two playlists:

Click here for Spotify (many thanks to @evaeleanor for helping us out there) ❤️ And here for the YouTube playlist.

🎶 H/D Wireless Art 🎶

📻 The Shape I found you in [Not Rated, Digital art]

🎵 Song Prompt: 'The Shape I found you in' by 'Girlyman'  🎵 Summary: But your heart was busy within,  Building bomb shelters under your skin.  That's the shape I found you in

🎶 H/D Wireless Fic and Art 🎶

📻 Thunder [E, 11,325, digital]

🎵 Song Prompt: "Dreams" by Fleetwood Mac  🎵 Summary: Harry and Ginny are on a break. Harry and Ginny don’t want anyone to know. Harry assumes Ginny is fucking their way through their Quidditch team. Harry punches Draco Malfoy in the face in his free time. Harry considers this a perfectly reasonable coping mechanism. Harry figures that as long as he keeps everything the way that it is, that everything will stay the same, and nothing bad will happen, and Ginny will stay with him, and Malfoy will keep quietly visiting his dreams.

🎶 H/D Wireless Fic 🎶

📻 crawlin' helpless on the floor [M, 1,525]

🎵 Song Prompt: Cure For Pain by Morphine  🎵 Summary: It doesn't take much to torment a man when he's three broken contracts away from being out of a job and down a newspaper.

📻 Hell is the talkin' type [E, 7,309]

🎵 Song Prompt: Dinner and Diatribes by Hozier  🎵 Summary: “Morgana, I need a drink,” Draco sighs. “Why did I let you convince me to participate in this torture again?”  Harry chuckles. “Because I’m your husband, and you love me?” he offers.  “Bah. Remind me not to let myself be so sentimental next time.”

📻 Mr Blue Sky [E, 69,024]

🎵 Song Prompt: ‘Mr. Blue Sky’ by ‘Electric Light Orchestra’  🎵 Summary: Mr Blue Sky, please tell us why, you had to hide away for so long...   After five years, Malfoy had finally escaped house arrest, and he moved in just a few streets down from Grimmauld Place. Overnight, the Daily Prophet seemed to fall in love with him. For his charity work, and his charming smile, and—Harry was sure—his prattish fucking personality. No matter how hard Harry tried, he couldn't stop running into him.  He had bigger problems, though. His best friends in the world were having a baby together, which was fantastic, except that they weren't sure he could hold it together well enough to be Godfather.  But despite being flat broke, with a dead dad, and no one willing to risk hiring him, Malfoy appeared to be completely in control of the narrative surrounding his newfound freedom. Maybe Harry could learn a thing or two from the best of the best.  After all, he had the entire pregnancy to convince Ron and Hermione he was perfectly, entirely, 100% fine. If sometimes he had to fistfight Malfoy about it, well, that was nothing new.

📻 'tis the damn season [M, 2,892]

🎵 Song Prompt: 'tis the damn season by Taylor Swift  🎵 Summary: He doesn’t know why the universe seems to keep placing him in Potter’s proximity every time he returns to London. He doesn’t know how they keep falling into bed, every year, like clockwork.  Draco has tried not to question it.

📻 Tecum Ad Astra [M, 3,257]

🎵 Song Prompt: Levitating by Dua Lipa  🎵 Summary: It's Friday night and Harry Potter is relaxing with a good book in front of a crackling fire.  But he should be at the club.

📻 Music to my ears [E, 13,190]

🎵 Song Prompt: River flows in You, Yiruma  🎵 Summary: Harry is completely captivated by the beautiful music played on a street piano at a park in Cambridge. He is, however, unprepared for whom the pianist turns out to be.

📻 Pancakes for Dinner [T, 2,176]

🎵 Song Prompt: Pancakes for Dinner by Lizzie McAlpine  🎵 Summary: Draco’s on a trip to visit Harry in his new city at his new job. He’s not brave enough to say how he really feels.

📻 Seasons [E, 9,314]

🎵 Song Prompt: Águas de Março (Waters of March) by Antônio Carlos Jobim  🎵 Summary: Seconds pass, and it’s like he can see Draco worrying the sliver of glass in his heart, looking for a way to press it out, to expose the wound to the sun. It’s life; Harry can be patient.

[wormdebut]

omg for the spotify wrapped list......... 85?

Hi!! Thank you for sending in a number! Number 85 on my Spotify Wrapped is Sowing Season by Brand New!

----

'You're here Eddie! You're awake and you have your whole life ahead of you while Max is fucking fighting for her life. So get up and do something! We all went through it Eds, and I know you're hurting. God, Eddie, I know. But, the kids miss you--hell man, I--' Steve's voice cracks. 'I miss you and it doesn't even make sense to me, but I do. We are all here for you man--call me when you figure that out.'

It runs through his head on repeat. It always does. That was sometime late April. Today is June 4th. Today is June 4th and Max is awake and in a wheel chair…just like Eddie is.

Max had a hard time at first, once she woke up, curled in on herself. Kept things in…just like Eddie did. He was shocked when he saw her that first time in May, wheelchair and all, throwing rocks at his new government funded trailer window. They worked through things together. But she was really the only person he had spoken to since--all of it--besides Uncle Wayne.

Max went through hell and is rebuilding, going to physical therapy, seeing her friends, finding the ability to laugh again. Just like Eddie…isn't.

But her legs were broken…they would heal. Those damn bats had gone and taken one of Eddies--

Eddie shakes his head, unruly curls falling over his eyes. He needs to stop comparing. He needs to stop pouting and whining. Max has to be tired of it…Wayne has to be exhausted by it. Eddie can't do this anymore. He needs to get his life back.

'We are all here for you man--call me when you figure that out.'

He needs to call Steve.

Eddie will never get used to having to wheel around everywhere…hopefully he won't have to for long though. Owens had said something last month about paying for a prosthetic for Eddie which…well, it fucking terrified him, but he was turning over a new leaf. This morning, when he woke up, the same as he had the day before and the day before that--he had been ready to wallow just like he had been doing since he woke up in that damn hospital bed, down a leg and with Wayne and Steve Harrington staring at him with wide eyes. But, what Steve had said in April ran through his mind…like it had been since it happened and today? It stuck.

Wayne was out. He'd left a note on the fridge. Eddie would never be able to repay Wayne for all the love and patience he had poured into his mess of a nephew. But, Wayne wouldn't have let him, even if he had a way.

Eddie is lucky. Eddie is alive and he has been wasting away feeling sorry for himself. He sighs, reaching up for the phone. Being in a damn wheelchair made him feel nine years old and four feet tall.

Eddie holds the phone to his ear, reading another sticky note. One that Steve had left behind when they had last seen each other.

His hands aren't shaking as he reaches up to dial…they aren't.

He's trying to control his breathing as he listens to the ringing through the line.

"Thanks for calling Family Video, this is Steve. How can I help you?"

Eddie lets out a breath he didn't even know he was holding. "Stevie?"

Surely, Eddie isn't imagining things when he hears Steve take a sharp inhale of the other end of the line.

"Eddie?" He asks. His voice is soft, just like it had been when Eddie had woken up terrified and confused in the hospital.

"You told me--you told me to call when--when I figured it out. I wanna get better Steve. I need to be better." Eddie says. He'll deny the shakiness in his voice until he dies.

Steve laughs, and it's bright and Eddie wouldn't mind hearing that sound for the rest of his--anyway Steve laughs. "I've been waiting for your call." Eddie can practically hear Steve's smile. He can't help but smile too.

"I'm sorry, I kept you waiting big boy." ----

"I'm on the mend, at least now I cay say that I am trying."

[stinkysam]

Deke Shaw - Patience is a man's best virtue.

Warning : none

Genre : fluff

Synopsis : "How about Deke and the reader getting closer in Season 5 after they all return to modern time, mostly because the reader is patient with him unlike the rest and entertains all his questions about Earth understanding of his circumstances :) And somewhere along the way Deke develops feelings lol" - @intrepid-captain

Reader : male (you/yours)

It took him some time to realize his feelings for you, for someone so in tune with his feelings and emotions, he didn't see it coming, at all. You won him over slowly.

He didn't think he'd move on from Daisy. She had it all. Beauty, personality, strength… maybe except patience.

You, on the other hand, seemed full of it. Not that you didn't have the rest as well but patience was really what struck him down in the long run. And doing things for the long run is what he prefers.

You would answer his questions about food, music, movies without judging him for not knowing about it.

"Hey, man can you do me a favor ?"

"Hit me."

"What the hell is this ?" He says, shoving a can of chicken pot pie into your hands.

"The- it's- it's supposed to be a pie, but the companies sell it that way so you can eat the filling or shove it in… in a crust ?"

Deke blinks at you, mouth open as he grabs back the can.

"So it's not soup ?"

"Depends on what a soup is to you."

He stares at you and tilts his head in a way that means to not make it harder for him. You snort and continue. "Nope. Pie. Chicken pie. Maybe we have some frozen crust laying around ?" You say, but you know he's not listening by the end of your sentence.

Or you hear a knock at 3am on your door. You think about ignoring it but it sounded urgent so you get up, your blanket wrapped around you and you open your door to see Deke, also wrapped in his blanket, somewhat panicked.

"Hey, [Name], huh… about what you told me today about gun rights. Awesome. Love it. But like… everyone, everyone ?" He says quietly.

"As long as you're 18 or 21, yeah."

"Yeah, yeah but like…" He looks at you, eyes wide as he waves his hands. "Everyone ?"

You sigh and open your door, inviting him in.

You ended the night with the both of you sitting on your bed, wrapped in blankets and talking about gun rights and the American government.

Since you were one of the few SHIELD agents not wanted, you could often go outside and buy snacks for the team during the occasional quiet times. And Deke would always come with you.

It's like he could smell it in the air when you were about to step outside.

"Why are you following me ?"

"Coulson asked you to pick tonight's dinner, right ?" He asked, smiling.

"Yeah. You want to come ?" As if you needed to ask.

