#sorry that the letters are covering dimple

[wannabehockeygf]

State of Grace | Clayton Keller

"We are alone with our changing minds, We fall in love 'til it hurts or bleeds, or fades in time, And I never, Saw you coming And I'll never, Be the same."

*** request: "☁️ (fluff) w keller inspired by the song state of grace by taylor swift" summary: same people, seven years of distance... word count: 9.2k pairing: clayton keller x fem!reader warnings: public drinking/alcohol, pda (kissing, making out), very very slight sexual innuendo notes: - tbh this isn't my best work. but I worked hard on it and didn't want to scrap it so I hope you like it ! - this is def giving slightly cocky more confident flirty clayton... but i will probably make him a lot softer and sweeter in the future. just felt like doing him this way this time. - also, I have 2 more keller requests. so if u requested him and this wasn't ur request they are coming. - I have never been to salt lake city. apologies if I completely slandered it. - red is my fav ts album, just felt like I should mention. ***

You never thought you'd see Clayton Keller again.

He was supposed to be a chapter you’d closed long ago—one you’d shoved into the back of your mental bookshelf, never to be opened again. You had plans, big ones, bigger than the swoon of your teenage heart. You had meticulously plotted your path to Boston University, intent on becoming a sharp, hard-hitting journalist. You could see it now: your name, printed in bold letters, beneath a thought-provoking headline in The New York Times.

But then he came. His blue eyes locked with yours, his stupidly perfect hair falling just right, those dimples of his flashing at you like some cruel joke. You didn’t stand a chance. The kind of falling you did for him wasn’t cute or accidental—it was more like falling flat on your face in front of a crowd. Painful, embarrassing, and lingering.

He was your first everything. And you gave him everything—not a piece of you left unshared, unexposed. It felt romantic at the time, but looking back, it was more like you emptied your entire emotional bank account and let him walk off with the cash. Seven years ago, when he told you he was moving to Phoenix and that you two should “see other people,” you didn’t buy his polite words. What he meant was that he wanted to be young and free, without the burden of a long-distance girlfriend dragging behind him.

“Wait, wha–”

You never even finished your sentence. The door had slammed behind him before the rest of your thought caught up to your lips.

That was then. Seven long years had passed, and you were standing in a press area in Salt Lake City, feeling like all your well-laid plans had been thrown into a blender. You weren't in New York writing world-changing pieces for a big-name paper. You were pushing through a horde of sweaty, exhausted journalists, armed with a press badge that read "Utah Hockey Club"—a new team you hadn’t even thought much about until you got the assignment. You’d taken this job because, well, rent. Plus, there’s something humiliating yet poetic about going from wanting to change the world to covering idiotic brutes who give two-word answers between mouthfuls of Gatorade.

The Delta Center hummed with the energy of a big game, the walls vibrating with the echo of shoes shuffling, cameras clicking, and reporters murmuring amongst themselves. The fluorescent lighting overhead gave the place a washed-out look, amplifying the wrinkles in everyone’s faces. Hockey’s a fast-paced game, but the post-game press scrum felt like watching paint dry. You pushed forward, determined to at least pretend you were thriving in this moment.

“Excuse me, sorry—coming through!” You elbowed your way to the front, probably earning a few disgruntled glares. But at least you’d get the scoop firsthand, even if it was on some sweaty player who would grunt a few words before retreating to the locker room.

The door on the far side swung open, and the team’s PR person stepped aside as the hero of the night walked out. You barely had time to register who it was before the sea of reporters parted slightly, and there, standing in front of you, was Clayton Keller.

No fucking way.

Of all the faces you expected to see tonight—sweaty athletes, fellow journalists, maybe a stray beer vendor—his was not one of them. And yet, there he was, stepping out like a ghost from your past. Clayton Keller, in the flesh. For a moment, the crowded press room shrunk, the shuffling reporters and camera flashes dimming into the background as your gaze locked with his. His eyes widened, a flicker of recognition crossing his face, but neither of you said a word. It was like being hit by a rogue puck, stunning you into stillness.

Clayton freakin' Keller? You blinked rapidly, trying to process the cosmic joke unfolding before you. How did you not know he was playing for this team? You’d been on autopilot since you accepted this job, barely caring who laced up their skates for Utah as long as you got a paycheck at the end of the week. And now, standing mere feet away from you, was the boy—no, the man—you’d once mapped out a future with in your mind. The same guy who had practically evaporated from your life with nothing more than a mumbled excuse and a slammed door.

Your thoughts were a jumbled mess, racing like they were being chased down the ice. Part of you wanted to turn around and melt into the crowd, become invisible like you had all those years ago. But the other part, the journalist, the professional, forced you to stay rooted in place. You had a job to do. You had moved on. You were fine.

Except you weren't.

The lights in the room seemed harsher now, bouncing off his ridiculous helmet hair—seriously, how did it still look that good after a game? He looked annoyingly fit in his compression shirt, like a real-life action figure, and it felt unfair. You, on the other hand, were wearing the same tired blazer from two seasons ago, still trying to convince yourself it was "timeless."

The pit in your stomach deepened as Clayton’s eyes bore into yours, his mouth tugging into a half-smile that sent a wave of heat rushing to your face. That stupid smile. You’d seen it a thousand times when you were together—playful, slightly cocky, but never without charm. You hated that your body still reacted to it like this, even after all these years.

Don’t smile back. For the love of God, don’t smile back.

Too late. Your lips betrayed you, quirking up before you could stop them.

Suddenly, the PR person began talking, but you didn’t catch a word. You were too busy trying to remember how to breathe. The room seemed to shift back into focus, the noise returning as questions were fired off at him—none of which you could hear through the roaring in your head. Your fingers clenched around your press badge as you watched Clayton respond to the reporters, his voice low and steady. You didn’t need to hear what he was saying. His presence alone was enough to throw you into a tailspin.

What does he think? Your mind raced with a hundred possibilities. Was he surprised? Regretful? Did he even remember how you left things? Of course, he does. You’ve never quite forgiven yourself for the way you let him walk out without a fight. And now, here he was, larger than life, as if fate had decided to throw you together just for kicks.

The press scrum started to disband, the tension loosening as the cameras lowered and the reporters shifted toward the exit. You should’ve done the same—should’ve grabbed your recorder and escaped with what little dignity you had left. But your feet refused to move. And then, suddenly, neither did his. Clayton looked right at you. The air around you crackled, thick with unspoken words, neither of you daring to break the silence.

Before you could decide whether to run or speak, he was walking toward you. Your breath hitched, every nerve in your body buzzing. The gap between you felt like miles and inches all at once. Each step he took seemed to echo in your chest, like the beat of a drum getting louder, faster.

He stopped just in front of you, close enough that you could smell the faint hint of sweat and Gatorade. The grin had faded from his face, replaced by something unreadable—soft, curious, maybe even a little sheepish.

“Hey,” he said, his voice quiet, like he wasn’t sure how to start.

Hey? That was it? After all these years, after everything, and all he had was a “hey”?

Your mind screamed a million things at once, none of them appropriate for public spaces. But what came out of your mouth was... “Hi.”

Nailed it.

The awkward silence stretched between you, both of you clearly unsure of how to navigate this weird, tension-filled reunion. It was like standing at the edge of a frozen lake, knowing one wrong move could send you crashing through the ice.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to focus. “So... you play for Utah now?” Wow, groundbreaking journalism. Really killing it.

“Yeah,” he said, a hint of a smile creeping back onto his face. “I do. Yotes are no more. Guess I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“I could say the same.” Your voice wobbled, betraying the chaos in your chest. You weren’t sure if you were more mad at him or yourself. For not seeing this coming. For caring. For still feeling something after all these years.

His eyes softened, as if he could read your thoughts. “It’s been a while, huh?”

Seven years. Seven long, winding, confusing years, filled with everything you thought would erase him but never quite could.

“Yeah,” you whispered, swallowing down the lump in your throat. “It has.”

Another pause, thicker this time. You weren’t sure where to go from here. He didn’t either. But here you were, both stranded in this moment, waiting for something to break the ice—or for the floor to swallow you whole.

He rubbed the back of his neck, a nervous habit you’d forgotten about but instantly recognized. “Maybe we could... catch up sometime? After all this?”

Your heart skipped. There it was—the opening, the question that could send you spiraling back into something you weren’t sure you could handle. You should say no. You should walk away, hold your head high, and leave him standing in the echo of his own question. But, of course, that’s not what happened.

“Yeah,” you found yourself saying. “I’d like that.”

What was wrong with you? This was the exact opposite of moving on. But standing there, with Clayton looking at you like no time had passed, like maybe you were both still the same people you’d been before everything fell apart... how could you resist?

*** It had been a few days since the interview, and you were still trying to wrap your head around the surreal fact that Clayton Keller, that Clayton Keller, was back in your life. You'd both exchanged numbers after that painfully awkward conversation, the kind where every word felt like walking on eggshells and every pause seemed to echo louder than it should. A part of you hoped he’d never use it—let the number sit in his phone, untouched, like some relic of a past better left buried. Another part of you, though… well, that part was curious.

So when your phone lit up late one night, your stomach did a little flip when you saw his name. FaceTime. Of course, it was FaceTime. He’d always preferred that over a regular call—something about needing to see your face when he talked, like the words didn’t count unless he could watch them land.

You hesitated for a split second, staring at the screen. What could he possibly want? At this hour? A thousand scenarios played out in your mind, but you knew you’d overthink yourself into oblivion if you didn’t answer. So, with a quick swipe of your thumb, you connected the call.

And there he was.

Clayton, shirtless, lying in what looked like a messy bed with white sheets, his hair damp and tousled, the way it always looked after a shower. His chest rose and fell slowly, like he’d just finished a long day of skating and was too tired to care that he looked half-dead. The dim glow of the bedside lamp cast soft shadows on his face, making his eyes look even bluer than you remembered. He looked exhausted, but somehow still infuriatingly good.

“Hey,” he breathed, his voice a little hoarse.

You blinked, trying to process the sight of him. "Hey," you managed to say back, though it came out softer than you intended, like your voice wasn’t quite ready to handle the weight of this unexpected late-night call.

For a moment, neither of you said anything. He just stared at the screen, blinking slowly, his lips quirking into a lazy smile like this was totally normal, like you weren’t both swimming in a sea of unresolved feelings and unspoken words. His half-smirk sent an unwelcome rush of heat to your face, and you cursed your body for still reacting to him like this.

“I, uh… didn’t wake you, did I?” Clayton asked, his tone casual, but there was something in his expression that felt… tentative. Like he wasn’t sure if he was crossing a line by calling, but had decided to do it anyway.

You shook your head, the corner of your mouth lifting in a small smile. “No, I was just… working on something.” Which was technically true, if by ‘working on something’ you meant binge-watching Netflix in your sweats and trying not to think about him.

“Good,” he said, sighing like he was relieved. He stretched his arm behind his head, his bicep flexing a little, and you tried—tried—not to stare. But come on, the guy was practically a walking thirst trap, even when he wasn’t trying. “I figured it was late, but…” His voice trailed off, and he rubbed the back of his neck, a familiar gesture that tugged at something deep inside you. “I don’t know, I wanted to talk to you.”

That admission hung in the air for a second, and you weren’t sure how to respond. He wanted to talk to you? After all these years? After everything? Part of you wanted to ask why. What did he think he’d get out of this conversation? Closure? Redemption? Or was he just bored in his bedroom, flicking through his contacts until he landed on a name that felt familiar?

Instead, you settled for a simple, “What’s up?” You hoped your voice sounded more casual than your heart felt, which was currently doing cartwheels in your chest.

Clayton shifted on the bed, the sheets rustling softly under him. “I’ve been thinking about… you know… us.” His eyes flickered away from the screen for a moment, like he wasn’t ready to face the weight of that statement. “I mean, it’s been a long time, right? Since we’ve, like, actually talked.”

You nodded, feeling a lump form in your throat. “Yeah, it has.” The understatement of the century. Seven years wasn’t just a long time—it was practically another lifetime. And yet, here you were, talking to him like no time had passed, like the years between you had folded in on themselves.

He let out a soft laugh, one that sounded more self-deprecating than amused. “So, uh… what have you been up to? I mean, other than, you know, writing and all that.”

You let out a short breath, trying to figure out how to distill the chaos of your life into something that didn’t sound pathetic. “Well, I’m not exactly where I thought I’d be,” you admitted, leaning back into your pillows. “Thought I’d be in New York by now, writing Pulitzer-worthy exposés. But, surprise—here I am, covering hockey in Salt Lake City.”

You watched as Clayton processed your words, his expression softening, a faint smile playing on his lips. His gaze never left yours, even through the screen, and for a moment, you felt that old, familiar connection stirring inside you, the one you thought you’d buried beneath years of moving on—or at least pretending to. He shifted slightly, propping himself up on one elbow, his movements slow and languid like he wasn’t in any rush to end this conversation.

“I noticed,” he mused, his voice low and scratchy, as if he hadn’t spoken in hours. “Never would’ve pegged you for a Utah girl.”

You tilted your head slightly, trying to ignore the way his gaze lingered on you through the screen. His words floated in the air like an awkward icebreaker at a high school reunion—too familiar, too uncomfortable, and yet, impossible to avoid. Covering hockey in Salt Lake City. How had that become your life?

"Salt Lake's... different, you know?" you finally added, giving a small shrug like it wasn't a big deal, even though you felt that weird tightness in your chest whenever you thought about how your career hadn't exactly gone according to plan. "I mean, I didn’t expect to be here either, but hey, life happens, right?”

Clayton’s blue eyes narrowed, his lips twitching in amusement, though there was something behind that look—something like understanding. He was watching you carefully, and it felt like he was seeing more than what you were saying, like he could tell just how much you'd needed that reminder to yourself, more than him. That quiet acknowledgment hung between you both, the years of growing up, of failed dreams, pushing at the edges of the conversation.

“You always made it look easy, though," he said suddenly, like he'd just remembered something. “Everything, I mean. You had this way of… handling stuff. I used to think it was kinda badass.”

Your eyebrows shot up, his words catching you off-guard. Badass? Was he serious? You could barely handle anything these days without second-guessing every decision. Yet here he was, casually throwing compliments like it was nothing.

“Yeah, well, I’m sure badass isn’t exactly what people are thinking when they see me asking sweaty hockey players questions about their game-winning strategy.” You tried to sound light, but there was a hint of something vulnerable under the joke.

Clayton let out a low chuckle, the sound sending an unexpected flutter through your stomach. “I don’t know. You’ve always been good at getting people to talk. Especially me.”

Your breath caught for a second. There it was—that little jab at the past, not sharp enough to hurt, but just enough to remind you of all the conversations that had gone unfinished between the two of you. His compliment, while soft, carried the weight of a thousand unspoken things.

You rolled your eyes a little, but there was a small smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. “Don’t give me too much credit. I wasn’t exactly a therapist back then.”

His face softened, a different kind of look crossing his features now. “Nah, but you listened. You always did. Even when I was being an idiot.”

The admission hung in the air, and you couldn’t help but bite the inside of your cheek, trying not to let your emotions show on your face. What was he doing here? Dredging up memories that had long since been buried under years of moving on, of pretending you hadn’t spent too many nights wondering if he’d ever think about you again.

“Yeah, well, I didn’t always know what to say," you admitted, your voice a little quieter now. "But I tried."

There was a moment of silence, the kind that stretched out too long, where every second felt loaded with thoughts neither of you wanted to acknowledge. Clayton shifted on the bed again, running a hand through his damp hair, and you caught yourself staring at the flex of his arm before quickly looking away. Damn him for still looking this good. Even better, actually, because since the last time you saw him, he’d grown into his body and had gained the ability to grow a moustache.

“Look,” he began, his voice dropping a little, “I know I wasn’t… the best back then. To you, I mean.” His words came out slowly, like he was testing them, gauging your reaction. But instead of following through with what felt like the start of an apology, he hesitated, his gaze dropping to the screen.

You waited, expecting more, but it didn’t come. Instead, Clayton leaned back on his pillows, a faint smirk curling his lips. “But you still looked cute when you were pissed off at me. I always liked that.”

You blinked, the sudden shift from what might’ve been an emotional breakthrough to yet another casual compliment leaving you disoriented. “Are you… serious right now?” You couldn’t help the incredulous laugh that escaped you. Only Clayton would steer an almost-apology into flirting territory.

He shrugged, a lazy smile still playing on his lips. “Just saying. You had this look. Like, when you were mad, but you were trying not to be. Your nose would scrunch up a little, and your eyes—”

“Okay, stop,” you cut him off, raising a hand to your face to hide the fact that yes, you were blushing. Damn it. “You can’t just… I don’t know, throw that out there after all this time. You’re still deflecting.”

“Deflecting?” His eyebrows rose, a mock-innocent expression spreading across his face. “I’m just being honest.”

“Honest?” You scoffed, leaning back against your headboard. “What, by bringing up random stuff from eight years ago?”

Clayton’s smirk widened. “Seven. Not random. I remember a lot, actually.”

Of course he did. The way he said it, too—like he was deliberately nudging you, reminding you of all the things you hadn’t forgotten either. But you weren’t about to give him the satisfaction of knowing that.

“Oh yeah? What else do you remember?” you asked, your tone playful but with an edge, daring him to see just how far he’d take this little game of his even though you felt like you were about to throw up.

His eyes sparkled, that familiar mischievous look you’d known so well flashing across his face. “Like the time you sent me that–”

Your stomach did a full somersault, heat flooding your face instantly. Oh no. He was not going there. “Nope. No, we are not talking about that,” you cut him off quickly, your voice coming out a little too high-pitched as you desperately tried to keep the conversation from veering into dangerous territory. “That was a one-time thing, and we agreed never to bring it up again.”

Clayton leaned back into his pillows, that damn smirk still glued to his face. “Okay, okay, I’ll drop it—for now,” he teased, his voice low and smooth, sending a ripple of something through your chest. You could almost feel his presence through the screen, that mix of nostalgia and charm making you momentarily forget all the reasons you’d been trying to stay away from this exact moment.

You let out a small breath of relief, glad to have dodged whatever embarrassing memory he’d been about to dredge up. But the silence that followed wasn’t exactly comfortable—it was thick with things left unsaid. You couldn’t tell if the tightness in your chest was from anticipation or dread. Maybe both.

“Anyway,” Clayton said, stretching his arms overhead in a lazy move that only drew more attention to his already distracting physique. His voice had that familiar playful tone, the one you used to hear all the time when he was up to something. “I was thinking… we should actually catch up. Properly.”

You raised an eyebrow, shifting in your seat. “Properly?” The word hung in the air, vague but full of possibility. “What exactly do you mean by ‘properly’?”

Clayton tilted his head to the side, his lips twitching with amusement like he was letting you in on some kind of secret. “Well, what are you doing tonight?”

You glanced at the clock on your phone screen. “Uh, it’s already like, midnight, Clay. What could I possibly be doing?”

His grin widened. “Exactly! You’ve got no plans. So let’s fix that.”

You blinked at him, unsure whether he was serious. “And how do you suggest we ‘fix that’ at midnight in Salt Lake City?” You emphasized the city name, because let’s be real—Salt Lake City wasn’t exactly known for its wild nightlife. You were pretty sure the most exciting thing happening outside right now was… nothing. “There’s not exactly a lot of options here. The city basically shuts down after dark.”

Clayton gave you a look that was equal parts amused and mischievous, like he knew something you didn’t. “Oh, come on. Don’t tell me you haven’t discovered the real Salt Lake yet.”

You squinted at him through the screen. “The ‘real’ Salt Lake? What, you’re gonna tell me there’s some secret underground club scene I’ve missed out on all this time?”

He laughed softly, the sound warm and familiar, like it could melt away the awkwardness that had been sitting between you. “Maybe not exactly an underground club, but I could show you a thing or two. You free? I’ve got nothing going on tomorrow, so… why not?”

You stared at him, your brain struggling to catch up with what he was suggesting. Was he serious? A late-night tour of Salt Lake City with Clayton Keller? The guy who’d ghosted you years ago, now offering to play tour guide like it was no big deal?

“You want to go out,” you clarified slowly, feeling like you needed to repeat it just to make sure you weren’t hallucinating. “In Salt Lake City. At midnight.”

Clayton shrugged, completely unfazed. “Why not? If there’s one thing I’ve learned from all these away games, it’s that every city has something going on. Even the Mormon capital of America.”

You narrowed your eyes, still half-convinced he was joking. “Are you really trying to convince me there’s a hidden nightlife here?”

“I’m telling you, it’s not as boring as you think,” he said with a wink, clearly enjoying how skeptical you were. Then his voice dropped a little, a teasing lilt sneaking in as he added, “You still like your wine, right, sunshine?”

Your heart stopped.

Sunshine.

The old pet name hit you like a sucker punch to the gut, the way it slipped out so casually as if no time had passed at all. He hadn’t called you that in years, but hearing it again now sent a shiver down your spine. It brought back a flood of memories you thought you’d buried—a thousand late-night phone calls, stolen moments when you were younger, when he would look at you with that same mischievous grin and call you his Sunshine.

You blinked, forcing yourself back to the present. The screen in front of you, Clayton’s blue eyes twinkling with the kind of trouble he used to drag you into without a second thought. You swallowed hard, trying to keep your voice steady. “I… I haven’t heard that name in a while.”

His face softened for a moment, the playfulness easing into something more sincere. “Yeah, I know,” he said quietly, almost like he hadn’t meant to let it slip, but now that it was out there, he wasn’t going to backtrack. “But it still suits you. Always did.”

You felt your stomach do another flip, that knot of unresolved feelings tightening all over again. Damn it. How was he still doing this to you? You had no reason to trust this—no reason to believe this wasn’t just some spur-of-the-moment thing he’d forget about by morning. And yet, something in the way he was looking at you made it hard to resist. The old pull between you, still there, lingering just beneath the surface.

You let out a slow breath, leaning back into your pillows, your mind racing. Was this a terrible idea? Probably. Was it also incredibly tempting? Absolutely.

“So… where exactly are you planning on taking me at midnight, Keller?” you asked, adding a bit of edge to your tone, trying to regain some control over this conversation.

Clayton’s smile widened, his eyes gleaming like he’d just won something. “Guess you’ll have to come find out.” He paused, then added, “I’ll pick you up in fifteen?”

You stared at the screen, still trying to process the fact that this was actually happening. “Fifteen minutes?”

“Yep.” He was already sitting up, throwing his legs over the side of the bed, ready to go. “Better get moving, Sunshine.”

Before you could argue or talk yourself out of it, he flashed you that damn grin, and then the screen went dark. The call ended.

You sat there for a second, staring at your phone, a thousand thoughts swirling through your head. What were you doing? Going out with Clayton at midnight? Had you lost your mind?

But despite the logical part of your brain screaming at you to stay home, your body was already moving, throwing off the blankets and scrambling to find something halfway decent to wear. You might’ve been completely out of your depth here, but there was no way you were backing out now.

Fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes to figure out why in the world you had just agreed to go on a midnight adventure with your ex-boyfriend. You were practically sprinting around your apartment, rifling through drawers and closets as if your life depended on finding the perfect outfit. The truth? You had no idea what "perfect" even meant in this situation. Was this a date? Was it just two old friends catching up? Was he seriously about to show you some secret Salt Lake City nightlife, or was he just messing with you like old times?

Your hands shook as you grabbed a pair of jeans and a cozy sweater. Casual, but not too casual. It was chilly outside, and something about layering up made you feel a little more in control, like the extra fabric might protect you from all the feelings currently fighting their way to the surface.

What am I doing? you thought, your heart racing faster than it had any right to at this hour. The rational part of your brain was screaming for you to stay home, to crawl back under the blankets and pretend this whole thing never happened. But your body—the traitorous thing—had other ideas. It moved on autopilot, pulling on sneakers, brushing your hair, applying just a hint of makeup, because apparently even at midnight you still cared what he thought.

You caught your reflection in the mirror and sighed. "You’re insane," you muttered to yourself, but the slight tug at the corner of your lips betrayed you. There was no denying it—you were excited. The nervous, butterflies-in-your-stomach kind of excited that you hadn’t felt in a long time. And for better or worse, Clayton Keller was at the center of it.

By the time you heard a knock at your door, your hands were still trembling, but you pushed aside the anxiety and opened it.

There he was.

Clayton leaned against the doorframe, his hands shoved in the pockets of a jacket that fit him way too well. His hair was tousled, like he hadn’t bothered with it before heading out, and his grin—God, that grin—was the same cocky, boyish one you remembered from years ago. Except now, it carried a weight that hadn’t been there before, like he knew exactly the effect he had on you and wasn’t about to let you forget it.

"Ready?" he asked, his eyes sweeping over you in a way that made your skin tingle.

You crossed your arms over your chest, trying to maintain some semblance of composure. "You really think there’s something to do here at this hour?"

