#it just. appeared in my brain out of nowhere like what was the reason

[lovelyhoonzvlr]

lovelyhoonzvlr

Forgotten • Nishimura Riki

Summary: :you and Ni-ki were the ultimate duo, bound by an unbreakable friendship that lit up your childhood. But as the years rolled on the incredible bond broke. The sweet boy you once knew became a magnet for attention, and suddenly, he was swept away in the whirlwind of popularity, leaving you in the shadows of his glittering new world. Now, the bond that once felt unshakeable seems like a distant memory.

Ni-Ki x fem! reader

Warnings: cursing,angst

Wc:3k

part2?

Enjoy

The summer air was thick with the scent of fresh grass and the distant sound of cicadas. The sun had started to dip below the horizon, painting the sky in streaks of orange and pink. You and Ni-ki sat on the curb outside your house, your half-finished popsicles dripping onto the pavement, forming tiny, sticky puddles.

"I bet I can finish mine faster," Ni-ki challenged, holding up his already melting popsicle.

You rolled your eyes. "You always say that, and then you get a brain freeze."

"Not this time!" He took an exaggerated bite, only to immediately wince, pressing a hand to his forehead. "Ow—okay, okay, you win!" you laughed, shaking your head. "Told you."

For a moment, everything was quiet except for the rustling of trees and the occasional bark of a dog down the street. Then, out of nowhere, Ni-ki kicked a small rock across the pavement and said, “You know we’re gonna be best friends forever, right?”

You glanced at him, surprised by the sudden seriousness in his voice. He wasn’t looking at you, just swinging his legs back and forth, staring at the sky.

“Duh,” you said, nudging his shoulder. “Who else is gonna put up with you?”

He grinned. “Exactly.”

The streetlights flickered on, casting a soft glow over both of you. Neither of you moved, letting the night settle in, comfortable in the unspoken promise between you—one that, back then, felt unbreakable.

--

Those are the memories you thought about when thinking about Niki. Since you and him weren't as close anymore.

When the awkward boy with the cheesy grin and endless jokes suddenly wasn’t so awkward anymore. He had always been the one to laugh at everything, to find humor in the smallest things—but then, little by little, he stopped.

He still laughed, still cracked jokes, but there was something different about it now. More controlled. More careful. With everyone else, he was effortlessly charming, flashing easy smiles and playful remarks. But with you? He was more distant, more indifferent—like the bond that once felt effortless now required effort he wasn’t willing to give.

You had a feeling it was because of his new appearance and somewhat body changes. it was like he got more confident and cocky. There was nothing wrong with being confident of course but that had nothing to do with the way he was treating you. He grew 6'1 in like 2 high school years which is kinda crazy. He basically had everything. The looks, the height, and the charisma. It was like he was hot and he knew it.

𓆩𓆪

The breaking point wasn’t some big fight or dramatic fallout—it was more like a slow drift, so subtle you didn’t even realize it was happening until it was too late.

When people started noticed you behind him. They’d ask about you, and instead of the usual, “Oh yeah, that’s my best friend,” Ni-ki would brush it off with a joke. Something light, something easy to laugh at—but you could tell. He was distancing himself.

And maybe you could’ve ignored it if it weren’t for what he said.

You had no real friends, people whispered. The only reason you were around was because of him. It wasn’t true, but the way girls looked at you—the jealousy, the resentment—it was enough to make you feel alone. And then, one day, he didn’t deny it. Worse, he laughed along.

For him, it was just another joke. For you, it was the moment you realized the friendship you once held so close had already slipped through your fingers.

You made the choice to let him go. It wasn’t easy—it hurt like hell, actually. Because while you were left with nothing but loneliness, he still had everything. The only thing he lost was the so-called baggage—which, you guessed, was you.

There were moments you wanted to text him, just to see if there was anything left to salvage. But deep down, you knew the truth. The phone worked both ways, and he wasn’t reaching out either. Not that you hadn’t tried before—because you had. But every conversation was dry, forced, like you were nothing more than some girl from school he barely tolerated.

And that was the moment it hit you. You weren’t his best friend anymore. You were just…nobody. Or so you thought.

⛧

So when your mom told you to go to his 18th birthday party it really bothered you but she didn't know the drama between you and Niki.

"Y/n, what happened with you and Ni-ki? I never see you two together anymore, and you haven’t mentioned him in a while," she asks, raising an eyebrow.

"It's nothing, Mom, but I don’t think I’ll be able to go," you say, hoping she won’t make a big deal out of it.

But she doesn't let it go. "Y/n, I don't know what happened between you two, but you're going to his party. No discussion. His mom invited you because he wanted you there, and I already told her you were coming. So, you're going," she says firmly.

You stayed silent because you had no choice—what was the point of even trying? You couldn’t help but wonder, though, why after five months, he suddenly wanted to see you. Just for your birthday? You couldn’t help but feel a little confused.

Your thoughts got caught short by your mom.

"The party starts at 8 PM, so go get ready, since it's already 4," she said, finally calming down.

you huffed before going up the stairs and in to your room. You went straight in the shower to clear your mind and get the dirt of your body from school.

By the time you stepped out of the shower, you felt a little better. You wrapped the towel around your wet body and made your way to your room. You didn’t mind getting ready for events—it gave you a chance to doll up and feel good.

After you and Ni-ki stopped talking, you decided to give your style a bit of a makeover. You updated your wardrobe and started wearing a little makeup—just mascara and lip gloss. It might not seem like much, but for you, it was a big deal. It made you feel seen again, like you were stepping into a version of yourself that mattered. You did your hair which turned out really cut and the makeup was like the cherry on top. The outfit you planned out matched the makeup.

By the time you finished getting ready, it was 8:27 PM. Four hours to get ready felt like a lot, but you did it on purpose. You weren’t in a rush to get there early—after all, no party ever actually starts on time. You lingered for another ten minutes before finally heading downstairs, giving yourself just a little more time to stall.

"Mom, I'm heading out now!" you called as you opened the door.

"Okay, be safe!" she shouted from the living room.

You closed the house door and locked it. You headed your bike but then remembered you wanna get there late as possible. You continued to walk blocks down and started to get nervous.

'Does he actually want to be here or his mom invited me' you thought and the more you thought the more music started to get louder. That's when you realized you were in front of his house. You see so many people outside already which was a good thing. Since you would just slip through with no problem.

Without thinking, you stepped inside the house, and the moment you did, the bass of the music hit you like a wave. The thumping rhythm vibrated through your chest as flashing lights danced across the room, painting everything in neon hues. The energy in the air was electric—vibrant, alive, and buzzing with excitement. It was the kind of chaotic, euphoric party vibe that you couldn't help but low key enjoy, even if you didn’t fully admit it.

Since you been you been to his house you knew where to go but you didn't know where to go at this moment. You didn't want to run into Niki but that was sorta hard with the flashing light going on. So you just decided to move.

In the middle of the party, you weaved through the crowd, trying to find a quieter spot. As you made your way past a group of people, you suddenly bumped into someone.

You looked up, and there he was—Ni-ki.

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the noise of the party fading into the background. His eyes widened in surprise, and you couldn’t tell if it was a good surprise or not.

"Uh... hey," he said, his voice barely cutting through the loud music. He shifted awkwardly, hands stuffed in his pockets, his eyes searching for something to say.

You nodded, trying to brush past him, but his hand shot out, grabbing your wrist and stopping you in your tracks. You jerked your head around, stunned. Who does he think he is?

"Yes?" you asked, your voice sharp.

He looked taken aback, a hint of hurt flashing across his face, but you didn’t care. His actions had already spoken louder than words.

"Can we talk?" His voice was quieter this time, more earnest, and you could see he meant it. Reluctantly, you agreed, but as you both tried to walk off to find a quieter space, a girl suddenly appeared and grabbed Ni-ki’s arm.

"Where are you going?" she asked, her voice laced with confusion as she eyed the two of you. You didn’t recognize her, and it only added to your own confusion.

"Why?" he replied, clearly annoyed. He looked at you with an apologetic expression, shaking his head slightly, as if wishing the whole situation would disappear.

"Because my best friend is going somewhere with some girl I don’t know," she answered with a whiny tone, as if claiming ownership over him.

You scoffed and yanked your wrist free from his grasp. Without a word, you turned on your heel, walking away in the opposite direction.

So now he has a new best friend, huh? The thought gnawed at you. The one who had always been there, the one he used to trust, now seemed like an afterthought. You were the one he stopped caring about.

The sting of realization hit you hard. As you walked away, you felt the burn of tears in your eyes. You quickly wiped them away, not wanting anyone to see. You headed toward the drink table on the kitchen, hoping the cold liquid would numb the feeling that threatened to consume you.

You picked up the random drink and drunk it feeling the way it burned your throat then out of no where someone to cup out of you hand and looked at you like you were on drugs. It was no other than Niki. Now he wants to knowledge me you questioned.

" What the fuck are you doing Y/n", He questioned you looked a bit frustrated.

" Why do you care you basically ignored my existence for so long now. Like you i was nothing to you." you shot back him not caring about the setting you were in. Luckily everyone was drunk and minding their business which is kinda hard to believe.

He didn’t seem shocked by your words—probably because he knew, deep down, who was in the wrong here. He shook his head and, without saying another word, grabbed your wrist and pulled you towards the stairs. Without hesitation, he led you upstairs to his room.

He opened the door and shut it with a bit of force, the sound echoing in the quiet room. Gently, he guided you to sit on the bed, positioning you against the headboard while he sat across from you, his eyes locking onto yours.

"Look, Y/n, I can explain," he said, his voice earnest as he stared into your eyes.

You were still a little tipsy from your first drink, but for the most part, you were sober enough to think clearly. He looked good, too good, and the strange sensation of nervousness settled in your chest. It was like you were shy to be near him again, which was something you never expected. You got lost in your thoughts, trying to make sense of it all.

He snapped you out of your reverie, his voice a bit sharper than before.

You jumped, but quickly regained your composure.

"Okay then, explain, Riki," you said, using his full name. The shift in tone made it clear you were serious, and you could tell it caught him off guard. He hadn’t heard you say that in a long time.

"I know I was wrong for shutting you out," he began, his voice quieter now, as if carefully choosing his words. "I got caught up in everything—the popularity, the attention. When I had my growth spurt, girls started coming at me, and honestly? I didn’t know how to handle it. I got distracted... and I just couldn’t—"

You cut him off, frustration building up. "But why did you start acting all nonchalant around me? Why did you stop being my friend?" you asked, your voice wavering as tears threatened to fall. You just needed that answer, the one you'd waited for so long.

He saw the tears beginning to well up in your eyes and immediately softened. "Please don’t cry, Y/n," he whispered, his hand reaching up to wipe away the first tear that slid down your cheek.

You pulled away, shaking your head. "If you don’t care about our friendship anymore, just tell me, Riki," you said firmly, pushing his hand away from your face. His expression faltered, a look of sadness crossing his features.

"Y/n, I do care. It’s just... you," he admitted, his voice quiet but raw. "I want you, but not as a best friend. And I tried to distract myself from that. That’s the truth."

You didn't know if you were hearing this right. That Your best friend has feelings for you. Your stomach stirred up with butterflies but it didn't stop the fact that he still left you. You didn't know why since you never thought you like Niki like ever. Then all of a sudden he kisses you with soft lips. Without even knowing it you kissed back. Then you pulled back needing air.

"Niki?" you questioned.

"Yes y/n" he said lowly.

“They’re asking for you downstairs,” Heesung said, glancing between the two of you. He didn’t wait for a reply before pulling the door shut behind him.

The room fell quiet again.

All of a sudden Niki got up and locked the door.

Niki turned back to you, and his eyes God, his eyes held a kind of ache that made your chest tighten. Still, you couldn’t let yourself cave. Not yet.

“So,” you said, voice confident, “what about all those girls? The ones before?”

He flinched, just slightly. “Y/N… I was trying to distract myself. From you. From doing something I’d regret.”

Your stare didn’t waver. “Well, you did. You shut me out like I didn’t matter.”

He dropped his gaze, a heavy sigh slipping from his lips. “I know. And I hate myself for it.”

You swallowed, the ache in your chest making your voice quieter than you intended. “You should.”

The silence that followed was louder than any shouting could’ve been.

Until something broke it.

Loud banging shattered the silence, followed by a sharp voice from the other side of the door.

“Niki! I know you’re in there!” a girl shouted, yanking at the locked doorknob.

Niki rolled his eyes, jaw tightening as he looked toward the door. “Of course,” he muttered under his breath.

The shift in his expression not lost on you — annoyance, but something else too. Guilt? Resentment?

" Who is that?" you ask him.

" A girl that think like her" he sighs.

" Well did you lead her on" You ask

"No." He says sharply.

You just leave it at that. The door knob still twisting. He gets up and opens the door. Leaving the door cracked so she can't see you.

" What do you want Laila?" he says annoyed.

" I want you"

He ran a hand through his hair, frustration evident in the tight line of his mouth. “That would never happen. You know that already.” The words felt heavier than he intended, laden with a mixture of desire and resignation.

“Is that why you can't get your dick hard?” she shot back, the bite in her tone unexpected. She spun on her heel and walked out, the door clicking shut behind her with a finality that echoed in the sudden silence.

You stood there, an awkward observer. His eyes met yours in a brief moment of shared discomfort. You could see the rush of embarrassment wash over him, but instead of speaking, he turned away, leaving you in a cloud of confusion and unsaid thoughts.

As the door swung gently back, the space between you felt charged—heavy with all the things neither of you had dared to say. He didn’t look back. You knew it wasn’t about you; it was a battle he was fighting with himself.

But still, a deep hurt curled in your stomach. It wasn’t just his abrupt departure that stung; it was the weight of his silence, the feeling of being left behind again. You watched the space where he had been, feeling the emptiness spread, and in that moment, you realized you were just as lost in this tangled mess of emotions as he was.

But as he slipped away, leaving you alone, you felt an ache—a hollow throb of hurt that echoed in the silence. He had left again, and with him, he took the fragments of hope that you had, those fleeting dreams of what could have been, leaving only the cold sting of reality in their wake.

After about 10 minutes he still didn't come back. The music bass singing to you through the door while you're alone.

-

You gave up on waiting for him, knowing he was embarrassed. With a sigh, you got off the bed and walked out the door. The loud music hit you as soon as you stepped into the hallway, pulling you back to the reality of the party.

As you walked down the hall, you glanced around but didn’t really see anyone you recognized. It felt like a blur of laughter and noise. When you reached the staircase, you could hear the thumping bass grow louder as you descended, the crowd below swaying with energy.

Once you got to the kitchen, you looked around for Niki. There were several people, some gathered around a game, others chatting over drinks, but he was nowhere to be found. Half-empty cups littered the counter, and the place felt chaotic and noisy.

You leaned against the door frame, biting your lip in frustration. Where was he? . You needed to find Niki, if only to pull yourself out of this awkward situation. Taking a deep breath, you decided to search for him—he couldn't be far.

Then you spot him talking to his close friend Jake, who you knew pretty well. Jake saw you before Niki could because he back was facing Jake. He quickly turned back around to niki. He exchanged a few words before niki left and started walking to you.

Your breathed hitched, as he approached closer. He looked at confident, more his self.

" Sorry for leaving you like that I just needed a second." He says apologetically like he really meant it.

" It hurt you know, leaving me again... After we just talked about you leaving me but understand why you left" you say expressing whole heartily so he would't feel bad.

"If only you knew," he muttered low, his voice barely above a whisper. The seriousness of his tone caught you off guard, but before you could respond, he unexpectedly wrapped his arms around you, pulling you tight against him by the waist. The warmth of his body enveloped you, creating a cocoon that felt both comforting and confusing.

You froze for a moment, surprise coursing through you. His grip was firm, holding you close as if shielding you from the chaos of the party around you. You could feel his heartbeat against your chest. He pulled back just a little so he could come closer to your ear.

“Y/N, I want you for my birthday,” he said softly, his voice carrying an undercurrent of something more profound. The way he spoke made your heart race, and you sensed there was a weight to his words—an unspoken longing that lingered in the air.

He stepped back, breaking the connection you’d just shared, but his gaze didn’t waver from yours. In his eyes, you saw a whirlwind of emotions: regret, yearning, and a sincere apology that spoke volumes. It was clear he felt deeply sorry for what had transpired between you.

“I'll make it up to you,” he assured you, his tone earnest.

“How?” The question slipped out before you could stop it, a thread of skepticism woven through your curiosity.

He smiled—a small, teasing grin that sent butterflies fluttering in your stomach. “You’ll see later,” he replied, his eyes sparkling with a hint of mischief, as if he held onto a surprise that could change everything.

The promise of his words hung between you, igniting a flicker of hope tempered by uncertainty. What did he have planned? Would it be enough to mend the rift that had formed? You found yourself caught in that moment, suspended between anticipation and vulnerability, wondering how this night—and your connection to him—might shift

"I know parties aren't your thing, so you could stay in your room," he says to you.

Yeah, your room. The one you stayed in when you grew up. Back when you and Niki were younger, you’d share a room, sleep in the same bed, and everything. But as you got older, he suggested you get your own room because it would be better. You thought he just got uncomfortable.

---------

pt2.

[danvillecheese]

day ruined i just remembered the pine tree scene at the end of owca files </3

[plant-pluto]

You Need Him? I Could Be Him!

Rodrick Heffley x Popular! Reader

I feel like I always write Reader liking Rodrick while he likes Heather, but like what if its the other way round. Aka your stereotypical friends help each other out by getting the other together with their respective love interest but you end up liking each other.

Wordcount: 3,411

Masterlist

tws: underage drinking mentioned

    Rodrick’s friendship with you was something uncanny to the residents of Plainview, seemingly blossoming out of nowhere you two appeared as thick as thieves with how you were now seen constantly with the resident “emo”. And it certainly threw Heather for a loop when she managed to spot you two chatting.     “ God babes, please don’t tell me you're going out with that loser.” She berated once she found out, and you remember the altercation as clear as day.     “ As if! Besides, he’s not terrible, he’s actually kinda nice.” You defended, trying to put in a good word as that’s the reason you started being “friends” in the first place.

    This symbiotic relationship all started when you witnessed yet another tragedy of Rodrick “flirting” with Heather (if you could even call it that) the interaction so awkward it felt like someone was ripping you apart with a knife. You felt bad for the guy! Heather having left him in the dust causing you to reach out, especially once you recognized how beneficial this could be.     You had a very very secret crush on Chris, Löded Diper’s bassist, and Rodrick was the only other person in the world you revealed that to. The plan was obvious, you helped him out with Heather because as you stated “Lord knows you need it”, and he helps you out with Chris. WIth Rodrick letting you in on their band practices, and you still trying to get Heather to stand being in the same proximity as him, you were around each other constantly. A friendship forming between the local “emo” and “Heather’s hot friend” turned a few heads, especially the heads of your peers.

    Honestly, you didn’t even know if the two of you were friends, you grew to like hanging out with him despite it beginning as a “you scratch my back, I scratch yours” kinda deal, and a part of you wondered if he felt the same.     “ Rodrick.” You called from your place on the boy’s bed, torso dangling off the side as you looked at him from your upside-down view.     He hummed, glancing up from his phone from his place on the floor.     “ Do you like me?” You pondered bluntly, the question of his feelings towards you nagging your brain.

    This certainly caught his attention, eyes widening as he looked back at you, phone now forgotten as he dropped it to the ground.

    “ Pshh what! Why would I-” Rodrick floundered, face red as he began to stutter.

    “ As a friend, dingus, relax.” You huffed in amusement, sitting up on his bed, and turning around to face him,” We’re gonna have to work on you getting flustered so easily because, wow!”

    “ I knew that!” He defended, posture relaxing as he cleared his throat,” I do…like you.”     You deadpanned at his hesitation,” It sounds like someone’s holding you at gunpoint.”     He shrugged, and you started to tease,” I get it, I get it, you’ll be done with me once you get with Heather and I’ll be left behind with no credit. I thought we were friends Rodrick, you wound me.”     “ We are friends!” He exclaimed quickly, and this caused you to smile.     “ Really!? Yayyy!” You exclaimed softly, getting off the bed and flopping down on the floor in front of him.     “ I thought that was obvious.” He grumbled, rolling his eyes, and picking his phone back up to check the time.     “ Just wanted to make sure.” You grinned, mind at ease now that you got the verbal confirmation.     Checking your own phone, you got up,” The guys should be here soon, let's go!” You ushered, dusting yourself off before making your way to Rodrick’s door.     “ Just in case you needed confirmation, I like you too Hot Rod.” You grinned, throwing him a smile over your shoulder, swinging his door open, not seeing the way he flushed and frowned.     Walking around his house like you belonged there (and to be completely honest, you did) you said your hellos to Susan before entering the garage. Taking your usual seat on the couch, Rodrick followed behind you shortly after, a sort of glum look on his face.     “ What’s wrong, you look like you’re thinking.” You asked genuinely, despite your teasing.     “ It’s fine, don't worry about it.” You frowned at his answer, but you brightened once you remembered something.     “ Okok, but I have some wonderful news for you! Heather’s throwing a party, her parents are out of town and she said I could bring you.” You cheered, faltering when you saw that he didn’t perk up at the mention of her name like he usually does.     You went to pry, but the side door swinging open caused you to shut your mouth, in walked Chris and Ben, but more importantly Chris.     “ Hey Chris!” You chirped, the blonde making his way over to you at your greeting.

    “ ‘Sup.” He stated, taking the guitar case off his shoulder and resting it on the arm of the couch.     “ The usual, how was your day?” You asked, not off put by his nonchalant attitude as conversation began to spark.     Immersed in the exchange, you failed to notice that everyone else finished setting up, that was until you heard the loud clash coming from Rodrick’s drum set, a slight glare on his face as he looked between the two of you. Both you and Chris exchanged a look with Ben who just shrugged.     “ Sorry man.” Chris mumbled, grabbing his bass from the case and going to plug it in.     You looked at Rodrick as he talked to Ben, seemingly okay now, causing you to furrow your brows.     Practice went as usual, but your ever growing worry caused you to look at Rodrick for its entirety despite how you normally took this time to watch Chris play. You cheered once they finished, gathering your things as you got ready for the usual tradition of visiting the local 7/11 as a wrap up.     Heading over to Rodrick, you nudged him slightly, hoping to get some kind of confirmation of his status. You smiled at him, and he gave a half-smile back.     “ Ready to go?” You questioned softly, wondering if he could tell just how concerned you were.     “ Uh, I actually…can’t go out.” He hesitated, and you felt the urge to pry as you asked why.     “ I’ve…I’m not feeling well.” The statement came out as more of a question, and you knew just how to tell when Rodrick was lying.

    Chris called your name before you could dwell on it though, casting Rodrick one last look before you walked back over.

    “ You comin’ with us?” He asked, already overhearing Rodrick’s lie.     “ Nah, I got homework.” The excuse flew from your lips before you could even register it, and that had left you confused.     A month ago you would have been overjoyed at the prospect of him asking you to hangout, hell, a few weeks ago you would’ve been ecstatic that you were going to hangout without Rodrick being there. But now, now it just felt off, leaving a pit in your stomach that not even Chris could fill.

