#if i get any information wrong i apologize and please tell me

[unhingedexperimenter]

"Yeah, I know. Who would've thought?" Henry definitely wasn't happy with learning that information at all. "Oh, that poor boy. No wonder he copes in such a way. To have a father like that man." Henry shook his head at that. Dr.Two-Brains was surprised by how his boyfriend reacted to finally getting the picture. The villain quickly apologized to the poor employee and finished ordering their food. Henry was now in deep thought about his student. It didn't take very long for them to receive their food. Dr.Two-Brains paid for it, and they left for the villain's warehouse. "Shockingly, the kid is still much better than Calvin. That's for sure. He might be a pain in the neck, but he's nowhere as insufferable as Calvin. The only reason I can't stand him is pretty much because he kept flirting with my daughter when she's WordGirl." The mad scientist huffed. "He actually makes an effort to get along with others unlike that prick. I'm shocked that he actually listens to you. You have a knack for making an impact on others." Henry really wanted to help the kid now. Perhaps find another way to direct his anger and frustration through other means. They just about arrived at Dr.Two-Brains when Henry spoke up. "Dearest, you said that you needed to speak with me about Lucian. What was it that you had to bring me here to speak about?" The mad scientist's eyebrows furrowed at the question. "You'll need to be seated inside the warehouse when I do tell you. It's not something you'll want to hear or believe, but please. Trust us." That made the teacher's stomach twist up. It must be something really serious. Dr.Two-Brains parked, and they got into the lair where the four were waiting for them. Alan was with Hugh, holding onto his hand. They all looked grim and angry. Hugh still looked quite shaken up from the counter. "He's here with me, guys. Henry, please sit on the couch." It didn't take Dr.Two-Brains to tell him twice to do as told. Henry seated himself upon the couch. They all exchanged knowing glances, which only fed into the dread the teacher had been feeling. Dr.Two-Brains sat beside him as the others surrounded them. "What about Lucian? Did he do something?" This made Hugh frown, avoiding Henry's gaze. "Something like that, yeah. Last night, Hugh was alone at his apartment while Alan was out making his rounds about the city. During that time, Lucian showed up at Hugh's door. He wanted someone back from him. While Lucian did, in fact, receive said item back. He had noticed Hugh tampered with it. Lucian wasn't very happy with that." This made Henry more curious by the moment. What did Lucian want? Tamper with what exactly? "Lucian tried to force information out of Hugh with violence. If Alan hadn't shown up, our friend would've been hurt from it. The item that Lucian wanted back from Hugh was HJ7, your formula. He claimed that Robert sent him to fetch it. Hugh also said he felt the same wrong feeling coming from him, yet much worse. It was much more intense. He wasn't happy to see Hugh take some of the formula from the vial Robert left. We don't think Robert is a bad person, no. We're not saying that at all. He might not have any say in any of this. I'm so sorry, love. We believe that Lucian is Robert's version of Hyde.” Henry's face was drained of color, his blood ran cold at what his boyfriend revealed. Not only confirming that Robert did in fact ingest his formula but had been continuing to do so. As well as knowing that Lucian had attacked an innocent person because of the formula. That means Robert's counterpart was willing to resort to violence. Did this mean Robert was repressing a violent nature of some sort? He hated to think of it. “Robert…and Lucian are like Hyde and I?” His tone was confused. “I'm afraid so, Henry. I'm so sorry. I wanted to tell you gently. You deserve to know what we found out. While Robert himself might not be a threat, Lucian has made it clear that he was one. We didn't want to spring this on you so soon but you need to know.” Hugh spoke up. “He wanted to keep the formula a secret from you so badly.”

@thecountoflondonfansite

Henry felt devastated for his oldest friend. "That's absolutely horrible. I can't possibly imagine what Robert is going through. Even though he had issues with his father, this would no doubt affect him greatly.” His heart ached for Robert. Having lost his father due to a murder. Who could've done that? Was it the same person who attempted to kill Mr. Danvers Carew with the fire which Hyde got framed for? “You said it seemed personal. Why do you say that, old friend?” The lawyer took a moment to answer. “The murder was grisly and there wasn't anything stolen from the crime scene. It sounded more than just a robbery gone wrong. If it was truly that, expensive items would've been missing yet it all remained. I'm honestly shocked that Robert never told you. You two were always so close. Practically inseparable from college.” Henry looked visibly uncomfortable and solemn due to what his friend had said. “Thank you for telling me this. I do hope Robert will tell me about this on his own time. I won't force him or rush him.” Gabriel nodded at that. “Are you going to tell him?” The teacher seemed hesitant to answer that. “I will, once he has his own problems sorted. I would rather not add onto his problems with my own.” While it was true, Henry also didn't want to make things more complicated for Robert. He knew that his best friend had HJ7 and possibly could have ingested it. Leading to his own soul being split. It would only stress him out which could lead to his possible version of Hyde to get better control over him. It would only serve as ammo Robert's counterpart could use against him. “That is quite understandable. You two have been through a lot. Also considering the incident with your former employee. Mr. Hyde. It's been so stressful for both of you.” Hyde felt nervous whenever Gabriel would mention him. It felt like he could so easily uncover who he truly was to Henry. It was why he never appeared around him either. It's not that they didn't trust him. Not at all. As crazy as Hyde thought he was, he didn't want to possibly lose a friend he technically never met. He actually liked Gabriel and knew that the lies Henry kept would hurt the man deeply. It was a shared fear between Henry and Edward. “Thank you for understanding that, Gabriel. Also thank you for helping me.” Gabriel offered him a warm smile. “Of course. I would do anything for my dearest friends.” It troubled Henry. Why didn't Robert say anything about his father? Yet again, Robert did keep it a secret that he had a vial of HJ7 too. Becky looked confused, she had known about the murder of Dr. Lanyons father before he did. She was sure he would've known. Before the young girl could think about it further, she heard a voice calling for her. It was her uncle's voice. She listened to him calling, luckily Gabriel was too occupied with Henry to notice that. She went over to her father and tugged at his sleeve. Making Dr.Two-Brains lean over so she could whisper into his ear. “Dad, Uncle Alan is calling me. It sounds really urgent, I'll be back as soon as possible.” The mad scientist seemed reluctant to let her leave but nodded. “Alright, please don't take too long. Be careful.” With that said, Becky left. The moment she was alone, checking to make sure it was safe, Becky transformed and flew straight to Alan's and Hugh's apartment. She wondered why he called for her instead of going there himself. It must've been something serious. When she arrived, Becky went to the apartment she knew they resided in. Giving the door a couple of knocks before it was answered by Alan. Behind him were the other three of the four. “Uncle Alan? What are the others doing here?” His expression remained stoic. “We wanted to tell you something. We need you to tell your dad to turn his phone on. We have urgent information to tell him. Something has happened. We need to tell him what as well as the information we gained from it.”

Becky looked alarmed at what her uncle had just said. "Does it have something to do with Dr. Barriton?" Becky inquired as she remembered her dad telling her about the blonde scientist. Becky never really met him since the guy was fired when she was a baby. Her dad did describe him as an absolute narcissus and prick who was Athena's cousin. Becky didn't hold it against anyone to be related to that psycho woman since her twin brother Eris was a good person. She held the man's character and lack of morals against him. Alan shook his head. "No, it wasn't Calvin. Have you heard any of the adults speak of a Lucian Bennett?" Alan asked his niece. Becky pondered the question a bit and shook her head. "Not really, no." She answered. "Who is he?" The four looked at each other, not really sure how to explain. Hugh decided to speak about the man and his encounter to a degree. "We are not entirely sure who Lucian is as a person, but we know he is like Edward Hyde. By that, I mean he is the counterpart of someone who took the HJ7 formula." Becky's eyes widened at Hugh's explanation. There was someone out there who had their own Mr. Hyde! "Does Dr. Jekyll know about Lucian?" Becky asked in an urgent tone. The others gave a nod. "Yeah, he is aware of Lucian. He is also aware of the man having his own variation of the HJ7 formula though he isn't entirely sure how it is possible." Jenkins explained. "Listen, Becky. We really need to get in touch with your dad. It's difficult to explain but Lucian had nearly gotten physical with Hugh. We need to tell your dad what we know and what happened. Alan couldn't fly to Henry's house since it would have caused some alarm and we know the others are still recovering from Athena's attack. That is why he contacted you." Patricia explained in a serious tone. Becky nodded as she understood the gravity of the situation. "Okay, I'll get my dad." The heroine then took off back to Dr. Jekyll's apartment. "Where did your daughter run off too?" Gabriel asked. "Oh, she remembered she had to go outside and call her uncle Alan and let him know she couldn't spend the night at his and Hugh's home this Friday since personal things came up." Dr Two Brains quickly explained. Utterson looked surprised at the response. "She had to take her phone call outside." The lawyer exclaimed with a slightly suspicious tone. Two Brains internally panicked. 'Why can't this guy be as dumb as the rest of the civilians in this city.' "Oh well it was special bonding family thing they had this weekend though Becky is no longer feeling up to it. She and her uncle Alan have unique traditions that are not meant for other ears to hear. It shouldn't take to long for Becky to speak with Alan." Two Brains exclaimed. Henry seemed to catch onto the hidden meaning of his boyfriends' words and decided to help cover for him. "It's a strange but endearing characteristic that my boyfriend's family has. They like to keep their personal businesses private, even if it is just regular, family matters." Henry added. Gabriel looked a bit confused but quickly shook it off for now. "If you say so, Henry." He then turned to Dr. Two Brains. "So your brother is dating Dr. Mann?" Gabriel asked Two Brains shook his head. "No, Alan is dating Hugh, but he isn't my brother. He is technically my brother-in-law. He is Becky's mom's sibling." The mad scientist corrected. In what seemed to be a short amount of time, Becky returned inside. "Hey, kiddo. How did your talk with Uncle Alan go on the phone?" Dr. Two Brains inquired. Becky greeted her dad with a smile but Two Brains and Henry could tell that it was faked. "It went well, but he wanted me to let you know to turn on your phone. Hugh and the other four have been trying to reach you and see how you were doing." Becky respond. Two Brains looked embarrassed and quickly pulled out his phone to turn it on. His eyes widened as he saw the missed calls. "Oops. Sorry. I turned my phone off because I was having a conversation with Henry and didn't want to be disturbed." Two Brains exclaimed. @unhingedexperimenter

[rhymeswithfart]

Palestinians are not "human shields," they are human beings. They are not obstacles to be bulldozed through. They are not simple statistics or acceptable losses.

They are people. Civilians. There are parents and children, teachers, doctors, bakers, journalists, families.

[aggieslittlebunny]

PLEASE TALK TO ME

MEN/MINORS DNI!!!

Pairing: University Student!Reader x Older!gf!Wanda

Summary: Reader’s life has always been hard, but as of late, it seems to be extremely harder for you. Your girlfriend, Wanda, is always ready to support you, but you push her away as your condition is getting worse and things escalate.

Trigger Warnings/Tags: angst, hurt/comfort, contain heavy/sensitive topic, mental illness, depressed reader, anxious reader, negative self-talk, self-harm, suicide attempt, suffering reader, reader have suspicion of being an ADHDer (but doesn’t get diagnosed). You have been warned, so don’t read this fic if there is a chance that you might get triggered, no matter how small the chance is. Please never hesitate to reach out to someone close to you or any professional help if you’re struggling mentally. You matter <3

Author Note: English is not my first language, so I apologize in advance for any gramatical and spelling errors ^^

Word Count: 3.5k

Life has been hard for you lately, much harder than usual. You can’t exactly tell since when this has happened and the reasons behind it. Being a university student has always been a challenge. To be completely honest, despite getting A- for most of the courses you had, you always feel like you barely survived. Other students appear to be able to understand whatever topic the professors deliver right away. Besides that, it seems very easy for them to raise their hands and ask questions. Meanwhile, you? You can barely sit through three and a half hours of each lecture, let alone be focused throughout the whole thing. Being glued to the classroom chair for that long feels so horrible. Oftentimes, you think of excusing yourself to the restroom, but you are way too anxious to do that. All you can do is shift yourself in your seat every once in a while, but you can’t do that too much either because then people will notice how fidgety you are. You will attract unwanted attention.

Speaking of unwanted attention and being anxious, those are why it’s hard for you to ask questions during lectures. You don’t like having people’s eyes on you. You also keep asking yourself “what if my question is strange?” or “what if my question doesn’t make sense?” right after your brain makes a question, which gets you stuck in your head and prevents you from being an active student. That doesn’t mean you never ask questions. You pushed yourself to do that sometimes. You need to keep up with other students after all. But you truly despise it. You don’t like the feeling of your hands becoming clammy and how your heart beats very fast, making you breathe heavily.

Before you ask a question, you need to come up with one. That is also a problem for you since you believe that you have a short attention span. Your brain loves to wander, even when all you want to do is focus. You can pay attention to the professors’ voice and write down the important information you want to keep, but before you realize it, your train of thoughts are somewhere else and your hand has already stopped writing minutes ago. You have a lot of questions in your head, but you are afraid that they actually have been discussed and you just weren’t paying attention. You believe that you will look or sound ridiculous.

Your older girlfriend, Wanda, is aware of your struggles, but you haven't told her everything. You just let her know some bits without much detail. She is the most supportive girlfriend you have ever had. Well, she is your first girlfriend so that statement can’t be wrong. Seriously though, she is very supportive and sweet to you. You love her so much and will do anything to make her stay, even if that means hiding most of your problems and keeping your negative feelings bottled up.

You have been doing such a good job hiding how you feel in front of Wanda— and everyone. Thinking of people worried about you filled you with guilt, so you tend to just put on a happy or at least neutral look on your face. These past few weeks, your mask slowly cracks. Wanda started to notice the empty look in your eyes (no matter what expression you are making), the bag under your eyes, the forced cheerful tone escaping your lips, how you space out more frequently, how you seem to avoid people including her, and other behavior changes from you. Everytime she asks how you are doing, you will simply tell her that you’re fine, maybe a little tired. She knows you are not, but she doesn’t want to put pressure onto you and keep praying that you will open up soon. She keeps waiting and waiting. A couple of months passed and you seem to be getting worse. This makes her persuade you harder to tell her what is going on, but no matter how hard she tries, you never tell her the truth. You keep denying her that you are behaving really off and telling her that she is just overthinking.

“Sweetheart, you know that you can talk to me about anything at any time, right?” Wanda randomly blurts. Both of you are currently sitting on a bench in a park, eating ice cream while watching people minding their own business.

“Mmhm.”  you replied shortly with a faint positive tone. You can feel her gaze pointed at you, but you decide to keep your eyes watching a little girl laughing with her parents as they play catch with their dog.

“I’m sorry to keep bringing this up. I can’t help but be worried about you, baby. The more time passes, the more I notice how you seem to not be doing well. You don’t need to pretend that you’re okay in front of me. I want you to rely on me. I might not be able to solve all of your problems, but I will always be with you. We can face this together if you let me. You’re not alone. Please tell me what is going on.” one of her hands reaches yours. You look at Wanda the moment she holds your hand.

“I’m alright, seriously. Maybe I'm just a little bit tired. The finals week is getting near and I need to be ready for that. I don’t want to fall behind. Thank you for caring about me, but can we not talk about this right now? Maybe we can talk about it later, just… not now.”

“Okay, baby. I understand. Do you want to grab some lunch after this?”

A day after that, you suddenly stopped meeting Wanda. Most calls from her are ignored by you. The ones you picked up never last longer than five minutes. You told her that you need to focus on your study, but Wanda doubts that. She knows from one of your friends that you have been skipping a bunch of lectures. She considered visiting you in your dorm, but you always refused whenever she asked for your permission. You gave her a hard no right away, every single time, no consideration. She tries to respect your decision, but it is getting harder each day for her, and unbeknownst to her, for you either. You are getting worse and it is actually out of her expectation and imagination.

Now it has been three weeks since you stopped meeting Wanda. She always waits for any message from you that appears to be sent to her less and less as the days pass. Today she hasn’t received any. She is beyond worried, but she also knows that you are having finals this week. The semester ends soon and she hopes she will be able to hang out with you again since you will have lots of free time for a month. She gave you some space since she thought that is what you need. She tries to act chill about it, but each buzz coming from her phone never fails to make her jolt. She will check her phone right away and gets disappointed when she doesn’t see your name (or ‘my baby’ since she set your contact as that) on her notifications.

She heard from you on Friday. It is almost midnight, but she can’t sleep unless she does her daily reading before bed. Therefore, there she is. She is sitting comfortably in her bed, her back against the headboard, and there is an open book in her hand. It was peaceful until her phone buzzed. When she takes a glance at her phone, she swiftly picks it up and opens a message from you. You sent her a link. That link leads her to a letter written by you. Her eyes scan each word carefully. You are thanking her for being a wonderful girlfriend. As Wanda keeps reading, she hopes that you are just giving her a sweet letter of appreciation. Deep inside, she fears that you are breaking up with her, but she tries not to judge quickly since it is a pretty lengthy letter and she barely reaches the quarter part of it.

“When you are reading this, I have done something stupid.”

Wanda freezes for a solid ten seconds. After that, she stands up and runs to her car. She forgets her car keys so she sprints back in to grab it and then she leaves her house with her car. She left her house unlocked and she is still wearing her pajamas, but those are none of her concern right now. Her head chanting your name as well as prayers that you are safe. As she drives, she continues reading your letter. Her eyes moved from her screen to the road repeatedly until she finished reading it. After that she completely focuses on the road and might have crossed the speed limit several times. She reached your dorm room in twenty minutes, thanks to one of your close friends that is still awake and messaged her the number of your room.

She expected that she would have to break the door open, but she was wrong. The door isn’t locked. She knows right away that it was left like that by you on purpose. You told her so many times that you always lock your door twice because you’re afraid of the possibility that a stranger can get into your room easily. The sound of her footsteps echoes in your room. Your room is dark, but there is light from the sideroad lamp slipping through your window. She saw the lump of your body covered with your favorite blanket in your bed and she approached you in a hurry. She cradles your face in her palms. She noticed your irregular breathing and that you are breathing through your mouth. She also quickly noticed that there is a kind of chemical smell coming out from your mouth. Her hand reached the phone in her pocket and she dialed the emergency number, asking for an ambulance. It will take around ten minutes for it to arrive.

Just when she is about to wake you up, she accidentally knocks over a mug on your bedside table. It is now on the ground and the liquid inside it seeps into the rug. At first she thought it was tea, but after a quick sniff into the air, she realized that it is not tea or at least not just tea. The smell is exactly the same as what is coming out from your mouth. She checked the water bottle that was sitting beside the mug. She remembers how you brought the bottle with you all the time. It has such a bold pink color and there is a picture of a rabbit saying ‘life is beautiful’ on it. She opens the bottle and at first glance it looks like it’s filled with normal water, but the somewhat gray look as well as the strong chemical scent said otherwise. Shortly after that, her eyes spot a little trash can near the bed. She noticed some tissues covered with blood as well as an empty bug spray can.

“Shit.” she thought.

“Baby? Baby, wake up. Please. Can you hear me?” Wanda tries to wake you up with panic in her voice. She pulls your blanket away to take a look at your arms and wrists. She found nothing. But a second later she saw some dried blood prints on your shorts, the left thigh part to be exact. After that, she taps your cheek and shakes your body firmly which elicits a groan from you.

“I’m sorry, Wanda. I’m so sorry. Please don’t be mad at me.” You replied faintly. It is clear that you are slipping in and out of consciousness.

“Shh, you will be okay. There is nothing to be sorry for; I’m not mad at you. I love you very much. Please don’t go back to sleep. Stay with me, sweetie. I’ll get you to the hospital. The ambulance is coming.”