He chuckled, that low, familiar sound. "Guess you’ll have to trust me."

Trust. That was a loaded word.

Still, you stepped out, closing the door behind you, and followed him to his car. The night air was crisp, biting at your skin just enough to remind you it was almost fall. Clayton opened the passenger door for you—something that shouldn’t have surprised you, but did—and you slid in, trying not to think too hard about how close he was when he leaned over to shut it behind you. The scent of his cologne lingered, a warm mix of something woodsy and clean, the same one from all those years ago, and it was enough to make your mind go blank for a second.

As he got in on the driver’s side, you couldn’t help but steal a glance at him. His jawline was sharper than you remembered, more defined, and he had this maturity that wasn’t there before–some stubble, barely-there fine lines. It was a face you knew well, but now it felt foreign, like you were seeing him in a new light.

"So," you said, trying to distract yourself from the knot forming in your chest, "What’s the plan? Are we sneaking into a speakeasy, or are you going to take me to one of those places with $12 coffee?"

Clayton laughed, and the sound was like a balm to your nerves. "Oh, come on. Give me a little credit. I’m not about to drag you out at midnight for overpriced coffee." He shifted the car into drive and shot you a sideways glance. "Unless that’s what you’re into now, Sunshine?"

There it was again. The nickname.

You rolled your eyes, trying to play it cool, but your heart did a little flip at the sound of it. "You really need to stop calling me that," you said, but your voice was softer than you intended.

He didn’t respond right away, and for a moment, the air in the car felt thick, like the space between you was shrinking by the second. He drove in silence, the streets quiet and still, as if the whole city had gone to sleep while the two of you were still wide awake, caught in some strange limbo between the past and whatever this was turning into.

"You gonna tell me where we’re going, or is this part of the whole ‘mysterious night tour’ you’re so committed to?" you asked, breaking the silence with a quirk of your eyebrow. Your voice was light, but the tension was still there, hanging between you both like a thread stretched too tight.

Clayton smirked, not taking his eyes off the road. "Be patient. You’ll see soon enough." His voice was teasing, but there was an undercurrent of something more, like he was just as aware of the weight between you as you were.

You cleared your throat, trying to regain some semblance of control. "You still haven’t outgrown that whole ‘man of mystery’ thing, have you?" you teased, your tone playful, though your heart was pounding a little harder than you wanted to admit.

"Wouldn’t be any fun if I did, would it?" he shot back with a grin, glancing at you briefly. And that’s when you noticed it—the way his eyes lingered just a second too long, as if he was memorizing the details of your face, taking in the little things you hadn’t even realized he’d noticed before.

You felt the energy between you shift again, and it was suddenly harder to breathe. There was a tension simmering beneath the surface, bubbling up in the things you both were dancing around, the memories neither of you had acknowledged yet. You glanced down at your hands, fidgeting with the hem of your sweater, the silence growing louder the longer you stayed in it.

And then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, you felt Clayton’s hand brush against yours, his fingers grazing your knuckles absentmindedly. It wasn’t intentional—at least, you didn’t think it was—but the warmth of his skin sent a ripple of awareness through your entire body.

You glanced up at him, startled, but he was still focused on the road, like he hadn’t even noticed the accidental touch. Except… you knew he had. The way his jaw tightened ever so slightly, the way his one-handed grip on the steering wheel shifted, knuckles going white for a second before he relaxed again—it was all there, in the small, nearly imperceptible gestures that spoke louder than words ever could.

Your heart thudded in your chest, a familiar ache starting to form. Damn him for being able to do this to you without even trying.

"So," you said, desperate to break the silence before you could lose yourself completely in the warmth of his touch. "You’ve been in town a lot recently, huh? Since the team got moved?" It was a lame attempt at conversation, but anything was better than the whirlwind of thoughts currently swirling in your head.

"Yeah," Clayton replied, his voice casual, but there was a slight tension behind it. "Trying to get used to it. A lot of home games lately. But I don’t mind it. It’s kind of nice getting to see places like this again."

You raised an eyebrow. "You mean you enjoy being stuck in this city at midnight?"

He chuckled, and the sound sent a warm shiver down your spine. "When you put it that way, it sounds awful. But, you know, every city’s got its charm. And besides"—his voice dropped lower, a little more serious—"it’s not the place that makes it worth it. It’s the company."

You froze for a second, the weight of his words settling in like a stone in your chest. The way he said it—so effortlessly, like it wasn’t loaded with a thousand layers of meaning—made your stomach flip. You didn’t know what to say to that, so you did what you always did when you were caught off guard.

You deflected.

"Is that your way of saying I’m good company?" you teased, trying to keep your voice light even though your pulse was racing.

Clayton shot you a sideways glance, that damn smirk returning to his face. "You always were," he said, and the sincerity in his voice knocked the wind out of you for a second.

You bit your lip, suddenly feeling like you were eighteen again, sitting next to him in the car, wondering if he was going to reach for your hand like he used to. And just like back then, the possibility hung in the air, heavy with unspoken tension.

You turned to look at him, studying the way the dim light caught on the sharp edges of his jawline, the way his lashes cast soft shadows on his cheekbones. His face had matured, sure, but the boyish charm was still there—the same Clayton you’d fallen for once upon a time.

"You really haven’t changed much," you found yourself saying before you could stop the words from slipping out. "I mean, you’re still… you."

He glanced over at you, his expression softening as he caught the hidden meaning in your words. "Neither have you, Sunshine," he murmured, his voice almost too quiet for the small space of the car. "You’re still… you."

The way he said it—like he hadn’t forgotten a single thing about you—made something inside you ache. You wanted to say something back, to tell him how much you’d missed him, how much you hated that he still had this power over you after all these years. But the words wouldn’t come. They stuck in your throat, tangled up with all the things you hadn’t been able to say back then, and now.

Instead, you reached for his hand—just a simple, fleeting touch, your fingers brushing his in a way that felt almost accidental. But it wasn’t. Not really.

His fingers curled around yours, just for a moment, just long enough for you to feel the warmth of his skin and the way it made your whole body hum with something familiar, something you hadn’t felt in far too long.

And then, just like that, he let go.

You blinked, pulling your hand back and staring out the window, the city lights reflecting off the glass in a blur of color and motion. Your chest felt tight, too many emotions crashing into you at once. But you couldn’t deny it—no matter how hard you tried to keep your walls up, they were crumbling. And Clayton? He was still the one person who could knock them down without even trying.

"So," you said, your voice a little breathless, "Are we almost there?"

Clayton glanced over at you, his expression unreadable for a moment before he smiled softly. "Yeah, we’re close."

The rest of the drive was silent, but it wasn’t uncomfortable anymore. It was the kind of silence that was full of possibility, of things left unsaid but not unwelcome. You didn’t know where this night was headed, but you knew one thing for sure—whatever happened, it wouldn’t be something you’d forget anytime soon.

***

The city streets blurred as the car slowed to a stop in some tucked-away corner you barely recognized. The soft glow of the streetlights overhead cast a warm hue on the pavement, but you barely noticed. Your mind was still spinning from the weight of Clayton’s words, from the way his hand had felt when it lingered on yours for just that fleeting second.

“We’re here,” he said, his voice low, almost hesitant, as if he wasn’t sure this was the right place, or the right time, or maybe the right anything.

But you didn’t care. The night felt charged, like the two of you were moving in slow motion while the rest of the world was speeding by. It didn’t matter where “here” was, not really.

You both stumbled out of the car, the cool night air rushing at you as you wrapped your sweater tighter around yourself. But it wasn’t enough—not with the way Clayton’s presence seemed to radiate heat just inches away. You were on edge, your senses heightened, and every part of you was hyper-aware of how close he was, of the way his breath lingered in the crisp air, of the way he watched you with a look that made your heart skip a beat.

“Come on,” he said, a grin tugging at his lips as he grabbed a bottle of something from the back seat. “We’re not done yet.”

You arched an eyebrow. “Is this still part of the mysterious tour?”

“Maybe,” he teased, already uncorking the bottle and handing it to you. His fingers brushed yours again, and it was ridiculous how that tiny touch sent another shiver down your spine.

You took a swig, the liquid burning as it slid down your throat, but you welcomed it—the warmth, the distraction from the pounding in your chest. Clayton took the bottle back, and soon you were both drinking far too much, far too fast, but neither of you seemed to care. You walked aimlessly, shoulders bumping, laughing at nothing and everything, the weight of the past slipping further away with each step.

It didn’t take long before you found yourselves outside some random corner store, the neon sign buzzing faintly in the distance. You leaned against the brick wall, head tipped back as you took another swig, giggling at something Clayton had just said—something about how ridiculous it was that he had to move here, that his dogs liked it better in Arizona.

But then, suddenly, it wasn’t funny anymore. Not when you felt his eyes on you, the intensity of his gaze burning into your skin. You turned to face him, your breath catching in your throat as the space between you disappeared in an instant.

He was close. So close.

Without thinking, you leaned in, your hand finding the front of his jacket, tugging him closer until there was no more room left between you. And then his lips were on yours, soft but insistent, as if he had been waiting for this moment just as long as you had.

The first kiss was electric. You could taste the alcohol on his lips, sweet and sharp, but that wasn’t what had your heart racing. It was the way he kissed you—hungry, like he was trying to make up for all the time you’d lost, all the time you hadn’t spent together. His hands were on your waist, pulling you closer, and suddenly, the entire world faded away, leaving only the two of you under the dim streetlights.

You didn’t care that you were making out in public, that anyone could see. In that moment, nothing else mattered. Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him even closer as you kissed him harder, more desperately, as if you were afraid this would all disappear if you stopped for even a second.

You broke apart, gasping for air, but Clayton didn’t let go. His forehead rested against yours, his breath hot against your lips as you both stood there, hearts pounding, the night spinning around you. “God, Sunshine,” he muttered, his voice hoarse, “What are you doing to me?”

You couldn’t find the words to respond, so you kissed him again. This time, it was slower, deeper, and the warmth of it seeped into your bones. His hands roamed your back, pulling you against him in a way that felt reckless, like neither of you cared about anything except the feel of each other.

Somehow, in your drunken haze, you ended up wandering through the streets, arms wrapped around each other, stumbling over your own feet as you laughed and kissed and touched like you were teenagers again. His hands were everywhere—on your waist, your hips, sliding up the back of your neck to tangle in your hair—and you couldn’t get enough of him.

At one point, you found yourselves pressed up against the side of a building, your back hitting the cold brick as Clayton’s body pressed against yours, his mouth hot against your neck. You were both breathless, both lost in the moment, and you couldn’t stop the small moan that escaped your lips as his teeth grazed your skin.

“God, Clayton,” you gasped as he kissed a trail down your jawline, his stubble scratching deliciously against your skin. “We’re in the middle of the street.”

He grinned against your neck, his breath hot against your skin. “So? It’s not like anyone’s around to stop us.”

You laughed, a giddy, breathless sound, and shoved him playfully, though your hands were still clutching the front of his shirt. “You’re such an idiot.”

“And yet,” he murmured, pulling you back in for another kiss, his hands sliding to rest on your hips, “you’re still here.”

You couldn’t argue with that. Your body pressed against his again, and suddenly all your protests faded away as he kissed you like he had something to prove. You could feel the way his fingers dug into your hips, pulling you impossibly closer, and your whole body felt like it was buzzing with energy. It was overwhelming, intoxicating, the way he touched you, kissed you, like he was trying to make up for all the lost time in one night.

The two of you were a tangle of limbs and breathless kisses, stumbling down the sidewalk toward what you assumed was his apartment. Neither of you seemed to know—or care—where you were headed, as long as you were together. The past, the complications, the years of distance—they all melted away, lost in the heat of the moment.

And you? You were drowning in it. Drowning in him. And for the first time in a long time, you didn’t want to come up for air.

*** You woke up to the sound of an obnoxious alarm blaring from somewhere across the room, the kind that felt like it was drilling straight into your skull. Your eyes fluttered open, your brain struggling to catch up with the sudden onslaught of noise, and you groaned, pulling the covers over your head in a desperate attempt to block it out.

That’s when it hit you.

This wasn’t your bed.

The sheets were soft, unfamiliar against your skin, and the room smelled like him—clean, woodsy, with that faint hint of his cologne that you’d been way too aware of last night. Last night. Oh, God.

You froze, every muscle in your body tensing as the events of the previous evening slammed back into you with all the subtlety of a freight train. Clayton. The kiss. The way he touched you like you were the only thing in the world he wanted. The way you hadn’t stopped him, hadn’t even wanted to stop him. And now, here you were, tangled in his sheets, his bare chest pressed up against your back, his arm slung lazily over your waist like it had always belonged there.

You squeezed your eyes shut again, praying this was some whiskey-induced fever dream and that in a few minutes, you’d wake up in your own bed, alone, and none of this would have actually happened. But no amount of willpower could change the fact that you were very much awake, very much in his bed, and very much aware of the fact that you’d slept with Clayton.

“Shit,” you muttered under your breath, your heart pounding in your chest like it was trying to break free.

Beside you, Clayton stirred, groaning as he stretched lazily, his fingers brushing against your bare skin as he shifted. “Mornin’,” he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep, and you could hear the smile in his tone even though you couldn’t see his face.

Oh, he sounded way too casual for someone who had just turned your entire world upside down.

“Morning?” you squeaked, your voice coming out far higher than you’d intended. You shifted out from under his arm and sat up, clutching the blanket to your chest like a lifeline. “Clayton, what the hell—?”

His eyes cracked open, blinking at you with that groggy, lopsided grin that would have been charming if you weren’t currently having an internal meltdown. He looked… annoyingly good. The kind of good that made you want to punch him and kiss him at the same time, and the conflict was making your brain short-circuit.

“What?” he asked, his grin widening as he stretched again, the muscles in his arms flexing. “You’re freakin’ out. I can tell. Relax, Sunshine.”

“Relax?” Your voice pitched higher. “You told me you didn’t have anything going on today!”

Clayton blinked, then frowned slightly as if he was trying to recall. And then, like a lightbulb flicking on, you saw the realization dawn on his face. “Oh. Yeah… about that.”

Your heart sank. “Clayton.”

“Okay, look, technically I don’t have anything going on until later…” he started, but you shot him a glare that could’ve melted steel.

“Then what is that?” you asked, pointing accusingly toward his still-blaring phone, the sound making your skin crawl. Clayton sighed, pushing the covers off and swinging his legs out of bed. He crossed the room in nothing but a pair of his boxers—of course he looked ridiculously good in them—and smacked the alarm off with a casualness that made you want to scream.

“I might’ve… uh, forgotten to mention that I have practice this morning,” he admitted, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. “It’s just a quick thing. Early session. In like… 20 minutes.”

You stared at him, incredulous. “You lied to me?”

“I didn’t lie!” he protested, his hands up in mock defense. “I just… omitted some details. For the sake of the night. I didn’t want to kill the vibe.” He had the audacity to smirk at you, that same cocky, infuriatingly charming smirk that used to make your stomach flip when you were younger—and still did, apparently, despite everything. “I figured I’d have enough time to grab a shower, kiss you goodbye, and get outta here. No big deal.”

No big deal? You gawked at him, your mouth opening and closing like a fish, trying to find some coherent response to that. Was he serious? After everything that happened last night, he thought you could just… what? Kiss him goodbye and pretend like nothing had changed?

“Clay,” you said slowly, “We slept together.”

He shrugged, that damn smirk never leaving his face. “Yeah. I remember. Pretty sure you were there for that.”

Your face flushed hot, embarrassment and frustration bubbling up inside you. “How can you be so—so chill about this? I’m freaking out! We haven’t seen each other in years, and then you just show up and… and this happens?” You gestured wildly, like the whole situation was somehow his fault, which, okay, maybe it wasn’t entirely fair, but still.

Clayton’s smirk softened into something gentler, his eyes searching your face as he stepped closer to the bed. “Hey,” he said softly, his voice low, calming, as if he could sense that you were on the verge of spiraling. “I’m not freakin’ out because… because I wanted this to happen. And not just last night.” He reached out, his fingers brushing against your cheek, sending a shiver down your spine. "I know it’s complicated," he said, his voice steady. "But I also know that I don’t want you to leave."

Your heart skipped a beat, and you finally turned to face him, your eyes searching his for any sign of hesitation. But there wasn’t any. He was looking at you like he meant every word.

"What are you saying?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He sighed, running a hand through his messy hair, clearly trying to find the right words. "I’m saying… I don’t know what last night means either. But I do know that I don’t want it to be a one-time thing. I don’t want to wake up and find you gone. I don’t want to go to practice and come back to an empty apartment. I want you to be here when I get back."

You stared at him, stunned into silence.

"I didn’t realize it until last night, but I’m not… I’m not the same without you, Sunshine," he continued, his voice soft but sure. "And I don’t think I want to be."

Your heart felt like it had taken off at a sprint, and suddenly, all the panic, all the confusion that had been swirling in your head since the alarm went off, started to melt away.

You didn’t know how to respond—hell, you didn’t even know if you had the right words to respond to something like that. But as you looked at him, sitting there with that vulnerable look in his eyes, you felt something inside you shift, something that told you that maybe—just maybe—this was worth the risk.

You still loved him. Him, and those blue eyes that practically glew, all of his awkward, uncoordinated limbs paired with the way he never failed to make you laugh.

How could you not?

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "I’ll be here."

Clayton let out a breath he’d clearly been holding, his shoulders relaxing as a relieved grin spread across his face. "Good," he said, his voice lighter now, teasing. "Because I was really hoping to have breakfast with you after I kick ass at practice."

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t stop the smile that broke through. "Oh, you were, huh?"

“Yup,” he said, popping the ‘p’ as he leaned in, his voice dropping lower. “And if you’re really nice, maybe I’ll even make you coffee.”

You laughed, shaking your head as the tension between you both dissolved into something warmer, something familiar. "Wow, lucky me," you teased back, tilting your head up to peck him on the lips. Your heart felt lighter now, like maybe—just maybe—this was the start of something neither of you had expected but were both willing to explore.

A love that’s worth the fight, even if it hurts, if it faded in time a long time ago, because it just feels so right. 

He’s it for you, and even though he was always notoriously bad with his words, the way he’s looking at you speaks all of them for him.

[a-cha0tic-intr0v3rt]

YA’LL I HAVEN’T LIKE POSTED IN FOREVER 💀

apologies for the lack of posts, i was busy on other projects, including a new original series based on zodiac signs (which i unfortunately won’t be posting here because i don’t feel comfortable sharing my ocs rn) plus i recently got a tvtropes account (yes, i do use tvtropes leave me alone) also i have some relatives coming over since i’m soon gonna have a trip to BOTH las vegas and los angeles

anyways have yet another “wE aRe GoInG tO bEaT yOu To DeAtH” meme, my last two did rlly well bc people somehow really liked it so here have an mp100 meme

this is gonna be the last of these memes im gonna make for now i promise

[so-long-soldier-writes]

Study Buddies

isaac lahey x reader

summary: isaac asks you for help in chemistry. you agree on one condition.

tags: high school, studying / tutoring, mutual crushes, awkward flirting, caught in a lie, shyness, embarrassment, play fighting / tickling, bad puns, confessions, first kiss, teasing, fluff, pre-wolf isaac; his dad still sucks; autistic-coded reader

word count: 4.5k

a/n: this is my first time writing for teen wolf. I feel like I'm encroaching on claimed territory. 😅 also i've had this tab up for almost a week but have been afraid to post it, so here goes

Mr. Harris slides your progress report down onto your desk before you have a chance to react, and it catches wind and falls to the ground a moment later. You sigh and roll your eyes, but he’s already halfway across the room, impatiently handing out the rest of his stack. Your own little slip of paper is nowhere by your feet, and you resist the urge to make a remark about it. 

“Hey.” A voice interrupts your intruding thoughts at the same time a tap lands on your shoulder. Gentle, as if the tapper hates to disturb you, yet needs your attention. 

You turn, and temporarily forget about your lost report as your eyes meet Isaac’s, the boy who sits behind you, and has the cutest smile imaginable. You drop your gaze instantly, only for it to fall on his dimpled smile, and then, finally, on the paper held between two fingers. 

“I think this is yours,” he says, holding it out to you. 

Your name is clearly printed on the front, followed by your most recent grades in the class. You blush, immediately remembering it had dropped in the first place. 

“Oh. Thank you.”

“No problem. He seems like he’s in a mood today.” 

You nod, then take your paper from his hand. By this time, Harris has made his way back to the front, and is clearing his throat in a demand for the class’ silence. Quiet mutterings amongst friends cease at once, and you turn back to face the ill-tempered chemistry teacher. 

“Take a good look at your progress reports. The midterm is coming up, and some of you have more studying to do than others. Today, we will be learning new material, but next class period, we will have a review day. If you have any questions, do not hesitate to ask. You can ask at the appropriate time in class, or come see me after school, or shoot me an email. Regardless of your grade, everyone should be studying, however, some of you have to move up a whole letter or two. That is on you to be aware of, and for you to put in the effort to do. Now, pull out your notes so that we can cover this section. It isn’t the hardest thing we’ll cover, but I expect it will be a struggle for some.”

And after that condescending introduction, he begins to teach. 

When the bell finally rings, your head is swarming with so much chemistry, your eyes are beginning to glaze over and put you to sleep. You’re relatively good at the subject, but that topic was more challenging than he warned it would be, making even you confused at times. You shake your head when you reach your lockers, trying to relieve yourself of the numbers swirling about in your mind. It takes a moment. A very stressful moment. 

A tap on your shoulder, more urgent than the last, pulls you out of your mental headspace. The chemistry bounces out of your mind entirely, bringing you back to reality, but making you jump in place at the sudden contact.

“Sorry,” a familiar voice apologies, “didn’t mean to scare you.”

Turning, you come face-to-face with Isaac again. His normally bright blue eyes are slightly cloudy, which worries you more than you’d like to admit. “No worries. Everything okay?”

“Yeah. I have a question, actually, to ask you.”

“What’s that?”

“Okay, I wasn’t looking at your report, I didn’t mean to see your grades. I accidentally saw them when I picked up your paper, but I promise I wasn’t looking on purpose.” He stalls, continuously apologizing for something not at any fault of his own. 

“It’s okay,” you interrupt as politely as you can. 

He pauses, “um. I was wondering if you could help me? Like, in chemistry. Help me study, kinda like a tutor, I guess?”

You pale immediately. Just because you’re doing okay in the class doesn’t mean you have a clue how to help him understand. “Um-”

“Just… I just need a little help, if you can. I understand if you don’t want to, or can’t, or… I don’t know… are busy.” He runs his tongue along his lips nervously. You snap your eyes to the floor, avoiding eye contact. 

“I don’t know… I’m not a good teacher.”

“But you’re really good in the class. Probably a better teacher than Harris has been lately.”

You chuckle, but you’re still not sure. Being that close to the boy you’ve liked for ages? On top of not being able to teach well? He’ll reduce you to a stupid, stuttering mess, just look at yourself now, unable to look him in the eye. No, don’t look at him, that was rhetorical. 

“I just,” he continues, “when he was talking about people who needed to go up a whole letter, he was talking about me. I know you’re good, you sit in front of me. If you can even just explain it to me as you study, it would help a lot.”

Half of your mind races to find an excuse, looking for an out, while the other begs you to agree. Isaac shoves a hand in his pocket and waits for a response. You debate with yourself for a moment, but then the urging part of your mind wins the argument with a question of its own. 

“What about this,” you start, “I’ll help you in chemistry, if you help me in French?”

“What?” He asks, taken off guard. “I’m not good at French.”

“You’re better than me. You have the answers to most of Ms. Morrell’s questions, and I can hear you when she asks us to recite words out loud.” His eyes narrow at that, to which you reply, “you sit behind me in French, too.”

“Right.” He smiles, but doesn’t meet your gaze. Instead, he rests his head against the locker beside yours. 

“So?”

“How do you know I’m not just guessing?”

“What’s your grade?”

“A,” he sheepishly answers.

“See? You can tutor me.”

“What’s your grade?”

You purse your lips and avoid his eyes again. “Too embarrassed to say.”

“Really?”

“Languages aren’t my strong suit. We all have our strengths.”

“Alright, deal. Help me in chem, and I’ll help you with French.”

“Sounds good. Library, or at one of our houses?”

“I can probably go to the library sometimes. Maybe during lunch or free period. But after school, I have lacrosse, and you probably don’t want to wait around school for that to be over.”

“Okay, so then your house or mine?”

“Where do you live?”

“Like ten minutes from here. You?”

“A bit closer than that. Parents?”

“Don’t really care what I do.”

“My dad is a little controlling,” he admits. 

“Would he care if I were to come over?”

“Not if you’re helping me study.”

“Okay. You want to meet a couple times a week at your house, and sometimes during lunch?”

“Sure. Practice ends around five. Is seven too late?”