You looked over your shoulder, watching Deke follow you, quickening his pace to be next to you. You already knew what was coming next.

"Yeah ! Duh, obviously." To then add more shyly… "Can I ?"

"Go grab the bags and let's go."

"Right away, sir." And with these words, Deke darted away with a smile, only to come back a few minutes later with them. "Come on, let's go, I'm waiting !"

"Yeah, yeah." You rolled your eyes, biting back a smile as you walked outside with him by your side.

You entered your car and gave Deke your phone, he was already navigating it like it was his. He quickly opened spotify and put some music on. He liked it, your playlist allowing him to discover artists like Racoon Tour, Sleep Token, Ado, Jhariah, or even musicals such as Something Rotten!, Beetlejuice, The Newsies or Rent.

You walked next to him in the store because you knew if you left him alone, you'd end up buying way more than planned.

"Do you really do the lemon thing here ?" He suddenly asks.

"The what ?"

He shakes his head, debating whether he should explain it once more or not.

"You know, saving tokens to buy some lemons and putting them on your… crush's bed so they know someone's into them ?" He says quietly, afraid someone might overhear something potentially ridiculous.

You stare at him and frown with a smile.

"No. But we have anonymous love letters ?"

"What ?" He says, almost offended. "But Coulson and Mack told me…" He grimaces. "These liars."

"Yeah, no. We don't do that here." You say as you pat his back and he huffs, clearly upset.

Then it hit you.

"Oh so that was you ? I heard whispers saying Daisy found a bunch of lemons on her bed." You looked at him and a blush began to crept on his cheeks.

"Yeah- no- that's… yeah… that was me." He admitted, defeated.

"Aw, that's cute. Bit weird out of context but cute. That explains all the lemons in the pantry." You said, patting his back once more, this time more gently.

He stared at you, surprised. He expected you to laugh at him and mock him but instead you found it… cute ? He smiled, sheepish.

"Yeah… I guess…"

After buying all that was necessary you'd make a stop at a bar to get a drink. Or a snack.

"I don't understand."

"What." You ask, bringing your beverage to your lips, taking a sip.

"Beer. It tastes so bad. I lived all my life thinking it was the drink. You know ? You forget your problems because it's so good." He looked at you, expecting an answer. "Why does it taste so bad ?"

"I don't know. Alcohol ?" You shrugged with a grimace.

"But I love Zima."

"That you do." You say with a light chuckle.

"What ?"

"Just remembering your first day here where you ended up drunk and in jail."

"Hey, not cool, man, plus I wasn't drunk."

"Right." You laughed gently, taking another sip of your drink. He smiled at you as he did the same.

Sometimes, during the most boring days you'd stop in town and let him buy what he wanted. Or more accurately, you'd buy him something, whatever that caught his eyes.

Sometimes it'd be maps and postal cards of random places, newspapers, magazines, VHS, DVDs, vinyls… or pastries. They'd all end up preciously stacked in his room, except the food.

It's moments like these that made his heart flutter. Your patience and kindness. He didn't think he'd move on from Daisy, nor did he think he'd be happy about it.

It's as he stares at you for longer than usual as you work on the computers, talking with the others that he realizes his feelings. Yeah, he's got it bad.

[danceswithsporks]

Awake- Part 7

Crosshair x f!Innkeeper reader

*Not Canon to Season 3*

Parts 1 2 3 4 5 6

Chapter summary: Your relationship with Crosshair continues to grow and important news comes that may change the course of everything.

Authors Notes: The next part of our story is here and it’s a loooooong one! Like really long.

There was a lot I wanted to cover in order to prevent this fic from being 30 chapters long. I personally hate making these fics longer and longer then the ones before it. I feel like it means I didn’t give enough love to the other fics. Idk, maybe that’s just a me thing.

Anyway, Here’s the next part! I really hope you all enjoy this part! Thanks as always for the love and support of this series!

The Spotify playlist has been updated at the time of this chapter dropping!

Sleep, it was something that had eluded him a lot since arriving on Pabu. When he did sleep it was horrible nightmares. Only when he was next to you did he have restful nights with thoughts of you in his head.

He fell asleep easily that night, sleep coming swiftly to him with you next to him. He slept soundly for most of the night, waking once to relieve himself. After washing his face, he returned to the bed and curled in next to you, that wonderful scent of your shampoo lulling him back to sleep. The dreams he had were like the others he usually had. Sweet dreams of the two of you curled up on the bed talking, or you reading your tablet while he made you both a cup of caf. You’d smile that winning smile at him and sweetly call his name. He’d join you and kiss you deeply before laying his head in your lap and listening to you read out loud to him. The two of you were always peaceful, always happy. 

It was exactly one of those sweet dreams he was having when something shifted within him. Suddenly the two of you were falling. He reached out for you but you seemed just out of reach. Something stopped him and when he looked up he found it to be an ice vulture.” let me go!” He cried out in desperation. He needed to get to you, to stop you from falling.

Crosshair reached out once more for you and finally, he gripped your hand tightly. He sighed in relief but you were too heavy. The weight was pulling the both of you down as the ice vulture screamed wildly. He looked down at you with panic in his eyes as he tried to figure out what to do.

You knew you were too heavy for the vulture to hold you both up. With the purest, sweetest smile you could muster, you looked at him.  “Plan 99” you whispered softly and then you let his hand go. 

He watched in horror as your body fell farther and farther down towards the icy abyss beneath him. “No!” He screamed out as the snow cleared. There, in the middle of the icy landing bay of the base on Barton IV laid your dead body. 

Crosshair woke with a gasp. His body was covered in sweat and his heart was racing. He looked around in a panic and found himself still in your bed, but you were gone. Why were you gone? “Doll?” He looked around the room. Crosshair moved to stand but heard your soft voice calling out to him. “Doll!” 

“Crosshair?” Your voice grew louder as you stepped into the room. “Hey, good morning, or should I say good afternoon?” You held two mugs in your hands. The nightgown you’d worn the night before had been adjusted and sat on your body perfectly. “I made us some Caf.” 

He was across the room in an instant, a pair of arms wrapping around you and holding you tightly making you almost drop the mugs. “W-what?” The clone sighed a shuddery breath into your hair. “Crosshair?” 

He’d been so worried that something had happened to you. Waking up to the bed empty, after such a horrific nightmare, with you gone had terrified him. But there you were, standing in front of him in that nightgown and smelling magnificent. “I thought I’d lost you.” He whispered so low you barely caught it. “I thought you left.”

You weren’t sure what he meant by that statement but you enjoyed how close he currently was to you. The hug felt amazing and being held in this way was new and exhilarating. “I’m right here.” Taking a step back from him, you passed him a mug. “I wouldn’t do that.” You smirked at him, trying to lighten the air. “Unlike some people.” He made a sad face and you quickly placed your free hand on his chest. “Hey, I’m joking.” You chewed your lip in worry as you tried to understand what was happening to him.

Crosshair let out a long breath at your touch. You were ok. You were alive and near him. He could physically touch you, kiss you, and hold you. You remarked on him leaving and he sighed. He knew you were joking but it made him realize that maybe he shouldn’t have been leaving before you woke up. He just figured you’d wanted to keep things as casual as possible with the arrangement and so he saw no reason to wait for you to wake up. Now, at this moment, he regretted that decision. “Sorry.” He wasn’t one to apologize easily but with you, he felt like you deserved it. 

“You don’t need to apologize.” The expression on his face didn’t change and you felt the tug of worry begin to build within you. “Hey,” You moved your hand up to his cheek and cradled it. “What’s going on?” His hand moved to your waist and held you tightly. “Sit with me?” Crosshair nodded solemnly against your touch and the two of you carefully sat down on the edge of your bed. Taking his hand in yours, you carefully sipped at your caf. You forced a smile at him hoping you’d get one back. When he didn’t, you chewed your lip. “Do you want to talk about it?” 

Crosshair shook his head. The last thing he wanted to remember was that nightmare. You stared at him with worry written clearly across your face. How could he tell you that he’d had a nightmare that you’d died in front of him? How did he admit to you that he dreamed about you? To reveal the nightmare would be to reveal it all. But the way you were staring at him was just too much for him to handle. “Just…had a bad dream.” 

He’d whispered so low that it was hard to hear. But you caught the end of it. A bad dream. You had those sometimes. Nightmares where the inn was up in flames or worse, you sold it. “I’m here if you’d like to tell me about it.”  

He took a sip of his caf to try and calm himself but found his hand shaking. Letting out a long sigh, he decided to tell you the bare minimum. He spoke of Barton IV and how the planet looked, of the ice vultures and the base. “There was a clone Commander that I met there named Mayday. I’d only known him for a few days, maybe not even a week.” Crosshair looked past you and out of the backdoor. “But he changed the course of my time with the Empire.” 

You tilted your head and watched as he stared off into the distance as though memories were playing in his head. “What was he like?” You spoke softly to not break the air. 

Crosshair broke his trance and looked back at you. “He was a braver man than me.”

“I find that hard to believe.” You squeezed his hand gently. 

He shook his head and took another sip of caf. “I’m not the man you think I am, Doll.” 

A smile played on your lips. “What kind of man do you think I think you are?” 

“A brave clone with a history of always doing the right thing and never doing anything wrong. The perfect man.”  Crosshair looked away from you as he spoke. 

You chuckled lightly. “If that was true then I’d be disappointed, wouldn’t I?” Crosshair looked back at you and raised an eyebrow. Raising your hand, you brushed it across the side of his head, behind his ear, and against his cheek. “Brave men who’ve always done the right things, and never anything wrong, don’t have nightmares and trouble sleeping.” You stroked his cheek with your thumb. “It doesn’t diminish what I think about you. I don’t know everything you’ve gone through, but I know it’s a lot. You fought in the war and killed to survive. To do that for as long as the war lasted requires bravery. So to me, you are a brave man.” 

