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warping-realities · 1 year ago

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Dalton Academy - Hedonistic Behavior

That had been a strange day for Jaime.

Things looked messed up. He knew he still hadn't made friends at school but at the same time there was that feeling that it shouldn't be like this, that something was wrong. He passed a few people in the hall that he could have sworn he knew better, Jonathan Roberts, Edward Chang... and seeing the two of them arguing in the cafeteria gave him a feeling of deep sadness that only increased when he saw the boy of Chinese origin sit at the table with Chadwick Hartfield and Michael Jones.

Michael Jones, here's another name that constantly came to his mind throughout the day, because every time he thought of that name, the figure of a thin black boy came to his mind.

Michael Jones was obviously black, but he was also huge and this contrasted terribly with Jaime's memory. And then there was the fact that he'd called for a Michael in his sleep if he could take Jacob’s word for it...

Damn Jacob and his inability to keep his mouth shut. Now the whole school was talking about his nightmare and some nasty coments greatly increased what happened, making that day even worse.

Stranger than everything is that when he looked in the mirror in the morning he could have sworn he had lost some weight. Nothing too big, but enough to make the uniform baggy in some places . He'd explained it away as a result of stress, but with an uneasy feeling.

Worst of all, he found himself answering things in class that he was sure he wasn't supposed to know, about economics and politics, and then found himself almost agreeing with a statement Chadwick made.

And when this one along with Michael and Edward performed that idiotic burping demonstration at lunchtime he found himself laughing along.

As the afternoon progressed, it got worse, he found himself invaded by a mixture of tiredness and random flashes of alternating anger and satisfaction, totally out of his control. What was making him question his own sanity. Until finally the most violent wave of tiredness he had felt until then forced him to sit in his bed, untill he fall asleep.

....

He was again in the clearing in front of the cave. This time with no sign of the pups or the wolf, the wind was also calm, bringing with it the scent of sugar and cinnamon that he associated with his grandmother. But she didn't show up. Without any control on his part his legs kicked into motion, carrying him towards the gigantic, dark mouth of the cave. A feeling of dread inside him increased with each step, until the voice he associated with the scent whispered in his ear:

"...la fuerza de este lugar aumenta cada día mientras la tuya disminuye, hijo, sal de allí...

He crossed the threshold of the cave and found himself in the entrance hall of Dalton's central building, his feet carried him through corridors and staircases until he reached a huge door that opened as he approached, putting him in a room richly furnished. He continued walking until he reached a shelf, full of trophies, photos and clippings from newspapers and magazines, some dating back almost a century, all with reports on important and successful men. Right in the middle was a gilded plaque with a engraved phrase: "The Dalton's Crows, may their deeds endure through the ages." How pretentious... but it was then that he got a big fright.

"...no, Mike is doing the job. I know I should be there. Don't worry I'll be there for the finale, but I needed to talk to you.

Yes, I trust him completely, it's like you said it would be. Although you didn't warn me that the bond would affect me in other ways... I exhibited some unusual behavior today that concerned me and it could only have come from one of them.

Yes, I've seen your relationship with them all my life , I just thought it came about over time and not from some kind of magical bond. I understand. But even the minimum possible of them leaking into me is much more than I would like. After all, the reasons for they being chosen...

Standing by a window, looking towards the Dalton sports complex and talking on a cell phone was Chadwick Hartfield, dressed in gym clothes and fully engaged in conversation with the person on the phone.

"...the other reason for my contact. What kind of reactions can we expect in the Source?

I see. But from what Carmichael says he’s the most powerful in a long time, enough to guarantee our plans and Dalton’s stability for a long time, but if he's that strong...

I know he's untrained and vulnerable, but still...

Okay father, I just want to make sure everything goes according to plan, after all I'm the one who will have to deal with the results.

Yes, you're right, I should have complete confidence in our planning. And I do, I just want to know how it went with you, what happened to your Source?

Uncle Brent ?Really? Yes, it calms me down a lot."

That dream was even more bizarre than the last...

"...Chang is about to join us completely and the others will not be long in coming. Once the Source runs out of power he will join us of his own accord. And when that happens he will be unable to recognize himself." - Said Chadwick, seeming to look directly at where Jaime was.

However, before their eyes met the dream dissolved with that strong smell of cinnamon and Jaime woke up in his own bed, soaked in sweat, completely scared, but with the certainty that there was something very wrong with Dalton.

....

Jonathan knew that his life in Dalton would not be easy. But he wasn't the type to give up in the face of challenges, on the contrary, the bigger and more difficult the problem, the harder he dedicated himself to solving it. It was simply part of his nature. But if he was honest with himself maybe this time he had bitten off more than he could chew. On paper it hadn't been such a bad idea. After all, Dalton was the source of several successful men and having graduated there was the key to entering the best universities in the country. Of course, all these men were representatives of what he abhorred in society: power-hungry, concerned only with profits, capable of anything to ensure that his most sordid desires and pleasures were satisfied. But he'd justified it to himself and to his father that it was his chance to fight the system that created that kind of man from within. He knew the invitation could be a poison apple, but he had been willing to take the risk. Now as he walked into his dorm late at night, after being shooed out of the library the only place he liked in that prison he wondered if he couldn't talk to his father and ask him to get out of there, the only thing that stopped him from doing that was the shame of such an act. His dad has been through far worse than putting up with a bunch of snobs from a fancy school, what would he think of his son for dropping out so quickly? And he knew he wouldn't forgive himself for not trying harder. For not making those arrogant idiots even recognize their privilege. But try with whom? Certainly not with his roommate, who was currently sleeping indecently in the bed next to his. Eddie Chang was the epitome of everything that bothered him. He was cocky, aggressive, elitist, show off, and... very hot!

Obviously Robert wouldn't admit that to anyone. He wasn't ashamed of his sexuality, he had dated before, both men and women, he considered himself an open mind, but not so much to the point of being interested in someone like Chang and that was eating him up inside, because the problem was that despite out of all the denial this is exactly what was happening. But he was going to persevere and hope that his colleague never noticed. It was with that thought that he lay down on his bed, making a tremendous effort to look in the opposite direction. If he had given in to temptation he could have seen the other boy staring at him with eyes that glittered with mischief and a smug smile.

…..

Jonathan woke up feeling a very characteristic smell in the bedroom.

"What the fuck! Are you smoking weed, Chang?"

"Want a toke, Roberts?"

"What are you thinking? What if someone from management smells it?"

"Easy Roberts. I thought you, with all your 'think green' and 'no global warming' crap, would be a pot lover."

"I...I support medicinal use and..."

"Are you kidding me? You never smoked a joint? What did you and your liberal friends do for fun?"

"My friends used it, but I never wanted”

"Why not, man? There's nothing better for relaxing."

"I don't like feeling out of control."

"No kidding... I didn't even notice that you walk around looking like you have a stick up your ass..."

"Shut up and put out that damn joint."

"Fine, killjoy. But I tell you what, one of these days you're going to explode if you don't relax a little." - Edward replied leaving the half-smoked joint and the lighter on top of the bedside table and then getting up from the bed and taking off his underwear. Thus exposing all of his glory for Jonathan to admire, that is if he hadn't looked away.- "Dibs on the shower man."- Edward said as he walked, his cock swinging happily, making Jonathan look away again, this time towards the lighter, the joint and a huge sweaty underwear.

....

"So how's the situation?" Did he take the bait?"

"Which one?"

"Answer the question, Chang!"

It was mid-morning on Saturday and the boys didn't have school that day. The Crows were gathered at that moment in the headquarters, sharing some of the worldly pleasures that eighteen-year-olds weren't supposed to enjoy, but when you had the money, the right connections, and the right location, anything was possible.

"Not yet, but you were right Hartfield, he doesn't take his eyes off me when he thinks I'm not looking."

"And you have a problem with that?"

"Why would I? A hole is a hole. Don't get me wrong, one day I'm going to marry a beautiful woman who will raise my children and ensure my lineage continues. But until then, there's nothing wrong with having a little fun. And given the lack de of options for the opposite sex in Dalton... Roberts wouldn't be my first choice, but if what you say is true things might get more interesting."

"Things are going to get interesting I can assure you. But for that he needs to make the first move and soon. Dalton is sucking the Source right now and I need to secure Roberts and Miller on our side before Sanchez succumbs."- Chad admonished.

"I don't understand why Jones doesn't work with Miller while I take care of Roberts."

"I asked the same question bro. But apparently there's a sequence to follow according to the plan and..." - Started Mike

"....we shouldn't leave the plan." - Completed Eddie.

"Listen here you idiots, things have worked like this in Dalton for nearly a century and they continue to work for good reason. What we're doing here will secure our future. So make sure he takes the bait."

"Don't worry, Chad. He will, every one of them. And I'll be there to see it through."

….

Jonathan was sitting in the stands at Dalton Stadium watching with little interest the game unfolding in front of him. Surely he'd rather be doing something else right now, but when the closest thing to friends you had decided that chasing a ball was the best thing to do on a Saturday morning... The Miller twins weren't the kind of friend he would have at his old school. Coming from a small town in the countryside, they weren't quite rednecks, but by a slim margin. Thanks to their father, who despite working in the slaughter of animals wanted something better for his children and insisted that they receive a good education. They still had that country boy look and a strong south accent. But they were ordinary people, real people, that Jonathan could relate to... or so he thought. The truth is that it was difficult because they didn't have many interests in common. The situation with the third member of the small group was also not the best. Leonardo Reis was the son of Brazilian diplomats, what could have brought the two together, but Leonardo refused to discuss politics with him and only after much insistence he found out why, his coleague vehemently disapproved of some of the US foreign policies. Criticizing what he called the "cultural imposition" that the country took to other countries, including his. Jonathan wasn't oblivious to what his colleague said, but he was still a patriot and when he tried to talk about the good things America did for the world...

"The whole continent is America, Roberts. When you were interested it was America for Americans. All Americans. When interest diminished the size of America diminished with it, and so did the definition of American, didn't it?"

It had hit Jonathan like a blow. And after that moment he avoided having political discussions with Reis, but that left them without many subjects in common. The closest they came to saying anything interesting was when they talked about the Miller brothers at breakfast that morning before their arrival. After all they were the perfect picture of the ignorant American which apparently should irritate him far more than a potential ally like Jonathan.

"I understand you find my friendship with them weird, but I don't discuss politics with them, there's no reason for that, I know they are ignorant, but in addition they are good people, sincere and humble, without a trace of vanit. So, the blame for their ignorance lies with the politicians who want them to stay that way."

Ouch, that had been another blow, apparently the stereotype that Brazilians were a friendly people did not extend to children of diplomats. Leonardo's abrasiveness prevented Jonathan from taking the discussions further. Although he had been irritated to the point of asking why his colleague didn't do anything to try to modify his friends' ignorance and thus discovered the difference between the two:

"Roberts, they're the only friends I've made in this damn place and unlike you I'm not on a crusade, I don't want to be a politician and I only replied to you so you can stop bugging me. I really don’t care. So if the Millers want to shout to the winds about the wonders of the USA for me that's fine. As long as I can still discuss sports with them and play ball on the weekends maybe I can make it through the year without going crazy. And maybe you should do the same and stop trying to preach to a people you won't convert. Save your energy for when you get out of here , until then try to relax a little before you explode."

That speech kept reverberating in his head, Chang had used the exact same expression that morning. Not that he would listen to anything someone like Edward had to say, but Reis was different. Was he right? Was it better for him to keep quiet and stoically endure the year to end? It was so contrary to him that it seemed to deny nature itself. But it was being difficult, very difficult. He thought as he watched the Miller brothers run around with not a care in the world but to enjoy themselves.

And so he made a decision.

….

Jaime woke up that morning feeling again that he hadn't slept enough. But this time he knew why. His grandmother had tried to warn him twice. He should have listened the first time and gotten the hell out of there. His grandmother was special, she had been known as a healer in the small town where she lived in Mexico before the family immigrated to the United States and even there, people in the community who could not afford medical care often sought her out. Some others, mean ones, called her Bruja behind her back, which infuriated him when he was little. But she just laughed at Jaime's indignation and told him that was exactly what she was. After his grandmother's death he never thought about those conversations again, until now.

He thought about when he got out of bed and took off his pajamas that for some reason looked like they were made for someone much bigger than him. Which he didn't pay much attention to, with the flow of ideas of how to get out Dalton occupying all his thoughts until he was paralyzed when he saw his own image in the bathroom mirror. There was something wrong, he was absolutely sure of it, but he couldn't say what it was.

The image reflected was that of an eighteen-year-old boy of Mexican origin, fit and… handsome, very handsome. And that... that was who he'd always been. He thought giving himself an imaginary shake and going to shower. He had to get out of there, he would have plenty of time to admire himself in the mirror when he was away from this place.

….

Jonathan gave up feigning interest in the game and left the stadium, skirting it until he reached the woods that surrounded the entire property. He walked aimlessly until he found a clearing where he could sit. For the thousandth time since early morning he asked himself what the fuck he thought he was doing as he pulled a lighter and Edward's joint from his pants pocket.

Everything happened very quickly, while he heard the shower in the bathroom, he found himself strongly attracted by the three objects that his colleague had left behind. The desire to take Chang's underwear and smell them, to feel the pungent smell of his colleague was so strong that... without stopping to think he took the lighter and the joint, dressed quickly in the first clothes he could find and left the room running before the other boy got out of the shower.

After that, the day only got worse, from the altercation with Leonardo at breakfast to his inability to participate in the soccer game because his fear of running into Chang if he went to the dorm to change his clothes and ended up being interrogated about the whereabouts of his stuff. Just imagining his colleague's smug look... of course he could tell he had thrown that crap away which is exactly what he was supposed to do. But if he threw it away he couldn't use it. And that was the problem, he wanted. He wanted a lot. He had tried to tell himself no, that this was the result of Chang's teasing, or Leonardo's aggressive comment. But the truth is, he wanted it. It was ridiculous but apparently the school had beaten him in just two weeks. He thought what his father would say about that. Well... as far as he knew his dad had his fair share of drug experiences in his youth, although the general public didn't have a clue about that. Still, that wasn't him, he should fight that...

"... if you don't relax a little you're going to explode, Roberts..." - He heard himself say it out loud, while without even realizing it he lit the joint and slowly brought it to his mouth, his hand shaking. He hesitated for a final moment, closed his eyes and breathed in..."

...

"Let me get this straight Mr. Sanchez, you want to drop out of school? Right at the beginning of the semester."

"I haven't adapted sir, I really think it's better for me to go back home to my old school and maybe you'll find someone better to take my place."

"Someone better? Do you think so little of yourself and Dalton, Jaime?"

Principal Carmichael asked from behind his desk, giving Jaime a look between disappointed and challenging.

"I'm sorry to disappoint you sir. But I really don't think I belong here."

"Did you even try to fit in Jaime?" - Retorted the director, seeming to know that all the boy didn't want was to fit in. - "I want you to put aside my disappointment, although you are right to believe that you have let me down. For I see great potential in you boy, you remind me of many young men who passed through here." Continued the director with his first smile since Jaime entered the room. - "What I want you to worry about is the disappointment you'll cause your parents. I was the one who talked them over Jaime, remember that. The pride in their eyes... are you prepared to see disappointment instead? Without even have tried?"

The bastard was good at manipulation, Jaime thought. And the worst part is that he wasn't mistaken, Jaime's parents were going to be really disappointed. And that was really crazy, wasn't it? Give up a place at a school like Dalton because of some weird dreams? It was insane and... a gust of wind came in through the open window of the principal's office, carrying a scent of sugar and cinnamon.

"They will understand sir." - Jaime persevered, even as he saw the headmaster's brow tighten into a frown. Making the boy shrink in the chair waiting for the explosion that ended up not happening. Carmichael got up and went to the window and closed it, before turning to Jaime with a wide smile on his face.

"All right, Mr. Sanchez, if that is indeed your wish I won't hold you."

"Thank you sir." - Jaime said getting up and letting out a sigh of relief.

"Submit a formal notice of termination on monday when the school is open for business so that the responsible sector can carry out the necessary formalities."

"What? What do you mean?"

"It's the weekend Jaime, most of our employees are at home."

"But...but could you..."

"Oh no, I'm afraid I can't. Here in Dalton all the things are done in the right way, Jaime. Which brings me to another matter. Those clothes of yours are awfully big, please find pieces that fit your size while you're staying here. Even if it's only for a few days. I’ll see you on Monday. I suggest you use this time to think and try to adapt, maybe by then you'll realize that Dalton is where you belong."

….

Jonathan seemed to float, at least that's what he thought, as he could barely feel his feet touching the ground, while the trees around him became an indistinct blur and then gave way to a lawn that resembled a giant tapestry. He didn't know if it was normal to feel that way when you were high and in reality he didn't care at all. He didn't care! And that was sensational. He walked through the school grounds as if he were gliding through a kaleidoscope of colors and sensations and joy, joy like he had never felt before. That walk took him to the edge of a court, where a bunch of young men were running after a ball. A few minutes ago he had found that kind of thing boring, but a few minutes ago he hadn't felt that joy. He sat on a bench and watched with a goofy smile onand all the attention span he could muster the ball passing from hand to hand.

If he hadn't been in that state maybe he would have realized that as he watched the boys they watched him too.

"Looks like Roberts has finally taken one of your baits." - Commented Chad to Eddie.

"I told you it was only a matter of time."

"Is he high?" - Mike asked laughing.

"Uhum, and that's strong, I don't know where you got it Hartfield, but a few puffs nearly knocked me over, at this point Roberts probably doesn't even know who he is."

"What is our goal isn't it?" - Mike commented.

"Yes, but I confess that I would rather he had taken my underwear. That way it would be over and I could have had my fun."

"Disgusting, Chang"

"Not everyone is a prude like you, Hartfield."

"I'm not prudish Chang, I'm just classy."

"All your class and no fun, brother."

"If you want to have fun so badly do your job with Roberts."

"With pleasure! Watch and learn, dickheads." - He said walking confidently towards Jonathan. Who in turn only noticed the giant approaching when he stopped before him obscuring the sunlight.

"Wow, man. You're huge."

"You can't imagine how much… So Roberts, I would never imagine a guy as correct as you taking other people's things..."

"Says the guy who stole my sneakers."

"Ah, so you noticed? But I'm not a correct guy Roberts, you've made that clear several times. So if you do what I do what does that make you?" - Eddie asked as he sat down next to Jonathan on the bench, his smile growing.

"I don't know man…leave me alone."

"Oh but I can't do that Johnny Boy..."

"Do not call me that."

"Why not? It's just a nickname, something between friends."

"Because I'm not like that surfer guy and and you're not my friend!"

"You hurt my feelings, I thought we were doing so well, sharing things like real friends do, no worries at all, no sir, no worries, just enjoying life, Johnny Boy."

"I told you I'm not like him!"

"Aren't you? Really? Aren't you high as a rocket? And you're not high because you stole your roommate's joint? Aren't those things he would do when he was your age?"

"I...I...no...I just wanted to..."

"What did you want? Come on, J.B. tell your friend Eddie." - Eddie said putting his arm around his colleague's shoulders. Making the smell of sweat mixed with expensive perfume hit Jonathan full force, overloading a brain already at the limit.

"You smell… good..."

"Not quite the answer I was hoping for but... I know, we'll get to that part soon J.B., but no skipping steps. Our another friend Chad doesn't like that at all."

"Chad is … a fucking …. asshole..."

"I know, I know, but so do I, and you're my friend, you're friends with a fucking asshole, so what does that make you?"

"I'm not... am I... am? I don't know..."

"Fuck man and you were supposed to be some kind of political genius. Either it was all bullshit or this weed is way more potent than I realized."

"Huh?"

"Nothing man, nothing. How about you let your friend Eddie help you? Because that's what friends do, isn't it?" - Eddie said, getting closer to his colleague and ensuring that he received another hit of his potent musk.

"Sure... that's what friends… do.”

"Great! And you know what else friends do J.B.? Have fun together! And that's what you want, isn't it, have fun. It's what you've always wanted and if you have to break some rules for that, that's fine."

"Ahn, no... rules are important, they are the... aaaa.... struc… structu… fuck… structure of society."

"True, but the rules don't have to apply the same way to everyone, do they? If you can twist them a little bit, like you did this morning, it's no big deal, is it? You didn't stop being a nice guy because of that. You just did what you needed to do to have a little fun. And society didn't fall apart. So we're going to agree on one thing, a promise between friends. Soon the weed effect will wear off and the fun will go away. But you don't want that, do you?"

"No…I want to…have fun!"

"Finally!"

"Huh?"

"Damn it, I'm already getting pissed at this slowness.... pay attention to your friend Eddie, J.B. Pay attention! You’re going to sleep soon and when you wake up you won't remember our little conversation. But you'll remember two very important and irrefutable truths about yourself, the first is that you want to have fun, feel good is the most important thing for you and you want your friends to have fun too, especially your best friend Eddie ."

"Eddie... friend... fun."

"That's right, J.B., we're almost there. And because you want your friend Eddie to have a good time in the next few hours you're going to do whatever he asks of you, prove whatever he offers you, believe whatever he tells you, even be whatever he wants you to be, do we have a deal?"

"....do we have a deal…?"

"Yes, we have. And we're going to enjoy every moment of it. Chad, Mike help me out here, he’s off. I've never seen weed do that man, are you sure we didn't fry his brains?"

"There's nothing different about the weed. It just opened a door. What you saw is the force of the contract in action. And that's not even going to be the most impressive part I can assure you."

"Well, then help me carry him, I can't wait to introduce you to my new friend, J.B." - Eddie replied with a smile that mirrored their own.

….

"I've put together a pile of materials on Dalton's history, Mr Sanchez. Unfortunately some of them have not yet been digitized and can only be seen here in the library as they date back to the beginning of the last century."

"No problem, ma'am. I don't mind, I can study here."

"Academic work?"

"No ma'am. Just personal interest."

"I am happy to see a student dedicating himself to researching the history of the place. Dalton has a rich and vast history."

"Well, I feel like if I don't find out I'm going to deeply regret it."

....

Jonathan woke up with the worst headache he had ever had. The simple act of opening his eyes was a huge effort. At least he was rewarded by a vision that was both wonderful and frightening.

"Good afternoon, sleepyhead"

"E-eddie?"

"J.B.” - Replied the colleague, smiling when called by his nickname.

"What happened, where are we?"

"You blacked out, man, in the middle of the schoolyard, so we had to bring you here." - Eddie explained, his smile even more pleased to see that J.B. had responded to the nickname without even realizing it.

"Thanks, man. But where exactly is here?"

"A place only a select few have ever set foot. Welcome to The Crow's Nest, J.B."

"What? Why would you bring me here?" - Jonathan asked indignantly.

"Don't be ungrateful J.B, you just look skinny, but you must have some muscle around, or those bones are made of lead. Carrying you around the whole school discreetly wasn't easy."- Commented a black boy sitting in front of a gigantic television and holding a video game controller.

"Do not call me like that."

"I thought that was your nickname"

"It's not…well it is in a way…but only Eddie calls me that and that's only because we're friends."

"Well then, next time you get wasted I'll drop you where you fall."

"Mike, leave the guy alone, he just woke up and he's never been through this before."

"Fine, but a thank you wasn't going to kill him."

"He's right, J.B."

"I didn't ask anyone to carry me, let alone this far."

"Apologize J.B. and stop being a pain in the ass, Mike is cool."

"Okay, thank you very much Michael for carrying me to an unknown place without my consent and I'm sorry if I got mad about it."

"J.B.!”

"Okay, okay. Thanks man."

"It's nothing J.B. - Mike replied smiling and staring at his colleague, who even started to form a sentence but stopped abruptly when he received a glare from Eddie.

"So where did Chad go? I hate playing alone. And I don't play with you anymore.”

"That's because you lost."

"No, it's because the time I won you almost broke the video game and my face."

"Fair enough. Chad went into town to get food. So why don't you ask J.B. to play with you?"

"I thank you again for the help and all…but I'm not hungry and I'd actually rather go back to the dorm."

"Liar." - Mike said still smiling.

"I beg your pardon..."

"Man, you smoked a joint potent enough to take you to the moon, you sure as hell want to eat a lot." - Mike retorted and suddenly Jonathan realized that that was true when he felt a gigantic hole in his belly that chose that moment to let out a very noticeable snoring.

"Told ya! Come on man, sit here, I won't bite you if you promise not to bite me, hungry boy." - Said Mike smiling, while Eddie stood up flexing his giant muscles.

"It'll be easier for you to get food from us than begging in the school kitchen, Chad should be here soon. So why don't you enjoy a little fun playing with Mike. In the meantime I'm going to take a shower, I stink. Chad will Kill me if he find’s me like this." - Said Eddie pulling an indignant Jonathan by the arms and placing him in the armchair next to Mike at the same hitting him with that pungent combination of sweat, expensive perfume and... hotness. Leaving him to such a stunned point that he only realized that Mike handed him a control and started the game when his colleague poked him.

"Pick one, J.B."

"Mortal Kombat, really?"

"Do you have a problem? We have other options, COD, Madden, Fifa and even some RPGs that maybe be more your thing. But sometimes all you need is to blow some heads with your bare hands. It's very useful with Eddie, he He's the type who'd love to blow some heads off in real life, so playing a game ends up being a safer option."

"Didn't you just say you didn't want to play with him anymore?Because he wanted to beat you up."

"Yeap, we're obligated to let him finish us in the game or he'll finish us in real life." - Mike said laughing.

"Classic Eddie." - Jonathan agreed, laughing along as he swiped through the game's fighter panel.

"But don't expect the same leniency Johnny B. I've been itching to crush someone for days. Chad just wants to play NBA, he's really obsessed with basketball, there's no way I can beat him even though I'm still better than him where it really matters, on the court. But when the new NBA comes out in a few day forget about your chance to play anything different for a long time J.B."

"You say it like you expect me to come back here." Commented Jonathan still looking for a fighter.

Why not? You're Eddie's friend, Eddie is our friend. It's natural that we spend more time together and even you have to admit that the Nest is fucking awesome.”

"Things aren't that simple, Mike." Jonthan answered still undecided about which fighter to choose.

"Of course they are, man. And you know what else is simple? Pick a fucking character." - Mike replied taking the control from Jonathan's hand and choosing for him.

"Hey! Not cool, man. Johnny Cage? You've gotta be kidding me."

"A Johny for a Johnny. See, simple. You gotta learn to relax man, I actually think you could learn a thing or two from that Johny." Said Mike pointing to the screen while returning the control to Jonathan.

"Like what? Being an arrogant asshole? That think he's a kind of God's gift to mankind?"

"What you call arrogance I call confidence. Wouldn't you like to be more confident?"

"I'm confident, man!" - Jonathan replie. His voice firmer, posture straighter, with a hintof smile that could be described as bordering on arrogance.

"Definitely you are, if you think you can beat me. But what your problem with Johnny Cage is?, If it's not about his confidence."

"The guy has no commitment, he's in a life or death situation and he still cracks jokes."

"He's a chill guy, better to laugh in the face of danger than to be terrified. And certainly better to chill out than spend all your time tense and worried about imaginary problems like you are." - Answered Mike while attacking with everything his colleague in the match.

"I don't get tense all the time, I can be chill." -Jonathan snapped, posture relaxing, legs spread and looking comfortable for the first time.

"Fine, you're confident and chill like him, so what's your problem with him?"

"The guy is an exhibitionist, bro"

"He's a movie star and has a badass body of course he's going to show off. If you had a body like his you'd show off too."

"I may not have a body like his, but I'm not that bad." - Answered Jonathan flexing muscles and taking his clothes to the limit.

"If this isn't showing off J.B...."

"Man, I might not be a monster like you guys, but I worked hard to get what I got, nothing fairer than showing off a little bit."

"Exactly like Johnny Cage."

"I know man, you chose well, he's my favorite character. So much so..."

"Finish Him - A well-known macabre voice echoed through the room shortly after J.B. performed a series of blows. But it didn't stop there, as the boy began to press the buttons in a specific sequence with the dexterity of a professional in the subject. - Johnny Cage Wins! Fatality!"

"Suck that Big Mike."

"Oh, come on, this whole time you were hiding the game, man?"

"You jumped to the wrong conclusions, man. Ready to lose again?"

You wish. I'm going to rip your virtual ass, asshole."

"Keep believing that, bro. That way I keep having fun at your expense."

"Jerk."

"I thought it was mandatory to hang out with you...”

"An answer worthy of your namesake, J.B."

"What to do if this is how I am?"

….

Jaime had scoured the pages of the books about Dalton and hadn't gotten much information other than what he had received from the institution itself. The academy was founded by elite families at the end of the 19th century, the land where the school was located had been donated by Dalton Hartfield, one of Chad's ancestors, who did not see the completion of the work and was honored by the first board of directors of the academy. Since then big names from the most diverse areas had passed through those corridors... and the same propaganda as always. Information was even more scarce in relation to the history of the clubs. There were five of them, each connected to one of the Dalton founding families. But so far he hadn't had much luck identifying much more than that. It didn't help matters that for much of the time he had been researching he had been overcome by a feeling of intense drowsiness, even dozing off for a few minutes. And the worst thing was, when that feeling passed, it was replaced by a hunger so intense that it made him eat lunch, twice! Which in turn made him feel drowsy again... that sequence of inconveniences combined with the lack of information probably were the main reason for the irritation he felt. He couldn't leave that place, he couldn't get information that would help him understand more about it and he was... terribly bored.

Jaime was never the type to do crazy things, or use drugs. He was quiet, studious, a little inquisitive perhaps. But today, just when he needed it most, he had an absurd desire to do nothing. No, that wasn't exactly it, he wanted to do something for fun, at the same time that he could just… relax. There was no point finding out what was going on in Dalton if in two days he would be out of there. He almost talked himself into giving up, but as he started to gather the books he noticed one he hadn't seen before.

"A Brief Account of the History of Dalton and His Accomplishments. Written by the Crows Club in the year 1956 under the chairmanship of Chadwick Wentworth Hartfield." Jaime read aloud, then opened the book and leafed through it until he found a photo of the authors.

He then sat down and went back to the beginning of the book with his interest fully renewed.

....

"Can any of the wankers help out here?" - Chad asked carrying who knows how enough food to feed a small family for a week. Although given his gigantic size maybe that wasn't such a big exaggeration.

"Here man, let me take these." - Said J.B. taking at least four boxes of pizza, while Mike grabbed two packs of beer, leaving Chad with just a few bags that he deposited in table before shooting Jonathan a smile he never thought his colleague would be able to give. He still had that air of arrogance, but also joy, as if he was genuinely happy that Jonathan was there.

"Hi Roberts, glad to see you made yourself at home."

"Sorry if I intruded on your space Chadwick, but the guys insisted I stay and besides, you guys brought me here."

"Relax, Roberts. I was just kidding, a friend of Eddie's and from what I'm seeing a friend of Mike is a friend of mine too."

"Then you can call me J.B. since it looks like I'm going to have to get used to that stupid nickname."

"Since we're exchanging pleasantries, you can call me Chad and help yourself to J.B." - Said the boy opening one of the pizza boxes and making Jonathan's hunger reach painful levels.

"Thanks, man. But shouldn't we wait for Eddie?"

"With the way Chang takes so long to get ready all the food will be rotten by the time we eat."

"I heard that, Hartfield, and I think it's a enormous hypocrisy on your part since you're the only one of us who's always dressed up." - Said Eddie Chang entering at that moment dressed in a much simpler way than his friend and bringing a bottle in his hand.

"What do you have there, Eddie?" Mike asked curiously.

"A little treat for later. But now I want to eat. - Eddie replied before turning to J.B. and seeing that his colleague still hadn't eaten anything. - Why aren't you eating yet, man? You must be hungry."

For the first time in what seemed like hours Jonathan felt like he was himself and not some inconsequential asshole who thought he could do whatever he wanted without care. But at the same time his three classmates had been nice to him in a way he hadn't thought possible and he had really enjoyed himself. Not knowing what to do, he opted for the safest option.

"I think I'd better go and let you eat, thanks for the afternoon guys."

"What the fuck do you think you're doing bro?" - Eddie replied irritably. Scaring Jonathan who had forgotten how explosive he could be.

"I... I..."

"Sit your goddamn ass over there and eat a slice of the pizza Chad get the trouble of getting to you."

Shocked and half numb Jonathan sat up and picked up a slice of pizza, took a bite and felt like he had never eaten anything so good in his entire life. Without stopping to think, he devoured the rest of the piece in a few seconds, accepting the beer that Mike held out to him and taking a long drink, feeling the icy liquid go down his throat with another wave of pleasure.

"Great, that's my man! Now that you're out of the loop can you tell us why the fuck you wanted to leave?" - Eddie said, his voice ranging from pride to irritation in an instant.

"Sorry guys. It's just that you've been nice to me and I didn't want to pick a fight so I thought it would be best to just leave."

"And why did you think you would pick a fight, J.B? Did we do something to offend you in any way?"

"It's just...never mind."

"No, you can talk, man. We're all friends here, aren't we? And while you're talking, you can eat and drink as much as you like, it's on the house."

"So, that's exactly the problem. - Jonathan said as he helped himself to another piece and faced his colleagues sitting around him, each one also holding a piece of pizza and a beer. - The On The House. Don't get me wrong, you guys are cool, but it's about privilege, about bending the rules. There's no way you could have gotten those alcoholic drinks within the law. Or the fact that apparently you can come and go from school as you please."

"I understand you, man. But that's kind of hypocritical of you, isn't it? Mister son of a senator? - Mike started causing a feeling of deja vu in Jonathan. - You came from privilege, I didn't."

"It's different man. I didn't deliberately choose to be who I am and I never purposely used my father figure to get something. Whereas you chose to share in the perks that Eddie and Chad's privilege affords."

"How can one thing be different from the other? You say you didn't deliberately choose to use privilege, but you're here at Dalton, an elite school, home to some of the greatest examples of privilege in our history. By your own choice. There is no difference at all. I just accepted who I am instead of hiding."

Jonathan felt uncomfortable both physically, as it felt like his clothes were suffocating him, and mentally, as he found himself agreeing with Mike's argument. Though a part of him told him there was a flaw in his colleague's logic. But that part didn't have a chance to speak up, because while he was trying to collect his thoughts, between one drink of beer and another, it was Chad's turn to speak up.

"J.B. you complain about our supposed privilege. But here in Dalton it's no different than anyone else, anyone with a car and permission can go out for the weekend. And that's fine, alcohol shouldn't be here, but the way you're drinking that beer is certainly not the first time you've had it. So maybe it's time for you to stop judging others. And especially stop judging yourself. I think that you might have what my father calls the Underdog Syndrome. You are ashamed of the position you have, of what it represents and in an attempt to have the sympathy of others and be accepted you diminish yourself and deny who you are. And that's why you get so angry with Dalton and with us, because you're afraid of realizing that you might have chosen exactly the right place for you. And everything you've done today just showed you that maybe it's time to accept yourself."

Hearing that irritated Jonathan, because it wasn't true, it couldn't be true. Yet he was here, in Dalton, he had had fun with the others, even struck up friendships with them. Was he really that different from the others? Damn it, why were his clothes so tight? That T-shirt was going to end up suffocating him.

He remembered while playing with Mike. The joy, the fun. He knew that was who he was, chill, confident, fun. So why did he insist on making things complex? Why did everything with him have to be so much work? Maybe Chad was right and he should assume he was like the others at Dalton. No! He wasn't, he had goals, he had plans and he... just wanted to relax sometimes and have a little fun. Damn restrictive thing! He thought right before ripping his own shirt with his hands.

"Suffocating crap shit!" - He shouted. Not knowing if he was talking about the T-shirt or his own life. Staring angrily at the fallen pieces of fabric until Eddie started laughing, and then he was laughing and suddenly they were all laughing out loud like this was the funniest thing that will ever happen to them.

"Man that was fucking awesome! You looked like the Hulk!"- Mike said, amazed.

"Well, the t-shirt sure was tight, I don't know how I managed to get it on in the morning!" - Commented J.B. back to a chill attitude.

"And the funniest thing is that the pants held up, barely but they held up, like in the old Hulk comics. The only thing missing was being purple." - Mike completed.

"I think the conversation around here has gotten unnecessarily complicated. It's a fucking Saturday afternoon, we should be having fun and not discussing that sort of thing. Which brings me to this beauty here, I chose this one in honor of you J.B." - Said Eddie taking the bottle of drink he brought with him and showing the label to his colleagues: Johnnie Walker Private Collection. - Now sit there and enjoy a classy man drink with your friends. And if you make a scandal like that again, you'll have to settle it with me." Eddie concluded, handing his friend a glass of the golden drink. Which he accepted, sat down and smiled a totally different smile from his usual but very similar to others in that room.

"You chose well Eddie, nothing pleases me like a respectable drink a good company."

….

"The history of the city of Dalton is intertwined with the history of the academy of the same name, as one would not exist without the other. The lands that gave birth to both were originally owned by Dalton "The Crow" Hartfield and were received from as a reward for his participation on the side of the Union in the Civil War. Although for many that was a poisoned reward because the lands located in northern New Hampshire were considered cursed since the time that the Algonquian natives inhabited the place.

Dalton Hartfield a successful businessman in full maturity, didn't care about what he considered outdated superstitions and decided to use the land to create a school for young men that he could shape in the way he saw himself and with which he raised his own children: to be strong and powerful men both physically and mentally.

During his life he repeated several times that he valued ambition and insight in a young man more than purely academic achievements." -Read Jaime thinking that old Dalton had indeed successfully gotten what he wanted if he counted most of Jamie's peers at the academy.

Before continuing reading, he stared for a long time at an image of Chad's ancestor who, in a way, was responsible for what was now happening to him.

"... however the construction of the school faced problems from the beginning, due to material, animal and finally human losses. After a while the construction team itself had to be replaced by men sent from other states, and even these began to accuse those lands from being cursed. It was necessary for Dalton himself to go to the construction site and decide to spend a night alone in the place that everyone accused of being the lair of some evil spirit. When the construction teams returned the following day, they found the Lord Harrfield still alive, still imposing and assuring them that from that moment the work would continue without interruption. The work however would not be completed until 1873 shortly after Dalton himself died. His only requests were that he be buried in the place he he put so much work into building it and he couldn't see the whole thing being named after him, not the family name but his first name.

His son Dalton Hartfield Junior was the first chairman of the board of directors and with unanimous votes from the other members of the council made up of members of other powerful families of the time accepted both requests of the late father. The city of Dalton emerged as a result of the departure of professors and employees to work at the academy, and even today most of its residents are connected in some way to our institution."

"Wonderful, I'm in a prison surrounded by miles of forests and even if I manage to get out of here I'll run into more jailers." - Thought Jaime being invaded by a feeling of frustration that seemed more intense than expected. Pushing that feeling aside, he flipped through the book until he found another passage of interest.

"Regarding the clubs. The tradition of Dalton's clubs would only be established in 1888 with the creation of the first of them, the Dalton Crows, by Dalton Hartfield IV. The name was chosen in honor of his great-grandfather's nickname. The other clubs followed the tradition of choosing animal names, usually choosing names linked to totemic animals of native peoples in honor of the first inhabitants of the region. - Read Jaime - Beautiful homage, first they exterminate, then occupy the land and finally make a cultural appropriation." Jaime commented to himself, frustration rising inside him, like boiling hot water.

"... since then three more Hartfields have occupied the chair of president of the Crows, including the current president Chadwick Wentworth Hartfield. As for the traditions and rituals of each club, we will not talk about them because they are exclusive knowledge of its members. But we advise every Dalton student who reads this manuscript to join one of the clubs and experience the values of brotherhood, companionship and masculinity that they are sure to provide." - Finished Jaime turning the page in the hope of finding some useful information even though he knew it would be unlikely. But even knowing that, the anger he felt when he didn't find anything made him explode in an unexpected way.

"What the fuck, stupid book, stuoid school that won't let me out!" - He shouted, the screams echoing in the empty library. But that wasn't the worst of it, as he was immediately overcome by a fit of alien and uncontrollable laughter. When that too ended he sat down again, put his hands on his face and cried thinking about the possibility that he was going crazy little by little.

