#matty is the only one not burned to a crisp | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

shinycollarboneapologist · 2 years ago

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an opportunist

(part 1 to clandestined or the one where matty piques your interest.)

content: mentions of drugs and alcohol, no smut but heavy petting, matty’s insufferable, matty is also george’s best friend, slight age gap (3 years), and bending of irl timelines

a/n: special thanks to @hereyeswerefilledwiththestars for inspo and for letting me rattle my silly little ideas to you.

matty healy is nothing if not insufferable.

his very presence evokes a roll from your eyes and scoff from your lips nine times out of ten. he’s got an ego that often takes up all the air in the room. he’s always jumping down your throat, always has to be the one that wins every argument (you always give him a fight, though, never one to back down too easily), and always has to have the last word.

matty healy is insufferable. but he’s also your older brother, george’s best friend.

it started when you were thirteen. george had accumulated a new friend group and a new after-school hobby of playing the drums so loud you thought your ears were going to bleed. with george came matty by association, the boy a few years your senior and george’s best friend. he had curly hair and lanky limbs, and he always smelled a bit like weed when he would kiss you sweetly on the cheek and hug you hello. and when george tells your mum he’s joining a band and has to trek over to the healy residence five days a week, she tells him that he can go anywhere he wants so long as you go with him because realistically how much trouble can a group of teenage boys get into when there’s a thirteen-year-old thrown into the mix. in truth, the answer is a lot, but you were sworn to secrecy with a few crisp bills and the promise that when not if they make it big they’ll have a chapter dedicated to you in the tell-all book. it’s enough to keep your lips sealed, plus you get a place to go after school to kill time and get homework done. though george is begrudgingly dragging you along, matty never once batted an eyelash. he embraced your presence, welcomed your ideas, and made you feel special (all before joining in as the other guys held you down and shoved worms in your face until you cried and begged to go home). but you felt special, nonetheless.

matty healy is insufferable and your older brother’s best friend. but he’s also the long-term object of your desires.

while george slowly grew out of his distaste for your presence at band rehearsals and gigs and grew into the adoring and protective older brother you have now, matty planted his seeds in your brain. he was george’s friend first, but with that came the extension of him being another older brother figure to you. he was a good listener (when he wanted to be) and gave sound unbiased advice. when he spoke to you, he kept eye contact and made you feel like he was really listening (even if he wasn’t he was good at keeping up the charade). and when you would mindlessly ramble about some stupid boy in your science class or how much you hated the switch from lime to green apple skittles, he was good at making you feel like your opinion mattered- even if he would take the piss out of it all when you left. he made you blush when he complimented your hair or your outfit. and when the other guys would make fun of your heated cheeks and bashful gaze, matty wouldn’t join in. instead he would tell them to fuck off, and would flash you a cheeky smile. he was equal parts annoying and fascinating.

he’s always been the one, you’ve known that much since you were sixteen. you admit that to your roommates one night after a few glasses of wine and a conversation about lost loves. and though they tease you about it until your cheeks burn and you’re hiding your face in your hands. they tell you to go for it, to just bite the bullet and confess already. but that’s a loaded request. he’s matty, probably only seeing you as a direct extension of his best friend and you’re you, said direct extension that hasn’t been around recently due to the stress of work and classes. you haven’t realistically been in his presence since last christmas, you presume, minus all of the gigs you attended and george’s birthday party. it’s silly really. the way he still has you blushing and giddy all these years later. you chalk it up to the wine, though. especially when you’re scrolling through your socials later and see a few posts of matty belligerent on george’s story and it turns your stomach a bit. but people often mistake butterflies for moths, right?

you keep telling yourself that over and over as the brisk wind whips around you while you weave in and out of cars and you’re pulling your jacket tighter around your chest. the occasional horn blares at you, but you satiate it with a flip of your finger. you have places to go, people to see, drinks to consume and you’re running late. they have to be at least getting on stage for their set now, meaning you’ve missed the ceremonial pre-gig toke and you know you’re going to get the stink eye from all of them for it. the four of them, especially matty, are big on their traditions, citing some karmic return if they’re not completed. you just hope it all goes well so the blame doesn’t fall onto your shoulders, as it playfully often does.

when you approach the club, the line is already wrapped around the block. so much so that you can barely make out the dark facade of the building. you’re groaning. time is ticking away and four oversized toddlers are going to rip you a new one if you’re not in there and fast. through some bribing and squeezing and lying and smiling, you make it toward the middle of the line; the door is visible and you can vaguely see the bouncer checking id’s. you’re thanking a bunch of religious deities at this point.

“sorry, we’re at capacity and the show’s about to start.” the bouncer rips you from your self-reflective glee. your eyes widen immediately, a plethora of pleas babbling out of you.

“no, no, no. you don’t understand, my brother’s in the band and he’s gonna be so fucking pissed at me. i need to get in there,” you plead, eyes big. you’re trying to connect with the bouncer at some level at this point, eyes scanning for a name tag, something, anything. “c’mon,” you try, “daniel, you get it right?”

his eyes soften, giving you a once over.

“yeah i get it,” here it is, your golden opportunity, “now go get in line with the other sisters, wives, girlfriends, and boyfriends over there,” he nods his head over to the line of people behind you who were also denied entry. you groan, defeated.

the one night you want to go out and you’re stuck warding off frostbite in a skirt that’s too short, a jacket that’s hardly even warm enough, and the stupid, uncomfortable-heeled boots that your roommate let you borrow. calling george would be a moot point by now, but you try it anyway. as predicted, his phone goes straight to voicemail. you try a few more times, but each time it follows the same route. you wallow for a few minutes, trying to ward off the frustrated tears that have already started to sting at the corners of your eyes.

“no, dude. i don’t know where she is. yeah, i’ll keep looking, calm your balls,” a familiar voice is pinging through the air and before you can even turn your head, there’s an even more familiar mop of curly hair in front of you.

“found you. where’s my reward?” matty grins, pulling you into a tight bear hug. if it was any other time, you probably would have shoved him off and pinched his arm. but he’s warm and smells good and you’re still freezing. “we thought you bailed on us!” he confesses, and you can tell there’s a hint of disappointment in his voice.

“me? never. the train was late, the knob at the door won’t let me in, and it’s cold. and i’m pretty sure i almost got hit by a car coming walking over here,” you groan. he pulls away and you almost want to cry as he takes the warmth with him.

“no wonder you’re cold. look at you!,” matty chides, “really, look at you.” his voice falters as he mumbles the echo of his words prior.

he gets a once over at you. his eyes lingering on you a little longer than usual, darkening a bit at the sight in front of him. you suck in a breath, feeling your cheeks burn and your skin prick with goosebumps. matty’s eyes trace you again and in a self-conscious fit, you wrap your arms around yourself. there’s a familiar feeling bubbling in your stomach, those god-damned moths won’t let you have a break.

“let’s get you inside, yeah?”

you nod in return, fingers intertwining with his as he leads you to the front of the line again. you flash the bouncer a smile and he only rolls his eyes in return.

it’s crowded inside. the crowd is at least twenty people deep on the floor, and that’s not including the people wrapped around the bar or those on the balcony. matty’s grip on you tightens and he weaves you both in and out of the small huddles of people to get to the makeshift backstage area.

“precious cargo acquired,” he calls out to the guys, pushing through the dark curtain that separates the band from the gig’s patrons. there’s an eruptive cheer as your figure pushes through after matty’s. “thought she was gonna freeze to death out there.”

george is the first to envelop you in a hug. you hit his shoulder as he pulls back, furrowing your brows at him.

“hey, what’s that for?” he shrieks and you narrow your eyes at him.

“learn to answer your phone, dickhead. almost got hypothermia out there,” you grumble. he retaliates by mimicking your voice, turning up his nose.

“she would’ve frozen to death without me mate. m’her prince in shining armor. or whatever that’s supposed to be,” matty calls over and george just rolls his eyes. your cheeks feel hot, much like they did when you were sixteen and staring up at matty with wide eyes after he said he liked your eclectic music taste.

“s’knight in shining armor,” adam quips. matty just waves him off with an utterance of tomato-tomato as he lights up a cigarette.

“are you guys still playing my favorite song?” you chirp.

“nah, matty scratched it from the setlist,” ross sighs.

your eyes go wide, “what?”

matty, preoccupied with his cigarette, only shrugs. “doesn’t fit the vibe anymore.”

“and what vibe is that? emo sad boy virgin pop?” you huff.

his eyes meet yours, softening as he seems to rethink what he was about to say. there’s a twitch of a smile at his lips. he runs his tongue out over the plush flesh. the intrusive thoughts take over your brain and you’re trying to tell yourself that it would not be a good idea to tell him that you’re jealous of his tongue.

“watch it,” he’s snide, tone alluring as smoke fans over the room.

you blink a few times, exhaling slowly as you regain your composure, “or what?”

“i’ll make you go sit outside in the cold again.”

“you wouldn’t.”

“you’re right, i wouldn’t.” his eyes travel over you. he lingers a bit at your hips and you swear you can see the wheels turning in his head. you go to comment, but adam’s already rounding all of the boys up to get them on stage. his head tilts at the proximity between the two of you (which isn’t much as matty’s made his way to be a few inches in front of you now), noticing the way matty’s looking at you. he hits him on the shoulder, giving him a look and jerking his head towards the curtain. matty’s hand brushes your waist as he passes behind you. it’s there for a fragment of a second, but the repercussions weigh heavy in your brain. there’s a phantom of his hand remaining on your heated skin, heart thumping hard in your chest. and as they walk away, you can hear the harsh whispers between the two men, but you can’t make out what they’re saying.

matty ends up playing your favorite song. and it’s the only think you talk about the whole cab ride back to his and george’s apartment. the others try their hardest to switch the conversation but as soon as you see an opportunity, you’re circling back to the fact that they played your favorite song. you’re an opportunist at heart, living for the way they groan.

the five of you are sitting around on matty and george’s balcony. you’re curled up on the beat-up couch, knees pulled to your chest. you’ve changed, thankfully, into some old sweats you left here at one point. and it all feels normal and a bit nostalgic, an air of their early days. the guys are asking about your classes at uni, and how your roommates are treating you. and when you answer, you find yourself catching matty’s eyes lingering on you for a little longer than normal.

he watches you intently as you bring the bottle of cheap wine up to your lips, taking a long sip. he thinks a lot about what your lips would taste like, probably a mix of the wine and the cherry chapstick he had seen you use earlier. matty’s head feels heavy and he’s chalking it up to the wine and the weed from earlier and not from the lingering thoughts of you swimming around in his brain.

he’s bringing up a cigarette to his lips, expert fingers flicking the lighter as he inhales. matty catches your eyes on him that time, half-listening to what ross is rambling off to you. he grins at you from across the table, loving the way you’re rolling your eyes at him and returning your full attention to ross. there’s a fire burning within him, an antagonizing thought screaming that all your attention should be on him and him only. he loathes fighting for your attention, even more so now that you just look at him that way. it’s just pointless banter. that’s what he hushed back to adam as they walked to the stage. adam was being ridiculous in his accusations that matty was pushing the flirting with you thing a little too far. if you didn’t seem to mind, then why should he? it wasn’t like the both of you were going to do anything about it.

the night is settling down. adam and ross had both abandoned the remaining three of you to head home; they had an early morning tomorrow with some radio interview and they all had to be on their a-game.

matty’s got his hand in the snack mix bag, grumbling to himself.

“who ate all the pretzels?”

you laugh to yourself, hand coming to cover your lips. he’s quick to hear it though, eyes narrowing, “you’re just like george, i swear to god.”

“hey! what’s so bad about being like me?” george huffs in mock offense.

“i’ve got a list.” you and matty drawl at the same time, heads already snapping to gasp at each other.

george only laughs, stretching his arms above his head. “think i’m gonna call it a night. need my beauty sleep. matt, you’ll lock up right?”

matty nods.

“goodnight,” george hums and presses a kiss to the top of your head, “pillows and blankets are already on the couch for you.”

a warm smile finds its way to your face, thanking george.

you can’t find the will to get up as george exits the balcony, limbs feeling like liquid and head still swirling with the weed-induced daze.

matty pulls another cigarette out from the pack. you raise an eyebrow at him.

“i’m quitting, i swear,” he scoffs.

you only laugh and lean your head back, “i didn’t even say anything. you’ve just got a guilty conscious.”

“don’t need to say anything, it’s in your eyes,” he comments, “you want one? feel like i’ve been rude in not offering one to you all night.”

you nod, pensively. he holds the pack out and you take a cigarette for yourself before you place it between your lips. george would freak out if he saw you like this right now despite the fact he had done far worse at your age. before you can even ask for a light, matty’s already bringing the open flame up to the end of the cigarette. you blink a few times. his eyes are trained on yours, tongue poking from between his lips. it feels like ages go by. the intensity of his stare is consuming you, goosebumps littering your limbs.

“you’re supposed to inhale, love,” he remarks.

you shake your head, flustered and embarrassed, “no… yeah... i know. yeah.”

you inhale as he brings the ember up to the end again. matty’s intense gaze falls to your lips. the plump skin is curling around the cigarette, puckering as you exhale and his mouth goes dry. this is wrong, so wrong. and although there’s a part of him that just wants to pack up for the night, he knows there’s a stronger part of him that just wants to be close to you and feel your skin prickle with goosebumps again.

matty’s lips are cherry red, indicative of the way he keeps licking over and biting at them. his pupils are dilated; dark black bleeding into chocolate brown irises. his hair is awry as his fingers kept running through it. and in a fleeting thought, you wonder just what it would feel like to run your fingers through it and pull at the curls- not enough to hurt just enough to elicit some kind of a reaction. the thought alone sends a shiver down your spine, which he notices, and you feel your molten limbs get pulled toward him. the blanket that adorns his body is soft. he wraps you up in it, properly tucking you into his side as he pulls the frayed hem taught around you. you’re close enough to feel him breathing now, close enough to watch his adam’s apple bob up and down. he’s lost in thought as you stare down his side profile.

“the guys treating you alright up there?” matty asks. it’s not a far-off question seeing as you’ve told him nearly everything about any male interests when you were younger.

“I’m bored-,” you hum, voice listless. the carefully curated consonants hang in the air before dispersing like the smoke that’s exhaling from matty’s lips.

“well fuck you, too, then,” matty snorts as he cuts you off, a hint of annoyance in his voice, “didn’t want to babysit tonight, anyway.”

you shake your head, and you can almost feel your thoughts rattling around as you do so.

“i wasn’t done talking,” you glower at him, eyes narrowing ever so slightly. you watch as he shifts under your gaze. maybe he was just peeved with you, or maybe you catch the hint of a flush rising from his neck.

“go on then. we haven’t played therapist in a while, what’s on your mind?” his focus is back on the second joint he’s now begun rolling. you watch his fingers carefully, throat tightening. you’re not sure if it’s the after-effects of the weed or the absolute filth in your mind that’s causing this reaction, but it’s caught matty’s attention. he grins at you, “i said-”

“i-i heard you,” you scowl.

he purses his lips at you, shaking his head, “don’t frown, sweets, you’re gonna get wrinkles.”

“like you?”

“oi!”

“you already compared this to babysitting so i’m allowed to make all of the old man jokes i want.”

he holds his unoccupied hand up in mock surrender, “touche.”

“now, let me finish before you interrupt me yet again,” you narrow your eyes at him, playfully this time, “i’m bored with guys, i think. s’not one guy that’s caught my interest and i’ve been away at school for months. they’re all so boring, or they say dumb things and i just, ugh, i haven’t been properly kissed in ages.” you’re playing it up for dramatic effect now, honestly, and it seems to have the desired effect because he stills for a minute.

this piques his interest enough that he’s abandoning the joint that once preoccupied him to glance at you, eyebrows knitting together, “is that so?” he guffaws, smirking softly. “i think your problem, little miss, is that you,” he pauses to lick the edge of the rolling paper. it’s meticulous and calculated and your thighs squeeze together under the blanket. he knows what he’s doing, knows the dangerous game he’s playing, “you waste your time on boys. you need a man.”

“you’re a man, right?” you ask.

“uh, yeah? what are you on about?” he laughs. he’s still not paying attention to you, eyes focused on the joint in front of him while your whole brain, whole being even, is screaming out for him.

“so, why don’t you do it?” you’re leaning in close to matty, his eyes shut as he feels your breath against his neck. the scent of your perfume is intoxicating. it's so sweet; reminds him of you and your lilted laugh, something that’s never changed.

“what?” he sputters, blinking incredulously.

“you heard me,” you murmur. he can feel the ghost of your breath against his jaw now as you make your way toward his ear. “show me what it’s like to be kissed by a man,” you purr.

his resolve dissipates in a low groan of your name. he turns to look at you again, eyes tracing over your lips once, twice, thrice. but it’s taking too long for you. lunging forward, your lips press to his heatedly. and though the weed has lowered your inhibitions, it’s doing little to nothing to calm your nerves. maybe you read the signs all wrong. maybe this was a mistake. and oh, god, you’re still kissing him but he’s not kissing back. you pull away quickly, eyes wide and ready to begin your apology parade. this was not how this was supposed

the slew of apologies are ill-fated, though as he growls lowly and pulls you close to him. his hands cup your cheeks, forcing you to look at him in the eyes as he speaks, “you’re playing with fire, sweets. if you’re not careful, you’ll be burned.”

matty barely gives you a second to process what he’s doing before his lips are pressed to yours indignantly in a bruising kiss. it's slow at first, his lips working with yours as his hands fall from your cheeks to your waist. he’s pulling you even closer to him, your knees knocking against his thighs. you take the initiative and climb into his lap, straddling his waist and fingers tugging at the hair at the nape of his neck. matty’s hands wander from your waist to the hem of the t-shirt, nimble fingers traveling just underneath. you feel his cold fingers on your heated skin. they send a shiver down your spine, nerves ablaze with him.

your mouth falls open in a gasp and he takes the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth. he tastes of the remnants of his cigarettes and the wine he was drinking before, it’s dizzying. there’s a certain sense of pent-up desire behind his movements, a fever that you can’t quite put your finger on. you’re left only to whine against his lips, threading your fingers through his hair like you wanted to only minutes before. he’s kissing you like no one ever has before and you’re not sure anyone ever will.

matty pulls back just for a second, allowing you both to catch your breath. when your eyes flutter open, his darkened pupils meet yours. his lips are swollen, smudged with the rogue of your lipstick. you want to imprint this sight into your memory and tuck it away so that you’ll never forget how he looks in the moment. his lips are back on yours before you can comment on it. his movements are not as soft as before, not as calculated or contrived. you give in to the passion, let your desires drive you as your hips start to move against his. it’s his turn to gasp, and judging by the stiffening in his pants you can tell he’s a fan of it. he doesn’t pull away though, instead, he lets his hands grip your waist to control your movements. there’s some satiation from the friction, but it’s not enough. you want more, want him to completely ruin you.

his teeth catch onto your bottom lip, tugging as he pulls away. a whimper, deeply rooted in your chest, falls from your parted lips. there’s a smirk on his lips. you’re left panting on his lap. he leans up, cups your cheek and presses a softer kiss to your lips. your lips move against his slowly. and just as you’re about to part your lips for him once more, he’s pulling back.

an exasperated sigh leaves your mouth and he laughs at you, actually laughs, “you’re a needy little thing, aren’t you?”

you’re breathless, chest rising and falling rapidly. you try to find the words to rebuttal him, but they’re lost on you. the only thing you can think about is him, he’s completely encompassed your thoughts and your brain. matty’s lips move to your neck, leaving a trail of kisses down the sensitive skin. he nips gently and you moan, waiting for your reaction as he flicks his tongue out to soothe the area. he drags his hands languidly up your waist and you think that he’s going to lift your shirt and let you have it like you want. but, the notion is lost. he lifts you off his lap and kisses your nose.

“i’ve got an early morning tomorrow,” matty murmurs, “goodnight, sweets.”

he’s walking into the apartment before you can even formulate your own goodnight. the words feel lost on your tongue, thoughts feel lost in your brain.

you’re fucked. absolutely fucked and not in a good way.

