#toronto maple leafs x reader

[swissboyhisch]

Halloween Surprise

Pairing: Matthew Knies x Marner!Reader

Summary: The team's Halloween party seemed like the perfect time to reveal to everyone who you were dating.

Word Count: 2546

Warnings: Alcohol, blood, a little bit of 18+ content towards the end.

THE MASTERLIST JOIN THE TAGLIST HOCKEY DISCORD

Halloween. Your favourite holiday by far. Growing up, your parents decorated the house with tons of decorations and your mum always went all out with family costumes. When you moved to Toronto to live with your older brother and his girlfriend, you were always in charge of organising the Halloween parties or costumes. 

And nothing changed. As soon as it was announced it was Mitch’s turn to host the team’s Halloween party, he came straight to you. It was your job to organise everything but luckily, since Mitch will be busy with the start of the hockey season, Steph is more than happy to help you. It would give her something to do. And it means the two of you can spend more time together. 

First thing was to create a list of people who would get the invites. Then organise a time and place for the party. Mitch and Steph said they’re happy to have it at their place instead of hiring out a place. Due to game schedule conflict, the party was going to take place on the Friday before Halloween.

Once the who, what, when and where was decided, Steph and you designed the invites and sent those out as soon as possible. Next was the entertainment. You had a couple Halloween Playlists from previous parties you had hosted so you just said you would bring your audio system and set it up around the house and use Spotify. Food wise, Steph said that she was thinking the two of you make the food the couple days leading up to it. She loved to cook, and you loved to bake so it was the perfect pair. Drinks were just going to be bins with cans of alcohol and soft drink in them and pitchers of cocktails. Then it was just costumes for you guys and decorating the house and backyard.

“What are we going to dress as?” Asked Mitch as he joined the planning party of you and Steph on the couch. 

You just smirk, “You two are going to be a ken and barbie variant. It fits so perfectly.”

Steph let out a squeal of excitement. It really was perfect for them. “Oh my god, yes!”

“And Auston is going to be Alan. A permanent third wheel.”

“What are you going to do?”

“It’s a surprise,” You retorted to your brother. As a fashion major, you had an endless number of options. But one in particular was the number one choice. It wasn’t hard but it was a fun one. “You’ll see at the party.”

Then it was onto planning the couple’s costumes. For Steph, you were thinking of a cute pink satin dress that stopped mid high. Low cut but not as low as you could go. A pair of cute white heels and white accessories. Her hair is in waves with pink makeup and hints of silver. A white clutch to top it off.

Mitch, luckily, will go with whatever you choose. Which is going to be matching pink pants, a white button down not fully buttoned and a pink satin scarf in the pocket. That will be made from the same fabric as the dress. His hair will be styled and maybe you can convince him to have a little makeup on.

Auston was a little harder, but he was going to be dressed in blue pants that are the same as Mitch’s and shirt striped like Alan’s sweater in the movie. A permanent third wheel who you question their involvement in a relationship.

You lived in an apartment in the city, close to where you work. Since Mitch and Steph got married, well a bit before that, you managed to find an apartment and skedaddle out of there. So, you found yourself the night before the party organising your bag full of your costume to take over to Mitch’s place early in the morning. It was late but it had to be done now and you had gone to the game against the Stars.

Your apartment's buzzer going off surprised you. No-one was expected. When you peaked at the camera footage, the familiar boy dressed in the same suit as earlier was standing there waving at the camera. You were quick to let him in and eagerly await his arrival. 

“Hey,” Matt greeted as you let him into your apartment. Pressing a kiss to your lips. “What are you doing?”

“What am I doing? What are you doing here at this time of night?”

He shrugged off his suit jacket and hung it up on your coat rack, “Was on my way back to John’s from the arena and thought I’d stop in.”

“And does John know where you are?” You question. 

“Yes, I told him,” Matt whispers, his lips brushing against yours softly. His warm breath mixes with your own. “Don’t worry your pretty little head.”

You had to shower so despite Matt already showering at the arena he took up the opportunity to join in on your naked task. The two of you took a little longer than necessary but it was all in good fun. Now you were cuddled up in your bed with Coraline on the tv.

“Seriously?” Matt chuckles when he sees the movie title card. 

You just shrugged innocently, “it’s a favourite at this time of year.”

“This time of year?” He laughs harder knowing the truth behind that statement. “You mean any time of year.”

The next morning you were up early regardless of Matt’s whining when your alarm went off. The brunette tried to keep you in bed a little longer, but you wanted to get ready and head over to Mitch’s. The boys had a morning skate so you knew Matt would have to get up anyway. No sympathy from you.

“I’ll see you tonight. You have your costume right?” You mumble. 

Matt hums, pressing a reassuring kiss on your lips. “Yes, I have everything. I get dressed then just have to style my hair and splatter some blood from that bottle over my face and hands.”

“Perfect.” You pressed a kiss to his lips one final time and headed out the door. “Lock up on your way out!”

Steph and you had done most of the cooking and baking yesterday. The big decorations were already done as well, just the main decorations and little bits and pieces were to be put in place. 

The drive to your brother’s went quicker than you expected. But it was welcomed as you and Mitch crossed paths; him heading to practice and you arriving. He gave you a quick hug before you retreated into the house where Steph was eagerly waiting.

“Let’s get this started,” She says excitedly, pressing play on her phone.

Halloween themed songs started playing through the music system you guys had set up the previous day. You two finished off the food first giving it time to rest and cool. Then onto decorations. Starting with the inside, you decorated the entryway, then lounge room and dining room before finishing with the backyard.

“I think we are finished,” Steph states happily, looking over the pair of you’s hard work.

With a glance at your phone, it was 3pm. Perfect time to slowly start to get ready. “I’m gonna go have a shower and start getting ready.”

“Good idea.”

You went straight to your old room that had an ensuite and started to lay out your outfit. A pair of black booty shorts, a black lace corset bra, a blood splattered white button down and a pair of fishnets. That was the basis of your costume. Then a mask that was the same as Matt’s, both lighting up blue.

First things first, shower and prep first before starting on your hair. Then onto make-up, pretty simple, before getting into your costume. The last touch was blood splattering over your make-up. When you finished getting ready, you went downstairs to make a cocktail for Steph and yourself.

“Oo, what’s on the menu?” Steph questions as she comes downstairs in her costume.

“You look so good!” Steph did a twirl for you. “Ah, I picked the perfect costume.”

At the mention of that, Mitch came down solidifying the choice. He was the perfect Ken. Complimenting Steph’s barbie. When he came into the kitchen, he looked you over. Looking at your costume. “What are you?”

“From the purge,” You answer. You poured two cocktails into nice glasses and slid it over to Steph. “Cheers to another successful Halloween.”

“Cheers.”

When you took your first sip, the doorbell rang. Mitch went to greet whichever teammate had arrived first. And knowing the team, it’s either Mitch’s boyfriend (Auston) or the captain and his wife.

“What’s up little Marns?” Auston greets as he presses a kiss to your cheek. “I like the costume.”

“Thanks Aus.”

The group all enjoyed the music that was playing and the alcohol while waiting for others. Soon Will and his girlfriend arrived dressed as Fred and Daphne from Scooby Doo. Penny joined the other two girls drinking cocktails while the boys sat around outside chatting.

“So, are you still talking to that guy?” Steph asks.

Penny immediately turns on you. “Guy? What guy?”

“Uh,” You stutter. Steph was the only person to know you were talking to a guy. But she didn’t know who he was. “Yeah, I’m still talking to the guy.”

“Who is he?” 

You shrug and go to answer the door as an excuse to leave the conversation. The person knocked at the door again as you walked down the hallway. 

“You will tell us sooner or later,” Steph calls from the kitchen.

The door opened to reveal Matthew, dressed exactly how you envisioned. God, he looked so good. Even with the blood splattered all over him. The brunette lifted his mask and smiled down at you. Well, more like smirked. 

“Heya babe,” he muttered, making sure to peek over your shoulder before pressing a kiss to your lips.

“Hey, you look good!”

“So do you.”

You shut the door behind him and lead him through to the kitchen. As soon as Steph took in Matthew’s costume, she knew exactly who you were talking to. Her eyes lit up as she ran to hug the boy. It was the first team event for Steph to meet the rookie player.

“Hi, welcome to the team,” Steph rushes out excitedly. She looked over the pair of you and your matching costumes. “How are you liking Toronto?”

“I have a good guide,” He replies, sending a small smile to the girl beside him.

“Where’s the captain?” Mitch asks when he sees Knies. 

You waited for your brother’s reaction but it seemed like it wasn’t clicking. Oh well, it will make sense at some point in his golden retriever brain. 

Matt shrugs, “He and Aryne were waiting on the babysitter.”

“Ah, come join the boys out back,” Mitch suggests, already making his way outside again. 

Steph lets out a chuckle, “We’ll see if it clicks for him at some point.”

Matt just shrugged again and kissed you once more and made his way to join his teammates outside on the patio. When the backdoor shut, Steph and Penny both turned and gave you a look.

“The rookie? Really?”

“He’s cute,” You argue.

The pair both agree with a laugh and start to ask you a billion questions. When did you meet him? Where? What was your first date? At the arena before a preseason game. Then he took you out for a late-night meal at a diner.

Soon the house was full of team members and staff dressed in every type of costume you could imagine. Funny, scary, awesome, iconic. You name it, someone is dressed in it. Everyone was mingling and snacking on all the things you and Steph had made during the week. 

“Hey,” Matt greets as he comes up to you talking to Aryne. 

Aryne smiled at the two of you dressed up together. “I love the costumes.”

“That was all her,” The brunette grinned. He pressed a kiss to your temple but soon was interrupted by a yell.

“What?!” You turn to where Mitch was standing with William and Auston. “No way.”

Steph was quick to drag Mitch inside, with the other two of the trio following suit. Luckily not many people had seen the scene created. Knowing your brother, if you and Matt delayed the conversation any longer, he’d come and drag you too in as well. 

“Let’s get this over with,” You mutter, slipping your hand into Matt’s.

As soon as you stepped foot into the living room, Mitch only paid attention to the joint hands. “Oh no, no, no.” He speeds up to you two and separates you both. “Not for the life of me are you dating a hockey player.”

“Come on Mitch.”

He shook his head. “No. I told mum and dad I’d protect you when you moved out here with me.”

“Mitch, I’m not 18 anymore. I’m a big girl. I can date who I want without your permission.”

Knowing he wasn’t going to convince you, he turned on Matthew. He got up in the rookie’s face. “And you! I told you that my sister was off limits!”

Matt couldn’t get in a word before you stepped in and pushed your brother a step back. But he was quick to pull you into his side. 

“Mitch,” Steph murmured.

“I’m serious about her,” Matt spoke up. “She’s perfect. Smart, beautiful, talented. She’s not your sister, she’s just her own, amazing person.”

You teared up. That last point he said was an insecurity you had shared with him. People only want to be with you because of your brother. “Matty.”

“She’s my person,” Matt stated. Making sure to look your brother in the eyes to convey how serious he was. 

“Let them be Mitch,” Auston chuckles, “They like each other. If he hurts her we can beat him later.”

“Fine,” your brother huffed. 

You skipped up to him and hugged him. “Thanks Mitchy. Love you!”

Without another word, you intertwined your fingers with Matt’s and dragged him to your old room.

“Door stays open!” Mitch screams when he realises where you were going. 

You didn’t listen to your brother’s order though. Matt made sure to slam the door loud enough for your brother to hear it over the music. When the door was closed, Matt immediately pulled off your mask from the top of your head before kissing you hard. 

“God you look so good,” He groaned “And your ass in those shorts.”

After making sure the door was locked, you pushed Matt onto the bed. First piece of clothing to come off was the button down. Revealing the lacy corset for all to see. For Matt to see. 

“Damn baby.”

You giggle and dance along to the faint sound of ‘I Put A Spell On You’. Matt grabs your hips guiding you close and flipped the script, making you on the bed and leaned over you. His hand gripped onto your hip as he rubbed his hard dick against your pussy. You let out a quiet moan which only spurred the man on more.

“Yeah, I’m gonna make you scream,” He smirks.

Matthewkniews posted on Instagram!

Liked by mapleleafs, johntaveres and others

matthewknies: What a killer halloween 🔪 tagged: y/nmarner

user: Holyyyyy. This was not on my 2023 bingo card

mitchmarner: Still not over this

y/nmarner: did I ask for your opinion?

stephmarner: be nice you two

user: KNIES OMG

user: new kink unlocked Liked by y/nmarner

TAG LIST

@findapenny @mp0625 @hischierhaze @11zegras @lvrzegras @francesfarhadi @cixrosie @daisysthings

[nylwnder]

little secret

a/n: hiiiiii bbs, sorry for the long gaps between fic drops for this series, life hates me and sometimes i just dont have the time to write </////3 or the motivation which is worse. waahhhh!!! HOWEVER, i was gifted some free time the past month, and because i love you guys so so much, i birth to you all: my first am34 fic <333333

pairing: auston matthews x fem!reader

warnings: SMUT! sex toys (lush toy), edging, fingering, p in v, unprotected sex, overstimulation, cockwarming, swearing, auston being in loveeeeee, secret relationship, confession of feelings

word count: 3.4k

taglist: @shoot-the-puck , @lukepangburn118, @eastoncowan , @boqvistsbabe , @sweetiet , @p1tstop , @occasionallyaurora , @laurenairay , @fallinallincurls , @andrea9 , @dylpickle4791 , @biznastysloneshift12 , @dramatic-queen

series masterpost

the vibrating feeling in between your thighs made you grip the edge of the counter top, almost dropping your drink. a moan escaped your throat as the pressure increased, your legs bucking before you felt yourself coming close to the edge.

“please please oh please” you mumble quietly but then the vibrations disappear all together again. you take a deep breath with a little whine.

you walk back to the couch, setting your small snack on the coffee table. watching as the leafs began to make it back out to the ice for the third period. knowing the teasing would take a break for the rest of the game unless he so happened to have his phone on the bench too.

—

it all started with a birthday present. a more mischievous gift for a relationship that's just freshly bloomed in the last few months. but your relationship is open and free and gratifying like that.

it was a small, curvy, hot pink toy. one that has devilish capabilities with the mere connection to a phone app. auston knew you would love it, and you also knew he would use the toy to its fullest potential—edging and overstimulating your folds as much as he can. and you do in fact love it, so it isn't surprising that you obliged when he handed it to you this afternoon. a mischievous grin on his face.

“need you to put this on for me, baby” he mentions gently, handing you the toy.

you take it in your palm, already imagining the impending feeling between your thighs. “when would you play with me though?” you ask, pondering the thought on how he’d manage in front of the team, nevermind the coaching crew.

he grins again, “i'll find a way. just need you to be a good girl and keep it in until i come home okay?”

you nod, biting your lip.

“i'll be nice, i promise” he mentions with a kiss to your cheek before a kiss to your lips.

—

unless his idea of nice was having you edged every single fucking time his finger began to play with the controls of the toy, then he was in fact nice. you were flustered, frustrated, being edged to reach any sort of release. you squirmed and whined as it tickled the bundle of nerves inside of you again as the team prepared for press. ready to discuss the well earned blowout win against the ducks, and the sixth hattrick of the season for auston.

you couldn’t deny it, auston looked so good out there on the ice—working the puck around bodies like nothing. and it made your heart swell that during the intermissions he couldn’t help but take the time and think of you, play with you, but oh did you want him home. in your arms so he can do you right.

you weren't even sure if you were overstimulated, even though he's been playing with you on-and-off for the past three hours and a half, you just wanted to cum. and oh god please on his cock.

—

auston kept his interview short and sweet, wanting to make it home earlier than usual despite the attention and requests regarding another outstanding performance. he wanted to get home to you.

the boys noticed his eagerness to skim through the usual routine, poking around and asking him if he's got a girl waiting at home. he gave a low smile, not discussing further than that. they didn't know about you yet. nobody knew.

being your boyfriend, he wasn't thrilled about the public eye getting a glimpse of you just yet. sure, he wants to take you out to a fancy dinner, hold your hand while you're walking home from the movies. of course he would want to show you off to the boys just so they can chirp him about how he landed you. but you were too special. too soft, kind and sweet. too perfect, he thought. he didn't want anyone to say otherwise, anyone to try to ruin you. the day will come when they know your name, sure. yet even when the moment arrives, when everyone finally lays eyes on you, he knows he’ll still be a protective force. always. if that means you’re his little secret for now, then so be it.

right now, you were all his. without anyone knowing. his warm soul. his dripping core. the one that he wants… no. he needs. right now. so badly.

—

when he got home his belongings were quickly discarded to the side. auston relishing in the warm and soothing atmosphere you have created out of his apartment, his senses welcomed by the sweet smell of you. the house always felt empty those nights you couldn’t be with him. your presence had brought a light to the home that it never had, that none of the other flings managed to spark.

he noticed your lounge pants laying near the couch in the living room. your slippers discarded on the other side. he moved forward to grab them, but placed it back down when he noticed your shirt near the entrance of the bedroom. a smile grew on his face.

a few steps forward granted him a beautiful view—his favourite view—the sole reason why he rushed through the toronto night traffic.

you sat at the edge of your bed in a satin lingerie slip. your hair was messy in that pretty way that framed your face, the way that made aus bite his lip in admiration. your lips softly pouted a “missed you.”

your legs slowly opened apart, showing your arousal from the night sopping through the fabric of your underwear. auston gave a low groan, and licked his lips.

“need you. so bad.” you whine.

he walks towards you, and you instantly wrap your legs around him to connect your lips. his grip on your hips yanks you higher onto the bed, allotting him space to get on and tower over you. you nip on his lip as you both break for air.

“you were mean” you murmur. he smirked, “i promised you i'd be nice, that's why i'm gonna make her feel so much better” he says, cupping your dripping core.

you whimper, “please”

his fingers hook on your panties, pulling them down and throwing them to the side. he reaches for the tail of the lush toy, making sure to gently pull the rest of it out. you squirmed at the emptiness, aus seeing the way your entrance clenched around nothing.

“you did s’good, baby. taking it like a good girl” he mutters in your ear as his lips attach to your neck. his wet kisses mixed with his nipping move down to your collarbone, then to the tops of your breasts.

he makes sure to keep his work up until he knows purple and red marks will litter your skin in a couple of hours. making it difficult for you to hide them everytime you leave his apartment. god forbid your friends see them. you're not in the mood to be forced to disclose any more details about your boyfriend. you just wanna keep living in this little bubble the two of you have managed to keep.

not yet. just a little longer.

“mmm, you looked so good out there baby” you manage to mutter. trying your best to not get lost in his kisses but sometimes it's just too hard.

you can feel his smile against your skin. “thank you” he says, kissing on top of his mouth’s handiwork before grabbing you by the hips and bringing you to sit down on his lap.

“your sixth hattrick. not everyone can do that” you speak again, smiling, running your fingers through his hair at the nape of his neck.

his smile didn't leave his face, leaning in to kiss you tenderly. “…nevermind the fact that this was your second back-to-back hatty” you say against his lips.

this time he begins to blush, in what you think is quite literally the most beautiful way possible. you can't help but to kiss him again. he looks down while squeezing your hips before looking back up and letting out a light chuckle. “we gonna keep talking about it or are you going to let me celebrate with you? hm?”

it's your turn to flush a bit. embarrassed you may have been discussing something in a situation where you shouldn’t even be talking in the first place. but you couldn't help it, you wanted to give him all the possible affirmations you could.

“m’sorry” you reply, wrapping your arms tighter around his frame, endeavouring in the taste of his mouth once again. you can feel the mint from the gum he was chewing on the drive back home. it relaxes you.

one of his hands stays pressed on your spine, scrunching the material of your night slip between his fingers, while his other hand travels down. his large palm shamelessly grabbing your ass, moulding your flesh to the shape of his fingers. your skin quickly heats up again and your mind swirls over the rhythm of his tongue against yours and the bulge growing beneath you. aus presses you down, hard, against his clothed lap, it feels like he's already fucking you. but it's the illusion of his fingers bluntly sliding between your folds and pressing over your opening, stirring a good moan out of you.

he sticks in a finger and you subconsciously bite down on his lip. he hums before sticking in another and you accidentally do the same thing again. there's a burning feeling between your thighs, perhaps you are overstimulated after all. but that's not stopping you. you still want him to help you to that finish line that he so cruelly didn't let you reach.

he pumps in and out a bit, making sure you’re wet enough. that was surely a fact, with the way your juices covered his fingers so exceedingly. anticipation continued to build inside of auston, causing the bulge between his thighs to strain against his dress pants. hes been thinking about you the whole night, and your pussy even more.

you untug auston’s shirt, allowing you to unbutton his pants. he helps you pull them off of his legs, while you take off his shirt from his sculpted chest. you run your fingers down his torso, following the lines that shape him. his lips connect to your neck, immediately finding your pulse point. you grind down on him and he allows a groan to escape his lips and echo in your ear. you smile.

“can i take this off?” he asks, tugging at your slip.

you nod needily, the cold air hardening your nipples at the exposure. auston can't help but groan again, yanking you up so he can attach his lips to them. you whine sharply, feeling the tip of his cock nudging near your entrance as well.

he releases your one nipple with a “pop”, sinking you down on his length before you can even make out a sound.

“m’fuck” you mumble, your body ablaze.

“god you’re truly the most beautiful thing i’ve ever seen” he says. holding your hips back to get a good look at you.

“auston…” you whine at him, blood rushing to your cheeks again in slight shyness. however your walls clench around him.

“let me compliment you.” he laughed, helping your hips sway against his lap. left, right, up and down, it all felt exactly how you wanted. perfect.

your cunt was soaking wet. the sounds the two of you make where your bodies connect is unholy. auston’s fingers have a tight grip on your love handles, trying his best to keep himself together for you. he chose to focus on littering whatever skin he can reach with more marks, making sure you remember you’re his when you wake up tomorrow morning.

with all the emotions and sensations it truly doesn't take you long to feel the addictive feeling deep in your stomach again. eyes fluttering shut, mewls escaping your pink plump lips, boobs swaying gracefully with your movements, it's like a scene out of a dream the way your walls have a snug grip on auston’s cock. shes perfect, he notes to himself.

he holds you close to him, before moving you to lay down on the bed. he pushes his hands under your thighs and lifts your hips. the position slides him even deeper. makes his cock push up into you, into that spongy part inside that forces your eyes to roll back even more. your thighs begin to tremble.

“take me so good baby, s’like you were made for me.”

“i am.” you respond, because he’s made you honest. in the delirium of him, you’re saying what you’ve had buried inside of you for the past months, waiting for moments like this. with the way he makes you feel it's impossible not to think this way. my god, you’re sure you love him.

with your breathing heavy, recovering from your high, auston groans against your lips––pumping himself into you like a man fueled by pure hunger. the warmth of his cum spilling into you makes you all the more lightheaded.

you grip at the nape of auston’s neck, bringing him in for a kiss. both of your lips already hot pink and puffy. but the need to ground each other is so strong.

the euphoric feeling of relief from your earlier pent up frustration begins to make your body soften. your head felt more vulnerable and you couldn't suppress the words any further. “aus..” you say, kissing his lips before looking him in the eyes. he gives out a small hum in acknowledgment.

“i-i love you. i really do.” your hands squeeze the ends of his hair in anticipation of his response.

did you know that a 6’3, beefy, sassy hockey player can feel butterflies? cause auston is pretty sure he just did. a smile crept up from the corners of his mouth and overtook his entire demeanour. you couldn’t help but reciprocate it.

“yeah?” he asks softly.

you nod, auston’s hands moving to drop your legs and grip your sides instead.

“i love you too, baby.” why wouldn't i? you're too good to be true.

a feeling of bliss overtakes your body. pent up emotions finally all out on the table. its been a lovely set of months now and perhaps you both are ready for that next step.

both of his hands interlock with yours, moving your arms up and over your head. the grip is snug and safe. you can picture holding hands in the cold weather, his palm big and warm enough that you don't need mittens like you used to.

his lips meet yours in a slow gentle kiss. your cheeks blush at the thought of kissing auston straight from the locker room, or his lips leaving a peck on your forehead as you two wait for a table at a restaurant.

the little things.

a whimper leaves your lips, an angelic sound, and an unconscious reaction to auston’s kisses. you can feel auston twitch inside you. so in response, you rock your hips upwards.

“there she is,” he smirks down at you, “there’s my fucking dirty girl.” he notes the dreamy glint in your eye, “you want some more, huh?” you bite your lip, nodding. auston pulls out, just for a moment and your pussy aches at the cruel feeling of emptiness.

kneeling in front of you, aus guides you to turn to your side, straddling one of your legs and grabbing the other one to curl around his side. he aligns himself to your entrance and pushes in without hesitation, already missing the warmth of your wet walls. he continues with his sharp thrusts, one of his hands moving to play with your breasts, rolling your nipples in between his fingers. moans fill the space in the room, and slips of his name fill in the gaps.

the stimulation you feel is so fucking good, for lack of better terms. in contrast to his earlier teases, his thrusts don’t seem to stop anytime soon and you couldn't be any more grateful. your cunt clenching around him so tight that auston hisses, groaning deeply. he shakes his head as if he can’t believe it.

“you’re fucking purring angel, like i didn’t just cum on your pretty pussy. what am i gonna do with you, huh?”

his words make you cry, looking up at him with doe eyes, urging him to bring you to that beautiful edge. “fuck dontstop–so close–so close–” you mumble out quickly. searching for his hand laying on top of your breasts, you tangle your fingers around his again, he squeezes them lovingly. your cheeks fill with a blush tint.

“didn’t plan on it, baby.” he says, making his other hand move to your clit, pressing to rub circles around it, then triangles and then squares and then fucking diamonds. god you didn’t know you just wanted him to keep going and drive you through that burning feeling inside of you.

and so he does, eliciting more sounds from your soft lips along with shivers down your body. he whispers to you how beautiful you are in your ear, while he cums in your sweet cunt once again. you’ll never get over that feeling.

auston grabs you close as he flips the two of you, allowing him to lay down on the pillows, your body sprawled on top of him. his cock still snug in you. you softly hum, this position letting both of you settle down from your shared highs. aus feels your smell calm him, the faint scent of your floral shampoo steadying his breathing, his heartbeat relaxed. he has never felt so safe, so comfortable.

he didn’t want you to move, not even dare to leave this warmth the two of you have created. he's used to getting up after a sexual endeavour like such, two people going their separate ways, hell he's even urgently guided girls out the door. but you? never. if he could keep you here, with him–just him–forever, he would.

you felt auston slowly get soft inside you, and you took that as a queue to take a quick trip to the bathroom to clean yourself up. trying to detach yourself from the soft and gentle embrace of your boyfriend was hard, you didn't want to leave him.

“where are you going?” auston asks, grabbing your waist as you sit up from his chest.

“just the bathroom.” you mention, getting further up and feeling him slip out of you. you let out a small instinctive whimper to the loss. you notice the pout in his eyes, “i’ll only be a minute, don't worry.”

auston was hesitant to let go of your hand, missing the soft feeling contrasted to his rough hands, despite the fact they aren't as calloused as they could be. you smiled at his clinginess, it truly was a compliment. you got up and swiftly made your way to the bathroom mats, as the cold floor sent a quiver up your body. after cleaning yourself up you looked at yourself in the mirror while you washed your hands. you could see the love marks appearing around your breasts, not an uncommon place to find them. aus makes sure to leave new ones each time they start fading.

you make your way back to the bed, seeing auston settled in the sheets. he looks at you with genuinity. a twinkle in his eye. love pouring out of his tender gaze. your skin grows hot. you smile and drop your head to his shoulder once you reach him. “you should see the look on your face”

“what?” he asks curiously.

you look up at him, after wrapping your legs around his own. “you look absolutely smitten.”

he smiles. “good.” he exclaims. proud.

you are quick to get soothed back into his pool of warmth, along with his hand running against your back. here and there reaching the top of your bum, before making its way back up.

you think about your shared confession from earlier. the weight of those immense feelings towering over the two of you gone. all the opportunities and possibilities at your fingertips. “so when do you think i’ll get one of those cute playoff jackets the wives and girlfriends get?”

“you want one?” auston asks, you can hear the smile in his words, if you chose to lift your head you would probably see the smirk too.

“yeah,” you reply, playing with the fingers on his other hand. “i want to be at every game.”

“i’ll make sure you’re the first to get yours then.” you now chose to look up at him, your own happiness radiating across your face. “promise?” you ask, lightly giggling.

“promise.”

“good.”

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[cuteandhughesy]

Crawling Back To You | Matthew Knies

summary: the 5 stages of realizing you're falling in love with your boyfriend’s best friend (college!au).

[word count] 19.9k (…whoops)

warnings: MATURE! enemies to lovers | the slowest of slow burns. like seriously buckle up | emotional cheating? kinda not really? | thoughts of infidelity | drinking | intense make out scene | kind of a unfinished ending (sorry in advance) | suggestive scenes and dialogue | read at your own discretion

a/n: this idea randomly popped into my head before bed a few weeks ago and I immediately knew I had to write it. this is for the knies girlies (like yours truly) who can’t help themselves but fantasizing about him—I see you and I got you.

🎵 do I wanna know? by hozier (cover)

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Prologue

lucas' arm around your hips is a firm pressure, guiding you through the crowded frat house like he's done many times before. you let him easily, smiling at friends as you pass by them.

your boyfriend doesn't really notice anybody else—too busy looking for his friends in the chaotic crowd. his fingers flex around the dip of your hip, squeezing you reassuringly. "you look nice babe."

he's told you that already tonight—when you'd showed up to his door so you could walk to the frat party together—which, is only down the hall from your door—regardless though, it's nice to hear. you tilt you head back to look at him, eyes lingering over his too-sharp jaw and icy gaze. "thanks lucas."

he hums softly, not looking at you as he continues to make way through the sea of sweat covered bodies. you sigh gently, gnawing on your gloss coated bottom lip, gaze flickering away from your boyfriend.

you and lucas have been dating for almost half a year—which in hindsight isn't that long, but when you're in university and spending every waking minute with a person, it soon feels like a lifetime. you met him in the mailroom of your shared apartment complex during the beginning of last term, and hit it off almost immediately.

lucas was flirty, and so sweet that it felt like your teeth were decaying. he was smart and played on the universities hockey team—it was hard not to fall for him. but as your brief honeymoon phase came to a close, lucas started to get a little...dull.

he doesn't make your heart race, and he doesn't  have your stomach swooping with his stare or touch, and most of the time it feels like he doesn't have the time for you. but it's fine, because he's your boyfriend, and you care for him. it's just a bit...boring, and unfulfilling.

"babe." he starts again, glancing down at you. "were you able to book off that shift? the one during next game day?"

you frown, stopping in your shuffling steps. "lucas, I already told you that I couldn't."

your boyfriend stops as well, turning towards you with deeply furrowed eyebrows. "you did?"

you sigh, a bubble of irritation rising in your chest. "yes. this morning before class."

"seriously?" he all but huffs, dropping his hands from your waist. "I wanted you there."

"and like I told you this morning, there's nothing I can do about it." you've flushed with annoyance, looking at your boyfriend with a perplexed expression. it feels like you've been going in circles about this damn shift for days—and somehow everytime, lucas makes you feel like an asshole about it. you literally work at the arena, and as only 1 of 3 staff members for the concession stand, getting your shift covered was practically impossible.

his eyes flash with something similar to annoyance. "it feels like you don't even want to watch me play, y/n."

your eyes quickly dart around the room, gulping gently as you make sure nobody is watching the exchange between you and lucas—one that feels like it's on the tipping point of turning heated. your gaze flickers back to his, crossing your arms defensively. "are you seriously going to start this here? in front of everyone?"

despite your words, nobody is paying attention to the two of you—too drunk or high or both to have the awareness they needed to realize what's going on between you and the hockey teams assistant captain.

lucas sighs gently, eyes softening as he takes in your closed off, hard expression. "look," lucas grabs the sides of your face, holding you in place. "i'm sorry, okay?" your eyes drop, mind still reeling with annoyance about the whole situation. lucas thumb runs along your cheek, "we can talk about it later."

there's nothing to talk about, you think. i've already told you.

he leans in, searching for a kiss, but you turn your head just before your lips connect—lucas planting an unexpected peck to your cheek.

from a room over, matthew knies takes a sip of his beer, a smile pulling at his lips as his teammate loudly tells the group about his latest tinder date adventure—new flash, it went horrible. his teammate, gabe, wasn't the kind of guy you wanted to date, and after hearing all these different stories about how his dates went, matthew can't help but feel sorry for these girls.

sean, another member of the minnesota hockey team, nudges his elbow into matthew's side, subtly pulling his attention away from gabe and his loud mouth and comical expression—currently acting out how he'd opened the car door during said tinder date.

matthew's brows raise, looking at the tan complexion of his friend. "what's up?"

"looks like there's some trouble in paradise, huh?" sean then shifts his eyes out of the room, down into the even more crowded foyer and kitchen. matthew's eyes can't help but follow, landing upon his roommate, and another teammate of his, lucas.

but he's not alone—you're with him. matthew swallows roughly, eyes narrowing at the sight of you. he watches as lucas grabs your face, stroking the highest part of your cheek with his calloused thumb. there's a few rushed words exchanged between you, ones that matthew has no chance of hearing over the bustling party.

sean continues, rubbing his hand over his stubble. "what do you think they're fighting about?"

matthew watches as you dodge his friends kiss, your expression full of exhaustion and annoyance. he looks away from you, eyes finding sean's deep chocolate ones  "probably something lucas started."

sean snorts. "probably—dude doesn't know what he's got."

matthew hums dismissively, taking an aggressive sip from his beer bottle. the tangy liquid fizzles against his tastebuds, the alcohol already making him feel lighter. he can't help the way his eyes find you again, watching the tail end of whatever argument you'd been in the midst of.

lucas pulls off you, a tiny roll of his eyes. but he wraps his arm around you again, pulling you further into the house and in the direction of the living room.

at the sight of lucas, a few of the guys get distracted, attention pulled from gabe and his ridiculous performance—all of them hollering in the blondes direction. the smile comes easy, and he releases you in favour of greeting everyone, bringing them into a side hug before slapping the muscle on their back.

you do your best to plaster on a smile as a couple of the guys girlfriends greet you warmly—madison, you closest WAG friend squeezes your arm from the couch beside you. you briefly wonder if she's seen the tiff you've just had with lucas.

but no, you can't think like that, if you do it'll just make you more anxious than usual. you gently shake your head, snapping yourself out of your own pity. you stand awkwardly beside the couch while lucas completely disappears into his friends, cheering and laughing as they all talk about their latest win. you blink again, this time to hold back unshed tears.

"hey girl, you wanna sit down?" another one of the wags asks you, her gentle, honey laced voice filtering through the noisy room. "you look a little out of it."

you laugh gently, blinking rapidly. "I don't think there's anywhere to sit." your words stem from truth, and as you glance around the collection of mangled, worn leather couches and stained lazy boys, the space is limited. you desperately wish lucas was a doting boyfriend—pulling you into his lap and pressing a reassuring kiss against the junction of your neck.

"you can sit here." his voice cuts through the air like a knife, sending a usual shiver through your body. you hadn't even realized matthew knies was here—but you should've suspected it when you didn't hear his usual rerun of new girl in his and lucas' shared apartment.

your eyes flicker to his, and then towards the sliver of space between him and sean. the couch is most definitely sticky, and the foam is practically spilling out the cushion—the sight has you squirming. parties have never been your thing, and you've never been one to be overly social—much preferring the silence and comfortability of your own space. if you were to go out on your own terms, you'd often opt for local bars or eateries, which usually provide a more relaxed and tone downed party atmosphere.

but lucas likes frats—so here you are. your eyes find matthew's again, and immediately you're feeling a familiar pull in your chest—one that always seems to tug in the presence of your boyfriends best friend. it's not that you hated matthew knies...it's just....he is one of your least favourite people to be around.

you're not sure when it started, but the combination of his cocky attitude and the way he seemed to always be pushing your buttons with that stupid smirk on his face, just has your blood boiling.

and you really try your best to ignore him, but as soon as his pestering starts, you just can't help but bite back.

he's looking at you with that slinky pull to his plump lips, likes he's expecting you to decline his offer and just turn tail and leave—which you are desperately trying not to do.

matthew's one eyebrow raises, almost like a challenge. "you scared or somethin', y/l/n?" he takes a slow sip of his beer, adam's apple bobbing roughly under his clean shaven throat. he licks his lips, catching the lingering liquid. "I dont bite."

the use of your last name—how it so easily slips through his lips like a song—has you biting down, your teeth practically cracking under the intense pressure. all your earlier irritation has been quickly redirected to matthew, and you eye him pointedly. "doubtful."

his smirk widens.

you shoot a glance towards lucas, but to your disappointment he still hasn't realized you're standing alone—sitting comfortably between teammates and sipping from a mysterious seltzer can. slowly, you look back towards matthew, who's grin has yet to falter.

he pats the space between himself and sean, two slaps against the leather as he wordlessly invites you over.

you can't help the way your eyes roll.

sean watches the entire ordeal like a damn soap-opera, eyes darting between you and his friend next to him—hiding his amused smile behind the neck of his beer bottle.

with a gentle sigh, you make your way towards them, wordlessly taking a seat between the two athletes with an awkward cough. immediately you're warm, the combination of the crowded house and being squished between two large men sending you into a heat flash.

although, matthew may be more of a boy than a man, but you digress.

"want a drink?" he asks you—the smirk evident simply in his tone. your eyes dart to the side, finding his flushed face.

"of what?" you question sharply.

his brows raise in amusement. "anything you want." matthew laughs once, a breathy sound that has you squinting. "there's lots of options—this is a party, y/l/n."

there's that nickname again—the condescending tone dripping from his tongue as he calls you by your last name. you grit your teeth, "that's not my name."

"I mean...It is." his eyes flicker with something you don't recognize, lip twitching as his smile widens. "you're always so wound up."

you stiffen, and you can hear sean hiss quietly beside you. matthew's looking as smug as ever, fiddling with the damp, shredded label of his drink. you let out a scoff, "no i'm not—you're just annoying."

"sure." he nods condescendingly just as he lifts the neck of his bottle back towards his mouth, plump lips expertly caressing the opening and tipping the liquid into his mouth.

you watch him move—your bubbling annoyance clear. you watch behind the rim of the bottle as his smirk returns, and that has you blinking, quickly averting your gaze. "don't you have other people to bother?"

you hear his beer hit the table as he places it down, clearly done with it. "am I bothering you?" matthew chooses to avoid your question, like usual, which has you rolling your eyes for the umpteenth time.

"I personally find this really entertaining." sean interrupts, leaning closer towards you. a half smile takes over his dark complexion, and he gets further into your space, wide, amused eyes dancing between his teammate and you. "you guys fight like you're a married couple."

you head snaps his his direction so fast you neck muscles tighten up. "what does that mean?"

matthew snickers, which immediately has you attention again. "seriously, have a drink or something — you fucking need one."

"excuse me?" your voice comes out sharper than you intended, but you're too far gone to care. you're really not in the mood to deal with your boyfriends best friends cocky personality, or his infuriating mannerisms and ridiculous smirk. "literally what makes you think you can say things like that to me? god, what's crawled up your ass."

"alright, alright," he interrupts, one of his large hands raised in a mock surrender. "just chill out, I'm not trying to ruin your night."

without knowing what else to say in that moment, you look away—eyes pinched and lips held together tightly. you grab sean's half full can of cherry liquor—right out of his loose grip—and down the rest of it.

he makes a noise of protest, but you don't even care. the alcohol already has you feeling better, the affects settling deep in your belly and further warming your exposed skin—you've always been a light weight. you cringe at the flavour, letting the last sip linger on your tastebuds before fully swallowing.

"fuckin jesus, y/n." sean grumbles like he's annoyed, but his eyes tell a different story. "that rilled up huh?"

you turn your back towards matthew, facing sean and his girlfriend completely. the latter is talking intently with another one of the girls—completely oblivious to the tension brewing next her.

matthew's eyes linger on your exposed back, your cream silky top dipping low enough to expose the base of your spine. he tongues his cheek to mask the grin, slowly trailing his eyes back upwards. "you're such a baby." he says knowingly, leaning in close enough that his words tickle your neck. "turnin' your back to me."

without looking at him, you huff. "you're so insufferable." you break composure, turning back in his direction. your irritated expression is still lingering, looking at matthew like you're trying to incinerate him with your eyes. "you suddenly care about me or something?"

"you wish." his response is quick—teasing.

sean snorts, clearly enjoying this much more than you could ever.

"do you seriously think you have that much of an impact on my life?"

"I know I do." matthew laughs. "you're really cranky today."

"and you need to shut the fuck up-"

"alright, you two." sean speaks again, looking almost scared as he eyes the both of you curiously. "better stop before people start getting the wrong idea."

you don't even have the brain capacity to think about what he could mean with that insinuation. you shoot off the couch, "i'm done here anyway." you mumble hastily, immediately making your way across the small living room. you weave your way through the few people standing in the middle of the space, lingering and chatting too enthusiastically for your liking.

the other couch comes into view quickly, and you spot lucas just as fast. your arms are crossed as you walk up to your boyfriend, lips already pulling in a irritated pout. the silk of your top suddenly feels too cold—too exposing—and you just want to go.

"lucas." you get his attention, "I'm going home."

his attention is pulled away from his teammates, eyes flickering over your figure once. "you okay?"

"ask your roommate." you spit. "he's fucking infuriating."

lucas grin, rolling his eyes. "you are so dramatic, babe. just come sit with me."

a couple of his teammates snicker at his words, attempting to cover their amused smirks behind their drinks—but you catch them.

"i'm not dramatic." you start, exasperated. "and no, I'm going home."

he runs a hand over his face. "kay, i'll see you later."

"whatever." you grumble, turning away from your boyfriend. you make your way back through the sticky frat house, narrowly missing the beer spilling over solo cups as drunk university students slosh around, smashing drinks together in cheers.

the early spring chill sends you into a shivering state almost instantly—the night cold stinging your skin harshly. it's only when the noise and echoing bass fade into a dull hum that you start to cry, sluggishly walking down the sidewalk as you continue the short walk to your apartment complex.

thoughts of matthew's snarky remarks and stupid smirk are plaguing your mind—sending you into a flurry of anger and vexation. replaying the interaction in your head has you scoffing out loud, muttering irritatedly like a clinically insane person.

and then there's lucas and his rude dismissal of you—his girlfriend for fucks sake. that and the way his teammates snickered at the brief moment of bickering between you just has you spiraling even deeper.

you close your apartment door louder than you intended, kicking off your shoes quickly.

your roommate, cora, looks up from her spot on the kitchen barstool, slowly slurping her mouthful of cheap ramen noodles with her brows raised in concern. "how was the party?"

all you can muster is a growl, opening to cupboard above the sink in search of a glass. your grab the first one you see, immediately filling it up with absurd flavoured tap water.

she snorts into her bowl, shoving some more noodles into her mouth. "what happened?" she questions between her chews.

you finish the water with a loud gulp, placing the empty glassware on the counter. "matthew happened."

his name alone makes cora roll her eyes, but there's a tiny grin that she can't even hide. your roommate is well used to the hostility that lingers between you and your down the hall neighbour. "just ignore him."

it's something that's been said by cora hundreds of times—it seems that anytime you're with lucas, you're coming back with a scowl and a new story about his roommate instead. "you know he only messes with you because you give him a good reaction."

you huff, stealing the fork out of cora's bowl and serving yourself a bite of her beef favoured noodles. they're not long made, and the heat slightly burns your tongue. you hiss through your teeth, "he's hard to ignore when he's up my ass whispering in my ear about how i'm 'such a baby'" you attempt at lowering you voice to mimick the athletes, and that has her grinning, taking back her fork for another bite.

"you two are so weird." she slurps a noddle noisily, "like there's some weird sexual tension or something."

"cora!" you huff, eyes comically wide as you look at her with nothing short of perplexity.

"what?" she laughs, all but innocent. "he's hot!"

"I have a boyfriend." snatching the utensil again, you twirl the prongs through the lingering food. your face begins to heat up, something that feels like embarrassment crawling at your chest. you clear your throat, praying that cora doesn't catch your burning cheeks as you chew some more food. "besides, even If I was single i'd never date someone so...arrogant."

"whatever you say." cora teases further, tucking herself further under her extra large hoodie. you know your friend is only playing around, and there's no malicious intent with her digs—so you let it slide, even though the mere thought of dating matthew knies has your stomach dropping, making you feel nothing less than nauseous. 

"I need to take these jeans off before I explode." you whine, quickly changing the subject. you already start unbuttoning the denim as you make your way down the hall, rounding into your warmly lit bedroom in search of your favourite pyjamas.

you soon swap your party, beer smelling attire for an oversized, stained hoodie and sleep shorts—throwing your hair back and popping your glasses on. already, you're feeling much more relaxed than when you first got home. "wanna watch an episode of stranger things?" you call through the apartment, already grabbing your throw blanket.

"yeah!" cora calls back, "can you bring me the niall horan blanket from your room?"

you snort a laugh, doubling back to your bed and pulling the fuzzy, 2011 one direction throw into your arms. it's been a staple piece ever since you met cora in your freshman dorm, and you learned your new roommate from wisconsin was just as obsessed with the former boyband as you are.

you make your way back into the living area of the small student apartment, your slippers slapping the floor obnoxiously as you do. "can you grab me a coke?" you ask cora as you pass the kitchen nook.

two knocks interrupt you, the sound echoing through the wooden door that separates your apartment from the hall. you jump slightly, the unexpecting thumping catching you off guard and making your heart leap.

cora eyes the clock—almost 1 a.m. her gaze skips back to you, frozen in place with the fridge wide open. "are you expecting anyone?"

"no." you swallow, making you way to the door. "are you?"

she almost snorts. "definitely not."

skeptical, but curious, you grasp the chipping bronze handle. you're hoping it's lucas—lucas who has hopefully come to his senses and has left the party in favour of giving you an apology. with a gentle shrug, you turn the handle and pull the door open in one swift motion.

matthew is there, leaning against the door frame in all his smug, infuriating glory. at the sight of you opening the door, a small smirk grows on his face, and in that moment you think the universe must be against you—because what the actual fuck.

"hey." he says simply, his stupid smirk growing impossibly wide. "glad to see you're not dead in a ditch." your brows begin to furrow, and he continues — much to your dismay. "saw you leave the party all stompy."

you're almost speechless, at a loss for words as you blink up at him. "it's almost 1."

"very good." he snickers, like he's congratulating you for knowing the time. you want to punch him in the mouth and get rid of that insufferable grin.

"can I like, help you or something?" you question roughly, crossing your arms over your hoodie. it's a bit awkward considering the mountain of blankets in your arms, but you manage. "i'm kind of busy."

matthew peers behind you, looking into your very much empty apartment. he sees cora, still lingering in the kitchen—watching the exchange like it's a SNL skit with a tiny, amused smile on her face.

he meets your hard eyes one again. "I don't think you are, actually." he licks his bottom lip slowly, an action that seems instinctual. "are you going to be neighborly and invite me in? or just keep standing and staring."

a scoff leaves your mouth, but before you can protest, cora speaks up, her cheery voice making your heart drop. "come on in, matthew—don't mind the mess." she kicks some loose shoes out of the way, subtly pushing you to the side as well.

matthew smirks at you again, stepping into the small foyer of your apartment. you tear your gaze away from the tall boy, sending your roommate a slightly panicked look.

she just shrugs, looking back at matthew quickly. "i'll let you two chat—i've gotta get the pillows..and...stuff, from my room."

pillows and stuff? her excuse is just sad, but before you can stop her, cora is turning on her heels, practically skipping down the hall and into her messy bedroom.

now alone, you look back at your boyfriend's friend with raised brows. "so? what is it?"

something flickers across his face, and before you can register it, he sighs. "listen, i've come to say i'm sorry for tonight. I was an asshole."

"an asshole is one way of putting it." you scoff, arms crossing tighter. you pause, eyeing his seemingly sincere expression. with a sigh, you falter slightly, "but thanks."

his smirk is back. "welcome." the formality is mumbled through his plump lips, and you swallow roughly at the lazy grin.

"anything else?" you hum pointedly.

matthew shakes his head. "nope." he reaches behind his broad back, grabbing the doorknob and turning it. "i'll be seeing you around i'm sure."

you watch as he opens the door, the fluorescent lights of the hallway illuminating your dim apartment. you kiss your teeth, a reluctant nod following suit. "oh, i'm sure."

he snickers. "goodnight, y/l/n."

your face falls—a bubble of irritation quickly rising once again. you don't say anything, watching through the corner of your eyes as matthew walks down the hall to his and lucas' shared apartment.

he shoves the key in the lock, and just before he walks inside, matthew shoots you one more stupid smirk that sends your head reeling.

you click your apartment door shut, and as soon as it does, your forehead hits the flat surface, an angry groan leaving your chest.

STAGE 1: Confusion

"can I get three tequila sunrises, please?"

the burly bartender behind the counter sends you a curt nod, turning on his heels as he grabs three empty glasses to begin making your drinks.

the bar is crowded, more crowded than your usual visits, but it is a saturday night and this is the closest place to drink from campus—so it’s business doesn’t come as a shock. you look around the room, eyeing the sea of students and young adults alike—all smiling and dancing together as they down shots and sip their respective drinks.

your eyes find your small table, seeing cora chat happily with your mutual friend, rachel. you'd all been in a deep conversation about your psychology midterm results when you'd slurped up the last bit of your drink—cora already fiddling with the ice cubes at the bottom of her glass.

with a pout from rachel and a plea from your roommate, you slid off the high stool and begin sneaking your way through the bar. you sigh gently, turning your attention back to the busy bar, watching as the bartender works around his co-workers in their hectic environment.

"hey." his voice has you stiffening. slowly, your gaze flickers to your right and that's where you see matthew, leaning against the sticky bar top in his usual stupid way.

you frown, glancing over your opposite shoulder to see if he's talking to somebody that's not you—maybe a teammate or your boyfriend who has magically decided to show up tonight.

matthew snickers. "yeah. i'm talking to you."

you look back at him sharply. "why?"

he shrugs, his index finger tracing one of the raised splits on the wooden bar top. "just saying hi to a friend."

"a friend?" you question, one breathy laugh passing through your stained lips. your gaze turns pointed, looking at matthew with a mixture of confusion and annoyance. "we're not friends."

"no?" he hums lightly.

you shake your head once, firmly. "I think you're forgetting how you know me."

"we live in the same apartment complex." his smile has returned at full strength, sending your chest contorting in a way that makes you angry. he's trying to rile you up, you know that by now, and even if you didn't, that grin on his stupid chiseled face gives him away—he's up to no good.

you make a face of faux innocent, mouth falling open to form a small, perfected 'o'. "oh, so that's how you know me?" your face falls, and you grab your wallet off the bar top. your hands are slightly shaky, and definitely clammy due to the adrenaline and irritation running through your veins—it's all so infuriating.

you turn to leave, but matthew's hand encloses around your wrist, stopping you. your head snaps back so fast that for a moment your vision blurs—and you have to blink quickly to clear it.

"c'mon, y/l/n, i'm trying to play nice." his grin falters slightly, looking down at you with a gentle expression.

it makes you even angrier. "well, I don't want you to play nice."

matthew squints playfully, leaning further down into your space. "kinky."

your eyes widen to unfathomable size, and your skin flushes all over. it's exactly the reaction matthew wanted to pull from you, and his eyes twinkle with amusement as he watches your face further contort into an expression of disbelief and frustration.

you take a few shaky, shallow breathes, trying your best to not yank your hand away and high tail out of the bar completely. "I have a boyfriend." despite the firm town of your voice, your words are quiet, only for the two of you to hear.

matthew's brows shoot up. "okay, I don't know how stupid you think I am, but I know you have a boyfriend—I live with him. i'm just being a dick."

you can't help the way your eyes roll. no shit. it's like matthew finally realizes the gentle grip he's still got around your wrist, and he drops your arm rather quickly upon realization. matthew brings his hand back to his side, fingers flexing as he tries to shake off the unknowing sensation. he clears his throat, eyes not leaving yours as he continues. "speaking of, where is lucas? thought you'd be up his ass tonight."

you hesitantly tuck your wallet under your arm, holding it to your side. after all, you're still waiting for drinks, and you're not going to let matthew drive you out of the bar before you can deliver them. "like you said," you huff, "you live with him, so you should've noticed he was home tonight."

matthew's lips drop in a small frown at your words, because no, he doesn't remember seeing lucas after they passed each other on the way to the bathroom that morning.

the tattooed arm of the bartender comes back into your peripheral vision, and he slides theee glasses in your direction. "here's your drinks."

you quickly menover your black wallet back into your hands, pulling out a $20 bill and passing it to the rather attractive tender. "thanks." he nods, tucking the money into his waist apron before turning away, attending to one of the many awaiting customers.

you look back towards the athlete at your side, who still hasn't taken his gaze off of you, and send him a sarcastic smirk. "wish I could say it was nice seeing you matthew, but i've never been a liar." you grab two of the glasses, frowning gently as you realize you can't quite grip the third. you place them down, attempting another time.

"oh wow good one, y/l/n." matthew laughs breathily, watching as you continue to struggle with three, condensation coated glasses. "are you going to ask for help now?"

you snort, "i'd rather eat glass than ask for your help."

you look like a lost puppy—one of the glasses pressed between your arm and boob, and the other one clutched awkwardly in your hand. your fingers barley reach around it, and it looks like a disaster waiting to happen.