....

"So, J.B., what's it like being a senator's son?" Mike asked his friend.

"I don't know man, most of the time it's cool, my dad works a lot, we don't see much of each other, but whenever we see each other it's cool."

"Really? Senator Roberts has always struck me as the demanding type. Doesn't he push you a lot?" - Chad asked.

"Pressure in what way?" asked J.B.

"I imagine he pressured you to participate in campaign, fundraisers, do some social work, that sort of thing. Not to mention he must expect you to follow in his footsteps. There must have been some pressure in that regard, no?"

"No man, my dad is cool, yes I did all those things, but because it was in my best interest to do it and not because he pushed me. And as for following in his footsteps, well, he's always made it clear that he doesn't want to build a dynasty, that he is precisely against this kind of family power, but that I am free to pursue a career in politics if that is what I want."

"Seriously man, do you really like this shit?" - Mike asked.

"Of course I like it, why would I do something I don't like?" - J.B. retorted, taking another sip of Whiskey and savoring the intense flavor with pleasure at the same time the drunken feeling that had settled in his head over the last few hours intensified.

"Well, it doesn't seem like your kind of thing." - Mike replied, seeing his colleague bring one of the very expensive Cohiba cigars that Chad had offered to his friends to his lips.

"In what way?"

"What Mike is saying is that you are a guy who likes to enjoy the finer things in life, a drink and a cigar with friends, play video game or ball, sometimes smoking a joint followed by a good meal. Not counting the hours you spend at the gym working those muscles and feeling the pleasure of seeing them grow." - Chad replied, while sipping his whiskey."

A sense of confusion added to J.B.'s drunkenness. That person wasn't him. It couldn't be. But at the same time he had done most of those things that very day and was still doing them, as the cigar and whiskey in his hand attested. And no one was his size without dedication to the gym. Besides, he had vague memories of playing ball with his friends. Alright, he liked a good time and who didn't? But that didn't stop him from doing other things, useful things, important things!

"I don't see how one thing excludes the other, guys." - He replied.

"He's right. - Eddie agreed. - You're forgetting that J.B. is a man from Dalton, he has his ambitions, his goals and if for that he needs to endure fundraiser and social work, it's part of the process, right? But I bet you took advantage of some events to have a few drinks and others to slip into some skirts or pants. Being the senator's son must have been easy, right J.B., you degenerate?"

No, he would never do something like that, that went against everything his father believed in! - He thought dropping the cigar and whiskey and holding his face with his hands... - But he wasn't his father, he was a man and had the right to his opinions and his pleasures. Besides, what his father didn't know didn't hurt him. And there was nothing wrong with him making out with a campaign agent or letting a loyal voter give him a blowjob... and the drinks were there for drinking, wasn't it?

In those few moments his body went through another expansion, pectorals widening, arms the size of cannons, legs the size of tree trunks taking his pants to the limit and leaving him the approximate size of a mammoth, that is, the same size as his friends. The face that was already handsome also took on the same predatory beauty as the others, wrapped in the characteristic air of arrogance and superiority. The malicious smile partially hidden by the return of the cigar to the mouth and the eyes shining with mischief.

"You know me too well Eddie."

"Not as much as I'd like."

"Dude, come on, let it flirt when we're not around." - Mike spoke indignantly.

"You can relax Mike, nothing is going to happen between us. As much as I love a good Wagyu steak, being with Eddie would be like being with myself, we are too similar."

"Apparently not enough for you to know I'm Chinese and wagyu beef is Japanese, asshole."

"And who cares?"

"You should if you want to avoid a diplomatic incident while working with your father." - Commented Chad smiling.

"Please, dude. More respect for my abilities. I would never make a gaffe like that with someone important."

"You're asking to get your ass kicked Roberts and not the way you like it."

"Damn, you're really hot when you're pissed off. But no way man. We can be each other's wing man and pick up some holes to fuck.At least until Chad gets us the bridesmaids of his snotty future wife. And even after that if you don't lose balls once married."

"Fuck you, asshole. - Eddie replied but smiling. - Although it's not a bad idea.

"You assume I'm going to invite you to my wedding." - Chad spoke.

"What's the use of this little club here if it's not to strengthen the bonds of friendship and fellowship of Dalton's promising young men?"

"As far as I know you are not part of the club J.B." - Mike replied with a smile identical to the others.

"So what's the point of all this courting? Obviously you want me at the club and that's fine with me. We're going to have a lot of fun together."

....

Jaime found himself in the Crows' headquarters again. Two of them, one shirtless, were playing video games while exchanging insults in a friendly manner. Jaime couldn't see their faces at first, until the shirtless one turned around.

"Hey Mike, bro, get me another beer."

With a shock Jaime realized that it was Jonathan Roberts, but a very different version of the one he knew.

"I'm not your employee J.B. Get your ass off the chair and get it yourself." - Mchael Jones replied, sitting in another armchair talking to Chadwick Hartfield, but there was something behind him, a kind of shadow.

"If I lose here you're going to have to play with Eddie."

"Good point!" - Answered Mike getting up and taking a beer to his colleague. And so Jaime was able to see what was behind him. It was the shape of a thin boy. And as he followed with his gaze he saw that both Jonathan and Eddie had figures behind them. He approached Chadwick trusting that his colleague wouldn't be able to see him and was surprised because even he had a figure behind him, not as thin as the others, but still something that put him on the same level as his colleagues. As he watched Mike sat back down.

"Now what? J.B. is fully integrated. What's next?"

"Tomorrow we'll take a little field trip and secure Miller. Then we just wait for the Source to come to us."

"Just that?"

"From what my dad and Carmichael said after the Source joined us, yes. Just that."

"But...?"

"No buts, Mike."

"Come on Chad, I think that despite the short time we've known each other we're friends. Besides, we're so similar that I can recognize the same signs of concern in you that I recognize in myself."

"It's just that we're very close and I fear that something could fail at the last minute, some unforeseen event. I've already had to deal with the little things that each of you brought to the group, and to my... personality. I'm afraid of failing Dalton ."

"You knew when you started the job that it would be a challenge and so far you've done it well. You are a descendant of Dalton and you fulfill the role perfectly."

"But I wasn't always like this. Before you I was the first to be here. The first on the Contract. Tell me Mike, what do you remember from before?"

"I don't know man, I know that Dalton changed me and I know that you had a part in that, just like I had in what came after. But I don't remember before and to be honest I don't even want to, for me my life has always been like this way and I like it, I like it a lot. I like who I am, I like being like this and I like you motherfucker"

"But that's what worries me man, I like you too and those two suckers over there. Really. I believe little about me must have changed when I came here, after all the source wasn't even here when I came and I'm a Hartfield, we are bred from the cradle in the Dalton ways. What worries me is this... fraternity. When I started the job I was impeccable and relentless. And now I'm here talking about my feelings and apprehensions. That doesn't it came from me. And I'm afraid I'm failing Dalton in that."

"Man, Dalton valued ambition and relentlessness. But he also valued companionship and friendship between his men. It's all in those damn books you made me read. Another thing, you talk about like the old man is still around."

"But he is Mike. His bones are here in this place and more than that, his very essence. It's what guides us and points the way. It's why all of you are here."

"Now you said something I've been itching to ask for days. Eddie and J.B. I understand, but me and Miller? Don't get me wrong, I'm grateful for the opportunity and like I said I'm very happy. But I don't understand."

"Come with me, we're already on the final stretch anyway. You two too, follow me." Chad said, guiding his friends to a red door at the back of the room, where they entered one by one. Jaime stood for a moment staring at the door before deciding to follow them.

….

Jaime walked through the door and found himself back in Dalton's library, wrapped in the familiar scent of cinnamon. Open on his study table was one of the books he had been reading, scribbled on the edges of the pages a proverb he knew, but slightly altered.

"All work and no play makes Jaime a dull boy."

He read it aloud, feeling invaded by a feeling of uneasiness. How did he know that phrase? As he tried to remember he heard a puppy yelp coming from a hallway between bookshelves. Following the noise he found himself in front of an empty corridor.As he turned to return to the starting point, a book fell in front of him. Jaime picked it up from the floor and read the title.

"Doctor Sleep. A Sequel to The Shining"

And suddenly he understood where the sick feeling had come from. He watched the Kubrick movie only once and it traumatized him so much that he never even considered reading the Stephen King book, let alone the sequel. But if for some reason these visions were showing him that book, that must have mattered. As he prepared to open it he was interrupted by a growl.

When he turned to see where the noise had come from, he found himself facing two huge wolves, different from the one in his first dream. Without stopping to think he broke into a run, the wolves in hot pursuit, when he reached the end of the corridor he ran into that first wolf. He dodged the other way, dropping the book in the process. Without looking back he continued to run desperately until he found a room with an open door. He rushed in and closed the door behind him, letting out a sigh of relief. He could hear the howling and scratching of the wolves at the door behind him.

Breathing relieved he heard that first yelp again, coming from the back of that room. Adjusting his eyes to the dim light he saw a huddled shape leaning against a corner of the wall. It was too big to be a puppy, and it was shaped like a human being curled up in a fetal position.

As Jaime hesitated in approaching to check who it was, the yelps suddenly became howls, similar to those outside the room, as the figure in front of him began to grow, muscles expanding and tearing the clothing, his size seeming to double. Jaime in desperation looked for another way out and found it next to the strange creature that was now panting amid the howls.

Creating courage he started to run again to that door, but when he turned the handle he realized that it was locked. Panicking, he turned and finally found what it was he had been looking at.

Before him was that new version of Jonathan Roberts, staring at him with a maniacal predator's grin, not far from a wolf's grimace. But this time it wasn't a howl coming out of his mouth when he opened it.

"Here's Johnny!" - He said in a perfect copy of Jack Nicholson. And just like Shelley Duvall Jaime screamed.

…..

"Mr. Sanchez, wake up, Mr. Sanchez." A female voice spoke to him at the same time as a hand shook his shoulders lightly.

"Ah, what…where am I?"

"I believe you fell asleep while reading Mr. Sanchez."

Jaime was in the library, but there were no wolves or homicidal colleagues around. Only Mrs. O'Malley, the old librarian and one of Dalton's few female employees, who was looking at him very reproachfully at the moment.

"I'm sorry Mrs. O'Malley I really lost track of time." - He said stretching the compact but powerful muscles of his arms and back, testing the limits of his shirt and making him feel at the same time pleasure and a feeling that there was something wrong with it, although he didn't know what.

Deciding to go after what he was sure was wrong, he decided to clear up some of his doubts with the source of information he had in front of him. He started with the easiest.

"Mrs. O'Malley, I'm sorry to bother you but where can I get a copy of The Shining or Doctor Sleep in the library?"

"Mr. Sanchez you don't bother me, as long as you promise me that this situation won't happen again. And unfortunately I can't help you, Dalton has an extensive collection of Mr. King's works, after all he is one of the great writers of our time and was born in New England, but curiously we don't own those two specific titles. I suggest you buy a digital book to read on one of those awful e-readers. - She said as if that was the most inappropriate thing in the world, even more than sleeping in her precious library - Or order a physical copy in the city of Dalton."

"How? If I'm stuck in here?" - He asked bitterly.

"I beg your pardon. You certainly aren't stuck in Dalton. Also, today is a free day if you want to go into town."

"Really?" - That could be his chance to run away, but did he really want that? Now that he knew what had happened to his classmates, that somehow they had been altered by some evil force. And wouldn't it be better for him to run away precisely because of that? The battle of conflicting thoughts was interrupted by the librarian who answered him curtly, probably still offended by his behavior.

"Perhaps you should pay more attention, but yes, today Dalton students are allowed to go into town, as long as they have a permission and car to go with." She replied making him go from joy to frustration, where would he get a car? Who would he hitchhike to? Deciding to deal with that later, he continued to dispel his doubts, adopting a rather smarmy tone of voice in an attempt to gain the old hag's goodwill.

"Mrs O'Malley I'm sorry if I made it sound like I'm not pleased to be at Dalton, nothing could be further from the truth than that. I'm very happy and honored to be here. And also for the help you've given me. I would also like to thank you for the books you got me, they helped me a lot. However, I still have a doubt and as you are probably the greatest holder of knowledge about Dalton, a true pillar of our community I would say, could you clarify it?" - He said with a bright smile appearing on his face almost as if it was second nature.

"Boy, thanks for the kind words but I've lived with generations of Dalton lads, don't think I don't know how to recognize a smarmy smile. But I congratulate you on the initiative, it's the kind of attitude Dalton Hartfield would have approved of. So yes, I'll help you with what I can."

It hit him like a blow, was he acting the way the others in Dalton acted, the way Dalton himself would have wanted him to act? But he needed to know more and if he had to use the enemy's weapons to get what he wanted, then he would.

"You hurt my feelings Mrs O'Malley, my words were not only kind but true. So, I read that Dalton Hartfield was buried on the school grounds, would you know the location?"

"I'm sorry lad, but it looks like all your kind words won't do you any good today. The exact location of Dalton Hartfield's grave is unknown and has been the subject of speculation over the last century, so neither I nor anyone else could help you with that. Unless..."

" Unless?"

"Well, one would assume that the Hartfield family might know something about it and choose not to share."

It made sense, because if what he thought was true was indeed true, the Hartfields wouldn't want anyone to know that location. He would have to take a risky step.

"Chadwick Hartfield certainly has a car, doesn't he?"

"Another question I can't answer, but it's completely beyond my purview, dear."

"I'm sorry Mrs O'Malley, I was thinking out loud. And you were a great help." - He replied smiling that bright smile, while thinking that the time had come for him to meet with the infamous Dalton's Crows Club.

#male tf #mind change #reality change #jockification #corruption #fratification

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lyceana · 6 months ago

Text

I felt true, visceral fear today after I returned from work and discovered that my Huion monitor tablet wouldn't connect to my laptop. I knew that bitch was all powered up and screaming but blue-balling me with only pitch-black darkness.

I shut off and restarted my laptop 5 fucking times, rammed the usb cables in and out of my laptop's usb ports, in and out... I never thought that an expensive device - wasted for just watching funny cat videos and enabling me to draw the shapely but scaly butt of Voldemort - could be violated. Learned a life lesson here: any hole can be stuffed, you just need some imagination y'all.

Fuck tentacles, ugly men & weird-ass creatures with gigantic horse dicks - give me sub laptops/pcs getting dominated by their puny usb cable daddies!

I digress. So, I turned on my 2nd laptop which is on life-support - it never asked to be an accessory to producing hardcore incest material between Tom and his hot daddy Riddle sr, btw. But, like come on! What's better than one hot, mentally maladjusted Tom Riddle? Two of course! Think about the delicious angst, the hurt/comfort, the abandonment issues, the forbidden attraction, uugh...

Why are there so few tomcest (sr) fics? It's unfair, I'm fucking starving, eh. I mean, Riddle sr is the goddamn blueprint for gratuitously hot Voldemort! Where's pathetic, blushy, snot-nosed and puffy-eyed Tom Riddle sr??? The internet lied to me! I thought you only needed two hot dudes who didn't even have to meet each other to make sweet, sweet looove to each other... there's even incest and murder for extra seasoning!

I'm begging the ao3 wordsmith gods who kin Tom Riddle/Voldemort to open their hearts to Tomcest sr T_T) We all love pathetic men in tears and Voldemort would never allow himself to show such vulnerability but that's what we have his da for... Voldy could vicariously experience such a display of helplessness through Riddle sr! And tbh, I seriously need more beautiful works of art featuring my favourite basket case twink (dub-) non-con-ing his papa into some father/son bonding. I'm going cold turkey here!

I digress again. So, I plugged my Huion into my 2nd laptop and behold! That fucker finally connected and mirrored the laptop display, thank fucking god! Little shit was playing hard to get but it still lives! Whoop, whoop!

Thank Voldy's perky ass, I wasn't forced to make a human connection with an underpaid yet bored employee at the Huion support centre. I had that tablet for 4 years and we experienced the deepest depths of human depravity together - I cried bitter tears, cursed it for reflecting my shitty art skills - my inability to draw hot men bedtime wrestling. But, we also experienced joy together when I succeeded. That fucker made me feel like an art god when it reflected how I envisioned the smut to be. I'm not ready to end this toxic relationship, I thought I'd be.

I was all 'yeah, I'm sooo stage 4 already! I only need the Huion employee to gaslight me into buying their newest, shiny model to reach stage 5!' I'm 30, a grandma according to annoying (affectionate) internet youngsters. My body can't handle eating only instant ramen for 4 months anymore. My roaring 20s are a bygone era and for once I choose to practice some self-care, to love myself even!

For once, I was about to make an adult decision and... wait. To save up the money - to accept that I'll be a temporary full-time traditional wannabe weird-ass hentai artist with a shitty phone camera... but thank god I don't have to! My beloved tablet still works and I can be a part-time traditional but mainly digital wannabe weird-ass hentai artist with a shitty phone camera! Yeah, this is how my day went. Love y'all ~ mwaaah

Shameless self-promo plug but I think you should at least look at the smut scenes to see the appeal of tomcest (sr)~ I also need some validation for providing my tears as lube for their narcissistic coupling You can read Philautia here: AO3

#laptop dominated by usb cables #don't question it #where's my Korean drama about a digital artist who has a meltdown and has to contact customer service #rugged customer service employee gaslighting artist-chan into buying a new expensive pen tablet #experiencing a meltdown while trying to resuscitate my abusive huion kamvas pro 20 #don't worry~ we're still in a toxic relationship #don't think that huion will appreciate the unintended promo tho #too passionate about toxic but hot father & son bonding #digressing into an essay about why voldemort and his hot daddy should fuck #2k+ word essay about the 5 stages of grief: tomcest style

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bridenore · 1 year ago

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HD fic recs - disability (blind, mute or deaf)

Here are a few drarry fic recs where either Harry or Draco is blind, mute or deaf, whether it is permanent or temporary. Listed in alphabetical order, as always.

Darkest Before the Dawn by @dualwieldteacup [47k]

The last thing Draco wanted was to show up at Harry Potter’s door, cursed blind and holding a boxful of his friends Transfigured into snakes, but here he was. Between breaking the curse, adjusting to life without sight, and teaching his Defence Against the Dark Arts classes, Draco’s got his hands full. Being forced to live with Harry Potter might just be the death of him. This is a story about the bonds of friendship, fairy tale endings, and learning to ask for help (even from Gryffindors).

The Lip-Lock Jinx by cassisluna [20k]

It's a jinx that renders the victim mute, unless he/she serves the purpose of the jinx and kisses the person that they desire. It's just Harry's luck that he's in love with Draco.

Obliviation by @dysonrules [26k]

When Harry decides to quit Auror Training in order to care for young Teddy over the summer, he has quite enough to worry about without Pansy Parkinson dumping a mute Draco Malfoy on his doorstep.

The Piano by shushu_yaoi_lj / @orange-peony [37k]

He arrives on a boat during a particularly stormy day. Harry knew Astoria Greengrass had sent for a husband, someone to keep her company on the particularly dreary and dark winter days on this remote island. Harry didn’t know who it was she had arranged to be sent here. All he knew was that the weather was horrid today, and the Portkeys had never properly worked in this remote corner of the North Sea. The island was special, its magic working in odd and surprising ways. The last person Harry expects to find on the beach is Draco Malfoy.

Potential Gravity by @lol-zeitgeistic [32k]

Draco is not good at Cards Against Humanity, but Harry’s not good at being human, so it all works out. Except for the explosions. And Harry’s inability to live when Draco’s not around.

Silenced by the Night by @parkkate [55k]

After a spell goes horribly wrong, Harry has to deal with the loss of his eyesight. It’s such terrible timing, too, because how is he supposed to find out what Malfoy has been up to in the Room of Requirement? It’s not like he can ask the git, not only because it’s Malfoy, but also because the Slytherin has suddenly lost his voice. While they’re both trapped in the hospital wing, however, Harry discovers there’s so much he didn’t know about Malfoy, and it’s highly intriguing, but also a bit alarming. Where did all these confusing feelings come from all of a sudden? And what is Harry going to do about them?

Speechless by mayberry_rose [6k]

In which Draco can’t speak, and Harry learns to listen.

The Standard You Walk Past by @bafflinghaze [46k]

On returning to Hogwarts for their Eighth Year, Headmistress McGonagall decided to room Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter together. She may have hoped for a leading example of house unity; the other students fully expected insults and fights. But nothing happened. That was, until Harry sleepwalked into Draco’s bed.

Talk to Me by Saras_Girl [15k]

When the usual channels of communication are shut down, the most surprising people can find a way in. A strange little love story.

A Thousand Beautiful Things by geoviki [104k]

Draco Malfoy struggles with changed fortunes, shifted alliances, an ugly war, and an unusual spell, with the help of a concerned professor, an insightful house-elf, and an unexpected Gryffindor friend. Delicate Sound of Thunder by geoviki [61k] Draco Malfoy has always known that happily ever after is only true for fairy tales. When someone threatens to expose his wartime past, he risks his life to protect his secrets, but learns he’s not the only one with something to hide. The sequel to A Thousand Beautiful Things.

When I Put My Eyes On You by Zzzara [31k]

When a hero defeats a villain, there’s supposed to be a happily-ever-after… but when did anything ever happen to Harry Potter the way it was supposed to? Having sacrificed himself to the greater good, Harry is left alone in the darkness, blindly groping for the shreds of the life he knew. When the enemies meet, how is the story supposed to go, once they learn there’s more to it than the eye can see? A story of pain, hope and things we discover, once we stop looking for them with our eyes.

I hope you enjoy these stories as much as I did!

#my recs #drarry #drarry recs #theme rec

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justjessame · 6 months ago

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Lilght Through the Darkness: Chapter 57

Abigail woke up to a message from Ric warning her of ANOTHER community event and she groaned. From the bit of television and internet dabbling she’d managed, it seemed that most towns didn’t feel the need to come together quite this often, even for the 150th celebration of its founding. Honestly, Mystic Falls was insane with the constant need to remind her that she’d been here from the beginning it seemed.

This time, it was the Historical Society Volunteer Day.

“Why can’t I volunteer to stay home?” Abigail teased, her phone on speaker as she cleaned Cat’s litter pan and made sure his water dish and food was clean and full. Ric chuckled on the other end. “How likely is it that the acting mayor will be dropping in or calling to see if I’m going to be a good and active last remaining member of the Morgan family?”

“High,” was his answer and she groaned again. “Town’s small, Mason is her brother-in-law, chances are she’s minutes away from calling or dropping by.” Great.

“Then I guess I’m volunteering -” Opening the refrigerator to get a glass of juice, she asked the most important question of the day. “Where exactly am I expected to show up and offer my services?”

Damon couldn’t believe that Stefan wanted to make nice with Mason Lockwood. The full moon wasn’t for weeks, so what was the point? They had ages to figure out how to kill him and figure out what his master plan was for coming back to his hometown. Why make nice? But Stefan, back in his favorite role as Misery Bear, had to extend a branch of reconciliation. Ugh.

It was bad enough they were stuck in this damn park putting in time to do - he looked around - what the hell were they doing again? His eyes caught her as she stepped out of the Mini Cooper, hair braided over her shoulder and a pair of leggings with an oversized sweater covering it to her upper thighs. Brown suede boots laced up halfway to her knees and she was wearing a pair of sunglasses to shield her pale eyes from the sun, but he’d know her anywhere. Abigail Morgan had arrived for her fair share of community service. Maybe today wouldn’t be a complete loss.

Abigail was clutching a plastic bottle of juice she’d grabbed from the store on the way to the forced volunteerism her hometown expected as she made her way toward what she took for the organization table. It was manned by a middle aged blonde woman, wearing a pink blouse over a white top, and as Abi grew near she saw that the other woman looked as comfortable with her lot as Abi felt.

A forced smile on her lips, she introduced herself as Sheriff Elizabeth Forbes and Abigail felt her own smile growing. “You must be Caroline’s mother,” offering her hand, she introduced herself and watched as the sheriff realized just who Abi was in the gaggle of people helping get the ‘park’ in order. “How can I be of use?”

Shifted to helping Elena and Caroline with their task, Abigail grabbed a bucket and smiled nervously at the face that looked so like the one that ruined so much for her. Caroline was more than willing to keep the conversation flowing, and it seemed that Elena and Stefan were in the midst of relationship upheaval, with a bit of Katherine tossed in for more discomfort. Abi kept her mouth shut and her eyes on her task.

“Abigail,” Caroline cut in on her mindless brushing of stain against wood, having drowned out their monotonous back and forth about babies and motherhood - Stefan’s inability to father any and Elena’s inherent need to become a mother, to blink back to the present. “I think we need you to come with us,” her eyes were focused on a spot away from where the three of them were working, but the way she said it got Abi’s attention.

They climbed a hill and Caroline was muttering that she thought she’d be able to hear her mother better from the area she picked. Abigail wondered what she could have missed when she allowed herself to focus on the task at hand instead of her surroundings for a moment or three? Glancing around the clusters of people below them, through the trees, she searched to see who might be missing. No Stefan or Damon, and she knew if Elena was present, then both Salvatore men would be as well.

Whoever catered the Historical Society Volunteer Day is getting a zero out of five stars, Damon thought as he gasped out the last of the vervain laced lemonade. Right after he rips Mason Lockwood’s heart out of his chest. Stefan, for once understanding where he was coming from, comes along when they see the asshole showing off his extra strength heading for the woods.

And of course it’s a trap. Wooden bullets, and Liz is holding one of the guns, because why not? Two deputies and the sheriff, and more vervain, could the day get much worse?

Caroline’s hearing, Abigail thought as she watched the young vampire focus, was impressive. Within moments they were off, heading toward where her own mother was torturing Stefan - clearly both Caroline and Elena’s focal point, and Damon - which made Abigail’s stomach twist uncomfortably and a glow of red appear in her vision that gave her only the slightest of pauses. First they came across Mason Lockwood. Traitorous hound.

He had the audacity to threaten to out Caroline to her mother and then put Elena in a clutch and threaten to break her neck.

“Be careful, necks snap real easy round here,” he taunted, and the red tinge hit Abigail’s vision making him flinch as Caroline moved in with a punch to his smug face. A follow up kick to his stomach and he flew through the air, hitting a tree with a sound that soothed Abi’s frayed nerves for at least a moment.

The three women continued on, but Caroline stopped when they got to the entrance to what Abigail learned later was the Lockwood cellar. She feared her mother’s reaction, since she was a vampire and her mother was currently torturing two of her ‘kind’. They could hear the interrogation, the threats, the pain that was being inflicted on the two Salvatore men. When Sheriff Forbes told her companions to stake Damon and Stefan and set fire to their bodies, both Elena and Abigail started forward.

“I know you’re afraid,” Abigail turned to Caroline as Elena kept moving. “We cannot do this without you, Caroline, and she is your mother.”

They could hear Elena shouting at Caroline’s mother to stop, and they both took a deep breath and followed her. It was a bit of chaos and a great deal traumatic to see the cellar. Caroline moved like light, the guards stood no chance, but Abigail was focused on Damon.

As one deputy fell to the other’s bullets, she was on her knees beside him, lowering the shoulder of her sweater without a single thought. “Well?” It came out sharper than she meant it, but she knew he was weak and she couldn’t stand to see it. “Damon, come on now, drink.” Tilting her head, she waited for the feel of his teeth, the pull of her blood leaving her to go to him, but nothing happened.

“No,” it was weak, but she heard it. “I won’t.” Stubborn.

Another body dropped, but she didn’t even glance at it. Her eyes met his and she glared at him, green meeting blue. “You are the most stubborn, annoying ass of a -” and then she leaned forward and their lips met, teeth and tongue, and his arms, weak still, but needing her, pulled her to him. His moan told her that he still loved the taste of her mouth, and while he was weak from the vervain, which thankfully none lingered in his mouth since she was allergic, and the wooden bullets still lodged in his body he found the strength to hold onto her. Pulling back, she opened her eyes as his blinked open, blue into green, and she shook her head. “NOW will you drink?”

He started to shake his head, but he saw in her eyes that she meant it. She wanted him to. So he nodded, and as she tilted her head again, he let his nose take the slow route to her throat, reminding of her scent. Burning Abigail Morgan’s brand into his memory again, as if it had ever left him. And when his teeth met her neck, as he broke her skin and the first surge of her nectar met his tongue, he heard it. A sigh, not a whimper or a sound of pain, but a sigh of contentment came from deep inside of her and he finally knew that this wasn’t the reason she ran.

Sheriff Forbes was not taking the entire situation very well. And by that, Abigail meant from the tip top down to the bottom. It was bad enough that Damon, who had apparently endeared himself to the Founders’ Council as a member of a founding family, had been outed as a vampire, but to learn that his brother and her own daughter were also vampires, well it was more than a bit much.

Vervain was a deterrent for compulsion and while Abigail had her own version of persuasion, it wasn’t something that could alter memories to the point that they needed, at least not that she’d managed to harness it yet. The only course of action, unfortunately, was to hold Elizabeth Forbes captive in the Salvatore cellar until the vervain was out of her system. A better course than she begged for, which was death at Damon’s hands.

Both Damon and Caroline refused this request, much to everyone but Elizabeth’s happiness, Abi found. This intrigued her, so she asked if she could visit the sheriff during her captivity. Which is how Abigail Morgan and Liz Forbes became awkward acquaintances and slowly but surely - well we’ll see.

“So you’re actually THE Abigail Morgan?” Liz was asking for what seemed like the fifteenth time, and Abi nodded her assurances again. “Are you -” she took a deep breath, as if to strengthen her resolve for MORE bad news. “Like THEM?”

Abigail chuckled, thinking about how she’d reacted to Damon when he first visited her when she was trapped in her own mind. “No,” a soft shake of her head and a small smile playing on her lips she kept her eyes on the other woman, pacing the cellar room where she was being held until all the vervain was out of her system. “No, I’m not a vampire.”

“How are you still alive then?” Fair question, Abi thought, and one that no one else had asked her. Not Elena, or Caroline. Not even Damon, actually. “You don’t look any older than -” she paled, and Abigail sighed. She was insisting that Caroline wasn’t her daughter anymore. That her daughter was dead and whatever animated her body wasn’t HER.

“Do you know that no one has asked me that?” Abigail smiled at the woman who bore a striking resemblance to a corned and scared animal. “Over 146 years I lay in my ancestral home, having people break in and stare at me, creating some sort of air of mystery about me, but not a single person has asked how I’m still alive.”

Liz stopped pacing, and stared at Abigail. Ah, finally, Abi thought, something to hold her attention. “No one?”

Abi shook her head. “Not a single one. Not even the men I lived with before I went into my ‘sleep state’.” A smirk started to grow, how silly men are, she thought. “One tried to kill me before that, mind you, and yet not a question of how I survived.”

Now the sheriff sat, contemplating what the woman who looked so much younger than herself, but was clearly her elder by leaps and bounds was saying. “You’re immortal, but not a vampire?”

Another small shake of Abi’s head and her smirk returned to a smile. “No, no blood drinking for me, thank you.” She sighed. “If you’d like, I’ll explain what I’ve learned, since I’ve woken up.” Liz nodded and Abigail took a breath and started at the beginning. “My father, Eric Morgan - at least that was the name he was known by here in Mystic Falls, came from a very powerful family. He was the only son, his two sisters - Dahlia and Esther were expected to go down a different path, but as the only son of the only son, he was destined to be the leader of his people. He married my mother, Madeline - again her name here, at least, and she was of a similar family.”

“What type of family?” Liz looked confused and Abigail realized she was doing a poorer job than her parents had done in the book and letter they’d left behind. “What do you mean their names HERE?”

Abigail shook her head and bit her lip, considering how to better explain. “How much do you know about ancient Norway?” Liz’s eyes widened. “Vikings and their traditions?” Nothing from Liz, so Abigail went on. “My father and mother were from different sects, my father was the leader of one, she was the daughter of another’s. My father’s family, their roots run deep, not just as leaders and ‘royalty’ for lack of a better word, but elementally, magically.” Liz nodded, so she was making sense now. “His sisters, they were taken by warriors of another group, the spoils as it were. But he managed to keep track, to make amends with at least one, Esther and her husband, Mikael. At least for some time, you see, with magic as strong as ours - there’s jealousy and there’s also expectation that somehow we’ll share it or we’ll explain how ours works versus how theirs does, does that make sense?”

Liz shook her head, but she was squinting as if she were trying to think it though in her own way. “Do you mean that your father’s magic was different from his sister’s?”

Abigail nodded, but felt she had more to explain. “A bit. You see, my father’s life, and my mother’s, and mine easily snuffed out. We are immortal, by most definitions, but my parents are dead. They chose it, not their murderer, but HE doesn’t know that.” She was staring at Abigail like she was more confused, and Abi could relate. “My magic flows through me in a way that I cannot possibly explain it. Most witches can train others, they can share their knowledge. I’ve asked for help from others.” Liz nodded her understanding. “I can’t reciprocate. Mine is natural, it just happens. I can no sooner teach it to another, than I could teach you to have my eyes.”

“You’re a witch?” Liz was getting there, in a roundabout way. “An immortal witch.”

“I am a descendant from the direct line of the very first witch,” Abigail answered. “The first magic that struck the world, still flows through me, I guess. Again, difficult to put into words, but ‘witch’ will do in a pinch.”

Abigail watched as the sheriff, coming to terms with so much, sat and digested this new nugget. The news that witches existed wouldn’t shock her, she was on the Founders’ Council, surely they knew about witches if they knew about vampires.

“Could you -” she stopped, closing her eyes and sighing. “Never mind, it’s stupid.”

Abigail knew, from the tone, the hopefulness that was somehow laced with hopelessness what Liz was going to ask. Her answer came out with the same type of soft denial. “I’m sorry, Liz, but there’s no ‘fixing’ Caroline.” Liz’s eyes snapped open and locked onto Abi’s. “She’s not broken, you know that deep down inside of you.”

Liz’s eyes hardened, but they were glassy with unshed tears. “She’s dead, Abigail, that’s broken.”

Abi shook her head. “Do you know how much I hated what Damon became, when it happened?” Liz had turned her head, focused on the wall, trying to tune her out now that the topic was less pleasant. “I had just witnessed what Stefan had done to my maid, his father, and the entire household - it was gruesome and it broke me to the point that I literally disappeared into my own mind.” Nothing from the sheriff, but Abi could tell she was listening. “I don’t actually know how long between that moment and the first time I ‘saw’ Damon in this room he had another witch create for me,” she fingered her bracelet, a smile playing on her lips. “But all I could see, when he was in front of me, was HER.”

“Who?” Liz’s voice cut in and Abi’s eyes met hers. “Who did you see instead of him?”

“The same monster who caused Caroline’s predicament, Liz.” Abi tilted her head. “Katherine Pierce.” Liz looked like she was trying to place the name, and no wonder, it was on the Founders’ Scroll. “She was a guest at the Salvatore home when -” a dark chuckle. “It doesn’t matter, the point is, she’s still wandering around, meddling in affairs that ought not be meddled in and taking choices from people who she doesn’t care about.”

“Caroline isn’t in there anymore, Abigail,” Liz sounded like she was so sure, but also like she wanted to be convinced. “She died, and then SOMETHING took up residence.”

Abi shook her head. “No, Liz, no.” A heavy sigh escaped her. “I met Damon Salvatore when I was five years old, and do you know what?” Liz said nothing, but her eyes were still on Abi. “He’s the same stubborn, annoying, and smug man that I grew up with -”

“You forgot charming, attractive, and I think you might actually like me,” Damon offered, coming down the stairs with Liz’s phone in his hand. “Time for your call in, Sheriff.”

#alternate universe #damon salvatore x ofc #the vampire diaries

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jack-nasty · 2 years ago

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BBB Chapter 10 [2/2]:

"Hot Headed"

"I—h" He continues, regaining his voice. He talks steadily. "When has your concern ever been about anything other than Dad's money?" I cringe at the thought of us sharing a father. "Don't bring Dad into this." "Then what... Explain why you have a stick up your ass then. Don't lie to me and say Grillby's done something wrong because he's been around for a while and has been nothing but kind to you." "You've talked about Grillby more in the past five minutes than you have in the last few weeks combined! You're saying he's all that now that you have to defend him. But there was none of this glorification towards him till today. From what I've just seen it looks like all he does is boss you around." "Oh my GOD, Papyrus! Maybe you should take into consideration your inability to LISTEN to me! Never mind Grillby, you haven't heard about ANYTHING going on in my life because you just won't BOTHER with me. We haven't had an actual conversation in MONTHS because of your constant isolation! What do you have against me? How can you tell me this isn't about Dad and his money? I fear when you say it's not that because I can't come up with an explanation telling me otherwise." I see a water droplet follow down a trail made by previous tears as he yelled out to me. "I go to Grillby's to escape this hostility, Paps. I don't feel him judging me. Not like you do." He hides his face in his sleeve as he wipes away his tears. Does he actually mean all of this? Is this how he thinks I feel toward him? I need to tell him it's not true but I can't form a full sentence in my mind before I force myself to speak. "Sans—" I'm disrupted anyways. "No, I think I'll just leave. I can't hear this right now." He says this in a pained voice. How am I supposed to redeem myself if he won't listen to me speak? This blatant hypocrisy makes me forget about mercy. "Oh go ahead, run to your 'boyfriend' like usual, since you think he's SUCH a better listener. He only tells you what he wants you to hear, you know." I follow Sans as he turns away from me and opens the door. "Sucks! Maybe if I knew it was that easy to get in your pants, I'd 've—" SLAM. The door shuts in my face but I'm relieved it stopped wherever that sentence was going. I just had to hope Sans didn't hear it. I stand still for a moment, reflecting on what happened seconds before. Then I walk lifelessly to the couch and let the tears stream down my face as I think of the ones I caused him. No matter how much he may cry, he won't see me shed a tear. I consider him of such high stature, I'd never want my big brother to see me in a moment of weakness. When he cries it's admirable, it's meaningful, and it gives me the purpose of comfort and reassurment. When I cry it's embarrassing and undeserving. I have such a perfect life with my brother so I wouldn't want him to think otherwise. I don't show it, but I do love him. So much more than he could think.

#sans x grillby #grillby x sans #grillby undertale #undertale smut #undertale #fontcest #sans undertale #sans x papyrus #foncest #fanfic

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writemywaytoyourheart · 3 years ago

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Aim For The Heart | Chapter 12: Sweet As Sugar

Pairing: hitman!jungkook x female reader

Genre: romance, drama, angst, fluff

WC: 7.3k

Warnings for this chapter: strong language, fluff that might kill u since we’ve had none until now whoops

Tag list; Tag list; @hopekookies @moonchild1 @barbellastyles98 @teresaisla @ggukkieland @mwitsmejk @scuzmunkie @jaebeomsblackgf @sugaslittlekookies @moon-asia @bangtannie7 @yoonchrisgull @njkbangtan @higashikatasgf @jksbbyfacebunny @kookiesxbananamilk @voidswan @sadxaries @bts-junseagull @jinfused @taehyungiev13 @jadethd @kimnamjoonluvbot @jungkooook @mutterseelenalleinn @surilirani @patpus @yukiehyukie @crypticsabbat @ohyeahjk @steffiiirose @the-falling-star @telepathytae

summary; Jeon Jungkook is an infamous hitman, known for his inability to fail at whatever job is thrown his way. At least, up until now. Y/n, a kind-hearted and full of life teacher, is his newest target. Jeon isn’t sure who would put a hit on this seemingly innocent girl, but fortunately, that isn’t his problem. All he has to do is pull the trigger.

Previous > Next

Jungkook wakes up the next morning with a pounding headache.

Definitely a stressed induced headache.

"Fuck," He groans loudly, holding his head.

A moan comes from the couch, "What you complaining about so early in the damn morning?"

"My head is killing me," Jungkook informs his temporary housemate.

"Then take some medicine and drink some fucking water," Taehyung groans in annoyance.

"Can't. Hurts too bad."

"Damn it all to hell," Taehyung grumbles as he gets up and stumbles to the kitchen. He fumbles with the cabinets until he pulls out a bottle of medicine, then he grabs a glass and fills it up with water.