    “ Alright, see you guys later!” Ben waved, the door slamming against the frame slightly as Chris and Ben made their exit.     You twirled around, brows furrowed looking at your friend, questions at the tip of your tongue now that you had the space to ask them.     “ What’s wrong?” You got straight to the point, not bothering to tease as you had enough of him brushing you off.     “ What do you mean, I’m fine.” Rodrick stressed, and this only caused you to grow irritated.     “ Seriously Rodrick, I’m just worried, you didn’t even get excited when I said you could go to Heather’s party.” You combatted, not letting up as you pressed.     “ Just tired.” He paused looking around the room, seeming to pick up on the fact that that wouldn’t be enough to satisfy you.

    “ You should help me prep for the party though.” He stated, already going back into the house, and you couldn’t help but feel relieved as you followed behind him.     “ What, don’t tell me you’ve never been to one.” You teased, mind clear as you both seemed to slip back into your normal pace.     He remained silent, and you smirked, practically running up after him on the stairs as he seemed to try and escape you.     “ Rodrick Heffley! Have you seriously never been to a party before?” You exclaimed, slightly shocked at that fact.     He turned to face you as he swung open his door, the sheepish shake of his head causing your grin to widen. 

   “Oh we have a lot of work to do, show me your best dance!” You flopped onto the bed, watching in amusement as he shot you a funny look.     “ What!? You have to know how to dance, what if Heather wants to dance?” You urged, but you shot to your feet once you had the realization.     “ Oh god what if Heather wants to dance, quick Rodrick gimme your hands!” You rushed, grabbing his hands and placing them on your hips as you turned your back towards him.     “What’re you!?” He made a strangled noise, and if you were to turn around, you would’ve seen Rodrick’s face turn the brightest shade it has since this whole ordeal started.

    It was moments before the party, and Rodrick couldn’t do anything but stare at his wall, apparently you had pulled a few strings to get Chris an invite, and he hated the feelings that stirred up within him.     Rodrick Heffley falling for you was not part of the plan he had in mind, and he knew that wasn’t part of your plan either.     He was almost tempted to tell you he couldn’t go, but he didn’t want to make you worry. The chime from his phone alerted him to you being done getting ready, and he got ready to drive on over to your house. Taking one last look in the mirror he frowned slightly at the lack of guyliner, but he remembered how you said Heather didn’t really like stuff like that. Not that it mattered to him now, he knew that you liked it, having said so yourself, but he decided to look the part.     The cold was biting as he made his way into his van, unfortunately he had to pick up Chris first before he could see you, and despite the fact he was his friend, he couldn’t help but get irritated with him now-a-days. Peeling out of the driveway, he reluctantly made his way over to Chris’, and once he was collected, he finally made his way over to you.

    Parking in your driveway as he usually did, he let you know he was there before exiting. You had all decided to walk over to Heather's since it was just at the end of the block, and your parents would kill all of you if they found out you drove under the influence.     “ Hey guys!” You chirped, closing the door behind you as you made your way down the steps.     Rodrick took a second to secretly admire, trying not to visibly wither as you made your way over to Chris first.     Waiting for you to say hi to him, he smiled and started to walk with you and Chris in tow, he looked up at the stars as he listened to you two conversate, silently brooding as he hoped to get the chance to talk to you before the party.     “ Rodrick!” You called, and it was like you had some kind of sixth sense for when he was getting moody, it was something he grew to appreciate.     He hummed, beginning to walk backwards as he waited for you to continue.     “ I was asking if you were gonna drink tonight.” You tilted your head unintentionally, and it caused Rodrick to bite the inside of his cheek.     “ Maybe.” He responded, dragging out the ‘e’ as he genuinely didn’t know, but depending on how the night went, he might wind up having a beer or two.

    Finally reaching Heather’s house, you could hear it before you even entered, the blaring music muffled through the walls, and he watched in curiosity as you ushered Chris inside. He stiffened as you turned to him, melting once you nudged him with your shoulder and smiled.     “ You ready Rockstar?” Whenever you called him that it really made him feel like he was one, butterflies erupting in stomach akin to cheers from a crowd, and your gaze making him feel like he was in the limelight.     “ Ready as I’ll ever be.” He grinned back, flashing his teeth despite the ever growing feeling of worry in his stomach.     The music managed to be even louder once you opened the door, the air was thick and humid, the intermingling smell of various substances assaulting his nose.     “ Let’s go say hi to Heather!” You had urged, and he found your commitment to the hopeless case of him and Heather endearing.     Walking over to the blonde, neither of you missed how she cast Rodrick a small glare,” Hey babes! …Hey Rodrick.”     God it was so much easier for him to see how little of a chance he had when he no longer wanted it.     Walking away to let you chat with Heather, and ignoring the confused glance you gave him, he made his way over to Chris. Chris was already making eyes at some girl, and this made him scowl.     “ Whatcha up to Chris?” He asked, trying to keep it casual, and still trying his best for Chris and you even though he no longer wanted you two to be a thing.     “ Nothing honestly, just observing.” He spoke cooly, and Rodrick couldn’t help but roll his eyes, what did you even see in this guy?

    His eyes floated over to the girl he was looking at, “ Yeah, looks like you’re observing that chick over there.”

    Rodrick couldn’t stop his tone from being a little harsh, and he hoped Chris didn’t notice.

    “ Hell yeah, should I go talk to her?” Chris asked, a little too eagerly, might Rodrick add, but he wasn’t one to judge.

    “ Nah dude, who I really think you should talk to, is over there.” Rodrick pointed over at you, watching as you happily chattered with Heather of all people.

    “ What? Dude that’s literally a death sentence, they’re clearly into you.” Chris nudged Rodrick,” You should go talk to them.”     Rodrick bit back a few choice words, Chris didn’t know how good he had it,” No, trust me on this one man, just go talk to them.”     “ I’m good off that man, they aren’t my type anyways, too chatty.” Chris remarked, and that was all Rodrick needed.     “ Too chatty?” He exclaimed, shoulders bristling as he spoke through grit teeth.     “ Dude, they only talk to you so much because they like you.” He couldn’t believe this, Chris was walking away from the literal definition of picture perfect in Rodrick’s eyes, and he almost hated him for it, almost.     “ Woah really? Maybe I’ll just try to slide in then.” Chris laughed at his own crude joke, and with you in mind Rodrick decided against punching him in the face.     “ You’re the fucking worst.” Rodrick sneered, and Chris put his hands up in mock surrender right before Rodrick walked away.     The night had certainly progressed, and Rodrick was definitely drinking tonight, he hadn’t seen you for most of the party, and that fact started to worry him.     Walking down the never ending hallways of Heather’s huge home, he managed to stumble upon the plot twist of the century. Behind the door at the end of the hallway was apparently Heather’s room, and what became even more apparent was the figure of Heather Hills on top of Chris.     If this were to happen a few months ago, Rodrick would’ve been pissed at the sight, and now, now he was still pissed, but for a much different reason.

    The door slammed shut behind him, muffling Heather’s shrill screams in horror at being caught. Rushing down the steps, he continued to squeeze past the sea of bodies as he tried to search for you. And once he did find you, he was dragging you towards the door, you following him willingly causing him to go faster.

    “ Rodrick, what’s going on?” You were frantic, and he didn’t answer until he swung open the front door.

    The air did little to nothing to cool Rodrick’s heated attitude, and he turned to face you, looking up as you were still at the door, and he was on the sidewalk.

    “ Can we ditch? Please.” He asked weakly, not knowing what to say if you asked why.

    “ What happened, are you okay? What about Chris?” You asked clearly confused as you walked down to him.     As quick as his heart leapt at your concern, it was crushed at the mention of him.     “ Who cares about him!” Rodrick snapped, temper catching up to him as a multitude of emotions swirled in his chest.

    “ I do!” You defended, but a part of you knew you didn’t mean that as strongly as before.     “ Why?!” He challenged, and he really wanted an answer, because whenever he thought about it, it was lost to him.

    “ What’s so great about him?” Question after question kept spewing out before he even had the chance to feel bad.     “ What about him makes him so much better-” He choked on his words, the gravity of his statement bringing him back to reality as he looked away from you.     “ Better?” You questioned softly, not swayed by his attitude, and that was clear when he saw the concern dance in your eyes as he turned back to face you.     “ Better than me.” His voice was soft now, barely above a whisper, but you heard him loud and clear.     It all made sense now.

    Like the last piece of the puzzle slid into place allowing you to see the full picture. Your ever growing concern, that time when you said no to hanging out with Chris, the fact that you hardly even cared about Chris anymore. You were finally able to make sense of it all, and it all boiled down to one now glaringly obvious fact.

    You liked Rodrick Heffley, and you were pretty sure he liked you too.

    The world felt silent despite the raging party inside, and everything felt so vulnerable, the way Rodrick couldn’t look you in the eye, and the way you saw him now with your feelings apparent. You wondered how long he felt this way, and his behavior at practice a few days ago also made sense. A small huff of air escaped you, and you looked at the boy in front of you with such fondness that it compelled you to reach out.

    You cupped his face lightly, and if anyone looked as closely as you did, they would see how his brows were slightly furrowed with anxiety, and how his jaw was clenched. The entirety of your being softened once you felt him relax in your hold, turning his face to meet yours, he looked at you with the adoration you felt for him.

    “ Now that you mention it.” You said softly, and Rodrick looked as though he was hanging onto your every word, and that’s because he was.     “ No one’s better than you Rodrick.” You could see the immediate relief that overtook him, eyes softening as his hands went to rest on your hips.     “ No one?” He mumbled, still in disbelief.     You shook your head, a smile gracing your features that almost brought Rodrick to his knees. You brought him in closer, and your lips brushed against each other before they locked. Holding you tighter, he couldn’t help but smile as he kissed you, and this caused you to giggle, kissing for a few beats longer before you broke apart.     “ Let’s go back home, Rockstar.” You faced him as you dragged him down the sidewalk, not that you needed to, Rodrick would go anywhere you told him to, and he was sure you would do the same.

[yourheart-inmyhands]

My brain is acting up again 😭

Yan! Diluc, Zhongli (I swear I love this man) and Dottore having a conversation with their darling and out of nowhere they spill facts about how to hide a body or make it decompose faster.

If they ask how they know they just chuckle and continue their conversation.

They got it from Reddit fr 💀

- Weird anon ✨

ah i am also obsessed with death and decomposition, with a good mix of anatomy, though i try to avoid just finding random facts, i buy textbooks and research books about the topics to further my knowledge on the subjects :3c

Warning: this post contains yandere-themes, including obsessive behaviors, mentions of violence, lots of talk about death and facts about death, creepy behavior, as well as other potential topics. Please read at your own risk!

Diluc:

He finds it amusing at first, not really commenting on it and simply letting it be. Soon enough though he starts sharing facts of his own, making minor corrections or suggestions to the ones you bring up. Sometimes he even adds on to what you already have, changing the course of the conversation momentarily.

It’s not talked about often but Diluc is no longer allowed in Snezhnaya for a reason, he’s seen more than his fair share of bloodshed and has no problem offering you better suggestions than what you previously thought to be best. 

He makes a little game out of it, even going as far as to offer to test your claims. Diluc doesn’t see the harm in it, if anything he’s merely indulging in your interests, bonding with you over it. Strange as it is, he thinks it’s fun.

“Did you know the main reason why corpses smell so bad is because when people die, their bladder empties out?” Diluc chuckles at your question, the conversation shifting from possible dinner options to that of death was nothing new to him, yet it never failed to amuse him. “I did. Did you know it’s because when you die every muscle in your body relaxes, which means anything in your bowels is emptied out, no longer held back?” A bit of a tangent never hurts, especially not when it comes to a topic you seem so sporadically fascinated with. Diluc could sit here and watch you talk about this endlessly, the way your face suddenly lights up as you blurt out a random, off-topic fact. It was like seeing a kid walk into a candy store.

Zhongli:

Zhongli takes it a bit too seriously, often correcting you on common misconceptions or myths. He’s still lighthearted about it, but he doesn’t want his beloved darling to be in the wrong about this kind of thing.

He’d hate to see your spirit crushed by someone else, their offense to the sudden topic change springing up as a rebuttal. He’s simply protecting you this way, making sure that no one can challenge anything you say.

All his knowledge doesn’t come from nowhere though, so do keep that in mind should you ever try to challenge him on anything. Not only has he lived far longer than you, but he and his spear have seen, and done, many things

“Zhongli! Did you know that after death, your hair and fingers still grow for a short period of time?” Pausing mid-explanation, Zhongli processes what you said before smiling fondly at you. “No, my gem, they do not. It is actually the skin shrinking back from loss of moisture. That movement of the skin gives the appearance of the nails and hair growing.” Zhongli doesn’t falter even the slightest in his correction, merely stating it as if it were common knowledge, which it ought to be. This is a fairly common occurrence, with your little interruptions being met with either encouragement from Zhongli, or simply corrections.

Dottore:

He’s probably the worst to bring this up around as he likes to make a competition out of it, going back and forth about gruesome facts until one or the other caves.

Not only has Dottore learned a lot about death, but he’s been responsible for just as many. His knowledge far extends past the random facts you collect.

It’s not surprising that Dottore knows more than you, he never holds it against you though. Every time he wins a little bit of the banter between the two of you he sees it as a win for both of you. You get more facts and he gets to assert his position of higher power over you.

“Rigor mortis occurs 6-12 hours after a death but can last 18-36 hours before the body returns to being soft and floppy.” Dottore doesn’t even falter as you shift the conversation, easily following your lead. “Suffocation is more than just a painful way to die. Oftentimes victims of suffocations will try to free or save themselves to no avail as their limbs will cease function, this is because their brain is trying to preserve oxygen which leads to them being unable to free themself and dying.” The smile on his face is only a few inches wider than normal, his eyes twinkling with the same challenging shine that always comes through when you bring up death. If you weren’t well aware of his affections for you, you’d almost believe he loved talking about death more than he loved you.

[captain-huggy-bear]

Treat You Right

Pairing: Clayton Keller x Fem!Reader

Warnings: unwanted advances, men not taking no for an answer, Clayton's involved in a fight.

Summary: You're not dating Clayton Keller, but there's one thing he can't stand and that's a guy not treating you with respect...turns out he hates it enough to fight a guy in a bar after a game.

Notes: All I have to say is i'm in my Clayton brain rot era.

Totally happy to take requests/ideas/prompts at the moment in my ask box :)

Writing Masterlist

It's a normal night or it starts that way. Being friends with a bunch of pro-athletes means you're often dragged out after home game wins to whatever bar they decide is best that night. Tonight it's Sunny's, a common choice for the Utah Hockey Club because of the pool table, dart board and the fact that most of the people who come in are old middle age men or contractors. Guys, who might ask for an autograph but not the usual screaming crowd that make it impossible for them to have a drink or two.

You never really had being friends with the lot of them on your bucket list, but Michael had met you when he'd taken his cats to the vets and you'd been there with your own, a fat black moggie called Gremlin who'd fallen in love with Ranger. From that point on cat dates had been a thing because in Kess' words 'you can't separate true love', you weren't entirely sure whether Gremlin loved Ranger or just wanted to lick the other cat bald.

Either way the moment you became friends with Kess was the moment you became friends with the entire team, suddenly you were being asked to events, invited to home games and the celebratory drinks after. It was nice, for the most part you felt like you were their sister, someone for them to look after but also mock, just as much as you made fun of them. You had a little community, a gang, a group where you belonged even if you weren't actually on the team.

The exception to that rule being Clayton Keller...you definitely did not want to feel like Clayton Keller's sister.

It was bound to happen, that you'd have a crush on at least one of the team. It wasn't really your fault, and well, Clay had this way of treating you, all soft and sweet and like a girl, that had you flushing under his attention and preening at any compliment he gave you. You were almost certain it was a one-sided crush doomed to go nowhere and leave you pining after the captain until you settled for some mediocre guy in finance. He was just so nice to you, so sweet.

Still, Clay was half the reason you'd agreed to come out to Sunny's that night. Determined to spend some time with or at least around him. You'd even gone home to change after the game into a nice dress before coming back out again because maybe, just maybe, this would be the night that Clayton Keller realised you were the girl he wanted.

You're waiting for your coca cola at the bar, leaning on your forearms and watching the room from over your shoulder. Kess and Dylan were playing a game of pool in the corner, Kess appearing to be losing based on the glare he was sending Dylan's way. The rest of the guys were sat around their usual table, beers in hand laughing and joking. Your eyes find Clayton like he's a magnet, he's smirking at something O'Brian's said, Tuna probably making some stupid dirty joke or telling a story at the expense of Kess.

"Hey, pretty..." You're pulled out of your people watching by a slurred drawl far too close to your ear for comfort. Your eyes shift to the man next to you, who might have been considered handsome if he wasn't staring at your boobs so blatantly that you suddenly understood what a tasty pastry felt like in a patisserie window. It wasn't particularly flattering.

You shift away from him as much as you can without appearing rude because he'd managed to somehow sneak up on you and get within inches of your ear. Something you're sure he thought was seductive but just made your shoulders tighten and your body tense.

"Hi." You try to keep your tone short, not wanting to encourage the man but hating to feel like you're being unnecessarily rude as well.

"Can I buy you a drink, baby?"

"I'm good, thanks." You gesture at the soft drink your bartender just placed in front of you, thankful that this is your cue to leave and return to the safety of a group of hockey players.

Unbeknownst to you in that moment Marino is nudging Kells with his elbow, chin gesturing in your direction. You look uncomfortable, the way you're shifting away from the man leering at you, practically leaning over you, says enough. Every time you shift away from him, he shifts closer and it's clear to Clayton that you'd rather be anywhere else.

He can't help it, the way it makes his hackles rise, the way his fist clenches tight around his beer bottle as he takes another swig, forcing himself to be cool, to just let you handle it for a moment. It's not like you're dating, it's not like he has any right to storm over there and maybe he's wrong...maybe you're interested in the guy leering down at you like you're a piece of meat. Maybe he's more your type than Clay is.

He doesn't really blame the guy for showing interest. You're beautiful, always, but...there's something about the way you look tonight. Maybe it's that your dress accentuates your hips or the fact that the colour makes your skin look like its glowing...or maybe Clayton is just a little weak for you. That's not exactly a new revelation for him. He's been weak for you since day one.

"Seriously, baby, that's not a real drink, let me get you a real drink."

"I'm good." You stress your point this time, snatching your drink back from the man who just tried to take it off you and straightening to walk back to the guys. Any pretence of politeness dropped because you don't have to deal with this and you aren't going to.

"Where the fuck do you think you're going?" It's a shift in attitude that you should have expected, you've seen it before, but you don't expect the hand that wraps around your wrist to stop you walking away, your drink spilling as you're jerked to a stop. His hand is tight, uncomfortable so and the situation has gone from irritating to frightening, fear running down you're spine because this strange man has his hands on you.

Your eyes find Clay's almost instinctively, wide and scared but he's already out of his seat and shoving people out of the way with short, sharp apologies as he goes. It's not like he's alone either, half the team are now looking your way, waiting to see if their captain needs any help or not. Looking to see if they need to also step in.

"Get the fuck off me." Still, in the time it takes Clay to reach you you try to shake the man off, glaring up at him like it might help. It doesn't, if anything his grip tightens and he pulls you closer, a hand reaching for the skin of your thigh like he has any right to touch you.

It's that that has Clay seeing red. Going from thinking he'd calmly intervene to storming between the two of you like a bull in a china shop. It must be the surprise of someone intervening that does it, but the man let's your wrist go and Clay's pushing you gently back and out of the way before he's letting a fist fly at the guy's face without so much as a word towards the other man.

"Shit, Clay...What the fuck are you doing?!" All you can do is take another step back, hands coming to your mouth because out of all the guys on the team, Clay's the last one you expect to be starting a fight in a bar with a guy at least a head taller than him.

He doesn't answer you because he's too busy fighting, you're so shocked, so focused on what's happening in front of you, that you jump when Kess brushes your shoulder, pool having been deserted in favour of helping O'Brian and Marino pull the two men apart.

Despite the size difference Clay's winning or it looks like he's winning, you're pretty certain he's broken the other guy's nose and even with a bloody busted lip, he doesn't look winded or ready to stop. Part of you hates it. A stupid display of male pride and dominance that you should not condone at all...another part of you feels a thrill at Clayton fighting on your behalf, at the blood speckles across his white dress shirt, at the bruising on his knuckles, at the way he licks the blood from his busted lip and smirks at the guy sarcastically. Like he's completely and utterly in control.

You're not sure he's going to stop, eyes feral, mouth pursed, huffing like an angry bull when Kess finally has him round the shoulders and starts pulling him away. Tuna doing the same to the stranger. But, Clay does stop, just shrugs Kess off with sharp movements, "I'm fine. He won't be if he doesn't fucking leave though."

It's Tuna that escorts the stranger out of the bar and you're certain the only thing stopping the bar owner from kicking Clay out is the fact he's a local celebrity who brings in half the customers.

"What the hell, Clay?" You're still shocked by the brute display of force from him, not scared, just surprised. You can't deny there's a certain appeal to it. To the way he looks at you as he wipes blood from his chin, how his large hands clench and unclench testing his knuckles for a break. They're just bruised. He's hot...hotter than usual and you kind of hate that you feel that way, like you're setting feminism back 100 years. But, God...

“No one gets to treat you like that, you hear me? No one.” He can't stand it. The entitlement to grab you, the belief that anyone has a right to touch you without permission, to talk to you like that. He's half a mind to chase after Tuna and the guy, to keep going, but he knows he shouldn't...he's already done more than he probably should have. Headlines in the morning no doubt already looking like 'Utah Captain beats local man in bar brawl!'.

"That...you can't just fight someone for being a asshole," You can see Kess gesturing for everyone to give the two of you privacy as Clay steps into your personal bubble. He's still amped up, chest heaving like he wants another fight, lips parted to take in more air. You hate that you want to take a bite out of him, you hate that you want him to take that energy out on you in a completely different way than fighting.

"Why the fuck not?"

"Because...because..." all you can come up with is, "I'm not your girlfriend, Clay...you don't have to defend me."

He looks at you like you're an idiot, the only time he's ever looked at you like that. Like you're daft and it makes you flush with warm embarrassment because why couldn't you think of something better to say.

"No one gets to treat you like dirt. Like a piece of meat. Like he owns you, okay? Doesn't matter if you're my girlfriend or not, men better treat you with respect or they're dealing with me."

"Clay...I get it, you're a woman loving, modern man but..." You're convinced this whole display is just part of his gentlemanly stick, his righteous desire for fairness and justice in the world and nothing to do with you. it would be cute how oblivious you are, if he wasn't so fed up with it.

"And before you start that shit, yeah, I'd defend any woman in here, but I sure as fuck wouldn't be throwing punches over anyone else, baby." Clay runs his hands through his hair frenetically, the strands messy and loose, hat non-existent for once.

You feel like your head is spinning, buzzing, confused because surely he's talking about the fact you're kind of friends, that you're not a stranger. He can't possibly mean...he called you baby? When did Clay ever call you baby?

His laugh is sardonic, disbelieving as he watches the way you stare at him, all wide eyed and confused like he hasn't been trying to flirt with you for the past six months that you've known each other. Like he doesn't try to compliment you every time he sees you. Like he didn't give you his number the very first day so you could meet up. Like he's not totally irrevocably in love with you.

"Do I need to spell it out for you, sweetheart?" He's being a bit abrupt, a little bit mean in a way Clay normally isn't with you. Not quite so soft and he'll apologise for that later but he's still angry about the whole thing and you're obliviousness to his feelings feels like a slap in the face, like he's not good enough for you to even comprehend the idea of something more with. You don't owe him anything, but fuck, he's frustrated with the ignorance of it all.