#matty healy x reader #matty healy one shot #matty healy fanfic #matty healy #✏️ - matty.#bbf!matty #my writing.#.... yeah.

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davidpastrsnack · 4 years ago

Note

i see you have a lot of matthew tkachuk blurbs but could you write one where he is the one struggling & missing you a little extra (i’ve only seen ones where he’s comforting his girl & would love to read some more soft matty) if you aren’t taking requests ignore this i’m sorry!!

yes we love soft matty in this household and this is so so so soft

With the ways things had been going so far in the bubble, Matthew should be over the moon. And part of him was, the decisive victory against the Jets and a series lead over the Stars gave him the confidence he needed moving forward, but he just couldn’t shake one thing.

You weren’t there.

Since the day you came into his life, Matthew’s reputation of being an emotionless fuckboy was halted. Deep down he was always a teddy bear, growing up as the definition of a mama’s boy, but no one had ever been able to pull that side of him out until you.

You had never met anyone that cared so strongly for the people in their life quite like Matthew did. He would do anything to defend his family, especially Taryn, treating that girl like she was his world. After just a few dates with you he knew that you were different, already starting to think of you as part of his family unit.

And now two years later, you were beginning to build your life together, both knowing that this was it. But it’s also what made being separated so difficult.

Matthew had just woken up from his pre-game nap, finally leaving his bed to get dressed before heading to the rink for game 2. He peeled the crisp, white sheets from his body, pausing to glance at the empty spot beside him. Whenever your schedule allowed, you always took his nap with him. Even if you didn’t go to sleep, you would lay next to him, letting Matthew’s head rest on your chest as you read or watched tv. His heart sank at yet another reminder that you weren’t there, shaking his head as he walked to his dresser.

Just as he went to pull his pants on he heard his phone buzz on his nightstand.

Y/N: hi baby, good luck tonight!

Y/N: [selfie of you and Taryn in front of the tv]

Y/N: we love you!

He smiled down at his phone as he read the messages, so happy that Taryn had taken him up on his offer to fly her to Calgary to visit you. You of course had your own life in the city, but he loved knowing you were with some of his family while he couldn’t be there.

He went to type his response, needing to hear your voice.

call me?

You were in your shared bedroom when you got his text, going to grab a sweatshirt while Taryn sat in the living room watching one of the other games. You called right away, anxiously waiting for him to pick up. It was unlike him to just ignore your messages like that.

He was sitting on the edge of his bed, answering your FaceTime call as soon as it popped up on his screen. He just smiled as he saw your face appear, already feeling the emotions hit him like a truck. He didn’t know why, but he was having a particularly rough day of missing you.

“Matty?” you asked.

He cleared his throat before speaking, “Hi, princess. I just wanted to hear your voice.”

You knew something was wrong right away.

“Are you okay?” you softly questioned. “And don’t lie to me.”

He chuckled at your comment, always amazed at how well you knew him.

“Is Taryn there?” He felt the tears coming and he didn’t want to lose it in front of his baby sister.

“No, she’s in the living room,” you responded. “Matty…”

“I don’t even know,” he shrugged. “I just miss you so fucking much,” he sighed, finally giving in to his emotions. He fell back against the mattress, his hands grabbing his curls and shoulders shaking as he let the tears take over.

Your heart broke into a million pieces as you watched him in front of you. Matthew never shied from telling you how he felt, but it was a rare occasion for him to break down like this. All you wanted to do was hold him, but you couldn’t.

“Matt- Matthew,” your voice cracked as you spoke, tears now burning in the back of your eyes too. “Look at me, Matty.”

He lifted his gaze to lock with yours and he knew you weren’t far behind him.

“I’m okay, baby, I promise,” he whispered, trying to make you feel better. “I mean I’m not,” he chuckled. “But I will be. Just talk to me, your voice helps.”

You playfully rolled your eyes at his attempt at a joke, but it did exactly what he hoped it would: it made you laugh.

“Okay,” you whispered, before going on about your day and everything you and Taryn had done together so far.

By the time you were done rambling, Matthew had finally calmed down.

“Better?” you smiled.

“Much better,” he nodded.

“Do you want to talk to Taryn?”

“Fuck, I can’t. I’m gonna be late,” he said as he looked at the time. He stood up, checking the mirror to make sure his clothes weren’t too wrinkly.

“I’ll call you guys after, okay?”

“Okay,” you agreed. “I love you, Matty. You’ve got this, I mean it.”

“Thank you, princess. I love you so much. Too much for my own good, clearly.”

You laughed at his words, wishing him good luck one last time before hanging up. You settled back on the couch with Taryn, knowing the second the puck dropped Matthew would be back to his usual, trouble-making self.

#matthew tkachuk #matthew tkachuk imagine #nhl imagine #nhl writing #my writing #blurbs

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nyisles · 5 years ago

Text

Magic in the Hamptons

Part Five

part one | part two | part three | part four

Player: Mathew Barzal

Words: 3k

Warnings: language

Notes: long long long long overdue, but i’m too critical of my writing which makes it so hard to write something i feel is good enough for y’all.. But please leave feedback. It makes writing all this feel worth it! also it’s hard to write angst???

As soon as your foot was set through the door of your apartment you peeled off the islanders t-shirt. It just made you feel dirty and used. You really wanted to be ok with this and not be upset, maybe you were overthinking your relationship/ friendship/ whatever-ship this was with Mat? Though replaying past events in your mind, you didn’t understand how he could’ve possibly thought inviting his ex-girlfriend to the game was a good idea and it did really seem like the two of you were going to be exclusive, it seemed like he was spending all his free time with you. You both were in contact every single day, how could he have possibly had time to do this to you? It honestly didn’t matter anymore. Changing into sweats, you washed your face trying to get rid of the redness from all the tears you’d let out on the ride home. You just needed to cool down and process things. Flicking on netflix, you settled on watching some John Mulaney special, you were on the market for a pick me up that actually made you laugh out loud.

Maybe ten minutes into the special you heard your apartment door buzz, you weren’t expecting any company and it was already past midnight and you didn’t order any take out. Going up to your buzzer, you pressed the ‘talk’ button. “Hello?” you questioned, pressing the listen button to hear the mystery guest had to say. “I just want to talk.” Your heart dropped into your stomach hearing the male voice. “So talk.” You said to Mat. There weren’t any voices he could’ve been confused with. You just wanted to know why he was here and not with Whitney, or more importantly at his own apartment. “Face to face, (Y/N).”

Letting out a sigh, you had no idea why, but you pressed the unlock button letting him into your building. Realizing you had a minute or two to yourself before he was able to climb up the stairs in your walk-up, you headed into the kitchen taking out a wine glass and filling it up to the brim. Taking a huge gulp before the knock on the door interrupted you. Behind the door was Mat looking awfully disheveled. His gameday suit was now missing the blazer, and what was formerly a crisp white button down was now a wrinkly wine stained mess. At least you both were on the same page about having a tall glass of wine before you spoke. “So can I come in or are you going to make me stand here?” He said plainly. No smile, no anger in his voice either, his eyes did look tired, but to be fair the boy had just played a professional hockey game. He seemed completely indifferent to the situation. No words exited your mouth, you just stepped to the side opening the door a bit wider so he could make his way into your apartment. Normally he makes himself comfortable on the couch in your living room but he just paced around a little unsure of where to go. Looking at your kitchen counter he let out an uncomfortable laugh seeing the wine, “Looks like we both had the same idea...” he trailed off scratching the back of his neck.

“Cut the bullshit.” was the first thing that came out of your mouth. It was so honest that it almost took you by surprise. If Mat being here brought anything good into your life, at least it was a little bit of a backbone. “What are you doing here? You don’t understand what ‘leave me alone’ means?” You said moving into the kitchen, leaving him to follow behind you.

Looking back you saw his jaw clench, “If I recall your text it was ‘don’t contact me’ which can be interpreted a little differently.” Mat said starting to get a bit angrier in his tone, probably because of the way you were acting, but he deserved it. He really made you look stupid in front of a large group of people you were still getting to know, most of your interactions were while you were intoxicated. Mat had to realize you were in a vulnerable state, he had brought you into his world, and then he did that. “And by the way, have you ever thought about how you embarrassed me?” You were mid-sip of your wine when you choked a little bit, not believing one word of what he was saying. You embarrassing him? All it took was that one little sentence to completely get you in your head. You understood you didn’t quite fit the bill of what a WAG looked like or acted like or how they always came through to games in head to toe designer. Or maybe you embarrassed him in the way you were acting - as if the two of you were a couple? You were unsure, but it quickly made your eyes burn, feeling another round of tears just ready to go. “If you felt that way you should’ve just let me stay home.”

“If I had known that you would just walk out on me, I probably would’ve.” it’s when he said that the tears started to roll down your face. His face didn’t even show any sort of remorse when he recognized what he said struck a nerve. This wasn’t the Mat you knew. That Mat you’d grown to like so much was much softer, he’d make you laugh at any opportunity and contrary to what he’d let his friends know, he was sensitive. You’d seen him tear up during the episode of the office when Jim and Pam got married. “So you’ve come over here to make me feel worse?” You said quietly not feeling as strong as you had in the beginning of the conversation. “You can leave now, you win. You’ve made me cry… a second time in 24 hours, okay?”

“I just want to have one honest conversation with you.” Mat said, grabbing the wine glass of your hand and putting it down on the counter looking directly into your eyes. It was the first time his hazel eyes had pierced your soul in a way that made you uncomfortable. This was the first time his gaze made you feel like you weren’t in your own home, but some strange alternate universe. “I’m fucking mad, you know why? I invited this girl, who I thought was cool to come hang out with my friends and I on an important night for me to then make me look like a fucking criminal after.”

You let out this startled laugh, “Which girl are you referring to? Me or your ex? Because I don’t remember thinking that I was going to be part of some bachelor episode fighting for your attention. Stupidly enough, I thought things between us were going to turn into something.”

“Yeah, well you sure as hell fooled me too.” Mat spat out.

“You realize how fucked up in the head you are for inviting two girls to the game, don’t you?” you said, raising your voice, wiping away some of the tears, now letting your sadness turn into anger. You were flopping back and forth between emotions and it was exhausting. “Am I some sort of joke to you? Just a friend who you kiss when your girlfriend is out of town.”

“Fuck this, I’m going home. Keep feeling bad for yourself, (Y/N). It’s pathetic.” was all that Mat could say as he looked around at everything in your kitchen except for you. “You won’t even let me talk” He said while you let out another laugh, this time exaggerated and loud and full of disdain, you picked up your wine glass taking another large sip, finishing off whatever was left in the glass. “You should be with the girl you flew in from out of town, Matty. She was so thrilled you left her ticket that I’m surprised she let you get away.” you said, doing your best to imitate her voice when you said his name, it still rang so clearly in your head. You could only imagine Whitney being in the passenger seat of his car right now, waiting for this conversation to be over so the two of them could go out on some fancy date at a fancy restaurant where he’d take someone who wasn’t so embarrassing. Maybe that’s why most of your dates had just been at each other's apartments.

“If you really think that I did that to you then you’re right. I have no purpose in coming here. You don’t know me at all.” Mat said, he made his way back to the front door of your apartment seeing his clothes in a messy pile. You could see him roll his eyes giving them a kick further in the corner, “You should wash them before finding a way to give them back to me.” and with that he left, slamming the door behind him.

- - -

You hadn’t spoken to Mat for a week, and in hockey season that might as well have counted for a whole month between the home games, away games and travel time. To be fair you hadn’t planned on speaking to him anytime soon, you did though have your friends keep tabs on Whitney, who they reported was on a flight home the morning after the game. What you did know was that the Isles had been on a bit of a losing streak, and it didn’t even bring you the joy you thought it might knowing Mat would be pissed off. You did get a sweet text from Grace inviting you out to lunch though you politely declined saying you were feeling a bit overwhelmed from a busy work week. What you didn’t expect was another buzz at your apartment door. “It’s Meg…” “And Grace.” “And Syd.” You heard the three separate voices, which honestly made you a little bit uncomfortable. You could pretend you weren’t home, or you could tell them you were feeling sick, but both options just felt wrong to a group of girls who’d done nothing but try to make you feel welcome into their group. It was practically an obligation not to leave three pregnant women standing in the chilly october air, so you buzzed them in.

“We come with gifts” Megan said when you popped your door open seeing them with brown take away bags from your favorite sushi place. It was all so odd to you knowing that these girls had taken you in a little too prematurely, because surely you were finished with Mat. He had made that very clear the night he left your apartment. He didn’t want much to do with you, and there wasn’t much you wanted to do with him. He’d played you since you’d first met him at Sydney’s wedding. The first strike was him not texting you for weeks, the second being the time Tito interrupted your date to talk about Whitney, the third being the home opener. You had no more chances left to give. Weren’t the early stages of talking to someone supposed to be fun and easy? You’d had the same amount of fun times and dates as fights which was ridiculous. You weren’t made to be some athlete’s girlfriend and Mat had kindly reminded you that during your fight when he called you embarrassing. When you recounted the events to your friends you left that part out, you didn’t want to even bring it up, it just hurt too much. There were a lot of slight digs that you didn’t want to bring up because they hit differently.

“If i’d known you girls were going to force lunch upon me I would’ve met you at the restaurant instead of making you all walk up four flights of steps.” speaking softly you invited them in to put the bags down on the coffee table in the living room figuring you all could eat there. “Well we have a lot of catching up to do, so this works.” Sydney said bringing in more bags of food, placing them on the table, as Grace held up a bouquet of flowers. “From Mat” she said softly. You gulped, taking them from her, putting them on a side table plucking out the note. “I guess we all have a lot of catching up to do.” you muttered opening up the card beginning to read it aloud. “These don’t even cover half of how sorry I am. I’m -” you stopped reading aloud and silently instead.

‘These don’t even cover half of how sorry I am. I wasn’t honest with you and I'm miserable thinking of everything I said. I wish I could re-do that conversation at your apartment. Sounds stupid, but it’s even stupider making some florist write out this card. Please call me. - MB.’

“He’s right, he really is miserable.” Meg said, as you looked up at her, Grace shot her a glare. “Megan… we didn’t read the card.” You couldn’t help but to smile, it felt better having them here as opposed to your other girlfriends. Your girlfriends didn’t quite get it, and they didn’t know Mat. They didn’t understand how in such a short time you had become so connected to Mat and how that was ripped away from you in minutes and a fight that was so meaningless and led to no real resolution.

“Well the flowers are lovely, but I don’t think I want to call anyone.”

“Just think about it. We can all agree Mat wasn’t himself, it’s fucked.” Grace said, “Now let’s just eat, I’m tired from all those steps. I gotta refuel.” The girls managed to spend the rest of the lunch not pestering you so much, just discussing upcoming halloween plans, babies, and how to get you to go to lunch with them more often. It was refreshing and honestly quite nice.

- - -

It's been another week, and another month in hockey time. Ever since the girls had come to your apartment with their ulterior motives of getting you to talk to Mat, he had stepped his game up. The poor boy had tried to call your cell phone at least five times within the past two days. He managed to sprinkle in some creative ‘miss you’ texts without being so blatantly obvious. Didn’t matter though, as fate would have it you’d find him in a place you least expected it. Right in the middle of a grocery store, with Tito. The two of them laughing in the baking aisle as you watched Tito try to decide between two different boxes of cake mix. You wanted to turn around and run. Leave the cart full of groceries but you’d accidentally bumped into someone else’s cart trying to make the u-turn out of the aisle. “Shit” you mumbled, avoiding eye contact even though you felt their gaze burning into the side of your face. Hearing footsteps behind you and his voice calling out your name you politely turned around. You needed more self restraint. You watched him pick up his pace stepping in front of your cart, gripping onto it so you couldn’t roll it away. “I’ve been calling you. Texting too...”

“I don’t really have much to say.” speaking softly staring down at his beat up stan smiths that used to sit at your front entrance because he insisted that his mom raised him properly and he wouldn’t track his mud around your apartment. Slowly raising your gaze you noticed how different he looked since the last time you’d spoken. He just looked exhausted, the dark circles around his eyes a little bit more prominent. You’d recognized that the team was moving into a more game heavy part of their schedule so you tried to excuse it as that, and not the fact he was sending you late night texts trying to fix something that seemed too broken to repair. “I just… don’t have anything to say to someone that thinks so poorly of me.”

“(Y/N)” he said, taking in a deep breath, you couldn’t tell where he was going with this, and you knew he didn’t even know where he was going to go with this. He’d already groveled through the card and voicemails. “You know that’s not true at all. I have no problem making a scene in this store if it gets you to let me talk to you for just ten minutes to explain.”

“You might embarrass me in the way I embarrassed you.” was all you could say. God, his insults still stung and bringing them up again as you stood in front of him only made your eyes start to well up again. Embarrassing and feeling sorry for yourself, just as he had originally thought. Moving closer to you, he placed his hand gently on your upper arm that was still holding onto the cart. You wanted so badly to pull away, but he felt comforting. Normally with other guys you never had such trouble blowing them off, but everything about being with Mat felt different and maybe that’s why it hurt so much to be betrayed by him. “I think… no, I know my worst trait is speaking out of my ass. Now when can we talk, maybe privately? You deserve a hell of a lot more answers than I was able to give you before.”

You shook your head looking anywhere other than his eyes that were dead set on you. Biting your lip you just shrugged, “Your place? I do have some shirts to return.” He nodded finally getting what he wanted. Pulling you close by the arm he was holding onto he kissed the top of your head. It wasn’t meant to be flirty, just something he’d done to try and comfort you. You were bothered by how the affection didn’t bother you, it didn’t make you feel any better about your situation, but you also didn’t want to claw his eyes out. “I’m leaving for some away games tomorrow, but I’ll text you later, yeah?”

“Yeah. I’ll be around.”

#mat barzal #mathew barzal #mat barzal imagine #mathew barzal imagine #new york islanders #new york islanders imagine #hockey oneshot #hockey imainge #hockey imagines #nhl imagine #nhl imagines

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infireandash · 4 years ago

Text

who: open starter ( @intheshadowsstarters ) location: Harvest Festival - corn maze

There were a few times of the year when it seemed to Mateo like supernatural energy was amplified, if not created. Full moons, fall, spring time for some Faes, to name a few. The Harvest Festival in this town was one of them. It always happened in conjunction with fall, which on its own symbolized the end of a full seasonal cycle, many living things going dormant or dying off altogether, making way for a new life to take form after the dead of Winter. Some years the festival was dangerously close to the harvest full moon: Matty was insatiable then, the energy in the air palpable and wild. Luckily this year was more tame, the moon already in its waning crescent phase, but the energy in this town was still excitable. It was a good time for the supernaturals, and Mateo enjoyed a little festival as much as the next witch and as such she found herself trying something new for once.

The air was crisp out at the corn maze, the sun having long set, and the grass was covered in a very thin layer of dew. She had meant to be joining someone here but after waiting a half hour longer than needed, Mateo found herself undertaking this directional challenge alone, equipped only with a festival loaned flashlight and her wit to guide her. Undeterred by the daunting possibility of getting lost, Mateo walked into that corn maze with a false sense of confidence and a half ass strategy for success. It came as no surprise then, that after a half hour of walking amongst the tall stalk and making turns at random, Mateo was growing increasingly disoriented and confused.

Occasionally, she had run into other people but her journey had been for the most part alone, and such was the state she was in now: alone and getting hungrier. Her thoughts ran wild, as they often did when she felt cornered, and she reasoned that at the worst she could just burn a hole through the maze to get out. She even thought that if she desperately needed food she could probably make corn on the cob with her bare hands. That last thought made her smile, well aware that she was bordering on insanity, and Matty was so distracted that she lost situational awareness. As such, when she took yet another uncalculated turn, she startled herself at the sight of another person.

“Jesus f— Crap,” she breathed out, hand shooting up to her now rapidly palpitating heart, “you scared the crap out of me.” Her hand remained on her chest as she looked at this other person, all understanding of how to have a normal human interaction gone out of the window. After probably way too much staring she finally blurted out, “I’m lost.”