He stomps back to Jungkook, huffing the whole way.

"Sit up," He barks.

Jungkook slowly sits up, his eyes squinting in the light that's seeping through the curtains, "Fuck, it hurts," He moans helplessly as Tae grabs his hand to shove the pills in and then hands him the glass of water.

"Take it," He says gruffly, "I'm not going to feed it to you like a baby."

Jungkook resists the urge to stick his tongue out at Tae as he takes the medicine, then lays down again, "Thanks."

"You're a pussy."

"Whatever," Jungkook rolls over so that he can stuff his face into his pillow.

Tae plops down on the couch with a loud sigh, "What are you going to do today?"

"Mm, shh," Jungkook mumbles into the pillow, "I'm tryin to sleep."

"You woke me up, now I can't go back to sleep."

"Well try."

"It's too bright and it's too hot-"

"Taehyung?"

"What?"

"Shut up."

"Asshole."

Jungkook lifts the pillow and puts it over the top of his ears so he can drown out Tae's insistent bickering.

An hour passes and the bright sun filtering through the windows inevitably wakes Jungkook from his fitful slumber. He sighs and sits up in bed.

At least his headache is mostly gone.

He reaches over to the bedside table and grabs the glass Tae got him earlier, quickly downing the rest of the water.

He glances at the couch and sees Tae passed out, one of his legs hanging off the edge as his arms clutch a pillow tightly.

It's hard to see something like that and believe he's one of the most infamous and brutal hitmen that won't hesitate to slice your throat if you cross him wrong.

Jungkook sighs quietly and forces himself to get out of bed and go into the bathroom to get a shower.

A little while later, he's clean and mostly awake.

He comes out of the bathroom to see a shirtless Taehyung at the stove cooking eggs.

"Are any of those for me?" Jungkook asks slyly as he comes to peek over Tae's shoulder. The cheesy scrambled eggs look absolutely delicious.

Tae looks at him with squinted eyes, "No. Make your own eggs."

"Wow, someone is grumpy."

"You ruined my sleep."

"Didn't look that way to me-"

"Get out of here! Shoo!" Tae waves the spatula in his hand at Jungkook threateningly.

Jungkook laughs and backs away, moving to get dressed for the day.

By the time Taehyung has his eggs on a plate and is sitting at the table, Jungkook is fully dressed in his usual all black outfit.

He walks to the door to put his shoes on, "I'm going out for breakfast."

"Have fun," Tae says absentmindedly as he looks at his phone and shoves the eggs into his mouth.

Jungkook looks at Tae one last time before heading out, locking the door behind him and hurrying down the hall before the neighbors can see him.

When Jungkook steps into the sunlight for the first time today, he breathes in the fresh air.

He looks at his phone to see it's only a little after nine in the morning.

You should be up by now.

He makes his way to the small café a few blocks from his apartment.

Half an hour later, Jungkook is knocking on your apartment door, his palms sweating nervously.

He sets the bag he's holding down and wipes his hands on his pants before picking the bag up again.

What's he so nervous for?

Oh yeah, maybe because he's never done something even close to this before.

He's stalked and killed hundreds of deserving scoundrels for years, and yet apologizing to a girl for behaving like an asshole seems to be what's got him shaking in his boots.

Jungkook swallows thickly and is about to knock again, his hand raised, when the door opens.

He jumps a little in surprise at the scowling girl in front of him.

"Uhm, hi," Jungkook says quietly.

"What do you want?" Mina snaps.

"C-Can I please talk to ____?"

Mina's eyes narrow even more and she seems to study Jungkook carefully.

"Who are you?"

"Uh, my name is Jung-"

"I know what your name is, boy. Who are you and why are you messing with _____?" Mina's scowl darkens.

Jungkook swallows the lump in his throat, wondering if you had told Mina everything that happened yesterday.

"I-"

"M-Mina? Who's at th-the door?"

Both of them freeze at the sound of your tired and slightly croaky voice.

Mina turns, blocking Jungkook from your view.

"It's just a salesman, ____. Go get dressed, I'll take care of this."

Then Mina slips out and shuts the door behind her, leaving you inside and her standing right in front of the regretful boy on your porch.

"Hm? You didn't answer my question, Jungkook," She seethes.

Jungkook looks down, "I didn't mean to hurt her-"

"Well, you did," Mina snaps, "Do you know how excited she was whenever she told me about how she had made a new friend, and whenever she got to hang out with you? I don't think you realize how much you hurt her. You crushed her."

Jungkook flinches at that, but he doesn't say anything. He doesn't know what to say.

Mina can tell she hit a nerve, so she continues, "___ doesn't have any other friends besides me and you, and clearly you were never a real friend. How could you say those things to her Jungkook? Do you realize how painful those words were to her? She can't help it, Jungkook. It isn't her fault she is the way she is. She-"

Mina stops short and takes a deep breath, "I thought she had actually found someone who wouldn't judge her about the way she speaks or behaves. I guess I was wrong."

There's a tiny piercing pain in Jungkook's heart as he takes a shuddering breath.

"Just leave, Jungkook. And don't come back," Mina says scornfully.

Jungkook just swallows and holds out the bag, "Please give this to her. You don't have to tell her it was from me."

Mina takes the bag, then Jungkook turns and walks away, hurrying down the steps.

She looks in the bag and sees a few take-out boxes.

"What w-w-was the man s-selling?" You ask as Mina comes in and closes the door. She sees that you're all dressed in a pair of old sweats. Your hair is still knotted, but you remembered to put on your favorite white frilly socks.

Mina smiles, her heart aching in her chest as she sets the bag on the table and walks over to pull you into her arms, "I'm sorry, ____," She whispers into the crook of your neck.

"Why a-are you s-s-sorry, Mina?"

"Never mind."

She pulls away and gestures at the bag, "While you were dressing, breakfast arrived."

Your eyes light up, "B-Breakfast??"

You run over and sit on a chair at the table, patiently waiting for Mina to tell you which one is yours.

She hands you a few boxes, then goes to toss the empty bag. You look at her in confusion, "Where is y-yours?"

"I'm making myself a bagel. I didn't want anything much."

You nod, seemingly taking her word for it.

"Th-Thank you for b-buying me food," You say sweetly before opening the first box. There's an omelette inside and you smile at that.

The second box makes you pause.

There are two giant blueberry pancakes, but a note is taped to the lid of it.

You glance at Mina, who's in the kitchen, busying herself with making a bagel.

You open the note, but you don't recognize the messy handwriting. It definitely isn't Mina's...

I got extra napkins, so remember to wipe your face. I'm really sorry. -JK

You swallow thickly, tears brimming in your eyes and blurring the words. You tuck the note into your pocket and start assembling the food.

____________________

Jungkook looks across the little pond, watching the ducks swimming around as a little girl tosses small pieces of bread into the water. The ducks hurriedly crowd around the bread and gobble it up.

The little girl laughs and Jungkook feels his heart pinch.

She sounds a lot like you.

He leans back on the bench, crossing one of his legs over the other as he lifts his hand to block the sun from his eyes.

"I don't think you realize how much you hurt her. You crushed her."

Jungkook sighs and leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees, his head resting in his hands.

What is he supposed to do now?

He's decided he isn't going to kill you. He can't.

So, now what?

It's been two days since he went by your house, and he hasn't heard from you or seen you at all. Now that he thinks about it, he doesn't even have your phone number, so how could he really?

He feels like a piece of shit for saying what he said to you.

He's never felt like shit for doing anything to anybody for as long as he can remember.

What's going on with him?

Jungkook lifts his head to see the little girl go back to her mother, stretching her hand out and taking her mother's as they walk past him.

The little girl, who seems to be around five years old, smiles at Jungkook and waves.

He smiles back, surprising himself when he waves back at her.

"Jungkook."

He turns at the sound of your voice, his heart catching in his throat when he sees you standing a few feet away.

Oh...fuck.

He isn't ready.

He's not ready.

What should he do?

What does he say?

Oh no.

Jungkook stands up abruptly, like you just caught him cheating on a test.

"_-___," It's his turn to stutter as he says your name, his cheeks tinted the slightest pink.

You simply look at him, your usual bright smile not lighting up your pretty little face.

P-P-Pretty??

Wait, why did that thought pass through his brain??

Not pretty. Definitely not pretty.

"You're...shaking," The words leave your mouth slowly, so slowly and softly that Jungkook almost has a hard time hearing you at all.

"I- uh. I'm fine," Jungkook says, then he looks away. He doesn't think he can stand looking into your eyes much longer. The guilt is eating away at him.

"How are you?" He mumbles stupidly, not having anything better to say.

When you don't answer, he looks up at you.

You're staring out at the little pond, a tiny smile on your face when you see the ducks swimming around.

"I'm good," Again, your words are so slow and quiet that Jungkook finds himself leaning in just to hear you.

That's when he realizes something is off.

You aren't stuttering...

Is that why...you're talking so slowly?

"___, listen-"

You look back at him and he gulps, resisting the urge to look away from your gaze.

"I-"

He wants to just slap himself silly, maybe that will make him come to his senses.

Jungkook finds himself looking at your outfit, seeing as he can't seem to keep eye contact with you.

He keeps his eyes locked on the dirty mark on your pink leggings, just below your knee.

"I'm...sorry."

"I know," You say.

He raises his eyes to your oversized purple t-shirt with a lollipop on it. It looks like you're drowning in it.

That only makes him more sick to his stomach.

He forces himself to man up and grow a pair, then he looks straight into your eyes, ignoring the way your knotty hair piled on top of your head in a bun is making his heart pick up its pace.

"I really am sorry."

You just watch him quietly.

Jungkook swallows, "I was a jerk. No, I was an asshole. I had no right to say any of that to you and I honestly don't know why I even did."

You continue to silently look at him, yet your eyes seem soft and sweet, unjudging.

Jungkook shakes his head to clear it, "I just want you to know that I don't think any of what I said. I'm an idiot and I'm so sorry-"

"I f-forgive y-you," A small smile graces your features as Jungkook feels a huge weight lift from his shoulders and a smile of his own tugs at his lips at the sound of your stutter.

Your cheeks turn pink at the smile he gives you.

He still feels guilty...

You forgave him so readily when he really didn't deserve to be forgiven at all-

"When I say I f-forgive you, it m-means you are free to l-let it go," You say sweetly when you see the sadness in his gaze lingering.

Jungkook has a horrible urge to hug you all of a sudden.

He plants his feet to the ground so he doesn't do anything stupid. He doesn't know what's going on with him these days.

"Thank you."

"W-What for?"

"For forgiving me and for the beautiful picture and note," Jungkook finds himself saying in an embarrassed rush.

The reminder of the note makes you self-conscious, making you want to curl into yourself and disappear.

Jungkook realizes that his breathing is quickening, so he turns to look back at the pond and calm his breathing down.

"Well, I n-need to go."

Jungkook looks back at you, a weight of disappointment settling in his chest. He had waited days to talk to you, and now you're leaving again.

"Can I-"

Jungkook speaks up when you turn to walk away.

You turn back to him with a curious look as he blinks to himself, trying to figure out exactly what he needs and wants to say.

"C-Can you...?" You encourage him kindly.

"Can I take you somewhere?" Jungkook finally braves the words, "I mean...I mean another day, since you have somewhere you need to be right now."

"Are y-you going to lose m-me in another t-train station?" You ask with a lighthearted glint in your eye.

"No," Jungkook laughs, relieved that you don't seem appalled by the request.

"Then y-yes," You smile at him again, then you wave as you turn to leave.

"Wait!" Jungkook calls out, jogging over to you.

He holds out his phone, "Can I have your number?"

You smile and type in your information before handing it back to him. Then you skip away, swinging your arms.

Jungkook watches you until you turn a corner, then he lets out a huge puff of air. He needs to figure out where to take you and when.

He wasn't prepared for himself to jump in and say that all of the sudden.

This will be the first place he's going to take you where he isn't planning your murder.

Fucking hell he has no idea what to do.

_____________________

Another few days pass by and Jungkook is panicking.

With lying to Taehyung about the hit being done and trying to figure out where to take you, Jungkook is hanging on to the end of his rope.

He's going crazy with anxiety.

What's gotten into him these days?

He was never anxious before, nothing could rattle him.

And yet, the only time he feels a little bit calmer is when you text him.

What are you doing to him?

A tiny smile reaches his face when he hears a small ding from his pocket as he's cooking pancakes one morning.

__: hi jungkook!

The simple text makes him bite back a smile as he quickly types a reply.

Good morning, did you sleep well?

"Who are you texting?"

Jungkook almost drops his phone into the bowl of pancake batter, "Fuck. Dammit Tae, don't sneak up on me like that."

"Yeah, so who are you texting?"

"No one."

"Ah, so no one huh? Why don't I believe that?"

Jungkook rolls his eyes, "It's just Hoseok."

As he says it, he quickly changes your contact name to a duck emoji with nothing else.

Tae looks at Jungkook with furrowed brows, making the younger squirm.

"Are you crushing on Hoseok, dude?"

Jungkook looks at Tae like he's got two heads, "The fucking hell you on about??"

"You're texting Hoseok with a lovesick smile on your dumbass face!"

Jungkook splutters in disbelief, "I-I-I am n-not lovesick, idiot!"

Taehyung laughs, "You so are."

"I'M STRAIGHT!" Jungkook hollers angrily, then he shoves the spatula into Tae's chest, "Finish breakfast yourself, stupid."

He marches into the bathroom and slams the door, then he turns on the water to the shower aggressively before ripping his clothes off in a huff and stepping in.

Lovesick?

Him?

You?

What a horrifying thought.

Jungkook shivers in disgust and steps under the stream of water to clear his thoughts.

When he gets out, he finds Tae on the couch, looking through his phone.

As he gets dressed Jungkook keeps glancing over at Tae, who has his nose buried in his phone the entire time.

Ha, now who's lovesick texting...whoever the hell he's texting.

But Jungkook has an uneasy feeling in his stomach, he isn't sure why.

Once he's pulling his shirt over his head, it hits him.

His eyes widen as he struggles to pull the shirt all the way over his head, "Tae! Give me back my phone, dumbass!"

He gets it over his head and lunges for Taehyung just as he asks, "Who's the duck emoji?"

"Idiot! Give it to me!" Jungkook tackles Tae to the couch and wrestles the phone from his hands.

"Jeez, JK! Calm down! I don't care if you've got a booty call, damn."

Jungkook turns positively crimson as he fumes, holding himself back from tearing Tae's head off as he climbs off the older boy.

"You're a fucking dumb idiot and I hate you," Jungkook spits at him as he looks through his messages to make sure Tae didn't send anything or see something that might let him know you're still alive.

The only two contacts he has messages with is Hoseok, Tae and you.

Jungkook clicks on your messages and reads through them all quickly.

Hi, it's Jungkook. Here's my number.

(duck emoji): hi jungkook~

...

(duck emoji): good morning jungkook, i hope you slept well^^

Morning, thank you I did. You?

(duck emoji): i slept okay :P

...

Hey, what're you up to on saturday?

(duck emoji): why, are you taking me somewhere? *-*

If you're free...

(duck emoji): then i'm free, hehe

Cool

...

(duck emoji): where are you taking me on saturday, jungkook?

It's a surprise

(duck emoji): aww, but i need to know what to wear tho...

Just wear something comfortable

(duck emoji): okie

...

(duck emoji): hi jungkook!

Good morning, did you sleep well?

(duck emoji): i had a nightmare but im okay. soooo where are you taking me on saturday??

Jungkook breathes a sigh of relief that he never said your name and that he had enough brain cells to redo your contact name.

"She doesn't sound very bright," Tae says as he stretches out on the sofa.

"Says you," Jungkook snaps.

"Whatever, JK. So, where are you taking this duck girl on Saturday?"

"None of your damn business, that's where-"

"You have no idea where to take her do you?" Tae says smugly as he watches Jungkook's face fall.

"No," Jungkook's shoulders slump.

"Have you never taken a girl on a date before?" Tae asks in disbelief.

"It's- It's not a date!"

"Sure."

"It isn't! I don't think of her like that."

"And how do you think of her?"

"Like...a friend."

"Yeahhh, suuuuuure," Taehyung drawls dramatically, "Ok, well where do you usually take girls?"

A moment of silence passes and Tae raises an eyebrow, "Are you saying you've never taken a girl out before?"

Jungkook sighs in defeat, "No, I haven't. Happy?"

"Extremely."

He glares at Tae who laughs, then he looks at Jungkook with wide eyes, "Then you-...you've never even kissed anyone before??"

"No, but- wait what the hell does that have to do with any of this?!"

Taehyung hollers with laughter, clapping his hands.

"Dude you gotta kiss this girl!"

"WHY THE HELL WOULD I DO THAT?!"

"So you can get some experience!"

"You're an asshole."

Taehyung continues to laugh as Jungkook shakes his head and turns to answer your text really quick.

duck emoji): i had a nightmare but im okay. soooo where are you taking me on saturday??

I'm sorry you had a nightmare, but it's still a secret.

"I could help you practice~" Tae says flirtatiously from the couch.

"Literally fuck off," Jungkook growls.

____________________

"____, this isn't a good idea."

"M-Mina, it's just o-one outing."

Mina watches bitterly as you try on different outfits.

It's finally Saturday and Jungkook still hasn't said a word about where he's taking you. All he said was that he'd pick you up at five this evening.

Your best friend looks at you through the mirror, her gaze softening as you twirl in a little pink dress, "W-What do y-you think?"

"It's beautiful, ___."

"I th-think so too. But, he said t-too wear something c-comfy. Perhaps I'll be walking a l-lot, in th-that case, this won't do."

Half an hour and at least six different outfits later, you're dressed in light pink shorts and a giant yellow sweatshirt with a teddy bear on the front of it. Mina brushed your hair for you and is putting it in two half ponytails, so it looks like pigtails but with hair still out and falling beautifully after she brushes it a second time.

"Ok, girl. It's three minutes to five, go get your socks and shoes on," She pats you on the bum gently when you stand up and you run out to do as she says.

You slip and tumble to the ground with a giggle as you grab your favorite white frilly socks and chunky tennis shoes.

"I still don't like this..." Mina says as she watches you struggle to tie your shoes.

"It's okay, M-Mina, I forgave him."

Mina scoffs and crosses her arms, "He didn't deserve it."

"Mina..."

She sees you looking at her sadly as you stand there in front of her, "I l-like him."

Mina's eyes widen, "___, you know you can't-"

"I-I mean, I l-like him as a friend," You say weakly.

She looks at you suspiciously, but lets it go.

Then she looks at her phone, "It's five. He's late-"

Then your phone dings and you look down to see a message from Jungkook saying that he's here.

You smile and lift it to show Mina, who just rolls her eyes.

"Ok, well you need to answer me if I text or call you at all, understood?"

"Y-Yes, mom," You say jokingly, making Mina crack a smile.

"Ok, have fun."

She hugs you tightly, then you run out the door and down the steps. Mina watches while biting her lip anxiously.

You see Jungkook's sleek black car in a parking spot close to the front and you run over to it.

You hear the doors unlock as you come up and grab the door handle, opening it quickly and climbing inside.

As you buckle up, you notice Jungkook is having a hard time looking at you. You turn to him and see him extremely focused on switching gears and pulling out of the parking spot.

"Well, h-h-hello to you too, J-Jungkook."

That brings a shy smile to his face, one you've never seen before.

"Hi, ___. How are you?"

"I'm d-doing well, th-th-thank you...so where are y-you taking m-me?"

Jungkook laughs, a warm sound that makes your chest feel all tickly.

"I told you, it's a surprise."

You pout and look out the front window, "Ok fine, b-but how far away i-is it?"

"About twenty minutes considering all the traffic today," Jungkook says as he pulls out onto the main street.

"Mm," You look down at your fingers, fiddling with them for a second before lifting your head. You and Jungkook both speak at the same time.

"Can we l-listen to m-music?"

"Would you like some music?"

You freeze and see Jungkook fighting back a smile as he hands you the cord attached to his car radio, "Go ahead and put on whatever you'd like," He says kindly.

You gently take the cord from him and plug it into your phone, then you scroll through your music, trying to find something he might like.

"Um, what m-music do you l-like?"

Jungkook hums in thought as he makes a right turn, "I like all different kinds of music, you can play whatever you'd like, really."

You put some pop songs on shuffle and set your phone down.

A minute later, you can't help but dance along to the music. You see Jungkook bopping his head to the beat and you laugh quietly.

Soon enough, you're singing your heart out to the songs and dancing like no one is watching. You don't notice that you do, in fact, have someone watching.

Jungkook keeps his eyes on the road mostly, but occasionally he finds himself looking over at you as you dance and sing like you don't have a care in the world.

He bites back a smile at the sound of your voice. You can't hit a lot of the notes and your voice breaks a lot, but that just makes it all the more enjoyable for him.

When you start getting close to your destination, Jungkook turns to you, "Ok, ___. We're almost there. Close your eyes."

"C-Close my eyes?" You ask in confusion.

He just nods, so you agree silently and cover your eyes with your hands.

Two minutes later, you hear Jungkook speak.

"Ok, we're here. I'm gonna park, then you can uncover your eyes."

"Ok!"

The excitement is barely containable.

You feel the car stop and hear Jungkook put the car into park. Then he opens his door and climbs out, shutting it behind him.

You hear your door open and bounce up and down in excitement. Jungkook chuckles and you feel him reach over you to unbuckle your seat belt.

The close proximity makes your heart pound in your chest as you gulp.

"Ok, climb out, I'll help you."

You feel Jungkook put a hand on your shoulder as you carefully climb out of the car. Then you feel him gently touching your elbow as he leads you somewhere.

After a minute, you hear people talking and laughing and the sound of music playing.

You're dying to uncover your eyes.

"Ok, open your eyes," Jungkook whispers.

You pull your hands down and gasp in delight.

The sight of hundreds of people laughing and playing games, carrying ice cream and cotton candy, and a giant Ferris wheel makes your heart leap.

You can't help yourself from jumping up and down and squealing in pure joy.

"I-I n-never been to a f-fair before!!"

"Really?" Jungkook asks in surprise, still smiling from your initial reaction.

"Yes! Th-Thank you, Jungkook!!" You have tears of happiness brimming in the corners of your eyes.

"Well, don't thank me yet," He says jokingly, "We still need to have fun."

"Why don't you take her to a nice restaurant?" Tae asked as he got up to find some food in the kitchen.

"I told you, it isn't a date. Besides, I don't think that's her thing," Jungkook said in frustration. He was supposed to take you out the next day and still had no idea what to do.

"How about the beach?"

Jungkook cringed at the suggestion that hit a little too close to home, "No, I don't think so."

Taehyung sighed and grabbed an apple, biting into it.

"Well, what about the fair?"

Jungkook gasped and jumped off his bed, "Tae, you're a genius!!"

Taehyung swallowed and grinned, "Yeah, I know."

Jungkook types a quick thanks to Taehyung as you look around with wide eyes.

His phone dings and he rolls his eyes at Tae's message.

Tae: you're smitten. Tae: just don't forget who you are and not to go too far, JK.

Jungkook slips his phone into his back pocket, "What should we do first?"

You beg Jungkook for you two to go to a game first and he readily agrees.

"This is your day, ___. You get to pick everything we do," He says with a smile.

His sudden change in behavior confuses you, but you welcome it happily. If this will make him genuinely smile, you're all for it.

"Which game first?"

You point to one and you two make your way there. The man at the stand smiles kindly at you and you smile back, "C-Can we please p-play this game, s-sir?"

He seems momentarily taken aback by your stutter, but he recovers quickly and nods, "Of course, my dear! You see those balloons there?"

You nod and he continues, "All you need to do is throw these darts and try to pop as many of them as you can in forty-five seconds. Think you can do it?"

Your eyes shine as you nod excitedly, "I c-can!"

"That's the attitude I’m looking for!" The man says happily as he hands you a little box full of darts, "Would your boyfriend like to do it too?"

You look at the man in surprise, then to Jungkook who seems to be out of it.

He's just staring at the lights in the game.

"Oh, h-he's...um," You aren't sure what to say.

Then Jungkook sees that the two of you are staring at him and he nods, "Uh, yeah. I'll play."

You look at him in confusion that he didn't correct the man.

Jungkook steps forward and smiles at you, "Ready to beat this game's ass, ___?"

You get over your initial shock and nod, "Y-Yes!"

You both grab a handful of darts as the man hits a button. Lights start shining and music plays as the two of you start throwing darts. Jungkook hits balloon after balloon, but you can't seem to hit any. You pout and stomp your foot as you try harder.

Another few seconds pass by and you let out a little whine of frustration.

Jungkook looks over at you and sees you struggling. You can't seem to make your hands stop shaking as you try to aim the darts.

Watching you has thrown off Jungkook and he doesn't end up hitting any balloons the last few seconds.

The music dies and a little clown pops out on your side and mocks the fact that you didn't hit enough balloons and that maybe next time you'll get it.

On Jungkook's side, a number flashes and the man tells Jungkook he can pick a prize from a neon blue box.

You pout and look over at the big purple stuffed teddy bear in the prizes, your eyes longing.

Jungkook frowns at the annoying clown as he grabs a black bracelet out of the prize box and slips it on, "Don't worry, ____. Let's try some other games, then we can try this one again later."

"Ok," You say solemnly.

You two make your way around the fair, playing game after game. They're all a lot of fun and you end up winning lots of candy, a cute hair tie, and a yellow bracelet that matches Jungkook’s besides the color. But you can't stop thinking about the purple teddy bear at the first game.

"Do you want to get some dinner?" Jungkook asks, looking at the time on his phone.

It's almost seven at night.

You nod, your mind turning to food, "Yes, I'm h-hungry!"

"Me too," Jungkook laughs.

You two find a little food court and end up getting some pizza. As you sit and eat, you look around the fair at all the little kids running around and all the adults playing games and carrying around the kid's ice cream cones.

The sun is starting to go down and the lights in the fair are starting to turn on, bright and beautiful.

You smile and keep eating.

"Are you having fun?" Jungkook asks around a mouthful of pizza.

You nod happily, "Mhm!"

Just as you're finishing your pizza, a little girl comes over.

You don't notice her at first, but Jungkook does. He sees her walk over to you timidly, then she touches your knee.

You look over and your eyes widen as you gasp, "Why, Ae-Cha! H-Hello!"

The tiny shy girl from your class smiles and waves, not saying a word.

"I had n-no idea you w-would be here," You continue gently, "Are y-you having fun?"

She nods, "Yes, Miss ___. I love the fair," She says it so quietly you find it hard to hear her.

Then Ae-Cha looks shyly at Jungkook and points at him, "Is he your husband, Miss ___?"

Jungkook turns into a blushing mess, but you just giggle and shake your head, "N-No, Ae-Cha sweetie. Jungkook is m-my friend!"

She nods again, "Ok."

Then she waves goodbye and runs back to her mother, who waves at you and sends you a smile. You wave back, then turn to see Jungkook stuffing his face with pizza.

"Th-That was one of m-my ducklings," You say proudly.

Jungkook nods, "I could tell. She was sweet," He says as he wipes his face.

Then he hands you a napkin, "You've got some sauce on your face."

"Oh, th-thanks."

You take the napkin and wipe your face carefully.

Jungkook stands up and throws his trash away, "You ready to keep going?" You get up and nod, tossing your trash into the bin next to you.

"Can w-we try the d-dart one again?" You ask as you dust off your bottom from sitting on the bench.

Jungkook bites his lip and tries his best to ignore your cute action, "Uhm, yeah. Of course."

Since when did he think anything you did was cute?

Jungkook breathes carefully through his nose as you skip away to the dart game.

He catches up with you just as you're saying hello to the man running the stand.

The man smiles at your return and holds up the box of darts, "You ready to give it another go?"

You nod, a spark of determination in your eyes.

Jungkook opts out of playing, deciding to just watch you.

You plant your feet on the ground and grip the darts in your sweaty hands.

The second the music and lights come on, you start throwing the darts. You hit one balloon and cheer, then you get back to business.

Soon enough, the forty-five seconds is over and you've only hit one balloon.

The stupid clown pops out, laughing mockingly.

You fight back a wave of tears as your hands fall to your sides.

Then you feel someone come up behind you, "Can she do it again, please?"

You turn to see Jungkook smiling at the man, but the smile doesn't meet his eyes.

The kind man nods and hands you the box of darts.

"Go ahead, dear."

You grab a dart and sigh, trying not to let yourself get too upset over this silly game. You look over at the purple teddy bear and sigh again.

"Ready?" The man asks, hand hovering over the button.

You nod hesitantly.

Once the lights turn on and the music starts, you gasp when you feel something hard press into your back. Your heart speeds up when you realize it's Jungkook as he reaches around and takes your hand holding the dart.

He lifts your hand up and aims carefully, then he whispers, "Let go," As he pushes your hand forward.

You do as he says and watch as the dart pops the balloon.

Jungkook tells you to pick up another dart.

You do it.

You aren't really thinking of anything but the warm feeling of Jungkook's hand enveloping yours as he helps you hit each balloon.

Jungkook could see your hands shaking and he couldn't stand to see you unable to win the prize you wanted a second longer. The second he touched your trembling hand, he felt it relax in his hold, bringing a smile to his face.

He continued to hold your hand and help you aim until every single balloon was popped and there was still five seconds on the clock.

Had only forty seconds gone by?

It had felt like longer.

Then Jungkook lets your hand go and steps back, no longer pressing into you and keeping you steady.

The clock runs out and lights start shining around the booth, pink, blue, purple, green, and red. A little tune plays and the man smiles at you, "Wow! That's a first! You can pick any prize you'd like."

You immediately point at the purple teddy bear, still speechless.

The man takes it down from the shelf and hands it to Jungkook, who then turns and hands it to you.

Your eyes are shining as you gently pat the bear's head.

"It's n-name is BonBon," You whisper, making Jungkook's heart flutter in his chest.

"That's a good name."

"Y-Yeah," You say wistfully.

The sky has darkened and the lights in the fair are at their brightest and most beautiful.

"Want to go on the Ferris wheel?" Jungkook asks you as you two walk through the fair.

"Ohhh, yes," You whisper, looking up at the huge ride.

Jungkook leads you over to the ride and you two wait patiently in line, well as patiently as you can. You can't help bouncing on the balls of your feet in anticipation.

When it's finally your turn, Jungkook lets you get into the cart first.

You climb in and sit down, setting BonBon down next to you. Jungkook gets in a second later and takes a seat next to the teddy bear so it's sitting between you two.

You can't stop wiggling around happily as the ride starts going up and up.

Then Jungkook notices a change in your behavior as the ride starts getting closer to the top. You become extremely quiet and stop wiggling around, getting stiff as a board.

You grab BonBon and hug him to your chest, your eyes wide with fear.

Jungkook looks at you in concern, then he touches your shoulder gently, "You okay, ___?"

"I'm s-scared," You whisper.

"Why?" Jungkook whispers back.

"I don't l-like h-heights."

"Oh," Jungkook looks down, the dizzying drop not really effecting him much.

He turns back to you and takes your hand, making you look up at him in surprise.

"You're okay, ___. This thing is as strong as ever, nothing will happen. Just look at that," He points behind you and you turn to look at the shining lights of the fair.

You look back at him, the shaking calming down a bit as you see the bright lights reflecting in his deep brown eyes.

Jungkook looks back at you and sees the light of the city behind him in your eyes.

They look like stars.

The thought passes through both of your minds as you get lost in each other's gaze.

The cart you're in reaches the top of the ride and stops but you don't even notice.

Jungkook leans in closer, so lost in your eyes that he doesn't even realize what he's doing. All he knows is that he needs to get closer.

Closer.

Suddenly, the cart jerks and you both snap out of your daze. Jungkook scoots away as you look over the edge.

"W-What happened?" You ask, panic surging through you.

"Nothing, it's fine," Jungkook assures you.

When he looks between you and realizes you're clutching his hand, his face turns hot.

You scoot over and look over his side, "Are you sure?"

Jungkook looks over and sees the man running the ride waving and shouting something.

"What?" Jungkook calls down as loud as he can.

"We'll get you down in a moment! Don't worry!" The man hollers up.

Jungkook feels you grip his hand tighter, "Ohh, I knew th-this would happen."

Jungkook turns and looks at you, "Don't worry, this kind of thing can be fixed easily-"

Then a girl screams bloody murder and you almost pass out right then and there.

Jungkook looks over the edge again to see the girl right under your cart having a panic attack as her friend tries to calm her down.

He can only thank his lucky stars that you aren't much of a screamer.

A few minutes pass as Jungkook makes small conversation with you to keep your mind off of the situation at hand

"So, what's your favorite candy, ___?" He asks gently and you look at him with wide eyes, "Uhm, I like l-lollip-pops."

Jungkook sends you a warm smile at that, "What kind?"

"B-Blue raspberry."

"Sounds good, what about your favorite dance move?"

That makes you giggle nervously as you look at the edge.

"I can't sh-show you in h-here."

"Then show me when we get down."

"Ok."

Jungkook sighs and leans back, "What's your favorite movie?"

You two continue to talk as the wind blows through your hair gently.

Jungkook fights to concentrate on not combusting on this damned ride from you puffing out your cheeks as you think about each answer to his questions.

Then the ride jumps a little and starts moving, causing you to squeeze Jungkook's hand again. You had forgotten you had been holding it this whole time.

Jungkook didn't.

He'd had the hardest time trying not to melt into a puddle of foreign feelings the whole fucking time.

You move your hand out of his and opt to take a hold of his arm instead. The change doesn't do much for Jungkook's poor confused and muddled brain.

When you reach the bottom, you let go of Jungkook's arm and grab BonBon before climbing out of the cart.

The man apologizes profusely and Jungkook assures him it's fine as you look around the fair.

That's when you see a familiar face looking at you from behind a popcorn stand.

You turn and grab Jungkook's arm fearfully.

He looks down at you, "What's wrong?"

You turn back to the popcorn stand but the young man is gone.

"N-Nothing," You step away from Jungkook but keep your eyes peeled for any sign of the man from the train station. Why is he here and why is he watching you?

Jungkook taps you on the shoulder, "You want to get some popcorn?"

You shake your head.

"How about some cotton candy?"

That makes you perk up and you nod happily.

Jungkook sees you standing in line for cotton candy, bouncing up and down on your feet, the smile on your face so wide he's surprised your cheeks haven't burst yet.

You move forward in line, one of your hands holding tightly to the teddy bear that Jungkook helped win for you.

You lean up on your tippy toes to see over the shoulder of the girl in front of you.

Watching in wonder as the man spins the red cotton candy, collecting it on a stick and slowly making it bigger as he forms it into the shape of a heart.

Jungkook can't tear his eyes away as you bounce up to the man when it's your turn. You excitedly point at a picture on the menu and the man nods with a smile.

A minute later, you're handing the man some money and he hands you a cotton candy duck that's bigger than your head.

You squeal happily and turn to show Jungkook, waving it in the air as you start walking back to him.

He finds himself smiling, a warm feeling in his chest.

Then a ringing sound drags his attention away from you and he looks down to grab his phone out of his pocket.

Except it isn't his regular phone.

It's his work phone.

He doesn't even remember putting it in his pocket, he must have done it out of habit.

Jungkook doesn't recognize the number lighting up on the screen, which brings a frown to his face.

You on the other hand, get distracted by a small puppy yipping excitedly as you pass by. You stop and ask the lady if you can pet her dog. She smiles and nods and you kneel down, setting your teddy bear down next to you and reaching a hand out to touch the dog gently.

"Hello?"

Jungkook answers the phone hesitantly, but he doesn't hear anything for a moment.

Then the sound of a horrifyingly familiar voice comes through the phone.

"Hello, Lotus."

Jungkook swallows thickly as he sees you stand up from petting the small dog.

He doesn't answer the person on the other side.

There's a breathy laugh and then the man clears his throat, "Time's up L, and we haven't heard from you."

A chill goes down his spine as Jungkook watches you smile at him and skip closer while taking a little bite out of your cotton candy duck.

"I-"

"Is...it...done?"

______________________________

a/n: its pooooosted :’) so sorry for how late it is. luv uuuuu

304 notes · View notes

evermorebarbie · 4 years ago

Note

fic where Lucien calls helion dad for the first time???

So I was content on letting this sit and fester until I had a really good idea but since it's Father's Day I had to do it today!

This is just fluffy nonsense and I'm not sorry about that. Enjoy!

The time was late. So late that the inky hue of night was being pressed from the sky. Orange, pink, and purple take over, ready to claim the day. A few rays of sun peaked through the high windowpanes. There were beams of light dancing across the tables. In the brightness of the sun, Elain winced.

All four of them were half asleep in Helion's personal library. Even though it wasn't personal. The room itself was as large as the Archeron estate back in the mortal lands. Only this was one room where rows, shelves, and walls were lined with books upon books. At the center was an elaborate staircase with a golden curved railing. The type of staircase that would only belong to someone like Helion.

Elain glanced over to her left, Vassa sprawled out on the couch with a book over her face. Like wild flames, her hair draped around the binding of her reading material. Vassa's hair shimmered, hinting that she would have to leave soon. Helion, the cauldron bless her father-in-law, found a way to delay the curse and limit Vassa's time as a firebird.

Julian was completely unconscious, his mouth hanging open as he snored quite loudly. This sound contributed to Elain's inability to rest fully. It seemed as if her eyes were shutting every time until the audible gargle of his voice ricocheted off the walls and her lids opened. At least an hour ago, the book that he was carefully reading fell to the floor next to a stack of books that stood taller than the couch. All of them were focused on how to lift the curse for their friend. None harder than Jurian. They believed that after Koschei's defeat, the curse would vanish by itself. However, at the end of his life, they learned that without his presence Vassa would soon be a firebird forever.

Elain's mate sat in the chair on her right. Trying to keep his head up as it threatened to drop in the heavy tome before him, he curled his fist into his temple. Elain snuggled into his arm, embracing his warmth. His full awareness was jolted by that. There was a light touch of his mouth where her hair met her forehead. As her heavy lids tried to force themselves down, she formed a tired smile on her lips. Shaking her head, she let out a loud yawn.

"You ought to sleep," he said. Tone laced heavily with exhaustion.

Angling her head towards him, Elain looked into his eyes. Even though his eyes were weary, her heart pounded and her belly flipped when he stared at her. Her lips met his jaw with a feather-light touch as she tucked a strand of his hair behind his pointed ear. "I'm not sleeping if you're not."

A grin spread across his face. “My apologies. Forgot I’m mated to an Archeron.”

She playfully looked at him, displaying both offense and shock. “And what does that mean exactly?”

"You're stubborn as all hell."

"Neither am I nor are my sisters." she protested crossing her arms over her chest, refusing to acknowledge Lucien or his stare.

Curling an arm around Elain's waist, he pulled her onto his lap. She turned her head further away from him. “Have I wounded your pride flower?” He teasingly replied. And she almost stuck her tongue out. She was forced to look at him as Lucien gripped her chin. “If it makes you feel better. Your stubbornness and determination are admirable."

He kissed the tip of her nose then claimed her mouth. “Yeah?”

“Yes. I won’t let you be stubborn oversleep. You need your rest dove.”

"I'll sleep when you do." Elain knew he was going to call her stubborn yet again. She touched his lips with her finger, tsking as she did so. “My love, this is a compromise." Lucien glared but didn't argue. After a short pause, she continued. "Have you found anything yet?"

Elain understood what Lucien had said when he sighed. No.

A groan was heard as the heavy library doors drew open, cutting short their conversation. Elain slid off his lap onto her chair. Helion strode in with a few servants behind him carrying golden platters of food. Elain guessed with enough food to feed a village. A whiff of bacon, eggs, baked goods, and other savory smells wafted through the air, making her stomach grumble. Including the scent of freshly brewed coffee seemed luxurious and rich to her. Cauldron when did they last eat?

A few feet from Helion, the servants moved forward and placed the trays in a line on the table before Elain and Lucien. Viola, one of the servants Elain had befriended since moving to the Day Court, poured a cup of Earl Grey for her. As she softly said good morning to the couple. Viola switched pitchers moving to Lucien pouring coffee into the mug before him. In response, Elain thanked Viola, who smiled and walked away.