"jesus christ, just—" matthew mumbles, reaching towards you and taking both glasses from you. and because he's annoying and has the hands of a giant, he scoops the third glass off the bar, holding the three together.

he looks at you triumphantly, which makes you want to kick him. "must you be so proud?"

"I must." he chimes. matthew finally looks away from you, which has you letting out a breath you hadn't realized you've been harbouring. his eyes filter through the crowd, brows pinched together. "where's your table?"

on cue, cora's distinctive laughter fills the room. "never mind I can hear your roommate." he begins walking in the direction of the table, maneuvering through the room like he owns it—which induces an annoyed eye roll from you. watching the crowd practically part as they see him coming through is even more infuriating.

you follow behind him, trying your best to keep up with his long strides. "her mouth is almost as loud as yours!" you smile with faux enjoyment, looking up at his side.

you merely miss getting bumped by some hammered frat guy, too busy yelling and terribly singing along to the shitty (but addictive) pop music. you miss the glare matthew sends the strangers way before he looks down at you, a smirk on his face. "seems like a match made in heaven then."

"or hell." you hum.

he laughs tauntingly. "don't be jealous."

"why would I be jealous?"

"took you long enough!" cora shouts, teetering on hammered—she's been pregaming since 5.

you watch rachel's eyes trail to your side, and immediately she's lighting up. "oh and you've brought a friend."

"not a friend—just a nuisance."

matthew laughs, too loudly for your liking, brushing past you to step onto the platform where your friends sit. "think that's the nicest thing you've said about me, y/l/n."

if your eyes roll one more time tonight they're surely to get stuck. "don't you have something else to do, knies?"

cora takes the glass from matthew's large hand, batting her lashes up at him like a damn cartoon character. she immediately takes the straw into her mouth, chewing on the plastic. "thank you matthew."

he turns back to you with a smug expression. "see, y/l/n, that's how you're supposed to respond when someone does something nice for you."

"oh well— I can't wait for the day you do something nice for me!" you clap your hands together like an exaggerated cheer, stepping up the the platform as well. you almost bump into his chest, underestimating just how close matthew was.

he just smirks, eyes slowly flickering down your body.

you swallow. "okay, you can go now."

"anything else?" matthew questions, brows raised expectantly.

"what?" you breathe through your teeth.

his smirk grows. "i'm waiting for a thank you."

you exhale through your nose, eyes briefly flickering closed for a passing moment. when they re-open, matthew doesn't falter, if anything he looks even more cheerful. "thanks." you grit out.

"you're so welcome." he shoots you a quick wink, waving goodbye to your friends before he steps off the platform, making his way back to whichever group of loud cronies he'd been with before he started pestering you.

"you two are so ridiculous." rachel laughs into her glass before taking a hearty sip—her eyes not once leaving you.

you whine, taking your original seat next to cora. "i'm one more interaction away from transferring schools."

cora groans loudly. "oh my god."

the conversation thankfully shifts after your dramatic remark, and the rest of the night seemingly goes by in a flash. you actually end up dancing for most of the evening, sandwiched between cora and rachel as you all scream song lyrics and laugh with one another. it's nice and refreshing—thankfully taking your mind of him.

you end up feeling more tired than you expected soon after, the combination of drinking, dancing and being at school since 10 that morning is taking its toll on you. "i'm gunna head out." you tell cora, leaning in close so she can hear you over the bassy one direction throwback.

"what?" she pouts, her hazy eyes wide. "I don't want you to go!"

you laugh gently, accepting the hug as she throws herself at you—stumbling over her own two feet in the process. "i'm tired." you admit. "do you and rachel wanna come with me?"

"no! the night is still young." cora looks at you like you're crazy for even suggesting that.

"okay party animals." you bid another goodbye to both of your friends, ordering and uber for yourself before stepping outside. you're hoping the chilled air will sober you up a little bit—because the last thing you need is to fall asleep in an uber, or worse, get sick.

you sigh gently, swaying on your feet as you stand outside the bustling bar. strangers and traffic are steady, providing a surprisingly comforting atmosphere.

the door creaks open behind you, the inside chaos growing louder for a split second until the threshold is closed once more. instinctively, you glance over your shoulder, and the sight has you groaning. the universe must be praying on your downfall, because there he is. "seriously? are you stalking me or something?"

matthew's brows raise, his hands shoved in his jean pockets as he walks towards you. "that doesn't even make sense—you've already seen me tonight…”

his words have you scoffing, and you turn your head away from him as you grumble frustratedly. "fucking...whatever."

he doesn't respond immediately, and the night life is the only sounds heard. ever impatiently, you check the uber app again, praying your ride is almost here—but they're still 5 minutes out.

"where are your friends?" matthew's voice interrupts your peace.

"why?" you question with hesitance, your glare pointed as you look towards him.

he laughs briefly, although it sounds more like a scoff. "god, you're so tightly wound! i'm just trying to make conversation."

you're taken aback for a moment, blinking quickly as you take in his words. with a quiet, irritated sigh, you look away from him once again. "you really don't need to."

you peer down the road, praying you see the uber that somehow has magically sped through time. matthew scoffs again. "why don't you like me?"

"besides the obvious?" you question condescendingly, eyes not leaving the road in front of you.

"sure, besides the obvious."

you spin on your heels, which in hindsight isn't the smartest decision because your stumbling dangerously. matthew's eyes widen in concern for a moment, but you catch yourself before he has the chance to reach out. you eye his flexing hands with anger, a grumble leaving your stained lips. "you're just, ugh! insufferable."

his brows raise. "i'm insufferable?"

you nod. "yes."

"really?"

"yes, matthew! god this, what you're doing right now is quite literally the definition of insufferable. like, if you looked up the definition a video of this interaction would play." you breathe roughly, gesturing between the two of you like a crazy person. at some point during your rant, you'd stepped closer to him—close enough that you have to tilt your head back to properly look at him.

matthew's lips slowly contorts into a smirk, one that sends your blood boiling. "you're such a nerd ."

you laugh in disbelief. "que the insults!"

his eyes change then, his smirk dissolving as a more serious and intense expression takes over his face. matthew licks onto his bottom lip, gaze pointed. "it's wasn't an insult."

your breath hitches, catching in your throat as you watch him…watch you. before you can say anything—do anything—the sound of tires screeching to the curb has you pulling away.

the passenger window rolls down, and a middle aged man come into sight. "uber for y/n?"

"yeah, that's me." you say quickly, walking away from matthew as fast as your feet allow you, and practically jumping into the running car, as soon as the seatbelt is clicked into place, the uber is moving, sending you falling back against the seat.

you watch through the window as matthew looks at the retreating car—not talking his eyes off the vehicle until you're nothing but a set of break lights in the distance. you swallow roughly, blinking away the flurry of emotions pulling and pushing at your chest.

STAGE 2: Shifting

almost a week has passed since your...interesting? annoying? pointless? conversation with matthew outside the bar, and you thankfully haven't seen him since.

which is surprising considering you've been at his apartment almost every night with lucas. as much as you hate to admit it, and as much as it makes you angry, you were curious about his whereabouts. anytime you'd been cuddling with lucas on the couch, watching some shitty show he liked—your mind would wander, and anytime there'd be any noise in the hall, you'd wonder if it was him.

where was he? what's was he doing? is he avoiding you? but no, because matthew loves pissing you off too much to just avoid you...right?

you curse yourself everytime matthew pops into your mind, quickly distracting yourself with whatever task you could get your hands on. like right now, ruffling through the snack display on top of the counter at work.

the arena is extra cold today, and as your arms touch the metal basket containing the various chips and crackers, you shiver—not even the team branded zip up around your torso is helping.

"y/n," the floor manager, jason pops into the booth. "we need some more pineapple. can you get some from the players kitchen please? just the frozen stuff for smoothies." his voice is hopeful, looking at you with a playful glint in his eyes.

you sigh gently, kissing your teeth as you turn to look at him. "sure."

he smiles in your direction, but just before he leaves, jason doubles back. "oh! and a few protein bars, i'm starving."

"sure." you nod curtly.

"and while you're there, grab me a green juice?" this time at least jason manages to look somewhat guilty, his grin almost doubtful.

you almost find it amusing, and you raise your brows as so. "why not."

jason cheers. "you're the best."

with that you make your way out of the room, not fully shutting the door behind yourself as you know your arms will be too full to use a handle when you come back. the walk to the players section of the facility isn't a long one, and it's only a few minutes until you're entering the 'smoothie room' — as you like to call it.

it's always in pristine condition, and you almost feel guilty for simply breathing in there. quickly, you grab everything you need from the room, including the bag you'd filled with frozen pineapple and some nasty smelling green drink for jason.

with your arms full, you leave the room and begin making your way back to the snack bar. you round the corner into the most open part of the corridor, expect this time it's not empty, and around 10 of the guys have started kicking the ball around—a pre-game warmup that a lot of them liked to participate in.

you plan to just sneak through, keep your head down and try to not too badly interrupt the ritual—for lack of a better word. timidly, you begin making your way towards the rowdy group, eyes focused as their voices get closer and closer.

the sound of the soccer ball smacking against the wall has you freezing, and before you know it the inflated ball is soaring towards you. you don’t have a chance to react, and it hits you right in the chest, sending everything you'd been previously holding scattering to the floor.

embarrassed and irritated, you sigh, crouching down as you begin to attempt and salvage the mess at your feet. an all too familiar pair of running shoes appear in your vision, coming to a squeaky stop as they approach. "damn, you alright?"

you look up, squinting from the glow of the fluorescent lights lining the corridors. like you thought, it's matthew. his expression almost resembles one of concern, which has you pulling a disgruntled face.

he's slightly breathless, running around and kicking a soccer ball at you must be the cause. he's alive, you think reluctantly.

you look away from him, grabbing the two bottles of green juice and tucking them under your arm. thankfully, neither plastic bottle cracked when they hit the tile.

he sighs roughly, and you can practically hear the roll of his eyes. matthew slowly bends down as well, grabbing the astray protein bars from the ground. "good talk." he mutters condescendingly.

your eyes dart up, a scoff tumbling past your lips. the audacity of matthew to be annoyed with you is just beyond comprehension. "sorry i'm not in the mood for small talk with you matthew after you just kicked the ball at my chest—i'm going to have to throw this fruit out now, thanks."

the pineapple is a wet, spilled mess across the floor. the bag had split when it dropped, and the ball has smooshed the fruit as it fell with it. you're not even sure what to do about the mess—looking at it hopelessly.

"I didn't kick anything at you, but sure it's my fault." he grumbles, looking at you once again.

"really? then who did?" you tone is dripping with doubt, looking at matthew with nothing but exasperation.

"ask your perfect little boyfriend." matthew immediately looks like he regrets his words, eyes widening momentarily before his gaze darts away from your face.

"my perfect little boyfriend who's also your friend?" you scoff.  "god, touch some grass matthew." you know it's a terrible rebuke, and the way matthew smirks in disbelief following your insult has you feeling even more irritated with your choice of comeback.

you don't dwell on it much longer as the sound of somebody else approaching you both captures your attention. you look up just as lucas joins you, standing behind matthew with a tiny grin. "hey! babe you okay?"

you stand up, clutching the drinks to your chest. "fine." you nod.

lucas smiles again, moving to wrap you in a hug. it’s awkward, with your arms pushed against your chest and the green juice pressing into your boob uncomfortably. he kisses your head quickly. "sorry, we were all just messing around and I didn't see you."

your face falls, and you pull back from your boyfriend. "it was you?"

"yeah." he repeats, looking anything but guilty. "said I was sorry."

you unwrap yourself from his hug, stepping back. the whole conversation with your boyfriend has rubbed you the wrong way, and even if he didn't mean to kick you with the ball, his apology wasn't enough of a sincere gesture as you would expect from someone who supposedly loves you.

"I gotta get back." you say quietly, eyes downcast as you further back away from your boyfriend. instinctively, your eyes flicker towards matthew's tall stature. you both hold eye contact for a moment, unknown words lingering in the air between you.

you blink, picking up pace as you walk through the hall.

jason beams as he spots the pile of protein bars in your hands, taking two along with his green juice before skipping out the room. trying to shake off the weird feeling from the interaction with matthew in the corridor, you get back to work, organizing the fridge in preparation for tonight's game—you know how much the minnesota students love their alanis, and you need to make sure that fridge is fully stalked.

there's a good 5 minutes of silence, nothing but you, your thoughts and the loading of the fridge—until there's a knock at the open door.

you look over you shoulder, and there matthew is again. you don't know what to say because you don't know why he's here or what he wants. is he here to gloat? to apologize? to taunt?

matthew takes your silence as an invitation, stepping into the snack booth with a neutral expression. he's still dressed in his sports clothes—a team branded sweatshirt with matching shorts overtop compression pants, completed with his backward basball cap. it oddly suits him, and your stomach drops at the realization of what you've just done.

you kinda sorta checked him out.

"here." matthew interrupts your thoughts, clearly unaware of your wandering eyes and the inner turmoil happening in your brain. he walks further into the room, and that's when you see it—a bag of pineapple clutched in his hand.

in your rush to leave the corridor, you'd completely forgotten to run back and get more fruit.

"where do you want me to put it?" he questions.

"uh," you hum lightly, eyes moving around the room for some available space. it's kind of a mess in here, and you really need to get your shit together before you open. "just beside the coffee machine for now."

matthew does what you ask, putting the frozen ziploc beside the kureig on the side counter. he doesn't say anything else, and walks out the room without so much a second glance in your direction.

you bite your inner lip, knawing the soft skin as you blink furiously— trying to collect your whirlwind of thoughts. above all, you're angry. angry that you were hit with a ball, angry that matthew was right about who kicked it, angry that lucas gave you a shit apology, and that matthew didn't even attempt to annoy you when he'd brought you the pineapple.

—

lucas presses a chaste kiss to your mouth, pulling you into his chest on the outskirts of the lit up courtyard. around you is busy, lingering students and staff members alike chat and walk through the space with an upbeat pace.

every year since you've been attending the university of minnesota, the hockey team and staff members would host a barbecue and movie night in the schools courtyard. it was always an amazing turnout, and for only $5 dollars to get in and get something to eat and watch a throwback film (this year being freaky friday), it was quite the rage. plus, the money went to a fundraiser that helped public schools in the area have breakfast. so it’s a win win.

so not only do you go with the intent of supporting the youth of neighbouring schools, but your boyfriend is one of the co-organizers of the event. so of course you show your face.

which brings you back to the current moment, pouting up at lucas with the best puppy-dog eyes you can manage. lucas sighs gently, running his hands over your jean jacket covered arms. "don't give me that look."

you don't let up, but your lips begin to form into a grin. "what look?"

"the look you're doing right now." he laughs once, squeezing your biceps tightly. "you know I have to be all over the place, babe. I can't just stand with you."

your exaggerated, playful pout quickly changes into a real frown—even though you don't want to show that emotion. because lucas is one of the co-organizers of the event, he's got lots of duties to attend to while the event is happening. so although you're technically here to spend time with your boyfriend, you'll barley get to see him.

plus, cora is sick and had no choice but to stay back at the apartment and watch re-runs of friends, and rachel wouldn't be able to come until the movie starts—coinciding with when her shift at work ends.

"I know but..." you trial off, taking your bottom lip into your mouth anxiously. you've never been a huge fan of crowds—especially when it's tightly gathered in a confined space—and the idea of having to be alone right now is rather daunting. "can't I just help you? like just go with you?"

lucas sighs again, eyes flickering out to the crowd around you. the smell of cheap burgers and hotdogs are already filtering through the air, providing the most perfect early spring atmosphere for the evening. he meets your eyes once more, "it just won't work like that. hey, you'll be okay."

he kisses your cheek, doing his best to reassure you, but you still feel down. "right, okay."

"get yourself a drink and just chill—i'll find you when I can, okay?"

you send him a closed mouth smile, breathing through your nose in a gentle exhale. "okay."

with that he turns away, quickly moving through the lingering crowd as he makes his way into the courtyard. you huff lightly, looking around the sea of people to see if you recognize anyone—literally anyone you can stick with until rachel gets there. but nobody is there.

you eventually follow the crowd, entering the lit-up courtyard. it's decorated in various streamers and balloons representing school colours, along with a spread of beanbags and camping chairs set up for the movie. it looks really good, and even though it's not the warmest temperature due to the night sky, the collection of bodies and decor have the place feeling cozy.

you spot a long table through students, full of what seems to be drinks—various waters, juice and sodas lining the gray fold away surface. you sneak your way through, eyeing the options before inevitably deciding on water. caffeine will just make you anxious, and your favourite juice flavour wasn't an option.

in your peripheral vision, you see a member of the hockey team standing on the other side the table—presumably keeping track of beverages and taking payments. without properly looking up you begin shuffling through your clutch, "how much for the water?"

"it's free."

the all too familiar and cocky voice of matthew knies has you freezing. slowly, your eyes creep upwards, only to be met with the light eyes of his. he'd been the hockey player in your peripheral, and you curse yourself for not noticing sooner.

his brows raise, anticipating a snarky remark. but much to his dismay you turn away, walking back through the crowd and away from him.

he turns to mitchell, one of his teammates, patting his shoulder quickly. "mind watching the table for a sec—gotta do something." matthew doesn't even wait for a response before he's following you, easily making his way between the bodies crowded around.

matthew catches sight of you off to the side, seemingly unaware that he’s hot on your trail. he approaches you swiftly, getting your attention as he speaks. "you're like really bad at the whole socialization thing."

your eyes widen briefly, watching as he casually leans against the nearest table.

"maybe I just don't want to socialize with you." you retort, eyeing him pointedly before taking a slow sip from your water bottle.

matthew smirks. "that's mean."

"don't care." you answer, looking back out into the yard.

a beat passes. "you come alone?" matthew questions, seemingly curious.

you cross your arms. "sort of."

"sort of?" matthew parrots, eyes briefly scanning the crowd. "what's does sort of mean?"

you look at him again. "well I came with lucas, but he's busy so now i'm here...with you." the last part has you pulling a face, scrunching your noise is displeasure.

he snorts. "don't pretend like you don't enjoy my company."

"enjoying isn't quite the word i'd use to describe how I feel about you and your company." you retort lightly, brows pulling tightly.

matthew sucks his bottom lip, containing his grin. "okay, so why aren't you mingling? this is supposed to be a event of socializing."

"I'm not a fan of mingling." you tell him earnestly, clearing your throat in a moment of venerability. "or crowds. besides the fundraiser, I only come for lucas."

"yeah crowds aren't for everyone." matthew's genuine tone has you taken back, and you eye with an almost shock like gaze. "sorry that you're dealing with it alone."

you feel weird—why does the sincerity in his voice make you tingly? "well," you begin. "i'm not alone because you've insisted on coming over here to annoy me."

his smirk is back. "it is my specialty."

you laugh a real laugh, a very brief moment of quiet joy that takes you by surprise. the way his eyes twinkle and smirk widens at the sound of your giggle goes unnoticed by you.

"babe." lucas voice calls out, jogging up to you and matthew. "hey." he greets, pulling you into his side and kissing your temple. "I got a minute, thought i'd see what you were up to." his eyes flicker to matthew's. "see you've found a friend."

matthew's eyes don't leave you, waiting and watching for your reaction to your boyfriends words. you swallow gently, "he was just keeping me company."

"she's not a fan of crowds—thought i'd take a few minutes from work to make sure she's settled." this time when matthew speaks, he's only looking at lucas, and you don't miss the underlying message in his words.

lucas seems oblivious to the hostility underlying his teammates admission, a smile overtaking his face. "anyways, I gotta get back. gunner was telling me about this new club out on main—i'll catch you guys later."

as soon as your boyfriend is out of ear shot, you send matthew a furious glare. "what was that?"

"what was what?" he questions innocently, eyes yet to meet yours again.

"i'm not stupid, matthew, you were trying to..I don't know? like one up lucas by insinuating he's a bad boyfriend for not spending time with me. what the fuck." you spit angrily, gaze tinted with fury.

"I'm not insinuating anything, i'm simply just calling it as I see it." matthew retorts.

you breath a shocked laugh. "what the fuck is wrong with you? you're lucky he didn't catch on to your stupid little coded message." you take a breath, arms tightening over your chest. "he's your friend—why are you trying to ruin that?"

matthew takes a step towards you. "like I said, i'm just calling it as I see it."

"bullshit." you chime. "what's it to you that lucas is busy tonight and he's not able to spend time with me? seriously."

his brows raise, an amused expression on his face. he knows he shouldn’t argue with you, especially when what he wants to say will only further upset you—but he can’t help himself. "he's too busy to spend time with you, yeah? but tell me why we're in the same job position and I haven't left your side since I saw you. so call whatever you want bullshit, but the real bullshit is the guy standing next to his teammate doing absolutely nothing but making you look stupid."

matthew's words have you pulling back, face faltering. you feel emotion clawing at your chest, flushing your skin a rosey pink as the embarrassment and anger about the situation hits you all at once.

his face flashes with remorse, looking down at you with a lingering guilty gaze. his mouth opens slightly, as if to speak—but nothing comes out.

"fuck you." you hiss quietly before turning on your heels and leaving. everything in your body feels like it's on fire, walking through the courtyard with a determination you didn't even realized you had. you can feel matthew's eyes boring into your retreating figure, but you don't dare turn around and look.

he's right—god, he's fucking right. matthew not only calling out your boyfriends shitty behaviour but your obliviousness to the truth about the situation, stings you hard, and you didn't know what else to say or how to react besides the way you did.

you’re even angrier about the fact that even within the little attention matthew had given you tonight, was more than lucas had all day—and the time matthew spent at your side in the bustling courtyard, had your anxiety about the crowds fizzling.

STAGE 3: Denial

the sound of basketball shoes squeaking against the polished wood of a court has always been one of your least favourite things. it's a high pitched, constant sound that has you cringing every time.

you eyes flicker up towards the scoreboard—it's almost half time. it's a relief, and you are almost giddy at the fact that the stupid squeaking while be on a momentary pause.

lucas squeezes your thigh, right over your jeans. you look over at his gently, met with the sight of his curious grin. "what's up babe?"

you shrug, "just watching the timberdogs!"

"it's the timberwolves." he corrects you, eyes twinkling with amusement. you laugh it off, looking back out into the basketball court, eyes following the players as they zip back and forth on the length of the floor.

lucas' dad has always been super into basketball—like more that the average person. he's got a room in his childhood home that's designed to resemble the minnesota timberwolves court, as well as a plethora of jerseys and seasons tickets for every year.

you're not sure why his dad couldn't make it to this game—lucas had told you in the car on the way to the game but you'd been too distracted with everything else going on inside the vehicle to truly pay attention. maybe he was sick? it also could've had something to do with his car breaking down? you don't recall—but regardless, the tickets weren't being used, and they were offered to lucas.

you assumed it was just two—because lucas didn't have any siblings, and you would think it was just his parents attending these games. but no, there's four tickets, because it was always a group of 50 year old men attending together.

so what you hoped was a date night between you quickly turned into a little group outing with your respective roommates. which wouldn't of been such a problem if you weren't still reeling about the last conversation you had with matthew—in the courtyard when he practically called out your entire relationship.

the reminder makes you shift in your chair, angling yourself away from matthew even further. you can hear him sigh to himself, and out of the corner of your eye you watch as his leg bounces up and down with a feverish pace.

it's annoying—more than the shoes on the court. you huff, turning to look at him. "can you stop moving, it's distracting."

he turns to his head. "how is it distracting?"

"i'm trying to watch the game." you retort.

matthew's brows raise incredulously. "you've been watching anything but the game since it started."

"that's not true." it is true, and his call out has you feeling even more infuriated than when you first got to the arena. "I love basketball."

"sure you do." he nods, unconvinced. "instead of watching me then, get back to watching your timberdogs." matthew messes up the name of the NBA team on purpose, teasing you with your own fuck-up.

you huff. "you are so-" the sound of the buzzer echoing loudly throughout the court silences you, whatever insult you'd been conjuring up dying on your tongue. the players begin filling off the court as halftime begins, leaving the crowd to begin freely moving and walking throughout the stands and hallways—replenishing snacks and/or drinks.

on the opposite side of matthew, cora leans forward, looking at you with wide eyes. "hey! i'm going to get another coke. do you want one?" her voice is loud, and even still it's barley heard over the rowdy crowd.

"yes please." you smile. your roommate nods in understanding before getting up, making her way down the row of seats before disappearing out of sight—leaving you with only lucas and matthew.

matthew snickers—mostly to himself—eyes downcast as he fiddles with a loose thread on the knee rip of his jeans. "didn't think you were capable of such manners."

"didn't think you were capable of such big words! woah, i'm impressed." your face falls, words dripping with sarcasm as your annoyance builds higher and higher.

you shoot a look towards lucas, but are only met with the sight of him engaged in his phone—playing fucking candy crush of all things—completely unaware of the tension rising between you and his friend.

"of course your impressed." matthew insists, "everything I do impresses you."

the lingering crowd around you seems even more roudy than before, but your too enthralled with matthew to even look away and glance around. despite the noise, you can hear him fine—too fine, if you're getting specific. 

your mouth drops, a tiny puff of disbelieved laughter leaving you. "oh so we're back on the 'y/n is obsessed with matthew train.'"

matthew slowly leans closer to you, his elbow nudging yours on the tiny shared armrest between your seats. his cologne invades your space—something clean like fresh laundry mixed with a spicy cinnamon. it's almost intoxicating, and you're left frozen in place.

"we never got off that train." his words are dripping with a teasing undertone, licking his bottom lip slowly.

a hand nudges matthew shoulder from the row of seats behind yours—gathering his attention. curious, you turn as well, finding a guy seemingly only a few years older than you, looking down at you both with a sheepish grin. "you guys are on the jumbotron."

both your heads whip back around, darting up towards the jumbotron hanging from the exposed ceiling of the court. much to your horror, you and matthew are on the screen—the image framed in a heart filter with 'kiss cam' scribbled across the bottom.

you and matthew both flush—although your heat is definitely more visible, trailing down your neck and appearing in splotches over your exposed chest. "no." you say, making a cut off motion beside your neck with your perfectly manicured nails. "we're not together."

it's no use— the jumbotron can't hear your pleas. matthew shakes his head, joining in on your attempt to get the camera off you both. through the screen you see matthew shift his attention to you, which has you whipping around to look at him. his gaze is almost soft—curious, maybe.

suddenly the crowd gets louder, their unison chants echoing through the building. "kiss kiss kiss!"

the commotion finally has lucas looking away from his phone, and at the sight of what's happening in front of him—his face falls. his brows furrow slightly, gaze switching between the jumbotron and the both of you—staring at one another.

lucas quickly grabs your face, turning you away from his roommate and planting a messy kiss on your lips. your eyes widen slightly, but eventually flutter closed—allowing your boyfriend to move his lips along yours.

matthew swallows roughly, looking away and back towards the screen. the camera has since shifted, showcasing you and lucas in the last lingering moments of the bruising kiss. the crowd cheers, but as soon as you pull away from him, the couple on the jumbotron changes.

lucas expression shifts, lips pulling into a frown as he pulls away from you—his hand quickly retreating back into his lap. "why didn't you nudge me?"

your mouth open and closed quickly, "I-I don't know."

"you don't know?" lucas's tone is quite, but firm, clearly unhappy with the situation that just transpired—even though nothing really happened.

you shrug, and blush once again, but this time is purely from embarrassment about the scolding from your boyfriend. "no, the crowd was looking and I just, I tried to say no but the camera wasn't hearing me. are you seriously mad at me?"

your eyes quickly flicker around the immediate area, making sure nobody is outwardly eavesdropping on your hushed argument.

"should I be?" lucas retorts, pulling your attention back to him. he's looking at you curiously, tinged with something that seems like hope as he waits for your response.

you swallow roughly, once shake of your head following. "no."

lucas exhales shakily, the corner of his mouth sliding into a grin. "okay," he mumbles, throwing his arm over your shoulders. "then i'm not mad."

you allow yourself lean into him easily, but your mind is a whirlwind of confusion and a million unknown feelings, and when you try and even begin to understand them, you're just left more confused.

the crowd begins filtering back into the arena, finding their original seats as the halftime clock begins winding down—the third quarter approaching quickly. cora comes back down the isle, squeezing past outstretched legs as small apologies spew past her lips.

you catch her eye, and her smile grows. "a coke for you." the posh, royal tone she often uses comes to a slow halt, passing you your drink as she eyes your somber expression.

you take the plastic cup. "thanks."

cora gives you a knowing look—one that says your sudden shift in mood will be discussed later in the comfort of your shared apartment. you're not sure why you're dreading that so much.

just as the buzzer sounds throughout the arena again, signaling the resumption of the game, your eyes flicker back towards matthew again. his jaw is tight, and you can see the tendons moving under his skin as he grinds his teeth together. matthew's leg is bouncing again, faster than before—his gaze locked on the court.

it's a longer glance than you intended, but you can't help yourself—something inside you is unwilling to look away.

that dreadful noise of shoes on the polished floor pulls you away, your nose scrunching as you inwardly cringe at the sound.

quickly, matthew's eyes flicker to you—only to be met with the side of your face. he watches gently as your face drops from the previous tight pull, your smooth skin stretching over your perfectly shaped nose.

the puffiness of your lips and the lingering blush on your cheeks, and the way your hair cascades down your back in the most delicate blowout...matthew can't help the way the faintest grin ghosts over his face.

the rest of the game thankfully goes by quickly, and before you know it you're all back in lucas’ car, making the drive back to your apartment located near campus. thankfully cora and lucas fill the lingering silence with pointless conversation—you and matthew only chiming in when necessary.

you don't know what exactly happened, but you know something has shifted. you don't know what it means, or what will happen because of it—and that has you feeling really weird.

as soon as you're back in the comfort of your own apartment, cora smacks her purse down on the counter, gathering your attention with the harsh sound. "what's going on with you?"

your shoulder deflate. "I don't know."

she frowns, walking further into the apartment where you've decided to flop dramatically on the couch. your pants pull uncomfortably around your waist, and the button is digging into your belly pouch like nobodies business.

cora sits down beside you, facing you with curious eyes. "did something happen at the game? it felt like when I went to get the drinks, I missed something."

"I was on the kiss cam." you breathe.

"okay?"

"with matthew."

"oh." she is momentarily taken back, blinking three times quick as she digests your words. cora is very much used to your and matthew's supposed hatred for one another, even though she's never believed it. but the look on your face at the game isn't adding up to just 'being on the kiss cam with matthew'.

cora's brows pull tightly, creating a deep wrinkle between them. "what else happened?"

"I think," you start, voice dropping as if you weren't the only two people in the room. "I think matthew wanted to kiss me."

her eyes widen to an unfathomable size. "what?! how do you know?"

your mouth opens, a sharp breath passing through your lips. "I just....I don't know, there was something about the way he looked at me. am I being crazy?"

instantly cora shakes her head, a gentle frown on her face. "no. the eyes never lie."

your expression droops in a mixture of confusion and fear, eyes beginning to glaze with emotion as you look at cora.

she continues, "and if he tried to kiss you, what would you have done?"

"I don't know." you exhale shakily.

you hear your roommate coo gently, wrapping her arms around you in a much needed hug. your eyes pinch shut, holding onto cora's arm as you continue the embrace.

you are so screwed.

—

how lucas managed to drag you to another loud and obnoxious frat party is honestly beyond you, but there you were—doing your best at mingling and letting loose while lucas was off doing god knows what with his teammates.

rachel thankfully ended up being at the party, and as soon as she ran up to you and made herself known—you didn't leave her side. which in hindsight maybe wasn't the best idea.

you love rachel, truly, but she's never been the best influence—especially when alcohol is involved. one minute your sipping your first seltzer, and the next you're stumbling over, 10 drinks in and screaming chappell roan lyrics like nobodies business.

which means right now you're hammered, sluggishly walking through the busy frat house as you attempt in finding your boyfriend. because drunk you is clingy—and a little horny—and all you want is the warm touch and attention of a man.

unaware, drunk bodies bump into from both sides—too caught up in the party atmosphere to even notice you. it makes the journey a bit harder, but somehow you haven't managed to fall on your ass, so you'll count that as a win.

"y/n?"

the sound of your name has you blinking, looking around the room until you locate the culprit. matthew's hand touches your exposed shoulder, grabbing your attention. his brows pull together, and he bends his knees slightly so he's able to properly look into your eyes. "hey are you with me?"

you blink. "your eyes are like really pretty." a fit of giggles follows your slurred admission, tumbling forward slightly as you clutch your belly.

matthew's hands steady you easily. the combination of your shitty balance and surprisingly playful and kind words tells him all he needs to know about your current state—you're drunk.

"where's lucas?" he asks you, beer can abandoned on a side table beside one of the terribly stained couches lining the makeshift sitting area. matthew eyes you again, "or did you come with cora?"

you shake your head. "cora's a loser and had to work—so here I am."

he can barley understand you due to the slurred, sluggish string of words, but he catches the jist of it. "so you're alone."

"no..." you retort, huffing like you're annoyed. "lucas is here. wait! have you seen him?"

"not for hours." matthew tells you. "I think you need to go home though."

you whine a protest, shaking off the hand he'd still had on your shoulder. matthew isn't having it, and before you can register what's going on, he's grabbing the meat of your biceps, guiding you to the couch before sitting you down.

"hey!" you huff, falling back against the cushions—wow, for a frat couch it's really comfortable.

"i'm going to find lucas, okay? stay here." matthew tells you firmly before walking back into the heart of the crowd, on a mission to find your boyfriend. it's actually not a hard task, and he's only looking for a minute or two before he spots lucas—in the back corner with a couple guys from the team and some mystery girls, all laughing and passing around a joint.

"hey," matthew starts firmly, grabbing the groups attention. lucas brows pull, taking a slow drag from the joint resting between two loose fingers.

"lucas man, y/n needs to go home—she's practically black out."

lucas groans, passing off the joint to the blonde girl closest to matthew—the same girl who's been eyeing him since he walked up to the group a few moments ago.

"fuck, man. I forgot she was here."

his word have matthew's jaw ticking, eyes squinting pointedly. "you forgot your girlfriend was here?"

lucas, ever oblivious, doesn't catch the irritation lacing his roommates words, and he only shrugs nonchalantly before taking a hearty sip of beer. he looks at matthew, a hopeful glimmer in his eyes. "listen, I'm still having a good time. can you like, take her home?"

matthew can barley hold back a scoff. "seriously?"

"i'd really appreciate it." lucas says. "I can trust you, right?"

that really rubs matthew the wrong way, because what the actual fuck is he even trying to insinuate with that comment. before he can bite his tongue, matthew's anger comes boiling to a point. "yeah, because i'm not some no good boyfriend who's spending his time doing drugs and flirting with 18 year olds while my girlfriend is alone and vulnerable."

lucas blinks, taken back—but matthew doesn't care. matthew sends one more harsh glare towards him before leaving the area, weaving back through the party.

when he reaches you again you're practically sleeping, holding your knees to your chest and using them as a pillow. your face is squished, your blinks slow.

"we're going." matthew tells you, gently nudging your knee.

you groan, lifting your head. "where's lucas?"

"he's not coming."

"oh." you sigh, blinking with unshed emotion. your hair is wild, like you've been sweating and running your fingers through it all night—which you have. and if matthew wasn't so frustrated with his roommate right now, he'd probably tease you about it.

matthew helps you off the couch, wrapping his arm around your waist to provide you with some stability as he guides you both outside.

the fresh air is shocking, sending you into a fit of shivers almost immediately—despite the mid may warmth. thankfully it's not a long walk back to the apartment, and matthew only has to stop with you twice because you claim you're going to throw up—spoiler alert, you don't.

you stumble out the elevator, tripping over your own two feet. matthew grabs the back of your tank top, halting you back up. "okay, slow down."

"but i'm tired." you whine, head falling back dramatically.

"you're gunna be real tired when you smack your face off the ground and end up in the ER." matthew let's go of your shirt, but takes ahold of your wrist, practically pulling you down the hall towards your apartment door.

"I don't want to go to the ER." you tell him, eyes widening with panic.

matthew's almost amused, sending you a small smirk over his shoulder. "okay, then let's get you inside."

"okay." you nod in agreement. thankfully the door is unlocked, because matthew didn't even want to start asking you about the whereabouts of your keys while you're this obliterated.

you sigh happily, kicking off your shoes messily before stumbling through your dark apartment. blindly, matthew finds the switch beside the door, flickering on the overhead light.

as soon as the room becomes illuminated he located you again, lounging half on the couch. he moves towards you, his smirk growing. "that's not your bed."

"it's not?"

he stifles a laugh. "no."

you whine again, head lolling to the side dramatically. "can you take me there?" your arms extend out towards him, resembling a mummy. "please. don't be mean."

matthew gulps gently, but takes ahold of your hands, pulling you back into unstable feet. "i'm not mean." he tells you, letting go of your hands. it proves to be a mistake because your immediately falling backwards.

matthew curses, grabbing you before you hit the couch and pulling you back up. you laugh, feeling very much like a ragdoll. you look up into his eyes, "you are too."

"you're mean too." he says, wrapping an arm around your hips and looping his fingers through your belt loop. he begins walking you both down the hall, "you're the one who calls me names."

you gawk loudly. "i'm only defending myself, matthew."

"whatever you say, y/n." he hums playfully. "which room is yours?"

you tell him that it's the room at the end of the hall, and allow matthew to continue guiding you to your bedroom. he nudges the half open door with hip, opening the threshold completely.

he drops you to the bed, and you go easily, falling against the unmade pile of blankets with a smile on your face. "where are your pyjamas?"

you lazily point towards the tall dresser next to the door. "top drawer."

matthew nods, pulling it open and immediately stifling through the jam packed drawer. he manages to pull out a t-shirt and plaid pants—ones he's seen you wearing at his place before. he tosses the items beside you. "think you can manage that?"

you sit up quickly, a lazy scoff falling past your lips. "yes." you grab onto the pyjamas, and before anything else your eyes widen, glancing back to matthew. "turn around."

matthew snickers at your tone—obviously he was going to turn around, but seeing you get so worked up over it has him left amused. he turns on his feet, broad back facing you as he looks into the dark hallway—patiently waiting for you to change.

you begin taking off your tight, alcohol sticky clothes, desperate to get into something comfortable and climb under the blankets. you lift your shirt over your head, and the momentary lack of vision has you stumbling, falling into the chair beside your vanity.

you hear matthew's quiet snicker. "shut up." you grumble, pulling on the pyjama shirt.

"didn't say anything."

"you thought it." you retort. eventually you get into the pants as well, and immediately climb into your bed. the sound of your delightful sigh and ruffling sheets have matthew peeking over his shoulder, making sure you were decent.

once he sees that you are in fact dressed, he faces you again. "do you need to be sick?"

you pause, is if you were assessing yourself to find an answer. a beat passes, "don't think so."

he hums doubtfully, walking towards your vanity and taking ahold of your tiny trash bin sitting underneath. you'd emptied it that morning, so there was nothing but a makeup wipe and a few q-tips in the bottom from when you'd gotten ready. matthew puts it beside your bed. "just in case you're lying."

"excuse me," you huff, squinting pointedly. "I don't lie."

he ignores you, picking up the stuffed zebra sitting on your bed, wedged between the pillow and the headboard. matthew snorts, examining the matted fur and scratched button eyes of your most prized possession. "awh, who's this little guy?"

you push up, snatching your zebra from his hands and bringing it to your chest. "don't touch ross with your filthy hands."

"his name is ross?" matthew snickers as you cuddle the stuffed animal, rubbing your cheek against the top of its head.

you nod. "yes."

"cute." he hums.

your eyes feel heavy with sleep, and it has you falling back towards the pillows, your beloved ross smooshed against your face. matthew swallows gently, watching the way your breath begins to even out and your blinks become slower.

"goodnight, y/n." he whispers.

matthew walks out your room, slowly shutting the door behind him—but just before the latch click, you mumble his name. it has him pausing, slowly pushing the door open once more.

you're looking towards the door lazily. "can you stay with me.”

matthew's face falls, swallowing roughly at the sight of you—laid out on your bed, completely relaxed and pretty. you don't even know what you do to him, and it drives him insane. he sighs. "no. I can't."

you pout, a breathy wind blowing past your dry lips. "pleaseee...lucas never stays with me."

the mention of your boyfriend has matthew scoffing, the conversation they'd had earlier coming back to him in a angry wave. "lucas is a dick."

he's expecting your to scold him, so matthew is surprised when your gentle giggles float through the room. "such a dick." you slur in agreement.

a moment passes, and your quiet giggles slowly die. wordlessly, your hand comes out fromunder the covers and pats the spot beside you—inviting him on your bed.

matthew's breath hitches, but he doesn't walk away. matthew softly shuts the door before walking back through your room, stepping over stray shoes and your discarded party clothes on the way to your bed.

"I don't bite." you grin teasingly.

matthew can't help the smirk that makes its way onto his face. "doubt it."

your smile mimics his, and that has matthew getting onto your bed, sitting atop the covers and leaning his upper body against your plush headboard.

it's only a few more minutes before your gentle snoring is heard throughout the room, a tell tale sign that you've fallen into a deep sleep. matthew watches you for a moment, letting the peace linger between you—a peace that has never been between you before.

matthew's eyes begin to feel heavy, and before he knows it, your soft snores are lulling him to sleep.

STAGE 4: Ignorance

when you woke up the following morning, you were in a state of confusion, still dealing with the lingering affects of alcohol and trying to re-collect your memories from the night before.

with a groan, you got out of bed, shuffling down the hall and into the living room. thankfully, cora is still sleeping after he late night shift—so you're in complete silence as you pour yourself a hefty glass of ice water.

it comes back to you in flashes, each blurry memory worse than the last—rachel convincing you to have another drink, followed by another, the loosing rachel at the party and having to walk through the house while hammered. then matthew is bringing you home, without lucas for a reason you don't recall—matthew in your room, changing behind his back, him touching ross...you pleading for him to stay.

your breath hitches—a mixture of embarrassment and hangxiety hitting you at full force. then you feel yourself panic, your stomach dropping. had you even checked beside you this morning? was your boyfriends best friend still in your bed?

you quickly—much quicker than you should be moving when you're that hungover—make your way back down the wall, sheepishly peeking into your bedroom.

he's gone. and that makes you feel worse than before.

you don't see him for the whole day, and then the next day comes and you still don't run into matthew knies. not in the hallway of your apartment building, and certainly not in the elevator. you don't see him at school, or even at the hockey rink. the one time you spend the night at your boyfriends, matthew is nowhere to be found. almost two weeks pass, and you haven't seen him at all.

it's making you anxious, and not only can cora tell—sending you looks of pity anytime you're making dinner together—but lucas can tell something is up with you too.

anytime he'd ask, you'd brush it off with a easy excuse—you're tired, or you have a headache—but it was never believable, and it was becoming repetitive.

did you say something to him? did you do something to him? you're reeling with possibilities of what could've happened between you and matthew knies to have him actively avoiding you.

but honestly, you're no better, and after a few days the anxiety of it all was getting to you—and you begin actively avoiding him as well. you  call in sick to work anytime your shift is during a game, and you've only spent time with lucas if it's at your apartment. you leave early for class with the hopes of avoiding running into him, and you stay behind late for the same reason.

it was exhausting but you couldn't help it.

so when cora texted you this afternoon about meeting up for lunch between her classes, you easily agreed. wednesday's were your free days, with no classes to take up your schedule—moping around your apartment while dealing with the mess of emotions in your head wasn't your most ideal choice of productivity.

so with only an hour until cora's lunch gap, you strip out of your pyjamas, tossing on your robe before making your way to the bathroom. you throw your hair up, only intending to wash your body and hopefully clean off any lingering lazy and anxious energy from your skin.

you sigh, pulling back the floral printed shower curtain. immediately, you scream, jumping backwards as the sight of a large, brown spider that greets you—scurrying up the walls before slipping back down.

your eyes begin welling up with tears as dry sobs rack your body—of course there's a fucking gigantic spider in your bathtub.

you rush out the bathroom and make a beeline for the front door, pulling it open with the upmost urgency. you don't even close it, speed walking down the dimly lit hallway until you're at your boyfriends apartment.

your knocks are frantic, perfectly capturing the emotions your feeling. thankfully it's only a few moments of your panic stricken knocking before the handle turns, the door opening to reveal not lucas.

matthew's taken back at the sight of you—hair piled on top of your head with a makeup stained robe around you, bare feet on display. quickly, his eyes land upon your face, and the sight of your tears and pale skin has him faltering. "what's wrong?"

you swallow roughly, a few tears trailing down your blotchy cheeks. "I went to take a shower, and there's a huge fucking spider and i'm so scared of bugs—I don't know what to do, I need help." you're a babbling, sniffling mess, eyes darting between matthew and back down the hall.

"it's okay." he says quickly, stepping out into the hallway. "i'll kill it, okay?"

you nod, blowing out a shaky breath. "okay." for as long as you can remember you've had a crippling fear of any and all creepy, crawly insects. something about the way they scurry around quickly, unable to know what it's thinking and what it's planning to do to you, never fails to leave you shaking.

your fear has completely taken over your body, and it's the only reason you're able to speak to matthew knies without remembering the past few weeks between you—or rather, the lack there of.

you follow him back to your apartment timidly, trialing behind his broad shoulders like a lost puppy. he breathes gently as he enters, grabbing one of the extra shoes at the front door—the spider killing weapon of choice, clearly.

"it's in the tub." you mutter, eyes darting down the hall. matthew nods, walking towards the bathroom like he's not about to battle the eight legged beast residing in there.

he pulls back the shower curtain further, and you peek around his bicep—locking eyes with the creature. you shiver, a disgruntled moan leaving your mouth. matthew looks back at you. "sure you wanna watch?"

in all seriousness, you nod. "I need to know it's dead."

"okay," he hums, grip tightening around your floppy, strappy sandal. the spider is still crawling around, attempting to escape over the lip of the bathtub but inevitably falling back down.

it's definitely not as big as you described it, but matthew doesn't even dare bring that up. at least, he won't until the spider is gone and you're returning back to a normal heart rate. he brings the shoe up before quickly bringing it back down, but before it can be smooshed, the spider scurries away.

you squeal once again, eyes filling with salty tears as you grip matthew's arm—hiding your face is the soft material of his sweater. "its moving!"

he has a hard time stifling his laugh, looking down at you with an amused expression. "why are you cryin?"

"i'm scared." you mutter, fingers digging into his arm muscle. "hurry up and kill it—oh my god, i'm going to be sick."

matthew rolls his eyes, the action laced with fondness rather than irritation. "well I can't kill it if you're holding onto me for dear life." he watches the way your eyes dart towards the grip on his bicep, and you quickly release him, taking a small step backwards.

now with his arm free, he approaches the tub again, and this time when he brings the sandal down, it finds the spider, smacking the unwanted insect with a sickening plat.

you practically gag, wringing out your hands in disgust at the sound.

matthew looks at you again. "you good?"

hesitantly, you nod. "yeah."

thankfully matthew cleans up the remnants of the spider from your white tub with some toilet paper, eliminating any disturbing evidence of its existence.

as he does, and your frantic state comes back down to normal, you come to the shuddering realization of what's happening—matthew, the man you haven't since since your impromptu sleepover, is standing in your bathroom—all while you cry and stand naked under a robe.

he flushes the paper down your toilet, the hallow flush echoing through your ears. matthew turns back to you, sending you a closed mouth, awkward smile.

you hate this—this isn't the matthew you know. you hadn’t realized how much you missed his annoying remarks and infuriating smirk until you no longer had them. you're panicking again, expect this time it's because you don't want him to leave and you never see him again.

you clear your throat, stepping in his path. "I haven't seen you."

his brows pull tightly, eyeing you up and down curiously. "what do you mean?"

"you've been avoiding me." you huff, nerves settling low in your belly. you’re not even worried about how desperate you sound, and you play with the string of your robe with nervous, trembling hands.

"only because you've been avoiding me." he retorts firmly.

"what?" you breathe roughly—exasperated. even though you so badly want to say that you haven't, it would be a lie. you have been avoiding him, and clearly he's caught onto the fact. so you decide to play coy, and somewhat petty, crossing your arms. "i'm literally with you right now."

matthew snickers. "not by choice."

"and since when have I ever spent time with you by choice?" you question lightly.

matthew's almost playful expression falters, and a more serious look blossoms over his features. he swallows gently, adam’s apple bobbing prominently. "since you've never decided to walk away."

your mouth opens, nothing but a hitched breath coming out. you blink once, and then again, feeling nothing less than speechless from matthew's words.

his eyes dart over your face, taking in your seemingly surprised reaction. he too blinks roughly, shaking his head slightly as if he didn't mean to say that aloud. matthew clears his throat once, "i'm sorry for being all weird these past couple weeks," he pauses, eyes finding yours, "I just didn't want to make you uncomfortable."

you frown. "you didn't." a gentle, shaky laugh leaves you, "if I'm remembering correctly, I begged you to stay."

his lips quirk upwards in a smile, "more like pleaded."

"okay!" you laugh in amused disbelief, covering your eyes with a still shaking hand. "don't remind me."

"but you see, this reaction is going to make me remind you at every possible opportunity." matthew teases, reaching towards you until his fingers gently brush yours, moving your hand away from your blushing face.

your eyes flicker back to his, smile falling as you blink up at him. you gulp gently, feeling your stomach swoop with a combination of emotions—nerves, confusion, fear, denial...need.

matthew's eyes slowly trace over you face, lingering on your damp lips before reluctantly tearing his gaze away. but he can't help but to drink you in further, admiring your exposed neck and collarbones—the fuzzy peach housecoat and the crazy hair—the silver initial necklace hanging around you, dangling above your sternum like the perfect accessory. it's all so new and so you.

your gazes meet again, and this time you sigh, a breathy noise that shoots right through matthew.

you blink, and without knowing what to do, you look away, back towards the shower. "how do you know there's no more spiders?" you question timidly, an awkward, unsure laugh following.

matthew holds onto his sigh, turning back to the bathtub. he puts his hands on his hips, stepping closer. "hello? anybody here?" he directs into the shower, looking around the porcelain white walls comically.

you smile fondly just as he looks back to you. "no more spiders."

something is seriously changing between you and matthew, and that makes you feel even more anxious than before. as you finally shower—speedily because you're still scared of the possibility of more creatures—and get ready for lunch, you can't help but wonder.

the what ifs and possibilities all involving your boyfriends roommate are very prevalent in your head, even as you begin to walk to a local campus cafe. as soon as you sit down, you're spilling your guts to cora.

no, you think, you can't like matthew because it's wrong—it's crazy. you're in a relationship, and a few months ago you hated him...at least, you thought you hated him.

and as you expressed it all to your friend, she listened with nothing but love and understanding. when you eventually stop your panicked ramble, cora sighs, looking at you like she just knows.

in that moment you know—the eyes never lie.

STAGE 5: Breaking

you scan the page of your textbook carefully, reading the history material in the hopes of applying it to your research assignment—but your mind is in a million other places.

since you've come to the realization 3 days ago that you have some sort of feelings for matthew, you haven't stopped thinking about him. you're still not sure what it is exactly you feel, so in all honesty you don't feel guilty about it—at least, not yet.

you blink, focusing your eyes as you attempt at reading the same paragraph again. the library is thankfully empty, meaning there's nobody to provide any type of distraction—the last thing you need is another distraction.

well, you're not completely alone, lucas is sitting across from you, typing away on his laptop as he attempts at starting his assignment that was due tomorrow. god, just thinking about that stresses you out. his legs stretch out underneath the table, invading your space, as well as his things spread across the tabletop—providing little to no breathing room.

all day there's been a lingering, awkward energy between you and lucas. he's been unusually quiet, and anytime he did talk to you it was quick and uninterested. unfortunately you've been too busy within your own head to notice the sharp glances he's been sending you, and the way his lips pull into a frown anytime you'd make a sigh of frustration or worry.

it was constant—and lucas was at his breaking point. as you have to restart the scentence again, a tiny huff leaving your lips, he shuts his laptop, the heavy click echoing throughout the library.

you look up quickly, brows pulled together as you eye him. "you okay?"

he huffs in disbelief, "your mind is like somewhere else recently—it feels like you're just a host of a body. it's like you don't even want to be with me." lucas tone is dripping with frustration, sounding nothing less then condescending and irritated.

you blink quickly, taken back from his sudden outburst. slowly, you put down the pen you'd been using to follow along with the words, eyeing lucas with a confusing tilt. is he joking? the last person who should be complaining about anything like this is lucas.

his face stays stern—looking at you like he's just watched you kill his dog. he's not joking.

you scoff quietly, but the disgusted tone is more than prevalent. "seriously? that's rich coming from you lucas. it feels like you haven't wanted to spend time with me for the past three months."

"that's not true." he retorts quickly, crossing his arms over his broad chest.

"is it not?" you question sarcastically.

"no!" lucas practically shouts, leaning on the table as he eyes you wildly. "you sound stupid right now."

the remark that you had dies on your tongue, mouth snapping shut. your jaw clicks as it tightens, anger coursing through you at lucas' insult. "how come you didn't take me home at that party a few weeks ago?" you question softly, a knowing look in your pointed gaze.

he wasn't expecting that, and it has him flattering slightly, leaning back as he blinks two quick times. lucas runs a hand through his unruly, light hair, tugging at the root in frustration—trying to think of answer.

"I don't know...fucking seemed like matthew had it under control." he swallows, pausing for a moment. "why does it matter?"

his admission give you confirmation you hadn't realized you'd been looking for. you laugh in disbelief, "yeah, well it seems like matthew is the only one who cares about me."

it was a low blow, one that has lucas' anger rising rapidly—but it was your truth, and you know that now.