The paramedic comes soon after that and you are brought to the hospital. The emergency room is very cold and quiet. Maybe not that quiet since you hear people’s voices, but everything is so faint and blurry to you. After you get treated, Wanda is allowed to see you. She sees you smiling a little and she smiles back as she walks closer towards you.

You start telling her what has been happening in your life. Wanda sits on the hospital bed that you occupied, holding your hand as she hears your story. You tell her that you always feel so different throughout your life. You always feel like you are always in a race to keep up with other people around you. It gets harder and harder, especially with the fact that you’re a student in a top university. You tell her that since you get into university, your life is way messier than before. Keeping up with other students almost feels impossible. You try and try and try, but it is never enough. You are never satisfied and you feel like you are the most stupid student compared to other students in the same year as you.

Your grades might say different things, but there are endless efforts to get those grades. You are a procrastinator, but it is not because you don’t want to do your responsibility. Most of the time, you just can’t. Your body and brain won’t function the way you want them to and you despise that part of yourself because that makes you feel lazy. But you also barely get any sleep to finish your assignments, prepare your part in group assignments, and sometimes you cover your friend’s part or any extra part. That caused you to sleep like three hours a day. Some days four, the other days two, and this rarely happens but you can go two or three days without sleep. You have been living with this terrible sleep schedule for three years now. All you want is to be like other students. You’re scared of falling behind. You know you will not survive by yourself so you want your classmates to be able to rely on you on group projects. You want as many classmates as possible to like you. 

“I’m so tired, Wanda. I’m exhausted.” You sighed painfully.

You proceed to tell her how your head was slowly becoming evil to you. It’s never peaceful in your head. Different things are piling up inside it. They’re messy piles and your brain seems to insist on unpacking them all at the same time. You can feel the chaos within your body and mind. The chaos streaming in your blood makes you want to curl up and disappear. Then it’s getting worse. Your brain started telling you various negative things:

“No one likes you.”

“Your friends hate you. They talk about you behind your back”

“You’re a terrible person.”

You began to believe those things. Watching your friends surrounding a table in the cafeteria leads you to think that they were talking shitty stuff about you. Especially after a friend of yours noticed that you were crying in front of the class but said nothing. After that, you started to spend lots of time hiding in the restroom stall to cry, usually before class. You were terrified by people around you and your own brain. Then you seek out some help. You reached out to a counselor provided by your university. You confessed to her about the problems you have been having as of late, and talking helps, but not much. Your brain is still very mean to you. At some point you really want to know what is going on with you. You desperately want an explanation on why you feel so different compared to others since you were a little kid. You dived into the internet, researching stuff based on your struggles. You are very sure that you’re suffering from depression, maybe even anxiety. But you believe that there is something more. After weeks of researching, you have a suspicion that you might have ADHD. You read some books, watched lots of videos, and asked some of your online friends who are ADHDer. 

“I can never be sure until I get a proper diagnosis and I can’t get a diagnosis from a counselor. But if my counselor can at least agree with my suspicion, I assume it will be easier for me to get actual diagnosis. Therefore I talked about it with her, my counselor. I didn’t explicitly say to her that I think I might have ADHD. Instead, I tell her my life experiences that relate to the symptoms. At one point she cut my story.”

“Aren’t you just lazy?” the words your counselor threw at you echo in your brain.

“Am I just lazy, Wanda? Please tell me it’s not true. I’m trying. I always try! Please believe me! I-”

Wanda instantly cups your face in her hands and rests her forehead against yours.

“Breathe, sweetie. Deep breath. I’m with you. You’re not lazy. Not at all. You have been trying your best. I know it, baby.”

“It’s so painful! It feels like she throws away my self-image I’ve been building all my life. The sleepless nights… The notes covering my dorm walls…” you take a sharp breath and continue, “Even as a kid, my parents pushed me so hard to study. In elementary school, they will make me study until midnight during test weeks. In middle school I fell behind, but managed to push myself so that I could get into a good highschool. I push myself all the time to keep up with everybody else. Maybe I also do it so my parents will keep loving me. To them, my grades define who I am. They expect so much from me. It hurts…” you cry at the last two words and Wanda embraces you in a warm hug.

“The day when my counselor said that, I walked back to my dorm room with tears streaming down my face. I sobbed as I walked, maybe some strangers saw me in that state, but I was in too much agony to care. I stopped seeking out help from anyone. I just want to know why I am the way I am. But I can’t stand it anymore. I can’t stand feeling so different than anyone else. I also throw that suspicion away. I can’t face it since then.” you pushed Wanda away gently to look at her face. You can see tenderness in her eyes. How can you be so lucky to have her?

“I guess that pushed me further to this point. I didn’t get any help. I pushed myself even harder. I carried way much more stuff than I can handle. Last week, I constantly had my nose bleeding. That keeps going for like five days. I hurt myself too several times. It’s like I’m literally sacrificing my blood, sweat, and tears to survive. Then my head started telling me harmful stuff and questioning my worth of living.”

“Why are you still trying?”

“Why are you here?”

“Why don’t you just kill yourself?”

“You should just kill yourself.”

“You should kill your family members too. They are in danger and you need to end their lives to save them.”

“I’m terrified, Wanda! I’m scared! I’m scared of myself so much. You have no idea. That’s why I ended up here. I thought this was the only way to fix this. I’m so sorry…”

“Baby…” a tear runs down Wanda’s cheek and she leaves a kiss on top of your head before speaking up again, “Thank you for telling me this, sweetheart. I know there is still so much left unsaid and I know you’re telling me as much as you can at this moment. Thank you for trusting me with this. I’m not mad at you. I’m not angry. I’m not disappointed. But may I know why you kept telling me that you’re fine on those days?”

“I’m afraid that I will become a burden and you will think that I’m too much and…”

“I will leave you?” you nod.

“I'm sorry, Wanda. I truly am sorry.”

“Stop that, baby. It’s fine now. You will get proper help after this and I will always support you. I’m not going anywhere. Let’s take it slow, yeah?” you nod once again and pull her into a tight hug.

“Thank you.”

Wanda’s hand begins to stroke your hair lovingly, “Please never hesitate to tell me anything in the future. You can stay at my place when your head is being very mean to you. In fact you can stay at my place anytime. I won’t mind seeing your little cute face every morning, I would love that. We can work on your sleep schedule together and maybe find a study method that suits you. I know it’s not easy and you’ve been struggling very hard by yourself, but you don’t have to do that anymore. You don’t have to be by yourself. You have me. I got you, sweetheart.”

“What did I do to deserve you, Wands?”

“You don’t need to do anything to be loved by me. I love you, more than you know.”

“I love you too. I love you to the moon and back.”

[eetherealgoddess]

i’ve been getting some requests on wattpad so i thought i should finally write one of them <3

reader operates as both a cop and detective btw

ꨄEdge Of The Lawꨄ

Oneshot - Yandere Bonten Au

❦You’re a detective who has spent years trying to take down Bonten❦

Sano Manjiro, Hanemiya Kazutora, Sanzu Haruchiyo, & Haitani Brothers x Reader

Not fully proofread

MY TR FANDOM WORKS ARE ONLY ON TUMBLR & AO3 UNDER EETHEREALGODDESS! REPORT IF YOU SEE IT POSTED UNDER ANYONE ELSE BUT ME!!!

I apologize if I get any Japanese etiquette or culture wrong, I literally have to research the culture for some of my fandom stories so if anything is wrong, please excuse my ignorance.

Notice:

✩Y/n is 18+. I picture her as a black female but you can see her however.

✩Some parts of the story may not be realistic or factual. After all, this is a work of fiction.

✩Although it's a dark 'romance,' I do not condone any of the behavior displayed.

✩Dark content such as: gore, violence, triggering topics, graphic scenes, vulgar language, explicit sexual content, etc.

✩There may be scenes that involve non con and/ or dubcon so don’t read if that makes you uncomfortable

✩That being said, this story is for 18+ only.

Enjoy!

Edge Of The Law

It had been years since you hopped on the case regarding the infamous criminal organization Bonten. Having put in an exceeding amount of work in tracking their illegal endeavors as well as the individuals who cause the gang activities to soar. So far the only information you have been able to obtain was that you have a few traitor cops in your vicinity, one who very well may be the chief.

Unfortunately, the only proof you’ve received was during a personal outing of your own. You sat on a stool in the dimmed bar, a low melody playing in the background from the speakers connected to the ceiling. Only a few people were scattered around the room, sitting in their own booths or a couple stools down from you, sipping on their drinks as they talked amongst themselves. Your bartender had just finished your drink, sliding it over as you immediately downed the beverage.

“Damn, tough day?” The woman chuckled, continuing to make the other customers’ drinks as she conversed with you.

“You could say that.” You motion for another as you remember the frustrating discovery of all the paperwork you had on the case completely missing, nowhere to be found. You could only determine that it was an inside man’s job, a dirty cop who knew exactly where to find the confidential information.

After downing four shots while conversing with the bartender, you walk towards the bathroom. After releasing your fluid and washing your hands, you stepped out of the bathroom, perking up when you noticed a familiar individual who just exited the male’s bathroom. Although he wore casual clothing, you could tell he was your chief, having worked under the guy for years.

You follow him from afar, dropping some cash on the bar table as you make your way outside. You stood at the corner of the building, staring ahead as you peaked around the wall into the alleyway. You crouch as you make a run for the dumpster, basically prancing on your tiptoes so he wouldn’t catch you there. You kneel on the dirty ground, peaking out to watch him.

The chief stood in front of a tall man wearing a suit. You couldn’t hear anything but slight chatter, both parties standing too far for you to hear the conversation so you took a moment to view the suspect in front of your boss. One of his hands moved to swipe through his hair, fingers entangling with short purple strands. His purple irises gaze ahead lazily as his expression remains blank. What stood out to you the most was that symbol on his neck, prominent and black.

“That symbol…” You murmured to yourself before taking your phone out of your pocket and snapping a few pictures of the two men, one a close up of the broad male.

You sat at the desk in your room, searching through your drawers and folders of different forms and pictures you had kept. You weren’t allowed to have some of the papers in your personal home, though there were key points in some of the cases you were assigned that stuck out to you, resulting in off duty research.

Grabbing a familiar folder labeled, ‘Mark of the Prey,’ a dramatic name you so boringly created for the information inside. You snatch it open, searching through until you make an abrupt halt. Pulling the page out, you placed it next to your phone that displayed a close up of the man who spoke to the chief.

“Knew it.” You huff as you compare the symbol of Bonten to the tattoo embedded on the guy’s neck. Although this discovery confirms your suspicion, you have no clue why your chief would be in cahoots with the organization other than the fact that he’s working with them. Unfortunately, you don’t have enough proof.

The following days, you had decided to figure out a way to look through your boss’s office for any clues regarding his partnership. The first thing you want to come across if nothing else is your original paperwork that you kept hidden in a specific drawer. The only person who would’ve known the correct placement was your boss. You knew you had to wait for the perfect opportunity so you patiently waited for the right moment to sneak into his office.

It was hard, but you finally found the perfect time during a lunch break to search. You had no idea when he’d be back so you quickly searched through file after file. You were careful to place everything back in place to not raise suspicion. You sigh in frustration when you’re not finding the target, standing up from your place only to make eye contact with your chief.

He stepped in slowly, shutting the door behind him as he made his way closer to his desk. Still keeping his distance you both stare at one another in silence. Considering you’ve been caught, you decide not to waste any time.

“You’re working for Bonten, aren’t you?”

The middle aged man continued to stare at you before placing his hands in his pockets.

“There was a reason I dropped you from the case, Y/n.” You recall the utter pit in your stomach the moment you were dropped from the case, having spent a lot of time and effort finding all the evidence you could.

“Where is the paperwork?” You give him a stern glare. He sighed before shaking his head.

“You never stop, do ya? You wanna die or something?” He growled, a look of irritation crossing on his face, “I spared your life by dropping you, otherwise you’d be next on their list.”

“Do you realize what you’ve just done? Do you understand the gravity of what you’re doing? Partnering with the enemy? Are you out of your fucking mind?” Your palms slam on the desk as you lean slightly forward, anger and a sense of betrayal overcoming you.

“You have no right to question my decisions! I do what I have to do to survive. You should be thanking me!” He roared, stepping forward. “They’ve had their eyes on you ever since you started that case! They know what you look like, where you live, where you come from, and more!”

An abrupt siren echoed throughout the building, indicating a warning. The same sound you were taught when there’s been an ambush. Shocked, you immediately snatch the gun from your holster, as did your chief right before you both stretched your arms out to aim the weapons toward each other.

“Saved my life to take it right?” You yell over the alarm, standing at attention.

“This isn’t how I wanted this shit to go! You just couldn’t stop shoving your nose where it didn’t belong!”

“You assigned me to the case! What else was I supposed to do other than my job? You make no sense!”

“I didn’t expect you to find some of the things you did! For what it’s worth, you were my favorite officer!”

Just as he cocked the gun, you gasp when a figure appears from behind him. The sound of a shot rang out, the bullet penetrating your boss in the head, a hole formed as blood splattered on the floor and his uniform. The chief falls to the ground, landing on his body. You move to aim at the culprit, pulling the trigger multiple times as he dodges the bullets.

The sound of glass shattered behind you as another person kicked through the window. You turn to the side to keep both people within your vision, backing up until your back is barely touching the wall. Your gun is aimed at the man with two blonde strands hanging over his face, the rest of his dark hair pulled back in a ponytail, revealing the tiger tattoo embedded into the skin of his neck. His left hand holds a gun aimed towards you, arm stretched out as a smile grows on his face.

The man who killed your boss stood next to him, his right arm held out as the barrel of the weapon was in your view. His bangs fell over the purple eyes that held a sense of familiarity, strands of hair falling into a mullet. Your eyes widened when you saw the tattoo on his neck, the same symbol you had seen on the man before who looks slightly similar to the person in front of you. He wears a bored expression.

“Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.” Kazutora dodged the bullet coming his way by moving his head to the side, the metal only grazing his cheek. A small line of blood slides down from the small scratch.

“Who put you in charge, huh?” Before you can shoot him again, another shot rings out followed by a sharp pain shooting through your thigh.

“Fuck!” You hissed before looking down to where the blood seeps through your uniform as you place your trembling hand above the wound.

“You have shit aim.” Rin says to you before aiming at your shin resulting in you shifting out of the way before the bullet can land.

Another shot rang out as Kazutora pulled the trigger, missing as you rushed behind the desk, landing on your bottom. You set the gun down before pulling off your uniform jacket and pull the fabric with your teeth, tearing the sleeve. You wrapped it around your thigh quickly before snatching the gun.

You knew this wouldn’t end well for you. All you could do was survive the best you could. Before you could turn to shoot, a foot kicked the gun out of your hand before two hands grabbed the shoulders of your shirt, yanking you up. Suddenly a fist connects with your face before your vision is engulfed with darkness.

“The surveillance has been disposed of.”

Your eyelids flutter open as you come back to consciousness. The pain on your neck is prominent from your head hanging over while you were knocked out. A soreness appears on your check as you remember the fist impacting your face, knowing a bruise will probably form. You eye your thigh with a hazy vision, the blur of the blood that seeped through the fabric wrapped around your thigh, the throbbing pain still prominent. You accidentally release a groan as you pull at the cuffs, your arms secured behind the chair’s back uncomfortably.

“Good.”

You lift your head slowly, eyeing the figures that stood at a distance from you.

“You’ve been such a pain.” You hear from the shortest man standing in the middle. His onyx orbs bore into you intensely, despite the lack of expression. His platinum hair shapes the structure of his face.

“Sanzu.”

The pink haired man lifts an arm as he aims the gun towards you, cocking the weapon before pulling the trigger. The shot rang throughout the building just as the bullet penetrated your shin on the opposite leg of the wound on your thigh.

“Shit!” You spit out, breathing slowly as you attempt to tune the pain out, failing as the agony grows by the second. Your hands are in fists as your nails leave indents on your palms.

The blue eyed man’s scars stretched as the grin on his face grew. Excitement is apparent in his expression, the sound of your ragged breathing a beautiful melody to his ears.

“You will work for me in place of your boss.”

“Fuck you.” You growl as you feel your blood fall down your leg.

“I’ve been watching you for a long time. You are my secret weapon. Your skills give you an advantage that will be to my use.” You scoff.

“I’m not doing shit!” You exclaim.

“S/n and B/n. They are your siblings right?” Mikey questioned, hands behind his back. Your eyes widened as you glared at him.

“M/n, D/n, and F/n.” He takes a few steps towards you, revealing the darkness under his eyes.

He continued to name off colleagues, friends, family members, and even the bartender you’ve become close to. You gasp when he begins to list off the addresses in which your family members reside.

“That’s enough!” You hissed.

“Show some respect in the presence of the King, Rat.” Sanzu growled before aiming his gun towards you. Mikey holds up a palm, the executive obeying his command.

“You will do as I say.” He said before turning around and heading to the exit, all of the men following behind. You’re left in darkness once the door to the warehouse shuts.

Days pass while you rot in the warehouse, blood already dried from the wounds that may or may not get infected. The pain, although prominent, has slightly numbed. Your whole body is sore. You had thought everything through, deciding that you have no choice in the matter but to go against your morals. You had to protect your family. You only just now understand why your chief did what he did.

After your placement in Bonten was secured, once you received medical attention by their personal doctors, you were sent back to your detective job as an undercover criminal. Before you know it, months pass as you become used to your routine, something you didn’t want to happen. Of course, there was no enjoyment in feeling dirty or like a coward. Everytime your shift at the department closed, you would return to headquarters where you were forced to reside considering their lack of trust for you. You would inform your boss of anything he needed to know or an update on any assignment you were commanded to complete.

There were moments when you thought of different escape plans or to set them up, but one of the executives always had an eye on you. You knew you were being watched every moment you were at work or even around headquarters. It had you on edge and walking on eggshells. You truly felt helpless but you didn’t stop trying to think of something.

You’ve never been the type to be a seductress. Sure you’ve worn sexy clothes a couple of times and had a fair share of dates before you started working as a cop, but you’ve never actively seduced anyone before. Considering your predicament and no better idea, you decide to work on your skills. You visited the Haitani Brother’s strip clubs more often since a few of the men would go on outings and those were the only times you were allowed somewhere other than the department.

You observed the behavior of the strippers and waitresses. You even studied the bartenders and the customers. You watched the interactions carefully. You knew that if you played your cards right, you could gain a little more trust. Enough trust to help them slip up and for you to make an escape and notify witness protection before they can go after your family. You will gain as much evidence as you possibly can to ruin them once and for all.

Weeks pass and you’re seated on a chair in the VIP section of one of the brother’s nightclubs. The thick smell of marijuana, tobacco, and alcohol fills the air. You eye the first victim who sits on the sofa with a blunt in hand, black and blonde hair falling past his shoulders as he leans back in his seat. He blows the smoke out slowly with a dazed look, the woman who was sitting on his lap hopping up after he pats her thigh, telling her to grab him a drink. You take a deep breath, eyeing the other men to see the rest of them distracted, whether they’re entertaining a woman, gambling, or sniffing cocaine.

You exhale before making your way to Kazutora, sitting next to him, though not too close. Your hands begin to tremble as you stare ahead, second guessing your plan as you’re ready to run off. Before you could leave, a hand guides your chin, forcing you to look into the golden orbs that shine through the dark light beams.

“What’s on your mind, Doll?” He questions before releasing your chin and handing you the blunt. Before you became a police officer, you would smoke weed in your youth. Having not had it in a long time, you shake your head.