#its:event #its:starter #can i chill #pls dont feel like you have to match length #also i have no functioning brain cells so if this doesn't make sense... you know why #starter #taking a brain break and then i'll reply to starters and threads!

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pomegranate-belle · 5 years ago

Note

V-day ask meme 5 with mattfoggy?

5. Character spends all day trying to give a valentine to their crush, only to be foiled in increasingly ridiculous ways

So this became... 3k words. I feel like this trope is very high-school oriented, but somehow the fic ended up being comicsverse so idk. It’s set... Somewhere in a post-whatever-run-we’re-on-now future where Kirsten is back and Matt’s not stupidly sleeping with mob boss wives. Also, massive apologies to any X-Men fans; I do not know shit or fuck about characterizing Magneto and Professor X, I just wanted Sir Ian and Patrick Stewart to cameo in this fic—

—

Despite all the commercialism and the overwhelming scent of flowers and processed candy, there’s just something about the aura of Valentine’s Day that Matt likes. People young and old get excited for it — whether for romantic purposes or just because chocolate will soon be on sale — and their feelings infuse the air in a way Matt can’t quite pin down to one or another of his senses. The Valentine Vibe, Kirsten had called it when he tried to explain the sensation to her.

He’s... Ecstatic, to have her back in his life, there’s really no other word for it. They’re not quite what they once were — in fact, Matt has no idea what they are except she’s there and they love each other but they’re not the kind of people who kiss each other anymore. Still, after climbing out of his latest spiral to find her waiting at the top? He can’t think of a better dynamic to have with an ex. She’s still Kirsten, after all. She’s still intelligent and funny and brave and doesn’t take his shit.

She’s also begun to take a particularly pointed interest in his relationship with Foggy that he thinks he should maybe be a little frightened about. Her intention is that Matt, so she says, ‘stop pining and seduce him already’ — which is easy enough for her to say, but just because he and Kirsten followed an absolutely fantastic trail of sexual tension to an even more fantastic relationship does not mean the same thing will work with Foggy.

You don’t seduce Foggy Nelson, and Matt would know. He’s been trying unsuccessfully for fifteen years and he is not subtle. Matt knows he looks good even if he can’t see it himself; the empirical evidence is pretty, uh, evident. But whenever Foggy sees him shirtless his only reaction is to toss a shirt at him and tell him to cover his shame with a warm fondness that’s simultaneously disappointing and heartwarming. Matt’s not even on the menu to Foggy, he’s concluded. But, well. Matt’s always been a champion of lost causes, and all that.

Besides, best friends give each other stuff on Valentine’s Day all the time. Foggy loves chocolate, and he’ll probably brush off what the ‘oh my god Matt you big softie this is totally the sappiest one in the store’ card Kirsten helped Matt pick out says as being a joke, so it’s not like there’ll be any negative repercussions. Matt’s resolved. He’s gonna do it.

Unfortunately, Foggy’s in a meeting with a client when Matt shows up to probably-unsuccessfully sweep him off his feet. The secretary says it’s set to go on another two hours. Matt doesn’t have that kind of time to bandy around now that he’s trying to be responsible with his work-life balance, so he makes a tactical retreat.

Fine. He’ll just take Foggy out to lunch and give him his valentine then. No problem.

—

They actually do make it to lunch, which gives Matt a false sense of security. He decides to save the valentine for the end — like dessert. It’ll be sweet, he’s certain, and he’ll be able to savor Foggy’s happiness the entire time he walks him back to his office.

Matt is just about to pull out his gift and offer it to Foggy when his phone starts announcing Jessica Jones’s name. He spends about three seconds too long debating whether to answer or not.

“If you ghost her she’ll beat the crap out of you,” Foggy points out, standing with a metallic rasp of chair legs against the floor. “I’ll head out and let you take that.”

Foggy sounds content, smells like deli ham and honey mustard and potato chips — a not-super-healthy sandwich lunch masquerading as something more so by way of a thin layer of lettuce — and gives off the same soothing body heat he always has, excepting his bout with cancer that Matt tries not to think about. To make a long story short, he feels like home to every one of Matt’s senses, and it’s a struggle not to ask him to stay. Still, the insistence of Matt’s phone prevails, because he knows what Jess is calling about. He’d asked her to help keep an eye on Mike and let him know if he was up to anything — if she has something to report, it’s bound to be important. So, Matt offers Foggy a nod and then pulls out his cell to answer her.

—

Of course, both he and Foggy are busy all afternoon, but Matt knows that Foggy usually knocks off early on Fridays, so he wraps up his own business — meeting with Jess to discuss strategy, any work that can’t be pushed to later — as efficiently as possible and follows suit. His plan is to meet Foggy right as he’s stepping onto the sidewalk — waylay him and present him with the valentine before anything else can interfere. Except that as he’s strolling along down the street, Matt happens to hear a mugging going on down an alley that he’s passing. Breaking that up takes more time than he’s willing to admit — god, he’s getting old — and even vaulting over a few rooftops doesn’t make up the delay. Foggy’s gone when Matt reaches his destination. He lets his head fall back against the brick wall behind him, breathing heavily, and then reaches for his phone.

“Matt?” Foggy’s voice is tinny and confused and perfect over the phone line. “What’s up?”

“Dinner?” Matt asks. “I was thinking Italian tonight, want to meet me at Maria’s at five-thirty?”

There’s a long, long pause.

“Yeah, sure thing, Matty. I figured you’d already have plans...?”

“Nah, nothing. See you then.”

—

Fourth time’s the charm, that’s what they say, right? Maria’s is quaint and quiet and always smells like good bread and cheese. He and Foggy aren’t the only ones there — a few couples seem to be scattered around the room, including a pair of teenage girls that are probably on a first date based on the way they fumble their words and their silverware. There’s also two elderly men, one in a wheelchair, who sound like they might be playing chess on a travel board while they wait for their food. They all add to the atmosphere instead of disturbing it, though, which is nice. Across the table, Foggy clears his throat, scraping the tines of his fork through his food.

“So. Lunch and dinner? I feel like you’re buttering me up for something,” he says. “We don’t have to move back to California, do we? Because I will, but I only just unpacked my last box a few weeks ago and it’s going to be a pain to pack it all up again.”

“No! No, nothing like that, Foggy,” insists Matt. “Seriously. I just want to spend time with you. Is that really so out of character?”

“On Valentine’s Day?” Foggy points out, and his silverware clinks against his plate. “I mean, kind of.”

The implication isn’t lost on Matt — don’t you usually have a date? — but he doesn’t address it. Foggy is his date, but couching it like that out loud is a little too presumptive, even for him.

“Well, not this year.”

Matt smiles his most charming smile, and it nets him a fond sigh, the kind that’s normally paired with Foggy ruffling his hair.

—

Again, Matt waits until the end of the meal. This time, they get to dessert, and the moment is perfect. They’re comfortably full, happy, and relaxed. It doesn’t matter if Foggy sees the gesture as romantic or not, because at least Matt can be satisfied that it was done as romantically as possible. His sense of aesthetics, such as it is, will be appeased.

Which is, of course, the moment the door of the restaurant bursts open.

“Magneto!” shouts a man, storming into the restaurant with heavy, clomping bootsteps and shattering the moment to pieces. “I’ll kill you!!”

Matt is going to kick this guy’s ass.

What is he even yelling about? Magneto? Magneto’s not—

And then one of the old men stands. Every spoon in the restaurant rattles towards him when he pushes back his chair, prompting a sigh from his dinner companion. And so it turns out that maybe the guy bursting through the door isn’t as off-base as Matt assumed. That old guy really is Magneto. It actually takes Matt a minute to realize that the man in the wheelchair across the table must be Charles Xavier. Xavier just isn’t someone Matt hangs around a lot, he tends to steer clear of both him and his academy when possible. It’s not mutants Matt has a problem with, though — it’s telepaths. The idea of someone poking around in his brain pan without so much as a by-your-leave gives him goosebumps. And not the fun kind.

As Matt considers all this, the scene continues — he notices distantly that the teenagers are being ushered towards the kitchen and away from the action. There’s a few whiffs of air as punches are thrown by the unknown assailant, and an unpleasant burning smell. Matt’s torn between shuffling Foggy away from danger and joining the fray himself, but when Foggy reaches out and grabs his hand for comfort he finds he can do neither.

“Let me very firmly impress upon you the enormity of your rudeness,” says Magneto, his voice crisp and cold.

Matt can’t even tell what he’s doing — something about Magneto’s powers is messing with his radar sense in the most disorienting way — but it sounds painful. Matt debates with himself the pros and cons of shaking off Foggy’s grip and intervening.

“Erik,” Xavier says warningly, though there’s still something quietly warm suffusing his tone.

“Oh, very well.”

The would-be assassin hits the floor with a thud that rattles the dishes on Matt and Foggy’s table. He’s breathing, a little bit labored, but still alive. And unconscious. Also possibly bleeding a little bit, but it’s hard to tell with the scent of all the metal in the air.

And that, he supposes, is why you don’t mess up Magneto’s dinner plans.

Magneto and Professor X make their leisurely escape, leaving Matt’s romantic moment with Foggy thoroughly in ruins. He lets it go, sighing into the last bite of his tiramisu and gives the plan up as a bad job. Maybe next year, he thinks wryly as he and Foggy get up together to examine the man left on the floor.

“He’s wrapped up in a chain of spoons,” Foggy narrates quietly, nudging the guy with his toe. “Wasn’t sure if you could tell that, you looked confused. He must have some sort of acid powers though because he managed to melt a few on their way in. I think maybe he just fainted when the chain tightened. Are you able to sense any really bad injuries?”

Matt tilts his head and concentrates.

“No,” he determines at last. “No, nothing.”

That settled, they split the check and book it before they can get caught up in a police investigation or a mutant hunt.

Their apartments are in opposite directions, so there’s not even an excuse to give Foggy the valentine on the way home. And anyway, Matt’s feeling so discouraged that he’s not sure he even wants to go through with it anymore. He turns for home, planning to crumple up the card and maybe eat the chocolates himself.

“Matt.”

There’s a tug as Foggy grabs his sleeve. He turns towards the warmth of Foggy’s body, the sounds of his heart and his breath, and tries to offer a smile.

“What?”

Foggy gives him a quiet huff in return.

“Come on, Matt, give me a little credit. You’ve kept coming up with excuses to meet me all day. There’s something you wanted to say, and you still haven’t said it,” he explains. “I can tell. So let’s head back to mine and you can finally get it off your chest.”

Matt feels, suddenly, seen. It’s an unsettling and vulnerable feeling, but he knows beyond all doubt that he’s safe with Foggy. That it’s silly of him to be surprised at somebody knowing him so well when that somebody is Foggy. There’s not much the two of them can hide from each other after being best friends for so long. Mood improved a little, Matt manages a more genuine smile, and they walk on together.

—

“So, what exactly is your problem, Matt?” Foggy asks once they’re safely inside.

And it’s not as if he says it in a rude way, he actually sounds very earnest and concerned, but that just impresses on Matt all the more how stupid this entire situation is. He’s twisted himself in knots all day over one dumb little gift for one dumb little holiday. Annoyed with himself, Matt divests himself of his glasses, cane, and suit jacket, opens up his briefcase, plops the valentine and accompanying small box of chocolates inside down on Foggy’s coffee table, then flops onto the couch on his back.

“That,” he says, gesturing towards it. “That’s my problem, ok?”

Foggy laughs.

“That’s what all this was about? A valentine? You had me worried you were getting ready to pull some crazy stunt or another.” He pauses, likely studying the items set on the coffee table. “Chocolate and a card, huh? For Kirsten, I’m guessing? I had a feeling the two of you would be getting back t—”

Matt is extremely tired of Foggy’s assumptions.

“No, it’s for you! I’ve been trying to give it to you all day!” he complains, throwing an arm over his face — he might be a grown man but after the day he’s had he’s allowed to be a little dramatic, ok?

“Me?”

Foggy sounds surprised and pleased, but not like he’s having any sort of revelation about Matt’s feelings for him. Which is fine. That’s what Matt had expected, after all.

“Yup.”

“Well, if it is for me, then I guess I don’t have to feel guilty about wanting to eat these,” Foggy says, and there’s some rustling of cardboard and plastic as he opens the box of sweets and chooses one.

Raspberry-filled, Matt’s nose tells him as soon as it’s bitten into. With a pleased hum at the taste, Foggy picks up the card and opens the envelope. There’s further quiet, inarticulate sounds after that — noises Matt remembers from studying near Foggy, the sound of him not-quite-reading-aloud.

There’s a pause.

Foggy’s heart does a funny kind of stutter in his chest, then speeds up considerably. He swallows the chocolate in his mouth with a gulp that sounds distinctly nervous.

“Um. Matty...”

And now Matt’s nervous too. He sits up, clenches his fingers in the fabric of his slacks to keep from reaching for his glasses.

“What? What is it?” he demands.

“Did you, uh... Did you know Kirsten wrote in this?”

Oh no.

“What did she write?”

“Well, there’s a pretty long spiel about what she’ll do to us if we hurt each other,” Foggy says, with a jovial tone that rings very hollow. “But she also says I need to get over myself and kiss you because you’re an emotionally stunted duckling and won’t make the first move.”

“... Ah.”

Matt’s still trying to calculate the relative distance to the ground if he flings himself out the window when Foggy’s hand lands on his shoulder.

“Is she right?” he asks Matt.

“About what?”

Though he tries for a devil-may-care grin, Matt thinks it probably comes out a little anemic.

“About you wanting to kiss me, Matthew,” Foggy says drily. “we both already know you’re emotionally stunted.”

Matt shrugs.

“I do. But you don’t, and that’s fine, I’m... I don’t need...”

“I don’t?” asks Foggy, sounding incredulous. “Matty, come on. There’s pretty much nobody on Earth who’d turn you down and you really think I would?”

“But...? You never said...”

Foggy sighs and steps back. Matt gets the feeling he’s probably shaking his head in despair at Matt’s apparent idiocy.

“And why would I, Matt? I mean. You know what I mean! I’m just not the kind of person you would... They have leagues for a reason, buddy.”

That self-depreciation, light but tinged with a very deep melancholy that Matt knows is drilled right through to Foggy’s core, drives him to his feet in agitation.

“Objection!” he snaps, and doesn’t care how ridiculous it sounds. “I’ve flirted with you before! How could you think...”

“You flirt with everything that moves, Matt, I knew you didn’t mean it. That’s just who you are,” Foggy explains patiently.

“Well...” He can’t exactly deny it. “Yeah, but I did want to kiss you. Do want to kiss you. All the time. Except after you eat something gross and unfit for human consumption.”

Foggy offers up a quiet laugh, then, and it smooths some of Matt’s ruffled feathers when he can’t detect any bitterness in the sound.

“Real smooth, Casanova,” Foggy says. “That was sarcasm by the way. I’m rolling my eyes at you.”

“But you still want to kiss me too,” Matt replies, because he’s beginning to think it’s true and he knows Foggy finds it both irritating and endearing, but more the latter, when he’s smug about things.

“You really are unbearable. What do I see in you, I ask myself,” laments Foggy, even as he steps forward and cups Matt’s cheek in his hand.

Matt can hardly stop grinning long enough to swoop in and kiss him first.

#thanks for the ask!#mattfoggy #writing #daredevil #Anonymous

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thisdiscontentedwinter · 5 years ago

Text

Bad Blood - Chapter 34 *The Final Chapter*

You can read it here on AO3 or find the Tumblr Chapter Index here.

______

It’s a crisp October afternoon when Peter follows the rattling blue Jeep out through the Preserve, onto Hale lands, and to the lake. All of the kids are wedged into the Jeep, except for Matty, who’s riding in the back seat of Peter’s car.

“Dad?” Matty asks, sticking his head between the front seats. “Will it be too cold to swim at the lake?”

“I packed your track pants and a hoodie just in case,” Peter tells him. “If it’s too cold, you can get out of the water and get into those.”

It is too cold for humans, as it happens. Allison shrieks the moment her feet touch the water and refuses to go any further. Stiles, his face scrunched up, canonballs off the dock and emerges from the water with a bellow, and Derek drags him out of the water and wraps him in layers of towels until he stops shivering.

Matty, who has always tried to keep up with the werewolves, teakes his cue from Allison and rethinks getting in the water at all, and instead helps John sort through all his fishing gear. He’s been excited to go fishing ever since John mentioned the idea to him, but, drifting on the lake in the sunlight works its inevitable spell on him, and he falls asleep leaning against Peter’s shoulder.

So much for fishing.

Peter sets his rod down and puts an arm around Matty, and listens to the whirr of John casting.

The day is quiet. Insects hum and buzz and, in the distance, Peter can hear the faint sound of power tools. The house is being rebuilt. Some time in the new year, the Hale pack will finally live in the woods again.

And some time not long after that, Peter is sure, the Stilinskis will join them.

Peter turns his gaze to the kids at the edge of the lake. Laura is still in the water. Allison is sitting on the bank, her legs drawn up, photographing something with her phone. And Derek is standing in the sunlight, dripping, with his arms wrapped around Stiles and his four layers of towels.

“It’s something, huh?” John asks wryly, catching his gaze.

“The day we thought we’d never get,” Peter agrees.

“Yeah.” John’s smile deepens the crinkles around the edges of his eyes. “Well, we might not get too many more of them. I’m back at work next week.”

“The lake will still be here on your days off,” Peter says.

They fish for a while longer.

They don’t catch anything.

It doesn’t matter.

***

As the afternoon draws into dusk, the kids build a bonfire on the shore of the lake. Matty waits by eagerly with his bags of marshmallows. Strange, Peter thinks, that he’s never been afraid of fire. Peter prefers to keep his distance from the flames, so Matty goes and sits next to John, and John helps pick through his collection of sticks for the best one to toast his marshmallows on.

“Shouldn’t the marshmallows come after the food?” Laura teases.

Matty gasps. “No! Marshmallows first!”

Derek snorts, and he and Stiles go and fetch the coolers from the cars.

One day, Peter thinks, they’ll bring a barbeque out here and make a night of it. But for now, cold cuts and sandwiches make for a good dinner.

“Stiles,” Laura says when they’re all settles around the fire to eat. “Are you looking forward to Monday?”

“No.” Stiles huffs out a laugh. “Unless by ‘looking forward to’ you mean ‘completely shitting myself’.”

Matty laughs.

“Language,” John chides.

“Sorry.” Stiles wrinkles his nose.

“You’ll be fine,” Allison tells him. “I’ll make sure nobody flushes your head down the toilet.”

Stiles side-eyes her. “Um, I’d like to see them try.”

Peter grins at that. Yes, he’d also like to see some schoolyard bully try to get one over on Stiles. How very entertaining that would be.

John looks less amused at the idea.

“You’ll be fine,” Derek echoes.

“Yeah,” Stiles says. “Like, what’s so scary about school anyway?”

But his heartbeat quickens, and Derek reaches for his hand to reassure him.

The boy has faced a lot of monsters in his time. Peter sometimes forgets how young he really is. Put a gun in his hand and he’s as cold as ice, but faced with the prospect of classrooms and cliques, and he’s completely out of his depth. Stiles might not trust himself to navigate the unknown waters of Beacon Hills High, but Peter knows he will. He and Allison are a formidable team, and she would never let him founder.

They let the fire burn down as the night darkens, and stars appear.

Peter joins John and Matty. Matty has fallen asleep in John’s lap, and left sticky marshmallow fingerprints all over John’s jacket.

“He’s okay,” John says softly when Peter offers to take him. “I’ve got him.”

They’ve come a long way, Peter thinks, when he trusts John to do this.

They all have.

***

Stiles and Derek go for a walk around the lake before they leave.

Matty cranes his neck to watch them, squinting in to the dark.

“Don’t stare,” Laura huffs at him. “You won’t like it when you have a boyfriend or a girlfriend and Derek and Stiles stare at you.”

“Why?” Matty asks. “What are they doing?”

He squints into the darkness again.

Allison laughs as she folds up the picnic blankets.

John squints into the darkness as well. “What are they—No, you know what? Don’t tell me. There are things I don’t need to know.”

“Are you sure?” Peter asks. “I can see them quite clearly.”