"yeah too fucking much." he snarls.

"sorry that he cares about me—unlike you."

lucas jaw tightens, eyeing your face with a look you've never seen before. "we need to break up."

you look at him with disbelief and disappointment, your lip beginning to quiver. "so you're not even going to deny it? not even going to try and fight for me?"

this conversation has taken a turning point you weren't expecting—at least not today. there's nothing but anger between you, but yet you're not upset about being broken with. you're upset because you feel stupid, and everything you've feared about your relationship is true. lucas may love you, but he doesn't care about you.

his eyes flicker with something unknown, and he sighs, "I don't think you want me to."

you close your textbook and shove it into your bag, pushing off the table as you hastily get to your feet. "you're a dick." you don't wait for his response, leaving the library with your heart in your hands.

you push open the grand doors, and immediately you're enveloped in rain. you curse, tightening the hold on your book bag as you begin speed walking in the direction of your apartment. it seems that the rain only gets harder as you go, pelting against your skin like mini bullets and completely soaking you.

it's the cherry on top of everything, and you can't wait to get home, strip completely naked and cry in bed.

the sigh of relief is loud as you finally get back to the apartment building, walking into the lobby like a wet dog. you make a b-line to the elevators, not making your usual stop in the mail room—something that was habit anytime you'd come home.

you wring your hair out between your hands, the water hitting the elevator carpet with a small plopping noise. thankfully, it doesn't stop and you make it up to your door without any interruptions.

you sniffle away the emotion creeping up your chest, stepping out into the dimly lit hallway. you only make it a few steps before a door is opening, distracting you.

it's lucas and matthew's apartment, and our steps the latter, gym bag slung over his shoulder. you come to a slow stop without meaning to, looking at him with a soft, yet curious gaze.

his eyes dart to you, but as soon as he sees the state your in he's moving, stepping closer to you with a worried expression. "woah...you okay?"

just the caring tone of his question has you welling up with tears, and it feels like everything is crashing down on you all at once. the confusion, the anger, the heartbreak, the lust, the curiosity...it's all there, drowning you.

you shake your head, mouth opening and closing unsurely. "I-I don't...i'm so." your voice is shaking, and you're borderline hyperventilating as you attempt at getting a coherent sentence out.

matthew lets his gym bag slip off his shoulder, hitting the ground with a hard thud. he takes ahold of your biceps, squeezing the fleshiest part firmly. "take a fucking breath, y/n, you're gunna make yourself sick."

closing your eyes, you take a few deep breaths, attempting to calm yourself down from the sudden emotional attack set upon yourself. it takes a minute, but eventually you feel yourself begin to relax, your heart rate slowly creeping back down.

you let your eyes flutter back open, meeting the concerned ones of matthew. your brows pull tightly, a nervous gulp following. "why are you looking at me like that, matthew?" your question is barley above a whisper, as if you were almost scared of the response.

"like what?" he breathes, not once breaking eye contact.

it's almost intimidating, but it's also confirming of so many things. but of course, you're hesitant—heck you're scared and nervous and so unsure about what's going on between you. your brows are still drawn together, creating a tiny indent in the middle of your forehead.

matthew has to fight every urge in his body to not run his thumb over the indent to smooth it out.

"like...like you fucking care about me. like you want me." you answer firmly, eyes frantically moving around matthew's face as you attempt at gauging his reaction.

he doesn't release the hold on your biceps, his gaze turning completely soft. "y/n." he says your name knowingly, fingers gently running up your arms. that’s his answer.

"matthew." you exhale shakily, distracted by the gentle pressure of his fingers on your skin. "you're making me all..."

"all...what?"

"confused." you say honestly, looking up at him with the most vulnerable expression he's seen.

matthew swallows roughly, jerking his hands off your body like you just told him that's he's burning you. "i'm sorry"

the soft, hopeful look on his face doesn't falter, and if anything it increases. "no," you shake your head, "stop."

"what? stop apologizing?" he questions with a frown.

"no," you repeat, "stop looking at me like that."

a moment passes before he speaks again, his words laced with desire— stressing his words. "I can't."

another beat of silence, nothing but the hitching breath of both and you matthew to be heard. you lick onto your bottom lip, "lucas and I...we broke up."

"you did?"

you only get one nod out before matthew rushes forward, grasping your face like he's been waiting for the opportunity since he was put onto the earth. you tilt your head back instinctively, and it's just timed as matthew leans down to kiss you.

the kiss is instantly desperate, the clashing of lips and teeth alluding to so. your tongues glide across each others like second nature, elevating the kiss to a higher, more intense level. it's exhilarating—it's right.

you sigh into his mouth, trembling hands reaching up and grabbing onto matthew's wrists—keeping him against you. you've completely forgotten that you're soaked from head to toe, and how you've just had a fight with lucas that lead to a break up...it's all lost in matthew.

his hands slide farther back, fingers intertwining with your wet strands of hair. it's a gentle and welcoming pull, and you can't help but sigh in pleasure.

matthew follows suit, groaning into your messy kiss. it's been months and months of tip-toeing around one another, too scared to admit the truth in fear of ruining everything and everyone else along the way. but now it's just you two, and matthew can't help but moan at the thought.

the elevator doors slide open, and you’re both pulling apart instinctively at the sound.

but as lucas stands there, jaw ticking with anger as he stares at you—you know it's too late, and he's just seen you making out with his friend. or better yet, he's seen his friend making out with his newley ex-girlfriend.

"are you two fucking serious?"

your mouth opens, but nothing comes out. it looks bad, you know it it does—mostly because it is bad. you've been thinking about matthew for much longer than you care to admit, and the first thing you did after getting broken up with is run into his arms—letting matthew kiss you like you're both horny teenagers.

"lucas..." matthew trails off, turning to his roommate with a guilty laced hesitation.

but lucas is only looking at you, that same disgusted smirk on his face from the library. "can't even remember the last time you kissed me, but yet the first thing you did after leaving the library was make out with my roommate. I didn't realize you were such a slut."

you inhale sharply, tears quickly welling up in your eyes.

matthew rushes forward, and before he can logically think of the consequences of his actions, he punches lucas square across the face.

"matthew!" you gasp, moving towards the two men with concern pulling at your face. "no."

he doesn't hear you, looking at lucas as he clutches his jaw. matthew's gaze narrows, shaking out his hand. "don't fucking talk to her like that."

your ex-boyfriend laughs in a mixture of shock and disbelief, stretching his jaw out before he looks back at you. lucas doesn't say anything else, turning and leaving down the buildings stair well.

you're shocked, embarrassed and guilt ridden—your watery gaze locked on the empty space lucas was only moments ago occupying.

"y/n?" matthew questions gently, snapping you out of your own head.

you blink hard, shaking your head. "i'm sorry, I just need some space." you turn away from matthew before he has the chance to answer—mostly because you're too scared that if he begins to speak you'll crawl right back into his arms.

matthew watches you walk away, and all he can do is stand there, focused on your fleeting figure as he slip into your apartment—your lip trembling without another glance in his direction.

his face is contorted, not in anger, but in a look of concern. guilt flashes across his features, and he can't help but groan, running a palm over his face in frustration. did he just loose you for good?

you shut the apartment door behind you, and the tears begin falling down your face at a rapid pace. your lips tug into a frown, a sob wracking through you as you lean back against the door.

cora rounds the corner at the sound, her eyebrows pulled in concern. "what's wrong?" she breathes, rushing towards you.

"I did something terrible." you admit through your stuttering gasps, looking at your roommate with a million different emotions.

"honey..." she coos, wrapping you in a hug. your tears intensify as cora squeezes you in the embrace, and you bury your face in her shoulder to mask your desperate cry.

Epilogue

“god miller! just kiss me already!”

“no, not like this!”

you groan, falling into the couch cushions. the scene on the tv illuminates the room, the late afternoon sun hidden behind the blackout curtains you’ve had drawn since this morning.

nick and jess from new girl have not only been giving you entertainment all day while you mope around, but they’ve also been stupid cute and in love—it makes you want to die.

you’ve only been two places since the chaotic ending to last night; your bed which you cried in all night, and the couch which obviously you also cried on. you keep running through the events of yesterday—the breakup with lucas, finding matthew in the hallway, borderline confessing your feelings to him…kissing him. it felt good—so so good.

but just like that it was snatched from you, and the guilt riddling your body is just nerve wracking and wrenching. while you were kissing matthew, the last thing you were thinking about was lucas, and the possibility of him finding you both like that wasn’t even in your mind. but it happened and now everything feels like a mess—and you feel like an awful person.

you’ve clearly hurt lucas—that much was evident in the awful things he said to you. when you told cora everything last night, eyes stinging with tears and snot dribbling from your nose, she was quick to remind you that lucas never treated you good, and that no matter what he shouldn’t of said that to you.

your phone buzzes against your thigh, making you sit up—brows furrowed in question.

lucas

are you home?

you pause the tv quickly, all while reading the text over and over again as you try and make sense of it. what does he need? does he want to talk? is he going to yell at you? is he simply just curious? does he want to fix your relationship?

you hold your breath as you shakily type your reply.

y/n

yea

you exhale as it goes through, and in habit you bring your thumb to your lips, nerves consuming you as you begin gnawing on the skin around your nail.

your phone buzzes with an incoming message again.

lucas

can I come talk?

you swallow, sitting up straighter as you read his message. this can’t be good, you think—you’ve done nothing positive in the last twenty four hours that warrants a civil talk with your ex. you desperately want to ignore him—throw your phone across the room and get back to new girl on the tv.

a show that you only started watching because it’s matthew favourite—your brain reminds you. you look down at your phone again, thumbs hovering over the keyboard as you contemplate.

you deserve not only closure, but happiness—not matter what.

y/n

sure

you barley have a minute of speed running the apartment, picking up the empty tub of ice cream and what feels like hundreds on snotty tissues from your crying, before there’s a knock at your door.

even if you didn’t know he was coming over, would could tell it was lucas by the weight of the knock. it was soft, almost hesitant—like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to actually be at your door. it always sounded like that.

before you back out, you pull open the door, revealing yourself to a deadpanned face lucas who’s standing with his hands shoved in his pockets. he gulps, eyeing your figure briefly. “can I come in.”

you nod reluctantly, stepping to the side to create enough room for him to slip inside your apartment. lucas sends you a forced smile as he enters, moving through your place like he’s done many times before.

the door shuts with a gentle click, but the room is so tense and quiet it sounds like a bomb. you follow suit, walking into the living room where lucas stands stagnant—eyeing around the apartment with an unsure expression. suddenly his eyes meet yours, “did you cheat on me?”

“no.” you tell him. “I would never cheat…on anybody.”

he sniffs, the sound annoying and disgusting—it’s like he’s trying to stay calm. “but you like him, right? you like matthew?”

you’re so used to trying to please him that you want to stay quiet—because you know if you admit your feelings for his friend, everything is going to completely change…more than it already has. and as lucas looks at you now, his gaze nothing but knowing, you decide you’re done trying to hide from him.

“I do.” you confirm. “but nothing ever happens, and…I didn’t even know when these feelings started. i’ve been so confused for the longest time, and I was scared because I didn’t want to disappoint anyone.” you pause, wringing out your trembling fingers as you collect your next thoughts. “but i’m sick of doing things for everyone else…and I need to let myself be happy—whatever that ends up being.”

lucas stay silent for a moment, but you can see his mind running a mile a minute. his eyes dart all over you, analyzing your face and body language—you’ve never seen him look at you so intently, and it has you wanting to shy away.

he sighs, eyes flickering to yours. “I’m sorry, y/n—for everything.”

your shoulders deflate, and you feel the emotion you’ve been suppressing since lucas texted you coming back to the surface. “thank you. i’m sorry too.”

“can I give you a hug?” his hesitance is evident, looking at you like he’s unsure of your response—how you’ll react. looking at him right now, you can’t be mad at him. not about your relationship, the breakup or the name he called you in his rage. lucas is a good guy, you know that—he’s just not the guy for you.

“yeah.” you breathe. “i’d like that.”

lucas takes the three steps of distance between you, wrapping his arms around your shoulders as he brings you into his chest. your hands find place around his waist, holding him against you in a wordless goodbye. his cheek rests on the top of your head, a comforting gesture that has your eyes flickering shut.

he takes a deep breath—his words quiet as he speaks. “I think we met for a reason, y/n. and that reason is matthew.” you feel lucas swallow against you, like he knows what he just said is the final nail in the coffin—everything starts now. “have you noticed how he looks at you?”

you pull back, and watch as the corner of his lips begin to turn upwards—the faintest smile growing. lucas may not like it, but he’s accepted it, and it’s feels better than anything you could imagine. your own smile begins to show, and you nod. “I have.”

matthew knies was an enigma—a giant, infuriating mystery that you never expected to entangle yourself in. but if there’s one thing you’ve learned in the past few months, it’s that you’re easily intrigued, especially when the enigma has always cared for you, no matter how rude and stupid you acted towards him.

perhaps you never hated matthew, but rather the way he made you feel. you hated the idea of being in love with him because you had a boyfriend, so you'd turn into an easily irritated girl, who secretly wanted nothing more then the attention of the boy down the hall. the boy who was more of a boyfriend than lucas could ever be. the boy who you don't hate, but love.

of course, there’s still the lingering feelings of confusion and nervousness—because you don’t know where you and matthew will go from here.

but later in the day, on you way back from your evening class, as the elevator doors open to your floor and matthew stands there—a grin growing on both your faces at the mere sight of one another…you think you have an answer.

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

playlist

every breath you take (i'll be watching you) by the police

pushing it down and praying by lizzy mcalpine

wrong by zayn

your needs, my needs by noah kahan

do I wanna know? by hozier (cover)

each time you fall in love by cigarettes after sex

if I can't be with you by olivia obrien

I would by one direction

[daeniradraconis]

Girl, you DESTROYED me with Between the Chapters. I feel like the ending was perfect, it’s life, so we don’t always get the happy ending. But at the same time I feel like this deserves a continuation because life is already hard, we come to the fictional world to scape the caos and heartbreak, this is where we find our happy ending.

So I am here to ask for a part 2 😂😂

GIRL, I HEARD YOU. 😂 You wanted a happy ending, and I have delivered! Consider this my official apology for the emotional damage caused by Part 1. 💀💕

Part 1: Between the Chapters Back to You

The Arizona sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows over the backyard Auston had known since childhood. The heat was thick, even in the early evening, but it didn’t bother him. Not really. It was a familiar kind of weight, the kind he had grown up under—the kind that felt a lot like expectations pressing down on his shoulders.

He sat on the patio, a beer sweating in his hand, staring out at nothing in particular. His mom was inside, cooking, humming under her breath like she always did. The sound was comforting, a rare kind of stillness he hadn’t let himself have all season.

A season that had been nothing short of brutal.

Not just on the ice.

He had buried himself in hockey after the breakup, thinking if he could just push harder, train longer, win more, then maybe—maybe—he wouldn’t feel the empty space where she used to be. He told himself that losing her was for the best, that he had made the right choice.

But then why did it still hurt?

Why did he wake up some mornings reaching for someone who wasn’t there?

Why did he still check his phone, half-hoping for a message he knew wouldn’t come?

He squeezed his eyes shut, exhaling sharply. He was exhausted. More than that. He was lost.

The sound of the sliding glass door opening pulled him from his thoughts.

“You’ve been quiet,” his mom said, stepping onto the patio with a glass of water. She placed it in front of him, then took a seat across from him, her gaze steady. “Want to tell me what’s on your mind?”

Auston huffed out a humorless laugh. “That obvious?”

Ema smiled gently. “You’ve always been easy to read, mijo.”

He didn’t answer right away. He just stared down at his drink, twisting it between his fingers.

After a long moment, Ema spoke again. “Have you talked to her?”

He didn’t need to ask who she meant.

“No.” The word was clipped, final, but his chest ached as he said it.

“Do you want to?”

Yes. More than anything. But he couldn’t.

“What would I even say?” he muttered. “Hey, sorry for breaking your heart. I know I said I couldn’t give you what you wanted, but actually, I’ve been miserable without you?” He scoffed, shaking his head. “That’s not fair to her.”

Ema studied him for a moment. “Is that really why you haven’t reached out?”

He hesitated.

She tilted her head. “Or is it because you don’t think you deserve her?”

The question hit him like a punch to the gut. He opened his mouth to argue, but the words never came.

Because she was right.

He ran a hand down his face, exhaling slowly. “I loved her,” he admitted, voice raw. “I still do. But I couldn’t give her what she wanted. What she deserved.”

Ema’s expression softened. “Marriage.”

Auston swallowed hard, nodding.

For the longest time, he had convinced himself he just wasn’t the marriage type. That it wasn’t in him to settle down, to build a life like that with someone.

But that wasn’t the truth.

The truth was, he was terrified.

Terrified of promising forever and failing.

Terrified of becoming his father.

“I didn’t want to be like him,” he said finally, his voice quiet.

Ema’s brows furrowed. “Like who?”

“Dad.” The word felt heavy in his mouth. “He was never there, Mom. I know he worked hard, I know he did what he had to do, but—” He swallowed, his throat tightening. “I remember waiting for him. Every time he said he’d be home for something, every time he promised, I believed him. And then he wouldn’t show.”

Ema sighed, looking down at her hands. “I know.”

“I used to pretend it didn’t matter,” Auston admitted. “That it was normal. But it wasn’t. And I can’t—” He paused, shaking his head. “I can’t do that to someone else. I can’t do that to her.”

Ema was quiet for a moment. When she finally spoke, her voice was soft but firm.

“You are not your father, Auston.”

He let out a short, bitter laugh. “Aren’t I? I barely knew how to be present when I was with her. I put hockey first, I let her go when things got too real—”

“But you cared,” she interrupted. “You still care. And that makes all the difference.”

He looked away, his jaw clenching.

“You think your father didn’t love us?” she asked gently. “He did. But he didn’t know how to show it. He thought providing was the most important thing. That if he worked hard enough, everything else would fall into place.” She shook her head. “He was wrong. But that doesn’t mean you have to make the same mistakes.”

Auston’s throat was tight.

Ema reached across the table, placing a hand over his. “Mijo, you are not him. You have a choice. You get to decide what kind of man you want to be.”

He swallowed hard. “What if I don’t know how?”

Ema squeezed his hand. “Then you learn.”

His breath hitched slightly.

“There’s no shame in asking for help, Auston,” she said gently. “If anything, it’s the bravest thing you can do.”

Help.

Therapy.

The idea had crossed his mind before, but he had always pushed it aside. He told himself he could handle things on his own. That he was fine.

But he wasn’t.

And maybe… maybe it was time to admit that.

He nodded slowly, his heart pounding. “Yeah.” His voice was hoarse. “Maybe I need to.”

Ema smiled softly. “I think that’s a good place to start.”

Auston exhaled, staring out into the desert sky, feeling something shift inside him.

For the first time in a long time, he wasn’t running.

For the first time, he was ready to face what he had been so afraid of.

---

The apartment is quiet, except for the soft hum of the TV. You sit curled up on the couch, a half-empty pint of Häagen-Dazs’s in your lap, a spoon dangling from your fingers. Your new dog, Milo—a golden retriever mix you adopted a few months ago—is sprawled across your feet, snoring softly.

You sniffled, wiping your cheeks with the sleeve of Auston’s sweatshirt. You had grabbed it the moment you packed up your things from the house you two shared. He wasn’t there, so you took what you could—your favorite hoodie, the one that smelled like him. It still clung to his scent, and you couldn’t bring yourself to wash it. Maybe it was strange, maybe it was pathetic, but you didn’t care. It felt like the only piece of him you had left. You missed him too much. You just needed something—anything—that reminded you of him.

The game on the screen is old, a Maple Leafs win from a few seasons back. Auston is everywhere, making plays, scoring, grinning through his helmet as the crowd roars his name.

You shouldn’t be watching this.

You should’ve turned it off the second you realized what was on.

But you don’t.

Instead, you sit there, watching, torturing yourself.

Six months. It has been six months since you broke up. Six months since you packed up your things and moved back in with your parents because you couldn’t handle being alone.

At first, you thought you’d be fine. That you’d adjust. That life would go on.

And in some ways, it has. You found a new place, settled into your new job, even adopted Milo because you missed Felix too damn much.

But in other ways?

You still feel like you’re standing in the wreckage, trying to figure out how to move forward.

Your phone buzzes on the coffee table, snapping you out of your thoughts. You wipe at your face again before grabbing it.

Lili.

You sigh, knowing exactly what this is about before you even answer.

“Hey,” you say, trying to keep your voice even.

“Please tell me you’re not sitting at home watching old hockey games and crying over him.”

You hesitate. “... I’m not.”

Lili groans. “Oh my God, you so are.”

You wince. “It’s just—Milo was tired, and I didn’t feel like going out, and—”

“You are not using your dog as an excuse.”

You groan, flopping back against the couch. “Lili.”

“Nope. Enough. You’re coming out tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?”

“For my birthday? You know, the one I explicitly told you about last week? The one you promised you’d come to?”

You shut your eyes. Fuck. You did promise.

Lili softens a little. “Look, I know it’s been hard. But it’s been six months. You need to start living again.”

“I am living.”

“Eating ice cream in your ex’s sweatshirt and crying over old Leafs games doesn’t count.”

You scowl. “It’s my sweatshirt.”

Lili sighs. “Babe.”

You rub your temple, exhaling. “I know. You’re right.”

“I am right. And I love you, but I’m not letting you waste away in that apartment forever. You need to get out, have fun. Maybe even flirt a little.”

You snort. “Flirting is not happening.”

“Fine. No flirting. But you are coming out. No excuses.”

You sigh again, looking down at Milo, who is now watching you with sleepy brown eyes.

“Okay,” you mutter. “I’ll come.”

Lili cheers. “That’s my girl. I’ll see you tomorrow at eight.”

As the call ends, you set your phone down, staring at the screen again. The game is over, the Leafs celebrating a win. Auston is on the ice, all smiles, surrounded by his teammates.

Your chest aches.

You turn the TV off.

Maybe Lili is right. Maybe it’s time to at least try to move on.

Even if you’re not sure how.

---

The music pulses through the pub, the bass vibrating against your ribcage as Lili drags you to the bar. The dim lights, the warmth of the crowd, it all feels like a different world compared to the quiet of your apartment. You try to focus on the present, on the laughter of your friends, the cold drink in your hand, but the knot in your stomach refuses to loosen.

"Here we go," Lili grins, sliding a cocktail in front of you. "You need this."

You take a sip, the tartness of the drink catching you off guard. It’s a distraction, at least. For a moment, you’re just a girl in a crowded bar, trying to forget the ache that’s been with you for months.

Lili chats animatedly about her latest work drama, her voice almost drowned out by the music, but you nod and smile along. You know she’s trying to get you to loosen up. “Come on! Let’s dance!” she insists, tugging you toward the dance floor.

You hesitate for a second but follow her anyway, feeling the rhythm of the music seeping into your bones. The crowd is alive with energy, bodies moving in sync with the beat. The alcohol helping you forget, if only for a moment. Lili’s laughing, her hands in the air, and you try to lose yourself in it—just for tonight.

But then you see him.

William Nylander.

He’s standing by the bar with a group of guys, tall and impossibly blonde, his easy smile spreading across his face as he talks with his friends. But your eyes don’t leave him. Not because of him, but because you know what comes with him.

Auston.

The knot in your stomach tightens, and suddenly the room feels too small, too crowded, too suffocating. Your heart starts to pound as panic claws at your chest. You try to push through it, to pretend you didn’t see him, but the dread spreads quickly.

You don’t have to look around to know that Auston is probably somewhere nearby, just a few steps away. The thought of facing him after all this time makes you dizzy.

You take a breath, trying to steady yourself, but your legs are already moving, retreating to the back of the bar. You don’t know where you’re going. You just know you have to get away.

Lili is still dancing, caught up in her own world, and you slip away without a word, your pulse hammering in your ears. You push through the crowd, past the bar, and finally step out onto the balcony, the cool night air hitting your face like a splash of cold water.

You lean against the railing, your hands gripping the metal tightly, trying to steady your breath. The sounds of the bar fade behind you, replaced by the distant hum of traffic and the rustle of leaves in the wind. But even the cold doesn’t seem to settle the storm inside you.

Minutes pass, but the panic still sits heavy in your chest. You hadn’t realized just how badly you needed the space, the distance. You hug your arms around yourself, trying to find comfort in the solitude.

And then, the door behind you creaks open.

Your heart stops.

You don’t have to turn around to know who it is.

His presence is a weight in the air, thick and familiar, like the first gust of wind before a storm. Auston’s footsteps are quiet, but they reach you, each one feeling like a drumbeat in your chest.

You don’t move. You don’t know if you should. Part of you wants to run, to escape. The other part, the part that’s been holding on to this ache for far too long, wants to reach out and ask him why he’s here.

But you stay still, your back to him, gripping the railing like it can hold you together.

“Y/N…”

You don’t answer. You’re not ready. You don’t even know what to say.

“I—I know I don’t have the right to ask this, but... how are you?” He doesn’t sound sure of himself, like he’s testing the waters. You can hear the nervousness in his voice. “I mean... I guess, uh, it’s been a while, and I just... I wanted to know if you’re okay.”

You bite your lip. How could you possibly answer it without letting everything you’ve been hiding spill out?

You turn slightly, but only enough to glance at him, still unwilling to meet his eyes. “I’m... I’m fine,” you say, the words feeling hollow. “I’m good.”

Auston doesn’t buy it. He knows you too well.

“You’re not fine,” he says quietly. “I can tell.” His voice softens, as if he’s genuinely concerned, but you can’t bring yourself to believe it. Not after everything. “I mean, I didn’t expect you to be okay, but I—”

“Let’s not do this,” you cut him off sharply, even though your voice is unsteady. The words come out more harshly than you meant. “I’m not in the mood for small talk, Auston. What do you want from me?”

He goes silent for a moment, like he’s weighing his words carefully. You can feel the shift in the air. There’s an awkwardness to it now. It’s like he doesn’t know how to approach you, and part of you is glad for it. You need him to understand that things aren’t the same. You can’t just pick up where you left off.

“I just... I don’t know how to start this,” he finally admits, his voice laced with uncertainty. “I didn’t expect to see you tonight. And I don’t know what I was hoping for. I don’t even know if I’m doing the right thing by being here.”

You shrug, not willing to give him an inch. “Then why are you here?”

“Because I need to talk to you. I need you to know that I... I’ve been thinking about you. About us. About everything I’ve messed up.”

You can hear the guilt in his voice, and it’s hard to ignore. But that’s not enough, is it? His guilt, his regret, it doesn’t change what happened. It doesn’t change how much he hurt you. It doesn’t change the fact that you’ve had to put the pieces of your life back together without him.

“You didn’t reach out for more than six months, Auston,” you say, your voice shaking despite your best effort to stay calm. “You don’t get to just walk back in and act like everything’s okay. I’ve been living without you—figuring things out on my own. You didn’t leave me with any other choice.”

Auston’s voice shakes when he speaks, his words thick with the apology. “I’m sorry,” he says, his tone low and sincere. “I never meant to hurt you. I know I did, and I’m sorry for that.”

You stand there, your arms crossed tightly over your chest, feeling the sting of his words settle in your chest. The apology doesn’t seem to erase the pain, though. It’s just the beginning of something deeper that needs to be said.

You try to control the anger bubbling up inside of you, but it’s hard. This is the man who walked away from you, the man who left you with no explanation. 

Finally, you can’t hold it in any longer. The hurt, the frustration—it pours out of you in a question, one you’ve been dying to ask for months, maybe even years.

“Why not me, Auston?” Your voice is quieter than you expected, but there’s a rawness in it, something that cracks through your calm exterior. “I’ve been thinking about this for months. Why not me? Why wasn’t I enough to marry you?” You take a step forward, needing him to look at you, to understand the depth of the hurt in your words. “We had everything, Auston. A house, a life. We were happy. We had years together. So why wasn’t I enough for you to commit? Why couldn’t you give me the future I wanted? Why couldn’t you choose me?” 

Auston’s breath catches, and for a moment, you see him struggle. His eyes dart away for a split second before he meets yours, guilt and regret weighing him down. He opens his mouth to speak but hesitates, unsure of how to begin. 

He takes a deep breath, his voice cracking slightly as he begins,“It wasn’t that you weren’t enough, Y/N. You were everything I ever wanted. You’re still everything I want.” He runs a hand through his hair, trying to gather his thoughts. “But I... I was scared. So scared.” 

You scoff. “Scared of me? Scared of what we had?” 

“Not scared of you,” he says quickly, shaking his head. “Scared of myself. Scared of the man I thought I would turn into if I promised you forever and couldn’t deliver. I didn’t know how to give you what you deserved.” He pauses, like the weight of the next words is too heavy to carry. “I didn’t want to be like my dad.”

Auston’s voice falters as the weight of the words presses down on him. “I didn’t want to be like my dad,” he repeats, almost as if he’s trying to convince himself as much as you. "He was never there, Y/N. He was always too busy with work or his own demons to be present. And every time he promised us something, he broke it. He was distant. He never really committed. And I watched that, I lived through it... and I was afraid. Afraid that I’d turn out just like him."

You feel your chest tighten, a knot forming in your throat as you listen to him. The confession makes sense, in a way. But it’s also a hard pill to swallow. You thought you knew Auston, but this side of him, this fear—this part of him he kept hidden from you—it’s like a whole new layer of him has just been uncovered.

"You kept that from me... for five years," you say, your voice softer now, almost a whisper. The hurt is still there, but there’s something else now too. Sadness. Disappointment. "You didn’t trust me enough to tell me, to share that with me?"

Auston’s face crumples slightly, and the guilt is evident. He lowers his eyes, as if he can’t bear to look at you anymore. “I thought I could handle it on my own. I thought I had to, that I couldn’t be weak. I didn’t want you to think I was broken. I thought if I opened up about that, about how scared I was, you’d see me differently. You wouldn’t want me anymore. So I kept it all inside.”

The words sting more than you expected. “But you should’ve trusted me, Auston. I would’ve listened. I would’ve understood. We were a team. I thought that was what we were supposed to do—share everything, even the hard stuff. But you just... pushed me away. You kept me at arm’s length.”

He steps forward then, reaching for you, but you instinctively take a step back. His face falls, hurt flashing in his eyes, but you can’t bring yourself to let him close. 

“I’m sorry,” he says again, the words slipping from his lips in a desperate whisper. “I should’ve let you in. I should’ve trusted you. I was just so afraid of failing you. And I kept telling myself I had to do it alone. But I didn’t. I don’t. I’ve been seeing a therapist for a while now. I’m trying to change.”

You blink, surprised. “Therapy?” It feels like a lot to process. You never imagined Auston would seek help, especially after everything that’s happened. “You’re really doing therapy?”

He nods, swallowing hard. "Yeah. I’ve been working through a lot of stuff—about my dad, about hockey, about myself. I’m starting to see things differently. I’m learning that I don’t have to carry everything on my own. I don’t have to be perfect. I just have to be real." He steps closer again, cautiously, as if waiting for permission. “And I know I haven’t been real with you. But I’m trying now. I want to be better. For you, for us.”

Auston’s words hang in the air between you, heavy with vulnerability. You want to believe him, you do, but there’s still so much uncertainty swirling inside you. His confession about therapy, about finally facing his fears, is a step forward—but it’s not enough yet. Not enough to erase the hurt, the years of silence, the things he never said when it mattered most.

"I just don’t know, Auston," you say, your voice quieter now, the fight inside you slowly giving way to something else—something closer to exhaustion. “I want to believe that you’ve changed, that you’re really seeing things differently. But you shut me out for so long. And it feels like... like I wasn’t important enough for you to share this with me.”

He steps forward again, his expression desperate, but you hold your ground. “I wasn’t ready to share it,” he says softly, his voice cracking. “I didn’t know how. I thought if I opened up, if I let you see that part of me—that scared part—it would break us. I didn’t want to lose you. So, I just... I just kept pretending.”

You close your eyes for a moment, trying to process everything he’s saying. You’re angry, you’re heartbroken—but underneath it all, there’s a small part of you that still feels the love for him. The love that hasn’t gone away, even after everything.

“I never wanted to hurt you, Y/N,” he says, his voice quiet now, full of regret. “And I know I did. I’m sorry for that. I know I should’ve trusted you. I should’ve been honest. But I’m here now. I’m doing the work. I’m trying to be the man you deserve. The man you saw in me.”

You look at him then, really look at him, and you can see the sincerity in his eyes. It’s raw, it’s real—but you’re still not sure. You wish he’d come to you sooner, that you didn’t have to bear all of this pain on your own. But maybe that’s the truth of it—he’s only just starting to understand what it means to let someone in.

“I don’t know what to do with all of this,” you say, almost to yourself. “I don’t know if I can just forgive you and move on like it never happened.”

Auston’s eyes soften, and he takes another step closer, but this time, you don’t pull away. “You don’t have to forgive me right away,” he says gently. “I don’t expect that. But I need you to know that I’m serious about this. About us. And I know I can’t change the past, but I’m ready to fight for you. To prove that I’m not the same person I was.”

There’s a long silence, and the weight of everything hangs heavy in the air. But then, finally, Auston speaks again, his voice low and hesitant.

“I bought a ring, Y/N.”

Your heart skips a beat, and you feel your breath catch in your throat. You stare at him, trying to process what he’s just said.

“A ring?” you repeat, almost in disbelief. "Auston, what are you talking about?"

He nods, his eyes flickering with a mixture of uncertainty and hope. “Yeah. I’ve been seeing a therapist for a few months now, and as I started to understand myself better, I realized something. I don’t want to lose you. I’ve been thinking about this for so long. And I know I messed up—I know I’m not perfect, but I know you’re the one. You’re the one I want to spend my life with. I bought the ring... because I knew I needed to come back and ask for another chance.”

You blink, processing his words slowly. It’s almost too much. You didn’t expect this. And yet, there he is, baring his soul to you, and you can’t help but feel that tiny spark of hope flicker in your chest.

He looks at you, his face vulnerable, waiting for you to respond.

“I don’t have the ring with me right now,” he adds, his voice quieter. “But it’s beautiful, Y/N. Simple, elegant... just like you. I bought it because I knew I wanted you to be the person I share everything with. I want to be the man you deserve.”

The words hang in the air, and for a moment, you’re speechless. The confession, the ring, the rawness of his emotions—it’s too much. It’s overwhelming, and yet, you can’t ignore the part of you that still cares for him, that still sees the man he could be if he keeps working on himself.

You finally let out a shaky breath, your heart heavy with the weight of everything you’ve been through. “You really think you can change, Auston?” Your voice cracks slightly, but you push through. “You really think I can trust you again?”

He looks at you, his eyes full of both fear and hope. “I’m not asking you to trust me right away,” he says. “But I want to show you. I want to prove to you that I can be the man you need. That I can be the man who gives you everything you deserve.”

You stare at him, torn between the past and the future, the hurt and the love. And then, finally, you nod. “Alright,” you say, your voice soft but firm. “One more chance, Auston. But this is the last one. If you break my heart again, I’m done. No more second chances.”

Auston’s face lights up with relief, and before you can say another word, he takes a step forward, gently cupping your face in his hands. He leans in, his lips brushing yours in a soft, tender kiss. It’s slow at first, tentative, but then it deepens as you both let the emotions you’ve been holding inside spill over. There’s no more fear between you—just a promise that maybe, this time things will be different.

[sydnikov]

Donut || M. Knies

Author: Sydney / @sydnikov

Pairing: Matthew Knies / fem!Reader

Word Count: 7.8k

Summary: Figure skating is no longer a sport you compete in, the decision to quit having been made years and years ago, but the magic you feel everytime you step on the ice will never fade. It’s why you coach in Toronto, but you’ve never coached at the Toronto Maple Leafs’ practice arena before—Matthew Knies just so happens to see you on your very first day, and is immediately obsessed. His charm and wittiness win you over easily, even though you’re apprehensive at the start.

Warnings: Cursing, kissing, kinda bad proofreading, and a disgusting amount of fluff

A/N: The hockey player x figure skater trope nobody asked for except it’s written by someone who *actually* figure skates 🤭 This is so silly and way too cute omg but it’s for @lifeofpriya for @wyattjohnston's winter fic exchange!! I hope you and everyone else enjoys!! <3

Cold. So cold.

It’s the first feeling your body registers as the shrill sound of your alarm blares through the quietness of your small apartment on a dark, dreary December day in Toronto.

You quickly pick up your phone from the nightstand it was charging on, eyes shrivelling shut at the brightness before you turn off the alarm. Once it’s off, you take a moment to contemplate why you make yourself do this after so many years but never bring yourself to quit.

Figure skating. Your lifeline and also your death sentence—at least you’re convinced it will be, eventually.

It’s the only thing that makes your five-thirty in the morning wake-up worth it, even as you remove yourself from the warmth of your bed.

You’re convinced you can see your breath once you turn on the light in your bathroom, holding back a shiver as you tie your hair back to brush your teeth and wash your face. It’s better to just start getting ready immediately, a routine you picked up way back in your early skating days, lest you fall back asleep.

Growing into your teens, you found it harder and harder to put yourself through the gruelling early hours that competitive figure skating requires, and there were only so many laps of power pulls you could take in punishment for being late before you had to come up with a solution to keep to your schedule.

Dragging yourself out of bed the moment you become conscious is, unfortunately, the only solution that worked, and still is, unfortunately, what you do now even though your own competition days are over.

You don’t skate for you, really, not anymore; you skate for your students, all five of them that you coach at different times throughout the week. Anna, the sixteen year-old girl who you have at eight o’clock sharp this day, is your only source of motivation as you finish your makeup and hair for the lesson.

Normally you don’t bother with a super kept-up appearance for your coaching lessons, but this day in particular has you coaching at a brand new rink, and you figure that first impressions to whoever you may or may not meet will matter.

The rink you usually coach at - an older place that’s definitely seen finer days and on the outskirts of Toronto but close to you - is finally being put out of its misery, as you like to say.

(It’s just getting a well-deserved renovation.)

An hour later, you’re all bundled up and ready to face the frigid Toronto air that awaits you. You have on three top layers total: a normal long-sleeved shirt, a thick jacket, and then your winter coat on top. You then have leggings to skate in with sweats over top to brave the elements, and those along with your coat come off once you get to the rink.

As you step out into the hallway which immediately opens to the outdoors, you quickly lock up before shoving your gloved hands in your pockets and swiftly make your way to the train that’s supposed to get you to your new rink.

Actually getting on and boarding is the easiest part; it’s so early in the morning that few occupants means little waiting time, one of the only saving graces of waking up at such an ungodly hour.

Once you’re settled, you plug in your earbuds and wait out the forty-five minute ride to your new rink.

“Morning,” The employee attending the front desk greets you after you walk into the rink, a little less than an hour later. “You have a pass?”

Your attempt at a smile is feeble, it still too early for you to bother putting on a social facade. “I’m a coach, I have a lesson here in twenty minutes.” You hold up the pass you printed out days in advance after registering on their website, transferring all the required credentials from your old rink.

The woman, probably about ten years older than you and looking just as exhausted as you feel, scans the barcode on your pass and waves you on. “Women’s locker rooms are down the hall on the right, there’s a door to the training rink in there too.”

“Thank you,” You say before following her directions, briefly admiring all of the Maple Leafs memorabilia covering the walls and ceiling.

Growing up, you never got into hockey—figure skating was your whole life and completely revolved around it, so any hobbies you picked up were separate from the ice entirely.

You did it for your sanity, but also because like most skaters, you grew to be annoyed by hockey players’ obnoxious presence. Not only were they cocky, but they tore up the ice with their complicated drills that zamboni refreshings never quite covered.

Stepping into the women’s locker room, you stopped in awe at how updated and nice it was. Fresh paint, large toilet stalls and showers, even the floors didn’t have you cringing at the thought of walking on them without your guards on.

Now, there’s still very much a hockey theme present; you suppose you weren’t going to escape that here with it being their practice rink, and all. You weren’t exactly happy to learn that tidbit of information, but at least you have early lessons, so the crowds that likely always show up wouldn’t be here at seven-thirty in the morning.

It’s five minutes later that your student for this session, Anna, saunters in, skates already adorned in a cute workout set that as a teen you would have loved, but now in your twenties find it wouldn’t keep you warm enough.

She looks as if she could take on the world, bright-eyed and full of youthful energy you admire her for having so early in the day.

Geez. You sound like you’re fifty.

“Good morning, Anna,” You greet her, sending her a smile as you quickly go through some stretches to get your legs warmed up. “Ready to get choreographing? I have about half of your long done so far.”

A long program, or a free skate, is a four minute routine that all types of skaters have for competitions. It requires a balance of all the technical elements like jumps and spins but also artistry, or how well one performs to the music.

It’s your least favorite type of program because it takes the most amount of time to perfect and is also hell to perform; if you think four minutes doesn’t sound that bad, imagine having to fly across the ice at top speeds all while maintaining elegance, power, and accuracy in every movement you do—all on blades.

“I’m so excited,” Anna replies, clapping her hands together. “I’ve been listening to my music nonstop since, like, you first suggested it to me.”

“That was over a month ago before we even settled on it!” You laugh, finally joining her in putting your skates on.

While you don’t skate professionally anymore, you still have a pair of skates you use when you actually feel like skating for fun—the skates you can safely jump and spin on. The skates you wear for coaching, an extremely worn-down pair that looks off-white now with the leather peeling off on the sides, have most definitely seen better days.

But they’re extremely comfy and perfect for recreational skating, which is all you do while coaching and is why you keep them.

“Alright,” You finally say, standing up and rubbing your hands over your arms which are slightly cold in your jacket now that your coat has come off. “Let’s go. You’ve skated here before, right?”

“Mhm!” She answers, leading the way out of the locker room and into the rink, the fresh ice glistening in the early sunlight coming from the windows up high. “I haven’t skated in this rink though. There’s like four in here and they’re open on different days.”

“You’ll have to show me the ropes one day,” You muse, following your student’s lead as she steps onto the bench, removing her guards before stepping onto the ice.

You don’t really have any intention of coming here unless you have to coach, though.

“Okay, then!” You announce, smoothly stepping onto the ice and gliding towards Anna who is getting ready to warm up. “I want you to warm up your edges, as well as your single jumps, got it?”

Anna salutes, not mockingly but rather endearingly. “Yes ma’am!” As she immediately takes off, you do your own on-ice warm up, though much less intense than hers.

While you won’t be skating her program fully - as in, doing the jumps and spins it requires - you do have to show her the footwork, which requires your body to be properly warm for all the edge work and artistry.

The ice lost its magic for you long ago, when skating became more about winning than having fun. Nonetheless, you still find satisfaction in the deep ripping sound as your blades sink into the ice, a sign of strong edges and good technique drilled into you at a young age.

As you go through your own warm up, you swing your arms up and around your chest loosely, trying to get your whole body as pliant as possible. While you do so your eyes wander, peering through the windows curiously.

The rink still isn’t full yet; you see only a mom and two little girls, an older man with his wife, and a group of maybe four men who had just walked in.

“I’m ready!” Anna suddenly announces, gaining back your attention as she skids to a quick stop in front of you. “Want me to plug in the music?”

“Nah, there’s no need,” You reply. “I can just play it on my phone. It’ll get too chaotic with it playing over the speakers.”

She nods in return, and you gesture with an arm to follow you to the center of the ice. “Alright, I have you starting here in the middle, but it doesn’t need to be exact because I’m having you do toepick steps in a spiral pattern…”

Meanwhile, Matthew Knies is cold. He should be used to it by now, but he was born and raised in Arizona where temperatures rarely drop below fifty degrees Fahrenheit during the day in winter. In Toronto, however, where a good day is above ten degrees?

He’ll just say he’s gotten used to his teammates teasing him when he shows up to practice bundled up in five layers of coats. His Slovakian ancestors would be ashamed.

This day is no different; stepping into the familiar practice arena for his team, the Toronto Maple Leafs, alongside some of his closer friends on said-team: Joe, Auston, and their captain, John. Matthew holds his arms close to his body, ignoring the snickers from Joe.

“Hey, it’s only negative six today! That’s five degrees higher than yesterday!”

Matthew looks at his friend with wide eyes. It only takes him a moment to realize he’s referring to the temperature in Celcius, not Fahrenheit.

“I still don’t know what that means in Fahrenheit,”

Joe laughs again, bumping their shoulders together as John and Auston check in at the front desk for them. “It’s really not that different once you learn, you know,”

“Another day, Joe, another day,” Matthew laments, laughing himself as Joe rolls his eyes. He holds back his chirp when John whistles for the two to follow, already several steps ahead of them.

Conversation forgotten, the four make their way to the assigned practice rink they’ll be using for the day. They’re one of the first groups to arrive, as the place is practically deserted at seven-thirty in the morning.

Matthew pulls his phone out of his pocket for a moment to scroll through his notifications, blindly following his teammates. He’s steadily ignoring them until Joe suddenly groans, the goalie swearing under his breath.

“Man, there’s gonna be holes all over the ice now—”

“The fuck are you talking about?” He laughs, only looking up to follow his friend’s gaze to where only two girls take up the ice. He immediately spots the figure skating blades and fully plans on teasing Joe about being afraid of some toe picks until one of the girls suddenly turns, and he immediately has the breath knocked out of his lungs.

Her face is flushed, likely from a mixture of the cold and skating, and her hair has tiny flyaways that she keeps trying to brush away. She’s also clearly a coach based on her coat that has ‘COACH’ in big, bold letters across the back. She’s doing some complicated, confusing footwork all up on the toe pick until stepping out, all long legs and loose arms.

Matthew’s throat dries up. She looks like an angel.

“Now, the fuck are you talking about—”

“That’s my wife.”

“What?”

“Oh my god, Joe, that’s my wife.”

“Hey Cap, did you know that Matty was married because I sure as hell didn’t?”

“No, shit, I mean,” He can’t find the right words to speak, too enraptured with the sight of the mystery woman (his future wife) gliding across the ice. “Tell the boys I’ll be right there? Thanks!”

He’s vaguely aware of Joe shouting something as he briskly walks away, but he only has eyes for you, the mysterious angel on ice.

Anna is currently running through the first twenty seconds of her program that you’ve taught so far, you standing at the boards right by the sound booth as if you were actually playing her music. She’s on the last part of the sequence, a spiral - a move where a skater raises one leg high in the air, upper body as parallel to the ice as possible - and her posture is stiff, but she seems to know that and corrects it herself before you have to.

Your back is to the glass, leaning against it casually. The door to the rink also happens to be right next to you, but you don’t notice until movement from the corner of your eye catches your attention. You’re used to parents lurking, especially Anna’s, but when you allow yourself to look you quickly realize it’s definitely not a parent.

A man, tall and broad-shouldered, adorned in what looks like three or more coats, stares at you expectantly. There’s a half-smile on his face that immediately puts you on edge because no one should be that happy at eight o’clock in the morning.

Anna just so happens to finish and rushes to the bench for a water break, which is the only reason you allow your focus from her to divert to him. “Can I help you?” You frown, very aware you come across as standoffish.

He doesn’t seem deterred. “Sorry. I, uh, didn’t mean to interrupt,” His voice is warm and slightly sheepish, and his hands are shoved deep into his coat pockets like he’s still not entirely sure why he’s here.

“I’m in the middle of coaching right now,” You state slowly, as Anna begins to make her way back to you. You go to say something else, but she taps you on the shoulder before you get the chance to. “I’m going to the restroom real quick,” She whispers, looking all too happy to leave you alone with him before she skates away without giving you a chance to respond, again.

Anna tends to do that a lot. Knowing her, she’s already planning your wedding.

Resisting the urge to get off the ice yourself, you turn back to the mystery man whose attention is still undeniably on you. “Do you need something, or…?”

“Not really, just… watching,” He says with a shrug. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, the tips of his shoes barely scraping against the edge of the ice. “You’re good, by the way. Both of you. That—uh, what’s it called? The thing with the leg up? Looks impossible.”

You blink. “A spiral.”

“Right. Spiral. Cool.” He nods like he’s just learned some very important information, and you feel the corner of your mouth twitch against your better judgment.

“Do you… play here?” You ask, gesturing vaguely to the rink. A silly question on your end because you’re pretty sure you already know the answer.

“Hockey,” He says quickly, almost like it’s an apology. “I’m Matthew. I play for the Leafs,” He points a thumb over his shoulder, where a few of who you assume to be his teammates are slowly trickling out of a locker room. Most look tired, some half-watching, half-laughing about something.

Of course he’s a hockey player. You almost forgot you were at an NHL team’s official practice arena.

“Right,” You say curtly, briefly looking for Anna who still has not returned. “Well, my student still hasn’t come back, but we’re almost done, anyways. You’ve got the ice in ten, I think.”

“I wasn’t rushing you or anything,” Matthew says quickly, taking a step closer. “Not that I really can. My coaches tell us when to get on and off. I was just… watching. Figure skating’s kind of cool. A lot like hockey, I mean, but I still don’t know anything about it.”

“I can tell,” You mutter under your breath.

He laughs, and it catches you off guard—low, easy, and a little self-deprecating. “Fair enough. I’ll let you get back to it. Just wanted to say hi, I guess. I haven’t seen you here before.”

It’s extending an olive branch on his part, leaving it up to you to introduce yourself or not. You debate skating away again, but he’s still smiling, eyes hopeful, and you don’t have it in your heart to do anything cruel.

“It’s my first lesson here,” You admit. “I’ll be coming here a lot more, now.” You finally give your name, offering your gloved hand for him to shake with your own sheepish smile. His hand dwarfs yours easily, and despite the fact he’s also wearing gloves you can still feel the heat from his skin seeping into yours.

Matthew looks as if he’s won the lottery. “I’ll see you, yeah?” You nod, unsure what to make of him as he makes his way back to his teammates. You gather your phone and coat from the bench, sparing one last glance his way again who is now standing with his teammates, but he’s not laughing along with them. He’s watching you.

You force yourself to ignore it, swiftly turning back around and stepping off the ice. But there’s something about the way his gaze lingers, like this wasn’t just a one-off conversation to him. Like maybe he’ll be back for more.

You don’t run into Matthew again for a week, and you definitely weren’t looking for a glimpse of him each time you had a lesson. You definitely didn’t take to Google in-between spare moments, searching him up on the Toronto Maple Leafs’ roster.

And you definitely, one-hundred percent did not come to the rink on a random Tuesday morning when you didn’t even have a lesson to skate on your own, just for the opportunity to run into him again.

Really, you don’t even know why. You’ve messed around with hockey players when you were younger, sure, because it was definitely convenient, but you never saw it as serious. You’re not sure why subconsciously, you think this one is different.

The cold air bites at your cheeks as you step onto the ice, smooth and untouched, a blank canvas. You take a deep breath, your warm exhale visible in the chill, and launch into your warm-up. While not nearly as intense as it used to be, you still like to keep up most of your skills—particularly, your spins.

Unlike a lot of skaters, you always hated jumps. You always loved spinning more, any and all types, and used those in your programs while jumps were always included at the bare minimum. You’ve just always hated chucking yourself into the air, never quite trusting your body to land on a singular toepick without fault. It’s one of the reasons you quit competitive skating after so many years.

The rink is nearly empty, though—just you and two others. You only plan on skating for an hour or two, even though freestyle sessions can last much longer.

You’re midway through alternating backwards power pulls - on one foot, skating left to right in half-swizzle shapes - when you notice him.

He’s sitting on top of the bench on the far side of the rink, wearing a backward cap and a hoodie that’s definitely not designed for the cold. His skates dangle off the edge of the bench as if he’s not quite committed to stepping onto the ice yet. His hair sticks out in every direction, the messy, effortless kind that probably takes zero effort but makes him look infuriatingly good.

It’s Matthew, you recognize without a doubt. Your heart jumps out of your chest, and you try to play it cool like he hasn’t probably already noticed he’s been spotted. You try to ignore him, moving onto your spins, but there’s a prickle of awareness every time you pass his side of the rink. He’s not just watching—he’s studying.

Randomly, you decide to mess with him. There’s a spin you love where you have to contort your body in an oddly flexible way, and you’ve noticed more than once how people will always stop in their tracks to watch. It forms the shape of a donut, hence the name ‘donut spin.’

You skate to the middle, the designated area for spins, decision quickly made. You have to hide the smile threatening to spread across your face at the thought of what look would be on his. Attracted, or impressed? Maybe both?

Taking a deep breath, you tighten your arms, engage your core, and take a strong step forward. Dipping slightly, you bend your knees just enough to gather momentum, shifting your weight to your left leg, having your right leg extend behind you in a straight line. Your arms sweep in, crossing over your chest, as you begin to rotate. Your vision blurs at the edges, moving too fast to make out even a shape. You feel the pull of centrifugal force, letting the spin tighten and quicken as with practiced motion, you reach down toward your left ankle, your fingers brushing the fabric of your leggings as your body folds. Your head dips low, and your extended leg arcs upward behind you, a perfect curve in the air. The donut shape then forms easily, your body compressed into a spinning circle. Your thighs burn but you welcome it, knowing it means you’ve locked in the position. Your blade scratches against the ice as you count your rotations, getting about five in before your body really starts to protest.

Quickly beginning to tire, you let the spin slow as you begin to rise. Uncurling like a ribbon unwinding, you let your right leg drop and open your arms, checking out of the spin. Your vision sharpens again, your surroundings coming back into view, and the first thing you do is shoot a quick glance towards where you last saw Matthew.