Helion remained where he stood, shifting his weight from one leg to the other. After Lucien learned of his true parentage, things have been difficult for both Helion and Lucien. For majority of the time, Lucien only saw him as a High Lord and nothing more. The issue wasn't that he didn't accept Helion as his father. Once they were in the same room together, it was evident. They looked identical in appearance. Still, it was a tremendous hardship for her mate to change his mind from High Lord to father.

To Helion’s credit. He tried. Exhaustingly so to make up for the time lost. He wanted to show Lucien that he was there in any way he could, to make up for the time he had lost. Most of the time, it came in the form of gifts and grand gestures. Like when Helion gifted them an estate in the Morn Woods. Away from the bustling chaos of the court. They were gifted half of the Palace. A library in his son's name and a garden in Elains. The gifts though touching, weren’t what Lucien needed. Seeing the disappointment in the High Lord of Day. Elain approached him months prior explaining that Lucien for most of his life felt ignored. Unseen. Just as she felt before Lucien.

“I’m trying too hard.”

“No. Never. He appreciates it I know he does.” The seer told Helion. “See him. That’s all he wants. Gifts are nice and he appreciates them as much as I do. But those could be given to him by anyone. Lucien doesn’t like asking for help so pay attention to him. Notice he’s not sleeping well, get him a tonic. See he’s struggling to find a book ask what he’s looking for. If he’s working too hard send him food. I swear to you these acts of kindness will mean more to him than places, or things.”

Elain sat next to Helion. A hand over his giving him a look of sympathy. “And talk to him about the weather, what he’s reading, it doesn’t matter just talk. I know this isn’t easy for you and you’re trying and he gets that. All of this is extremely difficult for him.”

“I know.” His Adam's apple bobbed heavily in his throat as he clamped a hand over hers, giving it a light squeeze. “Thank you.”

“Of course.”

Since then Helion took Elain’s advice. It started slowly with Helion having after-dinner drinks with Lucien. At first, it was five minutes at the most. Over time it extended to ten, thirty, sometimes an hour or more. The High Lord of Day constantly paid attention to what Lucien said and never said. Like when he was overwhelmed with the massive libraries and Helion took most of the week off from duties simply to go over each library. When Lucien struggled to find a sunbloom for Elain that only bloomed during the day, closing at dusk. Petals like a sunburst in a stunning blend of yellows and oranges. Talking about anything his son wished or needed to get off his chest. If her mate was occupied in their rooms he’d send up food.

“What is this?” Lucien asked reaching over and filling a plate full of warm eggs, muffins, crisp bacon, and fruit placing it in front of Elain.

“Come now So-” Helion cleared his throat looking down at Elain who nodded. “You didn’t show up for dinner last night so I took it upon myself." Helion fell into the chair with elegant grace, gesturing to the table. “To bring you breakfast here. After you all eat you’re going to sleep. Myself and some of my advisors will pick up your research.”

Swiping a strip of bacon from her plate, Lucien took a large plate practically inhaling the strip. “You have to have better things to do than cure a firebird.”

Helion waved a hand dismissing the comment taking a plate and filling it the same way Lucien had for Elain. The only difference was Helion placed it before his son. “I’m High Lord. I decide what’s important. Right now that’s you. None of you have slept in three days. You need sleep.” His gaze fell on the glow of Vassa’s hair. “Which you should wake her. She has roughly an hour. I’d rather my private library not go up in flames.” Helion pushed the plate further in Lucien’s direction. “Now eat.”

Lucien huffed a laugh he was an adult male and to be treated like a child… still he picked up a fork. “Thanks, Dad.” The two words hung in the air. They weren’t filled with teasing or dry humor. Only sincerity could be heard behind those words.

Elain stilled her head slowly moving in Lucien’s direction. Her hand on his shoulder Lucien paused his fork in mid-air. Elain looked to Helion. Eyes wide in surprise and his mouth agape though the corners seemed to curve up. She wouldn’t tell a soul that a line of silver filled Helion’s gaze, he quickly blinked it away.

Lucien pressed his lips together looking between his lovely mate and his father. Elain’s face was full of warmth and pride. If her face didn’t hold the expression. He felt it through the bond. Bright and warm like sun rays pouring into your skin. Then Helion, his father just started, Shock and much like Elain pride wracking his genetic features. If he didn’t know any better it looked as if Helion was going to cry and fling himself at Lucien. Lucien’s brows rose to his hairline. He didn’t know what exactly garnered this reaction from either of them.

Helion blinked once, twice, several times. His heart pounding and bursting in the same beat. “Dad?”

“No,” Lucien stated, pointing to himself. “I’m your son.” then pointing to Helion. “You’re my father. We’ve established this.” Lucien took Elain’s hand, “This is my mate.” he kissed her knuckles. “Now that we’ve all been acquainted.”

“No. I meant you called me dad. You’ve.” A blush crept on Helion’s cheeks all sense of confident high fae falling away. “You’ve never said that before.”

“Oh. Um….” Lucien trailed off. Elain threaded her fingers through Lucien’s. A wave of emotions tightened on the bond she sent loving feelings to him. He dropped his fork rubbing at the nape of his neck. “I...I’m sorry. "Apologies, it rolled off my tongue.” Elain paid close attention to him. There was an odd panic in his eye as he stared blankly at this plate thinking he had made a misstep.

Helion went to reach for him flexing his palm then retreated, his hand resting on the table. “I’m not upset Lucien. Far from it.” His all too charming grin resurfaced. “Maybe father and not dad next time. You sound like a youngling saying, dad," Helion added with a laugh watching his son, the heir of the day court, glare his way. “In all seriousness, I don’t want you calling me father or dad unless you truly feel at ease with it.” He was silently thoughtful for a moment. “I’m sure your mother would agree.”

She would they all knew that. Lucien glanced over his shoulder at Elain who was watching him with heartfelt concern. A question in her molten chocolate eyes, Are you okay? He nodded his response. Yes.

“If the term is rolling off my tongue so naturally, father, I think I’m okay with it.” Lucien took a heavy breath unsure how Helion would respond. “If you are?”

The corners of Helion’s eyes crinkled, wetness glistened in his eyes. “Of course.” He choked out the words. “You should wake the sleeping beauty and her general.”

Helion and Lucien stared at each other for a moment that felt like centuries. Until Lucien stood walking over to the sofa. Elain followed suit, she doesn’t walk with her mate yet. Opting to run up towards Helion planting a peck on his cheeks. “I told you so.”

“Thank you,” Helion said watching Lucien kick Jurian in the shin. The latter jumping up with sleep-raging fury giving Lucien a vulgar gesture. “I’m eternally grateful he has you.”

Elain with her heart full watched Lucien laughing at Jurian as Vassa stretched her arms overhead. A small smile on her lips. “I could say the same.”

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just--another--daydreamer · 4 years ago

Text

How they realize that they are in love

»��Katsuki Bakugo // Shoto Todoroki // Izuku Midoriya x gn!reader (no pronouns used)

» Genre: Fluff & Angst » Summary: Just some HCs about Baku, Todo & Deku (seperately) and how they realize that they are in love » Warnings: fighting, death, injuries & swearing (Bakugo) implied abuse (Todoroki) panic attacks, overthinking & mentions of fighting (Midoriya) » Words: ~1.7k » Author's Note: These were fun to write, if you’d like to see them for any other characters, feel free to ask! This was inspired by @/costellos, check their stuff out

You can find a link to my Masterlist etc in my bio and pinned post

⋘ ──────── ∗ ⋅◈⋅ ∗ ──────── ⋙

» Katsuki Bakugo:

Bakugo realizes that he is in love with you when you put yourself in danger to help him

Usually, Bakugo would be furious if someone else saw him as a person in need of help and tried supporting or even protecting him in a dangerous situation, but this time it feels different

Instead of anger boiling deep within Bakugo, close to making him explode, he feels an unusual numbness at first, while he watches your body fall to the ground after taking a hit for him. Even though he is often unable to identify his own feelings and is out of touch with them, he notices that change withing himself

The numbness quickly gives way to fear. He tumbles forward as he screams your name. For the first time in a while he is not sure what to do; he wants to check if you are alright, if you are alive, if you are still with him. But he also wants to charge forward and rip the person who hurt you to shreds

He feels helpless, unable to decide and unable to push those sudden overwhelming feelings aside. Instead, shock is freezing his whole body, only allowing his arms and legs to tremble. His mind is racing and screaming and calling him weak. Weak for needing your help, weak for not being able to protect you, weak for not killing this damn bastard in front of him

“Bakugo!” Your voice is feeble and barely audible over the sounds of the fight, but he can still hear you. You reach him through the clouds in his mind, through his own voice in his head tormenting him

He regains control over his body and it only takes him a few blows to knock out the enemy

In the next moment, he is cowering next to you, pulling you close, checking your vitals. Once again, his fingers tremble. You are alive, but in dire need of help

Bakugo hates being afraid and he pushes the feeling down with full force, trying to let his anger take over once again. The anger that numbs his senses, makes him care less about the people around him, makes him unapproachable and lets him keep everyone at a distance

“You damn fool!” His voice cracks. “I didn’t ask for your fucking help!” You look up at him with half-lidded eyes. “Baku-” “Shut up!” The pain in his throat from screaming is a welcome one. “Just shut the fuck up! I didn’t need you to save me, dammit!” A lump forms in his throat, taking his ability to speak. He can feel tears in his eyes, but he wipes them away before they can fall

Bakugo leans down and puts his arms under your body to carry you to an ambulance. Under his breath, he mutters, “I’m so glad you’re alive.”

» Shoto Todoroki:

Todoroki realizes that he is in love with you when you are patient with him

Most people in Todoroki’s life expect a lot from him, if not way too much. His father expects him to be the perfect hero and successor to him since the day his quirk awoke, UA expects him to always be one step ahead of everyone else and he puts those expectations on himself as well. Even though it is not hard for him to be all those things at this point in his life, having someone around who is patient with him and does not care if he fails or lets himself go from time to time is a relief

Like on most days, Todoroki and you walk home together after class, since you have to go into a similar direction. Most of the time both of you walk in silence or you try making conversation with Todoroki only to be met with silence or short answers

Todoroki knows that he is not the best person to be around at all times, that he does not always get jokes or acts distant with people – he just does not know what to say and how to react to certain things

Having friends is hard for him. Either he overshares about his past or keeps people at a safe distance. Todoroki needs time to figure out this new thing called friendship for himself. Can he even call his classmates friends? Can he call Midoriya, Iida and Uraraka friends? Can he call you a friend? What do you and the others call your relationship from your perspectives?

He has known you for a while now and you walk together every single day and you talk and you text, so you are his friend, right?

“Todoroki?” you catch him a little off-guard. “Hm?” “Would you like to hang out some time?”

He looks up at you and tries reading your expression. A friendly smile, waiting for his answer. It is his decision. You are not deciding for him, you are not demanding anything from him. Not many people have ever asked him to decide things for himself in the past. Everyone always decided in his place, especially when it came to big things like becoming a hero. It is a simple yes or no question over a small thing, yet Todoroki has trouble coming up with an answer

You seem to notice his hesitation. “It’s totally fine if you don’t want to hang out,” you calmly tell him. There is no undertone in your voice, only genuine kindness. “You can take your time deciding, you can take your time getting comfortable with having friends, or even just the idea of it.” Did you have another secret quirk that allowed you to read minds? Todoroki pushed that thought away. “Take your time. I promise that whatever you say, I won’t be mad or hurt by it. Alright?”

Even though you do not say anything to compliment or embarrass Todoroki, he feels himself blushing. Just a little, but he turns his face away to not let you notice. You are patient with him. You want him to be comfortable with you, you do not want to push anything on him. A warm feeling spreads through his body and for a second, Todoroki thinks that he is losing control of his fire quirk, but he quickly realizes that it is something else – something nice and good

“Yes, I’d love that, actually.” “Okay, great! I’ll text you then?” “Yeah.”

The two of you part ways but the warm feeling stays

» Izuku Midoriya

Midoriya realizes that he is in love with you when you comfort him

Whenever something goes wrong during a mission or a patrol, that he goes on during his internship, Midoriya is quick to blame himself for what happened. He himself and everyone around him makes him think that he needs to be a perfect hero even though he is only an intern and a student

It starts with overthinking his steps, replaying the scene in his head again and again, and sometimes even ends in panic attacks. Most of the time he tries to deal with those things alone and disappears in his dorm room, but over time you have learned to see the signs that Midoriya is not doing well and you have been trying to find ways to comfort him

You both sit on his bed as Midoriya talks about what happened earlier. The civilians that got hurt, the villain who got away, his own inability to save everyone and stop the bastard. His voice is weak, tears run down his cheeks and sobs shake his body every now and then

He goes on and on about the mistakes he made until you interrupt him

“Midoriya.” Your voice is soothing yet insistent. “Not everything that happened today is your fault. Maybe even nothing. You are still in training, there are adults who are responsible for you. Putting someone as young as you and me out there is a risk, because we make mistakes. But that’s a way to learn. We learn from our past mistakes and become stronger. The next time you are in a situation like this, you’ll be able to handle it just fine.”

Some more tears run down his face, so you pull him into an embrace. Midoriya appreciates your words. He really does. But for now, he has lost his ability to speak

“You are not alone with this. And it’s not your fault.”

Another choked sob leaves Midoriya. He hugs you back, clings to your shirt and buries his face in the crook of your neck. The way your hands draw patterns on his back soothe him until he eventually stops crying. But he does not want to let go just yet

“Thank you,” he whispers after a while. “Thank you so much.” He is not alone. He knows that he can talk to you about this, about anything. He just wishes he had the courage to open up more often

You stay like this until it gets dark, until all the other lights have gone out. Until everything is silent and Midoriya can only hear your and his own breathing. He feels oddly warm and safe in your arms, so he hopes that you will never get up to go to your room, but he knows that you have to, eventually

Suddenly, one of your hands is on the back of his head, your fingers running through his hair. Midoriya has a hard time stopping himself from leaning into your touch more. “I hope you know that I’m here for you, Izuku.” You never call him by his first name. Midoriya’s heart skips a beat and heat rises to his cheeks. He is glad that you cannot see his face right now because he is sure that it is as red as a tomato

“The same goes for you.” And he wholeheartedly means it

You linger there for another moment before finally pulling away. Midoriya does not want you to, he wants you to stay there, with him, forever. But he cannot have that. Not yet at least. And even though the circumstances that lead to this are not the best, he wishes for this to happen again soon

#midoriya izuku x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #todoroki shouto x reader #midoriya izuku #deku #bakugou katsuki #todoroki shouto #midoriya x reader #bakugou x reader #todoroki x reader #midoriya #bakugou #todoroki #x reader #x you #x yn #x gender neutral reader #bnha x reader #bnha x gender neutral reader

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highsviolets · 4 years ago

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rushing decadence: ezra x gender neutral reader

summary: sunflower shows ezra just how much they missed him. part of the voice actor!ezra au but can be read as a stand-alone.

pairing: voice actor!ezra x gender neutral reader

warnings: 18+ only!!! ezra gets pegged, dirty talk, references to masturbation, use of “good boy,” implied feelings, cumplay, ezra truly deserves his own warning

word count: a lil baby, 1.4k+

a/n: took the morning off from thesis wrangling and wrote this instead, lmao. inspired by an ask from the lovely (and devious) @astroboots. no beta. gif credit: @holdingthornsandroses

speechless is not a word you would use to describe ezra. you suspect very few would — the man makes a living from spinning forth words from lips of honey, after all. they are his fortress, his realm, his fae. they are more inimical to his being: a constant force sweeping through wreckage and downy meadows alike.

looking down at him, a smile a crosses your face. it’s small smile, unconscious in its blossoming that tugs the corner of your mouth up, up, up — but only a little. only a little, lest all the fondness you feel for him spill out and pour all over him. you could coat his strong body in the potent stuff and still have more left over. he inspires excess in you and perhaps that should scare you; maybe it does. maybe it does scare you, and that is why you bite your lip to keep the gurgle of words that flood into your mouth at bay, lest your body fall prey to his liquor-filled emotions.

and yet: you have already fallen prey, already played the willing victim of sorts to his cunning and his wit and his seductive smile.

hunter & prey. you & ezra swirl between these roles with little effort. he is used to playing a role and he does so gladly, eager to give as much as he is take. spinning you stories from sugar-spun words, he matches them with his actions. (that is to say: when he says something he means it, loving you with his body as much as his prose).

no, speechless is not how you would describe ezra.

but right now he is dangerously close to such a thing. there is a word for that and you tell him so, cooing sweetly as you brush the matted hair off of his forehead.

“oh, look at you, ezra,” you say. “is my good boy cockdumb?”

consternation rises in his brow at the phrase, competitive to the last. “i do not believe that is the precise description of my current s-state,” he grunts, one hand fisting in the sheets. the veins pop and match the set of his jaw, the dash of his tongue across his swollen lower lip.

swollen from me, you think, a bright yellow glimpse of pride coloring the thought. this had started as your saturday mornings usually do: wrapped in his soft linen sheets caressed by his touch and the tender offerings of sun streaming through his window. it wasn’t long before you had straddled him and kissed him and rocked yourself against him until he was panting, asking if he might be of service to his sunflower. you had nipped his lower lip, then, soothing it with your tongue before ignoring his request. you wanted his moans in your ear today, not your own. his. he had been away too long for you to not miss his wanton cries.

you ask him what the right phrase would be, then, speaking delicately to match the slow grind of your hips into his.

“d-dumb implies” — he takes a deep breath as you notch against a sensitive spot deep inside him — “the inability to s-speak, dear heart.” ezra finishes the sentence with difficulty, letting the endearment run into a low moan. the movement pushes his head deeper into the pillow and exposes his neck, the jump of his pulse plainly visible. an urge to kiss it swoops over you, low and hot and you comply, leaning forward to latch onto the sensitive skin.

you slide out of him slightly with your forward movement and ezra whines. his broad hand settles on your hip while you suck; his grip fiercely digging into your skin as though he can’t decide if he wants to push you away or pull you closer.

releasing his neck, your lips drift to his jaw and nip. “what was that, ezra? i didn’t hear you.”

the smile in his voice is evident, bright tones washing over your back and landing between your legs. “give me reason,” ezra replies equally as coy, “and i assure you i shall have no qualms engaging in repetition.”

his voice, breathy and strung out from the tension in his body, doesn’t have the same edge it usually does. it causes a shiver to run down your spine all the same, fueling the rapacious ache of desire building in you as it builds in him, too.

shifting back down to settle once more between his legs, you reward him with shallow thrusts. not enough to give him what he wants, but enough to remind him that he can have it — if he only asks.

catching sight of his cock, you grin again. curled against his stomach, it’s leaking from the tip, clearly wanting for attention.

“remember when i recorded us, ezra?” you ask, still teasing him as your hips move lightly, just brushing in and out. “remember when i recorded us in the studio, and i came in your mouth?”

he nods, blonde streak catching in the sunlight and the grip constricts around your hip. move faster, he’s trying to say. if you did, you think, maybe you could get him to come untouched.

did you listen to it when you were gone; did you come in your hand thinking about the way i tasted? i did, ezra; i thought about you all the time, you tell him.

his responding cry gets caught in his throat before strangling free. “please,” he begs, lifting his hips to chase yours, desperate for increased friction.

“please what, ezra?” but the strain peeks through your voice as well, the words heavy and hot on your tongue; they’re languorous, almost, in their immutability.

more, he finally breathes. darkened eyes that nevertheless glimmer in the morning sun meet your own and you smile, pleased to finally give him what you both want.

your thrusts become deeper and your hips lock, refraining from the urge to be sloppy. there’s no need to; you can already tell that he’s close enough without your being wrecked, too.

instead, you focus on precision, shamelessly slamming your hips into him over and over again, rubbing that spot that makes him babble praise. “i’m — oh shit — i’m so full,” he manages to whisper, another moan accompanying the admission.

“so full on what, ezra?” you ask, starting to pant yourself with the effort. “be a good boy and say it.”

“fucking hell, sunflower,” he drawls, eyes fluttering shut, as though that will protect him from the sight of you fucking him with abandon. “so full on — so full on your cock, sweetheart.”

impatient, your hand raises nearly of its own volition and smears the precum across tip, drawing another ragged whine from his lips. a finger runs the length of the swollen vein and he twitches, stomach muscles tensing at your relentless pace, at the feel of your hands on him.

i listened to you all the time when you were gone, you tell him, pumping his length in time with your thrusts. i wanted you cum all over me again; i missed it; i missed you.

“my dear sunflower,” ezra says, half-pleading, half-whining, a shaken timbre to his words, “if you fail to cease your actions you will be rewarded with what you seek.”

but that’s what i want, ezra; i want you to cum; be a good boy and make a mess; let it spill all over; you’ve been so good for me; i know it feels so good, baby.

words are never ezra’s undoing — they are his lens — and that is what undoes him more than anything, more than the grind of your hips, more than your hands teasing his cock.

the image, your voice, your hands, your hips, your praise: it’s all too much for him to hold out and ezra comes with a shout to kevva, head tilting back once more as hot ropes of come shoot out over his stomach and dribble onto your hand.

easing out of him, you stay nestled between his legs and lift a hand to swirl a finger in the stuff, gathering it on your finger. feeling his molten, if sated, gaze on you, you bring the finger to your mouth, letting your tongue peek out to taste just a drop before engulfing the entire digit between your lips, swirling your tongue around the tip.

“even better than i remembered,” you tell him shakily. now that ezra has reached his satisfaction your own need has reared up and the ache between your legs gnaws low in your belly. the sight of his reaction to you doesn’t help either — his come smeared over his stomach, his cheeks flushed and eyes bright with pleasure.

as if sensing your need, ezra tugs your wrist away from your mouth and uses the leverage to bring you closer. “come here, sunflower,” he rasps. “now it is my turn to enjoy your cries.”

fin.

tags for the bastard boyfriend: @frannyzooey @clan-djarin @astroboots @softdin @freeshavocadoooo @princessxkenobi @keeper0fthestars @thewayofthemandalorian @darthadeline @ennuiandthebourgeoisie @cannedsoupsucks @forever-rogue @kat-r-in @wyofabdoms @leonieb @javisjeanjacket @spvce-cowboy @agirllovespancakes @phoenixhalliwell @mitchi-c @salome-c @amneris21 @maciiiofficial @dindja @Velia7 @kesskirata @spideysimpossiblegirl @magpie-to-the-morning @javierpcna @julesorwhatever @lazybeeches @pedropascaldice @artsymaddie

#ezra x reader #ezra (prospect) x reader #ezra x gender neutral reader #prospect 2018 #cris writes #adult tag #throwing this out into the void okay bye #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character fanfiction #usernobie #userdindja #userchrisann #voice actor!ezra

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hockeyboysiguess · 4 years ago

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sunflowers | m. tkachuk

a/n: today, i offer a humble too long matthew tkachuk fic, full of angst and thoughts about love.

i would like to thank @nolypats, for having a dream that i wrote a fic about? that dream looks nothing like this fic, but that was the og inspiration, and for being so supportive during the writing of this monster. also, @jasondickinsons and @slapshot-to-the-heart for freaking out every time i sent you a preview. never would’ve finished it without these three.

word count: 20K

warnings: swearing, and a ton of angst.

wine pairing recommendation: a full bodied cabernet sauvignon, because this fic is full bodied.

You ran a hand through your hair as you looked at Matthew across your apartment. The mug in your hands felt heavy and the tea inside had gone cold. The look on Matthew’s face when he walked in the front door had made you set it aside and forget about it entirely. He had been nervous, hesitant, his movements almost delayed, like there was too many thoughts swimming in his head for the signals to get down to his muscles at the correct timing. You drummed your nails on the cool ceramic, your fingertips tracing the outline of the sunflower on the mug, as you let out a long breath.

“We literally just-”

“I know,” Matthew cut you off. He stumbled through the next six words, but they stung all the same. “I think this was a mistake.”

It was as if he picked the words right out of your deepest vault of insecurities, sharpened them, then tossed them in your general direction careless, but still wasn’t surprised when they hit their mark. Your shoulders caved in, your body reacting to the weight of the insecurities you had tied to those words in your mind hitting you in the chest. You set your mug on the counter with shaky hands.

“Matthew,” you tried to start, but he just set his blue eyes to the ceiling instead of trying to look at you.

You pressed harder, this time, irritation in his inability to communicate with you boiling over, “You can’t just say something like that then not look at me.”

“Fine.”

His eyes were dead when they rolled back to yours, lifeless, emotionless, almost completely devoid of the person you knew so well that was usually behind them. He looked nothing like the friend you had for the past two years, nothing like the boy who you kissing on his birthday a few months before this terrible moment you were being forced to inhabit, and nothing like the boyfriend you had since that night. He was unrecognizable from the boy you loved, the set in his jaw unsettling you. Matthew had not come over to have a discussion. You could see that now. He was resolved to end this relationship when he walked through your front door. When Matthew Tkachuk’s mind was made up, you had yet to find anything that could redirect his course. You knew you wouldn’t be the first tonight.

“I think we can work on this, if you’ll just talk to me about it.”

The laugh that comes out of his mouth in response to your words made you instantly wish you had never tried. The part of you that had told you to just swallow the breakup he clearly wanted was screaming, “I told you so,” at the top of its lungs. There was no resolution to be had. This relationship was over before he walked in the door, before he walked in the building, before he had gotten in his car. It was over the minute he texted you, curtly informing you he was coming over. Now that your mind was ruminating, the tone of his text felt rough and succinct, like he just wanted to get through it to get to this.

“I think that there’s nothing to work on,” Matthew told you, his tone flat. “I think we were friends, are friends, good friends, and we just starting having feelings because we thought we couldn’t have each other. That whole forbidden fruit thing, right? And we got all mixed up. Sex was great, is great, don’t get me wrong, that kind of chemistry isn’t the problem, but I just don’t think we’re supposed to be together. I think we just got our wires crossed and mixed the chemistry and the friendship up to mean that we’re in love when I just don’t think we are. At best, I think we just had middle school crushes gone off the rails. I don’t think I really have feelings for you and I don’t think you have them for me either. I think that’s why we fight a lot. There’s nothing really here, in all reality, and I think we can both sense it. You know I’m right. You just don’t want to admit it.”

“Get. Out.”

You spat the words out with all the venom and anger you felt. It wasn’t until the door shut behind him, not another word spoken in the tense moments it took to cross your kitchen to it, that you felt the pain in your chest. The anger, and the adrenaline that came with it, had disguised it while he was still here. Now, it was just you, in your empty apartment, realizing you not only had to deal with the pieces of yourself left over after Matthew just shattered you, underneath that was the agony of losing a friend. A friend you had come to know so well over coffees and sheet pizzas and margarita pitchers, in parties and houses and parks and arenas. He left with your now ex-boyfriend, because they were one and the same.

All you had was the now tainted memories of him and an even colder cup of tea.

------

You shuffled around your kitchen island, skipping the tea kettle in favor of your trusty slightly rusty coffee pot. This wasn’t a morning tea could handle. None of the mornings since Matthew told you that, in essence, your entire relationship was built on false pretenses and was doomed to fail from the start, had been tea mornings. They’d all be coffee caliber mornings.

Just as the coffee started to drip into the pot, your phone lit up on the counter. It was either your mom or another friend checking on you for what had to be the hundredth time. Your friends had be rotating who would check on you and who would bring you food. They were genuinely worried this break up was making you a bit of a recluse. The problem was, the person that had gotten you out of ever breakup funk you had over the past two years, every bad date, every ghosted text, was the person that caused this one. Your mind unwillingly brought you back to a memory you had been trying to avoid for the last four weeks.

There was a knock on your door. You pulled your sweatshirt sleeves over your hands to wipe your nose and eyes. You would have thought that after two weeks, a whole fourteen days, you would have cried everything out by now. Your body apparently had other ideas and was content to continue to produce tears until you felt better. When that would be? Who could say.

Matthew Tkachuk was trying to have a say about it when he was on the other side of the door you opened. You sighed. You weren’t in the mood for him and his persistence in getting his way.

“I brought donuts, Legally Blonde because my sister said to, and my sparkling personality and I’m not leaving until you smile, eat at least two donuts, and take a shower.”

He pushed his way into your apartment effortlessly. You didn’t consider yourself particularly weak, but there really wasn’t much you could do against Matthew Tkachuk with his mind made up on his side. He kicked his shoes off on the way to your coffee table, dropping the donuts on it before grabbing the TV remote.

“I said I brought Legally Blonde. I meant that I brought my intent to watch it with you. We both know I’m just gonna rent it on your TV for you. I don’t own a DVD player and neither do you,” Matthew said to you as he started pulling up the movie. “Also, I have no idea how to log in to my stuff on this thing because you have a Fire TV instead of an Apple TV like a loser, so I’m just going to Venmo you $3.99 for the rental.”

“Matthew,” you sighed, running a hand through your unwashed hair.

“Yeah, you can’t physically remove me from your couch, so I will not be leaving this apartment,” he informed you. “Watching Legally Blonde on your couch without you and stuffing my face with donuts I’m not supposed to have feels like it would be a pretty low point in my life. Unless you come watch with me and save me from half of these donuts.”

You saved him from half the donuts. He saved your hair from a record eighth day without washing it. You saved him from actually watching the sequel. He saved you from your torturous thought spirals and your tendency to look entirely for mistakes you made and flaws within yourself in lieu of acknowledging that relationships always take two people. He saved you from becoming a recluse that time, pulling you out of your apartment for dinner with him the next day. It was just Chipotle. He said he chose the environment for low social stress, high food volume ratio. You had hit him in the chest and he’d squeezed your hand softly, bringing it up to his mouth to kiss the back of it softly.

“You know he didn’t deserve you, right?” he told you as you waiting in line. “You can and will do a hell of a lot better than him someday, probably sooner than you think.”

“Thanks, Matty.”

Looking back on that memory, you couldn’t find any fondness for it. It just made the dull ache in your chest that had become a permanent resident over the last month transform temporarily in a sharp, stabbing one, before returning to its original form. You poured your coffee, each movement it required felt exhausting. You felt absolutely spent constantly because you were spending all of your energy trying to figure out what had gone wrong. Relationships were a two way street, but you could never drive down the other side, only your own. Matthew’s side, his view of it all, would always be foreign to you, but you could analyze every word, every movement, and every piece of Matthew’s reaction to all of your actions to find what you had done, what you had done to contribute to the car wreck that had caused the pain in your chest. Did you veer too close to him? Did you veer too far? What did you do?

When you get together with a friend, after years of mutual pinning, it’s supposed to work out. Every book, movie, and hell, every other couple you had ever seen that had been great friends first, then started dating, worked out. It always had a happy, romantic comedy kind of ending to it all. Everything was supposed to fall into place the second Matthew kissed you for the first time because friends falling in love felt inevitable in the kind of way that made you believe in predestination, in fated futures. You had come to the conclusion that fate either didn’t exist, or she was a fucking bitch.

“Come here!” Matthew shouted to you across the party when you were less than two steps into his front door. “I want a birthday hug!”

“I literally just got here!” you shouted back, your voice dropping in volume as you got closer to him, bumping your way through the party to get to him in the kitchen. “You couldn’t wait two minutes for me to like, put your gift down and take off my coat? Needy.”

“Ah!” Matthew raised a finger to you and shook it slightly. “It’s not needy when I’m the birthday boy. Hug. Now.”

You rolled your eyes, but tucking yourself willingly into Matthew’s broad chest. He was so warm all the time, but particularly now that he was definitely a few drinks deep and very much enjoying himself here at his party. Matthew always smelled the same, like the slightly too strong laundry detergent scent boosters his mom made him use and spearmint toothpaste. You couldn’t stand the combination at first, but now, pressed into his chest, you felt calm, the stress of the day washing away when you enveloped in him. He pressed a sloppy kiss to the top of your head and gave you an extra squeeze before letting you go.

“Also, you’re late,” he pointed out as he grabbed you a beer from the sink he’d filled with ice in lieu of people going in his fridge.

You took the beer from him after he slammed the top off on the edge of the counter. You chugged about a quarter of it before scrunching your face up and stopping. The first few sips were always the worst, before any of the wondrous affects of alcohol actually kicked in.

“Work,” you told him with a shrug.

Matthew rolled his eyes at you, a common occurrence, and you rolled yours back, and even more common occurrence. He laughed a little at your routine, before he tapped his beer suddenly on the top of yours, making foam rise rapidly, overflowing the bottle. You cursed and shifted your hand over the sink so the foam covered his makeshift cooler instead of the counter, but your hand was a lost cause.

“Matthew,” you groaned, your displeasure heavy in your voice as you shook your hand free of the foam.

Matthew threw his head back and laughed as you rinsed off your hand. When his head lifted, eyes finding yours again, he was met with a glare and the displeased shaking of your head. He smiled lazily, his blue eyes crossing your face to take in your expression.

“You’re cute when you’re pretending to be mad.” His words were a little more connected than they should be, his faint lisp expressing itself more, endearing in a way that cut through your annoyance at him. “I would like to request a birthday, ‘One of my best friend isn’t mad at me anymore,’ pass.”

You rolled your eyes again at him for the second time in minutes, “You’re going to get real annoying with this birthday thing, aren’t you?”

Matthew smiled wryly at you, “Comes once a year. Feel like I should get my money’s worth for the twenty-four hours I can, no?”

You shook your head at him, then took a sip of your beer. You were pretty sure you knew how this night was going to go and after a long day at work, it wasn’t exactly what you had been looking for. But the smile on his face, the curls falling down his forehead, and the fact that you were head over heels for him, meant that even though you hadn’t been looking to get on a rollercoaster today, damn it all to hell if you weren’t going to throw your hands in the air, scream your head off, and enjoy the ride.

“How about,” Matthew slurred slowly at you, “a birthday dance?”

“You could just ask me to dance. I’m used to you stepping on my toes and elbowing me in the face,” you threw back at him.

He faked pain, like you shot him in the chest, a large hand clapped over his heart as he winced. You giggled at his expression, before your laugh made him laugh. Matthew extended the hand on his chest out to you. You sighed before clapping your hand into his open one and letting him pull you toward where a few people were dancing. He spun you into his chest with a tug on your hand, purposefully putting your hands on the back of his neck.

“Odds you step on my toes tonight?”

Your beer bottle tapped between Matthew’s broad shoulders as he slowly started to sway with you, using his hands on your hips, one hand still with two fingers wrapped around his beer, to guide you. He smiled down at you knowingly. You knew the answer to your question before you’d even asked, but Matthew knew you were just teasing him.

“Oh, one-hundred percent,” Matthew told you with a smirk pulling up the corner of his lips. “I should get you steel toes for your birthday.”

“If you can remember when it is,” you laughed as Matthew spun you by your hips, your hands breaking from his neck to allow the spin.

“Don’t doubt me,” Matthew grabbed your wrists with one hand and pulled them against his chest. “I might have had to make it my phone passcode to be sure I don’t forget, but I definitely am not going to forget it.”

“That might just be the cutest thing you’ve ever done in your life, Tkachuk.”

He rolled his eyes and freed your hands, only to wrap his arm around your neck and yank you into his chest where your hands had been moments before. You squealed at the action, which only made him laugh. Matthew was a touchy drunk, but it was the closest you could be to him. These were the moments you could touch him, dance with him, and let yourself feel like the world you lived in was also the world in which he had feelings for you too. But you knew those worlds weren’t the same. The would you lived in was a world full of stolen drunken moments like these and unrequited love.

“Birthday beer?” he asked you, presenting you with the empty bottle you hadn’t realized he’d finished.

“You are really pushing your luck,” you told him.

The smile that came across his face when you grabbed the empty bottle made your heart beat heavier in your chest. You smiled back up at him and you could have sworn you saw his eyes glance down at your lips, but you shook off the idea like the intrusive thought it was. It was a self-indulgent misreading of him, your mind projecting a motion you wished Matthew had done, instead of accurately reading the moment for what it was. It might have been a false creation of your mind, but it made your chest hurt all the same.

You grabbed Matthew his beer. Then you birthday grabbed him a slice of his birthday cake. Then you had to birthday dance with him again. Another birthday hug. It started to wear heavy on your shoulders because tonight all Matthew seemed to want was you glued to his side. Your mind was twisting and turning, running down dark, unlit roads you had blocked off in your mind for your own good, but the combination of alcohol and Matthew’s hand on your hip was allowing your mind to blast through barricades you’d built to protect yourself and you were imagining this being real. Worse, you were wondering if maybe he felt like you did, which was as dangerous as driving down a twisty, forest road in the middle of the night, with your highlights out, and faulty breaks.

As the last guests trickled out of the party, Matthew said you didn’t count as a guest, he collapsed onto his couch, throwing his arm over the back. He motioned over to you as he polished off his remaining beer. He sighed when you had yet to move, letting his head roll back, curling bouncing at the movement.

“Come on, birthday cuddle,” he whined softly, gesturing you over to him again.

You groaned and hoped off the counter where you had posted up as everyone else left. Matthew smiled and lifted his head up when he saw you coming, adjusting on the couch to give you a clear spot, right under his arm, right against his side. You climbed onto the couch and slid in, dropping your head onto his chest as his arm dropped around your upper back instead of remaining on the couch. You sighed as you snuggled into his broad chest and Matthew’s chest suddenly rattled beneath you as he laughed.

“Well, make yourself comfortable then,” he laughed softly.

“You’re comfy and I’m tired,” you mumbled, tucking your face down to try and hide the flush rising in your cheeks.

Yes, you were tired. Yes, Matthew was pretty comfortable. Neither one of those things had anything to do with why you were thrilled to be snuggled into his chest. The smell of spearmint and laundry detergent was mixed with cheap beer, but you found yourself falling more into him, your shoulders relaxing, your mind slowly, but your heart racing. You might be pushing your luck, tipping your hand with how you were openly enjoying this, but Matthew’s hand playing with the ends of your hair and the steadiness of his breathing plus the sheer volume of alcohol he had consumed tonight was giving you hope that even if you were tipping your hand, he wouldn’t be able to recognize the cards.

“Come here. Birthday hug.”

“I’m literally snuggling you. Why do you want a hug? Snuggling is an extended hug,” you muttered to him.

“Hug,” Matthew repeated, a hand patting his thigh.

You groaned as you lifted your head from your comfortable spot, twisting awkwardly to get your arms around Matthew’s neck. He huffed, clearly not thrilled with your position. His hands found your waist, fingers sliding into your belt loops to pull you onto his lap, situating your legs on either side of his. He wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you tight against him, hugging you to his chest. His face was tucked into your neck, his hot breath fanning out over your skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

He mumbled something you couldn’t entirely hear, but you caught the word birthday again and rolled your eyes. You sighed as you pulled back, his arms giving way to let you sit up on his thighs.

“What did you say?” you asked him softly.

Matthew swallowed hard, his eyes darting away from your attempted eye contact. His jaw clenched, nerves getting the better of him. You just didn’t know what he had to be particularly nervous about.

“I want a birthday kiss.”

His words were soft, vulnerability keeping his voice tense, but his volume low. His eyes lifted up, scanning over your face, looking for some sign as to how you received his words. Matthew moved a hand to the back of your neck and gently pulled, ever so slightly, to bring your mouth closer to his. His eyes continued to take in your face, trying to read your expression, but he was clueless, his own feelings clouding his judgment. His tongue darted out, swiping across his bottom lip.

“You don’t have to, obviously, but fuck, I really hope you want to, ” he breathed out, eyes still trying to find some sign, something to hang onto in your face.

It was clumsy with excitement, but you dipped your head forward and pressed your lips against his. Your heart was beating loudly in your ears as he started to kiss you back, the sound blocking out everything except how you were finally doing this, you were finally kissing Matthew. All you could feel was him, his hands on your body, his lips on yours, his tongue working yours softly. Just him. You pulled back and resting your forehead against his as his fingers tangled themselves in your hair at the back of your neck.

“Thank god,” Matthew mumbled. “I thought I ruined us for a second there.”