"You're not my girlfriend, but I sure as hell want you to be and I've been flirting with you for six months and if you're just not interested that's fine, I'll still be in your corner, but I need to know if I'm just wasting my time waiting." This time when you're backed against the bar top by a man, it's by Clay, and it's wanted. He's in your space but with enough room that he's giving you an out, you can slip under his arm and leave at any moment. But you don't.

"You like me?" It's every dream you've had about Clay, every want, rolled up into one. The way he barricades you in on the bar top. The smell of his cologne. The warmth of him. The intense stare of baby blue eyes as he tells you he actually likes you, that your stupid, silly little crush isn't actually as one-sided as you thought.

"Only been flirting with you since the moment we met, baby."

"You've been flirting with me?" You lean back to get a better look at his face, your mouth dropped in shock. In turn he leans back to look at you in a similar manner, eyebrows high, blue eyes blinking in confusion.

"Are you serious?"

"Fuck...I thought...I thought you weren't interested...I thought...I thought you didn't like me back..." You're practically having an existential crisis between his arms because he's just admitted he likes you that he's been flirting with you for months, that all your pining and your moping has been for literally nothing.

"Back?" Clay's smile is starting to grow, the one you adore, all teeth and dimples as he picks up on that one seemingly insignificant word and prods at it. As if that word has put all the frustration, all the anger, all the bad feelings of the night instantly to rest.

"I..."

"Do you like me, baby?" He's all teasing smirks and half-lidded eyes now, leaning back into your space so close that you're chest to chest, nose to nose. So close you can feel the warmth of his breath on your lips. So close it makes you stutter and freeze.

"Clay..." Your eyes dart to all your friends, all eyes on the two of you as you flush warm, cheeks growing supremely hot because fuck, Clayton Keller looks like he's about to kiss you in the middle of a bar with the entire team watching like they need popcorn.

You watch Clayton's eyes flicker to catch the audience watching, the way he takes a moment to pause, to think, whatever impulsive decision he had being put to rest for the moment.

"C'mon..." His hand is wrapping around yours in no time, tugging you along and out of the bar, away from prying eyes as if that isn't just as blatant, just as obvious as kissing you in front of all of them or whatever he might have planned to do. There's part of you that wonders if this might be all some big joke he's about to play, the insecure part, the little girl from your childhood part, that feels like he might turn around and laugh with a loud 'as if!'.

You let him lead you outside, the night air cool against your arms, the sort of chill that makes goose bumps raise on your arms. He doesn't even hesitate before shrugging off his jacket and throwing it over your shoulders, his arm coming to rest there, tucking you into his side like you belong, like its natural for him to do.

You don't speak as you walk, scared to break the silence until you come to a stop a few streets down in front of a shop that Clay had parked across from earlier in the night. No one is around but you and that's what gives him the confidence to push you against the brick wall of the shop, to lean back into your space and ask the question that he never got an answer to.

"Do you like me, baby?" It's more intimate this time, but less pressured. There are no eyes on you, there are no bright bar lights or teammates getting an eyeful. Something about the dimness of the night, the cool air, the feel of his jacket over your shoulders and him, oh him, leaning into your space again, has you answering honestly.

"Yeah, yeah I do..."

There's a silent conversation that happens as his hand comes up to rest against your throat, thumb rubbing against the underside of your chin. He watches you carefully and you try to answer him without words, that you want this, that you really do like him.

Whatever Clay sees must be enough because he's leaning in slow, just slow enough for you to dip out if he's misread the situation, hand tightening just slightly around your throat before his lips are slanting over yours.

It's not a frantic kiss, not forceful or aggressive. He kisses you like a slow dance, like your the sweetest thing he's ever tasted and he's trying to savour it, enjoy it for as long as he can. Lips soft and slow against yours, tongue licking into your mouth unhurried and patient. If anyone is impatient it's you, your hands tangling into his hair and tugging until he groans against you, until that patience breaks just enough for him to start devouring your mouth like he's a glutton for you.

When Clayton finally pulls back from you you're both heaving in breaths, chests bumping against each other and lips kiss bitten. The smile he gives you is so soft, so sweet it makes you want to melt into a puddle, his eyes crinkling as just a hint of his teeth comes out to play.

"Can I take you on a date?" His nose bumps against yours, purposeful in the brush against your own like he can't stand to be too far away from you right now.

"Yeah, you can take me on a date, Clayton Keller."

"Good, cause I really need an excuse to punch the next guy that looks at you funny," He jokes causing you to let out a huff of a laugh, hand escaping his hair to whack his shoulder admonishingly.

"Don't you dare!"

[ackerlikesmen]

My Response

Since I can't reblog, I'll respond this way.

THIS IS NOT TO ATTACK BUT TO SHARE MY REASONING FOR DISAGREEMENT.

I won't lie. This tweet really bothered me. Same annoyance and sadness with 'You can't criticize percabeth because it's based on Rick's marriage.' I'm not saying you said that, but I see that comment often.

Anyway, I'm going to remain respectful.

You are NOT erasing Percy's character's strength by pointing out the toxicity and abuse of Percabeth. Yes, Percy is not afraid of calling out people's nonsense. HOWEVER, he does that with people he DOES NOT like. Of course, it's easier for him to call out people he doesn't like because it wouldn't affect him.

However, when it comes to people he cares for, that's another story. When it comes to Grover nearly fucking up Percy's quest because he didn't want him or Annabeth to leave him, instead of calling out his selfishness, Percy bites his tongue and BLAMES HIMSELF for making Grover feel that way.

What about when his mother admits she was selfish by not letting him go to camp? Despite being a safer option, she didn't want him going to camp. Percy had every right to be mad. This could've saved him from Gabe. But instead, he still adores her. He doesn't hold it against her.

Lastly, with Annabeth, she's done all sorts of things, like punching him in the gut, judo flipping him with the intention of hurting him, and blaming him for leaving her even though he was kidnapped.

Did Percy lash out? No. There wasn't a retort either. Instead, he laughed it off, and they haven't spoken about it. If anything, he felt the need to make it up to Annabeth. He felt GUILTY for something that was not his fault.

What about when she calls him seaweed brain, a name he doesn't like? A name similar to 'brain boy,' something smelly Gabe calls him to demean his intelligence. A name that ANNABETH finds insulting too, and doesn't want to be called. Does he tell her to stop or call her mean names back? Kinda, but he later GIVES UP and bites his tongue.

What about when Reyna says he 'couldn't find his way out of a paper bag,' and Annabeth laughs and agrees with her. Percy may have said 'hey!" but that's it. Was it talked about? I don't think so. It was brushed to the side.

Percy may be brave enough to stand up to bullies, but he doesn't stand up to his loved ones when they truly hurt him. His fatal flaw being loyalty to loved ones, even when they fuck him over, prevents him from doing that.

Annabeth is nowhere near like Gabe, but that doesn't mean she's not hurting Percy, and you're not degrading Percy for calling this out.

I was in Percy's shoes. I stood up to bullies and people I didn't like. Uncomfortable? Scary? Hell yeah, but I did it anyway. I know what that's like. However, just like Percy, I also brushed off the pain my friends and loved ones caused me. I brushed off my 'friends' fucking me over, even took the blame for them. Why? I didn't want them to leave me. I overlooked when my loved ones would unintentionally say hurtful things. Why? Because I love them and didn't want them to leave me either. Also, I tried to appear strong, too. It's okay now that I had therapy and stuff.

Guess what? Percy does the same thing, and that's worth calling out. Victims of abuse tend to overlook their loved ones hurting them.

I'm not 'minimizing' or 'erasing' Percy's strength and courage for calling a spade a spade, and I can not stand when percabeth stans try to sweep toxic things Annabeth does under the rug. Again, is she abusive and like Gabe? No. BUT she does things that remind me of Gabe, like calling Percy mean names to insult his intelligence. She hits, kicks, and hurts him when he does something she doesn't like. Gabe doesn't do this, but Annabeth would sometimes play mind games or make her boyfriend anxious just for the hell of it. (Bringing up Rachel to make Percy uncomfortable). I'll stop listing.

But I have to say. You said it was 'insulting' to Annabeth to call her actions 'abusive'? I say it's insulting to act like what she's doing isn't abusive or toxic. All that I've listed, she didn't do this playfully or in a lighthearted manner. Annabeth did this angry or annoyed and with INTENT. It wasn't an oopsie! No, she wants it to hurt, especially the judo flip scene. So, do I care if I insult Annabeth? Sorry, but no. I don't care because she's in the wrong. Not always, but MOST, and I don't feel guilty because of her actions and how she hasn't learned (and doesn't want to).

Overall, I hate that these types of arguments become popular. I understand you don't like your ship being called horrible things, and I'm not trying to be mean. Most of us are not. However, we can NOT sweep over some of the things Annabeth or Percy do, mainly Annabeth.

I'm sorry for dumping something heavy. I'm not trying to make this about me. My point is that you're not discarding Percy for calling out Percabeth's toxicity. That's it.

Night

Edited: March 18th, 2025. I wanted to add a little more and correct grammar and typos.

[rex-rambles]

HEY BADDIE!! Asking for a friend if you’ll maybe potentially ever write a Lando soulmate au as well?? 🥹🥹 I’m loving the soulmate universe 🥀🥀

Hello!! It has taken me so long to figure out what I want to do for Lando's soulmate trait (same with Charles) but I have something in the works...no promises of when I'm getting this one out, but here's a sneak peek!

When you turned eighteen, nothing obvious had changed. Your family had stayed up to see the clock strike midnight, to see what soulmate trait you'd get, carrying on the tradition of colour-blindness, or maybe a timer, like your cousin had gotten.

Instead, you saw no change, no secret mark appearing on your skin.

You just felt disappointed, and somewhere in the universe, in yourself, the feeling of disappointment returned to you.

It was always hard to explain that you could feel the same emotion as your soulmate, but from that day forward, you were incredibly attuned to whatever your soulmate was feeling. Alongside your own, everyday experiences was a different soul tucked into your heart, at the back of your consciousness, morphing and changing to a life you'd never seen.

Joy was the most obvious feeling, the most easily translatable to others. It was a smile that bubbled up out of nowhere, so pure and so soft that it wrapped around you and never wanted to leave. Anger was short bursts of frustration or deep, blinding things, a rage that lasted a week before it began to simmer.

If someone were to ask, now, what your soulmate was experiencing, you think it might be frustration, some kind of annoyance directed out into the world, and through you. And, while you couldn't help but be annoyed alongside them, it didn't stop the joy that emanated from you, because you had a soulmate, and you knew exactly how to make them feel better.

-

“No soulmate trait?” Oscar asks, and Lando hums over a ridiculously large bowl of salad.

“It makes no sense!” He answers, stabbing at the lettuce in front of him with a vengeance. “Like not a mark, no colour changing shit, just…nothing. I think it’s one of those things where you have to touch people to know.” 

“So that’s why you’re so clingy,” Oscar answers sympathetically, and Lando takes a crouton and throws it at him.

Then, just as soon as Lando begins to feel genuinely resentful, a soft wave of calm comes over him. He had joked, once, that his heart and his brain were capable of feeling two different emotions at once. Sometimes, he was furious, but in his heart, he knew he would be fine. Othertimes, his heart was just so happy for no reason. No one really understood what he was talking about, but Lando didn't mind. He was rather proud of his emotional intelligence, being able to decipher what he was really feeling under the surface. He was maturing into a proper adult who could rationalize their thoughts and feelings, but then again, proper adults don't throw croutons in dining halls. “Does your heart ever get happy when your brain is angry?"

“What?” 

“Like I was pissed about the soulmate thing, and now I feel all calm. Like my heart knew I was being stupid.” It was like someone reminding him to breathe, to think of the better alternatives, like the fact that his soulmate was probably out there, just with a rare trait that would make it all the more worthwhile.

Oscar, unfazed by both the strange question and the crouton, thinks for a moment before speaking. “I think you’re just old enough to know not to be mad about things. Or you have other things to focus on.” 

“Maybe.” Years later, Lando would look back at this moment and bang his head into a table, but in the present, he continues to eat his salad and ponder why no one's investigated the psychology of the heart.

a/n: I really wanted a meet-cute style soulmate trait for Lando, so I'm going to have him being clueless and emotional paired with the reader being super attuned to people's emotions, because let's face it, that boy is clueless and also needs a hug

[strawberrykidneystone]

brewing

sevika x fem!reader

summary: the annual basket betting is right around the corner and caitlyn is trying to play matchmaker with you

a/n: ty for all the love in part 1!!!!

tags: gilmore girls au, diner owner!sevika, i love the basket betting episode, side poly victor x jayce x mel bc i said so, jayce is the mayor LMAO, fast burn bc im impatient, first kiss (YOU'RE WELCOME), hope you like fishing!

ao3 version

part 1

today was the basket betting day for raising funds to build the old bridge again and you had once again put off buying a basket until the last minute.

"how about this one?" you asked isha, who's face twisted into one of disapproval.

"too big," she signed with a shake of her head.

"okay goldilocks, well you've vetoed the last 3 baskets i've picked out so why don't you just pick it out for me?" you said in a deceptively sweet voice after tossing the basket back into the pile with the others.

isha responded with an eyeroll and dug through the baskets to find a reasonably small one that was still somewhat fashionable. while she dug around the pile of wicker, you picked up a few groceries that you were missing and waited by the checkout for her to finish up, hoping that she wouldn't pick too small of a basket so at least someone would bet on it without setting expectations too high.

out of seemingly nowhere, caitlyn appeared in front of you with a much too eager smile on her face. "morning!" she chirped happily, clutching her own basket that you had no doubt that vi was going to bet on. It was a reasonably sized basket, and you were sure that her kitchen staff wouldn't skimp on a full 3-course meal that would fill the entire thing up, topped with a dark blue ribbon as it did in years past. hell, before vi came along, even you would've bet on the basket for the food alone.

you gasped at her sudden appearance and put a hand over your chest as if you were having a heart palpitation, "jeez cait, i need to get you a bell or something."

she giggled and rocked back and forth on her feet, a mischievous smile on her face. "my apologies, but i couldn't wait to tell you. i've actually found someone to bet on your basket," she said with an all-too-proud look on her face.

you deadpanned and slumped your shoulders, "what." caitlyn's plans to set you up with her "friends" have never really gone right. the last blind date you went on, set up by her, your date would only talk about the stock market and its impact on the company she inherited from her parents. it was so boring that you went through 2 bottle of wine just to make yourself brain-dead enough to keep listening to them drone on.

"oh don't give me that look, it'll be fun!" she said with a big smile on her face with a playful nudge to your shoulder.

"yeah i've heard that before," you muttered under your breath as you could feel the dread building up in your gut as you watched her duck in between the aisles to find her pink-headed beau.

whoever she was setting up with you, it could not be good.

isha brought you out of your stance of disbelief by bumping your arm with the basket she had meticulously picked out and took your shopping basket from your forearm, placing it onto the waiting checkout conveyor belt. you snickered at her eagerness to get back home to stuff her nose back into her latest book, "okay okay i get it kid."

isha had dodged the town fundraiser by being a child still and would be safe in the library with a stack of freshly picked books at her side.

after checking out at the register and grabbing your groceries, the two of you were off to kill a few hours before it was time to bid.

-timeskip-

this was a new low for sevika.

self help tapes? who was she kidding. blah blah blah love yourself. who actually listens to this bullshit?

well, she supposed she did now.

communicating had never been sevika’s strong suit, but she was determined. if not for herself, then for you. who knew that you had to work on yourself to be better for other people? go figure.

her thoughts were interrupted by a loud commotion coming from downstairs and a frantic call of her name.

speak of the devil and he shall appear. well, she.

sevika ejected the cassettee tape out of her speaker and stuffed it in her sock drawer with the original packaging, running her fingers through her tussled hair and tucked it into a backwards baseball cap, before basically clamoring down the stairs at your desperate pleas. as she walked through the doorway, she almost steamrolled over you with the velocity that she had gained running down the stairs to you and looked at you with surprise. she had never seen you this frazzled before, and that was saying something.

"sevika you have to buy my basket," you basically begged, looking up at her with a look of desperation that reminded her of a feral animal being backed into a corner.

sevika furrowed her brows and stood there a little dumbfounded. she was willing to do a lot of things for you, but the basket auction? she still had her dignity. kind of.

"absolutely not."

"please sev! caitlyn is trying to set me up with these weirdos and i’ll be forced to have lunch with them!" you said desperately, trying to give sevika your most pathetic look to convince her.

"do they know they're betting on 2 packs of gushers and a peanut butter sandwich?" she teased but couldn't help but feel her heart ache at the thought of you going on an obligatory "date" with someone else.

"hey i resent that!" you said in an offended tone before a smirk crawled up your face, "it's a peanut butter and nutella sandwich."

“ooo my bad,” she said mockingly, still looking at you unimpressed.

you clasped your hands together and gave her the saddest eyes that you could muster, “please sevika! this is my hour of need and i need you! i would never leave you hanging like this!”

sevika pressed her lips together and tried to resist your sad eyes, but she was only so strong of a woman. she knew she could never truly say no to you, especially if it prevented you from having a lunch date with someone other than her.

“fine, just stop making that face it’s making me nauseous.”

“yes! thank you thank you thank you i’ll never make it again!” you cried out in joy with an obvious lie, dragging her out of the diner and over to the crowd that had gathered in front of the big gazebo.

the usually empty caged structure was adorned with multiple baskets of every shape and size you could imagine. while participation for the women in the community was “optional”, meaning you would get an earful from jayce if you didn’t make a basket (besides sevika who protested against the event every year), the community needed to raise money for the old bridge once again. jayce was shining on stage in his pristine white suit with both of his partners on either side of him, mel presenting the baskets while viktor meticulously kept track of who had bet on each one on his yellow legal pad.

jinx’s basket had just finished being bet on, sold for $5 to ekko with no resistance from the crowd (there was probably a stink bomb in the basket).

jayce held his hand out to mel, who picked up your basket as it had been next in line. you stood with sevika in the crowd with your arms unconsciously wrapped around her bicep, rapidly tapping her arm as jayce held your basket up. “it’s that one,” you whisper-shouted to her, slightly hiding behind her tall figure from the two people that caitlyn had picked out for you to bet on your basket.

"we'll start the bidding at $3," jayce said pointedly, smiling out to the crowd.

"hey size isn't everything!'' you said through gritted teeth, looking nervously at the two people who both raised their hands to bid.

sevika raised her hand when jayce called for $5 and soon the price of the basket had increased to a whopping $50, something that you could literally never imagine.

"$100, final offer," sevika said gruffly. you couldn't help but gawk up at her, shocked that she would go up that high for a basket that she knew the sad contents of.

the crowd was silent and jacye looked around for any opposers, "going once, going twice, sold to sevika for $100!"

there was scattered applause throughout the crowd and you could help but sigh in relief, hugging sevika's are slightly tighter, "thank you 'vika, you're a lifesaver."

"yeah yeah i'm a fucking saint," she grumbled, silently reveling in the grip that you had on her arm.

the rest of the auction went by in a blur, and you let go of sevika's arm for her to go claim her prize. as she walked back to you with the basket in hand, she looked into the small vessel and grimaced at the pathetic amount of food on the inside. when you opened your mouth to defend yourself, sevika held a hand up and interrupted you before you could, "let's just go get some food from my diner."

you smiled sheepishly and put your hands on your hips, "deal, but we still have to eat it outside like a picnic."

"deal."

the two of you walked side by side back to the diner, getting some intrigued side eyes from the rest of the townspeople of zaun who have been waiting for the two of you to be together since you first moved in. sevika made you two a quick meal and bagged it up, already knowing your favorites off the top of her head. she took the bag under her arm before you could even reach the bag to take it yourself. you fake-pouted about not carrying the bag, but "allowed" her to carry the bag as you followed her into a familiar clearing in the nearby woods that overlooked the dark green town lake that was sparkling in the afternoon sun. you unfolded the red gingham picnic blanket that had been stashed in your little basket and smoothed it out against the grass that stopped right before the sandy shore before taking a seat on your hip. sevika plopping down close to you with her legs crisscrossed, so close that your shoulders were practically touching. you couldn't help but watch as she meticulously laid out the spread of food onto the blanket, it looked like something straight out of a movie.

both of you sat in a somewhat awkward silence for a bit as you started to eat, neither of you quite sure what to say. was this an actual date? or just a friend thing? god this burger is good. i wonder what isha is doing right now- shit, focus, focus.

you polietly wiped your mouth with your napkin and cleared your throat, looking out at the lake, "have you gone fishing lately? i know you've mentioned liking it before but i don't think i've ever actually seen you at this lake."

sevika nodded along as she finished chewing the food in her mouth and finally swallowed it down, "there's honestly not much fish in this one, 'usually head out to the one on the border in my old man's old boat."

"i bet i would catch something if i fished out here," you said in an overly confident voice, hoping to get a rise out of her.

"you? fishing?" sevika said in a tone where you knew that she didn't believe a word you said.

"what? don't give me that! i've never been fishing, how will i know i don't like it unless i try it?" you scowled and crossed your arms over your chest defensively.

"you know what, fine. i'll take you out fishing," she said defeatidly, a playful smirk on her lips.

"then it's a date," you declared, shifting in your sitting position slightly.

that gave sevika pause as a much mroe comfortable silence stood between the two of you.

"...is this a date?"

you turned your head to sevika and blinked at her owlishly. your eyes scanned her face for any sign of her usual joking manner with you, but found none. she was being completely serious.

"do you want it to be a date?"

"yes?... no? i don't-" sevika sighed and took a deep breath to gather herself and think about what she wanted to say next. she looked deep into your eyes with her singing gold ones that gleamed in the sunlight and took your hands in her, her cold metal prosthetic contrasting the warm blanket of spring that had enwrapped the two of you.

"no, i don't want this to be our first date. i don't want our first date to be something that i bailed you out on because you didn't want to go to lunch with a stranger and especially not because of something caitlyn set up." you could feel tears welling up in your eyes and you couldn't help but giggle at the mention of caitlyn's failed plan, but you would definitely have to thank her for causing this.

sevika squeezed your hands in hers and chuckled with you, bringing her focus back to you when the moment passed. "i want to take you out properly, the way you deserve, the way I've been dying to take you out since you first came into my diner begging for coffee. will you please do me the honor of going out with me on a proper date?"

instead of responding, you cupped her cheeks with your hands and pulled her into a kiss. it was surprisingly soft but firm, as if both of you were holding your breath as it happened. her lips were satly from the food, but she smelled like freshly brewed coffee, a scent that attracted you to her from the beginning whether it was purposeful or not. when you pulled away, sevika's eyes were practically twinkling and dazed, looking at you as if you were her whole world. you couldn't help the smile that creeped up on your lips. "yes, yes of course sev," you said softly and sealed it with a peck on her lips.

she nodded and opened her mouth to speak but no words came out, she had wanted this for so long and it was finally happening, there were no words to express how happy she was in this moment. thank fully she didn't have to speak, she simply pulled you into another kiss, pouring all of her feelings against your lips, which you happily accepted.

a/n: sorry this update took forever college has been kicking my ass😔😔😔

part 3 coming soon

taglist: @maneskinwh0re @archangeldyke-all @fandoms-will-be-the-death-of-me @sevikasfan @lez-zuha @comfortripley @sunflowerwinds

taglist signup

[bruisedboys]

Shy!reader who's brain is running a million miles per hour and Sirius who notices and decides to pull her into a secret room for doting kisses and sweet compliments???

thank you for your request lovely! <333

sirius black x fem!reader

You don’t know how Sirius has managed to weasel you out of the thick of the party and into his friend’s bathroom, but here you are, alone with Sirius in Remus Lupin’s bathroom and trying not to act like this is exactly what you wanted.