“Not for me.”

“Cool. So, um, I’ll text you, and we can plan dates.” He shakes his head. “I mean, like, what days work best.”

You blush at his embarrassment. “Have to give you my number first, doofus.” 

“Oh.”

You scribble it onto a sticky note and hand it to him. “Let me know.”

“I will. And thank you.”

“Thank you, too.” You hurry your way to your next class, leaving him red in the face and hands at having a girl’s number. Granted, it’s just for studying, but it’s the fact he was able to talk to you at all that has him shaken. Isaac forces himself to breathe, before entering it in his phone and tucking the sticky safely in his backpack. As the bell rings, he hurries to his next class. 

~~~~

The next evening is the first time you meet up to study. You drive to the address he’s given and knock on the door as gently as possible. Isaac had mentioned his dad is controlling, so the first thing you want to do is to avoid pissing him off in any way you could. Controlling could mean a lot of things, and the boy wasn’t specific at all. For both of your sakes, you tread lightly. 

Isaac opens the door a moment later, dressed in a simple t-shirt and sweats. You try really hard not to blush as he invites you inside, but then his dad’s strict voice snaps you back into reality. You can see Isaac take a visible deep breath before rounding the corner in the kitchen, you in tow. You put on your best look of professionalism while trying to anticipate how the next couple of minutes might go. 

“And? Who was it?”

“Y/N, the girl I told you I was studying with… with whom I am going to study,” he corrects at the last minute. 

His father’s posture tenses a bit less when his son corrects his own grammar without prompt, but it doesn’t stop his cold eyes from floating over to you. “And you’re studying what?”

“Chemistry, sir. I’m helping Isaac, and he’s helping me with French.”

“And you know French well enough to help her?”

“I believe I do,” he says, trying to sound confident. 

“I think he does, too. In class, he always has the answers, and Mrs. Morrell’s often impressed, and she’s hard to impress more than once.”

“Hm.” His dad takes a sip from a glass, then carefully sets it down on the table. His eyes are locked on Isaac the whole time. The boy stares at the ground, any confidence shaken by the interaction. You study the scene, confused. “Well… Go study. Bring up those grades.”

“Yes, sir,” you reply at the same time. 

Isaac nods for you to follow him to his room, which you oblige. His dad remains seated as you make your way up the stairs. You bite back a comment about the man, even in the safety of Isaac’s bedroom, and he doesn’t say anything, either. The same remark is in both your heads, yet while you want to ask it in a question, he wants to use it as a reassurance. Yes, he’s a bit more controlling than Isaac originally said. No, he won’t do anything stupid while you're there. He tries to convey this in an expression, which you half-understand, but eventually drop it. If anything happens, you’ll leave. Simple as that. 

As it turns out, the first night of you studying together ends up nothing like the initial interaction you had in his house. Isaac is gentle, patient, and willing to learn and teach the best that he can. He’s admittedly worse in chemistry than you are in French, but you’re able to convince him that you only need to work on a few things; an hour of time doesn’t have to be devoted to your studies, maybe only twenty minutes. On the contrary, the other sixty are put towards chemistry. And, of course, the first five are for settling in, and the last five are for uncontrollable laughter at a mispronunciation. 

Thirty minutes to nine, you realize how late it’s gotten and start to pack your things. Isaac looks exhausted, and frankly, as much as you’re enjoying his company, you’re getting tired from talking. 

“Voulez-vous qu’on se rencontre vendredi?” He asks, rather quickly. 

You stare for a moment, then, “what?”

“Vendredi.”

“Thursday?”

“Non.”

“Friday?”

“Oui, rencontrer?”

“Meet then?”

“Yeah, would you like to?”

“Sure.” You nod. “Say it again?”

“Voulez-vous qu’on se rencontre vendredi?” He says it slower this time. It has the same effect on you, but you can comprehend each word better. 

“Cool,” you say, not at all thinking about his accent that paints the words so beautifully. “I’ll bring my H2O, since I forgot it this time.”

The boy snorts with more laughter. “Bad joke.”

“Absolutely horrible,” you agree. “See you in school tomorrow.”

“Drive safe.”

“Be safe,” you reply before you can stop yourself, referring to his dad downstairs. 

Isaac only nods. He walks you to his front door, then hurries back up to his room. 

~~~~

Each day you study together follows a similar routine to the first: five minutes to settle in, sixty of chemistry, twenty of French, then five of joking around with each other. Sometimes Isaac pushes for thirty of French instead, worried that you’re sacrificing your own studies for his, and never understands when you push back that you’re good with only twenty. 

His chemistry improves immensely with your help. In three weeks, he manages to pull it up to a ‘C’. Not only is his father a bit more lenient to him after the next progress report, but he’s also more pleasant to you the next time you come around to study. He even cracks a smile. 

Today, you go over just the same as you have been. Seven on the dot, you’re greeted by his dimpled smile and half-friendly father. The man has now graduated to welcoming you, and has once clapped you on the shoulder as you’ve passed. You’re polite to him, though you can tell Isaac’s uncomfortable with his unusual behavior, so you always try to retreat upstairs as soon as possible. This time, he’s busy with something in the kitchen and doesn’t talk for long. He makes one comment about grades; you promise him you’re both doing well, then he lets you go. 

Finally away, it doesn’t take long for you to settle down anymore. You make yourself comfortable on Isaac’s bed, pulling out your notes and pens, and smiling when he joins you. You’ve come to be good friends in the last couple weeks, and although there’s something definitely in the air, too, you’re good with being friends if that’s all you can convince yourselves you are. 

You start, per usual, with chemistry, reading over notes and figuring out problems. He moves closer and closer to you each day you teach, simultaneously making you nervous and excited. Either way, your water bottle remains beside you to calm your ever-growing heart rate. When it comes time to switch subjects, you excuse yourself a minute to recover and prepare for the next half hour. In the beginning, it was easier to hide your blush, promising you’re still getting the hang of the co-teaching thing. Now, your excuse dwindles. The shy smile you wear as he recites words of the love language has never faded. You have to compose yourself entirely, elsewhere, to be able to control your reaction and face him. 

“Can I use your bathroom real quick?”

“Yeah, just over there.”

“Thanks.”

As soon as the door shuts, Isaac jumps off the bed to check his hair in the mirror. In the process, your French binder falls to the ground and loses its page. The boy sighs, mutters an ‘oh shit,’ then pulls it back up to find the page again. He opens the flap and immediately finds a stash of old progress reports. You seem to keep all of your old ones in the front flap of your binder; he’s noticed you have all your chemistry reports, too. Curious, Isaac steals a peek. Despite confessing about his ‘D’ in chemistry, you’ve always cheekily refused to share your French grade. He doubts it’s that bad, but he’s never gotten you to admit it. 

He glances at the bathroom door, then checks the date on the report before scanning the grades. Guilt eats at him the longer he looks, but nosiness, then confusion keeps his eyes glued. Is he really reading that right? There’s no way you have a-

“Sorry about that,” you say, closing the door. 

Startled, he drops your binder and looks up at you. “It’s no worry.”

“What’s wrong?” You notice his change in behavior, like a young boy being caught doing something he shouldn’t be doing. 

“Nothing. Your binder fell off the bed, I was picking it up.”

“Oh. Thanks.” He smiles when you join him back on the bed. You’re not sure if you still have a right to be suspicious, or if he’s just embarrassed because he’s so shy. “So, um-”

Isaac, on the other hand, is brimming with questions. As anxious as he is that you caught him peeking, he can’t help but wonder about what he saw. You start to speak, maybe to change the subject, but he cuts you off, guilt and curiosity both winning. “You have an ‘A’ in French?”

“What?”

“You’ve had an ‘A’ since the start of the year. Why do you need me to tutor you if you already know it?”

You shut your open mouth immediately, face paling at the realization you’ve been caught. “I-... I don’t know. Your grades are better than mine.”

“By one point.”

“Two points. You have a 94. I have a 92.”

“Doesn’t explain the need for a tutor,” he argues.

You study him, choosing to base your reaction off his own. He’s smiling; seemingly happy, curious, and not at all upset. His tone implies no accusation, just confusion, and his body posture is straight, shoulders relaxed. A twinkle shines in his baby blue eyes; his level of eye contact is neither constant nor avoidant. He’s safe. 

“I, um,” you decide to tell him the truth. Or, rather, stutter out the truth. “I don’t need a French tutor.”

“So I’ve gathered.” Decisive tone, yet still friendly. Still safe. 

“I figured, since I would help you with chemistry, even though I’m not that good of a teacher, if you had to teach me something too, it would put less pressure on me to be a good teacher.”

His eyes narrow. “Okay… but why French?” He’s still a little confused on that reasoning, but doesn’t question it. He knows you’re shy. If that’s what you had to do to make it work that you could help him, he doesn’t mind. 

“I, er, well, the French provided a win-win scenario.”

“Which is?”

You shrug, body warming quickly as you near your deeply guarded secret. “I- I don’t know how to explain it.”

“Mhm, really?”

“You’re best in French,” you offer instead, on a whim.

“True,” he agrees, “though I feel that’s not the real reason, judging by your lack of eye contact.”

“I’m always bad at eye contact.”

“You’ve been getting better with me these last few weeks.”

“Yes, but…”

“I’m not going to judge, Y/N. Whatever you say, it’s safe with me. You trust me, right?”

“Of course.”

“Then how is me teaching you French a, as you call it, win-win scenario?”

Finally, you fess, “because I get to hear you speak it every time you teach me.”

Isaac’s quiet for a moment. Then, you realize it seems to have gone over his head as he says, “you hear me speak all the time in class.”

“Yeah, but… with twenty other voices mixed in, too. I like hearing just your voice. The way you know just how to sound it out perfectly, and the way your accent flourishes each sentence. Most people in class sound like they’re gurgling saltwater, but you make it sound hot, like the way French is supposed to sound.” Your mouth utters words before your brain can catch up and prevent you from embarrassment. As soon as you realize what you’ve said, a dizziness swarms your head and it feels like the temperature’s gone up ten degrees. 

Isaac is speechless in front of you. He’s first stuck on the fact that you like his voice, then on his pronunciation being described as perfect, but then he short-circuits as the word ‘hot’ falls from your lips. He doesn’t even realize when you plant your face into your binder, shocked by your own confession. 

“I’m sorry,” you apologize. It’s muffled, but he hears it enough to pull him from his trance. 

“You like my voice?” He asks, cursing himself for the stupidity of the question. It’s all he can think of to say, though, still trying to cool his own rising body temperature. 

“I shouldn’t have said all that, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I wasn’t thinking.”

“I’m not uncomfortable,” he blurts out quickly. “I’m actually quite charmed by that.”

You resist the urge to look up at him, desperate to see if he’s smiling or not. Isaac seems to have a similar thought, and tries to hook a finger under your chin to lift your head. He succeeds, but then you instantly embarrass again, and dive for the pillows, burying your face amongst them. 

“Oh no, get back here,” he jokes. You feel him before you look out to see him. His hands shake your shoulder, but when you don’t respond, he playfully starts to tickle your neck. You scrunch and try to scramble away, but he only continues. “C’mon.”

“I can’t!” The words have finally sunken into his head; the weight of them falls on your chest. 

“Oh, yes you can!” He teases more, moving pillows away from you, just for you to grab another and bury back under it. When Isaac realizes there’s no use in trying to win the pillow war, he swings a leg over yours and begins to tickle your stomach. Your shirt has begun to ride up from your movement, and temporarily, he forgets you’re classmates, not longtime best friends. “C’mon, give it up!”

“I-I can’t!” You’re running out of breath, and pillows. He pulls another away from you, then puts his hands back on your sides. Your eyes are squeezed shut, but only do you open them because of the unfamiliar feeling of him touching you. A beat skips in your heart at the sudden, unexpected realization that he’s not only touching your skin, but he’s also straddling your waist. You swallow hard. He pinches your side lightly, shocking you back into reality, and making you grab another pillow to hide your face again. Before you can grasp it, Isaac grabs your hands and pins them above your head. You pant, heart racing a mile a minute. His too, as you can hear in the moment you both grow quiet. 

“You think it’s hot when I speak French?”

“No, I think you’re hot when you speak French. There’s a difference.”

“Is there now?”

“The temperature of the room doesn’t get hot, it’s you that gets hot.”

“Oh, I see.”

“Not that you’re not always hot… I mean, sometimes, you’re more like a cute little puppy than a hot, French-speaking…” your words fade as your brain catches up, faster this time, yet still not fast enough. 

“Am I now?”

What’s done is done, you figure. Can’t take it back now, can only admit it. “Yeah.”

“Huh. So all this time, you’ve been teaching me chemistry, and I’ve been talking pointlessly while you listen and learn nothing?”

“When you word it like that, it sounds bad.” A pout graces your lips as guilt floods you. “But I have learned some things. I was struggling with direct objects, and now I’m not.”

“Ah. So I’m not totally useless?”

“Never. You wouldn’t be useless even if I knew perfect French.” Before he can reply, you continue. “I’m sorry I wasted your time. I shouldn’t have. Can you forgive me?”

“Forgive you for what? You haven’t done anything wrong.”

“I wasted your time when we could’ve been doing more chemistry.”

“Darling, too much chemistry and my brain woulda exploded. The French lessons are a nice intermission. Besides, I wouldn’t consider any time with you as time wasted.”

“Really?”

He drops your hands and they fall back down to your waist. He seems, then, to realize he’s still on top of you, and begins to climb off. “Sorry, I-”

“Don’t.”

“What?”

“Can I confess something else?”

He pauses. “Sure, anything.”

“I would’ve been okay with just tutoring you chemistry, but I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to look you in the eye long enough to do it well.”

“You’ve been doing great with the eye contact thing. I know it’s not your strong suit, but you’ve made a lot of progress these last couple weeks.”

“Thank you,” you smile. “It’s not only that.” A heartbeat passes. “I like you.”

“You like me?” His eyes narrow before he assumes only, “you like my voice.”

“No, I like you. I mean, yes, I like your voice, but I like it because I like you.”

“Like me, as in…”

“Like I have a crush on you.”

He tilts his head like a confused dog. “On me?”

“Yes.”

“Really?”

“Why do you seem so surprised?”

“I’ve never had anyone have a crush on me before,” he admits.

Now you’re confused. “What?! How?!”

“I don’t know!”

“That’s stupid. Never had anyone admit it, maybe.”

“I’d never know.”

“Well I’ve had a crush on you since the seventh grade.”

“You moved to Beacon Hills in the seventh grade.”

“Exactly.”

“And you’ve had a crush on me this whole time?”

“Very secretly.”

“Huh. Well I’ve liked you since the first day of school,” he confesses.

“I’ve liked you since orientation, so I win.”

He smiles, then shakes his head playfully. “So I sit behind you in classes for years and only finally get the courage to talk to you when I’m borderline failing chemistry, and you only get the courage to talk to me for more than one minute if you can convince me to talk half of the time that we’d be studying together.”

“Sounds about right.”

“And my portion of the talking is in French, because you think my accent is hot?”

“Your accent is always hot; your French is hot on its own.”

“Ah, I’m following now.” He chuckles, letting his fingertips grace your hips. 

“So,” you ask, “as two people with several year long mutual crushes on each other, what do we do next?”

“Well you’re the one that’s been tutoring me chemistry, love, I’m hoping you have the answer.”

You laugh, rolling your eyes playfully. “Wrong kind of chemistry, dork.” You reach your hands up to the sides of his face anyway, and pull him down for a kiss. Isaac complies immediately, setting one hand down beside you, while the other caresses your chin. Your legs hook around his waist, keeping him close until he starts to pull away, needing air. You let go, then hide your face as his own turns a rosy pink. 

“That was worth the wait,” he says, smiling, and touching a finger to his recently-kissed lips. “Êtes-vous d'accord?” 

“Shut up,” you tease, pushing him slightly. “Chemistry time.”

“We just had chemistry time. It’s French time now.”

“No, we can skip a round,” you insist, unsure you can hear anymore French fall from his lips without folding and kissing them again.

“On the contrary, I think you need to sharpen your vocabulary.”

“I think I’ll need a water break first.”

“That we can do,” he agrees. “I’ll make sure to get yours with extra ice.”

“Shush!”

[the-kr8tor]

This is the fancier potioneer I know! Congrats for the 1 year lovie 💕

May I request some cardamom with elder berries in a heart shaped bottle (and a hint of baby's breath)? Hobie and fem!Reader going back a couple years at their daughter's school party that happens to have an elegant mail at display for the high-school sweethearts 🥹 feel free to decide who sents who a letter! I can just imagine Billie and Ramona going giggles watching their parents fall in love all over again!

Potion coming right up just for you!!! Thank you for requesting bleaky! 🩷

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader

Word count: 2.3k

Tags: use of Y/N sparsely, No specific physical description of the reader (Hobie is mentioned taller than her though), CW food mentions, Dad au, twin au, Billie and Ramona au, Dad! Hobie, Mom! Reader, older! Hobie, FLUFF!

Katy's 1 year celebration 🎉

Excited screams and the smell of cotton candy greets you as you enter the twins' high school. You still can't believe that they're already in their freshman year when it felt like it was just yesterday you were teaching them how to tie their own shoes. Now they know that and more. You're incredibly proud of them as you weave through the crowd, seeing their familiar silhouette in their booth. Students and teachers passing by, holding snacks and treats from the nearby food stalls. A few parents are scattered here and there, they're probably here for the same reason as you, to support their kids.

Your smile gets wider and wider as you see their pink and red booth that is covered in glitter and hundreds of hearts. Sure enough, when you get close to the line, Billie and Ramona look at you simultaneously. Their grins identical, both inheriting their dad's adorable dimples that you adore so much.

“Mum!” Billie screeches, wildly waving at you. She's clad in a full blown cupid outfit, dressed in your old, or how she puts it ‘vintage’ white with pink accents leather jacket. The wide legged hot pink pants that she begged you to buy for her fits her perfectly, she even sewed pink hearts all around it to emphasize that she is cupid, and cupid is her. “Skip the line!” Beckoning you over, she acts as if she's shooting her pink spray painted toy bow and arrow at you.

“Don't shoot at mum!” Mona scolds her sister like she had actually aimed a real weapon at you. Instead of her sister fully dressed for the part, Mona's outfit isn't as loud. She had burrowed Hobie's old cherry red leather jacket, still clad in hundreds of pins, and spikes around the shoulders. You had bought her a top at the same time you bought Billie her pants, it has hearts embroidered on it, all in rainbow colours, fluffy and in 3d. Her eyes are in the same sparkly eyeshadow that Billie has, dusted with vibrant pink and ruby.

You walk over to their table, it's littered with pink scented papers and envelopes. There's a basket of candied roses nestled under Billie's arm with a few letters tied around the stem. The entire booth is chaotic, both familiar and unfamiliar faces are helping out in their mail booth. Mona is in the front counter while Billie stands on the side, beckoning people over to their booth.

“You made it!” Billie happily envelopes you in a hug, gogo boots thumping on the ground. She smells oddly like your perfume.

“I couldn't miss it, Bee!” You pat her back to release you, yet she still clings to you like she's ten years old even though she has gotten way taller than you and her own sister. “What time is the big dance number?”

“At one pm, mum.” Mona says, busy and occupied as she tends to customers.

“Not even a hug, Mon?”

She looks up at you briefly, puckering her lips and making kissing noises. Teenagers. “Sorry, mum, I'll hug you in a minute once Thena comes back.”

“Who's Thena?” You ask the still clinging Billie. “Shouldn't you help your sister?” You glance towards the frantic Mona, but she's composed, getting the rhythm of everything. She takes the cash, gives them the stationary, and then points them towards a more befuddled spectacled boy who looks like he's about to collapse from pressure.

Billie takes one look at Mona and then back towards the boy, then to you. “Nah, they've got it.” You furrow your brows at your daughter. “Trust me, when Mon mon’s in the zone nothin’ can stop her. She's a well oiled machine who has kicked me in the shin twice when I tried to help.”

“You were not helpin’!” Mona adds, “we're filled with messages! Go start deliverin’, Billie!”

“Oop,” Billie chuckles, “Full first name, I think she's mad mad.” She whispers to you. “I'm waiting for dad, Ramona!” Teasing, her sister gives her the stink eye. Billie in reply sticks her tongue out, to which Mona shakes her head at. “Where's dad anyway? I wanna show him my bow and arrow!”

“Parking, he's having a tough time finding a spot.” You answer, picking a stray eyelash off her sparkly cheek. “He'll be here, don't worry. And he has the camera fully charged so he doesn't miss a second of your dance.”

Billie giggles, Mona smiles at the conversation. “It's not just us dancin’, mum, it's the whole school. There will be a lot of people.” Billie thanks you with another squeeze as she hasn't left your side.

“Still, he has every milestone recorded since your birth, he's not gonna stop now.”

“Billie, the bloody letters!” Mona interrupts, huffing at Billie's groan of protest. “Now!” She flicks her eyes at you, “please?” The butterflies in her hair look like they're actually flying when she moves her head.

“Only because you asked nicely!” Billie pouts, “I’ll be right back, mum! Tell dad I went around, okay?”

“I will, go, have fun delivering letters!” You wave her off.

“Oh it's my favourite! It has always been my dream to be a delivery woman!” You laugh at her antics. “Oh and Mon don't forget the thing!” She saunters off, running after a student who probably has a letter in her name.

“I won't!” Mona yells back.

“What thing, baby?” You walk beside her, patting her aching shoulders.

“A letter,” she grins mischievously at you, there's a glint in her eyes that you've seen in Hobie's eyes. Sliding a pink paper and a gel pen over to you, she raises her brows playfully. “It's on the house, mum, special courtesy of the best daughters in the world.”

“The best of the best.” You smile, trying incredibly hard not to peck her temple or you might end up embarrassing her. She also smells like your perfume. “But first, do you want help? I don't know who Thena is, but it looks like she's still not here.”

“Please.” Mona sighs in relief, “I'll give you a bundle of chocolate roses.” She scooches over, giving you space.

“No need, I still have a ton left from your dad.”

The line thins as you help Mona, and in between customers, you've written a letter full of love for Hobie. Thena, who you now know is a sophomore finally arrives with help. She lets Mona actually enjoy the event just as when Hobie arrives huffing with a frown. The crowd parts for him like he owns the school, it's his saunter, you always tell him. He's in his normal punk garb, to the detest of some parents but the students seem to love his style, including you who still falls head over heels at the same leather clad man.

“Hi, dad.” Mona, more tired, plops on her dad's side after squeezing the life out of you. Her cheek is pressed on his side as he rubs soothingly up and down her arm.

“I know ‘m like a broken record, but what did I miss?”

You open your mouth to reply, already magnetized to his other side, his arm around your waist as the three of you walk around the event. But Billie's voice suddenly pops out of nowhere.

“Mon mon bein’ a girl boss!” She collides into the three of you, Hobie chuckles, patting her head. She ducks away though, “don't mess up my hair, dad!”

“I wasn't.” Hobie meets your eyes. “And to think I used to do her bloody hair.” The twins walk ahead of you, whispering to each other.

“Teenagers, Hobie, we've got teenagers now.”

He makes a face, pulling you closer, watching his girls giggle amongst themselves. “I know, I think we need another one to balance them out.”

“With your back, old man?” You pinch his side, grinning at him. He doesn't miss the innuendo filled comment.

Hobie leans his face close, pierced lips grazing the shell of your ear. “Who you callin' old, huh? This old man can still lift a bloody plane.”

“Sure, sure, So you keep telling me.”

He blows hot air in your ear, chuckling lowly as you gasp. “You wanna bet?”

“Later, old man.” You wink and you're already walking beside his girls, arm in arm, teasing him with a simple look.

—

You sit on the bleachers, lap full of snacks, buttered popcorn, corndogs and a couple of blue coloured drinks that you cannot fathom the flavour of. The seat is high up, overlooking the entire field where all the students wait on the sides. You'd be scared of the height but you're used to it now because of Hobie's impromptu dates on skyscrapers. Hobie slides over next to you, sweat clinging on his brow, arms clutching more friend food than anyone could even consume in one go.

“Are you sure your heart can handle all that?” You tease again, and he looks at you tenderly, eyes shining in the afternoon sun, reflecting the school flags waving above. After all these years, you still can't get over the fact that he looks at you like that, like you're his whole world.

“‘m a growing boy, love.” You hand him the camera from your purse, “and maybe ‘m preparin’ for tonight.”

“Nothing happens tonight, Hobs if you eat that whole blooming onion on your own.”

“You want some then?” He shakes the packaging.

“Of course I do.” You playfully scoff, taking the treat from Hobie as he laughs.

You two eat your fill, leaving some for the girls after the show, knowing that they'll be starving by then. One after the other, students from different grades take turns showing their own choreographed dances. Thankfully it's the girls' turn after the one you're currently watching.