Just as you expected, his eyes are wide, mouth slightly agape. This time you let the smile come to your face, close-lipped but no less genuine, and watch as his cheeks flush a pretty shade of pink.

Knowing without a doubt that he’ll be the one coming over to you, you skate to a stop near the boards to grab your water bottle. You hear more so than see how he pushes himself up and strides over, his skates clinking against the ice.

“You’re insane,” Matthew says by way of greeting, his words almost breathless.

You grin, knowing exactly what he means. “Excuse me?”

“That spin you just did.” He gestures vaguely towards center ice. “You just completely folded in half. What is that?”

One of your brows lifts, feigning disinterest, though you think he knows you’re amused. “A donut spin. It’s my favorite,”

He leans against the boards, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “A donut spin, huh? So, out of all the moves—jumps, spins, whatever—that’s your go-to?”

You nod, trying to hold back a grin. “Yup. I was never much of a jumper.”

“Can’t say I’ve ever heard that before,” He says with a low chuckle, shaking his head. “I half-expected something dramatic, like a quad jump, or something.”

You can’t help but laugh. “Quad jumps are dramatic—and borderline impossible. I prefer spins that don’t require me to risk my life.”

“Fair enough,” Matthew replies, tilting his head as though he’s reevaluating you. “Obviously, I don’t jump, unless I’m checking somebody. Then I don’t mind coming off my feet a bit.”

You make a show out of looking him up and down, laughing internally as he seems to stand up straighter at your appraising gaze. “Makes sense. You look like you’d be violent out there.”

He takes a step closer, causing you to have to tilt your head back just slightly. He is, unfortunately, much taller than you. “Really?” He asks, voice low. “What gives it away?”

“Um,” You lose your words for a moment, tongue-tied at his sudden proximity. “Everything, honestly. I’ve seen you skate—like you’ve got a grudge against every guy who's not on your team.”

It’s Matthew’s turn to be caught off guard, though it quickly turns to cockiness that has you rolling your eyes. “You’ve seen me skate? How? When?”

“I may or may have not looked you up online.”

“Oh. So not in person?”

“Nope. I don’t watch hockey.”

“You should change that, actually watch one of our games,” He suggests, grinning. You’re starting to suspect he’s someone who always has a smile on his face. “I’ll score a goal for you.”

This time you don’t bother holding back your laugh. “That’s a whole lot of assurance for a sport that’s mostly luck.”

If possible, his grin widens at your doubt. “I’ll make you a deal,” He says, taking another step closer with a casual confidence that’s starting to feel dangerous. “Watch one of our games, and I’ll score a goal just for you. I’ll even call it a donut goal. Maybe the name will pick up.”

You shake your head, astounded by his personality that miraculously is starting to win you over. “A donut goal?”

“Yeah,” He replies, shrugging like it’s the most obvious thing ever. “Because of your spin. It’ll be my inspiration. What do you say?”

There’s a playful glint in his eyes, and you hate how much you’re already considering it. “That sounds ridiculous,” You giggle.

“Just one game! You watch, I score, and if you hate it, you’ll never have to watch hockey again.”

It’s annoyingly tempting, the way he pitches it. And maybe part of you is curious—curious enough to nod before you can talk yourself out of it. “I guess… Just don’t, like, hurt yourself doing something stupid.”

Matthew’s grin turns triumphant, like he’s just won a championship. “Deal. I’ll let you know which game to tune into.” He goes to skate away, but then quickly turns back around before you even get the chance to turn away yourself.

“Uh… Can I get your number?” He blurts. “For the game.”

“Of course,” You smirk, completely aware of his intentions, surprisingly not as frightened as you thought. “For the game.”

You stay on the ice for another hour, though you don’t work on any more spins, and especially not jumps. Instead, you just skate in laps, occasionally switching to a random edge exercise, but mostly gliding. Matthew left the moment he got your number, sending you a stupid donut emoji as his very first message to you.

What you didn’t see is Matthew immediately calling Joe the moment he steps back into the men’s locker room. “Dude, I got her number,”

A scoff can be heard from the other end. “Your skater wife?”

“Yup. I even got her to agree to watch one of our games. I kinda have to put one in the back of the net though?

There’s the sound of something shattering, followed by a curse and then his friend shouting. “You—her—fuck—what?”

He laughs at his friend’s disbelief. “And you thought I couldn’t do it!”

“It was a spiral, actually.” Matthew replies, proud even he remembered the name. He wants to remember every word that comes out of your mouth, made it a goal to do so. He had to wait a week to see you again, constantly searching every corner of the rink whenever he had a moment of alone time, though it’s not like his teammates didn’t know what he was doing.

“Your first conversation with her was asking about a swirly-thingy.” Joe retorts. “Not exactly winning over girls with that one, y’know?”

Joe took the liberty of informing Auston and John, of course, who therefore told the others. He’s still not embarrassed, though.

Not about meeting you.

It does turn out that Matthew is not very good at texting, however. Understandable, because you aren’t either, but his schedule makes it practically impossible. Not that he doesn’t try, but it’s gotten to a point where you’re eagerly awaiting his next message that takes hours to come in, which is strange because it’s not like you’ve even gone on a date with him.

He gets sick of the distance, literally and figuratively, quickly. He first asks to call you at night, when you’re curled up in your bed and he having just gotten back to his apartment from an away game in Ottawa. You reluctantly say yes, not because you don’t want to but because you don’t exactly have a lot to talk to him about when it’s one o’clock in the morning.

Your ringtone is shrill, startling you despite knowing it was coming. You answer immediately, biting your lip when you can hear his breathing audible through the phone.

“Um, Matthew?” You start when he doesn’t say anything. “Are you there?”

“Oh shit, yeah, sorry,” He apologizes, and you can picture the hand running through his hair as he talks. “Would you believe me if I said I was surprised you even picked up?”

You laugh. “No. I don’t answer my phone this late at night for just anyone, you know.”

“Technically it’s early in the morning. Get it? Because it’s—nevermind I’m shutting up now. You picked up just for me?”

“Well, it definitely wasn’t for your jokes,”

“My mom thinks my jokes are hilarious,”

“I think she’s required to say that.”

You and Matthew call pretty often after that, once the ice is broken—pun not intended. Surprisingly, even though you both go to the same rink multiple times a week, neither of you run into each other that often, so calling at night when you’re both free is the solution to that problem. Maybe it’s because your schedules are so different, but you try to fix the new Matthew-shaped hole in your life by following your first ever hockey team on Twitter.

Or X. Or whatever.

You definitely don’t tell him that - his ego is already big enough - but the amount of pictures posted of him keeps you entertained, and very much endears you to the personality you don’t always see, especially around his teammates.

While Matthew isn’t the biggest talker on his team by any means, even he’s surprised by the endless amount of energy he seems to now have. The excitement gets him through the day, his favorite part now being able to go home at night and talk to you.

And finally, after weeks of scheming and talking and definitely falling in love on his end, he has a game in Toronto against a team he’s relatively sure he could probably net one. He texts you the details, and gives you a link to a pirated website you can watch the game on for free.

Hopefully the league doesn’t find out about that one.

He’s so excited, though, and you’re finding it impossible to not match his energy. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t secretly kicking your feet at the thought of him deliberately attempting to score a goal just for you, too. The days before are filled with teasing texts from Matthew, all centered around some mysterious plan involving this so-called ‘donut goal’. Every time you ask him to explain, he evades the question.

“So can you tell me exactly how you’re planning on doing this?” You ask the night before.

“Nope,” He replies smugly. “You’ll just have to watch and find out.”

You snort, leaning back on your couch. “What if you don’t even score?”

“Wow,” He says, feigning offense. “Zero faith in me. That’s harsh, babe.”

“I’m just saying,” You tease, brushing over the ‘babe’ he let slip out. “It’s hockey. You’ve got, like, five guys constantly trying to stop you. Plus the goalie. Odds aren’t exactly in your favor.”

“You’re gonna feel so dumb when I pull it off,” He replies, totally grinning just by the sound of his voice. “Mark my words.”

Despite your best efforts to play it cool, you’re more excited for this game than you’ve ever been for a hockey game in your life, considering you’ve never even watched one before. Your small circle of friends that grew up skating with you don’t even know about your late-night plan; you want to keep Matthew to yourself, almost, keep this new budding relationship small and private, and you think he feels the same.

Before you know it, you’re tuning into the game on a sketchy looking website that Matthew refused to give any extra details on. It works, though, even if it lags every so often, and even shows the commentators on the side as they watch the game, too.

It starts before you know it—tiny players zipping around after an even tinier puck, and trying to locate Matthew on each of his shifts proves to be even more challenging. Every time you manage to spot his number, though, he’s moving with a grace you weren’t expecting, all power and precision as he skates circles around the other team. That isn’t to say he’s indestructible, however, because Matthew takes a shit ton of hits. Every hit leaves you wincing for him, but he gives plenty back in retribution.

He’s captivating to watch, the way he commands attention without even trying. And when he gets the puck, everything seems to shift.

He’s fast—so fast you lose sight of him multiple times as he weaves through defenders. He gets a chance, shoots it, but it goes wide before being collected by the other team, whom you don’t even know the name of. The game goes on like this for the rest of the first and second period, until the third is underway and you still haven’t moved from your spot on the couch, burrowed in a fuzzy blanket, hot chocolate forgotten.

The game is nearly over when it finally happens. A breakaway from the neutral zone, according to the commentators you can barely hear over the blood rushing through your ears, and Matthew again has the puck and breaks away from the defenders, skating with terrifying speed.

The crowd roars as he approaches the goal, and your heart jumps in your chest when you realize this is it. Your eyes are glued to the screen as he circles behind the net in one smooth motion, pulling off a wraparound goal so effortlessly that you don’t even process what’s happened until the puck is in the back of the net.

The volume coming from your laptop fizzles in and out, the arena likely so loud the speakers can barely handle it. You can hear bits and pieces of said-commentators celebrating in shouts, but all you can focus on is Matthew.

Because he’s spinning his hand in a circle—mimicking the shape of a stupid fucking donut—before pointing upwards.

“Oh my god,” You hiss, dropping your face into your hands. “Did he actually just do that?”

You’re mortified, but also—how could you not smile? He skates back to his team on the bench, grinning like he just pulled off the biggest inside joke of his life.

Even though the commentators can’t hear you, their response almost makes you feel they can. “Knies wraps it around, a beaut, and seems to make some circle motion with his hand. A new celly for the forward?”

You’re alone in your apartment, no roommates to worry about hearing you squeal, and the grin on your face impossible to hide. Stunned, mildly embarrassed even if no one else knows that his celebration was for you, and the most surprising thing about it all?

You definitely, without a doubt like Matthew Knies.

Before you can talk yourself out of it, you’re pulling up your text thread with him, your last messages with the player wishing him luck for the game and him saying thanks.

You’re insane, your new text starts with, echoing his words to you after what feels like ages ago. Congrats on the goal though! I’m impressed :) get home safe.

The game is over before you know it, your screen switching from zoomed-in interviews of the players to the commentators instead, going over the stats and noteworthy plays that quickly lose your interest. You keep it on as background noise, though, as you wash and put away your mug used for hot chocolate, wiping down what little mess was left on your counter.

You’re about to close your laptop for the night, too, when the words ‘Knies’ and ‘interview’ appear in the same sentence, immediately capturing your attention.

“It appears that Knies had himself ‘some inspiration’ for tonight’s goal… Check it out here,”

They show his face next, flushed red, drops of sweat trickling down his forehead. He’s in a skin-tight compression shirt that highlights his arms unfairly well, and the grin on his face is unmistakable.

A reporter is seen shoving a microphone into his face, asking about his goal celebration. He leans into it even more, if possible, staring straight into the camera. “I had some inspiration for my celly, yeah,”

“Inspiration from what?” The reporter presses.

“Donuts, actually,” He answers nonchalantly.

“Was that what the circular motion you made was for?”

Matthew chuckles sheepishly, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. He’s about to respond when someone who you assume works for the team taps on his shoulder, cutting the interview short.

“Donuts,” One of the commentators repeats incredulously once the camera is back on them. “Can’t say I’ve heard that one before.”

“Maybe wraparound goals should be called ‘donut goals’, whaddya think?”

You tune out their chatter, picking up your phone to open Twitter. The only accounts you follow are all Leafs’ related, so you don’t know why it comes as a shock to you when you see multiple posts joking about renaming wraparound goals to donut goals, all because Matthew made a little quip about it.

Unbeknownst to all of them that you were his inspiration to begin with—all to prove a point.

Hockey players, you scoff to yourself. Biggest egos you’ll ever find.

It’s not for another two hours later until he finally texts you back. Not that you were mad, or anything, totally understanding that game nights are always busy, but the message from him catches you off guard.

hi, it starts with. im done with all the press and stuff, team meeting’s done too. can i come see you???

Your eyes are heavy, barely able to form a coherent thought, but you don’t hesitate before responding.

Yeah, I’d like that

Another hour goes by, though, and you’re starting to think he forgot or got bribed into going somewhere to celebrate, and you’re about to call it a night and crawl into bed when there’s a sudden knock at your door, startling you.

You’re positive it’s who you think it is as you rush to your door, but you check your peephole anyway. Standing there, shoulders hunched and beanie drawn so far down over his head that it’s practically covering his eyes, is Matthew.

The door almost hits the wall with how fast you open it. You stare at him, now wide-awake, as he smiles at the sight of you, looking you up and down.

“You’re here,” Are the first words you blurt. “You came,”

Matthew’s smile turns soft, taking a small step towards you. “Hi, donut,” He greets. “Sorry I’m late, some fans found me on the way out of the arena…”

Your lips tilt upwards into a smile, amused at his new choice in nickname. “That’s okay,” You say. “You can come in, by the way. Don’t want you freezing.”

He lets out a laugh at that, his breath condensating in the chill. You step to the side and he wastes no time following you in, closing the door politely behind him. Walking back to your couch, you fold up the fuzzy blanket still sprawled across and take a seat, hands bundled in the sleeves of your hoodie. He follows you, but doesn’t take a seat and instead stands awkwardly in front of you, his hands fidgeting slightly as if he’s working up to something.

“Matthew?” You ask, tilting your head at him. “What’s up?”

He bites his lip, looking anywhere but at you until a decision seems to be made, determination settling over his face. He takes a deep breath, crouching down in front of you and placing one of his hands on your knee. Your heart races, breath hitching when his other hand slowly approaches your face, brushing away an errant piece of hair stuck to the side of your cheek.

“I like you. Like, a lot,” Matthew finally blurts. “I know we’ve only known each other for like a month, but when you know, you know. You know? That sounded better in my head, actually. Anyways, I think you’re really cool, and funny, and crazy talented, and not to mention beautiful, and—”

“Matthew—”

“—I think I can make you really happy, if you want, because I really wanna get to know you more—”

“Hey, hey, Matthew, Matty, shut up for just a second, yeah?” You have to grab his face at this point, hands palms cupping his cheeks as you teasingly shake his head. It does the trick, though, and Matthew shuts up with a choked swallow, eyes wide and nervous.

“I didn’t take you for a rambler when I first met you,” You start, one of your thumbs gently brushing his cheek. “You’ve always seemed so confident,”

His face is flushed a brilliant shade of red, and he tries to duck his head despite still being in your hold. However, he’s not complaining. He’d happily let you touch him anywhere you want.

“Only you can bring it out of me, baby,” Matthew’s attempt at flirting is commendable, especially since his voice is all soft, gentle, and vulnerable in the moment. “I think about you all the time. I look forward to calling you every night. And even when I knew you were watching my game, all I could think about is that I wished you were there in person to see it.”

He chuckles then, his free hand coming up to grasp one of yours still holding his face, entangling your fingers together and squeezing before bringing it down to rest in between you. Your foreheads are practically touching, your hand not being held in his moving to cup the back of his neck.

“I’m doing a whole lot of talking here, donut,” He says. “What are you thinking?”

You take a deep breath, shuffling ever so slightly closer. “I’m thinking that I really like you too,” You admit. “You’ve managed to worm your way into my life in only a month and yet I can’t imagine my life without you in it now,”

Matthew is full-on grinning now; you don’t think you’ve ever seen him this happy. “You’re not messing with me? You’re serious?”

“I’ve known for a while now, I think. Just—didn’t know how to say it.” You answer rather bashfully, now your turn for your face to flush red.

For a moment, the two of you are silent. He squeezes your hand every so often, thumb rubbing in gentle circles over the back of yours, and his eyes don’t leave you, not for a single second. You’re so close you can see the tiny wrinkles around his eyes, his slightly chapped lips, his tongue as it comes out to lick them. Your heart races and you can’t come up with any words to cut the tension, but like always, Matthew seems to know just the right thing to say.

“I don’t think I can wait anymore,” He suddenly says, eyes pleading. “Can I kiss you?”

You nod rapidly, sighing out a quick, “Yes,” feeling like you’ll explode if you don’t get the chance to taste him. Expecting something desperate or fast, you’re surprised when he brings his free hand up towards your face, sliding around the back of your neck and tilting your head to the side. He angles you just how he likes, you happy to go along, as he leans in slowly, slowly, slowly…

The first brush of his lips sends a full-body shiver down your spine, a small whimper leaving your lips that Matthew eagerly swallows with a happy sigh of his own. He presses further, his lips pillow-soft and gentle, no desire at all to rush the moment between you.

It’s not fast or frantic. It’s slow, deliberate, and full of everything that’s been building between you two for weeks. You don’t want it to end at all, not after finally having him, but the need to breathe eventually wins over. Matthew follows your lead and rests his forehead against yours, his soft breaths mingling with yours.

It’s intimate, the way your eyes open to look at him, finding the same look mirrored in his own.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to do that,” He murmurs, not at all ashamed to admit it. You bury your head in his shoulder, hiding the bashfulness on your face as flustered giggles escape from your lips.

Matthew’s arms immediately come to encircle you, holding you so close to his chest you can almost feel his heartbeat. He moves you to sit on the couch, you happily sitting on his lap. “Aw, don’t hide, donut,” He teases, the grin on his face so obvious by the way he’s speaking.

And because, of course, you’re you, without lifting your head up you quickly pinch his arm, laughing at the squeal you get out of him. “They’re calling wraparound goals donut goals, now, did you see?”

Matthew replies with obvious pride. “Duh. Of course I did. It’s a fantastic rename, in my humble opinion,”

“No wonder your ego is so high if your fans are naming goals after you,”

“You love it though, especially after I just gave you the best kiss of your life—”

“Don’t push it, Matthew.”

A/N: I've never written for Matthew before so I hope his personality isn't too unrealistic, I feel like it gives cheesy hallmark rom-com in the best way possible 🫣 please don't forget to reblog & comment :)

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[goldfades]

𝐈 𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐒𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐌𝐄, 𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐈𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐋𝐘 ─ MK²³ AM³⁴

TRACK 9 ─── GUILTY AS SIN?

TTPD CELLY MASTERLIST !

౨ৎ ─ summary | your high-school sweetheart versus the rookie, who are you choosing?

─ word count | 3.5k

─ warnings | NSFW under the cut! read at your own discretion. lots and lots of very naughty thoughts, p in v, rough sex, thinking of a diff person while being with another, loveless/one-sided relationship, masturbation (girl's DOWN BAD), pretty much nothin else?

─ ev's notes | YAYAYAYA, FINALLY A HOCKEY FIC FOR MY HOCKEY GIRLIES STARRING THE BEST MAN KNIESSS!!!! oh and auston <3

YOU FORCED A SMILE AS Auston pulled you closer into his chest, looking out to the camera's lens, your stomach twisting in anxiety at the sight.

The Leaf's had won the game by a startling 8 points, the whole stadium practically jumping with excitement. You practically feel the excitement from the fans as it reverberated through the air. The roar of the crowd was deafening, blending with the pulsating music and flashing lights of the stadium.

You tried to match Auston's enthusiasm, but underneath the forced smile, a whirlwind of emotions churned within you. Being thrust into the spotlight alongside Auston Matthews, the star player of the Toronto Maple Leafs, was both exhilarating and overwhelming.

As his girlfriend, you were no stranger to the attention that came with dating a professional athlete, but it was harder than people thought. You were just a trophy wife to the fans, his high-school sweetheart ─ to them, you were just Auston's girlfriend, no substance or individuality of your own. People assumed they knew everything about you simply because of your association with him, but the truth was far more complex.

You glanced up Auston, his eyes shining with triumph as he waved to the cheering crowd. Despite the victory, his expression was tinged with something else, something you couldn't quite decipher. Was it relief? Satisfaction? Or perhaps a hint of exhaustion from the intense game?

Lost in your thoughts, you barely noticed the cameras flashing around you, capturing every moment of celebration. But amidst the chaos, Auston's hand found yours, grounding you slightly.

As the crowd's cheers gradually subsided, Auston leaned in close, his voice barely audible over the residual hum of excitement. "Relax,"

You couldn't help but furrow your eyebrows at his words as you swallowed, averting your gaze from your boyfriend. That was all he could manage to say?

You just bit your lip, continuing to smile for the cameras before it was eventually time to leave for the afterparty. The car ride was silent like usual, barely exchanging any small talk before you eventually reached the club they were going to.

Auston opened your door and you wrapped your arm around his as you walked into the club, not even bothering to get in line ─ you were quickly ushered past the velvet ropes by the bouncers, who recognized Auston immediately. The pulsing music and dimly lit ambiance of the club enveloped you as you made your way to the VIP section, surrounded by a sea of faces, each one eager for a glimpse of the hockey star in their midst.

You plastered on a smile, nodding politely at the occasional well-wisher who approached, but inside, your mind was elsewhere. Eventually, Auston left you to go greet some of his friends as you sat at the bar, twirling your straw in your fingers.

That's how it always went ─ pose for the cameras, plaster on a fake smile and then when all the cameras were turned off, Auston's attention was elsewhere. It happened so often, you didn't even manage to be hurt by it anymore, that feeling had faded away long ago.

Sometimes you wonder where it all went wrong, or even if it was wrong.

You'd been with Auston since you were both fifteen years old, you remember the exact moment it had happened. Auston had harboured a crush on you since middle school and he'd been trying to prove himself worthy of you since then, Auston had always loved a challenge, and you were certainly that.

It was fun, and exciting and new all at the same time. When he eventually asked you out, he'd wore you down (but he knew you enjoyed his persistence), you'd accepted the offer with a smirk.

As time went on, your relationship with Auston became a whirlwind of highs and lows, victories and defeats, but always with him at the center of your world. You'd finished your school in Toronto, where he eventually got drafted. You supported him through his hockey career, celebrating every goal, every win, and comforting him through every loss and he did the same with your academic pursuits.

However, it felt different now. As the honeymoon phase had ended slowly, the excitement and the high slowly simmered down into nothing. You both still cared for each other deeply, of that there was no doubt, but it was as if you had grown comfortable, maybe too comfortable.

You found yourself longing for the passion and unpredictability that had defined the early days of your relationship, but it was nowhere to be found. You began to wonder if you had wasted all your youth on a dying relationship, if maybe it wasn't meant to be like everyone had always told you. And yet, the mere thought of breaking up with Auston was almost inconceivable.

After all, you and Auston were the high school sweethearts of the Toronto Maple Leafs. Your relationship was celebrated by fans and media alike, held up as a shining example of young love in the spotlight. The pressure to maintain that image, to live up to the expectations placed upon you, weighed heavily on your shoulders.

You knew if you walked away, you would be crucified ─ you had already been labeled as a gold digger to some, and and leaving Auston would only fuel those rumors further. The thought of and the thought of adding "heartbreaker" to the list of labels attached to your name was almost too much to bear. The scrutiny and judgment from fans, media, and even friends and family would be relentless.

The pressure to maintain the facade of a perfect relationship, even as cracks began to form beneath the surface, felt suffocating. You couldn't help but feel trapped, suffocated by the expectations placed upon you by the public, by the media, and even by Auston himself. He relied on you to be his rock, his constant source of support in a world that often felt chaotic and overwhelming.

How could you possibly abandon him now, when he needed you more than ever?

However, there was one thing ─ or more specifically, person ─ who kept you sane in your world of pressure and expectations.

"Are you good?"

His voice snapped you from your thoughts, your gaze shifting to his blue eyes. His lips were curved into an amused smile and soon, your expression mirrored as he took a seat next to you.

"Hey, Matty." The nickname fell off your tongue so perfectly, so sweetly, you almost tasted it. His gaze lingered on your face as he chuckled, ushering the bartender toward him.

"Hey yourself," Matthew replied, his voice warm and familiar. The tension that had been weighing on your shoulders seemed to ease in his presence, replaced by a sense of ease.

As Matthew ordered a drink from the bartender, you couldn't help but steal a glance at him. His easy smile, his relaxed demeanor ─ everything about him felt like a breath of fresh air in the suffocating world.

"Did you like watching the game?" He asked, his tone amused as you let out a groan. He knew how you felt about hockey, and he never missed an opportunity to tease you about it.

"You know me too well," you replied with a laugh, shaking your head. "I think I'll leave the hockey to you and Auston."

"It'll grow on ya," he responded as he took a sip of his drink. It'd been almost a decade, you're sure it won't grow on you now.

However, it was slightly more bearable now that you had someone other than Auston to cheer for. "Maybe,"

"Hey, wanna go get some actual food? There's a pretty good cafe down the street, I'm craving some waffles." Matthew's voice came out soft as he glanced toward you, a sweet smile playing on his lips.

"Waffles? It's almost one in the morning, you sure they're still open?" You responded, an amused tone in your voice.

Matthew shrugged, his smile widening. "Only one way to find out, right? And even if they're closed, we can always find somewhere else to grab a bite."

You nodded as you quickly downed your drink, feeling the burning sensation go down your throat easily. You put down Auston's card on the table before you followed Matthew out of the bar and into the cool night air. The streets were quiet, the noise of the city faded into the background as the two of you walked side by side.

As you made your way towards the cafe, you couldn't help but steal glances at Matthew out of the corner of your eye. There was something about him, something that made you feel alive in a way you hadn't felt in a long time.

Matthew's hand subtly moved to your hip, pulling you closer to his chest as you felt your breath hitched. You looked up at the younger brunette with a smile, only to met with a cocky smirk. You just scoffed as you shook your head, a nervous laugh leaving your lips.

He squeezed your hip, sending a shiver down your spine as his touch ignited a warmth within you. Despite the coolness of the night air, you felt a heat spreading through your body, fueled by the electricity of his touch.

As you walked together, the distance between you seemed to shrink with each step, until you were practically pressed against each other, the warmth of his body seeping into yours.

Matthew's smirk only widened at your reaction, his eyes twinkling with mischief as he leaned in closer, his breath ghosting over your ear.

"Can't resist me, huh?" he teased, his voice low and husky.

You rolled your eyes playfully, but couldn't suppress the flutter of excitement that danced in your chest at his proximity. "Oh please," you retorted, trying to sound nonchalant despite the rapid beating of your heart.

"How would Auston feel about you gettin' all cozy with me, huh?"

The mention of your boyfriend made you snap your eyes open, sending him a glare. You let out a laugh at his audacity, shaking your head. But as you glanced up at Matthew, his gaze unwavering despite your glare, you couldn't help but feel a sense of recklessness stirring within you.

Maybe it was the late hour, or the adrenaline coursing through your veins, but the idea of breaking free from the constraints of your public image was undeniably tempting.

"Maybe Auston needs a little reminder that he's not the only one who can keep me on my toes," you quipped, a mischievous smile playing on your lips.

Matthew's smirk widened at your words, a flicker of something unreadable passing through his eyes.

"I think I can handle that," he replied, his voice low and husky. You laughed as he kept his gaze on you, his blue eyes never leaving yours. "He'd beat my ass, you know? For getting all close with his girl."

"Do you care?" The question rolled off your tongue with a hint of defiance.

With a shrug of his shoulders, he met your gaze head-on. "Not really," he admitted, his voice steady despite the intensity of the moment. "I mean, he's not all that."

"Oh come on," you laughed as he shrugged again, laughter leaving his lips as well. "Really?"

"Oh absolutely, I can take him." Matthew shrugged as if it was really nothing, as if Auston wasn't the damn captain of his team.

You felt your stomach twist in something you hadn't felt in a while as you bit your lips, the thought of someone fighting for you was very thrilling. Auston never really bothered ─ he always knew he had you in his pocket, forever (in his mind, really) and he'd only gotten relatively jealousy in the early days of your relationship. You were sure that the mere thought of you leaving him had never even crossed him mind, it was as if you were branded by him.

As you walked alongside Matthew, his casual demeanor and confidence in the face of Auston's status as the team captain sent a thrill coursing through you. It was a stark contrast to the complacency you had grown accustomed to in your relationship with Auston ─ the sense that he took you for granted, secure in the knowledge that you would always be by his side, not even realizing he's losing you with each passing moment.

And as the two of you arrived at the cafe, the scent of waffles and coffee enveloping you in a warm embrace, you couldn't help but feel grateful for the unexpected turn the night had taken.

──

Auston's cock drove into you roughly as he pushed your head further into the counter, echoing moans leaving with each deep thrust. Your eyes were shut as his head fell back in pleasure, the feeling your tight cunt bringing him pure bliss.

However, your mind was anywhere but on him. As you shut your eyes, you kept visualizing Matthew's dark features ─ his dark blue eyes, his chiseled jaw and the way he gripped you closely, the way Auston used to. You felt guilty but you couldn't help it, you truly couldn't.

"Oh, fuck." Auston's voice ran out but you quickly drowned it out, letting out your own moans.

You kept imagining it; Matthew's hand instead of his, his cock driving into you instead of his, and especially his sweet and reassuring voice instead of Auston's silence. And instead of you being bent over the edge of your kitchen counter, you were facing his pretty face as he fucked you.

"Oh my god," you didn't even know what you muttering at this point. "Fuck, please, please make me cum," your whines made Auston push your head further into the counter, his thrusts becoming deeper as he panted above you.

The image kept repeating in your mind; Matthew's sweaty face above yours as he fucked into you, his thrusts more meaningful but just as deep.

A few more deep thrusts and you were cumming, hard ─ you were sure that this was the best orgasm you'd had in a while, maybe even ever (that was probably the high talking). Before you could scream Matthew's name, your hand covered your mouth. You were crying out in pure pleasure, not a thought in your pretty little head except for Matthew and his cock.

You weren't sure when Auston had came in you because the next thing you know, his large chest is collapsing on top of your back. His beard scratched your neck as he pulled you out of your fantasy, your stomach twisting in a familiar sense of annoyance. Auston kept pressing prickly kisses on your shoulders and neck as you sighed, pushing up to the counter so he could get off.

Auston pulled out slowly as you winced, feeling the cum drip down your legs as you started thinking straight again. He turned you around for a sloppy, quick kiss before he pulled away with a smile, his hand cupping yours.

"Was it that good, baby?" Auston laughed as he took in your disheveled appearance. "I haven't heard you scream like that in a while, I missed it."

"Yeah," you let out breathlessly as you subtly shifted out of his embrace. "I feel sticky, I'm gonna go shower."

"Great, I'm gonna head to the gym. You makin' dinner?" He called out as you began walking away, that sense of annoyance still in your veins. "I miss your cooking, you know."

"If you were here more often, maybe you wouldn't miss it so much." You didn't mean for your voice to come out so bitter but it did, and it of course didn't go past Auston. "I'll make dinner," you quickly added you turned to meet Auston's irritated expression.

"I thought I fucked all the bitchiness out of you," he spoke with a hint of annoyance, his brows furrowing as he regarded you with frustration.

You bristled at his comment, the resentment simmering beneath the surface threatening to boil over.

"I'm sorry," you replied, your voice tinged with exhaustion. "I guess I'm just tired of feeling like I'm always the one waiting around for you."

Auston's expression softened slightly at your words, a flicker of guilt crossing his features. "I know I haven't been around as much as I should," he admitted, his voice tinged with remorse. "But you know how important hockey is to me."

But what about me? Aren't I supposed to be important, too? "I know. It's okay, I'll make dinner."

"Great, baby. We'll talk when I get home, I love you," Auston's voice came out soft, his words a mixture of reassurance and affection.

But as he leaned in to press a quick kiss to your forehead, you couldn't shake the nagging feeling of dissatisfaction that lingered in the pit of your stomach. You watched as he left the apartment, your legs still shaky from your previous activities that now left you hollow.

After your hot shower, your mind kept lingering to Matthew. His beautiful face and his scent sent you into insanity, almost. With trembling hands, you reached for your towel, wrapping it around your body as you tried to push aside the rush of emotions threatening to overwhelm you.

But no matter how hard you tried to distract yourself, the image of Matthew's smile and the warmth of his touch seemed to haunt you, drawing you in like a moth to a flame.

As you stood in front of the mirror, your reflection stared back at you, a silent witness to the turmoil raging within. You couldn't deny the pull you felt towards Matthew, the way he made you feel alive in a way you hadn't felt in years.

But the thought of betraying Auston, of breaking the vows you had made to him all those years ago, filled you with a sense of guilt and shame. You had built a life together, a life that seemed so perfect on the surface, and the idea of tearing it apart was almost inconceivable.

But was it, really inceivable? Was it really that bad? Was it really so terrible to want something more, something that fulfilled you in a way that Auston never could?

And as you thought about Matthew, about the way he made you feel alive and seen in a way Auston never had, you couldn't help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, there was something more out there for you.

The thought of Matthew made you feel hot again, feeling the familiar sense of desire in the pit of your stomach. You let out a sigh as you fell back on your bed, your head falling back as you shut your eyes and began imagining him. The doubt slowly dissipated to the back of your mind as your hand began sliding down your thighs, down to your folds and to your sore cunt.

You knew your fingers could never fulfil you like Matthew's could've, not to mention his cock. Your head fell back as you reenacted what you thought he would do to you right here, your legs beginning to shake.

"Yes, Matty," you whimpered as you felt tears began to form in the wrinkles of your eyes. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, please."

You could never get enough of Matthew and his beauty, it wasn't just in his physical appearance, though that was undeniable. It was in the way he made you feel alive, the way his presence sparked a fire within you that had long been dormant.

You couldn't get enough of him, couldn't quench the thirst that burned within you for his touch, his affection, his love. He was like a drug, addictive and all-consuming, and no matter how hard you tried to resist, you found yourself craving him more and more with each passing day.

Your fingers began moving deeper and quicker, as you kept drawing closer to the edge faster at the mere thought of Matthew. "Matty, please. Fuck, please," your whines were loud, they echoed through the walls of your room as your back arched.

"I'm cumming, I'm cumming, fuck," you cried out as you came for the second time that night to only the mere thought of Matthew touching you. This was a new-time record, no one has ever made you cum this hard and you managed to do it with just a thought.

Your chest rose and fell with each breath that you took, trying to regain your consciousness. And the more you began to think about the mess that you inherently had created, the less you cared about the outcome. You couldn't spend the rest of your life with someone who you no longer truly loved, the way you did with Matthew.

The thought of continuing on in a loveless marriage, trapped in a cycle of routine and obligation, filled you with a sense of sorrow and anxiety. You wanted to choose yourself, for once in your entire life, you wanted to be selfish.

You wanted him, all of him. His presence, his touch, his love ─ it was like a lifeline in a sea of uncertainty, a beacon of hope in the darkness that surrounded you. And as you lay there, lost in your thoughts, a sense of determination coursed through your veins.

You chose him, no matter how terrible they'd treat you.

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↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

[prettytoxicrevolver]

4 + 1 | Auston Matthews

wc. 2.6k

four almosts between you and Auston Matthews and then one finally. (a best friends to lovers fic)

dedicated to the lovely @tonyspep! I hope you enjoy your winter fic exchange my love :) and of course thank you again to @wyattjohnston for putting the fic exchange together!!

FOUR

“Auston!!” you yell out from the kitchen. 

You turn and lean against the counter, waiting impatiently for Auston to make his way over. You cross your arms, sporting a pout on your lips when he walks in the room. 

“What’s up?” 

“Can you grab my mug?” you ask, pointing to the mug sitting on the top shelf of your cabinet. 

Auston had barged his way into your apartment tonight, insisting he hadn’t seen you in forever and that he needed a break from his annoying roommates. You of course took pity on him, inviting him to stay the night even though you knew that meant several hours of your heart beating uncontrollably. 

For as long as you’ve known Auston, you’ve had the biggest crush on him. It wasn’t a secret, everyone on the Leafs knew, the wags, your friends, everyone but apparently Auston. You tried to play it off like it was fine, like it didn’t physically hurt to be in the same room as him, like you were fine with just being best friends for eternity. 

Auston takes two steps closer, reaching above your head with ease and grabbing the mug from the shelf. He holds it up to your face and tilts his head with a mischievous smile on his lips. He’s always adored how much shorter you were. He took any chance to tease you about it, this was definitely no different. 

“This one?” 

“Thank you,” you start to singsong but when you reach for the mug, Auston holds it above your head instead. You roll your eyes, knowing what game Auston is playing and you want to smack that smug smile off his face. 

“Aus,” you plead. 

“Gotta pay the price darling,” he murmurs, turning his cheek and tapping it with his free hand. 

Your eyes scan over his features, the stubble that coats his cheek and the soft crease of his eyebrow. Your pulse pounds in your veins and your heartbeat is so loud it could be heard all the way over in Vancouver. You think for a moment, how easy it would be to just tilt his head, press your lips to his and sink into the feeling. 

Auston’s eyes flick over to yours and the eye contact shocks you back into the moment. You lean up and press a quick kiss to his cheek, your body vibrating head to toe in nerves from the action. 

“There you go darling,” he places the mug on the counter, sending a wink in your direction before turning and walking away. 

THREE

“You’re aware I have a guest room, right?” you ask Auston as he flops down on your bed face first. 

“Of course. But your bed is comfier,” he responds, sitting up and looking at you with that million dollar grin on his lips. 

Of course that was only half the truth when it came to Auston’s explanation. Your bed was comfier, but he liked being close to you. Liked the possibility that maybe, in the dark hours of the night, he would make a move. Liked that if something happened and you regret it, the morning could wash away all worries. Liked being close to you in the most intimate way he could possibly think of. 

“Mhm,” you respond, throwing a pillow at Auston’s head but he ducks away with ease unharmed. 

You walk into the attached bathroom, getting changed into shorts and one of Auston’s leafs shirts and brush your teeth before making your way back out to your bedroom. Auston sits up in bed, back against the headboard, eyes scanning his phone. He looked like a Greek god, muscular, his face chiseled in all the right ways, soft smiles and warm looks. One look from him and you start to think you can fly. 

“That’s where that shirt went?” he asks and you’re snapped out of your entranced gaze. 

“You have a million of these,” you say, climbing into bed and pulling the covers close. 

“I’ll just steal it back,” he says shrugging and your jaw drops feigning shock.

“You wouldn’t dare.” 

“Try me,” he says, winking at you before turning over and flicking the light off. 

“Goodnight Aus,” you say, finally slipping fully under the covers and welcoming sleep despite your rapid heartbeat. 

Your eyes slowly flutter open, your vision taking a moment to readjust to the morning light causing you to blink a couple of times. You instinctively start to shift in bed but you’re quickly stopped by a weight on you. You blink a couple of more times and it takes all of your willpower not to gasp when you realize. 

Auston is fast asleep next to you, chest rising and falling in a soft pattern, his hair tousled, a soft smile on his lips. You follow the groove of his figure, spotting one arm slung lazily over your hips and you quickly realize your head rests on the other outstretched one. Your legs are tangled and you feel every inch of him pressed against you in the most delicate and intimate way possible. 

You drag your eyes back up to his face and are met with the softest brown eyes you have ever seen. The look Auston was giving you could only be described as truly, madly, deeply, crazy, in love. Anyone in the world would look at this scene and clearly see two people who will love each other till the world's end. 

For a moment, Auston’s whole life flashes before him. Waking up next to you, going to practice, coming home to you, seeing you wear his jersey at every game, starting a family with you. The whole image makes the smile on his lips grow wider and his heart soars when you begin to smile back. 

“Good morning,” you whisper, hoping the words don’t break whatever spell has been cast over the two of you. 

“Mornin’ angel,” he responds and the pet name sends your heart into a flurry. 

You watch as Auston’s eyes flicker from yours to your lips and you realize quickly how close the two of you are, faces only an inch or so apart. Austo can’t help but think of how easy it would be to close the gap, be connected from end to end. Finally feel whole. 

And then his alarm goes off. 

You both disentangle yourselves and get ready for the day, this morning staying on your mind for a while. 

TWO

“Please?” Knies begs with those big blue eyes that make you say yes to anything. 

“Ugh fine,” you respond, finally giving in. 

“First rounds on me!” he shouts, leaning down to press a kiss to your cheek before dragging you towards where his car is parked at the stadium. 

You head to the bar that the Leafs frequented, Kniesy had been begging you to go to a home game and then out to one of the bars afterwards for weeks now. It was hard to turn him down over and over but you finally caved. How could you say no forever to a boy that carried the same energy as a golden retriever? 

“She’s here!” Matt yells when you enter the bar and you’re rewarded with the patrons yelling back in praise, even if they didn’t know you. 

Knies takes your hand and leads you to the back where you’re met with a packed Leafs group. Players and wags alike sit in the circular booth but your gaze lands on Austin like it always does. He sits at the edge of the booth, a look on his face like he had been considering bolting since he got there. However, when the two of you make eye contact a soft smile crawls to his lips and he seems to relax back into his seat. 

Matt takes the last spot leaving you standing awkwardly in front of everyone. You inch to the side, hoping to get away with just standing for a bit before grabbing a drink and coming back but Will has a better plan. 

“Darling, just sit with Auston,” he says, gesturing to your best friend. 

Your head cocks to the side in confusion and without a word, Auston reaches towards you. You instinctively take a step closer to him and his hands wrap around your waist and pull you down onto his lap. You try not to gasp at the closeness as Auston pulls you close and nudges your arm up to rest around his shoulder. 

The movements all seemed second nature to Auston, not even thinking about what he was doing before you were planted firmly on his lap, cheeks flushing pink at your body pressed against his. Mitch grins mischievously from across the booth at his best friend and when you’re not looking Auston shoots him a stare that says “back off”. 

You’re surprised you haven’t blacked out yet, a pleading glance thrown to Mitch, the only person on the leafs to know about your crush in Auston. He shrugs and your face heats up causing you to push it into Austons shoulder without realizing how much worse it was going to get when you closed that space. 

“You okay?” he murmurs and you try not to shift as butterflies swirl in your stomach. Ever the gentleman, you couldn’t help but think. 

“All good,” you whisper, eyes trailing over his features. 

You wanted to lean forward, whisper in his ear all the things he was making you feel. Follow it up with kisses pressed along his sharp jawline until you reach his mouth, and finally feel whole. 

“(y/n)!” you hear Kniesy call and you yank yourself away from where you were leaning even closer to Auston than before. 

“Come dance!” 

ONE

You sit in the tunnel at the Scotiabank Arena, twisting the sleeves of Matthews jersey that floods over your frame. You had been waiting down here with the other wags, mostly talking to Steph and glancing at the locker room area every few minutes. Finally, players start to emerge and one by one you watch them pair up and head out. 

“Angel,” you hear Auston’s smooth familiar voice greet you and you look up smiling at him. 

“That’s not my jersey,” the statement comes out as almost a question, but when he spots the number 23 on your sleeve, an unreadable look crosses his features. 

“Yeah it’s,” you start but you’re quickly cut off by Matt coming out of the tunnel. 

“Princess!” he calls, rushing over and picking you up in his arms, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek. 

You had been on a couple of dates with Matthew recently, the younger boy asking you out a little after that night you went out to the bar with him and his other teammates. You said yes, despite your massive crush on his assistant captain and prayed that somehow he would help you get over your feelings for Auston. It wasn’t fair, but Matt was sweet and funny and someone you knew forever. If anyone could get you to stop thinking about Auston, it should be him. 

“You’re?” Auston asks, pointing between the two of you when Kniesy finally sets you back down on the ground. 

“I was going to tell you,” you rush out, like you had any reason to really explain to Auston what you and Matt were. The words should have been a dead give away of your true feelings. 

“Don’t fuck this up,” Auston states, pointing at Matt with a threatening finger. 

“Aus,” you start to plead but he shakes his head. 

“I don’t care if we’re on the same team, if you hurt her, if i hear about so much as an argument, I will beat your ass. Clear?” 

“Crystal,” Kniesy says, slipping an arm around your waist and pulling you close to him. 

Auston watches as Matt pulls you away and it takes all of his strength not to rip you out of his arms and hold you close. Not to rush over and tell you that watching him with Matt made him physically ill. Tell you that he really truly does mean every single word he just said. Tell you that he would protect you to the ends of this earth. But instead, his nerves beat him, forcing him to watch you walk away with Knies’ jersey on your back. 

AND ONE

“Go away!!” you yell, ignoring the knocks on the front door of your apartment. 

“I have a key ya know!” you hear Auston yell back and you cross your arms, purposefully sinking further back into the couch. 

“Fuck off!” 

Unfortunately, Auston is not deterred by your use of curse words. He uses his spare key, swinging the door open to your apartment and letting himself in. You listen as his steps get closer until he’s leaning over the couch and you’re looking at his face staring down at you. 

“Yes?” you ask and Auston frowns when your voice gets quiet. 

“Scoot,” he says, forcing you to sit up and pushes you over until he can take a seat next to you on the couch. “What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing,” you state, shrugging your shoulders in hopes that the action stops Auston from continuing his questioning. 

“Bullshit. What happened?” 

“Me and Matt broke up? I mean we weren’t dating seriously in the first place and I broke up with him but I mean it just sucks Aus I haven’t had a boyfriend in forever and every time I meet a really nice guy and start to date him something happens and I feel like I always fuck it up or,” 

“Woah!!” Auston exclaims, grabbing your hands in his so you pause your rambling to look at him. 

“Any guy that breaks up with you is a massive fucking idiot,” he says and you can’t help the laugh bubbling up from your throat. 

“I’m serious!” he continues and the words are so intense you stop to look at Auston. 

“You deserve someone who makes you feel like you’ve been struck by fucking lightning.” 

Your eyes search his for a moment and find pure sincerity. As much as Auston was praying that person was him, he loved you so much that he knew he could live if you felt that way for someone else. As long as you were happy, like over the moon in love, giddy, singing in the rain, huge cliche type happy, he was happy. He lived for you. He lived for your smile. 

“Auston?” you finally ask and he moves closer at the sound of his name. 

He leans in, one hand coming up to carefully cup your cheek and his eyes stay locked to yours to make sure what he was doing was okay. His thumb brushes over your top lip, causing them to separate before settling on the top of your cheek. Your hand lands on his thigh, squeezing lightly and moving closer as Auston’s other hand slides to your other cheek. 

His eyes flicker between yours and your lips before he finally leans in, connecting the two of you head to toe like you always should have been. The kiss is short and sweet at first, but when Auston tugs you closer you find yourself moving to straddle his lap and the kiss deepens. When there's no more air left between you two you part and the smile that rests on your face is surely there to stay for eternity. 

“Lightning, huh?” you ask and Auston grins, pressing his lip to yours once more. 

[jackhues]

karma - auston matthews

notes: this is based off of @matthewshisch's idea (karma is the guy on the leafs)! so s/o to her <3 also, reader is a singer :)) AND gif not mine !

likes are good, reblogs are better!

being a celebrity meant that no matter what, one thing would always be a fixed thing in your life. and that was the rumours.

one week you were dating a new guy. the next, you were engaged to some kid from your hometown. the next week, you were back with your ex.

no matter what, the dating rumours always flew around you. maybe the fact that you never made it public with anyone fuelled those even more. whatever the case, it was funny reading them.

especially when you thought about what you had planned for tonight.

a knock sounded on your door, followed by a familiar voice, "did someone order some flowers?"

you couldn't help the smile growing on your face as you made eye contact with auston in the mirror.

you were in your dressing room at the stadium, getting ready for the opening night of your multi-month tour. you'd worked hard to get to where you were now -- one of the most successful female artists in the world.

and right there by your side, supporting you for the past year, was none other than auston matthews, your boyfriend. you'd met at a leafs game years ago, but he'd only reached out to you just over a year before. ever since then, the two of you kept your relationship under wraps for the most part, doing your best to just enjoy your time together without the media's comments.

you'd talked about going public before, but for the most part, decided to let life take it's course. of course... tonight would be a pretty big surprise.

"hi, you made it," you got up from your chair, sinking into his arms for a hug.

"i wouldn't miss this for the world," he responded, placing a kiss to the top of your head. "it's my girl's big day. first tour in almost three years. nothing's gonna stop me from being here."

you grinned stupidly to yourself, finding auston's words so comforting and sweet. even after a whole year, he managed to make you feel giddy.

"i'm really happy you're here," you whispered, pulling away. "oh! i've got a surprise for you, but i can't give it to you right now. i'll give it after, okay?"

"a surprise for me?" auston repeated. "it's your day."

"hush, i wanted to do it," you said.

another knock sounded on your door, and your assistant, jenny, poked her head in. "y/n, we've got to start in ten. let's go. auston, mark's got your seat saved. head over quick, or someone'll spot you."

"that's not a big deal," auston waved it off. "if someone spots me, they spot me. it's not the end of the world."

"well, fact remains, we need y/n right now," she said. "c'mon, you can have her back when she's done her show."

"i'll see you soon," you kissed auston, before following jenny out to your position.

you adjusted your earpiece, waiting for the lights to dim. as soon as they did, the platform you were standing on moved higher, allowing you to enter directly on stage.

the lights turned back on, and the crowd went wild.

"let the show begin," you whispered to yourself.

---

"'cause karma is the thunder," you sang, "rattling your ground. karma's on your scent like a bounty hunter. karma's gonna track you down."

the crowd waved their flashlights in the air, following you as you continued dancing to the beat of the song, singing along. getting closer and closer to the surprise you planned for auston.

"step by step from town to town," you continued. "sweet like justice, karma is a queen. karma takes all my friends to the summit..."

you paused for half a second, allowing production to ready themselves and for the crowd to pay attention to the small change.

"karma is the guy on the leafs, coming straight home to me!"

you stomped on the mark, blue sparklers going off on either side of the stage -- matching with the colour of your dress and the leafs' colours.

the crowd screamed as you continued your performance, losing their minds at the confirmation that you and auston were dating.

"cause karma is my boyfriend," you locked eyes with auston in the crowd, noticing him smiling widely to himself as people nearby recorded the interaction. winking at him, you continued your song, "karma is a god."

the crowd continued chanting throughout the song, no one truly getting over the lyric change you'd done.

you had a feeling there were gonna be rumours about this for a while.

---

tags : @woodruff-edwards , @austinbutlerscaresme ,  @svechnikovvv ,  @hockeyboysarehot , @emptyflowerpots ,  @mysticaldonkey , @lam-ila ,  @babydollmarauders , @starjoyyy  ,  @kjohnson-91 , @gavinbrindley, @hischierdevils , @jackhughesily  , @panarin10 ,  @equallyshaw ,   @power2myheart  ,  @lynnismypseudonym , @beccaiscold , @akengii , @nowandkei , @cinnamonpancakes , @mitchymainer , @lifeofpriya ,  @marshmallow-babe, @hughesx3 ,  @emsully2002  ,  @starsandhughes , @huggy-hischier73 ,  @doglady5678 , @thatoneblog , @exonct07 @hughesmedicine , @qwanelledingele , @mindless-rock , @ireadthensuetheauthors , @huggy-hischier94, @slaythehousedownboots , @diary-of-jj

join my main taglist!

[brainddeadd]

Heyy!! I was wondering if u could write a Joseph woll smut with the prompts 4 and 16 from ur smut scenario list pls. **Totally cool if u don’t want to** btw love ur stories❤️💙

Joseph Woll x fem!reader

4) Slow sex while one or both are injured

16) Accidental i love you’s during sex 

Nonnie, my lovely, I love writing smut, but this just felt like it needed a fade to black cute ass scene.

Thank you for the love 🤍 I'm glad you like my writing!

Joseph sat on the edge of the bed, carefully peeling off his shirt, wincing as the movement pulled at his sore shoulder. It had been a rough game, and though the trainers had given him the okay to rest at home, the bruises and stiffness were starting to settle in. You stood nearby, watching him with concern, but also a gentle warmth in your eyes.

"You sure you’re okay?" you asked softly, stepping forward to stand between his legs, your hands gently brushing his hair back from his forehead.

He gave you a reassuring smile, though it didn’t quite mask the discomfort on his face. "Yeah, just a little sore."

Your hands moved to his shoulders, gently massaging the tense muscles as you stood there, feeling the heat of his skin under your fingers. The room was quiet, just the soft hum of the night outside and the sound of your breathing filling the space.

“Let me help you relax,” you whispered, leaning down to kiss his temple.

Joseph’s breath hitched slightly, his hands instinctively finding your waist, pulling you closer. “You’re already helping.”

Before long, you found yourself lying beside him, bodies pressed together as you moved slowly against him, careful not to aggravate his injuries. Every touch was deliberate, your lips brushing against his with a tenderness that made his pulse race. His hands roamed over your skin with the same careful consideration, as if he didn’t want to rush anything, didn’t want to miss a single second.

The slow pace was intoxicating, a gentle rhythm that allowed you both to savor every moment, every small gasp, every whispered word.

“I love you,” Joseph breathed out suddenly, the words tumbling from his lips in a moment of vulnerability.

You froze for a heartbeat, your eyes meeting his. The confession hung in the air, thick and raw, neither of you sure what to say next.

But then, your lips curved into a soft smile, and you leaned down to kiss him again, the answer clear in the way you moved against him. "I love you too," you whispered against his mouth, the words slipping out like they’d always been there.