“Sirius,” you say, breathless as you watch him close the door and then spin round to face you, grinning. “What are you doing?”

Sirius shrugs. “Just trying to get some alone time with my girl. Sue me.”

My girl. You try not to buckle at the knees. “Alone time? I thought you liked parties.”

“I only like whatever you like.”

You glare at him. He’s being awful on purpose. “Don’t you want to go hang out with your friends?”

“Not if you don’t want to,” Sirius says, moving towards you. You know he’s gonna grab you before he does, hands hot at your hips as he pulls you towards him. “I was watching you out there, you know. You looked like you weren’t having a good time.”

“Did I?” You ask, horrified. “Sirius, why didn’t you tell me earlier?” You push at his chest as if that’s gonna do anything. He’s much stronger than you. In more ways than one. “I don’t want Remus to think I’m a priss.”

Sirius laughs. “Dove,” he says, chiding and amused. “He doesn’t think that. The only reason I noticed is ‘cos I know you so well.” He strokes your cheek with his thumb as if to say, yeah, I know you, and I love you all the same. “You’d’ve looked completely lovely to everyone else.”

“Ugh,” you say, as if you’re grossed out by his fondness rather than totally enthralled. Your burning cheeks say otherwise.

“Ugh,” Sirius copies agreeably. “You’re okay, though? We can leave if you need, babe. I swear I don’t mind.”

You’re shaking your head before he’s even finished his sentence. “No, I’m okay. We can stay.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want you having an awful time.”

“I’m not,” you say honestly. You were overwhelmed earlier but that doesn’t mean you wouldn’t have handled it for Sirius’ sake. He’s handled a lot worse for your sake.

Sirius raises his eyebrows, looking incredibly handsome. “Promise?”

You smile at him. “Promise.”

Sirius smiles back, all pearly white teeth and dusty pink lips. You’re not surprised when he ducks in to kiss you. You let him because you like him a lot and you could really use a kiss right now. He’s right of course, you had been having a hard time out in the living room. You’d just been beginning to spiral when Sirius had appeared out of nowhere and whisked you away like he could read your mind. Now, he kisses you with all the care of someone who knows you like the back of his hand, and all the electricity of a boy in love.

He backs you up against the sink, hands firm at your hips, kissing and kissing, but pulls back just when you think he’s about to really get carried away. You’re grateful because you’d hate to be discovered like this by one of his friends and you think he knows that.

“I love you,” he says, ducking in for another quick kiss that’s brief but sweet enough to leave you reeling. “Promise you’ll let me know if you want to get out of here, yeah?”

“Okay,” you nod, frazzled by his kissing and his sweetness.

Sirius smiles a dizzying smile and chucks you under the chin. “C’mon, lovely girl,” he takes your hand and tugs you towards the door. “Wanna help me win poker?”

He knows you’re no good at card games — he just wants you in his lap as his so-called lucky charm. Lucky for him, you can’t think of anything else you’d rather do.

[l13]

bitter

dunno what brought this on but reader has good taste;P also let's pretend that lyla is team reader x miguel for plot reasons

word count: 2.3k

WARNINGS: NSFW 18+, MDNI, f!reader, ex!miguel, aged up bf!hobie<3, miguel has some v descriptive sexual thoughts about you (p in v sex, f!receiving oral), swearing, jealousy, ANGSTTT

English is not my first language so I apologize in advance for any misspells, errors or grammatically incorrect sentences.

Miguel often thinks about how he ended up giving in to his desires and starting a situationship with you, how he regrets it when he can tell how you've fallen for him. How your eyes crinkle when you smile at him, looking at him like he hung the moon. He regrets it because that's how he looks at you as well.

Why’d you have to ask him on that stupid date?

“That’d be unprofessional.” is what Miguel had said in reply. Because it was the truth. You were only fucking, nothing more.

You’d scoffed, “Oh come on, Miguel, we’re not office workers. Surely we can go out together?”

“What, fucking me ain’t enough for you?”

You'd huffed, your expression dull, shaking your head in disbelief, “No, actually, it isn’t. I genuinely like you, is that so bad?”

Miguel had ignored the flip his stomach did at your confession “You know why we can’t, now drop it.”

“No, I want you to tell me why.”

“It’s not in the canon” He cringes every time he remembers what he’d said, but it doesn’t change the fact that he was right. He was, but fuck, how he wanted to be wrong. He so desperately wanted it to be him that you were meant to fall in love with, him you were meant to build a life together.

“Fuck the canon.” had been your reply, before you turned to walk away and he'd made no move to follow you.

He'd failed to ignore Lyla when she'd whistled, “That was painful even for me,”

“Jesus- can you not?”

“Yeah, yeah, I know, can't interrupt your brooding time. I'm just saying. You prevented the woman of your dreams from falling in love with you, because she's meant to fall for someone else? But that's stupid- Your heart literally jumps when you see her-”

“Lyla I swear to God, if you don't stop talking-”

And now, as he stands in front of your house months later, waiting for you to answer the door, Miguel found himself to be annoyed. Annoyed that he hadn't gotten your mission report on time, and had to come and fetch it for himself.

Some sick, twisted part of his brain wanted you to have forgotten it on purpose, and ignored his calls in order for him to come over, maybe reconcile- fuck your brains out till you're begging him to take you back, even if it meant putting your feelings aside.

“She better be home,” Miguel hisses to himself, his hand massaging his temples, and he doesn't even flinch when Lyla shows up out of nowhere “Oh, she is. The thermal scan picks her up, see? Wait who’s-”

Miguel was thankful for the interruption, but what he saw when you opened the door was not at all what he expected, or was even prepared for.

You were practically naked, an oversized t-shirt covering your body, stopping just under your ass and- Jesus Christ were those thigh highs? Yes they were, pretty ones, too. They were sheer white tights, that ended just in the middle of your plush thighs, the material hugging your legs beautifully, the very top of them decorated with a lace material, giving them a sexy twist.

God, he'd get on his knees right here and now if you just asked-Miguel licked his lips and cleared his throat, quickly averting his gaze, praying that he doesn't appear flustered.

“Miguel! Are you okay? Is something wrong? Hey Lyla-” you seem out of breath as you talk, clearly not bothered by your lack of clothing in front of him. Lyla offers you a bright hello and wave, one you softly smile at.

No, he's not fucking okay.

“I'm great.” he hisses, but really he was trying to convince himself of it. You study him for a bit longer before humming, not believing him for a moment.

“I need the report from the mission that you were sent to do yesterday. The one you forgot to send me.” Miguel inhales sharply and stands taller, trying to hide the fact that your presence damages his brain functionality severely, by trying to look more intimidating.

Memories of last night flash in your mind suddenly, being pressed against your bookshelf, the furniture rattling loudly, books almost toppling to the floor, but you didn’t have the heart in you to care. Not when he was grinding up at you, hand under your thigh to keep you upright as you moaned against his mouth crossing your legs around his waist and bringing him closer, the sound of your watch beeping pulling you out of your trance, “Fuck, wait. T-the reports-”

He undid your watch expertly with one hand, and you gasped trying to snatch it from his grasp, but he held it up above your head, placing it on top of your bookshelf carelessly, before grabbing the top shelf to brace himself and grind himself harder against you, moaning under his breath, “Fuck ‘em.”

Your eyes widen comically, and you sputter, “Right! Shit- fuck. I'm sorry, umm, wait here.” and you slam the door right in his face. Miguel's eyebrow twitches.

There's shuffling from inside before Miguel realizes that you're talking to someone-

“Can you go in five minutes? Please?”

“Nah, ‘m afraid I need to go right now, love. Got things to do, places to be.”

“Can't you open up a portal here?”

“When there’s a perfectly usable front door? I don’ think so,” “C’mon pretty.. what are y’so afraid of?”

“He’s our boss.”

“He’s your ex. Now, if you’re ashamed to be seen with me, I get it-”

“No! Baby, no. I just don’t want to rub it in his face, don't want him to think that I am either,”

“But that’s so boring. Let’s make ‘im suffer, you’ll thank me later-”

“Hob-”

The door opens suddenly and Miguel could act surprised, could act like he’s been waiting for quite a while not knowing what’s going on inside, but he doesn’t. Not when he’s face to face with Hobie. Not when he obviously knows how good Miguel’s hearing is, how he could definitely hear every word that was spoken, not when you’d tried to be nice- tried to whisper and be subtle, not when Hobie blatantly did the opposite out of spite.

So he just stares ahead with a blank face, as Hobie leans against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest lazily. There’s a hickey on his neck and Miguel feels like he might throw up.

And somehow, Miguel still thinks that this is all some sick joke, a prank, a dream. Anything to explain what he's seeing. Because there’s no way you're dating Hobie. There’s no way you fucked Hobie fucking Brown- the single most annoying person in Miguel’s life (after peter, of course). And after what, only eight months after you stopped seeing him? That's how long it took for you to get over him? He can almost hear Lyla laughing in his head, 'You're just bitter that you're not over her yet'

Hobie smirks at him “Hello mate, long time no see.” Miguel at least has the human decency to offer him a curt nod, which Hobie apparently finds hilarious as he huffs out a laugh, “'S alright if I send my report later, right? I'm kind of exhausted right now, did a lot of runnin' yesterday, y'know,”

Lyla visibly winces and disappears a second later.

Running. Miguel needed breathing exercises and he needed them now-

Miguel's eyes snapped to yours. Were you just gonna let Hobie talk all that shit, without saying anything? (Knowing Hobie's life was in imminent danger?) Apparently so, because you just scoffed and rolled your eyes with a smile on your face. What a great couple you two made.

He refused to believe that this is who you chose, refused to acknowledge that his anger was pointed at himself and not you. He’d never, ever, admit it, not even at gunpoint, but Hobie was a good kid, he’d treat you right and that's what pissed him off the most.

“Fuck the canon.” Hobie would have laughed and nodded in agreement at your words, not Miguel though. Miguel had said nothing and it had cost him his future with you.

Sensing that Miguel wouldn’t reply anytime soon, Hobie just shrugged nonchalantly, “Thanks for understanding, boss.”

Miguel felt like he could hear his own veins pulsing. Boss, he'd called him boss. That little-

Turning to you, Hobie throws a hand around your waist and squeezes you against him, pressing a kiss on your cheek “I'll see you later love, don' forget to put some ice on that, yeah?” he lays a slap on your ass that makes you almost tumble forward, and Hobie's smirk widens when he sees Miguel ball his fists at his sides, nostrils flaring. Hobie throws a wink at Miguel before squeezing through him to walk out, seeing as Miguel didn't make any attempt to get out of the way.

Miguel doesn't turn to see him open up a portal to leave, he's too busy looking at the way the multi-colored lights illuminate your face, how you grin and wave shyly at your boyfriend.

“So sorry about him.. d'you wanna come in?” you ask, shifting from one leg to another once the portal disappears. Miguel just stares at you, eyes hooded, mouth pressed in a tight line.

“Ookay, I’ll just go get the- yeah” you trail off and turn to walk deeper into your apartment, and Miguel hates himself for craning his neck to catch a glimpse of your ass. And then hates himself even more when he thinks about how smug Hobie would be if he knew Miguel was checking out his girl. He'd say some dumb shit like "Wanting somethin' you can't have again, boss?"

Meanwhile, you're standing on your tippy-toes in front of your infamous bookshelf, arm outstretched, trying to grab your watch but to no use, cursing Hobie in your mind for putting it so high up. You had no idea that by trying to get your stupid watch, you were giving Miguel the perfect view of your backside, seeing as your shirt rode up each time you stretched out your arm.

No, fuck that. You knew exactly what you were doing, and Hobie was right. Let him suffer. He chose this, so now he can deal with the consequences.

Miguel wanted to give everything up right then and there. It's funny how quickly you could strip him of his morals, and he just wishes he could have done that before realizing he'd lost you forever. He could picture his future in his mind so clearly, if only he'd just said yes to your question.

“Will you go out with me?"

He’d resign, move out some place nice, next to a beach preferably. Spend his days laying on the sand and drinking piña coladas with no care in the world.

Except you’d be there. Straddling his lap to steal his drink, giggling and laughing when he tried to take it back from you. He’d grab your hips and with a swift motion you'd switch places, your back against the hot sand. The drink would spill from the movement, the liquid falling over your bikini covered tits, and you’d gasp oh-so prettily when he’d bend to lick it all up.

You’d moan even sweeter when he’d move lower, when he’d eat you out till you’re a crying, babbling mess, whining that you can’t take it anymore. Oh, but you could. You would take it, and he’d prove it when he’d later fuck you against the pool, and he’d make sure he fucked you good. Your mewls would be panted against his ear as he’d thrust into you relentlessly, your fingers digging into his wet back, and all he’d taste would be your pretty moans and the faint taste of rum against his tongue.

His cheeks would hurt from how hard he'd be grinning as he stared at you when you both would go for a walk by the beach later. He'd jog up to you, springing you in his arms, nuzzling his head against your hair- your distinctive smell fogging up his brain- your laughter mixing together, as you chased each other through the waves.

When you'd had enough, and stood panting, your -now wet- dress clinging to you like second skin, he'd drop to his knee, pulling out a ring from his pocket, one he was anxious not to drop when he was chasing you around, and you'd gape at him, tears already welling up in your eyes.

You would have said yes that night. In fact, the word would have been repeated against his shoulder as he fucked you later, rolling his hips into you slowly, kissing your pretty tears, holding you, loving you–

“Done! I just sent it–,” you could have sworn you and Miguel shivered at the same time when he blinked down at you, his mouth parted. His eyes were glistening all of a sudden, and it made your whole being fill with a sense of longing and dread.

“Lyla?” you swallowed harshly at Miguel's hoarse tone, gnawing at your lip as you avoided his gaze.

It was as if Lyla knew not to fuck with him either, because she didn't even make him beg for it, instead pulling up a hologram that showed the report, “Yup, got it!”

You cleared your throat, eager to get back into bed and forget the look on his face just now, suddenly feeling nostalgic for a memory you couldn't quite place- “I'm sorry that I forgot, it won’t happen again, promise.”

Yes it will.

“See you back at HQ?”

Miguel hums, not saying anything, not even caring to correct you, because he’d sooner see you in his dreams than at headquarters.

2023 © l13 | Do not steal, copy, edit, translate or re-post any of my works.

[evilminji]

Neeeew Concept~☆!

But I haven't abandoned my other babies! I am just Cursed™ by the cruel and fickle Idea Fairy!

A (Divine? They are unsure!) Spirit Beast SI-OC!

She wakes up. Very Shiny. Oh hey... I can float! ....kinda? Wibble wobble floaty baby. Smol mlem, tiny paws. VERY fluffy. Critically though? Very, VERY sharp teeth. Can bite through steel and stone teeth. DANGER baby.

Wherems't the FUCK am I?

Information pops into her head. Just... wasn't there... now it is? Like? SPECIFICALLY where she is. Down to the EXACT tree branch. Huh... well that's not normal. Hey, Brain Siri? The Fuck?

..........Okay, too vague. Trying again.

WHY am I here? "Reincarnation" wow. Helpful. What a ten out of ten, helpful response. She NEVER would have guessed that! Grumpy SI-OC is Grumpy. She ain't got no thumbs. Okay, WHY is she a... cat? Glowy? Antlered... wing... thing? A whatever she is! Why?

"A life well lived. This is a reward."

Hmmmm.... doubt, but okay, she guesses. Then? Something finally registers. In that long ass list? Of "Here Is The EXACT Place You Are"? She got the distinct vibe... whiff... thingy? The BRAIN THING or whatever, of her secret favorite Trash Novel! Has she been FUCKIN ISEKAI'D‽‽

"Technically, she's been reincarnated, but yes."

( ˶°-°) !! #panic

Quick! Wobble fly! Wobble fly like your LIFE DEPENDED ON IT! Her horrible, horrible, trash son might be being ABUSED! Hold on Binghe! Mama's coming! She promises! Hugs and no hell pocket dimensions for you! Therapy! Frank discussion about consent and reasonable harem sizes! AaaaaaAAAAAAA-!!!!!!

Except? Hold the phone. WHOMS'T THE FUCK? Is that DISGUSTING feeling man, deliberately trying to fuck up that child's spiritual veins? Can't he see that boy is in excruciating pain!? D:< Death from ABOOOOOVE!!! *echoing feline yowl*

Which? Is how Shen Jiu? Mere MOMENTS? Before his spiritual veins can take no more and fracture forever? Is saved. By... a flying... glowing? Kitten deer? With wings. It goes STRAIGHT for his Master's face. Draws blood. Is clearly trying to maul him to death.

And after what the man just tried to DO to him? He makes a split second decision to thrown in on the cat's side.

Except... they are a baby and a starved teenager. Against an adult Demon Cultivator. He's turning the tide. Quickly. But! SI-OC has the power of God and anime Brain Siri on her side! Is there anything she Can do? She asks. Anyone nearby who can HELP?

.....actually? Yes.

Guess who's visiting his cultivator girlfriend? Because these are public roads? And he's a fuckin Heavenly Demon with an impossibly good sense of hearing?

Tianlang-jun, Demon Emperor, Lord and undisputed master of the South... hears a tiny little voice, with a desperate and squeaky lil voice, scream for his help.

By Name.

He appears out of fuckin NOWHERE. To stomp this human like the ANT he is. Hello~ Children! You called this old man? ^-^ probably holding the fucker up by the neck as he's talking. Like? Aaaw. Look, Nephew! A feral, bite-y child! Su Xiyan would love one of those! He's just like her! *Shen Jiu, terrified but refusing to cower, tries to stab the Literal Emperor Of All Demons*

It's like a hissing baby cat.

He decides to take his New (Pet?) Human Child (no ^-^ not asking~) to Su Xiyan. Look! He rescued it! :D reward him with kisses! *shen jui slowly turns to stare incredulously at the cat that saved him* (look, she panicked okay!? They were LOSING! At least now we're alive! And no one can touch you!)

And like? By the time they get there? Shen Jiu already has like... the next 50 years of human/demon political relations planned out and is scheming to get FULL access to this man's library. Give. He WANTS it. Shen Jiu is go get Yue Qi, who's prayers while trapped in seclusion sent the cat (yeah, she completely ratted his ass out. Besides, can the PROVE she's lying?), take over the Demon court, and then have everything they could ever want. Forever.

It's adorable. Tianlang-jun thinks his scheming lil murder face is so cute! And? Aaaw~ did you poison my noodles? Precocious lil brat~☆! *obnoxious cooing noises* *shen jiu tries to stab him with his chop sticks*

But! That all stops? When Shen "I have suffered Pervs and know what they look like" Jiu gets ONE(1) look at the Palace Master talking to Su Xiyan and? *deafening mental alarms*

It's? Kinda? Obvious. When both the Spirit Beast and his lil stabby child? Break off mid-sentence to just... stare murder. Hackles raised. Only getting more murderous the longer they watch his love's "honorable elder" talk to her. Huh.... so that's NOT normal? It's something I should... look in to? Fatally perhaps?

Good to Know™

[sunshineangel0]

chapter nine

pairing- Bang Chan x OC (Chi Nakamura) genre- Slow burn, romantic comedy, slice of life word count- 1.4k warnings- Mild language, secondhand embarrassment, screaming best friend, excessive blushing, emotional chaos, mentions of kissing hihihihihi a/n- You ever wake up after a life-altering kiss and suddenly forget how to function as a human being? Yeah. Chi we feel you girllll.

Chi woke up with his name still on her lips.

The morning light was barely a whisper, sneaking past the edge of her curtains in soft, golden slivers. Her bedsheets were twisted around her legs like she’d fought off a dream in her sleep. Her room was quiet, too quiet, except for the steady hum of the city outside—a distant car horn, the low rumble of early traffic, someone shouting down the block.

But inside her chest? Chaos.

Her pulse thundered as the memory played back with perfect, unbearable clarity.

The press of his hands at her waist. The soft brush of his fingertips when he touched her like she might vanish. The warmth of his breath, sweet and nervous, as it hovered just inches from her lips. And the way he’d looked at her—like she was a question he finally wanted the answer to.

When he kissed her, it hadn’t been careful. It had been honest. Raw. Like he’d been holding something back for so long it had nowhere else to go.

She could still feel it. Could still taste it.

Her eyes snapped open.

“Oh my God.”

She rolled over and shoved her face into the pillow, letting out a long, muffled groan. Her heart was still racing like it hadn’t gotten the memo that it was a new day. She kicked the sheets off entirely, staring at the ceiling like it had answers.

This was bad. Not because she regretted it.

Hell no.

She could relive that kiss in her head on repeat and not get tired of it. But now there was this yawning, silent gap after it—like stepping off a cliff and realizing mid-air you forgot to pack a parachute.

What now?

Were they supposed to talk about it? Pretend it never happened? Was she supposed to text him? Or wait and act cool and hope to God he did first?

Her phone buzzed on the nightstand.

Chi froze.

The vibration rattled against the wood like a tiny earthquake. She turned her head slowly, like looking at a wild animal that might bolt. Her hand inched toward it, her breath catching in her throat.

Chris ☕

The contact name blinked up at her. Her heart did something violent in her chest. She unlocked it, fingers suddenly clammy.

Chris ☕: Are you working today?

Chi blinked at the screen.

That was it?

That was the message?

Like he hadn’t kissed her under moonlight and stage lights and stars?

She stared at the text for a solid thirty seconds, unsure whether to laugh or scream.

Chi: Yeah. Why?

The dots appeared instantly.

Chris ☕: No reason.

She dropped the phone onto the bed like it was cursed.

Then flopped back onto the mattress and dragged a hand down her face.

This was going to be a disaster.

The café smelled like fresh bread and roasted espresso beans. A comforting, familiar warmth. The floors were still slick from the morning mop, the metal machines humming to life one by one. Outside, people drifted past in coats and scarves, the air crisp with late autumn chill. Inside, Chi moved like she was on autopilot—refilling napkins, aligning mugs, checking the pastries in the case. But her hands kept shaking just a little too much.

The door chimed.

She didn’t look up.

She didn’t need to.

A soft scuff of sneakers on tile. The creak of the door swinging closed.

Her back stiffened. Her fingers curled tighter around the portafilter.

It’s fine. You’re fine. Just look.

She took a deep breath, turned—and froze.

Chris stood just inside the door, framed by the sunlight spilling in behind him.

Gray hoodie. Black sweats. Hair still damp, curling slightly at the ends. He looked warm from the shower, skin flushed, soft shadows under his eyes. And when he smiled—just barely, just enough—it sent every rational thought in her brain scattering.

Their eyes locked.

And for one heartbeat, everything went still.

All she could think about was his mouth on hers. The way he’d held her like he didn’t want the night to end.

Chris raised an eyebrow.

“You good?”

Chi blinked, jolted back into her body.

Abort. Abort.

She spun around so fast she nearly dropped the tamper. “What? Yeah. Fine. Totally fine.”

Chris let out a quiet hum, the kind that said he didn’t believe her for a second. The silence between them stretched.

Not the easy, companionable silence they usually shared. Not the kind filled with music and eye-rolls and playful insults.

This one was heavier. Charged.

Chris leaned against the counter like it was his throne, watching her.

“So,” he said finally, voice low.