“What's in this?” He asks, shaking the half empty blue drink.

“You're almost done with it and now you're just asking?” You say with your mouth full of cotton candy.

“Well, do you know?”

“It's blueberry.” You shrug.

He takes a sip, smacking his lips together. “Nah, I don't think so, lovie. I think it's all chemicals.”

You chuckle, knowing his next words. “Don't—”

“I think it's radioactive.” He fakes a gasp.

You still laugh wholeheartedly after the umpteenth time of him using the same joke.

“You laugh at radioactive material?” He says, mock disappointment.

“Well, I sleep with one every night, so…” there's a twinkle in your eyes.

“Fuckin' cheeky.” He grabs the back of your head, pushing you closer to him. “Y’know the girls got that from you.”

“And what did they get from you?”

“Except for my charms and handsome dimples? My brain.”

“Ah yes, of course—” before you could smooch him, the same boy from Billie and Mona's booth suddenly appears, his tall lanky frame blocking the sun, red hair brighter than Hobie's boots.

“What can I do for you, mate?” Hobie asks, and the poor boy practically shakes where he's standing.

“Y/N Brown?” He asks, already handing you a pink letter from his basket full of perfumed stationery.

“Yep, that's me. Thanks.” You look at the letter with confusion. “Looks like I've got a secret admirer.”

“Who?” Hobie acts, “and is he an adult so I can fight for your hand?”

“Shut up.” You laugh, opening the letter gingerly. Reading the affectionate words carefully.

“Hobie Brown?” The red haired boy asks again, Hobie looks up at him. “Mr. Hobie Brown.”

“No Mr. Brown ‘ere, bruv. But I'll take it.” His smile eases the boy, but he still skedaddles out of the bleachers. “He looked like he was about to piss himself. Does he know the girls, love?” He looks back at you with tears in your eyes. “Love?”

“H-how dare you write this love letter so well.” You sniff, he smiles. “This is so good! I-I haven't heard you call me cherry in so long, Hobie. And now that y-you wrote it….”

“Deep breaths, love.” He wipes your tears with his thumb, and a few people look at you weirdly. He doesn't mind, he can fight.

“You’re an asshole, I love you so fucking much.” You suddenly hug him, arms around his neck, face pressed on his skin. “You’re so right, the girls got your charm.”

Hobie holds you, knuckles running along your back. “And they got the rest from you.”

You lean back, tears still clinging in your lashes. “Don't read mine, it doesn't compare to yours.”

He shakes his head, staring at his love. “Even if you wrote it in wingdings I'll still read it.”

“It might as well be.”

“Too late, already reading it.”

“What—?” You look over your shoulder, and sure enough, he's reading it behind your back. “Ass.”

He blinks, eyes glimmering, clearing his throat. “Well, that's—”

“Shit? Horrible? Almost twenty years together and I still can't form coherent words when it comes to you?”

“No, I mean the last one is accurate, but,” he inhales. “‘m glad you chose me, love, and ‘m glad you kissed me back even after I kicked and broke your uni's doors open.”

“I kissed you back because I always hated those doors.” You joke, he laughs as he cradles your face in his hands. Those hands you've loved no matter how rough it gets. “And I always wanted to do that.” Not a joke, a full confession like you've said to him all those years ago.

Hobie tucks in the letter inside his jacket, right above his heart and you place yours just like he did, mirroring his movement. He gently pecks your lips, it's done immediately but not without love, it's full of it, filling your heart.

“I owe you a proper kiss when we get home and without a thousand people watching.”

“Okay, looking forward to it.” You nod, holding his warm palms.

“And without our girls screaming with their mates.”

You blink as Hobie gently moves your head towards a handful of girls bouncing for joy and yelling ‘otp.’ Whatever that means. Billie shakes Mona by her shoulders, you don't have enhanced eyesight just like your family but you can definitely see their eyes filled with happy tears.

“So this is their plan.” You say while Hobie loops his arm around your shoulders, head placed next to yours. “They are cheeky.”

“They got that from you.”

[bbhyeoliskooks]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐎𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐖𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧 | csb

✥ genre: soobin x reader (f), the other woman, forbidden romance, pretty much angst, 1.5k+ words

✥ warnings: infidelity, suggestive

✥ song rec: The Other Woman -- Lana Del Ray

Soobin's fingers lightly traced the upper part of your cheek, gently waking you up as if the sun's meager rays weren't enough. He didn't manage to get very far, your eyelashes barely fluttering as you tiredly opened one eye. His touch was soft, absolutely warm as it glided lower to cup your cheek.

You glanced at the alarm clock behind him, noticing the bright red letters that yelled 5:03am. Typical, you thought, rolling on your other side so that you could prolong Soobin's departure. He would always leave around this time when you finally got to dream, waking you up so he could muster a quick goodbye. While you appreciated the effort, you were always too tired to realize that he was going away. Again.

This time however, you hadn't entered the REM stage of sleeping, with only 2 hours of sleep under your belt. Soobin had treated you to a wonderful night, clothes scattered on the floor haphazardly that it kept you up, euphorically biting your lip. The whole night his arm was wrapped tightly around you, letting you know that he subconsciously wanted you near. Because of your lack of sleep, you were able to open your eyes easily, being woken up by Soobin's many kisses and physical touches.

You groaned and tried to look at him as he peppered soft kisses against your cold shoulder. Of course you hadn't gone to sleep wearing anything, but that was the usual with Soobin. He always wanted them off you when you went to sleep, arguing that sleep was warmer this way. It's not like you cared anyway as you were desperate to have him near you in any way possible- as pathetic as that sounded.

"Hey love, I have to go," he mumbled, his voice breathy against the stark contrast of birds chirping outside.

You hummed, turning around once again to bury your face in his neck, "can't you just stay a little longer?"

Although you already knew the answer to that foolish question, you wanted to take your chances, to have him here until the sun actually warmed the room. He never did, the moon being his companion whenever he drove to your house in the silence of the night. Being here, under the simultaneous light of the sun and moon, made him look like a painting from the golden age of the Renaissance. He was perfect here, a source of your personal heat and more so, your love. If anything, Soobin belonged in your room; he belonged with you.

The dimple on his cheek appeared when he frowned, eyes falling onto your body that was lazily covered in the heavy bedsheets. "My wife will notice I'm gone. I'm sorry, I can't."

How could you be surprised at this point? Countless times he was wrapped within you, his body extremely close to yours so often that they molded together so easily. His legs would fit with yours perfectly, his chest flush against yours in a way that provided comfort. You were made for him, how could he not see that? Then as always, the next day he would be taken away from you- to her, the woman that didn't get this vulnerable side of Soobin at all.

You didn't care that you were the other woman, as harsh as it was. You knew Soobin loved you more. You put more effort in your appearance, you kept your house tidy at all times for his arrival, you did everything that made him love you more. She, on the other hand, never put much thought into it and took him for granted. Because of this he loved you more and if you were going to be cocky, you didn't even have to lift a finger. Despite knowing this you felt disappointed, your heart sinking involuntarily at his expected answer.

"It's fine, Soobin... but can I ask something?" You whispered, looking up at him through your eyelashes.

A gentle smile fell on his face as he gazed at you as well, admiring the way the light hit your eyes. For a couple of seconds he stared at you, before reluctantly getting up.

"Of course, love." The cold air hit him and he hissed, looking around for his clothes that were scandalously thrown off to the side.

You began to toy with your fingers, a line drawn tightly on your lips as you watched him loop his legs through his pants. It had been a question that you were pondering for so long ever since the affair started. Now that you were awake enough, you could finally receive an answer that would probably leave you tossing and turning the next night.

You started before pausing again, glancing at his bare chest. The sight was better than looking at his face- you knew his clouded expression would crush you with the words you said next.

"Why can't you leave her? I mean, we love each other but it's still wrong."

An awkward silence filled the room, taking the place of the sun rays. You got up as well, opting to wrap the blanket against your naked body, his warmth already fleeting from it. The only thing that could be heard was the tired breaths between you and Soobin, plus the rustling of him trying to buckle his pants. You shut your eyes as if the action would shield the hurt you knew you were going to feel in a couple of seconds, if he actually decided to answer.

"It's not that easy," Soobin sighed wistfully, grabbing his shirt- the last thing to be put on, "my parents will be unhappy and I'll lose a long marriage of 5 years."

You felt your throat dry up and become parched at his words. The dizziness of barely getting sleep seemed to be affecting you, and you felt your jelly legs falter from being glued to the floor. Before thinking, you said the words on the tip of your tongue.

"But don't you care that you'll lose me too if you keep this up? I want to be with you, Bin," you pleaded desperately, hoping that he would see your heart, "and- and I know you love me more than her." It was no use, the knowing, abandoned look on his face telling you everything his voice couldn't.

"I'm sorry... I'll text you when you wake up, okay?"

But you weren't going to give up without a fight. You ran over to him, who was already at the door of your bedroom. You grabbed onto the ends of his shirt, willing to do whatever to keep him here- even if that meant arguing.

"Then you'll just delete it? Hide me from your wife and everyone else?"

Turning around, Soobin's hand found its way to ruffle your hair softly before falling and cupping your cheek. You melted into his touch, letting half of your weight fall onto the left side of your leg. Momentarily you felt your dizziness pass, thankful that he was here for just a second more.

"Listen, sweetheart," he coaxed, his thumb delicately rubbing against your cheek, "you know I love you, but no one can know besides us. You also know that I want to be with you too; the circumstances just make it very hard."

If it was even possible, your heart seemed to shatter a little bit more, a physical crack running down through the middle. Tears prickled at your eyes, threatening to spill over. Crying was usually your last resort- he would never deny you when you were on the verge of tears. And although crying worked in your favor, sadness was truly what you were feeling as well. His words were a dagger to the heart, even though they were simultaneously sweet, calling you that pet name he specifically kept for you. They were the meaning of bittersweet, keeping you with a married man longer than what your self-respect demanded and what his poor wife deserved.

"Please choose me. I love you, Bin. I have loved you longer than her and I make you happy, don't I?" Your voice faltered, cracking at the end of each sentence. This time you let a tear fall, no shame in getting the waterworks flowing. It's not like you had a choice anyway; whatever Soobin did, your body involuntarily reacted at.

The married man stood in front of you, his tall stature merely towering over you as you looked at him with hopeful, sad eyes. He pressed a kiss against your forehead, hoping that the sweet action would soften the cruel words that he would say next. When you saw his hand cradling the doorknob, your eyes electric to analyze his every action, you knew. He was going to leave you in the night again, utterly alone and useless.

"You do... I'm sorry, sweetheart. I have to go," Soobin whispered as he regretfully opened the door.

You watched as he left, ruthlessly taking your heart with him to bring home to his naive wife. As always, this is what the other woman experienced daily. Wrongfully having his attention but unfortunately never his love.

Released: July 11, 2024 (9:22pm CT)

Thoughts: pls know that I do not condone cheating!! I just got this idea from listening to the other woman from Lana del Ray, which is what led me to writing this. even though it's wrong, I can't help but feel my heart break and feel sympathy :( not at the cheating part, rather doing whatever to make someone stay even though you know they won't :( anyway hope y'all enjoyed!

Tags:

[thecomfywriter]

🦢 oc profile tag 🦢

howdy yall! back with another tag list game. This one, I know for a fact @willtheweaver and @paeliae-occasionally tagged me in this, since i put it in the drafts. Everyone else that tagged me... I'm sorry. It got drownt away in the other notifications 😔 HOWEVER I do appreciate the tag and I promise I will not be as tardy as i have been this week with future tag posts. I just went on a week long hiatus due to busy personal/academia life and releasing tov.

By the way, if you haven't heard yet-- Throne of Vengeance, Volume 1, Is available for preorder! So far, it is only the ebook, but look out for updates on when the paperback will be available (soon!) But anyway, you can preorder the eBook here :)

Anyhow, I'll be answering for Evan and Faer (thank you to my beloved @wyked-ao3 and my best friend for the suggestions). Okay, without further ado...

-- <3 --

Name: Evan

Nickname: Little Flame, Little Leaf, Golden Boy

Kind of being: Cairoyas, avatar of a god, Jomeraz, Singer

Age: 0-25 (you follow his life)

Sex: Male

Appearance: dark brown/black with hidden red streaks/highlights, bronzy golden tanned skin, bright gold eyes, full lips

Occupation: Prince, Healer, Solider, Spy, El'Hycan, El’Nooz

Family members: Elenfa (sister), Fawn (sister), Alan (father), Caramel (mother), Noctem (manny/pseudo-brother), Bimyllis (pseudo-mother), Rose (god-sister), Riyzela (pseudo-cousin), Raheer (pseuo-cousin)

Pets: Mareon (name of his shapeshifting horse), Falc (name of his hawk)

Best friend: Faer, Qatya

Describe his/her room: large chambers, pentagonal shaped room, large bathhouse, dome shaped ceiling covered in animation murals, centre crescent bed, library in the left corner, study in right corner, large fireplace and reading area, gemstone shrine, walk-in closet

Way of speaking: Accent, poetic when he wants to be pretentious, slang otherwise

Physical characteristics (posture, gestures, attitude): tall, proper princely posture, easy smile, dimpled, lax attitude, charming, acts and walks like a dancer, emotes, fluid movements, coy smiles, raised brows, he licks his teeth and bites his lips before he smiles ('Noctem smile')

Items in his/her back pocket/purse: diamond, amethyst, gold, earrings, feather

Hobbies: gemstone collecting, fashion, writing love letters, dancing, learning magic, medicine, sparring, jumps into volcano, curse out the gods, pester faer

Favorite sports: swordfighting, rockclimbing/hiking, swimming, armstraining

Talents, abilities, powers: singing, dancing, inventing magic, surviving, light magic, all singer magic

Relationships (how he/she is with other people): extrovert, charming, charismatic, wooing, accidentally flirty, goofy, unserious, unfocused

Fears: smiling, reflections, blood, food, water, heights, losing control, dragons, skeletons, carcasses, sleep, disappointing people, being forgotten, being overshadowed by his sister, being disowned, nyla

Faults: uses people as "blank slates", never fully honesty, hides his pain constantly, falls in love and forgets about himself as an individual,

Good points: everything. i love this man. he's funny, powerful, strong, charming, goofy, fashionable, unserious, trifler, menace, caring, compassionate, sweet, romantic, kindhearted, softie

What he/she wants more than anything else: to never hurt anyone (ever again), to be a healer, to not be afraid anymore, wants the best for nyla, he wants the freedom to be happy, freedom, to reconnect with his family and actually have a relationship with them, his father's approval, he wants his mom to know his name

--

Name: Faer

Nickname: Vaza-ek, the Prodigy

Kind of being: Arcanic, Cairoyas

Age: 3 (introduction) - 27 (last appearance)

Sex: Female

Appearance: icy brown eyes, Warrior dots around eyes and brows, thick angular brows, silky brown hair that smells like pomegranates (typically keeps it in a braid), beige skin, muscular (especially her shoulder/deltoids)

Occupation: huntress, soldier, evan's bodyguard, evan's best friend

Family members: Donovan (twin brother), Dad (unnamed), Mom (unnamed)

Pets: N/A

Best friend: Khos ja Evan, Qatya

Describe his/her room: within an Arcanic temple

Way of speaking: like she's over someone's bullshit (probably Evan's)

Physical characteristics (posture, gestures, attitude): militant, values her personal space, strict, focused, detailed-oriented, observant

Items in his/her back pocket/purse: bows, arrows, weapons, poison, gloves, vial, food, napkin (2x), handcuffs, rope, money, blessing coins

Hobbies: archery, sparring, poetry, praying, divination, temple-keeping, record keeping, reading

Favorite sports: archery, running, sparring (armstraining), throwing rocks

Talents, abilities, powers: put evan in his place (discipline this menace), Arcanic magic, huntress (hunt magical species dragons), soldier, archery/armstraining, praying/arcanic prayers, booking, ride/tame dragons, tracking

Relationships (how he/she is with other people): bisexual; stiff, introverted, professional, non-affectionate, reserved, sarcastic, witty, intelligent conversation

Fears: being like her father (becoming an M), failing her duty, losing Donovan, failing to become an Inen

Faults: puts duty over her relationships, closed off, trust issues, refuses to show affection, tends to neglect her partners, SHE GOES FOR SIBLINGS 😭 (not intentionally, but it's happened often enough that its a pattern. she'll go for one sibling and then end up falling for the other one)

Good points: extremely loyal, strong, dutiful, disciplined, poetic, intelligent, compassionate, patient, kind, focused, intellectual, observant, curious, resilient, brave

What he/she wants more than anything else: to become an Inen, to protect her family (Evan included)

-- <3 --

Alrighty folks! That's it for today. Thank you again for the tags guys, and sorry I have not unburied all the people who have tagged me. I do appreciate you 1000x over <3

Also, I don't know if I should do an introduction post for my other wips? I was thinking of opening up my inbox and doing a "WIP/OC Ask Game" for my other projects, since I'm currently a bit obsessed with CoS and TIS, but I also still have to finish all my tag games AND the official character intros for the main cast of ToV. Oh well. womp womp.

Alrighty! I'll leave this one as an + open tag as well, only because, again, I am late to the party.

Toodles!

✧༺♥༻∞

If you want to know more about the lore I've already discussed behind my books, refer to the following posts below:

Throne of Vengeance Lore (General)

TCW Blog Navigation Guide

TCW Writing Bar Discord -> i may be whoops on tumblr but i am less whoops on discord, so come hither!

I'll tag the TCW crew under the line. Cheerios!

✧༺♥༻∞

Happy Writing!

TCW Crew:

@lunaeuphternal @the-golden-comet @renasdoodles

@drchenquill @zackprincebooks @wyked-ao3

@toragay-writing @the-letterbox-archives

@kind-lion @mysticstarlightduck @agirlandherquill

@storyteller-kara @dahliaontherun @writingismydrugs

@authorcoledipalo @sm-writes-chaos @illarian-rambling

@pexchys @an-indecisive-nerd @thelovelymachinery

[urhoneycombwitch]

foreword: intro to a new series Mayhaps! name pending… adoptive parents Eddie x reader, origin story of their girl <3

cw: rehab mention, au (in which Eddie lives and has a sister), brief insinuation of infidelity

___

You’ve been through so many huge, life-altering events with Eddie Munson.

You’d seen him nearly bleed out in the Upside Down, red rivulets streaming from his nose, his mouth, as you and Steve carried him back home. You’d helped him through all the physical therapy, all the nights he’d wake wild-eyed and sweaty, teeth gritted around your name.

And him, just as many, with you- buying your first house together, turning the corner into young adulthood at each other’s sides, turning 25 and then 30, every milestone more exciting than the last.

All that, and more. And here the more was, now- in the form of a toddler, standing with one sock foot behind the other on your front porch, holding out an envelope addressed to Eddie.

She’s got some wild, dark curls, twisting down past her small shoulders, framing a doll-like face; some familiar, chocolate-bambi eyes, lashes so dark and long it’s a wonder they don’t get tangled.

”Oh, shit.” Eddie stares at the envelope now in his hand- name reflected in scrawling black ink. “I- where’s your mom?”

The kid blinks up at him, shy but unwavering in her stance, posing as much braver than she probably feels, on a stranger’s doorstep all alone in the middle of the woods. (A touch dramatic, perhaps- it’s a lightly-wooded area, neighbors as near as two orchards away.)

On instinct, you reach for the girl, and she stretches her arms towards you. Your heart is pounding as you settle her onto your hip, as she rests the weight of her head against your collarbone.

She’s dressed in an oversized t-shirt that falls to her knees, worn purple socks that keep slipping down her legs- every so often, she reaches down absentmindedly to tug them back up.

”Am I crazy, or does this kid kind of look like you?” The half-chuckle sounds strained even to your own ears, trying to keep it light in front of the kid even as dread unfurls in your stomach. “How come she looks like you, Eddie?”

”Sweetheart, I-” Eddie gestures with the envelope between him and the girl in your arms, eyes going wide- “This kid looks, what- two ‘n a half? Three? I’ve been with you for more than triple that, now, right? She’s not mine, mine, I don’t-”

His face falls with realization, and you wait, anxious, as he rips open the envelope.

“Holy shit.”

He swears for the second time in front of the toddler, and you shush him while pressing a hand over her exposed ear- “Hey. Munson. Cool it with the cussing.”

”Sorry. I’m… it’s Lydia. My sister, Lydia- it’s her kid.”

The bile in your throat recedes, relief coming but leaving just as quick- “Where’s Lydia, then?”

Eddie shakes his head, reaches back to close the door behind the three of you, sealing off the cold spring air, eyes still scanning down the letter. “She’s in rehab. Geyser Springs, apparently- it’s a few hours away from here.”

You nod, slowly, starting up a rhythmic bounce with the baby on your hip, one hand still covering her ear as you whisper, “Aaaand… her kid is doing what on our porch, exactly?”

You’ve never seen Eddie so pale before. Not even when he was bleeding out in an alternate dimension.

“She says the kid’s turning three in July. And her name is Elsie.”

Elsie picks her head up from your neck when Eddie says her name, dimples in her fist as she jabs a finger at her own chest.

“Yeah?” Eddie asks, voice gentle in way you’ve never heard before. “That your name, princess?”

This gets a smile out of her, little foot kicking out in equal parts delight and bashfulness, a warbly hum in response to his question.

The phone, on the hook next room over, trills. You and Elsie watch from the archway of the kitchen as Eddie answers, pushing back into his splayed hand atop the counter. “Munson residence. Yeah, this is he.”

He’s quiet for a while, soft mm-hms punctuating the silence every few moments. The one-sided conversation continues for a minute, two- then rumble of a stomach catches your attention.

”Hungry?” You murmur to the girl, signing eat with your free arm and hand. When she nods, you slip past Eddie into the kitchen, moving as quietly as you can to get Elsie a snack.

The voice over the phone drones on- you’re dipping into the fruit bowl at the other end of the counter, out of range to do any effective eavesdropping. Hoping an apple is a neutral enough food to not be an allergen, you offer the kid a Red Delicious to munch on while you try and read Eddie’s facial expressions.

“Okay, thanks. Yeah, that’s our current address. Uh-huh- yeah, see her in the morning. Ten AM.”

Eddie answers the jump in your eyebrow, after hanging up the phone to face you both- “That was the social worker. Apparently, Lydia paid a trusted friend to drop princess here off-”

Elsie grins toothily around her bite of apple at Eddie’s acknowledgement of her, and he almost melts at the knees, you can just tell, but he recovers-

“-but she’d called social services to let them know about me ‘n you before turning herself in to rehab.”

”Why us? Why not- an orphanage, or something?” You hope the kid is young enough to not understand what you’re implying; you’re starting to feel a touch of true alarm at the thought of being tasked with looking after a whole human being. “Or, like, I dunno- a fire station…?”

Eddie collapses in the breakfast nook’s window seat, staring blankly at the wall behind you. “She said she always looked up to me. Thought since I have a girl and a house I’m the most responsible person she knows. Shoot, kid,” he laughs, suddenly, addressing Elsie- “we couldn’t even keep a garden alive in this house. You’re in for a ride, kiddo- sorry in advance.”

”Don’t you listen to him.” You bounce Elsie once with a playful little swoop and she giggles, the first time you’ve heard a glimpse of her voice- “We had some perfectly good green beans from that garden, and your uncle Eddie hand-built me those raised beds with scrap wood.”

“I digress.” The thing about Eddie is he’s great in front of an audience, knows just when to hamm it up for a laugh; palms spread in an appeasing gesture, he continues- “We got green beans out of the whole ordeal. Lucky us.”

Even if she doesn’t fully understand the joke, Elsie does read the laughing cue, another adorable giggling bubbling from her small frame.

“Well… just until tomorrow morning, right?” You ask, placing a warm hand between her shoulder blades as she snuggles back into you.

Eddie nods in confirmation. “Yeah. Just one night with us, princess. Wanna watch Muppets?”

One sock-covered foot kicks out in answer.

[joekeerysguitar]

a million little things

authors note: hi guys!! here’s a short little story for all you family video steve lovers like me! i’m currently working on a longer ff which will be out soon! for now, enjoy!! -nina :)

overview: over the past few months, steve has grown to have a crush on you and cannot help but to observe and admire every little detail about you. he’s gotten to the point where he mentally knows a million little things about you…and cannot wait to learn more.

Steve Harrington fanfic, fem reader, steve x reader, fluff, simp behavior, best friend to lovers, angst

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Steve cannot help but to admire you.

He can read you like a book, cover to cover.

Just the past few months he knows how to read your face and expressions. He jot to memory the certain features that move to every single reaction. He admires how your personality and attentiveness changes for every customer.

At this point, he probably knows more about you then you know about yourself.