Crosshair raised his hand and placed it against the back of yours. Closing his eyes, he sighed. “I don’t deserve your kindness.”

“That’s for me to decide, Sniper.” You said the nickname carefully, testing out the way he’d react. 

“What did you call me?” He was surprised by the nickname. 

You batted your lashes at him while shifting closer. “That’s what you are, isn’t it? A sniper?” 

“I…yeah.” He swallowed hard while looking down at you. Cross had to admit that he liked the nickname.  

“Then it makes sense that I’d call you Sniper.” You moved closer to him so that your legs were touching. Your hand fell to his thigh and you squeezed it gently. “Tell me about Mayday?” 

He took a shaky sip of his caf. “He was a straightforward no no-nonsense man. Brave and loyal.  Fought for his men and the base to the very end.” 

It didn't escape your notice that he used the past tense when speaking about Mayday. “What happened to him?” 

“He died.” 

“Oh.” You should have expected this. Men didn’t have nightmares over living friends. “I’m sorry.” After a moment you continued. “We don’t have to talk about it anymore if you don’t want to. We can talk about something else.” 

Crosshair silently thanked you for changing the topic. He wasn’t ready to discuss Mayday's death yet. “Like what?” 

You chewed your lip for a moment before deciding on a topic. “How about what happened last night? Or why you leave every morning before I wake up?” 

“Oh.” He should have known this topic would come up sooner or later. 

“About last night…”

”So about last night…”

You both spoke at the same time breaking the tension in the room and causing you both to chuckle. 

“You first, Sniper.” You motioned to him while sipping your Caf. 

“I overstepped last night. I shouldn't have done that. Shouldn’t have pushed you into that.” He tapped his mug nervously. 

“I was going to say the opposite. I enjoyed last night.” Quite a bit. It was the first time in a long time someone had made you feel that good. “But…” 

He’d been so excited to hear that you’d enjoyed the night before that when you said ‘but’ it felt like a gut punch. “But?” 

You sighed softly while looking at your mug, the cup now half empty. “I think we need to draw a line somewhere.”

Crosshair tilted his head slightly while staring at you. “What do you mean?” 

Stars, this was awkward. But it needed to be done. You needed to be clear about what you wanted out of this. “We eat meals together, talk for hours, and even share a bed most nights. Not to mention what we did last night. Most of these things are things couples would do or people dating.” 

“I see.” So that’s what this was about. 

“I need to be clear when I say that I’m not looking for a relationship. I’ve made the mistake of being with a guest before, I don’t want to make that mistake again.” You watched as he leaned forward and placed his mug on the ground. Yours was taken carefully from your hands and placed next to his. Before you could react, he cradled your face and moved his lips close to yours. “C-Crosshair?”

“Would I really be that big of a mistake?” He ran his thumb across your bottom lip. They were so kissable. All he wanted to do was avoid these awkward conversations and get lost in your lips.

Your breath hitched in your throat as butterflies filled your stomach. Why did your body always have to react like this when it came to him? “Th-that’s not what I m-meant.” Maybe this conversation could wait till another day? Having his lips against yours right now would be a nice way to start the day as opposed to these deep conversations. 

Crosshair’s lips brushed against yours. “What do you mean then?” 

“I… I mean.” He was a hair's width away from your lips now. So close and yet you knew you couldn’t give in to him right now. You let out a breath while slowly pulling away from him. “What I’m trying to say is that I’ve made a deal with myself not to get involved in another relationship with a guest.” 

“I see.” He began to pull away. 

“Wait. Please.” You hadn’t intended to make him leave. You really wanted him to stay. 

“You’re right, what’s been happening between us isn’t right. We shouldn’t be doing this.” He stood from the bed and carefully stepped around your mugs. “I’ll see ya around, Doll.” Moving towards the door, he found himself stopped by you grabbing his wrist. 

“Holy fuck, will you wait a moment?” Man, he was big on running from the confrontation. 

Crosshair stopped and looked back at you. “We should end this here and now then.” 

You stared into his wonderful golden eyes. “What if I don’t want it to stop?” 

“You can’t have it both ways, Kitten.” He stepped closer to you and began to wrap his hand around your waist. “Tell me what you want. Be clear.” 

“I want you to continue to sleep next to me.”  You enjoyed sharing your bed with someone once more and even though he’d probably never admit it, he needed you. He needed you beside him to help him sleep and keep whatever bad thoughts that plagued him away. 

“That’s it?” Thank the maker you still wanted him beside you. Trying to go back to sleep without you would probably drive him insane. “Anything else?” He raised an eyebrow. “What about what happened last night?” 

“That…can’t happen again. Let’s just be two friends sharing a bed and our time. That’s all.” His hand around your waist tightened, making your head swim. 

“One last kiss? Friend?” His thumb stroked your hip. 

How the hell could you say no to him? “One more.”  He leaned down and kissed you deeply. A shiver ran through your body at the wonderful feeling. It didn’t escape you that he’d avoided the other question. For now, you’d have to take what you could get. It had been a long set of conversations and you still had a full day of chores ahead of you. You’d have to save that conversation for another day. This kiss ended and you let out a little whine. You’d miss kissing him, it was nice, but friends didn’t kiss. Friends didn’t go down on one another either. 

Crosshair released you and put a space between the two of you. “I’ll see ya, Friend.” He extended a hand to you. 

“Tonight, Friend?” You took his hand and shook it gently. When he nodded, you decided to test him on the conversation you’d just had. “Just to share the bed, right?” 

“And our time,” Crosshair remarked cheekily.

You stared deeply into his wonderful eyes. “The bed and our time, as friends.” 

“As friends.” Whispered Cross. There would be no funny business between the two of you. None at all. 

-*-

Hunter groaned and covered his ears before rolling in his bed. This was unbelievable. This was the second night in a row that you were making those noises. Second night in a row that Crosshair's name was coming from your lips in ecstasy filled cries.

This had all started over a month ago with Crosshair sneaking down to your room and now it had turned into… whatever was happening down there. He’d barely slept the night before because of the sounds and now it seemed like he wouldn’t sleep again. 

Hunter seriously hoped this wouldn’t continue to be a regular occurrence. 

-*- 

Two months! Two fucking months it had been going on! It wasn’t every night. Thank the Maker for that. But it was nearly three times a week. Hunter was fucking tired. If it wasn’t your voice keeping him up it was the smell of you following Crosshair around the inn. No matter how much Crosshair showered, the smell of you remained on him. Especially when it was a mix of you and your perfume. 

Hunter wasn’t sure what the hell was going on in your apartment but he was close to losing his damn mind over It. 

He looked around the living area where the three of them were eating and spotted Crosshair sitting at the table.     

“Crosshair.” He motioned to the Sniper. “Can I talk to you?” 

Crosshair looked up from the meal he’d been pushing around. You’d gone to Stitches’ house and for the first time in weeks, he wasn’t sure what to do. Sure you’d gone to your friend's place before but usually he’d stay in his room. Over the last two weeks, he’d spent more time out of his room than in it. Plus, you’d specifically asked him to stay in the main area this time. “What is it, Hunter?” 

“Are you screwing the innkeeper?” Better to be straightforward than beat around the bush. He could hear Echo drop his datapad and start coughing. 

“It’s none of your business.” Crosshair stood and moved to take his plate over to the sink. 

Hunter crossed his arms and frowned. “It is my business when she is in charge of the place that we’re staying in. So I’ll ask you again. Are you screwing the innkeeper?” Crosshair glared at him, so he continued. “I can hear you two. You’ve been going to her room for three and a half months now. We’ve only been here for four. So what, you couldn’t wait for us to get settled before you fucked someone? Had to lay claim to her as soon as you could?” 

“It’s not like that.” Crosshair tossed the plate into the sink with a clang and he silently hoped he didn’t break it. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

Hunter stepped towards Crosshair. “I know that I hear her cumming and saying your name. The smell of her is all over you and I can smell you on her.” 

Echo stood from the couch and walked towards the two of them. “You’re sleeping with Doll?” 

“I’m not sleeping with her!” Crosshair ran a hand across his buzzcut, the hair was slowly starting to grow back. “Not in that way.” 

“Then in what way?” Echo now stood next to Hunter staring at their brother. 

Crosshair let a long sigh out. “We just…sleep next to each other.” 

Hunter rolled his eyes. “And the sounds coming from her? I know those sounds, Cross. We all do.” 

“I’m just helping her destress.” He walked past the two of them and towards the stairs. 

“By fucking her?” The leader of the group raised an eyebrow at the sniper. 

Crosshair turned and looked at his brothers. “I’m not fucking her!” It came out in a roar. He took a deep breath to steady himself. “We haven’t fucked.” 

“Then what are you doing to her?” Echo was interested now. This was getting good. 

“Like I said. Helping her destress. She’s got a lot going on.” Cross was done with this conversation. He turned and headed up the stairs effectively ending the conversation. 

Echo let out a long whistle once Crosshair was gone. Turning, he looked at Hunter. “Think you’ll need to fill me in on what that was about.”

-*-

“Hunter knows about us.” Crosshair looked over at where you were lying on the bed. You were on your stomach with a pillow under your chin and your tablet in your hands. The nightdress you were wearing was short and stopped just below your ass teasing him. It had been nearly two weeks since he’d last tasted you, but after learning that Hunter could hear you two it made him slightly uncomfortable. 

This all started as stress relief for you. He’d meant to only do it once. You’d both agreed that you’d just be friends. But you tasted so damn good that it had turned into doing it whenever you’d let him. Which was a lot to his surprise. 

“What?” You looked over your shoulder at him. He was leaning against the headboard with his datapad in his lap. He didn’t seem too concerned with the news his fingers were still stroking the back of your calf lazily while he stared at the back door. “How?” 

Crosshair turned his head and looked at you. “He has enhanced senses, including hearing. You said you could hear me moving around in my room. It’s not hard to think it’s the same for him. With his enhanced hearing he can hear it even better.” His hand stopped stroking your leg and gripped your calf instead. “Besides, you’re not exactly quiet, Kitten.” 