“T’s not a request. Smoke it.” He says with a heavy lidded gaze and a sly smile. You huff before taking it from his fingers, the wood placed between your index and middle finger as you place the end to your lips.

You immediately cough after sucking in a little more than you could handle, no longer having the lungs for this kind of thing. He laughed as your vision blurred from the tears, a burning sensation filling your throat as you handed it back to him.

Once you are done, you realize that you are higher than you expected to be.

“Oh shit.” You whisper as you stare into space.

“Here, let me help you.” You heard from beside you. Fingers grab your chin once more, turning you towards the man who takes a long hit of the blunt before turning to you and leaning in very close.

“Open your mouth.” You comply as he leaned in closer, the tips of your lips barely grazing the other as he slowly released the cloud into your mouth, his gaze still on you. After breathing in, the weight of your body felt heavier as you became in a more relaxed state. You leaned back against the sofa as you gazed into the room with your own heavy lidded gaze. The plan you had escaped your mind as you zoned into the colorful flashing lights.

“Someone’s in another world.” Ran said as he sat next to you on the other side. His leg pressed firmly against yours as he placed a hand on your healed thigh. You could smell his cologne as well as the tobacco lingering faintly. It was a nice fresh yet earthy scent.

“You smell good.” You say, not bothering to be shocked that your thoughts escaped your lips without any control, something that used to happen all the time when you got high.

“Thanks, sweet girl.” His smile grows as he observes your flushed face, gazing into your features before chuckling and grabbing the glass cup from the table.

You had no clue why you said that. You’ve never been anything but professional around these men. The hand gripping your thigh caused you to look down.

“Hey, what about me?” Kazutora gives a fake look of offense before handing Ran the blunt, causing you to snicker.

“I wasn’t paying attention.”

“Now you are.” He says before wrapping a hand around the back of your neck and pulling you to his chest. Your nose was nuzzled in between his shoulder and neck, the smell of marijuana thick along with the faint smell of cologne.

He hummed before circling both arms around your waist and pulling you closer, your leg forced on the other side of him as he yanked you on top of him, your hands landing on his shoulders. You gasp in surprise, the bulge prominent against your core as your pencil skirt rises slightly.

“Oh?” Ran says before taking a hit as his eyes drop to your skirt.

“I like this position better.” Kazutora smirks as he gazes into your eyes. “Isn’t this what you wanted anyway, Y/n?” You couldn’t focus on anything but what’s pressed against your pussy, your face heating up as your nerves begin to strike. The memories of your plans begin to fly across your brain though you only just now realized how terrible a seduction plan would be. You must’ve forgotten you were dealing with some of the most feral men.

“Let me go.” You say as his grip only tightens causing you to wince in pain.

“You wanted to seduce us right?” Your eyebrows furrowed. “You thought no one would notice your wandering eyes or suspicious behavior?”

“You really are so easy to figure out. It was noticeable when you first changed your clothing.” Ran says with his leg crossed and back leaned against the sofa, bringing the blunt to his lips once more.

“I have to admit, it worked.” Kazutora says while raising his hips, his erection rubbing against your panties as his hands moved to your ass. You gasp when you feel one of his hands pull your skirt all the way up to your waist, revealing your underwear.

“Feel that? You have me all worked up.” A smack on your ass caused you to flinch. “It’s all your fault.”

“Damn.” He whispered as he looked down at your covered pussy sitting on his bulge, hands rubbing up your sides before he shoves his fingers into the crevices where your stomach and thighs meet. You try to pick yourself up, only to feel something against the back of your head.

“I wanna play too.” Sanzu says behind you, gun pressed firmly against your head as you feel his hand rub along your butt cheek, gripping it before smacking the skin.

“Let me go right now.” You grit your teeth, nails piercing Kazutora’s shoulder as you tremble slightly. This isn’t what you had in mind when you planned to seduce them. Not only was it meant to be an individual thing, you weren’t expecting it to go as far as anything too physically intimate. How stupid you were.

“You should relax, yeah?” Rin says as he walks into view behind the sofa, leaning on the back of the surface with his hands as he gazes at you. He hands Sanzu the cuffs, the pink haired man pulling your arms behind your back and securing you in place. Kazutora kept his eyes on you the entire time, even when you looked away.

You felt Sanzu’s hand slide under your ass, rubbing along your panties as he glides against the slit of your vagina through the fabric, not a care for Kazutora’s bulge being in vicinity.

Tears threaten to spill as you angrily look at Kazutora, who brings a hand behind your neck before pulling you closer to his face, pressing his tongue to your neck as he rubs it along the skin. Rin leans over with a hand on your chin.

“If you bite me, I’ll bite harder.” He warned you before pulling you into a kiss. Kazutora moves from your neck before focusing on your breasts through your blouse. You gasp against Rin’s lips though he took the opportunity to pierce his tongue through your lips. He quietly moaned as he moved his free hand to the side of your face, fingers tickling your ear.

“You’re so wet, filthy girl.” Sanzu said quietly before using a finger to scoop some of the juice before bringing it to his lips, sucking the moisture off his finger before returning his hand to your pussy. He used one hand to move the panties out of the way and replace his hand, using a finger to ease into your vagina. He put the gun back in his holster as he distracted himself with the feeling of your vaginal walls sucking his finger in.

Rin released you, only for Ran to wrap a hand around your head and pull you in for a passionate kiss. You wince as he bites your lip, pulling on it as he pulls back before releasing, only to reconnect your lips together. Sanzu shoves two more fingers in as he stretches you out, causing a muffled yelp to leave your mouth.

Rin unbuckled his pants before reaching into his underwear to pull out his pulsating cock. Ran’s lips muffled the moans that escaped as Sanzu thrust his fingers deep into you at a steady pace. He cursed as he felt your hole tightening around his limbs. Kazutora unbuttoned your blouse to release your breasts that are covered by the bra. Not wasting any time, he reached into his pocket for the pocket knife, using it to slice your straps as well as the middle lining that keeps the pads connected. He pulled the remainder of the bra off and tossed it to the side.

His fingers grabbed your molds as he used his thumbs to fiddle with both nipples. You shut your eyes tight as he kept up the motion with one breast and leaned over to connect his tongue with the other. Ran releases you as he begins to unbuckle his own pants, just as Rin placed his palm on the top of your head before placing his cock near your mouth.

“Open up, pretty girl. I better not feel any teeth.” You turn your head away.

“N-No! Let me go, all of you!”

“Wonder how your family would feel to know that you’re getting fingered by one of their murderers right before I shoot their brains out.” Sanzu says softly against your ear, dazed by his own arousal. You frown as you clench your teeth from Kazutora’s tongue flicking your nipple, as well as Sanzu accelerating his pace.

“Come on, Y/n.” Rin says as he guides your head, you had no choice but to open your mouth. He exhaled as he eased the tip of his cock between your lips, warmth engulfing him as he gained a better grip on your head to pull you forward until the base of his erection was against your nose.

You shut your eyes as he held you there, forcing you to gag on his cock. A mixture of drool and precum slides down your chin as you breathe through your nose to the best of your ability. Sanzu removes his fingers before moving your panties out the way of your behind. Your eyes shoot open when you feel a wet pressure push into your asshole. He used two fingers, the residue slick making an easier access though the tightness stretched painfully.

You whimper against Rin’s base before he pulls you back, only to force you to swallow his erection once more. His cock slides in and out of your mouth at a steady pace, each thrust resulting in the head sinking down your throat. More saliva piles up as well as his semen, leaking as your head is guided.

“You’re a natural.” He moaned, thrusting his hips harder against your mouth as Kazutora slid a hand down to your pussy, feeling for your clit before rubbing along circles with a finger.

Ran rubs his own cock as he eyes your mouth taking his brother, focusing on the bulge that appears on your cheek as he can see the indent of Rin’s cock. He watched as the juices leaked from your mouth, listening to the whimpers and grunts that left your throat.

Kazutora removes his hand before grabbing his own hard cock from his pants. It flapped on your stomach before he guided you to lift up enough for the head to connect with your entrance. He used a hand to rub the tip against your wet pussy, moaning at the warmth.

“Sit.” He demands, using a hand to place on your hip as well as his other hand wrapped around his shaft to aim it correctly. He gazed at your full mouth, finding the mess beautiful on your face.

“Fuck…” He hissed as you lowered onto him, warm walls already sucking him in. “…this is exactly where you belong. Sitting pretty on my cock.” His hips thrust into you as your pussy engulf him fully. The tears streamed from your face as Rin neared his orgasm. Kazutora’s arms wrapped around your waist as he pulled you tightly against him, just as Sanzu added a third finger to your ass, ripping a ragged moan out of you.

Rin’s head falls back as he releases a moan, warm liquid shooting down your throat as he holds you in place, forcing you to swallow all of his seed. Once he pulls his cock out of your mouth, you cry out as Sanzu accelerates his speed, just as Kazutora begins thrusting into you. His cock slides as his feet push against the floor, legs spread as he begins to pound into you. Your juices slicken him up, allowing him better access as the tip of his cock immediately hits your g-spot.

Just as your head was about to fall on his shoulder, a hand holds you in place as another erection slides into your sore mouth.

“Look at me.” Ran commands, you obey as your eyes tearfully move towards the intense gaze he holds. You could hear Kazutora moaning as Rin sat on the sofa, rubbing his cock while he watched you getting plowed from three ends. Ran thrusts his hips as his cock slides in and out of your mouth, groaning as he keeps his gaze on you.

“M’ gonna cum so deep in this pussy.” Kazutora moaned, pounding into you as he forced your hips to meet his thrusts. His lips are apart as he gazes at you taking Ran’s cock down your throat, just as Sanzu used one hand to grab your neck. Your pussy clenched as the stimulation on your cervix caused you to orgasm, bucking your hips as you groaned loudly on Ran’s cock.

“That’s right, baby. Good fucking girl.” Ran praised you for your orgasm, your face heated more than it already was as a funny feeling formed in your stomach. Sanzu removed his fingers right as Ran cums deep into your throat, holding you in place as his brother did. Kazutora continues to thrust into you, forcing you to ride him even while you’re overstimulated. Your head was only able to drop on Kazutora’s shoulder for a second before Sanzu replaced Ran and forced your head up.

“You’re not done, yet.” He smirked before shoving his cock down your sore throat. Your jaw felt sore as it was stretched once more. You whine on his cock at the pain as well as the overwhelming feeling in your abdomen. He begins at a faster pace than the Haitani brothers not allowing you to adjust before he’s fucking your face.

Kazutora continues to hump into you, his head falling back as he groans, releasing into you as deep as he could possibly go. He pressed firmly against you to make sure his semen fills you all the way up. Sanzu’s thrusts become sloppier as he moans, releasing a curse before he bucks his hips slowly, pressing his cock all the way to the back of your throat. He forced you to swallow his cum as he stared down at you.

For the rest of the night you were rotated between each man so they could have a turn with your pussy, all the while causing you to faint a couple of times as your body was completely used for their pleasure. You were out for a couple of days before the dreadful routine of you becoming their cum slut began. They were brutal, more brutal than the first night as they twisted you every which way. Sometimes Sanzu would use you as an experiment by drugging you up with different products you never thought you’d try, praying to not be drug tested any time soon at your job though you knew Bonten would find a way to handle the problem.

In the midst of those days, you had forgotten who you were before. The darkness shaped under your eyes, you lack an appetite, and your poor body is worn out. Everyday felt dark, cold, and empty. You were lying in your designated bedroom, staring at the ceiling until the door unlocked and someone walked in. You shut your eyes as the person got closer, hovering above you before they leaned over, warm breath on your ear.

“Did they break you, yet?” You recognized the whisper to be Mikey’s voice. Your eyes teared up as they streamed down your face, turning away in a fetal position as your boss climbed into the bed with you. His arm snaked around your waist as his face nuzzled on the back of your neck.

“Now you know how it feels.” His lips graze your skin as he speaks. “To feel and be nothing.”

“You are my broken doll to play with.”

One day, you had enough. You were going to leave if it’s the last thing you do. Even if it results in your death, you don’t care. You were done with this. One day you had snuck a bag of sleeping pills Sanzu kept in a specific area in his office. This night was perfect because they’re supposed to meet up for a deal beforehand so Mikey will be there as well. When you arrive at the club, instead of heading to the bathroom like you said, you head to the bar.

After telling the bartender who you’re with, he hands you the bottle with the tray of glasses. He didn’t seem to mind that you hadn’t been a waitress which is perfect. You look around your surroundings before placing the pills in the bottle. You leave everything on the table for the actual employee to take it up so they won’t get suspicious of your excuse for the bathroom.

Once you make it back, you sit on Mikey’s lap like he commanded you to. Your nerves were struck as you watched the woman enter. Excitement prominent as you watch her pour the bottle before handing each man their cup, including Mikey. You watch as all the men take their shots, downing them quickly as they continue their play. You peek down at Mikey’s hand, seeing that he hasn’t taken a sip which made you nervous.

Just as the men started dropping on the sofas or chairs, your hands trembled as Mikey’s arms tightened around your waist, drink still in hand.

“When they wake up, I’m going to let them do whatever they want to you.” Tears appear at the corner of your eyes as the familiar lump forms in your throat.

“I’m going to allow whatever I didn't accept before…” His head dropped to your shoulder as he continued, “…you can drink the alcohol so you can rest beforehand, or you can save it so you’ll be asleep while they tear you apart.”

You stare ahead with a troubled gaze. The trembling became violent as you felt the urge to jump away, ready to run for your life. You subconsciously eye the bruises and cuts along your skin as you bite your lip to quiet the sobs.

“No matter how many times they break you apart, I’ll always be there to put you back together because you belong to me.”

[fluentmoviequoter]

Poisonously Bad Day

Requested Here! (Thank you so much for my first Tim Bradford req!!)

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!reader

Summary: Just before your anniversary with Tim, you receive threatening messages. When someone tries to take your life, you and Tim learn the importance of talking to one another. (Or, Tim's crazy ex stalks you and Tim gets really worried about you.)

Warnings: reader is stalked and threatened, violence with a nail gun, reader has severe food allergies and uses an epi-pen, a little bit of grumpy x sunshine with our favorite grump, angst to fluff & hurt/comfort

Word Count: 4.1k+ words

A/N: I do not have much practice writing for Tim, so I apologize if he's OOC. However, I really love writing for him and trying to capture his amazing character, so I love the practice and appreciate any other requests you send me! I hope you enjoy and please let me know what you think!🤍

Masterlist | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

Picture from Pinterest

Tim Bradford doesn’t believe in love at first sight. Or he didn’t before he met you. Your sunny personality drew him in, making his world a little brighter. From the moment he met you a few months ago, Tim has been enraptured by you. He’s still grumpy; his personality didn’t change overnight upon meeting you, but your sweet laugh and kind responses to his grumpiness make him happy. His smile isn’t as rare as it once was, but you still fight to see it, bringing as much sunshine as possible.

As your two-month anniversary approaches, you’re happier and giddier than usual. Toning it down as you knock on Tim’s door, you’re surprised to see him already smiling when he invites you in. It seems you’re rubbing off on him, even if he only shows you the softness that lies under the grumpy Tim you know and love. Although your relationship is very new, you haven’t even learned much about Tim’s previous relationships, you know you love him and treasure every moment you spend with your man of honor.

“Hey, you,” Tim mumbles, pulling you into a warm hug. “Missed you.”

“Long day?” you ask, pushing your fingers through his hair.

“Unbelievably. Nolan and Lopez decided to interrogate me about why I was in a ‘good mood’ all day.”

You stifle a laugh at Tim’s air quotes. He rolls his eyes when he sees your bright smile but pulls you into the kitchen anyway.

“I didn’t even know you could smile,” you tease him. “Now I want to know what caused the good mood.”

“I think you know.”

Despite his initial hesitance in getting close to you, Tim obviously knows how to treat you right and make you feel seen, appreciated, beautiful, and loved. Each moment you spend with him makes you a little more curious as to why no one has snatched him up yet. Yes, he’s grumpy, but he’s also just a big teddy bear underneath if you’re willing to dig.

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim usually walks you home after dates, but he gets called into work, so you return alone. There is a small envelope slipped in the space between your door and the jamb, and you decide to open it before going inside.

The simple message reading ‘Back Off’ doesn’t give much information, so you shrug as you unlock the door. It’s probably just some kids messing around or a silly prank that ended up at the wrong house.

As soon as you lock the door behind you, your phone rings.

“Hello,” you greet cheerfully.

The line is silent for a few seconds before it beeps, disconnected from the other end.

“Wrong number,” you hum to yourself as you walk away from the phone.

When it rings again, you don’t answer. Your cell phone rings, a rare picture of Tim smiling (that he will delete as soon as he finds it) lighting up your screen as you race to answer it.

“Hey,” you say.

“I called your house a second ago, are you home yet?”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry, someone called right before with a wrong number, and I thought it was them again.”

Tim hums before telling you he wouldn’t be at work as long as he thought; he just needed to help with some paperwork before a case went to court.

“I can get reservations for next weekend if you’re still okay with my restaurant choice.”

You smile at Tim’s willingness to let you choose before assuring him that you only want to be with him, but you like the food there, too, so it’s a win-win.

After Tim hangs up, you fall asleep, forgetting about the note and the phone call.

✯✯✯✯✯

Someone knocks on your door as you exit your bedroom the following morning. You locate a bathrobe, pulling it over your pajamas before opening the door. Another envelope is on your mat, but no one is in sight.

The message in this one is a bit more concerning. The message, typed in a plain black font, reads: ‘I will KILL you to take him back.’

You consider calling Tim, asking him if he knows of any pranks like this going on in the neighborhood before deciding he’s probably too busy with real police work. Maybe you’re just paranoid.

Your cell phone rings, and you answer quickly, silencing when the only noise on the other end is distorted breathing. After they hang up, your thumb hovers over Tim’s number. 

“Grow up,” you chide yourself before returning to your room to get ready.

✯✯✯✯✯

Throughout the day, more creepy phone calls are made to your cell phone until you finally turn it off. When you meet Tim for lunch, he asks if you got the message he sent you, and you tell him a white lie: too many telemarketers were calling, and you turned it off. He nods, but his gaze is intense like he doesn’t quite believe you.

✯✯✯✯✯

After three days of phone calls with nothing but breathing and more notes about someone killing you to get whoever him is back from you, you’re tired. However, the morning goes by with no calls, and you think maybe whatever it was is finally over. When you walk out to your car, you freeze in the driveway and nearly drop everything you’re holding. 

Someone has slashed your tire and put a large building nail through it to attach a note.

You are next.

Up to this point, you’ve been more agitated than anything, but now you’re scared. Whoever this is has been close to you and knows when you come and go. But, at the same time, it’s just some notes and phone calls, not like you’re in any immediate danger.

Your phone buzzes, and you jump, an incoming text from Tim startling you. You reply to his message quickly, telling him you ran over a nail at some point and won’t be able to meet him for lunch. Seconds after pressing send, he calls you.

“Morning,” you answer, staring at the nail in your tire.

“Are you alright?” he asks, ignoring your nice greeting.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I’m still at home, just noticed the tire.”

“I can come pick you up for lunch,” he offers. “Or come see you.”

“It’s completely out of the way, Tim, no worries. I’ll make up for it tomorrow?”

Tim doesn’t speak for a moment, and you can nearly see the crease on his forehead as he dissects your answers.

“Sure,” he says finally. “Call me if that changes.”

As he ends the call, he rubs his chin and decides to ask you what’s going on next time he sees you. You had been so happy and excited leading up to your anniversary, but it’s like a switch was flipped in you, and now you don’t want to talk to him. He believes you about the tire, but something else is bothering you, and he intends to find out what.

✯✯✯✯✯

Eating lunch at your desk, someone brings you a box from your favorite bakery.