Steve has had a crush on you since you started working at Family Video about three months ago. The minute Keith told Robin and him that there would be another employee starting on Monday he wasn’t too thrilled. But the minute you walked in that Monday with your blonde hair glowing from the rising sun and your blue eyes glimmering like gentle waves in the ocean he wasn’t so mad anymore.

Heck, he was in love.

Quickly, Robin, Steve, and you grew close and now you three were inseparable.

And Steve loves it. He loves spending every single day with his two best friends…

Well his best friend and his best friend with benefits.

Now you stand 20 feet away from him placing movie tapes on the empty shelves. He watches as you scan your eyes over the title and back at the shelf finding the correct letter for the alphabet. He notices your tongue poke out a bit in concentration as your eyes continued to scan the shelf. Once you find the correct spot, your eyes light up and you smile cheerfully while placing the film in its correct spot. Watching you being proud of yourself awakes butterflies in Steve making his heart flutter.

As he watches you he slowly dazes out filling his mind with memories of you and completely forgetting the task he was trying to complete.

All he could think of was you…

He remembers the first time he met you. You had the biggest smile on your face. One of those cheeky genuine grins that just warms the heart. And boy, it sure did warm him up. He adores your smile, even the small ones. He finds every single one very beautiful. He especially loves the smiles that reveal your dimples. It’s just too cute, you’re too cute!

He also remembers the first time he made you laugh. A real true stomach aching, tear forming laugh.

It was a very quiet day at Family Video, barely any customers and full of boredom. The three of you decided to build a tower with the movie tapes on the counter. Each one of you took turns placing a random movie on the top of the stack. Steve remembers the same concentration face like before as you placed the movie on the top and smiled after the tower did not wiggle. As the tower grew taller and less stable, it was more difficult to place the movies. As you reached up to place a movie you accidentally bumped the tower and it collapsed on Steve smacking him in the face. You and Robin tumbled over in laughter as Steve cursed and rubbed his nose being all mad and upset. As Steve watched you two practically cry over him being smacked by movies he couldn’t help but to laugh and smile at your laugh. Your laugh was just so genuine and cute. Full of heart warming giggles and occasional sharp breathes for air. You threw your head back and scrunched your nose.

Steve thought it was the prettiest sound he has ever heard.

“Sor.. S..Sorry” You said laughing in between every word holding your stomach.

Steve wasn’t so mad anymore.

Steve could definitely tell when you were having a bad day too. Your demeanor was very quiet and kept to yourself. You didn’t laugh or talk much, just did what you had to do. Because of this, everyone felt glum. There was no energy in the store. Everyone felt affected from this.

Especially Steve..

Steve hates when you feel like this.

He’s a sole believer that doing good things for someone in bad times always helps. So by that he will try everything and anything in his power to make you happy.

One time, he bought you your favorite drink and snack. Another time, he let you pick your favorite movie to play on the TV in the store.

He constantly tries to crack jokes and try to earn even a small smile or laugh. He sees it as a reward. Warms his heart up and makes him feel happy.

Steves especially good at reading facial expressions and eyes. He recalls the time he saved you from this man trying to ask you out while you checked him out at the register.

Stocking the shelves he listened to the conversation as you the rental card from the man.

“You’re pretty cute, wanna go out sometime?” The guy asked not breaking eye contact with you.

You stammered trying to ignore the question. Your eyes showed an uncomfortable look and you fiddled with your fingers wanting to disappear.

“Hello? Lady? I asked you a question.” He said getting more angry.

“Your return date is next Saturday.” You reply trying to stay polite but your voice is shaky and uncomfortable.

Steve had enough, building up the courage he walked over to him and says “What the hell man? That’s my girlfriend, back off.”

You looked up at Steve growing a smile feeling relieved inside.

He saved you.

And you loved him even more now.

The man walked out of the store as Steve turned to look at you with those dazzling eyes.

You just smiled back with the most genuine smile that he has ever seen.

Walking over to him you just envelope him in a hug. “Thank you!” You mutter into his chest wrapping your arms around him like a koala on a tree.

He was never ever happier then. You had the best hugs of all time. He just hugged you back and whispered “You’re welcome Y/N!” His heart fluttered like it contained a thousand butterflies.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

“Steve.. STEVE.” Robin said tapping him on the arm repeatedly.

Snapping out of his trance he goes “Shit.. Sorry.” He runs his hands down his face in embarrassment.

Robin already knows about his feelings for you. He only talks about it everytime the two of them hang out. He constantly asks Robin for advice or just vents to her.

“Just say something to her.” Robin says taking the movie from his hand and placing it in her cart.

Say what?

Steve was afraid to make a fool of himself.

“Like what?” Steve whispered trying to keep you from hearing as he watched you say focused on the movie in your hand as your face was concentrated and relaxed.

“Ask her out on a date. It’s simple.” Robin says rolling her eyes. “Go get em tiger.” She says pushing him over to you.

Cursing under his breath at Robin, he walks over to you diverting your attention. You look up at him with your bright blue eyes. His stomach twists in knots.

“Hi!” You say greeting him. “Do you need anything?”

You were a little too cute. Steve stammered on his words. “I was.. I was wondering.. if.. you.. you wanna go out.. on a date with me?”

Steve never thought those 12 words would come out of his mouth, especially to the girl of his dreams.

Your heart beats faster, you wanted to hear those words since the day you met him. Trying to keep your excitement from bubbling over you reply “Yes I would love that, Harrington.” You couldn’t contain your smile and neither could he.

Your eyes glimmered with a excited and surprised look. Your smile was brighter than the entire galaxy. You were the happiest girl in the entire world! Steve has never seen you this happy ever.

Did Steve just ask out his best friend? His crush? His soulmate? His forever?

Yes. Yes he did.

And did you say yes?

Yes you did.

Mentally, Steve checks off another box.

Number One Million and One: Y/N likes me back.

[writer-by-the-sea]

for the letter if it’s cool

my farmer is dev he/him

he’s strong and hairy slightly shorter then Elliott his hairs always a mess grey eyes and brownish hair dimples and freckles he’s usually pretty blunt and cynical always overworking himself throwing himself into work but he’s got the biggest soft spot for Elliott he loves listening to Elliott’s sweet talking and just clinging to him whenever he can especially when he’s tired and overworked which ends up being most times honestly it’s one of the only ways he can calm down or sleep he gets protective incredibly fast and is always quick to gush over Elliott’s poems and letters

could I get praise and compliments about my body and how determined I am with work how much effort I put into everything and something along the lines of “when you get home I’ll hold you all night just relax I’ll take care of everything and show you how much I value you”

anyway that’s it I love your writing and blog you might be my favorite atm honestly and sorry for the shit grammar I sent this when it was really late couldnt sleep nightmares keep kicking my ass take care of yourself see ya

My dearest Dev,

As you were sleeping so deeply, not even waking as I kissed the cute freckles on your nose; I am leaving you this letter. There is something I need to grab from the cabin and I was going to invite you along with me, but my handsome man deserves his rest. Did you know that I get tired just watching you work? My soft hands will never be able to compete with your strong hands. How I wish I could kiss away each callus and give you all of my energy in the process. 

You work so hard… when you’re away from me, I imagine how you’re covered in dirt, digging in the ground to plant more seeds, dropping to your knees to pick up a duck egg that one of the chickens refuses to get off of, milking the cows and frowning when you accidentally spray milk into your face.

And you’re doing all of it for us.

I know, I know, you say this is your job, this is what you signed up for! I just wish I could give you as much as you give me. Your hard work provides everything I ever could have wanted and more. I feel like a gold-digging husband! I want you to know how much I love you, how much I appreciate everything you do for us..

Every morning I wake up next to the most handsome, hardworking, kind, strong farmer — and I feel so lucky. I cannot imagine a life without you.

I love you. I can’t wait to see you when I get back. I’ve already watered all the crops, so you should only need to care for the animals.

Hopefully, you can finish quickly; so we can cuddle in front of the fireplace with some sandwiches for lunch.

I’ll see you soon.

Love,

Elliott

[notastraykid]

Clean Up!

Chan x gn!reader (I hope? Sorry if I messed up somewhere.) Warnings: It’s just silly almost fluff. ‘Guys’ is used as a description of a collection of people rather than a gender. Also… this is very poopy joke centric. I am 100% immature with the jokes. I say I’m sorry but I’m really not. I have not sense/spell checked this. I'm not going to, neither so nyah-nyah. :P Word Count: 1671 You tightly held the black refuse back in your grip as Chan threw in a few more empty cans and plastic cups. The bag was now half full of litter from following your friend around the lounge.

It was stupid o’clock in the morning and the birthday party had finally broken up. Most people had left save the odd few who refused to believe it was finished or were too drunk to keep their eyes open and slept where they fell. Your ears buzzed at the now-odd silence. The way his arms flexed in his black shirt as he crushed another beer can made a hot flush creep up from your neck and you hoped it wasn’t too obvious you were staring. You could always blame the alcohol, anyway. You hadn’t had much but he didn’t need to be privy to that. “You know,” Chan said, as he tried to brush pretzel crumbs off the sofa and into his hands, failing miserably. He gave a self-defeated shrug and brushed them onto the floor. “…you didn’t have to stay and help. You were a guest, I was the host. Well, one of the hosts of this birthday party…” He narrowed his eyes a little as he looked around for his co-host, Felix. “Of course, clean up time and he's nowhere to be found. Well at least I have you!” Chan sat down where the pretzel crumbs just resided and patted the little space beside him. You perched on the edge of the sofa after moving a small pizza box onto your lap. Mmm. Pepperoni. Chan sighed and crossed his legs on the coffee table in front of him, closing his eyes. “I don’t mind,” you quietly responded, looking at the small pile of discarded paper plates with half eaten food, a smashed chocolate bar and what looked like half boiled egg next to his feet. The egg was in a puddle of what you hoped to be beer. “I like to be helpful. You know me.” You gingerly picked up the boiled egg and threw it in the black bag and sniffed your hand. Yep. Stale beer. “Mother Hen complex kicks in and I’m cleaning, offering people water and calling taxi’s for people… I’m just waiting on the day someone asks me to sign a note for school.” a half-hearted chuckle left your lips. You were always the sensible one of the friend group. Good ol’ reliable. Silence fell between the two of you for a moment and you wiped your hand on your thigh. You looked up at Chan who still had his eyes closed. A smile grew on his face, dimples deepening. “Dear Mr Anderson,” He said with a fake high-pitched voice as his hand dancing through the air as if writing a letter, “Please excuse Seungmin from swimming as he has a terrible case of the botty squirts and one simply cannot afford to drain yet another pool. It went everywhere! Kind regards, Seungmin’s Ma-ma.” A snort fell from your mouth causing you to drop the top of the black bag and cover your mouth. Eyes wide, you looked at Chan. One eye had opened to look at you and his grin widened. “I didn’t take you for a snorter! Haa! Of all the years we’ve known each other…” “Shut up it was an accident.” You could feel another blush creep up your neck. “Just caught me by surprise!” “Cuuttee. Okay. Okay.” Chan nodded to himself as he turned sideways to face you, one leg crossing under another. “Let’s see if I can get that to happen again.” Your eyes rolled and hoped your face wasn’t as red as it felt. “Why on earth… Listen. I don’t usually snort. It won’t happen again.” “It was cute and I like the challenge!” He paused, mouth turning into a thin line as he thought. “I can only think of poo jokes now.” Chan’s eyes closed into crescents, dimples deepening. “Mature. But go on!” You raised your eyebrows at him and nodded slightly, brushing past the fact he thought your snort was cute. How much had he had to drink? He seemed pretty with it when you were cleaning up.

“But! You won’t hear another snort from me.” You let your hand pick at the fabric on the sofa cushion by your leg to help ground yourself and distract yourself. Stop blushing for the love of… There was a slight intake of breath before Chan spoke, “By the way, did you know that diarrhoea is hereditary?” “Hmm.” You said, nodding once, smiling. “Yeah I heard it runs in your …genes...” You leant forward slightly in a challenge. “Next.” “Right Okay. How about the constipated maths professor? Yeah he worked it out with a pencil. No?... Hmm.” You waited for a few beats. Then a few more. You looked questioningly at Chan and wondered if he had fell asleep with his eyes open? “Cha-“ “Hm? Oh sorry.” Chan rubbed his face. “Blame the alcohol… My concentration… it’s like Seungmin’s diarrhoea… it’s all over the place.” Head dropped, eyes closed, you had to raise one finger to let him know that he was close… close to a laugh and probably a snort. “Almost. Almost had me there.” “What’s the definition of a surprise?” Your head was still lowered, and you shook your head left to right once. Chan put a finger under your chin and lifted your head. You gazed met his own, eyes dancing with laughter. “A fart with a lump in it.” Forehead creased, you made a groaning sound as you kept your lips tight. He was not going to win. Chan knew. Just one more… One more joke or pun. He had no idea why but he had to get you to laugh. Be it the snort or an actual laugh, he didn’t care, but he had to hear you laugh again.  Of all the ways he knew to flirt with someone, why did he have to run with these kind of jokes and puns? He felt stupid but it seemed to be working. You were flushed and happy and Chan took that as progress. Chan leant closer still. You made a ‘mmm-mmm’ sound of denial, lips still forced closed gave a shake of your head. So pretty… you thought to yourself as you looked into his eyes. “Why did the baker’s hands stink?” He himself began to blush when he realised how close his face was to yours. His hand moved from below your chin to rest on your cheek. Your face relaxed and you were no longer holding your mouth together. You sucked in your lower lip a little, wondering if he wanted you to answer or not. Was this happening? Over these kind of jokes? He slowly moved his face closer still, a small quick lick of his lips had you feeling a flutter in your stomach, his eyes glittering before slowly blinking. A quick glimpse down to your own mouth then back up to your own eyes.

Your heart was beating so fast you were sure it was either going to give up and flatline with smoke emitting from your ears or explode out of your chest like something from a sci-fi movie. Time must have stopped because how else could you take this moment to admire the depth of his brown eyes, or count the faint freckles across his nose and cheeks? Them dimples up close were as deep as the ocean and them lips… You let out a little sigh. Closer still. Were you still breathing? You didn’t know. Could you see yourself reflected in his eyes? You wouldn’t know now; Chan had closed them and tilted his head so slightly. His breathe… gin? Orange juice??... invaded your senses. You’d always liked the smell of oranges. You closed your eyes and felt the ghost of his lips against yours. The butterflies in your stomach were about to start doing a conga. The sound of someone walking and the crinkling of paper made you both look up and Chan’s hand dropped from your cheek. Seungmin was hobbling past you both, streamers wrapped around one foot, dragging behind him as he walked. You looked at Chan, at Seungmin, back at Chan… Seungmin frowned and rubbed his face, causing a round of giggles from you both. “Whah??” He kicked his leg with the streamers attached. Chan giggled. “Seungminnie - My love for you is like diarrhea! I just can’t hold it in!” You tried to hide your face against Chans arm.

“Ah I don’t get you guys.” He rolled his eyes and tried to kick the streamers off his foot again, lost his balance ever so slightly and stumbled towards the hall leading to the bathroom. “Don’t be a party pooper!” Chan called. Seungmin threw his arms over his head in despair. “Let me know if you need more toilet paper!” You hollered as the door slammed shut. “And Happy Birthday!!” Another snort. Chan smiled with triumph, although it was your own which made your snort. He shook his head in an endearing way before pulling you back to his lips. Warm and soft, moving against your own, gently, and slowly. You tilted your head as your noses brushed ever so slightly. Your right arm dragged up his left, stopping at his neck, fingers curling against his hot skin. It was delicate and Chan definitely tasted of oranges. You felt him smile against your lips. “To answer your last...” You said to Chan as you broke apart, slightly breathless. You gave a little sigh and rested your forehead against Chans, not believing you were about to say this after your first kiss with him. “I know the answer. It’s because he kneaded a poo.”

Again, sorry not sorry about the poop jokes. I don't know why it went down that route but yeah. It's done now. If you got this far, you're also immature and I like you. You're my people.

[augment-techs]

“You know how it’s fall? At least I’m hoping the postman delivers it while it’s still fall, There are these really beautiful maple leaves that are falling all around, and somehow, somehow, just like the golden glow of the sunset, they remind me of you. They remind me of all the days you walk me home, of all the times you and I spend just walking through the woods, hand in hand.

I could live forever in your smile, make a home in your dimples. I see you playing your piano, and suddenly my heart wants to sing in tune with the notes you play.

You and I, aren’t we like piano keys? Major and minor, sharp and soft, blue and orange? You’re the sunset before my nightfall, you’re also the dawn that follows.

Even the laws of thermodynamics would place you and me together, because we’re meant to be.

I know I say this every time I write, but I’m sorry. I’m sorry I hurt you so, I’m sorry I broke you, I’m sorry for everything I ever did to you. The truth is, I can never make up for what I did; if only I could go back in time, turn it back, bring you with me, never let you go, I would.

When I was transported to another dimension, and found out I was no more, in that world, my first thought was of you. I’ve never told this to anyone, not even my friends, but the only one that came to my mind, was you. How you were in that universe. Were you with me? Or were you apart?

I never thought you and I would ever end up this way. Things went so wrong, somewhere, but I’m glad you reached out. I’m glad Bulk didn’t break me in half when he found out I still loved you.

Truth is, I never stopped loving you. You were my first, you’re going to be my last.

I cant imagine being anywhere else, where you are not— no home would be would be warm enough, no house could compare, if you’re not here to share the warmth with me.

We’re getting older, life is changing, and so is everything else, but you and I, let’s never change?”

One of the many many letters to Skull, sent by Billy~ //enclosed, a maple leaf, and a couple of candid Polaroids Kim took from her camera of the two of them//

"...Not okay." Billy blinked up from his warm spot in their shared bed, squinting blurry at Skull's back and the dried leaf the pianist was spinning around quietly as he stared down at the letter in his lap. A little spike of shame raked through Billy's ribs when the blond recognized the note as he lifted up to settle his chin over Skull's shoulder, wrap arms around his middle, and tuck his knees on either side of his hips. He tried not to pay attention to the slight chill coming off of Skull's bare arms that spoke volumes about how long the man had been sitting in the moonlight--so bright in the winter months, reflecting off the snow and amplifying everything it touched--without Billy noticing. "What's not okay, sweetheart?" "That other me you talked about here. I think..." He reached up to needle and loops fingers into Billy's own, chewing his lip as he breathed out and back in. The white of his breath almost made Billy pull him back under the blankets, but then Skull continued and Billy went so still and silent from the shock. "I think if I were them, at the end of the day, I would have done everything to make things easier for everyone else until things got better, but I don't think I would have wanted to go on. I can't even imagine a life without you in it, somehow. I think he's probably dead, even if he's still walking around." Billy did not have an answer to that. All of his breath was wadded up in his throat, not quite choking him, but so still that it was almost impossible to think he would be able to exhale. But Eugene turned around and brought them both under the covers, pressing the note onto the side table with the leaf and wrapped Billy up like something precious and immortal and only for him. All ragged smile and crows feet at the side of his eyes and he blew a warm breath over Billy's face in that way that he always had since they were very small. It tickled and got Billy breathing again and he understood the next bit, right down deep in his bones. "Makes me glad we're here."

[itsgigikay]

When It All Started

A/N: This was a pretty long one, I’m either thinking of making this into a series or just making a two part type of thing. Let me know what you all prefer. Again I apologize for any grammar/spelling mistakes. Feedback is always welcomed! Much love!!

Harry Styles x Reader

Warning: Little bit of smut in the beginning. Fetus harry.

“H-harry” she whimpered, sinking down on her husband where their pelvic bones meet. His hands on her hips helped her with the movements.

“Oh go-fuckkk baby you look so pretty. Your tits bouncing-“ Bringing his tongue closer to her right areola teasing her, teasing it then finally popping the hard nipple in his mouth giving it a little pull and finally sucking on it she lets out a groan. What made her stomach coil even more was when his hand grasped her left boob giving it a little squeeze while still sucking on her right nipple. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head while throwing it back and letting out something incoherent.

She let out another moan, her hands running through his hair leaving them on his shoulders so she could continue bouncing on his cock. One hand settling at the top of his hair and one around his shoulder. His hands trying to get every feeling of her but settling on her left hip and one hand covering her whole back. Both their pants filling up the room as they get closer to their orgasm.

Y/N and Harry have known each for as long as they can remember. They meet in the bakery where he used to work in, W. Mandeville Bakery. Y/N had walked in with her niece, Jenifer. That morning she had promised her a treat, more like a bribe, since it was the first day of school. Y/N was new to this town, she lived in New York her whole life but her dad was fired from his job after 12 years they had let him go. He had finally got a new job with great pay, benefits for him, his kids and even his grandbaby Jenifer, however there was one condition the position is in the United Kingdom so here they are in Holmes Chapel 6 months later.

When Y/N and Jenifer entered the front door chimed. Y/N and Jenifer came closer and looked through the windows and menu to see what looked appetizing. “Can I help you with anything?” Y/N looked up and saw a boy with a mop of curly hair, green eyes,dimples on each cheek, and wearing an apron with a name tag that said “HARRY” in big bold letters.

“Hi yes sorry, Jeni, did you pick what you wanted?” she said nervously to her niece.

“I no know auntie” she looked up at her aunt with those big brown eyes shrugging her shoulders “Mister you have anyfing good?” looking back at Harry behind the register.

“Well we have the vetenies fancy is always a favorite” he said walking around to point them out.

“I want doughnuts” Jenifer said, furrowing her eyebrows and stomping her feet, while looking up at Y/N.

“What about doughnuts?” Y/N asked while signing as her hazel eyes met his green eyes, with a little pink dust creeping on her cheeks.

“Oh doughnuts are good” he said while giggling with Y/N, smiling hard that his dimples were on display.

“Can we get two please” she said while taking her wallet out and handing him money.

“Sure that will be 10 pounds please… i’ll bring them right over” he said handing her the change. “You don’t look like you’re from here” he said while starting to get little bags for the doughnuts.

“Uh ya no we just moved her last week, from New York.” pulling a small strand of hair behind her ear.

“What flavor would you like, plain glazed or jelly filled? That's pretty cool, what school would you be going to?” he replied.

“One of each should be fine and I’m going to Holmes Chapel Comprehensive School And Sixth Form College, Year 13 you’ve heard of it?” she said. She was pretty nervous to start school tomorrow, being the new kid is never easy.

“Yeah I’ll be in Year 12 actually, maybe we’ll have some classes together” he said, handing her the bags of sweets his blood rushing to the apples of his cheeks.

“Uh yeah maybe we will and thanks again, Harry” thanking him while picking up the bag and walking towards the door.

“Wait I didn’t get your name” he asked right as she was stepping out the door.

“Y/N” she said, looking down and walking out while holding Jenifer’s hand.

Little did she know after that day Harry would be her best friend, and even her crush. She wouldn’t know he’s got the same feelings she does. She didn’t know he’ll be Harry Styles and she’ll be there every step of the way through the hate, heartbreak of the band breaking up, heartbreak of girls, the peak of his solo fame. Most importantly, she didn't know he’ll end up her boyfriend, her fiance and her better half, a husband who will always think about her, who he’ll always come home to and who will always love her for her no matter what.

[luthienne]

Louise Glück, from Averno

“Sometimes you leave your hair at the bus station & get on the bus & as your face falls asleep against the window you realize it is all your body now, everything between you & the pieces you lost once,”

Aracelis Girmay, from Kingdom Animalia; “Portrait of the Woman As a Skein”

Marie Howe, from Magdalene: Poems; “The Girl at 3″

“She knew herself, how she had slowly, over years, become a cat, a wolf, a snake, anything but a girl. How she had wrung out her girlhood like death.”

Catherynne M. Valente, from Deathless

“Many girls lock themselves up, / become pantries, closets. / Some, like trees, grow bark, / and others, like rivers, / burble into dimpled pools.”

Eli Mandel, from “Rapunzel (Girl in a Tower)"

“Sometimes I forget. I become a volatile spirit / a butterfly out of its wings, a blooming flower / in decay. I fall in love with ghosts and cry / when they flesh out,”

Mahtem Shiferraw, from Fuschia; “Being a Woman”

Aracelis Girmay, from “Portrait of the Woman as a Skein”

“Not every girl survives the forest. / Sometimes she becomes it.”

Catherine Garbinsky, from “The Princess & the Thorns,” Even Curses End

Rebecca Solnit, A Field Guide to Getting Lost

“I was something else, not a girl, not a wolf, something blank-eyed, tired,”

Catherynne M. Valente, from The Bread We Eat in Dreams

“Shame fuses to silence letting the night maraud, killing bit by useless hope of not being this girl I was. Am. She is.”

Eimear McBride, from The Lesser Bohemians

“When I was a girl / and you were a girl / we were floral / and ungiveable. Squash / blossom. Bleeding / Hearts in the sideyard. / Vine, albino root. / Petals open only in the moonlight.”