You felt your cheeks flush. “He can hear all of that?” When he nodded you wanted to die. Your head fell into the pillow and you let out a little scream. This was so embarrassing! “Anything else?” 

How adorable were you? He squeezed your calf playfully. “Remember the last time I ate you out? In the morning before I went back to my room to shower?” When you nodded slowly against the pillow he smirked. “I passed Hunter on the stairs, he definitely smelled you on me.” 

You looked up from the pillow and over your shoulder at him with wide eyes. “He can smell that?” Crosshair nodded and your face fell back into the pillow.

You should have expected that this was going to happen. That one of the others would find out sooner or later about the two of you. While Crosshair had finally stopped leaving first thing in the morning the two of you had crossed the line of ‘just friends’ many, many times. It was still only him pleasuring you, but never you pleasuring him. You’d offered countless times but he always refused. 

“He can. Would say the only way he wouldn’t know is if the smell was cleaned off better than just washing my face.” You sat up and stared at him. What was with that look in your eye? 

“Why don’t you start showering here then?” Friends could do that, right? Use each other's showers? 

Crosshair stared at you slightly surprised. “I… could do that.” He tilted his head to the side. “Should we do that, friend?” 

“I think so, friend.” Just friends. It wasn’t like you were showering together. Now that would be crossing the line completely. He hadn’t seen you completely naked yet, just your lower half. “What should we do about Hunter? Besides you showering down here?” 

“Nothing.” He shrugged before settling back against the headboard. The article he had been reading on his datapad was pulled back up. “Anything we do now will just draw more attention to it. Echo isn’t fully in the loop yet so he may not suspect anything or believe Hunter.” 

“We could go back to you leaving before anyone woke up.” You frowned as you said it. Having him here when you fully woke up was nice. Sure he left soon after but it was still nice. 

The look on your face told Crosshair everything he needed to know. “We never discussed that, did we?” He placed the datapad back down. 

You shook your head. “I thought you forgot.” 

Crosshair motioned for you to come closer to him. He watched as you crawled up the bed to him. “Come here.” He patted his lap and indicated for you to lie down. It took you a moment to adjust but soon your head was in his lap with your hair splayed across his lap. “I didn’t forget.” 

“So what happened?” His fingers began to stroke through your hair making you sigh softly. Your eyes closed and your breathing relaxed. This was nice. Just relaxing with your friend and talking. 

He looked towards the windows before speaking. His nerves were starting to get to him. “I left because… I was worried you’d wake up and regret letting me sleep next to you.” There, it was finally on the table.

“Why would you think that?” You opened your eyes and looked up at him. Seeing him so lost pulled your heartstrings. “Crosshair?” You reached up and stroked his cheek. “Look at me?” When he looked down at you you smiled softly. “Why would you think that I’d regret you sleeping next to me?” 

His head tilted into your touch. “Because…” because he didn’t deserve to have someone as sweet as you lying next to him. Someone with a pure heart who cared for him for some strange reason. “Because…” he didn’t know how to answer your question. 

You could see the way he was struggling. “Never mind.” You tapped his cheek. “It’s in the past now, isn’t it? All we can do is move forward.” 

‘Move forward’. Oh, how he wished it was that easy. “I promise to explain it all to you someday.” 

“Sounds good. I’ll wait.” You nodded to him and let out a long sigh. He was still keeping stuff from you. Sure he’d been open about his time as a cadet and some points during the war. But when it came to after the war he would hesitate and then change the topic. You knew he probably had his reasons to be silent about it that time but it didn’t stop you from worrying. He’d tell you in his own time, you knew that deep down. But it still didn’t stop the pain. 

“Do you have to leave tomorrow?” You looked at him carefully. Hunter had told you earlier that the three of them would be gone for the week, heading to Ord Mantell where Chai had settled down. You were glad that your friend had found someplace to settle but you worried for Crosshair. He barely slept unless he was with you. How would he do being away for a week?

“Yeah, Rex wants to discuss something with us and it has something to do with Chai and Phee.” Crosshair stroked your hair gently knowing that this would be his last night of peaceful sleep before a long week. “Heard she opened a tea shop there.” 

You nodded. “Yeah. She says it’s going well.” You kissed your friend fiercely but knowing she was doing well helped to dull the pain. “Will you be okay?” 

Crosshair shrugged. “Should be. If I have to go a couple days without sleep then so be it.” 

“Hold on.” You sat up quickly, just barely missing hitting his forehead with yours, and moved to a drawer in your closet. 

He watched as you dug through the drawer for a moment before pulling a piece of cloth out. You then crossed the room to your dresser and grabbed one of your bottles of perfume. “What are you doing?” 

“Patience, Sniper.” You looked over your shoulder at him and winked before spraying the perfume on the handkerchief in your hand. The spray saturated the handkerchief slightly causing the fabric to become damp. Once satisfied that your perfume was sufficiently soaked into the fabric, you turned and walked back over to Crosshair. “Here” you whispered while crawling back over to him. You sat on your knees next to him and held your hand out. “I know it’s not as nice as my bed, but hopefully it’ll help.” 

Crosshair stared at the pink fabric with lace edges and your initial embroidered in the corner. The scent of your perfume danced around his head as he carefully took the handkerchief from you. “Thanks.” He curled the fabric into his hand and sighed. “This should help a lot.” 

“It’s my favorite one so bring it back, ‘kay?” You wagged your finger at him making him chuckle. Now that was a sound you enjoyed hearing. It was deep like the sea and made you feel safe and warm. These moments of hearing him laugh and smile were rare. These moments made you smile as well and you savored each one. 

He liked seeing you smile, it was always the highlight of his night. Reaching out, he grabbed your finger and held it gently. “I will. Keep my spot warm?” 

“Your spot, huh?” You slid your finger from his hand and wrapped your hand around his instead. When he nodded with that adorable smirk of his, you let out a little giggle. “I guess it kind of has become your spot, huh?” 

“Hope ya don’t mind.” He leaned forward and kissed the back of your hand. “I’ll…miss you, friend.” The handkerchief was placed into his lap before reaching up with his now free hand to brush some hair out of your face. 

You chewed your lip while staring into his cinnamon eyes. The desire to kiss him and ask him to stay was immense. But you were supposed to be friends and friends didn’t kiss. At least you didn't with any of your friends. Then again none of your friends were as attractive as Crosshair. “When do you leave?” You tried to find a way to change the topic, to pull yourself from the trance you were being pulled into.

He slid his hand down to your cheek and held it carefully. His thumb running across your bottom lip. “In the early morning. Before you wake up.” His face leaned closer to yours, perhaps he could share one kiss with you? Just as friends?

Your heart felt like it was going to burst from your chest. It was beating so quickly. “Then maybe we should stay up for as long as we can and chat or something.” His rough thumb moved against your lip sending a shiver through your body. You slid forward just a little bit and soon your lips were just centimeters away from his. 

“Or something.” He closed the distance between your lips and kissed you deeply. You whined softly against his lips while slowly rising from your knees. His hands slid around your waist as he carefully guided you into his lap. 

Knees moved to each side of his legs as you straddled his lap, lips never parting. This was wrong, friends didn’t do this. The two of you should stop while you can. You pulled away from his lips and panted. “We… we should stop.” 

He stared into your eyes wondering if you were right or not. “Do you want to stop?” 

“No.” Your hands rested on his strong shoulders. He shifted slightly and you felt them tense. “Do you?” 

Crosshair shook his head quickly. “Not in the slightest.” He leaned in and kissed you once more. 

It was like being dragged under the waves and deep into the all-encompassing embrace of the water. It was vast and powerful and warm and radiant and everything you’d ever wanted. Kissing Crosshair was amazing and you sincerely wished you’d done it sooner. This whole being friends thing was hard and unfair. Why couldn’t you two kiss all the time? His hand slid under your nightgown and gripped your ass tightly making you moan. A part of you remembered that Hunter could probably hear everything that you’d do that night but you found that you didn’t care in the slightest. 

“I want to see you tonight. All of you. Will you let me?” His hands hesitated on the hem of your nightgown.

Now this was surely passing the line between friends and into something else. There would be no going back after this, would there? How could you say you were just friends after seeing each other naked and doing whatever it would lead to?  As you tried to think of what to say, he kissed you once more. His tongue slid across your bottom lip making your head spin. Why the hell were you thinking about this when this magnificent man was kissing you? “Yes.” It was the only right answer. 

Crosshair swallowed and slowly pulled the garment up your body, gathering the soft material as he did so. He stopped just below your breast and uttered a shuddering breath. This was it. No going back. He’d see all of you and then you’d see all of him. He looked up at you and waited for you to give the go-ahead. When you nodded, he pulled the fabric higher and allowed your breast to fall free. The nightgown was pulled over your head and placed on the bed next to you both. “Yooba solus mesh’la.” The sight was so magnificent that he forgot how to speak standard.

You weren’t sure what he said or what language that was but it made you blush. You covered yourself shyly while looking away from him. Sure, the other men you’d been with had seen you naked and you weren’t usually shy about your body but for some reason you were now. “I don’t know what that means.” 

He reached up and cupped your face with both hands. Your face was turned towards his and he looked you deeply in the eyes. “It means that you’re beautiful.” 

A long breath came from you as you uncovered your body for him to see once more. You dropped your hands to his shirt and tugged it over his head in one quick movement. There were those delicious muscles again. Now that he was eating with you nearly every day he was starting to fill out. You shakily hovered your hands over his chest trying to figure out if you should touch him or not. He smirked and slowly wrapped his hands around your wrists. “It’s okay. I won’t bite.” They were gently tugged towards his chest until they rested against his pecs. 

Stars, he was so warm! You slid your hands down his chest and to his stomach before tapping your fingers against his somewhat tan skin. Hunter, Wrecker, and Omega were tan and you figured it would take time for him to get his color back. You weren’t sure what he’d gone through but you knew it was a lot. Crosshair cleared his throat drawing your attention back to him. “S-sorry.” 