The rest of the night unfolded in that same slow, deliberate way—each kiss, each touch carrying more weight, more meaning now that the truth had been spoken. And though his injuries kept things gentle, the connection between you both was stronger than ever.

As you lay together afterward, your limbs tangled in the sheets, Joseph pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, his thumb gently tracing circles on your back. Neither of you needed to say anything else; the quiet comfort of the moment was enough.

[ifimdreaming]

Any chance you could write some fluff about taking care of Matthew Knies after his concussion?

blurb!

you're supposed to be resting

matthew knies x reader || fluff

summary: basically eaxctly was was requested, and matthew is very stubborn

author's note: im so sorry this took so long! ive been super busy lately

word count: 1k

-

you didn't even have to open the front door before you could hear the sound of the tv playing, you knew matthew was watching the leafs play. Having supposed to be essentially on bed rest after his concussion, it infuriated you to know he wasn't taking it completely seriously.

You told him you werent coming over until later so you knew he wasnt expecting you, but you couldnt stand knowing he was home alone, probably not taking care of himself like he should be

You open the door and see matt click the tv off immediately. He looks over at you with a knowing look and you shake your head back at him. After closing the door behind you, you kick your shoes off and head to the kitchen to put away the food you bought for the weekend. 

“Hi baby, you're here early…” matthew says finally 

“What are you doing?” you ask, seeing as he is sitting on the couch with no tv on

“Im…uh” he starts, “don't lie.” you say, breaking him

“Fine, I turned the game on. But I swear I was only going to watch for a minute. It was killing me.” 

You roll your eyes and head over to sit beside him on the couch. You knew it killed him not to be able to play tonight, let alone attend the game. But he was under strict rules not to watch any screens or devices, as to not worsen his concussion. 

“I know matty” you say as you sit right next to your boyfriend, cuddling into his side and lifting your legs to rest bent on his lap. He wraps his arm around you, pulling you tighter and resting his hand on your butt

“How about i distract you” you suggest, knowing it would eat him alive anyway, just listening to the game and not being able to watch

“Hm. i like that idea” he says, leaning his head back against the couch and closing his eyes tightly. You could tell the brightness of the room was irritating him

“Hey! how bout we go upstairs and cuddle, yeah?” you knew if you suggested he lay down in a dark room without you he would not be very happy about that. He hated this recovery period, so honestly the most effective method in helping him recover was treating him like a little kid and making things sound like the best idea ever. 

“Id love that” he says, lifting you up with him bridal style as he stands up from the couch and starts heading towards the stairs. 

“Wait! Pit stop!” you say pointing towards the kitchen and he turns on his heels

“On it” he says, obeying your demands as he carries you towards the kitchen

“Freezer please!” you say and he heads towards the freezer door. You open it and pull out an ice pack for his head. Matthew rolls his eyes, knowing you were slightly tricking him into getting the ice for himself

“Ok lets go bud.” you say sharply as you pat his chest, not giving him any time to complain 

you place the ice pack at the back of matts neck, holding it there as you head upstairs. When you reach the bedroom you swiftly turn the light off as you pass by the door, making sure the room is perfect in aiding matthews injury.

“I know what you're doing you know” matt says as he places you down on the bed

“What? Coming over to cuddle with you?” 

“Mm more like coming over to take care of me?” he says, mocking your voice and making you crack a smile. He sits beside you in the dark room as you lie in his bed, and wait for him to join you

“Well you were literally doing everything you shouldn't be doing when i walked in sooo…”

“I've been lying down all day long!” he says exasperatedly, knowing you're right 

“Well I'm here now. and I want to cuddle. So we're gonna lie down some more mkay?” you say sassily as you reach in front of you, trying to find him in the dark. You find his chest and pull him towards you by his shirt, urging him to give in to you

Matthew took this as an opportunity to place a kiss on your lips, catching you off guard. After a moment, you lean into the kiss and matthew scoots closer to you, closing the space that was between you both

Matthew passionately grabs you by the waist as he leans over your body, kissing down your neck, making his way to your chest

You pull his face up to yours and he fights to bring it down again

“Matty!” you whine and he continues kissing you cheeks after leaving bruises on your neck

“You're supposed to be resting.” you say with a laugh and he sits up on his elbows, hovering over you, and you can just tell there is a smirk on his face. 

He places a gentle kiss on your lips, ignoring your previous statement. 

“This is not resting” you say as you press your pointer finger to his lips and you can feel his smirk grow against your finger. You're trying really hard not to sound like a babysitter, but are still trying to look out for him

“Ok fine” he sighs out as he collapses beside you. With his body off of yours, you take this as an opportunity to reach down to the end of the bed and find the ice pack that was left there, swiftly placing it behind his head.

Without a word he turns his head to look at you with squinted eyes. Even in the dark, you can just see the annoyance plastered all over his face. You hold in a laugh as you adjust his pillow, continuing to care for your injured boyfriend. 

He helps you adjust the sheets as you both get undr the covers. Regardless of his feigned annoyance, you knew matthew did appreciate you and what you were doing for him. 

“Ok ok ok” Matthew says, stopping you as you are still adjusting his ice pack. he pulls you in beside him and you immediately place a hand under his shirt, moving your hand up and down his chest. Something you always did to comfort him.

 He begins placing kisses to the top of your head as you cuddle in beside him, relaxing completely under his touch

-

-

[nylwnder]

muddy mess

a/n: hiiiiiiiiiiiiii my bbs!!!!!!!!! okay, i have made you guys wait so long for this and i honestly never expected this to end up at 6k?? didn't even know i am capable of such a word count but its all for uuuu guys!! i hope you love it as much as i loved writing it (even if it took me longer than i would have wanted, in which sorry pls forgive me <3 i hate uni) i added some suggestions from u guys (like making the reader latina again!). also yes, this is indeed the end of the smutty series and i absolutely loved this opportunity to be soooo slutty with you guys!!! dw, i have a lot of ideas still flowing and i can't wait to share that during the rest of 2025 :) enjoy whores!

pairing: william nylander x latina!reader 

warnings: SMUT!! oral (f! receiving), fingering, p in v, unprotected sex, creampie, dog walker!reader, use of spanish (with translations in brackets), swearing, mutual pinning, just being lowkey obsessed with each other, pablo and banksy referred to as willy's kids (cause they are), beau mention!!!!! (my dog <333333)

word count: 6.3k

taglist:  @shoot-the-puck, @lukepangburn118 , @hawkeyefierce , @boqvistsbabe , @sweetiet , @p1tstop , @occasionallyaurora , @laurenairay , @fallinallincurls , @andrea9 , @dylpickle4791 , @biznastysloneshift12 , @dramatic-queen , @willianmylander

series masterpost 

the day was nice, one of the reasons why autumn was your favourite season. the air is a welcoming crisp, enough to wear a long sleeve or a lightly layered outfit, complimenting the bright and shining sun that grazed everyone’s faces. the city was bright with warm tones, the yellow and orange leaves littering the ground like a sunset. 

you had gotten ready in the morning to head to your first client, your only client, your favourite client. you hooked the leash on your own dog, beau, and headed out the door. walking to the apartment building you know all too well, welcoming yourself to the front desk per usual. 

once the elevator doors sprung open to the correct level, beau had made his way to the door in excitement. smelling through the crack and wagging his tail. cracking open the lock with your key, you’re met with your usual sight: three dogs greeting each other in pure joy. afterwards, the other two greet you with licks to any and all exposed skin. 

“hola chavalitos, ay si mi preciouso!” (hi kiddos, oh yes you cuties!!) you exclaim. 

you close the door behind you, as the pups run to the living room to continue saying hello. beginning to play with some toys while you grab the necessities for pablo and banksy. willy always left everything you needed neatly for you on a table everytime he left them for practice, a game or a road trip. you always appreciated his consideration, sometimes wasting far too much time trying to find a leash or a harness in a crowded mess with other clients.   

you call pablo and banksy over, kneeling down to get them all geared up while beau waits patiently beside them. “you are such good boys aren't you!” you smile, patting one before turning to set up the other. 

you must admit, you have never walked more well behaved dogs in your life. sure there was the odd excitement for a squirrel or an eager pull to the dog park, but never a hassle and always something you could manage. in all honesty, you didn't even really need the leashes, since william has accustomed them to behave perfectly fine without them. but for safety and formality, you chose to do so. 

that also meant you couldn't deny working full time for william, when he asked. with the way his schedule seemed to mesh perfectly with your life, not to mention the way beau had managed to bond with his adorably curly rascals—and william—it seemed like an easy decision. willy also made sure to meet up to expectations, to make sure it was worth it to invest all your time in him and his pups. sure, you would have done it for free, out of pure love and care for pablo and banksy… and william, but this was your job. your source of income for the moment. and will understood that. 

that also meant the butterflies and fuzzy feeling you felt whenever you would catch willy still in the apartment, fresh out of the shower, shirt nowhere to be seen and sweats hanging deliciously low around his waist, was to be pushed aside. and buried. deep, deep underground. 

you had to ignore the way your heart pounded a little faster and a little louder when his hand would gently touch your waist to catch your attention on a matter before he left. or the way his fingers would grace your own when he would take the boys’ stuff out of your hands. 

or hide the blush that laced your face when he would offer to hang out when he was back. or call you on his free days. you didn't have to say yes, maybe you really shouldn't have, to maintain a sense of independence and professionalism, but you said yes, because you wanted to. you wanted to so fucking bad. 

and you definitely had to stop feeling the small ounce of jealousy whenever you found a particular article of clothing that certainly belonged to a girl, scattered somewhere on the edge of the bed or near the back of the couch. not to mention, that one day you were met face to face by a girl in the kitchen, startled by your presence. you were about to explain yourself before william came out to introduce you to her. 

you could notice the way her eyes watched you with a layered sense of bothersome, and you couldn't help but smile. when she noticed the way william spoke to you, with joy and ease. words laced with love and gratitude. with the way he hugged you, in front of her, holding you against the stern build of his chest. his hands falling low, to the small of your back. he thanked you quietly and gently in your ear. not just for taking care of pablo and banksy, and loving them like him (if not more), but for being there for him. and with him. for making him smile. for being you. 

he did that often. 

—

you guys did your usual walk around the yorkville area. heading to the park and letting the boys roam around and enjoy their time together. you always stopped to let them smell and explore, it was their walk after all. 

you made it to the off-leash area, unhooking their leashes and closing the gate behind you, making sure no other pups escaped while you entered. the boys ran around, greeting other pups and engaging in playful games and fights. beau wasn’t too much of a social dog and easily gets overwhelmed, so after a few sniffs he makes his way back to you. he hops up on the bench that you were sitting and watching from. 

you gave him a few pets around the ears, “all done today, bubs? buen chico!” (good boy!) your phone then suddenly began to buzz in your pocket. 

standing up slightly to grab it, you see your mother’s picture on the screen. “hola mami” (hi mom) 

“mija, como estas?” (my daughter, how are you?) 

“bien mamá, estoy en el parque con los chuchitos. y tu y papi?” (i’m okay, just at the park with the dogs. how are you and dad?) 

“ay chavala, siempre estás en el parque, siempre con esos perros. cuando vas a encontrar un buen hombre mija, ah?” (you’re always at the park, and always with those dogs. when are you going to find a good man, huh?)

“mamá…” 

“william! siempre estás con ese william. y él? estás seguro de que solo cuidas a sus perritos?” (you’re always with william. what about him? are you sure you only take care of his dogs?)

“si, mamá. for the hundredth time, i'm just the dog walker.” 

“mhmm, y yo solo soy tu madre. y le has dicho que te gusta? no estoy diciendo que tengas que casarte con él mañana, pero—” (and i'm only your mom. have you told him that you like him? i'm not telling you to go marry him tomorrow but—)

“ay dios mío, mamá no estoy saliendo con william!” (oh my god, mom im not dating william!)

“entonces, por qué sientes que desearías estar saliendo con él? estoy segura de que a él también le gustas, nena.” (then why does it feel like you want to date him? i'm sure he likes you too, sweetie)

you play with your hair, standing up and turning to check on pablo and banksy, completely distracted by your mother’s interrogation. not like you should have been surprised, this isn't the first time. 

“okay. lo único que digo es que si no te arriesgas, el universo podría empujarte en la dirección correcta.” (im only saying, if you don't put yourself out there, the universe might just push you in the right direction)

“okay mamá, tengo que ir. te amo, cuidate.” (okay mom, i have to go. i love you, take care)

“te amo también, cariño. tu papá te llamará después del trabajo, vale?” (i love you too, sweetie. your dad will call you after work, okay?)

“okay, bye.”

only a single breath after your words, you find your foot slipping in a hidden patch of mud near a part of the fence. you go flying forwards, your phone tumbling down in front of you. you crunch the dry leaves on the floor and begin feeling the cold and moist ground under you. the dogs bark, coming to your face and sniffing all around you. banksy jumps on you, you gently push him down to allow yourself to get up as quickly as possible. 

this cannot be happening right now. 

groaning, covered in mud from knees to torso, you mumbled to yourself…“she cursed me”.

there weren’t many people inside the dog park at the time, that doesn’t mean you didn't feel a heavy wash of embarrassment flood over you. not to mention the fact that the people who did witness the accident didn’t offer a hand or ask if you were alright. perhaps because you leashed the dogs and left equally as quick as you fell. 

you walked all the way back to william’s apartment with a huge brown patch of dirt covering the entire front of your body. you kept your head low, and walked until you reached the comfort of the familiar sliding doors of the elevator. turning to look at the mirror behind you, you looked hilarious. 

the elevator opened and you unlocked willy’s door, letting the dogs free. you made sure to not step too far into the apartment, not wanting to make too much of a mess with your muddy shoes. you left them neatly in a corner, planning on cleaning them after you cleaned yourself up first. 

yes, you could have walked back to your apartment and gotten into your own shower. but you did not feel like walking another 10 blocks with eyes scattering towards you while you smelt like dog shit. because you did. since it probably was a mixture of both that you so beautifully chose to land on today.

william was supposed to make it home from a road trip sometime in the afternoon, so you knew you had time. plus, he had mentioned that you could use anything you wanted when you were over, “whatever you need” he assured you. anyways, you have stayed over at his place when he's been gone for long roadtrips, to ensure his boys eat well and are taken care of besides a walk. you knew the place like the back of your hand if you were being honest. hell, he’s even caught you singing to selena and dancing with the pups when he’s come home. 

did he join you? perhaps. he can't deny that he enjoyed the view. the domestic-ness of it all. it was always him & his dogs in the city they call home. but when was it going to grow by one? the one. 

that being said, you never actually used his shower before, going as far as stopping by at your own place to do anything like that. plus it allowed you to switch out the clothes you had packed. it was something you felt you should do, to establish those boundaries and solidify your professionalism. but right now, he would understand the situation that you were in. no, he wouldn't mind you assured yourself.

you walked into the bathroom, grabbing a plastic bag on your way over to put your clothes in so they wouldn’t dirty the floor. you got in, relishing in the welcoming drip of water, and awaiting the fresh and clean scent of soap. 

his body wash. it stood on the shelf before you grabbed it. the smell was intoxicating, as you poured it into your hands. it smelled like him everytime he passed by you after practice. everytime he left before a game. the days he's hugged you, the scent still lingering in his neck and his hair. 

it felt wrong. maybe you really should have gone home. but you were already in here. “its fine i’ll be done before he gets home.” you mumbled. 

clothes. what were you going to wear? no you couldn't possibly grab one of his hoodies and sweats. maybe you could put them in the washer. yes of course, thats what ill do… but what if he comes home by then? what will i wear? i’ll be naked!

you quickly scrubbed yourself clean, all over your legs and stomach, the dirt having transferred through your clothes and stained your skin. you could do this fast and he wouldn't even know you were in there. but then the door opened and you heard footsteps and waddles and happy whines coming from the dogs.

he's here. 

you heard him greet the dogs like usual, and could sense his figure getting closer towards the bathroom. he called out your name. 

ay dios mío, “in here!” 

“everything alright?” he asked, standing near a corner so that he couldn't see through his standing shower, respecting your privacy. 

“had a bit of a, um- muddy mess…” 

you heard him giggle, and you couldn’t help but feel a tad embarrassed again. he mentioned he saw your shoes at the door. 

“i’m sorry, i didn't really wanna walk all the way home like that. plus i'm pretty sure i fell in dog shit.” 

he shared a chuckle again. “that's okay, told you, whatever you need.”

you continued to rinse. “i’ll be done in a sec.” silence fell between the two of you but you could feel william hadn't moved from his spot. 

“do you want some help?” he asked. it could pass as a gentle, genuine and innocent question from the outside. but was it more layered than a friendly check in? oh most definitely. 

yes. yes. yes. “no i’m fine. i can manage.” 

another silence hit the air, but your mind was racing, and your mouth spoke before you had time to acknowledge that fact. 

“just, my clothes. need to wash them.” 

you heard the bag rattle from outside the shower. “could help if i rinse them under the water first” william says, tone calm and calculated. 

this between-the-lines conversation between the two of you was beginning to feel more real by the second. the feelings the two of you have for each other are beginning to get stronger and stronger. you didn't know how much longer you could rub it off. 

“is that okay?” he asked, the words like a spell lulling your rationality away. 

“yeah. thats okay.” more than okay. 

you hear a bit of shuffling before the shower door opens. your heart is racing, pounding in your ears. 

his eyes catch yours the second he makes his way inside. he makes sure to keep them there, never going down, not even if he wanted to. because he really wanted to. 

you're known to be such a poised person. presentable, confident and almost always at ease. but william makes you nervous, not like anything you’ve ever experienced. it's insane really. 

he inches closer to your figure, your clothes in his hand. you're backed up against the wall, noticing the way he's fully clothed. and the more he got closer to you the more his shirt started to get wet. and his pants and the ends of his hair. 

“willy” you mutter, soft and sweet. 

william had been fighting the urge to grab you by the hips and kiss you for two years now. a cruel amount of time really. “baby, can i?” he asks, quietly and gently. 

“mhmm” it comes out more whiney than you had anticipated. your composure completely lost. 

his lips connect with yours and they mold into each other like you’ve done it before. forming a rhythm together like it was habit. your hand dug into his hair, making a home at the nape of his neck. his body pressed into yours, your nipples hard against his cold wet shirt. you felt a shiver overcome you when his lips parted yours for a breath. 

“you pinche cabrón” (fucking asshole) 

“excuse me?” he asks playfully, with a smirk on his face. he knows the word, he's heard it plenty from you. 

“you made me wait that long?” you say, looking up and gaining a bit of your confidence back. 

“i made you wait? what about me?” he said, a smile on his face. 

“it's not my fault you didn't ask me earlier.”

“well i asked you now..” he says, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you in for another kiss. 

“you better show me what i've been missing for two years” you say against his lips, with a smirk.  

“oh älskling, you don't even know.” he says, looking down at you with his signature grin. you giggle back, god you're a sucker for him.  

he hangs your clothes over the gap of the shower door while you tug at his own. he pulls his shirt up and over his head looking down for the first time since he came in here. 

a part of him feels the need to look away, to give you your privacy, but as you stand there before him, your skin covered in water droplets, warm against his own, he can’t do anything but stare. he takes in the curve of your breasts and how the light coming into the shower softly hits your nipples. his hands feel their way down your body, caressing the curves of your hips. his hands continue making their way down, rubbing over your ass and squeezing the bottom of them. a hushed moan escapes you. 

“you're beautiful. truly beautiful.” he says, one of his hands reaching for the back of your head, making you look up at him and smile. blushing just a bit, you're not immune to his charm. you’ll never be. 

his finger comes up and wipes off a smudged mark of mud from your jaw. your fingers ache to reciprocate a touch, so you bring your hand to rake down his torso, feeling the tufts of hair that litter his chest all the way down to the lines that sculpt him. you can feel the heat radiating off of him, alluring and comforting. 

your fingers go for his pants button, willy looking down as you unbutton them and yank them down, along with his boxers. he helps kick them off, grabbing them and hanging them near your own. 

you really don’t know what else to do but stare. “bueno mierda” (well, fuck) you whisper subtly. 

he grabs your chin and tilts your head back up towards him, letting his lips meet yours once again. his arms wrap around your lower back, making you arch off the wall and press yourself against him. water fell through the cracks between the two of you. sliding over your body, you don't know how much it's masking the pool between your thighs.  

you try your best to buck your hips, trying to seek any friction against william, his cock getting hard against you making you spiral. sensing your neediness for a while now, he gives you one last kiss before making his way down, leaving a kiss between your boobs and one on the curved line below your stomach. you hear your heart beating in your ears again, equally as hard as the thud in your core. 

his mouth leaves a sloppy wet kiss right on your clit. “got such a pretty pussy, princess” 

“willy” you moan, he looks up at you with a smirk.

“what's wrong baby?” he asks sweetly, hands on the sides of your thighs. 

you give out a whimper, “please” 

“what do you want, älskling?” he wants to pry those words out of you.

“eat me.” por favor!!!!! 

“that's it, sweets.” he praises, not a single word said without that stupid smile. you keep feeling it against your folds, when his tongue licks a long stripe against your pussy. he groans at your taste doing it once again and again and again. you should be embarrassed by the way your thighs are shaking by his head, william in love with just how reactive you are to his touch. to him. 

“feel better, baby?” 

you internally scoff. “more” you mutter, jerking your hips. 

his smirk takes a bite out of your clit, rolling and sucking it. he moves back down, his tongue piercing your aching hole, his nose bumping into you, your eyes roll back. he was trying to be sweet, soft, gentle—he really was—but you, god, you drive him fucking crazy and all too quickly he's getting rough as he delivers hard sucks to your clit, mouthing at your pussy. your sweet sounds echoing in the small space, it's downright sinful that you could hear the way he's eating you out, even against the shower, the slurps and licks of a man starved ring in your ears.

his eyes flicker up to you to watch the way your face contorted in pleasure so gracefully. he's surrounded by your smell, the warmth of your thighs and your moans and he wouldn't want it any other way. you can't form a coherent thought, your mind is gone and all you can focus on is how good his tongue feels on you, how he eats you with such hunger, dedication and consideration no other man has taken the time to feed you. he lets you grind against his face, lets you use him for your pleasure.

“fuck!” you moan. the tight tug on his hair and your heavy breathing alerts william that you're close. moving his hands up to your hips, he pulls himself up, wasting no time to stick two fingers inside of you. you open your eyes and find his own, glowing with lust, and your lips part when you feel his cock lined up to your entrance, pushing in with one strong thrust. god, he slips all the way in. fills you up so full that you cry, stutter a sob, breath caught in the back of your throat. brain going cloudy, body melting into his and you question if this is real.

but then william grabs you by the ass to wrap your legs around his, pinning you to the cold tiled wall of the shower and you want his arms to keep you stable and grounded. one of his hands is glued to your side, the other kneading one of your breasts, pinching your nipple and making you bite your lip to suppress your moans. 

“you’re so tight, älskade” willy says, suppressing his own whimper. your walls contract around him as he speaks, as his mouth leaves kisses to your collarbone and teeth graze your pulse point. 

a few thrusts was all you needed. 

all you needed until a mumbling spanish mess escapes you. where your hands scratch into william’s shoulder and willy groans at the overwhelming grip you have on him, both inside and out. where your core is a warm and wet and snug nirvana. 

the water hitting you wakes you back up, helps you blink back into reality. held by your utopia, except the man in front of you is real this time, and not just the leading man of your dreams. the face you would pray for at a time you never thought that any of this could happen, that you could never be together.

you keep asking yourself what was that rule you felt you were breaking, when you look into his eyes now. sure, he was your employer, but what HR department can forbid this? when you are two grown adults in a mutual agreement with shared love for two poodle mixes. when the two of you bonded and understood each other more than some of the couples you would see out on the streets and at events. it wasn't pretend between the two of you. it never would be. how could it be? this is the realest thing that could be happening to someone. 

“been thinking about this the second i met you” he murmurs against your lips.

you whined again, pulling him closer with your arms, desperate for more. “then don’t stop”

his grin is contagious, you swear. and you can't help but giggle when he turns the water off and carries you all the way to the bed. throwing you gently on the mattress, letting his cock slip out of you momentarily. 

your wet curls flicker water droplets to your face and neck. william shakes his head and more fall off, each one falling on you. you’re a giggling mess, pushing him gently by the chest and telling him to stop. he shares a laugh, leaning in to kiss you for what seems like the millionth time in the past sequence you two have shared. and yet it's not enough. he needs more, to feel and taste every single crevice of you. love every single atom of your body.

his tongue licks the smeared wetness on your neck, leaving open mouth kisses on the droplets that remain untouched on your skin. your skin grows hot yet goosebumps appear one by one over your figure. the reaction your body has to him is confusing and exhilarating. william is caressing parts of yourself you hadn’t known existed, and each with little fuss. he moves, and you fall apart at the seams. he breathes, and you would crumble at his feet. he looks your way, and you are prepared to kneel at his altar. you get lost in the moment, in his mesmerizingly blue eyes and upturned mouth. 

he licks a stripe up your stomach and a shiver rolls over you. his mouth then attaches to one of your breasts and a gasp escapes you. he rolls it around in his mouth and sucks, reciprocating the action to the other one. your hand moves to the nape of his neck, sharing a light tug on the strands that sat there. “will” you whined, relishing in the movements of his mouth, however eager to feel him deep inside you again. 

“m’sorry sweets” he says, apologizing for his little sidequest. you were just so mesmerizing, he couldn't help but get distracted by you. you smile while he looks up at you. he grabs your hips and shifts you higher up the bed, so your head could lay near a pillow that he dragged down for you. 

he fits in between the slot of your open legs perfectly, leans down to greet your lips so swiftly, grabs the back of your thighs with grace and lifts them to sit on his shoulders with ease. “this okay, älskling?” 

“perfect” you reply, hands gripping his forearms tightly. slowly, he guides himself to your entrance again, rubbing the tip against your clit before swiping down and pushing in. he gives a good hearty thrust, making sure to bottom out, and your breath stutters. you will never get enough of the way he stretches you. 

your fingers move upwards on his arms, letting your nails gently graze him. you look up at him, memorizing every single crease and crevice on his body. he's licking his lips, watching the way your eyes explore him and your cheeks blush at him reciprocating the action. both of you engrossed by the idea of being together like this, while he's stuffed deep inside you, like your cum isnt all over his mouth and fingers and cock. 

will you two ever get enough of each other? no, you simply couldn’t. 

william leans into you more, feeling the way your thighs push into your body. his thrusts began to find a steady pace, one that feeds every single spongy part inside you. the sound of your pussy squelching fills your ears, followed by william’s soft moans, the grumble spilling into your open mouth as he lays a kiss. 

“goddamn sweets, hear how wet you are for me?”

a pathetic whine leaves your lips. the sounds coming from the two of you are so lewd but your toes curl and your head spins and your heart pounds and it's the best fucking feeling you have ever experienced in the world. 

you have never had a man take the time for you. make sure he reaches parts of your body that you weren’t even sure were there. now you know and you don’t ever want to go back.

“cariño” you moan, yanking at the chain that sits around his neck. you pull him down to you, biting down on his lips as you clench around and you hear a whimper escape him. 

the effect he has on you is the same as you have on him. the way you look up at him, with so much love and appreciation. like he is capable of giving you everything you have ever wanted, his heart cant help but swell. he cant help but make sure you feel that love back, cause fuck do you deserve it more than him sometimes. for everything you have ever done for him, for being undeniably you every single fucking day and giving him the priveledge to witness that as close as he has. he's been enamoured by you for so long, he didn't know what to do for much longer if he couldn't have you. 

as both your needs become more demanding, his hips begin to slap against yours. moans and whines slip past your lips before you can even begin to try and stop them, and you cry out as he continues to speed up. the noises he is drawing from your body are embarrassing if you didn't adore the way he feels inside of you to the point that you can think of nothing else. you wish to be like this as much as you can, full to the brim with his cock.

he begins to twitch inside you the more you begin to tighten around him. he even felt it hard to exit you with the way you squeezed him so hard, like you feared he would leave and never come back. he has never felt this deliciously overwhelmed. 

not too long after, you feel a warmth calm the pressure in your stomach, both of you having a sense of heavenly pleasure wash over you, one you both only dreamed of sharing together. one william would wake up in the morning to, cock hard and sore against his boxers. like he didn't have to act normal around you when you came to pick up the kids, but his cheeks couldn’t help but blush. 

“attagirl” he whispers in your ear, as you take all of his cum with open legs in one single final thrust. you blush at the feeling, at his words, at the fact that he has marked you, a silent call that you are his and he is yours and there's no looking back. 

he slides out of you, letting your legs fall slowly to the sides and wrapping his arms around your back, arching you off the bed and pulling you to sit in his lap. he moves the two of you so that he can sit against a pillow and his headboard. your lips connect with his, kissing as your conjoined cum begins to drip out of you and into william’s lap. 

you look back to see, and begin to feel a little shy, a ball of butterflies forming in your stomach, the ones that frequently visit you when you’re around will. you tuck your face into his neck scooting closer to him, wrapping your legs around his form. “you're so hot, baby” willy says, knowing his praise will make you feel less embarrassed by the crude site. 

little does he know his praise makes you all the more needy. 

you feel a desire deep in your core again, and you grind your wet pussy against his softening cock—a surge of confidence has come back to you. 

he gives out a little moan into your hair, hands moving to your hips where he squeezes. “you want more, älskade?” 

you bite your lip, “is that okay?” you can't get enough of him, sue me! you think to yourself. 

“i thought you'd never ask” he replies with a smirk, and you can't help but giggle back. 

you place your hands on his thick shoulders, letting yourself slide down onto him. both of you gasped, he went in so easy with your conjoined juices still around your walls. you rested there for a second, leaning your head back with a moan. you feel william twitch inside you, more sensitive to your core than before. 

“you’re so pretty like this,” willy mutters, slotting his lips over yours, “stuffed with my cock.”

“oh my god,” you quiver, shaking your head, begging for him to just shut up cause he’s making you lightheaded. he’s so deep inside of you, hitting that spot so far back that you so deliciously discovered today. his cock keeps twitching every now and then, forcing a pout onto your lips as he looks at you. you haven’t even moved and you feel so fucking close already.

you begin to roll your hips around, letting his pubic bone rub your clit every time you grind down. willliam’s hands move up your sides, cupping your boobs as they sway with your movements. he shares a whimper at the sight, as you start bouncing on him. though it isn’t much longer before your thighs begin to shake, already inching closer to that sweet release. 

willy wraps his hands around your frame, tightly pressing you into him as he lays down and thrusts up into you. you whimper repeatedly, body instinctively tightening, and he groans roughly, as if the way you clamp down around him is testing every last ounce of his control. 

as william’s thrusts get faster, they also get sloppier. he’s insanely pussydrunk and the only thing going through his mind is you. your name, how good you feel, how pretty you look. you're biting his neck as he pumps into you, sure you're seeing stars as the divine sting between your legs continues. 

you both don’t seem to last long, getting lost in each other once again. willy’s hand is in your hair, digging his fingertips deep into your scalp and yanking just a bit. his own thighs stutter and shake a bit as he cums into your already drenched cunt again. your pussy makes sure to milk every last drop from him as you needily bite another mark into his neck. you’ve wanted to mark him for so long now. 

now you can.

—

you lay against his pillows, the aftershocks still honey-sweet where they thud in your core. your legs still recovering from their jelly-like state as you have them sprawled out. william’s head resting on your propped up thigh. looking up at you while you played with his hair. he reciprocated the tender affection by rubbing small circles on your other thigh. 

he looked at you in awe. proud that he finally had succumbed to his love for you. that he didn't have to keep holding back, telling himself he couldn’t touch you, or kiss you, or spend every waking moment with you. that you didn't have to go home and leave him every time. he couldn’t stop thinking about you since the moment you were mentioned as an avid dog lover by his teammates, a recommended nanny for his boys. he couldn’t get over the way pablo and banksy were so loving and friendly with you on your first meeting and every single one thereafter. the way they would wait for you every single time. 

you are the one.

“when do you have to go?” you asked. 

“like 4 hours or so…” you liked that answer, smiling and running your hands through his hair again. even so, it wasn’t enough. this was your first taste of intimate, domestic life with willy. you didn't want to let go of it yet…. dreaming of staying in this apartment with him, not leaving until you’re left weak in the knees, reaching unwritten orgasm records. just all of it, you want all of it.

“can you wait till the very last minute?” 

“come with me. wear the jersey i got you and come with me.” the jersey in mention obviously being his own. you wore it to a game already once, and felt the tension with him when he came over to greet you after the game, the way his eyes hit yours and his hands lingered around you and the way his jaw seemed strained and tight every time he would see his name written on your back. you went home incredibly flustered that night, that you can admit.

“i can finally do what i was dying to do last time.” he says mischievously, your pussy throbbed at the thought. a thought you had since that night, and one your pathetic fingers couldn't have possibly held up to. 

“hm, but i was going to invite mi papa,” you joked, your purposeful mood killer. seeing the way he rolled his eyes and huffed. “he would love to see you, he loved the game last time.”

“another day, i promise. just not tonight, please.” he says, grabbing you by the hips and bringing you down the bed to reach eye to eye. his cock now tucked against your thigh, semi-soft. 

“fine, but he would have loved to see you guys fuck the bolts.” you both giggle. 

“you better win, by the way. or no extracurricular activities like you have planned out in that head.” 

“is that a threat?” his grin unsurprisingly present.

“you bet on it” you inch closer to his face, words spoken against his lips. “necesitas ganártelo, cariño.” (you need to earn it, honey) william understands your challenge.

“well i will, you can mark my words.” he says, giving your plushy hips a squeeze. his lips envelope yours in a series of kisses, arms wrapping around his neck. 

maybe this would have happened eventually—once you both stepped over this nonexistent barrier between the two of you—but god are you grateful that being covered in shit brought you to this bliss. 

…maybe your mom was right after all.

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[cuteandhughesy]

Don’t Ever Let Me Go | Brandon Carlo (F1 AU)

summary: mclaren; the home of your superstar, race car driver brother. ferrari; the home of said brothers biggest rival, brandon carlo. brandon carlo is good. good at racing, seducing woman and displaying the perfect combination of charisma and determination. he’s also good at keeping secrets, one that includes you.

[word count] 30.5k (this is a movie, buckle up)

paring: f1 driver! brandon carlo x reader

warnings: NSFW! forbidden romance | brothers rival | 5 year age gap | frienemies to lovers | kissing | swearing | miss communication | angst | fast cars lol | reader is described as kinda uptight? very orderly | smut | fingering | brief p in v intercourse | read at your own discretion

a/n: i’ve been in such an F1 kick recently and what better way to celebrate my fav player coming to my fav team by combining the two! 🏎️🧡 also prepare for spelling mistakes and grammar errors per usual!

🎵 sports car by tate mcrae

───────── 🏎️ ─────────

"stay close to me." your brothers voice is barley audible above the roar of the crowd. what feels like hundreds of F1 fans are screaming and watching at every turn, all repping various teams colours and logos. flashes of orange and red and greens among the others. cheering kids and starstruck adults combined with reporters, all scattered throughout the area for media day makes it almost impossible to focus on anything other then the bustling atmosphere.

mat looks at you over his shoulder, clad in mclean orange. he eyes you with a mixture of curiosity and excitement. curiosity stemming from your lack of response to his rather firm demand, and well, the excitement self explanatory.

and you feel it too, weighing heavy in your chest as your brothers first professional season nears an opening. in just a week he'll be living out his dream in a mclaren race car—zipping around the track the only way he knows how to. with precision.

"this is insane," you mumble into your brothers back, the logo for mcleran starting back at you. that in itself has an uncontainable grin forming over your lips.

mat smirks. the corner of his top lip curling upwards. "I can't fucking believe this, y/n."

it doesn't feel real yet—even with paparazzi cameras flashing in your and mat's face, kids shouting his name with adrenaline lacing their voices. it still feels like a dream, for you and your brother. it seems like just yesterday the both of you were kids, eyes wide with excitement as you watch talented drivers zip around a track.

mat has always loved mclaren, ever since he was old enough to make the conscious decision to pick a favourite team. and with him being your older brother, you had followed his lead with almost everything—including his interest in F1.

go kart racing for birthdays, and pretending his tiny toy cars where the real deal—zipping around the living room and kitchen with them clutched in your hands. mat has always dreamed of driving for mclaren, and he worked his fucking ass off to get here. he deserves it, without a doubt.

with his first race only a week away, he was understandably nervous. mat was prepared—he always is—but still nervous nonetheless. this is a big fucking deal. for him and you and your entire family. so when your brother asked if you wanted to join him on his first season, travel the world and watch him compete, of course your answer was yes.

it sure as hell beat staying at home and doing nothing but waiting for a university acceptance letter to come through—like you've been doing for the past two years. it's been a pathetic journey really. picking an art program at one of most prestigious universities back home when you knew the chances of getting accepted were low. but it's what you've planned to do, so you keep at it. even when it feels impossible.

so yeah, traveling with your brother and his f1 team beats moping around for another year at home.

the cool burst of air conditioning rushes over your skin as mat pushes open the double glass doors into the media building—goosebumps puckering over your skin. the chaos is more controlled inside, mostly due to the fact that the building is for drivers, team personals and reporters only. it's essentially media central to promote the upcoming season. which is obviously vital to your brother and the mclaren team.

if you're likeable with the media, you're going to go far. watching formula 1 for as long as you have, you've seen plenty of drivers—and you know how much a negative persona can change the tone of their career.

banners line the hallway, the faces of this seasons drivers staring back at you. each set of banners are displayed above their teams respective media spot, making it easy for reports and journalists to find who they're looking for. it's already busy though, and it's barley even started. a mix of people—some dressed in casual wear, while others in business suits—walking around frantically, setting up for the long day ahead.

you spot the familiar orange quickly, and so does your brother—both of you blindly making your way down the hall and towards the mclaren area. mat keeps getting stopped, usually by event coordinators and management. you don't really pay attention to what they're talking about. the building is too bustling, making it almost impossible to focus in on one thing, much like outside.

a flash of red at the end of the hall catches your eye, and the ferrari logo has your heart doing a funny little jump. because yes, like you said earlier, you and mat have always been all in on mclaren. but when you turned 15, something about ferrari caught your attention—or rather someone.

speaking of drivers with personalities. brandon carlo was 20 back then—5 years older than you, making your teenage heart thump wildly and spine tingle in a way it never had. you simply thought he was hot. turning 15 brought on a whole new wave of emotions, including lust—which was just embarrassing. and brandon carlo was the sight of your infatuation. you even had a few posters of him on your bedroom wall—god you're pretty sure there is still one in your closet. and you know there’s one on your wall.

you didn’t have the heart to take them down. always the sentimental one.

but as you got older—and as brandon got older—you realized a few things about ferraris golden boy. brandon carlo is good. good at racing, that much is obvious. but he's also good at seducing woman and displaying the perfect combination of charisma and determination. which in other words, is a PRs worst nightmare.

years of reading articles and reports about fuckboy ferrari superstar, quickly snapped your crush away and out of your head. brandon carlo would be dangerous, and full of surprises—two things you hate. not that you ever had a chance, but regardless. he's flirtatious and a party boy and just...not the kinda personality you'd get along with.

mat's voice has you snapping out of your embarrassing stare, tearing away your eyes from the posterized picture of brandon carlo and his gray eyes. the eyes you used to dream about.

"i've gotta go get my mic put on, you wanna come watch the interviews?" he asks you, voice still raised so ensuring you're able to hear him. the main door swings open behind you, a wave of screeching fans disrupting your hearing before the door shuts again.

however, once mat takes one look at your wonder struck face, he's shaking his head—a mixture of amusement and understanding. mat lets out a breathy chuckle, "you wanna check everything out don't you."

you send your brother a sheepish grin, "so badly." you can't help it—this building is quite literally a dream. there's tables full of merch and drivers walking around and team representatives and it's all just so surreal. every corner, booth and open door is calling your name.

mat laughs again, "I get it, fuck I wish I could join you." his agent, a young pretty girl who barley reaches his shoulder, sends him an unimpressed look. that only makes mat grin. "kidding, i'm very exited for interviews," he corrects himself.

"i'll send you pictures of everything, matty." you pat his shoulder reassuringly, "good luck today." you send a look to his agent.

"thanks," he breathes.

you quirk a brow sarcastically, "I was taking to your agent—god knows she'll have her hands full with you today." interview and media days were not for the weak—especially for someone who's never done them before. and with someone like your brother, who is so far from being properly media trained...let's just say she'll need all the good fortune she can get.

"har har." he grumbles, making your smirk grow tenfold. "stay out of trouble." mat tells you, already beginning to make his way toward the mcleran lounge with his agent at his side—the latter already adjusting his mess of hair to look presentable.

you salute in his general direction, eyes already on the booths, "always do."

you weave through people naturally, eyes wide as you take in everything. the smell of rubber tires and various colognes and perfumes clog your nostrils—it makes you feel like you're in the stands at your very first F1 grand prix. a bright smile pulls at your mouth at the thought, continuing to causally walk through the building scattered with media and management companies.

you're already excited for the season and the actual racing hasn't even started yet. you tighten your spring jacket around your torso as you walk under an AC duct, driver pass digging into your sternum uncomfortably. but you don't even care because it's a reminder that it's there—a reminder that you're here.

this is your idea of a perfect carnival. the rides replaced with model cars and screaming kids kept outside. whatever, call you a grinch but kids are unpredictable and so are rides. you prefer order and predictably—life is easier that way. when everything is planned out, it makes everything flow smoothly. that's why you can't give up on art school. you've already started planning your life around art, and changing that is scary. so even when it feels like you can't do it—don't want to do it anymore—you push through and persevere.

you make it to the end of the long hallway, down to the ferrari room. surprisingly the door is open, giving you a nice view of the red leather couches and walls full of sponsorships logos. there's nobody in the room, which is another surprise. the space intrigues you. you tell yourself it's because it's an F1 room, and not because it's ferrari specifically—but it all feels tomato tamato.

you gnaw your lip, taking a quick peek over your shoulder to ensure nobody wearing red is coming towards you. the coast is clear. it can't hurt to look around, right? after all, it's not like you shouldn't be in the building—you have a pass.

with all that in mind, you step past the threshold and into the room. your blood bubbles with excitement as you stare at the various memorabilia. shirts and jackets on a rack, ferrari pillows lining the couches and racing helmets displayed on a wall of shelves.

your shoes click on the ceramic white tiles as your body naturally gravitates towards the wall of helmets. you shoot another cautious look towards the door, ensuring you're alone. with a shrug, you pick up one of the red helmets to examine it.

"fucking hell," you curse lowly. it's surprisingly heavy, definitely heavier than the ones you used to wear go karting with mat as kids. it makes sense though, with the speed these drivers are hitting, protection is vital.

you can't help yourself from slipping the helmet on, covering your face completely. the buzz of the air conditioning unit becomes muffled under the helmet, and really the only sounds you can hear is your own breathing. you smile, flipping down the tinted visior.

a laugh bubbles out your chest as you spin, catching sight of yourself in the mirror. you look a bit ridiculous, mostly because the helmet is way too big for the broadness of your shoulders. so much so that you resemble a bug.

you snap a picture and send it to mat with a horse emoji attached, which you're sure he'll hate. which like you suspected, he does—a reply coming through only a minute later that says nothing besides yuck.

you pocket your phone just as the sound of a voice grows closer. through the mirror you watch a body clad in ferrari red entire the room, and panic bubbles in your chest. you know you should move, take off the helmet and excuse yourself, but your feet are cemented to the polished tiles under your boots.

brandon carlo looks at you—or rather the back of you, his brow raised curiously. even through the tint on the visor covering your eyes, you can see he looks even better than he does in the posters. he's also way taller than you expected—the kind of tall that makes you feel small regardless of how tall you may be.

his hair looks like it was styled, but he's been running his fingers through it repeatedly, messing it up and giving him a rugged look. through the mirror you watch him look you up and down—blatantly checking you out.

you're mortified. and flustered. and feel ridiculous with a helmet over your head. clearly, brandon isn't angry—too busy eyeing your jean covered ass to feel annoyed, in this moment anyways. and that thought has you moving, spinning around to face him quickly.

his gray eyes lazily slide up to your face—or rather, the helmet covering your face. but that doesn't deter him from looking at you with an expression you can't quite place on his face. brandon gives you what looks like a half smirk, making his way towards you. his calm and cocky demeanour has your breath hitching.

you raise your hands cautiously, swallowing thick spit as he grows closer to you. "I'm sorry, I don't know what I was thinking..." you trail off when brandon reaches you. he grips the hard driver's pass hanging around your neck between his thumb and index finger, analyzing it. "y/l/n," he repeats your last name, eyes darting back towards the visor. "I think you're in the wrong room."

you nod, helmet bobbing comically. "I can see that, yes."

brandon hums and then drops your pass, the hard plastic swinging back and hitting your chest with a soft thump. it doesn't hurt, but it makes you want to shrivel in on yourself—most likely due to the fact that brandon is like...looming over you. plus now his gaze has turned a little more pointed. like he's unsure of you and your intentions.

and you must say, it's not looking good in your favour currently—not while you stand there awkwardly infront of him with a face covering on.

"you his wife?" you watch as his eyes move between your pass—your last name, written in all block letters specifically—and your visor shaded eyes. for a second you're confused, but you're pretty good with using your critical thinking skills to piece his vague question together.

brandon is asking about the name around your neck—one that links you to his new competition. "mat?" you ask through a laugh, the sound coming out all breathy and nervous. "god no, he's my brother."

"right," he hums. you can't tell if he believes you with a response like that, and you're not planning on pleading your case to try and convince him. but regardless you're ready to get out of here and away from brandon carlo. so you don't wait for him to elaborate—if he was even planning to—and reach up towards the helmet strap.

brandon just watches you move, a curious glint in his eyes. the silence settles between you, a weird yet undeniable tension lingering between you. one that you're not about to try and unpack."need help with that?" he asks you measuredly, like brandon is already aware of your response before you do.

you shake your head quickly, fingers still tugging away at the stubborn buckle keeping the ferrari branded helmet on your head. "no," you huff, "i've unbuckled a driving helmet before." you don't mean to come across as snippy, but you totally do. you don't have the time to feel guilty about your attitude though when it makes brandon snort a laugh.

"F1 helmets are different," he tells you, voice all knowing and kinda of condescending—which fucking obviously, because he's the professional. you're so stubborn. "let me," brandon gently pushes your hands away from the strap, and you drop them to your sides quickly and helplessly. he doesn't wait for a response before he's all up in your space. you can smell whatever expensive brand of cologne he's got on, even through the helmet.

the buckle clicks open quickly, and before you can register the sound, brandon is lifting the helmet off your head—revealing your wide eyes and staticky hair.

brandon's lips curve into a smirk at the sight of your bare face, "hi there."

"hello," you nod curtly, running a unsteady hand over your hair in an attempt to tame to frizzled mess. unfortunately for you, it only makes it worse, resembling one of those static electricity globes they have on display at hot topic.

brandon gives you the helmet that he just took off of you—the sweat gathered on your hairline and at the nape of your neck a disgusting reminder of being under there—clearly not intending to put it back himself.

you clear your throat awkwardly, grabbing on to the sides of the red plastic. your fingers brush along brandon's long ones, and it's enough to have you jumping, practically yanking the helmet towards your chest—yanking your touch from his. brandon's lips part like he wants to comment on your skittish behaviour, but thankfully he doesn't—however his eyebrows do raise, so you know he finds your actions somewhat amusing.

you can't wait to crawl into a hole after this interaction and never come back out.

your eyes flicker back to his. you honestly forgot that brandon is 5 years older than you—especially considering he looks almost the exact same as he did when he was a 20 year old rookie on your tv screen. if it wasn't for the crows feet starting at the corner of his eyes, and the wear and tear on his hands, you'd think you were looking at the poster in your bed room.

a poster that you really should take down, my god. how embarrassing. not that brandon will ever see it, but for your own embarrassment and peace of mind, you should fucking burn that thing. because looking at him right now, it's all you can think about.

"do you want a picture?"

you blink at his seemingly out of context question, your brows pulling down towards your nose in confusion, "excuse me?"

"you're staring at me," brandon's smirk doesn't waver, if anything, it only deepens at your questioning glare. "you a fan?" is he being serious? based on the arrogant look in his eyes, you fear the answer to that question is that he’s deadly serious.

"of you?" you ask, voice all high pitched and breathy. for a brief second you think you must've said something about the poster out loud—but then you remember brandon carlo is a cocky ladies man, who is so self absorbed in his party boy image that he thinks every girl he comes across is a fan.

but not you. well, not anymore. and that's not even an assumption you made up regarding ferraris golden boy. you're pretty sure you recall brandon calling himself that before in interviews. okay, maybe not those words exactly, but something similar. you get the point.

"i'm the only one in here, aren't I?"

you practically scoff, and if it wasn't for the helmet pressing against your ribs, you would be crossing your arms defensively. "no. i'm not a fan."

it's not really a lie, but at one point in your life it was your truth. and it's like brandon can sense that. he squints doubtfully, "really?"

"really," you repeat incredulously. "and i'm almost offended that you assumed so—my brother races for mcleran." if it wasn't for the white hot anger coursing through you, you'd be embarrassed at yourself for pulling the brother card.

brandon’s eyes dart down to your lanyard again, "I gathered."

your lips part just enough to let out a disgruntled exhale. you're not sure what gives him the right to act so...arrogant. especially around you—somebody who a) he's never met before, and b) the sister of somebody he will inevitably be sharing a podium with sometime in the next few weeks.

and the fact he hasn't introduced himself to you, most likely assuming that you knew his name, only boils your blood further. if you were more confrontational, you'd tell him off. give brandon a piece of your mind and ensure he never speaks to you again.

but you're not confrontational. and there's media everywhere. the last thing your brother needs his first week in an F1 seat is some news article going around about his 'crazy sister ripping into brandon carlo'—or whatever ridiculous headline they'd undoubtedly come up with.

so instead you just nod, lips pursed tightly. "yeah so..." you trail off softly, taking a step away from brandon and his ferrari wrapped chest.

"so?" he prompts.

"I'm going to leave now."

"you do that."

you resist rolling your eyes, "here's your helmet." you thrust it towards his chest before he can react. brandon’s quick reflex's laugh at you though, and his large hands dart out and grab the helmet before it can clatter to the polished floor. the sheer size of his fingers splayed across the shiny red helmet make it looks small—which makes you even more annoyed.

stupid giant man.

brandon smirks at the ground as you brush past him, something fruity and sweet wafting in the air as you move. he tucks the helmet under his arm—something he's done more times than he's willing to bet on—and turns to follow your fleeting figure.

"surprised you didn't try and steal it." he's not being serious, that much is obvious by the playfully tone he uses. not that it makes his comment anymore tolerable. "red's not my colour." you tell him pointedly, almost daring him to look at the orange shirt under your jacket.

"not sure about that." he pauses, a curious pull over his expression. "what's your name?" brandon calls out as you reach the exit of the ferrari lounge.

"don't worry about it!" you make the conscious choice to not look at brandon as you wiggle your fingers in a dismissive wave—which only makes him laugh behind you, all low and breathy and annoying.

too wound up from the interaction with your old celebrity crush—who proved to be just as infuriating as you read about—you decide that your exploring time is done. everything has been tainted, and all you can see is gray eyes and ferrari red.

after a bathroom break where you splash cool water on your face in an attempt to cool off, you make your way to interview room B—which a nice lady running around the mclaren room told you the drivers were in, doing media and other things.

there's about 10 rows of chairs, mostly taken up by old man with comb overs with microphones and papers sprawled around them—no doubt asking ridiculous questions that make the drivers have to fight off eye rolls. just the thought has you stifling a laugh, which earns you a glare from the middle aged male reporter closest to you.

you cough awkwardly and then move to the side of the room—standing between a woman with her kids and a few teenagers.

"y/l/n," the reporter pauses and waits for your brother to look his way. "is there any added pressure facing against guys who you grew up watching? what is the mindset going into a situation like that?"

the question is actually pretty normal compared to some you've heard on tv before. you direct your attention towards mat, who’s sitting comfortably on the couch in an orange cap and polo. your brother nods thoughtfully, and gives a half smirk, half smile.

you already know his agent is shaking her head somewhere in the room.

"there's definitely a pressure," mat nods, "not so much with racing, but more so with learning and adapting to them. with guys like carlo here for example—you know my sister and I grew up watching him compete. so it's pretty surreal and i'm excited for the opportunity."

you feel his presence before you look at him. "making me feel old, y/l/n." the room laughs lightly as brandon's jab. but not you. you didn't even notice him on the couch when you walked in, and seeing him now—so at ease between your brother and his ferrari driving partner—only makes you feel worked up again. which is annoying because you just got the colour red out of your head.

you zone out for the rest of the questions, choosing to scroll on your phone and shut out brandon and what is surely his stupid and annoying responses—ones that probably have his agent sweating.

soon enough the room is packing up, and mat is making his way towards you. he's tossing a bottle between his hands, the plastic crinkling loudly. "how was your exploring?" he questions, brow raised.

your shrug, pocketing your phone in your jeans. "honestly, didn't really see anything worth while."

"just the helmet?" he references the selfie you sent to him earlier, a glint in his eye that tells you he's about to relentlessly bully you for wearing ferrari memorabilia.

you open your mouth to reply, but you’re cut off—brandon's deep and teasing voice halting the words before you can even get them out. "y/l/n, good job up there. handling the questions like a pro already," he claps mat on the back.

mat just laughs, while you debate if you're going to make a run for it. unfortunately for you, your brother turns to you, an encouraging and teasing look his face that lets you know you're fucked.