You shook your head softly and smiled down at him, pressing a quick kiss to his lips again. He was smiling before you even pulled away this time.

“Fastest my birthday wish has ever come true in my life,” Matthew told you softly, a smile wide on his face as he spoke. “Also, my best birthday wish ever, if I do say so myself.”

“Wait, what did you wish for?” you laughed, letting a hand run down his chest lightly.

“You,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I wished for you.”

Everything after that was easy, for a little while. You both had dreamed, fantasized about having each other, so you were both in absolute bliss when everything came together. It felt like two pieces in a puzzle, finally finding each other after being separated by the expanse of the unfinished masterpiece in between if the masterpiece was the world as far as both of you knew. But you never found your place in it together, never locked into the bigger picture. Two pieces floating out in space can’t stay connected forever when hands start trying to smash them into place, hands that wonder if those pieces even belong together at all.

The hands that ripped you and Matthew apart weren’t from the outside looking in though. They were the same hands that held your hips so tightly on nights between the sheets. The same hands that held yours where you walked through the city after a few too many drinks at the bar together. The same hands that ran through your hair softly when you came over crying about something you couldn’t even remember anymore.

They were the same hands currently wrapped around a glass at a bar across town. The boy, not man, whose hands they were was running one through his hair hurriedly now. He couldn’t get you out of his mind and he just couldn’t figure out why.

“Okay, why did you break up with her again?” Johnny pressed Matthew for what had to have been the twentieth time over the last month. “Because you’re fucking miserable all the time. She’s fucking miserable. None of us can get her out of her apartment. So I’m just not getting this one, man. Why aren’t you at her place right now? Why weren’t you there a month ago really, begging for her to take you back?”

Matthew groaned and screwed his eyes shut hard. He had explained this so many times, the words and memories were starting to blur together for him. If you say the same word too many times in a row, your brain begins to question if what you’re saying if even real anymore. Matthew felt the same type of confusion and disassociation with recounting his reasons for breaking up with you. The version of him that had original thought those thoughts, felt those feelings, wasn’t here anymore. It was replaced with a shell of a boy who realized he’d made a terrible mistake.

“Wait, have you seen her?”

Johnny rolled his eyes at Matthew, but he answered anyway.

“No, I didn’t,” he sighed, motioning to the bartender for another beer. “A couple of the girlfriends stopped by, brought her some casseroles or something.”

“Don’t you bring casseroles when someone dies?”

Matthew forced the terrible joke and his own laugh in response out, in a poor attempt to disguise the ache in his chest at the thought of you. He could see you so clearly in his mind, pacing holes in the floorboards of your apartment, wearing out your favorite mug, but there was no way on God’s green earth you were wearing your Flames sweatshirt you usually did when you were upset. Hell, Matthew would be amazed if you hadn’t burned it after what he done. He knew you had to hate the casseroles, both based on the fact that you barely considered them an edible type of food, and the fact that they seemed to be an homage to the funeral of your love life. You would’ve made a better joke than him too and he wished he could’ve heard it, but you probably hadn’t made one. Matthew was the person who helped you out of the negative thought spirals that sent you spinning around your apartment. He caused this one instead and he was here, sitting in a bar, doing nothing about it because there was no way you’d even talk to him again, not with what he said.

“I just,” Matthew sighed again and fussed with his beer, lining and unlining it up with the condensation ring on the coaster as he talked, “I got too into my head. We were fighting. It just, it wasn’t good, Johnny.”

“It wasn’t good or you weren’t good?” Johnny pressed, watching carefully as Matthew’s body froze in response to the question, glass frozen mid-movement, eyes fixed on a broken neon sign in front of him. “Chucky, you don’t do anything unless you already know you can do it. You’ve never been in a relationship as an, I don’t want to say adult because that’s not entirely true, but as an adult, so you probably sucked at it.”

Matthew rolled his eyes before throwing back verbally at him, “Thanks, Johnny. Loving this pep talk. I’ll make sure when Gio retires, you get my recommendation for the C.”

“We both know exactly,” Johnny tapped Matthew on the forearm, “where that C is going next and don’t even lie. But that’s neither here or there right now. The point is that she was your girlfriend. You were supposed to talk to her about being a shitty boyfriend.”

“I am not in the mood for this,” Matthew groaned, dropping his head to the bar, recoiling when his skin stuck to it, his face scrunching up in disgust.

“I mean, Johnny’s right,” said Monahan as he slipped up next to Matthew’s other side, making a second groan slide from Matthew’s throat. “You were supposed to talk to her, not break up with her like a dumbass. She was your friend first. She knew you weren’t perfect and that she’s have to put up with some shit because you definitely don’t know the first thing about being someone’s partner. She went all in with you anyway,”

“Decided the person you could be and the person she could be with you was worth it,” Johnny jumped back in.

“Good one, Johnny,” Sean nodded appreciatively, tapping his beer bottle against Johnny’s across the bar in front of Matthew. “She gave you a chance, a hell of a good chance. And you decided to throw it all away? Because you fought?”

“Who the fuck are you right now?” Matthew cursed at Sean. “Where did you find all this girl advice, huh? If I wanted this, I would’ve asked your girlfriend.”

“Fianceé excuse you,” Sean reminded him, a smile pulling at his lips. “She relayed all of this back to me. She saw her a few days ago. This is all straight from the source, man.”

“Wait, she said that stuff?” Matthew choked a little on his beer.

“Yeah, she did. Wanna know what else she said?” Sean didn’t give Matthew time, much like Matthew gave you no time during that conversation a month ago, no regard to if Matthew could handle what he was about to say. “She said you weren’t good at communicating or being a boyfriend, but she was okay with it because she loved you. All she wanted was effort. Just a little effort from you, man. And you just left instead of trying.”

Your words, albeit coming through the probably clumsy filter of Sean, stung in Matthew’s chest. He felt like a coward, a fraud. He tried so hard to be tough, to be the guy that kept pushing, kept grinding, kept giving a shit even when his team was down three goals with five to play. He was the guy everyone counted on to try, even when everything else was screaming to just give up and accept defeat. That’s what he’d done with you. He gave up when the waves of trials started coming, when a storm kicked up. Matthew had taken one look at a swell coming that looked to be the type that could swallow ships whole, took the lifeboat, and ran without a second thought. He left you on a battered boat, full of holes, without even a bucket to bail yourself out.

To make matters worse, the wave he had been so scared of was either entirely a fabrication of his own mind and he had run from his own twisted imagination. Or worse, he had created the wave himself and ran before it could catch up to him.

It was catching up to him now though, sitting at a dive bar in Calgary, a warm beer in his hand, and the weight of what he had done sitting heavy on his shoulders.

“Fuck,” was all he could say.

“Your dream girl, really.” Johnny was twisting the knife now, but Matthew knew he deserved it when Johnny added, “And you fucked it.”

“Yeah,” Matthew laughed softly, but the sound didn’t reach his eyes that were still staring at a broken and sputtering neon sign, but really seeing something that wasn’t there.

He was seeing you, in that pretty sundress, the one with the sunflowers on it that Matthew loved on you because you always looked so happy whenever you wore it. Countless memories of you in that dress. You wore it out with friends, the second time Matthew had ever met you. That’s the first time he remembered thinking just how pretty you were, the way your hair fell down on your shoulders, the way your smile formed, the way your nose crinkled when you laughed. Matthew was used to thinking girls where hot, but you? You were beautiful, standing there, laughing at something Johnny had said, in that sunflower sundress.

He remembered that dress from the first time he almost kissed you, a month later, walking down the street together after dinner, his hoodie around your shoulders because you had gotten cold and Matthew was always warm. It was the first time you wore his clothes and it made Matthew’s heart beat loudly in his ears, so loud he couldn’t hear anything else, couldn’t think about anything else, but kissing you. He almost went for it, but then you pulled him back to reality, actually pulled him out of the street he hadn’t noticed he stepped into because he couldn’t hear the cars over his heartbeat.

That dress starred in his memories of your first date that occurred a week after his birthday, the one where he finally kissed you for the first time, over two years after the first time he almost kissed you. It might have been January in Calgary, but there was that dress again, with tights and a thick coat and knee high boots and socks and a little hole at the bottom hem and it made Matthew want to die. If he died staring at you in that dress, kissing you in that dress, he was pretty sure he would be fine with whatever his obituary looked like.

Except that dress and all the memories of it were tainted because you had been wearing it when he broke your heart, when he watched you break apart and shatter, all of his own doing. Hell, he probably tainted sunflowers as a whole for you. He’d gotten you so many over the few months you’d been together, even though they had cost far too much money since sunflowers in Calgary in the winter weren’t exactly commonplace. The necklace for your birthday, a sunflower and his number in delicate gold, his sister’s idea.

Matthew wondered if people could hate certain types of flowers for the same type of reasons people loved them. People loved them because of how they looked and smelled, but also the memories associated with them. His mom loved pink tulips, but was it more because she always had or because his father always bought them for her and now she couldn’t look at them without thinking of his dad and all the times he has surprised her with them? Was the existing love or the associated love the more powerful factor in her love of them?

Either way, Matthew was just hoping you didn’t hate sunflowers anymore because of him.

“How do I fix it?”

Matthew’s voice was soft, barely above a whisper now, his hand tense around his glass. Matthew had too many thoughts running through his head, but he needed to make sure you didn’t hate sunflowers now. He just didn’t know how to even get you to talk to him to find out if you did.

Johnny and Sean looked at each other and Johnny sighed when the silent communication resulted in him being the one to answer. “I don’t think you can, Chucky.”

“No, I have to, I have to fix it, Johnny,” Matthew’s voice cracked. “I just, I have to make sure...”

He didn’t finish the thought because it wouldn’t make sense and they would both probably send him home, thinking he was either too drunk or having a breakdown, more likely both, if he started ranting about sunflowers.

“I think all you can do is reach out,” Johnny told him softly. “Just let her know that you now realize you made a massive mistake, that you want to be a team this time and work on it, I guess. From there, it’s up to her.”

“Should I bring flowers?” Matthew was asking the universe more than either of the two not so romantics next to him. “Chocolates? Something? Is there anything I can bring or do to fix it?”

“I don’t think you can fix it, dude,” Sean cut in with a sigh. “You can’t force it. if she even talks to you, she’s going to have to decide you’re worth a second shot and knowing her, she’s not going to just give it to you tonight or tomorrow or whatever. She’s going to want to see real change first. You just tell her that you’re going to try and then fucking try, even if she doesn’t ask you to try. Start working on yourself anyway. Start acting like she’ll give you a second shot.”

“Do you think she will?”

Matthew’s voice echoed how it sounded earlier, timid, small, a whispered prayer from a boy who knew his only hope was if fate heard him and decided to twist the world in his favor, if fate wasn’t a fucking bitch after all.

“I mean,” Sean sighed, thinking about himself now, trying to shove his feet into Matthew’s water-logged shoes for a moment to find an answer, “if I was her, I wouldn’t. But she’s a better person than all of us put together, so maybe she will, but I know I wouldn’t.”

Matthew let out a long, shaky breath, eyes fluttering closed for a moment before opening them to pick his phone off the bar. He knew you wouldn’t answer a phone call. He also knew your voicemail was definitely full at this point. He was always the person who had to tell you to delete the old ones whenever he tried to leave you one and couldn’t, but he wasn’t there to do it, so it would be full by now. He had to settle for a text, which felt like a much shittier version of a handwritten letter, but he had terrible handwriting and spelling, but at least it ranked well above an email in the power ranking of methods of communication.

Please tell me you don’t hate sunflowers because of me. I really hope I didn’t ruin them for you.

Matthew placed his phone face down on the bar, then nervously flipped it face up even though he knew you wouldn’t have even been able to read his text in the millisecond his phone was face down. He didn’t know if you would answer, or if you would even read it. You would read it, Matthew assured himself. He knew you. You never got a text or a message you didn’t read. Would you say anything to him about it though? Would it be on your phone, nested among texts from people who didn’t break your heart until one day, probably a year from now, you would meet someone else and have no need to remember him anymore, so only then would you finally delete it?

Matthew tried not to think about it, but his eyes glanced down at the screen every thirty seconds even though he was willing them to just give you time. He didn’t even realize it was past one in the morning. You were definitely up, he knew you better than to think you would be asleep, but awake and awake and answering texts were different. He just hoped if you were awake, that you didn’t hate sunflowers, maybe that you didn’t hate him, and that you weren’t crying.

You were awake though, holding that godforsaken necklace that you had ripped from your neck the morning after he ended it and thrown into the back of your jewelry box. The necklace was in one hand and your phone with Matthew’s text pulled up in the other. You were crying, something Matthew desperately wished you weren’t doing as he drank the last dregs of his beer and headed home with his head hung low, his phone alight in his hand as he ritually checked for a reply from you. You sighed, looking between his text and the necklace, wondering if you hated your favorite flower now. That question hung on another one though, one domino relying on the other to fall. Did you hate Matthew Tkachuk?

Yes, you did. That was decided the moment the door closed behind him and he left you to deal with the crashing waves of grief all by yourself, without even a bucket to bail you out.

Did you hate him more than you loved him though?

You stared at the necklace, the one you hadn’t been able to throw away, and you knew the answer. The delicate golden necklace would be buried deep in a landfill if you really hated him more than you loved him, not in the palm of your hand now. But here you were, staring at it until your eyes went cloudy with tears, before you had to put it back in the box. You couldn’t put it back on, not now, maybe not ever, but you also couldn’t bear getting rid of it, the idea making your heart twist in your chest in a way that made you physically wince.

You put your phone on your nightstand at the same moment Matthew did across town, both with your minds racing over the unanswered text. Matthew went to bed thinking you would never answer it, forever leaving the question hanging in the wind. You went to bed knowing your answer, but unsure if you were ever going to share it with him.

------

Matthew groaned when he heard his doorbell ring, followed by cautious knocking. He hated that doorbell. The noise was absolutely piercing, especially to his hungover brain. He hadn’t even drank that much last night, but he was so incredibly hungover. Matthew could only guess that the alcohol had worked in tandem with the ache in his chest after deciding he needed to feel worse to create a hangover this bad from five beers over three hours. He shuffled to the front door, not even caring he hadn’t bothered to find any clothes other than sweats on his way to it. Whoever it was was too goddamn early and they would need to come back another time.

When Matthew ripped open his front door, a groan falling from his mouth at the effort it took, he was looking at the ceiling, head thrown back in hatred of the exhaustion he was now feeling due to having to actually do something other than lay in bed and be hungover.

“Look, this building better be on fire or-”

Everything stopped when he saw it was you. You looked so small to him, standing there, a tray with two coffees in hand and a brown bag in your other hand. Your sweatshirt was swallowing you up and you looked like you were strongly debating making a break for the stairwell with the way your eyes were shifting to the right. There were dark circles under your reddened, swollen eyes, eyes that only looked like that when you had been doing a lot of crying recently.

Matthew thought you would have a lot of possible reactions to his text. He never once let himself think you would show up at his front door.

“I brought bagels,” you finally said, after far too long of both of you assessing the other.

Matthew looked almost as bad as you did. His hair was unkempt beyond normal, the curls broken and haphazard across his head, hanging into his forehead. His eyes were sunken and absent, vacant like a forgotten home on the outskirts of town. Days old stubble patchily covered his jawline, razor clearly lost among his things again. If you weren’t at his apartment, if you had just passed him on the street instead, you might not have recognized him. There was always a lightness to Matthew, an inability to keep his feet on the ground as he searched for the next adventure he could have, but he seemed rooted in place, held down by some outside force. He was complying with it, the force, but it was clearly under duress and it was exhausting him. The force was absolute agony and it was written all over his face, in his posture, in his every labored movement.

“And coffee,” you added after no words left Matthew’s mouth long enough for an uncomfortable silence to stretch between you both.

“You’re here,” Matthew breathed out, words spoke so softly as if he feared if he said them too loudly, you would disappear.

Matthew’s head was pounding. His mouth tasted awful since he went straight to bed when he got home, not even stopping to brush his teeth. He knew he looked like an absolute mess because there wasn’t a way a person could feel like he did and not look like a mess. He didn’t care about any of it. You were here. You were actually here, with coffee, and bagels, at his front door.

He didn’t think. He knew it was a mistake after the fact, really as soon as he did it, but he also knew there was a chance you were here just for personal closure, that this might be the last time he ever got to see you again. He reached out and grabbed you by your waist, crushing you into his bare chest. His face pressed into your hair, which always smelled like strawberries to him even though you swore your shampoo wasn’t supposed to smell like strawberries. If you never talked to him again after today, he just wanted to hold you one more time.

You hugged him back, hesitation evident in your loose arms and your tense shoulders. It was barely a hug, but it almost made Matthew cry. Even just the small response, no matter how cautious it was, made him feel better than he had felt in a month.

“Go brush your teeth and like, actually wake up,” you told him as you pulled away from him. “I’ll, um, toast the bagels, I guess.”

Matthew was on autopilot as he walked into his en suite and grabbed his toothbrush. His movements were slow, robotic as he brushed his teeth. There was only one thing on his mind, replaying over and over incessantly, persistently. Why did you show up at his place? Matthew was desperately trying to turn the broken record playing his mind over to the other side, hoping to find the answer, but it was only more of the same. There was no reason, no reason he could understand, why you had shown up at his front door. Why you had shown up with coffee and breakfast for him was so far outside of the realm of things Matthew could understand, he had to eliminate it from his mind.

Until it all suddenly clicked in place, Sean’s words from last night flowing back into his mind.

You were here because you were a better person than he was, a far better person. Sean had said you were better than all of them, very much including Matthew, put together and it was true. You were bright and beautiful and good, so incredibly good. You loved people with an honesty and a bravery that made Matthew’s heart ache due to the effort it had to put in to keep up with you when he’d been smart enough to accept your love. You were so much better than he was four months ago when you kissed at his birthday party, so much better than the bedraggled boy looking back at him in the mirror today, and somehow infinitely better than the person he was going to be in fifty years, already. Who you would be in fifty years? You were going to be the kind of person that needed a designated overflow zone at your funeral because too many people were going to want to acknowledge they’d felt your love in front of hundreds of others.

Matthew never deserved the piece of you he’d gotten. He knew that now as he heard you humming softly to yourself as you dropped the bagels in his toaster. Matthew had never deserved you and it’s why he had ended it because he’d known all along. He knew you were fighting because he wasn’t good enough for you and that he never would be. He would have spent his life running at top speed behind you, trying not to slow you down, trying not to be a drag on your life, trying not to lessen the impact for good you could have on the world. You would have never let him go, slowing yourself, stunting yourself in order to accommodate him.

But here you were, looping the train of your life to run back through the temporary station of your relationship with him that was in complete shambles, and Matthew let himself dream it was because you were ready to hold his hand and fix it up brick by brick, piece by piece because you were so good it hurt. Matthew knew the right thing to do would be to make sure your train left the station today, unencumbered by any damage from him, and more importantly, without him. But Matthew Tkachuk was three things that made that impossible. He was competitive, problematically so, always wanting to get better, always wanting to win. Damn it all to hell if he couldn’t spend the rest of his life running to keep up with you because one day, he just might actually catch up if he could figure out how to run fast enough. Matthew Tkachuk was also incredibly selfish and incredibly in love with you, one a personality flaw and the other the purest part of him that had ever existed. He had to figure out how to catch up because he couldn’t let you go.

Matthew stepped out of the bathroom with resolve settling into his clenched jaw. He knew asking you to take him back without any proof he could improve was a hopeless avenue. He couldn’t ask you for that; him asking for anything was already unfair, he needed to try to at least ask for the least he could. Any plan he had formed was tossed out the window of his high rise the second he saw you, sweatshirt hanging off your shoulder, hair piled on top of your head, humming softly to yourself as you spread cream cheese on his and your bagels, barefoot in his kitchen. For a moment, that moment Matthew held his breath so you wouldn’t hear him standing in the kitchen doorway, it was like the last month hadn’t happened and you were still his. Matthew hung in the moment as long as his lungs would allow, soaking it in case he never got to see it again.

“You going to keep staring or are you going to come get your bagel?”

Your words pulled him out of his thoughts violently, head shaking off the ideas that had been swirling, pulling him down that whirlpool of you and him that might just kill him. He yanked the nearest bar stool out, dropping down into it unceremoniously, before graciously taking the bagel and the coffee you’d brought for him.

“Why did you ask me that?” you finally said, words slicing like knives through the palpable tension in the air. “The sunflowers. Why that? After a whole month? That?”

You said a few extra words then you’d meant to say. You were trying to keep everything short and brief, just here in a quest for the peace you needed and nothing more. More words meant more feelings and more feelings meant the idea of peace slipped further away with each expressed word.

“I just,” Matthew ran a hand aggressively through his curls before starting over, “I just wanted to make sure that after everything I did, I didn’t ruin one of your favorite things for you.”

You sighed, debating if you wanted get into this or not with him. What could it hurt? It was just a story.

“I like them because my mom does,” you told him softly. “She always had them growing by our house when I was little. She always had them in a vase by the front door, and she had these sunflower earrings, these little golden ones. They’d kind of like the necklace-”

Your fingers touched the bare skin where the necklace he gave you had sat until a month ago, fingers finding nothing to touch to. Matthew’s eyes had followed your movement, saddening when he saw you weren’t wearing it even though he hadn’t expected you to be.

You cleared your throat before continuing, “Anyway, she lost them a while ago. But I guess they just remind me of home. That’s why I got that dress. I got it when I first moved here. I saw it walking around downtown in a window and just took it as a sign that everything was going to be alright, you know?”

Matthew nodded softly as he continued to listen and mindless pick at his bagel.

“And then when we started dating and you figured out they were my favorite flowers and started getting me dozens of them all the time, I guess you and us started creeping in as part of those reasons I love them. It kind of sucks because they make me sad now and I can’t wear that dress anymore.”

The words were tumbling out of your mouth now, practically on top of each other. You weren’t sure where you’re going, but more words meant more expressed and acknowledged feelings and you were saying a lot of words. Matthew was trying to keep up, trying to take time to process and read between the lines. You always said so much whenever you spoke, half of it jammed in between sentences in pregnant pauses and shifting eyes. He was trying to take it all in, trying to figure out how you were actually feeling, but you weren’t resting in any one emotion long enough for Matthew to identify it.

“But no,” you sighed. “I don’t hate sunflowers. They’re sadder now. It used to just be missing home, but now they make me miss us. But I don’t hate them. I don’t think you can fully hate something that reminds you of so many people and places and times that you loved. I don’t hate them because I don’t hate you, Matty.”

He didn’t ruin one of your favorite things for you and you didn’t hate him. In full honesty, Matthew didn’t think you hated him. He knew one of your flaws, but also your best quality, the one that made Matthew feel so lucky to have been with you, was your capacity for love. It got you in trouble sometimes, kept you with people you shouldn’t have been, made you believe in fake friends’ false pretenses, but it also the only reason you didn’t hate him now and the only possible reason you would ever accept any sort of olive branch Matthew could clumsily extend.

“I fucked up,” Matthew said suddenly. He wasn’t thinking, wasn’t filtering. He should have taken his time, picked his words carefully, but it was you and you didn’t hate him and Matthew was painfully awful at this sort of thing and he was overwhelmed with the idea he might just have an opening back into the warmth that was you. “I’m so fucking sorry. I totally get if you can’t trust me again. I know I’m a shit boyfriend. But fuck, I love you. I know I do. I’m just so bad at showing it. I want to fix that. I want to fix it with you. I want you and I want to show you I’m not a fuck up and that I do love you. I won’t need a second chance ever again, just some patience. Please.”

Matthew let out a long, shaky breath when the final begging word left his lips. He knew he’d been pleading with you with each and every word, hoping something he could say might hit you in just the right away, might have just the right effect to get the result he so desperately craved. You. Back in his arms. Back in his bed. Back in his jersey at his games. Back with him, where he wanted you more than he had wanted anything in an embarrassingly long time.

“Is any of that even true?”

Your question stopped Matthew in his tracks. It felt like a punch to his chest, right over his already aching heart. How could you doubt that? No, Matthew knew how you could doubt it. You could doubt it because you could doubt every single thing about him if you damn well pleased. He deserved every bit of doubt and caution you presented. He had broken you because he refused to take his seat at the adults’ table and talk about how he felt, how he was feeling insecure, how he felt like a bad partner, and how he felt worse about all of that because he felt like he couldn’t fix any of it. He attributed the two of you not working out to you two not being a match, instead of acknowledging his own flaws and what they were doing to both of you. In retrospect, all of that probably would have been far better to say to you than what he had actually said, but words couldn’t be stuffed back in his mouth. They were now in your mind, in your memory, and Matthew would just have to live with another mistake on the laundry list of things he had done wrong regarding you.

“Every single word is true,” Matthew told you softly. “I have so many other ones too, if you want to hear them.”

You breathed out hard, shoving the air forcefully out of your lungs as you ran a hand through your hair, “You don’t get to say those kinds of things to me, Matthew. You don’t have the right to that.”

“I know,” Matthew grimaced in reaction to your words.

He should’ve held his tongue, but he had so much he needed to say to you. But there he was again. Thinking about himself, only himself. He wasn’t considering you, wasn’t communicating with you. He just vomited all of his thoughts and feelings up without even bothering to see if you were actually open to receiving them. Saying you didn’t hate him didn’t even correlate to being open to the conversation Matthew had forced into your hands, unaware he had even pried your fists open to put it there.

“I shouldn’t have forced that all on you,” Matthew admitted softly. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I just, I have so much I want to say to you.”

“Matthew,” you sighed. You had been doing a lot of sighing lately. “I don’t think-”

“I don’t want you to take me back,” Matthew cut you off. “At least, not right away. I don’t deserve that. I know that. I’m not asking for that.”

You crossed your arms over your chest, eyes scanning over his face to try and figured out where he was going. You thought he would ask you to take him back, something you weren’t going to do without a sign from him that it would actually be different this time instead of exactly the same, with a shorter honeymoon period. Another two months with him, only to suffer the same heartbreak wasn’t enough time to make you take a blind chance it would be different. You needed something to hang your hat on, something to make you feel like he wanted to be your partner this time around. You needed to see him try, try in the long nights apart, try in the close nights together, try in the afternoon dates, and try in the stolen morning moments. You needed to see Matthew try and be your partner, and not just some emotional, freeloading friend with benefits version of a boyfriend who would spin you around a dance floor, then into his bed, then leave whenever you asked for more.

“Then what are you asking for?”

Your words were quieter than you expected, confusion ringing heavy in each syllable. Matthew ran a hand through his hair, frustration evident in how his fingers tugged on his curls at the end. He didn’t really know what he wanted. He just wanted a shot to prove to you he was worth your time, that he could be the partner you deserved. He wasn’t even sure he could be, which was part of the reason he was struggling to speak to you now, feeling like he was trying to row up a rushing creek made of his current feelings and his past failures without any sort of paddle or even a life vest, about to drown at any possible second.

“I just, I want to show you that I’m worth a real shot again.” Matthew was begging now, figuring that if you said no, at least you would know how badly he wanted you. He couldn’t get more pathetic than asking you if he’d ruined your favorite flowers because it had somehow said everything without saying anything at all. “Just, let me be around, let me earn a second chance. Let me show you I’m trying, trying to get better, trying to communicate better, trying to be someone who is good enough to deserve half of you. Let me show you I can try and that I’ll keep on trying forever, if that’s what you want from me. If you want to watch me try for five fucking years before giving me another shot, that’s fine. If you want to watch me try to five fucking years and then not give me another shot, that’s fine, at least I spent five years trying for someone who is so goddamn worth it, it hurts.”

“So, you want what exactly?” you pressed, a defensive laugh edging at your voice. “You want to just, what? To be around all the time? To be together all of the time? That’s just being friends, Matthew, and you were always a great friend, but you were a shitty fucking boyfriend. You want to spend all day with me, showing me that you’re trying to be better, then do whatever you want when you’re not around me?”

“No, I, fuck,” Matthew groaned, hands digging into his hair, head dropping to the cold granite counter in dismay at the mess he had made.

“Here’s your first communication test then,” you told him, letting the passive aggressive biting words you held at the back of your tongue roll off the front of it instead. “Tell me what you mean.”

“I don’t want anyone else.” Matthew banged his forehead on the counter with each word, frustration getting the better of him now. “I don’t even think this is going to make sense, but let me be your boyfriend even though you won’t be my girlfriend. That sounds so fucking stupid now that I said it out loud, but I guess I’m just trying to say I’m going to be one hundred-percent, all gas no brakes, full throttle about you and trying to actually change for you and show you I’m changing, but you can do whatever you damn well please because even letting me try is a fuck load more than I deserve.”

Matthew let out a breath to try and steady himself before continuing, “I know I’m still asking for a lot, both of your time and of your ability to at least sort of try to look at me not like the guy who said all of that shit a month ago. But I promise, I’ll be worth it. You do whatever you want, no strings, no jealousy, nothing. Let me be around and prove I’m worth a real second shot, please. You can send me packing whenever you want and I won’t bother you. You’re just too fucking incredible for me not to ask to try, even though I don’t have any right to ask.”

You breathed out hard, forcing all of the air out of your lungs. Matthew was asking, begging, for an opportunity to prove himself, to prove he could do what you wanted all along, just for him to try. Standing in his kitchen, bare feet cold on his hard wood floor, the idea of giving him that opportunity made your heart pick up in your chest, but made pain radiate through it at the same time. The romantic in you, the part of you that wondered if maybe Matthew Tkachuk was actually worth it, the part of you that loved sunflowers even though the memories attached to them were so incredibly mixed now, wanted to give him a chance. The other part of you, an equal part of you, was screaming, demanding that you be protective of yourself, of your happiness, from the people you let into your life, especially ones who had already proven then had no problem burning the life you were building for yourself and leaving before the ashes started to fall.

But did you even have a happiness you needed to protect? If you didn’t, then the answer was simple. If there was nothing to protect, there was extremely limited risk. You were already in a variation of hell of his own creation, sponsored by the feeling of someone you love deciding you weren’t worth an ounce of effort. What could it do to you if he failed? It would just affirm what you already experienced as a perennial fact instead of a potentially annual moment.

But the romantic inside pushed back, hard. Would you always wonder what would have happened if you gave him a chance? Would you always carry a torch for him? Would there always be an empty room, with a light left on, for him, in the house of the life you ended up making for yourself?

Romanticism versus realism. That was the question at hand. You knew both sides of the argument, the angel and devil on your shoulder both just facets of you, screaming at each other, both trying to decide what was best for you. They were just extensions of you though, so if you didn’t know, they didn’t know. But you did know two things though.

You knew you still loved sunflowers and you still loved Matthew Tkachuk.

And that was enough to convince you punch him a round-trip, one month ticket on the train of your every moving, ever developing life. You would be directing the path, choosing which tracks you would take, making all the moves, and he would have to figure out how to be your co-director. You weren’t going to stop or simplify anything for him. You were just going to continue on. In a month, the train would loop back to the station and you would decide to punch him another ticket, offer him the seat next to you, or leave him stranded there, alone at a run down train station probably in the pouring rain like in all the movies, before he would leave and watch as the station crumbled to dust upon his exit along with the idea of you and him.

“Okay.”

You settled into your answer as you gave it, trying to get it to settle over your body in a way that made you feel warmer rather than colder. Matthew’s eyes were staring into yours and he looked like he was teetering on the edge of crying, like he wanted to tell you everything that single thing that word made him feel, but he bit his lip and held his tongue. He was listening instead of talking, a welcome change, a welcome first attempt.

“You get one month,” you told him, your voice shaking as you tried to force it to be level. “One month of being around, I guess we can call it that. You figure out how you want to prove it to me. I’m not here to help you out. You hurt me. This is me, unlocking the front door for you. You have to figure out how to open it all on your own, okay? After a month, I guess we can talk and see where we’re at.”

“Thank you,” is all Matthew can figure out how to say for a moment. One month to try and show you he was worth another maybe, or if he let himself dream for a second, one month until you might want to be with him again. “I’d take anything, so thank you.”

“Take your fucking breakfast,” you smiled softly, trying to break the tension as much as one joke can. “And your coffee is cold now but that’s going to be a you problem.”

“Is your coffee cold?” Matthew asked you. He just wanted to fix something, even something as small as a too cold cup of coffee. “I can fix it.”

“Well, it’s iced coffee,” you informed him, a genuine laugh in your voice this time as you reached behind you to grab your drink on the opposite counter, giving the cup a little shake, ice rattling, as you showed it to him. “So, I sure hope you’re not going to try and warm it up.”

“No, no,” Matthew laughed softly, hands fiddling with the collar on his now room temperature at best coffee. “Probably should’ve asked what you were drinking first.”

You nodded softly, “Your heart was in the right place.”

Matthew smiled softly as you and your heart picked up in your chest again. God, that smile. It cut through everything, through the dull ache in your chest, through the deafening noise in your head of your own thoughts, and hit you right in the room in your heart that was reserved for him. It was vacant now, but the lights shone brighter for a moment and the furniture in the basement that used to be in there for him rattled, drawers and cabinet doors smashing, a reminder that everything you felt for him was still there. It might be covered in drop clothes and an inch of dust, but it was there. Part of you was already ready for him, but it wasn’t most of you. Maybe one day it would be. Or maybe this was one of the worst things you’d allowed in a long time under the impression that he simply couldn’t make things worse for you, which was almost a challenge to that fucking bitch fate at this point. Your insecurity and shaky foundation got the best of you for a moment and a sentence like a child’s prayer slipped out of your mouth.

“Matthew, please don’t waste my time.”

“I won’t,” Matthew’s words followed yours without a second of hesitation. “I promise. I won’t.”

The romantic in you hoped he was right, that this would be worth how difficult it would be, how difficult it would be to look at him over and over again with his past words playing like a broken record stuck on a broken record player in your mind. If he truly did try, then enduring the torturous reminder of the past would be more than worth it because you were pretty certain that if Matthew Tkachuk could figure out how to be everything you knew he could be, he would be the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen. But could he get there? You didn’t know, but sometimes people take risks, people bend until they almost break in search of love, like sunflowers bend towards the sunlight, in search of a new and brighter day.

------

You woke up the next day after breakfast at Matthew’s, after ducking out for a planned series of activities, lunch with a friend, and errands to run. You had tried to fill your day after Matthew’s to give yourself an out if it went poorly and a break from Matthew to process everything if it turned out positive. Part of you was wondering if what had happened was really positive or not, but you felt better today than you had over the last month, able to get out of bed and get the coffee pot started with too much extra effort. The bags under your eyes looked better than they had in weeks.

A knock on your front door, eerily reminiscent of the one you’d delivered on Matthew’s door the day before, brought you and your freshly poured cup of coffee in hand to the door. You opened the door and were greeted with an unfamiliar face with a very familiar expression, one far too cheery for the hour in the day. The smile plastered on her face didn’t falter as she read your name and address off her list to confirm who you were and that she was in the right place. You nodded as confirmation, which just made her smile impossibly wider.

“Great! These are for you then!”

Her voice was somehow worse than the fact that she was downright euphoric before nine in the morning. No one who could be this excited about life before nine could be trusted. She practically shoved a bouquet into your hands, turned on her heels, then seemed to skip down the hallway and out of your building. You shook your head as if to shake off the memory of the world’s cheeriest delivery person from your mind, before turning back into your apartment, kicking the door closed on your way to the kitchen table.

Of course, they were sunflowers. Matthew’s consistency with flowers was never in doubt. You grabbed the card, smiling at the words printed on the small card.

If you don’t hate sunflowers yet, give me a month. You’re going to get so many, you’ll be sick of them. Lunch today? - Matty

You tapped the card in your hand, taking deep steady breathes as you walked over to the counter where your phone was. You were really doing this. You were really giving him a chance to show you he could be better than your downright awful four months full of casual disagreements, fights, and near constant miscommunication had shown you. There were people in your life you didn’t think would approve. No, you knew they wouldn’t approve. That’s why you hadn’t told a single soul about yesterday, but this wasn’t about anyone else. It wasn’t about the opinions they would be bound to have. It wasn’t about what they thought was best. This was you and Matthew and everything that was still there. It wasn’t for other people; relationships never were.

You texted him, accepting his invitation for lunch. He texted back immediately even though it was way too early for him usually. If Matthew had practice at ten, he wasn’t out of bed until a quarter past nine and he lived fifteen minutes from the arena. Your mind wondered if he had been awake, just waiting for your text, but you pushed the thought of side as you headed to take a shower. He wouldn’t get up before nine unless his building was on fire.

Across town, a curly-haired boy who had woken up two hours earlier than he usually did, just to see if the girl he loved had gotten her sunflowers, smiled when he saw her text.

She had gotten them, thankfully. Matthew got to go to practice with a smile on his face, wondering how she’d smiled when she had seen the flowers arrive, and with the knowledge he’d get to see her smile in person after practice. Well, if he played his cards right, he’d probably be able to con a smile or two out of her. He felt damn near giddy, like a kid at a county fair who had too much cotton candy and who has just accidentally won the biggest prize the fair had to offer, even though he hadn’t even come close to winning you back yet. Getting to be around you again was his win, and it was so much more than he thought he would ever get, he could feel like a little kid for the morning if he wanted to.

He could and did feel like a little kid the entire time he waived for you at the restaurant. Matthew arrived fifteen minutes early. Being late had been his specialty the first time around, not necessarily a problem often within itself, but compounded upon everything else Matthew didn’t do then, a list that seemed to grow longer the more he picked apart the past from your point of view, showing up early carried more weight. The shock on your face when you saw him already waiting at the table when the hostess brought you around was proof enough that every effort Matthew made, every single thing he took notice of from the past and changed, would make a difference.

“Hey, how was practice?” you said as you dropped down into the seat opposite him.

Matthew had the smallest sliver of hope that the sunflower dress would have reappeared, but he knew he didn’t deserve that. He didn’t deserve to see you look like you had when he had gotten the opportunity to take you out the first time, to do this right the first time. If he hadn’t screwed everything up with his stubbornness and his general inability to be a boyfriend, he wouldn’t be wishing for that dress right now. He could be in your apartment, holding you, face in your neck, arms around your waist, decompressing from practice and life in general. But he was here, sitting four feet apart, in the middle of a restaurant, knowing he wouldn’t even get to hold your hand on the walk to his car later because you hadn’t even driven together.

“Um, practice was good,” Matthew told you, his mind still running through a seemingly endless list of things he could be doing with you right now if he hadn’t given up before ever really getting in the game. “How was your morning?”

“Good. Didn’t do much since I didn’t have work.”

Matthew nodded, taking a sip of his water before doing what he would need to do over and over again, if he really did want to get the chance to love you to you again. He tried again.

“So, um, how’s your mom doing?” Matthew asked, hands trying to find a resting spot on the table, his lap, somewhere.

“Fine.”

The distance across the table felt wider with each passing second to Matthew, like you were somehow slipping further away from him with each clipped answer you gave. It was painfully obvious that the sunflowers had only gotten you to show up. The magic of them had worn off the second you sat face to face with him and had to claw through all of the emotional shrapnel that was heavy in your chest and in your mind that Matthew had caused to sit across a table from him. Just sitting across the table from him, all you had was your past with him on your mind. You had too much time to think, to remember. Matthew needed to find some way to overcome it, to make you see the him from the present and not the past when you looked at him. It wasn’t going to happen in this restaurant with nothing but time for you to get hopelessly lost in the past.

“Okay, nope,” Matthew sighed, tossing his napkin and menu onto the table. “We’re not doing lunch here.”

“You picked it,” your brows furrowed down in confusion as Matthew stood from the table. “Do you not like see anything you like?”

“I see you,” Matthew slid in with a playful smile on his face and just for a moment, you remembered why it had been so easy to fall for him what felt like a lifetime ago. “But no, this just isn’t working. Let’s get out of here.”

Matthew threw far too much money on the table considering the only thing you had ordered was water, but he felt bad for wasting the wait staff’s time, and started putting on his coat. You slowly rose from your seat to do the same, confusion pulling your brows together. A patented Matthew Tkachuk date was a meal and that was pretty much it. A change of venue mid-date? Multi part dates? Definitely not in his wheelhouse. Especially when you considered you hadn’t even ordered an appetizer yet.