Chi refused to meet his eyes. “So…?”

“You’re really just gonna pretend nothing happened?”

Her hands froze over the milk steamer. Her heart thumped loud enough to echo in her ears. She turned slowly, like every movement mattered.

Chris was watching her like he was trying to figure her out. Like he was giving her room to run—but hoping she wouldn’t.

“…Are you?” she asked.

Chris tilted his head, eyes never leaving hers.

“Nope,” he said. The ‘p’ popped like a match being struck.

Her breath caught.

She turned back to the machine, needing something—anything—to focus on.

“Well,” she muttered, “congrats. You win. You get to make me flustered at work now.”

Chris grinned, leaning in.

“I already made you flustered last night.”

She nearly dropped the cup.

She spun around, pointing at him. “You do not get to say that before I’ve had caffeine.”

He held up his hands, surrendering. But the grin stayed.

Chi groaned and pressed her forehead to the counter.

This man was going to ruin her life.

It didn’t help that Chris settled into his usual stool like it was his personal lounge. He sipped his drink, quiet, amused, eyes flicking up to watch her every few minutes like she was the most interesting thing in the room.

Which would’ve been fine—if Felix and Han hadn’t walked in next.

They took one look at the scene and immediately locked in.

Han tilted his head. “Hyung?” Chris sipped. “Hmm?”

Felix stared. Then slowly, slowly, his grin spread across his face.

“Oh my god.”

Han looked between them. “Wait. Are you—?? YOURE COFFFEE GIRL”

Chris kept sipping. Said nothing.

And yet… somehow said everything.

Felix gasped, clutching his chest. “SP ITS TRUE, YOU FINALLY GOT A GIRLFRIEND?!”

Chris choked on his drink.

Chi, behind the counter, made a sound that wasn’t human. “What—NO,” she said, way too fast.

Han blinked. “Then why is he smiling like that?”

Chris shrugged. “Maybe I just like my coffee today.”

Chi glared at him with the force of a thousand suns.

Felix smirked. “Mmmhmm. Sure.”

The storage room was dim and stuffy, lit only by a single flickering overhead bulb. Boxes of sugar packets and to-go lids were stacked to the ceiling. Chi was trying to pretend she was doing inventory when Mina stormed in like she’d just kicked the door down.

Hands on hips. Murder in her eyes.

“What is going on with you?” she demanded. “You’ve been twitchy since that concert.”

Chi tried to sidestep. Mina sidestepped harder.

“You’re fidgety. Distracted. You spilled a latte on a guy in a three-piece suit this morning.”

“It was his fault,” Chi muttered.

“Did. Something. Happen?”

Chi said nothing.

Mina’s eyes went wide. “NO WAY. SOMETHING DID HAPPEN.”

Chi stared at the shelf like it would open up and swallow her.

Mina leaned in, squinting. “Was it someone at the concert? Was it an idol? OH MY GOD, WAS IT AN IDOL?!”

Chi groaned, backing into the shelf.

“WAIT—IT WAS, WASN’T IT?”

Chi mumbled something. Mina stepped closer. “What was that?”

Chi sighed. “It was Chris.”

Beat.

Mina blinked. “Chris... like coffee guy Chris?”

Chi nodded. Mina screamed.

Chi lunged, clapped a hand over her mouth. “Shut up!”

Mina peeled her hand off. “You kissed the guy you’ve been slow-burning with over cappuccinos for three months?!”

Chi dragged a hand down her face. “Yes.”

Mina stared. Then her jaw dropped. Her mind went back to the concert last night. Chis sudden disapperance. And that one specific member went by the name-

“No. No way. Are you telling me—ARE YOU TELLING ME—”

Chi winced. “Yup.”

“—THAT CHRIS IS BANG CHAN?!”

Chi nodded once. Mina screamed again.

Chi tackled her. “OH MY GOD. SHUT UP.”

“You kissed a K-pop star.”

“Technically he kissed me first.”

“YOU’RE IN A SITUATIONSHIP WITH BANG CHAN.”

“Stop saying his full name like that.”

“You’re going to be famous.” “I’m going to get canceled.”

Mina put a hand to her chest. “I need to sit down.”

“You need to shut up.”

“I need to text someone.”

Chi snatched her phone. “NO ONE FINDS OUT. THIS DIES HERE.”

Mina pointed dramatically. “You are living my Wattpad fantasy.”

Chi glared. “You’re never letting this go, are you?”

Mina grinned, wild and victorious. “Not even a little bit.”

©sunshineangel0 𖹭 if you liked this work, please consider reblogging, commenting or liking! xoxo franzi 💋

skz general: @velvetmoonlght @scarlet789 @estella-novella @nightmarenyxx

Mochi and Bean: @offl-ine @missvanjii @watchingover-hypegirl @namchanhyung @d0nnie---dark0 @queenofdumbfuckery

(if you wanna be added to the taglist comment below!)

[missmaymay13]

chasing you - m.boldy

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

m.boldy x fem!oc | 13.6k

summary: fate keeps pushing for matt boldy and maisy stella to be in the same places, at the same time. when the tension becomes too much, its up to them to figure out what to do with it.

masterlist

⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻

Maisy Stella sighed as she leaned her forehead against the airport window, watching thick sheets of snow whip violently across the tarmac. Flights were delayed, then canceled, one after another, until the overhead announcement confirmed her worst fear.

"Attention passengers: Due to severe weather conditions, all outbound flights from Denver International Airport are canceled until further notice. We apologize for the inconvenience."

Maisy groaned, pushing a hand through her hair. She had been in Denver for a sports therapy conference, invited to speak on athletic rehabilitation and injury prevention—a prestigious opportunity. But all she wanted now was to get back home. She had clients, a routine, and more importantly, a life that did not involve being stuck in an airport at 11 p.m. with nowhere to go.

She turned, scanning the terminal in search of a solution. Hotel rooms were going fast—her phone was already buzzing with notifications from friends at the conference saying most of the nearby spots were fully booked.

Perfect. Just perfect.

Without hesitation, she pulled up a travel app and secured the last available hotel room within a reasonable distance before someone else could snatch it. A downtown hotel, upscale enough to be comfortable but not outrageously priced. At least she wouldn't be sleeping on an airport bench.

Or so she thought. __________ Maisy stepped up to the hotel check-in desk, snow clinging to her boots and her duffle bag slung over her shoulder. The lobby was packed—stranded travelers, a few businessmen complaining about missed meetings, all types of people, all stuck, just like her.

She didn't pay much attention until the guy next to her sighed audibly, frustration thick in his tone.

"You've gotta be kidding me."

She turned toward him, and that's when she recognized him.

Matt Boldy.

The Minnesota Wild forward. One of the team's best playmakers and a rising NHL star. He was still in his team-issued jacket, his hair slightly damp from the snow, and he looked just as annoyed as she felt.

"What's the problem?" Maisy asked before she could stop herself.

Boldy turned to her, raising an eyebrow. "They double-booked my room."

Maisy blinked. "Wait. Double-booked?"

The hotel receptionist winced. "Yes, I'm afraid there was a mix-up due to the high demand tonight. It appears..." she glanced at her screen, her eyes darting between them. "...you both reserved the same room."

A heavy silence hung between them.

Matt turned to Maisy, his expression unreadable.

"Wait," she said slowly, her brain catching up. "You're saying we both... booked the last available room."

The receptionist winced again. "Yes."

Maisy exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of her nose. "You've got to be kidding me."

"Believe me, I wish I was," Boldy muttered.

They stood there for a moment, the absurdity of the situation sinking in.

The receptionist cleared her throat, looking apologetic. "We're completely booked out. So unless one of you can find an alternative..."

Maisy knew there weren't any. The city was completely snowed in, and every hotel in a ten-mile radius was already booked solid. The airport wasn't even allowing people to stay overnight due to safety concerns.

Her gaze flickered to Boldy. He was clearly debating his options, too.

After a long pause, he exhaled. "Look, I'll take the couch."

Maisy blinked. "What?"

"I'll sleep on the couch," Matt repeated. "You take the bed. We're both stranded, and we don't exactly have other options."

Maisy hesitated. Spending the night in a hotel room with a complete stranger—an NHL player, no less—was not on her bingo card for the week. But at the same time... she had no better ideas.

And he did offer to take the couch.

After a beat, she sighed. "Fine. But if you snore, I'm kicking you out."

Boldy smirked. "Fair."

The receptionist, clearly relieved, handed over the key.

And just like that, Maisy Stella found herself sharing a hotel room with Matt Boldy. __ The elevator ride was... awkward.

Neither of them spoke much, though Maisy caught Matt stealing a glance at her every so often.

When they got to the room, she immediately kicked off her boots, shrugging off her coat as she scanned the space. One king-sized bed. A couch in the corner. A TV mounted on the wall.

Okay. This is fine. Totally fine.

Matt, meanwhile, tossed his bag onto the couch and stretched his arms over his head.

"Relax," he said, amused. "I'm not gonna steal the bed."

"I know," Maisy shot back, dropping her duffle by the bed. "But just so we're clear, no funny business."

Boldy snorted. "Oh, trust me, the last thing I need is my name attached to some weird hotel scandal."

That... actually made her laugh. "Oh, what, Matt Boldy involved in a hotel mix-up with a stranger? Sounds like a TMZ headline waiting to happen."

"Exactly." He grinned before flopping onto the couch.

For a moment, silence settled between them.

Then Maisy's stomach growled. Loudly.

Matt raised an eyebrow.

"...Ignore that," She muttered.

"Nope. Too late." He grabbed his phone. "What's your order? I'm getting takeout."

She blinked. "Wait, seriously?"

"What, you wanna starve?"

She hesitated, but... she was starving. After a brief pause, she sighed. "Fine. I'll take whatever you're getting."

Boldy smirked. "You're really putting your dinner in my hands?"

"Just don't order anything weird." "No promises."

As he placed the order, Maisy leaned back against the headboard, watching him with quiet curiosity.

This was going to be an interesting night. __ Twenty minutes later, there was a knock at the door.

Matt Boldy, still lounging on the couch in a hoodie and sweatpants, pushed himself up with a groan. "That better be food, or I'm fighting someone."

Maisy rolled her eyes but couldn't help the amused smirk that tugged at her lips. She watched as he opened the door, grabbed the takeout bags, and set them on the small table between them.

"What did you even order?" she asked, sitting cross-legged on the bed.

Boldy smirked, pulling out containers one by one. "Let's see... a ridiculous amount of sushi, some miso soup, and—oh, you're either gonna love this or hate this—a side of tempura-fried Oreos."

Maisy stared at him. "You did not."

"Oh, I did." He grinned, holding up the dessert like it was a trophy.

She snatched the container from his hands, popping the lid open and inspecting the deep-fried cookies with skepticism. "This is either genius or a crime against humanity."

"Try one and find out."

Narrowing her eyes, she took a hesitant bite. Crunchy. Sweet. Gooey in the middle.

A pause. A second bite.

Boldy leaned forward. "Well?"

Maisy sighed dramatically. "Okay... annoyingly, it's kind of amazing."

He laughed, settling back against the couch. "Knew it."

As they ate, the conversation drifted naturally—starting with the basics (Where are you from? How'd you end up in Denver?), then moving into hockey, their respective careers, and eventually, stories from the road.

"You work in sports therapy, right?" Boldy asked between bites of sushi.

"Yeah, mostly athletic rehabilitation and injury prevention." Maisy nodded. "I was here for a conference, but I work with pro athletes back home."

His brows lifted in interest. "Hockey players?"

She smirked. "Among others, yeah."

"Which teams?"

Maisy hesitated, taking a sip of her drink. "NHL teams."

That made him pause. "Wait... like which NHL teams?"

She grinned. "Let's just say I have a few familiar faces on my client list."

Boldy narrowed his eyes. "You're messing with me."

"Maybe." She shrugged.

"You can't just drop that and not tell me."

"Too bad," she said smugly, popping another piece of sushi into her mouth.

Boldy shook his head, clearly amused. "Alright, mystery woman. I'll figure it out eventually."

Hours passed without them realizing. The storm outside raged on, wind howling against the window, but inside, the warmth of easy conversation made the night pass faster than expected.

By the time they were both lying back—Maisy in bed, Matt sprawled out on the couch—the clock read 2:13 a.m.

Neither of them seemed tired.

"I can't believe I'm stuck in a hotel room with a complete stranger," Maisy mused, staring at the ceiling.

He snorted. "Excuse me, NHL star Matt Boldy is not just any stranger."

She smirked. "Wow, you're one of those guys."

"What guys?"

"The ones who refer to themselves in the third person." Matt laughed, shaking his head. "Nah, only when necessary."

Silence settled between them for a moment, but it wasn't awkward. It was comfortable.

Then he sighed. "You know, I think I needed this."

Maisy turned her head toward him. "Needed what?"

"A break." He exhaled slowly, his voice quieter now. "The season's been crazy. Hockey's my whole life, but sometimes, it's just... a lot. The media, the pressure, the constant schedule."

Maisy understood that feeling all too well. Working with professional athletes meant constantly seeing them at their highest and lowest points. She knew how mentally and physically draining it could be.

"So what do you do when you need a break?" she asked.

Matt was quiet for a moment before shrugging. "Usually, I just skate alone. No pressure, no expectations. Just me and the ice."

Something about that made Maisy's chest tighten. The way he talked about it—it wasn't just about hockey. It was about peace.

"I get it," she said softly.

Matt glanced at her, and for a second, there was something different in his gaze.

Something unspoken. Something lingering.

Before either of them could say anything, the lights flickered—the storm raging stronger outside.

"Well," Matt said, breaking the tension with a grin. "If the power goes out, I'm calling dibs on all the blankets."

Maisy groaned, throwing a pillow at him. "Absolutely not."

He caught it with a laugh.

Yeah. This was going to be an interesting night.

_____________ Maisy had not planned on spending her snowstorm delay at an NHL practice facility, but here she was. But Matt insisted that he couldn't spend another hour stuck in that god forsaken hotel room.

The moment she stepped onto the ice, a familiar chill wrapped around her, the crisp air filling her lungs. It had been years since she last laced up skates—not since college, when she used to casually join the guys for late-night pick-up games.

Matt, however, looked completely at home. He skated backward effortlessly, grinning as he tapped his stick against the ice.

"Alright, let's see what you've got."

Maisy rolled her eyes. "I never said I was good at this." The hockey player smirked. "I'll be the judge of that."

With a resigned sigh, she pushed off, taking a few glides forward. Wobbly, but functional. Not the smoothest start, but at least she wasn't falling on her face. Matt circled around her, watching with obvious amusement. "Okay, not bad."

"Gee, thanks." He smirked. "You're stiff. Loosen up."

Maisy groaned but adjusted her posture, easing into the motion. After a few laps, she started to find her rhythm again, memories of old games creeping back in.

Boldy nodded in approval. "See? Not terrible."

"Wow," she deadpanned. "High praise from the NHL guy."

He chuckled. "Alright, let's see if you can handle the puck."

He passed her a stick, then gently nudged a puck toward her. She bent down, settling into position. Stickhandling was a different beast—her movements were clunkier than she remembered, and Boldy was clearly holding back laughter.

"You're enjoying this way too much," she muttered.

"I live for this," he admitted.

She sighed, trying again, this time managing to pass the puck back with more control. He grinned. "There you go."

He passed it back, and they fell into a steady rhythm. Back and forth, his easy movements contrasting with her cautious ones. Every so often, his gaze flickered to hers—not in judgment, but in curiosity.

Like he was trying to figure her out. And the worst part? She caught herself doing the same.

At some point, they took a break, sitting on the boards at the edge of the rink.

"You're not bad," Matt admitted, sipping from his water bottle. She smirked. "Careful, that almost sounded like a compliment."

He chuckled. "I mean it, though. You move like someone who's spent time around hockey players."

She hesitated before answering. "I have."

Boldy raised an eyebrow. "You gonna tell me which ones yet?"

She exhaled, debating how much to say. "Let's just say... I've worked with a few NHL teams," she said carefully. "But mostly, I've been around the league because of... friends."

He studied her, his gaze quietly calculating. "So you've been part of the hockey world for a while."

She nodded. Something in his expression shifted. Not in a bad way—just... different. Like he was seeing her in a new light.

Before she could decipher it, he nudged her shoulder playfully. "Well, if you ever wanna skate again, you know where to find me."

She rolled her eyes, but a small, involuntary smile tugged at her lips.

And Matt ? He definitely noticed.

They left the rink a few hours later, both reluctant to check their phones for flight updates.

"Okay," Maisy said as they walked out, shoving her hands into her coat pockets. "That wasn't a bad way to kill time."

Boldy smirked. "Admit it. You had fun." She sighed dramatically. "It was fine." He laughed, nudging her with his elbow. "Whatever you say."

When they got back to the hotel, reality set in. Flights were starting to resume. Which meant this weird, unexpected snowstorm detour was almost over.

Neither of them acknowledged it out loud.

Instead, they ordered one last meal together—room service this time—eating on the floor like it wasn't the last night of their accidental adventure. And somewhere between shared bites of food and another round of ridiculous conversation, Maisy realized something:

She wasn't in a rush to leave anymore. __ The next morning, the airport was back to its usual chaos, only now flights were moving again.

Maisy and Matt stood near their gates—his headed for a Wild road trip, hers taking her home. Neither said it, but the weird little snowstorm bubble they had been stuck in was officially over.

Matt leaned against a pillar, arms crossed, watching her with a lazy smirk. "So, what's the verdict? Am I the worst accidental roommate you've ever had?"

Maisy snorted. "You weren't the worst."

"Oh, so I was bad, but not the worst?"

"Something like that." He chuckled, shaking his head. "Brutal."

A brief pause.

This was the part where they were supposed to just say goodbye and move on.

But Maisy hesitated.

She wasn't sure why.

Maybe because—for all the teasing, the forced proximity, and the ridiculousness of their situation—she'd actually liked spending time with him.

And from the way Matt was still watching her, he had too.

He exhaled, shifting his weight. "So, we just go back to real life now?"

Maisy raised an eyebrow. "Isn't that how this works?"

"Yeah, but..." He scratched the back of his neck, suddenly looking uncharacteristically hesitant. "I mean, it doesn't have to be."

Something in her stomach flipped.

Before she could process it, the overhead speaker cut through the moment.

"Final boarding call for Flight 237 to S—"

She sighed, shifting her bag over her shoulder. "That's me."

He nodded. "Right."

Still, neither of them moved.

A moment passed.

Then he smirked. "Hey, if we ever get snowed in again, I call dibs on the bed next time."

She rolled her eyes but couldn't help the small smile that slipped out. "Keep dreaming, Boldy."

Then she turned and walked away.

And for some reason, it felt harder than it should have. ________________ Maisy had no idea Matt Boldy was going to be at 4 Nations Training Camp.

She had landed the job with Team USA's medical staff a few weeks ago, excited for the opportunity to work with some of the best American players in the world.

What she hadn't anticipated?

Walking into the team facility and locking eyes with Matt Boldy. He was in full practice gear, helmet under his arm, hair sticking out everywhere and jersey sticking to his shoulders from the skate. And he looked just as stunned as she felt.

"Maisy?" Her stomach did a weird flip.

Nope. Absolutely not.

She forced a casual smile. "Matt." He blinked, like he was still processing the fact that she was standing there, in a Team USA quarter-zip, clipboard in hand.

"What are you—?"

"Working," she cut in smoothly. "Medical staff."

He exhaled, shaking his head with a smirk. "You've gotta be kidding me." She raised an eyebrow. "Disappointed?"

He chuckled, running a hand through his messy post-practice hair. "Nah, just wondering how the hell I keep running into you."

Maisy refused to let that comment linger in her brain. Because if she thought about it too much... she'd have to admit she wasn't mad about it.

Working at 4 Nations Camp was supposed to be a career milestone. An incredible opportunity. A chance to be part of something bigger.

What it was not supposed to be? A distraction. And Matt Boldy? Was a distraction.

It wasn't even intentional, which somehow made it worse. Because even when he wasn't talking to her, she felt him there. On the ice, in the locker room, during team meetings—he was always around. And the problem? He noticed her, too.

Like during one of the first practices, when he skated by the medical staff station, barely slowing down, but still sending her a look. Or later, when she was stretching out another player on the training table, and Matt —already done with his session—lingered a little too long in the doorway.

She caught his gaze. He smirked. She pretended not to feel anything. __ Somewhere along the way, the team figured it out. That there was something between them. That maybe he was a little more invested in their new athletic therapist than necessary.

It started with small chirps. Then it escalated.

By the end of the first week, Trevor Zegras—because of course it was him—started a team-wide bet. "The question isn't if Boldy makes a move," Zegras declared at dinner, grinning like an idiot. "It's when."

Maisy nearly choked on her drink. "I'm sitting right here, you know."

Zegras just smirked. "Oh, trust me, we know." The whole table snickered. Maisy glanced across the room, where Matt was oblivious for now, talking with a few of the other guys. She exhaled sharply, shaking her head. "You guys are ridiculous."

"Oh, come on," Cole Caufield chimed in. "You two have history."

"We were stuck in a blizzard together, not in a rom-com." Zegras grinned. "Debatable."

She groaned, burying her face in her hands. This was going to be a long camp. __ A week into camp, the tension hit a breaking point.

It wasn't planned. It wasn't intentional.

But somehow, she and Boldy ended up in the facility's gym at the same time after hours. Maisy had been wrapping up some notes from the day's sessions, figuring the place would be empty.

Except it wasn't. Because Matt Boldy was there. Alone.

Sweat-dampened t-shirt, still catching his breath from his workout, leaning back against the bench press like he had all the time in the world.

"Oh," she said, stopping in the doorway. "Didn't know anyone else was here." He smirked, grabbing his water bottle. "You avoiding me, Stella?"

She scoffed. "Please. I'd just rather not deal with your fan club right now." The boy chuckled. "Yeah, the guys are brutal."

She sat on the stretching mat, trying to ignore the way he was watching her.

"So," he said casually, "do I get to know where I stand in the bet?"

Maisy froze mid-stretch. Slowly, she looked up. "What bet?"

His grin widened. "Oh, come on," he said. "You think I don't know? I've known Z long enough to know he can't keep his mouth shut to save his life."

Maisy groaned, covering her face. "I hate all of you." He just laughed.

Then, softer, he said, "You know I wouldn't make a move just to mess with you, right?"

Maisy stilled.

Something about his tone caught her off guard. Like he actually meant it.

She swallowed. "I know."

Silence. Too long. Too heavy.

Then Boldy exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Okay," he said lightly, breaking the moment before it could turn into something more. "Just making sure."

And for some reason, that made her heart pound harder than it should have. __ Maisy had been handling the bet rumors just fine. Sure, Trevor Zegras and Cole Caufield were relentless. Sure, the team had way too much fun pointing out every interaction between her and Boldy.

But she was ignoring it. At least, she was until the team decided to take things up a notch.

It happened during a scrimmage.

She had been standing on the bench with the rest of the medical staff, clipboard in hand, focusing on tracking minor injuries.

Everything was fine.

Until Zegras lined up for a faceoff against Boldy and decided to be an absolute menace. "Hey, Boldy," he said loud enough for everyone on the ice to hear. "Maisy's watching. Don't embarrass yourself."

Maisy felt her soul leave her body. Boldy, to his credit, didn't react much—just a quick side glance, an exhale through his nose.

Zegras, however, was just getting started. "You should really ask her out already," he continued, tapping his stick. "Otherwise I might do it for you."