"thanks man," his hand gestures to you, and brandon's eyes follow naturally, gaze meeting your familiar one. "this is my sister, y/n."

well there goes your plan of brandon never knowing your name. his plump lips tug up—barley, but enough for you to catch it, a triumphant expression flashing across his face. "y/n," brandon repeats slowly, as if he's testing how your name sounds coming from his mouth.

meanwhile you're too flustered to even blink.

of course, mat keeps going—elbowing your side playfully like the nuisance your older brother is. "she'd never say it but she's a secret fan."

your jaw practically hits the floor.

but brandon? he's not even fucking phased. he actually looks pleased, because mat is only confirming what he already knew. but because he's a little shit, much like mat, brandon plays into some kind of aloof position. "is she?"

his stormy eyes flicker between your crazy ones and your brothers mischievous ones. finally, you manage to close your mouth, shaking your head in another attempt at defending yourself. "not really." you correct, shooting daggers at mat—who raises his hands in surrender. but the look on his face says he's not sorry at all.

you're almost surprised he didn't just go straight into how you have brandon's picture above your bed. brandon lets his eyes linger on you for another painfully long beat before he turns away, "well it was nice to meet you, y/n. i'll see you on the track, y/l/n."

mat snickers, "not when my smoke is clouding your vision."

"classic cocky mclaren driver, you'll fit right in," brandon smirks over his shoulder, the banter between the two rival teams already brewing like expected.

your brothers smirk mirrors brandon's. "learned from the best."

all you can do is try not to melt into an angry puddle of disbelief and shock.

+

+

throughout the next week you find yourself unable to get brandon carlo and his stupid red suit out of your head. it doesn't help when he seems to be at literally every corner—weather it's passing by in the paddock or catching eyes in the hotel lobby, or walking passed the mclaren garage —you see him.

and god you hate that he makes your heart jump and skin heat. you also hate how time has been good to him. brandon's legs and ass look so fucking spectacular in his race suit, annoyingly enough.

ferrari is mclaren's biggest rival. brandon carlo and your brother will be fighting for the top spot on the podium all season long. it makes whatever you're feeling for brandon pointless. but he's so hard to ignore.

it also doesn't help that anytime brandon carlo sees you, he says your name in greeting—words dripping off his tongue slow and syrupy. like it's a game. like him knowing your name is some sort of triumph. god, one time you tried to pretend you didn't hear him as he passed behind you—your name falling from his lips all quiet and deep—and he tugged the end of your braid in retribution.

the action earned him a glare. which he obviously was expecting because he was waiting for your response with a smirk on his face.

but this weird thing between you—whatever it is or whatever it grows to become—must be ignored. for your sake and your brothers. this is mat's dream, and you don't want to ruin it for a silly little crush you had almost 8 years ago.

brandon though? he has no intention of letting you pretend he doesn't exist. so unfortunately for you, this week is just the beginning. because brandon carlo is intrigued by the girl in tight jeans and an attitude reserved only for him.

─────MONACO GRAND PRIX─────

by the time you're walking through the lobby of the hotel, the smell of burning tires is only just starting to fade. it clings to your clothes and nostrils in a way that you could only pray perfume would.

the race today had been electric. and intense. and so long. if it wasn't for mat battling for first place the entire race, you'd most definitely would've been nodding off. unfortunately, he never overtook brandon—who of course took that top spot on the podium. and of course when he popped open the bottle of champagne, he made sure to drench you in the sticky warm liquid. when you wiped your eyes and sent him a glare, brandon just winked. you hated how that little flirty move made your lips twitch—desperately willing you to smile.

you wish you were immune to his charm, but it’s getting harder and harder to ignore brandon carlo.

you shake your head, shaking the thoughts of brandon's face and the champagne dripping off his wet lips and chin out of your mind.

the elevator doors ahead of you begin to close, making your naturally quicken your pace, shoes clicking on the tiles as you attempt to reach the elevator before it closes. your hand darts out between the diminishing opening just in time, and the doors slowly slide back open.

you smile in relief, stepping inside.

"hey there, y/n." brandon drawls.

the way your eyes widen in surprise is almost comical, quickly averting your eyes and directing them towards the marble floor. you clear your throat twice, something he notices you do anytime you feel awkward.

"brandon," you greet quietly, fattening down the front of your white dress—the rings on your fingers clinking on the decorative gold buttons lining the garment.

but he's not alone. the scent of cheap roses replace the scent of champagne and burning tires quickly. your eyes dart towards the other person in the elevator as you catch sight of auburn hair—hair that definitely doesn’t belong to brandon. a person with both auburn hair who just so happens to be tucked under brandon's arm.

her cherry red looks almost ferrari coloured under the cool fluorescent lights of the elevator. she's looking back at you warmly, gum smacking irritably between her teeth. the woman is grasping at brandon's thick fingers from the hand that is hanging loosely over her shoulder.

a surge of jealousy washes over your skin, and you look away again, pressing the button to your floor a little harder than necessary.

"i'm melody," her cheery voice slices through the tension clouded elevator. clearly she's oblivious to social settings, because reading the room is something melody has seemed to of skipped over.

you send her a tight lipped smile. "hi."

"sorry, y/l/n can be a bit of a grouch." brandon tells melody. whoever his attention is directed at you, his eyes burning into the side of your face—which he can see perfectly due to the way you've slicked it all back.

your head snaps in his direction, so quick that your braid smacks the side of the elevator. brandon gets a whiff of the alcohol he douced you in merely an hour ago. "that's not true."

his brow raises like you've just said something funny. "oh so I must just be special then." brandon concludes.

"wait," the fake redheads voice has you blinking. "y/l/n? like mat y/l/n?" she repeats your last name questioningly, a grin working its way onto her face like she just figured out something other worldly.

you hum, "the one and only."

melody gasps, the sound all breathy and giggly, "he's cute!"

her claim makes you send brandon a deadpanned and pointed look. unfortunately, he doesn't give you the satisfaction of finding this interaction insane—which it totally is. he just shrugs the shoulder that's not around melody, lips twitching into an almost smile.

"I'm not sure what i'm supposed to say to that." you chime kindly after a beat, looking away from the pair of them—your shoes suddenly just got a lot more interesting.

"oh gosh!" she whines and covers her fake tanned face, "I shouldn't have said that! i'm so silly."

brandon clears his throat and looks down at her, "don't worry about it, melanie. y/n is just being annoying."

"melody." you correct without looking up from the ground.

"that's what I said."

"mhmm."

"so do you guys like...know each other then?" melody asks after a moment, eyes darting up at brandon and then over towards you. she doesn't even look awkward—if anything she looks excited.

her question finally pulls your attention off your heels. god, could this elevator go up any slower?

you watch the way she continues messing with brandon's fingers—so casual and intamite. even worse, brandon doesn't even look bothered about the affection. that either means he doesn't care because he's so used to female attention, or that your presence doesn't matter to him. you're not sure which is worse.

you purse your lips together, anger simmering in your blood as you force yourself to once again look away. "yup."

"oh yeah, me and y/n are good friends." brandon must be feeling like the most smug little shit right now. he's looking at you easily, a half upturned smirk on his face. the way that he doesn't even appear to be feeling a little awkward about this situation, only spikes your irritation more.

"good friends?" you repeat incredulously.

melody cuts either of you off before you get the chance to speak. "ferrari driver and a mclaren fan! wow, that's so funny."

"actually melanie, y/n is a secret ferrari fan."

"melody," you correct him again, "and that's not true."

brandon grins, "it so is."

your lips part in retribution, but the doors of the elevator ding before sliding open. "well, that's my cue to leave," you straighten up, "have a nice night doing whatever it is you're planning on doing." you wave your hand in a vague way in their general direction.

"I can give you the itinerary if you'd like."

"please don't," you step into the hallway, "good night brandon, melanie."

brandon snorts, "melody." he corrects you just as the doors slide shut, cutting off your and brandon's impromptu eye contact. the metal doors of the elevator capture your reflection of dark eyes and annoyed pout. and god your fucking pulse is thumping. you wouldn’t be surprised if it jumped right out your skin.

the look of yourself—so wound up from brandon—only has you feeling more angry and incredulous. you stomp away before the universe decides to torture you further and have the doors reopen, giving you another front row seat of brandon and his girl for the night. a sight that made your skin itch.

──────MIAMI GRAND PRIX──────

miami florida—one of the biggest and most notorious party spots of the country. and with the grand prix being here this week, it's even more lively. drinking, and clubbing and other things you really don’t want to know about. and that's just during the first day.

arriving at the hotel yesterday, you immediately went to sleep. the traveling back and forth between time zones—although it's only been just over a month—has definitely taken a toll on you, and by the time 8pm rolled around, you were face down in the fluffy hotel pillow, snoring like a bear during hibernation.

meeting mat for breakfast in the morning—which back home meant it was only 3 a.m—was a difficult task. you almost nod off three separate times. one time you actually did, leaving mat no choice by to catch your face before you nose dived into your glass of apple juice. regardless of your sleep stature, your brother was full of energy.

him and his driving partner, travis, had gone out to one of the infamous nightclubs last night, and based on mat's story telling, you're pretty positive he might still be a little drunk. even though partying isn't your thing, something in your chest pinged at hearing about his night. you felt a little left out. being completely alone for most of the time while mat is off doing his job, gets a little lonely.

so a few hours later when mat and travis decided they're going out again—and asked if you'd like to join them—you agreed. if there was one place on this tour where you could let loose and forget about your self inflicted strict morals, it’s miami.

that's brings you to now, under the neon flashing lights of the nightclub, nursing some fancy drink that you asked the bartender to surprise you with. it's really sweet, and you kind of have to choke it down—but you're determined to drink it. hopefully it'll loosen your limbs up a little bit. help you fucking relax.

but that's proving to be difficult when you know brandon is somewhere in the club. if you knew that other drivers besides the mclaren duo would be joining you at the club, you would've stayed home. you would've stripped out of your sparkly skirt and dangerously low cut top and crawled right back into bed. point blank period. you deal with brandon enough as it.

but you didn't know, and now your muscles are all ridged and tight and your eyes are peeled wide open. you tell yourself you're only looking for brandon so you're able to stay clear, but you know that's a lie. in the past couple weeks he's been an enigma. no matter how hard you try and avoid him, brandon's always about—tempting you with mystery.

which, you hate mystery so you're not sure why you're so intrigued with the ferrari driver. maybe because he still gets your heart racing 5 years later. his stormy eyes and plump lips, and the way his eyes always seem to find yours when he's spraying champagne up on the podium—

no, don't start. you shut down your brain before it has the chance to dip into dreamland. quickly, so you don't gag, you down the rest of your drink—crystallized sugar and tequila burning your throat. it makes you shiver, skin breaking out in pebbly goosebumps.

you push off the wall you'd been calling home for the past 20 minutes and join the crowd. it's a bit hard to move through the what feels like thousands of sweaty, dancing people—getting bumped into more times than you can count, your heels sticking to the floor. you don't even want to think about how many liquids have been spilled under your feet.

you're practically getting jostled around, men twice your size almost send you tumbling at every step you manage to take. you're trying to get to the bar. or find mat. or even just get outside for some fresh air. but that is proving to be difficult with this crowd.

"hey, you dropped this!"

you look over your shoulder, squinting through the strobe lights, trying to locate the sound of the voice. the man in question isn't talking to you—which makes sense because the only thing you'd be able to drop is your phone, and you can feel it still tucked against your boob.

you turn your attention forward again, only to walk into someone's back. you get a face full of crispy blonde hair, and the sequins on her top scratch at your chest. it makes you jump away, "i'm sorry!"

the girl turns, a smile on her swollen lips, "you're good!" she's clearly in the middle of making out with someone, which only makes embarrassment claw deeper into your chest. your eyes flicker past her, intending to apologize to whoever she's locking lips with—but the words die on your tongue.

because brandon carlo is looking at you, eyes a little hazy and his already plump lips even more so—slick with a mixture of his spit and the blonde girls in front of you. to make matters worse, he's fucking smirking at you.

your lips part even though you don't intend to say anything. not to him anyways. like you don't even exist, the blonde turns her attention back to brandon—who accepts her kiss instantly. they continue on like you never bumped into them, which is sort of unsettling.

brandon's eyes flutter open, lips still locked and sloppy over hers as he looks back at you, making your breath hitch near the back of your throat. his eyelids flutter as the girl turns her head, attempting to deepen the sloppy exchange—but they don't close.

you urge yourself to walk away, but your feet are frozen, cemented to the tiles. your jaw tightens in…envy? disgust? you don't fucking know. all you know is that this whole exchange feels dirty and wrong. but there's something about the way brandon is looking at you that has your belly fluttering. and your eyes stay on his.

the smallest smirk tugs at brandon's top lip—not even masked by the girls glossy kiss—and it has you blinking. brandon watches the tendons in your jaw twitch under your skin as you clench your teeth tightly—clearly frustrated in some capacity. it only makes brandon’s smirk widen.

you send him a pointed glare, a mixture of fury and disbelief, before finding your legs again.

you push past them, brandon's eyes slowly following you as you move. your skirt almost blinds him, the neon lights reflecting off the sequins decorating your clothes. but brandon doesn't care, and it doesn't stop him for grabbing your arm before you get too far.

his lips detach from the woman’s in front of him—a woman who's name has escaped his mind. after 8 years of racing, partying and hooking up, every one kind of blends together. brandon turns towards you.

"what are you—let me go," you stutter. brandon's grip on your elbow isn't harsh, but it’s still firm, unwilling to let you slip or disappear back into the crowd. his fingers cover most of your skin, hand warm on your sticky skin.

brandon ignores you, "where are you going?" his voice is quiet, but you can hear him. there's something about in the way he says it though—something that has you going still. his eyes dart between yours, searching for a response before you can give one.

it's something brandon finds himself doing often when it comes to you. you blink, eyeing the way he's still holding you. "outside." you say after a pause—even though you didn't really know what your plans were until you just spewed them out.

he doesn't respond right away, instead taking a moment to digest your words with his usual measured stare. "by yourself?"

"you say that like it's a bad thing." you swallow.

"you're a fucking twenty something tipsy girl wearing a skirt that leaves little to the imagination in a party capitol," brandon tells you incredulously, "so yeah, it's not the smartest idea."

you want to ask him to elaborate. you want to push him towards the edge of the dangerous cliff you've both been teetering on the last few weeks. but you don't. you're too stubborn and letting brandon have his way—not matter how twisted it seems—is not something you want.

you want to bicker with him. you want to get him riled up just like he does with you. the girl who had been sucking his face a minute ago is now gone, gone back to her friends like nothing even happened—like she wasn't just making out with a formula 1 driver. but neither you or brandon notice her absence, both too busy with the weird eye contact game you’ve found yourselves in more than a few times. swimming in a pool of silence that somehow says more than words can.

"and what's your solution to that?" he releases your arm when your words turn sharp. "you gunna be my bodyguard or something?"

brandon shrugs a shoulder, "if that's what it takes."

you shake your head, hoop earrings clinking against your warm face—expression tight with disbelief. disbelief with what you're hearing, and disbelief with the nerve of the ferrari driver in front of you. "you don't even know me."

another wave of silence settles between you, so thick that it feels like you're choking on it. brandon then blinks, a scoff of laughter leaving him. his eyes move from yours—just for a moment—as he registers your claim.

when his gaze settles back over you, your throat tightens. "you know, you can act like you hate me all you want, but we both know the truth."

you raise a brow. "and what might that be?"

"that we want each other."

his words hit you like a smack—skin heating so hard that it feels cold. toes tingling and heart race increasing to an impossible level. brandon's eyes gleam with triumph. like he knows that he's right. and that in itself has you pushing down your shock, quickly replacing it with frustration.

"ha!" you faux laugh, "that's funny."

his mouth—which is still covered in that woman's lipgloss—turns up in a smirk. the sight makes you want to punch him and kiss him all at the same time. "i'm not joking," brandon grumbles.

"I know," you stress, "that's what makes it funny." your words are definitive—final—like you can't believe he'd even say such a thing. but it's something that doesn’t necessarily shock you coming from brandon's mouth. your annoyance with him only grows with his words. because brandon is right. you do want him.

you wish you didn't, but you do.

"funny like when you were watching me kiss that girl?" and just like that brandon's teasing question has you flustered. around him you're a never ending cycle of anger and arousal. it's dizzying.

"you call that kissing? she was practically choking you with her tongue," your grumbling only eggs him on.

"didn't deter your eyes."

"or yours." you retort.

brandon grins, "touché."

a smile wants to grace your lips, but you don't let it—you're not giving him that kind of satisfaction. you clear your throat, choosing to address his earlier point. "for the record, I never said I hate you."

"didn't have to," brandon leans down, closer into your space than before—which was already stomach turning. "I can tell by your eyes. maybe not hate, but something about me makes you all...flustered."

you swallow thick spit, soothing the itch in your throat. you're taking this as a sign to learn how to control your emotions—because brandon is reading you like a book. "oh can you?"

his fingers graze your wrist. just enough to have you freezing. "I can read woman pretty well," brandon whispers, eyes locked on yours. the various colours of lights make his usual stormy eyes seem deeper, which you didn't think was possible. it makes you want to get a good look at him in the sun—

you need to get a grip.

"so i've heard." you lick onto your bottom lip. brandon smirks, pulling the pads of his fingers away from your wrist. you hate the way your hand twitches. searching for him. 

he raises a pleased eyebrow, "keeping tabs on me?"

"impossible not to." and it's true. with a party guy like brandon being the face of one of the most successful formula one teams, his face and name is practically plastered all over the world. you've read more about his sex and party life than you care to admit.

"do you always have something to say back?" his head tilts, curiosity coupled with something you can't decipher evident on his face. you think the latter of the two may be amusement based on the soft way his lips pull. kind of like a tired smirk.

a moment passes before you decide to answer him, not that brandon seems to mind—he looks pretty happy analyzing you like you're some sort of alien. "with you?" you confirm, "seemingly so."

"let's go." brandon's demand comes out of nowhere, and if wasn't for the way he was looking at you—with a stupid smirk and hooded eyes—you would think he's mad at you.

"where?"

"outside. remember that little piece of information you gave me earlier." his warm palm touches your back, making it hard to focus. brandon's fingers loop around the waistband of your skirt, holding you lazily.

"oh. right."

brandon sends you another one of his infamous smirks as you both make your way through the crowd. you're a little envious how people move out of his way—parting like the red sea to let him through.

you allow yourself to lean into him, accepting the envious look women shoot at you when they realize who's walking you out. you don't see your brother or his teammate on the way out, which is a relief, because you really don't want to explain the closeness between you and their competition.

especially now that brandon has completely wrapped his hand around your back, palm settling comfortably on the sliver of skin exposed between your skirt and top.

you don't know how much longer you'll be able to pretend brandon carlo doesn't get your heartbeat racing.

+

+

you feel sort of envious watching all the kids zip around in little duo seated go karts. laughing and chasing after their favourite f1 drivers—who by the way, look ridiculous in the small karts.

you remember being a kid and wanting nothing more than to be in their position. and know you're here, on the sidelines once again, just watching other kids have fun. expect now you're an adult, so you're not participating for other reasons. even though you really fucking want to.

every year the formula one company holds a racing event for young fans. it's never televised for protection reasons, but it gives the kids a chance to ride around with their favourite drivers and rep their favourite teams—of course in much safer conditions and karts than the professionals drive, but that kind of goes without saying.

you were so excited for this day. you thought with mat being apart of the mclaren formula one team, you'd get the chance to ride in one of the dinky karts with him—but a little kid, with your last name on his back, was so excited to meet mat and have the chance drive with him. and you would never take that opportunity away from a sweet little baby.

so here you are. spectating. scratch that actually—you were watching, rather peacefully may you add, until brandon carlo pulled up to the side of the track. tires screeching obnoxiously, ferrari red kart almost toppling over due to his force.

the majority of his handsome face is covered by a helmet, so you can only see his eyes, but even still you can tell that he's grinning. up to no good like usual. surprisingly enough nobody is with him—no kids in his passenger spot.

you quirk an eyebrow and cross your arms over your textured tank top, "no passenger? do the kids not recognize you anymore?"

he laughs, eyes crinkling at the edges. you wish you didn't find that so attractive, but alas here you are.

a few nights ago after brandon guided you out of the bar, he walked you home like a gentleman after you told him the humid air was making you feel a little funny. which, yeah, that was a white lie because it wasn't the air that had your stomach turning, but rather him.

since then you've been a bit more civil. you're not as snappy with him, because, well it's honestly exhausting pretending to be constantly annoyed with him. brandon carlo does annoy you, but not in the way you let on. plus, he's actually fun and playful and intriguing. above all, he seems pretty determined to be around you. so you dusted your hands off and decided to just let it happen.

"guess I'm too washed up or something," brandon answers, thumb lifting off the wheel causally when he shrugs. "they're too busy paying attention to your brother actually."

you step closer to the kart, bending your torso so you can peer into the open kart. plus, the roar of the engine makes everything a little difficult to hear. "makes sense," you tease, "he is better than you, after all."

you can't see but brandon tongues his cheek in an attempt to stop his growing smirk. "get in." he all but demands. yes, not asks but rather tells. he does that quite often, you notice.

"and why would I get in with you?"

"maybe that way you'll get a taste of what I go through every race."

you snort, "you make it sound like you're struggling to preform on the track."

brandon's gaze turns pointed, voice dropping an octave so it's even more gravelly. "I don't struggle in any kind of performance."

"ew." you groan, nose crinkling like a bunnies—or like you're smelling something yucky.

he picks the spare helmet up off the passenger seat, clearing it for you—because he knows that you'll get in eventually. might as well speed up the process. "you like it, now c'mon—i'm burning perfect gas here."

you laugh breathily. "your own choice, but whatever." you make sure to send brandon a pointed look before sighing, standing up to your full height before tugging on the black handle.

the karts door squeaks loudly, and it has brandon smiling even wider beneath his helmet. he watches as you carefully get into the kart, jean covered ass fitting the leather seat perfectly. it truly looks like you're meant to be in his kart, and that has brandon's dick twitching.

he clears his throat as you buckle your seatbelt, "your helmet." you take the red protective headgear from his outstretched hand—only one because just one of his hands is big enough to hold a helmet, unlike your two pudgy ones that can barley grab it—and pull it over your hair.

"got the strap this time?" brandon teases.

you hum, the sound muffled by your helmet. "you seem to forget putting the helmet on wasn't my problem." you side eye him knowingly.

brandon shrugs again, shifting his right hand so that it’s wrapped around the gear shift, "must've forgot once I saw your face."

"just…drive."

and drive he does. the kart squeals loudly as brandon presses down on the gas, the dinky vehicle jerking the way it does—making your stomach drop with adrenaline. you make a noise of joy, similar to a breathless laugh as he moves the car into the second lane of the track, cutting off his partner.

brandon laughs as his partner gives him the bird, and you can only be thankful there's no kid in that kart either to witness that—the fuck you or reckless driving. regardless, you can't help but laugh along, shooting a quick glance over your shoulder to watch the friendly competition—or disaster—unfold.

the wind whips through the open windows, and if it wasn't for the helmet containing your hair, it would be a mess. the feeling is amazing—so much so that you can't help but smile. brandon is driving with such reckless movements—a perfect reflection of his personality. but oddly enough you feel nothing short of safe.

maybe that's because you know that brandon knows what he's doing, working the track like he knows nothing else. which you suppose he doesn't. a driver doesn't get as many points and podium wins as brandon carlo if they don't know how to drive a race car. apparently that extends to go karts.

the kart jerks again, eliciting another delighted bubble of laughter from you—a sound that is barley audible over the rumbling engine. but brandon hears it, your giggle capturing his attention dangerously. he takes the risk and looks over at you, only to find that your eyes are already on him.

brandon smiles automatically, eyes crinkling like yours do. he can barley see your face but even still he's never seen you look so beautiful. so happy. most of the time brandon has to fight to get a half grin out of you—but this? this is new. and he's fucking addicted to the sight.

"keep your eyes on the road, carlo." you squint playfully, voice carrying over the sound of the kart.

his smile grows as he tears his gaze away from you. brandon takes you around the track a few more times before slowing down, pulling into the garage. the rumbling noise echos off the concrete walls before completely quitting.

brandon tugs his helmet off with practiced ease, running a hand through his damp and wild hair, pushing it off his warm face. his eyes flicker towards you just as you pull your own headgear off, hair falling around your face and shoulders delicately.

"what?" you ask once you catch brandon's eyes.

"oh so I cant admire you but you get to admire me?" he questions, "doesn't really seem fair."

you laugh out a scoff, "I wasn't admiring you."

"mhmm hmph," brandon hums dismissively, leaning across the centre console. "whatever you say, y/n." his eyes slowly fall from yours and settle upon your lips. they linger there, his won lips parted and eyes pooling with desire.

you hold your breath naturally. you don't want to move—you can't move. patiently and carefully you watch brandon. you can't tell what he's thinking, and that makes your skin prickle with an anxious shiver.

brandon's eyes dart back to yours. there's a shift, subtle but unarguable, between you. one that feels dangerous and wrong but yet so so right. suddenly you're 15 again, looking at the glossed over image of brandon's stormy eyes. your heart is racing and fingers are twitching—desperate to reach out and touch him.

and right now you could. with the way brandon is looking at you, nothing expect the gentle hum of engines in the distance to be heard, he'd let you.

brandon reaches for your helmet and pulls it off your lap. he tosses it in the sad excuse for a back seat, and then his own helmet follows suit, plastic smacking together before rolling still. now, there's only the console between you, but it feels like nothing it all.

you know you're breathing—but it really doesn't feel like it. not when brandon tenderly tucks a piece off lose hair behind your ear, fingers ghosting down your neck and over your jaw. it’s so gentle that it feels like nothing but everything at the same time.

he licks his bottom lip, tilting his head ever so slightly. mere inches separate you. your stomach is twirling and your pulse is surely jumping under brandon's touch. weeks of teasing and unspoken words are sitting between you—a reminder that yes, you have wanted him all along.

right now, it doesn’t matter what the press will say, you want him. and if you get burned, then you can only blame yourself.

just as brandon starts to close the gap between you, the sound of voices grow closer—one voice in particular that sounds a whole lot like mat. that in itself has you both pulling away, chest heaving as your adrenaline spikes and falls all at once.

you don't look at brandon again before opening the kart door, getting out to stand on shaky legs. it was a close call, one that should deter you from ever spending time in a secluded area with brandon again. but you're not deterred, and if anything, it only makes you want him more.

brandon gets out of the kart just as mat and a few other drivers walk into the garage. you watch him cautiously, trying to decipher his body language. unfortunately—or fortunately—he doesn't look flustered. you're not sure how you feel about that. not yet anyways.

your brothers partner says something to you, pulling you into his side and shaking your shoulders in what feels like excitement. but you don't hear him. more accurately, you aren't listening. not when brandon looks at you, catching your eyes with an expression you can't quite understand. his jaw bone twitches, tendons moving around as he clenches. his eyes trace over your figure once—slowly—before he walks away.

  ─────SPANISH GRAND PRIX─────

you didn't see brandon other than in passing for the rest of the week. the longest you saw him was after the miami grand prix qualifying race in the paddock. you were standing between mat and travis, both wearing champagne after finishing 3rd and 2nd. ferrari of course took 1st, but much to your surprise, it wasn't brandon, but instead his driving partner.

he'd breezed past you and the guys, gaze pointed and jaw tight. clearly he was disappointed with what you can only assume is the outcome of the race. brandon's eyes found yours at the last second, holding your gaze tightly before he had no choice but to look away.

something about the exchange left you feeling a little uneasy—something in his eyes, an emotion that can only be described as anger, unsettled you. you could only hope that his hostility was directed at the race and not at you and your almost kiss incident.

the entire journey to spain all you could think of was brandon and his lips. it was almost embarrassing how much of your mind he's taken up. especially considering that a month and a bit ago you didn't even think you liked him. but here you are.

as soon as you arrived in spain you obviously took a nap because sleeping is still one of those changes you haven't gotten used to. but when you woke up, neck stiff and limbs feeling heavy, you decide to check out the luxury hotel hot tub. after all, how many more opportunities after this season will you get to lounge in a luxurious jacuzzi?

the answer? probably not many.

you slip into one of the two bathing suits you packed and then wrap yourself in a fluffy hotel towel. just before you head out, you toe on a flimsy pair of sandals and then make your way down to floor level.

the pathway leading to the hot tub is dimly lit and lined in beautiful greenery that makes you feel like a princess walking to her outdoor bathing chamber. you wish you were a living as princess and brandon was your noble body guard that had no choice but to be near you. that fantasy would make life a whole lot easier.

the steam coming off the water makes everything feel a little hazy—you blame that for being the reason you don't notice another person already in the tub.

"if i didn't know any better i'd think you're stalking me." brandon's voice has you jumping back from where you are seting your towel down. you spin in his direction, shoes squeaking on the damp stones lining the jacuzzi, hand held to your frantic beating heart.

his hair is damp, and it's grown out enough in the past few weeks for it to start curling at the ends. brandon looks so hot that it's unfair. he's casually leaning back against the wall, arms out of the tub and resting along the edge. it gives you a nice view of his shoulders and pecks, water dripping along his skin and then back into the water like he’s some kind of aquatic god.

you swallow roughly. after a moment you manage to get your heart beat back to a safe speed, and the sound of blood pumping in your ears becomes dull enough the the noisy hum of the jets becomes audible again.

brandon quirks a brow at you through the steam, urging you to respond. there seems to be no lingering anger on his face—not right now anyways—instead replaced by a playful smirk. one that reminds you of the first time you met.

"says you." you retort quietly. you make no move to get in yet. seeing brandon here has you feeling a bit starstruck. the place you've come to try and unwind and forget about your growing feelings for the ferrari driver, have now been tainted with said driver.

his eyes trail over your figure, tongue darting out to wet along his bottom lip—which tastes like chlorinated condensation. "you're stressing me out just standing there," brandon mumbles lowly, hips shifting underneath the water.

you breathe a laugh while kicking off your sandals. they land next to the athletic slides that must belong to brandon. "oh apologies, I didn't realize I was with the formula 1 king." you tease him lightly, stepping up onto the stairs leading to the hot tub.

you dip your toes into the hot water, testing the temperature before completely sliding your feet and legs in. brandon is opposite from you, eyes trained on the way your thighs expand on the edge of the tub, ass sitting dangerously on the slippery wall of the tub.

"formula 1 king?" he repeats with a grin, "that title sounds nice coming from your mouth."

you send him a look, which only makes brandon's grin widen, before going further under the water, submerging up to your shoulder in a deep scoop style seat adjacent to his.

you sigh like you're relaxed, but your shoulders are still tight. simply due to the fact that brandon is shirtless and still looking at you. if you stretched your legs out, your toes would surely graze his thigh.

brandon's gaze lingers on your face for a minute, something unrecognizable swimming in his eyes, and then he breathes a laugh, moving his gaze to the waters surface. “why are you sitting so far away?"

you blink. "i'm not?" you so are.

"y/n," he breathes, fingers twitching over the water as they dangle off the edge of the tub, "I can't even see you under the water that's how far you are."

your lips part in a way that makes brandon think he's rendered you speechless. "you tryna sneak a peek, carlo?" you eventually inquire, a teasing melody to your voice that brandon has missed so much.

he's been distant since the last race, and he's well aware of the fact. after he almost devoured you in the garage in the rickety go kart, brandon knew he was fucked. the feelings he has for you—a younger woman who's related to his biggest rival—is unlike anything he's ever felt before.

he knew he had to take a step back before things got complicated, even though he wants nothing more than to have you. it helped that travis, the piece of shit brandon fucking despises, couldn't keep his hands off you after you got out of the kart. as well as anytime after that, travis always seemed to be near you. it made brandon fucking rage.

but right now the only thing he can focus on is you and your damp eyelashes blinking at him across the tub—clad in a bathing suit that hugs you so perfectly it has him half hard under the water.

brandon shrugs without shame, "got a pretty good one when you got in, so can't complain."

you jaw goes slack, "oh my god!" your shriek is his favourite noise. you splash water in his direction half heartedly, the chemical infused water splashing up his bare chest and neck. which only makes his skin look more desirable so that plan backfired.

brandon just blinks, "oh really?"

you point an accusatory finger at him, but your lips are pulling into a grin, "you started it."

"did I?" brandon pauses, brow raising in amusement, "or did you start it with that fucking indecent bathing suit." he stresses the word like it's poison. like your bathing suit is physically doing him wrong. which, unbeknownst to you, it is.

"it's not indecent."

"I can see..." he takes a hesitant pause, breath hitching as his eyes focus on anything but your face. "everything." brandon concludes. and he means it—fuck your nipples are practically poking through your bathing suit.

your breath catches, biceps tensing against the edge of the tub. you'd been miming brandon's posture, but now you want nothing more then to submerge yourself completely again, and get away from his lingering gaze.

but you don't want to give him the satisfaction of getting flustered—because knowing him, he'd get off on that. although that doesn't sound bad to you right now, but regardless. "thought you couldn't see me under the water," you repeat his earlier comment back to him, voice light and playful.

"right now you're not exactly submerged."

and yeah, I guess you're not. you peek down at your chest and see that your nipples are in fact pointed and perky—pushing against the material of your bathing suit lewdly.

without knowing what else to say you just squeak, arms falling from the side of the tub so you can splash more water in his direction.

brandon just snickers, sliding closer towards you as you continue pelting him with strong scented water. you stop pretty soon after you start, but brandon thinks he'd let you splash him forever if it made you happy.

"you know I like you much better like this," he admits gently once the water stops rippling around you.

"half naked in a hot tub?"

"obviously." he smirks, sarcasm dripping off his tongue—the sight automatically makes you follow suit.

"perv."

brandon rolls his eyes teasingly, and that makes your grin widen. "now that we're friends I mean." he elaborates.

"we're friends are we?"

"oh, definitely."

you hum like you're deep in thought, head tilting to the side. "I don't know how my brother would feel about me being friends with someone so much older than me."

his mouth opens as a noise of surprise falls out. "okay, ouch."

you continue, "and such a bad influence."

brandon's gaze narrows in on you, but the way he's still smirking says something. he likes your teasing. "you're really asking for it," he pauses, letting a light beat pass between you. "what happened to snippy y/n who wanted to bite my head off?"

"she's still here," you chime.

"oh yeah?" brandon snickers.

"mhmm."

brandon purses his lips in a half hearted manner, turning his torso even further in your direction. the dim light only highlight the muscles of his chest, distracting you. "I give her permission to bite me if that's what she still wants to do." his low and tumbling voice has you blinking, heat shooting down to your toes.

you take your bottom lip between your teeth as his words settle over you. "i'll relay that information to her."

"please do." he whispers. then brandon reaches for you, hands sliding up your slick thigh before settling at your ass. he uses the leverage to drag you through the remaining space left between you, water sloshing up both your bodies as brandon sits you over his lap.

your hands find his shoulders instinctively despite the way your body tenses in shock. you can feel him under you, half hard and warm. it's exhilarating and dangerous. suddenly brandon's comments since you've gotten in the hot tub feel dirtier than before.

you blink down at him, nose almost touching his. "what are you doing?" your voice doesn't raise above a whisper.

"what's it look like i'm doing?" brandon's voice is just as soft as yours, the rumbling tone sending a shock wave of arousal down to your core. "i'm sitting in the hot tub."

you try and laugh, but it comes out like a breathless sigh. "brandon."

"y/n." he says your name firmly, "want me to stop?"

"I don't think—"

"don't think, y/n," brandon cuts you off gently despite his firm tone. "do you want me to stop?" his large hands rest on your ass—so casually like he's not actively kneading your plump skin. the very tips of his fingers slip beneath the edge of your bathing suit, teasing you.

it makes your brain short circuit. your lips are parted, chest heaving as you attempt to find your words. you want brandon, that much is certain. and based on the way his dick is pulsating against your core, he wants the same thing. but last week still weighs on you—the way brandon seemed angry with you.

sure he wants you now, but back in the kart you think he didn't. you gulp, pushing down your desire in favour of talking it out like the responsible adult you are. "i'm sorry about last week. what happened in the go kart."

brandon shudders, "that sounds like thinking."

"I know," you nod, "but my brain hasn't stopped running in circles since it happened. are you upset with me?"

his eyebrows pull together in obvious confusion, "for what?" brandon's hands are still running up and down your thighs, making it hard to keep talking. but somehow you manage to give a shaky response.

"we almost kissed. I think?"

"you think?" the side of his mouth pulls up.

you nod all too quickly, "yeah."

"don't apologize unless you wish it never happened," brandon mumbles, gripping at your hips under the hot water. "is that what you wish?"

"do you?" you gulp, eyes growing into his stormy gaze.

he shakes his head coolly, lips almost forming into a pout. a pout that you want to kiss and suck. "no."

"oh," you breathe, "okay." hearing brandon say that he doesn't resent you for what happened in the go kart, has the utmost relief rushing over you. you wish you didn't get so in your head about the whole situation now. but you're simply just a girl.

"your turn to answer," brandon mumbles, fingers dipping beneath your bathing suit once again, pulling you out of your momentary daydreaming.

he's looking up at you so tenderly, nothing but patience in his gaze while he waits for you to digest everything. it's so sweet and cute of him that your heart feels like it's grown two sizes. at this point boys your age would've shoved your bottoms aside and stuck it in.

but not brandon.

"I don't wish it never happened, either." you admit for the first time out loud, and it sounds right coming off your tongue.

"okay. good. can I kiss you now? or is there anything else you wanna talk about while you're on top of me." the response is so brandon that it has you laughing, mouth agape in a mixture of laughter and disbelief.

"you're so—" whatever you were going to call him dies on your tongue as brandon reaches out and takes ahold of your face, lips slotting with yours.

you whimper in shock against his mouth, body tensing briefly before you register what's happening. but as you realize that brandon is actually kissing you, you melt into him.

brandon's mouth works yours slowly and expertly as you catch up to him. your legs squeeze around his strong thighs as you begin to drag your core over his, which only makes brandon's kisses turn desperate.

his grip tightens on your hips and then slide up your back, feeling the soft skin under his calloused palms. you feel better than he could've ever imagined. it's exhilarating. so much so that brandon doesn't know where to settle his hands, switching between your back and legs and face like clockwork.

you gasp into his mouth as brandon's kiss turns deeper. he takes the opportunity to slide his tongue into your mouth, running it over yours smoothly. your hands wrap around brandon's thick neck, which only pulls your chest tighter against his. nipples rubbing against his skin in a way that has you moaning.

brandon pulls back, but doesn't stray too far. his forehead presses against yours, chest heaving as you both take the time to collect your breath.

but by the look in his eyes, you know he's nowhere near done with you. if anything, he's just getting started.

"so pretty, y/n," brandon mutters, kissing the line of your jaw. "making those little noises, god making me fucking hard." he shifts under you, which lets you feel just how hard he's gotten.

"brandon please—" your whine is cut off as the sound of laughter floats through the air, followed by another unknown voice. you slip off brandon’s lap, panting from the rush of adrenaline that washes over you.

and brandon? he's just as wrecked. a hushed curse leaves him, running a wet hand through his hair in an attempt to tame the tangled mess your hands created.

the source of the voices that cut your and brandon’s heavy make out short, round the walkway to the hot tub. you recognize the two men, both drivers for alpine. thank god you heard them, because if they had caught you locking lips with your brothers rival, it surely be an issue. one that would inevitably get back to the press, and even worse, mat.

the seem oblivious to the tension between you and their formula one rival as they slip into the tub, whatever conversation they were in the midst of having briefly pausing as they say hello to you both.

you don't wait another moment before rising out of the water and stepping out of the stuffy hot tub. after a kiss like that you need to have a second to breathe. and better yet, a cold shower to go along with it.

you wrap the fluffy towel around your chest, covering your wet, bathing suit clad body from any peering look the alpine boys may send your way. unfortunately for brandon—who of course was checking you out, still rock hard—his peep show is cut short.

"you leaving?" he slides into your previous seat, looking up at you causally.

you shoot another look at the guys, only to see them both back in conversation, hands moving animatedly. you look back at brandon, "yeah, I should go to sleep."

"okay," he says lowly, "i'll see you tomorrow night then?" your eyebrows pull in confusion before he elaborates. "at the gala." brandon confirms, which has you breathing a quick—but shaky—laugh.

"right," you nod, "yeah."

"alright," brandon sends you a panty dropping smirk, "goodnight y/n."

"goodnight, carlo." you walk away before you jump back into the jacuzzi to kiss him again, because that's not a smart move. a smile blooms on your face under the glow of the moon, thoughts of brandon's gentle yet dirty words and kiss all you can think about.

it has you counting down the hours until the charity gala tomorrow evening—knowing that whatever happened between you and brandon carlo was just the beginning.

+

+

the polite conversation and soft clinking of champagne flutes is driving you insane. the gala moves around you at a turtles pace. quite literally. the stunning ballroom that must cost an arm and a leg to rent—although that's nothing for formula 1–is full of old business men and sponsors.

the music is dull and the snacks are a little off putting. it's boring, to say the least. but what can you expect from a gala put together by old, rich white men.

you nod along thoughtfully at the older couple in front of you. they're babbling on about some kind of expense to do with their business. mat and travis are with you, looking all too interested in that rather pointless conversation. clearly, the two mclaren drivers have mastered their craft when it comes to pretending to care about things that don't concern them.

that's sport media training for you.

you sigh to yourself and begin fiddling with the bracket around your wrist—the jewels sparkling under the gala lighting. a part of you thinks you're only feeling bored because you haven’t seen brandon yet. in fact, you hadn't even seen him in passing since the hot tub last night.

your body responds to the memory involuntarily, warmth seeping up your veins and heating your skin. brandon's lips that kissed you so tenderly at first, like you were his favourite desert to savour, but then turned desperate, kissing you the same way he drives. fast, hard and unpredictable. you know it's dangerous but you crave more.

you swallow roughly at the thought of brandon's mouth and hands splayed over you, turning your attention away from the conversation. you scan the busy gala floor, catching sight of familiar faces and mysterious ones who most likely belong to owners and employees and sponsors you’ve never met.

at the bar stands the man of your desires, dressed in a perfectly tailored all black suit. his hair styled in the same effortless manner he always seem to wear. the air catches at the back of your throat as you notice that brandon's eyes are already on you.

he's been watching you. waiting patiently for you to find him. a game of cat and mouse, and you thrive under the idea of being his prey. the way brandon is looking at you should make you feel worried—worried that somebody will see the way you're looking at one another.

but it doesn't. all you can feel is pure, raw need. the need to feel his hands on your skin and his lips on yours—gasps and breathless sighs the only sounds between you.

ever so subtly, brandon's top lip slides up in his usual smirk, making your stomach twist and twirl in its own kind of dance. he jerks his head at you, gesturing towards the dark hallway leading out of the ballroom.

brandon doesn't wait for you to move before he leaves, slipping between unsuspecting guests and into the hall. and like you can't control yourself, you follow. you part ways with mat, travis and the couple who's names you no longer recall, muttering some excuse about needing the restroom before following brandon's path, slithering between bodies until you're in the dark hallway.

your heels clicks to a stop on the polished tiles, body naturally slowing as you squint through the lack of light, searching for brandon. but just as you think you'll need to call out for him, his familiar touch encloses around your wrist.

you spin around to meet his delicious smirk and luxury scent. "fucking missed you," he mumbles so deeply that you swear you can feel his admission in your bones. brandon's hands slip around your waist, pulling you against his chest quicker than you can blink.

his lips are on yours in an instant, kissing you with just as much intensity as last night. immediately your limbs feel like jelly, and you whine against his mouth. your hands find his jacket, fingers gripping onto his lapels like your life depends on it.

brandon guides you backwards until you meet the delicate wallpaper covered wall, never once breaking the kiss. one of his hands slides up your front, bunching your silk dress momentarily and passing over your peddled nipple. his palm cups your cheek, holding you in place as he deepens the kiss.

brandon's tongue sweeps along your bottom lip, and you part like clockwork, letting him enter your mouth—tongues moving with one another like silk on silk. the distant sound of chatter fades to nothing in the presence of brandon. making it feel like you're the only people—not only in this room—but in the world.

he pulls away from your mouth in favour of dragging his lips along your jaw and down your neck, taking extra time to suckle your pulse point and the spot behind your ear that has your legs shaking. "brandon..." you whine breathily, attempting to grind down on his thick thigh that he'd pushed between yours.

"my name sounds so pretty on your lips," brandon admits so quietly that you're not even sure if he meant to say it out loud. you catch the sight of his rosy face and slick lips—which was quite the sight to behold— before he's coming back down to your lips, kissing you firmly.

this kiss is slowly becoming dangerous. of course you're in a dark hallway, and away from the public eye, but there's still people here. just on the other side of the wall. all it would take is an unsuspecting guest to wander into the hall and catch you two.

and god, the chaos that would cause. headlines of formula 1s most successful and decorated playboy claiming mcleran rookie's younger sister flash through your head like a sick and twisted newspaper. an impending doom. it's scandalous and fun and that's why you and brandon are falling into it.

an adrenaline junkie and a girl who is trying to step out of her comfort zone, bonded together by mutual attraction and something unknown—still brewing at the deepest point in their cauldron.

the press and reports and stupid gossip twitter accounts would also think you and brandon hooking up is scandalous. but mat...this would ruin him. always protective of you, your brother has never been one for being civil towards boys you showed interest in. if anything, mat would purposefully go out of his way to be an asshole to them.

and if he found out you and brandon were...doing whatever this is, he'd be pissed. brandon carlo is his biggest competition. always will be.

"what's wrong?" brandon pulls away from your lips, his question sitting heavily between you. you hadn’t realized how your shoulders tensed in thought, or how your lips stopped moving with his. but obviously brandon did. "I can feel your brain working."

you blink, hands slowly falling away from his suit lapels. you trace your swollen bottom lip with your tongue, chest heaving from lack of oxygen and anxious thoughts.

brandon's just as swollen lips pull into a frown. he tucks a loose piece of hair behind your ear, eyes trained on your unsure expression. "hey, tell me what's going on in that pretty head."

you don't know how to express your doubts without sounding like either a) a goody two shoes who's scared of her brother, or b) an asshole who only wants brandon for his dick.

neither are true, obviously. well, maybe the first one, but that's besides the point. your eyes flicker up to meet brandon's, and you take a deep breath. "we can't date. my brother will freak and the media will just turn this into a whole mess and I don't want that."

it comes out so fast and jumbled that you're not even sure if you spoke english. does brandon understand what you're trying to explain? is he mad at you? did he even hear you? 

you watch him cautiously and anxiously, lips parted as quick breaths leave and enter your lungs. but brandon doesn't even looked phased, which makes you think that he definitely didn't hear you.

but then—"okay."

"okay?" you repeat.

"yeah, okay." brandon nods, cupping your cheek once again. his thumb smooths over your cheekbone, your glittery highlighter smearing over the pad of his thumb. "we don't have to date for me to be able to touch you." he presses a kiss to the hinge of your jaw.

"and kiss you." brandon kisses the corner of your mouth, the usual light gray colour of his eyes replaced with a raging storm colour. his lips drop within a mere inch of yours, "and fuck you."

your breath hitches just as brandon closes the gap between you again. he holds your mouth with his for 5 seconds, giving you one firm and lingering kiss that makes you dizzy.

"talk to me, y/n." he says, giving your hip a firm squeeze. "don't go shy on me now." brandon teases, smile slowly returning.

a beat passes before you answer him. "i'm just thinking."

brandon's past whirls through your mind. all the gossip pages about his sexual escapades and reports about partying and drinking and fucking girls as often as he eats. it's intimidating and scary. is that all you are to brandon? just another pussy for another year of racing.

you know yourself. if this thing continues between you, you'll inevitably fall for him. just because you can’t date doesn’t meant you wouldn’t. and the thought of getting your heartbroken by not only the brandon you now know, but also the brandon you used to dream of, is a scary one. 

"stop thinking," brandon scolds you, but his tone is so soft and playfully that his words have no bite. "you'll just get in your head. do you want this or not?" he asks you again, accompanied by another stroke of his thumb over your cheek.

they way he's looking at you now has a lot of those thoughts floating away—probably against your better judgment. you're weak and you like him. and right now, that's enough for your doubts.

this is you letting go of your own self and doing something reckless. this isn't art school or your oldest pair of reliable jeans. this is brandon.

so you swallow down any remaining doubts and let yourself just feel. "I want this," you tell him, "I want you."

a slow smile draws on brandon's face, "fuck. dreamed of you saying those words." he leans back down in search of what will no doubt be another earth shattering kiss, but you push his chest, stopping him.

no angry, but firm. "but-" you start.

"not buts."

you laugh lightly, fingers slowly sneaking under his suit jacket because you simply can't help yourself. "yes. it's an important but," you pause, sending him a pointed look so he knows you're serious. "this stays between us. if my brother finds out..."

more like if the world finds out, in which your doubts will surely creep back in.

brandon kisses your lips, quick and steady. "my lips are sealed."

─────BRITISH GRAND PRIX─────

brandon was pissed. he didn't truly have a reason to be pissed, but that just how he gets when he feels out of control—or better yet, when he feels jealous.

when you told him that travis—that piece of shit mclaren driver who brandon is going to try really hard to not punch in the face next time he sees him—asked you on a date, brandon wasn't too upset. sure, he was annoyed because what the fuck kind of claim does travis thinks he has on you? not that brandon has that claim either, but it still gets his pissed.

but when you told him that you agreed, brandon was in disbelief. pure, white hot jealousy had clouded his vision and made his fingers twitch. you quickly followed it up with how mat was in hearing range at the time, and you were worried that if you declined, it would look suspicious. and then one thing would lead to another and then your brother finds out about brandon.

it's been almost a month since the kiss in the hallway at the gala, and since then you and brandon haven't slowed down. any possible opportunity and moment of privacy, you two are sneaking away and ripping each others clothes off. if you thought brandon kissed you perfectly, well, you were in for quite a surprise the first time he fucked you. you came three separate times, and each orgasm was more intense then the previous.

regardless of brandon's hatred for travis and the jealous rage that comes over him anytime he sees travis standing too close or looking at you, brandon knows that going on the date to get mat off your trails is smart. even though all you and brandon have is considered nothing more than friends with benefits, it’s still important to you to keep it private and away from mat.

so if going on a stupid date with mcleran trash is what you think is best, brandon agrees. but that doesn't mean that brandon wasn't going to hide in his room and pretend the date’s not happening. absolutely not—he too possessive for that. no, he's spraying himself in the cologne that drives you insane and fully intending on intercepting you and travis before you leave the hotel.

you know, because he can.

the elevator doors slide open smoothly into the grand lobby, and brandon steps out, eyes insanity searching the marbled surroundings for you. it's not hard—he'd recognize your hair, even from the back, from a mile away. the way it sits and how the light reflects of the colour. the perfect shade for you.

your back is turned towards the elevators as you peer out the large wall of windows and the revolving door. you've got your phone clutched in your hand, screen on. clearly you've been splitting your gaze between the night time streets and phone.

brandon makes his way towards you easily, coming up behind you—standing close enough so you know that he's there, but still leaving enough space between you that any pass byers won't bat an eyelid.

and the way your body reacts—shoulders tensing and head turning back just slightly—brandon knows you're aware that he's behind you. he catches a whiff of your perfume, although it’s nice, it’s not your usual scent. it's darker. sexier.

"you wearing that perfume for him?"  his voice is rumbly in your ear, sending a wave of shivers down your spine.

"for me." you spin aorund, which unintentionally gives him another wave of the scent. brandon hates that you're wearing something new for someone so minuscule. it makes him want to throw you over his shoulder, bring you up to his room and claim you and the new smell like some kind of animal.

he hums, "I like it."

"do you?"

"I do," he confirms, dropping his voice a tone lower, "smells like sex."

your eyes glaze over with lust at his admission, body naturally swaying in brandon's direction. you only word the perfume because you left your usual scent back in spain by complete accident. clearly, brandon likes it, and that has you forgetting about the supposed date with travis and rather focusing your attention on the man in front of you.

that is until your phone buzzes in your hand, a text from mcleran's sophomore driver lighting up your screen. you read the message quickly—essentially some half assed apology about having to cancel.

"oh."

"he canceled didn't he?"

you swallow, "it's fine." you wave a dismissive hand and pocket your phone in your jean pocket. "i'm not bothered, honestly."

but brandon? brandon is fucking bothered. he's not sure what's going through travis' thick skull, but clearly it's not anything in regards to your time or feelings. "not really." he grumbles.

brandon grabs your hand because right now he couldn't give a flying fuck about anybody else. he feels the tendons in your hands flex under his finger tips. that combined with the way your eyes widen, looking around the lobby cautiously, he knows you're worried.

worried about prying eyes and judgement and the word getting back to your brother. but brandon doesn't let go of your hand, and he tugs you closer, "let's go."

you blink, "what?"

"we're going out," he repeats, walking the both of you towards the glass doors that lead to the cool summer evening air.

"together?"

brandon sends you a smirk, "obviously."

"I thought—" you stop yourself. there was a part of you, one that you kept deep down, that feared brandon only wanted to fuck. and it wasn't that crazy of a thought to have. his past combined with how the both of you only tend to kiss and fuck in the privacy of either of your rooms—what other conclusion were you supposed to draw?

and you were fine with that. if that was the only way you got to have brandon you'd be okay. but this, right now, has your feelings swishing and swirling and growing—feelings that you've been trying so hard to suppress and keep under control.