“I don’t want to know,” John repeats.

Peter laughs, and glances across the lake.

Derek and Stiles are standing there, hands clasped. As Peter watches, they lean in and they kiss.

Peter smiles.

“Sap,” Laura says, and thwacks him on the head with her towel.

“Someone’s bitter and jealous and needs to immediately adopt twelve cats,” Peter says, sniffing haughtily.

“Um, excuse you, but I date,” Laura says. “I have a date this weekend actually.”

Peter narrows his eyes. “With who?”

“You don’t need to vet him,” Laura says. “John already did.”

Peter raises his eyebrows. “John already did?”

“It’s Parrish,” John says. “He’s a good guy. Wouldn’t know a werewolf if he fell over one.”

“Why does everyone have a boyfriend?” Matty grouses.

Allison reaches for his hand. “I don’t have a boyfriend. I guess you’ll have to be my boyfriend, hey, Matty?”

Matty deliberates. “Well, you can take me to the movies and buy me presents, but I don’t like all that kissing and stuff.”

“Deal,” Allison agrees, and wraps the picnic blanket around his shoulders.

Matty flings it out like a cape, and races for the car. Laura and Allison laugh and chase him.

John knocks his shoulder against Peter’s as they fall into step. Their fingers tangle together.

“Hold on a moment,” Peter says. “Why should my nephew be the only one who gets to make out with a Stilinski boy by the lake?”

“I didn’t want to know, Peter!” John complains.

Peter shuts him up with a kiss.

***

Driving back into town, the heater in the car turned up, Peter feels more at peace than he has in years, but at the same time there’s a frisson of anticipation in everything he does, in every move he makes, because the future is full of good things.

It’s full of good things for Laura, who stands tall and confident, every inch the alpha that her mother was.

It’s full of good things for Allison, the Argent matriarch, who is guided by a sense of fairness and hope.

It’s full of good things for Matty, who has already told the entire world that when he grows up he’s going to be a sheriff like John.

It’s full of good things for Derek and Stiles, who are still taking things slowly, but whose every shared look and tiny smile speaks loudly of real love. They are growing, and healing, together.

And it’s full of good things for Peter and John, both too old and too cynical and too broken to ever think they deserved a chance at happiness. But both too smart to not grab and hold it the second they saw it.

The future is full of good things, and Peter can’t wait.

#bad blood #sterek #steter senior #my fics #discontentedwinter

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your-write-or-die-blog · 5 years ago

Quote

It had been a while since my last casting call. Looking around me now at the que of girls wearing 90’s style windbreakers, crisp new vans, and highlight on the tips of their noses, I felt as though I had been thrust into a world of Instagram models and I’d received an invite on accident. The open call was massive, for a pop band music video coming out in the summer. The line of girls snaked halfway around the Hollywood studio lot, adjacent one set comprised of six or seven fake houses that looked vaguely like something I’d seen on television. I squinted at them for a moment and racked my brains. Dexter, maybe? The girl in line behind me caught my eye and craned her neck in the same direction, eager energy exuding from her. I turned a little bit to smile at her, but couldn’t tell if she’d noticed behind her dark aviators. Maybe she was as nervous as I was. Maybe she was just so flat out gorgeous and cool that she didn’t think I was worth her acknowledgement. I knew from past experience how ruthless Hollywood was. Even though this was my fifth casting call this month, and even though I’d been working to put some weight off and had even gotten up early to do my hair, I began to feel more and more unprepared and out of place in my plain black jeans, doc martens and casual spaghetti strap top. I realized I hadn’t even taken time to read the email from the casting company. Convinced I wasn’t going to make any friends in line, I pulled it up on my smartphone. My stomach sank a bit. The company was looking for a “love interest” role, and warned that actors should be prepared for the audition to include “physical touch” and other possible “romantic gestures”. The coffee on my breath became brutally apparent and I considered ditching the audition entirely. How and why did I not stop to read the stupid email before driving here and freaking out over the lack of parking for almost an hour? My mind began to race. What if the lead singer was gross? “Romance” wasn’t exactly my forte either – I had never gone out for a “love interest” role. This is why I needed an agent. After a few deep breaths, I found a stick of gum in the bottom of my purse along with my resolve. I was already here and I needed the money, I thought. Waiting tables at the Mel’s on Sunset simply wasn’t cutting it, and if this band was as big as this massive turn out led me to believe, I knew it would mean a nice chunk of cash if I somehow landed the part. Plus, music was a huge part of my life – I’d been writing songs on piano since I was 12. To help make someone’s music come to life on screen would be an absolute pleasure of mine… I just hoped their music was good. The sun began to set and the temperature dropped a bit, a refreshing and welcomed change that seemed to help calm my nerves. To help pass the time I put on my headphones and cranked up my favorite 80’s music: Depeche Mode, Oingo Boingo and Fleetwood Mac. Before too long I found my way to the front of the line. The clipboard lady gestured for me to pause as she held her ear to a mess of static through her walkie. She eyed me and my plain face and smiled patiently, then sighed and shook her head. “I’ve got no clue what he just said,” she admitted. “You’re adorable honey, you’re gonna do great,” she said as she checked my ID’s. She looked like she’d been on her feet for hours now, but the sentiment seemed genuine and I smiled back appreciatively. She handed me a ticket. “You’re number 412,” she said, “don’t lose that ticket.” My stomach sank again. 412, I thought. There’s no way I’m getting this part. The next clipboard-person was a tall gay man, head bald as a bowling ball. He singled me out as I walked by and asked if I had my portfolio. I handed it over and he flipped through it, looked at me somewhat indifferently and then directed me to a room off to the left. My palms were sweating. What if I didn’t fit the part and this was the end? The situation became more and more real. I jumped when he began instructing us, not realizing that he had followed along behind me. “Okay, ladies, watch your step - NICE shoes, file in loves, careful now” he said in a thick British accent, ushering myself and a few other girls into a dark, cool room. The entrance to this stage had a little sitting area – I found a seat and stuck my hands between my legs, praying that they dry before something important started happening. I looked up – the ceiling was very high like a warehouse, the lights along it stark and expensive-looking. To break the silence I leaned over to the girl on my left, who had waist length blonde hair that looked incredible with her yellow corduroy miniskirt: “With the lights and stuff, it’s sort of like Costco in here, isn’t it?” She looked back at me confused and I decided I wasn’t going to speak anymore. The first part of the audition was more of a group interview – the bald clipboard guy picked me out with three other girls and I felt a surge of relief. I’d experienced auditions like this before – it was a great way for casting to get through more people more quickly. This casting team in particular thankfully seemed a lot friendlier than most I’d encountered, casual even. They only asked us our names and to tell them about ourselves – the blonde girl laid it on thick, charisma oozing out of every hand motion and inflection. The second girl seemed almost disinterested, explaining that she went to school in the area and that her friend had told her to come. Finally, they got around to me. A kind-eyed but important looking woman dressed in linen asked what had inspired me to audition. “I love music and I love to create,” I answered easily. She straightened a little bit and asked me to talk a little more about that. I suddenly felt very honest. "Music is such an important part of my life...and of society, it allows us to communicate what could otherwise be lost in a boring old conversation. People talk too much, I think..." I trailed off and became very aware that everyone's eyes were fixed on me now. I felt like I had somehow answered... correctly? She nodded agreeably and motioned for me to go on. "Well I like to write my own songs and I perform open mics sometimes when I'm feeling brave," I continued, "It's hard for me to bear my soul like that...working with someone who is brave for a living would be incredible." The woman looked up from her notes and leaned over the table, smiling ear to ear. "Anything else, darling?" This audition was suddenly much different than any I had gone to before. My ears were burning. I untucked my curls to cover them. "No," I laughed. "I guess that's it." The three directors laughed along with me, which felt amazing. The woman in linens stood up suddenly and removed her glasses so that they hung down on her neck. "And," she started, raising her eyebrows, "what do you think of Matty Healy?" The atmosphere in the room shifted at the name. The director lady smirked knowingly as the girl next to me melted just a little bit into her boots. I realized they all knew something that I didn't. Before I could embarrass myself by asking who Matty Healy was, suddenly he was there. "Did I hear my name?" He was holding a cup of coffee without a lid, a large plastic clip holding his dark curls away from his face, which was scrunched up into a cheesy grin that sent butterflies rippling through my stomach. To complete the actor-on-set look he wore a gray sort of bathrobe over his wardrobe, charmingly mismatched with a beautiful pair of shiny black shoes. The girls on either side of me unabashedly began to squeal. The directors smiled patiently as he came over to greet us. I watched three girls fall in love with the same man at the same time. "We're taking five," he said in a beautiful accent, taking the blonde girl's hand and kissing it very lightly. "God, it's cold in here when you're not dancing about like a lunatic, innit?" he murmured to the group of us, explaining the bathrobe. He was so adorable that I couldn't help but hold the back of my hand over my mouth. He caught the motion and looked over at me now. "Hi," he said, nodding to me as our eyes met. His were warm even in the harsh warehouse lighting. He introduced himself: "I'm Matthew." Embarrassment froze me for a moment. Oh God, I thought. How long had he been standing around that corner? He had probably heard the whole audition. But those eyes were so reassuring. Despite not knowing his name a mere ten seconds ago, I felt immediately comfortable with him. "Hi," I replied quietly with a laugh, surprising myself by leaning in to politely hug him around the shoulders. Matty did not seem surprised as all; catching my arms for a moment and holding them there. He smelled like hair product and cigarettes. "Thank you," he hummed warmly near my neck so that only I could hear. "I needed that today." He sounded sincere. When he pulled away, I was grinning like an idiot. "Erm," he started, tearing his eyes from me. "This project is very important to me and I've very grateful to you all for coming out and being a part of it. We're having a bit of a party for the next part of the audition so I hope to see you girls there," he smiled again and waved sweetly to everyone, murmuring something quickly to the director before shuffling back around the corner. I continued desperately to try and calm the redness in my face as the rest of the models openly fan-girled to one another, glancing over at me with a mix of delight and envy. "Okay, ladies," the woman with the glasses chuckled, waiting for us to settle. "Like Matt said, this next part of the audition we're going to have a sort of mock-shoot just to test if you're compatible - " The bald man threw his hands up in exasperation. "Nora means we want to see some chemistry, duh." Nora rolled her eyes good-naturedly as we all turned to "ooh" at each other, "right, exactly, so there's going to be some dancing involved, we're going to play a little clip of music and we just want to see you interact with Matty and have a good time. As specified in the email if you're not comfortable with this we thank you for coming out anyway. Go ahead and have a seat in the waiting area and we'll come grab you when we're ready for you, there should be water and snacks in a couple minutes." Out of 412 girls auditioning, the waiting area only had a couple dozen. The vibe was different from before, the ice had been broken and all the models chatted excitedly, sipping water, munching grapes and crackers. Not all of them had been there to meet Matty, and they teemed up around me after hearing that we'd had a little moment. Thirty minutes went by and only one girl had been asked to the set. Nora popped in and my heart sank. An extra-cautious layer of professionalism coated her voice this time. "Hello ladies, just a reminder that we had a massive turn out today and unfortunately we can only consider a few of you. We really are grateful to you for showing up but Matty and the team are looking for someone pretty," she paused, "specific ... when it comes to this video in particular and we are doing our best today. Thanks again for your patience." She smiled dryly and dipped out, hateful eyes amounting on her back. I swallowed dryly. Another ten minutes went by and two models had already given up, packing up their things with heels clack-clacking through the stage door. The quintessential Hollywood phrase was "hurry up and wait", but forty minutes had never felt quite so long to me. Finally, Nora reappeared and pointed at me with that knowing smile. It was only then that I realized I'd been holding my breath - I sighed out in relief and hurriedly grabbed my jacket, ignoring the stares behind me. While it was small, the set was much less "mock" than I anticipated: full lights and camera surrounding a simple white backdrop where a crew member sat in behind the drum set. A few other crew members were buzzing about, setting marks with tape on the floor, discussing angles, scrutinizing their notes. Matty sat on a director's chair behind the mic stand without his bathrobe this time, legs crossed. Before I could catch his eye I had a round brush in my face. "Just a little shiny there," the makeup artist said to me, motioning my chin up to her. "God, you've got great skin... how old are you?" I stumbled over my words, still getting my bearings. She waved in a "never-mind" motion. "You're over 18 though, right?" I nodded carefully as she dabbed rouge along my cheekbones with her ring finger. "There... just so these lights don't wash you out too much." She smiled and gave the hair around my face a couple twists and a spray. "Beautiful. Good luck!" Someone clapped their hands a couple times to get everyone's attention. "Alright, welcome Miss..?" I squinted past the lights and called out my name to who I assumed was the video director. "Very nice, hi, yes," he sighed in the exasperated sort of way that directors do, "Okay! So - we're going to play some music and have you sort of perform with Matty here - dance, flirt, pull his hair, whatever you want, ok? Are you ready?" I nodded and a surge of confidence shot through me as Matty looked up with that smile, scooting the chair out of the shot and putting his hand on my shoulder as if we'd known each other for years. "I do hope you don't pull my hair," he joked, "it took an awful long time to fix." "I mean it's your video, Healy," I shrugged. My God, I thought. What a face. The audition had already started and I didn't even realize. The audio was much less professional, a boom box off to the side started playing a song that I immediately recognized from the radio and I realized that the man who had decided just now to dip me was probably worth millions. I recovered from the dip and followed his lead as he whipped the mic around and began sort of half-singing, half mouthing along to the lyrics. Although the mic was off, up this close I could tell that his voice was absolutely lovely. As he made his way behind the stand-in drummer he eyed me, still gauging. I took half a second to collect myself and followed the vibe of the song, deciding the sort of alt rock guitar riffs called for some hair shaking and punk-posing. He took my hand and spun me into him as he propped one shiny shoe up onto one of the toms. I slid my hands along his shoulders and came up behind him; making eyes at camera 3 as he sang directly to it. Before the verse was over, I decided i couldn't help myself: I tugged his curls lightly and he sang the remainder of the verse directly to my face before making some sort of explosion noise and racing around me to get back to the mic stand for the guitar solo. I was in awe of him. Once we made it back to the front I felt him switch to full-on performance mode, trusting that I could keep up with him now. And I could. Before long I realized we had gone through almost the entire song like this and the director looked significantly less bored than he did when I first walked in. The music stopped and the crew applauded us. Matty tucked me under his arm and whisked us away from the lights for a moment. I was still catching my breath, yet he had barely broke a sweat. "That was, you were -!" "That was so fun!" I finished for him. He laughed and my heart melted. "Really though, like -" He had the cutest way of tripping over his words. "Ugh," he gave up, hugging me instead. His face was so close to mine I felt his breath. "And I heard what you said earlier in the group about music and, and erm - that was you right?" I nodded and he lit up like a little kid for a second. Seeing him happy like this was well worth the impossible parking, the waiting and the hours of nerves. He went on: "So, right, listen - I think we're doing a couple quick little callbacks but, dude." Matty Healy had just called me dude. He fumbled in his trouser pockets for something and then motioned for me to wait, jogging over to behind the set. The crew members were all in a bunch now, reviewing the footage and speaking excitedly. When he returned he handed me a pen and a scrap of paper. "I've lost my - bleeding - phone again but please, would you write your number for me?"

to be continued

#writing #Hollywood #acting #story #fanfic #the1975 #matthealy #the 1975 #matt healy #mattyhealy #matty healy #matthealyfanfic #the1975fanfic #mattyhealyfanfic

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thatfairyfangirl · 6 years ago

Text

Blind Date Chapter 6

“Oh Matt...my adorable superhero...my love….” You cooed as you snuggled into him under the blanket, the crisp october air spilling in through your open window as the day began.

Matt wrapped his arms around you eyes yet to open from his sleep. “Finally ready to ask for what you've been wanting?” He mumbled sleepily as he pulled you in close. He could tell for weeks something's been on your mind.

“Well the thing is Samhain is coming up and I need to let everyone know if you're coming or not.” You looked up to him as he sat up, able to tell from your pulse and breath this one was important to you.

“Samhain? You've told me about that one before.” He thought out loud as his fingers traced small circles over your shoulder. “That's the super magic witchy one on Halloween isn't it?” You nodded, knowing he knew you did. “Oh I don't know sweetie.” As much as he wanted to support you in your religion something like Samhain sounded like something he should stay away from.

“Oh pleeeeeease? I know I promised I wouldn't push but Samhain is really important. Everyone will be there and they all want to meet you.” You pleaded with a soft pout. “You don't have to participate...just come upstate with me? Besides, you've been working so hard...let one of the others protect the city for a night.”

He sat there for a moment mulling over the idea. You had him wrapped around your finger and with the way you were pouting he was sure you knew it. “On one condition. I'll go with you to your ritual if you come with me to Saint Patrick's.” Fair trade to him, but he could hear your heart race with nerves at the suggestion. “Father Lantom is a good man, and he's dying to meet the girl that actually puts up with my shit.” He chuckled. “I went to confession after the other night...when I told him you knew and how you reacted he told me I better start thanking your gods and mine for you.” He paused cupping your cheek, letting his lips brush against yours in a soft loving kiss. “And I do...every day.” He assured you as he rested his forehead against yours.

~ ~ ~ ~

The smell of wet autumn leaves hit him all at once as he got out of the rent a car. In the distance he could smell burning and hear wood cracking as someone put more wood on a large bonfire. A smile drew on his lips as he heard the sound of children giggling while carving pumpkins in the kitchen. So far it seemed like a normal Halloween.

“Hey everyone, Bug's here!” An old man called into the house as you reached into the back to grab a large box of cookies Matt recalled you calling soul cakes. His muscles tensed as he heard the man rushing toward them before taking control of his instincts and relaxing as the long haired slightly rounded 60-something scooped you up into a hug.

“Hi dad.” You chuckled lightly as you worked to balance the box until he let go. “Oh! Dad this is Matt.” Matt smiled politely though slightly confused as he reached his hand out in any direction. Dad looked him over, noting the glasses and cane before kindly taking the hand and moving in front of him as to not embarrass the por guy.

“I'm sorry I'm confused. Sweetheart I thought I was coming to meet your coven?” Matt asked softly, hoping to not offend anyone.

“That's alright son, very common mistake with newcomers.” Dad said lightly as he took your overnight bag from the trunk for you both. “In this coven we're both.”

“Most of my coven is family. And those who aren't,” you paused helping Matt up the front porch steps for appearances, he loved that you instinctively knew to play the act, “we think of as family. I'm sorry I should have been more specific.”

“No it's alright Sweetheart!” Inside he could smell fresh baked bread and pies, it was obvious where your talent came from. But in the back of his nostrils he could smell something else, something he couldn't quite place his finger on...something sweet and comforting but somehow unsettling deep down. “So...Bug?” He couldnt

“Yeah...its short for boggart.” You explained as you placed the box down on the table, children rushing from the livingroom to get their hands on the small cookies. “Its a mischief making fairie.”

“And this little bug was the biggest handful when she was small.” Dad added as he took a soul cake for himself. “But hey, you guys are here just in time, Nana is upstairs getting her cards.”

“As fun as that sounds I think I'm going to have to sit out.” Matt said with an awkward smile, amazed Dad didn't feel the slightest bit bad about offering a blind man a game of cards. “I've got a pretty good poker face but never can tell if I have a good hand.” He joked with a light smile.

“Oh no” you explained taking Matt's hand, “Nana does tarot readings.” You then turned to your father with a sorry look. “And umm Matt's a Catholic Dad.” You watched your father blink in disbelief as the commotion of the house went quiet at the news. Matt could feel all eyes on him, realizing how rare news like this was to this family. He could hear soft whispers of the family ‘Be on your best behavior he's a Christian.’ 'Oh I hope we won't scare him.’ He couldn't help feeling a slight sense of relief hearing no negative words.

“Oh! After that loser I assumed you were going to find a good pagan boy.” He finally said before resting his hand on your head. “Leave it to my bug to bring a Catholic to Samhain.” He added with a laugh.

“Mr (y/l/n) I assure you I'm nothing like Johnny. I treat your daughter with respect, including her religious beliefs.” Matt stated reassuringly. “I'll just be sitting out of all the...umm magic stuff.”