“Where are we going?” you asked him as he gestured for you to lead the two of you out of the restaurant.

“Honestly,” Matthew sighed as he pulled the door open for you, waiting for both of you to exit before continuing, “I don’t really have a plan. That just felt stuffy? Weird? I don’t know. It didn’t feel like us.”

“What does us feel like, Matthew?” you sighed, tucking your hair behind your ear, a nervous habit that would never die and never stop making Matthew want to die since he thought it was the cutest thing he’d ever seen, every single time.

“I know what it used to feel like when it was good,” he told you. “We could talk for hours about anything. We used to be able to anyway. I know it might be awhile before we can do that again, but that wasn’t like the good parts of us and you know it.”

You sighed again, something you knew you would probably be doing a lot as you tried to give Matthew the space to just try, but the part of you, a large part of you, the part couldn’t stand not being the line leader in kindergarten, was screaming at you to do something, anything. Kiss him, which would have been the worst idea you might have ever had, slap him, also not advisable, get in your car and leave, not a great suggestion either. Just something, anything other than just standing in the street, looking at him and remembering how much it all hurt, how much it hurt to love someone who always seemed to have one foot firmly planted somewhere that wasn’t with you.

“Come on. I know a better place,” Matthew told you, pulling you out of your spiraling thoughts before you could fall too deep into them.

It took everything in him not to offer you his hand. He was pretty sure holding your hand might make him cry, which wouldn’t be the best look for him, but he was pretty sure it would feel like heaven. But no pearly gates were going to open for him today. He’d have to settle for standing next to you with the knowledge that maybe heaven did exist after all.

You walked side by side with him as he weaved through the streets of downtown, staying close, but far enough apart so you couldn’t accidentally brush his hand with yours. You stayed in step with him into a nearby coffee shop, the warmer more comfortable atmosphere already sinking into you and Matthew, loosening your shoulders, the tension softening. The restaurant had been cold somehow, harsh, and considering your love for him was pretty frozen in permafrost, this was much better.

“They supposedly, according to Benny, have the best blueberry scones in the city,” Matthew said softly.

“You know me,” you smiled softly.

“Love a good baked good.”

You and Matthew spoke in unison, bringing a laugh over both of you, tension continuing to loosen with each passing moment. Matthew asked you what you wanted and ordered for you, mostly so he could pay without hearing a fight from you about how you didn’t need him to pay for you. You sat down with your scone and your coffee at a table Matthew dwarfed, but he didn’t seem to mind too much as he looked at you.

“So, take two,” he joked. “Is this better by the way? You just didn’t seem happy at all there. It seems like this is more your speed.”

To say you were stunned that he was actually checking on you, trying to tune into your emotions, would be an understatement. He had showed up early and was asking about how you felt, genuinely. His blue eyes, long standing one of your favorite features of his, bounced across your face, trying to take in every micro expression before you could even answer the question.

“Yeah, Matty,” the older nickname sliding out, “this is better.”

“Okay, good,” he smiled softly and this one made its way to his eyes, crinkling them at the corners.

He asked you about work, desperate to catch up on the office drama he had missed. You asked for updates on the team, the things the media would never and could never find out about. He asked about your mom again and you actually told him. Sliding back into old ways, it didn’t feel like your relationship in the coffee shop. It felt like your old friendship. The world felt like it felt when you fell in love with him in secret originally. Matthew was actively listening to you the entire time, something he deeply struggled with because did he ever have the tendency to talk too much, but he was trying. He apologized for cutting you off once to tell his own story and you almost got whiplash when he sank back into his chair and verbally gave you the floor. He was making space for you, fully and honestly, and trying to appreciate you inhabiting the space he was making for you in the conversation and in his life. He talked too much, but there was a peace he found in listening to the best person he had ever had the privilege of knowing tell him stories, tell him about her life like she wanted to give him part of it and god, did he ever want part of your life.

Matthew went home that day and was damn near clinical about the whole thing, breaking apart everything he could remember about how you reacted to what he said, what you seemed to appreciate and what you didn’t. He treated his memories of it all like game tape, reviewing what he considered to be a win after a rough first period showing, looking to areas of success and areas of possible improvement and man, he was finding a lot of areas to improve. He kept getting stuck on your smile, the few true ones in the coffee shop, where you looked like the girl he fell in love with instead of the hollow one he created with his own words. Matthew let himself sit with those moments for a couple of steady breaths. You were worth the effort, he reminded himself again. You were.

The next morning you were thankfully already milling about, halfway through your coffee and halfway through getting dressed when the knock came to your front door. You had a suspicion based on the knock which somehow itself was cheery that you were going to open the door to the same delivery person as yesterday. There she was when your door swung open, ponytail swinging, smile tattooed on her face, unable to fall. This time though, she shoved a bouquet of a dozen red roses into your hands, much to your confusion. You almost asked her if she’d given you the wrong flowers, but she had already vanished who you looked up from the flowers, off to curse the next person with her cheeriness.

When you placed them on your side table next to your sofa, the spot on the kitchen table still inhabited by the sunflowers from the day before, you at least knew she’d given you the right bouquet.

Can’t always get you sunflowers, sweetheart. Got to keep you on your toes. :) - Matty

You immediately pulled your phone out of your pajamas pants pocket and shot off the first thing that crossed your mind to him.

Variety is NOT the spice of life, Tkachuk. Stick to the status quo.

You got a text back shortly after exchanging your comfortable pajama bottoms for the confines of work appropriate pants. You checked your phone seven times on your walk to your car, feeling like a version of yourself you thought you left behind in middle school. You had dealt with unrequited feelings for Matthew so long, fell in love with him in secret, that when you had the chance to love him out loud, you jumped at it and so did he. It might have been the only time you had ever been completely on the same page together. Before that, you had been fast friends, falling into friendship without any effort really by either of you. This was something else. Matthew Tkachuk was putting in more effort than you saw him put into anything besides his career. The effort was making you feel like you should be back in a plaid skirt, shoving a binder into your locker, and whispering about the cute curly-haired boy from your science class, a kid with a crush who had no idea what was yet to come.

But you could only wish you had no idea of what was to come. It had already come, running you over faster than you could ask, your heart shattering under Matthew’s feet due to his carelessness. One sentence from the speech he so carelessly used to break your heart felt like this moment. At best, I think we just had middle school crushes gone off the rails. The amount of times you had fallen in and out of crushes in middle school was too high to even attempt to count. Was what you were feeling just a recurrence, a temporary realignment of the train on the tracks? Was Matthew putting in all this effort for fleeting feelings? Was he right this whole time?

------

Matthew Tkachuk was working against himself with you, fighting the mess he’d made of you and him a month ago. He created the situation that made you build the walls he was trying to surmount with an army of sunflowers and his poor excuse for love. Matthew was good at a few things, hockey, being a pest, and creating chaos. Righting the chaos he made had never been a task that was asked of him before and now, three days after that first day in the coffee shop, he was struggling to figure out where to go from here. He wanted to make the right decision, systematically work through the heartbreak he’d caused, taking leaps each time he saw you until maybe he’d be close enough to wrap you up in his arms and never let you go again. He might have to settle for a baby step today though since you were at work, slammed with a new project from your boss, with no time to see him

He sent you lunch at work instead, from your favorite burger place you always went together. You swore you could have cried when you realized he included both sweet potato fries and regular fries, your mind pulled back to the first time you went together, back when you were just friends.

“Should I get the sweet potato fries or regular?” you asked him.

“Get the sweet potato ones,” Matthew told you, running a hand to push his curls out of his face. “You always get regular fries and complain about how you should’ve gotten sweet potato whenever we all go out to eat together.”

You agreed with his suggestion, letting the conversation fall comfortably back over the two of you as you waited for your food. You hadn’t even realized time had passed when the waitress dropped off your food. Spending time with Matthew melted away stress and your perception of the passage of time, letting you live in the moment, unencumbered by the stressful comings and goings of your day to day life.

The sweet potato fries had been a good choice. They had a honey drizzle on them and you were more than pleased with your selection. But Matthew’s regular potato fries appeared to have some sort of special seasoning on them and you were itching to try one, but Matthew wasn’t big on sharing in general, let alone when it came to food. He saw you staring at them and groaned.

“You’re the worst,” but he flipped his plate around so the fries faced you anyway. “Don’t say I never do things for you.”

“You’re the best friend I’ve ever had, Tkachuk.”

You frequented that same burger joint with him throughout the years of your friendship that came after, and during your short relationship. The burgers you ordered changed, but never the fries. You got sweet potato. Matthew got regular. He let you steal as many of his as you wanted without a single complaint sliding between his lips despite dozens of repeat visits to the restaurant.

In your office, holding a container of sweet potato fries and a container of regular in opposite hands, you thought it was a little ridiculous that french fries were making tears well up in your eyes. He hadn’t forgotten. You shook your head to shake off the desperate thoughts that were swirling, the ones that were tying emotional weight to french fries of all things, and shot him off a quick text to thank him for lunch before getting wrapped back up in your day. You didn’t see his reply text until you had already kicked your heels off at home too many hours later.

Would never forget to get my girl her whole meal :)

Sometimes, love wasn’t big gestures. Oftentimes, it wasn’t even gestures that would make much sense to relay to other people. Two kinds of french fries wasn’t something you could explain to anyone else because it would just seem childish, but you felt cared for. Above all, you felt remembered when you’d opened that bag. You felt like Matthew Tkachuk had seen you almost two years ago in a restaurant and remembered exactly who you were in that moment and still knew who you were today. The french fries would go untold to anyone else, but they made you smile more than the roses on your coffee table when you fell asleep that night.

The next month felt like it happened all at once. There were enough sunflowers to create your own you-pick patch of them, rose and tulips and whatever other kinds of flowers Matthew knew the names of interspersed, just to keep you on your toes. Movies nights at his place, complete with half-burnt, half-unpopped popcorn courtesy of Matthew’s non-existent culinary skills. Nights out, full of laughter and storytelling that made you feel like nothing had ever changed, like you had flipped over an extra month in the calendar, skipping one entirely, the month you’d been apart, and moved on without it. He felt like your friend again, something that had lapsed when you’d started dating. You both tried so hard, arguably too hard, to change your relationship into a romantic one that you didn’t leave space for friendship, booting it out without anything solid to fulfill its previously occupied space. The relationship collapsed without a solid core, the frail coverings of romance too heavy for the hollow center to bear.

Matthew wasn’t perfect by any stretch of the imagination. He still talked over you, parts of his brain running faster than others. He still forgot to talk to you on road trips sometimes. He still forgot your sister’s birthday. He still resisted emotional responses from you, physically pulling back and trying to dodge conversations that would bring discomfort. The gestures were there, hundreds of them in the form of your favorite flowers, but was it enough? Did you truly believe you two were hand in hand, putting the train station of your relationship back together, or was this just an attractive paint job hiding the cracks for a few months until they became exposed again because of time? Was the effort a permanent fixture? Or was it just a passing small town station that Matthew had created to attract you, pulling you into town with the promise of nice accommodations and restaurants always being available, only to abandon them as soon as the train left the station and your life got on without you, leaving you stranded, trapped in a small forgotten town forever?

As you walked into your favorite coffee shop, you cut the line, heading right to the front like you had become accustomed to doing. Matthew had called your order in and paid for it over the phone every work day before you got there since that first day after he sent you lunch. He knew what time you usually got to your favorite shop, and worked it out with the staff that they had your order ready for you now like clockwork every day. You had been able to gain twenty minutes of sleep from it, but you were wondering now if this would all stop if you took him back or not. Really, the coffee order ceasing would be more than fine. Love wasn’t in monetary gestures like this one technically was, but what else would disappear with it? Would Matthew trying to verbally and physically make space for you in his life disappear too? Would him genuinely trying to, even if it’s hard and he’s pretty shitty at it, understand your emotions fade away? Would all the effort fragment into sporadic moments, slowly growing further and further apart until they stopped happening all together and you wasted years of your life giving Matthew Tkachuk your love and not getting enough back?

You didn’t know the answer, which is why you were thrilled you were having dinner with some of your closest, non-Matthew related friends after work. You had been keeping Matthew a bit of a secret. Actually, a complete secret. You knew your friends wouldn’t approve at the start, so you hadn’t told them a thing. They would have told you he didn’t deserve any semblance of a second shot, that the things he had said in the past could never be overwritten by future good actions, that you weren’t supposed to give people who break your heart second chances. But now, you were at a crossroads.

You could give Matthew more time, maintain the status quo until inevitably your heart gave out. You could open your arms to love him again, knowing full well that you would never be one hundred percent sure or not. You could brush him aside, thanking him for his temporary effort that would never be enough for you. Three clear options left you further from a solution than you thought possible. You needed advice. You needed opinions from people who only had stake in you in this relationship. You needed to be more selfish than you knew how to be, so you were passing the task off to your friends.

While they were usually quick to pass judgment, they were silent as you went through every painstaking detail of your past month, starting with that fated text about sunflowers, through every dinner, every movie, every moment until the text you got before you sat down in this chair at dinner with them. You were exhausted by the time you got through everything, emotionally and verbally spent, feeling no closer to your answer. You had hoped retelling everything would pull you in one direction or the other, with no such luck. Your friends, however, weren’t undecided in the slightest.

“So, you’re ending this experiment, right?”

You were shocked, almost spitting out your drink at the harshness of the words that spilled out of your best friend’s mouth. She shrugged off your shocked expression.

“I mean, it was a nice experiment, I guess, but a total waste of your time,” another friend added. “There isn’t any way to prove this is a permanent change and I, for one, will never tell you to take that kind of a risk. You’re too good to put up with a guy who very well could end up not being worth it.”

Your friends were talking a mile a minute, all at you, but really at each other in their bubble of agreement, agreement that Matthew Tkachuk was not worth your time. He could buy you flowers, coffee, as many lunches as he wanted to. He could make promises about listening and trying and making an effort, but he was on trial during it all. He was under a performance review. It was a manufactured situation as far as they were all concerned, entirely unrepresentative of who he would be outside of it. When there wasn’t a close date, a date he could begin to slack off again according to your friends, and you demanded engagement and effort from him every single day without any relief from that pressure, he would fail. He would fail every single time.

How had you not seen that? You created a situation with a time limit, a window in time he would have to be a different person than he was, with a definitive end date. Was anything he had done representative of actual change, or was it just a temporary side step towards being closer to what you needed, only to return back to his original spot when you took him back? There was no way to know if anything he had done over the last month was real or some elaborate farce.

The farce, this charade of a month, it swept the both of you up with returning feelings of seemingly endless longing from when you loved each other in secret. You were pretty sure Matthew had gotten swept up right along with you by the fantasy of fate and love being something unbreakable that would always pull people back together. This effort wasn’t real, even if Matthew believed it was. It was all part of some twisted game fate was playing by telling the both of you that you were meant to be. Two puzzle pieces that aren’t supposed to go together don’t go together, even if one tries to bend their corners until they can. Matthew thought he was cutting corners off, not just bending them, making permanent changes to fit with you, but it would never matter. The picture the two pieces that were you and Matthew created together would never be correct. You were shades of blue, like the sky on a Sunday morning as you remembered it as a child full of wonder, like the ocean, powerful and unstoppable. Matthew was red, like the deepest tones of a fading sunset, like the feeling of sitting by a fireplace on Christmas morning. Both pieces individually were beautiful and important to the larger picture, but they didn’t belong anywhere near each other. There were no transition colors. It was blue and red, black and white. They couldn’t mix. They just had to fit. And you two just didn’t fit. You didn't create a picture together. It was just two pieces trying desperately to create something you couldn't because red was your favorite color and blue was Matthew's and fate was a fucking bitch.

You were crying as you walked into your apartment building and pulled out your phone. You typed out a text that echoed one you’d received two months ago without even meaning to do it.

We need to talk. Come over?

It was identical to the one Matthew had sent before he set all of this in motion and you were about to mirror him even more closely. Before he came over, you had to have your words collected. You knew he would push back, try and argue that your friends didn’t know the two of you, that they didn’t know what you both felt. But feelings were fickle and often told lies and it was telling you and Matthew the same one right now, that this would work if you tried hard enough even though it would just hurt a thousand times worse when the lie became undeniable six months down the road.

You almost didn’t notice the small package on your doorstep, eyes too clouded with tears to successfully unlock your door on the first three tries. You snatched it off the doorstep, a sob breaking through your chest when you realized it was from Matthew, no address on the package, just your name scribbled on the top in his horrendous handwriting. He had dropped this off himself and somehow that made it all feel more heartbreaking in your chest. You shuffled inside, the fourth attempt being the charm today, and tore into the package as you kicked the door shut behind you. The wrapping was even his handiwork, too much tape, not enough but somehow too much paper, and you were ruining it with tears dripping on and staining the paper.

You sat down on the floor, back against your front door. The lid of the box slid off easily and you tossed it aside. You were greeted with a picture of your mother, one you had framed on your front table, mere feet from where you had collapsed on the floor. It was your favorite picture of her, something you had definitely told and retold to Matthew one too many times. You flipped it over in search of some reason for it’s inclusion, finding more of Matthew’s handwriting on the back.

Hey sunflower,

Hope work was good today :) If it wasn’t, I’m sorry and call me and we’ll talk about it. They switched our flights around for this roadie so I’m on a plane right now, but I wanted you to have these before I left.

You told me your mom was a big part of the reason you loved sunflowers and that she had these sunflower earrings you loved growing up, but that they were lost. I saw your mom was wearing them in this picture, so I took it to a jeweler and well, they aren’t the ones your mom wore, but I hope you like them anyway.

I know you probably aren’t ready to hear it from me, feel free to skip to the end if you aren’t, but I love you and the past month has made me realize just how much I do and how stupid I was in the past. I’m going to keep trying to get a little better every single day and maybe, if I try hard enough, I might become someone who deserves you.

- Matty

Your hands shook as you slowly set the picture on the ground next to you and pulled back the tissue paper. Nestled safely in the box were two golden sunflower earrings, delicate golden wire bending to make up their shape. They were identical to the pair your mother had worn almost every single day of every summer of your childhood. Except these were yours. And they were made for you by a boy who loved you who was trying really hard to become a man who loved you and deserved to be loved back by you.

Suddenly, it didn’t matter. Your judgmental friends didn’t matter. Your negative thought spirals that tried to ruin everything good you ever had that was risky because the best things in life were always inherently risky didn’t matter. Fate and whether or not she was on your side or not didn’t matter. Matthew Tkachuk mattered. His effort was real and raw and pure and the most beautiful thing anyone had ever done for you and it mattered. And all Matthew needed for all of his effort to matter was exactly one single act of effort from you. It would have to be a continuous act, a constantly, daily task, but all he needed was your patience with him. And as you sat on the floor, tears staining your cheeks, holding a pair of sunflower earrings you knew Matthew Tkachuk was worth your patience, that he was worth your love, and that you didn’t hate sunflowers at all, not even a little bit.

People weren’t puzzle pieces. You and Matthew Tkachuk didn’t fit together seamlessly to create one image because that’s not how people work. Puzzle pieces are stagnant, fixed, unchangeable. People are supposed to flex and grow and change, be mutable over time, with contact from others. You were blue now, but there was no reason to say throughout your life, from touching other people and their beautiful lives, that you would always be the same shade of blue you were now. Tomorrow, maybe you’d meet the most yellow person you had ever met in your life, and you’d be a little more green for it. Matthew Tkachuk was red and just maybe, purple was supposed to be your favorite color.

You pulled out your phone and deleted six words and two punctuation marks you had typed walking into your apartment building, but never sent. You replaced that text with a picture of the earrings in your lap, and simple red heart emoji because you knew words would fail you and any words that came to you, you wanted to say to his face when he got back from his trip. He texted you back almost instantly, just a simple red heart emoji. Matthew had started the red hearts. When you were friends, he’d send every other color except red. But when when you started dating, he would send a red heart whenever he wanted to kiss you but couldn’t, when he was on the road and wouldn’t see you for a while, when he was across the table from you at dinner with his parents. It was one of your little quirks, little things that neither of you had forgotten, an old habit that never worked its way out of your behavior. You didn’t send red hearts to anyone else anymore, and neither did he. But you sent one to him now.

Matthew Tkachuk sat on a plane that night, wishing he could driven across town fast enough to deserve to get pulled over and kissed you instead of sending you a stupid fucking emoji. He fell asleep that night, letting himself remember what it felt like to kiss you, something he had kept in the back of his mind for the last month because the thought of never being able to do it again made his knees pull up into his chest to try and block off pain that was unfortunately coming from inside himself. But tonight, tonight he let himself remember it, let himself pretend that you were thinking of the same thing, let himself remember what it was all like with you because you wanted to kiss him too. He fell asleep with a smile on his face for the first time in months and woke up the next morning with it too, still thinking about you and getting back home to you to finally get to kiss you again.

------

Matthew didn’t even think twice when his feet touched the tarmac a few days and two road wins later. He knew where he needed to go. He got to his car and tossed his tie into the passenger seat before starting to drive way too fast to your apartment. He didn’t hit a single red light, which made him think about fate again for a brief moment, but then he remembered this wasn’t about her or anyone else. Everything was just about you, you and your love affair with big yellow flowers and hopefully, him again. He took the stairs two at a time after parking incredibly poorly in front of your apartment, but he didn’t care. He just wanted to kiss his best friend, the girl whose heart he broke, the girl that somehow didn’t hate him or sunflowers, the girl that just might love his undeserving self in spite of it all.

He barely got two knocks on your front door before you yanked it open and Matthew could swear he wanted to die. There you were, a lightness in your eyes he hadn’t seen for months returned to you. Your hair was pulled back, the earrings he had made for you on display. His eyes drifted down, taking in the familiar golden chain around your neck, the one that had been missing for two months now, the one that held a small sunflower and the number nineteen at its base. But Matthew Tkachuk swore his heart almost gave out when he saw the familiar white neckline of that damn sunflower dress. You hadn’t worn it in the past two months, unable to take it out of your closet without crying, but you put it on today and it made you smile.

“Hi,” he breathed out.

Driving over with the intent to kiss you was as far as he’d gotten and you in that sunflower dress was making it impossible to think of anything other than that one word he had managed to say.

“Hi,” you breathed back, a genuine smile pulling up the corners of your mouth.

Matthew cleared his throat, letting his eyes close for a second so maybe he could try and think about something other than how you looked right now. He let his head fall back, taking in a deep breath, giving his head a shake in a vain attempt to shake off some nervousness from his mind to clear his thoughts. It worked well enough so one thought could slip through as he let his head fall forward and opened his eyes into your gaze again.

“Do I, um, get another month?” Matthew asked you, his voice timid and frail, on the edge of breaking. “Today is a month.”

You looked up at him, eyes taking him in. The parting of his lips, the happiness that finally reached his beautiful blue eyes, the curls falling on his forehead, the wrinkled game day suit sans tie that you knew was probably crumpled in the passenger seat of his car. He was on a tightrope, ready to fall to either side with your answer. One side was absolute heartbreak, the kind he was pretty sure would taint the concept of love for him for most of this life, and the other was joy and love and happiness and everything he ever wanted. He was ready to fall with your words, giving you all the control to push him to one side or the other.

“No, Matthew,” you told him softly.

Matthew’s face started to fall instantly and he felt like his heart dropped into his stomach where his own body started to eat away at it immediately. The dress, the earrings, the red heart, everything, he thought he had finally broken through to you. More than that, he had thought he finally was loving you in a way you wanted, in a way that you deserved. He thought he finally had enough of the pieces of what you needed, wanted, and liked together in himself to be someone you wanted to give your love to. He knew a month wasn’t a lot of time, but he’d loved for over two years now. He loved you as a friend. He loved you when he thought there were only unrequited feelings. He loved you when he was your lover. He loved you when he broke your heart out of sheer stupidity, when he thought fighting meant you would never work together, that somehow he was wrong to love you. He loved you the entire month he didn’t see you. He loved you this past month he spent desperately trying to show you he could love you through actions, not just in his own head and chest, that he could love you like a partner, like you deserved to be loved.

“You don’t get another month,” you continued, each syllable twisting the knife deeper into Matthew’s chest. “You don’t get another month because you don’t have anything else to prove to me, Matthew.”

Matthew willed his eyes to find yours again, hoping the hope that had just alit itself in his chest wasn’t misguided. You were calm, your eyes steady, keeping contact with his. Matthew almost dared to feel reassured for a moment, like maybe the hope he felt when you said he had nothing left to prove was correct. But if he was wrong, which he so often was in general, but especially with emotions, yours in particular, it would just serve as an additional twist of the knife. When it was already in so deep, did it really matter anymore?

“You’re not on trial. No more tests,” you said to him, letting your love for him you had tried to store away pour out. “I want you, Matthew. I want you and me. I want to see if purple is my favorite color.”

The purple part was beyond Matthew and he made a mental note to ask you about it in a minute, but he needed to kiss you right now. He reached out and you leaned into his touch for the first time in a long time. His hands cupped your face and you rocked up on your toes as he pressed his lips to yours. Your hands came up to rest on his chest as he kissed you so softly, tenderly. He wanted to crush you into him, but that wasn’t what this moment was. This was hopefully the end of the longest period of his life he’d ever have to go without kissing you again. He wasn’t going to rush this, his second chance with the girl who loved him for some reason and sunflowers for much more obvious reasons.

Matthew was slow as he pulled away and tilted his head down to rest his forehead against yours. One of his thumbs shifted to ghost over your lips, his blue eyes staring into yours, but really past your eyes, and into you, seeing you better than anyone else did. He loved you without the rose colored glasses. He saw you and loved you, it had just taken him almost too long to figure out how to show it. It had almost taken him too long to figure out that love wasn’t just something you could feel and ride the feelings to bliss. Love was daily effort, trying and retrying and sometimes he would fail, but it was constantly showing up anyway. Love was hard, but holding your face in his hands, he knew you were worth the effort he planned on putting in every single day for the rest of his life.

“I love you, sunflower,” Matthew whispered, the words left raw and unpolished by how real the feelings he injected into them were.

“I love you too.”

#Matthew Tkachuk #matthew tkachuk imagine #matthew tkachuk fanfic #nhl fanfic #nhl fanfiction #nhl fic #nhl imagine #Hockey Fanfiction #hockey writing #hockey imagine

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fanfic-me-up · 5 years ago

Note

Hiiiiiii can I request Bakugou x fem!reader?? (*≧∀≦*) Maybe he has a crush on you who has a healing quirk and helps recovery girl when it comes to helping the injured, like when class 1-A finishes up training and recovery girl normally sends her to deal with it all the time? She can heal people but it drains her energy so when she finished with it she takes naps on the recovery beds? Idk but thanks!much love❤️❤️❤️

This is a really cute idea! Thank you for requesting 💖

“Shut up and Heal me”

Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x fem!reader

Word Count: 1.5k+

Warnings: Language (what do you expect, it’s Bakugou lol)

Synopsis: You’re a student at U.A. and Recovery Girl’s apprentice healer. When you push pass your limit to heal Bakugou Katsuki, who knew he cared enough to make sure you heal too.

“Wake up, dumbass.”

Your shoulder is shaken, abruptly waking you from your nap. A muscular silhouette takes shape as you pry your eyes open.

“Bakugou? Is that you?” Your voice laced with sleep.

“Nah, it’s Batman.”

You squint your eyes, still half asleep. Is this a dream? Bakugou rolls his eyes at your inability to detect blatant sarcasm.

“‘Course it’s me, dipshit. Get up.”

You check your phone and groan when you find you only got five minutes worth of valuable shut eye.

“You’re here early.”

“Aizawa-sensei let us out early!” Midoriya pipes up. He’s chipper for someone who looks one step away from passing out. Any trace of sleep vanishes when you assess his injuries, asking him a series of questions to confirm where he needs medical attention and if it’s life-threatening. You usher him to Recovery Girl’s office so he can get treated immediately. Typical Midoriya - always going plus ultra even for training exercises.

Bakugou’s no better as you take in the numerous scrapes and bruises raking his body. Despite his beaten-up state, the only open wound is on the right side of his stomach - a small pool of blood seeping through his muscle shirt. He’s been pushing himself much harder in training these past couple weeks and you know it’s the life of a hero, but you’re concerned for him as a healer and as a friend.

“You gonna stare all day or heal me?”

“Sorry, right, uh.. Take off your shirt and get on the bed.”

The words escape before you realize the implication. Bakugou raises an eyebrow before snorting.

“Tch. Weirdo.”

You flush as he takes off his shirt, laying down on the bed. The wound running down his abdomen is not deep, but it is long. It’ll be difficult to heal, but you’re always up for a challenge. You wash your hands before activating your quirk. A glowing aura surrounds your hands, transparent in color, but before you can focus on changing the color to heal Bakugou - a spaced out Kaminari stands before you with his signature thumbs up. Snot is running down his nose and his eyes have this blank look like no one’s home.

“hewwoo?”

“Oi! Dunceface! To your right!”

“wa-whee-whaa?”

That’s Kaminari gibberish for “Where?” Being Recovery Girl’s intern and constantly healing Class 1-A along with other students in the hero course has made you quite familiar with the unusual side effects of overusing one’s quirk. You created a book with translations for Kaminari’s most used gibberish phrases so you can treat him more efficiently. Today, you tried placing his juice box and cookies on the table to the right to see if he can find it himself. But he’s having problems finding what direction is right.

“Your other right, dumbass.” Bakugou growls as Kaminari bends down to look for his juice box under a chair. You giggle as you help him locate his snack before ushering him to one of the recovery beds to take a nap. He knocks out in no time, snoring softly. Bakugou grunts, his hand pressing against the wound on his side.

“Don’t touch, it could get infected.”

“Tch. I know, but look.” He releases his hold to show you the blood dripping down his abdomen. You curse for not healing him sooner when he was clearly a higher priority than Kaminari. How could you forget the number one rule as a healer? There’s no time to beat yourself up for it so you grab a cleaning cloth to wipe away the blood before activating your quirk once again. You close your eyes, focusing your energy into what you’re about to do which is close up a wound. Red swirls behind your eyelids and you focus the color down your body to your hands. You open your eyes to find them glowing a bright, luminescent red - a stark contrast to the dim lighting in the room. Bakugou hisses at the touch; your hands trailing along his abdomen. You look up to apologize when you notice Bakugou’s flushed cheeks, as red as your glowing hands.

“Are you okay? You’re a bit flushed.” You deactivate your quirk in your left hand to touch his forehead. It’s cause for concern if he has a fever due to an open wound, but you’re taken aback when Bakugou swats your hand away.

“I’m fine! Shut up and heal me.” He looks away, but you catch the persistent redness now making its way down his neck. You return to healing the wound. It’s almost closed, but you can feel your energy draining quicker than usual since you didn’t have enough time to recover earlier.

“Hey, you good?”

“Mhm. Al-most… done…” You bite your lip and clench your eyes shut to concentrate the last of your energy into closing the rest of the wound.

“Don’t push it, dumbass.” Bakugou grunts and despite the harsh tone, there’s a tinge of concern underneath.

“Heh.. could say… the same… for..”

You trail off and your hands glow brighter by the second that you can see red behind your eyelids. You feel the wound seal shut and when you open your eyes you see there’s not a scar in sight. This is the first time you were able to completely heal a wound on your own. You smile at your accomplishment.

“You can take your hands off.”

You flush before ripping your hands away. The quick movement gives you a head rush, the room spinning in circles.

“Whoa.” Bakugou grabs you by the shoulders and reverses your position so you’re laying down now.

“My head hurts…”

“No shit,” Bakugou snorts, “What’d I say about pushing?”

“Go beyond... plus… ultra…”

The last thing you hear is Bakugou laughing, a soft smile curling his lips, before your vision goes black.

------------------------------------------------

You wake up to the smell of roasted coffee and cinnabons. Faint voices go back and forth, but you can’t make out what they’re saying. The light streaming in is gone; the room now darker than before. Jeez how long were you out?

“Took you long enough.”

You whip your head to see Bakugou sitting on a chair and nursing a cup of coffee. The bed next to yours is empty. Kaminari must’ve recovered meaning you’ve slept for more than an hour.

“You stayed.”

“Yeah, and? Wanted to make sure you didn’t die ‘cause of me.”

City lights shine bright, and the hustle and bustle outside suggests the city isn’t going to sleep anytime soon. Live music roars from nightclubs and people laughing on the street would entice anyone to join the party. It’s pretty hard to believe Bakugou would stay behind on a Friday night when it’s common knowledge that you need to sleep after overusing your quirk. But here he is, that same strip of red running along his cheeks and nose like he just got a cute little sunburn.

“You like laser tag?” Bakugou asks.

You raise an eyebrow at the random question, shrugging when you answer.

“Never played.”

Bakugou balks, shock written all over his face.

“You never - what kind of person - nevermind. If we hurry, we can make the last round.”

Maybe this time you really were dreaming. You subtly pinch yourself to make sure and nope, this is real life and Bakugou is inviting you to hang out.

“Sounds... fun? But I… um…I’m not really part of your squad…”

You didn’t want to overstep. It seemed like they were a pretty tight-knit group and you’ve never hung out with them outside of school. The fear of ruining their night because you didn’t vibe with them twisted your gut.

“Gimme your phone,” Bakugou says.

Still in a daze, you give him your phone without question. He takes his phone out and not a second later you hear a “ping” from yours, He presses a couple buttons before handing it back to you.

“Congrats, you’re part of the squad.”

You see that you’ve been added to a group chat called “keeping up with the crackheads”. You don’t have time to contemplate exactly what you got thrusted into as Bakugou is grabbing both of your jackets hanging on the coat rack, handing yours and pushing you towards the door.

“I- um.. Thanks… I guess...? Bakugou, what’s going on?”

You’re already halfway down the hallway, everything happening too fast without a clear explanation. Bakugou groans, clearly frustrated that you’re not a mind reader and he has to actually communicate what he’s thinking. He grabs your shoulders, gently shoving your back against the lockers, and planting his hands on either side of you. Being this close to Bakugou makes you feel a familiar flurry of butterflies as you’re caged in and forced to look into those crimson eyes.

“I. Like. You.” He smirks, getting a kick at your flustered state, before leaning away with his hands in his pockets, “And I know you like me too.”

You don’t know what to freak out over first. The fact that Bakugou knows about your crush or that he likes you back. Also, how does he know you like him? You haven’t told anyone about your crush, preferring to keep your cards close to your chest.

“Don’t talk in your sleep if you don’t want me to know how much you wanna run your hands down my ‘chiseled abs’.”

You squeak and cover your face with your hands, too embarrassed at what else you might’ve said in your sleep.

“Chill, dumbass, it’s cute.”

Bakugou rolls his eyes, throwing an arm over your shoulder, leading you to a night full of riveting laser tag, making new friends, and first kisses. 💖

#bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #katsuki bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki #bnha x reader #bakugou katsuki fluff #bnha fluff #bakugo x reader #bakugo katsuki x reader #bakugou katsuki fanfic #bnha #mha #fanfic-me-up #shut up and heal me

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aetheternity · 4 years ago

Text

Hard Pass P5 (Levi x reader)

Synopsis: Levi is forced out of his comfy dorm room and in a strange twist of events right into your arms at a college party.

Levi hadn't remembered a time since he'd began college in which he'd been alone for several hours with zero interruptions. And yet here he'd been slaving over the hot stove in his room since about 10 am and.. nothing.

The weird peace of not being interrupted by Mike's loud greetings coupled with some girl he'd brought back with him. No Hange to talk his ear off about some nonsense and no Erwin and his inability to use his newest pair of bluetooth headphones. It was as sad as it was beautiful.

He'd been trapped deep within his thoughts for so long that he almost missed the barely audible knock at the door.

"..Levi?" Came a distant and unsure sounding voice.

Y/N..

He set the bowl of beef stew he'd prepared down on the table, untying his apron and setting it to the side before carefully walking to the door and opening it slowly. There Y/N stood. Her face flushed like she'd been standing in the freezing cold too long, her eyes red as she looked to Levi.

"Sorry.. I smelled food and.." She wiped her face with the back of her sleeve. "I didn't mean to invite myself."

Levi shook his head. "Come in." He gestured randomly wanting to hit himself in the forehead for his awkwardness but Y/N didn't seem to notice.

Once she'd entered he shut the door behind her, pointing her to the table. "You can have that bowl. It's fresh off the stove." He walked back to the kitchen handing Y/N a spoon from the pack Erwin had given him earlier this morning. He quickly picked out one for himself grabbing a new bowl in the process.

"I-I don't wanna impose.." She tried

Levi frowned as he made himselfa new bowl of stew, "I'm giving it to you, I made too much and Hange and Erwin haven't stopped by all day."

She sat at the table looking dazily at the bowl in front of her. "Thanks Levi.." She muttered, dipping her spoon into the contents with hesitation.

Levi had just as soon fixed himself a new bowl seating himself across from Y/N. Her eyes glistened and she stared into the bowl for almost too long before giving it a taste. Her lips upturning and Levi extinguished a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

"Levi, this is really good." She gave a polite smile.

Levi's eyes widened and his face started to heat. "Th-thank you.."

When she looked away again his eyes trailed back to her. Her eyes were so puffy, her lips bruised a bit as if she'd been biting them. Should he ask? Could he ask? What the hell had happened to her? He needed to know but..

Levi felt his heart scatter over his rib cage and hit the floor and her eyes landed on him again.

"You haven't touched yours.." She remarked

"I-I.."

She dropped the spoon suddenly, placing both hands on her face. "I'm so sorry Levi.." it was muffled.

As much as he really wanted to say literally anything in this moment to further progress the situation into some kind of revelation about her face nothing came to mind. Well.. except the awkward popping of his lips as he opened and closed his mouth to say absolutely nothing.

"No I mean-" She began again to Levi's own slight comfort. "I just.. came here to get away from Jean.. because he's been, just the worst. And I just hate him right now.. I needed to get away and the first person I thought to come to was you."

Levi must have looked surprised because she was quickly shaking her head so fast. "Please know that I don't plan to use you as a sort of scapegoat or something! No! That's not what I want I just.. you make me-" She giggled and Levi could swear her cheeks grew slightly pinker! Or he was imagining he.. could he be??

"Just.. I'm glad you're here." She shrugged quickly, shoveling a mouthful of beef stew down.

"Y-yeah.. yeah. I am.. what happened? I-I mean if you actually wanna say.."

She shook her head and Levi felt his grip on his spoon get sooooo much tighter. "He's just such a jerk.." She shook her head harder as if she was trying to rid her brain of the thought. "He got all weird last night, started a fight with me in front of Connie and Sasha. Sasha tried to break it up and Connie just sat on the floor with his phone tucked between his feet."

Levi stared into his beef stew wanting so badly to say literally anything helpful but words really were failing him today. He soon opted for nodding his head and biting the tip of his spoon.

"None of us got any sleep last night." She continued "I had to get out of there this morning."

A fight huh? Levi already felt as though he knew exactly what it was about. He pushed his elbows onto the table, seeing the remnants of tears starting to refill Y/N's eyes.

"Sleep here.." Levi tried awkwardly

It got her attention though. Had her looking up from her bowl with confusion spread over her innocent features. "Huh?"

Levi exhaled slowly, putting the words together in his head as best as possible. "You need rest. Sleep in my bed for a couple hours."

Y/N practically choked. "I-I can't.."

"2 hours?? I'll wake you up then.."

She looked to Levi then over to his bed with a contemplative sigh. "I-I'll be in the kitchen otherwise.." Levi muttered as a final push.

Eventually a full smile appeared on her lips. "I can't thank you enough Levi. You're so sweet." She stood and Levi's breath caught in his throat as her arms wrapped around his shoulders and then.. her lips were coming down on top of his head.

He felt as though his skin was melting off when she pulled back. "I promise I won't overstay my welcome though. You can kick me out if you think I am."

"I won't" he thought as he stared at her from his seat.

Her boots hit the floor with a soft thunk soon followed by her sweater inching off beautiful shoulders, down her arms and.. Levi looked away but then his curiosity caught him again and he was watching her fold the item and place it on the edge of the bed.