Emily O'Neill, “Wedding Soup,” from Pelican

“Glory be to the girl who goes back for her body.”

Dominique Christina, from Star Gazer

“Cover the memory of your face with the mask of who you’ll be—come, and frighten the girl you used to be.”

Alejandra Pizarnik, from Extracting the Stone of Madness: Poems 1962-1972 (tr. Yvette Siegert), “Paths of the Mirror”

“—if I could remember a day when I was utterly a girl and not yet a woman— / but I don’t think there was a day like that for me. / When I look at the girl I was, dripping in her bathing suit, or riding her bike, pumping hard down the newly paved street, / she wears a furtive look— and even if I could go back in time to her as me, the age I am now / she would never come into my arms without believing that I wanted something.”

Marie Howe, from What the Living Do: Poems; “The Girl”

“‘How strange it is to long for one’s self!’ she said; ‘and yet I often, so often, long for myself as a young girl. I love her as one whom I had been very close to and shared life and happiness and everything with, and then had lost while I stood helpless.’”

Jens Peter Jacobsen, from Niels Lyhne

Mary Oliver, from Blue Horses; “Blueberries”

“Your bare feet became a woman's feet, always saying two things at once.”

Louise Glück, from Descending Figure

“And I must choose. War before me, and behind, a woman I do not know, the woman I could have been, a human woman, whole and hot.”

Catherynne M. Valente, from Deathless

Louise Glück, from “The Myth of Innocence”

“Beware your face, / your limbs, your walk: / Gods see these / as invitations. / Beware of swans. / They may lift you / but you will fall. / Beware of children / hatched from eggs, / unfledged and beautiful: / they will burn / cities to the ground. / Don’t be seduced by the gods, / my daughter. / Though you break / into song beneath them / you will remain broken.”

Jeannine Hall Gailey, from Becoming the Villainess; “Leda’s Mother Warns Her”

“What could I have grown up to be? What kind of human woman, what kind of simple, happy thing? If I had never been broken on a bird’s wing. If I had never seen the world naked. I want to be myself again… I want to stop knowing everything I know.”

Catherynne M. Valente, from Deathless

“But I don’t really like what I know; I don’t really care for wisdom and experience. I would rather believe, and beat out my brains, and believe some more. I do not like this safe well-armed woman I have become. The loud bleating disheveled starry reckless failed girl was a better person.”

Martha Gellhorn, from Selected Letters

“a child with seafoam eyes / and dusky skin might cry, there / goes a girl with seven thousand years / at the hollow of her throat,”

Amal El-Mohtar, from ‘Song for an Ancient City’

“I say “her,” because I don’t recall having been present, not in any meaningful sense of the word. I and the girl in the picture have ceased to be the same person. I am her outcome, the result of the life she once lived headlong; whereas she, if she can be said to exist at all, is composed only of what I remember.”

Margaret Atwood, from The Blind Assassin

“There were always in me two women at least, one woman desperate and bewildered, who felt she was drowning, and another who would leap into a scene, as upon a stage, conceal her true emotions because they were weaknesses, helplessness, despair, and present to the world only a smile, an eagerness, curiosity, enthusiasm, interest.”

Anaïs Nin, from The Diary of Anaïs Nin: Volume One, 1931-1934

“Come, let me suffer! That is worth more than viewing injustice with a serene countenance, as Shakespeare says. When I have drained my cup of bitterness, I shall feel better. I am a woman, I have affections, sympathies, and wrath.”

George Sand, in a letter to Gustave Flaubert

“Slapped the man’s face, then slapped it again, / broke the plate, broke the glass, pushed the cat / from the couch with my feet. Let the baby / cry too long, then shook him, / let the man walk, let the girl down, / wouldn’t talk, then talked too long, / lied when there was no need / and stole what others had, and never / told the secret that kept me apart from them. / Years holding on to a rope / that wasn’t there, always sorry / and righteous and wrong. Who would / follow that young woman down the narrow hallway? / Who would call her name until she turns?”

Marie Howe, “What I Did Wrong”

“She is a woman stranded at doorways and passivity is killing her. There is only one thing she can do. Make noise.”

Anne Carson, in her Introduction to Elektra

Audre Lorde, from The Black Unicorn: Poems

“Part of me died here / so another could go on.”

Marty McConnell, from “When They Say You Can’t Go Home Again, What They Mean Is You Were Never There”

“see, you will rise. / and are you less of a woman for this? / no / what is woman? / woman is this—enduring. / listen girl, you will survive this—you will. / but what fool said you had to do it silently? / here is a tip—scream”

Salma Deera, Letters From Medea, “medea gives advice to a young girl with a broken heart”

[calummss]

Time | Gilbert Blythe

masterlist

summary: time can fix a lot of things if you let it

words: 1.5K

requested by: anon

It’s been six months since Gilbert Blythe left. Six months without the boy you love so dearly. Six months without your friend. Gilbert had made short notice plans only days after his father’s funeral. When John Blythe died it felt like a never ending fog swept across Avonlea. You remember Mr. Blythe from your childhood. He was a very kind man that took good care of you, so when the news of his passing had arrived at your parent’s house you felt a heavy pit in your stomach. You were saddened by his death and couldn’t imagine what Gilbert was going through and sent him a pie the same day, knowing he would have a hard time preparing food for himself. It has been months since you attended the funeral and you remember it like it was yesterday.

‘Y/N dear, make sure to wear your black straw hat.’ your mother called up to your room.

You grabbed your hat and gently placed it on your head not wanting to mess up your curls. You took one last look in your mirror and hurried downstairs to see your father, mother and younger brother waiting for you. You quickly grabbed your shoes and tied them up.

‘I sure hope Gilbert’s okay,’ you spoke into the room feeling uneasy about the next couple of hours.

‘You’ll be able to see for yourself once we arrive.’ your mother said, adjusting your hat. She placed her hands and your shoulder and smiled.

‘Come one now, the carriage is waiting.’ your father announced and opened the door to reveal a coat of snow that painted the countryside. You stomped through the snow and sat yourself to the far left of the carriage as your mother, father and brother followed. The coachman lightly whipped the horse and you were on your way. When you arrived at the Blythe’s family burial site you saw the carriage that pulled Mr. Blythe’s casket towards the hole. You also saw Gilbert leading the line of people. You saw the pain in his eyes. His sparkly brown eyes were now dull, and glossed with his salty tears. His cheerful smile with those dimples you so loved, disappeared and weren’t to be seen. His posture was slouched and his head hanging from his shoulders on a thread. Your family and you respectfully walked up to the crowd that was gathered for a prayer in honour of his father. You saw Anne, Diana, Ruby, Jane, Tillie and Josie, all spread out throughout the crowd. You locked eyes with Anne and gave her a warm quick smile before turning away. When the service was over everyone gathered at the Gilbert House for some tea and conversation. You stood next to your mother, plate in your hands but you weren’t in the mood to eat. You set it aside and walked around the house to look for Gilbert. He probably needed someone to talk to. Once you searched around the house and almost gave up, you saw him outside in the front yard. You grabbed your coat, scarf and hat and rushed down the front steps.

‘Gilbert!’ you yelled after him.

Gilbert turned around with a surprised face, yet his eyes still carried his sadness within.

‘Are you leaving?’ you pushed your hands deeper into your pockets.

‘I can’t stand being in that house. Everyone wants to comfort me but I just want to be left alone.’ he confessed.

His hat draped over his forehead making it hard to make out his facial expression.

‘Where are you going?’ you asked him as he didn’t seem to stop walking.

‘I don’t know, the lake perhaps.’

‘May I join?’

He nodded and continued to look straight ahead.

After some time you arrived at the small lake in the forest you always went to after school in the summer. Everyone would meet up to bathe in the sun kissed water but everyone was happy and enjoying themselves. Today’s occasion was the opposite. You sat on a tree trunk and pulled your gloves from your pockets. Gilbert sat next to you and stared at the frozen water. He found comfort among the empty woods. You felt like giving him alone time and told him that you were going back to the house. That was the last time you saw Gilbert. Days after he packed his things and left on a ship. He left a note with a few details so that Avonlea wouldn’t erupt in fear of a murder or some sort.

During the first three months you would leave letters at Gilbert’s house in case he came back unannounced; just like he left, but you stopped soon after, after you realised that he wouldn’t be coming back for a long time.

You were peacefully sleeping in your bed when a loud thud awoke you. Your eyes were squinted due to the sun rays shining on your face. You got out of bed and started to get ready. Anne would be arriving any minute now. You always walked to school together. It was safer and more fun. When you rushed out of the door you saw Anne waiting on your doorsteps with an extra bottle of milk. You walked to school and noticed a large crowd gathered in front of the doors. Noticing the rest of the girl you walked up to them to ask what was going on.

‘Ruby!’ you called out and saw her spin around with a big smile on her face. ‘What’s going on?’

‘It’s Gilbert!’ she cheered loudly.

Your eyes went wide as you stared back at Anne. She had the same look painted across her face.

‘What do you mean ‘Gilbert’?

‘My uncle who works at The White Sands Hotel said that Gilbert passed through the place. Supposedly he was working on a ship!’ Ruby’s face was gleaming with joy. ‘He was covered in coal ashes.’

‘Is, Is Gilbert here? At school?’ you asked intriguingly.

‘I haven’t been inside but I don’t believe so. He’s probably at home.’ Diana chimed in.

You had to see him. You just had to. Knowing he was back and not knowing if he’d part again you ran back towards the forest. You made your way through the foggy woods and ran up to Gilbert’s house. You went up to the door and knocked on the door like your life depended on it. A few seconds later a man, whom you’ve never seen before opened the door.

‘Hello, who are you.’ he said in a strong accent.

‘Is Gilbert here?’

‘Yes, he is.’ the man smiled at you before he shouted at the top of his lungs. ‘Gilbert! There’s a girl wanting to talk to you.’

‘I’ll just come in.’ you smiled before slipping through the door.

‘Y/N?’ Gilbert sounded surprised. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘What are you doing here?’ mimicked him.

‘It’s good to see you.’

Gilbert seemed happier than the last time you saw him. His teary eyes were now filled with joy. He seemed...okay, and you didn’t want to take that away from him but he couldn’t just show up and pretend like nothing happened.

‘Why did you leave?’

Gilbert’s back stiffened and shifted onto his other leg. He looked down at the floor not making eye contact with you.

‘Can you at least look at me.’ a hint of disappointment and annoyance coating your words.

‘I needed to get away from here.’

‘You left without a goodbye and you left without telling anyone. Do you know what it feels like? To see your friend leave you behind?’ you raised your voice. ‘You could’ve at least told me. I didn’t know when you were coming back. I thought you left me!’

‘Y/N, I’m sorry but I wasn’t in a good headspace and needed distance from this god forsaken town.’ he stormed past you. The man that had answered the door was long gone. Only the presence of the two of you filled the cold house.

‘Distance from me?’

‘I never said that.’ his irritated voice erupted from the back of the pantry.

‘Sounds like it to me!’ you yelled back, angrily stomping after him.

‘Why are you picking a fight with me, Y/N.?’

‘A fight?’ you stared at him in disbelief. ‘Picking a fight with you? I came over because Ruby was swooning over your return and I came here to make sure it was true. To-see-if -my-friend-who-left-me-without-a-trace-of his-existence-came-back!’ you snapped in one breath.

You had enough and quite frankly didn’t know what to do anymore. The person you loved so dearly had hurt you in a way that you couldn’t understand. Gilbert sat down at his wooden table and stared at you for a few seconds before talking.

‘What can I do?’ he said.

‘What can you do? I don’t know, what can you?’

‘Y/N, I’m serious. I don’t want this friendship to end over this.’

‘You think I want this? I’m just upset that you left me if you hadn’t noticed.’

‘Please tell me what I can do.’ he pleaded out.

He stood up and took your hands into his. His brown eyes stared into your as your breath hitched.

‘I-I don’t know.’ you confess as you slid your hands out of his and turned your back towards him. ‘Nothing can fix this except time.’

You walked towards the door looking back at Gilbert once more.

‘Time can fix a lot of things if you let it.’

[nhlandotherimagines]

Since When? -Matthew Tkachuk X Fem!Reader

This is approximately 11.2k words of a friends-to-lovers rollercoaster of emotions! I hope you all enjoy! I hope you all enjoy it! @anastasiyaigorevnadobrodevskaya @jonnytoews19 @puckbitchesgetmoney @glassdanse @suzukick

Warnings: Cursing, mentions of nudity, implied sexual acts, angst, negative self talk, “unrequited” love, drinking, also some fluff as well. Please let me know if I missed anything!

In case you don’t know: Y/n: your name, Y/l/n: your last name, and Y/n/n: your nickname (can be replaced with your name if you do not have a nickname of course)

flashbacks are in italics :)

———

“Y/n, this is Macy. Macy, this is Y/n.” Matthew introduces you to the blonde girl he’s been talking about for weeks. She is so much prettier than you could have ever imagined. Beautiful blonde hair, flawless tanned skin, and her legs went on for miles. You shake the thoughts from your head a large grin taking over your own face.

“Oh how formal of you Matthew,” you say mockingly. “Please call me Y/n/n, and despite how Matty here is acting you have no reasons to be nervous. He talks about you all the time, I like you already!” You beam with a wink. Matt’s ears and neck burn red in embarrassment, as you and Macy giggle.

“I could say the same about you y/n/n!” Your stomach twists a little at that, what could Matthew possibly have told her? You and him have been friends for years. Best friends. You live across the hall from him now. When you moved to Calgary he insisted you moved into his apartment, but you know he would never take a girl home with you around all the time. If you are being truly honest with yourself, it has more to do with the fact that you don’t want to think about Matthew with other girls.

Yet here you are, standing in front of his new girlfriend, who could be supermodel. “Would you like to get a drink Macy? Let Matthew go talk boring old sports stuff with his jock friends.” Macy giggles at your request, but agrees quickly placing a kiss on Matthew’s cheek.

————

“Thank you for this. Matt’s been really weird about me meeting you, and I was worried you were going to hate me.” Macy’s smile falters a little when she says this, causing you to choke a little on your drink.

“Wow! He must have made me seem like a total bitch! Sounds like him really. I guess he knows I want whoever he’s with to be perfect for him, but he doesn’t understand that as long as he’s happy and that girl isn’t just a gold digger than I’m happy too.” You knock her shoulder playfully with yours, “He seems very happy with you, and for the record I think you’re really cool.”

The two of you sit in silence for a moment, before Macy speaks again. “So how did you and Matt become friends?”

“It’s a long story, are you sure you want to hear it?” You chuckle, as she nods excitedly.

“Y/n l/n?” The teacher reads out your name.

“Present!” You beam from your spot at the front of the class hand in the air. You hear a few chuckles from behind you, and lower your hand slowly slumping into your chair.

“Matthew Tkachuk?” The teacher continues, after giving you a sympathetic smile.

“That would be me!” His voice causes your eyes to snap to the door. He’s beautiful and chaotic. Bright blue eyes, messy curls, a little smirk, and a cute little dimple to tie it all together.

“Mr. Tkachuk, being late on the first day isn’t the best first impression. Please don’t make a habit of it.” The teacher scolds lightly.

“Sorry, I won’t.” He smiles sheepishly, as he places his backpack on the chair beside yours. “Okay if I sit here?” He looks at you expectantly.

Unable to find your words you nod. He sits down, and smiles at you. “I’m Matthew.” He adds sticking his hand out for you. You take it, face burning red.

“Uh- I’m y/n.” You stutter out. More snickers coming from the seats behind you. Immediately you pull your hand away and stare down at your lap, tears burning your eyes. It was your first day of highschool, and already you weren’t fitting in.

“Well y/n, can I call you y/n/n?” He asks quickly, but doesn’t bother to wait for a response, “Want to eat lunch with me? It being the first day and all I’m trying to make friends. What do you say?”

“Okay.” You reply, and smile up at him. No longer feeling as shy.

So you did eat lunch together that day. And every day after that. You became best friends almost immediately. After a couple weeks, you met his family and fit in well with all of them. Matthew fit just as perfectly in your life. You studied together, you went and watched his games, you did everything together.

It was so easy to be with Matthew, so when he got drafted to the Flames your decision was easy. You immediately applied to the University of Calgary.

“And we’ve been friends forever it feels like.” You smile at her.

“So you guys dated in highschool?” She asks, but it sounds more like a statement than a question. Your eyes nearly popped out of your skull at that.

“No way! Matt and I are only friends, that’s all we’ve ever been, and we are both VERY okay with that.” You cringe to yourself at how awkward you sound, trying to convince her what you were saying was true. And it mostly was, aside from the fact that part of you wanted more, and still do.

“Seriously? Not even like one date?” You shake your head, “not one awkward game of spin the bottle?” Again you shake your head, “not even a drunk hookup?” At that you laugh, and take another swig of your drink.

“I’m being honest Macy. The closest to any of that Matt and I ever had was my seventeenth birthday.” You shudder at the memory, “Neither of us enjoyed that.”

Macy’s face lit up at that. “Well now you have to tell me!”

You are standing in front of your bedroom mirror getting ready for your birthday party. People would be showing up in about an hour, your mom is in the kitchen finishing the cake, your dad cleaning the barbecue, your siblings at friends houses, and here you are standing mostly naked in front of the mirror. Admiring the brand new navy blue lingerie set you just bought, your very first set. You feel really sexy, for the first time ever, which at seventeen is a big deal.

You aren’t sure how long you’ve been standing there, when the door opens, but you are too zoned out to even notice as you run your fingers along the lace resting on your hips. “Oh fuck!”

As soon as you hear his voice you turn towards the door and do your best to cover your exposed body.

“MATTHEW JESUS CHRIST GET OUT!” You scream at him, tears blurring your vision. He mutters an apology as he quickly exits your room.

You cry for awhile, the embarrassment making you not want to get off your floor. However, you do eventually, and change into the dress your mother bought specifically for your party. It was black, and much more mature than your mother would have ever let you wear before, or maybe it’s because you yourself look more mature. Who knows? All you know is that you don’t want to face Matthew.

It turns out that you don’t have to. Matthew doesn’t show up for the party. Brady does though, telling you he isn’t sure what happened, but Matthew isn’t feeling well. You know why though. He was repulsed.

You cry yourself to sleep after everyone leaves. Even going as far as throwing out the set of lingerie, unable to look at it anymore.

You thought you lost him that day. Thankfully though, the following Monday it was like nothing happened. Neither of you bring it up again.

“Wow! He never mentioned it?” She laughs in astonishment.

“Not once! I think he’s forgotten really. It’s not like there was really much to see anyway.” You go back and forth like that all night, sharing stories, buying each other drinks, dancing together. It is perfect.

Across the bar Matthew smiles to himself, watching the two of you getting along so well.

“Dude I told you they’d get along!” Noah Hanifin says slapping a hand over Matthew’s shoulder. He doesn’t hear him come over to where he stood leaning against the bar watching you and Macy dancing together, so it startled him at first.

“I knew they probably would, it’s just if they didn’t,” Matthew stops for a moment staring down at his drink. “I wouldn’t be able to choose.”

“Why would you have to choose?” Noah doesn’t get it, and Matthew isn’t sure the answer really.

“Every time I’ve been seeing a girl they always get weird once they finally meet y/n. Most of them just can’t handle the fact I’m so close to a girl.” He shrugs, and Noah sends him a knowing smile.

“So you’ve never told me, were the two of you ever a thing?” Noah asks, taking a drink of the beer in his hand.

Matthew throws his head back laughing loudly. “Seriously Hanifin? You’ve met the two of us right? We have been friends forever. Nothing else.”

“You’ve never even just hooked up? I don’t know, you two just fit so well together I assumed you would have tried it out at least once.” Noah shrugs.

“No way!” Matthew chuckles awkwardly, wanting the conversation to end.

As the two friends lean against the bar in silence, his eyes fall on you. You’re wearing a cute little black dress similar to the one you’d worn the day he thought he’d lost you.

It is your birthday, and Matthew can’t wait to give you the present he bought you weeks ago. It is a miracle he kept it a secret this long. Sure your party isn’t for another hour or so, but he can at least help everyone get ready. That way he can give you your present sooner, and without the prying eyes of your mutual friends.

So here he was walking up to your front door, the little velvet box tucked inside his backpack. Inside it a beautiful gold necklace, the pendant a simple letter ‘M’. Sure, maybe it was cheesy, but you love cheesy. As for Matthew he loves seeing you happy, and he loves you.

“Hey Matthew honey! Y/n is in her room.” Your mother greets him as he comes through the front door. He exchanges a quick hello and starts up the stairs to your room.

Matthew takes a shaky breath, trying to steady his breathing. His heart is racing, why is he so nervous? He tries to convince himself it is just because he wants you to like the gift and not because he has feelings for you. When he finally pushes open your door though, all of the air he had just tried to hold onto, leaves his body immediately. There you are. Standing in front of your mirror, back to him. Your hair curled loosely, and wearing nothing but a set of navy blue lingerie. Matthew is frozen, unable to speak. His eyes rake over your body, even though he knows it is wrong. You look good. So good in fact, Matthew’s pants have tightened considerably since he stepped through your door.

“Oh fuck!” He groans, eyes widening as he finally realizes the gravity of the situation. He watches you spin around, horror and embarrassment clear on your face.

“MATTHEW JESUS CHRIST GET OUT!” You yell, you sound so angry to Matthew. He is immediately embarrassed. Embarrassed to be caught, but mostly embarrassed by the affect you have on him.

Matthew runs home. He pleads with Brady to just put his name on the gift he is bringing, and to let you know he isn’t feeling well. The truth is, he doesn’t feel well. He is scared. Scared everything has to change. The two of you don’t talk all weekend, but maybe Matthew stalks your Instagram to make sure you have a good birthday.

However, the following Monday the two of you fall back into your normal routine. The incident is never brought up again, aside from in Matthew’s dreams that is.

Matthew shakes his head, trying to physically rid it of the memory. He smiles sadly down at his drink knowing that the necklace he bought you that year now sits safely in a box on the top shelf of his closet. He never got to give it to you.

“What ‘cha thinkin’ ‘bout space cadet?” You grin up at him. He smiles back at you, and throws his arm around your shoulder. Subconsciously he scans the room for Macy. “Chill out Matty she’s in the bathroom. You looking to dip on me already? I mean how can I blame you? If I got to go home with someone THAT hot I’d be leaving as soon as I could.”

“I’m not trying to dip!” He shoots back in defence.

“Okay! Okay! Cool it Chucky! I’m just teasing. I like her a lot! Why were you so worried?” You wrap an arm around his waist as he pulls you tighter into his side.

“Dunno. I guess your opinion is kind of important to me. Wouldn’t wanna displease my sidekick.” He smirks down at you.

“Oh please! If anyone is the sidekick here it’s you Tkachuk! Know your place.” You tease, as Macy finds her way over to the two of you. “He’s getting on my nerves! He’s your problem now. Have fun lovebirds!” You wink at them as you slip away. You need another drink, something hard. You also need someone to take home tonight. So you wouldn’t have to think about Matthew and Macy.

You like her. She is perfect for him, and she makes him happy. That’s what you want. It doesn’t mean you don’t wish it was you.

————

The next morning Matthew makes his way back to his own apartment. He had spent the night at Macy’s, but decides to get home early as his parents and siblings are going to be in town later in the day. When he turns down the hall, he notices the guy leaning against your doorframe. He can’t see you, but he can hear your laugh. “I’ll see you later yeah?” Nathan says leaning in to press a kiss to your lips.

“Um sure. Yeah.” You immediately start beating yourself up internally for how awkward that sounded. Sure Nathan is sweet, and last night was great! He just doesn’t feel right.

You say your final goodbyes, and promise to text him later before you close your door. Little do you know, your best friend is waiting in the hallway to greet your new friend. “Fun night fella?” Matthew smirks at him.

His eyes go wide as he realized who exactly it is standing in front of him. Matthew’s ego inflates significantly at how terrified this guy seems. “Uh yeah it was alright.” Nathan manages to stammer out.

“She’s something isn’t she? I’m Matthew.” Matt sticks his hand out for the stranger.

“Nathan, and uh yeah she’s great.” The two continue awkward small talk for a couple seconds longer before Matthew lets himself into your apartment.

“So Michael huh?” Matthew grins over at you. You roll your eyes, taking a long drink of your coffee from where you stand leaning against the counter.

“It’s Nathan, but you knew that smart ass. What about him?” You challenge, slightly annoyed that he had to show up and give you a hard time. Matthew just shrugs walking over to you, pushing himself up onto the counter beside you.

“He just doesn’t seem like your type.”

“Matty, how the hell would you even know what my type is?” You cross your arms glaring at him.

“He’s skinny, and he is definitely vanilla as all hell. Sure those aren’t bad things, but you and I both know you want a strong man to be in control. Only in the bedroom of course.” He adds with a wink. Your cheeks flame in response, shoving him. He’s exactly right. Nathan was a little scrawny, and not overly confident in the bedroom. Sure he was great, but he wasn’t Matthew. You curse yourself for even thinking about your friend that way. Your best friend that’s all he is.