Maisy wanted to die. Boldy, still composed, finally responded.

"Z," he said evenly, adjusting his gloves. "If you don't shut up, I'm going to bury you in the boards."

Zegras grinned. "Oh, touchy. Wonder why?" Then the coach dropped the puck, and Boldy absolutely leveled him. The entire bench erupted.

Caufield was wheezing. Someone was yelling, "Oh my god, he actually did it." Even the coaches looked like they were trying to suppress laughter.

Meanwhile, Maisy stood there, face burning, wondering how this was her life. And then—to make matters worse—Matt skated past the bench, slowing just enough to look at her.

Smirked. And said, "Still ignoring the bet?" She wanted to throw her clipboard at him.

That night, Maisy couldn't sleep. Maybe it was the stupid bet. Maybe it was the way Matt had looked at her earlier. Maybe it was the fact that her brain wouldn't let go of the what-ifs.

Whatever it was, she found herself outside the rink at nearly midnight, needing air.

She wasn't expecting company. "Couldn't sleep either?"

She turned to see the Minnesota Wild player walking toward her, hands shoved in his hoodie pocket, looking way too casual for someone who had been stirring up chaos all day.

She sighed. "Thanks to you and your fan club? No." Boldy smirked, stepping beside her. "You gotta admit, that hit on Zegras was satisfying." Maisy tried not to laugh. "I'm supposed to be neutral."

"Yeah? Then why'd you smile?" She scoffed. "I didn't."

"You totally did." She rolled her eyes, but the banter felt easy. Familiar. Too easy. Silence stretched between them, but it wasn't awkward.

It was... comfortable.

Then, before she could think better of it, she asked, "Why haven't you asked me out yet?"

Matt froze.

Maisy felt her heart hammering. She wasn't even sure why she said it. But it was out there now.

Matt exhaled, tilting his head slightly, studying her. "You want the real answer?"

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

He licked his lips, like he was debating how much to say. Then, finally—softly—he said, "Because I don't think I'd want it to be just one date."

Maisy stopped breathing.

Her chest felt tight, like she was standing too close to something she shouldn't.

And then he moved.

Just slightly. A shift closer. A glance at her lips. Like he was about to—

Footsteps echoed from the entrance of the rink.

They snapped apart. Trevor Zegras' voice rang out. "Are you two serious right now?"

Maisy wanted to strangle him. Matt just groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Z, I swear—"

"NOPE," Zegras held up a hand. "Not dealing with this. I'm leaving before I witness something I can't erase from my brain." He turned, walking back inside, still muttering to himself.

Silence.

Matt and Maisy stood there, the moment completely shattered. Finally, Matt sighed.

"I hate him." Maisy let out a breathy laugh. "Me too." A pause.

Then he smirked. "But you still didn't answer my question." Maisy raised an eyebrow. "What question?"

His smirk deepened. "Are you still ignoring the bet?"

Her stomach flipped.

And this time, she didn't know if she had an answer. __ The 4 Nations Tournament kicked off in full force, and Maisy found herself busier than ever. Between pre-game prep, mid-game injury assessments, and post-game recovery treatments, her schedule was packed.

Which was good. Because it meant less time to think about Matt Boldy. Or at least, it should have. Except he kept making it impossible to ignore him.

On the ice, he was locked in. Focused. Dominant. But off the ice? It was like he made it his mission to find her. Between periods, he'd skate by the medical staff station, sending her a quick glance. After games, he'd be the last one out of the training room, lingering near where she worked. And every time, his presence made something tighten in her chest.

Team USA fought their way through the tournament, grinding out wins against Sweden and Finland before securing a spot in the gold medal game. The semi-final against Finland had been brutal—fast, physical, and nerve-wracking.

When the final buzzer sounded, USA had won 4-3, thanks to a highlight-reel goal from Boldy in overtime. The team exploded in celebration, sticks flying, gloves tossed.

Maisy, standing near the bench, couldn't help the small smile that tugged at her lips. Then, as the players skated off, Boldy found her. Still in his helmet, still buzzing with adrenaline, he locked eyes with her across the chaos. And then—without thinking, apparently—he grinned and tapped his stick against the boards near her.

Like a silent, this one's for you.

Maisy's stomach flipped violently. And she hated that she liked it. __ The gold medal game did not go as planned. Canada had come out flying, suffocating Team USA with relentless pressure. The score was 3-2 late in the third, with USA fighting to tie it up.

Maisy watched helplessly from the bench, heart pounding as the final minute ticked away.

USA pulled the goalie. Pushed hard. Matt had a dangerous scoring chance with ten seconds left, his shot sailing just inches too high.

The horn sounded. Game over.

Team Canada won gold. The rink erupted with cheers, red and white jerseys piling onto the ice.

On the USA bench? Silence. __ Maisy had been around devastating losses before. She had seen players shattered by the weight of coming so close—only to fall short.

But something about this one hit differently. Something about Matt Boldy's face as he stood on the ice, staring at the scoreboard, completely still, made her chest ache.

The locker room after the game was quiet. The usual post-loss platitudes—"Hell of a game," "We'll be back next year"—felt empty. Guys sat at their stalls, heads down, exhaustion settling in.

Matt Boldy? He was nowhere to be seen.

Maisy found him in the hallway, still in most of his gear, sitting on a bench, staring at the floor. She hesitated for half a second. Then, before she could talk herself out of it, she sat down beside him.

For a while, neither of them spoke. The weight of the loss hung heavy in the air.

Finally, the boy exhaled.

"Hell of a way to lose." His voice was hoarse, like he had been holding everything in.

Maisy glanced at him. "It wasn't on you." He let out a bitter chuckle. "Yeah? Feels like it."

She studied him for a moment. Then, without thinking, she reached out and placed a hand on his knee. He stilled. She kept her touch light, grounding. "You played your ass off, Matty."

Something about her saying his name made his throat bob.

She continued. "One shot doesn't define the player you are." He didn't answer right away. But then, slowly, he let out a breath.

Looked at her. And something unspoken passed between them. A beat. A shift.

Then, finally—softly—he said, "Thanks, Stella." And for the first time that night, she saw the tension ease from his shoulders. __ The morning after the final, the Team USA hotel was filled with the usual post-tournament chaos. Players packed their bags. Some left early. Others lingered a little too long in the lobby, like they weren't ready to leave it all behind just yet.

Maisy moved through it all, head down, focused on getting home. Back to San Jose. Back to normal.

Except, as much as she told herself that, nothing about this felt normal. Because every step toward the airport, every item she packed, every player she said goodbye to—it all felt off.

And she knew exactly why. Because she still hadn't said goodbye to Matt Boldy.

She found him in the hotel lobby, standing near the exit. Hockey bag slung over his shoulder, hat pulled low, eyes scanning the crowd like he was looking for something.

Or someone.

He saw her before she could decide whether or not she was ready for this. Their eyes met, and the entire room faded.

No words. Just that look.

The one that said everything they weren't brave enough to say out loud.

Maisy swallowed. Forced a breath. Then, finally—softly—she stepped forward. "So," she said, her voice more steady than she felt. "This is it."

Boldy nodded. "Guess so."

Silence. A beat too long. A beat where she should have just walked away.

But she didn't.

Because he was still looking at her like that. Like he wasn't ready to say goodbye either. Like he knew this wasn't the end.

And maybe that was enough. Maybe for now, this was all they got.

A glance. A moment. A memory.

Finally, Matt exhaled. Shifted his bag higher on his shoulder. And then—softer than ever—he smirked.

"See you around, M." Maisy's chest tightened. But she managed a small smile.

"Yeah," she murmured. "See you around." And just like that, they turned and walked away.

Neither of them looking back. But both knowing— This wasn't over. ________________ Matt Boldy had tried to move on.

Tried to shake off the feeling that something had been left unsaid in that hotel lobby. But weeks passed, and it didn't fade.

Not completely.

Because every time he scrolled through social media, every time he caught himself glancing at his phone like an idiot, he thought of her. And then, one night, he finally put the pieces together.

It started with a random Sharks highlight.

He wasn't even thinking about Maisy when he clicked on it—just watching another team's media content like any other player. But then—in the background, barely noticeable—he saw her. Standing near the bench, clipboard in hand, talking to one of the trainers.

Matt sat up straighter. Paused the video. Replayed it.

And there she was. Maisy. With the San Jose Sharks.

Then everything clicked at once.

The cryptic way she had talked about her job. The fact that she had refused to name which NHL teams she worked with. The way she had never fully answered when he asked.

She worked for the Sharks.

And now? Now, the Wild had a game in San Jose next week.

Matt grinned. Perfect. __ Maisy had no idea Matt was coming. She hadn't heard from him since the tournament—not directly, at least. Sure, there had been small things. A Twitter like here. An Instagram story view there. Enough to remind her that he hadn't fully disappeared.

But nothing real.

Nothing that should have prepared her for stepping onto the ice for warmups and seeing him standing at center ice, staring right at her.

Her heart stopped.

For a second, she thought she was imagining it. But then—slowly, deliberately—he lifted his stick and tapped it against the ice. Just like he had after the semi-final win.

Her stomach flipped violently. She forced herself to move, to act normal, but her hands felt unsteady as she grabbed her notes and tried to focus. Tried to ignore the fact that Matt Boldy was watching her like he had all the time in the world. And that maybe—just maybe—this was only the beginning.

Maisy should have known she wouldn't get away with this unnoticed. She had barely made it through warmups before she felt the eyes on her.

More specifically, two sets of very annoying, very smug eyes.

Will Smith and Macklin Celebrini were standing at the bench, whispering furiously to each other like a pair of gossiping high schoolers.

Maisy ignored them. Or at least, she tried to.

Because the second she turned toward the bench, Will was already grinning like an idiot. "Ohhh, okay," he said, dragging out the words. "So that's Boldy, huh?"

Macklin nodded solemnly. "Yeah, yeah, that tracks." Ranae narrowed her eyes. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Will smirked. "Just saying, someone was making intense eye contact with him at center ice."

"I was not—"

Macklin cut her off. "Nah, he totally stared you down." "Absolutely," Will agreed. "Like, full 'this is unfinished business' energy."

Maisy groaned. "I hate both of you."

Will threw an arm over Macklin's shoulder. "She's just mad we're right." Macklin nodded. "So mad."

They both grinned at her, matching little brother menace energy at full force. Maisy exhaled sharply. "Go play hockey."

Macklin snickered. "Yeah, yeah. But just so you know—" Will smirked. "We're so talking about this after the game."

And then they skated off, leaving her standing there, regretting every life decision that led her to this moment. __ The game itself was a blur. Sharks vs. Wild was always a fast, chippy matchup. Maisy kept herself busy, bouncing between the bench and medical station, doing everything in her power not to think about the fact that Matt Boldy was literally right there.

That plan worked. Until the game ended. And he went looking for her.

Maisy had just finished up post-game medical reports when she felt it. That unmistakable sensation of being watched. She turned—and there he was.

Matt stood a few feet away, still in most of his gear, hair damp from sweat, expression unreadable.

For a second, neither of them moved. Then—softly, carefully—he nodded toward the hallway.

A silent come talk to me.

She hesitated. Not because she didn't want to. But because she knew that whatever this was, it wasn't just some random run-in anymore.

It was something else. Something that wasn't going away.

Finally, she exhaled, set down her clipboard, and followed him. And this time?

She wasn't going to run from it. __ Maisy followed Matt down the hallway, past the locker rooms, past the noise of the arena, until they were alone.

She wasn't sure why she followed. Only that this moment had been coming for a long time.

Matt stopped near the end of the hall, exhaling sharply as he turned to face her. He looked like he was still trying to figure out what to say.

She beat him to it. "You looked for me." His lips twitched. "Yeah. I did."

Silence. Not awkward—just heavy.

Like they both knew exactly why they were here but neither wanted to be the first to say it. Finally, Matt sighed, running a hand through his hair.

"So," he said. "San Jose, huh?"

Maisy folded her arms. "You figured it out." Matt scoffed. "I feel like an idiot for not putting it together sooner."

She smirked. "You are kind of slow." That made him huff out a laugh. "Okay, rude." She shrugged. "You walked into it."

Another pause.

Then—softer—Matt said, "Why didn't you just tell me?" Maisy swallowed. "I don't know." Matt gave her a look. She sighed, shifting her weight. "Okay, maybe I do."

She didn't elaborate. She didn't have to.

Because Matt understood. That this wasn't just about her job. It was about everything that had been left unspoken between them. Everything that still hung between them now.

For a moment, he looked like he wanted to push. Like he wanted to say the thing that neither of them had been brave enough to say since the tournament. Instead, he just exhaled and shook his head.

"You're frustrating, Stella." Maisy smirked, trying to ignore the way her heart was pounding. "You're just figuring that out now?"

Matt rolled his eyes but smiled anyway. And somehow, that felt like progress.

They stood there for a moment, neither of them making a move to leave. Matt shoved his hands in his pockets. "So what now?"

Maisy hesitated. Because she didn't know the answer to that. All she knew was that this wasn't done. That no matter how much distance was between them, they kept finding their way back to each other.

Finally, she met his gaze. "We'll figure it out," she said softly. Matt searched her face for a second. Then, instead of arguing, instead of pushing for something she wasn't ready to say yet, he just nodded.

"Yeah," he murmured. "We will." And just like that, the conversation ended.

But the story? It wasn't over. Not even close. ___ Maisy thought that after the game, things would go back to normal. That she and Matt would go their separate ways again, caught up in their schedules, their teams, their lives. That whatever almost existed between them would fade, just like it had after the tournament.

But it didn't. Because now? Now they were paying attention.

To the way social media suddenly felt like a battleground. To the way his name kept showing up in her notifications. To the way she caught herself checking the Wild's schedule more often than she should.

And, most of all— To the way they weren't actually moving on.

It started small.

A random Instagram like on one of her older photos. Then a story view when she posted a picture from a Sharks road trip. Then—one night, long past midnight in both their time zones, she posted a simple shot of the city skyline from her apartment window.

Nothing special.

But within seconds, she saw his name in the views. Followed by a like. Followed by—

A response.

@/MattBoldy: Late night or can't sleep?

Maisy stared at the message. Her heart pounded way too hard for something that wasn't supposed to mean anything. After a long pause, she finally typed back.

@/MaisyStella: Does it matter?

A moment later, his response came through.

@/MattBoldy: Maybe.

And just like that—

The fire between the two of them burned hotter. And even worse. They never talked about what any of it meant. Never acknowledged the way they kept orbiting each other, even from miles apart. But it was always there.

In the late-night messages that never led anywhere but never stopped either. In the way they both started showing up in each other's social media worlds just enough to notice—but not enough to address it. In the way she saw his name in her notifications and felt something she wasn't ready to name. And in the way she knew—without a doubt—that he was feeling the same thing too. _________________ Maisy didn't expect to see Matt Boldy again so soon. The Sharks were on a long East Coast road trip, bouncing between cities, hotel rooms, and practice rinks. She was too busy to think about him.

Or at least, she told herself that.

Until she checked the schedule and realized—

They were playing in Minnesota next. And suddenly, she wasn't sure if she was ready for this. The day before the game, the Sharks had morning skate at the Wild's facility. It was supposed to be a routine practice. But the second she stepped onto the ice, she felt it.

That familiar pull. Like she was being watched. And when she turned—

There he was. Matt Boldy. Standing on the other side of the rink, still in his Wild gear, helmet pushed up, staring right at her.

Their eyes met, and, for a second, the entire arena faded. Neither of them moved. Neither of them said anything.

But they didn't have to. Because it was all there. Everything they hadn't said. Everything they still weren't saying.

And the worst part? Neither of them looked away. __ The Wild won. Maisy didn't know if that was better or worse. Because after the game, when everything should have been over, she got a message.

Matty: Don't leave yet.

Maisy stared at her phone. Then, before she could talk herself out of it, she texted back.

Maisy: Where?

A second later—

Matty: Meet me outside the visitor's tunnel.

And just like that—

She knew. This wasn't over.

Maisy told herself she wouldn't go. That she should just walk out with the Sharks staff, get on the team bus, and leave this all behind.

But somehow, her feet carried her in the opposite direction. Toward the visitor's tunnel. Toward him.

When she turned the corner, Matt Boldy was already there. Still in his Wild gear, hair damp, jersey half undone, expression unreadable.

For a moment, neither of them said anything. The air between them felt heavy. Loaded.

Finally, Matt exhaled. "You came."

Maisy crossed her arms, trying to ignore the way her chest tightened at his voice. "You asked me to."

A pause. Then—softer—he said, "Yeah. I did." Matt shifted, rubbing the back of his neck. "So... what are we doing, M?" Maisy stiffened. "What do you mean?" His lips twitched, like he knew she was stalling. "You know exactly what I mean."

She swallowed. Looked away. Because she did. Because this wasn't just a coincidence anymore.

Not the tournament. Not the Sharks game. Not the way they kept finding their way back to each other. And definitely not the way they kept pretending it didn't mean anything.

Matt sighed. "I don't know about you, but I'm tired of pretending this isn't real."

Maisy breath caught. Because there it was. The thing neither of them had been brave enough to say out loud.

She met his gaze, heart pounding. And for the first time since this all started, she didn't deny it. She didn't say he was imagining things. She didn't tell him this was nothing.

She just stood there—silent. Frozen. Exposed. And Matt noticed. He took a step closer, his voice lower now. Softer. "I don't know what this is, Maisy." Her throat bobbed. "Me neither." Matt exhaled. "But I know I don't want to stop finding out."

Silence. Heavy. Unavoidable.

Because this was the moment. The one where she either ran from this again—or finally admitted that she didn't want to. That she never had.

Finally, she spoke—quiet, hesitant. "...Okay." Matt stilled. "Okay?"

She nodded. Didn't elaborate. Didn't have to. Because Matt understood.

A small, almost relieved smile pulled at his lips. "Good." And somehow—for the first time since this all started—it felt like they weren't running anymore. __ Matt Boldy was still processing everything. That Maisy had finally stopped running from this. That she had admitted—without actually saying it—that this thing between them was real. That maybe, just maybe, they were finally getting somewhere.

But then she dropped another bomb.

They were still standing in the tunnel, the air between them lighter than it had been in months.

Matt smirked. "So, now that we've established this thing isn't just in my head... what happens next?"

Maisy exhaled, shifting on her feet. Then—so casually that it almost didn't register—she said it. "Well... I'm gonna be in Boston all summer."

Matt froze.

"Wait," he said, blinking. "Boston?" She looked away, avoiding eye contact. "Yeah..."

Matt stared at her. Then—slowly, carefully—he said, "You're telling me that all this time, you've been from Boston?"

Maisy shrugged. "Born and raised." Matt dragged a hand down his face. "And you just—what? Forgot to mention that?"

"I didn't think it was important!"

"You didn't think it was important?" Matt looked personally offended. "You do realize I grew up in Boston, right?"

She smirked. "Yeah, I think I've heard that somewhere."

Matt opened his mouth, then closed it. Because this changed everything. She was going to be home. For an entire summer. Where he would be.

And—intentionally or not—she had just opened the door for something more.

He grinned. "Well," he said, voice smug. "Guess I'll be seeing a lot more of you this summer." Maisy rolled her eyes. "Don't get ahead of yourself." Matt chuckled, stepping closer. Too close. Just close enough. "Too late."

And from the way she didn't step back? She didn't mind at all. _______________ Maisy was barely settled into her childhood home when her phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen.

And froze.

Matty: So... when do I get to see you?

She stared at the message.

He had wasted no time. The Wild had been eliminated from the playoffs last night. It wasn't even 24 hours later, and he was already texting her.

Not a "hey." Not a "what's up." Just straight to the point.

Maisy swallowed. Her pulse kicked up. Because this wasn't casual. This was him making a move. And for once? She wasn't sure she wanted to stop him.

Finally, she exhaled and typed back.

Maisy: You don't waste any time, huh?

Three dots appeared almost instantly.

Boldy: Not when I want something.

Her stomach flipped.

She hesitated—just for a second. Then, before she could talk herself out of it, she replied.

Maisy: Fine. Name a time and place.

Boldy: Tomorrow. I'll pick you up.

Maisy stared at the screen. And suddenly, this wasn't just hypothetical anymore. It was real. And she had no idea what she had just gotten herself into. __ Matt didn't want to rush this. Even though they both knew they didn't have much time together, even though he'd spent the past few weeks thinking about her more than he probably should have, he wasn't going to push too hard. So when Maisy told him she'd be in Boston for the summer, he didn't plan some extravagant, romantic date. He just texted her.

Boldy: You free?

She took exactly three minutes to reply.

Maisy: For what?

Boldy: Hanging out. Don't make it weird.

A pause. Then—

Maisy: Meet me at the docks.

Matt smirked at his phone. Yeah. This was gonna be good.

When Matt pulled up to the docks, Maisy was already there, leaning against the railing, looking out over the water. She turned when she heard him approach, raising an eyebrow. "Didn't think you'd actually show."

Matt scoffed. "You invited me." She shrugged. "Maybe I was testing you."

He smirked. "Did I pass?" She pretended to think about it. "Jury's still out." Matt rolled his eyes but grinned anyway.

They walked along the dock, the ocean breeze making everything feel lighter, easier. And for a while, it was just that.

Easy.

They talked about Boston summers, growing up here, old favorite spots. Matt found out Maisy used to spend hours at the old rink near Harvard, just watching pickup games. Maisy found out Matt still goes back to that rink sometimes, just to clear his head.

It was comfortable.

Like they had done this a hundred times before. Like there wasn't an expiration date hanging over their summer.

At some point, they ended up sitting on the edge of the dock, feet dangling over the water, watching the boats roll by.

Maisy sighed, tilting her head back. "Kinda nice, isn't it?"

Matt glanced at her. Took her in. The wind in her hair. The way her shoulders had finally relaxed, like she wasn't overthinking this. Like she was just here. With him.

"Yeah," he murmured. "It is."

She turned to him then, eyes searching his. Like she wanted to say something. Like they both knew exactly what this was but weren't ready to name it yet.

Matt swallowed. He wasn't gonna push. Not yet. Not when he knew that whatever this was—it deserved to last longer than just one summer.

And just like that, they let the moment pass. But they both knew— It wasn't going anywhere. __ Matt hadn't planned on spending so much time with Maisy.

But somehow, one hangout turned into two. Then three. Then it wasn't even about making plans anymore. It was just—her.

Showing up at the docks because he figured she'd be there. Texting her because she was already on his mind anyway. Noticing things he had no business noticing.

Like the way she twirled her bracelet around her wrist when she was thinking. Or how her laugh always came with a little eye roll when she was trying to pretend she wasn't amused. Or the fact that she somehow always ended up just a little closer to him than she needed to be.

Close enough to brush shoulders when they walked. Close enough that his hand almost—almost—touched hers on the table at dinner. Close enough that, when she leaned back against the hood of his car one night, staring up at the sky, he had to physically remind himself not to look at her for too long.

Because this wasn't just hanging out anymore. Not really. __ It happened on one of their late-night drives. Boston was alive with summer, the streets busy but peaceful at the same time.

Maisy sat in the passenger seat, feet propped up on the dashboard, sipping from a half-empty milkshake.

Matt glanced over. Couldn't help it. "Comfy?" he teased. She smirked. "You're lucky I don't make you play music I like." Matt snorted. "Bold of you to assume I wouldn't like it." She hummed, flicking through his playlist. "Huh. Not bad, Boldy." "I'm offended you ever doubted me."