“Like what ya see, Kitten?” He leaned back against the headboard and let you continue to eye him. 

You chewed your lip while nodding. “Pretty nice, Sniper.”  Leaning forward, you pressed your chest against his and shuddered at the feeling. His skin against yours felt so nice. You kissed him once more before wiggling in his lap and crawling off of him. “But I want to see more.” You rolled off the bed and quickly pulled down your panties. Screw just being friends. With the lines you’d already crossed before you’d even thought of just being friends it was inevitable that you’d get to this point, wasn’t it? 

Crosshair all but passed out at the sight of you completely nude. Sure he’d seen your pussy multiple times but seeing all of you at once was a different sight. To his surprise, he felt his nerves get to him. This would be the first time in months that someone had seen him naked. Was he ready for that? He stared at you as you crawled back onto the bed towards him. Shit, you were sexy. He got off the bed quickly and dipped his thumbs into his waistband. You sat back on your heels and stared at him with hunger in your eyes. This was it, no going back. 

He slowly pulled his pajama pants down to reveal his boxers. Already a tent was forming in the thin material and it made your mouth water. You had zero idea that your night was going to lead to this but now you were happy. A clear ‘v’ could be seen leading into his boxers making you more excited. You stared at him in anticipation of what came next but found him not moving, he was simply staring back at you as the tip of his ears began to turn red. Was he nervous? “Let me help?” 

Nodding slowly, he watched you crawl across the bed once more before stopping in front of him. “I should tell you something.” He whispered nervously. “It’s be- “ 

You raised your finger to his lips and shushed him sweetly. “I figured. It’s okay. We have all night.” Your fingers slid down his chest, gripped the top of his boxers, and held the material tightly. He audibly swallowed and you didn’t hesitate to lean forward and kiss the space below his belly button. You’d do whatever you could to calm him. “Don’t be nervous.” 

“Never nervous.” He forced a smirk at you earning one back. 

“Good. Shall we continue then?” He nodded to you and you slowly began to pull down his boxers. The material resisted slightly against his growing cock causing you to lick your lips. Oh he was going to be big, wasn’t he? You slid your hand down the waistband and over the top of his cock in an attempt to help the material over the tip of him. The boxers were pulled tight and yet they still wouldn’t pull over him. Shit, that was a great sign, wasn’t it? You slid your hand into his boxers and wrapped it around him. Carefully, you pulled him towards his stomach allowing it to slip free of his boxers. You let out a long breath at the sight of him. He was long and thick, your hand just barely wrapped around him. He groaned against your touch making the space between your legs heat up. 

Crosshair groaned as your hand gripped him. Your hand was so soft around him. He felt the cool air of the room hit him as his boxers finally fell to the floor. Now you both were bare. Your hand stroked him once and he practically crumbled to the floor. “L-like what you see?” 

“Very much.” He stood taller as you licked your lips and looked up at him. “I’m going to help you relax, ok?” You’d return the favor for all the times he’d helped you relax. Crosshair nodded to you and you smiled. Leaning forward, you kissed the tip of his cock and savored the way he shuddered. Your tongue swirled around the tip teasing him.

Crosshair whined softly as you continued to tease him. “Kitten, please.” 

You pulled away and smirked. “Oh, you sound nice when you beg.” Sitting back on your heels, you looked up at him with a wicked glint in your eye. “Do it again.” Your hand stroked him slowly making his head fall back. 

“Kitten.” He whined softly. “Please.” 

“Because you asked so nicely.” Leaning forward once more, you took his cock into your mouth and slowly worked your way down it. Your tongue lay flat underneath him. You sucked gently and a long groan left his lips. Good, he was enjoying it. Slowly, you pulled your head back and pulled your head off with a pop. 

He looked down and watched as a string of saliva trailed from your lips to the head of his cock. Shit, you were sexier than he thought possible. Crosshair reached down and took your chin in his hand. His thumb spread the saliva around your lips before he pulled his thumb up to his lips and rubbed it across his bottom lip. 

You hummed against his touch before watching him rub your spit against his lip. Why was that so hot? You leaned forward and took him back into your mouth and began to work him. Your hand twisted your hand at the base of his cock while you sucked on him and his knees actually shook. 

“I’m not going to last.” He keened as his hips began to thrust, no longer capable of just waiting for you to do all the work. 

Pulling away you winked at him. “Then cum for me, Crosshair.” Before he could even reply you were back on him and easily working him. 

Shit, he really wasn’t going to last. Sure he’d worked himself multiple times in the shower, especially after eating you out, but that didn’t compare to the feeling of you around him. Already his orgasm was building inside. Countless nights of lying next to you, your body pressed against him, had built up to this. Now you were in front of him naked and so unbelievably sexy and he just couldn’t do it. He thrust three more times into your mouth and moaned as his orgasm rolled over him. “Shit.” He hadn’t meant to cum in your mouth. He’d meant to warn you and pull out, but it felt so amazing he just couldn’t handle it. 

Crosshair looked down at you as he came down from his orgasm and found you swallowing his release. You pulled away and smiled up at him as your hand reached up and wiped away a drop of cum on your lip. He couldn’t do it anymore, he couldn’t deny the obvious signs in front of him. He was undeniably starting to fall hard for you. You were sexy and kind and caring and sexy. Wait, he’d already listed that one, hadn’t he? Crosshair steadied himself before leaning down and pulling you into a deep and heavy kiss. “Thank you.” He remarked quietly. 

“Anytime, Sniper. Anytime.” You sat back on your heels and watched him lean down and pull his boxers from around his ankles. 

The boxers were tossed to the side before he crawled onto the bed. He took your hand and led you towards the head of the bed where he motioned for you to lay down. “My turn.” He purred sweetly to you. 

“Are you sure? We can wait a bit.” You reached up and held his cheek. “I don’t mind just kissing you for the rest of the night.” He chuckled deeply and sent a rumble through your body. Fuck, you loved that chuckle. His hands wrapped around your ankles and he spread your legs for you. 

“It’s only right to reciprocate the gesture, kitten.” He laid flat on the bed and positioned his face close to your core. “Now be a good girl and hold onto the headboard. No hands this time.” 

-*-

He worked you for a solid hour before finally letting you cum. It was amazing, it always was. What that man could do with his tongue was just mind bending. The two of you spent the rest of the night talking and holding one another. You never discussed what you’d done or how you’d crossed that line, neither of you wanted to. 

You watched as the sun rose on the horizon and turned the sky red and orange. It became more and more real that he’d be leaving soon. It would only be a week, that wasn’t too long. Still, you realized something as you rested in his lap, your lips against his. You’d miss him. He’d become a part of your routine and now he wouldn’t be around. Not to mention how quiet your place would be. Sure Omega would be staying on Pabu with Stitches, but she wouldn’t be visiting every day like she usually did. 

You laid on your bed reading your tablet as he showered. Even though you’d seen each other naked, showering together was a step you two just weren’t ready to take.

Crosshair stepped out of the bathroom with the towel tight around his waist. He smirked at the sight of you on the bed with his shirt on. It wasn’t too big on you, he wasn’t a big man, but it still barely covered your bare ass. His mouth watered at the sight of you in his clothes. Maybe he had time to treat you one more time? 

“You’re starring.” You spoke without looking up from your datapad. You could feel his eyes staring straight at your ass. It’s why you’d chosen to lay on the bed like this. 

“Just admiring the view.” He walked over to the bed and ran his hand up the back of your leg before sliding against the bottom of your ass. Crosshair gripped it with a smirk. It was a nice ass 

You looked over your shoulder at him and winked. “Take a holo, it’ll last longer.” 

Crosshair released your ass and walked around the bed to his datapad. “Not a bad idea, friend. Thanks for the idea.” He raised the datapad towards you and easily took a holo. 

“Glad to be of help, friend.” You smirked at him before rolling over and sitting up. “You should probably get back up to your room soon.” 

“No point, Hunter probably heard us already.” A chuckle left his lips as he looked for his pants. 

Your cheeks flared at the mention of Hunter. “Stars, don’t remind me.” How would you face him now that you knew he knew?  You watched him pick up the handkerchief and slid it into his pocket. “Crosshair?” 

“Yeah, Kitten?” He looked at you carefully. 

“Will you be okay?” Sure you two had fun, but at the end of the day and through all the jokes and special moments, he wasn’t okay. He had trouble sleeping and though you’d never tell him, those nights when you two found your way sleepily into one another’s arms you’d feel him twitch and groan in his sleep. He’d mumble the names of people you didn’t know. Including Maydays. You worried for him during this next week. Would he be okay?

He leaned over you and caressed your cheek gently. “With this?” He patted his pocket. “I should be.” 

“I’m a call away if you ever need to talk.” You swallowed, hoping he’d kiss you one last time before leaving. 

“Will do, friend.” He kissed your cheek gently before walking towards the door. 

You chewed your lip nervously as he walked away. “Be safe, friend.” 

-*-

“So you and the innkeeper?” Echo sat next to Crosshair on the Marauder while the sniper cleaned his rifle. They didn’t know what they were heading into but his vod had said it was best to be prepared. Even if his arm wasn’t a hundred percent yet. 

Crosshair sighed as this conversation once again began. “It’s not like that.”  He didn’t want to talk about you right now. It would remind him of what he left behind. Of those nights with you curled into his chest as the two of you slept and the way his mind just seemed to calm down with you. He had the handkerchief securely in his armor in a way that your scent was constantly floating up to his nose. 

Echo put down his blaster and sat back in his seat. “Then what’s it like? Explain it to me.”  

“Well…” Crosshair looked towards the cockpit where the door was shut. On the other side was Hunter, the one person he didn’t want to discuss this with currently. Wrecker was down in the bunks on a call with his girl so it was only him and Echo. “She’s helping me through some stuff and I’m helping her.” 