"thought what?" brandon urges you to continue as you step out onto the sidewalk, the fresh crisp air enveloping you. it makes you shiver, fingers tightening between his instinctively.

you shake your head and once again push aside your doubts and fears. "nothing." you send him a closed mouth smile, which brandon mimics before tucking you into his side. the heat of his body is familiar and has you already forgetting about your inner turmoil.

"alright, c'mon then," he whispers into your hairline before he presses a lingering kiss there. the time of night and lack of people in the streets has brandon feeling bold.

"don't waste an outfit that pretty on a piece of shit guy who didn't even show up." brandon mutters, tossing his arms around your shoulders. his hand dangles off your arm like an invitation, and before you overthink it, your grab ahold of his fingers. keeping him close.

"because this outfit..." he blows out a long exhale, his eyes slowly trailing over your body. your jeans, which he's pretty sure are the ones you wore when you first met, hug your body in a way that makes his mouth actually water. and the top you’re wearing, dipping so low and accentuating your cleavage, is even better.

you brush off his compliment with a playful eye roll. "careful, talk about your competition like that and karma will get you."

brandon snorts, "oh, he's not competition."

you roll your eyes again, a smile tugging at your lips. "you're so cocky."

brandon shrugs at your claim as the two of you continue the casual stroll down the england sidewalk. shops light up the streets in their last few minutes of business, casting a warm glow over the both of you. a comfortable beat of silence passes, brandon's fingers flex against yours. "so, what were the plans? with the dick."

you laugh once and dig your elbow into his side, a silent way of telling him to behave. "dinner at that fancy place down the street. the one that's got Italian food." you tell him.

"your idea or his?"

"his."

"thought so.” brandon gives a short laugh. “fucking sucks."

your lip twitches, "don't be rude."

brandon sends you a knowing gaze, "that's me being nice."

"it's you being possessive." you correct him, sending him back the same look. it makes brandon smile. he slows in his steps before coming to a stop. brandon tightens his arm around your shoulders, pulling you right into his chest and slotting his lips with yours.

it lasts for a beat longer than brandon intended it to, but he simply can't help himself when he feels you melt against him, and sigh into his kiss all light and airy like you always do. brandon knows how to kiss, and it wrecks you every time.

he pulls away but then immediately leans back in for another peck. and then another. and then one more that makes you giggle against his boyish grin.

"so where are we going, carlo?" you question once the two of you start walking again—you still a little warm for the flurry of kisses.

"it's a surprise." he sing songs, pulling you into him ever tighter.

you pout, "I hate surprises."

brandon doesn't even blink. "why?"

at first you just shrug, gnawing along the plump skin of your bottom lip as you contemplate your words. you think about brushing it off and giving some kind of lighthearted excuse—but that's not the truth. and there’s something about brandon—the way he talks to you, and touches you and kisses you—has you wanting to open up.

and somehow, it's not scary.

"I don't like things out of my control," you admit, swallowing the anxious lump in throat before continuing. "I prefer planning things out—it makes me feel weak and anxious when I don’t." you could go deeper into it, but there's truly nothing else you're keeping for him. your admission is the truth—simplified—but straight to the point.

which brandon appreciates. it's not some beat around the bush, lengthy response that has him questioning what you're actually talking about—something past girls in his life tended to do that made brandon feel he was a carousel of contradictory claims.

he hums thoughtfully, "I can understand that. I get that when i'm racing sometimes."

"you do?" you whisper.

"yeah," brandon shrugs casually. surely. "when you can't control what's happening around you or in front of you, the chances of getting hurt—physically or emotionally—become higher. and it can be scary. it’s essentially putting your trust in someone else’s hands.”

his response has you blinking in surprise, because yeah, he hit the nail on the head. all you can do is just mumble dumbly, and blink again. "right."

brandon kisses your cheek, the smooching sound echoing through the empty streets. "the beach," he says against your warm cheek.

you hum in question.

"that's where we're going." and that makes you smile. no surprises for you. at least, not tonight.

you raise a brow, "do they even have beaches in britain?"

brandon laughs, "yeah silly girl, c’mon."

you try not to let yourself think too hard about the way brandon is acting with you. taking you out tonight was something he didn't have to do—you could've gone up to his room and just had sex like usual. but not tonight. it has those funny feelings resurfacing once more, and you're not sure how much longer you'll be able to repress them in his presence.

and then when you're at the beach, brandon lets you use his bicep as a pillow—protection from the sand and rocky terrain—as you look up the stars. and yeah, you're so fucked.

   ────SINGAPORE GRAND PRIX────

"oh my fucking god, baby."

the only response you can manage to give is another high pitched mewl, back arching impossibly higher off the bed. brandon's hands tighten where they hold your hips, the pads on his fingers almost bruising your delicate skin.

it's the best kind of pain, one that only makes you moan louder. he's got your entire lower half—hips and ass—practically off the mattress, keeping you at the perfect angle to thrust into your slippery entrance.

brandon's hips smack into yours impossibly hard and fast, the perfect combination that is dragging you closer and closer to your already nearing edge. the pulsating head of his cock switches between plunging against your spongy walls and kissing your cervix. and each time it catches you by the best kind of surprise—you’re practically fucking squealing.

if it didn't feel so good, you'd be embarrassed. embarrassed of the pornographic level of noises you're emitting, and embarrassed of the way you're completely soaking brandon's length and dripping down onto the hotel bedding.

“look so fucking hot, y/n," he grunts, eyes falling away from where you're connected and settling upon your blissed out face. "look so pretty on my cock."

your puffy lips part, a half mumbled response falling from them. brandon doesn't even know what you're saying but he doesn't care. you're so fucked dumb on his cock that your nonsense response only urges him to go faster. deeper. harder.

you look a mess. your hair, which is usually styled or pulled back, is loose and tangled, sprawled over the mattress and framing you like an angel. mascara coloured tears are running down your temples, and your mouth is almost bruised from brandon’s kisses. and the creamy ring of slick at the base of his cock—that's the cherry on top.

"fuck, 'm cumming." you manage to grunt, voice impossibly breathless. but brandon gets the jist of it. he doesn't slow his thrusts as he falls to hover over your quivering body. brandon attaches his mouth to the spot just under your ear, suckling on the patch of sensitive skin.

it's the final push to have you completely snapping, pussy spasming around his cock as you reach your peak, creamy fluids dripping from your entrance and adding to the mess already pooled beneath your ass on the sheets.

"oh fuck," brandon groans into your neck, "such a good girl—you're gunna make me cum."

"brandon." you gasp, legs shaking and shuttering where they’re hooked around brandon's waist, as he works you through the shockwaves of your climax.

his name falling off your lips is what makes him grunt out, cock twitching inside you as he too reaches his orgasm. the coil in his abdomen tightening and snapping, ropes of sticky cum coating your walls.

once brandon finishes emptying himself in your gooey entrance, he wraps his forearm around your back, using the new leverage to roll onto his sweat misted back and bring you with him.

you giggle into his chest, listening to his thumping heart beneath your warm ear. you used to think that you hated cuddling after sex. it always just seemed so yucky and dirty. both of your covered in sweat and body fluids—panting and a little overstimulated.

but with brandon it's not like that. the first time you fucked, he didn’t even give you the option to slip away—he was dragging you against his sweaty chest before you even could blink.

it's nice with him. everything is.

you feel brandon’s lips sweep along your forehead, his touch so featherlight that it almost tickles. he's smiling against you.

you tilt your head up to gaze up at him, legs tangling together over the sheets. you're sure soon enough, once your bodies come down from their respective highs, the sweat will become unbearable and cold. but right now neither of you could care.

"you okay?"

you hum, "yeah."

brandon smiles again, but you barley get a chance to see it before he's swooping down to steal a kiss. his hand scratches at your scalp absentmindedly when you pull away, making the muscles in his bicep shift under your neck. it's so simple, yet so comforting.

you take the moment of silence and calmness—something you don't often get in the traveling life of the formula 1 world—to admire brandon. his soft, flushed skin and the wrinkling near his eyes and smile lines. a clear indicator that he's often smirking and grinning. just the thought has a smile blossoming on your tingling lips.

the slope of his nose and the dip of his top lip—lips that kiss you with the perfect mix of greed and gentleness. his eyes, which ones remind you of a storm, now only show you a deep ocean—mysterious, intriguing and beautiful.

you gently reach out and run your finger over the dull scar on the apple of his cheek. it's flush to his skin, almost nonexistent under the pad of your index finger, but it still makes you frown. "how'd you get this scar?"

brandon grabs your hand and brings your fingers towards his mouth, nipping at them playfully. "fighting a shark."

you laugh, pulling your hand back and tuck it between your ear and his chest. "brandon, be serious."

"my sophomore year racing, when I was still acting young and stupid—"

"are you implying that you no longer act young and stupid?" you interrupt teasingly.

brandon's mouth turn upwards, choosing to continue his story without commenting on your quip. "I went go-karting with a couple of the older drivers. we were all coming back from the bars and broke into this place. my kart rolled and this scar is the result."  he looks down at you curiously, "bad ass, right?"

you hum in faux thought, "more like ridiculous." he breathes a laugh, pulling you tighter and closer against his chest. "have you always wanted to be a driver?" you ask after a beat, soft and curious.

"since I could barley walk."

"really?"

he nods, "yeah. had my own tiny ferrari cars that I used to bring everywhere. driving was ingrained into my brain before I even knew what a car was."

brandon's story makes you think about you and your brother, and how the two of you would play with tiny toy cars. you suppose every formula 1 driver has dreamed about it, and something about that pulls on your heartstrings. and for someone like brandon, who has been so successful and has raced for so long, it must be more than surreal for him.

"what about you?"

your eyebrows draw inward, and your fingers still against his chest from where they previously traced nonsense shapes. "what about me?"

"what's your dream?"

the answer comes in autopilot fashion. you've been practicing the career question response since freshman year of high school when you first started to realize your childhood dream of art school was fading. "I want to go to art school. learn about history and culture that paints the most famous pieces in the world."

brandon is silent for a moment, quietly digesting and analyzing your response and the tone of which you say it. "and now?" he prompts easily. like he knows the words coming out of your mouth aren't authentic. and you think maybe he does know it, and for the first time that doesn't frighten you.

you push up onto your elbow, peering down at brandon with a new found sparkle in your eye. "I want to be a writer."

"what kind of writer?" he smiles.

"novels primarily. romance specifically."

"why romance?"

"I don't know," you pause and take a deep breath, fingers fiddling with the chain hanging loose around brandon's neck as you articulate your thoughts. "there's just something so special about reading about love. cuddling up after a long day and just emerging yourseing into this perfect, fictional world. authors like tessa bailey and elsie silver—both write such fun stories and write so beautifully and just completely encapsulate the reader. I want to be that for someone else."

brandon just looks at you, and suddenly that makes you feel silly. becoming a writer is hard, and having to create scenes on paper the way you see them in your head is even harder. it's an almost impossible dream. you laugh half heatedly, blinking hard, "but I don't know...Im still trying to get into art school."

"what?" he mumbles, confusion lacing his words, "why?"

you shrug causally, even though the look in your eyes is anything but. "because that's what I wanted to do."

you say it like it's simple. like it's the right choice. it makes brandon want to shake your shoulders until you change your mind. the way he just heard you talk about writing the way you did, had him feeling all sorts of things. fuck, the look in your eyes talking about creating a novel...it's a look he's never seen on you before.

"wanted," brandon reminds you, "past tense."

your brows pull downward towards your nose again, "but it's the plan, and I can't mess up the plan."

he almost wants to laugh. "fuck the plan."

"it sounds easier than it is," you sigh gently.

"well," brandon starts after a lingering pause of silence, "whatever you end up doing...I know you'll be great at it. especially writing."

you grin shyly, chin dropping down to his peck. "you think so?"

"know so," he confirms while pushing some frizzy hair away from your face. then a boyish look begins morphing over his expression, and instantly you know he's about to say something that will have you simultaneously rolling your eyes, and suppressing a smile. "besides you can always use us as inspiration for your first book." brandon pitches, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

"you're stupid." your words turn into a squeal as brandon quickly shifts you onto your back. he hovers over you again, smirk unwavering as he leans down and runs the tip of his nose down yours.

"stupid for you." brandon says lowly before he leans down and claims your lips once more. a lingering and firm kiss that has butterflies going crazy in your lower belly, and your legs wrapping around his naked hips.

"who knew brandon carlo was so cheesy," you smile as you say it, momentarily stopping the kiss due to the stupid grin on your face.

he breaths a sound that sounds like a short laugh, cupping your face gently before leaning down and continuing the kiss. brandon rolls his hips into you, his already hardening member sliding between the mess still between your legs.

you know he's nowhere near done with you tonight.

  ───────US GRAND PRIX───────

there was only thing your mom always said—when your brother got a seat with a formula 1 team, she'd invite the entire grid to your childhood home for a barbecue. you always thought it was a little weird and random, but your mom always waved off your concerns, claiming that there was no better way to celebrate mat's new achievement.

and she kept that promise, much to your surprise. now here you are, childhood backyard full of drivers and their families alike—chatting happily and laughing with one another in between sips of beer and bites of food. mat is at the center of it all, beaming with a stupid kiss the chef apron on, flipping burgers and hotdogs on the grill top.

even through the glass door that separates the yard from the cozy kitchen of the home, you can hear how easily they all get along—pushing differences and competition aside for the day. it's refreshing, and for a moment you forget about it all. the traveling and hostility and podiums. a much needed end of summer break for not only you and the drivers families, but for the drivers themselves.

beside you at the island, your mom sighs happily while she's busy mixing the punch into the orange juice filled bowl—turning the liquid an electric colour. your mouth waters at the sight and smell of fresh citrus wafting through the air.

you drag a knife down the centre of a lemon, slicing the fruit into two perfect halves. "want the whole lemon cut up, mum?"

she shoots you a quick glance, "yeah, might as well—it'll favour it more." she adds some extra ice cubes—shaped like race cars—into the punch bowl, keeping it cold even though it inevitably will melt under the heat of the sun. your mom smiles at you, "i'm sure all those people will drink it up in no time anyways, and we'll be back in here doing it all over again. good thing I bought so many fruits."

you laugh, slicing the lemon into almost perfect rounds. "yeah, it's nice that they all came out."

a moment passes before your mom speaks again, "I noticed that brandon isn't here yet."

your hands still along the red handle of the knife. a colour that you can't help but relate to the man in question. it's true, brandon isn't at your moms home yet. in truth, he didn't even know if he'd be able to come. when brandon told you that he wasn't sure if his flight from his families place in colorado would get back in time for the barbecue, you had brushed it off, easily masking your disappointment.

brandon didn't have to be here. there was no obligation just because he was fucking you. but that doesn't mean you don't want him to come—meet your mom and spend time in the house you grew up in. admire your childhood art work that's still on the fridge and the baby photos of you in the hallway.

it's dangerous territory thinking of brandon so domestically, but you can't help it. you've been thinking of brandon as more than a fuck buddy for quite some time now. of course, neither of you have actually disclosed anything about the status of your relationship, but friends with benefits—great benefits may you add—is the closest thing. so maybe him not coming is a blessing in disguise—no matter how hard your heart protests that idea.

"I don't think he can make it." you shrug nonchalantly without looking over at your mom—because if you do, you know she'll see right through you.

your mom hums, "I wouldn't be too sure of that honey, because it looks like he's coming in here right now."

"what?" you breathe, knife and fruit quickly forgotten as you direct your attention to the glass doors of the porch. instantly you see brandon, dressed in a loose linen shirt, his top three buttons undone to spare you a nice view of his collarbones and the top of his chest.

he pulls open the door, his familiar scent immediately finding your senses. you can't help the smile that grows on your lips as your eyes catch his.

"hey," brandon breathes through a grin, "mat mentioned that you guys were in here. hope i'm not interrupting." brandon's eyes flicker between you and your mom, a curious glint over his expression.

the punch ladle hits the counter top with a click, and your mom immediately rounds the kitchen island, "no of course not!" she beams, pulling brandon into a hug before he can answer. you'd be embarrassed at your moms straightforwardness if it wasn't for the easy look on brandon's face, indicating he doesn't mind. thank god.

"i'm brandon, it's lovely to meet you." he breezes. clearly, he's one of those people who are just naturally good with parents. must be the charisma and all that.

your mom pulls back but keeps a friendly hand on his bicep, "oh, i'm well aware of who you are, brandon. it's so lovely to finally meet you, y/n has told me lots about you." she sends you a playful look over her shoulder, one that makes you want to drown yourself in the punch bowl.

and brandon? he eats that up. "oh has she?" he smirks, meeting your eyes over your moms head, gaze nothing but teasing and amused.

"oh yes—"

"mum." you interrupt her incredulously, a bubble of panic settling over your chest and face.

she waves you off, "don't mum me honey!"

much to your embarrassment, brandon just laughs. thankfully though, he doesn't want to torture you more, because he changes the topic before your mom continues. "these are for you," brandon grins, handing off a bouquet to your mom, full of beautiful purple and pink flowers.

you blink in surprise. you didn't even notice the flowers in his hands. that's what you get for eye banging him like a teenager.

"oh! aren't you sweet, they're lovely. thank you, brandon." she gushes, taking the flowers and immediately walking further into the kitchen for a vase. she finds one easily, turning her back to the both of you in favour of filling the glass up with water.

brandon takes the moment of half privacy and walks towards you, easily resting against the side of the island. he's got another bouquet, this one full of sunflowers and baby breathes. it's so ridiculously beautiful. "and these ones are for you. hopefully this isn't too much of a surprise." he adds teasingly, passing you the arrangement while referencing a secret you told him back in england. it makes your heart swell.

you take them, although in a little bit of a daze. you don't think anybody has gotten you flowers, and it's really doing a number on your heart. your lips part, pausing to admire the flowers. after a beat, your eyes flicker back up to brandon. "nah, just a suck up."

his grin widens, "and i'd do it again." and you know he means that. brandon keeps his gaze on you, unwilling to look away—a playful expression on his face. it has you crumbling, and you bring the bouquet up to your nose so you can hide the embarrassing smile that blooms across your lips.

"you know brandon," your moms easy voice breaks you apart, "y/n used to be so obsessed with you."

you can physically feel all the blood drain from your face. brandon looks away from you at that point, a curious raise to his eyebrow as he urges your mom to elaborate."what do you mean?"

"oh my god, mum. can we seriously stop." you mange to squeak out a a response. the last resort you have to save yourself from a lifetime of embarrassment. you know exactly what your mom is going to tell him next, and the thought is nauseating. 

your mom completely ignores you and your pleading expression with a playful glimmer in her eyes. "she used to have your posters up on her wall—actually there's one still up. don't think she had the heart to take them down."

brandon breathes a pleased, short laugh, jaw going slack and eyes narrowing in your direction. not that you would know though, because you've completely diverted your gaze to the lemon juice pooling on the cutting board under the half sliced fruit.

"oh, I have to see that," he laughs.

"no. you don't."

your mom tuts her tongue and plops the flowers into the vase, "y/n, show him!"

"yeah, y/n, show me." brandon's voice lowers to almost a whisper, leaning close enough that you can feel his body heat.

you sigh after a painfully long beat. "fine," you grumble, looking up at brandon and his triumphant grin. you shove an accusatory finger in between his pecks, "but only if you promise to never speak of this conversation again."

he grabs your hand between his, holding you to his chest. "cross my heart."

if you knew how this stupid barbecue would've turned out—with the guy you're hooking up with finding out about your embarrassing teenage crush on him—you would've preferred brandon to stay away in colorado with his parents. at least than you wouldn't have to face him.

your mom, ever the instigator, just breezes past the both of you, punch bowl in her arms. "have fun you two." she smiles and then slips back out into the yard, leaving you and brandon alone in the kitchen.

his smile hasn't wavered, and it only makes you want to crawl into a hole and never come out. brandon tilts his head at you, eyes filled with something you can't decipher, and then he takes the flowers out of your hands.

in an instant, you groan dramatically, covering your face with your palms in some kind of attempt at hiding from his intense, humor laced gaze.

brandon laughs shortly, and pulls your hands away from your face, "no point in hiding now, y/n. I know your deepest secret now." he mumbles through his boyish grin before leaning down to kiss you slowly, dragging it out until you think you could pass out. "I knew you were obsessed with me."

"first of all," you say, "I wasn't obsessed with you."

his brows draw down towards his nose, "no?"

you're still a little dizzy from the kiss, but somehow you manage to respond—teasingly at that. "no," you shake your head, "you were too old for me."

brandon laughs once, loudly, head tilting back and giving you a delicious view of his toned neck. "old jokes can't get you out of this one, y/n." he responds once his eyes meets yours again, reaching and out interlocking your fingers together.

he pulls you into his chest. "you sure?" your voice is laced with skepticism coupled with playfulness—hesitation and anxiety about the situation clear. you know you're not going to get out of this one. and like you expected, brandon shakes his head no, a weird grin on his face like he can't decide if he's amused or pitying your clear embarrassment.

it makes you groan dramatically, forehead meeting his sternum. brandon snickers into your hair, letting go of your hands in favour of rubbing a hand up and down your spine. the frilly fabric of your blouse wrinkling under his palm.

"you're fine," he hums, "now let's get up to that bedroom." his eyebrows waggle suggestively.

you narrow your gaze, "i've never had a man so excited to go up to my bedroom to see his own face before." you note, (reluctantly) pulling brandon down the narrow hall off the kitchen that leads to your bedroom.

the eyes that had previously been peering at the various picture frames covering every inch of floral wallpaper, flicker towards you as the comment registers in his head. "don't talk about other men going up to your bedroom," brandon grunts.

your top lip twitches, "why? you jealous." you turn to face him, falling back against the white wooden door that separates you from your once sacred room. for a moment you think about seducing your way out of the situation—bat your lashes, or grope him, or flash your tits if you're feeling drastic enough. after all, if brandon doesn't see it. then it's not true.

but you know him well enough to know that he's never going to let you live this situation down, and he's getting in that room one way or another. yes, even if your tits are out.

slowly, brandon just shakes his head, denying your suggestion about him being jealous thinking of other guys in your room, even though he totally is. "no, because you're just stalling right now."

the hopeful smile you'd been sporting quickly falls.

"c'mon." he kisses your check in some kind of wordless apology, which of course works in his favour.

you groan dramatically again, hand blindly finding the doorknob that you can feel digging into your lower back behind you, where you then reluctantly open the door. it swings with a creak, and brandon is hit with the familiar scent of your shampoo and perfume.

despite your orderly personality, your bedroom is kind of all over the place—a complete contrast. your bedding consists of different patterns and bright colours, and the lilac paint on your walls is a colour brandon has never seen you wear. the desk under the window is a complete mess of notebooks, novels and loose mail—accompanied by picture frames and a few tiny stuffed animals that don't fit on your bed.

all brandon can do is blink, slowly spinning in the middle of your room to take in your space. you gnaw your lip in a mixture of nerves and anticipation. it's only a matter of time until he sees the picture of him above your bedside table.

and just like that, he stops, eyes narrowing in on the poster—the glossy image illuminated by the polka dot bedroom lamp you left on. brandon takes slow steps towards it, but with his long ass legs it's barley a step and a half before he's there.

brandon pinches the corner between his thumb and forefinger. the paper feels thin under his thumb, years of wear and tear evident. it looks like one of those posters you get in a magazine with the t shaped crease running through it.

"wow." he muses.

"don't even start," you send him a deadpanned look as his bewildered eyes meet yours over his shoulder.

he releases the picture of himself in favour of spinning back in your direction, hands held out in a mocking surrender at your biting tone. "no no im just...did you used to kiss it before going to bed?" brandon continues twisting the knife in your chest, a smirk on his face while he does it.

you can't decide if you want to kiss him or shove him out your room and never look him in the eye again. "shut up," you grumble.

brandon steps into your space, your chest practically brushing against his toned stomach underneath his thin linen top. "hey, just a question," he reassures you playfully, hands finding your hips under the hem of your top. brandon squeezes your bare skin. "I totally think you did though."

"you wish."

"want me to sign it?"

"fuck off." you snort, gripping at his wrists and weakly attempting to pry him off.

brandon just laughs, not done with pushing your buttons just yet. "hey, no need for profanities. lots of girls would kill to have me in their bedroom, don't be ungrateful—oh look there's another picture of me."

and there it is, the bigger poster of him on the backside of your closet door—the closet door you'd left open not thinking anything of it. god, how could you have been so naive? you should've known brandon would con his way into your bedroom like a horny teenage boy some way or another.

you should've never just assumed his flight from colorado would be on your side.

"oh my god," you whine, "this is so embarrassing." you manage to slip out of his grip, sluggishly moving towards your unmade bed to then only flop down on the bouncy mattress. you grab one of your fuzzy throw pillows and cover your face, whining again into the fur.

it doesn't sound like a whine as much as a dying cat, but brandon gets the jist of it. he follows your path, climbing on the bed, thighs on either side of yours. "it's not."

"you're only saying that cause you like looking at yourself." your muffled tease makes brandon's grin widen.

"like looking at you more, c'mon." brandon mumbles, pulling the pillow away from your face, revealing your pout. he smiles again, this time softer. "there she is." brandon's voice is no louder than a whisper.

you swallow, "you just gunna keep looking at me or are you going to put me out of my misery?"

"misery? nah, I'm loving this," he nudges his nose against yours, "you're cute when you're embarrassed."

"i'm glad my pain brings you joy," you quip.

"you're so dramatic." you don't get a chance to respond to brandon's tease before he's claiming your mouth. all thoughts of your banter fades away as he kisses you, mind and body completely surrendering to all thins brandon carlo.

your hands find the tender muscles of brandon's neck, fingers sliding around to the back and sliding into his soft hair. you pull him in deeper, carefully dragging your tongue along brandon's bottom lip in an attempt to deepen the kiss.

but brandon doesn't let you. he pulls off you, and you whine pathetically and wriggle underneath him like a desperate fish. "i'm not fucking you in here with your family and the entire grid outside."

"but-"

your protest is cut short.

"i'm gunna make you cum though," brandon grumbles. "gotta stay quiet for me, okay?"

you can only manage a gasp, and that's the only sound brandon needs to hear to know you're more than okay with the idea. which, yeah, you need him badly. slowly, he tugs down your light wash denim shorts, almost at an antagonizing pace, until they're on the floor, leaving you in just your panties and top.

brandon easily adjusts your body position, manhandling your legs until you're spread open the way he wants, giving himself free range to look at the damp center of your underwear. underwear that's barley covering your pussy, mind you. which is just torturous for brandon. 

he curses, settling beside you on the stack of pillows with a hungry look in his eyes. brandon sandwiches your one thigh between his, not only keeping you spread, opening you up even further, but also trapping you. brandon knows you're a squirmer, especially when his fingers are inside you.

you watch with baited breath as brandon's hand slides over the edge of your thing, settling between your leg—teasing you until the last possible second like usual. two of his thick fingers hook onto the side of your underwear and pull them off to the side.

the feeling of the cool air hitting your slick heat has you mewling lowly, your hips jerking in an attempt to create some friction. "oh god," you sigh desperately, head falling on brandon's shoulder as he stars pawing at your clit, rubbing the bud in precise, slow circles.

"I know," he coos lowly while his index and middle finger slip down your slick folds, not only spreading your arousal but also teasing your entrance. brandon curses, "you're so wet. I love your fucking pussy so much—always ready."

your jaw goes slack when he begins to ease his two fingers into your gummy entrance. the stretch is a familiar sensation, one that you've been desperately waiting for and trying to replicate in the weeks you and brandon have been apart. but nothing—not even your own hand—can replicate brandon's touch.

your reflex to combat the overwhelming sensation is to grab ahold brandon's wrist. you're not even sure what you're asking for, but brandon always seems to know, giving you exactly what you need.

"missed you," you babble, chest heaving under your tank top, "been so long."

"m' can tell," he grumbles through a half smirk, "practically drenching my hand." brandon missed you as well though, even if he doesn't say it out loud. fuck, he missed you so much that it had his body feeling hallow. you're all he could think about—all day and at night where he'd dream of you.

but saying all that right now probably isn't the sexiest thing. so his teasing remark will do.

"shut up—fuck." the words die on your tongue as brandon's hand moves, angling upward so that the heel of his palm is now smacking and rubbing against your clit achingly good, while his fingers continue there languid yet expert pace inside you. brandon stokes are calculated, ensuring you feel him all over—making a mess of you.

you moan again—definitely too loud for the setting, but it's so easy to forget that the entire grid is in your backyard, just a hallway away, when brandon is pleasing you like this. the pads of his fingers perfectly rub against the spongy spot inside you, turning the already amazing feeling into pure, white hot pleasure.

"yeah that's it baby," brandon grunts, forearm flexing against you as he continues the pace. "you gunna cum?" he asks even though he's already well aware of the answer. brandon can tell that you're on the brink of an orgasm simply based on the way you're fluttering around him. your arousal collecting in a creamy ring around his knuckles. it's sticky and messy and just how brandon loves it.

"uh huh."

he smirks at the sound of your mindless, fucked out hum of a response. "that's my girl, fuck, c'mon."

your lower belly tightens at the term of endearment, brandon's praise pushing you over the edge and plummeting you into an orgasm. you walls contract so tightly that it's almost impossible for brandon to continue pumping his fingers in and out of you—riding you through the shockwaves of pleasure.

"fuck, oh fuck." you cry, nails digging into brandon's forearm—feeling the ridges of muscle and delicious veins under the pads of your fingers. brandon doesn't let up yet, keeping the vigorous pace in and out of your overstimulated pussy until you're sobbing, "brandon, too much."

"you're okay." he coos. every so slowly, brandon slows down, allowing you to catch your breath, hips falling back down to your bed as the overwhelming pressure begins to ease. "did so good f'me." brandon smiles against your skin, kissing away the single tear that escaped you.

you can only hope that this is the only kind of crying brandon will cause, because your heart has slowly but completely transferred into the palm of his hand. and it's scary. scary when brandon's lips finds yours, fingers still nestled inside your pulsating heat, palm over your clit like he's just holding you.

it's scary when he pulls out of you and mumbles against your mouth that he missed you. it's scary when you both walk out to the yard 15 minutes and a blowjob later, and nobody bats at eye at the way you're looking at him.

and it's so fucking scary how you never want to look away.

──────BRAZIL GRAND PRIX──────

people always describe tragic events as time moving in slow motion. the clock completely freezing as the concept of seconds evaporate into nothing short of molasses. one second turning into an hour. stop motion scenes that turn your stomach and head.

but as you watch the front end of the bright red ferrari car spin out on the slippery track, time doesn't slow down—it makes sure you witness every antagonizing movement as it happens. brandon is surely trying to jerk the wheel, a desperate attempt to get the car back on the track, but it's no use.

the track is too wet from the rain. the rain that is still pelting down all over the track and cars. the car spins again, all the way around and barley misses the back end of the first astin martin, before ramming into the wall. the crunching sound is sickening, echoing through the garages. fuck, you can even hear the sound over the mclaren headphones.

even if it wasn't for the noise of the crash, your brothers voice through the headphones covering your ears inform the crew of the accident, meaning you would've known regardless.

you can see it. even through the downpour, you can see the way the engine smokes, tires all bent and flat as the car just sits there like a loaded gun. it's all happening so fast. the ferrari staff storming the track, ambulance on stand by for brandon. just in case.

the thought of him being hurt in there makes you feel physically ill. your body is frozen in place. you can't move or blink or do anything besides wait. because although the crash was fast, waiting for brandon to get out of the half mangled car was taking forever.

just when you start to think the worst, you see the ferrari staff help brandon out of the car. you let out a breath you don't realize you were holding in. the sight of him, standing on his two feet is enough of a relief for tears to prickle at the corner of your eyes.

brandon rips his helmet off and immediately throws it to the pavement, the anger fuelled action followed by a guttural scream—the curse echoing through the garages and leaving a weight on your chest.

he's angry. angry about the crash and with himself for not being able to control the car. he's failed his fans and ferrari and himself today—something he never ever wants to do. something he can't do. brandon runs a hand through his sweaty hair, tugging roughly at the root as he starts stalking away from the scene.

you watch him cautiously, tears threatening to spill over your waterline and track down your cheeks, until he disappears into the ferrari garage. vanishing from your direct line of sight. instantly you're pulling off the clunky orange headphones, body acting on autopilot as you begin to make your way out of the garage.

you follow brandon's footsteps easily—through the blinding white back hallways that connect all the lounges together. anxiously peering into every room and past every open door, looking for him. your body feels numb, limbs and head heavy and weak. and when you do stumble across him—pacing in the ferrari room with his head down, muttering to himself about things you can't quite hear—that's when you finally break.

physically he's okay, and even though you saw brandon walk in here himself, there was still a nagging worry that had your stomach in knots. you've never been so distraught over someone in your life—thankfully you haven't had to be. it's a strange and new feeling, one that has you completely loosing your composure and emotions.

at the sound of your hiccuped gasp, brandon spins to face you. in an instant his anger and self dissatisfaction fades away. because you're there, hands shaking and tears streaming down your face, looking at him like you've just seen a fucking ghost.

brandon rushes to you, "hey, hey come here." the sob you let out is obscene as he grabs ahold of your face, thumbs instantly trying to wipe away the mess of mascara and salty tears under your eyes. brandon's eyebrows pull in worry, "what's wrong my baby?"

if you weren't so damn silly and distraught, you would've been sent into outer space at the nickname. brandon only calls you baby when he's inside of you. but right now, you're so upset that brandon can't even think about trying to be careful with his words. you're his baby and he wants nothing more than to soothe you and kiss you until you're okay.

"I just feel sad for you," you mumble between hitched breaths, blinking up at him in a way the resembles as abandoned kitten.

brandon shakes his head before pressing a lingering kiss to the center of your forehead. "i'm okay." and it's the truth. of course, he's fucking pissed off about having to DNF a race this late in the season, but the doesn't compare to how upset he is at himself for making you so upset and anxious about it.

the last thing he wants to do is fail you. you're all he has. brandon doesn't want you to feel sad for him. or disappointed or anything else. before he can start mentally spiralling about how he's let you down, your meek and tear stricken voice completely has his attention. "no matter how many times I watch crashes happen, seeing it never gets easier. and then when I saw it was you..." another round of unshed tears dare to fall.

you take another shaky breath, cold fingers wrapping around his thick wrists. keeping brandon there, cupping your face. "I thought you may of been hurt."

brandon can only blink at first, unsure what to say. usually when somebody comes to find him—after a great race or a terrible one—it's never to do with concern for the driver. only his performance.

but you? you don't care about the cars or the stats or the podiums. all you care about is him.

"I know," he swallows roughly after a tense beat, "I'm okay though...see i'm in one piece."

you nod tenderly before resting your cheek on the damp material of his red under-suit. brandon's arms wrap around your shoulders simultaneously, holding you against his chest as you continue to cry. he presses kisses to the top of your heat, butterfly whispers of reassurance that it's okay. that he's okay.

and it's just what you need—heart beat returning back to a normal speed, limbs beginning to find their gravity once again—all while brandon rubs your back and holds you like nothing else matters.

"i'm sorry about the race." you tell him earnestly, tilting your face up as you do, chin nestled on his chest between his pecks. "I know that you're upset with how it turned out."

he purses his lips in a half frown, and then brandon shrugs dismissively, "there'll be another race." one of his hands runs over the top of your head, smoothing your hair, "i'm sorry that it got you worked up. didn't mean to scare you."

you shake your head. "just kiss me." you whisper, pleading.

brandon surges down, slotting his lips over yours tenderly.

he's sweaty under your touch, and you can feel the dissatisfaction radiating off of him about the result of the race—even though he declines it. however, his apology to you—sincere and soft—is nothing but the truth. your heart clings to it. clings to him and his kiss and his body.

brandon carlo is nothing you've ever had before. spontaneous and playful and would rather never race again than plan out his life. he is your opposite. he pushes you in the best way, makes you feel things you've never experienced. the way he talks to you so sure and sweet, and how he kisses you tenderly coupled with passion.

the sex doesn't even matter anymore. it's always been more than the benefits for you. with brandon, even when you told him that's all it could be. it was a lie. because it's always been about everything else.

you're falling in love with ferrari's golden boy.

"y/n?" mats voice echos down the long hallways, footsteps sounding closer as he searches for you. "are you down here?"

you pull away from brandon just before your brother rounds into the lounge, still wearing his racing suit around his hips. his dark eyes flicker between you and brandon with a look you can't decipher.

all you know is it makes you feel guilty. mat's hard gaze settles on brandon for a beat longer than necessary, only making your anxious feelings multiply by a tenfold.

mat looks back at you, "what are you doing here?" his tone is ever suspicious, and unsure.

brandon answers before you even have the chance to open your mouth. "she's just checking in on me." his tone is firm. final. protective.

it only makes mat angry. he jerks his head towards the door, a silent command for you to follow. "it's time to go, y/n." and his tone? it's unarguable. you know there's no point in disputing with mat, especially when he gets like this. always protective, your brother. always quick to think the worse and jump to conclusions. if you choose to argue with him about this, it will only make you and brandon look guilty. which technically, you're not, but it certainly feels wrong.

so you walk out of the room behind mat, looking back at brandon over your shoulder just before the wall cuts off your vision. you send him a soft smile, one that he barley returns—too many mixed emotions swirling through his chest to return it properly.

and you understand that. because you fucking love him and know brandon well enough to understand how he operates. at least, you think you do. you hope you do.

─────ABU DHABI GRAND PRIX─────

mat y/l/n walks through the padlock on heavy feet, his gaze angry, pointed and ahead. his fists clench and unclench at his sides in bursts, knuckles cracking and creaking with frustration and determination. a member of mclaren tries to get his attention as he barrels past the lounge, but mat doesn't give him the time of day.

there's no time for pointless chitchat when mat is on a mission. a mission to find brandon carlo and set him fucking straight. mat doesn't know what he walked into last week, but he knows he doesn't like it. whatever brandon carlo is doing with you—his baby sister—is going to end. today. whether he likes it or not.

mat catches sight of ferrari red ahead as brandon checks out his car with an easy smile on his face—the last car obviously wrecked last race. mat's jaw tightens, frustration practically radiating off of him as he all but b-lines towards the older driver.

as soon as mat is in distance, he clamps his hand down on brandon's shoulder—hard—turning brandon toward himself. "stay away from my sister." he bites.

brandon quickly shrugs off his hand, his own anger and surprise evident. "excuse me?"

"you heard me carlo," mat snaps, taking a quick step forward. "she's too young to be fucked around by you and then dumped like the rest of your hookups."

brandon snickers like it's funny, and it only adds fuel to mats fire. the ferrari driver looks away for a moment, clenching his teeth hard before finding the dark eyes of your brother again. "she's an adult who can make decisions for herself. and I know she wouldn't like this."

"you don't know her," mat huffs incredulously, fighting the urge to shove brandon's chest. "you know her body and that's it."

the crude comment takes brandon back. he blinks twice as your brother's disgusting insinuation settles in his stomach, swallowing roughly. "I know more than you think." and sure, although something like that would've been true last season—or fuck, even the start of this one—it's not anymore. not with you.

mat doesn't miss a beat, despite the earnest tone of brandon's last admission. your brother knows how guys like brandon carlo operate, and the last thing mat wants is for you to get tangled up in his web. "stay away from her, carlo. i'm serious."

"are you fucking threatening me?" brandon scoffs lowly, taking an intimidating step toward him. and yeah, brandon is older than him and more qualified. but mat? he couldn't give a rats ass, especially when it came to his baby sister.

mat steps forward as well, unwilling to back down. "yeah. I am. y/n is too young and nice to be with a guy like you. everyone knows who are carlo," he pauses and laughs in disbelief paired with amusement. "once you inevitably move on to the next best thing, and leave my sister to heal her broken heart—ignore her and pretend she's just another pretty face in the crowd, like you do with every fucking woman you come across—she'll very quickly remember who are you; a fucking washed up driver who fucks anything that walks."

brandon's jaw grinds down impossibly tighter. a band of tension threatening to snap. "you don't know what's going on between us, y/l/n." his voice is almost quiet. laced with disbelief, frustration and a little bit of pride. the last attempt to save himself.

"I dont need to know because your reputation speaks for itself," mat spits, "don't you dare fucking try and tell me my sister is special, carlo. because we both know that's a lie." he takes a step back, eyeing brandon with disgust. "good luck this week, you'll fucking need it."

all brandon can do is stand there and watch as your brother finally leaves, not sparing him a second glance as he disappears from his sight. brandon's heart is pounding, blood rushing so fast that he can hear it in his ears.

mat’s words settle over him heavily, weighing on his chest like a ton of bricks. the way brandon used to behave, especially with woman, was something he used to be proud of. he didn't care about learning names or backstories or going on dates. he played into the media painted role perfectly. none of that bothered brandon. fucking was simply a way to blow of steam and forgot about the day.

but now those headlines swirl in front of him—taunting him. the thought of how he used to behave makes him feel sick now. brandon can't even imagine how it must make you feel.

doubt quickly creeps in, adding even more pressure to his heavy body. maybe mat is right. maybe brandon is too old for you. maybe he is a washed up driver. maybe you have already realized that brandon is nothing more than just a good fuck.

he'll never be the guy for you. you're too good for him and deserve so much more than the guy who's picture is on your bedroom wall.

"fuck." brandon curses, scrubbing a calloused palm down his pale face. the last thing he wants to do is tear you down when he's just starting to see you spread your wings—as cheesy as that fucking sounds. so no matter how brandon is feeling—no matter how deeply in love he's fallen in—he has to let you go.

so he'll follow mats advice and ignore you. brandon can't be selfish, not anymore, and certainly not with someone as special as you.

+

+

if you knew the last time you'd see brandon carlo was after his DNF in brazil, you wouldn't of had your mom come out to abu dhabi to watch him race. okay, well obviously she's also here to watch mat race. but still, you get the point.

it's like a weird blanket has been thrown over you and brandon since mat almost caught you both after the crash. the look he gave you, one that you chalked up to him feeling upset with the result of the day, now just turns your stomach.

did brandon know then that he wouldn't speak to again?

the first few days of radio silence you chalked up to traveling and media. with it being the last race of the season, press got a little more hectic and constant. you thought brandon was just busy with work—not purposely ignoring you and whatever you had with one another.

but that very quickly seemed to be the case. no calls or texts. no secret rendezvous with one another behind the privacy of hotel doors. no flirtatious looks across the paddock, no kisses or orgasms or breathy promises and reassurances.

brandon carlo has transformed into the man who you used to read scandalous headlines about, burning you and breaking your heart in the process. and you desperately want to talk to him about whatever this blip is, but once again, brandon seems to be actively avoiding you—leading you to only imagine the worse.

your mom sighs happily, taking a seat beside you once again. she crosses her pant covered leg and takes a sip from the water she just bought at the mclaren lounge coffee bar. a cute and quaint little corner near the back.

she smacks her lips together in delight. "something about the water here is just different. tastes so fresh." her eyes fall to you, side eyeing you with caution and concern.

without even realizing it, you've had a pout on your face the entire day. more accurately, the entire week since brandon seemingly ghosting you. and your mom can tell something is bothering you. even if you weren't visibly frowning, the fact that your skin was dull and the usual glimmer in your eye was gone, was enough to make your mom well aware of the fact.

and the cherry on top of it all, you declined her offer to walk around the paddock before mat comes to join you after some last minute responsibilities before the big race. that was very unlike you—the girl who was a f1 fan to her core.

"what's up honey?" she asks smoothly.

you blink, tearing your gaze away from the windows and towards your mom. "nothing." another hard blink, and then you're diverting your eyes—worried that if you stare into the comforting gaze of your mom for too long, she'll see right through you.

she hums again, long and knowing. "you don't look too happy right now."

"no?" you chime.

"no," your mom says, "in fact, you look a bit like a kicked puppy."

your shoulders tense at her words. do you really look like that? tentatively, you clear the back of your throat, wringing your hands together in your lap. "just didn't sleep well last night," the lie falls off your tongue easily, and you shoot your mom a cautious glance.

"okay." a beat of loaded silence passes between you, nothing besides the faint chatter of race day to be heard. your mom sighs again, the action measured, and like usual, knowing. "you know, you haven't mentioned brandon in awhile...something happen? you two seemed very friendly when you came home last."

her question does any even bigger number on you than she realizes. your pulse thumps wildly in the junction of your neck, and it makes you feel like you're choking. goosebumps prickle your skin at the same time a wave of heat does—contradicting one another like your range of emotions do. you take your bottom lip between you teeth, desperately trying to gather the wave of tears that threaten to fall.

"mommy," you sigh shakily, blinking up at her as the en slot of tears begin to pour over your waterline.

your mom coos at the sight, her usual cheery expression quickly morphing into a frown as he takes you into her arms. "oh baby girl, come here." her familiar hug only makes you cry harder, the feelings about the whole brandon situation you've been suppressing finally coming up to the surface—like an over boiled kettle.

you sniffle pathetically as your mom runs a soothing hand over the top of your head. "he hasn't talked to me," you mumble, "not since mat and I got back from coming out to see you. and I thought something was there between us...I thought maybe he liked me. that I was more than just some girl. but apparently not because he won't even...look at me." your voice cracks near the end of your long winded, jumbled word vomit, another wave of hot tears gracing you.

saying those thoughts of doubts and heartbreak out loud only makes you feel silly. perhaps the duration of your time with brandon was simply less than you were making it out to be. you told him you couldn't date, so now he's gotten bored of the same girl and has moved on. just like he does with every girl. it's your fault for thinking that maybe—just maybe—you were special.

"i'm sorry honey." you mom tells you.

your face pulls in a mixture of sadness and anger. "I just don't know what to do...I-"

"you love him." she interrupts cooley, like she didn't just say the words you've been denying yourself of since fucking brazil. hell, maybe even before that.

you swallow a sob, turning your head up to meet your moms honey glazed eyes. "yeah," you whimper, bottom lip quivering. "how'd you know?"

your mom shrugs a shoulder and gives you a sad smile. "i'm your mom. I just do."

"you love brandon?"

your heart jumps into your throat as mat's rough voice sounds from behind you. you and your mom separate, turning to look over the back of the orange lounge couch.

your brother is standing there, frozen. his eyes, which are practically burning with angry fire, are set upon you and your tear stricken face. his fists are clenched so tightly at his sides that his knuckles have gone three shades lighter than his natural skin tone. his body might as well be shaking with fury.

you attempt to speak, "mat-"

but mat cuts you off. "you love him?" despite his calm tone, mats voice is still raised, and his question is nothing but laced with anger.

your mom sighs, eyes darting between her sing and the other customers in the lounge. "please don't yell."

"i'm not yelling, im asking." mat doesn't dare take his eyes off you. "do you love him, y/n?"

"yes," you breathe hopelessly, "we've been seeing each other since the british grand prix." mat’s eyes flicker with what feels like realization—like he's putting a bunch of loose puzzle pieces together and finally uncovering the hidden picture.

this is the last way you wanted to tell your brother about brandon—or, what happened with brandon. but in the midst of your heartbreak and sadness, you've become sick of hiding and pretending. hiding not only your feelings, but yourself.

mat lets out a short scoff, "that was months ago. why didn't you tell me?"

"because...this isn't about me and brandon. this season is about you! I didn't want to take this away from you-"

"yeah well you kinda of made it about you anyways, y/n." mats words are sharp and biting, silencing any words that might of been on your tongue. "I can't believe you'd fall for his trap—he's an asshole. a guy who only wants one thing from naive girls like you."

you shake your head slowly, "you have no idea about us," your voice is watery as you continue. "it wasn't what you're implying." you say, even if you have no idea if that's the truth. you desperately hope it's not.

brandon never treated you like another face in the crowd, and he sure as hell didn't treat you like some kind of whore. not once. despite brandon's  reputation, he wasn't some villain who you need to be protected from.

"no?" mat quips, nothing but condescending.

you shake your head as anger begins to find way into your voice—trickling up your spine as protectiveness for the man who you undeniably love bubbles to the surface. "he's not just some whore who wanted to fuck me and dump me. brandon and I, we—"

even though you're no longer sure what the relationship between you and brandon was, you're not going to let mat belittle the man you love. because even though brandon seemingly doesn't want you the way you want him to, he never treated you like mat is implying. not once.

"no that's exactly what he would've done if I didn't tell him to leave you alone."

your lips part in shock, blinking and babbling like a fish out of water. like mat finally realizes what he just admitted to you, a hushed curse leaves him, running a rough hand through his hair.

"what did you just say?" you whisper.

mat looks away from you and your mom, the latter looking at him with a mixture of the upmost dissatisfaction. "i've got to go," he mumbles, "race starts soon."

you scoff, "you don't get to drop that bomb on me and then leave, mat."

"I don't have a choice, and i'm done thinking about this." he swallows, a flash of guilt on his face before he turns, and with a dismissive hand motion over his shoulder, he mutters—"i'll see you after."

ever so gently, your mom guides you to sit back down. you didn't even realize you'd stood up, too caught up in the argument with mat clearly.

you blink, "is he fucking serious?"

she shakes her hand, rubbing the back of your clenched fist settled on your thigh. "mat is just...protective of you."

"that doesn't give him the right to meddle in my relationship." you breathe, a short laugh of disbelief following. "I don't even know who told him—or how he found out. god mum."

"I know." she soothes.

"and what he said, about brandon and I...it really wasn't like that. I love him and I thought..." you stop yourself as your breath catches on a sob, another collection of tears rolling down your tight, dry cheeks. you pull away from your moms touch and cover your face—embarrassment and anger completely controlling your body.

she rubs your spine calmly. "I know, but it'll be okay." you hear the crinkling of the water bottle before she continues. "want to try some abu dhabi water to cheer you up?"

you sniffle and raise your head. "actually, yea." she passes you the bottle to which you quickly take, unscrewing the cap with shaky fingers before taking three hearty gulp—so big that it makes your chest hurt going down.

you wipe your lips with the back of your hand when you're done, putting the water on the small round table in front of the couch. again, you sniff.

you're done hiding yourself.

"mum?"

"yeah honey," she hums.

a deep breath, and then—"I don't want to go art school." you look at her cautiously, preparing for a look of disappointment. possibly even a reprimand. but instead, your mom just sends you a smile.

"i've been waiting for you to admit that for years, y/n," she tucks your hair behind your hear before affectionately pinching the lobe. "what made you realize?"

you breathe out in relief, falling back against the couch. you almost feel like laughing, because the person who made you realize your real dream is also the cause of your rollercoaster of emotions today.

"brandon."

—

mat knows he messed up. as soon as he overheard you and your mom talking about brandon, and the word love followed suit, mat just knew. regardless of how mat feels now, he also feels that his initial reaction was warranted. your brother feels cheated by you and whatever kind of relationship you had with brandon.

mat wishes you came to him about it. if you had, he wouldn't of blown up the situation and practically threaten the ferrari driver over it. if mat had known, it would've been different. of course, he would've been cautious because brandon is older and experienced. but the truth goes a long way.

secrecy always looks dirty.

the rage that had caroused through him when he found you and brandon after the DNF in brazil was otherworldly. being the protective older brother he always has been, mat immediately thought the worst—that you were being used—and felt that his duty was to make everything better. that's why he told off brandon, and that caused a butterfly affect that left you heartbroken anyways.

mat tried to protect you, but only ended up making everything worse.

so maybe that's why at finds himself stalking through the paddock—merely minutes before the guys all have to get down to the track—looking for the very man of his despise. mat definitely receives a few lingering and curious glances as he makes his way through the ferrari lounge. whether that's because of the orange jumpsuit tied around his hips, or the determined look on his face, mats not sure.

all your brother is sure of is that he's got to do something. does mat still have doubts about brandon's intentions? of course. is mat still weary about you claiming it was more than just hooking-up? absolutely. you've been lying to him for months about your life, so obviously mat is skeptical.

but it all comes back to guilt—mat knows he messed up. it's your relationship, and that means it's yours to thrive in or fall apart in. of course, your brother wants to see you happy, and that's why he's calling brandon's name—ready to deal with the mess.

"carlo."

brandon's shoulders roll back at the sound of mat's voice, slowly turning away from his driving partner and facing the mclaren prodigy. "here to threaten me again?"

"I was wrong."

brandon's eyebrows pull downwards, a clear indication that he's confused. "about what?"

mat huffs, running a palm over his warm face. his eyes dart away for a beat, collecting his thoughts. he doesn't want to beat around the bush, and he sure as hell doesn't want to come off as weak and riddled with guilt.

"my sister loves you," your brothers tone is firm and sure. straight to the point.

it feels like all the air has been pulled from brandon's lungs at those four words. you love him? he thought that maybe—just maybe—there was a possibility that you felt something for him, but never in a million years would brandon of guessed love.

brandon thought nobody would ever be capable of being in love with him. he's too much a loose cannon, and too unpredictable. unable to be tied down. brandon knew he wasn't the husband. he was the kinda guy who you spend one crazy night with and never forget before you meet your husband. and brandon was fine with that—he made peace with it.

but when you came along, it wasn't like anything he's every experienced before. you and brandon are complete opposite in every sense of the word, but you teach one another things and bring out the best in each other.

brandon knew right from the start that it would never just be one night with you. he was so greedy when it came to you and your mouth and your body and your laugh and everything in between.

but mat got in his head, so easily, and brandon just crumbled.