“Oh I know. If you were anything like him You wouldn't be here.” Dad said with a smile. “Welp, tomorrow's All Saint's Day, I'm sure you have some Saints you can pray to while we're calling our gods.” He offered as a way to compromise.

Matt smiled at the thought, appreciative of the feature. “Oh no,” he waved his hand in protest, “this is your day. It wouldn't be right for me to interfere with your traditions. I can just sit out on the spell stuff.” He said respectfully.

He stuck close to you most of the day but all the while he couldn't shake the feeling in the pit of his stomach that there was something juat behind him though he knew otherwise., While you carved your pumpkin he listened to the story of Stingy Jack and the origins of the tradition Nana told the children. While you took your tarot reading he couldn't help smiling to himself as the lovers and the devil were announced as pulled. “Bugger,” the old woman said peering up from the cards to Matt, “did I hear your father say your friend is a Christian?” He knew you were nodding. The old woman lifted her head, addressing Matt. “I'm truly sorry young man, the cards seem to have included you.” Every muscle in his biddy stiffened, did she know? How?! “I'm an old witch with an old deck young man, I see many things in these cards, especially on Samhain. And right now they tell me your love for my granddaughter saved her from that wicked boy. I do hope I haven't offended you. These cards have a mind of their own.”

Matt breathed out a soft sigh of relief with a polite grin. “It's alright ma'am-”

“Call me Nana” Matt could feel you beaming with delight at her words.

“Nana,” he corrected with a bashful smile, “it's nothing a confession can't fix.”

As the sun set the bonfire burning on the back of the property and the pumpkins became the only light casting an ethereal glow around the property as the scent tickling Matts nostrils grew, if magic had a scent this would be it. He followed you to the fire, sitting himself on a stump as you called the corners and welcomed your gods and the spirits passed on. He could feel a static in the air and the hairs of his body rise as Nana lead the rituals. “Matthew” a familiar voice whispered in the air...She was here. He could taste her on the back of his tongue, almost feel her breath on the back of his neck. “This is different for you.” He stood looking around for the source, for Elektra but could not find her. “You are truly happy now, aren't you Matthew?”

“Elektra?” He whispered, his heart racing. “How are you here?”

“I'm not. Not how you think. I came to say goodbye Matthew. It's time for me to be at peace.” He could feel an emptiness in the pit of him as the formless apparition of his past love brushed invisible lips against his before vanishing from his senses entirely,replaced by the scent of sage and burning wood. But Elektra left him with a sense of empty guilt in its wake, for a long moment it felt as if he lost her all over again.

Matt turned his scenes to you, resting one of your soul cakes on a stone alter a few feet from the flames. He felt an energy coming from you and the rest of your coven similar to Danny's hand, yet worlds different. He stood for a moment letting the smoke from the fire and the smell of burning sage cleanse the thoughts of Elektra from his mind. In his strange way he watched you, listening to praise your gods. Was this your doing? He felt a gut wrenching guilt just thinking it. The static in the air grew. He was all for being supportive but he realized now that this was to much too fast.

The smell of aether washed over him once more followed by sweat blood and boxing leather. “Dad?” He shook.

“Hey Matty. Look at you. A lawyer like you've always wanted.” Matt felt a chill down his spine and an unseen hand resting on his head just like Jack used to. “Reading that braile faster that I did regular books yet?”

“You can't be here.” His heart races as his mind tried and failed to wrap around what's happening.

“I'm so proud of you Matty. Fighting the good fight. Hells Kitchen is lucky to have you fighting for them.” And then with a short burst of wind he was gone leaving Matt to wonder if he was ever really there as midnight rolled in

You rushed to Matt wrapping your arms around him but he just stood there, blank. “Baby? What's wrong?” All color had left his face. “You're pale as a ghost!”

“I thought we agreed I wasn't going to be part of your spells.” He finally said flatly

“Matt, I didn't. I swear.” You insisted with a soft defensive voice, unsure where this was coming from.

“Really? Because I've never heard ghosts before tonight.” He hissed under his breath, low enough for only you to hear. “Never smelled or felt someone...something that wasn't really there.”

Your hand clasped over your lips as you listened to him. “Come with me.” You whispered urgently as you grabbed his hand, leading him in a rush into the house and up the stairs to the bedroom you were staying in for the night. “What happened?” He told you of the visitation from his twice dead ex and long gone father. “Matt, I swear that wasn't me. Hell, Nana's the oldest practitioner here and the most powerful thing she can do is read cards. And that's just from years of intuition and learning” You ran your fingers through your hair as you searched for a reasonable comparison. “It's all on faith. My spells works on the same level your prayers do.”

Matt shook his head. “No. That was way more than a prayer.”

“Well, I mean tonight is when the veil between worlds is the thinnest and you were sitting at the edge of the circle…” You let out a sigh as you mulled over what happened, digging through your lifetime of learning. “I've felt things before, like 'this is what Gramps would want to say to me’ or ‘l almost feel like mom is here’. Maybe with your heightened senses in the circle you just had a more vivid experience.”

Matt let out a sigh as he sat on the bed, still shook by tonight's events but conceding to that mmm more than likely being the cause. “Well...I suppose it does feel good knowing what they told me...but don't want to go through that ever again.”

You sighed sitting behind him, gently rubbing his back to calm his nerves. “I wish I could have witnessed what you did.”

Tag List:

@sillydecoy

Announcement from the writer:

With the new terms of use and the impending ban on adult content on this site I will be moving my writing. This fic will soon have a chapter that needs that adult content to have the same impact that I had originally intended for the scene and I will not falter on it.

I have decided to move my writing to Patreon so that I can keep as much of the community feel as possible. You can find me on Patreon HERE. I know, I know, it sounds like I am expecting you to pay for my writing but fear not! I will only be charging $1 a month, and even that is voluntary. The majority of my fics will be available for free. The $1 subscription will be for access to the really adult content stuff I have been sitting on such as what I have been calling “Blind Date’s Deleted Scene” and access to the discord I have created. As a bonus for you guys since you have been with me since the beginning of Blind Date I will grant you free access to the discord if you shoot me a message here on tumblr and ask.

I will still post fics on Tumblr up until they are no longer welcomed by the staff, but patrons will be able to view them early.

For those who have trouble with hyperlinks on their device or find it hard to click a small word vs an actual link here is the full link to my new Patreon https://www.patreon.com/fairyfangirl

#daredevil #daredevil x reader #matt murdock #matt murdock x reader

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epicfics · 6 years ago

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HUMANS one-shot: Family Tree

Mattie didn’t want to speak to anyone. Truthfully, she couldn’t. She’d sat upon a curb near a sewer for a reason. As her fists clenched on the slick black concrete at the rise of another bout, she only wished she could purge her own humiliation and failure along with the cold pizza she’d forced down earlier.

It felt like there was one good thing that could have come out of this shitfest of a night, and her clear conscience really should have sated some cloud-floating entity enough to pay for Laura Hawkins’s freedom. But Mattie’s conscience was still poisoned with more than ten thousand lost human lives, among the millions more of destroyed conscious synthetics. Synthetics, born with consciousness Mattie had given them, only to die for it. Synths like –

God. Mia. Mattie weakly spit the remaining bile from her throat into the sewer, then coughed until her heart was tight. She strained against her own sob, but it won out and tiny, salty rivers were soon burning on her cheeks.

Her name was being yelled, a frantic word in this cloaking darkness. Leo. She didn’t want to talk to Leo. Even if she did have more to say to him than anyone on this planet right now, and not much of it pleasant. Head spinning faster than a carnival ride, Mattie fumbled for her shoulder bag in an attempt to get back on her feet. Then, doubled down, she held a hand out at his approaching figure in warning. “I might get sick on you.”

“Okay,” he said, sounding uncertain. Then, “Are you okay?”

Nothing pleasant. Rather than scathe Leo with sarcasm, Mattie just dried her eyes on her wrists.

“I’m fine,” she said at last. “You can go.”

Maybe it was the scratches and cuts marking his face, but Mattie nearly felt guilty for causing the pain on it now. Nearly. If her guilt hadn’t already followed her mother to prison.

“Sorry,” she said, giving it another, softer, try. “Look, if you’re needing someone to talk to, Leo, I’m probably the last person you want, so – .”

“You’re the only person I want,” he interrupted, his voice rasping like a desert had dried it out. His blue eyes darted this way and that, unable to look at her. Unable to speak to her. Until they did. The message in them was unmistakable. “I shouldn’t have run. It was a pathetic move and I’m sorry for it.”

A sharp laugh hit her in the chest. “Really? Cause I was thinking you had the right idea. I would run too, but - .” She gestured a wide space around her abdomen pointedly. “I mean, you never asked me what I wanted. You just sort of assumed I’d – I’d want to be a mum. Yeah, you didn’t get Father of the Year, but I’m the one with a body count - .”

Leo cut in, “Stop it -.”

Mattie wouldn’t stop, not this time. “And Karen? Mia?” she exclaimed, her face soaking afresh with tears. “All me!”

His eyes widened for half a second, enough time for Mattie to both fear and hope she’d crossed the line that would drive him off. But he merely winced expressively, then strode to her.

“Walk with me,” said Leo, holding out his hand. Something in his voice, something strong and holding, made Mattie stupid. She took it. It was dry and cold on this balmy twilight.

Several planted trees met them on the path; loose leaves were whisked away with their every step, the small ones curling like crisp emerald jewels. From the outside looking in, they seemed a normal couple. And if it hadn’t been for his scars, his I Survived Killer Synths testament badge – if it hadn’t been for the fact that he had more lives than Super Mario powered up on mushrooms –

If she hadn’t been a hacker too clever for her own good. If she wasn’t pregnant.

Why couldn’t they just be themselves at their core - the sole surviving heir to a scientist’s fortune, and the promising undergrad who’d caught his eye?

Mattie gave an inward snort at this. Making fanfiction out of our own lives now, are we?

Almost as though he could hear her thoughts, Leo sighed and slowed them to a stop. A tree stood planted at their eye level, its leaves stirring lightly in the faint breeze.

Leo turned and reached into her bag.

“What are you doing?” she asked, alarmed.

He withdrew a ballpoint pen, looking triumphant. Then he went to the tree, and with Mattie looking in, scribbled onto one glossy green leaf, MIA. Wheeling back around to her, he said, “Someone ought to know.”

Mattie asked, “Know what?” as he began writing on another leaf. Stepping closer to him, Mattie read the name FRED.

Leo explained, “That she belonged to a family.”

Mattie stared at him, her heart still crying for what it had taken, and smiling for what it had yet to give. She dug around in her bag and found a black fine-tip marker. Then she took a leaf and wrote Karen.

Gloom cast briefly on Leo’s face when he saw it, but it quickly went away as he wrote NISKA.

“Niska’s not gone,” Mattie pointed out.

“Doesn’t have to be.” Leo wrote MAX. “We’re still connected.”

Catching on, Mattie wrote on a leaf, Sam.

Leo nodded approvingly. Soon the tree was filled with not only the names of Elsters, but Hawkinses as well. Leo seemed proud to have started this by writing Mattie’s own name down. (“You were family as far as she was concerned.”) Then Mattie wrote down Laura’s name, for her mother and Mia had a bond so deep that sticks and steel couldn’t cut through it.

When the tree was full, Leo inspected their work. Mattie was exhilarated by it, in spite of herself. She would do it on every tree in London if she could…except she didn’t feel quite like getting arrested anymore.

“Mattie? What’s this?” Leo frowned at a branch slightly. “We put Mia’s name on here twice.”

Mattie shook her head. “For another Mia, Leo.”

“What other….” Then he stopped. Leo’s resulting stare made the choice worthwhile. But watching his tears made Mattie’s own eyes water once more at the thought.

“She’s gonna hate me.”

He didn’t answer, but moved closer, eyes searching hers in astonishment.

“I went to the clinic today, to schedule an appointment,” she confessed. “For an abortion.”

She didn’t see any judgement in Leo’s expression. She was partially grateful for that, but she also really needed a rebuke from someone. Not for the appointment, but for feeling the way she did now. For not knowing how to feel now. Niska had knocked her off course, and suddenly everything was every which way but right.

But all Leo said, after an exhale, was, “Mattie, my mother locked me in a sinking car to drown me. I feel a lot of things about her strongly now, but hatred has never been one of those things. I understand who she was.” And he took one more leaf to write LEO.

Mattie watched, understanding as well. There weren’t a lot of choices they could make at the moment. But they could choose their families – and each other.

#humans #humans fanfiction #leo elster #mattie hawkins #leotilda #humans spoilers #season 3 humans

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tilltheendwilliwrite · 7 years ago

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Rise Up

Chapter Ten

Previous Chapter

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader | Word Count:3989 Warnings: painful memories of blood and battle and death, swearing

Song: Porcelain by Marianas Trench

You scrubbed your hand over your mouth, forcing back the bile rising up your throat.

“(Y/N),” Tony’s hand settled in the fur of your cloak. “We need to know everything. How the Valkyrie fought them. How you destroyed them. Everything.”

“Tony, I…” You wiped your mouth a second time, fighting down the urge to be sick. The smell of death was thick and with it came memories of battles, of bloodshed, of the screams of dying Valkyrie and Pegasi. “I can’t…”

“Tony,” Steve warned, apparently feeling the wild beating of your heart.

“Shut it, Capscicle,” he huffed. “We’ve all been there, done that, bled on the t-shirt. We need to know this shit, and she’s the only one who can tell us!”

“I can’t,” you gasped softly, the grip you had on your sword tightening like it was a lifeline. It kept you present in the here and now when the wave of unrelenting sorrow tried to swamp you. “Not now.” Not when you felt like you were drowning in death and swimming through a fog of memories.

“Hey, we’ve all seen our share of death. You’re going to need to suck it up and speak, your highness,” he grumbled, his grip tightening on your shoulder.

The snarky remark and use of your title snapped what little control you had left. “You want me to speak? You want me to talk about it, Tony? You want to compare your years of experience to mine? To the centuries of battle I have living in my head? What do you want to know first? How they took us unawares?” you asked as you turned on him. “How they slaughtered hundreds of my sisters before we managed to fight them back? Would you like to know what it sounds like when a Valkyrie loses her soul? When a Pegasus screams as his insides are torn out? Or how about what it feels like to slog your way through blood and body parts?”

“Baby.” Steve reached out to you, but you jerked away from his hands.

“I could tell you what it smells like when you light dozens of pyres to burn the bodies of your fallen sisters. How the scent of burning flesh… lingers on the air with the smoke. You can scrub your skin raw, bathe a dozen times and that smell just won’t… won’t come out!”

“Sweetheart… that’s enough.” Steve stepped toward you, arms out as if approaching a wild creature.

You had no idea how wild you looked, how desperate, and frantic, and close to breaking you appeared. All you knew was the pain of losing thousands of sisters in those months of unrelenting battle. “Not enough,” you said with a shake of your head. “Never enough. I wasn’t enough. I watched them fall. I watched the Sjeletyv reach out,” you reached out toward Tony, curled your hand into a crone’s claw, and jerked it back as if shredding flesh from bone, “and rip the very life out of my companions. And then they turned… oh, gods… they turned four of my sisters, and I still don’t know how. And they walked uncontested into camp… and killed a dozen of us… before I… before… before I…” You dropped the sword in your hand like it burned you, and lifted shaking metal-clad fingers to your mouth. “I killed them… I killed them all. I killed them… and the Sjeletyv screamed…”

Steve lurched toward you, but you were already running. You couldn’t escape the smell. Every step laced with the screams of the dying. The blood once soaking your hands seemed to drip from the ends of your fingers and burn your skin. Even as you ran, you rubbed at them, scratched at your flesh. It wasn’t there, you knew there was no bright red viscous liquid on your hands, but you could feel it, still, as if it was only yesterday you’d taken your sword to the necks of your soulless sisters.

When you’d told Matty she wasn’t his Elektra anymore; you hadn’t been lying. You’d been speaking from experience.

You hit the stairwell door at a dead run, barrelling through to almost fall up the stairs. The scent of blood filled your lungs. Smoke wanted to choke you. It was all in your head, but that didn’t make it any less real.

Your legs burned as you took the stairs three at a time. You needed out. Out of the building. Out of the stench. Out under the stars where the wind could dry the tears from your face, and you could stand beneath Máni’s light and pretend Freyja was watching over you still.

Slamming through the door, you stumbled and fell to your knees, breaking down under the weight of your regrets. The sobs shook you, and every face of every one of the fallen flashed through your mind. The ones who’d looked at you in fear as they fell beneath the claws of the Sjeletyv. The ones who’d cried out for you to save them when you couldn’t. When you were helpless to reach them in time.

And the four who’d looked at you with black eyes. With dead eyes. With no recognition.

Your hands closed on your temples, on the metal of your helm and you wrenched it from your head to chuck it across the roof. The wind hit your face, stole your breath, but drove away the scent of death with crisp, clean, fall air.

You covered your face with your hands as the pain grew bigger, and bigger, and bigger until you lifted your head and screamed out in anguish.

“Baby…” Steve’s arms wrapped around you as he settled to the ground behind you, knees spread to cradle your hips and pull you back into his chest.

“I killed them… I killed them, Steve…” The memory poured through you like fire, scalding you with the shame. “I killed them… I was the only one who could.”

He rocked you back and forth in a soothing action. His arms were tight, hands warm. He tucked his chin over your heavy fur collar. “It’s okay, sweetheart. You did what you had to do.”

You shook your head. “It wasn’t enough. I wasn’t enough. So many died, Steve. We weren’t ready. We weren’t prepared. I was their leader, and I was… I was… helpless!”

“You can’t blame yourself. You didn’t know what you were walking into.”

“It was bad, Stevie… it was so bad…”

As your shaking slowed, he shifted your positions to pull you into his lap and tug your cloak up around his shoulders.

His hands began to brush up and down your back. “You want to talk about it?”

With a sigh, you rested your head on his shoulder. “We went in five-hundred strong, more than I ever thought we’d need, but when an army attacks an entire world one can never be too careful. We were the elite of Asgard, Odin’s chosen force, and when we flew over, the Pegasi spreading shadows over the land… people cheered. Then… cheers turned to screams of terror when the Sjeletyv appeared. They didn’t look like humans, Steve. They walked on these long, thin legs, balancing on their toes and the knuckles of these insanely long arms…” You shuddered, the memory sending a tendril of fear streaking up your spine. “Their armour was dark, an oily blue-black, covered in spikes, and they moved across the ground like… like hyenas, in this strange loping gate. But it wasn’t until we landed that we realized just how deadly they were. They would stand up, almost nine feet tall with a six-foot reach, three-inch claws curved and serrated shredded armour like it was paper thin…”

You paused as the memories pulled you back. “I remember Helga… she fell first. A Sjeletyv soldier just tore out her throat. It was so fast, and it… it screeched this god awful sound, but I didn’t understand right away what it was doing when it lowered its head over her body until I saw it… her soul, Steven… her soul… it just… it just… vanished and she was gone. It was like a piece of myself felt her die, felt her soul die with her. Then others were falling… and we were losing. Us! The Valkryjur were losing!”

Your hand crept up around his neck as your burrowed closer, the horror pouring out and fresh tears falling down your face. “I don’t remember much more from that first battle but the killing. Killing and killing and killing, until I was covered in blood and slogging through body parts. We sent the Pegasi off the field. The creatures were just too much for them, but they wouldn’t listen and harassed them from the air.” You turned your face to Steve’s throat, inhaling his scent to clear the strongest of the memories from sucking you back into that place. “The sound, though… gods, Steven… the sound they made when they died… I can’t unhear it; I can’t unsee their grey and white bodies falling from the sky to crash to the ground in broken limbs and shredded feathers.

Sky-Bjorn, he refused to leave my side, and I think staying on the ground probably saved his life. He was better with his feet than any Pegasi since him, and could put a hoof through a skull with such precision it would pop. He took claws to his wings more than once to save me. When they finally retreated, when I finally got a chance to look at my forces… there was a hundred of us left and half as many Pegasi.”