“This was delivered to the front desk,” your coworker says, leaving it with you.

There are no names on it, but Tim is one of very few people who knows how much you like their treats. He also knows that you have severe food allergies, and it is one of the few bakeries in Los Angeles that happily works around them. Smiling at the idea of Tim sending you something after your rough morning, you open the box and take one of the goodies out.

After the third or fourth bite, you realize something is really wrong. As your throat closes, you start to panic as you dig through your bag for your epi-pen. One of the girls at a desk near you sees you and rushes to your aid, pulling your spare epi-pen from the communal snack area and inserting the tip into your leg as she yells for someone else to call 911.

The adrenaline surges into you, clearing your throat as you take a deep breath. Immediately, you know that whoever slashed your tires knows more than where you live and when you leave.

✯✯✯✯✯

The hospital is busy, and people are in and out of your room so frequently that you can barely think straight. You hear someone yell your name, recognizing Tim’s voice anywhere. He appears in the doorway a moment later, wide-eyed as he looks you over.

“I completely forgot I put you as my emergency contact. I’m so sorry,” you apologize lowly.

“What happened?” he asks, his voice softer than it was outside as he nears your side.

“I- I ate something and forgot to check the ingredients. Then I couldn’t find my epi-pen.”

Tim knows you always check the ingredients; your allergies dictate part of your life. If you didn’t make it or order it after inquiring about its ingredients or how it’s made, you don’t eat it. 

“How are you feeling now?” Tim asks, deciding it’s not the best time to press for the truth. His hand lands on your leg, rubbing gentle circles with his thumb.

“I’m okay. My chest is still a little tight but they gave me something for it.”

“Let me call my chief and I’ll take the rest of the day off so I can take you home,” he offers.

“No, don’t do that, Tim. One of my coworkers can give me a ride home so you can go back to work.”

“I don’t think you should be alone.”

“The medicine is working, I just have to give it time and take it easy for a few hours. I promise I will be fine.”

Tim nods, squeezing your hand before kissing your forehead. “If you need anything, call me.”

You nod, watching him go. The feeling of his hand on yours is still there, and you feel terrible for lying to him, but there’s no real evidence that someone is trying to hurt you. Maybe someone was trying to be kind with the treats and didn’t know about your allergies.

Even as you think it, you realize it sounds ridiculous. You’re in danger, and you’re going to have to tell someone eventually.

✯✯✯✯✯

Your coworker drops you off after you insist you can walk to the door alone. Mostly, you don’t want her to see the giant nail in your tire.

Worse, you realize, is the other one. You slow when you see your front door, with a six-inch building nail driven into it. It’s nearly level with your eyes, and a disgusting mix of red and brown paint covers the door below it. A replica of a murder scene, you presume.

Finally understanding that every little thing over the last few days has been a threat, you don’t feel safe alone in your house. Stepping back, you prepare to call Tim.

Before you can, you see a woman standing in your driveway, staring at you with a nail gun and a paintbrush hanging from her hand.

“Who are you?” you ask quietly, swallowing as you try to steady your voice.

“I’m the one that Tim Bradford is supposed to be with,” she answers, slowly moving toward you. “Everyone could see how good we were together. Then you showed up and he changed his mind about me. Whatever you did to get him away from me… I will do so much more to you.”

You step backward as she speaks, fumbling with your keys behind your back. Just as she reaches the front of your porch, you step inside quickly and slam the door, locking it and looking around frantically for something you can use as a weapon. It gets quiet outside, not even a footstep audible as you hold your breath to listen.

A key slides easily into your lock, and you scramble into the kitchen, loosening your grip on your stuff to grab a knife on your way to the bathroom, one of the only doors that lock. The front door closes and locks, her easy footsteps far too familiar with the layout of your home.

Reaching for your phone to call for help, you realize that you dropped your phone to get the knife. You stand in front of the bathtub, terrified as you raise the knife in front of your chest. 

After a moment of silence that seems to last an eternity, the doorknob jiggles. You tighten your grip on the knife handle as she hums. 

A nail shoots through the lock, lodging in the metal mechanisms, and you back up until your calves are pressed to the cool side of the tub. Another nail comes through the door, launching through the hollow wood and lodging into the tile on the wall behind you. You drop your head as the tile shatters, and a third nail follows quickly, her aim much lower as it hooks your pants, pinning you to the porcelain behind you. You rip your leg free, stepping away from the tub and failing to notice the stinging sensation or the blood trickling down your ankle as you climb into the tub, hoping it offers enough protection.

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim clenches his jaw when his third call to you goes unanswered. You promised to keep him updated after the anaphylaxis scare, but it’s been a couple hours since he left you in the hospital, and he hasn't heard a thing.

“Tim, just go,” Angela says, a knowing look on her face. “You won’t be able to focus until you know they’re okay. Unless you’re finally willing to tell me who brought a little sunshine to Timothy Bradford’s cloudy skies,” she taunts at the end.

Tim lets out a soft “hmm,” accepting her offer and gathering his things from the edge of her desk.

“She must be important,” Angela calls behind him, smirking to herself when he doesn’t correct her.

✯✯✯✯✯

Your breaths are loud and shaky even as you focus on controlling them. Several more clicks are heard from the nail gun, and you flinch each time, curling further into the bathtub. A loud screech draws your attention, a second nail dislodging the knob and the lock before the door opens.

You take your chance, hoping to surprise her as you jump toward her, knocking her to the floor and using both hands to point the nail gun away from you. She tries to roll out from under you, squeezing the trigger and firing a nail into the ceiling as she does. A small shower of drywall dust coats the room, but you keep your head down, entirely focused on keeping her at arm’s length.

“When it ends – when you end – I get him back!” she grunts, twisting in your grasp.

The sharper end of the paintbrush she had earlier is pushed into your side, and you gasp, loosening your grip on the nail gun. She raises it quickly as she tilts to the side, dumping you onto the floor and taking the upper hand. A nail is fired beside your head, momentarily deafening you as you flinch away from it.

You are unsure if she said him or Tim, but you think she means the same either way. Tim is the only thing you can think of that someone might want to take back from you.

“Isn’t that his choice?” you ask, pushing her hands away from you as she gets angrier.

She drops the paintbrush before using both hands to push the nail gun toward your forehead. You raise your legs, kicking her forward and over your head. As she topples, she squeezes the trigger multiple times. After the last firing sound, you open your eyes and notice a nail holding your shirt to the floor.

When you hear her groan behind you, you reach over until you feel the metal trash can beside your toilet, raising it over your head and dropping it aimlessly.

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim has dozens of questions he wants to ask, but as he races to your house, they slowly fade into two: are you safe, and how can he make you see that telling him everything will benefit you both? He knows he doesn’t always seem like the best listener and isn’t big on sharing, but he wants to know what is happening in your life, what you’re feeling, and what you’re dealing with. More than that, he wants to be at your side, helping you navigate a life with him.

✯✯✯✯✯

The door opens with a loud bang, causing you to flinch. You attempt to sit up before yelping in pain when something tugs your side. Someone is running through your house, and you’re torn between yelling for help or staying silent in case she wasn’t working alone.

Tim yells your name, and you sigh before answering, “In the bathroom.”

✯✯✯✯✯

When Tim turns into your driveway, blocking the sidewalk as he parks behind your car, he sees the oversized nail protruding from your tire. Walking past it, he knows that wasn’t accidental, nor was the slash below it.

Worried about you and racking his brain over who would do something like that to you, he sees the scene on your door and kicks it open before he even thinks to knock.

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim stops in the hallway, his eyes raking over the nails lining the door and the few stray ones in the wall across the hallway. It appears that most of the attack was aimed at the bathroom, but whatever happened escalated quickly.

Using his shoulder, he forcefully opens the door before entering the small bathroom. He steps over your unconscious assailant, lowering to his knee beside you. Looking over you, he lays a hand on the side of your neck, a warm and welcome comfort as he directs you to look at him.

You try to move closer to him, but he rushes to stop you.

“Don’t. Don’t move. The ambulance and more help are on the way, let’s just wait for them,” he says.

You nod, trusting him but unsure why he won’t let you move.

“Is she…” you ask, trailing off.

“She’s unconscious,” Tim answers concisely. “What’d you hit her with?”

“The trashcan,” you answer, a small smile appearing and making Tim shake his head.

“I should get one of those,” Tim jokes, leaning toward you.

Sirens grow louder as they get closer, and Tim sighs in relief.

“Are you okay?” he asks. “I can’t ask what happened yet, that’s for the next cop. But as your boyfriend, are you okay?”

“I am now,” you answer, raising your hand to lay over his on your jaw.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Do you know who she is?” the officer asks as the EMT sits beside you.

“No,” you answer. “I’ve been getting phone calls and messages for a few days, but I’ve never seen her before.”

“I have,” Tim interjects, shaking his head at you before supplying a name. “My ex.”

“Any idea as to why she attacked you?” the officer asks, glancing toward Tim.

“Sergeant Bradford, I presume. She said she’d kill me to get him back, but never said who him was,” you answer.

Tim nods, lowering his voice to explain something to the officer as the EMT asks questions about how you feel.

You sigh in relief as the paramedics carry Tim’s unconscious ex out, gripping Tim’s hand as he moves to your side again.

“This is going to hurt, I’m sorry,” the kind EMT says.

Tim moves his fingers, letting you squeeze him as much as you need.

“The nail caught some of your skin, but I’m going to try to go fast to minimize the pain.”

Understanding why it hurt to sit up before, you focus on Tim’s hand in yours rather than the hands on your torso, working to free you from the bathroom floor and stop the bleeding.

“All done,” the EMT announces. “You didn’t even flinch. We’ll get you to the hospital and let the doctors check everything.”

You sit up with Tim’s help, leaning against him as a temporary bandage is placed on your side. Looking around your destroyed bathroom, you move closer to Tim, grateful for him.

“Your ex is crazy,” you mumble against his shoulder.

Tim laughs, and it's a short but relieved noise accompanying his arm across your back, keeping you close and comforted.

“We’ll fix the bathroom later,” he promises.

You tilt your head and furrow your brows, prompting Tim to kiss the crease between them. “You’re not coming back here for a few days. Don’t give me that look.”

✯✯✯✯✯

Leaving the hospital, Tim lifts you from the wheelchair, staring at you when you grab his shoulders.

“I can walk, Tim,” you remind him.

He doesn’t listen or doesn’t care, taking the last few steps to the passenger seat and setting you down before buckling your seat belt, mindful of your bandaged side. He carries you into his house, grabbing some of your favorite snacks and drinks before sitting beside you and welcoming you into his arms. He’s quiet, but you’ve grown to understand Tim’s different silences better than most people’s words.

Right now, he’s relieved, but you’re sure he has a lot of questions, too. Getting him to ask them is the hard part.

“Have any other exes I should know about?” you ask after a few minutes.

“Hmm.” He raises his fingers as he nods and shakes his head, a playful ‘debate’ over who is worthy of being mentioned. Lowering his hands and giving you a sincere look, he says, “No, I don’t think so. And I’m sorry I didn’t mention her, I never expected she’d do something like this.”

You nod, though you never considered blaming him for something so completely out of his control. This is all on her, and she’ll have a chance to explain herself.

“Think I’d be a crazy ex?”

“You won’t be an ex at all,” Tim answers, tugging you closer against his chest.

Turning toward him, you trace your finger in small shapes over his chest.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Tim asks gently.

You shrug. “I didn’t know how. And it wasn’t that bad at first.”

“You have to tell me these things or I don’t know something is wrong, I can’t help.”

“But you get grumpy,” you reply with an exaggerated pout.

Tim proves you right, grumbling even as he kisses you. “I’m allowed to be grumpy when someone is hurting the woman I love.”

You sit up quickly, and Tim’s eyes widen, his hands raising to your side as he grows concerned that you hurt yourself.

“You love me?”

Tim shakes his head, rolling his eyes as he mutters, “Against my better judgment, yes.”

You giggle at his grumpiness, leaning back into his side. He pulls your legs across his lap, letting you curl completely into his side. Toying with the hem of his your borrowed sweatpants, Tim lets his mind wander before tracing a gentle finger around the bandage on your ankle.

“Tickles,” you argue when you yank your leg away from him.

Tim pulls your leg back down, pointing out, “I deserve a few tickles after the week you put me through.”

“I was poisoned, and you had a bad week?” you repeat.

“I knew you were lying, you lying liar that lies!”

You duck your head at the reminder of everything you kept from Tim over the last few days. The anniversary you were so excited about now seems tainted.

“Hey,” Tim whispers, drawing your attention. “I’m not mad at you. And whenever you’re ready to talk about it, I’m right here.”

“I don’t even know how she found out about the allergies,” you mumble.

“That’s probably my fault. I have notes and epi-pens everywhere, so if she was close enough to do this to you, she was close enough to find any of my stuff laying around.”

You shiver at the idea of her going through your things, but Tim’s hand rubs down your back and chases those thoughts away.

Taking his invitation, you start at the beginning and tell him about the notes, the phone calls, the bakery box, and how the little, seemingly harmless notes progressed so quickly. He grows grumpier with each word, so you determine you may need to make the ending a bit more interesting for him.

“And then my knight in shining armor showed up and saved the day,” you finish, kissing his cheek. “He’s just a grumpy teddy bear.”

Tim pulls you closer, glad to have your company again. “Tell me things and I’ll be even more of a teddy bear.”

You smile excitedly, so Tim clarifies, “Only for you.”

[fallstaticexit]

Prev / Next / Beginning / Pillowfort

TW: Sim Spice

Transcript under the cut

Nancy Narrates: [I returned home in a daze. My whole self not entirely present in my body]

Nancy Narrates: [And when I closed my eyes for the night, it was with thoughts of her]

[such a pretty threat too] [I am so happy to have met you, Nancy]

Nancy: [moans softly]

Geoffrey: [murmurs] Hey baby, you're home. Malcolm has a cold.

Nancy: Ok, Geoffrey. Go back to sleep.

Nancy Narrates: [I had to get through it, as I always did. I couldn’t allow anything to distract me, especially when I had so much at stake]

Chester: I’d like Nancy to oversee the Dreamer Project.

Nancy: Me, sir?

Chester: I see what you’ve done in Del Sol Valley. I’m impressed, Nancy. That is the kind of initiative that I can trust to lead this business.

Chester: I have observed your work throughout the years. While inheritance is assured, are you prepared to take on the role of CEO? You have the potential, my daughter. Show me what you can do.

Nancy: I-I will. I’ll do great, father.

Nancy Narrates: [My father was ready to see what I was capable of. I had to give it my all]

[laughter]

Dirk: Mrs. Landgraab! Thank you for coming. Early as always. [chuckles] My apologies, I sent out an email that my 9am was running late. Please, take a seat. I have a few things I’d like to address.

[silence]

Dirk: [clears throat] Guess I’ll jump right in. First and foremost, budget is at the forefront, and we’re looking to reduce costs in any way we can without compromising infrastructure. This project has been a long held dream of mine. It’s personal, so it’s crucial that I make the right investment for the citizens of San Myshuno. If you look out this window, you can see the impact the Landgraab Company has had on this city; however, Feng’s portfolio aligns closely with our vision for The Dreamer Project.

Dirk: Lily Feng of Feng Enterprise informed me that they can cut costs by 10% by importing material from Tomarang that is affordable yet high quality.

Nancy: Is that right?

Lily: It is what makes us the best in the business.

Dirk: 10% does peek out interests-

Nancy: 20%! I can cut cost by 20% across the board.

Dirk: Hmm. Here’s how we’ll proceed. I’ll give you both 30 days to come up with a proposal, and whichever meets our requirements best will be awarded the bid.

Lily: Lovely.

Nancy: Perfect.

Dirk: Excellent. Thank you both for your time.

Lily: You know, they say to never meet your heroes, but you’ve been nothing but accommodating. Thank you soo much for the lead, Nancy.

Nancy: ‘Small modest firm’, right? You don’t think this is a fucked up way to ‘get your footing’ and ‘network’?

Lily: [coos] Ohh, did I bruise your ego?

Nancy: Oh, please. I meant what I said. The Landgraab Co. tops the market. I’ve put plenty of no name firms out of business, what’s one more?

Lily: Did you or did daddy do it?

Lily: Like I said, this is a man’s game. You’re either going to ask for what you want or take it by any means necessary. Not that I had to try very hard, you gave it all up sooo easily. I didn’t even have to beg.

Nancy: Funny. When I win this bid, you’ll be on your knees begging me for a job.

Lily: [tuts] Tell you what, when I win, my small firm won’t make a laughing stock of you. Instead, how about you come to my office in that sexy little red dress you wore and kiss my heels?

Nancy Narrates: [Oh, what an infuriating, little-]

Nancy: -BITCH! Excuse my language.

Judith: Oh, no need to apologize, I am living for this darling.

Nancy: And to parade around with that cocky fucking smirk like she’s already won. I want to see her fail so badly. I want to ruin her!

Judith: Then you make sure she knows who the hell you are and that she picked the wrong Landgraab!

Nancy: I can’t lose this, Judy. It’ll be the last thing I do if I did. My god, I’ve never been more stressed-

Judith: Hey, relax, love. Did you get the parcel I sent you?

Nancy: Yes. It said to run a bath and pour myself a glass of wine before opening- what’s this about?

Judith: I think if you were getting off regularly, you could focus properly. Clearly, your darling husband isn’t cutting the bill. So, I made a little purchase to help—clear the tunnels, so to speak. Ah, I have to go. Kisses darling! Have fun!

Nancy: Wait! What am I- [sighs] What am I supposed to do with this..

Nancy Narrates: [I had 30 days to win. I had to focus. No distractions]

[Don’t you want to know what it feels like? I can show you-]

[buzzing]

Geoffrey: Nance? Are you still coming with me to get the boys from practice?

Nancy: Yes! I’m coming!

Geoffrey: Okie dokie!

[tellafairy]

Hi, can you please explain in detail how you changed your marks + got into your dream uni and how you always stay lean? This would change my life.

i have already answered this but i will re answer it more in depth !

when i was 16, i really wanted to attend a university quite far away. it was a dream i had for a while, but i was scared things wouldn't work out — especially when my counsiler told me over and over again that my grades "weren't good enough" and i "didn't meet the requirements". i was also scared about finances and the uni being to far away.

with this, when my senior year came and i turned 17 — i had saw a sucess story on tiktok of a girl who manifested her dream university experience simply through LOA. this prompted me to do the same, and i began to completely ignored everything my counsiler said. i told myself over and over again that i am attending the university, no ifs ands or buts. i repeated simple things like "i literally got into the university, is he crazy?" "my dorm room at university is so cute i love it" over and over again inside of my head whenever the topic of university was brought up or came to mind. whenever someone asked me where i'm going for uni, i told them this university. spoke about the uni as their student would. and when filling out my application, i was laughing to myself. "why am i even doing this? i'm already a student at __.. i guess it'll be fun to show other students what an application should look like if they wanna get into __ like me!"

id also saturate! sometimes i'd spend 1-2 hours just sitting there thinking of life at that university in my head as if i was already there. id go into detail about the financial aid id get, how my dorm would look, meal plans, etc etc — everything i wanted my uni life to be like. (this part is quite important to me, i made sure to incorporate the fact i wouldn't struggle with paying for uni or finding housing). id ignore any thoughts or worries whenever they came to mind, i always made it my priority to remind myself that i already attend the university — nothing else matters.

as for changing my marks; in my home country, your highschool submits all of your grades to the universities for you. and after graduation, they send you one final copy of your transcript. so when i was applying to university, i only saw my transcript once before graduation through my guidence counsiler, and it didn't even have all of my final grades because i was still taking classes, it only had my midterm marks (which are basically ur final marks before the final exams which would usually bring ur mark up by 5-10%)

anyways, after seeing it and realizing how bad my midterms were, i just affirmed that the transcript was wrong and that my final marks would be 10x better. i told myself that i'd ace my fianl exams so well that it would bring my marks up by more than 10%. despite this — after graduation, i received a transcript with my exact same mid term marks.

but, i didn't let this discourage me. i simply disregarded the email and deleted it, i didn't even save the transcript because i knew it wasn't right. i kept affirming and affirming and saturating and telling myself that they accidentally sent the wrong transcript. and i think you know what i'm gonna say next; that's exactly what they did. my principal had emailed me alongside my counsiler, both emails had a copy of my real transcript where my grades met the standard i had created in my mind — and they also apologized for giving me the wrong transcript, informing me that the universities i applied to all received the correct one.

i had already gotten my acceptance letter into the university before i had received my final transcript, so i think that's what made it easier for me to accept and know that the first transcript they sent me was wrong.

i'm not sure what anon means by staying lean.. so i'm sorry i can't answer that part 😅 but i hope the rest makes sense!