Just relax

It wasn't like he'd never seen a girl take her clothes off. Though maybe Hange didn't quite fit that bill now that he really thought about it. With a soft exhale he felt the tension from his shoulders slowly give and his mind was back on the cooling beef stew in front of him.

He shifted the beef chunks around before taking a cautious bite. Swallowing it down with ease. He'd always loved making this dish, it reminded him of his mom and he'd always pictured her smile when he ate it. But for whatever reason right now he wasn't even slightly focused on the warm meal.

He heard a loud shift across the room, which was probably the third one in a row. And he looked up to hear his name being called. Her voice was so soft, so tender he felt like he'd misheard.

"Come here." She said with an outstretched hand. "Please?"

Levi stood from his spot at the table, pushing the chair in and heading over to her. When he stood in front of her he could see a barely there smile on her face and she blinked up at him before beckoning for him to sit by her legs.

Despite the part of him that was slightly uneasy over being that close he took the spot, boring deep holes into the smooth hard wood.

A couple seconds passed with neither of them saying a word. Then a minute of pure silence flooded the room with uncomfortable reality.

"I hate myself for thinking this way honestly.." She began and Levi twitched. "But I kinda wish I had never dated Jean."

Levi blinked then stole a glance at her. She was staring back and her fingers were intertwined on her stomach.

"I mean.. uggh he's so sweet. Not you sweet but caring and kind and I love that about him. I love him I just.." She let out a harsh breath, sitting up and to Levi's own shock wrapped both arms around his midsection. "I hate him too." She whispered into Levi's neck but he wasn't even registering the words, more focused on trying to breathe.

"Are you ok with this?" She exhaled into his collar.

Levi's fingers dug into the soft bedding, toes curled in his boots, eyes shut tight. He slowly nodded trying his best not to look the way he felt.

"Nooo ok I don't hate him. I hate things about him." She continued "That's normal right? Everyone hates things about people they love."

"Y-yeah." Levi shifted squeezing his legs closer together.

Y/N didn't seem to notice though as she droned on. "How many things though-"

Her hand was moving over his chest. Whether she knew it or not it was slowly cresting over his stomach. Then back up toward his bashing heartbeat. Her leg unabashedly rubbing almost roughly against his.

"Because I hate his attitude and his possessiveness.. but Levi. He was my first serious relationship I can't imagine my life without him.."

Levi's heart dunked. It felt as though it was flopping its way into his small intestine. He peered over at her face where she was rubbing her chin in the crook of his shoulder.

"Why can't it just be simple?"

Levi exhaled, noting how her eyes fluttered when he did so. The way his breath smoothed over her cheeks. And warm scent of her own breath. "I know.. nothing about stuff like this.." He answered honestly

Her body heat pressed slightly firmer into him. "If you did.. would you be simple?" She muttered, pressing her chin back into his collarbone.

"Maybe.."

Why was she so ok with being this close while Levi was practically unconscious inside? She leaned her head against him like she'd done it so many times before. Stared into his eyes and touched his chest.

Her finger came up and he blinked rapidly as she plucked his hair back away from his face. "Well would you love your girlfriend?"

"Y-yes."

"Would you always respect her boundaries?"

"Yeah."

"Would you cling to her? Whine anytime she even breathes around another guy?"

"I.. It might be hard not to immediately be jealous.. but I'd want her to know I trust her."

If it were possible to drown in someone's eyes Levi was doing it right now. For once he knew that what he was seeing wasn't his imagination, her eyes flicking from his own eyes to his lips and back up again.

"You're partially there then." She replied, completely making eye contact again.

"Are you dating Jean again?" Levi asked before his brain had even caught up. "I know Hange said you two might get back together."

She backed away, flopping backwards on the bed. Though her leg remained nuzzled against his. Every bit of his body was screaming for her warmth to return.

She sat herself up on her elbows. "He acts like we are but we aren't."

"What about that kiss?" If he could stop himself from talking he damn sure would.

"Kiss?"

"O-on the balcony.. near the stairs."

Her hands flew to her face. "You say that? Oh god.." He winced as she spoke. "No, Levi.. I'm not.. I mean listen.. He caught me off guard, I wasn't expecting him to do that."

Levi just nodded along.

"I just wish everything was simple.. I wish being with Jean was like being with-"

The pink in her cheeks was unmistakable now. So so very unmistakable. And Levi's heart was definitely almost out of his chest with just how hard and how fast it was beating.

Suddenly every bit of her warmth was disengaging with him. Her legs coming up to curl on the bed as she shifted into a fetal position. Her arm reaching up to yank a pillow over her head. She let out a harsh laugh that made Levi inch away a little.

"Ok! I'm gonna sleep now!" She continued to giggle and Levi took this opportunity to practically yank himself off the bed, heading back to his abandoned bowl of stew.

Though there was definitely no way he was going to eat it now.

~~~~

A barrage of hard knocks sounded that could definitely only be Hange and Levi yanked the door open to allow her and Erwin to assess his room like they were cops.

"She's in here!" Erwin whisper-yelled pointing towards Y/N still curled up now sleeping peacefully with a blanket Levi had put over her.

"You sly dog!" Hange said a bit too loud.

"Shut up."

"Uh?" Erwin gestured

Levi rolled his eyes. "She came to me talking about Jean." He grunted at the mention. "We talked then she fell asleep in my bed."

"And you didn't.." Hange gestured with her hips quickly getting a smack to the shoulder from Erwin.

"Fucking idiot." Levi said with a sigh. "How did you both find out she was here?"

"Connie and Sasha said they couldn't find her and that Jean drove off hours ago and probably wasn't gonna return till later today."

Levi shouldn't have but a sort of pleasant flutter rose in his chest. He almost let his lips upturn catching it way before Erwin and Hange could see.

"Ok.. but why your bed of all places?" Erwin continued to pry.

"She was really tired from last night."

"Yeah she was." Hange guffawed, gestured again getting yet another slap from Erwin. This time she reached out for her shoulder with a wince.

"It wasn't a fun kind of 'last night' Hange." Erwin remarked "So what about this?"

"What about it?"

"Make your move already." He replied

Levi groaned rolling his eyes. "Her heart might only be set on Jean."

"Says the guy who currently has her in his bed." Hange states with a sigh.

Y/N jerked awake when the sound of more loud knocking erupted at Levi's door. Hange quickly moved before anyone else could opening it for a flustered and sleep deprived looking Connie and Sasha.

"Hey!" Sasha called racing across the room.

Hange reached out for Connie's shoulder. "Where does Jean plan on sleeping tonight when he comes back?"

Connie turned. "In our room. We're not all sharing one room but I doubt Y/N's gonna let us hang out for a while."

Once Connie had left earshot Hange turned to Levi with a gigantic smile.

"Shut up already."

"At this point we might as well say nothing Hange." Erwin shrugged with a shake of his head.

Connie sat on the edge of the bed, leaning on Sasha's shoulder as she spoke. "Why'd you come here? Jean left hours ago you could've just slept in your own bed."

"I didn't feel comfortable sleeping in my bed.." She replied, pulling her legs into her chest.

"Just come back tonight. Knowing Jean he'll go to sleep as soon as he gets back to the lodge." Connie replied

"Has he texted you?" Y/N questioned

"No."

"He's driving and he never texts while he's driving."

Y/N nodded feeling a mild pang in her chest as she leaned back on her palms. She slowly blinked the sleep from her eyes with a tiny yawn. Her eyelids soon fluttering open again instantly making contact with Levi who seemed to relax at her soft gaze. She tilted her head with a little smile in his direction.

"Or, maybe you should stay here." Sasha smirked

Y/N snapped her head towards her best friend. "Huh?!"

"What?" Connie blinked at the two girls. Sasha who was now giggling and Y/N who flopped back against the mattress covering her face with both hands.

~~~~

Day seven

"Aren't you bored?"

"No."

"Cold?"

"Extremely.."

"Then why don't you ski with us instead of reading all those boring books?! Can you even properly turn the pages with gloves on?"

"Please go away.."

Levi huffed as Hange kicked her feet back and forth slightly shaking the bench. The sun was slowly starting to diminish for the day and Levi wanted nothing more than to finish this chapter at least. "I'm just keeping you company.. you look lonelier than usual."

"Isn't Moblit skiing today? On his only off day?"

She stared up at the sky, pondering this for a second "Bye Levi!" She said sprinting off.

Levi breathed a sigh of relief, flipping the pages of his book back to where he'd been reading. Easily deemed more difficult with the wool of his dark red gloves.

"Whatcha reading?" The irritating plop of someone seating themselves next to him made him outwardly grit his teeth and he whipped his head over only to completely lose the malice boiling up toward the surface.

She giggled flipping the book in his hand, careful not to lose the page as she did so. "Don't get me wrong Levi." She began, fiddling with her skis. "I know you love books but don't you wanna go skiing at least once while you're up here?"

Levi flipped the book close shaking his head. "Never done it and I'm cold enough sitting here."

She sighed loudly with a little giggle. "I could always teach you." When Levi didn't respond for a few seconds Y/N placed a hand on his shoulder. "Don't worry, I won't let you fall." She winked standing and putting her hand out.

Erwin's advice from their first day here quickly flooded his memory. He stared at her hand with slight confusion and she must have picked up on it cause she retracted it.

"I figured you'd take it." She waved absently with a wild shake of her head. "Come on! One hour. I promise I'll leave you to your books if you hate it."

A bit more contemplation and he nodded. He looked to her as he stood. "So.." He tried

"So?"

"I-"

"Skis! You need skis." She replied awkwardly, pressing her gloved hand against the bridge of her nose. "Sorry.." She grumbled in defeat.

As soon as they'd touched the first bit of fresh powder Levi knew he shouldn't have agreed to this. He flopped around in these awful contraptions before hitting the snow right on his ass. While Y/N tried and failed to surpress a giggle.

"Are you ok?" She heaved, putting both her hands out for him.

This time Levi took them brushing the cold off his backside. "Just fine." He grunted

"You're a beginner so it's ok to struggle." She replied "Maybe you should hold on to me.. you know to be safe.."

When Levi took her arm he felt a burst of currents flowing through every inch of him. Almost too happy for such a normal touch. His foot slipped again and he was quickly glad for her hand that came to steady him.

"Just move with me ok. Skis connecting to stop and spread apart to go." His fingers dug into her jacket and she smiled to him. "Don't be scared ok. I'm gonna do this with you."

"Tch, I'm not scared.."

"Oh? Then I'll bet you'll ace this right off the bat and leave me in the dust."

It was safe to say Levi hated this immediately. The skis slid quickly and the hill they were on only propelled it further. He quickly connected the skis stopping just behind Y/N who'd slipped from his grasp and slowed to a halt turning to look back at him.

"One more time ok?"

He grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest. Cheeks puffed out as he looked at her.

"Please? I'll let you go back to your book after you destroy this hill." She giggled, outstreching her arm.

His gaze softened and he reached a slightly shaky hand out to her. The occasional person raced past them but Y/N kept her gaze on Levi steadily holding his wrist where he was practically jabbing her coat with his fingernails through his gloves.

"That's it." She cooed "You're doing good, not too fast ok."

"Mm." He held her just a little tighter feeling his stomach slowly uncoil.

Without really meaning to he felt the skis slowly start to spread apart and the once really easy, gentle pace quickly became much faster.

"Levi slow down a little.." She warned

He pulled his feet in only to have them slip beneath him at the much quicker speed they were going. He hit the ground hard but didn't stop, dragging Y/N down in his grip. She screamed out Levi's name or so he might have heard but they were practically flying down at this point.

Snow fluttering around them with each tumble and roll. Levi ended up on his back and one of his skis flew off as he grappled around still tumbling with Y/N just behind him. He gasped in air as it flew from his body, coughing and wincing as they continued to fall.

He grunted, reaching out for her with one arm which quickly grabbed her leg to keep her close to him. They hit a snow bank and Levi was quickly recovering his sight just before they both grinded to a halt hitting the bottom of a tree stopping their tumbling.

Y/N was the first to try to sit up instantly crying out. "Ah ah!" She cried "L-Levi.." Came her pained whimpers as she clutched her ankle.

"Your.." He struggled trying his best to properly roll over to her side.

"Levi, I don't think I can get up." She said "You need to go get help.. it's getting dark."

"I can't leave you here.."

"Did you bring your phone?" She tried, blinking over at him.

"No."

"Then you have to go get help while you can still make it."

Levi gritted his teeth but used the tree they were currently resting on to pull his weight up. Helping Y/N to lay her back against the bark. "Which way is it?" He looked down at his feet, wiggling both now skiless shoes around.

When she didn't answer he turned to look at her. Eyes wide as he gazed at her snow covered hair and cheeks. "I-I don't know.."

(Hey Siri, play Ho Hey by The Lumineers)

#levi ackerman #levi imagine #levi x reader #levi ackerman x reader #levi attack on titan #levi #levi fanfiction #aot #snk #attack on titan #shinkegi no kyojin #levi x y/n #levi x you

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theflashdriver · 3 years ago

Text

A Measure of Trust

Knuckles' birthday is on the horizon, Rouge had schemed up a surprise costume party for him. Unfortunately, a certain blue blur has taken much too long in picking out what he's going to wear, and a pink hedgehog has taken notice. Written for Sonamy/Silvaze Week 2021, but for the pirates or the knights prompt? You'll have to read to find out!

---

Despite his usual arrogant antics, Sonic wasn’t without his share of weaknesses, that much he could freely admit. His cool demeanour tended to slip when it came to open bodies of water and he did like to the centre of attention more than he was willing to admit, but neither of those issues were plaguing him today. No, today’s grievances were derived from a two related yet contrasting sources; the need to plan and being forced to wait.

His issue with the latter was more obvious, his pseudonym was the blue blur for a reason after all. Sticking around in one place just wasn’t his style, he had to feel the beat of ever-changing terrain beneath his sole and watch his surrounding rush by so fast that he could scarcely make them out. No matter how much people watching he did, tapping his right foot all the while, hanging around outside the third costume shop they’d visited today wasn’t achieving the same purpose.

A sigh slipped through his lips as he readjusted his grip on the overlarge boxes stacked up to his chin, each of them a different colour and sealed with a bow. He couldn’t blame anyone but himself for his present position… but if he was asked, he’d absolutely point fingers at Rouge, Knuckles and the girl he was presently waiting on. His claim for the echidna was admittedly the lousiest, as this was all happening without his knowledge, but he was the central cause. Having heard that the master emerald’s guardian had never had a birthday party, the bat had seen fit to organise one. The bat’s chosen party type of fancy dress was the hedgehog’s reason to blame the girl currently rummaging through boxes and coat-hangers somewhere behind him, trying to pick out matching costumes.

In truth, Sonic knew that his current circumstance was entirely his own fault. Rouge had passed out the invitations months ago and Tails had literally read the letter to him, just to be sure it wasn’t forgotten. The fox had also reminded him of all this last week but there being seven days till he had to act meant seven more days to put it off. It’d taken Amy’s intervention, a mere half day before the party was set to start, to get him on the right path.

To his credit, while running through station square, Sonic had made a mental note of a hat that seemed to be Knuckles’ style and would make for a good enough gift… but the hedgehog hadn’t given a single thought to his own costume. Apparently being fashionably late and undressed for a surprise costume party was too much of a faux pas. Well, he knew it was but that didn’t mean it hadn’t been destined to happen.

Amy had dragged him out to buy the hat on the spot before insisting that she would help him pick out an outfit. The serious yet excited look on her face had left him unable to come up with a quip or excuse. He supposed he could just have run, just as he could now, but he’d told himself if he showed up late after her offer she’d have a genuine excuse to be mad at him. That was what he’d told himself, but the truth was that his inability to refuse the pink hedgehog was third weakness of his, especially when she’d so plainly planned this out. She’d probably known this was how it’d all play out upon first reading her own invitation.

Her aid had come with a few catches, the first being his status as her luggage caddy for the day; that wasn’t so bad, though he couldn’t help feeling the boxes were meant to weigh him down. It was the other two that were filling his stomach with butterflies; he wasn’t allowed to pick out what he’d be wearing, and he had to stand outside while she picked out all the pieces. He’d stepped into the first costume shop and been overly thoroughly measured before being promptly kicked out. Every garb and accessory she’d brought out since was so thoroughly packaged that he had no chance of guessing what was in store.

He’d tried not to think too about it too much, but boredom had made him laps a handful of times. They were here for his costume, not hers, which implied Amy had already picked out what she was wearing. The moment she’d insisted on her plan he’d known they’d end up matching or contrasting in some way, and that’d only fed his potential embarrassment. The most savoury hypothetical that he’d managed to imagine was that he’d be the knight to her princess, at least the visor of his helmet would hide his embarrassment. With Amy at the reigns though, and all the time she’d had to plan, he really doubted it’d be so simple.

Sonic shut his eyes and leaned harder against the side of the building; just how much longer would she take? They’d been to three different costume shops, three! Whatever she had planned had to be elaborate; he would have picked up whatever was nearest the door and called it a day or wrapped himself in toilet roll and claim to be a mummy.

Amy plainly had a vision for what he was going to wear. Maybe she’d pull something specific from one of those corny romantic movies she liked to watch? Perhaps he’d end up more princely than knightly, dressed in some overly restrictive ensemble? That was what bugged him the most, not something he didn’t like but that it’d keep him from movi-

“I should have known I’d find you here, Big Blue,” He didn’t have to open his eyes to know who’d said that; he fought to make his grimace a grin.

“Long time no see, Rouge,” Sonic said, keeping his eyes shut so as to avoid the smirk that was surely on her face, “I figured you’d have already picked out your outfit, given that you planned this whole shindig.”

“Oh I have, you don’t have to worry about that sugar,” The hedgehog couldn’t help but hear another set of footsteps come to a halt just in front of him, “Why don’t you go stand next to him, Shadow. You two are matching after all.”

At that, Sonic’s eyes snapped open. Rouge nigh perpetual flirtatious gaze was present, as expected, but just left of her was a figure more obscured by boxes than he was. If it wasn’t for the dark quills poking out from both sides of the tower, and the presence of some metal boots, identification would have been impossible. Without warning, the figure stepped directly toward him, clearly unable to tell where it was going. Sonic took a step to the left only for Shadow to fill where he’d been standing.

“I’m glad I left sorting Red’s outfit to Tails, Amy must have predicted I’d have my hands full,” That was a half-truth, Amy and Tails had talked the bat into handing over that job after hearing what she’d schemed for the guardian, “I’ll see you tonight then, assumedly on Amy’s arm?”

The bat slinked off laughing through the automatic doors, only half covering her mouth with her hand. As soon as she was out of view, the blue blur returned to his prior head raised and eyes closed position. That was just a taste of what was to come tonight… at least the birthday boy would get a laugh out of it.

He opened one eye, glancing to his partner in embarrassment. Though the black hedgehog was a natural scowler, but the look on his face was truly tremendous. He was staring into the box in front of his head as though he was willing it to explode. It looked like, at any second, he might just faint beneath his own exhaustion and frustration at this whole situation.

Seeing a silver lining to this dower situation, and an opportunity to distract himself, Sonic opened his mouth, “So, Shad-

“Not a word,” Shadow cut him off, “I’ll be dealing with your nonsense enough later, I’m sure.”

“Aww, come on, I want to guess what you’re going as. Rouge has a sense of humour; it’ll be something like a vampire, right? That way it won’t be hard for you to stay in character,” Sonic teased.

For a moment, icy silence hung in the air. The dark hedgehog’s eyes closed, “I don’t care what she’s picking out.”

“W-Wait, you trusted Rouge to pick your outfit?” After he asked that though, realisation struck him. Trust had nothing to do with it.

“I don’t care,” Shadow flatly insisted.

“That’s what your mouth says, but your face says you didn’t have a choice,” The blue blur smirked, “Amy stopped her from picking Knuckles’ costume for a reason you-

The sound of the automatic doors sliding open, and the footfalls derived from a familiar set of boots cut Sonic off. His blood ran cold as a long box was added as a new peak for the mountain he was carrying. He scarcely managed to see a set of pink ears line up in front of him.

“Alright my darling, that’ll do,” Amy Rose had returned, Amy Rose had finished her creation, “Let’s get you home and try it all on!”

“Alright, let’s do it,” He managed to grin as he poked his head around, locking eyes with the girl in red.

Immediately he was of two halves, the look on her face had split him in twain. She was beaming with excitement; the red on her cheeks, the smile on her muzzle and brightness in her eyes was overbearing. The hedgehog was so plainly happy with what she’d made, so overjoyed that all she’d planned had come together. That happiness struck him to his core and made the waiting worth it, but it also brought him certainty that this outfit would be his undoing.

She only managed to walk a couple of paces, her happiness unyieldingly blunt in her step, when she came to a sudden halt and looked to her left, “Shadow? Is that you?”

The set of legs beneath a mound of boxes gave no response, so Sonic spoke for it, “Rouge is picking his outfit for tonight.”

“Oh, Shadow…” The sympathy in Amy’s voice only lasted for a moment, being quickly replaced by a lecturing tone as she puffed up her cheeks, “Well, after tonight I’m sure you’ll have learned your lesson, just as I’m sure my darling Sonic will.”

Up until her last claim, seeing Amy talk down to the once named ultimate life form had been the highlight of the speedster’s day. Instead, it was just another source of conflicting joy and fear. Like two ships crossing in the night, without another word, Sonic walked past Shadow to catch up with Amy.

He wasn’t used to moving like this, walking slow to keep everything balanced. Usually, the only thing he could see was what was directly in front of him, now he was reliant on Amy to carve him a path through the people walking Station Square. Just looking at her from behind all these boxes, the sight of her red dress and boots, was conjuring more theories. He’d ended up a werehog due to one of Eggman’s schemes, would she make herself red riding hood? Maybe they’d visited so many places because she’d been looking to perfectly recreate that style?

Haphazardly poking his head out from behind the pile, seeing an opening, he rushed forward to walk next to her, “So…”

“So?” She cocked her head, plainly already aware of what he was going to ask but enjoying dragging it out.

“Now that you’ve picked everything out, I get to know what I’ll be dressed as. That was the deal,” He reminded her.

“The deal was that I get to pick out your outfit and you don’t get to know what it is,” She responded, rubbing her chin and pretending to be in deep thought, “I don’t remember saying I had to tell you what it was.”

“So, I can just open the boxes now?” He asked, already knowing the answer.

“Well, I didn’t say that,” A sing song tone had entered her voice, “Besides, do you want to reveal my decision with all these eyes around?” That was a fair point, if he was set to be the nutcracker for an evening, he didn’t much want to pull the outfit out now, “My flat’s just a couple blocks away, after all this, I’m sure you can wait five more minutes.”

“Just five minutes till the embarrassment really starts,” He hummed, being forced in behind her by the passing of a group.

“Don’t you trust me, my darling?” She sounded from ahead.

“Ames, I trust you with my life,” Sonic honestly responded, but he wanted to match her teasing, “But I know not to trust you with the little things, you know you can take advantage of those.”

“Well, if my choice really embarrasses you, we can always swap. I’m sure I’ll look quite dashing in what I’ve picked you out, almost as handsome as you would,” She grinned back at him again and he had to duck behind the boxes, for whatever reason his face felt hot.

“Y-Yeah, well,” He muttered, biting his tongue. The only comebacks the came to mind played similarly to the half compliment she’d just given; he didn’t have the will for that sort of teasing right now.

As a result of his heavy tongue, the remaining walk back to her place was relatively quiet and left him with far too much time for speculation. The elevator trip up to her apartment was even more difficult, being side by side with her meant perpetually catching her excited grin and the dual mirrors in the metal box didn’t much help him avoid it. Amy Rose would never truly hurt him, physically or emotionally, he knew that for sure, but teasing was more than fair game. After all the times he’d jokingly run off and talked about dates, this did rather feel like karma.

He didn’t drag his feet though as they alighted the elevator and took the small walk to her door. The instant it was unlocked however, the scent of flowers just about knocked him from his feet. He’d been in Amy’s flat a handful of times, mostly just to escape the rain or crash for a night, and it never failed to perfectly reflect its inhabitant.

It was as if he’d stepped into valentine’s day as he made his way through the door and into her combined kitchen-dining room; pink, red and white were absolutely everywhere, from the tablecloth to the walls to the painted wooden fixtures. Even in the middle of the table, perfectly pristine and unwilted, sat a large bouquet that contained half a dozen red roses and various pink flowers he couldn’t identify. Admittedly only this room was that overpowering, her living room was far more regular looking, but the space’s first impression was certainly strong.

Finally, Sonic managed to set down the ludicrous pile of boxes on the kitchen table. Quickly, he managed to separate out the round ribboned hatbox that contained his gift for Knuckles and set it aside. A cold sweat swept down his back as he looked upon the four other boxes, he’d been made to carry for so long. While only one of them truly had any heft, Amy had made sure to have them sealed as though they were presents. The serious of difficult to carry shapes this had resulted in were not only difficult to carry but truly gave zero clarity regarding their contents. If he had to guess, he’d say the heaviest box contained shoes, but he didn’t have to wait any longer!

As Sonic reached to undo the first bow however, a single finger came down to hold the knot in place, “Not yet, my darling.”

“Eh?” He looked up only to be met with the pink hedgehog’s bright green eyes, “What’s holding up the show?”

“What you said before hurt me so badly,” Amy pouted, “I need to prove that you can trust me with the silly little things.”

“What’re you getting at Ames?” His bit back a stutter, totally lost about what was on its way.

Bounce still in her step despite the theatrics, the pink hedgehog slipped around the table and into her kitchen. She quickly returned with a pink dishtowel in her hands and a cunning look in her eyes. Immediately Sonic understood her plan and an embarrassed, wiry, smile crept onto his lips.

“I said you don’t get to know what your costume is,” When it became apparent that he didn’t understand her plan, she smiled oh so sweetly, “If your blindfolded, you’ll have to trust me to put your costume on.”

“Really, Ames? I can’t even dress myself?” He snorted, trying to play off her suggestion as a joke.

“Well, considering your usual attire, I’m not sure you know how to,” She only half fought back her laugh, “Have you ever even worn a shirt?”

“I’ve…” His mind went blank as he thought back, “Worn jackets?”

“You never even button them up though. You just sling them over your shoulders and decide that’s good enough, regardless of the weather,” She correctly established, but, rather than cockiness or excitement, a certain sincerity crossed her face, “I want your first view of it to be the full picture, everything put together,” She seemed to be aware of just how foolish this was, but it seemed like she’d planned it too, “There’s not that much to it, just some accessories, it’ll barely take me five minutes.”

Sonic hesitated, feeling his face grow warmer. He’d said no to Amy in embarrassing situations like this countless times, she’d ask for a date and he’d run off and she’d follow, that was the way things worked. Sure, he’d let her catch up in the end and they’d hang out for a while, usually doing something close to what she had planned, but by that time he’d have cooled off and come up with quips. With how late he’d left all this, there was no time or space to run. Unless he truly said no to her, he’d just had to face whatever she’d schemed up. Though he said no to her a lot, it’d never been wholeheartedly.

“At this point, what’s five more minutes,” He sighed, running his hand through his quills, “If it’s really what you want, then fine,” It was just so embarrassing, he had to do something, “No pictures or anything until after I’ve seen it though, alright?”

By the time he’d dared look down her eyes were sparkling like emeralds, enthusiasm had claimed her, “Deal!” She pushed the tablecloth into his gut, practically bouncing, “Put it on and don’t peek, I’ll try to be quick.”

Swallowing his embarrassment, the hedgehog tied the cloth behind his head. For a moment there was silence between them, by the wind on his nose he could tell she was doing something to check he was truly blinded.

Suddenly, a set of hands were on his shoulders, “You’ll need to bend down just a little,” He acquiesced immediately, and her fingers left him, “Now, where to start…”

“The beginning probably,” His nerves had forced a quip loose, he really hoped his muzzle wasn’t as red as it felt.

Her snort, followed by the shifting of boxes, only made that heat worse. Something about her contact, so gentle when she knew she could be so strong, struck a chord deep in his gut. Amy rivalled Knuckles in terms of strength, Sonic had seen her swing her hammer hard enough to behead metallic titans. Having her take control away from him and then so gently ask him for something she could take was just so heart wrenching yet surreal.

Her next contact sent the same static up his spine; she took hold of his right hand, raising it to be more accessible. Her fingers went from loosely locked around his wrist to fiddling with the hem of his glove and soon that garment was fully removed. Soon after, equally gently, a glove made from a thicker material with a wider cuff made its way onto his hand.

Reflexively, Sonic raised his left for easy access only to hear, “Thank you,” Uttered in response.

Trying to guess an outfit from the internal feeling of a single glove was foolish at best but when he closed his fist, he didn’t feel pointed nails. Well, that probably ruled out him going as the werehog. Puzzlement crept into his mind again as she finished with the left hand; the gloves were matching, that was clear.

Before he could think any further, her voice caught his ears, “Turn around.”

He spun on his heel, trying to make the action look cooler than it had any right to be. The hedgehog felt anything but cool however when she stretched over his back, pressing a loose shirt to his back before pulling the sleeves along his arms. It took her a little bit of shifting to fit the holes in its back, likely custom cut in the shop to fit his spines. He managed to keep cool until she moved at his neck, plainly fiddling with the shirt’s collar, before reaching around to do up his buttons. Did there have to be so many of them? This was why he never closed his jackets, it felt so restrictive! He was getting hotter and hotter in the face.

Well, it was a fun excuse to think about. She seemed to hang on the top two sets of buttons for a moment, as if debating closing them, before opting not to. Now with two distinct articles of clothing on, Sonic had no idea what he was set to be, but he felt reasonably confident ruling out that they were going as a knight and a princess. The next garb served to confirm that theory, it was some sort of loose waistcoat that she’d slung over his shoulders like he would a regular jacket.

Things got more confusing with the addition of what felt to be a large belt that was tied around his waist. That wasn’t too bad but then he felt another’s buckle on his shoulder, soon followed by her hand slipping beneath the supposed waistcoat and around his back; for whatever reason, she’d opted to bring that second belt out through one of the spine holes in his back. It was so bizarre, was there something on the belt? He was getting the feeling that he was being dressed as some sort of handsome prince when she reached for his midriff again, looping something new across the belt on his gut.

“A-Are we about done?” His stutter caught him off guard and shut him up.

“Very almost,” She sounded so pleased with herself, but that sound was followed by the dragging of a chair across carpet followed by her hands again arriving on his shoulders, “Sit down, the chair’s just behind you.”

He followed her lead only to then feel her, left hand grazing across her shoulders, walk around to face his front. After a little bit more shuffling he felt her hands in his quills and was relatively confident a crown of some sort was coming. The end result was strange though, he felt something pass between his quills and then heard the familiar sound of fabric knotting. As if that wasn’t a strange enough addition, the touch of her hand on his ear was followed by something cool and metallic being left behind. If he was set to be a prince, it wasn’t like any he could visualise.

“Wait right there, don’t peek, I need to get one last thing!” The excitement had put a tremble into her voice, matched only by the sound of the skip in her step as she rushed past him and through a door.

They hadn’t been exceptionally talkative, but something about the still silence her absence brought perturbed him. Once again, he had been forced into a position of patience. There was a reason he was known as the blue blur and not the azure anchor, stillness like this, unless he was snoozing or distracting himself some other way, just wasn’t his style. Though his face felt cooler, his thoughts were lingering on the various sites she’d made contact across his body. Words like intimate weren’t commonly thought of, let alone used, by the hedgehog, but feeling her fasten button after button couldn’t have been described any other day.

She was just so bouncy and jubilant most of the time, capable of throwing herself at him without a care. Amy Rose wasn’t afraid to use her strength, in moments of need and casual excitement, but her potential for softness always hung beneath those efforts. He’d seen her gently look after Cream and handle flowers with such softness. She was an adventure in and of herself, capable of being so surprising. Maybe that was why, no longer how far or for how long he ran, he’d always let her catch him again, eventually.

Sonic heard the door reopen, but Amy’s pace was bizarrely slow. He could hear the rubbing of fabric and the pad of very slow footsteps. Was she wearing some sort of long dress? That would validate his prince and princess theory, but he really didn’t feel like what he understood of his outfit matched it. The fabric rubbing sounded like some sort of strange flapping, it was as if she was waddling in her rapid approach.

“Here’s the final part of your ensemble, just a little something for you to carry!” She shouted bringing his head to snap, eyes still blind.

“Ames, wha-

He was cut off by a sudden form jumping into his lap, a form that weighted the exact same as Amy Rose but was weirdly textured. Whatever she was wearing, it was covered the entirety of her lower half. Anticipation and contemplation built toward climax as he felt her hands on her shoulders again. The feeling of her wrists sliding beyond the sides of his head absolutely renewed the warmth on his muzzle.

While his vision had been very red, the blindfold had been thin enough that his eyes barely had to adjust. He was greeted by Amy’s green eyes and wide grin first, but his eyes were quickly drawn to her forehead and a seashell headdress. From there his gaze was brought down and came to collide with a loose-fitting red shirt. Its sleeves were long rippling, almost like there were waves in fabric. Just beneath her midriff, he identified the source of her slow movement; made of what looked to be a red plastic material, dotted with sequins, was a fish tail.

As he looked down at himself too, it all clicked. Brown mariners gloves for handling ropes, a loose white shirt, a blue overcoat, buckles and belts and sashes. Sonic reached up, feeling what she’d attached to his ear and put through his quills, he was wearing an earring and an orange bandana. She’d made him pirate and herself a mermaid.

“Do you trust me now?” Mermaid spoke with mocking befitting of his stupidity.

“With my life,” The pirate cheekily grinned back.

“What about with everything else?” She asked, putting on a joking pout.

“Well,” He stuck his tongue out, “I trust you with my outfit at least.”

“I suppose that’s a start,” Amy hummed, “I’ll be trusting you to carry me to Tails’ airship and back here tonight, I’m afraid that walking’s not my strong suit.”

“Well, swimming up to a flying island does sound difficult,” He mock rubbed his chin, in thought.

“And I’ve got just the thing to help you,” She reached across and knocked the top off the last, and heaviest, of the boxes. Hitched on two of her fingers, up came a set of brown, “I figured, unlike everything else, you could handle the shoes,” A grin, more teasing than any prior, claimed her muzzle, “You’re used to those after all.”

He took them from her, matching her expression, “Didn’t want to leave the gloves up to chance though, good call.”

“Well, it’s not every day you let me hold your hand,” She repositioned herself, sliding to rest her shoulder on his, “So, seems like I planned this all pretty well then.”

“I can’t deny it,” He shrugged, more than content. Sure it was all a little tight around the chest, but it could be worse and at least his legs were free.

“I’d love to bask in this more, but we should probably get going, the actual party still needs set up and it seems like Rouge could use the extra hands,” The pink hedgehog leaned up and reached for the table, gathering up the boxes that contained their respective gifts for Knuckles and the keys to her flat.

“Only one set of feet though, apparently,” Sonic joked, shifting to hold her before rising, only to be struck with a realisation, “With us decked out like this, Shadow’s gotta have drawn the short straw.”

“Try not to tease him too much, he’ll be embarrassed enough as it is,” Amy half insisted as she was walked toward the door.

Between her as the arms and him as the legs, they managed to make it out and close the door, “Yeah well, if he’s hit rock bottom then I can’t push him down any lower.”

Their back and forth over how much to tease Shadow didn’t get very far by the time they’d reached the bottom floor. The moment they arrived there though, the talk didn’t stand a chance of surviving; with Amy in his arms, Sonic shot off like a rocket. He tore across pavement, skidding and weaving around people and over roads as if they were nothing.

In a matter of moments they’d reached the city’s edge and then, a further three moments later, they’d ran across enough green grass to sight Tail’s workshop. Above, just visible from this distance, Angel Island was hanging. He couldn’t help thinking that Knucklehead would probably be surprised he’d shown up on time, let alone with a halfway decent gift and a good outfit. It’d be a surprise within the greater surprise.

The hedgehog duo slid into the open door of the massive workshop, finding the scent of oil quickly caught up with them. At the heart of the space stood the overlarge plane that Tails had modified to transport not only the party people but the party goods. The mechanic himself was to the back of the room and looked to have just finished putting on his own costume. It was jokingly low tech compared to his usual work, plainly made from carboard boxes with slap on buttons made from loose junk, but the youngster had made himself into a carboard robot. He’d scarcely be identifiable if it wasn’t for the outfit’s cut face and tail holes.

“Hey Tails,” Sonic called across, getting his attention, “Cool costume!”

“You look so cute!” Amy shouted from his arms.

“Thanks guys,” The youngster beamed before throwing a knowing look, “I see Amy caught up with you.”

“Well, I mean, it looks more like I caught her,” Once the words fell from his mouth, he realised he hadn’t played this whole situation off as well as he’d planned. Instead, he tried to change the subject, “What did you end up picking out for Knuckles?”

“Oh, I just put the finishing touches on it,” He picked up what looked to be a heavy-duty briefcase, flipping it open, “I figured he’d want something cool and practical, something that could double as a proper gift.”

Inside was a set of ornate hand axes, a metal breastplate, a pair of metal shoes and a traditional knight’s helm. The whole get up was admittedly giving Sonic some very strange flashbacks to events he was only half certain were dreamed, but he couldn’t deny that the metalwork looked superb. It was all exactly to Knuckles’ style and, if that perhaps dream was to be believed, it’d look great on-

The sound of fast moment coming to a sudden stop, punctuated by three quick footsteps, pulled the blue blur from his thoughts. That was a sound Sonic knew well and could only associate with one prickly fella. It was finally time to see what the bat had made of him.

“Hey Big Blue, fancy seeing you here on ti-

In an instant, the prior gloating confidence seemed to hitch in Rouge throat as Sonic turned and the two pairs came eye to eye. The blue blur found his counterpart dressed in red and brown, with knotted ropes punctuating leather shoes and gloves. A belt with a golden buckle, a red overcoat with shoulder flares, a tricorn hat and an eyepatch made for a dissimilar yet still much too familiar view. The familiarity was again shoved to the forefront with Rouge, the tail that’d come to replace her legs was black and she’d opted for a pale crop top with a matching shark tooth necklace, but the intent so blatantly matched Amy.

Somehow, just as they’d ended up at the same costume shop, both girls had settled on the same concept to share with their partners who’d waited far too long to pick out an outfit.

“Well,” Rouge blinked, for once entirely deadpan and serious, “Two of us need to change.”

#sonamysilvazeweek2021 #sonamy #sonic the hedgehog #Amy Rose #rouge the bat #shadow the hedgehog #sonic #tails the fox

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pinkrelish · 3 years ago

Text

I Tripped and Fell in Love With You

Chapter Summary: Obito succumbs to his drowning thoughts when faced with the soul-crushing realities of his problems. If he can’t deal with his plethora of issues, who could? Emi takes care of him to the best of her abilities. She may not be able to fix his insecurities, but she can assuage his fears and show him how loved he is.

Chapter: 9/12

Words: 9k

Read: AO3 / FFnet

Chapter 9: Support

Laying back to back, Obito yanked the bed sheets from Emi’s grasp and crossed his arms over his chest to secure his hoard.

“We agreed you would hold me in the mornings,” he stated.

“Yeah, but I wanna be the little spoon right now,” she whined, curling into a ball. Her obnoxious teeth-chattering did not sway the steely man. He shook his head and denied her material comforts.

“You were the little spoon yesterday morning too. It’s my turn. Suck it up.” He wiggled closer, squishing her. The imminent threat of her skin touching the exposed metal below the window on the back door drew nearer.

Groaning, kicking her feet, calling him a baby, tossing and turning. She made a big show of rolling over and snuggling up to the big oaf. At the first contact of her cold nose on his hot back, a content sigh left her mouth and she ran her lips over the mottled skin between his shoulder blades.

The way their bodies fit together when she was the big spoon was imperfect. His too-broad back blocked her view. It forced her cheek to press against his slight muscles, instead of admiring them from afar. Her neck ached at his expanding breaths. Due to their height difference, his butt rested on her thighs. None of it was convenient, but she’d put up with the neck cramps and inability to breathe correctly if it meant Obito felt loved.