“Jesus!” he swore softly and tightened his hold.

“More came. Almost the entire Valkyrjur descended on that world to fight them back. They barely let us rest, barely let us honour our dead. If it weren’t for the Pegasi and the smell of them, we’d have been overrun on more than one occasion.” The rawness of your throat and the strain of every word was taking its toll, but now that you’d started, you couldn’t stop. “We’d managed to turn the tide on them, had figured out how to protect ourselves from their soul stealing ways when the first Ijå appeared. It was different, more humanoid than the others. It walked through the ranks with a smile and such an air of confidence it rattled that of my Valkyrie. The power of it, Steve, was immense, but it didn’t come for us. It went for the village. It went for the people we were protecting. By the time I got through its bodyguard…” a sob caught in your throat, “It had killed fifty people and was holding a little girl by the back of the neck. It smiled at me. Smiled as she screamed for me to save her. Smiled when it nicked her… nicked her cheek and sucked… sucked her soul out of an opening no bigger than a paper cut.”

“Baby… baby, stop,” he whispered, clutching you to him as the heartbroken sob shook your body.

“They said… they said I went, full berserker… that I screamed down the heavens and took its head off with nothing but my mother’s gauntlet, but I don’t… I don’t remember. I remember cradling the body of that child. Of coming too with her in my arms and her dead eyes looking back, and I knew, I knew, she was gone. Not dead, but gone,” you whispered harshly. “No rest for her young soul. Just oblivion. Just death.”

“Where was Thor in all this? Where was Loki? Odin? Any of them?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

“I wouldn’t let them come. The Pegasi could travel between worlds without the Bifröst, but the Asgardian troops couldn’t. By that point I knew we couldn’t let even one of those creatures live, couldn’t let them get to the Bifröst should it open, and I had no idea if they could take Thor or Loki or any of their souls. I couldn’t risk it! And when they turned my sisters…” You shook your head again and snuffled, using Tove’s cloak to wipe your cheeks. “Asta, Ingrid, Brynhildr, and Vigdís had been missing for five weeks when the four of them walked into camp. They looked rough, beaten and bloody. They said all the right things. They’d been captured, tortured for information, and managed to escape, but something seemed off, and that’s when I realized they had no heartbeats. When Tyra reached for her sword… all hell broke loose, and a contingent of Sjeletyv came out of the dark. The four cut Tyra down, cut down another ten before I managed to get over the shield wall. I took out Asta’s legs to get to her head, put a shield through Ingrid’s throat. Someone else put nine arrows in Vigdís, dropping her long enough for me to take off her head, but Brynhildr, Brynhildr was good, and I was tired. She fought me back, fought me down. I ended up catching her sword on my cloak, took a hard blow to the ribs, a fist to the face, and I went to a knee. I saw my death in her eyes, but I heard Tove’s voice in my ear, reminding me I was destined for more and found some strength somewhere to fight Brynhildr back and win. And then… and then the Sjeletyv… screamed angry we’d killed their new fighters.”

His grip had grown progressively tighter with your recitation. “Fuck… holy fuck…”

“By the next morning, it was clear the world was lost. We’d failed. There was no one left to protect, and we hadn’t saved a single person. The Sjeletyv had killed everything that moved. Everything that drew breath was dead or like them. Odin ordered us home, and he opened the Bifröst long enough to scorch the world. Five-thousand Valkyrie and their steeds set foot on that world. Fifteen-hundred of us came home with twelve-hundred Pegasi.”

He was shaking by the time you finished, both anger and fear clouding his scent. “What life was this?” he finally managed to force out.

“First… first life,” you whispered, holding him that much tighter. “We met a few years later.”

“Oh… god…” His tears soaked into your hair. “You could have died. You could have died, and we’d never have met.”

“I could have, but I didn’t.” You felt cold, frozen right to the bones. Not even his warmth was enough to take the chill from you.

He rocked and held you. Rocked and stroked your spine. “We need to find out more about this Hand.”

“We will.” You shivered and hunched further into his body. “If Elektra wants to play the innocent victim, then let her. She’ll be more likely to say something she shouldn’t. If she’s here for the Hounds… we’ll know soon enough.”

He set you back to free his arm from your cloak and cup your cheek. “I’m so sorry, min vakre skjoldpike. So sorry you went through that.”

You sighed and leaned into his touch. “We’ve all seen stuff, Steve. My stuff is just… different.”

“Still, you don’t need to be dredging up all this because Tony’s an impatient ass,” he growled, pressing a soft kiss to your lips.

“Wasn’t Tony’s fault. They were already surfacing thanks to the smell.”

“Smell?”

“You can’t smell her? She smells like death!” You sat up further to stare at him in shock.

“Couldn’t smell a thing other than whatever perfume she uses. It wasn’t disgusting, but it wasn’t my favourite either,” he said, lowering his head to trace his nose along your jaw. “Not like this scent. You always smell amazing.”

“Steve,” you sighed, tilting your head to give him better access.

“You’re so cold, baby. Let me take you to bed and warm you up. See if I can’t help push those memories back for you,” he murmured, lips skimming your skin with every word.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, doll face. I can get you warm. Are you hungry at all, baby? Want something to eat first?”

“I can’t… well… maybe?” Your hand played with the hair at his nape while the other stroked over the cotton of his shirt, finding you were a little hungry after all.

He rocked up on his knees, his arm going beneath your thighs to lift you to his chest. “Then let’s go inside. I’ll take you to the kitchen and make you something. You can have a hot chocolate while I fix you a sandwich.”

“With marshmallows?” you asked, pouting a little and batting your lashes.

A chuckle rumbled his chest. “Yeah, baby. You can have marshmallows.”

“Lots of marshmallows?”

He smirked against your ear and kissed your cheek while you wrapped your arms around his neck. “Yes, I will fill your cup half full of marshmallows. I know how you are.”

“What? I like marshmallows!”

“You’d probably like it if I filled the mug full of marshmallows and poured the hot chocolate over the top, so it filled in all the crevices.”

You pulled back to look at him. “Can you do that?”

He laughed and shook his head. “Only if you want to spend the night on a sugar high.”

It took a little finessing, but you wiggled yourself around until you could wrap your legs around his hips. “Would that be so bad if I got to expend my energy with you… Captain?”

Both of his hands went to the thin fabric of your pants and squeezed tightly on your ass. He pressed you back into the door and stroked the tip of his nose over your cheek to bump and nudge against yours. “Not at all, doll. Not at all.”

“Steve…” you sighed against his lips. Hot breath warmed your cold flesh, and tender kisses lifted your bruised heart. His hair was silky soft when you carded your fingers through it, being careful of you talons over his scalp.

“Let’s satisfy your appetite, then we can satisfy mine,” he purred.

His teeth caught and worked over your lower lip, making you shiver with need. Your legs tightened on his hips, forcing him closer until the weight of him made it hard to breathe. A tug had your lip free of his teeth, letting you dive into his mouth, kiss him with every drop of love you held inside you for the man who was your heart and soul.

He wrenched away to gasp for air when the kiss seemed to last for hours. His panting breath washed over your lips, and you had to touch his, see for yourself just how plump and swollen and bruised they’d become. He nipped the tips of your fingers, rumbles of pleasure echoing in his chest as if he were a jungle cat, purring for his mate.

“I love the way you smell in this cloak. It adds a layer of feral to you as if you’ve taken a part of the wolf into your own body and become a wild thing wrapped in its fur.” Steve tucked his nose in along your pulse, the fur sliding away from your skin to be replaced by the heat of his breath and the softness of his lips. “When Loki draped it over you and set the helmet on your head like a crown… fuck! I wanted to kneel at your feet and howl to the heavens. Mine! My woman. My Valkyrie Queen. Min vakre skjoldpike! All mine. Then you crossed blades and fire erupted…” He stopped to sink his teeth into your pulse and hold there while the pounding of his heart escalated, thudding hard against your chest.

You moaned and stretched your throat out. “Harder, sjelevenn.”

He complied, working his teeth into your skin. There would be a bruise, a nice one, which would last for a few hours and throb deliciously, reminding you just who you belonged to. He rolled his hips forward, sending the thickness of jeans along with the rigid length of his growing erection right into your sensitive core.

“You looked like something out of Norse legends. An angry goddess. A mythical queen. Fuck it was hot!” he snarled, tilting your body harder into his. “Why the cloak, though? Doesn’t it get in the way?”

Only Steve could multitask in such a fashion. He was breathing hot and heavy against your throat, his teeth returning over and over to what felt like one hell of a hickey, but he could still ask the questions running rampant in his brain when most men’s thoughts would have gone south and stayed there.

“It’s… impenetrable. No blade can cut it,” you gasped, clinging to him and rocking your hips into his in rolling a rhythm.

“Baby, baby… don’t…” he groaned, the sound pained. “Damnit! I’m not taking you on the roof when there is a perfectly good bed right down the stairs!”

“You… started it!”

He dragged you from the door. “Then I guess I should end it.”

You pouted and refused to unwrap your legs. “Big meanie.” The swat to your behind had the exact opposite effect it was intended to as you hummed appreciatively and melted into Steve. “Do it again, Stevie. I wike it.”

“Don’t start, frisky kitten,” he grumbled, but damn if he didn’t give you a second swat to the other ass cheek.

“Only for you, Captain,” you purred, nipping his ear, clinging like a spider monkey when he tried to peel you from him. “Nuh uh. I want a ride, and I happen to like this position.”

Steve shook his head, but only jacked you higher with an arm of steel beneath your buttocks. “You’re a cheeky dame,” he continued to mutter as he took quick strides across the roof and bent to retrieve the helmet you’d chucked.

The world tilted, and you giggled, wild and giddy when it righted.

“You alright there, doll face?” he chuckled, plunking the helmet back on your head.

“Yeah. Yeah, I really am.” It felt as if a weight had lifted, one heavy with old guilt and shame. It was less fresh. Muted. Like the old wound had finally closed. “Thank you, sjelevenn,” you whispered, cupping his face. “You’re so good to me, Steve.”

“Always. I love you, (Y/N). I’ll love you forever.”

Tears, again, burned your eyes but these were not of sorrow. As you held him close, lightly tracing his features with your fingers so they would translate to your mind’s eye, you murmured, “Hvis alle stjernene i himmelen var min kjærlighet til deg, de ville fortsatt være en kort.”

“Sweetheart, you slay me.” He rested his forehead gently against yours. “You sound so damn sexy, and my heart kind of flutters when you do that. Tell me what you said?”

“If all the stars in the heavens were my love for you, they would still be one short.”

He gave a shuddering breath and held you like you were glass, precious and fragile. A treasure. His most valuable one. “You say shit like that, and my heart just falls into your hands, baby doll.”

“That’s good, Steve because mine already beats in your chest.”

“Everything I feel with you is so… big. I just can’t with you sometimes.”

“Are you saying I make you speechless, Steven? You? Captain America at a loss for words? I’m shook!” you teased, patting his cheek.

“Darlin’,” he drawled, heading toward the door, “you leave me speechless on a regular basis. And half the time I’m speechless because I’m distracted watching your ass.”

You burst out laughing as he made his way inside the compound. “Well, Cap. You make me a hot chocolate with tons of marshmallows, and you can do more than simply watch my ass.”

“Deal!” he crowed and raced down the stairs.

Next Chapter

#rise up #steve rogers #steve x reader #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers fanfiction #captain america #captain america fanfiction #captain america x reader #avengers #the avengers #avengers au #avengers fanfiction

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davidpastrsnack · 4 years ago

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hiiiii this is my first bit of writing!!! it’s our fav ratty matty and was supposed to be a little blurb but it got kinda long (1507 words) lol. please let me know what you think and send in some requests!

It’s not that you didn’t think Matthew fighting was hot, it’s just that sometimes he doesn’t know when enough is enough.

Nearly one week into the bubble, Matthew and the Flames were playing in the first game of the qualifying round against Winnipeg. Saying goodbye was harder than you even imagined it would be.

You woke up to an empty bed, rolling over in search of Matthew’s warmth only to find cold, crisp sheets in his place. You winced as you lifted yourself out of bed, quickly remembering the events that transpired the night before, Matthew making sure you got a proper goodbye. You stumbled into the kitchen area wearing just his t-shirt to find him standing over the stove, quite the spread laying out on the counter before you. All of your favorite breakfast foods (that he could cook) along with a fresh bouquet of red roses, also your favorite. That’s when you felt them, the tears starting to burn behind your eyes as the reality of him leaving struck. Matthew hadn’t heard you yet, his bare back facing you with grey sweatpants hanging low on his hips. His curls were a mess, partly your doing from the night before, and you just knew that his tongue was poking out of his mouth in concentration.

“Fuck,” Matthew muttered as the hot oil hit his chest. You couldn’t help but giggle, finally gaining his attention. He groaned as he saw you, a soft smile on your face, “You’re not supposed to be awake yet. I was gonna bring you coffee in bed and then walk you out here.”

“Matty,” you whispered, terrified that your voice would betray you. His typically stormy blue eyes softened and he sighed as he walked towards you. He knew exactly what you were feeling and what you needed. His arms opened up and pulled you into his body, feeling you relax the second you were in his grasp. You tightly wrapped yourself around his toned middle, nuzzling in the crook of his neck, taking in his scent. His hands moved to your head, pressing a long kiss to the top of your hair.

“I know, baby, I know. But this is what we’re gonna do,” he pulled back to look into your eyes, cupping your already tear stained cheeks. “We’re gonna enjoy this breakfast, that I got up extra early to make,” you rolled your eyes, letting a laugh slip out at his slight chirp. “And we’re gonna make the most of the next two hours together. Then we’ll say goodbye. Okay?” His thumbs brushed against your soft skin as you looked up at him.

“Okay,” you smiled.

“That’s my pretty girl,” he quietly cheered, just trying to lift your mood before the sadness set in for good.

And now you were here, sitting on the couch in the Tkachuk house watching game 1 unfold. Matthew suggested you go back to St. Louis for a bit once he left, knowing how close you got with his family during quarantine. It was an easy decision, with your classes still online and Chantal eagerly welcoming you back into her home. Not even 1o minutes into the game, Matthew was already the center of attention. As soon as Scheifele fell to the ice withering in pain, you knew he was in for one the rest of the night. It clearly wasn’t intentional, and the regret was apparent in his face, but you knew that Winnipeg would make him pay. And that they did. There was no denying that watching the way Matthew threw his gloves off and rolled up his sleeves before squaring up with Wheeler had you aching for him, but the seemingly constant hits after had you cringing each time. Kieth and Taryn were loving it, faces grinning whenever Matthew was involved in anything, but to your right was Chantal, who shared your worry for her first born.

“Sometimes I just look away when he’s causing trouble,” she gently spoke to you with a soft smile, sensing the anxiety radiating from your body.

You laugh, “That obvious that I’m struggling over here?”

She moved to place a hand on your shoulder, rubbing in calming circles, “Trust me, I get it, sweetie.”

Hours later you were snuggled into your bed in the guest room, waiting for Matthew’s call. You had changed into a pair of sleep shorts and one of his big hoodies, the scent of his cologne still lingering on the fabric. You felt yourself dozing off against the pillow, cursing each time your head bobbed awake. You knew that he would have a lot of media to do regardless, but his many extracurricular activities of the night didn’t help. You just needed to hear his voice, you needed to know he was okay. Just as your eyes began to close again, your phone started buzzing in your hand. Matthew was splayed across your screen and you answered immediately, impatiently waiting for the FaceTime call to load so you could finally see his face.

“There you are baby,” he cooed, already desperately missing your post game hug. He was back in his hotel room, calling you the second he was finally alone. He had his hood pulled over his head, but you could still see the damp curls falling down onto his forehead. “What’d you think?” His face was laced with his classic smirk, knowing that you would have a lot to say and reveling in teasing you.

“Matthew,” you warned, not appreciating his attitude. You were in no way surprised, but you were clouded by your genuine concern for the rest of the series. “I love watching you win but that was painful.”

“What, you didn’t like watching me drop the gloves? Hmmm?” he chuckled as you rolled your eyes. He was still riding the high of such an exciting win and hadn’t yet processed how worried you really were.

“Matty, I’m serious. I don’t think you understand how hard it is for me, and your mom, to sit here and watch people go after you. And I know it’s your job, but it only took you five minutes to paint a bright red target on your back and I can’t handle watching you get hurt, especially not when I can’t even be there with you,” your voice trailing out at the end.

Matthew’s face dropped right away. He paused to take in your appearance, your eyes were laced with exhaustion and he could see you chewing the inside of your cheek, a tell tale sign you were anxious. He was used to stressing out his family with the trouble he caused on the ice, but you were different. He couldn’t stand to see in you any kind of distress, and knowing that he was the source of it killed him.

“Baby, I- I’m sorry you’re so nervous. I can’t promise that I’ll turn into a saint overnight, but I can promise that I won’t do anything too stupid. And I’ll be careful. I’m a big boy, remember? I can shake off a few Jets,” he flashed a grin at you as he saw your laugh, finally breaking your worried expression.

“I’m going to hold you to that, and I’m sure your mom will too,” you smiled.

Matthew’s head fell back in laughter, “Oh I have no doubt that you two have it covered together.”

After you both came down from the short fit of laughter, you sighed, “I miss you Matty. I miss you a lot.”

His heart broke hearing your words. He felt the same way, reality slapping him across the face every morning when he woke up alone. “I know, sweetheart. Fuck, I can’t even begin to explain how much I need you. But remember what I told you when I left, just say the word babygirl and I’ll be on a flight home tonight.” And he meant in. Never in his life before meeting you would he even imagine passing up on a chance to win the cup for a girl, but here he was, offering without an ounce of hesitation.

You couldn’t help blushing at his words, but you were direct in your response. “No way, I better not see you for months,” you smiled.

Matthew’s laughter joined your own, loving how easily you could throw him a chirp, even during such a tender moment. “I’m working on it, just for you,” he grinned.

The rest of the night was spent talking and rambling about anything and everything, both just enjoying hearing the other’s voice. Before you knew it, your eyelids were slipping shut and you were quickly fast asleep. Matthew couldn’t help but stare, so content as he watched your body rise with each breath, desperately wishing he was there to hold you. Even though he was physically and mentally exhausted from the game, he fought the urge to close his eyes, until his body ultimately took over. With neither one of you ending the call, you laid together all night as if nothing was different.

#matthew tkachuk #matthew tkachuk imagine #nhl imagine #nhl writing #hockey imagine #hockey writing #blurbs #my writing

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minhoinator · 7 years ago

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By My Side, a Hogwarts AU (6/?)

deck the halls - “’Aaron and I are planning on sneaking in a Christmas tree for our room. Would you want to help?’

‘Could Minho help too?’

Callum’s eyes brightened. ‘Sure, we can use all the help we can get.’ He turned around, tapping on the desk behind him to get Aaron’s attention. ‘Hey, Operation Deck the Halls is a go.’”

read on AO3 / master list // first year - muggle-born, sorted, first day, homesick, hallowe’en

@lockandminkey @minhosbowties @dearestjonghyun @artfulkey @shinyexo (if anyone else wants to be tagged in this, just let me know!) A/N - Yeah, so, I know I said that I would update between Minho's birthday and Christmas day, but...I hope you understand. This chapter is extra long to make up for such a long hiatus -- I hope you enjoy their first Christmas at Hogwarts!

* - * - *

The first snow of winter occurred a week before Christmas. Hagrid and Filch left the kitchen every morning with thermoses full of coffee. They were off to shovel the pathways outside the castle so students could travel to and from their classes. Snow drifted into the courtyard, untouched except by the stray cat that sometimes roamed the halls.

And, there she was again – the silver tabby that usually lurked outside the Headmaster’s office. She darted away from him when he tried to chase her.

Minho had always loved cats. He and Minseok had found an orange tabby with a missing eye on their way to school one morning. They ended up skipping school that day in their effort to coax it out of the alley. It had been Minho who touched the cat first, and he held her gently while Minseok petted her head.

“What should we do with her?”

“Keep her?”

Minseok scoffed and sighed heavily when Minho looked up at him, tears burning the rims of his eyes. “Fine. We’ll have to show her to Mom first, though.”