[forest-hashira]

Forever Yours

before i drop this here and run away, i just want to say that i welcome anyone who follows me because you enjoy my writing, but please keep in mind that this is far outside of what i usually write, so if you're following expecting a lot more of this, you're going to be disappointed. everything i've written here besides this is sfw, so. you've been informed. don't get mad at me for expecting something i told you not to expect. anyways, enjoy this!

read on ao3 here | wc: ~5.1k | cw: omegaverse, omega/afab reader, alpha kyojuro, established relationship, mating cycles (reader's in heat), knotting, mating bites, unprotected piv sex, vaginal fingering, implied chubby reader. minors do not interact.

No matter how many times he assured you it was fine, that he wanted you there, you didn’t think you’d ever get used to spending your heats with Kyojuro. 

You’d been dating for over a year at this point, but you’d only had half a dozen heats at most since then, probably less. Your heats had been irregular ever since you presented, but multiple doctors had assured you it wasn’t anything to be seriously concerned about, so you did your best not to worry about it. 

The first heat you had after you started dating had started in the middle of the night, when the two of you were supposed to watch the sunrise together in the morning. You’d immediately texted him, saying vaguely that you didn’t feel well and that you’d have to take a rain check on the sunrise, though it made you sad to do so. 

Much to your surprise, he had still shown up at your agreed upon time for your date, but instead of flowers he’d had shopping bags in his hands. He didn’t even seem upset that you hadn’t specifically told him you were in heat, just more concerned that you might not have everything you needed to get through it. You could tell he wanted to stay with you through it, but since you hadn’t invited him to, he didn’t ask, only promising that he was a phone call away if you needed him.

You made it less than forty-eight hours before you were calling him, asking if you could stay with him through it. He’d dropped everything to pick you up from your apartment and bring you back to his own. 

After that it was an unspoken agreement that you spent all of your heats with him at his apartment. 

Even having done this before, even knowing that nothing you did to make yourself more comfortable in his space could make him upset with you, nesting at his apartment still made you nervous. The first time you’d built a nest in his apartment, you’d done it in a closet, not wanting it to be in his way or disrupt his life any more than you already were. He’d told you he was honored you felt safe enough to nest in his apartment, but there was a sadness in his voice and on his face he hadn’t been able to disguise. In your delicate state, you’d wildly misunderstood the reason for his sadness, and had begun to cry, apologizing for taking up space that wasn’t yours. He’d spent a long time after that assuring you that you hadn’t done anything wrong, and that the only reason he was sad was because he’d hoped you’d nest somewhere he could join you, or at least keep a better eye on you. 

Progress had been slow, but every time your nest migrated to a more open spot, he seemed to get happier and happier. You hoped that trend would continue, because this time the only place your Omega instincts would accept as a nesting spot was his bed. 

You’d kept it small, as much as it pained you to do so: just a few extra blankets, the extra pillows from his closet, and a hoodie of his you’d slipped into. The clothing was thick, almost too warm with your rising body temperature, but it smelled like him, and you needed that to help calm you until he got home from work. 

Almost as if your thoughts had summoned him, you heard his keys in the front door, and you sat up in your nest, anxiously gripping the blanket in your lap. What if he hated it? you fretted internally. What if he’s angry I used his bed? What if—

Your anxious thoughts were stopped in their tracks when you heard him call your name, his voice full of warmth and love and tenderness, just like it always was during your heats. You didn’t call back, the words sticking in your throat, but you knew it wouldn’t take him long to find you; your scent had begun to fill the apartment a few hours before, though you’d done your best not to let it get too overwhelming outside of his room. 

Within a minute his footsteps approached and his head peeked around the door. Your heart leapt into your throat then, convinced he’d see your nest in his bed and become upset, asking you to take it apart. Instead, you watched as he took you in for a moment, then seemed to realize what you’d turned his bed into, and he broke out into a bright grin. 

He closed the distance between you in just a few steps, and he cradled your face in his hands for a moment before he kissed you. 

“You’re not upset?” you asked, once he’d finally given you a chance to breathe. 

“Upset?” Kyojuro asked, clearly surprised by your words. “Baby, I’ve been waiting for you to feel comfortable enough to nest in my bed for months. How could I possibly be upset?”

Tears pricked at your eyes at his words, and all you could do was turn your head slightly into his touch, pressing a featherlight kiss to the inside of his wrist. 

“My only concern is the size, though,” he added after a moment, stroking your cheek with his thumb to get your attention again. 

Just like the first time, you misunderstood his meaning. “O-oh, okay,” you said quietly, feeling a bit embarrassed. “I can make it smaller, move it to my side of the bed. You don’t have to, uh. Have to share it with me.” Your voice grew softer as you spoke, barely a whisper as the last few words left your lips. You had hoped he’d cuddle you in the nest for as long as you could take it — maybe even fuck you in it later, your inner Omega suggested hopefully — but clearly he didn’t want that, and the last thing you wanted was to impose. 

“No, little flame, don’t be silly,” he chided, his fiery eyes shining as he looked at you. “I just meant it looks a little sparse, your last few have been cozier than this. Are you sure it’s to your satisfaction?”

You stared at him for a moment, a light blush dusting your cheeks. “…no,” you admitted after a moment. “I just…didn’t want to take over your space like that.”

“It’s yours to take over,” he assured you, leaning in to press a kiss to the tip of your nose before finally releasing you. “Come on, I’ll help you bulk it up.”

Your heart fluttered at his words, and all you could do was nod, allowing him to take your hand and pull you up from the bed, forgetting until you were standing in front of him that you wore nothing but his hoodie and your panties. 

His eyes flashed briefly at the sight, but all he did was smile. “You look comfy like that,” he said simply, giving your hand a squeeze before leading you into the laundry room. A basket full of his clean clothes sat by the door, and he easily scooped it up, carrying it back to his room. “Pick whatever you want out of there,” he encouraged. “I’m going to find every single blanket in this apartment for you, and if you want more I’ll drive to the store and buy the softest ones they have.”

A small giggle escaped you at his words, and you shook your head slightly at him. “That’s not necessary,” you assured him. “As long as it smells like you I’ll be happy.”

Reinforcing the nest didn’t take long, especially with Kyojuro there to help, following your every instruction about where to put the blankets and how best to arrange them to help the nest keep its shape. You incorporated every shirt, hoodie, and pair of pajama pants from the basket of his clothes into the nest, leaving out only the jeans and boxers. 

“It looks beautiful, baby,” he murmured, after you’d finished your work. “Do you want to lay down in it now?”

You nodded eagerly at his words, your inner omega preening as he praised your nest. Upon his insistence, you climbed in first, settling down near the center. Once you were comfortable, you looked over at him with your best puppy eyes and reached out for him. “Cuddles?” you pleaded, blinking slowly at him the way you knew always worked. 

“Anything you want,” he agreed, shucking off the jeans he was wearing before he crawled up the bed to your side, smiling at you all the while. “I’m so proud of you,” he murmured, holding you close once he’d reached you. 

“For what?” you asked, a bit confused. 

“For building your nest in my bed. For being honest and telling me you weren’t happy with the state of it when I asked, and for letting me help you make it better for you.���

The blush in your cheeks was impossible to hide, especially with the way it crawled up your ears and down your chest a bit. “Oh…” was all you could manage for a moment, his praises making you feel almost dizzy. “Thank you for helping me put it together. You didn’t have to do that.”

“But I wanted to,” he promised, nuzzling his nose lightly against your own; he wasn’t quite scent marking you, but it was reassuring all the same. “I’d do anything for you,” he added, almost to himself, and your blush intensified, making you feel as if you could burst into flames right then and there.

Not knowing what to say, you cuddled further into him, fingers tangling in the shirt he wore and pressing your cheek against his for a moment. “Could we watch a movie?” Your voice was quiet as you spoke, but he was so focused on you that he caught your words easily. 

“What do you want to watch?” Kyojuro turned away from you slightly to grab the remote for his TV from the nightstand, but even with as short as the distance between you was, you whined softly. He chuckled softly at the sound, quickly returning to his position, squishing you against him and peppering your cheeks with kisses.

“You pick,” you told him, relaxing once he had you in his arms again. Honestly, you didn’t really care what you watched; you just wanted some background noise to help you sleep. You were exhausted, and though you hadn’t said anything, you were sure your boyfriend could tell. 

A soft kiss dropped to your forehead after you spoke, and you watched as he turned on the TV, clicking around a bit until he landed on a period drama; your inner Omega cheered when you realized it was one of your favorites. 

The feeling of his hand rubbing up and down your back had you melting into him in seconds, practically purring in satisfaction. Before you could fully sink into sleep or your heat-driven headspace, you forced yourself to pull away from him enough to look up into his face. “Hey Kyo?”

“What is it, little flame?” he asked, his eyes soft as he smiled down at you.

The nickname sent a little shiver down your spine, but you ignored it for now; what you needed to tell him was important. “I want you to claim me this time.”

The alpha in your arms seemed to freeze then, and you suddenly worried you’d crossed the line. The two of you had never technically had a conversation about the subject, but it had always felt like the obvious next step in your relationship; you’d never felt the same way about anyone else, and you couldn’t imagine a future without him.

“Are you sure?” he asked after a few moments, brushing a stray hair away from your eyes. “That’s a big commitment.” He watched you closely as he spoke, trying to gauge your reaction.

You nodded eagerly at his words. “I’m sure,” you promised. “I’ve felt the way you hold back during my heats and your ruts. I really want your mark this time. I needed to tell you before I got too lost in the hormones, in case you didn’t think I meant it.”

Any anxiety you might’ve felt about the situation melted away as he pulled you into a kiss, his hands cradling your face so lovingly it almost hurt.

“I want it too,” he murmured against your lips, kissing you again softly. “I’ll mark you this time. I love you,” he promised, pressing his forehead gently to yours.

“I love you too,” you breathed out, relief washing over you at the knowledge that you were on the same page. You snuggled further into him, burying your face into his neck and seeking out his scent gland. A purr rumbled in his chest at the touch, and it made you melt.

“Get some sleep,” he encouraged, one hand coming up to cradle the back of your head while the other squeezed your side gently. “I know this week is gonna wear you out, you’ll need all the rest you can get.”

That was all the encouragement you needed, purring against his skin as you finally drifted off, tucked close into his warmth.

You weren’t sure how long you’d been asleep, but when you woke up you were sweating, suddenly feeling suffocated in the hoodie you’d put on earlier. You wriggled out of it as quickly as you could, tossing it to one side of your nest. Unfortunately, freeing yourself from the stifling garment didn’t bring the relief you’d hoped for, and you whined.

After a moment, you realized you were alone in the nest, and you sat up, turning towards the door. “Kyo?” you called out, not quite sure where he would be; he didn’t leave your side much during your heats, so waking up alone during them was uncommon. 

Thankfully, he was back at your side in less than a minute, placing a bottle of gatorade – your favorite flavor, of course – and a snack on the bedside table. “Hey, gorgeous,” he greeted, crawling into the bed with you again, kissing your forehead. “Just went to get a couple things for you. Could smell your heat setting in while you were still asleep.”

You nodded dumbly at his words, leaning into his touch as he pulled you close. You sought out his scent gland again, pressing your nose into it and taking a deep breath. The smell of him was heady, spices and woodsmoke filling your senses and making your mouth water slightly. You shifted your position slightly, pushing yourself up on your knees a bit to rub your cheek against his scent gland, eyes closed all the while. 

A low sound rumbled in his chest, and he wrapped his arms more securely around you, letting you get as much of his scent as you wanted. One hand rubbed your back softly as he held you, the other trailing down a little lower, grabbing at the meat of your thigh and relishing in the way it squished a bit in his hand; he’d always been fond of your softness, saying your squishiness and stretch marks were his favorite parts of you. He’d figured out early on in your relationship that you sometimes felt self conscious about your weight, even to the point of watching what you ate around him, but he had promised you countless times that your weight didn’t matter to him; he just loved you. 

A soft gasp escaped you as he gripped your thigh, and your hold on him tightened slightly. It was at that point that you fully realized he had removed his shirt at some point, leaving him in just his boxers. The feeling of his warm skin – he had always run a bit warm – pressed against your flushed body had a purr escaping you, loud and happy, your hips rolling into him slightly, the action completely involuntary. 

Kyojuro bit his lip as you moved against him, stifling the moan that rose in his chest. “Baby,” he murmured, after he’d gotten himself under control again. You didn’t react, seeming not to have heard his voice, so he tried again, this time pulling you away from his neck. “My love,” he murmured, a gentle smile on his face as he looked into your eyes. “Can you tell me what you need? I don’t want to assume anything or do something you’re not ready for yet.”

You whined softly as he pulled you away from where you’d been scenting him, but the weight of his hands at the back of your neck and on your hip kept you grounded there with him. Mind already beginning to grow a bit hazy, you had to take a moment to formulate an answer. “Touch me,” you replied, the words much breathier and pleading than you had intended. 

His smile turned a bit more knowing at that, his smile quirking up into a slight smirk. “Alright, I can do that. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.” His words were gentle as reassuring as his hand left your hip and trailed down between your legs. He couldn’t stop the moan that left his lips this time, the feeling of your slick soaked panties making him feel a bit feral. “So wet already,” he praised, pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth. “C’mon, lift up for me. Gonna take these off, ‘kay?” he asked, meeting your eyes again and tugging lightly at the waistband of your underwear. 

You nodded at his request, lifting yourself off of him, whimpering slightly at the loss of contact with him, though soon you’d helped him get your panties down your legs, the clothing tossed to some unknown corner of the room. 

“Gonna start with my fingers,” the fiery haired man said, bringing you back to settle on his lap for the time being. 

You nodded again at his words, more eager this time, wrapping your arms around his neck as his hand made its way between your legs. Normally you would’ve been embarrassed at the way slick was beginning to drip from your pussy, but right now you were so desperate for him to touch you that you didn’t care.

As his fingers finally brushed against your folds, you gasped, clinging to him a bit tighter without thinking about it. His touch was gentle at first, but when he found your clit he pressed his thumb to it, he began rubbing it in firm circles that made you whimper so pretty for him. “Kyo, please,” you pleaded quietly. “Need more.”

“I got you,” he soothed, kissing your temple before pushing a finger into your entrance. He pumped it a few times, though when he met with no resistance he easily pushed in a second. His fingers pumped in and out of you, curling on every few thrusts, his thumb still steady in its movement on your clit. 

Your arms tightened slightly around his neck as he started touching you more, panting against his skin and letting out little moans every time his fingertips brushed against your sweet spot. After a few minutes of that, your hips rocking into his hand slightly to meet his thrusts, he pressed a third finger into you, the stretch causing your eyes to roll back into your head. It was nothing compared to his knot, you knew that, but it still felt sinfully good the way the digits pumped in and out of your cunt, movements aided by the amount of slick leaking from you. 

Eventually your thighs began to tremble, and you buried your face further into his neck. “Feels s’good,” you whimpered into his neck. Your hips still rocked down into his hand, eagerly meeting his thrusts and adding to the stimulation of his thumb rubbing circles on your clit. 

“Yeah?” he asked softly, the hand not currently buried in your cunt rubbing up and down your thigh, almost as if to soothe you. “You gonna come on my fingers like this?” His words held no teasing whatsoever, only love and affection; all he wanted to do was make you feel good, so hearing that you were enjoying his touches made his internal Alpha swell with pride.

“Want to,” you whined, rocking your hips down a bit harder than before. A breathy moan escaped your lips then, and before you had fully realized what was happening, your lips were captured in a warm, affectionate kiss.

“You can do it,” Kyojuro praised, after he broke the kiss. He began to curl his fingers into your most sensitive spot with every thrust, his thumb moving more quickly on your clit. “C’mon, baby, come for me. Wanna make you feel good.”

His words seemed to flip a switch inside you, and you came with a cry, hiding your face and sinking your teeth lightly into the curve of his shoulder; you wanted to mark him, but some part of you was holding back, wanting him to claim you first, leave his mark on you and show how much he wanted you.

He couldn’t have stopped the grin that crept across his face if he’d wanted to, feeling very self-satisfied at the way you fell apart for him, so well and so easily. The hand on your thigh slid up your back, pressing you closer into him as he worked you carefully through your high and let you catch your breath. “How do you feel?” He asked after a few moments, nuzzling lightly at your cheek until you opened your eyes to look up at him. 

“Feel hot,” you answered honestly, and you could feel yourself slipping fully into your heat. “Need you, Kyo. Need your knot, please, need it so bad.” You were practically babbling at this point, and he shushed you with a gentle kiss.

“Alright, little flame, alright. I’ve got you,” the alpha soothed, sliding his fingers out of you to maneuver you onto your back in the middle of your nest.

A pathetic whine escaped your lips as he separated from you, and you reached out for him weakly, brows furrowed as your pussy clenched around nothing. “Please,” you whimpered, eyes slightly glassy as you looked up at him.

Kyojuro only separated from you long enough to pull his boxers down and kick them off, though as soon as that was done he was leaning into you again, fingers slipping between your legs again and rubbing up and down your soaked folds. “I’m right here,” he soothed, smiling gently down at you as he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. 

The touch settled you a bit, and a slight smile tugged at your lips when he kissed your forehead. Your eyes slipped closed as he began to trail kisses down the side of your face to your neck, where he buried his face into your scent gland, taking a deep breath of your scent: black tea, honey, and the tiniest hint of mint enveloped him, and he dragged his tongue across the spot, drawing a shudder from you. Your fingers tangled in his hair at the touch, and you tugged, trying to get his attention again. “Please, Kyo, need you to fill me up, need your knot.”

Your words made him groan against your skin, and he pulled away from your neck to look down into your eyes. “Okay, baby. Okay,” was all he said, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek before he took his length in his hand, lining himself up with your entrance before pushing in. His length slid in with ease, meeting no resistance until he was seated fully inside you.

The two of you moaned in unison once he was inside you, and you had to close your eyes for a moment as you adjusted to the feeling of him inside of you. He scattered kisses across your chest as he waited for permission to move, not wanting to overwhelm you at any point during this, regardless of how much he may have wanted to just start pounding you into the mattress; this wasn’t about him, after all, it was about making sure you were satisfied and taken care of.

After a few moments, you opened your eyes again, looking down at where you could still feel his lips against the skin of your chest, and you trailed your fingers gently along the curve of his jaw. Once he’d tilted his head to meet your eyes, you gave him a small nod, shifting your hips slightly to assure him you were ready.