She just rolled her eyes, then—without thinking—she reached out to adjust the volume. Matt did the same.

And suddenly, their hands brushed.

Just for a second. Just long enough for the air in the car to shift. Neither of them moved. Neither of them said anything. But Matt felt it.

Felt the weight of the moment. Felt his pulse spike, just slightly, when she didn't pull away right away.

And when she finally did, when she settled back into her seat like nothing had happened—

Matt knew. This was happening. And there was no stopping it. __ Maisy had been pretending she was fine. Pretending that this was still casual. That she and Matt were just friends who hung out too much and accidentally brushed hands sometimes.

But then, one night, they ended up on the docks again. She had been rambling about something stupid—some childhood story about summers in Boston—when she looked over and saw him just... watching her.

Not with amusement. Not with his usual teasing smirk. Just watching.

Like he was memorizing her. Like this meant something. And for the first time, it hit her.

She was in trouble. __ Matt had been waiting for the right moment.

For weeks, they had been dancing around this thing between them, skirting too close to the edge but never quite crossing the line. And maybe—if they had all the time in the world—he would've waited longer.

But they didn't. So he decided to stop waiting.

Maisy was skeptical the second he picked her up. Mostly because he refused to tell her where they were going.

"Are you kidnapping me?" she asked as he drove. Matt smirked. "If I was, I wouldn't have let you pick the playlist."

She rolled her eyes but didn't press him. She trusted him. Even if her heart was pounding a little harder than it should have been.

When he finally pulled up to the marina, her eyebrows shot up. "The docks?" she asked. "We've been here before." Matt just grinned, stepping out of the truck. "Not like this."

Maisy followed him toward the water—and that's when she saw it.

A boat. Matt's boat.

She turned to him, stunned. "Wait. This is yours?" Matt shrugged. "You sound surprised."

"I didn't take you for a boat guy." "Well," he smirked, "you're about to."

They spent the next hour out on the water, Boston's skyline in the distance, the ocean stretching endless in every direction.

It was peaceful. Just them. No distractions. No pretending.

At some point, Maisy leaned against the railing, staring out at the horizon.

Matt watched her. Took her in. Felt something settle in his chest.

And then, before he could think twice about it, he grabbed his hoodie from the seat and tossed it at her.

Maisy caught it, blinking. "What—" "Put it on," he said, voice quieter now.

She raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

Matt hesitated, then, finally, he just admitted it. "Because I want you to."

Maisy stilled. Her heart kicked up. She didn't say anything. Didn't ask for clarification. Just held his gaze for a long, breathless moment.

Then, without a word, she pulled the hoodie over her head.

And Matt? Matt smiled. Because she got it. Because they were finally getting somewhere. _________________ It was always going to end like this.

Maisy had known it from the second she let herself get close. From the moment Matt Boldy became more than a complication, more than a friend, more than something she could walk away from without feeling it break inside of her.

And now? Now, it was all unraveling.

The sun was setting behind the docks, casting streaks of gold across the water.

It should've been beautiful.

But all she could feel was the weight in her chest, the ache pressing against her ribs, the way Matt was looking at her like she was breaking his heart.

And the worst part? She was breaking her own, too.

"You're just gonna leave?" His voice was raw, torn from somewhere deep.

Maisy swallowed, arms crossed tightly over her chest. "Matt—" "No." He stepped closer, shaking his head. Furious. Desperate. "You don't get to do that." "Do what?" she snapped, voice shaking. "Act like this didn't mean something."

Something inside her fractured.

"Of course it meant something." The words came out harsh, broken. "Do you think this has been easy for me?"

Matt scoffed, running a hand through his hair, frustrated. "Then why the hell are you acting like we don't have a choice?"

"Because we don't!"

The words cut through the air like a knife. Because that was the truth, wasn't it? The NHL season was starting.

He belonged in Minnesota. She belonged in San Jose.

And no amount of longing looks or whispered almosts was going to change that. Except—Matt didn't look convinced.

He stepped closer, towering over her now, chest rising and falling too fast, hands clenched at his sides like he was barely holding himself together.

And Maisy? She was falling apart right in front of him.

"You want to tell me this is nothing?" His voice was low, dangerous. "Fine. Say it."

Maisy opened her mouth. But the words wouldn't come. Because they were a lie. And Matt knew it.

His jaw tightened. Eyes dark, searching hers. "That's what I thought."

A tremor ran through her chest, anger and heartbreak tangling into something unrecognizable.

He was so close now. Too close.

And suddenly, it was all too much. The frustration. The fear. The ache. The way she wanted him so badly, but she didn't know how to want him without losing herself in the process.

So she did the only thing she could.

She grabbed his face and kissed him.

Matt sucked in a sharp breath the second her lips crashed into his. Then—almost violently—he kissed her back.

There was nothing slow about it. Nothing hesitant.

It was teeth and tongues and hands fisting into clothing like neither of them could get close enough.

Like they had been fighting this for so long that now, it was consuming them whole.

Matt's hands slid to her waist, gripping, pulling, needing. Maisy curled her fingers into his shirt, holding on like he was the only thing keeping her upright.

Because maybe he was. Because maybe she was unraveling in his hands, and he wasn't even trying to stop it.

She tilted her head, deepened the kiss, poured everything into it— All the fury. All the longing. All the goddamn love she wasn't ready to name yet.

And Matt? He took it all.

Swallowed it down like he'd been starving for it. Like this was the only thing that had ever made sense.

Then, finally—when neither of them could breathe, when the weight of it all became too much— They broke apart.

Panting. Reeling.

But Matt didn't let her go. Didn't step back. Didn't give her room to pretend this hadn't just shattered everything.

Instead, he pressed his forehead against hers, voice wrecked.

"Tell me you don't feel this." Maisy's hands were still clutched in his shirt. Her lips were red and swollen and aching.

And she couldn't lie to him. Not anymore.

She exhaled shakily, chest heaving.

"I feel it."

Matt let out a ragged breath, his grip tightening.

Then—softer, rawer, almost pleading—

"Then don't walk away from it."

And just like that— She knew. She was his. And there was no running from it anymore. __ They didn't call it a relationship.

Not yet.

Not when they were hours away from boarding separate flights, when the reality of long-distance, busy seasons, and everything working against them loomed overhead.

But as they stood at the airport, Matt's hands still gripping her waist, Maisy's fingers curled in his hoodie, neither ready to let go just yet...

It felt like something. Something they weren't ready to name, but something they weren't willing to let go of either.

Matt exhaled, forehead still pressed against hers. "We keep this," he murmured. Like a promise. Maisy swallowed. Nodded. "Yeah," she whispered. "We keep this."

And so they did.

Until, of course, Matt went and screwed it up. ________________ Long-distance was hard.

Matt had known that. But he hadn't expected it to feel like this.

Like every time he unlocked his phone, she was there—but not there. A text thread he checked too often. An Instagram notification that made his stomach twist.

And then, one day, he saw it.

A post from the San Jose Sharks account.

A series of pictures from practice, behind-the-scenes shots, casual team moments. And there, in three separate photos, was Maisy.

Laughing with William Eklund. Sitting way too close to William Eklund. Him hugging her after a scrimmage win.

Matt stared at his screen, fingers tightening around his phone.

Because what the hell was that? Who the fuck was William Eklund to have his hands on her like that?

Matt knew Maisy had guy friends. He wasn't that insecure. Except... apparently, he was. Because suddenly, all he could think about was how far away she was. How she was there, smiling, laughing, touching someone who wasn't him.

And in a moment of pure, reckless, brainless stupidity...

He downloaded Raya.

Just to see. Just to distract himself.

It wasn't like that. Except it was.

Because he matched with someone. Because he entertained it. Because he let himself be a goddamn idiot.

And he should've known it wouldn't stay a secret. __ It only took a week. A week before the whispers started. Before one of her friends, a connected WAG, slid into her texts with a message that made her stomach drop.

"Hey... not sure if you know, but Boldy was seen on Raya last week. Just thought you should hear it from me first."

Maisy stared at her screen. The world tilted beneath her feet. Her hands went cold. Her breath hitched.

Because Matt promised. Because they promised.

Because he was supposed to keep this.

And now? Now, she had no idea if there was even anything left to keep. __ Matt had barely been thinking when he did it.

Downloading Raya? Stupid. Messaging someone? Even worse.

But it wasn't real. It wasn't like he actually wanted anyone else. It was just—jealousy. Distance. Loneliness. It was him being a goddamn idiot. And he thought—maybe, somehow—he could fix it before it spiraled.

So the second the realization crashed into him, full force, gut-wrenching and unforgiving— He grabbed his phone, ready to text her, to call, to explain— Except—

He couldn't.

Because he was blocked.

Everywhere.

Messages? Blocked. Instagram? Gone. Snapchat? Nothing.

His stomach plummeted. His pulse hammered. Because this wasn't a warning shot.

This wasn't her being pissed but willing to hear him out. This was Maisy cutting him off.

This was him losing her. And for the first time in his life, Matt Boldy was actually scared. __ "What the actual fuck is wrong with you?"

Matt barely had time to process before Brock Faber was on him.

They were in the locker room, post-practice, team still filtering out, but Brock wasn't about to wait for privacy. Because apparently, Matt being a fucking moron wasn't going unnoticed.

Matt groaned, rubbing his hands down his face. "Fabs, not right now."

Brock wasn't having it. "Not right now?" He scoffed. "Not right now?"

He jabbed a finger into Matt's chest. "You finally get a good thing, an actual shot at something real, and you—what? Blow it over some Instagram post? Some made-up bullshit you convinced yourself of in your tiny-ass brain?"

Matt clenched his jaw. "I know I fucked up—" "Oh, you know?" Brock mocked. "Wow. Huge realization, dude." Matt let out a sharp breath, frustrated as hell. "It wasn't—I didn't even do anything."

Brock stared at him.

Then, slowly, deliberately, he spoke. "You downloaded a dating app, Matt."

Matt flinched.

Brock shook his head, disappointed. "You gave her a reason to walk away."

Silence.

Matt's hands curled into fists. Because that was the worst part.

Not that he'd been caught. Not that Brock was calling him out.

But that he was right. ___ If Matt thought Brock was bad, he wasn't prepared for the rookie Shark, Will Smith. Because when he finally unlocked his phone, there were DMs.

So. Many. DMs. From Will. And none of them were good.

@/_willsmith2: Ur actually dead Like I'm not even kidding bro start writing ur will How fucking stupid are you Wait till I see u on the ice U better watch your back

Matt stared at his phone. Then he threw it across the room. Because he deserved all of it. And he had no fucking clue how to fix it. ______________ Matt Boldy was losing his goddamn mind.

It had been weeks since Maisy had blocked him. Weeks since he had last heard her voice, seen her name pop up on his phone, felt like he still had a chance.

And now? Now, he had nothing. Except for the scraps he got through Brock's phone.

"Dude, you need to stop," Brock muttered as Matt leaned over his shoulder, scrolling through Instagram like a man possessed.

But he couldn't stop. Not when every time he saw her—smiling in a Sharks training room, laughing at something on the bench, looking so fucking okay without him—it felt like a punch to the gut.

His chest tightened as he swiped. Because there it was. A new post. A carousel of photos from a Sharks road trip. And in one of them—there she was. Leaning on William Eklund's shoulder. Laughing at something, looking like she didn't have a care in the world.

Matt's stomach dropped. Because he knew—he fucking knew—William was just a friend. But that didn't stop the jealousy from clawing its way up his throat, twisting in his ribs, making his hands clench into fists.

Brock sighed, watching him self-destruct in real-time. "You gonna actually do something about this?" he asked.

Matt's jaw tightened. Yeah. Yeah, he was. __ Matt had a plan.

The Wild were playing the Sharks in San Jose. This was his chance. One game. One night to prove to her that she should talk to him, listen to him, give him a goddamn chance to fix this.

Except—

The second he stepped on the ice, he knew it wasn't going to be that easy. Because from the very first shift, the Sharks came for him.

Hard. Every. Single. Shift. And it wasn't just the hits. It was the chirping too.

It started with Will Smith.

"Hey, Boldy," he said during a faceoff. "Enjoy Raya?" Matt's breath hitched. Oh, it was gonna be like that.

Then Macklin Celebrini joined in. "Heard you got commitment issues, man. Tough look."

And then? Even the veterans. "Don't worry, kid. I'm sure some other girl will put up with your shit."

Matt clenched his jaw. Hard.

Even the commentators noticed. "Looks like Boldy's taking some heat from the Sharks tonight." "Yeah, I'd say he's on their hit list."

No shit.

And by the time the final buzzer sounded, he was exhausted.

Physically. Emotionally.

But it didn't matter. Because now? Now was his chance. Now he could finally talk to her.

Matt barely made it down the tunnel before he was stopped.

Not by a coach. Not by a staff member.

By Will Smith and Macklin Celebrini.

They stood in front of him, arms crossed, matching unreadable expressions.

Matt's heart pounded. "I just want to talk to her," he said, voice lower, almost pleading.

Will didn't move. Didn't blink. "You lost that privilege." Matt exhaled sharply, frustrated. "Come on, man—" "She doesn't want to see you," Macklin cut in.

His chest tightened.

But then—movement behind them.

Matt's breath caught as he finally saw her. Maisy.

She was walking down the hall, head high, face unreadable.

His stomach twisted. Because for the first time in weeks, she was right there. Right in front of him. And yet—it felt like she was already gone.

She stopped just a few feet away. Didn't say a word. Didn't look at him the way she used to. Just gave him one last, unreadable glance—solemn, distant, nothing like the girl he had kissed on the docks.

And then— She turned away. And walked off with William Eklund.

Matt's chest caved in. Because he had lost her. And this time, he wasn't sure he'd ever get her back. ________________ Maisy had planned on avoiding him. Planned on keeping her distance, pretending like he didn't exist, like she wasn't still carrying the weight of what he had done. But apparently, the universe had other ideas. Because when she checked into her hotel in Denver for a conference, there was one small—disastrous—problem.

Her room? Right next to Matt Boldy's.

She found out immediately.

She had just dropped her bags, ready to decompress, when she heard it— The sound of a door opening right next to hers.

She froze.

And then—like a scene straight out of a terrible rom-com— There he was. Matt fucking Boldy. Standing in the doorway of the room right next to hers. Looking like he had just seen a ghost.

His mouth opened, then closed. "Maisy." His voice was rough, hesitant.

She swallowed hard. Didn't react. Didn't let herself. Because fuck that. She didn't owe him anything.

She exhaled sharply, adjusting her bag over her shoulder. And then—like he wasn't even worth acknowledging— She walked past him.

Didn't say a word. Didn't look back.

And if she imagined the way his chest caved slightly, if she felt the way his gaze burned into her back as she disappeared down the hall— She ignored it. Because he didn't deserve anything else. __ It was bound to happen.

They were in the same place. Same goddamn hotel. So, of course, they ended up crossing paths again. This time? It wasn't so easy to walk away.

Maisy had just stepped out of the elevator, minding her own business, when she nearly ran into him. Literally.

His hand shot out, gripping her arm just before she could stumble back. She sucked in a breath, the heat of his touch searing through the fabric of her sleeve.

Her pulse spiked.

"Maisy," he said, voice low, edged with something unreadable.

She jerked her arm away. "Don't," she snapped. Matt's jaw ticked."I need to talk to you." She let out a sharp laugh. "Yeah? Bit late for that, don't you think?"

His nostrils flared. Frustrated. Desperate. "I fucked up." His voice cracked slightly. "I know that."

Maisy clenched her fists. Because hearing him admit it didn't make it better. Didn't erase the way it had felt when she found out. Didn't take away the weeks of silence, of wondering why she had been so easy to throw away.

She inhaled sharply, meeting his gaze head-on. "Yeah, Matt," she said, voice quiet but cutting. "You did."

His throat bobbed. She shook her head. Then—before he could say anything else, before he could make her hesitate— She walked away. Leaving him standing there, watching her disappear all over again.

But Matt wasn't giving up. Not this time. Not when he had already lost her once. Not when he had spent weeks drowning in the weight of his own mistakes, watching her move on without him. And especially not when, for the first time since it all fell apart, she was right here.

Close enough to reach. Close enough to fight for.

So when she tried to walk away from him again, he didn't let her. He grabbed her wrist—gently, but firmly.

"Maisy." His voice was low, hoarse. Desperate.

She stilled. Didn't turn around. But she didn't pull away either.

And that was enough.

So he kept going.

"Please."

That made her tense.

Made something in her shoulders drop, just slightly. Made her finally—finally—turn to face him.

Her expression was guarded. Eyes cold, lips pressed into a firm line, every part of her screaming you don't get to do this. And maybe she was right. Maybe he didn't. But Matt had never been good at accepting defeat.

So he took a step closer. Then another. Until she was pressed against the wall of the empty hotel hallway, nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.

"I know I messed up," he said, voice barely above a whisper. "I know I hurt you." His jaw clenched. "And I hate myself for it."

Silence. Something flickered in her gaze. Something wounded. Something like she wanted to believe him—but didn't know if she could.

Matt swallowed. Took another step. Lowered his voice. Soft. Raw. Unsteady.

"I can't—" He let out a shaky breath, shaking his head. "I can't lose you again, Ranae."

She inhaled sharply.

"I'll do whatever it takes," he continued. "I'll prove it to you every goddamn day if I have to. Just—"

He swallowed. Looked at her like she was his whole world.

"Just give me one more shot."

Maisy's fingers curled into fists. Like she was fighting herself. Like she was fighting him. Like she knew that if she let herself give in, there would be no turning back.

Her breath shook. And then— She caved.

She exhaled sharply, eyes fluttering shut. Then—softer this time—she whispered,

"One shot, Boldy."

Matt let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. Then, before she could change her mind, before she could take it back—

He kissed her. And this time, she kissed him back. ________________ They didn't talk about it. About what it meant. About where it was going. They just slipped back into it. Like nothing had ever changed. Like he hadn't broken her trust. Like she hadn't walked away.

And for a while? It worked.

Maisy never told anyone when she was flying to Minnesota.

It wasn't a big deal. At least, that's what she told herself. But the second she stepped off the plane, Matt was always there. Waiting for her, hat pulled low, coffee in hand, smirking like he'd won some kind of secret battle.

He never asked her to come. She never asked if she should. But she did.

Every time she had a break in the schedule, every time the distance felt like too much, too suffocating, too unbearable—

She found herself booking a flight. And every time? He was there. Like he had been waiting for her all along.

For a while, it was easy. They fell into a routine. Late-night calls. Texting between games. Random visits, her sneaking into Wild practices, him showing up in San Jose unannounced.

It felt normal. Like they had figured it out. Like they had left the worst of it behind them.

And for a while? Everything was fine.

Until, of course— It wasn't. ________________ The playoffs were everything.

And for the Wild? It was hell.

Every game was a war. Every mistake magnified. Every shift do-or-die. Matt felt the weight of it. And for some godforsaken reason, he let it consume him.

Brock saw it happening first. "Dude," he muttered in the locker room after practice. "You good?"

Matt just grunted. Didn't look up. Because no, he wasn't good. But he didn't want to talk about it. Didn't want to admit that the pressure was suffocating him. Didn't want to acknowledge that every night, his head was so full of noise that he could barely think straight.

So instead, he did what he always did. He fucked up. __ The Wild had a rare night off and Brock had one rule.

"We're staying in."

Matt ignored him. And that's how they ended up at some random bar downtown, music pulsing, the air thick with playoff tension and bad decisions waiting to happen.

Brock saw the shift in Matt immediately. Saw the way he was drinking too fast, letting himself get pulled into conversations with people he had no business talking to.

And then—he saw her. A random girl. Too pretty. Too interested. And Matt? Too fucking reckless.

Brock stepped in before it could get worse. "Boldy," he snapped, grabbing his arm. "Don't do this." Matt yanked away. "Relax, Fabs." "No, dude. You're spiraling. Get it together." Matt laughed, but it wasn't real.

It was hollow.

And Brock knew. Knew he was too far gone to listen. Knew that if he didn't physically drag him out of here, he was about to do something he couldn't take back.

And he tried. God, he fucking tried. But he wasn't fast enough. Because the next time he turned around—

Matt Boldy had his lips on someone else. __ Maisy had just landed in Minnesota. She wasn't supposed to be there for another few days. But she had seen how tense Matt was through the screen, heard it in his voice when they talked.

She wanted to be there for him. Support him. Show him that he wasn't in this alone. So she got on a plane. And the second she landed, Brock called.

"Maisy, don't come here." She frowned, stepping off the jet bridge. "What? Why?"

Brock cursed under his breath. Then, after a long pause, he told her. Told her what Matt did. Told her that it wasn't just a bad look—it was worse. Told her that if she went to the bar right now, she'd see it for herself.

And maybe that's why she went. Because some part of her needed to see it. Needed to watch him destroy everything with her own eyes.

And when she got there— When she walked inside, searching the dimly lit room— She found him. Pressed up against some other girl. Mouth on hers. Hands on her waist.

Maisy's stomach dropped. Her breath hitched. And just like that— It was over. For good. __ Matt Boldy woke up to silence. Not the good kind. Not the peaceful, still-half-asleep, everything-is-fine kind.

No—this was different. This was the kind of silence that felt like something was missing. Like something was wrong.

He groaned, rubbing a hand over his face, his head pounding from the night before. Then, instinctively, he reached for his phone.

He had one thing on his mind. Maisy.

Matt: Morning. How are you this morning? Matt: Call me when you're up.

He hit send. Then waited. And waited. And... nothing.

His stomach twisted. That was weird. Maisy always answered. Maybe she was still asleep. Or busy. Or—

A knock on the door cut through his thoughts. "Yo, wake up," Brock's voice came from the hallway. "We gotta head out soon." Matt groaned, pushing himself up. "Yeah, yeah. Give me a sec."

But when he opened the door, Brock didn't move. Didn't chirp him. Didn't complain about how slow he was being. Just... stared at him. Like he was waiting for something. Or like he knew something Matt didn't.

And that's when it hit him. That feeling. That gut-wrenching, something-isn't-right feeling.

Matt narrowed his eyes. "...What?" Brock exhaled. Ran a hand through his hair. "Nothing."

A beat. Then—too casually, too forced— "Did you talk to Maisy yet?" Matt frowned, glancing at his phone. "She hasn't answered me." Brock's jaw tensed.

Matt's pulse spiked. His brain was still foggy from the night before, still piecing things together. But something in Brock's expression made his stomach churn. Made him feel like he was missing something huge.

He took a step closer. "What?" His voice was sharp now. Demanding. "What the fuck aren't you telling me?"

Brock didn't answer right away. And that silence? That silence made Matt's blood run cold. His heart slammed against his ribs, a feeling of pure dread settling in his chest.

"Brock." His voice dropped. Low. Deadly. "What. Happened."

Brock sighed, finally meeting his eyes. And then—softly, carefully, like he knew it was about to break him—

"She was here, Matt."

Matt's breath hitched. His whole body went rigid. And then, like a knife straight through his fucking chest— Brock said the words that destroyed everything.

"She saw you." A pause. Then—barely above a whisper— "Kissing that girl."

Everything stopped. Matt froze. His heart stumbled over itself. His vision blurred.

Because— No. No. No. No. That wasn't— That couldn't— He didn't—

Matt staggered back. Like the weight of it had just knocked the air out of his lungs. Like his entire fucking world had just collapsed at his feet.

"She—" His voice broke. "She saw me?" Brock's throat bobbed. "Yeah, man."