Mango was her name – it was their father’s idea. She was a happy addition to their family for three years, up until Dad got the call that they were moving to England. Sooyoung’s mother offered to take Mango, and they gave her to the other Chois a month before they were set to move to Manchester.

He missed having a pet. Sure, he had Geum-nun, but he rarely saw her between classes. It didn’t help that he never received any mail. Besides, having an owl was not the same as having a cat.

Sighing, Minho stepped up on his tiptoes to peek around the banister for a glimpse of the silver tabby. He spotted her, sitting with her back to the courtyard. Her tail twitched back and forth as she watched the snow fall. Minho grinned as he clambered over the railing and into the courtyard, his feet crunching on the snow as he crept up behind the cat.

Her ears twitched back at the slight noise, her tail freezing mid-swing. Minho stilled, waiting for her tail to swish again. When it did, he started forward again, only to have her bound away from him to return to the castle. He scurried after her, slipping a little on the stone floor as he turned the corner, and slid directly into the Headmaster herself.

Minho picked himself up off the floor and bowed as his face flushing scarlet.

“No running in the halls, Mr. Choi.”

“Yes, Headmaster.”

She sniffed, and her voice softened ever so slightly. “Be sure to clean the snow off your shoes. You wouldn’t want to track snow inside.”

Minho nodded, keeping his eyes down as McGonagall walked away.

“What took you so long?” Kibum asked in a rasped whisper as Minho slid into his seat beside him. Professor Binns droned on – either he hadn’t noticed Minho slipping into his class ten minutes late or he just didn’t care. Being a ghost would do that to a person.

“Uh,” Minho hummed in thought as he flipped through his textbook to find the page Kibum was on. He sniffed and rubbed the tip of his still cold-numbed nose. “Nothing important.”

There was a hint of a smile in Kibum’s voice when he tapped the paragraph Binns was currently discussing. “We’re here.”

* - * - *

Kibum brushed a stray feather off the table as the owls flew out of the Great Hall and returned to the owlery. The red ribbon tickled the underside of his chin as he hugged the large package from Grandma. Inside was her response to whether he could stay at Hogwarts for Christmas or not. Minho still had yet to hear from his parents at all this year, and he didn’t want to leave his friend alone for the holidays.

But...maybe today was the day Minho finally got something. Doubtful, but maybe.

The excited din of the Great Hall buzzed in his ears – everyone was probably talking about going home for the holiday. Kibum tapped the side of the package as he stared above the Gryffindor table to the window behind one of the huge Christmas trees.

It was snowing again. The flakes were thicker than they had been the past couple of days. Hopefully, the weather wouldn’t stop the others from traveling home.

Minho’s head bobbed into Kibum’s line of sight as he walked past the Gryffindor table. He blinked and sat up, scooting over a little for Minho to slide in beside him. Minho crossed his arms on the table and rested his head on them with a quiet huff, and Kibum turned to him, his eyebrow raising in question. Did you get any mail? Minho simply shook his head.

He patted Minho’s shoulder as he sat up and untied the red ribbon that held his package together. He passed it to Minho, who began wrapping and unwrapping it around his finger, and opened the box.

Inside, there were several presents wrapped in a light blue, dancing snowmen paper, the biggest being the two squishy rolls tucked against the side. Sweaters, more than likely. Grandma had gotten back into knitting this summer after quitting because of her arthritis. Kibum poked one and smiled at the way the wrapping paper crinkled.

Grandma’s letter was right on top of the presents and the still-warm brown bags of treats. He pushed it aside to dig through the sweet-smelling packages – pulling out two crisp pumpkin pasties, one for Minho and the other for himself – before he opened the letter.

My darling Kibum~

Of course you can stay at Hogwarts with your friend for Christmas. It would be sad to leave him all alone at school. I only wish that the both of you could come here for Christmas, but I know that the rules will never allow for that.

“What’d she say?” Minho asked as he unraveled the ribbon from his finger.

“Yes. But shh,” Kibum added when Minho sat up excitedly. “I’m still reading.”

Some of the gifts in there are for Minho, since I doubt his parents will be sending him anything. I’ll miss you this year, but I’m very proud of you for deciding to stay behind with your friend.

Tell Minho “Merry Christmas” from me.

With all my love…

Kibum folded up the letter and tucked it between the probable sweaters. “She says ‘Merry Christmas’.”

Minho reached into the box and frowned when Kibum smacked his hand away from the pumpkin pasties bag. “I just wanted a butterbeer cookie. Hey,” his voice trailed off when Kibum closed the box with a grin.

“Later.” He sniffed his disdain and Kibum snorted, amused. “So, now that I’m staying, what do we want to do?”

Riiiing!

Oh, right. There was still one more day of classes before Christmas break.

The Great Hall bustled to life, the students grabbing their bags and books and shoving the last of their breakfasts into their mouths as they hurried to their first class. Kibum clapped Minho on the shoulder, hefting himself off the bench. “See you in history.”

Minho slipped out of his grasp, shouting "Okay!" over his shoulder as he darted back to the Hufflepuff table for his backpack. He beat Kibum to the door, and he hurried down the hall to Herbology, waving goodbye to Kibum before he turned the corner.

The contents of Grandma’s package shuffled around as Kibum ran to his house. There were, like, four minutes until he had to get to Charms. On the second floor. From the basement. Kibum huffed a sigh, the edge of the package digging into his ribs with every step. He skidded to a stop before the blank brick wall and dug into his robe pocket for his wand.

“Mistletoe,” Kibum said, tapping the tiny coiled snake three times. He rolled his eyes as the bricks shuffled to reveal the common room. Charlie had been feeling particularly festive before he left to go home to Ireland for the holiday. Kibum stepped inside to set his package down on the plush velvet armchair and turned back around to find the entrance falling back into place. “Really?”

Three minutes left.

Kibum sighed and crossed his arms over his chest as he waited for the last brick to settle into its original position. He cracked his knuckles before he knocked the pattern – three taps, a pause, and two more taps – to open the wall again. He started running as soon as the wall opened up enough for him to fit through. The clattering of the bricks echoed in the hall as he ran.

He made it to Charms out of breath and with seconds to spare. He stumbled inside and sat at the nearest desk and tried to mask his labored breathing behind his hand. Luckily, Prof. Flitwick was distracted by one of the Ravenclaws and did not notice that Kibum was late.

Kibum elbowed Callum’s ribs. “He hasn’t started yet, right?”

“Hey.” He rubbed his side, his brow furrowing. “No, Matty had a question about yesterday’s lesson.” Kibum nodded and opened his textbook to where they had left off yesterday in the light spells and charms. “Did you hear back from your grandma?”

“Oh, yeah…She said yes.”

“Sweet! That means it’s me and Aaron and you staying behind. We were thinking – “

Kibum’s mind wandered to Minho as Callum prattled on. He would be all alone in his dorm room for the holiday since his roommates were going home to their families. Minho hadn’t even bothered to write his parents and ask them if he was going to be able to come home for Christmas. He looked so close to tears when Grandma sent the letter explaining what he would have to do when he arrived at King’s Cross by himself. Kibum couldn't bear to see Minho this sad, so he offered to stay behind with him.

He had refused at first, saying that family should be together for Christmas. Eventually – thankfully – Minho accepted Kibum’s offer to spend Christmas with him. Kibum wrote and sent the letter to Grandma that night.

Since he was staying here for Minho, it would make sense if they spent as much time together as possible, right? So, maybe he could spend the night in the Slytherin dorm once or twice – or maybe the whole time – so he wouldn’t feel so alone.

“Hey, do you think it would be all right if – “ he started to say just as Callum was saying “ – but, there’s nothing that we could drape around it to make it invisible, so…”

“What?” Kibum blinked and looked up at a confused Callum. “Sorry. You go.”

“Uh…Aaron and I are planning on sneaking in a Christmas tree for our room. Would you want to help?”

“Could Minho help too?”

Callum’s eyes brightened. “Sure, we can use all the help we can get.” He turned around, tapping on the desk behind him to get Aaron’s attention. “Hey, Operation Deck the Halls is a go.”

Kibum snorted. “Operation Deck the Halls?” Minho would love that they thought of a code name. “What do you want us to do?”

“We’ve already got a tree picked out. What we need are some decorations.”

“We’re on it,” Kibum said, grinning.

* - * - *

“Duck,” Minho whispered, wincing at the thump that was Kibum probably falling to the ground. The spruce branches rustled against his leg and he stepped back until Kibum patted his leg. “Are you okay?”

Kibum let out a weak “Yeah.”

It was Christmas Eve, and lunch had just ended. It was time for Operation Deck the Halls – Minho smiled now just thinking about the name. Callum and Aaron had left before dessert was served, which left Minho and Kibum to gather as many ornaments as they could from the Christmas trees in the Great Hall.

Minho was supposed to be the lookout while Kibum picked which ornaments to take. Until now, no one noticed what they were doing, but…

The ornaments clinked together in Minho’s backpack when he squared his shoulders as Filch approached, grumbling some low greeting that Minho did not understand. He didn’t want to be impolite, so he bowed and said “Hello” with a small smile. Minho stepped back again when Filch glowered in his direction, freezing when Kibum pinched his calf.

“Ow…” he said once Filch had moved on.

“Sorry.”

A rumbling purr sounded a little way off, distracting Minho. Mrs. Norris, Filch’s notorious cat, was watching him and Kibum with a judging, yellow-eyed gaze. Her tail swished lazily back and forth and she crept back as Minho crouched and extended his hand to her. Her ears twitched back when he clicked his tongue and rubbed his fingers together.

“Minho, what are you doing?”

“Trying something.”

He tapped his fingers on the stone floor, Mrs. Norris’ gaze flicking down to follow the movement, but she stayed put. Minho pulled some tinsel off of the tree and dragged the silver strands across the floor. Her tail stopped twitching and Minho changed the tempo of his swishing. There was a loud snapping of fingers, and both he and Mrs. Norris turned to see Filch watching them.

She gave Minho one more look before she trotted off after her master.

Sighing, he sat back on his heels, the ornaments clinking together again. “Hey, careful. These are glass.” Minho looked back as Kibum placed another ornament into his backpack. “I think we have enough, now.”

“You think?”

Kibum laughed as he met Minho’s eyes. “How big of a tree do you think they’ll be able to get inside?” Minho shrugged and peeked around the tree to make sure that Filch wasn’t watching them. “We good?”

Slowly, Minho slipped out of his backpack and cradled it in his arms as the ornaments jingled together. He put his arms through the straps again, this time with the backpack resting against his torso as he stood. Stepping forward, he looked around the tree again. Filch and Mrs. Norris were at the head table, their backs facing the Great Hall.

“We’re clear,” Minho whispered as he started tiptoeing carefully to the door.

Kibum darted ahead and peeked up and down the hall before looking back at Minho. His eyebrows raised with a sarcastic tilt as he crossed his arms over his chest. Once Minho reached him, he sighed. “Are you sure you don’t want to walk any slower? I mean,” he looked at his watch-less wrist and Minho snorted, “I’ve got nothing else to do today, so…”

“Hey, these are glass. I was told to be careful.”

Giggling, Kibum smacked his shoulder, which caused the ornaments to clink together. They both froze, Kibum staring down at the backpack and Minho checking over his shoulder to make sure no one heard. When he was sure that no one was watching, Minho started down the hall until Kibum’s grip tightened around his shoulder.

“This way,” he said as he guided Minho over to the stairwell to the left of the Great Hall. “It’s quicker.”

Water dripped somewhere deep inside the dark corridor leading to the Slytherin house entrance. Torchlight flickered dancing shadows along the gray brick walls. The paintings moved as they walked past them, the subjects' movements jerky and unnatural in the shadows. Minho shivered and jolted to a stop when a pair of silvery ghosts glided through the wall and crossed their path. He gulped and reached for Kibum’s hand in the dark but stopped, his eyes wide, when Kibum cleared his throat.

“This is it.”

But…it was just a blank wall.

Minho squinted and scanned it for the hidden entrance as Kibum stepped forward, wielding his wand. He tapped a brick three times, said “Mistletoe,” and stepped back.

“Stop, stop…Callum, stop.” Minho glanced up as Aaron’s voice reverberated in the corridor.

“Why are you going so slow?”

“Because the tree is getting heavy? What kind of question…”

“Guys?” Kibum said, drawing everyone’s attention. “Can you hurry? I don’t want us to get in trouble.” Callum stumbled forward and out of the stairwell, pulling the tree and Aaron along with him. Kibum tapped Minho’s arm. “Let’s go.”

Minho turned around to find the wall open and waiting for them to walk through, and he blinked, surprised. When did that happen? Kibum headed inside and waved for Minho to follow him.

A fire crackled and popped in the otherwise empty common room, warming the dark stone walls with its light. Muddled shades of green light were cast across the floor and walls from the stained glass windows. The room was bright yet dark, warm yet cold, and cozy yet uninviting all at once. Slytherin’s whole aesthetic was so different from that of Hufflepuff’s, and it left Minho speechless.

“Minho.” He looked up and found Kibum waiting for him under an arched stairway. “This way.” Callum and Aaron shuffled through the doorway. As soon as they crossed the threshold, the bricks returned to their original places. “Come on.”

Minho followed Kibum as quickly as the glass ornaments would allow.

* - * - *

The jingling of the ornaments followed Kibum as he darted down the hallway to the first years’ dorm room. Minho laughed at something either Aaron or Callum said, and Kibum glanced over his shoulder before he opened the door to their room.

It was a little cluttered, and ordinarily, Kibum wouldn’t be concerned but this was Minho. He wasn’t a neat freak – like Kibum’s mom – but he did like to keep things tidy. Most days, before they could even start studying, Minho would pick up the closet and stack his books in order of how they would study.

Kibum suppressed the desire to run around and pick up the discarded clothes and shoes and robes. He pushed the door open for Minho to come through and held it for Aaron and Callum who were on his heels, both huffing and puffing from the carrying the tree. Minho’s eyebrows raised as he looked about the room, taking it all in. He set his backpack gently on the foot of Fredrick’s bed.

Aaron’s twinkle lights were still strung around the room from Halloween since no one felt like taking them down yet. Kibum checked out the corner where they decided last night that they would set up the tree. He kicked one of Callum’s shoes away as they set the tree down on the floor, the branches and needles crinkling.

“Same place?” Aaron asked, nodding to the corner that Kibum was stepping out of.

“Yeah.”

Callum threw his head back and sighed before he bent to pick up the trunk. “Shi – crap,” he glanced in Minho’s direction and cleared his throat. “Sorry. This is really heavy.” He took a few steps before he came to a sudden stop. Aaron grumbled when the tip of the tree dug into his ribs. “Wait, we don’t have a stand for it.”

“Oh.”

Kibum frowned, sighing. He hummed in question when Minho tapped his shoulder. “Where do you keep your Herbology textbook?” He gestured beneath his bed and Minho knelt to sift through his books.

“Is there a spell that would work?” he asked as he sat cross-legged beside Minho.

“Maybe.”

There were a couple quiet minutes of page turning. Callum and Aaron set down the tree while they waited. Minho stopped on a page, his finger tracing a line of text. Kibum leaned in as he flipped the page again, and flipped it back. He tapped a spell, “This one might work.”

“Did you bring your wand?”

His mouth opened and snapped closed as he glanced over Kibum at the other two boys. He lowered his voice and switched to speaking Korean. “Could you do it?”

Kibum took the book from Minho’s lap and read over the spell. “My wand is in the nightstand drawer.” Minho leaned over and grabbed it, passing it to him as Kibum stood. “Okay, I think we’re ready.” The other two lifted the tree and moved it to where Kibum pointed to with his wand. “Just hold it steady. Minho, bring the book over here again.”

He glanced over the spell again and practiced the wand movements a couple times. Then, he straightened his shoulders and said, “Arbor insideo!”

Root-like tendrils grew from the base of the tree, twisting and spreading and digging into the spaces between the tiles. One of the tiles cracked – Minho jumped at the sound – and the roots thickened as they plunged deeper into the ground. The branches shook slightly as the spell took effect and stilled once the roots stopped growing.

“Is it done?” Kibum asked Minho, who nodded. “Okay, let go?” Callum and Aaron took a tentative step back, Aaron letting go of the tree before Callum.

It stood by itself.

Kibum grinned and looked over at Minho, whose eyes were shining as he stared in awe at the tree. He wrapped him in a tight hug and leaned his head on his shoulder as Minho patted his back.

“Way to go, Minho!” Callum said, holding his hand up for a high-five.

“Yeah! Thanks!” Aaron said, smiling at him. “I would have never thought of that.”

Minho’s face was a bright pink and he sighed as Kibum stopped hugging him. Slight dimples appeared as his smile grew. “I…I just really like Herbology.”

Kibum wanted to hug him again, but he refrained when he glanced over at Callum and Aaron. They weren’t paying attention to them now – instead, they were poking and prodding at the tree – but…still. He shoved his hands into his pockets and bumped Minho’s shoulder with his own. “Good job.”

His face turned a deeper shade of pink. “Thanks.”

“Should we decorate now?” Kibum asked, raising his voice to include the others.

They voiced their agreement, and Kibum directed for Minho and Aaron to unstring the twinkle lights from around the room. Kibum and Callum sorted through the decorations that Kibum picked out. They spent most of their time untangling the tinsel.

Once the ornaments were organized by color and the lights were strung around the tree, they started arranging them on the branches. Aaron accidentally shook a clear orb with ice painted on the top and bottom of the sphere, and a scene sprang to life inside. Snow started falling and ice skaters started swirling on the frozen lake inside the ornament. When it faded, Aaron shook it again. They watched the scene replay several times before Callum placed the ornament in the center of the tree. Minho gently shook a couple of the ornaments to see if any of them had scenes in them, but he gave up after a couple of tries.

When Kibum placed the last bit of tinsel on the tree, they all sat back to admire their handiwork.

The lights gleamed off the ornaments, twinkling on and off every second or so. Around the Great Hall, there had been four trees – one in every corner of the room – and they had been decorated in the colors of each house. Kibum took sparingly from the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw trees, focusing more on the Slytherin and Hufflepuff ones instead. He thought it looked rather pretty covered in green, gold, and silver with touches of red and blue. Callum had wrapped the base of the tree in one of his plaid scarves as a makeshift tree skirt. It tied the whole look together nicely, Kibum thought.

When he glanced over at the other three, he grinned. They were all staring at the tree, the twinkle lights bright in their smiling eyes. He cleared his throat and Aaron looked over Callum and Minho at him. “What time is it?”

He leaned back to check the time on the alarm clock on his nightstand. “4:37″

Dinner was at five. “What if,” Minho and the other two looked over at him, “we put our presents under the tree and then head over to the Great Hall?” Minho stayed put while Kibum and the others went to their bunks to grab the gifts their families sent them. Kibum cradled all his and Minho’s gifts from Grandma in his arms and carefully walked back to sit beside him again. “Take yours.”

Minho’s eyes lit up. “Mine?”

Kibum’s brow furrowed. Had he forgotten to tell him? Oops. “Yeah, look.” He turned toward Minho a little more as he picked out the presents that Grandma labeled for him. She sent him three things, the sweater and two other smaller gifts. Minho gulped as he looked down at them and followed Kibum’s lead when he placed his gifts under the tree.

The other two heaped their presents around the tree trunk, and Minho and Kibum followed them out the door and into the common room. They all ran to the door, Minho and Kibum sliding to a stop by their shoes. The wall opened when Aaron knocked the password, and they all traipsed up the stairs to the Great Hall. Minho broke off from the group at the door, trudging over to the sparsely-seated Hufflepuff table and sitting by himself.

Kibum watched him sadly until Callum said his name. “Sorry, what?”

“You said he was alone, right? There’s no one in his dorm right now?” Kibum nodded and Callum glanced over at Aaron and he took a bite of mashed potatoes. “Do you think he’d want to spend the night with us?”

“Probably. Would you guys mind?”

“Not at all,” Aaron said around his mouthful of whipped cream and pumpkin pie. “He’s a nice guy and he helped us out.”