“In what way? Is what Hunter said true?” The domino clone looked at Crosshair carefully. 

What was it about Echo that made Crosshair feel compelled to answer him? “She might lose the inn. Helping her work through it and destress.” 

“What? Is it us?” You were far too nice to lose the inn. 

Crosshair shook his head quickly. “Nah, that was the first thing I asked too. She said the island chipped together and covers the cost of us being there.”  He sat back. “Sounds like she’s been struggling before we even got there. Banking guild is breathing down her neck.”

“So what’s the plan?” Like hell would Echo let the woman who took them in lose her inn. 

“She doesn’t have a plan currently. Only thing she can do is sell the inn.” A topic even you were reluctant to bring up. 

Echo sighed and shook his head. “Not her, you.” 

Crosshair crossed his arms. “Why would you think I have an idea?” 

“Because you clearly care for her.” Was Crosshair going to play dumb?

“I…”  Well, did he? Did he care about you enough to have a plan to save your inn? “I mean she’s cute.” 

The pale clone smirked. “She is. Nice ass too.” 

“Hey.” Crosshair quickly snapped before realizing that Echo had been testing him. “It is a nice ass. Her rack is perfect too.” 

“I take it you've seen both?” When Crosshair didn’t reply he chuckled. “Lucky man.” Echo returned to cleaning his blaster. “So what’s the plan?” 

“I don’t know.” But he’d think of something. Seeing you sad those few times made him realize he’d never want to see that look on your face again. Something he knew he’d see if you lost the inn. 

-*-

The opportunity came to him only a few days later when Rex approached them with an opportunity he couldn’t refuse. 

“So you would help with the transportation of refugees to the next leg.” Rex stood in the upstairs kitchen of Chai’s tea shop. He’d been recruited as a member of the Path and now it was his turn to secure the next part. 

Crosshair chewed on his toothpick suspiciously. “What’s in it for us? Why should we put our lives on the line?” The last thing he needed was another run in with the Empire. 

“Besides helping those in danger of being tortured or terminated by the Empire?” Rex had to admit he was glad to see Crosshair returning to his old ways. Crosshair raised an eyebrow at him, making Rex sigh. “Our benefactors are willing to pay a hefty sum for each shipment that successfully makes it to the next leg.” 

“How often?” Hunter stepped away from the wall he’d been leaning against. “They run our chain code enough times they’ll notice a trend.” 

“Your team would be doing it every two to four weeks. You’d rendezvous with Howzer and the others at one of our bases to swap out ships and pose as merchants.” Rex passed Hunter his datapad with the sum on it. 

“Why us, Rex?” Echo had to admit that he was excited to get back to helping those in need. Simply sitting around waiting for something to do just didn’t work for him. He wasn’t ready to retire. 

Rex looked at the Arc trooper with a raised eyebrow. “Why not? You’re the best stealth squad out there.” 

Well, he had a point, didn’t he? “Well, I’m in.” 

“Glad to have you on board, Echo. What about the rest of you?” The former Captain looked at the others. 

Wrecker put the bag of Mantel mix he was munching on down. “I’m in.” He’d let Stitches know later and hopefully, she wouldn’t be too upset. 

“Count me in as well.” Hunter stepped forward and extended his hand to Rex who took it and shook it. 

All eyes turned to Crosshair who mulled the thought over in his head. He took the datapad and looked over the offer. With it split four ways it would be more than enough to help you out.  It would take him a couple of trips to build up enough credits but he was sure he could make this work. “I’m in.” 

-*-

“Crosshair? Are you okay?” You sleepily blinked at the bright light of your datapad. What time was it? 

“Thanks to this” he held up the handkerchief. “I am. Been helping me sleep pretty well. What about you?” 

You let out a short yawn and sleepily rubbed your eyes. “Well, I was sleeping until a certain Sniper called and woke me up.” Checking the clock next to your bed, you groaned. It was late. You’d only just fallen asleep. The empty inn was weird to you after having company for so long and so falling asleep was harder than expected. “What’s going on?” 

He’d called to tell you that you no longer had anything to worry about when it came to the end but seeing you so tired made him second-guess himself. “Just wanted to let ya know that we’ll be on our way back tomorrow.” 

“Mmm, that’s good.” You yawned once more before rolling onto your stomach and propping the tablet against the headboard. You closed your eyes and snuggled into the pillow. “Omega’s missed you guys a lot. Been over almost every day.” 

“Glad to see the kid’s not bored.” He could see how tired you were. “Get some sleep, Kitten. We’ll be back soon.” 

“Mmmm, Okay. Sweet dreams, Crosshair.” You opened your eyes and smiled sweetly at him. “I’ll see you soon.” 

The call disconnected and Crosshair stared at the screen. It had been a rough few days when it came to his sleep. Nightmares plagued him. The only thing that would chase them away was your handkerchief. He knew when he dropped it in his sleep because the sweet dreams of the two of you laying in your bed would change to something horrible. Sadly, the smell was slowly fading and he knew it meant worse nightmares. 

“Talking to your girl?” Echo smirked from the doorway. They’d been staying in the rooms above the tea shop for the last few days. It was a lot better than sleeping in bunks on the ship. 

Crosshair sighed and tossed his datapad on the bed. “She’s not my girl.” 

“Oh, right. She’s just the girl you sleep with nearly every night and do… stress relief with.” He wiggled his eyebrows at the Sniper. 

“Shut it, reg.” Crosshair would tell you later about the credits. It would be a nice surprise. Seeing that smile on your face as he handed you the credits would be amazing. 

-*-

Two months came and went in a blur for everyone involved. Life with Crosshair returned to normal for the two of you after his return. 

His first night back he didn’t even try to hide his desire to be next to you. At dinner, he sat close to you and placed his hand on your thigh. You both ate quickly before retiring to the patio. He sat next to you out there and watched the sunset before going to his room. An hour later he was at the door to your apartment. 

You let him in instantly, not caring that Hunter and Echo were just outside on the patio. You’d deal with the whispers and stares later. For now, you just wanted him back in your bed. It was wild to you that a man you’d only known for a few months was now an important part of your sleeping routine.

That night the two of you simply talked with you curled into his chest. His fingers stroked your back and he told you as much as he could about the trip. The Path and their hand in it was confidential and would put those a part of it in danger. The last thing he wanted was to put you in the Empire's path. 

He still didn’t open up to you during those two months, not really in the ways you hoped. He told you more about some of the missions they’d done during the war, how Echo was saved, and how they fought side by side with the Jedi. He told you more about one of the Jedi they’d worked with. Someone named Anakin Skywalker. Crosshair described him as one of the craziest Jedi they’d ever worked with but you could see in his eyes that he’d enjoyed that time. 

Crosshair never mentioned the credits to you, he wanted to build up his savings and give it to you as a surprise. He wanted to give you everything. A thought he hadn’t expected one night as you slept soundly with your head on his chest. He was lucky, wasn’t he, to have a woman as caring and beautiful as you in his life. He’d been through a lot lately. He didn’t trust easily anymore and was plagued with nightmares. But you, you helped him when he was at his lowest and pulled him from those depths. He wasn’t normal, he wouldn’t be until he fully opened up to you. But it was a start for him. 

Things had been going so well that he decided to finally tell you about the credits. 

“Ya busy tonight?” He sat on the edge of the bed and watched as you picked out a dress to wear in nothing but a strapless bra and matching panties. 

“Just the usual. Dinner with a secret Jedi, desert with the Emperor and then sleeping with Hunter.” You picked up a mint green dress that tied on the shoulders and flowed to the floor. Holding it to your body, you turned and showed it to him to get his input. Just a normal part of being friends. 

“Not funny,” Crosshair spoke flatly before you turned around. Oh, he liked that dress. The tight bodice on top added to the flowing effect. The knowledge he never expected to have before meeting you. Now he knew far more about dresses and shoes than he expected. “That one with the cream shoes you wore last week?” 

“I don’t know, I thought it was funny.” You pulled on the dress before tying the straps into neat bows. “You think those shoes would work?” Turning back into your closet, you dug around until you found the heels he mentioned and pulled them on. Walking over to the mirror, you turned and checked yourself for a moment before nodding. He was right, it did look good. “I’m free, of course. Why?” 

He watched you walk across the room to your vanity. “I was wondering if you’d have dinner with me tonight?” 

You smiled at him in the reflection of the mirror. “Always do, silly.” You ran the brush through your hair easily as you tried to figure out what to do with it. 

Crosshair cleared his throat as he watched you. “No, I meant just us. In the garden.” He thumbed over his shoulder to your private garden. “There's something I want to talk to you about.” 

Oh. Oh! Was he asking you on a date? “I…” you’d made that deal with yourself about dating a guest. But… How could you say no to him? Especially when he looked at you like that with those beautiful brown eyes? “Yeah, sounds nice.” You couldn’t hide the excited smile on your lips as you watched him smile as well. Opting to leave your hair down, you stood and walked over to him. “How do I look?” 

“Beautiful.” He stood and took your hand in his. Raising it to his lips, he placed a gentle kiss against it. “Until tonight then.” 

“Until tonight.” You whispered. 

-*-

You stared out the window at the storm raging outside. He was supposed to be back an hour ago from Stitches’ for your date. Had he changed his mind about it? You chewed your lip in worry as lightning cracked across the sky. Hunter was also still gone. Something must have happened. The invitation to them from Stitches’ had been sudden and it was mentioned that something needed to be discussed. But he’d promised to be back in time for your date. Was everything okay? Were they leaving again? 

A sound behind you drew your attention and you quickly turned to face the door. The dress twirled around you dramatically as you waited to see him walk in. You had decided against changing, instead opting to stay in the outfit he’d picked out for you. “Cross-“. Your voice cut out as an unwelcome face stepped through your front door. 

-*-

Crosshair walked silently down the path towards the inn. His body was soaked from the rain but he didn’t care.

Tech was alive.