The alpha smiled warmly as you let him know you were ready for him to move, and he shifted up slightly to capture your lips in a soft, loving kiss as he pulled his hips back, relishing in the way you sighed against his lips as he sank back into you. His pace was slow at first, far more focused on how deep he could reach than on how fast he could fuck into you. When you sank your fingers into his hair and tugged, though, a small growl slipped from his lips, and his pace quickened.

A moan escaped you as Kyojuro began to thrust into you harder than before, rolling his hips against you at the end of every thrust, the movement grinding his pubic bone into your clit in a way that had your toes curling. “Kyo,” you whimpered, nuzzling against his cheek. “Need more, please.” Your voice was soft, and if you hadn’t been pressed so close together, he might have missed it.

“Yeah?” the fiery haired man panted, nuzzling you back lightly. “All you had to do was ask, baby.” With that, he adjusted his position, pushing himself up slightly on his knees for a moment as he gathered your legs in his hands, squeezing the plush of your things as he guided your legs around his waist. Once he was satisfied with the new position, he smiled down at you again, though now his expression was a bit more predatory, like he was ready to devour you. Without another word, he leaned in again, pressing a searing kiss to your lips as he began to fuck you even harder, even faster than he had been, now chasing his own pleasure as well as yours.

A high-pitched moan had you breaking the kiss long before you wanted to, but his lips never quite left your skin, mouthing across your jaw and down your neck, licking and sucking and nibbling as he went. When he reached your scent gland, he sealed his mouth over it, grazing his teeth lightly over it. The action made you tighten around him, and he groaned, his hips slamming into the backs of your thighs.

“Fuck, baby, feel so good, all for me,” he mumbled into your skin, one of his hands leaving your thigh to reach up and pinch your nipple between his fingers, tugging on it once before releasing it, smirking slightly at the way it made you squirm.

“Only for you,” you cried out in response to his words, your grip on his hair tightening. “Please, Kyo, need your knot, please.” You clenched around him, already able to feel the swell at the base of his cock catch at your entrance every few thrusts. “Want you to claim me, wanna be yours.”

He swore under his breath, pressing his body closer to yours as he fucked relentlessly into your dripping cunt. “You want me that bad? Want me to fill you up? Want me to mark you so everyone knows you’re taken?”

“Yes!” you practically wailed, tears beginning to well in the corners of your eyes. “Fuck, please, Alpha, want it so bad, need it.” You were bordering on incoherent at this point, the knot in your stomach tightening with every slap of his skin against yours.

“Then cum for me, Omega. Show me how bad you want it.”

His words were enough to tip you over the edge, and you screamed his name as you clamped down on his dick, hips bucking up to meet his as your eyes rolled back in your head.

Kyojuro growled at the feeling, only managing to thrust a few more times before his knot swelled completely, locking the two of you together as he came, pressing as deep into you as he could. As he came, he sank his teeth into your neck, biting down on your scent gland until he tasted blood, his internal Alpha cheering as he finally marked you as his.

Your nails dug into his scalp as his knot locked the two of you together, and you swore you could feel his cum shooting straight into your womb, filling you until you couldn’t possibly hold any more. When you felt his teeth sink into your throat, your vision went white, your whole body shuddering into another small orgasm, every muscle in your body going taut until he finally released your neck.

He pulled away after a few moments to admire his work, grinning slightly at the sight of his mark on your neck. He dropped his mouth to the spot again, though this time he laved his tongue over the wound, soothing the spot as best he could in that moment. Unbeknownst to him, he’d started purring against you as he dropped his weight onto you, the sound rumbling deep in his chest and causing you to relax a bit.

Slowly, your mind came back to your body, and you couldn’t help the dopey grin that settled on your lips. Your hold on his hair loosened, your hands now sliding down to his back hugging him to yourself as you began to purr as well. “...Can I mark you?” you asked after a few minutes, nuzzling against his neck, scent marking him even though you knew your scent was all over him already.

“Of course you can, little flame. Gotta make sure we match, hm?” He tilted his head to the side as he spoke, offering you complete access to his neck.

Your expression brightened slightly at his words, and after pressing a soft kiss to his neck, you sank your teeth into his scent gland, sealing him to you, just as his bite had sealed you to him. 

He gave an involuntary thrust of his hips as you bit him, and he felt more than heard your gasp as he released another spurt of cum into your cunt. Turning his head to face you again, he pressed a soft kiss to your temple, almost as if in apology. Attentive partner that he was, he immediately noticed the way your eyelids began to droop shut, and he smiled softly. “Get some rest, love,” he murmured, brushing a lock of hair away from your sweat-sticky forehead when he saw you fighting sleep. “I’ll be right here to keep taking care of you when you wake up.”

dividers by cafekitsune

tagging: @mitsuristoleme @kentohours @witchbybirth @marinnnnnnnnn @peachdues

[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.

[38riku]

Good morning / afternoon

If you are willing, would you be able to write a drabble / headcannons for any Twisted Wonderland characters (any dorm is fine) for a reader who’s based off Black Pearl Cookie from CRK?

You don’t have to do this request !

Love your work - swan anon 🦢

thank you sweets ! i chose octavinelle and malleus – if you want any other dorms just let me know <3 hope you enjoy

𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐎𝐋𝐃 𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓

Black Pearl Cookie!Reader x Octavinelle / Black Pearl Cookie!Reader x Malleus (reader is not the prefect.) not proofread.

𝐚. 𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐨

azul watches you, to your knowledge, and although it's a bit creepy you have no intention of confronting him about him as long as he keeps his distance.

however, the reason he is watching you is to do just that.

he's familiar with the tales of where you're from. nothing good comes in or out of the duskgloom sea, yet, here you were, and you had him completely enthralled.

then he overblots and you see him.

days later and be still wonders just what you thought of him. is he worse than the terrors of the sea you call home? judging by your looks, he'd be the only terror that would reside there.

azul lets his nerves get the better of him and approaches you when the lounge is nearly empty.

"i would like to apologize for ... the vulgar display of my overblot and octopus-like ... form." clearing his throat, he turned to leave, only to stop when you spoke. "you think you look vulgar?"

your melancholic tone caused his head to whirl in your direction. "the overblot was a bit much but there is nothing wrong with the way you look azul."

he blinks in shock, for the sincerity you held was that of someone who understood – someone who had insecurities of their own – and even though he couldn't fathom what you lacking, he didn't question it.

"yes, i suppose there isn't."

somehow, the small moments of conversation happened scarcely, despite this, he pieced together the small pieces of information you shared.

you had sisters that you adore. he could see the faint twinkle in your eyes as you spoke about them. you tone, on the other hand, was strained.

'you feel inferior to your sisters' he thought.

your view on love was sour, eluding to a past heartbreak that you haven't recovered from, and contributed to your current state of mind.

why?

why is every thought consumed by you?

why did he feel the aching need to dig deeper, knowing he may never reach the bottom and may not resurface?

you knew he can take the pain away. no matter how large the scar, the deepness of the cut, the memories that you held close — you don't deserve to hurt.

he sighed, tucking the golden scroll away.

"i hope you come to realize that the fate you've been given isn't one you must live."

𝐣. 𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐜𝐡

jade is rather good at reading social cues. yours to be specific. he's unintentionally devoted his time catering to you when you're in his vicinity.

you don't like to be bothered. a quick greeting or farewell is all you're willing to muster, and he respects that. unfortunately not everyone does.

at least when you're at the lounge he can help you. whether its sending his brother their way or redirecting them on his own terms it doesn't matter.

he can't tell if you've noticed his meddling but he is quite sure you've realized that no one approaches you in the lounge, which causes you to frequent more often.

"good evening. shall we start with drinks?"

it's jarring the way his mind can be filled with you but he acts just like any other member of the staff.

he watches as you scan over the new seasonal items, honing in on the desert items — leading him to believe you had a sweet tooth — "the pearl decorated cookie spread please ... and my usual drink."

you handed him back the laminated sheet, thanking him promptly and returning to your work.

although service is typically quick, the speed at which you received everything was noticeably faster.

"i hope you enjoy. in fact, i came up with the spread design myself." his comment didn't come off as boastful or arrogant, in all honesty you couldn't quite tell what was hidden in his tone.

"as the first person to order it i would like to hear your thoughts."

as you obliged, he took a seat on the other side of the booth, gauging your reaction.

when jade saw your face light up briefly he felt a sense of satisfaction that made him warm. "they use imported sugars and spices from the duskgloom sea. your presence inspired me to add such delicacy to the menu. i'm delighted that it suits your taste."

your eyes. he didn't mean to let it slip it was his idea — you as his muse — and that your delight was his ultimate goal, but, he couldn't help it when you stared at him with such intensity.

"i'm not quite sure what you're getting at."

"please don't think too much about it. as a frequent visitor, i simply wanted to ensure your comfortability." he excused, placing a hand across his chest before bowing slightly. "my apologies if—"

"no need. it seems i misunderstood." finishing the last of the platter, you slid out of the booth, "thank you for the menu feature. i'll be sure to enjoy it as long as it's on the menu."

making your way to the bar to pay, he couldn't help but chuckle once you were out of ear shot.

you didn't misunderstand. he did it to make you feel ... better.

if you wouldn't allow anyone close enough to fix it, he'll continue to try and alleviate your suffering from a distance.

𝐟. 𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐜𝐡

your relationship with the eel is grating. you aren't quite sure why he constantly insists on pushing your buttons or how he winds up in your bubble daily.

the reason is irrelevant. for all you know, he does it for his amusement which, irritates you even further that someone could be so ignorant. especially since you've lashed out on him a few times – earning you detention and a reminder of the rules regarding magic use.

"heya oyster."

you flinched back, whirling around and glaring at said eel. "awe, did I scare you? i didn't mean it." there wasn't any remorse in his tone but you don't think he meant to startle you.

"i'm not doing this with you right now." you huffed, not wanting the conversation to escalate.

"ha? do what?" walking off isn't that effective when he's lanky and athletic and used to chasing people down. "i just wanna talk to ya."

"i don't want to talk. not to you, not to anyone." any person with sense would leave it at that. your harsh tone sent chills down the spines of passersby's, ducking their heads and rushing past to give the two of you the walkway.

it seems that a majority got the hint except him.

"i know that oyster. i'm just wondering why you go through all this trouble being mean when it's not you." yawning, he missed the way you stopped walking, having to double back a second later.

floyd isn't easily intimidated. he's usually the intimidating one. but, he can admit you made him shrink just a bit. especially when you used magic. he didn't know the duskgloom sea was habitable; let alone to mages.

he may've approached you differently if he knew. then maybe he wouldn't have returned to his dorm soaking wet and partially electrocuted.

"you don't know me."

"don't have to." shrugging, he continued. "you're scared. trust me, i see fear everyday. yours just isn't 'ah gonna get beat up' y'know?"

he wasn't helping his case.

"just sayin!" raising his hands in surrender, he watched you stomp away to your dorm and didn't follow you this time.

floyd groaned aloud. that went terribly and now he's in no mood to go to class.

instead he goes to his room, flopping on the bed and rethinking his plans. you didn't want to be like that, yet asking you to drop the act up front doesn't seem to be the best idea.

he knows you're a pearl — pretty and shiny — and he knows you were like that from the beginning.

what made you put up such a hard shell?

when he finds out, he'll make sure to squeeze it until you're satisfied.

𝐦. 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐚

malleus desires inclusion. he longs to be invited to events, participate in conversation with his peers, and not be feared for existing.

that is why you became the object of his silent rage.

people want to befriend you. they approach you with the intention of companionship and you respond with clipped words, not returning their kind regards.

"you don't truly believe they were always that way, do you?" lilia questioned him when he explained his personal grudge.

in hindsight, his assumption was silly. instead of viewing it from another's perspective he watched you and realized that it wasn't only silly but ridiculous.

something weighed heavily on your heart. he noticed it when your mind wanders during lectures, in the lunch hall, and even walking to and from the school.

you've experienced the compassion of another as well as the betrayal one can cause when they're wedged in your heart. how did he not notice it prior to lilia's input?

the expression you wore is similar to his grandmother's.

"there are fates worse than death." he recalls her words. right here — watching you from afar read alone on a bench — is where he understood what she meant.

"never being able to love again." malleus whispered. he had you all wrong, blinded by jealousy he foolishly harbored towards you.

as swiftly as he could without frightening you, he approached your figure.

"child of the sea." he greeted, "i felt inclined to inform you that there is an abandoned shrine in the eastern part of the woods around the school."

"it is quiet and no one ventures that far on a whim. there's a small lake as well, if that interests you."

bowing, he bid you farewell and left without hearing what you'd say. uncharacteristically his nerves got the better of him as he vanished.

that night, he wondered if you would visit the area in your free time. perhaps he should've stayed and awaited your reply, yet, his face warmed in embarrassment the longer he thought.

he is a fool. an utter fool. the aching feeling he felt must be guilt, mustn't it? or is it the same ache you felt when you let someone in your heart ...?

© 2024 — 38riku. Do not copy or repost or plagiarize my work. All Rights Reserved.

[aayakashii]

Haiii i hope you are doing well !! ^^ can you make a fanfic about possessive and jealous taiga? if youve written it before can you make a part 2? Thank you in advance ^^

I don't know if this is exaaaactly what you wanted but I got possessed by the yandere ghost and wrote this so I hope you like it ( ˊᵕˋ ;)

Warning: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!! Extreme yandere behavior, possessiveness, obsession, blood, injuries, all that insane thing that comes with yanderes and Taiga too tbh.

Disclaimer: I DO NOT CONDONE YANDERE BEHAVIOR IRL, this is all fictional please!!!!!!

The switchblade passes swiftly through Taiga's fingers as he toys with it, mind and face blank while his unfocused gaze is locked in your general direction.

He isn't properly looking, but you're there, subconsciously in the forefront of his mind, while he swims in the muddied waters of his memory.

Most days, Taiga doesn't give a shit about his memory. His life is eat, kill, gamble, sleep and repeat repeat repeat repeat. Why should he care? Does anything even matter? His life goes on, aimlessly, static noise ringing in his ears as he drags himself to the inevitable end.

Right now, however, his memory is being a royal pain in the ass.

He aggressively rubs his face with his hands, groaning impatiently, trying to get the information in the depths of his mind.

And you whine, helplessly, afraid of every sudden movement he makes.

Taiga's head snaps at your direction, gaze finally focused.

Ah, yes. Yes.

He had already forgotten why he was even searching for a specific memory, but noticing you, trembling on his torture chair, he remembered.

Taiga gets up from his seat on the foot of his bed and grabs a chair, wood loudly rattling against the marble of his floor before he places it right in front of you.

You weren't even bound, yet you trembled like a little mouse. His chest frustratingly tightens and aches at the sight, so he sits in front of you, mouth agape as he looks at your sweaty face from under his eyelashes.

The switchblade is still on his fidgety hands. He opens and closes it, opens and closes.

You flinch at every little sound it makes. It could make him laugh, if he wasn't so concentrated.

Right now, Taiga thinks of love.

Or rather, he searches his poor memory for any instance of love he might have felt in his life before.

He comes up with faint whispers of something that resembles it, something old and long gone, something pure and pretty, something that felt like large soft hands raking through his hair as he slept peacefully.

But it's wrong. It's not what goes on inside his chest right now. What swirls in his heart is tumultuous. It's loud and destructive like thunder and lightning. It feels like possessive hands wrangling his heart, egging him to do the same with yours.

His instincts tell him to call it love, but he isn't able to compare it to anything else he has ever felt in his young life. Therefore, he doesn't know whether or not this crippling obsession could ever be called love.

Taiga stares at you, silently. Sharp eyes that could cut into your skin and leave you bare open for him to devour like the anomalies he covets.

When he doesn't speak, you swallow hard and loudly, gathering all the courage you have left inside of your body.

"I don't know why you're keeping me here, Taiga... B-but if I did anything that upset you, I apologize." you whisper. You feel like you're trying to bargain for your life with your very own predator.

Taiga leans back on the chair, closing the switchblade for a final time.

"Or... Or if you need my help with something, I can help you. Just please... don't threaten me like this."

"Threaten?" He tilts his head to the side before barking out a loud laughter. "I'm not threatening you."

You furrow your eyebrows in disbelief.

"I didn't even bind you to the chair. Come on. You're all free to move." he says with a smirk.

You make no movement. You're pretty sure he would shoot something (probably you) if you tried to leave, just like he has done plenty of times before when something doesn't go his way.

"I'm trying to understand" he says, opening the palms of his hands before crossing his arms.

"Understand... what?" you ask.

"You. Me. This." he motions to the both of you.

You keep your lips sealed, waiting for him to continue, since you are completely lost on whatever could he mean.

"Say." he leans towards you and licks his lips with a gleam of amusement in his eyes. "I think I'm in love with you."

You deadpan and feel your heart dropping down to the confines of your intestines. Your skin gets unbearably cold out of nowhere, with goosebumps painfully pricking your arms.

Taiga laughs loudly once again.

"Look at your face! You should have seen your face! You look so fucking scared!" he says between giggles and, if he wasn't so dangerous, you could close your eyes and imagine him being a normal man who laughs in this boyish way for actual normal reasons.

"I'm not joking though." he adds with a grin before you could even think of relaxing.

"I think I want to keep ya." he murmurs, scratching his chin. "Wanna make sure no one else is gonna try to put their hand on ya, y'know?"

"Taiga-" you begin to plead, but he shushes you.

"Nah, don't even start. Too many assholes 'round here tryna hog your attention. Y'think I didn't notice?" his eyes harden and you purse your lips, preventing any reply from inadvertently leaving your mouth.

He gets up from his chair with a sigh and stretches nonchalantly.

"I was tryna figure things out just now, y'know. Like, 'do I really like you?' and all, but aaahhh..." he scratches his head aggressively, pulling a few strands of his red hair loose. "It makes my head hurt. I don't remember if I ever felt like this before. I don't care though."

He turns on his heel and leans forward, placing his hands on the chair's arms, successfully caging you under his body.

"I like you and I'm gonna keep what I like only for myself, eh? I think that's a good strategy." he murmurs, eyeing every inch of your face with careful attention.

Your bottom lip quivers at his words and he presses his index finger over it.

"Lulu won't care, as long as we don't make much of a mess" he grins maniacally "And I get to play with you alllll by myself. Alllll mine. Only mine. Sounds great to me, hm?"

You blink and tears roll down your cheeks despite how you tried so hard not to shed them. You are too afraid to ask him to let you go, and you are too afraid to stay.

Taiga locked you inside an invisible cage and you're pretty much sure there is no key that could ever set you free.

"Oh, of course." he perks up, as if he remembered something important. "I have to make very clear that you belong to me, don't I? Let me fix that."

Taiga swiftly grabs your left hand and puts your ring finger inside his mouth. And before you can even register whatever he planned to do, he bites down with a force that you were sure could rip your finger off. You scream in agony as his sharp teeth pierce you to the bone and your blood flow into his mouth. He swallows it eagerly, humming loudly, eyes rolling at the coppery taste.

Taiga opens his mouth and eyes his work, satisfied, despite the tears that run freely down your face.

That injury was going to leave a scar that would never fade away.

"My turn" he murmurs, unceremoniously pushing his own ring finger inside your mouth. It was his left hand as well.

You stare at him wide-eyed, the pain on your own finger blaring inside your veins. It left your thoughts scrambled and confused, but Taiga isn't patient.

"Bite me." he pushes his finger further inside your mouth and against your teeth.

"Wai–" you try to protest.

"Bite me." he repeats louder, his voice and stare truly threatening. Now you understand why he said he wasn't threatening you before. Because you are pretty sure he is properly threatening you now.

You hesitantly close your lips around his finger and bite him softly. He grunts, still unsatisfied.

"Harder." he demands.