“Matthew, get out of my apartment. Your family will be here soon, and I need to get ready to see my favourite Tkachuk.” You tease back. He rolls his eyes, but says nothing as he slips from the counter making his way out of your apartment.

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding as the door shuts behind him. You need to start distancing yourself from him before things get out of hand.

————

“Y/N!!!” Brady gathers you up in a hug before you even have the chance to close Matthew’s door.

“Hey Brady” you giggle into his hair. He sets you down after giving you a quick spin, pressing a soft kiss to your hairline.

“How’ve you been bug?” He asks, throwing an arm over your shoulder after you finally shut the door. Him and Matthew have called you the dumb nickname for a long time, and at this point it hardly bothers you. You and Brady were always really close, but it was never the same as you and Matthew. He was more like a brother for you, one you annoy, share all your secrets with (especially if they involved boys), and also gave him a hard time. With Matthew, sure you annoy each other, and share secrets, but you and Matthew were a team. Inseparable. It doesn’t make sense, even to you, but you did love them both.

“Not too bad, trying to keep Mr. Hotshot in check. The usual. Though I’ve had some help recently, so honestly I’ve been a little bored.” You quip loud enough for Matthew to hear. Judging by the look on Matthews face though, he hadn’t missed any of the interaction.

“Oh get a room already would you!” He grumbles rolling his eyes and walking away. You and Brady share a look, and he shrugs to signal he’s just as confused as you.

Brady leads you to the couch, and you sit down. The two of you already deep in conversation, catching up on your lives. Taryn finds her way to the couch soon after joining in on your conversation. “So what’s she like?” Taryn asks after awhile.

“Macy?” You ask, and the two siblings nod at you expectantly. “She’s really great! She’s kind, smart, and not to mention a total bombshell! She is perfect for Matthew, I’m happy for them.” Brady just looks at you with a sad smile.

You want to tell him that it’s the truth, that you actually love her to death. Something stops you though, you’re not sure why, but you stay quiet.

Soon after Macy knocks on the door. Matthew runs to answer it before either of his siblings can even react. When you see her, your heart nearly stops. Once again you are in awe of just how beautiful she is. You stay rooted in your spot on the couch as the Tkachuk family takes turns fawning over her. For the first time ever, you felt out of place. You’ve spent the better part of a decade being that girl, the one the whole family raves about. The family chirping Matthew about what a miracle it was you stuck around. Sure it got old fast, but you loved it. Now you can’t help the jealousy that spreads it’s roots through your heart.

After the dinner, if you could even call delivered Chinese food that, you pull Matthew aside after the others make their way to the living room. “Hey Matt, I’m gonna head home I’m kinda tired.”

“String bean do that much damage Y/n/n?” He smirks down at you, and your face twists a little unable to find the humour in his friendly chirp. Matthew’s smirk quickly falls from his face. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah ‘m fine Matty. I’m just gonna go okay? I’ll talk to you tomorrow yeah? Tell everyone I’m glad I got to see them.” You muster a small smile as you turn towards the door. “You’re not gonna say bye yourself?”

“They’re having fun Matt.” You send him a better smile at that, trying to let him know everything is okay. You feel far from okay though, and you can’t even explain why. “And you should be too! Now get in there before Brady talks Macy into finding someone better!” You give him a playful shove towards the chatter in the living room. Thankfully Matthew chuckles at that, and let’s you go.

He watches you closely as you leave, and he feels guilty. Running through his mind everything that might have made you want to leave. Was it Brady? Was it him?

God it was killing him, and that was evident on his face as he walks into the living room. Brady catching his eye as soon as he did, noticing the frown that Matthew quickly covers with a smile. “Y/n told me to let you know she was heading home for the night, and she was so happy to see you all. Except Brady of course.”

“Awe well I wish you let us know before she left Matt, we hardly see that girl anymore.” Chantal spoke, but Matthew barely heard her. All he could focus on was the glare Brady was sending him. Matthew just shrugs at his brother, his form of silent communication to let Brady know he doesn’t know what he was upset about. Brady responded with his own silent gesture, a head nod in the direction of the kitchen.

As he peels himself from the chair he was seated in, Brady makes his way silently to the kitchen. Matthew follows, hand rubbing at the back of his neck awkwardly once the two brothers are finally alone. “Why did she really leave? What did you say to her?” Brady was quick to jump on Matthew with questions, that if he were honest, Matthew was not expecting.

“What the fuck are you talking about? She was tired so she went home.” Matthew throws back, already angry his brother assumes it was his fault.

“It’s Y/n we are talking about! That girl has been around for years, I’ve seen her pass out at our kitchen table on family game night. She’d sooner fall asleep on the couch and spend as much time with us as she could than to just leave. And without saying good bye? Seriously dude what the hell did you say?” Brady was trying to keep his voice down, but he was upset. You were his friend too.

“Nothing! And how could I? She spent all night talking to you! She’s probably just going home to sleep with that idiot Nathan anyway.” Matthew grumbles. Brady freezes at his brothers statement. “Nathan?”

“Yeah some guy she took home from the bar last night.” Matthew explains like it was common knowledge, “he seems like an idiot.”

“Matt are you jealous?” Brady asks, a shit eating grin plastered on his face. Matthew rolls his eyes and groans out loud. “Brady are you stupid? No wait don’t answer that, you are. Y/n is my best friend. She can sleep with whoever she wants whenever she wants. I have a girlfriend.” Matthew’s fists clench at his sides, and Brady’s eyes flicker down to them briefly.

“Well the two of you need to figure your shit out.” Brady adds, turning on his heels and heading back to his spot in the living room. Matthew unclenches his fists, and takes a deep breath before joining the rest of his family again.

———

You sit on your bed, legs tucked under you, leaning back against the headboard. You press Brady’s contact, and watch as the phone rings. You didn’t FaceTime Brady often, but this was necessary. “What’s up bug?” Brady’s smile immediately makes you feel less anxious.

“Well it’s kind of a long story, I’ve been seeing this guy for a couple months now. He’s great, but I don’t really know how to introduce him to Matt without him being weird about it.” You chew your bottom lip anxiously, cheeks warm with embarrassment. It sounds so stupid to say it out loud. Brady’s laughing pulls you out of your spiral. “What’s so funny? Brady I’m serious Matthew makes everything so awkward!”

Finally Brady manages to catch his breath. “Y/n I had basically this exact same conversation about four months ago with Matt. You two are literally impossible! You’re best friends, you just want each other to be happy. As for Nathan-“

“How do you know his name? I never told you that?” Your dumbfounded expression has Brady in hysterics once again. “Matthew.” You groan, finally having pieced it all together. You mumble something about having to go before you end the conversation with Brady. You pull on an old hoodie of Matthew’s that’s slightly too big for you, and quickly make your way to Matthew’s apartment.

You let yourself in, like you always have. Instead of being met by Matt playing video games like you expected, you’re met with a much more horrifying image. Matt has Macy pinned to the couch, and let’s just say they aren’t having a wrestling match. The noise of shock that escapes you alerts the couple of your presence. “Y/n!” Matthew exclaimes quickly crawling off of Macy. He grabs the nearest throw pillow covering his junk with it awkwardly.

After far too long of gaping at the couple you manage to snap out of it, turning back to head for the door again. “Oh my god! I’m so sorry! I didn’t- oh Jesus! Pretend I was never here I’m sorry!” You’re out of his apartment in record time. Collapsing just inside your apartment door, tears stinging your eyes. The embarrassment was overwhelming, how were you supposed to face either of them ever again?

———

“Well fuck!” Matthew groans after the door slams shut behind you. Macy starts giggling from her place on the couch, and Matthew sends her a glare.

“Oh loosen up tough guy! At least you’re even now!” She shoots back wiggling her eyebrows at him. Matthew stands frozen in his place. “What are you talking about?”

“Her 17th birthday Matthew, do you actually not remember that?” Macy let’s out an awkward laugh, as she watches the pain on Matt’s face. “She told you that?” Matthew is angry, and he knows he shouldn’t be. Why would you tell his girlfriend about that when you have never even talked to him about it? He’s your best friend.

Macy just nods, slightly scared to actually admit it out loud. Matthew lets out a small ‘oh.’ before leaving the room. He emerges a few minutes later fully clothed to find Macy gathering her things to leave.

“I’m sorry you don’t have to leave.” Matthew mumbles, but he only half means it. Sure he doesn’t want her to leave, but he needs to talk to you. Needs to make this right.

“Go talk to her Matty, seriously. Figure it out, I’m not sure why it made you so upset that she just walked in here. What did you expect? She always does. Set some boundaries maybe? You’re a grown man Matthew, it’s not my job to play the parent and fix whatever is happening here.” Macy huffs, slamming the door just as hard as you had not long before. Why was everyone so upset with him? First Brady, then you, now Macy too? What was he doing wrong? And why did the get so upset about Macy bringing up your 17th birthday?

Matthew tries not to get caught up in his mind too long. Instead he roots through his closet shelves looking for your birthday present. Sure maybe it was 6 years late, but how else could he make up for the awkward night?

———

You are laying on your living room floor when Matthew lets himself into your apartment. “What are you doing on the floor?” Matthew chuckles, leaning against the wall closest to you.

“‘M not sure.” You mumble, unable to look at him. Instead you study a paint chip directly above you. You hear Matthew set something down before he pushes your coffee table a few feet away. He then drops himself next to you rather ungracefully, tucking an arm behind his head. “I’m sorry I didn’t knock.” You say quietly, so quietly in fact Matthew almost doesn’t hear it. He does though and he turns his head to face you.

You turn towards him, taking in his features for the first time since he entered your apartment. The sad smile on his face knocks the wind out of you for a moment, as you get lost in his blue eyes. “When have you and I ever knocked? I should’ve put a sock on the door handle.” He chirps back, sealing it with a wink. You laugh lightly at his comment, and turn your gaze back to the paint chip.

The two of you stay like that for awhile. Staring at a paint chip, in total silence. Your thoughts consuming you, as the tension seems to grow thicker by the second. You’re not sure how long passed before Matthew breaks the silence, but it was long enough that it startled you when he does. “At least we are even now. Though I’m pretty sure you got to see a lot more than I did.”

Lifting yourself up onto your forearms you turn to him again, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

“Well, I thought you’d forgotten. Or maybe you just didn’t want to talk about it with me because you were so angry. I just can’t believe you talked about it with Macy and not me.” He rambles on, but now it was him refusing to look at you. He looks hurt, and your mind races trying to put the pieces together. Then it hits you.

“My birthday.” You say, more to yourself than Matthew, but he nods finally meeting your gaze. “I’m sorry Matt, I just thought if I told her that story it would ease her mind about us. I was too scared to bring it up to you, and then so much time had passed it felt wrong to even talk about it.” Your confession causes Matthew to look even more confused. “Ease her mind? How would that story ease her mind?”

So you tell him. You tell him about how, like everyone else who has met the two of you, Macy assumed something had happened between you. A kiss. A relationship. A hookup. Something. “So I told her the story so she’d understand that even at 17 you were appalled by the sight of me, and how embarrassed I had been. And I told her that was our one and only ‘intimate’ experience.” You make sure to throw air quotes around the term intimate. Your explanation however, did not seem to make Matthew feel better.

“Are you serious? Not once in my life have I ever been ‘appalled’ by your appearance.” He looks extremely offended as he uses air quotes in the most mocking way possible. “Why would you even think that?” You laugh at that, though there is very little humour behind it.

“Matthew, we were 17. I’m not much to look at now, and back then?” You wince at the mere thought of your 17 year old body. “I certainly never had anything like the girls you were into Matty. I’m not stupid it’s okay.” He stares at you now. Mouth open slightly, eyes scanning your face. Waiting, hoping you’d say you were joking. Admit you didn’t see yourself as less than any girl Matthew had ever been with, but you don’t. Instead you stare right back at him, an emotion swimming in your eyes Matthew can’t quite place.

“You really think I ran away because I was grossed out by that whole encounter?” He askes, and you nod. Your eyes dropping to the floor. Matthew lets out a deep laugh, and falls back against the floor again. “Y/n. That is so incredibly far from the truth! I was embarrassed, so embarrassed that I ran the whole way home and locked myself in my room. I then pleaded with Brady to just go without me, and put my name on his gift because I thought you were mad at me. I thought you looked incredible, in fact I don’t think I’ve ever sprung a boner so fast in my life.” Your stomach flutters at his confession. The thought of Matthew thinking about you like that made the want you’d been pushing down for years start to bubble up again. You can’t bring yourself to respond, instead you pick absentmindedly at a loose thread on your shorts. Matthew lets out a loud groan, pulling himself up off the floor entirely.

“Sorry if that made this weird. I hope you understand that you shouldn’t ever compare yourself to any girl. You’re amazing y/n.” You smile up at him and mumble a thank you. It takes everything in you to will away the tears that begin to form in your eyes. “If you don’t believe my story,” Matthew nods to a small box sitting on the coffee table he’d moved earlier. “that is the birthday present I planned to give you that day. It’s the whole reason I walked into your room that day, I wanted you to have it before everyone else showed up.”

With that, Matthew is gone again. A single tear rolls down your cheek as you take in the small box, wrapped in pink wrapping paper. Poorly wrapped you might add. You stand up grabbing the box and a blanket. Wrapping yourself tightly in the blanket, you fall back against the couch examining the package closely.

After twenty minutes of staring at it, you peel away the pink paper with trembling fingers. The dark velvet box, has a sticky note stuck to the top. As you read it, the tears start to fall steadily.

Happy Birthday! I hope you know just how much you mean to me. Hopefully this gift will mean that you never forget me. Love you bug xx-Matty

The little heart he drew at the end pulls a sob out of you. Contrary to the sobs now wracking your body, a smile forms on your face. Slowly, you flip open the small box. Gasping loudly, the box slips from your grasp as both hands come to your face. Although moments ago you wouldn’t have thought it possible, you cry harder now. The necklace is simply beautiful. The small golden ‘M’ makes your heart soar, and break simultaneously.

Your mind runs in circles now. Had you received the gift on the day you were intended to, would things be different? The gift seems more than platonic. You need to confide in someone. You had no idea who to call. You can’t call Brady, he wouldn’t understand. You most definitely can’t call Macy.

Without even thinking you pick up your phone and press on one contact. The phone rings as you press it to your ear. “Hello?”

“It’s beautiful Matt, but it’s too much I can’t take this.” Your voice is shaking and you hope he can’t hear it. Your heart is racing, mind spinning, and nausea swirls through you.

“Y/n/n, keep it please. I bought it years ago, I can’t return it. You’re still my best friend and I want you to have it. We are still friends...” Matthew pauses for a moment, “right?”

“Of course!” You say trying to fight off the urge to tell him you aren’t. You of course would always be friends, but you don’t want that anymore. You can’t continue being a third wheel. “Actually that’s why I went over earlier. I wanted to invite you and Macy out to dinner. Tomorrow night. With me and my boyfriend. If you’re free of course!”

You couldn’t sound more awkward if you tried, but Matthew agrees. You make plans to meet at your favourite diner the following evening, and then say goodnight.

Matthew doesn’t need to know that you slipped the gold chain on after hanging up. Just like you don’t need to know Matthew was currently canceling plans he had previously made with Macy.

———

“Matthew this is-“ You start to introduce the two men standing in front of you, but Matthew quickly interrupts.

“Nathan I know. Nice to uh- see you again I guess?” Nathan let’s out an awkward chuckle as he shakes Matthews hand. “Anyways!” You say breaking the awkward silence that fills the space around you. “Where is Macy anyway?” You ask, taking your seat at the table. Both guys follow suit, and Matthews gaze finally falls to you.

“She sends her apologies, something came up with work. You’re stuck with just me tonight.” He says, sending a wink in Nathan’s direction.

“Tkachuk I swear to god. Be a pest on the ice all you want, but can we for once have a civil meal?” You glare at him across the table, and Nathan sets a hand gently on your shoulder.

“Don’t worry babe, he’s just having some fun.” Nathan says reassuringly. You smile at him, but the smile quickly fades when Matthew speaks up again. “Yeah babe, we’re just having fun.” He laughs mockingly.

Dinner continues a lot like that. Back and forth, both men trying to prove something. Nathan trying to prove to Matthew that he isn’t temporary. Matthew trying to prove to Nathan, that Matthew is a constant in your life and can end this in a second if he wanted. Whatever this was. The pair even argue over who would pay the bill. You end up paying it yourself, as you leave the testosterone at the table to battle it out.

Nathan has to get home, as he has work early tomorrow. So of course Matthew takes it upon himself the drive you back home. The ride is silent, and you fiddle with the chain around your neck the whole way. No words are spoken until Matthew puts the car in park. “String bean know you’re wearing my initial?” He smirks, eyes falling to where your hands still tug at the chain.

“What’s your issue with him?” You spit, anger getting the better of you. “I was nothing but accepting of Macy. I befriended her for you Matthew! Why can you not for once just be nice and do this one thing for me?” You don’t wait for his response, instead you throw yourself out of the vehicle. You forego the elevator, choosing instead to take the stairs to get to your apartment as fast as you can. Once there you slam your door, and bang your forehead against the back of the door.

After a moment of just leaning against the inside of the door a small knock sounds from the other side. “Go away.” You grumble, knowing exactly who is on the other side.

“Bug. Please just listen.” He pauses for a moment and you just let out a shaky breath. “I’m scared you’re settling. I want you to be happy, but I get the feeling he’s not it. I’m sorry I was rude, that was a dick move. I just really care about you, and just because I know I could totally take string bean in a fight, doesn’t mean I want to. I know you’re lonely, and you’re feeling like a third wheel. You’re allowed to date Bug, but I want you to be happy and loved. If it’s really string be- Nathan.” He corrects himself, “If it’s really Nathan you want, then great! I’ll apologize to him, and we can move on. But Y/n, I think you and I both know he’s not. Find what you want and go get it. You deserve it.” Tears are flowing silently down your cheeks. Matt is right. Nathan is not what you want, he never will be. It’s Matt, it’s always been Matt.

After a minute or two of trying to compose yourself, you really think about Matthew’s words. Find what you want and go get it. He’s right, how can you ever be happy if you don’t at least try to chase what you want? So with that you fling open your door, ready to run into Matthew’s arms. To tell him how you feel, to tell him that it’s him you want.

As if the world was trying to play a cruel trick on you, it’s not Matt’s arms you’re greeted with. Instead of being held tightly in his warm embrace, you find yourself surrounded by a cold and empty hallway. It’s so quiet, you can practically hear the sound of your heart breaking all over again. You laugh humourlessly at how stupid you feel. You had hoped Matt’s words of encouragement were a sign. A sign that he could see your harboured feelings, and wanted nothing more than for you to act on them.

Matt watches you through the peephole in his apartment door, heart shattering as you shrink back into your apartment. Nothing was fixed. Macy had told him to fix this, but he’d only manage to make it worse.

———

“Why’d you call her that?” Macy presses, moments after her and Matt walk into his apartment. Matthew shrugs, which is not helping the situation. He could just be honest, and tell Macy that he and Brady had always called you bug.

It all started one summer afternoon when you had thrown a total fit after Brady had pointed out a bug had landed in your hair. For months Brady and Matthew would randomly yell ‘BUG!’ while pointing at you to get a reaction. At some point they just started calling you bug. It was stupid and platonic. At least it was for Brady. The way Matthew said it was always different. It gave you butterflies, and Matthew would be lying if he said he didn’t love the pet name.

“It’s just a nickname.” He defends, walking to the kitchen. She follows closely behind him, watching closely as he grabs a bottle of water from the fridge. He leans against the counter taking a long drink, as Macy stands with her arms crossed waiting for more. Matthew was getting frustrated with the whole situation. “Are you seriously upset about me calling her bug?” He asks in disbelief.

Macy shakes her head, laughing humourlessly with a roll of her eyes. “No Matthew. I’m not. It’s a cute little nickname and that’s absolutely fine. It’s the fact that when she’s around you’re different. It’s like you’re scared to stand too close to me, like she might be upset about it. You tiptoe around her, you didn’t even want to tell her about me Matt. Are you ashamed of me?” The emotion evident in Macy’s eyes, is something Matt hasn’t seen from her before. Something he wasn’t expecting.

“Macy, I am not ashamed of you at all. I-it’s just that Y/n has no one in Calgary, and I’ve always been her bestfriend. When I started seeing you I was scared she’d cling to whoever she felt could fill the spot I had to step back from. And she did, and she isn’t happy with him. I’m sorry that you suffered because of it.” He tries to explain, walking to the girl standing in front of him. He grabs her hips and places a kiss to her temple as tears threate to slip down her cheeks.

“I’m your girlfriend Matt. Start acting like it.”

———

“How did it go?” Brady asks, his goofy smile way too close to the screen. He FaceTimed you a few times a month usually. Checking in, on you and Matt both. He knows you had gone to dinner with Matt and Nathan two nights ago now. You know he called looking to say ‘I told you so’, but you know he won’t be able to. This was one time you truly wish he could.

“Uh it. Well, it wasn’t great.” You frown, and Brady’s smile quickly falls as well. “Nathan and I broke up.”

“WHAT!? Do I have to fight a man, because I have done it before and I’ll do it again?” He jokes to lighten the mood that quickly shifted.

“I actually broke up with him...” Brady’s face twists in confusion. Trying to piece together what he’s missing. A week ago you were so stressed out about Matthew not liking this guy, that you didn’t even want them to meet. Now you had broken up with him? Needless to say Brady was baffled. “He wasn’t what I wanted, I was settling.” You mumble a little embarrassed, as you fiddle with the chain that hasn’t left your neck.

“Y/n... you have to move on.” Brady says gently. Certainly not the reaction you were expecting.

“Brady, I’m fine. I broke up with him. I’m over Nathan, honestly there was nothing to get over.” You shake your head, bringing a smile to your face to emphasize the fact you are okay.

“Not Nathan.” Brady sighs shaking his head. It doesn’t make sense, but judging by the serious tone of his voice and the gentle smile. You aren’t going to like where this was going. “You need to get over Matthew.”

The minute the words leave his mouth you want to scream and cry. Tell him he’s wrong, and an asshole for even assuming that. You want to tell him he’s right. To ask him for help. You want to ask him why you have to get over him, and explain that you can’t. You want to ask him so many questions, but only one comes out; “Why have I never been good enough for him Brady?” You’re crying now. No actually, you’re sobbing. You’re inconsolable, and Brady is in Ottawa.

“Y/n it’s not like that.” He doesn’t know how to let you down easy. How can he explain that Matthew loves everything about you, but would never love you the way you love him? How can someone explain that you were exactly what Matthew wants, and that’s why you’ll never be his. Matthew can’t lose you. He can’t wreck what you have. Brady doesn’t know that Matthew used to want you that way. All he knows is that anytime he, Chantal, Taryn, or Keith brought it up Matthew would laugh and say he could never date you. You are his bestfriend. The truth is, Matthew knows he isn’t good enough. Not for you. No one ever will be. You are perfect to him.

“Forget it.” You bark, more aggressively than Brady deserves, but you are hurt. You have never talked to anyone about how you feel about Matthew. Having Brady call you out like that terrifies you. Who else knows? Taryn? Chantal? Does Matthew know? Just the thought of it makes your stomach churn. You immediately end the FaceTime call, not allowing Brady to say anything else.

He tries calling back. You ignore him, just like you ignore the constant stream of texts. He even has Taryn trying to get ahold of you. Of course he does. You shut off your phone, and curl up on your couch. The bad reality tv show playing softly in the background can’t even keep your attention. You instead, stare at the coffee table. It’s still pushed farther to one side of your living room, right where Matt left it. You continue to stare at it, your whole body feeling numb, until finally sleep takes over.

———

Matthew knows something is up as soon as Brady calls him. “What happened Brady?” Matthew asks, concern for you beating out any rational thoughts. He knows how pathetic he sounds, and prays his brother doesn’t pick up on it. As soon as Brady mentions your name, Matthew demands more information, but Brady won’t tell him what happened.

“I’m sure she’s fine Matt, I just upset her and now she won’t answer my calls. Please just check on her and tell her I’m sorry.” Brady says, before abruptly being hung up on. Again.

Matthew quickly makes his way to your door, and lets himself in. Sure he should knock, but he knows if you are upset you likely won’t answer anyway. The sight that meets Matthew when he enters your apartment makes his heart burst. There you are, curled up in a blanket fast asleep, hand clutching the pendant around your neck. He tries his best to stop the feeling in his gut as he realizes how domestic this moment feels.