Callum poured more gravy over his plate. “Besides, he’s your best friend, right?” Kibum nodded, dragging the brussel sprout on his fork through the gravy and cranberry sauce. “Yeah, he can hang out with us for the rest of the holiday.”

“Okay.” Kibum smiled, glancing between them at Minho across the Hall. “I’ll tell him.” He finished his food as quickly as possible, his fork clattering on his plate when Minho stood to leave. Once he reached the doorway, he called out to Minho, who stopped mid-step down the hall. He jogged back to meet Kibum as he walked toward him. “You wanna spend the night with us? In our room?”

Minho’s eyes brightened before his brow furrowed. “Is that allowed?”

“Probably not, but…” Kibum leaned in, whispering with a small smile. “Neither is having a Christmas tree, I don’t think.”

“True…okay. I’ll come.”

“Great! So – “

“Actually,” Minho rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ve got to stop by my room first. Meet you there?” He glanced over Kibum when some of the other students started to file out of the Great Hall.

“I’ll just come with you.”

“Oh.” He hummed and looked down the hall toward Hufflepuff house. “Okay.”

Kibum followed Minho as he started walking, their shoes squeaking on the stone floor. “So, do I get to see inside Hufflepuff, or..?” Minho’s eyes widened and he shoved his hands into his hoodie pocket, and Kibum’s heart sank. “I don’t have to, I guess.”

“No, no.” Minho pursed his lips. “Rhys is probably reading for the night.”

“And?”

“And that means he’s sitting by the fire with his current book and a cup of tea to make sure we all get in for the night.” Minho stopped in front of a cluster of barrels and pulled his wand out of his hoodie pocket and twirled it around. “One time, he threatened to tell Prof. Sprout about one of the fifth years trying to sneak in her boyfriend.” Kibum snorted and Minho offered him a small smile. “Sorry. I’ll be a few minutes.”

“Okay.”

Minho tapped on the front-most barrel and it popped open. He waved at Kibum before he ducked inside. Kibum tried to peer inside, but he only caught a glimpse of a warm, amber-colored tunnel before the barrel closed up behind Minho.

He tapped his thumb on his thigh as he backed away from the barrels. This could have been his house…What would have been different had he been sorted into Hufflepuff? Kibum leaned against the wall opposite the barrels, lowering his gaze when a couple of Hufflepuffs walked past.

Sighing, Kibum leaned his head against the wall and closed his eyes. It wasn’t good to think about what could have been. Slytherin wasn’t…that bad, it just hadn’t been what he had been expecting. Also, with the stigma surrounding Slytherin, no one really wanted to be sorted there, right?

Laughter and raised voices echoed down the hall, and Kibum opened his eyes. A large group of Hufflepuffs approached, and two of the boys broke free of the group to race to the barrels. The first one there tapped the password with a triumphant laugh. A couple of the girls waved at Kibum as they all ducked inside the opening. Not even a minute passed before the side of the barrel opened again to reveal a grinning Minho.

He put his fingers to his lips and Kibum nodded, waiting until the barrel clicked shut to start walking. “Well, that worked out,” Minho said once he caught up to him.

“Did he catch you?”

“Nope!” Kibum smiled and Minho shoved his hands into his hoodie pocket, which made a weird sort of clicking sound. He was about to ask about it until Minho said, “We talked about Herbology until that big group came through.”

“Ah.” They both stopped at the Great Hall, peeking inside. Filch and Mrs. Norris were the only ones inside, and their backs were turned. They raced across and slid to a stop at the doorway to the staircase.

Minho stayed pressed to his side as they went to the basement, darkness enveloping them except for the light from the occasional torch. He bumped into Kibum when he stopped in front of the entrance and muttered “Sorry.” He seemed nervous, for some reason. Kibum looked over at him and smiled. Hopefully, he would relax once they got inside.

Green light streamed through the openings in the wall once Kibum said the password, and Minho sighed as he followed Kibum inside. They both toed off their shoes as the wall closed up behind them. Whatever was in Minho’s pocket clanked together as they ran to the dorm room.

“Kibum, Minho!” Callum said, holding up one of his half-opened presents. “Settle this for us.”

“What?” Kibum asked as he pointed to Fredrick’s empty bed to the left of his own. Minho nodded and quickly slipped under the covers as Kibum turned back around. “What is it?”

“Should we open our presents now or tomorrow morning? I think now, but Aaron – “

“Don’t put words in my mouth!”

“I wasn’t gonna!”

“Yeah, okay, but what abo – “

“Guys?” Kibum asked, his voice clipped. “Can you not? We have a guest.” They all looked back at Minho who was placing something on the bunk above his head. Once he sensed their gazes, he froze, blushing.

“Sorry, I wasn’t paying attention…what?” Kibum repeated the question in Korean. “We always opened them in the morning.”

“My family does, too. Sorry, Callum.”

Minho pulled the covers back and he walked over to Kibum, crossing his arms. Kibum blinked as he looked down at Minho’s plaid flannel pajamas. “When did you change?” Minho pointed back at Fredrick’s bed. “Are those yours?”

“Yeah?”

“Sorry, that was stupid. I just…don’t remember you bringing any with you.”

“Oh!” Minho laughed. “I rolled them up and put them in my hood.”

“Ooooh.”

“Kibum,” Callum said, fiddling with the partially torn wrapping paper. “Can we open just one right now?”

He let out a long sigh and was about to say no until he looked over at Minho, who was watching him with wide, puppy-dog eyes. “Fine.”

Callum ripped opened the present in his hands as Aaron jumped off his bed and hurried over to the tree. He and Minho joined them by the tree, Kibum reaching for the biggest present and Minho grabbing the smallest of his. Something lime green appeared in his peripheral vision, and Kibum looked up to find Callum holding a pair of lime green and orange socks.

“Did your mum make those?”

“Yeah, for my team.”

Minho looked at Kibum, frowning. “The Irish Quidditch team.” He nodded and went back to opening his present. Kibum tore open his present and smiled at the mustard yellow sweater that unrolled across his lap. “I knew it.”

“So soft,” Minho said, feeling the sleeve between his fingers.

“You got one too, I think.”

“Really?” The wrapping paper fell away from the tin in Minho’s hands, and he glanced under the tree. Kibum scooted over to look at the note taped to the lid of the tin.

Minho,

I thought you might like some foods from home for Christmas. I hope you have a good holiday.

With love, Grandma

Kibum leaned in, smelling the tin. “Is that...barbeque?”

“Ooo, I hope so.”

“No, no! Don’t open it until you’re ready to eat it! She enchants the tins to stay warm.” Kibum sat back, rubbing his hands over the sweater as Aaron slipped on his new beanie. “Well, that was fun. Should we go to bed? Or...” All four of them stared at the tree. The lights twinkled on and off, two times before Kibum coughed. “Maybe just one more...”

Kibum grabbed the long, thin box while Minho reached for his sweater. He opened it to reveal a sort of periwinkle blue sweater. Minho held it up and turned to Kibum, smiling. He nodded and ducked his head when his face started to color, focusing on the present in his hands. It was...stationary and a self-inking quill. Awesome! Kibum wrote his name in Hangul, admiring the shimmery forest-green ink.

Paper crinkled and Kibum looked up to see Callum opening a third present. He paused when he sensed Kibum’s gaze. “What? We might as well open the rest now.”

Kibum sighed. “Yeah, I suppose.”

They did.

Aaron got presents from all his sisters and his parents, and Kibum lost track of the growing pile of handmade gifts. Callum got a seemingly never-emptying bag of candy that he shared with them. Kibum got the same dosirk as Minho, and they both got an assortment of candy from Diagon Alley. Minho was excited about the marbled chocolate frog, saying that he saw one the first time that he went to Diagon Alley.

Minho tucked himself into bed before the others, yawning as he watched the others arrange their presents on their nightstands. “How much time do we have left?” Callum asked, peering through the bunks at Aaron.

“Uh, less than a minute.”

Minho lifted his head from his pillow. “For what?”

Kibum pointed to the candles posted around the room before he jumped into bed and pulled his blankets over him. “Lights out.”

Once the lights dimmed, Kibum rested his head on his pillow and turned to the side, facing Minho. A faint green light glowed above Minho, who was staring intensely at whatever was producing the light. He drew the blankets up to his chin and took a deep breath. “You okay?” Kibum whispered in Korean.

“Yeah.” There was a long pause, which was punctuated by another deep breath. “Sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?”

Minho huffed a laugh. “I don’t know.” Kibum’s eyes started to droop closed – his long day was catching up to him. He yawned as Minho glanced his way. “Sleepy?” Kibum nodded. “Goodnight.”

“Night…Merry Chr…is…Min – “

His voice trailed off, and the last thing he heard was before he succumbed to sleep was Minho’s quiet “Merry Christmas, Kibum.”

* - * - *

It wasn’t until late in the morning – Minho assumed. It was hard to judge the time without the window beside his bed. – that he opened his eyes. He scrunched his eyes closed as soon as he opened them and rolled over onto his back. The glow-in-the-dark stars his mom sent him with came into focus as he blinked.

All the light was gone from them, but that was okay. The torches were lit again.

“Oh. You’re awake.” He started at turned his head on the pillow to face Kibum. “Good morning,” he said, smiling. Minho made a sort of grumble in response as he rubbed his hands over his face. Kibum chuckled. “Not a morning person?”

“No.”

“Did you know you snore?” Minho’s eyes widened as he looked over at Kibum. “I’m a light sleeper. Don’t worry,” he gestured to the bed Minho sitting on. “Fredrick snores, too, so we’re used to it.”

“Oh…sorry.”

“No, no, I thought it wa – “ Kibum cleared his throat and shook his head slightly before he held up one of the glow-in-the-dark stars. “What’s this?”

Minho blushed to the tips of his ears. “A star.”

“I can see that.”

“Um,” Minho fidgeted with the edge of the blanket. “I…well, I’m scared of the dark,” he said, his voice growing quieter with every word.

“Really?”

He nodded, sighing. “I’ve been doing okay lately but…it’s really dark down on this side of the basement.”

“That makes sense.” Kibum flipped the star over between his fingers. “What do they look like? In the dark, I mean.”

“You’ve never seen these before?” Kibum shook his head. “Come here.” Minho reached under his pillow as he scooted over, grabbing his wand. Kibum slipped into the bed beside him and looked up at the clusters of stars. “Lumos.” They both squinted at the sudden light. “Go ahead and close the curtain,” Minho said as he pulled the curtain on his side to the end of the bed. Except for the light at the end of his wand, they were shrouded in darkness.

He shivered and Kibum rubbed his arm. “You don’t have to do this.”

“I’m okay, you just have to charge them first.,” he said, waving his wand around the stars. “That should be good. Nox.”

The soft white light from the tip of his wand vanished and was replaced by the faint green light of the stars – both the ones on the ceiling and the one in Kibum’s hand. He rested his head on the pillow beside Minho’s. “It’s pretty.”

“They’re not as pretty as actual stars, but they help.”

“I like them.” Minho could barely see Kibum in the light of the artificial stars, but he was smiling. “Can I keep this one?” He asked, holding up the one in his hand.

“Sure.” Minho’s stomach growled, the sound loud in the small space, and Kibum laughed. “Go away,” he said, shoving at Kibum’s shoulder. “I need to get changed.”

He pulled the curtain closed after Kibum slipped out and felt around on the nightstand for the sweater Grandma knitted for him. A chill rushed over him as he yanked off his dad’s hoodie, but he was soon warmed by his new sweater. He grabbed his jeans off the nightstand, too, and rolled his hoodie and pajama bottoms into a bundle once he was dressed.

“That was quick,” Kibum said when he pulled the curtain back.

“I’m hungry.”

“I’m aware.”

Minho laughed, pushing Kibum as he started for the door. “Shut up!”

His stomach growled nearly all the way to the Great Hall, which delayed their journey since Kibum kept giggling. They split at the door and Minho took a seat at Hufflepuff. He watched Kibum get situated across from Callum and Aaron as he dished up his breakfast.

Wings fluttered at the windows and Minho lowered his eyes, cutting into his pancake as the owls delivered the mail. He had stopped looking for Geum-nan weeks ago.

A hush settled over the Great Hall as everyone read their letters from their families. Minho sighed and cringed when his fork scraped loudly against his plate. Looking around, he saw that no one noticed the noise, save for Kibum, who giggled again. Minho grinned at him before he went back to his breakfast.

Once Minho drank the last of his pumpkin juice, Kibum shot up from his seat and ran toward Minho, a sheet of paper rippling in his hand. He slid into the seat across from him and set the paper down. “I just finished my letter to Grandma. Wanna add anything?”

He glanced over what Kibum wrote as he chattered about how they should head up to the owlery after breakfast and send this letter. Minho saw his own name and the word happy a couple of times, but he tried not to read the letter, out of respect for Kibum’s privacy. “Do you have a pen?”

“Even better!” Kibum pulled out the self-inking quill Grandma sent gave him for Christmas and passed it to Minho.

Minho smoothed the parchment and looked at the blank spot below Kibum’s signature. “Thanks.”

Dear Grandma,

This is Minho. Thank you so much for the sweater and the candy and the dosirak. I love the color of the sweater and I plan to wear it whenever I can ^^ and I’m saving the dosirak to eat later tonight.

Thank you again~

Minho

He pushed the letter back over to Kibum. “Does this sound okay?”

Kibum scanned his note as he bit into one of the strawberries he stole off of Minho’s plate. “Yup! Are you done?” he asked as he dropped the green end of the strawberry on Minho’s mostly-clean plate. He nodded as he grabbed the last strawberry before Kibum could, smiling triumphantly around the berry as he took a bite. "We should send this then."

"Won't Nutmeg be too tired to fly all the way back?"

He finished rolling up the parchment and took the red ribbon out of his pocket to tie it off. "Nah, he's young and strong. He'll be fine. Come on!"

Snow flurried around them as the stepped up to the bridge, and Kibum caught Minho as he slipped on the thick layer of ice covering the bridge. Minho shivered as he clung to the banister. He tried his best to keep his balance for Kibum's sake, as he was holding onto Minho's arm tightly. They made slow progress across the bridge, but neither of them fell, so Minho was satisfied.

The steps up to the owlery proved to be even more slippery than the bridge, so they took each step carefully and with much effort. Kibum was panting when they reached the top. "That was a lot harder than I was expecting."

"Getting down will be harder," Minho sniffed and wiped at his cold-kissed nose. He helped Kibum up onto the top step and they went inside.

Straw crunched beneath his feet as he stepped inside. Minho scrunched his nose at the stench from the months of uncleaned owl droppings. Kibum pulled him back and pointed at the mouse skeleton he had been about to step on. They both shuddered and huddled together, looking up at the cubbies that housed the owls. Countless pairs of reflective eyes watched their slow progression into the perch.

“Meg?” Kibum said, his voice quiet in the wind whipping through the open windows. He raised his voice. “Meg?”

The tawny owl flew down from his cubby on the fifth level and to Kibum’s outstretched arm. He kissed the owl’s forehead who fluttered his wings in response. Kibum produced the letter from his back pocket and held it out for Nutmeg to take. He trilled as he inspected the roll.

“Take it to Grandma, please?” Nutmeg grabbed the ribbon in his beak and spread his wings and flew out of the southern window. Kibum’s teeth chattered as he said, “Okay, let’s go.”

The lunch bell rang in the distance once the reached the bottom step of the owlery tower. Kibum groaned and Minho laughed. “Come on, it’s just a little further.” Kibum glared at Minho as he pulled him across the snow toward the bridge.

They kicked the snow off their shoes and shook the snow out of their hair as they reached the castle. Kibum grabbed Minho’s arm before he could go sit at Hufflepuff by himself and pulled him toward Slytherin. Aaron and Callum had just finished their lunch and were getting up from the table.

“Hey,” Callum said to Kibum. “We’re going back to the room for a minute. Want us to grab you anything?”

“My camera? It’s in my drawer.”

“Sure.” Callum patted the table as he backed away. “Be right back.”

“‘Kay.” Kibum took a bite of his sandwich, and held his hand over his over his mouth. “You wanna go back outside after lunch?”

“Yeah! What are we gonna do?”

“I don’t know.”

Aaron returned with the polaroid when Kibum was finishing up his lunch, dropping it off and quickly returning to Callum who was waiting for him in the doorway.

The snowfall was getting heavier by the time they reached the courtyard. Minho pulled his scarf up to his chin and shoved his hands into his coat pockets. Back home, it didn’t often snow. Sometimes, when it got cold, frost would glitter in the air. Minho thought it was beautiful, but this was nice, too.

He looked up at the overcast sky and tried to blink away the snowflakes that collected on his eyelashes. There was a click off to the side, and Minho turned to find Kibum lowering his polaroid. “There...there was a cardinal.” When Minho glanced behind him to where Kibum pointed, there was nothing. It must have flown away.

“Can I see it?”

Kibum shoved the undeveloped picture into his pocket. “Let’s go down to the yard. Do you think they have sleds in the castle somewhere?”

“Maybe...do you want to go check?”

He shrugged. “Race you!” Kibum said, running down the hall to the front entrance.

Minho grinned and ran after him, almost catching up to him by the time he reached the doors. “Careful!” he yelled after him as Kibum bolted down the path to the Whomping Willow. He jogged after him and held his arms out to keep his balance until Kibum slipped, and he cried out as he fell backward into the snow. Minho’s heart pounded in his ears as he hurried to reach him.

As he drew near, Minho could hear Kibum giggling and he relaxed. He crossed his arms over his chest as he stopped at Kibum’s feet, smiling down at him as he shook his head. “Help me up.” Minho reached out his hand to grab Kibum’s, his eyes widened in surprise as he pulled him down into the snow. “That’s what you get for laughing at me.”

Minho snorted. “I wasn’t, though.”

“You were gonna.”

Kibum stuck out his tongue to catch some snow and Minho sighed heavily. He still couldn’t believe that Kibum stayed behind, just for him. He could have been at home with Grandma, eating his favorite foods and spending time with his family, but he stayed.

He wasn’t great with words, never really had been, but he wanted to thank Kibum for staying at Hogwarts for him. Would that be weird? He started to speak, hoping that the right words will find their way to the forefront of his mind, but Kibum distracted him by holding up the polaroid.

“Lean in.” Minho did, his head pressing against Kibum’s as he gave the camera a smile. “One, two -- “ Click!

Kibum sniffed as he lowered the polaroid, and grabbed the new picture from the slot. “I want hot cocoa.” Minho nodded, the snow crunching beneath his head, and Kibum sat up. “Let’s get some. Oh, thanks,” he said as Minho brushed the snow off his back. “Hey, do you want to spend the night again?”

“I don’t think I should. I don’t want to get in trouble with Rhys.”

“Okay.”

They both sighed, and Kibum grabbed Minho’s arm, pulling him up out of the snow. He took an unexpected left once they were inside the castle. “Where are we going?”

“To get your stuff out of my room before it gets too dark. Then we can get hot cocoa.” Minho stopped walking, staring wide-eyed at Kibum until he turned around. “What?”

Minho shook his head. “Nothing.” He grinned, his eyes sparkling, and Minho returned the smile.

“Let’s go!”

#minkey #shinee fic #shinee au #shineefic #shinee fics #hogwarts!minkey au #ff: by my side #mine #my writing #@ jenny and bella #don't feel obligated to reblog this if you don't want to #i totally understand #.....some author commentary.....#look who's back back back back lmao #also....#minho! is! a! cat! person! fight! me! on! this!#(pls don't actually fight me i hate confrontation)#and he will get to pet a cat at some point #also if any student were ever to pet mrs. norris it would be minho i'm just saying #i was gonna try to post this chapter on christmas day but #i just couldn't write for a while #arbor = wood / insideo = be fixed to #i'm just [insert teary eyed emogi] so proud of my boy for knowing a spell to help #(yes i know i'm writing this but shush let me be happy for him)#also 10/10 think that they can't figure out how to get rid of the tree once it's transplanted #so the first year boys in slytherin from now on have a tree growing in their room until slughorn takes care of it a couple years later #this is hella long #like......goddamn #it took me forever to write #lmao

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