He couldn’t believe it. Months of guilt and shame finally coming to a head. Alive. He just couldn’t fathom it. But then the rest had been spoken and he felt the air leave his lungs. Amnesia. Tech only remembered up until Echo had joined them. He didn’t remember Order 66, the fall of the Republic, and rise of the Empire. How Crosshair had betrayed them and how they’d left him on Kamino. 

Crosshair didn’t know if any of this was a good thing or a bad thing for him. For Chai, it was the worst possible thing that could happen. He felt for the woman. To care deeply for someone you’d lost just for them to come back with no memory? It was worse than them being dead. The woman was handling it all surprisingly well all things considered, maybe she was just numb? 

It had all come to a head when the worst possible thing that could happen, happened. 

Omega had overheard them. 

The child ran into the storm in desperation to get away from them all. In the process of all of them chasing her down, Stitches had sprained her ankle and there was a strong chance one of them was sick after being in the wind and rain. 

Thoughts raced through his mind as he tried to make sense of everything. His vod was alive. What should he say to him the next time he was in Ord Mantell? ‘I’m sorry?’ How would he explain the reasoning behind the apology? How did he tell Tech about anything that had transpired between them? 

The guilt began to weigh him down and he stopped walking just down the street from the inn. He could see the lights in the darkness and smoke billowing from the chimney. Inside you were no doubt waiting for him. Waiting to wrap him in your arms and feed him a warm dinner. You’d tell him about your day and he’d fill you in on what happened. The two of you would lay in bed talking until someone fell asleep, usually her. 

“Shit.” Realization dawned on Crosshair. He’d made a date with you for tonight. With everything that had happened, he’d completely forgotten about it. 

Crosshair ran down the path to the inn in an instant. He was late. How could he have forgotten about it? How would he make it up to you? Hopefully, the news about the credits to save the inn would help make up for being late.

You were a smart and understanding person. Surely you’d forgive him for being late. 

The door opened with a woosh and he quickly ran in. “Doll! I’m so sor-“ he froze as you stood in front of another man. You were still in the dress he’d picked out for you. Maker, you were beautiful. But who the hell was this? 

“Crosshair.” You stared at the soaked clone. “I’m glad you're back, there’s someone I’d like you to meet. You motioned to the man in front of you. “This is Jax.” Your ex. “He’s here to survey the inn.” 

“Why?” Crosshair walked across the room to shake Jax’s hand, a trail of water being left behind him. He didn’t like the look of this man, something was off. 

“It’s simple. I'm here to buy the inn.”

Tag list:

@rndmpeep @sarahskywalker-amadala @queenariesofnarnia @idoubleswearimawriter @bambambunny @ravenclawbitch426 @jupitersaturnapollo @mzjakao @heylosers06 @dangraccoon @impala1967666 @andrakass2 @ducks118 @motte-the-goblin @rintheemolion @merkitty49 @jediknightjana @onyxtides @moon-wrecked @mssbridgerton @griffedeloup @masterjedilenawrites

[desire-mona]

dps boys hcs! this has been requested of me! lets make it modern bc thatll be fun

- todd absolutely DESPISES "booktok" and its addiction to smut. can go on a VERY long rant abt how only reading things with sex scenes is, in fact, a porn addiction.

- knox has tried on many occasions to become an influencer, failing every single time and blaming it on the algorithm or whaver

- neil, type of mother fucker to not be on social media like at all. has one private instagram that he posts on maybe twice a year, and has a tiktok only to watch the videos todd intermittently sends him.

- ^^^ followed immediately by a text saying "i sent you a tiktok go look at it" which always sparks a mini argument about whether or not its easier to just save the video and text it to him. goes nowhere every time.

- meeks has fashion taste that makes him look insufferable, band tee's and the worst jeans you ever did see, exclusively. also modern meeks would have clear glasses frames.

- saw someone say charlie would vape, id like to add to that. has a COLLECTION of elf bars, its vast, its colourful, it's annoying, it's turning his coughs wet.

- pitts was a fast fashion guy for a total of 6 months before finding out all the shit about how unethical the industry is. didnt get rid of any of those clothes bc thats wasteful but he IS fighting for his life whenever anyone looks at his wardrobe.

- cameron is a BIG analog horror fan, local 58, walten files, fnaf tapes, thats his jam. can we popularise cam being a big horror fan in general bc im so attached to that hc. horror cam i love u.

- all the boys have a life360 circle (enforced by cam and pitts due to charlie's horrendous reckless driving) and todd CONSTANTLY needs to be yelled at the charge his phone.

- neil's phone is ANCIENT, had the same one for nearly a decade, and its evident. has a bigass crack right down the middle, the back is shattered and held together with tape, a phone case, and a dream. theres marks from shit burning into the screen, most notably a rectangle in the bottom corner from the billions of facetime calls with todd that ultimately set his phone on fire every time.

- todd is secretly a grade A yapper but ONLY in digital form. his online presence is VAST, but impressively anonymous. has a very active substack, letterboxd, poetry tumblr, and even started his own blog. no, not a tumblr blog, a blog blog.

- charlie's car is decked out in the most idiotic add ons that you can think of. comically large mirror dice, a bumper sticker that says "honk if you want me bad", stupid car door lights that project a photo of jimmy fallon onto the ground when u open them, the whole 9 yards. took neil, pitts, and cameron 20 minutes to talk him out of getting flame decals (as a bit.)

- knox refuses to play any other videogame besides GTA, which he plays concerningly often. if ur having trouble reaching him then odds are hes on GTA. its the only hobby of his that his parents know about. christmas is tough for the overstreets.

- meeks is well aware of his general ☝️🤓 demeanour so he started making jokes about it before anyone else can. any time he says anything remotely smart sounding then he MUST do the voice and put up a finger. it became a force of habit and he did it while talking to a teacher once, he left the room mortified.

- pittsie lives on spotify, he has a playlist for every possible emotion, over 3k liked songs, and 200k+ minutes listened when wrapped season rolls around. additionally he does every spotify stat game available, and forced the boys to download a spotify activity widget thing. (WHAT DO YALL KNOW ABT AIRBUDS ‼️‼️ add me @ monahatesya xoxo)

- cam loves to make jokes about DARE and the "this is ur brain on drugs" ads but he is, in fact, the main demographic of said ads. said this before, saying it now, will most definitely say it again, he is beyond susceptible to peer pressure. marijuana isnt a gateway drug for everyone but it certainly is for him.

bonus! chris and keating! just for you!

- chris is avoiding the lesbian masterdoc purely out of fear. not out of fear of being gay, but out of fear of the sheer amount of subsequent other things she'll likely also have to find out about herself.

- keating spends an inordinate amount of time on youtube, which nobody actually expects. big video essay fan, imagine the shock from the boys when he pulls up youtube for a lesson and he's halfway thru the 4 hour iBinged iCarly video. was previously a james somerton fan but considering... the james somerton part.. hes now a defunctland loyalist.

[aidaronan]

64 for the spotify wrapped/steddie ficlet thing💕💕💕

So I guess I mixed up these two numbers and you should've gotten the Scary Kids song I used for this fill yesterday lmao So I'm actually giving you #24 because.. oops? At least I managed to actually do a ficlet this time. 64 24 Bad Omens - Death of Peace of Mind

You're in the Walls That I've Made

Tags & Warnings: Angst, spice, angst with a hopeful ending Memories come to him in dreams that won’t let go. Dreams of milky skin slick with sweat, of bodies moving together in the heat, in the cold, in every season between. Teeth sinking into skin, hands tangling in hair and tugging rough. When Eddie wakes up, he swears he can taste Steve on his lips, that he can smell his scent clinging to the pillows, that he can almost imagine that exact way he felt around him. Inside him. Beside him. Fuck, it haunts Eddie all these months later, that he had that hand in his and dared for a fucking second to let it go. But he did. Stumbling barefoot into the kitchen, he rewinds the tape in the answering machine propped up on a stack of unpacked boxes. He listens to the only saved messages. “So it’s about three in the morning and I can’t sleep,” Steve says, voice distorted by phone lines and countless replays. “I told you to go, and I love you and I… I want you to go is the thing. I want you to get out, and I want the whole world to know Eddie Munson can shred or whatever. I want you to be happy, fuck, Eds. I do. But…” There’s a long pause that drags on, filled only by dead air and the quiet mechanical sound of the reels spinning. “But I-” Then the beep of the message cutting off. Eddie counts the seconds before the next message starts. He could mouth along to every word now, match every little rise and fall in Steve’s voice. Every frantic syllable. “I don’t know how to… I want you to go, but I also want to nail your feet to the goddamned floor, you know? Eddie, I can’t. I can’t— ” Steve chokes on his words. “I guess it’s three in the morning so I can pretend it was sleep deprivation or whatever that made me say something so selfish right now but…” Another pause. Click, click, whir. An inhale Eddie can hear even on the tinny tape. When Steve says the last three words, his voice is raspy and soft and worn.

“But don’t go.” The tape beeps again. There’s nothing new after that. Then again, there wouldn’t be. Eddie hasn’t had the phone lines hooked up yet in house he’s been building, the house with room for two. He does have electric though, at least in the kitchen. Which means he can make coffee while he thinks about the dreams. And he can lean against the unpainted cabinets and sip the coffee during the small window he has before all the contractors show up. He can also let his hand slip into his pajama pants while he stares at the framing of a half-wall leading into the living room, can close his eyes and remember counting the beauty marks on Steve’s back while he plunged into him over and over again, while he held Steve’s hips and watched the sweat ruin his perfect hair. Fucking stupid. That’s always how Eddie feels after he comes. Fucking stupid that he left. Fucking stupid that he hasn’t called, that he hasn’t told Steve he haunts him like a ghost, that he’s building this house with walls that can hold him too. Eddie wipes himself clean with a kitchen towel and scrubs a hand over his face, feeling the scarring on his jawline—proof that he can be brave. He just wishes he could remember fucking how. He changes clothes and plays the messages again, unpacking one of the boxes, putting a slew of pictures into actual honest-to-God frames. There's a picture of Eddie and Corroded before they split—half to college, half to Cali to form a new band that would eventually get Eddie build-a-house money.