You force yourself to bite down, cringing at the feeling of his skin almost breaking against your teeth.

"Harder." he repeats, now breathlessly. "You have- have to draw blood."

You shut your eyes tightly and bite down with all the strenght you can muster, pushing down the nausea that comes with the warmth of his blood coating your tongue.

Taiga unabashedly moans at the feeling of your teeth breaking his skin and the sight of his very own blood seeping out of your mouth.

He takes out his finger from your lips and admires your work with explicit pleasure.

You weren't going to leave a scar, but he could very well tattoo your little bite marks onto his skin before they faded away.

"Did you swallow the blood?" he asks, sighing as he sees you trembling and wiping your mouth.

You nod weakly, feeling the corners of your vision darken as the pain on your hand finally takes over your whole body.

Before you pass out, you feel Taiga place his forehead against yours.

"Now we're together." he whispers as you go limp against his body.

Taiga observes you as you're unconscious. A sick satisfaction blooms inside his chest as he watches you, now splayed on his bed, the red and inflamed injury on your finger being the proof that you're entirely his from then on.

It doesn't matter if what he feels is love or if it's just sick obsession. You are now tied to him and his boring, depressing days.

As he trudges slowly to his inevitable end, you now walk right beside him.

He silently promises that you won't ever need to die alone. Don't you worry because, now, you can only die with him.

And if that isn't love, then what is?

[tragedybunny]

omg your requests are open? If you're okay with some angst but a sweet ending, can I please request Astarion overhearing the others trying to warn you about Astarion? Like, telling the reader (female please) that he doesn't actually care or like her and she just looks sad and says "I know, but I'm stupid and care about him" and he just gets upset and wants to prove that he does like her? Sorry if this is dumb, haha

Hi Anon, My usual apologies for the wait. I wanted to do a different spin on this because I always find it a little jarring that Astarion confesses to you and then is so prickly about killing the Orthon to get information from Raphael. I always wondered if it occurred to him he was being kind of a jerk about it. So this scene plays out in the second act.

This Is Me - Astarion x F!Reader

Astarion lurked at the outskirts of camp, unable to bring himself to come face you. After everything he'd told you, after those moments of hope, he'd failed, himself and you. The Orthon, he’d been less than gracious about getting around to killing the devil. And after, gods, why did he talk to you like that? Because the scars on his back felt like they burned, and his mind had screamed at him since you'd said they were infernal. Even though he knew you'd been upset, you'd only turned away, saying that it was probably wise to rest before pursuing Thorm’s relic further. 

You all had made a makeshift camp in the heart of Shar’s sanctuary, where not even Shadowheart seemed wholly at ease. And he’d hidden like a coward until now, when he’d finally been able to push himself to come find you. Creeping back to camp, he’d been silent, trying to figure out where you were without running into any of the others, he couldn’t take whatever disdain he’d find in their eyes either. 

He’d made it close to your shared tent when the sound of Shadowheart’s voice had frozen him where he stood. “I’m not saying he’s not sincere, I’m just saying, we all know Astarion by now. He looks out for himself first.” 

“I understand where you’re coming from,” even if you didn’t sound convinced, the fact that you even had to say those words was enough for him to feel like his unbeating heart was shattering behind his rib cage. 

“She has a point Soldier, I like Fangs well enough, but you know how he can be. Just be careful with yourself,” Karlach added. Did they all believe he only thought about himself? 

“We just don’t want to see you get hurt.” Of course, Gale had to add to it. 

“I know you’re all concerned, and I know how he can be, but I care about Astarion.” He didn’t need to hear anymore. No one had managed to spot him, so he slipped into your shared tent and tried not to fall apart. 

Everyone in this damned camp wanted to warn you away from him, and the worst part was that they weren’t wrong. How long had it taken him to behave like an arse to you? He did care though, that wasn’t a lie or a scheme. Where you’d accepted it before on just his word, it felt he’d have to prove it now, since he’d gone and messed everything up.  He just didn’t know how.

Huddled on the floor of the tent, he pulled his knees up to his chest, and frantically thought.

Sex was out of the question, even if he could bring himself to do it, you’d see through it in a heartbeat. What else did he have? A lot of pretty words and burdens, which you already shouldered. He glanced around the tent at his scattered, sparse belongings, noting you hadn’t even had time to unpack yet. Maybe that was the answer. 

If there was more said about him, he hadn’t heard, intentionally blocking out whatever other sounds he heard. He assumed there was dinner, at some point, nothing for him to miss there. You appeared in the entrance to the tent far sooner than he had expected though, and caught him still packing things in his bag. “So that’s it, you’re just going to up and leave? And here I was getting worried you’d been gone so long tonight.” Your voice was deadly calm and he couldn't tell if you were sad or furious. 

Closing his eyes, he centers himself, trying not to get lost in the maelstrom inside his own mind. Standing, he looked you in the eyes, pained to find unshed tears sparkling there, but this was for the best. “I’m going to face Cazador, and whatever he’s done to me, alone.”

“W-what? Is this because of the Orthon?” The words fade into a stunned whisper, you don’t understand what he’s trying to do. Desperately, he gropes for your hand, to comfort you, to explain to you, but you pull away. “You’ll just abandon me because I didn’t kill it quick enough?’

“Love, no! I just need to do this on my own. To show you.” The words run out and he clenches and unclenches his hands frustratedly. 

“By the gods, show me what?” 

“That I’m not using you. That I do care about you for more than what you can do for me. I’ll go to Baldur’s Gate and when I’m done I’ll wait for you.” 

With it all said, Astarion waits in the silence for your response. He waits far longer than he thought he would. Really, he’d thought you’d embrace the idea after everything he’d overheard. “Astarion,” you begin sweetly, and you have his rapt attention, “are you out of your fucking mind?” You grasp his shoulders and clench them tightly, fingers digging in, emphasizing your words. 

“I…of course not!” He tries half-heartedly to pull out of your grip, but you don’t seem keen to let him go. “But you don’t trust me any more so what,” his voice cracks unpleasantly and you release his shoulders, arm wrapping around his chest, “what else can I do.” 

Instinctively, he returns your embrace, burying his face in your shoulder. “You heard all that, didn’t you? I’m so sorry, I just didn’t want them to worry about it anymore.” 

“What if they're right? I'm not sure that I can think about anyone else first until this is done, and I fear I’m going to hurt you.” He doesn't look up from where he's pressed against your skin, not wanting to see if you agree. 

“I knew that Astarion, it was obvious from the start.” You let go and push away, putting space between the two of you as your hand comes to cup his cheek and hold his gaze on yours. “We'll deal with this together, just like I promised.” 

You plant a small kiss on his cheek and he almost sobs, pulling you back into a fierce hug. “You…”

“Silly girl?” You finish with a small laugh.

“Incredibly sweet and wonderful girl.”

“Now you're just trying to flatter me.” He can hear the relief in your voice. “Unpack, please. I’m exhausted and your bag is in the middle of our tent.”

“I don’t have a choice, do I?” There really is no fighting you once you’ve made up your mind, and he doesn’t really want to go anymore. 

“Absolutely not, silly boy.” The kiss you give him is soft and warm enough that it chases away his lingering doubts, for tonight at least. 

Tag List:

@micropoe10 @spacebarbarianweird @writingmysanity @mxxny-lupin @azu21 @tallymonster @dependsonthedream @sunfire-ancunin @bambamwolf87 @fayeriess @lumienyx @lisrelly @elora-the-slutty-songstress @astariongf

[emmyspov]

Idk if your requests are open rn, but if they're not I apologize. I was wondering how you think The Fellowship would react to their youngest member (someone a little younger than Pippin, like around 20) being incredibly prone to injury but also having a really high pain tolerance. Like they keep falling off things and getting hurt but are just like "Don't fuss over me" and the others are just like hyperventilating because they're already like a little sibling to them so there is PANIC in this fellowship tonight

Source: I fell off a swingset and either severely bruised or fractured me hip :)

The Fellowship x clumsy!reader headcanons

author's note: first of all, i am so sorry it took me this long to answer this - life was just.. a lot and i was trying to stay afloat. then, i hope you are doing okay! and haven't hurt yourself more since you sent this in - please be careful & treat yourself gently 🩷 last but not least: i hope i was able to do you justice & you enjoy it :)

warnings: reader falling/stumbling/hitting their head/getting hurt in general, mention of blood, mention of food, please let me know if i forgot something!

word count: 1.6k

edit is mine, pics are from pinterest :)

Frodo: I think Frodo is actually the one who would understand you the best. I mean, he is the ring-bearer and everyone is always so worried about him and the quest and it’s understandable. I mean, he has a lot of responsibility. But sometimes, he feels a bit suffocated by the way everyone is fussing over him, wanting to keep him warm and well fed and safe. So, whenever something happens to you, he would give you some space first – waiting if you ask for help on your own. If you don’t, he’d make sure that you are not hurt. And then, he’d trust your answer. After all, you know your body and its limits best. If you say you are okay, he will simply focus on the quest again. If you do need help however, he will make sure to inform the others so you can get the help you need. Maybe this is something you could actually bond over. Because you’d treat him the same way – not like a baby, but like a friend.

Gandalf: Since you are the youngest of the group, he would feel very responsible for you. Not as much as Aragorn, but very close behind. Whenever you fall or hurt yourself, the wizard notices immediately. In an instant, he is by your side, helps you up and looks over you from head to toe, making sure you don’t have some big gashing wound or bones sticking out. Maybe I am wrong, but I do think, he would scold you a bit. “You really have to watch out”, “Eyes on the ground”, “Be careful”. But, all of these things mean that he cares. He just wants you to be safe and for you to come back in one piece. On the other hand, he is always quite surprised whenever you tell him that you aren’t really hurt. “Maybe it looks like I would be, but I can move my leg just fine – see?” And he would see. It’d take a few moments for you to convince him, but once you have, you will carry on with your journey as if nothing had happened. What you don’t notice is Gandalf eyeing you every once in a while, just to be really sure.

Merry: This hobbit is kind of used to chaos. I mean- he spends most of his time with Pippin. So, if you stumble and roll down some hill, the first thing he would do is laugh. I am talking a full on bending over, belly laugh. Until Gimli or Gandalf or, even worse, Aragorn slightly smack his shoulder before they are running after you, checking you for any injuries. Only then would he realize how dangerous this whole thing was and he’d follow everyone down to you. What he was not expecting however was to find you laughing. “Did I look cool?” Merry would stare at you for a moment before grinning at you, nodding. “Super cool. But are you hurt? Your arm has some scratches from all these twigs laying around.” You were able to stand up immediately, ignoring everyone’s wide eyes, and brushing off the dirt. “Nothing some water and Elrond’s ointment can’t fix.” You two got closer after this.

Pippin: First of all, he is SUPER glad that you, too, came along, because this way he is not the youngest of the group. Sure, he still has to deal with Gandalf’s annoyance at him, but he also has someone by his side who is also full of energy and curious and excited for the quest (at least in the beginning). But because he is the second youngest, he does feel a bit responsible for and protective over you. Like the older one of a pair of twins would. And since you hurt yourself a lot, he is constantly on his toes. Maybe you’d hold hands sometimes? Just so he can realize as early as possible that you’re gonna fall so he can at least try to buffer it. More often than not, it would also end in you two falling ON TOP of one another and that always ends in a fit of giggles. If you fall on your own though and it looked bad, Pippin would immediately call over Aragorn or Gandalf to help you, even when you say you’re fine because you’re his friend and he wants you to be okay.

Sam: Now we all know Sam is a mother hen through and through, even if he denies it. He is, understandably, mostly focused on Frodo and his well-being, but if something happens to you, he is one of the first to help, despite your protests. You stumbled? He will grab your hand and pull you up. Your hands got dirty and bloody from a fall? He will immediately offer his water bottle and help you clean off any dirt. And most importantly: at the end of the day or during breaks, he will carry over some food he cooked (and always an extra portion, too) even though you keep telling him that you can get it yourself and your ankle does not hurt, even if it might have looked like that earlier. “I just want to be sure, my friend. I don’t like the thought of you being in pain.” After a while, you start to accept his treatment.

Gimli: He is not up for discussions. You accidentally ran against a tree? Slipped while getting some water with him? He will not care for what you have to say about the amount of pain you are. You are the youngest of the group and have to be protected. So even if you vehemently try to make him understand that, yes, you might be bleeding a bit or yes, your wrist might be a little bit swollen, he would ignore you and instead call over the others to let them have a look at you. If they decided you were well enough to carry on, he would either carry your backpack (“Stop trying to take this away from me, I will take care of your belongings for now”) or sometimes even you - “Stop fussing around”, “No, you are not too heavy” and “I will carry you around until you are better.” Often times he knows that you would be well enough to walk by yourself, but it makes him feel needed when he can take care of you in some way.

Legolas: I feel like this can go two ways. Sometimes, when he is running in front of everyone else, he is kind of the last to notice whenever you hurt yourself. If he is with the group however, he will almost always be by your side or at least close to keep an eye on you. He likes to listen to you and Pippin talk since it fuels his inner child. One time, he was walking in front of you with Aragorn when you hit your head on a twig, resulting in a small cut on your forehead. You let out a yelp, more out of shock than anything else, but immediately the man and the elf turned around and ran to your aid. You tried to explain that you were fine, but Legolas seeing himself as a wood elf, was already on his way to find the closest stream to fetch some water to clean your wound. Aragorn was telling the others to take a short break when he returned and sat you down. “Stay still, my friend. Even if your cut doesn’t hurt now, it will later if we don’t treat it properly.” He only grinned when you mumbled something in return.

Boromir: Listen, Boromir has a little brother and a shitty father, he knows how to take care of someone while also respecting their boundaries and wishes. No matter how you hurt yourself, the first thing he will do is communicate clearly. Softly grabbing your shoulders, he makes you look at him and asks if you’re hurt or in any pain. If you answer no, he will ask if you need anything or anyone and if you also refuse that, he will make sure that everyone carries on with the journey. However, he will keep an eye on you, more or less secretly. And he will assist you with all the small things during the quest: rolling out your bedroll and placing it close to his own and the halflings’, sneaking you an extra blanket, making you sit close to the fire or refilling your water bottle without you having to ask. He has a soft spot for people younger than him and will never not watch out for you. Can you tell I have a soft spot for him?

Aragorn: Last but definitely not least, the Dúnedain. He is literally one of the best people to have around as a clumsy person - he has the experience from Elrond and the elves in general and knows his way around nature and the wild due to him being a ranger, so he knows how to take care of a wound. Heck, he had to do it to himself countless of times already. However, seeing you getting hurt so often makes his heart skip a beat every time and not in the good way. He worries about you, even if you claim to be fine. No matter how often you fall, stumble, bump against something or hurt yourself in any other way, he is by your side to take care of you. And he will care for you, no matter what you say. When you scraped your knees one time, Aragorn made you sit down on a log and cleaned your wounds before applying some of the ointment Elrond had given them before their departure. Only when he was sure that he had done everything he could, he would allow you to get back up and carry on. You would not get worse on his watch during this journey.  

[cheri-2047]

Wriothesley? Wriothesley x reader? Please, I love Wriothesley- I am so unhinged for him. Anything, I will take anything. Just Wriothesley-

HI ANON!!! This is gonna be included in my weekly poll since the one who won last week was wriothesley !!!

I’ll be having multiple situations and these are just headcanons :3

Wriothesley x Reader bf headcanons

WARNINGS: NONE!! Some mentions of alcohol though

IN THE MORNINGS:

The moment you wake up, no matter what position you sleep in, you find your back on Wriothelsey’s chest as he becomes a big spoon for you

He usually wakes up first, mostly out of habit from work and from when he was arrested, but he will NEVER leave you until you get up.

When you wake up, wriothesley turns you so he hugs you and presses a kiss on your forehead “good morning dear…”

On days you shower first, he cooks bfast and vise versa

You Two head off to work together, but wriothesley always drops you off first before leaving to get back to the fortress of meropide.

DURING WORK HOURS:

Wriothesley messages you every once in awhile to ask if you’re okay, or just to simply say hi.

Sometimes, wriothesley has to work overnight or not even come back home for long periods of time. Because of this, you visit and keep him company sometimes in his spare room in the fortress of meropede.

Whenever you visit, he makes sure sigewinne (I think it’s sigewinne who makes the food in the story quest, please correct me if I’m wrong) prepares really good food, that’s why the prisoners love it when you’re there, since they get a guaranteed good meal.

He feels bad about just having a bed and bathroom in his room, since he didn’t really care much for furniture there, but he started making an effort to buy trinkets or small decorations so you would feel more at home (even if you assure him that he doesn’t have to)

Sometimes when he’s not busy, he would visit you at YOUR work. If you’re ever in a meeting, wriothesley would peek from outside the meeting room and wait for you to finish.

AT NIGHT:

He would cuddle you in any position you’d like, whatever makes you happy.

He would give you a goodnight kiss before you fall asleep but even after you sleep he kisses you a few more times on your cheeks and forehead before going to sleep afterwards.

During bad days, hee really appreciate it if you whisper good things to his ear to lull him to sleep.

Whenever you get a nightmare, wriothesley makes you a cup of your favorite tea before leading you to the bed once more

If you’re cold, he would make it an effort to hug you tighter and bring you closer to him.

OTHER SCENARIOS:

WHEN YOURE SICK:

He takes a day off. Wriothesley informs the staff to take over for him and immediately calls sigewinne to your shared home.

The moment he sees sigewinne writing on her clipboard to prescribe you, he immediately runs to the store and buys you a bunch of medicines

He would pamper you all day, it gets a bit lonely on your bed since he is doing all the chores but wriothesley insists. (That is until you ask him to stay in bed with you)

No matter how bad the sickness, he does not care. He would stay with you and is overall quite protective of you.

WHEN YOURE DRUNK (at a bar):

He would have a spare change of clothes, not to do dirty things but to cover you a bit more up to protect you from creeps.

If you refuse, he would still try to do it, but then in the end he ends up just making sure nobody touches you or hurts you from afar.

He tells the bartender to just not give you anymore alcohol when he notices you’re drinking more than you could take. “Just…put everything but the alcohol”

He feels a bit bad cause in his perspective he’s controlling, and he apologizes for it when you’re sober.

Wriothesley brings you home and gives you a bath before tucking you in to bed.

KISSES:

Wriothesley would kiss you as a “hi” like if you drop by in his office or in the mornings

On your first kiss, he smiled and gave you a hug before saying “I love you”

Wriothesley loves to see your surprised face after you kiss him. He finds it amusing and laughs.

For PDA, if you’re uncomfy then he would respect that, but if you’re not, he would kiss you mostly on the cheek but sometimes on the lips too.

Whenever he sees you talking to someone a bit too closely or they’re being a bit of a creep, he rounds up to you and puts a hand on your shoulder before kissing your head. “Let’s go home shall we darling? I’m quite tired…”

Ran outta ideas but whatever, anyways go eat your food wriothesley simps and no this is not proofread. If I accidentally mischaracterized him mb folks, please tell me if I did.

[alessiathepirate]

Resident Evil 4

CLUELESS: Leon S. Kennedy x fem!reader

Summary: Five times they were sure they weren't dating and one time they weren't. OR: Luis, Ashley, Ada and Krauser having enough of how oblivious and clueless they are about their feelings.

Notes: English isn't my first language. I apologize for any mistake I made while I wrote this short story.

Warnings: swearing, violence, my Spanish (if I used something in the wrong context please feel free to tell me so I can improve), Luis being the number one fanboy and Ashley being best girl

•••

Prince Charming and his señorita

"Tell me señorita, are you and Prince Charming a thing?"