Matt squeezed his eyes shut. Shook his head. "No."

Because that wasn't how this was supposed to go. Because Maisy was supposed to be on a plane. Because she was supposed to be coming here to see him, to be with him. And instead? Instead— He fucking ruined everything.

His hands shook. His chest ached. His phone was still silent. And for the first time in his life, Matt Boldy had no idea how to fix what he had broken. _______________ Matt Boldy had never felt this helpless. He wasn't the kind of guy who just sat back and did nothing. But what the hell was he supposed to do? Fly to San Jose in the middle of a goddamn playoff run?

He couldn't.

So he did the only thing he could. He sent flowers. Roses. So many of them. Every florist in San Jose was making bank off his dumb ass. And with every bouquet, he sent a card. Begging her for forgiveness

But she didn't answer. Not once. Not a text. Not a call. Nothing.

And every time he saw the delivery confirmation pop up on his phone, knowing she was receiving them but not responding— It wrecked him. __ The Wild were eliminated in six games in the first round. Matt had never been more relieved for a playoff run to be over. Because the second the final buzzer sounded, the only thing on his mind was getting to her. Fixing this. Begging her in person.

So the first flight home to Boston? He was on it. And the second he landed? He went straight to her house.

He should have known something was wrong the second her brother opened the door. Because instead of glaring at him, instead of saying "go to hell" like he deserved, He just... sighed. Like he was tired. Like he already knew why Matt was there. And then—flatly, with zero emotion—

"She's not here." Matt blinked. His stomach dropped. "What?" His voice was hoarse. "Where is she?" Her brother shrugged. "Dunno, man." A pause. Then—blunt, brutal, unbothered— "She didn't come home for the summer."

Matt's chest caved in. He had been so sure— So convinced she'd be here. That he could just show up, explain, fix this. But now? Now, he had no idea where she was.

And for the first time since this whole nightmare started— He realized just how badly he had lost her. __ Matt Boldy didn't think. He just acted. Booked the next flight to San Jose, barely packed a bag, barely let himself breathe. Because this time, he wasn't going to send flowers. He wasn't going to wait around, hoping she'd text back. He was going to find her. Fix this. Beg if he had to.

But when he finally got to her apartment— When the door swung open— It wasn't her.

It was William fucking Eklund.

Matt's stomach dropped. His hands curled into fists. Because of course. Of fucking course. Of all people, it had to be him.

William's expression didn't change. Didn't look surprised to see him. Didn't even look mad. Just... disappointed. Like he had been expecting this. Like he had been waiting for Matt to be this fucking stupid.

Matt clenched his jaw. "Where is she?"

William didn't move. Didn't flinch. Didn't let him in. "She doesn't want to see you."

Matt's chest tightened. "Let her tell me that."

William exhaled, running a hand through his hair. Then, before he could say anything else— Two more people stepped out.

Matt's stomach sank further.

Macklin Celebrini. Will Smith.

And they were pissed. Macklin crossed his arms. "You shouldn't be here." Will scoffed. "What the fuck do you think you're doing here?"

Matt's fists clenched. "I just want to talk to her."

Macklin's expression darkened. Will let out a sharp, bitter laugh. "Yeah? Funny, 'cause when she wanted to talk to you, you were busy sticking your tongue down someone else's throat."

Matt flinched. That fucking hurt. But he didn't move. Didn't leave. Because he couldn't. Not until he saw her. Not until she told him herself that this was really over. And then— She did.

The apartment door opened wider. And Maisy stepped out.

Matt's breath caught in his throat.

Because she looked like hell. Her eyes were swollen. Her face was pale. She looked like she hadn't slept in weeks.

And worst of all? He knew he had done this to her.

Matt opened his mouth.But before he could say anything— She did. And when she spoke—soft, exhausted, shattered beyond belief—

She broke him.

"Go home, Matt."

Matt froze. His chest tightened painfully. "Maisy, please," he whispered. "I—" "No." Her voice cracked. But her expression didn't waver. "I don't want to see you anymore."

Matt's heart broke into a million pieces. His throat burned.

Because this was it. This was him losing her for good. And once again, it was his fault.

He should have fought harder. Should have been better.  Should have never put her in this position in the first place.

But now? Now, it didn't matter. Because she was gone. And he had no one to blame but himself. ______________ Matt Boldy had learned to build a life without her.

It hadn't been easy. The first year had been hell. But eventually—slowly, painfully—he forced himself to move forward.

He stopped watching Sharks games just to see if she was on the bench. He stopped scrolling through their Instagram, looking for glimpses of her. And after a while, he even let himself try again.

The girl he was with now? She was nice. Sweet. Caring. They'd been together for a few months. And for the first time in a long time, Matt thought—maybe this was enough.

Until, of course— Winnipeg happened. __ The weather was shit. Classic Winnipeg in the winter.

The Wild had just played the Jets, and their flight home to Minnesota? Canceled. Stranded for the night. Matt wasn't thrilled about it, but whatever. One night in a hotel, then back home. No big deal.

But then— His phone buzzed.

Brock: Yo. You're never gonna believe this.

Matt frowned, leaning against the headboard of his hotel bed.

Matt: What?

A pause. Then—

Brock: Maisy's here. __ Matt Boldy had spent years convincing himself he was okay. That he had moved on. That what he and Maisy had was just a memory now, tucked away in a past life that didn't belong to him anymore. And maybe, in some ways, that was true.

He didn't think about her every second of every day like he used to. Didn't let himself spiral every time he saw the Sharks on the schedule. Didn't feel like he was drowning in regret every time he laid awake at night, staring at the ceiling.

But she was still there. Somewhere in the back of his mind. A ghost he couldn't quite shake. A reminder of what he had and what he lost.

So when he got stranded in Winnipeg—when Brock sent him that text, telling him she was in the same hotel—

He should've left it alone. He should've let her stay a ghost. But he didn't.Because some part of him—some stupid, reckless, self-destructive part of him— Needed to see her.

One last time. __ The second Matt stepped into the hotel lobby, the air shifted. Like the past had come back to punch him straight in the fucking gut.

Because there she was.

For the first time in years. Not a photo. Not a blurry social media clip.

Her. In the flesh.

And she looked— God. She looked beautiful. Glowing in a way he had never seen before, like the weight of the world had finally been lifted off her shoulders. Like she had spent the last few years healing from the wreckage he left behind. Like she was happy.

Matt couldn't move. Couldn't breathe.

Because for all the time that had passed—for all the moments he had spent preparing himself for this possibility— Nothing could have prepared him for this. For how much it still fucking hurt.

Then— She turned. And for a split second—just one—their eyes met. His heart stumbled. His chest tightened.

But before he could take a step, before he could say a single word— She was gone.

Back in his hotel room, Matt sat on the edge of the bed, head in his hands.

The world felt too small. Like it was caving in. Like it was trying to crush him under the weight of everything he didn't get to say.

His phone was sitting on the nightstand. And for the first time in years, He opened Instagram. And that's when he saw it. He was unblocked.

His stomach twisted. His heart pounded. And before he could talk himself out of it—before he could tell himself to let it be—

He clicked on her profile. And there it was.

He clicked on the very first photo on her feed. Her pinned post.

His breath hitched. Because it wasn't just any post. It was her engagement photos.

Matt's hand shook as he scrolled. The first photo knocked the wind out of him.

Maisy—stunning, glowing, radiant in a white dress. Smiling like she had never been happier.

His stomach curled in on itself.

Another photo. And another. And then— The one that broke him.

It was a picture of her, Will Smith, and Macklin Celebrini. The three of them standing together, arms wrapped around each other, grinning like it was the happiest day of their lives.

Like they were proud. Like they had watched her survive the worst of it and finally come out on the other side.

And that's when it hit him.

Who she was standing next to. Who had his hand on the small of her back. Who had been there to pick up the broken pieces he left behind.

William. Fucking. Eklund.

His head spun. His heart dropped. Because of course. Of course, it was him.

The guy who had been there when he wasn't. The guy who had stood by her side when he let her walk away. The guy who had been everything Matt should've been.

His vision blurred. His throat burned. Because now, there was no denying it.

She wasn't just gone. She had found forever.

And it wasn't with him.

[ihopeiexplode]

📱 “Again and Again.” [←Previous | Next→]

—

"you can't be serious right?"

"I am."

"..."

—

You would stand there, eyes widening as he just finished his little confession..then suddenly he'd speak up

"is it really that hard to believe I have feelings for you?"

"coming from you Sukuna? Yes, yes it is hard to believe, if you think you can win my forgiveness with some petty confession that I doubt is real your wrong."

"how long did you practice saying that for?"

"y/n I'm dead serious, I like you, I really do.."

You refuse to believe he's telling the truth. A visible scowl would appear on your face before you clenched your fist as you stared at him as if you were on the verge of tears.

"You're lying, aren't you? Even if your confession is genuine do you really think I'd accept it that easily? You've been openly hating me for years for no absolute reason, do you think it's funny to play with my feelings? I've been hurt enough I don't need you to add more to that problem. If you really did like me then you should've spoken up sooner instead of now."

"I was about to. Remember when your ex confessed his feelings for you during high school? How did he get you those flowers and letters?"

"Just what are you implying Sukuna."

"guess what y/n that was all me. I got you those flowers and letters not him. It was all Me yet you were dating someone who never loved you like I did. yet? you chose him over me. I would've treated you better than him if you just used your Brain back then."

"if what you are saying is true..then how come you haven't spoken up? I would've believed you if you just told me that instead of ignoring me and acting as if you hated me. Did doing all that get you anywhere Sukuna?"

"No..."

"Exactly. It got you nowhere. You could've just told me then this whole thing could've been avoided but no. You just had to add more fuel to the fire, didn't you? You just had to make the situation worse."

"tell me Sukuna did you have fun toying with my emotions? Was it worth it? This doesn't mean I believe in your petty confession."

With that you'd immediately turn to leave, as you did you just left him standing there leaving him and his emotions alone together for him to figure it out himself.

He shouldn't have said that. Why were you being so difficult?

He really was a fool for believing he'd actually have a chance with you, but he knows his chances are low despite that he can't help but keep chasing after you no matter how hard he tries to deny the fact he hates you.

But you on the other hand..you wanted to believe what he said was genuine, but deep down you know. You know everything he says..it's still the same Sukuna deep down.—

—

[⛩️] @: Likes & Reblogs R appreciated! ^^

A/N: I didn't know what to do for this part because erm..the thing is....I make all the parts on the spot...🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️

(I promise I'll make the next part longer 😞😞🙏‼️)

Taglist: @catobsessedlady @hellomeow12 @0-candlecove-0 @shivzypuff @swirlingcurses @1-800-choke-that-ho @attackonnat @chilichopsticks @getoxmahito @memenojutsu @uhnanix @ichorstainedskin @needtoloveoutloud @love-me-satoru @s-j320 @allthestarsarecloserrrrrrr @goj0sunglasses @svtvrnal @haitanibros0007 @punkhazardlaw @mslydiaa @jayathelostdragon @caileysdead @rixyaaaa @minzxec @rzcnlb

[torturedtypewritersdept]

the sun + the sand - pt. six - the proposition

↳PAIRING: bff!rafe cameron x fem!reader

↳SUMMARY:you have a stalker, but your best friend rafe won't let anything happen to you, even if he has to come clean about how he really feels.

↳WARNINGS: mentions of stalking, blackmail, inappropriate behavior (not from rafe), protective!rafe, etc.

↳A/N: this is a repost from my old blog @illicitfixations + @lovelornanonymity. all of my works are being reposted to this one + the previous blog has been deactivated.

The aluminum of the boat you sat in swayed back and forth, the ebb and flow of the current beneath it creating a rocking pattern against your skin. It had always made you nauseous – being on the water. There was something about the unsteady, uncoordinated movement of the waves that reminded you how much you were like them, floating through life with no destination. You had always followed what everyone else was doing and when you were drowning, Rafe clung to you; he had always been the life vest protecting you amidst the water trying to permeate your lungs. The nausea was overwhelming as you listened to Pope spew facts he had learned at the science camp he had spent the first few weeks of his summer at; his obsession with becoming a coroner shining through as he led the conversation. You couldn’t quite wrap your mind around what was being said the same way John B’s arm draped around your shoulders, you should’ve been enjoying affection from a boy, especially one so sought after. But, you couldn’t because really, it all felt wrong. It always did when you spent time with this crowd. Though the blue and pink hues of the decorated cotton candy sky was a nice addition to your sunset boat ride, you still felt out of place. You knew you would no matter what. Even after John had practically begged you like a puppy to join the gang for this rendezvous, promising JJ would be nowhere in sight – it still felt odd and wrong to be there, to be amidst his friends, when all you could think about was Rafe. You were torn away from the thoughts that your brain was creating at the speed of light as your phone chimed. 

Unknown: you look so beautiful today. 

The screen read a sweet message and you wondered who it was from, it couldn’t be Rafe. If he was going to say something sweet, he wouldn’t text you from a private number. You quickly closed and locked your phone thinking it must be nothing more than a wrong number, even though the compliment gave you the resemblance of butterflies in your gut. 

Unknown: don’t ignore me. 

This time as your phone chimed, the message changed in tone and you decided to reply – a snarky, sarcastic comment for the person who remained anonymous was what you dished out. 

To unknown: It’s hard to reply when I don't know who I’m speaking to. 

As quickly as you had hit send, another message appeared in the queue. 

Unknown: watch your mouth or I'll gut you like a fish. 

You swallowed thickly at the words that littered your screen, unsure of who was behind them. You couldn’t think of anyone who would talk to you like that unless it was one of your boys playing a joke. But quickly pushed away the thought. Surely, they’d never speak to you that way even if they were kidding, or so you hoped. 

“Are you alright, y/n?” 

John B’s voice echoed against your ears as tears pricked your eyes and panic rose through your chest, the walls of your heart contracting simultaneously, you subconsciously recognized the tells of an anxiety attack creeping its way up your throat. John B’s lack of awareness, lack of knowing you the way Rafe did was just one more reason why you needed to be away from him. 

“R-rafe, take me to Rafe. Please.” 

You begged and he nodded though reluctant, wanting you to trust him and confide in him the same way that you did Rafe. He wanted you to be his peach, to regard him in your heart the same way you regarded the Cameron boy, though part of him knew it would never happen. Girls like you weren’t meant to end up with guys like him and even if you loved him in the same way he loved you, he knew Rafe Cameron would die before he ever let it happen. 

-

John B barely had time to get the hms pogue adjacent to the Cameron’s dock before you jumped off the ledge, clearing the width between the aluminum and the wood of the pier. You needed Rafe and you needed him now, it left no time for pleasantries and frankly, you didn’t care about the routledge boy enough to provide him with a false sense of comfort, a false sense that you were his when you weren’t. So, you did what you knew how to – you ran. Your feet padded against the wood of the dock as fast as they could, your breath uneven as you made it to the end and scoured the property for your person. He stood by Kelce and Topper at the pool, his tan skin stretched across broad shoulders, muscles contracting as he laughed and sipped from the red solo cup in his hand. You made your way toward him, almost knocking him over as you latched on to him like a child after losing their parents in the grocery store. 

“I know those arms, anywhere.” 

He chuckled against you, leaning into you as you hugged him from behind. You stilled against him, muscles retracting in relief as just his aura brought you an immeasurable amount of peace. His laughter stopped as he felt tiny drops hit the skin at the middle of his spine and before you could protest he turned around, taking you in. His blue orbs searched you for injury, it wasn’t like you to look so panicked, especially in public settings. This behavior was not like you in any sense and he couldn’t figure out for the life of him what was going on. So, he did what he did best. He picked you up, guiding your arms and legs around his neck and torso in a koala like hold and carried you to his bedroom, knowing that whatever was plaguing you couldn’t be shared in front of the other two stooges. As he entered the threshold of his bedroom, he placed you onto the blue satin sheets that you loved so much, the coolness against your skin was already soothing you as Rafe parted your knees and wedged his body between them, balancing on the balls of his feet. Your eyes remained focused on the tan skin of his chest, his pectoral muscles built to such a degree that it made him look like a c-cup. You smiled briefly at the thought. 

“Peach, baby, what’s going on?” 

He asked, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear and rubbing his thumb across the skin of your cheek. 

“I-, were you and the boys sending me weird texts earlier?” 

You stuttered as you asked, afraid of his answer being yes, but also afraid of it being no. You wanted so badly for it to be a practical joke and for you not to have a reason to be scared. 

“No, baby. Why would you ask that?” 

You didn’t respond, simply handing over the phone, placing it in his hands and watching as he took in the conversation. His eyes darted back and forth as read the contents of the screen, stopping only when he was finished. 

“Are you alright, sweetheart?” 

He questioned, remaining in his spot between your legs. 

“I’m fine – that’s the last thing I need to hear right now, Rafe.” 

He swallowed thickly before retorting. 

“Well, what do you need to hear? What am I supposed to say about this? About you showing up on my doorstep every time you’re in trouble?” 

His words stung – he knew they had, shit, they had felt like vomit expelling from him, the twist of his insides after he lurched over the toilet ever present. That’s what he felt as he watched your face contort in sadness. 

“I don’t know, tell me this is fake, that it’s a joke, that I don’t have a reason to be scared. I mean, this paired with all the other weird shit, it just, I don’t know, okay? Sorry – I’ll go. I just didn’t know what to do. But, hey – I’ll figure it out.” 

You said, swaying on your feet as you stood, preparing to walk away from the room of the boy you loved. Your brain didn’t process any of what he said in normal emotion, it only registered that he was sick of you and you were adding stress to him and that was the last thing you ever wanted to do. He pulled you in by your wrist, making your face collide with the muscles of his chest as he rubbed your hair away from your face and craned his neck to plant a kiss on your forehead. 

“I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t mean that the way it came out. I want to help you, okay? You are not going to navigate this by yourself, peach. I’d die if something happened to you. Now, I think I may have an idea.” 

You pulled your head away from his chest, meeting his eyes with question laced in yours. 

“What did you have in mind?” 

You asked, moving to sit on the bed again and Rafe followed your lead, plopping down parallel to you before turning to face you. 

“Well – it seems like all this stuff is related, that weirdo at your house and these texts. I’m worried someone is stalking you, sweetheart.” 

He said, blue eyes boring into yours and you had to fight the urge to laugh at him. 

“Stalking? Come on, Rafe – as if. I’m not special enough for someone to stalk me.” 

You muttered.

“Peach – yes you are. Just because you can’t see that, doesn’t mean it’s not possible, baby.” 

He replied, grabbing your hands in his. 

“Okay, so what’s your big idea? I mean what are we supposed to do? We don’t even know who it could be.”  

You stated matter-of-factly. 

“I think we should be boyfriend and girlfriend.”

He replied and you were shell-shocked, the question and confusion written on your face. 

“Huh? Like for real?” 

You asked. 

“I mean – I need to protect you and come on, it’s not so far off for us, is it? The idea of being your fake boyfriend for a while, I mean. No one will come near you if you’re with me, sweetheart and it just means more time with my Georgia peach.” 

He said, smiling from ear-to-ear. 

“How long are we supposed to keep this up?” 

You questioned. ‘Forever, I hope’ he thought as he stared into your sweet face. 

“As long as it takes.” 

He replied, pushing his thoughts down. 

“Okay, but we have to make it look real, Rafe. People will figure it out otherwise, we can’t just act like we usually do.” 

You said and he curled his eyebrow upward. 

“What do you propose, Peach?” 

He asked.

“I mean – we could kiss?” 

You said, almost in the form of a question and he leaned forward, pressing his lips to yours. You were shocked, mostly because it felt the way it was supposed to, the way you had always daydreamed about, electricity running from your mouth to the tips of your toes. You pulled away after a moment and looked at him. 

“Just practicing.” 

He said, a smirk lifting on one side of his mouth. You couldn’t help but smile and wished so badly that one day, this would all be real. 

as always, if you'd like to be added to my taglist, please let me know <3

taglist:

@maybankslover @inthelibrarybtw

[deerdoegone]

ur newport dee aur is so cute i love horror drs! just a question tho how are vampires like in ur dr? or is it the twilight/tvd vampire fusion? also idk if u mentioned but im lowkey getting twin peaks vibes from this dr..

i have never ran to my desk so fast because vampire anatomy is my favorite thing ever. this also sprinkles in what exactly happened to nathan and all that fun stuff. takes place from his perspective. also yes!!!!! total twin peak vibes is what i really wanna give off like this town is odd but everyone acts as if there is a grain of normalcy to everything. i'm too lazy to do a full-blown breakdown of everythingggggg as much as i love vampire anatomy, so, this mostly goes over the basic changes. if you want a full-blown post, i'll do it......... just now not c: WESTPORT'S INTRODUCTION.

THE ACT OF LOSING WHO YOU ONCE WERE: when you walk home at night, there is always a cold feeling resting on your shoulder. maybe you're stumbling, laughing with your best friend as you exit the small hole-in-the-wall bar where you saw a local band, but can't shake the feeling about the older guy who was staring at you the entire night. you don't see him amongst the crowd of people exiting as DIRTY DINA'S closes for the night. you both took the bus to save on gas, so you began the ten-minute walk to the bus stop. it's an awkward chat because your mind is occupied by so many things, looking down at the cracked pavement. it's been a rough few weeks and you must return to normalcy once more. except you don't. things change about you that night and days go by before you wake up, gasping against the local wooden floor in the same place you were attacked, laying on your stomach unharmed. unharmed. you survived, drenched in your own dried blood and the blood of your attacker, who is nowhere to be seen. at first, you think only an hour or two has gone by.

four days have passed, and your former anatomy has degraded. your mouth aches. your teeth's enamel has been worn down and now holds deposits, granting you ability to retract and emerge your canines, feeling them stretch and curve in discomfort at the sensation. it's a struggle at first to actually retract them, trying to figure out the right "command", before dragging your tongue over unbrushed, bloodied teeth to make sure you aren't going crazy. by the time you have stumbled out and are back on the main road, your head burns as a truck passes by, honking its horn after you nearly collide with it. your vision is blurred, and you're still dizzy; you barely saw it coming. you have developed the same tissue a majority of animals have, tapetum lucidum, and see much better than your former peers—it's reflective, making your eyes appear an opaque, glowing ivory at the right angles, which can be hidden. it's your first time using it, so your eyes haven't fully adjusted, the reason for your blurriness. once you finally calm down, you realize your senses are heightened: smell, sight, hearing, even the feeling of your clothes has become too much. you claw at yourself, digging your cold fingers into your hoodie. your entire body is freezing, but it causes no discomfort, and you can only shrug it off as you continue your walk for help. at some point, you deeply sigh out of frustration at how overstimulated you are, but nothing picks back up into your lungs. you aren't breathing. your heart doesn't beat. there is no blood flow happening inside you. your brain has shrunk. you show all signs of being dead.

THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN GREED AND GLUTTONY: your diet has also changed. there are many that vampires follow, such as animals, which is often done by vampires who fear getting caught or have a very strong conscious. most go for small animals that don't stand a chance against their undead hunters while others tend to go for deer. as common of a side otpion opposed to the main course, it doesn't compare and has many cons. despite your strict ties to this diet, you tire easily, it takes longer to regenerate, and your shiny new skills have numbed—you find yourself a threat to everyone but your own kind or others in situations like yourself.

there is also something symbolic about most vampires in westport's reality going for deer on an animal diet, and the first person nathan thought of was aaliyah doe, who is the symbolic embodiment of deer.