"what did you just say?"

mat sighs again, almost exasperated like he'd rather be any where else. which, is probably the truth. "my sister is crushed because you haven't looked in her direction in a week. I was wrong about whatever happened between you. she loves you and is certain what you two had wasn't just about sex."

the words come quicker than brandon's brain can register them—"it wasn't."

mat's eyes are still swimming with uncertainty as he glowers across at brandon. "if you've truly changed, and if she truly does mean more to you than I thought...help me fix this mess."

brandon's blinks. "how?"

"do you love her?"

"yes."

"then that's how." mat sends another pointed look brandon's way before turning. brandon watches your brother move through the sea of red confidently—the same kind of confidence mat’s displayed on the track all season. mat’s hand stops on the glass door, and much to brandon's amusement, gives brandon's a smirk over his shoulder. "i'm sure i'll see you after the race...once I beat your ass."

brandon laughs shortly as your brother leaves. he has no doubts that mat will win the race today, brandon can usually feel that sort of thing. besides, racing right now isn't the top priority in brandon's mind. you are.

if what mat just told him was the truth, then brandon has no doubt that when you hear he loves you back, the two of you will be able to figure this shit out. all he has to do know is win the girls heart back—the girl he loves.

—

by the time you and your mom arrived in the mclearn garage, the race was just beginning. the rumbling of the engines vibrating all the way from your toes and up to your shoulders.

you'd only barley just calmed back down from one of many more crying episodes since the fight with mat, so as much as you love your brother and want to support his final race in his rookie season—despite the argument—you were a bit preoccupied by the swirl of emotions going through your head.

most of which have to do with brandon. you had finally said you loved him out loud—not just in your head where it was nothing more than a whispered idea in passing—but actually said it out loud. and it was even more heartbreaking than brandon ignoring you.

you love him, and he doesn't know. at least, you don’t think he knows—but perhaps you’re not as nonchalant as you think around him.

you were right—you do know brandon carlo. if he's gotten in his head about whatever bullshit mat had said to him, brandon would be radio silent and caught in his own web of self doubt. his whole career, he's been told how he acts and who he is when it comes to women and relationships, and it's hard to break away from that stereotype.

and just when brandon finally had, mat came in with a big doubt paddle and stirred it all around.

you want nothing more than to find brandon and just tell him—shake his broad shoulders and reassure him that whatever he believes, isn't the truth. you're not mad at him—not in the way you had been. you're more so upset with him for believing stupid, mindless words instead of his own heart.

so after the race, you decide that you're going to find him and tell him everything. you're going to tell brandon that you know about his conversation with mat, and how no matter what was said, you don't believe it was right. and most importantly, you're going to tell him that you understand, and that you fucking love him.

heart stopping, mind jumbling, skin tingling, and adrenaline pumping love.

—

brandon can't focus. not on the instructions being shouted through his headgear, or the other race cars weaving and overtaking him. he can't even focus on the track. he's too occupied thinking about you.

are you here? watching him fuck up his times every single lap. or are you alone in your hotel room, thinking about what used to be? are you thinking about him? have you forgotten him?

god, the idea that he's ruined everything with you because of some deep rooted insecurity that wasn't even true, makes brandon's stomach churn. fuck, a few times during the race he thinks he may have to pull over and empty his stomach.

he's ready. ready to say screw the race and the car and anything else that comes in his way. but realistically, that's not the smartest decision. it's his job. so instead, brandon just thinks. if you are here, what's he going to say to you?

he wants to apologize of course, you deserve that much. but brandon also doesn't know how much longer he can keep to himself that he loves you, because apart of him has always known that he loves you.

when brandon walked into the ferrari lounge all those months ago and found a girl with his favourite coloured helmet over her head and jeans that made him forget his train of though, brandon knew right then that you would change his life.

he remembers the jealousy that ran through him when he saw your last name on the mclaren pass, simply because he thought you may of been mat's girl—because if you were taken, then brandon couldn't of had you. it was possessive and he'll admit, kind of crazy, but he didn't care.

for brandon, it was never about hooking up. he wanted you in whatever way you allowed him to have you.

he loves you, and he shouldn't of let anybody get in his head about your relationship. but it was easy to believe mats words. for 8 years, brandon has been painted in such a negative way—a bad boy. a player. a sex addict who only cares about himself—and he used to play into that, of course he did. he partied and drank and he definitely fucked. no press can truly be bad if it gets people talking. brandon felt like he had nothing to loose.

until you came along. because you? you were only his. there was no press dissecting every move you made, and there was nobody picking apart your relationship. you didn't belong to the headlines and articles, you belonged to brandon.

so, of course he loves you, because you don't care about his past or the bullshit mixture of lies and fabricated truths. hell, you don't even care about racing. brandon is sure that if he was unemployed and lived in his parents basement, you'd still not care. if mat was telling him the truth—that you love him—brandon is never going to let you go again.

if you love someone let them go? yeah that's total shit.

and as soon as he can, brandon is going to tell you the truth about everything.

—

you look up through squinted eyes, the sun making it almost impossible to see anything besides the three silhouettes standing on different levels of the podium.

you barley remember coming out onto the track. the end of the race had been a jumbled series of events, and before you knew it, you and your mom were pushed into the crowd to celebrate mat's p2 victory.

the medals and ceremony go by in the blink of a teary eye, and before you know it there's a champagne shower over the crowd who gathered under the podium, and of course the three drivers who celebrate their victories.

you wipe the sticky alcohol off your face, no doubt courtesy of travis and mat. the sun shifts, allowing you to better see the positions. brandon is there, his ferrari suit tied around his waist and matching cap worn backwards over his damp hair.

he placed third, which is unusual for him—but what's even more unusual is the way he doesn't even bother to uncork the bottle in his hands. you watch curiously as brandon passes the champagne over, not even looking for a recipient. thankfully, mat is there, taking it without questions.

then brandon is stepping off the podium, pushing through the crowd of screaming supports and his team, the latter of which congratulating the driver on an another terrific season—even though this race wasn't his best. but once again, his eyes aren't on them. no, that's because he's looking only at you.

in that moment, as your eyes lock and the rest of the world seems to fade, you can't help but begin to hope. hope that everything built between you was real. hope that brandon only got into his own head, and felt that distancing himself was necessary. hope that he loves you.

brandon reaches you, cupping your face with one hand while his other snakes through your hair and to the back of your head, holding you in place.

then he kisses you, slow and hot and definitely too intimate for public, but right now you really don't care about that. you push onto the toes of your tennis shoes, and wrap your arms around his neck so tightly—pulling him in so close—that you're almost scared you're cutting off his air supply.

but brandon simply groans into your mouth, hand slipping off your cheek and then finding home around your waist.

“i’m sorry,” he apologizes into the kiss, words barley audible as they are nothing more than a whisper. “i’m sorry,” another kiss. “i’m sorry,” and another.

"I love you, y/n," he mutters once you both take a second to breathe, forehead pressed against yours, "and I have for awhile and i'm so sorry for everything in the past week. I got in my head and I was scared. but I'm not anymore and I shouldn't of been in first place—"

you shake your head, a half smile on your kiss slick lips as you gently interrupt him, "brandon, it's okay, mat told me—"

he kisses you again, a welcomed version of him interrupting you. brandon sends you a small smile once he pulls away, tucking some messy hair—curtsey of his hands—behind your ear before continuing. "please, let me finish. you're not just another face in the crowd and you're definitely more than just a body to pass the time. you're everything to me, y/n. i've never felt this way about anything in my entire life—not partying or drinking. not even racing."

you can't help but blink—shock and wonder crossing your face as you silently listen to his profound admission. you can tell by the tone of brandon's voice, that his words are nothing short of the complete truth. and not only is he saying this so you can hear it, but also so he can. telling himself that he doesn't need to be insecure. not anymore. not with you right here, listening, in his arms.

brandon inhales, the action shaky. "I fucking love you so much and i'll explain everything afterwards in more depth but right now can you let me just celebrate and kiss you. because i've been waiting too long to meet the love of my life, and Ive missed her so much the last 7 days—I missed you. I've forgotten how it feels to be myself without you, and I think this sad excuse of a race is enough proof of that—"

"brandon," you cut him off again, just as tender as the first time you did. your fingers begin absentmindedly playing with the hair at the base of his neck, which has brandon taking another nervous breath.

you smile a smile that makes his knees feel weak, and there's a twinkle in your eyes that brandon has seen before. the same one from months ago, when you told him your true passion and desires in life. and that tells him everything he needs to know. you're not mad—by some miracle brandon's sure you'll tell him about.

"I love you too." you run two fingers over his fading scar as you say it, eyes never leaving the deep ocean you know as brandon's. "now," you mumble, a playful edge to your tone that makes his belly swoop, "kiss me old man."

brandon pulls back from your attempt to reconnect your lips, not allowing you the pleasure of his kiss. he squints playfully, a half laugh half scoff bubbling from his chest. "you're going to pay for that later."

you smirk, "oh, I'm counting on it."

and then he kisses you because he physically cannot wait any longer. after all, brandon's a starving man. one who cannot bare the thought of going another second more without touching you in some capacity.

you sigh into it, limbs turning to jello as his tongue pushes past your lips, moving alongside yours like it hasn’t missed a day. brandon smirks against you as a few people start whistling at your display of lust, reluctantly pulling off your mouth. which is probably for the best, because brandon is 10 seconds away from tearing your clothes off so he can worship every part of your body.

you laugh breathily, dropping back down to the heels of your feet. your eyes dart through the crowd, like you're trying to appear casual and nonchalant under the eyes of hundreds of fans and reporters. but brandon? his eyes never once leave your face. it's been too long without you, and he's determined to memorize every single thing that makes you, you—even though, he already has.

[swissboyhisch]

Aussie All-Star Series

Liked by crosby87, catherineletang and others

ivylemieux: Early morning Maccas before heading to Perth to see my boys play 🇨🇦🇺🇸🇪🇺

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laurenmatts: Girl you're looking fine 😍

ivylemieux: Just as fine as the photographer 😉 Liked by laurenmatts

lemieux66: Be safe you two

ivylemieux: Always dad x

laurenmatts: We're the safest, idk what you're talking about Super Mario 🙈

lemieux66: uh huh, I've seen you two grow up together

perththunder: not your main boys though right?

huntercambell: what the team account said

user: She's so pretty

user: why is she in Aus?

user: her mother and her moved there when her parents split. She was visiting her mom during the off season.

mcdavid97: see you soon bestie Liked by ivylemieux

Liked by user, penguins and others

nhl: The Canadian, US and European All-Star teams have landed in Australia for the exhibition series. 9 games over 3 weekends in 3 different cities around the country. Make sure to catch your favourite players play against each other in Perth this weekend!

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user: Why Australia? Seriously.

user: What a weekend, 3 games over 3 nights.

user: all star teams honestly

user: the canadian team has Mcdavid and Crosby!

user: but the European team has Ovi, Malkin and Draisaitl

Liked by crosby87, colecaufield and others

ivylemieux: hello big brother tagged: crosby87 and hockeycanada

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crosby87: Hey little sis 🥰

letang58: When she only posts the back of your head 🙃

ivylemieux: oh suck it up princess

catherineletang: Kris 🤦🏻‍♀️

matbarzal: there's me in the background 🙋🏻‍♂️

user: Sid's such a proud big brother

user: the relationship between Sid and baby magnifique is the sweetest!

verofleury: The kids are so excited!

ivylemieux: tell them aunty has so many present for them

catherineletang: oh they know

taycrosby: Bruh, hurry up and come back so we can hang out ❤️

Hockeycanada posted to their stories!

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hockeynews: Sent into user from Perth, Australia where the NHL Exhibition series is taking place this weekend. According to the anon, Canada Women's Hockey team captain, Ivy Lemieux, joined the three national All Star teams on ice for practice.

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user: this girl, living the dream life

user: on Mitch Marner's insta stories, it has a video of Mcdavid and Lemieux skating around, both laughing and having the time of their lives it looked like.

user: yes! I saw that and the other Canadian team members just watching and laughing. Including Maurice.

user: why is she so special?

user: nepo baby 😡

Liked by ivylemieux, verofleury and others

catherineletang: The kids love their tante ❤️ tagged: ivylemieux

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user: such cute photos!!

crosby87: They love me more though, right?

ivylemieux: In your dreams Squidnee 💅🏻

letang58: calm down children

user: they've grown up so much

ivylemieux: I've missed my babies ❤️

verofleury: and they missed you

user: I'm so glad to see ivy back with the family

jakeguentz: come back to pitt please

TAG LIST:

@penny4yourthoughts @mp0625 @hischierhaze

[daeniradraconis]

Right Where You Left Me

Hey, Lovelies! ✨

Sorry I’m a little late — my Mac decided to quit on me today 😅, and I spent the whole night saving my files. But all is well now! Everything’s backed up, so here’s hoping no more tech issues in the future. 🌙

Before we get into the first chapter of William and Eli’s story, I want to share something fun. For each chapter, I’ve chosen a song that I think fits the mood or foreshadows something ahead. If you play the song while reading (hit play on the video above the text), it can add a little extra layer to the story — sometimes you might even catch a hint of what’s coming next! 🎶

Anyway, here’s the first chapter of William and Eli’s story! I hope you enjoy! 🫶🏼

Themes/Warnings: Hannah Elise Hughes x William Nylander, love at first sight, weddings, pure fluff, mentions of a car crash and injury

Chapter 1: A Promise Under the Stars

June 27, 2014

The sun’s been sitting heavy all afternoon, warm and lazy, the kind of heat that makes the grass smell sweeter. You’re stretched out on the lawn, elbows propped, legs kicked out in front of you, pretending to read Greek and Roman History of Art — a book you’ve read so many times it might as well be your diary. But you’re not really reading. Not today.

Your brothers are at it again.

You don’t even have to look to know what’s happening. Jack’s yelling, Luke’s trying to keep up, and Quinn’s probably rolling his eyes while doing everything better than both of them. The clatter of rollerblades on the driveway, the slap of sticks, the crash of a puck hitting the side of the garage — it’s like background music you never asked for.

You glance up anyway.

Yup. There they are. Jack’s already got his shirt off like he’s playing for the Stanley Cup instead of sweating through another backyard game. Luke’s copying him, all limbs and attitude. And Quinn, steady as always, holding it all together with that calm “old soul” energy he’s had since birth.

You roll your eyes and let out a sigh. Loud enough to be heard if anyone was paying attention.

You love them. You do. Jack, all wild energy and reckless chaos, like a storm that never quite settles. Luke, the baby of the family, all big eyes and easy charm — a golden retriever in human form. And Quinn, the quiet one, steady and serious, with a calm kind of passion that runs deeper than he lets on. They’re your brothers, and they’re home. But some days, it feels like you were dropped into the wrong family by mistake. A Hughes who can’t skate? Blasphemy.

You tried once. You really did. At 11 years old, bundled in gear three sizes too big, wobbling on skates like a baby deer. Quinn held your hands, patient and kind, while Jack chirped from the bench and laughed when you hit the ice face-first. You lasted maybe half an hour before you ripped off the helmet and declared hockey the enemy.

Ellen — your mom — just smiled. “Stick to your books, Eli,” she said, brushing ice shavings off your coat. “That brain of yours will get you further than a slapshot.”

So you did. You built your world out of stories and soil — history textbooks, dog-eared art guides, a garden full of stubborn tomato plants you refuse to give up on, no matter how many times your brothers trample them chasing after a ball.

“Eli! We need a goalie!”

Jack’s voice cuts through the afternoon like a fire alarm. You don’t look up.

“We’re down a man!”

“Don’t care,” you mumble.

“Get over here, nerd!”

Luke. Of course.

You flip a page, even though you’re not reading it. “Yell one more time, and I’m snapping your sticks in half while you sleep.”

Jack snorts. “You’d probably cry if you chipped a nail.”

“I’d cry if I had to live with you forever,” you shoot back, deadpan.

Luke gasps dramatically. “She doesn’t love us.”

“Fix your helmet, Luke,” you add. “It’s halfway off your head, you walking concussion.”

From the garage, Quinn’s voice cuts in, flat and amused. “Jack, you couldn’t score on an empty net. Luke, stop trying to be Jack. And Eli, please don’t murder them before dinner.”

You smile. Just a little.

Quinn’s always been the balance. The one who sees you when you go quiet, the one who reads the room without needing a single word. Maybe it’s because you’re closest in age, or maybe it’s just the way he sees the world, but you’ve always felt closest to him. Like he just gets it — gets you — in a way the others don’t.

Still, it’s exhausting sometimes. Being the only one who doesn’t speak “sports.” Like you’re a guest in your own home.

You pull your knees up, rest your book against them, and stare out at the garden. Your basil looks droopy. One of the tomato cages is crooked. You think about moving it, but—

The sound of tires crunching gravel stops you.

You look up.

Your dad’s car is pulling into the driveway, and for a second, everything feels normal. You expect him to step out, maybe toss Luke a water bottle, ask if Jack’s broken anything today.

But then the passenger door opens.

And someone else gets out first.

He’s tall. Really tall. His golden blonde hair almost looks white under the sun, and his eyes — blue, clear, like the ocean on a perfect day. There’s something about the way he walks, the smooth confidence in his stride, that catches your breath. He looks… different. Like he stepped out of a storybook. Like the version of Prince Charming no one told you actually existed. And for a second, you honestly wonder if you’ve just imagined him.

He glances around, and then — he sees you.

Just for a second. A flicker of a glance. But it hits like a lightning strike.

You forget the book in your lap. You forget the sun on your shoulders. All you can think is: Oh.

Your heart, which was perfectly fine a minute ago, starts doing something weird. Like it’s trying to crawl up into your throat.

“Kids!” your dad calls out. “Come say hello! This is William Nylander. He just got drafted, and he’s staying with us for a bit while he settles in.”

The name clicks, vaguely. Hockey. Leafs. But honestly, your brain is busy with other things.

Like the way William is walking toward you, easy and sure, hands tucked in his pockets. Like he’s stepping straight into your daydream and bringing it to life.

Jack drops his stick. “No way! He’s a Leaf?! That’s so sick!”

Luke’s already bouncing. “Wait, like on the team team?!”

William laughs — soft, polite, a little bashful. But his eyes haven’t left yours.

And then, he stops in front of you. You.

He flashes a grin — just crooked enough to feel dangerous.

“Hi,” he says, voice low and smooth. “I’m William.”

He says it like it’s obvious. Like of course that’s who he is. And maybe it should be — with that smile, that hair, that confidence like he already knows you’re staring.

Your stomach flips so hard it might do a full somersault. Words? Gone. Logic? Useless. All you can think about is how warm your face feels and how suddenly awkward your hands are, just sitting there like they forgot how to be hands.

You manage to squeak out, “Hi.”

It’s quiet. Too quiet. You sound like someone just rewound your whole personality and left it on mute.

He looks amused. Not in a mean way — in a charming, "this is cute" kind of way. Like he knows exactly the effect he’s having on you.

Your dad’s saying something — something about him staying here for a couple of weeks until his apartment’s ready. But it’s background noise now.

He’s going to be living here.

With you.

You’re pretty sure your soul just left your body.

You glance up again, and he’s still looking at you, still smiling, like this is all some kind of inside joke he hasn’t let you in on yet.

And that’s when it hits you. You’re in trouble. Like... real trouble.

Because this isn’t just a crush. Not even close.

You're in love.

And he hasn’t even made it through the front door.

—

The next two weeks are a blur. Not in a busy, chaotic way, but in a dreamlike, everything-is-new kind of way. William’s presence feels like an added layer to everything you’ve known. He’s in your house, under your roof, sharing your space, and it’s almost surreal how easily he slips into your world.

He’s still the same charming, confident guy from that first moment. He talks with that easy, magnetic confidence that makes everyone gravitate toward him. But what surprises you the most is how he makes space for you in the midst of it all.

Every morning, he’s in the kitchen, making coffee, and when you shuffle in — hair a mess, sleep still heavy in your eyes — he’s always there with a quiet “Good morning,” and that crooked, too-perfect-for-him smile. It’s like he knows exactly how to make you feel like the only person in the room, even if Jack’s already rambling about his latest skateboarding tricks and Luke’s stuffing his face with cereal. William doesn’t mind. He just listens. Really listens, in a way that makes you feel like you could tell him anything.

And you find yourself telling him things. Little things. 

Like how you started gardening because it felt like the only thing that could grow in the chaos of your family. How Ellen once tried to teach you to skate and you cried on the ice. How you’ve read Greek and Roman History of Art so many times it’s basically your second language. How you despise salted caramel with such passion that you believe its fans deserve a short, contemplative exile in purgatory.

He doesn’t laugh. He just nods like it’s all valuable information.

“You really like art, huh?” he asks one night on the porch.

It’s late — one of those velvet-sky summer nights where time slows. You’re in your usual spot, knees pulled to your chest, hoodie sleeves over your hands. He’s next to you, hoodie half-zipped, legs stretched out, hair still damp from his shower. He smells like clean soap and warm skin.

You nod. “It’s not just that I like art. I love it. And not just paintings — I mean the whole thing. Art history. Architecture. The stories built into stone.”

He glances over, intrigued. You go on before you can stop yourself.

“I read about the Pantheon when I was thirteen. This giant, ancient Roman temple in the middle of the city — still standing. I’ve never even been to Rome, but the pictures? Unreal. The dome is a perfect hemisphere — same diameter as its height. They built it without modern tools, and no one even knows exactly how. The concrete they used? Still hasn’t cracked. The oculus — that giant hole in the roof — it’s open to the sky. Rain falls right through it. But the floor is sloped, with invisible drains, so the water just disappears.”

You pause, but he’s still looking at you, listening.

“It’s not just architecture. It’s—” You shake your head, smiling a little. “It’s art. The kind that makes your chest feel too full. It was built to honor all the gods, but they made it feel like it could touch the universe. Like they wanted to bring the heavens into reach.”

You hug your knees tighter. “And it’s still there. People walk into it every day. Into something made almost two thousand years ago. You can feel the history pressing in around you. It’s like standing in a heartbeat that never stopped.”

William is quiet for a long moment.“That’s… amazing.”

You laugh a little, embarrassed. “Sorry. I get carried away.”

“No.” He shakes his head. “Don’t apologize. I think it’s incredible that you care about something that deeply.”

You glance over, unsure. But he’s smiling — that quiet, thoughtful smile he doesn’t give out easily.

“I think that’s what art’s supposed to do,” he says. “Make you feel something you can’t really explain. Even if it’s just a building or a painting. Doesn’t matter. If it moves you, it matters.”

You blink. That’s… not what you expected. William Nylander — hockey guy, professional athlete, and also someone who actually gets art? 

“You’re full of surprises,” you murmur.

He smiles, sensing your surprise. "What? You didn’t think I was all hockey, did you?"

“I mean… kind of.”

“Wow,” he says, mock-offended. “I’m layered, Eli. Deeply complex.”

You laugh, but it sticks in your chest, warm. Because somehow, it’s true — he’s funny, confident, ridiculous… and he sees you. Not as one of the Hughes siblings. Not as the quiet one. Just…you.

That’s how you end up here. Most nights, side by side on the porch while the house buzzes behind you.

Tonight is no different — quiet air, cicadas in the trees, stars overhead like someone scattered glitter across navy velvet. Your bare toes brush his knee by accident, but he doesn’t move.

You look over. He’s fiddling with the cap on his water bottle, uncharacteristically quiet. The kind of silence that makes you want to fill it with something soft.

“I always wanted a dog,” you say.

He turns, eyebrows raised slightly. “Yeah?”

“Since I was five. Every birthday, every Christmas. I begged. Once I even made a Power Point on why a dog would help with my emotional development.” You snort. “Didn’t work.”

“What’d they say?”

“That I already had three brothers and that was enough chaos for one household.”

He laughs — that warm, low sound that always makes your stomach twist. “Fair. But brutal.”

You smile, leaning your head back. “I even had this whole Pinterest board. His name was going to be Pablo. He’d wear a little bandana and sleep at the foot of my bed.”

He raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Pablo? That’s kinda badass. Like a mob boss or something.”

You giggle, nudging him lightly. “Exactly! Super manly, right?”

William hums like he’s really considering it. “I’ll get you one.”

You blink. “What?”

“When I get my place. You move in. I’ll get you a dog.”

You snort a laugh, but your face feels suddenly way too warm. “William. I’m seventeen.”

He smirks. “So? It doesn’t have to be today. Just… someday. I mean—” he stretches his arms over his head, all long limbs and relaxed confidence “—I’m just saying, I could see it. Me, you, a golden retriever with too much energy. Maybe a garden. I’d build you a whole greenhouse if you wanted.”

You laugh again, shaking your head. “You’re ridiculous.”

He leans in closer, just enough that you feel the heat of him, his voice suddenly lower, teasing. “Nah. I’m serious. I think you’d look really cute walking a dog in one of those oversized sweaters. Maybe wearing my hoodie. Nothing underneath.”

“William.” You choke on a laugh, heat crawling up your neck.

He grins like he’s just scored a goal in overtime. “What? I’m a romantic.”

“You’re a menace.”

“And yet,” he says, leaning in just slightly, “you’re still sitting right here.”

You roll your eyes, but your pulse is loud in your ears. The porch feels smaller, the air charged.

He shifts closer. Not suddenly — slowly, deliberately — like he’s checking to see if you’ll stop him.

You don’t.

His hand lifts, brushing a piece of hair from your cheek. But it’s not just a gesture. It’s careful. Intentional. His fingertips graze your skin like he’s memorizing it, like this moment matters. And maybe it does. Maybe it always has.

You can’t think. Can’t move. The world narrows to the space between you — to the heat pulsing there, to the way your lungs forget how to work.

“I meant it,” he says softly, his voice a low thrum against the quiet night. “I’d get you that dog. Or anything you wanted.”

You look up at him — and this time, you don’t look away. Your voice is barely a breath.

“I just want you to kiss me.”

And then everything shifts.

He leans in — slowly, like he’s giving you every second to change your mind. But you don’t. You couldn’t, even if you wanted to. And then his lips are on yours.

It’s not fireworks. It’s not chaos.

It’s warm.

Soft at first — almost hesitant, like he’s learning the shape of you, tasting the moment. His lips are tender, sure, and it’s careful — not rushed, not greedy, but full of something deeper. Something real. The kind of kiss that makes time slow down, stretch thin. Like your heartbeat just synced to his.

You breathe him in — soap, skin, sun-warmed cotton — and everything else disappears. No porch. No summer night. Just the quiet pull of it, of him, of this thing you didn’t see coming but somehow always knew was meant to happen.

His hand slides to the back of your neck, fingers tangling gently in your hair. You melt — literally melt — into him, into that touch, into that kiss, like your body finally understands what safe feels like.

When he finally pulls back, it’s just an inch — enough for his eyes to settle on yours, lingering, as if he’s trying to memorize every detail. His thumb strokes your cheek, slow and deliberate, like he's tracing the very shape of you in his mind.

His gaze dips to your lips, his voice low, thick with something that makes your pulse race.

“Your dad’s probably going to kill me, you know that, right?”

You laugh softly, the sound escaping with more ease than you expected. You shake your head, the playful glint in your eyes never fading. “Oh, don’t worry about it. I’m his favorite. I’ll handle him. Just…don’t break my heart, okay?”

For a beat, his smile falters, just a fraction, before his eyes soften with an intensity that makes your heart skip. He leans in, his breath warming your lips, and for a moment, the world goes still.

“Never,” he murmurs, his voice barely a whisper, just before his lips brush against yours again — slow, gentle, as if he’s savoring the very moment, the very feeling of you against him.

—

The August sun spills gold across the edges of the white tent strung with fairy lights and swaying eucalyptus garlands. Toronto’s late-summer air hums warm and bright, the breeze from the lake brushing against the skin like a soft kiss. Laughter rises from the open bar, mingling with the clinking of glasses and the soft murmur of conversation. The light is honeyed, slow — the kind that wraps itself around memories, preserving them in warmth and shimmer, like a pressed flower between the pages of a well-loved book.

You’re dancing.

Barefoot now — your heels long since abandoned under the table — you move slowly in William’s arms, your wedding dress whispering around your legs with every step. His hands are gentle at your waist, your palms resting over the slow thrum of his heartbeat beneath the crisp collar of his shirt. His jacket is off, tie loose, hair a little messy. And still, he’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

The world fades. It’s just him, you, and the music curling softly through the late summer air.

And you can’t stop smiling.

You let your eyes sweep across the crowd — the blur of people clapping, slow-dancing, talking over champagne and cake. Familiar faces beam back at you. Jack is on the dance floor, leaning in a little too close to one of William's cousins, flashing a grin that says I’m about to charm you out of your penties — and she’s laughing, probably rolling her eyes, but clearly amused. Quinn, a little too tipsy, is dancing with your mom like he's auditioning for Dancing with the Stars, spinning her around with moves you didn’t know he had. Your mom's laughing, loving every second, teasing him about how he's killing it. Meanwhile, Luke’s found Banksy. The two of them are tucked in a corner, and you swear Luke’s sneaking him bites of something he shouldn’t be eating — probably pastry crumbs. Banksy looks up at him, wide-eyed, like he’s in on the secret. Luke’s giving him a soft smile, whispering to the dog like they’re plotting something together. It’s one of those moments that makes you laugh because Luke’s too pure for his own good.

And then there’s William’s side — Michael, laughing over drinks with your father like they’ve known each other forever, probably arguing over hockey plays and statistics. Catherine, poised and glowing in a soft sea-blue dress, watches you both with misty eyes and a smile that says she always knew her boy would find this kind of love.

His sisters — Michelle, Jacqueline, Stephanie, and little Ella — are huddled near the dance floor, swaying and giggling, clutching glasses of something sparkling and non-alcoholic for the youngest. Ella looks especially radiant. She's grown so much, but you still remember the quiet, sweet girl who lived with you and William for a while, who left tiny mugs half full of tea all over the apartment and asked you questions about plants like you were a walking encyclopedia. She studies in Toronto now, living in her own dorm, but she never stopped feeling like your little shadow. Your heart squeezes at the thought.

And then there’s Alex — standing near the dessert table, deep in conversation with Auston and Mitch, probably trying to talk them into some ridiculous offseason challenge. He loves those. He was your temporary roommate, too — shared takeout dinners and hockey talk on the balcony, late-night dishwasher debates and all. He winks when he catches you looking and lifts his glass in a silent, smiling toast.

It hits you slowly — not like a wave, but like sunlight through a window. Quiet. Warm. Certain.

This is your life now.

Not just his, not just yours — but something you built together. Layer by layer. A life that started on a quiet porch, with a kiss under the stars when you were seventeen and trembling and unsure. A kiss that said, I see you. A promise he never stopped keeping.

When William moved out to play for the Marlies, it wasn’t far — just across the city, but it felt like the start of something new for both of you. A few months later, you started your degree in Environmental Science at the University of Toronto, throwing yourself into early mornings and long lectures, lab reports and field work. Your days were full of discovery; your nights, often spent curled up in his apartment, surrounded by textbooks and half-eaten takeout, with him brewing you tea and soft music humming low in the background. He never made you feel like you were chasing your dreams alone. He was there — not just beside you, but behind you, making space for your ambition and cheering it on like it was his own.

Then came the day your family packed up and moved back to Michigan. You still remember standing in the driveway, watching them go, feeling a crack form right in the center of your chest. But your parents saw it — the way William looked at you like you were the only thing that made sense in the world. The way you spoke about your classes, your city, your life here. You had already started putting down roots.

And somehow, they understood.

You stayed behind.

Not out of rebellion. Not out of stubbornness. But because your heart had already chosen a home. And he was here.

So, you and William moved in together — and he made good on another promise. Just a few months later, Pablo came bounding into your life. Curly-haired, floppy-eared, endlessly sweet. He slept at the foot of your bed and carried around his stuffed pig like it was his life’s purpose. A year later, chaos arrived in the form of Banksy — pure mischief and boundless energy, a lovable menace with paws too big for his body.

Somehow, the two of you built a life — dogs and houseplants and a garden that spilled from the balcony like your own little jungle. William, who kissed you every morning like it was the first time. William, who never once made you feel like you were orbiting his world — because you had created one together.

And then, 2019 arrived. It was Christmas Eve — your favorite night of the year. Lights strung across the living room, cinnamon in the air, your mom crying before anything had even happened — you swear she knew. William cleared his throat and then — of course — launched into a speech. Classic Willy: heartfelt, a little cocky, and so completely sincere it made your knees weak.

He turned to Jim first, asked for his blessing like a man raised right. And Jim — naturally — acted all serious and intimidating… before pulling William into a hug so hard you thought he might break a rib. Your mom sobbed so intensely she forgot to record the moment — something she still brings up every single Christmas, like it’s your fault she was too busy crying to press the red button.

Jack wasted no time. “Biggest simp I’ve ever seen,” he declared loudly, shaking his head, but grinning so sweetly at you. 

Quinn just smiled. Then, without a word, hugged William like he was his own brother. When he finally pulled back, he said, “It always felt like you were part of this family… but now it’s official.” You think William nearly cried at that part, though he’ll never admit it.

And Luke — sweet, sentimental Luke — tried to play it cool. But the moment the ring box opened, his chin wobbled. He stood up clapping and wiping his face with his sleeve at the same time. Of course, Jack immediately took a picture of Luke crying and has printed it every year since to hang as an ornament on the tree. “The emotional support elf,” he calls it.

That was the moment everything shifted — not just for you and William, but for all of them, too.

They saw what he meant to you. What you meant to each other.

And now, here you are.

Married. His wife. Barefoot under a Toronto August sky, the sun sinking low over the lake, the air thick with roses and summer and laughter.

And through all of it, William watches you like he still can’t believe you’re real. Like he’s still that boy on the porch, blinking stars out of his eyes, wondering how the hell he got lucky enough to end up here — with you.

“You okay?” William murmurs against your temple, his breath warm, his lips brushing your skin.

You nod, your voice thick with emotion. “Better than okay.”

His fingers shift slightly at your waist, pulling you just a bit closer. “You were worth every second of waiting.”

You tilt your head up, meeting his gaze. “You kept every promise.”

He grins, that soft, crooked smile that undid you back then — that still undoes you now. “Told you I’m a romantic.”

“Yes, you are. I’m a pretty lucky lady,” you tease, eyes glinting.

His hand brushes along your spine, and suddenly, you’re both laughing quietly, breathing each other in. It’s strange, really — how something can feel brand new and completely familiar all at once. How love, real love, doesn’t feel like butterflies. It feels like sunlight — constant and warm and always finding its way back to you.

A microphone crackles, and then a voice rings out — someone from the band, smiling into the mic.

“Alright, everyone, if we could have your attention—our bride and groom are about to head out for their honeymoon! Let’s give them all the love they deserve!”

The room erupts in cheers, whistles and applause. Champagne is lifted. Glasses clink. You blink back the sudden blur in your eyes as William leans down to whisper against your ear:

“You ready to go, Mrs. Nylander?”

You laugh — a bubbling, joy-soaked sound as you nod. “With you? Always.”

And as you walk hand in hand through the crowd, showered in petals and love and laughter, you look back once — just once — at the people who built you, held you, shaped this life. And then you look forward.

—

The doors of the car close behind you with a soft thud, and suddenly, the world feels quieter. The buzz of the reception is replaced by the sound of the engine, the warm night air drifting in through the cracked window. William’s hand finds yours, his fingers intertwining with yours in the way they always do — familiar, steady, grounding you.

He starts the car, and as you pull away from the venue, the streets of Toronto slipping by in a blur, you glance over at him. His eyes are still full of that joy, that soft, warm look that has been there since the moment he slipped the ring on your finger. There’s a relaxed, almost goofy grin on his face, the kind that only comes after a long, perfect day.

You turn the radio dial, and suddenly, the opening chords of “Take Me Home, Country Roads” fill the car. It’s the very song you and your brother used to sing at the top of your lungs on long summer road trips. A surge of excitement hits you, and you can’t help but start belting it out, loud and carefree, your voice rising with every word.

“Almost heaven, West Virginia…”

William glances over, his eyebrows lifting in mock horror. “Oh, no,” he laughs, shaking his head. “Not this song.”

You don’t stop. “Blue Ridge Mountains, Shenandoah River…” Your voice is full of energy, all the joy and excitement of the day flooding out of you in the form of music.

William laughs beside you, one hand on the wheel, his hair still a little messy from the dancing. “You’re unbelievable,” he says, grinning. “I marry you and now I’m stuck with a country music soundtrack for life.”

“Oh, come on, it’s a classic!” you tease, singing louder, not even trying to stay on key anymore. “You just don’t get it.”

William gives a dramatic sigh, shaking his head with a grin. “No, I definitely don’t. I never understood how anyone could love country music this much.”

You laugh, rolling your eyes playfully. “Take me home, country roads…” you sing, your voice rising with the chorus, throwing your head back as you belt it out, carefree and happy.

He watches you for a moment, shaking his head but clearly entertained. “Okay, okay,” he finally says, the teasing in his voice softening. “I get it, you’re killing it. But I still don’t get the appeal.”

You grin, leaning over to nudge him playfully. “You’ll come around one day,” you tease, eyes sparkling.

The song continues, and you sing your heart out, your joy filling the car. It feels right — this moment, this life, this love — everything wrapped up in the sound of a song that’s been a part of you forever.

William starts laughing softly, his eyes crinkling at the corners as you hit the high notes with all the conviction of a true country fan. “I don’t know how you do it,” he says, still chuckling.

You’re lost in the song now, the road stretching ahead of you, the glow from the dashboard casting a soft light on William’s face. His focus is on the road, but every so often, his smile flickers as he glances at you.

You throw your head back, still singing — louder now, on purpose. “To the place I belong…”

He shakes his head, but he’s smiling.

Then it happens.

A flash of headlights.

A horn blares.

The scream of tires on pavement.

Metal.

The impact slams through you like a punch. Your body jerks, flung forward and snapped back by the seatbelt. The airbag explodes, the sound impossibly loud — like a bomb detonating in your ears.

You can’t see.

You can’t breathe.

You hear glass shatter, the car twisting, spinning — and then stillness.

Pain hits you all at once, hot and sharp — blooming in your ribs, your shoulder, your head. Your vision sways like a curtain of water. You try to move, try to sit up, to find William, but your limbs feel heavy, unreachable.

You hear him.

Faint, but frantic.

“Elise—”

You try to answer. Your lips part, but nothing comes out. You want to reach for him. You want to tell him you’re okay, or ask if he is — but everything is fog.

His voice grows sharper, full of panic.

“Elise! Elise, stay with me! Please—”

You try. God, you try.

But the pain grows thick and distant, your head lolling as the dark swallows the edges of your sight. The world fades — his voice, the night, the music — all pulling away like waves retreating from shore.

And then—

Nothing.

Just black.

[lightsoutmatthews]

Ignored - Auston Matthews

summary: Auston leaving you alone at an event leaves a bad taste in your mouth.

pairing: Auston Matthews x female!reader

word count: 2.8k

warnings: angst, fighting, swearing

------------------------

Your heels clacked quietly on the pavement of the silent streets of Toronto. There weren’t many people around at this time of the night, especially in winter.

You left the event a few minutes ago and made your way back to your home, after Auston ignored you almost the entire time since you got there.

You showed up together, at this point the Toronto scene was used to you being at his arm during events, and he sat next to you through dinner. His hand softly rubbing over your thigh as he listened to whatever sponsors the team had put on his table. They had introduced themselves to you, but their names had left your memory second after they finished speaking.

After dinner he got called away to speak more sponsors. You stayed at the table with the promise of him being back in a few but he never returned. You saw him work around the room, chatting with different people. Sponsors, team executives, teammates, but his eyes never went back to you.

It was like you left his mind the second he got up from the table.

At first it was no big deal, you knew he had obligations as the teams captain and superstar, entertaining sponsors at events like this being what he was obligated to do but usually he was checking in on you, at least occasionally. He included you in conversations, kept you close and checked if you needed everything.

Not today though.

Willam stopped by at one point, made sure you were fine, Mitch raised an eyebrow at you when he walked past but nothing from the man you were supposedly here with.

So, after two hours of sitting alone you had enough and left.

Not that Auston noticed.

---------------------

According to your phone it wasn’t that far from the venue to yours and Auston´s home and a 40-minute walk to clear your head sounded exactly like what you needed right now.

Your feet hurt from wearing heels all day, but you still decided to walk. Thankfully the streets were still lit, and you were walking alongside a main road with cars passing every now and then, backroads you definitely wouldn’t have take at this time of the night.

About 15 minutes into your walk an all too familiar blue car stopped next to you. You didn’t stop walking, even when the passenger window lowered, and you saw your boyfriend shoot you a death glare from the driver’s seat.

Of course, he didn’t stop driving, keeping pace with you, the streetlights reflecting in the windshield, the cars lights lighting you the way more than the streetlights ever could.

“Get in the car,” he bit but you still kept on walking. “What are you thinking walking around the city alone at night?” He continued.

You still ignored him.

Seconds later he parked the car and got out, jogging up to you, grabbing you by the waist to finally make you stop. "What´s gotten into you? Why the fuck did you just leave without saying anything?” He hissed. “Let me go,” you bit back.

“Are you insane? Get in the car right now.” You rolled your eyes at the anger in his voice. “I´m not debating with you and I´m not letting you walk back home alone, get in the car for fucks sakes.” His eyes glinted in the light of the streetlights. Anger written all over his face.

You wished you had the energy to argue with him but after the evening you have just had you were tired and just wanted to crawl into bed. “Babe, I can see that your feet are hurting, so just let me take you home and we can debate whatever your problem is at home.”

His words pissed you off. Like he was accusing you of being the problem. At the same time he still cared, he noticed the little detail about your shoes being uncomfortable, it made you feel better, just slightly.

His grip on your wrist was still firm but when you didn’t acknowledge him his face turned into a concerned frown. You knew he was almost at his tipping point when his brows furrowed, and his forehead wrinkled in the way you knew from previous fights.

His jaw clenched before he spoke again. “I don’t know what the fuck your issue is but get in the fucking car because if you don’t, I will drag you inside.” You knew he was serious. He wouldn’t hesitate to put you over his shoulder and carry to the car himself, no matter how it would look to any bystanders.

So, to prevent a scandal around the Leafs superstar you obliged, stomping towards his car. Heels clacking extra loudly which had him let out a long breath.

------------

The rest of the drive back to your home passed in silence. Your head leaned against the window, streetlights blurring together as you starred out at the passing buildings. Him clenching his hands around the steering wheel so hard you could see his knuckles whitening in the corner of you eye.

Back at the house, the car parked in the garage, you got out without acknowledging him. Taking off your shoes in the hallway, letting out a small moan when your bare feet touched the cold floor. A strong but welcomed contrast to the pain your shoes were giving you.

You put your coat and clutch back in the hallway closet before making your way into the kitchen to grab a glass of water. After, you took a right to go upstairs, locking yourself in the bathroom to get ready for bed.

You heard Auston move behind you but still paid him no mind. The fight that would undoubtedly follow soon something playing on yours through every step you took and every action you did.

30 minutes later you had gotten rid of your make up, went through your skincare routine and put on your pajamas, one of Auston´s old Leafs shirts that was so large on you it could count as a dress.

When you returned to the living room he was nowhere to be found. Felix was lounging on his dog bed in the corner of the room half-heartedly raising his head as you entered but not making a move to get up and properly greet you.

The lights from your bedroom upstairs lit the upper half of the staircase, telling you that your boyfriend was in there, probably taking his suit off and getting ready for bed himself.

Sitting on the couch, not ready to face him, you wrapped your arms around your knees and placed your head on them. The emotions of the evening crashing down on you, the scenes playing in your head on loop.

What was he thinking? Why did he leave you alone like that?

Deciding that you were too tired to have the argument tonight you grabbed the fuzzy blanket and wrapped it around your body. Laying down on the few pillows you looked out the big windows, snow slowly started to fall outside, casting the outside in a peaceful atmosphere. Much different to the tension you felt inside.

With the remote next to you, you turned on the electrical fireplace, setting a timer for it to shut off in 30 minutes just in case you fell asleep. It cast the room in an orange glow, throwing oddly shaped shadows on the walls.

You closed your eyes, trying to let calmness and sleep overtake you, listening to the quiet crackle of the fire but soft steps on the stairs had you open your eyes again. You didn’t move, but you knew he was standing right there, on the other side of the couch.

For a while no one said anything. Both of your heavy breathing filling the air around you, the tension so high it could be cut with a knife. “Come to bed,” was the sentence he broke the ice with. You stayed silent. “Or at least tell me what your problem is.” You huffed.

“It was really nice talking to you at the event today, and so nice of you to spend some time with your girlfriend between chatting up sponsors.” You didn’t know why you decided to be petty. You were tired and just wanted to sleep.

“What are you talking about?” he stepped further into the room. You sat back up, shooting him a glare. Another huff before you flicked the blanket away. “Do you even remember taking me to the event?” You argued, turning to face him as his eyes narrowed immediately.

“Again, what the fuck do you mean?” There was a harsh bite to his voice. “So, you don’t.” He stepped further into the room, the gleam of the fireplace reflecting in his eyes.

He ran his hand over his face. “Babe…” he stopped, probably not knowing what he actually wanted to say but you saw a hit of realization hitting him, his features tightening.

“You´re mad because I didn’t talk to you during the event today?” You didn’t miss the hint of accusation in his voice. It made your stomach clench.

When you didn’t answer he huffed just like you did minutes before. “You´re being serious?” His tone almost mocking. “Yes, Auston, I´m being serious. How do you think it looked to your teammates, our friends, when I was sitting at a table alone for two hours because all of you were busy mingling.”

You took a deep breath before you continued. “Why did you even bring me, none of the other guys brought their girls.” When your voice got quieter towards the end of the sentence his eyes softened, just for a second.

“You know how that stuff works, you´ve been to plenty with me, why is it suddenly bothering so much, that you go out alone and rather decide to walk home than to wait for me?”

“Because you left me alone, Auston,” you yelled, emotions finally boiling over. “Yes, we´ve been to plenty events together over the years but not once didn’t you look at me the entire time we were there.” Slapping your hands over your face you tried to hold back a sob that was threatening to leave your mouth. “I was sitting there alone for two hours while Mitch and Willy and basically every by passer threw me pitying looks. Because they knew I was there with you, but you paid me no mind.”

A few beats passed in silence. You could feel him starring down at you, processing what you just thrown at him. When you looked back up remorse had taken up his face. “Babe…” he repeated. You knew he was about to break out into an apology.

“Save it, I´m done talking about it. I don’t want to hear your empty apologies. Especially, not after you all but accused me of being the problem.”

“No, let me explain.” You held up your hand to stop him. “I said I´m done talking about it. I´m tired, I just want to sleep. Let´s talk about it tomorrow.” You rubbed your temples to try and stop a headache from approaching.

“No, we will talk about this now, I´m not going to bed like this,” he insisted. Letting out a loud sigh you got up and walked to the kitchen to grab a bottle of water, just to escape the situation. The bright overhead kitchen lights stinging in your eyes.

Of course, he followed. “Don´t run away." a deep breath followed. "Look, I´m sorry. I don’t-,“ He stopped, rubbing his hand over his face and through his hair. “I don’t know what got into me. I didn’t do it on purpose, I was just so wrapped up in my shit today.”

“Auston, I´m going to bed, I´m getting a headache, sorry.”

He let out a defeated sigh. “Fine, we´ll talk about it tomorrow. I´m sorry.” His head dipped; shoulders hung low. Regret written all over his features.

When you made your way back to the couch, he stopped you by softly gripping your wrist. A strong contrast to how he gripped it earlier in the night. This time you let him without shouting. “You take the bed, I´ll stay on the couch.”

“You have a game tomorrow, I´m not letting you sleep on the couch in your own home,” you argued quietly. Exhaustion overtaking your body, strength to keep up your strong stance no longer there.

“It´s your home too.” He slammed his fist on the kitchen island, his sudden outburst making you shiver. “Fine,” you sighed, tired of arguing. “I take the bed.”

You grabbed the water bottle you left on the counter and your phone before heading upstairs. The weight of everything crashing down as soon as you closed the bedroom door behind you.

You wondered if you overreacted, just for a second, but you knew that you didn’t. He did leave you to fend for yourself.

But at the same time you knew that he was in his head a lot recently, a goal drought in his incredible season nagging on him. But still nothing about this evening made sense to you.

--------------

You tossed and turned for what felt like hours, tiredness leaving your body as soon as your head hit the pillow. Overthinking something that had followed you through your entire life. You also missed Auston´s warm body next to yours. How he held you tight at night, how his chest was like a personal furnace during the cold Toronto nights.

Turning and tapping your phone screen to see the time for the tenth time. It was shortly after one am. Hours since you´ve gotten home. He was probably already asleep.

The bright light coming from the device, illuminated the room in something cold. Your wallpaper starring at you.

The memories the picture held made you feel warm. You were cuddled up in his lap, a bonfire taking over one half of the picture, the other half the two of you on one of his obnoxiously large lounge chairs. Mitch and Steph were visiting when it was taken. One of the best weeks you had spent together during the summer.

Following a few more minutes of starring at it you gave in and flicked the blanket aside. You knew you shouldn’t go downstairs. There was still talking to do, emotions to let simmer down but you missed him in bed next to you.

A road trip kept him away for the past week, the next one coming up a few days from now. You didn’t want to let him spend the few days he had home on the couch.

Silently you tapped down the stairs, making sure you wouldn’t wake him if he was still asleep, but when you saw his face lit up by the screen of his phone you knew he wasn’t.

The snow was still falling behind him, only being able to see it because of the lamps he had put in the garden. But they were almost covered by the amount that had fallen already so it was darker than usually.

“Come to bed, Aus.” The nickname something you used to extend an olive branch.

He lifted his head, looking as exhausted as you felt, like the stress from the day came crashing down on him like it did on you upstairs earlier.

Felix lifted his head as you took the last step. “Sorry for interrupting your beauty sleep,” you chuckled at the dog who let out a sound almost sounding like a huff.

Walking over to the couch you sat down on the far end of it, facing your boyfriend head on. “Please, I don’t want you on the couch the few days you are home,” you plead.

He looked you over once, twice, three times before letting out yet another sigh.

“I don’t want you on the couch either,” he argued back.

“Then let´s both not sleep on the couch.” You grabbed his hand that was resting on his thigh closest to you and intervened your fingers. “We still need to talk about this tomorrow, but let´s just go to sleep, we´re both exhausted.”

Deep breaths followed as well as another stretch of silence. “Yeah, okay.”

He swung the blanket back and left it in a tussled mess on the floor before he put his arms under your knees and on your back picking you up.

You yelped at being lifted up by him with ease. “I can walk on my own.” He just laughed.

“Take it as my first apology for tonight…” he took a beat. “I´m really sorry, baby.” He placed a soft kiss to the top of your head, so faint you barely registered it.

When you were nestled in bed minutes later, he had you pulled flush against his chest and even though there was still lingering anger in your chest, you let him. Relaxing into his touch, covering his hand with yours.

“I love you.” He whispered into your hair, probably not knowing if you were asleep or not.

“I love you too, Auston. But we still need to talk about this tomorrow, I´m still angry.” He pulled you tighter into him. “Yeah, we will. I promise."

[prettytoxicrevolver]

"i was sort’ve hoping you needed me.  is that selfish? " and Mitch Marner is trying to comfort the reader after he heard they were upset about something

You never missed a game.

Unless it was absolutely necessary, or the game wasn’t at home, no matter what, Mitch could always count on the fact that if he needed a pick me up he could spot his best friend wearing his number in the stands with a smile on their face and an encouraging thumbs up to quickly follow.

So, when Mitch spends the better part of the game against the Islanders wondering where you are, he can’t even focus on the fact that this should have been an easy win. But the team loses 3-2 and he’s still thinking about you.

“What’s up?” Auston asks when Mitch bumps into the doorframe on the way into the locker room.

Auston spots the thousand yard stare from miles away and can’t help but feel concerned for his friend. He figured Mitch would respond with some answer about you and he worries what has happened between the two of you that has Mitch so distracted.

“(y/n) wasn’t at the game tonight,” Mitch replies and Auston tilts his head in confusion.

“And?”

“She never misses a game, Aus.”

Auston leaves it at that, knowing Mitch won’t change his mind for anything. Even though Auston could see there were probably a million reasons that weren’t life threatening to make you miss the game.

However, Mitch has never been good at thinking straight when it comes to you. You were his best friend. His girl. His world. He needed to make sure you were okay before anything else.

So, that’s how Mitch finds himself sitting in front of your apartment door and ringing the bell obnoxiously like he paid rent. Inwardly, Mitch was panicking. He had no idea what he would find when the door opened and that’s what scares him. He needed you to be okay. And if you weren’t, he needed to be there for you whether you wanted it or not.

“Mitch?” you question when you swing the door open to find your very anxious best friend standing there.

Mitch doesn’t say a word, he dives towards you, wrapping you up tight in his arms and carrying you further into your apartment after shutting the door behind him. He sets you down on the ground but keeps his firm grip around your waist as he explains.

“You didn’t come to the game,” he states like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Oh I,” you start, trying to think of a reason to explain but fail. It suddenly occurs to you that just because you missed one home game with no explanation that warranted so much anxiety on Mitch’s end that he had to come see you.

“That’s why you came?” you ask quietly.

“I was sort’ve hoping you needed me,” he murmurs awkwardly and your head jolts up to look at him. “Is that selfish?”

“Not selfish at all,” you respond and Mitch looks at you with hope in his eyes. “It’s sweet. And correct.”

Mitch smiles softly at you, hauling you back up and into his arms. He carries you until you’re sat in your bed with him by his side, ready to listen to anything you had to say.