She looked up at Luis with furrowed eyebrows, her face full of confusion. She examined his gestures and the way the muscles around his mouth moved, forming a small, knowing smirk.

"Why? You want to take me out on a date or something?" she asked, quickly falling for the assumption that all Luis wants is to know if she's single so he can continue his flirting, hoping the one liners will magically work.

But then again, she thought, he'd still do it without remorse.

So what does he really want with that question?

"I'd love to cariño, but not with a señorita who's already taken."

"I'm not. Do whatever you want with that information."

She turned away from him, continuing her search through the small villa in hopes of some extra ammunition. She opened a drawer, but found nothing other than some old photos.

"I don't believe you, cariño." Luis said, suddenly breaking the silence.

She slammed the drawer shut in frustration and looked at him, trying to keep her cool and not get annoyed at his antics. She took a deep breath to calm herself down.

She should've gotten used to his teasing by now, but it was impossible to do so. He always found something to talk about, question her about and annoy her about. And now that she was afraid her partner and the president's daughter got hurt in some way after they got seperated, Luis's teasing just crossed a line.

"Look, 'cariño', I don't know why you have to annoy me with literally everything all the time, but I'd appreciate it if you stopped." she pleaded slowly, hoping he'll just stop.

"Oh, there's nothing to feel ashamed of, mi vida. Love is a beautiful and natural thing." he continued on, as he leaned against the wall, looking at her with pure naught. "Besides, I'm sure our Yanqui feels the same way... Deep in love, you know, I'm sure it sounds familiar."

She turned away, this time to hide the slight blush that appeared on her face. Thinking about Leon like that made her stomach feel like it's doing acrobatics.

"No one looks at another person like that without being in love. And our Leon looks at you like tu eres todo su mundo."

She turned to look at him quickly, wanting to ask what he meant when he said that - and when Luis noticed her pink cheeks he just smirked.

"Aw, look at that blush! You for sure look you're not in love cariño."

"Shut up!"

"Really? You want me to? How will you let him know your feelings without my advice, ey?"

"Like I'd take your advice."

"I'm not saying you have to," Luis started to explain himself. "I'm just saying I'm your best option."

She just rolled her eyes shamelessly, but Luis didn't seem to care.

"Now- with a boy like our Leon, the best thing you can do in your situation is to make him j-"

She'll never know what he really wanted to say, because in the next second loud noises were coming from outside and both of them ran to the nearest window to figure out what was going on. The moment she realized Leon and Ashley were running towards their hideout as hoards of Spanish undead were chasing them and shouting at them, she ran towards the door, opening it without thinking twice.

"This way!" she shouted.

Ashley was the first to arrive and she gave her a short hug as she waited for Leon to get inside. When they were finally able to close the door behind themselves, she felt two strong arms quickly wrapping themselves around her shoulders and waist, and the next thing she knew she was hugging Leon like there was no tomorrow.

"Are you okay?"

"Of course I am."

"You sure?"

And even if in the next moment Luis was stuck between the wall and a very upset Leon Kennedy, he still sent a smirk her way, as if he'd say: "Sure, princesa, you two are just business partners with heart shaped eyes."

•••

The way they act around each other

"Can I ask you something?" Ashley asked as she was sitting on top of a barrel, dangling her feet as she watched Leon at the shooting range.

"Of course."

"This may sound a little weird, but- are you and Leon dating?"

She turned to look at Ashley as if she just grew another head - what in their situation was quite likely to happen.

"Excuse me?"

"Are you in a relationship with him?" Ashley asked again, examining the ways her expression changed as she waited for an answer.

"I understood what you meant the first time, it's just- what makes you think that?"

"The way you act around each other." Ashley started to explain as she looked back at Leon, who shot a cutout of a pirate in the head. "He always makes sure you're okay and you always check if he has any new bruises."

She leaned against the barrel Ashley was sitting on as she looked at the man they were talking about as well. She watched as his muscles tensed up a bit everytime he pulled the trigger, she watched as he bit his lip in concentration when the target was further away and she watched as his eyes followed the bullet's movement. She bit her lip as her heartbeat got quicker at both the sight and thought - the thought that every single person in Spain seems to think they are dating.

"I care about him."

"That's all?"

"That's all."

"He seems like a great guy."

"He is a great guy." she said, knowing she's saying the truth. Whoever Leon'll date in the future - that girl will for sure be a lucky girl.

She couldn't help but giggle as Leon turned towards them with a satisfied little smile, being proud of himself that he just beat his own highscore.

"Do you think you can beat me?"

"Oh, it's on!" she smirked, accepting the challenge.

She ran up to the shooting range, leaving a confused, but happy Ashley behind. She could literally feel her gaze on them and she could heard her thoughts saying: "They are really cute!" - she shook her head, getting those thoughts out of her head. She needs to focus if she wants to win.

"Handgun?"

"Handgun."

Leon smiled as he put his hand on her shoulder, giving it a gentle squeez, causing her to almost choke on her own saliva.

"Let's see what you can do."

As she rose her gun she could hear Ashley saying "Leon, can I ask you about something?". She missed the first shot when Ashley asked "Are you two dating?", because her heart skipped a beat and beacuse she had to force herself not to look at Leon's expression.

•••

She should keep her boyfriend on a leash

"You should keep your boyfriend on a leash." she immediatelly stopped what she was doing when she heard the very familiar voice of Ada Wong, the woman who was there the night her life became horrific. "He likes to get himself in trouble."

"He's not my boyfriend." she said her voice becoming higher from the annoyance. "And I'm sure he can make his own decisions."

"He clearly can't if you're still not together." she heard the noises of high heels meeting with the wooden floor from behind her and she was sure Ada was walking towards her.

"Where are they?"

" 'They?' " Ada asked and she hated how her voice was full of pride, meaning she knows more than she does. "They got separeted half an hour ago, so now Leon is looking for the both of you."

She turned around, looking at Ada's features hoping they'll give her an explanation to what's going on. But she couldn't read anything off of her face, it was stone cold with a bit of teasing naught.

"So what, you gave Leon a surprise visit as well?"

"No need to get jealous, he didn't give me the welcome I expected."

"What can you expect in a situation like ours?"

She didn't get an answer to her question.

"Leave the girl and get out of here as soon as you can. So maybe you two can finally go on a date." she almost shouted out in frustration, but stopped herself from doing so just in time. "But please, be brave enough to make the first move, because he won't."

For the first time since forever she became speechless and didn't even think about shooting Ada in the leg when she climbed out of the window.

•••

La misión

She almost punched Luis in the face when he touched her shoulder, scaring her and causing her well trained reflexes to react. She stopped just in time, missing his cheekbone by a thread.

"Jesus Christ!"

"Just Luis, mi amor."

"Do you want to die or something?" she asked, not knowing if she meant it as a threat or as a free life lesson.

"Not really, cariño." he answered as she let go of him and took a few steps backwards. "Now tell me, how is la misión going?"

"What mission? Ashley is fine with Leon-"

"I meant our mission, princesa, how are things going with Leon?"

"Oh my God, why do you hate me so much?" she whispered the poetic question as she hid her face in her palms.

"Any success with the confession yet?"

"Can we just stop talking about my love life?"

"Not really, cariño, since we only share this mission together. After that you're on your own."

She chose not to answer and decided to take a look at her surroundings. The other door was locked, she checked it just before Luis arrived, so she had to find another way around the castle if she wanted to reunite with Ashley and Leon. God, she really hoped they are okay, there are some strong enemies around here.

Five seconds. She left Luis unsupervised for five seconds while she walked up to a window deep in thoughts, and Luis has already gotten bored. And in his boredom he decided to give Leon a call.

"Luis, where are you?" she could hear Leon's slightly annoyed voice through the trasmitter.

"Sorry I, uh, I screwed up." he started in a quite serious tone, but then glanced at her and smiled. "Come to our rescue Prince Charming!"

"I'll show you charming!" she almost laughed at his anger. "Wait, what do you mean 'our'?"

Luis turned the transmitter towards her, so Leon could get a clear view of her standing in front of the window. She just furrowed her eyebrows, having enough of both Luis and the situation.

Leon looked both frustrated and confused as he looked at her. She sent a smile his way.

"I met up with your señorita, Sancho. We might as well continue our adventure together, sí?" he turned the machine away from her. "Meet us in the Ballroom and don't be late! Or I'll be the one asking her for a dance! Nos vemos!"

As she looked at the man acting like a child, the only thought she had was: "I should've punched him straight in the jaw."

•••

The rookie kept his girl scout around

"I see you kept your girlfriend around, rookie."

That was the last fucking straw. The last fucking person she wanted to hear that sentence from. If Leon doesn't grab her hand, she would've shot Krauser in the face - and it's not like she's stupid. She knows it wouldn't kill him, but she'd enjoy the feeling of looking at the damaged muscles on his face.

Luis should be the one teasing them. He should be the one walking with them, telling them every five seconds how cute they are and how beautiful amor is. Not that asshole...

She wanted to shout at him, scream at him in anger and sadness, but Leon's grip on her stopped her in that as well. She looked at his face, questioning why he's holding her back when Krauser killed Luis in cold blood for absolutely nothing...

"Don't let him get in your head..." was all he said, as he kept a firm hold on her and they started to walk among the ruins.

"Oh, you're worried about the girl, is that it?" Krauser asked as he played with the knife in his hands. "No, I don't think that's it. I think you're worried about another girl, am I right? You're worried about your girlfriend even though she went through the same training as you. But that's just like you. You always had poor judgment."

She saw how Leon's jaw tightened and it was her turn to keep a firm hold on him, not letting him fall apart.

"But if you think I'm gonna let you out of here alive... you're even more naive than I thought." she was pushed to Leon's other side, further away from Krauser. "You can't save her. You can't save anyone."

She could feel the tension in his body grow and in a last hopeful chance to calm him down she said: "Come on, Leon. 'Don't let him get in your head.' "

"Or do you think you can save the girl scout?" for a short second their gaze met and she wished she could spit at him from this distance. "We both know she wasn't the best in hand-to-hand combat."

"Give it up, Krauser!" Leon acted on his anger so suddenly, that her heartbeat quickened from the sudden fear. "Being a lackey for these maniacs won't bring your men back. And what the Hell for? Revenge on the goverment? You think they would want that?"

She could feel the cold running through her back, the feeling of close danger sharpened her senses. She kept her gaze on Krauser, not daring to blink, afraid that she'll miss the first attack.

"Revenge? You think I'm doing all this for revenge?"

"Isn't that what this is all about?"

She stopped listening to what Krauser was saying and rather focused on his body language. She saw how with every word he says out loud his shoulders become more tense. Some kind of slight anger was about to overtake him.

So what? Let it. She's always liked to fight him when he was pissed off, because then he made more mistakes.

"You know," she started. "you were always an asshole. At least you were a honored one in the past... now, you're simply just an asshole."

She felt Leon's body tense up at her words and she realized he's afraid Krauser will hurt her.

"Enough reminiscing!" this time he couldn't hide his frustration. "Move out and draw fire, soldier!"

She reacted quickly, pulling Leon behind a broken column long before Krauser started to fire. As she sat there, she pulled out her handgun and then put her knife in her shoe. Knowing their ex-major, she'll need that more, but it's better to use that as a surprise.

"Next time, try not to piss him off."

She turned to Leon with a half smile. "What? You think only you can do that, rookie?"

"Stop it!"

"Come on!" she teased with a small smirk. "I know you love it when that name is coming from me."

Leon couldn't hide how his mouth wanted to form a smile. "I let you call me that. Now let's go and kick his ass!"

"Oh, I feel honored!" she said as she got to her knees and shot her first bullet from behind the column.

•••

Fear makes your heart feel full

She felt like her heart stopped beating for a few moments when Leon fell to the ground and it didn't take more than half a second for her to join him on the floor. She landed on her knees as she pressed one of her hands to her chest tightly, still feeling the pain the machine caused as it removed the plaga. The fear that flooded her mind made her numb, her breathing became heavy as she looked up at Ashley and asked her to help her get him up in the medical chair, so they can get the plaga out of him as well.

And now as she sat next to him, holding his hand as she waited for him to wake up she felt like nothing else matters. She won't take a single fucking step without him.

"He'll be fine. I'm sure of it." Ashley said who has found a chair close to them.

"I know." she muttered and she had to swallow, because her mouth felt dry. "I know he will, I'm just- worried about him."

She examined his features, looked him up and down to make sure he's okay - and when she realized he seems calm and relaxed, she felt like she can breath again. Only moments ago he was in pain. She could see it on his face, the way the muscles around his eyes and nose moved... But not anymore. Now he seems to feel better. His cheeks aren't red and the black veins disappeared as well.

"Ashley?"

"Yes?"

"When- when you thought we were dating... You spoke about this, didn't you? How we take care of each other..." she felt her heartbeat quicken as she muttered the last few words.

"Yes, this is what I was talking about."

She looked at Leon again, feeling the pure need to hug him and keep him close so she could feel the heat radiating off of him and feel the way his body is moving with every small breath.

"I don't think I'd be able to feel like this about anyone else... Not even in a relationship."

She could see the soft smile on Ashley's face and for a moment she saw the both of them in a café back in the USA, talking and laughing about nothing at all.

"He's not just a friend, is he?"

"I don't know. Luis said he looks at me like 'tu eres todo su mundo'. Like 'you're his whole world'."

"I can see what he meant by that." for a moment the atmosphere became sad - Luis was still a new loss and a fresh wound, and with that a still present regret. She should've been more playful instead of being an asshole. "That's how you look at Leon everytime we're at the shooting range."

"He looks good at the shooting range." she said without thinking, feeling her cheeks become red soon after.

"You know, it's hard to find a normal guy these days. I'm happy you found each other."

"So you don't have a nice guy in a suit waiting for you at home?" she asked teasingly.

"No. Not really."

"Well I'm sure we can say that after this messed up adventure you won't need one. You'll look after yourself just fine and you'll have time to find that nice guy." she smiled at Ashley who felt more like a friend by now than the president's daughter.

In the next second Leon's hand moved in her hold and she almost fell off the chair. She stood up instead of staying there and she tightened her hold on him.

"Jesus Christ, Leon!" she spoke up, her voice full of both worry and happiness as she looked down at him. "You pull an act like that again and you'll burry me the next time you wake up."

He opened his eyes, the blue irises full of confusion as he looked up at her while he tried to get used to the light.

"The plaga..."

"We removed it." she said, not letting him finish his sentence. "There's no need to worry about that anymore."

She noticed that Ashley walked further away from them, giving them some privacy even if there wasn't another room to go to. Then her gaze was back on Leon again as she slowly let go of his hand.

"You removed it?"

"Yeah, we did." she smiled at him, feeling like her heart is full - full of so many emotions she doesn't know what to feel. "God, I was so worried about you."

"It's fine, I'm fine. Thanks to you."

They smiled at the other with one of those small, shy smiles what paints everyones cheeks pink.

"Can you stand up?"

"Sure, don't worry about that."

But he couldn't stand up. His legs gave up halfway and if she's not there he would've landed on the ground again.

"Careful. You have to take care of yourself." she scolded him as she helped him up, but didn't take a step away from him even when he was standing with a straight back. She craved the closeness more than anything.

"I'm not the priority here."

"Of course you are! To me you fucking are!" the frustration and worry spoke from her without regret and now that she said that out loud, her breathing became heavy.

"Good to know we feel the same about each other."

They didn't speak for a moment and she couldn't do so even if she tried to, because Leon's right hand gently touched her right cheek; his thumb brushing along the angry red cut she got from Krauser's knife.

"Does it still hurt?"

"It never did."

"Such a liar." Leon laughed as he let go of her face.

"But you love me like that."

"Damn right I do."

For a few seconds she forgot how to breath and her chest started to ache, ache from all the bottled up emotions and the realization that he said that out loud. He said that out loud. Her eyes started to sting - God, she's such a weak girl, just like Krauser said in the past; crying over the things she shouldn't cry over...

"You do? You-" she took a deep breath before she continued. "You love me?"

The silence set in again, neither of them daring to speak up. She noticed how Leon shied away from her gaze and how her own heartbeat became dangerously fast.

"Of course he does!" Ashley's voice came so suddenly that she flinched, getting closer to her partner, because she forgot Ashley was still in the room with them. "And if he doesn't take you out on a date when we get back home..."

No one said anything else about that. Leon just pressed a kiss to her forehead, almost giving her a heart attack whille he did so.

"Let's get out of here, yeah? So we can go out on a date..."

She didn't miss Ashley's quiet 'Finally' after they parted. She couldn't miss it even if she tried to.

As they got ready to leave, she noticed that her heart feels full. Full of love, love to give and accept. After all, love is a beautiful and natural thing and she for sure won't be afraid to look at Leon like he's her mundo entero. Not anymore.

[loveriotss]

Hi! I've been seeing your profile for a while now and I liked the idea of ​​requesting a headcanon about Shinsou's best friend with gn!reader, the reader is similar to Shinsou in terms of personality but a bit more sociable and sarcastic, maybe the reader is in class 1A? Thanks!

HIM AS YOUR BEST FRIEND ⸻ hitoshi shinso

INCLUDES — gn! class 1a! reader, platonic relationship, fluff, crack, headcannons WARNINGS — swearing

main masterlist — mha masterlist ༊*·˚

you and shinso have the type of friendship where y'all know way too much about each other so a friendship breakup is out of question because no way you're gonna let him walk out alive after all that he knows. (/j)(i think)

he is still very secretive.

trying to gain information from him is a whole ordeal and you feel like jumping up and down in happiness when he tells you something at his own will.

but he will tell you at the most out of pocket times and acts as if it's not a big deal.

"i've started training with your teacher now . . . might even join the hero course." "WHAT."

also a loner who is surprised.

honestly you gave up on trying to get him to socialize for a while but after the sports festival you didn't give him an option to say no when you dragged him to dorms for a joint movie night or a mall day with your classmates in an effort to push him to make some new friends.

fights with him annoy you the most because no matter how big or small the situation is he does not give a flying shit so it's like arguing with a ghost.

however if it's a serious situation, he will apologize if he is at fault.

but if you were ever to do something that is your fault trust he won't ever let you live it down.

"give me some." "nuh uh, these are my chips get your own." "remember when we were seven and you fractured my finger in that one playground-" "UGH LEAVE ME ALONE IT WAS AN ACCIDENT AND I SAID I WAS SORRY!" "you should give me a chip." "shut up big back." "remember when you pushed me off a bunk bed and i almost broke my back-" "JUST TAKE THE ENTIRE BAG AT THIS POINT."

if something is bothering him he won't tell it to you verbally but you'll know when he randomly calls you over to some secluded place to listen to his music tapes in silence.

now if you're wondering whether he'd tell you what was wrong is completely up to him and his mood (annoying little shit 💔).

he's not the biggest fan of your class at it shows 😓.

"what do you think of this outfit? it's our first time going to the movies as a class i don't wanna wear something goofy and stop giving me the side eye hitoshi." "how can you willingly hang out with them? they're so odd." "oh i'm so sorry your highness i should have taken your advice and stayed at home playing that game you're obsessed with." "IT'S A GOOD GAME." "mhm sure, a good game indeed so good that you almost broke your phone while playing it." "the dress to impress voting is rigged." "you're just ass at it." "you look like an ass."

yeah that's not gonna stop any time soon because of how determined the two of you are to get the last word in.

NOTE — last request done gangalang!!!! i'm not gonna open up my reqs just yet because i'm starting exams soon and i don't want anyone waiting really long for their reqs to be completed because of how busy i'll be 😓😓. will probs open it around beginning of next month?? idk i'll see.

©loveriotss — all rights reserved to me. please don’t try to copy/steal my work. please do not use any of my ideas/translate my work without my permission.