There's a nice prom night 8x10 of Eddie and Chrissy after Supergirl somehow literally pulled her back from the grave. There's the Hellfire Club too in all it's 1986 glory.

Eddie fills frame after frame with memories old and new. But he saves the big collage frame for last, saves all the pictures he’d bought it for so he can put off the way they'll make him feel, so he can savor them at the same time. Even holding them tastes bittersweet on the back of his tongue.

They're all Steve. Group shots, Polaroids, photo strips from the mall. Some are with the kids, some are with the girls or the whole crew. The one Eddie fits into the slot dead center though? That’s just the two of them, casual enough Eddie won’t have to pay off any of the construction crew, or so it looks anyway. Because as casual and just-friends as he and Steve seem to be in the photo, they'd had their hands in each others' pockets behind their backs, arms crisscrossed, skin warm where they'd touched. The tip of his thumb aching, Eddie finishes bending all the little metal tabs that hold on the back of the frame, realizing as soon as it's done that he’s put the whole damn thing back together upside-down. It startles a wet laugh out of him, breaking open an ache that has never left his chest.

An ache that spills and spills, bottomless, gnawing, maddening. It takes the sharp edges of his car keys digging into his palm for him to realize he’s grabbed them. It’s a mile or so to the nearest payphone. His tires squeal on the pavement. His brain squeals in his skull. Hands shaking, he drops half his change onto the concrete, but he knows the goddamned number by heart. He dials it perfectly.

Ring.

Ring. “Hello,” Steve says, and Eddie feels like he’s been punched in the gut. For several long seconds, he thinks he might not be able to talk after all, that he got this far only to fumble it in the end. His tongue feels two sizes to large. His throat too small.

"Hello?"

Eddie sucks in a breath and squeezes his eyes shut, summoning the Eddie who once faced the hoard, who chose to die and lived. Who chose to die and loved.

When he speaks, it feels like he's trying to use muscles he hasn't used in centuries, coaxing them back into motion so he can rasp out a single sound, swift as a spear slicing through the night: “Steve.”

[snoopysfriendwoodstock]

I’m on season 7 of vpr and I need to know your thoughts on each core cast member bc this is peak television akshdaksbsk

oh i am soooo qualified for this

jax - demon from hell sent to earth to terrorize the women of west hollywood. EVIL man. should be in prison unless he’s filming for bravo. understands tv better than anyone on earth.

stassi - i’m a stassi apologist sorry. she was made for reality tv and she is often very witty and funny in her observations. she is one of the meanest people alive but she often was villainized despite being the victim in the situation (kristen and katie ganged up on her often in the first few seasons). kristen and her should not be getting a redemption arc while faith has been cut out from all narratives. she hates scheana the appropriate amount.

kristen - it’s insane that scandoval made us all so crazy that for a moment people thought maybe kristen was right the whole time and tom made her LOOK crazy. this woman lives in a different reality than the rest of the world. her chain smoking in the sur alley lives forever. she has not been right about a single thing in her life but she never stops trying and that’s something. if you have not listened to the celebrity memoir bookclub episode abt her book PLEASE listen

katie - i’ve always loved her because she’s not afraid to look like shit on tv. she’s always trying the wrong thing with her hair up until now. i cannot believe her friends let her get married to tom schwartz she should have never talked to them again. i love a woman who is just sort of deeply miserable to be around

ariana - when can we admit ariana was painfully boring for 8 straight seasons of this show up until scandoval? just smug for no reason with no real accomplishments to show for it. you are not better than the people on the reality show you are also on. however, she won me over with her scandoval performance and i am so impressed with her ability to STILL be turning it into job opportunities. I love how mad it makes everyone else

scheana - i hate her but truly am forever grateful she ended up on my tv. good as gold has been featured on my Spotify wrapped multiple times. god bless her she is so delusional in a way she invented that no one else can really replicate. it would be admirable if it wasn’t so sad the way she just keeps putting herself in embarrassing situations thinking somehow she’ll win this one. i have made so many people watch her what i like performance

lala - people who claim to like her are lying. she is stassi with no charm, no charisma, no sense of humor, no manipulation skills, no ANYTHING. just mean and nasty and jealous. and i’m supposed to care? i want her out of a job so bad

brittany- she made her bed and is lying in it i’m sorry. watching jax on tv, going through all that, MARRYING him and bringing a child w his dna into the world? i hope the reality tv fame was worth it

tom sandoval - he is only straight because that way he can hurt as many women as possible. so confident and so talentless. unfortunately behind many of the most iconic moments

tom schwartz - MORE EVIL THAN SANDOVAL AND I’LL SAY IT. he’s more evil bc somehow no one noticed he’s evil but katie? just a nasty man child who never deserved a beautiful girl… so pathetic i cannot believe how much he has failed upward. he couldn’t even bartend at sur. JAX could bartend at sur,

james - evil evil evil. bravo is covering something very sinister up with him and i really think that. being a dj is strike one.

[alittlebitofsainz]

Right, I need some help deciding what to post next!!!

I love writing / creating on here but I need a lil inspiration as to what people want to see next; I’ve got a few options either in the works or completed, so please read and vote below what you’d rather see!

(1) a carlos x reader angsty piece based on the lyric ‘then you’re evasive on the phone til you’re sorry on the floor’ - half complete

(2) a daniel x reader angsty piece (I’ve got a theme here) based on stick season by noah kahan - completed and a sequel to this

(3) a lando x reader smau based on the just friends series - half complete and a sequel to this

(4) a lando x reader angsty piece (SHOCKER) based on the lyric ‘you might think I’m bulletproof but I’m not’ - not started

(5) a carlos x reader angsty piece based on the song vampire by olivia rodrigo - not started

(6) a charles x reader fluffy piece based on the lyric ‘you called me angel for the first time and my heart leapt from me’ - not started

(7) a lando x reader hurt/comfort piece based on reckless driving by lizzy mcalpine (basically about a crash) - not started

(8) anything else from the spotify wrapped collection! just let me know in the comments

thank you so much for helping me out!!!🫶🏼

[jungwonie-bae]

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ A love story between us ♪。·*. (teaser)

Sunghoon x fem!reader , reader is working in high school, reader is referred as she

genre- fluff, love at first sight trope, strangers to lovers,

word count- 0.7k 【705 words】 (real one maybe 5-6k words)

warnings- (this is not really a warning, but the season is winter) I’m so sorry, but more grammatical errors 😭

a/n- this is a little drabble for you guys yay and it might take a while

.˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥

7:02 am.

Today was the weekend, and the cafe was quiet. You’ve already cleaned and wiped all the tables, and started the coffee machines. Today was going to be another busy day. The cafe always opens at 7:30 sharp, so you had enough time to grab the new stack of cups, and get the register ready.

your only coworker, beomgyu, always came a bit late, but got to work right away. The bell rings as he walks in, and the two of you greet one another.

As you put on your apron, you scroll on your phone to play a calming playlist on Spotify. Beomgyu puts his apron on, and opens the window for the early morning breeze to flow through.

As the bell chimes, your boss walks in. He greets the both of you, and walks into his office. You run to the door, and turn the sign, the red ink “closed” written, was now turned into “open.”

You then go back into your place as the cashier. A few minutes later, your regular customers come in.

they are quick to go, ordering and paying quickly as well.

A bit later, a group of 3 guys walk in, chatting with one another happily. While they are ordering drinks, you feel someone’s gaze as you get their orders down. You look up, and- you feel like you’ve just seen the prettiest person in your life. Time seems to slow down.

you stare at him for a few seconds, before snapping out of it to tell beomgyu their orders. Turning back to them, (the person who is ordering for the group,) you almost forgot their name.

“and what’s your name?” You ask politely.

“sunghoon, s-u-n-g-h-o-o-n,” he says, the last part of the sentence a bit mumbled. You nod, and type his name down to print onto the sticker on the cup.

you smile at him, “your order is going to be ready in a few minutes. Is this a to go, or are you staying in?”

he looks over at his friends, and they all say their staying. You nod, and they go sit down. You smile to yourself, and hurriedly make their drinks. You put a little extra love into sunghoon’s, and cap it.

beomgyu finishes the other half of the drinks. “Order for sunghoon!” You shout. He comes up to you, and grabs the drinks quickly. While he brings it over to his table, his friends tease him about something. He smiles at their antics.

Heeseung whispers, “someone has a little crush. Let’s come back here tomorrow~” Jake nods at him, and grins. Sunghoon doesn’t notice the two.

meanwhile, you were busy hoping he will come back.

.˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥

The next day, you see the familiar face once again. But today, he was alone. The name you learned from him yesterday, sunghoon, was pretty awkward trying to order his drink.

you can see he is shy, because he’s hiding his face into his scarf. Cute, you think. His order is a to-go, much to your disappointment. You make his drink as you and beomgyu switch places, now beomgyu being the cashier.

you call out sunghoons name, but this time, you write your number onto his cup. You draw a little smiley face next to your digits, and smile to yourself. I hope he texts me, you smile.

—

as sunghoon grabs his cup, he smiles at you, but stops in his tracks on his way out. She wrote her number. Wait.. she wrote her number!?! He stops himself from squealing since he was already grinning like an idiot. He was definitely going to text you later.

He hurried home to his dorm, and immediately told his friends. “See, I knew she was into you!” Jake playfully punched sunghoons arm, while wrapping his other around his shoulders.

sunghoon grins, but his smile drops soon after. “But.. how do I start the conversation..? I don’t have any experience in this..”

Jake slowly turns his head and looks at the sulking male beside him. “Are you for real..?” Sunghoon nods. “Dude! You’re an absolute loser for this! How have you not had any girlfriends with that face of yours?!?”

Sunghoon doesn’t know what to do. Will jake help him?