Emi used all brain power to channel her just-woken-up strength into her flaccid arm around his middle and crushed him to her small frame. He had let go of the sheets, but she didn’t take them. His warmth was adequate.

Obito fanned his fingers over her hand grazing his stomach and laced them, bringing them up his chest to sit over his heart. The muscle that beat for her.

The moment his eyes opened this morning, anxiety prickled him in itchy sweat. Today would be promising, or rather, he promised much to today. And he wasn’t sure if he could live up to it, and her expectations.

“Let me know when you’re ready to get up,” she said.

He moved her hand up to his parched mouth, sliding her smooth fingernails over his lips. Fidgeting while his brain assaulted him and went blank all at once. He tried to soothe himself by brushing the nails back and forth, back and forth, jamming her knuckles under his chin until his gum stung. The pain. Her touch. Fuck, anything to drown out the terror of his thoughts.

“Just a few more minutes.”

~~~

Dry desert transformed to open flat lands of cracked soil. Greenery interrupted the dirt in patches, starting small, then grew from withered trees to rolling hills, to ancient Redwoods streaking the powder blue sky as it opened for the majestic mountains. Creeks slithered along the road and under bridges where natural waterfalls surged. The van climbed, dipped, and climbed again. Their ears popped.

Deducing a family of baby turtles could’ve beaten them in a race, Emi parked at a fast food restaurant to give the van a break, noting the wisps of smoke coming from the brake pads as she went inside.

“Ow, ow, ow-”

Obito leaned forward to rise from the table just as the door was kicked open and Emi leapt in, hissing, cursing, face full of scorn directed at the two paper cups in her outstretched hands. The dark liquid licked the underside of the lid as she dropped them on the table and waved her hands in the air to cool them off.

“They ran outta the cardboard sleeve things so I just carried them.” She clicked her tongue and shut the door. “That’s what I get for feeling guilty about using their Wi-Fi without buying something.

“So, did you narrow it down?” Emi asked, flopping next to him. Her knee knocked the corner of the table, sending the coffee sloshing; she glared at it to stop, and it did.

Obito made himself look at the screen. Unease twisted his stomach as he read the banner at the top of the webpage. Emi’s laptop had many tabs opened up, explaining as she clicked them; a few were for therapists in Konoha, the others were online only if he felt more comfortable having his sessions over video than in person.

The faces and names blurred.

He was defeated at the very first step, like he knew he would be.

Keeping his hopelessness inside and not in his expression he answered, “No, not really. Uhm.” He blinked, willing the biography of the woman on screen to make sense. It was filled with accolades and spouted many expensive degrees from expensive Universities. At the bottom was her clinic’s email and phone number. “Do I send in an application, or?”

Emi schooled her features from the wry smile tugging at her mouth. “Like a job? No. You contact them over the phone and set up a consultation to see if you’re a good fit for them. They may even have time then and there to talk to you. Or you can email them and set up the call that way.” She put her index finger to the trackpad and moved it to the phone number on the page, pulling his phone beside the laptop. She looked from the phone to the number on the screen, holding for a beat on both, forcing a smile. “Yep, that’s all you do.”

“O-Okay..” Obito’s head swam with the information. Overloaded and all she did was explain two methods of contact. His eyes hurt. His body hurt. His brain was stuck in an endless loop of how that conversation would go; spilling out all his problems in one neat sentence. To which he would be told his issues were out of their skillset and he would be rejected.

He wiped his hands on his pants. Craving the coarse fibers scratching, burning his skin the longer he kept up the motion. Palms red, hoodie damp with sweat.

And Emi sat there. Scrolling on her phone. Eyes alert, lips upturned. Reading her emails. Ignoring him.

“There’s a truck stop across the road that should have showers. I’mma take one and give you some privacy.” She smiled and nodded at his phone. In long, fluid motions she gathered her change of clothes and toiletry bag, humming, merry as all get out.

All the while he was cemented to this wretched spot. Arduous future highlighting his face. The ropey nerves that made up his body dislodged themselves from his limbs, combining themselves into one big knot in his belly. A chant of failure echoed in his head.

Emi said she’d be back soon and left him. Alone. Alone in the van. Parked in the sun, yet the inside was overshadowed. Alone with his thoughts. Alive, yet rendered completely dormant.

~~~

“Oh, babe.” Emi’s wet hair slapped her face as she whipped around and grasped the door to close it behind her. Second guessing, she stopped just before it shut, slowed, and completed the act without noise, letting go of the handle as it locked. She drew the blackout curtain to block the light from the windshield and whispered, “Are you okay?” suspecting he had a migraine.

Wincing at the creaking laminate wood, she stepped over the uneven spots, and saw more tabs open on the laptop. His phone sat in the exact place she left it, untouched.

Crouching to the crumpled man taking up the entire length of the bench seat, all she could see was his dark brown, almost black hair. His hand shielded his eyes from view and his other arm was wrapped around his chest, hugging himself.

“Can I touch you?”

He shook his head. She frowned.

Emi picked up her laptop and crawled under the table, feet on either side of the matte black metal post holding it up. From here, she couldn’t see much else of his face, but she convinced herself her proximity was helping him. At least it comforted her to be at his side. In sickness and in health.

Dimming the screen, she cycled through the new tabs. A few therapists were pulled up, a search for jobs in Konoha, a picture example of a resume, and finally, a listing for a programmer position at Kakashi’s workplace. She closed them all, one by one.

“Can you stay next time?” he asked. His pitiful breath rattled in his chest, hurting Emi’s heart the longer she listened to him try to calm it.

The pieces came together. She was in the wrong. She prioritized her own comfort over his and bailed on him. His pain must’ve been beyond what she imagined if it left him like this. When she had the spare time, she would reflect on what unspoken signals he gave and how she could do better to not miss them. An exam she would study for if it meant he never felt abandoned again.

“You run away a lot.” The hurt in his voice and the stinging accuracy of those little words despite knowing each other for a week served as her wake up call.

“I do,” she admitted. “I’m sorry for dumping all this on you and leaving. We’ll try this another day.”

His clawed fingers left his shoulder where they had been holding on for dear life. He rested them, palm up, along the fabric seat. He kept his face hidden, but offered what he could. Inch by inch, he scooted the limp meat of himself closer to her and further from his body. He extended them slowly. Healed creases along his joints going taut as he stretched them as much as he could. He waited. Two warm fingers crossed his and he curled them in, retreating their hands to the safety of his mess of hair at the crown of his head.

She closed her eyes and offered her silent support as he rode out his panic attack.

~~~

Dragging his hand from his brow, across his damp eyelashes, to his tender cheeks, scrubbing his chapped lips, Obito peered at her for the first time. She flashed the smile he cherished above all others. The medicine he needed.

“Wanna see something?” He looked at her expectantly, but didn’t respond. She woke up the laptop and typed something in with one hand. Shifting her weight on her sore butt cheeks, she slid her palm under the computer and held it up to his eye level. “My application was approved. This is our new apartment.”

His eyes glistened at her choice of wording. Our apartment. Something belonging to him, too. Something they shared.

He flicked his gaze from her glowing jubilance to the slideshow of images on the screen.

Something well above what he could have provided. Something too nice for him to contribute to. Something she earned and he was taking advantage of. His eyes dulled.

“It looks nice.” He fought for more words.

She kept up the conversation for him. “It’s not super close to your apartment, or downtown in general, but I didn’t have many options this time of year.”

The stainless steel appliances, marble counters, hard wood floors. The bright white walls framing a multitude of windows to allow in plenty of sunlight. A balcony decorated in creeping vines interwoven through wrought iron railing and up a brick exterior. It matched the aesthetic of her van to a tee.

“It looks expensive,” he murmured, doing his best attempt at keeping the bitterness at bay.

Emi shut the laptop with a satisfying snap and tossed it on the opposite seat. “Don’t worry about rent. I planned to live there by myself, remember? When you get a job, you can help out, but until then, I’m perfectly happy having you live with me free of charge.”

She couldn’t have quoted Kakashi’s words better if she tried. It was the same deal. Except back then Obito assured him he’d find a job in a week and start paying his half of the rent pronto. How wrong he was.

He lasted one week-one week-as a waiter. His manager was more than gracious to not fire him on the spot after he dumped wine on a well-known woman’s white blouse, and proved more so charitable when Obito showed up late the following three days after. It was when he walked out the back door of the kitchen and never looked back he decided to burn that bridge. What broke him? The hundredth whispered comment about his appearance from snobs who had never experienced a life like his. Who had no empathy. Speaking under their breath with their blue-white teeth about his scarred face. The one in particular that set him off was in reference to “handsome” scars men had in books; ones cutting across from their eyelid to their brow, giving them a ne’er-do-well look, while Obito was just plain unfortunate looking in their eyes. Unfortunate. That was their adjective of choice.

“That reminds me! You never took the money from my wallet.” He blinked, ridding himself of the scenes barging his mind. “The first half of your payment for helping me this week,” she clarified. He let go of her fingers and withdrew into himself, tucking his chin, folding his legs in. His feet had become icicles, the cold of the back doors penetrating his socks. His humid breath filled the pocket of space between his chest and his hoodie. When one embarrassment from his life came up, more soon followed. He didn’t want to go down this road. He needed a distraction.

The curtain swished. Shafts of light illuminated the underneath of the table. Emi stood at the end of it and counted out the cash for him. It didn’t matter how high she counted. The lurking tendrils of dread embraced his self-doubt. Gloom bloomed disappointment. This wasn’t a distraction, it was a knife in his ribs pointing out the glaring differences between him and her. The security in their lifestyles had never been more apparent. Whatever number she she said aloud last was moot; she saw dollar signs, he saw: the rent he owed Kakashi, the bills his owed Kakashi, the grocery money he owed Kakashi, all the times Kakashi fronted him cash for going out, the phone bill four months behind because he could never catch up, and the biggest setback of all, the student debt he hardly chipped at after flunking. The absolute severe evidence he was a failure.

“I saw an ATM at the truck stop. I’ll go with you if you want.” She tapped the money on the table. His silence blended in with the shadows. The shake of his head was heard, not seen. “Want me to do it for you?” He seized his wallet from his pocket and thunked it on the table, telling her his PIN.

~~~

Emi idled at the side door. Looking from it, to him. She was leaving again. But this time it was for a good reason, so it should be fine, right?

“Will you be okay?” her question lodged itself in her throat, cutting out her voice as her worry ebbed in. He wasn’t telling her any of the information that could help her understand him, and what little he did show, so far she dismissed as common anxiety, not registering the full weight of what he was going through.

“I’ll be fine,” came the somber whisper of her destitute boyfriend.

Emi sighed and left.

Reading others was frustrating. Annoying enigmas she’d experienced all her life. People say one thing, but mean another. They tell you they’re fine with a frown and expect you to know they’re not. Though, hypocritically, isn’t that what she did? Blend in by employing their own tactics? Maybe her and Obito weren't so different after all.

Busying her mind, she opened Obito’s cracked pleather wallet and her steps faltered. Her sudden guffaw startled a family of deer chewing on low tree branches. Obito’s brooding face scowled up at her from the clear plastic slot on the side. The expiration date was equally as telling as his outdated look.

The little photo was adorable. So fucking adorable. She held it so close she was going cross-eyed to see all the details of this version of him. His hair draped over his shoulders and covered his right eye in a glorious side part of a bygone era. He was so handsome it was unfair; his prominent brow, his wide nose, his square jaw overtaking his understated cheekbones.

She held the ID to her forehead, smiling at the clouds, downright charmed to see this glimpse into his past.

The facts beside the photo were as expected, but she read them over. Several times.

Name: Uchiha, Obito

Hair: Brown

Eyes: Black

Height: 6’3”

Then she saw his birthday. His birthday! A fact she didn’t know. February tenth, four days before Valentine's day. Oh, she couldn’t wait to spoil him the whole week.

At the ATM, she input his card and PIN. And her momentary bliss was put to an abrupt end. This wasn’t her account, she knew that, but seeing the numbers coated her in a mist of sweat. Her arms hung at her side. She gawked in stark mortification.

The zeros with no leading number in his savings account was to be expected, but the minus sign next to three digits in red in his checking dizzied her mind, scratching at old traumas.

Feeding the bills into the machine at rapid fire pace to appease the negative number, Emi stopped periodically to flatten the ones crimped in her clammy fists. She dug through her wallet for spare change and inserted that too. When she looked up at the sun-faded screen, she squinted at the green number and ripped his card out of the slot, punched the Exit button on the side, and jogged to the van.

Emi crawled under the table to examine the body that had not moved. Obito’s hands were over his eyes again, his face ducked down and his knees drawn in. Shoulders moving in stunted belabored breaths.

The pain. A sharp jerk at her sternum. The imaginary red string attached to their hearts called her to him.

On her hands and knees, she flattened her body against the cool wood under the fabric seat and rested her head near his. The yearning grew as she suppressed the innate urge to hold him. To touch him. To promise she’d fix everything.

Her heart rapped its fist on her ribs. Her lungs collapsed as she fought the need for physical comfort.

At last, the sound of his head moving on the rough fabric. His hair tickling her nose. When he didn’t object, she dove deeper. Filling her dilapidated lungs with his scent, its familiarity relaxing the tension on the chord of anxiety strung in her throat.

“Can I lay with my head in your lap?” he asked.

Both becoming animated at once, Emi scrambled to sit at the edge of the bench while he switched to laying on his back, knees pointing at the ceiling. He clasped his hands over his chest and she guided his head to her thighs.

“Do you mind if I have your bank account info?” she asked, careful to keep her voice neutral. “It’ll be easier to wire you the rest of the money.”

Spreading his fingers, he slapped along the table until he found his phone and logged into his bank app and handed it over to her. Side by side, Emiko entered his information into her app and chewed her lip, contemplating the box where she would input the amount to send him. Blank. Number pad taking up over half of the screen. Her thumbs hovered over her choices.

Fuck it. Impulse decisions were her forte.

She placed the phones down at the exact moment his buzzed from a text. He groaned and held it over his face, blocking most of his expression from her. Except for the piling of wrinkles on his forehead.

“Why did you..” He lowered the phone to search her eyes, of which were looking anywhere but him. “This isn’t what you owe me,” he stated.

She pried the phone from him and placed it next to hers, darkening the screen, briefly noticing their matching backgrounds. Bringing her gaze to her palms circling his cheeks, she asked, “Can I touch you?” He nodded. His positive answer called her to the surface from her own spiral. Losing herself for a moment as her thumb stroked him from nose to ear and her fingers combed his hair back from his scars.

“Money doesn’t solve all problems, but it sure as fuck solves most of them.” Her motions went heavier as her bottom lip trembled. Obito leaned into her nails scratching his scalp, his eyes twitching closed and eyelashes fluttering; his own lips parting in a light moan. These responses mimicked his ones for sexual gratification, but this was fulfilling a different need just as important.

“You didn’t have to give me that much.”

“Do you feel better knowing it’s there? That you don’t have to worry about paying a therapist, buying new clothes, hell, buying a suit for job interviews. Actually buying something that makes you happy when you see it. A new game, a book, whatever.” She angled her face above his. At her finger’s insistence, she made his hair part to the side like his ID photo.

“You mean far too much to me to watch you suffer,” Emi said, voice shaking for unspoken reasons. Cold fingertips prodded his skull. “So, please, just focus on yourself. I’ll take care of the rest.”

“I’m afraid of failing you,” he admitted in a whisper.

“The only way you could fail is by not trying.”

Her thumbs focused their energy at his temples, circling, while her fingers raked as far as they could go. He tilted back into her adoring touches, basking in her light.

His chest rose with a deep breath to ask one of the questions that had plagued him for days, “What happened to you after your husband died?”

Confusion drew her brows together.

He elaborated, “I lost my parents thirteen years ago and you lost your husband only two. Clearly, I’m still a mess. How have you handled it so much better than me?” Her hands stopped moving and she looked to the opposite wall for answers. Obito second guessed his phrasing, not meaning to come off as rude, and opened his mouth to restate his question again when she answered.

“He’d been dead for about half an hour before the paramedics came,” she said, evenly. “I was in the shower when he fell. He’d just come home from grocery shopping. I thought the sound was him dropping something, so I didn’t rush. The paramedics weren’t allowed to announce his death, so they started the process of taking his body to the hospital and that’s when the cops showed up to write up the report. They said I needed to call someone to be there during the process for emotional support, but..”

Emi shut her eyes, inhaled through her wet nose, out her sticky mouth. Her petting through his hair became gentle strokes again. “I had no one. I was no one. I had no job, no friends, no family I could rely on. Definitely no one in Konoha. And I couldn’t drive.

“Since we met, and for sure since we married at twenty, I lost myself. I was never introduced as Emiko. I was introduced as his wife.” She tapped the back of her head on the white wood boards above the bench. “I never made friends of my own, they were always his first. So many times I went to parties with him and overheard people trying to remember my name. For six years, at every group gathering, they never remembered it.

“I didn’t even have my own name.” A tear landed on Obito’s Adam’s apple and dripped to her shorts.

“Anyway,” she said, shaking her head to get back to the point. “I told the cops I didn’t have anyone and they kinda just.. looked at each other. One suggested I call his parents to tell them the news and I think I broke out in hives just at the thought of having to do that, talk on the phone, I mean. Actually-” Emi rolled up the sleeve of her pastel green sweatshirt to show him her forearm, “-I still have some from talking to my client the other day. The one who bought all those baby clothes.”

Obito understood now why she left him earlier. Her apprehensions about talking on the phone were the same as his. The awkwardness, not being able to read physical cues, the static on the line obscuring the vocal ones. He brought her knuckles to her lips and graced her with many kisses of solidarity; in regards to the phone, and feeling like a complete and utter nobody.

“What’d you do after the funeral and all that?”

“Survive, mostly,” she answered bluntly. “I used what money he had in his bank account to pay the rent. I ignored most of the bills. We had started selling vintage clothes a few months before that, so I had some stock on hand to sell online to keep me fed. His parents were too poor after paying for the funeral service to help me.” She added as an aside, “Not that I told them how bad I was doing. They’re very nice people and I wanted them to mourn without worrying about me. I’m extremely lucky my agent saw something in my book and got it in front of important faces right as the money ran out and I couldn’t pay rent another month. I got my van and got the fuck out of Konoha.”

“What about your parents?”

Emi worked her jaw at the mention of them. Her eyes glazed over, hands finding his face to smother her childhood memories in his hair. “They always monopolized my diagnosis into being about them and how much they failed as parents.” Obito winced for her. “Plus, there’s no way in hell I would move back there, even temporarily. Two of my younger brothers still live with them along with my grandmas and all their cats and dogs. Well, the cats are fine, but everything else is so loud and overwhelming. None of the furniture matches. It’s so cramped and-” She stopped, eyes wide. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry for sounding so, so.. ungrateful about my family!”

“Emi, if that’s your experience with your family, then that’s your experience. I’m not hurt by it.”

She nodded, not entirely convinced he was okay with how disconnected she could be from her emotions, so she delved into that topic after settling her hands; one cradling the back of his head, the other on top of his right one on his chest, thumbing over his scars. “I tend to feel things either at zero, or a hundred, with no in between.” She pressed her lips in a fine line. “His death was a zero. By the time I was out of survival mode and could process it, there was no grief left in my body. My family is a zero, too. You, however. You are a hundred.” She beamed at him. It lacked a bit of her natural mirth, but it was a warm ray of hope, nonetheless. “You will always be my hundred.”

Obito sat up. Her admittance should've been disconcerting, but he took it in stride. Her sunshine grew, welcoming him into her arms. Squaring his shoulders to her, cracking his back something fierce, his hair flopped to his forehead and stuck out in disarray, just how she liked it. She was pinned. Under his arms. Under his gaze. His hand dipped the plush cushion alongside her thigh, fingers skirting under the hem of her shorts. The back of her neck was locked in the curve of his elbow as he brought their foreheads together.

His low whisper danced over her lips, inviting her to give in to his tango, “You’ve made it more than clear how much you value me, time and time again. Your love is known. Am I doing the same? Do you know how much I love you?”

Emi willed herself from his intoxicating presence long enough to refuse the knee-jerk, pleasant-as-pie response to tell him yes, he was doing everything perfectly. “I’m lenient because you have a lot to work through with yourself first, but I would like to hear it more often, so it doesn’t feel so one-sided when I gush about you and you don’t do it back.”

“Got it,” he said, nodding, moving her face with his. “I’ll be more verbal with how I’m feeling. Not only when you do things that make me absolutely fall in love with you all over again, but when I’m hurting, so we don’t have misunderstandings.” He tempted her lip with a brush of his. “Like the past hour. You saw I was in pain; I communicated a little too late, but you still did more than I could ask. You sat here with me, took care of me, gave me way more love than I deserved-”

She pulled away to show him her face drooping in mild exasperation. “Stop saying negative things like that.”

He took inventory of her raw disappointment when he regressed to his usual insecure habits. “You’re right.”

“Now that’s a positive thing I like hearing.”

Obito rolled his eyes.

“We’ll tackle therapy another day,” she said to their original conversation, bringing her hands to his front to capture the bunched collar of his hoodie, fisting the fabric. Her chest swelled with deep breaths. Despite her best efforts, tears rimmed her bottom lashes. “B-Because do you know how fucking bad I want what you said last night?” She paused, letting him remember. “I want you to come home to me. I want to take care of you now so we can live that life sooner. Sending you texts while you’re working, meeting up with you for lunch. Seeing you in a suit. Goddammit, Obito. I hate the thought of a regular domestic life, but that's all I want to do with you.

“On the days I’m busy writing, I want to wake up early and make you a lunch to take with you. Stuff it full of little love notes. I want to hear your keys jingle and be waiting at the door to give you a hug because I’ve missed you all day. I want to ask you how work went.” Curling the fabric under her chin, she urged his mouth to hers. “I want to know what it’s like to miss you and go weak in the knees when you walk through the door of our apartment.”

Oxygen left her lungs. She was crushed under his weight. The sheer power of his kisses swelled her red lips. Unsatiated, he opened her mouth with his tongue, tracking down hers for a taste. Ravenous in his need to gorge on her corporeal body to complete his. A glutton lapping up her palpable love. It was only when her whines for air cut through her moans, he stopped to tell her, with words, just how much he wanted her vision.

“Fuck!” he howled at the ceiling. Emi’s kisses trailed over his bobbing throat. His body had changed position to straddle her, his overwhelming force causing her to go feeble under his domination. He hooked his thumbs under her jaw and tipped her head back to observe the wild animal lurking in his eyes. “I want nothing more than to live this boring domestic life with you. I can’t fucking wait for you to text me how much you miss me while I’m at work. Coming home to you, standing behind you while you write your next novel. Massaging your shoulders, running my fingers through your hair. I want it more than anything I’ve ever wanted in my pathetic life.” He cut off her reprimanding with his lips. “I know, I know, no more putting myself down. It slipped out.”

His ass bumped the table. The coffee cups rocked. His feral heat cooled to soft passion. Emi’s phone beeped with an endless amount of emails. He growled, trying to keep them in the moment with heated kisses. The throbbing in his knee increased. A kid in the parking lot screamed. The situation froze over. They kept their lips glued together until the last moment when Obito had to sink to the seat. Rubbing his knee, eyes squeezed shut. He mumbled something about not being able to put much pressure on it after all the surgeries.

Emi picked up her phone to silence it, and instead grimaced. Opening an email, she read over it, and tossed the useless hunk of technology, mouth in a hard slant. Obito kicked his leg up, scarred thumb putting as much pressure on the joint as it could.

“What happened?”

“Besides being blue balled?” she grumbled. “I got my first round of reviews for my second book. Three good, one..” She harrumphed. “Scathing.”

“Can I see?” he asked and she swept a hand at the bearer of bad news. He picked up her phone and read over the email. “Aw, it isn’t that bad. Just the part about what you did to the dragon, and still, you got three good ones.”

Emi gave him a pointed look. Obito raised an eyebrow in challenge, then set the phone down. Right, he reacted the same way yesterday. All these nice comments about him and he still focused on the negative. Such was the human psyche.

She glanced around the van and proposed an opportunity, “Wanna vacation from this vacation? I think we could both use one after today.”

Obito answered in pain, massaging his knee, “God, yes.”

Emi got up. The ice cold cups of coffee taunted her.

“Want me to throw them away?” he asked. She puffed her cheeks, eyeing the place she kept her pots as if she was genuinely considering heating it back up so as to not waste it. “If I’m the one to dump them down the drain, will that ease the blow to your recycling, composting, eco-friendly heart?”

She glared. Then hemmed and hawed. “Yes.” He stood with the table’s assistance and emptied them, crushing them into the recycling instead of the trash. Emi held her tongue, not having the energy to explain that those cups were lined with wax, and thus, couldn’t be recycled. He tried.

Making their way to the front of the van, she opened the map on her phone and scrolled around until she found a lake and selected it for their next adventure.

~~~

The microscopic town consisted of a handful of cabin style buildings framing the two lane dirt road. Emiko stopped at the one labeled All Purpose Store and walked up the bowing, petrified plank steps to an otherwise, modern, fluorescent convenience store. Albeit the advertisements lining the walls were years past date. The yellowed chipped tile also left more to be desired. And the three aisles lined with products were in need of dusting. Still, other patrons besides her were perusing the shelves with backpacks towering over their heads.

Emi looked over the first aide section at the entrance. Pain pills, bandages, sanitary napkins. No condoms. Who had she pissed off in life to be treated this way? Her lower body ached to be filled after that make out session.

They were in national park territory, directly in the path hikers used to exit the mountain range and continue north. Did hikers not have sex? The price tags labeling a few empty shelves happily taunted her. She bent over to read them.

No. Apparently hikers had lots of sex.

She swept through the lacking store for her other needs and stood in the check out line. Her attention was stolen by the two women on the porch. The chipped door remained latched open, allowing their conversation to be overheard by all.

One of the women, wearing a matching purple tracksuit, long blonde hair in a high ponytail argued with the other, who had outgrown pink dyed hair in pigtails jutting out behind her ears. Fingers were pointed, voices were raised.

The one with pink hair snatched the blonde’s hiking pack and upturned it. Out tumbled the last of its contents; a collection of rocks, bouncing and scattering around their other gear.

“See! I knew you were hiding shit!”

The blonde fumbled over the rocks and her words, “T-These are souvenirs! For our time together, you idiot. I’m not getting rid of them.”

The other girl didn't seem bothered by the insult. She pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed. “I know you’re more sentimental than me, but you can’t keep all of them. They’re weighing you down and we need to catch up to the others. We’ve already tossed the other stuff you didn’t need,” she explained, gesturing to the extra pair of hiking boots, a ripped umbrella, and a single, broken trekking pole.

The clerk caught Emi’s attention. “They’ve been out there for hours.”

She snickered, listening to the last of their conversation as he rang up her items.

“Fine, you can keep them, but don’t be surprised when I leave you in the dust.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

“Here you go,” the clerk said. Emi took her reusable bag and gave him, and the women, a smile as she left the store and found Obito in the van.

“Do you drink?” she asked him, holding up the cold six pack.

He regarded the drinks warily. Once upon a time, he drank heavily to gain the confidence to go up to girls at last call before the bar closed, only to get rejected on the spot. Or worse, go home with them and get rejected when they sobered up to his appearance. “On occasion,” he answered tentatively.

“Is this an occasion?”

“Seems like one.”

An occasion to make new memories to override the sad ones.

Emi put them in the fridge and opened a cardboard box from the pantry. Once settled in the driver’s seat, she gave him the other half of a fudgy chocolate brownie decorated in multicolor candy sprinkles. The ones she remembered from her childhood. The ones she bought yesterday as a peace treaty.

Obito stuffed the entire thing in his mouth while she took a delicate bite of the corner of hers.

She stared at him.

He stared back.

He brought his hand to cover his mouth, registering with each bite just how big of a brownie it was. With bulging cheeks, he chewed with his mouth open. Slowly. Teeth sticking. Tongue bogged down until the weight of the confection.

Unblinking eye contact.

Then she snorted at his absurdity. He snorted in return.

They doubled over laughing; laughing until their stomachs hurt and his palm was covered in crumbs as he inhaled down the wrong pipe and coughed.

Emi’s eyes burned with tears of glee. She would love this goof until the end of time.

~~~

They traveled to the furthest corner of the oblong blue shape on the map, passing open semi circles of beach where families parked their cars to camp for the night. Emi slowed, approaching an empty spot. The trees shrouded the sandy bank and the van could block the view from the road, leaving them in their own private oasis.

Lazy waves lapped the shore. Emi ran full charge with a stiff blanket over her head, whipping it in the wind, and settling it on the edge where the grass gave way to sand. Out of the van’s back doors hobbled Obito with the canvas bag full of goodies. He shook his head at her childishness, finding it the most opportune time to rub his hand over his lips. Not to hide his adoring smile for her, no, never; he just had an itch is all.

Emi plopped herself on the blanket and made grabby hands for the bag on Obito’s shoulder. “Want me to put sunscreen on you?”

His mind wandered. The reddening around his ears came too easily. She’d never tire of teasing him. “Can you put some lotion on my back first? The desert really dried out some patches.” He turned around and pulled his shirt over his head, though kept it covering his chest and lower arms. He sat in front of her where she patted the blanket.

Unscrewing the lid, she dipped her fingers in the lotion and rubbed it into the flaky spots of pink skin where scars met the unscarred. Once she was done, she attempted to pop open the sunscreen multiple times, each time her grunts growing in strength, and each time Obito tried to take it from her.

“Whatever!” She handed it to him and he opened it like it was the easiest thing in the entire universe to do. “My hands are all slippery.”

The first application of sunscreen came as a splat as she slapped his back, but her annoyance only made him laugh at her more.

“Time for your chest,” she said after wiping off what was left on her palms around his hips and squirting more on her fingers.

He hesitated. His body went rigid, stunting his movements as he faced her. She motioned for him to take off the shirt, impatiently indicating the sunscreen on her hands was for him.

“Take it off! Take it off!” she chanted at him. He soured his face at her catcalling. But it worked. The short sleeves pooled at his wrist. The fabric hiding his chest fell to his lap. He looked around, scanning the area and the other banks across the lake. “O-bi-to,” she groaned at his pace.

“Sorry, it’s because..” He fiddled with the hem, head hanging to avoid looking at her. “You’ve never seen them in broad daylight like this. Only in the van, at night.”

Emiko’s eyebrows pinched upwards. She ran her knuckles over the coarse black hair covering his arm. Then her sympathy was over. “Obi, I basically pledged my life to you this morning. We’re married in all but name. I’ve had your dick in my mouth and haven’t stopped thinking about it since. I’ve dreamed about it filling me everywhere. I wake up and the first thing I crave is the feel of your skin on mine. When are you going to realize I love you and your body? I think you’re fucking hot.” As she said this, she wrested the shirt from him and tossed it in the sand. She placed her firm palms on his broad shoulders and pushed him, using her weight to keep him down.

The blanket scrunched around his head. The red around his ears had traveled across his nose, down his neck, and flushed the left half of his chest.

“Was that so hard?” she teased, referring to his discarded shirt. Her hungry eyes flicked down to his shorts. “Asked and answered.”

If he had hackles, they would’ve risen. Instead, he narrowed his eyes and chastised her. “Y-You don’t have to be so, so..”

“Attracted to you?”

“Honest, direct, lewd. Pick one,” he hissed.

She smirked when he glared at her. It didn’t matter. She won. She rubbed the sunscreen along his upper chest as it swelled with a deep inhale and exhale as he breathed out his burdens. Namely ones she caused.

“So, what’re these deeper scars? They kinda look like octopus suckers.” She mimicked the sound she thought their tentacles would make if stuck to glass, popping her lips.

He ran his good hand over the tissue covering his lower stomach and ribs, tugging it to expose more near his hip. He scrutinized her as she sat back and watched. There was no more lust-filled drive to persuade her attention elsewhere and pass over the pieces of him he hated the most. She had to see it. And he had to see her. Her face, hands, posture, any feature could give away her gut reaction.

“When you get burns, the infection rate is insanely high,” he explained, sitting up on one elbow. He ran his fingers over one of the scars, a puckered purple circle. Emi copied his movement. She brought her face to it to inspect it. “The nurses have to scrape off the necrotic tissue like clockwork. Day after day, an hour was spent peeling the wet bandages off me to clean the wounds and dress them. Over and over. My skin couldn’t handle it and bubbled up like this in response.”

Her finger stopped tracing. From his missing nipple to his hip were tense knots of calloused flesh. Her eyes, full of pain, looked into his. He wasn’t sure if she saw the same hurt that followed him for the last thirteen years, but all of her softened. She placed a gentle kiss on his forehead and urged him to lay down again, promising to take care of him. Like usual, he had no reason to worry. He was safe.

“That sounds awful. I’m sorry, Obito.”

He shrugged. “Years of pain killers helped.”

Not finding his nonchalance as funny as he did, she didn’t match his smile, choosing to apply more sunscreen to his stomach and arms. He attempted to kick her off when she reached his legs, but she insisted.

Once she was done with him, she tended to her own body where she could reach. Her gaze was far away. A train heading through dark tunnels, seeking the light.

“I can do your back,” Obito offered. Before she could open her mouth in protest, he squeezed sunscreen into his hands and waved them at her, knowing she couldn’t refuse now. “Turn around,” he commanded. She arched an eyebrow in response. The corner of her lips lifted. Did he mean to use his husky voice knowing she couldn’t refuse that, either, while also steering her mind away from the upsetting visuals he painted for her? Perhaps. Was it working a bit too well on him as her round cheeks settled between his legs? Maybe.

Forcing his line of sight to the clouds for a blood-pumping beat, he swayed his instincts to the back of her bikini top and not an inch lower. “So, this is why you have the most bizarre tan lines.” He plucked at the criss-cross of strings. They wound around the center like a spider’s web.

“If you’re done snapping them like a teenage boy discovering a bra for the first time, could you spare the time to put sunscreen under them so my tan doesn’t get worse?” she asked in a sickly sweet voice, twisting her hair over her shoulder and out of the way for him.

“You look for any excuse to tease me and one day you’ll regret it,” he deadpanned. He slid his hands under her bikini, noticing her sharp intake when his fingers lingered near her ribs, closer to the front than need be. He leaned down to her ear, whispering, amused as his breath sent goosebumps down her neck, “Please tell me you got condoms at the store.”

“They were all out.”

He thumped his forehead on the meat of her shoulder. “I’m begging you to take us to a normal grocery store in a normal city tomorrow.”

“You have my word.”

~~~

After a dip in the ice cold lake, the two of them sprawled out on the blanket in the sun. Obito chose to remain face down after adjusting himself. Emi blindly searched the bag behind her head.

Tss. The sound of a can opening, then another. She passed one to him, clinking the metal together as a “cheers.” He sipped; she sat up to down hers, and laid back with her book in hand.

“I love this,” Obito said. Out here, on a vacation after another disastrous day of his life. Exhausted from all emotions except one. The spark he felt watching Emi crack open the dusty tome he picked from the top shelf at the bookstore for her. Days ago, yet it felt like a distant memory. Back then, he only wanted to know her name.

“Hm?”

“You’re reading the book you bought when we met.”

Emi closed it to read the cover and giggled. She held the book above her, blocking the sun from the gentle curl of her lips. When their eyes met, the same instant crush feeling radiated between them. He was horrible at flirting, and she was a heavy romantic. If he could go back in time, he’d show her from the get go just how crazy he was about her. Fixing little things like being too scared to hold her hand; how stupid he was to refuse to open up. Hours were wasted battling his self-esteem.

Who knows, maybe they would’ve gone through an entire box of condoms by now if he just stopped being such an idiot.

..How many condoms come in a box?

“Obi?”

“What?”

She clicked a pen on her forehead and scribbled a note in the margins of her book. “I asked if wanted to cuddle with me. I’m cold.”

Oh, yes, he could see the evidence of that.

He tightened his hands around his folded arms and tucked his nose into the safe crook of his elbow, hiding his blush. “I can’t.”

“Whaddya mean you can’t?” she asked. “Your girlfriend is cold and demands your body heat.”

Only his unamused eyes were visible. “I’m having.. a problem.” He returned to the protection of his arms as soon as she opened her mouth. He knew it was coming.

“A problem I could help you with?”

He groaned.

“Tell me,” she continued. The sound of the pen underlining something in her book drew out the silence. “How does a man who said, only yesterday, mind you, that Depression killed his libido, have a breakdown this morning and is already horny by noon?”

“I don’t control it!” he huffed, scrambling up and to the van.

Birds cawed as her mad cackle reached the trees.

The world went dark. Her laughter ceased. The forest quieted.

She groped at the lump of faded black fabric smashing the pages of the book to her face.

“Wear my hoodie and shut up.”

~~~

Emi laid on her stomach facing the water, her feet kicking in the air, and her book opened before her. She giggled at a piece of dialogue and flipped the page.

“Something funny?” Obito asked, splashing water with each step. He cupped his hands around an object.

“Well, not really. He’s being thrown in jail, but his banter with the guard is pretty witty.”

Emi whined and pulled the book to her chest. Obito’s dripping self threatened to rain on her possession. Disregarding her cries regarding paper products and their poor resilience to water, he crouched down and placed the object where the book once was.

“Pretty neat, right?”

“A rock?”

“It’s so polished,” he said, poking at it with his fingertip. “And look at the veins of green. It’s like lava, the way it flows through it.” His childlike glee diminished some when he saw her knitted brows. “We don’t have to keep it, I was just showin’’ you.” He picked it up after rubbing the back of his neck. She snatched his wrist.

“No,” her tone was stern. “We’ll keep it. It’ll go in our apartment. Our first decoration.”

“Our apartment.” His smile stretched. “I love when you say that.”

“I’ll put it somewhere safe,” she offered, taking it from him and climbing in the van.

While she was gone, Obito opened the book to the page she was on, grabbing the pen from rolling out. He wasn’t sure yesterday, but now he knew the chicken scratch next to the photos in her Textbook of Emotions belonged to her. Loopy, fat font. Hardly legible. A few missing letters here and there as she rushed to complete a sentence.

He ran his fingers over the words, feeling the trenches she wore with her heavy hand. The scrawl was hers, so he retained each unique curve and flow, committing it to memory.

Keeping her place with his thumb, he flipped to the first page, and wrote something for her to discover later.

~~~

Bright streaks of color warmed the sky. The sunset flamed the lovebird’s cheek as they huddled in the picnic blanket.

Six empty cans sat crushed in the canvas bag. Emi laid on her back with one of Obito’s arms wrapped under her neck, his fingers twirling the tassels of the blanket. He mumbled gibberish about the feel of the twisted rope between his fingers feeling like her hair. She peeled her wet cheek off his. Sweat, lake water, or his drool, she’d rather not know.

“Man, you cannot handle your alcohol,” she said, buzzed at best. He hummed and snuggled the column of her neck. “And I saw those crumbs on your lips.” She sighed and dusted off the remnants of his sandwich for him as he disappeared from view. “Can I ask you something, Mr. Handsome?”

He did his best to respond with words, but it came out as a grunt. He slipped his hand under his hoodie that she was wearing. Once again, not for sexual gratification, but because, as he put it, “his nerves were electrified,” and he wanted to touch her skin.

“What’s the deep scar on your lip from? The one that makes you look extra pouty. It doesn’t really match your burns.”

“I got hit with a basketball to the face when I was a kid,” he mumbled, nearly incoherent. “Stitches.”

“Oh my God, that’s hilarious. And precious.”

Lazily, he kissed her cheek. “I love making you happy.”

Whether he registered she was happy because she was making fun of him or not, she captured his lips before he rejoined the fluffy folds of the hood he scrunched at her shoulder as a make-do pillow. “I love making you happy too, cutie.”

Obito’s grip crushed her against his body. His too-large hand tangled in her hair. He trailed hot fingers up her spine. His nose found her neck to replace the oxygen in his lungs with her scent. Neither played their role as big or little spoon. They faced each other, fitting together imperfectly perfect.

#obito #obito uchiha #obito x oc #obito x reader #naruto #naruto fanfic

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