Matthew gathers you in his arms as gently as he can, and carries you to your bedroom. As he lays you down, you adjust yourself slightly, but it is clear you are out like a light. “You’ll find him bug.” Matt whispers as he places a gentle kiss to your hairline. “The perfect guy is going to come along and sweep you off your feet. You’ll have that big wedding you’ve always wanted, a couple beautiful little babies, and I’ll be there cheering you on. You’re perfect bug, never settle.” Matthew fights back the lump that forms in his throat, as he pushes the hair gently from your face. “I wish it could’ve been me.” He says it so quietly that if you had been awake you still may not have heard him. So he leaves, pushing all those thoughts away and trying to remember that you’ll always be his best friend. Just his best friend.

———

“Well if it isn’t Matthew’s better half!” Mark greets you as you find your way into the backyard. You somehow got an invite to the teams’ end of the season BBQ, and now here you are already getting chirped by the captain.

“Easy there Gio, Matt has a girlfriend now remember?” You joke back with a wink, but you feel a twinge of sadness. You don’t have much time to think about it though, as the captain throws his arm over your shoulder and leans down to whisper in your ear. “I’ve always liked you better though, not sure why he’d pass up on you.” The blush that floods your cheeks makes your whole body feel hot with embarrassment. You know he’s joking, but it does feel good to hear it.

Mark leads you deeper into the yard, as you say hi to everyone. “There she is!” Your head snaps around quickly as you hear Matt’s voice. As soon as your eyes land on him, you notice his are already on you. “Hey Matty!” You greet with a smile as he wraps you in his arms. He smells like sweat and beer, and he refuses to let you out of his grasp. That is until you hear someone clear their throat, and he pulls away awkwardly.

“Macy! How’ve you been?” You greet her with a big smile and pull her into a hug. She responds quietly, and soon after excuses herself to get a drink. You send Matt a questioning look, but he only shrugs and drags you to the beer pong table announcing you are his partner.

That’s how your afternoon goes, beating everyone in beer pong with Matt as your partner. You’re slowly getting tipsy, and subsequently warmer. Peeling your top off, Johnny Gaudreau whistles loudly from across the table. You are wearing a pretty revealing red bikini top, but given the fact you are slightly intoxicated Johnny’s reaction doesn’t bother you. In fact it is welcomed as you send him a wink.

“Hey Gaudreau! How about you stop staring at my friends chest and throw the damn ball?” Matt growls beside you. You bump your hip with his, and furrow your brows at him silently asking if he’s okay. He shakes his head gently in dismissal as he smiles at you.

Macy sits quietly to your left, watching you all play. She watches the way Matt places his hands on your hips to help you get in position. Watches as he lifts you into the air spinning you around after you win a round. Watches as Matthew tries to advert his gaze as you peel your shirt off, his neck turning red, and not because of the hot sun. The straw for Macy was when she seew the emotions on Matt’s face as Johnny hits on you. His entire body tensing, as he grips the edge of the table. Why was he so protective of you? Would Matthew not be happy if two of his best friends dated? It is in that moment that it becomes clear to her. It has nothing to do with him not wanting you to be with Johnny. He wants you to be with him.

———

“Everything okay? You’ve barely said a thing to me all day.” Matt asks when he and Macy finally make it back to his apartment. She sighs loudly, starting to gather anything of hers laying around the apartment.

“You were busy having fun Matt, I wouldn’t want to get in the way of that. Or anything for that matter.” She responds, though her words only confuse him more. She just sends a soft smile in his direction as she shoves more things into her bag.

“Aren’t you staying?” He asks, a small pout forming on his face. Macy shakes her head, turning toward Matt. Her face is apologetic, but mostly unreadable to Matthew.

“You know you’re in love with her right?” Macy blurts out, and quickly clarifies. “Y/n, you love her.”

“Since when?” Matthew shoots back, way too defensively.

“Since pretty much always. That’s why I’m breaking up with you.” She smiles sadly closing the distance between the two. Placing a small kiss to his cheek, she whispers a small apology.

Matthew opens his mouth to protest, ask her to stay. Tell her she’s wrong, and that he loves her, not you. He can’t though, because it would be a lie. She knows it, and so does he. So he watches as she leaves, an uneasy feeling in his stomach as a single tear falls down his face. What has he done?

———

You decide to take a few summer classes to help make your work load for the upcoming school year a little more manageable. Choosing to stay in Calgary for the summer, instead of traveling back to St. Louis with Matthew to see your family. Matthew tries to convince you to go, but you tell him you can’t. You need some distance from him anyway.

———

It was distance you got. You barely talk to him all summer, and tonight will be the first time you’ve seen him since that night at the BBQ.

“How is Matthew doing?” Elias’ girlfriend Annica asks you, as the two of you take your seats at the home opener. You shrug and sigh taking a sip of your drink. “I don’t know, I’ve barely spoken to him since the BBQ at Gio’s.” You admit, a small frown on your face.

“Wait? Did he not tell you!?” She practically shrieks in your ear. You just give her a confused look, a wide smile stretching across her face. “About him and Macy!”

Immediately your stomach drops. You brace yourself for the announcement. Maybe they’ve moved in together? Got engaged? Having a baby? All of the thoughts make you feel sick, but you smile over at Annica trying to hide your emotions. “No I haven’t spoken to either of them really. What are they finally tying the knot?” You try and joke, but really you’re terrified of the answer. Annica’s face falls slightly. Confusion written all over her face.

“They broke up.” Annica explains in a light tone. Almost as if she was explaining it to a child. “Oh.” Was all you manage to choke out, as Annica watches you. She’s waiting for more of a reaction, but you can only sit in shock. What happened? Why didn’t he tell you? Why did no one tell you?

You can barely sit still through the game, you’re mind is running wild. Why had Matt not talked to you about this? Why had he barely spoken to you at all? Was he okay? Who broke up with who? Why do you care so much? Soon enough though all of your questions will be answered. You are standing next to Annica outside the locker rooms, tapping your foot nervously. She asks if you are okay, and all you can do is nod. Elias makes his way out of the dressing room and over to you. He gives you both a quick hug and you congratulate him on their win. “Matt will be out in a few minutes.” He smiles at you, and you tell the couple to have a good night as they leave. Gio and Johnny both stop to talk to you on their way out.

Johnny hangs back and waits with you. “How was your summer? Finally got a break from the pest I hear.” He teases, leaning against the wall beside you. You smirk up at him, “My summer was great! Significantly quieter than I’m used to, but I enjoyed it. It’s nice to see you again though, how was your summer?” He smiles brightly down at you as he launches into some long story about how crazy his training was. You try to listen, and seem interested, but that becomes significantly harder as Matthew finally comes out of the dressing room.

He is wearing a navy blue suit with a white dress shirt. The top three buttons undone, and his tie just draping loosely around his neck. His hair is damp and falls across his forehead, he is staring at his phone still not having noticed you. He almost walks right past you, but you speak up grabbing his attention. “Any time for your biggest fan hotshot?” His eyes snap up from his phone, a grin replacing his previously shocked expression.

“My biggest fan huh?” He smirks pulling you into a tight hug. You grip onto his suit jacket tightly not wanting to let go as you hum into his chest. “That why you’re wearing that necklace?” He teases and you blush trying to hide your face even further in his chest. “Shut up,” You mumble, “I missed you.” He kisses the top of your head mumbling about missing you too. Johnny clears his throat awkwardly, as you quickly pull away from Matthew.

“Well I’m going to head out now, goodnight you two.” Johnny winks at you as he walks away. You turn back towards Matthew to see him smiling down at you, and your stomach drops. A small frown makes its way onto your face as you remember exactly what you came to talk to Matthew about. “Matt, we need to talk.” His face falls a little bit, but he nods and grabs your hand in his. He starts walking further into the building, and you follow. Eyes trained on your hand in his, heart beating rapidly in your chest. You’re so nervous, that you hardly even realize Matthew is leading you up the steps and into two seats in the top row of the arena. As the two of you sit down, you don’t look at him. Instead you stare down at the ice, now only lit by the emergency lights causing a strange glow. You’ve never seen the arena like this, so quiet and lifeless. Your internal thoughts seem amplified in the silence, but you can’t seem to find the words to say what you’re thinking.

You’re not sure how long the two of you sit in silence before Matthew let’s out a sigh, turning towards you. “St. Louis isn’t the same without you.” He says quietly, a sad smile on his face as you finally meet his eyes.

“Why didn’t you tell me about Macy?” You blurt out, face heating up in embarrassment once again. Matt stares at you for a moment, before dropping his eyes to his hands that are now fidgeting in his lap.

“I didn’t know what to say.” He mumbles out, playing with his fingers. You shake your head and sigh, pulling your eyes away from the distracting movements of his hands. You decide to examine the ice once again, wrapping your arms across your chest. You’re trying to brace yourself for how badly this might end.

“You didn’t know how to tell your best friend you broke up with your first really serious girlfriend?” Your voice is probably too accusatory, but you’re hurt. How can he keep so much of his life from you? Your mind is running in circles as you wait for a response, attempting to hold yourself tighter.

“Yeah like it’s that easy!” Matthew’s voice is significantly more angry than you are expecting, and your heart rate increases immediately. “I say ‘We broke up.’ And then you ask a million questions about what happened and why, I didn’t know how to say it!”

You look at him now. His eyes are glossy, and his face is red. In anger or embarrassment? Who knows, maybe both. “Matty, I know you really cared about her. It’s not easy to talk about, but if you’re going to move on you have to talk to someone.” You make sure to keep your voice gentle as you speak, “I want to be that person for you Matt, but if I’m not that’s okay. Just please talk to someone, you can’t stay broken forever.”

Matthew laughs at you, but it doesn’t make you feel better. The laugh is humourless, and you can hear the lack of emotion behind it. “That’s the part I can’t explain Y/n, you don’t get it! I’m not broken about it, and I should be! I was in love!” He’s frustrated now, as he runs his hands over his face and through his hair.

“Matthew, it’s okay. People fall out of love all the time!” You place a hand on his bicep to try and sooth him. It seems to work as you feel his muscles relax under your touch. He sighs softly beside you, as he lifts his eyes to meet yours once again.

“I didn’t fall out of love, I’m still in love.” Your brows furrow in confusion, as you search his eyes for any clue about what could be going on inside his head. “Just not with Macy.”

“T-there’s someone else?” You are taken aback, and now your mind is spinning. Did he cheat on Macy? Who is she? Matthew just nods in response. “Have I met her? Oh my god please don’t tell me it’s like one of the WAGs or something!” You are rambling uncontrollably, unable to comprehend what Matthew is trying to say. “Matthew did you cheat on Mac-“ Thankfully he was quick to cut you off.

“It’s you.”

You freeze. Eyes practically popping out of your skull, you open and close your mouth repeatedly. Sure you might look like a fish out of water, but that’s exactly how you feel. You must have misheard what he is saying. Right? The ‘you’ had to be someone else. The look Matthew is giving you right now though, a look of total honesty, a look that is teetering on the edge of disappointment. That look tells you all you need to know. He means you. He is in love with you.

“Since when?” You croak out. Your entire body is trembling with nerves, still terrified he will take it back. Maybe you’re being punked.

Matthew leans closer to you, uncrossing your arms that were still wrapped tightly across your chest. You can feel your heartbeat in your throat as he takes your trembling hands in his. His hands feel different now, softer. They are so much bigger than your own, and you’ve never noticed until now just how right they felt wrapped around your own.

Matthew releases on of your hands, as he brings one to your chin. He tilts your head so you’re looking into his eyes again. “Since always.” He smiles, pressing his forehead to yours. You subconsciously lick your lips, and Matthew takes that as a sign to lean in. His lips hover just above yours, but he doesn’t close the gap.

“Matty-“ you whine quietly, and he smirks in response.

“What’s wrong bug?” He’s teasing you now, and he knows it.

“I’ve been waiting for this moment since the tenth grade, please just kiss me!” Your pleads are finally answered as Matthew finally presses his lips to yours. It’s firm and certain, and intoxicating. Gripping his suit jacket, you pull him closer deepening the kiss even more. Matthew groans against your lips, one hand cradling your neck, the other gripping your hip tightly.

The kiss starts getting more intense, the years of built up tension and pining being shared in this one kiss. Matthew, despite not wanting to stop, pulls away first. Your lips chase his, not wanting the moment to end. Scared that when it does, you’ll wake up. Like this is all a dream. Or even worse, it’ll end, and Matthew tells you he was wrong.

“Easy tiger!” He chuckles, tucking some hair behind your ear. Matthew is positive you’ve never looked so beautiful. You’re lips are pink and swollen, face flushed lightly, and your eyes are big and bright as they look into his.

“Did you mean it?” You ask quietly, “When you said that you loved me, because Matty I can’t do this if you aren’t in. I can’t lose you.” Tears are stinging your eyes now, as your voice cracks with emotion. You can’t lose your best friend, and that has become more clear to you after not being with him all summer.

“I’m not going anywhere, if that’s what you want.” He looks at you hopefully. Your heart is beating so loudly in your chest, you’re almost positive he can hear it.

“Matthew of course this is what I want. I’ve always wanted you.” You pause momentarily, as you see a small smile spread across his face. His dimples now on full display. “I love you Tkachuk. I always have.”

He wastes no time kissing you again. Your hands tangle in his hair that’s still slightly damp, and his hands cup both of your cheeks. “I’m sorry.” He mumbles against your lips. You push him back, so you can look at him.

“Why are you apologizing?” You’re confused now, as you immediately begin building your walls back up. You’re waiting now, waiting for the other shoe to drop. You know this felt too perfect.

“Because,” he sighs, shoulders slumping under your gaze. “I should have done that so long ago. Instead I let you think you weren’t good enough. I let you go on believing that I didn’t love you. Brady told me about what you said, about not being good enough. I hope you know now that it was never like that. You are, if anything, too good for me. I was scared, and stupid, and I’m sorry I hurt you.”

Your heart breaks a little for him. You can see the remorse and guilt written all over his face. “Well Matthew. I can accept that apology under one condition.” You say teasingly, running your hand over his shoulder giving it a reassuring squeeze. “You take me out on a date.”

Matthew smiles brightly down at you, and places a soft kiss to your forehead. “On one condition.” He whispers, lips still pressed against your skin. “You let me take you out as my girlfriend.”

“Anyone ever told you that you’re just a big sap Tkachuk?” You smirk. You don’t think you’ve ever felt so happy.

“Actually my girlfriend has, just now. She’s kinda cute.” You slap his chest playfully and roll your eyes.

“Take me home Tkachuk.” You announce, pushing yourself to your feet. Matthew copies your actions, adding a little salute to make you laugh. It does the job, and Matthew has you laughing the whole way to his car. As he opens the door for you, you lean into his chest pressing a quick kiss to his lips.

“You’re perfect.” Matthew says after the two of you are finally settled in to your respective seats in his car.

“Since when?” You scoff, rolling your eyes playfully.

“Always.”

[live-the-fangirl-life]

Monstrous Morning Brews

Aelin Galathynius x Rowan Whitethorn - Halloween Lattes

Rowan keeps asking himself why he orders the same, overly-sweet, coffee every day when he prefers it black and bitter. Oh, the golden-haired barista—that’s why.

Fic inspired by the title image 👻🎃

Masterlist | Read on Ao3 | Halloween Collection

Warnings: Language

1838 words

*******

“Large pumpkin latte for Rowan!”

Rowan’s head snapped up as the barista’s voice rang out through the small café. He carefully finished setting down his laptop and books before striding towards the pickup counter.

Aelin was leaning onto the counter’s other side, her golden blonde hair pulled up in a precarious bun as she smiled brightly at him.

“Thank you,” he grabbed the drink and offered her a crooked smile of his own.

“I gave you a ghost this morning, what do you think?” she was grinning as he finally dragged his eyes from hers and looked at the image gracing the top of his coffee.

This was what the café was known for—well, what Aelin was known for, seeing as she was the one to pitch this particular menu item. Specialty designed latte art. Not that latte art was her idea, or new by any means, but Aelin was the one to suggest that the café start allowing customers the choice of images, letters, or patterns on their drinks, for an extra charge of course.

After the first few Instagram posts circulated of various designs, the café soon had long lines of people waiting to get their custom lattes. These days, with Autumn in full swing, many of the Halloween themed images were in high demand.

The first time Rowan visited the café it was only because he’d passed out the night before at his friend’s apartment and desperately needed caffeine before making his way home. This place wasn’t remotely close to either his house or to campus, but he found himself driving the longer commute just to see a certain barista.

He’d been struck by her golden hair and bright blue eyes the first time he’d come in and she’d barely been able to piece his order together because Rowan had somehow reverted to his flustered by a pretty girl teenage phase. Which was why when she’d asked what design he wanted on his latte (when had he ordered a latte?) all he’d managed to say was surprise me.

Watching her eyes light up and a wide grin spread across her face, Rowan decided he would let her choose his design whenever he ventured to the café and bought one of the special lattes.

‘Whenever’ then becoming every day.

But it wasn’t the artistic coffees that brought Rowan back day after day, it was the sharp-tongued, cheerful, stunning barista who smiled at him whenever he walked in. Aelin, who got excited whenever she could draw something new on his drink; who always tried striking up a conversation with him despite his multiple failed attempts at not looking foolish in front of her; who, today, had put a cute little ghost on the top of his coffee.

He chuckled at the little ghost that shook as he gripped the mug. “It’s boo-tiful”

Rowan froze, regretting his stupid pun before the words even finished spilling out of his mouth. What? Why in Hellas’ name would he make such a corny joke—

Aelin laughed and grinned wider but was cut off from replying as another customer approached the till.

Rowan hastily walked back to his table, careful not to disturb the intricate design atop his drink. As he glanced around the café, he was happy to note that besides his, there were only two other tables occupied.

He set the ghostly latte next to his computer and situated himself for the next few hours.

First, Rowan took out his earbuds and turned his study playlist to shuffle. He hated the loud, chatting crowds that sometimes overtook the café.

Next, he pulled out a few bags of snacks, some grapes and crackers. He wasn’t a fan of the overpriced too-sweet pastries on display.

Finally, Rowan looked at Aelin and watched as she ducked into the back and out of sight, before stealthily pulling out his thermos. It was filled with freshly brewed, hot, black coffee. Because he absolutely, without a doubt, hated pumpkin lattes.

***

As soon as the leaves had started changing, the café’s menu was overtaken by pumpkin, caramel, and cinnamon.

The rich aromas were comforting, especially as the weather got colder, but that also meant his already-unwanted latte was now overflowing with the sickly-sweet artificial pumpkin flavor. He knew Aelin loved it; he’d seen her make her own drinks while on shift to know she adored the pumpkin lattes and hot apple ciders.

Maybe that was why he still pretended to enjoy the monster-covered drinks.

In the last few weeks, Aelin had given him coffees with pumpkins, bones, and leaves, as well as more intricate designs like a wolf howling at a moon or a witch on a broomstick.

Rowan would buy a thousand sugar-filled lattes if it meant seeing her proud smile as she handed over his coffee.

Aelin’s voice snapped him out of his reverie as she walked over towards his table and swept some dust and old crumpled wrappers from the ground. “Not thirsty?”

Not for coffee. He shook off his immediate thought and fought the blush that rose as she tilted her head and waited for his answer. Gods, he hadn’t been this horrible with girls since high school.

He cleared his throat, “Sorry, what?” Smooth.

Her lips quirked to the side as she nodded at his latte which was as full as it’d been when he picked it up more than an hour ago. “Are you not thirsty?” Then her brow furrowed as she asked, “Or was something wrong with it? I could make you another one—”

“No!” His eyes flew wide as her brows flew up at his quick response. “Uh, I mean, no, there wasn’t anything wrong with it. I just, uh, I got distracted.” To prove his point, Rowan plucked up his mug and took a large sip. It took everything in him not to cringe at the sugary taste.

“Oh, okay,” Aelin smiled, apparently believing his role of latte-enthusiast. “Well, if you need anything else, just shout. I’ll be in the back.”

That’s when he noticed that he was the only customer left in the café. He smiled at her again and she paused.

“I just noticed you have dimples,” Aelin told him, grinning. “They’re cute.” Then she winked and walked behind the counter and through the back door.

Rowan sat frozen, blinking slowly at the spot Aelin had just been standing, trying to remember how to breathe. She noticed his dimples. He didn’t even know he had dimples. She thought they were cute.

His heart was beating hard in his chest and he couldn’t have repressed his broad grin even if he tried.

In an effort to calm himself down, Rowan reached into this bag and drew out his thermos to take a long drag of the bitter coffee. He’d just taken a second large gulp when the back door swung open and Aelin flounced into the main sitting area.

“Sorry, I forgot to grab the broom—” She halted three steps from him as her eyes darted between his face, the thermos of black coffee, and the barely-touched latte. “I—what?”

Rowan guiltily lowered the thermos to the table, swallowing the coffee as he met her accusatory glare with his own wide-eyed gaze. He felt like he’d been caught red-handed committing a felony, not drinking homemade coffee in Aelin’s café.

“I, uh, well,” he stammered.

Aelin merely crossed her arms and raised a single golden brown as she waited for him to say something. When it became clear that he wouldn’t—or couldn’t—explain, she sighed.

“Rowan, is that coffee?”

“Yes.”

“You bring your own coffee to a coffee shop?”

“Yes.” He could’ve sworn she was fighting a smirk.

“Can I ask why you bring your own coffee to a coffeeshop? Especially when you buy a coffee every single day?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, surely red from his embarrassment, and winced. “Yeah, you can ask that.”

Aelin rolled her eyes, stepping towards his table to lean her hip against it. “Okay. Why do bring your own coffee to a coffee shop, when you buy a coffee every day?”

Rowan was tall enough that even while sitting he was able to easily look her in the eye as she stood at his table. Theoretically easy, yes; Actually easy, when he wasn’t sure his embarrassment would ever fade away, no. He rubbed a hand down his face and loosed a heavy sigh.

This was it, he had to come clean. She would find out he’d been lying to her and only buying lattes as an excuse to talk to her despite never having the balls to actually say anything in his favor, and she would call him creepy and ask that he never return. But she was staring at him expectantly, and if there was one thing he had learned it was that he had no defenses when it came to Aelin.

“Here’s the thing,” he began slowly, “I don’t actually like lattes.”

Aelin blinked. Twice. “But you get always get a specialty latte.”

He winced. “I do.”

She was silent for a minute and Rowan mentally kicked himself and was already preparing to pack up his stuff and leave when she tossed her head back and laughed.

Aelin laughed.

Rowan gaped as the girl he’d been hard-core crushing over laughed relentlessly at his confession. He couldn’t even be embarrassed or confused because he was too startled by how beautiful she looked when she laughed

“You,” she gasped through another laugh, “come in here every day and pay for a drink you hate—why?”

Rowan opened his mouth to give some lame excuse, but he stared at her as she calmed down and beamed at him, as if she already knew the answer and was just waiting for him to confirm it.

Drawing up a scrap of the bravado he’d lost every time he entered the café, Rowan cleared his throat and looked Aelin in the eyes as he told her, “Because it gives me a reason to talk to you, and you look so happy making those drinks.”

By the way her smile grew impossibly brighter, Rowan knew he’d said the right thing.

“That is endearingly stupid.”

His face fell but before he could utter another word, Aelin leaned down and pressed her lips to his cheek. The soft kiss short-circuited Rowan’s brain and he remained sitting as Aelin quickly darted back behind the counter and started pushing buttons on one of the machines.

The next thing he knew, Aelin was back at his table with a large cup of fresh, black coffee. “Just so you know,” she grinned as he blinked up at her, “I liked making those drinks, but I liked the customer who ordered them more.” With one last wink, Aelin disappeared back behind the counter, the light scent of pumpkin following in her wake.

Rowan’s grin didn’t falter for the rest of day once he noticed ten scribbled digits and a small waving ghost on the side of his cup.

*****

Taglist:

@acourtofsnakes @allthebooksunderthemoon @astra-ad-mare @becarefuloflove @booklover41802 @charlizeed @cookiemonsterwholovesbooks @danibutterr @doubt-less @emily-gsh @enormousbooklover @foughtconquered @fromthelibraryofemilyj @hakunamatatazz @i-have-but-one-brain-cell @in-love-with-caramel-macchiato @jorjy-jo @lemonade-coolattas @mariamuses @mayhemories @midsizewitch @miserablesmusings @morganofthewildfire @nehemikkele @rowaelinismyotp @rowansfirebringer @sayosdreams @sheharahu @sleeping-and-books @stardelia @story-scribbler @superspiritfestival @themoonthestarsthesuriel @swankii-art-teacher @tomtenadia @westofmoon @whimsicallyreading @moodymelanist @angelic-voice-1997 @realbookloverproblems @gracie-rosee @julemmaes @yesdreamblog @the-regal-warrior @rowanaelinn @thestoriesyoutell @autumnbabylon @sunflowermoonshinewrites @maastrash @annejulianneh111